Later in life, Tobin would share awakening stories with his queer friends, often hearing of gradual, incremental steps, peeking out of the closet, the slowly dawning understanding of why they just weren’t into their hetero boyfriends/girlfriends.

But Tobin could point to the precise moment he knew he was gay: Saturday, August 16, 2008, at 3:12 in the afternoon, when he was halfway through his sixteenth year. That was when he looked out his bedroom window at the back of his house into Jimmy Ruiz’s backyard just as the man bent over to pick up a boulder he’d worked loose from the ground.

Jimmy Ruiz’s backyard was kitty-corner to Tobin’s. The low fences made it easy for him to look directly down into his yard, and there the man was: six feet tall, massively broad through the shoulders, muscles like a bodybuilder, his back and arms covered in tattoos. His broad back tapered down to a slim waist, and then broadened out again into thighs like tree trunks. He wore only a tight pair of jean shorts, and as he bent over, his taut ass strained at the long-suffering denim until it looked ready to split. If it had, Tobin would later reflect, he probably would have cum in his pants.

As it was, he stared in stunned awe at those perfect denim-clad globes, aware suddenly of a tightness in his jeans. He absently pressed the heel of his hand to his crotch and realized that his cock was hard. Without thinking, he unbuckled his belt and unzipped himself, pushing his pants halfway down his thighs, and desperately grabbing his cock, stroking as if by instinct.

His breathing ragged, he leaned against the window as Jimmy slowly straightened. The muscles corded and clenched under his tattooed skin as he lifted the boulder above his head and threw it to the side. In that final instant, as Jimmy stood with his arms above his head and each ridged muscle stood out like an anatomist’s drawing, Tobin whimpered. His cock twitched in his hand and exploded, cum spattering on the wall below the window. He leaned against the sill, panting as if he’d run the hundred meter dash, his entire world focused down to Jimmy Ruiz’s ass and an overwhelming, inchoate desire, the like of which he’d never felt before.

It was then that he glanced at the clock beside his bed. 3:12pm.

He hastily swabbed down the wall and the hardwood below him, but did not pull up his pants. Instead he stood there staring down at his neighbor, and again started stroking his still-hard cock. He came three more times in the next half hour, each time with an intensity he’d never felt. He’d been jerking off for years, discovering like all boys the pleasure of rubbing one out, but there had been little in his mind when he’d done it. He discovered internet porn, aroused by—he thought—big tits and wet pussies, and especially the sight of a woman delivering a noisy and sloppy blowjob.

This? This was new. And it wasn’t as though he could really lie to himself about it, that it was the pussy and not the dick in the porn that was turning him on. Nor could he pretend that Jimmy Ruiz was anything resembling effeminate.

Well, that’s that, I guess, was the thought that ran through his mind that night after he’d jerked off again to the memory of Jimmy’s ass and muscular back. I like men.

The realization came with the usual undercurrent of guilt and anxiety, but not nearly as much as there might have been. It was, after all, 2008; Tobin’s parents were liberal-minded, and were close friends with a lesbian couple who frequently came over for dinner. Two guys from school had already come out, and had felt comfortable doing so. The fact that he was gay wasn’t distressing to Tobin, just surprising. The thought had honestly never occurred to him. He’d had a girlfriend for two months in grade nine, and had made out with girls at parties, but nothing special. He hadn’t found himself attracted to men before.

But now? He lay in bed suffused with desire. And he knew he wouldn’t tell his parents. Not yet, anyway. Not until he’d lost his virginity to Jimmy Ruiz.

Because—and here was the thought that exploded through Tobin’s mind like a supernova—Jimmy Ruiz was gay. He’d moved in two years earlier, and at first everyone was nervous: covered in tattoos, he drove a Harley and dressed like a biker. The first murmurs were that he’d bought the old Henderson house, which had gone to wrack and ruin while its elderly owners succumbed slowly to dementia, because he could only afford such a wreck in this otherwise respectable neighbourhood. The neighbourhood held its breath as it waited for the biker parties that would keep them up at night and fill the tidy streets with broken empties and used syringes.

