You Deserve This Orgasm Pt. 01-02

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Liberated to explore touch and desire, I rediscover penis.
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I came in my door as the sun was already going down, my mind searching for the next important thing to do and... rejecting them. I was hungry, there were dishes to do, but something in my hind brain put it all aside; right off the bat. I had been thinking about this moment all day, as silly as it kind of felt. I had been thinking about how to do it this time, resulting in this idea of a strange ad hoc ritual. I had been thinking of it so long that I felt leaking precum all afternoon as I made spreadsheets at my desk; the more dreary the formula the more disruptive the urge. Okay. This time I'll do it.

I'm single again. And when it's been a few days, when I've been busy every waking moment for another week, and I become really horny, I find ways to treat myself. Sometimes it's with a very specific erotic scenario in the porn I look up (lesbian seduction, first gay experience, romantic oral, lesbian kissing, foreskin, cock worship, old/young), or something especially involved I do to my own body (something slippery to slide all over my scrotum, something to do to my ass, something very gentle to do to my penis while something is inside me), but not this time. This time I had a completely new idea, though probably cliché, and for more than one reason I know I needed it more badly than anything else.

I went into my room, thankfully far cooler than the hot day. I went right for the full-length mirror and ignored the last bit of my embarrassment. Without fantasy, without absent-mindedness, without pretending a partner or an act, I did what I hadn't done since I first discovered touching myself as a kid: I discovered my body. I watched myself take every clothe off, and I looked at myself.

I could no longer call myself young; that was gone. I could no longer call myself thin; I was just barely thinner than chubby and just barely plumper than healthy. I was done saying that I just hadn't had time to start cycling or making good food. This is me. I have a body. I have a slightly protruding tummy, nice hair, a long penis with attractively tight foreskin, strong arms, and a kind-looking face, formerly baby-faced, tired with kindness. This is my body and I'm going to like it.

So I did something that no partner had bothered to do for me in a long time: I touched prosaic parts of me as though they were erogenous zones and allowed my body to feel liked and wanted. My mouth opened and my eyes dimmed with the sensation, even almost smiling as though someone was showing me affection. My hips, my sides, my thighs, my scrotum, I watched myself being touched and made it slow. 'I'm going to do it this time', I thought. 'I never end up doing it when the time comes but there's no reason not to so I'm totally going to do it.'

I slowly started to touch my penis, starting with a tickle of the balls down below, then stroking the shaft slowly and lovingly up and down from the base (not squeezing too hard, never except in extreme moments). I let myself watch my own pleasure face for the first time, and imagined no one else in the room doing all these things for me. 'I'm giving myself an orgasm and it looks great', I thought.

And it was great. As I continued I watched my pelvis begin to thrust, as though it was convinced it was deep in some hole and trying to get deeper, and as the sensation became intense my ass arched lower, my penis further forward, presenting itself, asking itself to please keep going. I gladly kept going. I looked at my torso, my face, my cock, like a lover would, and chose that this lover deserved a good orgasm. With so little attention to it in the last week, I soon felt the rush through my testicles and then my penis, and my hot semen came over my fingers in a needy series of pulses. My other hand was touching my torso up and down, my face pleading and thankful. This is what lovers see and now I'm the lover. Far more semen than usual poured down my fingers and penis, touching my scrotum, a visual that ignited my final gust of horniness and pleasure.

But I already felt the need fading and I accepted it: once the orgasm left me, my promise to lick and swallow every drop was rejected; I no longer hungered for the idea and I was ready to wash it off. As always, I wondered how common this was among men: am I alone in this or is this everywhere? How many men hunger for the idea of cock in their mouths, lavishing semen out with hungry passion and drinking it—only to become straight again after they cum? How many men have a Jeckyl/Hyde experience with horny gayness?

There was no shame in it for me, there's everything right about loving one gender or another, and penises aren't even something only men have; it's just that because this was the shape of my attraction to men (only sexual, and only until I cum) it would never be a relationship: I had developed a romantic life with women and a deep hunger for men that arose only with sexual frustration. No course of action sounded like a good idea, neither romantic nor purely physical, but in the moment it seemed like the perfect thing to do: to find a very specific type of man and to adore his penis with my mouth until I drank his semen, and let him do the same to me. Yesplease. But not now that I had cum: now I was attracted only to women again and wanted to make myself dinner.

