The following story is essentially true. Enjoy.
I've always been a curious person, and have always been willing to satisfy my desires to learn or experience something new. Be it riding a motorcycle, rock climbing, sky diving, learning a new language . . . or getting up close and carnal with another man.
My curiosity in that last regard began shortly before my best friend Clint and I started masturbating together. We would lay down on the living room floor, our shorts or jeans pushed down, and watch porn or talk about girls while jerking off. I was always fascinated with how Clint used just his thumb and first two fingers to squeeze the head of his dick, jerking them up and down swiftly until he shot his cum all over his stomach. I went for the whole-hand approach, and pumped my dick along the full length. Once we were done, we'd wipe up with hand towels, fix our clothes, and play air hockey.
Not once did Clint and I ever touch each other. Although I wanted to. I was curious as to what another boy's cock would feel like in my hand. I wanted to feel the throbbing against my palm, the stiffness of the shaft, the slickness of the head as it seeped pre-cum. I wanted to know the thrill and satisfaction of making a dick other than mine ejaculate.
It was while I was in college that I got my first chance. And to this day, the circumstances around that first encounter still amaze me.
I was shopping for something – what it was, exactly, I can't recall – and had hit the nearest mall. It was a pretty lazy weekday, not too much traffic along the tiled walkways that glowed softly from the sun streaming down through the skylights above. I was still a kid in many respects, and looked and acted like it. I may have been old enough to vote, but even my best friends were constantly telling me to grow up.
Anyway, being the late eighties, I was wearing jeans and a rather snug-fitting shirt. I never thought too much about my wardrobe, just put on what I felt like wearing. I never considered the idea that my choice of wardrobe could actually give the (mistaken?) impression that I might be gay.
I finished some of my shopping and decided to get something to eat in the food court. I took a table off to the side. As I was munching on fries and reading an advertising pamphlet someone had left on the table, I started getting the feeling that I was being watched.
I glanced around, saw a man at another table, about thirty feet away. Maybe my mode of clothing was ambiguous, but his made it pretty clear that man beneath the light-colored cashmere sweater was gay. He was significantly older than me, maybe early or mid-thirties, and very slender, with short blonde hair and small eyes of blue or green. I had never really looked at other men with the idea of 'checking them out.' But suddenly, I was. And so was he. Seriously. He had a smug, confident look on his face that was, frankly, intimidating.
It embarrassed me. I felt uncomfortable. I felt hot. I felt . . . aroused.
I looked back down at the pamphlet before me, but I wasn't reading it. The damn piece of paper might just as well have been imprinted with Chinese ideographs rather than the letters of the English language. I simply stared at the page, confused by the reactions in my body and mind. My palms were sweaty, my throat felt dry, my heart was pounding, and my cock . . . was getting hard.
It felt like several minutes had passed, but it was probably only a handful of seconds before the chair across from mine was pulled out with a raking of worn-out plastic bumpers on the tile. I looked up, watching as the older man sat down, setting his half-finished basket of steak fingers in front of him. That cocky smile was omnipresent as he looked me over.
"You mind?" he asked, in a way that implied he really did not care what my answer might be.
I shrugged. "Sure," I said, trying to play it cool.
"I'm Tom," he said. He didn't offer his hand. His eyes wandered over me. "You're pretty hot."
I could feel the blush flooding my cheeks. I couldn't meet his gaze. Instead, I stared at the base of the V-neck collar of his sweater.
"You're shy," he said with a touch of mirth. "That's cool. I can handle that."
I took a breath. "Um, look," I said, and finally met his eyes. Aquamarine, I decided. "Maybe I gave you the wrong impression . . . ."
He smiled thinly. "I don't think so."
I laughed sharply. It was a purely nervous reaction. "I'm not gay."
Tom shrugged. "So you're bi," he said casually. "Nothing wrong with that." He leaned forward and gave me one of those smoldering, I'm-turned-on-and-I-want-you-to-know-that looks. "Me, I'm gay. Very gay. And I happen to think you're a sexy guy."
I swallowed nervously, while at the same time feeling my arousal spike. My cock was punching against my jeans, as if it was trying to get out. Part of my mind was screaming in my head, telling me I should be insulted. But that part was small, dominated by the feelings of sexual curiosity that now roared through my brain like an inferno.
"Hey, don't be embarrassed," Tom said, leaning even closer across the table.
I felt a spark of defensiveness. "I'm not."
He shrugged. "Of course not."
I frowned slightly. There was something about Tom that I didn't like, or maybe it was just that I didn't like the way he was turning me on.
"What do you want?" I asked him.
Tom glanced about casually, then smiled with a more than lecherous gleam in his eye. "How blunt do you want me to be?"
I tried to play it off. "I don't care."
"You know, when I was checking you out, first a noticed your body, then your eyes. You've got incredible eyes. And then I noticed your mouth, and those soft, soft lips. Started giving me ideas."
"Like what?" I asked. My voice seemed like it came from the other side of the food court.