But it was not to be. Jimmy Ruiz, it turned out, could have easily afforded any two of the houses in the neighbourhood (he owned his own contracting company), but liked a fixer-upper challenge. Giving the lie to what people assumed, based on his appearance, Jimmy was polite and soft-spoken, given to laughter, friendly, and generous—and gayer than a treefull of monkeys on laughing gas, a fact he was quite open about. In the weird logic of respectable white liberals, a biker was an undesirable, but a gay biker? Put up the Tom of Finland posters!

Two years he spent gutting his house and renovating it. Word was that he’d done a beautiful job, though Tobin had never been inside (something he fervently wished to rectify). Now he was moving on to landscaping the backyard, which years of neglect had turned wild. Lying in the dark, fondling his softening cock, Tobin started to formulate a plan.

***

The kid introduced himself as Tobin, and Jimmy Ruiz recognized him from the house behind and one over from his. He was tall and skinny, but looked as though he had a bit of a swimmer’s build. A fetchingly tousled mop of blond hair, and a shy grin. He’s sixteen, Jimmy, he reminded himself sternly. Plus, you don’t like twinks, remember? That much was true—he didn’t generally go for the boyish types, preferring men of his own build and strength.

Still, the kid was undeniably cute. And eager for work.

“Anything you need,” he said earnestly. “I can dig or haul dirt or stones, or whatever. Consider me unskilled labour.”

“Have you ever done landscaping?”

“No, but I’m good at following directions.”

Did he just blush a little when he said that? Jimmy smiled a little in spite of himself and scratched the stubble on his jaw. He could use an extra pair of hands, and the kid looked like he’d benefit from getting some callouses.

“Deal,” he said, holding out his hand. Tobin grasped it and offered a surprisingly firm handshake. “Come by tomorrow morning at nine, and we’ll get you started digging out that stump.”

***

For the rest of the summer, and then some afternoons and weekends in September, Tobin dug and hefted, dragged and pounded, piled and fitted the various plants and flagstones and other components of Jimmy’s new backyard, which, as it took shape, quickly became the envy of the neighbours. Sure enough, the houses on either side and one behind were soon alive with landscaping crews, even as autumn encroached. Sometimes I think I do this just to make sure the other guys get work, Jimmy joked to him one Sunday as they relaxed on folding chairs, sipping cokes.

Working with Jimmy, Tobin discovered two things: he still desperately desired him, but he also liked him. Despite his fearsome appearance, with all his muscles, tattoos, and frequently unruly facial hair, Jimmy was a genuinely nice guy, and it was obvious that he’d grown fond of Tobin. Not in the way Tobin wanted, but he told himself to be patient—friendship could turn into something more.

After every work session with Jimmy, Tobin would without fail take a hot shower and masturbate while thinking about some mental snapshot he’d taken. Jimmy grunted under the weight of flagstones. Jimmy sitting in a folding chair with his massive thighs stretched out. Jimmy bending over to pick something up.

One hot day, again shirtless, Jimmy had stumbled and fallen against Tobin—not knocking him over, but for a brief, ecstatic moment, Tobin had felt his bare skin press against his. Jimmy apologized, and then was worried, interpreting Tobin’s inability to speak for pain or distress. That night he replayed that moment over in his mind, translating the brief feel of Jimmy’s sweaty torso into the imagined sensation of him sliding his naked body over Tobin.

Tobin’s fantasies became increasingly elaborate. He started watching gay porn, seeking out videos of macho, muscular men fucking twinks. He fantasized in excruciating detail about what it would be like to suck Jimmy’s cock, imagining how it would feel under his tongue, between his lips, deep in his throat; he stole a particularly thick carrot from the vegetable crisper, stretching his mouth around it, gagging as he pressed it against the back of his throat. He tried again; he nearly puked. And again, and after much effort he was able to slide it past the gag reflex. He made himself cum time and again just thinking about sliding the tip of his tongue around Jimmy’s engorged head.

He dreamed of Jimmy fucking him, and the carrot found new use. He wished he could get a proper dildo and proper lube, but knew there was nowhere he could hide them. Vaseline and a carrot would have to do, but oh, how amazing it felt when he fucked himself once he became accustomed to it.

The weather cooled, and Jimmy declared the backyard more or less complete. He gave Tobin his last bit of cash for his work, and said that the next summer he’d be redoing the exterior of the house. “And I could use a hand again,” he said.

