My very first experience with a man old enough to be my father occurred when I was 20 and he was 50. I had become introduced to Ed via a Web profile—he sounded intriguing to me, as he said he was a fireman as well as a frequent nude model for art students. In his youth he had been a professional go-go dancer in San Francisco, having performed in all the best-known cinemas that featured live dancers and sex acts onstage (back in the glory days of gay sex before most of the adult theaters and bath houses were finally shut down). So I knew that he was very experienced and had a lifelong interest in sex and particularly exhibitionism. Ed was honest about his age and made sure in advance that I was open to meeting a mature man with a very hairy body who was no longer in top physical shape. I assured him that I found hairy men to be very masculine and sexy and that I wasn't expecting a muscle man. He also made it clear that he was interested in some fun manly companionship and not in finding a new boyfriend, as he was in a relationship that allowed safe playing around on the side.

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After several messages back and forth, we eventually decided that he would meet me at my house one morning for some mutual massage. (He had probed me to discover whether I had any fetishes, letting me know that he was quite willing to engage in piss play and various forms of role playing, but my sexual tastes at that time were rather basic.) I prepared for our encounter by covering my futon bed with towels in case a lot of oil got sloshed around. Ed arrived right on time. He was a man of average height and heavyset. (Though not significantly overweight, over the years he had traded in his six-pack abs for a full keg.) His hair was white and the hairline was partially receded. He sported a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache. After a quick hug in greeting, he patted his pocket and said, "Shall we get started?" At first I thought he was indicating that he had an erection and was horny to get it on, but he was actually making reference to his beeper. He explained that he was on-call with the fire department and might get called away at any time, though of course he hoped we wouldn't be interrupted.

Being an exhibitionist, though, he naturally undressed very slowly in front of me, like a strip tease from his days of performing on stage. In the middle of his stripping, I asked him if I could touch his chest while he continued to undress. I had never seen such a hairy chest in person. His chest was thickly covered in long, curly hairs, and they were astonishingly soft (not at all wiry) to the touch. Once he was naked, I invited him to lie on my bed. I undressed quickly, not being so exhibitionistic myself at the time, and then knelt beside his naked body and began oiling him up for the massage. His torso took a lot of oil because it was so hairy. He began moaning in pleasure almost the moment my hands touched his skin, and I loved the encouragement. He told me that his nipples were very sensitive and that I could work on them all I wanted to. I enjoyed watching his face as I stimulated his tits. He was getting incredibly turned on. I also enjoyed massaging his hairy arms, as the hairs were as soft as silk (even softer than those on his chest) and were amazingly sensual for me to rub across. Needless to say, while I massaged his upper body I had one eye on his cock at all times. The room was unfortunately on the chilly side, and it took several minutes for his cock to warm up enough to start getting hard. His cock was circumcised and had a rather surprisingly large head (bigger than any mushroom headed cock I've seen since, and I've certainly seen a lot of them since!) I could imagine that such a cock would be wonderfully visible from a stage during a sex show, and I could see how well-suited he must have been to performing live. While I continued to run my fingers through the hairs on his chest, he admired how big my ballsac was and apologized that his own balls were completely drawn up from the cold. But I let him know that I loved the feeling of tight balls and could fondle my own tight balls for hours on end. When his cock seemed to be fully hard, I oiled up the shaft and stroked him gently, not quite sure whether he wanted to cum now or later. As if reading my mind, he answered my question by letting me know that he wanted a turn at massaging me.

