Ch 1 The First Time

I guess the best place to start is at the beginning, so that’s what I’ll do.

The first time I met him, I was at The Dive with my girlfriend Jess. I know, I know, a dive bar named The Dive is pretty corny, and yes, the place is rough around the edges, but the beer is cheap and it’s only a couple of blocks away from my place, so it’s where you can find us most week-ends. Jess and I had been together for about seven or eight months, though the first few months it was a hook-up type arrangement, so we were still in the process of meeting each other’s friends. Today, it was her friends Liza and Ethan’s turn.

Jess looked so beautiful in her new blue dress and seemed happy as she introduced me to Liza. She was one of her best friends and someone she’d been wanting me to meet for a while. Liza seemed nice, tall and blonde with tortoise-shell glasses which gave her a bit of a sever, librarian vibe, but she seemed friendly and was obviously pleased to meet me. Said she’d heard good things and all of that. We made small talk for a few minutes and then she said, almost like an afterthought,

“Oh, Oliver, you haven’t met Ethan. Come on, he’s watching the game, I’ll introduce you.”

We turned and headed to the bar and there he was.

There. He. Was.

He spun his bar stool round slowly, leaning back against the bar, broad shoulders in a crisp white shirt, his legs splayed, feet perched on the stool as an easy, if slightly sardonic grin, spread slowly across his face.

There’s really no way around it, the very first thing you notice about Ethan is that he is handsome. I mean seriously handsome. Dangerously handsome. Olive skin, brown hair so dark it almost looks black. Light hazel eyes with wild flecks of green and blue. A slightly prominent nose, with a tiny hint of a curved bridge. Just enough to add interest to his face and forever excuse him from being accused of being just another perfect face.

Perhaps, I should add a preface here to say that in my twenty-six years, never once have I found myself taken aback or even vaguely interested in a man’s looks. Hell, I probably couldn’t tell you what color my housemates’ eyes are and I’ve known those guys since college.

But, back to Ethan, he was so good looking that the very first thing I felt upon meeting him, was a vague sense of annoyance. But annoyance at who? Jess? Irrationally, I almost felt that she should have warned my before I met him. You know, just a quick little;

“Just so you know, you should prepare yourself for the fact that Ethan is incredibly good-looking.”

But that would be completely irrational. So, no, I’m sure it can’t be that. I wrack my brain.

What the fuck is my problem?

I wonder if it’s a case of me being a bit of an asshole? There’s no way for me to say this without coming off as a dick, so I’m just going to have to come out and say it – usually, when I walk into a bar, I’m the best-looking guy there. Okay? And no, I don’t have a big head about it and no, I’m not into myself. Usually, it’s just a fact. So, maybe that’s it? Maybe I’m a little threatened and that’s it?

Yes, I think, that’s it.

I’m not proud of it, but I feel better as soon as I’ve mentally worked through this little conundrum. I introduce myself in a manner that feels perfectly normal and socially acceptable. With relief, I think I must be over my weird little blip.

“Irish, huh?” he says by way of greeting. His voice is deep. The type of deep that you easily pick out in a crowded room, as it seems to occupy a completely different octave from the voices of other mere mortals.

I’m surprised he made my accent. My mom and I moved to the States over ten years ago and most people can’t hear my origin in my voice anymore.

He shoves a hand towards me and as I reach out to shake it, I can’t help but notice how big his hand is. Wide palms with long, slender fingers. It feels hot to touch and from the way it envelopes mine…wait, what?

What the fuck!?

What is going on with me?

I haven’t even had a beer yet, but I feel like I need to sober up. I need to pull myself together. I take a quick deep breath, sit down and take a long, cool swig of the beer that’s appeared in front of me.

I focus my attention on the football game on the TV above the bar. Over the next hour or so, I find out that Ethan and Liza have been together for four years and that he is an architect. Other than that, it’s small talk and yelling the odd bit of advice to the referee. I’m in my comfort zone and I feel acutely relieved. That whole business earlier must have been an anomaly and nothing to worry about, I’m sure of it. Absolutely sure of it.

Jess has a dinner reservation for us, so as soon as the game finishes, we get ready to leave. Even though I’ve barely said two words to her, I assure Liza that it has been lovely to meet her, and she assures me of the same thing. Ethan lightly taps my arm says,

“Good to meet ya, Irish.”

His words land and dissolve, but the spot he touched on my arm burns into me like a brand.

What the fuck? I think, not for the first time that evening.

I’m not attracted to him, am I? Am I? I steal a quick, furtive glance at him.

No, I think. No, obviously not. That’s not me.

