It was almost midnight when I heard a knock on the door, quick and a little uncertain. I opened it. And froze.
Jon.
He stood there with a backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing a black sweatshirt with a white T-shirt sticking out from underneath. His hair was tousled, as if he had been through the wind and his own nerves. His eyes were tired, but fixed on me.
“Hey,” he said simply. “Can I...?”
He didn't have to finish. I stepped aside and let him in. He walked past me in silence, smelling of something familiar, his deodorant, with a slight hint of sweat that only intensified the scent.
He threw his backpack on the floor and sat down on the couch as if he had sat there hundreds of times before. But he had never slept here. This was my space. And now he was suddenly here.
“What happened?” I asked quietly, sitting down opposite him.
He shrugged, but not completely indifferently. More like someone who doesn't want to break down right away.
“She kicked me out,” he said. “Today. Everything fell apart.”
I looked at him for a moment. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing shallow. Through the thin fabric of his sweatshirt, I could see his chest heaving. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. His body was tense, as if he didn't know if he was about to fall apart.
“Jon,” I said gently. “You can stay here as long as you need to. Okay?”
He looked at me gratefully. Maybe even with something more. I don't know. Maybe I wanted there to be more. But I didn't think about it out loud then. Not yet.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Really.”
We were silent for a moment. But I felt that this wasn't the end of the story.
Jon sat on the couch, his legs tucked under him, his sweatshirt slightly slipped off one shoulder. I looked at him, trying to read something on his face. He was never the type to talk much. More the type to keep everything inside until he finally exploded or disappeared.
“What exactly happened?” I asked.
He didn't answer right away. He lowered his head and ran his hand down the back of his neck.
“We had a fight,” he began. “Actually, I started it. I asked her if she'd ever had any thoughts about women. You know, just out of curiosity.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“And?”
He shrugged.
“She made a big deal out of it. So I told her that I sometimes wondered what it would be like with a guy.”
There was silence.
I felt my body react faster than my head. It was as if something had clicked inside me, my stomach muscles tensed, my thighs tightened, my pulse quickened. I looked at him and tried not to let him see that his words had triggered something I shouldn't be feeling.
“And she dumped you for that?” I asked.
Jon looked me straight in the eye.
“She said it was disgusting. That she didn't want to sleep with someone who wondered what it was like to have a dick in his mouth.”
Something tightened in my throat. Maybe anger, maybe regret. Maybe pure adrenaline, which pierced my consciousness along with the images I was trying to chase away.
“And you?” he asked suddenly. “What do you think about it?”
I stammered. But only for a second.
“I think you're honest. And that it's fucking brave.”
Jon looked at me for a moment. Something was changing in his gaze. As if he was weighing something. Or judging. But not me, himself. And what he could do next.
My heart was pounding like crazy. Because I knew this wasn't just a normal conversation anymore. That something had started here that couldn't be undone.
We sat next to each other. Awkwardly close for two friends who, just a few days ago, had been talking about the gym and stupid memes. Jon had his legs stretched out, his calves tense under the sweatpants. His arm was lightly touching mine.
“Can I ask you something?” he said suddenly.
“Sure.”
“What's it like... to give a blow job?” he said with such calmness, as if he were asking about the ingredients of a protein shake. But his voice was slightly hoarse.
I hesitated, but only for a moment.
“It depends on the guy,” I replied. “But... in general? You feel his taste, his weight, his warmth. His breath when he starts breathing faster. The tension in his thighs. His fingers on your head. That's all.”
I glanced at him. He was looking ahead, but the relaxation had disappeared from his jaw. Something was tensing inside him.
“And do you do... other things?” he asked. “Like... have you ever licked someone's ass?”
I blinked. His honesty surprised me. But in a good way.
“Yes,” I admitted quietly. “And honestly? It's one of the most exciting experiences you can have. Intimate. Controlling. And damn clean, contrary to what people think.”
He didn’t look at me. But his hand moved along his thigh. It seemed like an unconscious gesture, but I saw his fingers pause for a moment near his crotch.
“And... getting fucked?” he whispered. “Does that really feel good?”
I swallowed.
“If someone knows what they're doing?” I said. “It can be... fucking intense. You feel everything.”
The room was quiet, but my body was loud. My heart was pounding. My cock was throbbing. And Jon?
I glanced at his pants. The fabric was tight. Clearly. He wasn't hiding it. But he was still sitting motionless, as if he didn't know what to do with it.
And then he asked:
“If I wanted you to show me something... would you do it?”
He was still sitting the same way, sideways to me, stretched out on the couch, as if we were talking about nothing. But this was no longer a normal conversation. Not after those questions. Not after the way he was tensing up. Not after the way his cock was almost tearing through the fabric of his sweatpants.
He looked me in the eyes.
“If I... ever wanted to try,” he began. “I don't know, anything. For someone to show me. So I could understand... what it's like. Would you...?”
He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him. My whole body was tense. My shoulders, my abs, even my thighs felt tight, like just before a shot goes off. If I moved even a little, I’d probably explode.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “Of course I would.”
There was no doubt about it. And he knew it.
There was silence. But it was different than before.
Jon leaned back, making himself more comfortable. I could see him moving his hips, as if looking for a place. The fabric of his pants tightened even more. He didn't cover himself. He didn't say anything. He just closed his eyes.
As if he wanted to imagine something.
And I sat there. I didn't touch him. I didn't move closer. I just watched.
And I felt my whole body tremble. With pure, stifling excitement. So strong that it hurt. I wanted to grab him at that moment. Kiss him. Touch him. Pull his hair. Show him everything he asked for.
But I just nodded. Gently.
“Take your time,” I said. “But if you ever... just say the word.”
He didn't answer.
But he didn't have to.
This is just the beginning.
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