I am 72 years old, but I always looked younger than my age, so I could probably pass for 55 or 60. I am happily married since 50 years with three children and six grandchildren. But I did have a gay experience more than 50 years ago. So long ago, that it wasn't even called gay then. It was homosexual.

I was 20 and on my first visit to Rome. During an evening stroll, I came to a square, where I noticed that some kind of homosexual prostitution was going on. Boys and young men were getting in and out of cars, that remained parked. Whatever was happening, was happening in the cars.

I was standing on the sidewalk, trying to figure out what was going on, when an Alfa Romeo drew up. The driver leaned across, opened the passenger door and beckoned to me to get in. I could see that he was a rather rotund man in his 60s.

I looked very Scandinavian, 5'11, lanky, with straw blond hair, blue eyes and a dimple in my chin. I new that homosexual men liked me. They used to grope and fondle my ass in bars, but I never let them go farther.

I got in the car and closed the door. It may seem a reckless thing to do, but I was young and very fit after a year of military training -- which was compulsory for all young Swedish men at the time -- I was certainly not scared of any fat, old Italian.

He had his fly open and his dick out. It was limp and fairly small. I asked in my broken Italian what he wanted me to do, thinking that maybe he wanted me to jerk him off.

"La bocca! La bocca!" he yelled, irritated that I was too dumb to know right away that he wanted me to take it in my mouth.

"Well, why not?" I thought. It was a new experience, something I've always been fond of. I knew how I liked a good blowjob to be performed. I thought I could deliver one, as well as receive. So I leaned across, put it in my mouth and started to suck. It stiffened, grew and swelled immediately. However, deep-throating was not an issue. It didn't grow that much.

I swirled my tongue around his glans and from time to time took his cock out and licked its underside. I took his sack in my mouth and sucked his balls gently, then put his pecker back in. All in all, a first class blowjob.

The Italian gentleman probably agreed, for within a couple of minutes he came and shot gush after gush of his semen in my mouth. I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed -- we hadn't heard of AIDS in 1970 -- and sucked him dry, and then I cleaned his pecker with my tongue and lips.

When I was done, he pushed me out of his car and drove off in a hurry, probably worried that I would want payment for my lip service, something that hadn't even entered my mind.

I walked away, continuing my evening stroll, lest the other boys around the square should decide that my competition was unacceptable on their market. I wasn't scared of a fat old man, but twenty youngsters with switchblades were a considerable threat.

The experience was interesting, but I didn't really get any sexual kick out of it, so I decided that I wasn't a homosexual. Later that year I met my future wife, and within a year we were married with our first son on his way.

I've remained strictly heterosexual -- and faithful to my wife -- since then. Until very recently.

I find training at a gym -- lifting weights, pulling at machines, that kind of thing -- extremely boring. But it needs to be done in order to keep the decay of the body, that is the inevitable effect of growing old, at bay. So every week I spend two hours at the gym: one hour on the machines, one hour in the sauna.

I am Swedish, but I come from Finnish origin, and I grew up with sauna. Sauna, by the way, is a Finnish word for ... sauna. One of very few Finnish words that have won international recognition. An hour in the sauna is my reward for the work I put in on the machines.

The working classes come to the gym early in the morning, or in the evening, after work. Maybe a few at lunch. I go at ten in the morning or two in the afternoon, and avoid the crowd. There are only a few other retired people there then. And when I get to the sauna, I'm usually alone there.

But one time there was a big, old man sitting on the top bench, almost as if he were waiting for me. With big I mean around six feet and close to 350 pounds. Not muscle, fat. He had a really huge belly. Think sumo wrestler.

By old I mean somewhere around 80, probably. He was completely bald, with that shiny gloss on the scalp that shows that it isn't shaved. On the other hand he was hairy all over his body, including that big belly.

I nodded at him and said, "Hi!", and climbed up and sat beside him on the top shelf. That's where the sauna is hottest. Swedish gym saunas keep a temperature of 175—180 F, and that's a bit cool for a Finn. My comfort zone is around 200 F, but I have to live with what I get.

After I had soaked in the heat for a few minutes, I turned to my neighbor to ask if it was all right to throw some water on the hot stones and generate steam. But I never asked, because he was looking at me with a broad smile -- and stroking himself.

I couldn't help noticing his cock. It was good looking as cocks go, almost beautiful, and fairly big. It was bigger than mine, which is average, according to my wife that time when we discussed it 50 years ago. And then she added: "It's not the size, it's the way you swing it." She was always happy about the way I swung it and the role plays I thought up to keep sex interesting.

His cock was certainly bigger than the Italian guy's all those years ago. In fact, deep throating might be an issue here. I wondered if I still could make a guy cum with my mouth. Suddenly I heard myself say, "I could suck you off, if you'd like me to."

"Oh, that would be lovely," he answered. "But not here. Somebody may come in. I live close by. Let's do it at my place."

We both left the sauna, and I was going to hit the showers, when he grabbed my arm. "We can shower at my place. Much more interesting." He had a point there.

