gregory tonight

“This is the longest relationship I’ve had and I’m desperately trying to make this work.” I can’t get Joe’s words out of my mind. Because they hurt me, and they cast doubt in our relationship in my heart. “I’m afraid of the things I’ll discover in therapy. What if I discover something about us that you will not like?” Like you really don’t love me? Like you’re only in this relationship because you got carried away by my enthusiasm and later on learned your heart’s not really in it and you want out, but you don’t want to hurt me? Like you’re only staying because you think it is the right decision, even if you don’t feel like it really is for you at this moment in time? Like you love me but not enough to choose me? “If you do discover something that you’re worried I might not want to hear or will hurt me, all the more you should say it to me. Great relationships are measured by the willingness and courage of both partners to have difficult, painful conversations, so we shall have that co

Growing up, my mother never approved of my friends. When I was in grade 1, my teacher reported a classmate and I to our parents for being “too close” and holding hands, that we were being suspect for being gay. After the parents-teacher conference, this classmate, whom at the time I thought was my best friend, started distancing himself from me.   When I was in grade 2, there was a father-and-son night. I dreaded it, not because I was afraid of my father, who has always been kind to my siblings and I but because of the conversation my mother had with my father and I about its importance. I remember my mother saying, that because my father was a salesman and always away, I’ve only had female role models: her, my elder sister, my grandmother who lived with us, our household help, and my cousins who were all female. My lack of male role model turned me “soft” and “feminine”—but not gay. My mother was adamant in reminding me that I was not gay. I was just “refined.” I felt bad for my fathe

He grabbed me by my hair and shoved my head to his chest, my mouth landing and latching to his right nipple while my left hand pinched his left one. He was most sensitive here. His nipples were like switches that needed to get flicked for his cock to get hard. Alfonso reminded of Aladdin. He had black, thick hair, neatly cut short. He had round, dark eyes. They’re kind eyes. His smile was radiant. His teeth were straight and perfect (like his cock—which I’ll get to in more detail shortly). There were dimples on his cheeks when he smiled. His lips were soft and his kisses were gentle. He kissed me like he might kiss a lover, not a random, horny stranger he snuck to his room when everyone at his house was already sleeping. My right hand explored his body. His skin was sun-kissed, caramel, delicious, smooth. The shape and form of his chest and torso reveal that they used to be chiseled at the gym. If he hadn’t been this tall and handsome and charismatic, I would’ve been disap

So I lost my key to my last blog so I'm starting all over again here. This blog will document my stories about love and lust. Some will be from a while back, others will be recent.  But first, lifting from my lost blog, let me introduce myself. 1. My name is Gregory. I'm a gay man in his mid-30s who writes for a financial institution. Still, please don't ask me anything about finance. The only advice I can offer you is one an executive I used to ghost write for gave me: "The best time to invest is yesterday. The next best time to invest is now." Just save up for a rainy day, boys. 2. I'm out to a handful of closest family members and friends. I'm hoping to change that this year when I tell my very religious parents and soon, relatives. But please don't expect an histrionic announcement from me on social media. Some of my friends did that and while it's a kumbaya moment for them to receive an outpouring of love and support, that just ain'