The First Time Pt. 02

Thank you all for the comments to the First time (Pt.01), and those who took the time to send emails. It came as a bit of a shock to read all of those. I had started the second part, but unfortunately, I sometimes find it very difficult to write. It is not a natural skill I possess, and it does take me time. On top of that, all the praise was rather unforeseen and slowed me` down. I guess trying to follow it up proved more difficult than I initially thought. Thank you for your patience. I'd like to say a special thank you to pilcrowlinea and IrishBiGuy29 for their suggestions and the editing of this story.

Please remember: The following story contains a scene of homosexual sex between two men. If this is not your thing, then please move along. Naturally it would make sense to read part 1 first.

*

The next day, I was in a daze, a sort of hungover fog. I had walked home in some kind of dream, or nightmare, depending on your viewpoint. I was dreadfully confused: I just couldn't understand what had happened. Yes - I knew what had happened, but I truthfully didn't comprehend it all.

Why? I had never once shown even a flicker of an attraction to men, never looked at them and thought anything like I felt with women. I loved women: Loved kissing them and feeling their breasts, loved running my hands through their hair and kissing their neck, making them feel all funny. Most told me to stop when I got too carried away, something I always respected. So, why the hell hadn't I said anything when the alarm bells started ringing?

No, I had sat there like some idiot as he had openly admired me, saying the things he had said as he slowly coerced me. He never demanded, never failed to give me an option to bail. True. So why hadn't I? I shook my head almost out of frustration walking up the road, unable to work out not just what had happened but how it had happened.

It was the way he had talked, I concluded. I had never been singled out like that by anyone, never made to feel the centre of their world: their focus. With women, it was always me who had to do that. Last night, those places switched; my normal role turned on me. It had disarmed me, removed any barriers I had in place. It had also aroused me, aroused me so much I was having a difficult time taking in what had happened.

It was the words he used: gentle, careful and measured. It made me, in my drunken state, susceptible.

Did I like the way he talked, gently admiring me? Yes.

Did I like the way he softly guided me through my trepidation and fear? God, yes.

And did I enjoy him making me curious and wishing to give? Fuck, yes.

My body had never responded to men, not even in my dreams. Never. But I had never experienced a feeling of being so wanted, so admired and desired.

Would you like to be told what to do?

That had made me completely vulnerable. I didn't need to know what I was doing, he would guide me. After I said yes, there was no going back. But I knew I could always say no at any point and I knew he would stop. It was his eyes. The fact that he said he wouldn't hurt me, was inconsequential. It already felt so good, so gentle and slow.

Yeah, okay, and the fact that I was drunk was a big factor, but it wasn't just all of that. He was older - in his early thirties - whereas I was much younger and terribly naive. No, I had handed myself over to someone else who was older, more experienced with these things and had let him take control. He never forced me and for that I trusted him. I let him.

I let him? That initially made no sense, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.

I was tired of playing the game. Tired of trying to fight for a woman's attention. Sick of doing all the work. The bravado. The bullshit. It was one of the reasons I enjoyed going to gay clubs. I used to joke, it was my night off from all that. It felt liberating to have no pressure, and in a way, I had handed that over to someone else, relinquishing all control, to be admired, desired and singled out. In short, reversed. It was flattering; it was terribly arousing. Did that mean I was gay? And if it didn't, just what the hell did it mean?

I recalled very vividly my desire. No, my very need to please. To repay his kindness, his gentle direction and his appreciation of me. His desire for me, hard in my mouth, had turned me on almost as much as the way he talked to me. It awoke something inside me that I never even knew was there, something I had never felt, never experienced. I'd become even more aroused when I realised he was hard because of me. He wanted me. He needed me. I was compelled to show him I knew and that I understood.

It felt good in my mouth. Like all heterosexual males, (now, this was the early nineties, remember!) it had been depicted as disgusting. Depraved. Yeah for ladies it was fine. For men it was seen as dirty and sleazy. Unmanly.

No. No, it wasn't. It was anything but that.

