by Eli Easton
“Oh God,” I said, as a fresh wave of heat rushed through me, and I went a little weak. I lay back down on my back. One touch and I was down for the count—match over.
Jordon lay down against me immediately and pressed into me. I could feel him, hard and really big, against my hip. I hadn’t felt him like that since that day in the pool in the summer before seventh grade. We’d both been careful not to get completely nude around each other. His body had changed a lot. He felt like a man now, not a boy. I don’t know why, but that made me even more excited. He leaned in to kiss me, his eyes completely black in the dim light.
I stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Not that.”
I couldn’t let him kiss me. If we had sex like that, did all the things he’d talked about, there was no way either one of us could ever come back from it.
He looked disappointed, but he nodded. He looked down at my tank top and lifted the hem up ’til it was under my arms. He started touching my stomach and chest. He looked at me as if asking if it was okay. I didn’t say anything.
His fingers explored my chest so delicately. It was like he was drawing. Every touch sent sparks through me. My dick throbbed. I closed my eyes.
Jordan
I was touching Owen, and he was letting me. It was hard to believe it was really happening, that it wasn’t just one of the fantasies that I jerked to every day. I knew I had pushed him, but at the moment I just couldn’t give a shit. I’d wanted him so badly for so long that I plead temporary insanity. And I sure wasn’t going to waste the precious moments I had him spread out under me worrying about it.
I ran my fingers over his abs and chest. His skin was like a baby’s, warm and soft, and he had a little cushion over those muscles. Absolutely perfect. God, how many times had I wanted to touch him here, seeing him in his singlet or in the pool? His eyes were closed like he didn’t want to see what we were doing. I could live with that. Let’s be honest, I was so pathetically horny and gaga for him, I probably would have put on a Sailor Moon costume, if that was what worked for him.
I ran my fingers over one of his nipples. He took in a sharp breath and pressed his lips tight. I licked my thumb and did it again, rubbing it harder this time. He made a sound deep in his throat and squirmed, not quite thrusting up his hips but close.
I looked down at his briefs. He was really hard and poking up one side of them. It made me crazy to look at it—my first erection on someone other than myself, in my bed. And it was Owen’s. I knew he was excited because we’d talked about sex, but so what? He was hard, and he was going to let me touch it.
I resisted the urge to just grab it. I had never been with anyone, but I was determined to try to make this as good as I could. I wanted him to never forget it. Maybe if it was really good, he’d let me do it again. And if this was my only shot, then I wanted to draw it out as long as possible.
I skimmed my fingers over his belly and leaned down so I could take his nipple in my mouth. I thought he might try to stop me, but he didn’t. I sucked on it and then licked it slow and hard with the flat of my tongue. He made a sort of strangled noise and thrust his hips up.
“Jordan,” he whispered.
God that was so hot. I nearly shot in my underwear. I couldn’t stop a sound escaping—I think I whimpered. I got up on my elbow so I could lean over him and did it to the other nipple. I wanted to lie down on top of him so bad it was like needing to breathe, but I knew he wouldn’t like that. He’d drawn a line in the sand between us, and I didn’t dare cross it for fear he’d just get up and walk away, go take care of himself in the bathroom.
I sucked his nipples some more. I liked using my tongue. I’d seen a YouTube video of this kiss in slo-mo where a backlit girl and guy had sort of licked flat and slow with their tongues on each other’s lips for ages. It was so hot that I’d jerked off to it for weeks, pretending it was me and Owen. I tried to repeat that now, that flat, slow, deliberate lick all over Owen’s nipples and chest and then down to his belly button, taking my time. Owen seemed to like it, because he started squirming and thrusting his hips and tossing his head on the pillow. He hadn’t been touching me, but after a while, one hand came up and rubbed my shoulder as if he couldn’t help it. I snuck a peek at his dick, and it was twitching in his briefs, and there was a wet spot. God, so, so hot.
“Jordan, please touch me,” he whispered, all quivery. Hearing him say my name like that, ask me that, checked off at least three previously hopeless fantasies. I groaned.
