I remember very well my first sexual experience with another boy and the background to it. I was just sixteen and S. was a few months older. We were on our way back from attending a tennis tournament in London and we were whiling away the time on a long coach trip on a sunny late afternoon in a hot summer. The coach was full of boys from our school.

On that journey, S. was sitting in the row behind me but during the trip swapped places with another boy and sat next to me. We were talking about nothing in particular for quite a while.

After some time, S. suddenly changed the conversation. He was sitting on my right in the aisle seat; I was sat near the window. He put his hand on my thigh not far from my crotch, looked at me and said that he wanted to have sex with me. For a few moments, I was shocked, nonplussed, and did not know what to say.

He then turned to some of the other boys in the row behind and, laughing, announced that he and I were going to have sex. I gasped in astonishment and said aloud that I could not believe what he had just said. He laughed again and said he was only joking but I knew well enough he had been telling the truth. The truth was also that, deep down where I couldn't admit it to myself, until then, I had been longing to hear him say that. It was a deep thrill to hear the words. The truth was, I wanted it more than anything else.

I had often seen him naked in the showers and it was as much as I could do not to gasp in admiration. I hid my reactions successfully, or so I thought. His skin was brown as he was Asian and I preferred his skin to the white skin of the other boys. He used to flirt with me in the shower, in a minor sort of a way, shifting from one foot to another while he looked at me quizzically and a little knowingly, rubbing the soap briskly in his hands as he looked at me.

He used to look at me a lot in the showers and he often seemed to be there when I was there. I can still remember how the shower water trickled down the hair between his navel and his pliable cock. I thought it was beautiful. I used to wonder how big his cock would be if he got an erection.

It was difficult to keep my eyes away from his black pubic hair and his tight scrotum and when he turned round I could see his beautiful brown ass with its dark asshole which I saw once or twice when he bent over. The small of his back was somehow so cute I wanted to stroke it. His body was fleshy without being fat.

Despite my expression of astonishment on the coach, from that moment I was quite suddenly and simply on heat. The blush on my cheeks at his words of desire became a flush of excitement although I don't think he realised. I found it so arousing and my embarrassment turned to excitement. I was almost panting, to tell the truth.

There and then on the coach, straight away, my cock swelled and rose hugely pushing against my trousers and I could smell the heat of my arousal through the material of my trousers. My erection simply refused to go down for what seemed like hours and hours, all the way back home in fact. It was at least four hours of painful, unrelieved desire almost bursting my cock. It was the longest lasting erection of my entire life. I longed for him to go through with his intention.

The waiting almost drove me to distraction, beyond excitement. I spent much of my time trying to work out how we could do it together despite the fact that he had definitely gone cool on me in the days afterwards, or so I thought. He had a starring role in my masturbatory fantasies but it got so frustrating that I could not find a way to do what I longed to do.

We got our chance a couple of weeks later one Sunday evening. I was sitting on a sofa in the study area when he came and sat down beside me. Unwatched by any of the pupils concentrating on their books and notepads he slipped his left hand surreptitiously across over my right thigh and began stroking my cock gently with his fingers through the flannel fabric of my trousers as his arm rested on my thigh. I remember being glad that I was sitting down.  Instantly my hormones responded and straight away I could feel the heat, the swelling under the fabric and the smell of hot and slightly steamy fabric. I was in heat. Literally.

He suddenly told me again that he wanted sex with me, this time, more impatiently and demanding. I felt, this time, he would not take no for an answer. He suggested a time and a place. Somehow he must have seen over the previous two weeks that I was wanting it too, and been reassured. We slipped away unseen together.

My heart was in my mouth as we walked silently towards our agreed destination. Before we knew it I was lying on my back on my bed.

Without being asked, I pulled down my jeans and lay back on the bed, tugging my underpants down just below my bottom, exposing my cock and balls. He exclaimed admiringly and smiled with delight as my cock throbbed it way upwards steadily towards his waiting touch. He said it was his first time and he really wanted it to be with me. He added with a smile that he wanted to take my virginity. I felt a lurch in my stomach as he put his hand round my upright cock.

I loved his holding my cock and felt so profoundly, deeply grateful for his touch and firm grasp. I loved him simply for doing this. He masturbated me quickly with the movement of his deft fingers and I realised that on our first time together he just wanted to make me come. He did not want me to reciprocate although I don't know why.

