I am 72 years old, but I always looked younger than my age, so I could probably pass for 55 or 60. I am happily married since 50 years with three children and six grandchildren. But I did have a gay experience more than 50 years ago. So long ago, that it wasn't even called gay then. It was homosexual.
I was 20 and on my first visit to Rome. During an evening stroll, I came to a square, where I noticed that some kind of homosexual prostitution was going on. Boys and young men were getting in and out of cars, that remained parked. Whatever was happening, was happening in the cars.
I was standing on the sidewalk, trying to figure out what was going on, when an Alfa Romeo drew up. The driver leaned across, opened the passenger door and beckoned to me to get in. I could see that he was a rather rotund man in his 60s.
I looked very Scandinavian, 5'11, lanky, with straw blond hair, blue eyes and a dimple in my chin. I new that homosexual men liked me. They used to grope and fondle my ass in bars, but I never let them go farther.
I got in the car and closed the door. It may seem a reckless thing to do, but I was young and very fit after a year of military training -- which was compulsory for all young Swedish men at the time -- I was certainly not scared of any fat, old Italian.
He had his fly open and his dick out. It was limp and fairly small. I asked in my broken Italian what he wanted me to do, thinking that maybe he wanted me to jerk him off.
"La bocca! La bocca!" he yelled, irritated that I was too dumb to know right away that he wanted me to take it in my mouth.
"Well, why not?" I thought. It was a new experience, something I've always been fond of. I knew how I liked a good blowjob to be performed. I thought I could deliver one, as well as receive. So I leaned across, put it in my mouth and started to suck. It stiffened, grew and swelled immediately. However, deep-throating was not an issue. It didn't grow that much.
I swirled my tongue around his glans and from time to time took his cock out and licked its underside. I took his sack in my mouth and sucked his balls gently, then put his pecker back in. All in all, a first class blowjob.
The Italian gentleman probably agreed, for within a couple of minutes he came and shot gush after gush of his semen in my mouth. I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed -- we hadn't heard of AIDS in 1970 -- and sucked him dry, and then I cleaned his pecker with my tongue and lips.
When I was done, he pushed me out of his car and drove off in a hurry, probably worried that I would want payment for my lip service, something that hadn't even entered my mind.
I walked away, continuing my evening stroll, lest the other boys around the square should decide that my competition was unacceptable on their market. I wasn't scared of a fat old man, but twenty youngsters with switchblades were a considerable threat.
The experience was interesting, but I didn't really get any sexual kick out of it, so I decided that I wasn't a homosexual. Later that year I met my future wife, and within a year we were married with our first son on his way.
I've remained strictly heterosexual -- and faithful to my wife -- since then. Until very recently.
I find training at a gym -- lifting weights, pulling at machines, that kind of thing -- extremely boring. But it needs to be done in order to keep the decay of the body, that is the inevitable effect of growing old, at bay. So every week I spend two hours at the gym: one hour on the machines, one hour in the sauna.
I am Swedish, but I come from Finnish origin, and I grew up with sauna. Sauna, by the way, is a Finnish word for ... sauna. One of very few Finnish words that have won international recognition. An hour in the sauna is my reward for the work I put in on the machines.
The working classes come to the gym early in the morning, or in the evening, after work. Maybe a few at lunch. I go at ten in the morning or two in the afternoon, and avoid the crowd. There are only a few other retired people there then. And when I get to the sauna, I'm usually alone there.
But one time there was a big, old man sitting on the top bench, almost as if he were waiting for me. With big I mean around six feet and close to 350 pounds. Not muscle, fat. He had a really huge belly. Think sumo wrestler.
By old I mean somewhere around 80, probably. He was completely bald, with that shiny gloss on the scalp that shows that it isn't shaved. On the other hand he was hairy all over his body, including that big belly.
I nodded at him and said, "Hi!", and climbed up and sat beside him on the top shelf. That's where the sauna is hottest. Swedish gym saunas keep a temperature of 175—180 F, and that's a bit cool for a Finn. My comfort zone is around 200 F, but I have to live with what I get.
