So I Had My Cherry Popped? Who Could Fucking Tell. free porn video

First Fucked – or, The Chary of the Heart
A true story by Outsfguy


'So I had my cherry popped? Who could fucking tell? Who knows only a week ago I went home with my first man, and he grunted and came all over my belly; his monsoon pants blowing in my ear in his ecstasy. Fuck it, so why do I feel sad. No one gives a damn.' I stood in the same nightclub as last week, doing the same things, watching the dancers have a wonderful time, and I knew I was a different person inside, but out there, could anyone tell?

Wasn't sex supposed to be the portal to self-confidence; to the greater awareness of the elusive self, and the world as seen through it and seen beyond it? And yet, something didn't work. The question still remained; 'who am I; does anybody want me; want me as I am?'

I tried to glance around nonchalantly; first looking up to where last Saturday I had seen a boy with ashen hair who set my heart racing. He wasn't there. At that table sat three men, the two I could see looked somewhat alike, the third had his back to me. I could only perceive that he was taller and bigger than his two companions. And I envied them, the way they chitchatted, coming in close to each other to drive the noisy club away, to only lean back a moment later with big smiles and twinkling eyes, as if these joyous elements alone had shoved them back in their seats by sheer force. I envied their easygoing, hassle-less friendship. I wanted that for myself. One of the two I could see, noticed me, and he quickly spoke to the faceless third who turned around. I saw his face for a second; it was a strong face, but smiling eyes took the edge off of it. He had a mustache neatly trimmed over his upper lip, which curved inwards a little bit at the corners of his smile. This is what he was now doing to me.

I looked away, not knowing if I were turning red or not. My thinking wandered back to an incident of true shame. When thirteen, and in eighth grade, one night I had a rather erotic dream about gym class. In the locker room after class, I dreamt I finally got a look at the penis of Todd Brandon, a boy I was strongly, albeit at the time, vaguely attracted to. The next day I found himself in the locker room, all the boys undressing; I pulling down my gym shorts, but furtively keeping my eye on Todd's underwear. The graceful arch of Todd's lower back curved down to the beginning of his backside and disappeared under the waistband of his Fruit of the Looms. The skin sinking out of view was smooth, supple and raised by tiny and finely denoted hair follicles. I stood, paused, waiting for the moment when Todd would turn around. Out of the corner of my eye, I became aware that another k**, the fat and mean-spirited Mike McGill, had suddenly started laughing. I looked at him, and the k** who would later torture me all through high school, shouted: "Look. It's so disgusting!" and pointed at me.

I scanned down my front to see the head of his own prick poking out of the fly of my briefs. Todd Brandon turned and cried out: "OOGH."

I thought of Fatty Mike McGill as somehow witness to every ensuing humiliation.

I glanced over to the tables again, but quickly turned around because the guy with the mustache had already come down and was making his way through the crowd.

I thought: 'I'm not in the mood for this.' I watched the dance floor, wondering where that guy was headed. 'Probably to the rest room' I hoped. I tried to glance around casually, turning an inch to the left, and I saw the guy standing there. Mr. Mustache leaned in a bit, his eyes inviting reassurance as he said: "Don’t you ever smile?"

I'm sure my face went blank. I could stammer nothing but: "Why?"

The guy leaned in closer, assuming greater secrecy. "Because, it's so pretty."

Now I could do nothing but grin like a fool, it sounded so silly, like something a villain would say in a 1940's movie to the good-girl seductress, but one look at the arching mustache, the sincere mood of the man's eyes, and I knew the corny comment was rooted in genuine feeling.

"And how," I needed to find out "would you know, if I never smiled?"

"I didn't say you never smiled. But, you seem to smile only to your own thoughts. How about one for the rest of us?"

Locked in my stupid grin, I momentarily thought I'd begin to ball like a baby, instead I blinked out: "And, what can I say to that?"

"Oh, I've seen you smile, I just want you to do it more often, and maybe, I can help. Hi. I'm Doug."

"Joshua."

"Nice to meet you Josh – or do you prefer 'Joshua?'"

"As you like – nice to meet you too."

We shook hands, or rather Doug impressively took mine and enfolded it into his own, like a glove on a snowy day. The man's touch was powerful, but giving, and at least towards me, invited that intimacy among men as equals, and as potential lovers. My eyes went up to Doug's face; they had to go up, for he was quite a bit taller than himself, some of three or four inches. His hair was light brown, and he wore it in a longish crew cut of sorts, moussed up. His eyes sparkled and were dark in contrast to the expression they gave out. His cheeks rounding off under his eyes were broad and told of many good old stories by the lines written there, while underneath them, pink flesh grew pinker when smiles drew up those lines like curtains. His mustache was big and graceful riding the space between his nostrils and upper lip. It was the same color as the hair on his head, just as well shaped, and cared for. I wondered if he moussed it too.

I told him: "I saw you and your friends up there. You guys really look like you're having fun."

"Yeah, those old bitches" his mustache danced "I can barely take them out anymore – they cause so much trouble." Doug waved over to his friends – or was it an obscene gesture? I couldn't tell which.

"So, what do you do Josh?"

"I'm studying architecture."

You're studying architecture? His brows raised. "How old are you?" A lot of white showed in his eyes, inviting the truth, while his mustache dangled in anticipation.

Seeing that, I had to smile a bit more. "I'm twenty."

