tagFirst TimeOne Eye Open

One Eye Open


I knew it was going to be an insane weekend when Chris started handing out the magic mushrooms even before we were on the Sea To Sky Highway.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Jas said. “You want to drive to Whistler stoned on mushrooms?”

“Well I thought I’d save the E for later, but if you’d rather do it now…” Chris said, flashing that shit-eating grin of his, as we crawled along in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

It was spring break, and every student who couldn’t afford to go to Mexico was probably in the same line of cars, headed for Whistler. Jas’ parents have a time-share there, and he had offered to let us stay there, as reward for getting through the better part of our freshman year of university.

The plan was simple: spend three or four days hitting the slopes, drinking, smoking dope and – hopefully – getting laid. Jas was the only one who was certain of getting laid. His girlfriend, Sindi, was with us. Lucky bastard. Sindi is this sweet exotic East Indian girl with luxurious long hair, cute face and world-class ass.

We choked down the mushrooms with vodka mixed with orange juice. That and beer, drugs and pizza would become our staples for the next three days.

Turns out the mushrooms were good idea. It was snowing, which would be a good thing for us, once we got onto the slopes. But it had slowed the traffic down to a miserable crawl, so the mushrooms. Vodka and B.C. bud combined to make an otherwise miserable trip into an adventure.

We were wrecked when we got there, and all headed for the slopes completely fucked up.

Later, Chris and I went in search of women, while Jas and Sindi went back to the chalet to fuck their brains out.

There was no shortage of women, and we ended up dancing off the stone. By the end of the night, we were exhausted, drunk, and horny. Three girls Chris and I had hooked up with came back to the chalet with us, but didn’t stay long. Right away Chris started putting the moves on one, and when she rebuffed him, he went to work on the two others. That was enough to turn them off, and they left.

“Nice work, horndog,” I said. “I was getting in solid with that blonde. Now I’m going to have to go fuck a snowbank.”

“Here,” Chris said, and handed me a bong. “Fuck this.”

The mouth of the bong was, in fact, just about the right size for my cock. I took a hit, and nearly passed out.

“Fuck I’m wasted,” I said, collapsing on the couch.

“Me too,” Chris said, sprawling on the floor in front of the fireplace. “I’m probably too wasted to get it up anyways.”

He was wearing sweats. He pulled his waitband away from his hard, flat stomach, and directed a question to his pubic region.

“What do you say, Norm?”

I caught a glimpse of lumpy flesh in a nest of blonde hair.

“Norm’s dead.”

“Nothing some mouth-to-mouth wouldn’t cure,” I said.

“You volunteering?” Chris mumbled.

“Sure. You show me how it’s done, and I’ll get right on it, bitch.”

Chris snickered stupidly, and poured beer directly on his face, some of which made it into his mouth.

I stumbled to the bathroom to take a piss. As I shook the last few drops from my cock, it started to stiffen.

When you are 18 years old, drunk, and away on vacation after a long hard semester, a mild breeze can give you wood.

When I got back to the living room, Chris was unconscious. Sprawled on the floor with beer bottles all around him is a pose Chris assumes often. I worry about him sometimes. He’s a good friend, but he is self-destructive. Everyone in university drinks too much, but Chris worse than most. He drinks until he passes out, and often mixes a lot of different drugs. Tonight he had taken more mushrooms, smoked a pile of dope, and swallowed a handful of valium. That was on top of all the booze he had drunk. No wonder he can never keep a girlfriend. Girls like him because he is handsome and outgoing, and he’s a little bit dangerous. He gets laid often enough, but only the really skanky ones stick with him for very long.

It was three in the morning. I was exhausted, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to crash just yet. I was still wired from the drugs, and I was starting to feel sore already from the snowboarding. I decided to go see if the sauna and whirlpool in the condo complex was still open.

I padded out into the night with a towel and a beer, and used the chalet key to let myself in. I had the whirlpool to myself.

I eased myself into the water and let the warmth soothe my aching muscles. Apropos of nothing, I began to get hard. What the hell? I thought, and slipped my swim trunks off.

My cock looked magnified in the water. It looked the way I wished it did: big. My cock is average sized. I began masturbating. But I became self-conscious. There was no one in the whirlpool room but me, but I felt exposed nonetheless. And what if someone walked in?

I got out and went to the sauna. I cranked it on and went inside, and sat down on the towel. As I sat there in the dry heat, I closed my eyes, sipped my beer, and rubbed the head of my cock with the precum that was leaking from my cock.

I did this for what seemed a long time. The pot was enhancing the sensation, and the orgasm I felt welling up inside me felt like a small hurricane stirring inside.

Suddenly, as I massaged my slick cock, I felt eyes on me, like someone was watching me. With the thought that Chris had walked in on me, I opened my eyes, and pitched forward, to cover myself, an embarrassed apology on my lips.

But there was no one there. The eyes I had felt on me was part of a flashback I was having.

It happened in a sauna, just like this. I was just hitting adolescence. We were on vacation. Bored, I had wondered down to the pool one night and went for a swim, then decided to go into the sauna.