I continued to lick at his belly, over that blond fuzzy trail that ran from his belly button to his groin. I slid my hand onto his thigh and then over. I rubbed the flat of my hand up him, from base to tip, firm, and he grabbed my shoulders and thrust up against me. He didn’t make a sound, though. I glanced up to see him biting his lips, trying to keep it in.
God, he felt so good, hard and pulsing with life and burning hot. I rubbed him up and down, closing my fingers around him as much as I could over the cotton. He held my shoulders tight and started thrusting up into my hand in a rhythm, his eyes still squeezed shut, mouth panting.
Holy smokes, he would get off like this if I let him, just working himself against my hand. But I didn’t want that. I had to see him. I wanted to taste him.
I took my hand away, and he sort of growled in protest. I sat up so I could get both hands in action, and I pulled down his briefs. He hesitated for only a second before he let me. I took them all the way off. I wanted all of him that I could get.
As I came back up from pulling them off his feet I started kissing his legs. He gripped the sheets tight, but he didn’t stop me. At this point, I was operating on pure need, just wanting to get as much of him as I could, to get up close and personal with all of the places on him that I’d dreamt about—which was pretty much everywhere. I squirmed between his legs, forcing them to spread a little, and got on my belly. I pushed my hands under his thighs and up and around until I was grasping his hips. I held him firm as I kissed and licked his thighs, both sides, over and over. His thighs bulged with muscles from all the wrestling, and they were lightly covered with blond fuzz. They were so beautiful and so male. I licked up closer and closer to his balls.
His hands tangled in my hair. “Jordy, God, you’re driving me crazy,” he said, in a voice I’d never heard from him before, tight and edgy. “Just do it.”
I didn’t want to stop exploring, but I knew his patience was running out. I reluctantly left off kissing his thighs. I pressed them a little farther apart with my hands, though, and when I saw him like that, his balls and the curve of his ass, spread out in front of me, I couldn’t help myself. I nuzzled my face deep between his legs, getting right up into the center of him. He smelled like a man—sweat and musk and Owen. It reminded me of the scent of the wrestling matches, which was by now like my Pavlovian trigger for sex. I groaned into the weirdly soft skin of his sack and pressed my nose and mouth and chin against him. I licked and sucked, rolling my face against him like I was a cat and his scent there was catnip. Oh God, it was. I was in some other plane of sexually fueled hyper reality. I think I was moaning and didn’t even care.
His hands gripped my head hard. “I’m going to come,” he said in a low, surprised voice.
That got through to me. I sat up at once, ending all contact. I didn’t want him to come before I’d even gotten to touch his bare dick or taste it.
For a long moment we both just sat there, panting, him on his back and me sitting on my knees between his thighs. I was hot, and I pulled my T-shirt over my head, but I didn’t move to take off my boxers. I figured he didn’t want to see that.
He stared right at me, arms down by his sides, dick pulsing along his belly. He looked so fucking glorious I could cry, naked except for the tank top pushed up high, his dick hard and leaking on his stomach. But he had a strange expression on his face, half-scared, half, I don’t know, maybe it was desire or surprise. After a minute he started to jerk himself, just staring at me, like he was determin
ed to end this.
“No fucking way, Nelson,” I said. I grabbed his wrist and pushed him off. I went down.
I lay down on him so that my head was on his hip, and I wrapped my hand around him. He was not as long as I was. I’d measured myself hard; I was seven and one-quarter inches. He was at least an inch shorter than me, but kind of like his body, he was really wide. He was so thick I could barely touch my fingers together when I circled the base of him, and I had long fingers. I loved it—every square inch of him. I began to stroke up and down, not too tight or fast because he was already close. His hand settled on my head, not petting me or anything, just there. I leaned forward and began to lick him, slow and flat, just like I had everywhere else.
