Carl brought a pint of liquor to my aunt every Tuesday and Thursday and with that, he was able to pry her away from her television and cigarettes long enough to relieve his seemingly unquenchable need for sexual release. They weren’t at all reluctant to move to her bedroom in my full view and Carl wasn’t shy about animalistic noises at the point of his greatest quest, one that he no longer enjoyed with his wife after she bore four children and then shut her baby tunnel down.
I was a skinny kid. My aunt was a fat slob. Neither of us favored the arrangement but it had become “necessary” for reasons not important to tell, but she accepted my presence because it increased her income from the State. She tolerated my existence and let me run free, but she didn’t provide much for it. I suppose freedom was my greatest benefit and one that led to my first time in finally being able to do what I had longed to do for so long—suck on a man’s cock.
She had two other men who sought and gained her sexual favors, fat as they might be, but it was Carl who sometimes eye-balled me as if to wonder my opinion of their money-for-liquor relationship. I had no opinion and didn’t permit my eyes to remain affixed to his for more than brief glances. Even if he offered one or two sentences for small talk, I was seldom willing to offer one or two words in reply.
On the third Thursday of July, Carl knocked at our door, a pint of some brownish spirits in hand, and he stepped through the door without waiting for any one to let him in. He was forty-something, average height and build, not good looking, brown hair, and black horned rim glasses. He was far from an Adonis, but that didn’t deter him in the slightest from sexual pursuits.
I was sitting with my cell phone on a cozy chair and he asked where Maizy was which brought my response that she had left for a few days to help a relative in need. Carl was perplexed and somewhat upset because Maize had not told him she was leaving and Thursday was his day to get some warm, wet jollies. I shrugged as if to say it wasn’t a concern for me.
“Well, now what the hell will I do? Say Bryan, you interested in some hard stuff?” he asked while holding his cherished pint in the air. He sat on the sofa across from me.
“Not really,” I answered.
“Hey listen,” he continued, “you seem like a nice kid. Don’t ever see you with girls though. Fact, don’t see you with much of anyone. You a loner?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t found it easy to make friends because I had long ago realized I wasn’t like most boys and it was hard to hang out as one of the girls. I was effeminate and had undeniable interest in the subject of cocksucking porn even though I had no plans of acting on the feelings that were strong within me.
Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, Carl moved closer, both in his seating position as well as his discussion of liking the sight of a “pretty boy” and how he accepted them and, eventually, he even admitted that they turned him on. His interest in me was clear and I couldn’t help but feel flattered, but hell, he was screwing my aunt! I figured him to be horny enough to screw a “pretty boy” but I wasn’t one to offer up my nether cheeks to any man. The thought of anal sex disgusted me and I figured him for that kind of a lech.
I suppose he did me in when he circled a finger around my lips and told me I had a pretty little mouth. I didn’t pull away. I was frozen by his touch and his flattery and the thought that maybe—just maybe—he was not an back-riding cowboy. He seemed emboldened by my stupor and hesitation and the fact that I didn’t pull away.
Within a couple of minutes, his middle finger was between my lips and he said, “Yeah, you like that, don’t you boy? Yeah, I can tell. You like that.” He circled my mouth again with his finger, then asked, “You ever seen a grown man’s cock? Bet you haven’t but I bet you would, wouldn’t you Bryan? Huh? Bet you would, wouldn’t you.”
Just as a fever was rising within me, he pulled his finger away and poured two small glasses half full with his pint of liquor. He dipped his finger in one and put it to my lips. “It’s sweet Bryan. It’s all sweet.” The wetness was cold on my lips and my tongue swirled my lips in unplanned response and I felt heady with the taste and an otherworldly sense that it started in me. He lifted the glass to my face and encouraged me to take a sip which became another and another until I had consumed the entire half glass, not in gluttony, but in tasting and testing.
My head was light from the alcohol but even more from the bulge the occasion had caused in his pants. He put my hand on it and I didn’t know why, but I didn’t resist. He ran my hand along the bulge and then asked if I wanted to see it. I was never willing to be actively queer, but my head was swirling too much for me to respond.
Carl stood. He was three feet from me. He unzipped his pants. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. He wrangled behind his fly and then stepped closer to me. My eyes were on his actions even though I didn’t want them to be. He finally pulled and his dark, hard cock sprung before my face. It was ugly but exciting; frightening but captivating; menacing but could not be ignored.
I couldn’t believe it! A grown man was exposing himself to my virgin eyes and “it” was less than 18 inches from my paralyzed face.
