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Everybody has their thing when it comes to sex. I’ve talked to so many people about theirs, and some confessions are hot, some not, some strange to me and some mind boggling. My thing is pretty vanilla, I think. Makes me fun to be around, though. I think that’s what Michael thought anyway. Possibly why we hit it off.

I have always taken the greatest pleasure from my lover’s orgasm. That’s my thing. It gives me greater please, bizarrely, than my own. Even when I was straight, and yes, I was that man for a long time, I loved to push my tongue hard against a clitoris and I was rock hard as she arched her back in that moment of lost-in-pleasure. It was a rush for me, a rush that ended with my ejaculation and more prosaic thoughts barged into my once buzzy head and denied my pleasure of being at the mercy of hormones and animal lust. I guess I just love to feel horny.

Imagine the revelation the first time I drunkenly wrapped my lips around a stiff cock, my head full of dizziness at the final realisation of a lifetime of fantasy and masturbation at the very act I was finally living. Imagine the relief, surprise and joy as that stranger in a London gay sauna held the back of my head and grunted as he unloaded in my mouth. When he was done, I think I grinned at him as I sat on my heels, looking at him lying on his back, mouth parted in post orgasmic relief. I wasn’t remotely attracted to him, couldn’t describe him or ever knew his name. I didn’t even know if he was English, or even spoke English. All I I knew was that I had swallowed his cum, and that he would forever be my first.

My second was some 15 minutes later, and my third was shortly after that. The fourth guy who I sucked that night wanted more and I let him. I let him roll me over and he fucked me. It hurt at first, but I had practiced before and wanted that more than anything. A cock was different though, because I didn’t control the energy like I did with my candle wrapped in toilet roll and a condom. The cock didn’t stop because the feeling became too intense; no, he fucked my ass to please only himself. I wriggled and he held me, and I moaned as he pumped. In doing so, taught me a lesson that what I enjoyed was more that the rubbing against the nerve endings in an asshole, it was so very much more. It was the losing control, the feeling of being used, the submission. It was a heady, intoxicating and profoundly erotic moment.

I left the sauna that night, still drunk, with a head that was spinning, but not through any booze. I had wanted that all from the start of early sexual awakenings, and there it was. I had run the experiment and the result was amazing and confusing. I saw sex in a completely new way. I was 48 and I knew the direction my sex life had to take me. Ididn’t, however, really know how.

I didn’t think of myself as some “cum slut” as they say, for what I did that evening. I found something new and I wanted to try. I was greedy, for sure, but that was a curiosity to know if what I felt was real, if it was what I really wanted. I walked along that street and as stupid as it sounds I saw sex the way that possibly the women I had been with may have seen it. The power in being dominated, the weakness of a man with an erect cock, but yet the strength that went with it. The joy of a hand caressing my ass, and the feeling of male lust as the rock hard penis entered me for the first time. His sigh of pleasure making me want more. The knowledge that he was holding back to not climax quickly, and that I (or whatever my ass represented in his head) was the reason for that. Above all, it was being the subject of male lust and me sating that lust drove me wild.

Thing is, I wasn’t sure then, or even now how much I fancy men. Strange that. Oh yes, there are actors I look at and feel something, but Amy Adams still comes out on top for me. All my life I knew that I had to be with the prettiest girl, and perhaps my denial of my own sexual preferences was spurred by my chasing of girls. Perhaps. I have said that I loved to eat pussy, I loved to get them off with tongue and fingers and as for the few that would climax during penetrative sex, they owned me. The girls always had more orgasms than I did. There was, however, always something in my mind that I was fucking what I wanted to be. Gender confused? No idea. Possibly. Hey, it’s a crazy fucked up world there, and y’all got issues. It doesn’t matter, though, because at 48 I knew that from that point, regardless of what I had I wanted my focus to be on a lover with a cock.

I visited the sauna once or twice more when I was in London and the pattern was more or less the same. I sucked a lot of cock. Big, small, cut, uncut, everyone was a joy. I didn’t fuck all the time, but did a couple of times. Both times were fun, sexy but didn’t quite take me to the same place. I knew it was the guys I was with, one was way too big for me and although the idea was hot, big cocks just hurt. istanbul travesti The other was just not attractive and I was too drunk. That said I regretted neither, and wanted more.

