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From a Jack to a Queen Ch. 01

By: bjmichaels



"Open my pants and take out my cock!"

It never failed. My hard-on always twitched and throbbed whenever I said those words to a new boy. 

What was even more exciting was the feel of their trembling and eager hands as they fumbled with my slacks and boxers trying desperately to free my erection to please me.

When his fingers finally encircled my stiff shaft and began stroking it I sat back in the seat and relaxed.

"Take it in your mouth and suck it!" I said softly, yet firm.

In the near-total darkness of the front seat of the car I watched the silhouette of his head move quickly downward until I felt the warmth of his breath on my exposed flesh. When his thick, hot lips slid over and around my mushroomed-cockhead and I felt his long tongue bathing my sensitive skin I closed my eyes and sighed my contentment.

This is what it's all about, I thought to myself. 

This makes up for the previous two-three hours of having to endure the inanities and mindless chatter of dull-witted queer-boys seeking 'meaningful relationships' but who invariably settle on giving front-seat blowjobs to the first man who displays any interest in them at all.

I don't want to sound jaded or mean-spirited, but I've been doing the 'bar-scene' for a couple years and very rarely have I found boys who piqued my curiosity or emotions enough to want them in my bed for any length of time—much less have a 'relationship' with them.

Let's be honest here: how many of the dozens, or perhaps hundreds of people you come across every week would you want to get personal with?

"OOhhh God—that feels great, Teddy," I say as the boys' mouth works its magic on my prick.

I got lucky tonight, I think to myself. Lately, some of the boys I've had weren't very experienced.

"It's Fred," he says lifting his beautiful mouth from my aching cock.

"Whatever..." I say, "...keep sucking!"

Yes, I admit I'm rather selfish. Ever since I accepted the fact that I preferred boys over girls I quickly learned that I enjoyed receiving pleasure more than giving it. The thought of sucking cock has never appealed to me, and the only thing I want in my asshole is a pretty boys' long tongue.

I'm not totally one-way though. If a boy gives an extremely good performance I am grateful and will gladly give him a handjob. Plus, I've had my fair share of boys who cum when I fuck them without even having to touch their cocks.

Don't get me wrong—I'm not some sort of 'God's gift to boys' or anything like that. I'm only 5'8" tall and 150 pounds, but the boys do think I'm cute, and they love my five-and-a-half inch prick because they can get all of it in their mouths.

Trust me on this one: Guys with small dicks receive better blowjobs than the 7, 8 or 9 inchers out there. Not too many boys are proficient at 'deep-throating' a big cock.

"OOHHHHH-YESSSSS..." I cry out as 'Fred' is getting me closer-and-closer.

Upon hearing me, his sucking intensifies and his hand strokes my shaft faster-and-faster. I can feel the cum churning in my balls. My hips and legs begin thrashing about and my mouth opens wide to form a silent 'O'.

Suddenly, my semen shoots out of my balls and I shout "SWALLOW—SWALLOW—SWALLOW".

His mouth and tongue work in harmony to bring me to a sensational orgasm as he gulps down load-after-load of my hot jizz. 

I'm gasping for air when I feel his tongue cleaning my cock.

This boy is pure gold, I tell myself. And, if I remember correctly through the alcohol-induced haze, he was good-looking, and was fun to talk with. 

He lifts his head and I kiss him on the cheek.

"That was wonderful, Fred," I say as I put my arm around his shoulders. In fact, it was the best blowjob I'd ever received.

I run my hand up-and-down his thigh as I cover his cheek, neck and ears with deep kisses. 

I definitely want to keep this boy happy, I think to myself.

My hand brushes over his crotch and takes hold of his bulge. His cock is longer and thicker than my own. I slowly stroke it through his jeans. I like the feel of it in my hand—so firm—so manly.

Fred turns to kiss me on the lips. At first I resist, the remnants of my cum still slick on his lips, but he's a persistent one—finally our mouths are pressed together. He darts his tongue into my mouth and I taste my own cum for the first time. It is not altogether unpleasant. 

