Cupid's Sophomore Year, Semester 01

"Now, you've gone to a lot of effort to arrange this evening. I'd like to show my gratitude for your hard work." I smile up at him, and marvel at the expression of pure joy that lights his face. "So, let's switch spots--you lie here," I tell him as I slide out from under him.

He rises, and then lays himself out the length of the sofa, hands behind his head, and looks at me. The firelight dances along the extent of his body, darkness gathering in the hollow of his muscular ass, light sparkling in the golden hairs of his legs, his armpits, his lower belly. He is beautiful.

I throw one leg over him and straddle his belly button. He beams up at me, and his hands find my buttocks, gripping them with his strong fingers. I bend down and kiss him, and this time he is tentative, demure--his tongue darts and retreats, letting me take the lead. I realize, as I look down upon him, that he is giving himself to me. He trusts me to guide him into the uncharted regions of his sexuality.

I kiss my way along his strong jaw up to his ear. "I want you so much it hurts," I growl. Instantly, he groans and flexes beneath me, and I feel his surging cock poke me in the left buttock. I move down, kissing the soft skin of his throat, running my lips along the pronounced clavicles. I am delighted to find his nipples already stiff, poking out from his slabs of pectoral muscle. I kiss one, and he gasps; I lick the other, and he cries out. He is practically vibrating with sexual energy.

Lifting myself up and over the Eiffel Tower, I push his legs gently apart and find my place where they come together. No one else knows this place, where his strong legs meet, as well as I do--no one else has ever seen him hard, or held his erection. No one else has heard the growl he makes when he comes, and no one else has felt his seed shoot out. And yet I did all of those things under such bizarre circumstances that this time it feels like I am embarking on something completely new.

"Clark?" I ask, as I wrap my hands around his cock.

"Josh?" he answers back, smiling. For someone who despaired of ever having sex, he's remarkably relaxed--it takes a pretty secure guy to spread his legs wide and let a known pervert nestle there.

"I'm going to do some things to you now that may be considered homosexual in nature. Will I need to tie you up, or will you come willingly?"

He laughs. "I will willingly come whenever you want me to."

"Ah, the night is young. We'll see how many times I can raise the dead."

I take that enormous hot thing and point it toward me, and lean down to it. I catch his eye as I do so, and I watch for his reaction as I approach. His eyebrows rise in little jumps and his breath comes in shallow gasps as I draw near. At the moment that my lips touch the tip, his eyes roll back in his head and he stretches backward, his cock surging toward me. I open, and take him in.

I can see right away why he enjoys sucking this lovely thing. His cock is salty and firm, and every thrust of his pelvis brings a new hot drop of precum to invade my mouth with its slick essence. I've got him in both hands, and almost down my throat, and I work that steely pole with every trick I know. I can feel him climbing toward orgasm, and it's only been a couple of minutes.

"Oh my god oh my god oh my god," he mumbles, his head thrashing side to side.

This the blowjob version of a standing ovation. I blush with pride.

Suddenly his entire body seizes up, and he thrashes stiffly, his legs pressing on me, his hands clawing at the leather upholstery.

"Oh god, Josh!" he shouts, and I immediately regret my decision not to tie him down. There's such anguish in that voice.

And then he hisses as if struggling to draw his last breath, and he is absolutely still. I can feel a surge rising at the base of his cock, where his balls have gathered, and it makes its way up up up, tunneling through that once-reluctant member, blasting its way to the surface.

"I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." he grunts and mumbles, panting.

He's such a gentleman, warning me that he's about to paint my tonsils. But there is nothing in the world that would make me miss a drop. I hold tight, and press down harder just for effect, to show him that I mean business, to reassure him that I love every inch of him.

I've read that the spasms of ejaculation occur every 0.8 seconds. But his have to travel about a foot and a half from where they originate, and by the time they reach the surface they have merged into a single, hot, sweet river. I take it in, all of it, make it part of me, stroking and sucking and squeezing. I want it all, and he's going to give it to me--freely, this time. Without knots, without silly porn set-ups--just the two of us, together.

