Enjoy the story's slow build up to my eventual first time being a bottom
Chapter 2: Across the Pond
It took weeks of paperwork, delays, and the kind of bureaucratic red tape only the military could perfect—but finally, I was on foreign soil. My new assignment brought me to England, where I'd be continuing helicopter maintenance in a more specialized role. New base, new climate, new everything.
And I loved it.
The leadership was chill, the culture shift refreshing, and the air tasted different—cooler, older, as if even the atmosphere had history baked into it. I made new friends, kept my head down when it counted, and took every chance I could to explore the pubs, towns, and winding countryside that looked like it had been pulled from storybooks.
But as much as my life had changed on the outside, the fire inside stayed the same. Even in a long-term relationship, I felt it—the pressure building in my chest. That whisper in the dark corners of my mind.
I didn’t just want to serve anymore. I wanted to surrender.
England became the stage for my slow, deliberate evolution—from oral addict to curious bottom.
About a year into the assignment, I gave in to the pull again. One quiet night, I found myself back on Craigslist, typing a familiar phrase with a not-so-familiar ache.
“Airman looking to please.”
It didn’t take long.
Most of the replies were garbage, of course. A few were language barriers I couldn’t bridge. But one caught my attention—another airman, stationed at the neighboring base. He didn’t want to send a face photo, but the nudes were all I needed to say yes.
Leaning against my desk, I stared at the screen—at the way his skin curved, at the weight of his cock, the angle of the shots. I felt my own body reacting instantly. The military uniform might have given us structure, but my thoughts were anything but disciplined.
I responded, sending my own images. Just enough to show intent.
He agreed to host. Dorm room meet. Nothing fancy—but just enough.
The drive was short—ten minutes, maybe less. I didn’t mind the opposite-side driving; it felt like a small rebellion every time I took a turn wide. The base was well marked, and military efficiency worked in my favor. I found his building without issue.
My pulse jumped as I climbed the stairs, hand ready to knock. Before I could overthink it, the door opened.
He was tall. Six-four, maybe more. Still in uniform. His hair was dark, buzzed sharp, and he had the kind of expression that made you want to earn a smirk.
“Hey, man. How you doing?”
We shook hands—cool and casual, like we were just two guys passing in a hallway. But the tension under the surface was thick enough to taste.
“Good. Beat,” I replied. “You know how it is. Flight line life.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, no shit.”
He didn’t waste time. Walked straight to the single bed and dropped down, sprawling across it like it owed him comfort. I kicked my boots off slowly, watching as he unfastened his pants and pulled out his cock like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The lights were low. Blinds drawn. A dusky glow wrapped the room in shadows and silence.
I crossed the space between us and crawled onto the bed, settling between his legs. His cock swayed lazily in his hand, waving like a metronome—long, lean, hypnotic.
He had a skinnier cock, with a large mushroom head, sitting at about 8.5" in length. I lowered my head down and pulled his balls into my mouth, swirling them back and forth over my tongue. As I did that, he gently rubbed his cock against my forehead and face. Releasing his balls, I kissed his cock slowly as I worked my way back to the head, then opened my mouth.
He didn’t speak. Just moaned quietly when I lowered my mouth down over his cock.
He stayed quiet the entire time, letting his breathing speak for him. That silence? It was hotter than dirty talk. It let me focus—on his taste, his scent, the subtle movements of his body as I worked.
I spent a few minutes, gently bobbing on his cock, teasing him with my tongue, increasing and dropping suction as he grew fully erect.
I tried to take all of him, pushing my limits. I didn’t gag, but I couldn’t stay down long. I came up for air, licking my lips, then fell into a steady rhythm—hand and mouth working in tandem, hourglass pressure building on both sides of us.
Forty-five minutes passed, maybe more. His hips began to move—gently at first, then with intent. My jaw ached. My lips were tingling. But I didn’t stop. I needed his climax.
When he started throbbing and shooting his cum, he placed a hand on the back of my head, pushing as far into my mouth as he could. I felt ropes hit the back of my throat while the rest gathered on my tongue.
He held me in place for a moment afterward, his body relaxing inch by inch. Then, without a word, he pulled away and stood.
That was it. No long talks. No questions. Just a shared, silent understanding.
