Does The End Justify The Means?
[Meta: My name is John Thomas. The name of the boy who’s training John (me) to be his fuckboy is Eric Svalberg. In the previous chapter, Eric introduced John to having his mouth fucked for the first time (but no deep throating.) In this chapter, we find out whether or not “the end justifies the means” (John’s end, and Eric’s means, that is.)]
Woke up just after 8:30 am. It was Sunday morning. My mother could be heard getting breakfast. I headed to the bathroom to take care of the morning’s biological necessities, including taking a shower. The fact that Eric would be coming over again was not far from my thoughts. While showering, I meditated deeply on my feelings about Eric, and the events of the previous Friday and Saturday.
Shower completed, teeth brushed, and new clothes donned, I went to the kitchen, where mother was just setting breakfast on the kitchen table (more of a dinette area; we lived in an apartment, after all): Bacon, scrambled eggs and coffee—my favorite breakfast, if I don’t have to make it myself (later in life, I learned how to cook, and as you might guess, I have become quite adept at preparing this particular meal.)
I mentioned to my mom that Eric would be coming over again today. She asked what we planned to do, so I told her about the fact that Eric wanted me to teach him how to play pool better than at the absolute novice level at which he currently played.
She then asked me whether he was also a chess player (my best friend in the city we had moved from last Summer was just as good at chess as I was; I didn’t have anyone like that in my life in this new city.) I had to tell her that I had no idea; we hadn’t discussed it, but that now that she’d mentioned it, I’d have to ask him. I thought to myself that I hoped the answer was ‘yes’—not just because I needed him as a worthy opponent, but because I needed playing chess to be a worthy excuse to give to others as a plausible explanation for the fact that Eric and I would be spending spending time with each other—assuming that that was going to be the case.
Eric and I did need a good excuse, for my mom and for his parents—and potentially, for his friends—for our new relationship. Other than chess and pool, nothing came immediately to mind. Perhaps Eric would have a good idea about that? I thought that my mother, and Eric’s parents, would buy the story that I was teaching Eric how to play Expert level chess—but Eric might not be into chess, at all. One more thing to discuss with him, once he arrived.
At least I no longer had any real doubt that he’d show up this morning, unlike yesterday.
After my mom had left for work, I impatiently waited for Eric to arrive. During that time, I ruminated over where things between me and Eric would likely go, and where I wanted them to go. I began to realize that I was conflicted: I was apprehensive that Eric would want to go where I would not be willing to follow, but also that he would bail on our relationship due to my reticence to “go there.”
If it came down to it, would I be willing to “go there”? As I knew Eric would say, shouldn’t I at least give it a try? As I was deep in thought and introspection about such matters, there was knock on the door. Looking at the clock, I saw that it was just past 10:20 am. I stood up, went to the door, and opened it.
And there was Eric, his wide grin and smiling face beaming at me like a sunrise. “Hi, Babe!”, he said, stepping into the room as I made way for him.
“Hi,” I responded—reserved, relative to his enthusiastic greeting. I hadn’t yet decided where I wanted to go with this relationship, what I wanted to do. That indecision and/or uncertainty was reflected in my demeanor, and he picked up on it:
“Aren’t you glad to see me?”, he pouted.
“It’s not that”, I said. “It’s just that…well, I guess….hmmm….I’m having trouble deciding how I feel about everything, what my boundaries are, what I want them to be. I just don’t know how far I’m willing to go down the path you seem to want to take me.”
“Can’t say I’m all that surprised to hear that. This is all very new for you. And…well, I kinda fucked up the first act of the play. I know that…and…I’m sorry. Very sorry. John…you deserved..and deserve..better,” he said contritely. “Perhaps…we should talk about what’s actually troubling you, what you’re afraid of”, he added.
“Maybe that would help,” I replied, sitting again on the same couch as yesterday, and motioning for him to sit. He sat in the same chair as yesterday—just like school students sit at the same desks day after day, out of some sort of habit or instinct.
“Out with it, man. What’s worrying you?”, he asked.
