Date: Sat, 08 Sep 2001 03:33:26 +0100 From: Tom Gerund Subject: Love at First Night (Gay - first love) Disclaimer: The following is a true story. Only the significant other's name has been altered. Other particulars, ie the city, are unaltered, and nothing that I can think of has been written that is not believed to be wholly accurate by the author. This is a one-off. I have not previously submitted here or anywhere else and doubt I ever will again. Warning: this is more slushy than pornographic. Not what I ever came to this site to read, but then you can't beat the real thing when it slaps you in the face when you least expect it. It was also written at speed over one hour in order to record the experience and not to spin a well crafted yarn. Apologies for resultant deficiencies. Hope some of you enjoy it. If you recognise anyone then keep your trap shut please. Love at First Night I have read stories on this website for my own pleasure for a few years now, particularly the first time section. I've never really given second thought to the possibility of some of them being genuine. But now adding my own genuine experience I begin to wonder how many of the others are real too. It happened last night, Thursday the 6th of September 2001, and before it disappears completely I wanted to put it down. I was in Glasgow in business and was staying at one of the few decent hotels. I knew noone in the city having come up alone and after I had met my business people, I afforded myself a second day, ostensibly to check out the gay scene. I am 29, slim and quite fit in the no spare fat sense, toned, but at 5'9" feel a little on the short side. However I am good-looking enough to get away with it I have been into other men for three years now in fits and starts, and laid off for a year while in a serious relationship with a girl who was and remains stunning and an inspiration for many wet bedsheets. After we split a few months back, I let myself free with renewed abandon, and launched myself onto the London scene. But because I was not out, and still fell in love with at least ten women a day, I restricted my antics to shadowy semi-private places where I felt anonymous and safe - like chatrooms, phonelines and saunas. Most importantly I maintained a strong conscious control over it all. I could feel myself becoming quite turned on by dicks, and by cute guys, and I had recently started to kiss them. The problem is one rarely meets cute guys at these places so kissing is limited. Bizarrely, or maybe not, I am happy to suck someone's dick if I don't find them that attractive facially - and it matters even less if they're sucking me. But I can't kiss someone unless I am really turned on. And that sadly is very rarely the case in such dodgy places as saunas which normally attract the dregs that need a little darkness to hide their spare tractor tyres. This had let me build up a basic belief that my gay side was limited to a desire for superficial casual experiences. A few men I liked enough to want to see again I had exchanged numbers with (I got a second mobile for safety's sake) and at least had got to the stage of seeing a few men more than once. But this was still a rarity and I still had not felt for them any way as strongly as even the women who walked past on the streets oblivious of my very existence, let alone exes. So I believed essentially that love was purely reserved for women. The desire to spend the night, to literally sleep with someone, to hold them close and bury ones lips and nose in their hair, to breathe them in, to look them in the eye for ours and to lean forward and touch their lips with yours, to slide lips across each other barely touching, to swim in their mouths, to dive deeper and deeper and then to disengage and look at them again, absorbing it all in. To feel love, a deep, happy, all-consuming sense of rightness, of being. Yes that's right the sloppy stuff. So back to Glasgow, rarely a scene for anything remotely romantic. Early September and while London was still clinging on to some semblance of summer, Glasgow had given in unconditionally to winter. Folds of grey broiled above the matching buildings and yet the Glaswegians clung to T-shirts as though to justify the very purchase of summer clothes. A cursory foray into the town's depressing tumbledown Gay, Lesbian and Other Freaks Centre had convinced me there was not exactly a scene to speak of. You see I had imagined that for the first time I could experiment in stepping out into the limelight on the basis that I knew noone within 500 miles of the city and could have a little harmless fun. I could actually walk into a gay bar! Openly, not furtively, looking over my shoulder, lurking in shadows. The city seemed to have one sauna, Centurion, housed in a portacabin-like block of concrete slabs with a bathtub of a Jacuzzi, one sauna and three private rooms. Miraculously among the three others there was one almost attractive man. I fucked him on his request, not willing to cause offence by refusing - the reason behind at least half all my gay sex