Switching Sides Ch. 01

Throwing our backpacks and new toiletry kits aside on the foot of the bed when we entered the room, we went directly to the bed ourselves. It was a king-sized bed, obviously the most important—and most used—piece of furniture in the room. Mario didn't give me time to hyperventilate over what we were doing. He quickly had us stretched out together. As we went down he pulled his shirt off his back and then mine as well. I was in his embrace and we were kissing immediately. And he had his hands all over me. He unbuckled and unzipped me again as we were kissing. And he did that for himself as well. He probably knew I would need more build-up to doing that than he wanted to give him in his steamroll to sex that went beyond the kissing and hand job on the ferry.

He stroked me for a while and moved my hand to his cock. The first time I'd done that with a man, but he had me in the moment and in heat and he wasn't giving me time or space to think about what we were doing. After pulling out of our kiss and running his tongue across my lips to assure himself that I would open my mouth to him if he wanted a deeper kiss, he moved his face down my throat and to my chest, working my nipples to the point of me recognizing that they were an arousal zone for me. I moaned for him and held his head to me with a hand.

He lifted his head and whispered, "I'm going to do everything to you."

"Yes, yes," I answered with a groan. Periodically he stopped and asserted that we were moving on to more, and each time I whispered "yes." This was my opportunity to experience all I'd dreamed about, all I'd seen being done between men across the fence at my B&B in Cape May. A fulfillment of my fantasies. I couldn't let this go. Mario was young and beautiful and hard bodied. And he was whispering of the pleasures we were going to experience together.

I lost my shoes and khakis and socks and he smoothly disrobed as well. My initial embarrassment and worry about being naked with him was ended by his exclamations of how toned I was for my age and how well endowed I was—that he was pleased that I was hard for him. That he couldn't wait for me to be inside him.

Then he took me in his mouth—the first time a man had sucked my cock—and I suddenly was busy working hard not to explode as prematurely as I had down in his hand on the ferry.

He took his mouth off my cock, looked up at me, and said, "You say you photograph young men. Do you photograph them servicing your cock?"

"I've never had a man sucking me before," I answered, my voice shaking.

"Your camera is just there," he said. "Use it."

I did, and I think having a camera to point down the line of my torso to catch what he was doing with my cock in his mouth helped me control myself. I think otherwise I would have come almost immediately.

He was professional. He could sense when I was tensing and he backed off until I had calmed down. But he didn't give up on me, and later, when he moved his body around, hovering over mine, and his hard cock was there, the bulb pressing at my lips, I did the natural move and opened to him. He was restrained, giving me just a few inches. He took the camera from me, held it in one hand, while supporting himself over me with the other arm, and it was my turn being photographed sucking cock.

We'd been on the move all day. He tasted salty and tangy. The smooth, spongy texture of his glans contrasted with the rough, hard-as-steel of his shaft as I moved my mouth farther down the sides of his cock, taking more of him inside me. He put the camera to the side to concentrate fully on me, and then he was way ahead of me, taking nearly all of my cock with each down stroke. I pressed my tongue into his piss slit as he had done with mine, and he rewarded me with a deep moan, just as I had done when he had tongued my slit.

I warned him I couldn't take much more, and he murmured, "That will come in time," and turned on me, rising up on his knees, planted on either side of my thighs, as he turned me on my back, looking up at his magnificent, hard torso. He picked up the camera and took a photo of my face in deep want. The camera went to our pelvises, capturing his hand wrapped around our two cocks, frotting them.

I moaned again, as he put the camera aside and reached for one of the toiletry kits, which, as I'd already noticed, contained a small bottle of lube and a couple of condom packets along with the usual toothbrush, toothpaste, and disposable shaving supplies.

I trembled as he opened a packet and unrolled a condom on my hard and throbbing cock, applied lube to the shaft and to his ass, and then saddled himself on my pelvis, impaled himself a couple of inches to obtain purchase, palmed my pecs, looked dreamily down into my eyes, and fucked himself on my shaft.

Again, I came embarrassingly quickly and again he assured me that this was natural for the first time and that I'd gain greater control through repetition.

I had fucked my first man.

