To Home And Back, part 2
To Home And Back, Part 2
by Greg Scott
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All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc. In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it. Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.
For my regular readers, I want to point out that this story is not part of The Lavender Line series.
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My first Thanksgiving weekend as a college student was a strange event. My family treated me as if I had just come home from a day at high school. Same rules. Same expectations. Same boredom. I realized that I had been spoiled by the relative freedom of college life, even though my college kept all of us on a fairly short leash.
I was relieved when Sunday finally arrived, and I could set out on my return. I looked forward to seeing my roommate and my other dorm friends, but mostly I just wanted to get away from the house where I was still considered a kid. I loved my family in my own way, but they were suffocating.
The only time I had to myself was when I would retreat to my bedroom at the end of the day. Only then could I begin to think about what I had come to think of as "the bathroom incident" that had happened Wednesday on my drive home for the holiday.
During those times I didn't react the way you probably think that I would, having been raised in my conservative Christian family, church and school. No, I still hadn't noticed even the first evidence of feelings of guilt. Instead, during those precious moments of reflection in the privacy of my room, I considered what I had learned about myself.
One thing I learned was that I may not be the late bloomer that I thought that I was. I had discovered that I could feel something extremely intense, something similar to some of the descriptions of my college friends' experiences. And I don't just mean physically.
The physical part actually didn't surprise me all that much. As I told you before, I've been masturbating for years and sometimes the results have been quite spectacular. When that guy in the rest area men's room took me orally, it felt better than even the best jack off ever, of course. But that difference was only one of degree rather than of kind.
The real change for me--my real self-discovery--was when I realized that I wanted someone else to feel good sexually, too. Never before had I ever thought about causing someone else sexual pleasure. See, now that is a difference in kind, not just degree. That's a really meaningful difference for me. That was the way that I had always thought that I was different, less developed than other guys my age.
Now I knew that wasn't true. After I had ejaculated into that guy's mouth, really even while it was happening, I wanted him to feel good too. So I was happy when I saw that guy masturbate himself, when I watched him shoot his stuff over himself. I knew that he was feeling pleasure, and, more importantly, I knew that the pleasure was partly because of me.
Of course you're thinking that such a thought is natural. It is just like repaying someone for a favor. But it was more than that. It actually excited me to watch it happen through that hole in the stall wall. I got pleasure from his pleasure. See?
What's more, I really wanted the very good looking guy in the blue jacket, the guy who had been watching me...I wanted him to be satisfied, too. It was kind of sad that I had driven away without even knowing whether he had eventually been able to find the kind of thrill that I had.
So in my old bedroom over the weekend, I thought a lot about that blue jacket guy. As I would engage in my nightly masturbation I began to think about him. I pretended that I had not driven away from the rest area while he sat on the picnic table watching me leave. I imagined that, instead, I went back inside the bathroom to take a seat in one of the stalls.
I also pretended that he would come in after me and sit in the next stall. Then, in my imagination, he would stick his penis through the hole. It was the same erect penis that I had watched him stroke while he stood outside my doorway in real life.
In my imagination, as soon as he would stick his penis through the hole, I would begin to lick it and then suck it in the same way that the man had sucked mine. The blue jacket guy would moan. Eventually, he would begin to climax. In my room thinking about all of this as I was stroking my own penis, I would ejaculate in unison with him.
Those are the sorts of things that I thought about in the welcome solitude of my room. I thought about those things, too, as I drove away from my family's house and waved a final good-bye to my parents who were shivering in the front yard. I knew as I waved that in two hours I would be back at that rest area, again.
As I pulled into the small rest area's parking lot in the early afternoon, I noticed that there was only one other car. I pulled into a spot near the building and got out of my own car.
As I walked up the short walkway, a guy came out of the men's room. A couple of inches of white showed from his otherwise black collar.
"Hi," I said as I passed him. He replied.
