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Amateur

My name is Ludovic Stein and I’m one of those guys whom you probably got warned about. I’m sexually adventurous. Many people think it’s wrong for a man or woman to have multiple sexual partners over a short period of time. I think such people have a 1950s mentality. It’s the twenty first century, people. Get real. Seriously. I am what I am and I do what I do. I have zero intention to stop anytime soon.

What can I say? I’m popular with both the ladies and the gentlemen. I’m six-foot-two, with caramel-colored skin and curly black hair. My eyes are a pale gray. I am half African American and half German. A biracial stud who makes both men and women go wild. When I walk down the street, on any given day, both men and women turn and stare. Yeah, I got it like that. I don’t mind. I simply love attention. Being a handsome, educated young man in today’s society gives you many advantages. One is that if you play your cards right, you can have your pick of females. And males, if you’re into men.

I’ve done my share of experimentation with the sexes. Why, I once hooked up with a girl at a dance right under her boyfriend’s nose. Yeah, I know. I’m bad. Nothing you can do about it. My first love was Martin Brown, a tall and good-looking black man. He was the chief of police in Falmouth at the time. A fine stud. I say male love, I mean it in the platonic sense. Martin was my best friend. Hell, he was my only friend. When I met him, he had recently broken up with his girlfriend of ten years and come out of the closet.

Coming out is tough for any person, but it was particularly tough for Martin. Is America ready for an openly bisexual Black male chief of police? Martin gave them a chance to find out. Nobody was more stunned by that revelation than Martin’s ex-girlfriend Kathleen Johnson. I’ve seen her. A fine-looking dame. She’s a tall, alabaster-skinned woman with long blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She looks like a supermodel. She’s actually a police officer at the very same precinct where her ex-boyfriend works. I guess life must be tough for her, as I’m sure it is for him. Those things are never easy. Or so people tell me.

I met Martin when he came to my high school to give a speech. I was only eighteen at the time and I noticed him. I had recently broken up with Manuela Giacomo, my fine-looking, big-booty, pretty-faced but smothering Mexican girlfriend. Manuela was crazy, man. That chick watched my every move. I ended up taking a restraining order against her. When Martin finished giving the speech, I approached him and asked him some advice about my problem. Manuela had been stalking me. Yes, female stalkers do exist. Most people think all stalkers are men. Well, female stalkers are out there and they’re just as dangerous, if not more so.

Martin gave me some sound advice on how to deal with Manuela. It was tough for a man to take out a restraining order against a female in the state of Massachusetts. Manuela was a psycho woman and I wouldn’t put it past her to become violent. I really didn’t need that kind of drama in my life. Martin told me to show up at the police station and I did. He was there to greet me. I obtained the restraining order and kept the psychotic Manuela out of my life. I was a free man once again. You’ve got no idea how stressful this made my life.

Most men have probably never given this some serious thought. What if a woman starts to stalk me? What will happen to me? If I go to the police, they won’t take me seriously. If the girl goes crazy and attacks me, and I defend myself, the cops will probably think of me as the aggressor. They will automatically assume she’s the victim. Thanks to unfair laws and the misguided chivalry of the cops in the system. Yes, I think all men in America should ask themselves these questions. They might demand changes in the laws if they did. Or is that asking too much?

Martin seemed like my hero at the time. He gave me his number and told me to call him if I ever needed any help. This was touching, to someone like me. Seriously. Usually when there’s trouble, I’m on my own. My German father, Ken Stein lives in Berlin with his wife. My American mother, well, your guess is as good as mine when it comes to her whereabouts. She’s usually operating under the influence of drugs. When she’s not smoking, she’s dealing. She’s a bad influence on my life and I haven’t seen her in ages. I’m on my own. As usual.