“You like that, don’t you boy? I can tell. See it in your eyes. Seen it before. Go ahead and touch it.”
I remained frozen. His hand took mine. I didn’t resist. He placed my fingers on the shaft. “Go ahead, feel what it’s like.”
My fingers responded although I had not decided to tell them to do so. It was like he was a puppeteer and his words were my strings. My fingers felt his cock. They moved slowly on it. Uncertain were their movements but not uncertain was Carl’s excitement. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed. He hushed, “Yessssss, do it Bryan. Soft and slow. Ahhhh.”
I was both relieved and disappointed when he pushed my hand away.
“Look Bryan, I know a cocksucker when I see one. Maybe you haven’t ever done it but I can see it in your eyes. Know those kind of eyes anywhere. I been waiting two days to come here and you know what me and Maizy do and now she’s not here. I need and you want it. No one has to know. Our little secret. And hell, if you like it, you can do it again and again. Our secret. No one will know. Just try it. Just give it a little suck.”
But I was frozen. It was so hard. I stared at me. It was a big step because if I sucked on it, I was forever crossing the threshold into queerdom. For him, it was just another orifice to satisfy him, but for me, one suck was enough to forever qualify for the label of “cocksucker”. I wanted to run but my legs were numb.
Carl solved my dilemma with just one touch and five words. His fingers nudged the back of my head and he said, “Just suck on it Bryan.”
I didn’t know then why his hand on my head did me in but in time, I came to understand that my ultra-submissive nature is triggered by a man’s hand on my head.
Without approval, me face moved forward and my mouth opened and he pushed his hips forward and I felt the heat of his dark, ugly penis in my mouth even before there was any actual contact. That heat forced my lips to surround his shaft and then—like nothing before—I was seduced because the hardness of his shaft ignited every queer, cocksucking notion I had ever had. Without a single thought, my mouth began softly sucking on his hard shaft and my tongue swirled underneath the head and Carl oozed approval with a salacious groan and vocal encouragement, “Ohhhh yeah. Suck on it boy. Just suck nice and soft.”
His head was tilted back with his eyes closed again before his hand reached down and brought my right hand to the shaft where he proceeded to move my fingers in a stroking motion. I was overcome with the realization that I was sucking cock and I was therefore a cocksucker and none of it could ever be reversed. That understanding brought me to the determination that, as long as I was doing it, I might as well see what it was like. I began sliding my mouth like I had seen in porn flicks and my hand began stroking the part of his cock that didn’t fit in my mouth and his hips moved slowly and he moaned.
Then, he swiftly put the heel of his hand on my forehead and pushed me back until his rigid cock popped from my mouth and he cooed, “Not yet. Not yet. Too soon.”
He sat on the sofa and tugged on my hair to bring me between his legs. He guided my mouth to the cock he was holding in position and my mouth seemed to automatically open and take it in and once again, I was sucking on Carl’s cock. I agreed with myself that I would be the best cocksucker I could be and get as much out of that time as there was to get in exchange for committing to myself that I would never, ever suck on a cock again and I would never even entertain cocksucking thoughts or fantasies.
I began bobbing slowly on his cock while my right hand returned to the action. Carl’s head was leaned back against the backrest of the sofa and his eyes were closed and he soothed me with words of how good it felt and what a good cocksucker I was and what a pretty boy I was and how I had such a pretty little mouth. I was overly flattered and encouraged and I continued to suck on that hard thing in my mouth, completely seduced by how rock hard it was and how it felt soooo good in my soft, wet mouth..
Then, a thought suddenly overwhelmed me. I had to not only suck on this man’s cock; I had to actually suck him off! What kind of experience would it be if I wasn’t good enough to actually get him to cum? I might be able to admit that I was a cocksucker because I was indeed sucking, but I couldn’t admit that I was a success as a cocksucker unless I actually brought this man to oragasm.
The thought frightened me because it compounded the matter of my queerdom and it disgusted me to think that doing the job to completion might also mean having a grown man ejaculate in my mouth if he called on me to do that and then—horrid be the thought—I would have a grown man’s semen actually in my mouth! I nearly stopped because I just couldn’t imagine doing all of that but the queer in me just wouldn’t let me go that far and then not experience the fullness of the occasion. If I left anything out, then I would never feel I had truly experienced cocksucking and then my agreement to never ever do it again would be severely compromised.
My head was a battleground of shrapnel from all different directions; wanting to stop but hating the idea of going so far but then not completing it so I could move on in life.
