Written by Jonniespunk

8 Mar 2018

They say fellas think about sex about ten times an hour on average. Clearly, I’m not average. If they included me in surveys I’d probably skew the figures. Sometimes I think I’m always ‘on’, hyperalert to every sexual signal however subtle or nuanced. If there was such a thing as testosterone poisoning I’d be screwed. My tendency to be incessantly on the lookout, has landed me in some difficult situations on occasion. I’m thinking about the times I’ve gone for a walk in the woods or along a towpath and cruised the wrong guy. It’s also brought plenty of opportunities too, and I’ve shagged fellas in some unusual locations: the stairwell of a multi-storey car park, the loading bay of a warehouse, the first-class carriage of a sparsely occupied train and once, believe it or not, I was sucked off in a bus shelter in central Birmingham. Anyhow, I thought I’d write down some of these recollections, if not for posterity, then for the pleasure of remembering.

Over 25 years ago now, back in student days I’d hitched down to Kent to get the ferry to Calais. I was heading for the Charante region of France to join a couple of friends working on a campsite for the summer and hoping to get there at minimal expense. I’d been lucky. I managed to get to Dover in two lifts from York. The first was from a trim suited and booted guy, probably early 40s at a push, dark curly hair and a very pleasant demeanour. He turned out to be a trade union official heading to London, and I was pleased as punch I’d have a fair bit of time to get to know him. We chatted amiably all the way and we even stopped off for coffee and which he very kindly insisted on paying for. My budget didn’t even run to motorway cafes back then! He told me he enjoyed picking up hitchers as it helped the time pass quickly on boring motorway journeys. I struggled a bit with flirting. I moved my knee almost right up to the gear stick. He barely had to change gear. I did the crotch watching routine and when that failed to produce a result, I adjusted my hard-on to make it as conspicuous as possible. Hell, I even tried to say intelligent stuff about trade unions hoping he might like me for my mind. He continued chatting, but he didn’t take bait. We parted company at services just outside London, we shook hands and he gave me a union lapel badge. My tongue was hanging out.

The second lift came along swiftly. This time it was an older guy, a lorry driver. What a contrast. I’m not hung up on the body beautiful, I genuinely like a variety of types, but this fella would be pushing the bar even in my testosterone weakened state! He was thin, with a heavily lined face marked by deep grooves from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth. His bony forehead had more ridges than a George Foreman grill. Still, I couldn’t stop myself checking the crotch of his overalls for signs of life. Nothing. Conversation petered out very quickly and anyway, he seemed irritable and ill-tempered. You’ve got to be grateful for small mercies though. Somehow, this guy found it in his heart to take me right to the port and I was relieved when the ride was over.

I boarded the ferry as a foot passenger. I was especially cock-a-hoop because there was a special deal on. Total fare seven quid! I decided to celebrate with a coffee and headed straight for the café. Being among the first to board, there was no queue and I got a coffee and a comfy seat against a panoramic window and with the best people-watching potential. I was talent-spotting the line of people forming at the self-service counter when I saw a striking looking guy walk in and take a tray. He was about 5’10”, well styled wavy greying hair, medium build and a dark complexion with five-o’clock shadow. I wondered if he was Italian or Spanish. His dress was casual but elegant. Black 501s fitted enough to see he had sturdy thighs and a firm arse, with a black clingy jumper that showed off a decent set of pecs and broad shoulders. The blue neckerchief knotted at his throat somehow gave him suave Euro-cache. He had a green Barbour-type waxed jacket draped over one arm.

