Michael Christopher (a.k.a Saint)’s testicles had swelled to half the size of his body. If theaverage man ejaculates approximately 40 million little swimmers every time he shoots his wad, I was guessing Saint had approximately 6 billion. If you showed a photo of his testicles to an elephant, it would have said “Holy shit, those things are fucking huge. He should really see a doctor.”
But Michael hadn’t gone to a doctor. He had come to me.
“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me if you give me a blow job.”
I did my impression of a velociraptor trying to distract a human while the other raptor sneaks up and eats him. Saint was what I called quasi-gay. He preferred pussy to cock and was absolutely petrified of the very existence of anal sex. He had no problem with two guys getting off together but the very idea of any part of a person’s body coming into any sort of contact with another person’s ass repelled him. It didn’t matter if the ass belonged to a male human, a female human, or a transgendered platypus, ass was not an appropriate place for any kind of penetration.
“Let me get this str...correct. If I give you a blow job, you’ll let me fuck you?”
He gagged. “Yes.”
“Ummmmm.” I really wanted to fuck him. Had, in fact, spent several hours of my life masturbating to the idea. Knowing his aversion to anything anal, I had long since given up the idea of it ever happening. We hadn’t even fooled around before. Much. He was mostly straight, and, as far as I had noticed, not the least bit interested in having me as anything more than a friend. Sure we’d made out a couple of times but he had been reeeeeeealy drunk. “Have you switched teams or are you testing your stamina for a Fear Factor audition?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He moved next to me on my bed, rested his head on my shoulder and began rubbing my back. “I just -- I really need -- it wouldn’t change our friendship, would it?”
“Would giving my friend and occasional roommate a blowjob before I fucked him change our relationship? Hmmmm. I would imagine so, yes. I’ll be happy to do it but it will change things.”
“For better or for worse?”
“Are we getting married or are you talking about the comic strip?” No laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe if you explained why the sudden change of heart or change of preference or change of cock or whatever this is I could give a better assessment.”
He leaned toward my ear and whispered, “I really need to cum.”
I matched his phone sex operator tone “So jerk off.”
I gave him the raptor look again. “You can’t jerk off?”
“I haven’t jerked off in over two years.”
“If I tell you, do you promise to blow me?”
"It depends. Is an alien going to shoot out of your meatal and try and kill me? Is there some rash I can't see from this angle?" I lifted up his balls. This was the first time I'd ever touched him in his bikini zone. He shivered, not unpleasantly.
"If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone?"
"A couple of years ago, I bought a porn DVD for the first time. One of those fancy deals with multiple angles, chapter selection, and no unnecessary plotline, just really classy, really beautiful women getting fucked."
"And this was detrimental because -- "
He pushed me away with his head, and then pulled me back with his arms. "I watched it for at least six hours, I must have come like twelve times."
"If this story involves chafing I'm not only not giving you head, I'm making you put your clothes back on."
He stuck his tongue out at me. I put it to good use.
"Chafing? Please. I used to be a professional wanker. I never start without lotion."
"Go on, then, what happened?" The kiss had already sealed the fact that he was going to get his blowjob, even if he was going to come an alien life form.
"I turned off the DVD player, and the news was on..." He stared at me.
"Oh God, nothing kills an erection like Ted Koppel. Well, maybe Dan Rather or" I shuddered. "Connie Chung."
"Actually it was Katie Couric."
"The first thing I saw when I turned off the TV was the plane flying into the tower."
"Oh. My. God." I was starting to grasp the issue, as well as his cock. "You poor thing."
"I just feel like -- ahhhhhhhh, yea -- I feel like if I hadn't been jerking off, maybe the towers wouldn't have fallen."
I gagged a bit. Pulled my head out of his lap. "What?" Raptor look #3, a personal record for most times used during single conversation.
"I just — I mean, what if next time I jerk off Mt. St. Helen erupts or a meteor strikes Washington D.C."
"A volcano eruption would be tragic, but I think the nation would owe you a huge debt if you single handedly..."
"I like to use both hands."
