Pussy Boy: Chapter One

A free chapter for all subscribers. Ben's the new hot guy in town, the owner of the local gym. But he's got a secret, something so big it will lead Sean to question the very basis of his desire...

“Under New Management,” read the banner that dangled tentatively below the flickering neon lights flashing Hudson Valley Fitness.

I furrowed my brow as Tim and I sidled towards the entrance, the gym anchoring the strip mall along Route 9, the same spot we’d been visiting for years.

“Wait, what?” I asked, turning to my best buddy. “Shep sold the place?”

News like this usually traveled fast in these parts.

Tim shrugged. “Heard he might be selling a few months back—some guy from the city. But didn’t realize it was gonna happen so soon.”

I opened the front door, casting a glance around the place as we took turns scanning our QR codes. It all looked the same to me, at least so far.

“Hope the rates don’t go up,” I joked. “I can’t afford city prices.”

“Me neither, dude. Me neither.”

I made my way to the locker room, tucking my stuff away before hitting the floor.

It had been a few weeks since I’d hit the iron, the malaise of hard winter having given way to laziness. It was part of why Tim and I had buddied up—motivation. There was encouragement in numbers, in having your friend to pull your ass out your front door in 25-degree weather. Plus, we lived in the same apartment complex, just a few doors down from each other.

Together, there were no excuses.

I was settling in on the stretching mats, realizing just how unprepared I felt, when a guy caught my eye. Not just any guy.

I was uncertain how I hadn’t clocked him when I arrived.

He was a beast. My age, maybe slightly younger. But the body. Oh, the body. It was tight, compact muscle, almost like a wrestler or a gymnast. It was that fine balance of thick—built—and lean, the kind of lean that was incomprehensible to me. He wasn’t that tall, maybe 5’9, a few inches shorter than I was, but that hardly mattered.

I was never obsessed with height. No, short muscle guys were almost more fun.

Easy to pick up. Easy to toss around.

I was working my way back up to his face—chiseled, curly brown hair cut short atop his head—when I realized that he’d clocked me, our eyes suddenly engaged.

I almost looked away, embarrassed, but instead of being offended or afraid, he appeared the opposite. Flattered. Unrelenting. Confident.

I knew what that gaze meant, or at least I hoped I did.

Fuck.

He was gay too.

I felt a flash in my groin, the way he seared into me, so knowing and familiar. And then, as quickly as we’d locked eyes, he turned away, as if nothing had happened.

In a daze, I turned to Tim, attempting a pigeon stretch beside me.

“Yo,” I said, hitting him in the stomach.

He pulled off his headphones. “What’s up?”

“That dude, by the racks.”

Tim gave him the full size-up. “Jesus. He’s hot,” Tim said, before rising to shift to the other side. “You should hit it.”

I was always tickled by how comfortable Tim was with my being gay. He was decidedly straight—very straight—but he loved to opine on the men I dated, on the guys I was interested in.

“Nah, buddy,” he’d say when I’d flash him a photo of a guy on an app whom he thought beneath me. “Don’t slum it.”

He always had an opinion. And I always smiled at the way he expressed it—so kind, affirming, protective. His heart was resolutely on his sleeve, and because he’d always been so comfortable, I’d never been inclined to push it.

Who wanted to be that gay dude who was trying to get into his friends’ pants?

And, besides, I got plenty already. Or I had, until now.

Winter had been the dry spell of dry spells. The doldrums. No visiting weekenders from the city, my local supply of gays already exhausted. Tim felt it too. January and February up here were always long and rough, but these had been some of the worst. He’d been hard up for pussy for months.

This new figure was a very welcome breath of fresh air, if musk and sweat counted as fresh. Thankfully, they did for me.

“Damn.” Tim rose, casting one last glance before getting started. “I’d say he’s got a better body than both of us combined.”

I finished my warm-ups and then, gathering my courage, I sidled over to the free weights where this new guy was doing some high pulls.

I grabbed a pair of 40-pounders and lowered myself to the bench just as he was finishing a set.

He gave me a nod and a warm smile. “How’s it going?”

