The older man

I was still at school in sixth form when my Dad decided getting me a job as a cleaner at his offices was a good idea.
The work was easy. Twice a week I turned up and went around the desks, emptying bins and hoovering carpets. I’d read old newspapers and be fascinated by what people threw away. Emptying ashtrays in the smoking rooms was the worst bit.
Most of the time I’d find the workers had gone home, sometimes a few stayed and chatted to me.
One guy seemed super interested in me. It ended up where he knew what days I was working and would stay behind at his desk on purpose.
He was the same age, or near as dammit as my Dad, but worked in a different department.
He had a glint in his eye which I loved. God knows what we talked about but he was interesting and funny and seemed way more exotic than any of the boys my own age I’d met. Plus the danger of being in the same office as Dad gave an edge to it.
I’d delay cleaning his area until the end of the shift so I could talk to him without still having work to do.
We began a correspondence. He would write me dirty letters which he’d slip into my apron when I was passing. I’d respond by dropping one on his desk.
Work, for both of us, became fun.
At the time I had very little contact with men. My best friend at school was nicknamed ‘the bike’ – you can guess why. I was ready for my own experiences.
I don’t know how we arranged it – these were the days well before mobile phones – but he would pick me up from school in his car at lunchtime and we would drive off to talk. It felt naughty and illicit, like so many things do.
The third or fourth time this happened, he kissed me and slowly guided my hand down to touch him. He unzipped his fly.
I can still remember the feel of his pants as I reached down into them. And how surprised I was at what lay inside. His cock was warm and limp, like a sausage. A big one. It was huge. Different to the ones in the Biology textbooks. And different to the one I’d seen in the copy of “The Joy of Sex” I’d found whilst sneaking around my parents room.
As I gently touched it he sighed and kissed me. And it got harder and harder until he was straining against his waistband.
As I continued to feel around there I came across his pubic hair and his balls. I remember the car had steamed up, I couldn’t see out and I was lost. I didn’t know what to do next.

It was my first experience of a man’s cock. What a man! And what a cock! It confused the hell out of me. It was nothing like I had expected.

Nothing else happened that day, nothing bad or wrong or illegal. But I had been seen getting into his car, my Mum found a half-written filthy letter to him under my bed and I wasn’t allowed to go back to my cleaning job. Apparently my Dad “had a word with him” as well.

But luckily, it wasn’t the last time I had my hand in a guy’s pants.

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