FIRST SEXUAL ENCOUNTERS free porn video

Do remember your 'first time'?

The first time that someone paid sexual attention to you. The first time
that someone looked at you with a look in his eyes that thrilled and
terrified you at the same time. The first time that someone else's look
made your penis harden and lengthen. The first time that you knew someone
wanted to touch you... down there.

Of course you do.

Go back to that person, that place, that moment. Your cock is stiffening
already.

I admit I've always been fascinated by first time encounters. At least
since the unshaven man with the smell of rum on his breath found me playing
on the beach when I was six years old. Was that where it all began? Or was
my destiny already in my genes.

But this is not my story...

I put out a general inquiry across the Net, and was staggered by the number
of responses I got. Some of the accounts were obviously fabricated, some so
pornographic and violent I dismissed them; some were sick fantasies, but
some had that ring of authenticity, clearly from the heart rather merely
from the genitals.

I have selected a number of these. I have changed all the names, people and
places, though I imagine my contributors had already done that. I also
tidied up some of the writing, but never to the extent (I hope) of altering
the mood, intentions or emotional hinterland of the contributor.

I offer no comments of my own. I am neither advocating nor condemning; I
leave that to others. I will, however, note Nancy Friday's comments since
her attitude seems as honest and humane as any others I've encountered.

"Parents worry about masturbation, but anxiety about homosexuality is so
great that it isn't even mentioned, lest the injunction itself 'give the
boy ideas.' k**s who learn to masturbate on their own are thrilled and
relieved to find the whole baseball team has been engaged in circle jerks
for months. Goosing each other in the shower, mutual masturbation in the
movies, reading dirty books and magazines together when there are no adults
around - it's all just horsing around, breaking the rules - that's how boys
are. Contrary to popular superstition, such early homoerotic play can
strongly confirm gender identity. 'All the guys do it.'"

And Shere Hite reported:

"What is startling is the increase in the number of boys who, as teenagers
and older c***dren, are having sexual experiences with other boys. Equally
intriguing is the kind of sex boys are now having together. In the 1970's,
the contact was mostly mutual masturbation, often without touching each
other. Now, it seems much more common for boys to touch each other,
masturbate the other boy, while 36 per cent of boys also perform fellatio
together. Around 20 per cent have experienced anal penetration."

Nancy Friday continues: "This is not to say that these men feel no guilt or
anxiety today about their homosexual memories or fantasies; after all,
they're now grown-up. and know what society thinks of such ideas. ... Some
men spend their lives 'forgetting' early physical contact with their own
sex. (Some men, of course, never had it.) The men (reporting to Friday) not
only remember, but like to play around with fantasies (and memories) that
release those boyhood energies again. ... They have the courage to face the
dark mysteries and alternatives Eros offers us all. Why should our response
be a kind of flight from freedom, an automatic labeling that slams the door
on further thought."

We can all agree with Nancy Friday's conclusions: "Life is all about
choices."


Date: 25-08-98 (16:41) Number: 007 To: Apollo Refer#: 938 From: Nicholas T.
Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGE

It was the summer of 1983. I was at a language school in Eastbourne. I was
twelve years old. I'm half Lebanese, half Italian. My father wanted me to
improve my English. It was a residential summer school. There were
students from all over the world, but especially from Spain and
Italy. Everything was first class.

My English was good. I got into the top class with about 15 other 12 and 13
year old boys and girls. The guy who taught the class was great. A super
teacher and really funny. It was obvious he liked me from the start. When
we were getting chosen for the classes, I caught his eye in the dining
room. We gave each other a big smile, and that was that.

My teacher was also a brilliant tennis player. He gave tennis lessons some
afternoons. I always signed up for the tennis lessons because I really
wanted to improve my tennis. It was a great bonus to find my English
teacher was also my tennis teacher.

The summer of 1983 was one of the hottest summers England ever had. After
the first week, everybody used to disappear into Eastbourne in the
afternoon, then do sports in the evening when it was cooler. Only a couple
of us stayed behind for tennis because the official lessons were changed to
the afternoon because of the heat. In the end, only my teacher and I were
left on the tennis courts. The whole school was pretty much deserted in the
afternoons.

One afternoon, about 2.00, we were in my teacher's room. Every teacher had
his or her own bedroom. They were mixed up with the students' rooms so the
teachers could supervise us. Usually you never saw them around their rooms
at all except late at night when they staggered up the stairs to bed.

We were in my teacher's room while he was getting his tennis gear ready. I
was in a tennis shirt, white shorts, white socks and trainers. It really
was hot. The breeze was blowing the curtains through the open windows. I
dived on the bed and lay back. Everything had become so friendly and
informal. I put my arms under my head and chatted away while sir got
ready. I told him I probably wouldn't play well because I'd cramp in my
legs. I really did: they were aching because I'd been doing so much sport.

Sir sat down at the edge of the bed and started massaging my legs,
squeezing and kneading the knotted muscles, especially behind my calves. It
felt really wonderful. We didn't say much. We just looked at each
other. Then he asked me if I ached anywhere else. I said my shoulders were
aching, too.

"Take off your shirt." He leaned over me and massaged my shoulders, his
hands slipping down over my chest. His fingers and thumbs lingered over my
nipples.

This was the first time anybody had touched me sexually. I wasn't a
c***d. I'd learned how to masturbate earlier that year, experimenting in
the bath, and I knew some men liked boys, all Arab boys learn that from an
early age. My penis got really hard. My teacher's fingers brushed my
stomach and then slipped slightly lower. Suddenly he stood up and walked to
the window. He stood there, looking out over the school grounds.

I slipped open the top of my shorts. When he turned round, he looked at
me. Then his eyes ran the length of my body. He sat down and undid my
tennis shorts, stroking the inside of my thighs but not touching my
prick. I could feel it bulging the silk underwear I had on. I raised my
bottom from the bed and he worked my shorts and my underpants down to my
ankles. I kicked off my trainers and he slid my things off completely.

My teacher began to make love to my body, still not touching my prick was
hard and throbbing. I was 12, nearly 13, but I'd a good-sized prick, about
4 inches long and an inch in thickness. Of course, as a good Moslem boy I
was circumcised, and it had been done really neatly. I have light brown
skin (my mother is Italian) but my dick is noticeably darker in colour. At
that time, my pubic hair was just coming in; I was a little worried in case
my teacher thought I was a baby.

He went on making love to my body, running his lips over my chest, stomach,
and then up and down my legs and thighs. It was wonderful, but I couldn't
wait for him to get to my 'zob', that's what Arab boys call their pricks.
At last I felt his fingers curl around my erection. He jerked me gently for
a few moments, then I felt his hot, wet mouth swallow me to the base and
begin sucking. His head rose and fell on my prick as he sucked me with
different pressures. I can't describe the pleasure it gave me!

