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It was early October last year when, by chance, I met Mimmo.
But perhaps, first, it is necessary to make a premise.
I had never had, until then, a physical relationship with another man, that is to say, only certain games between teenagers: saws made in company, mostly each on his own, but it seems to me, once or twice, mutual.
Adolescence passes, the first flirts, the first make-outs and you throw everything into oblivion; the past is long gone, but you don't empty the basket.
Then over the years and, perhaps a little out of boredom or habituation to the usual soup, your brain reminds you that, there, in a corner, among the many memories, there are also those experiences as teenagers.
It happened to me too, thanks to the chats or sites that tease you, one day a couple of years ago, I entered one of the few red light cinemas still open in the city.
It was a really sleazy place, where many men exchanged pleasures.
From that day on, almost every Thursday (the day when I had more freedom of movement, as my wife attended a social centre and cooked for the poor), I took my car, which I parked outside a train station and took the train to the city centre.
The cinema I frequented was three hundred meters away on foot, which I walked in a hurry and I would sneak into the cinema careful not to let anyone who knew me see me see me.
I had learnt the techniques of baiting, so whoever was longing for a good cock would sit in the last row and stretch his arm on the back of the armchair beside him, with his hand clearly visible.
If there was someone in the corridor behind him, he would come closer and place his package on that waiting hand.
One glance was enough and the invitation to sit beside him was implied.
At first with the hand and then, perhaps lowering the head, the enjoyment of both began, which usually ended with the spit of the sperm, the noise of which could be heard.
Another technique was to lean on the back of one of the seats, always in the last row, and wait for someone to come closer, first caressing his ass, then, if he received the consent of the other to continue, he would touch the package and, after some rubbing, you would see them heading towards the bathroom, where they would consume.
Sometimes, seeing themselves observed, after a talk between them, they would invite you to follow them to be watched.
However, a little for fear of disease, a little for a strange sense of modesty, I had always reduced myself to just looking.
And so also that Thursday in early October, after lunch, I took the car and went to the nearest train station.
The usual practice, from the entrance to the exit from the cinema, without having seen a single scene of the film, but, with that sense of dissatisfaction and with the determination to give up that kind of perversion, I went to the station to return home.
The station, given the rush hour, was full of people, and access to the trains was only allowed when the train arrived and was regulated by an opening that opened when all the passengers had left the train.
I was standing near the railings of the stairs, and about half a meter away, also leaning, there was a man watching me: about five feet tall, salt and pepper colored hair, pulled on the back of my neck and stopped with a ponytail; resting on his forehead, he had glasses like Ray-Ban. He appeared to be about fifty-five years old. He had his hands busy playing with a cell phone.
As soon as he noticed that I was watching him, he seemed to smile and then, putting the cell phone in his pocket, with a stealthy movement, he smoothed his flap for a moment.
I couldn't believe my eyes, and then I wondered what could have made me think I might be interested.
Thinking that I might have been mistaken, I looked down, even not to follow it up.
Anyway, my instinct was stronger than me: I looked up and, even without looking at his face, I felt that his eyes were on me.
Mine had stopped on his groin instead: with his left hand in his pocket, he was caressing the fucking chapel with a rotating movement of his fingers. If I understood correctly, he had to keep his dick hard.
Although I didn't want to admit it, I was excited, but not physically as much as mentally: a man who liked me, a man who, without telling me, was showing me his excitement.
Believe me, I had lost track of time a bit, but I was shaken up when I saw people around me starting to move.
I lined up with the others and he moved too.
He stood behind me to my right and, with the line still standing, he pushed his foot until it hit mine.
I could have moved away, but I didn't, and he insisted on keeping that contact.
As soon as the gap opened, the crowd started running like mad, to secure their seats.
Then he stood beside me, watched me, and I replied; he gave way to me to get me into the first carriage.
As there were no seats, I stopped on the platform, holding on to one of the handrails beside the doors, and my man, half a yard from me, leaned against the side wall of the door.
The crowd, however, inevitably pushed us closer, so to avoid being completely on my back, I turned around and stood next to it.
He kept touching himself, caressing the chapel; I thought he must have a hard-on. The driver, leaving, did the rest. In fact, I was abruptly pushed forward towards him, so, even if for a second, I felt him hard and big on my leg.
In fact, he apologized for the shock and we started the journey.
Now with the excuse of the train jolts more than once he made me feel it.
Before arriving at the second stop, I saw that he was taking something from his jacket pocket that he surely wanted to give me.
Failing to do so, he dropped it on the ground before the train stopped and the doors opened again. Besides him, another person got off and no one got on.
Nonchalantly, I bent down and picked up the card he had dropped and put it in my pocket.
