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Go Ahead

By: SomewhereInMyPast



The following is a true story. Names have been changed for obvious reasons.

I suppose from my youth, I've always been attracted to women older than myself. I can remember as a curious kid, trying to sneak peaks at the women in our family. I'm sure there is a scientific or psychological term for my yearnings, but looking back on it, I'll just have to chalk it up to "typical boy hormones". By the way, my name is Steve. 

I grew up in what I would consider "normal" southern suburban surroundings in the 60's & 70's. Dad worked while mom stayed home, cooked, cleaned, canned, and sewed. We went to church every Sunday, would go to the park with friends, have barbeques and homemade ice cream (remember the old green bucket with the metal hand crank?). We were not what I'd call "well off", but made do with what we had and as I look back on it, it really was a great life to have as a child.

Growing up in the suburbs, things stayed pretty much at a norm. Occasionally, a family would move away and another moved in, but for the most part the people that lived there, eventually died there. It was very close to what you might see in a movie; a bicycle in every yard, kids playing ball in the street or a neighbor's yard, a dog or two running loose around the houses, a squabble in a yard with mothers flying out the front doors to break it up. As I said, it was typical suburban USA in all aspects of that era.

Our next-door neighbors were a family with four kids whose youngest child was right at ten years older than me, so while I knew them and they knew me, I was too young to be a part of their child-hood/neighborhood group. One day, a moving van pulled up to their house and I asked mom what was going on. She explained that the "mom" was moving out. I really didn't understand what a divorce meant at that early age, but later came to accept the fact that from now on, only the "dad" would be living there. He was a nice gentleman and since he was gone most of the time (he was a truck driver, which probably assisted to the demise of his marriage), I really didn't see much of him. 

Time went on and since no one was at his house; we would keep an eye on it for him. He even left us a key so we could take his mail in every couple of days, turn the heat up in case of a hard freeze, etc. I remember taking his mail in one time and finding his "stash" of magazines. (Okay, I was snooping and found them...sue me!) Sex was never a topic of discussion in our home. I was told the basic "birds & bees" early on and either mom or dad would answer any of my questions, but back then we just didn't talk about it or have the Internet for information. What you learned about sex was from what you read, what your heard, or what you experienced. Anyway, the magazines helped answer some questions I had about the female form, so from then on, I was always ready and willing to help out by running next door to take his mail inside.

His kids came over when he was home and visited, but as I said, they were much older, so they paid me little attention. Years later, on one such visit, the youngest stayed after his sisters loaded up and left. By this time, the son, Charles had just graduated high school and decided to live with his dad or at his dad's house while he was "on the road" as he called it.

One day, a couple of years later Charles, the son, was out in the front yard working on his car and curiosity got the best of me and I walked over to see what he was doing. Dad and I had long since been working on the family car since we really could not afford to take them to a mechanic, and it made for a great learning tool for me and excellent "quality time" for my dad and I. Charles was elbow deep in grease and I offered my help. As you might expect, he was not too excited to have "a kid" there, but when I handed him a wrench he needed before he even asked for it, I think he realized I might not be in the way after all and glad to have me there to give him a hand. He even let me jump in to see if it would start. Looking back, he probably just didn't want to take the chance of getting his upholstery greasy. After it cranked, he said "Thanks, Steve" and that's how we became friends. 

As I stated, Charles was right at ten years older but, as years went by, he would help me with my bike if dad was at work or a lawn mower I couldn't get to crank and I'd give him a hand if he ever needed it. One day, he asked me to help him with a plumbing problem in the house and I anxiously agreed to give him a hand. As it turned out, he just needed an extra set of hands to hold a fitting while he threaded and tightened it. After the job was complete, he asked me if I would like a Coke to drink and I accepted it, as soda was a luxury and not as commonplace in my home as it is today. As I sat in the living room, I saw one of "those magazines" sitting on the table beside me. He laughed at me and said, "Go ahead, and take a look at it". I'm sure I turned fifty shades of red as I had been caught trying to sneak a look at the cover. Seeing my reluctance, he offered to let me take it home with the understanding that if I got caught with it, I would deny where I got it. Thus began a regular visit to his house to visit the "library" as we called it to "check out/borrow" another magazine from his collection. How cool was that? I had an unlimited supply of magazines at my disposal. Life was good! 

This went on until one day, I went over and a woman answered the door. "Uh, is Charles here?" I asked. She replied that he had gone to the store and would be back shortly. I told her my name and that I lived next door. She introduced herself as Margie, and invited me inside. I was slightly embarrassed and dumbstruck standing on the porch trying to come up with an excuse as to why I was there, so I went inside and sat down, as it was cooler in the house than outside, nervously attempting to watch the television while sneaking peaks at her. 

She wasn't a super-model or beauty queen, but she was definitely cute; slender, long legs, nice curves, long brown hair, deep blue eyes and most importantly, only wearing very short cut-offs and a halter-top. As we sat, she leaned over the coffee table for something and her halter opened enough that I saw most of my first breast up close. Granted, it wasn't a full view and it was two or three feet away, but I still wanted to look. I'm sure she caught me peeking because when I looked up at her, she was blushing a bit and made an effort to adjust her top and smiled at me. I figured modesty had overcome her because nothing else really happened. After a bit, she took a deep breath and made several more efforts to either pick something up or move it around on the table allowing me a few more glimpses. I guess she was "giving me a thrill". 

It seemed like an hour, but I'm sure it was less than five minutes when Charles walked in carrying a sack of groceries. She was cool as a cucumber, but I'm sure he could see my "dilemma" (the magazine under my shirt) and explained to her that I occasionally came over to check out his library. She understood and Charles nodded his head towards the spare bedroom and said, "Go ahead, Steve". I headed down the hall, made a quick choice and left with another magazine, after saying thanks and goodbye. I'm sure they got quite a laugh at me after I left, but nothing was ever said. I could hardly wait to lock myself in the bathroom after that episode. 

They eventually got married and seemed very happy, and she always had a smile on her face. When she would see me she would always wave and it seemed she occasionally made an effort to give me another peak whenever she could, but that was it. Of course, it "wasn't proper" for me to go over to their house as often, but Margie and I also became friends and I was always welcome in their home. They both watched me grow up. 

It after my 18th birthday and I was a senior in high school that she asked me to come next door and help her with a project. She was rearranging their furniture and needed a hand before Charles got home from work. Even though it didn't seem that long, we worked for several hours rearranging almost every room in the house. By mid afternoon, we had located everything where she wanted it and she offered me a Coke as I plopped down on the sofa. 

We just made small talk until I finished my drink and stood to leave. She offered to pay me, but I refused and headed towards the door. As I reached the doorknob, I turned around to say bye and she was standing right behind me. She then grabbed my arm and turned me to face her directly, looked me straight in the eyes and said, "I know you just had your birthday and we didn't get you anything". That struck me as really weird. As far as I knew, neither of them even knew what day it was, as they had never acknowledged my birthday in the past. 

Margie closed the distance between us and grabbed me by the both arms and pulled me closer. "I've watched you grow up into a very good-looking young man". I was starting to worry because I knew I had a "growing problem" (in those days the wind could blow a certain way and I'd have a growing problem) below and didn't want her to notice it. It was then I realized that sometime between moving the furniture and now, she had unbuttoned her shirt to the point right above where her bra would start and I had an uninterrupted view of her cleavage. 

As I looked down, she pulled me closer, smiled and said, "Go ahead. Isn't that what Charles told you the first day we met?" I was confused and I'm sure flushed. Here I was, an 18 year old virgin looking down at a Margie's cleavage and all I could think about was running home and taking matters in my own hands. I made an attempt to pull away, but she only increased her hold and slid her arms around my neck. "Go ahead". I vaguely remember as I slowly put my hands on her hips while staring into the bluest eyes I had ever seen. I was spellbound. Looking back, I guess I'd always had a teenage "crush" on her.

Just for the record, at this age, I was around 6 feet tall and 150 pounds soaking wet. I towered over both of them, as he was about 5'8" with an average build. She was 5'6", perfect figure, and right then a goddess. 

Now up until this point in my life, I had kissed a girl or two, but this was a full-grown woman and my next-door neighbor to boot. I'll admit I was a scared bundle of mixed emotions. I was horny as hell, but this was Charles' wife and I had a problem betraying him. Who said a hard dick has no conscience? I once again tried to pull away, my mind screaming "THIS IS WRONG", but she only tightened her grip around my neck and closed the distance between our lips when she again repeated, "Go ahead".

It was then that she leaned in to kiss me and all resolve left my body. I slowly slid my hands from her hips and encircled her with my arms. I remember feeling her tongue touching my lips and I opened my mouth slightly allowing my tongue to do the same. Sometime during all of this, I realized that my hands had started to roam her back continuing up to her bra strap and then around her body to her sides where I could barely feel the swell of her breasts. The same breasts she had allowed me to peak at years ago were now within inches of my fingers. She then moved her body away a bit so I could cup the sides while we continued to kiss. Once again, what seemed like hours was probably only a few seconds when she broke the kiss. 

Now again, I will also have to admit that while growing up, I had taken the liberty to feel a tit or two if I had the chance, but this was altogether different. This was a grown woman. This was Margie. She looked me in the eyes and then looked down at my hands cupping the sides of her breasts and back into my eyes. Margie nodded and softly said, "Go ahead" as she pulled away further allowing me to bring my hands around to her front and fully cup them through her shirt and bra. I couldn't believe it.  

Here was a woman over ten years older giving me permission to touch her breasts. All I could do was watch as I felt and squeezed a grown woman's breasts for the first time. When I looked up, she was smiling and leaned in for another kiss. I remember her softly moaning as I caressed and we kissed. Birthday presents from then on would have a hard act to follow!