"I guess even priests have to pee," I thought to myself as I opened the door and walked to the further of the two doorless stalls and arranged myself on the chilly toilet seat.
I tried to listen for car sounds, but I heard none. I waited. The heater came on, and I could no longer hear the highway traffic because of the loud blower noise. I did, however, feel a change of air pressure in the room alerting me that someone had opened the door.
I made sure that I had myself properly tucked in and pulled my knees together in reaction to my years of training to be a modest guy. After all, I had walked to the back stall just a few days before and spotted the guy with his penis standing straight up.
Nothing happened. I began to wonder if something other than the opening of the door had caused that brief noticeable change in air pressure.
Then movement through the stall wall to my left attracted my attention. Someone had stepped into the space. By leaning forward only slightly, I could see the black trousers and black coat as the man's hand moved toward his zipper.
I watched spellbound. His hand reached into his pants and pulled out a penis that looked very different from mine.
As I've told you, my experience in actually seeing other cocks was extremely limited. This one, though, was different from the others that I had seen in that there was a cone of loose skin that extended beyond where it should have ended.
While I had spent the weekend fantasizing and planning about just this sort of thing, I was much more fascinated by what I saw than I was aroused by it. Indeed, I remained entirely flaccid as I watched.
After what seemed like a longer than usual period of time, a stream of urine came out from the center of the flapping skin. I suddenly realized what I was watching. This guy's penis was uncircumcised.
I actually learned about the difference between circumcised and uncircimcised penises from my enforced study of religious traditions. I learned that I was circumcised because Jews had to be, and, since Jesus was a Jew, he had had the required operation. Since my own Christian church demanded that we be like Jesus as much as possible, all of the males in our religion had the same surgery shortly after we were born. It made me cringe a little to think about it.
The guy's pee stopped rather soon, and I wondered why he had even bothered to stop here if he didn't need to go more than that.
He shook his penis up and down a few times to get rid of the drops. Then he moved the skin back and forth and a few more drops of urine appeared on the tip, which he shook off.
He put himself away and apparently walked to the sink area to wash his hands. Shortly after I heard the faucet turn off, the pressure changed again indicating that he had walked out.
Within a couple of minutes, the door opened again. At that moment the heater clicked off, and I could hear footsteps approaching the stall area. The shoes made a clicking sound.
I saw someone walk into the stall beside mine. Again, the man wore all black, and I wondered if that was the fashion for the day or if it might be the same guy.
This time the occupant turned, took off his coat, revealing a white shirt and unbuckled his belt in preparation for sitting. As he lowered his pants, I saw that same uncircumcised penis appear. It was the same guy!
Did he come back for the same reason that I was sitting in the bathroom or had he realized that he needed to defecate?
As I pondered those alternatives, he took his seat, and I saw a flash of his face and the tell-tale collar of his shirt. It was the priest that I had passed on my way up to the building. That meant that this was his third trip into this bathroom.
If he had been some other man, I would have assumed that the reason for his repeated presence must be sex. However, since he was a priest, I decided that there must be some other purpose, one for which the restroom was actually intended.
I sat back so that I couldn't see or be seen. I didn't want a priest thinking that I was spying on him. I stared at the floor to make sure that I wasn't tempted to look through the hole in the wall.
I saw his shiny black shoe slide closer to the dividing wall. He obviously felt a little cramped in the confining space.
Then his toe tapped three times. I wondered if he might be tapping his toe in time with some song that he had going through his head. I've caught myself doing that on occasion.
Movement at the hole caught my attention as any movement will. I saw the priest had leaned forward. Furthermore he was looking directly at my face, into my eyes in fact.
Could it be, I wondered, that this priest was trying to spy on me just as I had watched him earlier? Was it possible that he was looking for sexual release?
As I internally debated those new questions, he provided a fresh piece of evidence for me to add to my detective work. He stuck his index finger through the opening and beckoned me with it.
