Dan Needs A Public Education

It's hot, and slick, and tight around me, and I'm trying desperately to remember each sensation - catalog every aspect of it, even if that's only ever for my own recollection of the first time I fucked a guy in the ass - but it's hard when my brain is sparking and glitching into overload. Hard, as well, when I'm also biting my lip fiercely enough to make breaking the skin a real possibility, in the frantic hope of delaying my second orgasm of the day. 

The first was less than an hour ago, on my knees in a public restroom as the cum of two strangers dripped lewdly down my face. By all rights, my body should be beyond this wild twist of sexual excitement I'm feeling now: if not capable of mental distance, then at least of delaying the wrench of another climax.

Instead, I'm panting and mentally crossing my fingers that I don't immediately dump my load an inch inside this guy's hole. Like I'm some hyper-horny kid who just discovered how good friction can feel on his dick.

"Hey."

I look up, the word breaking through my spiraling panic. Find the guy who led me down here is staring at me again, even as his hips keep driving his length into the eager throat of the dude whose waist I've got a rictus grip on. Voice pitched just above the thick, wet sounds from around his cock, and the grunts of the stranger we're spit-roasting.

I stare back at him, with desperate eyes. 

"Stop over-thinking and just nail him."

My jaw drops at the instruction, head trying to process it even as my body reacts on instinct. Pulling the guy in close even as I push to meet him, feeling myself sink into the pliant, silky grip of his cum-slicked hole. Part of me thinking I should take it slow, wait for some unspoken sign of permission that he wants more, wants me to go deeper, and yet telling myself to stop would be pointless now. A waste of breath, because now that I've sampled the way his ass feels clenched around my shaft, there's absolutely no way I can stop until my groin is pressed against his cheeks. 

The groan that rumbles out of me feels like it empties my lungs. 

I look up again, vision swimming. Find my reaction is being observed with amusement. 

"Told you."

I nod, puppy-dog obedient. Compliant in the way that Luka always says will get me into trouble one day: brain fizzing so much that it'll latch onto any advice, any guidance, that sounds halfway reasonable. 

It's wrong, to think of my best friend while I'm fucking a dude for the first time, but the mental dominos are unstoppable. The thought of what he'd say if he knew what I was doing, and where, all segueing into the knowledge that Luka knows how this feels, too. Has experienced it on both sides: could describe to me, even, what's it's like to feel someone slide thick inches of cock inside you. To have their fingers gouging deep into your hips, as they use you like some sort of fuck-sleeve. 

It wasn't intentional, but I started moving even as I was distracted, thinking about it. Not so much imagining myself nailing Luka, as imagining myself in his position. As if, by screwing this random guy who has already had at least one load dropped in him today, I can somehow get closer to understanding my best buddy. 

Well, that and the fact that this ass feels so damn good around my dick. 

Like, "couldn't stop even I wanted to" levels of good. Tight, clinging like a well-lubed fist as I pound away at him. Losing those final degrees of caution and uncertainty, until all that's left is the hungry, needy urge to blow inside him.

I don't know if I'm the second guy to raw his ass today, or the twenty-second. Couldn't even say what his face is like, really, or indeed much beyond the sharp taper of his chest down to his narrow waist. Cheeks just plump enough to jiggle as I slam against them, rising up on the balls of my feet in the hope of pushing an extra fraction of an inch deeper. 

"You gonna cum?"

He's smirking at me, the guy who led me down here, who goaded me into this unbelievable fuck. Watching me with this knowing expression, as though everything in my brain is equally clear across my face. And maybe that's no so hard, not so tough to do, when all my mind can conjure right now is a looping chant of expletives as I feel the orgasm churning in me. 

"Please..."

I don't know who I'm asking, what I'm asking for. Just know that I need permission, suddenly; that this encounter, this whole situation, is so strange and unexpected that I still need guidance through it. Up to and including someone telling me that yes, I can blow inside of this passive, compliant guy.

"Do it," he says, still throat-fucking him as he watches me pound at the other end, and that's all it takes. 

Two words, and I'm railing on him like I'm angry. As though I've got something to prove, as though I'm on some wild deadline: like I need to cum within the next twenty seconds, or something dire will happen to us all. Feeling the spiraling friction and the throb of my balls as I grit my teeth, jab my hips, and dig my fingers into his flesh.

My vision tunnels as I breed him. Gasping for breath through a locked jaw, dizzy with the overwhelming sensations and the "so wrong it's right' knowledge of where I am and what's happening. 

I stumble back, dick tugging free, falling over my own sweatpants as they tangle around my legs. Trying desperately to breathe again, only it's like my lungs have forgotten how to do it by themselves; as though they need retraining, tutoring on the in and out.

It's like pins and needles, only running through my whole body as I sprawl in the mulch.

