My Visit to Mussoorie
Dear Readers: For me, sex and nudity are a story—one that I live and one that I write.
This time I was travelling to Mussoorie to attend a conference. The cold mountain breeze, the green valleys, and the calm atmosphere of the hills always attract me. But this trip was special, because I knew he was there—Rahul. That handsome, smooth, twenty-year-old top who worked as a research assistant in the same institute.
We knew each other from before; we had first met two years ago on a gay site. Until now, our interactions were only over video calls, but the sparkle in his eyes always told me he was a passionate, desirable young man.
By the time I reached Mussoorie, it was around four in the evening. The cold wind brushed against my body, and I wished Rahul would meet me.
The institute’s guest house was on the hill in Landour Cantonment. My room—209—was on the top floor, large, with a balcony overlooking the entire Landour valley.
I closed the door, removed my clothes, and stood naked by the window. The cool breeze touched my chest; my nipples tightened. I closed my eyes and thought of Rahul—his deer-like eyes, the soft intoxication in his smile.
Being alone in the guest house meant I could be naked. Whenever I travel on duty, I sleep without clothes; the freedom of nudity inspires me to write.
I opened my laptop and began working on my new story, but my mind kept drifting to Rahul. Would he come? I had messaged him, but there was no reply.
The conference was to begin the next day. I had dinner—simple dal, roti, potatoes, and a salad—then returned to my room.
It was 10 p.m. Rain had started outside; cold droplets tapped against the window. I lay naked on the bed, the only light coming from the table lamp. My body was warm, my mind excited.
Suddenly there was a soft knock at the door.
I was startled. Who could it be at this hour?
I hadn’t even covered myself. Naked, I opened the door.
There he stood—Rahul, the same boy from my video calls. His smile was still mischievous, still irresistible. He was wet from the rain, his T-shirt clinging to his smooth chest.
“Sir, surprise!” he said, stepping inside.
“Rahul, you? At this hour?” I asked, though my heart already knew this was no accident.
He laughed. “You messaged me. I came straight from the hostel.”
I said, “You’re drenched.”
He replied, “Sir… do you always stay like this? Wow… what a body.”
He came close and placed his hands around my waist. I didn’t resist; I had been waiting for this moment.
He removed his T-shirt. Under the light, his torso glowed—broad chest, deep navel, natural hill-hardened muscles. Then he slid out of his jeans, and his manhood emerged—thick, smooth, proudly erect. I held him in my hand and gently freed the tip; drops of warm pre-fluid glistened instantly.
He stepped forward and placed his warm hand on my chest—his palm hot, his fingers cool. His thumb circled my nipple slowly.
My breath grew heavier.
“Your chest is so soft, sir,” he whispered. “Like a Kashmiri apple… one touch and it releases sweetness.”
I tried to speak, but his other hand gripped my hips, squeezing gently.
He pushed me onto the bed, laying me on my back, leaning over me.
His lips didn’t go to mine—they went to my neck. He kissed there, then slowly traced a line with his tongue from my throat to my chest.
When he reached my nipple, he enclosed it with his lips; his tongue played over it—slow circles, quick flicks. I held his head to my chest.
He pulled me over him, and now his hardness was near my lips. I took him into my mouth. I’m not very fond of oral play, but it excites my partner—and that’s important. I tasted his salty pre-fluid for five minutes as he grew hotter and harder.
My hips moved on their own, eager for him.
Rahul lifted my legs and rested them on his shoulders. My lower body was now entirely in the air. He buried his face between my cheeks, kissing each side, his nose brushing against me.
Then, a slow, wet stroke of his tongue right through the center. A jolt ran up my spine.
“Rahul…” I whispered.
“Shhh…” he said. “Tonight, every breath of yours belongs to me.”
He opened a tube of cold cream kept near the mirror—no rush. He warmed it on his fingers and began massaging between my cheeks.
One finger went in, then two, circling gently.
When he placed the tip of himself at my entrance, I held my breath.