"Oh." Doug's mouth closed, his eyes narrowed.

"Why? OK. So, how old did you think I was?"

"I was thinking about twenty-five, there abouts. How old do you think I am?"

"No, I'm not very good at this, and people get upset." Doug encouraged me. I tried: "Thirty-four or five, I guess…"

"Nope. Wrong. I'm thirty."

"Really?"

"How old are you again?"

"I'm really twenty."

"And, I'm really thirty."

We eyed each other, he thinking I was lying; and I wondering why he was lying. I changed the subject, believing in the premise that the truth need not be shouted to be true.

"You didn't tell me what you do."

"I'm in a completely different field than yours, I guess as different as any two careers could be."

"What?"

"I'm a cop."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Out in the County."

"Is that a line of work you enjoy?"

"Oh I love it. I wouldn't be happy doing anything else, and then, there are all the fringe benefits."

"Like what?"

"Like, traffic tickets."

"You mean giving them out?"

"No. I mean, no matter where I go in the country, if I get pulled over for speeding, I just show my police ID, and off I go."

I shook his head in envy. "Must be nice."

Doug, probably caught up in the moment, did something he knew he ought not to do, but looking down into my baby blues, I guess could only think how I seemed at that moment. "You know, if you ever get a ticket from a County cop, just call me, and I'll take care of it for you."

"Really? Thanks."

"I mean, I can't do it too often, you understand." His face put on sham sternness. "And you know you should always stay at or below the posted speed limit."

"Yes sir."

I was smiling when Doug suddenly said: "You're a little bit shy, aren’t you?"

I stopped smiling for pleasure and instantly felt it switch to a grin of discomfort. "I don't know."

"Don't worry about it! I used to be that same way."

"What happened?"

"I out grew it; in my line of work, I had to." Doug's eyes again offered honest appraisal: "And so will you."

I began to feel good. This stranger had just given me a piece of his own self-confidence. I held the present like a warm glow within me, while my exterior could only grin goofily.

Doug lifted his arm, moved I guess by the reaction his thoughts had on me, and put it around my shoulders. His large hand rocked and griped my arm in something like fatherly reassurance. He asked: "Were you planning on going to Blossom's tonight?"

I thought about it. That place was my personal Little Bighorn; my Waterloo; the first club I tried to go to, but was literally turned away at the door by my nerves. I'd yet to step foot in there. "Yeah…" I began to say, nodding "…this place is getting pretty noisy."

"OK, but do you mind if we go in your car? Because those two…" pointing up to the table "…drove me here tonight."

"No problem. But, I want to meet them, so let's go talk to them."

Doug maintained a hold on my shoulder and began to lead the way. The crowd was thick, but we managed to get to the bottom of the steps side-by-side. Here it was impossible to continue, but instead of letting go, Doug's mighty hand slipped down my upper arm, momentarily squeezing the elbow, and sliding about my wrist and across the palm to interlace his fingers with mine. As Doug formed a gentle fist by closing his digits, I had to catch a gasp in his throat. The reaction to Doug's insistent bit of romance was a swelling in my jeans, front and center, right behind my fly. With his other hand, and as Doug pulled me up the steps, I had to make a quick adjustment. For some reason, I thought of Mike McGill with a contemptuous sneer.

Doug took me right to the table before releasing his hold. "Josh this is Jack and Larry, two old queens from way back, Go ahead, ask them what putting on make-up by gaslight was like."

Larry barked out: "Well!"

Doug continued: "Ladies, this is 'Joshua.'" He emphasized the way that I had relayed my name, and made me swoon; nobody ever bothered to do that.

Larry stood and kicked his chair towards me. His hands came out and both clamped onto those of the newcomer. "Hi, cutie." Larry stood behind and leaned on his partner's shoulders. "Nice to finally meet you. You should have heard Dougina here going on and on about the boy with the sad smile. Sit!"

Jack spoke up: "Yeah, better once Mr. Copper-man left us. Did he tell you?"

"Yeah: he's police."

"Police! Heaves, no. He's 'homicide.' World of difference."

Larry chipped in: "He's the type taking notes at the crime scene on the TV shows, aren’t you sweetie?" He made a squishy sound with Doug's cheek between his fingers.

"Watch it," Doug warned "or there'll be no one to investigate your inevitable d**g overdose – or, are you going like Marylyn Monroe or like Judy Garland this week?" And then to me, laughing: "It’s always changing which idol they want to perish like – week to week to week."

Jack added: "Watch it Joshua. He's got a baton like a club, if you know what I mean."

I didn't, but while I glanced at Doug, that man blushed. I got it. "Oh, does he now. I might have get out my own notebook – do a little 'vestigating myself."

Doug responded by putting his hand on my shoulder, and my old problem suddenly returned. Doug said: "We're going to Blossom's now. How about you gals? You just gonna molder away all night here, like some drying out corsage?"

Jack quipped: "Boutonnière, thank you very much." They all laughed, and I was part of the magical moment I had seen before; a lean in, a pull back with sparkling eyes and laughter, only now I was part of it.

I pried: "So Larry, Jack, are you two together?"

Doug jumped in: "Since the beginning of time – how long is it now?"

For the first and only time in the evening, Larry looked serious: "Six years, come November."

Jack laughed, giving me some advice: "When you know, you know k**. Get ready, it could happen to you at any time." Then slyly to Doug: "Right Dougie, boy?"

