Sucking Corey

I felt good. It wasn’t too much later that I got to thinking about wanking. Doing it in that alley, it seemed so hot. What if I got caught by a night watchman or a guy looking for cans? I started to rub my dick through my jeans. I thought about edging. I wanted to try it again. I always rushed through things and had never properly edged before. I was always in a damned hurry! In the semi-open of a dirty back alley, back were the light of the feed store sign couldn’t quite reach, I undid my belt. (What’s edging, you ask? That’s where you jack off almost to the point of no return, but not quite. You do this as many times as you can, you take your time, then you erupt like Mt. St. Helens.) I kneeled there, dick never quite making it to the hard stage. That was alcohol making things difficult again. I couldn’t help myself, I thought about my long ago best friend Jamie. I always thought about our last time, winter 1978. I was eighteen and busting with hormones. Jamie was nineteen. It was a week since our last jerk and I was about to bust. My parents were gone for the day, maybe all the way to St. Louis. That meant they would be home late. It was my big chance. I invited Jamie up, saying honestly enough, “I have a lot of new Playboys and some nasty paperbacks.” “I’ll be up once I feed the dogs.” Thirty minutes later, Jamie was at my door dressed in a winter coat and gloves. That’s how I remembered it was winter. We went inside and I led him to the bedroom, where I had all my Playboys and Hustlers and the nasty books spread out all over my bed. We looked at them, both of us getting hard as rails. Jamie began rubbing himself through his jeans, mine was already out and getting some much needed attention. I had an agenda. I said I had some slippery stuff in case he wanted to try something new, but it did not go over too well. Jamie looked at me a moment, then went back to his magazine. “Ok, when you’re about to come, lemme know. I wanna give you a blow job,” I said, having practiced it in my head a thousand times. That, he did not mind so much. We talked about girls we liked, who had the biggest boobies, that kind of junk. We never could say the word breast or penis. It was boobies and dick, as in “Billie BoomBooms’ got some nice boobies!” and “How’s your dick feel?” We also couldn’t say pussy or vagina either. I still can’t to this day. Back then, it was always “I’d like to look at her thing up close.” It was always me asking if Jamie had ever seen his sister’s thing. We also talked about what might be for dinner. “I think we’re havin’ mac and cheese,” I said as I gave my arm a rest, trying to make it last. Jamie replied he was thinking fish sticks or left over roast. We talked about ants and killing frogs and shooting bb guns. We ‘traded dicks’ a time or two and then he asked: “Do you still want to do that thing?” “Ok!” I could barely keep calm. I couldn’t let myself look too eager or too excited, or else my friend might think I’m a freak, or that I was too weird to hang around with. I was eager, you betcha! I was itching to try something evil and nasty, something I had thought about for months, but never had the courage to mention until that day. I could not have been more excited. In fact, I have never been that excited since. I kneeled before him. Jamie’s whities were not quite to his knees yet, so I yanked them down, noting along the way that he flinched. Was that a good thing? I pulled his knees wider and put my mouth over the tip of his dick. He jacked off quickly, hitting my chin twice. He shot his stuff down my throat. I thought he was done, so I pulled away, this being my one and only blow job on Earth, one I performed, did, whatever the word is. He had two more squirts that landed on my nose and chin, just as I fell into the biggest orgasm ever. A moment later, I was horrified and scared shitless! OMG! (It is both interesting and a little disturbing that good old hindsight has painted a picture I can stare for as long as it takes). I wanted to try it again later, but Jamie moved without telling me. I found myself knocking on the door of an empty house. We weren’t gay! And yet there is a part of me that thinks my obsession with the old days, these old days in particular, makes me gay. Of course, I am not gay and that’s the rub. Maybe I should think of them as days of exploration and self-discovery and raging hormones, two teenagers heavy into Playboy magazine, back in the days when the Sears catalogue bra and panty pages gave me a woody. In my own defense, I noticed when I get laid, my once a year fling, these thoughts were as absent as my congressman on all the major key votes. Thinking about Jamie always made my parts work. It did again in the darkness of the alley. I stroked it good and slow, taking my time. It was hot! Afterwards, a good hour later, I flung goo off my hands and had a cigarette. I inhaled deeply, savoring it. Man, I felt great! This was daring stupid stuff and I liked it! After the after glow, I put my dick back in my pants and beat it.