As we leave, I open the door for Jess and in years to come, I’ll often wonder what makes me do it, but as she walks through, I turn and look back at Liza and Ethan. She’s pressed up against him now, his arm is draped around her small waist, his hand snaking down, grabbing her ass. He cups her chin with his other hand, tilting her face to his. I see his lips part and the pink wetness of his tongue as it presses into her mouth. I’m transfixed. I tear my eyes from his mouth, track up along his jaw, his chiseled cheekbones and finally to his eyes. I fully expect to find them closed, but no.

No, his eyes are wide open.

And they’re looking straight at me. Into me. His gaze hits me square in the chest, literally making me physically recoil. My mouth opens in surprise, though I quickly clamp it shut. Blood rushes south. I feel myself stiffen.

Fuuuuck.

-

It’s been a couple of weeks since our last, extremely odd, encounter and I’ve had plenty of time to work through it. I’ve analyzed the situation repeatedly and in minute detail and ultimately this is what I’ve come up with:

Firstly, Jess and I had not had sex on the day I met Ethan and I was obviously pent up. It happens. No big deal. Secondly, dicks are not all that clever and sometimes they do dumb shit. Also, no big deal.

Okay? So that’s it. Line in the sand. No. Big. Deal.

-

So, No Big Deal it is, until Jess and Liza make plans to get a mani/pedi together and unanimously decide that it will be nice for me and Ethan to hang out. I ‘um’ and ‘er’ about it a bit, trying to think of an excuse that’s not, “Your friend’s boyfriend gave me a look that made my dick hard.” But I’m coming up empty. Jess seems to have decided that Ethan and I are going to be friends and there doesn’t seem to be much I can do about it. I make a mental note to watch her for signs of being controlling in future, though to be fair, she’s been pretty much a dream girlfriend up until now.

I feel a bit like a kid being dropped off for a playdate as she drives me over to Ethan’s. I remind myself firmly about the fact that last time was No Big Deal. Still, I feel a little sense of trepidation as we walk up the stairs to his apartment. Ethan opens the door and lets us in while Liza greets us with a big smile. The mood is completely relaxed and neutral. Normal.

See? Absolutely No Big Deal. Yes, he gave me a look. Nothing wrong with that. Everything is completely fine.

The End.

But.

But.

Butt.

It wasn’t the end, was it?

I could still hear the clatter of Jess’s heels on the staircase, when the mood in the room shifted. It’s hard to say what changed. On the face of it, all Ethan did was offer me a beer, get it out of the fridge and walk back over to give it to me. Under the surface, it was the edge in his voice, it was the way he moved, the way he looked at me when he handed to me. It’s hard to know how to describe it other than to say, there was a charge. I couldn’t tell you if it was a positive or negative shift, or if there was suddenly more or less oxygen in the room. I can only say that it was charged.

What happened next happened so quickly, that I didn’t even have a second to refer back to my No Big Dealpep talk. It’s vague and jumbled in my mind, but to the best of my recollection, it went like this:

He handed me the beer. I took it, but as I did, he gave me a playful little jab in the ribs. I jumped a little and might have said, “What the fuck, dude?” He jabbed me again, a little less playful this time, so I shoved him a little. His lips cracked open, in a crooked, dark smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, as he reached down and tapped my dick.

He tapped my fucking dick!?

I’m unequivocally positive I said, “What the fuck?” that time.

I tossed my beer onto the floor and grabbed him by the scruff of his t-shirt and shoved him hard up against the wall. He still had that smile on his face and I couldn’t help noticing that his eyes were completely and notably without fear. So much so, that I couldn’t hold eye contact with him and maybe that was why my eyes wondered down, past his neck, his chest and to his belt, his buckle and to the little bit of skin I’d exposed by grabbing his t-shirt. Tanned skin, tautly covering his belly, which rose and fell as he breathed in and out.

Time seemed to slow, and then stop briefly as I raised my hand, clenching my fist, fully intending to punch him, though somewhere between curling my fingers to make a fist and drawing my arm back, I was distracted. Distracted by the heat of his body, the quickness of his pulse and the quickness of mine. Ultimately, what should have been a punch that ended a friendship before it even began, turned into an open palm pressing against that little bit of exposed skin. My open palm. His exposed skin.

Instead of getting the fuck out of there right then and there, that open palm turned into a hand grazing his belly and a sharp intake of breath, though I can’t be sure now, if that came from him or from me.

The next bit is a blur. My shirt came off, though I’m not completely sure how. I do remember his fingers in the belt hooks of my jeans. And I do remember him pulling me towards him. My hips against his hips. And I definitely remember the electric shock that ripped through me as my dick rubbed against his. Both of us were hard. So, so hard.