I looked over, and again saw the big bad policeman blush.

A pensive smirk moved Doug's mustache. Out of the blue, he asked: "Do you like movies?"

"Yeah, of course; I love movies."

"Cause yesterday, Larry lent me a bunch he copied from rentals. Would you like to come by and watch one? We'll let them go to the other club without us. I promise…" Doug grew earnest, sat straight up in his chair, and crisscrossed his puffed out chest "…to be a perfect gentleman."

I thought: 'Well I certainly hope not.' But I said: "I don’t know. Which ones do you have?"

"Oh God, just a minute. Let me try and remember the names of some of them. I've got Casablanca?"

"Seen it."

"Or, The Graduate…"

"Seen that too."

"Um, I think he gave me Ghost."

"Larry, don’t you watch any movies from this decade?"

"Give him a break, he's a virtual shut-in." Jack screeched.

"Really?"

"No." Doug p*o-pooed "He's out flaming day and night…Oh, there's one I wanted to watch right away, some South American…Argentina?"

"You mean Brazil?"

"Yeah, that's it. Did you see it?"

"Yes, but…" I turned the question "…have you?"

"Not yet."

"You should, it's really an excellent film – in fact, I wouldn't mind seeing it one more time."

As Doug and I stood, Larry seemed quite pleased. He nudged Doug, and I heard him whisper: "Show'em a good one."

"Well OK then." Larry dragged out the vowel sound "So let's get the hell out of here already!" Larry and Jack were up and soon pushing their way towards the back, clearing a path for Doug and me to follow. As we got near the door, Doug stopped abruptly, causing me to bump into him. Doug's hand rose into the air, and I tracked it over another customer's head to see it slap the hand of a man in the crowd. This guy looked Italian or Latino, was in his mid twenties, tall, with dark hair and movie star good looks.

When we were out in the car, i asked about him.
"Chase? Oh, he's a cop, and one hell of a nice k**."

"And he's Gay?"

"Of course, at least as far as I know. He could be bi – but nah – I don't think so."

"How about you?" I saw the opportunity to ask without pressing.

"Me? Oh, I'm Gay, that's for sure, but I'm kind of an exceptional case. You know, everyone's path is different, and with me, I didn't realize I was Gay until late. All my life I had some feelings for guys; I never wanted to leave their company; liked looking at handsome guys; being with them and stuff, but I didn't feel much in terms of wanting to be physical with any of them. As for the rest of the feelings, I didn't pay much attention to them. I know it sounds strange – and all my friends ask about it – but it wasn't repression, cause the urge wasn't there to have sex with another guy, but then again, I didn't feel that urge towards women either. Sex with them was just like jacking off, a means to an end. But that all changed." Doug's mouth grinned all teeth and suggestion; like a lewd Cheshire Cat. "You want to hear this?"

"Oh course I do – Yeah."

"This is when I was still married. Full disclosure, I was married for ten years; no c***dren, and we lived in this apartment complex in Houston where we had tennis courts and a workout room, and the whole shabang. Then one night after dinner, I went down to the Jacuzzi, and this was great, because every four units in the whole complex had their own Jacuzzi that only they had the key to. So when I get there, I see my neighbor is already soaking. He was a real nice guy, an airline pilot, and I stick my head in there and asked if he minds if I join him for awhile. And why the hell not, there was plenty of room in there. So he says 'Sure!' I slip off my towel and wade on in. Well, you know, we got to talking about this and that, and you know, real casual stuff that didn't take us anywhere for very long. I was just sitting there, letting my head fall against the rim of the tub, without a care in the world – just letting the bubbles slip up my back – when suddenly, I feel something, you know, on my dick. So, I look over, and I see that this guy's rubbing my cock with his foot; underwater."

"So! What'd you do?"

Doug leaned his head all the way back on my passenger seat headrest and turned that wicked smile back to the driver. "What do you think I did? I got hard." The memory of the hot tub came back to him full in the car. "It was one of the most sensual feelings I had ever felt, soft, yet I don’t know, so completely confident and strong, and like a light bulb – it all made sense. My inclination for being with guys; my love of them in all ways of affection, of course it meant I was made for them, and they for me. It explained so much, why I couldn't really feel for my wife, though I totally respected and cared about her, but it wasn't like this, not like this guy's toes stroking my cock head, not at all. And then there was an element of excitement in doing something you're not supposed to; the element of the new and adventurous. I kept saying to myself, I shouldn't be doing this, but there was my cock straining for the touch of that guy's foot. Before I knew it, he was blowing me, and if I thought his toes felt great, I'd never felt anything like his lips. Man, all those wasted years with the cold, reluctant, fish lips of women; I know now, only a man knows how to please another man."

"So what happened?" I turned his eyes off the road.

"I came." Doug shrugged to the car ceiling. "Then I watched him come, and I was fascinated. He had been jacking himself underwater the whole time. I wanted to touch him, but everything in its time, and that was too soon for me. When he got up to go, he turned and said: 'You won't tell Beth, will you?' Beth was his wife. I said: 'As long as you don't tell Karen, I won’t tell nobody.' Karen was my wife, and so as he left, he said smiling: 'See ya tomorrow.' I said: 'I hope so.' Can you believe it, and that guy was a Navy pilot for twelve years."

"Well, I guess that's where he picked up his technique."

"Wherever he learned it, they taught him good – and, later, he taught me just as good."


˚˚˚˚˚


"Come on in!"

