Every morning when I took my Scottish Terrier out for a walk I passed this garage-cum-repair shop. It used to be an absolute drag going out in all weathers to see that Dougal did his doodies regularly in the park but it soon became a joyful experience. The best moment of the day. And the difference was called Andy. He was Scottish too so naturally we got into conversation. Take my word for it, dogs can come in very handy when it comes to talking to straight studs. It breaks the ice before they break your ass. And they usually do. Eventually. Especially when it's a cute bubble butt like mine.

I loved his accent and I loved his body. It was early spring when I first saw - and heard - him. You know the time when birds begin to twitter and sing and start building nests and stuff. Something deep inside me began to twitter and sing as soon as I set eyes on him tinkering with the engine of a car. I hadn't seen the likes of his gorgeous ass in a long time and when he lay on his floor cart to get under the Daimler I wanted to build a nest of my own in the big bulge between his legs. As he squirmed around on the cart his tightly packed package moved in such a sexy way that my teenage dick sprang to horny attention. Seeing his thick thighs encased in faded Levi's, which in turn were tucked into heavy work boots, was such a turn on. It took all the self-control I could muster not to reach down to touch his hunky masculinity. Dougal on the other hand didn't seem bound to the ground by such restraints. He burrowed under the car and nestled his nose in Andy's crotch.

"Sorry," I said. "It's his way of getting to know people."

"And a very good way it is too," said Andy in his broad brogue. "Very natural."

As I said before we got to talking. I told him Dougal's history but not my own of course. I didn't want him to know I was gay but the fact must have been patently obvious by the way I looked at him and the way my fingers trembled when he asked me to pass him a monkey wrench. Once again my hand was attracted like a magnet to his big bunch of Scottish grapes. I just knew that the smell and taste of them would be like mulled wine. Or is that a contradiction in terms? I should have said malt whisky. But I was such a contradiction in terms myself. I've never wanted somebody so much and been so unable to express it. Why couldn't I just be natural and follow my little dog's lead and sniff in sweet content between Andy's legs?

I saw him several times after that but he was always busy with clients so I didn't stop although dog Dougal seemed to want to renew his acquaintance and pulled at his leash but I walked doggedly by. The weather was several degrees warmer and Andy was several layers lighter when I next got him to myself. It was late afternoon and I was on my home from school to take Dougal out for his walk. As I passed I heard him let out a loud "Fuck it!" and swear in Scottish. Something was evidently amiss. His legs, which were sticking out from under a car as usual, were now clad in cut-offs and were nice and tanned and toned and the famous bulge was still very much in evidence. I could also see bits of his washboard stomach between the bottom of his cotton shirt and the top of his jeans. There was a kind of thin treasure trail of hair that thickened as it disappeared into his pants. That was a real turn on too. I wanted to follow it with my tongue. Get my teeth into his haggis.

As he slid out from under the car I noticed that some transmission fluid had leaked out on his shirt. He wasn't aware of my tremulous presence at first, as he was busy trying to get the stain out. He was rubbing it with a dirty cloth. I followed him inside the garage as he took off his shirt and tried to clean it under the faucet. The transmission fluid had leaked through to his muscular chest. I took out my handkerchief and rubbed some soap on it as I held it under the running tap. Then I dabbed at his chest before the fluid sank too far in. He didn't say anything but I noticed his nipples began to get hard and become a beautiful pink colour, which contrasted with the brown of his awesome abs. The fluid was running down his chest towards his navel. It hadn't reached his lower regions but he opened the top of his cut-offs anyway to let me inside. He wasn't wearing underwear and his pubes curled around my fingers as I continued my way down. Soon his dick was meeting my knuckles and his mound became mine. Still he didn't say anything and to cover the loud thud of my heart I told him that he'd better get his wife to soak the shirt. He told me in husky tones that he didn't have a wife and led me into the utility room at the back of the garage. He pulled me towards him as he tugged my jeans down and let out a sigh of appreciation when my dick jumped out to meet him.

"How old are you?" is all he said.

"Eighteen." I replied truthfully but I looked much younger.

