Returning home for the summer was not that great. My wonderful teacher
had left town. After a while I hooked up with another lady who greatly
appleciated my oral talents but who wanted only my tongue in her cunt,
not my prick. When my demands for fucking grew too much for her, she
told me to get out: she had a girlfriend who could a better job than I
did. I was pissed off and fascinated. I spied on them one night,
through a gap in the curtain on her apartment window, and saw those two
naked women carressing one another. I left a pool of semen on the
ground below the window.

The next day I had two things on my mind: what to do with the rest of
the break, and what it was that two girls did together. Our quiet town
didn't offer much help with either. Our bookstore did have a section on
"Women", but all I could find was a novel whose cover promised the story
of a woman who loved women. I couldn't find any physical action
thumbing through "The Well of Loneliness" but I bought it anyway.

I talked to my parents about going back to school early, and they had no
objection; I wasn't being very good company, as it was. I found that
there was a bus leaving late in the evening; bought my ticket, had
my last home meal for a while, a short nap, and headed for the bus
station just in time to find it and climb on board.

As I moved down the aisle, I saw that every window seat was taken. The
aisle seat at the very end was next to a reasonable looking guy of about
my age, staring out the window. Opposite was a blank wall that was the
back end of the bus' toilet. Taking out my book I stowed my bag
overhead, pushing aside a pile of blankets. I muttered a greeting to my
seatmate, which he answered similarly without turning his head, and sat
down.

I turned on the reading light and opened my book. That caught my
neighbor's attention, and I was aware of his turning and, I thought,
peering to see what I was reading. That wouldn't be hard to make out:
the cover with its famous title, illustrated by a portrait of two girls
looking searchingly at each other. He spoke, in a low, pleasant, but
not very lively voice,

"You going to the University?"

"Yes," I answered, "back to school. You?"

"Yes," he said, morosely, I thought.

"Some way to end the summer," I offered.

He responded, "Yeah," and after a pause, "I didn't have much
choice."

I didn't now whether to pick up on that or not, and decided to let it
go for the moment. "What do you take there?" I asked.

"Journalism," he answered. "Junior year. You?"

"Computer Science," I said. "I'm a sophomore."

"You rushing back to get to the computer lab?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "Things sort of fell apart in town, and I figured I
might as well spend my time at school."

My answer seemd to enliven him a little. "Oh," he said, "what
happened?"

I told him: "I thought I was going to spend the break with this girl,
but she had other plans. Somebody else." I paused a while, wondering
whether I should go on any further, but I was so full of what I had seen
that I continued. "The somebody else was another girl."

"You mean she wanted to spend her time with a girlfriend instead of with
you?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered, "in bed."

"Oh, man, she was -- uh -- queer? That's why you're reading that book,
eh? Do you hate her for that?"

"No," I answered, "I was pissed because she wouldn't see me, and I was
counting on it. If she wants to make it with a girl, that's O.K., but
it didn't mean she had to shut me out."

"No kidding," he said, "you didn't mind her being a lez?"

"No," I said, "sexual orientation doesn't matter. I just wanted to
have her, too."

He looked at me for a bit with a questioning expression. "Boy, I wish
more people had your attitude," he finally said. "The reason I'm going
back early is that my father threw me out of the house. I decided it
was time to come out of the closet, at least with the people I thought
loved me. I told my parents that I was gay, and had been for years. My
father exploded. He called me disgusting, that he would disinherit me,
and that I couldn't stay under his roof. I think my mother was
sympathetic, but she can't do anything with him when he goes into one of
his rages. The bastard even found my car keys and kept them. So I
packed up what I could carry and here I am, going back to school on the
bus."

"That's rotten!" I exclaimed. "How are you going to live?"

"Not as badly as he hopes. I don't need him. My grandfather -- he
founded the bank my father runs as if he did it all himself -- left me a
trust fund. It pays for everything and more, and my father can't touch
it. And it will be all mine when I graduate. So maybe I'm lucky in a
way, I don't have to put up with his shit any more. I'm sorry for my
mother, though, I guess she'll have to as long as he lives, whenever
that is. So I'm really on my own now. And no one is going to tell me
what my lifestyle should be."

"That's good," I said. "No one should. That's what my parents taught
me. They think that religion and sexual orientation are matters of
personal taste, and no one else' business. They make an exception of
politics, because politics really affect other people; but if what I'm
doing doesn't physically hurt anyone else, it's my business." It took
me a long time to formulate my next remark, but this guy wasn't very
delicate about himself, so I braved it. "I hope you don't mind my
asking, but...what is it like to be gay? I mean -- oh, I know it can be
a big social problem, but -- well, what do two gay guys do? I mean, you
know, when they're together."

"You mean physically, right? Don't you know?"

"No, I don't," I answered. "Oh, I've heard stuff, from guys I don't
think know any more than I do, and I read the Kinsey report, but I never
got any clear picture of how two guys make it with each other. And I'm
really curious. But look, if you don't want to talk, that's O.K."

"Oh, hell, man." he said, "it's a great subject. But, really, haven't
you ever had any kind of sex with another guy?"

"Well." I said, "I had this friend, and we jerked each other off a few
times."

"That was all? Just hand jobs?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Was it good?"

"Yes. Very." I answered.

"Never had your cock sucked?" he asked.

"Not really," I said. "I was with this woman, who'd suck me sometimes
to get me hard, but that was all."

"How did it feel?"

"Great, but kind of frustrating."

"Women can't do it," he said. "They don't know what it's like. It's
like asking a deaf man to play the violin. I'll bet your buddy could do a
better job with his hand than your babe with her mouth. Right?"

"Well, yes, but...I couldn't fuck my buddy. Fucking that woman
was...well, a whole new world. I loved it."

"So you advanced from a hand to a cunt, eh?" he said. "There's another
step. From a cunt to a mouth. Once you've experienced a good
cocksucker -- and it has to be a man -- you'll never want to go back."
He paused a long moment. "Sorry. I get carried away. You wanted to
know what two guys do with each other. Well, I'll tell you."

"You know about hand jobs," he began. "That's a start. That's O.K. for
emergencies -- like when you're in really cramped quarters and can't do
anything else." He looked at me and grinned, a little. I wondered
whether he meant, like on a bus. "Of course, there are two main ways
guys make out: fucking and sucking. Me, I don't see fucking. You
shove your prick into another guy's asshole and pump 'til you come.
There's no finesse to it at all. Still, a lot of guys do it, and there
are plenty of guys who like to have it done to them. I, I'd rather just
jack off, and I sure don't want another guy's rod up my ass. I think
oral sex is the only way to go, and that's what I'm going to tell you
about.

"Sucking cock is an art form. A lot of people, and women, of course,
don't know that. They think that just rounding their mouth, putting it
on a man's prick, and bobbing their heads up and down makes them good
cocksuckers. It isn't so! And it isn't about sucking, either; you
don't suck, except maybe at the very end. Now first, you have to know
some anatomy -- know where nerves go, know what the real hot spots are.
A man knows a lot of that from his own body. But every guy is
different, and you have to be sensitive about what turns him on
particularly. And when you've got it right, you can give him the best
experience of his life.

"I love to suck cock. I love the feel of it in my mouth, I love all the
different things I can do to it with my lips and my tongue, and I love
it when I've brought the guy to a wonderful orgasm and he blows his load
into me. And when a guy sucks me, if he's good, knows his stuff and
takes his time, it's absolute heaven. You know, I kind of pity all
those men who think that fucking is the only way to have sex. Like I
said, if they'd ever had a real blow job, they'd never go for anything
else again."

"Oh, man," he said, "I do get carried away. I'm not boring you, am I?"

"Lord, no," I answered. "Go on! Please! I want to know what you do."

"Well, first you need the right position. Most guys lie on their back,
and the one who sucks ies between his legs, but I think the best is to
have your guy sit on something like the edge of a couch, where he can
lean back and relax. He spreads his legs, and you kneel in front of
him. That gives you perfect access to his prick and you have freedom of
motion. And you can use your tongue on the underside, which is the most
sensitive. I like to start by licking it up and down for a while on the
underside. Then I go up to the head, make sure my lips are wet, and
gradually open my mouth while I down over the head until my lips are
around him at the point just behind the corona, you know, where the
shaft goes into the head. You don't just open your mouth and close it
around his cock. Slide it in. You can wrap your hand around the shaft,
too, and he'll feel that he's really inside you. Oh, I got to mention,
if you're a beginner, you have to watch your teeth at all times. You
must always have your lips really covering them. But don't worry, after
a while it's just automatic.

"Then you can move your mouth up and down on his shaft, if you want.
Keep your lips in a close ring. You'll need a lot of spit to keep it
smooth. You might slide down as far as you can, and then draw his prick
out slowly while you're sucking on it, like a candy stick. There's lots
of variations. Like I said, you don't just pump up and down. One way
is twisting your head from side to side, make sure your lips stay on the
coronal ridge. You can move your hand up and down the shaft, but
gently. You could do just nothing but this until he comes, and he will.
Another way is to go down farther, but don't tighten your lips. Move
your head in a little circle. His cock will slide to different places
in your mouth. Do it in both directions, slow and steady. For some
guys that's the greatest.

"Above all, unless you're in a hurry for some reason, take your time.
Rest once in a while, and just enjoy his prick in your mouth. See, the
longer you can keep a guy from coming, the stronger his orgasm will be.

"Well," he smiled, "that's my short survey. Any questions?"