After a few minutes, I could feel the pressure building in my balls, and my
prick seemed to swell even more. Just when I thought I was going to cum,
teacher took his mouth away, put his hands on my hips and urged me over
onto my front. I panicked a little because I thought he was going to try
and fuck me. That wouldn't be right. Sucking cock is okay, but fucking is
going too far for an Arab boy. Still, I was half Italian, so I turned over.

He began to kissing between my shoulder blades while his hands squeezed and
kneaded the cheeks of my bum. I was amazed how good it felt. I wanted to
lie there all afternoon while he manipulated my flesh. Then I felt his
kisses going lower and lower. With his hands he parted my bum cheeks. I
couldn't believe it - he was licking inside my crack! Then the tip of
tongue touched my shit hole, then he was kissing it, I mean really kissing
it, big wet sloppy kisses. For a moment I was disgusted, then I realised
how good it felt. I let out a big sigh and gave myself up to the pleasure
of it all. I might have drifted off to sleep!

Sir pulled at my shoulders. I turned round and sat up, a bit bleary-eyed.
He urged me off the bed. He stripped off his tennis shirt. He had caught a
lot of sun and looked tanned and bronzed. He lay down on the bed, head on
the pillow, and without words instructed me to straddle his chest, my knees
either side of him. My stiff prick was pointing right at his mouth. I
didn't need any more instructions. I leaned forward, my hands on the wall
behind the bed, and shoved my prick into sir's open mouth. Then I began to
shove myself in and out his mouth. When I was in his mouth, he'd hold me
there for a few seconds and suck hard, then release me. His hands were
behind me, gripping and squeezing my buttocks. I went faster and deeper and
rougher.

I couldn't keep it up for long. I was desperate to cum. I thought teacher
would push me away when I started to cum, but he held my buttocks and
pushed me in right to the base of my prick. It started jumping around in
his mouth as I spurted into him. Four, five, maybe six big spurts. I hadn't
masturbated since I'd arrived in England, so I was full of juice.

When I was drained, sir let me rest there for a couple of minutes. Then he
slapped my bottom and said, "Come on, Nicki, we've got a match to play."
We got off the bed, got dressed and walked across the playing fields to the
tennis courts. I was laughing and joking all the way. After a couple of
minutes, teacher began to laugh and joke and be his normal self. I was glad
about this. I didn't feel guilty or ashamed about what had happened.

That evening, there was a disco. Everybody was pairing off. After the last
dance, I took an Italian girl to my room. I got inside her clothes, and she
took my prick out and started to play with it. It was great! The door
opened and my teacher stepped into the room. He didn't look shocked. He
didn't even look very surprised. He said, "Remember it's lights out at
midnight, you two." Then he left and closed the door behind him. He said it
with a smile.

The next two weeks were great. My teacher and I didn't have sex again, but
that didn't spoil our relationship. In fact, it was better even though I
had my Italian girlfriend for the two weeks. Teacher still taught super
lessons, we still played tennis, and sometimes we'd go for a meal in
Eastbourne together.

On the day I left, my teacher took me aside and told me he loved me. I
don't know if that's true, but I'm glad he said it. I sent him some
photographs from home. We kept in touch for a couple of years. I'm nearly
30 now. I've got a wife and two boys. I've never been sexually involved
with another man, or with a boy. I don't resent what happened in
Eastbourne. These things happen. I wish my teacher well.


Date: 25-08-98 (17:01) Number: 009 To: Apollo Refer#: 942 From: David M.
Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGE

I was twelve, going on thirteen. I'd just started at a Scottish boys'
grammar school, which indicates how long ago this happened. I hadn't
thought much about sex in junior school. I'm not sure anybody did in those
days.

It was mid-September. You often have an Indian summer in Scotland in
September and October. It was warm, balmy and sunny. At lunchtimes, a lot
of boys used to go down onto the lower playing fields for a game of
football. I must have been a bit weird even then because I actually wanted
to play in goal - no self-respecting Scottish schoolboy ever does! The
lower playing fields were at the bottom of this huge crater in the ground
which had been grassed over by the years.

That day was really warm. Everyone had his blazer and tie off (strictly
forbidden, but few masters came near the 'crater'). We had a really good
game. Everyone was hot and sticky. The first bell went and most people
grabbed their stuff and headed up the hill. A few of us die-hards went on
playing. Then the second bell went. Seconds later, there was only Eric and
myself left, with Eric taking a few last pot shots at me in goal.

I didn't know Eric well. We hadn't been at the same junior school. He'd
been to a school in the West End of the city while I came from 'the wrong
side of the tracks'. Eric had money. I had brains. But Eric was fun, and I
appreciated how much he had befriended this 'fish out of water'. Even
though we'd been at the school for less than a month, Eric was a popular
boy. Not bright but generous. Not intelligent but witty. Athletic. And
extremely good-looking. Being good-looking is important in all boys'
schools, probably even more so than girls' schools since prestige and
status are all-important amongst boys.

Good-looking then. Well-built, regular features, open face, freckles,
well-cared for teeth. And a big prick. A very big prick. An outstandingly
big prick. This was a grammar school, so, after games, we'd all pile into
the communal showers. It came as a bit of a shock to me, but after a couple
of sessions, I didn't give a toss, so to speak. Of course, we all sneakily
checked each other out in the showers: that's what pubescent/adolescent
boys do. Some boys got erections and were ribbed unmercifully, but all of
it was done in good humour. I don't think at that time, at least in
Scotland, sex for teenagers had been invented.

Ten inches. That's what they said Eric had - ten inches. I remember it as
being long and thick, but it wasn't ten inches. It was just under eight. I
know, I measured it. Eric would stand there starkers, towelling himself
down, with his hose pipe bouncing between his legs, with half the room
taking sneaky peeks while the other half called out ribald comments. Eric
ignored the lot of them.

The only boy amongst First Year who could rival Eric was - me. Don't get me
wrong. I'm not boasting. I didn't have ten or even eight inches, but I did
have six inches. Somebody asked me how I managed to get such a big dick. I
told them the truth: I hadn't the faintest idea. But I had something else
many of the other boys didn't have: pubic hair, lots of it, thick, curly,
dark brown pubic hair. Eric was much fairer, so what he had didn't show up
so much. It felt good to be one up on him, at least in one area.

Back to that September day. We grabbed our blazers, ties and shirts (yes,
Eric and I'd gone that far in breaking the rules) and started to scramble
up the grassy hill. Eric was behind me. He slipped (he said), grabbed for
something, got me, and together we tumbled back down in the hill. We ended
up in a heap of arms, legs and clothing. Then it happened.

