Okay, so I may as well tell you the worst up front. I’m pretty sure I’m gay. I never admitted it to myself in high school, because all the guys who fooled around with other guys never treated it as anything but fun and games, even if it got harder to explain when guys were dating girls. And actually, nowadays, I consider that the best, not the worst.
Even so, on a date night, when there was no school the next day, a few designated cocksuckers like me would leave our bedroom windows open a crack, and all night we’d be finishing off what the guys’ dates wouldn’t.
It was a service, a valuable service. No one rocked the boat. Not even Rev. Henderson’s son, Lucky, who could deliver his dad’s sermons with a real fire in his voice. Some fire. Every time he gave a sermon, he was horny as hell afterward, and none of the girls wanted to date the pastor’s son, so his cock was in my mouth half an hour after his sermonizing. I sucked him from the time that he had a thin little pencil with a dusting of hair, to the days when he began to grow and seemed to be sprouting an inch a week (in height), to last Wednesday, when he stopped by my window at 1 AM and made cat noises. It made me giggle. He was built like a linebacker, but if he wanted my mouth around his hardon, he had to do cat imitations. He was lucky.
I made Jon Filbert, the tennis champ for our school, ranked 15th nationally, imitate Wimbledon noises. If I heard a guy make a stab at the sound of a tennis ball on clay, I knew whose hardon would be spurting into my mouth within half an hour or so. An elephant trumpet meant I’d be fucking Big Sammy, otherwise known as Elephant Man, because his cock was so huge it was like an elephant’s trunk. He considered it a curse, because although everyone wanted to play with it, no one would or could take it, and he had to learn to bottom to have any sex at all.
If I heard a dog barking, it was Art, the younger of the Naper twins. He didn’t know it, as far as I knew, but if I heard the sound of an asthmatic dog barking, it was Aram, his older brother by 4 minutes. Identical cocks, both hung, both built. I always wanted to see them together, but they never did that in high school. Later, though, they... but that’s another story.
Now, I wasn’t the only cocksucker in my high school. There were at least 10 guys in every grade who would help a buddy out. And of those, most of them were straight, or wound up living as a straight man. Myself, I don’t believe there is such a thing as someone who’s completely gay or completely straight. I’ve slept with a couple of women: one, sophomore year in high school, was a beautiful girl, and she set out to seduce me the way I set out to seduce a hot athlete. She wanted me. She wanted my body. She probably wanted more, but she settled for my body.
When I went to lie down at a party, because the room was spinning, she quietly joined me, taking off her clothes. I didn’t know how to say no, though I wanted to at first, because I was never sure that I could fake my way through fucking a girl. The funny thing is, it came quite naturally to me, and her skill and experience were a huge turn-on. She was rumored to be sleeping with almost any elite athlete in our high school; though I’m sure she didn’t have as many as I had. She was also supposed to be blowing the hot young artist who subbed for our art class every few months. And the young, fit guys on the police rotation to our school. Supposedly that was how she got an easy parking spot. High school seems to thrive on rumors. I thought she was hot, classy, and I was very flattered that she wanted to be my first. When I came inside her, I felt as if I had just climbed Mt. Everest. At least, I was breathing that hard. It felt like a real accomplishment, an experience to be savored.
But not to be repeated, at least not often. I knew which way the wind blew... I might enjoy slipping my cock into a girl now and again, for variety, but my emotions were all tied up with the guys I was sleeping with.
Forget the blowjobs. They were high school popcorn. You can’t determine a guy’s sexuality by whether or not he blows other guys when he’s still in school. In our home town, several big plants had shut down over the last decade before I graduated high school, and there were a lot of unemployed folks. People did what they had to survive, and no one looked down his or her nose at a Claire, a mother who turned an occasional trick because her baby needed shoes and her husband was in Afghanistan. Or Patrick, the guy who’d mow your lawn, always dressed in his sexiest clothes to mow for women his age up to 10 years older, and who quietly let it be known that if a woman wanted a safe, no-attachment bit on the side, he’d accommodate.
