Cock Sucker Testimony Ch 02 Ian

'MORE FROM THE LEGEND OF THE HOUSE OF SHAME'

To counter the fear I find myself thinking regretfully of Ian. Wondering, what if I've offended him? Would it really have hurt so much to have indulged him, just a little? And there's the teasing element of sneaking curiosity as I lie there, still tensed, toying with myself. Bluntly I find myself wondering how big his cock is? What would it have looked like? Would he have wanted to see mine... would he want to touch it... like I'm touching myself now? My toes curl and my skin goose-pimples at the very thought of his cool fingers on me. He was offering me friendship. Not coercion or force. Just the offer of companionship. And I'd rejected him. I'd acted like a dumb scared kid. I can't afford to lose friends here. And he seems OK. We're both victims of this system, after all. Perhaps we have that in common, at least?

I greet the next day at the centre with a self-assurance I've seldom known before. After breakfast I determinedly go to seek Ian out, to make amends. It doesn't take me long. He's sitting by himself on a ledge in the corridor. He's essentially alone, just as I am. He needs a friend, just as I do. He smiles as I nervously approach, and sit beside him.

"I'm sorry about yesterday. I shouldn't have reacted as I did. I was scared and confused, you understand? You took me by surprise. But I need a friend in this madhouse. I'll be less hasty next time."

He smiles broadly, unfolds his latest cartoon to show me, as though we're already complicit. In the sketch a Probation Officer is being mounted by a giant walking penis - captioned 'The Penisaurus'. We snigger, then he stands up and beckons, leading me off down the corridor. We reach a fire-door, and he leads me through, then down a long flight of concrete steps into some kind of basement. There's a droning of air-conditioning pipes, or something. Through another door, for which he has the key. Beyond, it was humid and warm. The lights he punches up are low-wattage dim, the walls whitewashed breeze-blocks. He bolts the door behind us.

"This is the laundry room" he confides. "A secret place. I come here when I want to be alone or hide out somewhere. This is a secret I only share with special people. I feel we're going to become special friends. And because you're my friend, you can come here too."

"I'm sorry about yesterday. I want to make it up to you, any way I can" I mumble.

There are mounds of clothes everywhere, from where they come down shoots from the upper levels. The mounds make for comfortable reclining. We talk, increasingly freely. Grudgingly, cautiously at first, I tell him about the situation with Dean. About the first time he came into my bed. In a way, it was a relief to blurt it all out.

"You resisted him at first?" he says, wonderingly. "That was stupid. People like us - the Lost Boys, we're smaller and weaker. Natural prey. Sure, you always have a choice, to fight back. To walk the straight and narrow if you must, but why make it worse for yourself? When you first arrive here, what are your options, what do you do - stay celibate? Some try to. Deprived of convenient sexual partners, others just wank miserably by themselves. But think about it, why should they toss themselves off when there's someone here who can - with a bit of inducement, do it for them? It's only logical. They take what's available. And we are all that's available. So we accept the situation, and provide what they need. That's the way of things. You might try to walk that tightrope alone, and I kind-of respect that. But sooner or later you're going to realise, the logical way to survive here is to get yourself involved with someone. You're going to reach that decision eventually. So why not just accept it? Save yourself the pain and hurt. And everyone needs sex. It's a perfectly natural urge. A human need."

At first I'm a little awe-struck by how open and matter-of-fact he is, speaking about subjects more usually clouded in shame and evasion. "But isn't it degrading, humiliating? Isn't there a stigma to being called... y'know, a cock-sucker?"

"I guess 'cock-sucker' is usually used as a term of abuse. But I've a sneaking suspicion that's more a defensive macho thing they use to conceal their own deep secret desires either to blow or be blown themselves. But whatever, like other offensive non-pc terms - like Queer or Faggot, I think it's well-overdue to be reclaimed, and worn as a mark of pride, by those unashamed to be known as 'out' cock-suckers."

The mock seriousness of his speech has both of us sniggering. I've never heard anyone speak that way, or heard these things articulated with such clarity (although I would later learn that many of his phrases were mimicked from Bryan).

"Yes, but are they all, y'know - like that, homo, gay?"

