Fast forward six months. We met at a gay support group on campus. Our enthusiastic leader, a middle-aged bull dyke, had managed to pull together a motley gang of non-breeders, mostly gay men, who attended once a week in a room inside the Education Building to speak about their lives. Or, at least, as I quickly learned, sharing our private thoughts in a judgement-free environment was the stated objective. Once you entered the club, it was understood that you'd be passed around like candy from member to member.
I was pretty butch, not effete like some, and as such I intimidated some of the twinks who never would have seriously considered me in the first place. I was so green I didn't even know what "twink" meant, or any of the terminology. I'd begun to pick it up from subscriptions to Out magazine and The Advocate, but what I understood was still highly abstract. I was a raw nerve, an exposed power line, and though I had started the process of coming out to myself, I was nowhere near ready to come out to anyone else.
Enter the tempter. Jason was not subtle. He wanted me from the beginning, and I knew this because he made a grand point of sitting right next to me at the table. As I said, I was newly out and nervous as hell, enticed and frankly obsessed by the prospect of my first time fucking another man, but still a little unsure of myself. I'm a big man with broad shoulders and strong legs, and can easily pass for straight, which sometimes means I have some convincing to do.
And yet I've never understood why I seem to love these girlish super thin boys who want me to call them Daddy when I plow into them. If my luck is good, I might score one every now and again. As I jerk myself alone at night on work nights, I can strip them naked in my mind, or watching the videos they have thoughtfully left for the world to view at their convenience, hear them prepare themselves for my cock.
Jason kept "accidentally" bumping legs with me under the table. It was getting a little ridiculous. I was interested, but there's something to be said for not telegraphing your intentions to the whole room. New as I was, of the ten men in the room, it was obvious that most of them had been with each other at some point, and I was fresh meat. Hooking up hadn't been my intent, but the promise of starting out this way, this fast had made me hard as a rock and heavily distracted.
Jason liked to play with fire. It turns out my first time happened in what used to be called a whorehouse on wheels. We could have gone to my dorm room or his, but desire was running so high that we ended up in a dark backseat outside Oxham Park, a few blocks from campus.
There, after slipping a warm tongue into my ear, he slid down my jeans, then my boxers, exposing a raging hard-on that had never been pleasured orally even once before. He gobbled me up in a half-second as I spread out, involuntarily limp and fully under his control. I think If he'd asked for the keys to my car, I would have given them to him voluntarily, with the tacit understanding that he would kindly not stop sucking me off.
And knowing instinctively that I was new to this, he kept insisting. "Don't cum. Don't cum." It made sense. He wanted me buried inside him very shortly. In watching porn, I'd always envisioned myself in the dominant role, the ringleader. It just made sense that way, don't ask me why. So I refocused, enjoying myself, fortunate that he clearly knew what he was doing. "Welcome to the club, kid," he said.
I wished for a moment that I wasn't six feet tall or that I had a larger car. No matter. And in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but reflect upon how risky this was. A morals charge would have been a minor scandal, but I was too scared to suggest a hotel room and too afraid of what it would look like if two young men checked in to the same single room without any luggage.
He kissed down the shaft, stopping first to rub his tongue against the slit where I'd soon shoot my load. He then, with practiced mouth, sucked half of me up and down for at least two or three minutes before moving deeper down, a little bit at a time. He managed to get all of me inside his mouth and I felt his lips contact against my unshaven bush. This was my first blowjob, and believe it or not, I was supremely lucky. It was my absolute best. He withdrew and with my saliva-wet cock began to masturbate me with his right hand, rubbing the soft skin up and down as I'd done for myself many times before.
"Oh, fuck, it feels so good." I felt myself say, as though I had no control over my choice in words.
I popped out of him for one slurpy, soppy moment. "Oh, you bet, sexy." And then he took me back inside, repeating the fucking motion. I felt myself pre-cum and he tasted it at the same time. "Oh my God, do you know how hot that is?"
I did. But now I felt conflicted. Was this going to be a one-sided affair? Didn't I have an obligation to reciprocate? "Let me do you next," I suggested.
He had only one suggestion. "You're new to this, so go slow." I did go slow but noticed purely by instinct alone and some appropriate porn that his poor scrotum looked so neglected. I began to kiss and lick against it hard with my tongue, then suck one testicle wholly into my warm mouth, then its compliment. Somehow, I got the whole thing inside and held it inside for minute or more. I don't understand why people think balls are ugly. They're beautiful, especially in the ways they fold up, accordion-like.
