Stanley - 3

[grubby41]

[COLOR=white]Stanley's Cup - 3[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]Stan could never remember a time when he was not sexually aware. And not only sexually aware, but also sexually ?active?. Since he could ever remember, he had masturbated. And since he could ever remember, it had always been over men; and not just men in particular, but always muscular men. He loved to look at handsome men, and some who had beautiful faces could actually make him shiver and breath differently; but it was large, muscular, strong, masculine men that gave him an erection, and over whom he masturbated, and who fulfilled his deepest and strongest sexual longings. It had always been that way.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]As Stan grew older, and realised that he was different, he tried to turn his attentions to women. And sometimes he could achieve an erection if the woman was very feminine, large-breasted, and ?fully-figured?; but when orgasm loomed, or was even achieved, he always felt empty, or, yet even more strangely, that somehow he had betrayed his own sex. Somehow there was a feeling that by even trying to be what he was not, he was hurting the men that he found attractive, or even letting them down by not loving them as he knew he should.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]And it was not that he felt threatened personally by women; but he did feel that women sometimes were a threat to men. Deep inside, he sometimes felt that women were unfair to men and wanted to hurt them; and whenever Stan tried to shift his focus and to see women in that way that he then thought that all men (except himself) saw women, he felt that he was not only being untruthful, but also that he was being unfaithful.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]Nevertheless, Stan also knew that to let this secret out would be his great undoing. Without ever being told, he knew instinctively that his desires, his longings, his needs, set him apart, made him different, and would destroy him if others ever found out. And so Stan kept himself to himself, he made friends, but shied away from intimacy. And the more deeply he fell in love, the more cautious he became ? and the more caring, the more considerate, and the more loyal. And the irony was that Stan ended up having a circle of devoted friends which was diverse and eclectic, but also connected one to another in way that few circles are. In fact, it was almost like a closed brotherhood, with an active women?s auxiliary. And at the centre of that small community stood Stanley Cheng, attentive to the feelings of his friends, thoughtful, compassionate, intelligent, faithful, handsome, and very, very gay.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]And let it not once be supposed that Stanley Cheng ever suffered from lack of sexual desire or want of erotic stimulation, because Stanley was prodigiously libidinous; and what he controlled in public and in the presence of his family and friends, he gave full vent to in his private life. Auto-eroticism was the principal activity in what would incongruously be described as ?down time?. Every morning, Stan would lie in bed, his hand firmly clasped around a raging erection. And while, as he got older, his fingers could no longer close fully around the shaft of his thick penis, and it required more, and sometimes almost violent motion, for his big hand to stimulate the whole of its length, the pleasure of his morning dry-wank was one of the great happinesses of his day.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]By nature, however, Stan was fastidious; and the idea of ejaculating in his bed clothes held no strong attraction for him. He liked his bed to be clean; and the idea that his mother or their housekeeper, Mrs Sloane, might find his sheets stiff and stained, was enough to keep him from coming until he managed to get himself downstairs to breakfast. After breakfast, however, it was time to shower; and there, in the warm steamy comfort of his shower, his soapy left hand working his heavy erection and his right hand caressing his shoulders, chest, and tightened abdomen, he would bring himself just to the threshold of orgasm, and then relax. Again, he would bring himself right up to the point of climax, and then allow himself to retreat. And when he could just faintly perceive a change in the water?s temperature, he would allow himself to cross the border from the agonising pleasure of intense expectation to the shuddering release of explosive surrender. And as his taut and muscled body heaved with the mighty ejaculation of male seed, and semen gushed forth from his hard and throbbing penis, the tension and anxiety which so often grieved him was washed way just as the thick clumps of his semen were washed away and down the drain of the rapidly cooling shower.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]When he was finished, Stan would then urinate. He had found out that urine would dissolve semen and made it easier to flush away in the water. And so Stan would carefully urinate on any semen that was on the floor of the shower, after he has directed it toward any that might have remained on the tiles of the wall. Then quickly, before the water grew cold, he would shampoo his hair, rinse the soap of his body, and turn off the shower tap.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]Stepping out of the shower, Stan would grab the towel, and start to dry his hair, and begin to pray.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]Stanley always prayed after masturbating. No doubt, many might think this an odd behaviour; but Stan had been so schooled in thinking ?self-abuse? to be a sin, that any pleasure that he had was forgotten, and he immediately made a confession of his sins. He told the Lord that he was sorry for what he had just done. He prayed that he might be forgiven, and somehow brought to the point in his life where this ?burden? might be removed from him. And then, once he had dried himself off, and confessed his sin, he would start to get himself ready for school. But there was so much guilt inside of him working its disintegrating power that often he could not look at himself in the clearing mirror of his bathroom.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]But it wasn?t just what he had been told about masturbation being a sin that always troubled him. Later, as he matured in his thinking and other influences came into his life, his understanding of his sexuality and sexual behaviour would undergo a transformation and his beliefs and attitudes would correspondingly change. No, much of his guilt, uneasiness, and shame came from his peers, from the boys of his own age and older, who talked of ?wankers?, and of ?cock-suckers?, of ?homos?, and ?fags? and ?queers?. This never came from Church or from home. This came from school, and from Cubs and Scouts, from Little League and Air Cadets. It came from those who were just as he was, but who in some weird sort of way were more experienced than him, more worldly-wise, more mature. They seemed to know about things that he didn?t, and he had no idea how or why. What particular class at school had he missed; what film had he not seen; what special book had he not been given to read? How was it that he himself had missed out on acquiring this arcane wisdom that seemed to permeate the learning of the boys with whom he had to play soccer or compete with on the swim team?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]They knew things that Stan did not know. They knew about kids who went blind from playing with their dicks. They knew about vaginas and clitorises. How? How did they know? Did their Dads tell them? Did the Canadian National Institute for the Blind have informational leaflets concerning the deleterious effects of self-abuse on adolescent vision that he forgot to pick up from the office of the Nurse at the head of the long staircase at school? Did their sisters or their sisters? friends give them a show-and-tell in the paper-shack before the newspapers arrived at 3.30? Good God! At home his family never talked about anything to do with ?sex? or the ?bathroom?. They were Canadians, for heaven?s sake! Not a bunch of Dutch people sitting around the kitchen table naked watching sex-shows at breakfast! How on earth did they know these things? [/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]And what if they discovered, through their esoteric powers of discernment, that he was a potential cock-sucker, a wanker, and a fag? And what if it were true that blindness and hirsute palms were the just reward of self-abusers? What if the yawning maw of hell was not only open and waiting to receive him into its bowels, but that he was, by definition, less than a man and unworthy of the sex which he loved, admired, protected, and desired? What if he were really lost, and devoid of moral worth. And, worse yet, what if he were alone?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]And so, on this particular morning, Stan looked away from the mirror. He could not stand to see himself. His lovely brown body glistened from his shower, the fullness of his thick and powerful muscles were enhanced by the shadows cast from the light overhead, the width and roundness of his shoulders accentuated the long narrowness of his waist, and the wide penis uncomplicated in its circumcision hung heavily before him, and his physical beauty and male perfection were reflected before his deep brown eyes. But he could not look. To look might be to desire, and to desire himself might be even worse than desiring another man. Pride and vanity were as much sins as lust and passion.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]Why had he been made this way? If there was a Creator Who loved and cared for mankind, why did He not love Stan? He had all these feelings from the very time that he could remember. And he had never chosen this, any of it. Why was he made this way?[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]And then Stan began to cry. The tears formed as his eyes grew hot, and streamed down his cheeks. Stan sobbed, and his body heaved with painful emotion. He leaned forward, his hands supporting his huge frame against the countertop. He looked at his young body, the thick and striated muscles of a grown man of superior proportions mocking the vulnerability of his immaturity, and he wept in self-pity, in frustration, and in shame.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=white]And from deep within welled up the hunger, the feeling of an insatiable desire to feed until there was no room inside for anything but the comfort of being sated. Stan grabbed his towel from the floor, wrapped it around his waist, and propelled himself along the hallway and down the stairs to the refrigerator in the kitchen. Without any heed for manners or neatness, he opened the carton of milk, and drank it dry. He ripped the tinfoil wrapping off the cold chicken of yesterday?s dinner, and he ate. He found cold noodles, he found cold rice, he found cold meat and cold beans, and he ate and ate until he could eat no more. And before the overwhelming power of fatigue compelled him to sleep, he made his way upstairs and to his bed.[/COLOR]

