True Fiction

This is a work of FICTION for ADULTS only. Do NOT read this if you are under 18 or if you are not an adult according to the laws of your state or country. Do NOT read this if you are offended or by fantasies involving boys with boys, or boys with men. This file contains sexually explicit material. Only the introduction was written by the collator, who cannot verify whether the particular incidents are fact or fiction.

TRUE FICTION

by Chris Kent

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.' Kids 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 children, 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 child. 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 'kiddies' 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 children.

I've been married twice, divorced twice, two children.

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 fourteen 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 fourteen! 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 kid, 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 kid'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 kid, a really good-looking kid, 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 kid 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 kids, 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 singing. Someone shouted along the corridor: "Shut up, you English bastard!" I remembered I was in Scotland and I shut up.

Thorsten was sitting on the edge of the mattress. He was stroking my cheek tenderly. Pity, probably. Here was I, an 18-year-old fresh-minted English drunk lying on his mattress singing drivel about Ilkley Moor. My scarf and rainjacket were gone. My boots and were gone. My wet shirt was gone. I felt his fingers trace a path along my string vest, and I said the immortal words: "If you try to seduce me, I won't stop you." Now, that may not be the clearest invitation in the world but thinking about it I don't see it can be construed as anything else: "Try to seduce me and I won't stop you."

I felt my string vest being tugged out of my jeans. Then I felt warm, wet lips on my stomach - Thorsten's, I presumed. That's all he did at first. Warm, wet kisses that traced patterns across my stomach, sometimes playing in my belly button, sometimes edging down to the dark brown tendrils of pubic hair that peeked above my Y-fronts. His patience gave me an erection that throbbed, pulsated and ached. He tugged my string-vest up my body, over my shoulders and over my head. It snagged in my glasses which he gently took from my face and placed somewhere safe. I was now blind as a bat but made up for it by the sensation of touch.

Thorsten kissed me. Not just a simple peck, but mouth on mouth, that had me open and gasping for breath. Then his tongue was inside my mouth, probing, seeking, moiling (a favourite word I'll look up later). This worried me. The only one who ever kissed me was my mother, and on reaching the age of maturity (11), I'd firmly put a stop to that. Sex with Thorsten, even though he was a 21-year-old male seemed fairly natural and inevitable. Kissing was something else.

His mouth left my lips and worked their way down my body. His hands were at my belt - it was now or never, stay in the car and see what happens, or jump out and run like hell. I stayed in the car. I raised my bottom from the mattress and let Thorsten work my jeans and underpants down to my ankles and off. I felt incredibly exposed, vulnerable and erotic. My prick was so hard it felt like fleshy steel when Thorsten gripped it between his fingers and thumb. I didn't have much time to think; he pulled the foreskin back; I was already wet and slippery; and he suck me deeply into his mouth and throat. "That's it," I thought. "I'm a fag now. Best lie back and enjoy it." Actually I can't remember what, if anything, I thought. It was nothing but sensation, only feeling, no guilt, no shame, just an intense desire to cum, but not to cum until the Millennium. If this could only go on forever, I'd be the happiest birthday boy in the land.

I'm no cocksucker myself but I do admire skills other people have. Thorsten suck up and down on my shaft, at the same time jerking the base and twisting it to create different pressures, frictions and suctions inside his mouth. He'd let me almost slip out, then probe my cockslit with his tongue, then slide all the way down my shaft until I felt his lips brush my pubic hair. His other hand gently eased my legs apart. He played with my balls and ran a finger along my perineum, a little further each time until he naturally slipped all the way into my crack and along my anal ring. Part of the excitement was the fear of what he was going to do, what he wanted. Was he going to penetrate my hole with his finger? Would it hurt? Would I like it? Did I want it? Would he try more than one finger? What if he tried to turn me over? Would I let him? Did he want to fuck me? Did I want him to fuck me? Would I let him?

Maybe the most exciting thing about first time sex is the breaking of taboos. The hand on a bare breast. The finger up a vagina. A strange hand around your cock. Kissing cock. Kissing cunt. Sucking cock. Sucking cunt. Swallowing semen.

I didn't have to warm Thorsten when I was cuming. My body told me. Of their own volition, my hips reared up from the mattress driving my cock all the way into his mouth while my hand pressed his head down onto me. My own head rolled from side to side as I fought the urge to squeal from the intense pleasure of it all. I couldn't risk anyone shouting down the corridor: "Shut up, you English bastard!" when I might not be able to control myself. My body was out of control as my bottom juddered against the mattress and I spurted half a dozen jets of cum into Thorsten's mouth. I felt his finger break the seal of my asshole but that only added to the ecstasy of it all. It's a strange feeling being out of control; for those fleeting moments you actually think you're going to die. As they passed, I felt a small wave of shame pass up my body, but then there was Thorsten holding me, hugging me, cuddling me to him, and the shame was replaced by a sort of tender gratitude. He stroked my hair and whispered, "Happy birthday, sweet eighteen."

I've no idea how long we lay there. "Do you want to go downstairs?" he asked me. "No, I want to stay here," I said. "Where's here?" he asked. "In bed, with you," I said. After such an intense experience it seemed all wrong to spend the rest of the night alone; and, it was a long way downstairs.

Thorsten helped me up. I fell into bed. Then I felt him slide in alongside me. He was naked, too. That felt right. We wrapped our arms round each other and rubbed noses like drunken Eskimos. We giggled. "Do you want to sleep?" he asked me. "Not sure," I said. My prick was hard again. I don't think it had softened. "What would you like to do?" he asked. "Don't know yet. I'll think of something." I giggled again. (We'd seen '2001: A Space Odyssey' the night before; I'd think of something.)

We lay there pressed together. I felt Thorsten's hot hard-on against my own. I let my fingers slide down his back and over the curve of his buttocks. He turned and faced the other way. I snuggled into him, feeling the curve of his back against my chest, my balls in the crack of his arse. I wriggled a bit lower in the bed, not sure what I had in mind. My arms were round Thorsten's chest and waist; I could feel his hair against my wrist. He reached round behind him and pulled his buttocks apart. I slid my cock in till the head was wedged in deep, the tip touching the heat of his ring.

