3 comments/ 23310 views/ 6 favorites Cock-Sucker: Learning The Game By: tristantrotsky Here's my story, it's sad but true. About a guy, that I once knew. He took my love, then... hey, you know the rest. Yes, I was the small-town slut, always up for mischief. The sure-thing. A scrawny kid with acne. No-one's dream date, that's for sure. But I know the rules, and I'm cool with it. Yet I can still taste the sense of shame and betrayal I felt over Vince, a good-looking kid a few years older than me who I was sweet on. I'd really had a thing for him since...like, forever. Then he's driving a truck for his old man, and I'm into my last summer before going up to Uni. And, one day there were two older youths verbally-abusing and roughing me up when he intervened, told them to cool it and stop hassling me. With him standing by my side they back down and slouch off on their way, sniggering to each other. I hang around him in an attitude of grateful hero-worship. It later occurred to me that just maybe I'd been set up, and they'd arranged it all together so I'd feel I owed Vince a debt. I doubt if it was that way, but it wouldn't have been necessary, since I'd have gone with him anyway. I've never played hard-to-get. Never smart enough to play games. You can see it on my face. You can read me like a cheap paperback. Every hopeless hope. Every frustrated dream. But hey, we're both the age of consent. And I'm consenting... aren't I? He takes me into the old derelict Parker place set back from the road among the trees. It's spooky and gross, dirty and overgrown, with bugs and crumbling clapboard, it smells bad too, a kind-of musty stale-piss smell, but my need to be with him overcomes my fear. 'C'mon, we won't be doing nothing that's not been done before' he tells me, as he extracts his cock from his denims, the long curve of his semi-erection is awesome to me. I feel privileged he's letting me share this special intimacy. I'm weak-kneed and my dick is hard in a heartbeat, it has a libido of its own, as my heart jumps several levels. Taking it in my mouth I'm hoping against hope I'm doing it right, doing it like he wants me to do it. It tastes weird, it feels weird. Oh god, we're actually having sex, he's allowing me to suck his cock. Like we are boyfriends. Almost. Doing it to him is magical, special, a slow surge of rapture. And when he comes there are tears in my eyes. I come out with an infatuation-glazed expression and scuff-marks on the knees of my denims where I'd crouched to suck him off, and pre-come stains along my fly where I'd been excited by doing it to him. The following day he approaches me again, 'you wanna take a walk, kid?' 'Sure, Vince, thank you', and I follow him like a lovesick puppy, up the alley that runs beside the newsagent store and out onto the trail behind through the woods. He doesn't speak, and walks so fast I have to hurry to keep up with him. We emerge on the riverbank, a little ways from where the railway bridge cuts across it, forming a graffiti'd sheltered space beneath. There's a cluster of crushed lager-cans in the shadow of the overhang and a mound of black ash where someone started a fire. My heart's pounding in my chest. Kids come here when they're up to no good. I know what he has in mind. What else could he possibly want of me? He turns and hesitates no longer than a moment. The sound of the water lapping up against stones, insects buzzing lazily among tall yellow weeds up the steep embankment. Then the sound of his zip. No coercion, no persuasion, no pressure... no words. We both know the score. He unsnaps his belt and shoves his pants down into a heap around his knees. I sink down into a low crouch, my knees hitting the grass in an instant, tugging at my own fly, releasing my hard-on to pump it and release its pent-up urgency. Pants hobbling me around my ankles, the grass slightly moist under my knees, none of that remotely matters, because it's the first time I've had the opportunity to see his cock properly up close. Its power is breathtaking. I'd seen it before, at the Parker place, although then I'd only had access to it protruding from his fly, now he's more confident in his power over me, and I can reach up and feel his fat hanging plum-sized balls, almost coming myself as my fingers circle that exciting hot shaft and gently squeeze, the big tulip-head swelling upon its coronal ridge in response. This time he's already hard, as though it's learned to expect what it's about to receive. This fleshy monster knows it's going to get sucked-off and sucked-off good. Fascinated, looking up I catch his eye. I'm taking too long admiring it. He's impatient already. Guiltily I stuff its smooth mauve rubbery head into my mouth and begin sucking, my lips fitting so tight around the rim of his glans it's as though it was meant to be, his sharp intake of breath reassuring proof I'm doing it right. It twitches and jerks up against my encircling devouring lips, and the way he groans tells me he's enjoying it, when each time I go down and its head scrapes the back of my throat, I feel his body tense. 