When a short fat woman answers the door, my heart jumps into my throat. The address, fifteen, is right there in front of me. I had checked it six times already.

“Sorry, is this 51 Elviage Road?” I stutter, staring at the house number. “I’m sorry, I must be in the wrong place.” Before she can answer, I flee, dashing down the walkway back to my car.

As I’m fumbling with my keys, I look up and see a young man slowly walking toward me in a hoodie, hands stuffed in his pockets. Shit, that’s him. I turn around and greet him. “Hey man, sorry, I’m not used to other people being around when… uh,”

“That’s just my sister,” he tells me. “You wanna come in?”

She’s busy in the kitchen now, dumping bricks of Mr. Noodle into a pot, and she pays no attention to us as we go into the basement. Downstairs is partially finished. Piles of boxes lean against the rafters, barely covering the pink insulation in the walls. He opens a door and we enter his room. Somehow, a bed and a desk have been stuffed into this tiny space. A plastic bong, now dried and tarnished with brown scum, sits on his desk amongst some old dishes.

He jumps up on the bed and casually lays back. “So you really wanna suck my dick?” he asks.

“Yeah I do.”

“OK then.” He stretches his arms up and lifts off the hoodie, showing me his skinny twink chest. Then he kicks his track pants off onto the floor and he’s nude.

I look into his eyes, lean down and flick my tongue at his flaccid dick. Not getting a reaction, I suck the whole thing into my mouth, rolling and squeezing it. He throws his arms out to the side, squirms, and melts into the pillow as I feel him begin to stiffen.

The ceiling creaks as footsteps pound through the house. What does she think we’re doing down here? I wonder.

Minutes pass. He seems to be enjoying it, but it’s taking too long even for my well practised jaw. I hide it as long as I can, then I slip off with a slurp.

“Is there anything I can do differently?” I ask.

He gazes down at me, eyes narrow, hands behind his head and considers it. “Can I fuck your face?” he asks. He suddenly looks sheepish. “It’s okay if not.”

“Sure, that could be fun,” I tell him, as I rub my sore jaw with one hand. It’d give me a break at least. We switch places. I lay on the pillow, head up against the wall, and I strip off my own clothes. I catch a glimpse of his ass before he turns around. It’s beautiful and despite myself I feel blood rushing into my penis. Maybe I’m a top. How do you decide these things, anyway?

And then he crouches down, face and hands against the wall like spiderman, and jabs his penis into my cheek. I open up and after a few more pokes he manages to get it in. 

I lay back, eyes wide open, drinking in the compelling sight above me. The bed squeaks and moves further from the wall with each thrust. I feel his heat coming off his body, and stare into his taught belly. I can see his ribs, and two tiny red zits.

I feel my own passion coming alive. I haven’t even touched my penis, but now it’s laying over my belly button like a toppled tree. I grab it and hold it in the air, pointing at the ceiling. I feel like I could burst at any moment. I close my mouth around him and suck, and hear the squishes, sounding like wet whale kisses as he fucks my face hole.

I can see the wiry hairs under his arms, and his scent wafts down to me, and I get a very odd feeling. I feel wetness on my chest and suddenly realize with excitement that hot syrupy globs are gushing out of me unbidden. I’m cumming hands-free! I can’t see anything except his thrusting belly. He doesn’t stop, but I’m sure some must have landed on his back. I run my hand over my abs, massaging the warm slickness into my skin.

A toilet flushes upstairs, and pipes gurgle around us. The hair on my belly is already drying and clumping together he finally pauses, pulls out, and squats down over my chest.

“Sorry guy, I don’t know what’s wrong,”

“That’s ok. Take your time.”

He starts to jerk off, I feel his balls slapping against my chest. I raise my knees up to his back, and he leans on them, bum pressed against my drying cum. His eyes are closed, concentrating on some fleeting image inside his head. What’s he thinking, I wonder. Who is he fucking? Maybe he’s on campus. Maybe he is being fucked by his whole class. Or his prof. Or all of them at the same time. Maybe they’re taking turns fucking his ass and mouth.

It’s taking so long, I have to giggle. “At least I know I had no chance.”

“Yeah, ha,” he says, and his hands are a blur now, as he tries desperately to cum. The twerp probably jacked off before I got here or something. These young guys only think they can do anything, and be ready to go any time, but blowjobs are a different thing entirely. They’re a fucking art form, and I hate it when they’re wasted. 

“OK I’m gonna cum now,” he says minutes later. He lifts off, some of my sticky chest hair still attached to his butt, and aims his cannon over my mouth. He’s still jerking furiously, knuckles hitting my chin, when a single jet of watery bitterness sprays onto my tastebuds. Exhausted, he slumps against the wall, while I lick my meagre reward from his hot, red, beaten penis.

I wriggle out, locate my clothes and slip them on quickly. I should wash up, but I don’t trust his bathroom to be clean enough to do so. I’m dry already anyway.

He’s sprawled out on the bed, heaving. He manages to lift his head and drowsily mutter his thanks before he falls asleep.

Upstairs his sister is sitting on the couch, eyes fixed on the TV, an empty pot in front of her. I don’t think she even saw me leave.

I love polishing my stories for you and posting them here on GayDemon.  Read the rest of my real-life encounters at https://grindrfantasies.tumblr.com


Pete Gentle

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