"Just push," he whispered. I pushed hard. I felt Thorsten grasp my cock and guide it to his hole. I wasn't sure I wanted to go this far, and I wasn't sure where I wanted to stop. I gave another push. Something gave and the head of my cock was inside him. I realised how slippery it was down there and explored with my fingers. There was a mess of cream in his crack, all the way to his asshole. The head of my cock was inside him and the heat was exhilarating. Steadily I pressed my groin into his buttocks, and my cock slid in about three inches. Thorsten pulled his left leg up into a kneeling position, and my cock slid in another inch. Because of the way we were lying, that's as far in as I could get. That was enough. I began to rock my hips back and forward, pushing myself in and out of his hole. His asshole was hot, very hot, and gripped me tightly as I entered and withdrew again and again.

I was so relaxed and comfortable I felt selfish. I slid my hand down Thorsten's front, brushed his hand away, and gripped his cock. He was hard and thick, not much different in size from me, but the feel of another boy's cock was entirely different. I jerked him in time with my strokes in and out of his hole. I wanted, if possible, for us to cum at the same time. We were able to lie there for a long time, but gradually I felt his cock swell beneath my fingers and taken on a new hardness. I speeded up my strokes, both kinds, and as I felt my body take over for itself, I hand-jobbed Thorsten ruthlessly. The room was filled with little grunts and squeaks and moans that would have sounded silly in any other circumstances; then, they just added to the intensity of the experience. I felt myself cuming as my hips and groin began to buck and I stroked Thorsten hard and fast. If we didn't spurt simultaneously, there could only have been seconds difference, for we lay there shaking, juddering, trembling, shuddering as our orgasms took over. I felt his hot seed pump along his shaft as my own pumped into his rectum. His chest rubbed against my back and there little popping sounds of bursting sweat bubbles as our bodies shook uncontrollably. Then it died away, and I lay there listening to our breathless panting.

Thorsten tried to roll over but I gripped him tightly and whispered, "Let me stay in you." He pushed his bottom into my groin, and we fell asleep that way, cradled together like twins in the womb.

In the morning when I awoke Thorsten was gone. I got up, wrapped his dressing gown round me, grabbed my clothes and slipped downstairs to my own room. It was 8.30. I'd slept soundly. I showered, dried, dressed and headed for the refectory. Thorsten was there, sitting with a group of mutual friends having breakfast. Someone made room for me, and I slipped in opposite Thorsten. I was ravenous.

"Good morning," Thorsten said. "Sleep well?"

"Like the dead, man," I yawned. "Like the fucking dead."

"How does it feel to be 18, to be a man?" someone said.

"Great, man," I said. "Just fucking great."

What's always puzzled me is why we did it. Within two weeks I'd found Maggie, the love of my life, or at least the love of my university career. Thorsten was with Cordelia, an exquisitely beautiful Arts post-graduate. As a foursome, we laughed our way through the rest of that year.

I was never gay. Thorsten might have been bisexual, I'm not sure, I never asked him. And I never asked who seduced whom.

Date: 25-08-98 (21:02) Number: 034 To: Apollo Refer#: 986 From: Jonathan D. Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGE

"They raped Ross last night."

"They didn't."

"They bloody well did."

"When?"

"During Prep. In the Sixth Form Block. It was an ambush.

They sent a note for him, and he went over to the Block."

"Bloody fool."

"True."

"He didn't have to go. Fagging's not allowed in this school,

so he didn't have to turn up."

"True."

"Bloody good-looking though."

"Too much like a girl. Those eyes. Looks like

a bushbaby. That hair. Those lips."

"Wouldn't mind them round my cock."

"Dirty beast."

"Dirty beast yourself."

"Homo!"

"Homo yourself!"

"Come here and I'll show you who's a homo."

Laughter.

It was time to make my presence known. After all, I'd no right to be there. I coughed and dropped my shoes on the floor, one after the other, as loudly as I could.

There was a scuffling, then Paul stuck his head round the shower curtain. His head disappeared.

"It's okay. It's only Dowson."

His head reappeared.

"What do you want, Dowson? This isn't your annexe. These aren't your showers. Bugger off."

"Ours are burst, Paul," I explained. "The others have gone over to Main House. I slipped in here. I didn't think there'd be anybody around. Do you mind...?"

His head disappeared. Then reappeared.

"I suppose not. There's only Len and I here. Got permission from Mr. C. Hurry up and get in here before I turn the water on. The hot only lasts twenty minutes and we want to make the most of it."

I stripped as quickly as I could, hanging each item on a peg. As I did, I looked around. This was an eight-boy annexe, attached to one of the new houses built for the bachelor masters. Lucky blighters. Our annexe housed twenty-four boys, so it was endless warfare, largely ignored by our Dorm Master and his wife, who had enough on their hands with four kids of their own to be much concerned with what we got up to. I'd only arrived in September, a new boy, new to the public school system. Though this was a very minor public school, it had many of the same traditions, including boys addressing each other by surname, and sarcasm all round. I suppose I was pretty shy in those days. I liked the place. I appreciated the investment my parents were making. But settling in wasn't easy.

I was in the same year as Paul and Len, Third Form, but we didn't live in the same annexe and they didn't have much need to communicate with a squirt like me.

"Hurry up, Dowson. We're freezing our balls off in here!"

I stepped into the shower room. Paul and Len were standing under the middle shower, naked, shivering, though it was far from cold. I moved towards them a little surprised we were only using one shower. Paul reached for a knob (shower) and turned it on. A cascade of cold, cool, lukewarm, warm, fairly hot water hit us.

"Get in here, Dowson," said Meaby wrapping an arm round my waist and pulling into the intimate circle. "One showers lasts twenty mins., two showers ten mins., three showers... work it out for yourself. I'm dyslexic."

