Thank God for sweet straight boys with full nuts. Thank God for the ones with enough sense to realize they might appreciate a gay friend willing to suck them. Willing to give them sweet, tender head and relieve them of their urgent burden of cream.
Justin had an open, innocent face and I know he craved to fuck some cute cheerleader. But God never makes enough sweet, willing centerfold girls, and He didn't put enough of them at my school, and He didn't send any of them into Jason's arms. Thank God.
He was good natured about my offer. I explained that he would still have all his manliness. He would still be the straight one. I'd suck all the dick, eat all the cream. I'd give the pleasure. I'd lay down my dignity. I'd be the sissy. He would still be the man. All he had to do was please let me suck him.
He did, on a Friday night. I came over and we both knew what for. We had pizza and a beer, and I slid from the sofa to the floor, crawling over to lay my head in his lap. Crawling over to help him undo his belt and get those jeans down. Helping him get them off, over his feet. Reassuring him that his getting a boner was just fine with me. Touching his rigid plumpness to seal the deal, murmuring, "Ooh, what a nice dick!"
Caressing gently, a little squeeze. Opening his boxers, touching my lips to him, humming my delight, as my lips slipped over his tip, reached the ridge, slid back to touch just the pee lips, then engulfed him, barely touching, barely touching, as he whimpered his need, pulsing and getting so hard. Mouthing him, deeper now, still wickedly gentle, the head huge, his nuts drawing up, his urgency clear in his voice, in the pulsing, the precum, his arching hips. Deeper now, sucking a little stronger, slowly sliding all the way to take the base. Back to the tip, my hand cupping and caressing his tightening nuts, tugging gently at the back of his bag. A tiny shaky moan.
Sliding off to blow cold air on the head, on the shaft. Sliding back to give him soft wet warmth, sweet pressure, tender friction, my heart full, worshiping the boyish head, the warm mass of his cock. His sweet dick deep in my mouth, now, his thrusts more aggressive, his moaning louder, as I increase my pressure. He strains to be deeper, deeper, deeper, strains to get the pleasure.
He freezes, making one long whimper, then bucks and groans out his suck-joy, a petulant tender confession. Shooting, shooting, thrusting and shooting, his cream flying hard to lie sweet on my tongue, in my throat, on my lips. Thrusting, slowing, as his moans became more gentle, and thrusting gives way to pulsing, pulsing, his hand caressing my hair. Softening. My cheek now lying against his warm thigh.
I wipe him dry and bring him another beer. We both smile.
Now he knows for sure how it can be. Thank God.