My years of student in Tours (First part).Hello.The text I am delivering to you will be the first in a series that I have in mind, right at the end of my pen (No, don't have your mind gone wrong, please!), If you will. please and if the marks that you will assign to me will be sufficient ... They will be episodes of my lovingly dissolute life (!) shattered throughout my memory, still alive!We are at the time when I was a student at the Faculty of Letters of Tours, a city that I really liked and that I still like although it has changed enormously. Student in English ... I have lost a lot since I hardly practiced anymore, but in English only. Phew! The neighborhood where I lived during my three years as a student did not take any wrinkles or rejuvenation. I had a bedroom-office in a small square, Place François Sicard, at the foot of the cathedral, and above all near the garden of the former archdiocese which, I didn't know, could harbor so many and so many temptations. .. which I succumbed very quickly. No sooner had I taken possession of my new domain than I wanted to explore its surroundings. My owner (a longtime friend of my parents - a very charming lady of some eighty springs that she still wore very beautiful) had explained to me, in front of a cup of tea accompanied by fresh petits fours, the quick story neighborhood. The mansion which she occupied with her son of more than fifty years was that of the former intendants of Tours. Mazette! I didn't think at all that I was about to live and learn under so many centuries of History and Glory! And if your large bedroom seems too austere at times, you will always have the possibility, my dear Pierre, to go and sit on one of the old benches in the garden of the Museum of Fine Arts. You probably know it? ... No? ... It is absolutely essential to visit it, you have remarkable works there ... This, of course, during the free time you will have between your lessons. And then, next evening, we'll have to have dinner with us; I'll let you know, without wanting to bother you. " The academic year just beginning and I could still have a lot of free time. The superb weather at the end of the season might suggest that we were still on vacation. I was returning from England where I had just spent a month and a half of studious studies and ... less studious adventures ...Little by little, I discovered the neighboring streets, the rue de la Scellerie, the Grand Théâtre. Further on, crossing the Rue Nationale, the old quarters of Tours, magnificently restored, with their maze of small streets encircling the Place Plumereau. There, Balzac's shadow still seems to slip under the old stone porches of private mansions. I am located very close to the Faculty of Letters, called precisely François Rabelais. What a bon vivant, dear Rabelais! A man who did not bother with the judgment of others and who knew how to live! But I do not really want to enter this large white stone building with a slate roof, erected on the banks of the Loire. I retrace my steps along the quays, I cross the Wilson bridge and I realize that a little further, after having passed the Library, there is a vespasienne. You can see the legs of its occupants. There are three of them, one place is still free. The one in the middle must be in shorts because you can see his bare legs, tanned legs as far as I can tell. Hmmm ... I imagine what must happen between these three men ... I dare not stop there and will lean for a few moments on the old stone wall overlooking the quays. From there, I observe a curious merry-go-round: below, on the cobblestones of the quay, two individuals are discussing. I don't hear what they say to each other, but here too my imagination is working. The taller of the two, a fairly well built man, is handsome. He takes the other by the shoulder and they both go in the direction of an old barge moored right there. They' stop where disjointed boards allow access to the boat. Exchange of knowing smiles. After looking around, the taller walks over the gangway and enters the cabin of the boat. The second will follow him shortly after. My thoughts are directed towards them and automatically, I turn to the vespasienne. There is only one pair of legs left. These are the ones that are tanned. This time, I step forward boldly and enter the place. The man, a little older than me (I was not twenty ...) occupies the left seat. I choose the one on the right, leaving an empty space between the two of us. I stand on my own two legs and, almost turning my back on my stranger whom I barely caught a glimpse of (I know he's brown hair), I slide the zipper on my jeans. I feel that my neighbor has a movement, I cannot say which one. Immediately, I turn slightly to him. I have not yet taken my cock out of my underpants, a wise child's white underpants ... I look at my feet without seeing them and, finally, I decide to release my member which was starting to get impatient and take his ease. I am unable to let out the slightest drizzle of urine. Turning his head discreetly, I see that my neighbor caresses himself while masturbating gently. This only excites my desire, this desire that I have to hold in hand a penis other than mine! I try to catch his gaze but look at him at my hand which partly and intentionally hides what he wants to see. So he looks up at mine and, no doubt surprised to notice that I am looking at him too, he smiles at me, with a smile so bright that I melt. I respond to that frank smile and discover a superbly beautiful face, bright blue eyes, a chin dimple and, I will discover later, two more cheek dimples that will give it an overwhelming charm.For then, my unknown neighbor approaches me, still holding in my hand what I have only glimpsed and which now I am looking at with a sort of greed. Think about it! I fasted for more than a month, it is high time that I regain some strength! ... And it is because I have a great appetite!What I see, that I admire, is a sex with very honorable dimensions and which sha ...

... Log in to read the end of this erotic story | 100% free registration