He Was the First

He never knew this, but he was my first. I didn't tell him because I thought he might freak out and not want to fuck me.

Oh, I'd been with men before. I'd sucked plenty of dicks. But at thirty years old, I'd never been fucked before, and I really wanted to be. I wanted to feel a hard cock slide inside me and press the button I knew full well was there. I'd found it so many times with toys, but now I wanted the real thing. It had become an aching need.

His name was Mike. I found him on a gay dating website, but we didn't even pretend to want a relationship. I claimed I was versatile; it was a total lie - I was desperate for him to top me. I don't know why I was so coy. Perhaps I was self conscious about my bearcub hairiness.

He was older than me, beginning to grey. Sexy, skinny, and bald, he looked like a football hooligan, but brushed up. His mouth had a kissable smirk to it.

But the pictures of his cock. Dear lord, his cock.

It wasn't pornstar big, but it was long, and straight, and cut. I could imagine how it would taste, sliding over my lips, leaving a trail of precum, how it would feel on my tongue, the smell of it. I thought about it sliding into me.

I really needed to get fucked.

We arranged to meet. I spent about an hour prepping. I was so anxious about being clean for him, in case he wanted my ass. It seems silly in retrospect. Of course he did.

I stepped off the train, and there he was. Shorter than his photos made him seem, but also more muscular. We drove to his house making small talk, and as soon as we walked inside he said, "Shall we go upstairs?"

Straight to business, then. I was glad.

In his bedroom, we got undressed, and started kissing. Holy shit he could kiss. It was raw, but not brutal. Our mouths were open, tongues sliding against each other, his stubble rubbing my face.

His cock was so hard against me, and I stroked it while we kissed, feeling the warmth and the weight of it. I wanted it so badly.

But I had to play it cool. I'm allegedly versatile, remember? So I pushed him backwards onto the bed, climbed on top of him, and slid my cock into his mouth.

He was into it. His mouth was so warm. That tongue which had delighted my mine now laved against the delicious spot below my cockhead, making me crazy. It was too good. I had to pull away or I might have come.

I lay down beside him and we kissed some more, our hands roaming, pulling each other closer, our cocks grinding against each other. There was something in how he embraced me that was not gentle, but also made me feel safe, and protected, and desired. He was so fucking hot.

And then I felt his finger at my ass.

I was elated. He gently stroked the outside of my hole, before pressing softly in the middle, and then starting to make small, slow, ever firmer circles. Any pretense of versatility melted as I moaned into his mouth. It was on. This man was going to fuck me.

Round and round that finger went. He wet it with spit, and resumed circling, pressing. I groaned my consent, and he slipped it into me. It stung. But it also woke something in me, making me move my hips to get more of him.

My whimpering became guttural.

He pulled a tube of KY from the bedside table, squeezed some onto his fingers, and slid back in, this time with two. I was so fucking tight, I began to wonder if he would fit, but there was no backing out now.

He worked more lube into me. It was businesslike: I was getting fucked, he had decided this. It's difficult to articulate how sexy that felt, knowing he had chosen to put his dick in me.

He rolled a condom down his smooth, veined cock, and said, "Hands and knees." I hadn't even got to suck on it yet.

But I got on all fours. I was shaking slightly. This was a huge deal for me, I'd been imagining this for so long.

I felt a hand on my hip, and the head of his cock pressing against me. There was a moment of panic, as though I was crossing some line I wasn't supposed to, but it was tempered with the sheer utter horniness of the situation. I tried my hardest to make myself relax, as he pushed slowly yet unrelentingly inside me.

There was a moment when he passed through my outer ring, of sudden relief, and immense satisfaction. He held there a moment, withdrew slightly, and pressed again. My breathing was deep and intense, the sounds I made were incoherent.

He pulled back, and pressed further. He didn't stop to check if I was ok, but he didn't have to. I was totally fine. I was better than I ever had been. Having his dick inside me felt so right, it was indescribable.

There was deep pressure, and tingling, and throbbing, and a little burn, but over all of that, waves of pleasure.

When he was finally balls deep, he began fucking me.

It wasn't like I'd imagined. There was no long, languid buildup. With his dick all the way in me, he pulled slightly back, then rammed it home again, and again, slamming me with fast, short strokes. This was about how he liked to fuck. He liked to stay deep, and push hard.

"Oh," I said. "Oh, oh, oh."

But the angle wasn't working for him, and soon he changed his mind. He pulled out and said, "on your back. Lift your knees."

I rolled over, shaking, and pulled my knees to my chest. My hole was completely open to him. It was a very vulnerable sensation; I was self conscious about the little belly roll that forms in this position. But he didn't seem to care. We made eye contact and I suddenly understood that he really, really wanted to fuck me. This wasn't some charity fuck, I was making him crazy. I can only imagine how tight my hole must have felt to him.

He pulled me to the edge of the bed, where the height was just right for him to stand as he fucked me.

He re-lubed, and pushed back into me, resuming the short jackhammer strokes. On my back with my knees up, his beautiful cock was rubbing directly on my prostate. Perhaps he knew. He must have.

I had never felt anything like it. It was different than any toy I'd played with. It wasn't just the feel of a real, warm cock working my hole, or the way he was biting his lip. It was the relentless pace, the hectic pounding, something I'd never even considered might feel good.

But god it felt good.

"Fuck me. Oh, fuck me. Oh, fuck my ass. Oh, please, God, yes."

I was nearly crying. I grabbed my cock and held onto it tightly. It was impossibly hard, and I could feel the impact of his strokes translate into ripples of pleasure all along my length. I didn't jerk off; I didn't need to. The feeling was so huge, so intense, so deep inside me.

My orgasm came out of nowhere. There was suddenly an explosion, and cum poured out of my pulsing cock and onto my belly. I was basically screaming. In retrospect, I feel for his neighbours.

He felt me come, and either that tipped him over, or he was decent enough to know how sensitive an ass is after an orgasm like that, but he pulled out, rolled the condom off, and began wanking over me. Moments later, his load sprayed out, laying ropes across my torso.

I scooped up some of his semen, and licked it. I wish now that he had come in my mouth, but I was too shattered to have thought of it. He collapsed onto me, running with sweat, and kissed me deeply. I am certain he could taste his cum. The sexy bastard.

After a while he got up and opened the taps in the ensuite bath. We lay on the bed, listening to it run in, not saying much, but he held me close and stroked my back.

I don't know why I never told him I'd given him my anal virginity. The experience had been hot, and dirty, and surprisingly intimate, despite its virtually anonymous circumstances. Maybe I wanted him to see me as rough and sexy, not timid and nervous. And thanks to the way he fucked me, I was.