04

Part 1: In the Beginning...

I was the guy who always took the longest to figure out that there really wasn't any such thing as a left-handed smoke-shifter or a bacon stretcher. I thought that, as an adult, I'd left all that behind. I was smart, well-educated and, I liked to think, sophisticated. I didn't realize that all of that is consistent with a deep-seated naïveté.

After I graduated from college, I was fortunate to get a good sales job with a mid-sized personal electronics company. It's a very competitive business--cutthroat really. If you don't get the right product placement in stores, you're wounded. If you bring a product to market just a few weeks too late, you're dead.

My supervisor was James Murphy. You'd damn well better not call him 'James'--and 'Jim' would probably get you fired. Mr. Murphy pushed us really hard. "You did okay," was high praise in his book and he allowed no excuse for losing a sale, even if it wasn't your fault. Don't give him excuses. Just tell him that it won't happen again and then bust your butt to make sure that it doesn't.

Every Friday, when the sales figures for the week were tabulated, Old Man Murphy (as we called him even though he wasn't more than 50) called the low man on the totem pole into his office. I wasn't always the top seller, but I managed to stay away from the bottom so I had never been in one of these meetings. But I knew what happened in them.

Since the first Friday I worked here, about six months ago now, the other guys made it clear what the errant salesman had to do.

This week had been a bitch for me. I had three major deals with big retailers pending and I just couldn't push them to actually make the order. As the week drew to a close, I was pretty sure that my string of luck had just broken. When the numbers were in, I knew I was the guy. My phone rang. I could see the caller-ID. It was Murphy and the bell was tolling for me.

As I listened to his demand that I come into his office right away, the blood drained from my face. When I stood up, everyone in the office knew my number was up.

"Oh, boy, Jason. Now you gotta suck Murphy's dick," about three guys chanted in near unison.

That was the drill. I'd heard it said of someone every Friday for six months now. But it was always someone else. Some of the guys would talk about it after they came out. They'd talk about how big Murphy's cock was or how much he came. We were usually talking in a group but somehow I always felt as if they were talking about this for my benefit. I guessed that it was because I was the new guy and I had never been called into Murphy's office for one of these meetings.

Well, now it was my turn and I was panicked. My face was red and my pulse was pounding. I could feel my ears burning and hear my heart throbbing.

I knocked lightly on Murphy's door and he told me to enter in the gruffest, most unforgiving tone I'd ever heard. I closed the door behind me and sat down in the chair that was off to the side of Murphy's desk.

"I'm very unhappy!" Murphy paused for a long time and just stared at me. I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything.

"Your sales figures for this week are for shit! I don't like that. And I don't like going home Friday night unhappy." Another long, and very uncomfortable pause.

"So, Jason. You're usually real good with your mouth--college boy and everything. Now, I want you to tell me what you're going to do so I'm not so unhappy and then I expect you to make good on your word."

Okay, I thought. This is it. He expects me to do it now. I didn't know if I could, but I was pretty sure my job depended on it so I was sure going to try.

I got up and took a step toward him.

"Where do you think you're going? I gave you an order and you're damn well going to do it or you can go clean out your desk right now." So, that made it completely clear. I could do this or be looking for a job. I stepped toward him and he barked at me again.

"What do you think you're doing? I told you to tell me what you planned to do to make me happy and that's what I expect you to do."

Well, he sure wasn't going to make this any easier on me. It was bad enough that he wanted me to suck his dick. I'd almost reconciled myself to doing that. But he wanted me to talk about it. I didn't know if I could manage to do that.

"I'm...," I stammered, "I'm...You know...I'm going to...you know...I mean, I'm going to do what you want me to do."

As I talked, I was buying time. When I'd finished, I was in front of his chair and sinking to my knees. That I was going to do what he wanted was unmistakable now. I hoped that he wouldn't make me talk about it. Somehow, that seemed to make it all worse.

I didn't know exactly how to proceed and I looked up at Mr. Murphy. He seemed stunned, maybe even confused, for a minute and then it passed. But he didn't give me any guidance, in words or movements, about how to proceed.

"I...I ...don't know how to do this."

"It's your show, Jason."

