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A Quick Encounter
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He one of the most popular guys at school, and it was no surprise.  He was captain of the swim team and the star pitcher on the baseball team.  6'2", 170, blond hair in a short, preppy cut, bright green eyes that sparkled when he smiled.  Girls wanted him, and he seemed to have a perpetual entourage of fawning cheerleaders when he walked in the halls, between classes or on the way to his locker.

I was standing at the urinal in the men's room at the end of lunch when he walked in.  Although no one else was in the bathroom, he strode up to the urinal next to mine.  I gulped as I could almost smell the hot virility he oozed.  I fought the urge to look down and over as he unzipped.  Compared to him, I was a nobody.  One more face in a sea of anonymity, 5'10", dark hair, 155.  Average grades, average looks.  Average.  I'd flirted with a couple girls, but I'd never dated.  I was gay and knew it, and was just putting on the show to keep everyone else from knowing too.

When I heard the stream of piss hit the porcelain, I couldn't keep my eyes on the wall in front of me anymore.  I held my face straight and cut my eyes over to the corner as sharply as I could, but the angle kept me from seeing his cock.  I turned my head slowly, subtly, I thought only a fraction of a degree, and I saw it.  Long, thick, cut.  I watched as the golden waste washed over the white porcelain, a tuft of pubic hair exposed through the blue denim and white underwear.  I left myself for a moment, awash in the image, in the inevitable thought of wrapping my lips around that cock, my tongue sliding over the head, when I suddenly heard a chuckle.  It could have been the fire alarm for the effect it had.  I jumped, my head jerked up, I saw him looking at me, smirking.  I realized I'd finished pissing, I don't know how long ago, I don't know how long I'd stared at his cock, and he'd caught me checking him out.  I felt the redness erupt over my face.

I fumbled for my fly and found my cock was hard.  Fuck!  I clumsily shook it off and tried to tuck it inside, and then I heard his voice, quiet, almost a whisper.  "Hey, you want it?"  I looked back up, startled.  He'd finished pissing too, and his cock was still out.  My eyes met his, mine like a deer in the headlights, his cool, knowing.  "You want it?" he repeated.

Instantly, my mouth was like the desert.  I swallowed dryly, my tongue feeling thick.  I glanced down at it again.  My cock was hard and bulged in my jeans, which were still unzipped.  I felt myself lick my lips.  "Yeah," I said, nodding slightly, but my voice sounded distant and empty.  I couldn't peel my eyes from his rod.

"Go on then, do it," he said.  I shivered and I felt goose bumps on my arms and neck.  Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, I fell to my knees on the grimy bathroom floor as he turned away from the urinal.  I could see his cock swelling, the last drop of piss still clinging to the slit.  I opened my mouth, and he slid inside, salty, musky.  My first cock, and it was his!  I felt it growing in my mouth as instinct took over and I began to suck.  My tongue caressed his head as he held it in place.  I was lost in the moment, no time for disbelief or analysis of the situation.

I sucked him as far as I could.  I couldn't take it all without gagging.  His hands went to my hair, ruffling it, mussing it, but not forcing me down on it.  I was doing that on my own, desperate, trying to take every silky inch of his hot, smooth dick, trying to bury my nose in the pubes I could see through his open fly.  Minutes passed as I moved my face up and down, feeling him slip into my throat again and again.  He moaned softly, and then he spoke.  "My balls, man, do my balls!"

Hungrily, my mouth still wrapped around his cock, I unfastened his belt and undid the button.  I slipped his jeans down over his hips and they rested loosely around his thighs, where he had spread his legs open.  I reached into the fly of his knit boxers and fished out his sack, pulling it through the opening.  My eyes went to his, half-lidded with lust as he looked down at me, as I stuck my tongue out and washed his nuts, tasting the sweaty salt, the thin strands of straw colored hair.  I slobbered his entire sack, then sucked in one ball after another.  He took his left hand from my hair and began to pump his cock as I mouthed his balls.

Suddenly, he tensed, his mouth open in ecstasy, his hips rocking, as his cock throbbed.  Cum shot out, up into the air, and then spattered over my forehead and bangs.  He pulled my face back from his sack and aimed his cock at it.  Subconsciously, my mouth opened wide, tongue out, desperate for his cream.  Thick ropes covered my cheeks, my nose, my eyebrows and lashes, my eyelids, as his dick kept firing out incredible volume.  He coated my tongue, and I tasted him, viscous, bleachy, salty, smoky.  I convulsed, realizing I was cumming, my cock untouched, spurting loads into my jeans.

"Go on, swallow it!" he urged, and I pulled my tongue back, closed my mouth, and swallowed it.  He moved his spunky cockhead back to my lips and I opened again.  He pressed it into my mouth and I savored the taste, licking its slime off.  He smiled down at me as I felt the last dribbles ooze out, and I sucked them away and swallowed them, too.  I let his cock fall free, and slurped the streaks that had been smeared along its length as he fisted it, then smiled back.  He released my hair, put his hands on my shoulders, and helped me stand.

"Thanks, faggot," he said, as he wiped the scum on his hand off onto my shirt.  As I came to conscious recognition of what had happened, he buttoned his jeans, tucked his cock away, and zipped up.  He smirked at me, my face covered, my hair streaked, my shirt smeared, all with his cum.  Then, as the bell ending lunch rang, he turned and walked out the door.  The high pitched squeal told me his groupies had waited for him, while he had been inside using me.  I looked down at my cum spattered jeans, this cum was my own, and zipped them.  I walked over to the mirror over the sink, and my heart fell through the floor.  Cum was everywhere.  Thick, white, strands in my hair and face, and the obvious, glistening patch on my blue button down.

I heard the door open and turned, thinking it was him.  It wasn't.  Another jock, bulkier, from the football team.  He glanced at me, then did a double take, stopping in his tracks.  At first startled, then disgusted, he made a course straight for me.  I cringed, expecting him to hit me, when he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me around.  "I ain't pissing in front of no faggot," he muttered, and my horror grew as he moved to the bathroom door.  My face blanched, my arms flailed, but I could do nothing as he unceremoniously shoved me out into the hall.  The click told me he'd locked the door behind me.