Date: Mon, 04 Dec 2023 14:55:06 -0800 From: Rob Diehl Subject: Trying to Give it Up, part 1 DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Nothing like this ever happened to me. This story involves sex between a minor and an adult and does not attempt to realistically portray the aftermath of such an encounter. If you're a minor you shouldn't be reading this. I don't know what to blame but it was either a thermometer or a suppository. Either way while I was suffering one of those childhood-related anal indignities I got the notion that having something pushed into my butt was a pleasureable experience. Sure, poop came out of there, and sometimes when you poop it hurt (hence the suppositories) but the feeling of something sliding around "back there" was pleasant. I never really thought about it much when I was going through it; I just didn't mind it when it happened. I'm an adult now and I understand a lot of things I didn't understand back then. Sometime after I turned ten I was reading this book called The People's Almanac and it had information in it about things like enemas and something called "anal intercourse." I wasn't remote aware of what "intercourse" meant but it sounded like it was possible to put an erect penis in the rectum. Immediately I wondered how that would feel. Pretty good, I imagined, largely because the only erect penis I'd ever seen was my own, which was a ten-year-old's. I knew nothing of "gay" or "straight" except for the playground game we called "Smear the Queer" and I doubt anyone I played with knew much about what a "queer" was except that it was something you didn't want to be. It wasn't too long after that when I found this big doorstopper of a book called The Hite Report on Male Sexuality in one of my father's many stacks of books. I leafed through it over the course of a few late nights and learned what men thought about sex and women. I didn't like what I was reading but it lined up with the attitudes of my classmates, whow I was growing to dislike. I never went through that "girls are yucky" phase. Now I was learning that some men never outgrew it. It also talked about masturbation, which was something I hadn't yet done but it sounded awesome. Then I found it, a whole section labeled "Anal Stimulation and Penetration of Men." It talked about sticking a finger up there, which was something I had failed to consider doing to myself. (Doesn't make sense, I know.) And there was a subsection called "Penetration by a penis or penis-sized object." It was catnip to me. And my penis -- all 2.5 inches of it -- got rock hard, immediately. I read that "most men who had been penetrated liked it." My god, I wasn't alone in the world. I read that part of the book every night for two weeks straight, feeling a tingle between my legs that I couldn't understand. I wanted to know what "being penetrated" felt like and if I would like it too. Finally one day in the bathroom, when I was home alone (it was the Eighties, grade schoolers got left at home alone then) my eyes alit on the bottle of lotion that had always been there, but this time I had an idea. So while I was sitting on the toilet I lotioned up my finger and touched my butthole. It felt as good as I remembered. I just let my finger slip and slide across it as the smell of lotion filled my nose. I pulled my finger back, expecting it to be streaked with brown. But it wasn't. My hand reached back between my legs. I took a deep breath. Then I slid my finger up my butthole. It felt weirdly electric, but also like I'd just unlocked a secret door. I could only reach in to about the second knuckle. I wiggled my finger a little bit. That felt even better, and my little penis was as hard as it got the time I saw Jenny Wilson's pale pink panties up the leg of her jogging shorts. I slid my finger out a little bit, slowly, then back in just as slowly. My chest was tightening up. My breath was coming in big, slow heaves. I didn't understand what I was feeling but I absolutely loved it. Obviously later in life I would come to understand that I was just turned on and horny as fuck, but at almost eleven I didn't speak that language. But I guess I was "most men" already. I had been penetrated, and I liked it. So this became something I did almost every time I was home alone, which was a couple times a week. I found myself wishing I had "a penis-sized object" to penetrate myself with, but I didn't. And sometimes I took that book into the bathroom with me, fingering myself while I read about men describing the feeling of anal penetration as "exquisite" or feeling "full and complete." I wanted to know more, but for now I was just enjoying the hell of how it felt to stick a finger up my butt. As fifth grade started to wind down into summer Jenny Wilson kept wearing loose jogging shorts