I Was a Teenage Coc Sucer

All characters are over eighteen. There is the tiniest kernel of autobiography in my tale.

My long-time editor, LarryInSeattle, seems to be taking a break. For this story I need to thank Viper61 for editing. Any errors that remain are my own.

Enjoy. Helpful comments are always appreciated.

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I had seen holes in bathroom partitions before but I had no idea what purpose they served until my senior year in high school. I'd just turned eighteen and just graduated. I was bored out of my skull with nothing to do, except work, until I left for college. I had moments when I wasn't sure I would make it through the summer. In my mind "college" had achieved near mythic status. "College" would rescue me from the dullness of small-town life. "College" would be a place where people talked about books and movies and ideas, not just football, basketball, baseball and fucking. I had no girlfriend. We'd decided, with very little fuss or bother, that we weren't so into each other that it made sense to attempt a long-distance relationship. She was already gone (how I envied her). So, unless I was working, I hung out at the mall, primarily the arcade. I was determined to make it into the ranks of top ten scorers on Galaga before I left for college.

That's where I had been heading on The Day the Mystery of the Holes was solved. The Big Gulp I had drunk on the drive to the mall did its work and I had to piss like a race horse. When I entered the men's room all the urinals were occupied. I waited. No one seemed to be doing anything. After a couple of minutes my situation became desperate. I went into the one open stall, kicking the seat up with the toe of shoe, unzipped and let 'er rip. My body shuddered as my straining bladder let go. Isn't that an amazing feeling? That shivery relief of letting go when you really need to take a leak?

It seemed like I pissed forever. I shook off and was tucking my dick back in my pants. I had stopped wearing underwear, thinking it made me edgy and cool, or as edgy and cool as one could achieve in the little slice of dipshit Illinois I called home. As I was buttoning my fly and digging how my dick looked under the tight denim, something caught my eye. I turned my head and froze, amazed, stunned, intrigued, or some combination of the three had me holding my breath.

There was a dick sticking through the hole.

I'd never seen a

hard

dick, other than my own. You couldn't avoid seeing dick in the shower after gym class though. Some of them looked to be a little longer and chubbier than expected, not that

I'd

noticed, but I'd never seen another man with a true boner. The sudden urge to reach out and touch the hard dick jutting through the wall succeeded in breaking through my confusion. What the fuck was I thinking? Fear and panic replaced intrigue and amazement. I bolted. I finished buttoning my jeans as I hurried toward the door. I heard one of the men at the urinals laugh and say something that I couldn't quite make out. I never considered continuing on to the arcade. I walked as fast as I could without running, hopped in my poor beat-up Vega and got the hell outta Dodge.

I couldn't get the image of that dick out of my head. I can see it quite clearly even today, so many dicks later. I paid no attention as the corn fields marched past the car window, all the stalks lined up as perfectly as if readying for an inspection by the top brass. It was hard not to notice the fact that my dick was hard. It had started to get hard as I enjoyed the way it looked, and felt, trapped under my tight jeans, even before I ever saw the dick. Maybe it makes me a douche but I've always liked my dick; it's the only thing about my body I truly like. I had gotten harder at the sight of the dick. It was still hard. It had stayed hard as I'd fled the mall for the safety, such as it was, of a rusting out Vega that burned a quart of oil every four hundred miles or so. The persistence of my wood carried implications I had no desire to ponder. My balls developed that deep ache I hadn't felt since breaking up with Shelly.

We hadn't fucked but she did let me reach under her panties once. I didn't get my finger into her snatch but I could feel how hot and wet she was. She touched me through my jeans once or twice. She had gotten to where she would usually let me play with her tits, sometimes even with her shirt up and bra unfastened. I would have the same deep ache and hard dick driving home from her house. I couldn't be queer. I'd loved making out with Shelly and my only regret at the break-up is that it put me even further from any hope of getting laid before I was, like, thirty or forty.

Sure, I had learned to be careful after gym class and not stare in the shower but that was normal. Guys always checked out other guys, mostly to see how we compared. That didn't mean anything. My best buddy, Randy, had swiped some hard-core mags from his older brother. This wasn't

Playboy

or even

Hustler

shit. This was real porn, with men fucking women, even in the butt. Even

Hustler

didn't show guys full on. The mags Gary stole had as much dick as pussy and tits. We'd jerked off in front of each other occasionally but that was all, no fairy shit.