Then Covid. Covid sucked, and I didn’t. No travel, no London, no sauna. No cock.

It was a couple of years before I got back. You may ask why I didn’t do grindr or tinder or some other app for hookup sex, and that would be a fair question. Reality is,I was scared to do that. I still was very much closeted and the idea that someone would see me on the app was a total erection killer. A couple of times I tried, and both times after chatting with someone I bottled it.

Then, back in London for a conference in a liberated post covid world, I knew I would be back in the sweaty corridors looking for cheap, possibly deeply unsatisfying mindless sex. I thought about it for days before I went and knew that the very worst thing that could happen would be I would wander around feeling the rush and impossibly horny at what I was doing, and get nothing. Even that was exciting. Feeling horny and desperate, but denying myself is all part of it. Pleasuring another whilst full of unsated desire is a thing for me. Not for everyone, and that’s good. I want to help others charge to orgasm.

The conference was dull, but I didn’t need to go anyway. I’d spoken at it years before and it was a bit of a jolly. I stayed behind and had a few glasses with people in the banking network I had known for years. I wondered if anybody else in the room would be naked in a sauna later. I imagined there would be at least one. My mind slid away into naughty thoughts as I spoke with an old friend about the economic outlook. I felt bad about that, we hadn’t spoken for years, but desire is desire and mine was rising. I wanted to be naked by 8pm latest. I excused myself on the grounds of tiredness and a long day to follow and went back to my hotel to prepare myself.

As I showered and cleaned my most intimate areas that I hoped to share with someone I didn’t even know existed (a supremely hot thought) I knew that I could stop it all there. My cock was semi hard and if I just tugged it, just gave myself the relief the thoughts would go and I would hit a restaurant with the economic journos I knew. That would be fun, interesting and perhaps career advancing. Led by my cock, I knew I would be on my knees a million miles from the Ivy, but just 3 stops on the central line. I squeezed and moaned, but left it there.

I dressed and walked under the railway arch to the secluded entrance to the sauna, bar, den of nameless sex. I had chosen a hotel nearby, unsure of what time I would be out at. London cabs can be a nightmare if left too late. I paid my £20 at the desk, smiling slightly awkwardly at the youth behind the counter who must have taken tens of thousands of pounds from horny old guys, but still seemed nervous in a I know, that you know, that I know that you know what you are here for, sort of way. I didn’t care. Not like the first time, where I paid with my head bowed and rushed in. I was relaxed. I smiled helpfully when he told me where the changing room was, and strolled in like going to the cinema.

The changing room was as full as I had seen it on the previous handful of visits. A couple of guys who had clearly come together were chatting loudly, in a showy-off kind of way. They were young, slender both with bleached hair and piercings. I looked at them, and considered them as possibly my competition. An unfair thought, certainly for me as they had smooth and toned bodies and whereas mine was (and is) good for my age, it was still for my age. There was a bump or two, but I was cool with that. My arms were strong, my stomach was flat, my legs still muscled from a youth of sport. Best of all, my backside was nicely rounded and smooth. I liked it, but I hadn’t always. In my days of changing rooms stinking of deep heat and pre match testosterone, a bum that curved and was a cute as a girls was something I always tried to hide. An older more confident me wanted this changing room to notice it and put it on their dance cards for later.

And so, with an impossibly small towel wrapped around my waist, wrapped in a way that the bottom of my cheeks were visible if you paid attention, I went for a stroll. I sat in the sauna, and had another shower. I walked the halls. It wasn’t a great start, but it was early. Despite the busy changing room, the place was strangely empty. I continued my exploration. I was not the only one not having sex. The rooms were full of men not having sex, a great many of them masturbating slowly.

I walked past one door to see a guy lying on his back, stoking his stiff cock with care to keep it stiff, but not excite himself too much. I turned and walked back. He looked out as I did the second time, and I felt a little surge of adrenaline. On my third pass by the door I stopped and stood at the door way, looking at istanbul travestileri him.

“Want a hand with that?” My eyes had moved down from his to look at him and see his answer by the way he removed his hand from his cock and raided it behind his head. He was fully erect and expecting.

