Two months into my second year of university in Birmingham, I was nineteen and still a virgin. Not out of choice, but probably mostly from lack of trying.
Of course, like most young people, I was horny most of the time, but I was also very shy and socially awkward. I was not really out as being bi, so whilst now I wish I had joined the university LGBT club and gone out a lot more in general, I didn’t. My sexual frustration was not helped by sharing a house with a couple who were fucking noisily every other night, a rather hot Sikh guy, and an Italian girl I fancied but who had a boyfriend back in Italy.
Combined, these factors meant that I, as a bit of a nerd, naturally turned to the Internet for solutions. Porn could only satisfy me for so long, and I soon discovered adult dating sites — this was a few years before smartphones and the apps we have these days. It was on one of these dating sites that I met Dave.
Yes, his real name was Dave. I usually change the names of my partners in true stories to respect their privacy, but it seems pointless with a name as common as Dave. There are probably a hundred thousand Daves in the Birmingham area alone. There are probably a few hundred who used to meet up with younger guys in the early 2000s. In fact, there were probably another five Daves fucking younger guys that same night. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
I had been using the site for about a month when I received his message. He must have received one from me as part of my early amateur, naïve, scattergun approach to Internet dating: I would send a message or wink or poke or whatever it was called (it varied site to site) to anyone who vaguely fitted into my idea of who I would like to fuck.
Dave did not even really fit into this category as he was much older than the limits I had set — according to his profile, he was twice my age at the time. However, it must have been — what else? — his cock pic that drew my interest. Even now, I remember how beautifully thick it was. He did not have a face pic, but then neither did I — I was too paranoid that someone I knew would see it — and, at the time, I was so horny that I didn’t care.
In any case, unlike the vast majority of people to whom I had sent messages, Dave replied. Not only did he reply, but also, after exchanging a couple of preliminary messages, he said that, since he travelled for his work and regularly stayed in hotels in the Birmingham area, he could host the meeting. This was very important for me, as I was not ready for my housemates to find out that I was fucking guys, especially guys as old as him — vague hints that I was bi were about as far as I was prepared to go.
We exchanged messages for a couple of weeks. I even sent him some short clips of myself wanking that I had taken with my digital camera. They were not particularly good videos, but I got a thrill knowing a stranger was watching them, especially when he said that he came thinking of sucking my cock.
Soon enough, we arranged a time to meet. We had swapped face pics by then, and maybe I should have asked for more, but I didn’t really care as long as that cock was his, and a few more photos assured me that it was. We arranged to meet at the main city train station, New Street, at five o’clock on a Saturday afternoon and gave each other our phone numbers to ensure we would not miss each other.
The night before the day of the meeting, I excitedly packed my bag with condoms, lube, and clothes for the following morning. I had been on these dating sites long enough to see plenty of profiles complaining about people wasting other people’s time, and I was determined not to be one of them. However, as the agreed hour crept up, I became ever more nervous and unsure whether I really wanted to go through with it. Nevertheless, I forced myself, insisting that I would regret it if I didn’t at least go to the train station. Once I was there, I told myself I should at least look for Dave. In contrast to my lessening desire for the meeting, I also started to realise how underdressed I was — I had just put on my usual clothes of jeans, trainers, and a black hoodie over a T-shirt for some obscure rock band.
Just as my nerves were about to give in and I was ready to get on the next train home, a voice called out behind me.
“Excuse me, are you Robin?”
I turned, and there he was. I was a bit taken aback. In front of me was a man in a dark blue suit, towering a foot or more above skinny little me. From the little that I could tell whilst he was clothed, his body looked like it would have been muscular and athletic in a rugby player kind of way in the not-too-distant past, but his loose-fitting shirt didn’t disguise the fact that he was not attending the gym as often as he used to.
What really brought the reality of our age difference home to me, though, was his face. I realise now that he probably did not look nearly as bad as it seemed at the time. As a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old, though, the face looking down at me from under receding, gelled-back hair seemed saggy, tired, and, above all, old. And he had a goatee, no less! This man was extending a rather hairy hand towards me and grinning sheepishly.
Shit! This is Dave!
I wanted to run. Instead, I heard myself saying, “Yes, you must be Dave!”
“Do you want to go have a beer?” Dave asked, indicating the train station bar.
“Okay,” I said, or at least the person that had taken over my voice box and willpower did, and we walked over to the pub.
While he ordered us both a beer, part of me was still screaming at my body to turn and run back to the train, but as my self-control returned, I forced myself to stay and at least have a beer. I was starting to question if I really was bi — until now, all my fantasies involving men, and all the gay porn clips I watched, were with young, hairless twinks close to my age. In a way, the only distinctly masculine thing I imagined about my theoretical partners was a cock and lack of breasts. On the other hand, with his stocky frame, hairy hands, and facial hair, Dave was a whole lot more manly than I thought I was ready for.
