Prom Night Ch. 06

"Picture time?" I smiled.

He laughed and drew me back into his arms. I tried my best to maneuver the phone to get a good angle, and each time I failed to figure it out, it only made him laugh harder. When I finally got it right, I poked his ribs playfully, and he posed with me.

We took five or six shots that night—a few of them silly as one or both of us couldn't contain our laughter. Two of them came out too dark to make out much of our faces. But one turned out okay—a still where I was snuggled against his chest, James's chin protectively right over me as if he were about to kiss the top of my head.

Not that I got to look at it until I got home that night. As soon as it was taken, I craned my head up to brush his lips with mine. And this time, when our mouths met, they were as hungry as they were at school. Within seconds, his tongue was sliding into my mouth, and I was suckling on it like it would give me life.

And in a way, it had given me some kind of life. My cock was straining against the front of my pants, mashed against his leg, and I knew he could feel it. His arms—which were so gentle with me and protective—drew me tighter to him as if he were afraid I'd float off into space. I grabbed at his shirt—not even caring what I was grabbing of it—and tried to pull him closer. My fingers became claws, needing him there in the car until he broke away long enough to just take his shirt off.

My mouth broke away from his to trace tongue kisses down the side of his neck, the tip flicking off and on just to make him quiver. And the more he quivered, the tighter to him James held me, until it seemed as if we were no longer two people but one. Fused emotionally and now physically. But for as closely fused as we were, I needed him to understand what I felt. Needed him to understand the power he held when he touched me or kissed me—the very animal hunger he ignited whenever we had sex. My mouth traveled his hairy chest like a blind man without a cane, my tongue writing passionate love-me-nots on his body with kisses. While my finger traced that trail of hair leading into his pants I had followed so many times. My index finger following the road to pleasure downward to his zipper.

James was hard.

The tent felt firm enough to almost bore a hole through concrete. I gave the tip of his bulge a little flick with my index finger, and he drew in a breath. Rearing his bulge up as if his cock would break free at any moment. My mouth found one of his nipples and suckled on it—my tongue flicking his nipple in time with my index finger flicking the tip of his bulge again.

He moaned.

And that was all it took. The passion in him boiled over, and in seconds, he pushed me away and back on the seat till he had me pinned. His hands were clumsy bear paws as he desperately removed my shirt. Then, as soon as he succeeded, James was on me. My arms held against the car door behind me in one of his hands as he thrust his thick bulge into me. My own bulge rubbing against him till we were both shuddering from the electrical feel of pleasure.

He gave me a deep, long look in the eyes. Like a wordless promise I was safe with him no matter what. Then when he couldn't hold back any longer, his mouth zeroed in on my neck like a heat seeking missile, finding just the right spots to make me tingle as his hairy chest brushed against my nipples like a million feathers. His bulge still rocked into me, as if his dick were warning me that it couldn't promise it wouldn't fuck my ass even in this parking lot where anyone might pass by.

Then he was trailing down my body, licking and kissing my flesh like a blanket slowly being slipped off of me. His mouth first found one of my nipples and then the other, suckling and kissing them with just the right tongue movements to make my moans rise and fall in volume, till it felt as if he were playing me like a musical instrument. Seeing what whimpers I could make as he worked his tongue this way and that. Words failed me, and I was his for the taking. Powerless to do anything but react to the tingling of his mouth alternating between my nipples and his fingers tracing my belt-line.

When it seemed that I could take no more, James went lower. Exploring my abdomen with his mouth, following my treasure trail to my pants. That far down, though, made it difficult for him to continue holding my hands, and he released them. My arms shot around him, cradling him to me with my fingers running through his full head of hair. Pushing him downward as he undid my pants and slid them down to my knees.

I sighed as my cock sprang forth from its confinement. The tip was cool in the heat of the Jeep, and I knew that meant I was wet all over the head of my cock. It felt incredible when I felt his breathing on it; I couldn't stop twitching with anticipation. My hole even clenching and unclenching under just knowing full well what my lover could—and probably would—do to me.

