The year was 1997, just two years after the genocidal, internecine war in Bosnia had been brought to an end by the Dayton Accords. That international agreement called for elections to be supervised by the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE). This was how I got a short term job in Bosnia, supervising a polling station in Tuzla. You see, I had just recently retired from long years in law firm in San Francisco and was approaching my 66th birthday. All of the supervisors met first in Zagreb, the capital of neighboring Croatia, for a week of orientation and training. We came not only from the United States but also the UK, France, Germany, Italy and even Lithuania. We were all put up in a deluxe Sheraton in the center of the city but each supervisor had to share his or her room with another supervisor. The OSCE would not pay for single occupancy. I looked into the possibility of upgrading with a supplement but there seemed to be no bureaucratic way of handling such a request. But I'm getting ahead of my story. This is all mainly background for what turned out to be a marvelous adventure in more ways than one. As I boarded the OSCE-chartered bus that was to take us from Zagreb International Airport to the hotel, I saw it was already crowded but that there were, in fact, a few vacant seats on the aisle near the back of the bus. I wondered which one I should take and definitely knew that I did not want to take one next to a rather overweight middle-aged woman. Much to my relief, a guy, who must have been in his early forties, raised his arm and invited me to sit next to him. I'd guess he was about 6' tall, had salt and pepper hair, and looked terribly fit for no longer being a young man. It turned out that he was a deputy city planner in Minneapolis who had decided to take this temporary job with OSCE during his three-week vacation. Taking part in OSCE's democratization program might be helpful in building up his own resume. As we rode along on our way to the hotel, I guess we continued to exchange personal information. At some point I told him my name was Robert; his was Brian, and we shook hands and switched the conservation more to what we expected from the election supervising jobs that we had signed up for. As we approached the hotel, the OSCE staffer told us that we could choose our roommates or just take a chance with arbitrary assignments. Some of the others on the bus were already old friends and would, therefore, want to be assigned to the same rooms. I was delighted when Brian said, "Shall we share? I don't know anyone else on the bus, and it doesn't look like you do either." When we got to the OSCE sign-in table at the hotel, the staffer assigned us a room without comment one way or another. The orientation was to take place in the same hotel and last for four days. It was early in the afternoon by the time we got some lunch and went up to our room. After more than 15 hours of flying time and airport changes -- each with a security check-- I was more than ready to lie down for an extended nap. I stripped to my underwear and got in under the covers of one of the two twin beds. Brian did the same, and I could not help but notice the huge bulge in his jockey shorts and the ripped abs under his T-shirt. I was dying to see him without anything on and just hoped that might happen later on during he week, sometime when he would probably be showering and dressing. I don't think either of us slept more than a couple of hours. When I woke up, Brian was sitting -- still in his underwear -- at the little desk writing on a postcard. He had found several in the hotel's WELCOME folder and told me he always liked to let his roommate know that that he had arrived safely. That was the first mention of a roommate, and I hesitated to ask whether the roommate was a gal or a guy. Well, it was still too early to go downstairs to the cocktail lounge or out to dinner. It was raining hard outside, so there was no point in attempting to do any real sightseeing. So, we just continued to chat. I probably talked too much about my legal practice and San Francisco political issues. Brian explained that he had not always been a municipal employee. Before that, he had been a Marine officer. He had even been detailed to the White House while serving at the Pentagon. That helped explain his outstanding physique. He had reached the grade of Major before deciding to retire, he told me. For some reason, obvious now, that just did not make sense. We were good enough acquaintances by now that I did not think twice before asking something along the lines of, "Why would you give up a promising military career -- especially in the Marines -- to become a city planner?" Brian could not have been more blunt. "Because I am gay," he said, "and I could not continue to lead a double life." He explained that he had great hopes when President Clinton had first espoused a policy of allowing gays to serve in the military." I cannot tell you how much I wanted to jump up and embrace this handsome, well-built man, hold him close and hope he'd do the same. Instead I just told him that I was gay too. I mentioned that I am totally in the closet and that he was the first person -- still is -- who knew my real identity and that I was gay. "Well, that proves my gaydar is still working," he joked. "Something told me as soon as I saw you get on the bus." "Does that mean he wants sex with me, " I asked myself silently. "He certainly find me attractive enough to want me to sit next to him and engage in conversation and share a room." I was still too shy to take any sexual initiative, and maybe he was too, but we continued to merely discuss gay issues -- national and personal -- until it was time to go for dinner. Brian mentioned that he had agreed with two others to go out to dinner together. He said that he had known them from a previous OSCE deployment and that they both were gay although one was a guy and the other a gal and they were sharing a room. "Strange," I thought, but "that' s no problem for me." Subconsciously I guess I thought it was okay because no one from home would recognize me in Zagreb. Dinner was pretty uneventful with more fairly intellectual conversation about various gay issues. As we were finishing up, the other guy -- Stan -- talked Brian and me into going to Zagreb's most famous gay disco, The Bad Boy, after dinner. His gay lady roommate said she was too tired from the long journey went back to the hotel. He knew where it was and how we could take the tram to get there. I had never been to a gay disco before. Most of the clientele were guys but there were a few women at the bar. We three guys got a table in one of the several small back rooms, ordered our drinks, and I began to look around at other tables of guys who were holding hands and what I used to call, "necking."