and I kept on getting panty flashes. One day as I was getting ready to do what I'd come to think of as "the butt thing" I was thinking about her and her cute panties and my penis got so hard and I started breathing funny even before I penetrated myself and out of nowhere I just started rubbing my penis between my palms which felt so good that I kept on going and going and then that electric feeling I usually got started getting REALLY powerful and it felt like I was going to pee so I pointed my penis into the toilet but then suddenly I just about lost my mind and a tiny bit of pee just exploded out of me into the bowl and anyway, that was my first orgasm ever. I never even got around to "the butt thing" that day. Well, not right that moment, at least. I just basked in the feeling of calm that washed over me. I had just unlocked another secret door. The two doors led to the same path. I couldn't stop thinking about how good "the butt thing" felt and how I actually wanted to try a penis up there. Maybe. I'd read in The Hite Report that sometimes it was painful and some men had really big weiners so there was a little bit of fear involved. Maybe if I'd tried it with one of my friends it would be alright, but there wasn't anyone I trusted enough to suggest exploring THAT with. On the next-to-last day of fifth grade they made us take sex education -- boys in one room, girls in another. We learned about how babies were made and that girls had things called "periods" where they bled between their legs. It was kind of gross-sounding but hey, at least I didn't have to go through it. But they used that word "intercourse" so now I was starting to understand what it might be. It was weird that they only mentioned a man putting his penis in a woman's vagina. How could they not know there was another option if I knew there was? I was just a kid! But I was a pretty shy kid so I didn't speak up about it. Then right after that they showed us boys a movie about how any adult man we weren't related to who took the slightest interest in us was probably a child molester. Now as an adult I know what garbage this was but eleven-year-old me didn't have a clue. I think it was a strategy on the school's part, showing us a film to get us wound up and interested, then throwing a bucket of cold water on us. On the playground nobody much felt like playing or even talking that day. Finally Jason Moeller said "I think there's one of those guys in the neighborhood." "Who?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager to learn. "That guy in the little red house at the end of Adams Street." I knew who he was talking about. Mr. King. He was a middle-aged man who taught English at the junior college. I'd done yard work for him, but I didn't believe Jason since (a) Mr. King had never seemed to take too much interest in me and (b) it was known that Jason would say *anything* for attention. "Why do you say that?" I asked. "He's on my paper route. He's got pictures of him with boys all over his den." "Naked boys or something?" Jason laughed. "No, dumbass, but there's no Mrs. King and his curtains are always closed." "So?" I said. "So maybe he's trying to hide something. I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't know that he is one of those guys. But he could be. It would make sense." All I could do was go "hmm" before we all fell back into silence. I'd never been in Mr. King's house so I had no idea if Jason was telling the truth, except he was Jason so he probably wasn't. Summer came. We lived outside in the summer. The other boys rode all over town on their bikes, leaving the neighborhood mid-morning and not coming back until lunchtime. I coudn't stop thinking about what Jason had said. I kept on masturbating, though I switched from rolling my weiner between my hands to just stroking it, which worked faster. Now I did it in bed, grateful that Mom insisted we always have a box of Kleenex in the room. And when I was alone I still did "the butt thing." A lot. But I was also thinking a lot about Jenny Wilson's panties. Except now ... I was also wondering about Mr. King. I wanted to know if he really did have pictures of boys all over. I wanted to know if he liked men. Or boys. Or boys like me. Because if he did, maybe ...? One day a couple weeks after school got out my curiosity got the best of me. I walked down to Adams Street -- that way nobody would see my bike in front of his house -- and rang his bell. He was actually home. A broad smile crossed his face as he opened the door. I looked him in the eyes and just took him in for a minute. He was a distinguished-looking man, very handsome. "Hi, Bradley," he said warmly. "If you're looking for yard work I'm afraid I don't have any that needs done." Ohhh shit, I didn't even bother to come up with a cover