I watched through the window, my chest feeling like a little steel prison that was nearly failing in its attempt to keep my heart, beating furiously with anxiety, contained safely within in. Today was the day of our camping trip, and Michael would be here any minute now in his old brown Ford to pick me up. The biggest reason for my anxiety was, naturally, the fact that he'd implied he wanted me to suck his dick while we were there, although how we'd do that with his friends around (even though we were sharing a tent) I didn't know. I didn't even know if it would really happen, because in the four days that had elapsed since we scoped out the location for the campsite, our friendship had simply gone back to normal. No tousling my hair, no touching the side of my face tenderly and smiling, and certainly no taking his big, fat cock out and asking if he should ram it down my throat. We'd hung out like before, like always, like guys who'd been friends since middle school and never had a single sexual thought for the other in our lives. I was starting to convince myself that it had all been a mistake on his part, and that he didn't really want me at all, at least not in that way. It had probably been a fluke that he regretted, and the camping trip would be wholly uneventful.
I had to admit that I was highly nervous. I'd never met any of Michael's friends before (well, at least not the ones going on this trip with us) and I was worried that if they realized I was gay that they might make fun of me. I also felt stupid for even having such a fear, after all I was 22 years old and should have moved beyond such self-conscious behavior, but it was a small town in a rural area of Texas. If word got around, it could get back to my parents, and although I no longer lived with them the shame and stigma that they'd instilled in me had lasted over the years, and I was worried about the 'family name'. Besides, being around a bunch of straight guys who were joking about how gay you were sounded pretty uncomfortable, and would ruin the camping trip and possibly embarrass my friend Michael, which I didn't want to do either. Michael knew I was gay, and didn't seem to mind, but that didn't mean he wanted everyone else knowing his best friend was a 'fag'. I really wanted to make a good impression.
A horn honked, shattering my thought spiral like a hammer through safety glass spewing a million tiny pieces onto the floor; I checked to make sure I had all of my bags and went out and hopped in the truck.
"Got all your stuff, bud?"
He asked.
"Yep."
I felt like putty in his hands sometimes, helpless against the tide of his overpowering confidence and self-assured nonchalance. The word 'buddy' had always made me feel somehow both small and powerless, and cared about. I really hated how much I loved it when he called me that or 'bud', or 'pal', or some variant thereof. It was impossible for me resist Mike, not that I wanted to; we'd been best friends for a decade now, and I knew that he would always be there for me. But what had happened several days ago terrified me. I couldn't stop thinking about how totally subdued I had felt when he showed me his dick, like a slave boy with no will of my own. I would have done anything he'd asked of me then, would have walked across the country with his truck on my back. But what was even more confusing to me was the things he'd said. He'd said he just wanted to find out whether I was gay, but implied he already knew. He'd said he just wanted to show off. He'd said he wanted me to suck his dick this weekend, and when I cried out of pure desperation he'd gotten upset trying to stop me; called me a faggot and said he didn't hate me.
He was right when he said I didn't understand him, I sure didn't. What did he want? Things had simply gone back to normal after all that, but it was supposedly on this very camping trip that something was meant to happen.
"So you've never met Bill and Mitch?"
"Ah, no," I replied, "but wasn't there supposed to be three people coming?"
"That's right," he snapped his fingers, "Tanner too."
"Something wrong?"
He seemed slightly grouchy just then, or maybe tired.
"Nah," he said, lighting up a cigarette and cracking the window, "probably just needed one of these."
As we drove, I wondered what these guys were like. Were they masculine, country guys like Mike? Were they gonna fuck around me? Were they nice? Were they hot?
When we got to the end of the dirt road and parked there was already a maroon SUV stopped ahead of us. I assumed it was them. We grabbed our stuff and started walking. Michael took one of my bags with him, insisting it was easier for him anyway since he worked out a lot, and he didn't want me to get tired before we got to the lake. It was kind of embarrassing, but Mike was always doing stuff like that. It felt, sometimes, like he treated me like a little brother. He was always looking out for me and making sure nobody bullied me when we were in school, and I'd help him with his homework. He defended me a lot, and made sure that I never got hurt. I loved Michael, a lot– as a friend. I did have a crush on him and thought he was just about the hottest guy in the world, but I also loved him as a best friend that I'd known for ten years. More than once he'd actually gotten into fights for me back in high school. Eventually, nobody picked on me anymore. I always felt safe around him, no matter how crude he could be, or how much he liked to tease me.
