Aqua Phobia

Ok. So I’m scared of water. Do not laugh! It’s nothing to laugh about. Not that I fear drinking water or looking at water, but being in any kind of water body scares me to hell and back. Needless to say, I don’t swim. I have the body for it, but not the intention. I’m tall at 190cms, lanky, and toned. But outside the water.

A couple years ago, our phys ed coach put it in his mind to teach me how to swim since I always remained on the bench watching the other boys splash and have fun. I refused. Categorically. After much cajoling and pressure from my parents, I finally thought what the heck! It was just fucking water, and all my friends were having such a grand time.

I sat on the pool edge and dangled my legs down. It was ok. Coach was standing in the pool, goading me to slide down. I did. Slow. Water reached my waist and my breathing started to speed up. I held and closed my eyes. I felt coach’s hand in the small of my back, applying some pressure. I slid a bit further, felt the water at my nipples. I panicked. Feet thrashing. Head thrown back. Mouth wide open as if in a horror movie scream but without sound except the inhaling and exhaling of air. Arms flailing. Two strong hands grabbed me by the armpits and pulled me out, laying me on my back.

It took a couple of minutes for me to calm. I was sweating and my breathing was still faster than it should have been. As I finally managed to open my eyes, it was Grif’s face looking down at me, concerned, thick eyebrows knotted. Griffin was a kind of a neighbor, two blocks away from my home. Our two mothers are buddies, sharing recipes and gossip. Grif and I were not that close but our relationship was friendly and courteous. We moved in different circles at school, me with the nerds, and Grif with the jocks.

“You ok, buddy?” Grif’s voice floated down.

I nodded, my breathing slowing down, the pain in my chest receding.

“What the fuck happened to you, bro?” He settled back on his haunches, still looking concerned. Coach was standing on the other side looking down, and I felt he had a look of guilt on his face.

I pulled myself up into a sitting position. “I’m fine,” I managed to croak.

“You fuckin don’t look fine, dude,” Simon, another boy who had strode over to see what the commotion was all about, said with a smirk. Grif glared at Simon, who shrugged and strode away in a not-my-fucking-business-anyway manner.

Coach visited us at home that evening. He told my parents about the incident. My mom was stoic and said that I would eventually grow out of it. Nothing serious. Dad was glum. I felt he thought I was a sissy. Who the fuck was afraid to dip himself into a shallow swimming pool? I was confused and scared. At 17, what did I know? My body reactions did not occur according to my will. And I had tried.

“It could be caused by some kind of trauma?” Coach wanted to know.

“Not that I know of,” Dad said gruffly turning to Mom, who shook her head.

“Perhaps seeking psychiatric help is in order?” Again, Coach threw his statements around as questions.

“The boy is no psycho, Coach,” Dad retorted. I could tell he was moving from upset to angry.

Coach must have felt the tense atmosphere. He pushed back his chair and rose. “Anyway, folks, Asher here is a good kid. He does all the activities, except for the swimming part, and I can’t complain. Have a nice night, now.” And he exited as gracefully as he could manage.

A period of awkward silence ensued. I felt terrible that I was the cause of all this, especially since it didn’t feel as if I had done anything wrong. Mom moved next to me, her arm around my shoulder reassuringly.

“Boy,” Dad glared at me. “Has this happened to you before? Like in the shower or something?”

“No, Dad. Um… well… once last year when the showerhead in my bathroom broke and Mom said I could use your bathtub? I couldn’t bring myself to get in there. I was afraid I would slip and break something.”

“Yes, I remember,” Mom snickered. “I had to towel clean you and you kept hiding your privates with your hands.”

I blushed, of course.

“Honey?” Mom finally addressed my father across the kitchen table where we sat. “Maybe we should consider what Coach suggested.”

“You mean a shrink?”

Mom gave Dad “the smile.”

“Fuck that I know.” Dad’s way of not committing.

Mom’s immediate look of horror that Dad was using profanity in front of her boy must have pierced through his head like an arrow. I snickered inwardly.

