This is the true recounting of the first time a man's cock ever touched the inside of my mouth, with as much detail and in-the-moment sexual chronology as I can remember twelve years later. I have made no embellishments to make it a more exciting read. This is as it happened.
It was in the summer of 2004, a few months after my separation and bifurcation of assets from my cheating ex-wife of thirteen years. The divorce actually came four years later, not because of any attempts at reconciliation, but because we were both getting on with our lives and were lax about it.
Ours was an all too familiar story: I was the sole breadwinner, working long hours in sales to support the fixer-upper home we bought, and to provide a good standard of living for us. I don't know when she started cheating, but eventually she started fucking the contractor who put in our new bathroom.
Once confronted, she gave an age-old excuse: "You're never home, and I get lonely."
She was a free lance consultant who took only one job after we were married, then stopped working completely. We made no agreement that this would happen, and it became a sore point for me, but I just went about my work. More and more, she withheld sex for the smallest reasons, basically as a method of trying to assume control in the relationship.
After a while, I stopped asking. One factor which helped me do this, and I'm not saying this to be mean, but as a fact: she was not very good in bed. She had a sexual adventurousness quotient of zero. Funny how when the ring goes on the finger it must squeeze really hard on the nerve that controls the desire to give blowjobs. In return for her oral disinterest, I stopped trying to forge my way into that overgrown Amazon Rain Forest she had down there.
I NEVER cheated. I masturbated to online porn a lot, which included more and more of those forbidden practices, in which I'd always fostered a secret interest: bisexual, transgender and gay subject matter (she never caught me watching it). Eventually, she started fucking the guy we hired to put in a new bathroom for us. To tell the truth, it was the lying rather than the sex that upset me. By then, I really didn't want her anymore (she had always been an extremely manipulative bitch-on-wheels), and as mercenary as this sounds, I was waiting for property values to rise, as we were underwater throughout the nineties, so I could leave with a profit.
I know what you're thinking: When does the gay blowjob story start?
Now.
After I moved into my new digs, I joined two sexual hookup sites, both of which featured a substantial bisexual and gay population. After a few months of just hanging out and window-shopping, I decided to jump in, thinking that I was forty-nine, and if I didn't do this now, I never would. It was time to live the lifestyle and see if it really does suit me.
I found a man that lived not too far from me, and we traded emails a few times (I just don't like to chat), then we did phone sex. At first, the nasty tele-talk was hot, new and exciting. I was very into it.
I loved moaning into his ear through the phone, "You stroking that big hard cock for me, baby? What are you gonna do with it? You fucking my mouth? Hold my head, and fuck me down my throat, baby! Pull out when you come, I want you to shoot your cum all over my face."
I didn't take long before that wasn't enough, but just talking to another man that way bolstered my resolve to do it for real. We made a plan to meet one weekday morning. Being in mortgage sales at the time, I could come and go as I pleased, so we set it for eleven in the morning at his apartment. I've since learned to get together somewhere neutral the first meeting, but at the time, I was new at it. Fortunately, he wasn't weird, and definitely not an ax-murderer (not that murder by another means would be better).
Through our communiques, we had established that he had no desire to be on either side of man to man anal sex, so I accepted the fact that I would lose my various gay virginities in increments, not all in one sitting. I drove to his apartment on Burbank Boulevard, right across from Balboa Park, flushed and eager to give my first blowjob. What made me think to write this is that I just found myself driving past there a couple of days ago. I'm sure he's gone, and it's not a route I usually take, but I glanced up at the window that used to be his, and started reliving the events that took place there.
On the day, I buzzed his apartment, and heard his familiar voice.
"Hello?"
I answered, "Hi Steve, it's Todd."
The names have been changed to protect the cocksuckers.
He directed me take the second walkway to the left and go to the first door on the left, and the gate clicked open. My breath was coming in short, nervous gasps, so I took three deep ones to calm myself down. I knocked and the door opened immediately. I was relieved to see him in the flesh. I'd only seen cock and body pics, but he was good looking, and although he wore a tank top and gym shorts, his body was as slim as his naked photos (WHEW!! I've since learned that for some people, the camera seems to subtract many pounds from their actual present day physicality).
He stood aside, smiled, and motioned me in with a sweep of his arm. I don't remember what small talk we made for a few minutes, but we sat side by side on his couch with him on my left. He told me he was in Real Estate and worked a lot from home, and asked if I minded that he had one quick call to make. Not a problem.
It was brief, something about an open house, and while he was talking, my mind was whipping through a frenzied stream of consciousness.