"I'm dysgraphic," I confessed.

"And I'm bloody dyspraxic," laughed Paul, pretending to fall over and grabbing onto both of us.

I should explain our school was for very bright boys with some sort of dysfunction. So everyone had a 'dys...' of some sort labelled to them. So everyone was equal.

"What were we talking about? Remind me," said Paul.

"Rape," said Meaby, passing a bar of Wright's Coal Tar to Paul. "Here, soap my back. Ross got raped by the Sixth Form last night. You said he was asking for it."

"Well, he was," said Paul. "Here, Dowson, do my back. Meaby'll do yours." he passed me a bar of soap. I dropped it.

"Careful how you bend over," laughed Meaby.

I picked up the soap. Meaby started to soap my back. I blushed so hard I could feel the blood in my prick. I felt Len's warm soapy fingers on my back. I took a deep breath and started to soap his. There was something elemental, primitive, satisfying about what we were doing.

"You'd better be careful, too, Paul," said Meaby, surprising me by the use of a Christian name. "Half the Sixth Form are in love with you, the other half just want to... you know."

"Rape me? Well, if you've got it, flaunt it, babe," laughed Paul, "but they won't catch me in the Sixth Form Block after dark. Anyway, everyone knows Mr. C. has got the hots for me, and nobody's going to risk offending him." (Mr. C. was the master-in-charge of their annexe. Lucky blighters.) "Lower, please, Dowson, lower. Don't be shy. We're all Third Formers here."

Meaby's fingers brushed my buttocks, then started soaping. I let my fingers drift down to Paul's bum. It was true; he was the best-looking boy in the school. There was nothing girlish about Paul, but his golden hair, symmetrical features, high cheekbones, big hazel eyes, and ready smile turned heads all around the school, including those of half a dozen masters. Yet there seemed nothing boastful or arrogant about Paul; he simply laughed and got on with life. Now here I was, washing his bum, terrified I'd get a full erection.

It was terrifying but liberating. An only child, my parents were quite elderly, and though there was love, there was a distinct lack of open affection. My mother, if she kissed me at all, gave me a peck on the forehead. I do not remember my father ever kissing me. Now here was real, warm, living flesh under my touch.

Paul turned and half-faced me. "Frontsies now," he smiled. I looked down. He had a hard-on. A column of pinkish brown flesh jutted out from his body, his erection hot and hard, with the head of his cock a purplish brown. Like me, and Len, there was a covering of pubic hair, mine dark, Paul's golden brown, Meaby's glossy black, but none of us had enough to intimidate the others. Our cocks were almost virginal, innocent, naive in appearance. I stood there transfixed, my bar of soap circling the hollow in Paul's right thigh.

"Come on, chaps, we can't waste the water." That was Meaby who dropped to his knees in front of Paul. He started soaping the boy's genitals, then I gasped as he let the soap fall, grasped Paul's erection between fingers and thumb and started masturbating him. I knew about masturbation. It was impossible not to know about it in a boys' school. Sometimes at night or in the loos, I'd gripped my own erection and started drawing the foreskin up and down the length of my hard penis. Exhilarating but far too scary, I'd always abandoned the process when I felt an indescribably explosive feeling build up in my groin and balls, a diffuse feeling that spread throughout my body as I lay there in the dark listening to the night sounds of the sleeping boys around me.

"You can leave if you want to." That was Paul. I didn't want to leave. I dropped to my knees, my face level with his crotch. "Squeeze his balls, he likes that." I laid my soap aside and felt Paul's balls. Squashy, soft and vulnerable, they moved around in his hairless scrotum. "Mmmmm, you have a nice touch." We knelt, heads close together, working on the boy's cock and balls which seemed to swell and harden under our fingers. Meaby slipped his hand away from Paul's cock, my fingers slid round to take his place. I jerked him gently, the heat and hardness beneath my fingers communicating themselves to my own cock which now stuck out fiercely between my legs.

Meaby's mouth closed over the top inch of Paul's prick, his lips coming into contact with my hand. As he slid up and down the shaft, my hand slid lower until I was gripping the base. My eyes were inches from Paul's prick and Len's lips. I could see his cheeks bulge as the cock slid in. I could hear the sucking sounds even above the noise of the shower cascading around us. My cock ached so hard it hurt.

Paul's arms reached down and, slipping his hands under my armpits, he pulled me to my feet. Before I could protest, Len's lips were around my erection; he was sucking, sucking hard. I looked down and saw his dark head bobbing over my hard cock; I turned and looked straight into Paul's eyes. He leaned forward and kissed me gently on the lips. My face burned as hotly as my stiff penis. Then he was sliding down my body to share me with Len. At first I knew which mouth was round my cock, which fingers were round my balls. But I lost track of who was doing what. I stood and stared at the far wall, enthralled by the sensations running through my body, exhilarated by the shame and guilt of it all. The best-looking, the most popular boy in the school was on his knees before me, sucking my prick.

My legs shuddered, and before I quite knew what was happening, my hips were jerking and I was shooting my sperm, my semen, my boy juices into someone's mouth. I didn't see. My eyes were closed, my head thrown back. My whole body shook, I thought I was going to faint.

Paul and Len were on either side of me. They were grinning. Huge, friendly smiles. Water plastered their hair to their skulls, hung from their eyelashes, earlobes, chins, ran down their chests, groins and legs.

"Do we call you Jon or Jonathan?" asked Paul.

"Jon, please," I mumbled.

"Come on then. Let's get out of here. The water's turning cold."

We stepped into the changing area. I started to dry off. Len put his hand on my arm. "Not here. In the annexe. It's much warmer. And, besides, we've still got half an hour."

We went to the annexe, and I learned to have fun with my body, and to share the fun with Paul and Len without too much guilt. The following week I transferred to their annexe. Mr. C. really did have the hots for Paul. As far as I know, they never did anything together, and it turned into a warm, loving relationship we all benefited from.