'You suck cock like a bad girl' he says simply, and lets me work, my hands on his thighs, his balls, his ass, only nudging his hips forward to fuck my face as his climax nears. It was hardly ideal. But I'd have done it anywhere he wants – hell, I'd have done it like a shot, but we were just young, had no place to go. This is about as close to heaven as I'd ever been, and I'm content to do it for just as long as he'll let me do it. There's line between love and fascination that's hard to see at a moment such as this, with the delicious brutality of his raw cock ramming my throat. By now I'm mewling with pleasure, squirming in an agony of sensation, my own balls first squashed up against my heels, then brushing over the spiky grass, I'd come in long ecstatic white squirts, and whatever shy restraint I'd had was totally gone, I was bleary and enamoured, I'd never felt so horny or so sexed-up, so sated and indulged. There are wet tears welling in the corner of my eyes from the sheer emotional intensity wracking me. This guy in my mouth is everything I've ever wanted. There's a greater urgency building in Vince's thrusts, and unless I'm imagining it, his cock is swelling too. Each time he thrusts his cock goes a little deeper. I gag a couple times but he doesn't care. And neither do I, I'm determined to let him use me like he wants, determined to give him the best blow-job he's ever had. If it makes me gag then so be it. I don't care. I'm sucking his cock, that's all that matters. He gives a long slow groan and fills my mouth with spunk. I take it all, c'mon, you got any more in that stuff for me, squeeze it out! Once he's finished pulsing he makes to pull out, but my hands are cupping his bottom, drawing it back in, sucking it some more. He laughs and draws away, again I follow and keep sucking at it. So he stands there and allows me my way as it loses its rigidity. When it's done and I'm wiping strands of spunk-stains from my chin, I squat defiantly with legs splayed with it all hung out on display as evidence of my devotion, should he care to notice. Not that he cares. I'm proud of the way I took it so deep without seriously gagging, the way I swallowed it so smoothly without retching. Whatever he can give, I can take. 'Gimme your handkerchief, kid, I don't want my Mom to find stains on mine'. I hurry to do his bidding and watch him carefully wiping my saliva off his genitals with it, wishing I was doing it to him myself. I'm weak and gaspish, legs of rubber. Then he says, almost as a casual afterthought, 'we'll do this again, right?' And I nod enthusiastically. But it was followed by a couple of frustrating failures. I next encounter Vince in the store. We are concealed from sight behind a high shelving unit of utensils. He leers at me. I return a shy smile. He crosses to stand beside me, takes hold of my hand, and presses it up against his groin so I feel the unmistakably hard outline of his cock through the material. My hand stays there, my fingers closing around the ridge it is making. 'How about you want that nudging your tonsils, kid?' 'Yes please, Vince' I murmur. When he turns to go I follow him... only at the exit he meets Jo-Beth. She begins flirting and they get into talking. I stand behind them scowling, surly with impatience. Eventually he shrugs at me, and walks away with her. On a later occasion he's playing pool in the Bar, as I watch. After some time he quits the game and heads for the john, passing where I'm sitting on the way. He glances at me, and nods his head indicating me to follow. I can scarce believe my luck. I wait only so long that no-one will suspect what we're about to do, then pace breathlessly after him. Through the door at the rear. He's waiting, but both of the cubicles are in use. We wait, in embarrassed silence, my throat dry, scared and made a little self-conscious by my own eagerness. Eventually he fishes his cock out and turns to the urinal, in case