As he applied oil to my body, he shocked me somewhat by saying that I wasn't his type of man. He must have seen the reaction on my face because he quickly explained, "It's not that you're not attractive, but I usually only play around with more mature, more masculine men." I think that he said this in order to insure that I wouldn't take this encounter any further than what it was — a pleasurable bit of fun but by no means a "first date." But that's all I was looking for anyway, so we were cool. Yet I must admit that my self-confidence was temporarily shaken up by that split second when I interpreted "you're not my type" to mean "you're ugly!" Suddenly, he put his face between my legs, sniffed under my balls, and told me that he loved the way I smelled. That brought a smile to my face and restored a bit of self-confidence. He kept his face close to my cock as he began jacking me off. I loved the idea that he wanted to watch me as I shot my load. But I started feeling a bit of performance anxiety. I didn't usually jerk off with my hand, having grown up humping my pillow like a madman, so I wasn't sure how long it would take me to finally shoot off from a hand job. I said "Let's switch again because I want to see you cum first."

The second I touched his cock, he said "I could cum at any moment, so you decide when you're ready for it." He explained to me that as a live sex performer he basically had to be able to cum on cue (every strip show and erotic dance would end in a solo jerk off or fuck/suck act with another man, and he would be required to shoot his cream toward the men in the audience just as the music was ending, so he learned how to stay right on the edge of orgasm for long periods and to explode at a moment's notice). I told him I was eager to see him ejaculate. He warned me that he had been known to shoot well over his head, so I shouldn't point his cock anywhere that I didn't want to get sticky with spooge. I said that I'd like to see his hairy chest and belly covered in mancream. He seemed pleased with that eventuality, and after just three pumps with my fingers, the enormous head of his cock (even bigger now—impossibly big!—now that he was on the verge of orgasm) started pumping out his milk. I loved feeling his cock pulse in my hand, as each spasm of his orgasm was remarkably intense. His cock jerked much more intensely during orgasm than mine did. I literally couldn't hold it in one place. The amount of sperm on his chest and belly was quite impressive, and I couldn't resist asking him if I could rub my cock through it.

I explained to him that I usually masturbated by humping my pillow and that I'd love to hump my cock through his hot sperm and pump my own cream into his. He wordlessly agreed, reaching out to hug me into his body. I pumped furiously, my cock sliding smoothly through his fresh cum, and my face buried in his hairy chest. I humped him like an animal, knowing that I could be rough with him (in retrospect, perhaps I was unconsciously trying to show him that I was more masculine than he had thought I was?) I grunted wildly as I fucked his belly, encouraged by feeling his hands grasping my buttocks as I pounded him, and you can bet that I worked up quite a sweat by the time my cock shot off. He gasped loudly as I came, and I know that he could feel the heat and wetness of my jism as it pumped between us. For the longest time I just lay there on top of him in total exhaustion, and eventually he literally had to peel me off him because our skin was sealed together from the sweat and cum.

My mind finally came back to reality when I heard the sound of his beeper going off. He was getting paged because there was a fire or other emergency he had to go to. There was no time for a shower — he simply had to towel off and get dressed in a hurry. I couldn't help being tickled by the thought that he would spend the entire remainder of his day with my sperm on his skin, and I wondered if anyone he met during the day would smell the scent of mansex on him. I knew that if he ran into any gay men during the day, they would most certainly recognize that unmistakable scent! Ed thanked me for what he said was great fun and apologized for having to "cum and run." We agreed to stay in contact via e-mail and plan another encounter.

We did indeed get together several times again, sometimes at his house and sometimes at mine, though it was never quite as intense as that first time.

But I've gotten a bit ahead of myself. Let me backtrack a bit to explain that we were in the handicapped accommodation of an Amtrak train, and that this man was a total stranger to me--someone I had "picked up," as it were, though I initially had no intention of cruising anyone on the train. But I'll get to how I picked him up in a moment. I had the handicapped room instead of a regular seat on the train because the whole train was booked up when I bought my ticket, all except for the handicapped room. And what a room it was! For one thing, it was private, unlike the crowded rows of narrow seats in the rest of the train. Back in those cattle-cars, I might have been able to manage a quick grope of a fellow passenger's bulge without being noticed, but that's about it. The handicapped room was a private room with its own door and window. The room was big enough to get a wheelchair into, and it had bunk beds (the lower bed being a bit wider than the upper) and its own private bathroom. I couldn't believe my good fortune in landing this room. And I figured I'd take advantage of it and just crash on the bed and sleep for the whole nine hour trip.

