‘My First Time to Go All the Way’ - 3 XXX Stories of Gay Teens Popping Their Cherry

By John Martin

The trilogy of Teenaged First Timers: Three different boys, three different accounts, but all with the same end result – First time sex; hot, hard and nasty. There is nothing hotter than innocent, frustrated teens revealing in dirty detail their first time sexual adventures of how they finally lost it, that anal-virgin tag, and nothing gets dirtier than this highly explicit collection.

Titles are: 'The College Boy Pops His Cherry', 'How the Twink Became A Man', ' The Virgin in Paris.

Love teeny boy sex? Want to  discover about how these 3three young virgin-guys were turned into men, then this nut busting trilogy is definitely for you. Hot, gay erotica for those who prefer real sex to sloppy romance. Don't miss!

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Martin
• Release date: Feb 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393835608

Book preview

The Virgin in Paris

Paris is beautiful! I’ve been here before, see? Lots of times with my parents, and once during an inter-school swimming competition when I was still at grade school. But this is my first time to live in it, so I am absolutely excited.

Got me a great job, see? With an American company, of all things. The way of the world, I guess. Me, a Brit, living in France, working for a bunch of Americans. I love it. To think I just graduated three months ago, yeah?

And you should see my apartment! It’s tiny, but at least I’m not sharing it with anyone. I’m on the left bank of the Seine river, and while I can’t see it from my apartment, if I crane my neck far out enough and look left, I can just about see it flowing past.

Ok. That last part was an exaggeration. I’m only on the second floor (that’s the third floor for our cousins across the pond), so I can’t see past the trees to the Seine itself. But behind those there trees down there is the Seine, and it takes me no more than five minutes to get to it by foot. So there. Clearly I’m moving up in the world, eh?

I’m not stupid enough to tell you where I live, but it’s right across a very modern steel and glass building. It looks so out of place, what with all the stone buildings around it (my own included), but what to do? Being a busy street, it’s also quite noisy, but I find that comforting. Especially at night.

Fortunately, the bus stop which takes me straight to my office is right across the street a few meters down, though the one that takes me home is a bit further away. Other than that, I think my life’s perfect at the moment.

Actually, my life would be perfect if I had a boyfriend. But I’ve just settled in, so I’ll worry about that later, alright? Told my parents before I left home, and to my surprise, they took it far better than I thought they would. Then again, they’ve always been such cool people.

Mum said she suspected the day I came home from kindergarten and announced that one day, I’d marry Tommy. No idea who he is, and though I’ve seen his picture in my kindergarten year book, it makes no impression on me, whatsoever.

I think the only thing that mars the perfection of Paris (besides the French, that is, ha ha!) are the ubiquitous bums all over the place. I mean you’d think that since the French pride themselves on being so different from everyone else, they’d try not to be like us back in London and do something about their homeless, what? I mean really!

Why just the other day, I was walking along the Seine, eating a shawarma with extra garlic sauce in it and minding my own business, when this bum accosted me for it! The smell coming out of that guy was horrendous! It overpowered the extra garlic sauce I put in my sandwich! It was that bad! I nearly gave him my food, too! I just needed to get away from that awful stench!

Fortunately, a gendarme (that’s French police to you) saved me! Being French, the officer didn’t even wrinkle his nose at the bum, but they’re used to it, I suppose. Strong smells, that is, the source being irrelevant.

Ah well, c’est la vie, I suppose.

***

Some of my office-mates decided to take me out to the Marais: the Chinese, Jewish, gay district of Paris. The thought of those three groups living together tickles me silly, it does.

Fortunately, one of them had a car. There’s another problem with Paris I recently discovered: public transportation is not 24 hours. They do have these night buses called the Noctiliens, but they don’t go everywhere, and I found out that past midnight, the stop is quite far from my place.

Now Paris may be beautiful, and I do love to walk, but this is hardly a crime-free city. And if you think I’m stupid enough to walk around alone at night, then you’ve got another thing coming. My parents did not raise a fool, they didn’t. No, sir! And do I have to mention the bums again? I didn’t think so.

It explains why the bars and nightclubs here open at 11 PM and close at 5:30 AM. Those are the hours the Metro closes down. So unless you have a car, can afford a cab, or live right smack where the action is, you’re pretty much stuck after 11 at night. Sheesh.

Still, no worries. Like I said: one of my friends brought his car.

So there we were at the Marais, and there I was pretending this was all old hat to me, when we got to this... club, I think it was. Small. So small, most of the action was on the street. The DJ was on the second floor blasting out music down to everyone below, and there everyone was, drinking their beers on the sidewalk outside.

The first floor room was so small, we didn’t even try looking for a seat. All butch-types were there, and I was actually looking out for some leather daddies, but no. No such were about. They were all friendly, though, and I actually started chatting up some guy.

Not really my type: some Japanese dude with green hair and an earring through his nose, another through his lower lip, and dressed all in leather. But I