He called five minutes after nine in the morning, sounding as if he hadn't slept all night. "Dude... are you home? I'll drop by. I need to talk." And before I could even respond, I heard the call disconnect. It was typical of him: no context, no explanation, just a decision. But the tone... I knew that tone. Something was breaking inside him.
When I opened the door, Justin came in right away, as if he was afraid he would lose his courage otherwise. He was wearing a loose sweatshirt, his hand nervously slipping into his pocket, his gaze darting around the room as if looking for a place to put his thoughts. Only after a moment did he look up at me.
"Matt... there's something wrong with me."
He didn't say it half-jokingly, as he usually did.
He sat down on the couch. His back was stiff. His shoulders were tense. His lips were tight, as if he were choosing his words before he spoke.
"I thought it was just one girl." He exhaled in frustration. "Then another. A third. But... every time it's the same. The sex works. I come. Everything should be great, right? Except that after it's over, my body... doesn't let go. At all. I feel more tense than before. Like I'm holding something inside and can't let it out."
I listened, but I also watched closely. Closed posture. Voice breaking at the end of sentences. Pulse visible under the skin of his neck. Typical of someone who has been having sex for years but has never really felt his body.
"It's not about the girls," I said calmly.
"It's a matter of your tension. How your body works when you try to come."
He looked at me with a mixture of relief and anxiety.
"And you can... fix that?"
"I can guide you through it." I sat down opposite him so he could feel that I was fully seeing him. "It's body awareness training. Not a quick trick. A process. A sequence of experiences. Each stage changes the way your body responds to pleasure."
He was silent for a moment, as if weighing the proposal. Then he nodded.
"I'll do whatever it takes. If I have to go through it step by step... I will."
His shoulders slumped a little. As if just saying it had already brought him relief.
I smiled slightly.
"Then we'll start with the basics. And don't worry, I'll guide you through everything."
Before we started, I asked him to stand up. Justin looked at me with his barely visible anxiety, but he did exactly what I asked. I liked that readiness in him, that need for someone to finally guide him the way his body had long needed.
"Take off your clothes," I said calmly, without hesitation. "All of them."
He didn't ask "why?" He didn't laugh nervously. He just started. First, his sweatshirt, thrown over the back of the couch. Then his T-shirt, slowly sliding down his shoulders. His breathing slowed, as if the act of undressing alone made him more present in his body. When he was left in his boxers, he looked at me questioningly, but I just raised an eyebrow.
He slid them off without a word.
His body stood before me, open but uncertain. His back slightly rounded, as if protecting his stomach. His thighs tense. His cock semi-erect, but still held in check by anxiety.
"Okay," I said quietly. "That's enough."
I moved two chairs to the center of the room, one opposite the other, close, closer than would be comfortable for anyone who didn't know what to expect. Justin watched my every move, as if trying to read what was in store for him.
"You sit here," I pointed to one. "And I'll sit across from you."
When he sat down, his knees were almost touching mine. I was close enough to feel the warmth of his skin, but I wasn't touching him yet. He had to understand the rules. He had to know why I was setting it up this way.
"In this position, I can see everything," I said calmly. "Your breathing. Your shoulders. The way you tense your thighs. The pace at which your pleasure builds.
His pupils dilated slightly.
"You are to look at me first and foremost. Don't look away. Don't lower your head.
He swallowed and nodded.
I leaned forward slightly so that he could feel the weight of my presence.
"We'll start with something simple. Masturbation. This isn't sex. It's diagnostics. I need to see how your body works."
He hesitated for only a second.
"I have... in front of you...?"
"Yes," I interrupted gently but firmly. "In front of me. Slowly. Don't pretend anything."
His breathing faltered. It was the moment of crossing the first boundary, the invisible but decisive one.
"Okay," he whispered. "Lead the way."
And that was exactly what I intended to do.
Justin sat naked in front of me, his knees slightly apart, as if he had to check first how much of this closeness he could bear. I could feel his breathing, too fast, too shallow. That's always the first sign that the body isn't ready to accept pleasure, but is chasing it. I nodded, signaling him to begin.
His hand fell on his thighs, moved down until it finally touched his cock. At first, uncertainly, like he was testing the ground and then the movements took on that familiar mechanical quality. A rhythm that had more habit than feeling in it. His fingers clenched a little too tightly, his thumb moved faster than it should have, as if he were afraid of a break, afraid that if he slowed down, everything would fall apart.
It began to grow under his own touch, but he did it differently than guys who feel the body from the inside. With Justin, it was forced, driven by tempo, not impulse.
And I saw it right away.
His arms were raised, stiff as locked hinges. His neck was tense, the vein on his side pulsing in an unnatural rhythm. Instead of relaxing his hips, his thighs clung tightly together, as if he were trying to confine all the pleasure to a single point between his legs.
And most importantly: not a single micro-movement of the hips. As if his body didn't know that pleasure could flow, not just explode.
"Don't look down," I said calmly. "Look at me."