***

That winter, Jimmy did not see much of Tobin, and that was by design. A few times the kid knocked on his door, but Jimmy didn’t let him stay long. The pained look on the kid’s face tugged at Jimmy, but two things had become completely clear to him over the past two months: one, Tobin was gay; two, he was smitten with Jimmy.

It was honestly charming: Tobin had no idea how obvious he was in the way he looked at him, sneaking glimpses at his body, and his generally soulful puppy dog demeanour. Looking the way he did and built the way he was, Jimmy was no stranger to such crushes from both men and women. And growing up gay in a rough working-class neighbourhood, he became particularly astute at an early age at reading the signs. Sensing whether a guy was about to punch you or kiss you was a survival skill.

And he liked the kid. A lot. Enough that it was difficult at times to push down the stray naughty thought that burbled up in his mind when he let his guard down. One Saturday night, out with some friends, he’d found himself gazing speculatively at a cute blond guy in his early twenties; unbidden, he suddenly thought I bet he’s got a nice, polite, young-dude cock, and he imagined how pleasant it would be to run his lips over it. When the blond guy met his gaze with a smile and looked for a moment as though he was going to walk over, Jimmy frowned ferociously and shook his head. The blond guy turned back to the bar, downcast. Jimmy cursed at himself, knowing that it wasn’t that guy’s cock he’d been fantasizing about.

He suddenly felt the overwhelming need to get laid. He started chatting up a surprised but delighted forty-something man with a paunch. As the man later unlocked his apartment door, he turned to Jimmy and whispered, “I want you to use me as your whore. Use me hard and rough.”

Not a problem, Jimmy thought, and even took a perverse pleasure in the man’s squeals as he fucked his flabby ass.

Forty-something was entirely not the kind of person he’d normally fuck; he didn’t let himself think he was overcompensating, not even as he started to be a little sadistic with how hard and fast he fucked him. Not that the man minded. Nor did he reflect on why he said, “Your place,” when the man asked. He hated going to other men’s places. But on that night and throughout the winter, he never brought a man home. And he never let himself think it was so Tobin wouldn’t see a man leaving his house in the morning.

***

The winter passed excruciatingly slowly for Tobin. His few attempts to visit Jimmy had been rebuffed, albeit in a friendly manner; he tried not to think that Jimmy no longer liked him, or had only liked him as cheap labour. He fixed his mind on springtime, when he could re-enlist as Jimmy’s boy-Friday for renovating the outside of the house.

In the meantime, he took refuge in schoolwork and fantasies. Another boy came out of the closet at school; Jimmy knew that, if he wanted, he could also do so. He also knew it would be an easy matter to get laid among his peers, boys or girls. But no: the idea of having Jimmy Ruiz as his first time had become an idée fixe, almost to the point of obsession.

He found more porn vids featuring macho tattooed men fucking blond twinks. He jerked off nightly, thinking of Jimmy’s cock. It changed shape and size nightly. Sometimes it was inhumanly massive, sometimes it was circumcised, sometimes straight, sometimes hooked to one side.

He tasted his own cum after he exploded on his belly, savouring the salty bitterness, wondering what Jimmy’s would taste like. He imagined him exploding in his mouth, or the sensation of it trickling down his throat. He imagined Jimmy fucking him, imagined it being gentle—slowly twisting inside him while Jimmy crooned endearments in his ear; he imagined it being cruel—pounding into him painfully while Jimmy rasped, you like that cocksucker? you like the feel of a man’s cock in your boy pussy?

It was uncertain which version made him cum harder.

***

Spring finally came, then early summer, and Tobin tentatively knocked on Jimmy’s door. To his relief, he was warmly welcomed. He pressed a coke into his hand, and sitting at the island in his exquisitely designed kitchen, Jimmy outlined everything he wanted to do to the exterior. Tobin was over the moon until Jimmy said,

“Look, I’m really happy to have your help this summer, because there’s a ton of stuff I’ve been contracted to do. So I’m not going to be here a lot of the time. Is that cool with you?”

Tobin stuttered, “Well… um, you know I’m not very handy.

Jimmy patted his knee. “Don’t worry. There’s not a lot of structural stuff to do. It’s mostly cosmetic. A lot of scraping and painting. Plus, I’ll pay you more.”

Tobin gave him what felt like a strained smile. “Okay. Sure, I guess I can manage that.”

Jimmy clapped his tattooed hands and grinned. “Excellent! We’ll get started tomorrow.”