But I hadn't had breakfast that morning, so found myself leaving my sanctuary and wandering amongst the riff-raff (who weren't lucky enough to buy the last ticket on the train), making my way toward the dining car. It was while standing in line for an egg and cheese sandwich that I encountered the intriguing character who would later pop my cherry with that massive tool I'll remember for the rest of my life. I didn't realize that I was staring at him, until I came out of my reverie and noticed that we were gazing into each other's eyes for what might have been an eternity. I initially started looking at him for an obvious reason—the bulge. I mean, you couldn't miss it if you tried. Then my eyes wandered up, and I started wondering what was up with this man. He had clearly been up all night. His clothes were rumpled, and a bow tie was hanging loose around his neck. His face was unshaven and bristly with the stubble of a coarse beard. Just beneath his scraggly jawline was a small crescent-shaped scar. His eyes were bloodshot with exhaustion. I tried to figure out his nationality. He had olive skin and very black hair, with a lot of dark stubble after what I assumed was just one day between shaves. I guessed he might be Italian or Greek. Probably in his mid to late twenties, just a few years older than I was. I couldn't help but wonder about him. Why the bow tie? Was he some sort of waiter or doorman? Was he involved with room service or some other hospitality-type service at a hotel? His wrinkled suit and dirty shoes had me puzzled. Was there something sinister going on? Perhaps he was a criminal on the run from the law! I imagined him as a potential conman, even a cat burglar or gem thief hiding out, like in those Pink Panther movies. My mind was reeling with questions. Why was he so tired? What had he done all night? How did his shoes get dirty? Why was his suit so wrinkled? Where did he work and what did he do? Where did he live, and was he married with children? Why was he traveling? If he wasn't a criminal, maybe he was an undercover cop. Or maybe he was an actor who just left a celebratory party after his stage show's final performance the night before. I obviously got caught up in the mystery of this intriguing stranger, and who knows how long I was staring right at him, and how long he was staring right back, before I realized it!

The moment I realized I was staring, I started stammering to say something so as not to appear rude. I couldn't think of anything to say (I could hardly bring myself to say "Quite a package you're packing in your pants there, stud!") I finally heard myself saying, "They had to give me the handicapped suite. It has a bed and its own bathroom." In retrospect, this sounds like an obvious pick-up line. I mean, would I be telling a total stranger that I had a bed if I wasn't trying to invite him into it? But I wasn't consciously trying to pick this guy up at that moment. And I didn't even realize that my words sounded like an invitation until I heard him respond with "Let's go." He grabbed my arm and I led him back to my room. It was all like some sort of dream, only I wasn't the one who was dead tired!

We didn't talk while we undressed. Lust had come over both of us, and we took off our clothes with the sort of urgency that comes with intense sexual desire. I got a sense that he was proud of his well-toned, masculine body and not afraid to show it off. He had a beautiful tan chest (probably his natural skin tone) with a nice soft fuzz of dark brown hairs. His stomach was quite flat and hairy as well. It was only when he peeled off his tight white briefs that he spoke, and that was to apologize for his unusual length and girth. As I said, I was basically struck mute. I suppose I had seen cocks that big on the internet, especially when the camera is very close to the model's crotch and so exaggerates the size. But seeing a big one like that in the flesh was a whole other can of worms. I could relate to how a fresh young college boy might feel upon walking into a bar only to discover that it's a leather bar full of dark, imposing, somewhat menacing figures, and then looking for the restroom only to accidentally stumble into a dungeon room and get cornered by a burly authoritarian who has just lubed up his fist and forearm. The college boy might well be thinking, "Umm... I'm not sure that I'm ready for this." That's what I was thinking about this pillar of manflesh in front of me. Was I ready for it, and could I handle whatever it might do to me? I have to admit that I was a bit worried. Yet, in a strange way, it actually *helped* that I was a virgin, because I didn't know how much anal sex might hurt or not hurt, and I didn't know how much my ass might be able to take or not take. So ignorance helped me gain the courage to give this man his best shot with me. And the fact that he said "I'd love nothing more in the world than to fuck you," with his chest heaving in anticipation, just made me melt into his arms.