I felt empowered, my confidence bolstered by his honest affection and genuine praise. But, as I sucked his cock, what frightened me was that my mind had become almost devoid of everything. It had become barren, in a sense basic, primal: my mouth needing to please him as I worked his cock. My very existence in that moment last night was need: the need to give. Unconditionally. Fully.

Walking up the road, I tried to clear my mind, but it was no use. The more I thought about things, the more an element of shame and embarrassment crept in. I'd let him. I'd let him use me! Let him touch me like some eager slut as my cock raged harder and harder! I'd never thought having a cock in my mouth would arouse me, and yet it did. The scent, it's closeness, his warmth, it's hardness and how he was gentle; his desire made me do it, made me want it. Respecting my limits and not going further than that, I'd found myself enamoured with that, with the fact he was gentle and respected me as I opened my mouth and let him slide his hard cock in and out of my mouth.

And the feeling of it in my mouth. My fingers trailing his abdomen, that soft felt of fuzz to his cock, grabbing his buttocks, wanting it and needing it. My fears and state of mind cleared and barren, I realised I had submitted to his gentle instruction.

After getting home, my mind still continued to question everything. Sitting on my bed I thought about it more and more. He had turned me into what I thought sluts were and he'd done it all so effortlessly. Maybe that's what it was: maybe I was a slut for attention? I rinsed myself in the shower, trying to wash my thoughts and fears away, as if trying to cleanse myself.

Stop over thinking it Steve, I told myself.

Stepping out of the shower I dried and avoided checking myself in the mirror as if my reflection would pass judgement on me - but I did it anyway. Checking my ass in the mirror shamelessly, I laughed gently.

He wanted this...

I caught my eyes, staring at myself and saw I was smiling, almost giggling. I stared at my smooth boyish ass carefully as I posed, flirty and playful, turning and shifting my stance, trying to find an angle that really showed it off. I gazed at it for a while, my own ass, something I had never done.

He was right, it was smooth, and really did appear soft. I personally always thought I had a rather fat ass, almost a woman's ass. It sure as hell wasn't some toned tight ass, that's for sure. But the more I looked, the more I found that his admiration for it made me feel aroused. Once again, I found myself turned on. Not by my own ass, but by his admission he wanted it, that I was desirable. Sure, some women had flirted with me over the years, made me feel good, given it a playful squeeze. A few had even lifted my kilt at formal parties and complimented me, given it a devilish slap, but no-one had ever laid it on the line so gently, and yet so bluntly. Still, that was nothing like what had transpired last night. I had never felt so adored. I wiggled my hips from side to side gently.

You want my ass? I thought. You want this, don't you?

I stood, staring as if he were the mirror, sniggering to myself as I flaunted myself in front of him, almost as if I was teasing him. He had caressed me, held it and told me how much he wanted my ass. He wanted to see if it was as good as it looked. No-one had ever touched me there. No-one had ever made me feel so wanted.

A straight man... has no right having an ass like that.

It truly stunned me, what had happened. Yes, I'd been apprehensive: Who the hell wouldn't be with a finger up their ass? Okay, two. But it felt amazing. Like... really fucking amazing. It was like an epiphany, meant to be. Why hadn't anyone told me about this, why hadn't a need arisen in me before? His fingers easing me open, gently making me take them. And the feeling that had been ignited inside me horrified me and yet had truly overwhelmed me. It was like nothing I had ever experienced. His fingers in my ass felt truly sexual, alien to me at first for sure, but sexual nonetheless in an area I had never considered sexual.

His fingers had been gentle, soft but firm as he relaxed my ass. The confirmation that he wouldn't hurt me just made me let him take control. The slow realisation, of not just his fingers being in me, but how incredible it had felt shocked me. It felt like those pre-orgasmic throbs from my cock that we all get, and yet, right there, in that moment, it was deep inside me, deep inside my pelvis, in an area that I had never experienced such intense pleasure.