When I got home, I couldn’t shake it. That weight. That fullness. That something. I touched myself slowly, thinking about the way he felt, the way I wanted more. The way the idea of bottoming had started to root itself deep in my brain.
I reached for lube. And for the first time, experimented.
I had gotten a small, average sized “toy” to practice with, and today I had no barriers stopping me. I fucked my ass with that dildo as I masturbated, leading to one of my most interesting orgasms.
We met once more in his dorm a few weeks later. It was good. But I was ready for the next step.
By now, I’d moved off base—rented a small house just outside the twin installations. Finally, privacy. My rules. My space.
Craigslist called to me again.
This time, two replies pulled my attention. One was a slightly older NCO, stationed at my same base. The other? A local Brit, smooth-talking and full of charm.
I hit it off with both. The Brit had flirtation down to a science. But the soldier was ready now. No hesitation. No questions.
I sent my address.
Thirty minutes later, a soft knock echoed through my house. My body tensed with anticipation as I opened the door.
He stood there in uniform, phone in hand, looking every bit the straight-laced type—except for the bulge in his pants.
“Hey. Come on in.”
He followed me into the living room—an open space that screamed bachelor. Massive TV. Game systems. Leather loveseat. A treadmill in the center for gaming and walking. And a futon, because let’s be honest—stairs were a sometimes thing.
“Take a seat,” I said, nodding to the couch.
He sat, slid his pants down, and let his cock rest on his thighs—soft but promising. His balls were shaved, his dick well-shaped. Six inches. Clean-cut. Good to look at. Better to taste.
I got down between his legs and took him in my mouth, rolling him around, getting a feel for his softness and taste. Creating suction, I began to bob up and down, pulling his cock into my mouth, stretching it out as I went. As he got harder, I sucked deeper. With a grunt, he sat forward and slid to the edge of the couch.
His hands found my head, gripping tight as he began to thrust. The couch creaked beneath us, and I let him take control.
With a strong grip on my head, he gently began to jump my face, cock going all the way in, all the way out, enjoying the looseness I offered.
After a few minutes, he pulled out with a slick sound, motioning toward the futon.
“Mind if we sixty-nine?”
My heart skipped. “Yeah. Definitely.”
We stripped quickly. The futon was surprisingly comfortable—though I barely noticed once his mouth was on me and mine was on him.
We lied there, me throating him, him throating me. This was my first blowjob from a guy, adding onto the pleasure of having a cock in my mouth, I was instantly at my breaking point.
I came embarrassingly fast. Couldn’t help it. His mouth, the intensity—it hit too hard, too fast.
He didn’t mind. Just kept licking, cleaning me up with slow, teasing suction.
I refocused, determined to make him finish.
I massaged his balls as I sucked his cock, intense and fast, with so much suction my cheeks were pulling in. I jerked him with my other hand in unison with my bobs, working him for about another twenty minutes.
Eventually, he pulled away again, panting.
“I don’t usually do this,” he said, stroking himself slowly. “Hard to cum.”
I sat next to him, wrapped my fingers around his shaft.
“It’s alright, man. Blue balls suck, though.”
I stared at him, thinking. Wondering. Fantasies creeping forward.
Then the words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“You wanna try my ass?”
He blinked. Looked at me. Then nodded.
“Turn over. Let me see your hole.”
I did. Slowly. Spread my cheeks for him. His hands were on me in seconds, inspecting, teasing.
“Do you have a bed?”
“Upstairs. Come on.”
Still holding his cock, I led him upstairs to my king-sized bed—dark oak frame, perfect height. As we reached it, he pushed me down, my chest on the sheets, my ass arched up and ready.
He spat rigorously on his cock and on my hole. The wet slick sounds of him jerking himself had me rock hard again as he begins to push spit into my hole with his finger. It felt nice. After maybe only about five seconds, his finger left, in its place, his soft head rested against my hole.
Then he pushed in.
I let out one audible gasp as he slid the head in, then plunged his cock as deep as it could go. I felt a slight burning sensation as well as a subtle sensation of needing to pee, and cum.
He didn’t wait. No build-up. No gentle pace. He was all thrust and sweat and groaning need. It hurt, but the hurt felt good. Until—
“I’m done. Thanks, man.”
And just like that… he pulled out and left.
No aftercare. No goodbye kiss. Just a slammed door and silence.
I stood there, half-numb, aching and empty.