He looked up. And then I saw something else: shame mixed with relief. As if for the first time in his life, someone had really noticed what was happening in his body.
The pace of his hand would pick up in a moment, I knew it from the tremor in his breath. But for now, I let him go deeper into his pattern. I had to see the whole picture.
The erection was already full, hard, tense to the limit. Too fast. Too hard.
"Is this what it usually looks like?" I asked quietly.
He nodded without stopping.
"And you come the same way?"
"Yes... always like this..."
The tension was growing in my body too, I couldn't pretend that the sight of Justin touching himself a few inches from my knees didn't affect me. It did. More than I wanted to admit. But not now. Now I was his guide, not someone who gave in to impulses.
I watched him press his cock too hard, entering a trance. And I knew that if I didn't stop him, he would finish quickly, shallowly, and all the tension would remain in his body like a held breath.
That was the moment I had to take control.
I had to step in at the right moment, just before his body escaped into automatic mode, before he came again in a way that would leave only frustration. Justin's fingers tightened more and more, his arm tensed like a rope being pulled to its breaking point. A few more seconds and I would have lost him to that stage.
I reached out and placed my hand on his wrist.
"Stop."
He froze immediately. His hand stopped on his cock, but his fingers continued to tremble slightly. He looked at me as if interrupting him halfway was something more intimate than letting him come.
"Not like that," I said calmly, but with clear strength in my voice. "I'll show you the difference."
Gently but firmly, I moved his hand away. He allowed it without resistance, as if something inside him had been waiting for this moment. His hips moved forward slightly, as if his body was seeking contact that I had not yet given him.
I placed my hand on his cock, slowly, with the awareness of someone touching a mechanism that had yet to learn how to work. His breathing immediately changed tone, becoming deeper, uneven.
"Breathe in," I said. "And let your hips do the work."
I began to move my hand slowly. Too slowly compared to what he was used to. At first, Justin's body tried to adjust to the old rhythm, he tensed his thighs, pulled his shoulders up, wanted to speed up. But my presence was too close, too controlling for him to return to chaos.
"Slower than you think," I whispered. "And deeper than before."
My movements were fluid, synchronized with his breathing. Not with the breathing he had at the beginning, panicked and rapid, but with the breathing I was building for him. Each movement of my hand was a signal: "Feel more than just one point. Open your whole body."
From the side, it would have looked like nothing dramatic. Minimal hand movements, long pauses, awareness of pressure. But I could see what was happening inside him. His shoulders slowly dropped. His thighs trembled, but no longer with panic, with a deep, rising reaction. His hips began to follow my hand slightly, just as I wanted.
"That's right," I praised him quietly.
Justin closed his eyes, but I immediately put my hand on his cheek.
"Look at me."
He lifted his eyelids. And then I felt his whole body react to my guidance more strongly than it had reacted to his own hand. A smaller movement gave greater intensity. My touch organized his tension, redirected it, extinguished it where it was unnecessary.
I could feel his cock pulsing harder and harder under my fingers, the kind of tremor that doesn't come from the hand, but from a deep impulse in the pelvis. Justin tried to catch his breath, but each inhalation ended in a broken moan, as if his body was receiving signals for the first time that it couldn't yet name.
I didn't speed up the pace one bit. That's what was pushing him over the edge. His hips began to move on their own, his abdominal muscles tensed in waves, his shoulders trembled, but not like before, it wasn't tension from stress. It was pure, growing need.
"Breathe," I said quietly, guiding him further. "Don't tense up. Let it out. Don't hold anything inside."
That one sentence broke something in him.
His body slumped a little, as if he had stopped fighting. His eyes opened wide, looking at me as if he didn't recognize himself.
"Okay, Justin, I feel like it's about to happen."
My hand slid lower, holding him tighter, but still in that calm, deep rhythm. Justin clenched his hand on the edge of the chair, his hips rose sharply, his stomach tightened like a string, and then he shot.
A hot stream of cum shot straight onto my hand, the first, the second, the third, intense, longer than any before, not distorted by haste. His body trembled as if after a sprint, but in a way that finally looked like relief, not exhaustion. He moaned louder than he probably intended, raw, organic, real.
I held his cock the whole time until the last tremor passed through his thighs, hips, and stomach. Only then did I loosen my grip. I watched as his body slumped back into the chair, his arms finally not fighting, his chest rising more slowly, more fully than at the beginning.
He looked up at me, surprised, embarrassed, but also... lighter.
"That was... different," he whispered.
"Because for the first time, you let your body work the way it should. That's just the first level.
I wiped my hand on a towel, but I didn't take my eyes off his.
"Next time we'll go further. It will be more intense, more conscious. I'll teach you how to go deeper into the reaction."
Justin swallowed, as if he couldn't believe he already wanted more.
"What will happen... in the second stage?"
I smiled slowly, with the control that had guided this lesson from the beginning.
"My mouth, Justin. Next time, we'll work on your response to my tongue and my rhythm."
His body trembled, but this time it was a shiver of anticipation.
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