Paul used to read a bit from the Bible every night. He'd get on his knees by his bunk and read a few verses out loud. Then he'd say his prayers. I had the bunk above him. I don't know if it had any effect on me.

None of us ever tried anal sex.

None of us ever got raped.

I've put my story in the form of... a story. I'm no writer, but I wanted to try and give you some of the emotions and feelings behind what happened. It was fairly common place throughout the school. I think the Headmaster and the masters turned a blind eye to sex amongst the boys as long as things didn't get out of hand. Coop up a couple of hundred pubescent and adolescent boys, and what do you expect - choir practice?

I never met any boy at the school who considered himself gay. In later years I never met any boy from the school who was openly gay.

Ross is happily (as far as I know) married with five kids - all boys!

Len is something in the city. Paul is a leading figure in an international charity organisation.

Date: 25-08-98 (22:15) Number: 044 To: Apollo Refer#: 993 From: Michael S. Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGE

I'm not sure my story qualifies for the heading 'First Time' because it took place over a number of weeks, but I'm going to tell it anyway.

When I was thirteen, I was seduced by my football manager. I'd started secondary school in September. I was never much good at lessons but I was brilliant at most sports. Although I was small and slight for my age, I had terrific reflexes and reactions. I scored most of my goals inside the penalty area by getting to the ball faster than anybody else. I was also a silent child (a) because I was shy (b) because everyone else seemed so much brighter than me (c) because I've always preferred listening to speaking. Even when I'm happy, people keep on telling me to cheer up. But I'd my own circle of friends and I had my football.

At the local team trials I did well, but I was amazed as everyone else when the manager, let's call him Coach, said at the end of the session: "Right then, first match Saturday. Be here at 9.30 for a 10 o'clock kick off. Michael, you're captain." He turned and walked off. I just stood there blushing. Nobody'd ever asked me to captain anything in my life. My mates, from my school, came rushing round clapping me on the back. It was all pretty embarrassing, but as usual I said nothing.

The season got underway. Our team did well. No, we did brilliantly, winning every game, most by a margin of goals. Coach treated me like everyone else. Life was very good.

There was one problem. I couldn't attend Thursday evening training, the most important session. That really pissed me off though, as usual, I didn't complain. On Thursday evenings I went for my reading/spelling lessons. I'm dyslexic. Maybe not dyslexic, but I'd never learned to read and never learned to spell. Something to do with my phonics. After a couple of weeks, my mother explained that Thursday evenings was the only time my private tutor, a retired teacher, could take me.

"Okay, I'll teach him," sighed Coach. "Wednesdays after school, 4 till half past five. Your place or mine?" Coach was not only a football manager, but he was training at college to be a teacher, and he was specialising in the teaching of reading! I jumped at the chance. We agreed on his house because it was much closer to my school than ours. Best of all, Coach agreed not to tell any of the other lads I was having 'private lessons'. They would have taken the mick out of me something rotten.

Coach was a brilliant football manager. He was even better at teaching reading and spelling, which takes some doing with some who hated both. he turned everything into games, competitions and quizzes, and most of the time you learned without realising you were being taught. We measured my progress every week and I was making amazing progress.

It started about the fourth lesson. We were sitting close together on a couch in the living room. I had the book in my lap. I was reading out loud. I always forgot the full stop and read on into the next sentence. It didn't matter how often Coach told me, two minutes later I'd forgotten.

"This'll help," he said. He put his hand just below the bottom of the book. His hand was resting at the bottom of my stomach. Every time I came towards the end of the sentence, he pressed my stomach a little. It worked! I remembered to stop, most of the time. That continued for about fifteen minutes. I read and Coach applied gentle pressure to the bottom of my stomach. No big deal. Except, of course, that it gave me a hard-on. I sat there utterly expressionless (I can do it for hours.) while Coach pressed a couple of inches away from my erection. It was embarrassing at first, but Coach didn't seem to notice anything, so I assumed it was an accident and went on reading. It was embarrassing but also very pleasant. I hadn't the faintest interest in sex. Of course I'd heard the obligatory filth in school and in the football changing rooms, but it seemed to have nothing to with me. I was small, slight, blond, green-eyed, tight-lipped, and practically not there, except when doing sports. Why would anyone be interested in me?

Next week the same thing happened. This time there was a variation that showed what was happening was no accident. Despite the pressure on my stomach, despite my hard-on, I still forgot to stop at the end of some of the sentence. "We have to get the all right," laughed Coach. He slid his hand under my school jumper, then under my school shirt, just above the waist band of my trousers. Every time we reached the end of a sentence, he's pressed his cool hand into my warm stomach, and I'd pause, then read on. Could he still be unaware of my reaction? Could it still be an accident? As he pressed, he ran his little finger along my skin just where it emerged from my trouser waist. My little cock was throbbing.

I suppose I shouldn't have gone back the following week. I could have found an excuse. I spent most of the week thinking them up. But when Wednesday rolled round, I found myself looking forward to the lessons. You have to remember the lessons really were brilliant. I knew I was making progress, and I wanted to make more. Okay, my Coach liked fingering by bare skin. So what? He was hardly your typical 'dirty old man'. I don't think he was 21, and he was good-looking. He might have played professional football if he hadn't done his knee in. And he liked me and he wanted me. As far as I knew, nobody had ever 'wanted' me before. And he was good fun.

Halfway through the lesson he told me to lie on the carpet and read to him. Lying flat out would help with my breathing, he said. It was so comfortable lying there, one hand holding the book, the other pillowing my head. I wasn't surprised when he lay down, full length, alongside me. Lying flat out that way meant I was totally exposed. He began the familiar pressure and stroking on my bare stomach. My prick hardened. There was no way I could hide it. He stroked lower and lower until his thumb brushed my erection below the thin grey flannel of my school trousers. I think if I'd protested in any way, even drawing up legs, he would have stopped, and that would have been that. I didn't. I was curious and aroused.

