My Charmed Life by Stroke.it@gmail.com
This story is intended for adults who enjoy reading about gay male sex. If this isn't you then you shouldn't be reading it. If it's illegal for you to access this, or you think it's offensive, then you shouldn't be here either. It is fiction—fantasy—even though it may have been inspired by some actual experiences. And any similarities to real events or persons are mere coincidences. This is the third installment of a multi-part saga. The overall story is not in chronological order. I don't know... that's just how it happened.
These stories are free to the reader because of the wonderfulness of Nifty. I know because I read them for lemendy-nine years before I started writing. So, message me if you like it or have any suggestions. And send them some moolah sometimes. Soon. Keep those nasty stories coming!
Chapter 3: Tampa 1
My early years as a gay guy leading a charmed life began in the Tampa Bay area, or, more specifically, the west side of the bay, where the Gulf of Mexico is just a bike ride away. Pinellas County, for those of you who know the area. I always say that Tampa/St. Pete is good for young gays because, even back then, though too churchy for my taste, the region was for grownups. And grownups get to be private when they do that sex stuff. And unless you get caught doin' it in the dugout of the kids' ball field and they're obliged to arrest you, you are left undisturbed to pursue your prurient interests. [I love that word `prurient.' It even sounds dirty.]
So, when I was mid-teens, everybody told me I looked like a college student: 19, 18 easy. I started to believe it. And that was the time that adult book stores finally came to cities in Florida. They had very expensive magazines and those loop movies that took tokens or quarters, most of you readers will not remember them—soft core at first—and they had a small gay section. Sometimes it was called All Male' or just Male.' The other thing was, back then in Florida, you could get your learner's permit at age 14 and your full driver's license at 15. That was providing you passed driver education (That training was pathetic. Maybe that'll be another story), and at least one parent signed. I started working evenings and weekends as soon as it was legal: the day I turned 14. As a carhop at a hamburger-and-shakes drive-in. The folks stopped giving me an allowance and I earned a paycheck. [95 cents an hour plus tips! Believe it.] Around the same time, Mom needed a better car. She got one and I got her old clunker. So, most days I had wheels, folding money, weed in the glove compartment, and a boner. Soon I would have a real driver's license. Everything was going my way. See what I mean about a charmed life?
I had been to a couple porn shops by then; I must've been 16 when I started to get bolder. The smallest ABS, in an out-of-the-way area, I thought would be the safest. I went on a weekday about supper time, and it was not busy. I parked in the back and walked around to the entrance in the front. Trying to be casual and look 18, I strolled through the place, looked at all the books and magazines, and marital aids. Saw where the movies were; it was dark and there were booths you stood in front of and watched the movie that played inside through plexiglass. Mine fogged up when I got excited. There was a machine that gave four tokens for a dollar. I bought some. There were maybe two gay films of the 10 or 12 booths. I picked one of them, watched and rubbed my dick through my denim shorts.
After a few minutes, I saw a man walk past the booths. Not clearly, because it was so dark. It was the guy I'd seen behind the counter in the front of the store. He passed once or twice more and the next time he stepped into the viewing area of my booth. They didn't have doors. I figured I was in trouble because of my age. Nope. He greeted me and asked me if it was okay for the two of us to watch for a minute. I said, "Sure."
He let a minute or two go by. He was standing very close to me but not touching. I could smell him; it was a nice smell; and I could hear his breathing. Then he said, "I have some better films than these. Would you like to come by one evening and watch? We close at nine except 10 on Saturday." He waited a bit but when I didn't respond, he continued, "How about Friday a little after nine? I'll leave the back door unlocked."
"Okay. Sure." I said, nervous, excited. Hard.
"I'm Robert. Bob." he said.
"Jay."
"I better get back to my store." and touched my shoulder. I think I nodded.
= = = = =
Bob turned out to be my first that really wasn't my first. By that time, I had had sex—well, I guess I'd have to call them sexual encounters—with boys my age, and two girls, both disasters. Not the girls, the encounters with them.
