This is my attempt at a short work of erotic male-to-male fiction.
It's somewhat inspired by a very close friendship I share with a friend of mine and the things I wish I could share with him.
The characters within this story are all my creation and this work is purely fictional.
I wrote when I was 18. I was young, excited and impressionable.
I would appreciate any and all feedback.
Enjoy
XX MalevolentBard
*****
"Tonight is the night" I whispered solemnly. The words had been whispered before, the intention had been stained onto the fabric of my actions once before and I'd cowered and fled, muttering futile Hail Marys while I scrubbed my eyes, ears, mouth and body raw hoping to rid myself of the scarlet letter I'd carved onto my skin.
I had no reason to believe tonight would be any different, none whatsoever really. Here stands a twenty-year-old virgin with all the hang-ups of a sexually handicapped nun; unsightly platinum blond hair that never bounced, pale brown eyes that should have been gold, but weren't, skin so translucent I swear I glowed in the dark...and knees. I was all knees and arms and... body dysmorphia is a real and harrowing thing, ladies and gentlemen.
"Tonight is really the night" I'd called all the gods to task. I'd summoned them all for an informal powwow and begged them to conspire towards my happiness. So, there I was, closeted and dolled up and mildly terrified of sex, but damnit it was more than about sex.
I once fought against the tide and my insistent fears by fooling around with someone from some shady website; it wasn't an experience I'd like to relive. To be honest, part of me knew that I wouldn't be getting Prince Charming, but can't a brother get a man who advertises honestly though? I was expecting a strapping young man who was hung for Africa, but what I got was a near obese middle-aged man with a dick small enough to be a pacifier, doused in the worst smelling cheap fragrance known to man. I'll never forget how he'd walked in, smiled that greasy old-man smile and urged we get a move on because he had somewhere to be. I was doe-eyed and flustered, not because I was anywhere near aroused, just unbelievably embarrassed and eager to get it over with.
I was beyond grateful we hadn't had time to go all the way, but I did have to blow him for his troubles. His meaty paw stroked the outside of my sweats, moving heavily over my eighteen-year-old cock. After minutes of doing so he must have figured that I wasn't going to get hard anytime soon, so sensing his growing frustration - that not being the only thing of his that grew in my presence - I decided that now was as good a time as any to get it over with.
I got on my knees and did what mamma never showed her baby to do. I wasn't no punk quitter. I had to almost tear him out of his tight fitted slacks; the clank from his belt buckle echoed while the scratch from the zip hissed. I watched as layer after layer of clothing disappeared and what i was left with was maybe two and a half inches of meat, limp meat. His olive cock head flared out while the rest of the small shaft rippled with skin and sat cosily against a wall of curly dark pubic hair. Closing my eyes shut i pulled in a deep breath, almost choking on the fumes from this man's suffocating fragrance, and then i went for it. I opened my untrained mouth and slinked the wilted appendage in my warm mouth and did what I'd read about. I moved my tongue over the spongy head and head him moan while i bobbed slightly.
I must have been doing something right because seconds into my ministrations i felt the small penis grow in my mouth and expand. For a second I felt a power course through me with the knowledge that I did that. I turned what little flesh he had into something slightly more noticeable. I made him hard. I should have enjoyed it more, i should have been hard, but I wasn't. I just went through the motions; not looking into this man's eyes and not moaning for his benefit. With his cock now fully erect i could still fill its entirety in my mouth. No throat needed there. My taste-buds tingled with a new taste; an off, bitter and salty taste i almost recognised. It was his precum; the man was sure enjoying himself while he began thrusting into my young mouth. Just as quickly as it had begun, it ended. A few thrusts later he began shooting into my mouth. Without so much as a heads-up, I gagged at the bitter, unwelcomed taste. I couldn't swallow so i waited for him to finish while his smooth cum pooled in my mouth and the man rode out the waves of his orgasm.
A heave and a sigh later he zipped up and looked at me with those dirty green eyes.
"Not used to the taste, huh?" he asked in an equally greasy voice. I smiled and nodded while he left to go wash his hands in the bathroom. I rushed over to the sink and spat out what was still in my mouth and gargled to make sure what was left was gone. We exchanged an awkward goodbye and that was that.
If I could I would erase that bit of my past, because hot shame filled me every time I thought about it. Since then I'd never so much as licked or even touched anther man's penis. Now that I was in my second year at College I figured it was about time I broke through the awkward fear around sex and finally lose my virginity. I looked over my 5 foot 8 slim frame through the dusty mirror that once belonged to my crabby old grandfather who spoke more of the "evil homosexuals" as he got older, and sighed pensively. I wasn't anything fascinating but I wasn't hideous either.
I could hear him now, "You keep wearing clothes like that, and you'll come home married to a man. A damn poof", I'd grunt something unintelligible and he'd grunt something just as unintelligible before trying to hide a knowing smile while he shuffled his way back to his room. He passed away not a month ago. I missed him, that weird old coot.
The beeping of my phone pulled me out of my musings and back into reality. I slid over to my phone and read the message recently received from my best friend, Blake.
Hey Danny, i'm outside waiting for you. Let's bounce
Now there was a guy who was comfortable with not only his body, but with sex. He was imperfectly perfect in every way possible. His olive complexion wasn't unique, nor were his chocolate brown eyes or his full pink lips or the full, trimmed beard. But on him, it was a work of art.
So yeah, if you thought I had an original bone in my body, you are sorely mistaken. I'm the gay nerd who is hopelessly, disastrously and unstintingly in love with his best friend. His straight best friend. Tonight, however, I was going to do something far out of character for me. I was going to ruin our friendship and I was going to seduce the hell out of Blake until he is either weak at the knees ready to plough into me or furious beyond consoling.
I was going to throw a grenade in the air above our friendship, scream "I LOVE YOU, COME FUCK ME" at him and wait for the bomb to rip what solid comradery we'd shared over the now two-year friendship. I was ready to mess things up.
"Tonight is the night" I smiled nervously. Living in the same dorm as him was torture. He'd even recently suggested we study together, which meant he studies while I try to not stare at his perfectness while I retain absolutely nothing and bone up something fierce. It was horrible and great at the same time. I could smell him, hear him breathing almost and sometimes he'd look up and we'd lock eyes for only a second before he smiled and returned to his studying.
I created fantasies and worlds around that boy's smile. It was life affirming. It was god designed and it was all him. I had to be close to him. I had to inhale what little of him I could get my fill of Blake musk, use it as self-love fodder and hate myself after because of it.
I've never told anyone that i was gay, out of fear maybe but when i'm around Blake i feel like i could say anything and he'd accept me for who i am. Sure he often made fun of gay guys and how feminine they were, and sure he'd called me out a few times and insinuated I might be gay and instead of agreeing I'd laughed it off as one of his many jokes, but I know he'd be there for me should I say anything. That's why I was in love with him.
Maybe it's that he's tall enough to lean against without feeling too small; he was just the right size with his 5 foot 10 self. Or was it his dark brown eyes that i so often saw staring back at me when i looked in the mirror? I promise, sometimes I swear I saw him staring back at me through the mirror.
Whatever it was i couldn't have said anything to him last year because he was in a relationship with this really cool girl and i wasn't by any stretch of the imagination a home-wrecker. It was only when they broke up and she told me to "look after him" that i entertained the possibility of being with him.