He chuckled softly. "Do I really need to tell you?"
I took a breath. I knew what he meant, of course, but I was afraid to say anything, lest I give away how utterly experienced I was.
He leaned even closer still. "You do know how to give a blow job, don't you?" he asked, his voice a whisper. His statement was an obvious challenge, and my ego wouldn't let me back down . . . even if it meant doing something I had never done before.
"Of course I do."
He leaned back, an expression of triumph mixed with arousal on his slightly lined face. He didn't say anything, just smiled and stood. He gave me a wink. An invitation.
A compulsion gripped me. I had to follow. I rose from the table and followed about twenty feet behind Tom as he made his way across the food court toward a small clothing store. My heart was pounding in my ears the entire way. I couldn't believe what I was doing, what I was about to do. The thrill I felt was undeniable, total.
The store was practically empty; just a salesgirl talking with another young woman at the counter. They seemed to be friends and barely gave Tom and I a look. The store was fairly small, with shelving and tables along the walls crammed with clothes and several circular racks heavy with jeans, jackets, and long-sleeved shirts. There was barely any room to move about.
Tom acted like he didn't know me as he headed toward one of the circular racks toward the back. I, too, pretended to be nonchalant as I looked over neatly-folded polo shirts and sweaters. I looked to the two girls at the front of the store; they were oblivious to everything but their conversation.
I shifted my attention to Tom, wondering what he was up to. He stood behind the circular rack, looking like he was going through the jeans on display. Then he cocked his head my way and winked again. Another invitation.
I stepped closer, noticing that he had separated the jeans on the rack in front of him, making a space. My heart started pounding again. Here? He wants me to do it here?
"Come on," he whispered in an urgent voice. "Before they notice."
And that was the moment. I had a decision to make. Leap in, take the risk, satisfy my curiosity and desires, or . . . back out and keep wondering what it would be like . . . to get on my knees, in a clothing store, in the middle of the day, and . . . .
I didn't think. Libido overtook my actions. With a quick glance around, I slipped under the clothing rack, positioning myself on my knees, facing Tom. I heard him sigh with anticipation, watched his hands drop to his slacks. I could just make out the bulge of his cock through the material.
I forced myself to take deep, calming breaths as Tom unzipped his pants. I had to remind myself that I was completely hidden from view by the curtain-like array of denim around me. The aroma of the fabric surrounded me. To this day, the smell of denim is a turn-on.
Tom reached inside his fly, fumbled around a bit, and pulled out his cock. It wasn't very hard at first, but as soon as the air hit it, it began angling upward toward my face. Soft-looking blonde hair sprouted around the base of his dick. It also covered his balls, but sparsely, which I noticed as he extracted them from his pants.
So there I was, staring at another man's cock. There was a slightly musky aroma, mingled with the clean, fruity smell of some kind of lotion. A pearly drop of fluid glistened at the tip, just beneath the tiny slit.
Tom touched my head, gently pulling me closer. I could just hear his whispering voice: "Go on, do it. Suck my cock."
Those words sent a jolt through me. I'm going to suck another man's cock, I thought, then leaned forward, opened my mouth, and slipped out my tongue.
His pre-cum tasted just like mine, I figured as I licked it away. I liked the feel of his smooth cockhead against my tongue, the way his dick twitched. Tom let out another barely audible sigh as I licked all around his dick. His hand pulled my head closer still. His cock slid along my cheek. I pulled back, reached up to take his throbbing shaft in my hands. His dick wasn't as long as I mine, I realized, and a little slender. Just the right size, I figured, for my first blow job.
Slowly, I slipped my open mouth down around his cock, feeling the head and shaft gliding over my tongue. The taste was salty-sweet, a little bit oily. I closed my mouth around Tom's cock, and just sucked on it for a few moments, drawing out the flavor. I massaged the underside with my tongue, pulled in my cheeks. I could just hear a soft grunt from Tom.
Guess I'm doing something right, I thought. Encouraged, I began moving my head, back and forth, pulling and pushing on Tom's dick. I could accommodate a little more than half his length, but Tom seemed to like it the most when I just sucked on the head, and stroked his shaft with my hand. And when I started rolling his balls in my other hand, his dick twitched, jumping in my mouth.
I was really getting into it, calling upon the numerous pornos I had seen, in which I had watched girls sucking and drooling and licking men's cocks until they exploded. I wanted to make Tom's cock explode. I suddenly wanted to taste his cum, to suck it out of him, feel it fresh and warm and thick in my mouth. I had tasted my own semen, usually from my fingers. A few times, while jacking off, I had been able to double over and lick the tip of my dick as my sperm surged out. But that wasn't the same as having a cock in my mouth when it spurted.
I could feel his body tensing, and Tom pushed forward, his cock suddenly stiffer, vibrating like a tuning fork. Instinctually, I knew he was close to cumming, and the reality of his imminent orgasm was both imposing and exciting. I squeezed his cock harder, pumping it into his mouth, and cupped his balls in my hand, pushing them up gently. My lips were slippery around the head of his dick, and I ran my tongue firmly against the underside.