“Ok. Whatever,” the appeasement from Dad now that he was in the shithouse with Mom.

“It’s called aqua phobia,” the shrink declared.

The short of it was that after the first visit to the psychiatrist recommended by the school, the three of us decided that it wasn’t going to work. The whole session was filled with banalities and theorizations. Nothing practical or meaningful, really. “Aqua phobia”? Fear of water? Seriously? That was what we got from the scheister, and we all fucking already knew it. Giving it a highbrow name didn’t change anything.

Around two weekends after the incident, Griffin dropped by our house on his running route. He sometimes did that, especially since my mom would always have a glass (or three) of her specialty lemonade that he loved.

“Hey,” the Griffin normal greeting as he stepped into the kitchen. Now I must admit that Grif had a killer body. Not only that, but he loved to show it. Narcissistic as well as exhibitionistic. For running, he wore those thin, nylon, running shorts which you could almost see through, sneakers without socks, and a tank top midway down his chest revealing his lower belly, rippled abs and all. In short, he look fucking great.

“Oh, Griffin,” Mom smiled and immediately moved towards the fridge for the lemonade. “Some refreshment?’

“Hey,” I mumbled, jealous.

“That would be great, ma’am,” he gave her his wide white-toothed jock smile. I was turning green.

Griffin sat at the table next to me and started sipping the iced lemonade slowly, which surprised me since he usually gulped the first glass in one shot.

“Ma’am, I was thinking,” he started.

“Yes?” Mom sat across from us. I could tell she had eyes for Griffin. Not that my mother was a baby snatcher or a sex fiend, but I guess a woman had the right to appreciate a beautiful male body like Griffin’s.

Grif suddenly put his arm around my shoulder. “I think I have a solution for Asher. In the water, I mean.”

“Oh?” Mom exclaimed. I moved a couple of inches away but liked the way he chummily grabbed my shoulder.

“Yes, Ma’am. I done some research. About what they call “phobias”? Like when someone is scared of something?”

Mom nodded. “Yes, Griffin. We know what a phobia is.”

“And I discovered that there is a thing called aqua phobia, which means…”

“Fear of water,” I cut in. Who did he think he was, this Grif? “Also referred to as hydrophobia, in case your research didn’t show it,” I added, knowing that there was a difference between the two phobias, but needing to put Griffin in his place.

Griffin glared at me uncomprehending my attitude. He was there to help, wasn’t he? His eyes told me.

He turned to my mother and said without looking at me: “I’d like to try something with Ash, if you don’t mind. I think it might work.” As if I wasn’t in the room. But I was starting to mellow out. Griffin was a friend. And he was willing to go the extra mile and do research on this fucking thing. Besides, Griffin was hot as fuck.

I had never had sex with another person yet, unless you consider masturbation as sex. My porn experience centered on pussy fucking, watching those man cocks plunder into wet and stretched cunts. A few times, I came across some butt fucking, too. Looked too tight. But I thought would be amazing squeezing on a hard cock.

Griffin’s research told him that in order to get rid of a phobia was to face it headlong. You’re scared of cats? Then you should own one, according to my friend.

I had to quip: “So if you’re scared of heights, you’re supposed to jump off a skyscraper?”

“Don’t be a douche… Excuse me, ma’am, I didn’t…” he blushed and dropped his eyes to the floor not daring to face my mother. Shockingly, my mother who never hesitated to admonish my dad for profanity, giggled. “Oh, Griffin, I’ve heard of these things, you know.”

So the plan was that I should get into my parents’ bathtub. Nancy, my ten-year-old sister was all excited about the experiment and I had a feeling that she was going to use it for her “show and tell” at school.

Undressed down to my tighty-whities, I waited for my mother and sister to leave the bathroom.

“Mom? Nance?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Leave you boys to it, then. Come on Nancy. Help me bake a cake.”

With the womenfolk away, I sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched Griffin turn on the tap and test the water temperature.