"Obviously not. It'd be stupid to expect that. But hey, everyone likes sex. The only ones who don't are those planted in the bone-yard cemetery. You know how guys are, so full of raging testosterone they can't keep their hands off their cocks, or each other's. All guys are animals when it comes to sex. If you're not regularly milked it spills out anyway, while you sleep. This way, for them, they get their cock sucked every night by a hot young eager bitch. Excuse me, but I fail to see the downside of that. If it feels good, do it. When the need is on them they'll roger anything on two legs, and most things on four. Hell, it's just guys doing what guys have always done, which is to fuck whatever orifice is available. They'd fuck your nostrils if it was possible. I guess that at the dawn of time there were dinosaurs with sore arses after encounters with primitive humanoids. And in the future, when we first-contact with an alien species, they'll first fuck them, then eat them, hopefully in that order. It's the way we're hard-wired. Sex is voracious. Give it an inch, it'll take six - or eight if you're lucky! I've known some who've even used fruit! There was Groovy Glen who punched a hole clear through an orange and then slid it up and down his...you know, his wang, so it was dripping with juice."

"What did he do with the orange once he'd finished? Did he eat it?"

"Hell, fruit is too pricey to waste. Mind you, some guys here could make do with a tangerine, or... what's smaller than that?"

"A Satsuma. Nectarine. A grape...?"

We both crack up in uncontrollably sniggery laughter.

Then he resumes. "This is an enclosed community. Things are different here. The rules are not the same as they are outside. What's normal here is not normal out there. What's acceptable here is not acceptable out there. And vice versa. Yes, vice, especially vice. We all have sexual needs. Sex is contagious. And a regular mouthful of spunk is no big deal. It makes you horny. It's arousing to do it, we get sexed-up too, a hard-on, a spunk-off. The close proximity to someone's orgasm ignites your own burn for orgasm. And when their cum happens in your mouth, that means your brain is closer to it than they are. Nothing weird about that. It's basic biology. It's an itch you have to scratch. If doing it is unnatural, how come it fits so snugly? If it's against nature, how come it works so beautifully? If it's bad, how come it feels so good? If it's a sin against nature, it's a very small sin. It hurts no-one and the only object is giving pleasure."

It's warm in here. I'm getting increasing turned on.

He pauses, then continues. "I'm a lusty boy. I need sex too. If things were otherwise, if the situation was reversed and I had that kind of respect, if I was in the dominant position, I'd certainly have some little sod sucking me off whether he wanted to or not, maybe two young guys taking turns to do me. And I'd make damn sure they did it good, and frequently. Sex is sex. And it's a powerful motivator. But it's only sex. It doesn't mean anything else. There are no other implications. It's a form of negotiable currency, it's barter, it establishes status and prestige. But for it to become a full-on Gay thing there has to be more than just orgasm, there has to be all that emotional stuff too."

Although Ian would have been incapable of expressing it that way, some time later Bryan would phrase the same idea differently, 'there's a billion years of genetic programming going into producing your pleasurable hard-on. We are the victims of our DNA. We're evolutionarily conditioned with the overwhelming urge to exchange bodily fluids. That's what it's all about. You can't deny it. Just enjoy it. A stiff cock has no conscience - it merely demands attention.' For Ian it was merely 'I have no choice, so I make the best of it.' His brazen candour disarmed me. There's something transgressive about saying the unsayable. It was so easy to get drawn into an exchange of intimacies. And tell him things I'd never have dreamed I'd be able to confide to anyone, and scarce dared admit even to myself.

"I've got something to confess, you were right. What you said yesterday, even talking like this has got me sexed-up too, just like you said." I stammered a little with the effort to stay calm, but I meet his eyes, caught up in a blood-rush from some uncharted part of my body. "I feel awkward saying this, I don't quite know how to say it, but there's something I'd like to get out and into the open, if you know what I mean? What you said yesterday about showing me, we could show each other, if you still want to." The words tumbling out before I lose my nerve.

"Only if you really want to. I won't touch you if you don't want me to, but then again - I just might!"

"I was scared yesterday, but if it's alright, yes, we can do stuff, you know - together? I want to now, I really do."

Pinch me, I must be dreaming, even doing this, fumbling nervously. Suddenly, we can't wait to be naked together, pulling each other's clothes off in delighted eagerness, giggling with unrestrained joy. I bend down to help tug his underpants off, his stiff olive-pale cock slapping abruptly up as he raises his leg to step out of them, and I try to trap it with my hand as he laughs and thrusts his hips forward for me. He looks so good, I can scarcely believe we're doing this. He's a throat-lumping sight, his hairlessly smooth chest targeted by the neat blemishes of his nipples, down to his stomach and the indentation of his navel, the plume of hair descending to his cock, smaller than Dean's, uncircumcised, but attractively tall and slender.

