“Thanks,” I said. I couldn’t help darting the briefest of looks at his crotch, and I had to quickly look back at the mirror and continue shaving, because he had the longest penis I had ever seen, not that I’d seen all that many in my adult life — even flaccid, it was at least five inches long, possibly longer, and narrow, but with a bulbous tip. It was as tanned as the rest of him and hung before two brown, hairless, wrinkled testicles. I”d noticed that he shaved his body. His only hair was under his arms and on his head and face. That alone served to back up my suspicion that he was gay.
“Do you work out a lot?” he said politely.
“Not really,” I said. “I just look after myself.”
“You do a good job,” he said. “You have a nice body.”
“Thanks,” I said, genuinely grateful for the compliment but not particularly wanting the conversation to remain on that topic.
“I must admit,” he said, “I’m biased in that I prefer men”s bodies to women”s. Nothing against women as such, of course.”
“I think I’m the other way around,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, smiling, “I thought so. Otherwise I’d have invited you for a drink.”
“Oh,” I said, obscurely disappointed, and then puzzled about why I was disappointed. “Well, that would have been very nice, I’m sure, but I’m not really that way . . . you know. Inclined.”
“Never even been tempted?” he said, twinkling at me.
I looked back at him for a moment, confused.
Dammit, dammit, dammit: something about being alone, in this hot, humid, steamy room, with this man older than my father, the two of us stark naked . . . I did feel tempted. I was curious. I was also shocked at myself, for being so desperate that I’d consider a come-on from a complete stranger twice my age.
I was at a loss for words. I partly wanted to just hang around him, vicariously experience some of his fun, seeing as he appeared to have more of it than I did, but without letting him think of me as someone who I wasn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to lead him on.
“It wouldn’t be fair to lead you on,” I said.
“How would you be leading me on?” he said easily.
“Well,” I fumbled, “I’m not saying I’m not curious…but I don’t think I could, you know…actually do it.”
“Do what exactly?” he said, and then seeing my confusion and embarrassment he laughed, and the tension was broken.
“I’m very sorry,” he said. “It’s me who’s leading you on, I think. I’m sure I’m harassing you when you just want to have a shower.”
The Toyboy Experiment: A Steamy Gay Adult Story You Don’t Want to Miss
“No,” I said. “I don’t feel harassed.”
“Oh,” he said. “I’m glad.”
“You seem very nice,” I said. “I’m sure you’re good company.”
“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head politely. “I like to think I have my moments. Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” I said, no longer feeling embarrassed, just relieved that he was so amicable about being turned down.
“If I were younger,” he said, “would you be tempted then?”
“Oh, it’s not about your age,” I said hastily.
“Really?” he said. “Most young fellows I’ve met prefer the company of men their own age.”
“Right,” I said. “No, it’s not that at all. I think you’re a good-looking guy. I think if I were attracted to men, I’d definitely be attracted to you.”
“But you’re not,” he said, smiling and staring at me.
Once again, I found myself fumbling for the words.
“It’s not that I don’t think you’re attractive,” I said. “It’s just that I”ve never . . . done that.”
He shut off the water and walked towards me, slowly, smiling. I rinsed my face and turned to face him.
“I have to admit that I do find you very attractive,” he said with a hint of sheepishness.
“Thank you,” I said, my mouth dry.
“Attractive,” he said, “but also . . . provocative. There’s something about you that just seems to invite attention. I’m sorry but there is. I hope you’re not offended.”
“Not at all,” I said softly.
“It’s not often you meet a younger man who’s attractive, intelligent and friendly,” he said. “I would have kicked myself if I hadn’t at least tried something.”
“What have you tried?” I asked, looking him in the eyes. His eyes were green and clear.
“I’ve tried talking to you,” he said. “I’ve tried sweet-talking you. But I’m still getting mixed signals. You say you don’t think you could do it. But you don’t seem to want the conversation to end.”
“I don’t,” I said.
“Why’s that?” he said.
“I like talking to you,” I admitted.
“My name’s John,” he said quietly. He was standing three feet from me, resting his weight on one leg. I was leaning slightly backwards, my buttocks against the sink. We were both naked.
“Mine’s Alex,” I said.
“Hello, Alex,” he said, smiling.
“Hello, John.” I looked up at him, my lips parted, not thinking of anything except how he was looking at me.
“Alex,” he said, “either you walk out now or I’m going to have to kiss you.”
“Nobody’s ever called me “provocative” before,” I said quietly.
We looked at each other for a moment, then he stepped up to me and took me in his arms and we kissed, our naked male bodies touching, his cock against mine, our chests pressed together, his hands caressing my body, his arms pressing me to him, his tongue pushing into my mouth. I gasped and submitted to it, moaning quietly into his mouth, letting him take me, yielding to the extraordinary new sensation of being so bodily intimate with another man. His hands came up to my head and mine went down to his bare hips and we held each other in place as we kissed.
And then he let go of my face and I stared up at him, feeling myself falling into those clear green eyes.
“Alex,” he said, “can I buy you a drink?”
“Yes please,” I breathed.
John smiled.
“Then have a shower,” he said, “and meet me in the bar this evening for a drink. Say, seven. That’ll give you time to think it all over. Okay?”
“We’re not gonna . . . um . . . now?” I asked. John shook his head firmly.
“I want to be sure you really want it,” he said. “Anyway, someone might come in. See you later.”
He smiled, broke free from me and went to put on his clothes. I got under the shower and washed off, feeling bewildered and happy and alarmed and apprehensive.
***
I spent the whole of the day in a kind of daze of anticipation, my body remembering the thrill of John taking me in his arms, my lips remembering his kiss, my cock remembering the feel of his . . . and all the while with the dark secret forbidden excitement of knowing what John wanted to do with me.
It wasn’t like any experience I’d had before. Until now, with one or two exceptions, I had always known what sort of basic encounter was in store. Ever since I’d lost my virginity, I had known what intercourse felt like. But now I found myself not knowing what it was going to feel like — always assuming that John liked me enough to want to have intercourse with me. Whatever that meant.
I realised, after a while, that I was in the unprecedented situation, for me, of being the person who was being pursued. Up until now, I had always been the one trying to persuade a girl to go to bed with me. But now, a guy was trying to persuade me to go to bed with him.
I had lunch in a kind of daze, and spent much of siesta time surfing the internet, trying to find out as much information as possible about what exactly gay men did to each other in bed — not that I hadn’t had fantasies about it from time to time, but I had very little idea of the mechanics of it. Then, when I felt I knew enough, I went out to the hotel pharmacy and somewhat shamefacedly bought some heavy-duty condoms and a couple of tubes of lubrication, and one or two other things.