No way I could forget that.

I remember his hands on me. Grabbing my neck, my chest, my sides. The sound of a zipper coming undone. My zipper. I remember a tugging sensation. His hands again. My chest. My jeans and boxers yanked down. Cool air on my ass. Both of us stumbling back. Bumping into the dining table. Roughly being turned around. Bent. That was me, me being bent over the table. My jeans around my ankles.

My God!

If the first part was a blur, the next part was anything but. No, if anything, the next part is crystal clear and in painfully sharp focus. He had me over the table, ass bare, legs spread open as wide as my jeans would allow. He ran his hand up my inner leg, from my knee to my balls, barely touching me, the movement only felt as a reaction to the heat omitted from his hand and possibly, the slight disturbance of the coarse blonde hair on my leg. A shiver traveled up my spine.

What the fuck am I doing?

Finally! A conscious thought. My mind raced, confused and desperate to make sense of this dreadful chain of events. This is way, way passed dicks just not being that clever! I thought, frantically. He reached up and grazed my balls with his fingertips. I bucked and had the good sense to push his hand away and try to get up. My position was compromised, I was off balance and tangled in my own pants. He grabbed my wrist, twisted it back and easily pinned me down. I arched and struggled. I swear I did.

Only.

Only.

Only, by now he had my balls in his hand. Stroking them gently, but I’m sure you’ll agree, I was in a very delicate predicament. I’m sure you’ll agree that most people would have considered it wise not to fight.

Wouldn’t you?

He ran his fingers down my balls and then up again, this time travelling up, up, up across my taint. Slowly tracking his way to my…

Jesus Christ!!

What the fuck? I thought desperately, this certainly is a motherfucking Big Deal! But it was too late. Time stopped completely. I felt like a record on an old-fashioned gramophone. The record was spinning, but the needle had reached the end of the track, it had paused and then lifted. The room fell silent, yet the record kept spinning. I was the record, and I was spinning.

I glanced back to see him licking his thumb.

Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck!

He barely even stroked my puckered little hole, before shoving his thumb into me. I wish I could tell you that I fought it, I wish I could say that I asked him to stop. But no, all I did, was rear my head back and omit a long, loud groan.

Appalled by the sound, I screwed my eyes closed tightly and pressed my lips together, desperately trying to stop another moan from escaping. His finger continued its assault, in and out, deeper and deeper until I was sure I couldn’t take any more. I gasped in relief as he pulled out.

Thank God.

My relief was short lived though as he grabbed my dick hard, jerking up and down quickly, flooding my body with paralysing pleasure. I felt the room spinning as he leant in close to me, and said, “Don’t. Move.”

He spoke quietly, the timbre of his voice washing over me. I glanced back frantically to see him walking quickly, purposefully down the hall. As he walked, he lifted his faded grey t-shirt casually up over his head, causing his defined delts and traps to ripple he brought his arms down and tossed the t-shirt to the floor.

Quickly! I thought, Get your shit together! You have to get out of here NOW!

I glanced around the room, doing a quick recon. My shirt was on the floor in a puddle to my left, my jeans were pooled around my ankles. I still had my shoes on. I could literally be out of there in a matter of seconds. So why wasn’t I moving?

Why the fuck aren’t you moving?

Maybe it was because of how hard my dick was, or maybe it was because of how heavy my balls were. Maybe it was the thick mist of arousal swirling around me, or maybe it was the way he said, “don’t move”. Like a dare. Like a promise. His words, his voice, had snaked their way around my limbs and bound me just as surely as if he’d used rope. So, you see, I didn’t move, because I couldn’t move.

I’m not sure I can ever really explain what I felt like right then. Rooted to that spot. Waiting. Knowing. And I really mean, knowing, as there wasn’t a single, solitarily part of me that didn’t know what I was waiting for. That waiting felt like an eternity, I can promise you that. In reality, it was probably no more than a minute before I heard his footsteps coming down the hall. I quickly faced forward, eyes straight ahead, a last-ditch attempt to hide my complaisance.

I willed myself not to look back as he set the bottle of lube and a condom on the table next to me. I kept my eyes closed as I heard the clinking, bone-chilling sound of him unbuckling his belt. I tried to ignore the tremor that went through me as I heard the quick, whipping sound of his belt being pulled free. I tried not to clench when I felt him spread my cheeks and I tried not to jump when he squirted a cold, generous dollop of lube on my ass. I tried not to gasp as I felt a long, thick digit slickly enter me. I failed there. I tried not to moan when he added another equally long, equally thick finger. I failed there too. My sphincter clenched and spasmed involuntarily as he shoved his fingers into me over and over until my limbs were nothing but liquid.