After this beer, I can just go, I told myself, although I do not know who I was trying to fool.
When Dave returned with the drinks and sat down at the table, we attempted to make small talk but soon fell into an awkward silence.
“Robin, you’re quite nervous, aren’t you?” Dave said, finally. I nodded. “That’s okay. I’ve met with a few lads doing this for the first time, just like you. You don’t have to worry. We don’t have to go through with this if you’re really not sure. There’d be no hard feelings.”
I glanced around self-consciously. Of course, even if someone had overheard, it is unlikely they would guess what we were talking about unless they themselves were in the habit of meeting other people off the Internet for sex. He was giving me a way out. This was it. I would either go through with it or abandon the whole idea.
I took a deep breath and plunged in with my reply: “I’m sure.”
“Would it be easier if I take a more dominant role here, like a teacher?” he asked. I nodded, sensing that having some of my control taken from the situation was exactly what I wanted. “Okay, I can do that. I quite enjoy it, actually. We won’t bother with safewords or any of that — ‘no’ and ‘stop’ still mean ‘no’ and ‘stop’. I’ll just tell you what to do, and you do it.”
I swallowed and nodded again, and that, really, was the last time I could seriously have backed out that night.
I did continue to consider it at various moments over the next half hour, though — as we finished our beers, walked from the train station to the car park, got into his car, and drove out of the city centre... When we stopped at the first motorway service station, I suppose I could have jumped out and called a taxi, but I didn’t.
Instead, I went into the shop to get a six-pack of beer on his instructions. Just as I got to the counter, Dave came up behind me, dropped a tube clearly marked ‘personal lubricant’ on top along with the cash to pay for it all, and placed his hairy hand on my shoulder.
“We’ll be needing that tonight,” he said, winking at the wide-eyed blonde cashier. She looked my age if not younger, and I felt my cheeks burn when she caught my eye. I could tell she knew exactly what I would be doing with this older man, or at least her guess would not be far off. As I walked away with our purchases, feeling her eyes on the back of my head, I realised she hadn’t looked disgusted, and that gave me a little shot of confidence.
My nerves returned as soon as we pulled into the car park of the hotel he had booked, just as it started raining. It was a Travel Inn, a chain that you get all over the UK, next to another, larger, motorway services. I stood back while he checked in, listening to him say that his wife had booked a room for him, doing my best not to catch the eye of the pretty short-haired brunette behind the counter. I could feel myself going bright red again as these attempts failed, and I saw the receptionist giving me a knowing smile. I still don’t know how I feel about that smile to this day.
Leaving the counter, we walked down the corridor to the room (number 207 — I still remember), my heart threatening to come out of my throat the closer we got. Dave opened the door and we walked in. I knew there was no going back the moment the door closed.
“Well, this is nice, isn’t it!” Dave exclaimed, turning the light on and dropping his bag down. I did the same with mine and stood looking around at the standard, you-can-find-it-anywhere room — a queen-sized bed facing a long counter with a TV, a mirror beside it, two bedside tables, a cheap armchair and couch, and a clean, plain bathroom. I had stayed in rooms exactly the same on countless holidays with my family. This was the room in which I was finally going to be fucked. The butterflies in my stomach were going crazy.
“Would you like another beer first?” he asked, cracking one open himself.
“Yes, please,” I said, thinking maybe if I got at least a little bit tipsy, it would calm my nerves.
“Is that how you address your teacher?” he asked, withholding the beer.
Ah, I thought, back to school I go.
“Yes, please, sir?” I ventured.
“That’s better,” he said, giving me the can. I drank it a little too quickly, spilling some beer over my hands and almost choking on it. The room suddenly felt very hot. We were both still standing, so I sat down on the bed and removed my hooded top.
“Let’s watch some porn to relax before dinner,” Dave suggested, taking out a laptop and putting it on a chair, which he moved next to the bed.
“Okay,” I agreed, a little relieved at the possible distraction, and then added hastily, “Sir.”
I let him choose something and was pleasantly surprised that it was a relatively vanilla compilation of gay twink-on-twink clips, of the sort I might have chosen myself. He took off his jacket, sat down on the bed next to me and rested a hand on my lap, sending electric shivers through my body — whether out of shock, arousal or disgust, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t move. The strong scent of his aftershave or cologne crept into my nostrils. I took several more chugs of beer and stared ahead, only half-seeing the images of a young blond guy sucking the cock of a cuter tanned guy that was playing on the screen. In almost no time, my beer was empty, and Dave seemed to notice immediately.
