I was gonna ask him if he wanted to get naked and jack off while he sucked me. I fantasized about it a few times, and then found myself fantasizing about sucking him. A tender 69 sounded sort of hot, too. Just having him suck me began to feel a little like using him, even if he didn't seem to see it that way.
I was watching something with my folks and just couldn't get Andy out of my mind. I was so fucking horny I could hardly breathe. My back hurt. I headed up to my room and quickly got my jeans off. Oddly, my briefs were soaked, but my dick refused to get hard. It got to about 30%, but we all know it has to be 80 or it's just a semi. After about a half hour of trying, I finally put my pants back on. I just couldn't stop thinking about making him cum too, while being sucked. I was actually shaking from the need to cum, but my dick wasn't hard. But I was leaking continuously.
For some reason, I had never gotten Andy's number. I guess living right next door partly explains that. But I could hear him practicing band music on his bass flute, so I knew he was home. I told my folks I was running next door and headed over there, almost scurrying. I rang the doorbell, caught myself rubbing my legs together. Made myself stop. He was alone, so he answered the door, looking pleased to see me. I was real nervous and I think he sensed that right away.
"C'mon up," he said, heading toward his room. When we got there, I'm guessing he thought I was going to hit him up. I started to say something, a couple of times, and it just wasn't coming out.
"Did you come over for a little... uh... repeat?" he asked. I shrugged unhappily, which I don't think was what he expected.
"I, uh... I uhh... I'm having this problem," I said. "Did you ever jack off so many times in a row that you got the shakes?" We both looked at my hands. They were shaking.
His eyebrows arched: "You mean like the day you came over to look at the house?"
"Way. Do you think I run around sucking every guy's dick that I meet? It was something... I had to... have you."
"You had me all right," I laughed mournfully. "Now I want you bad and my dick's stuck in low gear." I filled him in, stammering a lot as I bared my personal stuff. I told him I craved more of the tenderness, which seemed to please him. I told him I wanted to please him, I wanted to feel him as he came to his climax, feel him cum, know I'd pleased him. I told him how I originally wanted to ask him if he wanted to jack himself while he sucked me, but then that seemed so... selfish and fucked. Wasn't what I really meant. I wanted to share something with him, feel his joy and release, too. Wanted to touch and have him, too.
All that seemed perfectly okay with Andy, but then I got to the part about not being able to get hard and not being able to get relief. I'm delighted to say, Andy seemed to consider that a genuine friend emergency. I could imagine the spinning red light going.
"Mysterious Are The Ways of the Bone," said Andy, like he was quoting Confucius.
I just groaned my agreement.
"Pants Off!" he 'commanded,' jokingly.
"Yes, sir," I responded. I felt meek, compliant. Taken Boy, part deux. I eventually got my second foot unstuck and out of my jeans. I straightened up. The giant leakage stain showed plainly in my grey briefs. His eyes widened a little.
"Come over here, baby," he said.
Baby. It broke something loose in me, weakened me. I was on the verge of sobbing. He saw my face.
"Come to me, baby. Give yourself to me."
"Ahhh!" It just came out of me. I was groaning, almost sobbing. The urgency was unbearable. Still no erection. No relief in sight.
"Bring me your beautiful dick." That was even worse. I almost doubled over with need. Emergency, Shame. He looked at me, his boy-laser look: "Come here!" An actual order. I shuffled over, stood before him. He ran his hands up the outsides of my thighs, hooked his index fingers up into the leg holes of my briefs, at the hip, and ran them down to my crotch pulling the fabric away, pulled it free of my plugged up boy parts, pulled the sticky fabric away from my urgent uselessness. He pulled the briefs down and off of me. He leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on the top of my limp, dripping dick, stood and cupped me in his hand. He looked me in the eyes.
"Me help," he assured me, "C'mere." He led me to his bed. The thought of it tickled inside me: his bed, his bed. It seemed so personal. Silly, I know, considering, but it made me feel invited, cared for, feel comforted. I fell onto it, feeling soft and virginal. He ran his hands over my face, my chest, down my sides, down my legs, returned to pet my package casually, like a puppy. I found myself drowsy, soft, intoxicated with erotic torment. His own clothes were off, by now. He scooted me over, lay by me, our faces a foot apart. I felt his hard cock lying hot against my belly button.
He looked at me kindly, reached to brush my cheek with the backs of his fingers. He reached out a single finger and drew it down over my lips, parting them momentarily, withdrew.
