First Cock
The story I sent you was not the first penis I had in my mouth, but it was the beginning of my real adulthood as a cocksucking queer. It was a transformative experience. The first actual time was when I was twenty. There was a bar in my Midwestern brick town called the "Carousel." It was hard to find things out then, no internet search engines or porn in an instant. I think there was a hot-line, if you can imagine that. I called, and got a stiffy when I realized I was actually talking to a real live homosexual, and he seemed to be just fine with it.
This was the culmination of several years of intense curiosity and longing. I called the gay pride organization at college, freshman year. I even went to meet with the volunteer who was counseling students with sex orientation issues. I had hoped to smoke a joint with him and then have sex; he wanted to help but didn't seem to consider that sex with students was ethical.
I was crushed, and my gay inclinations were limited to a few furtive trips to the Flame Bar, off campus and downtown, hoping against hope I wouldn't see one of my fraternity brothers. Why wasn't there a gay frat, I wondered? Wouldn't that put a new wrinkle on Fall Rush!
Nothing happened during my visits to the only gay bar in town- maybe the other guys could see what a Nellie I was and didn't want to bother with a nervous novice.
I had sex with several women along the way, was lucky and none of them got in the family way, but I was still an oral and anal virgin with men and not liking it. Actually having sex made it more urgent for me to try to satisfy the depraved craving I desired.
My family had moved to the new town while I was in school, so there was freedom of anonymity for me, and that is why I called the hotline for information. Once I knew where the gay bar was, there was nothing stopping me from visiting. One summer day after work I screwed up my courage and went, parking my little green Vega well down the block.
I took a seat at the bar, ordered a beer and waited to see what would happen. I was looking at myself in the mirror as a young man with jet-black hair sat down next to me and smiled. We began to chat- he was a Spaniard, in America on a work visa and his English was very good. He said his name was Alfredo, and I told him my name was Robin. He was lean, and had a close-fitting knit shirt over tight jeans and sneakers. I thought he had dark good looks and a dazzling smile. Cute guy. After exchanging a couple pleasantries, he dropped the question bomb on me.
"Are you gay?" he asked. I contemplated the question, which seemed to hang in the air in a cartoon bubble between me and my image in the mirror.
"Yes, I am," I said. That was actually sort of easy. Stunningly easy. Why had I thought that was such a big deal all these years? With that important aspect of our association established, we finished our drinks. I was thinking about another one and he asked if I smoked marijuana. That was easier than outing myself as a homosexual. "Why yes, I do."
"Would you like to come over to my place and get high?"
"I would like that very much," I said.
We paid our tab and left the bar. I pointed out my car, and he walked to his VW Beetle and got in. I walked down to the block to my Vega, feeling lightheaded. It was not from the alcohol. We drove several blocks past the old frame homes and he pulled into the driveway of one that had been converted to apartments. He waved out the driver's side window, gesturing for me to park and the curb and jumped out of his vehicle. I swung into the curb and turned off the ignition. I could have kept going, but I decided to steel myself and see what this was all about.
He waited until I joined him on the porch, and then unlocked the front door, which led into a central corridor with stairs leading to the upper floors on the right. He walked down the corridor to a dark wooden door marked "A1." He unlocked the door and motioned for me to go in. I swallowed and did so.
It was a tiny place with a ratty couch and coffee table in front of the TV. "Take a seat. I will get us a couple cervesas," he said in his lightly accented English.
I did what he told me to do- I discovered that I really enjoyed having a man tell me to do things. Relations with women were far too complicated. I sat down and he was back with two frosty cans of Strohs beer. We popped the tops and each took a sip. He pulled a little box toward him and leaned forward over the coffee table. The box had intricate brass wire pressed in patterns on blond wood. Inside were two fat joints and a Zippo lighter. He took one of the joints and flipped open the top of the lighter and flicked the wheel to spark the flame.
I looked at him, mesmerized. He took a deep hit and passed it to me. I did the same, and then asked if he had ever had a shotgun. He didn't know what that was, so I decided to show him. I turned the joint around so the lit end was in my mouth, holding it in my lips so that the coal did not burn any soft tissue. I leaned in toward his face and blew through the joint so that his faced was bathed in cool smoke. My lips were very near his, and I felt it to be incredibly erotic.