During my senior year of high school, I was probably the only kid who lived in his own apartment. Even though I went through hardships, I still focused on my studies and maintained a very high grade point canlı bahis average. All the courses I took were in the advanced placement level. I graduated Valedictorian. It was the first time in ten years that my school had a Male Valedictorian, let alone a biracial male valedictorian. Isn’t that special? With grades like these, winning an academic scholarship to Boston University was a piece of cake.

I stayed in touch with Martin. In many ways, he was the type of man that I aspired to be. He was so handsome and so smart. He was a respected member of the community. As a chief of police, he had power which I could only dream of as a mixed kid in the city. I told him that I wanted to study Criminal Justice. I wanted to become a policeman, like him. This made Martin smile. I remember his smile. He was so good-looking. I swear, if this man went to club, all he had to do was smile and wink and then women would start dropping their panties and line up to sleep with him. He had a certain magnetic quality, a charisma or something. It attracted both men and women to him in waves. It was inexplicable. I was a very good-looking man but Martin had perfected the art of seduction. This guy should write How To books. Men everywhere could benefit from him.

Martin Brown treated me in ways that I never thought anyone would treat ever me. Like a human being. My father wasn’t around. I envied other boys who had good fathers around. I got mad at a society that would prevent a good father from being around his children. Yes, some of the boys I knew growing up didn’t see their dads thanks to biased divorce laws. The state always thinks it’s best to leave the children with the mother. Well, my mother had custody of me and she was a drunk and a drug dealer. Always in and out of prisons. This describes her entire life. Sometimes, it is better to leave the children in the care of a good father than an unfit mother. Trust me on that one. Good parenting has got nothing to do with gender.

Somehow, in spite of being alone most of the time, I managed to stay out of trouble. I joined the Boy Scouts. I was with them for only a year but I considered these guys to be the greatest people I’ve ever met. For some time, they gave my life structure. Unfortunately, when I left them, I went back to being what I originally was. A loner with no one to talk to. Maybe that’s why I often looked inward for strength and inspiration. I created a mask, if you will. It was as if I could see into people’s souls and see what they wanted. So I became the smooth-talking, sharply dressed ( when I could afford it) and super cool guy.

In high school, I was popular with girls but they didn’t care about me, though not a week went by without one of them making the moves on me. I didn’t want to be a sexual object, believe it or not. I wanted to be appreciated as a human being. A normal human being who happens to be a handsome stud. Get what I mean? Cool. Around Martin, I could be myself. I was a poor kid with a big brain and big dreams.

Martin Brown understood me. He knew what it was like to struggle. He was raised by a single father. These days, he was the chief of police in a town like Falmouth. He had come a long way. Martin was the first man I met whom I could simply talk to. It was easy to talk to him. He was so damn nice, too. I didn’t think police officers, whether male or female, could be such nice people. Every time I saw them, they were doing the rough job that needs doing but which few can do. Martin would take me out on his Porsche and we’d drive down the Cape. He showed me that there was more to life than the nightmare into which I was born. I could escape it, someday. Someday, I could make it. A man’s dreams could come true. If he was smart enough to seize good opportunities and stay away from those men and women whom I call Dream Crushers.

I had met other people from Martin’s inner circle of friends. I met district attorney Jason Arundel and assistant district attorney Liam Knox. I met police captain James Thorne and his lieutenants, Kyle Dorval and Ruth Nicole Berg. I met Falmouth City Mayor Anthony Stuart Hamilton and deputy mayor Roger Balzac. I met Richard Clayton, of the Men’s Center and Jasmine Thomas of the Women’s Resource Center, head of Social Services. These were the people who ran the city. The Powers That Be. All of them respected Martin and saw him as a man of great intelligence and integrity. Is it any wonder I worshiped him?