Eric shifted till he was sitting astride me. He put his knees on my arm
muscles, such as they were, pinning me to the grass. He was looking down
into my face. He reached behind him and stroked my genitals! I was
stunned. My face, already red from our exertions, burst into flames. I
tried to heave him away, but he bore down on me, not enough to hurt, just
enough to pin me there and kept stroking me, his fingers fumbling till they
found me cock.

I'm not sure what I would have done if Eric hadn't kept looking straight
into my eyes. His hair flopped over his face. He was sweating. He pushed
the hair out of his eyes and kept looking at me. I turned my head way,
turned it back, closed my eyes, open them.

Horror of horrors. I was getting an erection. I had an erection. I was
stiff and hard under his touch. His fingers and thumb closed round my stiff
penis and began working the skin along the shift. At last he spoke. "Do I
have to hold you down?" he asked. I lay there for a minute. I shook my head
from side to side. Eric slid from my body and we lay side to side. He was
still manipulating me. "We can't stay here," he said. "I know," I
said. "The sheds," he said. I nodded.

We scrambled up, grabbed our clothes and headed across the fields, away
from the school.

The 'sheds' was the polite name for the boys' latrines on the far side of
the playing fields. Smoking went on there. Everybody knew that. So did sex,
but we were too new to know that.

We got to the sheds and slipped inside. I was trembling, so, I realised was
Eric. He took our blazers and ties and hung them on a hook on the back of
the shed door. "I'll go first," he said. I nodded, not sure what he
intended.

Eric sat down on one of the toilets and pulled me towards him. He opened my
belt, unbuttoned my flies, then dragged down my flannels and Y-fronts to my
ankles. I was exquisitely embarrassed. My cock was still hard and already
slick with pre-cum. Eric fondled me for a bit, then without a by-your-leave
opened his mouth and sucked me in as far as my prick would go. I almost
fainted! The idea of sucking someone's prick had never crossed my mind even
in some of my wilder masturbatory fantasies.

I stood there and watched my penis slide in and out of Eric's mouth,
fascinated by the way it bulged his cheeks, and amazed he could get so much
of me inside him. Where was it all going - down his throat? I put my hands
on his head and instinctively, I suppose, began pushing and pulling to find
the rhythms I liked best. One of Eric's hands worked the base of my cock
while the other played with my balls. Wonderful! But when his lower hand
slipped into my crack and headed for my bumhole, that was too much! I
clenched my hole and clasped my legs together. Eric didn't persist. I wish
he had.

Eric brought me to the brink of orgasm at least five times. My prick was
going frantic, my heart was racing. Then when I thought I couldn't stand
any more, he let me come - and he let me come in his mouth! I couldn't
believe it. We'd done a bit of biology in junior school, so I knew what
semen was (and I'd done my own 'research' in the school library), but for
someone to actually swallow it! Eric's gulps filled a stinking shed that
seemed at that moment to be the most romantic place on the planet. He
waited until I'd relaxed completely in his mouth, slipped me out, took a
handkerchief from his pocket and wiped my cock and his lips. Sheer class!

It was my turn, and to be honest I panicked a bit. "You don't have to use
your mouth if you don't want to," said Eric reassuringly. "Your hand will
do fine." I took this as a personal challenge and swallowed every drop he
shot down the back of my throat.

Ten inches? No. But it was challenge enough to get even four inches of
Eric's cock into my mouth.

"What do we do now?" I squeaked as we did up our buttons, pulled on
blazers, knotted each other's ties, and considered our strategy for the
test of the afternoon.

"We can't get back into school," said Eric. "They'll have done the register
by now. Let's think. Yes, you got too much sun at lunchtime. You threw
up. I was worried, so I took you home. I live in Stirling Road. We'll go
there. Look sick. I can talk my mother into anything. We'll get a note from
her. Then we'll come back to school; that'll look good. No. On second
thoughts, we won't come back to school this afternoon. My mother will tell
you - us - to stay at home at rest for the afternoon. Then at half three
we'll go swimming. How does that sound?

"Brilliant," I said.

"Let's go," he said.

Eric and I had sex together for the next two years. It was all wonderfully
uncomplicated. As far as I know, we were faithful to each other. We were in
the same cricket, football and tennis teams, Eric always a general, myself
always a foot soldier. I was in every top academic set, Eric in every
bottom set (but this was a grammar school).

We both discovered girls in our Third Year. One evening, in Stirling Park,
we sat and discussed our futures. We did that now and again. We decided
we'd grown out of 'k**dies' stuff'. For the first and last time, we snogged
each other. Then we went and played snooker. We never had sex with each
other again.

Eric still in the same city. He's a successful lawyer, married with three
c***dren.

I've been married twice, divorced twice, two c***dren.

I've loved three people romantically in my life.

Eric was the first.



Date: 25-08-98 (18:23) Number: 016 To: Apollo Refer#: 947 From: Luigi P.
Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGE

I am interested by the story Nicholas, the Lebanese-Italian boy, sent
you. I am Italian also, and I was seduced in England in the summer of 1983,
also in a summer school. I was only 9. But it did not happen in Eastbourne,
it happened in another town on the south coast.

We were a group from Italy, about 20 Italian boys and girls. The oldest was
14, the youngest was 9. That was me.

I was a little crazy in those days, and everybody spoiled me. I had long
blond hair, and my jeans were always too big for me. They were always
sliding down the back showing my bottom. I hated underpants and I refused
to wear them.

We were staying in a big country house. We had English lessons in the
morning and games and trips in the afternoon.

The owners of the house had a son and daughter. Chris was 14 and Emily was
10. I played a lot of the time with Emily.

One afternoon everybody went on a shopping trip to the town. I didn't go
because I didn't have any money. Only Chris and me stayed in the
house. Chris was 'baby-sitting' me.

We played badminton in the garden. Then we went upstairs to Chris's
bedroom. I think he was looking for something, but I can't remember what it
was.

There were some comics on his bed. I jumped on the bed and lay there
reading a comic. I think it was 'The Beano'. I could not read the English
but I could understand the pictures. I lay on the bed, sideways, my legs on
the floor, laughing and giggling at the pictures.

"What are you laughing at?" Chris asked me. "I'll give you something to
laugh at." He started tickling my stomach. As usual, my jeans were so loose
they were halfway down my hips. As Chris tickled me, they worked their way
lower and lower.

Things went very quiet. I could hear the birds outside. I felt Chris's
fingers brush my cock. It had got hard and sprung up. Italian boys don't
bother too much about that. It's a fact of Nature. In fact, they say
Italian men are so happy because their mothers suck their cocks when they
are infants. I don't know if that's true or not. I've never asked my
mother.

