CONTENT WARNING: This story contains elements of reluctance/non-consent. If you don't want to read those topics, you have been warned.
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If I had to guess, there are a lot more men who have participated in a gay sex act than want to admit. Maybe it was with their friend at a sleepover, or that guy at the gym, or just one time when drunk... Either way, I think we'd all be shocked if the true number was ever revealed.
In the spirit of honesty, I'll admit I hooked up with my college roommate a few times before all this. Nothing crazy.... just some kissing and touching when drunk. But it wasn't until this trip that I first had sex with a man. And no, I wasn't seeking it out. In fact, I wouldn't call it entirely consensual..... But that's beside the point now. It's been nearly 50 years and I'm ready to tell my story.
It all went down in December of '76 when I was skiing solo through Europe. I'd hopped on a train in Zurich and was on my way to the mountains when my life changed forever. I was only 22, fresh out of winter exams and ready for some apres ski. Excited, energetic, but a bit nervous as a foreigner, I tried my best not to stick out.
"Billett? Billett?" the train conductor asked as he went down the aisle. When he got to me he stared for a second then said in a funny accent, "uhhhh... ticket?"
I handed him my pass and he continued down the rickety car. I'd paid for the cheapest possible seat but was now regretting it as I froze my ass off on the metal bench. There were a few others shivering around me, but most were either double bundled or smart enough to pay for first class. As more stops passed, fewer people remained and soon I was the last one. It was getting dark and I was frozen but there was still a half day left.
Just as I almost passed out from hypothermia, a man opened the door and made his way towards my end of the car. He was a tall, proud individual, a type I'd seen a lot of in Europe, and his thick mustache and thinning hair suited his spiffy outfit. Frankly he looked rich, and I could see a gold watch gleaming underneath his thick wool coat.
I gazed in slight awe, impressed by his clothing, stature, demeanor, everything. He oozed class and masculinity in a way I'd never seen. Just as the man was about to pass, he stopped to look at me. His eyes traveled up and down then he smiled wide.
"Du siehst kalt aus," he said in a booming baritone that rattled the train.
"Umm...."
"Français?" he then asked, and when I shook my head followed up with, "Nederlands?"
I was so impressed by the polyglot I could only whisper an embarrassed, "English...." when he finally let me speak.
"Aahhhhh, an American boy!" He smiled even wider then stuck out his hand. "I'm Joost de Vries. From Amsterdam! And who are you, young man?"
"I-I'm P-Paul...." I stuttered out between chattering teeth. "Paul Hoffmann, from California."
"Hoffman? You're a German no? But you don't speak the language?"
"No...."
"Bah! You Americans, only ever English! And never prepared for the weather either! Hahaha!"
I felt like some peasant next to this fancy European and turned red.
"Aw, don't be ashamed, boy," he followed up with a warm smile. "We dutchmen all have to learn English, but you Americans don't have to learn Dutch! Hahahah!"
His humor and personality put me at ease and before I knew it he'd taken the seat next to me.
"I've got something that'll warm you up," he said with a wink, but even just his massive presence had already increased the heat.
Joost procured a thermos from his bag then a glass bottle from his coat.
"Whiskey," he laughed, "and hot cider too! It'll warm you right up." He poured the cider into my mug then topped it off with a shot. "Down you go boy, drink up. Your lips are turning blue."
I gulped the elixir and immediately felt its healing properties. A few sips later, my face and tummy were warm and I leaned back into the seat with a sleepy smile.
"You like it? Here, have another." He mixed me another drink and together we drank until I recovered. "That's a good boy. All warm now, huh?"
I smiled up at him and hiccuped, "yup!"
"Nothing 'ol Joost can't fix. Or whiskey! Ha!"
In our laughter Joost put his big arm around me. It was a little weird since I'd only just met the guy, but we were tipsy and having fun. Plus I wasn't sure if Europeans were just more touchy; I'd only been here a few days.
When his arm still hadn't moved I thought about asking, but I couldn't deny I was toastier. He'd pulled me in close and his body was like a radiator. Even if I did ask though there wasn't much space, but I also couldn't leave since his colossal legs were blocking the exit. Stuck, I wilted deeper into his half-hug and let the warmth overtake me.
Joost and I talked for a long time and he had tons of stories. The man had traveled damn near everywhere and I was utterly engrossed. At one point he guessed I was only 18, but I assured him I was about to graduate college.
"Really? There's barely a hair on that face. And your hands are so petite!"
He put his left hand in the air so I could place mine against it to compare. My fingertips barely even passed his sprawling palm and I felt so inadequate.
"Just a little boy, eh? Surely not a man!"
I cringed at his remarks but couldn't refute them. I did feel immature compared to my peers and hated how small and boyish I was. My frame never grew past 5'7" and I was 135 lbs soaking wet. At UCLA I looked like an absolute pipsqueak next to the manly athletes and scholars and still hadn't shed that complex.
"Don't worry about it," Joost consoled, clasping our hands together. "Not all boys are made to be men."
He refilled my cup as I pondered his statement then replaced his right arm around my shoulder. About 15 minutes later, when my hot mug was empty, Joost noticed I was shivering again.
"Put your hands here, boy, I'll keep you warm."