Downstairs, I collapsed onto the couch and reached for my fleshlight. With a finger in my ass, I fucked another load into that fleshlight before cleaning myself up in the shower.
And then I stared at the ceiling, wondering what came next.
Because something in me had changed.
Fast forward nearly a year, and life had found a steady rhythm again. The military kept me occupied—deployments across Europe, tasting cuisines I couldn’t pronounce, exploring towns whose names slipped through my tongue. I’d even taken a significant step forward, becoming engaged to a woman I genuinely thought could hold my attention forever. But beneath that surface of contentment, familiar cravings lingered, unfulfilled yet undeniably present.
I still lived in the same rented home, a cozy little place owned by an elderly Brit whose only concern was timely rent. It had become a sanctuary of stability amidst constant military shifts. Over time, my solitary bachelor pad had evolved into something more homely. The bare living room now boasted plush couches, an inviting armchair, and a polished coffee table littered with books, video game controllers, and the odd beer coaster. The dining area, once barren, now held a solid oak table surrounded by sturdy chairs, frequently filled with laughter and conversation from visiting friends and fellow servicemen.
Two shepherd dogs had joined my home life, bounding energetically through rooms, their affectionate presence transforming solitude into something warmer. But even with companionship, both human and canine, an internal hunger kept nudging from within. Despite regular intimacy with my fiancée and a satisfying social life, the echoes of past adventures called to me—whispering late at night, edging my imagination into forbidden territories.
I resisted the urge at first, relying instead on the distraction of work, playful banter with friends, and the occasional late-night indulgence in explicit videos and personal toys. It was manageable but never fully satisfying. An unspoken desire to once again experience the taste, touch, and intense vulnerability of another man persisted beneath my daily routines.
Randomly, on an evening heavy with boredom, I logged into my old Craigslist-associated email—a shadow account, hidden in plain sight, largely forgotten. Expecting nothing but spam, I was startled by a recent message, its sender immediately familiar: the charming older British gentleman I'd conversed with nearly a year before but never managed to meet.
His message was friendly yet playful, expressing genuine curiosity about how I was doing and wondering if the opportunity for us to finally connect might still exist. His words stirred an excitement that made my pulse quicken. Without hesitation, I replied, inviting him to meet at the local pub just a short walk from my place.
He readily agreed, and as evening approached, anticipation flooded me. I found him standing casually at an outdoor table, two pints of Stella Artois glistening in the fading sunlight. He was stocky, bald, and had a captivating warmth that instantly relaxed me. His welcoming smile deepened the lines on his face, hinting at experiences I was eager to discover.
Conversation flowed easily, covering our jobs, local gossip, travel stories, and humorous anecdotes. With each sip of beer, our connection strengthened, the invisible line of chemistry between us becoming tangible. Finishing my pint, I placed the glass down deliberately and met his gaze directly.
"Let's grab another at my place," I suggested softly, voice edged with subtle invitation.
He smiled knowingly, following me in comfortable silence along the short route home. At my doorstep, my dogs greeted us with enthusiastic affection, pawing at our legs and demanding attention.
"They’re friendly," I reassured him. "Just big goofs."
He laughed warmly, petting them easily. "I’ve got dogs myself. No worries."
With beers in hand, we ascended the stairs. I guided him into my bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind us to ensure privacy. Shoes discarded, he eased onto my bed, his eyes locked onto mine, already filled with heated anticipation.
"You do this often?" he questioned casually, though his eyes told a deeper curiosity as he began unbuckling his belt.
I lowered myself slowly to my knees, finishing what he started by sliding his pants down. My gaze fixated hungrily on the impressive sight before me—fully erect, thick, inviting.
"Not nearly as often as I'd like," I admitted openly, my voice low with desire. "Maybe once or twice a year."
"Then," he murmured encouragingly, "take your time. Make it count."
I moved forward eagerly, savoring the initial contact as my lips gently brushed against him.
He was blessed downstairs. Thick enough I couldn’t fully wrap my hand around it, 8.5” in length, cut with a perfectly smooth, well colored head. I locked eyes with him, then immediately lowered my head down over his cock. Being on the larger side, I spent the first few minutes dancing my tongue around his head, lightly sucking as I did so, genuinely enjoying the taste while getting him nice and slobbery. I traced his cock with my tongue down to his balls where I spent the next few minutes licking and sucking each one, slowly jerking his spit lubed cock. He laid back, eyes closed, gently moaning.