"Wow," I said. "That was really a mouthful. And, yes, when he comes,
what do you do with...what you get in your mouth?"

"His come? Why, you swallow it, of course. It's no big deal. It
doesn't taste bad. In fact, some guys love it, and they'll lick it up
if it spills on you. What you don't do is hold onto it so you can spit
it out and you don't rush off to rinse out your mouth. That's
insulting, and it spoils the whole party. Just swallow it. I stay with
the guy after he comes and his prick starts to shrink, until it's
completely over. I suck it and try to get every last drop, and don't
let go until it's totally limp. That's the right way to wind things
up."

One could say I hung on his every word. As he talked, I visualized it
all, with the memory of Carol's short oral visits to my prick, and
thought how much she could have learned from him. And of course with
these words and pictures my prick had stiffened and was tight in my
pants.

"One more question", I said. "What about sixty-nine?"

"Oh. sixty-nine!" he answered. "That is advanced. You shouldn't even
try it until you've mastered the basic techniques. The two guys should
be expert cocksuckers, it should be second nature to them, so they can
keep up what they're doing even while they're coming themselves. Your
tachnique has to be a little different, too, because your tongue's going
to be on top of his prick, instead of underneath where it can do the
most good. You use your upper lip a lot. When you've got it right,
it's the highest experience of all. You're welded to your partner,
you're sucking him while he's sucking you, it's almost like you're
sucking yourself, all those feelings are travelling from his mouth to
your cock and and up to your mouth and back to his cock...it's
perfection.

"Well, if you want the details, the best position is for both guys to
lay on their sides. Probably on the left side, so your right hand is
free to do whatever you want with it. You line your self up with each
other's crotch and slide the arm you're propped up on under the other
guy's leg. Lift your top leg and bend it at the knee to give access to
your own crotch. Then, wet your lips and prepare to slide onto his
prick and...have the best time of your life. Really."

"Boy," I said, "I can see why you're in journalism. That was the
finest exposition I have ever heard."

"You liked it?" he asked.

"Oh, yes!" I answered.

"Was it exciting?"

"Oh, yes!"

He paused for a moment. "And you're excited, aren't you?" he asked. He
was looking at my crotch where, without my being concious of it, my hand
had moved between my legs and was quietly stroking my stiff, pulsing
prick. I looked at him and solemnly nodded "Yes."

He leaned close and said: "There are some blankets up there in the bin.
Bring down one of them." I reached up and pulled one down into my lap.
"Spread it over yourself". I did. "Now take down your pants." He said
these things in a calm voice. They weren't like orders, just advice.
Advice I would take, although at this point I knew I was crossing a line
into some really new territory. Unbuckling and unzipping, I managed to
get my pants down around my calves. After a moment's thought I did the
same thing with my shorts. My prick stood up in relief. Sitting
bareassed on that smooth seat was exciting, and I admired the mound in
the blanket made by my prick, standing up like a little tent pole.

Alan raised the edge of the blanket. His hand reached in, slid across
my thigh, and found my totally hard prick. He moved his open hand up
and down it a few times -- it twitched in response -- and then closed
his hand around it and slowly moved up and down. "Ah," I thought, "he
got me going, and now he's going to take care of me by giving me a
wonderful hand job." But then he took his hand away. He whispered,
"Hold the blanket up for me," as he got up from his seat, turned around,
put his knees on the seat and wriggled around until he was facing me,
kneeling. I held up his end of the blanket, and his head and shoulders
disappeared uner it. Moments later I felt his hand on my prick again,
and then a wonderful sensation as something moist that had to be his
mouth touched its head, a soft ring that had to be his lips slid slowly
over the head, and what had to be his tongue moved back and forth across
the now incredibly sensitive underside just below.

My consciousness was bursting with the delighted messages my prick was
sending and my effort to pay attention to the mechanics of it and match
what he was doing with what he had told me about it. It was a losing
battle. I managed to note when he started an up and down motion,
running his mouth a short ways down my shaft and slowly back up to the
corona, and then when he kept his lips there and rocked his head back
and forth, but very soon I gave my attention wholly to the wonderful
feelings tht were building up so fast. I had the fleeting thought that
if anyone came to the back of the bus, and we happened to be passing
some light that would shine through the window, he would certainly see
that something "queer" was going on. But then I knew that I didn't give
a damn. I wasn't going to let anything stop this marvelous
happening.

It didn't take long, I think. The pleasure came in mounting waves that
crashed as I realized I was coming, coming, all my muscles trembling,
and barely managed not to shout in ecstacy. Then the peak was over, the
waves subsided, and a warm contentment enveloped me as my prick shrank
with his mouth still on it.

There was one more thing. in my dazed state, that I wanted to know, and
put my left hand between his slightly parted legs. Yes, he certainly
had a penis, and it was stiff. My fingers explored it through the
fabric of his pants only a few seconds before he took my arm and gently
pulled it away. He came out from under the blanket and resumed his
seat. We looked at each other. He looked pleased, and I'm sure I did
too as I smiled and nodded trying to convey my gratification. We didn't
speak. I lay back and closed my eyes, and in a few minutes was fast
asleep.

When I woke it was daylight outside. Alan was wide awake and said, "I
think we're coming in to town. You better pull yourself together." I
realized that I was still half naked under my blanket, pulled up my
shorts and pants and dressed as well as I could. We were in town now,
and in a few minutes had pulled up at our final stop. We left the bus
in the wake of several other young people and, as they went on their
way, stood silently for a minute in the deserted station.

"Alan," I finally said, "that was the most enjoyable and instructive bus
trip I have ever taken."

"I liked it, too," he replied, "but that was really doing it the hard
way. Cramped up in a bus seat, and having to go sideways...that's no
way to start..." He looked at me for a long moment. "What are you
doing tomorrow?" he asked.

"Uh, nothing special," I replied.

He said, "how about coming over to my place in the afternoon?"

It was my turn to pause. But if he was inviting me to another blow job,
I wasn't going to turn him down. "O.K.," I said.

"Great," he answered. He took a wallet from a back pocket, extracted a
little business card from it, and gave it to me. "Make it around three
o'clock, all right?" he asked. I studied the card. It was simply
printed with his name, an address on a street I was familiar with, and a
telephone number. "Call me if there's any problem," he said.

"There won't be," I answered, "I will most definitely be there."

"That's great," he repeated. "We'll have fun." With that, he walked
out of the station and turned toward his street, and I shouldered my bag
and headed for the dormitory, utterly bemused.

I got a good breakfast at the diner and headed for the dorm. No one
else was around. On my desk were the articles I had been studying when
I left, and I tried to resume my work. It was really diffcult. Most of
my mind was reliving my experience on the bus: I felt Alan's hand on my
prick, the glide of his lips over its head, the excitement of his
vibrating tongue, and the culminating explosion of my orgasm. My prick
got very hard, and there was nothing for it but to take off my pants,
lie on the bed, lubricate it, and slowly masturbate while imagining I
was back on the bus enjoying the blow job all over again. After I came,
deliciously, and cleaned myself up, I dozed off for a while.

Waking well after noon I forced myself to concentrate on my reading
until early evening, when I went to the diner for a modest dinner.
Returning, I had no interest in further work; I lay on the bed and gave
up trying to think of anything but the sensation of Alan's mouth on my
prick, which of course was hard again and straining to get out. I began
to wonder how it was for Alan: What did having a prick in your mouth
feel like? Was it hard, soft, sweet? Could I do it? I wanted to try!
I had an idea, got up, and went down the hall to the janitor's closet in
a corner of the building. It was unlocked, and his tidy collection of
brooms and mops hung from hooks on the wall. I selected a short mop
with a smooth, rounded end. I took it to the sink, turned on the water
and with my hands and a bit of soap scrubbed it clean and dried it. I
took it back to my room and, making very sure my door was locked, took
off my clothes and lay on the bed.

My prick was standing straight up as I brought the mop handle to my
mouth and inserted it. It seemed to me to have the right diameter for a
prick, and my mouth encircled it easily. I could put only some four
inches in until it touched the back of my throat. That meant that I
could cover little more than half a prick the length of mine,, but if
the corona was the really important part, it would do. Hitting the back
of my throat was as first very disagreeable, but I got used to it. I
moved the handle slowly out and back and focussed on visualizing it as a
real prick. I was careful to press with my lips and not let my teeth
touch it, and the sliding through my lips was quite pleasant. I
imagined the underside gliding over my tongue pressing up, and the great
feeling I was giving my partner...and of course my other hand was moving
on my own prick, faster and faster, until everything went blurry and I
came.

I was exhausted. I wiped myself with a towel, pulled up the covers and
went to sleep, the mop cradled in my arms.

Sunday morning I awoke with a feeling of anticipation and, naturally, a
stiff prick. I practiced some more with the mop handle and it felt
almost natural. As I stroked my prick it I wondered vaguely whether I
should be saving my sperm for whatever was going to happen in the
afternoon but, as ever, the immediate sensations won out, and I had a
lovely climax. I went out for a latish breakfast and returned planning
to work but found it nearly impossible. I was all wound up; I kept
checking the time as it drew near 2:30, when I figured I should leave
for Alan's place. It finally arrived, and I headed off, having made
sure that my clothes and body were as clean as I could make them.

