From The Arrangement 3:
Sitting up slowly, I stuck my semi-curled tongue out at him like a little child mad at the world. But the real reason was to prove to him his offering had been accepted. I watched him watch me, his eyes going first at the puddle of come on top of my tongue and then to my throat as its muscles convulsed when I swallowed.
"Thank you," I told my friend and then asked "When you're ready to go again, can I have some more?" -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
A continuation of a true story:
My hand is shaking as I knock on the Grambs' door. At least twice during the walk down the hall I start to turn back only to stop as my friend reminds me of what is at stake. I really don't need reminding, the shock of being found my knees over in a corner of the basement storeroom with my mouth full of my friend's cock, a thin string of saliva dribbling from the corners of my mouth to dampen my shirt is something I didn't think I'll ever forget. I don't know what I'd do if Mr. Grambs had carried through on his threat to tell my friend's grandmother what he had found.
Although brief, the walk down the hall from my friend's grandmother's apartment to the Grambs' at the back of the building still gives me time to try and answer the question buzzing around my head.
I've come a long way since the first furtive handjob I had given my friend in his barn. Now I know I am a cocksucker, know that I like the feel of a male rod brushing back and forth against my lips, its oozing juices and my salvia combining to lubricate its passage. I've been trained to crave the salty, coppery taste of a wad of come splattering on the back of my tongue, to enjoy the pleasure of rolling it around in my mouth before swallowing, to savor its syrupy passage down my throat, its aftertaste lingering for long minutes reminding me of my subservience, my acquiescence to the desires of another.
But that is the question. Do I really want to be a cocksucker? Sure I've sucked off my friend off plenty of times. But that was just playing around wasn't it? And yeah, I've sucked the man we were now going to see, a visit aimed at my servicing him again. But I really didn't have a choice did I? I was blackmailed (or black-maled) into that first blowjob, even if I had enjoyed it.
That is part of the problem, I do enjoy it. It's fun, it's fulfilling (in more ways than one) and I look forward to it. But, ever since that first handjob, there are times, especially after the passion of the moment has passed, that I have doubts about what I'm doing. And there are times when I wonder if these events should be more mutual, if my cock should reside in another's mouth, my sperm coat another's molars. Or is the pleasure I feel while spit-polishing someone else's knob reward enough? Like the last person picked for a game of ball, am I always going to be the catcher and never get a chance to be the pitcher? Abruptly, as we reach the Grambs' apartment, my self-examination comes to an end.
Moments after my first tentative knock on the door, it swings open to reveal Mr. Grambs' standing there wrapped only in a yellow cotton towel. "You're early. Well, don't just stand there and stare Web," he says opening the door wider. "You and your friend get in here before the flies do, and shuts the door behind you. No sense in giving any nosey neighbors a free look. Make sure the lock catches."
Moving into the living room Mr. Grambs drops his towel. "OK Webster, now you can look to your heart's content. But hurry up, I was going to shower before you two got here and I still want to clean up before we gets started."
Hungrily, I run my eyes up and down his body, my momentary qualms from the hallway overcome, as they always are, by my growing desire.
Down in the basement I had seen very little of Mr. Grambs, only those portions I had revealed when I lowered his pants: his thighs, his knees, the front of his calves and, of course, his ebony manhood. Now, standing before me like a sculpture, nothing was concealed from my view.
Mr. Grambs makes his living in construction, pushing wheelbarrows to and fro on the jobsites, hauling timbers, wielding a shovel or pick. His mature body is well-muscled,firm but not overly so. There is still a little roundness to his stomach, a bit of softness along his ribcage.
His chest is covered with a mat of kinky black hair, thick enough on his pecs that his nipples are almost hidden. The hair takes the shape of an hourglass, broader on his chest, narrowing as it works its way down his stomach and then widening again when it reaches his groin. His navel is an outie and large. It looks like a dark chocolate bon-bon nestled in a wrinkled paper wrapper, just waiting to be nibbled by some naughty boy. The hair on his legs stops just below his crotch, leaving a smooth, surface which ran down to his feet where the hair resumes.
It is the body of a man who works hard for his keep, not the overly honed torso of a narcissistic body builder who pumps iron to create an overly-sculptured piece of beefcake that graced some of the magazines I had furtively perused in the bookstores.
I knew from the day before how firm and solid his ass was. My fingers had almost cramped while I was kneading it as I sucked. But what surprises me now is his dick. The day before, even under my best ministrations, it had been well, not soft or limp exactly but doughy and somewhat malleable. It was its flexibility which had allowed me to take its entire length down my throat and nestle my nose in his public hairs. One glance tells me that isn't going to happen today.