I felt him unclip the top of my trousers and edge down the zip. This was further than I'd expected him to go. He edged aside the flaps of my flies, exposing my white underpants. His fingers stroked the bare skin above the elastic, then slipped underneath. He held my stiff penis between his thumb and forefinger squeezing gently as I read on, missing more full stops than I managed. This only lasted a couple of minutes. Then he closed me up, zipped me up, closed my clip, and tucked my shirt in.

The lesson went on as if nothing had happened. It was insane to lie there on the carpet in the living room and do what he did. The living room had a huge window. Anyone visiting or passing by couldn't have missed us. A little blond boy lying on a carpet reading beside a man with his hand in the boy's open trousers. It was insane. The lesson ended and, as usual, Coach walked me home because he had tea every Wednesday with friends who lived near us. As we walked we chatted about the coming Saturday match. Coach did most of the talking; as usual, I listened. I loved to listen, especially to someone who was really enthusiastic about something I loved. We never mentioned the sex; neither then, nor in what followed afterwards did we once mention the sex. Perhaps that's what made it possible.

Next week's lesson started with some fun card games to improve my spelling. Then Coach said, "It's time we used the computer." I followed him into a small bedroom. It was clean and tidy with a pleasant smell in the air. On a desk beneath the window stood a computer. There were two chairs in front of the desk. There was a single bed. We did a quiz on the computer, all about football, it must have taken ages to prepare. It was great fun.

Coach indicated the bed. "Get on and read this." I lay down on the bed, face up, reading some pages he had prepared. They told a very funny story about some of my friends and me. There was some light sex in the story. It made me smile and want to read on. I had to fill in the blanks. Coach sat down on the edge of the bed. "Read it to yourself first, and then out loud."

I felt him push up my jumper and my shirt. I wasn't surprised. He undid the clip of my trousers and unzipped me. "Lift," he said. Still reading, I raised my bottom and let him slide my trousers and my underpants down to my ankles. I felt him stroke my stomach, my pubic area, (I had half a dozen wisps of blond hair), then take my cock between his fingers. I already had an erection. I vaguely wondered if he was disappointed. I had a small cock, then. About two inches and quite slim. My balls were hairless, like those of a little boy. Physically, that's what I still was - a little boy. He played around, stroking me, jerking me gently, his other hand tracing patterns over my stomach, my chest and my nipples.

"Should I read out loud now?" I asked.

"Yes, go on," he said.

As I stumbled through the story, I felt his mouth suck in my cock. His mouth was hot and wet. Slowly at first, but then faster and faster, his head bobbed up and down on my cock. It was weird. When I really got stuck over a word, he'd raise his head, pronounce the word, and then go back down on me. Once I stopped and asked him what a word meant: the word was 'erect'. Coach raised his head. "It means sticking up or standing up. That's where the word 'erection' comes from." I hadn't understood the word 'erection' before then.

"Should I read it again?" I asked. He obviously wasn't finished.

"Yes, please, Mike. No mistakes this time."

I started reading again, more confidently second time round.

He grasped my hips. "Over."

I turned over so that I was lying face down. His fingers ran over my buttocks. Then his lips. He pried the cheeks of my bottom open. I felt his tongue run along the inside of my cheeks several times, then the hot tip touched my hole. I was nearly sick with excitement. This was the dirtiest thing I could think of anyone doing, yet it was the most exciting. I felt the hot tip of his tongue run up and down the little serrated edge. He gave a push and the tip slipped in. I lay there, willing my ring to pen so that he could more of his tongue inside me, but it was far too small. I wasn't worried he'd try to fuck me. I'd just say no. And I was so small built that he'd have real trouble getting a finger in my hole, never mind his prick. In any event, he didn't try.

"Over," he said.

I rolled over and went on reading. "Lift." I raised my bottom. He pulled up my trousers and underpants, then did up my clothes as if I was three years old. When I finished reading, I rolled off the bed and stood in front of him while he tucked me in and tidied me up.

We went into the living room, finished the lesson, and had tea and sandwiches. Then he walked me home.

This happened during each lesson for the next few weeks. Though he sucked me for ten minutes at a time, I never came. He didn't seem to mind. He never suggested I should do anything to him. Maybe he sensed I would have refused. Maybe he just wanted to touch me. Maybe he'd got in deeper than he'd intended and didn't know how to stop.

At half term I went on a family holiday to Florida. I came back tanned and smelling of sun, sea and sand. When we finished the lesson on the computer, Coach instructed me to lie on the bed and read to him. I lay face down. He said, "Over." I said, "I don't want to." He said, "Okay, then start reading, and don't forget your full stops."

We went on with our lessons for the next four months. He never touched me again. That was the only difference. Everything was just as much fun. We all played our hearts out for him on the football field, and he taught me to read and spell.

Coach stayed with us for another two years. Then he went back to a younger year group. As far as I know, he never 'abused' another boy.

That was five years ago.

A few weeks ago, my team staggered into a local pub. We were all quite drunk.

I walked right into Coach.

"Hi, Rob, heard you boys won. Brilliant."

He was with his girlfriend of five years standing; I was with mine - she was the only thing keeping me standing.

Coach and I gave each other big smiles. We chatted about nothing for a couple of minutes, then I staggered off with my girlfriend and my mates to the room on the other side of the bar. We'd booked it for celebrations. We had something to celebrate.

Date: 25-08-98 (22:23) Number: 053 To: Apollo Refer#: 996 From: Will Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGE

My name's William, but everybody calls me Will. I was seduced when I was twelve. But was I seduced only because I wanted to be seduced?

Parents can be amazingly naive. Mine used to let our junior school teacher babysit me and my younger brothers, Jamie, 10, and Gary, 8. Our teacher was called Andrew X., but when we stayed over at his house, he let us call him Andy. I suppose part of the attraction at staying over at Andy's was the amount of freedom he gave us.