"Open my pants and take out my cock!" he says.

His words startle me—no other boy has ever been so brazen—I'm the one who gives the orders--but I find myself automatically reaching for the snap on his jeans. I pull it open and slide down the zipper. My hands reach inside and grasp the waistband of his boxers, and with some effort, I lower his jeans and shorts far enough for his raging cock to spring free.

I immediately take hold of his turgid flesh and squeeze and stroke it. He moans into my mouth—his tongue still dancing with my own. Something different is happening to me and I don't know what it is. My own penis is beginning to respond. It has never gotten hard this soon after an orgasm.

His cock feels alive in my hand; the heat of it pulsating through my palm and up my arm. I'd never felt cock-flesh like this before; so soft and smooth yet hard as a steel rod.

I stroke it slowly, firmly, lovingly.

"Take it in your mouth and suck it!" he whispers in my ear.

I begin to lower my head but abruptly stop. The fog that was my mind begins to clear. 

I don't do this, I tell myself. I can't do this.

"I...ah...I can't do that," I say. The apologetic tone of my voice surprises me.

"Give me a handjob," he says.

I was relieved and sorry at the same time. I thought I detected disappointment in his voice with my refusal to obey his first request.

I stroked his cock in earnest now. I was determined to give him as good an orgasm as he gave me.

But how could I? I wondered. He used his mouth while I'm only using my hand. 

I felt guilty knowing my orgasm was better than the one I'd give him.

All throughout my stroking his cock he kissed my face and lips and caressed my head and hair. He was gentle and loving—everything I wasn't—I felt guilty again and concentrated fully on his cock.

When his breathing quickened and his hips pumped upward to meet my strokes, my hand became a blur on his cock. 

Suddenly, he shouted his joy and spewed his passion on my still-bare thighs and lower shirt. I milked his cock a long time; his seizures lessening with each eruption. My bare flesh was completely covered with his cum. I was astounded by the amount of semen stored in his balls.

I felt his hand on my face. It was thick with his cum and he smeared it onto my lips and the skin below my nose. 

He fixed his clothing and opened the passenger door. A light in the parking lot shone inside the car. It was the first time I really looked hard at his face. He was gorgeous.

"Johnny, I'll meet you here the same time tomorrow night," he said.

"Ah, I prefer to be called John," I lamely responded.

A beautiful smile spread across his face.

"Same time tomorrow night, and Johnny—don't masturbate between now and then," he said pointing at the erection I sported.

He closed the car door and left me alone covered in his semen and wondering what had just taken place.

I fixed my clothes and drove home.

The smell of his cum filled the inside of the car. It smelled like a fragrant bouquet of flowers.

My tongue licked his wetness from my lips. I turned on the radio and my favorite song was playing.

From a Jack to a Queen Ch. 02



I lie in bed, eyes wide open, staring into the darkness; my mind a whirling kaleidoscope of images and colors. Mainly one image and one sensation: Fred's smile and the feel of his cock in my hand.

I had no doubt he was a 'special someone' but was he destined to be that 'someone' for me?

When he had used the exact same phrases I used and I blindly obeyed him up until his final command it was like I belonged to him. It felt natural to do his bidding. It thrilled me at the time but now I was confused and slightly uncomfortable and scared.

Who am I? I wondered.

Ever since I came out I have always been the aggressor—the 'top'. Boys would do whatever I said—not the other way around. I was always in control. 

But tonight with Fred, I felt different when he made the demands. I actually wanted to please him. I wanted to make him happy. 

It worried me though. Could I do everything for him I knew he would expect? Could I use my mouth and bottom to satisfy him after steadfastly refusing all other boys access? Could I find peace of mind if I became his 'bottom'? 

My instincts are to rebel against anyone who 'orders me around', would I be able to accept his power over me? Could I submit to him at the expense of my own pleasure and ego?

It was getting late and I wasn't any closer to sleep. My prick had been stiff for some time remembering the feel of his cock and the smell of his semen. He had admonished me against masturbating, but how would he ever know if I played with myself?

