A 101 on Masculine Pleasure

Our excitement started to speed us up, and at about the same time we got too fast and sensitive and had to stop for a minute. We leaned against the boulder and breathed.

We still watched each other's erections closely. And then we noticed each other's stares, catching each other in the act.

What do you do with that moment? Mutually caught red handed staring at erections?

We heaved for a moment. His penis flexed. Mine flexed too.

"What do you think it will be like? Doing stuff with someone?" he said.

"I have no idea. But it feels like the scariest part is to show yourself to someone."

"Like this?"

"I'll say. Hard part over then??"

"Should we, like, practice?"

We breathed.

"What should we practice?"

"Dunno. I'm going crazy. Like... what should we do? How do people do this?"

"I have no fucking idea."

"Hah, exactly!" he said. "Like, I think I'll suck at... whatever I'm doing? And I don't want to be stupid at it."

"Me too, exactly. I think that may be the point. And maybe this is normal? I have no clue. This is probably crazy and nuts. So, I guess, let's be absolutely fucking crazy. Um... wanna... switch?"

I was right, he was just too horny to let shyness reign. "I might be bad at it?"

"Me too. Yeah we probably will. But I can't hold it in anymore either. Um, let's just be stupid and do stuff and just fuck it all up and find out how to not be bad at it all?"

"At what exactly?"

"Dunno? I just kind of know I'm going to go postal if I can't do something about this. Unless you don't want to! But if you do, even a little, then should we... try it out?"

If you're clever, you'll know how this went, the good and the bad.

We brought our hands up and almost grabbed ourselves out of habit, but in a moment of scared consent our hands carefully switched places. We fumbled with the reverse grip, and gradually found each other.

It feels very, very different for someone else to put their hands on your erection. You don't know what's about to happen, so everything's a surprise. The tightness of the grip's a surprise, the motion is a surprise, the timing is a surprise. I felt a soft hand touch me, find a grip, and then hold me. I became dizzy with the first gripped pump, which was at a different angle that I could even reach. Different inches of me were ground. He was nervous enough that he held my penis gently as he thrust up and down with quick motion. The first foreign grip on my shaft was accidentally gentle, eager, and very attuned to its own performance.

So far the uniquely-shaped grip on shaft in my hand was moved only by its own tumultuous excitement, but now I tried pumping it sideways, in corkscrews back and forth. The movement was new enough that it seemed to surprise him with feeling, good feeling.

We kept doing that for a while, my knees bending a little with the stunned pleasure response, hips moving towards what worked and away from what didn't. We were bad at this, it was clear, but two hands held each other's penises and were obviously giving them the best pleasure each of us knew how to.

After a minute, our bodies were clearly trying to do something else. We didn't really want to stand anymore, but we didn't want to sit either. We both seemed to look like we needed something, he looked as frustrated as he did grateful at the teasing touches of a first handjob.

I tried listening to what my body wanted, what it was asking for, what it was moving to, and I think we both realised our mouths and each other's privates were getting closer. Instinct probably.

We looked at each other, and it was as obvious as a jogging pants erection.

We were crazy alright. Too much in the moment to access our "weird filter".

Again one of those moments. A second to choose what to do before the choices disappeared, or the moment stopped.

For once, I didn't make the choice. This equally nervous equally hyper guy dove onto me before I could dive onto him.

Just like a first kiss, I patiently let the first bumping of teeth out of the way, and let the enthusiasm get us through. Just like two years beforehand I exchanged sloppy-faced kisses with the girl who would for months become my girlfriend, on that mountainside a tongue and the long inside regions of two lips found me and slid all around me, slowly finding out how to actually do that.

I let myself bounce between instants of gasping groans and vocalised flinches with some newbie mistakes, and cooperatively, we did just what we said: we helped each other not be bad at this.

I watched him. For the second minute of what I realised with a surge of pleasure and amazement was my blowjob, he had figured out what not to do and was apparently letting himself go through a routine of something he clearly didn't mind doing. I had no idea, in that moment, whether he was doing it well or badly (kind of bad but less so every second), I didn't know what was normal, but what was happening was maybe great.