“Oof”, I said. “Several things, I guess. Will I be willing to go as far sexually as you want to take me? And if I do that, just to give it a try, will I be willing to keep doing it? And if not, will you be willing to stay in the relationship?”
Eric stared at me for a minute, with a thoughtful expression on his face. Finally, he said:
“Well, the good news there is that that means you want the relationship to continue, yeah?”
That was true, but I hadn’t made the connection consciously. So having him point that out to me was a bit of surprise. So I replied:
“OK, that’s true, I guess.” He then continued:
“It also means you’re in the same place you were on Friday: Unsure that you really wanted to do, for real, the things that you’ve been fantasizing about. The only thing that’s changed is which sex acts you haven’t tried yet. So I’ll give you the same advice as before: Just keep pushing past your ignorance, until you either reach the end of the road, or find a boundary you either don’t want to cross, or don’t want to stay on the other side of.”
“Somehow, I knew you’d say something like that”, I replied, with a slight smile.
“OK, so what’s the problem, then?”, he replied.
“I guess….I don’t want to lose what we already have”, I replied.
“I see”, he said. “Well, I can’t promise you that that won’t happen. Just like you, I don’t know what MY boundaries are, or will be, either. I don’t know what I’ll be willing to accept, to live with, as far as whatever limits you decide you’re not willing to go past—partly because neither of us even knows what those are, yet. But what I can say is that I, also, don’t want to lose what we have. Does that help?”, he asked.
After a moment of reflection, I found out that it did help. A lot, actually.
“Yeah, thanks Eric. That actually does help”, I told him.
“Good!,” he replied. “I just want to add that, for me, this is now about more than just sex. If it were only about sex, I’d have been able to tell you exactly how far you’d have to go to keep me around. Still, the farther you’re willing to go, the happier we’ll both be, I think. Actually, I’m quite confident about that.”
“Sounds like your plan is to just keep going deeper down the sexual rabbit hole, until I’m not willing to go any further”, I commented.
“Pretty much”, he said. “And don’t worry: I’m highly motivated to be VERY patient about it.”
“Well, in that case, there are some…’administrative’ matters we need to discuss”, I told him
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“What do we tell our parents? How do we explain to them how and why we met? Why we spend so much time together?”, I asked.
“Uh….yeah,” he said. “That might be sort of a problem,” he agreed.
“Well, we could claim I’m teaching you to play pool better. That will probably work OK for your parents—at least for a while—but not so well for my mother: If she’s home, and we’re also here, she’ll know whether or not we’re playing pool. By the way, she will be home for the next two days: Monday and Tuesday, which are her days off. The only other thing I can think of is claiming that I’m teaching you to play chess like an Expert,” I offered.
“Hmmm….”, he said. “I see your point about playing pool—although, on the days your mother is home all day, we’ll be at school until at least 3:10 pm, and my parents won’t be home for about 3 hours afterwards, so we can mess around at my house.”
“True enough”, I said. “However, if that’s how we do things, then our parents will eventually notice that we spend a lot of our time together, alone, at whichever home where there are no parents currently present”, I warned.
“So…we need to spend some time together when our parents are also there with us? Is that what you’re saying?”, he asked.
“Exactly”, I replied.
“And that means we need to be doing something that explains why we’re spending so much time together”, he concluded.
“Now you’re getting it”, I said. “So, how much interest do you have in playing chess? And even if you would be interested in chess—or would be willing to pretend you are—would that be out of character? Would your parents be suspicious?”, I asked.
“I suck at chess”, he replied. “And yeah, that would be very out of character for me.”
“So, we both ‘suck,’ just at different things”, I joked. He laughed.
Just then, an idea occurred to me: “How is your school work? Your grades? Are there any subjects where you need help, tutoring? And do your parents know it?”, I asked.
“Yes!”, he replied: “Math!”
A huge smile slowly formed on my face: “I can definitely help you with that,” I said. “What math course are you currently taking?” I asked.
“Algebra 2,” he replied.
“No problem,” I assured him. “I’m currently taking pre-calculus.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he replied.