He'd slowed as he watched it overcome me, I realize; see him speed up again now, no finesse or subtly to it. Just the quickest route to his own pleasure, another man's mouth and throat the mechanics of that: a tool, by which he'll get off. 

"He hasn't cum yet."

It's not an order, nor a request, but I know what's expected of me all the same. Crawl forward, on my hands and knees, until I'm beneath the guy I've just creamed, reaching for his erection.

He's so hard, it takes effort to pull his cock down toward my lips. The head already slick as I work my tongue around it, his taste sharp and sweet. Feeling his shudder as I grind the sensitive tip against the roof of my mouth, but knowing there's no way he can whimper or protest.

There's something powerful about that, something intense. 

His dick isn't huge, but it's big enough to nudge at the entrance to my throat, pointedly. My muscles fluttering around it as I swallow, though it's only when I reach around and push two fingers into his ass that he jerks forward and plugs my gullet. 

It's like jabbing my fingers into warm pudding, his hole soft and unresisting. I'm not sure if he set up the rhythm or I did that, the way he pushes into my throat and then backs up onto my probing digits. A finger of each hand quickly joined by a third, and then a fourth. Tugging and stretching on his overworked body, as the loads from untold strangers drips down my wrists. 

I hear a muffled curse from above me, and then a split second later my mouth is flooded. Some part of my brain recalculating just how much this guy was enjoying getting reamed out, nudging that estimate higher as cum blasts the back of my throat and quickly fills me. Spilling out and down my chin, no matter how tightly I try to hold my lips around his shaft, until I know I must look just as much of a mess as his ass does right now. 

He rocks, on his heels, as the two of them separate. That motion enough to tug him out from me, a fresh flood of jizz and drool rolling down my face and soaking my shirt. 

I stare up, blinking in the shifting sunlight, as they look down on me. Sprawling back on my elbows, sticky and wrung out. My t-shirt is clinging to me, my sweat and his load plastering it against my chest; cock still thick with excitement, lolling across my thigh. I know I should reach down, try to pull my sweatpants back up, but the idea of doing anything bar laying here, gasping down lungfuls of cum-scented air, feels beyond me. 

The guy whose load I'm now wearing, smelling, tasting, stretches; arms laced above his head, tilting his torso left and right. I use the opportunity to check him out: mid-thirties, maybe, older than I figured at first glance. Handsome, too, even with his hair in disarray and his face flushed. Not the sort of dude you'd ever look at and imagine them bent over in the woods somewhere, letting stranger after stranger fuck them raw in whatever hole they pleased. 

Then again, I didn't think people would look at me and instantly see a guy who fucked and sucked strangers in the woods, either. Or, at least, I hoped they wouldn't.

When I glance across, brain spinning like a poorly-balanced top at the idea of all that, it's to find I'm already being stared at. The man who guided me down here, who cruised me on the park bench in the first place, giving me that knowing, calculating stare. As if the whirring of the cogs in my brain are all a foregone conclusion, and he's just waiting for the final assessment to become clear on my face. 

I smile up at him, a little shakily, with cum-slicked lips. 

There's no time to move when he drops down, almost on top of me. The tangle of my sweats pinned beneath his knees, anyway, nowhere for me to go beyond toppling back. My head hitting the ground with a dull thump that barely registers, I'm so focused on his sudden proximity. 

He leans down, between the spread of my thighs. One arm braced alongside my ear. There's just enough left of my pinwheeling brain to wonder what the other guy must be thinking, at this unexpected intimacy.

"A lot of guys won't kiss," the man on top of me says, his soft voice sounding amused, "but I don't think you're one of them."

The barest pause, and then his mouth is on mine. 

I freeze, eyes wide: long seconds of just laying there as the soft heat of his lips slide against the slick stickiness of my own. Trying to understand what's happening now, how things have escalated once more. Why this feels more intense and more personal than screwing a guy, than sucking his cock might. And, all that said, what this anonymous stranger saw in me to figure that I'd be open to it, too. 

Something in me unlocks, and then I'm kissing him back. 

Zero to a thousand miles per hour in a split-second, his jolt of surprise arrested by my hands gripping his head. Tongue pushing in to meet his own, fighting with him almost; as far away from the tender, cautious kissing I knew from my handful of times with girls as is imaginable. Restraint cast off, knowing that he's more than capable of pushing back if I'm too forceful, too demanding. That all my urgency and appetite really signals is permission for him to demonstrate the same. 

He leans into me, pushing me back until my head is cushioned by the bed of leaves. Pinning me down and fighting against my hold on him so that he can lap across my lips, my chin. His movements bordering on desperate, like he's torn between continuing our kiss and gathering up the drool and cum and sweat my face is soaked in. 

