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 fourth 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 my stuff or have any comments or suggestions. And send them some greenbacks sometimes. Soon. Keep those nasty stories coming! Are you juicy yet?
Chapter 4: Tampa 2 - The Beginning
Yes, you're right; the beginning should be Chapter 1. Well, I wrote the motherfucker so I can call it whatever I want, okay? I'd like to explain--briefly--why mine has been a Charmed Life.
From childhood, I had it easy. I was a very cute infant, walked at seven months (a marvel!), learned really fast, wowed the teachers and, beginning in second grade, corrected what I thought were their mistakes. The other kids were drawn to me. I thought I was in love with one girl in second grade. She liked me well enough, liked to hang around me, but always asked my advice because she thought I was smart. That happened with other kids too. Some of the kids were put off by my brains and self-assurance, but many were lured to it.
My best friend, Dennis, would come over on a Friday night, or I would go over his house, and we would watch scary movies, eat popcorn, drink lemonade, and stay up too late. We slept in the family room, except down there they called it the Florida Room, on a fold-out couch. Then Saturday we'd ride bikes or swim and then Dennis had to be home for supper. Oh, we tried cocksucking the year we were eight. I liked it. Dennis never talked about it but that time was not our last. Hmmm?
By then, I knew I was different. That there was something wrong with me. Most gay adults tell a similar story about the journey to self-realization, at least in my generation and a couple close by. I was uncomfortable being naked in front of other boys. Since I didn't have a name for it, I went to the library, looked around and found it. Homosexuality. Back then, it was really bad news. The few queers that were in movies and books (absolutely none on television) were nutjobs and ended up getting killed or killing themselves. A few lucky survivors managed to change their nature, have unhappy and self-destructive lives, and look longingly into the camera in the last reel. Now, real life again, when friends and I would go camping (just a tent in somebody's back yard) and got to experimenting by touching each other "down there," it felt so good. How could it be a bad thing?
Getting older, I did some wrong stuff, but always either didn't get caught or talked my way out of it. I learned not to correct my teachers too much, and was chosen to make announcements at assemblies, run for student council, be president of the honor society, give tours of the school, and stuff like that.
Strangely, a bit late, at age 13, my dick came to life. I would have boners in class and thought they were so big that everybody would notice. I had a couple of nocturnal emissions. (I always liked that term.) Wish I'd had more. And, of course, started watching the other boys.
In seventh grade--that was the year I was 13--we had gym for the last time. Some of the boys could see it in my face or behavior, I guess. Or they just liked to pick on me for whatever reason. I hung around with the drama kids and with guys who were quiet, small, or maybe fat, and mostly weak, so that was enough to brand me as queer to the jocks and the "regular guys." There was this boy, Dan Derby, who was older because he had been kept back (what they called it then) at least twice, and he also must have matured early. When he was getting dressed in the locker room, I couldn't keep my eyes off him. He stayed naked longer than necessary to show off his body and his spectacular dick. His body was beautiful. Blond, or dirty blond you might call it, pretty hairy, muscled and perfectly proportioned. He'd find a reason to strut across the locker room during the 15 minutes we had to strip, take a shower, get dressed, and hustle to our next class. But Dan didn't care if he was late getting to fifth period. Who knows if he'd even make it to Marriage and Family Living with Miss Agnes? He'd waste time and parade his fine physique and sex equipment slowly supposedly to get some water to drink, an extra towel, or some other made-up reason to swagger through all this nakedness and activity. I knew then what I wanted to do with that dick, and what I wanted that dick to do to me. Of course, he caught me looking and loudly told me I was a fag, a queer, a cocksucker, and all, and if I wanted to suck his dick we could do it after school. He was straight, of course, but a blowjob was a blowjob and, if there was no pussy handy, . . . It took me a long time, but one Friday I hung around a little late after school to see what direction Dan went in. Well, he walked the same direction I rode my bike but then turned off from my route and went to another neighborhood. It would be easy to plan to accidently meet him one day after school. I thought about it all the following week.
One afternoon the week after, I went to my bike and acted like it had a flat tire, so I had to get the kit from my backpack and repair it, which I did, delaying leaving school long enough to run into Dan. We both took a shortcut through a deserted warehouse area and, sure enough, there he was as I rode up. "What took you so long, queer?" he asked, without even looking at me.
"I had a flat and had to patch—"
"No, I don't mean today, I mean since I invited you. At least a couple of weeks. But I knew you'd show up. Saw the look on your face." And he took his pants down. Then his briefs. "C'mon, I got places to go. Get busy."
He knew what he was selling. As soon as I saw his penis in this isolated site, I was under its spell. It was cut, long and thick. The head was big and beautiful. His balls were large low hangers. Body and all, he was an awesome sight. He'd have made an excellent underwear model. Naked he was enticing. I got off the bike, leaned it against the nearest thing and slowly walked the few feet toward the 16-year-old delinquent I was about to blow. Dan moved around a partial wall left over from a demolished building so we couldn't be easily seen on the off chance anybody happened by. I followed like a puppy.
But now I was so charged up that I needed a couple of seconds to breathe. When I hesitated, he had the right words. "You know you want to suck it. It was on your face in the locker room. Get down there and do it."
= = =
I am sure that Dan's slightly dominating dirty talk during our sessions is the origin of my reactions to nasty talk that continue to this day. If you want me to come with you and I'm not deciding in your favor, talk dirty to me. Tell me you know you have something I want and if I'll just taste, . . . Ask me what my favorite thing to do with a hot guy is, and when I stammer, tell me you can see I'm hungry for some hot, thick dick, that my first love is sucking dick, and you're about to give me the thing I'm hungry for . . . But don't get carried away. Once you bring out any implements or decide to inflict pain, I am gone. With the wind.
= = =
I put my jacket on the ground in front of him for my knees. Close up his dick was amazing. It had thickened since he first exposed himself and was pointing straight out. He was turned on already. I took the head of his cock in my mouth. It felt and tasted incredible. I was in heaven. I worked just the head at first, licking and kissing all around, then getting my mouth and throat involved. I'd figured that Dan wouldn't be what my friend Richie calls "a Mona" (moaner). But I already wanted so much to please him so we'd do this again. And again. Plus you could feel and even taste your top's reactions if you "Listen to the penis." If I were training newly minted homorecruits, that would be the title of the second lecture, complete with a demonstration of course.
We both got lost in our activity for a couple minutes. Finally, Dan broke his silence and said something like, "Hey, cut the feely-bod shit and get down to it. I ain't got all week!" So I did as I was told and sucked up and down that perfect peter while fingering the balls and it got the reaction I expected. More noises of approval, and, after too short a time, both hands on my head so he could pound me properly. I must say I loved it, especially since it didn't last long and I was able to keep up. He held my head down on his cock at the crucial moment, probably to make sure I swallowed like a good cocksucker does and as I intended to do. After five or six shots, he said, "Open up and let me see that scum." I showed him what was left and he said, "Okay now, down the hatch, bitch!" What a smooth talker, huh?
= = =
My delinquent and I made it a few more times before the end of the school year. Maybe I'll write another chapter about it. There were some memorable moments. Over the next couple of months, he also demanded my help with some English and social studies papers which, being savvy about him by now, I agreed to provide. Help, meaning, I was expected to write them for him. When deadlines came, however, I found some really good excuses for the assignments' absences. Some morals, anyway. Aside from those five or so blowjobs, Dennis and his perfect peter are featured frequently in my jerk-off fantasies. Aahhh.