I didn't know it at the time, but Jason shaved his, which made my task a little easier. I removed his ball sack from my mouth and began kissing and licking the underside of his cock, which made him moan.
"So, you're a nasty boy. You're a natural. I thought I'd have to train you a bit more."
Jason was huge. In those days, I had no grasp, nor understanding of size and girth, but his cock was monstrous. I remember thinking to myself, "I'm glad that's not going in me." I could only fit half of him into my mouth whereupon the shaft abruptly ceased to move any further forward. To accomplish this monumental task, I would have had to bend the organ halfway down my throat.
He was encouraging. "That's okay. That's okay. Keep it up."
Trying to copy what had been done to me, I kissed and licked down him. My tongue flicked against the underside of the swollen head. Now he started to pre-cum. I took the whole head in my mouth, eager to know what it tasted like. Salty. Nothing you'd want to consume for a regular meal, but surprisingly not at all what I was expecting.
I was glad he was patient. I tried again but could only manage maybe one more inch of him down my throat. I did learn that I don't have much of a gag reflex, which was helpful later. I felt his hands push the back of my head against his dick and hold it there. He was enjoying this. He started taking sharp inhales and then exhales of breath, his eyes closed.
"Now it's time for your cock," he intoned. And as he said this, I noticed him remove a small aluminum canister from his right front pocket, crack it open, and inhale its contents quickly through a nostril. I had no idea what a popper was, or where you'd even get one. That was my first introduction and since then I have irregularly used them, especially when it's been my time to ride. I'm not always a top. I can be coerced to bottom from time to time.
He flipped over on his side, holding my erect and slightly sopping cock in his left hand. He guided me between two ass cheeks adorned with sexy blonde hair into a crease between them. I had no idea how much pressure to apply or whether I'd hurt myself with the attempt. I gave it a moderate shove, which forced me inside him briefly, but then the muscles rejected me. I was shoved quickly back out, like two magnets of the same polarity.
"Try again," he said.
So I applied a little more force this time, with a little more confidence. Our legs intertwined involuntarily. I felt the sweat from my chest and his back co-mingle. And then I got my whole head inside him before popping out again.
"Keep going. You can do this."
This time, rather than employing a fucking motion, I just applied steady pressure. I began to make progress again. And then, with one big moan, both on his part and mine, I was all the way inside. I felt pleased with myself. I licked my lips involuntarily.
"That's it. Don't stop. Don't stop."
I don't understand how some men can take an unlubricated cock. They must be far less tighter than I am. With another partner, I got reamed with great force and the pain was unbelievable. I felt like I was being split in two. But to return to my first time, Jason was very loose, which was fortunate for the both of us.
Then I got the hang of ass fucking, the slap-slap-slap sound produced when he rose to his knees, wanting to be fucked that way instead of lying on his back. I rose hastily to my knees, and, having paved my path, followed the hard-earned trail I had discovered. In and out. In and out.
He was a quiet cummer, as I came to learn. But he did let out little appreciative groans every now and again. "You're doing so good, baby."
I thought about turning him sideways and fucking him that way, but quickly realized we didn't have room for that. Nor could I flip him onto his back and pound him with his legs balanced on my shoulders. There would be plenty of time for those experiences, but not right now. Right now I was a novice, doing a serviceable job on a man who wanted to initiate me for his own reasons. Maybe virgins were his speciality. Or maybe he simply wanted cock, even if it came from unpracticed hands.
I remember the sharp inhale of breath he took as he shot a load up his chest. I went immediately next, adding my own trail that lodged in his chest hair. I felt good. I felt accomplished. I had made a fantasy come true and knew now why it was so easy to become a whore. Maybe I'd be the next to make my way through the group, the rumor mill chattering about this new top on the scene.
I only hoped they were as patient and understanding as Jason had been. He could have been a real asshole when he recognized how inexperienced I was, but I suppose he knew innately that everyone's got to start somewhere. I did experience my whore phase. I did make my way through half of the group.
Now, I'm still a live wire sometimes, but I've made a lot of progress. I used to think of men sexually and feel guilty. But I'll tell you one odd little detail. As many men as I've gone through in my time, I still like porn the best of all. I'm a bit old school, I guess. My generation has largely skirted the AIDS epidemic, but I can't help but worry a little that we're being a bit blasé about our relative freedom. I benefitted directly from the gay men who shattered the lavender ceiling, and I don't forget it.
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