This is the true story of how I lost my virginity in the most unexpected way. That's not to say that I was sexually naive - like most 18-year-olds, I thought about sex all the time and I jerked off whenever I could. My main fantasy was being taken by a strong man with a thick, hard cock ... and to give my imagination a kick-along, I'd enlist the help of my mother's plunger. You remember the type: used for unblocking sinks and toilets, it had a thick wooden handle and a rubber suction cup on the end. When the house was empty, I'd stick it on the tiled laundry floor, roll on a condom taken from my elder brother's room, apply some Vaseline or moisturiser and straddle it. The handle was as thick as a bigger than average cock and I could get only an inch or two into my arse - and while it was painful, it was also incredibly erotic. I'd shoot my load very quickly. It was the second last week of the summer holidays - January, 1975 in Perth, Western Australia - and I was hitchiking back from the beach. I wasn't supposed to be hitchiking - my parents had forbidden it - but we all did it anyway. I'd cut short my day at the beach because my friends hadn't turned up and I was hot and irritated after almost 40 minutes of walking with no offers of a ride. Being summer, there were fewer cars on the road than usual, so when a late model Ford Fairlane stopped, I was as relieved as I was delighted. Another bus fare saved. There were two guys in the front seat, early 20s, and they agreed to take me down the Canning Highway to Applecross, where I lived. But we'd been going less than 20 seconds when the guy in the passenger seat turned around and said "Mate, can we fuck you?" My mouth went dry, and for two reasons. One, I was completely taken by surprise. Being gay was taboo in 1970s Australia but that clearly didn't bother this pair. And second, the guy smiling at me from the front seat was very handsome. I noticed the driver was watching me, smirking, in the rear view mirror and I wished he'd watch the road instead. We all have moments like these, sliding door moments I guess, when a decision one way or the other can change the course of your life. My brain was still wondering what to reply when, to my surprise, I heard myself say, in a very croaky voice, "Sure, but not in this shitbox. It has to be in a bed." There was a period of total silence. Both men stared at me, then at each other before Mr Passenger Seat said, "Are you serious?" "Sure," I said. "But in a bed." Mr Passenger Seat laughed in an incredulous way and said to the driver, "I guess we're going to your place". Some background: in the passenger seat was Paul, who was soon to complete his training as a chef and head north to work in the mining camps. He was handsome, sweet and considerate and didn't really fool anyone with a "I don't give a shit attitude". The driver was Barry, eldest son of a wealthy family which had owned a chemicals company before selling out to an overseas buyer. Was it ICI? I can't remember. Barry's father had stayed on as managing director and Barry also worked there. He wasn't smart and he wasn't dumb, he wasn't handsome and he wasn't ugly, but he was rich. His dad passed on his car when he upgraded (every 18 months), hence a 22-year-old driving a powder blue Ford Fairlane. And daddy had bought him a nice flat in the suburb of Alfred Cove. Which is where we were headed. Barry unlocked the door and I was surprised by how neat and well-appointed the flat was. I guess it helps when your parents buy your furniture and pay for a weekly cleaning lady. But I'd barely had time to take in the details before Barry grabbed me and tried to stick hit tongue down my throat. Now sure, my fantasy was to be taken by a man but it's a big jump from fantasy to reality and I'd never even thought of kissing another guy. I pushed him away. "What is this? You said we could fuck you!" Barry was irritated and I could tell from the bulge in his shorts that he was also very erect. So Paul stepped in, as it turned out he often did when Barry was at his most impulsive. "Let's slow it down guys," he said. "He won't even have douched. Do you want shit all over your sheets?" He turned to me. "First, what's your name?" I told him I was Rob. "Nice to meet you Rob. Do you know about douching?" I admitted I didn't. "Rob, have you even been fucked before?" I admitted I hadn't. "OK, well in that case we're going to take our time. Barry, we're going to take our time." Barry grinned. "Shit, he's going to be tight." Paul led me into the bathroom and from a draw took out a tube and some lube. He fitted the tube over the end of a tap, applied some lube and said: "Let's fill your arse with water. Tell me when you feel full." What a weird day. I was reluctant to take a dump when even the family were close by, yet here I was sitting on a toilet and releasing an arseful of murky water while a very handsome man undressed in front of me, revealing an impressive cock, hard and thick. It was my fantasy cock but as I looked at it, I wondered