I picked it up in my hands only when I got off the train too, a card like the business card: there was a name "Mimmo" and a mobile phone number.
I looked at it and looked at it several times, then I put it in my pocket and reached my car.
Mixed impulses were swirling inside me: what to do? Call or throw it away? Forget about that meeting?
I took a big breath in the car and, brooding, I thought I could ask him what he wanted. Then I considered that it was pleonastic to ask what he might want.
I wanted to take my time, so I got in the car and got off the sidewalk. I hadn't even left the parking lot yet, so I thought about it, and I decided to call.
I dialed the number, three rings and a "Hello."
"Hi, this is the person on the train," I was able to say.
"Hi, can I call you in about 20 minutes?"
I hesitated for a moment, also because I was running out of breath, then I said "Ok".
20 minutes, just enough time to get home.
My wife hadn't come home yet, so I opened the door and rang the phone. It was him.
"Hi, what's your name?" he asked.
"Federico and you Mimmo, I suppose" I also gave him a "tu".
"I think you've understood what I might be interested in, but I'd like to be sure I wasn't wrong about you," he added.
"In what sense? What do you want to know?" I replied.
"Would you like to have coffee tomorrow and talk about it?"
"Tomorrow, where and when?" I replied.
"I'll finish work around 3:00, I'll see you at 3:30 in the square... Will that be possible?"
I don't know why, but without thinking about it I said yes.
I closed the communication, because my wife was on her way...
I was agitated and excited, and it didn't escape my wife who, while I was kissing her, asked me:
"What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing, I can't hug you? You know I miss you on Thursdays; you're out a whole day?" I slipped out.
"What have you been doing today, where have you been?"
"I went to the mall," I lied.
"Did you see what the vine reeds are like?"
A stroke of genius:
"Tomorrow I'm going to buy the new ones and Saturday I'll fix them all."
I had found an excuse to absent myself again.
The evening ended with a light dinner and in bed we made love, but in front of my eyes I didn't have her!
The next morning, early in the morning, I went to buy the rods at the farm near the house and hid them in the trunk of the car.
After lunch I said goodbye to my wife and left.
I almost missed the train, but I managed to catch it, arriving at fifteen twenty.
Along the way I wondered if I was doing well; was he as good a person as he looked? I was caught up in these thoughts when I saw him rushing to join me.
"Hello," he said, smiling and holding out his hand...
"Hello" was all I could say.
We walked side by side until we reached a bar, where he was obviously a customer.
We sat down at a small table and the waiter, who certainly knew him, asked what we wanted to take.
"Doctor, the usual coffee for you? And for the gentleman?"
"For me too: bitter coffee and a little long," I said.
The waiter walked away and Mimmo
"Well?"
"So what?" I said.
"I think you know what I want from you," he said.
"Sure, but I've never done it," I replied.
"But you seem to care; I've been fantasizing about you since yesterday; come on, tell me about yourself. I'm fifty-seven years old, I've been a widower for almost five, and after her, I said no more women. My interest has shifted to mature men, who know how to better appreciate the active love they are able to give".
The waiter was coming back, so I took my time and, when he was gone:
"I'm 68 years old, married, retired, teaching," I said in one breath.
"I'm a physiotherapist, let's say "freelance"; I work for a couple of public facilities and then I have a private practice."
He wanted to know more about me: if, for example, I had ever fantasized about situations with people of the same sex (he never said the word homosexual) and, if so, in what terms.
"Too many questions all at once. Can I tell you, when I think about it, that sometimes I have asked myself what women feel about being penetrated; they usually answer "pleasure"; but, without getting into specifics, can I ask you a question?" When he nodded his head, I asked:
"How did you know I could be there? That I could be good enough for you?"
"Sixth sense?" he said with a smile.
And then went on: "I don't know, maybe from the way you looked at me and from the way you kept looking, under my eyes, at my touches. Then the little foot in the crowd, and then your phone call. I wasn't wrong, was I?"
I didn't answer and he went on:
"I'm not interested in the fag that gets fucked; I'm looking for someone who gives himself to me and who, in those moments, thinks and enjoys what a woman enjoys."
"No," I said, "I don't think I can be the person you're looking for," and as I got up to leave, that is, to run away, he took me by the arm and sat me down again.
"You see a man, with another man, as active he enjoys either with his hands or his mouth or his partner's ass, but he enjoys ejaculating, as he does with a woman. Now the passive partner, if he really wants to live his pleasure, must, in those moments, think differently than he is used to doing. It's not as many people say "I enjoy when my man enjoys".
No, one must learn to enjoy for one's own pleasure, just as women do.
So, the hands that touch, caress, squeeze; the mouth that kisses, licks, sucks; the nipples licked, kissed, sucked, and the armpits, navel, perineum, and, last but not least, the little hole that is full of nerve endings, are anatomical parts common to men and women that give pleasure to women not because they are such, but because they think as such.
