DudeThrill.com
At the beginning of April I decided to take the courage with two hands and leave for Milan. I told my mother that I would go to the capital of Lombardy to go to a gay club. She didn't take it too well. She screamed at me: "Why aren't there any lullabies here? You have to go all the way to Milan?!
That on second thoughts today, poor thing, maybe she was just worried about me. I left early on the 5:43 train. Once I got off the train I panicked and even though I had written down the address and everything I asked, a little embarrassed, directions to one of the countless kiosks at the Central Station.
I must say, the guy at the kiosk was very nice to me.
Since he had bloody soon lost some time wandering around the huge station. At 9:00 p.m. split, I went to the Afterline, the disco-pub I had chosen to make my official debut in the glittering "gay world". It was a Thursday night and the single party was scheduled for that night.
To be honest, I was pretty disappointed at first glance. The place was semi-deserted. The few people present looked like caricatures of: fags, phebians, old people emptied of life; no half measures.
In the most intimate and, why not, romantic side of the structure, the one with the small tables and lighted candles, I saw a straight couple. The thing, for me so proudly, shamelessly, exclusively, gay, at least that's how I was in those days, was a little strange.
After the initial shock I started flirting with a goggle-eyed schoolgirl from, not even on purpose, Bergamo. I played a bit 'to do that pushed because it was too much fun to upset him. And he was the first one to set his eyes on Francesco, and as a consequence, he was the first one to let my eyes rest on that boy too. Sto Sto Francesco was all alone, sitting on the sofas of the club, those on the edge of the little dancefloor.
Davide, the schoolgirl, asked me: _Could you tell me what that guy looks like on the sofas that I can't see him well?
Probably if Davide hadn't pointed it out to me I wouldn't have even looked at him, but I lied to him instead: _ Well, it doesn't seem like anything... I don't even understand what nationality he is. Filipino? Moroccan?
But he was Brazilian. He told me, in addition to his clearly Italianized name, as soon as I approached him. Even up close, despite the white pants he was wearing, and that I always found very sexy on men, he didn't seem so cool, with that ridiculous little moustache, then?! But he was really nice, and I was amusing him.
We had a little chat. Then he finally decided to take me out of the club. We plunged into the artificially lit Milanese night. He took me by the hand, and surprised me positively, because then that gesture was, for me, the sentimental fetish par excellence. He led me under one of the thousand tunnels in that area. On the edge of the chaotic traffic of Milan. He turned his back to the wall. I said to myself: "At last we're here.
He grabbed my hand and carried it on his swollen flap, then in a mischievous tone he said to me:_ Now I'll let you touch the money, put your hand in my pocket.
I obeyed. But it's so hard. I laughed. Through his pocket I looked for his dick, found it and grabbed it. I loved that feeling, but at the same time I was a little disappointed. I wanted more, more. I wanted to fill my two holes. But that was the only vaguely dirty thing I did during that whole evening.
We went back to the After. I must say, I was beginning to like Francesco after all. I liked the brown hue of his skin, his slightly hairy chest, his short black hair, his ass, and that little money of his, which, yes, seemed to be a great currency.
He told me, with that strange choked voice of his, that made me think of José Carioca the green parrot from Disney, who was twenty-two years old and worked in Trento as a pastry chef. So when I saw him he seemed a bit older, but I naively decided to believe him. As for his work, I told him, making him laugh :_ Cool! I love sweet ragweed, I love cream!
Then I started Shakira's Hips Don't Lie. I cheered enthusiastically and I said to him, dragging him on the little dancefloor of the club: _ we have to dance this one too much!
I started to rub myself sensually on him. Everyone was looking at us. We danced some more until the drag show started. And then we went and sat down, exhausted, on the white couches. Francesco sat next to a very cute sexting boy, and I sat next to Francesco. The cute sexting guy had eyes only for drag, to which, most likely, the obvious erection in his trouser flap was also dedicated. Francesco, on the other hand, had eyes only for him, the cute sexting guy. Since he said that I was "pushed" he urged me to say something to him. I got up and went to sit between the two of them and asked the cute boy point-blank: "How long have you got?
He with a queer buascicó voice:_ But don't you ask these questions?!
I got up and was disdainful and went back to my place. Francesco:_ So what?
He won't tell me, he won't tell me!
I went back to the Afterline the following week, around the weekend. Unfortunately, I confirmed my first impression. It seemed too much: soft, clean, normal, straight, whatever that meant. That night the club was also celebrating its first fourteen years of life. I didn't find Davide, the schoolgirl, or Francesco, but on the other hand I exchanged two pleasant chats with a cute guy named Marco. Both Marco and his 68-year-old friend advised me to come down to the Xclub later. Marco's 68-year-old friend, a former straight man, when he found out where I was coming from, everything lit up and he told me with nostalgia about the time when he came to my area and the creek in his youth and made dreamy little squares. And he accompanied these confessions with a lascivious caress to my sexting cheek.
