You know you want it
by Short Guy
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I didn't want to be gay. I grew up in a time when it was shameful, when it was seen as a mental illness. I fought it. I fought it like crazy. I didn't want it. I wanted to be normal. I didn't want to be the kind of boy who jacked off thinking about sucking someone's cock. But that's exactly what I did. Over and over.
To ease my guilt, to take away the shame of wanting men, of dreaming of having a handsome guy offer his cock to be sucked, I used to imagine being forced to have sex. If someone made me do it, then I could not be blamed, right? I fantasized about having no choice, about being made to submit. That way, I would get what I wanted without being what I didn't want to be. I could suck cock without being a cocksucker. I could suck cock without shame.
But shame was something I could not avoid. After all, what I fantasized about was not some handsome boy sucking my cock. What I wanted was to suck the cock of guys who were handsomer, more muscular, taller, more manly than I was. I wanted to worship real men. But if that's what I wanted, didn't that make me a faggot, for real?
I know, I know. I was messed up. I was actually jailbait without realizing it. When I was ten I was staring at grown men, at their crotches, their chests, their biceps, their faces. I had idea that they were staring back. I was much handsomer than I thought I was, and I was muscular in a wiry twink way. I looked skinny until you got up close and saw my sixpack, my firm biceps, and my pert round ass that stuck out in back begging to be fucked.
But that's not how I saw myself. I saw myself envying taller, more muscular, older, hairier guys. I saw myself falling to my knees in front of them, looking up in wonder at their manhood.
I didn't want to be the kind of boy who jacked off thinking about sucking a man's cock. Still, as I said, if they forced me, then it would not be me doing it. It would not be my fault.
So I jacked off imagining a much stronger, taller boy, or a grown man, forcing my face down to his crotch, shoving his cock between my lips and making me, forcing me, to suck his dick until he exploded in my hot boy mouth.
I was so freaked out by my desires -- and how socially unacceptable they were -- that I told my liberal parents about them. They did what any good parents did in the 1960s; they sent me to a shrink to cure me. Homosexuality was a shameful thing but it was a mental illness and it could be cured.Or could it?
I had been seeing the shrink for several months now and, fuck it, nothing was changing. My desires were the same or stronger.
Could it be that what I needed -- what I wanted -- was for someone to force me to accept what I was, what I am? Someone could make me -- force me -- to accept... to accept what? To accept that what I wanted most of all was to worship other guys, the ones who were so handsome, so manly, so sexy, so virile? To be on my knees in front of them? To lick the most private, most manly, parts of their bodies? To submit to them?
And then it happened to me. Just like I hoped. Just like I feared.
Only it wasn't force. Not exactly. It was ... well see for yourself.
There I was in the shrink's office for my weekly conversion therapy. Another guy came out of the shrink's office just before my session. I was so startled by his beauty that I couldn't help myself. I stared at him openly. I'm sure my fucking mouth was open and fuck me if he didn't see me gaping at him.
He was black, movie star handsome, muscular in a gymnast way (thick shoulders and biceps and huge pecs), relatively short (only about four inches taller than me and I was five two), and with a dancer's way of moving -- elegant, smooth, liquid. His eyes locked onto mine as I stared at him. I was mesmerized. I couldn't look away. My cock started growing; it twitched against my pants.
He didn't smile. He just stared at me. I saw his eyes flick down. Fuck me, he looked at my crotch. He gave a small smile and looked back up at me. And then with a cockiness that stunned me, he reached down and held his crotch while he looked at me. My eyes went down to his groin where I saw a thick cock outlined in his pants. I caught my breath. His smile got wider.
At that moment the shrink came out of his office and looked at me.
"I'm ready for you Guy."
He looked at the handsome hunk standing in front of me.
"Same time next week?"
The hunk looked at him and nodded. He turned to walk out of the office. I watched him as he left. His muscular bubble butt, his V-shape with his wide muscular shoulders and tiny waist. Oh God was I in lust. And in so much fucking trouble.
"We still have work to do, I see," the shrink said, obviously having witnessed my attraction to the hunk. "Let's get started."
The session that day focused on my reaction to the hunk. And of course that did not help me gid rid of my boner. The session went by in a blur.
Before I knew it, the session was over. I stood up, still sporting a hardon, and walked out of the shrink's office to the waiting room outside. I crossed the room and left through the door to the hallway.
And standing outside looking at me was the hunk.