I watched and he was enjoying it when he wasn't fumbling. When he didn't fumble, the sheer fact of what was happening and the soft soaking sliding motions raced me through different stages of it. In fact, when he took a deep two breaths, changed his angle, and went way back down, it all happened at once and before I knew it I had held his ears for balance.

I'm sure neither of us had watched someone else cum in real life before, but the changes in my sounds, my movements, into something less dignified, must have tipped him off. He took my shaft in his hand again and started wiggled pistons up and down. He now had my shaft pointed right off the cliff, aiming, and my balls danced chaotically, spattering teeny drops of saliva as I was raced through the final moments of my pleasure. I saw him look at the cliff and my shaft, back and forth, and as my sounds changed once more he stopped his double-takes and suddenly plunged his face onto me again. His hands still wiggled my shaft even as my head vanished between his cheeks.

There was nothing to do about it anymore, I let the whole cumming happen right then. I didn't choose this outcome, my body accepted it.

He gave a sloppy and clumsy and wonderful attempt to take it. He held onto my hips to balance us as my body tried to decide how to give someone else cum.

A lot of it somehow got on his shoulder. He noticed and I suddenly felt really weird about that.

"Sorry, I--"

"No, it's okay?"

We stared at each other once again.

We didn't know what to do. I just knew that I couldn't stop. My need to cum gone, I was still just too fascinated, and so I came down to him and gave him help getting up. When he realised what was happening and that it was really happening, I helped him balance, and then saw how close his privates were to my face.

There was that wet tip again. Why?

I knew what I was meant to do next. And it was strange to actually take that leap, but how could I not.

I was so, so curious.

So, forcing past hesitation, whatever made it wet, I licked it. And then it was on my tongue, and even more in a web between my tongue and him, so I licked more. And knowing I would probably have to taste a whole lot more of it, I put my tongue away and closed my mouth. And let my saliva spread it around.

I had just eaten candy.

I had spent the last few minutes deeply, deeply interested in what testicles tasted like and felt like, for now I completely forgot to find out, because for the next few minutes I had a new framework: this was a candy dispenser and I was drinking candy, from a really fun pump. When the candy was gone, I smiled at him, put my hands on his balls, lifted the whole shaft of skin again and pumped up and down him. I made the same kind of teeth mistakes at first, but something about the last few seconds had reloaded the candy.

I tried drifting along the shaft with my lips and was met with the stark taste of salt. The whole penis had a thin layer of tart nacho-like saltiness, more-so lower down, and coming back up I was met with more caramely buttery slick.

It was simply impossible to be an accident. That settled it: humans are designed specifically to enjoy blowing dick. And some terrible mistake in history had made most of us forget this.

Or was this just me? Was I just... freaky?

Or was it just him? Had I found the one dick that was nice?

And to watch him. His hands were stabilisers on my head, and sometimes he arched way back and sometimes he'd lean his weight on me, and always the heavy heavy breathing.

I was clumsy and we had to whisper to each other how not to fail at this a few more times. I don't think we ever expected it to not be a chore, but it was absolutely wonderful.

And then, in an uncomfortably intense moment, he said something that changed both of our lives: "slow down!" as he became close.

I slowed down.

More of the strange liquid met my kiss as I slipped him back into my mouth. In slow motion, with slipperiness beyond what my spit could have done alone, I softly slid my face all the way onto his shaft, and softly slipped all the way off, again and again. His discomfort was gone, and his process begun again, in slow motion, coming back much much stronger. I could hear it in his whispers. I could feel it in my mouth. I experimented with that: every time he started enjoying himself even more, I became slower and softer and wetter. Soon my mouth was applying only the tiniest amount of pressure on his shaft, sliding along the outside without enough pressure to truly pump anything out. He sounded a bit desperate, but not mad about it. As large drops of my spit and his candy rivered down his shaft onto his balls, I let my lips and my tongue slide along the surface, which apparently paused his state of 99%.

It was completely without warning then that, after one graze of tongue to tip before a descent, things got bigger in my mouth. His sounds changed and I held his middle closely as he started releasing globs of something far, far thicker while he was still inside my mouth.