I can feel him grinding into me, between my thighs. Something about it seeming unconscious, unintentional. His body wound spring-tight just like mine, and it's only with that realization that I understand I'm pressing back into him, too. Clothes disheveled as we hump each other, rutting for friction and heat.

When he sits up, gasping, the bottom half of my face feels like it has been sandpapered. Mouth tingling from his stubble and the rough rasp of his tongue. 

The guy we spit-roasted has gone, departure unnoticed as we made out on the forest floor. 

Hands acting on instinct, I reach down to the hard cock jutting out from the gape of his jeans. Weighing its slick, sticky length in my palms, not so much jerking as just groping at him. Reveling in this still-strange opportunity to touch another man so intimately, and no way to stop my brain from recalling the way Luka had sprawled in front of me. His own legs agape, and only the prophylactic of the camera between us to make the idea of reaching for him unimaginable. 

"Forward, aren't you." 

His voice snaps me back to the moment. I chew back a snort of amusement. "Says the guy who kissed me."

A shrug; if he's feeling contrite, it's not showing. 

"Let me guess," he continues, eyebrow arched. "You don't usually do this with guys."

It's hard to shrug effectively, laying on my back in the undergrowth, but I try it anyway. "You just watched me lose my virginity. With a guy, anyway."

Another grin. "Well, you looked like a natural." A glance down, to where my hands are mauling him. "And it doesn't seem to have put you off."

There's something so matter-of-fact about him, so blunt. As though we're not both out in public, half-dressed, stinking of sex and sweat. As though he didn't just throat-fuck a stranger, and then make out with me as we shared that stranger's load. 

I can either be awed by it, I decide, or I can try to match it.

"So kiss me again, then," I tell him, and watch his grin spread. 

No more words, no smart-ass commentary. Just him bending back down to bring out lips together, his tongue quickly seeking out my own. A little of the frenzy of before lost, maybe, but none of the urgency. 

I squeeze our cocks together, wrapping both hands around them. Tilt my head back as his fingers cradle my neck; wonder, for a split-second, the wisdom of following strange men into the depths of the forest. Luka would, I don't doubt, have strong words to say about the foolishness of my actions right now. 

That doesn't stop me wanting to tell him. Some of it, at least; to share the experience, and what it's teaching me about myself and what gets me off, with the friend I'm closest to. I'd just have to quietly censor out the more salacious parts. 

I can't stop the needy little whine of frustration when the guy pulls back again. See, fleeting but unmistakable, the amusement on his face, and know that he heard it too.

"Maybe see you around sometime," he says, as I stare up at him. 

I'm not sure what the etiquette is, what you're meant to say or promise. Wanting somehow to explain why I'm here, what all of this is making me feel, but at the same time knowing that for him - older than me, clearly more experienced, absolutely more confident - this is probably just another casual hookup. If it's unusual at all, then that's only because I've likely been more goofy, more wide-eyed and compliant, than the men he generally scores with.

"Okay," I tell him, trying my best to keep any trace of disappointment out of my voice. 

"For what it's worth," he adds, smiling still, "it was hot watching you fuck your first guy."

I'm blushing, I know I am. 

He laughs, as he stands - pulling his cock from my grip in the process, my hands suddenly feeling bereft - and tugs his clothes back into some sort of order. I'm still trying to think of what to say in response to that, when he winks and a moment later is lost amid the trees.

It only takes a few seconds of being on my own for some switch to flip in my head. The reality of what just happened - what I did, what I was so eager to do - flooding through me like an ice-cold tide. 

Holding panic at bay, just, I push myself awkwardly to my feet. Try, with fingers that feel numbed and remote, to pull my sweatpants up and smooth my t-shirt down. Wonder what I must look like; what someone would see if they stumbled into this inconspicuous clearing and found me, wide-eyed and teetering on the edge of hyperventilating. 

It's a barely-controlled stumble as I point myself in the direction I think leads to the edge of the forest. Terrified of bumping into someone, even if I can't decide whether a recoil of shock at my bedraggled appearance would be better or worse than a knowing smirk, it being all too clear what I've been up to away from the public trails. 

Making it to the path feels like emerging from deep water. I fight the urge to gasp.

Part of me knows I should head straight to the nearest restroom. Or anywhere with a reflective surface, really, whatever it takes to see the state I'm currently in. And yet there's something equally horrifying of going back there now, of seeing the place where I crouched and let some strange guy use my mouth to get off. A horror that propels me around the edge of the pond and back home. 

Because I know that, if I walked back into that bathroom and happened to catch someone's eye, I couldn't truly say that I wouldn't fall to my knees again. Mouth open, and hungry to be granted another load. 

---

As always, thanks for the feedback (and the ratings/comments); I love hearing what people think about my writing. I just released a new story called "College Wrestler Secrets" - if, like me, you have a thing for hot guys in skin-tight singlets, I think you'll enjoy it. It's on Kindle, too.

-Alex