I used the hand I used on Fred. I thought I felt it still tingling; when I wrapped my fingers around my now-aching prick jolts of electricity shot throughout my body. I fantasized about kissing and licking his magic cock. 

My orgasm was quick and intense and I immediately fell into a deep, contented sleep.

I work at a book/art supply store near the university. My boss, Wesley, started the business 20 years ago and built it up into the most successful business of its type in the area. 

Students purchase all their required books and supplies there, not to mention the following Wes has garnered through the years with the academic-types: professors, artists, writers, etc.

He hired me fresh out of high school, five years ago, and although I could have moved on to a better paying job, I felt a special bond and loyalty to Wes. He is somewhat of a mentor to me. 

During slow periods he will pull me aside and show and teach me various aspects of the art world and art history. Wes is a fascinating and intelligent man. Even after work, over the years, he's invited me to special functions, dinners, concerts, sporting events—you name it—we've gone many places together. 

I'm pretty sure he's gay, and maybe, possibly, he might be interested in me. I've heard 'comments' from his friends, chiding him about 'robbing the cradle' whenever we appear together at an event. He never seems to miss an opportunity when we're alone to put his arm around my shoulder or even stroke my back. 

As much as I admire and respect him he is pretty old—he must be fifty—and although he has a wonderful personality and attitude, and it always makes me feel good whenever we are together, I've never looked at him as anyone other than my boss.

Wes was out of town on business so I concentrated hard on what I knew needed to be done. Aside from Wes, I'm the only one there who knows every aspect of the business. We have a total of ten sales clerks and me and Wes. So while the clerks take care of the customers, Wes and I perform all the behind-the-scenes duties.

I had to do the purchasing, payroll, and stock the shelves with the items we'd received on Friday so my day was full. I was glad: I didn't want to think too much about Fred, and if whether or not I was actually going to show up at the bar tonight.

I stayed busy up until 2 o'clock then I just finished up little odds and ends. That's when I couldn't keep from thinking about that night.

I didn't understand why I was so nervous about seeing Fred again. I was a free-man who possessed free-will—I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to do. I guess my dilemma was that I didn't know what-it-was that I wanted to do.

It came down to one question: Am I as open-minded and adventurous as I think I am?

When I got home after work I made a small supper and tried to eat in peace but my mind kept asking "Are you going there tonight?"

After washing the dishes, I checked the tv listings and saw there was nothing I wanted to watch—there usually wasn't—I watch very little tv.

For some reason, my hands began to tremble. I looked at the clock—there was one hour to go before Fred would be at the bar. Normally, I only showered in the morning but I made a quick decision and stripped and took a shower. The hot water felt comforting. 

I dressed and drove to the bar. I figured it wouldn't hurt to see what Fred had to say.

The place was about half full and I saw Fred across the room at a pool table. He saw me immediately and smiled and waved; I waved to him and sat on an empty stool at bar. 

I felt my heart pounding; that smile of his was so radiant and charming you couldn't help but feel good when he flashed it your way.

I ordered a glass of red wine and sipped it. To pass time and calm my nerves, my mind sang along with the music from the jukebox. It amazed me how I knew the words to all of the songs.

When I felt a strong hand caress my neck then down my back, I knew it was Fred. I hoped he didn't notice the shiver that ran up-and-down my spine. 

"Hi Johnny, I 'm glad you came—you look especially hot tonight," he whispered in my ear as he sat on the bar stool next to me.

I felt myself blush. Those were the exact words I had used to different boys on many nights, but I had to admit they made me feel good and put me at ease.

"Hi Fred," I smiled back at him. I was stunned—he was so much better looking than I'd remembered. He seemed bigger than last night, too.

"So what do you think, Johnny—are you ready to try something new?" he asked in a calm, not-pressuring voice. "Or are you happy with just dominating the faggotty boys you pick up here?"

That was as blunt and direct as I'd ever heard. And I appreciated it, too. I didn't like to play games with people either.