I had my answer. There was no question that he wanted me to stick my penis through to his side. I had learned that much from my previous visit to this place. I hesitated, going over the evidence again and again. I'm sure that I would not have been as reluctant if he had been a normal man instead of a priest. I considered the possibility that his actions really had some other meaning, but I couldn't think of any other meaning that they could possibly have.
I thought about just leaving and saving my planned fantasy for another day. I contemplated actually doing what I thought it was I wanted him to do. I decided to just sit there and wait for more information, further evidence of his real intentions.
Suddenly, he pulled his foot back into his own area. I heard rustling next to me, so I leaned forward to risk a little peek.
I saw that he had stood, and he reached down for his pants. As he bent over to accomplish that task, he looked toward the hole and saw me watching him.
In my panic about losing my chance before I had decided on a plan of action, I instinctively reached toward the hole. I put my own finger through the opening, and I made the same gesture that he had previously directed toward me.
He stood upright and allowed his pants to fall back toward the floor. As I watched, he turned toward me and pushed his erect penis through the hole.
I knew that this was my moment of truth, the test of my destiny. I did not want to hesitate too long to act to risk losing this opportunity. However, I also wanted to spend some time examining this cock, for it now looked much different than it had while he was peeing.
I reached out to touch it, to hold it in place so that it would not escape. It now looked more like mine. The head of his cock had outgrown its protective shield of skin.
It felt very different from mine, though. For one thing, it was clearly bigger around, but the major difference was that the skin felt much looser than mine did when I was hard. As I slid my hand back and forth a few times, that difference became more noticeable.
I was so fascinated by the experience that it took a while to register with me that I was touching another man's penis for the first time in my life. I mean, in a way I knew that immediately, but I didn't really think of it in those terms for a while. That thought made me even harder than I had already been.
I knew what was expected of me in the situation, and I was surprised to realize that I experienced no qualms about it. Indeed, I felt as if I were a starving man and the priest's penis could provide my only nourishment.
As well as my memory would allow me, I tried to do exactly what the man had done to me in this same spot four days before. When I had it fully in my mouth, I started to gag. The gag was automatic. It wasn't because I was disgusted by what I was doing or anything. In fact, I absolutely loved what I was doing.
I pulled back. I started moving forward and backward on this big penis, enjoying its feel in my mouth and exploring it with my tongue, but not taking it as deeply as I had the first time. Each time I repeated this action, I would go a little deeper. I got into a rhythm. Finally, I had managed to get it all without feeling any need to gag now. I guess I was learning, and I was starting to develop a serious schoolboy crush on this cock that served as my teacher.
The man pulled away. My mouth felt empty. At that moment, I would have happily converted to Catholicism if he would only come back to my mouth to finish what we had begun.
He tapped the edge of the hole with his finger.
"Your turn," he said in a surprisingly young sounding voice, making sure that I would not wonder about the meaning of his finger tap.
I rose from my squatting position and pushed my anxious cock through the awaiting lips.
Here's a little physiology lesson for you; mouths are different.
I had now had the intense pleasure of being in two different mouths. I quickly realized that the priest's mouth was different from the mouth of my "friend" from the previous Wednesday. The prior mouth felt wonderful, but this one surpassed it by being what I can only describe as luxurious. To put it rather bluntly, this was a mouth made for sucking cock. In my mind, it was as if divine intervention had made it so, and I found a new respect for the talents of members of the clergy running counter to my growing frustrations with organized religion after far too many years of stifling religious education.
My sucker, if I may be so bold as to claim him as mine, worked magic upon my sexual tool. My mind was reeling, trying to keep up with the sensations while attempting to memorize his techniques for my own future repertoire.
My insides churned, and my external self shook with my quickly approaching orgasm. I realized later, once I found time to reflect on the experience, that one of the problems with being nineteen is that delaying orgasm is a tool that must take years to develop. I wanted this miracle to last all afternoon, perhaps well into the night. However, I only managed to enjoy the priest's magnificent performance for a couple minutes at most.