“Another day, another lift,” I replied, trying to play it cool. “How about you?”

“Sounds about right.” He extended a hand. “Ben.”

I raised mine to meet it, his grip firm. Very firm. “Sean.”

Up close, he was even hotter, his energy intense. He oozed a kind of sexuality that seemed unbridled, brimming beneath the surface, like he knew how hot he was and lived in complete comfort with it.

“Pleasure to meet you, Sean.”

I glanced around the room. The space was mostly empty. “Must be new around here.”

“That obvious?” he asked.

“Well,” I started, “we don’t get a lot of newbies around here. And not of your…caliber.” I let the sentiment linger for a minute, seeing if he blanched.

But he didn’t. Instead, he bowed his head slightly, as if bashful. And so I pressed on.

“So, what do you think of our humble upstate gym?”

“It’s great,” he replied, “but maybe could use some upgrades.”

“You should tell that to the owner,” I joked.

“Heh, should I?” He held my gaze, and I stared back, confused, until he finally spoke. “I’m the new owner.”

A dawning crept across my face. “No way. You’re the new guy.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said, his voice low but playful. Dangerous combination. “It was a bit of a leap coming up from the city. I was worried there wouldn’t be a lot of people around here like me.”

He held my gaze again, just as he had from across the room, expression knowing. Between his words, that look, and his pause, my suspicions were confirmed.

He was gay, after all.

I gave him a sexy smile, tilting my head just so. “More than you might think.”

He grinned. ”Glad to hear it.” He re-racked his weights. “I gotta make my rounds, but enjoy the gym,” he said. “It was very nice to meet you, Sean.”

I watched as he walked away, pleased with myself. I’d executed a perfect first encounter. I could hardly focus, though, watching Ben as he worked his way around the gym, in turn working out and greeting the few other patrons.

His was a body to be worshipped, almost otherworldly in its form. I once might have felt intimidated by it, by guys like him. I was in good shape, if not the most ripped like him. I told myself I’d become something of an upstate lumberjack type—muscular, with a little something extra. Years around the block told me guys liked that. I didn’t need to compete in the horse race for best body.

But I did want that body for myself.

Before I knew it, the gym was emptying out, almost closing time. I’d managed to complete a full stack, the first I’d done in almost three weeks. The muscle memory was there, if buried under a layer of winter insulation.

I was gonna feel this tomorrow, that I knew.

Tim walked over to me, bag in his hand. He’d been far more efficient than I had. “I’m maxed out. You gonna shower?”

“Yeah,” I replied, finishing up a set of bench presses. “Can you give me five?”

“No rush,” he said. “I’ll be in the car.”

I eyed Ben, still deep in it—I guess closing hours didn’t apply to him—before heading to the locker room, stripping off my workout gear, and hopping in the shower.

I spent a minute or two sudsing up and strategizing.

What should I say next? How should I ask Ben out?

It was probably dumb to shit where I ate—or, more accurately, lifted—but in this town, it was slim pickings and, honestly, I had to act fast. Once the other gay guys in town caught wind that an Adonis had moved in, they’d be lining up, and I might miss my chance.

I hopped out and started toweling off, still coming up short for anything groundbreaking to say, when I heard the locker room door open behind me.

“How’s the water pressure?”

I turned to see Ben—sweaty, smiling.

“Not bad,” I replied, trying to be playful as he sidled up beside me. “Mild room for improvement.”

I let the towel run between my legs, doing a half-hearted job of covering myself. I noticed him noticing.

“I’ll pass that along to management,” he said, smirking, his body enthrallingly close.

He stripped off his shirt, like it was nothing, revealing the chest that had only been hinted at from underneath his clothes. I swallowed, the towel between my legs suddenly slowing. His torso was the perfect V, every inch lean, sinews existing in places where I never thought possible. It was like a relief map of muscle.

His pecs were small but perfectly shaped, his stomach practically embossed, cum gutters framing their way into the waistband of his shorts.

