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My first time with a man_(2)

Introduction:

My first time in bed with a man

My first gay experience

True story,

We were at Sog and the Duck, Big Norman, Harley Charlie, this guy with a 50cc Honda moped, me and a few others drinking Stella and Strongbow while we waited in the back room for the Liberal Democrats' final meeting, with that we were able to meet Al and play pool.

Their meeting dragged on, as LibDem meetings always do. If we don't agree, we do an arm wrestle or a double top first or a coin toss, but they just say, "Seek consensus," which is a big waste of alcohol. Anyway, when Al showed up we could barely stand up, let alone see clearly, so he had half a bottle of cheap vodka to compensate, and we mixed the rest of the bottle with ginger ale and British orange. Wow, after about twelve pints the taste was so delicate that we were soon floating about a foot off the ground.

I remember Ifor Jones and Gary Segwin coming to us and then Desmond Plannett and Lionel Platt asking Al about affordable housing as he was the only Liberal Democrat councilor who actually knew anyone who lived in a council house.

There must be something wrong with the van because Desmond and I drove home in his BMW and stopped at his place to drink black coffee to sober up.

Then things started to go wrong. I remember saying, “God, I need a kip,” and Desmond saying something about a guest room.

I don't remember going upstairs or taking off my clothes, but I had to and there were nice clean sheets and I fell asleep and dreamed of Pippa Middleton and Lindsay Lohan.

A big fluffy cloud floated past, with Anne Widdick's head at one end and John Sergeant's head at the other, which should have set alarm bells ringing, but it went unnoticed and I was as warm and safe as you after twelve pints of Strongbow , let's be honest In your eyes you may be lying warm and safe in the gutter, soaking wet from what we drank, but you know everything was fine, but that's not it.

Something was wrong, my brain started working but the clutch wasn't working and I couldn't get into gear, Grrrr, it went as the gears of my brain creaked, or it was the warning buzzer buzzing deep in my brain.

I gradually woke up, everything was gray, my head was shaking and everything, I didn't know exactly where I was, and then there was someone else, and I was lying in bed and realized that I had run off, my equipment, and I was completely naked nonsense, and one hand was gently stroking my cock. Of course my cock began to move and stiffen as a tickling finger slid under my balls and the hairy finger headed for my ass, my ass! I woke up very quickly as the ice staff seemed to hit me in the back and a wall of fear hit me in the face. like a bucket of ice water.

Clap! My hand twitched automatically and my fist hit something hard with a pleasant crack.

“Bloody hell!” It was the voice of a man, an old man: “Why is that?”

"For that!" I screamed, “What the hell are you doing?”

"You beat me!" - he cried.

"You fucking groped me!" I remarked, "What the fuck do you think I am?" Fucking weird or something?"

“Well, you’re a Liberal Democrat, aren’t you?” he asked.

“No, I’m the bloody BNP,” I insisted, “Al is the Liberal Democrats, not me.”

"Crap!" He said, “Sorry,” he said awkwardly, “good thing you didn’t hit me in the nose!”

“There’s still a hell of a lot of time,” I said, “You’d better get out while you can still walk.”

"This is my bed!" he protested.

“Well,” I say, “you can still go to hell, you can sleep in the garden, I don’t care!”

To be fair, he got away from me, leaving me to stroke my injured fist and hard-on. I thought about Pippa Middleton's ass and then I didn't have a hard on but there was a big sticky spot on Desmond's bed and I fell asleep again.

"Wake up!" The alarm bell rang again, the room was lit up in bright lights as someone hit the switch, I clenched my butt cheeks together but it was Al: "That cunt tried to set me on fire!" He said: "We have to go !”

“Join the damn club,” I said, “I pissed him off.”

“Me too,” Al agreed, “We better get fucked.”

“Okay,” I agreed, seeing Al in a silk robe. “Where is your set?”

"Where is your?" he asked.

I looked around. “Who the fuck knows?” I said, “Shit!”

Al opens the closet, it must have been her closet, there are damn women's clothes in men's sizes.

“It’s time for us to go fuck ourselves,” Al says again.

“Yes,” I agree, “do you think about the same thing as me?”

"No way!" Al answered, but Lionel was downstairs.

“Police please, I would like to report an attack.”

There was a beautiful knee-length blue dress, the shoes were too tight, the two-inch heels were damn uncomfortable, and the woman's coat smelled of urine and had a three-pound Oxfam tag on it.

“You know,” says Al, “you could pass as me, grandma, dressed like that, she died two years ago!”

He found something. I'm not sure if the mini skirt and tight top was the idea, but the red wellies wereBetter than the two inch heels I was awkward in and then he put on a white doctor's coat and we were on our way.

