Curious but Willing

I perched on a stool at the bar, my drink in my hand, anxious, curious, but at the same time, I had to admit, somewhat scared. I had decided to do something about my attraction to men. During the five years that I was married, I hankered after other men. Previous to marriage, I had been with women, but had had nothing to do with other men. Now after my divorce, I thought it was about high time that I brought this attraction to reality. Scary, right?

As I said, I had never been with a man before although I strongly wanted to. Somehow, the opportunity hadn't arose, whether back in high school or in college. I had never had the nerve, and I always convinced myself that such desires were going to pass. I had married. These desires hadn't passed.

So here I was in a gay bar, perched on a wooden stool, sipping my scotch on ice, and not daring to look around. What was I expected to do? Should I scan the place, find a handsome man, and ask him to go to bed with me? What an atrocious idea. What if a man came onto me and declared his sexual lust for me? I shivered with anticipation although half-convinced that nothing of the above was going to happen. I felt as if I was as green as leaf of lettuce, or a cucumber?

But still, why not? I am an attractive early-30s man, the last time I looked at myself in the mirror, after a shower, naked. I was fit: flat stomach, defined pecs, nice round nipples. Ok, a bit too hairy with a thick chest patch, trailing down to my curly crotch crowning the base of my dick. But I was no James Dean, nor was I a Blake Mitchell from the porn I had watched. Just your average guy.

Already my heart was beating faster than normal, and there was a decided itch in my groin. The result of anxiety, anticipation, curiosity? I pretended to be casual, and I had noticed how some of the men in the bar stared at me when I entered, casing me, looking me over. I felt their eyes boring into me and I was really scared at the prospects.

"Compliments of the gentleman," the barman said as he placed another scotch on ice in front of me, startling me out of my thoughts, making me realize where I was: a fucking gay bar! He nodded towards the other end of the bar.

I looked. The man there seemed to be around my age, early thirties, by my initial estimate. Light beard. Longish hair. Sparkling eyes. A thin smile on his lips. All in all, not bad for a first quick glance. I raised my drink, my hand shaking slightly, and saluted him in thanks. Was he sending me a message? That he liked me? Duh, of course, he was. I trembled, feeling a chill down my spine and a stirring in my groins. Maybe a trickle down my armpit. Already? This was incredible, all those feelings translated into bodily stirrings and achings.

After a minute or so, the man sauntered over and took the stool next to mine.

"Hi," he said, his smile widening, exposing white and straight teeth. A big plus. The guy was scoring big with me: I loved the beard and the white, healthy teeth, but now I also noticed that his longish hair was tied back in a ponytail. "Ian," he extended his hand. I shook hands with him and felt that the hold was firm and lasted a few seconds more than normal. I sort of felt his thumb rubbing on my hand and my heart beats accelerated.

"Steven," I managed to croak.

"Seems you're new here?" he said as he raised his drink and sipped. Voice a little gruff, and I thought it went so well with the beard and the white teeth. Masculine, enticing...

I nodded. "Yes," I agreed. It wasn't that difficult to notice how hesitant and unsure I was.

"It's a nice place," Ian said, placing his drink on the bar, his hand dropping onto my thigh, his eyes gazing into mine. I shivered at the hand pressure. That was forward of him, wasn't it? Was it normal for men at gay bars to start making out, right there and then? I had noticed a couple (men) dancing close to each other when I entered the bar. But those had been other people; this was me, with a man's hand caressing my thigh!

I felt the warmth of his hand on my thigh. His smile was alluring enough, but his touch was hot, scorching. I was able to control the shaking, and I brought up the courage to place my own hand over his and press down. He reacted by moving his hand inside my thigh, rubbing. The smile was killing me already. If a hand touch could do this to me, what would naked skin to skin do, then? What would it be like to feel a man-dick, hard and throbbing, poking at my naked body? The chill down my spine became more persistent, running down from my nape to my butt.

Our conversation was loaded. All sorts of double meanings, stuff like his making a comment about the way I sipped my drink, how my lips wrapped around the rim of the glass. Was that his way of telling me that kissing me was erotic? Or even that my lips around his cock were more erotic? I shivered. Or my comment about his ponytail hair tied at the back and whether he liked his body parts long and tied up. Was that my way of telling him that I loved his body parts? Shiver.