The walk to his address actually took twenty minutes. It was a fair
sized apartment building, and his name was one of some thirty on the
panel of buttons at the entrance. I spent a short time wondering
whether to ring him ten minutes early or hang around suspiciously, and
settled for pushing the button. In a moment I heard his voice asking
who it was, and told him. "Come in!" he answered cheerfully. "One
flight up, and right to Number 8." As the door lock buzzed, I pushed
in, followed his directions, and found him standing back from the open
door of Number 8, which he closed as soon as I entered. His feet were
bare and he seemed to be wearing nothing but a bathrobe, as if he were
fresh from a shower. "I'm so glad you came," he said, with a pleasant
smile. "Can I get you something to drink?" "Well," I answered, "what
do you have? Or maybe I should say, what would be appropriate?" "I
like a little vodka at this time," he replied, "it's clean and warming."
I assented, and looked around the room as he took a bottle from a low
cabinet and poured two small shots and some water into two glasses. It
was a very comfortable place: long couch along one wall, a desk, a
large TV screen opposite the couch, a couple chairs and several enormous
pillows around the room. There was an arched opening into what looked
liked a bright little kitchen, and an open door into another room that
housed a great big bed. His grandfather's legacy must have been pretty
good, I thought.

He handed me my drink and invited me to sit on the couch. As we sipped
our drinks, not too slowly, I praised his apartment and we chatted a bit
about the weather and the reopening of school. When we had emptied our
glasses -- I felt a nice warmth in my stomach -- he gave me a slow smile
and said, "I think it's time you took off your clothes."

"All of them?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered, "stark naked. We want to see everything."

So I did just what he asked. When I was finished I stood naked before
him. My prick was already standing straight out in front. He stood up,
pulled his bathrobe open, and it joined my pile of clothes on the floor.
His prick was not quite hard, but long as it dangled from his light
blond pubic hair. He stepped up and encircled mine gently with one hand
saying, "Very nice." Then he picked up a very large, oddly triangular
pillow from a corner of the room and placed it on the couch. It came to
within a few inches of the edge of the couch and sloped back. "Sit
there," he told me. I did, the edge of the couch supporting my
buttocks. "Now lean back, and just relax." I did that, too. It was
perfectly comfortable, and left my prick leaning out into the room.
"Spread your legs." he ordered. As I did, he placed a small, square
pillow on the floor between them, close to me, and knelt on it. His
head was inches from my dong. "This is going to be a lot easier than it
was on the bus," he said, and moved his face close.

I watched fascinated as he thrust out his tongue and I felt a wonderful
thrill as he ran it slowly up my prick from my balls to the tip -- and
then down -- and up again -- and down -- finally halting at the top,
just below the corona, when he put his hand on the shaft and pressed his
tongue, wiggling, into it. I felt I had never been so excited in my
whole life. It was almost a relief when he raised a little, put his
lips on the very tip of my prick, and slowly opened them as his mouth
slid down over the head. He began a little up and down motion that made
my whole body quiver with pleasure, sliding down the shaft, than back to
the head, sometimes shaking his head a little from side to side. I'd
been trying to follow what he was doing, but I was losing it. The
sensations were drowning my mind, all there was was a fantastic pleasure
building up, and up, and suddenly exploding in an unbelievable wave. I
came! I came! It was glorious! I wanted to keep coming forever! But
the wave subsided, and as perception gradually came back I realized that
he still had my prick in his mouth, sucking it as if to get out the last
drop. In the warm afterglow of my feelings was just a trace of disappointment
that it was over so soon.

Finally he let it go and sat back on his heels. For a long time I could
only look at him weakly. "My God. That was...I never...that was so
fucking wonderful..." I mumbled. "Glad you liked it," he replied,
getting up and sitting beside my limp body. "I love giving blow jobs."
I could see that, for now his prick was erect, long, slightly pink,
beautiful. "It's too bad it was so quick. You must have been really
turned on."

I was recovering. "Yes, I was," I said. I stared at his penis a long
minute and finally said, "I still am. It's my turn now. I want to do
you."

He looked surprised. "Really?"

"Yes," I said. "Let's trade places."

"All right," he said, "I'm certainly ready."

I got up and turned around to kneel in front of him as he took my place
on the couch, spread his legs, and leaned back with his prick near my
face. I was determined to give him as good a job as he gave me.

I lowered my mouth to his nearly hairless balls, put out my tongue and
pressed it against his shaft, and slowly slid it up to the top, Then I
slid it down; up again, and down. What I felt was fascinating: the
skin of his prick was loose and pliable, but there was the hardness
underneath. My tongue tingled. After a minute or two of this I stopped
at the top and licked back and forth just under the head. He rewarded
me with a satisfied grunt. Finally I wet my lips well and slowly slid
them, tingling, over the end of his prick until I had the whole head in
my mouth. It was wonderfully soft and seemed just the right thing to
fill me. I slowly took more in, acutely aware of every millimeter that
slid over my tingling lips. I started massaging the soft underside with
my tongue. I was entranced. Having that prick in my mouth was the most
exciting thing I'd ever done.

"Oh, yes," he murmured. I tightened my lips, and rocked my head from
side to side. "Go, baby, go!" he told me.

I started sliding up and down, lips tight, down until he touched the
back of my throat, up till my lips firmly met the corona. There was
magic in it. His prick filling my mouth was so intimate, so right. I
loved the smooth slide on my lips; they felt the pleasure I was giving
him. I was deeply excited. I alternated this shaft stroking several
times with head motions that slid his prick sideways across my tongue.
I was feeling an increased tension in his legs, and his prick seemed to
swell, when suddenly he gave an inarticulate groan, his whole body
jerked, and something flowed creamily over my tongue and into my throat,
where I swallowed it. I swallowed several times again as I felt the
tension slowly drain from him. I continued massaging his prick with my
tongue as it softened, and as it went limp I sucked on it, extracting a
few more drops of fluid. Finally I let it go and leaned back, very
pleased.

After a minute he opened his eyes, looked at me, and said "You liar!"

I was startled. "What?" I asked.

"You lied to me." he said. "You said you never did this before."

"But I haven't, honestly," I replied.

"Oh, come on," he answered. "You've done it plenty."

"No" I said, still on my knees, "really. This is the first time. The
first time I've ever had a prick in my mouth. Last night I
practiced...with a mop handle. I just tried to remember all that you
told me, and just now what you were doing. You're a great teacher, and
I wanted to do the best I could."

He was silent a little while. "A mop handle, huh? I'll be damned.
Man, if that's true, you are a natural. That was no amateur
cocksucking. It was really good. Tell me: how did you like doing it?"

"I loved it," I said. "All of it, and when you came...that was great."

He stirred, and looked at my crotch. "My God," he said, "you're hard
again." Amazingly, I was. The tingle in my groin was spreading again
through my body. I was ready for more.

"All right," he said, standing up, "let's switch again." We traded
places, I on the couch and he between my legs. It was a repeat of
what he had done before, only better. Although my prick was as
sensitive as ever, and everything he did to it sent waves of pleasure
through me, I lasted a long time. The final, tremendous climax nearly
blacked me out and I fought to retain concsciousness as it subsided.

"Unbelievable," I finally said. "That was the greatest experience of my
life."

He looked very pleased. "Well, now you know," he said. "A good blow
job is the greatest thing there is, on either side. And I want to
welcome you to it. I think you have a fine future...Look, I have to get
dressed and go out soon. But I want to tell you how happy I am that we
met. And...when can you come again?" He smiled.

"Any time you let me," I answered. "I'll always be eager to learn
more."

I dressed and got ready to leave. He wrote my phone number in a little
book on his desk and I departed, feeling like a changed man. Alan had
opened up a new world for me. One way of putting it was that there were
now twice as many people with whom I could have sex than there were
yesterday.

Classes started the next day, and I found that much of the time I could
put reflections of that experience down toward the bottom of my mind,
indulging those memories fully only during my morning and evening and
occasional midday jackings off, when my fantasies were about mouths and
pricks instead of about pricks and cunts. I was hoping that Alan would
call, and on Thursday he did, inviting me to visit him Friday afternoon.
Of course I did, and it was like a reenactment of our Sunday session.
We stripped, I lay back on that magic pillow, and he sucked until I came
with the sensation that my head was exploding. We switched around and I
lavished my gratitude on his lovely cock, swallowed his sperm, basked in
his compliments on my performance and took in the few comments he made
on how I might improve even further.. Two days later, on Sunday, we did
it again, with me sucking first.

Two months later we had had perhaps a dozen sessions. Alan declared
that he had nothing more to teach me -- but, of course, he wanted me to
keep in practice, not necessarily with him. He told me how he saw
himself: as a teacher, or even a kind of guru, of gay sexuality. He
got great satisfaction from intoducing another male to the joy of
homosexuality. What I would call seducing he thought of as bringing out
a boy's innate yearning for the same sex. He thought that the ancient
Greeks had it right: men's greatest pleasure lay with men, and women
served only occasionally to receive the seed that created more men. (I
doubted the accuracy of that, but felt the attraction of their ease with
male love.) He was especially pleased when one of finds converted
completely and would have nothing to do with women. I was such a
pushover he thought he'd done that with me, and was dismayed when I told
him that, while I was most grateful to him for bringing my sex life to a
whole new level, I had no intention of abandoning females.

A few days later he called me saying there was something he wanted to
ask me, and I agreed to meet for coffee the next day. What he wanted
was a special favor, "for old times' sake", and incidentally for further
broadening my sex education. It seems that an old friend, Roger, was
going to visit the next weekend. They'd met as freshmen in high school,
when they were both starting to realize that they were gay. They became
close friends ("Close!" said Alan, "that was zero distance, whenever we
could manage it.") Roger now went to college in another state, but had
to come here on family business, and had arranged to spend one night
with Alan. Alan wanted to give him a rewarding time, but there was one
drawback: Roger loved to be fucked, and Alan wouldn't do that.
So...would I consider performing that service? With me fucking him, and
Alan sucking him, Roger would surely think he was in heaven.