You’ve got no idea how much our relationship meant to me. All at once he was my best friend, mentor and advisor. He was the first person whom I confessed my true feelings bahis siteleri to. Growing up, I had always felt a rather unsettling attraction to boys and girls. When walking around, I’d catch myself checking out members of both sexes. A sexy young man with a fit physique or a delicious babe of any race seriously got me going. Yet I kept this to myself. Growing up in Falmouth, I had seen what happened to gay people. They got bashed. Treated like vermin. I didn’t want this for myself. No way. But I felt that I could trust Martin. When I told him, he was fully accepting of me. Indeed, he embraced me like a long-lost brother whom he was welcoming into the fold.

Martin even introduced me to my first real boyfriend. Months after the affair with Manuela ended, I met a young man named Clark Bridgestone. Clark was a tall, slim youth with fair skin and red hair. A lovely Irish-American lad, as they say. Clark was a recent graduate of the police academy. He was also the niece of sergeant Matthew Bridgestone, Martin’s former partner. I met Clark at a reception at Martin’s house. I must say that I was smitten. This young man was fine-looking and sexy. And he took an interest in me.

Clark was a hunk. Tall and slender, but curvy where it counts. Pretty face, great figure and a fantastic-looking butt, too. Like nearly all the women and a few of the men at the party, he was checking me out and who could blame him? I asked Martin to introduce me to him. He did. And that’s how it all began. I moved into the dorms at Boston University the following fall and Clark and I began dating. He was three years older than me but that didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered to me was the fact that my life seemed to be getting better. I was living in the dorms of one of America’s best schools. Martin told me that police officers with a college degree made more money. I was studying Criminal Justice. And I had a gorgeous man in my life. Nothing wrong with that! Clark was such a great guy. I must say that I was lucky. We had a lot of fun together. I didn’t know I could have so much fun with a gay man. It was easy to talk to Clark. We had a lot in common.

Both of us were attractive, for one thing. I’ve gone out with girls who are less pretty than I am and such mismatches always get me stared at. With Clark, I didn’t have that problem. We were both cute and looked good together. Clark liked sports as much as I did. I’m told that it’s rare to find a gay male who knows so much about men’s sports. I am a big fan of the New England Patriots. In my eyes, these men are gods. Clark knew as much as I did about individual players. We both loved the Red Sox and had an undying hatred of the Yankees.

We had a lot in common. I could be myself around him. I didn’t have to pretend, though we were discreet. When we went to movie theaters together, I didn’t have to cringe when he checked out movies the way straight guys did. Somehow, their significant others tortured them by making them watch those insanely boring chick flicks. I must say that a lot of queer males are into chick flicks too. To each their own, I guess. I just know they’re not for me. Clark wasn’t like that. Hell, no! This guy liked science fiction and action movies. He was a real find! And I had Martin Brown to thank for meeting him in the first place. Damn, I owed this man so much.

One night, it happened between Clark and I. We had recently gone to watch a football game. We were in my dorm in Boston, just holding each other and laughing. I remember looking into those gray eyes of his and being in awe. Clark took my face in his hands and kissed me. I wasn’t surprised by the kiss. We’ve made out all over the city, actually. In the subway, the park and on the Charles River Bridge while the Red Line train sped by. There was an urgency in that kiss which surprised me. I knew what it meant. He wanted me. Slowly, we undressed each other.

I looked at Clark. Such a lovely boy, he was. I looked at him as he stood before me, in all his naked glory. Five feet ten inches of tall, athletic Irish-American man stood before me. Slim and hunky, with a hard, muscular chest. I gently touched his chest. Pinched his nipples. They felt soft yet firm to the touch. As Clark smiled at me, I licked the dark areolas. Clark ran his hands through my hair as I began exploring his body. I had been with girls before, but never with a guy. This was different. I really wanted Clark. Bad.