"Now me. The pain will melt into pleasure, but let me know if it gets too much," he whispered as he crowned himself with another condom, turned me on my side, with him stretched behind me, and ran an arm under my waist, palming my lower belly and jutting my buttocks back and up. I gulped as I felt his bulb inside my rim. He placed his free hand under my knee and lifted my leg.

I gasped and tried not to cry out as he slowly entered me. It was almost more than I could bear, but bear it I did, and then it wasn't more than I could take and I was taking him as he slow stroked me. I don't think he went deep, but it felt like he was fucking me with a telephone pole.

"Memorializing your first time," I heard him murmur, and I looked around to see that he had the camera again and that it was trained on his cock moving in my ass. I came again before he did, with him giving a small laugh and whisper, "Good, good. Yes, you want to go with men." And then he tensed and jerked, and it was done. I'd been fucked by my first man.

He rode my cock again after a short break, complimenting me on my fast reload. This time it was freer and he bounced more—and urged me to grab his waist and thrust more, which I did—and enjoyed it thoroughly. I held the camera this time and fired off photos of him riding me. I was finding that including the camera in the sex play helped me manage my arousal.

"In a bit we'll clean up and go out on the town. You must be starving," he said. He was still on top of me, me flaccid inside him, and he leaning over and kissing me on the mouth and the throat and the nipples. At that moment what I was starving for was to move him on his back and take control in fucking him. But that was to come.

We ate on the terrace beside the hotel's pool, not being dressed for its four-star restaurant, and then we walked for a few blocks to the Ghetto Crime Bar, where we ogled and were ogled. We both were propositioned, but Mario said the pickings were better at another bar—a cruising club not far away.

"The pickings?" I asked.

"No reason just to wade. It's all in tonight. Tonight we buy you a young lay. Tomorrow night we find someone as nice who wants to go to the hotel with you just because he wants you to lay him."

I hyperventilated, but I didn't say no or second guess what Mario wanted to do.

The cruising club was the Depot Napoli. There were many young men on offer. I picked a young Greek out and we took him back to the Romeo. He was amenable to being photographed for extra money. After I took some solo nude poses of him, Mario fucked him as I watched, sitting in a chair by the bed and pointing the camera. Then, still gaping open from Mario fucking him missionary style on the bed, the Italian stud gathered him up, still saddled, and carried him—Nick, he'd said—over to me. Mario put him on my cock, facing me, as I sat there, luckily having rolled a rubber on earlier at Mario's command. Mario took a turn with the camera. Nick rode me, his arms around my neck, his lips on mine for a while, until he jerked his mouth off mine, gave a little cry, and threw his head back. Mario was behind him. I felt Mario's cock working its way into the Greek's passage above mine. Mario grabbed Nick's waist and stroked his ass, rubbing along my stationary shaft inside the passage.

My first night with a man, and already I had done a DP of a man with another man.

We returned to Rome the next day, and my sex education continued to expand and deepen as Mario introduced me to the gay district of Rome near my hotel, the Palazzo Manfredi. Surmising—correctly—that I liked topping the best, Mario didn't fuck me again, but I fucked him in a variety of positions he introduced me to. Our club crawls and experiences doing the same things each night were as exhausting as they were educational.

When I boarded a plane at the Rome airport, waving good-bye to my accommodating guide, I was tired, drained, and felt like there was electricity coursing through my body. I had been indoctrinated well. I would have to send a thank-you card to Peter, in Cape May, knowing that this was his doing—and at his considerable expense. I also had a couple of full cartridges of photos to pass on to my service subscribers.

But the one thing I didn't feel was fully satisfied, fulfilled. I was thirty-seven. I didn't see myself sustaining a cruising lifestyle for any length of time. Indeed, Mario's program had almost killed me. There was something else that was missing. I couldn't put my finger on it—something I had expected switching sides would bring to me that I'd seen in the gay community in Cape May—a community that would have welcomed me, I'm sure, if I'd been ready for it, but I wasn't. Something else I was seeking other than this wanton orgy I'd experienced in Rome.

Still, there was no shyness left for me. There was not much I hadn't done for the first time—and the second time—or would not understand how to do the next time. There certainly wasn't more I could do that wasn't memorialized in film.