how I'd get it all inside me. Or any of it. Paul filled me with water again and as I sat on the toilet he stood in front of me holding his dick. "Want to taste it?" So as I released the water, I slid my mouth down my first cock. It was warm, hard and salty and I loved it. He filled my arse with water twice more and each time as I released, I took his cock in my mouth. It's probably why even today I find douching so erotic. When I was clean, Paul took some lube and, standing behind me, worked it into my ring, first with one finger and then with two. "Does that hurt?" he asked. I said it didn't and told him of my experimenting with the plunger. "Impressive," he said. "This might be easier than I thought." Throughout the douching, Barry had been standing in the doorway, his hand on his dick and his eyes on stalks. As Paul led me into the bedroom, he said, "It would be best if Barry went first". It was obvious: Barry's cock, while by no means small, was nowhere as thick as Paul's. Even I could see the sense, though there was no doubt in my mind who I most wanted inside me. Paul positioned me in the middle of the bed on all fours and worked some more lube into my arse. Then he told Barry to take it slow and moved in front of me, sitting with his back to the bed's headboard. That's when I realised I was going to be spit-roasted. My lips were already moving up and down Paul's shaft as Barry, to his credit, slowly worked his cock into my arse. I think he'd got a couple of inches in when he gave something that was half a shout and half a grunt and came, hard. Paul laughed. "Well done Mr All Night Long!" Barry muttered something and collapsed into a chair in the corner of the room, his cock already limp. "Well I guess it's my turn now,"Paul said. "Turn over." I was so ignorant, it hadn't occurred to me that men could have sex face to face but I trusted Paul and let him move me around. First he put a pillow under my hips, then he worked more lube into my arse using two fingers. It felt fine. Slowly he started to make love to me. Like I said, I'd never thought about kissing a man but as Paul licked my neck and moved his body against mine, I knew I wanted his tongue in my mouth. He brushed my lips with his and as I opened my mouth, he gently slipped in his tongue and it felt the most natural thing in the world. Of course, by this time I was desperate for him to take me but he kept it slow, stroking and kissing and nibbling until he whispered, "It's time". Now, if this was some porn fantasy, I'd tell you that he slid his huge cock into me and we made glorious love until the fireworks went off. But this is a true story. With the backs of my knees hooked over the crooks of his elbows, he tried three or four times to get his cock in, but it was too painful. He worked me with his fingers for a while and that made it a bit easier but I still couldn't take even his knob. "You're too tense," he said. So he rolled me into my stomach and gave me a massage, which was wonderfully relaxing. While I was on my stomach he worked in some more lube, this time using three fingers, and I told him I wanted to try again. Again with my legs over his elbows, he leaned down, kissed me and said "just breathe deeply and slowly". Whether it was the breathing, the massage or the gradual working of my ring, it worked. I felt the pressure increasing against my hole and then suddenly it relaxed, opened and half his glorious cock slid in. It wasn't painless and I gave a little yelp but told him to keep going. How long was it before is whole cock was inside me. Five minutes? Ten? I'm not sure but when it was, I felt gloriously full and incredibly horny. I was being fucked! By now my legs were locked around his hips and my hands were working his buttocks, pushing them in with every thrust. Paul was picking up his pace and I loved the feel of his balls as they slapped against my arse. He looked at me. "Is it hurting? I'm getting close." I told him I wanted him to come inside me and in a matter of seconds, he pushed himself on to his elbows, gasped, thrust in his cock and kept it there, breathing hard through his teeth. I got him to lean up a little further so I could reach my own cock and with him still inside me, I jerked off furiously, blowing a big load on to my stomach. As I lay there in a post-sex glow, sweat dripped off the end of Paul's nose on to my face. He leaned down and licked it off, an erotic end to what remains the more erotic act of my life. So what happened next? We rested, talked and then fucked some more. Barry came in my mouth, another first, and I straddled Paul's cock like in my fantasy, loving how he gripped my buttocks and clenched his eyes tight as he came. Later they gave me a lift home and we met up many times again, with them introducing me to Perth's closeted pre-AIDS gay world, with its secret parties and surprisingly sophisticated debauchery. But that's material for another story. And after that first time, was I sore in the morning? You bet. We pay for our pleasures.