When Jake Simmons stepped too close to an IED and came back with his left leg paralyzed, he asked the lawn mowing guy if he’d help him out, let Jake do the foreplay, let Jake hold Robbi, fondle her, and do everything but the in and out down there. It was Jake’s gift to his Robbi, who knew that it was important for Jake to feel he was satisfying her, and despite her innate shyness, she let the lawn guy stick his hardon into her vagina at least once a week. There were rumors, but no one paid them much attention. Nobody’s business, no how. When someone came up with an electrical device that permitted Jake to shoot sperm, and Robbi got pregnant, we all rooted for them.
In that context, a few shared blowjobs were a trifle. Guys have done that kind of thing since cave man times, and I’ll be there were Neanderthals who shared a good time while off hunting. As for Homo Erectus... let’s not go there.
See, most of the guys who helped other guys out in high school knew they were straight, and so it didn’t threaten them. Me, I was different. I had fantasized about TV actors or about hot cartoon characters even before I knew what sex was. I used to imagine them with no clothes on. I used to think about their asses. I had no idea a cock could be a source of pleasure until one night, when I was thinking like this, with my little brother asleep in the next bed, I found my hands in my pants... and I rubbed my middle against the mattress until suddenly I felt a strange itch. It was so overwhelming a feeling that I couldn’t stop rubbing, and then suddenly I felt a liquid spurting out of my hard cock. I was a real innocent kid. I had no idea what it was. I got up, cleaned up, and got back into bed to try it again. I remember that there were weeks when I walked funny because my cock was red and sore from having been jacked 11 times the night before and twice that morning before school.
With cock coming more and more into my imagination, I still didn’t know what you DID with them. I mean I knew what men did with women, but where could a man fooling around with another man put his... And then at a sleepover, I saw an article in Penthouse in which someone mentioned blowjobs. When that issue came out, the guys I used to hang out with all talked about what it meant, until my buddy Charles’s older brother, Tim, who was graduating high school and going off to an Ivy League school, overheard us and decided to set us straight. We sat in a circle with our flashlights pointed to the center, and he explained or confessed most of his own sexual experiences. All I knew was that I wanted to suck him. I never did. When I see him now, graying and bald, I still see the incredibly hot 19-year-old. I always will. I put him on my must-fuck list back then, when I hadn’t fucked anyone, and I have never seen a reason to take him off the list. He knows nothing about it. But the hot guy he was lives on in my longing.
The summer before my junior year, Coach Thomas threw a bash for his daughter Charlotte’s Sweet 16 +2. The mothers all supervised the girls, which left 18 guys frustrated, all but one of them 18 years old (the last holdout turned 18 three days later), with 18 hardons poking up out of their sleeping bags that night. It was hot, and when one guy heard a second say he was so horny he could fuck a hole in the diving board, we all decided to go skinny dipping. Eighteen guys in the prime of life, all hard. Heaven. We decided to play cards... 18 is a lot to hold cards, even using 2 decks. So then Nathan Kristen suggested that we all write down our deepest sexual fantasy, and we did. Nate was a bit of a trickster... he took a Flare pen and wrote one of the fantasies on a card. He then told us to turn in our hands, that he would teach us a new game. When he read the rules, we heard other guys’ fantasies for the first time. We didn’t know who it was that wanted to feel a girl’s vagina clamp on his cock while he slipped a European cucumber into his ass. We didn’t know who had admitted that he wanted to suck off his older football hero brother. We didn’t know which of us wanted to have sex at a glory hole. We didn’t know who had learned from the local lawn guy that he could pick up a few extra bucks by letting women or guys do whatever they wanted with his body. We used that deck of cards for two years, and we even used it when it was a co-ed crowd. First, we wrote in roles for the women, and then we discovered that two guys getting it on were a turn-on for our classmates. But that first night, we started the game at 1:30 AM, and we only stopped when we realized that someone in the neighborhood would probably be communicative.
After that, we had another fantasy game: living pornography. Dares. We’d draw cards to determine who was doing the entertaining that evening, and then we’d let the first person draw cards to determine the 2nd. Sometimes we saw sex similar to what the couple did in real life. Because that’s where this was headed... The chosen one and his partner(s) as designate by the cards, had to do whatever was assigned them in the drawing. We never had more than one member as the principal “guest of honor,” and his “date” would be whoever’s card he drew, next round. If the card said A bites B’s nipple, they had to do it. It didn’t matter what sex you were; this was a game we all agreed to play.