He promised that we'd take it slow, and I pointed him to the bottle of lube and condoms in my suitcase. He recommended that I sit on his cock so that I could control the speed of penetration, but the bunk beds didn't have enough headroom. He said the next easiest position would be for me to lie on my side and for him to enter me from behind. But I nixed that one because I wanted to look at him while he fucked me, thinking that a rear entry would be too impersonal for my first time. Little did I know that my eyes would be screwed shut while my ass was getting screwed. But we'll get to that in a moment. He had me lie down on the bed, face up, and propped up my ass with two pillows (I wasn't quite limber enough to swing my legs over his shoulders). He spent a nice long time getting my lovehole ready, tenderly applying lube with his fingertips around and into my hole a few drops at a time. By the time both my ass and his cock were properly slicked up, he had emptied my entire bottle of lube. I was horny as hell at this point, and he was, too. His voice was thick with lust as he asked, "Are you ready for the ride of your life?" (I'm not completely sure he said "for the ride of your life," but I heard those words, whether they came out of my own head or out of his lips.) And my answer ended up being a long gasp as I felt the swollen head of his cock press against against me. Now, if you've never been fucked yet, you might have the mistaken impression that being the bottom man is for sissies. If you thought that, you'd be very, very wrong. I believe I became a real man that day I got fucked for the first time. It tested the limits of my endurance, but it also took me to highs that I never dreamed possible. If you have already been fucked before then you understand what a truly unique experience it is. It feels like nothing else in the world, and there's really no good preparation for it. Parts of it are painful at first, but mostly it involves a strange feeling of *pressure* inside of you that's hard to get used to. For a long time, I didn't think we were going to make it. I mean, his cockhead felt like an entire telephone pole trying to get in, and I was sure that I simply couldn't physically accommodate it. He was pushing toward me ever so slightly, yet it felt remarkably intense. He coached me to relax my muscles down there and kept promising me that once the head was past my sphincter things would go easier. That may be true for some men, but I can assure you that every millimeter of his rigid shaft was a challenge for me to take. It was a searing pain that had me practically blacking out. At some point I started saying "Oh God" over and over again, like you often hear when couples are making love, only in my case I was literally praying. And I wasn't praying to just a single god, either. Having taken several classes in comparative world religion, I found myself praying to a pantheon of deities, hoping to get through to whichever one of them could see me through this experience. (I've heard it said that people who study comparative religion tend to be comparatively religious.) The pain had me seeing fireworks in my head, and I actually found myself visualizing a giant phallus glowing in space. (In retrospect, it's no wonder that the erect penis has been worshipped in so many cultures throughout time. Believe me, it can bring about a religious experience.) In between prayers, I did that kind of breathing that pregnant women do when they're in labor, and that actually helped dissipate some of the pain.