In those days, not so long ago, I was tall for my age, and I had, they said, choirboy, angelic good looks, though there was nothing else about the angel in me. To tell the truth, I was so energetic I was a bit of a pain in the ass, but Andy seemed to enjoy my high spirits, and I appreciated it.

We became regulars at Andy's place, about once a month, and we got into certain routines, like wrestling on the carpet, the three of us against Andy. That night, the night it really started, we got Andy onto the floor, and managed to haul his sweatpants down. He wasn't wearing any underpants, and he was completely exposed to our fascinated gaze. Well, my gaze was fascinated; my brothers probably thought it was just another bit of fun.

Andy let me get a real eyeful, then wrestled the three of us under him. He was tickling us, and we were laughing uncontrollably. Looking back, I realise how often Andy touched us all over, non-sexually. I suppose he was softening us for what might happen one day.

A little later I pushed Andy a bit further, just to see what his reaction would be. I went into the bathroom, then waddled out with my pants around my ankles, my T-shirt pulled down over my crotch. The others were sitting on the couch, getting ready for the movie. I guess they thought I'd my boxers on. I didn't. I jerked up my T-shirt in front of them to reveal I had a full-blown hard-on. (In those days, I knew all the words, though I hadn't done anything yet. I hadn't even jerked off, though I'd heard lots about it in school.)

My brothers fell about laughing, but Andy just sat there in silence. He looked at my face, then lowered his gaze to my naughty bits, then back to my face. "Are you going to watch the movie like that?" he asked, which made all of us fall about laughing. My face went red. I rushed back into the bathroom and pulled up my pants, but I didn't put my boxers back on.

"Can I lie on the couch?" I asked. There were murmurs of protest from Jamie and Gary. Usually we boys bundled up together on the carpet; it was a real privilege to be on the couch next to Andy. The protests didn't last long; my brothers were keen to get the movie started: Terminator II. Another great thing about Andy was letting us watching adult-rated movies. We were sworn to secrecy, without anyone saying anything overtly, and since all of these movies contained violence rather than sex, none of us was embarrassed about it.

Andy shrugged his shoulders. I scrambled onto the couch, and stretched myself full length, leaving just enough room for Andy to sit in the space at the bottom of my feet.

The light went down. Jamie hit the VCR, and we were underway.

Two hours of big Arnie blasting everything human that moved: Fucking Great!

After about ten minutes, I wriggled along the couch a bit, so that my feet and legs were draped over Andy's knees. "Just getting comfortable," I muttered. I felt Andy's hand drop onto my calves; he gave them a squeeze to put my at my ease. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, but I have to admit I hoped something would. I knew Andy liked me; I could see it in his eyes; and I knew if from the little extra favours he did me now and again. Nothing you could really put your finger on it, but it was there: I was Andy's favourite boy.

Andy kept on squeezing my calf muscle. My cock began to stiffen a little. I raised my right leg in the air to adjust my position, and felt Andy's hand slide up between my legs till he reached the bottom of my butt. I said nothing, but I eased my legs apart a little more, not quite sure why, but knowing instinctively this would appeal to my teacher. A few moments later, the squeezing began again, but this time the lower part of my buttocks got the treatment. My cock gave little jumps and stiffened to its full length. Maybe I was only twelve, but I knew what was happening: SEX!

The hand stroked my buttocks, then slid higher under my T-shirt. The feeling of Andy's cool fingers on my naked flesh made my gulp. Then the fingers sneaked their way under the elastic of my sweat pants until the hand was flat against my naked buttocks. It was now or never. I could make a vague muffled protest and the hand would slide away. Or I could do nothing, and let what happened happen. I did nothing.

The fingers slid into my crack. My face was glowing with embarrassment, but no one could see it in the half light of the darkened room. My brothers were sprawled on the carpet facing away from us. I felt Andy's fingers exploring my crack, though he steered clear of my bum hole. His finger tips stroked the bottom of my scrotum, and I hunched up a little to give him easier access. He gently manipulated my balls, then his fingers managed to reach the base of my shaft. My hard cock pointed straight up to my belly, and Andy couldn't get much further because of my position. But there was no hiding the naked truth: I had a hard-on.

"It's getting cold in here." That was me. "Jamie, get me a duvet."

"Get your own duvet."

"You can have my crisps at half-time."

"One duvet coming up."

Andy's hand was withdrawn from my crack. He hit the pause button on the remote. Jamie jumped up, nipped into our bedroom, and returned with a duvet which he threw unceremoniously across me. I twisted so I was lying more on my side, my body open to the TV screen, and to Andy's fingers if they returned. I didn't have long to wait.

I suppose Andy took my stillness for the acquiesence it was. His fingers slipped under the elastic of my sweatpants again, but this time they slid down my front and wrapped around my erection. He carressed my cock and balls, his fingers edged my foreskin back, and he began working the skin up and down my shaft. The intense feelings of pleasure he created ran through my hard-on, the balls tightened in their sac, and I imagined I could feel my heartbeat in my asshole, which, I guess, is impossible. For the time I was being masturbated, and it wasn't by my own hand.

Under the duvet, Andy worked my sweatpants down to my knees. It was amazing to feel his hand and fingers work over my crotch, my genitals, and the flesh between my thighs. I lay there watching Edward Furlong on the back of Arnie's motorcycle, half-imagining it was Andy and I going on that delirious adventure. We were on one of our own.

I felt Andy shift his position. His fingers raised the duvet, and I suddenly felt his hot breath on my stomach. I panicked. I reached down and gripped his hair, holding his head away from me. I wasn't scared at the prospect of his mouth around my cock; that seemed a natural progression. I was scared Jamie might turn around and see our junior school teacher sucking me off! Generally, we brothers kept each other's secrets, but that would have been stretching loyalty a bit far.