“I have tried this before, Grif,” I said. “Didn’t work.”

“You have to use technique, bro,” Griffin preached. “Research says a little at a time. Not to force it.”

“Yes, sir,” I smirked at Griffin’s seriousness, and I kind of loved him for his care for me to go so far as to do this.

Quarter-filled, the tub looked ominous already. I dipped my feet in the lukewarm water, wiggled my toes, and told myself that I could do it.

“Ok, dude, get in.”

I shook my head.

“Come on, Ash. Couple inches of water scare you?”

I shook my head again, my chest starting to constrict.

Griffin stepped behind me, placed his forearms under my armpits, lifted me and lowered me slowly down. I didn’t resist. I wanted to beat this. But as I sat down in the water, up to my crotch, my breathing started to hyperventilate. As if by magic, Griffin produced a plastic bag out of his shorts back pocket and placed it on my face, covering my mouth and nose.

“Breathe, Ash. Breathe into the bag, bro.”

A minute or so, I settled. My breathing returned to normal and I could even feel that my chest wasn’t hurting too much.

“You ok, man?”

I nodded.

“How are you boys doing in there?” My Mom’s voice came through the door.

“We’re doing great, ma’am.”

Griffin turned on the tap for more water. I watched the stream. I watched the level go up and my chest started to constrict again. Halfway up my abs and I began to thrash. Griffin returned to hold me from behind, his arms around my chest.

“I… I can’t… b… breathe,” I moaned, my legs kicking at the rippling water.

“Easy, buddy,” Griffin held me in place, his palms pressed on my chest.

“Hurts, Grif… chest hurts,” I groaned.

Griffin started massaging my chest, up and down my abs, my pecs, my nipples. I boned.

To my horror, shock, amazement, in the middle of my torment and scare and pain, my dick erected. And it showed. Just under the water level, my cock knob stretched the wet cotton fabric outlining the slit, the contours, the veins. Chest pains receded. Griffin’s hands kept on massaging. My cock throbbed.

Sometimes, when I would prepare myself for a jack-off session, I would let my dick push through the waist of my undies, wet my index and middle fingers with spit, and work the under ridge. I would leak like a faucet. Now, as I looked down at my stretched whities, I was tormented that my cock would suddenly peak through, right under the eyes of my friend.

There was a snicker. “Dude, your dick is braver than you are.”

“Oh God,” I moaned, squirming.

“My therapy is working, Ash,” Griffin sounded happy and impressed. “Hey, man, I can leave and you can go ahead and deal with that hard business of yours down there.”

Griffin walked out. I jacked off. My squirts almost hit the ceiling. My chest pains were gone. My breathing started to settle, and I loved the rippling water around my nuts.

As I lay back against the tub, basking after the most satisfying load I have ever shot, Griffin walked back.

“Whoa… not done yet?”

I quickly covered myself with both hands.

“Dude, don’t be shy. I’m proud of you, man. You beat the phobia. It was your dick.” And he laughed, sitting on the edge of the tub.

I smiled, relaxed, and slid down a little to show him that I sure did beat the phobia, or at least the few centimeters of tub water. I let my flaccid cock float out on my belly.

“Fuck, Ash. That’s a big dong you got. And it’s not even hard.”

That was true. I don’t go limp after I shoot a load. My dick stays in a semi-hard erection and sometimes it maintains its hardness for me to go for another round. But Griffin calling my dick a “big dong”?

I didn’t have any experience with other men to be able to compare. My porn data bank told me that I was kinda normal since most of the men in the flicks had bigger tools. I had used my mom’s measuring tape once when I read that the average male member size was 6 inches, and mine measured 6 inches all right, limp. Erect, it went over 8. So yeah maybe I was endowed, but for my jock stud-like friend to make a “big dong” comment about my penis, even when I was not fully hard, excited me.

“I’d think that we all got big dongs once we’re hard, Grif.” This sounded to me a bit infantile but what would you say when your friend tells you that your dick is big?