Pulling away seductively, he walked over to one of the shower stalls, ass perfectly filling his shorts behind him. Reaching in, he let the water run hot for a few agonizing seconds, steam rising off the floor. I was mesmerized, his back the perfect taper, lats giving way to the most defined waist. And then, as if he knew I was watching, he slowly pulled down his shorts over those two perfect mounds, every inch tantalizing as it revealed the most perfect of asses — muscular, gravity-defying, a peach if there ever was one.

Fuck.

How guys like that managed to have such big asses without an ounce of body fat was beyond me.

He turned his head, eyes meeting mine, affirming what he already knew—I was watching. He had my undivided attention. Then he slowly pivoted, fully revealing himself in slow motion.

My eyes trailed down his body, past the familiar pecs and stomach, the barrel of his abs, my jaw dropping as they landed on the space between his legs as he faced me straight on.

I blinked. And then blinked again.

What?

There before me, where I expected to see his dick, a cock and balls, a wall of foreskin was….nothing.

Nothing.

No cock. No balls.

Just a full, beautiful bush, and then when I looked closer, a hole.

A pussy.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

A shock ran through my entire body, Ben staring back, smiling, confident, letting it all set in—the glaring fact that had been hiding in plain sight.

He wasn’t a man. At least not entirely. Not biologically. He was something else. A hybrid. A unicorn.

What had he said?

Was worried there wouldn’t be a lot of people around here like me.

I thought I had understood. I hadn’t.

Now, I understood.

My eyes met his again, his face drinking in my surprise, almost smirking, and then, before I could say anything, before I could acknowledge what he’d shown me, he stepped into the shower, clouds of steam tufting out, and closed the door behind him.

I stood there for a moment, motionless—in shock.

And then I somehow managed to gather my clothes and assemble them back on my body before hightailing it out of the empty gym and collapsing into the front seat of Tim’s car.

“Dude,” Tim said, searching my bewildered face. “You okay?”

I sat there for a few seconds, silent.

Tim pressed me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Just…drive,” I said, nodding him forward.

He obeyed. It was only a few minutes’ drive back to the complex where we both lived, a mix of new-build condos that were nice enough but nothing fancy. When we got to Tim’s place, I sat on the couch, still dazed, as he prepared us each a protein shake before passing one to me and sitting down.

“So…you gonna tell me what’s up?” He surveyed my expression. “Did someone call you or something? Is it your sister?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s the guy. At the gym.”

“Ah, yes, your hottie,” he replied. “You guys talk more?” He smirked. “Damn, did you hook up? That would be record time.”

“No, he’s…” I paused. How to say this? “He’s…not a dude.”

Tim stopped, glass held just before his mouth.

“What?” he asked, tilting his head. “What do you mean? That’s a dude. That is the dudiest dude in all of Dudeville.”

“I thought so too, but...” I took a sip of my own shake. “He came in after I showered and started undressing for me, you know, slowly taking off his shorts, giving me a little show….”

“I really wish sometimes I were gay.”

“…and when he finally dropped them, he turned around, there was…nothing.”

Tim’s face turned in shock. “Nothing?”

“Well, not nothing. But he didn’t have a dick. He had a…pussy.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“That’s the wildest thing I’ve ever heard. That dude is butcher than I am.”

“Seriously.” I couldn’t stop repeating that phrase. I could hardly believe any of these words were leaving my mouth. “I haven’t seen a gay dude that hot around here in ages. I was so into him. And then I saw that and…”

Tim searched my face. “And?”

All right. Now came the thing I was reticent to admit, the thing that had left me silenced for most of the last thirty minutes.

“And I kinda liked it.”

Tim broke out into a smile. “You don’t have to explain that to me. You know I’m the king of pussy.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been told. Many, many times.”

Tim was famous, at least between us, for eating girls out. It was his secret weapon, the thing that made every girlfriend stay, the reason why he had his pick of every single and not-so-single woman in Kingston. It wasn’t just that he was 6’3 and a ginger, more muscular than I and practically a Boy Scout. No, he also ate girls out like a demigod. And more than that, he fucking loved it.

It was, he said, his favorite thing. More than fucking, more than getting his dick sucked.

