My God! This was happening so fast. While I watched, he then loosened his belt, toed off his shoes, pushed down and off his trousers, and then walked over to me and took hold of my shirt. He started pulling it up and I ended up yanking it over my head and then tossing it aside.
"You look fantastic!" he said, eying my body.
OK, I'll admit, all the work I'd done had sculpted it. I didn't have any fat but did have more musculature than most boys my age and a definite V-shape from shoulders to waist.
He ran his hands over my torso. The walk to his house had allowed me to deflate to a degree, so I'd been just a little hard before this; with his fingers on my skin, I quickly lost the little. I was so hard it hurt, being trapped as it was.
He reached down and felt it straining against my khakis. I took the opportunity to look down and saw he was in the same condition, but his was more apparent because he was only wearing boxer briefs. They were straining to hold him now.
He reached for my belt. In less time than it generally took me doing it for myself, he had my khakis puddled on the floor, and his hand was holding my still briefs-encased hardness.
I was panting by now. Especially when he put his other hand under it and caressed my sack. He had that grin on his face again, the one that made him look like a devil—or maybe it was a scamp. He stepped back and dropped his briefs.
If he was cute clothed—and my God, he was—he was incredible naked. Naked and aroused. Wearing a naughty, come-hither grin. The picture was almost more than I could handle.
"Come on," he said, his breathy voice just adding to the brittle atmosphere in the room. He walked over and sat, then leaned back on the bed, accentuating the force of his excitement. I took a tentative step toward him, then another. When I reached the bed, he sat up quickly and yanked down my briefs. His face almost got hit when my boner sprang up, finally free. He dodged and tittered.
He pulled me down onto the bed. There was no doubt in either of our minds: he was totally in charge here, totally in control. He pushed me back up. We sat on the edge of the bed, our feet on the floor. He took me in his hand, and when I just sat there, reached for my hand and put it on him. Then he used his other hand to stroke my bare skin. Torso, back, ribs, nipples.
I was in sensory overload, but I duplicated what he was doing. Eventually, he began stroking with his other hand, the one that had been holding me. I was so enflamed that that didn't last long. "Uhhh," I said, meaning it as a warning, but effective verbalization wasn't happening right then. I exploded, and kept on exploding; he helped by continuing his stroking.
I flopped back, falling flat on the bed behind me in exhaustion.
"I thought you needed a quick release," he said, sounding like this was par for the course and only a beginning. "You can work on me as you're resting. It'll probably speed up your own recovery."
I'd never touched another boy before, so he was right: it certainly got me back in the mood quickly. I stroked him and touched him all over. His skin felt so soft, so pliable, so warm and sexy. I didn't neglect what was standing up so proudly, and he eventually started thrusting a little, and then more. "Stop," he finally said with urgency.
I stopped and asked why. "I like to build up a couple of times before cumming," he explained. "It's better then. You ready again?"
Surprisingly, I was.
He lay back on the bed and told me to get on top of him. Then he started thrusting from underneath me, and it took only a moment to realize I should do the same from on top. Our members were rubbing against each other. I quickly became almost incapable of thought. Only the fact I'd reached climax so soon before kept me from doing so again.
He pushed me off and then climbed on top of me and we began thrusting again. Very quickly I was crescendoing again and making noises. So, he stopped and rolled off me.
I started to sit up, and he pushed me back. "Stay there," he said, and then slid down the bed. When he was where he wanted to be, he took me in his hand, looked me over as though assessing a ripe apple or a peach, then leaned down and licked what he'd been studying. I'd never felt anything like that in my life! I shuddered and saw him grin. He continued, licking it all over, then wet his lips and sucked me into his mouth. His tongue was doing a number on me, and I knew this time I wasn't going to last any time at all.
I didn't. I couldn't, no way, no how. I told him that in an urgent voice, and he just worked a little harder.
My climax came very soon thereafter. Now I was exhausted. Almost comatose. He sat up, looked down at me, and laughed. "Welcome to the world of sex with boys, at least with boys who know what they're doing," he said. "I'll let you rest while I go make us some snacks." And with that he got up and walked out of the room, his hard-on rather dramatically pointing the way.
He was back a few minutes later with a bowl of Fritos and two cokes. I was soft by now and still feeling spent. He was about half hard. He'd rub it now and then, the gesture looking like an afterthought. He set the bowl between us on the bed and had me sit up cross-legged. He did the same. I think I drank half the can of Coke without stopping. The burn it left in my throat felt wonderful.
I wasn't sure I could talk but didn't need to. He did. He only talked about one thing: sex. How he liked sex a lot, just exactly what particular things he liked, how he liked seducing boys who were virgins, how many he'd done that with, what we'd do when I was back to being randy and ready again. He had no embarrassment at all. His afterthought rubs were becoming more frequent, he was fully hard, and it was apparent from his body language he was ready for more action. He saw me watching him play with himself and said, rather nonchalantly I thought, "I like the feeling of being hard. I try to be hard most of the time at home."