I had to think about that a little while. Alan assured me that, by all
accounts, it gave great joy to both parties. I certainly was curious.
Fucking a girl was great; how much different was fucking a boy? And
since I had found that one style of gay sex was really fine, why not try
the other? So I agreed.

Friday evening, shortly after my early dinner, Alan called to let me
know that Roger had arrived and that my presence was wanted. When I
arrived I found him and his friend with drinks in their hands, and
wearing only bathrobes. Alan introduced us, gave me a drink and
refreshed theirs, and for a while continued a conversation they were
having about mutual acquaintances. I thought Roger pretty decent
looking. He was a bit shorter than Alan, and a little rounded; he
didn't have Alan's masculinity, and I could imagine him playing a
feminine role in a gay relationship. After a while Alan turned to me
and said, "Paul, I've told Roger what our plans for entertaining him
tonight are. I think we're all ready. How about you?"

"Yes, indeed," I answered.

"Then take off all that uncomfortable clothing," he said, standing up
and shrugging off his bathrobe. Roger, smiling, did the same. At that
moment he didn't look feminine at all; his sizeable prick was beginning
to swell over large balls lightly covered with brown hair. He picked up
a small leather case from beside his chair and gestured me ahead of him
as Alan led us into his bedroom, where I undressed. My prick was
standing out hard. Roger put his hand around it. "I'm going to love
that in me," he said. "This is your first time, isn't it?" I answered,
"yes." "You'll love it, too," he said.

"This needs a little preparation," he continued. "Get on the bed and
lay back." I did, my prick standing straight up. He opened the leather
case, took a large envelope from it, and pulled a rolled-up condom from
the envelope. "We believe in safe sex," he said, putting it on the end
of my prick and expertly rolling it all the way down, giving me a
delightful tingle. "And we believe in slippery sex," he said as he took
a jar of something from the case. He removed its top and dipped his
fingers into it. They came out coated with a clear jelly that he
smeared it all over the condom, giving me lots more tingles. Then, with
his other hand, he took from his case a ... prick! It was some kind of
soft, white plastic with little ripples all over its surface. About ten
inches long, it had a conical head and a flared bottom terminating in a
finger-sized ring. He swirled its head in the jar. He got on the bed
and lay back, his legs in the air and spread apart. He brought the
dildo to his ass, inserted it between the cheeks, and moved it in and
out a few times. "O.K.," he said, putting the thing aside and rolling
onto his left side. "Paul, get behind me."

I slid behind him and pushed the head of my covered cock lightly
between his smooth ass cheeks. He lifted his right leg and said, "A
little lower." I moved down an inch. "Now push," he said, and I did,
slowly. I felt resistance. "You've got it," he said, "push harder." I
did, and felt the resistance give way and my cock slide into a kind of
warm, enclosing ring. "Doing fine!" he said, "Now, all the way!", and
I pushed forward until my groin was solidly against his buttocks. "Oh,
that feels great! Now just slide in and out -- not too fast -- and
don't fall out! Oh, that's delicious!" This was really different from
entering a cunt. While the soft inside was similar, his tight sphincter
rode my shaft with greatly heightened sensation.

Meanwhile Alan had got on the bed, reversed. His head was at Roger's
loins and I could see his prick wave briefly as it lowered toward
Roger's mouth. I felt envious of their sixty-nine, but resolved to get
all I could out of fucking Roger. His asshole enveloped my prick like a
perfectly shaped hand; my motion made it rub me from below the middle
right up to the corona, and I quickly learned what length of stroke gave
the greatest sensation. I lost myself in my rhythmic motion and the
building pleasure, just noticing toward the end a quick tightening of
the sphincter I was traversing, thinking it was a sign that something
was happening to Roger, when I came, beautifully and long. Roger's head
was still moving. My right arm was across his body and my hand, along
with his, was resting on Alan's butt. Suddenly I felt Alan's hips move
in little jerks and I knew that he was coming. Soon it quieted. My
soft prick had slipped out of Roger's ass and we just lay there for
several minutes, before finally separating.

I went to the bathroom and peeled off the greasy condom, full of sperm,
flushed it away. and washed my prick. Roger came in and wiped lubricant
off his ass with toilet paper and washed his hands. Alan, the architect
of all this, just lay on the bed looking pleased. "That was just
wonderful," said Roger. "I love your prick, Paul. It's just the right
size. And Alan, so is yours. It was so good to get filled up by you
guys. Pricks are the greatest invention in the world!"

We never did get dressed. Alan handed drinks around, several times, and
heated up some hors d'ouvres that we gobbled down. I was tired and
sleepy and didn't want to move, so that when Alan suggested I spend the
night there, I accepted. He apologized for having to get up early the
next morning: he had an appointment with a dean that he had not been
able to put off. The three of us returned to his big bed. Roger was
between Alan and myself. I fell asleep almost immediately, dimly aware
of Roger's hand curled around my soft penis.

We all woke when the alarm clock went off, but only Alan got up. Roger
and I lay dozing as he bustled about for a while, shouted "See you later
-- enjoy one another!", and left. I became aware of my standard
morning erection, and that it was touching Roger's backside. I grew
more alert when he rolled over and put his hand around it. "Oh my," he
said, "how nice! Paul, is that a piss hard, or a real one?" "It's
real," I answered, "and your hand feels good." "Well, we don't want to
waste it," he said. He moved his head close to mine and, in a low
voice, said "Paul, would you fuck me, please? You were so good last
night...I want you in me again. Please?"

Much better than a hand, I thought, and there's something special about
its just being the two of us. I said "Yes." "Oh, thank you!" he
answered, He reach out and picked up his little leather case. He opened
it, found a condom, and rolled it down my now quite stiff prick. As
before, he used his jar of lubricant on it, then slicked his own ass
with the help of the dildo. He did something more: with the jelly on
his fingers he greased the underside of his own stiff, bare penis, and
then leaned toward me and rubbed a streak of it up my belly, from my
crotch to my belly button. "What's that for?" I asked. "You'll see,"
he said, smiling.

Roger was on his back on the bed. He wriggled up until his head touched
the headboard, then raised his knees almost to his chest and spread his
legs apart. "O.K.," he said, "come on." "Like that?" I asked. "Yes,"
he said. "Missionary style is the best way for two guys to fuck." I
got between his legs and advanced. He put his hands on his ass cheeks
and pulled them apart, making his pinkish asshole an easy target, and I
moved up until the head of my prick nuzzled it. "Get it in, man!" he
ordered, and I pushed it in through that tight embrace until we were
fully joined and I could get no farther. "Lean on me!" was next. I
bent my body toward his, and felt the stiffness of his prick on my
belly. "Oh, good, he said. "Now go back and forth. I want your body
sliding over my prick. I want you in me and on me. I want you to love
me from both sides!" I felt his hands on my ass, pulling, then pushing,
setting a sweet rhythm. Then one hand went between my ass cheeks and a
lubricated finger slid into my asshole -- a strange feeling, but
pleasant. His sphincter was massaging my prick as my belly was stroking
his. We moved into one another, increasing the speed of the fucking
until I heard him groan "Oh, oh, oh!", his body twisted under me, his
sphincter tightened and in moments brought me to the height of a long,
delicious climax.

We lay there quite a while recovering. When I lifted myself from his
limp body I saw a line of sperm running from his belly to his chest and
found my chest wet with it, too. When he saw that he wriggled down and
licked me until it was gone. Finally we went to the bathroom and
cleaned up. Still naked, we went to Alan's kitchen and found orange
juice, bread, ham, eggs, and coffee, and made ourselves a fine
breakfast. Roger talked at some length about how good male fucking was.

"I love every bit of it," he said. "If you're really into it, you start
by kissing, and licking: your partner's lips, his nipples, his balls,
and best of all, his prick, and make sure it's good and hard. Then you
lubricate his prick and your asshole, and the thrills start. He presses
the head against you and starts sliding in. It doesn'nt hurt a bit if
you're relaxed. You can push down as if you're about to shit; it opens
you up, and he enters. What a feeling! You're opening up, being
filled, that cock slides in, presses your prostate, and goes right to
your center. And when he starts fucking, you're mounting the stairway
to heaven. Lubricate your finger and put it in his asshole. His belly
should be rubbing the underside of your prick, too, You'll come anyway,
but that makes it far better. When you're getting close you can tighten
your sphincter to make him come faster. Grab his ass and help him move.
It's great when you both come at the same time. If you're bareback
you'll feel his jizz shoot, and yours will coat the two of you. When
it's over, you'll know you had the finest experience of your whole
life."

He smiled at me, saying, "I'm talking about being a bottom, which is the
best. But I don't mind being a top if my partner needs it. And...how
about you? Wouldn't you like to try it? I'd love to show you how
wonderful it is."

His talk certainly excited my curiosity, but I wasn't ready. If he had
asked me to suck him off I would have, but I'd really had enough sex for
the moment. So we exhanged compliments on what we had accomplished, I
got dressed, and left.

On my way back to my dorm my mind was full of all that I had learned in
the past few weeks. What was I going to do with it?

Gay Sex Stories presents "Revenge on Ryan - A Hot Gay Sex Story".

