Rock'n'Roll Suicide

Rockn'n'Roll Suicide

“Time takes a cigarette, puts it in your mouth you pull on your finger, then another finger, then your cigarette…”

The moment I heard that song again, I was instantly transported back to the early summer of 1973.

It produced an immediate rock hard, raging boner in my pants. What a trigger!

The sound system serenading me as I shopped in my local megastore dragged my me back 30 years, leading me to furtively hide my embarrassment as I stood in the queue at the checkout with that evening's 6 items I’d chosen for dinner.

Once I’d finally managed to get outside, I uncomfortably hobble back to my car, positioning my strategically placed carrier bag. It was quite fortuitous that I had selected a nice dark, secluded area of the car park.

Furiously masturbating into a hastily snatched tissue from my glove compartment, I satisfied my sudden urge for relief. All the while my mind re-lived the very real sensation that I had felt the first time somebody had had my cock in their mouth.

I sat there in my car – now flaccid cock in hand – and I was whisked back thirty years to the weekend that awakened my first sexual experiences with another person.

It was all closely related the music of the time.

Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust was the musical masterpiece of the moment. I was and still am a massive fan of all things glam rock. I had not too long ago turned 14 years of age, and really was still just a confused teenager.

What I loved to do though was to shock people. I would wear eye make-up, and was small enough at the time to fit easily into women’s clothes. My raging hormones had only ever produced copious amount of semen through self-produced imaginings. As I sat in my car that night, which was quite warm for the time of year, memories of the events surrounding Bowie’s visit to my hometown started to stiffened my prick once again.

Every male teenager negotiating puberty, more or else follows the same pattern. We awaken every morning with an erection that is almost painful. A hopeful, erotically imagined scenario and a minute or two of vigorous pounding produces much stickiness and temporary relief.

That familiar process is practically the law. This daily ritual will I’m sure resonate with 50% of readers, and amuse and the rest.

I was an only child. A single product of an Irish, catholic, family, which at the time had caused questions to be asked and tongues to wag. This was not how Irish Catholics behaved. A single child with a quasi-religious rearing was enough to produce the usual amount of guilt and sexual repression to confuse my sexual awakening.

I had 3 close friends and we all really loved glam rock, and all the dressing-up, make-up, and outward behaviour that showed we were part of the tribe. We all heavily bought into the look, feel and sound of our chosen form of expression, but that was all. Never once did we speak of sexual feelings, practices or any deeper analyses of what our young personas were experiencing.

I did catch one of my friends choking his chicken once though. I called at his house one Saturday morning when he was alone. As there was no answer to my knocking on his front door, I went around the back. I glimpsed my friend giving himself a good seeing to.

As I gazed through a rear window, I was transfixed by the size my best friend’s rather large penis, which I had never seen before. Blaring out from his record player was Time, by David Bowie. The section where Bowie sings "…falls wanking to the floor..”, was when my friend spectacularly climaxed, spraying an enormous load onto the wall next to him.

I waited for what seemed to be a reasonable amount of time before returning to the front of the house and knocking again. This time he answered and ushered me in. I remember us manically commenting on how great we thought Bowie’s latest album sounded, whilst trying to ignore the clearly visible, massive, glistening semen globules dribbling down the wall.

On the 7th June 1973 David Bowie and the Spiders From Mars played at Manchester’s Free Trade Hall.

Myself and my 3 close friends had excitedly been waiting for this moment since we had first bought our tickets months previously.

The show was everything I had hoped it would be. I, and my 3 friends were excited and transfixed by the glorious, glamorous, professionalism of the whole spectacle. We all sat next to each other to begin with, 3 rows away from where we were our heroes performed.

By the end of the set though, we were separated by the uncontrolled, manic movements of the crowd.

We didn’t all meet again until the next day.

Somewhat dazed and still in a state of euphoria I meandered outside the theatre and wandered next door into a local hostelry. I had thought for a moment I’d spied one of my friends, but I hadn’t.

I was very proud of my appearance that particular evening. I was wearing unisex, androgynous black slacks that I couldn’t believe I had managed to find in a local charity shop, for next to nothing. I was also wearing a red satin bomber jacket that looked expensive, and had similarly been acquired.

My make-up was very understated and highlighted by a touch off just enough black eyeliner.

I wore just one long dangling earring.

“What are you drinking?” Asked a nice looking, more mature version of myself, who had a lovely smile, and was perched on a stool at the crowded bar. “Whatever you’re having”, I nonchalantly replied with a grin. Not feeling anything like as cool as I hoped I looked and sounded.

It turned out my new friend Frank was a mechanic. He was nearly 2 years older than me, 12 centimetres taller than me, and he didn’t live with his parents. As he talked further It felt as if he was twice my age. He had left school and got a job when his tastes and lifestyle hadn’t coincided with what his parents wanted for him. Frank lived in a flat 5 minutes walk away from where we sat at the bar drinking.