Andy returned to stroking my cock. The waves of pleasure built to an intensity that couldn't last. I held back the whimpers and moans in my throat. I began to shove hard against Andy's fingers and hand; in fact, I was fucking his hand, then my hips crotch, thighs and hips bucked, and little jets of hot liquid spurted from my cock. I was naive, but I wasn't an idiot: I was cumming! For the first time in my life I was cumming, shooting my load, having an orgasm. I'd had a few wet dreams in my time, but they didn't count. This was the real thing, and it was unbelievably exquisite.

Where my cum was going, I didn't give a fuck. That was Andy's job. He'd caysed it to happen; he'd clean up the mess. I was glad to be under one Andy's duvets and not in my own sleeping back. Selfish, or what?

For the next hour I concentrated on the movie, though my cock never got really soft. At the end of the film, I asked Andy if I could sleep on the couch. More protests from Jamie and Gary. But I said Andy's cat had been sleeping in the spare bedroom, and that was rotten on my asthma. I needed the couch if I was to get a good night's sleep. My brothers huffed and puffed, but they were too satisfied with the movie, and too tired to protest for long. I got my way.

Andy let me take a quick shower to remove any lingering cat hairs, and I returned to the lounge wrapped only in a huge fresh bath towel. I scrambled under the duvet, and waited for Andy to wish me good night. Lying there in the darkness, I felt my cock stiffen again. I was embarrassed, and turned on my stomach. After a couple of minutes, I heard Andy come in and kneel by the side of the couch. He half-tried to turn me over, but I resisted. My cock, though hard, was still sensitive, and I wasn't sure how I'd react to a blow-job. (See how well I knew all the right words!)

Andy edged down the bath towel until it was bunched at my ankles. My bare ass presented itself to him, and I was glad I'd given myself a good scrub in the shower. He began to rub and stroke my bottom. It felt neat. Then I felt him part the crack in my buttocks, and I before I could figure out "what next", I felt his tongue slide up the inside of my thighs. The tip poked at my bum hole. I couldn't believe it. Here was our much-respected teacher licking my asshole. Thank God, I'd washed myself thoroughly. And he was doing more than licking it: he stuck the tip of his tongue right inside me. It wasn't comfortable, but it did't hurt, and as I got used to it, it felt kinda good. It gave the well-known insult "kiss my ass" a whole new meaning.

I didn't make any sound, apart from little grunts, and Andy was probably unsure of himself, because he suddenly spoke.

"Look, Will," he said, "I'm not sure if you want be to be doing this, so I'm going to my room. Come if you want. I want you to, but it's up to you." I sensed him rise and walk away.

I lay there for a few moments trying to figure out what it was I wanted. I liked Andy, and I liked what he was doing to me. I wanted to have that feeling again. But did that make me a fag, a homo? I didn't know. And I didn't much care. The moment was all that mattered.

I got up, pulled the towel around me, and padded to Andy's bedroom. The door was ajar.

"Andy," I whispered.

"Yes, Will?"

"I can't get to sleep. Can I stay with you for a bit?"

"Yes, Will."

I padded into the room. Only a bed lamp was on. I dropped the towel and scrambled quickly under Andy's duvet. I put my arms on the pillow, and my head on my arms. I closed my eyes.

Andy started kissing me. Light little kisses, nothing serious. First my forehead, then myt cheeks, then my lips, just brushing them. Then my chest, my nipples, my tummy button. I was a little embarrassed when his lips pulled at the little pubic hair I had, but even that was exciting. Then his lips brushed the bottom of my shaft, so that it leaned against his cheek. A finger insinuated itself between my legs, found my crack, and stroked the lips of my ring. Every now and then, Andy would whisper nice things, sweet things, things that reassured me.

I knew he was going to go further, so I relaxed and let his finger slip inside me. His mouth, hot and wet, took in my penis and began to slide up and down my erection. I reached out with my hand and discovered Andy was naked! I was scared at first, but I couldn't resist the urge to explore.

His cock was big, very big, but maybe that was only in comparison to what I knew - boys' cocks. And he was hairy, very hairy. "Aw fuck it," I thought to myself, and stretched my fingers around his hard-on. I could feel it throbbing as if it had a beating heart of its own. Tentatively, I began to work the skin up and down the shaft, hoping I was doing it right. It was hard to concentrate, because Andy was sucking my cock hard, while his finger did things inside of me I can't even begin to describe.

At one point, he left my cock and raised my legs onto his shoulders. I knew he was examining my asshole. I'd done myself a couple of times; lying on my head, pitching my legs over my shoulders and having a look at the little puckered brown hole with its darker-skinned ring. For the life of me, I couldn't see anything sexy about it. Andy obviously could; he kissed it and sucked it till I thought he would turn it inside out. Finally, he remembered what I needed and got back to my cock, sucking me faster and faster till I exploded for a second time that night.

I slept in Andy's arms that night. I watched him jack himself off three or four times. To be honest, I did it for him the fourth time. I couldn't bring myself to suck him off, though he pressed the back of my head hopefully now and again. A few weeks later I did it for him; it turned out to be no big deal, though I always preferred to be done to rather than to do myself, if you follow me.

Andy and I had sex for about three months. Then it all ended when Andy got caught. He got caught having sex with Gary, my eight year old brother! I could've told him Gary was a heck of a blabbermouth. Anyway, they hushed it all up, and Andy left our school, and, as far as I know, he left our town and teaching all together.

I felt guilty for a bit. Then I got on with my life. That's what you do when you're twelve years old.

Date: 25-08-98 (22:38) Number: 057 To: Apollo Refer#: 999 From: Tim F. Read: YES Subj: MY FIRST TIME Status: PRIVATE MESSAGE

July 18th 1996, a warm, sunny afternoon in a cathedral city in the south east of England. I was doing freelance work (graphic design) for a couple of months, staying a hotel, and feeling pleasantly bored.

About four in the afternoon, out window-shopping, I answered a call of nature and headed for the toilets near the city centre. Going in, I glanced at a young boy, about 12 or 13, sitting on the entrance step. He was in school uniform. I thought he might be waiting for a friend or even for his father - though it was a pretty insalubrious place to be sitting.