"Where do you think you are," Lionel said before Al hit him again and he collapsed like a sack of King Edwards.

“Where the hell is the van?” - I asked as we walked outside.

The world was gray in the early morning light, a gentle rain hung in the morning mist, mixed with the dirt of the iron foundry. “Down to the pub!” - says Al.

“Where the hell are we?” - I ask.

“Well, the sun rises in the west,” Al says, sounding like an idiot.

“East,” I say, “where’s the damn railroad?”

“Here,” says Al, pointing, “damn, we’re miles from our house!”

"Can you walk in these rubber boots?" I asked, "Because it's going to be damn light soon and I definitely don't want some bastard to see me dressed like that!"

“That’s right,” says Al, “come on!” and we did it.

We managed to cover about a hundred meters. “My ankles!” I complained.

“My nuts are freezing!” Al complained, “How the hell are the birds getting along?”

— Don’t have any nuts? I offered.

“Damn smart dick,” Al snorted. “Do you want to turn the elevator?”

“Dressed like that?” I asked, “Be realistic!”

I threw my shoes in the trash and walked barefoot for about twenty meters. It was torture to walk barefoot, so I got my shoes again.

“We just have to do it, Jonno,” Al insisted, and off they went, limping like those Olympic walkers.

As time went on it got worse and worse, more and more freaks got to work and laughed at us, but the more they laughed, the less my ankles hurt and the quicker I sobered up.

When I got home it was pretty light, thank God Mum and Dad were friends, so I snuck out of the shed with a spare key and gave up.

Poor Al wasn't so lucky, he was supposed to meet Sandra when she finished work, she worked on Arkwright Street between Timothy Whites and Woolies, she was back in the game as you can see since she started dating Al : "I need money," She said he wanted real sex, like: Al is a good friend, but he's not in the big league when it comes to giving the ladies loads."

Anyway, Sandra actually lays on top of the poor guy and his mom gets up to see what's going on and almost has a heart attack when she sees Al in a tight red miniskirt with his cock sticking out of it.

I went to Al when my head stopped shaking at 2:30 and we went looking for the boys. Big Norman thought it was a hell of a lot of fun, but he agreed to go to Desmond's to take care of Ponce, so we piled into the van and drove there. .

I knocked on the door and Desmond appeared. “It was quick,” he said, waiting for someone else,

“Oh, I thought!” he said.

“I thought wrong about where our equipment was!” - I demanded.

“It’s the police!” – Lionel demanded.

“Hell no, Angel of Death, if I don’t get my gear back,” I say.

"You and which army?" Lionel says it's like we're kids again or something.

"My!" Big Norman announces: “Any arguments?”

"In the living room," Desmond says, "in a Harrods bag," so I push past and see my jacket and everything mixed in with Al's crap and his shitty, slippery pants and my shirt.

I checked my wallet, it was fine, and handed Al his jacket to check: "Would you like to teach them a lesson, Jonno?" Big Norman asks.

“No, he’s already on his way,” I said, “it’s better to go to hell.”

Al started the engine and we passed Desmond's BMW, missing him by just a few inches. “Damn, that was close,” I said.

"Yes!" Al agreed and slammed on the brakes, backed up and tried again, boom! He wiped the side of the BMW with the front of the van. “Better?” He grinned.

“You dented that damn van!” - I exclaimed.

“I’ll buy another one,” he said. “Failed MOT,” he said, “rust and unreliable brakes a few months ago.”

"Crap!" I said I regretted not going.

“And yet she was a good old girl,” he said, “reliable.”

“Damn, expect it to break,” I said.

-What are you getting, Al? - asked Norman.

“Another tranny,” Al said. - “Long wheelbase so I can fit a decent mattress,” he added.

“Dammit, Al,” I said, “don’t mention shemales after this morning!”

We laughed maniacally about it and went to the Flying Horse to hang out for a bit.

The rumor was: “What’s wrong with the new tranny Al?” - asked the bartender Tasha.

“I’m going to buy a new van,” he said.

"Really?" Tasha said as she brought our drinks and leaned over to show off her 38DD cleavage, "Sandra said she wanted you to give her one in that red miniskirt, but you didn't!"

"Behave!" Al insisted.

"I would," I say, "Tasha was a real badass, not a movie star, but Pippa Middleton's ass, Katie Price's tits and Ann Widdicombe's face, and you don't look in the face, do you?"

“And you, Johnno,” she says, “well, you come here in a red miniskirt and nothing else, and you can fuck me on the pool table.”

