Last year I discovered my enjoyment of gay sex. I'm Richard, a 45-year old married father of two teenage girls and a senior manager with a multinational company. I'd been increasingly interested in the idea of other men for months, and I finally got to live out my fantasies in a debauched night with two young German lads in Hamburg.
After that night I knew without any doubt that I was gay; what I'd done with Johnny and Tommy had been the greatest sex of my life, turning me on far more than any experience I'd ever had with a woman. By contrast, the couple of times I'd screwed my wife, Alison, since then had felt like a real chore. I still felt nervous about the revelation of my true nature though, and about doing anything about it. After all, I did still love Alison, and I felt I couldn't live with myself if she or my daughters, Pippa and Katie, found out that I was fucking other men behind their backs. For a few weeks I was constantly thinking about naked male bodies, but I didn't dare risk visiting the local red light district for fear of being discovered. I was beginning to think about inventing a business trip to London when an opportunity fell into my lap, as it were.
It was when I was on a trip, but an overnight to Belfast, not London. Even though Northern Ireland's a much safer place now than it was a few years ago I wasn't going to go sniffing around the streets for queers there! I'm a former rugby player, pretty solidly built, and I visit a health club fairly regularly -- I've lost nearly a stone in weight since Hamburg -- and my local membership also covers other branches, of which there was one near my hotel. I decided to spend an evening working out rather than working on the figures I should have been looking at. I spent about 90 minutes using the treadmill and various weight machines, and, if I'm honest, checking out some of the fit young male backsides, chests and bulging crotches around me.
Afterwards I had a shower, and as I was sitting in a small cubicle in the men's changing room, a towel wrapped around my waist, a guy across the room caught my eye and gave me a friendly nod. He was several inches shorter than me, maybe five-eight, and I immediately pegged him as a serviceman, from his short ginger-blond hair, his athletic build, several tattoos on his chest and arms, and the way he held himself. He was towelling himself down and was stark naked. He was clearly pretty fit, with a six-pack body, bulging biceps and muscular legs, and not bad looking either -- 30ish, with blue eyes, a small clipped ginger moustache, a freckled face, and an average sized uncircumcised cock. We exchanged nods and, slightly to my surprise he walked over to me and stood with his towel draped around his shoulders, standing about 18 inches from me. With a grin he said, in a strong Belfast accent, "I was watching you in the gym there, pretty impressive."
I thanked him and, having to concentrate hard on keeping my eyes on his face rather than the cock that was swaying in front of me, asked if I was right about his profession. He confirmed it, saying he was between tours of Afghanistan with his regiment. As we chatted he seemed to be inching closer towards me, hands on his hips, not in the least self-conscious about his nakedness, and it was a couple of minutes before it finally dawned on me that he was subtly coming on to me. I don't know what had given him the clue -- maybe the wistful way I'd been looking at the pretty young boys earlier -- but clearly his gaydar was better developed than mine.
When he was about a foot away from me, confident I wasn't taking much of a risk, I casually reached out my hand and brushed it across the tip of his cock. It instantly twitched to semi-erection, and with a big grin he stepped closer still and, his eyes on my face, reached behind him and pulled a curtain across the opening of the cubicle, hiding us from anyone else in the changing room. He angled his hips towards me and without any hesitation I slipped my lips over his shaft. The familiar feel of the soft-hard dick pressing into my mouth was wonderful, and as I sucked and licked him I reached my hands around him and kneaded his small hard buttocks. He in turn placed his hands on my head, pushing me onto him, and whispered encouragements along the lines of "Oh yeah baby, suck me, that's so good". After a couple of minutes I could sense he was about to cum and I sat back and finished him with my hand, pumping him with our eyes locked together until he splattered onto my chest.
After that he sat down next to me in the tiny cubicle and wanked me to orgasm while we kissed. He was a good kisser, his moustache tickling me, his tongue sweeping lazily around my mouth and tangling with my own tongue. Afterwards I invited him back to my hotel but he said his wife was expecting him home. Any last doubts I'd had about my enjoyment of cock were blown away by that encounter, and I knew I was going to have to do something about getting it on a regular basis, even if that meant visiting our local dodgy red light district. As it turned out, that didn't prove necessary.
My younger daughter, Katie, had recently found herself a new boyfriend. He was a bit older than her -- Paul's 20, Katie's just turned 18 -- and seemed a nice enough lad. About 5-10 tall with a pleasant face and neatly trimmed brown hair, he was studying at the local college, and earning extra money by working part-time as a labourer on building sites. I'd met him a couple of times, and not sensed anything, but the third time was different. That was one evening when he came round to take Katie out. I'd recently got home from work and was just out of the shower when the doorbell rang; but my wife was out somewhere, and Katie wasn't ready, so grumbling to myself I pulled on a mid-thigh length silk dressing gown and clumped down the stairs to let Paul in.
Playing the good host I sat him down in the lounge and offered him a drink -- he asked for orange juice -- then sat opposite him to indulge in small-talk until my daughter finally emerged. I didn't realise that my short gown was showing off my meat and two veg until I noticed that Paul's eyes kept flicking down there, and he suddenly seemed tongue-tied. As soon as I did realise, my cock started to swell, and Paul's face started turning red in response. The spark of a wicked thought entered my brain and, casually, I sat back in my big arm chair and crossed my ankle over the knee of my other leg. The effect was to make the silk material slide halfway up my thigh, and give our guest a grandstand view of my crown jewels.
I thought for a moment that the poor lad's eyes were going to pop out of his head! He did his best to keep looking me in the face, but he couldn't resist flicking quick glances down between my legs and he seemed very hot and uncomfortable. That was when I knew for certain: he wasn't simply embarrassed, or thinking I was a berk, he really wanted to get a better look at my dick. I found it hard to keep a grin off my face but I pretended not to notice and sat chatting innocently until I heard Katie approaching. I stood and greeted her at the door to the room and she gave me a bit of a funny look about my attire but I simply shrugged helplessly. After they left I sat in my chair again and sipping my whisky, thought some very deep thoughts.
