Gas Station Guy

"Oh, yeah... Man..."

A few moments of that, and then I lifted both hands to pull his shorts down completely. His prick sprang free, tall like him, darker than cocks I'd met before, redder than the rest of his skin. If it was just about the cock, I'd be converted back onto men.

I wrapped my fist around it and felt the always-shocking heat of velvet-soft skin over a stiff steel core. No foreskin -- shame -- but that smooth loose skin slid up and down his shaft beautifully inside my fingers. I licked my other thumb and brought it to the ridge under his head, holding eye contact with him as I did so.

His eyes lost focus and his lips parted as he felt someone else's hand on the sensitive end of his cock for the first time, touching in ways different from his own hand, always a bit unexpected. Then his eyes widened, and I ducked in front of him quickly, taking the jet of come over my front rather than him having to explain damage to the stock.

The leather protected me from the worst of the sudden shower.

We both sat back down, him breathing heavily, dealing with all those emotions that come with early sexual experiences. It wasn't that long since I'd been in his position, after all. Quite similar, I suppose, if he was gay and now finding he didn't object to a woman getting him off.

"Sorry. 'Bout your top..." He gestured at my front. I opened my jacket to assess the damage.

"It'll wash. Don't worry." He nodded, then moved to sit next to me. Possibly to give himself good excuse not to make eye contact. "You liked that?"

A leading question, but sometimes you need to bolster your own self-esteem, y'know? Also, I wanted to prepare, if he were about to say he'd hold out for a real man, thank you very much.

"Yeah..."

Silence. My job to break it, again. Men just couldn't do feelings. I'd thought gay ones were better at that, but maybe some coming-out first was needed?

I told him, "Hands are hands, I reckon. Take pleasure where I can get it. Mouths are mouths, too, I think."

He was about to say something, when the bell buzzed again. He leapt up and disappeared through the door. I listened to the standard dialogue, muffled, like a GCSE language comprehension test.

"And your receipt, sir."

I stood up and stretched. The wet jacket was surplus to requirements and I folded it on top of my bag. I eyed my profile in the toilet mirror -- yes, I had breasts, but like my cock, you'd only notice if you were looking...

Atif had snuck back into the stockroom without me noticing. "You have nice tits. Sorry, I never noticed before."

Startled, I snapped, "Why would you? I mean, do they do anything for you, even in theory?"

He shrugged. "I don't want to do anything with them, really, but the shape does kinda look nice..." He sketched a shape in the air, like a horizontal cello. "Curves look good... Just, what I... what my dick wants, is," He mimed a set of flat planes making up the shape of a man.

"Firm and flat shapes?"

"Mm. Solid." He did that side-to-side undulation of his head again, 'whatever'. "Speaking of firm and solid..." He stared down at my crotch. "May I see?"

I nodded, stood up and undid the button on my jeans. He rose too, to stand in front of me, eyes locked to mine, and reached his hand down. A ping of my pants to let the cock out over them shouldn't have been erotic -- it wasn't like I was feeling through it -- but the basics of the situation, two people standing together, reaching into each others pants, was filthy. The crap lesbian and the new gay man, getting it on, was hotly wrong. Fuck the gender norms that policed homosexual cultures almost as much as they controlled straight people - this was properly transgressive; the original meaning of queer.

I wondered which of our families would freak out the most if they knew what we were doing.

He, too, licked his hand before grasping my cock. His palm rolled round the ball shape and the top, the heel of his hand pushing into my pubes, before he grabbed it firmly and tugged me towards him with it. I was startled by his boldness, but, duh, -- it might be his first time touching someone else's cock, but it certainly wasn't going to be his first time playing with one! On one prick, at least, he had far more experience than I did.

Holding me in one arm, he held our dicks in his other hand and rubbed them together, up and down. The vibration set my harness quivering between my legs and under my arse cheeks, the dildo base pressing against my cunt, and I couldn't help getting as excited as he was. I forgot about the vibrator I could have turned on. I reached my arm round him the same way, and we clung together as we breathed in each other's skin.

He started to gasp, then let go. Didn't want to come again, so soon? I guessed he had two rounds in him, easy, but three would need some recuperation time first. And then he dropped to his knees.

