Michael finally comes over to Colin's house to do the deed.
"Nice place you've got here."
"Thanks . . . but it's really no big deal," I replied. There was something 'off' here. Michael wasn't acting like how I thought he would. He was acting normal . . . and that was weird.
"Oh, nice! You've got that new poster for The Force Awakens! That's awesome, dude—they only gave those out at Comic Con!"
"I was just lucky that I got in line fast," I replied nonchalantly.
So, Michael liked the same things that I did? The same normal boy things that normal boys like?
"Man, I don't know what I'd do to get SDCC exclusives like that . . ."
"I . . . uhhh, thanks . . . for coming over." Was it too obvious that I was a nervous wreck?
Michael didn't reply. He just did that little laugh of a giggle that he had, and then sat down on my bed. Maybe he was laughing at my extremely flustered face. Maybe he was laughing at how red I was right then. Maybe it was my awkwardness.
Why was he so calm? He's so used to it all. He was gay, after all. But if he was gay, why was he so much like me?
In a different time, and a different place, I could have been Michael, and he could have been me, and no one would be able to tell the difference. I knew in my mind that he was different—he was gay. But all that I saw was a boy just like any other. A boy who just happened to suck dicks.
"Colin? You're spacing out again."
"Er . . . sorry. I'm just thinking about . . . stuff."
"So does being smart make you always think about things all the time?" he said with a faint smile.
"Yeah, I guess it does," I replied with a smile of my own. Michael seemed so honest . . . candid, even. He seemed like such a good guy.
"What are you thinking about now?"
"I'm not sure. I guess there's too many things on my mind."
"It must be nice to be so smart. School must be a breeze for you," Michael said.
I appreciated how he was trying to get me relaxed, trying to make me comfortable. I wasn't very good at hiding my nerves, I guess. I just gave him a half-hearted shrug.
"It's not always so great. You tend to overthink things, sometimes even about things that you'd rather not think about at all."
"You're nervous, aren't you?" he finally asked.
I audibly gulped and then tried, and failed to keep eye contact with Michael. "Yeah, I am."
"Do you still want to do it?"
After a short but tense pause, I replied, "Yeah . . ."
"Sit down, won't you? We could start with that."
Michael was being his cheerful self, with a smile that I wouldn't even think of having in a situation like this. I sat down on my bed beside him as I stared at my knees. I felt like a little kid getting scolded for something I'd done wrong, like that time that I'd accidentally broken a vase while testing the aerodynamic capabilities of a rock with cardboard wings taped onto it.
I could tell that Michael was looking at me, but I didn't return the gesture. I was too nervous. Or maybe I was scared. I wasn't sure what to do, or if I should do anything at all. But in the back of my mind, I knew that I should be doing something other than nothing. I grasped at straws, trying to figure out what was an acceptable thing to do.
Then ever so slowly, I inched my hand closer to Michael's. My pinky finger touched his, and his hand involuntarily shuddered, as if he was going to pull it back, but thought better at the last second.
I raised my head to face him. He was looking at me with a raised eyebrow as my whole hand finally rested on top of his. His hand felt warm, but strangely, mine felt . . . sweaty.
"Colin, let me do everything, okay?"
I couldn't say anything. I just nodded, and then gulped.
"Just relax, dude," Michael said, with a calmness not unlike that of an older brother teaching his younger sibling how to tie shoelaces.
Michael got off the bed and knelt down in front of me. His hands reached for the waistband of my shorts and pulled them off, along with my boxers. I helped him by lifting my butt up off the bed as he pulled. I felt extremely clammy—like that kind of raw, sensitive feeling you get when you have a fever—and was barely breathing.
More than anything, though, I felt cold. My dick was out on display for Michael to see and the first thing that I felt was how cold it was. I easily get hard when it's cold. Or rather, I told myself, it was because of the cold this time.
"You're nervous, but it looks like you're a lot more excited about this than I was guessing," Michael said with a smile as he scrutinized my throbbing erection. "This your first time?"
"Y-yeah. So . . . er . . . is my dick okay?" Admittedly, I sounded extremely stupid, like a kid who couldn't put two and two together.
"Ahhh, what's the point? As long as it fits, right? You know how the saying goes: size doesn't matter—what matters is how you use it in bed."
Again, he'd looked perfectly calm as he said it. Thoughtful, even. It was slightly annoying. How could he be so calm? He was going to give me oral sex, and he looked just like how any normal guy would while watching the fucking Discovery Channel! There was no trace of mischief, naughtiness, furtiveness or anything that could be remotely associated with an act as clandestine as gay sex.
