Much to my mother’s annoyance, dinner was delayed due to my pre-occupation of things other than stew.
“I have to work with Drew on our project. So I’ll go over to his place Friday night. Might even have dinner with him Saturday and stay over.”
My father laughed approvingly, “Big project to be completed quickly? Teacher getting you ready for university?”
“Not really, Dad, We’ve got two weeks. We want to get it in early to make the best impression.”
It was no surprise when my mother commented, “Well that’s a welcome change in you, Buddy,” as I am a bit of a procrastinator.
I finished dinner, grabbed a banana to go upstairs.
My mother said, “Buddy, don’t leave the peel in your room, for goodness sake’s.”
I had forgotten the peel. Blushing, I said, “Sorry, Mom.”
The rest of the evening I reviewed the play making notes of my impressions and the location of the lines. The contrast between Rosencrantz and Guildenstern was striking. Some friends, they! I thought. Hamlet, from their entrance into the action, had no respect for them. It was clear that he was wary of them. I felt proud of myself for getting the work done far in advance. I now could get out Friday without worrying about being ready for our study session Saturday.
I practised unsuccessfully on the banana. I ate it and brought the peel down to trash compactor.
The next two days passed normally. Drew and I attended our classes and had our usual daily lunch. He was ebullient about his diving, saying that this coach was the best he had ever had. He was very regimented so all the divers knew what was expected of them. I told him, proudly, that I had completed my part in the project. Knowing my penchant for postponing, he quipped in surprise, “Bravo, bud! Who’d thought you’d be the one to keep his end up first.”
Friday evening was here, finally. I reminded my parents that I was going to Drew’s but would not be late. I checked the bus route which fortunately was an express. As I was going out the door, my father said “Glad you are wearing your toque. Very cold out there,” pausing and then adding, “But why the shades?”
I blushed, replying, “It’s cool. Everyone’s doing it.” He rolled his eyes.“Don’t be too late.”
I walked into the cold night. I shivered. I had to take a bus to get to the express stop. I was very cold and nervous. To make matters worse, the express was predictably late. The ride was about 15 minutes to the mall but seemed endless in my anticipatory mood.
I got off at the darkened mall. I looked across the street to see if I could detect the store. It was too dark. There were five small stores, one of which was clearly a local convenience store with someone coming out of it. I crossed the street. Once there I could clearly see a store, three from the convenience one, whose window was blocked so that no one could see inside. I was sure that this was the store. I was relieved that no one could see who was inside. I looked at the return bus stop with a rushed sense that I should turn back. Had a bus arrived then, I think I would have abandon my course of action. Checking around me for any possible witnesses, I started to walk toward the store.
I went up to its door. The sign read The “St newall xperience” with letters missing. There was a notice: “18+.” Just at that moment someone came up and said, “Excuse me, buddy.” I felt suddenly weak with fear. But it was just someone whom I did not know, suggesting that I go in, or let him by. I moved aside.
I thought that even though I am seventeen, because of my height and nothing else, I could pass for over eighteen. I plucked up my courage. With a combination of fear and anticipation, I entered. The pay counter was right beside the door. The clerk was reading something. He paid no attention to me.
The first thing that struck me was that there seemed to be no books.
The cluttered store was small and appeared dimly lit. The layout was more narrow than wide. Along the side closest to the counter were a row of magazines. There were three men in the store other the clerk and me. At the adjacent row, one man, who was about 25, was examining an item. He was wearing six rings, three on each hand. Opposite me was an older man, perhaps 45, looking at videos. I noticed that he had a wedding ring. At the back was a closed door. Above it was a pink neon sign marked “Theater.” The man who had preceded me into the store was going back to the pay counter. He paid something, went to the back, a buzzer sounded and he went through the door.
I started to look at the magazines, many and expensive. Most had front covers of very beautiful men. The titles were titillating: “Inches.” “Manhunt,” “Freshman,” “Unzipped,” etc. One was called “Choice Videos” with a picture of a guy with a huge black penis, much larger than Drew’s. A young blonde guy was kneeling before him with his mouth wide open, eyes glazed.
The young man next to me looked over and stared at me intently. He was very good looking . He could not see my eyes but I could see his. Looking at my extending crotch, he reached down and stroked his jeans. I could see the outline of his penis. I quickly turned away.
On the same row were smaller paperbacks with titles like: “First Time,” “Cocksuckers Anon,” “Love to Be Fucked,” “Big Meat-Willing Mouth,” etc. Despite their thin size, they were also expensive, varying from $9.00 to $14.00.
The young man went up to the counter. Walking back to the rear of the store, the door buzzed again and he entered. I really had no idea what the “theater” was all about. I thought that maybe they went in there to watch some gay films.
