(series part 1 of 4) Jocks can be frustrated to...

First of, i would like to mension that i haven't written this story myself.

But you shouldn't get scared by it's length, it is very good reading..:



Part I - Jocks Can Be Frustrated Too

This story relates how I morphed from being straight as a ruler to being bisexual. These events happened in spring '03. While I obviously can't remember every detail, the basic story is true. I've added detail where it was needed.

I was a twenty-one year old junior in college, engineering major, finishing up the semester. I was on the university's wrestling squad, though I can't say I've ever been good enough to win any major titles. Nevertheless, the experience gave me a good scholarship, a finely tuned body, and a certain poise and confidence that have served me well.

I closed the front door behind me, hopped up the steps of the comfortable split-level house and ducked into my room. I dropped my backpack on the floor and pulled a couple books out. Calculus and Statics. I took a deep breath. Fuck it, I thought. I've got all weekend for homework. It'd been a rough week, and I wanted a breather.

I pulled some more comfortable clothes out of the drawer and tossed them on the bed. I stripped off my shirt, and as I turned the mirror caught my eye. I paused a moment, pleased with what I saw. I'd finally gotten rid of the lovehandles I'd picked up over Christmas. While the genetics weren't there for a flat stomach, my abs rippled with power as I twisted and contorted them, bulging leanly through the skin. My smooth pectorals bulged as I flexed them, the little tuft of hair located in the cleft between them beginning to grow back some stubble. I smiled in satisfaction at the fine, defined curves of my arms. I stripped my pants off and turned to the side, examining the defined lines and graceful curve of my legs and ass. Only the pasty white hue of my skin gave me pause, perhaps heightened by the contrast of my dark blue briefs. Too damn much time indoors in any case.

I noted my other features, fine Sicilian stock. Fine blond hair that flowed back from my face, an angular nose, a strong masculine chin. Though my skin wasn't perfect, it was smooth enough. My smile split wide to reveal a straight row of teeth, with one crooked renegade on the bottom that somehow only seemed to give a roguish flair. I moved towards the mirror for closer inspection. Damn blackheads. Do you ever completely grow out of acne? I crushed all three, and belatedly noticed the barely perceptible remnants of nose pad impressions on the bridge of my nose. Vision correction surgery was the best choice I'd ever made. I looked myself in the eyes. Electric blue. Though I'd perfected that penetrating look that seems to entrance girls, I practiced again. Damn you're vain, I laughed at myself as I broke off my self-worship.

I reflected on my romantic life as I resumed changing. Prevailing wisdom is that hot-looking jocks get a lot of action. Rampant bragging and rumors bolster the image. The world doesn't work that way, at least not in my experience. Maybe it's some unconquered holdover lack of confidence from my less secure high school days. Maybe it's just hard for everybody. Who knows? My girlfriend and I had broken up three weeks before. I can't say I was disappointed for long. Like most, she used sex as a weapon. Always inviting, rarely following through. I think I had three orgasms in her presence. During four months together.

School and sports kept me too busy to find any more action since then. It takes so damn much energy to get a good lay these days. At least if you wanted a self-respecting woman. Loose bitches never did really turn me on.

I walked back down the hall and down into the living room. I heard the door open as I flipped on the television.

"Mitch?" I called.

"Yeah Trevor."

Mitchell's my stepbrother, two months my senior. We are tight. Our parents had met and married when we were fourteen, and we were best friends almost overnight. My own father happened to be one of the few that were killed in Desert Storm, and Mitch's mom was a bitch that had deserted his dad and her two kids for some rich guy when he was ten. Joke's on her; Dad started a small business, and it had mushroomed in the five years since into four different locations and was still growing, providing us with a very comfortable life in a large home on a hill and a good education for us kids. Mitch's older sister had married a lawyer the previous year and was living quite happily in another state with his new infant niece.

Mitch popped into the living room and plopped onto the couch, his eyes attaching themselves to whatever was on the TV. "You look shot," I observed.

"Coach drilled us hard this morning. Meet on Wednesday."

He was a swimmer, and a good one. He had propelled his team to victory on more than one occasion over the previous four years.

"We got any pep rallies tonight?" I asked.

"Pep rally" was our code.

