Date: Sat, 21 Mar 2015 13:16:52 +0000
From: out-cast@hotmail.com
Subject: Wanting It

The story below is true, or at least as true as I can make it after about
25 years. The circumstances are all described as they were, as are the main
events and the order in which they occurred. Some of the details and most
of the conversation I made up to turn it into a story rather than a report.
However, I've tried to ensure that the made-up-bits match the atmosphere
and feelings the way they really were that day.

The story involves sex between 16/17 year old males. If that isn't your
thing, what are you doing here? If it is illegal for you to read this
stuff, perhaps it is better you do not, but it is up to you.

				Wanting It

I was relatively late realising that I was gay. It wasn't something I ever
really thought about, but by the time I was 15ish, I did know that I found
boys more interesting, more attractive, than girls. Even then, it didn't
immediately dawn on me that I was gay until I caught myself wanking to the
thought of my best friend's naked body rubbing against me. Still,
realisation was one thing, but I wasn't able to act on it.

My best friend then was Mark. We'd met in the first year of secondary
school and got on immediately. Most days we'd spend at least some time
together, playing computer games, playing soccer, doing homework. By the
time I was 16, I knew I was deeply in love with Mark. To me he was the
embodiment of beauty, though to be honest, he was fairly average looking:
handsome, but not gorgeous, with fair hair and blue-grey eyes, a tall
slender body, but not much muscle definition.

The problem was that Mark wasn't gay. In fact nobody I knew was gay. And so
I lusted for men, for Mark, in silence.

A couple of weeks before my 17th birthday, I broke my leg badly playing
football. It would leave me with my leg in a plaster cast from my toes to
the top of my thigh for almost 5 months. After a night in hospital, I was
sent home where I would have to spend a week in bed with my leg propped up
on a stack of pillows, my mother waiting on me hand and foot. The first
afternoon after school, Mark of course came to our house to see how I was
doing. My Mum, who didn't dare to leave me alone, grabbed the chance to ask
Mark to look after me for a couple of hours while she went out getting
groceries, visiting my Gran and whatever else. None of us thought anything
about it when she left us alone in the house together.

At first, nothing really happened. We chatted about how I broke my leg, he
got us a drink and made a sandwich. After a while I had to ask him to help
me to the loo, so he pulled me up and, with my arm over his shoulder and
his arm around my waist, he helped me hop to the bathroom. I did my
business - without his assistance - and he helped me back to my bed. With
all the emotions from the past days and the pain I was still in, arousal at
this close contact never entered my mind - it was just one good friend
helping another.

After he helped me lift the heavy cast back onto its mountain of pillows,
he sat down on the edge of the bed next to me. We continued to talk, about
what I had missed in school that day (not much), about what it was like to
have a leg in plaster (crap). Suddenly I realised that his hand, which had
earlier lain on the plaster cast, was now lying on my t-shirt. Talking on
as if nothing was happening, Mark was stroking my abdomen, his fingers
seeking the edge of my shirt and slipping underneath. I felt his fingertips
caressing my skin, following the outline of my abs.

I wanted to encourage him, but I couldn't. Petrified like a rabbit in the
headlights I just lay there and let him get on with it. As the conversation
faltered, I watched how a panicked look came to his eyes.

"You want this too, don't you?" Mark whispered. "Please, tell me you want
it."

My mouth was dry as dust and for a few moments we sat there frozen.

"Yes," I croaked, "I do." My voice gained strength. "I've wanted it for
ages."

His hand now ran over my belly without inhibition. His other hand slipped
under my t-shirt and together they slid up my sides and arms, lifting my
shirt up and over my head. Feeling two hands playing with my body, touching
my nipples, exploring my pecs, it finally really dawned that I was about to
make love to the most beautiful guy I knew. I hooked my hand behind his
neck and pulled him towards me. Mark didn't need encouraging, his open
mouth sealing itself over mine, his tongue entering me, his lips chewing at
my lips. I pulled loose his shirt and started to strip it off him, wanting
to feel his skin against mine. Both of us topless, he laid down across my
chest, kissing. My arms were swung around his chest, pulling him tight
against me. His hands cupped my face, our entire existence now focussed on
our entwined lips. I was in heaven and Mark, I was sure, felt the same way.

