When I was in high school, I was still in the closet.

Times were slightly different, it was a medium size city, internet was not even a concept we could image nor a means that we can use to meet peers, most of other gay guys were in their closet and getting in touch with the few young guys who came out was not so easy or required some degree of determination and premeditation. The opposite of teenage crush.

During all the years between 14 and 19 I never got the chance to talk with, to flirt with and to make up with a nice, polite, blonde guy, one year older than me, who could have been just my type. I don’t have a memory of him back then.

Years later, some 20 years later, we started chatting in our hometown, he said he was engaged, looking for some fun while visiting his parents, looking for a top. He seems perfect, even if we didn’t have a place to have sex.

We talked a lot about living abroad, familiarising with a foreign country and another language, the feeling towards our hometown and our idea of being gay there compared to where we were living (me London, him Paris). We discovered that we had spent 4 years in the same high school, same teachers, same experiences, even common friends.

Nothing happened during that weekend but  we ended up in our city many times during the year and on a sunny sunday of spring we had the chance to meet when taking the same train to go to the airport. We stayed more than one hour between the carriages talking about boyhood, school memories and endless mornings practicing the art of watching guys without watching. He was really pleasant, funny and witty. I liked his open but not so innocent smile.

We kept in touch for months, texting about our sexual life, quick encounters at the gym, in the neighbourhood, mostly on the internet, sometimes in a public toilet next to his house for him. We never swapped hot pictures. It was all starters without main courses, typical teenage teasing.

Finally we had our occasion. He was in our city by car and he proposed to drive me back to the airport and share the journey. Brilliant. We kept behaving like two very young guys, or better like two very young guys from the time when we were young not young of today, since I pretended to go to the station and catch a train, waiting for my father to go away and then taking another exit; he waited home until I was alone, got my message, said goodbye to his parents and came to me.

It was such a funny travel. We listened to our stories, we laughed, we even sang. We felt some deep understanding when we find out to share the same passion: watching Grindr everywhere around the world and noticing the cultural difference of gay life just by glance. London, Paris, New York, Milan, Instanbul, Dubai, Stockholm, Lima.

Then we started holding each other’s hand and he simply asked me, what you want to do and I say I want to kiss you.

He told me he knew a parking on the highway which was very quiet, no restaurant, no oli station. We went there. Few cars around, each far from the next one.

We kissed sweetly and passionately, without haste. He played with my nipple. Music from the radio, with the billboard of the week. The windows became soon wet and it seemed like kissing in the fog, with the sound of fast cars travelling nearby.

He unzipped my jeans and went down on me. He gave me a blow job as deep as he could. I grabbed his blonde hair and fingered his asshole. A car stopped next to ours and a man started watching. We told him through the window to go away, he didn’t and  we moved the car. When he went down on me again I had lowered my jeans, I wanted to move freely and push my cock into his mouth. I came this way and he went on sucking till the last drop, then he opened the car door and spat it outside.

We stayed there for a while, watching the cars silently, humming some popular music.

Then we went on driving and talking like nothing had happened between us. We arrived late at destination, we hugged each other tightly, he said he didn’t expect to have such a beautiful journey together. I asked him, can you imagine how it would have been having sex after school, underage, years ago? He couldn’t, me neither. We wiped out this moment of tenderness saying that we would probably have been awkward and hasty, so better now than then. But still some sadness lingered between us and we accepted it. Can you miss something you have never had? Can you regret something that you didn’t know you wanted?

We still text each other for greeting and reassurance when something bad happens in the cities where we live.

Sometimes I close my eyes, think of this schoolmate and I imagine being courted by him after the gym class, feeling desire upon me, watching him back with malice, waiting for him to grab my hand, find a hidden place and teach me how two boys kiss, like older guys are supposed to do proudly with the younger ones at school.