I felt Chris's fingers brush over my hard little penis again and again. It
felt good. I reached out for my 'Beano' and started looking at the pictures
again. I said "Divertimento," to Chris but I'm not sure he understood what
I meant. His fingers and thumb wrapped round my penis and he started
jerking me gently. I wasn't sure why he was doing that, but it felt so good
I didn't want him to stop. His other hand was playing with my testicles,
that was a good feeling, too.

Then I felt something warm and wet across the head of my cock (Chris had
pulled my foreskin back). It was his tongue. That felt even better. Then he
sucked my erection right into his mouth. Wonderful! Chris leaned over me,
sucking my penis while one hand played with my testicles and the other made
little patterns around my stomach. I don't know how long this went on. In
time, my knees began to jerk and my stomach to flutter. I felt strange
sensations in my genitals, and my bum began to bump up and down on the
bed. It was like a train rushing towards me inside my head. Or water piling
up behind a dam. Something broke, and I was trembling and shaking all over.

Chris took his mouth away. He stroked my hair. He lay down beside me and
explained what was happening in the pictures in the comic. After a while,
we got up, went downstairs, had a cold drink, and went to the outdoor
swimming pool. We jumped in naked and played around till we heard the bus
coming back. Then we got out and dressed and ran to meet the bus. I didn't
tell anybody what had happened. It didn't seem to be anybody else's
business.

That night something funny really happened.

All the Italian boys were in the same dormitory. After lights out, we
started playing around as usual. We knew the supervisor would come and tell
us to go to sleep. I was out of bed when we heard him coming along the
corridor. I jumped into Matteo's bed and hid under the duvet. Matteo was
f******n years old. He was wearing only a tiny pair of underpants.

The supervisor stood at the door explaining we had to go to sleep. We were
going to London the next day. We would be making an early start, so
everyone had to get a good night's sleep. Then someone asked what we were
going to do in London, and the teacher started describing how we would
spend the day.

I was under Matteo's duvet. All we had on were our underpants. I was lying
along his body, facing his feet. I felt something growing under my
elbow. It got hot and hard. I knew it was his penis. I guessed it would be
quite big because I'd seen Chris's in the pool. Did Matteo have hair there,
too? As a sort of game, I squeezed the Italian boy's cock with my
fingers. He squirmed but he couldn't say anything because the supervisor
was still in the room. The lights were out. I slid my hand into Matteo's
underpants and wrapped it round his cock. It was a big one! Bigger than
Chris - but then he was Italian. I remembered what Chris had dome to me,
and I started working Matteo's foreskin up and down the shaft. Then I tried
a little lick of the head - but I didn't like it! Too salty. It nearly made
me sneeze. Matteo lay there, squirming around for about five minutes, then
he reached down, grabbed me and pulled me up the bed. He put his finger on
my lips and said something very rude in Italian.

When the supervisor went away, Matteo got up and pulled me out of
bed. Everybody was laughing. They didn't know what I'd been doing, but they
knew I'd upset Matteo. He took me outside the room to the nearest
toilet. We went in. He closed and locked the door. Then he sat down on the
toilet and stood me in front of him.

Matteo said what I'd done, or tried to do, had been very naughty. I mustn't
touch anybody like that without asking first. And I was too young, far too
young. to touch anybody like that. He made me promise not to do it again. I
made the promise. It didn't seem so significant to me, so making the
promise was easy. I was a little worried in case Chris wanted to do
something again, but I'd given my word and I would have to stick to it.

Chris never tried to do anything again, and the rest of the holiday passed
as happily as before.



Date: 25-08-98 (18:42) Number: 019 To: Apollo Refer#: 956 From: Karim &
Stefan M. Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGE

I think my brother Stefan and I probably set a world record: we were both
seduced by the same guy, on the same day, in the same building - though not
together.

We're Egyptian citizens, but we've lived in Saudi all our lives. My father
owns a construction company here. He's Egyptian, my mother's from Austria
(it's a long story). I look like my dad, which is basically Arab in
appearance, Stefan looks like mum, basically European, pale skin, curly
hair, but we've both got my father's dark brown eyes.

There was lots of money in the Middle East in those days, so Stefan and I
got packed off to an international school in Switzerland. I won't say which
one because they're all pretty much the same. I was 14 at the time, Stefan
was 12.

We liked it. The atmosphere was relaxed, the lessons not too demanding,
lots of sports, including compulsory skiing weekends in Montana-Crans, and
similar places. There were about 30 nationalities in the boarding houses,
and it was hardly ever dull. Most of the guys who looked after the boys'
boarding house were young and out for a good time. You can imagine with
boys, aged 10 to 19, flying in from all over the Middle East there was
plenty of caviar and cannabis for the asking. There was one group of boys,
all from the same country, which I'm not going to libel, who spent more
time in each other's beds than their own! All in all, the atmosphere was
liberal, then some.

The guys who ran the boarding houses were called 'les surveillants', and
one of them 'took an interest' in Stefan and me right from the start. By
that I only mean he was friendly towards us, chatted to us a lot, was
interested in the Middle East, and helped us settle in. Coming from Saudi,
we were a good deal less sophisticated than the boys and girls around
us. This guy was called Jack D., but everyone, even the director of the
college called him JD. He'd been there a year and was doing a second year
before returning to California. JD always said he was there for the skiing.

Skiing! I'd never seen real snow in my life till I got to Switzerland. I
took to skiing like a Turk to his goat and, when November arrived, spent
every weekend I could out on skiing trips. On my fourth trip -
disaster. I'd borrowed a pair of skiis with faulty bindings - and a tree
got me! Broken leg, not too bad, but a few weeks in bed, a few on crutches,
and then back on the slopes. That was the plan. It worked, too, but first
there was the boredom of bed.

They settled me into the House clinic, two rooms, one with a bed, the other
with bathing facilities, and left me to my own resources. Not quite
fair. JD volunteered to look after me, which was generous of him because
some aspects of the bed-bound are not too thrilling.

JD spent a lot of time with me, chatting, playing backgammon, cards,
reading, and generally just being there. Day after day in bed can get
anyone down, so I appreciated what he did for me, especially when it came
to stuff like lifting me onto my bedpan, disposing of the waste, and giving
me body washes.

Body washes I looked forward to, after I got over my initial
embarrassment. JD would strip off my pyjamas, top and bottoms, and cover me
with a single sheet. Then with a cloth and warm soapy water, he'd wash me
all over. Of course, I got erections. I was f******n! But JD ignored them
and after a while so did I. I usually read a book. I was still to
embarrassed to watch his hand as it circled over my neck, my shoulders, my
chest, my stomach, my legs, my knees, my feet. Then he'd wash my pubic
hair. I had/have very thick brown pubic hair. If I'd been able to keep my
cock down before he did my pubes, I certainly couldn't when he reached them
with his wet, warm cloth and hand. Up would spring my fourth inches of dark
meat, and I'd bury my nose deeper in my book.