Indeed, the anal in men is certainly more voluptuous, because, by stimulating the prostate, one has a spontaneous orgasm.
Obviously this does not mean being effeminate, on the contrary, it means enjoying not only with the body but also and above all with the mind. Think about it and metabolize what I told you.
Of course, total pleasure is achieved gradually and only when one is really ready and always if one wants it.
Now I have to run; the mobile phone number I gave you is also a WhatsApp contact. If I'm not mistaken, Thursdays are more convenient for you, so don't hurry and let me know".
He paid the bill, shook my hand and walked away.
I sat down for a few more minutes; I was dazed: he had left me a nice homework assignment.
I had to get back and I started with so many doubts, so many worries about home.
The doubts never ceased to crowd my mind, so much so that my wife also felt obliged to ask what I was nagging about.
I told myself that I had to go back inside so I wouldn't get away.
While she was preparing dinner, I poured two glasses of white wine and some appetizers that we had in the kitchen.
We had dinner watching the news and then, as usual, while I was cleaning up, she put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.
I left her in the kitchen to watch the soap she liked and I went into the living room to finish the yellow that I had started a couple of days earlier.
I couldn't read anything; the thought always went to the interview I had with Mimmo. It's not that her arguments had convinced me, but from the way she was talking, it seemed as if she knew what she was doing.
Thinking about women? It's a word; where can we start?
Those who in cinema touched or sucked cocks, they didn't do it thinking about women. They just did it.
So why make life difficult?
I couldn't find a guy who was just looking for a hand job or a blowjob or something, without getting my mind mixed up.
Maybe it was better to keep going to the movies and watch them have fun. But then, do they really have fun? Do they enjoy it or is it just for vice or illness?
The fact is that the ones you meet in the cinema, after playing with one, move on to another and, perhaps, to yet another; so they are never satisfied; maybe that's what Mimmo meant to say.
Yes, give him reason, he said a little voice inside me.
Too complicated: do as you did when you went to school as a boy; postpone everything until tomorrow morning and, with a cold mind, maybe you can find the solution more easily.
The next morning I had the clearest ideas and it was the buzzer on my mobile phone that definitively clarified them, warning me of a message on WhatsApp.
It was Mimmo and I was happy to receive a message from her.
His "Hi, how are you?" was followed by my "Fine thanks, and you?"
"I'm fine. Have you given any thought to what I said yesterday? Have you made a decision?"
Actually I had thought about it and how: I wanted to see him again, even though I imagined we'd talk a little this time.
"I think I'll go along with your proposal, and I'll confirm it this week."
"Waooo, that's great! Let me know in time and I'll cancel all appointments on Thursday."
"When can I get in touch with you?" he asked...
"Anytime... generally at this hour."
"So, see you in the morning, bye."
I had calmed down... I decided... I wanted to try and I didn't want to waste any more time.
We talked again on Sunday morning and the other days too.
On Thursday morning we made an appointment: he would wait for me outside the station, where he had got off the first time we met.
And that Thursday, after lunch, I prepared myself for the meeting.
I arrived a little early, but so did he; in fact, shortly after three o'clock, he was already there waiting for me.
A radiant smile and a good morning, with a warm embrace.
The studio was less than a hundred yards away.
I was agitated and he noticed. He took me affectionately under his arm and asked if I wanted to get something at the bar.
I refused and, after a few steps, he stopped to open the door of a building.
He preceded me and, closing it, we crossed the courtyard, at the bottom of which a plaque said "POSTURAL PHYSIOTHERAPY STUDY".
We entered and, through a waiting room, furnished with a sofa and five or six chairs, we entered the actual studio.
It was quite large, with a therapy bed on one wall, next to a sort of "puff", and anchored to the opposite wall a "tatami", which, if necessary, could be put on the floor. The whole thing was completed by a not very large desk and behind an armchair.
"Come on... be serene; relax, we'll only do what you want" and so saying he came close to me and, looking me in the eyes, began to caress my neck.
That contact really had a beneficial effect, in fact, when he helped me take off my jacket and unbuttoned my shirt, I let him do it without any objection.
"Come sit down," and he took me on the poof.
He started to massage my neck and shoulders.
As he went on, I could feel myself melting more and more.
A stronger and stronger heat pervaded my back, and only when he realized that I was calm, he got me up and asked me to take the rest off.
"Everything?" I asked hesitantly.
"Yes," he replied, while he was also stripping himself naked.
I took off my shoes and socks and pulled down my pants and briefs together.
I sat back on the poof and watched him pull down his jeans.
He was still in his panties, came up to me and said, "Come on, you put them down for me.
