Written by Hare__

Fact
3 Apr 2015


My first foray into a more deviant lifestyle came some time after having witnessed my then girlfriend, Olivia, being seduced and taken by a masterful older man. The experience and imagery were powerful, influencing my thoughts long after the event. I remember wanting to find pleasures to rival what I had experienced, but never really went out of my way to do so. Still, opportunities come along, often from unexpected directions, particularly things which one had probably never considered seriously. Several years ago, I became a user of the Orange chat rooms, more just in order to pass the time of day rather than in pursuit of 'actual' pleasures. I tended to pop into the general chat room, rarely spending more than a few minutes there upon realising that little of worth was being said therein. I moved into the '30-something' and '40-something' rooms, got chatting to a few women now and again, but generally found the experience to be flat, empty words and I never got the feeling that it was a 'flesh and blood' experience. I had all but given up when curiosity got the better of me and I entered the 'Bisexual' room. I found it quite an odd feeling to have entered a room with that title, but decided that I was always one click away from being 'comfortable', so no harm could really be done.

I found it strangely exhilarating when I was bombarded with "Hi, a/s/l?" greetings, something which was to expected by anybody entering the room. I politely responded with the required details whenever asked, but more often that not was met by "Sorry, too far. Good luck" type of responses. Of those who persisted, rarely did there seem to be any whose conversational styles appealed to me. I was, also, admittedly somewhat ageist, preferring not to speak to anybody younger than myself, so few if any "Hi, a/s/l?" opening went far. After a week or so, it was quite apparent that most members were chatting privately or lurking; altogether a rather dull experience, particularly when the one or two members who caught my imagination seemed to be infrequent visitors. I had pretty much given up on the room as a place to seek pleasure when I received a message that I remember clearly to this day, "54/m/north-west, u?". My response was immediate, I felt compelled to make immediate contact. Odd as it may seem, there was a certain dominance to the way the member replied swiftly, the small talk was no different, but for some reason it felt far more assured than normal. Swift responses and questions; the chat felt more like an interview. I felt that I was in contact with a masterful man, and I realised that I enjoyed that idea. Phil, as his named turned out to be, was certainly somewhat more than just a chat room lurker; he had a directness to him that suggested that he was very much a man of action, who was looking for more physical pleasures than mere virtual titillation.

After ten or fifteen minutes, Phil sent "phone?"; there could be no avoiding the fact that here was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and although his directness was quite exciting, I really wasn't prepared for that particular stage. I politely said that I couldn't, accompanied by a no doubt highly unbelievable excuse that "she's downstairs". Phil was to the point upon receiving that message, his response was a blunt "OK, no worries". In something of a blind panic, I swiftly exited the room, a nervous wreck; I wasn't gay, I knew it, I had simply allowed myself to drift into an uncomfortable situation. I was sure of that. Quite sure.

I sat there, shaking, my mouth was dry; I comforted myself that I had had a narrow escape, yet couldn't help feeling extremely turned on by the blunt dominance of the man. My mind raced, images swirled through my fevered mind as I sought to piece together the information he had imparted: a tall, powerfully built man in his fifties, who had hinted at being well endowed; clearly he had been looking for phone sex, that is what he told me he looked for on the site. I was appalled. Disgusted by the very idea. Turned on like never before. Damn, why hadn't I gone for it, he sounded like the man who had taken Olivia, that powerful experience I had long yearned to recreate. I kicked myself, knowing I had just blown the chance to experience something new, something erotic. No doubt, Phil wouldn't be in the chat again and I would regret it.

I went back into the chat room a couple of days later, searched in vain for Phil's username and managed to get waylaid by a very bland member, allowing myself to spend ten minutes being bored as Hell. It was no little excitement that I noticed Phil enter the room, without hesitating I sent a quick "Hi" hoping against hope that he would overlook my very obvious running away previously. I was overjoyed when he replied with a simple "Are you alone?". I nervously told him that I was, knowing that he would almost certainly send an immediate "phone?" to which I would no doubt respond to with the same blind panic and flee as before. Instead Phil effortlessly guided the chat for ten minutes before asking what I was thinking, I replied that I was wondering if "you are hard?". Did I really send that message? What was I doing, I wasn't gay, not even bisexual. Now was the time to make a swift exit, then came "Yes, are you?". I had typed "Yes" before I even realised that I had done so. The brief exchange that followed remains fresh in my memory. "What do you want to do about it?", wrote Phil, "What do you suggest?", I meekly asked. Then on my screen I saw it, just as before, "phone?". I don't know what had taken over me, but I had no intent of running away, I was a bundle of nerves, but managed to say "OK, give me ten minutes?" and sent him my number and exited the chat room.

I took the phone and lay on the bed, shaking, almost overcome with nerves; how many times I resolved not to answer the phone, I cannot remember, but that was the decision I had made. I lay there, excited, but I was not going to answer the call. I knew that for certain. For ten minutes, I lay there, anxiously. It seemed that he had no intention of calling, no doubt having found somebody with more immediate needs. The phone rang. I answered. My own voice, shaking, barely audible, was met by a deep, resonate voice, which oozed masculinity. There was an accent, perhaps a hint of Welsh mixed with northern English. Phil was masterful, easing my nerves, soothing my fears with words conjured by a dominant male mind. What did I want to do? Put the phone down and hide! I mumbled the word "cock", from what I remember. I wanted Phil to tell me about his cock, to run his powerful hands across my flesh; I told him I wanted to suck his cock, to touch it, to feel its warmth, its hardness. Was I really saying all this? All remember is the sound of his voice, deep, resonant, masculine. All the time I was pulling feverishly as my cock, listening to his voice, which seemed to reverberate to my very core, as he told me of what he wanted to do; how I should not be nervous, that I should relax. He painted a picture with his words, my mind filled with images of this powerful sexual man gently controlling me. Before long, I came, powerfully so. I moaned softly, I told him that I had cum and apologised. His deep voice was full of masculine power, he told me it was OK, that it turned him on that I done. It was what he had wanted. For ten minutes I lay there nervously laughing as he talked deeply but gently, telling me how his hands were running across my skin, how he was kissing me. I fell in love with him during those ten minutes. I had never felt such an overwhelmingly powerful orgasm. What had seemed so wrong, now seemed so right. I wanted more, much more.


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