We led a shadow life together that we did our damndest to keep from our parents. Dad gave us a generous allowance in return for good grades and full-time student status, but we had figured out a few months after entering college that a little stripping on the side made for a lucrative supplemental income. It had started by accident, really. Mitch had gotten a little tipsy at a party, and started stripping for a roomful of sorority girls. When he walked out that night with nothing on him but his shoes, boxers, and two hundred dollars, we realized we could get a good thing going.

And so it had started. A couple weekends a months, sometimes more, sometimes less, we were invited to some party full of chicks wanting a good time. We went for free. We stripped for money. The more we got paid, the more they saw. We cultivated a reputation, and our fame quickly spread through the sororities. Maybe that was why I had such a hard time finding a real girlfriend. We'd become masters at playing off each other to extract everything we could from our willing victims. It was a good diversion, and provided a nice chunk of extra spending money, but it also took a lot of energy, and I was in no mood to expend it.

"No, not tonight. I might have something for us tomorrow."

"Oh yeah? Where?"

"The rich bitches."

Our moniker for a particular bunch of regulars that always provided a nice haul. "Maggie's coming over in a couple hours. Andrea left me a message that they'll be back about ten tonight." Andrea's my mom. I called his dad Dad, but he still had a mom, twat that she was, so he called my mom by name.

"Well, at least one of us is getting some action,"

I drawled. Maggie was Mitchell's girlfriend, and she took pretty good care of him. I liked her. She had a good personality, a good mind, and a good heart. Good tits, too, but that was strictly Mitch's domain, much to my chagrin.

"Yeah, well, I'd help you there if I could," he said, pushing himself to his feet. "You making anything to eat?"

"I thought I'd toss in a couple of burgers."

"Mind throwing a couple in for me? I'm gonna take a shower."

"Cool."

I stood up and went to the kitchen, keeping my ear on the news on TV. Another damn report on Laci Peterson. Sad story, but when the hell was it going to end? I pulled some burgers out of the freezer and threw them into the griller. I watched the headlines about the Iraqi Freedom aftermath for a couple of minutes while the meat started sizzling behind me. I squinted as the waning sun began reflecting off the swimming pool in the backyard into my face.

I headed upstairs toward the bathroom. Knowing the door wouldn't be locked, I opened it, poking my head in. "What do you want on your burgers?" As I spoke I caught the sight through the steam and fogged shower glass of Mitch vigorously masturbating. As soon as he heard me, he reflexively turned his back toward me. I grinned. I knew what he was doing. The poor bastard was a premature ejaculator. If he jacked off a couple hours before sex, he lasted a lot longer.
"Just the usual, thanks." He didn't sound terribly concerned with the idea that he'd been caught. God knows we were pretty damned familiar with each other by now.

I closed the door loosely and started back down the hallway. Suddenly I stopped and grinned, a wicked idea popping into my mind. Don't ask me why. I'd seen Mitch jack off before, but not when he didn't know I was watching. I spontaneously turned and crept back to the bathroom door, and slowly pulled it halfway open. Then I stood across the hallway, thinking the dim light would hide me.
As I watched him beat rhythmically through the mist, it wasn't a sexual thing. I wasn't even getting hard. It was more like the feeling you get when you're pulling a practical joke on somebody. Still, I noticed with awe the form of his body, my memory filling in the gaps left by the obscuring mist and glass.

Mitch didn't have the classical swimmer's body. He was four inches taller than me, standing at a lean 6'3". Dark German features marked his body. Dark straight brown hair, short enough to tuck under a swimmer's cap, that skin tone that always seems tanned. Fine chest hair, just enough to notice, cropped short for easy shaving for meets. Smooth, well-defined pecs and rippling washboard abs. His frame was thick, not lank and lithe like most swimmers, but he'd built up enough fine, corded muscle to simply power his way through the water. Powerful legs supported that body and completed the framing of well-kept pubic hair, a shapely ball sack, and a gently left-curved seven-inch erection. An inch longer than my own, I reflected, though mine's a bit thicker.

I watched his face as it contorted in orgasm, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Baby-faced was the term, surprisingly so for a man with such a well-developed body. He kept it clean-shaven to hide the fact that he had only sparse facial hair, and was one of those few lucky ones that had never really developed acne. Despite our actual birth dates, he looked to be two years younger than me.
A faint Ding from the kitchen interrupted my thoughts, and I turned from my foray into voyeurism toward the spreading smell of well-cooked beef.