Inside was a man. He was sitting back, eyes closed, wearing a towel around his waist.

I sat down in the corner. He opened his eyes, and I could see him do a double-take. Then he smiled at me.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I said back, shyly.

“Boy, it’s hot in here,” I said, stupidly.

“It feels good,” he said, then smiled, and closed his eyes again.

I looked at the sauna’s rocks, then finally decided to lean back and close my eyes, like the man was doing.

Now and then, I would open my eyes, and look at him, then close my eyes. Every time I opened mine, his eyes were shut. But I couldn’t get over the feeling that, as soon as my eyes were shut, he was looking at me.

He was perhaps 35 years old, lean, average looking. His most distinctive feature was his eyes – light blue – and his cock.

I kept my eyes closed for a long time, and when I opened them, his were still closed. But I noticed something. The towel he was wearing had parted slightly, and peaking out underneath the fabric was the head of his cock. I stared for a moment, then quickly closed my eyes and analyzed what I had just seen. At that angle, the way the head was peaking out, it meant he was hard. I felt a mix of fear, disgust and arousal. I looked again. His eyes were still shut, and he wore just the faintest smile.

It was fascinating. I had never seen a man’s cock like this before – erect. The cock head was a large purple helmet, with a prominent pee slit. The image of it was burned in my mind. It was like some some small, shy exotic creature peaking out from its burrow to have a look at me. That’s what it seemed like – like he was looking at me, staring at me, through the eye of his cock. Why was he hard? Was this normal? I wondered. And then I realized, to my horror, that I was getting hard too.

I immediately got up, and fled. I never saw the man again, but the image of that cock head stayed in my mind. Over the years, I would look at it again and again. I couldn’t stop looking at it, because it was looking at me.

I went back up to my room that night, laid on my bed, and wrestled with feelings I didn’t want to have. I couldn’t get the man’s cock out of my mind. And my own was now calling for attention.

I pulled down my swim trunks, which had dried in the sauna. My undersized cock was weeping fluid. I took it in my hand and began to pump my cock. Soon, my cock was spitting a small amount of semen onto my belly. I watched with fascination as the white thick fluid dribbled from the eye of my cock. I wondered what his would look like with white stuff coming out.

Some semen had dripped onto my thumb. I raised it to my face, smelled it, then licked it. It tasted odd, and I wrestled with the knowledge that some girls – older girls – actually would let boys squirt this stuff in their mouths, and that they would actually swallow it.

Later, when I got older, my best friend and I would jerk off together. I always tried to wait. I liked to watch him come. It didn’t much appeal to me after I had already ejaculated. But when his cock would spurt thick white ribbons of sperm, it was such a turnon that it seemed to provoke my own orgasm. And sometimes I would wonder what it would taste like, what it would feel like, to have a guy’s cock in my mouth. What would it be like to feel a warm cock squirting that hot stuff into your mouth?

The first time a girl blew me, she spit it out, and I was offended. But the next girl swallowed it. It fascinated me to think that a person would do that: swallow sperm. What was the attraction? It didn’t taste very good – I knew that from having tasted my own. Still, there was something incredibly sensual about it – drinking that vital fluid.

I was not thinking of that girl right now, as I pumped my cock, slick with precum. I was thinking about that man’s cock head. And my friend’s orgasms. And I was thinking about Chris’s cock. I had seen it once or twice, soft, and had wondered what it would look like hard. It looked as though it would be huge. What would it taste like?

And now the sperm was exploding from my cock. It shot high onto my chest – a huge thick load, and slowly began to slide down towards my stomach. My chest and stomach was shiny with the white jelly, shimmering in the dim light, mingling with the sweat that I had worked up in the sauna. It had been a powerful orgasm, and it didn’t want to die. My cock continued to pulse and jerk with the aftershocks of orgasm.

I lay back, spent, and wet. When I had recovered, I took a swallow of beer, then took my towel and wiped up the goo.

Part II

When I got back to the chalet, Chris was still sprawled on the floor, dangerously close to the fireplace.

“Come on man, beddie-by,” I told him and tried to rouse him. I tried to pull him up, but he was like a corpse. As usual, he had drunk himself into a minor coma. I thought about leaving him there on the floor. Then I had another thought.

I stood there for a while, contemplating the thought that had occurred to me. No, I said, and pushed it from my mind.

Why not? You always wondered what it would be like. Now’s your chance. He’ll never even know.

I took a slug of vodka, and listened for signs of life upstairs. It was five in the morning. Jas and Sindi were dead asleep. I went over to Chris and hooked my hands under his armpits. I hauled him into a sitting position. His head lolled and he drooled.

I dragged him over to the bed that we were to share. Drunkenly, I managed to manhandle him onto the bed, and he mumbled in his sleep. He was wearing cotton sweats

I hesitated a moment, then gently pulled his sweats off. His shorts came down partway with them, exposing a tuft of blond public hair.

I managed to get the sweats the rest of the way off without removing his shorts.

Then I got undressed, keeping my shorts on and got under the covers.

I laid there a long time, thinking about what I was contemplating.