Blame it on 'The Exorcist'. I was reading the book while JD was washing
me. I'd reached the part where the young girl starts masturbating with a
crucifix. I'm not a Christian, but that really turned me on. My prick was
as stiff as a poker. I felt warm fingers close around my prick. For a
moment I thought JD was only going to wash it. Then I felt his hand gently
jerking the shaft. A moment of guilt, but only a moment. I lay back to
enjoy a good read and opened my legs in what I hoped was an obvious
invitation.

JD got the message.

He nursed, caressed and stroked my erection with one hand while the other
fondled my balls. Bliss! I wondered if he's masturbate me to orgasm, and if
he did, what would he do with my cum. He had plenty of soapy water and a
hand towel, so that didn't worry me much. What I liked was the care and
attention he gave my prick. I'd started masturbating when I was twelve, but
the whole routine had got pretty boring. A quick jerk off didn't really
satisfy anymore. Now, here was a good-looking guy who was taking a loving
interest in my prick. It felt like I was having a minute doctor's
examination of my male organ of reproduction. No vein was left untraced, no
hair unbrushed.

I jumped, as much as a cripple can jump, when his mouth closed over me. JD
meant more than quick toss. This was serious business. In my mind I began
to do things to the Linda Blair character in the novel that made Satan look
like a beginner! JD was bobbing up and down on my cock, his mouth like a
wet furnace, his sucking like one of the octopuses we regularly catch in
the waters round Saudi. He was squeezing my balls, gently but to great
effect. I knew it would be long before my head was spinning through 360
degrees!

Did he want me to cum in his mouth? He gave no signal, so I whispered, "It
cums, JD. It cums." (JD taught me later to say 'I'm cuming', which shows
you can learn from every experience is you're willing). I streamed into his
mouth in jets of semen. I hadn't tossed myself off since the accident, and
my body was making up for it now. My hips bounced on the bed. I'd have
happily accepted another broken leg at that moment. I emptied myself into
JD's mouth and lay there hiding behind my book, panting.

The door burst open!

It was fucking Stefan!

I don't know if my prick was out of JD's mouth when my little cunt of a
brother burst in, but I know his head was still hovering over my crotch.

I gave Stefan a burst of obscenities in Arabic, and he scampered way -
laughing! The little fucker was laughing.

I hid behind my book again. Then JD pulled the book down onto the bed and
looked at me. I looked at him. "Karim, I won't do that again if you don't
want me to."

"I want it."

++++++++++++

I saw them all right, and I was jealous. Just because Karim's two years
older than me, he's always been regarded as the 'first', after my father,
in the family. Frankly, I think he's a dumb shit, but everybody's brother
is a dumb shit, so that doesn't mean much.

I'm not sure if I actually saw Karim's prick in the guy's mouth, but I knew
he wasn't down there looking for crabs! I brooded in my room after school,
then went to see JD. He was meant to be taking an interest in me as well as
my brother, so let him.

A few days earlier I'd sprained my wrist, no, not doing that. I'd just
started masturbating (a couple of Swedes in our dorm had taught everyone)
but as yet nothing tangible except for that No. 1 thrill had come of it. I
just knew Karim would be squirting all over the place - show off!

There was a lot sex in the air. The previous night I'd been passing through
the Seniors' corridor, not the safest of places for a junior at any time I
was to learn. A bunch of Greeks had an Iranian k**, about 15, on the carpet
in the corridor. They had his boxers off and were taking turns to toss him
off! The Iranian was putting up a fight, but not much of one. I stopped to
have a look. Shit, he had a big cock. Each guy took a turn at it, and the
way the k**'s eyes were rolling, he was going to be shooting his load very
soon. I wanted to stay and watch but when I felt a hand sliding down the
back of my pyjama bottoms to squeeze my ass, I high-tailed it out of
there. "Come back when you're older," someone shouted after me. "No, just
come back when you're bigger," shouted a second voice. Fucking Greeks, no
respect for anything or anyone when it comes to a piece of ass.

Anyway, I found JD and asked him if he could help me take a bath. I
explained my wrist and waved it pathetically in front of him. "Sure thing,
Stefan," he said, "Go get your stuff and meet me in the bathrooms."

"Do you mind... can we use the clinic bathroom?" I asked, putting my shyest
look. "I don't want everybody to..." I didn't have to finish the
sentence. JD ran his fingers though my hair, thick, glossy, curly hair, as
loved by my mother, and said, "See you there in five. Don't disturb,
Karim. He's sleeping." ("Bet he is," I thought.)

By the time JD got to the clinic bathroom, I was running the bath, and
standing there stripped naked. I reckoned it would be difficult for him to
ask me to put my clothes back on. We chatted about nothing until the bath
was filled, then he told me to step in and sit down. Sheer luxury! Sitting
there in that hot, steamy bath with JD's soapy hands running over my
body. I was a good-looking k**, a really good-looking k**, because of the
mixture I'd inherited from mom and dad. Maybe my body was a bit slight, but
I wasn't skinny, and I had the kind of cheeky features you see on the back
of a cereal packet.

"Stand up and I'll wash off the soap."

I stood up. My dick was sticking straight out at ninety degrees from my
body. Okay, it was only a couple of inches, but you could hardly miss
it. Funny that. When I got older, my erection would always be vertical,
pointing straight up my body, but at that age, my erections stuck straight
out from my body. Like a little hooded cobra. A cobra without the hood, of
course, since I was a good Muslim boy - well, I was a Muslim boy. The soapy
water streamed from my body.

JD sat on the edge of the bath. He took towelfuls of warm water and
squeezed them down my body making the soap run off. He'd ignored my stiff
dick, but he'd have to do something when he got down there.

"Turn round. Bend over. Hold onto the bath."

Wow!

I did as instructed and felt the warm wet cloth stroking my lower back and
bottom. Then no cloth, just JD's warm fingers. Then the cheeks of my
buttocks being pulled apart and his warm fingers sliding in. For a few
moments, I felt his fingers trace the circle of my ring. Then his lips were
on my hole, my ring, my anus. It should have been disgusting. It
wasn't. "Do it. Do it. Whatever it is, do it."

"Turn round."

I stood up and turned round. My dick was aching, my balls were aching. (Can
your balls ache before you can physically cum? Mine did.)

"Let's get you really clean."