[2bored]

This is... amazing.

[arpeejay]

Very cool premise! And excellently written!

More, please, and soon!

xoxo

Richard

[Reeza]

I never thought I would say this about a story on this forum, but the paucity of description of Stan's body is surprisingly effective in this story and seems appropriate to its themes of resistance and guilt. A glimpse of something spectacular can be more arousing than a full view. It fires the imagination and conjures erotic images that are tailor-made according to our own desires. Whether that was your intent or not, it is working very well for me.

To say that you have "a way with words" would be a sinful understatement.

[silvershadow]

I can only say amazing but that doesn't even cover how well you have made this story. My boy friend can actually be a bit self abusive himself. So I can see how Stanley is. But wow to be self abusive on oneself thinking just how they were made is in a manor of sin. It really does make me sad to because he does not even realize hes only being natural. That's why I must see where you take this. What would happen if Stanley realized he is a "stud" per say?

[middleman]

Profoundly insightful.

[umlerian49]

This is a terrific story. All too often, society has pushed gay men and women into self-loathing, and you've captured this in heart-breaking, breath-taking detail. Stanley deserves a little happiness, and deserves to be shown what an amazing person he is.

[animalis31]

Hope you write the next chapter soon!

[Freaker!!]

I wish I too had a body to be truly ashamed of. Now I expect our (your) hero will be many times worthy of that shame. Shame on him. Shame shame shame! Heap the shame on him and lets hope that one year it pay dividends to him.