I was still standing in the entry hall to Doug's apartment when i saw a light go in the room to the right. The door was open, so I went in. Doug stepped up, almost as if to block further passage.

"You know, I don't usually invite guys home like this, call it police suspicion."


"That's good," I said "because, I don't usually go home with guys." I had to laugh: 'If he only knew he was the second guy I've ever been home with.'

Doug showed me around. First was the kitchen, just off to the left of the living room, and open to it with just a counter dividing them. The near-whiteness of these spaces was contrasted with everything Doug chose to place in it: the carpet was dark and the wood of the upholstered furniture was rich in mellow satin. Below the picture window, the sofa sat ninety-degrees to a wall with shelves and the TV. On the low shelf with the TV sat a large statue of a bald eagle. As I passed by, I noticed that between the books on the shelves were various kinds of other eagles, some in glass, some in porcelain, some with folded wings, some spread eagle, even one on top of a lumpy nest. I made a mental note of what Doug would like for Christmas.

From the hallway just beyond, Doug called: "Joshua, come in here."

I followed the voice through the doorway. To my left, Doug was stooping; rooting through the bottom of a closet. Beyond him was Doug's bed, neat and tidy, and king-sized. Seeing it sent a silent thrill through my spine. Doug spun up, something in his hand, and gently pushed me backwards towards the sofa. "Oh, not yet k** – whoa…"

"You're the one called me in. What for, to get a glimpse of 'where the magic happens?'"

"Have a seat, I'll start it up."

Doug went to work as I slipped into the soft upholstery. The TV came on, then a blue screen as Doug fumbled with the remote. A whirling sound made it seem that the movie had started, but Doug grew animated with the remote. Nothing played on the screen. "Just a second. I'll take care of that." And Doug pushed the fast-forward button, but no image appeared. "Oh great. I don't know what’s wrong. Josh, you know anything about this stuff?"

I knew full well Doug would simply have to push the 'monitor' button and switch from TV to one of the other devices, but I shrugged my shoulders in a devilish smile.

"Damn!" said Doug. "We can't watch it."

"Well, I guess there's nothing we can do. It's all automatic." I played along.

"So, there's nothing we can do..?"

I savored the note of fictitious defeat in Doug's tone. Again, I shrugged.

"That means I can't watch any of the movies Larry lent me. Now what'll we do?"

I tried to help the plan along. "Do you have any other movies?"

"I do have…" Doug drew out the pause for effect "…some 'non-feature' presentations that Larry gave me."

"Oh yeah, like what?"

"There's one called The Other Side of Tahoe, II. He was telling me about that one. In the opening, some guy is racing out the door to join his buddies on the slopes; he's all packed, gets his gear in his Jeep, but it won't start. He calls a repairman and this black guy comes to work on the car. The guy's a jerk and keeps yelling at the mechanic to hurry it up, so the guy gets mad and they start arguing. The clothes fly off and the black guy practically ****s the snotty k**. You wouldn't, want to see that one, would you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Just sounds like a remake of Casablanca, but pop it in. You can check my reaction for yourself." I scanned the eagle eyes; they all seemed to wink at me.

Doug flew back into the hallway and rustled in his closet. He ejected the useless movie, and in went The Other Side of Tahoe, II. Doug sank down into the cushions next to me and our thighs pressed against one another. After a masterfully deft working of a pair of remote buttons, the 'independent' film began. To make matters the most comfortable for the us both, naturally Doug's arm had to go up and d**** across my shoulder.

The movie started. The scenario unfolded as it was relayed: one blond boy threw his gear into his Jeep, then jumped in, but it wouldn't start. Next they showed him making a phone call, and soon an older African American in overalls made a house call. He started to work, but the blond was sassy and kept bothering him. They had an exchange of threats, but what followed didn't look like **** to me. The blond in his red ski jumper unzipped the guy in overalls and pulled out an immensely bigger dick than his own. He began to suck it. The pleasure of the pleasure-giver spreading across his face as it sank deeper into his mouth.

"Doesn't look much like a '****,' does it?"

"No. I can't say that it does, but that's what Larry said anyway."

We went back to watching.

"You like him, don’t you?" Doug teased.

"The blond's cute, and the other guy's huge!"

"Oh, I don’t know. I've seen bigger." Doug paused, his hand went to the back of my head. He patted it softly once or twice then turned it to face him. "In fact, I've got bigger."

I swallowed hard. A slow, agonizing grin of admiration swelled my lips, and something beneath my fly swelled also. I didn't say anything, but looked back to the action. Doug's arm slipped between me and the sofa cushion; it paused and thrilled the small of my back. Now the blond bent himself over the open hatch of his Jeep, making himself comfortable on his rucksack. The black guy slipped on a condom, and pleasured the waiting orifice with his tongue. Soon he was sliding in, and the blond was gripping his ski gear with clinched fists and rapture-shut eyes. As his lover's member slowly gained admittance – descending with deliberate hesitation until the man's orbs would allow no farther allowance – the blond showed the audience, and me, in no uncertain terms that he loved it.


