Crain was a thirty-eight-year-old man who loved doing three things; first was racing fast cars, not as a career but just for fun. Second he loved surfing. He had surfed all of the west coast of the US and Mexico, plus Hawaii. Third, or perhaps first, was sucking cock. Amend that. He loved cock, period. He would be hard pressed to decide which he liked more, cock down his throat or up his ass.
When Crain was fourteen he felt something was wrong. He didn’t know what, but he knew something was out of kilter. By the time he was fifteen he had started lashing out, sassing his parents, rebelling against authority, pilfering cigarettes. He had always been in the top of his class, but he began to ignore his studies and his grades suffered.
When he had reached sixteen he realized he was different from other boys. Not some of them – all of them. He had figured out his sexual interest wasn’t the same. The other guys talked about girls all the time, or more specifically, pussy. They became animated. He remained unmoved. If one of them was to describe a sex act (real or invented) Crain didn’t imagine the girl’s pussy. Instead he visualized the braggart’s dick. Whether he had only unbuttoned his jeans and pulled it out, or had gotten butt-naked, or something in between, Crain's mind conjured up a vision of the guy, without the girl.
He knew this wasn’t right. He was sure he was the only person in existence who did this. He knew something was wrong with him, and he rebelled more.
When he was seventeen he met Roger. Roger was a petty thug. He was twenty-three, tall and lanky, but muscular. His arms were covered with tattoos from his shoulders to his wrist. There were scrolls twisting up his arms like vines, but they weren’t vines. Entangled in the scrolls were words written in ornate letters. They weren’t words that you would have imagined. They were words like ‘honor’, ‘trust’ and ‘fidelity’. There were also cartoon characters. There was Wilma giving Fred Flintstone a blowjob. There was Wiley Coyote fucking Daffy Duck in the ass. And there was a larger one of Captain America charging toward you, completely naked with an oversized cock flying to one side. That one intrigued Crain.
Roger took Crain under his wing to teach him how to screw the system and everyone in it. He introduced Crain to marijuana. Crain had dropped acid, but hadn’t liked the experience. He loved weed. He loved the way it freed him from the thoughts that plagued him. He and Roger became buddies. Roger patted him on the back, punched his shoulder, grabbed him in a head lock, grabbed his ass.
The ass grabbing became frequent. He’d grasp it and hold on.
Crain would try to pull away, laughing, but Roger wouldn’t let him get away, saying, “Yeah, you like that.”
Once, Crain had on a pair of baggy cargo shorts. Roger ran his hand down Crain’s back, under the waistband and drove his middle finger down his ass crack, pressing the tip against Crain’s moist asshole. Crain tried to pull away, put the more he twisted the harder Roger pushed his finger. Crain was aware his dick was springing to life.
When he finally broke free, Roger just wrapped his arms around him from behind and said in his ear, “Yeah, that felt good, didn’t it,” then lightly bit his ear and let him go, laughing.
Crain had to laugh too.
Weeks later Roger scored some powerful weed and they were sitting on the sofa in his broken-down apartment, getting stoned. Crain took a drag on the joint and passed it to Roger. As Roger took it from Crain he held Crain’s hand and put it on his crotch. Crain tried to pull it away, but Roger held it fast. As Crain moved his hand trying to release it he felt Roger’s dick growing hard.
Roger took a deep drag and turned his head to shotgun the smoke into Crain’s mouth. Crain forgot about his hand and inhaled the smoke. Roger moved so his lips were pressing against Crain’s – then stuck out his tongue so the tip went between Crain’s lips. Crain opened his mouth and the smoke curled out as Roger's tongue went in and swirled around.
Roger withdrew his tongue, but with his lips still touching Crain’s said, “Suck my cock.”
He pressed Crain’s hand hard against his erect dick and moved it back and forth. He whispered, “Suck it. You know you want to.”
He dropped the roach into an ashtray on the arm of the sofa and started unbuttoning his pants. Crain was immobilized – hypnotized. He watched as Roger pulled out a long, straight cock – more beautiful than any of those of his buddies he had so often visualized.
Roger placed his hand lightly on the back of Crain’s neck and pulled down gently, whispering, “Go on. Suck it.”
