In every first time, there is a sacred moment of crossing lines, passing boundaries, stretching your former experience. With sex, there is that first orgasm, that first kiss, first blow job, first fuck.. It sometimes seems there's nothing better than those few first times. Oh, how delicious, these dives into the unknown, these thrilling discoveries and explorations, engraved in your memory for always. Oh, how deliciously addictive are these first times..
If you're gay, and you have the luck of living in an environment that allows you to freely express and pursue your sexual desires, there can never be too many of those first times. Slowly, but surely, you start to experiment with new sensations, new techniques, new places to have sex in, new tools and new combinations to get a kick from, all this to in give you some brand new first times.
Personally, I went from being a rather prudish boy to being an all-round slut, in just a few years. I guess that my curiosity got the better of me and lead me to this path of bigger thrills and bigger risks.
I can remember quite vividly how I first visited a back room in a gay disco bar. To be in that darkness, with strange men walking by all the time, a constant boner in my pants, panting from fear and expectation. Wow, it was all too much! It was so overwhelming, these masculine sounds and scents, the body warmth, the testosterone overflowing the room. Oh, I gasped and gasped, trying to act cool, but not really knowing how to do that. As I let in, ahem, all the sensations, there was one thing I couldn't comprehend. If this room was all about sex, and sex is fun, why were some men walking around with so much sadness and dullness in their eyes?
Years later, I knew why. Years later I realized I was turning into one of these blasé, numbed down men who have seen it all before myself. The reason was that I went too far with my hunger for new experiences. In fact, I hit the limits of what I was willing to try, and got in the routine of doing the things that were once very exciting first times. Sex, at that time, had become a very common thing to me, something like grabbing a candy bar and eating it without really tasting the chocolate.
Out of first times, I didn't know what to do, but I was sure I would rather quit sex, than to get bitter or cynical. In the meantime I decided to try to stay as open as I could.
Then, one night, I went to the same night club with the back room I could draw a map from in my sleep, with all the dirty nooks and crannies.
The surprise of this night was a guy a few years younger than I was, about the same age I had been when I experienced my first time at a back room. Mmm, he reminded me of myself. How shy yet horny I had been when I first got there. He was in his early twenties, with a slim build, a little muscle, like a dancer. His hair was wavy, dark and at shoulders' length. He smelled a little of cinnamon or some other warm spice. I couldn't help but looking at him in the half-darkened area. As much as I could see, I drank in with my eyes, because I liked it very much. Oh, this guy made me so horny. I was attracted to him like a moth to a flame, ready to get burned. Ooo. If only he would notice me. If only he would respond to me.. If only he would stay a little longer..
He did. All of these things. But, to my surprise, not in the way it normally happens in dark rooms. In my experience you either meet someone and have sex, or you reject. The only thing in between, in my book, would be to have a little sex and then stop, or give in to someone sexually, after several polite declines or hesitant moves. What this guy did, overrode all these categories.
He surely noticed me, and seemed to enjoy me looking at him, BUT.. I couldn't touch.. He just wouldn't allow me to touch his shoulder, his hands. Instead he started feeling up his bulge, stroking it until it started to grow.
Oh man! He was so close to me, yet so far away, totally within physical reach, his body just inches from mine, but worlds apart.
Our eyes met for a brief moment. He soon looked away from me, returned my gaze again with a slight Mona Lisa-like smile, an then closed his eyes.
I swear I could have died the instant he opened his fly and took out his cock. Yum! He started jerking off then and there, very slowly and.. well, tenderly! His dick was deep olive, a few shades darker than the rest of his skin, of modest size, but very evenly and nicely shaped.
Oh, I longed so much for him. I wanted to taste his cock so badly! But, still, I couldn't touch.
As he kept stroking, slowly increasing the tempo and the intensity, I couldn't help myself and freed my raging boner from my pants. Mmm, that felt so good! And to my surprise, he didn't seem to mind at all.
He was all about pleasuring himself, with great passion. Where many other people go for the kick of exposing themselves to others, his pleasure seemed to be mostly self-created and self-derived. While he went to the point of oozing precum, I almost fainted of the smell reaching my nostrils. So delicious, such joy in seeing him really enjoying himself, caressing his balls, reaching ever higher levels of lust. If ever there was a poster boy for masturbation, it would be this guy. He didn't need anything or anybody to experience bliss, it seemed.
When he started moaning, I felt he wasn't doing it to turn me on, or someone else for that matter, but himself.
One last time I tried to touch him, but he politely moved my hand away. He didn't need me, which stirred my arousal through the roof, as it made him so much more desirable.
When he finally came, he shot triumphantly thick ropes of juice, splattering the walls, falling down to the floor.
My whole body tingled from delight, when I witnessed him trembling and shaking, holding his breath, then breathing in deeply again. It was the ultimate mind fuck for me, in the sense that it seemed he had ejaculated in my brain, spilling his sweet and sticky mess into the deepest realms of my primal urges and most intense imagination.
When he left, I thanked him, and he gave me another mysterious smile. "You're welcome", he said, and walked away.
Sitting at the bar, a few minutes later, I basked in the joy of this special experience. It made me remember that sexual pleasure doesn't always have to be about finding as many first times as possible. This guy showed me the big thrill of NOT getting what I wanted. By not letting me touch him, he opened my mind, my fantasy, my sensitivity. He introduced restraint to me as the other side of getting number and number.
When I got home, I felt exhilarated, yet relaxed. Even though, I hadn't even had "real" sex, the whole of my being, my body, my mind, my emotions, my spirit, underwent a release that not even a hundred quick orgasms couldn't top. All because I couldn't touch..
P.S. I truly hope you enjoyed this story! I apologize for my English. You see, I'm not a native speaker, and I'm quite rusty right now. Feel free to comment or to suggest improvements. If you've had similar experiences, I'm most curious to hear about them! Love, CC
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