When we got to the river the other guys were already in the water. One of them was a big guy– burly, with a protruding gut and bald head. Not fat, but muscular and stocky. In fact, he was incredibly hot; or, at least, I felt that way. He was horseplaying around with a tall blonde guy, shoving him under the water repeatedly while a muscular dude with short brown hair swam by himself some distance from them. We walked down to the water.
"Hey guys!"
Michael called out. The men waved toward him and the brunette guy who'd been alone came to meet us. I felt a twinge in my stomach (or was it lower down?) as he rose out of the water. He was very muscular and smooth. Not a bodybuilder, but sculpted as hell. Michael was very built as well, but it was more like the rugged farmhand type, whereas you could tell that this guy perfected his smooth, shaved body in the gym. I couldn't help noticing his thick fingers and veiny hands when he shook mine, hot despite the little droplets of water still clinging to it.
"I'm Mitchell. Mitch."
He said. His voice was almost unnaturally deep, and I couldn't help but entertain the idea of going to the bathroom to jerk off right then.
The other two good were close behind, shoving each other.
"This is Billy."
Mike said, slapping the macho, stocky guy's shoulder.
"Fuck you, man!"
The guy laughed,
"Just Bill. He knows I hate Billy."
Michael grabbed my shoulder and swung me towards himself; I collided with the side of his body and let out a grunt.
"And this is Lance, guys."
I meekly nodded to the blonde boy, who I assumed to be Tanner. The gave me two thumbs up and a big grin.
"I'm Tanner, guy."
Tanner was real tall and skinny, although not extremely so. He was gangly, and had a protruding adam's apple and a kind of big nose. He kept his hair pretty short, but left short, shaven sideburns almost to the end of his ears. I thought he looked very handsome, in a goofy way. Both he and Mitch were wearing bathing suits, unlike Bill, who had a nice bulge in his wet, grey briefs– so skin tight I could literally see the outline of his dick that was to the right of his balls. He had to be uncut, because it was almost a mold of the thing (which was very thick), and yet you couldn't see the head. Despite the fact he was wearing a bathing suit, I could still see a massive bulge in Mitch's, but before I had time to study it Michael had pulled me away, saying we needed to set up our tent. He kept his arm around my shoulder, nearly dragging me with him. I could feel the heat radiating off his hand as it rested on my chest. I wasn't sure if it was an accident or not, but right before we got to the truck and he removed his arm, he actually brushed his finger across my nipple. I could feel my cock beginning to harden and actually prayed to Jesus that it would stop.
Thankfully, it did go down as I focused on getting out the tent and then carrying all the necessities over to the clearing, where two other tents were already set up. I asked Michael why there was only two, but he just laughed.
"Mitch likes to sleep by himself I guess. He's not as close as me and you."
He winked at me, which made me feel like my brain was inside a blender. Did this guy like emotionally torturing me or something?
"Not that I can blame him," he continued, "I wouldn't want to sleep with those guys either. Their farts probably stink up the whole tent. I think he's kind of got your problem, though."
"Huh?"
But Michael didn't answer.
"What do you mean by 'my problem'?" I asked.
Mike hammered in the last stake, pulling his shirt off. His biceps rippled and I felt myself start to breathe faster. He stood up and swaggered toward me, hooking his thumb into the belt loop of his jeans, which pulled them slightly lower and exposed a prickle of thick, dark pubic hair; connected to it was a fat, black treasure trail that seemed to spill out of its confines and continue out across his stomach. There was no break between that and his hairy chest, the happy trail simply continued upward before exploding into a massive, broad swathe of dense hair that grew up over his collar bones and, likely, on to his back. I could feel myself growing jealous rather than horny, which was kind of funny.
"If you find out, you find out. I'm not gonna talk about the guy. I like him"
I swallowed. He 'liked him'? What did that mean?
"You mean he's gay?"
I blurted out. Mike just grinned.