“So, he’s trans. So what? You ever been with a girl?”

I shook my head vehemently. “No, never.”

“Gold star,” he replied, extending a fist. “Niiiice.”

I looked at it, shocked that he knew what that meant.

“What?” he shrugged, lowering it back down. “I’m an ally.”

I hardly acknowledged him, too consumed by my own thoughts.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking about the whole ride here. Like…could I do it? Could I do…without a dick?”

“Well, you top, right?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

“And you eat ass, right?”

“Yeah, I love it. Almost as much as you love eating pussy.”

“So then what’s the problem?”

“Well, I really like sucking dick, and a pussy is just…different. It kind of…”

I paused.

“Yeeees….?”

“…grosses me out.”

“Why? It’s fucking hot.” He said it forcefully, a little spit leaving his lips and spraying before him. “It’s why every girl is obsessed with me.”

I shifted in my seat. I was always enraptured when Tim talked about sex, by the intensity it conjured up in him. He was so particular about everything—his body, his work, his apartment. He showed the greatest care. And I knew he did in sex too.

“Are they obsessed with you?” I teased.

“Fuck off,” he said, throwing a pillow at me. “Course they are.” He turned contemplative for a moment. “Well, are you turned off by my pussy, or just what’s usually on the other end of it?”

That was a very good question. “I don’t really know.”

“Because for me, I can see a dude being attractive, even a part of me finding their bodies nice, but dicks? I don’t really want to suck a dick. But pussy? It’s just the best. I’ll take it any way I can get it.”

“All right,” I started, leaning back in my seat. “Give it to me. Eating pussy for dummies.”

He laughed. “Well, I mean—what’s not to like? It’s like the most perfect cave. But not to knock on ass, but a pussy has much more going on.”

“Like?”

“I mean, it’s bigger. The lips, which are more to work with. There’s more to work with in general. The clit. And the inside, it’s like ribbed, which is nice to eat but especially nice to fuck.”

He continued. “But nothing gets me harder than just sucking on it, my face fully eating a girl out, running my tongue all around the inside, fully clamped down, watching her fucking lose it.”

I could feel a twitching between my legs, my cock starting to grow. I’d never heard Tim be so honest and in-depth. Sure, he’d given me top-line play-by-play before, the usual info, but never with such conviction.

“Flicking the clit with my tongue, and then going back to the hole. Teasing the clit with my fingers while I suck on her, then flicking the clit while I finger the hole. Soft pounds at first, and then harder. Alternating between the two. It drives them wild. You give them just enough, but only that. You tease. And girls, they’re so unaccustomed to getting it so good. Their bodies shaking, tits so tight and nipples so hard. They go nuts.”

Suddenly, Tim pulled back, self-conscious.

“Sorry, it’s been a minute for me.”

My dick had grown from more than just a semi. It was now fully hard.

I tried to ignore it.

“Been a minute for both of us,” I replied.

And then I watched as Tim reached down to his crotch, shifting himself ever so slightly. I might have barely clocked it had it not come after his long diatribe. But the gesture was a tell. Staring at his crotch, it was clear.

Through the thin fabric of his Under Armour shorts, I could see it. He was hard, too.

I pretended not to notice.

“How long?” I asked, pressing him.

“Two months,” he replied, barely missing a beat. “And talking about this isn’t helping.”

“Sorry,” I replied. “I’m just—I’m gonna need pointers if I’m gonna do this.”

Tim sighed. “It’s just about teasing them,” he said. “Think of it like making out with someone. How would you kiss them on the mouth? You tease them first— gentle, slow—and then you go ham. Leave no part of it untouched. Fuck their face, you know?

He glanced at me, our eyes locking.

“You’re intuitive enough. You know how to read someone.”

The air had turned charged, suddenly in uncharted territory. We’d never spoken about sex this way, never been so strung out together. It was a line I’d hardly wanted to cross, but I found myself wanting to cross it.

I leaned closer to him, summoning courage to bridge the divide. Could I? Should I?

“Are you hard right now?”

His face, always a milky white, reddened, bashful. “Fuck, is it that obvious?”