"Close you eyes and relax," he said, "Trust me," reaching to run his finger tickly along my lips, leaning to kiss me. Tender, relaxed, no pressure. My horniness began to seem a little less toxic, a tiny bit more optimistic. I had a friend, here to help. I needed to give myself.
He kissed my jaw languidly, the warmth of him comforting, intimate. My penis stirred, just a little. The sense of blockage a little less solid, less absolute. A sense of possibility, again. He kissed my neck, got up on all fours, kissed at my throat, my collar bone, down to a nipple, down, down... As he got lower, the kisses were longer. As he broke each kiss, I felt cool wetness. He was mouthing me, marking me, leaving his trace on me. I groaned to be taken. He finally reached my sex parts, paused to comb my pubes slowly, caressingly, with his fingers. He let out a little sigh of pleasure. I felt another surge of safe need, blockage breaking up, clouds beginning to clear over Peckerville.
He grabbed a pinch of my sack, gently pulling it up from between my legs. It felt fat and warm against my thighs. Put his hand down between my thighs, down to the mattress, and then dragged the back of his hand back up over my balls, his soft skin sticking to mine and pulling them forward, stretching the boy skin sensuously, hand turning to hold them. I felt his hand trembling. He leaned to kiss my soft penis, slowly, tenderly, up from my sack, up the underside, to the head, to the valley between the globes. He mouthed the head once, gently, moistly. His tender acceptance of my mostly limp dick was deeply erotic in a way that just grabbing my boner could never have been. It was so tender, so intimate. It was almost okay to be soft.
He made eye contact with me, slowly parted his lips, licked my ooze languidly, lazy strings connecting us and then breaking. Andy licking his lips, savoring my viscous liquid, eyes closing, opening, slowly. He looked in my eyes, gentle, steady. Reassuring. Another languid kiss to the head. He flopped over onto his side and rolled me toward him, pulled my knee up, cocking my legs apart, exposing me. I let him have me, trying to touch the place he had taken me before. He reached to caress my sack, to tenderly spread the skin, ease it, soothe it. I felt cherished, safe in Andy's caring. The horniness no longer hurt. The sensuousness, the tenderness now sweetly nourishing. I was being cared for by this boy. Things were going to be alright, even soft. Alright.
He reached behind my bag and gave the loose skin a little tug. A little magic tug: the skin tightened enthusiastically, became a tight round pouch. He dragged his fingers over it, surrounded it, grasping, tugging a tiny bit, separating the needy bag from my thigh, caressing from back to front, back to front. I felt my dick begin to swell a little, but it didn't seem so important now, somehow. His fingers continued to caress my balls, venturing further and further back, heading for forbidden territory. He ran a finger along the little ridge, delighting it. My hole began to respond, contracted, began to feel needy. He continued to caress the little ridge, venturing back right before the hole, caressing, tickling, delighting. The moment came: his finger touched me THERE. Touched me, acknowledged something never said, touched me and spoke to my need, spoke to my desire, spoke to my willingness. Touched me and claimed me, made me sigh.
His finger caressed, passing over my secret portal, thrilling the inside of me, passing over, pausing in the very center, speaking to my need, moving on, caressing, caressing, pausing in the very center, pressing lightly, my willingness now huge, sharp. I heard a cap open. The finger returned. Cool, wet, slippery, found the center, pressed lightly, entering microscopically, leaving. Returning with more lube. Finding the center, circling, circling, circling, opening. The lube invades me, making my hole soft and wet and easy and needy and wanton. Finger now touching barely inside, reaching interior territory, my chest tightening with need. More lube, more invasion, more desire; the finger finding me, finger taking me, claiming me, finger circling, spreading softness, spreading need. Inside, circling and stretching, flooding me with need. Finger desired, lubed and welcome. Finger, sliding to press the heart of my desire from inside. Finger pressing. Achy good, achy good... more... gimme more... Oooh... Pressing, milking fluid from me in aching globs, my dick hard already, Hard! Lips enfolding, tender lips and the finger pressing me fulfillingly from inside.
Helpless. Taken. The heart of me taken by the finger, my rigid joy stick taken deep by the lips, taken by Andy to a place of deep fulfillment, a place of towering pleasure. Riding his finger to glory. My voice crying something. The churning finger pressing, making me screaming full. Quivering, lingering, lingering... Blazing, burning pleasure. Joy rupturing, spilling over. Long, deep, deep, deep release. Body shuddering, jerking, erupting, emptying from the backbone, out the tip of me, erupting into his blazing mouth, his sucking mouth, the taking, taking, the comforting mouth, the gentling mouth, his sweet, sweet loving mouth.
Now it was safe to cry. No tears, just the sound of grateful sobbing.