To enter the Xclub I had to make the Arcigay card, but not badly. That card was the key to access that golden world, or if you have more refined palates, white sperm, which I longed for so much. Going down those steps felt a bit like going down to hell. Underneath it was all damn half-darkness. There was a little bar, a little dance floor, otherwise just a labyrinthine darkroom, like Dante's circles.
The area that caught my attention the most was, from the very beginning, the area where the porn cinema was located. Inside the cinema, bordered by a curtain, we found ourselves watching the porn only me and another guy. The other guy was of Brazilian origin and he was beautiful and well-built. He invited me to sit next to him. I timidly listened to him. But my shyness didn't last long. His, well, his had never even existed. We started to feel each other up. Then he took me to the cabin.
Once there, the situation, which after a warm embrace between us seemed to have started well, suddenly changed. He asked me, "What are you gonna do?
Me with my eyes and my voice sparkling. I want to give you a blowjob.
He didn't understand. But when he answered he gave me the impression that he didn't grasp the concept well:_ With 30 euros I'll give you a blowjob, I'm only asking 30 euros because you're cute.
I immediately said no to him. I wasn't and I'm not against prostitution, but being the client in this kind of thing has never been part of my life plans. He attacked me with the usual story about the cute immigrant hottie who somehow has to make a living. I left him there alone with the echo of my no's.
I crossed at least two more of these daring professional whores, but I was able to elegantly notch them. I even started to have cock conversations with random people, then I went back, as if attracted, to the cinema. I remained outside, however, spying on the porn, from a small gap that I had opened between the curtains. A guy grabbed me from behind. And he just rubbed up against me. He put his big hands under my shirt and touched me all over. I was in ecstasy. He licked my neck and my ears. And once he got to one of them, he whispered to me, and said: "Let's go to a cabin!
He was the classic 30-year-old bald guy with a goatee, but he had a hint of an abdominal at least. I confessed to him that I was an anal virgin. He got horny as a pig. I wanted to get caught even though I didn't like him very much. I didn't like that long cock of his that took everything to the right too much either. And he got me, in every way imaginable. Honestly, I thought it hurt more, even if, it has to be said that I, like every self-respecting budding passivella, trained myself with various objects. He noticed it and said to my ear: "Liar, it's not true that you're a virgin!
I even liked sex with him, unlike him, but not so much that I wanted to stay in touch with him. We didn't even exchange numbers, despite the fact that he lived ironically, by chance, in a small village near mine.
Once I was done with him, I went back to wandering around. I felt sexting, desirable, powerful. Old pigs kept touching me all the time. Telling me my ass was "phenomenal" and sticking their fingers in it.
Then other hands. More shrewd and sensitive though. Hands that skillfully massaged my back, they made me give up all defense. That massage was irresistible. I didn't turn around, though, I was afraid. Rather I let myself be guided, even if I was the one in front, by him, by his hands in the nth cabin of the evening.
Just as I was afraid, he was rather unwatchable. Thirty-four years old, worn like that. Short hair of a rather washed blond, goggles, face of a small caiman lurking. I immediately nicknamed him Impure Angel. He approached me slowly. With his fairy hands he undressed me, and said: "I've been watching you for a while now. You're very cute! And relax, I don't want to do anything you don't want to do... I bet you'll tell me this is your first time!
When I said in a defiant tone, I said, "No, actually, it's my second time.
Once they were both naked, he made a mess of my ass, too. "Slut" he called me, and I felt like a slut in heat (it was always with him, but another night, that I felt my first and so far only anal orgasm!).
I only had a motion of rebellion when he put a foot in front of my face and ordered me to lick it. I told him peremptorily that I didn't. He wasn't expecting it. He grabbed me by the chin. What did you say?
No?
My rebellion made him come in the condom. He told me a little bit about him. He told me about his ex, a physiotherapist (that's who he had learned to use his hands so divinely!), and that after him only fucks, no more stories, apart from the friendship with the sexting "Chicchino", whom I reminded him of.
I'll play with my fingers again with my little ass (phenomenal for him too!), then he made me wear my red and tight boxer shorts. He left me free only my horny cock. He gave me a slow and giddy saw, but I've already said it, with his hands he knew how to do it...
When the time came for me to come, cheeky and perhaps vindictive, I turned my back on him, but he was disappointed, he hijacked me, making me cum on the black bed in the cabin.
Must be a good six liters. He commented, amused.