“No,” I said, “it’s pretty uneven here and the gradient goes in one direction.”

“He got weird,” she admitted, walking away, which upset me because I hated kids playing in isolated places.

We were kind of like, “Damn.“The faggots need to be corrected,” “Chalky” Blackburn suddenly announced.

“What kind of crayons are these?” - I asked. "What?" - I asked.

"Let them fuck whores until they're healed," Al translated from complete nonsense to Al's speech, "Sounds like a plan."

“To the National Health Service?” - I asked.

"No, that won't work." "Sandra," Al explained, "She's complaining that she's cold, she's waiting for the players outside Timothy White's and stuff."

Old Sinbad comes along, I never knew his real name, there was a corner shop in his house on Hebden Road, "How are you going to do that?" he asks. “There won’t be enough prostitutes for everyone anyway.”

"Okay, behave," I said before Sinbad could hit him, "How about Al, how about some forced fucking?"

"You can't make them fuck women?" Al said, "Can you?"

“Go in the ass first with the belt on,” I suggested.

"Damn," Al said, "So Sandra ordered this huge fucking strap from Amsterdam, she ruined her inches and meters, it's fucking huge!"

"Tonight?" I asked.

“The fucking band is playing in St. Giles,” Al apologized. - "Excuse me."

- Tomorrow then? I asked.

“Football is on the cards,” we agreed on Thursday.

Thursday came and we met around ten after band practice. Me, Al, Sandra, Harley Charlie and Big Norman, Chalky and Sinbad bottled it up but we had enough.

Al turned the van around, God, would you see that, like something from the eighties, the wide arches on the van? Ford Transit, V6 engine, gasoline, two gallons per mile and four per pint of oil.

-Where did you get this pile of crap? I asked.

“Ebay,” he said, “This is a classic, look, I have a big mattress in it.”

He had one, but it was bent on the sides and there was a seat in the back, a wooden seat from a garden center secured with screws.

We sat down, Norman in the front because of his size, the others in the back, but at least the seat was facing backwards so we couldn't fly away in an accident.

- Do you have tools? I asked.

“Sledgehammer, do you have a drill?” - Al replied.

“Should I buckle up?” I asked and Sandra pointed to the large bag she was carrying and giggled.

“The wagons are really rolling!” I screamed and they looked at me like I was an idiot.

Al moved forward carefully until we cleared the speed bumps, and then we were there: We must have been doing 29 miles an hour at one point, and that stupid V6 engine was roaring like a boiled Chihuahua, and we were just off fifty Meters earlier, the boatswain pulled us by the tow.

“Oh,” said Constable Tony Mulholland, “it’s you.”

“Yeah, I got a new one,” Al said. “The classic petrol V6 works like a bomb!”

“Boom,” we all said at the same time.

“Taxes,” he asked, “insurance.”

“At the post office, and I can’t afford it,” Al admits.

“License,” Tony asks.

“He doesn’t have a dog!” I added.

“Rumor has it you’re reforming homosexuals now,” Tony says.

“Yes, that’s where we’re going now,” I say.

“Go and compare,” says Tony, “they have good deals on classic insurance or Lancaster insurance,” he says. “Anyway, we’ll keep an eye on you, okay?”

“Right,” we agree, and Al starts the race like Lewis Hamilton, only we have four wheels instead of three, and he just stops the car: “Yee-ha!” Al laughs, puts the pedal to the metal and accelerates old crap, to be honest it didn't turn out that bad, but maybe driving seventy minutes in the 30 minute limit with a police car following behind wasn't so bad. This is the best way to look for a house in the dark but after a few false starts we finally found Desmond's house, the broken down BMW seemed to give him away so we parked and I knocked on the door.

“Hey, Desmond,” I shouted, “get your crooked ass over here!”

The window above the door opened: “Go away!” - he hissed. - I have company.

- Do you have a friend there? I asked.

“Yeah, go away,” he whispered in a stage whisper.

“Well, damn bad!” I replied, “Are you opening the door or are we kicking it in?”

"No, go away!" - he hissed. - You'll wake up the neighbors.

Some hoped that most were already looking out windows and doors to see what was going on.

“Ugh, what is that,” groaned a sleepy male voice, “Desmond?”

“BNP anti-gay squad, Lionel,” chuckled Desmond, “no need to worry.”

I cranked up the cordless drill a little: “Are you going downstairs or are we going up?” I asked.

"Do not make me laugh!" he chuckled.

"You're so damn funny!" I said to him, "Knock on the door, Al!"

“Johnno, I’m getting cold,” Sandra whines.

“Oh, take a break,” I said, “I told you to wear something under that miniskirt!”