I nearly fainted. He was incredibly beautiful. A face like a model, broad shoulders, muscular biceps and strong pecs, nice thighs, smooth beautiful skin the color of chocolate. And a bulging crotch that took my breath away. It's like his cock was hard and pointing straight forward. I found out later that's exactly what it was doing. It was obscene. His crotch was so fucking huge it would be noticed in public by, well by everyone.
And he had fucking waited for me. Holy shit. Displaying his hard on. The one he obviously wanted me to suck. The one I wanted to suck. I was in deep shit.
The door closed behind me. The hunk looked at me.
"You want me," he said.
"I, uh, uh.."
He smiled, subtly moving his head to indicate that I should follow him. I shouldn't, I told myself. I shouldn't. I shouldn't. I ... Fuck me, I followed him. He took me to a men's bathroom off the hall in the office building. I followed him into the bathroom. He stood at a urinal. He took out his cock. It was fucking gorgeous--cut, thick, smooth, semihard already. Huge beautiful mushroom head, silky smooth, shiny. Not too long. It would fit in my mouth. It would... He was stroking it.
"Suck me," he ordered.
"What?" I asked, stammering. "Here? out in the open? are you...?"
"I know you want to," he said quietly staring into my eyes.
"I don't, I mean... I never... I'm not-- I haven't--"
"Fuck me," he said. "I was hoping I would be the one that got to open your lips with my dick. Fucking A. That's awesome man."
He moved closer to me. His hand reached up. His thumb caressed my lips.
"These lips belong to me," he said. "They belong around my cock."
"No, you don't understand, I can't... I don't..."
"Shut up," he said. "On your knees."
"I'm not, I mean, I'm not you know... queer... I don't..."
"Fuck that. You followed me in here. You want it. You want my dick. I know. You know. We both know."
I started to walk to the door.
"Look at it."
I stopped in my tracks, my eyes on the door.
"Look at it," he repeated, quietly.
I turned around. I looked into his eyes. I looked down at his cock, now fully hard and glossy, that beautiful mushroom head, sticking up in front of him. Proud, erect, hard as a rock. He was manhood personified. It was there, right there. How many times had I jacked off thinking about this moment and here it was and I ... God I was in therapy to stop myself from doing this... We were in a public bathroom. Anyone could walk in and see. We could be arrested. I could...
"I'm not a cocksucker," I said, wishing it were true.
"Look at it."
I stared at him. I resisted. I wanted to look. I wanted to escape. I wanted... I knew what I wanted. I knew what I should want. I knew that... Fuck me, I didn't know. I fucking didn't know what to do. I should be walking out the door. I should be... Why was I still here? It's like I was in his control. It's as if he was forcing me... like I had no way out... like...
He whispered now, his voice sexy as hell. "Look at it."
As if I was following an order,as if I had no choice, I looked down again at his cock. It glistened. It throbbed. It bounced up and down.
"You know you want it."
I felt desperate. The thing I wanted -- to be forced -- it was here, but no, he was not forcing me, he was trying to get me to admit it's what I really wanted all along. He wants me to give in, to give up, to surrender...
"I'm not-- I don't want to be -- I'm not a ..."
"You know you want it," he said again quietly.
"I don't...I don't wanna be..."
"That's what you you spend every week talking to Mr. Know-it-All about, isn't it? How you don't wanna be a cocksucker?"
"Wait..." I croaked. "How do you know why I see the doc? How do..."
"I read your fucking chart."
"No way," I said. "He wouldn't... he..."
The hunk laughed. "No I didn't read your chart, fucker. I read your face. I saw how your dick got hard the moment you saw me. You want me. I'm a stud. I know it. You're a cocksucker. This is my cock. Shut up and suck."
"I can't... I shouldn't... I--"
He walked toward me, his proud hard cock sticking out in front. He was right in front of me now. I stared down at his cock.
"You know you want it..." he said, sexily, quietly. "You know you do."
I looked at him, desperate. I didn't want to be a homo. I didn't want to be queer. I was supposed to marry a good girl, to have a family, to be a man. I didn't want to be mentally sick. I didn't want to be ...
"I don't ... I can't... I don't want to be..."
I was crying. The tears were coming down my face.
"I don't want to be ..." I said.
"I know," he said, his hand rising up to caress the back of my head. "I know you don't want to be a cocksucker. I know you don't want to be."
He was stroking my face with his thumb, wiping my tears away. He was moving his thumb over my lips, so gentle. His fingers pressed against my neck pulling me to him. His eyes were inches from me.
