Date: Tue, 1 Nov 2011 13:52:38 -0400
From: chester <chester4skin@gmail.com>
Subject: Robbert: My First Older Lover (Adult Friends)

A true account.

I matured sexually at a very young age and knew not only that I was
attracted to men, but that I was drawn sexually to older men. This
attraction began with our hairy and bearded scout troop leaders whom I saw
naked many times on camping trips and on our visits to the swimming baths.
I lingered beside them in the showers fascinated by their bodies and their
cocks which ranged in size and shape from one man to the next. I hoped that
one day in the future I would look as manly and sexy as they did.

By the time I was sixteen I looked slightly older for my age. Old enough
looking, that is, to buy my first porn magazines without questions from the
shopkeepers. I instantly gravitated to titles such as `Inches' and `Honcho'
which featured rugged looking men who appeared well over 30, sometimes much
older. I was fascinated by older men exhibiting themselves as sexual
objects. I especially liked seeing such men expose their assholes while
they looked to the camera, hungry for cock. At this age, my ideal man
looked like Chad Douglas- a well hung, dark haired, handsome and moustached
American porn star. But Chad was missing one thing: he was circumcised. I
had grown to favour a foreskinned cock similar to my own.

As I entered my last year of high school, I was horny beyond belief and was
on a mission to have sex for the first time with an older man. I threw
caution to the wind and responded to an ad in our local newspaper. I can't
remember the ad now, but it was a generic and simple ad, not as crude as
the ads we are used to now. As I lived at home, I couldn't have strange men
calling the house without questions from my parents. So when I responded to
the ad, I gave the number of the shop I worked at on a Sunday. I posted my
letter on a Wednesday, and received the call on a Sunday.

The voice I heard on the phone was masculine and sensual with a slight
French Canadian accent. His name was Robbert, he said. (Yes, spelled with
two Bs). He then asked me a few questions and seemed happy enough with the
answers. We made a date for the following Saturday. That night I went home
and jacked off several times as I replayed the conversation in my head. I
was turned on by my own audacity and by the fact that it was going to pay
off.

When Saturday night came, I borrowed the family car, lied about where I was
going, and drove 20 miles to meet my date. I was nervous and breathless
when I arrived at his doorstep.

A man not much taller than me but with dark hair, thick lips, and a
moustache opened the door. I was immediately attracted to him.
He had me sit down in a chair across from him on the couch. He was an
artist, he said and I could see this confirmed by the mounds of books, the
posters of foreign exhibitions, and the chrming disarray in the place.
Still, I liked it. It was sparse and masculine. It also smelled differently
than my home. I would soon learn that smell was Robbert's scent and the
scent of his sex.

When the chit chat was over and I had become more comfortable he asked,
"So, do you find me attractive?"
"I do," I gasped. "And do you find me attractive?" I asked with some
hesitation.
He rolled his eyes and bit his bottom lip then said, "Fuck, yes. But I'm a
lot older than you."
"That's not a problem for me," I said, "if it's not for you." Indeed, I had
no idea at the time, but I have since calculated that he was 25 years older
than me.
"No. It doesn't matter to me," Robbert said. "Come over here and sit beside
me."

I went to the couch where he was and sat next to him. He put his hand on my
leg. Following his lead, I put my hand on his corduroy trousers and then we
kissed. With the brush of his moustache against my face and the taste of
his tongue in my mouth, I let out a long soulful moan.
I was so hungry for these kisses that I must have been moving too fast. He
pulled off gently and said, "Take your time, not so hard."

I decided to stop trying and just let him take over. I did right: now I
could feel Robbert's stache pressing harder against my mouth and his tongue
probed and danced about mine. I had never been French kissed before and I
almost ejaculated from the electric sensation it delivered to my entire
body.

At his bidding, we next laid down, with me on top of him. Although we were
still dressed, I melted into him. His arms wrapped around me and our
kissing became even more passionate. Still, I was careful to let his mouth
take the lead for my tongue to follow. I was truly like mush in Robbert's
hands: I was moaning from deep within, from a place of pure joy and
satisfaction.

He asked me to raise myself up a little so that he could undo his belt. I
did the same and he put his hand inside my jeans. Following his cue once
again, I put my hand inside his trousers and with great awe and wonder felt
his stiff fleshy cock. His thumb immediately went to the tip of my cock. We
looked each other in the eyes, I squeezing his moist fat cock, he with his
hand gripped around my hardon with his thumb slowly massaging the tip of my
leaking foreskin. My precum coated Robbert's thumb in a slow but constant
stream.

"Fuck," Robbert whispered smiling.
"Sorry," I said thinking he didn't like the mess my cock was making of his
hand.
"Don't apologize. I love it. Do you want to go to bed?" he asked. He was
being so polite, but yes, I said, I want to go to bed.
I stood up, my head spinning with joy and my body alive with intense sexual
stimulation. My jeans fell down at my feet. I took them off then and there.
Robbert asked me to fully undress so I removed my
shirt and boxer shorts. Robbert led me by hand to the bedroom.
He told me to get into bed. I did. He stood beside me and smiled as he took
off his clothes slowly.  We were both admiring each other's flesh: he the
body of 17 year old high school student, me the body of a 42 year old
artist from Quebec.