Somehow, in the "throes of passion", she had managed to pin me against the front door and wrap her right leg around me pressing her body against mine. Of course, I had no problem with anything she was doing at this point, as all my senses were on overload. She suddenly broke our kiss, pulled her arms from around my neck and pulled away from me. 

I'm sure I looked quite comical standing there with my hands in a cup fashion grasping nothing but air. I started to panic. I thought I'd done something wrong. How do I fix this and get back to the most erotic moment of my life? She seemed to have read the look on my face, smiled again, and took me by the hand pulling me towards the same sofa we had just moved.

I can still remember everything seeming to move in slow motion as she seated herself on the cushion near the center of the couch while... 

To be continued...?

Note: This is my first EVER attempt at writing. These events actually happened to me and I am trying to put them into my own words while embellishing for a more erotic appeal, while staying within the guidelines of LITEROTICA. I do not claim to be a writer of erotica, but I find the memories to be noteworthy even to this day. I did not have this edited by anyone, as I wanted the words to be mine. I hope you enjoyed it and while I encourage constructive criticism, your comments will decide whether or not I post the rest of the story. Thanks for reading.

Go Ahead



Whenever I need to use a public toilet, I invariably go into one of the cubicles even if the entire row of urinals is empty. This used to be because, having had some bad reactions from women at the large size of my manhood, I was self-conscious about exposing my genitals to other people and preferred to hide myself away.

These days, that no longer bothers me at all. Since I've never had a bad response from men on that score, I've become far more confident about revealing my large penis to my own gender. In fact, I've rather grown to enjoy it.

I use the cubicles now because I like to read the graffiti on the walls and partitions: it's fascinating to find out what can take place behind the cubicles doors in the most inauspicious of public toilets. Even the respectable-looking conveniences tucked away in National Trust properties can at times be home to the most decadent of homosexual activity.

On this particular day, I'd popped in to take a pee in the toilets at the bus station in town and had, as usual, made a beeline straight for the middle of the three cubicles.

I decided, while I was peeing into the toilet bowl, that this must be a largely inactive venue as far as male-to-male encounters went. There was very little graffiti and what there was, was non-sexual.

"Earn 50K a year, no tax, no effort. Call -"

Not the sort of advert I was interested in.

I wondered if the bus station might be too busy to harbour any attempts at gay activity: the outer door was constantly banging open and men were forever tramping in and out. Or whether, perhaps, the people here were, not unreasonably, more interested in simply relieving themselves before hurrying out to catch buses.

Whatever the reason, this clearly wasn't the sort of place I was likely to have any fun in.

I'd actually come to the bus station on my son's behalf. Jake had booked himself a ticket through a budget coach company called Go-Ahead intending to pay me a visit at the weekend but had subsequently found something more interesting to occupy his time. Given the breadth and variety of his social life at university, this was not an especially surprising change of plan.

When he'd gone onto the company's website to try and change the date of travel, he'd found - just as I had a few hours later - that there was no obvious way of doing that.

Hence the trip into town on the way to work to see if someone in the bus station office would prove to be more helpful. And hence me standing taking a pee in the bus station toilets to help pass the time before the office opened at nine.

Not that I was in any rush to leave: as you've probably gathered, I've developed something of an interest in what goes on in gents' toilets.

Since divorcing Jake's mum and following a sporadic succession of failed relationships with women, I'd discovered by chance that a surprising number of other men are willing to attend to my high sex drive in exchange for me assisting them with theirs. I knew that many such men would not identify themselves as gay or even bisexual and would probably see occasional arrangements with their own gender as being a merely physical release, but in the right mood and setting - and public toilets seemed to offer both - they would seek occasional sly couplings.

After my first few tentative fumbling encounters, I had quickly come to develop a taste for this furtive and exciting form of sex and had started to appreciate the appeal of my fleeting companion's erections just as they seemed to enjoy mine. Not only that, but I had discovered in myself a fascination for the male behind; in its hairiness, its smell and - most tantalisingly - in its taste. Perhaps inevitably I'd soon been drawn to the earthy appeal of anal intercourse with like-minded men, and, after initially preferring to assume the more active role, I had, to my astonishment, found it hugely rewarding to allow my own rear to be similarly used.

Things that would once have never have occurred to me as being even remotely stimulating, were now a source of intense arousal. The smell of a stranger's well-worn underwear, the feel of his large, paired bollocks heavy against my fingers and the sensation of his hot semen squirting into my throat never ceased to surprise me in the power of their eroticism. Which was why I now so often sought out, in between the occasional evenings I was allowed with my on-off girlfriend Debbie, the pleasure of male company in places such as this.

Except on this occasion I quickly decided that I wouldn't be coming back to these toilets in a hurry. The lack of graffiti obviously meant nothing much went on here and I normally had little reason to stop off at the town bus station.

I'd have to continue my regular visits to the largely ignored toilet building hidden away in the park; always a good bet for a salacious after-work liaison. I'd also just discovered that the small gents' behind the town library wasn't as sleepy as one might expect, especially on Sunday evenings after 'Antiques Roadshow'.

As I was shaking the last few drops of piss from my organ and preparing to tuck myself away, I saw a movement underneath the partition through the corner of my eye. Looking down, it was a muddy trainer making a deliberate jabbing motion into my cubicle.

I knew this to be a sign that the man next door wanted my attention - and that it was unlikely that he'd simply run out of loo roll.

I finished shaking my cock and, with it still unzipped, did a quick scan of the partition between us. There seemed to be nothing unusual about it, other than a square piece of wood at waist-height which had been screwed onto it, presumably to repair a hole which some obliging soul had carved out.

I began to wonder if the bloke in the next stall simply had a twitchy leg.

When I looked more closely at the square of wood, though, I noticed that three of the screws holding it in place had been usefully removed by some obliging soul, allowing it to be slid diagonally upwards.

I peered back underneath the partition: the foot belonging to the man next door foot was prodding quite deliberately in my direction.

As it seemed probable that he was trying to let me know that he was looking for sex if I was willing, I rotated the wood to reveal the large hole underneath I had expected.

The guy immediately jumped up from the toilet he'd been sitting on and stood in front of the hole. He was wearing a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms which showed off the bulge of his crotch, but these were quickly yanked down, along with his faded stripy boxer-briefs which had seen a good many better days.

His cock was still limp and insubstantial. It was a coffee brown in colour, as were his balls, and thickly surrounded by a forest of black pubic hair. However, the skin of his belly and his thighs was considerably paler: he probably wasn't as dark-skinned as his genitals would suggest.

If I had to guess his ancestry from what little of him I could see, I'd say it was Eastern European. Quite a number of Polish men were working in town and we'd also had an influx from the Baltic countries.

Wherever he was from, he knew the drill as far as sex in public toilets went. Whatever his sexual persuasion, he knew that when a guy opened up the hole in the partition between your stalls, you could assume that you were about to pleasured in one way or another.

His cock, still limp, was therefore promptly and unceremoniously thrust through the hole, demanding gratification.

I was keen to demonstrate to him that I knew the drill too.

I squatted down and, before doing anything, carefully examined the organ that was being presented to me. It was fully flaccid - he wasn't even slightly aroused by the prospect of what another man might be about to do to him - which made me think he was probably straight. This was a guy who enjoyed the simple pleasure of having his penis stimulated by another person, regardless of whether they were male or female. It was an all-embracing outlook, and one with which I could greatly empathise.

I reached up and gently fondled the slack foreskin covering his withered, brown shaft. It was almost rubbery in texture - warm and yielding - and I massaged it as sensually as I could between my forefinger and thumb. I felt a tingle of excitement that this was a stranger's manhood I was stroking; that I was touching the private part of someone I wouldn't even recognise if I saw him in the street.

His cock was of a fairly average size. I knew from experience that it might, when aroused, enlarge dramatically in girth and length to become as large as my own, or that it might, just as likely, remain the same size as it was now but just point upwards. Such things didn't really bother me: this was another man's cock being offered to me and, no matter what its proportions when either floppy or hard, I intended to have as much fun with it as I could.

Just a few years earlier, when I'd still been married to my wife, the idea that I might enjoy stimulating other men through toilet partitions would have appalled me. And yet I had, in a relatively short space of time, developed a deep appreciation for the sheer variety of other men's cocks - not to mention their balls and bums - and was now most adept at pleasuring them in a wealth of situations, all the while frantically stimulating my own.

Grabbing his foreskin more firmly, I eased it back across the head of his organ, exposing his wrinkled pink-coloured helmet. Underneath was wet and slimy and the sharp smell of his piss and testosterone hit me.

I felt my mouth water from how moist it was and how harsh this stranger's sex smelt. I put my face close to it and sniffed at it, enjoying its characteristic odour and especially the forthright, acrid whiff of the head. I loved having another man's organ so close to my face, marvelling at its unique and secret smells, something I once would never have thought possible.

I slowly masturbated his foreskin back and forth across the pea-shaped cock head, feeling the shaft growing very slightly but not as much as I would have liked. My own manhood, in contrast, was growing markedly larger: the bitingly masculine smell of this stranger's cock was most arousing and the surprise of having it poking through the cubicle partition for me to play with was proving most exciting.

I tried a different approach and repositioned my hand. Putting my fingers underneath his shaft and my thumb on top of it, I tried to stimulate his whole organ in the way that I would my own. Again, I thought I could feel a slight hardening as I wanked him like this, but the overall state remained resolutely floppy. It seemed that being fondled didn't really do it for him.

That was disappointing: until then I had thought I was becoming quite accomplished at the delicate art of masturbating other men.