The server placed a glass of red wine and a black coffee on his tray and he manoeuvred it awkwardly along the counter to the cashier with his coat hanger arm while fiddling around in his pocket for money with the other hand. I watched him pay the cashier, wave off the change, and then lift the tray one handed. Suddenly the illusion of suave turned to slapstick as he struggled to balance the tray. His coat fell to the floor and he tottered towards the nearest surface which happened to be the table right in front of me! The tray came down forcefully, wine sloshed over the edge of the glass, coffee slopped into the saucer and he looked straight at me, raised his arms and shrugged his shoulders. Definitely French I thought. I got up retrieved his coat and put it on one of those upholstered bucket chairs at the table. I grinned at him and to my surprise he picked up the glass of wine and licked the streaks on the side off the glass. He placed it on the table and then enquired, “English?” “Yes”. He stood in front of me and extended his hand, “I’m Christian.” The hand shake continued for what seemed like an age before he cocked his head to one side and said, “…and you are?” “Oh yes, sorry, I’m Jonathan,” I managed to get out, feeling suddenly totally discombobulated. “May I sit here before I pull any more Charlie Chaplin moves?” “Yes, be my guest.”

Christian dealt in rock. Marble and granite to be precise. He’d had been to Canterbury to see a housing developer building a set of high end apartments. A big contract by his account. He was Swiss by birth and was raised in Geneva, a French speaking city although like many in the region he could easily switch between French, English, German and Italian. Brits just don’t seem to have the same talent for languages, maybe it’s simply because it’s not required. He was heading for his home just outside Limoges in an area of west-central France that used to be called Limousin, before they messed with the boundaries.

The conversation went on for maybe twenty minutes, before he suddenly exclaimed, “Jonathan, I’m forgetting my manners. Would you like coffee, or a glass of wine perhaps? Something to eat?” I hesitated for a moment and then refused, “Tea perhaps? An Englishman must like tea.” Jesus, he was charmer, I loved the way he called me an Englishman where others might choose the word ‘boy’. I couldn’t refuse, “Okay Christian, Tea it is.” We laughed, he went to the counter, ordered an English Breakfast Tea and a small glass of red wine. Everything must come with a glass of red in Christian’s world I thought. “Need any help with the tray?” I mouthed. He laughed and brought the tea over placing it in front of me. As he stood there I noticed the impression he made in the front of his 501s. There must be a pound of plums in there at least! “Jonathan, your tea.” My attention clicked back. I’d been caught looking. “Thanks Christian, you’re very kind.”

We skirted around the danger zone for a while yet. Why the silver band? Was he married? He talked of a partner, “But, it’s very on and off. You could even say it’s a seasonal thing.” He laughed out the last part of the sentence. He asked me about student life and my upbringing. “A contrast to yours Christian. I’m a working class Black Country lad and the first in my family to go to University.” I had to explain the Black Country bit. He was more familiar with York where I was a student, and he’d travelled around south-east England a fair bit, but he drew a blank on territories between.

He was so easy to talk to, I was very attracted to him, but couldn’t believe he’d be interested in me on any level except as someone with whom to pass an otherwise dull and uneventful journey. So, I was taken aback when he asked if I’d like a lift as far as Limoges,

“You’re not an axe murderer, are you?”

“Do I look like an axe murderer?”

“I dunno, I’ve never met one.”

“No, I’m not an axe murderer, I could probably tickle you to death though.”

“I hate being tickled, I’ll take the axe please.”

As the ferry docked we got up to make our way to the car deck and for perhaps 10 seconds he put his arm around my shoulder and guided me towards the correct exit and then went ahead, “Follow me.” I did.

Within a couple of hours we were skirting Paris. Conversation was flowing, and Christian touched my thigh briefly a few times to emphasise a point. I made the same gesture back a few times and when he asked for a travel sweet from the glove compartment I unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. The sexual tension was making my balls ache. It was then that he dropped into the conversation that we probably had another six hours ahead of us and should make a stop. I was shocked. Clearly, the geography of France was not my strongest topic. Anyhow, we pulled into a service station, got a coffee and a sandwich and stretched our legs for a while. I picked up some Dutch Stroopwafels as we left, “Well Christian, we’re going to need stamina if there’s another six hours to go.”

I started to get a little sleepy and he reached back for a lever I my seat reclined. He repositioned my seat belt, pulling it down my chest. All the time I was hyper-aware of his touch. I decided to relax and just let the thought of him naked wash over me. I dozed for a while until a change in the sound of the road altered and I realised we were pulling off the main road. When I fully came to we were in a car park with a woodland area adjacent. There were picnic tables on the grass verges, and a couple of other cars parked up, but nobody in sight.

