.

So many of them hadn't. Also, he wasn't heading for the showers. Did he dare trying to push two fingers in?... We would secretly meet in the woods, hug each other and cry. Until I ran away, I thought everyone in the world was either Jewish or Italian. With the other eye, he watched the doors leading away from pulsating music and bright lights to quieter, darker places.

I descended a steep staircase, leading into a cellar, and entered a strange world.

A man in a beret with a Van Dyke beard was sitting on a small stage pounding bongo drums, reciting poetry. My cock was now dripping precum. Behind those doors were corridors lined with lockers (charmingly old-fashioned wooden lockers; no metallic clanging and banging!) where one could store one's phone, wallet, keys and jacket (and any other clothes that one might feel getting in the way).

Aside from his lips and tongue, he didn't touch the boy, didn't even push up that white T-shirt to stroke his stiffening nipples, or pull the boy's trousers down around his ankles, however much he wanted to.

Gohrvi had learned from experience that it was best to take it slow, not wanting the boy to think getting naked was a prelude to the older man wanting access to his tight, inexperienced backdoor.

later.

Running his tongue up the hairless ridge to the almost hairless scrotum, he took each of the boy's balls in his mouth in turn (the boy's mouth opened wider, gasping deeper), sucking on them gently, watching the response of his cock. He was kind of sweet and wasn’t aggressive. The feeling was electrifying. Saliva dripped from my chin.

"Will you fuck me?" I asked.

He just smiled and rose to his feet. I didn't ask for permission. He came over, and sat down. He was my first lover. Yes, he discovered, as he began to probe the muscle ring of the boy's tight sphincter, this boy was indeed still a virgin.

Of course! Gohrvi worked so very hard at his physique.