"Nope, I doubt it. Don't worry, little homie. I don't mean I like him. He's cool is all."
I turned red and hot; it was like my face was literally steaming from the embarrassment. Was I really that obvious? How pathetic. But Michael only smiled at me in a sweet way and wiped his palm across my forehead.
"You got a fever? You're cute, Lance."
He snickered, "Well, as cute as someone so ugly can be, anyway." and walked off. I moved the boner I hadn't even realized I had up to my waistband and wondered which thing had triggered it.
___
Back at the river, Michael stripped down to his whitey-tighties again. I kinda wondered why a 23 year old would still be wearing white briefs, which for me were associated with nothing but humiliation, but I wasn't complaining. Being so high and tight, they really accentuated his already massive soft bulge. I, on the other hand, had made sure to bring nice, long board shorts this time. I walked a bit into the woods to change, so nobody would see my small weiner, which still made me feel like I wasn't man enough, despite Michael's kind words. Maybe he was right that my 5 inches were average, but that was when it was hard; when I was soft I was more like 3. It made feel so bad about myself when I saw people online making jokes about guys like me.
I almost didn't notice him until I stumbled into the guy; well, in reality he was probably at least 8 feet away, but trees partially obscured the view. I could tell he didn't notice me, because the guy just continued doing what he was doing, which was peeing onto a stump. And I really couldn't help but notice that he was holding his dick with only his forefinger and thumb because it was so small– maybe two inches at most, and since he was so clean-shaven you could see it perfectly; no pubes to hide any of the length. When the flow of urine finished he shook his small penis with his big hand, droplets of piss being flung everywhere.
Then, he stopped. Just froze. And I realized he'd caught me watching. Sure enough, looking up I saw him staring, mouth agape. It was Mitch, obviously. I apologized profusely and tried to walk in another direction, but after a few moments his broad hand caught my left shoulder and pulled me back. I turned to face him. God, he was handsome. His jawline was so wide and masculine, his eyes light brown, almost hazel.
"Lance... Lance, right?"
"Yeah," I said slowly, "Lance. Look, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to... I'm sorry. Sorry."
"No, no. You're good, just..." and here, he kinda laughed, small and nervous; I could see the fear in his eyes despite the masculine gravel of his deep voice as he continued, "I don't know if you're the kind of guy that likes to joke around a lot. You don't really seem like it, man, but I'm just asking. Please don't tell anyone that I'm not... you know. Big."
In that moment he looked so vulnerable and scared, despite his strength and manly looks, that I almost wanted to hug him. Here was a guy that knew how I felt. Maybe not the gay part, but the self esteem issues that came with having a small dick in a world where it seemed that all that mattered was how many girls you could fuck and how hung you were; at least, for men.
Mitch mistook my thoughtful silence for something else, continuing with,
"The guys would make fun of me, dude. It's not that big a deal, I just don't want to have to... deal with it. Especially Tanner. You don't even know how annoying that guy can be. He's always bragging about how hung he is, how big his dick is, now many chicks he can fuck. And I kind of lied to him about my... endowment. I always try to one up him and tell him how much bigger I am than him. But Jesus Christ that thing is huge, I don't think there's a white guy on earth bigger than him, that thing is a fucking horse cock."
I smiled a little, thinking that I knew at least one white guy who was almost surely bigger. I wanted to ask if he'd actually seen Tanner's dick, but knew better. Instead, I said,
"No problem, man. I know how you feel. I'm the same. I'm not big either."
I smiled weakly, Mitch grinned.
"Tanner's a fucking idiot anyway, doesn't know it isn't the size of the boat but the motion of the ocean? I'm telling you, he sounds like the worst lay. From the way he tells it, it sounds like he just rams in and out. Guys like you and me know,
And here, he slapped me on the back. I choked, thinking "Fuck that was a hard slap. I'm not a Roman statue like you."
"That it's all in the fingers and the tongue, and in positions. Maybe I could teach you a thing or two. You're cool."
He walked off in the direction of the river.
"Yeah, you could teach me a thing or two. But I probably want you to teach me something a little different from what you meant."