Griffin’s facial expression was that of awe as my cock started to elongate for another erection. “Fuck!” he exclaimed. “That fucker must be bigger than 8 fucking inches, dude. I had no idea you were this hung.”

“As if you’re not?” I fisted my shaft and stroked it slowly. Griffin was hot and he was turning me on by complimenting my cock size but more by his studly build. Why wouldn’t he have a big dick?

Without taking his eyes away from my crotch, Griffin pulled down his nylon shorts. My eyes went wide as I gazed at my first man penis. Griffin started to stroke and in no time erected. His cock was nowhere near mine in size. Probably half? I was amazed. “Fucking horse dick,” he mumbled as he stroked.

“It’s not that big, Grif,” I had to comment trying to avoid using “small”.

“Measured at 6.5 inches, man, and that’s bigger than most of the guys in the swim team. But yours? Fuck!”

Suddenly I felt proud. So I was scared of water. So I didn’t have a killer swimmer bod. So I wasn’t a hot jock. But I had the biggest cock. For a 17-year-old, that was the epitome of pride.

What ensued was a session of masturbation, each of us bringing ourselves to ejaculation in minutes, splashing cum all over the bathroom.

We hurriedly wiped off the jizz with tissues before Mom could find out.

“He’s cured,” Griffin beamed as we returned to the kitchen where my mother and sister were checking on the cake in the oven.

“Really?”

Nancy stared: “Is Ash sick?”

We all laughed, and my groin tickled as I recalled how excited I had been with Griffin propping me and massaging my bare chest.

“It might take a couple more sessions, I think,” Griffin smiled and discreetly winked at me.  My balls tingled.

Our second session progressed to mutual jerking off. Griffin wanted to try feeling a big cock in his hand. And I let him. It didn’t feel gay or anything. Just pulling on each other’s dick until we shot our loads. It was a bit awkward at first, grabbing another guy’s dick, but once we got into it, it was more pleasurable than doing it solo.

“Ever tasted cum, Ash?” Griffin asked, a smirk on his face. We had both shot our loads and were leaning back against the tiled wall on the bathroom floor, legs stretched, cocks limp, chests and thighs and crotches smeared with globs of cum.

“Mine, yeah,” I admitted.

“Other dudes?”

“Hey, man, I haven’t been with other dudes, or other dudettes for that matter. Besides I’m not gay.”

“Eating cum isn’t gay, asshole.” He wiped a glob off his chest with his forefinger and offered it to me. I hesitated. Fuck! It was gay to eat another guy’s jizz, wasn’t it? I licked off the cum, anyway. Bland. A bit bitter. Nothing special about it. But it made me horny again, for some reason.

As I erected, I watched with shock Griffin kneel between my spread thighs, fist my cock and start to lick around the cum-covered head. “Taking it from the source,” he commented before he went down on me.

I was struck silent reaching the orgasm of orgasms inside the slurping and sucking mouth of my jock friend. The blow session was over way too fast. Just like that. No words or comments. Avoiding looking at each other. Awkward for me, not knowing how to behave, trying not to moan gay-like, stifling my grunts as the slippery and warm mouth worked my knob and halfway down my shaft. Still I was ecstatic. My first blowjob by my hunk friend. Again, was that gay? Fuck it! I didn’t care. It was heavenly, and if it was gay then I want gay any day.

The therapy never really worked. I am still phobic. Aqua phobic. But my now-boyfriend, Griffin, made up for the lack of swimming pleasure. It took us more than a year or so to admit that we loved each other and that we were gay. Up till then, our lovemaking included making out, lots of kissing, massages, with and without oil, stroking, sucking cock. I often spooned Grif with my cock between his ass cheeks, but there was no anal action, even though I would hump and slime his crack with my cum.

It was late in our relationship that Griffin made this comment as I rubbed my cock inside his crack: “Dude, if you need to fuck ass, I can arrange something for you, but not mine.”

“You been fucking ass, man?” I was shocked.