I tried a few other techniques, hoping to stumble on the one that would get his cock growing so I could beat him off properly and perhaps even coax him to climax in my mouth, but his organ remained stubbornly unresponsive.

Above the background noise of men clumping in and out of the toilet, I heard him whisper through to me, "You suck!"

I assumed he was making a request rather than offering an opinion on my masturbatory skills, and leaned my head towards his limp cock.

I licked the head of it and found the taste very strong. It wasn't unpleasant: just far more astringent and sour than I was used to. I wondered whether, if he was Eastern European, there was some peculiarity of his diet which gave his sexual secretions such a distinctive flavour.

I licked it again, curious as to the source of such an unusual taste, and I heard him whisper again, more insistently, "You suck!"

Christ, he was impatient. Didn't anyone ever teach him about the joys to be had in savouring the moment?

I did as he commanded and put my mouth over the entirety of his organ.

I heard him gasp again and almost immediately his cock started lengthening and thickening in my mouth. Evidently, he liked having a blow job administered to him and he'd learned that, in Britain at least, such services are offered freely by men of a particular persuasion in certain public toilets.

At first, I simply caressed his cock with my tongue and lips, lapping at the flavoursome drool from his slit and working his hardening shaft inside my mouth. But as he grew steadily more aroused, I elaborated my technique into a full-on blow job, sucking gently at his fattening cock head and developing the movement of my lips into a more rhythmic pumping.

He liked that and I heard him say, in a low voice, "Very good! I like!"

His voice was rough - he was almost certainly a smoker at the very least - and his accent pronounced. He might be Russian, I guessed, or from one of the former Soviet republics. I felt, however, that whoever had taught him English should have spent a little more time on how to properly express appreciation when being given a blowjob through a toilet stall.

I kept going, starting to work my head back and forth to stimulate the shaft of his cock with a more regular motion. I sucked more firmly, teasing his precum from his slit with the lapping of my tongue against the sensitive underside of his plump, round head.

His cock steadily hardened to full size in my mouth.

Wherever he was from, he responded to being sucked in a largely predictable way.

He started working with me, pounding his cock in and out of my mouth to the same rhythm as I was employing on him, and making the partition shudder with the force of his hips. Fortunately, the noise of the other men in the toilet was too loud to make it obvious what was going on between us and so I kept going, sweeping my mouth up and down his rock hard organ as he slammed it back and forth through the hole.

I raised my hand to glance at my watch as he pleasured himself inside my mouth. It was coming up to nine o'clock: I should really be finishing up in here and heading for the bus station office by now.

I hoped he wouldn't take long and would soon climax in my mouth. It would be fascinating to see how his semen tasted: whether it would bear the same acrid taste of his cock drool, or whether it would have a taste all of its own.

I'd swallow what he produced - I always enjoyed that - and would have to stifle any indigestion afterwards. Whatever happened, I'd have to avoid burping in the bus station office and betraying to whoever was serving me what I'd just drank down.

However, just as I thought he was pushing himself towards orgasm, he pulled out of me and backed away from the hole.

I stared through it, at his arching cock looking longer than I expected and with the upper half of it wet and shiny from my mouth. I thought he might use his hand to finish himself off as some men like to and was rather looking forward to seeing his preferred masturbatory technique after it had so frustratingly eluded me.

He didn't attend to his cock, though: he just stood there with it pointing upwards and his balls dangling down, fat and heavy, like they were straining with his collected seed. His pubic bush was huge: unlike me, he'd made no attempt to keep it trimmed.

He leaned over and whispered through the hole to me: "Show your ass! I like ass!"

Thinking I might be about to get a rim-job in return for what I'd done to him, I dutifully complied and quickly stood up with my back to the partition. I yanked my trousers and briefs down so he could see my bare bum, and then bent forwards for him, pressing the hairy crack between my buttocks against the hole. It probably wasn't the best view of me that I could have offered him, but with just a little persistence he would soon reach my arsehole.

I momentarily felt his breath against the cheeks of my bum but the anticipated wetness of his tongue was not forthcoming.

Instead, there was the sound of fumbling and then a tearing noise as a wrapper was hastily opened.

My heart jumped with excitement: I was about to be fucked!

Wherever he was from, he wasn't averse to using an Englishman's backside to assuage his sexual needs!

I spat on my fingers and quickly rubbed some of my spit into my hole, my cock rising upwards between my legs in its eagerness at what was about to happen. Then I put my hands on my knees and bent forwards slightly, relaxing my anus to accommodate his organ.

Glancing down, I saw the front of his dirty trainers appear under the bottom of the partition as he shuffled forwards: one foot on either side of my black leather work shoes. Then I felt the rubber-clad head of his cock, warm and blunt, prodding insistently between my buttocks.

He seemed desperately impatient: he really needed his dick inside someone.

And I was more than willing to provide. Ever the philanthropist: that's me.

His approach was anything but sensual: he made no attempt to try and find my entrance, neither with his fingers or by manoeuvring his cock, but instead just jabbed himself roughly between my cheeks hoping to hit lucky and slide into me.

I had to move my bum around against the partition to try and work myself onto his thrusting organ; I even pulled my cheeks apart with both hands to help guide him in.

Eventually, more through chance than skill, his cock found its target and, with an audible gasp from its owner, drove into me. Almost immediately, he took up a rapid, pounding rhythm, mechanically pumping the arsehole that was being so willingly provided for him.

He paused to shuffle his legs further apart - he was evidently a man who liked his balls to swing back and forth during sex - and to grab the top of the partition with both hands for leverage.

Then the fucking began in earnest, as fast and furious as he could manage. He clearly loved feeling his cock driving in and out of another person's body, although, I strongly suspected he would ordinarily prefer the recipient of his pounding to be female and the orifice to be a vagina.

I put my hands on my knees again: pushing my bum back against the partition to meet his driving manhood with every rough, powerful thrust. The height of the hole made the way I was standing uncomfortable for me - I had to bend my knees at a painful angle to ensure my arsehole was level with his cock - but I ignored the aching of my thighs and shins and enjoyed the sheer pleasure of having an extremely intimate homosexual encounter in what had at first seemed such an unlikely of settings.

Having never had sex in this particular position, I loved the fact I was here in a toilet cubicle allowing a stranger to butt-fuck me from the cubicle next door. For some reason he wasn't able to slide fully in and out of me and his cock, if I'm honest, did little more than jab mechanically in and out through my anal ring. Nevertheless, though, I was standing in a near-public place being buggered by man I hadn't even met!

The sheer thrill of having this done to me in such a busy toilet made my cock throb upwards in its incredulous excitement.

Men were standing at the urinals, walking over to washing their hands and use the hand-dryers, and yet here I was just feet away from them, having my arse shafted by the cock of some bloke I wouldn't know from Adam. He was an Eastern European wearing grey tracksuit bottoms and dirty trainers: that was pretty much all I knew about him.

I started rubbing my swollen organ, feeling hugely turned-on at being penetrated like this. I must have looked so innocuous coming in here in my suit; just a boring nine-to-fiver caught short on the way to the office. Not the sort of guy you'd expect to end up bending forwards to press his buttocks against a hole in the partition between stalls; not the sort of guy you'd expect to be beating himself off while some anonymous cock pumped in and out of his hairy arse-crack.

I glanced down at my trousers and briefs around my ankles, working my butt-cheeks against the thin chipboard wall.




Go Ahead



Jesus, this was making me feel so incredibly horny!

And, better still, no-one had any idea of what was going on!

The whole scenario was so outrageous that I found myself smiling, even though I was so aroused by what we were doing.

Except one guy did know what was going on. One guy knew exactly was going on.

I don't know how long he'd been waiting for an opportune moment, but as soon as the coast was clear - which wasn't often and even then was only for a matter of seconds - I heard a tapping at my cubicle door.

The toilets were momentarily empty, bar him. We were in a brief lull of near-silence among the endless comings and goings. 

He tapped again and then called out irritably, "Come on, let me in!"

I glanced over to the cubicle door and saw a very narrow gap between the door and the surround. Through it, an eye was peering in and whoever it was who was standing out there, knocked more firmly for me to open the door.

He spoke again: "Come on, mate! This place will be busy again any second!"

I knew that if I was going to act, I had to do so now. I was aware that this could potentially be some sort of set-up - that the guy standing outside could prove to be a security guard or cop - but at the same time, what if it wasn't? What if he was, as was far more likely, some horny bloke like me who wanted to join in with our fun?

Taking a risk I knew I could end up regretting, I reached over and slid the catch on the door open.

He came in quickly and, as he was closing the door behind him, two guys burst into the toilets making the outer door bang against the wall. They were talking loudly and stomped over to the urinals together.

The man who'd just come into my cubicle grinned at me as he watched me being fucked through the hole in the partition. I didn't resume masturbating now that he was standing alongside me: for some ridiculous reason it would have seemed vulgar.

He was, like me, wearing a suit, but his was grey whereas mine was black. He probably called into the bus station toilets most mornings to take a pee and see what else might be on offer. He must casually glance through the gap around the door to see what was going on inside.

These toilets, I mused, were quite a find: there was more activity going on in them than was usually happening in the park. Perhaps there was so little graffiti here because the men in these cubicles were kept far too engaged with one another for writing on walls and partitions. It occurred to me that the most active public toilets might have, counter-intuitively, the least evidence of the pleasures they were host to.

I made a mental note of that observation: it could prove most useful.

The guy in the suit came over and whispered to me, his voice almost undiscernible over the top of the talking of the other two blokes, "You look hot!"

I chuckled at him, working my bum against the partition as my cock arched upwards between my legs. "It feels pretty hot!" I replied.

He grinned and said, "I'll make it feel even hotter!"