Of course, a few of us used the game as a chance to settle some scores. There was the time Dickie Pockets, whose father owned the local dry-cleaners, insulted two juniors, one an intellectual, the other pure rah-rah, our whole crowd disciplined him. Dickie mocked them for not putting up much of a fight before getting up on the diving board (our impromptu stage) and rimming each other. We didn’t touch him. Maybe I thought of peeing on him, or leaving him tied to the door of school and covered with cum, but we had a better discipline. We stopped inviting him. Nobody told him where the party was. More than once, he showed up at the wrong house with a half-case of beer, horny as fuck. The parents, who were clueless (I’ve since learned that they had more than an inkling of what was happening), might have gone out for a late dinner. In Nate’s case, when he realized that he had fucked up, that the two guys in question were simply acting out a role set for them in the dice, it was too late. He went a full three, horny months with his left hand. He only came back in when he agreed to be the passive party in a fuck-by-the-dice evening. I can still remember his wailing cries as Andre (we used to call him Andre the Giant) thrust his whole 11.5” into Dickie’s butt with only a bit of spit as lube.
By the 10th fuck with the same cock, Dickie’s disruption was atoned for but it was an amazing coincidence how often after that he wound up having to bottom for one or another of his team-mates. I’m sure. Coincidence! Sure. Oh my God, I’m going to...
Shit, I was going to start my story, and I only got this far in the intro when I shot. I don’t much like Dickie, but fucking him with the whole crowd watching was a peak experience. When I see him in commercials these days, touting his stock portfolio program, I still get hard thinking about what a great ass he had for a loser.
Ok, ok. I promise to be more careful about not shooting until I move the story forward. At least you got a glimpse of where I came from. (No, no pun.) And why I was off to college with enough empirical evidence to know that I was gay but straight-friendly. And enough self-confidence not to get caught up in someone else’s moral scheme. As you’ll see in the chapters coming up, I never call anyone a slut for liking to fuck or get fucked. I think history shows that everybody likes to fuck, and in my opinion anyone who doesn’t like to fuck doesn’t know what he’s missing. Or she’s missing. As long as nobody gets hurt and we play safe, it’s nobody’s business. That’s what I thought and what I still think. That’s what was running through my mind when I met my roommate from Freshmen year, Paul. I’ll tell you about his adventures and my adventures with him, next time.
Even so, on a date night, when there was no school the next day, a few designated cocksuckers like me would leave our bedroom windows open a crack, and all night we’d be finishing off what the guys’ dates wouldn’t.
It was a service, a valuable service. No one rocked the boat. Not even Rev. Henderson’s son, Lucky, who could deliver his dad’s sermons with a real fire in his voice. Some fire. Every time he gave a sermon, he was horny as hell afterward, and none of the girls wanted to date the pastor’s son, so his cock was in my mouth half an hour after his sermonizing. I sucked him from the time that he had a thin little pencil with a dusting of hair, to the days when he began to grow and seemed to be sprouting an inch a week (in height), to last Wednesday, when he stopped by my window at 1 AM and made cat noises. It made me giggle. He was built like a linebacker, but if he wanted my mouth around his hardon, he had to do cat imitations. He was lucky.
I made Jon Filbert, the tennis champ for our school, ranked 15th nationally, imitate Wimbledon noises. If I heard a guy make a stab at the sound of a tennis ball on clay, I knew whose hardon would be spurting into my mouth within half an hour or so. An elephant trumpet meant I’d be fucking Big Sammy, otherwise known as Elephant Man, because his cock was so huge it was like an elephant’s trunk. He considered it a curse, because although everyone wanted to play with it, no one would or could take it, and he had to learn to bottom to have any sex at all.
If I heard a dog barking, it was Art, the younger of the Naper twins. He didn’t know it, as far as I knew, but if I heard the sound of an asthmatic dog barking, it was Aram, his older brother by 4 minutes. Identical cocks, both hung, both built. I always wanted to see them together, but they never did that in high school. Later, though, they... but that’s another story.
Now, I wasn’t the only cocksucker in my high school. There were at least 10 guys in every grade who would help a buddy out. And of those, most of them were straight, or wound up living as a straight man. Myself, I don’t believe there is such a thing as someone who’s completely gay or completely straight. I’ve slept with a couple of women: one, sophomore year in high school, was a beautiful girl, and she set out to seduce me the way I set out to seduce a hot athlete. She wanted me. She wanted my body. She probably wanted more, but she settled for my body.
