Doing Paul -- by jonathanclassof99@hush.com
Preface: This story is true. It describes an experience I had in the Autumn of 2003. If descriptions of male sexuality bothers you or offends you, please read no further.
Before reading this story, readers may be interested in first reading a story I wrote about a relationship I had my senior year in high school. It may be read at any nifty.org site:
/nifty/gay/camping/bobby-big-and-tight/
and then reading a story about my Freshman year in college at /nifty/gay/college/starved-for-attention
and then a story about my experience with a street hustler /nifty/gay/encounters/street-boi
Sunday afternoon -
The plane prepares for take off from Toronto but I'm still daydreaming. The flight to NYC won't take long, but sitting on the tarmac waiting is giving me plenty of time to think of what had transpired.
--
I met Paul from Toronto online about a year ago. I had written some stories for the Nifty archives and my personal homepage was rather revealing so I get tons of email from people all over the world wanting to chat.
I could tell right away that Paul was different from most of my other emailers. He was smart and witty and had enough self-confidence and attitude to keep up with my own ego-centric world view. Our email conversations were often the highlight of my day.
But, to be honest, I wasn't just interested in Paul's witty banter. He had sent a number of pics of himself along with his messages and they got my immediate attention.
Paul is younger than me by about a year, he being about 22 and me about 23. He's a very slim, lightly muscled Canadian of some sort of exotic extraction. If I had to guess, I'd guess it's Philipino, but he could just as well be made up of DNA from Singapore or Malaysia. It didn't really matter where, but he wasn't a typical pasty white Canadian. Paul was light brown, like coffee ice cream. His face was kind and his smile brilliant. It was the kind of overall package that made you want to lick your computer screen. And such a beautiful face and body only made our emails that much more interesting.
It was fall and Paul was in college, working at a bank part-time, and really seemed to have had his act together. He was on the career track of a professional and his own determined career focus shed a particularly harsh light on my own lack of direction. We were both 21, but I felt younger and dumber than Paul.
Despite my inferiority complex regarding my future career track, I held my own with Paul intellectually. In fact, he would send me some of his college papers in philosophy and history, and I'd be eager to critique them, harshly at times. Although I felt like a lowly art student, Paul was appreciative of much of intellectual insight, so he made me feel good about myself.
In addition to enjoying a chance to critique some of his school work. I also was having my own secret enjoyment with Paul's pics. To be honest, I often fantasized about Paul when beating off. I'd picture him in my dorm room, giving me a long slow blow job, his black hair moving gently up and down between my legs. I know his mouth would be especially warm and inviting. I'd jerk off to this thought and pretend he'd swallow everything I had to offer as I'd come on my own chest and stomach. It was a great, hot vision I used a couple of times a week. But of course, I never told Paul this and, in truth, my innocent little fantasy didn't at all affect the friendship we developed over the year.
There was one little crimp in my fantasy, though; Paul found a boyfriend about the same time I first met him online. All I knew was that the guy's name was Matt, was about 30 and worked as a personal trainer in Toronto for rich folks. Paul usually didn't mention him much, usually just as an afterthought or when describing his weekend. It appeared to me that they had a pretty uneventful little life going on for themselves up North. At times I was a little jealous that Paul might be so content in his situation, but I didn't dwell on it too much.
So, then, I was more than a little surprised to get an email from Paul's boyfriend in my inbox late one Friday night. I was actually online when I got the email, so I wrote right back immediately, as did he. I couldn't have guessed where this one was going.
I should say here that I have gotten emails from the boyfriends of some other of my pen pals. Usually these emails took the form of "I think you are so hot, can we meet some time to get it on?" I'd just thank them for the compliment but let them know that my friendship was with their boyfriend and it would be inappropriate for me to betray that friendship. They'd then write back begging me not tell their boyfriends of their attempted infidelity. I always assured them that the secret was safe with me.
But my interaction with Matt was different. I saved the emails as I do all my emails:
To: jonathanclassof99 Hey Jon, this is Matt, Paul's boyfriend. Howz it goin? Paul is way wasted right now and I'm pretty much there too but Paul can't drink as much as me no how. He's mad I'm writing but he talks about you some time so I thought i'd get online pretty quick to find out what you are about huh? I have my own email too so send me something back at xxx@xxxxxx (ed. blanked out for privacy) soos we can talk? -- M
To: Matt Are you still there? I just got your email as you sent it so are you there? -- jon
To: Jon Heyyy guy.. Pauls basically passed out so we can talk about anything you want. He thinks you are quite the funny man, why don't you come visit him and I'll give you a good going over to see if your good enough for my boyfriend to talk to. He says you were cute and he showed me your homepage and supposed stories. I told him I thought you looked like a dork ha ha. Maybe he has a little crush on you and that I should come to conneticut and crush you ya think? Write back. - M
To: Matt Thanks for the email. Paul always speaks highly of you and you two must be very happy - I can tell by the way he writes about you. Paul is an interesting guy and its fun to have somebody smart to write to every now and then. That is what makes the internet so great. No, I don't think Paul has a "crush" on me. He just likes to gab on occasion. Therefore, there is no reason for you to come to CT. to pummel me!! Ha :) -- jon
To: Jon Maybe you are right, while I was waiting for your email I was licking Paul's balls. He's not even awake and I just love lickin them and lickin them. Did Paul tell you he is a `cummer' I bet he didn't either cause he's embarrassed about it. He shoots a lot of cum when he shoots, hes like a totatl freak of nature, maybe he should not write about me to you or I'll tell more of his little secrets. Does that make you hot and jealous of me? Maybe when I go to bed I stick my finger up his ass too and say your name.I'll use my pinky finger so he'll know it is you, dickhead -- M
To: Matt Thanks for the email, really. It is probably time for you to go to bed. Sound like you guys had a good night at a bar or something and no need to ruin it now. So if you want, just delete these emails and I won't mention it to Paul and all is well in the end. Take care and have a good rest. - jon
To: Jon You ARE a prick you know that? Fuck you and don't write to paul or me. This pen pal shit is over right now asshole. Go to bed alone pansy cause I'm gonna go fuck your friend ha ha ha!!!!!! - m
I was stunned and had difficulty sleeping that night. I worried about Paul and wondered what would happen next. I thought I'd just lay low and see what happened.
