Five minutes later, I arrived at a local hostel. I took him in, sucking greedily, tasting salt and sweat. Gay sex Sure. I could feel him stiffen beneath my fingers.“Can I suck it?”He nodded.He stood, pulled down his pants, and his cock—short but thick—sprang out. I took him in, sucking greedily, tasting salt and sweat. I’m a 24-year-old Indian guy, freshly back in the country after six years in Paris. Back home, I knew things wouldn’t be the same. Deep, thick. Come now.”No face pic. Still, I was restless. Three guys were sitting around, shirt collars damp with sweat, chest hair peeking out. No details. My heart pounded with each step. Come now.”No face pic. 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 didn’t take long. Back home, I knew things wouldn’t be the same. Worshipped. Three guys were sitting around, shirt collars damp with sweat, chest hair peeking out. I hesitated for a second, then booked an Uber. I hesitated for a second, then booked an Uber. No details. My moans were muffled by cock, but they didn’t need words to know I was theirs.The first one came inside me, warm and deep.