Soon we're both naked. He's lean, but more wiry than skinny. We close in on each other, cocks meeting like duelling swords, a spark of energy arcing from one to the other, then we hug. So close I can see tiny beads of perspiration forming along his brow, crushing furiously aroused genitals together. As we draw apart, his attentions become more specific. His touch is warm, yet I shiver. His cool fingers, made of ice and fire, trail softly from the base of my penis to the tip, his touch as soft as breath, yet unleashing sensory explosions of startling intensity. Sending shockwaves down the length of my shaft, to explode in my balls then ricochet back up my bum-hole. Emboldened, he encircles my cock gently and squeezes, his fingers so soft, so right, it feels so good to be fondled, the way his fingertips send tingles all the way through me.

I'm unused to my erection being the focus of attention. My state of arousal is more often the incidental result of my pleasuring someone else. So I'm still a little defensive, still warily shy of opening up as too enthusiastic, yet surrendering my cock for him to play with, permission not necessary. I can see the fine downy hair on his arm as it moves up, and down. And, with the last vestiges of that reserve hanging by a thread, I feel the need to respond, so I take his penis into my hand and begin to wank him slowly, easing his tight foreskin up and down, watching as my actions cause its glistening head to wink in and out of its hood. His breathing changes, quickens.

I've always been jealously fascinated by foreskins, ever since I discovered there were guys that had them. Now we're standing here, doing it to each other, giggling and smiling infectiously. This time it's different, I don't feel pressured - no, our shared nudity just seems to be the natural thing to do. With Ian it is different. With him our all-too-willing flesh is something special because we want it consensually. We mutually caress each other into greater arousal.

"Lie back" he whispers. "Let me get close up and personal with this."

Releasing him reluctantly I do so, self-consciously wary of what to expect, but as I lie full-length on mounds of laundry he horizontals over me seeking out my ultrasensitive cock again, this time with fingers and tongue, teasing, licking and nuzzling his moistly pursed lips up and down the shaft, his tongue a flame on me, igniting little sensory triggers as it goes. The position means we are virtually head to groin, the clean fresh scent of his skin around me, bringing his not-so-privates swimming into sharp focus, offering it, his silky-smooth cock-head nudging its way affectionately into my face. What else can a poor boy do when confronted with so scrumptious a mouthful? What other choice is there? It would be impolite not to. We're lying together in the sixty-nine position - man's most delightful invention, my confidence growing as I reach forward to envelop him, although it needs no invitation.

Instinct takes over, it seems to find its own way into my mouth of its own accord without encouragement, like it knows its way and makes itself at home there, fitting snugly as though it belongs. He tastes fresh, newly washed, unlike Dean's first acid-sour bouquet, and almost before I realise it I'm giving in to temptation and sucking him enthusiastically while simultaneously feeling his mouth finally closing over me with unbelievable ecstasies of erotic intimacy. Words are inadequate tools to convey the dizzying physicality of it, the sweetness sweeping through all my senses, even seeing it on a porn-site can't convey the intensity of doing it. I'm sucking his cock not because I have to, but because I want to.

I'd never really given much thought to the male physique, but his body is a delight to me, so pale he's near-transparent. The smooth plain and undulations of his stomach as it goes taut, then softens, the curled indentation of his navel, the ripple of his chest with the prominent buds of his nipples targeting the precise areolas. I fondle it all affectionately, slowly, s-o-o-o-o-o slowly, my fingers moving up around the full round curves of his arse, down the valley between. Around his tight scrotum. Nuzzle into it, mmmmmmm. We roll over and over, affixed to each other by the ebb and flow between us, first with him on top so that I'm looking up between the smooth mounds of his bottom, his balls squashed across the bridge of my nose, one testicle nestling to either side. Then with me on top, both devouring each other. I guess, despite everything that's happened to me, I've never been sucked-off properly before, and for the first time realise just how amazing it can be. I want this to go on forever, but already I feel the tell-tale tingly tightening in my scrotum, the moist inferno of his mouth quickening the pulses, the sensations building at the base of my spine, the urgent need to warn him what is imminently about to happen.

