Sex stories

Wow, this takes me back… late '90s, early 2000s.
It’s the first time I’m writing this down. I don’t know why exactly — maybe there’s a thrill in sharing it. It’s not a wild sex story or hardcore scene, just a moment of raw sexual tension I’ll never forget.
I was 21.
I was in a private university in the south of France, formerly a Jesuit university, and still offering dorms for students who wanted them.
I had chosen to stay there instead of traveling back and forth — my family lived far away.
I had the luxury of my own room, which meant I could jerk off in peace whenever I wanted.
But one night in particular still burns in my memory.
His name was Christophe.
We’d been in the same classes for two years — a sporty guy, casual but cool.
He played tennis seriously, and when he wasn’t on the court, he was kicking a football around with friends.
He wasn’t a ladies’ man, despite his charm — maybe too clean-cut for the ladies who liked bad men.
Physically, he had that dry, athletic body — tight abs that moved when he breathed, sharp features, and these unreal, pale blue eyes that popped under his dark brown hair.
Me? I had a softer look — Eurasian features that were trendy at the time, full lips (my best asset), and a lean build from volleyball.
Nothing flashy, but some ladies would pinch my ass and say it was firm — probably thanks to those hours on the court.
What brought Christophe and me closer was the dorm.
We’d often chat at night about life, university, and of course — sex.
At that age, it was a go-to topic.
One Wednesday night, Christophe’s roommate, Vincent, was out — a common thing mid-week.
Christophe asked me to crash in his room, in Vincent’s bed, so we could hang out longer.
The dorm supervisor, a chill guy, said:
“Fine, but no noise after 10 PM. Quiet whispers only. Don’t make me come back in.”
We were talking about jerking off — how could we not?
Christophe said:
“Man, you’re lucky having your own room. I’d jerk off five times a day if I could.”
I laughed. “So how do you do it then?”
He replied, grinning:
“I make a little tent with the blanket. One hand holds it up, the other does the job. Gotta wait until Vincent starts snoring — that’s my signal.”
From the other bed, I could vaguely see the shape of that little “tent.”
He teased me:
“See? I’m jerking off right now and you don’t even know… magic!”
“Yeah right,” I smirked.
Then, without warning, he threw off his blanket:
“Come check for yourself.”
Something clicked in me — a mix of nerves, curiosity, and that thrill of a forbidden dare.
I stood up in the dim light, walked over to his bed… and there he was, grinning, his cock in his hand, fully hard.
And instead of backing away or laughing it off, I knelt down.
Without saying a word, I took his cock into my mouth.
Everything froze.
Just two slow strokes and I paused.
“Hey, Christophe… you okay?” I asked, suddenly unsure.
I’d crossed a line.
Was he going to freak out? Was this the end of peace at the dorm? Was I about to be outed and ashamed?
But then he gasped:
“Keep going…”
So I did.
I sucked him off slowly, deeply, until I felt him explode in my mouth — hot, thick, and powerful.
And I loved it.
I went back to Vincent’s bed. We didn’t say a word.
We just fell restp.
The next day, it was like nothing happened.
But something had changed. There was this charged silence between us — something unspoken.
That little ritual continued for a few weeks.
Then one night, he whispered:
“No blowjob tonight. Just stroke me.”
He didn’t come that time.
I asked if he wanted me to finish him off, but he said no.
“Let’s just rest.”
And that was it.
No more after that.
Maybe he started questioning things. Maybe it was just a moment, a phase.
But for me, it was unforgettable.
That first blowjob — the guy, the setup, the tension, the nerves — it was all perfect.
I’ve had others since, but that one stands alone.
Maybe that’s the power of a first time — it never leaves you.