Then he knelt down in front of me and took my cock head in his mouth. He didn't release his own, as I might have expected, but seemed to enjoy the act of orally pleasuring another man without feeling any need to stimulate himself.

As he'd indicated, the position of being both fucked and sucked did indeed prove to be hotter than just the former had.

More men came into the toilets, their noise and bustle intensifying my pleasure once again. Now, not only did I have some random bloke's cock hammering away between my butt-cheeks with all these other people unaware and just feet away, but I was also sliding my throbbing hard-on into a second stranger's mouth!

I looked down at him as he sucked me. It wasn't the best blowjob I'd ever had, I have to say, and, although I grabbed his head and acted like I was loving it, the feel of his mouth on my cock wasn't especially pleasurable. Indeed, just like the fucking I was receiving, I was far more turned on by what we were doing here behind the closed cubicle doors with so many other men coming and going.

His hair was quite grey but I suspected he was about the same age as me. He might even be a little bit younger. I noticed that his tie was truly hideous: if ever I had brought such a monstrosity home, Jake would have taken it out into the back garden and ceremoniously burned it.

He pulled off my cock and stood up again. He grinned at me broadly like he was proud of the blowjob he'd just delivered, and so I smiled and nodded as if I'd really enjoyed it.

"You have a lovely big dick," he whispered. Men were always so appreciative of my generous anatomy.

He said, his voice a little louder now that the hand-dryer was going again, "Let me have a turn!"

I didn't know what he meant so he clarified, "Let me get fucked by lover boy in there... you can suck my dick!"

I smiled. This place really was turning out to be a lot of fun. I'd have to encourage Jake to book tickets through the Go-Ahead website more often.

I pulled away from the partition and for a few seconds - it seemed like longer - the cock protruding through the hole kept thrusting upwards as if its owner hadn't noticed there was no longer an orifice on the end of it.

When he did realise he was no longer fucking anything, and while the guy in the suit was hitching his trousers and underpants down and applying a thick gob of spit to his arsehole, he called out with some urgency something which sounded like, "Davai! Davai!"

Now prepared to be fucked, the suited guy grinned at me again and we changed places. I have to say the condom looked pretty grim from where it had been, but that didn't seem to bother him. He positioned himself in front of the partition, facing forwards with his bum level with the hole in it, grabbed the cock poking through it, and pushed it between his flabby-looking buttocks, waddling like a duck as he worked it up into his arse.

"Oh God!" he said to me, his eyes sparkling with delight. "You really have no idea how much I need this!"

I suddenly realised he sounded as camp as hell. For a guy who was likely to be gay, he'd given a surprisingly substandard blowjob.

He put his hands on his knees, just as I had, and started pumping the cock with his backside, working his hips back and forth to meet the Eastern European guy's thrusts. I saw that he was standing on tip-toes: he wasn't as tall as I am.

His cock was stiff and bobbing around between his legs. It was much smaller than average but fully aroused. It had a nice dark red head which was a lovely mushroom shape.

His balls were disproportionately large but pulled up close to his body rather than dangling low the way mine do. It looked like they were straining against his tightly-stretched scrotum, bloated and full with his pent-up seed: perhaps like the Eastern European guy, he'd waited too long for sexual release.

I glanced further down at the trousers and underwear he'd hitched down around his ankles. He was wearing turquoise Andrew Christian briefs with bright purple piping. Yes, he was definitely gay.

He grinned at me again and whispered, "I wish I'd brought my lube!"

Thinking perhaps he was hinting that I might have some he could use, I just shrugged. I didn't.

Although I now kept heartburn tablets in my car to settle my stomach after swallowing too much semen, I wasn't yet at the stage of carrying tubes of lube into public toilets with me. Maybe soon, but not just yet.

As I watched this stranger getting butt-fucked in front of me, I found myself wondering why I hadn't offered to rim him before he'd pushed his arse up against the partition. I could have done it while I'd been getting fucked myself: had him stand in front of me while I was bending down, his bare arse in my face so that I could have made his chute nice and wet.

Jesus Christ, it was the obvious thing to have done. How could I have been so stupid for it not to have occurred to me?

My son was right, I thought to myself. I could be such a drongo sometimes.

He whispered expectantly, "Suck my dick! Come on!" His voice sounded loud as the toilets suddenly seemed to have emptied again. No doubt more men would barging in through the outer door at any minute.

I was about to kneel down in front of him, just as he had with me, but I realised I didn't want to do that. Now that the idea of rimming an arse had presented itself to me, I was much keener to experience getting my face pressed into a butt. It is, after all, for me at least, the most exciting of male-to-male sexual activities: very much the 'Tesco Finest' on the broad and varied shelf of homosexual delights.

As the suited guy's bum was in use by the condom-clad cock lunging in and out through the hole, there was only one other obvious contender for me to offer my services to.

I pulled up my underwear and trousers, much to his evident disappointment, and then peered out through the crack between the door and the surround. As I'd suspected, the toilets were fleetingly empty again.

I opened the door as the suited guy called over to me, "Come on, mate! Don't go. I'll suck you again if you like!"

I ignored him and let myself out, back into the main toilet area. The door I'd just vacated was brusquely locked shut behind me.

I knew I had just a few seconds to persuade my Eastern European friend to let me in with him before more men started coming into the toilets.

I tapped on his door and whispered, "Let me in!"

How would you say that in Russian, I wondered?

I heard a man shouting something outside of the toilets. A loud voice, becoming clearer as he got closer: calling across to someone that he'd just be a minute; he needed the loo.

I knocked more loudly at the door of the cubicle, "Come on, open up!"

The outer door of the toilets swung open but the guy didn't yet come in. He was holding the door open while he called out, "Literally, one minute! Half a minute! You can wait that long, can't you?"

I knocked again, "Come on! I'll... I'll..."

What could I say? How could I tempt him?

I plumped for the truth: "I'll lick your arse!"

To my surprise the red 'Engaged' sign clicked to a green 'Vacant'.

You're not so vacant, I thought. You know a good time when it's offered.

I hurried into the cubicle as the guy outside pushed into the toilets. Whoever he'd been talking to must have agreed to wait.

The Eastern European bloke in the cubicle was standing side-on, still thrusting his hips against the partition as his cock slid in and out of the buttocks that were pressed against the hole. He'd hitched his grey tracksuit bottoms down around his thighs, but his faded boxer briefs were still covering his backside.

He eyed me up suspiciously.

He was young but looked much rougher than I expected. He had several days' growth of stubble on his face and his hair hadn't seen a bottle of shampoo in at least a week.

I closed the door behind me and slid the catch back across to lock it.

I threw him a small smile.

He didn't smile back, but just kept staring at me with distrust. I realised he had no idea that I was the man he'd just been fucking. He probably thought he was still using the same arse as he had from the beginning. After all, to some men, one butt-fuck is the same as any other.

"You lick ass," he demanded in a coarse whisper once the man outside had started noisily pissing. 

For all his unkempt appearance, I noticed his teeth were pristine.

I nodded, feeling more interested to see his cock from this angle, driving in and out of the gay guy's arse crack on the other side of the partition and with the condom pulled down to the base. I could now appreciate why, in spite of the length of his organ, he hadn't been able to penetrate me very deeply: he could only get top half of it through the hole in the partition because of the toilet roll dispenser which was in the way. If I'd had the sense to invite him around to join me in my cubicle, I could see that I would have had my bowels much more satisfyingly filled.

"You lick ass," he repeated.

I smiled again as more people came into the toilets. "I do indeed," I told him. "Amongst other talents."

He seemed uninterested in that and just yanked the back of his underwear down to reveal his squat, hairy buttocks. "You lick."

I walked over to where he was standing and knelt down behind him. I'd have to be very careful with how I played this: I didn't want to freak him out by making it clear that I wanted to rim his arsehole until he was more at ease with the idea of having another man licking his buttocks. Some straight men feel threatened at the idea of being penetrated by another man's tongue: I'd have to take things very slowly with my foreign friend here or risk having him expel me from the cubicle with a curt "Dosvidaniya!"

Feeling that I wasn't moving fast enough for him, he jabbed his finger towards his bare bum more urgently.

"Lick now! Lick now!"

He certainly had a way with words.

I muttered, "A simple 'Go ahead' would suffice."

I moved my face forwards towards his buttocks and sniffed at them with some trepidation. Like his cock, his backside was robustly odorous, although I suspected that most of the intensely pungent scent I could smell was coming from the well-worn seat of his underwear. Encouraged, I leaned in further towards him and sniffed more closely at his thickly forested arse-crack. Its smell was strong and more crude than I would ordinarily prefer, but not without its own idiosyncratic appeal.

Still afraid of alarming him or rushing into anything he might consider beyond my remit, I started gently licking the hairy cheeks of his bum while avoiding the alluring crack which it was my intention to steadily work towards.

He seemed, however, quite dissatisfied by my approach.

He grabbed me by the back of the head, grunted, "Lick hole! Lick hard!" and, with his other hand yanking his left buttock away from the right, shoved my face forcefully into his splayed crack.

It was an invitation I found it difficult to refuse. Apart from anything else, he held my head far too strongly for me to even try. Not that I made any attempt to pull away.

Instead, I started lapping into his cleft as he pushed my face as hard as he could into him, pleasantly surprised that good fortune seemed to have smiled on me and that I'd found myself a fellow enthusiast of the 'Tesco Finest' range.

His was a rough-smelling arse - bracingly bitter with a distinctly garlic edge to it - but once I'd recovered from the initial shock of having my face so violently applied to it, I found the sensation of nuzzling into such an effluvious part of this demanding, uncouth man extremely arousing.