     After my freshman semester at college, I was on a Greyhound bus to go home for the Christmas break.  It had been a very difficult semester. Not only did I have to adjust to college life and become relatively independent but I found class work far more demanding than I had ever experienced.  I felt relieved to pull a low B average even after all the sleepless nights studying.  I was more than ready for a break.

     Ryan sat next to me, in the aisle seat.   I had met him casually in an English class and, by coincidence, we were on the same bus.  Ryan lived on a farm about 20 miles from the county seat where I grew up. Ryan was not particularly attractive--short, very thin, but with an almost chubby face that made him look much younger than his years.  Nor was he very personable; he was painfully shy and seemed to find conversation difficult.  We had talked for several miles after boarding the  bus but I soon tired of carrying the conversation.  When I stopped talking, he seemed to welcome the silence.  Trying to be sociable with someone so unresponsive was irritating.  So we now rode along quietly. I was staring out the window at a bleak landscape; Ryan was engrossed in a book by some obscure dead philosopher.

     As the bus cruised along in the waning daylight, I drifted off to sleep reflecting on the previous months.  The course work was not the only burden I had experienced.  There was also the blatant homophobia in faculty and student body at a fundamentalist Christian college.  Sitting in boring lectures, I found myself scanning the class and finding many of the guys quite attractive.  Mentally undressing them and fantasizing about being in bed with them often got me hard.  Still worse was the compulsory physical education classes and the inevitable shower room distractions.  It took an act of shear will power to avoid getting hard at the sight of twenty or so naked guys showering, horsing around, and rarely being shy about being seen in the buff.  I noticed in the shower room that some guys were enviably endowed.  But there was no particular correlation to how they appeared in clothes.  Therefore, my fantasizing about who I was with in bed and what it would be like was influenced as much by their equipment as by their attractiveness when clothed.

 

     Life in the all-male dorm was also frustrating.  In contrast to their ultra-modest attire and behavior on campus, the guys were surprisingly unconcerned about appearing in their room or in the hallway with nothing on but their briefs, sometimes less.  There was one shower room with five shower stalls on each floor of the dorm.  They were nearly always crowded morning and night so I saw a lot of flesh daily.   I stole many glances, which gave me more fodder for fantasizing as I sat in my room doing my homework. I should have been trying to understand the assigned readings but images of a bare ass or dangling cock were constantly intruding on my thoughts.  It aroused me but gave no real satisfaction.

     Of course, I had to be very discrete about what I looked at and what I thought.  The late sixties were not a time of tolerance for "abnormal"  sexual preferences and the environment at my college was particularly toxic to homosexuals.  (The term, gay, still meant happy.)  As cover for my secret longings, I would join in occasional conversations about the 'sin' of 'deviant homosexual behavior.'  There were also occasional raunchy discussions about screwing girls among a few of the guys.  As hypocritical as that was, I had felt I had to join in to mask my real interests.  My inner life as a self-admitted but unrevealed homosexual was always conflicting with my need to be socially acceptable.  It was more of a strain than the arduous course work.

     In spite of my compulsive habit of mentally undressing other guys, Ryan was easy to ignore.  Imagining him naked was more humorous than exciting.  He had a whisper thin frame and even normal clothes seemed baggy.  His almost chubby baby face on that frame was almost grotesque.  And he was a bookish little shit.  If you couldn't debate free will or existentialism with him, there was no hope of any conversation.  It would be a long trip.

     Close to midnight, the bus pulled of the highway for a scheduled comfort stop.  I awoke to find it snowing heavily. Lights in the parking lot revealed a considerable accumulation of snow on the ground.  In spite of the snow on the ground and blowing all around, I got off the bus. I had to piss.  Ryan followed.  I bought a Coke and bag of Fritos and got back on the bus.  Ryan was already back in his seat.  We exchanged a few words about the weather but I knew conversation was futile.  I began to think that traveling alone would be better than the effort it took trying to be friendly with this turd.

     Long after the bus was to have left, the driver announced that the highway ahead was impassable.  It would be morning before the storm subsided and the plows would be able to clear the road.  He apologized, emphasized that there was nothing he could do about it, and then said that there was a Motel just 50 yards away.  It was recently built, not yet open for business, but had agreed to make some rooms available if anyone wanted to stay the night there.  We would be called in the morning at least 45 minutes before the bus departed.  Ryan and I looked at each other with exasperated expressions.

     I took the initiative.  "Want to share a room?" I asked.  "If we split the cost, it shouldn't be too much."  I didn't fancy being with him more than I had to but money was tight and I sure as hell didn't want to spend the night in a truck stop.

     Ryan hesitated, looking worried.  I pressed my case.  "What's the alternative?" I asked, "Hanging out in that dingy truck stop.   With no place to get any shut-eye?" 

     Ryan still gave no answer but pulled out his wallet.  "I've only got five bucks but I have a credit card.  We could put the room on my card and you could give my half in cash.  Would that be OK?"

     "Done," I said, "Let's go before the rooms are gone."

     We left the bus as the driver was still apologizing and catching all kinds of hell from two half-drunk slobs in the back.  It was a long 50 yards, made longer by the drifts and driving snow.  In the motel, the owner checked us in while going on at length about how he was not ready for guests yet.  There was no staff yet so we would have to make up our own bed.  The TV was not connected, and there was a phone but no long distance calling yet.  I was in no mood for his sob story although grateful that he took us in.

     Ryan pissed me off again by insisting that I give him the cash for my half of the room as soon as we checked in.  As if I would cheat him or something.  I was in a foul mood as we made our way to the room, which, to my dismay, had just one queen-size bed.  How I wished that I could share it with someone--anyone other than Ryan--who shared my interests.  Instead, I would be spending the night with somebody who I disliked more and more.

     Once in the room, Ryan asked to shower first.  I agreed, put sheets

and blankets on the bed and then sat there waiting.  For the first time,

knowing he was naked in the shower, I wondered how he was fixed ...

and what he did with it when he was alone.  The thoughts were not

enough to really arouse me, however.  He was a far cry from my ideal

kind of guy.

     When he came out, he was wearing baggy boxer briefs that revealed

nothing.  His baby face, scrawny torso and spindly legs, bare of any real

hair, made him look like a poster child for some Feed the Hungry group.

He thanked me for making up the bed and quickly crawled under the

covers.  It was my turn to shower which I completed quickly--the hot

water soon ran out.  I blamed Ryan for staying too long in the shower

and depleting the hot water supply.  Of course, the problem was more

due to the motel's plumbing than Ryan's shower but it was yet another

reason to dislike him.   While I prefer to sleep nude, I chose to be more

discrete and slipped on my briefs before getting into bed next to Ryan.  I

said, "Good night" and rolled over to put my back toward him.  I fell

asleep thinking how great it would be if only I were in bed with a better

looking guy who shared my sexual tendencies.

     Some time later, while just half awake, I sensed that my cock was

stiffening.  That was not at all unusual for me but there would be no

chance of jerking off with Ryan next to me.  I was lying on my back.

Then, slightly more awake, I sensed something else--a slight pressure

on my cock--not a steady pressure but one that was moving around.

Waking a little more, puzzled by the feeling, I realized that the pressure

was Ryan's hand.  He was ever so softly massaging my cock through my

briefs.  By now, I was fully awake but I pretended to be sleeping so I

could be sure of my impression.  There was no doubt; Ryan was feeling

me up.  I had no idea how long he had been doing that but it must have

been a while because my cock was almost fully erect.  As my cock

continued to swell in response to his massaging, I wondered what to do.

My surprise at his fondling me gradually turned to irritation that he would

take advantage of me while he thought I was asleep.  I thought about angrily

telling the little turd to keep his friggin hands to himself but then decided that

what he was doing felt good.  For the time being, I decided, I'd wait to see

just how far he would go.

     In no time at all, I felt his hand begin to slip under the waistband

of my briefs.  He was being very slow, very deliberate, and very gentle so

as not to wake me.  If only he knew that I was fully awake.  My hardening

cock was beginning to be very painful, cramped at a downward angle

when it wanted to point upward.  The pain was getting intense when

Ryan apparently got a little bolder.  My steady breathing no doubt

convinced him that I was soundly asleep.  He gently maneuvered my

cock to a more comfortable, upright position.  Then he began to circle

the head of my cock with his fingers, which I thoroughly enjoyed but

which made me want all the more to jerk and shoot a load.

     I continued the pretense of sleeping soundly.  That made Ryan bolder

and, to tell the truth, more careless.  He was now lowering my briefs, not

realizing that anything like that would wake nearly anyone.  Eventually,

my briefs were down low enough that my cock was completely free.

Ryan took more and more liberties with my throbbing member.  He was

fondling it, running his fingers through my pubes, and caressing my

balls.  The stimulation was almost more than I could bear.  I decided that

something had to be done; my balls and cock were screaming for relief.

     The whole situation was ridiculous.  This scrawny, baby-faced kid

who was as socially responsive as a rag doll, who had been worse than

no company at all on the bus, was irritating me more and more . . . this

twerp had the nerve to sneak a secret feel of my cock when I was

asleep.  While I could have been thinking of the chance for sensual and

sexual satisfaction with another guy, I got mad instead.    My

mischievous side took over.

     Ryan was on my left, lying on his side facing me.  With my right hand,

in one lightening move, I grabbed the wrist of the hand that was playing

with my cock.  I heard Ryan inhale quickly and felt him try to pull back

his hand.  But I held it in a tight grip.  Ryan didn't move.  I could only

imagine the fright--and maybe shame--he was feeling.  He had been

caught and now, he was probably thinking, would have to suffer the

terrible consequences.  I delighted in the misery he must be feeling.