“Not this guy I’m thinking of. He’s virgin. I couldn’t get him to open for me. But maybe when he sees you and your dick, he might be tempted.”

I laughed. “He got scared of your dick up his ass and would take mine? Dude, you fucking with me, right? Who is it? Someone on the swimming team? Sheridan? You been playing around behind my back, Grif?” I added accusingly.

Sheridan was a fem boy, and he never hid his attraction towards other boys.

“Sheridan is good for throating a dick. But we never fucked. I wonder if he could throat yours though. Besides, Ash, I love you to death and back but we’re not exclusive, are we? I mean someone wants to suck my dick. Who am I to say no?”

I slapped Grif’s butt and kissed him. “Who is it?”

“Not a student.”

I saw the smirk on Griffin’s face.

“Fuck, man. The janitor?”

We chuckled at the idea of fucking our school’s ten-thousand-year-old janitor.

“A teacher?”

The smirk.

I ran the list of male teachers through my mind. Not one came to me as candidate for cock-up-the-virgin-ass or down-the-gobbling-mouth dude. Besides, it was risky.

“So who the fuck is it?”

“Think history.”

“No fucking way. Our history teacher? Isn’t he like even older than the janitor?”

“Well, he’s old, yeah, maybe 70-something, but you have to admit that he’s cute for an old guy.”

The following day, I made it a point to freeball to school, wearing my tight jeans. I thought it looked too obvious when I studied my crotch in the mirror before leaving. My dick was outlined sideways. I thought I could manage covering it most of the time with my bag. The idea of luring our old history teacher was very tempting even though I was concerned about possible negative consequences.

I waited until the class emptied, Griffin winking at me when he saw me still in my seat as the others left the room.

Mr. Freeman noticed that I was still in my seat in the second row, and that my thighs were spread out, my bulge now quite apparent. He regarded me from above his glasses, his eyes dropping down to my crotch for a second.

“Well, young Asher. What can I do for you?”

I stood up and slowly sauntered over, making sure to give him the opportunity to feast on my crotch, hoping that he wasn’t a prude, that he would think all of this as vulgar and infantile rather than erotic, and kick my ass out.

“It’s just that I can’t seem to be making better grades, sir.”

I stood in front of his desk, my crotch at eye level with his face. He stared, and then looked up.

“Lock the door, boy.”

Yessss, I thought and quickly locked the door and walked back. Freeman grabbed my hips and brought my crotch to his face pressing against my outlined cock. I erected. He undid my jeans and sucked on my engorged cock. The look of awe was all over his face as he feasted on possibly the largest dick he’d ever had in his whole life. And he was 70-something. He must have had tons of cock. Still, he was kinda cute for his age. And he sucked cock like a pro. And he swallowed every drop of my young sperm, smacking his lips. It all took like less than a couple of minutes, though.

“Come over to my place this evening, boy.”

Just like that. I had just fucked his face and fed him my sperm, and he was still ordering me like the teacher that he was.

“You mean you want more of this?” I cupped my crotch and arched my back, trying to regain some control of the situation: young me offering hard cock to old hungry him.

“Don’t be crude, boy. Now beat it.” I failed, couldn’t meet his gaze, left, tail between my legs, so to speak, literally and figuratively.

Grif was waiting. Of course, he was. “Did you fuck him?” he shot at me as I exited the school and we started walking back home.

“He sucked my dick, Grif,” I mumbled, my balls twitching.

“Fuck, dude. You know something,” Grif was in the conversation mode. “I was thinking, waiting for you, knowing that you’re feeding old Freeman, I was thinking, we’ve been playing around some. I mean we jerked each other off, sucked each other, humped and whatever. But we never did the ass thing.”

“You mean butt fucking? That’s totally gay, dude,” I retorted.

“Listen, man. Shit. Ash, I have fucked ass and I don’t feel gay. Fuck that label. We’re guys and we got dicks and we fuck.”

That was Grif for you. Straight out and simple. Guy-Dick-Fuck. A formula.

