Three guys were sitting around, shirt collars damp with sweat, chest hair peeking out. One of them grabbed my face—not too rough, but firm—and pushed me back onto the bed. Gay sex He told me to head up to the 6th floor, all the way to the rooftop. I was helpless. I didn’t disagree.And when they asked if I wanted more—if I’d keep coming back—I didn’t hesitate.“Yes,” I whispered. It wasn’t exactly what I’d expected—but desire has a way of dulling caution.I called the guy. I licked them clean.They laughed and called me a filthy little slut. I’m a 24-year-old Indian guy, freshly back in the country after six years in Paris. I didn’t waste time. Still, I was restless. It didn’t take long. It took almost two hours of sifting through blank profiles and small talk before I got a message that cut straight through the noise:“You a bottom?”“Yes,” I replied.“I’ve got a place. I felt the pressure as he pushed inside. “Use me.”But that… that was only the beginning. He waved me in.Inside, we sat on the bed, and I tried to break the tension.“Do you do this often?” I asked.He smiled.