I smiled and chuckled. "How do you know what type of boys I like?"

"I've watched you for a long time—I've seen how you operate," he said.

"I've never seen you in here before the other night," I countered.

"Sure you have," he said. "Remember the guy with the huge, bushy beard and moustache? The guy you wouldn't even give the time of day to?"

My eyes grew big. "That was you?"

"Yeah, I shaved it all off a week ago—I needed to for a job."

I studied him closely. Sure enough, I recognized him now.

He laughed and draped his arm around my shoulders. "Anyway, I don't think you're the boy you think you are...I think you dominate boys to try and hide your true feelings...I think deep down you are a submissive faggot just like the boys you pick up—you're too afraid to admit to yourself who you really are."

I felt my face redden. How could he say these things? He didn't know me. 

"I'm not like that—I don't treat people that way," I protested.

"I'm not saying you treat boys badly...I'm saying you treat them as well as you need to in order to get what you want."

This was getting too heavy and intense for me. He seemed to be twisting words around and I couldn't keep up with him. I had to change the subject.

"W-Why do you want me? Revenge? Because I never paid attention to you?" I stammered.

That beautiful smile returned to his face. "No, nothing like that...I have heard you talk—I think you're very intelligent...you make people laugh—you're fun to be with...mostly though, you're one of the prettiest boys I've ever seen and my dick gets hard whenever I'm near you!"

I couldn't help but blush again. I don't take compliments very well.

There was a long silence. Fred ordered two more drinks for us.

Finally I asked, "Where do we go from here?—I mean, we both like the same things...."

He chuckled. "Okay, how about we shoot a game of pool and the winner gets...well, the winner gets whatever the winner wants."

"I dunno...you're a lot better pool player than I am," I protested.

"That's probably true," he agreed. "Okay, how about this: Larry the Bartender has a deck of cards behind the bar...we cut the cards—high card wins—no skill involved--strictly a game of chance?"

"So you won't mind being my 'bottom' tonight?" I smile.

He laughs. "Variety is the spice of life...you know damn well I'd be the best bottom you've ever had!"

We both laugh and sip at our drinks.

"Let's do it," I say.

Fred calls to the bartender, "Larry, my good man—a deck of cards, please!"

Fred shuffles the cards slowly. We stare into each others' eyes. My hands begin to tremble again.

When the cards are shuffled and the deck is sitting in front of us, I say to Fred, "Go ahead and cut the deck--age before beauty."

He smiles and says, "No, ladies first."

My face reddens yet again, and it's all I can do to get my fingers to firmly grip the cards. I cut about half-way into the deck then show us both the Queen of Hearts.

"OOhhh, very nice," Fred says. "That'll be tough to beat."

I have mixed feelings about cutting that card.

Fred fondles the cards, closes his eyes and then cuts the deck. He waits a few seconds before showing the King of Spades.

For some unexplainable reason, I feel relieved.

Fred smiles and leans over and whispers into my ear.

"Drink up cutie—we're going to my place and I'm going to make you my 'bitch' tonight!"

Right there, inside the bar, for all my friends and acquaintances to see, Fred claims his prize and takes my small hand in his and leads me out the front door. An adrenaline rush of fear and excitement raced through my veins. I had never felt so alive.

We stood beside his car in the parking lot. He took me in his arms, caressed my face and hair; he kissed me full on the lips. Our lips pressed tightly together. I welcomed his tongue inside my mouth. When he broke off the kiss my breathing was labored and I had an erection.

He opened the car door and motioned for me to get inside. Once seated beside him he turned and kissed me one more time then whispered in my ear.

"Open my pants and hold my balls in your tiny, girly-hand."

My cock throbbed in my pants. His command took my breath away. It never occurred to me not to obey him. I fumbled with his slacks then slid my hand beneath his boxer shorts. I gently held his heavy ball sac in my hand the entire ride to his apartment. His scrotum was smooth; his flesh was hot.

We were still inside his car after he parked at his building.

"Johnny," he said softly, "...my point has been made—you are a submissive—not a dominate man."

