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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
FIRST SEXUAL ENCOUNTERSDo remember your ‘first time’?The first time that someone paid sexual attention to you. The first timethat someone looked at you with a look in his eyes that thrilled andterrified you at the same time. The first time that someone else’s lookmade your penis harden and lengthen. The first time that you knew someonewanted to touch you… down there.Of course you do.Go back to that person, that place, that moment. Your cock is stiffeningalready.I admit I’ve always been fascinated by first time encounters. At leastsince the unshaven man with the smell of rum on his breath found me playingon the beach when I was six years old. Was that where it all began? Or wasmy destiny already in my genes.But this is not my story…I put out a general inquiry across the Net, and was staggered by the numberof responses I got. Some of the accounts were obviously fabricated, some sopornographic and violent I dismissed them; some were sick fantasies, butsome had that ring of authenticity, clearly from the heart rather merelyfrom the genitals.I have selected a number of these. I have changed all the names, people andplaces, though I imagine my contributors had already done that. I alsotidied up some of the writing, but never to the extent (I hope) of alteringthe mood, intentions or emotional hinterland of the contributor.I offer no comments of my own. I am neither advocating nor condemning; Ileave that to others. I will, however, note Nancy Friday’s comments sinceher attitude seems as honest and humane as any others I’ve encountered.”Parents worry about masturbation, but anxiety about homosexuality is sogreat that it isn’t even mentioned, lest the injunction itself ‘give theboy ideas.’ k**s who learn to masturbate on their own are thrilled andrelieved to find the whole baseball team has been engaged in circle jerksfor months. Goosing each other in the shower, mutual masturbation in themovies, reading dirty books and magazines together when there are no adultsaround – it’s all just horsing around, breaking the rules – that’s how boysare. Contrary to popular superstition, such early homoerotic play canstrongly confirm gender identity. ‘All the guys do it.'”And Shere Hite reported:”What is startling is the increase in the number of boys who, as teenagersand older c***dren, are having sexual experiences with other boys. Equallyintriguing is the kind of sex boys are now having together. In the 1970’s,the contact was mostly mutual masturbation, often without touching eachother. Now, it seems much more common for boys to touch each other,masturbate the other boy, while 36 per cent of boys also perform fellatiotogether. Around 20 per cent have experienced anal penetration.”Nancy Friday continues: “This is not to say that these men feel no guilt oranxiety today about their homosexual memories or fantasies; after all,they’re now grown-up. and know what society thinks of such ideas. … Somemen spend their lives ‘forgetting’ early physical contact with their ownsex. (Some men, of course, never had it.) The men (reporting to Friday) notonly remember, but like to play around with fantasies (and memories) thatrelease those boyhood energies again. … They have the courage to face thedark mysteries and alternatives Eros offers us all. Why should our responsebe a kind of flight from freedom, an automatic labeling that slams the dooron further thought.”We can all agree with Nancy Friday’s conclusions: “Life is all aboutchoices.”Date: 25-08-98 (16:41) Number: 007 To: Apollo Refer#: 938 From: Nicholas T.Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGEIt was the summer of 1983. I was at a language school in Eastbourne. I wastwelve years old. I’m half Lebanese, half Italian. My father wanted me toimprove my English. It was a residential summer school. There werestudents from all over the world, but especially from Spain andItaly. Everything was first class.My English was good. I got into the top class with about 15 other 12 and 13year old boys and girls. The guy who taught the class was great. A superteacher and really funny. It was obvious he liked me from the start. Whenwe were getting chosen for the classes, I caught his eye in the diningroom. We gave each other a big smile, and that was that.My teacher was also a brilliant tennis player. He gave tennis lessons someafternoons. I always signed up for the tennis lessons because I reallywanted to improve my tennis. It was a great bonus to find my Englishteacher was also my tennis teacher.The summer of 1983 was one of the hottest summers England ever had. Afterthe first week, everybody used to disappear into Eastbourne in theafternoon, then do sports in the evening when it was cooler. Only a coupleof us stayed behind for tennis because the official lessons were changed tothe afternoon because of the heat. In the end, only my teacher and I wereleft on the tennis courts. The whole school was pretty much deserted in theafternoons.One afternoon, about 2.00, we were in my teacher’s room. Every teacher hadhis or her own bedroom. They were mixed up with the students’ rooms so theteachers could supervise us. Usually you never saw them around their roomsat all except late at night when they staggered up the stairs to bed.We were in my teacher’s room while he was getting his tennis gear ready. Iwas in a tennis shirt, white shorts, white socks and trainers. It reallywas hot. The breeze was blowing the curtains through the open windows. Idived on the bed and lay back. Everything had become so friendly andinformal. I put my arms under my head and chatted away while sir gotready. I told him I probably wouldn’t play well because I’d cramp in mylegs. I really did: they were aching because I’d been doing so much sport.Sir sat down at the edge of the bed and started massaging my legs,squeezing and kneading the knotted muscles, especially behind my calves. Itfelt really wonderful. We didn’t say much. We just looked at eachother. Then he asked me if I ached anywhere else. I said my shoulders wereaching, too.”Take off your shirt.” He leaned over me and massaged my shoulders, hishands slipping down over my chest. His fingers and thumbs lingered over mynipples.This was the first time anybody had touched me sexually. I wasn’t ac***d. I’d learned how to masturbate earlier that year, experimenting inthe bath, and I knew some men liked boys, all Arab boys learn that from anearly age. My penis got really hard. My teacher’s fingers brushed mystomach and then slipped slightly lower. Suddenly he stood up and walked tothe window. He stood there, looking out over the school grounds.I slipped open the top of my shorts. When he turned round, he looked atme. Then his eyes ran the length of my body. He sat down and undid mytennis shorts, stroking the inside of my thighs but not touching myprick. I could feel it bulging the silk underwear I had on. I raised mybottom from the bed and he worked my shorts and my underpants down to myankles. I kicked off my trainers and he slid my things off completely.My teacher began to make love to my body, still not touching my prick washard and throbbing. I was 12, nearly 13, but I’d a good-sized prick, about4 inches long and an inch in thickness. Of course, as a good Moslem boy Iwas circumcised, and it had been done really neatly. I have light brownskin (my mother is Italian) but my dick is noticeably darker in colour. Atthat time, my pubic hair was just coming in; I was a little worried in casemy teacher thought I was a baby.He went on making love to my body, running his lips over my chest, stomach,and then up and down my legs and thighs. It was wonderful, but I couldn’twait for him to get to my ‘zob’, that’s what Arab boys call their pricks.At last I felt his fingers curl around my erection. He jerked me gently fora few moments, then I felt his hot, wet mouth swallow me to the base andbegin sucking. His head rose and fell on my prick as he sucked me withdifferent pressures. I can’t describe the pleasure it gave me!After a few minutes, I could feel the pressure building in my balls, and myprick seemed to swell even more. Just when I thought I was going to cum,teacher took his mouth away, put his hands on my hips and urged me overonto my front. I panicked a little because I thought he was going to tryand fuck me. That wouldn’t be right. Sucking cock is okay, but fucking isgoing too far for an Arab boy. Still, I was half Italian, so I turned over.He began to kissing between my shoulder blades while his hands squeezed andkneaded the cheeks of my bum. I was amazed how good it felt. I wanted tolie there all afternoon while he manipulated my flesh. Then I felt hiskisses going lower and lower. With his hands he parted my bum cheeks. Icouldn’t believe it – he was licking inside my crack! Then the tip oftongue touched my shit hole, then he was kissing it, I mean really kissingit, big wet sloppy kisses. For a moment I was disgusted, then I realisedhow good it felt. I let out a big sigh and gave myself up to the pleasureof it all. I might have drifted off to sleep!Sir pulled at my shoulders. I turned round and sat up, a bit bleary-eyed.He urged me off the bed. He stripped off his tennis shirt. He had caught alot of sun and looked tanned and bronzed. He lay down on the bed, head onthe pillow, and without words instructed me to straddle his chest, my kneeseither side of him. My stiff prick was pointing right at his mouth. Ididn’t need any more instructions. I leaned forward, my hands on the wallbehind the bed, and shoved my prick into sir’s open mouth. Then I began toshove myself in and out his mouth. When I was in his mouth, he’d hold methere for a few seconds and suck hard, then release me. His hands werebehind me, gripping and squeezing my buttocks. I went faster and deeper androugher.I couldn’t keep it up for long. I was desperate to cum. I thought teacherwould push me away when I started to cum, but he held my buttocks andpushed me in right to the base of my prick. It started jumping around inhis mouth as I spurted into him. Four, five, maybe six big spurts. I hadn’tmasturbated since I’d arrived in England, so I was full of juice.When I was drained, sir let me rest there for a couple of minutes. Then heslapped my bottom and said, “Come on, Nicki, we’ve got a match to play.”We got off the bed, got dressed and walked across the playing fields to thetennis courts. I was laughing and joking all the way. After a couple ofminutes, teacher began to laugh and joke and be his normal self. I was gladabout this. I didn’t feel guilty or ashamed about what had happened.That evening, there was a disco. Everybody was pairing off. After the lastdance, I took an Italian girl to my room. I got inside her clothes, and shetook my prick out and started to play with it. It was great! The dooropened and my teacher stepped into the room. He didn’t look shocked. Hedidn’t even look very surprised. He said, “Remember it’s lights out atmidnight, you two.” Then he left and closed the door behind him. He said itwith a smile.The next two weeks were great. My teacher and I didn’t have sex again, butthat didn’t spoil our relationship. In fact, it was better even though Ihad my Italian girlfriend for the two weeks. Teacher still taught superlessons, we still played tennis, and sometimes we’d go for a meal inEastbourne together.On the day I left, my teacher took me aside and told me he loved me. Idon’t know if that’s true, but I’m glad he said it. I sent him somephotographs from home. We kept in touch for a couple of years. I’m nearly30 now. I’ve got a wife and two boys. I’ve never been sexually involvedwith another man, or with a boy. I don’t resent what happened inEastbourne. These things happen. I wish my teacher well.Date: 25-08-98 (17:01) Number: 009 To: Apollo Refer#: 942 From: David M.Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGEI was twelve, going on thirteen. I’d just started at a Scottish boys’grammar school, which indicates how long ago this happened. I hadn’tthought much about sex in junior school. I’m not sure anybody did in thosedays.It was mid-September. You often have an Indian summer in Scotland inSeptember and October. It was warm, balmy and sunny. At lunchtimes, a lotof boys used to go down onto the lower playing fields for a game offootball. I must have been a bit weird even then because I actually wantedto play in goal – no self-respecting Scottish schoolboy ever does! Thelower playing fields were at the bottom of this huge crater in the groundwhich had been grassed over by the years.That day was really warm. Everyone had his blazer and tie off (strictlyforbidden, but few masters came near the ‘crater’). We had a really goodgame. Everyone was hot and sticky. The first bell went and most peoplegrabbed their stuff and headed up the hill. A few of us die-hards went onplaying. Then the second bell went. Seconds later, there was only Eric andmyself left, with Eric taking a few last pot shots at me in goal.I didn’t know Eric well. We hadn’t been at the same junior school. He’dbeen to a school in the West End of the city while I came from ‘the wrongside of the tracks’. Eric had money. I had brains. But Eric was fun, and Iappreciated how much he had befriended this ‘fish out of water’. Eventhough we’d been at the school for less than a month, Eric was a popularboy. Not bright but generous. Not intelligent but witty. Athletic. Andextremely good-looking. Being good-looking is important in all boys’schools, probably even more so than girls’ schools since prestige andstatus are all-important amongst boys.Good-looking then. Well-built, regular features, open face, freckles,well-cared for teeth. And a big prick. A very big prick. An outstandinglybig prick. This was a grammar school, so, after games, we’d all pile intothe communal showers. It came as a bit of a shock to me, but after a coupleof sessions, I didn’t give a toss, so to speak. Of course, we all sneakilychecked each other out in the showers: that’s what pubescent/adolescentboys do. Some boys got erections and were ribbed unmercifully, but