After I ate, later that night - a hot summer night that finally becomes cool, raining even, where you just want to be outside without clothes -- I had become sexually awakened again. And it was so powerful this time I knew I had to reach out somewhere; if it wasn't in writing, some sort of invitation to someone to have sex, then I swear I would just go streaking in the rain. It was becoming that bad. So I did. It wasn't Craigslist, I didn't have a deathwish... it was on a sex personals website (still risky and swarming with dudebros), and I didn't know if I would even follow up or if I was just writing fanfiction of my own life.

Title: To all lost souls: you have a right to your orgasm, so let's share one

Text:

Tell me if you've heard this one before: you love women, and have loved women your whole sexual life, but have a nagging thought about how attractive penises are; and about how you'd like to experience sex as a romantic sensual act but without politics. You love being touched, and need to be treated like it's fun to touch you, and because of this you balk from muscular or conventionally "hot" men because you think they'll think that's unmanly. You want someone like you, who's a little plump, who likes to be vulnerable, who's a good lover, and who's bursting with hunger at the excitement of finally knowing what it's like to take turns loving each other's bodies with someone with a cock.

No really. Tell me if you've heard this one before. Tell me in your response because this is not rhetorical or hypothetical. I was you: young and shy and horny and a giving lover waiting to happen. I tried men once or twice and was disappointed with their macho bullshit, but if I say it like this, then either nothing will happen or I'll find someone like me and meet. Maybe you're very young and finding out what turns you on. Maybe you're old and you've lost a long-time partner and remember what you used to let yourself desire. Either way, 20 or 50, let's meet and give ourselves the slowest, most amazing orgasms ever. I like tongues, and lips, and barely touching and slow wet movements, and not being in a hurry, and needing each other so much we take turns back and forth. I want to talk about where you're coming from. I want to drink your cum. I want you to drink mine. I want you to whisper what you need me to do as you get close.

I'm nervous too. Do it anyways.

---

That was that. Of course I masturbated after that, it's not like I was going to get (or trust) an immediate response. There were a few responses I wanted nothing to do with, a few that could go either way, and, ultimately, three that tentatively sounded amazing.

Suffice it to say I wasn't stupid about it. There were gross offers from strange guys asking to dominate me (or 'suck me so good', which somehow didn't push the right buttons--there was something else I was looking for -- something I explored every time I looked for that magic Googleable phrase when porn-surfing). What was I looking for? What was I rejecting or ignoring?

I read my first Yes-worthy a few days later, and I was still careful. He was very new and nervous about all this, but with that itch and that excitement. I'm not vain, but something about his picture relaxed me. Long story short, we spent a few evenings talking to each other about our history of sexual desire and experience, talked about the idea, and we both sounded shy. That felt good for some reason. We'd talk after work, like online friends almost, except without small-talk; we became glad to hear from each other, and always ended up teasing ourselves into the idea of actually meeting, the silly-sounding idea of meeting and having sex. But we couldn't resist, we just wanted to. Without asking each other for reasons, we decided it would be my place but only in a certain room - though I made sure first this wasn't an 'attached' guy, it would darken the whole thing if I was helping a relationship to unravel.

Long story short, my door was knocking.

There he was. A guy at my door I didn't know, waiting to be invited in. He was youngish, and plumpish, and softish in the face, with careful kind eyes and rosy cheeks, wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt. He looked a little sheepish and seemed to be thinking several rapid thoughts. But he smiled and readily came in, doing anything that had a social script, anything with familiarity: he smiled and said his name was Josh and asked some logistical questions about shoes and things. He didn't know how to break the ice and there was a moment of silence.

Oh, I thought. There's a status thing happening because of my age. Let's get rid of that. I let myself show my sheepishness too, but I knew I also had to take a lot of initiative. That was hard, because I was in the same boat as him. I would be doing the exact same thing as him in his position.