With an ill-concealed shyness, I reached out and almost ripped them off him.
My goodness! He had a big dick, now I could admire it less than ten centimeters from me.
I was breathing fast, I didn't dare take any initiative, I was waiting for something to happen.
It was Mimmo who took my hand and carried it on his cock.
I caressed it and without realizing it I squeezed it.
It was hot and hard; the chapel was still covered with the skin of the foreskin, and from underneath hung two large, full testicles.
"You like it," he whispered to me, "You can do whatever you want."
I began slowly to masturbate him and, when I pulled back the skin, a big red chapel appeared, rather oblong with a slightly lighter slit on top.
The male smell that emanated was also pleasant: a mixture of sweat and pee.
I raised my eyes and met his: his gaze was that of an invitation, but I waited for him to take the initiative.
As I sawed him, he began to caress my head, then he came to my ears. I made a move almost as if to get excited, but it only served to make him understand that it was a sensitive point of mine, and so, instead of stopping, he went on until I almost slipped out of my chair.
"How do you like that?" I didn't answer and he kept stroking his right ear, and with his other hand he reached my lips.
He rubbed his fingertip on it, then, almost forcibly, pushed his finger into my mouth. Instinctively I squeezed my lips a little more and made his tongue feel.
I saw him stagger for a moment, then, stopping the hand that was giving him pleasure, he said:
"You're not going to make me come like this? Don't you want to give him a kiss?"
So he took it in his hand and leaned it against my mouth.
At that contact, an electric shock came out of my brain and spread to my whole body. The first contact of my lips with his chapel was shocking enough for both of us: for a moment I lost consciousness of the moment and, without realizing it, I opened my mouth and let in that beautiful glans.
The silky skin, the taste of that member, its thickness, projected me into another world.
"Suck" intimated and I obeyed, happy to be able to taste that beautiful thing.
I managed to get more than half of it in, I really liked it.
Then, with one decisive move of his, he pushed his pelvis forward, and the cock went all the way down my throat; I was drowning, and had to spit it out.
He stopped; he told me to breathe deeply, and passed me some paper handkerchiefs to make me spit out the saliva that had formed in my mouth.
"Give me a hand," he said.
He wanted me to help him take the tatami off the wall and we placed it on the floor near the desk. She took the three cover cushions from the couch in the waiting room and we laid down on them.
He was lying on his back and asked me to lie on him, sixty-nine.
I was an automaton: I obeyed without saying a single word and, without him asking me, I took his cock in my mouth.
I felt that, with his hand, he moved my penis, which inexplicably was less than a joke, and reached the perineum, which he began to kiss and lick.
I was sucking, giving a rhythm to the head, like many times I had seen my wife and other women do, and I distinctly felt Mimmo's tongue, no longer on the testicles, but on and inside the asshole.
Telling the pleasure I felt in that moment is not easy.
A heat that spread from the asshole, extending, through the belly, to the stomach and the mouth that held the hard dick of his friend, wet with saliva but also of his first secretions.
The position he took, with his legs open, allowed him to rummage through the inside of the hole and, at every lunge, I jumped forward.
In those moments I had no perception of my cock, because the pleasure came from my mouth and ass.
At a certain point I distinctly felt his stiffening; I didn't have time to detach myself from his cock, which a dense bow reached my mouth.
A slightly salty and bitter taste, which I was able to spit out immediately, while the rest of the cream smeared on my face.
Only then, while he, still with his face between my buttocks, moaned and moved, I felt like a spasm and came over him.
We stood next to each other for a couple of minutes, then he got up.
Next to the studio, there was a bathroom with shower and other facilities, where we cleaned up and went back to the studio.
Both of us silently got dressed and afterwards, while Mimmo was making coffee, I put the cushions back on the couch and we put the mattress back together.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked me.
"I don't know, I'm a little mentally confused," I said.
"I liked it, what about you?" he added.
"Me too, even though I didn't think I could do it."
"If you want to continue on the path you have to get used to thinking about women; I told you on Friday and I'll tell you again today. And from the way you've been acting, I think you've started to. Take this cream, use it every morning, after you have emptied yourself and washed yourself; spread it on the hole and, if you can, even a little in the rectum. It softens and makes the sphincter more elastic."
He stretched a tube out for me, but seeing me hesitating, he added:
"Trust me, it will help you when the time comes..." He also gave me a vial.
"It's an oil to which a natural dilating jar has been added; I use it to give massages, and you, on the evening before going to sleep, moisten your nipples and perineum: massage until it is absorbed. A slight tingling means it's working."
I looked at my watch; two hours had flown by. I had to get away.
We kissed goodbye to each other on the cheeks:
"I'll contact you in the morning, okay?"