Unable to speak, my strangulated gurgles just seem to urge him on. Surely he must realise anyway, in the same way I detect the warning pulse when Dean is about to cum. I'm no longer in control of my cock, he is. So I relax, let nature take its course down there, while I concentrate on holding him, fingers splayed to cup his bum-cheeks, drawing him down into me, mewling with muted pleasure - ooooooooh!!, let it happen, until inevitably it hits me, taking me over the precipice, lights exploding blurring my vision with that sweet wonderful feeling, shocking in spasms through my body as we empty into each others mouths almost simultaneously - Oh Oh Oh Oh, unable to distinguish which sensation is wrenching through me more powerfully, him coming in my mouth, or me coming into his. Stars are bursting behind my eyes. Our bodies crushed tight together as though conjoined, as the pulses reduce into a cooling trembling stillness, shuddering with aftershock.

Once you've done that to each other, there's no way of going back. Afterwards we lie together, totally relaxed, cooling like nude debauched wantons, giggling and smiling uncontrollably. I hadn't felt like laughing so freely, I hadn't been capable of laughing this way for a long long time. I can't believe what's just happened. I can't believe what we've done, or how sensational its release makes me feel.

"You're a talented cock-sucker" he tells me. "Now I understand why Dean is so pleased with you, with a technique like that you could earn yourself quite a reputation around here."

Is that a compliment? Is that really what a young guy wants to hear? But after what we've just done together, denial would be pointless, so I just smile bashfully.

"When you sixty-nine, it's like a mutual thing, equal" he tells me, serious now. "You know what I mean? When you crouch down or kneel to suck someone off you're the submissive, they're the dominant, everyone knows that. But lying together to sixty-nine, neither is dominant or submissive, it's mutual, equal. I like that. That's good."

Yes, I think, but there's always one who sucks more and enjoys sucking, and the other who enjoys being sucked more. But after what we've just done together it's difficult to make such a distinction. He begins sketching in quick confident strokes on the back of the cartoon he'd showed me earlier. At last he passes it across to me. A giant penis is piloting an aeroplane. An arrow indicated 'Cock-pit'. I laugh.

He indicates the room around us. "This can be our cock-pit, whenever you want it be."

I nod enthusiastically.

Quickly he sketches in a voice balloon. It says 'yummy yummy

yummy, I've got your sperm in my tummy,' and we both break out laughing again until it seems I'll never stop, or until my head falls off, whichever happens first...

You - the person reading this, you don't know me. You know nothing about me, other than the lying truths I'm writing here. This story is, or is not true. That's for you to decide. I'm an unreliable narrator, at best. But believe this, although I'll probably not lie to you, I'll definitely only tell you half the truth. This bit is true. The first bit. I'd never been with a girl, but I'd masturbated frantically and obsessively. I'd never really had friends, not what you'd call real friends. I'd always been the quiet kid. The misfit. Me, always the outsider looking in. The original 'Billy No-Mates', that's me. It must have been raining on the day I was born. We were always moving, a new flat, a new street, a new school, a new town. A new 'Dad'. Not that I was ever abused by any of them in any way. I was just an irritant, an awkward inconvenience, something that was 'in the way'.

I'd never been allowed to stay in any one place long enough to get to know people, or make friends. Never staying in one place long enough to develop proper friendships. Although I've tried. I was a lonely kid. But I wasn't innocent. I'd played all the usual circle-jerk games with people I'd hoped would be my friends, and yes, I'd even sucked one or two cocks before all this began, playfully, experimentally. I was curious, I liked finding out about bodies, and I enjoyed the quick-fix artificial closeness it provides. Grasping at proxy-intimacy, when it was there, when it was available. But we never stay around long enough for such encounters to become more than just fragmentary incidents.

Friendship was not something I knew much about. I was the lonely kid who never quite fitted in. Scared of intimacy that would only be betrayed, wary of showing need I knew would never be returned. But here, in this place of incarceration, I'm at the centre of a web of relationships. I've never felt so accepted before. Even though I have to suck cock to do it. But later that night - with Dean, after what I'd done with Ian, my enthusiastic cock-sucking is so spontaneous it even surprises him. When I first go down on him it is sweaty salt-moist with the urethral opening flaked with dried white sperm. A few deep passionate sucks and its baby-clean. He raises himself up on his elbows to look down and watch me work on his big cock. The last vestiges of my reluctance gone.