It's fifteen years ago and I'm nineteen. I've been doing some clandestine research on homosexuality in the library, pulling out books I don't yet have the courage to check out. Instead I leave them stranded on tables for some page to re-shelve after I've long since departed stage right. I've discovered gay porn and I love it, but I wonder if the scenes depicted that I view, often of young men like me engaged in the act, will ever be part of my life. There's a gay club downtown that's an absolute shithole dive, and I'll work up to that, but right now I guess you could say I'm a little...scared.
Fast forward six months. We met at a gay support group on campus. Our enthusiastic leader, a middle-aged bull dyke, had managed to pull together a motley gang of non-breeders, mostly gay men, who attended once a week in a room inside the Education Building to speak about their lives. Or, at least, as I quickly learned, sharing our private thoughts in a judgement-free environment was the stated objective. Once you entered the club, it was understood that you'd be passed around like candy from member to member.
I was pretty butch, not effete like some, and as such I intimidated some of the twinks who never would have seriously considered me in the first place. I was so green I didn't even know what "twink" meant, or any of the terminology. I'd begun to pick it up from subscriptions to Out magazine and The Advocate, but what I understood was still highly abstract. I was a raw nerve, an exposed power line, and though I had started the process of coming out to myself, I was nowhere near ready to come out to anyone else.
Enter the tempter. Jason was not subtle. He wanted me from the beginning, and I knew this because he made a grand point of sitting right next to me at the table. As I said, I was newly out and nervous as hell, enticed and frankly obsessed by the prospect of my first time fucking another man, but still a little unsure of myself. I'm a big man with broad shoulders and strong legs, and can easily pass for straight, which sometimes means I have some convincing to do.
And yet I've never understood why I seem to love these girlish super thin boys who want me to call them Daddy when I plow into them. If my luck is good, I might score one every now and again. As I jerk myself alone at night on work nights, I can strip them naked in my mind, or watching the videos they have thoughtfully left for the world to view at their convenience, hear them prepare themselves for my cock.
Jason kept "accidentally" bumping legs with me under the table. It was getting a little ridiculous. I was interested, but there's something to be said for not telegraphing your intentions to the whole room. New as I was, of the ten men in the room, it was obvious that most of them had been with each other at some point, and I was fresh meat. Hooking up hadn't been my intent, but the promise of starting out this way, this fast had made me hard as a rock and heavily distracted.
Jason liked to play with fire. It turns out my first time happened in what used to be called a whorehouse on wheels. We could have gone to my dorm room or his, but desire was running so high that we ended up in a dark backseat outside Oxham Park, a few blocks from campus.
There, after slipping a warm tongue into my ear, he slid down my jeans, then my boxers, exposing a raging hard-on that had never been pleasured orally even once before. He gobbled me up in a half-second as I spread out, involuntarily limp and fully under his control. I think If he'd asked for the keys to my car, I would have given them to him voluntarily, with the tacit understanding that he would kindly not stop sucking me off.
And knowing instinctively that I was new to this, he kept insisting. "Don't cum. Don't cum." It made sense. He wanted me buried inside him very shortly. In watching porn, I'd always envisioned myself in the dominant role, the ringleader. It just made sense that way, don't ask me why. So I refocused, enjoying myself, fortunate that he clearly knew what he was doing. "Welcome to the club, kid," he said.
I wished for a moment that I wasn't six feet tall or that I had a larger car. No matter. And in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but reflect upon how risky this was. A morals charge would have been a minor scandal, but I was too scared to suggest a hotel room and too afraid of what it would look like if two young men checked in to the same single room without any luggage.
He kissed down the shaft, stopping first to rub his tongue against the slit where I'd soon shoot my load. He then, with practiced mouth, sucked half of me up and down for at least two or three minutes before moving deeper down, a little bit at a time. He managed to get all of me inside his mouth and I felt his lips contact against my unshaven bush. This was my first blowjob, and believe it or not, I was supremely lucky. It was my absolute best. He withdrew and with my saliva-wet cock began to masturbate me with his right hand, rubbing the soft skin up and down as I'd done for myself many times before.