I liked his shape. He seemed tall, hairy (not being hairy myself, I like it) and had a full beard, with a shaved head. A tattoo on his chest of some ethnic, possibly Maori artwork, was a nice touch. His cock was a nice size, uncut and hovering above his slightly rounded stomach. He was about the same age as me I figured, and looked like he needed a blowjob. He looked at me and nodded. He moved his hand away, leaving his cock exposed and ready for me.

I kneeled beside him and first off, took his member in my hand and squeezed it, softly. He closed his eyes and gasped a little. We were in business. I stoked a little, and felt my own heart race at the joy. He moaned with my first few strokes, possibly closer than I thought he was.

So thinking this would be nice and quick, I moved down on it, with one slow move and licked the top. I had pulled the foreskin back and ran my tongue over the slit. As he pushed up at that, I slid it between my lips, circling my tongue around the head. I pushed my head down as far as I could, until I gagged and felt my eyes water. What is it about gagging on a cock that makes it so horny, yet gagging any other time is either horrible or deeply concerning? I didn’t splutter but raised my head back up, always working my tongue on the sticky end and went down again, in a very deliberate way.

I did that a couple more times, and knew I had him where I wanted him. He was rock hard, and as I started to jack the base of his shaft with the head in my mouth, I tasted the precum almost immediately. My own cock just stiffened and rubbed my stomach as I bobbed.

I felt his had on my head, gentle, not forcing and I could tell he was losing control. To my surprise he eased my head up and I looked at him along his body.

“Where do you want me to cum..?” He was almost polite in the way he asked.

“My mouth.” I said as I returned his cock to the back of my throat and jerked on it faster and firmer. It didn’t take long from there. I felt his junk pour into my mouth as he grabbed my head and cried out, trying to stifle his relief. I allowed him to empty before I sucked the length to get every drop and raised my head. I was sitting on my heels looking at him and his slightly pulsating cock on his stomach, still oozing. He smiled. I smiled. I then left. Maybe 20 words and a mouthful of cum between us. A meaningful and satisfying relationship by any standard.

I walked around some more, feeling that whatever happened my night was a success. I could lie in my hotel bed later and relive his ejaculation and then mine would be over over my stomach. I loved that he was quick, and I loved how hard he was. I wanted more, and I figured my “can I give you a hand with that?” trick could keep me going all night. First though, beer. The slight buzz from the conference drinks reception was wearing off, and I felt I needed a break before hunting my next cock.

The bar in the sauna is one of the world’s strangest drinking establishments. With decor from a 1980’s cheap nightclub from a small, non metropolitan town, bar staff in black ties, electronic dance music that is a little too loud and the lights too bright, the only thing that would make it wierder would be if all the customers were male and only wearing towels. Which of course, was exactly what was happening. It was quite full, and full of men who were by themselves, not talking and staring at their phones.

Once I bought my drink I looked around for something I could do that didn’t look like I felt uncomfortable. Then I saw the TV. It wasn’t showing really shit actor gay porn, but instead was showing highlights from a rugby international that had been played that day in France. Perfect. I sat on the faux leather sofa opposite the screen, in solitude and supped my beer as I watched the match. There was 30 minutes remaining which I figured was perfect. A switch from one life to another and then back again at the final whistle. The TV area was empty as well, so, I could just slouch back and enjoy. The match was good.

So good I lost myself in it and as I sat forward I didn’t even notice someone flopping beside me, until the sofa vibrated. I moved to one side without moving my eyes from the screen as the french winger ran in a try that could have been painted in the louvre.

“Fuck sake, that’s outrageous!” said the voice to my left. A young voice.

“Wasn’t it?” I replied not looking round. I was fixed on the replay on the screen.

“Wow.” The voice said, watching the same, “that offload is filthy. So fast through the hands. France of old, right?”

“Yeah!” I said, and looked round at my fellow enthusiast. travesti istanbul I was gobsmacked. The man sitting beside me was stunning. He was beautiful. His hair was blond and long, almost surfer, and framed a face that was all straight lines. There was a slight bruising around one eye, but that could not hide how blue they were, even in sauna strip lights. His chest was sculpted, and his arms thick with light curly hair on them. He was slightly unshaven, and his lips were thick. So stupidly kissable.Massively out of my league.