anyone comes in, it'll seem more natural. I can see its sleek long downward curve as it gushes a stream of golden urine. So close. I lick my lips. To say I'm hungry for it is inadequate. Should I...? dare I reach out for it? Instead I get my own cock out – awkwardly, because it's already achingly hard, and stand beside him, pointing it downwards and leaking a few unsatisfactory spurts of piss. By now he's eased back and zipped up. I've missed my opportunity. He glances at his watch, then glances at the two closed cubical doors. No sign yet of anyone emerging. It's taking too long. Again he shrugs, and makes to go. I watch him, feeling sick to the pit of my stomach. Another missed chance. But there's still hope. Some time later, as he makes to leave the pool hall he comes across to me and hisses in my ear, 'you maybe wanna come around my place, say eight tomorrow, 'cos my folks are away for the weekend, and we can do some more dirty stuff if you want'. I can scarcely speak, 'Sure Vince, thanks Vince'. It was like in that song – I'm walking on the moon, walking on the air, in a seventh heaven of anticipation. All day long I'm looking forward to that moment. I wash and comb my hair. Leave off wearing underpants to make it easier, my head full of visions of what we're going to be doing together. Going over every detail in my mind, all the things I'd done, all the things I was going to do. In my handerchief there's a crinkle of his dried sperm, and the faint aroma of his body. I examine it carefully, waiting. Until, when I get there, a spring in my step, it's only to discover he has beer, popcorn, some joints, porn-videos... and three friends. My blood froze, my flesh crawled. There was no threat or pressure, just an obvious presumption I was to be part of the evening's entertainment. No question, no discussion. My complicity was taken for granted. Naturally I couldn't back down, I was in a cold-cold sweat, I'd never felt to scared, or so excited, but I do what they expect. They start out like it's no big deal. They were cool about me being there. It was a small-town, I'd gone skinny-dipping at the weir with two of them, Jackson and Blue. I knew how big they were. The one I didn't know must have been from somewhere out-of-town, a big hefty lad. He acted all gosh-wow bashful as the X-rated movies begin with girls getting multiply-fucked, but he was the first to break the ice by dropping his pants with a casual 'I guess this is no time to be shy, this is where the cocks come out to play' and gives it a few perfunctory tugs. Vince glanced across at me, caught my eye, nods in the kid's direction meaningfully. For a corn-fed fat-kid he was well-hung, as obediently I squat down to my task, giggling, like it was a game I was in on. His forehead is sweating. He watches me warily as though he can't believe what I'm doing to him. I take it in my hand, wank it a few times. From the way he squirms and the noises he's making as my lips close around his bell-end it surely must be his first blow-job, and I mean, who would go down on him voluntarily if it wasn't part of some deal? I can still feel the burning embarrassment at the whoops and laughter as his sweaty gut heaves and he shoots his load deep into the back of my throat. I make some choking noises and wipe my mouth with my dirty handerchief, contriving an expression of distaste, although that was largely for effect. Now things are loosening up. The others are getting naked. I'm only wearing T-shirt and shorts, in the expectation of discarding them early on. That part came true. I knew things would get messy, and I didn't want stains. Although achingly stiff, mine is the smallest cock there, as they're quick to point out. It's not fair, there's no justice, I was jealous. The situation was odd, disturbing. I was a bit afraid, disappointed, my heart a dead lead weight in my chest, but when two of the guys begin playfully wanking each other I feel resentful, as though – hey, that's what I'm here for, I'm supposed to be the centre of attention. No fear, they all get their turn. The sex-funk and testosterone in the air is electric, inevitably getting to me, four eager young cocks flipping and swaying, five including mine, it's impossible not to be all fired up as my warm and slippery mouth goes up and down on Blue, the second guy, it's going like a piston moving in a cylinder. For a moment he looks a little concerned, 'ain't this all like... y'know, kinda Gay?' 'Nah' says Vince. 