all ofit was done in good humour. I don’t think at that time, at least inScotland, sex for teenagers had been invented.Ten inches. That’s what they said Eric had – ten inches. I remember it asbeing long and thick, but it wasn’t ten inches. It was just under eight. Iknow, I measured it. Eric would stand there starkers, towelling himselfdown, with his hose pipe bouncing between his legs, with half the roomtaking sneaky peeks while the other half called out ribald comments. Ericignored the lot of them.The only boy amongst First Year who could rival Eric was – me. Don’t get mewrong. I’m not boasting. I didn’t have ten or even eight inches, but I didhave six inches. Somebody asked me how I managed to get such a big dick. Itold them the truth: I hadn’t the faintest idea. But I had something elsemany of the other boys didn’t have: pubic hair, lots of it, thick, curly,dark brown pubic hair. Eric was much fairer, so what he had didn’t show upso much. It felt good to be one up on him, at least in one area.Back to that September day. We grabbed our blazers, ties and shirts (yes,Eric and I’d gone that far in breaking the rules) and started to scrambleup the grassy hill. Eric was behind me. He slipped (he said), grabbed forsomething, got me, and together we tumbled back down in the hill. We endedup in a heap of arms, legs and clothing. Then it happened.Eric shifted till he was sitting astride me. He put his knees on my armmuscles, such as they were, pinning me to the grass. He was looking downinto my face. He reached behind him and stroked my genitals! I wasstunned. My face, already red from our exertions, burst into flames. Itried to heave him away, but he bore down on me, not enough to hurt, justenough to pin me there and kept stroking me, his fingers fumbling till theyfound me cock.I’m not sure what I would have done if Eric hadn’t kept looking straightinto my eyes. His hair flopped over his face. He was sweating. He pushedthe hair out of his eyes and kept looking at me. I turned my head way,turned it back, closed my eyes, open them.Horror of horrors. I was getting an erection. I had an erection. I wasstiff and hard under his touch. His fingers and thumb closed round my stiffpenis and began working the skin along the shift. At last he spoke. “Do Ihave to hold you down?” he asked. I lay there for a minute. I shook my headfrom side to side. Eric slid from my body and we lay side to side. He wasstill manipulating me. “We can’t stay here,” he said. “I know,” Isaid. “The sheds,” he said. I nodded.We scrambled up, grabbed our clothes and headed across the fields, awayfrom the school.The ‘sheds’ was the polite name for the boys’ latrines on the far side ofthe playing fields. Smoking went on there. Everybody knew that. So did sex,but we were too new to know that.We got to the sheds and slipped inside. I was trembling, so, I realised wasEric. He took our blazers and ties and hung them on a hook on the back ofthe shed door. “I’ll go first,” he said. I nodded, not sure what heintended.Eric sat down on one of the toilets and pulled me towards him. He opened mybelt, unbuttoned my flies, then dragged down my flannels and Y-fronts to myankles. I was exquisitely embarrassed. My cock was still hard and alreadyslick with pre-cum. Eric fondled me for a bit, then without a by-your-leaveopened his mouth and sucked me in as far as my prick would go. I almostfainted! The idea of sucking someone’s prick had never crossed my mind evenin some of my wilder masturbatory fantasies.I stood there and watched my penis slide in and out of Eric’s mouth,fascinated by the way it bulged his cheeks, and amazed he could get so muchof me inside him. Where was it all going – down his throat? I put my handson his head and instinctively, I suppose, began pushing and pulling to findthe rhythms I liked best. One of Eric’s hands worked the base of my cockwhile the other played with my balls. Wonderful! But when his lower handslipped into my crack and headed for my bumhole, that was too much! Iclenched my hole and clasped my legs together. Eric didn’t persist. I wishhe had.Eric brought me to the brink of orgasm at least five times. My prick wasgoing frantic, my heart was racing. Then when I thought I couldn’t standany more, he let me come – and he let me come in his mouth! I couldn’tbelieve it. We’d done a bit of biology in junior school, so I knew whatsemen was (and I’d done my own ‘research’ in the school library), but forsomeone to actually swallow it! Eric’s gulps filled a stinking shed thatseemed at that moment to be the most romantic place on the planet. Hewaited until I’d relaxed completely in his mouth, slipped me out, took ahandkerchief from his pocket and wiped my cock and his lips. Sheer class!It was my turn, and to be honest I panicked a bit. “You don’t have to useyour mouth if you don’t want to,” said Eric reassuringly. “Your hand willdo fine.” I took this as a personal challenge and swallowed every drop heshot down the back of my throat.Ten inches? No. But it was challenge enough to get even four inches ofEric’s cock into my mouth.”What do we do now?” I squeaked as we did up our buttons, pulled onblazers, knotted each other’s ties, and considered our strategy for thetest of the afternoon.”We can’t get back into school,” said Eric. “They’ll have done the registerby now. Let’s think. Yes, you got too much sun at lunchtime. You threwup. I was worried, so I took you home. I live in Stirling Road. We’ll gothere. Look sick. I can talk my mother into anything. We’ll get a note fromher. Then we’ll come back to school; that’ll look good. No. On secondthoughts, we won’t come back to school this afternoon. My mother will tellyou – us – to stay at home at rest for the afternoon. Then at half threewe’ll go swimming. How does that sound?”Brilliant,” I said.”Let’s go,” he said.Eric and I had sex together for the next two years. It was all wonderfullyuncomplicated. As far as I know, we were faithful to each other. We were inthe same cricket, football and tennis teams, Eric always a general, myselfalways a foot soldier. I was in every top academic set, Eric in everybottom set (but this was a grammar school).We both discovered girls in our Third Year. One evening, in Stirling Park,we sat and discussed our futures. We did that now and again. We decidedwe’d grown out of ‘k**dies’ stuff’. For the first and last time, we snoggedeach other. Then we went and played snooker. We never had sex with eachother again.Eric still in the same city. He’s a successful lawyer, married with threec***dren.I’ve been married twice, divorced twice, two c***dren.I’ve loved three people romantically in my life.Eric was the first.Date: 25-08-98 (18:23) Number: 016 To: Apollo Refer#: 947 From: Luigi P.Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGEI am interested by the story Nicholas, the Lebanese-Italian boy, sentyou. I am Italian also, and I was seduced in England in the summer of 1983,also in a summer school. I was only 9. But it did not happen in Eastbourne,it happened in another town on the south coast.We were a group from Italy, about 20 Italian boys and girls. The oldest was14, the youngest was 9. That was me.I was a little crazy in those days, and everybody spoiled me. I had longblond hair, and my jeans were always too big for me. They were alwayssliding down the back showing my bottom. I hated underpants and I refusedto wear them.We were staying in a big country house. We had English lessons in themorning and games and trips in the afternoon.The owners of the house had a son and daughter. Chris was 14 and Emily was10. I played a lot of the time with Emily.One afternoon everybody went on a shopping trip to the town. I didn’t gobecause I didn’t have any money. Only Chris and me stayed in thehouse. Chris was ‘baby-sitting’ me.We played badminton in the garden. Then we went upstairs to Chris’sbedroom. I think he was looking for something, but I can’t remember what itwas.There were some comics on his bed. I jumped on the bed and lay therereading a comic. I think it was ‘The Beano’. I could not read the Englishbut I could understand the pictures. I lay on the bed, sideways, my legs onthe floor, laughing and giggling at the pictures.”What are you laughing at?” Chris asked me. “I’ll give you something tolaugh at.” He started tickling my stomach. As usual, my jeans were so loosethey were halfway down my hips. As Chris tickled me, they worked their waylower and lower.Things went very quiet. I could hear the birds outside. I felt Chris’sfingers brush my cock. It had got hard and sprung up. Italian boys don’tbother too much about that. It’s a fact of Nature. In fact, they sayItalian men are so happy because their mothers suck their cocks when theyare infants. I don’t know if that’s true or not. I’ve never asked mymother.I felt Chris’s fingers brush over my hard little penis again and again. Itfelt good. I reached out for my ‘Beano’ and started looking at the picturesagain. I said “Divertimento,” to Chris but I’m not sure he understood whatI meant. His fingers and thumb wrapped round my penis and he startedjerking me gently. I wasn’t sure why he was doing that, but it felt so goodI didn’t want him to stop. His other hand was playing with my testicles,that was a good feeling, too.Then I felt something warm and wet across the head of my cock (Chris hadpulled my foreskin back). It was his tongue. That felt even better. Then hesucked my erection right into his mouth. Wonderful! Chris leaned over me,sucking my penis while one hand played with my testicles and the other madelittle patterns around my stomach. I don’t know how long this went on. Intime, my knees began to jerk and my stomach to flutter. I felt strangesensations in my genitals, and my bum began to bump up and down on thebed. It was like a train rushing towards me inside my head. Or water pilingup behind a dam. Something broke, and I was trembling and shaking all over.Chris took his mouth away. He stroked my hair. He lay down beside me andexplained what was happening in the pictures in the comic. After a while,we got up, went downstairs, had a cold drink, and went to the outdoorswimming pool. We jumped in naked and played around till we heard the buscoming back. Then we got out and dressed and ran to meet the bus. I didn’ttell anybody what had happened. It didn’t seem to be anybody else’sbusiness.That night something funny really happened.All the Italian boys were in the same dormitory. After lights out, westarted playing around as usual. We knew the supervisor would come and tellus to go to sleep. I was out of bed when we heard him coming along thecorridor. I jumped into Matteo’s bed and hid under the duvet. Matteo wasf******n years old. He was wearing only a tiny pair of underpants.The supervisor stood at the door explaining we had to go to sleep. We weregoing to London the next day. We would be making an early start, soeveryone had to get a good night’s sleep. Then someone asked what we weregoing to do in London, and the teacher started describing how we wouldspend the day.I was under Matteo’s duvet. All we had on were our underpants. I was lyingalong his body, facing his feet. I felt something growing under myelbow. It got hot and hard. I knew it was his penis. I guessed it would bequite big because I’d seen Chris’s in the pool. Did Matteo have hair there,too? As a sort of game, I squeezed the Italian boy’s cock with myfingers. He squirmed but he couldn’t say anything because the supervisorwas still in the room. The lights were out. I slid my hand into Matteo’sunderpants and wrapped it round his cock. It was a big one! Bigger thanChris – but then he was Italian. I remembered what Chris had dome to me,and I started working Matteo’s foreskin up and down the shaft. Then I trieda little lick of the head – but I didn’t like it! Too salty. It nearly mademe sneeze. Matteo lay there, squirming around for about five minutes, thenhe reached down, grabbed me and pulled me up the bed. He put his finger onmy lips and said something very rude in Italian.When the supervisor went away, Matteo got up and pulled me out ofbed. Everybody was laughing. They didn’t know what I’d been doing, but theyknew I’d upset Matteo. He took me outside the room to the nearesttoilet. We went in. He closed and locked the door. Then he sat down on thetoilet and stood me in front of him.Matteo said what I’d done, or tried to do, had been very naughty. I mustn’ttouch anybody like that without asking first. And I was too young, far tooyoung. to touch anybody like that. He made me promise not to do it again. Imade the promise. It didn’t seem so significant to me, so making thepromise was easy. I was a little worried in case Chris wanted to dosomething again, but I’d given my word and I would have to stick to it.Chris never tried to do anything again, and the rest of the holiday passedas happily as before.Date: 25-08-98 (18:42) Number: 019 To: Apollo Refer#: 956 From: Karim &Stefan M. Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGEI think my brother Stefan and I probably set a world record: we were bothseduced by the same guy, on the same day, in the same building – though nottogether.We’re Egyptian citizens, but we’ve lived in Saudi all our lives. My fatherowns a construction company here. He’s Egyptian, my mother’s from Austria(it’s a long story). I look like my dad, which is basically Arab inappearance, Stefan looks like mum, basically European, pale skin, curlyhair, but we’ve both got my father’s dark brown eyes.There was lots of money in the Middle East in those days, so Stefan and Igot packed off to an international school in Switzerland. I won’t say whichone because they’re all pretty much the same. I was 14 at the time, Stefanwas 12.We liked it. The atmosphere was relaxed, the lessons not too demanding,lots of sports, including compulsory skiing weekends in Montana-Crans, andsimilar places. There were about 30 nationalities in the boarding houses,and it was hardly ever dull. Most of the guys who looked after the boys’boarding house were young and out for a good time. You can imagine withboys, aged 10 to 19, flying in from all over the Middle East there wasplenty of caviar and cannabis kayseri escort for the asking. There was one group of boys,all from the same country, which I’m not going to libel, who spent moretime in each other’s beds than their own! All in all, the atmosphere wasliberal, then some.The guys who ran the boarding houses were called ‘les surveillants’, andone of them ‘took an interest’ in Stefan and me right from the start. Bythat I only mean he was friendly towards us, chatted to us a lot, wasinterested in the Middle East, and helped us settle in. Coming from Saudi,we were a good deal less sophisticated than the boys and girls aroundus. This guy was called Jack D., but everyone, even the director of thecollege called him JD. He’d been there a year and was doing a second yearbefore returning to California. JD always said he was there for the skiing.Skiing! I’d never seen real snow in my life till I got to Switzerland. Itook to skiing like a Turk to his goat and, when November arrived, spentevery weekend I could out on skiing trips. On my fourth trip -disaster. I’d borrowed a pair of skiis with faulty bindings – and a treegot me! Broken leg, not too bad, but a few weeks in bed, a few on crutches,and then back on the slopes. That was the plan. It worked, too, but firstthere was the boredom of bed.They settled me into the House clinic, two rooms, one with a bed, the otherwith bathing facilities, and left me to my own resources. Not quitefair. JD volunteered to look after me, which was generous of him becausesome aspects of the bed-bound are not too thrilling.JD spent a lot of time with me, chatting, playing backgammon, cards,reading, and generally just being there. Day after day in bed can getanyone down, so I appreciated what he did for me, especially when it cameto stuff like lifting me onto my bedpan, disposing of the waste, and givingme body washes.Body washes I looked forward to, after I got over my initialembarrassment. JD would strip off my pyjamas, top and bottoms, and cover mewith a single sheet. Then with a cloth and warm soapy water, he’d wash meall over. Of course, I got erections. I was f******n! But JD ignored themand after a while so did I. I usually read a book. I was still toembarrassed to watch his hand as it circled over my neck, my shoulders, mychest, my stomach, my legs, my knees, my feet. Then he’d wash my pubichair. I had/have very thick brown pubic hair. If I’d been able to keep mycock down before he did my pubes, I certainly couldn’t when he reached themwith his wet, warm cloth and hand. Up would spring my fourth inches of darkmeat, and I’d bury my nose deeper in my book.Blame it on ‘The Exorcist’. I was reading the book while JD was washingme. I’d reached the part where the young girl starts masturbating with acrucifix. I’m not a Christian, but that really turned me on. My prick wasas stiff as a poker. I felt warm fingers close around my prick. For amoment I thought JD was only going to wash it. Then I felt his hand gentlyjerking the shaft. A moment of guilt, but only a moment. I lay back toenjoy a good read and opened my legs in what I hoped was an obviousinvitation.JD got the message.He nursed, caressed and stroked my erection with one hand while the otherfondled my balls. Bliss! I wondered if he’s masturbate me to orgasm, and ifhe did, what would he do with my cum. He had plenty of soapy water and ahand towel, so that didn’t worry me much. What I liked was the care andattention he gave my prick. I’d started masturbating when I was twelve, butthe whole routine had got pretty boring. A quick jerk off didn’t reallysatisfy anymore. Now, here was a good-looking guy who was taking a lovinginterest in my prick. It felt like I was having a minute doctor’sexamination of my male organ of reproduction. No vein was left untraced, nohair unbrushed.I jumped, as much as a cripple can jump, when his mouth closed over me. JDmeant more than quick toss. This was serious business. In my mind I beganto do things to the Linda Blair character in the novel that made Satan looklike a beginner! JD was bobbing up and down on my cock, his mouth like awet furnace, his sucking like one of the octopuses we regularly catch inthe waters round Saudi. He was squeezing my balls, gently but to greateffect. I knew it would be long before my head was spinning through 360degrees!Did he want me to cum in his mouth? He gave no signal, so I whispered, “Itcums, JD. It cums.” (JD taught me later to say ‘I’m cuming’, which showsyou can learn from every experience is you’re willing). I streamed into hismouth in jets of semen. I hadn’t tossed myself off since the accident, andmy body was making up for it now. My hips bounced on the bed. I’d havehappily accepted another broken leg at that moment. I emptied myself intoJD’s mouth and lay there hiding behind my book, panting.The door burst open!It was fucking Stefan!I don’t know if my prick was out of JD’s mouth when my little cunt of abrother burst in, but I know his head was still hovering over my crotch.I gave Stefan a burst of obscenities in Arabic, and he scampered way -laughing! The little fucker was laughing.I hid behind my book again. Then JD pulled the book down onto the bed andlooked at me. I looked at him. “Karim, I won’t do that again if you don’twant me to.””I want it.”++++++++++++I saw them all right, and I was jealous. Just because Karim’s two yearsolder than me, he’s always been regarded as the ‘first’, after my father,in the family. Frankly, I think he’s a dumb shit, but everybody’s brotheris a dumb shit, so that doesn’t mean much.I’m not sure if I actually saw Karim’s prick in the guy’s mouth, but I knewhe wasn’t down there looking for crabs! I brooded in my room after school,then went to see JD. He was meant to be taking an interest in me as well asmy brother, so let him.A few days earlier I’d sprained my wrist, no, not doing that. I’d juststarted masturbating (a couple of Swedes in our dorm had taught everyone)but as yet nothing tangible except for that No. 1 thrill had come of it. Ijust knew Karim would be squirting all over the place – show off!There was a lot sex in the air. The previous night I’d been passing throughthe Seniors’ corridor, not the safest of places for a junior at any time Iwas to learn. A bunch of Greeks had an Iranian k**, about 15, on the carpetin the corridor. They had his boxers off and were taking turns to toss himoff! The Iranian was putting up a fight, but not much of one. I stopped tohave a look. Shit, he had a big cock. Each guy took a turn at it, and theway the k**’s eyes were rolling, he was going to be shooting his load verysoon. I wanted to stay and watch but when I felt a hand sliding down theback of my pyjama bottoms to squeeze my ass, I high-tailed it out ofthere. “Come back when you’re older,” someone shouted after me. “No, justcome back when you’re bigger,” shouted a second voice. Fucking Greeks, norespect for anything or anyone when it comes to a piece of ass.Anyway, I found JD and asked him if he could help me take a bath. Iexplained my wrist and waved it pathetically in front of him. “Sure thing,Stefan,” he said, “Go get your stuff and meet me in the bathrooms.””Do you mind… can we use the clinic bathroom?” I asked, putting my shyestlook. “I don’t want everybody to…” I didn’t have to finish thesentence. JD ran his fingers though my hair, thick, glossy, curly hair, asloved by my mother, and said, “See you there in five. Don’t disturb,Karim. He’s sleeping.” (“Bet he is,” I thought.)By the time JD got to the clinic bathroom, I was running the bath, andstanding there stripped naked. I reckoned it would be difficult for him toask me to put my clothes back on. We chatted about nothing until the bathwas filled, then he told me to step in and sit down. Sheer luxury! Sittingthere in that hot, steamy bath with JD’s soapy hands running over mybody. I was a good-looking k**, a really good-looking k**, because of themixture I’d inherited from mom and dad. Maybe my body was a bit slight, butI wasn’t skinny, and I had the kind of cheeky features you see on the backof a cereal packet.”Stand up and I’ll wash off the soap.”I stood up. My dick was sticking straight out at ninety degrees from mybody. Okay, it was only a couple of inches, but you could hardly missit. Funny that. When I got older, my erection would always be vertical,pointing straight up my body, but at that age, my erections stuck straightout from my body. Like a little hooded cobra. A cobra without the hood, ofcourse, since I was a good Muslim boy – well, I was a Muslim boy. The soapywater streamed from my body.JD sat on the edge of the bath. He took towelfuls of warm water andsqueezed them down my body making the soap run off. He’d ignored my stiffdick, but he’d have to do something when he got down there.”Turn round. Bend over. Hold onto the bath.”Wow!I did as instructed and felt the warm wet cloth stroking my lower back andbottom. Then no cloth, just JD’s warm fingers. Then the cheeks of mybuttocks being pulled apart and his warm fingers sliding in. For a fewmoments, I felt his fingers trace the circle of my ring. Then his lips wereon my hole, my ring, my anus. It should have been disgusting. Itwasn’t. “Do it. Do it. Whatever it is, do it.””Turn round.”I stood up and turned round. My dick was aching, my balls were aching. (Canyour balls ache before you can physically cum? Mine did.)”Let’s get you really clean.”His arms slipped round my waist. He pulled me towards him. And my dick slidinto his open mouth. He gently rocked me back and forwards while he suckedon my soapy penis. This guy really knew how to get a k** clean! It seemedto take ages, but the longer it took, the better it felt. My legs shook, myknees shuddered, I trembled all over. I pushed him away. I was thatsensitive.I stepped out of the bath and JD towelled me down, gently, roughly,tenderly, vigorously. Then he towelled my head. Then he had me climb up onthe padded table and he gave me a massage all over. There was nothingovertly sexual about it though my dick got hard again.When we’d finished, I dressed, said thank you, and went up to my room. Ilay down on my bed, closed my eyes and fell sound asleep. I was thatrelaxed. Next day I asked JD for another bath. He smiled wryly, told me notto be so cheeky and kicked my ass down the corridor. I scampered off tofind me a Swede. I know he and Karim were close for the rest of the year,but it didn’t seem to be any of my business any more.++++++++++++JD and I were close for the rest of that year. He sucked me off three orfour times a week. He never asked me to do anything to him. When I got offmy crutches, he worked really hard to help me build up my leg musclesagain, and I was able to go skiing before the end of the season.I won’t tell you everything that happened because you only want to knowabout ‘first time’. But I remember one night in June, JD let me come up tohis room after midnight to watch the Marx brothers in ‘Duck Soup’. Wesmoked a couple of joints. After the movie, he let me butt-fuck him andsleep with him that night. In the morning I crept downstairs at sixo’clock, carrying my pyjamas.JD was that kind of guy, and I really missed him the following Septemberwhen we all returned to college and he wasn’t there. He was somewhere inCalifornia.I learned a few months ago that JD was killed. He was piloting a lightaircraft when it crashed. JD was that kind of guy. He took risks andaccepted the consequences.Date: 25-08-98 (19:38) Number: 022 To: Apollo Refer#: 964 From: Dean W.Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGEThere seem to have been a great number of same-sex encounters ininternational schools in those heady days when oil and OPEC was king, andI’d like to add my story.I was 14, going on 15, in a small international school near Cambridge,England, now closed. I wasn’t an oil nomad. I was a gas nomad since myfather was employed as a consultant engineer by a Turkish-American gascompany. Our family was based in Istanbul but we boys were educated inEurope. This was my third school in four years.The junior boys, 10 to 15, were housed in converted stables. The seniorboys, above 10th grade, were in the old manor house. We had dorms that heldabout eight k**s, they had two-man rooms, except for the Head Boy who hadhis own room in the manor.The Head Boy and I, a scumbag junior, had only two things in common -soccer and David Bowie. Maybe a bit more. We were both dirty blond,athletic and sex-hungry. HB was called Brian Wermeier, probably still is, Iwas called Dean Wilson, still am.Wermeier, let’s call him Brian, captained and soccer team. I was the goalkeeper. I suppose by British standards we were crap. We played local pubteams, which sort of evened things out. They were fat and skilled; we werefit and unskilled.Brian took things seriously. Training after school three times a week. Heand I got into the habit of staying on for an extra twenty minutes aftereveryone had gone while he took shots at me in goal. Brian was our leading,only goal scorer, so he had a double interest in extra practice. A tripleas it turned out.There was one problem. By the time extra practice was over, I was sweatyand muddy (this was England in the Fall), and by the time I reached thejunior block the showers were cold. “No problem,” said Brian, “use theshowers in the Manor. They’re always hot.” Nobody question this. Rules andregulations were relaxed. Brian was HB, and, besides, his girlfriendStephanie was the best-looking chick in the school. Their devotion to eachother was well known. Nobody could imagine me as competition, least of allme.I got into the habit of staying on in the manor, in Brian’s room, listeningto Bowie, rapping about life, the universe and everything, and sharing ajoint with the HB. Your correspondent Karim was right: there was plenty ofdope around in those days, and nobody took it too seriously. I reallyenjoyed Brian’s company. The talk was a lot more interesting andintelligent than the juvenile stuff in junior dorm. It was good to get abreak from that.Brian had a fitted shower room adjacent to his room; privileges ofrank. He’d have a shower while I was having mine. We