Doug's hand moved up the center of my spine, which I could tell was sweating slightly in some tingly thrill; up till his thumb felt the hard resistance where the muscle of neck met the base of my skull. Inside, my brain slowly shut down, images of things seemingly irrelevant floated past my sight, then into nothingness: pushing away my professor last week at our parting, the scent of that man, of gingerbread, lingering as I went; then of a curled and nasty face – a k** who seemed a million miles away – Mike McGill laughing at me, but doing so in slow-motion and in silence. Doug pressed the protuberances at the base of my skull and massaged them. He turned my head to his, and kissed me. I felt the brushy quality of Doug's mustache, relishing the scratchy rake of it across the outer rim of my lips, and higher up, near the nose. It smelled manly, like alcohol and spit, and Old Spice, and yes there was a slightly acrid something too, like hair mousse. I shut my eyes in ever-tighter circles of rhapsodic pleasure and nothingness. He was going to fuck me, and I was going to love it!

I parted my formerly repressed lips, and his tongue slid in to take command. It slid across the front of my teeth, and tickled my upper gums as it went; a new sensation. Now my cock was rock hard, and making my balls ache because there was less and less room for them to exist in the tight and hollow space behind my jeans' zipper. His hand landed on my budge, and my dick strained to break free and feel the bare-skinned touch of his hand as my mouth did his tongue. In there, his firm 'take-over' continued, and he now he sent that wet and hard substitute for his cock deep into my waiting void. My tongue tried to stop his descent, and as I wrestled with him, my breaths became uncontrollably hot against his face hair and mouth.

I reached for his chinos, and half-way along his thigh, I left he had made no boast earlier. His cop cock was not only big, but thick as the ascending shaft of a baseball bat, right above the grip. He thrilled and moaned as my hand stroked it through the fabric, and his tongue pushed mine out of the way. He deep-throated with his slobber, and like his kiss, it too had a taste like roughness and Old Spice.

He reached and touched my chest. I shoved it forward, and he used his naked hand to slip fingers between my shirt and nipple. He brushed it; it went as erect as my dick, and then he lovingly twisted it and used the edge of his nail to razor it; gently, thrillingly. I strained to catch some air, but all I could take seemed to come straight out of my heat, and I filled his mouth with it. He moved to my other tit, and it too was teased to attention, then raked, and lightly, expertly scratched.

I really thought I might cream my pants. A thought pushed forward through the overpowering command of my body being in charge: 'Did I tell Doug I was almost still a virgin? No – he doesn't know, I think it'd turn him off.'

I forcefully pushed him back. His mouth parted from mine, his eyes still closed, open in some kind of mischievous smirk.

"That's fuckin hot, Joshua. You are a great kisser."

I don't how I looked to him at that second, but I pushed down a feeling of sadness. 'Great kisser? Is he k**ding..?'


I put both my hands on his fly, and drew it down. He arched his back on the sofa, and I worked on the white boxer shorts until I maneuvered his massive member towards the exit of his fly.

It shot out. It stood there against the fabric of his chinos, cupped all around by the cottony white of his underwear opening, and it was magnificent. A cock for the ages; standing at full attention. It was not like my cock, which when erect formed a 90-degree angle, but his bolted up and proud against his belly; his head engrossed beyond where his navel would be behind his shirt. I took it in my hand, forced it away from his torso, and instantly felt a mightily resistance. Doug thrilled at my touch and I watched the head momentarily flare as even more blood from his heart filled it. Now I had to see the balls attached to this gem; see the whole goddamned phallus, an example maybe the ancients would have worshiped.

I reached in not knowing it his nuts would be tight or lose. I pulled on one. It roared mightily and rolled away from my grip. Then I pulled it out, and the second one followed in its casing after its brother. Doug moaned a bit; squirmed a little, but they came out and hung there. Now I got the view I wanted, and yes, I'd set up an altar and beg for providence from such a stunningly matched set of cock and balls.

His scrotum was dotted with hair follicles, and I couldn't resist anymore. My lips went down to them. My lips kissed his balls and they again moved in an awesome rumble making the seamen I'd soon be taking from this man I was pleasuring. I licked the bumpy raised spots, and his dick reacted for him, coursing to even stiffer attention right by my cheek, where I felt a wave of heat. I continued to lick his balls, but my hand found its way to the tip of Doug's cock. I made a motion, and down my fingers glided over the head. It pulsed under my touch, again pulling my hand towards his body as he moaned and said I was 'a good boy.'

My head raised. I held his eyes and my mouth made its way up to where his navel was, behind his shirt.

"Good boy?" I said "Good boys don’t do this."

I wet the outside of my mouth, licking slobber all around my lips, then stuck them with pressure onto his cock head.

His back arched, his hands came to the back of my hair, and he thrust up. The shaft to his cock slid in smoothly, for he didn't press hard, but hard was the way it vibrated in my mouth. Precum oozed and left itself on my palate, and the top of the mouth is where that most ancient sense lives – where we 'taste,' where we 'smell' things like pheromones and musk. His 'taste' and his 'scent' touched my brain as if directly. This was making love – his essence perceived straight into me beyond the rot of words or any sentiment.

I groaned and took his dick as far as I could, the problem was not so much the length, but the girth – about 6-inches thick – it literally filled my mouth to bursting. I tried to keep my teeth out of the way, but a light grating occurred as his love-baton got about halfway in. I heard his moan; felt his hands grip my head harder, so I figured he liked that too.

Those same hands a moment later pulled me up to him. He led my face to his mouth, and again, as substitute for his cock, his tongue had its way with my sighs and baited, pulsating breaths.

He lifted me by my underarms and undid my belt buckle. He unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped me and paused.