Two days later I heard from Paul. He had forgotten about that drunk night entirely but stumbled upon the email exchange later. Paul was incredibly apologetic but I told him not to worry about it and that Matt was probably just drunk and didn't know what he was doing.
Paul disagreed and over the next few days, in a series of emails, he began to let me see the truth of his relationship with Matt. Through the emails, I recognized that Paul was describing a classic case of domestic abuse. He was in an abusive relationship with Matt. Most of the abuse was verbal, but some of it was physical.
Paul said Matt was very jealous, difficult to please, and prone to angry outbursts. But Paul also said that many of these outbursts were also followed by tenderness and a great intimacy. It was becoming clear to me that Paul just assumed that this was how all gay relationships were - violence mixed with sex. I was very discouraged.
After about a week of the unwinding tales of abuse, I sent Paul a very long email laying out everything I knew about domestic violence, some websites he could visit, and mostly about how to get the hell out of his situation. I told him it was only my opinion and he could take it or leave it, but I told him straight out that I thought he ought to dump Matt and do it right away. It took a couple of days and a few phone calls, but slowly Paul began to understand. He went to see a college counselor and they gave him some great advice as to how to manage the break up and its aftermath.
With great courage, Paul got rid of Matt that next weekend during a Saturday afternoon walk in the park. Matt protested mightily but Paul stuck to his guns and emailed me in triumph early Saturday evening.
A few hours later, a drunk and enraged Matt showed up at Paul's apartment and beat up Paul quite badly before the police came. On the next Monday, a judge ordered Matt to stay away from Paul and no further charges were pressed.
It was over; after his year of abuse and a final vicious beating Paul was apparently a free man. And it was then that I decided to go to Toronto for a visit. I had been through so much with Paul already that I was anxious to meet him in person and to really cement our friendship. I bought my tickets and in just three short weeks I'd be in Toronto for a weekend with Paul.
I realized that I hadn't been masturbating to the thought of Paul since the night I first received the nasty emails from Matt. I thought to myself that all this concern for another person, and helping them through trouble, enabled me to stop the sexual objectification of them and let them into my heart as a real, warm-blooded, human being. I liked the thought of that very much.
During the three week before my visit, Paul and I became like two fraternity boys planning a spring break weekend. Not only were we choosing clubs to go to, but we were emailing porn pics to each other of guys we dreamed of picking up while we were at the clubs and what we would like to do to them if we ever got lucky. We were giddy with sexual anticipation.
For instance, I sent Paul some of my favorite sauna pics featuring sweaty boys with large droopy cocks. Paul sent me some of his favorite hazing photos of naked college butts paddled red and sore. It was all fantasy, of course, but it kept us busy as the three weeks crawled slowly by.
The unstated assumption between us was that I was going up to Toronto for a boy's night out to pick up cute guys; it was never intended to be about "us". In my mind, I was now looking for something I seldom had in college, a real friend. Thoughts of him sucking on my cock were replaced with thoughts of us "checking out the guys at the bar" and having a good laugh over beer.
Friday Evening -
The airport taxi dropped me off at Paul's apartment and I walked slowly to the door to get buzzed in. I was nervous about pressing the doorbell because I feared I'd lost my nerve.
On the flight up to Toronto from New York, I had begun to obsess over my social inadequacies. Paul was living on an honest to God career track, going to college in a great city and I was on the six year plan at a less than stellar art school in the boonies of Connecticut. Paul was smart and intellectual and had lots of friends, and I was a rather middling student, mostly a loner finding it difficult to connect in real way with any one since high school.
To offset these self doubts and to over come my shy and private nature, I had developed a rather sophisticated counter-personality with sexy, tough guy appeal. When in stressful social situations I would put on my "game face", a false attitude bordering on pure acting. The "real" me would never fly up to Toronto, but the Jon of "trouble and adventure" could always takes these types of risks. And that is where I lost my nerve.
For three weeks, I was intent on letting the "real" me show up in Toronto. But during the flight up, I kind of freaked under the pressure and the compassionate Jon slowly faded away the closer I got to Toronto. As I had done in the past, I decided to let confident Jon run the show instead of the caring, introspective Jon.
And so I had yet to meet Paul in person but I had already betrayed him and betrayed myself.
I took a deep breath, rang the bell, and put on my swagger.
