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By Mr. Blue Skies (mr_blue_skies@hotmail.co.uk)


It was typical of an up-market English seaside hotel when visited in the winter. Its faded splendour more in evidence in the cold winter light; the lack of people to bring it alive and the handful of staff required to keep it operating at the minimum level. Welcome to The Imperial Hotel in Blackpool (a name that hardly conjures up thoughts of hot holidays) in the north-west of England, in January.

Behind the desk were photographs of various British Prime-ministers arriving for the annual party conferences over the past years, all adding to the fading glory atmosphere. However, as the place to spend a couple of days whilst conducting business in the area, it wasn't bad; my room was warm and clean and surprisingly large with a separate bedroom and a seating area with TV, and a good sized bathroom; it had the advantage of facing the sea. I unpacked my case, changed into some casual warm clothing and then left for a walk along the seafront.

The wind was fierce; the previous day had been filled with a great storm and there was debris across the path and road. The sea, barely discernable against the equally grey sky, churned and heaved, slapping against the breakwater. I walked as far as a petrol station and bought a newspaper, just in time as the guy was closing, muttering about no trade on a Sunday and didn't know why he opened. I was glad that he had; the newspaper is my anonymity when away from home and wanting to use public places like a bar or restaurant.

I made my way back to the hotel and headed for the bar. It was quiet with only six or seven people sitting in near silence; it was well lit with a huge glass chandelier, and warm. I waited at the empty bar for someone to come and serve (this is England remember) casually scanning my newspaper as I did so.

Eventually, a pretty hotel girl came into the bar and went behind it to serve. I ordered a beer, charging it to my room, and enquired as to ordering dinner. She told me that the restaurant was shut on a Sunday but I could order a meal to have in the bar. I thanked her and moved to a table in the corner. Here I could sit and read the newspaper (the anonymity bit) and enjoy my beer without interruption by somebody seeking conversation.

Finishing the beer, I left for my room where I undressed, showered, shaved and changed. Outside, the wind was picking up and I could hear the sea crashing against the breakwater; I decided to risk the bar-meal, it was too awful to contemplate going out to eat. Picking up my paper, I headed once again for the bar.

When I entered, I was one of three people. There was a pair who were obviously a local couple having a night out in a 'posh' place. She was dressed in a pink tracksuit, an incongruous choice as she clearly overweight and not at all athletic; he was dressed in the ubiquitous black tee-shirt, jeans and trainers and wearing a back-to-front baseball cap. Blackpool's finest out for the evening.

The pretty girl had been replaced by a young looking boy (although at least 18 as serving behind the bar). He gave a genuine smile as I arrived at the bar; I ordered a glass of red wine. He ran through the choices and I selected one and asked for the menu. He served me the wine, saying he'd bring the menu over. I took my drink over to the far table and folded the newspaper so that the crossword was available, the second stage anonymity when eating alone in public. The young man brought over the menu; I noticed then that he was quite striking in his looks.

His facial features were soft and framed by locks of hair curling down; he looked rather feminine in a way but not blatantly so. I thanked him as he said to call him when I was ready to order. I sipped my wine as I perused the somewhat sparse menu and chose a light single course; I signalled him and watched him as he walked the length of the room. I gave him my order and asked him to bring a second glass of wine with it.

The meal and the wine came and I ate in silence, working my way through the crossword (and not getting any clues), half-listening to the non-conversation of the local couple. They were clearly bored and eventually left, he going through the door first and she meekly following. I finished the meal and drank the last of my wine as I finally got a couple of the crossword clues.

I was suddenly conscious of being the only customer and that the barman was clearly keeping the bar open just for me. It was gone 10pm and I was tired so I picked up my glass and empty plate and took them to the bar and wished the boy good-night. He smiled again and said good-night. I took the lift and walked to my room. I switched on the TV, washed and changed into a dressing gown. As I sat down, there was a knock on the door.

Puzzled, I got up and padded to the door, on opening it, the boy from the bar was stood outside, with my newspaper in his hand.

'You left this,' he said.