And so Tobin spent the better part of the summer alone, scraping flaking paint, caulking gaps, sanding down burrs and patches, priming new pieces of wood Jimmy installed, and painting… endlessly painting the new windowpanes and mullion bars, flashing and soffits, and just generally being miserable whenever Jimmy wasn’t there. And when he was there, he no longer stripped off his shirt—no matter how hot—and instead of his ultra-tight jean shorts, he wore board shorts that had the dual effect of masking his perfect ass and his muscular thighs.

Lost in his own frustration, it never occurred to Tobin that Jimmy might be deliberately hiding his assets, much less that Jimmy was trying to shield himself from the reflection of Tobin’s desire.

Still, he enjoyed Jimmy’s company as much as ever, and even hidden under baggy tee shirts and board shorts, the man’s body was still spectacular. At least one thing that didn’t change was Tobin’s nightly wanks imagining the now myriad sex acts he had Jimmy perform on him in his fantasies.

***

Again the summer ended; again, Jimmy paid Tobin for his last hours and thanked him. It was with something like despair that Tobin realized there was nothing left to do on the house. He said so.

“True, I suppose,” said Jimmy, who seemed a little taken aback. “Sadly, true. I guess we’ll just have to find another excuse to hang out sometimes.”

The promise in those words was enough to make Tobin cum very quickly that night.

***

When he said the words, Jimmy was a little perturbed to hear them come out of his mouth. What are you thinking? he asked himself, but in truth, he knew he would miss Tobin. It had been difficult staying away, even though he hadn’t lied—his summer had been hellishly busy. He was delighted at just how careful and conscientious the kid had been: everything he did met Jimmy's professional standard, and when it didn’t, he was happy to fix it.

Somewhere in the back of Jimmy’s mind, unacknowledged, was a calendar: Tobin was seventeen now, and would be eighteen some time in late autumn. He didn’t know the date, and hadn’t asked. He told himself it didn’t matter.

The kid came for a visit in October, and they sat around his kitchen and gabbed for an hour. He came again a few weeks later; it was obvious he had more of a handle on his infatuation now, but he was still smitten.

Jesus Christ, kid, Jimmy wanted to tell him, you’re gorgeous! Why don’t you go find someone your own age and figure things out? He wondered if Tobin had even admitted his sexuality to himself. He knew the kid wasn’t out, one way or another—at least not out to his parents, who would have made a big show of support, probably even thrown him a coming-out party. The whole neighbourhood would know.

These liberal parents, a friend of his, a similarly butch-and-tattooed queer, once spat in disgust. Today their kids come out, they wanna throw them a fucking bar mitzvah. He smiled at the memory. The words had been spoken in disdain, but beneath them Jimmy sensed the same wistfulness he felt in himself—these parents might be making an obnoxious show of their open-mindedness, but what would he have given to have had the same? To have being gay be a matter of indifference rather than a badge of shame?

He sat in his kitchen long after Tobin left, lost in thought. Finally, he opened a cupboard over the stove and retrieved an old bottle of scotch. Contrary to his neighbours’ initial fears, Jimmy did not drink much, not even beer. But sometimes something harder was called for, and he poured himself three fingers of the amber liquid.

When had he known he was gay? He didn’t know. Probably some time in his early teens. Probably some time when he and a friend had jacked off together, and he realized he was more turned on by his friend’s dick than the porn mag in front of them. He was always a big kid, and tough—he had to be, in his neighbourhood—and so no one ever suspected him. To the kids around him, being gay meant being girly.

And so he hid his desire, until one day when he was working at the convenience store around the corner. The manager was a guy in his twenties, slim, handsome, with a smile that made Jimmy’s heart flutter. Freddie. Jimmy had been working there since he was sixteen, and so had known Freddie for over a year.

By that time, he’d had little or no sexual experience—he’d jacked off a friend twice, who’d returned the favour, but then the friend had freaked out and stopped talking to him. And once, in a moment of desperate need and self-loathing, he’d let an old dude suck him off in a public bathroom. But then here was Freddie, after they’d closed the shop, sitting in the back office passing a tall boy back and forth.

It had become something they did once in a while. Close up, steal a beer, and shoot the shit. Freddie was worldly—Freddie knew shit. And in all the time they’d worked together, Jimmy had twisted and tied his desire for the man into a knot that sat in the pit of his bowels, never to be acknowledged. Until that day, when Freddie, passing him the can, said, “So. You like boys, then?”