I threw the cheese on, pulled out lettuce, a tomato, and the normal sauces and constructed our dinner. As I was finishing, Mitch bounced down the stairs, obviously dressed up for Maggie. He grabbed a bag of chips and a sports drink from the cupboard and sat down across from me.

"Thanks, Trev,"

he said, grabbing his first burger.
We ate in silence for a moment, both of us ravenous. As Mitch polished off his first burger, he looked at me. "So'd you enjoy the show?" he asked, his deep brown eyes twinkling, a grin playing at the edges of his youthful mouth.

"What do you mean?" I asked innocently enough.

"That door didn't open back up on it's own," he said, hinting further at a smile.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
He smiled fully now, revealing two straight rows of teeth, the product of three years of braces.

"Right."

He took a long gulp of the drink and started into his second burger.

"What, were you jacking off in the shower again?" I finally responded, going on the offensive. "You know, most guys use a girl for that."

"Yeah, you should talk," he needled back, mouth half-full. "How long's it been since you got any pussy? A month? Oh, and who's expecting a visitor tonight?" He swallowed.

"Oh yeah, that's right. Me."

"Shut up you fucker. Remember your dry spell before you met Maggie? God, what was it, three months? I'm surprised we didn't have plumbing problems from all the showers you took." I chomped into my burger.

"Yeah, blow me, fucker. At least I can get it up."

"Oooh, low blow. Shot to the heart. How will I ever recover from that matchless wit?"

"You'll manage." He grinned as he swallowed the last of his burger and gulped down the last of his drink.

He stood up and placed the chips back in the cupboard, and the plate in the dishwasher. He grabbed the condiments and replaced them in the fridge.

"I gotta brush my teeth." He bounded back up the stairs. I finished up and placed the remainder of the dirty dishes in the washer and wiped off the counters and table.

I sat back on the couch and switched the channel. Raymond was on, though I'd seen the episode before. I relaxed, enjoying the program.

The doorbell rang. I sighed and got up, moving to the front door. Maggie was there, looking nice as ever. Tight shirt. Tight pants. Long brown hair. Deft use of makeup. "Hi, Trevor." she grinned perkily.

"Hey. Come on in." I closed the door behind her, then moved to the stairs. "Maggie's here," I called. I turned to her. "Make yourself comfortable."

Presently Mitchell stepped down the stairs and they gave each other a peck on the lips. As they settled into small talk, I moved into the living room. I needed a diversion. I really was happy for the two of them, but I was struggling to shove a bit of jealousy back into the pit of my stomach. I scanned the DVD's, and selected one I hadn't yet seen. "The Bourne Identity." I popped it in, and started it up.

The others wandered in and joined me on the couch. Maggie commented on how she liked this movie, how cute Matt Damon was. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mitch shoot her a hurt look. Realizing her mistake, she seductively compensated. "But not as cute as you..." They kissed, and I groaned inwardly at the glob of cheese that had just assailed my ears.

The movie continued on, and after a while Maggie and Mitch were making out hard to my side. I wouldn't have cared, except they started interfering with the movie. Losing patience, I paused the DVD. "All right, kids, time to take it upstairs." They both giggled and stood up, nibbling on each other as they slid upstairs. I listened as they moved into the master bedroom and closed the door, then went quiet.

Resuming the movie, I forgot about it. Half an hour later, I started hearing random thumping from upstairs, and grinned in spite of myself. I was starting to get horny, thinking how much I wish it were me making that noise. So I stood and moved to a little cubby where I kept a porn movie hidden and popped it in. Damon could wait till later.

To my surprise, I heard Maggie and Mitchell come down the stairs two minutes later. I turned off the TV as I heard them move to the door and mumble something as Maggie left. Mitch moved into the living room and plopped down next to me. All he'd managed to throw on was a pair of black silk boxers. "Fuck!" he swore, slamming his hand against the cushion.

"What happened?" I asked.

"Her brother is getting a transplant. She got a phone call from her parents and had to take off." He was really disappointed. "What can you say to that?"

"Shit. Sorry man. Sucks."

"We were fucking and everything. Right in the middle of it. I was all warmed up." He sighed. "Ah, well." He grabbed the remote and flipped the TV back on, right in the middle of a nice double penetration. He grinned. "Well, at least your girlfriend showed up."