"I, ah...what do you mean?" I was confused.

"Would a dominate man hold another man's balls?"

Not in a million years, I thought to myself.

He held my hand again as we walked into his apartment building. I was beginning to enjoy the control he had over me.

I sat on a thick, rich leather couch while he poured wine for us. His apartment wasn't large, but it was tastefully furnished. Photographs and paintings were evenly spaced on the walls. They piqued my interest and I decided I would look at them closer when I had the opportunity to do so.

When he returned he sat close enough to me that our thighs touched. We both took large swallows of the wine. It was delicious.

He set his glass on a small table beside the couch and put his arm around. He took the glass from my hand and set that down as well. He put his arm around me and pulled me close to him.

"God, you're beautiful..." he said softly as he gazed into my eyes. "You have the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen..."

I felt my heart leap with joy as our lips came together for a long, unhurried kiss. His lips were soft and pliant; we French-kissed until I began to see stars before my eyes.

He took my hand and placed it on the bulge in his slacks. I curled my fingers around his erection and slowly stroked it. His cock was blazing hot even through the fabric of his pants.

"I want to see you naked..." he said breathlessly. "Take your clothes off for me."

From that moment on my mind drifted on puffy, billowy clouds; I was in a dream-like trance that would last the rest of the night.

I removed my shoes and socks then he had me stand before him and strip off my clothes. I watched his eyes—they were wide with wonderment and appreciation. He repeated how beautiful I was and I felt beautiful. I was proud and thrilled to stand naked before him--my five-inch prick erect, and pointing straight at him.

He took hold of my penis and my body jerked and spasmed to the thrill of his touch. His fingers gently stroked my dick. My eyes glazed-over with desire.

"I want to be naked with you..." he whispered, once again staring into my eyes. "Would you help me undress?—take off my shoes and socks, okay?"

"O-Okay...." I said, my voice catching slightly in my throat.

I knelt on the carpeting and carefully untied his smartly-polished black shoes. I removed one shoe and stocking then the other. When I looked up he was stripping off his shirt. I drank in his finely sculpted chest.

From the position I was in, the bulge in his slacks seemed more pronounced, larger-than-life, his cock threatened to burst from his pants. I felt a deep need and hunger to free it from its confines and caress and fondle it. 

"Open my pants, Johnny—open my pants and take down my slacks and underwear."

His words were music to my ears. He must have been reading my mind.

My hands and fingers were firm and steady as they opened his pants and pulled downward on his slacks and boxer shorts. I nearly swooned when his gorgeous cock sprang into view. I finished removing his clothes with my eyes fixed on his manhood. 

Now this was a real cock, I marveled. Not at all like the puny thing I carried around.

"Get closer to it and breathe deeply through your nose..." he said, obviously aware of my fixed-stare on his prick.

His manly aroma filled my nostrils and invaded my head. I became intoxicated by his smell. I became dizzy and disorientated.

"Kiss it, Johnny—kiss the head then work downwards..." he whispered. "When you reach the base, kiss up to the head again—cover my cock with kisses, Johnny—press your lips to my cock."

I couldn't wait to feel his cockflesh on my lips. I kissed the glans then worked my way down his shaft.

"Johnny, open your eyes and look at my cock whenever you kiss and lick it, okay?"

"Okay...." I breathlessly replied.

When his cock glistened from my wet kisses he told me to use my tongue. I bathed his pulsating man-flesh with my eager tongue. The tip of my tongue traced a vein down-and-up. My ever-busy tongue made his cock throb and elicited groans of pleasure from deep within his throat.

"Johnny," he said, his breathing becoming labored, "...wet your lips and wrap them around the head—suck my cockhead into your mouth."

I took as much of his cock into my mouth as I could. My mouth stretched wide, I began to bob up-and-down on his cock. 

"Use your tongue—your tongue should always be moving on my cock."

Where have I heard those words before? I briefly wondered. Oh yeah, I would say those same words to the boys I picked up. 