Amazingly, once his entire shaft was finally in, my body began to relax and my mind calmed down. Having plowed that far in, his cock didn't hurt me when he started sliding it in and out. Now that we were past the difficult part, I could enjoy getting fucked by this hot man on top of me. The curly hairs on his chest tickled my nipples as he pounded me, which I found incredibly erotic. We kissed deeply, and he shoved his tongue into my mouth like he was face-fucking me. I sucked on his tongue like I was giving it a blow job, so that he had to pull away really hard whenever he wanted to catch his breath. The friction of his fucking was really heating up my ass, and I was just on the verge of discomfort when I could tell my lover was getting close to cumming. The muscles in his chest puffed up, and his thrusts started getting shorter and faster, and he broke out into a full body sweat. "Oh fuck, man, I'm getting really close," he said gruffly, almost grunting. "I want it, man," I answered. And then I started saying "Fuck me" in a sort of animalistic chant, in time with the rhythm of his bucking hips. I knew exactly what he was feeling as he approached that point of no return. I bet you anything that gay couples experience simultaneous orgasm vastly more often than straight couples do, because gay couples know exactly what each other is feeling. I had total empathy for my lover because I had the same physical equipment and my libido was wired the same way. And when he started to cum, I was right there with him. We both gave a wild cry of ecstasy, and I shot off at the same time I felt his cock explode inside me. It wasn't until afterwards, when we were lying next to one another in post-orgasmic bliss, that I realized I had never touched my cock during our lovemaking. I had been totally caught up in the experience of getting fucked. My lover was tickled pink that I shot off just from his fucking. As a virgin, I had been unaware of how much erotic stimulation you receive from getting fucked. My inner male organs were being turned on to the point that the outer ones didn't need any extra help. And man, I spurted more cream than I ever did before or since. As he was admiring the sheer amount of my cum, I tried to act like I always shot off that much, but I was just amazed as he was!

The second he pulled his cock out of me, my ass felt really weird. Terribly empty. Like it *needed* that cock inside of it. This feeling was a big surprise for me as well. I think I can relate to men who like wearing buttplugs, because when you've had a big cock inside of you it just feels weird for it to come out. I told my lover that my ass felt weird without him inside of me, and he slid three fingers back up my ass so I could slowly get used to the change. At one point he started giggling, and when I asked him what was up he confessed that he couldn't believe we actually got through the entire sex act. "You wouldn't believe how few men can take my cock all the way," he said. "And it's really difficult to fuck a man with just half or a quarter of your shaft. Especially during the most intense heat of passion. It's like an irresistible instinct to push your dick all the way in to the hilt when you're about to cum. So if you have to constantly worry about not hurting him, and you can't really thrust like you need to, all of a sudden you're working too hard at having fun and you start to go soft." He told me that I was awesome and the best fuck he'd had in years. Believe me, I was more than just a little flattered. And I was proud of myself, too, for taking on that big a cock my very first time.

As we were cuddling next to one another, with his fingers inside me, I noticed how incredibly wonderful he smelled. It wasn't soap or cologne, since he hadn't bathed in a day. It was just his natural scent... sweaty and musky but not at all dirty-smelling. It was actually quite arousing—a true natural pheromone. I rubbed my face through the damp hairs on his chest, and if you've ever seen a cat around catnip then that's probably what I looked like. His sweat tasted good, too, sort of salty and sort of just *him* tasting. I licked and sucked on his chest until I stopped missing his cock inside of me. My ass burned and tingled for a few hours afterward, but it was less a discomfort and more just an erotic reminder of how I lost my virginity.

Oh yeah, I did remember to ask him how he could tell I was a virgin with just a single finger up my butt. He said that if a man has never been fucked, when you stick a finger in his ass his muscles will automatically resist and try to push the foreign object out. He said that he didn't have to pull his finger out of me—I did it for him, completely instinctively. When a man is used to being fucked, that instinctive muscle action generally gets overridden by the brain. I don't know if he was shitting me with this "scientific" explanation, but it sounded reasonable enough.

At some point while we cuddled, my mystery man fell asleep, and he slept the remaining seven or so hours of the train ride. I never did muster the courage to ask him what he did for a living, or why he had been up all night, or why his suit was so wrinkled. Maybe a part of me preferred him to remain a man of mystery. Unfortunately, I didn't ever get any contact information from him. It was just an anonymous encounter, an end to my virginity, and an experience with a cock the likes I haven't come across since. It was also a very tender experience, for all the initial pain involved. Unfortunately, it's not an experience I've been able to tell very many lovers. I mean, can you imagine a lover pulling his cock out of me and me saying "Did I ever tell you about the time I got fucked by a man with a big dick?" I just don't think he'd take it the right way!