experiences. That was I think only the second time I had fucked a man and it was eminently forgettable. Nonetheless after wanking off we walked over to a gay bar. We sat alone at a bar and said very little as I happily soaked in the scene and let my eyes freely roam the place. It was busy but not uncomfortably so, with a complete mix of ages and types. Nothing obscene or outre, very normal people. One quintessential queen was dancing sinuously at the front and a quiz kept conversation under raps for a couple of hours. I was thoroughly bored. The one time I had dared to step out to conquer the gay world, I was stuck with someone I didn't fancy, where in fact I had the courage and desire to walk up to anyone there and talk. After a couple of hours I wondered how to execute an exit strategy, when I looked behind me towards the bar and saw him, a tall, impossibly young man standing moodily alone, propped up against a pillar. He was nonchalantly browsing his eyes over the populace with little apparent interest and was nurturing a plastic bottle of water. He wore baggy jeans and a clingy sky blue top rolled up at the sleeves. God like and model like, thin to the point of lankiness, with translucent skin that fair shone with health and youth. But it was his face that had me gulping for air. It had never seen a spot, stubble had yet to pollute it, he had high cheekbones and big beautiful eyes. It was intensely masculine with a broad chin but also soft and feminine, light clear skin light eyebrows long and luxuriously sensuous Mick Jagger lips and beautiful brown eyes you could get lost in. I tried to pull my gaze away and turned back to my table. Actually I wasn't in too much of a state because you see people like that in London a lot and in any case it means nothing unless you connect. My new friend cajoled me into offering him a drink. Funnily enough if he had been a woman I would never have even tried. But being emboldened by alcohol and the awareness that there were friends to be humiliated in front of, after half an hour of slyly watching him slink around sulkily avoiding eye contact with everyone who looked at him too closely, I sidled up to him by the bar and asked if he wanted a drink. No thanks he replied in a soft Glaswegian accent - the first time I had considered the poetry of the tongue. But then had he spoken Inuit I would probably have been converted to its delights. Caught in the full glare of this obvious rejection I blurted out "so are you here to pull or to meet friends?". He smiled at the impudence and shook his head slowly. "I'm on my way home." I can't remember what we said next but after a little stumbling I found my feet and realised we had a lot in common. He was eighteen, towered over me, and had a number of casual girlfriends. He was bi-curious but turned off by a lot of the gay thing. Anal sex made him want to puke, which it does me too. I asked him what he was doing later and he said going home. I told him he was beautiful - in passing you understand, not too obvious. I mean stunning, model like, I added. He smiled indulging me, politely. But conversation was light and easy. After half an hour he said he was leaving and turned and looked at me and casually asked if I wanted a lift back to the hotel. I said yes a little too quickly and we walked out immediately. My old acquaintance limped behind us for a little before slipping away quietly. He squeezed his long frame into a Nissan micra and we sped off through the empty streets onto the sliproad to the hotel. We opened up in the car talking about how strange it was fancying women and men and he said he found the whole gay scene in Glasgow "minging" which English readers will recognise as something close to repulsive. He hated camp people and had had a few limited experiences. He did not know what he was and none of his friends or family knew anything. Same as me. But he admitted a strange interest in cocks that he couldn't understand. Same here again. "I'm desperate for a piss" he added and I told him to use my toilet in the room. Things were looking up though I still didn't dare to hope. I still thought all this was sympathy for someone he had rejected and basic courtesy. We walked through reception and into the lift past the reception toilets. Good, I thought. In the room he went straight for the toilet and I turned on the TV with the soft porn on I had ordered earlier. Women were writhing about in obviously fake bliss shivering their bodies in ecstasy as they moved their faces in the rough area of the others pussy. Not that much of a turn on. Like so much straight porn, most of the turn on was the quality of the body itself not what they did. He walked out of the bathroom and fell onto the bed where I was and we watched the porn praising the fake tits on one of the women. I took my turn in the loo and he said "but there are no cocks". "Come on this is Britain. We don't believe in cocks". He laughed and I joined him back sprawled on the bed. He looked at me and said "you know, I don't think you're gay". I knew this was a big compliment from him. Our