Then he stopped me. “You don’t know if I’m poz or not,” he gasped.
“Oh.” I was out of breath. Tossing my head once or twice didn’t seem to clear it. I just wanted him in my mouth.
“I am negative,” he told me. “I use condoms for fucking but I don’t put one on for sucking unless the other guy wants it that way. What do you want?”
“I—uh, I don’t know,” I replied. “I never thought about it.”
“Have you ever been tested?”
“For what? HIV? Yeah. I don’t think I have anything to worry about.”
“No hepatitis? No herpes?”
“No,” I replied. “No.”
“Do you know what to look for to make sure the other guy doesn’t have syphilis?”
“No, not really,” I told Glenn. “But can’t you do sex ed later? I promise I’ll listen to the whole lecture then. But for now—”
He laughed. “You like sucking dick, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I replied. Then I got my mouth around the head of his cock, which wasn’t hard anymore, and bathed it with my tongue. I was able to put his whole cock in my mouth because it had softened. For a few minutes, I just held it there, getting it warm, not making any demands. Glenn ran his fingertips through my hair. As his cock got a little harder, I let his balls slip out of my mouth, one by one. The shaft kept getting thicker, more firm. So I slipped it out too, but I also went back down on it, keeping constant friction and motion. He was cut, so I didn’t have to worry about manipulating a foreskin, I could just put him down my throat and suck him until I desperately had to come up for air. Then it was as if his cock became something I needed as much as I needed air or food or water. I fed on him. But it was a never-ending feast, and the stream of his precome was thick enough to help his rod slide to the back of my throat. As he went deep, I inhaled and swallowed, kept my tongue busy on the underside of his shaft. When I unwillingly let him slide out, my hand was waiting to twist at the base of his cock, twist and pump.
Once in a while I would ignore his cock and put one or both of his balls in my mouth instead. He loved having his balls played with. I kept coming up with new ways to manipulate them. This sex thing required a lot of imagination and variety, but it seemed like it also generated a lot of new ideas as it kept unfolding. I just wanted him to know that I was no amateur. None of my high school boyfriends had complained about how I did this.
I was drooling, and I think my eyes were crossed. He was making my cock feel so good, I kept forgetting to pull on his hair and shove his head down. I just wanted to lie down and let him do me. I guess I’ve gotten more elegant blow jobs, but Owen wasn’t trying to demonstrate his tantric proficiency. He just wanted me, with every molecule of his being, and he was doing a damn fine job of showing it. Whew!
“Get up here,” I finally said, and took my cock out of that soft, sublime mouth. I got my hands around his waist and pulled his shirt out of the belt loops. Then I practically tossed him on the bed. He had already lost his boots, so I shucked mine, too. He rolled onto one side and looked at me, then unbuttoned my shirt and sucked on my nipples. He had sharp little teeth, and I could have let him torture my tits for another lifetime or two. But I had wanted something else when I got him up on the bed and horizontal.
The sun had gone down quite a while ago. I switched on a bedside lamp. There must have been central heating because the room was nice and warm. So I finished taking my shirt off and got out of my pants and briefs. I kept my socks on because my feet are always getting cold.
When I put my hands on him so I could undress him, he looked really scared. “Don’t,” he said. “I don’t think I can—”
“But you promised me the guided tour, dude. I paid my moneys and now I wants my ride.” I rubbed his shoulders, allowed him to turn over onto his belly, but I kept undressing him anyway. Two hands under his hips made short work of the zipper on his jeans, and I pulled them off a little at a time, teasing him until he began to giggle even though he was also scared and pissed off at me. I was happy to be having sex with somebody who was so genuine. The typical script was, “Look how hot I am. Oh, wow, I moved this way. Look how hot I am now. Oh, you’re hot too. Wow. Look at us being hot together.” Gag me.