I'm glad that he told me the door is locked, because his moaning and yelping is almost unhinged. He's holding my ears tightly, but I can still hear him screaming out this orgasm as he thrashes on the sofa, until finally he turns, buries his face in the couch, and his voice dies away, muffled. He's breathing hard, his rib cage rising and falling in rapid cycles, his straining abs surging in and out of relief. The firelight catches the sheen of sex sweat on his body, and he glistens all over, a shimmering jewel of a man, my man, mine.

I release my hold on his cock, which is only barely starting to soften, and kiss my way up that beautiful torso. The rise and fall of his exhausted breathing slows as I crawl upward, and by the time I reach his face he is peaceful and aglow. I kiss him, deeply and with luxuriant slowness, knowing that we have all the time in the world.

He looks at me, eyes wide and clear, his cheeks still flushed (the blood is probably only now starting to flow back out of his cock, restoring circulation to other parts of his body), his smile widening.

"Oh my god," he breathes, shaking his head slightly. "I had no idea."

"What, that I was any good with a blowjob? Really, now."

"No, I had no idea it could be like that. You know," he grins, his eyes twinkling with glee, "You would have saved a lot of time and trouble if you had just done that back when we first met."

"Back when we first met, you were straight."

"I didn't think you would hold that against me." He giggles. "Actually, I kind of like what you're holding against me right now."

My cock, having been rock hard since we started kissing, is beyond urgent. It lies on Clark's hard, smooth belly, spitting up glops of slippery precum every minute or so.

He glances down at it, then back at me.

"May I?" he asks, as if needing a hall pass.

"You'd better," I reply. I've been positively monastic the last few weeks, and Little Josh needs to feel a hand other than my own.

"Will you let me do what I want with it?" he asks, slyly eyeing me up and down.

"It's yours, buddy. I give it over to your care. Just promise me you won't be gentle with it."

He grins.

"I have a little secret to tell you," he whispers as his hand slides down his belly to where my cock lies in a pool of its own lust.

"This better be the last one," I scold--lamely though, because I don't want to put him off his intention to have his way with me.

"Promise," he says, solemnly. "After you left my apartment that time, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

This is the kind of secret I like. I nod for him to continue.

"Well, I kind of figured that, in order to stop thinking about you, I should do something about it..."

"What kind of something?"

"I worked through the rest of the sites on the flow chart. You know, the--" he pauses, then finishes in a whisper, "The gay ones."

I try to maintain a straight face. It's not easy.

"And?" I prompt.

"Well, you saw what happened with the first site. The second one was even better. And the third one--well, the third one..."

"Yes?"

"The third one is what I want to do to you right now." He grins at me, eagerly.

For my part, I'm trying to remember what the third site was. I hope it didn't involve anything too advanced or fetishy. I wouldn't want his newbie enthusiasm to end me up in the emergency room, having something sewn back on.

"So," he says, sitting up, "I want you right here." He pats the wide, flat, modernist armrest of the sofa.

Well, that seems safe enough. I hike myself up onto the armrest, my legs stretching out onto the seating surface of the sofa. He places himself between my legs, and looks up at me as if it's Christmas morning and he's just heard a puppy barking from inside the last, biggest package.

"Turn around, and put your elbows on the armrest."

Now, I've been around this block before. I know that when a guy wants you on all fours, he's pretty much got one thing in mind. It just surprises me that Clark has that particular thing in mind, and that he's ready to plunge in so soon after blowing his first load. But I gotta admire the guy's enthusiasm.

"Perfect," he breathes, and then climbs on the sofa behind me. It only now occurs to me that I have no idea what it's like to have something that long inside me. The girth isn't bad, but the length...I'm just about to suggest that we maybe take a moment to consider the logistics when I feel him slide his head between my--knees?

He's stretched himself out on the sofa, lying face up, and he's looking right at my balls.

Oh.

He looks up at me, his head framed by my thighs, and smiles.

"I've never done this before," he says, in a voice that makes it clear he's going to do it, right now, no matter what. "Tell me if I'm doing it wrong, okay?"

He cranes his neck up an inch or two, and plants the lightest of kisses on the loose skin at the bottom of my sac, which is hanging pretty low after the warm pool and the hot fire. I see his tongue dart out, and he tastes my balls.

"Oh, god," he groans, "I can't believe I'm actually doing this." More licks, like he expects there to be a soft candy center or something. He looks up at me again. "I watched this video where a guy did this, and for the last month it's the only thing I've been thinking about."

