I’ve known Grant’s stepfather since before Grant was born. We don't live in a small town but it’s certainly not a big city, either. He owns a large furniture store and I run several apartment complexes. Both of us are in the Chamber of Commerce and we have a deal for me to buy showroom samples for my furnished units.

My stepfamily just moved to town and my stepfather encouraged me to—that is, he told me to—try out for the wrestling team. I’m not big enough for baseball, let alone football, but wrestling has weight classes, so my size isn’t a problem. Actually, the team only has one other guy in my division, so it turned out to be an advantage. My stepdad says being an athlete is a good way to make new friends and it would make me less likely to be picked on. He’s probably right.

There is a small group of big guys here in town that have a particular interest in fucking small young twinks. We keep in touch, get together for a beer, exchange raunchy stories, I mean, what men don’t like bragging about their conquests? Most importantly, we exchange intel. Not all of the young guys we like are gay and not even all of the gay ones like older men, so knowing who is who is a valuable resource.

Moving out of my parents house has been “the best of times and the worst of times, as they say.” I’m not some socially dysfunctional basement dwelling moocher but I was comfortable at home. I know my mother is not eager to see me leave the nest, and my stepfather has never put any pressure on me. I think he’s indulging my mother, like he always does, but I don’t think he really minds, either.