I was buzzed into the foyer and walked up to the apartment 3A landing. Paul opened the door with a wide grin and I stepped in to room. Paul was as handsome as his photos and more so, smooth skin, dark brown eyes and perfect black hair. Paul is wearing jeans and an unbuttoned, white linen A&F shirt. I move to hug him but instead of putting my arms around the back of his shirt, I put my hands up and under his unbuttoned shirt, so as I hug I am hugging his olive skin. He seems pleased by this escalation in intimacy so I released him quickly as though it were a simple mistake.
"How easy", I thought to myself, "to control people."
I fought to banish this thought to the back of my mind. Paul is a nice guy, I reminded myself, don't feel the need to build a protective layer of control. Don't give in to your vain, nasty side. Let the caring side out. The compassionate emailer who helped Paul out of a devastating relationship and into freedom, let him emerge.
"Not yet," I think, "Let's start with the confident me and see what happens."
I took my hand and put it under Paul's chin to lift his face up ever so slightly, like a show judge inspecting a prized Poodle.
"You are very handsome, you know that?" I said.
"Thanks!," Paul replied and he beamed with pride.
I think to myself that what I just did was so obviously insulting and demeaning, but Paul doesn't even get it! He doesn't know that he shouldn't care what I think of his looks. He doesn't know that me passing judgment is rude and uncaring. How can't he see that? What kind of person is he?..he is like most others I meet.
Paul and I started to make plans for the evening. We decided on some drinks and a bite to eat at the pub across the street and then to a gay dance club just a short taxi ride away.
I was in full confident form while at the pub, cool, attentive, but always slightly distant. Paul was wonderful. He was open and warm and sought to please. He was rightly proud of his city and he talked passionately about the wonders of Toronto. I sat back drinking my beer, taking in his excitement.
It was clear that it had been a pretty tough couple of weeks for him and he was delighted to have someone lend an ear and divert him from his troubled recent past. But I also thought that this might make him rather vulnerable in a way. Wouldn't he being missing a warm body by his side? A bit of cuddling, perhaps?
I liked that he might be vulnerable.
As always, when I get boozy I get horned up. And when I get horned up, I get sneaky. By sneaky, I mean, I start thinking four hours ahead and picture myself fucking someone, and start to work backwards in time from that mental picture to all the steps that must take place for that fucking to occur.
On the air flight up, there was no real intention to score with Paul, but playing my part as confident Jon and mixing it with his vulnerability and my alcohol is a mix likely leading to sex.
I was boozy, so I started planning to get it on with Paul.
I leaned over the table at the pub during a momentary lull in Paul's travelogue and said, "Some of the pics you emailed me last week were really hot, better than most pics on the web. Where did you get them? Pay sites?"
"No, not from pay sites, but over the past year or so I've met up with a bunch of guys in Yahoo and MSN pic clubs and we do a lot of pic trading. The secret is to track down guys with a really particular appetite for a very particular kind of porn. They have a good eye for there own particular genre. So if you're trading with those types of guys, you are really getting hot stuff."
I was pretty shocked. "Jeez, Paul, that seems a bit out of character. I can see ME having a bunch of porno sources, but you?" I said. "You got your life put together real nicely, but seems like you have a little bit of a seedy side too! What's up with that?"
"Well, demented as it sounds, I've put a lot effort into my collection. I'll show you some of it when we go back to the apartment tonight," Paul said. "I'm sure there's a bit of psycho-babble to explain it, but whatever."
Paul's eyes started to get ever so glassy. His proper Canadian speech began to slur a bit and he got less formal in his pronouncements. He wasn't much over 120 pounds so already our three pints of ale were loosening him up.
Paul continued, "I've gone through the private schools and college and now I'll be in banking and I've done a lot right. I think my coming out was even done by the book. So being such a good little boy, I guess it only makes sense to have an itty bitty dark side somewhere, right?"
I replied, "Yeah, maybe, but I'm curious as to why you started collecting mint porn pics the same time you started dating Matt. You said a year ago, right?"
"Huh, I never thought of it like that," Paul said. "I'd say the two were unrelated."
As with many of our previous email conversations, things got philosophical quickly. "Nothing's unrelated, Paul. What was missing in your life when you were with Matt?," I asked.
"I don't know," Paul said. "Nothing, I'd say it's just happenstance." Paul tilted his head a bit, "Hey what's the name of this song? "
"Bullshit, Paul, don't change the subject, I bet if you were emailing me right now, you'd be answering this particular question you seem to wish to avoid," I said back. "What was missing with Matt?"
"What do you mean? I'm just saying it's no big deal," Paul said.
I shot back, "Well, I'm saying that in your emails to me you have always been straight forward, hiding nothing. And now I ask a straight forward personal question in person in you get all vague and non-committal in your answer."
I was easing into my manipulation phase.he's vulnerable when he's thinking of Matt, I just know he is.and now he's let slip that he has an extensive porn collection (as did I, but I'm not Mr. Perfect like Paul).
"I didn't come all the way up here for the guided tour, Paul. I came here for you. For you, understand? I came here to experience what it was like to look across a table from you rather than a computer screen and try to understand what makes you so remarkable, so fabulous."
I thought to myself, "God, I'm good at this stuff."
I continued, "It's kind of pathetic if I have to go to cybercafe tonight and write you email just to get you to open up a little. Don't you think?"