For a moment Jimmy wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “What?”

“You like boys. You’re queer.”

Jimmy choked on the beer. “What? No, I...”

“It’s okay. I am.”

Jimmy’s head snapped up. “You… you are?”

Freddie grinned. “Ain’t nothing, my friend. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. Yeah, I like boys. I like men better. I like nothing better than a nice, hard dick. I like sucking dick, being fucked by dick, or fucking other men’s asses.”

In spite of his shock, Jimmy felt himself getting hard as he listened to Freddie’s words. “You do?”

“Best thing in the world.” He took back the can and took a deep swallow. “So… you gonna be honest with me, or what? Because I just told you something that could get me hurt if you ain’t got discretion.”

Jimmy stared at him for a long few moments. Freddie cocked an eyebrow. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”

Freddie’s face split in a grin. “Well done. Now, tell me all about it.”

So Jimmy told him how he’d come to realize he was gay; about jacking off his friend; and, shame-faced, about the old man in the washroom.

Freddie was silent for a time, holding his gaze sympathetically. “Well,” he said finally. “That just won’t do. Handsome boy like you deserves better than some fair-weather friend and some old perv.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I think it’s time you finally sucked a cock. You wanna suck a cock?”

“Um… you mean yours?”

“See anyone else here?”

Jimmy choked out a No, and Freddie laughed. “Well?” he prodded. “No pressure, kid. Just making the offer.”

“Y-yes? Yes.”

Freddie smiled, and stood up. He leaned down and kissed Jimmy tenderly on the lips. It was Jimmy’s first kiss. He felt Freddie’s tongue snake between his lips, and he responded in kind. For a minute they remained locked together, their tongues sliding around and against each other with increasing urgency. Jimmy’s cock was instantly hard, tenting his baggy jeans. Freddie chuckled into his mouth and reached down, squeezing the hard shaft through the denim.

“Mmm,” he hummed appreciatively, and broke the kiss. “That’s a nice one. Here’s mine.” He took Jimmy’s hand and pressed in into his crotch. Jimmy gasped as he felt Freddie’s cock pressing against the material.

“Better when it’s not cooped up, right?” Freddie asked, and unbuckled his belt. He undid his pants and fly and slid them down his thighs with his underwear. And there it was: Freddie’s cock, half-hard, bobbing in front of Jimmy’s face. “Touch it,” Freddie whispered. As if in a dream, Jimmy reached up and traced its shape with his fingertips.

“Like it?”

Jimmy couldn’t speak. In answer, he closed his hand around it, feeling it stiffen. “Mmmm, that’s it,” whispered Freddie. “Get a feel for it.” Jimmy squeezed it gently, his breath catching as it twitched and hardened in his hand. He could feel Freddie’s pulse throb in it. He stroked it, experimentally at first, then more confidently. “That’s it,” Freddie purred. “Like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” said Jimmy, and it was—hard and straight, thickening slightly at the base, with a flared, purple head. It smelled of musk and soap, and felt amazing in his hand—soft skin over iron.

“Go ahead,” said Freddie, his breath ragged. “Taste it if you want.” Jimmy obeyed, leaning forward and touching his tongue to the head. A bead of precum had formed, and without thinking he licked it off, savouring the salty taste. “That’s it,” Freddie said again, and Jimmy loved hearing his breath catch, feeling for the first time the power of giving pleasure. “Lick up the underside.” Jimmy slid his tongue up the bottom of his cock, from the base to the head, and was rewarded with a moan.

Encouraged, he did it again, squirming his tongue against the soft, salty flesh. He felt Freddie rest his hands on his head gently. “Suck me,” he said finally. The slight pleading in his voice made Jimmy’s cock, already harder than it had ever been, twitch and leak. With his free hand he scrambled at his belt and pants, but when his cock was free, Freddie reached down and gently but firmly took his hand.

“Not yet,” he chuckled, and placed his hand alongside the other on his cock. “Suck me,” he said again, commanding.

Jimmy’s eyes almost crossed as he slid his lips over the head of Freddie’s cock. It was almost too big, but felt and tasted so good. He gagged when it struck the back of his throat, and Freddie cupped his cheeks. “Don’t overdo it,” he crooned. “Plenty of time to learn that.”