So I guessed that it was up to me to unzip his pants and get his cock out. My hands were shaking as I reached for his zipper. I got it pulled down and I reached in to get his cock. Fortunately, he was wearing boxers with a large slit and I could get him out without too much trouble. His cock was large and heavy even though it was still mostly soft. The softness was disappearing fast, though, in response to my touch.

For a moment, I stroked it and really lost track of everything else. Time sort of stood still for me and rational thought was beyond my capacity. I just stared, transfixed, at his cock--the first cock I'd ever touched other than my own. When thoughts returned, they were just images--visual and tactile imaginings of his cock thrusting between my lips, filling my mouth, making me gag by hitting the back of my throat.

Within a minute, he was very hard. His cock was much bigger than mine and mine is about the average six inches or a bit more. His may have been eight inches and significantly thicker than mine. As I stroked him, a moan that slipped from his lips prompted me to get started. The sooner I got started, the sooner I'd be finished and could get out of there with whatever self-respect I had left.

As I brought my lips to the tip of his cock, I could see it glistening with a drop of pre-cum. It would be my first taste of another man's cum. (Yes. I've tasted my own before. And so have you.) I touched it with the tip of my tongue and found the taste tolerable and the texture kind of nice. It was very slippery on my tongue.

Like getting into a pool, the best way is to dive in. I slid my mouth down over his cock in one smooth movement and heard him moan with pleasure at my efforts. I'd had blow jobs and I knew what felt really good. I resolved to do my best because the better I did it, the faster he'd blow his load and the sooner I could leave.

So, I didn't tease him. I began pumping the base of his cock hard with my hand and moving my mouth up and down the head of his cock with my lips closed tightly, pressing him as hard as I could. I knew this was what got me off quickly and it was doing the same for Old Man Murphy.

I felt his thigh muscles tighten up and his hips thrust up off the chair. And then I heard him grunt as his cock blasted the back of my mouth with cum. It was warm and salty and it kind of tingled in my mouth. I swallowed as he was still pumping my mouth full and, for just a second, the head of his cock slipped down my throat and I felt his pelvic bone press hard against my lips.

My first blowjob, I thought to myself, and I was deep-throating the guy. In less than five minutes, I'd gone from never having touched another man's cock to taking his cock down my throat as he shot off in my mouth.

To my horror, I felt my own cock shoot off in my pants. I'd been so focused on what was happening in my mouth that I hadn't even noticed that I had gotten hard. But I had. Now that my attention was drawn to my own cock, I realized that it was hard to the point of bursting. Well, I guess it did burst in a sense.

So I guess part of me got off on this scene but my throat didn't like his cock buried deep in it. I couldn't breath and I could barely control my gag reflex. For a second, I thought I was going to throw up all over his cock. It was a weird scene: my own hips thrusting my cock against nothing more substantial than my underpants as I shot my load; me gagging down Old Man Murphy's cum while my throat tried to throw everything--cock, cum and all--back up. Shame, pleasure, embarrassment, fear all mixed together.

I managed, with effort, to control my retching and pulled back enough that his cock was out of my throat. I would have pulled off of him completely but his hands were on the back of my head keeping my mouth around his cock. He moved slowly in and out of my mouth for a minute or so, I guess extending the afterglow of his orgasm.

When he removed his hands, I pulled away from him. He was looking down at me with a confused but contented look on his face. I backed away, turning as quickly as possible so that he wouldn't see that I still had a hardon and wouldn't see the cum stain if it had leaked through.

As I walked away from the desk, taking a quick peek down to see if my pants were visibly wet, I asked Mr. Murphy if I could go. I heard him zipping up his pants as he said, "Yeah. Yeah. That's fine."

Now, though, I had to face the gauntlet. Thank God the cum hadn't seeped through my pants! I don't think I could have walked through the office with the other guys calling out to me and teasing me if I'd had an obvious cum stain on my pants. I gathered up my courage, or at least a façade that might look like courage, opened the door and walked out to face the ribbing.

As soon as Murphy's door slammed shut behind me, I was met with hoots and taunting: "How was it?" "Did you like sucking the Old Man's dick?" and so forth. I ignored them and walked to my desk to get my stuff to go home. But when I heard someone call out, "Did you get off on it?" my face flushed red.