     Mostly to prolong his agony, I let him stew for just a few moments.

During that time, however, I guess I felt a little sorry for the guy and

thought that he was just as frustrated as I was over being gay but not

being allowed to be gay.  Perhaps he was simply unable to control his

longing for sexual contact and siezed the opportunity.  That made a

weird sort of sense because he was socially immature.  He didn't have

the skills or the courage to attempt a consensual contact yet he craved

sexual stimulation.

In the meantime, my cock was telling me, "Keep it up, I like the attention."

Without loosening my firm grip on his hand, I began to slowly move his

hand up and down my stiff rod.  At the same time, I reached with my

free hand down toward his crotch where I found a woodie under his

baggy briefs.  As I began to rub his cock, I kept a firm enough grip

on his wrist that he couldn't pull away.  But I continued to guide his

hand across my bare boner.  I was still feeling resentment that he

had taken advantage of me while I was sleeping, still mad, but I was

increasingly excited about the opportunity for sex that it gave me.

     Little by little, I loosened my grip on his wrist.  His hand wrapped

around my cock and he was making no effort to withdraw.  My hand

continued stroking his rock-hard cock.  His hand wrapped more tightly

around my cock and squeezed.  I squeezed his in reply.  He made a few

stroking movements on my aching cock.  I did the same to his,

astonished at what seemed to be the length of the monster.  I had to see

it.  I threw back the covers and moved quickly to straddle his legs.   Ryan

didn't move,  He couldn't anyway because I was sitting on his legs and my

hands were on his shoulders pinning him to the mattress.  He must have

been startled at my quick movements . . . and maybe still suffering from

the fear of being caught while feeling me up in my sleep.

     "Don't move," I growled, surprising myself with the unaccustomed

assertiveness.  I reached over and turned on the light before he could

figure out what was happening.  I jerked his boxers down his legs more

violently than I should have and threw them across the room.  Ryan was

frozen with either surprise or fear. I pulled off my own briefs and

forcibly spread his legs to crouch on my knees between his spindly legs.

Seeing his erect cock confirmed my earlier suspicion: it was huge.  Ryan

packed the longest pecker I had ever seen.  It was uncut and the foreskin

was stretched tightly over the head with only the piss slit peeking out from

underneath.  In contrast to his hairless chest and only slightly fuzzy legs,

his pubic hair was a thicket of curly black hair.  Two very large balls hung

loosely below in an ample sack.  For a scrawny, baby-faced kid he carried

an abnormally sized organ.  The size of it, wasted on such a miserable

body, made me angrier.  Why should some random combination of genes

bestow such admirable genitalia on such a wretched male body?

     In spite of my anger--at the wasteful combination of very manly

genitals on a very unmanly body but mostly at Ryan's selfish invasion of

my body while I was asleep--I found the situation very arousing.  The

reason was that this was my first sexual encounter--the first time I had

ever been close to or put my hands on another guy's cock.  Lust began

to consume me.

     Ryan suddenly became both shy and remorseful.  He covered his

crotch with his hands and began apologizing for fondling me.  He started

it but was now whimpering to call it off.  That infuriated me and told him

to shut up.  My short temper and growing lust was temporarily ruling my

actions.  I was going to "get even" while satisfying my sexual energies.

     I played with that massive cock for a while.  I tugged at Ryan's

balls.  I forced the foreskin back to reveal the bulbous head on top of the

long shaft.  I could see the precum glistening at his piss slit.  I got

harder.  Ryan just laid there, neither resisting nor cooperating; there was

no sign that he enjoyed or resented what I was doing to him.  How like him,

I thought--passive and compliant through and through.  But it was Ryan who

started all this.  It was he who made a sneak attack on me while he thought

I was asleep.

     I growled at him again.  "Roll over.  I'm going to fuck you."   I

surprised myself at the command but, having said it, I was determined

to do it.

     Ryan showed his first response since I had surprised him.  His eyes

opened wide and he mumbled, "No.  Please don't."  The words were

more of a whimper than a plea.  His previously expressionless face now

showed fear.  There was no doubt he wanted to end what he had started

but there was also no doubt that I was going to have my revenge.

     "Roll over," I demanded. "You started this, you little twerp, and

I'm going to finish it."

     "Please," he whimpered.  "Don't do this to me."

     He was trembling and tears appeared in his eyes, which only

inflamed my anger.  "Lost your courage, twerp?" I asked.  "You're only

courageous when you think I'm asleep?  You had your fun with me and

now I'm going to have my fun with you."  The tone of my voice evidently

convinced him that resistance was not an option.  Obediently, he rolled

over, exposing his lily-white and juvenile-sized ass cheeks.  "Don't

move," I growled as I got up to get some shampoo from the bathroom.

     Returning to the quivering form on the bed, I spread his legs and

knelt between them.  As I spread his cheeks, I saw the tight pucker of

his undoubtedly virgin ass.  It seemed to be clenched tight against the

inevitable invasion of my aching cock.  I slathered shampoo on his hole

and on my raging cock.

     It was my first time at fucking somebody.  I had read enough stories

to know how to loosen up somebody's hole, but I was too horny and too

angry to bother about preliminaries.  Moreover, Ryan was no doubt a

virgin and my forceful entry would cause considerable pain.  I should

have been gentler entering that dark alley but I forced my way in.

     Ryan cried out in pain as the head of my cock plunged through the

formerly closed pucker of his ass.  He continued to moan loudly and

begged me to stop as I shoved more of my cock into him.  I should have

felt guilty because I was, in effect, raping the guy.  But dammit, he had it

coming, I told myself.

     My cock was inserted within a minute and I felt the tight sphincter

almost strangling my rod.  Ryan's screams of pain subsided to crying

whimpers as I pushed my cock more deeply.  I didn't pump long before I

shot a load of hot cum up his asshole.  It was an immensely intense and

satisfying orgasm.  I kept my cock in his ass while I felt another load of

cum squirt into his darkness.  I kept it in his ass while the sensations

ebbed away.

     It was then, after satisfying my urge for revenge and my stronger urge

to cum, that I felt remorse for what I had done.  This poor kid had

violated me by stealing a feel but I had done far worse to him.  I withdrew

my cock and released my grip on his waist.  I gently rolled him over onto

his back.  What I saw surprised me.  The sheet under him had a very

large wet spot with an unmistakable pool of cum in the middle.  His

stomach was wet and sticky.  He had cum while I was fucking him.  One

of his cries must have been when he shot his load.

     But there was a bigger surprise in store for me.  Just as I was about

to apologize for the forced fucking--the rape, if you will--I looked at his

face and he was smiling broadly.  "That was great," he said.

     I thought it was too, but I just stared at him in disbelief.  Any guilt I

felt was gone.  The little shit had enjoyed it!  I had set out to punish the

obnoxious twerp but he appreciated it.  I was furious.

     Saying nothing, I went into the bathroom to clean up.  I came out of

the bathroom to find him sitting on the edge of the bed.  He looked up at

me and smiled.  I noticed his cock hanging down between his legs,

which he held slightly open as if to give me a better view.  His cock was

soft but it was still massive.  But that scrawny body and baby face was

still there, too.  And I knew that his zero personality would not change.

I was not aroused.

     Ryan cleaned up and got back into bed, this time as nude as I was.

He put his arm across my chest and said, "Thanks."

     I forcefully pushed his arm away and angrily said, "Keep your hands

off me, creep!  Touch me again and I"ll beat you bloody!"

     We rolled over on our sides, facing away from each other. My thoughts

about the experience kept me awake for some time.  I could have been

grateful for the storm, having to share a bed, and even his fondling me,

which led to my first gay sex experience.  But every time I think of it,

it just seemed dirty.  I don't regret raping him because he deserved it but

I wish that it hadn't happened.

     We spoke only a dozen words for the rest of the trip.  Neither of us

ever mentioned what had happened the night before but he tried hard,

in his awkward way, to be friendly and make conversation.  I ignored it

as long as I could but finally told him to shut up and leave me alone.  We

spent the last hundred miles of the trip without a word to each other for

which I was grateful.

     Fortunately, we took separate busses back to campus following the

Christmas break.  By that time, I had come to the conclusion that what

he did was wrong but what I did was also wrong.  Still, as unfortunate as

it was, I resolved to put it behind me and get on with my life as a

frustrated gay struggling to get through college and hoping that, one day,

I could find someone with whom to forge a caring relationship.

     I saw Ryan on campus a few times during the first three weeks back

at school but each time he avoided me by turning and walking away.  That

suited me just fine.  It surprised me, therefore, when I answered a knock

on my dorm room door late one night to find Ryan standing in the hall.

     "I want to apologize to you," he began, "For what I did in the motel.

I let my urges take over.  I shouldn't have done what I did and I'm sorry."

    "You should be sorry," I replied curtly but stopping short of

apologizing for what I had done to him.

     "I really am," he said.  "I just wanted to apologize to you and ask for

your foregiveness before I leave."

     "Leave?" I asked.  "What do you mean? Are you dropping out of school?"

     "Out of school.  Out of everything."

     "Out of everything?" I asked.  "What the hell are you talking about?"

      "I can't go on as a misfit," he mumbled as tears welled up in his

eyes.  "I can't control my urges.  I let them control me that night in the

motel.  I've tried for years but the urges only get stronger.  I can't let

that happen again.  If it does, I'll hate myself even more.  I had to

apologize to you before I go."

