My First Penis

Sweet, he said. You have a beautiful cock, and gave mine a squeeze. Come with me.

He led me to his bed. We laid down and played penis with each other for at least an hour. He kept his bathrobe on, which looking back seemed a smart move. His old guy skin wasn't so obvious, just his hard penis emerging from the front of his robe, making it enigmatic, beckoning. I somehow found his gray chest hair appealing.

It was the damnedest thing. I had relaxed a bit, what we were doing felt less and less nasty, no longer so strange or transgressive. I would enjoy his cock for awhile, stroking it, waving it about, looking at it close up, then he would take a turn, pulling on my shaft, licking my cock-head, fondling.

We each would spend five or so minutes on one penis, then alternate, although he also found ways to have me stroke him while he fiddled with me too.

Each of us would get the other rock hard, then ease off and reverse until the same condition prevailed in the other. Deliberate, experimental, unrushed.

Still, I couldn't help reflecting that he had taken my virgin cock in his mouth. And that he knew it was a virgin cock. It hadn't been Marla or anyone else who had first welcomed my sperm inside themselves. I didn't even know this guy, but here we were, playing around with each other for another round.

I found that the attention he paid to my balls was astonishing. He would lick, nuzzle and suckle them for the longest time. My penis would stay hard, even when he didn't even touch it, and all attention was testicular.

My perineum also was far more sensitive to touch than I had been aware of before. He would press it with the heel of his hand, lick it, massage it.

I tried to duplicate some of this with him.

I knew he wanted me to suck him, or at least lick, but I couldn't find a way to do that. I wanted to, but some force kept me back. All this playing around was okay, mostly, but in my head I was thinking that if I took him in my mouth then I was a homo, a faggot, whereas if I didn't cross that line, I wasn't.

Stroking his penis with my hands was more like just messing with Lenny. The closest I got was actually licking his balls. This had been so unexpectedly arousing for me as recipient that I wanted to return the favor. His testicles were egg-shaped, firm, restlessly moving inside his scrotum, they felt warm and alive in my mouth.

He asked me if I would be okay stroking him to finish. He would only be good for one time, he said. He could masturbate but would prefer if I stroked him. I nodded.

I also have to admit that I was surprised at how young his penis looked. The rest of him was old guy, but his erection didn't feel that way.

If it wasn't for the fact that his groin hair was mostly gray, I would have told you his penis was thirty years old. I saw it up close a bit. I felt better about the future, there was hope for my own penis when I got to be an old codger too.

I liked how his foreskin moved, liked how the heft and stiffness of his shaft felt in my hand, enjoyed having one hand on his balls, the other moving up and down his cock, squeezing the head while he laid back, eyes closed, making nice noises of pleasure.

He found all sorts of ways to play with me. On my back he would pull my cock up ninety degrees so it was pointing towards the ceiling, then let it go so it slapped back down to my stomach. He waved it about, kissed and fondled it, treated it as an object of veneration.

One time while I was on my back he had straddled me, rubbing our two cocks together, after he had slicked them up with saliva, like two snakes wrestling. Then he moved up to my chest, pushing his cock up and down along my sternum, the cock-head inches from view.

It would have taken so little effort for me to take him into my mouth. He even pushed his penis all over my face. I felt his cock-head and shaft sliding wetly along my cheeks, my forehead, pushing into my hair, squashing his balls onto my nose.

At a rare moment of initiative from me that afternoon, I flopped him over and did the same to him, riding his chest (which I also enjoyed doing with Marla while she pressed her boobs together to make a furrow for me to plow) and marking his face with my prick as well, smearing my dampness everywhere.

Only he took the opportunity then to take me in his mouth. I looked down as my penis went in, I could rock back and forth, he would tongue me while I moved in and out while his fingers fondled my balls, massaged my perineum.

I was too close to want to finish though, so backed out. He gave me an absolutely lecherous look and then sucked my balls, licked my perineum, pulling my ass into him. His fingers traced my ass-crack, played around the edge of my anus.