“I think you’re thirsty for something else,” he said with a smirk, standing up to take my empty can. He turned and stood in front of me, blocking my view of the screen to force me to look up at his face. He took another sip of his beer and looked down at me to issue his first direct order of the evening. “Undo my belt.”
“Sh-shouldn’t we shut the curtains first, s-sir?” I stuttered, suddenly very aware of how visible the brightly lit room must be to anyone in the dark outside the large windows, which were currently acting as a second set of mirrors. The whole hotel was on the ground floor.
“No,” he replied, smirking again. “But don’t worry, there’s just the car park out there. Most people will be too busy trying to get from their cars to reception without getting wet to pay attention to what they might see in here. Undo my belt. I’m not going to ask a third time.”
I fumbled with the buckle, his words not having made me feel any less exposed. Once I succeeded, I decided not to wait for what I knew would be his next instruction, so I slipped off the bed to my knees, unbuttoned his fly and pulled his pants down to the bottom of what I discovered to be very hairy legs. It was rather hypocritical of me to mind that fact, given how hairy my own were, but it was one more reminder of how “butch” this man was. I took a moment to appreciate the contrast between his rather promising looking bulge and the decidedly un-arousing faded old red briefs that contained it.
My contemplation was interrupted by a hand on the back of my head pushing my face into the subject of my study. It turned out this was exactly what I needed, overwhelming my nose with the sweet but undeniably masculine scent of male crotch sweat, and I instantly knew that I loved it. I inhaled deeply and opened my mouth to taste the slightly damp cotton, rubbing my face against the soft package trapped inside. My hands had found their way to Dave’s bottom, and I now tucked my fingers into the waistband of his underpants and pulled them down, unwilling to wait any longer for the final test of my sexuality.
Dave relaxed his grip on my head enough that I could avoid being slapped in the face by his suddenly freed cock. It was no clean-shaven, Viagra filled, porn cock that I was looking at. The balls and base were half-hidden in a tangle of untrimmed, curly, black hair. The cock itself was still flaccid, the head enveloped in the foreskin. Yet the percentage of reluctance mixed into the tingles running down my back at the sight of it was rapidly declining.
Unlike my own cock, which I felt looked small when soft, Dave’s was a hefty piece of flesh to begin with. He let me hold it in my hand, feeling the weight in my palm as my fingers wrapped around a diameter not much less than mine when hard. I did the same with his balls, wishing I were a better judge of weight.
So this is what it feels like to touch another man’s penis, I thought, and I definitely liked it.
With a deep breath, I braced myself for the final plunge, but I was excited far more than nervous now. Pulling back his foreskin and extending my tongue, I slowly licked around the smooth head. My lips closed around it, and I felt a twitch run through his shaft. Continuing the circular motion of my tongue, I gradually fed more of his soft cock into my mouth. I instantly knew I loved giving blowjobs, and he was not even hard yet!
He groaned with pleasure when I pushed his dick against the roof of my mouth, the tip tickling the entrance to my throat while my lips pressed around the base, just above where my fingers still held his foreskin back. I sucked a little harder and pulled my head back so that he gradually slid out over my tongue, wet with my saliva. I could feel it pulsing as blood pumped into it. When I took him back into my mouth, he already felt thicker and was further into my throat by the time my lips met my fingers again.
“Oh, Robin,” Dave moaned after the fourth or fifth time my mouth had travelled the length of his cock like this. “You’re a natural!”
I wrapped my hand around his now slick and swelling shaft, stroking it firmly to feel it complete its transition to fully hard. At the same time, I ducked beneath and nuzzled his hairy balls. Despite most of the cocks I’d been looking at online being the shaved ones in porn, I wasn’t in the slightest bit bothered by the sensation of his course hairs on my tongue when I slurped his scrotum between my lips, nor by the way they tickled my nose.
I drank him in with all my senses: the colour of the veins on his cock, now standing proudly to attention; the sound of his encouraging whispers; the feel of his hardness encased in soft skin; the taste and smell of his crotch sweat. I wish we had filmed or at least photographed it. It may seem ridiculous to call kneeling before the erection of a man twice your age a moment of spiritual revelation, but it’s the closest I have ever come to one — finally certain of my sexuality.
My moment came to an abrupt end when Dave gripped my curly brown hair and pulled me roughly down onto his cock. I gagged slightly in surprise but soon relaxed my throat muscles enough to accommodate the wide bulge pushing its way in. Having practised deep-throating with my twelve-inch dildo, which, whilst made of softer jelly, was thicker, swallowing an actual dick proved easier, and tasted a lot better too. A thrill of pride went through me when, on my first attempt, I succeeded in taking in his full length, pressing my nose into the hairs above the base and feeling his balls touch my chin. My breath control was not perfect, however, and I had to push back quickly, gasping and spluttering, when he finally released me, drool cascading down my chin to soak into my T-shirt.