I noticed that the older guy also wore dark glasses. He fidgeted with the video jackets and continually looked anxiously around him. His nervousness made me more confident.
I moved to the next section of the store. On the wall were an array of plastic or rubber penises in a wide variety of sizes. One was about three and one-half feet long with the head of a penis on each end. I had no idea what it was for. It was extremely gross. There were black ones, some of which were a foot long. There were some that were seven inches, some eight and some ten. Each was an imitation of an erection. One had an erect penis with imitation rubber balls at the bottom. There were vibrator penises. There were smaller ones of different widths called butt-plugs. Next to them were lotions called “Wet,” “Anal Eaze,” “Rear Entry.” They varied in price and, true to form, were expensive.
Even though I was inexperienced, I knew what they were for. After all, this was a gay male store. The thought of something up my anus made my butt involuntarily contract as if to prevent entry. I grimaced thinking that I would not do like that.
On the other side of the room, to the left of the videos, were clothing and leather items. There was a display case of leather and metal rings, the purpose for which, I had no idea. They were too large for one’s fingers. There was leather underwear. There was a something that looked like a jock strap except that it was a fine material, with a tiny pouch and thin straps. This I later learned was a thong. There was a pair of leather shorts with the backside cut off and a pair of leather trousers with big buttons showing on the outside instead of an inner zipper.
The man next to me put down the video. With what I thought was a sigh, he left. The clerk paid no attention. I gathered that I could look without notice or even care if I purchased something.
I moved to the videos and picked up the one the man had been looking at. It was titled “Frat Fun.” Flipping it, there were three stills of guys in various sexual acts. One was cock sucking. The next one was four guys, one on his knees, holding two large penises while the fourth was resting his erect penis in the kneeling guy’s mouth. The third was a guy lying back on a dorm room bed with his head over the edge and his legs over a guy’s shoulders. This guy was fucking him while the other was standing over him with his erect cock in the other guy’s mouth, his balls resting against the guy’s nose. There were many videos with titles like: “Jailbait,” “Long Dong John,” “Cocksluts” etc.
I looked at my watch. It was 9:00. I had been there over an hour although it seemed as if I had just arrived. I had maintained an erection since looking at the magazines on my entrance into the store. I thought it would be obvious to anyone, especially here, where guys look at your crotch. Fortunately no one else was in the store. I was too self-conscience to re-arrange my erection even though only the pre-occupied clerk was there.
Three thirty-something guys came into the store. They paid money to the clerk and laughing, went to the back, entering the theater on the buzz. One said that it would be very busy later in the evening. I wondered how long this store was open at night.
I had promised to be home early so I went back to the magazine row. I picked a paperback titled “First Time.” I leafed through it. It was a collection of various short stories with no pictures with titles like “Young But Willing,” “My Trip with the Twins,” “Swallowing It Whole,” “First Fuck,” etc. Putting it down, I inspected the others but was drawn back to it. It was $12.95.
Although I had made my decision, I was very nervous about buying it. Attempting to be blasé, I brought it to the counter. A sign above on the wall said, “Open - 3:00 p.m.- 3:00 a.m.” Odd hours I thought. On a shelf above the sign was an array of tightly wrapped, small bottles of something called “poppers.”
Although I was standing right there, the clerk did not even look up. I faked a slight cough. Barely looking at me, he took the paperback, punched in the price, tersely saying. “$13.86.”
For a moment I almost corrected him but then remembered the tax. I fumbled for my wallet, blushing, thinking that he could probably see the outline of my erection. I took out two tens and gave it to him. He put the paperback in a brown paper bag, gave me my change and returned to the magazine that he was reading. I walked out of the store with my first gay book.
I had no idea when the bus would come. I put the paperback in my ski jacket’s inner pocket. Because of my erection which was so hard it could not be willed down, I was relieved that no one was waiting at the stop. I crossed my arms downward over it. The bus, after an interminable time, arrived. I climbed on feeling awkward about my erection. The driver never paid any attention to me. I sat, window seat, at the closest seat to the door for fear of walking down the aisle. I placed my arms against my crotch. The bus ride back seemed even longer. The paperback was a live presence in my jacket.
Arriving home, I did not give my usual greeting. Hearing me, my mother called out from the kitchen. `You`re home? How’d it go with Drew.”
I felt suddenly very guilty and ashamed. This caused the erection I had been sporting to subside. I went into the kitchen. She was making chicken stock. “So? How’d it go.”
She said, “Taste this broth for me.” Taking a spoon, breathing on it to cool it down, I drank it. It was hot and rich, warming me. “It’s for the Coq au vin I am making for dinner Sunday. Since Drew is having you over tomorrow, why not ask him to come for dinner to enjoy my famous Coq.”