Paul was taken aback and I could see his eyes dance a bit as he tried to keep up with me. He saw me passing judgment on him and he knew he wasn't getting a good grade.
I continued, "I can go back to the airport and go home if you're going to be the cardboard cut-out figure of a Toronto pansy for the rest of the weekend."
Paul tried to cut in, "I was only saying.." but I wouldn't let him interrupt my attempt to box him in.
"I'm only here for two nights and I don't want to waste time with `I was only sayings' okay? You ask me a question, I'll answer it. I ask you a question and I expect you to answer it. No big deal. If you have issues about opening up in person, then screw it, just send me an email when I get home," I took a long drink from my beer and sat back.
Paul was still off kilter. I could almost see his mind's motor turning as if to say, "everything was fine, what happened, what did I do?" Paul remained silent as he worked through my barrage.
I, on the other hand, was rooting for him mightily. "Come on," I thought. "Come on Paul and answer me the right way. Open up to me and let me get inside you. I know you're in there dying to come out, just say the right thing."
Paul looked up from his beer, "I, hey, maybe you're right. I'm, uh, I'm probably more open in emails because it's easier to talk about stuff. Heck, I'm still just a Catholic boy at heart and I still get embarrassed about this stuff when I talk about it, okay? So that's probably why I was hedging a bit."
"Hey, Paul," I said as I put my hand on top of his, "Life is too short to be shy on a beautiful fall weekend, even for a Catholic boy," I smiled and Paul's tension eased.
I went back to my business at hand, "So, as I was asking before, and doing so in my most lawyerly way, Paul, what was missing with Matt that made you seek out vast amounts of hardcore porn on the net just as you were beginning a, supposedly, important relationship?"
I kept my hand on top of Paul's hand, rubbed his fingers a bit for encouragement and looked at him like a counselor would look at a troubled teen. I added, "And don't bullshit me, I've got great BS detector." I laughed and again the pressure lightened.
Paul began, "Gee, man, you can be a real asshole. You should be a lawyer. Okay, where to begin."
Paul took a deep breath before continuing, "I would have to say that I have never found sex stimulating enough for full satisfaction. I have been disappointed in it and, in truth, one of the reasons I think I'm gay is a need for sex that is "outside" what is expected by society. Maybe in my subconscious that is a reason I'm gay, I don't know. But I do know that I always thought that gay sex would be much more satisfying to me perhaps because of the deviant stigma attached to it. When I was going out with Matt, I knew he could be rough with me and be mean, but for all the down side it did make sex better.scarier and dirtier, yes, but definitely better. I know that's sick and it doesn't excuse what Matt did to me, but in a way I enabled it."
Paul started speaking softer now.
"There were a couple of times when I came home really drunk with Matt and I'd pass out. And when I woke up, I knew that Matt had had sex with me. I wasn't disgusted, in fact it turned me on. Twice when we were going out, I only pretended to pass out. I was really drunk, but Matt thought I was dead to the world. I heard him go into the bathroom and get lotion and he came back into the bedroom and put lotion inside me with his finger and then fucked me. I was lying there and it was really pure and horrible at the same time. Here is a guy who said he loved me, doing this horrible thing, but it wasn't horrible because in reality I was awake and enjoying it."
Paul hesitated a bit and continued again, "I'm sorry if I'm freaking you out, and if you think I'm too crazy then we can just call it a night, but you asked me a question about what was missing with Matt? I guess what was missing was that he was a sick fuck, and I knew he was a sick fuck, and I wasn't honest enough to tell him that I really liked that part of him. I had this urge and never expressed it even though he may have been the perfect person for it. So I suppose, we were both frustrated and he was just demented enough to be violent and I guess my acting out by searching out really intense porn was to live vicariously through it.Sorry, I'm kind of fucked up, I'm sure its not really what you wanted to hear about me."
I paused for affect and said, "Sorry? No need to be sorry at all? That is them most honest answer you could have given. Do you think I care if you're a horny bastard? I've sent you some of my journal writing and you've read my online stories. I'm the last person you should be apologizing too."
Paul perked up a bit and said, "You know, it feels good to be able to talk about this. It's kinda freeing. I've always hidden this part of me and thought I'd protect myself by keeping it inside, but it can warp you. But just saying this stuff out loud releases me so much."
I had found my opening. So I said, "Hey, instead of going over to the club now, why don't you show me your pics collection. I'd love to see it. We can pick up a 12 pack on the way."
I think Paul was surprised by how accepting of his "confession" I was and seemed eager for an accomplice in his little dirty habit, "Wow, really? Sure. I've got a great flat screen monitor that I got two months ago and I've set up slide shows and everything."
Paul was back to his overly-enthusiastic, child-like self but I played along with his enthusiasm because I was still thinking ahead to the trap I was setting.
As we left our table at the pub, I said, "See Paul, life really is too short to be shy on a weekend in the fall."
Friday night -
For almost an hour, Paul and I sat side by side in his bedroom staring at his computer monitor and drinking beer. Without comment, one after another, Paul loaded and displayed on the screen a startling array of pre- programmed digital slide shows of intense gay porn with music, too. Paul had even named the shows with titles like Rippled Crack Whores (featuring street-thug teens engaging in sex), Tummy Cum, Milking the Hose, and Rough Stuff.