Part 2: The Aftermath

I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I didn't even stop to get a drink out of the drinking fountain. On the drive home, could still taste Murphy's cum in my mouth. I felt my stomach churn again. And I noticed that my cum had finally seeped through my pants, leaving a tell-tale mark. I virtually snuck into my apartment using my coat to hide the wetness on my crotch. I just wanted strip down and shower.

When I took off my underpants, I noticed how wet they were--practically the entire front of them was damp and there was still sliminess on the inside. On a whim, I brought my shorts to my face and inhaled, then touched the wetness tentatively with my tongue. I didn't have any idea why I was doing this and I really didn't want to analyze it. I just wanted to get in the shower and get cleaned off.

After rustling up something to eat, I called Stephanie to cancel our date for tonight. I told her that I was coming down with a bug but the truth was that I just couldn't go out and pretend that nothing had happened to me today and I certainly wasn't up to talking about what happened with anyone--maybe especially with Steph.

I drank and watched TV and drank some more. About 11:30 or so, I headed off for bed. But sleep was not to come easily. I swear that several times I was practically asleep but I would suddenly wake up in a start, thinking about what I'd done today--sometimes feeling as if I was doing it now. I guess my subconscious was trying to sort things out and it was having some difficulty. So was my conscious mind, for that matter. What did it mean that I went along with sucking Mr. Murphy's dick? I told myself that I had to do it to keep my job. But why didn't telling myself that once settle the matter? Why did I keep asking the question over and over? And what about my hardon? What was that all about? And, I came. I actually shot off, without touching myself, just from sucking on Murphy's dick. I shot off just when he was pumping his load into me. So, what did that all mean? I didn't know. I didn't have any answers. I just had a raging hardon again and I knew I wasn't going to get to sleep until I took care of it.

Sometimes I wank off in bed with just my hand or a handkerchief. But sometimes I do it in the bathroom with some sort of lotion. This time, I went into the bathroom and turned on the light. In the large mirror, I could see me standing there, naked and very hard, looking like I always looked. But something was different. What was different is that I was looking at myself a lot more than I usually did.

Normally, the only attraction of the bathroom is that I can get off standing up and I just shoot my load in the sink so it's no big deal to clean up. But tonight--or I should say 'this morning' by this time--the mirror was a big attraction. I looked at my body more closely than usual. I looked at my cock--all six-and-a-half inches of it, standing hard and proud at a more than 90-degree angle from my body. The shaft was hard and my cock bobbed as I moved. The helmet was a deep shade of purple.

I slathered on some lotion and began stroking my cock gently. I realized that I was really trying to tease myself a little and it just wasn't working. I just couldn't summon the will-power to go slowly. I gave up that idea, grabbed my cock firmly and began pounding. It felt so good to be hard and building to an orgasm like that. As I got close to an orgasm, I did something that surprised me. I didn't plan it or even consciously decide to do it. But on some unconscious motivation, I grabbed the bottle of lotion with my left hand and shoved the bottom of it deeply into my mouth while I continued wank furiously with my right hand.

Almost instantly, I shot arc after arc of creamy white cum onto the counter next to the sink. I was grunting around the bottle in my mouth and quivering all over by the time I was done shooting my load. It may have been the most intense orgasm I had ever had. My heart was pounding and I sank to my knees on the rug in front of the sink, letting the bottle of lotion slide out of my lips and onto the floor.

After a minute of reverie, I opened my eyes to see the strings of fresh cum I'd shot across the counter. I rose up high on my knees and began licking the counter and didn't stop until I had gotten all of the cum.

Much of this was really weird if you think about it but I decided not to think about it. I decided that I'd been through a lot that day and I should just give myself a "free pass" from psychoanalysis. I went to bed and slept very soundly until about 4:00 in the morning when I woke up, hard, and stroked myself to another orgasm. Sated, I fell back asleep, wet from my own jism, until the middle of the morning.