I laughed, and said: “You’re the one with a college professor as a father and a law clerk as your mother. My mom’s just a cosmetician”, I said.
“So what did your father do for a living?”, he asked.
“He served as a Lt. Colonel in the Army during World War II. He had a degree in accounting, and so worked as an accountant until his death, almost a year ago, now”, I told him. “After his death, my mother got a letter from President Nixon, thanking him for his service…as an agent for the CIA. My mother and I had had no idea about that.”
“Oh. That sort of explains a few things,” he said. “The CIA don’t hire no dummies.”
“I had never thought about it like that”, I replied.
“Did you think your father was unusually smart?”, he asked.
“Yes. Definitely. He taught me a LOT. He’s the one who taught me to play chess, starting at age 3. We used to have so many deep discussions about things. I really miss him…very, very much”, I said. Just thinking about him makes me sad, all these decades later. There’s a reason that James Blunt’s song, “Monsters,” affects me so profoundly. The “money quote” from the lyrics of that song, “It’s my turn to scare the monsters away,” hits me like a ton of bricks, every time I hear it.
“Well, there you go”, he remarked. “But now it’s my turn to be the Daddy, and teach you some things, too.” I’m sure he had no idea how his saying that got to me. I actually was deeply moved, amused, and aroused—all at the same time—by his claim to the role of ‘Daddy.’
“OK then. What’s the plan for today?”, I asked.
“I’d like to switch it up, and try anal instead of oral”, he replied with a smile.
Getting anally fucked was what I usually fantasized about, when I would fantasize about having sex with guys. But it was also the main thing I was afraid of. So, having learned that Eric was both knowledgeable about sex with guys, and also very honest with me on such matters, I asked:
“What do I need to know about that? What should I expect to experience?”
“Which do you want first? The good news? Or the bad news?”, he asked.
“Start with the bad news”, I replied.
“Thanks to my size, when my dick penetrates your sphincter for the first time, it will hurt like hell for a minute or so. But the pain will gradually become far less intense over the next few minutes. More importantly, it will never hurt that bad again. Every time I fuck your ass, both the initial pain of entry, and the residual pain that will always be there, will become less and less, until it reaches a minimum that it won’t go below. But that minor pain won’t bother you, at all”, he stated.
“What’s a ’sphincter”, I asked. Did I mention how sexually naive I was? Do I need to remind you how difficult it was for a child—even one who was 18, and living with his or her parents—to get much information on sexual topics in 1974, when there was as yet no publicly-accessible internet? (DARPA research projects don’t count, yo!)
“Oh: A sphincter is a muscle at the boundary between your ass and your rectum. Its purpose is to help you keep your shit inside your rectum, until you want to let it pass out of your body,” he explained.
“Ah. I know about that; I just hadn’t known what it was called.” I had lived a relatively sheltered life up to this point, and so had never had occasion to encounter that word before.
“That’s not uncommon,” he noted. “It’s a medical term.”
“OK. So what’s the good news?”, I asked.
“With one exception, the pleasure of being fucked in the ass will be greater than the pain—even the first time you get your ass fucked. The exception will be the pain of initial entry—and even that will be less than the pleasure, once your ass has been fucked enough times. And with a dick the size of mine, wielded by someone like me who knows what he’s doing, the pleasure after initial entry will be much greater”, he explained.
“Is that why guys with big dicks are so popular?”, I asked.
“Yep,” he replied. “But for anally fucking a female, the optimal dick size is smaller than it would be for a male”, he noted.
“And why is that?”, I asked.
“Because of the prostate gland”, he replied.
“I’ve heard of that, but I don’t know much about it,” I commented.
He explained:
“Well, first of all, only males have a prostate gland—so females will never get the same pleasure from getting fucked in the ass that a guy will.
Secondly, the prostate gland produces the seminal fluid--which, when combined with sperm, is what constitutes semen. That’s why the prostate gland has nerves that, when manipulated, produce sexual stimulation, which can be strong enough to cause an orgasm—without even any need to have your dick directly stimulated.
