This is a story about man on man sex. If this offends you please do not read further. Otherwise please enjoy this story which is the first chapter of a longer piece outlining how I learnt about gay sex whilst an undergraduate in the 1970s. I'd be very interested to receive your feedback and suggestions for future chapters. My email is zlatyblbec@yahoo.com

If you enjoy this story you may enjoy the other offering I have on Nifty – The Widowers Club which is in the `Adult Friends' section.

Warren came across the hall. "Can you swim?" he asked me.

I told him I could.

"Are you doing anything Thursday morning?" Warren was, at least to me, an `old guy'. I was a young undergraduate, just past my 19^th birthday, and in those days anyone over 35 seemed ancient. He could have been anything between 50 and 75 I suppose. "It's just that Malcolm can't do swimming for the next three or four months, and with a dozen lads I need someone to help."

I was in my first year at university, and one of the things I'd got into was helping at a couple of the social clubs in the city for what we knew in those days as `mentally handicapped' people. I'm not sure what the currently acceptable term du jour is for people like that, but I'm sure you'll know what I mean. There was a different club every night of the week apart from Sunday – `Gateway Clubs' they were called – and they all relied on volunteers to function. Most had half a dozen helpers from the town's university or teachers' college, but largely it was aging parents who ran the clubs.

I'd always liked boys. I'd been aware of that since I was five or six and far, far earlier than I understood sexual urges. I can recall that when I was at infant school it was always other boys that I found "cute" – never any of the girls. Once we progressed to junior school and started swimming lessons I loved having to share changing cubicles with other boys – two to each cubicle which was really just intended for one person – and seeing their naked bodies as we stripped down to get changed, and then after the lesson when we had to dry in close proximity. I'd always manage to brush `accidently' against whoever I was changing with, and know I felt a thrill run through me as I felt their warm skin on mine, even though at that time I didn't really understand what was happening.

It got worse (or better, depending on how you look at it) once I went to secondary school. In the 1960s modesty was forbidden in schools in the UK. Everyone was made to shower after physical activity – physical education lessons, sports practices, gym lessons, games lessons – no ifs, no buts, no excuses. So practically every day I was at secondary school – seven long years – I saw loads of my friends, or members of other classes, or teams from visiting schools, all totally naked in the communal shower. At our fairly large school that often meant over a hundred boys showering at the same time.

As I started at secondary school when I was eleven I was becoming aware of my sexuality, and within a couple of weeks of starting I'd picked my location in the changing rooms – a place that I'd use to get changed in probably 95% of the time over the next seven years. It was the perfect spot that took in all the angles and gave the most comprehensive view of the open showers, the drying off area and a couple of rows of the benches where the other boys changed. And by the time I was about fourteen I looked forward to my almost daily visit to the changing room with an excitement that by then I knew was sexual.

Despite this, by the time I reached eighteen and left school for university I was still a complete virgin. I'd never had any kind of sex with any other person. Girls I wasn't interested in and I couldn't be bothered to put in the huge effort many of my classmates were investing just to be able to say I'd got a girlfriend. Boys I was obsessed with, but scared to let any of the objects of my lust know in case I was outed. This was the early seventies, and although in the UK it was no longer a crime to be gay it wasn't at all accepted on the working class council housing estate I was brought up on. Had my sexuality become known back then I assumed I'd face rejection by my family and friends and neighbours, and possibly frequent beatings from the estate bullies. I'm ashamed to say that I wasn't strong enough to risk any of this, so contented myself with my almost daily term-time voyeurism and nocturnal wanks based around fantasies involving the collection of naked bodies I was so familiar with.

I was one of the few people on my estate to go to university – at that time it was very much a middle class preserve and not many of us whose parents were from the labouring classes managed to break through that glass ceiling. Even if the possibilities were there – free schooling until eighteen for those who passed the appropriate exams, and free fees plus student grants to ease the financial burden to those of us who got the right A Levels – many in my position were still forced to leave school at fifteen or sixteen to get a job and bring some cash into an impoverished household. But my parents, for all their social conservatism, were very supportive of me and thrilled when I became the first in our family to gain entry to the ivory tower of academia.

During the summer holidays before I went up to university I told myself that once I was 200 miles away from home, and in an environment where no one knew me, I would join the Gay Society in the Students Union and `come out', at least during university terms. For the three months between leaving school and starting university I imagined my new world – freedom to share a bed with another boy, staying out all night, getting myself a boyfriend. It all seemed too good to be true.