Paul's collection was amazing. What really stood out was the super hot quality of the photos and the clarity of the pics, too (note to self, buy a $1000 flat screen monitor).
After a while, I said to Paul, "Show me your favorite pic, the one that really gets you off."
Paul responded, "That's a tough call, it tends to change week to week, but let me show you this one that I've been obsessing over."
Paul made a few clicks with the mouse and photo popped up on the screen, "See what I mean? Isn't fucking great?"
The picture was large, bright and clear. There was a young twink, slim and tan sitting on a wide bench placed against a wall. He was nude except for a white robe that draped behind. The camera is facing him straight on and the boy's legs are haunched up and spread slightly up by his chest, knees up by his ears and with his feet set flat on the bench. The twink is still a bit wet from a shower or a swim and his hair falls wetly into his half closed eyes.
Because his ass is sitting on the bench and his feet are on the bench too, his asshole is fully exposed except for that part covered by his sagging ball bag. But there is another boy in the photo also.
This twink is standing to the left of the seated boy with a latex gloved hand. The tip of the gloved index finger is set slightly below the ball bag of the seated boy and is pressing into the boys rectum. The probing boy has a quizzical, if not professional, look upon his face as though this were an advanced game of doctor played by queer college kids.
As I looked at the photo, I asked Paul, "What do you like so much about it?"
Paul said, "I just like the way this guy on the way is going about his business and how the kid on the bench is so into the pleasure. Its the contrast that's so neat. I just like the idea of this guy being able to give so much pleasure in a very matter of fact way."
We were both getting pretty drunk by this point, so I made my move, "So let's do it."
Paul didn't understand. I said again, "So let's do it. Let's do the photo".
Paul answered, "What are you talking about?"
I stood up and started to take off my shirt, "Do you have a robe? I asked? "I'm gonna set up on this love seat over here.
Paul stood up and said, "Are you crazy? What are you talking about?"
I went over to the light switches and dimmed all the lights low so the room glowed. "Do you have a robe or not?"
Paul took my cue and reached into the closet and pulled out an oriental style silk robe. I started taking my pants off. When I was naked, I put the robe on but did not tie it. Paul stood there looking at me, stunned, but suddenly realizing that this might be a chance to turn his active fantasy life into to some real action.
I walked up to him as though I was going to kiss him, but instead I put my hand on his groin and started rubbing up and down on the outside of his pants. His eyes closed just a bit and I knew that about 20 seconds of this and he'd be instantly in the mood.
Paul got hard underneath my hand and I leaned over and whispered into his ear, "Get some lotion."
Paul went into the bathroom and I went to the love seat, sat down, and brought my feet up next to me. When Paul returned with the astroglide, my asshole was facing him just as though he were in the picture.
The beer and cock rubbing had now eroded any of Paul's inhibitions. Paul dabbed a big dose of lube on his finger and kneeled down in front of me. He took his finger and pressed it up against my asshole and as he did I let a long, low moan.
Paul's finger slipped gently in my ass, meeting little resistance because my toys at home kept my butt rather limber and willing in the times between boyfriends.
Slowly, Paul pulled and pushed his finger and out. I put my hands behind my head and stared up at the ceiling. "That's it, ah, fuck, nice and slow," I moaned over and over again.
My cock was now rock hard and reached up beyond my belly button. Paul took his free hand and started to jerk of my dick just as he added a second finger to my hole. Both of his hands were working in rhythm and I just kept moaning and looking at the ceiling.
"Yeah," I said, "Just like the picture.just keeping fucking me, just keep fucking. I'm almost ready to cum."
My breathing got heavier and deeper and both my legs start to shake ever so slightly. While keeping his rhythm, Paul leaned over and put his mouth on one of my nipples and took it between his teeth. As I came closer to climax, he bit harder and harder.
I could feel the cum building up in my balls and below Paul's tightly jerking fist. His vicious bite on my nip did its job of keep the cum deep down inside me as my body adjusted to the shock of the pain, but that only made the eruption to come more powerful.
I let go a loud yell as my cum broke free of my balls and I could feel traveling up the length of my hard dick. I could feel it squeeze its way through Paul clenched hand and toward my cock slit. Even before the first globs of sperm hit the air, my body was entirely converted pleasure. My hands collapse from the back of head and fell limp to my sides as my dick began to spurt.
Paul let go of his bite and pulled his head away so he could see my chest being doused with cum. His hand now jerked more softly to allow as much sperm by as possible, but his fingers still worked their magic inside my butt.
By now, my chest was glistening with the glow of a healthy cum shot and it dripped down and puddle at the base of cock and into my public hairs. Paul took his finger-fucking hand out of my ass and scooped up three finger-fulls and smeared it back into my ass over and over with his fingers as my dick slowly deflated.
I sat there weak, feeling helpless in being so drained. I wanted control back as soon as possible, so I shook the cobwebs from my mind, took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on regaining the upper hand.
"Well," I said with a weary confidence but with a big smile, "Aren't you the cute, little slut."
Paul beamed back an embarrassed grin and said, "Yeah, I guess I can be sometimes."
I stood up on my wobbly legs. The robe open and my cock drooping heavily between the opening. "Let me show you something," I said. And I walked over to the computer. I clicked through a couple of pics we had seen and I stopped at one I particularly liked. "Now it's my turn to pick," I said.