But, Carl had a solution for that as well. His hips began to move. He groaned. I was in utter despair. Until-- Until his damned hands went to my head and he began pumping my head up and down, like he was using my mouth for masturbation. His hands brought my ultra-submissive nature into full compliance and surrender and I just let him use my mouth for a jack-off tool and when I could feel the jerking of his cock and knew what was about to happen. He held my head still and fucked my mouth and then—then—then he did it. I felt the first gob soar to the back of my mouth striking it hard and splattering wide. I felt choked and had to force myself to not gag on the awful stuff. But, I didn’t want to get that far and then fail. I had to take it. It was so wicked and nasty and filthy; a man actually ejaculating in my mouth. His penis; my mouth. His semen just blowing into my mouth and filling it and I had to force my lips to remain tight on the shaft. If any escaped, I thought it would be a sign of failure. I held still. I kept mouth snug on his spurting shaft. I . . . I just let him . . . I just let him ejaculate in my mouth. I forced myself to take it; all of it.
When he was done, he released my head and I yanked upward and ran to the bathroom and spit and spit and spit and dipped my mouth to the faucet and douched my mouth like a French whore’s pussy but even after all of that, when I returned to the room, the film of his semen clung like a coating in my mouth. It was horrible and awful but I couldn’t deny that I like the slutty sensations that rang through me and I was glad I had done the whole thing because I would never—ever—have to do it again!
When I got to the room, I saw the back of Carl’s head going out the screen door and he said something about calling me later.
My head spun. I was a cocksucker and nothing could change what I had done. But, I wasn’t going to do it again, therefore, I wasn’t really a cocksucker. I hated what I did but if I was to be honest, I had to admit that it had turned me on. It was disgusting and filthy yet those were the very things that excited me. He had used my mouth like a whore’s pussy and that was degrading, yet it all pricked the ultra-submissive sensations within me. I was confused. I was dazed. I dozed.
Carl didn’t call me later that day. I was glad. He didn’t call me Friday either and I was relieved because I didn’t have to face any more decisions or any chance of doing it again. He didn’t call during the weekend and that is when I began to wonder: Was I not good enough? Had I not done enough? Didn’t he like what I had done? Would he never even ask for it again? Was I, after all, a failure in my one and only quest to get cocksucking out of my system? If I had failed, did it mean I still needed to do it again? Had he just used me?
My aunt returned Sunday night and I sequestered myself in my bedroom so that she wouldn’t some how see the word “cocksucker” written all over my face, that is, if she ever cared enough to actually talk to me for long. I couldn’t face her or anyone, but especially not her. Not for awhile.
On Tuesday, Carl called. He didn’t call me however. He called my aunt and set up a date and showed up with a pint and they copulated in the back bedroom with plenty of noises and, as Carl was leaving, I could no longer resist staying alone. I had to see him; see his face; try to comprehend what Thursday meant to him.
Carl emerged with laughter from my aunt’s bedroom with her following. He glanced at me, seemed surprised, grinned, nodded, and put his hand to his ear as if to say he would indeed call me.
An hour later, he called and explained that he had to continue seeing my aunt just because “It’s good cover for what you and I are doing. She won’t be so likely to catch on”. He seemed sincere. I was unsure. I didn’t want to do it again but I had to know if he had liked doing it in my mouth. I arranged a lame question; he understood. He responded, “Hell Bryan, truth be told, I would much rather fuck a mouth than pussy. Just something about doing it in a hot mouth and cumming in a mouth. And hell, my old lady don’t suck and neither does Maize and most queers are in it for themselves. But you . . . your first time doing it—that is if it was your first time which is hard to believe—was amazing. You went right to it and did it like a man wants. You did it to get me off and you didn’t once touch yourself. Now THAT is a cocksucker. I want it again. I have to have it again! Thursday! Thursday Bryan. I’ll pick you at the corner on Thursday; 7pm. It’s better than pussy Bryan. Your mouth is better than pussy.”
I had the answer I wanted but it only made my dilemma worse. He hadn’t just used me for a fuck. He actually loved it and wanted more. “Better than pussy”. I was flattered and that was my dilemma. His words made passion spring inside of me. He wanted my mouth more than my aunt’s pussy. I was overflowing with flattery and pride and that stimulated my desire to do it again even though I hated the very thought of becoming an ongoing cocksucker.
And, I had three other problems: 1] I could not get the feel of that hard cock out of my head. It turned me on so much and; 2] it horrified me that I had let a grown man ejaculate in my mouth. It was so filthy and disgusting and I had struggled. I let him do it. Yet, it was almost as if the queer in me was demanding more. And; 3] I was suddenly seized with the thought that if he liked my mouth more than pussy, then maybe I was a better fuck than my aunt. Maybe I could get him to fuck me instead of her, proving I was better than she was and, for some reason, that idea just sent my insides flaming with desire.