To recap, that night I entered the Xclub with my virgin ass and came out with a broken ass, from three different guys. Yes, three, because before leaving the club he sexting me, and not just to say, a slimy fifty-year-old with a belly.
That on second thoughts today, poor thing, maybe she was just worried about me. I left early on the 5:43 train. Once I got off the train I panicked and even though I had written down the address and everything I asked, a little embarrassed, directions to one of the countless kiosks at the Central Station.
I must say, the guy at the kiosk was very nice to me.
Since he had bloody soon lost some time wandering around the huge station. At 9:00 p.m. split, I went to the Afterline, the disco-pub I had chosen to make my official debut in the glittering "gay world". It was a Thursday night and the single party was scheduled for that night.
To be honest, I was pretty disappointed at first glance. The place was semi-deserted. The few people present looked like caricatures of: fags, phebians, old people emptied of life; no half measures.
In the most intimate and, why not, romantic side of the structure, the one with the small tables and lighted candles, I saw a straight couple. The thing, for me so proudly, shamelessly, exclusively, gay, at least that's how I was in those days, was a little strange.
After the initial shock I started flirting with a goggle-eyed schoolgirl from, not even on purpose, Bergamo. I played a bit 'to do that pushed because it was too much fun to upset him. And he was the first one to set his eyes on Francesco, and as a consequence, he was the first one to let my eyes rest on that boy too. Sto Sto Francesco was all alone, sitting on the sofas of the club, those on the edge of the little dancefloor.
Davide, the schoolgirl, asked me: _Could you tell me what that guy looks like on the sofas that I can't see him well?
Probably if Davide hadn't pointed it out to me I wouldn't have even looked at him, but I lied to him instead: _ Well, it doesn't seem like anything... I don't even understand what nationality he is. Filipino? Moroccan?
But he was Brazilian. He told me, in addition to his clearly Italianized name, as soon as I approached him. Even up close, despite the white pants he was wearing, and that I always found very sexy on men, he didn't seem so cool, with that ridiculous little moustache, then?! But he was really nice, and I was amusing him.
We had a little chat. Then he finally decided to take me out of the club. We plunged into the artificially lit Milanese night. He took me by the hand, and surprised me positively, because then that gesture was, for me, the sentimental fetish par excellence. He led me under one of the thousand tunnels in that area. On the edge of the chaotic traffic of Milan. He turned his back to the wall. I said to myself: "At last we're here.
He grabbed my hand and carried it on his swollen flap, then in a mischievous tone he said to me:_ Now I'll let you touch the money, put your hand in my pocket.
I obeyed. But it's so hard. I laughed. Through his pocket I looked for his dick, found it and grabbed it. I loved that feeling, but at the same time I was a little disappointed. I wanted more, more. I wanted to fill my two holes. But that was the only vaguely dirty thing I did during that whole evening.
We went back to the After. I must say, I was beginning to like Francesco after all. I liked the brown hue of his skin, his slightly hairy chest, his short black hair, his ass, and that little money of his, which, yes, seemed to be a great currency.
He told me, with that strange choked voice of his, that made me think of José Carioca the green parrot from Disney, who was twenty-two years old and worked in Trento as a pastry chef. So when I saw him he seemed a bit older, but I naively decided to believe him. As for his work, I told him, making him laugh :_ Cool! I love sweet ragweed, I love cream!
Then I started Shakira's Hips Don't Lie. I cheered enthusiastically and I said to him, dragging him on the little dancefloor of the club: _ we have to dance this one too much!
I started to rub myself sensually on him. Everyone was looking at us. We danced some more until the drag show started. And then we went and sat down, exhausted, on the white couches. Francesco sat next to a very cute sexting boy, and I sat next to Francesco. The cute sexting guy had eyes only for drag, to which, most likely, the obvious erection in his trouser flap was also dedicated. Francesco, on the other hand, had eyes only for him, the cute sexting guy. Since he said that I was "pushed" he urged me to say something to him. I got up and went to sit between the two of them and asked the cute boy point-blank: "How long have you got?
He with a queer buascicó voice:_ But don't you ask these questions?!
I got up and was disdainful and went back to my place. Francesco:_ So what?
He won't tell me, he won't tell me!
I went back to the Afterline the following week, around the weekend. Unfortunately, I confirmed my first impression. It seemed too much: soft, clean, normal, straight, whatever that meant. That night the club was also celebrating its first fourteen years of life. I didn't find Davide, the schoolgirl, or Francesco, but on the other hand I exchanged two pleasant chats with a cute guy named Marco. Both Marco and his 68-year-old friend advised me to come down to the Xclub later. Marco's 68-year-old friend, a former straight man, when he found out where I was coming from, everything lit up and he told me with nostalgia about the time when he came to my area and the creek in his youth and made dreamy little squares. And he accompanied these confessions with a lascivious caress to my sexting cheek.