I thanked him; he looked past me into the room and asked if I needed anything as he was going to lock-up for the night. Before I could answer, he was telling me that this was his favourite room and one of the best in the hotel. I agreed that it was very comfortable, thanking him again for returning my paper and that I didn't need anything else tonight. He looked disappointed but quickly beamed his lovely smile and bade me goodnight. I closed the door behind him and wandered back into the room.

What a good looking boy I thought to myself, and so pleasant too. I switched off the TV and headed for bed; I fell asleep quickly but did wake up later, and was surprised that I was thinking about the boy and how affable he was. I drifted off again and woke early in the morning to make an early start to my business visits. Breakfast in the hotel was just me and one other person and served by a sleepy older woman. I gladly finished the limp toast and thin coffee and left.

I had a busy but not very fruitful day. I was easily distracted and not on top of my job. I found my mind wandering back to the hotel, or more worryingly, to the boy behind the bar. I was troubled by this and resolved to go out to eat tonight and not in the hotel. On returning, I did just that; I quickly showered and changed as was out again within 45 minutes. I had a miserable meal in half-empty and cold pub.

My mind couldn't concentrate on my newspaper and I was ready to go; I toyed briefly with the idea of another drink but the thought of being pulled over for drink driving prevailed and I headed back towards the hotel. I parked and was contemplating a walk along the seafront when a heavy shower of sleet served to change my mind. I locked the car and headed into the hotel, going straight to my room.

Getting out of my overcoat, I stood in the darkness of the room looking out at the sleet and the heaving sea, my mind all over the place. I had no particular thoughts about the boy at all; he was just a boy whom I thought was a pleasant lad, nothing more. That line of thought sorted in my head, I turned, walked across the room, picked up my paper and without breaking step, headed for the door, out of the room and turned towards the bar.

There were several people in there all men, something to do with the local traders association or suchlike gathering for pre-dinner drinks. I moved forward to get a drink. The boy wasn't behind the bar and I breathed a sigh of relief. Good, I thought, now it's out of my head.

'Hello' said a voice slightly behind me. I turned and there he was with a tray of glasses some filled with sparkling drink, others empty.

'Here, have one,' he smiled, 'they won't notice; half of them are pissed already.' I was startled at his choice of words but I thanked him and took a glass.

'Must go' he said 'I'm duty wine waiter.' I moved to a far table and sat down with my free glass of wine. I toyed with the paper and the wine whilst people watching. The crowd started to thin as they moved into the dining room for dinner and the boy and two others started to clear tables. I did notice that some of the men made a point of talking to him especially; I heard that his name was Matthew and that he was an eighteen year old student in his final year at the local college studying for the hospitality trade.

I felt a twinge of annoyance, I didn't know why, and decided to leave. A thought flashed across my mind and I immediately acted upon it. I waited until he was clearly visible to me, and me to him; I got up and made for the exit. He intercepted me and offered me another glass of wine; I said I was heading for my room but he said to take one anyway.

'They'll never notice,' he said, smiling. I took a glass and thanked him.

Getting to my room, I stripped off and showered, shaved and put on the dressing gown and sat down with the TV on. I'd give him 30 minutes I decided. I'd left my newspaper on the table in the bar again, but this time deliberately.

After 20 minutes, I heard the lift sigh to a stop and the doors open. Footsteps headed along the corridor in the direction of my room; as they drew nearer, they slowed and stopped outside. There was a low mumble and the footsteps started again and moved further on. I heard a door open, then close and then silence. I sat sipping the wine, waiting out my self-imposed 30 minutes…and then a further ten. After another five, I got up and turned off the TV, went into the bedroom, switched on the bedside lamp and then returned to the sitting area to turn off the lights. As I did so, there was a soft knock on the door.

I opened the door and there he stood with my newspaper in one hand and a tray with two filled glasses on it. He held out the paper. 'Paper and wine on the house,' he grinned,' these two were left over, I thought you might like them.'

'Why don't you join me?' I said, and stepped aside. For a heartbeat we were both unsure.