I entered the toilets, found a urinal and pulled my dick out. I'd hardly started to piss when I noticed someone take the next urinal. A bit odd since none of the other urinals was in use. Tradition dictates you don't stand beside another guy if there are spaces elsewhere. It was the boy.

A little embarrassed, I listened to myself splashing into the bowl. No similar sounds from the next bowl. I didn't look. He was a boy, I was man, you don't look. I shook myself and washed my hands. I glanced back. The boy was still standing at the urinal, apparently taking a leak, but he was looking over his shoulder - at me! I hurried out of the toilets and headed back the few yards to the city centre. I sat down on one of the benches.

Curiosity got the better of me. Surely the boy wasn't... I had to take a look. Sure enough, he was sitting there on the step, eyeing every man who entered the toilet. Drawn as if by a magnet, I strolled casually over and looked down at the boy. He looked up at me and held my look.

God, he was an angel!

Streaked blond hair with a darker underlay. The face of a choir boy. Clear, freckled skin. Strong dark eyebrows. Eyelashes that brushed the skin below his eyes. Large hazel eyes. A small, straight nose, slightly curved, slightly upturned. Fullish lips and perfect teeth. I didn't see all that in a single glance. I saw it a few minutes later as we sat together on a bench in the city centre. I'd nodded to him and walked away. He got up and followed me. Butterflies danced in my stomach. I remember thinking how crazy this was; not only me walking off with a boy who'd been soliciting males in front of a public toilet, but the boy himself taking such insane risks.

His name was Tony M. He was thirteen. He went to the local comprehensive Catholic school. He was funny, articulate, self-possessed, and in no way naive. He only had half an hour. His little sister was in McDonalds for a birthday party with her friends. He had to collect her at 5 and see her home. He wasn't quite 13; he'd be 13 on August 18, in exactly one month. Tony steered the conversation round to sex, and more precisely to dicks, pricks, cocks.

Had I seen a big one? What did I consider a big one? Did I know any boys with big ones? Did I know any boys his age with big ones? Did I have a big one?

Put like that it is crude. But that's not the way Tony did it. He had a real enthusiasm for big cocks. His skin glowed and his eyes shone as we discussed cocks in general and big cocks in particular.

"Well, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Have a big one?" At last he blushed.

"Depends what you call big," I fenced, blushing.

"Can I see it?"

I'd never had sex with a man or boy in my life. What made him think...?

"Okay. But where?"

"McDonalds."

"No, we can't. Remember my sister. The toilets. Come on." Tony practically jogged to the toilets with me in tow.

The toilets were just closing.

He looked at me frantically.

"The bus station toilets. Come on!"

This time we did jog. I was 21, no problem.

As we reached the station toilets, we slowed down to a reasonably dignified scamper.

The toilets were empty. There were two cubicles. Neither door had a lock. Tony pulled me inside one. The place reeked of urine. He backed me towards the toilet seat.

"Sit down. I'll do you first."

Semi-dazed, I sank back onto the toilet seat. Tony dropped to his knees and scrabbled with the opening of my trousers. "Fuck it." He pulled the belt open, unzipped me, hauled down my underpants.

My cock sprang up, so hard it actually ached.

The boy knelt over me, his fascinated gaze on my prick, as he jerked me hard and fast, his lips brushing the head every now and then. I was too excited to feel that much. It was a tiny cubicle with another next door. There was no lock on the door. It was a very busy toilet. A twelve-year-old schoolboy was kneeling between my legs, enthusiastically tossing me off. Insane!

After five minutes, Tony gave me an exasperated look. "Hurry up," he whispered.

"Stand up," I whispered.

The boy stood up and started to undo his trousers. Then he took his hands away and looked down at me. He didn't have to say anything. I reached out, unclasped his school flannels, unzipped him and pushed his trousers and white underpants to his knees. Tony pushed his jacket open and pulled up his shirt and sweater until they were around his neck.

His body was as beautiful as his face. Clean, creamy skin. A strong chest, washboard stomach with little belly button (an inner). A patch of dark hair at the base of his stomach. His erection, around four inches, pointing straight up to his chin. His prick as thick as my thumb. I edged back the foreskin and ran my fingers tenderly over his prick and balls. Tony pushed at my head. I sank down and took his prick in my mouth. I sucked him the way I thought it should be done, varying the pressure, depth and speed, while one hand worked on his ballsac and the other stroked his chest and nipples. I could hear the boy sighing audibly above me.

Tony came in a couple of minutes, hips and knees jerking as he shot his surprisingly thick, hot load into my mouth and throat. I gulped him down. He pushed my face away, his cock was that sensitive. I thought the encounter was coming to an end. Not quite.

The boy grinned at me, then turned, leant against the door and flicked his shirt tail up to show me his ass. I couldn't believe he was expecting me to fuck him there and then. I grasped my cock, still so hard it hurt, up and down his crack before burrowing it between his cheeks. I shot my load! Cumming took my completely by surprise. A stream of warm jism shot deep into the boy's crack. Tony's reaction - he wiggled his bum!

We pulled ourselves together and did up our clothes. Tony smiled all the time. If I hadn't chatted to him earlier, I would have suspected he was half-witted. He was anything but that. I wanted to whisper, "You go first," but he flung the door open, turned to me, and shook my hand. "Thank you very much," he said. "I'm late for my sister." And he sprinted off across the station in the direction of McDonalds, his school tie flapping behind him.

I never saw Tony again.

I haunted the toilets for the next two weeks. I didn't want sex again with him. I wanted to sit him down and giving him a good telling-off. I wanted to talk about the risks he was taking: rape, murder, AIDS.

Tony needs help. Every boy who is driven to haunting the streets and toilets looking for casual sex needs help. I probably need help, too, but that's help of a different kind.

Tony's needs come first.

If you find him/them - the Lost Boys - don't use them, help them.

LOG OFF

Chris Kent