All thoughts, ideas, preconceived notions and prejudices drained from my mind. I was fully and completely engrossed with the wonderful rod of flesh in my mouth.

Instinctively, I held and fondled his balls in one hand while I stroked his shaft with the other. I knew deep-down what made for a great blowjob and I was bound and determined to give him a shattering, mind-numbing orgasm.

When I became accustomed to his size, I fell into a steady rhythm of sucking-and-stroking.

His hips began a series of small, upward thrusts pushing his cock deeper into my mouth. His cockhead banged against the back of my throat, but instead of gagging, I tried hard to welcome his cock into my throat. This caused him to cry out and his hips jerked and pumped wildly forcing his cock deeper-and-deeper.

Suddenly, I felt his balls contract in my hand and felt the first salvo of his cum shoot into my waiting mouth.

"OH-MY-GOD—OH-MY-GOD—OH-MY-GOD...." he shouted his pleasure.

Thick streams of cum erupted from his cock and filled my mouth. I swallowed as much as I could but much of it dribbled down my chin back onto his cock and balls.

When his spasms subsided, his deflating cock slid from my lips. Without being told, I licked and cleaned his cock and balls of cum I had failed to swallow. All the while I heard him mumbling as he patted my head and stroked my hair.

When his breathing returned to normal he asked: "Johnny, do you still think you're a 'top'?"

And for the first time in my life I came face-to-face with my true sexuality. "No, I am not," I quietly replied. I felt a warm glow inside me knowing I finally admitted the truth.

I won't bore you with the graphic details of the remainder of that night, but I will say that Fred certainly followed through with his earlier promise of "...making me his 'bitch'."

When we moved to the bedroom and he had me kneel between his wide-spread thighs, my lips and tongue explored regions of his body where I had never imagined my lips and tongue would go. 

When I begged him to allow me to orgasm he asked: "Did you masturbate last night?"

My face went white and I lied, "N-No—no I didn't!"

He smiled and said, "You're lying to me."

How did he know? I wondered.

I sheepishly admitted I did lie. He asked me if I thought I deserved to be punished for lying and all I could say was "Yes...yes, I deserve to be punished."

Fred sat on the side of the bed and made me lie across his lap. His big hand came down hard on my bottomcheeks. He was very thorough. He spanked me until I had tears in my eyes then he had me kneel between his legs and pleasure him with my mouth.

A while later, after I had roused him to a full erection once again—he took my virginity.

He was extremely gentle with me. He coated my hole and his cock with oil, and worked his fingers in-and-out of me until my hole was stretched-open enough to take his beautiful prick. He had me stand by the side of the bed and bend over.

He told me to reach back and I grasped his cock and placed his glans against my anus. Then he ordered me to push my hips backwards, and in reality, I de-flowered myself.

It was a strange and thrilling sensation to feel a man's burning rod enter my rear. I fought hard to ease my sphincter and I felt I had gained some sort of victory when his cock was buried all the way inside me and I felt his pubic hairs pressed against the soft flesh of my bottomcheeks.

It was uncomfortable at first, even painful at times, but he went slowly, and my rectum gradually became accustomed to his length and girth. 

I began a slow fucking motion, impaling myself over-and-over on his manhood until the cum in my balls began to boil. 

By this time, I was delirious with unbridled lust. I was moaning and panting and begging for release. Each thrust of his manly weapon brought "OOOO's" and "AAAHHHH's" from my mouth. When I couldn't wait any longer, I took hold of my throbbing cock with my own hand.

"STOP IT! DID I SAY YOU COULD PLAY WITH YOURSELF FAGGOT?" he shouted.

The harshness of his voice startled me. I immediately removed my hand from my prick. I felt like a naughty child caught doing something forbidden. 

"Your man is in control of your pleasure...he will tell you what you are allowed to do and when to do it!" 

I whimpered with frustration but immediately removed my hand from my cock. 

A short time later Fred reached around me and took hold of my prick--I nearly jumped out of my skin from his touch.