Far too soon, I felt myself exploding into his mouth. Strangely, my first volley was merely an excruciatingly, wonderfully, full-body-jerk inspiring trickle. Those that followed were my more familiar forceful shots.
The priest devoured all that I offered, and I'm sure he could have taken a full quart had I been able to deliver it. He was clearly used to multi-tasking, because he swallowed my ejaculate, stroked my penis with his tongue and maintained his pistoning oral action without ever reducing his suction.
Once I had delivered everything to him, I pulled my too sensitive cock from his mouth, feeling a mixture of regret and relief as I did. I leaned heavily against the wall that had kept us apart while I caught my breath.
Finally I pulled back enough to be able to see through the hole at a steep angle. I was pleased to see that my partner's erection had not subsided. I had set a goal for myself, a goal that I was determined to reach today. I tapped my finger against the edge of the opening in the wall, as I had done before.
As had happened a few minutes earlier, the priest pushed his cock through, and I dropped to a squatting position. I found the position difficult to hold in my exhausted state, so I readjusted so that I was resting on my knees instead. While the floor was very hard, it was better than trying to squat for an extended period.
I took the rigid offering into my mouth to resume what I had earlier begun. Too soon, though, I found I had to readjust to reduce the pain in my knees. I made a mental note to bring along knee pads next time.
When I wobbled again on my knees, my partner pulled out of my mouth. I momentarily worried that he would leave, but he quickly appeared in what would have been the doorway to my stall had there actually been a door.
I was surprised by this sudden change in routine.
He moved into my space and helped me stand, grabbing me under my shoulders. When I was standing, he moved toward me. I could tell his intentions once he drew closer. His lips touched mine, and we found ourselves in a feverish kiss.
When his tongue entered my mouth, I recognized the taste of my own semen. Yes, I have in fact tasted my own product on several occasions. It excited me even more to experience that taste mixed with his saliva.
"Sit down," he whispered when we finally broke the long kiss.
I did as he said and took a seat on the once again cold toilet seat. As I sat, I was surprised to notice that I was already erect again.
He moved closer to me, and I discovered that my mouth was at the perfect height compared to his erect cock, which pointed directly at me as if it knew what it wanted. I took it fully without any of the urge to gag that I had felt on my first attempt.
After a short while, he took over the responsibility for the back and forth movement just as I had done Wednesday when the man had given me such pleasure. The priest placed his hands behind my head, first toying with my hair and then simply holding my head steady with gentle pressure.
I concentrated on memorizing the feelings of what each of us did, so that I could recall them next time I found myself engaged in this activity. Oh yes, I definitely knew that there would be a next time--hopefully, lots of next times.
After a while, he picked up his pace, and I felt the end of his penis grow even larger in my mouth. Even though I was a novice, I recognized the signs of an impending orgasm.
I was not surprised, but I was definitely elated when I felt and then tasted his seed in my mouth. More and more of it shot toward my throat, and I needed to swallow several times to accommodate it all. Regretfully the dramatic climax ended at last.
I discovered that I still held some of his juice in my mouth after he had withdrawn. I knew what I wanted to do with it.
I stood and drew him into a kiss. I pushed my tongue covered in his semen into his mouth. He greedily sucked it off my tongue. If tongues could orgasm, mine would have at that moment.
The kiss must have continued for at least a full minute after all the orgasmic fluid was gone. Eventually we parted. Perhaps it had occurred to each of us that we were at some risk of being caught and that our lingering only increased the chances of an unwelcome interruption.
He returned to his own stall. I could hear him putting himself together, while I did the same on my side of the divider. We walked out together.
"I hope we meet again," he said to me once we were outside.
"I do too," I replied, although I knew that I would probably be in search of variety instead. I had a lot of catching up to do in my sexual development.
I went on my way back to my campus with a final wave to the man with the velvet mouth.
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