story for why I was there. Time to try lying my way through this. "Oh ... well, you hadn't called my dad so I figured maybe you'd lost our phone number. Sooo ... I came down to see if you needed it," I said. Whew, I thought. He chuckled. "No, I still have it, I just haven't needed anything done. I will later in the summer when I go back overseas," he said. "Overseas?" I asked. "Yes, I go down to South America every summer to teach English to kids there." He paused, awkwardly. "Would you like to see some of the things I've brought back from Brazil?" "Sure!" I said. "Well, come on in!" His house was small, modest, and impeccable. He gestured towards the sofa. "Sit here, I'll be right back." I looked around the room. There wasn't a picture of him or a boy anywhere. He came back with a bow and arrows, some weird-looking money, and a photo album. "I got the bow from the Amazon when I took a trip up there. It was made by natives," he said. "Pretty cool," I said. "And this is what Brazilian money looks like. They're called cruzeiros, they're like dollars except they're worth a lot less." "They look better than dollars, to be honest." "Have you ever been overseas, Bradley?" "Are you kidding? I've never even left this time zone." He laughed. "Well, maybe someday you will. Do you want to see some pictures of Brazil?" "Yeah!" He opened the album. I saw Rio. I saw Sao Paolo. I saw the Amazon. The people looked poor but the scenery was beautiful. "It looks beautiful," I said, letting my inner voice out. "Oh, it's a marvelous place." There was an awkward silence. "What grade are you in, Bradley?" "I just finished fifth grade." He flushed a little at this. I didn't know how to take it. "And you go to Cleveland School, right?" "I went there. Next year I'll be at the middle school." "Oh, that's right. Do you know Jason Moeller, the paperboy?" "Yeah, he's in my class." "Are you friends with him?" I didn't have to think it over. "No, not really, he's kind of a liar. I don't trust him." "Hmm," he said. "I guess I wouldn't know." I wanted to ask him if he liked boys, or men. But it was so not appropriate right now. "Jason ..." he said, "has been in my house before and I thought maybe he had taken some money that I'd left laying around. It wasn't a lot and I don't want trouble with his family, but I'm pretty sure he did it." "Well, I wouldn't be surprised if he had," I said. "He's kind of that sort of person." He smiled. "You should take over his paper route, you seem very honest." "Yeah, I am, or at least I try to be." "Listen, Bradley ... I'm not dumb. I know what happens at Cleveland School right before summer break in fifth grade. They show you a movie warning boys like to be wary of single men. It's been going on for years," he said. "Yeah, they did show us that movie." "So did the other boys send you to spy on me?" "Huh?" I said, genuinely bewildered. "Look, since you're honest, I'm not going to lie to you. I am a gay man, and it's very difficult to live in this little town. Everybody tries to peek in your windows to find out if it's true. And just because a man is gay doesn't mean that he's interested in children, so if that's what you're really here for, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell whomever sent you to spy on me that I'm not gay, I'm not interested in children, and if you do that, I'll make it worth your while." I felt terrible. He was obviously hurting and wanted to keep his secret. I understood why; it wasn't safe to be "out" back then, and everyone assumed that a gay man was also a child molester. I needed all my quick thinking to find a way through this conversation but it wasn't coming to me. "Mr. King ... that's not it," I said. "No one sent me here. I'm honest so I'll tell you Jason does think that you ... do stuff with kids. He said there were a lot of pictures of you with boys in your den. But I said I didn't think you were one of ... those guys." I swallowed hard. It was quiet. "And also ... I like girls but I think I like boys too." Just saying the words felt cathartic, though I didn't know what that word meant when I was eleven. He must have been able to tell. "From the look on your face when you said that I think you've been carrying that around for a while. And so I think it must be true," he said. "It is true." "Well then," he said, "I guess we both feel a little bit less alone in this neighborhood." "Yeah," I said, smiling. He looked down at the floor for a moment, then back up at me. "Hold on a minute," he said. He got up from the couch, went into the other room, and came back with another photo album. This one was full of pictures from the beach -- all men in tiny bathing suits. "There are so many beautiful men in Brazil," he said wistfully. "I really do love teaching but I go back every summer for the men." "I