And unfortunately it was. Towards the end of September, a couple of weeks before the university term started someone organised a party for those of us who'd just left the sixth form, most of whom were about to go up to university, poly or some college or other. We were all buoyant and excited at our upcoming adventures, keen to let each other know where our A Level grades had finally landed us. But for me, halfway through the night, there was a bombshell... One of my acquaintances, a fellow member of the rugby team, wasn't only going to the same university, he was also doing the same course as me and was going to be living in a house owned by the university which was about 200 yards down the road from where I'd been allocated a room. My dreams of sexual liberation and freedom were dashed. How could I come out when I'd got a spy living on my doorstep who might relay my every action back to those who knew me in my home town?

So I continued to hide.

And instead of joining GaySoc I signed up for the rugby team, and within a few weeks of starting at uni was the hooker for the university's second XV, actually playing alongside the chap from my old school as I'd done since we were both eleven. My sexual liberation might have been delayed, I told myself, but would still come one day. In the meantime joining the rugby club at least meant I was being treated to some new eye candy to inspire my nocturnal jerking off.

As a first year student living in university-owned accommodation I had to share a room – such was the shortage of accommodation in the rapidly expanding university that only final year students had the privilege of a room to themselves. So, for the first time in my life, at least on a regular basis, I shared a bedroom. Fate was cruel in its choice of roommate for me. I was a typical front row rugby forward from the 1970s – fairly large, reasonably fit but a bit on the chubby side, and was expected to behave in a very `laddish' way. The obsession with pushing weights that has turned those who play in my old position into 120kg masses of pure muscle fortunately hadn't begun then, at least at the level I played at. We did a bit of fitness training, and pushed a few weights, but nothing like as seriously as the kids of today do. My roommate couldn't have been more different. He was about four inches smaller than me, very slim, and was a joint Drama and English major. He was also a little bit effeminate – nothing over the top, but certainly not the sort of guy who'd be thinking of joining the rugby team. From the very start the other guys in the house used to poke a bit of fun at him – nothing particularly nasty, but unnecessary nonetheless – and to my shame I have to admit I did nothing to stop this. At times I even joined in a little, despite the fact that William and I got on reasonably well.

The etiquette of sharing a room was all new to me, and on the first night I wondered whether my lack of any sleeping attire would be considered unacceptable. I'd slept naked since the summer holiday before I'd gone to high school at eleven and wondered what to do in a shared environment. My fallback position was to go to bed in my underpants, but I wasn't relishing that prospect. We both turned in at the same time, and as soon as we were in the room William began to undress. I pretended to busy myself with a few tidying up jobs, but all the while keeping my well-practiced sneaky eye on my new roommate to see if I was going to be treated to a view of anything interesting – he certainly fitted well into the category I would describe as `cute'. Piece by piece his clothes came off – jumper, shoes, socks, tee shirt, jeans. And then, finally, his underpants. Which left him entirely naked and only about four feet away from me in our small room. Then, instead of pulling nightwear out of a drawer or wardrobe or from under a pillow, he just moved, still naked, across to where his bookshelf was, with all his newly unpacked books on it.

"Where did I put the Lawrence?" he mutter out loud.

I saw this as my opportunity to turn and look at him openly. He was beautiful! Very slim, but with a lovely round backside. And an all over golden tan. "Sorry?" I responded.

He turned round. "Sons and Lovers. One of my set books. I'm in the middle of re-reading it ready for the start of term."

I think my mouth fell open. And then, when he turned round, he revealed what I, as a bit of a connoisseur, considered to be the perfect penis. Not at all short, but not too long. Not thin, but not too thick. And, joy of joy, he was circumcised. Although I hadn't been circumcised myself I'd loved cut dicks from the day I'd seen my first one back in those changing cubicle days at the old town swimming baths.

He turned back and started looking through his books, kneeling up onto his chair which just exaggerated the beauty of his backside. I began to rip my clothes off and was quickly naked myself.

"I wasn't sure whether sleeping nude would be acceptable," I said. "I haven't owned a pair of pyjamas since I was about eleven. I hate wearing anything in bed. I wondered if you'd object."

William grabbed his book and turned round. "Same here. In fact I've never had any pjs. My family are nudists, so we've always all spent most of our time at home starkers."