Thirdly, the prostate gland can be easily prodded or massaged, even by a finger inserted into the rectum, to say nothing of a dick—especially one the size of mine.
You just have to know how to use your dick to prod the prostate of the guy you’re fucking, while you’re pounding his ass.”
“I take it that having someone prod your prostate doesn’t hurt?”, I asked.
“That’s right. Actually, you’re gonna LOVE it! After your first time, you’ll almost certainly want to do it again. And I don’t mean that you’ll merely be willing”, he said, with a mischievous smile.
My reply: “OK, Eric. I trust you. So let’s do this.”
I then stood up, and headed for my bedroom. He followed me there, without any prompting. But then he exclaimed, “FUCK! I’m an idiot!”
“What’s the problem?”, I asked.
“I forgot to bring any lube!”, he replied.
“So, what do we do about that, then?”, I asked.
He looked at me, obviously in thought, and then asked, “Would you happen to have any Crisco?”
“Probably”, I replied. “In fact, knowing my mom, I’d be quite surprised if we didn’t”, I answered.
“Get it”, he commanded.
So, I went to the kitchen, searched in the most likely place to find such a thing, and found it in the first place I looked. Also in the last place, so that rule wasn’t broken. 😀
I returned to the bedroom with a can of Crisco, and handed it to Eric.
“God bless your mother”, he said, smiling.
“Now what?”, I asked.
“Get naked, Babe”, he replied. He began to take off his own clothes.
You’d think that doing the same would have been easy for me, given what had been happening between me and him ever since Friday afternoon (almost two whole days ago, now,) and also given the fact that I figured he had probably seen me naked standing at my locker in the high school gym, while I gawked at him jacking himself in front of everyone in the locker room that day, but that would be incorrect. The fact that I had admitted to him, during our initial conversation in the school cafeteria, that I wasn’t well endowed, also made no difference: My aversion to having anyone see me nude was VERY strong—and still is, actually.
Don’t ever let anyone tell you that “size doesn’t matter.” Whether it matters to any particular sexual partner is absolutely irrelevant—or at least it is if you’re a male with a small dick. Self image is absolutely CRITICAL when it comes to sex, and any psychiatrist, doctor or sex expert who thinks otherwise is clinically delusional.
Having to get naked five days a week for PE at school changes NOTHING. All that accomplishes is teaching you how to dissociate. It does not desensitize you. Or at least, not in my case. And I strongly suspect, not for most other guys who aren’t well-endowed, either—no matter what they might claim.
So, I hesitated. He soon noticed. But, unlike most people who don’t have my same problem, he understood: He walked up to me in his underwear, took me in his arms, looked into my eyes, and asked, “You’re embarrassed? Because of your small size?”
I nodded ‘yes.’
“Babe,” he said. “I actually PREFER my male partners to have a small dick. It enhances the feeling of dominance I get from fucking a guy. It also lets me feel good about sharing my dick with them. Especially in your case, I want you to think of it as your dick: It lets you vicariously experience having a big dick of your own, because you belong to me, and I belong to you. I’ve got all the dick you’ll ever need, Babe.
And I hope it helps inspire you to actually worship my dick…’cause that’s what I want you to do: I like it when my partner worships my dick. Just like I worship your ass…which I really want to see, by the way: You have an ass to be proud of. Betcha didn’t even know that, didya?”
“You really like my ass?”, I asked.
“Yeah, man. I’ve been lusting after it ever since Friday. Please don’t torture me by hiding it from me any longer”, he begged.
My mind boggled. I just looked at him, processing what he had just said. So, responding to my silence, he continued:
“Would you like me to undress you? Would that help?”
“Yes”, I said simply. So that’s what he did. As he was doing so, it occurred to me that having him undress me helped, not just because I didn’t have to take positive action to expose myself, but more because it demonstrated interest and desire by Eric. That issue was really at the root of how I felt, although that insight only occurred to me later in life. I now think that that insecurity was a significant part of the reason I was willing—even eager—to submit to Eric’s desires.
Once we were both nude, he said, “OK. Next step is for both of us to shower together.”
