by Tom Collins
Liam collapsed on the bed, ribs expanding and contracting as he gasped for air. There was a glimmer of sweat across his body, shining on his upper lip and forehead. His ass, which was still up, finally sank to the bed, and his cock started to shrink and droop between his long, strong thighs.
Have to explore those legs next time, I thought. Toes on up.
I rolled onto the side of the bed. I still had a chubby, but concentrating on Liam had put the urgent need I’d felt on the back burner. I was content to lie there and stroke myself while watching Liam drift on the afterglow.
The green eyes fluttered open at last. “That,” he said, “was the most amazing blowjob I’ve ever had.”
I laughed. “I sure hope so,” I said. “We gay men have a reputation to uphold.”
He turned a little, and stared at me, then down at my cock. I was still stoking it, keeping it half-stiff. He licked his lips.
“I’d like to return the favor,” he said.
“It wasn’t a favor. It was a pleasure.”
“Then let me have the pleasure. You can trust me. Really.” He set a hand on my hip. His touch made my cock jump and a lump of desire came to my throat.
“I wasn’t thinking that.”
“Then teach me.”
I bit my lip. He’d told me he couldn’t stop thinking of me, and I had to wonder, was he merely curious? If he sated that curiosity, would I cease to interest him? Would he even like it, come to that.
It was probably better I found out the answers now. Scooting myself toward the wall and arranging pillows up against the brass rail headboard, I settled with my legs bent and apart, giving Liam access to me and a good look at my cock.
“First thing to remember,” I told him, “is you probably know what to do. Because it’s what you’d want done.”
*Liam*
My feeling of entering a lion’s den was better founded than I’d thought. Oliver pounced as soon as the door locked. He was kissing me and he was good at it, experienced, but he kept stopping and pulling away, apologizing for going too fast. These abrupt sensory changes made me dizzy. Oliver would be pressed up against me, cock to hungry cock, grinding; and our tongues married inside our two mouths with his hands touching me everywhere he could reach, all of this sending furious waves of heat rolling through me, concentrating in my groin; then he’d be a couple feet away, stammering his sorrys.
I wasn’t used to any of this, including sexual aggression from my lover. I’d always been the aggressor and didn’t know how to respond, I didn’t know what was expected of me. Next thing I knew, he had me on his neatly made bed and he was straddling me, we were kissing again and his hands were everywhere.
I could feel the dip of his crack resting on my cock, which cried out to bury itself in what was surely a hot, wet, and tight environment. Just as I was lifting my hand to hold his hips so I could grind against him, he jumped up. I wished he would stop hopping around like a rabbit on crack. He jerked his swim trunks off and dropped them.
I stared openly, figuring what we were doing gave me the right to look as much as I wanted. This was the first erection I’d seen in person, not counting my own and Brendan’s, which was tantamount to the same thing. I drank the sight in, noting differences and wanting more than anything to explore it.
Oliver had other ideas. He got back on the bed, giving me silly assurances that he’d stop if I asked. He took hold of my wrist, as I was reaching for his boner, and licked his way down my arm. Drowning in rising waves of pleasure, I forgot about his cock and ended up in an absurd battle with my own hard-on while fighting to get out of my bathing suit. Oliver’s tongue swirled into my pit and I lost control and pounced on him.
Next thing I knew, I was naked and thrusting my cock into his throat, and the waves of pleasure had crested into a tsunami. Everything happened so fast from that point, by the time I could appreciate what was going on, I was lying sprawled on Oliver’s huge bed and my cock was deflating. Oliver watched me through lowered lashes, like a cat. Not one of the girls I’d badgered into going down on me had wanted to swallow my come, but Oliver was smug about it.
That was so hot.
I was desperate to try my hand, if you will, at giving, but he seemed reluctant. I couldn’t understand why, and it was beginning to look as if he might not let me when he started shifting around to get comfortable, while telling me that I should do what I’d want done. Sounded simple enough; I wondered where the catch was.
