Peter Sawyer transferred into my high school the day before St. Patrick's Day, halfway through the last semester of our senior year. Every girl I knew said he was hot. So far, I'd only seen bits of him from a distance between classes in the crowded school halls. I was looking forward to our meeting. That happened at our Connecticut town's annual "Spring Plunge."
I got my first good look at Peter when the car my girlfriend Marie and I were in arrived at the beach. Marie opened a window, yelled his name, and waved as the car turned to pull into the parking slot next to Peter's. I turned, followed her gaze, and had my breath taken away. You've heard or read how someone had that happen. The English have a word for it, being gobstruck, knocked off your feet, made speechless. That's what I was, gobstruck.
There was nothing effeminate about Peter, but still, he was gorgeous, astonishingly beautiful for a guy. What struck me was that I had never thought anything even close to that about a boy before. I knew some boys were more attractive than others, but that was all. Don't get me wrong, I was aware that I had bisexual inclinations since early childhood, but I didn't dwell on or explore them. No one would ever think that I was anything but totally straight.
Marie jumped out of the car and, after giving Peter a quick hug and pecking his cheek, walked a few feet away and joined some of her friends. I stayed behind to introduce myself, but truthfully, because I didn't want to move away from him.
Peter's hair was light brown like mine. His, though, flowed like silky feathers out from under the Yankees baseball cap he wore, shimmering in the sunlight. It fell over his ears, slightly longer than most of my friends. His big, expressive brown eyes had so many gold flakes that they sparkled. They held me immobile as mine devoured the pale, almost invisible freckles splashed across the flesh beneath them, highlighting his cheekbones. I thought most guys with freckles looked dorky. Not Peter.
Until she spoke, I was oblivious that Marie had returned and was now beside me. She ended the moment by telling us that The Plunge was about to start.
The Spring Plunge was a decades-old town tradition. On the first day of Spring each year, Seniors from the town's high school jumped into Long Island Sound. Those who could endure two full minutes in its icy water earned bragging rights and an official t-shirt proclaiming their foolishness. Although it sounds like a silly ritual, dozens of kids participated. The town even had an EMS truck and two warming vehicles on the beach so wet and freezing kids could change clothes after running out of water.
Besides a handful of male alphas, few managed to last more than twenty or thirty seconds in the water. I had what I felt was an unearned reputation as being one of those, so I had no choice but to freeze my balls off defending that rep.
Our group joined others as we made our way to the beach. Everyone was talking at once, laughing, and challenging each other to sign up for The Plunge. Just before we reached the registration table, Peter leaned close and said, "I need to do this, but I don't want to be the new kid in town who wimped out. Promise to make me do the whole two minutes?"
I wanted to kiss him but instead whispered, "Stay by me, and I'll take care of you, buddy."
I'm still amazed that no one mentioned how Peter and I spent the entire two minutes in the water, jumping around and yelling like everyone else, but we were as close together as we could possibly be. I was so proud of how we both lasted the two minutes and how, unquestioningly, afterward, my friends congratulated and accepted Peter into our crowd.
The Spring Plunge happened on a Friday that year, and Marie and I usually went out on Friday nights. We wouldn't that night. Peter and I made other plans while freezing our balls off in Long Island Sound. During lunch, I lied and told Marie I had to go somewhere with my dad that night.
Peter's parents were away, and he was home alone for ten days. He wouldn't be alone that night. While I waited for him to swing by to pick me up, I thought about something I'd learned about Peter that afternoon; the freezing water of Long Island Sound didn't do a thing to keep Peter Sawyer from boning up as hard as I had.
When we got to his house, Peter led me directly to his room. The first thing he did, at my request, was set an alarm to wake us up at 7 a.m. I needed to get home early in case Marie called or showed up early. That done, he flopped on his bed, and I dropped onto the chair at his desk. On the ride from my house, we picked up on telling each other our life stories from where we left off earlier in the day.
In the intimacy of Peter's bedroom, the conversation got more personal. I told him two girls had sucked my dick but that I had never been with a guy. I admitted that I was interested in boys but had never met someone who made me want to do anything about it until now. When I said that, Peter sat up on his bed, and as his hands reached for the hem of his polo shirt, he replied, looking at me, "Yeah, you're the first dude that's turned me on, too." That pretty much said it all.
