It was October 2021 and, now aged fifty-four, I'd been away from work for six weeks, recuperating after a hip replacement operation.
Being completely detached from my computer, and probably not helped by the weeks of pain relief medication, on booting up on my first day back I realised I had no idea what my password was. Fortunately, the IT people recognised a long time ago that forgetting passwords is fairly common so had set up secret questions and answers to help employees to reconnect. You know the type of thing, favourite film, mother's maiden name, first kiss. Normally you clicked a button, gave the answers online and were sent a link to reset the password.
Maybe it was because I'd been absent for so long, maybe the IT support person was also looking for something different in their day, but this time, instead of being asked online, my mobile phone lit up as the IT security desk called me.
"Hello, Dick here, how can I help you?"
"Hey, Dick, this is Juan, calling from the Service Desk. We've just noticed someone trying to access your work account."
"Yes, that's me, I've been off for a while and can't remember anything,"
"No worries, let's just run through a couple of things, and get you back up and running. Can you tell me, who was your first kiss?"
And that's when it happened. After thirty years of marriage, and plenty of girlfriends before that, not to mention the few during, I was transported back to that day in December 1984, when, for the first time, my lips were touched and my tongue was sucked by another person. Another person whose name was Chris. But not short for Christine, instead short for Christopher.
Here I was, talking to Juan, and as I told him "Chris," I realised my voice had become a little higher, and my dick had begun to curl itself against the front of my trousers.
Suddenly, I was back in the converted loft of his family home. amber streetlights coming through the roof window, snooker on the small portable television on the dresser. Chris and I had met six years earlier at an introduction to Choir School barbecue in the Forest of Dean. Aged eleven then, we hit it off straight away and enjoyed many pleasurable, innocent years, as we grew through our adolescence, walking, fishing, cycling, and playing cricket. Now, as I thought back to that evening, here I was on my knees, a seventeen-year-old skinny boy, tasting my first cock, greedily slurping on my first taste of someone else's precum, as Chris pumped his fat, circumcised knob in and out of my gaping mouth.
Only a few minutes earlier we had been rough and tumbling on his bed, just as we had done pretty much every time we had a sleepover since we'd first met some six years previously, aged eleven, at that introduction to our Choir School. But that had, until very recently, just been boisterous boys letting off steam before falling into a deep sleep of innocence.
Was it because my voice had now broken, was it because we were at an all-boys school? Whatever, somehow, in the last couple of months leading up to this particular night, I was usually frantically trying to keep my erection pinned between my thighs, so he wouldn't notice. Tonight though, I was helped for the first time, by the skimpy powder pink cotton and lace knickers I had recently acquired from my Saturday job at the local supermarket. As I tried to pull away and go to my camping mattress on the bedroom floor, this time Chris held on and pushed his pyjama-clad groin into mine.
"Don't get off, start bouncing," he whispered, before pulling my head forward and mashing my lips with his.
"What are you doing," I gasped through my nose.
"No point in you going to the toilet to wank yourself off. I've seen you at it, and I can feel the lace of your panties through our clothes. You can have what you've been hoping for these last few months. Take your trousers off and let me see what you've got on down there."
Before he could finish I had frantically yanked my trousers off and pushed my groin towards him. He reached out and traced his finger over the wet spot that was growing by the second. In response I scooted down the bed, feeling my way down his chest, undoing his buttons as I went, before, after licking and suckling his taut rugby player's chest and abs, I arrived at his waistband. My dick is tiny, only four or five inches when it is as hard as it gets. Chris's was at least seven inches, and looked as round as a beer can, as it poked its way through the slit in his nightwear.