From a Jack to a Queen Ch. 02



He stroked my cock in time with his thrusts, and soon our bodies wriggled and contorted out-of-control. My eyes wide open; my head rolled from side-to-side. When he suddenly thrust into me with the force of a jackhammer, my cum shot out of my balls through my cock into mid-air and I felt his scalding jism fill my ass. 

To say it was the best orgasm of my life would be an understatement.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night in Fred's bed. He taught me 'secrets' on how to get the most out of being 'submissive'. I listened intently to his every word, and eagerly used my hands and mouth in ways I'd never done before. It surprised me how natural it felt to put his pleasure before my own.

Both of us exhausted, we finally fell asleep. I slept soundly with my head resting on his chest; his arm on my back. 

First thing in the morning, the room barely lit from sunrise, Fred turned to me and we kissed. An odd sense of well-being washed over me.

"I love having an orgasm in the morning" he said, his finger on my mouth tracing a circular pattern around my lips; my prick stiffened as I scrambled into position between his wide-split legs. 

I had arrived at a new mind-set. A man I truly desired wanted me to satisfy him and I could think of no greater honor and privilege than to be subservient and give him pleasure. 

Later, after we had coffee and toast, we were in the shower and Fred had me stand at the end of the tub; leaning forward--hands against the wall holding myself up, legs slightly spread apart. 

He lathered his finger with soap and gently finger-fucked my asshole as his loving hand stroked my erection. I cried out when my cum splattered the wall as he brought me to another delicious orgasm.

After we dressed, he drove me back to the bar so I could get my car. We rode in silence.

"Will I see you tonight?" I asked before leaving his car.

He looked at me with an uncomfortable smile on his face. "Johnny...I like you—I like you a lot..."

My heart sank. I'd used those exact words myself to boys I'd spent the night with, but had no plans on seeing again.

He continued, "Yes...yes I want to see you—I want to see you on a regular basis...but, you know--as friends...I'm not ready for an emotional relationship right now...but now that you know what you like—and what I like--I want us to be fuck-buddies...you know, help each other out in times of need...would that be alright with you?"

I faked a smile and said, "Sure—that's fine with me—I'd like that." What else could I say?

As I started my car, tears welled in my eyes. I finally understood how my words, actions and lies had hurt some of the boys in the past that I used and threw away.

I spent the day reading a book Wesley had given me. It was fascinating and I finished it in a few hours. I looked forward to our discussion the next day at work.

I looked at the clock—it was still fairly early and I wanted to get out of the apartment so I showered and dressed and drove to the bar. A glass of wine sounded good to me.

It was a slow night business-wise. I sat at the bar alone and listened to the music and a couple of loud queers shooting pool. 

Suddenly, Rafael was next to me.

"Ah, Chica...you all alone tonight? Allow me to buy your next drink and sit by your side."

I guess you could say that Raphael and I were 'rivals' in the sense we both liked beautiful boys and would often go after the same boy in the bar. It seemed to me, that more often than not, I would end up with a boy he rejected.

He was the same size as me, but in much better shape. His landscaping job made him wiry and muscular. I had always found him to be very attractive. His looks and personality made him extremely popular with the boys. 

He had never kept it a secret that he desired me. 

"You're too pretty to be a man, Chica," he would say. "Come out to my car and I'll show you how a real man treats his boys."

When Larry brought us our drinks we moved to a booth for more privacy. It was a circular booth and the gentleman that Raphael always is, had me slide into the middle. He followed and sat close to me.

"You look unhappy tonight, Chica, tell Raphael what is troubling you."

He had a disarming way of being able to draw conversation out of anyone. 

"No...no, I'm alright...just doing a lot of thinking...." I said.

He changed the subject and we spoke of our jobs and our plans for the future. He bought another round while we talked and laughed.

After awhile he made his usual sales pitch.

"Chica, I saw Fred lead you out of here last night—did he make a proper woman of you?"

Raphael laughed when he saw my face turn red.

"It was just a matter of time...." he said.