As he ground my face into his coarse, hairy backside and as I sniffed and then licked at his hot, sticky hole, I managed to unzip myself and work my cock out through my fly and started wanking myself with excitement at the sheer power of his bum stink.

I heard him laugh when he saw what I was doing as I rimmed him.

"You like! You like dirty ass on your face!"

He pulled away from the hole in the partition - the gay guy wouldn't be too pleased with that - and raised one foot up onto the toilet seat. Then, with his arse cheeks spread more widely by his new position, he rubbed my face up and down against the crack of his backside.

I nuzzled into him, allowing him to use me as profanely as he wanted, licking at his dank, furry cleavage as my nose and mouth swept back and forth along its length. His taste was intense: more powerful and uncompromising than any bum I'd had my face stuck into, and all the more exquisite for being so.

I heard the used condom land with a slap onto the tiled floor, and then his body started vibrating and I realised he was masturbating. I couldn't see how he was doing it because he kept my face steadfastly attached to his rear, rubbing it up and down against him like he would a piece of toilet paper.

I never got to see what his preferred technique was. Shame.

I heard the gay guy whispering through the hole in the partition: "Let me suck your dick!"

I wasn't sure which of us he was directing that at: it didn't really matter because we both ignored him.

I was greatly enjoying what we were doing but finding that the way this guy kept moving around was making it difficult to actually stick my tongue into his hole and rim him properly. Every time I would try, he would spread his legs more widely or bend over further to push his bum more firmly into my face, or he would grapple my head this way or that, apparently revelling in being able to treat another man with such vulgar disregard.

I wanted to pull away from him and call out, "Just let me lick your arsehole, for Christ's sake!" but he held me far too strongly for me to have any hope.

The gay guy called in again - the noise of the hand-dryer helping to conceal his voice from the men outside - "Let me in and you can fuck me while he rims you! Come on, mate! You'll love it!"

It occurred to me that he hadn't realised that my brawny friend here had very little English. The Eastern European guy probably didn't even know the meaning of the word 'rim'.

After another minute or so of what proved to be an exhilarating (but endlessly frustrating) struggle to rim this foreigner's aromatic backside, he pulled away from me and turned to look at down at me crouching behind him with my cock out.

"You like smell ass?" he whispered, as if wanting to assure himself that he wasn't overstepping any interracial boundaries.

I nodded enthusiastically.

He grinned. "You are dirty man."

"Well if I am, we make rather good friends," I quietly informed him with a chuckle. I was wondering how late I was going to end up being for work this morning and what I could say to explain it.

"You want smell ass same time get fuck?"

I wasn't sure what he meant - how I could do that - but I nodded again.

I stood up and unfastened my belt as he pulled another condom out from his pocket.

"Perhaps," I said in a low voice, although men were talking loudly in the toilets making any sounds from our cubicles difficult to discern. "Perhaps I could fuck you?"

I expected him to have to ask me to repeat the question or to seek clarification about what I meant. However, he knew that question all too well and had his answer very emphatically ready.

"No way. I don't get fuck."

"You might find it quite... er... pleasant," I suggested. I had, after all, been most impressed the first time I'd allowed someone to do it to me.

He shook his head and repeated, "No way. My ass... not for that."

Being fucked was, evidently, a step too far for him.

"You can rim me while he fucks you," the gay guy whispered in to me.

I looked at the Eastern European guy to see if that might be his idea but his face remained completely impassive. He put the condom, still in its wrapper, between his teeth and started pulling off his tracksuit bottoms over his dirty trainers.

What position was he thinking of? How were we going to do this?

I hitched my trousers and underwear down around my thighs and spat on my fingers again to lube myself up.

He didn't give my large cock even a perfunctory glance. He wasn't at all interested in what I had out front. 

My own thoughts were mulling over what was I going to tell work when I eventually got there. When I'd thought my delay would only involve a quick visit to the bus station office, I'd been intending to say I'd had trouble getting the car to start. It was now getting so late that I really ought to have phoned in with my excuse.

Whatever story I was going to come up with, it would have to involve a scenario in which I wasn't able to use my phone. If I could work in something that would also explain why I had a strong smell of Eastern European backside on my face, that would also prove useful.




Go Ahead



He hung his tracksuit bottoms up on the back of the cubicle door and then yanked off his underwear. I wasn't especially surprised by that: different men like to have sex in different states of undress.

I noticed how hairy his legs were as he tore open the condom and unfurled it down his cock. His thighs and shins were deeply covered by a thick fur of wiry black hair.

He saw me looking and made a show of presenting himself; flaunting his hard cock with the condom stretched down it and his big, heavy scrotum hanging down beneath it. His trainers and socks looked a little silly at the bottoms of his naked, hairy legs and his large pubic bush did not improve the overall effect.

I couldn't help but smile.

"You like?" he asked, misinterpreting my reaction.

"Of course," I replied.

He gestured me to turn around and bend over the toilet - he didn't seem to know the words to ask for that - and then positioned himself between my legs behind me. 

I wondered again if he was going to invite the gay guy in with us so I could rim him while he fucked me. However, as the toilets now sounded especially busy, I couldn't see how he was going to do that.

He pushed his cock against my arsehole and then, no doubt surprised at how easy I was to enter, slowly eased it up into my bowels. I turned to look up at him over my shoulder and we allowed ourselves a small smile together. We might find it difficult to communicate, but this was something that was universally understood: some men like sex no matter who they're doing it with, and other men are more than willing to oblige.

I faced forwards again and grabbed the toilet seat for support, well aware of how many other men's buttocks had been pressed against it. He started sliding himself in and out of me, slowly at first, and then steadily increased his rhythm and the strength of his movements when it was clear that I wasn't going to object.

He held me firmly by the hips and I pushed my arse back to meet the quickening thrusts of his cock, bending down as low as I could to take as much of his length and girth as I could. I turned around again and we grinned at each other naughtily: in spite of our differences in background and culture we were briefly united as two men who enjoyed the illicit pleasures of some furtive buggery.

"Ach, da! Da!" he whispered down to me as we worked our bodies together.

"Oh, yeah!" I gasped in reply, squeezing my arse muscles around the driving of his cock.

This was so much better than being fucked through the hole in the partition. We could work our bodies together, pushing against each other and matching each other's movements, and he could get far more of his cock inside me, sweeping the whole length of it in and out of my gaping hole.

When I'd left my house for work that morning, I'd had no idea that I'd end up like this; with my nicely-ironed work trousers and fresh, white briefs yanked down around my knees and some Eastern European migrant worker going at my bum like a dog on heat. I must look so unexciting and conventional in my boring work suit, no-one would ever imagine that I liked to bend over in public toilets, masturbating and gasping while total strangers pleasured themselves behind me.

I smiled at the incongruity: I'd be leaning over my desk in an hour or so, an expression on my face like butter wouldn't melt, with my arsehole making a large, inflamed ring against the seat of my trousers, puckered and gaping open obscenely from the rowdy servicing it had received on my way into work.

I turned to look back up over my shoulder at my companion as he fucked me and we smiled together again. No language was necessary between us: we seemed to both recognise that men from all parts of the world, from all walks of life, helped each other out like this sometimes; we might never be friends or even acquaintances, but we could enjoy a few brief moments of being physically joined.

It was only when his hips had started thrusting noisily against my buttocks, that it became clear how I was supposed to sniff his backside while he was fucking me. He grabbed his discarded shorts and shoved them into my face like the villain in a murder mystery applying a hanky doused with chloroform to his victim.

At first I tried to pull away, not understanding what he was pushing into my nose, but then he bent over my body and whispered, "Smell ass! You like!" into my ear, and I realised that this was the back of his underwear and that he was inviting me - in his own, succinct way - to sniff it while he fucked me.

I had to admire his approach: it was nothing if not original.

Perhaps for him this was a normal part of the courtship ritual back home: grinding his dirty keks into his sweetheart's face.

I sniffed at the rear gusset of his boxers, enjoying the strong smell of his bum on the faded material. It felt so raunchy to have him do that to me - for me to be sniffing the back of the underpants he'd been wearing while his cock pummelled my arse - and yet at the same time it was hugely arousing.

I muttered again, "Aah, yeah!" and grabbed my own cock underneath me and started pumping my foreskin quickly back and forth.

He chuckled against my back at the feel of me masturbating so excitedly at what he was doing. "You are dirty man!" he repeated with a laugh. "Very dirty man!"

He moved the back of his boxers around against my nose, letting me explore the richness of his odour on the part that had clearly been wedged up into his crack and, once I'd found their crudest, most pungent spot, I muttered my encouragement to have him hold them still.

His cock sped up and started bucking in and out of me. The sight of another man sniffing the back of his dirty underpants had obviously propelled him onto the home straight.

I tugged my own organ more quickly, hurrying it towards my own climax.

"Sniff there," he implored me, roughly pushing the most discoloured spot on the material into my nose. "Sniff hole!"

I did as he was demanding, inhaling deeply from the stained streak on the rear gusset of the shorts. The smell was powerful and masculine; raunchy and rough.

"You like?" he asked. As if he needed to.

I grinned and nodded, sniffing again still more enthusiastically. "I love!" I told him.

His cock was ramming back and forth with the same relentless pounding as a hammer drill on full speed. He was using my arse like a teenager beating off: rapid and forceful, his impatient excitement more than making up for his deficiencies in skill.

I was amazed at how turned-on I was feeling: bending like this over a toilet, being made to sniff the dirty seat of this stranger's shorts while he was fucking me so forcefully. My cock was throbbing with the sheer thrill of it as I wanked it, my nose sniffing hungrily at the small dirty patch of material that had quite blatantly been pressed against his arsehole.

I started cumming before him; my body shuddering underneath him as my orgasm overwhelmed me.