“Jonathan, let me be honest with you. I want to make love to you.” The phrase “make love to you” resonated. Nobody had ever said such a thing to me before. “Here, in the car?” “No, we should stretch our legs. There in the woods. I want you in nature. It’s a thing I have.” I was nervous, the phrase was ambiguous. Would he want to fuck me? I’d only been fucked once and I wasn’t eager to repeat it. I just didn’t have the vocabulary to deal with the situation I found myself in. I was 21 years old, I wasn’t naïve, but I suddenly found myself ill-equipped for this level of frankness. By Christ I wanted him, but this left me flummoxed. I thought my heart would pound out of my chest. He sensed my dilemma and embraced me with his large hands stroking my back. He bent to kiss me as he ran his hands over my arse and then up to the nape of my neck. He took my head in his hands, gently pulling me in for a kiss, a very deep kiss. I just melted as I felt the heat of his body as he pressed into mine and as he pushed one hand up my t-shirt to caress my nipple he slid the other down the back of my trousers with his fingers finding my arse crack. He stroked me so gently I could feel a wave of goose bumps over my body and my nipples hardened, my cock stiffened, and it occurred to me that I’d been having sex with boys. All my experience was with boys and here I was with a man.

With a sort of sweet resignation, I stepped back, removed my shoes and socks and I could feel the blades of grass between my toes and the liberating coolness of going barefoot. I unbuckled my belt and in one move unbuttoned my fly. He took me by the waist and turned me around and yanked my t-shirt upwards. Dutifully I raised my arms, a sort of surrender and off came my top. He pulled me towards him and kissed and licked my neck and shoulders as he toyed with my tits delicately stroking my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. The pleasure was so intense and as I pressed myself against him more fervently in response I could feel this hard cock in the small of my back. He slid his hands into my pants and took down my jeans and I stepped out of them. I strained to turn my head towards him and he kissed me delicately at first, licking the corners of my mouth and then going in harder with his tongue. It’s not the first time I’ve been stark bollock naked in the wood, but I didn’t give a fuck about anyone seeing us. It added an extra frisson for me.

“Are you okay Jonathan?”

“I’m a little bit nervous.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“No. I want to want to see you naked Christian.”

Once he stripped I could see that Christian was in very good shape. His skin was dark except for a thick paler band low around his hips and the top of his legs. He was covered in a mat of thick black hair concentrated around his cock which was darker than the rest of his body and semi-erect. Thankfully, it was not as big as I had imagined when feeling it through denim. His foreskin was retracted half way over his helmet and his balls hung heavy and low from the dense cluster of pubic hair. I knelt and kissed and licked his beautiful bollocks. I stroked and cupped them, indeed they felt like two plums. I explored between his legs and, as I worked my finger into his arse crack, he relaxed his buttocks allowing me to finger his hole which was buried in the densest forest imaginable. He sighed, closed his eyes, stroked my hair and let his head flop backwards as I slid his foreskin right over his knob with my lips. For a second, I was staggered by my own boldness, lost in the moment.

He pulled me up and embraced me closely saying, “You are a very beautiful young man Jonathan and I am a lucky man, I am so glad we met.” This put me in a tailspin, I wanted to argue, but I was lost for words and something about it felt sincere and uncontrived. In those days I could fall in love at the drop of a hat although I later learned that it might only be for minutes rather than a lifetime.

He lay beside me on the ground, stretched out with the full length of his dick along the crack of my arse. He reached over and took my cock in his hand and started stroking me. I just lay back enjoying that exquisite feeling. As soon as I moaned with pleasure over one thing, he switched tactic. He moved from my cock to my nipples, kissing and sucking on my neck. He cupped my balls, his fingers gliding over my perineum and then up my shaft wiping up some of the strings of copious precum and rubbing it into my butthole until I could feel that my crack was sodden with it. Slowly and carefully he worked his finger into my hole until he eventually he was gliding it in and out slowly and rhythmically. As he did so he sat up and moved so that he was kneeling between my legs. All the time he continued slowly finger fucking me and then begin to lick me, moving swiftly between my cock and nipples. The intensity was almost too much, I could feel my balls tighten. “Christian, stop. I’m afraid I’ll cum too soon.” “Oui, uh yes.” He left his finger in place and just hovered there, gently blowing a stream of cool air over my hard wet cock.