I am not sure how long we just lay there, snogging, exploring each other's
physicality. My hands found his small of his back and one squeezed down the
waistband of his trousers, cupping his arse cheek. His right hand wandered
slowly down my torso, slipped into my boxers and grabbed my erection. He
was licking my nipples, sucking them, while his fingers played with my
balls. He kissed my neck, my shoulders, my chest. His tongue draw a path
down my breastbone, my belly, probing my bellybutton. I desperately wanted
to grab his head and push him down, forcing his face into my crotch.

Mark pulled down my boxers, forcing them halfway down my cast before he got
too eager for my body to bother any further.

His tongue licked the length of my shaft, sending shivers through my
body. He licked my balls and took one of them into his mouth, sucking,
rolling it around over his tongue. I wanted him to get on with it and told
him so, but he took his time, lavishing attention on my other ball, playing
his tongue around my foreskin and slit. By the time he closed his lips
around the head and sucked, my cock was rock hard with desire and
tension. His tongue squeezed me against the roof of his mouth, as he drove
further down my shaft. I am not very large, so Mark had no problem taking
in all of my manhood, his chin buried in my pubes. Just the warmth of
Mark's mouth enveloping my cock was almost enough to set me off. His tongue
massaging me, his mouth bobbing up and down my dick, his sucking as he
tried to draw my cum from me, all edged me towards the biggest eruption of
my life.

"I'm coming," I sighed, expecting him to pull away. Instead he sealed his
lips around my head and drank greedily as I pumped my seed into his
mouth. When finally he had taken every drop, he let me glide from his
mouth, moved across my chest and kissed me. I could taste my own cum on his
lips.

"I love you," he whispered, "let me prove it to you."

Mark carefully lifted up my broken leg and turned me onto my side. He
dropped his trousers and pants and lay down behind me pressing his groin
against my bum. For the first time that afternoon, I felt unsure whether I
wanted to follow where things were going, but I daren't object. I could
feel his hard cock (quite a bit bigger than mine I knew from the football
dressing room) between my arse cheeks. He swung his arm over my chest and
pulled me against him, kissing the nape of my neck.

"Will you let me ... you know?" He asked as he nibbled my ear.

I could guess what he meant, and I was afraid it would hurt. I didn't think
I wanted it, but daren't refuse now that he had sucked me.

"Be gentle, please," I consented.

Mark knew what he was doing - I later learned he had previously been on the
receiving end of his older brother's lust. He got up, took the tub of hair
gel from my desk and lathered his boner with a generous layer. Getting back
into the bed behind me, he told me to relax as he pressed the head against
my hole. Slick with hair gel, Mark pushed past my resistance with some
effort. I groaned as my arse was stretched and Mark gave me time to
adjust. Then as my backside relaxed, I experienced a feeling of euphoria at
the presence of a cock, Mark's cock, inside me.

Slowly my friend forced his hard-on into my arse until I could feel his
pubic bone pressing against my bum.

"You okay?"

"Yes ... go slow"

With gentle movements my friend began to fuck me. Slow strokes, deep into
my gut. For the first time ever, I felt genuinely alive. The sensation of
the guy I loved most, buried deep inside my body, fucking me, was something
that an hour ago I had held for impossible. Now his hard cock was rubbing
against my prostate, sending waves of ecstasy through my gut.

His strokes were getting longer and faster, pushing even further into me. I
told him to fuck me harder. I wanted it now, I wanted to be abused,
ravaged, taken roughly in a wild frenzy. Mark needed little encouragement.
He pushed me over onto my front, forcing my plastered leg out to the side
uncomfortably, and lay down on top of me.

He began to fuck me at full throttle, pummelling my gut. Every time his
hips crashed into my arse, pain shot up my broken leg. My moans only seemed
to encourage my lover; he had forgot all about my injury. Fucking me hard
and fast, he didn't last long. His thrusts became haggard, warm gushes of
cum filled my bowels, he pulled out of my behind and collapsed onto my back
panting.

When Mum returned an hour or so later, we were dressed, talking casually.
Mark in the chair, me in my bed. Nothing untoward. She couldn't see the
dull ache in my strained arse, the pleasant reminder of our love.

Mark and I remained lovers for almost a year, finding moments of intimacy
whenever and wherever we were unlikely to be found out. The most memorable
were two long days and a wild night in his bed during a sleepover when his
parents were away for a weekend. By the next summer we went to different
universities and grew apart. We are still friends and see each other once
or twice a year, and every time we meet, butterflies fill my stomach. You
never forget your first love.