I must digress for half a page or so. My best friend was a cool girl named Harmony. Or, that's what she called herself. About this time in my teen years, I was busting to tell someone I was queer. But I needed support. Harmony was my surest bet. She reacted hardly at all. Then said, "Have you been with a woman or women?" I hadn't except for that one disaster. "So how do you know?" she asked.
"Dick gets hard for guys not girls." I replied.
"But don't you think you should be sure—try it once—before you close that door forever?" She had a point; I was sure about my gayness, but she was convincing. So, get this, she wrote a lesson plan (She had wanted to teach). Five lessons: Kissing, Light Petting, Heavy Petting, Oral, and The Evil Deed. There was a small park near her house; we'd go there to smoke grass late at night. That's where my hetero training would occur. I did well in lessons one through four. (A fencepost could make my dick hard back then.) Wasn't too crazy about eating her snatch; got a B-minus on that. But, finally, . . . flunked the Big Kahuna. Little Jay would not cooperate. Ever seen a turtle pull its head into its shell? Well—
Back to the story line. There was one adult man. In his hotel room. Not a big success either. Why was I so scared? Because I knew I was doing something wrong; plus something that could get me in big trouble. But, as I gradually realized over the next couple of years, it wasn't wrong! How could something that felt so good be wrong? I was a smart and sexy kid with wheels yet, I should have been having the time of my life. I should have been ahead of the curve. Stonewall had happened by then. But society, television, the schools, etc. had programmed young gays to be ashamed and afraid. And St. Petersburg, Florida was worlds away from Greenwich Village. (But I had the most terrific folks. More about coming out in a later chapter.)
Bob was probably in his mid-thirties, regular looking, and a little on the shy side. A couple of inches taller than I; he was attractive to me. Masculine, quiet and a little mysterious. I liked that aspect all my life. For those few days before our date, I was Jay of the Sizzling Crotch. It's lucky I had time to get myself ready; otherwise, I would have chickened out. I knew I wasn't coming to a porno shop after closing to watch movies. We were going to have sex! Hurray!
Freshly showered, not anything scented, no underwear (Mom used to call it "Free Willy," which was the title of a movie about a whale), and a tee shirt that made me look cool and hot, or at least I thought so.
I knocked on the back door at 9:15 and opened it. It was unlocked as promised. The first room was dark; mostly storage, I think. Bob was in the next room which was set up for screening movies. A small screen, projector, a small sofa and a few folding chairs. It was half lit: I thought, "romantic lighting." He was glad I had made it, he said. I was probably shaking.
Bob offered me a soda. I declined. He said, "Have a seat wherever you'd like." I sat on the loveseat. He took a folding chair next to the projector so he could run the films.
As well as I can recall, they were good quality, no dialogue, some cheesy music. And hard core! I was impressed and very excited.
After a few minutes, he asked me if he could sit next to me on the little sofa. I nodded and he walked the couple of steps over to me, but did not sit down. So, standing right next to where I was sitting, he said, "It's really good to see you. Listen, Jay, I want you to feel comfortable. I like you. For sure, don't do anything you don't want to, okay?"
"Right. Thanks for saying that, Bob," I responded. That helped me be a little calmer.
I remember this part clearly. Bob said, "I want to make you feel good." I made a noise: half gasp and half moan. I looked up at him. His crotch was very close to my hand. In the moment, I wanted to show him how mature and experienced I was. I reached over and lightly touched his bulge, stroking it. I hoped he knew what came next; I certainly didn't.
He came around and sat next to me on the loveseat on my right, very close. He touched my arm with his right hand and reached around me with the left. His hand felt good against the back of my neck, my face. He was looking at me intensely. I was turned on. I reached around him with my right hand, touched his shoulder. He moved his face closer to mine and said, "I'm going to kiss you."