heads were quite nearby propped on elbows and we looked into each others eyes a little too long. There was a definite pause of connection. An almost audible click. We had clicked. I was thinking vaguely of leaning over when he moved his body suddenly towards me and kissed me full on the lips, soft but urgent, blissful. Our lips parted and we looked at each other smiling. Another pause before I leant forward touched his cheek with my finger, tracing his cheekbone down to his lips and then kissed him back, pushing my tongue in and connecting with his, swimming in his mouth sloppily spilling my saliva over his chin and lips, chewing his fat gorgeous lips. I could feel him slipping his hand onto my belly and up my torso and I tried the same. He was taut and lean with shiny soft baby skin stretched over muscle. I pulled off his top and he moaned and we kissed rubbing our bodies over each other. We kissed for what felt like hours, holding each others heads as though frightened they'd fall off. I rolled on top of him and humped him over his jeans feeling his cock stab my belly through his trousers, grazing over all his torso. "Does this do anything for you?" I asked playing with his nipple with my tongue. He looked embarrassed. "Me neither. But for some reason I really want to lick and feel yours, even though I know it feels nothing to you." He smiled. "Go for it". I teased his nipples with my teeth and he kissed my hair, slow big kisses, chewing on my ear, breathing heavily into it, moaning softly. Then he did the same to me. We paused again and nuzzled noses, eyes closed, and kissed again. I felt lost completely and happy, chilled, relaxed, in no rush (with women I always want to cum). We kissed for hours, stopping sometimes to kiss around the face and the eyes. He said I was very attractive and particularly in the eyes, and that I had a gorgeous body. I can understand the eyes as enough people have said that for such a comment to get past my highly cynical filter. And the body was currently in good shape as I had recently bought weights and was still in my first blossom of romance with them before they joined the other detritus of my fitness machines - the abdominiser and the bullbar. He ran his hand over my cock over my trousers and felt for the buckle of my belt. Much struggling later we were naked but for our boxers. I kissed his cock through his boxers, his shiny puppy like red helmet poking through, which I kissed lightly but mainly left alone. I pulled them down and jumped on top of him, sliding myself over his body, holding him tight, kissing him again and again, swimming in his eyes. We laid next to each other occasionally bestowing a light kiss on a new part of the others body, the soft inside elbow, the back of the neck, above the crotch, and especially the eyes. I wanted to make love to him but I had no idea how to. "I don't know what to do with you" I said. "I know. Me too," he replied. "I would love you to stay here tonight" I said boldly. He moaned in agreement. "I really really want to too." "I can order breakfast in bed. Imagine their faces as they open the door". "I don't know if I can. I dropped off my kid sister in a club and I told her I was off straight home. I have to get home before her." "Tell her you've pulled". "She'll never believe me". God has Glasgow gone mad! Has he been passed by by the womenfolk! We lay interlocked and occasionally kissing for more time. "If I ever wanted a boyfriend it would be you" he said. "I was thinking something similar. I was going to say something like I gave a little luurve tonight." I mocked the L word, embarrassed at my slushiness. "Yes. Definitely. A little love" he agreed. He kissed me again long and we rolled around the bed in each others mouths. "I've never felt this way with a man before" I admitted. "Me neither" he agreed. "In fact I'll go further. I honestly didn't believe I could feel like this. It feels so right, so good, so natural. I never thought this would ever happen with another man". He was kissing my eyes as I talked. "Now what the fuck am I going to do with my life?". We then spooned and I was behind him with my hand over his fat hard dick, my face buried in his neck. I fell lightly asleep. He woke me up saying "I have to go". It was 3:30. We'd been in bed 4 hours. At least 3 of those kissing. "Are you sure?" "Yes. My kid sister will go mental". I didn't struggle. I felt this whole piece of magic was doomed to end anyway as I was leaving for London the next day and not likely to come back for some time and he was ten years younger than me, at least six inches taller, and too good looking, and of course neither of us were out. Neither of us were even sure what we were. So I didn't put up a struggle. I said if you must. "I fell asleep for a minute then. That's the first time I've ever slept with another man." I told him. I felt completely in love with him. Completely in love. I wanted so much to say it but didn't have the heart. I didn't want to ruin the moment. But I also felt a little detached as I had not even then committed myself to being