We then embarked on a conversation about nudism, which had been a constant desire of mine for years although I'd seldom had the opportunity to indulge it. He took out a cigarette and offered me one, and we sat cross-legged on the top of his bed, totally naked, chatting and just generally getting to know each other. As a nudist William acted as if nothing at all was strange about this. For me it was so novel and exciting that I remember that evening very clearly to this day – the feeling of the fairly coarse woollen blanket on my naked backside, the ash tray on the bed in the small gap between us, taking a good look at William's beautiful dick every time I had to tap some ash off the end of my cigarette which gave me an excuse for my eyes to wander into that general area. And I also remember the pre-cum that began to slowly ooze from out of the slit in my cock and make a little silvery trail on the side of my thigh. I don't know whether William noticed it at all. If he did he made no comment.

Over the following weeks we were often naked together in our room. Like most of the other residents of our house (there were 18 guys sharing this property) we'd generally retire after watching News At Ten, do a little work, a little reading and a little talking before going to sleep. But we'd always lock our door and strip naked before engaging in any of these activities. For William it was just a continuation, in many ways, of the life he'd known ever since he'd been born. For me it was new and exciting, and I looked forward to bedtime every night, although the experience was bittersweet – I felt I could look, but I couldn't touch. Even though I was pretty sure that William would have had sexual encounters of one sort or another growing up in a nudist world I was scared to make any advances. I hadn't developed any sort of 'Gaydar' so was petrified that I'd get it wrong and make a pass at him which resulted in a reaction which would send my world crumbling down.

So for the early part of my student days my sex life was solitary and frustrating. Nonetheless I was enjoying university life, both the academic and social sides, and I'd made a lot of friends.

I'd ended up helping out at the Gateway clubs in a very roundabout way, but really enjoyed being with both those who attended the clubs and the other volunteers. Warren was one of a kind and didn't fit into the usual profile of club helpers. These generally came from one of two distinct groups – either young students who had some notion of `community service' or older people who tended to be family members, normally the parents, of those who came along to the clubs. Warren was neither – he was old, but didn't seem to have any family connection to anyone who attended the clubs.

I gave a quick thought to Warren's request. "I've not got any lectures or anything on Thursday mornings," I told him. "What time? I've got to be at the university by a quarter past two, but if we can manage that I could do it."

"We've got the pool from a quarter past ten for an hour. I start picking the lads up at nine, and I've normally dropped the last of them off well before one so you'll have plenty of time," Warren replied.

So it was settled, and I got up early (for a student) on Thursday morning, took the bus into town, and Warren was waiting for me in the Round Table's community Ford Transit minibus next to the main post office.

"Lovely morning!" he said as I climbed into the front seat. He handed me a clipboard with a sheet of paper on it which listed eleven names. "These are the ones who're coming today. If you can tick them off as we pick them up that'd be great."

He put the Transit into gear and set off towards the East. "We'll do a big loop around town and end up at the old Victorian baths in Southdown. How well do you know your way around?"

I admitted that since arriving in the town I hadn't really done much exploring apart from the streets around the university, the suburb I lived in, the town centre and the immediate area around the Gateway Club. Students didn't generally venture into the East or the North of the town.

I really enjoyed the morning. When we stopped to pick the first lad up Warren made me sit in the back of the minibus to make sure that no one did anything silly like open the doors at the wrong time or place. It took us the best part of an hour to get round everyone, even though he'd just pull up in front of their houses and honk the horn. All of them were really excited as they climbed aboard, and I was really pleased that they all looked happy to see that I was going to be the one helping Warren.

I loved the old pool we went to. Most facilities from that era have gone now, but I think they had far more character than the huge leisure centre pools they build nowadays. Inside the building itself there were no windows apart from those almost at ceiling height. I'd read in the local paper that they held nude sessions here on Sunday mornings and it was easy to see how it would be possible to swim naked here without anyone on the outside knowing. Looking around I wondered how you got in touch with the people who ran the nude swims, and whether I'd be able to make it over to this part of town to go to them. The idea certainly excited me. I'd only skinny dipped three or four times – on cub scout camps when I was at school – but I'd really enjoyed the feeling of the water on my naked body.

All of the guys we took were around my age – some perhaps a bit older, some a bit younger. "You all know the drill," said Warren in a loud voice as we entered the large communal changing room. "Get changed, quickly go through the shower and don't go poolside until David and I are there. Ok?"