By way of recovery, I bent to catch the strand of spit dangling from the tip of his cock on my tongue and followed it back up to his balls and shaft. With both hands on his hips to steady myself, I took his dick back in my mouth and sucked eagerly at it, no longer taking my time as before but bobbing my head back and forth in a steady rhythm. I loved the feeling of the two bumps of his glans where the skin met his slit sliding over my tongue. Every ten or so strokes, I would open my mouth wide again and swallow him, each time trying to last a little longer, before resisting the hands on the back of my head that instinctively tried to hold me there.
When I needed another breather, I used my right hand to massage his shaft whilst swirling my tongue around his cock head. As I looked up over the slight bulge of his shirt into his half-closed eyes, his open mouth emitting a groan, I got my first taste of another man’s salty precum. I could not help but smile in delight, giving his slick cock a couple more firm strokes with my hand before taking him back into my mouth with renewed vigour and moving my hand down to squeeze his balls gently, cupping their weight in my palm.
“Yeah,” Dave moaned. “Suck my cock, boy-slut!”
I got his cock down my throat one final time and resumed my enthusiastic sucking, this time with my hand following behind my lips with a firm grip on his shaft. Just when I was gearing up to another big swallow, he yanked me away by my hair with a growl, replaced my hand with his free one, and planted one foot on the bed behind me.
“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue,” he gasped, frantically wanking his gorgeous thick member an inch from my tongue.
“Please,” I said, not needing to fake the desire in my voice, “please cum in my mouth.”
“Remember who you’re talking to!”
“Please, sir, cum in my mouth!”
“Louder!” he ordered through gritted teeth.
“Please, sir!” I repeated, excited but suddenly conscious that other people were staying in this hotel and might hear me. “I need to taste your cum, sir!”
“Uuuggghhh!” was all Dave could manage, screwing up his face as he finally climaxed.
Hard as I tried to keep my eyes on his, I still blinked and flinched when the first squirt of semen shot out directly at my face. By some fluke, it was a perfect shot, going straight into my mouth. The sudden arrival of a stream of hot, thick, salty-sweet liquid on my tongue triggered my jaw to close automatically, so there was no chance the next one was going in. Instead, it splattered over my top lip and all the way up over my nose, filling my nostrils with its overpowering, musky scent.
I managed to keep my eyes and mouth open again for the follow-up, but the force of his hand stroke caused that one to miss completely, decorating the side of my chin and left cheek with a milky white streak. He got himself and me under control for the rest, pressing the tip of his pulsating cock onto my tongue and flooding it with his semen. I had tasted my own once or twice before, of course, but the cum of another man was different and seemed stronger, sweeter. I did my best to swallow it as it gushed into my mouth.
By the time he let go of my hair and let me close my lips around him to draw out the last of his orgasm, my chin was drenched in his sticky seed, and my neck was being tickled by a slow trickle of his jizz working its way down towards my chest. I could sense something dangling from my face, a fact confirmed when, with a final sigh, Dave pulled his dick from my mouth and moved aside to allow me to see my reflection in the mirror behind him.
“That was just what I needed!” he told me. “Look at yourself. You’re a work of art!”
No doubt, the passage of time has exaggerated my memory of just how much cum was on my face, but I am sure that my recollection of the stunned look staring back at me from the glass is accurate. There was indeed a long string of spunk and saliva hanging from my chin, in real danger of dropping the whole way onto my T-shirt or jeans. Both of these already had a few spots of translucent fluid slowly soaking in. The dollop of semen that had landed on my glasses explained the blurry area of my vision to the left. There were even a few drops clinging to my hair like milky dew. Around my mouth was a total mess, made worse when Dave began wiping his still semi-erect cock through the spunk and feeding it into my open lips.
“You’ll want to lick as much of that up as you can, Robin,” he said, the smirk returning to his flushed face. “I would prefer you not to use any water, tissues or towels to clean yourself before we go out to dinner. Just your hands and what you’re wearing. I want anyone coming close to us to smell me on you.”
My eyes went wide, but my own cock ached with unsatisfied arousal, dominating my thoughts. I nodded, regretting it immediately because the motion caused that tail of cum clinging to my chin to detach, landing right in the middle of my dark-coloured T-shirt. My new master laughed and tucked his softening penis back in his pants. He left me on my knees and went to the bathroom.
To be continued...