'If you've got someone's Dick in your mouth, maybe, but if you're getting sucked – hell no, a mouth is a mouth. Up the Big House they do this all the time. They select a guy to do it for them, they call him the Gimp. And those are Bad Dudes, you wouldn't dare call those guys Gay, not to their faces.' Reassured, he lays back, hands behind his head feigning a casualness the state of his arousal denies, letting me work him. Is that what I am – their 'Gimp'? Is that how they see me? Although the comments hurt, I'm reaching down and jacking myself, then letting go to concentrate on him, until I ejaculate spontaneously up my stomach. There are raucous crude comments about how much I obviously prefer Blue, I feel like telling them no, that's a lie, it's Vince all along I want. I'm doing this for him. I might be sucking this cock, but I'm gazing at Vince, hoping against hope he'll meet my eye, and maybe smile, but he never does. The guy's breathing quickens and his hips thrust upwards to meet me, I don't even come up for air. And this time my handkerchief stays unused, I wipe my mouth with my hand. It's not as though I have any dignity or self-respect left to lose. When it comes to sucking Vince, he sits on the sofa concentrating on the screen-action, and although I try to make it special for him, to make it the best blowjob known to man, he studiously ignores me, obviously preferring to pretend my mouth is part of the video-girl's action. I look up imploring and beseeching at him with his big dick lodged as deep in my throat as I can take it, cradling and massaging his balls tenderly, thinking up at him 'look, I'm doing this thing for you, only you', but he won't even meet my eyes. All pretence and inhibition is gone now, we're all naked and a little stoned. My groin is still on fire, teetering on the permanent brink of coming again. My bare toes digging into the carpet-pile. When Vince comes I just moan a little, siphon it down and swallow it as the pulsing in my mouth slows and steadies. As I rise up offa Vince, the fourth guy – Jackson, is patiently waiting, offering it for my attention, gently but firmly pulling my head down onto it, I get time for one deep breath and instantly I'm slobbering over him. I'd not seen a lot of porno, but I know the plot, it feels almost as though I'm the target-boy in a triple-X video, and know all about the money-shot. What if they decide to do it like the porns, and stick two cocks in my face at once and get me to suck them both, or even three cocks? But no, I'm not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed as they just patiently wait their turn, and then, after I've finished him and think it's over, the chubby kid stands there waving it at me, demanding seconds. He has a flabby arse with a freckling of unsightly zits, but his cock is up and ready for more. This time, copying the porn-action on-screen, he stands there as the others jeer encouragement, and I crouch like a compliant defeated slave. The first time his cock-head hits the back of my throat it sets me off geysering up from my groin, helplessly groaning, then he gives me a head-pumping face-fuck, gyrating his hips so it churns in my mouth. I should be beyond embarrassment, but the sound of it goes glug-glug-glug, glock-glock-glock, while his fat pendulous ball slap fleshily up against my chin. I just close my eyes and let it happen. Until he stops at the last minute to shoot off five long white strands into the dregs of beer in a glass – a lot of it to say he's already come something like half-an-hour earlier, and he urges me to drink that. More laughter. My cheeks burning. I sit there sullen and nude, tasting the cloying taste of them still in my mouth, as they lay around chilling out, shooting the breeze, until around midnight they all thank Vince for a great night as they file out, no-one thanks me, although the plump kid leers as though he has some follow-up in mind. Whatever it is I want no part of it. Even Vince just looks away, although I was shivering with the emotional after-effects of what they'd done to me. Doesn't he care about what I've gone through? Can't he find a kind word of praise or encouragement for me? No, he says 'OK, you can get dressed and go home now'. Maybe he feels just a little ashamed at what he'd done to me? I cry myself to sleep that night, sobbing like a schoolgirl. Not because of what I'd done, but the way Vince tricked me into it, about how my expectations and excited anticipations of one-to-one intimacy with him had come to nothing, all my hopes and dreams