___
Back at the water, Michael, Tanner, and Bill were all horseplaying around. I felt like a bit of loser as I swam off alone, but I wasn't strong or good at wrestling like them. I thought about Mitch, who I spied unpacking a bag on the shore. I watched as he spread sunscreen over his thick, muscled pecs and down his abs. I found it kind of funny how damn masculine this guy was, despite having such a tiny cock. I'd always felt like it was my small dick that made me feel so shy and weird and awkward. I was not manly at all. I'd never liked sports, I wasn't good with tools, my voice wasn't deep. Mitch's voice was incredibly deep and husky, and funny thing is that I'd noticed his balls were smaller than mine, so apparently testosterone and the pitch of your voice aren't linked either. I was also not good at science.
Suddenly, I felt myself being shoved under water by the top of my head. I struggled to get out of the grasp of whoever the offender was, but I was now being grasped tightly across the chest by two very wide and powerful arms so that I could hardly move; I could do nothing but helplessly kick my legs about, screaming internally to be let go. Just when I felt like I was gonna pass out, my entire body was lifted out of the water and flung several feet away. I turned to see Bill laughing at me, and noticed for the first time just how insanely wide his biceps were, how thick his pecs were. This guy was fucking immense! Jesus Christ. I backed up a little as he swam toward me, but all he did was grin and splash some water at me, half-heartedly.
"Yo, man. What's up?"
"Hey." I offered, weakly.
"How old are you?"
Bill asked. I replied that I was 22. Bill was 20, although he looked much older than the rest of us. In fact, he was the youngest, because Michael was 23, as you know, and Tanner and Mitch were 24 and 23 respectively, so other than Bill, I was the youngest one here. Bill had apparently met Michael at a job site, they'd both worked doing construction at one point. Tanner was a good friend of his from childhood, but Mitch he didn't know. He assumed that Mike had met him at the gym. He, himself, didn't go to the gym, but stayed so buff through his work.
"Wanna feel?"
He asked, grinning wide. I was scared, but reasoned that if I got a boner, Bill would be unable to see it through the current of the water. Hesitantly, I reached out and placed my arm on his flexing bicep. It was hot and smooth, and my outstretched hand did not cover the width of his upper arm.
"No, grab it. Push down, feel how hard it is."
I gulped. It was as hard as a rock, which was probably gonna be the same condition I was in soon if this kept up.
"Yeaaaah buddy! It's hard, huh?"
"Sure is. You must be really strong, haha."
I felt stupid and weak. This guy could crush me like a twig. Mitch could easily have beat my ass. Michael had often wrestled with me despite my protests, and I knew he was magnitudes stronger than me. Hell, even Tanner could surely beat me in an arm wrestle. I was a total fucking geek, why was I even here? Why did Michael want me here with his manly, cool, awesome friends? Why did he even talk to me?
Bill did that thing where you raise your eyebrows up and down over and over, the sort of thing your dad probably did at you to be funny when you were a kid. I ducked my head underwater and took a quick peek at his boxers. Fuck, this guy was hung. Nowhere near Michael's size of course, but who was?
I probably should have predicted it, but I am pretty dumb. Bill grabbed me by my ears and pulled my head forward until it my face smashed right into his big ball gut, all while I was still underwater. I could feel my forehead slide against the hairs on his rounded stomach as he wrapped his arms around the back of my head in order to keep me locked against his beer belly. Fuck. This guy clearly liked to mess around a lot, and not in the way I wanted. Although, to be fair, there was something strangely erotic about being manhandled so roughly, even if it wasn't meant to be sexual at all. And, too, there was something deeply sexual about his big, round, protruding stomach. It was intensely masculine, and reminded me of the awe I always felt as a kid when my dad would unbutton his shirt after we went to the buffet on Sundays because his gut was stuffed to the brim. It seemed incredibly manly to have a round gut like that, especially when the guy was so muscular and built everywhere else. I started to feel more afraid that Bill would ever let me up than that I would drown to death underwater. I tried to wriggle downward a bit so that I could shove my nose into his belly button, all the while still pretending to give a fight by flailing my legs and weakly hitting his arms. With one arm still wrapped around my neck, he used his other hand to push me downward, until my face was pressed right into his crotch. I could literally feel his flaccid cock against my eye and cheek as he put his massive hand on the back of head and pushed my face right into his bulge, grinding his hips forward; then, just as quickly, he released me, and I flew up to the surface of the water like a torpedo, gasping for a breath of fresh air.