Feeling me climax, he pulled his undershorts away from my face, tossed them to one side, and then pushed my back down low so he could go in for the final onslaught. He grabbed both of my hips and held them firmly in place, and then started slamming himself in and out of my arse as hard and fast as he could; using me as a mere orifice to pleasure himself and showing little regard for prolonging my own climax.

The guy in the next cubicle called out, somewhat breathlessly, "You guys look so hot!"

Neither of us acknowledged him. I'd actually forgotten he was even there.

It didn't take long for my companion to finish off, which I was pleased for because the sheer force and frantic pace of his rough technique was proving distinctly painful. Normally I like to savour the final lap of a good fuck, even after I've already climaxed, but with this guy I found myself relieved when I heard him grunting and felt his hips shuddering as he boisterously emptied his balls into my bowels.

Halfway through his orgasm, he fell onto my back and held me tightly by the chest as his cock kept thrusting up into me, releasing squirt after squirt of his seed into the condom.

He really had needed this. Who knows how long he must have waited for an opportunity to spend himself inside a willing hole.

As his chest heaved against my back and the rhythm of his jabbing cock gradually slowed and stopped, he muttered something in Russian which I took to be 'thank you'. He might equally feasibly have been telling me that I was the worst fuck this side of Moscow, but there was gratitude in his voice and I'm sure some form of thanks was intended.

While we hunched there together like that, me bending over the toilet with strings of semen hanging from my cock and with this stranger's body recovering itself on top of me and his cock still inside me, I wondered if perhaps he felt guilty about doing stuff like this. Maybe that was why he held off from doing it for so long and was so desperate for it when he finally gave in to his urges. He could be married or in a relationship with a woman - for all I knew he might even have kids - but found the thrill of an occasional male-on-male fuck difficult to resist.

I heard the grey suited guy in the next cubicle gasp as his hand succeeded in doing to him what mine had just done to me.

The worker pulled out of my arse with a slurp that sounded loud in the momentary quiet of the toilets, and we both stood up in the confines of the cubicle. I grabbed some loo roll to wipe my cock and my bum and he nudged me to pass some to him.

His cock still stood upright and the end of the condom was bulging with a copious deposit of his semen. Its pale, white colour contrasted starkly with the less salubrious streaks my backside had smeared down the rubbered shaft.

He wiped the condom and threw the tissue into the toilet bowl and then ducked down to reach for the underwear he'd discarded on the floor. I watched him as he carefully pulled the sheath from his cock and, to my surprise, squeezed out his thick, glutinous semen onto the crotch of his shorts. When he'd emptied the condom, leaving an impressive puddle on the boxers, he folded the material over and passed them to me.

"For you," he told me and then smirked mischievously.

Seeing my confusion, he added, "For later... how you say... a gift?"

That made me chuckle and I nodded. "That's very kind," I whispered. "So thoughtful!"

I stuffed his underwear into my inside jacket pocket, already looking forward to having a good sniff of them to fuel what would be a very enjoyable solitary release. I might even nip into the toilets at work to lap at his cum before it dried, one hand holding his underwear to my face and the other sweeping up and down my erection as it protruded from my fly.

He threw the condom on the floor next to the toilet and then grabbed his tracksuit bottoms from the back of the door. His cock was already softening and his foreskin was slowly rolling forwards, pushing the splatters of cum on its withering head forwards into a gooey mass.

"Let me clean you up," I thought it only polite to offer.

He looked at me curiously, not understanding, and I knelt down in front of him, extending my tongue towards his messy cock.

Now he got it; he could see what I meant. He put his hands on his hips and thrust his hips out towards me, pushing his limpening member towards my eager face. Even from a few inches away, I could smell that the strong smell of rubber from the condom had all but drowned out his own more interesting scent, but I wasn't going to let that put me off.

He said, "Go ahead... that's how you say? Go ahead..."

I looked up at him and nodded with a smile.

He smiled back. "See... I learn!"

It was nice that, at the very least, I had taught him a little English.

I leaned forwards and gently licked the residue of spent semen from his drooping cock. In spite of the flavour of rubber, his own strongly alkaline taste was striking. As I'd suspected, just like his backside, his diet obviously affected the taste of his cum. That's not to say it was unpleasant: it was just very different from the many samples of semen I'd drank down from the huge variety of men who'd been kind enough to let me.

I would certainly enjoy having a more leisurely taste of it on the briefs he'd given me later on that day.

I put my mouth around the tip of his cock and gently sucked the final dregs of cum from it. To my surprise I felt the shaft of it responding to my lips and starting to harden again. Clearly, like me, this was a man who could never get enough sex!

Sensing that he was becoming aroused, and no doubt aware of the time, he pulled back and announced flatly: "Enough."

I stood up again and we quickly pulled up our clothing.

Before he let himself out of the cubicle, he whispered to me, "You are very dirty man. I like!"

I smiled at him. "Do you want my phone number?"

He shook his head firmly. "Nyet. For me, this just... how you say... fun."

I realised he thought I was suggesting some kind of relationship between us. I wanted to tell him that for me too encounters like this were just fun, even if repeated as a regular arrangement, but I thought I might start to sound pushy if I persisted.

After he'd gone, I waited a minute or so, until the men at the urinals who had seen him leave had themselves also washed up and gone, and then let myself out of the cubicle to clean up.

When I finally got to the bus station office, I managed to get my son a full refund on the ticket he no longer needed. Later that evening, when I phoned him to tell him, he apologised again for the mess up and for putting me out, but I assured him that it had been no trouble at all and that I'd be more than willing to return to the bus station were it to happen again.

What I didn't tell him was that I was intending to start popping in there pretty regularly anyway.



Go Ahead Ch. 02



First of all, I want to thank you those of you who took time to read my last story and I really do appreciate the positive comments and votes for my submission. For those of you who are just opening this as a random story, you might want to read "Go Ahead" as this is a (hopefully decent) continuation of that story.

As I told you in part 1, Charles and Margie were my neighbors who were about 10 years older and had watched me grow up through my teen years. We had become friends and she was, on more than one occasion, the center of my imagination as I "pleasured myself". At the ripe old age of 18, things took a turn that I never saw coming...

I can still remember everything seeming to be in slow motion as she seated herself on the cushion near the center of the couch while pulling my hand in her direction. I watched carefully as she started to unbutton her blouse the rest of the way. I was mesmerized as her bra came into view. I started to sit beside her, but she started reclining lengthways on the couch taking my hand and pulling me on top of her.

Just for the record, I will once again have to admit, I had been in the arms of a female before this, either in a car or on a couch in the living room while her parents were in the den watching TV or something. But honestly, I never tried to do anything more than "cop a feel" (if I was lucky) while steaming up the windshield. We were mostly into kissing, hugging and groping around. I actually was a pretty decent kid and I only dated decent girls growing up. I might have gotten away with more, but back then I was happy with what I got and didn't want to screw it up. A girlfriend was a valuable thing at that age, but this was not a girlfriend, this was a woman... This was Margie. 

I had read enough of the magazines to know the fundamentals, but I was scared, nervous, and excited, as I came to rest above her on my hands and knees. She once again, threw her arms around my neck and pulled my face down to her lips for another kiss. My inexperience had me hovering above her and as she broke the kiss, Margie told me to relax and lay down on her. I explained my concerns for her safety and comfort since I was so much heavier when she spread her legs and hooked them around my thighs guiding me down on top of her. "Now, isn't this better?" What could I say? I was in heaven.

Lying in the arms of a woman for the first time is one thing, but lying in the arms of Margie, the woman that I had fantasized about for years, was a dream come true. We made out for several minutes when I realize that she had maneuvered us somewhat into a side-by-side position with me on the edge of the couch on my left side. 

It was during a brief pause in our kissing that I looked down to see her shirt had pulled to one side and her bra was on full display to my eyes. She touched my chin and lifted my face to look into her eyes and said "I remember you trying to sneak peeks at me that first day we met years ago. You were so cute. Now it's time for a real look" and with that she reached down and snapped the clasp between the cups of her bra. 

I remember my first thought being, 'What the heck? I thought all bras opened from the back!' Her bra seemed to spring open and once again she proceeded to overwhelm me with the sight. I cannot describe the feeling at that moment. As with most young men, I had (and still have) a fascination with breasts and now Margie's were on display before me in all their glory. 

As I described Margie before, she was a petite woman so she was not huge by any means, probably a 32B cup but right then she might as well been 40DD. They stood up off her chest firm yet were large enough that they had a slight jiggle whenever she moved. They were so soft, capped with nice half dollar size areolas and big hard nipples that were almost the size of a 1st grade pencil eraser. To this day, one of the things that really turn me on is a pair of nice size nipples. I think she set the standard for the rest of my life. 

I am sure I was staring with my tongue hanging out when Margie giggled and said, "Go ahead baby, they won't bite". I was like a kid in a candy store. I have no idea how long I looked, touched, explored, and caressed her breast watching her nipple grow before my eyes, until she pulled my face to hers and we kissed again. Once again, her tongue touched my lips and she was moaning in my mouth as I squeezed her tit. She broke the kiss and shifted a little saying, "Don't forget the other one". She smiled again and with that, threw her leg over my hip and attacked my mouth. 

It could have been a minute or 15 minutes. Time seemed to stand still and I do not have a clue as to how long we stayed that way. We were kissing and she was encouraging me to get familiar with her breasts. I did not care. It was truly the best day of my life.

Finally, we came up for air and stared at each other, her eyes searching for something. Her blue eyes seemed to sparkle when she smiled at me and asked if I was okay. I am not sure if I answered her or simply nodded. Then she said, "Well, that was nice. Now try this". Margie then proceeded to pull my face to her chest, and directed my mouth towards her left nipple. YES! I'M SUCKING HER TIT! My best day just got better! 