got into the habit ofdrying off in his room while we listened to music. It wasn’t organised, itjust happened. People were pretty relaxed about bodies. In the presence ofBrian, I was glad I’d a good body, and a fully-developed cock for a fifteenyear old. About six inches and thick. I know it was fully-developed,nearly, since I’ve added only an other inch since those days. Brian alreadyhad seven inches. I suppose it was the heat of the shower that made ourdicks hang loose and free, and maybe the heat in the room. When thecentral-heating came on in late October (this was England), the Manor couldhave done second service as a sauna house. You could actually hear theboiler system clanging and banging into action for half an hour as thetemperature rose to something like Istanbul on a summer’s day.We’d wrap our towels around us, I’d sit on the bed, Brian on a chair nearthe stereo changing records, pass the joint and get high on Ziggy Stardust.I wouldn’t be telling the truth if I said Brian’s looks, body, andpersonality didn’t get to me. They did, every time, but so what? Every boyin the junior block was horny, apart from the Born Again Christians andthose guys who’d taken up with some of the junior schools, not a single oneof whom was known to put out or even give a grope worth the name. Thesounds of boys sneakily jacking off in my dorm got so outrageous we alltalked about it one day and agreed we wouldn’t bother trying to hide itanymore. That night the sounds of half a dozen boys jerking offsimultaneously was one of my most erotic memories of my two years in thatschool. I say half a dozen and not the full complement of eight boysbecause a couple of them resisted temptation. The truth came out later thatthey were being sucked off regularly by the master-in-charge of JB (juniorblock) but that’s another story, and who knows if it was their first time.How the conversation got onto sex, I don’t know. It wasn’t something Brianand I’d talked about before. There was a Bowie LP on the turntable. He wassitting next to me on the bed. I could feel the heat from his damp skin. Mycock was thick, semi-tumescent, under my damp towel. Brian held the jointto my lips with one hand while the fingers of the other ran back andforward across my thigh. I drew deeply and held the smoke in mylungs. Brian drew deeply and put the joint aside. His fingers tracedpatterns across the damp towel. “Go on,” I said, rising as he tugged mytowel away.Brian dropped to his knees on the floor in front of me. He grasped my prickwhich went from semi to full tumescence in seconds. He appeared to studyit, then pulled the foreskin back from the head of my cock which wasalready embarrassingly swollen and purple. I have a very looseforeskin. The shaft of my cock has a definite curve to the left, and thereare a couple of blue veins that run from the base to the tip of myforeskin. I’ve got big balls, and even then I’d lots of dirty blond pubichair. Brian wedged my legs wider open, then sank his mouth straight onto mycock. It was the first time anyone other than myself and my mom had touchedmy cock, and I almost blew it then and there. I might as well tell thetruth: I did blow it then and there. Within seconds I was spurting into theHead Boy’s mouth – “he was giving me head on the unmade bed” – so hard Iheard him choke. I couldn’t stop cuming. I sat there watching Brian’s dirtyblond hair (long), his powerful shoulders (freckled), and his spine(curving into his towelled ass) while my thighs trembled, my balls rocketedinto my groin, and my cock spat hot cum into his mouth.Brain raised his head and looked into my eyes. I blushed. “Sorry,” Imumbled. He got up from the floor. I was encouraged to see he had a hugehard-on under his towel. He sat on the bed next to me and again held thejoint to my lips. My cock was hanging between my legs, twitching,dripping. I inhaled so deeply I thought the smoke would come out of myasshole, which felt so loose I thought I might shit then and there.”Guilt trip?” asked Brian, chewing and swallowing the roach.”Naw, don’t think I’ll bother,” I shrugged.”Me neither,” said Brian.We sat there for a few minutes talking about Saturday’s soccermatch. Amazing to think back on it. I was sitting in the nude, cockdripping; Brian sat in his towel, huge hard-on; the smell of dope filledthe room; ‘Diamond Dogs’ was playing. If anybody had walked in, we’d havehad a lot of explaining to do. The door wasn’t locked. Brian never lockedit. And, as I was to discover, nobody ever walked in. Privileges of rank, Isuppose.I felt a little guilty. Brian still had a huge erection, and I wasn’t doinganything about it. I’d never touched anyone else’s cock before, so the ideaof sucking Brian off was a tad scary, but what the hell. I reached out andwrapped my hand round him. God, he was big. Not that much longer than me,but thicker, definitely thicker. Big nipples, too. I always rememberBrian’s nipples. I sat there squeezing him, plucking up courage. “I’ll doyou if you want,” I whispered. Brian grinned. “Thanks, but no thanks, I’msaving that for Stephanie. She loves the taste, too.” I gulped andnodded. “What about you?” he asked.I looked down. My cock was hard again, standing straight up so that the tiphit my belly button. “Shit. Sorry,” I murmured. Brian grinned again. Thenhe stood up, undid his towel and dropped it. I gulped again. This wasn’t aboy, this was a man. His chest was hairless but his abdomen covered withlight blond hair, his legs were covered with the same hair that darkened asit disappeared into the V of his legs. His cock looked huge, his balls even’huger’, to coin a word. I’m glad I wasn’t taking that in the mouth, but Ipanicked a little as Brian pushed me backwards onto the bed. In the ass?!”Shhh, baby” he whispered, it’s not what you think.I lay across the bed sideways, my shoulders against a wall, my feet on thefloor. Brian heaved a big cushion behind my shoulders, which made it a lotmore comfortable. I closed my eyes, hoping for the best, expecting theworst. A fresh, clean, slightly perfumed smell cut through the dopesmells. I recognised it. It was Nivea Cream. The smell of Nivea still turnsme on like nothing else on the planet.Brian’s hand was round my cock. He smeared Nivea its full length. It feelcool against my burning skin. “A hand job,” I thought and relaxed. Then Ifelt Brian clambering onto the bed. I mentally revised thepossibilities. What…? I blinked open my eyes. He was straddling my groin,a knee on either side. I felt him take my cock and guide it into my crackuntil the tip touch his asshole. I don’t know who was burning more: Brianor me. He lowered himself onto me, and I felt my cockhead slip through hisring, his sphincter and into his anus. It was like an elastic band round mycock. The band slipped lower and lower until my cock was buried into thehilt, my hair brushed the cheeks of his ass. Brian began to raise and lowerhimself on my cock. I was fucking the Head Boy! Or was he fucking me? Samedifference.Embarrassed at first, I soon got into the swings of things (the dopehelped) and began to bounce my hips up in reaction to Brian loweringhimself onto me. It got easier and easier. Soon he was sliding up and downmy greasy pole, the friction was wonderful. I wondered if fucking a cuntwas as good as this. Brian’s cock was like a projectile aimed at my face. Ileaned forward and grasped it with the thumb and fingers of my right hand;they met, but only just. I jerked Brian off in time to our body rhythm. Hishead and body were thrown back. His eyes closed. His blond hair bouncingaround his shoulders. The air was full of the sounds of Bowie and thesmells of sex, sweat, dope and Nivea Cream.Brain came first. Jets of semen exploded from the tip of his cock, thefirst two or three hitting me smack in the face, the next two landing on mychest and belly. I was able to go on longer. For another ten minutes Brianrode me. Then I hissed, “Wermeier, Wermeier, I’m cuming.” His eyesopened. He grinned. “Well, fucking come then, don’t just talk about it.” Ispurted up into his ass, as hard as before but with not quite so muchsemen. My cock felt so swollen, I wondered if I’d get it out in time fordinner.”Shit, man, you telling me you haven’t done that before?” whispered Brianas we lay side by side exhausted on the bed.”Nope, first time,” I whispered.”I ain’t a fag,” whispered Brian. “I just love sex.””Me, too,” I whispered.”We’d better take another shower,” he whispered.”We’d better,” I whispered.We showered together, crammed into the tiny cubicle in Brian’s room,signing along with the man. We must have been heard through the entireblock, but when I came out of the room, a couple of the seniors justnodded. One of them said, “You two need singing lessons.” The other said,”Maybe if you got better dope it would help.” They were both grinning. LikeBrian, they were Yanks. The rumour had gone round I was supplying HB withdope (I did live in Turkey) and that made whatever went on in Brian’s roomlegitimate though, like I said, nobody seemed to imagine it might be sex.We had sex about once a week for the rest of the school year. I was alwayspassive, Brian always active. That suited both of us. I’d wander round,usually on a Saturday evening, after weekend shopping, and Brian would suckme off or let me fuck him. Then we’d go off to the Saturday night schooldisco, Brian with Stephanie, and me with a bunch of juniors to find as muchbooze and dope as we could get away with.The last time I saw Brian was in a park in Cambridge, England, on a warmJuly afternoon. A bunch of us junior guys were lying on the grass in adiscreet corner of the park trading joints and bullshit. Brian camestrolling through the park with Stephanie on his arm. He let her go for amoment and walked up to us.Looking right at me, he said, “I’m going to miss you, man.” My heartthumped, my pulse raced, I’d never been so proud. I looked up into Brian’seyes. “I’m going to miss you, too.”Brian turned and went back to his woman. He left school that evening, notwaiting for Sunday and the last day of school. I never saw or heard fromhim again.Every few years, I look at his photograph in the Year Book. Then I look atmine, under which he wrote: “The end of the year is at hand and I suppose’All things must pass’, but I’m hoping our paths will cross sometime in thefuture because it’s been great knowing you and sharing times withyou. Brian – in the year of the diamond dogs.”Our paths haven’t crossed again yet – but I go on hoping they will.Date: 25-08-98 (20:02) Number: 026 To: Apollo Refer#: 973 From: Stephen D.Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGEI was seduced on the night of my 18th birthday. I was a young 18 year oldthough at the time I imagined I was very sophisticated. I’d come up fromEngland to Edinburgh University and was bowled over the whole scene. I justloved being a student in that cosmopolitan capital where it seemedeverything was possible and most things permissible.I’d led what you’d call a sheltered life. I went to an all boys’ school inHertfordshire and my contact with girls had been minimal. My contact withboys, sexual contact, was non-existent. The closest I’d got to sex was ascary experience.One night, when I was fifteen, I was thumbing a lift home in the rain. Acar stopped and gratefully I got in. As we drove along, the man,well-dressed, in his early-thirties, asked me about school, studies,sports, all the usual stuff. I was grateful for the lift so I madeconversation as best I could.About half a mile from my home, he stopped the car. It was raining. Youcould hardly see through the windscreen. The man dropped his hand on myknee, then started to stroke the inside of my thigh. “You don’t have tohome right away,” he said. “You’re a good-looking boy. We can sit here fora bit.” I was paralysed. The hand kept stroking, fingers getting closer tomy lap with each brush. And I was getting an erection!The second he touched my penis, the spell broke. I wrenched open the door,slid out of the car, and started running up the road. I turned off at thefirst avenue and ran up a garden path, making out this was my house. Ineedn’t have bothered; the car didn’t follow me.When I got him, I was soaked to the skin. Immediately I had a hot bath andlay in it eyes closed, imagining all the things that could have happened tome. Problem was, my imaginings kept turning erotic, and I couldn’t lose myerection, though I’d only a vague idea what the man would have done tome. In the end, I sighed and gave in to temptation, jerking off into a facecloth which I washed out later.In bed, I lay wondering if the guy had meant it: was I a good-looking boy?I’d never thought of myself in those terms. I was slim but well built, Ihad thick dark brown hair that hung shaggily to to my collar, strongeyebrows, strong eyelashes, regular features, long legs and big feet. Ialso wore glasses; I was short-sighted, and I suppose I believed thedictum: girls don’t make passes at boys who wear glasses. Maybe girlsdidn’t, but some men did.University was wonderful. I’d always absorbed information like a sponge,so, apart from attending lectures and seminars, I’d lots of spare time fora hectic social life that quickly developed. And it developed so quicklybecause Thorsten Bozek ‘adopted’ me. ‘Thorsten Bozek’ isn’t his real name,but I’ve chosen that one because it’s almost as exotic as my senior man’s.In those days, and I’ve no reason to believe anything’s changed, seniorstudents ‘adopted’ first year students and ‘mentored’ them for a year.’Mentoring’ could be as dull or as exciting an affair as the senior mandictated. My mentoring was never dull. Thorsten was something of a legendat university: directing plays, running the literary club, heavily intofar-left politics, showing imported movies for profit, and raising pots andpots of money for charity. He was academically brilliant, and I neverunderstood how he managed it; at least I attended lectures and seminars. Ionce asked Thorsten how he managed it: “Easy,” he said, “I only opt forsubjects escort kayseri I already know inside out.” I think Thorsten opted for me.To be fair, I