The photo was of a muscle-bound hunk plowing an Asian twink from behind. "Guess who you're going to be?" I asked, again with a smile.
Paul said, "I bet I'm the skinny guy", and he laughed a bit nervously.
What made the picture perfect was that the skinny twink was getting it from behind, but in kind of a standing position. The twink had one foot on the floor and the other foot up on a mattress and boxspring. This slight lift was enough to open his ass to the thickly endowed hunk. The hunk had his two hands gripping either side of the twink's slender waist and the tip of his meat was ready to pop in to the Asian's brown hole.
Paul had a similar mattress set up in his bedroom - a simple mattress and boxspring sitting on a wood floor. I told Paul to take of his clothes and he quickly complied. I took the container of lube and gave it to Paul.
"See if you can get me hard again," I said.
Paul took some lube to my cock. Just lathering it was enough to make my dick engorged again. I guess that too many drinks and a massive ejaculation wasn't going to keep this viper down tonight. Once I was like a rock, I put on a large Trojan and went to work.
I turned Paul around so he would face away from me. He lifted one foot and put in on the bed and then bent over just a little bit. His crack parted slightly and I had a good look at his firm bubble butt and hairless asshole.
I took hold of his waist and pressed my cock head up against his anus. "I'm going to do this slowly, but it might hurt a bit. Just enjoy it, though," I said as I started to push in.
If he had it his way, I would have worked his hole with my finger for a while, but the ball was now back in my court and it would be done my way. After all, a little bit of burning ass pain never hurt a real man worth his salt.
I kept pressing in. My dick looked particularly fat and thick and white next to his tiny brown ass. I could hear Paul grunting a bit in pain and I think he was biting his lip. But soon, as always, the butt gives way to pleasure and pressure and relaxes. I slipped in slowly as Paul breathed heavily and closed his eyes.
I had my cock all the way up his ass and reached around to start pumping Paul's hard dick. I fucked him slowly, with short strokes, trying to focus on the friction that would bring him the most pleasure. My cock slid in and out of him as a I tightened my grip. Paul was in a submissive position and so I enjoyed lording over my little skinny toy, filling him with my hot piece.
My pumping and jerking had its desired affect and Paul's stomach muscles began to heave in anticipation of his cumming.
Paul's excited moans were too much for me and I immediately started cumming, even before he did. I kept beating him off with the reach around and I could soon feel his cum streaming through his cock as it began to spurt out.
It startled me at first, but the sound of his cum hitting the wood floor sounded like he was pissing on it. The longer it lasted the more is sounded like he was pissing. "Jeez," I thought, "Is he taking a whiz or what?"
No, he wasn't peeing. He was cumming. And cumming. And cumming. Thinking back on it, he probably had about 10 spurts of jizz that were each similar in amount to one of my first or second spurts. His first 10 spurts literally splattered on the floor when they hit and formed a puddle of sperm about five inches wide right below us. I stopped humping Paul and kind of just stared at his cock as it gave up the last bits of juice to puddle below.
In all my sexual exploits to that point, I had never seen such thing. Then I remembered that in one of his nasty emails, Paul's ex-boyfriend had called him a "cummer" and a "freak". This was what he was talking about.
I was awaken from my daze by the sound of Paul saying, "Oh God, that felt so good. Mmmm. Wow".
I didn't know if I should mention anything or not, but I knew I'd have too. I pulled my shrinking dick out of Paul and carefully took off the jizz-filled condom and threw it away.
I jumped on the bed with my head and arms over the one end facing the cum puddle. Here I could take a close look. "I don't mean to embarrass you," I began, "but that's the most I've ever seen anyone come - ever. Do you do that all the time?"
Paul was a bit sheepish in his answer, "Yeah, kind of gross, huh?"
I could tell he was unsure of how I felt about his freakish quirk and maybe some others he had been with found it disgusting. He laid down next to me and I said to him, "Are you kidding. It's not gross at all. I think its fucking hot."
I took my index finger and put it in the middle of the widening puddle and swirled it around until a long string of the cum clinged to my fingertip. I scooped it up and put it to my tongue and slowly closed my mouth over my finger and sucked it clean.
I rolled over to be closer to Paul and kissed him hard on the lips and we exchanged this little bit of sperm between our mouths. We made out for about ten minutes before sleep and alcohol overtook us. ---
Saturday Morning
I woke up Saturday morning around 9:00am which is late for me. I must have been really tired - and drunk. Paul was already up and about in his cute white boxers having made coffee and emptying the fridge of anything that looked like breakfast food. I wished he was still in bed with me though and thought of asking him to come back in so we could snuggle (which I like to do in the morning more so than at night). But again, my desire not to appear needy trumped my desire for his warm, slim body and so I stayed in bed alone.
"Hey, Juliet", I said. "Am I just going to lie here dying of thirst or do I get a cup of coffee?"
Paul was obviously delighted to see me awake and as got me coffee, he rattled off our plans for the day. To sum it up. Lot's of sightseeing and a friend's party. For a moment I thought I would suggest that we just stay in bed fucking, but he was excited to show me Toronto, and anyway, my dick hurt, so sightseeing and a party it would be!