After my warm up, I sat up high on my knees where I began trying to take him as far down as I could. I did an okay job, but, again, he was well endowed, so it was a unique challenge.
His soft groans encouraged my rhythm, his fingers sliding gently through my hair. His breath hitched slightly, and after a moment, he pulled my head back softly, guiding me to adjust positions.
"Turn around," he said, voice husky, "I want to taste you, too. And if you’re trying to throat me, it’ll fit better this way."
I complied, shifting my body into a sixty-nine position atop him. His curve perfectly matched my anatomy, making the intimate act deeper, more exhilarating, as his balls tickled my nose, cock fully inserted. As I deep throated him, he gently lowered my pants and began to play with my balls. Our mutual pleasure filled the room with quiet moans and wet sounds.
Unexpectedly, I felt his hands slide over my backside, exploring, gently teasing before finally pressing inward, sending jolts of unfamiliar pleasure through my body. Surprised, I groaned around him, hips instinctively pushing back, wanting more.
"Ever been properly fucked?" he whispered, his voice thick with lust.
"Just once, wasn’t great," I admitted breathlessly.
"I'll take my time," he promised softly. "You'll enjoy this."
I shifted position, fully exposing myself, inviting him without words; he knew from my actions I wanted him inside me. To my surprise, he lowered his face first, his tongue igniting sensations I'd never imagined.
It was soft, warm, and wet, and his face hairs tickling my taint made the experience truly wonderful. He got back up on his knees.
He slowly repositioned himself behind me, pressing forward with careful patience, respecting my body’s response to him.
"You're incredibly tight," he murmured into my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
His head teased my whole, pressure increasing gradually until finally he burst into me. Slowly, for the next few minutes, he pressed in slightly, then waited, allowing me to adjust to his size. After a few minutes, his hips touched mine, he was all in. Laying his body over mine, mouth to ear, he whispered, “You’re so tight, oh my god.”
Slowly, he retracted, pulling out completely before plunging back in. As he pressed in, he gyrated his hips in a circular motion, trying to press his cock into every part of my insides, it felt incredible.
“Your ass feels so good. You like that cock?”
I moaned and nodded, engrossed in the feeling of him filling me up and leaving me empty, my prostate throbbing in ecstasy.
Gradually, his pace quickened, rhythmic and deeply pleasurable, filling me with an intense blend of sensation—discomfort melting into overwhelming pleasure. His powerful grip steadied my hips as he moved deeper, faster, drawing louder moans from both of us.
"Turn over," he demanded softly, pulling out momentarily.
Rolling onto my back, legs raised against his shoulders, our eyes met. He thrust firmly, passionately reclaiming me with powerful strokes, each movement hitting my deepest nerves. We continued in this position for a few minutes, his hands on my shoulders. At one point, he slipped out, and before he could, I grabbed his cock, rolling it in my hands.
"I want to feel all of you," I gasped, tugging gently at the protective barrier he’d donned.
He hesitated briefly, eyes darkening with desire. "Are you sure?"
"Breed me," I urged, voice heavy with need.
With renewed vigor, he pushed forward, skin on skin, lost in primal urgency.
One hand on my shoulder, one hand on my cock, he maintained a perfect groove. The physical feeling of him inside me was so much better, it felt insanely better dropping the plastic, risk be damned.
We held on for a few more minutes before his ragged breathing and tightening cock signalled the end. Being so big, I could feel every contraction as he shot load after load up inside me, and immediately I painted my stomach with my own load. For the next ten minutes, he gently and sweetly fucked me, enjoying the wet, lubed feeling of his cum covered cock in my hold. Slowly, intimately, we relaxed together, breathing synchronized in the aftermath.
Eventually cleaned and dressed, we shared an affectionate embrace at my door. Watching him depart into the night, I knew this memory would linger vividly.
Life eventually took me back stateside, our paths never crossing again. Yet, whenever I recall those intimate hours spent with that charming older Brit, warmth floods my body. Among all my encounters, he remains an unmatched memory—deeply personal, unforgettably intense, and wonderfully satisfying. If I could find him somehow today, I would fly across the pond in a heartbeat to enjoy his warmth one more time.
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