cruelly dashed. But going over my feelings, what else could I have done? What option did I have? I couldn't have shown Vince up by refusing to go along with his plan, but after watching me blowing three of his friends how can he take me seriously ever again, how can he ever look at me in the same way? He'd turned me into the small-town cum-slut. A mouth so filthy it'd need an industrial pressure-hose to cleanse the sperm-taste out of it. Yet even as I sob out my heartbreak the rage of confused memories provokes a stiffy, my own body betraying me, and I wank myself to sleep. Scared at just how extreme my masturbation fantasies have become, of what I dream those four guys force me to do. So why is Vince so important to me? Why am I telling you about him? Is it because he was the biggest cock I've ever sucked? No, there have been bigger since. It's not even as though he was the first, there must already have been rumours about my proclivities, probably from stuff I'd done with guys. There was that incident when I was found in the showers dirty-messing with the two Clinton brothers. And then the rigged spin-the-bottle in the clearing in Witty's Wood, three guys – one of them was even Jackson, Jo-Beth, and me, where we drank cheap hooch, I lost the game and my penalty was I had to strip bollock-naked. Shoes, T-shirt and pants, but I fumble my underpants nervously, almost tripping myself, hopping around comically on the grass on one leg, with my pants caught up around the ankle of the other, so in the final reveal my cock flipped out waving perkily and I was embarrassingly conscious of the ludicrous sight it must be presenting. There's much mocking laughter, and they start waving long strands of grass across my exposed cock and balls. 'Look, he's getting off on this, he's got a hard-on.' Jo-Beth plucks a dock leaf and brandishes it, 'hey, you can use this to cover it up'. Jackson plucks a single clover-head, 'no, this is way big enough for his needs!' More giggly laughter. Jo-Beth takes the clover and grasps my stiffy, so easy and natural that I freeze breathless. Bending down she pinches my knob gently to open up the eye, moistens the stalk, and begins to insert it into the urethral opening. It's the first and only time I've been touched-up by a female, and it's oddly unsexual, more like a medical procedure. I'm tense, scared it's going to hurt, but she seems well-used to handling male genitalia. Probably playing 'Doctors & Nurses' with her brothers. At last it's all the way in, with the three-leaf formation decorating the head of my glans. She stands back to admire her handiwork as Jackson claps and jeers. Cock-Sucker: Learning The Game It's only now I realise the other two guys have vanished, and so have my clothes! I'm left wandering around looking for them, feeling stupid, in the smell of warm leaves and the sleepy hum of insects, until Jo-Beth tells me they've hidden my clothes across the road in the old barn. Maybe she feels sorry for me? Maybe it was the plan all along. Maybe she and Jackson just want to get rid of me so they can have their own one-on-one spin-the-bottle? Whatever, now I'm emerging from the copse and jogging down the twisting rude dirt track, the sun warming my bare skin, my cock going bump, bump, bump against my thigh, I have to hide as Widow Esslin walks her dog Scrat up from the other direction – crouching down behind a screen of shrubs, I realise the clover is still in place. Pulling it out is the only time it stings!, then I'm crossing the road nude and startling that poor truck driver. I finally find my jeans and T-shirt in an untidy pile inside the empty barn, minus only my underpants, which never reappear. Had Jo-Beth kept them as a kind of trophy? Or had they just been dropped and got lost as they laughed their way carrying my clothes down from Witty's Wood to here? Oddly I was expecting some 'you want them back, you gotta do something for us' deal. In fact that night, lying in bed, fingering myself where the clover-stalk had been, I was imaging all manner of weird things. What might they have made me do to get my clothes back? A wank here, a suck there? I'd have no choice but to do it, right...? Hearing such stuff was maybe why Vince had selected me out in the first place. And yes, I admit it, despite what I've said after that night, I also went with the fat kid again. He was eating in a 'Krusty-Burger' fast-food joint beside the big chrome jukebox, and he says 'hi'. He buys me a Shake, and seems ingratiatingly friendly. He