(Let me say here that Toronto is a wonderful city. We ate at a couple of great places during the day and evening. Went to an incredible art museum with some top notch contemporary artists, and we just plain hung out at cafes near some college. I really loved it.)
We finished dinner around nine that evening and it was time to get back to the apartment and change clothes to go out to the party. I opened my travel bag and got out my typical jeans and plain white t-shirt deal, with a black belt and black shoe/boot Doc Martens. Paul came out the bathroom wearing almost the identical outfit. It was both funny and pathetic at the same time. Two intelligent and creative queers who could not summon enough creativity to even dress with a little panache.
We decided it would be a hoot to dress as much alike a possible, so he changed his boots to a pair that was more like my shoes and he gave me a new t-shirt that had a breast pocket just like his. To top it off, we slicked back our hair with gel. It actually looked pretty cool.
We started making out in front of the mirror, first with just our tongue tips touching and then full throated Frenching. It was like watching long-estranged, gay twins meeting after years of being apart. We cooled things off so we could get to the party on time, but I so badly wanted to go down on him right there in his bathroom.
The party was at a huge Victorian home in the historic part of Toronto and near an all women's art college (at least that's what I remember, I didn't pay too much attention to where the cab was taking us). Paul's friend was this gay guy that rented the house with three girls who went to school at the college. He had been renting it for about six years and each year he kind of took a new batch of young women under his wing. He kept a clean, safe house and they paid him a share of the rent and pampered him like sisters should. They also got to go around school saying, "I live with a homosexual", which I think is fashionable nowadays for gals to say.
I should say, though, that much to our surprise this was not "officially" Paul's friend's party. It was a party actually organized by the girl's renting there. Paul and I thought we were heading out to a big fag- orama, but instead, it was more like a sorority party.
Paul apologized, "I'm sorry. I guess when he said he was having a party at his house I assumed it was his party not the girls'"
I said, "Hey, it's not a problem at all. As long as there is beer, what the fuck do I care who else is there, right? Let's get liquored up and maybe we'll get laid!" I winked and we both had a good laugh.
The party was a good mix of college age boys and girls, grad students and some older local artsy types. I spent a good time talking U.S. football with a couple of the guys and Paul was content to listen in on the intricacies of a game he didn't fully understand, admiring my command of the conversation and my strong opinions. (By the way, here is a perfect opportunity to remark on the disconnect between how people say queers are treated with the way we actually are. College party jocks talking football with a queer guy and his boyfriend.and nobody thought it was weird at all. Luckily, most of my time in gay situations have been exactly like that. Nobody much cares if you're gay so long as you know that defense wins football games and safeties are worth two points).
Anyway, we steered clear of any political talk, though, as there was not much kindness shown by the MapleLeafers to the USA when talk veered that way. We were drinking a bunch of Molson throughout the party and both Paul and I felt its affects heavily by about midnight when some of the folks started to wander off.
Paul and I got to talking to a couple of girls who had remarked upon what a photogenic couple we were. I was pretty drunk and started telling some tall-tales about how Paul and I had done some male-only website modeling for some local photographers and how we get hot emails all the time from guys all over the world that subscribe to raunchy gay sites.
Three of the girls were totally fascinated by the tale and wanted to hear more. As I dug deep for the bullshit, Paul sat there agreeing with everything I said and had a big smile on his face amazed at the detail I could weave into a story I was making up off the top of my head.
One of the girls, a really cute goth type mentioned that if "we were up for it" she would really like to take some pics of us as she was always looks for cool subjects. She said she had a loft nearby that she often rigged as a make shift studio with simple bed sheets for backdrops and a full array of her personal camera equipment.
I, of course, jumped at the chance to get my picture taken and Paul seemed pretty cool with it also, so the five of us traipsed over to Shelly's loft apartment for a photo shoot.
I don't know what I was expecting, but once in front of the camera I was pretty full of myself. I had on my white t-shirt, jeans and in barefeet and I had Paul take his shirt and shoes off to show his deep brown chest next to my white t-shirt. Shelly would tell us to touch each others' hair and pull on ears, or kiss one another's eyelids, and other sexy erotic stuff while she flashed away. We had all moved to drinking white wine at this point and the two other girls sat on a facing couch oohing and ahhing over every interaction Paul and I had.
At one point about 25 minutes into the shoot, we moved a love seat against the backdrop and we were going to take some romantic kissing shots.
I said to Paul, "Hey, why don't you get down to your boxers and I'll stay in my jeans and we'll have this clothed-almost clothed thing going on."
So Paul took off his jeans and sat on my lap as we started to kiss for the camera. I could feel Paul getting hard as my hand made some passing contact with his crotch. As part of our making out, I instinctively started to rub the front of his underwear.
Shelly urged us on saying, "That's great, that's terrific".
The two other girls got up of the couch and came closer to stand directly behind Shelly. Every once in a while, either Paul or I would close our eyes and Shelly would yell out "Keep looking at each other, right in the eyes." She was bossy, but you could tell she like to control her subjects - especially since she was the once spending a fortune of film.
Paul began to moan and squirm and I could feel him wanting to disengage knowing he was closing in on orgasm. But I held him tightly with one of my arms as my other hand continued to slowly rub the fabric atop his cock. Paul's eyes took on a look of panic as he realized that he was going to come in front of these three girls. His limbs took on a decidedly more urgent tenseness, but I met this rebellion with strength of my own. I kept rubbing him through the fabric and finally, with a mix of embarrassment and resignation, Paul blinked into acceptance as he approached his cumming.