hung around Thorsten more than he hung around me: I was thebee to the exotic bloom. It wasn’t difficult because we were both in thesame halls of residence. Thorsten told me he didn’t move out because he atleast knew he had a bed whatever happened to him.I was fascinated, hypnotised by Thorsten Bozek. He let me come on a rollercoaster ride that left me breathless but begging for more. And as the weekswore on, I began to realise what that more might include. Thorsten and Igrew more and more intimate. At parties we’d end up sitting on the floorside by side, drinking, smoking dope, talking. We’d rush out together andcatch a midnight movie. At poetry evenings we’d sit on the carpet, ourreverential hush as we listened to each other’s poetry, creating anambience that drew everybody in (I wrote garbage; Thorsten wrotegibberish.) He gave me the part of ‘Boy’ in his production of ‘Waiting forGodot’; I was more wooden than the tree; Thorsten said I was ‘original’. Wewere often pissed together or stoned together, so much so we slept in myroom on the ground floor because Thorsten couldn’t make it to his eerie onthe fifth. It was all big time fun.I realised Thorsten wanted me physically. I don’t know how I knew, but Iknew. I couldn’t make up my mind what I wanted. One day the idea disgustedme; the next day it was overwhelmingly excited. I remember one day we weredoing a ‘photo shoot’ for the charities’ magazine; Thorsten wanted me asSuperboy. This meant being naked, apart from underpants and the SupermanLogo painted on my chest. The logo was easy. However, I had on the wrongkind of underpants – Y-fronts! (I also wore a string vest in those days.)We decided to swap. Thorsten got his off quickly. I dillied and I dallied,dallied and I dillied, ‘accidentally’ showing off my genitals to Thorstenuntil, exasperated, he pulled his cotton slip over my arse, saying: “Let’sget on with it, Stephen. We’ll save the strip-tease for later.”Unfortunately, he forgot about the ‘later’.On another occasion, Thorsten came to find me. I was in the shower. Hestood outside the shower door speaking to me. “Catch you later,” hesaid. “Don’t go,” I called. “I need to speak to you.” I’d been busy pullingon my dick until it was semi-hard and swinging suggestively in front ofme. Then I opened the shower door and towelled myself while inventing atotally meaningless conversation. I dried my hair vigorously and could feelmy cock bouncing against my thighs. I was temptation made flesh, if that’sthe kind of flesh you fancy. By the time I’d finished drying my hair,Thorsten was gone! I couldn’t blame him; even I didn’t know what I wastalking about.October 31st: my eighteenth birthday. Part of the celebrations includeddrinking half a pint in every public house in Hope Street. I don’t know ifanyone’s ever achieved this, and I don’t suppose we even got halfwaythrough the pubs. I can’t remember any of that all. I do remember it was aviciously windy, rainy, cold, dreich, miserable Edinburgh night – butThorsten and I didn’t give a fuck. We were ‘fou and unco’ happy’; I wasblind drunk; he was reduced to a single eye. That was enough.A taxi must have taken us home. We couldn’t have walked it. I don’tremember how we got up to Thorsten’s room. There was a bed and a mattressthe floor. There was an angle-poise lamp. I was lying on themattress. Thorsten was helping me off with my wet things. I wassinging. Someone shouted along the corridor: “Shut up, you Englishbastard!” I remembered I was in Scotland and I shut up.Thorsten was sitting on the edge of the mattress. He was stroking my cheektenderly. Pity, probably. Here was I, an 18-year-old fresh-minted Englishdrunk lying on his mattress singing drivel about Ilkley Moor. My scarf andrainjacket were gone. My boots and were gone. My wet shirt was gone. I felthis fingers trace a path along my string vest, and I said the immortalwords: “If you try to seduce me, I won’t stop you.” Now, that may not bethe clearest invitation in the world but thinking about it I don’t see itcan be construed as anything else: “Try to seduce me and I won’t stop you.”I felt my string vest being tugged out of my jeans. Then I felt warm, wetlips on my stomach – Thorsten’s, I presumed. That’s all he did atfirst. Warm, wet kisses that traced patterns across my stomach, sometimesplaying in my belly button, sometimes edging down to the dark browntendrils of pubic hair that peeked above my Y-fronts. His patience gave mean erection that throbbed, pulsated and ached. He tugged my string-vest upmy body, over my shoulders and over my head. It snagged in my glasses whichhe gently took from my face and placed somewhere safe. I was now blind as abat but made up for it by the sensation of touch.Thorsten kissed me. Not just a simple peck, but mouth on mouth, that had meopen and gasping for breath. Then his tongue was inside my mouth, probing,seeking, moiling (a favourite word I’ll look up later). This worriedme. The only one who ever kissed me was my mother, and on reaching the ageof maturity (11), I’d firmly put a stop to that. Sex with Thorsten, eventhough he was a 21-year-old male seemed fairly natural andinevitable. Kissing was something else.His mouth left my lips and worked their way down my body. His hands were atmy belt – it was now or never, stay in the car and see what happens, orjump out and run like hell. I stayed in the car. I raised my bottom fromthe mattress and let Thorsten work my jeans and underpants down to myankles and off. I felt incredibly exposed, vulnerable and erotic. My prickwas so hard it felt like fleshy steel when Thorsten gripped it between hisfingers and thumb. I didn’t have much time to think; he pulled the foreskinback; I was already wet and slippery; and he suck me deeply into his mouthand throat. “That’s it,” I thought. “I’m a fag now. Best lie back and enjoyit.” Actually I can’t remember what, if anything, I thought. It was nothingbut sensation, only feeling, no guilt, no shame, just an intense desire tocum, but not to cum until the Millennium. If this could only go on forever,I’d be the happiest birthday boy in the land.I’m no cocksucker myself but I do admire skills other people have. Thorstensuck up and down on my shaft, at the same time jerking the base andtwisting it to create different pressures, frictions and suctions insidehis mouth. He’d let me almost slip out, then probe my cockslit with histongue, then slide all the way down my shaft until I felt his lips brush mypubic hair. His other hand gently eased my legs apart. He played with myballs and ran a finger along my perineum, a little further each time untilhe naturally slipped all the way into my crack and along my anal ring. Partof the excitement was the fear of what he was going to do, what hewanted. Was he going to penetrate my hole with his finger? Would it hurt?Would I like it? Did I want it? Would he try more than one finger? What ifhe tried to turn me over? Would I let him? Did he want to fuck me? Did Iwant him to fuck me? Would I let him?Maybe the most exciting thing about first time sex is the breaking oftaboos. The hand on a bare breast. The finger up a vagina. A strange handaround your cock. Kissing cock. Kissing cunt. Sucking cock. Suckingcunt. Swallowing semen.I didn’t have to warm Thorsten when I was cuming. My body told me. Of theirown volition, my hips reared up from the mattress driving my cock all theway into his mouth while my hand pressed his head down onto me. My own headrolled from side to side as I fought the urge to squeal from the intensepleasure of it all. I couldn’t risk anyone shouting down the corridor:”Shut up, you English bastard!” when I might not be able to controlmyself. My body was out of control as my bottom juddered against themattress and I spurted half a dozen jets of cum into Thorsten’s mouth. Ifelt his finger break the seal of my asshole but that only added to theecstasy of it all. It’s a strange feeling being out of control; for thosefleeting moments you actually think you’re going to die. As they passed, Ifelt a small wave of shame pass up my body, but then there was Thorstenholding me, hugging me, cuddling me to him, and the shame was replaced by asort of tender gratitude. He stroked my hair and whispered, “Happybirthday, sweet eighteen.”I’ve no idea how long we lay there. “Do you want to go downstairs?” heasked me. “No, I want to stay here,” I said. “Where’s here?” he asked. “Inbed, with you,” I said. After such an intense experience it seemed allwrong to spend the rest of the night alone; and, it was a long waydownstairs.Thorsten helped me up. I fell into bed. Then I felt him slide in alongsideme. He was naked, too. That felt right. We wrapped our arms round eachother and rubbed noses like drunken Eskimos. We giggled. “Do you want tosleep?” he asked me. “Not sure,” I said. My prick was hard again. I don’tthink it had softened. “What would you like to do?” he asked. “Don’t knowyet. I’ll think of something.” I giggled again. (We’d seen ‘2001: A SpaceOdyssey’ the night before; I’d think of something.)We lay there pressed together. I felt Thorsten’s hot hard-on against myown. I let my fingers slide down his back and over the curve of hisbuttocks. He turned and faced the other way. I snuggled into him, feelingthe curve of his back against my chest, my balls in the crack of hisarse. I wriggled a bit lower in the bed, not sure what I had in mind. Myarms were round Thorsten’s chest and waist; I could feel his hair againstmy wrist. He reached round behind him and pulled his buttocks apart. I slidmy cock in till the head was wedged in deep, the tip touching the heat ofhis ring.”Just push,” he whispered. I pushed hard. I felt Thorsten grasp my cock andguide it to his hole. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go this far, and I wasn’tsure where I wanted to stop. I gave another push. Something gave and thehead of my cock was inside him. I realised how slippery it was down thereand explored with my fingers. There was a mess of cream in his crack, allthe way to his asshole. The head of my cock was inside him and the heat wasexhilarating. Steadily I pressed my groin into his buttocks, and my cockslid in about three inches. Thorsten pulled his left leg up into a kneelingposition, and my cock slid in another inch. Because of the way we werelying, that’s as far in as I could get. That was enough. I began to rock myhips back and forward, pushing myself in and out of his hole. His assholewas hot, very hot, and gripped me tightly as I entered and withdrew againand again.I was so relaxed and comfortable I felt selfish. I slid my hand downThorsten’s front, brushed his hand away, and gripped his cock. He was hardand thick, not much different in size from me, but the feel of anotherboy’s cock was entirely different. I jerked him in time with my strokes inand out of his hole. I wanted, if possible, for us to cum at the sametime. We were able to lie there for a long time, but gradually I felt hiscock swell beneath my fingers and taken on a new hardness. I speeded up mystrokes, both kinds, and as I felt my body take over for itself, Ihand-jobbed Thorsten ruthlessly. The room was filled with little grunts andsqueaks and moans that would have sounded silly in any other circumstances;then, they just added to the intensity of the experience. I felt myselfcuming as my hips and groin began to buck and I stroked Thorsten hard andfast. If we didn’t spurt simultaneously, there could only have been secondsdifference, for we lay there shaking, juddering, trembling, shuddering asour orgasms took over. I felt his hot seed pump along his shaft as my ownpumped into his rectum. His chest rubbed against my back and there littlepopping sounds of bursting sweat bubbles as our bodies shookuncontrollably. Then it died away, and I lay there listening to ourbreathless panting.Thorsten tried to roll over but I gripped him tightly and whispered, “Letme stay in you.” He pushed his bottom into my groin, and we fell asleepthat way, cradled together like twins in the womb.In the morning when I awoke Thorsten was gone. I got up, wrapped hisdressing gown round me, grabbed my clothes and slipped downstairs to my ownroom. It was 8.30. I’d slept soundly. I showered, dried, dressed and headedfor the refectory. Thorsten was there, sitting with a group of mutualfriends having breakfast. Someone made room for me, and I slipped inopposite Thorsten. I was ravenous.”Good morning,” Thorsten said. “sleep well?””Like the dead, man,” I yawned. “Like the fucking dead.””How does it feel to be 18, to be a man?” someone said.”Great, man,” I said. “Just fucking great.”What’s always puzzled me is why we did it. Within two weeks I’d foundMaggie, the love of my life, or at least the love of my universitycareer. Thorsten was with Cordelia, an exquisitely beautiful Artspost-graduate. As a foursome, we laughed our way through the rest of thatyear.I was never gay. Thorsten might have been bisexual, I’m not sure, I neverasked him. And I never asked who seduced whom.Date: 25-08-98 (21:02) Number: 034 To: Apollo Refer#: 986 From: Jonathan D.Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGE”They ****d Ross last night.””They didn’t.””They bloody well did.””When?””During Prep. In the Sixth Form Block. It was an ambush.They sent a note for him, and he went over to the Block.””bloody fool.””True.””He didn’t have to go. Fagging’s not allowed in this school,so he didn’t have to turn up.””True.””bloody good-looking though.””Too much like a girl. Those eyes. Looks likea bushbaby. That hair. Those lips.””Wouldn’t mind them round my cock.””Dirty b**st.””Dirty b**st yourself.””Homo!””Homo yourself!””Come here and I’ll show you who’s a homo.”Laughter.It was time to make my presence known. After all, I’d no right to bethere. I coughed and dropped my shoes on the floor, one after the other, asloudly as I could.There was a scuffling, then Paul stuck his head round the showercurtain. His head disappeared.”It’s okay. It’s only Dowson.”His head reappeared.”What do you want, Dowson? This isn’t your annexe. These aren’t yourshowers. Bugger off.””Ours are burst, Paul,” I explained. “The others have gone over to MainHouse. I slipped in here. I didn’t think there’d be anybody around. Do youmind…?”His head disappeared. Then reappeared.”I suppose not. There’s only Len and I here. Got permission fromMr. C. Hurry up and get in here before I turn the water on. The hot onlylasts twenty minutes and we want to make the most of it.”I stripped as quickly as I could, hanging each item on a peg. As I did, Ilooked around. This was an eight-boy annexe, attached to one of the newhouses built for the bachelor masters. Lucky blighters. Our annexe housedtwenty-four boys, so it was endless warfare, largely ignored by our DormMaster and his wife, who had enough on their hands with four k**s of theirown to be much concerned with what we got up to. I’d only arrived inSeptember, a new boy, new to the public school system. Though this was avery minor public school, it had many of the same traditions, includingboys addressing each other by surname, and sarcasm all round. I suppose Iwas pretty shy in those days. I liked the place. I appreciated theinvestment my parents were making. But settling in wasn’t easy.I was in the same year as Paul and Len, Third Form, but wedidn’t live in the same annexe and they didn’t have much need tocommunicate with a squirt like me.”Hurry up, Dowson. We’re freezing our balls off in here!”I stepped into the shower room. Paul and Len were standing under themiddle shower, naked, shivering, though it was far from cold. I movedtowards them a little surprised we were only using one shower. Paul reachedfor a knob (shower) and turned it on. A cascade of cold, cool, lukewarm,warm, fairly hot water hit us.”Get in here, Dowson,” said Meaby wrapping an arm round my waist andpulling into the intimate circle. “One showers lasts twenty mins., twoshowers ten mins., three showers… work it out for yourself. I’mdyslexic.””I’m dysgraphic,” I confessed.”And I’m bloody dyspraxic,” laughed Paul, pretending to fall over andgrabbing onto both of us.I should explain our school was for very bright boys with some sort ofdysfunction. So everyone had a ‘dys…’ of some sort labelled to them. Soeveryone was equal.”What were we talking about? Remind me,” said Paul.”****,” said Meaby, passing a bar of Wright’s Coal Tar to Paul. “Here, soapmy back. Ross got ****d by the Sixth Form last night. You said he wasasking for it.””Well, he was,” said Paul. “Here, Dowson, do my back. Meaby’ll do yours.”he passed me a bar of soap. I dropped it.”Careful how you bend over,” laughed Meaby.I picked up the soap. Meaby started to soap my back. I blushed so hard Icould feel the blood in my prick. I felt Len’s warm soapy fingerson my back. I took a deep breath and started to soap his. There wassomething elemental, primitive, satisfying about what we were doing.”You’d better be careful, too, Paul,” said Meaby, surprising me by the useof a Christian name. “Half the Sixth Form are in love with you, the otherhalf just want to… you know.””**** me? Well, if you’ve got it, flaunt it, babe,” laughed Paul, “but theywon’t catch me in the Sixth Form Block after dark. Anyway, everyone knowsMr. C. has got the hots for me, and nobody’s going to risk offending him.”(Mr. C. was the master-in-charge of their annexe. Lucky blighters.) “Lower,please, Dowson, lower. Don’t be shy. We’re all Third Formers here.”Meaby’s fingers brushed my buttocks, then started soaping. I let my fingersdrift down to Paul’s bum. It was true; he was the best-looking boy in theschool. There was nothing girlish about Paul, but his golden hair,symmetrical features, high cheekbones, big hazel eyes, and ready smileturned heads all around the school, including those of half a dozenmasters. Yet there seemed nothing boastful or arrogant about Paul; hesimply laughed and got on with life. Now here I was, washing his bum,terrified I’d get a full erection.It was terrifying but liberating. An only c***d, my parents were quiteelderly, and though there was love, there was a distinct lack of openaffection. My mother, if she kissed me at all, gave me a peck on theforehead. I do not remember my father ever kissing me. Now here was real,warm, living flesh under my touch.Paul turned and half-faced me. “Frontsies now,” he smiled. I lookeddown. He had a hard-on. A column of pinkish brown flesh jutted out from hisbody, his erection hot and hard, with the head of his cock a purplishbrown. Like me, and Len, there was a covering of pubic hair, mine dark,Paul’s golden brown, Meaby’s glossy black, but none of us had enough tointimidate the others. Our cocks were almost virginal, innocent, naive inappearance. I stood there transfixed, my bar of soap circling the hollow inPaul’s right thigh.”Come on, chaps, we can’t waste the water.” That was Meaby who dropped tohis knees in front of Paul. He started soaping the boy’s genitals, then Igasped as he let the soap fall, grasped Paul’s erection between fingers andthumb and started masturbating him. I knew about masturbation. It wasimpossible not to know about it in a boys’ school. Sometimes at night or inthe loos, I’d gripped my own erection and started drawing the foreskin upand down the length of my hard penis. Exhilarating but far too scary, I’dalways abandoned the process when I felt an indescribably explosive feelingbuild up in my groin and balls, a diffuse feeling that spread throughout mybody as I lay there in the dark listening to the night sounds of thesleeping boys around me.”You can leave if you want to.” That was Paul. I didn’t want toleave. I dropped to my knees, my face level with his crotch. “Squeeze hisballs, he likes that.” I laid my soap aside and felt Paul’s balls. Squashy,soft and vulnerable, they moved around in his hairless scrotum. “Mmmmm, youhave a nice touch.” We knelt, heads close together, working on the boy’scock and balls which seemed to swell and harden under our fingers. Meabyslipped his hand away from Paul’s cock, my fingers slid round to take hisplace. I jerked him gently, the heat and hardness beneath my fingerscommunicating themselves to my own cock which now stuck out fiercelybetween my legs.Meaby’s mouth closed over the top inch of Paul’s prick, his lips cominginto contact with my hand. As he slid up and down the shaft, my hand slidlower until I was gripping the base. My eyes were inches from Paul’s prickand Len’s lips. I could see his cheeks bulge as the cock slid in. Icould hear the sucking sounds even above the noise of the shower cascadingaround us. My cock ached so hard it hurt.Paul’s arms reached down and, slipping his hands under my armpits, hepulled me to my feet. Before I could protest, Len’s lips were around myerection; he was sucking, sucking hard. I looked down and saw his dark headbobbing over my hard cock; I turned and looked straight into Paul’seyes. He leaned forward and kissed me gently on the lips. My face burned ashotly as my stiff penis. Then he was sliding down my body to share me withLen. At first I knew which mouth was round my cock, which fingers wereround my balls. But I lost track of who was doing what. I stood and staredat the far wall, enthralled by the sensations running through my body,exhilarated by the shame and guilt of it all. The best-looking, the mostpopular boy in the school was on his knees before me, sucking my prick.My legs shuddered, and before I quite knew what was happening, my hips werejerking and I was shooting my sperm, my semen, my boy juices into someone’smouth. I didn’t see. My eyes were closed, my head thrown back. My wholebody shook, I thought I was going to faint.Paul and Len were on either side of me. They were grinning. Huge,friendly smiles. Water plastered their hair to their skulls, hung fromtheir eyelashes, earlobes, chins, ran down their chests, groins and legs.”Do we call you Jon or Jonathan?” asked Paul.”Jon, please,” I mumbled.”Come on then. Let’s get out of here. The water’s turning cold.”We stepped into the changing area. I started to dry off. Len put hishand on my arm. “Not here. In the annexe. It’s much warmer. And, besides,we’ve still got half an hour.”We went to the annexe, and I learned to have fun with my body, and to sharethe fun with Paul and Len without too much guilt. The following week Itransferred to their annexe. Mr. C. really did have the hots for Paul. Asfar as I know, they never did anything together, and it turned into a warm,loving relationship we all benefited from.Paul used to read a bit from the Bible every night. He’d get on his kneesby his bunk and read a few verses out loud. Then he’d say his prayers. Ihad the bunk above him. I don’t know if it had any effect on me.None of us ever tried anal sex.None of us ever got ****d.I’ve put my story in the form of… a story. I’m no writer, but I wanted totry and give you some of the emotions and feelings behind what happened. Itwas fairly common place throughout the school. I think the Headmaster andthe masters turned a blind eye to sex amongst the boys as long as thingsdidn’t get out of hand. Coop up a couple of hundred pubescent andadolescent boys, and what do you expect – choir practice?I never met any boy at the school who considered himself gay. In lateryears I never met any boy from the school who was openly gay.Ross is happily (as far as I know) married with five k**s – allboys!Len is something in the city. Paul is a leading figure in aninternational charity organisation.Date: 25-08-98 (22:15) Number: 044 To: Apollo Refer#: 993 From: Michael S.Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGEI’m not sure my story qualifies for the heading ‘First Time’ because ittook place over a number of weeks, but I’m going to tell it anyway.When I was thirteen, I was seduced by my football manager. I’d startedsecondary school in September. I was never much good at lessons but I wasbrilliant at most sports. Although I was small and slight for my age, I hadterrific reflexes and reactions. I scored most of my goals inside thepenalty area by getting to the ball faster than anybody else. I was also asilent c***d (a) because I was shy (b) because everyone else seemed so muchbrighter than me (c) because I’ve always preferred listening tospeaking. Even when I’m happy, people keep on telling me to cheer up. ButI’d my own circle of friends and I had my football.At the local team trials I did well, but I was amazed as everyone else whenthe manager, let’s call him Coach, said at the end of the session: “Rightthen, first match Saturday. Be here at 9.30 for a 10 o’clock kickoff. Michael, you’re captain.” He turned and walked off. I just stood thereblushing. Nobody’d ever asked me to captain anything in my life. My mates,from my school, came rushing round clapping me on the back. It was allpretty embarrassing, but as usual I said nothing.The season got underway. Our team did well. No, we did brilliantly, winningevery game, most by a margin of goals. Coach treated me like everyoneelse. Life was very good.There was one problem. I couldn’t attend Thursday evening training, themost important session. That really pissed me off though, as usual, Ididn’t complain. On Thursday evenings I went for my reading/spellinglessons. I’m dyslexic. Maybe not dyslexic, but I’d never learned to readand never learned to spell. Something to do with my phonics. After a coupleof weeks, my mother explained that Thursday evenings was the only time myprivate tutor, a retired teacher, could take me.”Okay, I’ll teach him,” sighed Coach. “Wednesdays after school, 4 till halfpast five. Your place or mine?” Coach was not only a football manager, buthe was training at college to be a teacher, and he was specialising in theteaching of reading! I jumped at the chance. We agreed on his house becauseit was much closer to my school than ours. Best of all, Coach agreed not totell any of the other lads I was having ‘private lessons’. They would havetaken the mick out of me something rotten.Coach was a brilliant football manager. He was even better at teachingreading and spelling, which takes some doing with some who hated both. heturned everything into games, competitions and quizzes, and most of thetime you learned without realising you were being taught. We measured myprogress every week and I was making amazing progress.It started about the fourth lesson. We were sitting close together on acouch in the living room. I had the book in my lap. I was reading outloud. I always forgot the full stop and read on into the next sentence. Itdidn’t matter how often Coach told me, two minutes later I’d forgotten.”This’ll help,” he said. He put his hand just below the bottom of thebook. His hand was resting at the bottom of my stomach. Every time I cametowards the end of the sentence, he pressed my stomach a little. It worked!I remembered to stop, most of the time. That continued for about fifteenminutes. I read and Coach applied gentle pressure to the bottom of mystomach. No big deal. Except, of course, that it gave me a hard-on. I satthere utterly expressionless (I can do it for hours.) while Coach pressed acouple of inches away from my erection. It was embarrassing at first, butCoach didn’t seem to notice anything, so I assumed it was an accident andwent on reading. It was embarrassing but also very pleasant. I hadn’t thefaintest interest in sex. Of course I’d heard the obligatory filth inschool and in the football changing rooms, but it seemed to have nothing towith me. I was small, slight, blond, green-eyed, tight-lipped, andpractically not there, except when doing sports. Why would anyone beinterested in me?Next week the same thing happened. This time there was a variation thatshowed what was happening was no accident. Despite the pressure on mystomach, despite my hard-on, I still forgot to stop at the end of some ofthe sentence. “We have to get the all right,” laughed Coach. He slid hishand under my school jumper, then under my school shirt, just above thewaist band of my trousers. Every time we reached the end of a sentence,he’s pressed his cool hand into my warm kayseri escort bayan stomach, and I’d pause, then readon. Could he still be unaware of my reaction? Could it still be anaccident? As he pressed, he ran his little finger along my skin just whereit emerged