can see why," I said, taking in the beautiful bodies in the pictures. He continued to leaf through the album. The men seemed to be growing younger and younger. The bathing suits were tight enough that you could see all their business too. "Mmm," I found myself saying. He turned the page again. The next page was filled with boys laying on their stomachs, their perfect-looking butts turned up. I was so hard already but I was beginning to put two and two together. He turned the page again. One of the boys from the previous page -- I recognized him from his tiny bathing suit -- was sitting on his lap, and you could tell the boy's penis was hard. I looked at Mr. King. "So ..." I said, unable to finish. He just nodded at me, the unspoken words louder than anything he could have said. "I want you to understand, Bradley ... I prefer adult men. But there are some things I can only get from a boy." I was curious. "Like ... what?" "I'm not ready to tell you. It's very personal." "I understand." He looked up at the clock. It was almost noon. "Do you have to go home?" he asked. "No, my parents are both at work." He smiled. "Mr. King ... I have a question," I asked nervously. "What is it, Bradley?" "What do ... men do with each other?" He smiled even more. "Well, we go to movies, have dinner, maybe go for a walk." "That's not what I meant!" He grinned. "I know, I'm just messing with you!" "So anyway, Mr. King ..." "First of all, if we're going to talk about this, call me Fred. Second of all, well, we often masturbate each other. Do you masturbate, Bradley?" "I just started like two months ago." "Do you like it?" "I haven't stopped doing it," I said. He threw his head back and laughed heartily. "You never will!" "Good, 'cause I don't want to." "And sometimes we suck on each other's penises. I assume you have not done that, Bradley?" "No, sir, not at all." "How disappointing. We neighborhood boys used to do that when I was growing up." "Everyone was gay?" "No, everyone was horny," he said. "But I knew I was gay the first time I took a boy's cock in my mouth." "Cock?" "Penis. You really haven't heard that word before?" "Not like that," I admitted. "But I don't hang out with the other boys, except at school." "Why not, if you think you like boys?" "I mean ..." It was hard to put this into words. I actually wasn't sure I liked boys, I just wanted one to put his penis in my butt. "I'm not much like them. They play sports and I read books." "That's a good choice," he said. "You'll still be reading books when you're my age but they won't play sports after high school." "Probably not," I said. There was a pause. "Is that ... all ... that men do together, Mr. ... I mean, Fred?" He paused, seeming unsure of himself. "Sometimes we have intercourse," he said. "You mean ... annal intercourse?" He smirked. "It's prounouced AY-nal." "Sorry." "Don't be, if you misprounounce a word, that means you learned it by reading." "Oh. Well, I did." "Good for you being curious about the world, or at least that aspect of it!" I laughed. "Yeahhhh, I guess you could say that!" "Well," he said, "you've never sucked a penis and you only started masturbating so I'm guessing you've never done *that*." "No, not really." He perked up. "Not really? What do you mean?" "I've stuck a finger up there." I should have been embarrassed to admit that but I wasn't. "Oh!" he said, noticably surprised. "Did you like it?" "Mmm-hmm." It got awkwardly silent. I started thumbing through the photo album, backwards to the page with the boys' butts, then forwards to the page where the boy with the erection was sitting on Fred's lap. "Did you ...?" I sort of asked. "Not him," he said, blushing. "I did masturbate him, though. I wanted to suck him but we didn't have time. And I think he wanted to suck me." "But you have ... had intercourse with some of these boys?" He turned a couple pages and showed me a ruddy, pudgy boy who looked a little bit younger than me. "Him," he said, pointing at the boy. "Paolo. He actually asked me to, I was surprised at that. I just wanted to talk him out of his bathing suit." "Really? He let you do it?" "Not right away. It took a couple nights before he asked." "Wow," I said, looking in the boy's eyes. There was a hint of desire in them, I could tell. "So do you like doing it?" "I'm what they call versatile, I'll penetrate or be penetrated, but most men don't want me to penetrate them." I gulped. He must have had a big penis or something. "I told you it was kind of personal, but my penis ... is kind of small. Not tiny, just average. Men tend to prefer big penises. And so do I when I'm being entered. But boys are afraid of them. So if I want to fu ... enter somebody, it's usually a boy. That's frowned on here in the States but nobody in Brazil makes a big deal out of it." "That's