“Are you going to drill the lock, Johnno, or am I going to break the bastard open?” - says Al.

-What do you think, Dessie? I ask: “Is the lock drilled or with a sledgehammer?”

"I'll call the police!" Desmond threatened.

“Just this evening,” Constable Tony Mulholland greeted him from the shadows, “you better hurry, we’re on break.”

"We have“Take a half hour break, health and safety,” agreed Sergeant Fforbes. “So come on, Althwaite, get your finger out, boy.”

“Black and Decker,” I say to Al, but damn Desmond is howling at us. “Okay,” agrees Desmond, “I’ll let you in for a moment, don’t do anything stupid!”

He walked away from the window and soon the light downstairs came on and he unlocked the door.

“What are you talking about, ugh!” he said as I passed.

“Show him Sandra,” I said.

"What?" She asked.

“You asshole, stupid cow,” says Al, “put your belt on.”

"What!" Desmond gasped, eyes wide, as Sandra pulled up her skirt, exposing her rather unshaven and well-fucked pubic area.

"That's what they call a woman, and she's made to be fucked by a man," I said pointedly, "not like a man who's made to fuck women and stuff, he's got a cock and stuff."

“God protect you Philistines!” Desmond begged.

"Zip it up!" I said, speeding up the exercise again, "Now Sandra said she's going to give you a lot of lessons per throw." I said, "Every single one."

"Now wait!" Desmond begged.

“Fuck you,” I said. “You tried to rape me,” I added, “You’re fucking dangerous, you asshole, you need to be treated.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” said Desmond, “I thought you were a Liberal Democrat!”

“We’re not all fucking twisted!” - said Al.

"Well, you're the only one because I know what's wrong!" I reminded him.

“What about Prescott?” - Al objected.

“He’s from the Labor Party,” I replied. “Let’s fix this cunt and worry about who the hell is attacking him another time.”

- Do you want to fuck or not? Sandra asked, slightly drunk, even though she had only drunk four two-liter bottles of cheap Tesco cider all evening. Al and I stuck with the Stella version called “Cider.” The French have never been good at spelling.

“No,” Al said.

“Not you, that cunt,” I said, pointing at Desmond.

"What's up!" Lionel asks as he walks down the stairs, perhaps the corset and black stockings weren't a particularly good wardrobe choice as his cock formed a tentpole for his tiny white panties.

“Damn, Johnno, he’s a fucking TV,” Al shouted.

“We knew,” I reminded him. “Look who’s wearing the pants,” I said, pointing at Desmond, who was wearing striped pajamas and whose penis was just visible through his lowered fly when Lionel appeared.

"There's no way I'm sucking that!" Sandra said as she looked at Desmond's cock, still brown at the base from their last session.

"Go home!" - Lionel demanded, coming towards me: “Go home, Neanderthal!” - he said to me in the face, and I hit him with a punch from above the chin downwards.

"Lionel!" Desmond screamed, "He's fine, don't just leave him," he whined.

"No," Al agreed, "it's better to throw it in the trash!"

“Too correct,” I agreed.

“Ung!” Lionel says: “What happened?”

“Up,” I said, “stay down, stay there!”

- Do you want to fuck or not? - says Sandra.

"No!" Desmond says: “I don’t want to!”

“His mouth says no, but his cock says yes,” Sandra said. “Look how fucking hard he takes it.”

“Probably not, if you don’t mind,” I replied “It has a tide mark,” says Sandra. "Scumbag!"

“So, touch him, you stupid cow,” I suggested gently.

“Oh,” she said, “I think.”

“Then go,” I said, “up the wooden stairs to Bedfordshire!”

Desmond looked at me and looked at Al, who was standing there with a sledgehammer. “Look, let’s just talk about it,” he says.

“Listen,” I say, “we’re doing you a big favor, Dessie.”

“He'll fucking pay or I won't do it!” Sandra insisted.

“Of course he’ll pay like hell,” Al insisted.

Desmond goes up the stairs and Sandra follows him. I pointed this out to Al and we went into the kitchen and Al lit a cigarette.

“Johnno,” Sandra calls out after a while, “he says he doesn’t like me and says he’ll pay twenty pounds if we fuck off.”

Al walked out the door and I followed him up the stairs and into Dessie's bedroom. Sandra sat on the bed, skirt pulled down to her waist, slowly masturbating herself with four fingers of her left hand wedged in her unshaven vagina. Desmond stared at her, his cock blocking his pajamas as his resolve weakened and his curiosity took over.

“For God’s sake, calm down and give her one,” I say, “or we’ll stay here all night.”