"OK, bye" and I ran off.
.
But perhaps, first, it is necessary to make a premise.
I had never had, until then, a physical relationship with another man, that is to say, only certain games between teenagers: saws made in company, mostly each on his own, but it seems to me, once or twice, mutual.
Adolescence passes, the first flirts, the first make-outs and you throw everything into oblivion; the past is long gone, but you don't empty the basket.
Then over the years and, perhaps a little out of boredom or habituation to the usual soup, your brain reminds you that, there, in a corner, among the many memories, there are also those experiences as teenagers.
It happened to me too, thanks to the chats or sites that tease you, one day a couple of years ago, I entered one of the few red light cinemas still open in the city.
It was a really sleazy place, where many men exchanged pleasures.
From that day on, almost every Thursday (the day when I had more freedom of movement, as my wife attended a social centre and cooked for the poor), I took my car, which I parked outside a train station and took the train to the city centre.
The cinema I frequented was three hundred meters away on foot, which I walked in a hurry and I would sneak into the cinema careful not to let anyone who knew me see me see me.
I had learnt the techniques of baiting, so whoever was longing for a good cock would sit in the last row and stretch his arm on the back of the armchair beside him, with his hand clearly visible.
If there was someone in the corridor behind him, he would come closer and place his package on that waiting hand.
One glance was enough and the invitation to sit beside him was implied.
At first with the hand and then, perhaps lowering the head, the enjoyment of both began, which usually ended with the spit of the sperm, the noise of which could be heard.
Another technique was to lean on the back of one of the seats, always in the last row, and wait for someone to come closer, first caressing his ass, then, if he received the consent of the other to continue, he would touch the package and, after some rubbing, you would see them heading towards the bathroom, where they would consume.
Sometimes, seeing themselves observed, after a talk between them, they would invite you to follow them to be watched.
However, a little for fear of disease, a little for a strange sense of modesty, I had always reduced myself to just looking.
And so also that Thursday in early October, after lunch, I took the car and went to the nearest train station.
The usual practice, from the entrance to the exit from the cinema, without having seen a single scene of the film, but, with that sense of dissatisfaction and with the determination to give up that kind of perversion, I went to the station to return home.
The station, given the rush hour, was full of people, and access to the trains was only allowed when the train arrived and was regulated by an opening that opened when all the passengers had left the train.
I was standing near the railings of the stairs, and about half a meter away, also leaning, there was a man watching me: about five feet tall, salt and pepper colored hair, pulled on the back of my neck and stopped with a ponytail; resting on his forehead, he had glasses like Ray-Ban. He appeared to be about fifty-five years old. He had his hands busy playing with a cell phone.
As soon as he noticed that I was watching him, he seemed to smile and then, putting the cell phone in his pocket, with a stealthy movement, he smoothed his flap for a moment.
I couldn't believe my eyes, and then I wondered what could have made me think I might be interested.
Thinking that I might have been mistaken, I looked down, even not to follow it up.
Anyway, my instinct was stronger than me: I looked up and, even without looking at his face, I felt that his eyes were on me.
Mine had stopped on his groin instead: with his left hand in his pocket, he was caressing the fucking chapel with a rotating movement of his fingers. If I understood correctly, he had to keep his dick hard.
Although I didn't want to admit it, I was excited, but not physically as much as mentally: a man who liked me, a man who, without telling me, was showing me his excitement.
Believe me, I had lost track of time a bit, but I was shaken up when I saw people around me starting to move.
I lined up with the others and he moved too.
He stood behind me to my right and, with the line still standing, he pushed his foot until it hit mine.
I could have moved away, but I didn't, and he insisted on keeping that contact.
As soon as the gap opened, the crowd started running like mad, to secure their seats.
Then he stood beside me, watched me, and I replied; he gave way to me to get me into the first carriage.
As there were no seats, I stopped on the platform, holding on to one of the handrails beside the doors, and my man, half a yard from me, leaned against the side wall of the door.
The crowd, however, inevitably pushed us closer, so to avoid being completely on my back, I turned around and stood next to it.
He kept touching himself, caressing the chapel; I thought he must have a hard-on. The driver, leaving, did the rest. In fact, I was abruptly pushed forward towards him, so, even if for a second, I felt him hard and big on my leg.
In fact, he apologized for the shock and we started the journey.
Now with the excuse of the train jolts more than once he made me feel it.
Before arriving at the second stop, I saw that he was taking something from his jacket pocket that he surely wanted to give me.
Failing to do so, he dropped it on the ground before the train stopped and the doors opened again. Besides him, another person got off and no one got on.
Nonchalantly, I bent down and picked up the card he had dropped and put it in my pocket.
I picked it up in my hands only when I got off the train too, a card like the business card: there was a name "Mimmo" and a mobile phone number.
