Passing the Test

"Here we are then," my dad said. "Good luck and let me know how you get on." We were parked outside the MOT Examination Centre, and I was about to take my driving test for the first time (and hopefully the last). He'd accompanied me here, and I intended to drive myself back.

I heard a door open, and glanced across the yard. I'd been expecting somebody like my dad, middle-aged, a bit portly, possibly wearing a hat and sucking on a pipe. Instead, I was greeted by someone a bit older than myself, slim and casually dressed. "I'm Caspar," he introduced himself, shaking my hand and holding on to it for a moment. "Shall we get going?"

Well, the drive went like a dream, and I passed the test on the Highway Code, having memorized all the answers. When we got back Caspar confirmed that I'd passed, and surprised me by saying that I was his last client for the day, and would I like to come back to his flat for a celebratory drink. The twinkle in his eye as he said it suggested that rather more than a drink was in the offing.

It was warm in the flat, romantic music was playing in the background, and it had been furnished with an obvious eye to detail. Caspar suggested I try a Mojito, which he mixed with practised ease. Seated on a chaise longue, we toasted each other, and exchanged chit-chat about ourselves. I said I collected Art Deco china, but it transpired that he collected erotica, which he kept hidden so as not to offend his cleaning lady.

Caspar produced a selection of items from his collection, which he set out on the coffee table, then explained their purpose to me. I was beginning to feel aroused, and curious to see where this was leading. He recharged my glass, then pulled me gently into his embrace and lowered his lips onto mine. The sensation was delicious, and I responded fully, both of us taking turns and turn about at tonsil hockey.

We both knew where we were going, but neither of us was in any hurry. We undressed each other item by item, letting the excitement mount. Caspar then led me by the hand to the bathroom, where we showered together, lathering each other and comparing our manhoods. Once dried off we headed to the bedroom, and stood face to face with our arms around each other. "We're going to take another drive," he said.

With that, he positioned his erect member under my crutch and against my right leg, and mine against his, saying, "That's the gear sticks taken care of." Then he curled his right hand around my sac, squeezing and stroking it, and I did likewise for him. We were now both rigid, but in no hurry to separate. Instead we both leant slightly to our left, and reached around to explore each other's clefts with our free left hands. I felt his finger on my freckle, and yielded to him first.

We drew slowly apart, and he turned me round and bent me over, so that my elbows rested on the bed. Caspar parted my cheeks, deployed a tube of lube to good effect, and aimed his beefy tip at the entry to my cul-de-sac. "I can't see a No Entry sign," he joked, "and I'm going to let the clutch out slowly and keep the revs low."

I was too much of a squeeze for starters, but Caspar had me inhale a popper, which relaxed my outer ring through which he managed to penetrate into the one-way street. I had seen that his glans was the largest element of his manhood, and realised that I was going to receive a memorable reaming. Given the slow pace of his advance, once that was accommodated the more slender staff on which it was supported enabled my fundament to relax around it. He now had me impaled on his pole, and I thought the hardest part was behind me (if you'll forgive the double pun)

But what goes up must come down, and I underwent a second reaming in reverse. Caspar withdrew to oil up both piston and cylinder, then asked me to get on all fours on the bed. He knelt behind me and renewed the connection, then brought his left knee up so as to increase his leverage. That was followed a while after by his right knee, which meant he was squatting behind me, all the while keeping up a slow but steady drill of advance and retreat.

By now I was well lubricated, and at his request I lowered my upper body face down onto the bed, giving him a fresh angle from which to manoeuvre. After a while he slowly rolled me over sideways, so that we were spooning, and stroking each other. We lay like that for a while, just enjoying the secure connection, flexing our muscles to enhance the sensation. Time passed, and then he straightened his legs and flipped onto his back, carrying me with him. I was now sitting on his member, and knelt up in the reverse cowboy position, stroking his sac and jiggling up and down on him.

There's no doubt about it, this guy was a real virtuoso in the noble art of brinkmanship. We'd been at it, on and off, for the best part of half an hour, and he showed no sign of flagging. But at last his sturdy connecting rod began to twitch, and the head of cream that he'd built up discharged itself in a series of powerful spurts, which felt like earth tremors inside me.

We made our goodbyes a while later, and I clambered behind the wheel, feeling shaken and stirred, and glad that I'd passed two tests that day. We plan to meet again, and it will be my turn to drive.