Brett was six-three and had played basketball. He told the coach who said, “Thank God, we don’t have to dance around the issue any more.” Brett had been astounded. His teammates, the girl he was going out with, and all of his friends already knew. He asked his best friend how everybody had already figured it out. “Well, we always kind of suspected, you know. It was confirmed at the underwear party at Holly’s. One of the girls got drunk and took off her bra and panties. You never looked. Then one of the guys dropped his boxers and you stared. Almost everybody got naked, but you didn’t. You hung around the naked guys but kept trying to hide your hard-on. It’s fine. Just don’t ask me to start liking Broadway musicals.” His parents had no understanding but plenty of acceptance. Brett told me, “Understanding is seriously over-rated. Acceptance is what is important.” Brett had never had a boyfriend and had never experienced what he called love. He had sex with a couple of guys who came out. It took a couple minutes for her to finish, and then her body became just a one-hundred twenty pound, hot blob, as she fell asleep. Our eyes met, and his head motioned to the right. His cock, and my rubber cock slowly slid out of her, and he escaped out from under her, as I took the strap on off. We both laid together on the other side of the bed, and cuddled in silence for a couple minutes, as my body laid on top of his. Our stomachs were together, as my arms were in between us, and his arms were around me. "Has the sex gotten better her since you started, because it's sizzling hot now?" he wondered. My head leaned up, and tears fell out of my eyes. "You aren't gonna leave me, are you?" I pleaded. His fingers pinched one of my nipples. "Haven't I proved that I'm not gonna do that? I watched you make love to her, and you saw me with her for a minute. Then we did it together. No divorce papers will be presented to you, I promise," he wrote in stone. I just answered him honestly, and.
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