He was such a sweet guy, kindness and politeness radiating off him despite his filthy streak.

I stared at him. “Yes.”

“Fuck. And I’m grossing you out talking about pussy.”

I shook my head. “You’re not grossing me out.”

“Really?”

I removed my hand to reveal my crotch, my bulge as it pulsed upwards, thumping from beneath the fabric.

He stared down at it and then back up at me, letting out a long grunt.

“It’s all right. I’ll just bust one out when you leave.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Or I could…” He watched my gaze as I drew out the thought. “…help you out?”

The words landed like a thud, any pretense of holding back suddenly out the window.

We’d been friends for seven years, the boundaries between us strict. Was I fucking everything up?

“I don’t know, man…” He trailed off, hesitant, and I might have believed him had his cock not seemed to rage even harder in his shorts, tapping up and challenging the waistband.

“You sure?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, you don’t have to, man. You really don’t…”

He was equivocating. He was also unconvincing.

Part of me thought to hold back, to let it go, but another part—pure instinct—told me to press onwards.

I saw a doorway, and I elected to pass through it.

“Tell me more,” I asked, making my way over onto the floor, on my knees before him.

He stared at me, his voice getting high. “About?”

“How much you like pussy.”

“I—”

“How does it taste?” I asked, sliding my hands along his legs, just grazing them, running along his waistband and just passing his dick.

“Fucking sweet,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief, his body tightening.

“Yeah?” I asked, sliding my fingers along the elastic.

“How sweet?” I asked.

“Like ice cream, soft and wet all at once. By the time I get them spread on the bed, they’re already dripping.”

I didn’t know what that was like, but somehow, through Tim’s telling, it sounded hot. Incredibly hot.

My own boner raged between my legs, inspired by the vision of Tim before me, inspired by the filth coming from his mouth. Pussy by itself might not have been hot, but through his imagination it was the sexiest thing I could imagine.

I slid my fingers just beneath the edge of his shorts. “Can I?”

He paused, his face almost desperate. I half expected him to say no, to turn back from the edge. This was the moment of truth, and I’d only do it with his consent.

But instead of urging me off, he nodded back wordlessly, affirming what he couldn’t bring himself to say.

I pulled them down, his shorts, feeling Tim’s hips rise from their seat to help me out, the wall of fabric lowering to reveal his dick, its full length splaying across his left hip, extending almost fully across it.

I raised my eyebrows.

Fuck.

It was nice. It was big.

And it was really fucking hard.

“Dude.”

I’d caught glimpses of Tim’s dick before, and it certainly appeared sizeable in those moments when we’d toweled off or changed together. We were rarely self-conscious around each other, and Tim always seemed remarkably comfortable. I’d always assumed it was because he was so secure in being attracted to women.

But now, seeing him hard before me and growing even harder, I wondered if I’d read it all wrong.

I let it lie there at first, doing nothing.

“It’s so fucking nice,” I muttered.

It was.

Tim’s face flushed further. “Yeah?”

He’d said it was big when he was hard—he’d bragged about it in the humble way that he knew how, as small asides after a conquest, after a girl got a truly deep dicking.

But now I understood.

“Yeah,” I replied quietly, almost a whisper.

It almost immediately pulsed as I said it, a direct response.

He liked the compliment.

I ran my hands along his legs, stopping just before his cock. “Can I?”

He nodded back, still unable to say the words, his fists tight alongside him, as if trying and failing to keep all his sexual energy contained.

And so I reached for it, lifting its warm, velvety face gently with my fingers and standing it tall before me, its length covering most of my own.

I was finally seeing Tim’s erect dick up close, and it was a fucking bruiser.

I should have known.

I was practically salivating.

Man, I really loved cock.

“And how does it feel?” I asked, lowering my face closer. “When you finally make it inside, after you’ve been eating it out—how does it feel?

“So fucking good,” he said, shaking his head, cock pulsing within my grip. “Sloppy. Wet. Warm.”

I pulled his cock closer, feeling it strain against my palm, my lips a mere inch away.