So, why had I wanted to touch that dick back in the stall? Why was my cock so hard and my balls about to burst? I slammed my hand onto the steering wheel hard enough to make my hand go numb.

"I'm not a fucking queer!" I screamed to no one in particular. The wind whipping past the open car wind ripped the words from my mouth and sent them swirling and tumbling along the hazy blacktop. "I'm not queer," I whispered more softly, shaking my tingling hand.

I told my mom I wasn't feeling well, wasn't hungry and wanted to take a nap before going to work. I had volunteered for the maintenance shift at the McD's out on the highway. I usually went in at 3:00 am, mopped, pulled the grease traps and scrubbed them, and as opening time approached, I'd get the grills fired up and assemble the soft serve ice cream machine. Along the way, I'd fix myself a burger, or two. Maybe some eggs and sausage. The sausage, to me, was the ultimate symbol of McD's -- they had manufactured a sausage spicy enough to avoid terminal blandness but bland enough to be a fit for nearly any palate. Genius.

I tried to sleep. It was true, I wasn't hungry. By the time I had arrived at home my dick was mostly soft but my balls ached something awful. I laid in bed trying to sleep but I couldn't keep my mind from picturing that dick, how hard it looked, how red and angry it looked and, most of all, I couldn't shake the images of the clear fluid that hung from the head. It didn't take long before my dick was staring me in the eye. I reached for it. I forced myself to picture Shelly's tits as I started to jerk off. She had great tits. They fitted her trim body to a tee. A perfect handful of soft flesh. I remembered how she'd arched her crotch against my leg when my hand would find her breast and how hot and hard her nipple felt, even through her bra, on my palm.

I remembered all that, sharp and crystal clear. But it didn't last; I couldn't fix those images in my head, as hard as I tried. I'd picture her nipple and before I could take a breath, the image in my head was replaced by that dick, the wall, the hole, the way his body pushed as much of himself through the hole as was possible. I groaned out loud, something I never do. Our house was small, just two bedrooms, a bathroom, living room and eat-in kitchen. My mom was never more than twenty feet from me. But I groaned that afternoon as cum shot from my dick, lacing my face, chest and belly with liquid fire. I could hear it splat against the wall behind my head. I jerked harder. I'd never beat off so hard before. My nuts began to fly up and connect with my slamming hand. Fuck, it hurt, smacking my own balls like that. It felt good at the same time. I kept jerking and used my free hand to bat at my balls, gingerly at first, then harder. Fuck. My hips jerked up off the bed and a fresh gush of cum landed on my cheek and the corner of my mouth. I didn't think about it. My tongue shot out, almost reflexively, and I tasted my cum. My hips continued to jerk as I beat my dick and smacked my balls. In my excitement I hit my nuts so hard I had to bite my lip to keep from hollering.

I collapsed back into the bed, my belly cramping from the pounding I'd given my nuts. My cock twitched, finding new reservoirs of jizz to leak onto my belly. I was covered in cum. I'd never cum so hard in my life, not even that night that Shelly let me kiss her nipple and squeezed my rock-hard dick through my jeans. I came so hard that night I thought I had broken something. This was a level of getting off I had never even dreamed existed. I was panting, praying I hadn't made so much noise my mom would be knocking on the door asking me what was wrong.

My mom? Shit. Fuck.

This was the moment of maximum danger, lying in bed, covered in jizz only an unlocked door away from my mom screaming in horror and losing her shit. I rolled on my side and grab my tee shirt off the floor. The cum on my belly had come out me like hot water. I felt it begin to run down my side. My hand went to my side to keep it from getting on the sheets. I rolled flat on my back as cum ran to collect where the side of my hand was pressed against my belly. Fuck. I remembered licking the corner of my mouth. Had I really done that? Yeah, I had. I could taste it still on my tongue. I couldn't describe the taste then; I still can't. What I knew, even though I didn't admit it at the time, was I liked the taste. I told myself it was no big deal, probably most guys did what I started to do. Cum had a lot of protein didn't it? What was the big deal? I licked my hand clean and began to wipe my cum off my belly. I took my time, trying not to think about what I was doing and whether eating cum, even if it was my own, proved that I was a faggot.