'Just for a few minutes,' he said and hesitantly entered the room.

He walked to the sitting area and stood holding the tray; I asked him to sit down. We both sat at the low table. For a couple of minutes the conversation was stilted but the wine relaxed us and we started to talk about general things. I steered the conversation round to him and he became more animated as he talked about himself and his hopes to get into hotel management.

I asked about the unsociable hours and how it would impact on the social side of his life. A fleeting look of sadness crossed his face; it was gone in an instant and he replied that he wasn't too bothered; he'd had a couple of girlfriends but they hadn't worked out so he preferred to keep himself busy with his college work and working part-time at the hotel. I gave him the benefit of my age in advising that he shouldn't lose sight of the benefits of keeping time spare for socialising.

'I prefer to work' was all he said. The abruptness of his response surprised me and there was an awkward silence, then, 'I didn't get on with the girls,' he blurted out, 'I just didn't feel comfortable with them.'

I told him that at his age he had all the time in the world before him and that there was no rush to do anything. He went to say something but obviously thought better of it. He reached forward, picked up his glass and finished what was left of his wine. He suddenly stood, 'I should get back,' he said, 'I'm supposed to be helping the others clear up'

I stood up and followed him to the door. He reached for the handle, hesitated and then turned. 'I'm sorry for being rude just then,' he said. I said it didn't matter. He looked awfully sad for a moment and then said that he'd found me easy to talk to and didn't feel awkward in my company as he did with other men. I frowned with incomprehension and then remembered the number of men in the bar who'd made a point of speaking to him.

'How do you mean? I asked him.

He hesitated and then said, 'I think they think I'm gay' he blurted out.

'Why does that bother you exactly? I asked softly.

'Because I think I might be,' he said, almost in a whisper.

I told him it was no great shame and better to be comfortable with oneself than live a life trying to be something one is not. He looked at me forlornly. 'Thank you,' he said. 'You are so very kind but I should go,' he added.

I reached up and gently squeezed his shoulder, 'You'll be fine,' I said.

In one fluid movement he moved towards me and we embraced; he held on to me and I hugged him in return. As we loosed our grip on each other, he kissed me on the cheek (I don't believe to this day that he knew he did it), 'Thank you' he said, turned, opened the door and left, closing it quietly behind him

For a full two minutes I stood there, my mind racing. Here was I, man married for the major part of my life, hugging an eighteen year old boy to offer some comfort. Not too much wrong with that you may say; the part was preying on my mind was that he had been gone for a full two minutes and I still had an erection.

I tried sleep but it evaded me; I was restless and still troubled with my thoughts and continued erection. It was no good; I gazed around the room; it was lit only by the glow from the street lights and the only sound the sound of the rain and sea. At least I could get rid of one distraction; I reached for the box of tissues and the small bottle of perfumed hand cream that hotels supply. As I did so, the 'phone in the sitting area outside rang. 'Why not in here? I asked myself as I got up. I picked up the phone.

'Hello,' he said, 'it's Matthew,' and then stopped.

'Hello,' I said inadequately into the silence.

He broke the silence that followed, and said, in one great rush, 'Can I come up and see you I know it's late and that I've taken enough of your time already but I really would like to talk to you and you were so kind and understanding I felt you really understood what I was trying to say please don't hang up on me.'

'Wait,' I said by way of interruption. He stopped gabbling. 'Of course you can come up,' I said, 'and don't rush, I'm not going anywhere.'

'Thank you, David' he said (a surprise use of my name) 'I'll be along in ten minutes.'

I slowly put the 'phone down; now I was nervous, why had I said yes, I asked myself. I went back into the bedroom and put on my dressing gown; on second thoughts, I also pulled on a pair of jockey briefs. Going back into the sitting room, I turned off the light and waited whilst standing at the window looking out into the distance where I could see the phosphorescence from the waves breaking far out to sea; the rain continuing to batter at the windows. I was shaking slightly, though not with cold.

