Free The One - No one said it would be easy by J.F. Goldsmith Page B

life as the young generation was at the time, we wanted to sleep together without protection. We just weren’t keen on using a condom – we wanted to do it “properly”. So we needed an HIV test, which was de rigueur at the time, even though the chances of either of us having to worry about a positive outcome were negligibly minimal. But – better safe than sorry. We didn’t dare go to a clinic and so chose the chicken-option: we went to give blood. I bet that some eighty-seven percent of all young people give blood purely to get an automatic screening for unwelcome pathogens. If anything were out of the ordinary, the blood donor centre would be in touch pretty smartly. If they weren’t, you could assume all was well, you didn’t have to pay anything and you literally received Coca Cola and biscuits by the bucketful AND had done your bit for society. Even if you have no reason to expect a bad outcome, somehow everybody is shit-scared of these tests. Your brain runs an anxiety-inducing loop of “what if?” and each time you promise yourself that you will never, EVER, be so stupid again, and that you’ll never do it without a condom again.
    Since processing the donated specimens takes a few weeks, we had to pass the intervening period without in-and-out sex until such time as we were certain that all was well. For weeks we cuddled and messed about and petted like crazy and invented something called “extreme-rubbing-technique”. Number Five, fully clothed, would lie on top of me (who was also fully clothed), between my legs, and we’d copulate with all our clothes on, by rubbing wildly against each other. This gave both of us great orgasms. And again I was quite irritated by his facial expression during sex: the Pekinese came out of its kennel again. There was nothing for it but to close my eyes again, and after a while I found that I’d gotten used to his sex-face.
    When at long last the blood test results arrived (everything was OK), we were finally able to put all those dry practice runs to good use. There were no big surprises in store anymore, since we’d already known each other for a while, had closely examined each square inch of each other’s bodies and had quite a few orgasms to our name. Number Five had a beautiful body, graceful rather than beefy muscular, he was the only man I ever knew who voluntarily used body lotion after each shower. His skin was super soft. He even used a nail buffer to keep his fingernails in prime condition. He was certainly a forerunner with regard to metrosexuality – a term that hadn’t even been invented yet. Apart from his mane of curly hair and the obligatory leg hair, Number Five was devoid of body hair. I thought that was super, because back then I wasn’t enamored with those bear-like guys covered with chest fur. He had a wonderful sweet little butt and a beautiful cock. His cock was just right for me: not too big, not too small, not too thick and not too thin. He hadn’t been circumcised and I especially loved that little pointy hat.

Apropos: A bit of penis tal k
    There seems to be one hell of a lot of fuss about this subject. What I’ve found during the course of my own experience is that I prefer uncircumcised specimens. Provided they are kept clean, of course. But that’s the same with the other kind, too. Even a circumcised willy, however fetchingly streamlined in appearance, can’t win if it isn’t presented nicely clean and tidy. Anyway, I prefer pointy-hat-willies. Especially as they are practically indistinguishable from the circumcised model once they are erect. Pointy-hat-willies are, in my humble opinion, much easier to handle during sex. They are much easier to get a grip on by hand, and even blowjobs are much easier when you can play with the little hat. They are incredibly sensitive and react much stronger to each touch. As for the circumcised variety, on the other hand, you could be plugging away for an eternity, regardless of whether