“How would you know?!” I said, trying to sound completely nonchalant. “You are right, but way before your time!” He looked at me and grinned.

“True, but I have watched the old stuff, and it can be just as beautiful.” He turned back to the screen, and I was still staring at him. That was awkward.

“Look!” He prodded my arm with his palm to get me back on the sport in front of me, “they’re at it again. Fuck sake, I haven’t seen anyone rip the Safars like that for years.”

“A joy to behold.” I said. He laughed. he sat forward and we both stared at the screen.

“For sure.”

We watched on for the remainder of the game, discussing the play, the tactics and the delight of great sport. It was also clear that this was to both of us, our sport. The match finished. We both slumped back into the seat, arms almost touching, legs almost touching, towels slightly overlapping.

“You play?” He asked. I was immediately flattered, but refused to laugh at the question.

‘Used to, gave up years ago. Reffed for a bit, just watch now. But you…” I looked at him, “you play for sure..!”

“Yup. Played this afternoon.”

“In the backs? yeah? Let me guess – out-half? Number 10?”

“Ha! Yes, I sort of look the part. Too pretty to play upfront, they say!’

“Well, thats true! I was second row in the day. Pretty not needed!”

“Aged well, buddy.” He pushed my arm softly a second time. I was a little lost for words. I recovered.

“And here for post match beers?” I realised that was a little forward. Took the chat from rugby to sex too quickly. I regretted asking. he was unfazed, however.

“Sure, right here has got all I need to wind down.” He turned and smiled at me. Was he hinting at something?

“Yeah.” Yeah was all I had at that time. I was slightly flustered. Did he notice? Did he notice me at all as anything other than the older guy he watched a game with?

“Yeaaah.” he repeated, drawing the word out. “I have a beer or two, dump a few loads and then sleep like the dead until morning. What we are all here for, isn’t it?” Our shoulders touched, and I felt a shock wave through me. I hadn’t moved, so I could only assume he had.

“Ha!” I said, with no nervousness in my voice, I think, “a few? Christ, at my age, I am one and done, but that’s not what I am looking for in any case.” I immediately felt stupid. At my age? Talk about pricing yourself out of a market. Not what I’m looking for? Might as well stick my ass in the air.

He sat forward and turned to me. His hair fell over his face and he swept it back. He was silhouetted by the ridiculous lighting behind him. I felt all teenage girl dreamy in an instant. Foolish as hell.

He looked at me, perhaps sensing the rise in my heart and then he nearly sent it out of my chest. He smiled at me and dropped his hand onto the inside of my knee, and traced his fingers up my thigh, where he stopped and gripped.

“It’s getting on and time I got started.” He had stopped smiling and I could feel the intensity in a stare I could not see. he raised his other hand, which held a key. “I have a private room.”

He grinned. A very naughty grin. I couldn’t believe my luck.

“Do you indeed?” I said. All coy and hard to get, despite the fact I was going to be slutty easy to get.

“Wanna check it out with me?”

I wanted to pause for a second. I wanted to say something witty, playful, sexy and teasing. I also didn’t want to remotely risk blowing what was surely a slip in concentration on his part and a once in a lifetime opportunity on mine.

“Oh, yes…oh yes, I do.” is what I managed. He stood up and reached for my hand to help me up. Even that touch got my desire out of neutral. He nodded and led me. I followed, heart in absolute overdrive. My apple watch would have thought I was on the treadmill and asked if I was working out.

Not quite yet, I would have told her.

We walked at some speed to the room. He clearly had decided what he wanted and didn’t want to hang around. I couldn’t wait to find out what it was that he wanted. We were both in a stupid horny hurry.

We stepped inside and he closed and locked the door. We faced each other and he loosened his towel and it dropped to the floor. I did the same and stared at the perfection in front of me. He moved to me and his lips came close to mine.

“I’m Michael.” He said as he held my face and kissed me softly. He smiled as he pulled away. My head was swimming. He could tell, and he looked like he loved the effect he had. “..and you?”

“Seb.” I was practically gasping as I said it. I just wanted his lips again. He obliged.

To be continued…

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