I was also trying to mute the little thinking part of my head that was noting just how much more sense Michael was making than I was. I was the class achiever, but right then, I felt like a total dunce.
"Colin, get comfy, okay? And don't hesitate to tell me if you want to stop."
I simply nodded. With my assent, his head went nearer to my crotch. My hard dick wasn't cold anymore. Michael's breath was warm—inviting, even. This whole time, I was watching the top of his head with a lump in my throat. I couldn't believe that it was actually going to happen.
I was finally going to get a blowjob for the very first time.
Michael raised his head to look at me one last time as he said, "Colin, thank you so much for helping me in school. You probably saved me from repeating a year. This is the best kind of 'thanks' I can think of giving you. You deserve it."
Michael was smiling the most sincere smile I've ever seen on him . . . a smile that he was wearing as he put his lips over the head of my dick . . . and sent me flying to the moon.
Actually, there's hardly anything interesting about the surface of the moon. It's basically just a ball of rock with craters in it. In contrast, the surface of my dick felt much more interesting . . . or at least Michael seemed very interested in it.
I felt like my eyes were recording what was happening in slow-motion. Michael's lips slid over my glans millimeter by millimeter, with each microsecond increasing the new and wildly pleasurable sensations that my dick was feeling. Before I knew it, his lips were almost touching my pubic mound, his nose lightly brushing against my modest pubes.
At first, the moistness of his mouth felt cold to my sensitive glans, but the warmth of his breath made it feel way better. It felt like . . . a wet and warm rubber glove was wrapped around my dick. Well . . .I guess that in itself might not be a sexy mental image, but this—having my dick in his mouth—felt so, so good.
But then he started to use his tongue.
The first time that Michael's tongue touched my piss slit, I cringed. It was an alien feeling—absurdly incomprehensible and almost a tiny bit painful. But after he kept on licking there, I began to understand that it actually felt good . . . so good, in fact, that I couldn't take it for much longer. I put my hand on top of his head, and he understood that I was being overloaded with sensation. He stopped, and I ruffled his hair in appreciation. That was when he began bobbing his head. And that was when I felt like I'd gotten hit by lightning.
He was actually doing it! And he kept on doing it. I was watching Michael's head go up and down on my dick, with each uptake flinging me to unknown planes of pleasure. My body shook occasionally, especially when he sucked and licked at the same time. I could faintly discern myself sweating and panting.
Beside me, someone was moaning. Every time that Michael swallowed my dick whole, I'd hear sensual 'Uhhh's and nasal 'Nggghh's. Was that me? I'd never heard myself moan before, and it sounded weird. But right then, I was doing it involuntarily.
Suddenly, I felt Michael's hand caress my balls. It kinda tickled, but somehow, it made my dick even harder . . . if that was even possible. I remembered that video of those two gay boys sucking each other . . . I have to admit that it was hot. It was super-hot. But in that exhilarating moment when Michael was pleasuring my dick in ways I've never known, I didn't need to pretend to be someone else. I was living that video.
I was the one getting sucked. Instead of needing to imagine the pleasure that the boys were feeling in the video, I was feeling it first-hand. This was how it felt. My imagination didn't even come close to recreating this level of pleasure. Blowjobs had to be experienced, not understood. It needed to be felt, not studied. Sex had to be performed, not watched.
"Uhh . . . uhh . . . Michael . . . ." I was panting and breathing heavily now. Michael began licking the underside of my glans and it was, apparently, one of the most sensitive areas of my dick.
"Dude, I'm close!" I grunted frantically. I wanted him to stop before I came in his mouth. Cumming in someone's mouth was disgusting, and above all, rude. At least I thought so.
Michael didn't reply, though—he just kept sucking my dick, tugging me into a new realm of sensation with each second. He gave me a thumbs-up. It was all the permission I needed.
Five. I shot five times into his mouth. While I was shooting, he kept still, as if in a gesture of courtesy, letting me finish my catharsis. I slumped onto the bed in exhaustion, beads of sweat dripping down my forehead. Dimly, I remembered pointing Michael to my bathroom, where he went to presumably spit out my little Colin-makers.
"Dude . . . that was like . . . wow," I said to Michael when he returned. "I've never cum that much before in my life! I shot like . . . five times . . ."
"Seven," he clarified, a grin forming on his lips.
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