Date: Sun, 06 Nov 2005 22:14:48 +0100
From: A.K. <andrej@andrejkoymasky.com>
Subject: Alain's Diary - 01/14 (t+t+m Relationship)

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ALAIN'S DIARY
by Andrej Koymasky (C) 2005
written on October 8th, 1990
translated by the author
English text kindly revised
by Dave

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USUAL DISCLAIMER

"ALAIN'S DIARY" is a gay story, with some parts
containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land,
religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be
better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU
don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be
my welcomed guest.

-----------------------------

Part 1

THIS IS
ALAIN'S
DIARY


Saturday, 17th of April 1971

My sixteenth birthday. This diary is the present of Babette and Corinne.
They bought it with their savings, and then Babette made the cloth cover
for it. Dad gave me a pocket flashlight, and mum a pair of jeans I
wanted. Didier is too little to give me presents, but ate the cake with
us, happy as can be.

But what is to be written in a diary? Bah!?

Today's my birthday. But I already said this. And in a diary you must
never erase, Babette explained to me, so I must be more careful about
what I write.

It is eleven at night, the children sleep, I can hear mum in the kitchen
still cleaning. Dad is in the mine. But he came home at lunch for my
birthday. He asked to change his shift just for today. I'm using the
flashlight he gave me, to see what I write. It would be easier to turn
on the lamp - more comfortable - but it is more amusing to write this
way, like some kind of a spy. Only, I don't know what more to write.
I'll go to sleep.

Good night.


Tuesday 20 of April, 1971.

Dad has been strange for some days, he is always silent. Everything is
tense. When it is like that, mum shuts up too and almost doesn't talk.
Only Didier seems not to notice anything and makes a big mess as always.
When it happens like that, I just would like being somewhere else, to
breathe easier. Perhaps I am selfish but these situations are really
heavy for me, put me in a state of anguish. If I am cheerful, it seems
to me I bother them, like I didn't give a shit for them. If I am
serious, it seems I worsen the situation, making it even heavier. A
solution is to start to read or to study, so it is almost as if I were
in another place, far away, absent, even if I'm there.

When dad is in good mood, our home seems filled with sun. Everything is
right. But it happens rather seldom.

Tomorrow I will possibly have an oral history test and the day after
tomorrow we will have a written math test. I should study a little more,
but when things are bad at home, I almost can't study. I must be careful
with history, because I'm too close to passing. It is hard to remember
all those dates and names correctly. But the history teacher is so
fussy!

I should ask dad to buy me a new pair of shoes, since the ones I wear
are almost falling apart. But perhaps this is not the right moment, not
only because he is moody, but also because I know we haven't got much
money. That could be why dad is so strange. Maybe I will ask him for the
new shoes when he gets his biweekly pay, it will be simpler. For the
moment I'll try to go on as usual, I just hope they don't come apart
while I am in town, at school. It would be embarrassing.

Solange invited me to study at her home, so I would have to go to St.
Etienne. I have to ask mum if I can. Solange is pretty and likable, and
also elegant. Her father is a pharmacist, and money at their home is not
a problem. Moreover she is also good at school, her grades are all
pretty high. And possibly she likes me, who knows, and I can try to
flirt with her. Maybe after a while we can meet to study.

But now it is better if I start to study by myself.


Tuesday, 27th of April 1971.

This week I didn't write because I had a lot to study. The day before
yesterday I overheard dad and mum talking. As we don't have enough
money, she said that I should start working. Dad doesn't want to hear
about that. He says I have to study at all costs, even if they have to
tighten their belts, because he doesn't want me to end up like him. I
don't dislike studying at all, nor even starting to work. But they
didn't ask me, so... They discussed it at night time in their room;
probably they thought I was asleep and couldn't hear them, I don't know.
My shoes haven't given out yet, so I continue to wear them and I have
not asked for a new pair, at least not for now.

My mother gave me her permission, so I can often stop to study with
Solange and they make me have lunch with them. The food is good and mum
saves the money for a meal. But her mother is a pain in the ass. She
wants us to study in the lounge while she crochets and so she controls
us. Solange says that it is because a boy and a girl alone, at our age
is dangerous. In short, her mother is afraid we will have sex. I didn't
even think about that, but now that Solange pointed it out, I think I
would like having sex with her. The problem is that I haven't yet done
it with any girl, and I'm afraid I would screw up. But I think that
really there is no problem, in fact; anyway Solange didn't ask me to do
it with her.


