Archive-name: FirstGay/ftg004.txt

Archive-author: 

Archive-title: Finally, he was mine.





In the sixth grade I transferred to another school and was faced

with the usual problems of adjusting to new courses and teachers

and with trying to decide who of my new classmates I would like to

get to know better.  Even at age 10 I realised that I found no attraction

for girls, and that I held an unusual "admiration" for those boys

that seemed to stand out in my mind above the rest.  It was at the

end of my first week at school that I met Bobby.  We were always

friendly with one another but never close friends.  That was in the

sixth grade.

As elementary school passed into junior high, and that in turn became

those final four years, things changed.  By the eleventh grade Bobby

and I had somewhere along the way fallen into the same circle of

friends.  For some reason, none of us dated with any kind of frequency.

Actually, they were the ones that seldom dated.  I NEVER saw the

need for any sort of female companionship.  Over the years of junior

high, my sexual awareness and male oriented desires rapidly developed.

By the eleventh grade, I was pretty well experienced in most forms

of man loving activity.  I guess I was pretty lucky, as I never truly

experienced any sort of painful or guilt-ridden "coming-out" period.

For me, being gay was as natural as the development of my muscles

and the sprouting of thick, soft hair under my arms and around the

maturing dick I jacked-off so frequently.  All through that period

of growth also evolved an almost obsessive goal to one day take

Bobby to bed.  As our junior year progressed, I began to see a strong

possibility of getting what I wanted.

Our friendship grew very close to the point of often excluding our

other friends from our Friday and Saturday nights of party filled

mischief.  It wasn't uncommon for us to spend those nights together

at one or the other's house, so of course I had ample opportunity

to see him naked, often.  In fact, he really didn't care too much

for clothing, choosing to spend any reasonably safe time either alone

or with me in nothing but his underwear if even that.  God, was he

ever hot: a boyishly handsome face with piercing deep brown eyes,

thick dark hair, and that "all round athlete" type body that was

perfectly muscled.  But the ace of the whole package was his legs

and the cock that hung between them.  Strong, high arched feet supported

a pair of super-defined thickly formed calves and thighs.  If you

ever watch pro soccer then you get the idea.  We used to talk all

through the night and at first I actively contributed to the conversation

but would soon find myself looking up and down his legs, from the

feet slowly upward along the inside of his hairy legs, taking in

every detail of them, feeling my heart beat faster and my temperature

increase.  As he would be rambling on and on about who knows what

in a stoned or drunken haze, my eyes and imagination would be licking

the tops of his inner thighs, visualising my hands brushing back

and forth through the extra thick hair that was there cushioning

his free swinging sack of balls and that dick he loved to show off.

In the beginning, I don't think he realised that I would be sitting

or lying around near him getting hornier and hornier, always having

to devise some way to at least try to conceal my inevitable hard-on.

Hell, he saw us as just best friends, nothing implied by these long

fucked-up nights and nude caucuses.  We could talk to each other

about anything and sex was often a popular topic.  There was always

the juvenile mentions of this girl or that girl and that one's boobs

and this one's pussy.  He would talk and describe; I would occasionally

voice a token comment or two, but my real conversation wasn't with

regards to what he was saying.....I was talking to the prettiest

crotch in the world and patiently waiting for his thick hunk of dick

to respond.  And he never caught on.....at first.

One Saturday night near Christmas of that year we had gone home to

his house after a long night of partying.  We were pretty fucked

up, but much more high than drunk.  After a while of talking, listening

to music and whatnot, we decided to watch television, and that always

meant getting in bed and soon passing out.  Naked as usual, we climbed

in and started looking for something to watch.  Nothing.  A really

boring night on the tube.  I was feeling pretty grungy after hours

of partying, so I got up saying that I was going to go take a shower.

I think that I really planned to beat off, but the steam coming from

the hot water started feeling so good that I jumped on in and started

lathering up.  I pointed the nozzle away so I could get my crotch

really soapy and slick.  So there I was, yanking on my growing meat

with one hand and playing with my perked-tits with the other when

Bobby came barging in (I forgot that he wasn't too drunk and then

remembered how high and horny he seemed).  Over the water I heard

him saying that a shower didn't sound like a bad idea at all and

would I please hurry up.  What I couldn't see through the hot mist

and shower door was his cock, hard and rude, being firmly massaged

with his hand.  I quickly shut off the water, praying that my own

erection would subside enough to not lash out at him when I had to

reach for the towel.  When I opened the shower door, I saw Bobby

with his big legs spread wide, one foot propped-up on the seat of

the toilet, the other on the floor, and the best hard-on I had ever

seen him come up with oozing big thick strands of juice that slowly

dripped from his pisser, down his thighs, and onto the floor.  He

was just standing there, staring with a horny lust-filled look that

I had only hoped ever to see.  Watching him slowly pump the pre-

liminary jizz from his bulging rod, I either forgot or gave up on

any pretense of hiding my own cocked-toy.

