I've reached the stage in which each new date is less than unique.
Take last night. I met him on a prearranged street corner and we walked up to a local bar I like. He was pawing at me by the time we walked into the joint. We had some cocktails and tapas, then went for a walk along the river. As we crossed the park he kissed me, and we paused for a while to talk before continuing along the waterfront. Perhaps it's just because he was Gen Y, but he kept touching me, rubbing my back or holding my hand. As you might imagine, I found this very confronting, but I treated it as a challenge; to test my resolve to be more open about my sexuality.
Afterwards we went up to his apartment so that I could use the bathroom. He had a friend staying with him for a few days while she waited for the lease on her new apartment to be finalised, so he had to control himself. But he asked me if we could go to my place, and I agreed.
Once we got there, there was more kissing, caressing and ultimately sex. I'd rate the sex 5/10 - not terrible by any means, but not great either. Definitely middle level. The most notable thing about it was that he dragged me, fairly reluctantly, into topping him. After we'd had sex (fucking followed by him wanking), he asked me if I wanted to do him. I demurred, since I didn't particularly feel the need to get off. But he rolled on top of me and lubed me up, and I assumed he was planning frottage or a hand job. But before I knew it he had slipped my cock into his ass, and was enjoying himself with it.
About all I can say about it was that it was hotter than I expected, both in the senses of temperature and pleasure. I came pretty quickly, pulling out of him just in time to avoid a safe sex faux pas.
So it was a notable encounter for three main things. One, at 28 he was the youngest guy with whom I've had sex. Two, he was the first guy I've ever topped. And three... it's been a long time since I felt that bad after sex. I sent him home afterwards because I knew I wouldn't sleep well with him in my bed, and although it was only 10.30pm or so I had to stay up another two or three hours watching TV just to put some distance between it and my going to sleep. As it was, I had a stomach ache from the stress.
You may be wondering why I was so stressed. It was purely existential. When did I become this person, who has joyless, non-intimate sex with lonely young men? Why was I kissing and fucking a not terribly attractive man with whom I had little in common?
Take last night. I met him on a prearranged street corner and we walked up to a local bar I like. He was pawing at me by the time we walked into the joint. We had some cocktails and tapas, then went for a walk along the river. As we crossed the park he kissed me, and we paused for a while to talk before continuing along the waterfront. Perhaps it's just because he was Gen Y, but he kept touching me, rubbing my back or holding my hand. As you might imagine, I found this very confronting, but I treated it as a challenge; to test my resolve to be more open about my sexuality.
Afterwards we went up to his apartment so that I could use the bathroom. He had a friend staying with him for a few days while she waited for the lease on her new apartment to be finalised, so he had to control himself. But he asked me if we could go to my place, and I agreed.
Once we got there, there was more kissing, caressing and ultimately sex. I'd rate the sex 5/10 - not terrible by any means, but not great either. Definitely middle level. The most notable thing about it was that he dragged me, fairly reluctantly, into topping him. After we'd had sex (fucking followed by him wanking), he asked me if I wanted to do him. I demurred, since I didn't particularly feel the need to get off. But he rolled on top of me and lubed me up, and I assumed he was planning frottage or a hand job. But before I knew it he had slipped my cock into his ass, and was enjoying himself with it.
About all I can say about it was that it was hotter than I expected, both in the senses of temperature and pleasure. I came pretty quickly, pulling out of him just in time to avoid a safe sex faux pas.
So it was a notable encounter for three main things. One, at 28 he was the youngest guy with whom I've had sex. Two, he was the first guy I've ever topped. And three... it's been a long time since I felt that bad after sex. I sent him home afterwards because I knew I wouldn't sleep well with him in my bed, and although it was only 10.30pm or so I had to stay up another two or three hours watching TV just to put some distance between it and my going to sleep. As it was, I had a stomach ache from the stress.
You may be wondering why I was so stressed. It was purely existential. When did I become this person, who has joyless, non-intimate sex with lonely young men? Why was I kissing and fucking a not terribly attractive man with whom I had little in common?
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