“I already showered this morning”, I informed him.
“Doesn’t matter. Cleanliness is required. You’ll see why that is, soon enough”, he said.
“OK, you’re the expert”, I replied.
So we went to the bathroom. Once we got there, he immediately spotted the enema bottle that was hanging from a hook on the wall. He asked me whether that belonged to my mother. I told him that it did.
“Does she keep it clean?”, he asked.
“I think so. She’s had me use it when I’ve gotten constipated in the past. Just a few months ago was the last time, actually”, I replied.
“Well, you really should use it now”, he said.
“Why?”, I replied.
“Because otherwise, having a big dick invade your poop chute is very likely to make a nasty mess, that neither one of us would enjoy cleaning up”, he said. “And if we don’t do a good clean up job, your mother will probably notice it: Just throwing a shit-stained towel in the laundry hamper would be a huge give away”, he advised.
“Oh. Right”, I said.
“We could still do it without an enema, but we can totally avoid one of the major downsides of anal sex if we get your rectum cleaned out first,” he explained.
“So I should clean myself out using an enema bag every time, before you fuck my ass?”, I asked.
“You got it”, he replied. So I thoroughly cleaned the enema bottle, and its applicator, filled it with warm water from the faucet, and then used it to clean myself out. Seeing the results, I fully grokked why it had been a good idea. But it did feel kind of weird having him watch while I took care of all that, but that didn’t stop me.
After that, we showered together. It was the first time I had ever showered with anyone privately and intimately, like that. He washed me very thoroughly, including my ass and genitals, and then had me do the same to him. That actually helped to get me comfortable with the idea of having him “touch me there.”
After having showered, we dried ourselves off, and returned to my bedroom. Then, he had me lay down on my bed on my back—with my head and feet normally positioned, unlike the previous day (he didn’t forget to specify the desired positioning, this time.) I had imagined that the next step would be that he would insert his cock into my ass, but I was quite wrong about that:
First, he instructed me to spread my legs. Then, I watched, in stunned shock, as he knelt down on his knees at the foot of the bed, and started sucking my dick. It’s not that I wasn’t OK with that, it’s that it emphatically violated my expectations regarding what he’d ever be willing to do, let alone about what steps would be involved in having someone fuck me in the ass. I told him so.
He stopped sucking my dick to explain that, for him, it was standard procedure. He told me that, even when fucking a girl, he would always perform oral sex on her pussy. The point of doing that was twofold, he explained: One reason was to sexually stimulate his partner, to get him or her more sexually aroused, and therefore more open, relaxed and ready to be fucked. The other reason was to demonstrate reciprocity [no, he didn’t use that term, he gave an explanation using a few sentences, but once I heard it, I realized that he was just trying to say ‘reciprocity,’ but didn’t know the word; I’ve done the same sort of translations of his actual words throughout the story.]
What he did next shocked me even more: He spread my legs wide, bent down, and started licking my asshole! And then, even sucking on it! I had heard the expression, “Eating ass” (and other similar phrases,) but I had never imagined that people actually did any such thing! I let him know that, too.
He explained that, yet again, it was his standard procedure, for similar reasons.
He asked: Did I not find it pleasurable? Did it not stimulate me sexually?
I admitted that it did. He asked me to trust him, that he knew what he was doing, and that, given his size, and my anal virginity, that we’d both be much happier if we didn’t skip this step. I had to admit (to myself) that what he was doing was getting me massively horny. I noticed that my asshole was actually twitching in apparent expectation.
Then, he opened the can of Crisco, put a generous dab on the index finger of this right hand, and proceeded to smear it over my asshole. So now, finally, he would be inserting his dick into my asshole. Right?
Wrong! He inserted the index finger of his right hand there, instead. And then he sort of fucked me with his finger. I was surprised to discover that having my asshole finger-fucked actually was sexually stimulating. Then, he started sucking on my dick again, while he was still finger-fucking my asshole. Soon, he started using two fingers to finger-fuck me. And he also went in deeper, and touched something inside me that felt really good.
