From a Jack to a Queen Ch. 01

"Open my pants and take out my cock!"

It never failed. My hard-on always twitched and throbbed whenever I said those words to a new boy.

What was even more exciting was the feel of their trembling and eager hands as they fumbled with my slacks and boxers trying desperately to free my erection to please me.

When his fingers finally encircled my stiff shaft and began stroking it I sat back in the seat and relaxed.

"Take it in your mouth and suck it!" I said softly, yet firm.

In the near-total darkness of the front seat of the car I watched the silhouette of his head move quickly downward until I felt the warmth of his breath on my exposed flesh. When his thick, hot lips slid over and around my mushroomed-cockhead and I felt his long tongue bathing my sensitive skin I closed my eyes and sighed my contentment.

This is what it's all about, I thought to myself.

This makes up for the previous two-three hours of having to endure the inanities and mindless chatter of dull-witted queer-boys seeking 'meaningful relationships' but who invariably settle on giving front-seat blowjobs to the first man who displays any interest in them at all.

I don't want to sound jaded or mean-spirited, but I've been doing the 'bar-scene' for a couple years and very rarely have I found boys who piqued my curiosity or emotions enough to want them in my bed for any length of time—much less have a 'relationship' with them.

Let's be honest here: how many of the dozens, or perhaps hundreds of people you come across every week would you want to get personal with?

"OOhhh God—that feels great, Teddy," I say as the boys' mouth works its magic on my prick.

I got lucky tonight, I think to myself. Lately, some of the boys I've had weren't very experienced.

"It's Fred," he says lifting his beautiful mouth from my aching cock.

"Whatever..." I say, "...keep sucking!"

Yes, I admit I'm rather selfish. Ever since I accepted the fact that I preferred boys over girls I quickly learned that I enjoyed receiving pleasure more than giving it. The thought of sucking cock has never appealed to me, and the only thing I want in my asshole is a pretty boys' long tongue.

I'm not totally one-way though. If a boy gives an extremely good performance I am grateful and will gladly give him a handjob. Plus, I've had my fair share of boys who cum when I fuck them without even having to touch their cocks.

Don't get me wrong—I'm not some sort of 'God's gift to boys' or anything like that. I'm only 5'8" tall and 150 pounds, but the boys do think I'm cute, and they love my five-and-a-half inch prick because they can get all of it in their mouths.

Trust me on this one: Guys with small dicks receive better blowjobs than the 7, 8 or 9 inchers out there. Not too many boys are proficient at 'deep-throating' a big cock.

"OOHHHHH-YESSSSS..." I cry out as 'Fred' is getting me closer-and-closer.

Upon hearing me, his sucking intensifies and his hand strokes my shaft faster-and-faster. I can feel the cum churning in my balls. My hips and legs begin thrashing about and my mouth opens wide to form a silent 'O'.

Suddenly, my semen shoots out of my balls and I shout "SWALLOW—SWALLOW—SWALLOW".

His mouth and tongue work in harmony to bring me to a sensational orgasm as he gulps down load-after-load of my hot jizz.

I'm gasping for air when I feel his tongue cleaning my cock.

This boy is pure gold, I tell myself. And, if I remember correctly through the alcohol-induced haze, he was good-looking, and was fun to talk with.

He lifts his head and I kiss him on the cheek.

"That was wonderful, Fred," I say as I put my arm around his shoulders. In fact, it was the best blowjob I'd ever received.

I run my hand up-and-down his thigh as I cover his cheek, neck and ears with deep kisses.

I definitely want to keep this boy happy, I think to myself.

My hand brushes over his crotch and takes hold of his bulge. His cock is longer and thicker than my own. I slowly stroke it through his jeans. I like the feel of it in my hand—so firm—so manly.

Fred turns to kiss me on the lips. At first I resist, the remnants of my cum still slick on his lips, but he's a persistent one—finally our mouths are pressed together. He darts his tongue into my mouth and I taste my own cum for the first time. It is not altogether unpleasant.

"Open my pants and take out my cock!" he says.

His words startle me—no other boy has ever been so brazen—I'm the one who gives the orders--but I find myself automatically reaching for the snap on his jeans. I pull it open and slide down the zipper. My hands reach inside and grasp the waistband of his boxers, and with some effort, I lower his jeans and shorts far enough for his raging cock to spring free.

I immediately take hold of his turgid flesh and squeeze and stroke it. He moans into my mouth—his tongue still dancing with my own. Something different is happening to me and I don't know what it is. My own penis is beginning to respond. It has never gotten hard this soon after an orgasm.

His cock feels alive in my hand; the heat of it pulsating through my palm and up my arm. I'd never felt cock-flesh like this before; so soft and smooth yet hard as a steel rod.

I stroke it slowly, firmly, lovingly.

"Take it in your mouth and suck it!" he whispers in my ear.

I begin to lower my head but abruptly stop. The fog that was my mind begins to clear.

I don't do this, I tell myself. I can't do this.

"I...ah...I can't do that," I say. The apologetic tone of my voice surprises me.

"Give me a handjob," he says.

I was relieved and sorry at the same time. I thought I detected disappointment in his voice with my refusal to obey his first request.

I stroked his cock in earnest now. I was determined to give him as good an orgasm as he gave me.

But how could I? I wondered. He used his mouth while I'm only using my hand.

I felt guilty knowing my orgasm was better than the one I'd give him.

All throughout my stroking his cock he kissed my face and lips and caressed my head and hair. He was gentle and loving—everything I wasn't—I felt guilty again and concentrated fully on his cock.

When his breathing quickened and his hips pumped upward to meet my strokes, my hand became a blur on his cock.

Suddenly, he shouted his joy and spewed his passion on my still-bare thighs and lower shirt. I milked his cock a long time; his seizures lessening with each eruption. My bare flesh was completely covered with his cum. I was astounded by the amount of semen stored in his balls.

I felt his hand on my face. It was thick with his cum and he smeared it onto my lips and the skin below my nose.

He fixed his clothing and opened the passenger door. A light in the parking lot shone inside the car. It was the first time I really looked hard at his face. He was gorgeous.

"Johnny, I'll meet you here the same time tomorrow night," he said.

"Ah, I prefer to be called John," I lamely responded.

A beautiful smile spread across his face.

"Same time tomorrow night, and Johnny—don't masturbate between now and then," he said pointing at the erection I sported.

He closed the car door and left me alone covered in his semen and wondering what had just taken place.

I fixed my clothes and drove home.

The smell of his cum filled the inside of the car. It smelled like a fragrant bouquet of flowers.

My tongue licked his wetness from my lips. I turned on the radio and my favorite song was playing.