I scooted over to him and braced my elbow next to his hip, so his right leg was behind my back and his hip was in the crook of my armpit. This was a comfortable position I thought I could hold for as long as necessary and it also freed up my dominant left hand for action.
“Second thing,” he said, breath coming short even though I was only looking, “take your time. There’s no hurry. Satisfy your curiosity about…anything.”
I gazed up at him along the length of his torso, taking him in. There was fire in his eyes—the same look of barely restrained hunger I’d been seeing since I first laid eyes on him—but there was something new too; worry. It showed in the crinkled forehead and brow, and the little lines at the corners of his eyes that you couldn’t normally see. I could understand the feeling. My first time receiving head had been as painful as it had been pleasurable, what with an inexperienced girl’s teeth and all. Now he was looking down the barrel of being my first time at giving. I’d be worried too, were I him. I was determined I wouldn’t hurt him.
I caressed the inside of his thigh from knee to hip with my lips, following the path of my hand, feeling the soft skin contrast with the wiry hairs. I paused at his hip, taking a moment to appreciate the deep valley of the ligament between his abdomen and thigh. This part of a man was so sexy, so visually erotic, that I had to take my time and explore Oliver’s on both sides with lips and tongue. I pretended his cock wasn’t even there, though I did look at it with longing as I switched from one side to the other.
“That’s it…just take your time…take your time…take your time…” he said, through panted breaths. Each encouragement for me to take my time was said a little softer than the last. I wondered if he were telling himself or me, because he was starting to squirm.
Levering myself up onto my knees, I moved on up his stomach, one on which you could wash clothes, and investigated there for a moment. He was what I would call sculpted. Again, the sprinkling of hairs roughened what would’ve been skin soft as butter. I traveled higher, past his chest, leaving a trail of soft, moist kisses all the way up to his neck.
I wanted to taste myself in his mouth before I tasted him with mine. I hovered over him for a second, feeling my still heavy cock dangling beneath me, brushing his where it lay on his stomach. I lowered myself and grazed his lips with mine.
Dropping down to my elbows on either side of his head, I took his mouth in a sort of guerilla action, moving in and back, coming at him from different angles, teasing and keeping him guessing before settling in for a long siege. Deep and slow, I kissed him, my hand running over his side and over his chest to see if his nipples were as sensitive as mine were. He moaned into my mouth as his hips rolled beneath me.
I slid the back of my hand down the sparse trail of hair making the leg of a T on his chest to toy with his navel. His hands, weaving through my hair, coasted down my back. He cupped my ass with both of his soft hands, trying to pull me down on him. He was as strong as he looked, certainly stronger than I am, but I was well braced and had an agenda of my own.
Grazing my fingertips over his shaft on the way past, I cupped his heavy balls and felt of them, testing the texture of his almost hairless, wrinkled pouch. He sucked in a sudden breath through his nostrils, as if he’d been waiting a long time for me to do that. I kneaded and squeezed, feeling the ovoids inside twitch in the reflex of pleasure.
He broke the kiss, groaning and huffing. The pressure of his hands on my shoulders was so light it was almost subliminal. I took the hint and drifted down his che
st, pausing to nibble a nipple before moving on to dip my tongue into his furred navel. His hips bucked and the head of his cock, fully stiff again, knocked for entrance on my chin leaving a snail-trail of precum behind as it slid to the side.
I sat back on my heels, kneeling between his legs and leaned over with my mouth mere inches from my goal. I explored him with all my senses, stroking the silky skin of his shaft, noting the scar of his circumcision. He was shorter than I was, but thicker and with a slight upward turn in it. His pubes were sparse compared to mine, but long and straight, like crinkled, rose gold wire. I inhaled deeply, smelling chlorine and his arousal. It was so masculine. I felt a surge of fresh blood in my cock, which had never been less than half-hard.
Oliver’s hands were in my hair, and again, he was signaling me with pressure that was barely there, coaxing me to take him in my mouth. I complied, ready for a taste of what I’d been smelling and touching. I wrapped my lips around the side, sucking and licking the skin; he murmured encouragement. I slid my mouth up the length of his shaft, licking at a little vein as I went by.