“Is that my prostate”, I asked. “Sure is”, he replied, having temporarily stopped sucking my dick. “You like that?”, he asked.
“Yes sir”, I assured him. He gave me a big smile. “Are you beginning to trust me, now?” he asked. I nodded ‘yes.’
After a while, he escalated to three fingers. And then to four. During this process, he would occasionally add more Crisco to the fingers he was using to finger-fuck me.
He also paid attention to the level of my sexual arousal: He would start and stop sucking on my dick, apparently based on whether he thought I was getting close to orgasm. He didn’t explain what he was doing, he just did it—and I managed to figure out the reason without needing an explanation. I did ask him about it later, and he confirmed my analysis.
“I had no idea that anal sex would be this complicated, and take this long to even get to the main event,” I said.
“It’s taking this long because you’re a virgin to anal sex, and because my dick is so big,” he said. “And normally, the guy who’s going to be fucked in the ass gets himself all cleaned up and ready to go before his partner is even present and ready to go”, he added. “But you didn’t know to do all that, and I forgot to tell you: I’m used to partners who already know what to do.”
“Is that also why you forgot to bring lube?”, I asked.
“Probably,” he said. “My experienced partners all want—well, wanted; I don’t have any of those, now—to be ass fucked. And so they always took responsibility to have all the needed supplies, and to do all the things that could be done without my having to be there,” he said.
“I see. That sort of explains things, I guess”, I replied.
“I’m pretty sure you’ll be just like them. Not because I make you, but because you’ll just want to”, he stated.
I was beginning to suspect that he was right. But I wouldn’t know that for sure until the deed we were about to do had been done.
He went back to finger-fucking me, and sucking on my dick.
Eventually, he said, “I think it’s time. Please don’t forget that this is going to hurt really, really bad for a minute or so, but that it will never hurt that bad again. And just focus on the fact that the pain will be a lot less in just a few minutes.
Actually, you should know that the slower I do the insertion, the longer the pain will last, but the faster I do it, the more intense the pain will be. I’m totally willing to go real slow, and be real gentle, or go really fast, or anywhere in between. To the extent possible, I’ll try to give you full control. You just have to give me clear, and timely, instructions.”
“Sort of like choosing whether to pull a bandaid off gradually, or all at once”, I stated.
“Yeah, sort of like that”, he replied.
“I always pull bandaids off slowly”, I said.
“OK. Then I’ll go slow. But don’t forget that you can change your mind at any time. Just let me know.”
With that, he stood up, had me scoot up a bit, spread a big dab of Crisco all over his dick, lifted my legs up and back, spread them wide, got on his knees on the bed where my legs had been, and placed the head of his huge dick at the entrance to my now very ready asshole. I realized that I really, really wanted this, but I was also quite apprehensive about the pain I had been warned about.
“Be careful what you ask for; you may get it”, I thought to myself.
He began to slowly press the head of his dick against my asshole. It began to penetrate, but there was resistance. I assumed that the resistance was due to the width of his tool, and to the normal behavior of my sphincter. There didn’t seem to be hardly any pain…yet. But as he continued to very slowly push his dick further and further in, the feeling of having my asshole stretched wide became ever more prominent. And I did begin to feel some pain.
The pain, and the felling of having my asshole split open, gradually became more intense, as he continued to slowly push his dick into my “poop chute” (as he had called it, earlier.) It actually wasn’t more than a few minutes before the pain had become quite intense. I grimaced. He noticed, and then backed out.
“Just relax”, he said. He gave me a minute to do that, before he started up again. While waiting to resume, he applied more Crisco to both my ass and his dick.
It didn’t take him as long, this second time, to get the same depth of penetration he had reached the first time. Once there, he stopped again, and just waited for a minute or so. The pain did seem slightly less, I noticed. But I was still grimacing. So he pulled out again.
After applying yet more Crisco, he repeated the procedure for a third time. Again, there was slightly less pain than there had been the previous time.
“Hmmm…The pain is intense, but it’s not actually as bad as I had imagined it would be, based on his description”, I thought to myself.