And that I wanted nothing more.

I thought back to the first time with him. Then the aftermath—all of the passion which had been tangoing over the past few weeks with the uncomfortable questions and taboos about what it all could possibly mean. The moments of pleasure—both in the truck and previously—flashed through my brain with snippets of the turmoil we'd faced. Our exchanges of words that we cared for each other and my conversation with my brother replayed over them, until as if awakening from a dream, I no longer gave a shit if I was gay or not. Or if any of the guys at school knew I had been fucked multiple times by another guy and liked it. All that mattered—in that backseat world within a world—was us.

Then James took my cock in his mouth, and all trains of thought deserted me. My mouth opened wide as I fought to keep myself from being too loud. Thrusting my hips into him as he took me as far as he could as fast as he could, using his index finger to brushed the underside of my balls as he sucked on me. His mouth was hot and velvety as it worked me, his tongue slithering against the underside of my tip as he brought his head upwards. I lost track of time and space, able only to focus on the tingling pleasure which swept over my body as James worked my cock.

His fingers were soft and delicate as they handled my balls, rubbing just behind then and then his thumb massaging the orbs. I bucked my hips, unaware that somewhere along the line I had also moved my hands to the back of his head and started running my fingers through his thick hair. And it seemed the more that I bucked my hips the more his efforts intensified—until his fingers were no longer playing with my balls but drifting backward toward my quivering hole.

I felt his thumb first there, rubbing the outside of it like he was finger painting my ass. The effort made me tingle that much more, reducing me to whimpers. James's mouth worked on taking me deeper, till he was gagging and pulled off to take a breath. His face was red as he panted to catch some air, but his need for oxygen too seemed short-lived. A moment later—like a man who was choosing death by cock sucking over breathing—his mouth went down harder than before. Fighting to take me deeper against his gag reflex with an audible series of gags, a face a deeper shade of red, and stray strands of saliva coating around the base of me. His lips tightened around me, and James sucked me with a ferocity that I knew meant he was determined to deepthroat me.

The pleasure was enormous with his tongue working the underside of my shaft as he tried to take me deeper. Until I almost was concerned enough to ask him to stop—almost. Because it felt too fucking amazing; his mouth was working me with a need that told me I was going to cum in his mouth. It was just a matter of when. My hands found his head again and guided his mouth up and down as my tip nudged against his throat.

That was when his thumb switched to his middle finger, rubbing little circles around my pucker that made my hole twitch against the intruder. With this movement only spurring my lover on, James dipped the tip of his middle finger against my opening. Giving it a nudge with every twitch until—as if its hunger was too much—the opening welcomed his fingertip inside me.

I can't say that there wasn't discomfort; that would be a lie. But between the pleasure he was giving my dick and the gentle nudging he was using to work it further inside, what could have been a severe pain was a more annoying pinch my body's pleasure was overshadowing. His eyes met mine as he worked me, my dick sliding in and out of his tomato red mouth. Tears in his eyes from the gagging as he fought to pleasure me.

Then the world exploded for me. When he closed his eyes and brought his head down harder to suck me as deep as he could, his throat angled just the right way and gave way. My dick slid home in his throat just as his finger slid deep and found my pleasure button. James worked my prostate with little circle rubs that made me moan and buck back and forth between his mouth and his finger, as if my body couldn't decide which one was giving it more pleasure.

My orgasm built within me as my ass clenched and unclenched around his probing finger, begging him to stick it in deeper, and his throat pulsed around my cock as he fought to keep it beyond his gag reflex. My body was going from zero to sixty in a way that I couldn't hold back if I tried. I fought the tightening pressure around my pelvis as my balls drew in, hoping to hold off just a minute longer so I could burn the memory of this into my brain forever.