There was the slightest tap on the door; it took be by surprise as I hadn't heard the lift or footsteps. I reached the door and opened it, standing aside as I did so. He walked straight in and I shut the door behind him and dropped the safety catch. I turned away from the door. Matthew had stopped halfway into the room and watched me approach.

'I used the stairs,' he said, 'so as not to disturb anybody.' That answered the no noise bit: the no footsteps were because he was barefoot.

'Sorry about the delay in coming up, I stopped off at my room for a quick shower and shave.'

I asked him if he'd like a drink from the mini-bar in the room. He shook his head, 'No thanks' was all he said. I noticed he was shaking slightly.

'Are you OK? I asked him. He said he was and then went silent on me. Never fill a silence I had been taught, so I waited. It seemed to go on forever; eventually, he broke it, as I knew he would.

'I'm sorry about being rude, you seemed to read my mind and it unsettled me, I've never talked about this to anybody before, I thought you would laugh at me or tell me to go or call me queer or to pull myself together or...' I moved towards him and gently put two fingers on his lips to quieten him. He looked mournfully at me and his eyes welled with tears.

'It's alright,' I said, 'it doesn't matter. He fell towards me and hugged me, this time with more force and held on to me. I embraced him in return and we just stood there. I could smell his hair, still damp from his shower. I could feel myself getting hard and shifted my stance so that he wouldn't feel it. As I did so he broke the embrace and pulled his head back to look up to me; he had been weeping.

I looked down at him; he looked so pitiful and sad. I went to speak but the words (whatever they were going to be) died on my lips. He gave me a tearful smile. I looked back at him and something in his eyes changed. Without any thought, I leaned down and kissed him softly on the mouth, tasting the salt of his tears. He didn't move away and we held the kiss.

After some time, we pulled slightly apart and looked at each other. Then, mutually, we moved to kiss each other. This was different: it was a lover's kiss, we held on to each other, moving our arms to feel the form of each other, pulling each other closer. His mouth yielded to my tongue and he sucked gratefully upon it as I explored his mouth. I pressed my hard prick against him and he pushed back against me. It felt wonderful, so sexy and, above all, forbidden. This boy was ten years younger than my own son.

We broke our kiss; I stepped away from him but took hold of his left hand. I moved toward the bedroom door and he compliantly allowed himself to be led. We approached the bed and I stopped and turned. We just looked at each other and gave each other our silent consent. I reached and started to undo his white shirt; as I did so, he tugged inexpertly at the belt of my dressing gown until it came open.

Finishing with the buttons, I pushed the shirt off of his shoulders whereupon it dropped to the floor. We stopped there, he bare-chested and me with my dressing gown open. I shrugged it off and left it on the floor next to his shirt. We embraced again and his bare skin on mine felt electric and my prick hardened like it hadn't done for years.

I felt it start to leak pre-cum as it pressed against the restraint of my jockey briefs as we kissed deeply again, with me starting to undo the belt of his trousers and the zip as we did so. He pulled away to let them drop; he stepped out of them and then stood there looking at me. I moved to the bed a sat on the side of it, and then lay down, looking up at him. Like me, he still had his briefs on. He went around the other side of the bed and slowly climbed upon it and lay down beside me. Neither of us had spoken since I told him it was alright, back in the sitting room.

I lifted myself up to look at him; he looked so appealing, almost lovely in the lights from outside. I felt no shame or apprehension as I began to make love to him. I kissed him and he eagerly returned it; we kissed lovingly for a long while as we relaxed and became comfortable with each other. I move from his mouth to kiss the side of his face, his ear and neck.

His breathing was coming in shallow gasps, as I caught sight of his face I noticed his eyes were shut and his sensuous lips parted. I kissed them again and returned to his neck and then on down to his chest and then his nipples. I treated them as gently as I would my wife's, sucking them gently, running my tongue around the areolas; he gasped as I gently grasped each nipple in turn between my lips.

Whilst staying with his nipples, I slid my hand across his stomach, down towards his penis. Would he stop me now, I vaguely wondered? He didn't. I ran the tips of my fingers along the length of his surprisingly (pleasingly?) large erection. I moved from his nipples, kissing and running the tip of my tongue across his skin as I travelled down his chest, his stomach and then to the band of his briefs.