A wet spot of precum already began to show through the front of his boxers and it spread slowly the more I massaged his crotch.
Paul let out a fierce exhale as his muscled tightened and his dick began to pump. I could feel the front of his boxers become really moist as his heavy load of jizz seeped into the fabric of his underwear. I looked up and Shelly had stopped shooting and the three girls just stood there staring as Paul's prick visibly pumped up and down under his briefs and the ounces of wet sperm spread across the entire front of his shorts leaving him in my lap as though a glass of water had been splashed on the front of his underwear.
Being of the goth/artistic persuasion, the gals were not unfamiliar with racy performance art, but they had never before been treated to such an intimate display as Paul and I put on. They were, in a word, speechless.
Paul and I excused ourselves to use the bathroom. I feared he would be furious with me for making a spectacle out of him and he said nothing on the way to the bathroom. As soon as the bathroom door closed behind us, he leaned over to kiss me. I realized that Paul was a person completely without pretense and he sought not to judge, but to enjoy. This enthusiasm for the moment and for what was real must have been infectious, because I kissed him back, on the lips, gently. Not as confident Jon, but as the real me, as vulnerable me. And I felt the heavy door of self-protection swing open wide for the first time in years. My outer-shell melted away as I realized that Paul enjoyed this spectacle because it was WITH me, not FOR me.
We finished kissing and I stepped up to take a piss. And Paul, my Paul, held my cock as I went. ---
When we got back to Paul's apartment it was late and we were both exhausted. I think he was already getting depressed knowing that I'd be leaving early the next morning. We undressed quietly for bed and Paul stepped close to me and said, "Can you fuck me?"
I kissed him hard and deep as my answer was "yes".
Paul fell back naked on to the bed and lifted his feet and legs up into the air. I reached over to the bed stand for a jar and lubed my dick up thick with the gloppy goo. Paul's eyes were closed and he seemed lost in expectant ecstasy as I leaned forward to pushed my cock-head hard against his asshole. It gave way more freely than the previous night and I sank my dick's length easily into him.
I pushed and pulled my flesh stick in and out of his ass. As I pumped, I put his day worn feet up to my mouth for a bathing with my tongue. For all the psychological tests I put him through, this was my supplication to him, my service to him in return of his trust in me. I massaged the soles of his feet with my mouth and lips. I washed each space between his toes and sucked hard on each digit as I kept up my rhythmic pumping. The musky smell of his feet made my heart begin to race as my now-dry tongue roughly graded across his heels and arches.
I tried to stroke Paul's cock, but he stopped me, not wanting to come. "No, this is for you", Paul said.
I was close to cumming so I started to fuck him hard and faster. My body and cock was still numb from the long day of alcohol so it took me much longer to come than usual. To feel more intense friction, I just banged harder and faster. Paul's body shook with each collision of my thighs into ass cheeks. His balls slapped quickly atop my pubic hair just as my own balls swayed like a pendulum on a too wound clock.
To Paul's aching relief, I came first in one huge squirt inside him and pulled out quickly for many more pumps of cum that ended up on his neck, nipples and then on his stomach and cock as my dick juice pump lost its forceful ejection. I collapsed on top of Paul in complete exhaustion. And the sweet saliva of his mouth was like an oasis to my own tired tongue and lips.
The cum I shot dried like glue between our bodies, and we stuck together through the night as my semen's proteins held us closer than time or distance would ever allow again.
Sunday Morning
Morning came quickly and we overslept. It was a mad dash to the airport and I stunk of sweat, cum, and gay sex.
The old Jon, the Jon of Friday night, would have placed his hand on Paul's crotch all the way to the airport as a sign of confidence and ownership. But now I had my hand in his hand as we laughed and made plans to see each other again.
Yes, part of me wanted desperately to take out his dick and drink in one of his heavy loads. And, yes, I was already feeling the first pains of jealousy as I wondered if a man other than me would be the next to take him in his mouth and enjoy the full measure of liquid I now knew was Paul's special, freakish gift. But those thoughts were quickly demoted behind my true and healthy thoughts of happiness in the moment. Of finding someone with whom I could be free within myself.
There was no time for long good byes, a quick kiss on the lips as our Muslim cabbie looked on disapprovingly, and I promised him I'd be back very, very soon. Giggling, I made my promise to come back, not just because I wanted to, but because I needed to. Needing to see if there was a safe place in this world, away from the psychological horrors of the New York City gay scene, for my true self to really live.
But I have not returned to Toronto. My father took ill just days after I came back from Canada. I dropped out of school that very week to return to New Jersey and care for him while my mom worked during the day. Of course, Paul understood that my financial situation had changed drastically and that my family needed me, but the momentum for the relationship was dashed in less than 72 hours and I could feel, again, that heavy door of self-protection slowly close upon me again.
Now, I'm searching for a local night school where I can take some design classes and rebuild a new future, but now as an "at home", "in-the-closet 23 year old.trying to rebuild.even as I struggle to control my guilt- filled resentment of my dying father.
Contact author at jonathanclassof99@hush.com
Profile of author at http://profiles.yahoo.com/jonathanclassof99