too bad. About here, I mean." "It really is, some men are sleazy and just rape boys, they don't even care if they hurt them, but others just want to give them pleasure." "Does it feel good to ... enter a boy?" He looked me in the eyes for a long time. I could tell he was thinking about it. "It's wonderful. Almost as good as being entered yourself. It's like the ultimate hug," he said. "So soft and warm and tender and tight." It got very quiet and awkward in the room. He turned the page of the photo album. These pictures were black and white. The first one I saw was Paolo, fully naked, from the front. His penis was no larger than mine, but his wasn't circumsized like mine was. "I had to develop these myself," he said quietly. "I'm sure you understand." "Mmm-hmm," I said. I kept looking at the pictures. There was one of Paolo with an erection, then several of Fred stroking that erection between his thumb and index finger. Then Paolo was laying on his back, with Fred still masturbating him. Then Paolo rolled onto his stomach with his round, plump bottom facing the camera. Then a hand -- certainly Fred's -- spreading his cheeks. I had never even seen a butthole before but now I was looking at his. I'm not going to lie, it was a cute little thing, a vertical line with crinkled edges. In the next picture Fred's finger was pushing into Paolo's butthole. I knew Fred's hands were unremarkable but it looked like his finger was totally filling Paolo up. I was so jealous of Paolo right in that moment. "That felt so good," Fred said. "Right after this I put the camera down, of course." I didn't even know what to say. Fred put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. It was like fire spreading through my body. "Bradley," he said, and I was both afraid of and craving what I thought he would say next. "I wasn't the first man to fuck Paolo. His uncle had been doing it to him since he was five." "Five?" I said incredulously. "Brazil is different, especially away from the cities," he said. "And I'm not saying it's better. But his uncle didn't care about Paolo's pleasure, he just wanted a tight hole. Which Paolo certainly had. But I sucked him off at least a dozen times before he asked me to penetrate him. I had no idea he'd been getting fucked for five years already." "Wow," I said, because I didn't know what else to say. "Look, Bradley: I've been there. I remember being young and thinking about sex all day long and I remember specifically wanting to someone to put their penis in me. I will do that for you if you want, but only if you want, only when you're ready, and absolutely not today because I know you are not actually ready." "How do you know that?" I said. He grabbed my hand and spread out my fingers. "That's how," he said. "I'm not well endowed, but I'm a lot bigger than your skinny, short little finger. You have to build up to getting fucked, I'm afraid, but trust me, it's worth it." "Well ... then what should I do? Because I think that *is* what I want. I at least want to know if I like it or not." "You could try two fingers. That would be a good start." "Oh yeah! Duh! I was looking around the house for something sort of like a pe ... a *cock*," I said slyly. "You learn fast!" "Well, I don't have a lot else to think about in the summer," I said. "Anyway, I never found anything." A knowing smile spread across his face. He had a secret, I thought, but I didn't know what it was. "But Fred, I should ask ... do you actually want to ... fuck ... me?" "Why would you think I wouldn't if I offered to?" "I'm not handsome or super-fit like those boys in the photo album, what if I don't turn you on enough?" "Ohh, don't worry about that!" He flipped back to the first pictures of Paolo. "He's not skinny or muscular or anything." I had already noticed but I looked again and saw his baby fat, his flabby thighs, and even his tiny little moobs, just like mine. "Okay, I guess so, he's built like me. And you fucked him." "Four times," he said proudly. "In one night?" "Ohh no no no, I'm not fifteen any more! Four times in six nights!" We both laughed. He turned the page. We were both looking at the big, 8 by 10 picture of Paolo, naked, from the front. "Are you cut or uncut?" he asked me. "Huh?" He circled Paolo's foreskin with his finger. "Do you still have your foreskin?" "Oh. No, I don't. Does that matter?" "Not at all! I'm just curious. Is your cock bigger than his?" "... I don't know, really." More awkward silence. "Do you ... want to see it, Fred?" "Do you want to show me, Bradley?" "Uh-huh," I said, because I really wanted to show him my cock. So I stood up and dropped my jogging shorts and my underwear and boy was I glad I'd stopped wearing Underoos after the last winter. My penis was fully erect and jutting out 2.5 inches (or so) from my body. "Well? It's