     "Go?  Where are you going?"

     Ryan began to tremble as he fought, unsuccessfully, to hold back his

tears.  "I can't live like this," he blurted out.  "It can't go on.  There's only

one way to put an end to my misery."

     Slowly, the picture began to be clear.  The repressive sanctions of

his homophobic environment tormented him.  My discomfort and frustrations

were nothing compared to the torture that he apparently suffered. I

suspected that his ambiguous comments about 'leaving' and 'dropping out

of everything' and 'only one way to end his misery' could mean that he was

suicidal.  "Whoa," I said.  "Come in.  We need to talk."

     Reluctantly, he came into the room.  I invited him to sit on the desk

chair and I sat on the edge of my bed facing him.  "Talk to me," I said.

"Tell me what the trouble is."

     An awkward silence ensued in which Ryan was either gathering his

thoughts or the courage to tell me about the real problem he had.  Staring

at the floor and still trembling and crying, he said, "I'm a sick queer.

I fight the evil urges but they don't go away.  I've prayed about it but it

doesn't help.  I've researched homosexuality and concluded that there's

no cure.  I can pretend to be straight but inside I know I'm not.  I'll never

lose the desire for sex with a guy.  It's worse than a terminal disease.

At least that wouldn't last long.  But it's an affliction that I'll have

to suffer through for the rest of my life.  It's not worth it.  I can't go

on hating myself.  And I can't trust myself to leave other guys alone."

     It was abundantly clear that Ryan needed skilled counseling but it

also seemed clear that he needed help immediately so I would have to do

what I could to delay or avoid a very serious situation.

     For quite some time, we talked.  I learned that Ryan had been fighting

and concealing his urges since puberty.  His deeply religious parents never

talked about sex except for thinly veiled condemnation of premarital sex

and, worse, 'deviant' sexual behavior.  His only friends growing up were

from similarly religious families who avoided any mere suggestion of

sexuality.  Ryan was increasingly attracted to other guys, especially in

the shower and locker room after gym class in high school.  Although he

had been reluctant to talk initially, I found that he was pouring out his

thoughts and emotions in a veritable torrent as though doing so would

dispel the demon that haunted him.

     His self image was abysmal.  In addition to what he felt were sick

and evil cravings, he was embarrassed over his physique.  In fact, he was

painfully ashamed of his looks.  He was convinced that no boy or girl would

ever find him attractive enough to be more than a casual acquaintance.  He

had worked himself into a severe depression of despair and self-loathing.

     More disturbing was that he finally revealed - whether he intended to

or not, I couldn't be sure - that he was going to end his misery by ending

his life.  It was abundantly clear that I would have to say something - do

something - to counter his suicidal thoughts.  But what?  I barely passed

Psych in high school!  I was not qualified to give him the help he needed

but I didn't dare let him leave and risk the disasterous consequence.

     At that point, he was sobbing and unable to speak.

     I placed my hand on his knee in an attempt to signal my sympathy and

support but he jerked back as though he had been burned with a red-hot

poker.  I withdrew my hand and said, "Ryan, I understand how you feel.

It's hell to be attracted to guys when everyone around you thinks it's

abnormal.  But it isn't abnormal.  It's unusual, yes, but there are lots of

guys who feel the same way.  You're not sick.  You're not evil.  You are

who you are."

     "No," he countered as he struggled to speak between his sobs.  "You

can't know how I feel.  You can't understand how those thoughts torment

me."

     "Yes I can."  I had concealed my homosexuality for years out of fear

of the consequences of being honest.  I was nowhere near ready to come out

of the closet but it seemed doing so was perhaps the only chance to help

Ryan.  "I have the same thoughts, Ryan.  I've faced the same dilemma.  I'm

homosexual, too."  Knowing the religious persecution that Ryan faced, I

added, "It's the way God made me.  And thousands of other guys just like

you and me."

     Ryan at least made eye contact with me - a good sign, I thought.

I continued talking as Ryan listened intently although without any

discernable expression.  I repeated, in various ways, that homosexuality

was relatively rare but not abnormal.  I emphasized that being homosexual

was difficult but still manageable.  I even dared to say that religious

dogma was not always right, especially when it denounced homosexual

behavior and persecuted queers.  I tried to convince him that, more

important that sex, love between two men can be as deep and rewarding

as between a man and a woman.

     Ryan had stopped crying and exhibited the first faint signs of real

interest when I talked about a caring, nurturing, and satisfying

relationship between two men.  I decided to capitalize on that.  "Look,

Ryan.  What happened in the motel was just sex.  You made a mistake by

fondling me while I was asleep.  I made a bigger mistake by getting revenge

on you.  Lust got the better of both of us and I apologize for my

inexcusable reaction.  But sex between two guys who are willing and who

respect each other and who just want to show their affection is all right.

I can't speak from experience, but I'm convinced that it can be beautiful.

I hope one day to find the right guy and I believe that you, too, will find

the right guy.  You don't have to be celibate and fight to contain your

urges all your life."

     I was relieved to see that Ryan had stopped crying and even begun

asking questions that I thought were headed in the right direction.

     "How do you control your urges?"

     "You don't; you control your behavior."

     "So it isn't sick?"

     "No, it's just different."

     "And you don't think it's a sin?"

     "Not at all; a lot of bigots think it is but I don't and virtually all

psychologists don't."

     "How do you find someone to love and have sex with?"

     "That's not easy," I had to admit.  "I've been trying for years and

I haven't found the right way.  I'm not sure there is a 'right' way.  But

I think that one day I'll find somebody.  I don't know how, but the hope

that I will keeps me going."

     "You might...but look at me.  Who would want me?"

     That question seemed to take him in the wrong direction and I felt I

must somehow boost his damaged ego.  "I think you're selling yourself

short.  You have a keen mind and that can take you a long way in life.

You're thin but that's better than being fat, isn't it."  I took a chance

by adding,  "And moreover, you've got equipment between your legs

that a lot of men will admire."

     Ryan blushed and replied, "Sometimes I think it's too big, almost

grotesque."

     "Yes, it is big but not too big and certainly not grotesque.  I really

think that you're too sensitive about how well you are endowed."

     Ryan grew quiet and appeared to be digesting what I had said.  I let

him think through our conversation and tried to assess what else I could do

to help him.  Listening to him seemed to help.  I hoped that countering the

notion that homosexuality was deviant would also help.  Assuring him that

he was a worthy individual might also help.  Those were the tactics I used

for the next hour and a half of amateurish counseling.  Gratefully, they

seemed to work.  Ryan settled down and began to think rationally about

his sexuality.  He was still troubled by his religion's prohibition against

homosexuality but he was no longer considering suicide.

     My attitude toward Ryan was gradually changing.  I had earlier thought

of him as an obnoxious jerk.  As we talked, however, I began to see that

his appearance and behavior were masking a sensitive and perceptive

intelligence.  I still didn't like  him but I began to understand him.

     During our conversation, a bizarre idea came to mind.  Initially, I

dismissed it but as as I weighed the possibilities of my idea, I concluded

that it might help Ryan.

     "Ryan, remember when I said that sex between men was not abnormal?"

He nodded. I didn't know whether he agreed with my assertion or was only

acknowledging that I had said it.  I pressed on.  "And remember that I

said that sex between two men who were willing and respected each

other could be quite beautiful?"  He nodded again, this time with a quizzical

expression.  I knew that his sharp mind was trying to determine what I was

leading up to but I was not yet ready to tell him of my idea.

     "That incident in the hotel room was wrong.  I was not willing to be

fondled and I'm sure you were not willing for me to fuck you so

mercilessly.  But let's put that behind us.  It happened.  We both regret

it.  But it's over.  We have to move on."  I could tell that I had his

undivided attention but I was not at all sure of his reaction to what I

planned to say next.  "Let's start from square one.  Would you like to go

to bed with me?  I'm willing...no, let me say I would like it very much.

We would be doing it as friends, not as two horny guys that were just

taking unfair advantage of a situation."

     Ryan's eyes widened as he absorbed what I had offered.  Then his eyes

dropped to the floor and he said, "You're just saying that because you're

sorry for me.  I don't want sympathy."

    "Yes, I'm sorry for the torment you've been going through but I'm not

suggesting it out of sympathy.  I have needs, too...needs that I haven't

been able to satisfy.  I really would like to have you in my bed.  That is,

if you also want it and if you're comfortable doing it."

     "I...I would...I would like that." he stuttered.

     I got up off the edge of the bed and stood in front of him.  I thought

about gently lifting him up out of the chair but remembered his earlier

reaction when I touched him.  "I would like it, too," I said softly.  "Would

you undress me?  Please?"

     Slowly, he stood.  After an awkward pause, he began to remove my

tee shirt.  I could feel his hands trembling against my torso, I could

feel my cock begin to inflate, and I noticed the tent in his trousers grow.

He pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it onto the chair.  "This is

going to be wonderful," I assured him.  Taking a chance, I put my hands

on his shoulders.  He did not recoil at my touch.  Softly, I said, "Now

pull down my shorts.  Please."  I pressed down on his shoulders.  He got

the message and kneeled in front of me so that his eyes would be closer to

my rapidly swelling cock when he pulled down my shorts.

     I wore no underwear under my gym shorts so when he tugged them

down, my cock sprang to fully upright position.  He gasped quietly and

I wondered what thoughts were boiling up in his mind.  He stared at my

rigid cock for a few minutes before I said, "You can touch it if you want."