Of course. Touching another cock is fun, but the sort of thing that might not mean anything, like lads might plausibly do for each other after a few, or when bored behind the bike sheds, and still claim they're straight, however much half of them would be lying. But sucking cock -- there's the proof. Not having your cock sucked -- practically any bloke would go along with that -- but choosing to get your face down there, hair in your nose, traces of piss over your lips, and putting a man's penis in your mouth -- that makes you gay no matter what. The moment your tongue touches that hot knob, you can't deny it; you're a faggot. Doesn't matter how many women you've had, stud; suck one prick and you're queer as fuck.

If you're a guy, of course. Me, I'm just a queer slut enjoying herself, too perverted to stick to women like a good lesbian should. Sick and disgusting, swinging-both-ways fence-sitter, apparently. According to a couple of Clare's pals, anyhow. And lots of the lesbians I'd met at college.

Funny, really. For men, one cock makes you gay; for women, one cock cancels your gayness out... Powerful things, those penises.

Meanwhile, Atif was eager to prove to himself he had it in him to be a cocksucker. He sank down onto my dick ambitiously, sliding inches of silicone and a couple more inches into his mouth and throat, the purple and black vanishing inside his crimson lips and bronze face.

And then he gagged, and hastily pushed me down and away so he could cough. He needed to stand back up to cough properly. I didn't laugh. Poor lad had probably only seen it done by porn stars. Some things, you had to learn by doing. Also, my hard dick was a lot less amenable than a real cock, which would be always slightly squeezable and possible to bend a little in all directions.

I'd got him into this mess. It was my responsibility to sort him out. Though actually, looking at his meat and two veg as I dropped to the floor, his cock longer than my pair of fists circling him one above the other, a beautiful texture and shade, not too fat: it would be a pleasure.

"Let me show you," I said.

He remained silent.

"You had this before?" He swallowed and managed to exhale fairly normally. Then he shook his head. "No pressure on me, then. Just got to persuade you there's a point to it. I think you'll like it. Here goes."

I wasn't going to try deep throating. I'd probably react just how he had. But I'd had a fair few cocks, and let's face it, it's hard for it to be bad! I took him gently but firmly in my left hand, and lowered my lips to his tip.

I gave him a tiny lick, as if he were an ice-cream in a strange new flavour and I was scared I wouldn't like it.

I quite liked it. It tasted of clean cock, a hint of sandalwood and soap, subtle background of spicy diet and cigarettes, and a layer of dried salty, vinegary semen. Some more tiny dabs with my tongue, and a big sweep to lick all that come off the end of his cock.

Atif groaned, nearly in tears. Finally, fulfilling the fantasy he'd have had since he'd reached an age to understand blow jobs might be good as well as disgusting.

The end to worries that he or his dick might be too disgusting for anyone ever to want to.

The start of knowing he wanted more of this in his life.

At least I could help with that last one. I gathered saliva into my mouth and took the whole head of his cock inside. All of it was wet and easily sliding about my mouth, and he gasped as he laid hands on my shoulders to keep his balance. I carefully sucked him a bit more deeply, then let that go and returned to be attentive to his sensitive head. I lapped in a circle under the rim of the bell, and he started to move, so I pushed down his jeans and shorts and grabbed hold of his buns. Firmly, to hold them still. Oh, yeah. Gorgeous pert mounds of firmness, just made to shove my fingers into. I'd have to admire his behind later, but in the meantime I just needed to control his uncontrolled reactions enough so I could carry on sucking his cock.

With one of my arms wrapped round his thighs to help hold him still, the other hand still clenching his arse, I managed to concentrate on sinking his cock deep into my mouth, and letting it out again, building up a good rhythm of slow, long entries through my mouth, a mere hint of teeth touching his delicate skin, my tongue swooping over his head and round and under the rim with each accepted thrust. I experimented with letting him in a bit further -- he was definitely eager -- but figured it would be better for both of us to keep him under control. I didn't want to feel choked and have to stop, when a subtle build-up of sensation could blow his mind.

In and out, in and out. My cheeks weren't getting sore, yet, just a fraction tired. Atif was staring straight ahead, a sound, 'eesh!' escaping every now and then, usually just before he thrust harder. I could tell he was trying to fix the moment in his memory. Time to make it even more memorable.