We smiled and laughed and the alcohol was successful in making me loose and almost back to my normal self. The rubbing on my thigh continued, and now my dick was elongated with a semi-erection, aware of my feeling of anticipation.

"Excuse me for a minute," Ian said as he slipped off his stool. "Pee time."

I watched his back as he moved towards the men's room. Wearing tight jeans, his butt was bubbled and moved suavely and feline-like. I considered following. I was aching to see him with his back arched and his dick in his hand as he pissed into the urinal. I saw myself holding his penis, feeling it pulsating in my grip as urine streamed out of the slit. I saw myself leaning and kissing the side of his neck, watching the relief on his face as he emptied his bladder. I even imagined my front pressed onto his back, grinding. But I was no slut. No way I would do any of that, as tempted as I was.

A few minutes later, Ian emerged and walked back. I watched. Of course, I noticed the bulge in his jeans, and something tingled down my spine, enhancing the chills. Walking erect, head up, arms swinging, he attracted most of the clientele and I was jealous already. He exuded masculinity. Feet planted firmly with every step. A hint of a smile on his handsome face.

"Phew," Ian heaved as he raised himself up on the stool spreading his legs wide, and picking up his drink. "I needed that," he said.

"Peeing?" I asked, and inwardly slapped myself for sounding so innane.

Ian gazed at me over his glass, his eyes boring into me. His eyes were green, I noticed, speckled with brown dots, intense.

"You were expecting something else?" he said, setting down his drink and squeezing my thigh. All this time, as his hand was working my thigh, up and down and in and out, he never reached my crotch. I shivered.

I smirked.

"Hey," he exclaimed, "care to dance?"

I was taken by surprise. Shocked. Dance with a man? In front of all to see and watch? Bodies close? Arms entwined? Oh, my sweet God. I hesitated. How could I? Would it be sluttish of me to accept immediately? Just like that? Yeah, dude, let's dance and make out... and let me feel your dick pressing on me.

"Sure," I heard myself croaking, almost choking, unbelieving I said it.

I was glad that, at least, he didn't lead me to the dance space. We just slid off our stools and walked over to the space where the couple had been dancing when I entered the place. I wasn't sure what to do now that we were there. It wasn't like I danced with men all my life.

Ian faced me, placed his hands on my waist and smiled into my face. I let my arms dangle down, not knowing what to do with them. Gazing into my eyes, he took my right arm and placed it on his shoulder. So: that was what it was going to be, then? First, he had bought me a drink. Then, he had placed his hand on my thigh, caressing. He had asked me to dance with him. And now he placed my arm on his shoulder. Ok. So he was the man. I was fine with that as I wrapped my other arm around his neck and stepped closer. We moved to the music.

I felt the heat of his body as we danced closer. And then, his crotch pressed against mine. I died and went to heaven. All what had happened before was a first for me. But a man's crotch pressing on me with his arms enfolding me and pulling me tighter to him? The tingling down my spine turned to electric shocks, and I felt my knees weakening. His erection was rubbing on me and his lips were less than an inch away from my neck, so close that I felt the hot breaths caressing my skin. I moaned, surrendering myself into his embrace, everything around me melting into nothingness as I took in his body against mine.

"You're fucking hot," came the whisper into my ear. I turned to jelly.

We moved, our bodies pressed against each other, his erection prodding on my thigh, my own hard cock almost killing me. I could feel wetness in my crotch as I started to leak. I'd danced with women before, had held them in my arms, had pressed on them. But this? This was out of the world. Nowhere close to my past experiences. It seemed to me that we were the only people in the place. The way he held me inside his strong arms made me feel owned, totally his. I wondered: what would it be like if we had been naked? Would I shoot my load, just like that, held by him?

As I reveled in between his arms, barely moving, letting him guide the dance, his grinds in rhythm with the music, I contemplated. I'm that kind of person. In the middle of heat, came reflection. It was me, held close by a man, bodies pressed against each other, his breath scorching my neck. I ran a hand up his back and a low moan escaped his mouth. He pressed me tighter to him, his strong arms engulfing me. I was dancing, as if on a date, but I was not leading, as it had been the case before. Ian commanded every move, and I acquiesced.

"Let's go to my place, Steven," Ian bit on my ear, gyrating his hips against mine. I could feel lustful desire emanating from every pore of his body. I knew exactly how a horny man could feel. I'd been in such position before. I'd wanted to take the woman to bed so bad. I'd wanted to fuck!