I paused, intrigued by the feel of the vein. I’d swear I could sense it pulse under my tongue, especially when I pressed against it hard. I followed it down to the base and around to the underside where it was thick enough for me to be certain I was feeling the throb of his heart with my mouth. It was amazing; I couldn’t believe my luck. I’d been salivating over pictures and videos of cocks for so long and now I had one to play with. It was like a dream.
I followed the vein back up and around the side to the front and ran my tongue under his rim, leaving it slick with my spit.
“That’s good,” he cheered me on, breathless, “wonderful—God, you’re so hot—”
Remembering how much I’d liked it when girls focused on that sensitive edge, I sucked on the rim, flicking my tongue like a wet towel. He shuddered, his legs stiffened and his toes curled. He liked that a lot. I could tell he wanted to thrust and shove my head down on him, but he wasn’t letting himself. I remembered the feeling of holding back for the sake of the one going down.
I decided I couldn’t go with my impulse to get to know every millimeter of him; I could do that over time. Right now, he needed release and it was my mission to give it to him. I went down on him slow, stunned by how huge he felt. He was going to have to be patient a little longer while I accustomed myself to the sensation of a full mouth. I stopped wondering why it gave girls trouble.
His hands on the back of my head told me I was doing good as they encouraged me to take more. I flattened my hand around the base of his cock, pinching it between my thumb and forefinger and exposing his shaft. I discovered I could keep suction while breathing and slid down another inch. His helmet brushed my soft palate and I gagged, my eyes watered.
“Easy. Don’t force it,” he urged gently. “Back off if you get uncomfortable. I want you to enjoy it, too.”
How could I not enjoy it?
The way he used his hands reminded me of a rider on a horse, in this case, me. I always knew what he wanted me to do because he guided me every step of the way, or so it seemed to me. I kept bungling it though, forgetting to be careful of my teeth, or choking and gagging over him.
After a bit of trial and error, I found a rhythm that almost worked.
He was huff-panting and gripping my head with his strong hands, his fingertips were urging me on to greater speed and his legs were straightening out as his ass slowly lifted off the mattress. I held him in my left, while I gripped his balls with my right. Letting go of his pouch, I kneaded the spot behind it with two knuckles. I always came harder when I did that to myself, so I figured it’d work on him.
He froze, wasn’t even breathing, his shaft swelled in my mouth and pumped me full of his cream. I wasn’t ready for it, my mouth wasn’t open to take it, and it shot out the sides of my mouth and down my chin. It was salty and didn’t taste much different from my own, maybe an extra bit of tang.
He thrust. “Uh, yeah!”
More come spilt down my chin as he shot again, it dripped onto my hand and wrist. I jacked his shaft to finish him and got my mouth open, with just his head in it, in time to keep the last couple shots. They were weak and the final one was little more than a dribble, but I sucked down on him, pulling out everything I could. He held my head and murmured, chest heaving.
When I was sure I wouldn’t get any more out I sat up, laying his softening cock on his stomach and licked the spilt come off the back of my left hand and wrist, collecting what was on my chin in the process. Giving head was every bit as awesome an experience as I’d expected it would be. In some ways it was even better than giving head to a woman, my favorite sexual activity, because it was more apparent when you were doing the right thing.
I stretched out next to him, resting up on my elbow so I could look down at his face. I could feel the stupid grin I was wearing. He sat up a little, slipping his arm under my side and pulling me against him.
“My boy,” he sighed, wiping sweat from his temples. “You are going to go far. And this was not at all what I meant when I said I’d feed you.”
I laughed. “It’s healthy, isn’t it? Pure protein?”
“Yeah, but hardly enough of a reward for such hard work.” He kissed me in a way that was both hot and tender. “Come on into the kitchen and I’ll make you something. I want to make sure you keep up your strength.”
