A First Encounter

I'm fully clothed and face down on a strange man's bed. The name I know him by is Paolo, but it turns out he's not Italian. But he's a little better looking than I'd expected from his photos, despite the slight receding hairline. And he tells me he gives a wonderful massage.

How did I get here? Years, more than a decade, of repressed sexual curiosity. Occasional drunken online arrangements made and not kept - sometimes on my side, sometimes on the other guy's. Two or three years on a local dating site, sometimes just lurking, at other times trying the patience of the guys I'd contact, or who'd contact me.

But tonight, I got here through a long series of messages, from around 4pm that afternoon onwards. Hadn't seen this guy on the dating site before, but the pics I'd seen looked good and he was reassuring. Just a massage. You've not been with a man before. I'll make you relaxed.

By 9.30pm and a few glasses of wine, I've sent him my mobile number. He texts back with his address. I'll walk. Be there by 10.30.

It takes me about 40 minutes to walk to his. It's on a familiar street, but I have a very unfamiliar feeling, like a hypnotic trance, as I approach his door. I'm swooning with tension and excitement. I've gotten close before, but this time I'm going to cross the threshold.

I ring his buzzer. No answer.

I ring once more. Same.

I then call the number... and text him yet again. Nothing.

I walk home, still full of tense nervous energy, but still strangely deflated, flat. Then, as I approach my door. A text.

I fell asleep. I'm so sorry.

I can come pick you up? Be there 15 minutes.

When his car pulls up alongside the gates of the botanic gardens where we agree to meet, I find myself opening the door and getting in.

So, here I am in his tiny makeshift bedroom (he's not been in town long, not yet settled). There's a guitar, and yoga manuals. And a mattress, not even a full bed. And I'm lying face down, waiting to be touched sensually for the first time by another man. And it's just a massage. I'll let him do the work.

He starts on my arms, splaying them out by my sides and giving them a firm but sensuous rub down which relaxes me so much it's like I'm melting into the mattress. But oddly enough it's the firm stroking of my calf muscles that makes me groan with pleasure. I can feel that he knows exactly what he's doing, that every gesture is there to produce the desired effect... And then when he starts stroking, rubbing the back of my thighs I'm starting to go insane with pleasure. So I turn round, and we embrace.

My hands are running under his shirt, and before long I reach into his jeans and into his underwear. He's huge, as I knew from his photos, but to be feeling my first cock in my hand, soft-to-hardening as I breathe in his musty male scent, so different from the perfumed odour of women, is an extraordinary rush. We're rubbing up against each other, both breathing heavily though he's the calmer of the two.

Then he senses something in my desire which I do not yet know myself, though I had fantasised about it through porn and in my dreams.

He puts his thumb in front of my lips. I open them gently, and take his thumb into my mouth and suck it. And what I know in that second is that I will shortly have his cock in my mouth. That I'm a cocksucker a COCKSUCKER a cocksucker I will suck his cock oh god I will adore his cock that I want it and that nothing else makes sense in that instant but to have this strange man in my mouth. And the fact that he has anticipated my desire, known it before I had known it consciously only makes me want it more. That I've ever so gently, and ever so craftily, been manipulated into taking off his jeans, and down his underwear, and sliding my mouth round my first penis. Which both tastes and feels strange to me, much softer even in its hardening state than I'd ever dreamt, like the biggest, softest thumb you've ever dreamed of, with that slightly rubbery slightly salty taste of foreskin. I'm bewitched, and as my tongue licks up from the base of his balls all the way up the shaft of his penis to envelope round the tip of his now hard cock, beguiled. Helpless. All I remember at this point is a stray glimpse of the pink starfish of his anus.

It's taken an impossibly short time from the first strokes of his massage to this first taste of his dick. Perhaps three minutes, no more.

After a few minutes of enjoying his taste in my mouth, we embrace again and rub our bodies and hard penises together. I feel his cock pushing against my anus, though I know we're not going to fuck and I know he also knows that. He's too big for one thing. And for another, I'm psychologically not ready.

Our rubbing embrace lasts for minutes, my groans now uncontrolled. I'm enjoying the feel of his flesh next to mine, the hairy chest, the hardness of the musculature, the softness of the flesh, the dazzling feel of his sexual organ between my legs.

Then, unbelievably, we come within seconds of each other, my semen spraying out over the inside of his thighs, feeling wet hot and happy.

I will confess that the draining of desire post-orgasm makes me recoil slightly. I'm both deflated and strangely still hyper, and without the intensity of sexual desire I'm feeling a little uncomfortable about my nakedness next to his body, even though I'm enjoying the wet sensation of our sperm covered thighs. He rubs my hair and asks me if I want a lift home. I say, I could do with a walk.