"Now, let daddy show you how it's done."

I did nearly split the seams of my tidy-whities, but in an instant, Doug pulled down my elastic waistband and let it tightly spring up again to cup my hanging balls in a sort of impromptu cock ring.

He teased my head with his tongue. It flit out and back again, raking it's cobbled roughness over the slip of my pee-hole as his nail had expertly done on my tit.

"Delicious." He teased, then took the whole head into his mouth, and applied a vacuum grip. He reeled and moved his grip down a could of inches, and reapplied the suction. My hands involuntarily flew over the top of my head, and my knees, although kneeling as they were on Doug's sofa, nearly buckled anyway. I partially fell backwards, but Doug's strong hand was sent to my lower back and braced me so my cock could stay in his mouth.

Now he sucked; a slow teasing and wet sliding in regular rhythms from the top of my pee-slit to down among my pubic hair.

Was I going to blow? No, this thrill seemed almost beyond the realm of what I imagined sex to me. The sensations were not centered on the dick he so lovingly moistened and rode with his lips. No, I felt it everywhere. Where his hand gripped my back, a warmth spilled out; where my hands moved to touch his spiky hair, a tingle came out the fingertips like static charge; and my chest and nipples arched upwards to the ceiling, and perhaps far beyond it to the heaven of the God who created all human joys for us.

Yes, this was love-making. Not the desire to cum, so much as the presence to please another with your own pleasure.

Doug suddenly stopped. He stood. He kissed me lightly. Then without another word, he held out his hand. I stood up, literally weak in the knees, and that big and commanding grip of his took my hand. I kicked my feet free of my jean legs, and he drew me away to the sanctuary of his darkly brooding bedroom.


A soft light burned. A bedside light with a silk shade was made even silkier by the d**** of a gauzy scarf of light ochre. All else was still and quiet as Doug pulled me to the edge of his bed. A light tip from his fingers on my shoulders and I fell on it. A moment later, Doug's 250 lbs. Playfully fell on me, and I grunted from the force of his muscles on my abdomen and chest.

His hand roughly went behind my head and lifted my face to his mouth. His other hand bent towards my waistband and shoved it down. My knees drew up and he quickly released me from my Calvin Klein's cottony restraint. He flung it off his hand as if he never wanted to see it again, and it landed against the metal mini-blinds in an odd clack.

I still wore my t-shirt, but his now free hand slipped up my belly and found my nipples as he left them, straining for his touch to return.

Using the hand beneath my head, he lifted me, and I realized he wanted me to kneel. I did, and he slipped his crew cut and mustache under my scrotum. He kissed me there; licked my perineum; and again my hand went up looking for something to hold onto so I wouldn't topple over. I must have groaned loudly, though I didn't hear it, for he said: "See, I know what you boys like."

He squirmed up a little, grabbed onto my dick and slid it beyond his lips. He sucked the head, and as if connected to my brain by a drawstring, my sight fell onto the big man's gaze. Though his mouth was full, I swear he smiled at me, and my hands without any thoughts involved, lilted onto the side of his face and stroked him. Now my breaths were labored, and he drew me deep into that smile, all the way to the base of where my aching balls slammed against his cheeks.

He sucked me for several minutes, and I just let go. By doing this there was no danger of me cumming – I just sat back and enjoyed the ride.

He let my cock flip up on it own natural spring, and scootched down. His mustache stretchiness lingered on my ball sack, then aggressively up to sandpaper the tight ridge between it and my hole, but then my wrists broke out in a cold sweat. He licked my hole, and I never felt anything so wonderful. Again his tongue flicked; a delicate probe, then withdrew, and I didn't think I could keep my balance.

Fortunately for me, Doug applied pressure on the undersides of my thighs, and I toppled with my feet looking at the ceiling. He kneeled and pushed the back of my knees, and bent to his task. Now his tongue really explore the outside perimeter of my asshole and a delicate roughness from his face hair tingled in slowly contracting circles towards the center of my being. His tongue stiffened, and he fucked me with it.

I moaned as if I couldn't stand it, but my big man only grunted and tongue-punched me deeper and harder. Now his mustache scratch was all over the inside of my ass, and I thrilled at it. He knew was he was doing, and soon I felt my hole relax completely; sweet surrender, and then his tongue became moist and drooled deposits of spit inside of me.

When he came up for air, letting my legs drop over his thighs, I sighed in relief, but that mercurial grin told me I was in for more. He put his right palm under his chin, and spat into it. Then he worked the gob toward his fingertips, and with his clean hand and arm pushed my legs back in the air.

At first he just placed his middle fingertip against my hole. He waited, I relaxed a bit, and then he applied pressure. The tip of his fuck-finger slid in, moistened as it was, but again he paused.

"Fuck k**, you're tight."

If only he knew the half of it.

Now I moaned and heard myself hoarsely whisper: "Put it in…please, oh God, please put it in…"

He did, and the frictionless slide drove me insane. It dove to the first knuckle, paused a half second, waiting for me to breathe, then went in to the base. Again I panted, wanting to feel his mouth on my while his handiwork was still in me, but I had no time, for he began to twist and jam his finger in and out with regular beats.

Soon the index digit joined the middle one, and I was fucked good and horny by fat cop fingers.

I had to do it, so I kicked myself up, grabbed his face, and by way of thank you, drove my tongue deep within his mouth. He let me; let me explore and dominate his orifice as he had down to mine when we began.