He called on Thursday and reminded me. “Seven o’clock, okay? Be there. Black car. I’ll pick you up. Be there. I can’t wait!”
I wanted to cry “no” but his command seduced my submissive nature and his lust seduced my queerdom and I was helpless to deny him.
He pulled to the curb and I got in. He was rubbing his pants and telling me what a pretty mouth I had. Again, I was seduced. He told me he couldn’t wait and he knew a perfect place, one he had scoped out on Sunday in anticipation of our meeting. He drove about a mile from town and turned onto a darkened and unfinished bit of asphalt that led a half block to a proposed new housing development that had sat idle for years. He pulled back into some bushes and asked if I was ready but he didn’t wait for my reply. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his stiffy and I any resistance I might have had evaporated.
“I’m gonna let you do things your way Bryan. Just go down and do how you want. Show me what a good cocksucker you are.”
The word “cocksucker” drove shims of eroticism into my fractured being and I became even more helpless to him. My head went down even tho I had not told it to. My right hand fondled his erection and then my mouth got so close I could feel the heat of his cock near my lips. Without further argument from my inner straightness, my mouth curled around his cock and I began sucking on it. I nearly passed out when I felt his hardness. It felt soooo good in my mouth. Hardness just does me in every time and that first time in his car, it was like lightning bolts. His hardness made me an instant cocksucker.
My head moved slowly. He reclined his seat. He told me I was a great cocksucker. Passion flooded me. My mouth went down further and before long, I was bobbing my head slowly up and down and using my right hand to slowly stroke it. He moaned and sighed and that made me even hotter to be a great cocksucker. I gave a little more rhythm and he told me to not go too fast because he didn’t want to cum too soon. I slowed and sucked softly and moved my head in a sensual manner.
In time, he put his hands on my head and pumped a little faster, then withdrew his hands when I got the idea. I bobbed my head and stroked his cock.
Dammmmmmmmmit! I couldn’t believe it! I was in a parked car, in a dark area, and I was blowing a 40 year old man! I was sucking him off—in a car—in the dark! My excitement compounded when I realized that not only was he a 40-somehing year old man; I was sucking off my aunt’s boyfriend! He was doing it in my mouth instead of in her! I couldn’t believe how it excited me!
And then I realized something else: I was no longer thinking with fear about becoming a cocksucker. His hardness had driven me to reckless unconcern of what anyone thought, at least in the time his hard dick was in my mouth. In fact, I was determined to be the best and sluttiest, and most whorish cocksucker ever, at least until he got off at which time I could always return to my own lies that I was not really a cocksucker at all and would never do it again.
My head bobbed. My fingers stroked. His cock seemed even harder. It twitched. I sucked. He groaned. His hands grabbed my head. His hips thrust upward. He cried out like a wild animal. I froze. I locked my lips to his shaft. He jizzed in my mouth. Carl jizzed right in my mouth. And guess what; I let him. I held still and let him ejaculate in my mouth, fully and completed. I held still and I let him just pump and pump and pump his hot jism into my young mouth.
Even when he was done, he didn’t release my head. He held it there while his cock jerked and twitched and began to soften.. His semen was warm and thick and I felt sick once gain, but I forced myself to stay there until he released my head which would be permission to pull away.
And, as soon as his hands left my head, I bolted upright, jerked on the door handle, leaned my head out the door and nearly threw up on the ground. I wanted so much to be a complete cocksucker who loved jizz, but it was awful and terrible and disgusting and nasty and it was filthy thing ever let any man ever do that in mouth! Ever!
Neither of us talked much as he drove a few minutes to the corner from where he had picked me up. My head was dizzy with conflict. I hated it; I loved it. It was awesome; it was loathsome. I craved it; I denied it. I wanted it; I detested it. I would do it again; I would jump off a bridge first. I was a faggot; I was only experimenting. I had become a fuckface whore; nothing had really changed. His jizz in my mouth was horrible; ejaculating in my mouth was essential. I would solve it all with abstinence and never do it again; I would succumb to my own weaknesses and fall to Carl’s seductions.
I lay on my bed and could still feel Carl’s wonderfully hard cock sliding in my wanton mouth with the film of his semen still tinting the tastes within. I fell asleep with a bucket-load of confusion and woke up with even more. I had no idea how to deal with the profound thing I had gotten myself into and I had no idea what I would do.