He liked that a lot, and I gave him another. I liked the way it brought us together without the awkwardness that would attend the first kiss. It was as though we had already got that out of the way. I took a hit, handed the roach back to him and he finished it off. I looked down at his lap and saw the unmistakable bulge of an engorged penis. I reached over and stroked the mound in his jeans. He smiled. "Would you like to make love?" he asked.
"Very much," I said. He rose from the couch and took my hand. We walked past the kitchen to a darkened bedroom with a queen size bed. He shrugged out of his knit shirt and I followed his lead. He dropped his jeans, and skinned off his Y-front tighty-whitey underwear. I kept pace, and in an instant we were facing each other, nude, each with erect cocks. He sat down on the bed and I had one of those moments in a life. I got down on my knees and leaned forward and began to lick his manhood.
I don't think I was very good. I certainly was eager, wrapping my lips around his elegant shaft, slim but long, with a well-defined helmet. Probably too eager, thinking back now in the context of all the other men who have helped me to perfect my technique over the years in drawing out the best of them. Alfredo placed his hands on my ears and lifted my face off him.
"Perhaps we should try something else," he said softly. "What should we do?"
"Well," I said slowly, my mind racing. "Would you like to fuck me?"
That seemed to appeal to him. I didn't know what to expect, exactly. I had experimented with inserting things in my ass before, and liked the sensation, but I had no idea what a real man would feel like. I got on the bed, on my back, and he walked over to the dresser and pressed the top valve of a bottle of skin lotion. He rubbed some on his cock, and I spread my legs so he could more easily rub some in the crack of my ass. He wiped his fingers on my chest and climbed onto the bed and crawled between my legs. "Moment of truth," I thought to myself. "I have now sucked a cock, and am about to have a hot man pop my cherry."
He guided his cock down the crack of my ass and began to press. The discomfort was significant, and I wondered if I had made a mistake. But as his weight came down on me, I discovered a growing sense of something else- not pain, exactly, but as he opened my sphincter and began to slowly slide into me there was a sense of excitement and fulfillment. Presently he was sunk in me to the hilt, and withdrew, and then pressed fully home again.
I gasped. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, his lips close to my ear. I hugged his wiry torso to me.
"No, you complete me. Fuck me."
And he did. The skin lotion, if that is what it was, worked like a charm, and soon I was as slick as an icy sidewalk. He slipped out on one overly-enthusiastic stroke, and I heard myself whimper in disappointment. He reached down and positioned himself and slammed into me in one massive penetrating thrust and think I came right then. Alfredo was reaching a crescendo of his own, his balls slapping my ass and then I saw his face contort in passion and he shot his sperm deep into my bowels.
If this is what being a queer is all about, I thought, you can sign me up right now.
I was sort of hoping for some snuggling and round two or three, but he pulled out of me, and got off the bed to get a towel from the bathroom. He wiped my seed and the lotion and whatever else had been inside me off his cock and belly, and tossed it to me. "I have to work early. I need to get to bed."
This was the first time I had experienced the male libido- all passion until his cum is injected into some warm moist place, then off to the next thing. I was disappointed, but told him I would like to do that again, and enjoyed making love with him.
He kissed me after I pulled on my jeans and shirt and slipped back into my shoes. "That would be nice. Perhaps my girlfriend will want to watch as well." He opened the door to the hall, ushering me out. I wasn't quite sure what to make of that, as I let myself out into the night air. Actually, I wasn't quite sure what to make of anything, except that my virginity was finally gone, and I was now officially a cock-sucking, butt-fucked faggot.
I noted one other thing as I got in driver's seat. My ass ached. But in a really amazing way.
Note: I went at it pretty strong after Alfredo, though he returned to Spain at the end of the summer. I started to hang out at the Carousel a fair amount, and offered to suck at least one guy off during each visit. One of my favorites was an African American man with a truly massive penis, biggest I have ever seen. I gave him his blowjob in the front seat of my car. And then I had to get a real job, moved to the big city and the news began to spread about a connection between casual sex- particularly anal sex- and that deadly Carposi's sarcoma.
Gay advocates told us to keep doing what felt good, but it freaked me out, and I decided to quit the lifestyle. I even got married and had a family. But I discovered, over time, that you can take the cock out of the boy, but the boy is still going to crave it. Which I do, and that is how I wound up on my knees in front of Rick, fifteen years later.
So, that is *both *first times. Both were special, but I have found, not as special as the *next *one!
Hugs,
Robin
Copyright 2015