TAI WAN OHN By John Candu too_hot_in_bama@hotmail.com
My name's Tai Wan Ohn; my friends call me Tai. I'm several generations removed from my family's native country and about as Americanized as one can get. I have jet-black hair, brown skin, and typical brown, oriental eyes and a slim build. I'm gay.
In school I was a prodigy. Though I'm only 22, I graduated from Yale three years ago with a doctorate in creative writing and now teach at Dartmouth.
My colleagues on the English faculty were rather surprised to learn that I not only write gay erotica but have published more gay stories and books than all of their academic publishing added together. And while their dreary offerings go nowhere in the dry, publish-or-perish wasteland of academia, my short stories bring pleasure to thousands of readers.
Word of my notoriety leaked when Ron, a fellow faculty member, ran across my byline in an anthology of gay writings and asked if I happened to be the same Tai who wrote "Shear Delight." I confessed that I was.
He was startled. "Isn't it risky using your real name on gay literature while you're on the faculty? How can you do that?"
"Tenure," I replied with a smile.
Ron, an Advanced Composition instructor and struggling author, said he wanted to chat with me to learn more about my work and inspiration. Ron's a tan 5' 8" with a jogger's lean body and wears Old Spice. I told him there was no time like the present. We walked to a nearby pub and had glasses of ice-cold Guinness.
"My problem's with plot," Ron said. "I can't seem to come up with a good story line, one that doesn't bore me to tears. And my characterization is lousy. Not only that, but my scenes are dull -- I can't come up with anything new. What can I do?"
"Research!" I said decisively. "Having fresh experiences and talking to real people!"
I sipped the dark frothy beer and continued: "Most writers say you should lock yourself away in a room with a word processor to avoid the dissipation that can result from sensory overload. Then, they say, you sit there until you can make up stuff out of thin air. Bullshit! When I write about sucking cock, I go out and suck a few. You'd be surprised at what fresh experience can do to stimulate your descriptive powers."
Ron thought about that for a moment as he sipped, then said, "I think I see what you mean. Perhaps I should return to the basics -- keeping a journal to capture my experiences for later use."
"I agree," I said. "Each day is a new opportunity for experience. It's exciting. Once you begin looking for peak experiences, you'll practically leap out of bed each morning to get your day started."
We had several more beers as we chatted. I began to feel the buzz as we talked about characterization and his other concerns.
Emphasizing a point, I tapped his thigh as I said, "In erotica, the cock IS a character. The cock is a living, acting/reacting member of the cast every bit as much as the guy whose lips are loving on it. Boys even NAME their cocks. As for me, I've never met a cock I didn't like."
We laughed and drank. "Too bad I'm not gay," said Ron with a grin. "I have a feeling you could give me lots of experience."
"You must at least be curious or you wouldn't have been reading the anthology. Besides, you don't have to be gay to enjoy male sex," I said with a tone of mild exasperation, letting my hand rest on his thigh. "If male sex is a new experience for you, then perhaps THAT is the very thing you NEED to experience next! Think of the rich insight it can bring to your prose the next time you do a love scene." My hand inched further up his thigh. He didn't budge an inch. He was erect.
"How did you get started in erotica," he asked, swiveling his bar stool toward me with his legs parted. Whether his face was flushed from excitement or embarrassment was yet to be seen.
"I began submitting gay erotica to Nifty Erotic Archives on the web. I was an insecure writer at first but found that I got a kick out of using my craft well enough to make other guys cum. That's what writing's all about, isn't it. Evoking significant emotion and reaction, making the reader think and feel strongly, especially to know passion. It's about leaving impressions and memories -- even if they're fictional. Bringing guys off with mere words is one of the most heady things I do, even moreso than actually having sex. Oddly enough, writing erotica improves my writing in general."
My hand moved to his bulge. Quite a package. I felt his hard cock and my own tool surged.
Ron spoke hesitantly. "Even if I were open to experimentation, I'd be afraid of getting HIV."
"Bullshit!" I held the hard tip of his prong. "There's far, far greater risk of my getting AIDS from sucking your cock, even with a condom, than there is for you getting it from me during a blowjob. Now why don't we go to my place and I'll suck your cock. Just to give you a journal-entry for today. You know you want it."
"We'd better wait. I'd hate to be seen walking across campus with a hard-on."
I gulped more Guinness. We were both getting tipsy -- really tying one on.
"Look, Ron, either you want this or you don't," I said firmly. "Either way is fine with me. Now, I'm going over there to the men's room. I'll be in the last stall. If you come in, fine; if you don't, we'll still be friends."
Before he could say a word, I was off the stool and heading for the bathroom. The last stall was larger than the rest in order to accommodate a wheelchair. It was nearly impossible to see two sets of feet inside unless you happened to be in the adjacent stall.
I lowered the seat and, without undoing my pants, sat there a few minutes. Just when I was about to give up and leave, I heard footsteps and the outer door opening. The toes of Ron's white Nikes appeared in front of the stall door. He hesitated a moment, then pulled the unlatched door.
"I'm not a Mike Tyson -- I won't bite you. Now come on over here!"
He locked the door and stepped in front of me. His cock was straining to get free. I undid his pants and pulled them and his boxers to the floor. Ron had a dream cock: nine inches of the most beautiful shaft and head I'd seen in a long time. Proportioned to fit any fantasy. Now THIS cock had character.
I'm fortunate in having a large oral cavity. I can easily swallow nine or ten inches, and my gag reflex is practically nil. I took Ron in with a single slurp and he inhaled sharply. I clutched his ass cheeks and moved him in and out of my mouth as my head bobbed. I sucked forcefully. After a moment, I looked up and said, "Be honest: Has a woman ever done it this well for you?"
But Ron's eyes were closed and his face was tilted toward the ceiling.
I swallowed him again and put a lot of vacuum on the pull-back, then fluttered my tongue under his head and let the tip explore the groove all the way around. I was rewarded with a healthy dick-drool of pre-cum, and I sucked harder. Now I didn't have to urge him to move his hips; he was pounding into my mouth.
Every experienced cocksucker knows how to tell when a guy's about to cum. The steady breathing, the unchanging rhythm of the face-plowing, and the growing taste of pre-cum. All the signs were there, plus Ron was holding the back of my head and pulling my face into his thrusts.
"Oh!! Damn!! I'm!! Cuming!!"
He shot enough creamy spunk to float a battleship. A great chaser for the stout.
When he finished, I nursed on it before letting the cock slide from my lips. Ron was beet-red. I wanted to soothe his emotions.
"When you make your journal entry for today, keep this in perspective. Cuming is a biological necessity and whether you cum in a pussy or in my mouth is irrelevant. I simply helped you get off. We're still friends and nothing has changed."
Ron nodded and put his meat-stick away. "Actually, it was great -- beyond my expectations. Very much so."
"Well, perhaps we can add other experiences for your journal-writing as we get to know each other better."
Ron grinned. The blush was gone. "I'd like that. I can't wait to Tai Wan Ohn again."