I didn’t even think about the fact that I’d never done this. I just needed it. I licked him all over. Meanwhile my hand couldn’t seem to stop pumping him. It was like my hand and my mouth were rival gangs competing for territory, both just going for all they could get. He didn’t make a sound, but he started trembling all over, especially in his thighs. His abs contracted. His hand was warm on my head, not pushing me down, but just giving me the slightest pressure as if he couldn’t help trying to guide me even closer.
I sucked him into my mouth. I have a pretty big mouth, but it still stretched me trying to take in his width. I sucked on the tip of him and rolled my tongue around it. My hand pumped him. It felt like a good rhythm so I kept going. After a few minutes, he curled up.
“Jordy,” he whispered.
I knew he was going to come soon, and I couldn’t stop it. So I sucked him in farther, feeling him rub along the roof of my mouth. He pushed into the back of my throat, and I gagged a little. I pulled off a bit, but I didn’t stop. I sucked him hard, moving up and down, my fingers squeezing. I wished I could freeze time, make this last forever, but I couldn’t, so I tried to memorize everything. I wanted to remember the smell of him, musky and warm, the texture of him in my mouth, all hard and silky and pulsing, the slight give of him under my fingers.
No matter how many times I’d fantasized about being with a guy, being with Owen, it had never come close to the reality. I love, love, loved everything about this. Holy sexual paradise, Batman, I was so fucking glad I was gay!
His breathing got loud, like an express train. He strained upward, and then he groaned. I felt him go even harder in my mouth, absolutely stiff and straight, and then I tasted his come, tangy and a little soapy. He shot into my mouth over and over, and I swallowed as best I could. I wasn’t going to pull off, no way, not when I might never get to have him in my mouth again.
I swallowed it all and continued to lightly suck and lick him. He was starting to soften when he gently pushed me off. “Too much,” he whispered.
My own need slammed into me then, like it had been there all along but just uncloaked itself. I was vibrating with it. I wanted to lie on him and rut against his thigh, but I figured that would be too gay. He didn’t need my maleness all pushing against him like that. I rolled onto my side and up onto an elbow. My face was level with his stomach, and I was as close to him as I could get without actually touching. I thrust my hand down my briefs and started jerking inside them as I stared into his eyes and then down at his body and his softening cock. I was so close to the edge it wouldn’t take much, not with that view.
He tugged on my arm trying to get me to move up. I wasn’t sure what he wanted, but I scooted up until we were face-to-face. He turned onto his side to face me. I wondered if he would kiss me—I wanted him to so badly—but he didn’t. He looked down and ran his finger under the elastic at the top of my boxers and tugged it a little. I got the message and pushed them down, exposing myself. He just looked at my dick while my hand hovered there wondering what I was supposed to do. He kind of bit his lip and folded his arms against himself. He wasn’t going to touch me, then. I figured he wanted to watch. Maybe he was curious what another guy looked like when he got off. At that point, I really didn’t care.
I started touching myself again. For some reason, all the stuff I’d just done to him didn’t feel nearly as scary intimate as this, me jerking off while he watched. I wondered what he was thinking. I guessed it didn’t do much for him, not the way seeing his dick lit me up inside like fireworks. But I couldn’t help playing it up a little. I had so much precome by now, and I rubbed it around with my thumb and over that sensitive part on the underside. Owen clenched his jaws, a frown on his forehead. I didn’t know what that meant, if he liked it or not, but I was way too far gone to do much more teasing anyway.
I stroked myself fast and hard, and I started to come. The polite thing to do would have been to put my hand over myself and catch it, but it felt so, so good, and I did what I wanted. I shot all over his chest and stomach. It was so incredibly sexy, seeing that, it just made me come harder. I came and I came.
As the last spasms drained away, I was weak. I fell over onto my back and let my eyelids slide shut.
“Was that too gross? Sorry,” I managed.
“It’s okay.”
I could hear him moving around and wiping himself off. The thought of Owen wiping my come off his belly and chest was nearly enough to make me hard again.
He lay back down.
He was quiet for a long time. A really long time.