Whilst still kissing his body, I moved my hand to his left hip and gently pulled at the band; he lifted his hips and I pulled down one side of his briefs. I moved to his right hip and did the same there, then, back to his left to pull them lower and finally back to the right to get them clear of his hips. His briefs were now clear of his hips, his erection prevented them from going lower.

I lifted myself and took the waistband over his penis and pushed them down his thighs where he pushed then clear by moving his legs. He was a magnificent sight naked. His body was superb, young, firm and hairless with the exception of his fair pubic hair, his large circumcised penis lying along his flat stomach.

I took a gentle hold of it; here I was on new ground, but my wife had shown me well. I put myself in her place and acted as she had done countless times with me. I gripped it firmly and gently pulled to milk out some pre-cum; I was successful as a large drop of the clear, slippery fluid came out, fascinated, I gently spread it over the head of his young, strong prick.

I gently pulled again and another large drop oozed out and started to run down the shaft; another pull expressed a third drop. I gently spread it over the heap of his penis and then down the sides. With a couple of strokes, his penis was a gleaming, slippery shaft. I glanced at Matthew; he was still laying with his eyes shut whilst I toyed with his magnificent young prick.

I just had to do it; I wanted to know how it felt and what it tasted like. I ran my tongue over the tip of his prick and pushed the tip of it into the liquid eye of his leaking penis. He gasped and I felt a huge blob of pre-cum leak from my caged cock. I milked another drop of his pre-cum directly onto my tongue and then sank if penis into my mouth. It tasted salty, of him and of nothing I'd tasted before, another man.

My wife had taught me well. I followed the movements of my fist down his prick with my mouth, sucking slightly as I withdrew it and running my tongue around his shaft as I plunged it into my mouth again. It felt good and I felt no guilt at all nor any doubts, this felt good and I was enjoying it as much as Matthew. He started to move against my movements, making love to my mouth as I worked on him.

It wasn't long before I felt his movements quicken so I slowed and then pulled him from my mouth. I gazed at his prick inches from my face and then kissed the head of it, milking another large drop of pre-cum as I did so; holding the fluid in my mouth, I moved up the bed and kissed him, running his pre-cum into his mouth as I did so.

We kissed for some time, enjoying the slippery feel of his fluid between our lips. I pulled away and gazed down at him in the half-light, his eyes remained closed as I continued to gently stroke his wet and slippery penis. He must have sensed me watching him as he opened his eyes and gave me the most beautiful smile. Neither of us spoke. I lay on my side beside him, holding but no longer caressing his penis. He put his left hand to my face.

'Can I touch you David?' he asked.

'Of course you can,' I answered. He moved towards me and kissed me. It was the first time he had other than mutually us two and it felt almost loving and, I have to say, bloody erotic.

I rolled onto my back and he followed me so that he was above me; he kissed me again, first on my face and then very soon across my neck and chest and then to the band of my now very wet briefs. He endearingly tugged inexpertly at them and I made it easier by taking the right side at the same time as he took the left. My prick sprang free trailing a silvery string of pre-cum between the head and my stomach; I was soaked with the stuff.

I kicked off the briefs and lay there. He looked down at me and then to my prick. 'Jesus' he said, that was all. He looked hesitantly at me and then back to my prick. Slowly he moved his hand towards it and took it between his thumb and forefinger. 'It's so hard,' he said half to himself. He then gripped it harder and tried the same as I had to milk it. He was none to gentle and I loved him for is lack of expertise.

'Careful,' I said softly, 'you'll break it.' He took his hand away. I took his hand and put it back on my aching prick. 'Only joking,' I grinned at him. He smiled back but this time took hold of me with a little more confidence; the very innocence of his touch was erotic. He stroked me for a while and I could almost feel him coming to a decision. He moved, paused, and then put his lips to the tip of my prick.