To enter the Xclub I had to make the Arcigay card, but not badly. That card was the key to access that golden world, or if you have more refined palates, white sperm, which I longed for so much. Going down those steps felt a bit like going down to hell. Underneath it was all damn half-darkness. There was a little bar, a little dance floor, otherwise just a labyrinthine darkroom, like Dante's circles.
The area that caught my attention the most was, from the very beginning, the area where the porn cinema was located. Inside the cinema, bordered by a curtain, we found ourselves watching the porn only me and another guy. The other guy was of Brazilian origin and he was beautiful and well-built. He invited me to sit next to him. I timidly listened to him. But my shyness didn't last long. His, well, his had never even existed. We started to feel each other up. Then he took me to the cabin.
Once there, the situation, which after a warm embrace between us seemed to have started well, suddenly changed. He asked me, "What are you gonna do?
Me with my eyes and my voice sparkling. I want to give you a blowjob.
He didn't understand. But when he answered he gave me the impression that he didn't grasp the concept well:_ With 30 euros I'll give you a blowjob, I'm only asking 30 euros because you're cute.
I immediately said no to him. I wasn't and I'm not against prostitution, but being the client in this kind of thing has never been part of my life plans. He attacked me with the usual story about the cute immigrant hottie who somehow has to make a living. I left him there alone with the echo of my no's.
I crossed at least two more of these daring professional whores, but I was able to elegantly notch them. I even started to have cock conversations with random people, then I went back, as if attracted, to the cinema. I remained outside, however, spying on the porn, from a small gap that I had opened between the curtains. A guy grabbed me from behind. And he just rubbed up against me. He put his big hands under my shirt and touched me all over. I was in ecstasy. He licked my neck and my ears. And once he got to one of them, he whispered to me, and said: "Let's go to a cabin!
He was the classic 30-year-old bald guy with a goatee, but he had a hint of an abdominal at least. I confessed to him that I was an anal virgin. He got horny as a pig. I wanted to get caught even though I didn't like him very much. I didn't like that long cock of his that took everything to the right too much either. And he got me, in every way imaginable. Honestly, I thought it hurt more, even if, it has to be said that I, like every self-respecting budding passivella, trained myself with various objects. He noticed it and said to my ear: "Liar, it's not true that you're a virgin!
I even liked sex with him, unlike him, but not so much that I wanted to stay in touch with him. We didn't even exchange numbers, despite the fact that he lived ironically, by chance, in a small village near mine.
Once I was done with him, I went back to wandering around. I felt sexting, desirable, powerful. Old pigs kept touching me all the time. Telling me my ass was "phenomenal" and sticking their fingers in it.
Then other hands. More shrewd and sensitive though. Hands that skillfully massaged my back, they made me give up all defense. That massage was irresistible. I didn't turn around, though, I was afraid. Rather I let myself be guided, even if I was the one in front, by him, by his hands in the nth cabin of the evening.
Just as I was afraid, he was rather unwatchable. Thirty-four years old, worn like that. Short hair of a rather washed blond, goggles, face of a small caiman lurking. I immediately nicknamed him Impure Angel. He approached me slowly. With his fairy hands he undressed me, and said: "I've been watching you for a while now. You're very cute! And relax, I don't want to do anything you don't want to do... I bet you'll tell me this is your first time!
When I said in a defiant tone, I said, "No, actually, it's my second time.
Once they were both naked, he made a mess of my ass, too. "Slut" he called me, and I felt like a slut in heat (it was always with him, but another night, that I felt my first and so far only anal orgasm!).
I only had a motion of rebellion when he put a foot in front of my face and ordered me to lick it. I told him peremptorily that I didn't. He wasn't expecting it. He grabbed me by the chin. What did you say?
No?
My rebellion made him come in the condom. He told me a little bit about him. He told me about his ex, a physiotherapist (that's who he had learned to use his hands so divinely!), and that after him only fucks, no more stories, apart from the friendship with the sexting "Chicchino", whom I reminded him of.
I'll play with my fingers again with my little ass (phenomenal for him too!), then he made me wear my red and tight boxer shorts. He left me free only my horny cock. He gave me a slow and giddy saw, but I've already said it, with his hands he knew how to do it...
When the time came for me to come, cheeky and perhaps vindictive, I turned my back on him, but he was disappointed, he hijacked me, making me cum on the black bed in the cabin.
Must be a good six liters. He commented, amused.
To recap, that night I entered the Xclub with my virgin ass and came out with a broken ass, from three different guys. Yes, three, because before leaving the club he sexting me, and not just to say, a slimy fifty-year-old with a belly.