“Can you not say this was a terrible mistake?” I said, half joking. “Because it was fucking amazing for me. And if you hated it, I’d prefer to remain blissfully ignorant of that fact.”
“It was great,” he said, but he sounded off.
Still, I could pretend the other shoe wasn’t about to drop for a few more seconds when he shifted around and pulled me into a hug.
“We shouldn’t have done it, though,” Owen said softly. And I knew his hug for what it was—a consolation prize. “You know how important you are to me, Jordan, and it was really, really nice, but… I can’t be with you like this. Us fooling around is not fair to you, and it’s not fair to Emily.”
I felt a lump in my throat. The glow of the best—and first—sex of my life was fading, and it was a hard fall. I had to face the cold reality of what I’d done. “It’s my fault. I pushed you into it, and I promised you I never would. God, I suck. I’m a terrible person.”
“No. I’m the one who had the stupid idea to talk about sex. And I could have said no. I wanted you to do it. I was horny and selfish. I’m sorry.”
“Right. So we abort this story arc.” My voice cracked.
He squeezed me hard and kissed my cheek. “I love you, Jordy.”
I’d told Owen that I loved him before, but at that moment, I couldn’t say it. Because what I meant by it and what he meant by it were two different things. And right now the gulf between them was so big and so awful that I couldn’t stand it.
The reality sank in. I would never have Owen like that again. An intense, burning pain spread through my chest. It was so strong it took my breath away.
“It hurts,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry, Jordan.” He hugged me tighter. I could feel his tears on my cheek, but I had none of my own to give.
What had happened with Owen made me more determined than ever to come out. I was tired of sitting on the hillside waiting for the alien mother ship to return. That is to say, I was sick to death of pining for Owen. And having tasted him like that and then having it taken away, was almost too much to stand.
I am not a brooder by nature. I like to be happy. I wanted to find someone who could make me stop wanting Owen so damned much. I wanted to find someone to have sex with. I wanted to find someone who wanted me back, because not being wanted hurt like a son of a bitch.
The thing is, when you think about coming out someday, you think about what it will be like once people know, but you don’t think about how you actually get to that point. I mean, did I ask to speak over the P.A. system and make an announcement? Write an editorial for the school paper? Post it on my Facebook? I was only friends with six people from school, and Owen and Emily were two of them
.
I was still trying to figure it out when it just happened. I went into the bathroom between classes and ran into a Hallmark moment. There was a little freshman guy in there. I’d seen him before but only from a distance. He was like five-four and probably ninety pounds. He wore his hair long in front, and it was dyed blond. He had an earring in his left ear. There was no doubt that he was gay.
There were three football players in the john, too, and they circled this kid. They all froze when I walked in. The football players looked at me. I looked at them. The freshman was trying to look defiant, but he sort of pleaded at me with his eyes.
It was a what-would-Owen-do moment. I could have turned around and walked out. If I’d never been friends with Owen, if I hadn’t been thinking about coming out, if the anti-bullying thing had never happened, I probably would have just ducked my head and saved my own skin. But I didn’t. I faced them full-on and folded my arms over my chest.
“Problem?” I said, giving each of the football players a hard stare.
Now here’s the thing. You need to understand what it was like being friends with Owen Nelson. From second grade on, I’d been Owen’s wing man. Where Owen is, there I am also. We sit together at lunch every single fucking day, hang out in the halls, sit next to each other in our shared classes. Now it’s Emily and I, on Owen’s right and left, like freaking dueling disciples. That’s who I am at school—Jordan-Carson-Owen’s-best-friend.
I have no illusion that, on my own, I would have been popular. I was a little too dorky, a little too artsy, and a little too gay, even if hardly anyone recognized what that “gay” was. I dressed better than most. I liked my hip-rider jeans and big studded belts. I wore T-shirts, like most guys, but I liked them a bit short (sometimes I ripped off the bottom) and a bit wild and graphic-artish in design. I put product in my hair. My most prized possession, though, was my underwear collection.