told me his name was Jerome, I'd not known until then. He says he has something to show me that I'll like. I was dubious but had nothing better to do, nowhere to go, no-one to see, and time to kill, so curiosity gets the better of my lethargy. He lives over the tracks in a rundown part of town, not what I'd expected. He still lives with his parents, doesn't work, and doesn't seem to do much of anything. We go in the back way, sneaking up the stairs to his bedroom. I was warily on guard, but he reaches under his bed and pulls out a faded red box, flips the lid, and inside is his secret stash of Gay Porn mags. Mostly they were small pocket-size publications lavish with black-&-white photos. One or two are pulp-size with colour-spreads. All are full of nude guys in pin-up poses, or entwined in sex acts. Some are real hard-core, with dirty fiction and letters. We sit on the bed and begin browsing them, his little porcine eyes glittering as he sniggers. The magazines are well-thumbed, some of the pages stained. At length he reaches out and puts his hand on my groin – 'to see if I'm getting off on the explicit photos'. I was. He holds the evidence. When I make no objection he unzips my pants and pulls me out, begins playing with my erection and wanking me with his clammy pudgey fingers. Vince never did that. Vince never touched me in a sexual way. There's still something about him I don't like, yet his firm touch feels good. I relax and let him do what he wants. Then he makes to ease his own pants down. I see the ghost half-moon of a skid-mark on his underpants. For a second I was alarmed, then remember how big he is, and how he tasted, and I'm already past-persuaded. My heart tells me what to do. Soon I'm feeling him up too, firm and warm to the touch, and inevitably sucking him, as I knew I would, from the moment I saw its fat cock-head quivering up into view. How could I not? I was fated. Almost before I know it, and against my better judgement, its fleshy urgency is filling my mouth. When he simpers 'Wow, your gob would make a Popsicle real happy' his voice is oddly tense, and he makes a lustful grunting noise like a strangulated piglet when he comes across my tongue, around the same time I come in his fist. Almost immediately he says 'I remember you at Vince's party, Shee-it, was that a night! What do you think about when you're sucking a cock?' 'Sometimes I think of nothing at all' my face colouring in a warm bashful flush, 'or else I pretend someone's down there sucking me, and I try to do to the guy I'm sucking what I'd like the imaginary guy to do to me'. He considers my response while wiping his fingers, 'good answer'. 'When you suck another guy's cock, what you're really doing, subconsciously, is sucking your own' I explain. 'You can suck me, but I'm never going to suck you, understand? I don't do that kind of stuff' he insists. 'That's fine, I didn't expect...' 'That's as well, 'cos I could never bring myself to do that'. Maybe he's protesting just a little too much to be entirely convincing? Despite disliking him, his cock still looks so good. I was tonguing a pubic hair from between my teeth, as he begins pointing out to me photo-pages of pretty boys bent over being buggered, with an obvious agenda. I'm not ready for that, the thought of a big cock up my little bottom, it scares me, I concentrate on the oral photos instead. How had he acquired these mags anyway, out here in the sticks? He sure as hell hadn't bought them at the local store, or got them mail-order? Did he have an older male friend who... er, shares his interest? Maybe brought them for him from out of town in trade for... er, favours? A randy uncle maybe? I was scared to ask, but could luridly imagine. I manage to steal a couple of his mags when he goes to take a piss. Later, as I slip out the back way I hear his Mum calling out 'does your friend want a bite to eat?' and Jerome sniggers suggestively 'no, he just ate'. I never went back, but read the stolen magazines over and over until I know them off by heart. Each picture of naked smiling youths proudly displaying their ample todgers. Of naked smiling boys playing with each other's erections. Big-cocked boys cavorting care-free on beaches, or in gardens. Of naked boys obviously enjoying sucking cock, unashamedly revelling in the sensuality of it. It was those pages which first intimated to me that there was sex-life beyond what I knew, beyond the county, and that there were other boys out there who love doing what I love doing. It