Gay Sex Education - Gay Sex Stories

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?