When I went to lie down at a party, because the room was spinning, she quietly joined me, taking off her clothes. I didn’t know how to say no, though I wanted to at first, because I was never sure that I could fake my way through fucking a girl. The funny thing is, it came quite naturally to me, and her skill and experience were a huge turn-on. She was rumored to be sleeping with almost any elite athlete in our high school; though I’m sure she didn’t have as many as I had. She was also supposed to be blowing the hot young artist who subbed for our art class every few months. And the young, fit guys on the police rotation to our school. Supposedly that was how she got an easy parking spot. High school seems to thrive on rumors. I thought she was hot, classy, and I was very flattered that she wanted to be my first. When I came inside her, I felt as if I had just climbed Mt. Everest. At least, I was breathing that hard. It felt like a real accomplishment, an experience to be savored.
But not to be repeated, at least not often. I knew which way the wind blew... I might enjoy slipping my cock into a girl now and again, for variety, but my emotions were all tied up with the guys I was sleeping with.
Forget the blowjobs. They were high school popcorn. You can’t determine a guy’s sexuality by whether or not he blows other guys when he’s still in school. In our home town, several big plants had shut down over the last decade before I graduated high school, and there were a lot of unemployed folks. People did what they had to survive, and no one looked down his or her nose at a Claire, a mother who turned an occasional trick because her baby needed shoes and her husband was in Afghanistan. Or Patrick, the guy who’d mow your lawn, always dressed in his sexiest clothes to mow for women his age up to 10 years older, and who quietly let it be known that if a woman wanted a safe, no-attachment bit on the side, he’d accommodate.
When Jake Simmons stepped too close to an IED and came back with his left leg paralyzed, he asked the lawn mowing guy if he’d help him out, let Jake do the foreplay, let Jake hold Robbi, fondle her, and do everything but the in and out down there. It was Jake’s gift to his Robbi, who knew that it was important for Jake to feel he was satisfying her, and despite her innate shyness, she let the lawn guy stick his hardon into her vagina at least once a week. There were rumors, but no one paid them much attention. Nobody’s business, no how. When someone came up with an electrical device that permitted Jake to shoot sperm, and Robbi got pregnant, we all rooted for them.
In that context, a few shared blowjobs were a trifle. Guys have done that kind of thing since cave man times, and I’ll be there were Neanderthals who shared a good time while off hunting. As for Homo Erectus... let’s not go there.
See, most of the guys who helped other guys out in high school knew they were straight, and so it didn’t threaten them. Me, I was different. I had fantasized about TV actors or about hot cartoon characters even before I knew what sex was. I used to imagine them with no clothes on. I used to think about their asses. I had no idea a cock could be a source of pleasure until one night, when I was thinking like this, with my little brother asleep in the next bed, I found my hands in my pants... and I rubbed my middle against the mattress until suddenly I felt a strange itch. It was so overwhelming a feeling that I couldn’t stop rubbing, and then suddenly I felt a liquid spurting out of my hard cock. I was a real innocent kid. I had no idea what it was. I got up, cleaned up, and got back into bed to try it again. I remember that there were weeks when I walked funny because my cock was red and sore from having been jacked 11 times the night before and twice that morning before school.
With cock coming more and more into my imagination, I still didn’t know what you DID with them. I mean I knew what men did with women, but where could a man fooling around with another man put his... And then at a sleepover, I saw an article in Penthouse in which someone mentioned blowjobs. When that issue came out, the guys I used to hang out with all talked about what it meant, until my buddy Charles’s older brother, Tim, who was graduating high school and going off to an Ivy League school, overheard us and decided to set us straight. We sat in a circle with our flashlights pointed to the center, and he explained or confessed most of his own sexual experiences. All I knew was that I wanted to suck him. I never did. When I see him now, graying and bald, I still see the incredibly hot 19-year-old. I always will. I put him on my must-fuck list back then, when I hadn’t fucked anyone, and I have never seen a reason to take him off the list. He knows nothing about it. But the hot guy he was lives on in my longing.