I looked at him, flabbergasted, pushing my wet, matted hair back from my forehead. Bill had a cocky smirk on his face, almost like he was daring me to mention what had just happened. I simply didn't know what to think. Was it boyish horseplay? Or was it something else? I wished that I could rush towards him, fall to my knees, and beg to have my face in his lap once more, but instead I said,
"What are you trying to do, suffocate me using your stomach? Geez, man."
He laughed at that.
"Just giving you what you wanted."
He replied. I shut up real quick. I swallowed hard. I thought about begging him not to reveal my secret and make me a laughingstock, but I wasn't totally sure he really knew I was gay; after all, it could have been a joke. Straight guys call each other gay 50 times a day, especially when they're cool with each other. But I thought it far too risky to joke back, just in case, and so I settled on "No way, man. No way." But the guy didn't look like he believed me at all.
I was saved by Michael, who came over and started a splash war with Bill, which I took as my opportunity to leave, swimming to the bank of the river and drying off. I looked over at Mitch, who was sitting near me, on his phone. I wondered how big he got when he was hard. Probably not that much bigger, based on what he said, but I'd never been a size queen. Well, truth be told, I'd never had sex at all. I tongue kissed a girl in high school, but that was as far as things ever got. My encounter in the car with Michael a few days earlier had been the closest to 'sex' I'd ever gotten, and fuck did I want it to happen again. I looked away nervously when Mitch looked up and caught me staring at him, at the way his eyebrows framed his nice eyes, his hair all pushed up in the front. He smiled at me and scooted closer.
"You done with the water?"
He asked in his booming drawl. I nodded shyly.
"You're not real macho, are you?"
He said quizzically. I just shrugged.
"You know you don't have to feel bad, right?"
I didn't know what to say, but he continued, "Guys just like to compete. It doesn't mean anything. Girls care way less than guys do about size. You seem like a really cool, nice guy. Ever had a girlfriend?"
I shook my head.
"Never? Really? How old are you?"
I told him. He kept talking.
"Dude, really, don't feel bad. Even if you aren't into 'manly' stuff like cars or sports , it doesn't mean you aren't a man. What are you into?"
I tried not to look at his body, but his face was almost a sexually appealing, and it made me squirm.
"I don't know. Horror movies and psychology. It's boring."
"Nah, it's cool. Lots of guys don't have any interests at all. What's your favorite horror movie?"
"Psycho. It's old."
"Oh, cool!" He said, "I haven't seen that one. What's it about?"
I told him, and he took an interest the same way that Michael always did, where you could tell they weren't really interested in what you were saying, but they were interested because you were saying it. I noticed that his ears were somehow smaller than you'd expect, which was cute and endearing. I wished I could kiss him.
We talked for a little while. Once it started to get dark, we all went to where the tents were located and ate. At one point, when Bill got up to piss, the guy walked maybe 6 feet from the camp and pulled his pants down to his knees, asking if we liked the full moon tonight before unleashing. When he turned away again, Michael ribbed me with his elbow, grinning. I blushed deep scarlet, knowing exactly what my friend meant by the gesture. And I had to admit that Bill had a really nice ass and that I was turned on. Everyone else seemed to think it was totally gross he was peeing so close to us, but I almost could have sworn I caught Tanner trying to take a peek.
After we'd eaten and talked for a while (well, mostly everyone else, I was quiet), everyone went to their tents. Mitchell to his on the far left, Tanner and Bill to the middle tent, and Michael to ours. I tried to delay entering the tent for as long as possible because of how nervous I was but eventually I had to go inside. When I did, Michael had his shirt off and was just in a pair of khaki shorts, his shoes and socks off as well, laying on top of his sleeping bag. I got into mine with all of my clothes on, only taking off my shoes. Mike laughed at me, asking if I wasn't hot. Gingerly, I took my shirt off.
"That's it?"
He asked. I bit my lip.
"You have your pants on."