His arms slipped round my waist. He pulled me towards him. And my dick slid
into his open mouth. He gently rocked me back and forwards while he sucked
on my soapy penis. This guy really knew how to get a k** clean! It seemed
to take ages, but the longer it took, the better it felt. My legs shook, my
knees shuddered, I trembled all over. I pushed him away. I was that
sensitive.

I stepped out of the bath and JD towelled me down, gently, roughly,
tenderly, vigorously. Then he towelled my head. Then he had me climb up on
the padded table and he gave me a massage all over. There was nothing
overtly sexual about it though my dick got hard again.

When we'd finished, I dressed, said thank you, and went up to my room. I
lay down on my bed, closed my eyes and fell sound asleep. I was that
relaxed. Next day I asked JD for another bath. He smiled wryly, told me not
to be so cheeky and kicked my ass down the corridor. I scampered off to
find me a Swede. I know he and Karim were close for the rest of the year,
but it didn't seem to be any of my business any more.


++++++++++++

JD and I were close for the rest of that year. He sucked me off three or
four times a week. He never asked me to do anything to him. When I got off
my crutches, he worked really hard to help me build up my leg muscles
again, and I was able to go skiing before the end of the season.

I won't tell you everything that happened because you only want to know
about 'first time'. But I remember one night in June, JD let me come up to
his room after midnight to watch the Marx brothers in 'Duck Soup'. We
smoked a couple of joints. After the movie, he let me butt-fuck him and
sleep with him that night. In the morning I crept downstairs at six
o'clock, carrying my pyjamas.

JD was that kind of guy, and I really missed him the following September
when we all returned to college and he wasn't there. He was somewhere in
California.

I learned a few months ago that JD was killed. He was piloting a light
aircraft when it crashed. JD was that kind of guy. He took risks and
accepted the consequences.



Date: 25-08-98 (19:38) Number: 022 To: Apollo Refer#: 964 From: Dean W.
Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGE


There seem to have been a great number of same-sex encounters in
international schools in those heady days when oil and OPEC was king, and
I'd like to add my story.

I was 14, going on 15, in a small international school near Cambridge,
England, now closed. I wasn't an oil nomad. I was a gas nomad since my
father was employed as a consultant engineer by a Turkish-American gas
company. Our family was based in Istanbul but we boys were educated in
Europe. This was my third school in four years.

The junior boys, 10 to 15, were housed in converted stables. The senior
boys, above 10th grade, were in the old manor house. We had dorms that held
about eight k**s, they had two-man rooms, except for the Head Boy who had
his own room in the manor.

The Head Boy and I, a scumbag junior, had only two things in common -
soccer and David Bowie. Maybe a bit more. We were both dirty blond,
athletic and sex-hungry. HB was called Brian Wermeier, probably still is, I
was called Dean Wilson, still am.

Wermeier, let's call him Brian, captained and soccer team. I was the goal
keeper. I suppose by British standards we were crap. We played local pub
teams, which sort of evened things out. They were fat and skilled; we were
fit and unskilled.

Brian took things seriously. Training after school three times a week. He
and I got into the habit of staying on for an extra twenty minutes after
everyone had gone while he took shots at me in goal. Brian was our leading,
only goal scorer, so he had a double interest in extra practice. A triple
as it turned out.

There was one problem. By the time extra practice was over, I was sweaty
and muddy (this was England in the Fall), and by the time I reached the
junior block the showers were cold. "No problem," said Brian, "use the
showers in the Manor. They're always hot." Nobody question this. Rules and
regulations were relaxed. Brian was HB, and, besides, his girlfriend
Stephanie was the best-looking chick in the school. Their devotion to each
other was well known. Nobody could imagine me as competition, least of all
me.

I got into the habit of staying on in the manor, in Brian's room, listening
to Bowie, rapping about life, the universe and everything, and sharing a
joint with the HB. Your correspondent Karim was right: there was plenty of
dope around in those days, and nobody took it too seriously. I really
enjoyed Brian's company. The talk was a lot more interesting and
intelligent than the juvenile stuff in junior dorm. It was good to get a
break from that.

Brian had a fitted shower room adjacent to his room; privileges of
rank. He'd have a shower while I was having mine. We got into the habit of
drying off in his room while we listened to music. It wasn't organised, it
just happened. People were pretty relaxed about bodies. In the presence of
Brian, I was glad I'd a good body, and a fully-developed cock for a fifteen
year old. About six inches and thick. I know it was fully-developed,
nearly, since I've added only an other inch since those days. Brian already
had seven inches. I suppose it was the heat of the shower that made our
dicks hang loose and free, and maybe the heat in the room. When the
central-heating came on in late October (this was England), the Manor could
have done second service as a sauna house. You could actually hear the
boiler system clanging and banging into action for half an hour as the
temperature rose to something like Istanbul on a summer's day.

We'd wrap our towels around us, I'd sit on the bed, Brian on a chair near
the stereo changing records, pass the joint and get high on Ziggy Stardust.

I wouldn't be telling the truth if I said Brian's looks, body, and
personality didn't get to me. They did, every time, but so what? Every boy
in the junior block was horny, apart from the Born Again Christians and
those guys who'd taken up with some of the junior schools, not a single one
of whom was known to put out or even give a grope worth the name. The
sounds of boys sneakily jacking off in my dorm got so outrageous we all
talked about it one day and agreed we wouldn't bother trying to hide it
anymore. That night the sounds of half a dozen boys jerking off
simultaneously was one of my most erotic memories of my two years in that
school. I say half a dozen and not the full complement of eight boys
because a couple of them resisted temptation. The truth came out later that
they were being sucked off regularly by the master-in-charge of JB (junior
block) but that's another story, and who knows if it was their first time.

How the conversation got onto sex, I don't know. It wasn't something Brian
and I'd talked about before. There was a Bowie LP on the turntable. He was
sitting next to me on the bed. I could feel the heat from his damp skin. My
cock was thick, semi-tumescent, under my damp towel. Brian held the joint
to my lips with one hand while the fingers of the other ran back and
forward across my thigh. I drew deeply and held the smoke in my
lungs. Brian drew deeply and put the joint aside. His fingers traced
patterns across the damp towel. "Go on," I said, rising as he tugged my
towel away.