I pushed his face away slightly, opened my eyes, and tried to say as softly as the diffuse light all around us: "Got a condom?"

His brows raised in some kind of frank, but lopsided, assessment. He grinned, also off-kilter: "Yeah, I've got condoms, but you know what really puts me in the mood for fucking?"

I shook my head; I'm sure looking like a k** on the first day of school.

"Sucking." He said. "You working on my cock will get in the mood to fuck you. OK?"

I didn't need to answer, but simply bend my back to the task. I swallowed hard, and drew up as much spit into my mouth as I could. It seems I had gone dry mouthed from all the panting rapture Dung's tongue and fingers plowing my hole had driven me. While doing this, I pulled up on my man's shirt and drew it up over his head. His chest hair was full, as were his scentless underarms, and here and there was a sexy gray stray, just begging for attention and toying with.

I flung his shirt towards where my briefs landed and it fell on top, just as I hoped Doug would soon do onto me.

I slid flat on my stomach, and used my hand to pry his stiff monster away from his now bare and rock-solid belly. It resisted, and pulled back, his balls visibly rumbling, but I guided it towards my mouth and eyed him.

I slid my lips over the tip and licked the slit with studied pressure as Doug had done to me. This time I knew I was doing right, for the cock sprang under my touch and that delicious precum rewarded my diligence with a treat on my tongue. I kept it away from his body with my hand and slid down. The head the hit the roof of my mouth, but I kept going, and I managed to take more than half of it's length without any gratings from my teeth.

Doug moaned and touched my cheek: "Good fucking job, boy; you're learning…"

I took his shaft farther; felt it against the narrow part where I swallow, and Doug's cock stiffened and left me another tasty amuse-bouche to enjoy.

I withdrew to the now comfortable halfway point and worked from there up to the head in a regular cycle. A loving attention always given to the head that I could feel vibrate with his pulse on my lips and tongue, then a sliding descent and loosening grip on the main shaft.

I tasted more and more precum; swallowed all of it, relishing the compliment of Doug's bodily reaction to my love-grip better than any words he could give me.

Up and down, the pace grew more and more comfortable, and the longer I sucked my big man, the more comfortable his massive girth felt in my mouth.

"Yeah k**, that's it. That's it. You went to feel that cock in your ass – suck it till it's ready to pump in you."

I grunted my consent to make him happy, and kept on with my internal stoking with lips and tongue.

Now my hands sought out to find those sexy gray strays on his chest and belly. I used both hands and drifted over tightening and relaxing abdomen muscles, then up over the ridges where his pecks rounded before smoothing off to his upper chest. I found a nipple, and it was already erect. I pinched it, and the outer ring of little rained bumps grew as sharp as tacks. The other man-tit got the same treatment, and caused the same sharp ring to rise.

Doug moaned and again his hand found its way to stoke the nape of my neck and rounded to my cheek. He slapped me, gently, but my face tingled, and my wrists began to sweat again.

"Enough." He said. "Now for your reward."

I heard my cop groan with pleasure, and felt content within myself. Giving pleasure, this is what I just learned, gave me the most satisfaction. A happy lover meant a happy me.


I lay on the bed, put my hands behind my head and watched Doug slip on a light blue condom and anoint it with lube. I realized I was still wearing my t-shirt, but I didn’t care.

He brought his thighs, prickly with man-hair, against the underside of my smooth ones and lifted them over his.

His lubed fingers found my hole and worked in and out for several moments.

Then he paused after withdrawing them. "You sure you can take this Josh? You ready for me?"

My sexy cop didn’t know I had been waiting for this since the age of 13, so yes, I was ready; ready for Doug.

I nodded and gripped reassuringly on the side of his muscled legs.

More lube went on Doug's fingers and I felt the tender preparation again that Doug must always do for his lovers, or else no one could take him.

He lifted my legs; put his slippery, but fat, cock head against my portal and pressed. I relaxed, forcing myself to picture something neutral, something beautiful and far away, and for some reason, the green tiled dome of the city's cathedral appeared before my eyes. My hole relaxed, Doug fucked me, and I saw visions of the way that ethereal tile glints like frozen seawater arching in the sky against a blazing sun.

He sank in, and my eyes readjusted onto his face. He was in raptures too; I guess I was tight, but he loved it as much as I did.

He went deeper, and I had to squint, it wasn't exactly pain, but something that made my wrists tingle and every inch of my spine question my brain as to what by body was doing.

Deeper still, and my eyes were wide open, my mouth too. I gasped for breath, but Doug's body fell onto me and closed up the potential twitter of a scream from my lungs with his lips and rough opening mustache. I kissed him greedily and he pulled out almost to the head, then rammed home.

As he kissed me; as he fucked me; I gripped onto his back, and my eyes began to water with each new thrust. Soon Doug noticed my condition and spooned the happy tears up with his tongue.

He straightened up again, pulling my legs up so I was 'standing' on my back, and his hips got closer to my ass. Now his rhythm became regular, a long slow pulling out to the head within my gripping sphincter, then a quick ramming home of his love baton until his pendulous balls smacked my ass.

My head writhed back and forth on the sheets; like I suppose being on an opium high, I felt nothing, yet everything at once. A rush was in his downward drive into me, and little death in every motion of his pull out.

I wanted it to never stop. My cock was hard, but I really didn’t give it a second thought. This was about Doug's pleasure in me, and my pleasure in pleasing him so deeply.
And Doug wasn't done with me yet.