"You've been thinking about my balls for a month?"

He grins, a bit sheepishly.

"Sick, right?"

"Oh hell no. Totally normal. Now, what did this guy do next?"

"Well..." he says, as he returns his attention to my privates. "Something like this."

His mouth opens, and my entire scrotum disappears into his mouth. Holy fucking fuck. He swishes his tongue around my nuts, and works his cheeks in and out, and basically makes my balls feel like they've won the fucking lottery. Then, after several minutes during which my sex life flashes before my eyes, he relinquishes them with a wet suctiony noise. They shine, spit-covered and drippy, in the firelight.

"Yeah, it was pretty much like that," he says, looking back up at me. "How was that for you?"

"Let's just say that if you don't start doing it again, right fucking now, we're going to have issues."

He positively beams at me, and returns to the task at hand. At mouth. Whatever.

He plants kisses all along the wrinkly skin, each time sucking a little more of my sac into his mouth, until finally he's taking most of my scrotum in, pressing it between his lips, and letting it slide slickly back out. It's awesome, and I'm not too proud to say that he's got me panting and thrusting, eager for more. Then he opens wide and captures my left ball, closing his lips firmly behind it. His tongue presses all around it, feeling the smooth surface, exploring the coiled sperm tubes on the back side. You know, if they made public service announcements for testicular cancer checks that gave this approach as an option everyone would be happy to do a monthly exam. I, for one, would have daily--or nightly--checkups. He's astonishingly thorough.

The suction is building, his entire mouth is pressing on me from all sides, and I'm about to squeal from the pressure--my balls are a bit more sensitive than the ones he's apparently found on his new favorite porn site--when he lets it slide back out. Whew. But before it emerges completely, he sucks it back in. My legs nearly give way from the glorious shock of this move, but I manage to hold on for the ride. He plays my ball between his lips, in and out, like he's giving it a mini-blowjob. At one point it pops completely out, and a wave of release shoots up my spine because of the break in the overwhelming pressure of pleasure; but he greedily slurps it back in and I'm back to moaning like a crazy man. Then, without warning, he slips his hand in between my legs and wraps his fingers around the cords that attach my nearly exhausted ball to my body. He pops it out of his mouth, and it is trapped by the ring he's made with his fingers. He stares at it in awe as he squeezes it tight, the skin smooth and shining, every vein pulsing on the surface. I'm starting to wonder if he's just going to squeeze it out, like a grape from its skin, when he lifts his head back up to it.

His teeth. I feel his teeth.

Oh, shit.

He grazes the top and bottom of my captured gonad simultaneously, lightly scraping along the taut surface. He does this several times while I try to navigate the complex terrain between mind-blowing pleasure and mortal fear that he might accidentally geld me. Then he starts with little chattering motions on the tip of my ball, not opening his mouth completely but nibbling ever so gently, so quickly that I can hardly register each motion, swept up in the totality of it.

Suddenly, he pops my ball back in his mouth, his warm wet mouth, and releases his fingers. The relief I feel as that tension breaks is swept away in the same instant by his suctioning mouth, pulling my trapped teste even further away from my body, as his head rests on the sofa. This is further than I've ever been stretched, and I would never have imagined it would feel this good. A little achy, yes, but the most wonderful ache in the world.

He opens his mouth, and my intrepid left ball slips out and rises back to its home. Boy, does it have a story to tell my right one.

He looks about ready to start on the right one, in fact, when I jump up a bit and slide down the sofa atop him. He has the look of purest joy on his spit-slicked face, and I kiss him madly, unhinged by the wondrous pleasure he's forced upon me. He kisses me back, and I recognize the motions of his tongue on mine--his technique is consistent, whether he's got my tongue or my balls in his mouth.

"Dude, this cannot really be your first time," I manage to say when we stop to take a breath.

"Why not?"

"Because, in my checkered past I've had a few straight guys give me their first try. Some of them are awkward, and some are prodigies, but all of them--every single one--went for the cock first. No one starts with the balls."

He grins.

"You forget," he says, kissing me on the nose, "I've been sucking cock every day of my life since I was twelve. It's kind of old-hat for me."

An involuntary shock stiffens my spine, but then I remember--the cock he's been sucking all these years is his own.

"Well, I've also sucked your cock, and I don't think it will ever be old-hat to me."