The pressure was applied gradually and gently. My mouth had been full, moaning as he did it. As he'd eased a finger inside me, I'd tried to focus on making him feel just as good as I felt in that moment. I'd motioned my mouth and hand in unison, while he gently grinded his hips, meeting me as he fed it gently in and out of my mouth faster and faster, distracting me as he'd eased a second finger in.

And God! The praise. I recalled the sounds I made at his encouragement, desperate to please -- needing to please, barely recognising my own voice and making sounds that I had never made. Soft whimpers, urgent moans. Some had been the moans of fear, others had been the urgent groans of need.

When he clicked his fingers inside me, they were genuine cries of such intense pleasure the likes of which I had never felt.

It wasn't just the fact I was stroking myself that had made me come. It was everything. His guidance, his patience and the way Mike wanted me to feel. The way everything felt reversed. The way he was concerned that I got as much out of it as he did and didn't pressurise me. The way Mike made sure that I got as much out of it as he did, without making me feel pressured into it. It made me question if his fingers had felt so good, what would his cock feel like? And through it all he made me feel adored and worshipped, even though I'd shamelessly worshipped his cock.

You only slept with a guy. Okay, sucked his cock. It's nothing illegal. You're just a guy who is thinking about a cock up your ass.

---!

I sat down, my head in my hands. Trying not to think of it, I was shaking my head at the mental images I was conjuring. What would his cock feel like? You know... There, where his fingers had been? His tongue perhaps snaking up and down the cleft of my ass, making me want it, like I was a cat on heat. Would he tell me what position to get into, would he order me, command me? What would Mike say to make me, what would he do to make it as enjoyable for me as he could?

I'm not going to hurt you...

What if I said: No please, don't.... Just like he told me not to say, because that would have meant that it was what I wanted. It was almost as if I could tell him what to do, using it as if it were a shield for my submission, even though he was the one that was in control. But was he? Was he merely telling me what I wanted to hear, what a frightened straight guy had to hear? Making me think that it was him and not me that was in control? If I could say No, please don't, didn't I hold the power? Wouldn't I be in control? Perhaps yes, perhaps no. But it felt so good being led, being adored and being told what to do, even if it was merely an illusion. I was worshipping, but I also felt like I was being worshipped.

At my core I was suddenly afraid. I'd never experienced a need to be told what to do, never felt a need to be submissive. I'd never had the power to allude to what someone could do. That was exactly what it felt like - there was no other way to describe it. I had a need inside me for him to show me. Teach me. I shook my head, trying to fight everything going on in my mind and fight off my new found need.

My need was simple. I had enjoyed hearing him moan as I worked my mouth up and down his cock. If he'd said he was going to fuck my ass when we played it out I probably would have let him, I wouldn't have been able to stop him. I probably wouldn't have wanted to stop him. It was like I had no say in the matter. It was as if my body and my mind were dissociated and on auto pilot. The shame and guilt was almost a mental aphrodisiac. The way he said he'd take care of me as I shamelessly tried to stroke my cock as he gently fucked my mouth made me aroused as I replayed it in my mind. The way he had focused his mouth on me, as I leant back, palms on the carpet, as his mouth deep throated up and down my cock as I surrendered everything my balls had, shocked and yet again aroused me. Imagine. Imagine if he stroked me as he fucked me. Imagine...

I shook my head at my reflection, almost horrified at my thoughts. I dressed quickly, trying to remove my thoughts from my mind.

There was a sudden knock at my door. Cursing, I went to answer it. Opening the door, I saw Will, his face beaming and all smiling with a hint of playful mischievous giggles.

"I'm so sorry I left you," he said. "But he wanted me to go home with him. I just couldn't say no."

I sighed at his apology, doing my best to sound sincere. The thing was, if he hadn't had left, things probably would never have worked out the way they did last night. I would never have been left alone with Mike -- never wound up in the situation I was in and was still in now. For some unknown reason I was annoyed with Will. Annoyed that he had been a part of this happening. I tried my best to hide my emotions. His face softened as I nodded, fighting desperately, trying to let it go.

"Thank god! I woke up this morning thinking I had abandoned you."