Brian dropped to his knees on the floor in front of me. He grasped my prick
which went from semi to full tumescence in seconds. He appeared to study
it, then pulled the foreskin back from the head of my cock which was
already embarrassingly swollen and purple. I have a very loose
foreskin. The shaft of my cock has a definite curve to the left, and there
are a couple of blue veins that run from the base to the tip of my
foreskin. I've got big balls, and even then I'd lots of dirty blond pubic
hair. Brian wedged my legs wider open, then sank his mouth straight onto my
cock. It was the first time anyone other than myself and my mom had touched
my cock, and I almost blew it then and there. I might as well tell the
truth: I did blow it then and there. Within seconds I was spurting into the
Head Boy's mouth - "he was giving me head on the unmade bed" - so hard I
heard him choke. I couldn't stop cuming. I sat there watching Brian's dirty
blond hair (long), his powerful shoulders (freckled), and his spine
(curving into his towelled ass) while my thighs trembled, my balls rocketed
into my groin, and my cock spat hot cum into his mouth.

Brain raised his head and looked into my eyes. I blushed. "Sorry," I
mumbled. He got up from the floor. I was encouraged to see he had a huge
hard-on under his towel. He sat on the bed next to me and again held the
joint to my lips. My cock was hanging between my legs, twitching,
dripping. I inhaled so deeply I thought the smoke would come out of my
asshole, which felt so loose I thought I might shit then and there.

"Guilt trip?" asked Brian, chewing and swallowing the roach.

"Naw, don't think I'll bother," I shrugged.

"Me neither," said Brian.

We sat there for a few minutes talking about Saturday's soccer
match. Amazing to think back on it. I was sitting in the nude, cock
dripping; Brian sat in his towel, huge hard-on; the smell of dope filled
the room; 'Diamond Dogs' was playing. If anybody had walked in, we'd have
had a lot of explaining to do. The door wasn't locked. Brian never locked
it. And, as I was to discover, nobody ever walked in. Privileges of rank, I
suppose.

I felt a little guilty. Brian still had a huge erection, and I wasn't doing
anything about it. I'd never touched anyone else's cock before, so the idea
of sucking Brian off was a tad scary, but what the hell. I reached out and
wrapped my hand round him. God, he was big. Not that much longer than me,
but thicker, definitely thicker. Big nipples, too. I always remember
Brian's nipples. I sat there squeezing him, plucking up courage. "I'll do
you if you want," I whispered. Brian grinned. "Thanks, but no thanks, I'm
saving that for Stephanie. She loves the taste, too." I gulped and
nodded. "What about you?" he asked.

I looked down. My cock was hard again, standing straight up so that the tip
hit my belly button. "Shit. Sorry," I murmured. Brian grinned again. Then
he stood up, undid his towel and dropped it. I gulped again. This wasn't a
boy, this was a man. His chest was hairless but his abdomen covered with
light blond hair, his legs were covered with the same hair that darkened as
it disappeared into the V of his legs. His cock looked huge, his balls even
'huger', to coin a word. I'm glad I wasn't taking that in the mouth, but I
panicked a little as Brian pushed me backwards onto the bed. In the ass?!
"Shhh, baby" he whispered, it's not what you think.

I lay across the bed sideways, my shoulders against a wall, my feet on the
floor. Brian heaved a big cushion behind my shoulders, which made it a lot
more comfortable. I closed my eyes, hoping for the best, expecting the
worst. A fresh, clean, slightly perfumed smell cut through the dope
smells. I recognised it. It was Nivea Cream. The smell of Nivea still turns
me on like nothing else on the planet.

Brian's hand was round my cock. He smeared Nivea its full length. It feel
cool against my burning skin. "A hand job," I thought and relaxed. Then I
felt Brian clambering onto the bed. I mentally revised the
possibilities. What...? I blinked open my eyes. He was straddling my groin,
a knee on either side. I felt him take my cock and guide it into my crack
until the tip touch his asshole. I don't know who was burning more: Brian
or me. He lowered himself onto me, and I felt my cockhead slip through his
ring, his sphincter and into his anus. It was like an elastic band round my
cock. The band slipped lower and lower until my cock was buried into the
hilt, my hair brushed the cheeks of his ass. Brian began to raise and lower
himself on my cock. I was fucking the Head Boy! Or was he fucking me? Same
difference.

Embarrassed at first, I soon got into the swings of things (the dope
helped) and began to bounce my hips up in reaction to Brian lowering
himself onto me. It got easier and easier. Soon he was sliding up and down
my greasy pole, the friction was wonderful. I wondered if fucking a cunt
was as good as this. Brian's cock was like a projectile aimed at my face. I
leaned forward and grasped it with the thumb and fingers of my right hand;
they met, but only just. I jerked Brian off in time to our body rhythm. His
head and body were thrown back. His eyes closed. His blond hair bouncing
around his shoulders. The air was full of the sounds of Bowie and the
smells of sex, sweat, dope and Nivea Cream.

Brain came first. Jets of semen exploded from the tip of his cock, the
first two or three hitting me smack in the face, the next two landing on my
chest and belly. I was able to go on longer. For another ten minutes Brian
rode me. Then I hissed, "Wermeier, Wermeier, I'm cuming." His eyes
opened. He grinned. "Well, fucking come then, don't just talk about it." I
spurted up into his ass, as hard as before but with not quite so much
semen. My cock felt so swollen, I wondered if I'd get it out in time for
dinner.

"Shit, man, you telling me you haven't done that before?" whispered Brian
as we lay side by side exhausted on the bed.

"Nope, first time," I whispered.

"I ain't a fag," whispered Brian. "I just love sex."

"Me, too," I whispered.

"We'd better take another shower," he whispered.

"We'd better," I whispered.

We showered together, crammed into the tiny cubicle in Brian's room,
signing along with the man. We must have been heard through the entire
block, but when I came out of the room, a couple of the seniors just
nodded. One of them said, "You two need singing lessons." The other said,
"Maybe if you got better dope it would help." They were both grinning. Like
Brian, they were Yanks. The rumour had gone round I was supplying HB with
dope (I did live in Turkey) and that made whatever went on in Brian's room
legitimate though, like I said, nobody seemed to imagine it might be sex.

We had sex about once a week for the rest of the school year. I was always
passive, Brian always active. That suited both of us. I'd wander round,
usually on a Saturday evening, after weekend shopping, and Brian would suck
me off or let me fuck him. Then we'd go off to the Saturday night school
disco, Brian with Stephanie, and me with a bunch of juniors to find as much
booze and dope as we could get away with.

The last time I saw Brian was in a park in Cambridge, England, on a warm
July afternoon. A bunch of us junior guys were lying on the grass in a
discreet corner of the park trading joints and bullshit. Brian came
strolling through the park with Stephanie on his arm. He let her go for a
moment and walked up to us.

Looking right at me, he said, "I'm going to miss you, man." My heart
thumped, my pulse raced, I'd never been so proud. I looked up into Brian's
eyes. "I'm going to miss you, too."

Brian turned and went back to his woman. He left school that evening, not
waiting for Sunday and the last day of school. I never saw or heard from
him again.