"Shut up bastard. I wouldn't be so horny if you hadn't been thumping around so much up there."

He chuckled. "We weren't thumping around until she was getting dressed."

I grinned. So that's what it was. She made more noise leaving than fucking him. I sat back and watched the movie. After a while, Mitch started rubbing his erection through his boxers. I did the same, rubbing through my sweat pants.

"God damn it!" I burst out, frustrated. "I'm fucking tired of jacking off. I need a goddamn blow job!"

"I hear ya." Mitch paused, looking at me. Strangely.

"What?" I demanded.

"Nothing." He looked back at the movie, then back to me.

"What are you looking at?" I asked testily.

"It's stupid, man. I was just thinking." He paused, swallowed. "Maybe we could help each other."

I don't know about anybody else, but when I start thinking about doing something I know I shouldn't do, I go through contortions inside. An almost nauseous wave hits me, my stomach twists with butterflies, and I get lightheaded, almost dizzy. I knew what he was proposing, and I also knew I wanted it. Leadenly, though, I asked him, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, only if you're cool with it." He explained hastily now, "I mean, we're so close, how many times have we seen each other naked? Fuck, how often have we jacked off together, like we're about to?" He paused. "What if we jack each other off?"

I smiled. He was taking a big risk here. But I understood what he meant. At least it would be another person, better than any other alternative open to us at the moment. "Alright," I said softly.

We both grinned, and turned back to the movie. Hesitantly, we reached across to each other, and started touching. First, the thigh, rubbing meekly. Slowly brushing the hard-on through the fabric. It felt good. We rubbed each other full-on now, slowly moving up and down the other's shaft.

I felt the tip of his dick pop out of the top of his boxers. The moisture seeping from the tip smeared on my fingers, and something in me snapped. I looked over at him. "Feel good?"

"Fuck yeah," he sighed. I reached over with my other hand and pulled his dick from his boxers, grabbing it, sliding up and down the shaft. "God, yeah," he whispered. He laid his head back and lay still while I jacked him off. The sight of his cock in my hands, the feel of the soft skin and moisture enthralled me. The familiar manly smell of sex, pungent in the air, excited me.

He put his hand on my shoulder. I looked into his face. "Do you still want that blow job?" he asked, timid, hesitant.

Again, I smiled. "Yeah, if you want." He smiled back, and leaned over as I sat back. I slowly pulled my sweats and underwear down to my thighs, and timidly grabbed my hard cock. He stroked it for a moment, looking at it, fascinated, then hesitantly licked it, just a little. "Mmmm..." I moaned.

He leaned far over, placing one hand on my chest for balance. I didn't know why, but the feeling of his hand through the shirt on my chest turned me on. I thrust my pelvis up toward his face, and he engulfed my cock head in his mouth.

I'd gotten better blowjobs; his inexperience was evident. But I didn't care. I needed this. As his head bobbed up and down, he started getting into it, really enjoying himself. My cock tingled with electricity as his tongue slathered my shaft and my head chafed against the back of his mouth.

Suddenly I wanted to know what it felt like. I wanted to have his dick in my mouth. "Sit up. I want to try." Reluctantly, he obeyed and sat back, the rim of his boyish mouth glistening with saliva. He grinned at me as I leaned over. I licked the side of his dick. Wow. Hot. It made me so fucking horny to have my mouth on another man's cock. My head went light again. I engulfed his head hungrily, I wanted to try it, a new experience, it was so good. Oh god, this is why he was enjoying it so much. His cock was hot in my mouth, a mild flavor oozing from the tip.

I sucked with relish, licking, worshipping. What a beautiful thing. Hard and long and soft and smooth and manly. I lost myself, wrapped up in the sensuality.

Mitchell interrupted me, breaking into my passion. "Lay on your back, Trevor. Let's suck each other." I obeyed, hanging my feet over the armrest. He positioned himself over me, and we worshipped each other. I reached my arms up and wrapped them around his waist, pulling him, guiding him as his pelvis motioned rhythmically, softly pushing his cock into my mouth, out and in. He engulfed my cock, and my body tensed as I felt his chin buried in my pubes, the hot air from his nose briefly flowing around my scrotum, his throat muscles working hard as he hungrily gagged on my head.