     Tentatively at first, he felt the heat and firmness of my cock and I

gave him time to fully absorb the sight and feel of it to an extent that

had not been possible in that miserable hotel room.  Eventually, I reached

under his arms and lifted him to a standing position.  "May I undress you?"

I asked.

     Perhaps unable to speak, he nodded.  As I removed his shirt, I could

feel that his heart was beating as fast as mine.  I moved quickly - not

too quickly, I hoped - to drop his pants to his ankles and then his boxers.

His very long cock was quite erect and his balls hung pendulously below. I

caressed them and he welcomed my touch with a moan of delight.  I led

him over to my bed and gently maneuvered him to lay down on his back.

     "Are you all right with this?" I asked.  "Are you sure you want to

do this?"

     "Oh, yes," he mumured.  "More than anything."

     "If you tell me to stop, I will.  If I do anything you don't like, tell me."

     He didn't reply so I laid down next to him.  Two on a single bed is

a bit crowded but in this situation, it didn't matter.  I began by

massaging his chest with particular attention to his nipples.  Although I

could see and feel every rib, I found that it was particularly erotic to be

naked with someone in my bed.  I moved my hand down toward his

stomach and noticed that his precum was dripping profusely and

puddling in his navel.  I decided to leave it alone; I would use it later.

     I then moved so I could reach his thighs. Spreading his legs slightly,

I massaged his inner thighs getting slowly closer to his balls.  Ryan's

moans seemed to change from mere delight to ecstasy.  With a very

light touch, I ran my finger from the base of his cock to the tip. His cock

began to twitch wildly.  I wrapped my hand around his cock and stroked

it up and down a few times.  By this time, his whole body was thrashing

about and he was clutching the bed covers.

     Reluctantly, I let go of his cock and asked, "Are you all right?"

     "Yes.  Please don't stop!"

     I scooped up some of his precum from his navel and spread it

liberally over his swolen cock head, which, as I expected, brought an

intense reaction from Ryan who was by now instinctively bucking his

hips.  I grabbed the base of his cock with my hand and took the first

few inches into my mouth.  Stimulating him with both my hand and my

mouth brought him to the point of orgasm remarkably quickly.  He

yelled, his body stiffened, his cock throbbed, and he shot several

blasts of cum into my mouth faster than I could swallow so that much

of it ran down his cock, onto my hand, and into his pubes.

     I continued to suck out the remaining dribbles of cum until he pushed

my head away because his cock was too sensitive.  I then laid down

beside him and let him recover while playing with his nipples.

     When his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, he gushed,

"That was wonderful.  Much better than I dared to imagine."

     "I'm glad you liked it," I replied.  "No regrets?  No guilt?"

     "On the contrary, I'm grateful.  I can't remember being this happy."

     After several minutes of quiet bliss, he suddenly jerked and said,

"What about you?  I've been very selfish."

     I grinned and said, "Do whatever you want.  But you don't have to

do anything you don't want to."  I added the last part to let him know

he didn't have to take my cum in his mouth.

     My cock had begun to deflate but he quickly restored it to a full

erection by duplicating what I had done to him.  My orgasm was the

most intense that I'd ever had.

     With our arms around each other and our legs entwined, we fell

asleep.  At about four in the morning, I awoke with an intense need

to piss.  I was initially surprised to find someone in bed with me but

quickly recalled what had happened.  Very carefully, I disengaged

myself from Ryan's arm and legs, slipped quietly out of bed, and

went to the bathroom to empty my bladder.  Returning to the bed,

I found Ryan had moved, leaving me no room to lay down.  I sat on

the desk chair and pondered what had happened.  I had just had

sex - and quite satisfying sex at that - with a guy who I once thought

was a royal pain.  While I complimented myself on talking him through

his potentially tragic crisis, I now wondered what to do next.  Both of

us had had our first consensual sex with another guy.  I decided that

I wanted to do it again and I was certain that Ryan would want the

same.  But continuing such a relationship was problematic because,

in spite of my efforts to boost his ego, he was still an unlikable

person.  After considerable thought, I resolved the dilemma and

hoped Ryan would agree.

   I crawled back in bed by being very careful to move Ryan over

just enough for me to lay down.  Thankfully, he didn't wake up.

My alarm went off at 9:00 for my 10:00 class; it woke us both.  He

spoke first.  "Thanks.  For listening to me, for helping me, and for...

well...the fantastic time with you in bed."

     Having no time for another prolonged conversation, I replied,

"My pleasure.  Listen.  I have to get to class but I think we need to

talk some more.  My last class is over at 3:00.  When can we get

together to talk about what happened?"

     "I've got a lab today from 2:00 to 3:30.  I'm free after that."

     "Good," I replied as cheerfully as I could.  "Could you stop by

after your lab?  We need to talk some more."

     "Sure," he replied.

     We got dressed and were out the door by 9:45.  By the time I

returned to my dorm room at 3:15, I had worked out at least the

general outline of what I wanted to say to Ryan but I wasn't at all

sure how he would respond.

     At 3:45, he knocked on my door and I invited him in.  He was

considerably more animated and cheerful than when he arrived

unexpectedly at my door the night before.  I hoped that after our

conversation, he would leave in at least as good a mood.

     We sat - Ryan again on my desk chair and me on the edge of

the bed.  "First of all, Ryan," I began, "I want to emphasize how

much I enjoyed what we did last night.  It was wonderful.  I have

no regrets.  How about you?"

    He gave me a broad smile and said, "It was beyond wonderful.

It was my wildest dream come true.  And I want you to know how

grateful I am."

     "I'm glad you enjoyed it." I replied.  "We both had an experience

that we both wanted and needed.  Some day, when you find a

partner to love and share you life with, I'm sure the sex will be even

more satisfying."

     His smile faded as he began to realize the underlying message

in my words: that I was not the one who would be his life partner.

Before his disappointment triggered depression, I continued.  "But

until you find that special someone, I'd like very much to share my

bed with you from time to time.  I admit it would be just for the sex

but as long as we both want and need sex, I see no problem with

getting together once in a while.  Do you?"

     There was a long pause that seemed like an eternity as Ryan

absorbed my offer and, no doubt, wieghed the implications.  I was

dying to know what he was thinking but had to wait for him to respond.

     "Let's be clear," he said.  "You want sex with me but not love...not

even friendship."

     "Sex, yes.  Especially after last night with you, I want that a lot

and I suspect you do too.  Friendship, yes.  We can be friends even though

we have very different interests...except in man to man sex," I joked.

"But realistically, love takes a long time to develop.  It's althogether

too soon to think about love between us.  In the meantime, we satisfy each

other's needs for sexual pleasure.  Would you be comfortable with that?"

     Another long pause.  I grew impatient for his reponse and was about

to say more when he said, "I thought a lot about what you said last night

and what we did.  I hardly thought of anything else.  In fact, I really

screwed up my lab assignment today because I keep thinking about

how I felt about being homosexual.  Bottom line: I've changed my mind.

You convinced me that it's not a defect but just a difference.  You

showed me how extraordinarily satisfying it is to be with another guy.

You literally saved my life and I'll always be grateful to you for that.

Would I like to continue having sex with you?  Absolutely.  I would

like that very much."

    Needless to say, I was relieved that he accepted my offer and

delighted that he seemed to have come to terms with his sexuality.

"Splendid," I said.  "We'll be doing a favor for each other."  Then,

just to emphasize a critical part of the agreement, I added, "without

the burden of any long term committment."

     "Like 'at-will' employment," he said with a smile.

     "Huh?

     "You know, you take a job with the understanding that the company

can fire you at any time without a specific reason.  While you're working,

the company has the benefit of your work and you have a salary.  But

there's no guarantee of having a job forever."

     "Oh, I see.  I guess that's it exactly.  We're 'at-will' partners.  Which,

of course, means that either one of us can terminate the partnership

at any time."  My last comment was an unexpected and very welcome

result of the conversation.  I had worried about an 'escape clause' in

the agreement but Ryan had provided it.

     We then spent some time working out the details of getting together.

In the end, we agreed that every Friday night we would sleep together

and one other night of the week depending on our schedules and need.

That arrangement worked out wonderfully.  We both had our sexual

needs satisfied, remained friends, but never gave any thought to

committing to a long-term relationship.

     Nearing the end of our Junior year, we were snuggling together

after our regular Friday night sex when Ryan said, "I've enjoyed

getting together with you.  It's been marvelous.  But remember that

we agreed it was an 'at-will' arrangement?"

     I suspected what he was leading up to but said only, "It has been

great.  And I do remember our agreement."

     "This is difficult for me to say but I have to tell you that I've

found somebody else.   I've been friends with him for quite a while and

we got along together better all the time.  I like him a lot and he says he

likes me.  About a month ago, we had sex for the first time and a few

times since.  He has an apartment off campus and asked me to move

in with him.  I said I would.  I'll get a summer job here and live with him

instead of going home .  I'm sorry because I owe you so much and I've

enjoyed being with you.  But I'm not sorry because I think I've found

Mr. Right."

      In spite of my disappointment over losing a bedmate, I said, "Ryan,

I'm very happy for you.  Really, I am.  I wish the best for both of you."

     "You're not angry?"

     "Angry?  No way!  I have to be honest and say that I'll miss you but

I'm genuinely happy for you."

     That was the last night that Ryan and I were together.  We remained

casual friends but for a long time when I would see him on campus, I

couldn't help visualizing him in the nude with his ample cock stiff and

ready for action.  Perhaps, I consoled myself, I would also find someone

as Ryan had.