I nodded. Had I been planning for this? Had I come here to get fucked? That had not been in my books when I decided to come here. But now? Oh, fuck yes, please. I knew that I was not ready yet. Going with another man to his place to have sex? Wasn't I supposed to get to know the man better? Get to communicate? To connect? Ian's cock was communicating quite effectively, in fact. And I was more than ready for him. At least that was what I thought as I followed him out of the bar.

"It's just about 10 minutes away," Ian grabbed my hand as we exited into the street.

I nodded, my heart racing. As we walked under a street lamp, Ian suddenly leant over me and kissed me lightly on the lips. I inhaled, shuddering at the feeling of his lips on mine. What was that all about? Out in the street, under the light, kissing? I felt mesmerized, as if the whole world around us had vanished, melted into nothing, only Ian, towering some two or three inches over me, leaning and kissing me.

His living room was starkly furnished. Lots of space. A couch. An impressionistic painting on the wall above it. A side lamp. Couple of bookshelves with paperbacks; I noticed the series of Game of Thrones among them. A carpet, shaggy, greenish-gray. TV. Desk with a laptop and a reading lamp on it.

The apartment didn't tell me much about Ian. But it surely defined the type of man he was. Nothing frilly. All masculine. I shivered. Ian took me in his arms as soon as we were inside the place. His hands were all over my body, down my back, cupping my butt, as he plastered himself into me, his lips finding mine and his tongue forcing my mouth open. I moaned and writhed inside his hug.

We slobbered. My spine went electric-nuts.

Not letting go of my mouth, Ian undressed me. I wanted to move back and undress him also. I needed to see him naked. The naked men I had seen were porn stars on my laptop screen, virtual, unreachable, a fantasy. This was a man right here, in all his physical glory, flesh and blood and cock.

Standing naked in the middle of his living room, awkwardly exposed, I shivered. My dick was throbbing and plastered up on my belly. "Can I undress you, too?" My voice sounded like begging and I hated myself for that.

He smirked and nodded. I studied him with my eyes, from head to toe, lingering on his crotch. He was a real beauty. I snickered to myself. A beauty? A man? Could you describe a man as beautiful? Yet that was how I took him in. Clothed and beautiful. But I wanted skin. Desired and lusted for skin.

I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a hairy chest, pink nipples and a rippled stomach, a trail of hair running down in the middle to disappear inside his belt and jeans. I ran my hand over the skin: soft in spite of the hair, but firm. He had a tattoo near his left nipple, some stylized lion. I traced it with my fingers.

"You're a Leo," I smirked up at him. He met my smirk with one of his own.

Grabbing my naked butt with his large hand, he said: "You'll soon experience this Leo in action, baby. This Leo is going to fucking devour you."

"Grrrr," I laughed as he grabbed me by the hair pulling my head sideways and biting my lower lip, then pushing his tongue deep into my mouth, sucking my face in, emitting growls from his throat, just like a lion.

I trembled at the animalistic attitude hitting me and, in some weird way, it made me even more horny, more willing, my cock throbbing and my ass twitching like crazy. My sexapades had been with women and the animal had been me not my partner.

Besides, the women I'd been with had soft skin, sure, but theirs was more flabby and squishy, kind of. Ian's skin was masculine-soft, if that made any sense. It was hard-soft. Ripped. Pulsing. Just like the man member outlined sideways inside his jeans, stretching the fabric.

Gazing into his green-brown eyes, I undid his belt and pulled it out of the loops. His smile was not a humorous one but a lustful one. Like he was saying to me: Get on with it, bitch. Get to the real stuff. But I wanted to savor these moments. How often had I fantasized about this? How often had I jacked off with images of men undressing flashing in my mind?

I unzipped his jeans and pulled them halfway down his thighs. Hairy thighs. Beautiful thighs. Chiseled and manly, solidly supporting the hunk smiling in front of me. His jockeys were stretched and skewed with his erection. Glancing down, I could already tell that my man was packing. Now I was starting to think of Ian as my man. Well, he was, wasn't he? He was standing right there, letting me undress him, rock hard, even before I started working on his dick. Just by making out and some kissing, his cock was raging, pleading for action, hungering for my mouth and throat and...? Dared I think of more? I shivered and my ass twitched.

"Baby," he mumbled, "you're fucking killing me."