In retrospect, I was amazed at how fast it happened. Literally twenty seconds after we started 69ing, we were feeding the fires of orgasm within each other. I felt his cock begin to throb against my tongue as the muscles of his back tensed and flexed. I pulled my head back and wrapped my hand around his engorged cock, jacking. Just in time, as his first shot nicked my chin and blasted onto the fabric on my stomach. The second hosed onto my chest. As the third flowed out gently and landed just below my neck, I realized that my cock was still buried in Mitchell's throat. He had been holding his breath for thirty seconds while he came, his creamy spunk on my face and shirt, and god I tried to warn him, "Shit," was all I managed before I yelled as the intensity of my orgasm washed over me in waves. I felt my first spurt blast into his mouth as he struggled to yank his face off my cock and replace it with his hand. The second spurt flew up onto his chest and dripped off onto my stomach as he gasped to catch his breath.

As that fire subsided within us, we stared at the other's dicks, milking out the last of the white spunk. "Holy fuck," I breathed, and we disentangled ourselves, laying back, heaving, the forgotten porn movie flashing suddenly uninteresting images before us. "I can't believe we did that."

"God, wasn't it awesome though?" he breathed.

"How'd you hold your breath that long?" I looked over at him. His eyes were closed, his chest was heaving, the moist spot on his chest glinting dully.

"Swimmer, remember?" Oh yeah. I pulled my stained shirt up and wiped the semen from my chin and neck. Then it dawned on me.

"I blew in your mouth...." He looked at me, the beginnings of one of his boyish grins playing at the corner of his mouth. I gaped. "You swallowed that shit?"

His mouth split into a full-toothed smile. "Yeah."

"Fuck, what was that like?"

He licked his lips, smiling. "Not bad. Almost as good as mine." Shit. I'd thought about tasting my own , but I never worked up the courage.

A familiar sound froze us both in place. I looked at the clock. 9:45. Shit! The garage door was opening! The car was pulling into the driveway!

"Fuck!" cried Mitchell. "I'm a mess!" And he disappeared upstairs. I jumped up and ejected the porno, it seemed to take fucking forever to pop out, then stuffed it into its case and back into its hiding spot. The grinding of the garage door lowering back into place seemed to reverberate in my head. I grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV, determined to act like nothing had happened. Good. Survivor.
Shit, my shirt! It was a mess! I tore it up and over my head, and crammed it behind my back, just as mom and dad opened the door into the kitchen. "We're home!"


"In here," I called, trying to look natural. Fortunately my hard-on was gone, but my face and arms still glistened with sweat.

They came down into the living room. "How'd your day go?" Dad asked me. He was a good man. Smart, hard-working. He took me in without question from the day he and mom were married, treated me as an equal with his own son, and won a great deal of loyalty for his effort. He looked very little like his son; apparently most of that had come from Mitch's mom. Dad was an average-looking, decent, middle-aged man, with a bit of a paunch. A little oblivious sometimes, though, thank God.

"Rough week," was my response. "Just unwinding tonight."

Mom appeared beside him. She was a handsome woman, hadn't let her body go, and was fair-minded. She worked hard to support us after my father died, and the grief had hardened her some. But she still demonstrated a huge heart, and would do anything for her boys, as she called the three of us. When she spoke, it was with a gentle accent; she was a naturalized citizen, as her parents had emigrated from Italy when she was a young teenager. She married a full-blooded Italian, and they had taught me the language as I grew up. We still used it often when alone, or when we wanted to keep a secret, or when speaking to one another in endearing terms.

But she was smart. Nothing escaped her notice, and her perceptive abilities could lay bare your soul. She breathed deep, and smiled at me strangely. Fuck, I thought, it's gotta smell damn pungent in here. She moved behind the couch and kissed me on the top of my head. "You know I don't like when you don't wear a shirt around the house, honey."

"Sorry," I mumbled.

She leaned down next to my ear and mumbled, "Se devi farti la sega, falla nella tua propria stanza por favor." I instantly turned bright red. My own mother had just politely asked her twenty-one year old son to jack off in his own room. Yet, despite my embarrassment, she didn't suspect what had really happened. I breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"Si, mama. Chiedo scusa," I mumbled contritely. She patted me on the shoulder and stood back up, sliding back over to her husband, arm around his waist.

"You remember that business trip your dad's making tomorrow?" she asked me, back to business, the offenses forgotten.

"Yeah?"