As Peter pulled his shirt over his head, I did the same. Standing beside the bed, I lowered my jeans and stepped out of them. Laying back down, Peter arched his back and, lifting his pelvis in the air, slid his jeans to his ankles and toed them off. We both smiled when, as if under the command of a single controller, our eyes scanned each other's muscular bodies, then zoomed in on the long, thick boxer brief-covered tubes of hard cock we both hungered for.
The shy, civilized, getting-to-know-each-other phase of our courtship was over. This was the springtime of our lives, and we were about to explore and enjoy it to the fullest for the first time. No words were exchanged. My heart was pounding as I climbed onto Peter's bed.
I lay on my side beside Peter, lowered my face, and our lips touched. I lifted my face and looked down into his brown eyes. We lay immobile for a few seconds, silently looking into each other's eyes, savoring and processing that we had both just kissed another boy for the first time. Then he lifted his face and pressed his lips to mine again. My eager lips parted to accept the almost shy advance of his soft, gentle tongue between them.
We played at that for a while until I thrust my tongue deep into his mouth, and he accepted the challenge. That's when we took each other into our arms. What were gentle, even playful kisses became more passionate. We pulled apart for a second or two, looking deeply into each other's eyes, and then all the suppressed desire and passion within us erupted, and we went wild.
Lightly at first, then hungrily, our hands explored every sweat-moist inch of each other's bodies. Our tongues pried each other's lips apart and thrust deep into each other's mouths. We were both alphas and used to taking the lead with girls. I sensed that Peter, like me, was trying not to assert dominance. We both reached down almost simultaneously and began to slide off each other's boxer briefs. That began tentatively as we kissed with one arm wrapped around the other. But we both needed to be naked. An instant later, we were yanking each other's briefs down.
We didn't struggle to find a comfortable position. Our bodies fit perfectly as if they were sculpted to be a unit. Leaving Peter's warm, welcoming mouth, my lips traveled down his neck to his chest, kissing along his firm left pec and licking back and forth from his small, already hard left nipple to its equally rigid mate, sliding lower following the curve of his ribcage, then down his smooth trembling flesh to his navel, kissing and corkscrewing the tip of my tongue into its dimpled depth. But I wanted, needed more.
Reaching down with my hand, I cupped Peter's balls, closing my fingers lightly around them, gripping them gently as the heat of what I could feel was his thick, cut, and very long, throbbingly hard cock warmed my wrist and forearm only stopping when Peter pushed me onto my back, rolled up onto his side, smiled down at me, and began to worship my body as I had been his.
Being on my back with Peter leaning over me felt so perfect. He looked into my eyes, then lowered his lips to mine, changing me forever. As our lips touched and his Lover's Kiss possessed me, my arms encircled him, and I knew he was the one I had been waiting for. We were equals without a need to vie for power; we passed that baton back and forth.
Two athletic eighteen-year-old boys, one six feet tall and the other close to it, going at each other on a single bed, won't stay on it long. We fell off while treating each other like human lollipops, rolling around in a loose sixty-nine-like position, licking, kissing, and sucking on each other's hard, throbbing, leaking cocks. When we wound up on the floor, we just kept doing what we had been.
Peter's scent drew me to his balls like a magnet. I was kissing and nibbling at the inside of his right thigh when the first faint whiff of what I would come to think of as his sex scent drifted up from the warm depth at the base of his ball sack, where it joined his taint. I took my first deep sniff of Peter's scent as I wiggled my face under his sack. My tongue slid out as my hands lifted his thighs and parted his legs. I kissed and sucked on Peter's already tightening ball sack, lifting off only occasionally to take a breath, then dipping down again to trace each of his clearly defined testicles with the tip of my tongue. Feeling Peter's mouth on my own balls and his mouth and the tip of his tongue following the movements of my mouth and tongue with precision made me smile.
When I opened my mouth wide and carefully sucked in one of Peter's big egg-shaped balls, I felt his warm, moist mouth tenderly suck in one of my own big cum producing nuts. We lost ourselves for a time in tenderly kissing, licking, and sucking on each other's balls, almost as if we were hoping to make them work doubly hard to produce more and more of the cum we wanted from each other.
Peter's warm, satiny smooth, yet delightfully rough tongue slid slowly up over my sack onto the underside of my shaft at its base just as I gently lifted his rigid cock to my lips to lick the stream of precum off of its tip. As Peter slowly dragged his tongue up the length of my cock, I tongue-polished the head of his dick.