from my trouser waist. My little cock was throbbing.I suppose I shouldn’t have gone back the following week. I could have foundan excuse. I spent most of the week thinking them up. But when Wednesdayrolled round, I found myself looking forward to the lessons. You have toremember the lessons really were brilliant. I knew I was making progress,and I wanted to make more. Okay, my Coach liked fingering by bare skin. Sowhat? He was hardly your typical ‘dirty old man’. I don’t think he was 21,and he was good-looking. He might have played professional football if hehadn’t done his knee in. And he liked me and he wanted me. As far as Iknew, nobody had ever ‘wanted’ me before. And he was good fun.Halfway through the lesson he told me to lie on the carpet and read tohim. Lying flat out would help with my breathing, he said. It was socomfortable lying there, one hand holding the book, the other pillowing myhead. I wasn’t surprised when he lay down, full length, alongside me. Lyingflat out that way meant I was totally exposed. He began the familiarpressure and stroking on my bare stomach. My prick hardened. There was noway I could hide it. He stroked lower and lower until his thumb brushed myerection below the thin grey flannel of my school trousers. I think if I’dprotested in any way, even drawing up legs, he would have stopped, and thatwould have been that. I didn’t. I was curious and aroused.I felt him unclip the top of my trousers and edge down the zip. This wasfurther than I’d expected him to go. He edged aside the flaps of my flies,exposing my white underpants. His fingers stroked the bare skin above theelastic, then slipped underneath. He held my stiff penis between his thumband forefinger squeezing gently as I read on, missing more full stops thanI managed. This only lasted a couple of minutes. Then he closed me up,zipped me up, closed my clip, and tucked my shirt in.The lesson went on as if nothing had happened. It was insane to lie thereon the carpet in the living room and do what he did. The living room had ahuge window. Anyone visiting or passing by couldn’t have missed us. Alittle blond boy lying on a carpet reading beside a man with his hand inthe boy’s open trousers. It was insane. The lesson ended and, as usual,Coach walked me home because he had tea every Wednesday with friends wholived near us. As we walked we chatted about the coming Saturdaymatch. Coach did most of the talking; as usual, I listened. I loved tolisten, especially to someone who was really enthusiastic about something Iloved. We never mentioned the sex; neither then, nor in what followedafterwards did we once mention the sex. Perhaps that’s what made itpossible.Next week’s lesson started with some fun card games to improve myspelling. Then Coach said, “It’s time we used the computer.” I followed himinto a small bedroom. It was clean and tidy with a pleasant smell in theair. On a desk beneath the window stood a computer. There were two chairsin front of the desk. There was a single bed. We did a quiz on thecomputer, all about football, it must have taken ages to prepare. It wasgreat fun.Coach indicated the bed. “Get on and read this.” I lay down on the bed,face up, reading some pages he had prepared. They told a very funny storyabout some of my friends and me. There was some light sex in the story. Itmade me smile and want to read on. I had to fill in the blanks. Coach satdown on the edge of the bed. “Read it to yourself first, and then outloud.”I felt him push up my jumper and my shirt. I wasn’t surprised. He undid theclip of my trousers and unzipped me. “Lift,” he said. Still reading, Iraised my bottom and let him slide my trousers and my underpants down to myankles. I felt him stroke my stomach, my pubic area, (I had half a dozenwisps of blond hair), then take my cock between his fingers. I already hadan erection. I vaguely wondered if he was disappointed. I had a small cock,then. About two inches and quite slim. My balls were hairless, like thoseof a little boy. Physically, that’s what I still was – a little boy. Heplayed around, stroking me, jerking me gently, his other hand tracingpatterns over my stomach, my chest and my nipples.”Should I read out loud now?” I asked.”Yes, go on,” he said.As I stumbled through the story, I felt his mouth suck in my cock. Hismouth was hot and wet. Slowly at first, but then faster and faster, hishead bobbed up and down on my cock. It was weird. When I really got stuckover a word, he’d raise his head, pronounce the word, and then go back downon me. Once I stopped and asked him what a word meant: the word was’erect’. Coach raised his head. “It means sticking up or standingup. That’s where the word ‘erection’ comes from.” I hadn’t understood theword ‘erection’ before then.”Should I read it again?” I asked. He obviously wasn’t finished.”Yes, please, Mike. No mistakes this time.”I started reading again, more confidently second time round.He grasped my hips. “Over.”I turned over so that I was lying face down. His fingers ran over mybuttocks. Then his lips. He pried the cheeks of my bottom open. I felt histongue run along the inside of my cheeks several times, then the hot tiptouched my hole. I was nearly sick with excitement. This was the dirtiestthing I could think of anyone doing, yet it was the most exciting. I feltthe hot tip of his tongue run up and down the little serrated edge. He gavea push and the tip slipped in. I lay there, willing my ring to pen so thathe could more of his tongue inside me, but it was far too small. I wasn’tworried he’d try to fuck me. I’d just say no. And I was so small built thathe’d have real trouble getting a finger in my hole, never mind hisprick. In any event, he didn’t try.”Over,” he said.I rolled over and went on reading. “Lift.” I raised my bottom. He pulled upmy trousers and underpants, then did up my clothes as if I was three yearsold. When I finished reading, I rolled off the bed and stood in front ofhim while he tucked me in and tidied me up.We went into the living room, finished the lesson, and had tea andsandwiches. Then he walked me home.This happened during each lesson for the next few weeks. Though he suckedme for ten minutes at a time, I never came. He didn’t seem to mind. Henever suggested I should do anything to him. Maybe he sensed I would haverefused. Maybe he just wanted to touch me. Maybe he’d got in deeper thanhe’d intended and didn’t know how to stop.At half term I went on a family holiday to Florida. I came back tanned andsmelling of sun, sea and sand. When we finished the lesson on the computer,Coach instructed me to lie on the bed and read to him. I lay face down. Hesaid, “Over.” I said, “I don’t want to.” He said, “Okay, then startreading, and don’t forget your full stops.”We went on with our lessons for the next four months. He never touched meagain. That was the only difference. Everything was just as much fun. Weall played our hearts out for him on the football field, and he taught meto read and spell.Coach stayed with us for another two years. Then he went back to a youngeryear group. As far as I know, he never ‘abused’ another boy.That was five years ago.A few weeks ago, my team staggered into a local pub. We were all quitedrunk.I walked right into Coach.”Hi, Rob, heard you boys won. Brilliant.”He was with his girlfriend of five years standing; I was with mine – shewas the only thing keeping me standing.Coach and I gave each other big smiles. We chatted about nothing for acouple of minutes, then I staggered off with my girlfriend and my mates tothe room on the other side of the bar. We’d booked it for celebrations. Wehad something to celebrate.Date: 25-08-98 (22:23) Number: 053 To: Apollo Refer#: 996 From: Will Read:YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGEMy name’s William, but everybody calls me Will. I was seduced when I wastwelve. But was I seduced only because I wanted to be seduced?Parents can be amazingly naive. Mine used to let our junior school teacherbabysit me and my younger brothers, Jamie, 10, and Gary, 8. Our teacher wascalled Andrew X., but when we stayed over at his house, he let us call himAndy. I suppose part of the attraction at staying over at Andy’s was theamount of freedom he gave us.In those days, not so long ago, I was tall for my age, and I had, theysaid, choirboy, angelic good looks, though there was nothing else about theangel in me. To tell the truth, I was so energetic I was a bit of a pain inthe ass, but Andy seemed to enjoy my high spirits, and I appreciated it.We became regulars at Andy’s place, about once a month, and we got intocertain routines, like wrestling on the carpet, the three of us againstAndy. That night, the night it really started, we got Andy onto the floor,and managed to haul his sweatpants down. He wasn’t wearing any underpants,and he was completely exposed to our fascinated gaze. Well, my gaze wasfascinated; my brothers probably thought it was just another bit of fun.Andy let me get a real eyeful, then wrestled the three of us under him. Hewas tickling us, and we were laughing uncontrollably. Looking back, Irealise how often Andy touched us all over, non-sexually. I suppose he wassoftening us for what might happen one day.A little later I pushed Andy a bit further, just to see what his reactionwould be. I went into the bathroom, then waddled out with my pants aroundmy ankles, my T-shirt pulled down over my crotch. The others were sittingon the couch, getting ready for the movie. I guess they thought I’d myboxers on. I didn’t. I jerked up my T-shirt in front of them to reveal Ihad a full-blown hard-on. (In those days, I knew all the words, though Ihadn’t done anything yet. I hadn’t even jerked off, though I’d heard lotsabout it in school.)My brothers fell about laughing, but Andy just sat there in silence. Helooked at my face, then lowered his gaze to my naughty bits, then back tomy face. “Are you going to watch the movie like that?” he asked, which madeall of us fall about laughing. My face went red. I rushed back into thebathroom and pulled up my pants, but I didn’t put my boxers back on.”Can I lie on the couch?” I asked. There were murmurs of protest from Jamieand Gary. Usually we boys bundled up together on the carpet; it was a realprivilege to be on the couch next to Andy. The protests didn’t last long;my brothers were keen to get the movie started: Terminator II. Anothergreat thing about Andy was letting us watching adult-rated movies. We weresworn to secrecy, without anyone saying anything overtly, and since all ofthese movies contained v******e rather than sex, none of us was embarrassedabout it.Andy shrugged his shoulders. I scrambled onto the couch, and stretchedmyself full length, leaving just enough room for Andy to sit in the spaceat the bottom of my feet.The light went down. Jamie hit the VCR, and we were underway.Two hours of big Arnie blasting everything human that moved: Fucking Great!After about ten minutes, I wriggled along the couch a bit, so that my feetand legs were d****d over Andy’s knees. “Just getting comfortable,” Imuttered. I felt Andy’s hand drop onto my calves; he gave them a squeeze toput my at my ease. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but I have toadmit I hoped something would. I knew Andy liked me; I could see it in hiseyes; and I knew if from the little extra favours he did me now andagain. Nothing you could really put your finger on it, but it was there: Iwas Andy’s favourite boy.Andy kept on squeezing my calf muscle. My cock began to stiffen a little. Iraised my right leg in the air to adjust my position, and felt Andy’s handslide up between my legs till he reached the bottom of my butt. I saidnothing, but I eased my legs apart a little more, not quite sure why, butknowing instinctively this would appeal to my teacher. A few moments later,the squeezing began again, but this time the lower part of my buttocks gotthe treatment. My cock gave little jumps and stiffened to its fulllength. Maybe I was only twelve, but I knew what was happening: SEX!The hand stroked my buttocks, then slid higher under my T-shirt. Thefeeling of Andy’s cool fingers on my naked flesh made my gulp. Then thefingers sneaked their way under the elastic of my sweat pants until thehand was flat against my naked buttocks. It was now or never. I could makea vague muffled protest and the hand would slide away. Or I could donothing, and let what happened happen. I did nothing.The fingers slid into my crack. My face was glowing with embarrassment, butno one could see it in the half light of the darkened room. My brotherswere sprawled on the carpet facing away from us. I felt Andy’s fingersexploring my crack, though he steered clear of my bum hole. His finger tipsstroked the bottom of my scrotum, and I hunched up a little to give himeasier access. He gently manipulated my balls, then his fingers managed toreach the base of my shaft. My hard cock pointed straight up to my belly,and Andy couldn’t get much further because of my position. But there was nohiding the naked truth: I had a hard-on.”It’s getting cold in here.” That was me. “Jamie, get me a duvet.””Get your own duvet.””You can have my crisps at half-time.””One duvet coming up.”Andy’s hand was withdrawn from my crack. He hit the pause button on theremote. Jamie jumped up, nipped into our bedroom, and returned with a duvetwhich he threw unceremoniously across me. I twisted so I was lying more onmy side, my body open to the TV screen, and to Andy’s fingers if theyreturned. I didn’t have long to wait.I suppose Andy took my stillness for the acquiesence it was. His fingersslipped under the elastic of my sweatpants again, but this time they sliddown my front and wrapped around my erection. He carressed my cock andballs, his fingers edged my foreskin back, and he began working the skin upand down my shaft. The intense feelings of pleasure he created ran throughmy hard-on, the balls tightened in their sac, and I imagined I could feelmy heartbeat in my asshole, which, I guess, is impossible. For the time Iwas being masturbated, and it wasn’t by my own hand.Under the duvet, Andy worked my sweatpants down