smaller, isn't it?" Fred was obviously drinking it in. "Nooo, it's perfect, the same size." I wrinkled my nose. "That's perfect?" "For a boy, yes!" He kneeled on the ground and moved his face close. "When you jac ... masturbate, do you ejaculate?" "Yeah." "But you don't have any hair down there." "I know." "Bradley ... can I touch it? Your cock?" "Mmm-hmm!" "Let's ... go in my bedroom." So I started to shuffle off, shorts and undies around my ankles. "Kick those off, Bradley!" he said, and I did, then slipped my shoes and socks off so I was just in my tank top. "You can take your shirt off too," he said." "But then I'll be naked!" I protested, though I wasn't actually protesting. "Good!" he said. We were in the bedroom now. "So ... what should I do?" I said. "Just lay back on the bed." So I did. He took his thumb and forefinger, just like he had with Paolo, and gripped my cock, then started slowly stroking up and down. To say it felt amazing was just the beginning. "You're so hard, Bradley." "Do you like it, Fred?" "I love it!" He took his other hand and started rubbing my chest while he continued to masturbate me. I just relaxed the rest of my body and focused on the waves of pleasure. I was naked. He was loving it. And he said when I was ready he'd fuck me, even though it wasn't going to be today. That electric feeling was getting stronger. "Are you coming, Bradley?" "Coming where?" He laughed. "When you have an orgasm, that's called 'coming.' You are obviously a kid after my own heart, you know the techinical words but not the slang!" "Haha. Well, not yet, but it feels really good!" "So I shouldn't stop, right?" "Nooo!" He moved his other hand off my chest and repositioned himself so his face was in front of my cock, but a bit below it. He slipped that other hand under my butt and started kneading it. "Mmmm," I sighed. "You like that?" "Uh-huh!" "Good," he said, and started kneading a little harder. simultaneously slowing down on my cock. "I want this to be special for you, Bradley." "Thank you," I said, because I didn't know what else to say, really. And I was very grateful indeed. He stopped kneading both of my butt cheeks and just grabbed the right one. This put his fingertips right in my crack, which I didn't mind one little bit. He touched the tip of my cock and pulled away from it, leaving a think thread of something between his forefinger and my tip. He quickly licked his fingertip, then lightly grabbed my cock again. "You're very turned on, aren't you, Bradley?" "Mmmf" was all I could get out. He was using a teasingly light grip on my cock, really just dancing his fingers up and down it. And his other hand was still lodged between my cheeks. "Bradley ... I hate to ask this but have you pooped today?" "... yeah?" "And you always wipe well, right?" "I think so. Is something wrong?" He quickly pulled his hand back, glanced at his fingertips, then smelled them. "No. You're clean!" Immediately his hand was back in my crack, the tip of his middle finger resting on my butthole. I swear my hole was quivering. "Fred?" I said. "Yeah?" "Do you wanna put your finger up me like you did to Paolo in that one picture?" "Ohhh yesss. Just a moment." He opened his nightstand and grabbed a tube of something. "What's that?" I asked. "Lubricant. Trust me, you want this. I'll even send this tube home with you, I have a couple more." "Okay," I said. He squeezed a big gob of it onto his right middle finger. "Get on your knees," he said, so I did. He touched the lube to my hole. "It feels cold!" I said. "It'll feel pretty hot soon," he answered. His finger began invading me, just a little bit at first. I felt like I was being stretched out but it didn't hurt. "Is that okay?" he asked. "Yesssss," I answered, savoring the sensations. He worked his finger in deeper. This was very different from me doing to myself, not least because his finger was a lot bigger than mine. I felt him slip in to the second knuckle, then beyond it, until his finger was all the way in. He began to flex and wiggle his finger a little. I moaned in pleasure. "Ohh, Bradley ... it's not going to take all summer to get you ready," he said. "You thought it would take that long?" "Possibly. But it obviously won't. Do you like this?" "Ohhh yeah," I said. "Your ass is squeezing my finger. It's pulsing. I think you were born for this." "It sure feels like it," I said. He began to slowly slide his finger in and out, back and forth. I moaned a little more, it felt so good to feel something moving around back there. "Your ass is hungry, Bradley. I'm going to feed it." "I thought you said you weren't going to fuck me today." "I'm not. But I have a surprise for you." He went back to the nightstand and brought out ... a rubber cock? Really? It looked huge! "Ohh, I don't know about this, Fred ..." "I'll stop if you want me to. This is only five inches, I'm a little bigger than this, I'm five and a half. But if you can take this, you can take me." I swallowed. "I want to see your cock," I said. He didn't need any further encouragement. He stripped off his clothes so fast I almost didn't see it happen. And he was right: He was a little bigger than that rubber cock, but just a little. "Can I touch yours?" I asked. "Yes, I want you to, but not now! Please get back on your knees!" So I did, baring my hole towards him. He squirted more of the lube on the rubber cock, then slid his finger back in me. Then ... two fingers, and that felt even better. I moaned and gasped at the joy of being filled up even more. He worked his fingers a little more aggressively, flexing them and hitting a spot that made me feel very, VERY good. I didn't know it was my prostate, but that's what it was. He pulled his fingers out of me and rubbed the lube onto the rubber cock. "I'm going to go slow and I'm going to be paying close attention, but if this gets too painful for you, just let me know." "Okay, I will." Immediately the rubber soldier was pressed against my hole, which didn't want to receive it but didn't want to shut it out either. It was a little painful as he started to push against me but it was no worse than taking a big dump. I could feel my butthole stretching and yielding. I started to breathe heavy because it was starting to hurt a little more. I could see why a lot of guys couldn't push past this but I wanted that thing in me so bad that I tried to hide the pain. But it didn't work. He let up the pressure. I was a little sad about that and a little relieved. "Hold on," he said. "I'll try again in just a moment. It should go better the second time around. Or do you want me to stop?" My brain wanted him to stop the rest of me overruled it. "Don't stop!" I said. He pushed the rubber cock against my hole again and, true to his word, this time my hole began to yield right away. In a moment I could tell that at least the head was starting to push past the ring and into my rectum. I wanted more. I pushed back against it and it started to slide in as the pain began to subside. Soon there was nothing but the pleasureable feeling of fullness as my rectum began to grip the dildo, trying to suck it in deeper. I began to buck my hips against it as an impossibly warm feeling spread through my pelvis. "Ohh Bradley ... you were definitely born for this." I was lost in the sensations, feeling I wanted to come and feeling like I never wanted to come because I wanted this to last as long as possible. "You sure you don't want to fuck me today?" "I would last about two strokes in you right now. I'm about ready to come as it is! Surely you want a better first fuck than that, don't you?" "If it feels this good I don't ever want it to end!" At that he began moving the dildo back and forth. HE had told me this was smaller than him but it felt plenty big to me. I felt the glans moving across that special spot. He started stroking my cock with his other hand and that was it, I absolutely howled and came so hard it frightened me. I was gasping and my legs were shaking with pleasure. He slowly slipped the dildo out of me. I was hoping he would replace it with his cock, two strokes or no, but he didn't. I collapsed onto the bed, not even caring that I was laying in a puddle of my own cum. But soon Fred was standing by the edge of the bed, right next to me, with a really hard cock. I reached out and grabbed it, stroking it back and forth. He began to sway his hips rhythmically as I masturbated him. Fluid was leaking out of his cock. It got on my hands and made things really slippery. He was breathing hard and fast. "I'm gonna come, Bradley." "I want you to! You made me feel so good!" That must have been the magic words or something because I swear he shot all the way across the room with a loud, almost frightening grunt. We both just kind of hung there in the moment before he broke the silence. "That was amazing," he said. "You can come back any time!" I seized the moment. "If I come back tomorrow, will you fuck me for real?" He leaned down and kissed me square on the mouth. When our lips parted he whispered in my ear, "I will fuck you good. And we're gonna suck each other first. Come here as soon as you can. Poop, then take a shower, and be sure to scrub out your crack. Deal?" "Deal!" We both got dressed. He kissed me again as I was about to leave. I could see how tenderly he still felt towards Paolo, and I was happy to think he might feel that way about me too. I went home, lost in a fog, not even caring if any of the nosy neighbors saw me leaving his house. I doubted I would sleep that night, because in the morning I was finally going to get what I had been craving.