My brain might have been rebelling but my cock liked what I was doing. By the time I'd wiped myself clean and licked my fingers my cock was almost hard again. I stared at it. My cock. I didn't think I was particularly good looking. I wasn't hideous but I wasn't a pretty boy either. I thought my cock was my best feature. I'd measured it, duh. I was six-and-a-half inches and circumcised. My dick was nice and thick and the head was just the right size. I stared at it, watching it twitch itself back to life. Holy fucking God, to be eighteen again and able to bounce back in a matter of a few minutes. I touched my finger to the drop of fluid at the tip and stuck it in my mouth. As I sucked my finger tip, noticing this fluid tasted a little different than cum, an idea blossomed in my mind. I grimaced at the idea, worries of faghood creeping past my excitement and into my thoughts. But that didn't stop me.

I scooted lower in the bed and braced myself with my hands. I lifted my legs up, supporting my back with my hands, like doing that fucking bicycle exercise in gym. I pushed harder and I was staring at my dick again. I pushed some more and was able to hook by toes under the edge of the headboard of my bed. My cock hovered above my face. I was hard again. I hooked my left arm behind my legs and pulled as my other hand reached for my dick. I began to stroke my dick. I'd only intended to jerk off closer to my mouth; what a great way to cut down of clean up, right? But my dick was so close, so very close.

I was a beanpole of a kid, just like I'm a beanpole of a man. And, if you're interested, I'm still as limber as ever.

I pulled with my arm and pushed with my feet. And my cock moved a little closer. I lifted my head and almost groaned again. My lips brushed the head of my cock. I was too close to give up. I strained and was rewarded with the taste of the head of my cock halfway between lips. I stroked harder. I couldn't quite get the whole head in my mouth but the tip of my dick was between my lips when I came. The scant bit of cum left in my balls dropped straight into my hungry mouth. I didn't know how hungry that mouth was, or maybe I just didn't want to believe how hungry it was.

I was exhausted! I unrolled my body and collapsed into a deep sleep, naked on top of my bed. The next thing I knew my jangling alarm sent me bolt upright. My alarm clock was across the room, otherwise I would turn it off and fall back asleep. I hurried over and smacked my hand down, silencing it before I realized I was naked. I'd never slept naked before. That I had done so was nearly as shocking as the fact that I had gotten hard thinking about a cock, or that I'd eaten my own cum, or that I'd jerked off in my own mouth.

Oh, my God,

I remember thinking as I sat down hard atop the bed. I hadn't been dreaming. I had done all those things. I had left yesterday, got a Big Gulp of Mountain Dew and headed to the mall, determined to make my mark in that fucking arcade. Instead, I ran home, dick rock-hard from seeing a dick, ate cum and did my best to suck my own dick. In half-a-day, I'd gone from nerdy, but normal, kid to a fucking fairy. A fruit.

Anyone of those things should have sent me into spasms of guilt and horror. I didn't go to church any longer. I opened McD's most Sundays. Church was high on mom's list but making money trumped church. I didn't need to go to church. I knew, sitting there in the dark of my small bedroom, that I was sick, perverted and hell-bound. My brain knew it but my cock was hard. I woke up with it hard. It was always hard in the morning. My mind kept screaming at me to stop, to forget any of this had ever happened. To get dressed, go to work, go to the mall and spend several hours-worth of my pay in the arcade, find a girl and do my best to fuck her and prove to myself I wasn't queer. But my cock, with its morning wood was remembering how I'd been able to get it into my mouth last night. I don't recall giving what I did next a conscious thought. I simply laid down, my bare back on the cold floor, push my low back into the air with my hands, let my legs hang over my head and hooked my toes underneath the bed. I strained, strained my neck, strained my back, pulled with all my might against the backs of my legs.

That time I was able to get the whole head of my cock in my mouth.

That alone almost made me cum. I refused to risk moving one of my hands to stroke myself. I swirled my tongue around my own cockhead. I bounced my hips, popping my cock in and out of my mouth. I didn't last long. There was more cum this time. I supposed a few hours of sleep had allowed my balls to reload. I kept my lips wrapped around my cock until I was sure there was nothing left to swallow. As I laid there on the cold floor with my cock in my mouth, I understood that I was a cock sucker. I'd only sucked my own but I knew, knew in my bones, I wouldn't stop there.