"Okay. Hi there. I'm nervous and I have no idea how to go about this, so can I be frank about everything? Like really frank? I liked everything we talked about today and I think we're both in a place where we don't want relationship bureaucracy, we'd like to feel nice. This would be my second time ever being with a man, and I get the impression it will be a brand new experience for both of us. I would really really like to have sex with you and I don't need to wait. I don't know what that will look like, but do you have any thoughts about whether you'd like to talk first or whether things should start now?"

Josh seemed both taken aback and relieved at the infodump I had given him. He eye-darted back and forth, presumably wondering whether it was safe for him to be frank too.

"I don't think I need to wait. I, um, think I need to not wait. But I'm a little scared too?" I hadn't used the word 'scared' but I knew I should tread lightly. Still, I could see his legs shivering - not the fear-tremble, but the tremble I've gotten perhaps three times in my life when I needed intimacy badly. I was on the brink of it now.

"Okay Josh. I'm going to take off my clothes now, and you can take off yours too if you like. After that, I want you to have whatever you want, even if that's nothing, even if you change your mind and leave. But know that I'm exactly the same as you right now. I've just learned how to talk about what I need."

He seemed to like that, though he proceeded slower than me. That's okay, that was needed. I didn't much like taking off my shirt, but I pushed past any triggers of mine, of internalized body shame. There was something wonderfully liberating about being in front of someone a little overweight who wanted me, I felt comfortable in my body like I hadn't since I was 20. That - that was huge for me.

Thinking about all that meant that the process happened sooner than I thought: in no time I was naked in front of him except for some business socks, and as I had slipped down my briefs my precum visibly glistened from my erection. Precum happened only when my body was treated with adoration for several minutes (unheard of for years and years) or when I had wanted something all day.

When he saw my tummy he got noticeably (though not completely) more comfortable and slipped things off. He was aroused too. His chest was regular-sized and a little floppy around the sides and the nipples, his skin was quite white and soft, and his penis -- just slightly smaller than my 8.5 and slightly skinnier -- had an equally substantial foreskin which covered the whole thing and puckered, glistening a little with its own anticipatory fluid. I held no attraction to the masculine body in general (as far as I understood myself) but his body was kind of lovely: we had disarmed each other with our respective 'failures' to achieve ideal bodies, like we were just two gentle guys patiently hungry toward each other.

All this had been internal. That's no good. I pushed past my nervousness again.

"Your body is lovely. I still don't know where to start, but can I touch you now?" Josh swallowed and nodded.

A few silly logistics later, we slipped into the big area of the home. I slowly touched the sides of his torso, up to down, and then sat him down on a big comfy chair, bringing him to the very front as I crouched down in a kind of 'beholding' position. I beheld him. He smelled of young sweat and his penis flexed involuntarily once I was close to it. I tried to picture myself lying back, what I'd need, and so I slid my finger tips slowly down the side of his waist on each side, and then slowly up his inner thighs. We had no context together to place this romantic touch into, but his eyes became more open and his breathing became heavier and his scrotum began to tighten.

I have no idea how much of what followed was to help him feel nice and how much was my own hunger finally satiated, but my hunger was finally satiated, from the first taste.

I knew where I would start. I had known where to start on my first day of porn watching and had conceived of looking up two men: I duplicated the tongue work I always fantasized about on myself, that I had only received a few scant times in my life. I made my tongue as soft as I could and used the least bumpy part of it to slide forward and back on the very, very bottom of his scrotum. I heard an intake of breath above me, followed by more heavy breathing, and eventually, eventually, little gasps and sighs. I paused to evaluate what my tongue was telling me about Josh. His scrotum was popcorn-salty, perhaps from a day of walking. It was very human, and I licked again in non-hesitant enjoyment. I looked up at him and caught his gaze and showed him my touch was something I liked giving him, something that was satiating me. I gave him the touch I had needed my whole life, as though every tonguestroke was a request. Metooplease, metooplease.

That went on for minutes, and the whimpers and swoons from above me were the most satisfying part of it all. When I raised my head, I started the next part of my fantasy, as slowly as I could bear - I couldn't bear any more patience than this for what was in front of me.