I looked at it and looked at it several times, then I put it in my pocket and reached my car.
Mixed impulses were swirling inside me: what to do? Call or throw it away? Forget about that meeting?
I took a big breath in the car and, brooding, I thought I could ask him what he wanted. Then I considered that it was pleonastic to ask what he might want.
I wanted to take my time, so I got in the car and got off the sidewalk. I hadn't even left the parking lot yet, so I thought about it, and I decided to call.
I dialed the number, three rings and a "Hello."
"Hi, this is the person on the train," I was able to say.
"Hi, can I call you in about 20 minutes?"
I hesitated for a moment, also because I was running out of breath, then I said "Ok".
20 minutes, just enough time to get home.
My wife hadn't come home yet, so I opened the door and rang the phone. It was him.
"Hi, what's your name?" he asked.
"Federico and you Mimmo, I suppose" I also gave him a "tu".
"I think you've understood what I might be interested in, but I'd like to be sure I wasn't wrong about you," he added.
"In what sense? What do you want to know?" I replied.
"Would you like to have coffee tomorrow and talk about it?"
"Tomorrow, where and when?" I replied.
"I'll finish work around 3:00, I'll see you at 3:30 in the square... Will that be possible?"
I don't know why, but without thinking about it I said yes.
I closed the communication, because my wife was on her way...
I was agitated and excited, and it didn't escape my wife who, while I was kissing her, asked me:
"What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing, I can't hug you? You know I miss you on Thursdays; you're out a whole day?" I slipped out.
"What have you been doing today, where have you been?"
"I went to the mall," I lied.
"Did you see what the vine reeds are like?"
A stroke of genius:
"Tomorrow I'm going to buy the new ones and Saturday I'll fix them all."
I had found an excuse to absent myself again.
The evening ended with a light dinner and in bed we made love, but in front of my eyes I didn't have her!
The next morning, early in the morning, I went to buy the rods at the farm near the house and hid them in the trunk of the car.
After lunch I said goodbye to my wife and left.
I almost missed the train, but I managed to catch it, arriving at fifteen twenty.
Along the way I wondered if I was doing well; was he as good a person as he looked? I was caught up in these thoughts when I saw him rushing to join me.
"Hello," he said, smiling and holding out his hand...
"Hello" was all I could say.
We walked side by side until we reached a bar, where he was obviously a customer.
We sat down at a small table and the waiter, who certainly knew him, asked what we wanted to take.
"Doctor, the usual coffee for you? And for the gentleman?"
"For me too: bitter coffee and a little long," I said.
The waiter walked away and Mimmo
"Well?"
"So what?" I said.
"I think you know what I want from you," he said.
"Sure, but I've never done it," I replied.
"But you seem to care; I've been fantasizing about you since yesterday; come on, tell me about yourself. I'm fifty-seven years old, I've been a widower for almost five, and after her, I said no more women. My interest has shifted to mature men, who know how to better appreciate the active love they are able to give".
The waiter was coming back, so I took my time and, when he was gone:
"I'm 68 years old, married, retired, teaching," I said in one breath.
"I'm a physiotherapist, let's say "freelance"; I work for a couple of public facilities and then I have a private practice."
He wanted to know more about me: if, for example, I had ever fantasized about situations with people of the same sex (he never said the word homosexual) and, if so, in what terms.
"Too many questions all at once. Can I tell you, when I think about it, that sometimes I have asked myself what women feel about being penetrated; they usually answer "pleasure"; but, without getting into specifics, can I ask you a question?" When he nodded his head, I asked:
"How did you know I could be there? That I could be good enough for you?"
"Sixth sense?" he said with a smile.
And then went on: "I don't know, maybe from the way you looked at me and from the way you kept looking, under my eyes, at my touches. Then the little foot in the crowd, and then your phone call. I wasn't wrong, was I?"
I didn't answer and he went on:
"I'm not interested in the fag that gets fucked; I'm looking for someone who gives himself to me and who, in those moments, thinks and enjoys what a woman enjoys."
"No," I said, "I don't think I can be the person you're looking for," and as I got up to leave, that is, to run away, he took me by the arm and sat me down again.
"You see a man, with another man, as active he enjoys either with his hands or his mouth or his partner's ass, but he enjoys ejaculating, as he does with a woman. Now the passive partner, if he really wants to live his pleasure, must, in those moments, think differently than he is used to doing. It's not as many people say "I enjoy when my man enjoys".
No, one must learn to enjoy for one's own pleasure, just as women do.
So, the hands that touch, caress, squeeze; the mouth that kisses, licks, sucks; the nipples licked, kissed, sucked, and the armpits, navel, perineum, and, last but not least, the little hole that is full of nerve endings, are anatomical parts common to men and women that give pleasure to women not because they are such, but because they think as such.