He paused, looked into my eyes, and slowly entered.
There was pain, but sweet—like cold mountain water sliding down the throat for the first time.
When he was fully inside, we stayed still for a moment—two mountains merging into one.
Then he moved—slow, deep strokes, then faster.
Our bodies synced perfectly.
He reached for my chest, squeezing softly, playing with my nipples, intensifying every sensation.
The room echoed with rhythmic sounds.
When I neared climax, he slowed down.
He took my chest into his mouth again, sucking hard.
I dug my nails into his back.
Without touching myself, I released—completely, powerfully—only from the rhythm of our bodies.
At the same moment, he thrust deeply and released inside me.
I felt his warmth spread within.
But the night wasn’t over.
We took a break, drank water, talked.
He asked about my books, my photographs, and my senior Guru brother.
“Sir, I have learned so much from your stories. Meeting you was my desire,” he said.
We lay together for a while, his head on my chest, my fingers in his hair.
Then he turned me over—now I was on my stomach.
He placed a pillow under my hips to lift them.
He held my cheeks like shaping clay and ran his tongue between them again.
My body responded instantly.
This time, when he entered, there was no resistance—my body had accepted him.
He moved slowly, lovingly.
His hands travelled from my back to my waist, and then to my chest, lifting me a little so he could caress my nipples while moving inside me.
We found a rhythm—an old melody rediscovered.
We climaxed together again.
Outside, the fog had cleared, and moonlight filled the room.
“Sir, I’ll come again tomorrow,” he said before leaving for the hostel.
Second Night
The next night we played in the balcony.
We were both naked.
The full moon spread silver light on our bodies.
He pressed me against the railing, his hands on my chest, teasing my nipples.
When he entered me from behind, his face looked even more beautiful in the moonlight.
Time seemed to stop.
Inside, he carried me to the bed, lifted my legs onto his shoulders, and moved slowly, lovingly.
Our breaths merged.
We climaxed together again—three rounds that night.
By morning, the memory of his fingers on my hips and his lips on my chest still lingered.
This time I was travelling to Mussoorie to attend a conference. The cold mountain breeze, the green valleys, and the calm atmosphere of the hills always attract me. But this trip was special, because I knew he was there—Rahul. That handsome, smooth, twenty-year-old top who worked as a research assistant in the same institute.
We knew each other from before; we had first met two years ago on a gay site. Until now, our interactions were only over video calls, but the sparkle in his eyes always told me he was a passionate, desirable young man.
By the time I reached Mussoorie, it was around four in the evening. The cold wind brushed against my body, and I wished Rahul would meet me.
The institute’s guest house was on the hill in Landour Cantonment. My room—209—was on the top floor, large, with a balcony overlooking the entire Landour valley.
I closed the door, removed my clothes, and stood naked by the window. The cool breeze touched my chest; my nipples tightened. I closed my eyes and thought of Rahul—his deer-like eyes, the soft intoxication in his smile.
Being alone in the guest house meant I could be naked. Whenever I travel on duty, I sleep without clothes; the freedom of nudity inspires me to write.
I opened my laptop and began working on my new story, but my mind kept drifting to Rahul. Would he come? I had messaged him, but there was no reply.
The conference was to begin the next day. I had dinner—simple dal, roti, potatoes, and a salad—then returned to my room.
It was 10 p.m. Rain had started outside; cold droplets tapped against the window. I lay naked on the bed, the only light coming from the table lamp. My body was warm, my mind excited.
Suddenly there was a soft knock at the door.
I was startled. Who could it be at this hour?
I hadn’t even covered myself. Naked, I opened the door.
There he stood—Rahul, the same boy from my video calls. His smile was still mischievous, still irresistible. He was wet from the rain, his T-shirt clinging to his smooth chest.
“Sir, surprise!” he said, stepping inside.
“Rahul, you? At this hour?” I asked, though my heart already knew this was no accident.
He laughed. “You messaged me. I came straight from the hostel.”