I played American football in high school. I played it for three years and
hated every second of it. I did it for my father, to show him that I could
do it, although I was not a fan of the sport. But now, totally naked in
front of Robbert, now I was happy for all the anguish I'd suffered on the
football team.
"Fuck, you have a great body," he said.
"I like yours better," I said. I was pleased that he found me sexually
attractive as I never saw myself that way. Robbert was slim, but not
skinny. He had very little hair on his chest in contrast to the profound
jungle of pubic hair that crowned his prominent genitals. His cock seemed
to be twice as thick and long as mine. His foreskin was not tapered but
wide and loose. His bulbous balls dangled long as well, as though he bore a
sack of two large ping pong balls.

Once he was naked, he climbed on top of me. It was late autumn and cool
inside, but we needed no more heat than what our naked bodies emitte. If I
thought I had melted before when we embraced fully clothed, now I felt
joined to him as though he were a part of me. The feeling was exquisite.
His body heat, his scent (like warm bread, I thought), his genitals
pressing almost crushing mine, the feel of his hairy ass in my hands, the
heat of his asscrack under my fingers, his tongue in my mouth,  his
moustache grinding into my lips, all this undid me and I shot my thick
creamy cockjuices between us within in a minute. I was deathly embarrassed.
"Fuck, I'm sorry." I said.

Robbert's response was to kiss me deeper and harder and to grind his pubes
into the cum I had shot between us. To my surprise, I stayed hard as he
ground his wet belly into me and was eager to continue our lovemaking.

We stayed in that position for a long time, our two warm bodies glued
together by the secretions of our cocks, our mouths joined with tongue
massaging tongue. Eventually Robbert's cock slipped under my balls between
my legs. He pumped his cock gently at first and its thickness massaged the
moist sweaty region between my balls and my asshole. But soon he thrust his
dick more powerfully and he almost bit my lip off as he groaned and grunted
his way to shooting his load.

 I squeezed his cock with my legs- thankful again that my football training
had come in handy and had given me powerful thighs. After a few minutes of
violent thrusting and pumping and hoarse throated groaning, I felt his
watery cockjuice splattered all over my ass while its warm stickiness felt
divine as it dripped near my asshole. I held onto his ass tightly as he
panted from pleasure I had given him.
Robbert kissed my shoulders and face, then he withdrew from me a minute or
two later and went to fetch a towel. I reached down and gathered as much of
his cum from between my legs as I could and fed it to myself quickly. I was
too embarrassed to do this in front of him, but I had longed to swallow the
sperm of an older man. It was slightly bitter and very runny, but I didn't
care. I loved the scent of it most. It was that warm bread scent again,
except more pronounced and musky like the smell of hops. He came back in
the room with a towel. I didn't towel myself too much. I wanted this older
man's sperm and  his scent all over me.

Robbert sat upright in bed and lit a cigarette. With his free hand he
caressed me and we talked about our lives for a while. As I listened to him
speak and watched his body in the half light, my cock became as hard as
before. This delighted him. He doused his sweet smelling cigarette then
slipped alongside me and crawled between my legs.
"Chester, have you had sex with men before?" he asked.
"Not men, no. Only a little jerking with guys my age," I said. It was the
truth.

He told me to lie back. I did and I let him suck my cock. No, it wasn't
sucking, it wasn't a simple `blow job', it was his mouth making love to my
cock. My cock head and foreskin had never been worked before the way
Robbert used his mouth. He flicked his tongue behind my glans, nibbled on
my foreskin, and created a buzzing feeling in my ass (which I later learned
was my prostate). His moans and passion told me he loved what he was doing.
Unfamiliar with such exquisite sensations and `holding back', I told him I
was going to cum and I did: I shot my load down his throat.

A few minutes later when he was lying beside me once again, I asked him if
I could do the same to him. He said no. I was disappointed. Now, however, I
know he wanted to protect me: Whereas, with me a relative virgin who had
never swallowed another man's cockjuices nor taken them in the ass, he had
no risk of anything. Still he let me suck him and I coaxed much precum out
of his thick cockhead and wide pisshole. When he was ready to cum again, he
shot his load on his belly and rubbed it into his pubic hair. How I wanted
lick it from every strand of his pubes.
His bedside alarm clock told me that, incredibly, almost three hours had
passed and I had to get home before midnight. He kissed me at the front
door and we made plans to meet the next week.

As I drove home, I was in a haze of infatuation. My image of an ideal older
lover was no longer Chad Douglas, but Robbert. My introduction to older men
was mind blowing, the stuff of dreams. Although our affair lasted only six
months, I left our relationship having had sexual experiences few high
school graduates would ever have.