Cock-Sucker: Around the World Ch. 01

So I'm his new boy. Broken in. But despite his tough case-hardened experience, Ivan has a keen brain. Even intellectual, he's well-read, knows his way around literature and myth. And we are going to be in each other's close-proximity for the long duration of the voyage. In that rich erotic fug of overheated emotion and sensation.

"You've done suck with many boyfriends back home?" he asks, scratching his big heavy balls thoughtfully.

I shake my head shyly.

"With one special boy?"

Again I'm almost reluctant to admit just how unworldly my life has been. "No."

"So this is your first? I would never have guessed. You have natural talent."

I'm not sure how much of a compliment that is, but it feels good. Should I invent a fantasy past for his benefit? Pretend there have been other boys I've had sex with over the years?

He opens up a locker beside his bed. "I have videos. DVD's. I have books. You can learn..."

I look at the gaudy porn within, and already I'm eager to sample it.

The pitch and yawl of the ship as it broaches Atlantic breakers increases my sense of unreality. Everything I knew, all the fixed points of my life are lost somewhere beyond that unsteady horizon. This is a new world with new behavioural rules. I'm navigating unknown tides. I watch his DVD's voraciously, hitting rewind, replay, freeze-frame to focus on special moments. Some are hetero, most are Gay, it matters little, all feature deliciously explicit blow-jobs.

Cute supple 'Barely-Legal' Twinks sixty-nining with other cute Twinks, slender younger guys taking it from heavily-tattooed older guys, dominant Bears servicing meek submissives, some in scary bondage devices, torrid threesomes, foursomes and moresomes in confused tangles of limbs and sweaty heaving buttocks, group sex, one guy taken by six guys with a big smile of enjoyment on his well-fucked face, hard-core deep throat-jobs climaxing in messy facials. Sex outdoors, indoors, in Jacuzzis and through glory-holes. Big cocks and bigger cocks, shaved, cut and uncut.

I study their techniques, almost subliminally learning how to please, how to induce response. How is it possible I've lived so long without realising all this stuff? It seems incredible. All over the world boys are having great sex with other boys, why the hell should I be any different? Why should I be denied what they're doing to each other with such obvious joy? I want to be that guy in the video.

Suddenly my electronics manuals and radio magazines no longer hold my interest, Ivan's opened up a gusher in my head that can only be staunched in one way. I watch the screen, with my urgent stiffness in my hand, pumping furiously to relieve the burning building inner pressures. At one point Ivan enters unexpectedly just as I'm tossing off to a favourite scene. Two good-looking well-hung young guys, not much older than me, who seem to be in a railway carriage - maybe Canada, naked and sucking each other in every possible combination of positions for a full twenty-five minutes.

Why they're on the train, where they're going, why there are no other passengers, none of that matters, just the loving attentive deep cock-sucking they're bestowing and receiving. They're really into it, blissfully engrossed in tasty-looking cock, getting off on it. I marvel at how they maintain such solid erections, without cumming, despite such furious relentless mouth-action, for so long. As I watch jealously, wishing it was me, barely a third of the way in, I'm already way beyond the point of no return, first that tell-tale shivery-trembly feeling, then the intense ejaculation hits me with blobs of white semen bursting up in a spray of drooling streaks up my chest, so that my cock and squeezing fingers are messy with dripping strands.

Ivan watches my predicament, smiling his approval. "You look sexy when you sweat." I lie back and let him watch as the storm of sensations recede. Primed and ready for his attentions, his for the taking...

PART 2: MICHEL, MA BELLE

We call off briefly in France, a harbour-berth just south of La Rochelle. I go ashore and wander aimlessly. I buy a cappuccino and sit outside in the sunshine, beneath a blue parasol, sipping its froth. After a while I become aware of a dark youth around my own age sitting across from me reading a book, I see by its spine that it is 'Fleurs De Mal' by Charles Baudelaire - 'The Flowers Of Evil', as he catches my eye he smiles. I return the smile.

When he gets up to go he turns and looks at me conspiratorially, as though we share a secret, without fully knowing why, I accept the invitation in his eyes and follow him. He wears T-shirt and shorts. He keeps glancing back at me as he leads the way out of the village, up a short steep climb to a bluff overlooking the twinkling harbour. There's an isolated copse of trees with a dry clearing at the centre. He stops, turns and faces me.

We speak only once. He speaks in broken English, I reply in broken French.

"Yes."

"Oui."

My throat is dry, there are butterflies in my trousers. He shrugs his T-shirt up and off. Then flicks the belt of his shorts so they fall away, and steps out of them. He seems almost shy, as though wary of my reaction, seeking my approval. His penis is long and slim, uncut, surmounting a neat tight scrotum in a tidy nest of jet-black pubic hair. My teeth ache with anticipation. Hastily I undress, and pace the two short steps towards him. As we embrace our genitals crush together delightfully. No word has so far been exchanged.

He says something in French. I smile. And he draws me down, his touch is deliciously pleasurable on the thin sensitive skin of my cock. Moving his fingers lightly up and down my shaft as his thumb works its way around the underside. At the top of each stroke, his thumb teases the underside of my glans sending spasms shooting down my cock and into my groin. I'm squirming as his fingertip runs circles around its very tip, then his fingers are replaced by his mouth, he's gaping his welcoming lips into a wet embrace for my cock to enter, giving it an exquisite whisk of red tongue as we fall naturally into the sixty-nine position, greedily sucking each other.

