My friend told me this story. He couldn’t write it himself: “You’re the writer, Ash, you can make it sound better.”
I think he thought it wouldn’t be exciting enough if he told the truth. Well, like any great true story, don’t let the truth get in the way of it. However, it is pretty much as he told me. I’ll need to ask him for more!
I was working in a theatre, a box office guy. It was a small theatre, so we all knew each other. The actors weren’t above chatting to us, the directors, etc. It was a small theatre, but one that had hosted some real firsts for the UK and was respected throughout the world. I loved working there.
My girlfriend and I had just finished, and it was a horrible one. Plus, I was young and now so horny I didn’t know what to do with myself. Miserable and horny. It isn’t a good combination. Who wants to hang out with a misery? Who wants to fuck one?
Well, another box office assistant told me there was someone. And then someone else came along and teased me about it, too. They wouldn’t say who. They wouldn’t let on, just, “someone here’s really got the hots for you, James!”
I couldn’t work out who. I didn’t want to start making guesses because I knew I’d look like a fool. Who would I want it to be? Was the real question. I kinda guessed by the time they asked me out.
Micheal.
Not Michelle, or Mira, or Misty, or Margaret. Nope Micheal.
Agh.
A guy.
How did I feel about that?
Well, first off, I’m a polite guy and I don’t like to say no to anyone for anything. I had accidentally gone on a date with a male actor at a different theatre I’d been to. I hadn’t really known it was a date. I was only nineteen, and I guess I was innocent or something. He was probably in his thirties and had asked me to meet him at a gay nightclub.
It was a place I’d been to a lot with friends, so it seemed normal. But why was he asking me? Well, I had a girlfriend at the time, so I wasn’t even thinking of it as a date. But as I stood there waiting for him, it dawned on me it couldn’t be anything else.
I nipped off to the toilet briefly, and so maybe I missed him then. Or maybe I had got the time wrong. Or maybe it was him that got the cold feet in the end, but he didn’t turn up, and I never really had my first gay date.
But now I was going to.
Michael was handsome. I was sure he was handsome. He probably looked a bit like me, but a bit older, late twenties, while I was still twenty-two. He had the rough short hair that was popular at the time, a nice smile and glasses, and was small but not weedy, and well, looked a lot like me.
But he was more confident than I. He seemed to know I’d say yes. I wonder, looking back on it, if he could see the twin emotions in my eyes, heartbreak and horny.
Perhaps they are not such a bad combination after all!
Anyway, we went out for the meal, and of course, before then I’d got all the teasing again, “Bet you weren’t expecting that! You’re going out with him? That’s great. He’ll be so pleased. Be careful with him, though. You know what he’s like, right?”
I didn’t, of course. I’d spoken to him plenty, and he was simply nice and fun. He was the assistant director at the theatre, a kind of trainee. I think he’s a pretty big deal now, actually.
Anyways, we went out and talked and ate, and he invited me back to his. He splashed out on a taxi because, although he was bound to be very poor doing that kind of trainee thing in the big smoke of London, he probably didn’t want to put me off. he could probably tell his flirting with me was working. That I was warming to the idea of sleeping with a man for the first time.
And no doubt it turned him on terribly to know he had a virgin on his hands!
So, in the taxi, he just held my hand, nothing else. I mean, back then, it was a little while ago, you didn’t do anything else. In fact, I wouldn’t do anything else with another guy now in a taxi, but there was a brief time when the world seemed like it was heading for one big love-in and we’d all be friends and lovers together.
Gone, gone.
So, yeah, he rushed me into his flat. A downstairs one in a nice part of South London. I wasn’t too far from home. I could probably walk it if I had to… I didn’t have to!
His kisses were the craziest thing. I could imagine him fucking me. I could imagine sucking on him. Honestly, I could imagine all kinds of sex because, like a lot of ‘straight’ guys, I had wanted to be fucked, dressed up in a little bit of lingerie, and imagined being on the other end of it.
I loved to fuck women in the ass, but was always a bit jealous of them. I mean I thought, I would enjoy it more than they would!
I’d not had a strap-on or even a dildo pushed up there but I’d had women’s tongues and fingers and once bled I got fucked so hard by long nails! Which is the kind of sex that drives you wild with excitement, and then you spend at least a week regretting it. i wondered how long I’d spend regretting this.
He was no gay beginner himself, so I figured he’d be all ok with condoms and the whole aids bit. Aids was falling out of death sentence territory by then, but not so very far out of it. But then, if you knew you were fucking a virgin, you’re not likely to catch it yourself, so maybe he’d steal a moment to go bareback?
And I did think if it was going to get to that, I’d want to be done bareback. It's my first time. I’d want to feel it properly, see if I could feel the moment it explodes, and what cum feels like in there.
And ‘straight’ guys have often done that to themselves, pushed things up there, or tried to suck on a vibrator.
I had an ex who could deep throat so well. This was back before it felt like everyone could, and that everyone was expected to. Back then, she was the only one I knew. And I hadn’t even thought about it as a thing before her eighteen-year-old mouth went down, down, down.
And she then went and did it on a vibrator she owned. Again, swallowing most of it. I tried, and even with her help, I was gagging and pulling away with barely half in.
Nah, I wouldn’t be doing that, but like most ‘straight’ men, I had tried to suck and lick something, to imagine what it would be like. Pushing it to the back of my throat for some kind of sissy training wasn’t a thing, and I didn’t expect I would be doing that for him. I mean, let’s be honest, it is the end of the cock that really feels the good things and its lips that work that eh!
Talking of lips, there was something freaky about kissing someone with bristles. I’d been used to soft lips, full lips; this was not that. But this was just as good. I mean, you’d think you wouldn’t like it if you always craved pink, lush lips, but it was just a different pleasure. I mean, other than that, it was pretty similar to kissing a woman. Although he had a passion for me that maybe not all of those women showed.
So, I kissed him back and I pulled myself towards him. I felt our erections strike beneath our jeans, and I was all ready to cum then. And I think I did a little. My boxers were wet from such as I ground up against him. I could have cum properly and carried on, no doubt.
But again, Michael was taking no chances. As soon as I would cum I could easily jump ship.
“Shit, thanks, but it’s not me, I’ve got to go.” It wouldn’t matter if it clearly was your thing, your mind works differently before and after cumming, and he was a guy, so he knew this better than many of the women I’d been with.
‘Men think with their dicks’ is a little unfair, but there is a truth to that because of how differently we function when spent or not. Now that I’m older, I try to be different, but I’m not sure I am.
Anyway, the story. Well, I’ll finish telling you another time if that’s ok, Ash?
“No! It isn’t!” But hey, that’s how it works on here. Find out more about his secret needs very soon xxx
That was hot