"Glad to hear it. Now, I have some unfinished business I need to take care of." He kisses me gently on the lips one more time. "Up ya go."

I rest my elbows on the armrest again, and he starts nibbling on my right ball. The sucking-pulling thing is even more intense on this side, since this one normally rides a little higher--the cremasters are getting a good and thorough stretch. At one point, he pulls a little too hard, and I gasp.

"Oh, sorry, bud!" he cries out. "I just got a little carried away. I never thought of balls as sexy, but holy shit yours are a fine, fine pair." He kisses my balls, apologizing, and then gulps them in again.

By this point my cock, having been hard for what seems like hours, is dripping a constant flow of slick gel onto his forehead. It's about the least subtle hint I can send, but he seems determined not to get it. Finally he lets my tingling testes go, and lies back, looking up at my entire kit. He brings his hands up and grips my legs on both sides of my genitals, and begins a massage that makes me crazy--or would, if I weren't already insane from what he's been doing.

He rubs me all around, stroking the muscles of my ass, my lower belly, the tops of my thighs. He pays special attention to the sinews that connect the root of my cock and balls to my body. Waves of relaxation course through me. I've never felt so--well...loved.

His hands snake their way up my torso, where they find my nipples and give them a little squeeze and tug. Then his hands flatten against my sweaty pecs, and he pushes me. I'm not sure what he's doing, but he is so strong that I rise up off my elbows, and find myself sitting straight up. I'm afraid my virgin boyfriend is unaware of the dynamics, since surely he was intending to get to work on my cock, but it's now rising away from him. I'm just about to make a helpful suggestion when I feel it.

It's his tongue.

It's in my ass.

I gasp again--he must think I'm exceedingly delicate, but he keeps surprising me, dammit--and try to lift up a bit, but his hands stiffen their grip on my torso and I'm not going anywhere.

"Oh, fuck, Clark," I breathe, the shock being overtaken by the delightful wriggle of his tongue.

He chuckles in a low rumble between my legs, clearly enjoying the effect he's having.

His tongue slips elegantly out through the ring of my ass, leaving it twitching and empty. I can feel his breath on my wet skin, but no contact. Has he had a second thought about doing this? Wouldn't be the first time that a straight guy changed his mind once the reality of his situation hit him. Straight guys can do a lot of things without having to consider themselves anything but straight--circle jerks, mutuals, even being on the receiving end of a big ol' gay blowjob--but you have to admit that licking the inside of another guy's ass is pretty darn gay.

But Clark forges ahead. The next thing I feel on my pucker is his pucker--he's kissing my ass. Kissing it like he wants to marry it. He plants kisses all around the opening, and then that tongue is back in action, swirling and poking. Then it's gone again, and then there's the strangest feeling--suction. I hear the wet smacking of his lips before I can fully comprehend what he's doing. He's sucking on my anus, his lips taking in the entire ring of muscle. Little slurps of air slip in between my ass and his lips, a turbulent tickling. And then he pulls away again, with a sound like a champagne cork popping.

"Oh my god," I exhale. My legs are starting to quiver.

"Hang on, buddy. There's more coming!"

I feel his hands slip back through my legs, and his fingers are wriggling into the crack of my ass. They poke and pull right at the center of my ass, tugging my cheeks apart, exposing me fully and still they prise, lubed by his saliva, until my ass is just about to turn itself inside out it's spread so wide open. His tongue tickles at the opening, and then he lunges. His tongue, that lithe squirmy little thing, is suddenly huge--thick and powerful, it shoots up into me, stretching my poor flattered anus to a diameter I didn't think possible. He jams himself into me, over and over again, moaning and twisting below me, gripping my hips like my groin is the last life preserver on the Titanic. Those powerful arms flex, drawing me down onto his face, pressing my ass against his mouth with all the pressure that gravity and his muscles can bring to bear. And still his tongue surges, prying pleasure from my most hidden places.

I lose track of time, I don't know where I am or how I got here, I just know that I would ride this tongue to Timbuktu and back. I'll have stubble burns all up and down my inner thighs, but that's a small price to pay, all things considered. Finally I feel his arms relax their hold on me while his tongue slows and begins to withdraw. As soon as I can trust my legs to support my weight I rise up and once again slide down his length to look him in the eye.