Suddenly, she pushed me away from her breast and asked, "Do you know what is going to happen?" I was confused and stunned by her interruption and nodded my head, unsure of what she meant, but hopeful of what I wished. Then she asked me, "Have you ever done this before?" 

Now the moment of truth was upon me and I looked away from her. I shook my head, embarrassed of my situation when Margie placed both hands on the sides of my face, looked me square in the eyes and said, "You really are a sweet young man and I really want us to continue. We both know that this is wrong, but I really want you and I want to make sure YOU really want this to happen". She continued, "And, your first time should be special so if you'd rather wait, we need to stop and I'll understand. I will completely understand". Her voice seemed to break as she said those last words before she leaned up and kissed my cheek.

Now I was a complete mental wreck. She started all of this and now she was playing the "moral" card. Crap! Being a young man of 18 and in THAT situation, I'm not sure I could have made two plus two equal four, but all I could think about was continuing what I felt as love for the first time. I think she could see my mind going in every direction possible while she studied my face for a moment and said, "Listen, if you're sure about this then kiss me, otherwise, we really should stop". Her eyes actually seemed to water a little and I can still remember the sound of blood pounding in my ears. I can't remember if I paused or not, but I do recall lowering my face to hers, watching her eyes follow mine before they closed and we locked our lips once again sealing our destiny. 

I knew right then that life, as I had known it, would be different from then on. After a minute, I broke the kiss and, using all the knowledge I could muster from what I had read in the magazines, started working my way across her cheek to nibble her ear then down to her neck, hoping I would find an erogenous zone and praying I wouldn't screw something up. Margie was moaning, holding me tight as my kisses ran lower over her chest when she finally pulled my mouth to her breast and groaned. 

She was giving me silent instructions, as she directed me from one nipple to the other when I first noticed that she was rubbing herself against me. Looking back, I am sure she had been doing it all along, but all of this was new to me and way beyond what my virgin brain could comprehend at one time. It was sometime during this kiss that 'I felt it'. Margie had run her hand between us and I could feel her touching me "down there". I must have frozen or stopped sucking because she asked me if I was okay. At this point I was well on my way to "becoming premature" in my pants, but nodded and told her "Uh...Sure".

So, I went back to 'nursing' as she rubbed against me with the flat part of her hand. She was holding my head to her breast, kissing the top of my head, grinding against my leg, and moaning all at the same time while I was taking turns feasting on her nipples. I was fascinated with them and loved the way they would crinkle and get hard in my mouth. Just then, I thought of a "lactating/nursing story" I had read in one of the magazine forums. That thought, combined with her rubbing and my sucking was enough to make me loose it. I grabbed her arm and held her hand still. At first, Margie seemed startled but she held still then smiled at me, once again almost giggling at my condition and said, "I'm not laughing at you. It's just... you're so cute and you're trying so hard. Just relax and enjoy this. Now what I'd like to do is to get a real feel of this". 

Since I had no experience, I was not exactly sure what she meant, but right then I would have probably shoved my dick in a light socket had she asked. I watched as she raised her hand up to the button on my jeans and snapped it open. I looked up to her face and I suppose she had been studying me, watching my face for any change in my expression. As she slowly unzipped me, I felt like she was staring right through me, and just as she slid her hand over my underwear inside my jeans, she pulled me to her for another mind-blowing kiss. 

Now there are moments in a young man's life that are monumental. My first bike, my broken arm, getting my learner's permit, my first car, my first kiss, but all of those paled in comparison to the feeling of Margie touching me there. Once again, I nearly exploded upon contact and she 'really' had not touched me yet. Thankfully, Margie's experience had taught her those indicators because she once again held still and told me to relax. She had her right arm around my neck and her left inside my pants as I rested on my left elbow with my arm under her and my right hand refusing to let go of her beautiful tit. Life was GREAT! We lightly kissed as things "calmed down". 

After a minute or so, we were both still breathing heavy when she removed her hand from my jeans and reached over to unsnap her shorts. I watched anxiously as she slowly unzipped them, pulling them down to her hips and for the first time in my life I was looking at the top edge of a woman's panties. I cannot remember if they were a certain style or not, but I do remember that they appeared to be silky, 'baby blue', and looked like heaven. 

She then reached back up and started tugging those beautiful panties down a little allowing me to see the start of her pubic mound. Now remember, this was back in the 70's and while I am sure women trimmed down there for wearing a bikini and such, it was the norm to have a nice bush between the legs. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen as I felt myself throb, I knew that 'this' wasn't going to last much longer. 

Margie then took my hand that had been holding her breast and lowered it to her stomach right above her panty line. I instinctively knew what she was wanting, but being uncertain about how to go about it, I paused and she grabbed my arm by the wrist and slid my hand into her panties. WOW! Another monumental moment achieved as I slid my hand lower to cup my very first pussy. It started out as damp (as I had read) and the further I reached the moisture increased till she was soaked. Being my first time to touch a pussy, I was amazed that even her panties were wet. She moaned and hugged me tighter as she once again said those magic words: "Go ahead". 

I was uncertain about what to do at this point so I simply gently started squeezing her mound and wiggling my fingers around until she started moving my hand up and down her pussy by my wrist. I do remember that while I was rubbing her I really wanted to locate the mystery hole between her legs but, not wanting to push my luck, I continued as she had shown. She must have been satisfied with my efforts because she let go of my wrist and returned to kissing me while slowly pushing my pants lower over my hips. 

I finally got the hint and raised off the couch enough for her to push them over my hips. Not wanting to take a chance on being too forward, I did not return the favor until she raised her own hips and lowered her shorts and panties. I finally realized what she was doing and helped her when she got them around her knees and raised her legs up in the air to pull them off her feet. How could life get any better?

So now that all of the blood in my brain had long since headed south, I have Margie, shirt and bra open, naked from the waist down, lying on a couch with me and I'm completely lost as what to do next. Thank goodness she knew what she was doing. She returns to kissing me when I feel her take my cock in her hand and wrap her fingers around it. She starts rubbing my shaft up and down and once again I'm on the verge of making a mess when she lets go, grabs the waistband of my underwear and starts to tug them over my hips. I raise my hips again as she works them down to my thighs. I am unable to explain why I did not fully undress right then; I will have to chalk it up to nerves, inexperience or (probably) both. 

As we once again embrace to kiss, Margie starts stroking my bare cock as I use my fingers to explore her pussy. Without her shorts in the way, I am now able to explore her womanly wonders freely. I find my treasure between her legs and my mind is racing at all the sensations my body is now experiencing. After a moment, she starts pulling my cock towards her and begins to rub it on the back of my hand. I instinctively pull my hand away as she scoots closer to me, pulls us together and begins rubbing my cock against her pussy. Oh, so this is how life gets better!

I wish I could sit here and tell you that Margie was dragging my 9-inch cock along the lips of her pussy, but actually I am only average size at 6 inches with average girth, so I am sure I was slightly smaller then. However, as she rubs the head of my dick against her pussy, she moans and comments on what a nice cock I have for a young man. That statement struck me as odd, but in reflection, I was so much taller than Charles back then, that I guess I was larger, maybe longer than him in that department.

I can only imagine her thoughts at my clumsiness in attempting to loose my virginal status, but thankfully, she was a sweet and patient woman who was willing to allow me to explore her body as I wished. I had read many stories and articles in the magazines I borrowed from the "library" and wanted to try them all, but right then all I could concentrate on was what my hands had explored and what her pussy felt like on the head of my dick. I am not sure I was even kissing her. We were lip to lip, but a rookie can only keep up with just so many things at one time. 

So here I am, ready for what appears to be the final event. I break away from her lips and start to push my pants and underwear off my legs while she's pulling at my shirt. She tells me to stand up and swings her legs around to sit on the couch in front of me. I kicked off my shoes and she starts to lower my pants and underwear down and off my feet. She is looking up at me as I pull my shirt over my head and looking down at her, she seemed to have a cloud surrounding her. 

For the life of me, I cannot even remember the color of the couch. I was totally lost in the vision of this woman. Of my Margie. As I stood there she slowly extended her arms up my chest and started sliding her hands down over my nipples, over my torso, till she came to my cock and took it in her left hand. She was so close that I can still remember the feel of her breath on my skin. She held my dick for a moment and then started lightly stroking me while looking up at me, telling me once again "You have such a beautiful cock". She dropped her eyes to my dick and started to lean in towards me and all I could do was stand there and watch. I was frozen to the spot as I just knew I was about to get my first blow job when she pulled it aside, and kissed me right above the waistline, below my navel. She then looked up at me as she brought her right hand up and cupped my balls gently caressing them.

I dropped my shirt to the floor, knowing what I wanted to do, but not knowing exactly what to do next. I definitely wanted to see her as naked as I was, but I must have hesitated as I reached for her blouse. She leaned towards me again and uttered those special words that I will never forget, "Go ahead".

To be continued...?

Note: Again, this is my first EVER attempt at/continuation of writing. I hope I haven't let any of you down as these events actually happened to me. I am trying to put them into my own words while embellishing for a more erotic appeal. I do not claim to be a writer of erotica, but I find the memories just as vivid as if it happened yesterday. I did not have this edited by anyone, as once again, I wanted the words to be mine. I hope you enjoyed it and while I encourage constructive criticism, your comments will decide whether or not I continue to post the rest of the story. Thanks for reading.



Go Ahead Ch. 03



Events in people's lives form the individual they are today. Such was the adoration I had for an older woman who lived next door. 