We dressed quickly and walked, carrying our training trunks, to his apartment, which was just a couple of hundred yards away. About the same distance as my home, but in the other direction.

On our way over, we introduced ourselves. I'm Gustaf. His name is Birger. Then I told him about my Roman experience.

"That story made me so aroused," he said. "Is that your only gay experience?"

I said it was.

"So, you have never been buggered? Your ass is virgin?" He groped my ass.

"That's it." I let him grope and fondle for a while. What harm could it do?

"You see, I paid attention to your ass in the sauna. You have a very nice body, a smooth body. A bit of a paunch but otherwise the body of a young man. How old are you? 72? Geez! I would have guessed 50, 55 at the most. You are a lucky guy. But the thing is your ass. It's your best asset. You have the smooth, round ass of a teenage boy.

"I'd give you 5,000 Kronor for the privilege of popping your cherry, of taking your rectal virginity."

5,000 Kronor is about the equivalent of $500.

At this point I pushed his hand away from my ass and became very serious.

"It's not gonna happen. I haven't been buggered, but I've had protoscopy. It hurts and there is nothing enjoyable about it. Besides, I don't want your money, and I don't need it. I have a good pension."

"Protoscopy is not the same thing at all. Assfucking, if you do it right, slowly and with a lot of lube, doesn't hurt at all. Well, maybe a little bit at the beginning, but it soon subsides, and then it's all fun and joy."

We walked the rest of the way in silence and he kept his hands off me, until we came to his building. In the elevator, his hand was all over my ass again. And I let him.

Once in his apartment we quickly shed our sweaty clothes and got under his shower. Birger insisted on soaping me up, paying a lot of attention to my pecker and sack, until he suddenly reached around and stuck a soapy finger up my rectum.

"See, that didn't hurt a bit, did it?" he said. I had to admit it didn't. It felt good.

A moment later he did the same thing with two fingers. It still felt good.

"You see what I mean?" he said. "You're almost there."

"All right, Birger, when I've done what I came for, you can give it a try, if you promise to stop as soon as I say it hurts." He promised, and we dried ourselves and each other off and walked into his bedroom, where he laid back with his legs spread and his cock at full mast.

I knelt at the bedside and gave his dick my best attention, and soon enough he came in my mouth. I swallowed and sucked his dick clean.

"I must admit, Gustaf, you are an expert cocksucker. But now it's time for us to keep our promises. Yours is that I can give your ass a try, mine is that I'll stop whenever you say. So, get up on the bed, face down with your legs spread."

I did as I was told, and Birger left. When he returned, he was carrying a bottle and a dildo.

He explained that he was a lifelong homosexual, who had lived for twenty years in a partnership with another man. His partner was dead since four years, and since then he didn't bother to keep lube in his home. But rapeseed oil from the kitchen worked just as well.

"And this dildo is even a bit bigger than my cock. We'll use it to soften you up. If that works, you won't have any problem accommodating my cock."

Whereas the Roman incident hadn't given me any sexual kick, I was now on the verge of ejaculating just from listening to Birger.

Birger poured rapeseed oil into my asscrack and then used his fingers to work it in.

"Can you feel it? I now have three fingers up your ass. That's about the size of a cock, my cock. That didn't hurt too much?" he asked, and moved his fingers in and out.

I could only groan a NO. It felt wonderful.

Next he oiled up the dildo and started to slowly push it into my butthole. He pulled back from time to time, then pushed a bit farther. It took a couple of minutes to push it all the way in.

It hurt a little at first, but not too much, and by the time it was completely inside me, the pain was gone and I just felt very filled.

He left the dildo in my ass and came around and knelt before my face. "I can't wait. Finish me off again, now."

"Are you able to?"

"Viagra is God's gift to old men. I can keep this up for hours."

So I gave him another good blowjob. When he came, there wasn't much semen to swallow.

Then he went back behind me and slowly pulled out the dildo. It left a big void inside me, but then I felt his heavy body on my back and his glans pressing against my anal ring. It soon was inside, and he continued to press further in, again very slowly, sometimes pulling back a little, before pushing even farther. It didn't hurt at all. It was pure pleasure.

After a few slow thrusts, he pulled out and told me to roll over on my back. He grabbed me by my ankles, spread my legs wide and pushed his hard cock back into my butt hole and straight all the way to the hilt. In this position he went deeper, and I gasped from being so filled up.

Now he started to fuck me in earnest, hard and fast. He had me, he rode me, he owned me. After only a few strokes, I shot a tremendous load over my stomach and chest, without even touching my dick. Birger went on fucking for several minutes before coming. Afterwards we lay panting, he a heavy load on top of me, with his cock still in my ass.

"Gustaf, I think I'm falling in love with you," he said in my ear.

"Whoa, Birger! Don't get ahead of yourself! Let's keep love out of it. You and I are about sex," I said.

I had come there, intending to just suck Birger's cock, and hadn't thought of it as being unfaithful to my wife, which I hadn't been in 50 years. Now I was beginning to have doubts.

"As you wish," he said, pulled his cock out of my asshole and rolled off me.