"Okay, if you double fistedly wiped out Washington D.C."
He laughed. I returned to the business at mouth.
"Do you think that makes -- ohhhh God -- does that make meeeeee -- I'm going to" He did. Everywhere. Mt. Saint Christopher erupted all over my face, chest, headboard, wall, window, blanket, pillow. It looked like an explosion at the Liquid Paper factory. He smiled at me, and wiped the come off my face. "Does that make me fucked."
"It does now. Bend over."
The last time I placed a personal ad, I got about six responses from people who weren’t folically challenged married men. In fact, most of them were written by seemingly friendly, cute, young guy guys. I whittled the candidates down to two. My first choice was -- uhh, I never got his name. Whatever his name was, his e-mails were really polite. Almost absurdly polite. I got the impression he was some sort of subservient bottom slave. The other candidate was Derek. Derek was a cute Asian guy who decided, the previous night, that he was gay. He wasn’t up for anything very exciting, he just wanted to come over and jerk off with another guy. Candidate #1 wanted to get fucked. Sorry, Derek, tell him what he’s won Roddy. Today’s runner up receives CVS brand plastic ware and a dozen naked photos of Ed Asner.
For our winner, we have my phone number.
Candidate #1 called my house using a blocked number. Shady shady shady. He was at work and was whispering in a very cute accent. He expressed his desire to just come over to the house and get fucked. No conversation, no promise of a second coming, he didn’t even want to get off. Well, I did have a date tonight, so I thought if I took #1 up on his offer, I would be tension free during the date.
He got out of work in three hours, and asked if I had any rubbers. Rubbers. I can’t even type that word without feeling British. Imagine the phrase “Would you be so kind as to purchase some rubbers” being said in a fairly effeminate Pakistani accent. Awwww. Ain’t colonization a bitch?
#1's picture was hot. Young guy on the beach, nice body, nice smile. Lust at first site. Too bad it wasn’t him.
I suppose it’s possible that it was him ten years ago, but he’d put on a bit of weight (not enough to be offputting...I like mildly chubby guys as much as non-bony thin guys), and he had clearly aged. Alot. If he was 24, then I was 19.
Before I could second guess my decision, we were in my room and getting naked. He was wider than I was, but about the same length, and much hairier than he was in the beach photo. C’est la vie.
He had a very nice butt. Nothing I would cut off and put on my headboard, but it was round, and it was there. After some lubrication and fingering, I was ready. We tried several positions before I was comfortable. This was the first time having sex on my new bed, and it’s not ideal for moderately heavyset Pakistani bottoms. I was in and out more than Anne Heche (it’s an old reference, but what can you do?). After about twenty minutes, my phone rang. I wasn’t going to pick it up, but it got frustrating as about four people decided that this afternoon was the ideal time to call me. About thirty minutes into the fucking, Old What’s His Fuck informed me that his ass was burning from the inside. I’d used a ton of lube, and frankly I’m not big enough to cause tremendous ass pain. Especially to someone who is a practicing bottom.
I asked if he wanted to try oral. He didn’t do oral. Wonderful.
I’m past the point in my sex life where jerking off with a random stranger turns me on. Especially a random stranger whose picture was much cuter than his reality. He began clumsily jerking me off. I envisioned myself chafing, and put a stop to it.
We’d been going about forty-five minutes when my roommate came home. You’d think that would be a mood killer, but it was a relief. There was a closed door between us. I got the idea that The Guy wanted to leave. I would have been completely ok with that. I was barely hard.
“If it is not too much trouble, I would like to see you come.” Did this guy learn manners from the kid on Johnny Quest? Yeesh. It was probably the cutest thing about him.
“If you bend over--”
“It burns from the inside.”
I explained that I could do very nice things to his bottom without actually penetrating. And so I did. It still took me another fifteen minutes and about eleven different fantasy asses to reach climax. I came like a porn star.
I finished him off. He came like a sixteen year old boy on round #8 on a Sunday hand marathon.
He made me go out and talk to my roommate while he got dressed and snuck out of the house.