Friday 30th of April, 1971.

Today, coming back home on the bus, a weird thing happened. As usual it
was crowded and I was standing, packed like sardines. Just in front of
me there was a girl who must have been around nineteen, not pretty not
ugly, in a neat dress. Very showy, anyway. I could see her in profile.
Behind her, little by little, a guy around forty, in a fancy suit,
something like a bank clerk, just to say the type, moved in behind her.
I saw him move as if he had to get out at the next stop, but instead he
went right back to the girl. The guy started brushing his groin against
her little butt. I smiled waiting for her reaction. In fact she turned
back with a killer's glance, looked at him up and down. He pretended not
to notice, and then I thought that she would have moved, or said
something to him. Then, damn, if she didn't turn back again as if
nothing happened and I saw her wiggle her little ass! Evidently she
liked the guy! Or what he was making her feel. They continued in that
way for a while and I was asking myself how they could have the nerve to
do that in front of everybody. If I was aware, other people could notice
what they were doing. Then she started to get off the bus. I would have
bet that he would have followed her and gone out with her, she seemed so
hot to trot. But no, the guy stayed on the bus. I was even somewhat
disappointed, but it's their fucking business after all, I thought.

Then, after a short while, the man changed his position, slipped forward
among the pressed bodies like an eel.

So I thought he had spotted another girl with which to start again his
secret game. Instead, the guy little by little comes up in back of me,
and he starts to push against my ass! First I felt like this warmth, and
then I clearly felt his hard tool pushing against me. I was amazed and
embarrassed and didn't know what to do, but the weird thing is that I
liked feeling that warmth and that hard thing against my butts, and also
my own started to become harder and harder. Then he left the bus. I
would never have thought that just feeling that he was aroused could
arouse me too. That's possibly why the girl didn't move and was game -
possibly it had the same effect on her as on me. Moreover, all the time
the guy brushed and pushed it on my ass, I felt a strong desire to put
my hand there to finger it and feel better its shape and consistency,
but I just didn't dare. But just feeling it as I did, he must have been
hung big.

Evidently for that guy an ass was an ass. He didn't give a shit if it
was male or female.


Saturday 1st of May, 1971.

When I feel like beating off, usually I don't think about anything
special. Just enjoy the pleasure I feel, until I get my rocks off. But
last night in bed, while I was jerking myself, I recalled that guy on
the bus, and imagined he was still brushing against me, and it was more
exciting than ever. Even now, just writing it down, I'm starting to get
a boner. In a while I have to go take the bus to my aunt's house on an
errand for mum. What if something like that would happen to me again? I
really would like it.

The neighbor's cat had kittens - how cute they are! I would like to get
one, but won't even ask mum. She would say (and would be right) that we
barely have enough to feed ourselves, so forget cats!


Sunday, 16th of May 1971.

Mum is pregnant again. I can't guess if they are glad or not. Sure, one
more mouth to feed will not be easy. Dad was saying he wants to ask the
mine's owner to do some more overtime. We already see him so little now,
so we will almost not see him at all any more.

The parish priest gave us some clothing, second hand, but in very good
shape. There is also a nice pair of shoes, just my size, and that seem
almost new, so I solved my shoe problem. They are black moccasins, the
type with small leather tassels, I like them.

Now I have to start studying again. I really don't feel like it, but I
must be careful, the school year is near its end and I've got to pass. I
just worry a little about history and sciences. In all the rest I have
no problems. Babette does very well at school. She is really good. She
has a head worth two! She is really growing up well, my little sister.
Also Corinne is good, but she is still in primary school, and I too was
good back then.

Who knows if it will be another female or a male? I too don't know what
to hope, as now we are two and two. But anyway, it doesn't depend on me.


Monday, 21 June 1971.

I passed! So next year I will be in the first course, then one more year
and I'm done.

Now I found a temporary job in St. Etienne for these summer months, so I
can help at home with some money. I'll be an errand boy and a porter in
a factory. Something like a gofer, if I understood right. Since I don't
start till next Monday, I have a week of vacation and I can use it to
paint the house rooms.

By the way, Babette and Corinne also passed. But there were no problems
for them, we were expecting it.