Every few years, I look at his photograph in the Year Book. Then I look at
mine, under which he wrote: "The end of the year is at hand and I suppose
'All things must pass', but I'm hoping our paths will cross sometime in the
future because it's been great knowing you and sharing times with
you. Brian - in the year of the diamond dogs."

Our paths haven't crossed again yet - but I go on hoping they will.



Date: 25-08-98 (20:02) Number: 026 To: Apollo Refer#: 973 From: Stephen D.
Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGE

I was seduced on the night of my 18th birthday. I was a young 18 year old
though at the time I imagined I was very sophisticated. I'd come up from
England to Edinburgh University and was bowled over the whole scene. I just
loved being a student in that cosmopolitan capital where it seemed
everything was possible and most things permissible.

I'd led what you'd call a sheltered life. I went to an all boys' school in
Hertfordshire and my contact with girls had been minimal. My contact with
boys, sexual contact, was non-existent. The closest I'd got to sex was a
scary experience.

One night, when I was fifteen, I was thumbing a lift home in the rain. A
car stopped and gratefully I got in. As we drove along, the man,
well-dressed, in his early-thirties, asked me about school, studies,
sports, all the usual stuff. I was grateful for the lift so I made
conversation as best I could.

About half a mile from my home, he stopped the car. It was raining. You
could hardly see through the windscreen. The man dropped his hand on my
knee, then started to stroke the inside of my thigh. "You don't have to
home right away," he said. "You're a good-looking boy. We can sit here for
a bit." I was paralysed. The hand kept stroking, fingers getting closer to
my lap with each brush. And I was getting an erection!

The second he touched my penis, the spell broke. I wrenched open the door,
slid out of the car, and started running up the road. I turned off at the
first avenue and ran up a garden path, making out this was my house. I
needn't have bothered; the car didn't follow me.

When I got him, I was soaked to the skin. Immediately I had a hot bath and
lay in it eyes closed, imagining all the things that could have happened to
me. Problem was, my imaginings kept turning erotic, and I couldn't lose my
erection, though I'd only a vague idea what the man would have done to
me. In the end, I sighed and gave in to temptation, jerking off into a face
cloth which I washed out later.

In bed, I lay wondering if the guy had meant it: was I a good-looking boy?
I'd never thought of myself in those terms. I was slim but well built, I
had thick dark brown hair that hung shaggily to to my collar, strong
eyebrows, strong eyelashes, regular features, long legs and big feet. I
also wore glasses; I was short-sighted, and I suppose I believed the
dictum: girls don't make passes at boys who wear glasses. Maybe girls
didn't, but some men did.

University was wonderful. I'd always absorbed information like a sponge,
so, apart from attending lectures and seminars, I'd lots of spare time for
a hectic social life that quickly developed. And it developed so quickly
because Thorsten Bozek 'adopted' me. 'Thorsten Bozek' isn't his real name,
but I've chosen that one because it's almost as exotic as my senior man's.

In those days, and I've no reason to believe anything's changed, senior
students 'adopted' first year students and 'mentored' them for a year.

'Mentoring' could be as dull or as exciting an affair as the senior man
dictated. My mentoring was never dull. Thorsten was something of a legend
at university: directing plays, running the literary club, heavily into
far-left politics, showing imported movies for profit, and raising pots and
pots of money for charity. He was academically brilliant, and I never
understood how he managed it; at least I attended lectures and seminars. I
once asked Thorsten how he managed it: "Easy," he said, "I only opt for
subjects I already know inside out." I think Thorsten opted for me.

To be fair, I hung around Thorsten more than he hung around me: I was the
bee to the exotic bloom. It wasn't difficult because we were both in the
same halls of residence. Thorsten told me he didn't move out because he at
least knew he had a bed whatever happened to him.

I was fascinated, hypnotised by Thorsten Bozek. He let me come on a roller
coaster ride that left me breathless but begging for more. And as the weeks
wore on, I began to realise what that more might include. Thorsten and I
grew more and more intimate. At parties we'd end up sitting on the floor
side by side, drinking, smoking dope, talking. We'd rush out together and
catch a midnight movie. At poetry evenings we'd sit on the carpet, our
reverential hush as we listened to each other's poetry, creating an
ambience that drew everybody in (I wrote garbage; Thorsten wrote
gibberish.) He gave me the part of 'Boy' in his production of 'Waiting for
Godot'; I was more wooden than the tree; Thorsten said I was 'original'. We
were often pissed together or stoned together, so much so we slept in my
room on the ground floor because Thorsten couldn't make it to his eerie on
the fifth. It was all big time fun.

I realised Thorsten wanted me physically. I don't know how I knew, but I
knew. I couldn't make up my mind what I wanted. One day the idea disgusted
me; the next day it was overwhelmingly excited. I remember one day we were
doing a 'photo shoot' for the charities' magazine; Thorsten wanted me as
Superboy. This meant being naked, apart from underpants and the Superman
Logo painted on my chest. The logo was easy. However, I had on the wrong
kind of underpants - Y-fronts! (I also wore a string vest in those days.)
We decided to swap. Thorsten got his off quickly. I dillied and I dallied,
dallied and I dillied, 'accidentally' showing off my genitals to Thorsten
until, exasperated, he pulled his cotton slip over my arse, saying: "Let's
get on with it, Stephen. We'll save the strip-tease for later."
Unfortunately, he forgot about the 'later'.

On another occasion, Thorsten came to find me. I was in the shower. He
stood outside the shower door speaking to me. "Catch you later," he
said. "Don't go," I called. "I need to speak to you." I'd been busy pulling
on my dick until it was semi-hard and swinging suggestively in front of
me. Then I opened the shower door and towelled myself while inventing a
totally meaningless conversation. I dried my hair vigorously and could feel
my cock bouncing against my thighs. I was temptation made flesh, if that's
the kind of flesh you fancy. By the time I'd finished drying my hair,
Thorsten was gone! I couldn't blame him; even I didn't know what I was
talking about.

October 31st: my eighteenth birthday. Part of the celebrations included
drinking half a pint in every public house in Hope Street. I don't know if
anyone's ever achieved this, and I don't suppose we even got halfway
through the pubs. I can't remember any of that all. I do remember it was a
viciously windy, rainy, cold, dreich, miserable Edinburgh night - but
Thorsten and I didn't give a fuck. We were 'fou and unco' happy'; I was
blind drunk; he was reduced to a single eye. That was enough.

A taxi must have taken us home. We couldn't have walked it. I don't
remember how we got up to Thorsten's room. There was a bed and a mattress
the floor. There was an angle-poise lamp. I was lying on the
mattress. Thorsten was helping me off with my wet things. I was
singi