I used to live in South Lisbon, just across the bridge by the Atlantic Ocean. Yes, everybody knows Costa da Caparica and the gay beaches, specially the Number 19 one. It was the winter time, had been raining and the streets were empty. The very same moment I’d made up my mind to go to bed, I found myself going down the road towards “Duche”, the gay disco full of old fags and fishermen’s sons. There I sat at the darkest conner. Had 3 or 4 beers, so I could get quick drunk and go to bed to work the next day. That’s when this tall and slim guy came in. Our eyes met. He was pretty young, black and shining hair. He was coming with another guy. Asked if he could sit at my table, since all the others were full. Said Sure, go ahead! Then he asked if he could have some of my pistachio. His eyes were on me all the time. I had promised myself if he’d kept on staring at me I’d ask him to come to my place. The conversation with his friend went on stuff like neither of them had ever been in that place. Then his friend left and he asked me if I was alone there, said Yes. Then, out of the blue he said he wasn’t homossexual, I said Neither am I, and he asked me if I lived on my own, said Yes and we went to my flat. We were both pretty drunk and had a couple of joints on that. When I was kissing him he kept holding my hand and driving to his cock, I said I can do it myself don’t need you to push me. He couldn’t get a hard on, but his hands were the warmest hands I have ever touched. Can’t remember whether I came or not, I was 2 drunk, 2 stoned for it. The next morning didn’t go to work. He asked if could call his girlfriend to fetch him. Course he could. She came and rang the bell. We said goodbye, he left. I went to sleep. A couple of hours later the phone rang and it was him. He’d kept my number when he’d called his girlfriend. He asked if he could come in the evening. Said Yes. He came. Never, ever again I found any one who could kiss like he did, we spent hours stroking each other, kissing over and over again. His smell was penetrating me, he was all tenderness, but he couldn’t get a hard on, even when I sucked him and he came heavily, his cock kept down. I didn’t mind. We kept seeing each other often, specially at weekends. He always came. But his cock never got hard. And he would never hold or touch my cock. I was getting cross and asking myself what I was doing there. I was in good shape, I was doing Tae-Kuon-Do, had a regular good body and horny most of the time. One day got out of bed and said If you’re never gonna hold my cock, I’m through with it and you’ve got to go. He came, hold me from the back, took me bed and gave me a wank, I licked his ass and he moaned at that, said Joooorge and his cock got very hard as he asked me to lick him deeper. I did it. And his legs were as wide open as he could so that I could see his very brown asshole surrounded by hair, lots of hair. Started fingering him, he said he didn’t want it, but he wouldn’t close his legs or nothing. I spent an awful lot of spit, and gave him his first fuck. He cried, I cried when I came. I remained embrassed by his legs with our mouths together breathing his air, looking at his eyes, kissing his neck, his ears and he was and was in heaven.
No, I’ve never been in love with him, I even didn’t want him to see me so often. I couldn’t do anything when he was around, I couldn’t go to work, I wouldn’t eat, I wouldn’t even go out. He started using my clothes and I his. Hanging around in Lisbon with his perfume on me, I could feel his hands and the warmth of his skin. I was a silly fag, whose body belonged to another person. Paulo wanted to live with me, I didn’t. I couldn’t share my life. I was 38 then, he was 24, suburban, living with mother, father and sister, working for Volkswagen downtown Lisbon. I couldn’t. I broke…Some years later I got a call from Paris. It was him asking Do you remember our kisses. I said sort of blasé, yes. Inside myself I cried YES!!!! I REMEMBER, HOW COULD I HAVE POSSIBLY FORGOTTEN?