Like any group of teenage boys they merely nodded or grunted their acknowledgement, and immediately started to strip. All of them got themselves completely naked first and only then opened up their bags to take out their trunks. As a group they were as beautiful as any I'd shared changing facilities with, and totally lacking in self-consciousness. A couple of them had developed erections, one of them a full, sticking up in the air one, but no one seemed particularly phased about it. Apart from in magazines I'd never seen an erect penis, so my eyes practically popped out of my head to witness such magnificent boners in the flesh for the first time.

Eventually I managed to pull myself away and turned to my own Adidas sports bag to get my trunks out, only to notice that Warren had been watching me staring at the guys. I blushed a bit. Caught in the act! Warren just smiled.

"A few of them can get excited," he said softly. "You get used to it. They have all the same sexual desires as we all do, but are a bit less inhibited by the rules of polite society."

I unrolled my trunks from my towel and started to strip off. Warren did the same, and in no time at all had removed his socks and shoes, jumper, trousers, shirt and was left in just a very skimpy pair of white briefs. If I'd thought about it at all I would've expected that he'd wear old fashioned baggy white shorts or Y-Fronts. As it was it was me in the `old man' Y-Fronts and him wearing the modern tightly fitting underwear. "Come on," he said, turning round to chivvy the guys along. "Chop, chop! Get your things on."

Although I'd already been caught staring at the naked lads by Warren I couldn't resist sneaking what I thought were surreptitious glances at Warren himself. My fantasies had always been about boys of my own age, but unexpectedly I felt drawn to this old man's body. He was facing me as he pulled off his briefs off to reveal a well-proportioned cock (circumcised, I noted approvingly) (did I mention I adore cut cocks?) and a pubic area without any hair (which I'd never seen before in a mature male as it was pretty unheard of back in those days to shave down there). His golden tan was not interrupted by any patch of white. I calculated that if he'd been at school in the twenties he'd be well into his sixties at least, but I still found his body stunning. Golden brown all over, and not an ounce of excess fat on him. I felt my cock begin to grow, which alarmed me as I thought I was well practiced at keeping my dick down regardless of what eye candy was on display. I raised my eyes from Warren's crotch to his face and saw he was looking at me again. Once more he just smiled. I turned away, grabbed my trunks and pulled them on quickly. I had to push my dick to one side to stop it tenting them but was very conscious that the outline of my cock through the thin material was still distinct.

"Same again next week?" Warren asked as we dropped off the final one of the lads and I moved into the front seat of the minibus beside him.

"Yeah, why not? It was great fun. I haven't been swimming since I left school last summer." I'd been very busy working to build up some extra funds, so hadn't got round to using the town pool, and the university didn't have one of its own. "I think I'll look forward to this for the next few weeks. I used to do a lot of swimming at school."

Over the next couple of weeks I got to know Warren quite well. Thursday mornings took the same format, and when we were alone in the minibus we'd chat constantly. He was one interesting guy! I'd found out that he was almost 70, having been born in 1905, in India, of all places, where his father was a senior officer in the Indian Army. Just before the start of the First World War he'd been sent `back' to England to go to school, but within a few years he'd been orphaned – his mother dying in a cholera epidemic in India and his father killed with most of his battalion in the trenches of France. He'd spent the rest of his childhood between boarding school and, during the holidays, staying with his uncle. At the end of his school days he'd followed in his father's footsteps by going to Sandhurst and then had returned to India where he'd served in his father's old regiment for a dozen years, reaching the rank of Major before calling it a day in the mid-1930s and returning to England to work in the City.

"Do you have time for something to eat?" has asked me after we'd dropped everyone off on the fourth time I'd helped out. "I always just take you to the university and assume you look after yourself, but if you've got nothing else to do..."

We had about an hour and a half before my lecture, so I accepted his suggestion. I was really warming to Warren, seeing him like a surrogate grandfather, and the idea of spending a hour or so listening to more of his fascinating life history was really appealing.

"Do you like curry?" he asked.

I'd discovered proper Indian food for the first time when I started at the university – in those days there wasn't a single Indian restaurant in my home town (if you can believe that) – and had immediately loved it. "Yes. My favourite."

Without any further discussion Warren then took us into what seemed a very rundown area about half a mile to the east of the town centre. He parked outside the `Taj Mahal", and as soon as we were through the door he was greeted by the owner as the old friend he clearly was. For a few moments the two men had an animated conversation in a language I couldn't understand. At one point Warren turned to me and said something of which the only word I could understand was `David'!

The restaurant owner put his hands together as if praying and bowed his head slightly. "Hello, David," he said.