I managed to make it through work without jerking off. I got hard often enough, thinking about what I intended to do as soon as I got off work. I intended to run head-long into the abyss and embrace my destruction. I pushed my pants down and started to jerk off before forcing myself to stop. My shift ran until 11:00 in the morning. The manager asked if I could stay and help with the post-church crowd. That's the story I'd tell my mom later but I told my manager that I couldn't. Instead, I ducked in the bathroom and changed out of the hideous brown polyester McD's uniform and into my jeans, stopping long enough to stroke myself hard while watching in the mirror. I figured the hornier I was the smaller the chance that I'd chicken out. I shoved my cock down the leg of my jeans and buttoned up. I chatted with Michelle for a few minutes on my way out. She was on lobby duty. I caught her glancing at the bulge in my jeans but managed not to smile and give myself away. I thought she was blushing a little when I finally said good-bye and pushed open the side door. I enjoyed the idea of her liking to look at my cock. In my cock-addled state I even enjoyed the thought of seeing her naked.

What the fuck sort of faggot am I? Thinking about naked girls?

I remember wondering as I hauled open the door of the Vega and hopped in.

It only took a few minutes to reach the mall. I jumped out of the car and had to force myself not to run to the bathroom. My hands were shaking. I was so excited. I think I was afraid as well but looking back, the only emotion I can re-connect with is my excitement. No one was there. I told myself to relax. The mall had only opened a few minutes ago. I went in the stall, the same one that had changed my life just a day ago. I pushed my jeans down to my ankles and sat down. My cock was half-hard. I sat. And sat. Then I sat some more. To pretend I have any idea how long I sat there would be a lie. It seemed forever.

I heard the door open. I sat up straighter. My cock twitched. I heard the guy approached the urinal. Then nothing. What the hell was going on? I wished I could see. I turned my head and, lo and behold, I discovered another hole. This one was small. A peephole. It was a little behind me. I twisted and looked. I couldn't see much. I could see there was someone standing in front of the urinal but he didn't seem to be doing anything.

His hand moved. He squeezed his dick. I caught by breath. That wasn't what someone did who was here to take a leak, or in my state of near total innocence, I didn't think it was. I don't know if I made a little gasp when he did that or if he was simply as curious as I was. Whatever the reason, he bent forward and looked toward the stall, directly toward the peephole.

He couldn't see me. Only my eye. I could see him, sort of anyway. It was a very small hole and he looked blurry. He looked older than me but that's about all I could say. He stepped closer to the urinal, unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock but he didn't take a piss. He began to stroke it. He was almost hard and after a minute of watching, twisted around on a toilet seat with my pants around my ankles, we were both hard.

I hadn't known what to do. I knew I wanted to do more than watch him but how was I supposed to manage that? I watched and grew more and more worried he wasn't going to do anything but jerk off into the urinal. My desperation overcame my common sense. I leaned forward and unlatched the door to my stall. The door, as if wanting to help me, swung open on its own. I sat forward on the urinal and stroked my cock. At first, I didn't think it had worked but then I heard the soft squeak of tennis shoes on the tile floor.

And then he was there. Right in front of me. Cock jutting from his jeans.

I don't recall hesitating at all. I dropped off the toilet and on to my knees and reached for his cock. His hand fell away. He pushed his hips forward.

I wrapped my hand around his cock. I was holding another man's cock. I stared at it, that hard cock in my hand. I knew what a fucking dick felt like. Or I thought I did. I moved my hand over his cock as if feeling one for the first time. My eyes were glued to it, as if seeing a cock for the first time. I leaned closer. Inhaled. Shivered. His cock, his crotch, smelled rich and musky. I'd smelled a similar smell on my own hand after jerking off.

I wasn't sure how to proceed. I knew I wanted his dick in my mouth, so I leaned forward and put the head of his cock in my mouth.

I was amazed. I had my own cock in my mouth but like touching him, this was entirely different. His scent was more intense. I squeezed his shaft with my hand. His cock was so hard. I pressed my tongue against the underside of the head; it was so soft. When I relaxed my tongue, I could feel the head of his cock re-expand to fill my mouth.

"Yeah, kid, suck that dick." The voice was low and gravelly and I fell in love on the spot. I pushed more of my mouth over his cock. As the head touched the back of my throat, I swallowed a gag. My eyes watered. I inhaled through my nose, held my breath and pushed harder, trying to relax. The head of his dick squeezed through the narrow place at the back of my throat and face pressed against his belly.