Cum is very different than what I had been drinking up until then. I wouldn't learn why it was different for a while, but what I took was viscous, and seemed to want to stick together in two or so lumps, and it's not quite salty and not sweet but just intense. But the fact that it was so extremely slippery felt kind of fun inside.

A third time, my mouth asked the penis for a little bit more, and it simply had nothing more to give me, but my friend obviously didn't mind the sensation of my tongue's request at all.

I lifted my face and watched the penis slip out of my lips, and flop a little. It looked pinker now.

Soon we were standing again. And we just breathed again.

"I really was going to just shoot off that cliff."

We laughed.

"Me too."

"What changed your mind?"

"Noticing you looking at me too? Like, looking at it like it was okay. I suddenly didn't feel weird for needing this."

"Yeah. Yeah yes."

"Hey, uh, what was the taste like?"

"Well you had it too."

"Is it weird if it wasn't a bad thing?"

"Is it weird if it was fucking tasty?"

I saw a bit more on his cocktip, like an after-eruption. Somehow, I found the courage to embrace my freaky, and I bent down and gave him one last lick right where it was beginning to fall.

It was like it sealed the deal. Whatever the deal actually was.

We just grinned, we understood each other now.

We were a bit messy, with who knows how many minutes to get presentable beyond awkward questions.

And as you'd guess, we couldn't just leave it there. We knew we'd need more, and soon. But this was probably our only free-for-all time that week.

As we pulled our pants up and walked we whispered forbidden and very stupid ideas.

We began to tentatively realise that the only time 'alone' was not alone at all: in the complete blackness, where even spiders could be heard sometimes. The middle of the night, surrounded by boys whose coolness with all this could be anywhere on the spectrum.

This was fucking crazy. It was a stupid idea. And our unbelievable overwhelming horniness gave us an all-or-nothing boldness it was physically difficult to ignore or deny.

So, after evaluating the risk for far too few seconds, we resolved that we would take advantage of the absolute pitch-blackness of the cabin at night. For the whole rest of the week.

This was a far, far more impressive accomplishment than is apparent yet. I can't even begin to explain the superhuman stealth required in this situation. It was a testament to how unbelievably horny we were that we resolved this was in any way a good plan.

Once a certain point of night finally came, that far away from civilisation, eyes really were useless. You had no input from that sense. Which made hearing better.

If we were absolutely, completely silent, not even a single hard breath, then the nearby campers just might fail to notice how much was happening inside the room, right beside them. In retrospect, it was a miracle no one turned on a flashlight to get to a toilet during an inconvenient moment.

The long wait until it was very likely every rowdy teenager was asleep, listening for everyone's breathing. The minute-long slow-drift out of covers by the pre-arranged first, legs towards floor, knowing just how to touch the floor and where to touch the floor without a squeak. The experiments in where the squeaks were, the memory of them when it was black.

Trusting it would happen when it wasn't your turn. Lowering your own blanket with your feet. Raising your hips as slow as a casual turn over in bed. Waiting a moment. Lowering your hips in the same motion as lowering your underwear. Blindly lying there, surrounded by gentle snores, with a gently swaying flexed erection in the cold nighttime air.

The faith that it would not be seen and yet that it would be found and drank.

The change in temperature the only hint that someone was closer. The breath on your shaft the kinky and exciting confirmation, that you were not allowed to react to.

The moments after stealthily lowering my pyjamas had my heart dangerously racing, well before the moment I felt a mysterious hand prodding onto my mattress, onto my body, using the found skin as reference for where to reach next, finally finding my shaft, approaching it with the rest of his body, and redirecting the shaft slightly up and slightly to the right, onto a clumsily seeking mouth silently finding me and soundlessly slipping deeply onto me.

The long minutes of anticipation to give a blowjob will soak a mouth in drool and soak a penis in precum. The first enveloping of horny penis into horny mouth was like static shock. I have no idea what he did instead of groaning, and I couldn't see precisely what my body made me do to release my feelings quietly either.

But I didn't know I could feel like this.