I stared at him, his eyes glassy. He was so fucking horny I could feel it, two months of his own hand having left him desperate, destitute for the feel of someone else.

I’d appeared at just the right time.

And then I pressed forward, my lips pressing just against the head of his cock—big, thick, at least two inches on its own.

I held there, feeling the tip just pulse against me—teasing him, just as he’d said to.

And then…

“Like this?” I asked.

And so I finally lowered my mouth onto him, taking the full length of it in one long suck.

His body quavered the moment I made contact, pecs contracting beneath his t-shirt, a long moan leaving his mouth.

I held him there, feeling him pulse inside me, the full length perfectly filling my throat, his head turning up to the ceiling, eyes closing.

This is what I’d be giving up, I thought to myself.

With Ben.

I hardly had a moment to indulge the thought, instead releasing him, letting his full, spitty length stand between us.

He lowered his face back down to meet mine, his expression having turned from cautious to wanting.

“Is this okay?” I asked, baiting him, wanting him to affirm what was already palpably clear.

He nodded his head vigorously.

“Yes. Fuck yes.”

He was in it.

Slowly, he lifted his t-shirt up over his head, revealing the peaks of his pecs, nipples pulled tight into nubs across the milky pale of his body. He’d always had the kind of solid, built body I’d loved.

He took a nip in each hand and started tweaking them, assisting himself as I began servicing him—really servicing him—working his cock from tip to base with every part of my mouth.

It wasn’t just giving a guy head. No, this was inspired by the great affection I had for him.

I loved this dude, if not romantically then definitely fraternally, and I loved making him happy, watching his face as I deep throated as much of him as I could take, paying careful attention to the head, sucking it hard and tight, and then flicking the string where his piss slit met his foreskin, teasing him before diving back down for me.

I half-expected him to turn away, to pretend I was a girl or…anyone else. But he didn’t. Instead, he locked eyes with me, all that intensity that made him such a stallion in the sack becoming clear.

And then I realized it. He felt the same intimacy that I did. Somehow, despite everything, this was what we both wanted.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tim muttered as he worked his nipples harder, his face contorting, body practically squirming.

I’d started sucking harder, letting the head plug the back of my throat so I could clench down on it, squeeze it from within. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”

I grinned. He may have been Mr. Pussy, but I was really good at sucking dick.

I pulled off.

“Tim?” I asked, quietly, his cock pulsing in my hand, the head almost doubled in size.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and breathy.

“Tell me more.”

“About?”

“Eating pussy.”

I thought for a moment he might demur, push back, but he didn’t. No, instead he launched right into it, more intensely than ever.

“I’ll spit on it, let it run down her whole slit down to her ass crack. Maybe put a finger in there—girls like that, you know. A thumb in her ass and two fingers in her pussy while I flick the clit.”

I went back to sucking him, the narration of the shit he did to women the most insane aphrodisiac, inspiring a hunger in me I hardly knew existed.

“Let them sit on my face, suffocate me, plunge my tongue so deep inside I’m fucking them, just feeding off of them.”

I felt his cock tighten within, growing harder the more he described it.

“Make them come once, twice, maybe three times—that pussy juice just running down my face. Making them leak.”

I was hardly touching myself, but his words and the mere friction of my cock against the mesh of my shorts were enough to push me close to the brink.

But I wanted more.

I pulled off.

“Too much?” he asked. He was concerned he was grossing me out.

“No, I—” I gathered the words within me. “It’s something else.”

He looked back, at once expectant and determined.

“I want you to use my mouth like a pussy.”

“What?” he asked, his dick tightening even more in my grip.

“I said...use my mouth like a pussy. Fuck me.”

He looked confounded, if willing. “Okay.”

I lowered myself back to his cock, watching as he started to shift his hips upwards within me. He was gentle at first, tentative, barely pushing in.

He was too nice, that Tim.

And while I might have been annoyed, it only made me love him more. That was what made him so fucking hot. The way he cared first, led with his heart.

I pulled off.

“C’mon, dude,” I said, grinning. “I mean…really fuck my face.”

“You sure?” he said, concern in his eyes.