I said with amused irony that I would. I grabbed a banana to go upstairs and she said. “What’s with the bananas? You never used to eat many of them.” I blushed.
Quickly I said, “I don’t know. Just a craving. You have them all the time. Remember the radishes this summer or last year when you served us fish three times a week.” She laughed.
As I left the kitchen she said “Have a good sleep, Buddy, love.”
I did not take off my ski jacket until I got upstairs. I took out the paperback, placing it on my table with the banana. I went into pee. My erection started again. I had to hold it carefully so I would not mess up the toilet bowl.
For the third time this week I did not put my bottoms on. I got into bed and excitedly picked up the paperback to read.
These are not really stories. There have short, set-up preliminaries that often make no sense, the sole purpose to fill space before the sexual action. Fully nine-tenths of the stories are the action and the action is clumsily written. I would never read them now. But then it was fantasy food for my mind. The first one was titled “The Hole” where a guy goes to a public urinal and sucks a cock through a hole in the wall of the adjoining stall. This was his first time but he was so addicted, he went back often, sometimes, improbably, sucking off a dozen guys. I thought that I would never do that. Although it seemed a bit sick, it was not a turn-off.
The second one was about a college student who roomed with a gymnast. This is a constant theme in these stories as I discovered later. The student was an art’s major. The gymnast was, as the story tells us, like a Greek god, “hung and waiting, 8 inches of prime meat.” The college student always becomes excited when the gymnast exits the shower. On one occasion, the gymnast comes out of the shower. He walks over to the sitting college student who has been sneaking glances at him. He confronts the student saying that he knows that the student is looking at him. He says that he is probably a cock slut wanting to serve men. He orders him to strip and get on his knees to get what he was made for.
The student does, of course, and loves it. (I identified, only partially, with the student.) He comes saying to the student words something like this, “Take my baby batter, you fucking pussy-boy. Take my nut and swallow it. It’ll be the only man in you.” The college student chokes down his cum. “The gymnast looks at him pathetically saying “You are now my cum bucket to be used by me and my friends.” He then gets on the students bed and tells him “to crawl on his knees to be fed again.” The student does.
This seems highly improbable now but, then, probability was far from my mind.
The gymnast holds his hands against the student’s throat. Tracing his finger from the student’s chin past his Adam’s apples, he tells him that he is going to fuck him down the throat. That he is going to choke him on cock and that the student is going to love it. He slaps his cock against the student’s face, menacingly saying “Open up little girl, cock lover, your better is coming in.” With that he pushes his cock into the student’s throat who gags.
In a totally unconvincing change of character, the gymnast becomes not only understanding but tutorial. He tells him that it is just the student’s gag response that he would have to suppress. He tells him to breathe through his nose and relax and when his cock reaches that point to swallow. The student does and it works. The gymnast compliments him.
He reverts to his earlier dominance, drives his cock in and out the student’s throat saying, “You got it, slut, You’re a cock-sucking, cumloving deep throater, better’n any girl. I can’t wait for Tommy B to get his thick 10 incher down you. It will reach your stomach and you will be hooked for life. Fucking cumming, cumming down your gullet, fag pussy, hosing your stomach, marking my territory.” The gymnast comes, described as gobs of sperm, while the student feels it hotly trickling into his stomach. This was the “Swallowing It Whole” story.
I was overwrought with excitement. The tension of an almost three-hour erection was too much. My balls were so tight and drawn up that they ached painfully. I sat up and shanked my dick about three times. I came in a very painful explosion. My legs shaking uncontrollably, I shot everywhere. It splatted my headboard, my duvet cover, my face, lips and my chest. It was such a soaking, gooey mess that I would have to clean it up before my mother changed the beds tomorrow. My dick was still totally hard and my balls still had an uncomfortable, throbbing ache. I had gotten into the story.
I laid back unsatiated. I reached for the banana and looked for the paperback which had fallen on the side of my pillow. It was wet and sticky. I peeled the banana and stuck it in my mouth while trying to read the passage where the student takes the whole cock. I read again about the gag suppression, the breathing and the relaxation part. I tried several times and was almost successful. Each time my response softened. I began to feel confident that I probably get past the gag. But the last time I moved it in, because my mouth was so warm and wet, the banana began to disintegrate.
I ate it all.
I turned off the light reliving the story with Drew and me in it. He was never abusive. I did not mind that Drew had said “cocksucker” because it fitted what I was doing. It was not said in a derogatory manner but rather in sexual heat. Actually, it was verbally exciting for me. Thinking about this, I started to wank again but more slowly as my dick was tender and my balls still had a dull ache. Stroking again and again I thought of taking all of Drew’s cock. I came again in a less painful, yet powerful, satisfying orgasm.
Chapter Six - The Sleepover