That did the trick. The clothing rack around me shook slightly as Tom gripped the stainless steel structure. I could just hear a choked-back grunt escape him, and in that instant I tasted a thick flood of rich, bittersweet, slightly salty fluid pouring over my tongue. I sighed around the pulsing cock, kept sucking to get every drop out of Tom's dick. Semen filled my mouth, inundated my senses. The flavor was similar, but suitably different, from my own seed.
Tom trembled against me, letting me milk his cock. But after a few more moments, he suddenly jerked back with a wince. A long trail of cum and saliva stretched from the slit of his cock to my bottom lip, bowing down before snapping. It hung off my chin, wet and heavy, before I wiped it away with my fingers.
I looked up, Tom's sperm swishing my mouth, as he slowly stroked his spent and glistening cock. He gave me a grateful look, then offered me the head of his cock, oozing with a thick, grey-white bubble. Dutifully, I leaned forward and licked it away. Tom smiled in satisfaction, then tucked his dick back in his pants and zipped up.
I just sat there, unsure of what to do with the fluid swimming around in my mouth. I couldn't very well spit it out (I was afraid it would be heard), and I had it in my mouth already, so . . . I sucked in my cheeks and swallowed. It was gritty and dry, the flavor sticking to the back of my throat. Not too bad, but I wasn't expecting that. Nor the stickiness that clung to my lips.
Tom motioned for me to step out and stand up, so I did so, feeling a little strange. I had just sucked a man to orgasm, and in a public place at that. I felt a little cheapened, but more than that, frustrated. I no longer had an erection, yet my arousal was still high. And unsatisfied.
"You're pretty good at that," muttered Tom, giving me an appraising look.
Once again, I avoided meeting his eyes. "Thanks."
He chuckled. "Come on."
He grabbed a denim jacket from another rack, headed up front to pay for it. I followed mutely behind, like a well-trained puppy. I wasn't sure what was going to happen next, and in a way, I hoped nothing would. With the eroticism of the moment gone, I was left with little more than a dry taste in my mouth.
We left the store – I don't know if the salesgirl and her friend ever suspected what had happened under their noses – and Tom directed me to follow him toward the bathrooms. I hesitated a moment, then fell in step, passing through the door as Tom held it open for me. There was no one else in the bathroom.
He headed to the last stall, which was enlarged for use by wheelchair-bound patrons, and let me go in first. He locked the door and turned to face me with an expectant look.
"I wanna see it," he said.
Suddenly, my cock was hard again. My arousal was no longer compromised. Hormones took over.
I jerked open my jeans, fishing out my hard cock before Tom's appraising eyes. He grinned, then got down on his knees. His hands went to my jeans and tugged them down, exposing me to my knees. Tom licked the head of my dick, leering up at me, then ducked his head, turned it sideways, and latched his mouth to my balls.
Oh, did that feel good! Automatically, I began stroking my cock, smearing pre-cum all over the haft, as Tom's mouth and tongue massaged and swirled around my balls. I leaned against him, and he held me steady as I jacked off.
"Tell me when you're gonna shoot off," he whispered, breaking the mouthlock on my balls. Then he returned to sucking them, pulling them into his mouth. His fingers squeezed and kneaded my cheeks, pulling them apart. I flinched slightly, faltering in my strokes as Tom's fingers delved into the cleft between my cheeks. But I didn't stop him, not even when the tip of one of his fingers started massaging my asshole.
For some reason, I found myself pushing back against his hand just a little, encouraging him to continue his exploration of my anus. The sensation of being penetrated there was a little uncomfortable at first, but Tom knew what he was doing. I felt his finger curl inside me, and there was this intense tickling sensation in my groin. My orgasm suddenly blossomed, faster and more intense than anything before.
Amid gasps and moans, I managed to convey that I was about to cum. Tom quickly slurped his mouth from my balls, and as he plunged his finger even deeper into my ass, he plunged his mouth down my cock.
I came with an incredible, body-wracking intensity, holding firmly onto Tom's head as my balls emptied into his mouth. He sucked hard on my throbbing tube of flesh, pulling as ardently for my cream as I had for his, and swallowed it all down.
I felt like all strength had left me. I swayed on my feet, letting Tom keep my cock in his mouth, despite the nearly painful sensation of his sucking mouth. I felt lightheaded, giddy. I couldn't do anything but laugh.
I saw Tom a few more times after that day, but we never had what you would call a relationship. He did, however, give me that denim jacket he had purchased. I kept it for years, only wearing it now and then when I went out to gay bars. It just seemed right that I would only wear it on such occasions. It gave me confidence, served as a constant reminder of that first mind-blowing encounter with another man.
These days, however, whenever I meet a hot young stud, he's more likely to be the one on his knees surrounded by denim, not me.