Experiment time. I wished I had a third hand, but let his arse go so I could try little pinches of the sensitive skin on his shaft. He flinched slightly, but didn't seem much bothered. Enough of that, then. I cupped his balls in my hand, and rolled them around. Some guys' balls get so far retracted inside you can't see or feel that they're two separate things, but these were hanging, obvious and heavy, and I enjoyed tilting my palm to make them move, like a set of burgundy ben-wa balls; warm, dark, with black curls scattered about. Large, purple, dangling plums.

His breathed syllables were already unintelligible but got louder, especially when I pulled his whole sack, gently, then less gently, circling my thumb and fingers around the neck of his ball-bag. A squeeze there, and he voiced a vowel again, desperate to stay at this point.

I was also pretty happy with where we were, a happy man's tasty cock in my mouth, a fun toy, a pleased customer, and me sitting comfortably. I kept slurping as his cock slid back and forth between us and he kept making low-pitched screams. Another few minutes should be possible -- I think we were both glad he'd come already so he could last much longer this time.

I did need to go home that night, though, so eventually I decided to ramp it up. I wasn't surprised when pulling or twisting the loose goose-bumpy skin of his bollocks did little for him, but an incredibly cautious bite down on his cock triggered so much thrust I had to open wide and let him go again to make sure he didn't get hurt! I took his deeper movements pretty well for a minute. Then, his balls rose visibly as he clenched inside, his body readying itself for its strongest orgasm ever.

I stroked under his balls, that beautiful soft skin, which in other circs I might have played with for a while, and then let my little finger creep along his bum-crack, towards his arsehole.

I know, not all gay men like it in the arse, but it was a good bet a gay virgin had spent a lot of time thinking about it.

My finger reached the sensitive skin just in front of his anus and I pushed on it, along with allowing another deep lean of his prick into my throat.

Two things happened.

Hot wet salt exploded into my mouth. Despite swallowing twice, downing as much as I could, I had to push him away so I could cough. Then underneath his ecstatic yelling, I heard the bell; that bloody buzzing from a customer needing assistance.

He shouted another sound, then collapsed back onto the boxes behind him. I guessed he knew pretty well which were safe to sit on. He panted, catching his breath, then slowly raised his eyes to meet mine, a shy smile appearing across the chiselled jaw. It dawned on me he hadn't heard the bell.

"I hate to mention it, but there's a customer outside."

The bell buzzed harshly again, for longer.

"Shit." He stood up, light-headed and bewildered. I got up and assisted in pulling up his pants and jeans, did up the top button, flicked his hair back with my fingers, and patted him on the arse to point him in the right direction. It was a shame to bring him back to earth with such a bump, but I didn't want him losing his job over a blow job! I wiped sticky off his chin and shoved him at the door, just as the bell got pressed a third time.

I could hear apologies, his servile voice. A posh voice being disdainful. More grovelling and a bit of conversation, then Atif wishing the men goodnight, more affably than expected.

The door opened and Atif came round it, looking remarkably cheerful. Of course, he had just enjoyed his first ever time being sucked off! He had a bottle of wine in his hand.

Sitting back down, he took his beer can and knocked it back. "If you don't like beer, have this." Good choice. "It's a screw-top," he added. How thoughtful.

What the hell. I settled back down on top of the Fanta and Coke boxes, opened it, and put the glass neck in my mouth. Less wide than his cock, but I still felt that stiffness in my cheeks as I rounded my lips round the bottle.

"You have a wonderful mouth."

"Thank you. You have a lovely cock."

He blushed a bit, a purplish glow on his cheek. Less obvious than on my pale face, which I envied. He emptied his can, crushed it under his heel, and lobbed it towards a rubbish bag hanging by the back door. It missed.

He left it. We were both thinking, 'What now?'

"Were those customers OK? Sounded like they were having a go, 'cos you took a while to get to the window?"

"Oh, the usual, yeah. Lazy Paki, can't get a better job, blah blah. So I'm all, 'yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir'," He grinned, unexpectedly. "Give them special price..."

"How do you even manage that? It's all on the computer, isn't it?"

"Of course. Just, by the till there is an extra bar code I can scan. It came off a big box of condoms... Extra strong ones."

For sex with men. Genius.

"For him, I scan it three times. I think, it's £6.99 a box."

"The shop owners will be very happy. Is that your dad?"

"Oh, Dad gives me a cut of the takings, and turns a blind eye to a few drinks and all. He's strict, yeah, but not totally unreasonable..."

"And now you're all prepared with condoms, for free!"