“Hey,” I said, whispering in his ear. He was wearing nothing but his underpants, and we were both covered by blankets. I was lying at his side, one arm over his shoulders, pressing our bodies together as much as I could, skin to skin. “Hey,” I said again. “I really like you, Owen. You’re a very handsome boy. I know that because my cock just doesn’t get this hard for chicks. I’ve met a few women in my day who were so sexy that I wanted to do them. And I’m afraid I couldn’t perform.”
“Really?” he said, searching my face.
I nodded.
“I can’t do it with girls either,” he confessed. One of his hands made knots in the pillow. “I thought for a while that I was, you know, a lesbian, because I got called a dyke so often when I was growing up. But I just don’t like, well, you know.”
I nodded. “It’s a different kind of sex and a different kind of relationship. But what we are doing is man-to-man sex. You are a different kind of guy, but men come in all shapes and sizes, Owen. I’m a bear. Bears believe that there is not a single standard for handsomeness. There’s a wide range of cuteness in gay men. We also believe that there is more to being gay than just looking for sex. We want a community where we are honest with each other and treat each other with decency. You are a promising little cub, Owen. Cubs deserve to be loved and taken care of. Let me be good to you. Your body has been through so much. If you don’t want me to look at you, just let me touch you.”
I was gradually able to persuade him to let my hand wander down to the juncture of his thighs. There I found a small cock, about half the size of his own thumb, but it was rock-hard. So I scooped up a little bit of the lube that I found there and rubbed it on his cock. With my thumb and forefinger, I began to jerk him off. “I’d love to do this while you suck my dick,” I suggested.
It took us a while to figure out a workable position. But when we got ourselves arranged on the bed, Owen was eager to resume his oral ministration. It was pretty difficult to remember to keep my hand moving while he was making me see stars. “Show me how you do it,” I suggested, and he quickly put his hand between his legs and showed me where his boycock wanted to be stroked. I gently pushed his hand away and then found a moment of boldness. I said to myself, the hell with it, and put his cock in my mouth.
He jerked. He lost track of the rhythm that was bring me closer to shooting. I ordered him to keep on going, and he somehow found the concentration to start working me again. I barely moved my mouth and tongue. I just put pressure on his cock with my lips and tongue, and let him rub himself off in my mouth. Before long, we were both panting. “I’m not going to shoot until you get off,” I told him, briefly letting go of his delicious piece so I could form words. “You have to get off really good, no faking, I want you to make me believe it, boy, and then I will feed you hot meat until your throat is raw.”
He moaned and let himself go, pushing urgently at my mouth. Now I dared to gently suck and tongue him. The slightest gesture seemed to drive him completely crazy. I was guessing that nobody else had ever sucked his cock before. It wasn’t long before he was making muffled shouts and banging my face. Within seconds, I got what I had demanded—an authentic orgasm. His body was limp in my arms, covered with sweat, relaxed as a sleeping puppy. But there was no sleep for this little one. I rearranged our bodies so that I was sitting up, then I got him up on all fours and shoved his mouth onto my cock. This meant that his bits were pointed right at me, so I got another look at him. Two holes seemed intriguing. I drew a glove out of the box on the bedside table, pulled it onto my hand, and lubed my fingers up. Then I started stroking the outside of these orifices.
He spit out my right ball and said, “I don’t know about this, Sir.”
“Does it feel good?”
“Yes. But—”
“Then don’t worry. The only thing you need to do is feel good. If something starts to feel bad, let me know. Otherwise, I want my cock down your throat, and I’m going to make you come again while you are sucking me. Is that clear?”
“Yessir, it’s clear,” he gasped, and sucked me down to the root.
I pushed on both of the tightly puckered holes, wondering which one would give way first. Oddly enough, I couldn’t feel a difference in their tightness. The asshole eventually began to feel as if it was encouraging my finger to explore its nooks and crannies. The other hole was permitting me to enter, but it didn’t feel as enthusiastic. So I focused on his butt. Two fingers fit it quite nicely, and I pumped him, thinking that it would feel great to be in here, even with a condom. I made a few dirty comments to that effect, and his throat began to tighten around my cock.