Then he started moving his hand more deliberately. "Do you like this?" he asked, and looked down at what he was doing. "Like watching me stroking myself?"
"You look beautiful," I said. "Doing that, it's just one more thing about you that looks that way. I get turned on just looking at you, no matter what you're doing."
"Good," he said, wearing the grin again. "You ready?"
Surprisingly, I was. He had to know it. I was as hard as he was. He looked at me and reached out to touch it. Then he moved away and said, "My turn." He laid himself back on the bed, all of him except the part that was pointing at the ceiling. "Suck it," he said. It wasn't a request. It was a demand.
Did I want to do this? Well, why not, I asked myself. I was certainly feeling sexy enough, lusty enough. I did feel a quick stab of resentment, though. I'd never liked being told what to do, and here he was giving me an order. Sure, he'd already performed on me, but still. The feeling was there, the slight amount of resentment, even with all the other emotions I had, but luckily the resentment was being overridden by how everything else felt. I would have liked to build up to this and make the decision on my own when I wanted it to happen, but he was preempting that. However, realistically, I was certainly going to do this sooner or later anyway, so why not now? So maybe it felt rushed. So what?
No reason not to go ahead, really. And so I did. It felt strange, having him in my mouth, but felt right, too, and I did enjoy it. While doing it, I was thinking about whether I wanted him to finish this in my mouth. My doing this was one thing. Letting him finish there was another. Then, rather inconveniently, I remembered our sex-ed talks about sexual diseases and the need for protection, even with oral sex. And I remembered Evan talking about his multiple partners. He'd even talked about some that weren't virgins and what they'd done together and how great it had been. He'd even been with a college guy. More than one college guy.
I decided I wasn't going to take the chance. He began thrusting, then making noises in the back of his throat, and I pulled away and replaced my mouth with my hand and finished him.
"Why did you pull off," he asked when he could. He didn't sound all that upset—more like he was confused.
"I, uh, remembered about how we should have protection."
"Why? I didn't have any."
"Yeah, I know, but that was your choice. I'd never done anything like this before. I just got nervous. Everything that's happened—this is all really fast for me."
"Don't you like it?" He asked that like he was shocked, like not liking it wasn't even a possibility.
"Well, sure I like it. I've never felt anything like this. It's been wonderful. But also, it's just that it's all been so sudden. When I was walking to the burger joint, I was wondering if I could get a goodnight kiss, and five minutes later, I'm getting a blow job. I loved the blow job! It was so great. Better than wonderful! But then I was giving one and, well, I don't know. My mind started working again. You know, we haven't even kissed yet!"
"You don't know what?"
"I don't know what! This is all more than I was expecting; it's happened so fast. I'm just wrapping my head around everything. Going from hoping for a kiss at the end of the night, hoping maybe we could be boyfriends, to, to this—" I motioned with my hand to the two of us sitting naked on the bed. "It's just a lot."
"Boyfriends?" he said.
"Yeah, that's what I want."
"Boyfriends . . . and kissing." This time it wasn't a question. It was a statement, and I could hear an overtone of disgust in it. "I don't do boyfriends. I don't kiss, either. Kissing kind of means something like loving, and I don't love the boys I have sex with. Sex is something all to itself, something to enjoy. It has nothing to do with love. Kissing is way too gay for me. I like sex, lots and lots of sex, but a boyfriend? Meaning I only get to do one guy? And kissing? Meaning real feelings for someone? No, I'm not into that at all."
I couldn't believe it. And then I realized something I should have realized long before this and should have thought more about: I didn't know Evan at all. Well, I hadn't known him at all. Now I did. And now, while he was still attractive, I knew he wasn't what I wanted. Being attractive was a great attribute, was a wonderful thing, but it was only a part of the game. And it was certainly not the most important part. I still thought him attractive, visually attractive. The rest? His attitude? His personality? Not so much.
I now knew that what I wanted with someone was to build up to sex. I wanted to get to know them and get to like them. We'd need to start slowly, working toward liking each other, which would lead us toward sex, hopefully while building toward love, too. Sex would be in the mix, somewhere, sometime, and it would be natural and right. Working up to it should take some time. That's what would be right for me. This, with Evan, while I couldn't imagine anything feeling better, it just hadn't felt right emotionally.
I found him physically very alluring. But he had a personality that bordered on cocky and demanding, certainly included a strong narcissistic element, and didn't include empathy at all. I could have sex with a boy like that, but he was not the sort of boy I could ever fall in love with, and one I had no business dating. A boy like that was not what I wanted for a boyfriend.
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