gay. I still love one ex very much, and even though we have not slept with each other for two years now we speak to each other every day and say I love you, even though we will never go out again and she is married and I work my way through other relationships. Being gay would feel like such a betrayal of our love. Nat - that was his name - was the only man I loved in the same way, a kind of love from inside you that just grows and suddenly seems a vital part of you without you having noticed it. Or more succinctly, a love that was always there waiting to be discovered. He felt part of me. The fact that I didn't know what to do with my dick seemed irrelevant. I didn't really want to cum. But as he said he was going I said I'd have to blow him then and took his cock in my mouth, sucked on him almost all the way down. His helmet was too sensitive and with my finger had to keep his foreskin over it while I went down on him. Finally he went down on me, gently and slowly, and ages later said "I could suck your cock all night". The sad thing was that being almost teetotal my two drinks (which I lied up to three) had left me too far removed from ejaculation whereas he was bursting on the brink. He had been oozing precum all night and I had been licking it up all night as it oozed from his dick - much to his disgust (he didn't like cum either). We wanked each other for a little while and then without warning he came over his belly in very clear puddles. He jerked more furiously at mine but I was far away, already two shots that day and only a distant promise of a third. He laughed at me and cajoled me "You big poof you". He got up and walked to the loo "Gotta go". I felt his feelings rush back to normality. Maybe he was disgusted again at what we'd done, the same way I used to be in the early days when I did my first gay mutual jerkoffs. I wanked furiously and was within a whisker of coming when he reappeared and stared at me hands on hips. I lost the will and sagged. Felt completely ridiculous and humiliated. "You can do that all night. You have your imagination" he said. Not meaning to be callous. We had both talked about it being so perfect we didn't want to ruin it with cumming. God knows what was now going through his head. He was jumping into his clothes and I sat up in the bed watching him dress, helpless. I gave him my business card and wrote my home e-mail on it (the first time I had given my card to any gay encounter). He promised to get in touch. I wondered if it had been wise to have given him my number. Maybe it was better as one perfect night (albeit marred by my spectacular inability to cum with the most beautiful person I'd ever shared a bed with. It reminded me of another embarrassing moment when a female model girlfriend was giving me the blowjob of my dreams some years back right down to the base, her large breasts sliding over my belly, and I couldn't cum and she took silent umbrage.) Why couldn't I cum? What's wrong with me? In both cases it was drunk. Fucking evil alcoholic piss. So I walked him to my door still naked with my dick waving goodbye in the air, and he kissed me, held me, smiled at me and vanished. I returned to the bed and in a few seconds had redecorated the wall behind me. I always cum gallons - I had been a sperm donor at uni for spare cash and after a few extra tests had been told I was a super sperm machine, in the top 0.1% of the male populace, got double money as each time I made enough for two little tubs, and it had become a little party trick, splattering for eight or ten shots over everything in sight. I had wanted to cum for him, to give him that. Angry with myself, I drifted to sleep. I told all my friends about it, but in the story he had become "Natalie or Natalia I can't remember which". But after only one day of narrating the surreal event I have already said "he" instead of "she" a few times. Got to be super careful in this game. Sitting alone staring at the green hills of the Lake District as I snaked back to London in first class, almost alone in the carriage, I felt more alone than ever before in my life. Knowing I couldn't be with him, and not knowing what in fact I wanted. It was enough to cause me to phone my last two girlfriends for a little love. My most recent one we had split very messily and I was giving her breathing space to get herself settled again and over me. She sounded very over me but a little scratching beneath the surface and the same pain and need was there. All bluff. Probably still wanted me back. But she was not enough for me and I wondered and wondered who ever would be. I am still fairly sure I am that rare freak of nature a bisexual. I love beauty. A beautiful face makes me want to make love to it, woman or man. If anything I would be more straight now as my gay standards were now at precipitous heights. And now I am writing this all down. Love at first night. Leaving me completely shell-shocked and confused. Not unhappy, but a little more lonely. And a lot more confused. Any thoughts would be interesting. E-mail me at tomgerund@hotmail.com