A truly new experience for me. Brian and Stan both got up to dance under the strobe lights of the DJ room while I kept our table. Stan returned well within a half hour while Brian, who it turns out likes nothing better than to dance, well almost, continued to dance with various partners. Before I hardly knew it, I felt Stan's right hand on my left thigh. "Do you mind?" he asked. I didn't and reached over to kiss him on the cheek. From there my tongue penetrated his slightly open mouth. We must have French kissed and rubbed each others cocks through our pants for the better part of two hours. No one else had any part out of his pants, so we were actually pretty discreet in our actions. I really don't think Brian ever did return to finish his drink; he enjoyed dancing so much. As much as I enjoyed necking with Stan, I was still hoping to save myself for what I hoped would be love making with
Brian. It was well after the last tram by the time we were ready to go. One of the bartenders called a cab, and the three of us men were on our way back to the Sheraton. Brian and I left Stan off the lift at the third floor while we continued on to the twelfth. My throat was getting so dry, I couldn't get any words out to suggest that I hoped we'd share a bed once we got to our room. As soon as Brian finished brushing his teeth and was out of the bathroom it was my turn. "I think I'll take a shower before turning in," I said, which was really just an excuse to get totally naked in the bedroom before entering the bathroom. I noticed Brian look my way a couple of times, and I hoped that was a good sign. After a thorough showering with special attention to my anus -- just in case Brian liked to rim -- I came out with my towel around my waste. Only to find Brian under the covers of his bed, with his back turned toward mine, and apparently already asleep. It had certainly been a long day after a long trip and an evening of gyrating, so it was not wonder that he had konked out so quickly. Still I was disappointed. If ever any sex was to take place with Brian, it would have to be some time later. I slept so soundly, I don't remember dreaming or having to get up even once to urinate, highly unusual for a man in his sixties. It seemed only minutes, not hours, later that I awoke to the sun streaming in our hotel window. Through bleary eyes, I saw what I could not begin to believe. There was Brian lying on top of the covers, 100 percent naked, with a magnificent boner of what must have been at least a 9" cock standing straight in the air. "Oh, it must be a pee boner," I thought to myself. That was until I saw the Brian was actually looking my way. "Like what you see?" he said with a broad grin across his slightly whiskered face. Did I ever, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't be saying that if he didn't want me to do something with what I had in sight. "Can I?" I asked, to which Brian replied something like, "I thought you'd never ask. I've been laying here for at least a half hour hoping you'd wake up." Why had we lost so much time yesterday, I couldn't help but thinking to myself. Now we'd have to be hurried if we were to make our first training session at 8:30. Still, a quickie is better than nothing at all, and I was pretty sure that we'd not be limited to just one time while in training in Zagreb. We had not yet gotten to the typical question at first time gay encounters: " What do you like to do?" I thought, therefore, that I'd better limit myself at the beginning to giving him a gentle jacking. I, therefore, moved over to his bed, still naked myself since that is how I always sleep, With my butt at his waste level, I reached over with my right hand and gently began to stroke his rigid cock that grew even longer and thicker -- if that's possible; it may have just been my imagination. -- with every movement of my fingers. "Do you have anything that would work as a lubricant," I asked Brian. His cock skin was getting red from the friction with my fingers. "No, I don't he said, but you do." I knew immediately that he was referring to my saliva. With that I leaned down and surrounded his lovely head piece of meat with my lips and slipped my tongue into the little hole." I thought the guys in the neighboring room would hear his moans. (Maybe they did because we both got big grins when we went down to breakfast and found our room neighbors already in the dining room.) "Oh, My God, Robert, that is so wonderful, oh, oh, oh, oh." Just as he was about to ejaculate, he immediately pulled his cock from my mouth and jerked me around so that we were face to face. Brian began to kiss me fervently in between words like, "You are the greatest cock sucker I've ever known; yes, you really are, don't deny it; you have so much experience." And then we'd both laugh. "I don't care if we ever have breakfast," Brian whispered in my ear. "Let me have your cock and see if I can please you half as much as you've pleased me." As much as I love sex, I was not going to miss out on real breakfast. " Let's compromise," I suggested. "How about sixty-nine-ing? We can both get off and still have time to go down for breakfast." I still could hardly believe the rapture that had overcome both of us. Although I describe myself as "fit" in exchanges of email hoping to hook up from the Internet, my body is nowhere as hard and ripped as Brian's. It was ecstasy for me to move slowly from his lips down his chest with little bites at his nipples and then on down to his belly button. That man could be a model for GQ. I have even forgotten to mention how much I enjoyed running my fingers through his thick, slightly curly, dark brown hair with graying temples. We had to hurry, alas. Well, it didn't take long between his belly button and the revival of his cock head. By the time my mouth got there, Brian already had my cock into his mouth and was going all the way to my pubic field and back. He was no slacker at cock sucking either because he used his tongue almost as adeptly as I do. Before I knew it and thanks to all the preliminary "work" I had done on him, Brian ejaculated within less than a minute. "Damn!" I thought, even though I loved the taste of his semen, "he'll want to stop before I cum" But he didn 't. He kept up the pace as fast or faster than he had before, We hadn't talked about swallowing in the lead-up and I wasn't as sure he'd want to swallow my semen as much as had gorging myself on his." "I'm cumming," I told him, and I could hear him mutter, "Sure, go ahead." With that I could feel my semen working its way up from its origins and out into his mouth and throat. Neither of us spit out the other's jism. The two of us were exhausted from our ecstasy, but we are responsible kinds of guys and we had to get to training after a quickly devoured "real" breakfast. It was now no problem for us to shower together. We lathered each other vigorously, rinsed, and before we knew it were dressed and ready to be on our way. To hell with the shaving; the others would just have to guess maybe why. One thing I know is that Brian is a real friend and not just a quick lay. We love exchanging ideas as much as each other's semen.
To be continued, maybe.