Mr. Grambs' cock is jutting out like a steel pier reaching for the ocean at Atlantic City. Yesterday it had pointed toward the floor. Today it rises toward the heavens, its lighter cafe au lait mushroom head capping the heavily veined nut brown column like the masthead on the prow of a boat.
Without thinking I move across the room and grasp his dick, its heat coursing through my fingers. Even as I sink to the floor, my mouth agape, my hand tries without success to bend his rod.
Before my knees can hit the floor, strong thick hands insinuate themselves under my arms and raise me back to a standing position.
"Don't be in such a hurry Webster," says Mr. Grambs. "We ain't down in the basement today. We're going to take our time and maybe even teach you a couple of more good things. Now you just make youself at home while I go shower. Then we'll get started." I nod my agreement, my eyes still fixed on his rigid dick.
Noticing where my eyes were focused, Mr. Grambs lets out a little laugh. "Surprised at my johnson today? How hard it is?" Again I nod, my mouth too dry to speak without croaking.
"Hell Web, when I went down in the basement and found you blowing _______. I'd already jacked off four times. With my wife out of town at her sister's and my girlfriend working double shifts at the restaurant this weekend I figured the only fun I was going to have was what I gave myself or what I bought on the street. Course, that was before I made your acquaintance. Things sure did change after that.
"Now I'm going to go shower. You both showered just before you came over right?" This time both of us nod. "Good, cleanliness is next to godliness and there ain't much worse than having sex with someone that stinks. That's another thing you should know Web, never have sex with someone who's dirty and always be clean your own self."
Looking straight at the my friend Mr. Grambs asks "Now you boys are going to behave yourselves while I'm in the shower right? I'm not gonna come out and find a repeat of the basement am I?"
"No sir, Mr. Grambs," replies my friend talking for the first time that day.
"Good. Then you boys relax and I'll get ready. You're both going to learn some lessons today and we're gonna have some fun doing it."
The door to the bathroom has barely closed and the water is just starting to run when my friend punches my arm. "Damn, Web you are a slut," he tells me his voice crinkling with excitement. "I thought Old Man Grambs was kidding when he told me how you jumped right on his cock. Christ on a crutch, I guess he wasn't. That towel hadn't even all hit the floor before you went running over to him and grabbed his stiffie. I thought you were going to swallow him right then and there."
I don't know what to say so I turn away. My friend is right, I am a slut and, all my misgivings aside, the minute I had laid eyes on Mr. Grambs cock all I could think about was coaxing his manjuice up from his wrinkly balls, across his throbbing cock and down into my waiting mouth.
To distract myself, I start to look around the apartment. Mr. Grambs' place is at the opposite end of the hallway from my friend's grandmother's. Her apartment faces the front street and a small city park across the road. Mr. Grambs' overlooks an alley full of trashcans and a windowless brick wall on the other side of the alley.
Walking into my friend's grandmother's apartment means entering a spotless world where time passes slower than outside. Much of the furniture is antique, family heirlooms at least two and sometimes three generations old. The walls are adorned with landscapes, still-lifes and, in one case, a painting of a wide-eyed young girl holding a bouquet of black-eyed susans. The tables hold the latest local papers and copies of Life and Look magazines. There are always cut flowers in several vases scattered throughout the apartment and everything is overlaid with the scent of the violets she grows in the front room and talcum powder, a sweet not unfamiliar atmosphere.
It's different in the Grambs' apartment. It's clean, just as clean as my friend's grandmother's apartment but the similarities end there. The worn furniture is second and even third-hand, not antique, a mixture of styles including an overstuffed couch upholstered in a garish red and yellow check. The walls hold a series of what I take to be family portraits as well as a picture of John Kennedy cut out a magazine and stuck into a ready-made frame. A depiction of Jesus graces the opposing wall while copies of Jet and Ebony magazine are stacked neatly on one corner of the coffee table next to a crumpled copy of the local African-American newspaper. In place of violets and talcum powder, the more earthy scent of greens and southern-fired chicken tantalize the nose. This is an apartment that is lived in, not just occupied.
Preoccupied by my inspection of the apartment, I jump like a gigged frog when Mr. Grambs' damp palm caresses the side of my face. "Hey Web, settle down there boy. No need to be so jumpy," he says as he walks around to the front of the couch.
Once again I find myself falling under a spell, his moist skin still coated in places by a glistening combination of oil and water, reflecting the apartment's light as though a handful of diamonds had been crushed and sprinkled over his skin. I want to fall off the couch and kneel before him, worship his manhood, take as my communion his very essence. It's only by the strictest self-discipline that I remain on the couch quivering, a sporting dog at heel poised to spring at the master's command.
Mr. Grambs looks at me and smiles at what he sees, my eagerness matching his intentions like adjoining pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Out of the corner of my eyes I look at my friend. He too is sitting straight up on the couch his breathing deep and faster than normal.