"You look about like I feel," he said, increasing his hold and his

stroking.  "Why don't you come on out of the shower and see if we

can't `talk' about a few more things, like all the things we've never

let our dick's say to each other; I mean, mine's been wanting to

talk to your's for almost as long as your's has mine."

That son of a bitch.....for how long he had wanted the same thing

that I did, I really don't know....but I sure as hell didn't care.

He insisted on helping me out of the shower by grabbing me at the

base of my cock, his rough hand encircling my shaft and balls.

I was pulled out of the shower and into that heaven, touching his

sweaty, strong scented body, landing right between his legs, hard

horny crotch to hard horny crotch.  For a minute, we just stood there



Message #5

To: all

Subject: Part II



not hesitating, just magnifying each other's apparent months and

years of yearning and lust.  And then it really started.

I felt his arms starting to reach around and engulf me.  I didn't

waste a minute in doing the same.  My lips moved on to meet his.

We kissed hard and wet, letting our tongues eat each other out,

going in and out of our mouths, pulling back a little to see our

mouth cocks momentarily hold onto our hot spit before letting it

slowly drip down our chins and roll slowly down our bodies and start

wetting-up our already sticky crotches.  We pumped our pelvises as

far and as hard into each other as we could.  I pulled my mouth away

from his, aiming towards his armpits.  I couldn't wait to finally

really smell and taste Bobby after a long day of "jocking around"

and partying out.  That scent made my cock grow so fucking big I

thought I would soon explode...but I had to hold it back.  I wasn't

going to waste any of this first time.  We wrestled and tugged with

every part of our bodies as possible, finally falling to the floor

of the bathroom.  My head moved on to his tits and I sucked them

like no other starving baby could.  I let my thick spit pool-up

on his chest and then smeared it all over his chest and stomach,

eating out his belly's tight hole.  I felt his throbbing hunk of

meat pulsing under my chest and throat.  I was humping the hell out

of the tile floor.  As I moved on to my payoff, he swung himself

around and started tounging the tip of my dick, drinking as much

of the hot dripping prespunk as he could get.  I pushed my mouth

down hard on his cock, making it go in down to the hilt so I could

smell his heated crotch, just like I had fantasized for years.  He

bucked and bucked his meat in and out of my throat and then pulled

it out, commanding me to eat his balls, to get them wet and slimy,

to suck them till they turned blue.  I did.  All the while he was

getting hotter and faster with my piece of meat.  He ate the piss

slit like I had only imagined it could be done.  His tongue and lips

fucked that little hole, making the hottest mix of jizz and piss

to come spewing out at erratic intervals, infrequency turning to

steady streaming.  We were both getting so fucking hot.  Closer and

closer to coming.  Our bodies were bucking and pumping each other

in every part and hole possible.  Faster and faster our breathing

was coming.  Our bodies were convulsing in sex tensed spasms.  I

knew it and he knew it that IT, everything we were "shooting for"

was about to do just that.  In the strongest hold and the hottest

lip fucking kiss that either of us had ever dreamed of, we both shot

our loads, cords and strands of hot stinking cumm, reeking of all

the lust filled time we had been friends.  We showered in each other's

sticky sperm, trying to lick and eat everything that we could lap

up.  We sucked and tongued to get the last drops that could be had,

slowing our pace little by little until we were just grinding into

each other slowly, now and again, but each holding the other as tight

as we could.  With the sound of Bobby's hot heavy panting I finally

let my head come to rest on the upper inner part of his hunky thigh.

With my arms holding his chest tightly, the ether of his sex soaked

dick and balls put me to sleep.  I remember dreaming that I hoped

to never wake up, but if I did, let this be a never ending way of

life for the two of us.  That was fifteen years ago, and Bobby and

I still find the time, even in the hectic life of an adult to do

this same sort of thing at least four times a week...Hopefully soon

I can tell you about some of the other "firsts" that he and I explored.

It's a good thing that we appreciate the virtues and values of having

a large tile-floored bathroom, and have never really grown up in

some ways....after all, we have one of the best playrooms in town.



--