I kissed his lips again, then kissed his collarbone, and neck. I gently caressed his belly, then went down to his pelvis. Clark was bushy, which I wasn’t used to but didn’t mind bahis şirketleri at this point. I touched his hard, uncircumcised cock and had a lick at it. I slipped first one finger inside his anus, then two. Clark gasped. Apparently, I must have touched a sweet spot for he begged me to continue. And so I did. Licking and sucking, prodding his until he came. And when he did, it was glorious. After this, he had to have me inside of him. I put on a condom and we jockeyed for positions. Laughing, Clark climbed on top of me. I put my hands on his hips and entered him. When I did, he closed his eyes and rested his sleek hands on my shoulders. Like this, we made love. Clark moved up and down on me, in a swift and easy rhythm. I thrust upward, loving every sweet moment I spent inside him. Craving more.

We tried different positions together. I was on top of him and he had his arms around me, with his legs spread. I thrust into him, and felt his tender yet tough flesh yield under my man power. His screams were wonderful to hear. I felt his fingers, whose nails were thankfully clipped, dig into my shoulders. He wrapped his legs around me, and I couldn’t go anywhere, not that I wanted to. That’s when I felt it coming. A rush from deep inside. At the core of my masculine being. I came, a rush of my manly essence, symbol of my passion. It was glorious. Clark’s screams echoed my own. It was amazing.

Afterwards, we lay in bed. I’ve never been good at post-coital conversation so I simply smiled at Clark, gave him a soft kiss on the forehead and went to sleep. I’m not usually the cuddling type but I didn’t mind holding Clark in my arms. I’ve never really a good relationship with anybody in my life, other than Martin, of course. But Martin was more of a father figure to me. This was different. Clark was my boyfriend. It’s still odd sometimes to think and even say words like boyfriend and bisexual to me. A while ago, I was dating a girl. In the eyes of society, I was a straight male. I did enjoy sex with Manuela. It was perhaps the only pleasant part of our relationship. When we weren’t doing it, she was berating me or acting like a control freak. Is it any wonder I dumped the little psycho?

I looked at my boyfriend Clark as he slept. He was so beautiful. And masculine, too. Such a fine-looking youth and he was mine. I had him all to myself. I lay there, and gently rested my head on his chest. I could hear his rhythmic heartbeat. I thought about all that had happened in my life this year. I had left behind my crazy life in Falmouth. I had escaped from the cycle of poverty, abuse and destruction which my mother was part of. She is forever trapped in that darkness. A darkness of abuse of her own making. I will no longer allow myself to be abused, by women or by men. That’s why I left my psychotic girlfriend Manuela. There’s no shame in running from an abusive relationship. Maybe in his own way, that’s all my father did when he left. He left my abusive mother and found happiness with someone else. Maybe he wanted to take me with him. Custody laws being the way they are in Massachusetts, he was never going to get me. He was gone, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he stopped caring. Now that I think about it, he never stopped sending me checks in the mail. Though meager, they did enable me to survive, when things were harsh. He also sent me a letter every now and then. I kept all of them. They were my treasured possessions. In a world where nothing lasted.

Someday, we’ll have a talk, my father and I. I want him to know who I am and who I want to become. I want to become somebody. A respected member of society. A good man. Someone who matters and makes a difference. I thought about Martin and his influence on me. This man believed in me. He was my friend and mentor. In many ways, the only true friend I’ll ever have. I look at Clark again and realize that I really care about this young man. This isn’t just the sex talking.

I feel something for him. Something powerful. I don’t know what to call it since I’ve never felt it before. Could it be love? I don’t know. I don’t exactly think of myself as the kind of guy whom people fall in love with. Or who allows himself to fall in love with people. In high school, I had gone out with pretty girls who took me places in their fancy cars and paraded me around like a prize possession. This wasn’t love. Not by a long shot. Now, I was in a relationship with an honest, hard-working young man. Someone whom I cared about. Could this be love?

I look at Clark one last time before going to sleep. I don’t know where my life is going. I know where I would like it to go. I can see myself in a police officer’s uniform, serving justice and peace side by side with the man I love. This is a dream. But maybe dreams can come true. Even for someone like me. I certainly hope so. Sincerely.

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