I read this diary again up to today. About what happened to me on the
bus around two months ago; nothing more happened. But, just before the
end of the school, in our school gym, another thing happened that I
didn't write here on my diary, so I'll write it down now.

We had already changed after our sports class and we were going back to
our classroom, when I realized I left my glasses in the locker room. So
I gave my books to a classmate and went back to look for my glasses. In
the locker room I heard the noise of water running in the shower, and I
thought that somebody forgot and left it on, and I could hear what our
coach would say! But I heard another noise also. So, instead of opening
the door, I climbed on a bench and looked through the small window above
the door. There was our P.E. coach washing himself. First I saw him from
his back, but then he turned around and what I saw hanging between his
legs almost made me fall off the bench - he has a big dong that swung
back and forth every time he moved. Then he soaped it, and I saw it
growing and becoming hard, rising up straight. I was not able to take my
eyes off of it - it really was a show! Then I was afraid someone could
come and see me, so I got out of there silently, but that vision gave me
a hard on too. I found my glasses and went back to my classroom.

It was the first time I have seen a mature man's dick. Mine is just a
toy compared to his. It's true I have still to grow, or rather, I'm
growing. Who knows if my classmates have bigger dicks than mine or not?
I have no way to know that. Three years ago, when the school had common
showers, we saw each other, and sometimes copped a feel. But now that
they built the new individual showers, and we all have grown up, it's
not possible to see them. I have to say that the coach's, besides being
huge, looked great when it got hard. But even when it was dangling down
soft, it was still big. Who knows how dad's is? Perhaps I can peek
through the key hole when he goes in the bathroom... but it is too
dangerous, what would the others say if they caught me peeking? Anyway,
with all the children he gave birth to, it must be not bad at all. Well,
who knows if there is a relation between the size and the number of
children one can make? I don't think so. I would like to have x-ray
vision like Superman to be able to see inside the pants of men and how
they are endowed. It would be great!


Saturday, 3rd of July 1971.

First week of work over. Tiring! Alain here, Alain there. Do this. Do
that. Move, hurry up, run... so I can't stop a single moment all day.
I'm the youngest one there. To tell the truth all are rather young,
except the chief who must be a little more than forty and Roland who is
thirty-four. All the others are around their twenties. Roland is a
fatty, ugly but likable man. The chief is severe, a man of few words.

One thing I like about my new working place - the toilet. Yes, really
so. In this factory there is a long enameled trough along a wall about
twelve feet from end to end - the urinals are not separated and divided
by a slab like at school - and it has a long pipe with several small
holes from which the water sprinkles down. So, when I go to take a leak,
if there is somebody else, I can see it when they pull it out and start
to pee, or when they shake it before putting it back in their trousers.
I pretend to be looking in front of me, at the wall, but I can see
something. Of course, I cannot look at them the way I would like. I
already saw three or four friend's. Roland's is smaller than mine. But
Jean's is almost as big as my coach's.

Some pull it out already hard, others still soft. While I peek at them,
I feel my heart beating because I'm afraid somebody can catch me peeking
- just think how ashamed I would be! But all of them stare straight in
front of them, without turning their head towards the others. Therefore,
I think they cannot be aware of my glances.

But I've noticed that when one is already there and another comes,
almost always he chooses the furthest place, and even if two friends
come together, they usually stay somewhat far from each other. I would
like to be an invisible man to look at them at ease while they unbutton
their trousers, slip their fingers in the open fly, and pull it out. I
would like to see what Thibaud's is like, but I never met him in the
toilets. Thibaud is twenty-four years old and, as far as I can guess, he
must have a nice body. He also has a very likable face. Beautiful hands
that seem to be those of a pianist, even if he is the storeman. Thibaud
is his christian name, and not the family name as I thought. He lives in
St. Etienne, very close to the factory, alone.


Thursday 8 July '71

I ended yesterday telling about Thibaud, and I start again talking about
him. Finally I saw his dick! Just this morning I was in the center,
alone. He went to my right, about one meter from me. He pulled it out. I
was right it is really beautiful, well-shaped, smooth, straight, and
long. After he pulled it out, I saw out of the corner of my eye that he
turned his head to his right that is away from me, so I was sure he
couldn't see me. So I turned a little my head towards him and could look
at it at my ease - he was really well endowed. At a certain point I even
felt like going near him and stretching out my hand and touching it to
feel how hard it was. But I didn't dare. To look at it, it seemed half
way between soft and hard. Then he shook it and so I put mine back so we
went out together chatting. To look at his trousers, anyway, you
wouldn't notice he has such a good thing between his legs! I would like,
even if just once, to see him all naked, but here there are no showers.
He must be really handsomely shaped.