He kissed the end and then its length in a series of pecking kisses. It was so erotic just by the very nature of his inexperience; it couldn't have felt better if he had been a naive eighteen year old girl. After a little time he ventured to take the head of my prick into his mouth. The warmth of it took be by surprise, that and the fact than I had by penis in a young boys mouth. He took it deeper in his mouth and I felt his teeth on my skin; he gave a couple of shallow plunges, his teeth still running along my skin. I made my mind go elsewhere; it was either that or I would soon cum. This was like having a virgin girl and I wanted it to last.

I pulled away from him. 'Wait a few minutes,' I said.

He came back up and lay beside me; I took him into my arms and we lay there quietly for a while.

I lifted my head. 'Let me show you,' I said.

He looked at me quizzically. 'Move further down the bed.' He did so. I then turned around and lay beside him but at an angle with my head near his hips and my hips well clear of him. Laying on my side, I reached around his body and, placing the flat of my hand on the cheek of his wonderfully firm arse, turned his him towards me and took his lovely penis into my mouth again. This time I was careful not to overdo it; I kept my movements and my touch light. I played my tongue along his length and over the eye of his penis, gently probing it to tease out some pre-cum.

I withdrew him from my mouth every time he started to move with me. I wanted to show him how to do it gently, not for any altruistic reason in fact, purely selfish; I was implying how I wanted him to do it to me. When he got the message not to move, I moved my hips slightly nearer to him; he got the idea and pulled himself across the intervening gap between us and, without any hesitation, took me into his mouth.

I love sixty-nineing with my wife and this felt as good if not greatly different. Matthew was much more in control, gently sucking me and careful as he slid his mouth down on me. We lay there for some time gently sucking; his prick felt huge in my mouth, leaking precum which I spread over it as I moved him in and out of my mouth. Abruptly he pulled his mouth away from me.

'I'm going to cum,' he said in a panicky voice.

I gripped his balls firmly, 'No you're not,' I said firmly, and squeezed them slightly. It served to focus his attention and he calmed down, though not before a small teardrop of cum oozed out of his penis. I looked at it and then lowered my head and took the drop on the tip of my tongue. I hesitated and then took it into my mouth. It tasted better than I expected; nothing like it smells and not unpleasant. My God I was learning new things fast.

I turned around and kissed him to see if he would taste himself. He didn't say anything, and then, 'David, please let me cum, I so want to, please.'

I pulled my head back to look down at him; we looked at each other in mutual understanding and then I moved down and kissed each nipple in turn, tugging them gently as I held them between my lips. I continued down across his lower chest and stomach; hesitating, so that he could feel my breath on his beautiful cock, I then took him fully in my mouth in one smooth motion. I could taste his cum on him and it still tasted fine: I made my decision then. I pulled away and milked some more pre-cum from him with my hand and spread it down the length of his shaft, following it with my mouth. It didn't take long.

After a few strokes he gave a panicky, 'I'm going to cum!' I didn't stop.

He made to pull away but I followed his movement. He relaxed then as he picked up my implied message. Then he started to cum. The force of it caught me by surprise as I had as much of him in my mouth as I could take. It hit me at the back of my throat and I instinctively pulled away just before the next one hit. It was followed by a third; as it did so, Matthew started to buck so forcibly underneath me that I pulled my mouth clear.

He was making strangled cries as he came and I gently kept stroking his rigid cock with each spasm. Jets of his cum streaked as far as his nipples and then, as the spasms diminished, across his stomach and then just ran out of him as they faded way. He went quiet then and I gently lessened the stroking of his cock as less and less cum left him; as I did so, the spasms subsided and he lay still.

It had seemed to go on for a long time; I lifted my head to look at him, his eyes were closed, he was dishevelled and breathing through his slightly parted lips. He looked wonderful. For perhaps the first time in my life, I could recognise beauty in another man. I had a fair quantity of his cum in my mouth and I was hesitating as to whether to swallow it; it tasted sour but nowhere near as unpleasant as I'd expected. As I hesitated, he opened his eyes and made to focus them.