That said, he wrenched his undies down impatiently, kicking them and the jeans away and he grabbed me to him with force. I inhaled and moaned. Our naked bodies were now plastered on each other. I had wanted to relish his naked body with my eyes and fingers and hands and tongue. To slowly kiss and lick up and down his body, taking in his flavor, breathing his aroma. But Ian was horny and eager. I surmised that, like me, he'd come to the bar because he was horny. He'd needed to fuck and he'd found me. And now that I was between his engulfing arms, naked, he wanted me bad. His cock was already leaking onto my hip as we grinded on each other.

With some pressure, I placed my hands on his bare chest and pushed him back a little, getting down on my knees.

"Oh, fuck, babe, yeah," he groaned, realizing what I intended to do.

I fisted the hard cock shaft. It was throbbing like a plugged-in vibrator turned on maximum function. And it was big. Perhaps big doesn't really give it its due. It was long and veined. The cut head mushroomed and ridged and was dark pink. The shaft was thicker in the middle and the pubes around the base were like a crown adorning a royal member. I gazed. Yes, Ian's cock was royal. I felt his hand on the back of my head goading me. Should I tell him that for me, this was the first man cock ever to touch, grab, squeeze, let alone gaze at? I thought this would destroy the moment, so I leaned in and kissed the head, my tongue flicking a slit already wet with precum. The moan from Ian was audible.

Using my tongue as I tilted my head back to feast my eyes on his nakedness and face, I worked around the knob, licking the under-ridge, down the under shaft to the base, around the hairy balls. I sucked one nut after another as I strokes his shaft. When I moved back to the cock, I took him halfway down, feeling the head press on the back of my throat. I fought back the gag. I pressed my lips around the shaft working my tongue at the knob inside my mouth, watching Ian. He had thrown his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, his mouth wide open, his eyes closed, his back arched.

I started my sucking in earnest, able to take more of it with each downward swallow. My first cock. Inside my mouth. One would think that sucking a man cock is nothing more than pushing a banana or a cucumber down your throat. How wrong was that! Along with the thrusting, I inhaled his scents and felt his throbbing. I was dizzy with all the sensations that coupled my giving Ian head.

With a loud grunt, Ian pulled my head off his cock. It dripped down onto the floor, spit and pre-jizz.

"Fuck, Steven, you almost had me explode. Fuck, what a head! I felt proud and smiled, licking my lips. I wanted his load. Badly. Resisting him, I got back to suck. Faster now, one hand cupping his bobbing balls, the other hand reaching up to squeeze his nipples and feel his chest hair. With a thrust, Ian growled—yes, like a lion—his cock thickened, and he hit my throat with his squirts.

"Fucking cumming, baby. Oh, Fuck!"

Squirt after squirt hit my throat, with Ian's hand pressing on the back of my head. I swallowed but wasn't fast enough to take it all. I felt cum seeping out onto my chin and down my chest, trickling to bury inside my pubes. I moaned as I tasted my first man semen.

Ian flopped down onto the couch, panting, his patch of chest hair glistening with sweat, his dick at half-mast. I leaned over him and kissed the tip of his cock, sliding my tongue up his abs to his chest.

Gazing into my eyes, he said: "Steven, that was intense. I hadn't taken you for a pro. You looked so green and hesitant back in the bar."

"I am green," I said, stroking his cock lovingly.

"You mean... I'm your first?"

I nodded, enjoying our conversation with his cock inside my palm.

Ian sat up, his eyes getting wide. "No way, man! You sucked my cock like a fucking pro. Dude, this can't be the first time you suck cock."

"It is, Ian. And it was heavenly."

He ran his hand through his hair, which had come loose from the pony tail, probably when I was busy down on my knees working his dick. "Damn! Steven. You're a natural. You got me shoot so fast, never happened this fast before. Mostly, I don't cum from getting head. But you drew out my load so fast."

He grabbed my hair and brought my head up to his, plastering his lips on mine, growling. I shuddered. He reached down between our naked bodies and grabbed my dick. My heart skipped a beat as he fisted my throbbing cock, his tongue invading my mouth. I had to pull away as I felt myself near shooting my load.

"I don't wanna cum, babe," I muttered, gazing into his eyes. "Not yet."

"Ah," he smirked. "You want more devouring, huh?"

I stroked his slimed cock back to erection, nodding, with what I thought could have been a naughty smile on my face. I had come all this way already. Sucked a cock. Swallowed man semen. I was curious for more.