Slow, deep breaths, I told myself, as he withdrew his fingers.

Don’t panic, I thought, it won’t be that bad, as I heard the tell-tale rip of the condom wrapper.

Fear pooled and settled heavily in my belly. How many of my girlfriends had I taken in this exact same way, in this exact same position? Their soft, smooth, porcelain asses quaking gently as I held them firmly in place, as I thrusted.

It can’t be that bad, I thought, can it?

I purposely avoided looking back, as he rolled the condom on. I was facing a big onslaught if the bulge I’d rubbed against earlier was anything to go by, there was no point in adding to my fear. I heard the snap of the lube cap and the squelching sound of him coating himself in it and felt the cool slipperiness of him rubbing a little more on me. The fear in my belly swirled and twisted.

“Relax.” He said, drawling slightly.

What a fucking idiot, I thought. Relax? Re-fucking-lax? When I’m about to get reamed?

I wondered vaguely just how many times I’d said the very same thing to my partners?

Maybe I’m a fucking idiot too.

I lurched forward a little when his dick first made contact with my ass. He quickly caught my hips and locked me firmly in place against the table. He reached down and spread my cheeks with what felt like his thumb and forefinger while guiding himself to my knot-hole with his other hand. I clenched my teeth as he started to press. My ass rebelled, puckering and tightening.

“Relax!” he barked again, as he rubbed his head against me, pressing a little harder each time he swiped past my opening. I felt myself give way slightly, stretching just a little. He pressed harder and harder. My God! The pressure was unbelievable. I tried to wriggle away, but his fingers were digging into my hips like a vice. My ass pulsed and struggled as it stretched millimeter by millimeter. My tight little sphincter put up a valiant fight, but at last, with a little pop, it lost to the relentless intruder.

White hot pain ripped through my body as he forced his head into me. My eyes slammed shut and my mouth opened wide in a silent scream.

Holy fuck!

“Arrrrghhh!” I cried, when I caught my breath. I was frozen. Unmoving. Gasping for air.

What is it, what is it, what is it? I thought frantically. My executive function severely compromised by the extreme lack of blood flowing to my brain. What is it I always tell my partners? Relax? No, don’t be stupid, you can’t relax when you have a red-hot poker up your ass. What is it? Bear down. Yes! That’s it. Bear down a little and that will open your ass.

Even this well-meaning advice I’d issued countless times before, seemed a lot harder to follow when it was applied to me. Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to try to push out, when someone is actually trying to push something into your ass?

My God.

The pain was still wracking my body when I felt another surge of pressure. He was preparing to thrust again. I had no fucking choice. I bit my lip, as I bore down and felt myself give way to him. I groaned deliriously, as at least another inch filled me. He moved slowly, easing himself in and out, giving me time to adjust, before the pressure started building again and I had no choice but to let him in more. Over and over, we repeated this dance until at last, at last I felt his balls against mine. I was so weak with relief I hardly even registered the mortifying way I was moaning. Low and long, and so motherfucking loud. Just awful. I sank my face into my palms, trying to hide my face as each tiny movement from him, forced these fearsome sounds from my body. Sounds that were so low the whole room seemed to vibrate.

My shame was complete. Hot and all consuming. Here I was, bent over, bare, with an ass stuffed to the brim with dick. His dick. What’s more, it was hurting like an absolute bitch and even that wasn’t enough to put me off. Despite how horrific my circumstance was, the worst of it was, I couldn’t get enough. I could not get enough. I was wild. Insane with lust. The heavy, musky smell of him. Those big, rough hands on my back. The rasping, jagged breaths coming from him and coming from me.

So, yes, the pain was shocking. And yes, I confess I found myself wondering just how the fuck my girlfriends took this. Is this what it feels like for Jess? I wondered, as he injected what felt like pound after pound of himself into me.

My God.

But, while it was true that in each agonizing thrust there was pain, sure, there was also pleasure. Pure, unadulterated pleasure. A type of pleasure I’d never felt before.

Think of it like this. Pain and pleasure are different sides of a single page. Turn the page this way, and you’re reading a poem called Pain and turn the page that way, and you are reading a poem called Pleasure. So yes, each thrust started and finished with a deep, searing ache, but the in between part…Oh, my God, that part was pure rapture.

I gripped the edge of the table, gritting my teeth and holding on for dear life as the side of my face ploughed into the smooth, walnut surface, grating back and forth, as I struggled to take his punishing strokes.