But I lost it as soon as James's finger went from gentle rubs to little taps. Playing my hole like an instrument he knew so well. I couldn't hold back anymore and arched my back as the pressure within me increased and burst forth into a forceful orgasm. My hand tightened on the back of his head, unconsciously, so he couldn't back off while I shot multiple spurts of hot cum down his throat. Bucking deeper into his face every time he tried to pull away until I was spent and cooing.

He slipped his finger from my ass and broke free of my cock in a wet mess of saliva mixed with cum. Coughing and panting, his head lay on my leg next to my deflating cock, and one of my hands brushed through his hair one more time, if only to make certain this was all still real. His scalp was slick with beads of sweat.

"Holy fuck," I breathed, my hole still twitching. Missing his invading digit already.

James said nothing, his sweaty face slowly turning from red to pink. His gaze met mine again, I wanted him right then and there again. But I felt sweaty enough that I had almost been caught in a rainstorm; the air inside the truck had gotten stifling since our tryst began. All I could do was stare back at him, mesmerized at what he did for me.

Finally, he took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He climbed up across my body, and I touched his glistening chest hair. Its moisture both incredibly sexy and grungy all at once. My fingers explored his torso, circling one of his nipples till James came down closer. Then I hooked my arm around him and mashed my mouth against his in a passionate kiss. Never wanting to let him go.

When at last we broke away, he gave me a quick peck on the forehead. "Damn, baby."

I blushed at his pet name. My finger trailed down to his belt, but he stopped me. I stared up at him, confused, before he went redder again—this time with embarrassment.

"The way I was situated...I was rubbing against the..." James stammered.

"What?" I giggled.

He blushed redder. Determined to please him, my hand fought his off so I could grab his bulge. But instead of a hard mound, my fingers touched only wetness on the front of his pants. My face dawned in realization as he tried to say it again. "I...came."

I smiled wider, my thumb lubing up with some of the essence which had seeped through the front of his pants. Then I brought the tip of my thumb to my lips and lapped every bit of it off. My eyes never leaving his, the entire time.

James only stared back—open mouthed—watching me with lust written in his eyes.

"I just love the way you taste," I whispered to him, and I could have sworn from the look on his face he could have cum again. But I had teased him enough. I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in pulled him in for another kiss, my tongue giving him a taste of the mess he made.

***

By the time I got home, it was past curfew again. Although it wasn't my fault; once James and I got to kissing and snuggling in that back of his Jeep, we were like two teenagers parking after prom. We lost track of the time we shared in that hot box, until we could take no more and dressed and moved to the front seats where he could run the engine and the air conditioner.

Then we sat there just talking and holding hands to the radio softly playing rock'n'roll in the background. One or two passersby gave us some funny looks—probably wondering what sort of idiots would choose to hang out in a parking lot all night—but I couldn't care less. The moment was nice, and the music felt right. We stayed like that till the restaurant closed up and darkened; then I finally went home. A grin on my face and the Billy Joel lyrics to "Don't Ask Me Why" on my lips the whole drive home.

Like the other night, my father was the only one up. Whether this was by accident or if he was planning on another father-son talk, I'm not sure. He sat in his spot in the living room—this time watching the tail end of some action movie—and seeing him there made me twist into awkward knots. I was still too uncomfortable from our last interaction to say anything.

He didn't say anything either, and maybe that was for the best. I already had too much on my mind with adjusting to what was happening with accepting that the connection I shared with James was a new part of me. A kind of emotional and intimate bond which was okay to want, even if I didn't yet fully comprehend just what it fully meant for my sexuality. My father watched me pass by on the way to my room—a glint of what I thought was hope in his eyes that I might try to talk to him—and I gave him a silent nod.

In retrospect, I sometimes feel a little guilty about avoiding him like that. But the way he nodded back to me seemed like some kind of silent understanding. Like he was telling me he still loved me in a way which respected the space I needed. A wordless reminder that he was there on the sofa if I needed him and that all I had to do was let him know.

And true to that gesture, Dad was right there when I needed him.

But that came later.

To Be Continued