By the time I had reached that juncture in my life I had reached the grand old age of 17 days short of my 15th birthday.

Both Frank and myself were still too young to drink pints of sweet cider in a licensed premises. The proprietor of those premises though was extremely lax. The fact that we both felt and acted like sophisticates added to our charade

It was inevitable I would go back to Frank’s place. His flat was small but neat and tidy. The smell of furniture polish was at first a little overpowering. If I had closed my eyes I could have been in my Aunty Ethel’s. Music and more booze were the priority as soon as we had closed the door behind us.

The short walk from the pub had highlighted how tipsy I really was after drinking just one pint of cider.

The whisky and lemonade proffered to me was left untouched.

As soon as David Bowie began to serenade us from the speakers of Frank’s powerfully home built stereo system, my host switched out the lights and gently but passionately kissed me.

This was an altogether brand new experience for me, and not that unpleasant. I just went with the flow, as it were. The passion, the sweat, the noises made by exploring tongues, along with the smell of our alcohol breath, and polish, was indeed overwhelmingly intoxicating and sensuous.

The familiar downstairs strain of my bulging erection began to feel a little uncomfortable. I wasn’t aware of Frank unbuttoning my trousers but he had my throbbing cock in his hand before I had time to properly understand what was occurring. Five gentle strokes later and a hot stream of my cum was making a mess on his sofa.

Looking back I am extremely grateful to Frank for not commenting on my lack of control. Instead, Frank just made me feel like it was natural by continuing to slowly massage me, wordlessly insinuating everything was alright.

As soon as I was able to recover my wits somewhat, I felt I had to return the favour The gentleness was what I remember most. Our tongues gently sucked each other as we caressed I felt it was time to unbuckle Frank’s jeans and unleash what he had obviously been holding back.

I’m not sure if I quite hid my surprise at Frank’s size. I had on many occasions after seeing my friend’s erect penis have cause to invoke the memory and its enormity. But the size of Frank’s cock dwarfed my friend’s.

Initially, as soon as I got my hands on Frank’s huge, throbbing cock, all my focus was on getting him to cum. I felt I needed to give him as much pleasure as he had given me. After 5 minutes of vigorously masturbating Frank the way I did myself, my arm was starting to ache.

Just as I was beginning to run out of strength and ideas, Frank first clenched his buttocks, and then unleashed a torrent of cum high into the air ultimately soaking the back of my hand. The sight of this amazing spectacle in the faint glow of the lights of Frank’s stereo system got me hard once again.

More intense kissing followed. This time I lasted about for about 30 strokes from Franks gentle, masturbating fingers before I couldn’t stop myself from letting go again.

We lay in each other’s arms, gently rubbing our genitals together, for what was probably another 2 automatic replays of the same side of the album. Then, as I unforgivably felt as if I was just about to fall into a deep slumber, Frank turned over and presented himself against me. My rock hard cock nestled between his anus cheeks.

I wasn’t really sure of my next move until Frank shifted slightly forward, reached behind himself and guided my erect cock with gentle backward pressure until I had penetrated his anus. My size obviously didn’t trouble Frank at all. Once I was all the way in the thrill and sensation was unbelievable.

Gentle movement produced mini orgasms but still I remained hard. Without wishing to cause any discomfort to Frank I slowly began to thrust. With a little more pace and urgency, and with encouragement from Frank - and assertions of his own enjoyment - I was spurned onto greater efforts.

Gradually increasing in ferocity I began to fuck Frank ever more frantically until I did orgasm.

I drained myself of all I had.

Even by my standards to date I managed to hold back from coming too quickly, and hopefully afforded Frank some pleasure too. There was however a lot of semen and slightly uncomfortable dribbling to deal with afterwards

I awoke the next morning in a daze. Still in a state of high excitement and guilt my first thought was to get out and away as quickly as possible, which is what I did.

Fortunately, Frank had made that easy for me. Having to work on Saturday morning, Frank had left me a note and left. I hurriedly got dressed, grabbed the note, and ran.

The way I processed the happenings of the previous night was to pretend they never happened. It was a number of years before I mentally returned to the events of that night in any depth and analysed what had occurred, and acknowledged their significance and importance regarding my sexual journey.

The car park was deserted by the time I had eventually finished my reverie and returned to the present day. Even though it had started to cool down a little, I still had my cock in my hand grasping a raging hard-on.

My final wank of the evening incorporated the images of Frank kissing me whilst I vigorously masturbated him. My exchange French teacher from all those years ago expertly performed fellatio on me, interspersed with me fucking an indeterminate, only too willing young ex, extremely hard from behind. All this took place whilst Bowie sang for me personally.