Crain let himself be pulled forward and down. He knew this was where the past three years had been leading to. He opened his mouth and felt the strange hard and yet soft and smooth rod enter his mouth, filling it. For several seconds he remained motionless, savoring the feeling. Roger removed his hand and Crain raised his head a few inches, feeling the cockhead sliding over his tongue. He went up and down, marveling at how right this felt.
Roger reached around Crain and squeezed Crain’s erect dick – unbuttoning his jeans and fishing it out. As Crain sucked his cock he slowly ran his hand up and down Crain’s, pausing to smear the precum over the head with his thumb. He stopped to open the waistband of his own pants and pulled them and his boxers down to his knees, and then returned to leisurely jacking Crain’s dick.
Ten minutes passed. Roger put his hand under Crain’s throat and pulled him up. He took his chin and turned his head in his direction and kissed him, their mouths opening and their tongues wrapping around each other. He then bent forward and engulfed Crain’s dick, pulling his pants and briefs down while he sucked his dick.
For the next forty minutes they alternated sucking each other’s cocks. Then Roger hoarsely whispered, “Oh, shit.” and grasped Crain’s head, holding him down on his dick. Globs of cum spurted out into the back of Crain’s mouth, gagging him. He managed to pull up enough to let the cum flow down his throat. When the cum subsided he remained there for a minute, enjoying the sensation and taste of his first mouthful of cum.
Roger let him up, smiled weakly and said, “My turn.”
He slid down off the sofa so he was sitting on the floor and pulled Crain around straddling him. He simply said, “Fuck my mouth.”
Crain moved his dick over Roger’s face several times before he succeeded in getting it in his mouth, but then he watched as his dick went in and out of Roger’s mouth. After only a couple of minutes he picked up speed and lost control, fucking Roger’s mouth fast and hard. It only took another couple of minutes before he whimpered and felt his cum surge up the length of his dick and for the first time enter another body. When the last of his cum oozed out he fell forward, still on top of Roger’s face, too weak to move. Roger had to push him up and off to get out from under.
He moved back up on the sofa and reached for the other joint he had rolled earlier. They smoked without saying anything, their pants still around their knees and the saliva drying on their soft dicks.
Finally Crain said, “I’d better go,” and struggled pulling his shorts and pants up. He staggered to his feet.
Roger looked up and said, “You wanna go shoot pool tomorrow?”
Crain shrugged, “Sure, I guess.”
It became a weekly or bi-weekly thing: their getting high and sucking each other off. They never talked about it – they just did it. Crain’s attitude changed. He was no longer the only person in the world. He had a mate. He no longer felt the need to rebel. He became interested in his studies again and his grades vastly improved. He only had to keep his association with a thug like Roger a secret.
But things always change. Crain had never wondered how Roger managed to live. He didn’t appear to work, but that wasn’t an aspect Crain was interested in. Six months after their suck-off sessions had begun the police raided a chop-shop and arrested a half dozen guys. Roger was one of them. The news reports named him as the one who stole the cars. He was out of Crain’s life, but Crain’s life took a big turn.
He graduated from high school and entered the top university in the state. He quickly found out that there were dozens, maybe hundreds of guys just like him. He discovered there was more to sex than just sucking. He took up surfing. He grew into an all-around successful young man. He discovered the thrill of going fast. With time he could afford to indulge in racing. Life was good.
In the years of racing he had connected with a couple of guys, and there was a period he was scoring with one surfer after the other, but that was also a phase. Mostly it was a serendipity type thing. He didn’t like having to seduce a guy. He liked a guy who had some experience, but wasn’t into gay life. That is, a guy who'd had his cock sucked and liked it enough to let someone do it again.
Two years ago he had picked up a guy in a bar. Not a gay bar… a sports bar. The guy had come in and taken the stool next to his. The guy introduced himself as Brick. Crain didn’t understand why he was called Brick since he had brown instead of red hair, but he didn’t question it. He was twenty-eight and was twice divorced, with no kids. He was easy to talk to and had a nice sense of humor.
The conversation had started innocently… just two guys in a bar having a drink while watching a game on TV. Over the next three hours it covered a lot of territory, and had taken a path that both found interesting, each pushing it a little further and turning it a little more in a certain direction, neither one being the main catalyst. When the bar closed Brick followed Crain home. Crain poured them each a drink, but before they had drunk a fourth of their drinks they had gone in the bedroom, stripped naked, lay on the bed, and Crain had given Brick the best blowjob he had ever had.