The following week, when I came to the gym, Birger was already there. It was him and me and three elderly ladies. Like I said, at 2 pm, the working classes have to be at their jobs. There are only seniors, probably to the disappointment of the ladies, who'd rather watch fit young men exercise, than old grandpas, who could be their hubbies.

Birger was through with his exercises before me, and when I got to the sauna, he was sitting there, waiting for me, stroking his erect cock. This time we both knew that we wouldn't be disturbed in the men's sauna.

"Don't argue! Just lean over the bench, legs apart!" he ordered. I immediately complied.

He had no lube in the sauna, so he took a ladle of water and poured over my ass. Then he spat in his hand and spread over my butthole. He spat again, smeared his cock, grabbed me by my hips, and speared me mercilessly, driving his cock balls-deep inside me in one motion. It hurt a bit, but the pleasure was much stronger than the pain.

He fucked me hard and strong, plowing me deep with every thrust. I soon shot a good-size load over the bench, but Birger kept on plowing. When he came, he shot load after load for four or five strokes. When he finally had emptied his balls completely, he leaned his heavy bulk on my back, and talked, as was his habit, sotto voce next to my ear.

"You are my bitch, now. I hope you realize that."

I only hesitated for a second. "Yes, Master," I agreed. "I am your bitch."

From then on, he has never addressed me as Gustaf, only as Bitch. I of course always call him Master.

Nowadays I visit his apartment once a week. I've told my wife I'm having lunch with a bunch of retired old colleagues every week. She's happy for me that I have a social life.

Instead I walk over to the gym, where I take off my jeans and underwear and leave them in a locker. Master wants me to come naked from the waist down.

I don't use overcoats much, since I retired and stopped wearing suits, but I have jackets that reach halfway down my thighs, so I'm not really guilty of indecent exposure. Bare legs may seem strange in winter, but in Stockholm it's not uncommon to meet oddballs, who wear shorts around the year, no matter what temperature, so nobody raises an eyebrow during the short walk to Master's house.

Even though nobody sees my crotch, it's a sensual and exciting feeling to walk through town with your dick swinging free. Scots in kilts must be in a state of constant arousal.

That's Master's purpose with his request, of course. He wants me to arrive already aroused.

He leaves the apartment door unlocked for me. I go in, hang up my jacket, kick off my shoes, and continue into the bedroom. There I lay myself face down, legs spread, and wait. Master comes from the kitchen naked, with the bottle of rapeseed oil, pours it in my asscrack, and fucks me hard and fast. I enjoy every moment and often ejaculate.

I never knew that I wanted to be dominated. In all other aspects of life, I've been used to taking command. It has been natural to me. I lead, others follow. But when it comes to being fucked up the ass, I like to be submissive.

Afterwards, Master wants a blowjob to clean off his cock, and often he comes again.

Then we have lunch, sitting naked in his dining room. Master is an excellent cook and stocks a fine selection of wines, so lunch is also a pleasure, although in a different way.

After lunch, we return to the bedroom, and have slow, soft sex, often beginning with a sixty-nine. If I didn't come before, I do it now, in his mouth.

As a finale, he fucks me again -- Viagra is God's gift to old men -- slower, with a lot of kissing and licking my ear. It's very nice, but truth be told, I like hard and fast better.

After one of those slow fucks, Master remained in his favorite position, laying heavy on my back, cock still in my ass, and murmured in my ear.

"Since you are my bitch, for me to do with as I please, I have decided to loan you out to some friends."

This was a whole new development, and an exciting one. I felt my dick stiffening.

"Therefore," he continued, "someday, when you lay here, waiting for me to come and fuck you, it won't be me coming, but some other man."

I had a big boner now, and Master could feel my arousal through his cock in my asshole.

"And some of my friends," he added, "have really big cocks."

Then he fucked me again -- Viagra is God's gift etc. -- and we both came.

Yesterday it happened. I was laying as usual face down on the bed, legs spread, and immediately sensed that the person approaching wasn't Master. It was a younger man with a brisker walk, and not as heavy, yet fairly heavy. When he climbed on the bed, I realized that he was definitely over 200 pounds, maybe 220.

This was exciting, but before I really had time to be excited, he was pouring rapeseed oil in my asscrack, and there his glans was, wanting in.

His cock was wider than anything that had penetrated me before, so of course it hurt, when he forced his way in. But the sensation of fullness took over completely. And it grew, as he advanced deeper and deeper and even deeper. By the time I felt his balls, it felt as if his glans had reached my thorax.

Then he fucked me, hard and fast. My role was only to accept his sperm, when he released it. But by then I had of course come long ago.

Before then, I turned my head and saw his hand next to my face. It was dark brown. I had an African on top of me, and a black cock inside me!

The African finally gushed inside me, but he stilled remained inside my ass, when Master approached from the kitchen, naked, with his cock at full mast.

"Well, how do you like black cock, Bitch?" he asked, stopping in front of my face.

"I'm wholeheartedly in favor of it, Master," I answered, before reaching for his stiff member, and putting it in my mouth.

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