I'm confiding in you. Telling you things I've never told anyone else, because... well, I guess you know why. I was never into boys, not in that way. But I was never into girls either, not particularly. My father once told me the penis is the Devil's serpent, and I suspected he was right. I was studious, I was a good scholar. I worked hard, studied hard. I was always self-conscious about my body, about letting others see me because, as you know, it's not very big, not as big as other boys. I was scared they'd ridicule me. At school, in the showers after sports, I'd furtively look at the other boy's cocks and they were all bigger than mine, I was certain they were sniggering about me, making jokes behind my back. I know some of them were playing with each other, tossing each other off, and I was tempted, but I was too scared of rejection to approach anyone. Why would they be interested in my ridiculously diminutive cock which was smaller erect than theirs were slack? I was a quiet kid, reasonably content on my own, insecure and socially ill-at-ease.
Until, that is, a certain educational episode that occurred when I was at university. Due to financial constraints, I move in with a room-mate. The letting-agency threw us together, into the dark basement flat-share of a once-fashionable Regency Mews in a down-at-heel student area. He was called Edward, never 'Eddie'. He has that tousled 'Gosh-wow' charm of assured confidence which I totally lack. With a Stieff Teddy-Bear on his bed, a gift from his fiancé, he said. We gradually became, kind-of friends, I suppose. I was well-ahead of him academically, and I guess I made myself useful to him, he could pick my brains when he was writing essays. Some of his essays I even wrote for him. To me, he was the closest friend I'd ever had, although that doesn't mean much, because I'd never had what you'd call a real friend before. There was never anything emotional between us, beyond friendship.
I've never told anyone this, I don't know why I'm telling you now. I don't really drink. But one night, after we'd been drinking a little too much in a riverside pub by the campus called the 'Crown of Thorns', we wound up laid on the bed together, and he was saying how horny he felt. How long it was since he'd been with his fiancé. It was a warm night, we were getting ready for bed, we'd stripped down to boxer shorts. He began to simulate sex with the Teddy-Bear, pulling expressions of frustrated lust, both of us laughing. Playfully I grab out to 'rescue' the abused toy, but in the tussle he shifts it away at the last moment and instead I find my fingers coming up around the unmistakeable firm ridge of his protruding hard-on. Alarmed I hesitate feeling sick and anxious, but he just smirks and – perhaps assuming I'd done it intentionally, does the same to me, reaching across and under the waistband into my shorts, experimentally, like a game, a dare. Soon, my heart pounding in my chest, we are playing around a bit more explicitly, the boxers are shoved down, and cautiously we're openly masturbating each other. In the warm fug of wine, he encourages me, half-pleading... 'c'mon, don't be shy, put it in your mouth, go on, I won't tell anyone'. He looks so appealing, how can I refuse? I do, at first just the fleshy head, and that's not so bad. Part of me is shocked and not very happy at this turn of events, but another part of me is excited beyond belief. As though there's a divorce between thought, and feelings. When I try to move away he gently pushes my head down again, 'c'mon, do me then I'll do it to you' he urges, I don't need much persuasion, I suck at it cautiously, and slide a little more in, the more I suck the better it gets. He smiles down at me encouragingly, allaying my nerves, which makes it seem alright. He shoves a little too far, I choke and back off. The room cants a little unsteadily in a blur of alcohol and nausea. But he's suddenly impatient as I cough, no caring consideration now, he allows me only a second before he's nudging it hard back into my mouth. 'C'mon, c'mon, don't tease'. I take it, and resume. The room silent but for the moist sound of my mouth on his cock.
Until he breathes 'you know what happens next, don't dare move your head away now.' Suddenly I'm scared and confused again, uncertain, will I choke? will I vomit? but by then it's too late and he's already begun spasming come into my mouth. No gag reaction at all. I wound up doing to him what I've just done to you. Y'know, sucked him off. Tasted his come. 'Have you swallowed all that spunk already?' he gasps breathlessly. 'Yes, wasn't I supposed to? didn't you want me to?' 'No, that's fine, if that's what you want to do' and he just chuckles like he can't believe it. Needless to say, despite his promise, he doesn't return the favour, ever... in a post-orgasmic haze he does consent to bring me off with his hand. But in a way, it doesn't matter, that was less important than what I'd done to him. I don't know why I did it. It was a weird overwhelming compulsion, it just seemed, as soon as I saw it, to be the natural thing to do. The obvious thing to do. The appropriate response, does that make sense to you? It doesn't to me, still. But I did it. He wasn't as big – genitally, as you, but it just seemed the perfect fit, as though it was meant to be in my mouth. I was scared just how much I enjoyed doing it. It didn't square with my life, my world, or my plans. It disorientated me, shoved me out of focus. But after sucking his cock once, I knew I'd do it again whenever he wanted me to. He'd enjoyed me doing it to him, and boy, did I enjoy doing it to him. It set up expectations, for us both.