I followed him into his spotless, though not antiseptic, kitchen, wondering where the work was supposed to have come in. He was right, it was pure pleasure. I wanted to do it again and again after that. All night long if he’d let me.
Chapter Five
*Oliver*
When I started living on my own, I took a cooking class at the community college and bought one, all-purpose cookbook. Both helped me to learn how to feed myself, but that’s all. I’ve no cooking talents and anything I make is merely okay. This is good enough when it’s only me, which it usually is, but now and then my stepmother stops by, or I sleep over at some man’s place and he asks me to fix us a snack. For such occasions, I’ve worked out a few dishes that are tasty rather than just edible and healthy.
One of these—I suppose you could call it my “signature dish”—was a tuna salad atop brown rice and veggies. I had a bowl of rice in the fridge. I spooned it out onto plates, and made up four large cans of tuna with lots of lemon juice while steaming asparagus and carrots in the microwave. I piled it all on the rice. A drizzle of store-bought balsamic vinaigrette and our late-lunch/early dinner was served.
I half feared Liam might spit out the first bite, but I’d forgotten he was half-starved. He began to shovel it in as if it were his last meal. I think he would have eaten sawdust if I’d set it before him. Hell, one forkful and I was doing the same.
We ate stark naked at my tiny kitchen table, sipping at bottled lemonade and listening to the hum of the air conditioning and a neighbor’s television turned up too loud next door. Liam asked for seconds, which was gratifying; I served up another helping for myself as well. Our eating slowed down and I took the opportunity to glance at him shyly. First crush shy, which I couldn’t remember feeling since I was thirteen and in love with the star player on the high school basketball team.
I’d had better blowjobs in my time, the one from the older fellow behind the dance club included, but none that had left me so smitten with the giver. Everything about it had been strangely magical, from the feel of his body under my hands as he’d made his way down my chest, to his intense scrutiny of my genitals, those enthralling eyes glimmering with lust and intrigue. I couldn’t stop thinking about the cute curve of his ass, the glimpses I’d gotten of his low hanging balls as his thighs parted, and how he writhed and adjusted his position to take me down. Feeling his soft hair against my belly, his wet lips over my mushroom head had left me breathless and ready to shoot.
I swallowed down a bite of lunch past a tight lump in my throat. Had he felt my hands trembling as I tried to guide
him? Every wet, warm, tentative lick of his tongue, every sweet nuzzle of his nose into my crotch, however uncertain and awkward, had been—
Intimate. Personal in a way I’d never known; as if he’d been trying to share himself with me.
“You all right?” I heard him ask and came back with a start.
“Sorry,” I smiled. “Woolgathering. I, um, wanted to apologize for not warning you.” We were naked and we’d just tasted each other’s semen. Why was I so self-conscious? “I usually—I mean, I forgot to give you a head’s up—”
“Literally,” he smirked at my unintentional pun, then waved aside my concern. “I could tell you were going to blow, and I can see now why so few girls seem to like it. It’s surprising even when you’re expecting it.” He grinned shyly. “I like the way you taste though, and I intend to do better next time.”
“You did amazing this time,” I told him honestly. “Most bi-curious guys have issues and even if they really want to, they hesitate or hold back. You hadn’t any inhibitions and that’s half the battle. The rest is just practice.”
“So you’ve got no tips or secrets for me?” He leaned in on one elbow, eyebrows wiggling.
I snorted. “None until you know what works for you and how far you can go—how far you want to go—then I’ll pass on all my ultra-secret gay tips.”
“I can’t wait,” he purred.
“—Though,” I added, “on a related note, you can be rougher with men in foreplay. Bi-sexual men have the right instincts when it comes to the cocks because, well, it’s a cock like theirs. But if they’ve only been with women, they’re used to a soft touch. Most girls have sensitive skin and feather-light kisses are what they’re after. Men not so much. You don’t have to be gentle.”
Or hold back, I almost said. I was worried I’d come across as overly aggressive. I wasn’t the sort who needed to be in charge, but Liam had a way of making me want to devour him.
