Hommi Publishing

Vintage Pulp and Original Gay Erotica

HD-127 Pumping

Category:

Pumping

Hung Studs

HD-127

$3.95

Wishlist
Wishlist
Category:

Pumping

Hung Studs

HD-127

$3.95

Wishlist
Wishlist

Excerpt

Because there are two kinds of doing it with one’s own sex—the innocent and the guilty.

The innocent are those who believe that they have no choice, that what is natural for them is being “unnatural”; hence that they are doing nothing wrong, that they are merely following the dictates of a precondition within their brains.

Life has led them to this particular trough and therefore they have no option other than to partake thereof.

And then there are the others, such as myself.

With whom nothing sexual is spontaneous.

Because I am hardly about to relinquish control of the most significant action, the most important action, the true driving force of all my actions, the one action of which all others are either symbol or substitute—I am not, I say, about to cede the reins of this aspect of my life to some hypothetical, built-in reflex.

No, with me, with others like me, there is no such thing as moonstruck.

There is no sudden lightning bolt of helpless, all-consuming desire, of drooling, raging animal hunger driving me, forcing me, compelling me to give up and give in.

Far from it, in fact; I cruise, I prowl, I know exactly what it is I seek.

I have within my mind a collection, an aggregation of “hot” images.

And therefore, I am turned on to the degree that external reality provides examples of these images in the flesh.

Those two back there? Nada. Nothing. Zippo.

I could see them naked, could see them excited, could see them offering themselves blatantly—and nothing.

No, make that less than nothing.

Make that disgust, revulsion, a turn-off.

Not that those who “cannot help themselves” are turned on by the mere availability or perhaps simply the presence of cock; these too have their taste, their standards below which the object of their evaluation becomes unacceptable.

It’s just that their standards are lower than mine, incorporating, as they must, their possessors. Hence, the notion of tolerance accruing to these, these… helpless ones.

But I am not at all like that, like them.

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