“Chris?” I said. I nudged him. If he woke, I would tell him he was snoring. There was no response.

My cock was swollen again. I could hear myself breathing heavily, trying to keep quiet as my hands moved under the covers. I fumbled towards his body and felt his shorts. I moved my hand up to his crotch. It rested on the soft lump of his large cock.

I let it linger there a while, then began to knead it lightly, as I watched his face for any hint of waking. Nothing. Nor did his cock stiffen, despite my ministrations.

Emboldened, I pulled at the waistband. Awkwardly, I managed to get his shorts down halfway. His cock lolled out onto the nest of his public hair. I took it, soft and warm, in my hand and squeezed it rhythmically, lightly. I felt it stiffen slightly. I was a biology student, so I knew enough about the human body to know that, even if he was paralyzed from the waist down, stimulation of his cock and balls would cause his penis to stiffen and, if it was stimulated enough, to even ejaculate.

And that was what I wanted: I wanted him to ejaculate. I wanted him to ejaculate in my mouth.

I might never get this change again. I am not gay. At least I don’t think I am. I love women, love their bodies. But this desire to taste a man’s cock, to feel it pulse with sperm, to taste that hot jelly, and swallow it all, was an obsession that had been with me ever since that day when I saw the man in the sauna looking at me with the eye of his penis.

Chris’s breathing was shallow, and his eyes rolled under his eyelids. He was in REM sleep. Dreaming. Probably having a nice dream about a girl jerking him off. Now I would make that dream even more pleasant.

I pulled back the covers. What a beautiful specimen his cock was. Seven inches, maybe seven and a half inches long. Thick, nicely cut, with a large purple helmet.

I leaned down and tentatively took the head in my mouth. It was tasteless. But it seemed to grow in my mouth. I withdrew and looked up. Chris’s head moved, turning to one side, and he sighed deeply. I froze.

An eternity passed, and I felt his cock begin to deflate in my hand. I leaned down again and took his cockhead in my mouth again. I gently sucked it, and licked it. Looked to his face. Then I slid the cockhead deeper into my mouth. I wanted it all. I went down as deep as I could go, until the cock head was intruding into the back of my throat, then withdrew to the tip of his cock. I was surprised how strong the musk of his crotch smelled. It was not unlike the scent of a woman down there, and it was incredibly sensuous to taste and smell him. I gripped the base of his cock and gently began to pump it with my hand while I sucked as much of the shaft as I could get in my mouth without gagging.

And now he moved.

His pelvis moved up, thrusting his cock towards me, pushing instinctively deeper into the inviting warmth of my mouth. I withdrew to the tip of his cock and tasted salt. Precum.

I withdrew.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbled, and I felt his hand on my head. He was pushing my head down on his cock.

“Shit!” I thought. “Busted.” He was awake.

I froze, his cock pushing against my lips. What should I do? What would I say to him? Sorry, dude, I’m not gay, really, I’m not. I just wanted to suck you off?”

His pelvis lifted, and his hand pushed down on the top of my head, urgently. I let my lips part and allowed him to push his large penis into my mouth.

“Oh man,” he moaned. “Keep going.”

His cock pushed deep into my throat, gagging me. I backed away, but he didn’t let up. He pushed my head down roughly, and it occurred to him he might be coming. I didn’t care anymore what he thought about me. It was too late to turn back now. He appeared to like what I was doing. He wasn’t stopping me – he was encouraging me. So I let him fuck my mouth. And as he pistoned my mouth with his large thick cock, I felt my own orgasm welling up, without even touching myself. The taste of his slightly salty meat, the heavy smell of his musk, and the image of that eye spilling white seed – an image I had dwelt on all these years – all of this combined to fill my loins with a white hot flush. And I was devouring him. My hand closed on his large balls and he pushed deep into my throat and unleashed a hot spasm of waxy liquid, sudden and copious. There were three distinct spurts, the first one the most powerful, followed by a smaller one, and then a third, powerful stream, thick and hot. I was swallowing it, and trying to keep from choking, and it kept coming -- a thick stream, fiercely hot and slippery, rich and cloying. And suddenly I was reaching down and holding my own cock as it shot semen onto the sheets.

I withdrew his cock from my mouth to see a thread of sperm still connecting my mouth to his cock, and my own milky seed staining the sheets beside him.

His sperm felt like warm satin in my mouth. I swallowed and licked my lips, not sure if I liked the taste, which left a slight burning sensation, and milked my own cock for residual fluid.

One last drop fell onto the sheets.

I looked up at Chris, who lay there with his mouth open. His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled.

“Thanks dude,” he said, “I owe you one.”

And he immediately went slack. Within a minute, his breathing had slowed down again, and he was drifting back to sleep. I looked down at his cock, which still pulsed with his heartbeat, trying to digest what just happened.

I looked at the head of his cock, the eye of which was filled with a milky pearl. It looked like a jewel. I pulled the covers over him, and laid back. I let out a deep sigh, and felt the cold wetness of the semen leaking from my now deflating cock onto my belly. I wondered if Chris would remember the next morning what had happened. I knew I would never forget.

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