I turned to look at him. “You want me to fuck you? Or you to fuck me?”

“No, man. We’re buddies, right? We’re dudes. But Freeman wants it. Bad. So go fuck him, man.”

“And why haven’t you done that already, since you’re so knowledgeable and all?”

“Coz Freeman needs to break his cherry. He as much came out and told me so. But he wanted you, for some fucking reason.”

“He ordered me to go to his place this evening, Grif. You think…?”

“Duh,” Grif punched me lightly on the shoulder. “Dude, fuck the old bitch hard. Oh, fuck yeah! Awesome!” he almost whooped.

Freeman opened the door wearing a bathrobe, tied at the waist but exposing bare chest. Patch of hair. He didn’t look that old, really, now that I was considering him for sex. Why the fuck not?

“Enter,” He gruffed out, looking me up and down, noticing my bulge inside my tight jeans, sans underwear.

As I walked in, he tentatively placed his hand on my butt and emitted a low moan. “Fucking sweet boy.” I felt his lips brushing the back of my neck and I shuddered and started to bone. His hand moved from my butt to my crotch rubbing on my erecting cock, moaning some more. The man needed cock bad, that was for sure.

“Strip, boy.”

What was with all this fucking ordering, I wondered. I mean, I was the fucker here. I was the one who was supposed to order him to bend over, to open his pussy, to beg for my cock. But, no. The old bitch was holding the reins.

“What are you waiting for, boy? Strip and let me take my time in seeing what you got.”

He took off his bathrobe, and lo and behold, the old geezer was hard. I was expecting a limp, shriveled old penis. But Freeman was sporting the hardest cock, not that big, but definitely hard, sticking out of a thick patch of black pubic hair laced with gray.

I stripped, also hard. And I felt his eyes all over me. He started rubbing on my smooth chest, tweaking the nipples, feeling the pecs and abs, as he leaned and licked the side of my neck. “Fucking beautiful,” he mumbled. I loved the way the old dude appreciate my naked body.

I have to be honest. I had imagined myself grabbing old Freeman by the hair and throwing him down on his belly as I rode his ass, driving my hard pole into his insides with vengeance. But the guy was taking his time with my naked young body: hands, fingers, lips, tongue all over me. He even weighed my nuts with the palm of one hand as he sucked my nipples and stroked my dick. The attention was an elixir and I was dying to fuck.

So what was the next step, I asked myself? Should I start taking control?

But not with Freeman. He took me by the hand and pulled me behind him to his bedroom. He lay on his back, his dick still hard and plastered onto his belly, his legs spread, and he pulled me on top of him. His eyes were filled with lust as he grabbed my hair and pulled my face down onto his, slobbering on my mouth, sucking my lips, moaning under my weight.

I grinded on him, our hard cocks against each other and I started to leak, making both cocks slippery. I met his moans with some of mine. Without losing face contact, he reached for the bed table and grabbed a bottle of lube. I felt him raise his butt as he greased his crack. When I reached for the lube to put some on my cock, he slapped my hand away glaring at me, and he started to lube my shaft himself, slowly, working the knob and shaft.

“Boy, you’re gonna break cherry ass. Be fucking careful,” he instructed, as though we were in class. He guided my cock head to his crack. I felt the twitching and started to prod. He moaned. “Easy, now,” he grunted as my pressure increased.

“Maybe, sir,” I ventured, “it would be easier if you bend over? Or maybe like ride on it?”

“Shut up, boy,” he grunted. “I want to see all of you as we fuck. You’re so fucking beautiful. Like the prettiest girl, ever… with a horse dick.”

Surprisingly, he chuckled, and that made me a bit mad. My response was an immediate thrust against the puckered hole, popping the tight ring, savagely. That’s “prettiest girl” for you bitch, I thought as I felt my cock head penetrate the resisting hole.

Freeman howled. Loud. His eyes bulging, staring at my towering face. I noticed a tear trickle down the grimaced face and that made me happy. I held my cock head just inside his stretched ring, gazing down at him. Now who was the man? My eyes told him. Who was the fucker? Who was the bitch, taking man cock inside his fucking ancient pussy?