“Look,” he says, “please!” and Sandra stands up, takes off her top, opens her bra and it falls to the floor.

“Would you like to suck my breasts?” She asks.

"No!" Desmond says, but his cock says yes, and Sandra walks up to him and takes his cock in her hand: "No, please!" he says.

"Let's put a rubber band on and then we can do something really good," says Sandra as she takes the Durex and expertly rolls it over his cock sticking out of his pajamas, then unties the cord and lets the pajama pants fall to the floor. Earth.

“You know you want it,” she gasps, laying down on the bed and pulling Desmond along with her by his cock.

"No!" he says, but Sandra was leadingHis cock was between her pussy lips and in what Desmond later tried to claim was a moment of madness, Desmond pushed his cock deep inside her.

“Oh,” Sandra cooed, “I don’t think you’ve had this forever.”

"I guess it's all slippery," Al said thoughtfully as Desmond began to fuck Sandra vigorously, "It doesn't look like an ass."

Suddenly an almost feminine scream was heard: “Desmond!” Lionel replied: “What are you doing?”

"That's called fucking," I said, "making love, not forcing your cock into a guy's fucking tube."

“You, ugh, did it, ugh, I!” Desmond explained: “Oh my God.”

“For heaven’s sake, he’s coming, Al,” Sandra replied, “You promised me a good fuck!”

“Break,” I said. “His role change ends at halftime,” I explained, adding, “Do you have a belt with Sandra?”

“Bloody hell!” Sandra protested, “Half a dozen thrusts and he’ll fucking cum!”

"So give him a big boy nudge!" - Al suggested, throwing Sandra's bag with the strap onto the bed.

Sandra pulled out the belt and Desmond's eyes widened in fear and excitement. On the belt was a penis about 100 mm in diameter and about a foot long.

"Please listen, I'll pay!" Desmond cried.

"Yes, you definitely will after Sandra fucks your ass," Al reminded him. - “Do you have any lube?”

“Use soap!” I said.

“No, it’s burning!” says Desmond.

“Motor oil, shoe polish, who cares?” I have

added "Idiot!" Desmond screams: “There’s Vaseline in the bathroom!”

"Desmond!" Lionel protests, "How could you!" and he notices the belt and a greedy look appears in his eyes.

“Do you want it in your ass?” Sandra asks: “Yeah, don’t you, naughty boy!”

"No, no, leave me alone, he's too big!" Lionel protested.

“Here it is,” Al says, throwing the jar of Vaseline onto the bed.

“Oh, look,” Sandra says, taking off the top and handing it to Lionel. “Then go ahead,” she says.

"No!" - says Lionel.

“Then dry it,” I say.

“No, no,” he says and starts sticking his fingers in the pan and smearing them around the strap of his cock.

"Ready?" - says Sandra.

"No!" - says Lionel.

"Would you like a beer?" Al says, “I can’t watch.”

“No,” I agreed, “does beer sound good, Flying Horse?”

“No, cooler in the van,” he said.

We went downstairs and saw a few cans of Lidl's own beer that tasted like cat piss. Not that I drink cat pee, but cat pee tasted like you would expect.

“Ahhhhh,” we heard someone scream.

Tony knocks on the window. “You better go in and see what’s going on,” he says.

“That’s right,” I say.

"Uhhh!" he shouts again and we go up the stairs.

"Fucking hell!" I screamed, there was Lionel in stockings and suspenders, on his knees and bent over the edge of the bed with a huge black strap on his cock, shoving his ass up and stretching the ring beyond measure, but that is not the best, after that the strap was attached to Sandra, and behind Sandra was Desmond, it took a while but suddenly I realized that he was not only caressing Sandra's tits, but also had his cock in her ass and both of them a huge one black plastic cock forced up. Lionel's ass.

“Ahhhhhhhh,” Lionel screamed, and as we watched the whole damn monster sink deep into Lionel’s ass, “Ugggghhhhh.”

"Poor bastard!" I commented.

"He just came, idiot, he fucking loves it!" Al said and I looked and there was all this gray cum glistening on the bed.

"Pooh!" I said, wincing, "Are you sure that was a good idea?" I asked.

“I don’t know,” Al replied. “How else could Sandra earn two hundred pounds for an hour’s work?”

I nodded, “Have you seen enough?” I asked.

"Too much!" Al laughed, "When you're ready, Sandra, we'll be in the van."

I'm not saying we cured her, but Sandra booked her regularly for weeks after that, and that was my first gay experience and my last, if I have anything to do with it at all.

An excerpt from my biography The Legend of JonnoAlthwaite.

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