He stared. "Good point! I He leapt up, ran back to the shelves behind the counter, and returned. "Mustn't make errors in the stock-take," he said, deadpan.

"Well indeed."

"Though, no! It were Mum's idea, when bar codes first came in for everything. She told me about it, before my first shift, when Dad wasn't listening. Profiting off racist fuckers, yeah, she's all for that. Stashing rubbers... Ain't going there, man!"

"Let's not."

"Hadn't heard that for months, y'know? 'Get back where you came from.' I told them, right, that was a bare good plan -- house prices are mental here, compared to Fort Neef..."

Ah, that was the accent! Thornton Heath, armpit of South London, influenced by dozens of dialects from Asia, the Caribbean and beyond. We were now in a much more respectable area, albeit just as much a Zone Four no-man's-land of semi-detacheds. Hence us sounding so different, even though most people would have clocked no further than us both being 'London, just not the part we're standing in'. I'd shed Home Counties nasal tones as rapidly as their social manners, as soon as I'd gone north to uni, and two years in north London had cemented my generic 'nice middle-class Londoner' voice.

"It happened, once. Credit card company phones Mum, says a man was overcharged. She tells them she has all the records. Tap, tap, 'oh yes, gentlemen's items, the gentleman must have forgotten...' Last we heard of that! Mum's good, though. Anyone actually needs petrol in an emergency, she takes their number and sometimes a photo of them on her old Polaroid, gives it them, lets them off. She says in all her life, every single one has come back to pay. Usually, she refuses their dosh, actually."

"Awww! That's so sweet!"

"Yeah." He sighed. "Shame I'm gonna be such a disappointment... Least I've got an older brother -- he's married already, so just needs some sprogs and it won't matter if I kinda bow out of the community..." He gave me some side-eye as I took another swig of the cheap-but-gluggable wine. "Don't suppose you want to get married?"

I spluttered wine all over, and he chuckled. "Don't worry, only joking. Non-desi bird probably rates about the same as a Muslim guy... Mate of mine said once, his mum told him, on the Q.T., if he was gay, make sure he only went with nice Asian men... He's straight, though." Atif sighed again, plucked the wine bottle out of my hands, drank, and returned it. "Sorry. You ever been with an Asian before?"

I thought a moment. Not that I'd had that many people in my life, but I'd not really categorised them by colour in my mind. Though Natalie and then Tina had both asked if I'd had a black girl, before. I'd said no and yes, respectively, and they'd changed the subject, so I'd not thought any more of it.

"No. Well, unless a Chinese lass counts." Catherine had probably been the first to break my heart. "She was an expat brat though, half Hong Kong Chinese, half... everything. Singaporean, Malay, Samoan and stuff, grew up in Singapore. Different kettle of fish!"

"Yeah. Totally."

Her dad had been pretty wealthy, as in yachts and off-shore bank accounts and being wanted for fraud, which made much more of a difference than skin colour or country, I guessed. I mentioned Nat and Tina asking me the same question. "Why? What's the right answer?"

A wry snort. "Don't matter. 'Long as it's not a wrong answer. Like, 'ooh, yeah, I love brown boys, they're always so eager...' Or, 'I've always wanted a brown cock to complete the set.' Or, I guess, 'Asians always smell funny, all that curry, but I'll make an exception for you' - that was a girl at school giving me my first kiss, what was I thinking?"

I got it. "OK if they want you, not just any old brown guy?"

"Exactly."

"Not a problem I have, you're right. Actually, what am I talking about! There's all the guys who think any tits and pussy will do... Bloody millions... You watch it, when you start exploring the scene -- half the men you meet will just want any fresh cock. Or arse. Any port in a storm, as they say."

"I have been up Hampstead Heath!" He added, sheepishly, "And run away again, sharpish, like..."

"Good idea. Stay safe."

"Yeah, yeah, condoms... I know..."

"Not just that. Finding guys who want you to have a good time, too. Not just getting you wasted, then raping you in the bogs." I'd heard too many stories.

"OK, Auntie, you make your point. So where do I meet guys who don't just want a quick fuck, then?"

I considered. "First Out is your starter. It's a cafe with good food, next to Tottenham Court Road, bar downstairs which turns into a club later. Really friendly. Or Out to Lunch, similar place, near Bank. Flyers for everything... Nice young crowd, usually."