Part 3: A Cautionary Story

It was great not to have to go into work the next day--and not just for the ordinary reasons. I don't know if I could have faced my colleagues, not to mention my boss, so soon. I just spent the day putzing around thinking about my date with Stephanie that night. Steph and I had been going out pretty seriously for about six months now. She was really pretty and fun to be with. I was a lucky guy. We'd been having sex together for about the last four months. Sex with Steph was great. It was fun and uninhibited. I was really looking forward to the evening.

We had dinner at an Indian restaurant near the movie theater we were going to. It was within walking distance of Steph's apartment and the evening was warm so we walked. It felt so great to just be doing normal things with her. For much of the night, I managed to put yesterday's events out of my mind.

We went back to her apartment and had a bottle of wine and made-out. I was really desperate, I think. There were moments when I could see that, "What's gotten into you?" look in Steph's eyes. I guess I was trying to prove something. And I was on my way to doing it. I was hard and ready to bust a nut. She suggested moving to the bedroom and I was eager to take her up on that.

Refilling the glasses and moving to the bedroom sort of changed the pace for a bit but when we lay down on the bed, I was getting revved up again. Then, for some reason I'll never understand--maybe the universe just hates me--Steph decided then was the time to tell me something about her friend Jennifer.

"Oh, Jason. You'll never believe what happened to Jennifer." I didn't generally care much about what happened to Jennifer and, right at that moment, I really didn't care at all. But Jennifer and Steph were good friends and she was determined to tell me this. She blurted the story out lightly, between giggles.

"Well, you know Tom, Jennifer's boyfriend." A brief pause for a giggle and a quick sip of wine. "Well, he confessed something to her the other day." This time, the pause was purely for dramatic purposes.

"Yeah?" I said, as if I was interested.

"Yeah. He confessed to Jennifer that he had had a 'homosexual encounter'. That's how he said it: 'a homosexual encounter'." She paused and looked at me. "Can you believe it? He told Jennifer that he had given a guy a blow job!"

"Really?" I said in a noncommittal but, I hoped, slightly shocked tone.

"Really! And it wasn't just once. He gave his roommate blowjobs a bunch of times, I guess."

"Wow! That's kind of weird."

"Weird? I'll say. Especially for Jennifer. Now she doesn't know if she can keep going with him."

"Why?" I said and then hurried to go on because my tone sounded a bit too concerned about a matter that I had been pretty disinterested in so far. "I mean, what difference does it make to Jennifer? He's not really gay, is he? I mean, he just fooled around."

Steph looked at me kind of funny for a minute and then the look passed.

"Well, you're right, I guess. I mean I know lots of girls who played around with other girls and guys don't seem to find that a problem. Just the opposite. The main problem it causes for these girls is that their current boyfriends often want a command encore performance." Steph paused again. I really didn't like this discussion. Given the direction things were going a minute ago, I wouldn't have liked any discussion right now and this topic in particular was making me very uncomfortable. That didn't stop Steph, of course.

"I spent most of the morning talking with Jennifer about this. She knows it shouldn't be a really big deal but she says that she just can't feel the same way about Tom as she used to. Now, when he tries to kiss her, he thinks of a cock in his mouth and she finds it a real turn off." I mumbled a noncommittal "mmmm."

"She's thinking about breaking up with him." Steph took another sip of wine. She was finished with the story and ready to pick up where we had left off.

"Weird, huh? Now, where were we?"

I knew exactly where we had been a few minutes ago. But I wasn't there any more. I was a million miles from there. My mind was flooded with images of yesterday's events and I really didn't know if I could shake those thoughts and get on with what I desperately wanted to do: fuck Steph crazy.

I tried, though. I got most of her clothes off and I fondled and kissed her. With her help, I got stripped down to my boxers. But I could feel that something was wrong.

I'm only 23-years old and I've certainly never been impotent in a situation like this before. Well, I'd never been in a situation exactly like this before, of course. But, I mean, I'd never been with a woman and not able to perform. But now, when Steph reached in my boxers to grab by cock, all she got was a limp noodle. She stroked me for a while but all I could think about was about sucking Old Man Murphy's cock yesterday, and about Jennifer thinking about leaving Tom because she found out he'd sucked a guy's cock. Needless to say, it wasn't good material for getting hard. Steph pulled her hand away, hiding her disappointment.