I pointed out. He nodded in accession and promptly took off his shorts, revealing his ever famous white underwear. My eyes traveled the forest of body hair down his chest and to his waistband, where it was broken by the white line before being resumed on his legs. He had incredibly hairy legs.
"Now it's your turn."
I took a shaky breath.
"I don't think I can do this."
I said, quietly.
"That's what you said before. But you did."
"Michael," I responded, exasperated, "I don't understand what's going on. Do you really want me to do something?"
"Yeah, take your pants off, bro."
"Please."
I whispered. Michael reached over and unzipped my sleeping bag. I was already erect, which gave him a little smirk. I could tell he thought he was hot shit, which kind of pissed me off. He unbuttoned my pants and started to slowly unzip them, smiling at me in his cocky way. I grabbed his hand to try and stop him; mine was shaking. He raised an eyebrow. All I could do was shake my head.
"You don't like me?"
He asked. I didn't respond, but I took my hand away. He didn't continue unzipping my pants but he didn't take *his* hand away either. He just stared at me, waiting for a response. He knew I liked him, I was sure that he did. For one thing, that had already been well established the other day. And anyway, how could I not? He was an incredibly handsome man. I was lucky as hell that any of this was happening, but I was also really scared. Would this change everything between us? What about ten years of friendship? And what was even happening anyway?
"You don't like me?"
He repeated his question. I gave an incredulous exhale.
"You know I do, Mike."
"So why don't you want to take your pants off?"
"I don't know. Cause what if... what if something happens?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know. I don't know what, but what if it means we can't be friends anymore. What then?"
Michael smiled at me and took his hand away.
"Can't live your life on what-ifs. You wanna take your pants off, or go to sleep? I'm cool either way."
It felt unfair because I didn't want to have to make a choice. And I guess I hesitated too long in trying to figure out what to do, because Michael started to pull his shorts back up.
"Wait!"
I hissed in quiet, but frantic shout, and jerked my pants down, exposing my striped boxers. Michael chuckled, with another cocky, self-assured smirk. Fuck, I hated that guy. He pulled down his briefs and his fat, flaccid, 6 inch cock lolled out onto his hairy thigh. I put my head in my hands.
"Come on, dumbass. Stop playing around. You know what comes next."
I did. I pulled my boxers down, my rock hard, 5 inch cock thwacking onto my stomach as it was freed from its prison. Michael smiled, and said 'nice'. It did feel good hearing that from my friend and the guy I'd crushed on for so many years. Did he really think my dick was nice? Did he think it was big enough? Did he like it? Did it excite him?
I wanted to ask him all of these questions, but I decided just to say,
"You think it's nice?"
Without sounding as desperate and impassioned as I really was.
"Absolutely. It's *really* nice, dude. I like it."
I smiled. I could feel precum start to leak out of my piss slit and drip down my head in response to the feeling on overwhelming warmth that accompanied being told by someone I liked so much that he thought my dick was nice. Not only that, but he liked it.
"Yours is great. It's really incredible!"
I said, unable to stop myself from sounding so excited. Michael kept looking at me with an expression that was almost totally inscrutable, but it was kind and tender.
"Do you want to put your hand on it?"
I froze. This was further than we'd gone before. Last time, we'd only shown each other, but we hadn't touched each other– not dicks, at any rate. Michael began to slowly stroke his enormous, heavy penis.
"Well? Do you? You can. I wouldn't mind. I'll touch yours too. If you want."
"Okay."
I reached over and placed my hand on his slowly engorging cock. It was very hot, like a heated blanket. It was like touching a giant slug. A very hot one.
"You can do more than that, Lance. You can jerk me off. You *do* know how, right?"
He teased, and although I knew he was teasing, I protested already, making sure he knew that I most certainly knew how to jerk off and, in fact, I'd prove it right then and there. I started to masturbate him, the bottom half of my hand getting buried in his thick, tall pubic hair when I'd get down to the base. As he began to get harder, his head became so bulbous that I didn't feel like I could easily put my hand over it, although the precum streaming down the sides of his huge erection made it a bit easier.
"Touch my balls. Please."
