My eighteenth birthday party was a momentous occasion; it happened to be the day when I realized I craved to have some sweet, young guy fill my mouth with cum so I could savor it before, slowly, swallowing. The catalyst, I believe, had been "Hoover's" marathon, cock sucking demonstration.
My slightly older brother, along with some friends, were on short training course at a military base. Upon their return, they spoke incessantly about what I thought had been an absolutely fantastic feat, performed by a young cadet they'd nicknamed, "Hoover".
"Hoover", they'd excitedly relate, came into their barracks, the morning they arrived, and sucked them off- all twelve of them. They didn't know how many others he might have already done.
Whenever they'd argue about which of them had dumped the biggest load in "Hoover's" mouth, my cock would squirm and bounce trying to bust out of my pants; I'd have to trap it between my thighs so they couldn't see it. They never said whether they had lined up, or not; but in my mind's eye they had.
Imagining myself as "Hoover", swallowing the previous cadet's hot cum, as a line-up of nineteen year-old hunks, displaying a smörgåsbord of cocks, waited for me to blow them, my dick would be raw from jerking off; my goal was to, one day, break "Hoover's" admirable record.
That exclusively male, sexual episode raised some perplexing questions. Considering that my brother and his friends were openly discussing gay activity, I wondered about them. Was it okay for straight guys to let gay guys suck them off. When is homosexual activity not homosexual activity, I wondered.
Upon turning Nineteen, I was amazed that I was still alive. There'd been countless occasions when I'd felt I couldn't go on being gay and alone in a world dominated by heterosexuals.
I had suffered through many years of fear, confusion, denial, shame and loss of normal enjoyment of youth because of my inability to fully participate is so many activities. Whenever possible I avoided contact sports. No way could I swim naked with other guys. I couldn't be anywhere near a nude guy without my dick springing up so fast he'd have to run for his life. If you could imagine diving into a pool of dirty oil and other disgusting gunk you'd understand what it was like to swim in a canal. No cautious person would ever have considered swimming in that cesspool. That was the reason we - me excepted, of course - were able to cavort there, totally naked, in complete privacy.
A carpet of oil slick,. from the numerous ships that used the canal, coated the already filthy water. Prior to diving into it, it was necessary to throw a large rock in, first. The oil,then,having been temporarily dispersed, they would quickly dive into the "clean" opening. I desperately wanted to join them, but I falsely claim I had no desire to swim in all that filth.
"Your such a fuckin' dork," They'd say. And I could only wish there were some way it could have been explained.
They'd drive me crazy, once they'd emerged and tried to remove the oily crap from their body. Forming a thumb and index finger circle, they'd, sensually, squeegee the slick from their cock. "Yer hands clean, Kev?" Lornie would shout, laughing hilariously. Then, without fail, Norm would cause my dick to jump wildly, every time he'd say, "Kevie, if it's not too much touble, do you think I could have mine sucked off?" I wished I could have blown all of them; but, especially, I wanted to drink Tony's cream .
I began to understand the real meaning of being gay when I realized how madly in love I was with Tony DiStasio. Although, as friends, we were practically inseparable, I don't think he had the slightest inkling of how desperately I wanted to suck his cock. The moment I'd see him step out of his underwear, exposing his long, uncut cock, mine would transform itself into a rod of solid steel. Then, my heart would pound so violently I'd wondered if any of them could hear it.
Four of us, all in our early twenties, including: Tony , Lornie, Norman and me, rented a cottage each summer in the Mountains; about an hour's drive from Montreal. Often, friends would arrive to over-night. With only four bedrooms it was usually necessary for one, or more, of us to share our bed with a guest. It didn't bother me at all if a girl slept with Tony, but if he was with a guy I'd be unable to sleep, wondering if they were fucking around. Motionless, I'd listen to their unintelligible murmurings, straining to hear anything that sounded like sexual activity.
At summer's end, Tony and I had returned to close the cottage. We wouldn't be returning to the same place, so we had already moved most of our stuff back to the city. Amongst a few other things, there now remained only one bed that still had sheets and blankets. Tony and I would be sleeping together. It would be difficult for me. Actually, I was terrified that I might touch him in my sleep. And my terror intensified when he shed all his clothes - including his underwear - and, with his long dick swinging, like the pendulum in Big Ben, got into the bed.
It was the worst night of my life. I was afraid to sleep - God only knows where I got the willpower to prevent myself from tonguing every centimeter of him. But, as hard as I tried to keep awake, I couldn't.
I didn't know if I was hallucinating, but Tony was kneeling over me, rubbing his cock head across my lips, asking me. "Do you want me to cum in your mouth?" I wasn't dreaming, though, when he turned onto his side and placed his arm over me. I stiffened, momentarily, then began to shake uncontrollably; I wasn't sure, but it felt like his erection was poking at my ass. Believing that he was ,finally, making a move on me caused ass muscle to spasm wildly.
His hand moved slowly along my stomach toward my dick. I pressed my ass against him. I wanted him so badly. I wanted to love him passionately, Deep kiss him. Lick his face. Suck his cock - anything he wanted. Unable to contain myself any longer I turned to face him. He mumbled incoherently before rolling over, again, to snore noisily. When I returned to the bedroom - after jerking off in the kitchen - I craved my face in his crotch and wondered what his reaction might be if I simply helped myself to his body. What if I spread his buns and licked his butt, would that excite him enough that he wouldn't be able to resist. Would he pretend he was still asleep and let me blow him; it would be so easy for him.
He was snoring softly, when I moved closer and touched him with my knee. There being no response, I moved closer, still, till I pressed firmly against him. I was ecstatic when, responding to the pressure of my knees against the back of his legs, he allowed me to spoon.
