I was something of a late developer, both physically and emotionally. I didn’t really have any interest in sex until I was at least sixteen. I attended a boys-only school in South London. It was the nineteen-seventies and so we still had communal changing and showers for football and swimming. I could see plenty of naked young men, but had absolutely no chance of seeing a naked woman.
In those days, attitudes to homosexuality were much less enlightened than they are now, and so I would never have discussed any feelings in that direction with anyone.
And most of those feelings were about one particular young man, the same age as me. I’ll call him Robert for the purposes of this account. There was something about him that I found attractive. He had wavy brown hair and dark brown eyes. He was a very good-looking boy who was a good swimmer and athlete. The strange thing was, despite the aforementioned communal changing and showers, I never saw him naked at school. But I imagined it.
Eventually, we left school and had girlfriends. Robert had many girlfriends and seemed to have no problem getting them into bed. I struggled a bit more but did, at least, manage to lose my virginity before the events in this account (see my story “Before I Was Nineteen”).
Robert and I went on a short holiday in mainland Europe when we were 21. We stayed in youth hostels. I remember seeing him when he was dressed in just a pair of briefs. I mentally stored that image, and I can still access it now. By that time, I was exclusively interested in girls, but somehow, this one image would crop up in my fantasies. I never told him or hinted that I found him attractive.
A group of us friends from school continued to socialise together long after we had left school. We would go and see bands together or go to the local pub. Most of us still lived with our parents, but Robert had somehow managed to get the tenancy of a council flat.
About two years after our holiday together, we had been out drinking together, and Robert, another boy, and I all went back to his flat when the pub closed. We had some coffee, and then the other boy left, leaving just Robert and me.
We had been drinking, but we weren’t drunk. We knew what we were doing. We had perhaps drunk enough to lower inhibitions. We sat side-by-side on the sofa. I honestly can’t remember who initiated a conversation about sex, or daring each other or how it started. But I remember saying that, if he touched me, I wouldn’t push him away.
He wasn’t sure if I was joking, and I wasn’t sure if he was. But I found his hand on my thigh and, as promised, did nothing to remove it. This encouraged him to move it higher until it was over my fly. I’m sure he expected me to stop him at this point, but I didn’t.
Emboldened, he undid the waistband of my jeans and began to pull the zip down. I still hadn’t touched him, but decided that now was my chance. I reached across, undid his waistband, and pulled the zip down.
We now were sitting with our hands on each other’s underpants. I was very nervous and very excited. My stomach was turning somersaults. We weren’t sure what to do next. I think we both knew what we wanted to do but this was a big step for two apparently heterosexual young men.
It was my turn to make the next move. I figured I might as well just go for it. He’d stop me if it wasn’t what he wanted. I reached for the waistband of his pants and pulled it down to expose his penis. He had a large patch of pubic hair and a surprisingly small cock. It was hard, though.
He reached across and pulled my pants down to release my cock. In those days, my cock seemed bigger than now. It was certainly bigger than his.
I took hold of his cock. It felt hard, but really was much smaller than mine. He took hold of mine. Instinctively, we began to move our hands up and down, doing to each other what we did to ourselves at home.
We tentatively held and jerked each other’s cocks for a few moments before I suggested we move to the bedroom, as this was not the most comfortable of positions. For the first time, Robert hesitated. This would be moving what could be passed off as a drunken fumble to something a lot more serious.
I said, “I don’t want to kiss you or anything. But we can toss each other off.”
We moved to the bedroom and, gently, stripped each other naked. His body was everything I’d imagined (except for the small cock). We got onto the bed together and took hold of each other’s cocks. We began to masturbate each other and then, without a word and despite my earlier assertion, kissed each other. It just seemed a natural thing to do. We had tongues in each other’s mouths as we gripped each other. This is the only time I’ve kissed another man or wanted to.
I was now extremely turned on. I also knew that I might never get another opportunity like this, and so, when he asked me if I wanted to fuck, I said yes.
I didn’t know much about anal sex. I think that, by then, I had done it a couple of times with my girlfriend. That had been lubricated by the juices from vaginal sex. Robert and I did not have any lube.
Robert wanted me to be the top (a term I didn’t know at the time). He gave me a condom as we thought the lubrication might help. He lay on his stomach. I put the condom on and placed the tip of my penis at his anus. I pushed but could not get in. I tried again, but he was too tense, and I was too nervous. It probably didn’t help that he was lying flat rather than kneeling or bringing his legs up. We just didn’t know how to do it. Porn, especially gay porn, wasn’t as ubiquitous as it is now. After a few attempts, we gave up, and I pulled the condom off.
Instead, I leaned over and took his penis into my mouth. We manoeuvred until we were in a 69 position, both sucking each other’s cocks. It felt amazing to have this hard thing in my mouth. But his sucking of my cock wasn’t doing a lot for me. Somehow, I wasn’t progressing towards the orgasm I craved. It seemed he felt the same.
We stopped sucking and returned to jerking each other. But this wasn’t working either. I think we were both too anxious and a little too rough with each other. His grip was firmer than I used on myself, and my girlfriend was much more gentle with me. It’s odd. You’d think that men would know, from their own practice, how to get each other off.
Eventually, we agreed that we should finish by masturbating ourselves while we lay next to each other. I asked him to tell me when he was getting near coming. A few minutes later, he said, “I’m close.”
I leant over and took him back into my mouth just in time for him to pump his sperm into it. I swallowed it. I’d tasted my own sperm before, and his tasted the same, but this was much, much more exciting. It pushed me towards my own climax. I told Robert, but disappointingly, he failed to suck me, and I shot a jet onto my stomach.
We lay there for a bit. We were both embarrassed, I think. We both swore that it would not happen again and that we would never tell anyone what had happened. He was particularly keen that I did not tell my girlfriend, which I didn’t—well, not for a long time, anyway. I cleaned myself up and went home.
That was the only time I ever actually went to bed with another man. I had many girlfriends and a couple of wives over the next forty years.
Robert, on the other hand, became exclusively a very promiscuous homosexual for the next few years before settling down into a long-term relationship with another man. Maybe I was just his guinea pig.