I pushed his head down once or twice, growled a bad name at him and then came abruptly, before I knew I was on the edge. He tried to swallow my come, but there was just too much of it, so we had to settle for wiping it up with a towel and exclaiming over the distance it had flown. By the way, come on a hot lightbulb has a very interesting smell.
As soon as I could, I distracted him from cleaning up by getting him back on the bed. We wrestled for a few minutes, then I wound up with my arms and legs twined around his body. He had his hands free so he could touch my face. “Kiss me,” he said, and I was happy to oblige.
“You’re the best thing I ever got for Christmas,” I told him, tugging on his earlobes. I wondered if he’d like to have his back tattooed. I hadn’t brought my sketchpad or colored pencils with me. But a design was forming in my mind, a dragon hatching from its egg, already fully formed and a fierce warrior.
“It isn’t Christmas yet,” he told me, playing with the ring in my left nipple.
“Not officially,” I admitted. “Maybe I should say you’re the best solstice present I ever got. What do you want for Christmas, little cub?”
“I want you to sleep with me tonight,” he replied.
I thought of a few reasons why I should go home to my parents’ house, but they all seemed rather petty when I looked at his serious face with its freckles and his blue eyes. “Okay,” I replied. “But you have to know that I talk in my sleep.”
Owen shrugged. “I sometimes have bad dreams that make me sit up and scream.”
“Great,” I said sarcastically. “You won that contest.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. TMI. Do you want to go?”
“No, I called my folks and let them know I was out with friends. I can call them first thing in the morning to let them know I’m okay. Why not? I can put up with wearing my bar outfit until I get home to change.”
“You just look like a biker,” Owen shrugged. “We get a few of those coming through. Not many in the winter is all. I even have a clean toothbrush for you.”
We got up and puttered around, getting ready for bed, the dog dancing around, demanding a little attention. Owen went to the kitchen to let him out of the house. Sparky happily did his business and came back in, reporting that it was cold outside, and that weird white stuff was still all over the ground. When was someone going to fix that? It was hiding a lot of good smells. We tussled with the dog, who gave me the ultimate kudos by rolling over and letting me pet his belly. Then all of us were tired.
Before we fell asleep, I told Owen about the tattoo I had imagined doing on his back. He listened and said he was very flattered. “So what are you going to do about your dad being sick?” he asked me, not wasting any time.
“I don’t know,” I sighed, twisting my pillow into a supportive lump for my head. “I don’t have very good memories of this place. But I don’t know who else is going to help my mom. I can’t even imagine how hard it must have been for Pops to ask me for anything. He’s not the kind of man who’s ever admitted that he needed help.”
“Seems like it’s always the gay kids who wind up taking care of the elderly,” Owen commented. He was on his side, facing away from me, and sounded like he was about to pass out.
“That’s true. But in my case I’m an only child. So there isn’t anybody else. My dad’s brothers and sisters all have problems of their own. And my mom was a refugee. Nobody else from her family came over from England after the war.”
“Would you move in to their trailer?” Owen asked. “Is it a double-wide?”
“Yes, but there still isn’t really room for me. I’d probably want to open my own shop here. Rent a storefront. Maybe live in back of the shop.”
“I’ve got a spare room,” Owen said. I could barely hear him. “You could crash there till you got your business up and running.”
We both fell asleep before I could even consider the offer.
The next day, I called my mom and dad. It was the day before Christmas. They wanted to know the name of my new friend. In the spirit of glasnost, I told them. “Oh,” my dad said, “he’s the guy down at Christensen’s Auto Body. Took on the business when his dad retired.”
“He’s always so nice whenever we take the Chevy in there,” my mom interrupted. It drove me crazy when they shared a call with me. “He doesn’t have any people of his own. You should bring him to dinner on Christmas.”