“I gotta pound a little bit,” he rasped through clenched teeth, “I need to nut.”

A fission of fear tore through me. Oh Jesus, can I take anymore? I bent my legs a little, arching out just a bit and braced myself against the table. He grabbed my hips in both hands and started his final onslaught.

The speed and power of it made me see stars, I couldn’t get a breath. The sounds coming from me, now taking on a desperate, high-pitched quality. The slapping sound of his body slamming into me seeming to bounce off the walls. In desperation, I reached down and started stroking my dick. Pleasure found and engulfed me. The intensity of the pounding almost drowned out by my urgent need for release. Every ounce of my consciousness egging me to find relief.

When it finally came, it landed like the crack of a whip and drowned out my senses until I was aware of nothing but pleasure. Wave after wave after wave. At last, I became conscious of an unfamiliar, thin sound, swirling around the room. I felt his hand, clamped tightly over my mouth.

My God, I realized in shock, that sound is coming from me.

I was screaming.

Finally, my body calmed, and I held still and let him take what he needed until at last, his body stiffened and jerked, slamming into me with a series of animalistic grunts.

After a pause, he pulled out carefully, his bulbous head causing me to wince a little, leaving me sobered, shocked and wondering just how in the hell to deal with the aftermath of the frenzy that had just overtaken us.

“The bathrooms that way.” He said finally, indicating down the hall.

I pulled up my jeans, retrieved my shirt and headed to the bathroom with about as much dignity as a man who has just been thoroughly and unexpectedly fucked up the ass, possibly can.

I cleaned up as best I could, patting my ass dry gently, relieved to see that there was no blood or other evidence of lasting damage. Well, that’s something to be grateful for, I thought miserably, as I looked in the mirror. My reflection stared back at me. The same sandy blonde hair, the same blue eyes as I’d seen in the mirror this morning, and yet, now I found myself wondering, Who the fuck are you and what the fuck have you just done?

My awful quandary now, was that Jess had taken the car. I was effectively stranded at this guy’s house, with no feasible way to get away that wouldn’t draw questions from Jess. Questions I certainly didn’t want to answer. With no obvious better option, I headed back to the living room where Ethan was leaning into the fridge, making a second attempt at getting us a beer. He was fully clothed now and had cleaned up the beer I’d thrown on the floor earlier. All evidence of our indiscretion effectively erased.

“Pizza’s on its way.” He said, as he cracked a beer open, his voice remarkably devoid of any hint that anything untoward had transpired.

We watched the game, drank those beers and the next one’s quickly, and when it arrived, ate the pizza without so much as a sideways glance at each other. The dull ache in my ass the only evidence that I hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing.

To say I felt awkward would be the biggest understatement of all time. Never in my entire life have I felt so embarrassed or wanted so desperately for the Earth to swallow me up. I kept glancing at my watch, willing the clock to strike five thirty, when Jess had said she’d pick me up.

After what felt like hours, Liza finally called, letting him know that they were on their way back.

“The girls will be here in fifteen minutes.” He said.

Thank you, Jesus.

“I’ll meet Jess downstairs,” I said, only too bloody happy to get the hell out of there, but still with fifteen agonizing minutes to kill. He shrugged and kept his eye on the TV. The excruciating silence dragged on and on until finally, he broke it.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” I said, with just a hint of defensiveness.

“You ever done that before?” He asked, his eyes still fixed on the TV.

“No!” I exclaimed, more than a little defensive now. I swallowed, and then managed, “You?”

“No.” He said quietly, the smallest trace of bewilderment in his voice.

After an eternity, I heard a car pull into the driveway and leapt up to leave. He got up too, showing me out. He swung the front door open, stepping aside for me. As I twisted my body slightly to get passed him in the narrow hallway, he casually said, “We should do this again some time.”

What the fuck? Quick fury erupted in me.

“Blow me!” I spat.

Now, in my defense, blow me is a phrase I use all the time. Someone honking at me in traffic gets the finger an angry blow me, my boss pissing me off at work gets a very quiet blow me, under my breath - you get the picture. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s completely innocent. Certainly, not a Freudian slip of epic proportion.

An awful, slow smile crept across his face, little lines forming at the corner of each glinting eye. He drew a deep breath in, his posture changing slightly. Menacing now. Tension flooded the narrow hallway with astonishing force.

“Maybe I will.” He murmured, running his thumb thoughtfully across his bottom lip.

My pulse surged, blood rushed to my loins, my traitorous cock stirred.

Fuuuck!

Houston, we have a problem.

-