He did so, lightly and sweetly, then backed away a bit. He looked at me checking to see that I was okay. I guess I looked like I was. We smiled at each other and he came back for more. In that evening, Bob taught me how to kiss. It was wonderful. His hands never left my body. His mouth led the way for me. I made little noises as my passion increased and Bob giggled a little. He took my face in his two hands and said, "You're adorable."
I said, "You too."
As we continued to make out, we got more and more turned on. We licked, kissed, and sucked any part of the face, head, and neck that was available. At one point, we were both a little out of breath. Our mouths separated and we panted for a few seconds. Then he reached over and touched me through my jeans. I must have approved, because he said, "You want to get comfortable?"
At first, I didn't know what he meant (dumb teenager), but it dawned on me, and I nodded. Bob touched the top of my head affectionately, got up, and began to undress. I followed suit. He started with his shoes, then his shirt and pants. He left his briefs on. I copied his procedure, but, of course, I was going commando.
So there we were, standing looking at each other. He had a nice body. I found out later he was a runner. By then, my corpus had started to mature, and it was firm from all the bike riding. My dick was hard and pointing slightly upward. I'm cut and not that long, but nicely thick. Over the years, I have been complimented on it, particularly on the head, which is really perfect. Plump. Nice balls. Bob took a long look at it and said, "Your cock is beautiful!" I was embarrassed and probably turned red. I worked up my courage and reached over and slid the briefs down to his knees. His was circumcised too, a little longer than mine but not as thick. But gorgeous balls. Big and hanging low. I knew I'd be giving them a lot of attention. He was hard too, so he stepped a little closer so our dicks could touch. That turned me on so much! I think I gasped. I didn't know then it was called frottage, but I knew right away it was one of my favorite things to do. We smiled and laughed and looked down at the exposed parts kissing and fondling each other. He got very close, hugged me, and rubbed our bodies together. He resumed kissing me in this position until I got light-headed and needed to sit down.
Bob, still touching me, but not the really sensitive parts, said something like, "Jay, I don't want this to be over too soon, okay? You don't have to get home early, do you? I'd like to cool off and then work up to it again, until we're both ready for the finale."
"That sounds very fine by me," I said. Actually, I probably should have started home by then, but fuck! I was having too much fun. And I didn't fully realize it at the time, but Bob was my professor in Gay Sex 101. I was agreeable. And I hadn't been late getting home recently, so the folks would understand.
We were both reclining as much as two grownups could on a loveseat. Bob continued touching and stroking me, but lightly. I followed suit so we were both exploring each other. Once we had cooled off enough, we began to play with the other's `junk' as they call it now. Back then, I referred to it as my three-piece set. Bob went under the set toward my asshole with his fingers, we kissed, he was making it last. I was on a cloud I'd never even seen before. He got up and arranged me on the loveseat on my face and started to give me an erotic massage. After exploring, licking, touching, kissing everywhere, he flipped me over on my back and continued with the massage which soon became an amazing blowjob. He made me laugh, tremble, moan, shudder, and like that, but stopped a couple of times when I was getting close.
I said, "Let me," and we switched positions. I had thought about this moment many times. I went slow. I savored. I only wanted to give him pleasure, and I did. His dick and balls were the best, I thought, with very little to compare them to. "Bobby," I said, "tell me what I could do better. I'm trainable."
"Jay Baby, you're doing everything terrific!" or words to that effect. I only gagged a little. I gave the ball sac a lot of attention as I promised myself I would. Bob's reactions were great; he turned out not to be shy, at least not in this setting. One time he had me stop; I guess he was getting too close then.
We continued like this for another hour or so. I took the lead when it was time to get to Act Three. It was incredible. We didn't do anything anal that first time; it would wait until next Friday. The only regret from that awesome night was that we couldn't kiss and cuddle in a normal bed, since there was only the loveseat. Next time would be the whole enchilada.
My thoughts as I headed home. My mouth felt raw from overuse. Dick too. Aloe before bed. Plus, I'll have to tell Bob how dirty talk gets me hot. He may need some training in that. I had no doubt there would be more rendezvous.