Jimmy wasn’t sure what “that” was, but didn’t care. His entire world narrowed down to the hard rod of flesh in his mouth. Gasping, he took it out and started licking and nuzzling down the shaft, breathing hard, desperate to feel and taste it all, to communicate to Freddie with his tongue and lips how much he loved his cock. He sucked him into his mouth again, bobbing up and down as deeply as he could, moaning with ecstasy. He’d never imagined how much pleasure he could take from sucking another man’s cock—how sublime it felt to stroke and lick a hard, slick shaft

He felt and heard Freddie respond. His breathing grew faster and even more ragged, and his cock began to twitch and swell in his mouth. “Fuck,” Freddie whispered. Then again, louder, “Fuck! Oh Christ, I’m gonna cum.” Lost in delirium as he was, Jimmy would have happily let Freddie explode in his mouth, but Freddie lifted him off his cock just as he came—ropes of cum that struck Jimmy’s face and shirt. Jimmy watched, transfixed, his own breathing like that of the nearly-drowned.

“That was pretty impressive, kid,” Freddie gasped when he got his breath back. “Especially for your first time. How was that for you?”

For a long moment he couldn’t reply. “Amazing,” he said finally. “Amazing. Can we do it again soon?”

Freddie grinned, and leaned down to kiss him. After a moment in which their tongues slithered against each other again, he proceeded to lick his cum off Jimmy’s face. “Mmm. Sorry about your shirt there.” He wiped a last little white blob from his chin and sucked his finger. “Yes. We’ll do a lot soon. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

“Teach me?”

“Yup. See, kid, there’s a lot you need to learn, and it’s not like they do queer sex ed in schools. Rule one is be safe—never swallow a guy’s load if you’re not sure of him.” He grinned. “As it happens, I’m clean, so if you want to try that later on, we can. But for now, get into some good habits.” He glanced down at Jimmy’s crotch, where his cock stood up, hard and leaking. “But first, perhaps I should take care of that for you.”

Without ceremony, Freddie sank to his knees and swallowed Jimmy’s cock in one smooth motion. Jimmy moaned, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he felt the head of his cock slip down into Freddie’s throat. All it took was three bobs of Freddie’s head; as his nose pressed into Jimmy’s pubes, he felt his cock twitch and swell, and Freddie chortled appreciatively as his throat massaged his cock and milked out every drop.

Freddie stayed down with Jimmy’s cock deep in his throat for a long moment before sitting up with a smile. “That is one fine tool you have here, kid,” he said, giving it a stroke or two. “Give it five minutes and I’ll do that again for you.” He continued to stroke it slowly, gazing down in frank admiration. “Nice and long, and thick, and that upward curve you have is pure pleasure. I can’t wait for you to fuck me with this.”

Jimmy couldn’t speak. After a few minutes rest, Freddie sucked him again, this time taking his time, pleasuring the shaft with his tongue until Jimmy was squirming in the chair. He brought him to the edge twice before finally sucking him to completion, this time letting Jimmy’s cum coat his tongue. “You taste good, too,” he whispered, kissing him.

Sitting in his kitchen, Jimmy took a deep and shuddering breath at the memory of his first time—his real first time. He tossed back the scotch in his glass and refilled it, thinking of the weeks that followed—countless blowjobs, both in the back of the shop and in Freddie’s tiny apartment; swallowing Freddie’s cum for the first (but not the last) time; sixty-nining on Freddie’s twin bed, learning that delicious sensation of a mouth on your cock while glorying in having one in yours; fucking Freddie the first time, and the second, and the third, fucking him from behind, from the front, Freddie sitting on his cock and riding him; and finally, Freddie fucking him, teaching him the pleasures of feeling a hard cock slide into your tight hole.

Finishing the second glass of scotch, Jimmy abruptly stood and went to his bedroom. He stripped naked. From his bedside table he retrieved his favourite dildo and a tube of lube. His cock was already rock-hard from his memories. Pulling his legs up to his chest, he slowly slid the dildo into his anus, recalling the delicious sensation of Freddie’s cock. He fucked himself for several minutes before finally grasping his cock. It only took a few strokes, but this time he was all too aware that when he came, it wasn’t Freddie he was thinking about.