After I had soaked in the heat for a few minutes, I turned to my neighbor to ask if it was all right to throw some water on the hot stones and generate steam. But I never asked, because he was looking at me with a broad smile -- and stroking himself.
I couldn't help noticing his cock. It was good looking as cocks go, almost beautiful, and fairly big. It was bigger than mine, which is average, according to my wife that time when we discussed it 50 years ago. And then she added: "It's not the size, it's the way you swing it." She was always happy about the way I swung it and the role plays I thought up to keep sex interesting.
His cock was certainly bigger than the Italian guy's all those years ago. In fact, deep throating might be an issue here. I wondered if I still could make a guy cum with my mouth. Suddenly I heard myself say, "I could suck you off, if you'd like me to."
"Oh, that would be lovely," he answered. "But not here. Somebody may come in. I live close by. Let's do it at my place."
We both left the sauna, and I was going to hit the showers, when he grabbed my arm. "We can shower at my place. Much more interesting." He had a point there.
We dressed quickly and walked, carrying our training trunks, to his apartment, which was just a couple of hundred yards away. About the same distance as my home, but in the other direction.
On our way over, we introduced ourselves. I'm Gustaf. His name is Birger. Then I told him about my Roman experience.
"That story made me so aroused," he said. "Is that your only gay experience?"
I said it was.
"So, you have never been buggered? Your ass is virgin?" He groped my ass.
"That's it." I let him grope and fondle for a while. What harm could it do?
"You see, I paid attention to your ass in the sauna. You have a very nice body, a smooth body. A bit of a paunch but otherwise the body of a young man. How old are you? 72? Geez! I would have guessed 50, 55 at the most. You are a lucky guy. But the thing is your ass. It's your best asset. You have the smooth, round ass of a teenage boy.
"I'd give you 5,000 Kronor for the privilege of popping your cherry, of taking your rectal virginity."
5,000 Kronor is about the equivalent of $500.
At this point I pushed his hand away from my ass and became very serious.
"It's not gonna happen. I haven't been buggered, but I've had protoscopy. It hurts and there is nothing enjoyable about it. Besides, I don't want your money, and I don't need it. I have a good pension."
"Protoscopy is not the same thing at all. Assfucking, if you do it right, slowly and with a lot of lube, doesn't hurt at all. Well, maybe a little bit at the beginning, but it soon subsides, and then it's all fun and joy."
We walked the rest of the way in silence and he kept his hands off me, until we came to his building. In the elevator, his hand was all over my ass again. And I let him.
Once in his apartment we quickly shed our sweaty clothes and got under his shower. Birger insisted on soaping me up, paying a lot of attention to my pecker and sack, until he suddenly reached around and stuck a soapy finger up my rectum.
"See, that didn't hurt a bit, did it?" he said. I had to admit it didn't. It felt good.
A moment later he did the same thing with two fingers. It still felt good.
"You see what I mean?" he said. "You're almost there."
"All right, Birger, when I've done what I came for, you can give it a try, if you promise to stop as soon as I say it hurts." He promised, and we dried ourselves and each other off and walked into his bedroom, where he laid back with his legs spread and his cock at full mast.
I knelt at the bedside and gave his dick my best attention, and soon enough he came in my mouth. I swallowed and sucked his dick clean.
"I must admit, Gustaf, you are an expert cocksucker. But now it's time for us to keep our promises. Yours is that I can give your ass a try, mine is that I'll stop whenever you say. So, get up on the bed, face down with your legs spread."
I did as I was told, and Birger left. When he returned, he was carrying a bottle and a dildo.
He explained that he was a lifelong homosexual, who had lived for twenty years in a partnership with another man. His partner was dead since four years, and since then he didn't bother to keep lube in his home. But rapeseed oil from the kitchen worked just as well.
"And this dildo is even a bit bigger than my cock. We'll use it to soften you up. If that works, you won't have any problem accommodating my cock."
Whereas the Roman incident hadn't given me any sexual kick, I was now on the verge of ejaculating just from listening to Birger.