I nodded. “Yeah. Show me the real Tim.”

And so, affirmed, Tim gave in, placing a hand on either side of my face as I placed him to my lips and let him slide in, feeling as his cock began to ride my mouth in earnest.

There he was, the man I knew was in there.

He began fucking in and out of me, his cock hitting the back of my throat, pounding it every time, my years of sucking dick affording me a wide berth and little gag reflex.

I had been preparing for this my entire life.

My own cock rode tight between my legs, further leaking into my shorts, untouched and yet totally inspired by the whole thing, so much pre-cum pumping out from the moment Tim started talking that my boxers were almost fully soaked through.

I’d long left behind any hope of something happening with Tim, this whole scenario—Ben, the pussy talk, the long and lonely winter—lending the entire experience a new heat.

Feelings, lingering beneath the surface, had been awakened.

Tim fucked harder, giving in to impulse, spit running from my mouth along his full length, me hardly minding.

I stared up at him, finally seeing the version of Tim I’d only heard in his stories.

Dominant. Aggressive. Horny as fuck.

A slick gathered around his pubes and balls—big, as heavy as his cock—the skin that held them glistening. I raised my hand, starting to graze along their wrinkled, hairless face, watching Tim’s face turn as that last effort put him over the edge.

He shook his head, as if in disbelief. It wasn’t gonna take much to…

“Fuck…dude….” he stammered, trying to pull me off of him. “I’m gonna…”

But I refused to budge, my head still at work—resolute—fucking him with my lips and throat and tongue.

“Fuck…fuck…” he repeated, my only reply a moan into his shaft, the certainty in my eyes.

And then, chest heaving, he finally busted, my head suddenly still as I received his load—first one thick pump, and then another, meeting each one with swallow after swallow, the constriction of my throat milking the head. His body quivered, clenched, fists leaving my head and burying even more deeply into the couch cushions.

And then he finally came to stillness, every last pulse released, his body relaxing.

He placed his hands on his face. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

I lifted off, swallowing the remainder of his load. It was no small task. The dude was pent-up alright, the amount indicating he wasn’t even taking care of himself with any regularity.

I stared back, wondering if I’d broken him or something. “You all right?”

He nodded. “Give me a second.”

And then Tim finally lifted his hands away from his eyes and looked me straight in the mug.

“That was the most intense head I’ve ever had.”

A smile crossed my face. I was gratified, proud.

“What the fuck did you do to me?”

“Just helping a bro out.” I chuckled. “Guess we’ve both got something in common?”

He was still shaken. “What’s that?”

I grinned. “Expert mouths.”

He laughed, breaking the awkwardness of the moment.

I’d just sucked off my best straight friend. It was hard to know quite where we went from here.

He shook his head like a dog out of water. “Fuck me.”

“Well,” I replied, “if you ask nicely...”

He raised a hand. “Not a chance.”

“I kid.” I stood up, my dick still raging in my shorts.

The jig was up now, so there was no use concealing it.

“I feel bad,” Tim started, nodding at my bulge. “Can I...?”

I waved him off. “Nah.”

“But—” he protested.

“Tim, you don’t like dick.”

He knew I was right. “I know, but I like you…”

There it was, the very thing I loved about him—his goodness, his sense of fairness. I don’t know what made Tim more uncomfortable: feeling indebted to me after such a grand gesture, or the idea of sucking me off.

I was going to presume the latter.

“This one’s on me. And I have to say…” I trailed off, sitting down next to him. “I enjoyed it.” I grinned. “You’ve got a really nice dick.”

Cue more blushing, Tim’s milky complexion turning even ruddier.

His dick had only half receded, and somehow he didn’t think to cover himself up. Instead, it just lay there, drained and licked clean, resting across his thigh.

“Maybe the girls really are obsessed with you, after all.”

“Finally!” he shouted. “The credit I deserve.”

He reached for his shorts, pulling them up around his waist, demonstrating the modesty befitting our friendship.

“Is this…weird now?”

“Not in the slightest. Not for me at least.” I extended a hand. “Still friends?”

