Acts of Passion And The First Time

By Kris Andersson

Acts of Passion: Daniel Barnes is a rising star with a secret - he can't resist older men. But a chance encounter at a post show party will lead to a trail of destructive desire in a journey that includes a simmering sexual encounter on the banks of the Tiber, casual pickups in Hyde Park abd a decadent threesome where aonything goes. The First Time: A young man recalls a series of sexual firsts - everything from the first stirrings of gay desire with a boarding school roommate and a saucy secret encounter in the locker room to anal passion in the village store with a hairy chested stud and lusty romps with Auntie Syvia - and Uncle Arthur!

• Language: English
• Publisher: House of Erotica
• Release date: Sep 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781849896443

Book preview

1988.

Acts of Passion

IT STARTED with a surprising and completely unexpected text message: You look good with a pint and your eyes say a lot.

I had only met Daniel Barnes once, at an after show party in a pub garden where we spoke briefly about his performance and I told him how much I’d enjoyed the show and his part in it.

It hadn’t even been my intention to speak to him that night and I doubt we would have done more than exchange fleeting glances of mutual interest if Jeremy hadn’t said: He is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. I’ve got to talk to him.

I shrugged: So go talk to him - he’s an actor, he’ll love the attention. They all do.

I couldn’t do that, Jeremy protested. He must get fed up of people bothering him after a show.

I wanted to point out that somebody who didn’t want to be bothered would have chosen a bar that wasn’t right next door to the theatre but instead I said: "Oh for God’s sake, if it’s that important Jez I’ll go over and say hello and you can come over in a couple of minutes and I’ll introduce you.

Once I’ve got him talking, all you have to do is step in and carry the conversation on. Talk about him and he’ll be more than happy.

So that’s how it all began - blame Jeremy, who did come over a few minutes later but was completely blanked by the young actor who seemed instead to be hanging on my every word.

I even thought nothing of it when he asked for my mobile number because, he said, there was a small business matter he might want to discuss with me at a later date.

And when he said a few minutes later that he had to go, we simply shook hands - that slight extra pressure of palm against palm should have set an alarm bell ringing - and he disappeared from my life, an enjoyable mini-flirtation and no more, a pleasant chat in a beer garden that he would surely have forgotten about by the following morning, even if I had to admit I hadn’t, for something about the evening stayed in the back of mind, the intriguing thought that something had happened and that, if I was lucky, it could be the start of something wonderful

It was around a fortnight later when I was at dinner with friends, that the phone vibrated and that strange message came up on screen: You look good with a pint and your eyes say a lot.

If I’d ignored it, I might have saved myself the trouble of what was to come but instead I texted back: Thanks for that. It was a pleasure meeting you too.

That really should have been the end of it. I had made no particular response to the implied come on; there was no suggestion that I was being anything more than polite with a relative stranger.

But a fortnight later I was awoken at around 1am by the sound of the phone vibrating - another text: I have a hard on and don’t know what to do.

I was sleepy and at first confused but then I decided he was joking and sent back what I thought was a similarly light-hearted message: Why don’t you have a wank?

"I don’t know how. Will you tell me what to do?

You just grab your cock and rub.

The phone was silent for a few minutes before it vibrated again and the next message came through: There’s a bit of liquid dribbling out of my bell end. Is this normal?

I should have stopped right there but I was excited enough by the game to reply: It’s called pre-cum. Keep rubbing up and down.

Then came the final text of the night: OH FUCKING HELL!!!!!!!!!

After that nothing more, though I must admit that I was so stimulated by the bizarre exchange of messages that before I returned to sleep, I quickly masturbated, releasing a strange tension as I thought of the dark haired young actor with deep brown eyes and heavy five o’clock shadow who had engaged me in a pub garden conversation and then decided, for reasons which flattered me even if I didn’t understand them, to take things a stage further.

And then came the silence - no further messages, no attempt to maintain contact and I must admit I filed the name and thought of Daniel Barnes away in the back of my mind, a pleasant memory of a short-lived flirtation.

I’d occasionally be told by a mutual acquaintance that they had seen Daniel in a play or in a small TV role