The summer before my junior year, Coach Thomas threw a bash for his daughter Charlotte’s Sweet 16 +2. The mothers all supervised the girls, which left 18 guys frustrated, all but one of them 18 years old (the last holdout turned 18 three days later), with 18 hardons poking up out of their sleeping bags that night. It was hot, and when one guy heard a second say he was so horny he could fuck a hole in the diving board, we all decided to go skinny dipping. Eighteen guys in the prime of life, all hard. Heaven. We decided to play cards... 18 is a lot to hold cards, even using 2 decks. So then Nathan Kristen suggested that we all write down our deepest sexual fantasy, and we did. Nate was a bit of a trickster... he took a Flare pen and wrote one of the fantasies on a card. He then told us to turn in our hands, that he would teach us a new game. When he read the rules, we heard other guys’ fantasies for the first time. We didn’t know who it was that wanted to feel a girl’s vagina clamp on his cock while he slipped a European cucumber into his ass. We didn’t know who had admitted that he wanted to suck off his older football hero brother. We didn’t know which of us wanted to have sex at a glory hole. We didn’t know who had learned from the local lawn guy that he could pick up a few extra bucks by letting women or guys do whatever they wanted with his body. We used that deck of cards for two years, and we even used it when it was a co-ed crowd. First, we wrote in roles for the women, and then we discovered that two guys getting it on were a turn-on for our classmates. But that first night, we started the game at 1:30 AM, and we only stopped when we realized that someone in the neighborhood would probably be communicative.
After that, we had another fantasy game: living pornography. Dares. We’d draw cards to determine who was doing the entertaining that evening, and then we’d let the first person draw cards to determine the 2nd. Sometimes we saw sex similar to what the couple did in real life. Because that’s where this was headed... The chosen one and his partner(s) as designate by the cards, had to do whatever was assigned them in the drawing. We never had more than one member as the principal “guest of honor,” and his “date” would be whoever’s card he drew, next round. If the card said A bites B’s nipple, they had to do it. It didn’t matter what sex you were; this was a game we all agreed to play.
Of course, a few of us used the game as a chance to settle some scores. There was the time Dickie Pockets, whose father owned the local dry-cleaners, insulted two juniors, one an intellectual, the other pure rah-rah, our whole crowd disciplined him. Dickie mocked them for not putting up much of a fight before getting up on the diving board (our impromptu stage) and rimming each other. We didn’t touch him. Maybe I thought of peeing on him, or leaving him tied to the door of school and covered with cum, but we had a better discipline. We stopped inviting him. Nobody told him where the party was. More than once, he showed up at the wrong house with a half-case of beer, horny as fuck. The parents, who were clueless (I’ve since learned that they had more than an inkling of what was happening), might have gone out for a late dinner. In Nate’s case, when he realized that he had fucked up, that the two guys in question were simply acting out a role set for them in the dice, it was too late. He went a full three, horny months with his left hand. He only came back in when he agreed to be the passive party in a fuck-by-the-dice evening. I can still remember his wailing cries as Andre (we used to call him Andre the Giant) thrust his whole 11.5” into Dickie’s butt with only a bit of spit as lube.
By the 10th fuck with the same cock, Dickie’s disruption was atoned for but it was an amazing coincidence how often after that he wound up having to bottom for one or another of his team-mates. I’m sure. Coincidence! Sure. Oh my God, I’m going to...
Shit, I was going to start my story, and I only got this far in the intro when I shot. I don’t much like Dickie, but fucking him with the whole crowd watching was a peak experience. When I see him in commercials these days, touting his stock portfolio program, I still get hard thinking about what a great ass he had for a loser.
Ok, ok. I promise to be more careful about not shooting until I move the story forward. At least you got a glimpse of where I came from. (No, no pun.) And why I was off to college with enough empirical evidence to know that I was gay but straight-friendly. And enough self-confidence not to get caught up in someone else’s moral scheme. As you’ll see in the chapters coming up, I never call anyone a slut for liking to fuck or get fucked. I think history shows that everybody likes to fuck, and in my opinion anyone who doesn’t like to fuck doesn’t know what he’s missing. Or she’s missing. As long as nobody gets hurt and we play safe, it’s nobody’s business. That’s what I thought and what I still think. That’s what was running through my mind when I met my roommate from Freshmen year, Paul. I’ll tell you about his adventures and my adventures with him, next time.
](/images/smilies/bang.gif "Brick wall ](*,)")