I said, “You’re drenched.”
He replied, “Sir… do you always stay like this? Wow… what a body.”
He came close and placed his hands around my waist. I didn’t resist; I had been waiting for this moment.
He removed his T-shirt. Under the light, his torso glowed—broad chest, deep navel, natural hill-hardened muscles. Then he slid out of his jeans, and his manhood emerged—thick, smooth, proudly erect. I held him in my hand and gently freed the tip; drops of warm pre-fluid glistened instantly.
He stepped forward and placed his warm hand on my chest—his palm hot, his fingers cool. His thumb circled my nipple slowly.
My breath grew heavier.
“Your chest is so soft, sir,” he whispered. “Like a Kashmiri apple… one touch and it releases sweetness.”
I tried to speak, but his other hand gripped my hips, squeezing gently.
He pushed me onto the bed, laying me on my back, leaning over me.
His lips didn’t go to mine—they went to my neck. He kissed there, then slowly traced a line with his tongue from my throat to my chest.
When he reached my nipple, he enclosed it with his lips; his tongue played over it—slow circles, quick flicks. I held his head to my chest.
He pulled me over him, and now his hardness was near my lips. I took him into my mouth. I’m not very fond of oral play, but it excites my partner—and that’s important. I tasted his salty pre-fluid for five minutes as he grew hotter and harder.
My hips moved on their own, eager for him.
Rahul lifted my legs and rested them on his shoulders. My lower body was now entirely in the air. He buried his face between my cheeks, kissing each side, his nose brushing against me.
Then, a slow, wet stroke of his tongue right through the center. A jolt ran up my spine.
“Rahul…” I whispered.
“Shhh…” he said. “Tonight, every breath of yours belongs to me.”
He opened a tube of cold cream kept near the mirror—no rush. He warmed it on his fingers and began massaging between my cheeks.
One finger went in, then two, circling gently.
When he placed the tip of himself at my entrance, I held my breath.
He paused, looked into my eyes, and slowly entered.
There was pain, but sweet—like cold mountain water sliding down the throat for the first time.
When he was fully inside, we stayed still for a moment—two mountains merging into one.
Then he moved—slow, deep strokes, then faster.
Our bodies synced perfectly.
He reached for my chest, squeezing softly, playing with my nipples, intensifying every sensation.
The room echoed with rhythmic sounds.
When I neared climax, he slowed down.
He took my chest into his mouth again, sucking hard.
I dug my nails into his back.
Without touching myself, I released—completely, powerfully—only from the rhythm of our bodies.
At the same moment, he thrust deeply and released inside me.
I felt his warmth spread within.
But the night wasn’t over.
We took a break, drank water, talked.
He asked about my books, my photographs, and my senior Guru brother.
“Sir, I have learned so much from your stories. Meeting you was my desire,” he said.
We lay together for a while, his head on my chest, my fingers in his hair.
Then he turned me over—now I was on my stomach.
He placed a pillow under my hips to lift them.
He held my cheeks like shaping clay and ran his tongue between them again.
My body responded instantly.
This time, when he entered, there was no resistance—my body had accepted him.
He moved slowly, lovingly.
His hands travelled from my back to my waist, and then to my chest, lifting me a little so he could caress my nipples while moving inside me.
We found a rhythm—an old melody rediscovered.
We climaxed together again.
Outside, the fog had cleared, and moonlight filled the room.
“Sir, I’ll come again tomorrow,” he said before leaving for the hostel.
Second Night
The next night we played in the balcony.
We were both naked.
The full moon spread silver light on our bodies.
He pressed me against the railing, his hands on my chest, teasing my nipples.
When he entered me from behind, his face looked even more beautiful in the moonlight.
Time seemed to stop.
Inside, he carried me to the bed, lifted my legs onto his shoulders, and moved slowly, lovingly.
Our breaths merged.
We climaxed together again—three rounds that night.
By morning, the memory of his fingers on my hips and his lips on my chest still lingered.
2ヶ月前