He took my hand and placed it on his thigh then he turned to me and said, "You know I think you're the prettiest boy in here...you have always excited me..."

He moved my hand onto the bulge in his jeans then continued, "...you make my blood boil...it would be my honor if you would join me in my car."

And there it was—my first serious proposition as a 'sub'. I was both exhilarated and sad. It was a tremendous compliment that this gorgeous man desired me, yet at the same time, I knew he only wanted me to be his backseat bitch for the night.

There wasn't much to think about. I pressed my palm flat against his hard-on and rubbed up-and-down on it.

"I'd love to," I said smiling at him.

His eyes grew big—my answer surprised him. Then he smiled and we clinked our glasses together in celebration and finished our drinks. 

I followed him out to the parking lot; he unlocked his car and opened the back door; I climbed inside. He was quickly beside me.

He took me in his arms and whispered, "Ohhh, Chica, you don't know how I dreamed of this moment...."

His words made me feel special--a sudden warmth rushed over me. I initiated the first kiss. His lips were soft yet firm and our mouths and tongues melded together as one.

All thoughts drained from my mind. The only thing that mattered was the here-and-now.

I rubbed his hard cock through his jeans; he moaned into my mouth. I became impatient—my fingers undid his jeans and quickly slid them and his boxers down to his knees.

I could only see the silhouette of his cock in the darkness and it excited and inflamed me. I had to have it.

When I took his prick in my hand and caressed it he groaned, "Oohhh—Chica...."

His cock was even warmer than Fred's. I guess I had never noticed how soft, smooth and hot a hard penis really is.

I couldn't wait—I went down on him before he could say a word. 

He groaned and sat back as I worked on his brown, rigid pole. His aroma filled my head with lust. I loved the taste of his pre-cum. 

I caressed him with my hands, lips and tongue—just the way Fred had taught me. I was rewarded with the sounds of satisfaction coming deep from within his throat, and the feel of his hand stroking my hair and the back of my neck. 

I ignored the throbbing of my own hardness--my man's pleasure came first.

I was lost in the sucking. My head bobbed up-and-down on his manhood, savoring his smell and flavor and the texture of his flesh.

When he began thrusting upwards, my hand stroked his shaft faster, and I took more of his cock into my mouth. 

Suddenly he reached over and squeezed my cock through my slacks. I nearly lost my mind as I emptied my balls into my shorts. I soiled my boxers with a seemingly endless stream of semen.

"OH-CHICA..." he cried out.

His cum flooded my mouth; I reveled in the taste of his creamy juice. I swallowed mouthful-after-mouthful as his hips wildly bucked and he held my head firm against his exploding cock. 

When he sat back and released his grip on my head, I licked and cleaned his cock and pubic area of the cum that had escaped my mouth.

Both of us were breathing heavily. He stroked my hair.

Oohh, Chica...you're a natural...you were born to suck cock...."

I took that to be the highest compliment a bottom could receive. I was positively glowing with satisfaction.

We stayed in his backseat a long time. I held and caressed his balls while we talked. 

"You are going to be a happier boy from now on, Chica," he said. "...be proud of who you are...you are free from your inhibitions now...don't take any shit from assholes—and there are a lot of them out there...you are smart and pretty—don't settle for just any hard prick!"

We both could smell the semen in my pants. It was erotic. I kissed his lips and neck and caressed his prick until he was hard again. I lowered my head and sucked him off one more time; all the while humming with contentment.

I didn't fully understand what Raphael had explained to me--I became obsessed with sucking cock. Every cock was different in a thrilling way: small, large, fat, thick, thin...and every guy's cum tasted different, too. While most was pleasant and flavorful, some tasted foul and nasty. 

It seemed to me that if I thought a guy was nice—he tasted good. And guys who were assholes—well, their cum tasted like their personalities. 

I canceled plans with Wes; I made excuses to myself; all so I could go to the bar and offer myself to men. I rationalized to myself that I was just making up for lost time, but in my heart I knew I was becoming just another backseat slut. 

I began to feel lonely; I wanted more than one-night stands.