“Christian, I’ve only been fucked once before, and it hurt like hell.”

“Stay with the moment, Jonathan. How does my finger feel? Can you tighten your ass?”

I tightened my grip on his finger and closed my eyes. He sucked my tits teasing them with little flicks of the tongue. He kissed my neck and then full on my mouth his tongue moving over mine with the same rhythm as it slid in and out of my arse. He ran his tongue over my belly, up my body and lingered in my armpits all the time keeping pushing in and out of me.

“Tighten your ass again you sexy fuck. Now relax.”

I did as he said and knew how it felt not to resist. As soon as I’d learned this a delicious warm tingle spread up from my arsehole through my body. Christian lay on top of me and lifted my legs over his shoulders. My arse was pointing straight up in the air and Christian held my cheeks apart, tongued my balls and then down to my arse hole. I felt the energy level go up a notch as he darted in and out of my butt hole. I moaned and whimpered, “Fuck me. Fuck my arse.” He lowered me onto his thighs and I felt his cock slip between my cheeks, his bell end firmly against my hole. I wasn’t naïve, but I didn’t know a guy could fuck a guy in this position!

I was trembling a bit and feeling like I might lose control and blow my load. My brain was lagging behind the action and before could get it together enough to say anything I felt a sharp pain as he slipped the head of his cock in me! I put my hands against his chest and pushed against him and he held his cock there for a few seconds. He held still with just the head inside me and gave me time to relax. I was positive I wasn’t going to be able to take this but after a moment the pain diminished. I took my hands off his chest and wrapped my arms around him as he pushed a little more in. He kept sliding it in a little at a time until I felt his bush and balls against my cheeks the just held it there. The discomfort gone, the pleasure took over. As he was gliding in and out I gripped his dick which made him sigh deeply and sent a jolt for pleasure through me!

He pulled his cock out until just his knob was inside me then slid back the full length of his shaft. It seemed like it felt better with each slide! I still had my arms wrapped around him and now I wrapped both legs around his waist and tried to help pull him back in. He fell forward onto me pumping away, thrusting harder and forcing his tongue into my mouth. The more he speeded up the more I wanted. I felt his balls slapping against my ass and it was feeling like he was trying to shove them in me also! I was taking his full strokes now! He’d pull back till just the head was in me the slam back in hard enough to make my ass cheeks bounce. He started talking about how great my ass felt and how he was going to fill me full of spunk. The more and the nastier he talked the more excited I got! He broke out of my arms and raised back on his knees grabbed my ankles and pushed my legs so far back and out the he was driving that cock straight down into me. When he hit bottom that first time I started to cum. Long spurts of spunk reached my neck and chest. As my arse tightened around his cock with each squirt it must have sent him over the edge. There was a flood of warmth in my arse, which I knew was his cum.

With the release of tension, we both started giggling uncontrollably. He held me with his cock buried in me for what seemed like an age. Eventually as he softened and slipped out of me, he eased my legs back to the ground. We lay there for a bit and then separated, still giggling on and off like two school boys. The play continued as we dressed. He mock whipped my ass flicking it with my t-shirt, much as you might fool around in the gym changing room.

As we got to the car, Christian looked pensive and as he opened the door for me, he said, “Jonathan, it’s going to be late by the time we get to Limoges. Our little detour has cost us over an hour. I’m not sure you’ll be able to reach Angouleme tonight. Perhaps you would do me the honour of staying with me tonight? I can make a bit of supper, you can rest, and I’ll point you in the right direction in the morning. What do you say?” “I’m a vegetarian Christian. Is it a problem?”, “Pas problem Jonathan, we can figure something out.”