Indeed, the anal in men is certainly more voluptuous, because, by stimulating the prostate, one has a spontaneous orgasm.
Obviously this does not mean being effeminate, on the contrary, it means enjoying not only with the body but also and above all with the mind. Think about it and metabolize what I told you.
Of course, total pleasure is achieved gradually and only when one is really ready and always if one wants it.
Now I have to run; the mobile phone number I gave you is also a WhatsApp contact. If I'm not mistaken, Thursdays are more convenient for you, so don't hurry and let me know".
He paid the bill, shook my hand and walked away.
I sat down for a few more minutes; I was dazed: he had left me a nice homework assignment.
I had to get back and I started with so many doubts, so many worries about home.
The doubts never ceased to crowd my mind, so much so that my wife also felt obliged to ask what I was nagging about.
I told myself that I had to go back inside so I wouldn't get away.
While she was preparing dinner, I poured two glasses of white wine and some appetizers that we had in the kitchen.
We had dinner watching the news and then, as usual, while I was cleaning up, she put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.
I left her in the kitchen to watch the soap she liked and I went into the living room to finish the yellow that I had started a couple of days earlier.
I couldn't read anything; the thought always went to the interview I had with Mimmo. It's not that her arguments had convinced me, but from the way she was talking, it seemed as if she knew what she was doing.
Thinking about women? It's a word; where can we start?
Those who in cinema touched or sucked cocks, they didn't do it thinking about women. They just did it.
So why make life difficult?
I couldn't find a guy who was just looking for a hand job or a blowjob or something, without getting my mind mixed up.
Maybe it was better to keep going to the movies and watch them have fun. But then, do they really have fun? Do they enjoy it or is it just for vice or illness?
The fact is that the ones you meet in the cinema, after playing with one, move on to another and, perhaps, to yet another; so they are never satisfied; maybe that's what Mimmo meant to say.
Yes, give him reason, he said a little voice inside me.
Too complicated: do as you did when you went to school as a boy; postpone everything until tomorrow morning and, with a cold mind, maybe you can find the solution more easily.
The next morning I had the clearest ideas and it was the buzzer on my mobile phone that definitively clarified them, warning me of a message on WhatsApp.
It was Mimmo and I was happy to receive a message from her.
His "Hi, how are you?" was followed by my "Fine thanks, and you?"
"I'm fine. Have you given any thought to what I said yesterday? Have you made a decision?"
Actually I had thought about it and how: I wanted to see him again, even though I imagined we'd talk a little this time.
"I think I'll go along with your proposal, and I'll confirm it this week."
"Waooo, that's great! Let me know in time and I'll cancel all appointments on Thursday."
"When can I get in touch with you?" he asked...
"Anytime... generally at this hour."
"So, see you in the morning, bye."
I had calmed down... I decided... I wanted to try and I didn't want to waste any more time.
We talked again on Sunday morning and the other days too.
On Thursday morning we made an appointment: he would wait for me outside the station, where he had got off the first time we met.
And that Thursday, after lunch, I prepared myself for the meeting.
I arrived a little early, but so did he; in fact, shortly after three o'clock, he was already there waiting for me.
A radiant smile and a good morning, with a warm embrace.
The studio was less than a hundred yards away.
I was agitated and he noticed. He took me affectionately under his arm and asked if I wanted to get something at the bar.
I refused and, after a few steps, he stopped to open the door of a building.
He preceded me and, closing it, we crossed the courtyard, at the bottom of which a plaque said "POSTURAL PHYSIOTHERAPY STUDY".
We entered and, through a waiting room, furnished with a sofa and five or six chairs, we entered the actual studio.
It was quite large, with a therapy bed on one wall, next to a sort of "puff", and anchored to the opposite wall a "tatami", which, if necessary, could be put on the floor. The whole thing was completed by a not very large desk and behind an armchair.
"Come on... be serene; relax, we'll only do what you want" and so saying he came close to me and, looking me in the eyes, began to caress my neck.
That contact really had a beneficial effect, in fact, when he helped me take off my jacket and unbuttoned my shirt, I let him do it without any objection.
"Come sit down," and he took me on the poof.
He started to massage my neck and shoulders.
As he went on, I could feel myself melting more and more.
A stronger and stronger heat pervaded my back, and only when he realized that I was calm, he got me up and asked me to take the rest off.
"Everything?" I asked hesitantly.
"Yes," he replied, while he was also stripping himself naked.
I took off my shoes and socks and pulled down my pants and briefs together.
I sat back on the poof and watched him pull down his jeans.
He was still in his panties, came up to me and said, "Come on, you put them down for me.