I obeyed, fondling his massive eggs, each hairy nut as big as my entire ballsack. I couldn't even imagine how much cum they must produce. Michael leaned his head back, exposing a sharp adam's apple dotted with five o' clock shadow, and moaned a drawn out, husky moan as I played with his immense nuts with one hand and jerked his gargantuan cock with the other. I could feel myself starting to slip away, falling under his spell, becoming obedient and pliant, ready to be molded into a good little servant boy in order that I might fulfill his every wish and command. I wanted to make him happy. That's all I wanted, and it's all i'd ever wanted, the rest of my life washed away in the frothy tide of his voluminous precum. He was awesome, he was handsome, he was masculine, he was virile, and he was dominant. He was the only thing that mattered, and I loved him.
He removed my hand from his dick, gingerly, and I stopped what I was doing and looked up at him, questioningly. He asked me if I wanted him to touch my dick. Truth be told, I wasn't worried about it, but I said he could. His hand was much bigger than my dick, and it felt almost comically tiny in his manly fist, but it felt unbelievable. He snickered as I shuddered and my hips bucked upward, taking his hand away so I wouldn't cum. I looked at him, eyes glazed over. I knew now that I had no hope of ever being anything other than his servant boy, and I only hoped he'd show mercy and take care of me nicely.
"Sorry."
"For what?"
"I dunno."
"Well, you didn't say it for no reason."
He replied. I felt ashamed, but I wanted to tell him the truth.
"Cause I have no experience. I'm kind of a loser. I've never done anything like this before. I didn't know it would feel so different from jerking off by yourself."
Michael grinned an evil little grin.
"You just wait until somebody sucks it," he said, "you'll really freak out then."
He rubbed the palm of his hand over my dickhead, making me shake involuntarily, and chuckled at my pain.
"You really are a virgin, huh?"
"Yeah. Sorry."
"So I guess your first time is with me, huh?"
"If you want it to be."
I whispered, almost in unbelief.
"Well. You've already got your dick jerked off by someone else for the first time. Could be some other first times as well."
I nodded, my head swimming.
"First time you suck a dick, for instance."
"Yeah."
I responded, breathlessly.
"Could even be the first time you get fucked. And there are other things that could happen as well."
"Like what?"
I couldn't think of anything else, didn't know of anything else you could do with another guy besides kissing, and I was sure he didn't mean that. Michael shrugged.
"Who knows," he said, "but you could probably find out. Wanna?"
I nodded quickly. He ran his hand through my hair, softly.
"Well, you can suck my dick if you want, bud, but I'm not sucking yours. I'm sorry dude, but I'm not putting another guy's cock in my mouth. You still want mine in yours?"
"Yeah!"
The excitement was written plain as day on my face, and I think Michael really liked how happy I was to do all this, how extremely turned on I was by everything about him. I think it made him feel like he was just the coolest guy in the entire world, which he was. And he could have just stopped and let me suck him off, but Michael was a really nice guy, and he continued to play with my dick even though he didn't have to. I wondered if that was because he wanted to make me feel good and good about myself, or if he really liked my dick. I couldn't tell if he liked girls or guys or both. All I knew was that he was touching my dick and it felt really good. But every time I started to breathe really fast and looked up at the top of the tent, feeling like I was about to be sucked up and out of it into the dark, night air, he'd stop. Then start again.
"Michael?"
I asked, finally.
"Who do you think?"
He retorted.
"Do you actually, really like my dick?"
"Yep."
"I'm serious."
I almost whined. He looked at me with a bit of a difficult expression on his face.
"Why do you ask that? I said I do. I do."
"Yeah, but I mean... do you like it because you want me to feel good or because it makes you hard?"
He frowned.
"Neither. I like it because it's yours. And because it's hard cause of me. And cause it makes me feel like... like I like it! I don't know, Jesus. I like it, okay? I like your dick. You fucking idiot. Suck my cock."
He said that last thing more like an insult than a request of desire. I apologized.
"It's just that I feel insecure. And I wanted to know. That's all. And I like you. And I love you, and I want to suck your cock."
Mike grabbed my hand in between both of his and told me to shut up, pulling his underwear and shorts back up. I felt scared, like I was gonna cry.
"Are you mad at me?"
I asked, as he got up and unzipped the tent. He turned back toward me, shaking his head and laughing.
"No, dude. I have to take a piss."
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