“Mom, I don’t know, I barely—”
“You know your mother will make more food than the two of us can eat,” Pops rumbled. “Invite him out of self-defense if nothing else. We can watch It’s a Wonderful Life. I’ve got it on videotape.”
I thought about the beautiful boys of San Francisco. I’d lived there for ten years, most of them without a relationship. I wanted a boyfriend, but it was always so much easier to be friends with benefits. If I really wanted a relationship, was it ever going to happen in a city with that many opportunities for casual sex? Owen was making himself available. My parents were even urging me to bring him home to meet them. Could it be that by moving back to my home town, I’d find the love I longed for as I watched everyone else escort their dates onto the dance floor at the senior prom? That would be ironic. My post-gay friends who made a big fuss about being queer and deconstructing the gender binary would pee themselves if they knew I’d found a tranny in my little hometown. That was ironic, too. But I didn’t want to tell them. I felt protective of Owen’s privacy and I felt like he had a right to be just another cub with a daddy bear. Hmm. One more thing to talk about with him.
It wouldn’t be easy to accept the limitations of small-town life. I could still conjure up the bartender’s vitriolic insults. “She’s a girl!” I knew what kind of shit a man could get for being a faggot. What did you get for being a faggot who slept with a tranny? It was something new for people to wrap their heads around. The haters would find a way to come at me, to try to make me pay.
Well, I did know that Owen was good enough for a second date. I wasn’t going to do all this future tripping until I’d put my cock in him. If I fucked him and he called me Daddy, we might have a deal.
“Did you fall asleep?” my dad asked me. “Have a late night?” I came to with a start. I had been so far into my head that I had forgotten what I was doing. And had Pops just made a joke about me having a one-night stand? My father?
“Just a sec,” I said. “I’m trying to get his attention. Owen!” He turned around, ignoring the stove for a second, and I passed on my folks’ invitation. Owen asked me if it was okay with me. I said it was, and so he said yes. “But if you’re going to be my Christmas present, I’ll have to wrap you up like one,” I said, flirting and threatening him.
“Go look in the drawer under my side of the bed,” he said.
I went.
The drawer contained a small selection of kinky toys, some of them handmade. There was a neatly coiled set of black nylon ropes. The ends had been finished with whipping, done with a smaller black cord. I picked them up so I could admire the knot work, then took them back to the kitchen to wave in Owen’s face. “Time hangs hea
vy on your hands,” I repeated.
“Not today,” he replied. “I’m not going in to work. Do you want pancakes or waffles?”
After I’d fed Glenn, I had a chance to think about what I had done with him. The morning after sex was supposed to be full of regret and bad memories. Instead, I felt energized, happy to be alive and foolishly optimistic. It wasn’t too hard to talk Glenn into going back to bed. He seemed a little more confused than he’d been last night. But he was every bit as handsome. I thought that once we got started, his naturally dominant personality would probably assert itself.
I peeled off the covers and reached for his cock. With one hand, I kept his balls hanging low, right on the edge of discomfort. I felt a sympathetic ache in the pit of my stomach as I firmly tugged them down. With my other hand, I put a bit of lube on his cock and squeezed, twisted my hand and went up and down. When I got to the head of his cock, I would stop and run my thumb over it, tickling the lips of his piss slit. Then it was time to move my hand back to the base of his dick, mimicking the way I would retract a foreskin, if he’d had one. It didn’t take long before his cock was as hard as it had been last night, and his body was arching and coming off the bed, begging for release.
But I had something more controversial in mind than a hand job. So I grabbed a condom, tore it open and rolled it over his cock. I gently pinched it to put a bit of an empty pocket at the end. Touching him had gotten me excited. I was slick between my legs, and wanted to know what it would feel like to put him in my front hole. He was worried about not being able to keep it up. So we’d just have to find out if that was true. If he could fuck me there, it would somehow prove to me that he saw me as another man, despite my strange plumbing. If he had a problem, I could just take it up the ass. It would be nice to have a cock there, with its combination of hardness and softness, instead of a toy.
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