I responded with an approximation of the gesture.

We didn't appear to order anything, but presently a selection of food was brought to us which was delicious.

"His father was my havildar-major during the war," Warren told me. "A first class soldier."

Our Thursday curry lunches at Farhad's restaurant became a standard. The conversations I had there with Warren were so interesting – he'd led a rivetingly interesting life – and one thing I really liked was that despite my obvious curiosity in hearing about him, he didn't monopolise things. He also asked about me, and seemed genuinely interested about where I came from, what my aspirations were, and generally what made me tick.

Over the weeks the more I grew to know Warren the more I liked him. It embarrassed me a bit that I was taking every opportunity to sneak glances at his stunningly beautiful naked body in the changing room. I'd always wanked a lot, jerking myself off to images in my mind's eye of the other boys of my age I'd recently seen showering. Yet now it was Warren who filled my mind as I pumped my dick to orgasm under the sheets each night. It was the first time I'd ever had erotic thoughts for anyone older than myself, and it dominated my sexual activity totally. I felt very guilty stealing glances of his naked or near-naked body in the changing room, but I just couldn't stop myself.

One Thursday I fell into a world of my own while we were drying ourselves after the swim, and as I ogled Warren my cock sprang to life. Without warning it went from soft to rampant in a few seconds flat. I quickly put my towel in front of me to hide my embarrassment, but it was too late. Warren was looking straight into my eyes. Again he merely smiled at me in a kindly, understanding, way.

After we'd dropped the guys off we went for our usual lunchtime meal. I think I'd been helping at the swimming for eight or nine weeks by then. There weren't many weeks of term left before I was to go home for Easter.

About ten minutes into our meal, after a few exchanges on how we each were going to be spending the holidays, without a warning of any kind, Warren dropped a bombshell. "Are you gay?", he asked, very gently.

I looked up, horrified. I couldn't speak. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what a guy in his 60s who'd been an army officer would think of me if I admitted that I was. I just stared at him, all the while feeling my cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment.

"No need to be ashamed," he said. "It's just I've noticed how you watch the lads changing." He smiled. "And how you watch me."

I felt sweat break out on my forehead.

"And how you sprang an erection this morning." He smiled again, very widely this time.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't know what came over me. I was miles away and thinking about..."

"No need to apologise. You are what you are. We all are. What comes natural to us can't be changed, however much we might try."

Tears began to well up in my eyes, but I took deep breaths and managed to control myself enough that they didn't start to fall.

Warren noticed, though, and put his hand on my arm. "Hey, come on. No need to get upset."

I sniffed, then reached into my pocked for my handkerchief. I dabbed at my eyes with it then blew my nose. "Is it that obvious? I was hoping that you hadn't noticed, because I enjoy our Thursdays so much and hate it now that I've blown all that."

His forehead wrinkled in bewilderment. "Blown it?"

I'd managed to eradicate the nascent tears, but I still sniffled a bit. "Yeah. Now that you know that I'm queer you'll not want me to keep coming along, will you?"

Warren shook his head. "David... David, David, David." A short pause. "You have no idea."

We continued to eat in silence for a couple of minutes, using the Indian bread to scoop up the curry like Warren had taught me was the proper Indian way to do it.

"Tell me about it," he eventually broke the silence, and his eyes burrowed into me. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

Something in his manner made me want to open myself up to him, so I took a deep breath and spent the next ten minutes laying myself bare – how I'd always known, how I could admit it to myself but was scared in case anyone found out, how I was a virgin and desperate not to be but too frightened to do anything about it. And how frustrated and unhappy that made me.

"You remember when you asked if I'd been married, or if I had any children?"

I nodded.

"And how I laughed and said that I was a `confirmed bachelor'?"

"Yes."

"That was the code people used back then if they were being generous and kind. Back in the twenties and thirties and forties. For people like us. Queers." He smiled, a smile so warm it shocked me. "David, there have been gay people around since the beginning of time. And they're – we're – as diverse as the rest of humanity. Some of us are kind. Some are real shits. Some are very masculine, some effeminate. Some are fun to be with, others not so much."

"And you?"