“Fo sho.” He extended his, but just before giving a shake, he pulled away, grimacing. “You should probably wash those.”

Hands washed, friendship reaffirmed (and then some), I walked the 300 feet around the complex to my apartment, my body a mess of contradictions.

I was exhausted from my workout and the intense head I’d given Tim, but beyond amped from the emotional roller coaster of the evening.

And I was still horny as fuck.

I was gonna sleep like a baby. But first things first.

Locking the door, I kicked off my shoes and headed straight to my bed, hard on still raging between my legs. It hadn’t gone down, not even remotely, the evening’s events having sent it into perpetual orbit.

So, dirty talk about women had been Tim’s unlock? Not surprising, I suppose. It had been hot to hear him talk about eating pussy. He was as close to an expert as I was gonna get in these parts. And I’d need his help if I was gonna get this right with Ben.

Ben.

The feeling that had crashed over me earlier, that had set me off-kilter—I now recognized it, if from long, long ago.

It was that complex brew that I’d known from childhood.

Shock, shame, and desire.

I had felt it the first time I’d seen two men together. Like, really together. The image of a naked guy, his head thrown back as another dude sucked him off—it had shocked me, and then made me both uncomfortable and aroused at the same time. Underlying my desire, gay desire, was the sense that what I wanted was deeply wrong.

And so shame and desire merged as one, fueling each other, entangled, on a loop. And then, with time, it all dissolved. The discomfort fell away. I grew to embrace being gay. And the shame of loving two men together gave way to an acceptance. It became normal. Familiar.

It was a healthier way of thinking, but it had an unfortunate byproduct.

Gay sex lost some of that spark. It became just a little bit less hot.

Now, I was presented with the opposite.

The very thing that I’d been bred to like as a red-blooded American man—pussy—was drawing me deep into that shock/shame/desire cycle. A spark had reignited. I had somehow found a new frontier when it seemed like everything had become rote, routine.

The more I thought about it, the harder I got.

The most beautiful man in the world with a pussy.

That was something just wrong enough to put me over the edge. To relight the fire.

I stripped off my shorts, my dick coming unstuck from the slick of pre-cum that had dried within its pouch.

Damn, sucking off Tim had really pumped it out of me.

I reached for the lube, slicking my full length and closing my eyes, those first sensations a relief.

And then I dove into fantasy.

What would it be like, I wondered, to be on my knees before Ben, his pecs hanging tight over his rippling stomach, their sinews giving way to that trimmed, tight bush, his pussy spread wide before me, his other hole tantalizingly just below?

What would it be like to taste it, to run my tongue along his slit, to alternate between his ass and his pussy, hungrily eating both?

Would I be grossed out?

The dick pulsing in my hand—my dick—said otherwise.

I could remember watching straight porn as a kid, when it was all I could find. I was mostly so focused on the bodies of the guys—their chests, their asses, their dicks—that I practically blocked the women out. Except, that is, for when the men went down on them. That, somehow, had gotten me harder than anything and, inexplicably, it had gotten me off.

Why?

I wasn’t certain.

I began to envision Tim face down on Ben, watching him expertly eat him out, his tongue running in circles within his folds. Mr. Pussy, my best friend, eating out the guy I had a crush on. Seeing his polite, boyish face, those swollen lips, all face down on Ben’s hole?

Fuck.

And then, without warning, my cock erupted, the load I’d been building up over the last three hours exploding, slashing across me, the first shot hitting me in the face. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, months of celibacy having left me to wonder if I’d lost my mojo completely.

Clearly not.

I closed my eyes, my breath coming back to stillness.

I waited for the desire to dissipate, for this newfound hunger for pussy to dissolve into the ether, my stomach turning at the very thought.

But it didn’t. Instead, it remained strong as ever.

A realization dawned.

There was no doubt. This was what I wanted. And it was time to take matters further into my own hands.

I was gonna give it a try with Ben, that I knew for certain.

But that wasn’t all.

No. As I slid under the covers of my bed, finally fully exhausted, I realized something.

I wanted Tim to help.

—

Continue the story and read Chapter Two here…