He stroked and pulled on my cock exposing the head of my uncut penis as it rhythmically appeared and disappeared behind my foreskin. There I was, half naked on my back on the bed and him kneeling over me. I prayed that no one would somehow blunder in and see us. Before long I felt my scrotum tightening and with an almost guilty surge of spunk gave up with soft moans and a blush on my cheeks which spread as my spunk spilled over the head of my cock. 

I was so deeply satisfied for having had the courage to go ahead with it and be true to my feelings, despite having done something definitely "queer."

He was clearly so pleased to see my semen surge out of my glans. He exclaimed his approval. I was relieved that there was some still left as I had masturbated only a few hours previously. I loved the feeling of the surrender his making me cum had given me. I never forgot the thrill and replayed my first sex many times in my fantasies after that evening.

I had glorious sex with a number of different boys after that but S. was the first. I remember that amazing powerful desire, the heady feeling that having forbidden sex with him was going to be inevitable once he made his feelings known. That sexual intensity is still a strong memory to this day many years later.

On future occasions, we became skilled at sucking each other's cocks. He was circumcised, unlike me, but I adored sucking his long and slightly narrow brown cock and loved watching him unleash his cum everywhere. Sometimes he even sprayed it into my hair. I learned to take his cock out of my mouth and let him erupt his fountain like ejaculation at just the right moment.

I was amazed at how much I like the smell and taste of him.

He learned to manipulate my foreskin like an expert and brought up my pre cum long before I came. He wanted to fuck me and it is one of my big regrets that he never did. His cock would have fitted my tight virgin ass and I would have adored to let him in and feel him shoot his usual spurting, fountain-like load into me. It would have been heaven. My cum has always emerged in surges and gouts of spunk, not like his.

Later on, when I did get fucked it was thicker and took a lot more getting used to than his cock would have done. His brown long and thin cock in my ass would have been a great "first time." I grew to love a bigger cock nevertheless.

I do recall him playing around with me, once, grabbing my cock from behind. He was pressing his erect, circumcised shaft against the cleft between my ass cheeks through my pyjamas as he pushed me over onto the bed for another exuberant cock sucking session. I wished afterwards he had fucked me there and then.

He wanted me to fuck him one time and I remember pushing the head of my cock up against the entry to his naked anus but we did not have any lubricant to hand at the time (for some reason we felt we were obliged to use butter or not do it!) and so it never happened unfortunately.

After I left my teenage years, during which there were many similar episodes with other boys, I had a long and enjoyable sexual history with women. After many years I began to realise that I was finding it increasingly difficult to remember in any great detail my sexual encounters with women despite their frequency. And yet I could not forget the intricate minutiae of this my first sexual experience with another person, nor those of other encounters with boys, nor the intensity and authenticity of the power of my sexual desire in those settings. 

Once I began to compose my story it began to dawn on me that there was a reason for this. 

As I wrote I realised that I was not looking through a window into the past but looking at my reflection in a mirror. I began to confront the reality that it was only ever "homosex" that had ever really thrilled me as sex could and should. I made the fundamental error of thinking that because I could easily see the profound beauty of so many women and because I knew how to please them, both outside and inside the bedroom, that I should devote my sexual energies to them.

The origin of my desire to please women, I later came to believe, lay in my childhood. I was the youngest of four children, the only boy amongst girls. I inevitably grew up with an education in the female psyche and absorbed some of it myself. My mother was not the maternal sort and had not wished to have the son my father longed to have, although she loved me in her own way. To earn her love I learned to please my mother, to talk to her, to entertain her, to make her laugh and to excel at school. That track was the track I couldn't seem to leave. I set about pleasing women but without the concomitant condition of pleasing myself. What I could not bring myself to see until many years later was that I rarely felt the intensity of desire with women that I had felt when boys were the focus of my longings. In the end I simply grew tired of that compulsion with women I had felt since childhood and stopped. Once I stopped it was as if I could no longer fail to recognise my true sexuality and this realisation permeated my psyche almost every day and every night in the weeks, months and years that followed.

There is no way yet clear for me to understand why I did not come to  the realisation that I could perhaps have come to decades before but, despite being in the closet for now, I have the rest of my life to try be what I was meant to be and do what I was meant to do.