"Yes, I've known all sorts in my time." Warren then proceeded to tell me about a part of his life that we hadn't discussed before – his own sexual development through school, while a soldier, in India, in Egypt and Italy during the war. With men of all ages. How the uncle he stayed with during school holidays was also a `confirmed bachelor', with all that implied. "No one controls what turns them on sexually," he was adamant about that. "Think of the diversity of what your supposed heterosexual friends tell you – some like very slim women, some prefer those with a bit of plump flesh on them. Some men love breasts, others ladies' backsides. Some have fixations with older women, others go for girls who are young – even younger than themselves. And none of them have chosen their preferences – they just are as they are. And so it goes if you're gay. So don't let your sexuality define you any more than it would if you were 100% heterosexual." He gave a small laugh. "Not that I believe such an individual actually exists!"

I was shocked by Warren's revelation. I'd assumed his military career had taken so many years of his life that the chance for marriage and a family had just passed him by. He'd been called back to the army at the start of the Second World War and was on active service for the whole six years, then stayed behind to help prepare the Indian and Pakistani armies for partition and independence so was 42 when he finally left the army for good.

It was ironic. Here was I, living in a time when being gay was no longer illegal, in what was considered to be the most liberal and promiscuous era we'd had in Britain, and still a frustrated virgin at 19. Meanwhile, being brought up in what was supposedly far more restrictive times, Warren had had many male sexual partners by the time he was my age.

"Penny for them," Warren said, responding to my pensiveness.

I reflected for a few more seconds. "I was just wondering whether I'll ever manage to be open enough to connect with another guy to the extent that we end up in bed together. I sometimes wonder whether I shouldn't go down to London for a weekend, get blind drunk and then go to a gay club and get myself picked up. Just to get it over with."

Warren sat up in his chair, and put on a stern voice. "That, young David, is the most ridiculous and dangerous thing I've ever heard you say. And here was I thinking you were an intelligent young man."

The look of disappointment on his face cut me to the quick. After leaving the army he'd become a prep school teacher, and subsequently the deputy headmaster at a very famous boys' boarding school. I bet he'd had boys quaking in their boots whenever he'd addressed them in this manner.

"You could end up being mugged, or worse. Or catching all manner of things."

"I know, but..."

"But what? Just that you so desperately need to get into bed with someone and shoot your load?"

I hung my head a little, quite ashamed at being called out by this. I'd loved to engage with Warren, and now I thought I'd blown our relationship by being so childish.

"What you need, young man, is someone with whom to explore." When he spoke again his strict voice was gone and his tone was very gentle. He reached over, took my chin in his hand, and lifted it so that I was looking into his eyes. "Obviously stumbling on someone at the university who is in exactly the same predicament as you are would be ideal, and I bet there are dozens of you if you all weren't so secretive. That'd give you all the lust you need plus a lissom body like your own to enjoy."

I smiled wistfully at the thought.

"But failing that, perhaps better to find someone with the same orientation who's been there, done that, and has had many experiences so can teach you how to really love another man. Of course, that person might be quite old, and not have a particularly attractive body, and..."

"You mean?" I cut him off in mid-sentence.

"If you want, I have lots of free time now I'm retired."

Butterflies began to rage in my stomach. I couldn't believe what I was being offered. As a consequence that afternoon's lecture fell by the wayside and I went with Warren to drop the minibus off and pick up his car, then we carried on to his cottage on the edge of town.

"Well, this is the humble abode," said Warren as he opened his front door.

I wouldn't have actually called it humble. It was old, and wasn't huge, but the cottage was very tastefully decked out. Compared to the council house I lived in back home it was a palace.

As soon as the door was locked behind us Warren turned to face me. He put one hand around my waist and the other behind the back of my head, pulled me towards him and began to kiss me. Very passionately. I felt as if I would melt. I'd never been properly kissed before. I'd been pecked on the cheek by relatives, of course, but had never had a snogging session. When mates had talked about the long French kisses they'd had with girls I couldn't imagine how it could be at all as exciting as they made out. And yet now I knew. My heart raced. Warren's tongue gently outlined my lips, then forced its way between them, working its way across my teeth. I opened my mouth a little and met his tongue with the tip of my own and we duelled like that for a minute or so. Up so close I could smell him – there was still the faint hint of chlorine from the swimming pool – and I could hear his breathing, deep but controlled.

Presently he broke away. "I think it'd be a good start if we both get naked," he said. "Take off your coat and shoes, and let's go upstairs."

He led me up the stairs to his bedroom. Like everything else I'd seen of the house it was very tidy and tastefully furnished. The bedroom overlooked a small coppice to the rear. The curtains were open and the early spring sunshine flooded in which made the room pleasantly warm. Warren put his hands on either side of my jumper and pulled it up and over my head. Then he pulled my tee shirt from out of my jeans, put his hands underneath it and reached up to my nipples. I gasped.