I dropped my shirt to the floor, knowing what I wanted to do, but not knowing exactly what to do next. I definitely wanted to see her as naked as I was, but I must have hesitated as I reached for her blouse. She leaned towards me again and uttered those special words that I will never forget, "Go ahead".

I finally mustered up the courage to reach down and pull her shirt the rest of the way off her shoulders as she was leaning forward and Margie tossed her bra across the room. I was naked. She was naked. I was trembling. She was calm as a cucumber when she said, "Just relax". 

Once again, her experience takes over and she simply pulls me down to lie upon her. I can still remember the feel of her hard nipples on my chest, her pubic hair rubbing on my dick. Time again turns to slow motion as I feel her reach between us and we stare into each other eyes as Margie draws my cock up between her pussy lips.

I know in the back of my mind that this is going to be over before it really gets started. Sure enough, within a couple of strokes, I begin to shudder and she squeezes me at the base of my cock and stops my flow. I moan in discomfort as I feel my dick pulsing for release. She clutches me tightly with her one free arm and both legs as she pulls me down to kiss her, and I feel her rubbing me against her body as we kiss. I feel the sensation, but it is not what I normally feel when I cum. I pull back and start mumbling an incoherent apology when she says "Get up". She never lets go of my cock. 

There are times of sadness in our lives and I was experiencing the epitome of embarrassment. I had my chance and 'blew it'. She could see I was ready for the floor to open and swallow me right there on the spot when she stood up to console me. For the first time, I was so ashamed I could not look her in the eyes.

Standing there still holding my cock she said, "Steve. Hey, I know. It's okay. Don't worry, you're still ready for me. Look!" I looked down and sure enough, my cock was crimson red where she held the blood in it and hard as a rock. I was still unsure, until she reached up to pull my face to hers and kissed me as we stood there in the living room. "It's really okay", she said as she broke the kiss then let go of my dick and grabbed my hand. She once again started pulling me down to the couch.

Just as Margie sat down she must have changed her mind. Looking back on it, she probably was trying to stall to allow me time to 'cool off'. "Let's go where there's more room," she said as she stood and led us to the spare bedroom. I remember shaking like a leaf as we walked down the hall and stood there beside the bed. She threw her arms around my neck and reached up on her tiptoes to kiss me. She then said, "Don't move" and ran out of the room. 

When she returned, she had the clothes and shoes we had scattered all around the couch. Once she dropped them in the chair, she turned and stood there looking at me. I am not sure what she was thinking, but I knew right then that the vision before me would be burned in my memory forever. Every time I see a movie where a woman stands and then slowly crosses the bedroom, it reminds me of Margie. She was making her way towards me and the room seemed to grow in distance as I could hardly wait to feel her body against mine once again. 

Once she reached me, she said, (Yep, she actually said it!), "Now, where were we?" She took my hands and placed them on her body. My hands obviously had a mind of their own as they gravitated to her tits, when she threw her arms around my neck again and pulled me to her lips once more. 

Once again, memory fails me as I am not sure if it was me pulling, or her pushing, but we effortlessly backed me up until I felt the bed against the back of my legs. We broke the kiss and I made the mistake of looking up.

I could actually see my house next door through the bedroom shades. I suddenly became nervous all over again as she turned to see what I was looking at. She once again gave me a quick kiss and broke our embrace. A thousand thoughts were running through my mind and I suppose she could read them all. She turned, closed the blinds completely and putting one hand on my chest, pushed me back onto the bed.

The memories of that day, I'll never forget. The image of Margie standing beside the bed between my legs was the most beautiful sight I had ever had the privilege to gaze upon. The back-light of the window surrounding her seemed to give her an angelic aura. Man, was she a beautiful sight. It was actually my first unobstructed view of her (or of any woman other than in magazines). All I could do was stare at her as she watched me 'take her in'. I would have been happy to just lie there and look at her.

She even 'picked up' on that and twisted and turned a little while putting her arms up behind her hair, making her tits and nipples seem to stand out more. My eyes followed her every move as she slowly moved her hands down over her breasts, stopping momentarily to gently squeeze them till finally dropping one hand down her stomach to graze the top of her pubic hair, strumming her fingers through it. I finally looked into her eyes and she was smiling down at me. 

It was just like in the movies where the woman slowly crawls upon the bed in the long flowing nightgown except this was not the movies and she was not wearing a nightgown. She lay down beside me, propped up on her left elbow and rested her head on her hand. While looking at my body she gently touched my face with her fingers and started her way down delicately tracing my body. I remember looking at her face as she studied me, rubbing up and down my torso, straying once or twice to tease my groin area but never touching my cock. This was different. I was the one being explored. "You really do have a nice body", she said. 

I've never considered myself to be "good-looking" or "having a nice body". I was your typical teenage kid, lucky enough to not have serious acne problems or issues with my weight. I did play basketball, so I was somewhat tall and slender. My contribution to the work force was mowing grass for summer employment. My uniform consisted of a tank top or tee if I wore a shirt at all, sneakers, and a pair of cut-offs. You could usually find me riding my bicycle with one hand, while pulling a mower behind me with a gas can tied to the frame of the mower. Even after I got my first car, I would ride my bike to save what money I could. So as of this story, I had a nice 'cut-offs' tan and was in decent shape. 

She continued to study me while she lightly caressed me for a couple of minutes. Laying there flat on my back really did not afford me the luxury of touching her like I wanted. Margie had my right arm 'pinned' between her body and mine, so I could rub her, but it was with the side or back of my hand and I really could not reach the 'good parts'. She leaned over me and kissed my lips; just a gentle peck and smiled. It was like she was studying my face for some kind of expression.

I now understand the art of studying your partner for signals and looking back on it, that is exactly what she was doing. I was too young to grasp what she had already learned, but even to this day, I am grateful she knew what she was doing and why she was 'watching' me so closely for signs. 

The next time Margie leaned over for a kiss, she raised herself up, threw her right leg over my body and straddled me. She once again studied my face before she lay down on top of me and I was finally able to take her into my arms.

Reminiscing about that day, I honestly have no idea about her weight. She was not what I would call petite, but she was slender and I do not recall feeling her weight at all. However, as we kissed, I do remember the feel of her body as she stretched out on top of me. Her nipples felt like pebbles on my chest, her legs were satiny smooth as she rubbed her foot up and down my leg, and I remember the feeling of her bush on my skin. I also remember her forcing (well, maybe not forcing) her tongue into my mouth as we lay there. 

I also remember trying to memorize and map every inch of her back and ass, hearing her moan when I would hit a spot she liked. She maneuvered us so that our crotches were together, effectively rubbing the underside of my cock with her pussy as she sat up. With both hands on my chest Margie toyed with the few hairs I had sprouted since puberty and I returned the favor by reaching for her breasts and rediscovering her nipples. 

Let me refresh your memory about Margie's tits. I never checked the label on her bra, but I would guess her to wear a 32B. Considering this was my first uninterrupted encounter with a older woman, they seemed huge. The areolas were about the size of half dollars and the actual nipple was almost the size of a 1st grade pencil eraser.

She brought her face to mine and we kissed again. She, once again, must have read my mind because the next time she leaned forward, she stretched herself up my body and brought her breasts within inches of my face. They seemed to be larger as they hung in my face with her above me. 

I took advantage of that position as I 'went to town' on those nipples while squeezing her tits, trying my best to suck the whole breast into my mouth. She broke my attack on her tits and slid down for another kiss. When our lips separated, she followed the path that I had used earlier and went across my cheek to my ear, then to my neck and finally lowered her mouth to my left nipple.

WHOA! I didn't know my nipples were sensitive and capable of making me (if possible) hornier. 

I remember craning my neck to look down at the top of Margie's head as she did her magic on my chest. Her hair was obstructing most of my view, so I gathered it gently and tried to form some sort of 'pony tail'. When I had her hair pulled back as best I could, she lifted her face to look at me and smiled. Then she said, "What?, baby." 

I did not have a clue as to what she meant by that and probably uttered something stupid like "Huh?". Thank goodness this was Margie and it was like she was able to read my thoughts. 

I honestly do not recall having a single intelligent thought running through my head at that moment, but once again, she came to my rescue and said, "Remember how I was moving your face around my boobs earlier on the couch? Take my hair and direct me where you want me". 

OMG! Now she was putting me in the driver's seat and I had too many stories from Charles' magazines running through my mind to know which direction I wanted her to go.

Knowing I must be gentle, I closed my eyes and started to tug down on hair towards my waist and stopped. I was afraid of being too forward and ruining the moment with my desire yet, hoping she would just take my direction and 'run with it'.

When I stopped, Margie stopped. I opened my eyes and it actually looked like I was cupping the back of her head. She looked at me questioningly and said "Steve, I want you and I want you NOW, but what I want, more than that, is to make it special. I told you, your first time should be that way, so help me make it special for you".

Margie paused for a moment searching my eyes for an answer when she spoke once again and said, "It's okay. I want to and will do whatever you want to try". I was still torn on the direction to choose when she unselfishly made the decision for me. 

I started to let go of her hair and grab her by the sides of the face. I wanted to profess my love for her when she lowered her face, and just before she once again kissed my chest, uttered "Go ahead". 

I gently pushed on the top of her head guiding her down my body towards my cock as she 

To be continued...?

I want to thank you for taking time to read my story. I do appreciate the comments and kind words from the previous 2 chapters. In case you did not see my 'notes' in the other stories; I do not consider myself a writer. I am just a guy that was lucky enough to have lived and grown up next-door to the woman who helped me through my 'rite of passage'. I hope there is enough encouragement to continue this series and welcome all comments. I also welcome constructive criticism, but please, be kind as I did not have this edited, and I am sure it contains numerous errors. I really wanted to tell the story in my own words, and so once again, I submitted it without an editor. SWIMP