Tuesday 13 Jul. '71.

Today at work Thibaud had his shirt open, and nothing under it. He has a
nice chest, firm and muscled, with a tuft of hairs in its center, not
too thick. And his stomach is flat and smooth. Then, I noticed something
- when I go to the toilet, for two or three days now, after a short
while Thibaud comes in and he always places himself between me and the
wall and looks in the other direction. It is almost as if he was saying
to me "look all you want, I can't see you".

But I really believe that those are just my fantasies.

Sometimes, when I beat off in my bed, or in the toilet at home, I recall
the beautiful tool of Thibaud and try to fancy him all naked, beating
off, there at my side.

Corinne just barged in and asked me what I was writing in my diary. I
wouldn't like, curious as she is, I wouldn't like for her or anybody
else to find this diary and read it. It is true that I lock it with a
small key, but it would not be so difficult to open it if one wanted. I
have to find a safe hiding place for it.

Of course, if someone reads those things, who knows what he or she would
think, as I always write about dicks. It is not that I am only
interested in them. Possibly, reading here, one can get the idea that I
am a faggot, but it is not so. It is true that I don't feel very
attracted to girls, but I wouldn't mind at all trying it with one. About
the males, it is just curiosity, nothing more. Sure, to listen to my
companions, at school or there at work, they always talk about pussies.
It seems that they have nothing else in their heads. Sports and pussy.
Cars and pussy. LPs and pussy...

Even Thibaud often talks about his girl, and what he does with her. His
talk arouses me but, honestly, more because I fancy him than her, also
because I never met her. But I don't think that this means I am
abnormal, queer. But perhaps I have to try to go with a girl to check if
I like it and if my tool works properly. But where can I find one?
Possibly with Solange, if I had tried, I could have got it. She seems
available. I don't mean she isn't serious, but possibly she liked me and
with me she could even have tried it. But now she is at the beach with
her mother. And then, I will be ashamed to do it the first time with a
girl I know. I'm afraid I will not be able to do it properly and then
she can poke fun at me.

Maybe I should look for a prostitute, but I wouldn't know how or where
to go. Some girls seem like whores the way they move and dress, but you
just can't go and ask them, right?


Friday, 23 July 1971.

My fantasies are coming true! Yesterday afternoon Thibaud asked me if I
have a girl. I said no, but that I would like one, so he asked me if I
ever fucked and again I told him no. So he asked me if I wouldn't like
to give it a try, and proposed to take me to a whore house with him. I
said that I have no money, because I have to help out at home. So, he
smiles and says, "I'll offer you your first fuck." So, yesterday
evening, after work we went to his place, then he changed, and with his
bike we went to a place he sometimes goes. We entered and he talked with
the madame and explained  to her that I still was a virgin, therefore
she had to give me the youngest and prettiest of her girls to wean me. I
was ashamed. Thibaud chose a girl he already knew and they went into a
room. Then a buxom girl around nineteen, came, and took me into a room
with her. She undressed me then undressed herself, but I couldn't get a
hard on. I was much too embarrassed. So she started to work it with her
mouth and tongue and, when she succeeded in arousing me, she rode me
taking it all in her pussy. She did everything, until I came.

Well, it certainly is better than beating off alone, I never enjoyed it
so much, before. But it is not all that wonderful thing everybody talks
about. I was expecting something better.

When we went out, Thibaud asked me if I enjoyed it, and I answered yes.
He smiled satisfied and said he was sure I did. I asked him if he went
often in that place and he says, "No, because I have my girlfriend and
normally do it with her". But then adds that his girlfriend doesn't like
to do certain things that he loves, therefore at times he goes to that
house. I then asked him what it was, and he says, "For instance, sucking
it or taking it in her little ass". His girl likes to make love just in
the traditional way, with him on top and her on the bottom and that's
all. She takes it only in her pussy. So he goes there, because those
girls, for money, do everything he likes.