I kiss and lick his cock-shaft, my lips nudging his foreskin aside seeking the moisture weeping from the slit-eye of his glans, like opening up the petals of a particularly-responsive flower to find the nectar within, circling his cock-head, tickling the frenulum with the tip my tongue, the nerve-centres below the glans-head, even as my own cock is drawn inexorably into the warm clasp of his hungry mouth. And oh - it's so sweet. If only it could go on forever. For the first time it seems to me that Gay sex can be tender and gentle as well as strictly animal. We mould into each other reciprocally devouring, sating our bodies.

The foliage surging above us in the slight breeze with a shushing sound, rippling shadows crawling over our undulating bodies. The softness of dry grass under me, the fresh clean sweat-fragrance of his flawlessly smooth body in my nostrils, the soothing warmth of his skin up tight against my own. The pulse of his sexual energy hard up against the roof of my mouth, throbbing on my tongue.

He draws apart, I release him reluctantly, he turns around and raises his bare bottom to me, rounded in a girlish kind of way. His intention obvious although it's something I've never experienced before. I'm a backdoor virgin. And the aperture looks so small - nothing more than a puckered dimple, surely my cock won't fit? Yet it looks so inviting. I'm slippery-moist with his saliva, and guide its head to the rectum-opening, the tip slips in with the application of only the slightest pressure, then it swallows my glans easily, absorbing me, it seems so delightfully easy and pleasurable.

I ease in another inch. He uses his anal muscles to clasp and squeeze me in a welcoming way. I hesitate, until to wait more is impossible, and slither as deep as it will go, he moans deep in his throat. The sensation is astounding. I can't believe he's taken me all. I hold his hips, and fuck gently, back and forth. My balls swaying, aware of his cock and balls joggling in exciting answer to each trust.

After a while I draw back and bend over for him. It seems only right I should do so. He enters me in a single smooth motion that takes my breath away and has me on the brink of ecstasy. He's a warming flame deep inside me. Each stroke deep into me has me gasping.

At length he extracts, we lie together for a while, smiling deep into each other's eyes, then he bends to suck me and I gratefully resume sucking him, moving my head back and forth more vigorously, until I taste his spurting cum on my tongue, and I gush into his throat. I hold his cock, and his spunk, in my mouth. Swishing it around. Savouring the sensation. Before swallowing it down. He smiles bashfully up at me from a dark nimbus of hair. There's a blob of my spunk on his chin. I move around to face him, licking it away with a single lap of my tongue. He gives a delightfully low laugh of sheer pleasure.

After we've both cum we lie together, touching, lost in that great post-orgasmic oceanic calm. He reaches down to kiss my nose, my nipples, my navel, my cock, and my toes. I can see the imprint of grass on the smoothness of his bare bottom, the mark of where we've lain together. I close my eyes and luxuriate in it all. I'm vaguely aware that he's gathering his clothes. I belatedly make a move to retrieve my own but by then his form is already receding through the trees and by the time I've hauled my pants back on he's gone. I hang around restless and a little melancholy for a while. Saddened, but floating on air.

I can't believe what's just happened. How can it be so easy and so natural here when relationships have always been so difficult for me? When I've been self-conscious, introverted, tongue-tied, too nervous to speak. Now language is no longer necessary. Bodies say everything that needs to be said. And each moment is eloquence in itself. I think of that old song, 'I will say the only words I know that you'll understand, Michel, ma belle, sont des mots qui vont tres bien ensemble.'

How did he know? When he saw me in the street café, how did he know I was up for it? How did he know something about me I didn't even know about myself a few scant months ago? Once you've sucked a cock - as I've sucked Ivan's, does it show on your face? Does it mark you out in some subtle way that others can recognise, the shape of your mouth, the pout of your lips? Could he smell it on me, the need? Is this what he does, beguile visiting tourist boys into delicious sex... or was it just something about me? Either way, what a delightful way to cement Anglo-French relations. A 45-minute affair, from start to finish.

I was eager for more, but when it's obvious he's not about to return I wend my way back to the harbour where the ship is berthed. Back in the cabin I find a burr caught up in the folds of my T-shirt. A souvenir of where we'd lain together, me and the French boy with no name. I feel a strange sadness that I'll never see him again. I kiss it, hold it to my nose as though it retains some of his body-scent, and place it carefully in my drawer. Each time I open the drawer I will see it, and remember his touch. Michel, ma belle...

That night Ivan says "You suck my cock so nicely. Naked boys are the best cock-suckers. Always. Every time. You suck me so sweet. But you want maybe to take it further tonight...?"

"I thought you'd never get around to doing it" I say flirtily, turning around nude on the bunk, and raising my bum ready for him...

"I'll be gentle" he breathes, lining up to penetrate what is offered.

"You don't have to be too gentle" I coax. And when he enters me it's like I'm being fucked by god himself with a heavenly host of seraphim and cherubim chanting hosannas at each almighty penetration. I'm sweating like we're already passing over the equator...

This Story Will Continue...