I slithered my unflexed tongue out again until I tasted precum on the softest skin that exists, the fragile and needy foreskin. My tonguetip sent signals to my brain of sweetness: the young cock produced precum that tasted like good movie popcorn sweetened with caramel. Holy shit his penis makes candy. What is this, does he have that much of a sweet-tooth? Am I dreaming?

I slid back and forth with my pleading tongue for as long as I could, and after some moments incorporated one lip and then the other into the gentle little touches. I opened my mouth and I slid my tongue and lips together around him. Three soft parts of my flesh slid slowly back and forth along the softest part of Josh's body. I soon found a way to continue this that could accommodate my next idea. (This was all very staged so far, scripted, but I promised myself after this one more coreographed idea I would just let my body do what it needed. I needed my today-partner to feel so good he needed me back. So as I tongued the foreskin (which was audibly exciting him, in pulses of surprised joy) I released my saliva ducts in pressured gushes. (This sounds overly clinical, but my self-ministrations had made me associate this with ecstacy). Once my whole mouth was packed with hot drool, I carefully released it onto my cupped hands, and, as Josh peered down at me to see what on Earth I could be doing, I brought the hot pool of liquid upward to engulf his balls in it. I massaged his balls and ultimately his entire genital area in the hot liquid as he groaned an octave lower than I had heard him yet, and I couldn't take it anymore.

That was it. That was as far as I had planned. Anything beyond this was in my fantasies a singularity of action, just a vague "and then I go to town" of fervour as I'd let my human need guide me. This is just what happened: I slid my mouth halfway down his penis shaft, sighing and swooning myself with the emotional fervour and enjoyment of the erotic act, and held every inch of cock and balls I couldn't in my loving hands. I hungrily slathered and gulped. This was not skill, not talent, not ability that carried us through those next minutes, just my mysterious and indefatigable adult-long need to find a nice-looking penis and adore it with my mouth.

A long time passed like this, and awkwardness apparently never came over us as I gave a blowjob and Josh received a blowjob. Finally, as Josh's exhales, writhing, and occasional stroke of my hair reached a proverbial crescendo, having lost no momentum Josh was suddenly beside me in a crouch instead of before me penis-to-face, having taken me by the shoulders to join me on the floor; he looked free and determined. His hand very gently took and beheld the shaft of my penis and I felt completely held and safe. Josh's gaze slowly lowered and he stared at what he was holding. He moved my warm shaft to the side, up a little to see the balls, and right at him to see the opening between my foreskin, the tiny bit of fuchsia now visible behind my intensely aware cock, iridescent behind a coating of fluid.

He then experimentally raised and lowered his closed hand, and my mouth opened, my eyes closed, with the needy pleasure of it. Suddenly, I was no longer a caregiver, but a lover being cared for. He did it again, slower but further up and down. My eyes began to drift off in a dreamscape but I compelled them to keep looking at him, keeping him emotionally present with me. In that moment, as we stared at each other and understood each other, his face showed decision and he lovingly pushed me back to expose my ever-expanding penis, which was by now the kind of erect that only happens once a year, the kind that begs and brags at the same time.

The blushing man took another moment to gaze at my genital area, up and down, now my whole private area exposed and open to him; he looked at my privates almost in incredulity (this was reality and not a computer, there was another penis in front of him and he was allowed to touch it; I knew the exact feeling). Also without skill but with need, Josh experimentally licked my shaft, evaluating the taste, licked again, at the tip, and then bravely, slowly, engulfed me with overwhelmingly soft lips. My back arched toward him. I was inside a mouth, pleasantly deep inside one, and my inner thighs could feel the very beginning of a 5-o'clock shadow. This was new but not harsh in a way we're taught men are harsh. His head bobbed up again, and then carried through with a second descent, a little deeper and harder. When for a second time he raised up, he incorporated his tongue into what he was doing and I felt the velvety muscle slather back and forth with curiosity and interest. I tried not to buck into him but I squirmed. I was swooning and moaning softly, my voice autonomically performing "overwhelmed with pleasure" for him.

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