I suppose he was probably twice that but it didn't matter. All that mattered to me was that I was going to be possessed by my first man. I'd been with other boys of course but nobody much older than me and anyway, as my grandmother used to say "Age is just a number."

"Are you in a hurry to get home?" he said after peeling all my clothes off like I was a juicy banana.

"No, but I'd better call my mom and tell her to take Dougal out for his walk." I replied.

"And I'd better shut up shop before we get down to business," he said.

I called my mom to say I was doing homework at Steve's house and might stay for dinner. Of course I felt guilty as hell as I never usually lied to my mother. Just concealed the truth a little. I mean you can't really come out of the closet when you're still living at home.

Andy came back from closing the shutters and locking up the garage. I felt a frisson of fear but only a frisson. I was more excited than scared. I've just looked that word up in case you don't speak French and it was in my English dictionary so you should be all right. I was certainly all right even if a bit doubtful as to whether I could handle his meaty dick. I wondered which one of my eager holes he was going to fill. To my surprise he started with my mouth but only with his tongue. Part of the surprise was due to the fact that I'd read that straight men and prostitutes don't kiss. Andy must have been an exception to the rule as he drew me into his being and kissed me so deeply I felt his breathing become mine.

Our cocks were rubbing against each other and my mouth and dick seemed to be dribbling at the same time. There was a single bed at the back of the garage - no more than a mattress really but it served its purpose. He laid me out flat so that I felt like the bottom sheet or something, then licked the base of my balls till my legs rose in the air and my dick leaked all over my chest. His dick was leaking too. Later I learned it was called pre-cum. I was so innocent in those days. I knew a little French and a little bit about French kissing but next to nothing about pre-fuck preliminaries. I don't know what oil or lubricant he shoved up my ass - I mean it could have been engine grease for all I know - but it felt real good. Another word I'd learned at school was 'forage' and it seems a very appropriate word to describe what he did with his fingers as he foraged in my ass until they found something, which he called my love-button and drove me to the edge of madness even before his dick made its grand entrance. I felt his hard mushroom-head pressed against me and did my best to open wide to accommodate him. The tip of his penis was nestled at the rosebud between my cheeks. I was completely ready to receive him inside me. He pressed his thick slab into me and with one smooth, slow movement he was buried to the hilt in my love chute. I let out a low growl and was reminded once again of Dougal who I seemed to be resembling more and more. I whimpered and whined as he drew himself in and out of me all the while building up speed.

"That's it my wee laddie," he said, "Take it like a man."

Somehow he didn't seem to have noticed that I was doing anything but 'taking it like a man' but gnashing my teeth and foaming at butt and mouth like a rabid dog as he began gyrating inside of me. His up-and-down, side-to-side movements overwhelmed my seething senses. Every single square inch of my rectum was being touched and massaged by his ever-expanding member. I felt like sobbing with joy from the passion and crying for help from the pain as he screwed me dizzy. The feelings became so intense that at one point I wanted to shout, "Stop! Stop! Take it out! Take it out!" but, as I said previously, I was such a contradiction in terms and what I really meant to say was "Stick it in! Stick it in!" for I found I was grinding myself further and further down on him as he ground relentlessly away at my accommodating ass. When I thought I could stand the pain and pleasure no longer he caught hold of my dick like it was a lever or something and timed his climax to coincide with mine. Soon I felt seismic shudders going through both of us. As we spasmed in violent coition the years between us passed and our history grew. I may have been only eighteen - and Andy twice that - but we both knew after that first tremendous fuck that our time together was just beginning.

Since then of course I've had adventures with many other men but as we all know the first time is always the best. And nostalgia makes it even better. Dougal unfortunately is no longer with me but whenever I see pictures of him I remember I've got him to thank for introducing me to my first sniff of a guy's pre-cum and my mind goes racing back to the Scottish stud who stuck his hot haggis into my horny heather. It also flashes back to all the times I'd spied on the swinging dicks of older boys in the showers after a football match. I used to gaze at them in virginal wonder. Now I know why I looked at them.