No whispers or gasps or changed breathing patterns were allowed. Vigorous sucks were forbidden, hands on wet cocks were forbidden. Those made sounds. Wonderful sounds, but dangerous sounds. Contact was mouth only once a penis was wet and it had to be a gentle enough suck to be silent.

Without visual or spoken cues we had feeling and taste as signals of how the other was doing. I felt the pulse of him, the gradual growth to fill my mouth further as I did things right, I noticed his taste becoming sweeter as his pleasure excited him and saltier as his excitement made him sweat in the cold.

The sudden orgasms were silent. Our sucking sessions were slow and soft, without a single suckle sound and without a single crackle of moving liquid. Without the right to warn each other, we accepted the truth that cum could surprise us at any time. When each of us began to cum, without letting a single sound happen, a single kick, even harsh breath, I thrashed my face back and forth, up and down. I have no idea what my friend did. Without letting myself hump the face, the orgasms happened more slowly and more powerfully.

When cum is a surprise, reaction is key. Because hiding the evidence with flawlessly complete swallowing was also essential. And wonderful. We each had to stay with each other's penises, waiting for them to settle out of erection to drink each other's aftershocks. Swallow anything that would make a scent or stain a blanket.

And finally, as the time it took for someone to stealthily recover from feverish orgasm into a mouth being about the same time it took for someone to silently sneak into a bed and soundlessly expose his penis, there was just a short agonising moment for the other party to find that penis, lift it, and taste it with a stronger sense of stealth than his strong sense of hunger.

Stealth over hunger, always, but only just barely.

There was only once when bending over to seek my friend's penis made my knee crack loudly. I froze. No matter what I froze in time. I must have spent two minutes refusing to shift my body, so close to a cockhead I could smell its precum, breathing scared breaths onto it, obvious in my scandal except for the complete blindness of the many people surrounding me.

I took two minutes before I let myself begin to drink from what I happily, fearfully sniffed out. I can't imagine how he felt when the frozen moment ended without warning and he felt a careful but delighted tongue on him. All I know is that in the morning, our last morning before continents permanently separated us, we stared at each other, not long enough for erections to reawaken but long enough to thank.

The sheer unimaginable gentleness required to have sex too quiet to be noticed four feet away taught me a level of stimulation, pleasure, caretaking, and joyous orgasm that I would seek for the rest of my life.

Even when stealth isn't a thing, going down on someone with a soundlessly gentle touch was the best possible experience to give or to receive, lengthening the experience and doubling the sensation and simply making it more fun. Getting this touch is an overwhelming pleasure and a wordless message of how enjoyed your body is being. Giving this touch makes you a card-carrying expert at sex and lavishes your mouth with some of the most special and enjoyable tastes that exist.

This was unbelievably nice sex. Powerful secret orgasms were happily drunk by worshipping throats. Two horny teenagers spoiled forever for sex, seeking lovers willing to patiently enjoy what we knew to simply be the best sex possible.

It was only long after all that happened that it occurred to me what disaster would have befallen us if someone had needed a flashlight to find a toilet. There were a lot of us.

If the rest of camp was a single day longer we would have collapsed from exhaustion from the strategically missed sleep.

The first night back I really, really, really missed my camp friend, I watched my masturbating penis dribble down precum, and I wondered my first question about what all this meant, and I had to know whether it was just him. I thought of everything freaky I had already done, every line I had already crossed, and I needed to know, it was important, so I let myself find out.

As I switched hands I licked the other, finding and gathering my precum.

And I knew then my future. I knew I could drink cock and enjoy it again. It wasn't just my friend, I had discovered my favourite tastes, my favourite hobby. I could show other people the best taste in the world and take it from them too.

And I anticipated it and let the thought trigger my orgasm and I carefully watched my penis cum, and I forced myself to confirm my theory. Before I let myself realise it was weird, I switched hands, and while I caught a second rush of cum I lapped the first out of my palm right onto my tongue. My left hand finished my orgasm while I tasted more of myself, all instinct and no doubt. As I rushed the second emergence to my mouth and received it, gladly, I knew I would be a kinky masturbator too.