Finally, he laid me down and whispered in my ear to finish him off, he promised to do me good afterward. He knelt on his knees next to my upper body, and after he retrieved a little vial of oil from a nightstand drawer, he dribbled some on his cock.

I worked him, one hand under his balls, now furiously churning in their sack, while I stroked his glistening penis, picking up speed, squeezing his cock-head tightly.

His hips were pushing into my hands, his body rocking back and forth. His penis got a bit harder, the cock-head larger, angry-looking. It slid wonderfully in my hands. He put his head back, a low growl came from his mouth, and he started to cream.

Unlike Lenny (and me) the sperm did not jet out, it just oozed and oozed, a thick creek of white semen. Up and out of his cock-head, down his shaft, collecting in his groin hairs.

Despite the lack of velocity, the quantity was impressive. But of course he had been hard most of the afternoon. I kept stroking until no more sperm emerged.

I was pleased, noting with enjoyment all the details of his climax, the way his hips quivered, the pulse of his penis I felt while stroking him, the way his ass contracted.

He looked down at me. Nice, he said. I think you could get real good at this.

I looked around to see if I could clean him up with something but he shook his head, wiped my hand on his chest hairs and almost immediately positioned himself between my legs, spreading them apart, sitting on his haunches, his cock still stiff, poking up from his lap.

My penis was unbearably hard. He went to work. I closed my eyes and felt him lick me, stroke me, caress my balls. At one point he was using his hands on my shaft but something had changed. I looked up and saw that he had gathered some of his own semen up from his crotch and smeared it all over my own penis. Slippery wet, he stroked me.

The second climax was slower to arrive, not as intense as the first one, but the lead-up pleasure went on far longer. He kept me in his mouth for quite some time, tonguing me lovely, suctioning my cock-head, gradually increasing tempo as he felt my final hardness grow.

My hips were pushing into him, my penis was on fire from top to bottom, all nerve endings registering their pleasure. Once again my ass contracted, I pushed, I pulsed. Several good waves of semen forced their way into his mouth, wet, constricting, sucking my sperm up.

I lay there awhile while he continued to suckle me, I couldn't bear to look. When I couldn't take any more and withdrew, he just kept licking me, my less sensitive shaft, my balls, all around my crotch, smelling, tasting, getting a last thorough exploration in.

I didn't want to talk much afterward, my thoughts were whirling around inside. I asked to be driven to the ferry. We were fairly quiet, but he made sure to thank me at the ferry building, offered me a place to stay when I returned from the island, or anytime in the future. He gave me his card.

"Glen Worthy" it said, with a real estate company logo. He crossed out one number, said to use the second listed. I had a hard time looking at him in the eye, but I thanked him too, shook his hand, the same hand that had been coated with sperm a bit ago, and went to the terminal, not looking back.

My whole lower body was possessed of an unusual heat that radiated. The area from my anus to my navel, the entire region, was warm and tingled from the inside out.

On the ferry ride to the island, and over and over again during the month on my afternoon walks, I turned over in my mind all that had happened. How intense my pleasure had been.

The sight of his erect penis inches in front of my face. The softness of his hands while he stroked me. The feeling of his hard penis in my fingers. The wetness of his mouth on my balls, my cock. The completeness of my climax while my sperm erupted into his mouth.

This was to be the first time, and so far the last, that an unexpected penis effectively fell into my lap. His prophecy that the sex-door was wide open was only partially true, it was not open long enough, not sufficiently wide. My first wife never did permit me to come in her mouth.

Why hadn't I sucked him? There was no good reason to hold back. I still remember that stiff, bobbing, ardent cock-head in front of me. I wished over and over again that I had been more daring. To feel a penis hardening in my mouth, pushing with frantic desire, releasing its semen forth in a rush. Giving pleasure in the same manner I had enjoyed.

Now, I want to do the scene in reverse. Pick up a nice handsome college-age hitchhiker. Tell him stories to make him randy. Take him back to my place for an afternoon. Maybe a couple nights. Get him hard, suck his dick, over and over again. Admire his body, his cock, his balls. Feel him spurt in my mouth. That would be splendid.