I thought the gates of Heaven had opened when my hard cock slipped between his warm cheeks. Nerves, I didn't even know I possessed, danced wildly when I kissed the soft down on the back of his neck. Lovingly, I placed my arm over him and, believing his deep sigh expressed desire, excitedly reached for his cock; he grunted, then, once again, rolled onto his stomach to resume his normal, steady breathing. He hadn't been awake, at all.
I couldn't imagine ever having a better opportunity but I just couldn't find the courage to simply roll him over and suck him. I feared that If he wasn't receptive I might lose him as a friend - I couldn't stand that. And maybe the others would've been told. Instead, I kissed him softly, numerous times, on his back and shoulders before going to the living room to sleep in an over-stuffed chair; I couldn't trust myself to be beside him for another second. By now, I was a complete wreck.
One night, after drinking beer with the gang, I'd dropped Tony off at his house and was just pulling away when I heard a wolf-whistle. There was nobody else on the street, other than the guy I'd just passed, so naturally I was curious. I circled the block and as I neared him he waved. I thought he was someone I knew, so I pulled over to the curb and was shocked when a handsome, young stranger, boldly. got into my car.
"I'm Donnie," he said. Then, without taking a second breath, asked, "Should we shoot over to your place?" Smiling confidently, he slid across the seat and placed his hand on my leg. I'm sure he must've felt me shaking and heard my nervous gulp; my legs felt so weak I wondered if I'd be able to press on the gas pedal. I couldn't take the guy to my parents' house, but I had keys to a portrait studio where I did free-lance work. He started undressing me the moment we got through the door; it was beyond incredible. I was so excited my precum was flowing before he'd even lowered my underwear. I began to worry seriously, though, when he undressed, also. I had no intention, whatever, of reciprocating, in any way.
I stretched out on the carpet, and he, completely nude, lied beside me. He tried to kiss me on my lips but, at that time, it was unthinkable. When he got up I thought he was pissed-off because I wouldn't get into the kissing thing. By then, I was so horny I was about to tell him I'll do it. But before I was able to, he lied on his stomach, between my legs, and tried to get both of my balls into his mouth. Finally having my balls in a guy's mouth was mind boggling. "Oh, my god," I moaned, breathlessly, "You're making me cum." I don't believe he'd sucked my cock for more than fifteen seconds before I filled his mouth with cum. I had no idea of what the proper protocol was in such a situation, so I'd moaned loudly enough that he knew I was about to shoot my load. It amazed me that he'd just continued sucking me, but I was even more amazed when he swallowed it.
He positioned his ass on my dick, which by now was soft. I think he'd expected I'd get hard, again, and fuck him - it didn't. I wouldn't have fucked him, anyway. "Don't cum on me." I said, too harshly perhaps, as he sat on me, masturbating himself, while rubbing my stomach. "Don't worry," he said, sounding annoyed, "I won't." He didn't cum at all. I think he resented my attitude; a little cum on my stomach ,certainly, would not have been a major calamity, I thought later. Thinking of my brother getting a blow-job from "Hoover",I, now had to wonder if having let Donnie suck my cock meant I was gay. Probably not, I rationalized: I didn't touch him. I didn't kiss him. I didn't fuck him. I wouldn't even let him cum on me. Although, I wasn't, at all, sure of what I would've done if he'd asked me to reciprocate; my mouth watered at the thought, but I couldn't have sucked him, I was not gay.
That episode made me realize that it was possible Tony DiStasio wasn't the only object of my affection, as I had thought. And though my feelings were strongest for him I had urges to be intimate with others in the gang, as well. Wolf-whistler, Donnie, also made me aware of my own needs; It hadn't occurred to me that there might be guys who wanted to suck my cock, too. For reasons I couldn't understand, considering that I assumed only a passive roll and wouldn't let him cum on me, Donnie told me he was an orderly at a Montreal Hospital, working from four to midnight, and invited me to call him anytime for another session; not a very likely possibility, I thought to myself.
I was pub crawling with Lornie and we'd both drunk too much. He lived in the north end of Montreal, which would've meant a long bus ride. So it was normal for me to invite him to sleep over with me at my parents' house. My brother was already asleep in the lower bunk bed. So, drunk as we were, Lornie and I managed the ladder without breaking any bones. Next morning I vaguely remembered what I thought had been a dream about Lornie's cock. I awakened to find myself frantically humping his leg. I fell back into a sleep again only to awaken and find myself crouched down in the bed with the blankets over my head. I'd worked Lornie's underwear down below his knees and my tongue was within inches of his very large, erect dick. I remembered how he'd jumped after I'd pulled his foreskin back and licked his extremely sensitive knob. I don't know if I sucked him or not. I couldn't recall anything else. I really don't think it was a dream, though.
Finally, I concluded that drinking was hazardous to my social security. My homosexual compulsion was strongest when my brain was fucked up with alcohol. Unfortunately, it would not have been possible to hang with Tony and the gang without drinking and partying.
Somewhere, Norman had stumbled onto a recipe for dry martinis - thus, the only reason why the brain-numbing concoction was exclusively served at the going-away party for Lorne. Never before had so many become so bombed so quickly - fallen comrades were literally strewn about the house. And I suppose that was the reason so few of us went to Windsor Station for Lornie's send off. When we got to the gate to the boarding platform, only Lornie was allowed to pass. The rest of us waved and weaved continuously until he was out of sight. I can't remember what became of the rest of the gang, but Tony and I ended up walking home together - precisely the kind of situation I'd vowed never to let happen again.