Tuesday 27 July

After he took me for my first fuck, Thibaud has become a lot more open
with me. Now, at times, when we go to take a leak, he shows it to me and
tells me to look how hard it is, because he needs a girl. Or like this
morning, in the store room, we were alone, he took my hand and put it
between his legs and tells me that he again wanted it, because his girl
was on vacation for three days and so it was four days that he couldn't
fuck. He asked me if I wanted to go again with him to that brothel, but
I made up an excuse because I don't want him to pay every time, and I
cannot spend money.

When he made me touch between his legs, even if through his trousers, I
felt blushing with shame, but I also enjoyed it. I wonder what it feels
like to touch it without the clothes on it? But in the toilet, he just
let me look at it. One sure thing is that, when he has a hard on, it
must be long, at least 8 inches and maybe nearly 2 inches in thickness.
When one of the girls of the house takes it in her mouth, she has to
really widen it a lot and she can take just half of it, I guess. Who
knows what it feels like? That girl did lick mine a while, then took it
between her lips on its side and on its head, but she didn't do as
Thibaud told me, let all of it slip in to her throat and then suck.

What would it feel like to take such a thing in your mouth? Is it
likable just for the suckee or also for the sucker? The first time he
brings up the subject again, I have to ask him. Anyway I don't feel so
much ashamed now with Thibaud.


Tues, 3rd of August 1971.

Thibaud went on vacation for fifteen days, so he will not be back until
the 18th of this month. His colleague Marc is filling in for him, but I
don't have so much confidence with him. We are friendly, we exchange
some jokes, but it stops there. They take their vacation in turns. The
factory never closes.

That's why they hired me, I am a kind of stopgap, in short.

I'm starting to get used to this rhythm and it seems strange, but I feel
less tired than in my first days. Of course, there is the all-day
drudgery. Better than gymnastics, here - you put on muscles even if you
don't want to.


Thursday 8-5-'71

Today when I went to the toilet, Jean was already there. I started to
pee and out of the corner of my eye I looked at it. Jean was there,
still, his thing all hard and straight, and he didn't pee. When I left,
he was still there, still without peeing. Who knows what the fuck he was
doing? I didn't understand. Possibly he was just waiting for it to come
out. At times it happens, when you really have a hard on, that you go
intending to piss, but it doesn't come out. Anyway he has a really big
thing, more than Thibaud, but it is less beautiful, full of hairs and a
little twisted. Jean, I noticed other times, when he pulls it out, he
completely opens his fly to the bottom, and pulls out also his balls.
Each man has his own style. And then, he keeps it resting on his hand.
Roland just pulls his out and holds it from above, with two fingers.
Some hide it with their hand, like Lucien; others grip it like a
fireman's hose, like Marc. Others, instead, after pulling it out, take
away their hand, like Thibaud. Now I can describe by heart what each of
my companions has, what size, how he pulls it out, how he holds it and
shakes it. For instance, Thibaud strongly moves it up and down. Roland
gently sways it here and there. Marc squeezes it as if he was milking.
Jean squeezes it between two fingers passing from the root to the tip,
like squeezing a toothpaste tube. Philippe gives it two or three small
taps on the top side. The most beautiful of all is possibly that of
Philippe. Then comes without any doubt that of Thibaud. But that of
Thibaud, I could see better than that of the others. Also mine, anyway,
is not bad at all, it is on the average or bigger, even if I am the
youngest.

I haven't yet seen that of the boss. But I think he uses the employees'
toilets in the office building.


Wednesday 18 August '71

Today Thibaud came back to work. He is tanned, making you envious to
look at him. He went to the Ccte d'Azur. He brought me as a souvenir a
paperweight with Cannes' coat of arms. He says he wanted to send me a
picture postcard, but that he didn't have my home address. I asked him
if he had some hot adventure at the beach, but he says that he was near
to making it with a nice German girl, but then she left him in the
lurch. I like Thibaud, because he is not a boaster. He says that the
German girl had tits like that, spreading his arms wide. To me, I don't
know why, the big tits of women instead of arousing me bother me.
Thibaud on the contrary, seems to like them big and firm.

I asked him if he didn't fuck for two weeks, but he smiled and said that
he did a couple of quickies with the waitress at his boarding house.
Better than nothing, he said.


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CONTINUES IN PART 2

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In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to
read them, the URL is
http://andrejkoymasky.com
If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help revising my English
translations, so that I can put on-line more of my  stories in English
please e-mail at
andrej@andrejkoymasky.com
---------------------------