My recent erotic dreams, I don’t know why they’ve started popping up, have prompted me to relive some of my earlier erotic adventures. Thinking about it, I suppose I haven’t really had that many in the great scheme of things, but every encounter has meant something whether it was a one-off of a longer relationship.
I was having an online chat with a guy recently and one question made me wonder, when was my first experience with a guy? I was generally a late starter sexually, not through lack of interest but lack of confidence, I’ll never forget the first girl I was with, and that remains pretty special, I suppose your first time always is. I kept it very much to myself at the time, but I now realise there was, even then in my late teens, a latent if unexpressed and even unconscious interest in guys too.
You may find part one of this story disappointing but it’s an important part of the chronicle, and I’m sure, dear reader, some will relate to the disappointment!
I somehow managed to get through further education without really expanding my sexual horizons very much, there’s that confidence thing again! I had a few short-term jobs where I met my first ‘real’ girlfriend, who incidentally, gave me my first full-on blow job! After a while, I was established in my first local government job and gradually began to develop a sense of self-belief. I even had a new girlfriend with whom I opened up a little about bisexual fantasies. We talked about it but never did anything about it, but it was a start, of sorts.
Before long, I was sent down to Brighton on a course for a few days. The training dept told me they’d booked a hotel not far from the venue. I drove down early in the morning for the first day and checked into the hotel that evening. I fairly quickly realised that the bar was a popular and busy haunt for the local gay community. Any newfound confidence evaporated as I tried desperately to avoid eye contact, while desperately wanting to make eye contact!
The next evening, I went to the hotel restaurant, it was quite late and there was no one else there. Just as my meal arrived an older gentleman came and sat at a nearby table. Within a couple of minutes, as we were the only people there, we struck up a conversation, mainly small talk, weather, what he did, what I did, impressions of Brighton. A few minutes later he joined me on my table to finish his meal, and we were getting on well, despite what must have been at least a 30-year age gap.
Eventually, with the waiter hovering in a “I-want-to-go-home” kind of way, he suggested we release the poor staff and go to his room for a drink, he was a kind of permanent resident apparently, so he had a few more facilities than the standard rooms.
I wish I could remember more detail but as he handed me a glass of something and sat down, he asked if I’d realised that he was gay. Naively, I hadn’t really even thought about it and had just been enjoying the company and conversation. Normally, I would have been embarrassed but for some reason we just spoke about the inequality because he was of an age to remember being a criminal for his sexuality, at this time in the 80s it was a while before section 28 came in but there was still a sense of stigma attached to being gay.
A couple of drinks later, probably lubricated by whatever it was we were drinking, I confessed that I had a long standing and unfulfilled fantasy to give a man a blow job. “Oh!” He said, with a mix of surprise and hope, at least that’s how I read it.
After checking that I was absolutely sure, he stood, took off his trouser and pants and I positioned myself on my knees and leant down to get started. After a couple of sucks, I asked how it was. “Very good” he replied. What I expected was that his soft cock would grow in my mouth and become hard. It didn’t. After what seemed like an age of working my jaw, nothing continued to happen, and I had to confess that it wasn’t doing anything for me. He was very decent and understanding about it as he stepped back into his clothes, we had another drink and he spoke jokingly about ‘the death of a fantasy”, and I left to go down to my room where I had a fairly sleepless night wondering what had happened.
Fast forward. Several years, 3 jobs, a marriage and 3 kids later, I’m suddenly single again. Divorce has knocked a lot of the slowly developed confidence out of me and I’m living vicariously through the internet, which I had only quite recently discovered.
Inevitably, because the fantasy clearly hadn’t really died, I found myself drawn towards gay chat sites where I spoke to guys about finding the idea of sex with men appealing. I’m sure a lot of men will recognise that pattern of exploring your curiosity. After a few chats with one guy, he eventually persuaded me to visit him in person. So, as I didn’t have the children that night, I got in my car and headed his way. It took a while and a few phone calls to find his flat but find it I did and knocked on the door.
He was a good-looking French guy, about my age with dark hair and a slim body. He offered me a glass of wine, and we sat and chatted for a few minutes while we drank. Then there was a moment when we made eye contact and before I knew what was happening, we were kissing. To my eternal surprise, I felt a stirring in my pants. He pulled back and stood up in front of me and very slowly took off his shirt to reveal a body that was in good shape. Equally slowly, he undid his belt and slipped his jeans and pants down, to allow a semi erect penis to pop up. Then he stepped out of them and flicked them away with his foot. “Do You like?” He asked. Looking at a fairly magnificent cock with a glistening tip I just nodded and began to reach forward, unsure if I intended to just touch or suck it but he pushed me back and said, “Not yet” Then he sat down beside me on the sofa and said, “Your turn” pointing to the space right in front of him. So, I stood, turned to face him and disrobed exactly as he had done, but probably with a bit less style. As kept my eyes roving between his and of course his cock, I eased the waist of my trousers down, my now fully erect cock sprang into full view. “Hmm, nice”, he said.
I sat down again beside him and with one hand, we drank wine and with the other, we stoked each other, me trying to mirror, and learn from, the way he handled me.
Then he put his glass down and lay down on the sofa behind me, edging me forward a little. “Help yourself!” This was it. I leant forward, found the angle too uncomfortable and adjusted myself so I was kneeling in front of him and slowly bent forward to take his penis into my mouth. The contrast to my first experience was extreme. This cock was hard, responding to me, glistening when I pulled back to look and at it before going back for more. I gripped the shaft and bounced my head up and down. At one point I have a distinct memory of coming up for breath and saying, “This is fantastic” before returning to sucking and enjoying a cock for the first time. I really was! I was loving the taste, the texture, the sensation of feeling it get harder as my lips and tongue went to work. I was consciously not touching my own cock because the novelty was so intense, I was incredibly turned on and feared I’d come instantly.
“I don’t want to come yet” he said as he eased me back into a sitting position and poured us both another glass. We sat there drinking, chatting and fondling each other for a while before he suddenly bent down and took me into his mouth and sucked very deeply, I spilled my wine and gasped. That felt amazing.
“Let’s do each other” he said as he again lay down and kind of guided me onto all fours over him, with my face over his cock, and my legs either side of his head. My head went down, and I took that cock deep in my mouth and enjoyed it. Looking back, I’m slightly embarrassed to say that feeling his cock in my mouth and his hand grasping mine to guide it into his mouth was too much for me. The novelty, the taboo, the long-repressed fantasy, the intensity of new sensations – I shot my load onto his chest even before my cock reached his mouth.
I’m sure I heard a gentle little sigh of disappointment as he slipped out from under me, giving me just one last little suck before he stood up. “It really is your first time” thankfully he was able to laugh in a way that conveyed understanding. I was very apologetic and disappointed for him, well, for both of us really, but he was very kind and said he’d been exactly the same for his first time, but I pointed out that he had probably been a teenager at the time. He smiled.
We dressed, finished our wine and embraced as he saw me out and I drove home with very mixed emotions, I felt warm and satisfied, guilty that it had been far better for me than for him and determined that this would not be my last gay experience. That night I slept well, sound in the knowledge that I was, undeniably, bisexual, I loved girls, but I liked men too and since then, I’ve built up a bank of memories with both… and become slightly better at controlling myself!
And they were the two stories I used to answer that chat question about my first experiences with men!