Instead, there came the slap. On my butt. Hard. My hair was grabbed by his fist. Pulled. Hard. It was my turn to howl. The fucker! I shoved it in roughly, forcing my thick shaft into the hole, meeting with more resistance once I was halfway in.

Freeman bit on my lower lip, and I thought he was drawing blood. His slapping on my butt continued. I tried to go deeper, but another inner hole was squeezed shut against my cock head. Freeman’s howling made me wonder about the neighbors. Like he was under extreme torment. Well, taking a thick hard 8-inch cock up a tight virgin ass was extreme torment, wasn’t it? And Freeman was howling it out.

“I said easy, you fucking bitch,” Freeman grunted. “Hold it there, boy. Don’t be a fucking faggot. HOLD IT THERE, BITCH!”

“Who’s the faggot, sir,” it was my turn to chuckle. The slap was on my face cheek this time. Once, twice. It took me by surprise. I had never been slapped on the face before, not by another boy, not by my dad or mom. But my cock quivered crazily inside his tunnel in response.

“Behave, boy,” he ordered. I couldn’t believe the scene. I was topping this old dude and he was ordering me around and slapping me about with my cock inside his ass. All the time howling with pain—or pleasure—you wouldn’t know the difference. His ring was squeezing hard around my cock shaft as he slapped my face. What the fuck was all this about?

I leaned down on top of him full weight, still prodding, until I felt the resistance recede. Shoved. Buried balls deep. Freeman’s howl was buried into my throat as our mouths plastered on each other. He shoved his tongue down my throat as if he was telling me that he could fuck my throat as I was fucking his butt.

“Fuck, boy, yes, oh my God, fuck, YES!” Freeman heaved as soon as our slobbering mouths parted. That was more like it. The old geezer was now feeling my man cock hard and deep.

Still full weight on top of him, I started the fucking, long, deep, hard, using my hips for forceful thrusts, his body rocking under me. Moans and groans and grunts. More slaps that I didn’t mind—actually enjoyed—and that I returned in force, not intimidated like before. I was fucking a tight hole and it was incredible. Freeman squeezed his ass muscles tight around my plowing shaft. My whole body was shaking. I was sweating profusely with my bare body plastered onto his.

All of a sudden, Freeman froze his thrashing under me and shouted a loud roar. I expected to be flooded with his jizz as my abs pressed on his hard cock. I knew he was cumming, so I increased my fucking tempo, getting close myself, with his ass milking me crazily. My explosion inside the tight hole was out of this world. I felt that my whole insides were being blasted out through my cock and into his bowels. I cummed and cummed.

Surprisingly, when I finally pulled out and plopped next to the old dude, I noticed that our bodies, slick with sweat, were not covered with cum as well, as I had expected. The second surprise was the old dick: still hard, still plastered onto his belly.

“You haven’t cummed, sir,” I whispered tentatively, reaching over to fist the hard cock.

“Boy, you have no idea. Not once. Not twice. Boy, I lost count,” Freeman mumbled as I slowly stroked him.

“But, sir, you’re still hard.”

The bastard laughed. Loud. What was so hilarious? What the fuck was with this guy? Ok, so he wasn’t that normal, right? He had just had his cherry broken and his insides filled with my young sperm. And he was laughing? Because I said he was still hard? And no visible jizz except what was seeping out of his plundered hole onto his hairy thighs?

“Penile implant,” he managed to say between heaves of laughter.

“Pee… what?” I gazed at him quizzically, quickly letting go of his dick. Was that a kind of disease? Had he contaminated me, the old bastard? Would my dick fall off? I shuddered.

Changing the subject, he raised himself on one elbow. “I want more of you, boy,” he declared. “Your friend? The one you hang out with and who told you about me? Griffin?”

“Y…Yeah?” I said unsure of where that was going.

“Call him.”

“What?” I exclaimed, thinking I had misheard.

