A man, in his late teens or early twenties sauntered past him, looking him boldly in the eye. Jason had come to terms long ago with his sexuality – at the public school he attended in England, in fact. He knew he was pretty much at the gay end of the spectrum, though he'd had a couple of girlfriends, and not only had he been close to them, but he'd had good relationships with them, and a good sex life too. But if he was allowed to choose, if the religious bullies left him be, he would prefer a man. And (he supposed he was perhaps typical of his class) he preferred rough trade. A manly man. Like Brent had been, even though Brent could be as tender and as loving as anybody in private, yet when straights found out he was gay, they were always surprised. Jason was always wryly amused that they were less surprised when they found out that he was gay.
The chap – who was now negligently strolling back along the path, towards Jason – was far from manly. Every gesture, every movement, his whole attitude was . . . almost feminine. And he was stunningly beautiful. No other word would do.
Normally, Jason wouldn't have found him the least bit interesting, but somehow he oozed sex and lust, and Jason felt himself respond, his whole skin suddenly electric with desire, his cock rigid in his boxers. So much for not wanting involvement!
Normally, Jason wouldn't have found him the least bit interesting, but somehow he oozed sex and lust, and Jason felt himself respond, his whole skin suddenly electric with desire, his cock rigid in his boxers. So much for not wanting involvement!
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