The First Time: The XXX Trilogy of Young Gay Boys Popping Their Cork

By John Martin

Three different teeny boys, three different situations, but all with the same end result – popping their butt cherries. There is nothing hotter than innocent, and maybe not so innocent, teeny boys revealing the dirty details of their first time sexual adventures, and nothing gets hotter or dirtier than this highly detailed collection.

Titles are: 'How I lost my Butt-Cherry', 'My Very First Time', 'The Irresistible Asian Teen'.

Teens with teens, teens with older studs, friends and foreigners; teenaged sex at its horniest. If you like to read about the loss of teenaged purity, about how young virgin-guys get turned into men, then this trilogy is definitely for you.  Aimed at over 18's and mature adults only – Want real 'teenie' sex? You just found it! Buy Now- Satisfaction guaranteed!

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Martin
• Release date: Feb 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393356394

Book preview

How I lost my Butt-Cherry

They say that France is the country of liberty, equality, and brotherhood, but as a Frenchman, I can tell you that such is a lie. The only one of the above that’s true is the first part: that of liberty... but even that is coming under fire, recently.

My ancestors may have officially thrown out the ideas of caste during the French Revolution in the late 18th century, but ours is an ancient culture, and some things just never die.

For consider this: after they lopped the heads off of those nobles who weren’t able to escape, they then replaced their glorious republic a few years later with an empire under the supreme command of Napoleon Bonaparte, the self-styled Emperor of France.

And after all the annual hoopla to celebrate that glorious revolution, a number of those nobles are still around and venerated. Most are destitute, it is true. Others have sold off their titles to survive, it is also true. But some still exist, their wealth is still intact, and they are still held in awe by the average ordinary French to this day. Myself included.

But it doesn’t end there. Here in France, there are two types of schools: private ones and public ones. Only the rich can go to the former, and are therefore guaranteed good jobs, with great salaries at companies whose very names will strike you off your feet with awe.

If you go to a public one, however, your chances of rising through the ranks are next to impossible. True, if you are not rich you might just get a scholarship, but good luck with that.

While grades matter to the top French companies, the pedigree of your school is of greater consequence. This is because French companies don’t just want to hire employees, they are also on the look-out for people who can help expand their network. And since the kids who can go to the private schools (be they rich, or on scholarship because they aren’t) are more likely to rub elbows with other privileged kids, hiring one opens a company’s chances of gaining the business of said kids or their families. Or the friends they made.

Also, they are so confident that private schools are so impeccably superior to public ones, that simply graduating from one is virtually enough to guarantee you a job.

So. Here I am going to a public college because I was not born to a rich family, nor were my grades good enough to get me a scholarship. So I know perfectly well that if I choose to remain here in France after graduation, my chances of anything remotely resembling a decent career are next to nil.

And considering the state of our economy (no thanks to Greece and Spain), I think I’d be lucky to even get a decent job upon graduation.

Still, I’m lucky. I passed the Baccalauréat. It qualified me to enter a university (however public) instead of an ordinary vocational school. My English, unfortunately, was not good enough to qualify me for the International Baccalauréat, but I’ll deal with that when the time comes. I hope.

Not that I can push it off for too long, of course. English is key, for mastering it allows employment beyond the borders of this country. Beyond the French-speaking African countries, as well, for who in their right minds would go there? Consider how many of them try to get in here, yeah? Switzerland? Belgium? No thank you. They have the same system as here, so why bother?

For the time-being, I make extra money by working in a hotel as a bellboy. For four hours a day. Overtime on weekends? Are you kidding!? This is France, hello? There is no over-time here. It is against the law.

Our economy is sinking, our laws prevent over-time, and our people demand a lower retirement age and fewer working hours, but with higher pay and more benefits. On top of that, our government wants to side with the Nazis and bail out Greece and Spain.

It doesn’t take a genius graduate from some private, top notch university to realize where all this will end up. No wonder everyone thinks we’re bonkers.

Me? I don’t think it. I know it.

True. I’m no genius. But I read, yeah? So put it the way I just did, the way the economists all do, and what else would you conclude? Yeah. I thought so. Welcome to the club.

I’ve tried to look at my other options. Internet marketing? You need money for that. And I don’t have it. Money’s like yogurt, see? It takes some to make some. Gambling? I don’t make enough to throw away. Still, I’m always thinking on my toes.

I’m young, eighteen years young. I’ve got my health, a good body from all my years of playing football (which never went professional, unfortunately), and while I’m not book smart enough to have gotten me a scholarship, I’ve a good head on my shoulders.

If I’m still a bellboy after graduation, then I’ll start to worry. Till then, I’m hopeful. After all, what else have I got?

The hotel I’ve been working at for