Afterwards, we were a little nervous, a little wary of each other, I couldn't meet his eyes, but it was inevitable, we both knew it. The next night we were both sober. I was sitting on my bed fully clothed. I watch as he gets undressed. I'm thinking 'come on, this is it, this is what you've been waiting for'. But there's another part of me saying 'what are you thinking? You can't do this. You're really going to need the rest of your life to think about whether this is a good idea...' When he's down to his shorts, he glances across at me, 'about last night' he began. I guess we both knew what each other was thinking. 'It's alright' I reply, maybe a little too hastily. After all, it's what I'd been thinking of obsessively all day, I could think of little else. I could feel my cock hardening just at the sight of him. Encouraged, he crosses clumsily over to stand in front of me. With bated breath I reach up and pull his shorts down so his cock swings free. Daring, the most daring thing I've ever done. And it's bigger, and every bit as good as I remember it.
I look up at him and smile. Act casual, as though it's no big deal, as though it's a game. I extend my tongue, run it along its fleshy length, using my tongue to raise it horizontal, then higher. Allowing it to fall. He laughs as I repeat the action. This time its downward arc doesn't take it quite so low. It is firming. So next time when I go in, I use my tongue to lap and wriggle around the underside of its head, licking, then drawing it slowly into my mouth, just the tip at first, inching only gradually further along the shaft, pause for a moment with it resting inside me, and begin sucking him. At first he stands stock still and lets me do it. His pants are round his ankles, he moves to step out of them, and as he does so it pops out of my mouth, but I hold onto it, squeezing it gently so a bubble of moisture wells up in its eye, moving my fist up and down its saliva-slippery length, marvelling at it, and that it's my own spit making it so glistening-wet. My own fierce erection is straining my pants out of shape, bigger than its ever been, so I move down to release it, smothering it with a handkerchief, desperate not to distract his attention so that he loses interest. Quickly, it goes back into my mouth before he has chance to change his mind, and I become a little more confident, enjoying the dirty sensation of trying to make it last longer this time, to extend the pleasure, my own bottom wriggling like an excited girl. There's a sound of blissed-out moaning, I realise that it's coming from me. I move my head to the right, so it bulges out my cheek, then to the left, so it bulges again. Then move my head in small intimate circles, moving it around with my mouth. Whatever I do, he seems to enjoy it. It goes on for several minutes. He barely moves, it's me performing on him, I'm using his cock for my benefit, my hands roaming up to feel his balls, and around his arse, holding his body closer to me, and he grows correspondingly more confident too, letting me do it, only becoming more agitated when he approaches climax, moving his hips backwards and forwards in fast jerky movements, forcing it in deeper. I know I'm going to get a slut-load. 'Don't stop, don't stop, I'm coming, I'm coming' he gasps. I feel his knees buckle, his stomach-muscles tensing, his fat balls retracting, moaning out loud as it begins spunking off into my mouth. This time I'm ready, I know what I'm doing, I let it come, taking it all, and just keep sucking as it softens, running my tongue in circles around its head, releasing it only reluctantly, in a warm fuzzy glow, until he pulls away gently.
He lays on his back on his own bed for a long moment, leaving me unsure what he's thinking, is he disgusted? have I made a fool of myself? then he just said 'Wow!', long and low, and I know I've done well. Deep inside I was smugly pleased with myself, overjoyed in fact. Now, we share this delicious secret, and I do it to him some more, on other occasions, finding expression for all those things never said. On that first occasion when I'd sucked mature adult cock and swallowed a full man's come-load, I could tell myself, well yes, I've done it, but that doesn't make me a cock-sucker. The second time I do it I tell myself, yes, that was good, I enjoyed it, but that still doesn't make me a cock-sucker. The third and fourth time I felt myself a little confused. By the fifth time I could no longer lie to myself, yes, own up, admit it, this is what I am, I'm a cock-sucker. His cock-sucker. To say sex had never rated very highly on my life-agenda, suddenly I can think of nothing else. I look forward to doing it, loving that luscious expectation.