I opened the door and let him in, thinking I should ask him how it went last night.

"Did you have a nice time with...?" I paused and suddenly realised I couldn't call him Calvin. I mean seriously?

"Oh god! His name is Simon. I can't call him Simon!" his face was full of genuine horror, almost disgust. "I mean really? Simple Simon," his queen side was in full effect now. I couldn't help laughing at his over-the-top campness. "I like Calvin better! No no no," he said shooing away imaginary Simons'. "Cut the cord Darling!"

The next while continued as Will give me all the details. It was his first time that someone had asked and taken him home, sure he'd been with one other, but that was a close friend, not some man he barely knew, and not in a club.

He wasn't the only one, I mused.

I tried, I really tried to sound interested and held his gaze as he went on and on about it. I could see his mouth moving but I honestly barely heard a word, he didn't see that I was dealing with my own issues, still frantically searching for an answer to what happened last night. He went on about his flat, this and that and then he said something that made me sit up and listen. I barely heard it and almost suffered whiplash as I suddenly turned my face to him.

"Sorry... Say that again?" I said.

"Oh my god. I just can't explain it. When I was... sucking and when we fucked, I mean I've sucked a lot of guys, but with him... He was so experienced, I was kind of passive, I just felt safe and contented."

And that was it.

I nearly broke down, but somehow, I managed to hold myself together as he continued. That is exactly what I had felt. Everything that I felt, could be summarised in that one word. I'd been fucking around for hours torturing myself and trying to cleanse my soul, and Will had reduced it to one fucking word.

Content. Devoid of everything but simplicity. Bliss. Serenity. Satisfaction.

I was content the way he singled me out and made me feel admired - his cock in my mouth, hard because of me. His fingers, gently teasing my ass and finally actually being in my ass. It made me feel things I had never felt before, the way he spoke, his actions and reactions. It was everything. It made me happy. It made me feel adored, worshipped and even in my drunken state it had made me... content.

As Will described his night with Simon, he'd never actually fucked a guy he barely knew, until last night, he talked about how he was slow and gentle, but he'd slowly became more and more harder with every time they repositioned. I tried, desperately in vain to stop him, sheepishly telling him I was straight and that this was all a bit too much info, but he wanted to share this, he wanted his moment. My mind worked over time as he relived it while I tried to drink my coffee, afraid my hands were shaking. The more he described his night with Simon/ Calvin the more I was picturing Mike, starting slowly, gently then increasing his thrusts finally pounding me as I wailed and cried.

I could almost feel my brain melt and run out of my ears.

-0-

The music's pumping through me, I rush into the crowd

The sweat is pouring off me, the beat is dead loud

I want someone to love me, and I know I want it now

These feelings that I'm feeling must be satisfied somehow

-We All Feel Better In The Dark, the Pet Shop Boys

-0-

The rest of the week passed by in a blur. I went to work, did my usual routine and tried to play "I'm okay" with my friends. It was like a dirty secret upon my shoulders and it weighed terribly.

As the weekend approached, I knew what I had to do, but fear and apprehension gnawed away at me, gradually, slowly building more and more as the weekend closed in. I knew I would have to face it, knew I would have to face Mike and the rest of them, knowing I would have to hide it, in plain sight, in front of all of them. The lone sheep, in a den of wolves.

They're smart. Remember that. They know I've had the hots for you for some time.

As the weekend approached it got worse. That sick feeling in your tummy, that terrible feeling just eating away at me grew, and grew. The trepidation built up slowly as it approached, until finally I was almost unable to think, or function. I had fear. I mean real fear. Fear they would see right through me. They would see me, and they would know.

The straight guy is in the closet and he doesn't even know!

No. NO. NO! It's not like that!

Walking into the club was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. Pretending that everything was okay, that everything was good and chatting with them all as my stomach knotted, heaved and told me it wanted to throw up. It was like walking into the lion's den. Like a condemned man making the final walk. Originally, this had all happened because I had gone along to support my friend, but now it had all come back and turned on me.