Suddenly Mr. Grambs' face grows serious. He orders me to disrobe. I comply. When I am naked he asks my friend to get up from the couch and move toward the center of the room.
"Web, I want you to undress _____, nothing else understand? Just undress him," he commands. Again I comply. My friend is tense as I remove his clothes in front of Mr. Grambs. I understand. Until now our sex play has been a private affair carried out in secret away from prying eyes. No more. All that would happen today would be seen and shared and a secret shared is no longer a secret.
Kneeling I untie his tennis shoes. He offers no help, standing stock still as though he were frozen, forcing me to lift each rigid leg like a blacksmith shoeing a horse. I rise to unbutton his shirt, my fingers rubbing lightly against his ribs as I extract his arms from the sleeves. "Hey, that tickles," he says a half-smile on his face, his reserve beginning to fade.
His blue jeans are the next to go, his rising erection pressing against the denim fabric, making it harder for me to unbuckle the snap. As it appears I rub the side of my face against the white fabric marking the final barrier to my friend's full nudity. I can feel wetness dampening my cheek as it glides over the covered cockhead, wetness filling my mouth as I anticipate what (and who) is to come.
My friend steps out his jeans, leaving them bunched on the floor. I push them aside to take my position at his feet, my hands reaching upwards as if in supplication. I grasp the elastic around his hips and, with a helpful wriggle from my friend, I pull his briefs down to rest around his heels, a drop or two of precome splashing on my face as his prick bounces to a stop. Obeying instructions I stand and move back.
Now Mr. Grambs moves to stand at an angle next to my friend, hips touching. My friend gives a slight flinch at the contact but holds his place. The older man's hand motions me over, indicating I should again assume the acquiescent posture of a cocksucker, this time between the two of them.
I almost go cross-eyes looking at the two dicks before me. One white, uncut, and more square than round, a carpenter's pencil of a prick; the other brown, cut and round with heavy veins running along its length like the stripes on a barber's pole. I wonder which dick will be the first to fit into my mouth, spill its pearly seed across my tongue? Who will watch my throat convulse as I swallow their sperm, be the first to receive my thanks?
Mr. Grambs takes my head in one hand, tilting my face upwards, our eyes locking together. "OK Web, I wants you to open wide because you're gonna take both these cocks into your mouth at the same time."
Darting down to look at the two hard-ons and then back up to Mr. Grambs, my eyes show my disbelief. A small frown like an approaching summer squall passes over Mr. Grambs face. "Didn't you hear me boy," he asks gruffly. "We both want to be sucked and we're not waiting. Now get to it."
I maneuver closer to the two bodies, my mouth yawning open as though I'm awakening from a sleep of a thousand years. My hand reaches out and gathers the two dicks pressing them together like straphangers in a rush hour subway, their angle bringing both heads to the same starting point.
As I move my head forward my mouth stretches to allow entry. I struggle but manage to get about two maybe two and a half inches of both cocks in my mouth, my tongue trapped underneath a twin popsicle of warm human flesh The awkward angle prevents me from getting more in my mouth. I start to move back and forth my bottom teeth scraping with each stroke, wondering what it must feel like for the two I am servicing; the foreskin of the uncut cock rubbing against its mate.
My mouth fills, partly with precum but mostly with saliva. I can't swallow and I am forbidden to spit so I begin to choke. After my first spasm, the cocks exit my mouth.
"All right Web, that wasn't bad for the first time," Mr. Grambs tells me. Hearing his words I feel like a puppy that has been told "Good Boy" by his master. "You'll get better with practice."
"Yeah, and I'll be sure to give him plenty of chances to improve," my friend chimes in, becoming more comfortable with the situation as time passes, his fingers ruffling through my hair.
We move over to the couch, Mr. Grambs sitting on one end, my friend on the other. I start to move downwards when Mr. Grambs again stops me. " Come on around to the side of the couch Web, I want to teach you another trick." He turns so his chest is parallel to the arm of the couch. "I want you to suck my nipples." I stop, surprised at his command. Aside from hanging on to an ass for balance, all my efforts have been spent licking and sucking cocks with the occasional foray to massage a low-hanging ball sack. The idea of playing with someone's nipples is new to me.
"That's it Webster. Cup your hands and put them just underneath my nipples. Now lift up. That's right boy. Now bring yo lips over to it."
My hands cradling his chest I place my puckered lips over the nipple closest to my mouth. His kinky hair brushes against my lips and nose as I begin to suck like a baby at his mother's breast. His nipple has a salty taste to it.