put things into perspective. I wanted to be one of those out-proud boys in the photos. Not the shame-faced furtive hiding-in-corners sex I was having to settle for. The difference, I decided, was that Jerome's sexuality was probably gay. Vince and the others were not, they were chasing skirt – only when that was not available they'd settle for me. Vince had said as much that night of the party when he'd explained how you're gay 'if you've got someone's Dick in your mouth, maybe, but if you're getting sucked – hell no, a mouth is a mouth'. He once told me 'I suck cock like a bad girl'. I'd taken the comment as a compliment. But this is what he'd meant. I was a convenient substitute for a 'bad girl', an available 'sword-swallower', a fuckable mouth. Nothing more. It was all on his terms, I was just a mouth he needed to get off in. A purely functional way of getting rid of excess sexual energy. That's the bitter truth. There are a couple of other times I go with Vince, once some time later, passing me in the street in his Daddy's car he picks me up, he doesn't say much, we barely speak. I'm always tongue-tied in his company, in case I say anything dumb. I long to tell him how much I appreciate the taste of his cock, the feel of his spunk spurting off in my mouth, in bed at home I practice ways of saying it that will sound casual, 'I like your cock, Vince, you've got a nice cock', but instead I just sit there, my throat dry with nervous trepidation as he takes me to Lookout Hill where her says 'OK kid, lollypop time', and I suck him off in the car seat. He doesn't need to say more or tell me what to do, we both know what we're there for. I know what I'm doing, and like doing it. Humming softly to myself, perfectly happy doing it. I was careful not to drool a spunk-stain on the upholstery so he'll catch hell from his old man. I hope he appreciates that. I doubt he does. Another time we go to a movie (I pay) and I suck him off under the cover of darkness as the movie plays. While the horror-zombies on-screen are up there sucking brains, I'm contentedly sucking something else entirely. I imagined it was almost like a date. Me, and him, together, his hand resting gently on the back of my head as I swallow his sudden rush of sperm, almost tenderly. And as the lights come up he asks me for my crumpled handkerchief and wipes dribble-smudges of spunk from my chin in a way that seems almost considerate... although it was probably so no-one can guess what we've been doing. He didn't like for us to be seen together, but I could never pass up the chance of being with him, even though it was never quite the same again. No, he wasn't my first. But he was the first guy I was serious about. The first that I cared enough about what he thought. That's why I remember him. I was learning the game. Experiences like this, however painful, are necessary. But after that party at Vince's word seemed to get around, and I was more popular than I'd ever been. Yet when the guys invite me on a fishing trip to the old weir I know what they have in mind, I know exactly what I'll be fishing out of their pants and into my mouth, 'cos that's the only reason they let me tag along. If I don't go down on them, they won't include me next time, and that'd be worse. Or if I don't suck on it for them, they won't let me come around to their house when their parents are out, and do it there. Jo-Beth has suddenly got the kind of tits some guys go for, and she's not shy of using them. Like her trailer-trash Mom. She apparently has other little-town-flirt attractions too. I'm competing with her for their attention. All I have to offer is my deep-throat. Of course, I have crushes on some guys, and I have my favourite cocks, but I can't afford to be too choosey. My chromosomes are different. I want what I could never have, and what I could have, I didn't want. And those small-town guys, they're probably married now, or divorced and bitter, into alcoholism and alimony. I wonder, in the midst of it all, do they sometimes think of me, and how much easier and less complicated it was to get something as simple as a richly satisfying blowjob back then? Or has time rewritten every line? And Jerome – has he straightened up, gone to fat-camp, or moved to the Frisco Gay Village and found his true self? Or is he the small-town weirdo-perv that mothers avoid and kids whisper about behind his back? And me? I don't know. It doesn't matter. I just like what I like, and take what I can. While I'm out here, doing this...