He flipped me onto my stomach, pressed my legs flat together on the bed and began to ram me so hard the bed began to quake. I thought the headboard couldn't take much more of this pounding, and would break through the wall. At least it had a place to go. I wondered how I could take my big man's pile-driving, for I only had the mattress to sink farther into, that is, as he plumbed ever greater depths into me. But still, I thought about the neighbors on the other side, and what they were thinking.

He withdrew a moment, leaving me feel tremendously empty and sad, but it was only so he could put me back on my back.

Now he pressed my calves and heels against his shoulders and stiffened his legs straight out. He sank into me like a star running athlete; legs muscles all sprung and straining for action. He sank so deep, and then I felt the added pressure spring-tension of his powerful cock's preference to live against his belly. It drove itself straight up into my prostate and I reeled in this totally new and unexpected sensation.

Again a scream threatened, again his mustache came down to pacify his crying baby with some love strokes from his lips, while down below, he sank balls-deep into my guts.

The full weight of his body on mine in the down stroke was tremendous. On the upstroke, I had no time to moan. As he stiffened his legs and lifted his dick out of me, an involuntary spasm of my diaphragm pulled a gulp of air into my lungs, thankfully before he slammed it out of me again. It helped that I closed my eyes – for indeed if Doug did fuck me into a c***, I'd slide into that state as if into a ruptured bliss with visions of his face and frozen sea-ice in an azure sky.

I was in no danger of passing out though; my cock pulsated with each thrust from him – precum began to drip and get dangled off the tip of my head with each of my big man's rammings.

Doug's breathing grew almost out of control. He pulled out, letting my legs fall, moved towards my head and pulled off the condom.

He kneeled by my face, again stoked my cheek with one hand and jacked with the other. I held his eyes, and asked with ochre-stillness "Was I a good boy..?"

He grunted and screeched and a torrent of what seemed razor-hot cum washed my face. It hit the side of my nose, and I felt the tremendous force with which it had left Doug's cock slit, then more and more; time after time, over my lips, my closed eyes and into my hair, and each time I loved it. I had made a man happy in the way I had dreamed of for so long, and I was happy in that also.

He collapsed on the bed into my arms, and he kissed me with unbridled passion, forcing his cum between up as a bond to forever seal us together. I tasted him all at once, inside and out, and savored the Old Spice of his mustache and his briny seed together in one plain of consciousness.

After a hurried clean up and the pulling up of the sheets, I lay in Doug's embrace and we chatted the non-important talk of afterglow.

Curious, my hand reached down below to feel my love-button. Amazingly it was still dilated and I easily slipped three fingers in before I felt a thing.

"Man," I said "it's still lose." Then I hinted "Shame to waste it..."

"Slow down youngin." Then he kissed my forehead, adding: "Later."

After a while, Doug's breathing regulate off into sleep. Now it was my turn, and I kissed my sleeping prince's forehead, and slipped out of bed. 'Later is right.' I thought to myself.


˚˚˚˚˚


I walked with what seemed like sea legs to find my shorts. Doug's shirt was laying on top of them.

I picked it up, brought it to my nose and inhaled. Yes, Doug, it smelled like the man who had just given me so much, but still I wanted more.

I tore off my t-shirt, tossed it aside, yes, tossed it like I never wanted to see it again, and I slowly, with diligent admiration slipped my cop's shirt over my naked skin. He again was touching me, and the feel of the cloth made my nipples grow hard for his hand's touch.

I pulled on my shorts and went to the kitchen. I was hungry and not the least bit tired. In fact, I never felt more awake; more alive. I was going to make a peanut butter sandwich, and as I searched for the bread, I wondered with a half sneer why I had thought about that fat jerk from my past. I laid out two slices and opened the cabinets looking for the peanut butter. The image of Mike seemed to be fading, like a snapshot long exposed to the burning sun on a grassy day. The cabinet doors made a louder sound than I expected. I didn't want to wake Doug – then I really smiled – maybe I should wake Doug. Maybe I was hungry for more than a sandwich? I found a jar a Skippy, frowning that it was the chunky kind, but oh well. On the bread, a thick slather went, and again I couldn't seem to remember the exact tenor of Mike's screech – it too seemed erased. I watched my hands work folding the two slices together. I smelled the rich oily unctuousness I was about to pass into his mouth, and I suddenly realized that people have two first times. The first 'popping of the cherry' was a physical one. It could happen with almost anyone, at anytime, be accidental, mean as much or as little as the person wanted. But in the meantime, that thing they keep locked in their heart, that chary thing meant to be protected and nourished and only released to what mattered and meant something, that was what the heart gives a second time, and only when ready. This second 'first time' is an emotional breaking of the virginal concept, a time the person lets the defense he's built up and all around his concept of himself break down before the loving embrace of another. This doesn't happen by accident, but only when he's good and ready to surrender the chary of his heart.

Standing over the sink, as to not make a mess, I looked up the wall. My mouth chewed, but became a hopeless grin anyway as I realized it was the wall on the other side of the bedroom; the other side of the headboard, beyond which Doug now peacefully slept.

I'm sure the pasty peanut butter glinted through my teeth as I spoke out loud: "Fuck the neighbors!" Then I paused, and added triumphantly: "And fuck you too, Mike McGill. Where ever the fuck you are!"