"That's good Web. Now use your tongue. Wipe it back and forth. ... Yeah be nice. Faster now, get a quick rhythm going. Now can you feel it hardening? " I nod not wanting to remove my mouth to speak. "OK now start to nibble on it. Gently boy, you ain't chewing gum here."
I ease up on the pressure, softening the impact of my incisors on his nipple. Mr. Grambs lets out a quiet moan. As I switch to his other nipple I see my friend slowly jacking off as he watches us. After a couple more minutes of my switching between his nipples, Mr. Grambs draws away from me to lean against the back of the couch.
"________ been real patient over there," Mr. Grambs tells me. "He's played with himself long enough. I wanna watch you suck that cock of his. Go to it Web."
I move quickly around to the front of the couch. My friend scoots forward until his ass is barely on the edge of the couch, his balls hanging freely in the air. This time I don't kneel. Instead I squat until my calves and thighs are pressed tightly together, like a catcher waiting for the first pitch. My hands rest on his upper thighs, forcing them farther apart the better to maintain my balance.
My tongue sweeps lightly over his balls, causing the skin of his scrotum to tighten and wrinkle. One after the other I take the small-egg sized balls deep in my mouth, my tongue continue to lave each testicle. Finishing with his balls, I extend my tongue as far as it will go and slowly slide upwards along the vein on the underside of his dick.
When I reach the head my tongue insinuates its way underneath his foreskin, slowly circumnavigating his cock. When the circle is completed I press my lips tightly against the tip of his dick and, leaning forward, peel his foreskin back until the entire head is uncovered. My right hand reaches out to hold the foreskin back while the point of my tongue begins an exploration of the slit, burrowing its way into the interior of his cock.
After a few more seconds of teasing, I begin to suck his cock in earnest, my mouth and hand moving in a synchronized harmony designed to provide maximum pleasure for my friend. My cheeks go from concave to convex and back again as I vacuum his prick into my oral cavity, sliding it deeper into my mouth with every thrust.
Knowing Mr. Grambs is watching excites me. I remove my left hand from my friend's thigh and begin to massage his balls, urging them to spill their cache of come. My balance is precarious now, a wrong move could send me plunging down on his rod with disastrous consequences for both of us. When my lips reach the tip of his dick I throw myself forward, pushing my legs out from under me at the same time. With only a small jolt I am on my knees ready to finish of my friend.
My right hand leaves his cock and rests against the coach. My lips take its place, traveling south toward his public hair. I open my mouth wider, forcing air down my throat and enlarging it in the process. The head of his pecker is now on the back of my tongue. It uses my uvula as a punching bag.
Slowly I move forward adjusting the angle of my head to allow his dick free passage into my throat. When my nose rests in his hair I stop. I have fully engulfed my friend his balls now bounce against my chin. Breathing through my nose, I begin to swallow, the contraction of the muscles of my throat milking his cock. My left hand rubs his balls harder, my tongue brushes across the bottom of his cock.
My friend's breathing quickens, his legs begin to tremble. I redouble my efforts. His balls begin to pulse in my hand. Then I feel it, his sperm climbing upward to my waiting gullet. The first stream of come shoots while his cock is lodged in my throat. I can feel it slide down my esophagus. I pull back to gain a taste of his cream, the next jet splashing against the roof of my mouth. Satisfied, I pull quickly off his dick, my hand regaining its grip on his cock, targeting his next emission at my outstuck tongue.
At first my aim is off, his cum splashes against my nose and upper lips. A small movement of my hand corrects this flaw and his final, slowing spurts land directly on my elongated tongue. When I am sure his orgasm is finished I milk his cock and then stand slowly up, exhibiting my slime-coated tongue first to my friend and then to Mr. Grambs.
Seeing approval on their faces, I swallow. It takes two attempts to move all his sperm into my stomach. My tongue quests outward and upwards, gathering as much of the sperm gracing my face as it can. It is aided by the index finger of my right hand which scrapes the remainder toward my mouth. Again I swallow and finish up by sucking the final remnants off my finger. Despite my best efforts I know my face is shiny with smeared come then this is only proper for a cocksucker. This come hasn't been wasted, it is a visual representation of my status. It cries out "Look at me. I am a cocksucker. I can be your cocksucker. Let me pleasure you."
Quietly with my head semi-bowed but my eyes on his face I thank my friend for sharing his essence with me. Having observed the proper dicklicker etiquette I turn to Mr. Grambs. His ebony tower is reaching toward the sky as he says "Ok Webster let's see what tricks you can do with a man's rod."
If you've liked this fourth installment of a true story and think I should continue to tell you about my adventures as a high school student please let me know at webdazell@yahoo.com
Note to all readers. The actual events portrayed in these stories took place in the mid-sixties. Most of the practices outlined here are now too dangerous to indulge in in this the era of AIDS. Please practice safe sex only.