Hey, sexy boy!

                            A dark-haired young man looks at me. He stands there naked, and I slowly look him up and down. He's far away; he doesn't appear to be a bodybuilder, but you can certainly tell he's well-built with his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His brown complexion shimmers in the light, and his dark, slightly trimmed chest hair contrasts with and emphasizes the curves of his well-shaped and toned chest.

He runs his hand over his chest, the hair sliding through his fingers, and he plays with his left nipple with his middle finger until it hardens. Then the hand slowly moves further down, following the trail of hair that widens on his lower abdomen and ends in a thick, black bush. His cock hangs limp, nestled against his low-hanging scrotum, and the pink head peeks mischievously from the slightly retracted foreskin.

He turns slightly to the side and bends his arm to flex his biceps, examining the hard bulge that has formed with his other hand. His gaze travels down his broad, lightly hairy thighs, stopping at his pronounced calves before looking up again and fixing his gaze directly on me. I look deep into his green eyes, and they reveal that he is quite satisfied with his inspection. A slight smile plays on his lips. Yes, I am satisfied with what I see in the mirror, and I turn around and walk from the bedroom to my new bathroom. As I do so, I think, "Tom Solano! The world belongs to you," and laugh to myself.

I recently moved into this three-room apartment because I wanted to start my life completely over. After my 30th birthday, I realized that I couldn't continue the way my life was going. So, after a long struggle with myself, I broke up with my girlfriend, took a new job, and moved to Munich. For a long time, I thought I was happy and that my desire for men was just imaginary and that I could ignore it. But over time, I realized that my girlfriend couldn't satisfy me on her own, and my desire grew ever stronger.

What started as a hunch that I was attracted to men became a certainty; and with that certainty came a guilty conscience for not being honest with my girlfriend and friends. I should have realized this much earlier if I hadn't done everything I could to suppress it. As a teenager, I always had fantasies involving men. And when I discovered one of my father's porn magazines at a young age, I looked at the women with a certain curiosity, but what really got my blood pumping were the men. When my parents weren't home, I could play with my penis for hours while I studied these men from the 70s with their big cocks, how they took women in all kinds of positions, and how they were absolutely willing.

My first homosexual experience didn't take long to come. I had just turned 18 and was basically always horny. One Friday in my third year of business training, I had to help our janitor shred documents at the beginning of the year. Our janitor, Alberto, was Portuguese, and I guessed he was in his mid- or late thirties at the time. I hadn't had much to do with him up to that point; apart from a few brief conversations in the smoking area, I hadn't spoken to him much either. But he always caught my attention because he was an imposing figure.

Completely atypical for a Portuguese man, he stood over 1.80m tall, and the tight blue overalls he always wore emphasized his well-trained physique. So it was no wonder I was happy to lend him a hand on a Friday afternoon.