"Feel nice?"

"Hmmmm" was all I could manage.

He reached down and felt my cock through my jeans. "Someone's excited," he laughed.

I reached out and touched his crotch. I could feel his erect penis through his trousers. It was the first time I'd ever touched someone else's hard dick. I couldn't resist, and pulled down his zip and put my hand inside. His cock was straining at the soft material of his underwear. He replied by pulling down the zipper of my jeans and explored inside. He pushed aside the vent of my Y-Fronts and located my dick with his fingers. The tip of one of his fingers made its way inside my foreskin and touched the slit in the head of my cock.

"You're leaking," he whispered. Then, with our hands stuck inside each other's fly we kissed again.

My cock was by now so hard that being constrained by underwear was beginning to hurt. I undid my belt with my free hand, unbuttoned my jeans and wiggled my hips a little to let them fall away from my waist.

Warren withdrew his hand from my crotch and began to unbutton his shirt. I pulled mine out of his fly and dragged my tee shirt over my head. Then I pulled my jeans down totally and stepped out of them, leaving me wearing just my underpants. All the time my eyes were fixed on Warren as he finished unbuttoning his shirt, slipped it off his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Then his loosened his belt, unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them off, divesting himself of his socks in the same movement. When he stood tall again his dick was tenting his white briefs. He put his hand inside, released his cock and pulled his pants down, stepping out of them to now stand naked in front of me.

But this was not the naked Warren I was familiar with from the swimming pool. This Warren was sporting a huge erect cock, pointing outwards and slightly upwards. He leaned towards me, put his hands on my bum cheeks, underneath my Y-Fronts and began to caress me. He kissed me again. Then he moved one hand to the front, gently liberated my cock from inside my underpants and pulled them down to my ankles.

Wearing only my white sports sock I was then led by Warren to his large bed. Once we were lying down he softly pulled my foreskin back so that my cockhead was totally exposed and then move his head towards the top of my legs and took my dick into his mouth.

I had never felt anything as wonderful as this. My cock was engulfed in a wet warmth that I couldn't believe, and Warren's tongue began to slowly explore the top of my penis. The feeling was so intense. I lasted no time at all.

"Oh my God. I'm going to shoot!" I gasped and pushed my palm onto Warren's balding head.

He kept sucking gently, and licking around the glans, his mouth seeming to generate copious amounts of warm saliva that served as the most exquisite lubrication.

"Now!" I croaked as my hips bucked and I was overtaken by the most sensational orgasm I'd ever experience. The first squirt seemed to last forever and it felt as if I was ejaculating a whole glassful of spunk in that one jerk.

Warren kept his mouth clamped firmly around my dick, and increased the pace at which his tongue moved backwards and forwards over its head.

I continued to writhe, pumping more and more semen into Warren's mouth. He seemed to have an unlimited capacity to take it. Then, after what seemed like eternity I came down from my high, and stopped thrashing about. Warren kept sucking very, very, tenderly as my dick became at first very sensitive and then less so as I accustomed myself to his actions.

Suddenly there was a `plop' and Warren pulled his mouth off me. He moved up to my head, leaned across and placed his lips on mine. I opened my mouth and traced his lips with my tongue. Then he opened them a little and placed them on top of mine, and began to slowly transfer some of my cum from his mouth into mine. I wasn't expecting it, but he regulated the speed with which it flowed so that I wasn't overwhelmed.

I'd jerked and tasted my own spunk before – what boy hasn't? – but this was different. Mixed with Warren's saliva it had a more runny consistency, and somehow tasted of Warren as well as myself. Our tongues flew around each other's mouths as we push the semen into every crevice.

Presently we disconnected and I fell back, exhausted. "Amazing!" was all I could manage to say. I swallowed my delicious mouthful, then turned on one side and looked at Warren.

"Sorry I came so quickly," I said. I reached down and took hold of his hard cock. "I didn't do anything for you."

Warren just smiled. "I enjoyed that. I love it when someone shoots a big load into my mouth. Always have. And that load was huge!" He grabbed by cock which was now quite soft, but was still very slimy. The foreskin had stayed retracted, and he gently massaged the purple head. "We've got all afternoon," he said. "And I'm sure a young lad like you won't take long to recover for some more."