to my knees. It was amazingto feel his hand and fingers work over my crotch, my genitals, and theflesh between my thighs. I lay there watching Edward Furlong on the back ofArnie’s motorcycle, half-imagining it was Andy and I going on thatdelirious adventure. We were on one of our own.I felt Andy shift his position. His fingers raised the duvet, and Isuddenly felt his hot breath on my stomach. I panicked. I reached down andgripped his hair, holding his head away from me. I wasn’t scared at theprospect of his mouth around my cock; that seemed a natural progression. Iwas scared Jamie might turn around and see our junior school teachersucking me off! Generally, we brothers kept each other’s secrets, but thatwould have been stretching loyalty a bit far.Andy returned to stroking my cock. The waves of pleasure built to anintensity that couldn’t last. I held back the whimpers and moans in mythroat. I began to shove hard against Andy’s fingers and hand; in fact, Iwas fucking his hand, then my hips crotch, thighs and hips bucked, andlittle jets of hot liquid spurted from my cock. I was naive, but I wasn’tan idiot: I was cumming! For the first time in my life I was cumming,shooting my load, having an orgasm. I’d had a few wet dreams in my time,but they didn’t count. This was the real thing, and it was unbelievablyexquisite.Where my cum was going, I didn’t give a fuck. That was Andy’s job. He’dcaysed it to happen; he’d clean up the mess. I was glad to be under oneAndy’s duvets and not in my own sleeping back. Selfish, or what?For the next hour I concentrated on the movie, though my cock never gotreally soft. At the end of the film, I asked Andy if I could sleep on thecouch. More protests from Jamie and Gary. But I said Andy’s cat had beensleeping in the spare bedroom, and that was rotten on my asthma. I neededthe couch if I was to get a good night’s sleep. My brothers huffed andpuffed, but they were too satisfied with the movie, and too tired toprotest for long. I got my way.Andy let me take a quick shower to remove any lingering cat hairs, and Ireturned to the lounge wrapped only in a huge fresh bath towel. I scrambledunder the duvet, and waited for Andy to wish me good night. Lying there inthe darkness, I felt my cock stiffen again. I was embarrassed, and turnedon my stomach. After a couple of minutes, I heard Andy come in and kneel bythe side of the couch. He half-tried to turn me over, but I resisted. Mycock, though hard, was still sensitive, and I wasn’t sure how I’d react toa blow-job. (See how well I knew all the right words!)Andy edged down the bath towel until it was bunched at my ankles. My bareass presented itself to him, and I was glad I’d given myself a good scrubin the shower. He began to rub and stroke my bottom. It felt neat. Then Ifelt him part the crack in my buttocks, and I before I could figure out”what next”, I felt his tongue slide up the inside of my thighs. The tippoked at my bum hole. I couldn’t believe it. Here was our much-respectedteacher licking my asshole. Thank God, I’d washed myself thoroughly. And hewas doing more than licking it: he stuck the tip of his tongue right insideme. It wasn’t comfortable, but it did’t hurt, and as I got used to it, itfelt kinda good. It gave the well-known insult “kiss my ass” a whole newmeaning.I didn’t make any sound, apart from little grunts, and Andy was probablyunsure of himself, because he suddenly spoke.”Look, Will,” he said, “I’m not sure if you want be to be doing this, soI’m going to my room. Come if you want. I want you to, but it’s up to you.”I sensed him rise and walk away.I lay there for a few moments trying to figure out what it was I wanted. Iliked Andy, and I liked what he was doing to me. I wanted to have thatfeeling again. But did that make me a fag, a homo? I didn’t know. And Ididn’t much care. The moment was all that mattered.I got up, pulled the towel around me, and padded to Andy’s bedroom. Thedoor was ajar.”Andy,” I whispered.”Yes, Will?””I can’t get to sleep. Can I stay with you for a bit?””Yes, Will.”I padded into the room. Only a bed lamp was on. I dropped the towel andscrambled quickly under Andy’s duvet. I put my arms on the pillow, and myhead on my arms. I closed my eyes.Andy started kissing me. Light little kisses, nothing serious. First myforehead, then myt cheeks, then my lips, just brushing them. Then my chest,my nipples, my tummy button. I was a little embarrassed when his lipspulled at the little pubic hair I had, but even that was exciting. Then hislips brushed the bottom of my shaft, so that it leaned against his cheek. Afinger insinuated itself between my legs, found my crack, and stroked thelips of my ring. Every now and then, Andy would whisper nice things, sweetthings, things that reassured me.I knew he was going to go further, so I relaxed and let his finger slipinside me. His mouth, hot and wet, took in my penis and began to slide upand down my erection. I reached out with my hand and discovered Andy wasnaked! I was scared at first, but I couldn’t resist the urge to explore.His cock was big, very big, but maybe that was only in comparison to what Iknew – boys’ cocks. And he was hairy, very hairy. “Aw fuck it,” I thoughtto myself, and stretched my fingers around his hard-on. I could feel itthrobbing as if it had a beating heart of its own. Tentatively, I began towork the skin up and down the shaft, hoping I was doing it right. It washard to concentrate, because Andy was sucking my cock hard, while hisfinger did things inside of me I can’t even begin to describe.At one point, he left my cock and raised my legs onto his shoulders. I knewhe was examining my asshole. I’d done myself a couple of times; lying on myhead, pitching my legs over my shoulders and having a look at the littlepuckered brown hole with its darker-skinned ring. For the life of me, Icouldn’t see anything sexy about it. Andy obviously could; he kissed it andsucked it till I thought he would turn it inside out. Finally, heremembered what I needed and got back to my cock, sucking me faster andfaster till I exploded for a second time that night.I slept in Andy’s arms that night. I watched him jack himself off three orfour times. To be honest, I did it for him the fourth time. I couldn’tbring myself to suck him off, though he pressed the back of my headhopefully now and again. A few weeks later I did it for him; it turned outto be no big deal, though I always preferred to be done to rather than todo myself, if you follow me.Andy and I had sex for about three months. Then it all ended when Andy gotcaught. He got caught having sex with Gary, my eight year old brother! Icould’ve told him Gary was a heck of a blabbermouth. Anyway, they hushed itall up, and Andy left our school, and, as far as I know, he left our townand teaching all together.I felt guilty for a bit. Then I got on with my life. That’s what you dowhen you’re twelve years old.Date: 25-08-98 (22:38) Number: 057 To: Apollo Refer#: 999 From: Tim F.Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGEJuly 18th 1996, a warm, sunny afternoon in a cathedral city in the southeast of England. I was doing freelance work (graphic design) for a coupleof months, staying a hotel, and feeling pleasantly bored.About four in the afternoon, out window-shopping, I answered a call ofnature and headed for the toilets near the city centre. Going in, I glancedat a young boy, about 12 or 13, sitting on the entrance step. He was inschool uniform. I thought he might be waiting for a friend or even for hisfather – though it was a pretty insalubrious place to be sitting.I entered the toilets, found a urinal and pulled my dick out. I’d hardlystarted to piss when I noticed someone take the next urinal. A bit oddsince none of the other urinals was in use. Tradition dictates you don’tstand beside another guy if there are spaces elsewhere. It was the boy.A little embarrassed, I listened to myself splashing into the bowl. Nosimilar sounds from the next bowl. I didn’t look. He was a boy, I was man,you don’t look. I shook myself and washed my hands. I glanced back. The boywas still standing at the urinal, apparently taking a leak, but he waslooking over his shoulder – at me! I hurried out of the toilets and headedback the few yards to the city centre. I sat down on one of the benches.Curiosity got the better of me. Surely the boy wasn’t… I had to take alook. Sure enough, he was sitting there on the step, eyeing every man whoentered the toilet. Drawn as if by a magnet, I strolled casually over andlooked down at the boy. He looked up at me and held my look.God, he was an angel!Streaked blond hair with a darker underlay. The face of a choir boy. Clear,freckled skin. Strong dark eyebrows. Eyelashes that brushed the skin belowhis eyes. Large hazel eyes. A small, straight nose, slightly curved,slightly upturned. Fullish lips and perfect teeth. I didn’t see all that ina single glance. I saw it a few minutes later as we sat together on a benchin the city centre. I’d nodded to him and walked away. He got up andfollowed me. Butterflies danced in my stomach. I remember thinking howcrazy this was; not only me walking off with a boy who’d been solicitingmales in front of a public toilet, but the boy himself taking such insanerisks.His name was Tony M. He was thirteen. He went to the local comprehensiveCatholic school. He was funny, articulate, self-possessed, and in no waynaive. He only had half an hour. His little sister was in McDonalds for abirthday party with her friends. He had to collect her at 5 and see herhome. He wasn’t quite 13; he’d be 13 on August 18, in exactly onemonth. Tony steered the conversation round to sex, and more precisely todicks, pricks, cocks.Had I seen a big one? What did I consider a big one? Did I know any boyswith big ones? Did I know any boys his age with big ones? Did I have a bigone?Put like that it is crude. But that’s not the way Tony did it. He had areal enthusiasm for big cocks. His skin glowed and his eyes shone as wediscussed cocks in general and big cocks in particular.”Well, do you?””Do I what?””Have a big one?” At last he blushed.”Depends what you call big,” I fenced, blushing.”Can I see it?”I’d never had sex with a man or boy in my life. What made him think…?”Okay. But where?””McDonalds.””No, we can’t. Remember my sister. The toilets. Come on.” Tony practicallyjogged to the toilets with me in tow.The toilets were just closing.He looked at me frantically.”The bus station toilets. Come on!”This time we did jog. I was 21, no problem.As we reached the station toilets, we slowed down to a reasonably dignifiedscamper.The toilets were empty. There were two cubicles. Neither door had alock. Tony pulled me inside one. The place reeked of urine. He backed metowards the toilet seat.”Sit down. I’ll do you first.”Semi-dazed, I sank back onto the toilet seat. Tony dropped to his knees andscrabbled with the opening of my trousers. “Fuck it.” He pulled the beltopen, unzipped me, hauled down my underpants.My cock sprang up, so hard it actually ached.The boy knelt over me, his fascinated gaze on my prick, as he jerked mehard and fast, his lips brushing the head every now and then. I was tooexcited to feel that much. It was a tiny cubicle with another nextdoor. There was no lock on the door. It was a very busy toilet. Atwelve-year-old schoolboy was kneeling between my legs, enthusiasticallytossing me off. Insane!After five minutes, Tony gave me an exasperated look. “Hurry up,” hewhispered.”Stand up,” I whispered.The boy stood up and started to undo his trousers. Then he took his handsaway and looked down at me. He didn’t have to say anything. I reached out,unclasped his school flannels, unzipped him and pushed his trousers andwhite underpants to his knees. Tony pushed his jacket open and pulled uphis shirt and sweater until they were around his neck.His body was as beautiful as his face. Clean, creamy skin. A strong chest,washboard stomach with little belly button (an inner). A patch of dark hairat the base of his stomach. His erection, around four inches, pointingstraight up to his chin. His prick as thick as my thumb. I edged back theforeskin and ran my fingers tenderly over his prick and balls. Tony pushedat my head. I sank down and took his prick in my mouth. I sucked him theway I thought it should be done, varying the pressure, depth and speed,while one hand worked on his ballsac and the other stroked his chest andnipples. I could hear the boy sighing audibly above me.Tony came in a couple of minutes, hips and knees jerking as he shot hissurprisingly thick, hot load into my mouth and throat. I gulped himdown. He pushed my face away, his cock was that sensitive. I thought theencounter was coming to an end. Not quite.The boy grinned at me, then turned, leant against the door and flicked hisshirt tail up to show me his ass. I couldn’t believe he was expecting me tofuck him there and then. I grasped my cock, still so hard it hurt, up anddown his crack before burrowing it between his cheeks. I shot my load!Cumming took my completely by surprise. A stream of warm jism shot deepinto the boy’s crack. Tony’s reaction – he wiggled his bum!We pulled ourselves together and did up our clothes. Tony smiled all thetime. If I hadn’t chatted to him earlier, I would have suspected he washalf-witted. He was anything but that. I wanted to whisper, “You go first,”but he flung the door open, turned to me, and shook my hand. “Thank youvery much,” he said. “I’m late for my sister.” And he sprinted off acrossthe station in the direction of McDonalds, his school tie flapping behindhim.I never saw Tony again.I haunted the toilets for the next two weeks. I didn’t want sex again withhim. I wanted to sit him down and giving him a good telling-off. I wantedto talk about the risks he was taking: ****, murder, AIDS.Tony needs help. Every boy who is driven to haunting the streets andtoilets looking for casual sex needs help. I probably need help, too, butthat’s help of a different kind.Tony’s needs come first.If you find him/them – the Lost Boys – don’t use them, help them.LOG OFF
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