With an ill-concealed shyness, I reached out and almost ripped them off him.
My goodness! He had a big dick, now I could admire it less than ten centimeters from me.
I was breathing fast, I didn't dare take any initiative, I was waiting for something to happen.
It was Mimmo who took my hand and carried it on his cock.
I caressed it and without realizing it I squeezed it.
It was hot and hard; the chapel was still covered with the skin of the foreskin, and from underneath hung two large, full testicles.
"You like it," he whispered to me, "You can do whatever you want."
I began slowly to masturbate him and, when I pulled back the skin, a big red chapel appeared, rather oblong with a slightly lighter slit on top.
The male smell that emanated was also pleasant: a mixture of sweat and pee.
I raised my eyes and met his: his gaze was that of an invitation, but I waited for him to take the initiative.
As I sawed him, he began to caress my head, then he came to my ears. I made a move almost as if to get excited, but it only served to make him understand that it was a sensitive point of mine, and so, instead of stopping, he went on until I almost slipped out of my chair.
"How do you like that?" I didn't answer and he kept stroking his right ear, and with his other hand he reached my lips.
He rubbed his fingertip on it, then, almost forcibly, pushed his finger into my mouth. Instinctively I squeezed my lips a little more and made his tongue feel.
I saw him stagger for a moment, then, stopping the hand that was giving him pleasure, he said:
"You're not going to make me come like this? Don't you want to give him a kiss?"
So he took it in his hand and leaned it against my mouth.
At that contact, an electric shock came out of my brain and spread to my whole body. The first contact of my lips with his chapel was shocking enough for both of us: for a moment I lost consciousness of the moment and, without realizing it, I opened my mouth and let in that beautiful glans.
The silky skin, the taste of that member, its thickness, projected me into another world.
"Suck" intimated and I obeyed, happy to be able to taste that beautiful thing.
I managed to get more than half of it in, I really liked it.
Then, with one decisive move of his, he pushed his pelvis forward, and the cock went all the way down my throat; I was drowning, and had to spit it out.
He stopped; he told me to breathe deeply, and passed me some paper handkerchiefs to make me spit out the saliva that had formed in my mouth.
"Give me a hand," he said.
He wanted me to help him take the tatami off the wall and we placed it on the floor near the desk. She took the three cover cushions from the couch in the waiting room and we laid down on them.
He was lying on his back and asked me to lie on him, sixty-nine.
I was an automaton: I obeyed without saying a single word and, without him asking me, I took his cock in my mouth.
I felt that, with his hand, he moved my penis, which inexplicably was less than a joke, and reached the perineum, which he began to kiss and lick.
I was sucking, giving a rhythm to the head, like many times I had seen my wife and other women do, and I distinctly felt Mimmo's tongue, no longer on the testicles, but on and inside the asshole.
Telling the pleasure I felt in that moment is not easy.
A heat that spread from the asshole, extending, through the belly, to the stomach and the mouth that held the hard dick of his friend, wet with saliva but also of his first secretions.
The position he took, with his legs open, allowed him to rummage through the inside of the hole and, at every lunge, I jumped forward.
In those moments I had no perception of my cock, because the pleasure came from my mouth and ass.
At a certain point I distinctly felt his stiffening; I didn't have time to detach myself from his cock, which a dense bow reached my mouth.
A slightly salty and bitter taste, which I was able to spit out immediately, while the rest of the cream smeared on my face.
Only then, while he, still with his face between my buttocks, moaned and moved, I felt like a spasm and came over him.
We stood next to each other for a couple of minutes, then he got up.
Next to the studio, there was a bathroom with shower and other facilities, where we cleaned up and went back to the studio.
Both of us silently got dressed and afterwards, while Mimmo was making coffee, I put the cushions back on the couch and we put the mattress back together.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked me.
"I don't know, I'm a little mentally confused," I said.
"I liked it, what about you?" he added.
"Me too, even though I didn't think I could do it."
"If you want to continue on the path you have to get used to thinking about women; I told you on Friday and I'll tell you again today. And from the way you've been acting, I think you've started to. Take this cream, use it every morning, after you have emptied yourself and washed yourself; spread it on the hole and, if you can, even a little in the rectum. It softens and makes the sphincter more elastic."
He stretched a tube out for me, but seeing me hesitating, he added:
"Trust me, it will help you when the time comes..." He also gave me a vial.
"It's an oil to which a natural dilating jar has been added; I use it to give massages, and you, on the evening before going to sleep, moisten your nipples and perineum: massage until it is absorbed. A slight tingling means it's working."
I looked at my watch; two hours had flown by. I had to get away.
We kissed goodbye to each other on the cheeks:
"I'll contact you in the morning, okay?"
"OK, bye" and I ran off.
.