He whispered again.
"I know you don't wanna be a cocksucker," he said, softly, adding, as if he regretted saying it but that it had to be said, "but you are. You are a cocksucker. "
I sobbed, knowing that I could not escape this thing, that I could not... that I was -- I really was --.
"You know you want it. You know you do. It's what you are."
His hand was now pressing on my back of my head. I was falling to my knees. He was pulling me to him. His cock was there in front of me, in front of my eyes. It was so beautiful. It was his manhood. He was offering me what I had wanted for so long. His cock was touching my lips. My mouth was opening. He was making me. He was making me... like I wanted... like I feared...
"I can't... I ..."
"I know you don't want to be a cocksucker...," he said, again, his cock touching my lips, painting them with his precum, marking me, making me his boy. "But you want it. You know you do. You know you want it."
"If I do this... if I... I can't go back. I can't undo it. I can't be normal. I would have crossed the line. I would become..."
"Yes," he said, as his thumb entered my mouth to hold it open. "You would. You would become a cocksucker."
I looked up at him.
"I don't wanna be," I cried.
"I know," he said, caressing my hair, "I know," as if it was a really sad thing, as his cock entered my mouth, as I felt his silky, soft skinned, hard penis penetrating my mouth, as my lips stretched, as my tongue caressed the underside of his cock, lovingly, tenderly, as saliva coated his beautiful cock, as I started to lick his cock, as I began to suck, as I ... as I...
"You know you want it," he said, as he pumped his cock in and out of my mouth, slowly at first and then faster, and faster, as I wet his cock with my saliva, with my tears, with his precum.
It was like a dream. It was what I had always dreamed of. A handsome boy was making me suck his dick. He was making me... but fuck me to hell, he had not made me. He just took it out, and offered it to me, told me he knew my secret, he knew I wanted it, I wanted it more than anything. I wanted it so much I was willing to suck his dick in the open bathroom where I could be found out any second. I was so into it that I did it, I...
Oh God it was heaven. I looked up at him, his large pecs there above me in his tight T-shirt, his biceps bulging as he hands gripped my head and held me in place as his cock, that beautiful, manly cock pistoned in and out of my mouth, slipping on my tongue, probing the back of my throat.
It tasted wonderful. It was so smooth. It throbbed. I heard him moaning because I was making him feel so good. I was doing that, me, I was making him moan. I was helping him out. I was scratching his itch. He was a man, a real man and he had needs and he needed me to...fuck that to hell, I needed him. I needed his cock. I needed to suck him.
He knew, he knew, he knew.
And now so did I.
Fuck this! Fuck it to hell! The feel of his cock in my mouth, the feeling of being on my knees before a beautiful man, looking up at him, looking up at his beautiful face, his thick lips, his wide handsome nose, his clear eyes, as I serviced him, as I knelt before him, as I received his manhood, as I... as I... sucked his goddam cock.
I groaned.
He fucked my mouth, there in the middle of the men's bathroom, in full view of anyone who might come in. I was on my knees sucking his beautiful cock. I was his boy. I was his cocksucker. I didn't want this. It was what I wanted. His cock. My mouth. His thrusts. His... oh God, his cock was spasming. It was...He was shooting in my mouth. His cum was ... oh God oh God oh God. I took it. I took his manjuice. I tasted it. I swallowed it. I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed and swallowed.
And when he was done, he withdrew his cock from my mouth. I was still on my knees. My face was wet, with tears, with saliva, with cum. He was putting his cock back into his pants. I was still swallowing his cum. I felt it slide down my thoat.
I looked at him.
"I didn't want... You made me..."
He looked at me.
"No I didn't," he said. He looked down at my crotch. So did I. It was sopping wet. Wait, was that...? Did I...?
I had fucking cum in my pants without even realizing it.
He approached me and was standing above me. He leaned over, putting his hands under my armpits to lift me up. He was standing so close. His lips were by my ear.
He was whispering. "You blew your load without touching yourself. You shot off just from sucking my cock, from swallowing my cum, all of it, every last drop. I knew you wanted it. So did you."
He walked toward the door. Before he left, he turned and looked at me. I was a mess, my pants soaked, my lips swollen, my mouth full of the taste of his semen.
"See you next week." And he was gone.
I felt the world shift. His words were in my ears, and they were true. "You know you want it." He was right. I did know. I had always known.
And fuck me to hell, I fucking did want it.
Next week? Bring it on.
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https://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/you-know-you-want-it
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