“Call the boy, Griffin, and tell him to come over,” came the immediate order and the stern teacher-stare. His hand snaked back onto my still semi-hard slimed cock, kneading, rubbing. I moaned.

“You mean…? Sir? I wasn’t enough?” I felt hurt, somehow, in spite of the sensations emanating from my sensitive dick.

“Call the bastard boy now, and stop all this grumping,” he stroked me back to full erection.

“Grif? Dude? I’m at Freeman’s.” I mumbled into my phone, my cock throbbing inside Freeman’s fist.

I could feel Griffin’s excitement through the phone.

“He said for you to come over,” I clicked on the speaker.

“On my fucking WAY!” came the whoop, loud, filling the room. I looked at Freeman, and the old bitch had the widest grin on his face, his hand slowly working my cock.

Grif walked in on us, naked bodies, sweaty skin, hard cocks.

“Oh fuck,” he exclaimed as he quickly shed off his clothes, his eyes staring at Freeman’s hard dick with wonder.

“Hold it, boys,” Freeman ordered. “This, here, is a penile implant,” he started fisting his dick. “It keeps me hard.” I blew out a long breath of relief.

Both of us gazed back as if we were in class and he had just introduced a new concept that he was going to explain.

“What the…?” Grif asked. “You mean you walk around with an erection 24/7?” I giggled. Leave it to Grif to go funny in a serious situation.

The bitch had just been fucked to heaven and back and he was still giving orders. Was still in the teacher mode.

“Boys,” Freeman smiled reached under his nuts and pressed. We gazed incredulously as his hard cock started to lose its fullness and go limp. “There is a prostheses implanted inside my dick with a pump and saline fluid. It can make me erect whenever I choose.” He pressed the spot at his scrotum and his dick immediately inflated to erection. Our mouths were wide open as we watched.

“Technology and medicine, boys. Watch and learn.” Freeman repeated pressing under his balls, as his cock limped and erected and limped and erected. It was like an inflatable dick-trick.

“Oh fucking fuck!” Grif.

I was speechless.

“No fucking way,” I yelled minutes later when fucking-Freeman explained what he wanted us to do next.

“Griffin, watch Asher ride my ass. I can say the boy is a good fucker. When you see him pounding into me, you will get on top of us and shove your boy dick up his tight cherry boy ass.”

“No fucking way,” I repeated vehemently. I wasn’t about to get fucked. I wanted a repeat of Freeman’s tight ass and my cock throbbed to impale him again. But Griffin fucking me?

Freeman lay on his back making sure he was able to watch and he pulled me on top of him. My young lustful instincts took over immediately and I shoved my cock back into his stretched and already cum-filled hole, sliding through his inner sphincter and into his bowels with one powerful plunge. His howl came out loud and scary. I heard Grif whoop somewhere behind me, and then he was on top of me.

I tried to push Grif back. I wasn’t ready. My first time had to be romantic, prepared, greased. With someone I loved. With someone who loved me.

“Grif, man,” I pleaded. “Don’t fucking do it.”

I received a face slap as a reward. Freeman held me with his eyes with his hands grabbing my face, keeping in position. And then the knob at my hole! I reached both hands back to grab Grif’s thighs in anticipation of what I was dreading. I felt the muscles ripple. He penetrated.

I screamed with pain as my rim muscle got stretched.  At the same time, I felt that the pain at my back door was sending incredible vibrations right into my cock, which was buried deep inside Freeman. Grif was thankfully gentle after the initial penetration. I had to give him that. Still I dug my fingernails into the skin of his thighs as he started to fuck me. I squirmed, trying my best to accommodate Grif and at the same time remain inside Freeman. In no time, we synched. Steamy, hard ass fucking, resulting in huge globs of ejaculated boy semen filling both Freeman’s and my not-so-virgin-anymore holes.

And this was how I had my cherry broken and how I fucked my first man ass, breaking his cherry. Both Grif and I aced history. And I am still afraid of the water.