But then, he said: “OK. I can’t do the next step slowly. And it’s this next step where the worst pain will be. But, if you’ll start trying to use your ass muscles to push my dick out of your ass, just like you’d do if you were straining to get a turd out, the pain will actually be less.”
I thought that that was weird. But I trusted him, now, so I did what he said. He responded by increasing the force he was applying to penetrate my ass, and his dick immediately broke past the resistance. He immediately stopped pushing, and just held position. And the pain was quite severe…but still not quite as bad as I had feared. For some strange reason, in spite of the very intense pain, I found the situation to be quite sexually arousing. The combination of the pain with the mostly-psychological pleasure fascinated me.
After about a minute, he slowly pushed his dick all the way home. Going deeper didn’t make the pain any worse. In fact, the pain decreased just a tad, but the physical pleasure significantly increased. Again, he held position for about a minute, but then completely withdrew.
“You OK?”, he asked me.
“Yeah”, I said, and nodded.
“It will never be that bad, again”, he told me.
He entered me again, slowly going balls deep. And sure enough, it didn’t hurt as much. Then he began thrusting in and out of my ass—actually fucking. He was also angling his thrusts so that his dick was attacking my prostate. Wow! I realized that the pleasure was at least as great as the pain. It wasn’t long before the pain had subsided enough that there was no question that the pleasure was significantly more intense than the pain. The pain continued to lessen.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t also mention the fact that psychological impact of being fucked like that—of being sexually dominated, especially by a dick of Eric’s size—was also huge (pun intended.) He had promised that I’d “LOVE it.” And I found that I did. I didn’t want it to end. And I’d definitely want to do it again.
He kept fucking for maybe 10-15 minutes, but then I came: It was the most powerful orgasm I had ever experienced--it was mind blowing; neither he nor I had been touching my dick. My orgasm made my ass muscles clench. It seemed that that was enough to trigger Eric’s own orgasm. Once he had finished coming—which, based on what I could feel inside, was a massive dump of semen—he held position deep inside me.
“You did great, John!”, he said. And then he kissed me—and then he did it again, but he made it a long, continuous wet, sloppy kiss. It took my breath away. No one had ever kissed me like that before. The only kisses I had ever received until then had been little love pats from my mother, and other female relatives; I wasn’t an only child, but my only other sibling was a half-brother (my father’s first child,) who was 12 years older than I was. We almost never saw each other, but that was not because we didn’t like each other, or anything like that. But that’s a story for another time.
During the extended kiss, he had remained lodged deep inside me. Eric eventually broke off the kiss, and then asked me—while still balls-deep in my ass—“How does it feel to have lost your anal virginity?”
“You were right: I ‘loved’ it. And yeah, I’m gonna want to do it again,” I told him.
“Well then, your wish is my command,” he said. And so he began fucking me again; he had never fully lost his hard on; it came back to full strength quite quickly, once had had resumed thrusting. But now, he wasn’t as gentle. The speed, power and roughness of his fuck had me moaning and groaning. He was smiling. And I was enjoying every minute of it.
It took longer this time for him to come, but this time, he came before I did. In fact, I didn’t come again until after he had rested for a while—still balls deep in my ass—and had started fucking me silly again.
Wash, rinse, repeat a few more times, but with the in-between rest periods taking longer each time. The time-to-orgasm also got longer each time. But finally, he pulled out, and said, “Well, that will do it for now. Are you hungry?”
I was, actually. And I was also exhausted. I had never come so many times in a day before. I hadn’t even known that it was possible to do that. I eventually learned that Eric’s sexual stamina was, just like the size of his dick, quite exceptional.
We got up, showered, got dressed, and he and I jointly fixed lunch: Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and a glass of milk for each of us.
The time was just before 4 pm when we finished eating. We stared into each others’ eyes, with big smiles on our faces.
He surprised me by asking, “How about helping me with my math homework?”
“Sure”, I said. “Did you bring it with you?”
“Nah, we’d have to go to my place,” he said.
So off we trekked to his parents’ house.
[Meta: The story will be continued in the next chapter.]