"We decided I'm going with him. We're leaving early in the morning. We're going to extend it by a day and spend some time together in Miami. We'll be gone until Tuesday."

"All right." Such an occurrence was common around our house, now that there weren't any children.

Dad leaned over and gave his wife a peck on the cheek. "We're going to bed, son. Good night."

"Night," I responded. Suddenly, I realized that Mitch had been having sex with Maggie on that bed. I grinned in spite of myself as I hoped he'd fixed it all back up. I turned down the volume on the TV as they made their way up the stairs together.

I was exhausted, but satisfied. I felt released and strangely numbed. The show finished up. A person I hadn't expected got voted off, as usual. I flipped off the TV and visited the downstairs bathroom. I made my way up to my own room, absently grabbing my shirt on my way. I heard the water running in the bathroom as I passed it. Fuck the shower. I'm too tired.

As I tossed the shirt into the hamper, my finger brushed a spot of cool fluid. I paused as the enormity of what had happened half an hour ago struck me full force. My brow lowered as my mind struggled to wrap itself around it. What did it mean? I had just lost myself in carnal abandonment to my stepbrother, my closest friend and confidant. Maybe if we'd just jacked each other off, it wouldn't be such a big deal. But we had reveled in it. It was the hardest orgasm I'd had in recent memory. And I had to admit to myself, I liked the feel of his body, the sensations of his cock in my mouth, the taste of his pre, the smell of him. What the fuck did that mean?

I turned off the light and lay back on the covers, my bare chest rising and falling gently in the tranquil moonlight flooding in through the window, belying the turmoil in my mind.

The questions ricocheted through my head, bouncing off one another, filtering through the puzzlement and confusion. I loved girls. I loved eating them out. I loved fucking them. I loved how breasts felt on my hands and my chest and my tongue. I loved the way I felt around them.

Finally, the question, looming and intractable, materialized in the viewspace of my mind: Am I gay?

I'd asked myself this question before, every so often; who doesn't? But the reality of the experience of a few minutes ago blasted apart the past surreptitious glances and wistful admiration of the endowments of other guys, muscular or otherwise. I had just had sex with another man. Yes, it was born of desperation. Yes, it was two incredibly horny guys just seeking a release. But I had wanted it as soon as the thought crossed my mind... And I didn't just do it. I had loved it.

As I was wrestling with myself, a dark form silently entered my room and closed the door, jerking me out of my trance. "That you Mitchell?" I asked calmly.

"Yeah." Mitch moved closer, and I reached over and flipped on the bedside lamp. He stood over my bed, open robe draped around his shoulders, t-shirt and black boxers underneath. His ruffled hair said he'd been in bed, but there wasn't a trace of sleep in his eyes. "What is it?"

"I couldn't sleep." He moved to the reading chair by the bed and sat, looking at me. "Have you ever done anything like that before?"

"No," I answered. "You?"

"Once," he said. "A friend of mine and I were experimenting and jacked each other off, back before our parents met." He paused. "But that's over eight years ago. I didn't think it meant anything." His brow lowered, his eyes troubled. "I liked it, Trevor. I really liked it. I don't know what that means."

We sat in silence for a while. Finally, I said, "It doesn't mean anything, Mitch. We were horny. We were desperate." I paused, "In any case, we've been so close for so long, I think it may have just been a matter of time." That didn't quite fit in my mind, but it was the best thing I could come up with.

Mitchell nodded and went silent. I lay back on the bed, my arms behind my head. He broke the silence after a few moments. "You know what scares me the most?" he almost whispered. I looked over at him. He hesitated, then looked straight into my eyes, his brown, dark, boyish visage suddenly superlatively vulnerable. "I want more," he said softly. "No, I want you."

That same nauseous feeling waved over me again. God, what now? If we moved on this, it might change everything, forever....

"I can't get the taste out of my mouth. I want more." I stared straight at the ceiling, flabbergasted. I had no idea what to say. "If you aren't cool with all this, all you gotta do is give me the word," he said. But I couldn't bring myself to say anything. Finally, I heard a rustle as Mitch stood and shed his robe. He moved to the foot of the bed, and knelt on it, straddling my shins. I looked down at him, our eyes meeting. He waited, giving me a chance to recant, to stop everything. Finally, I closed my eyes and lay back. I felt his weight shift as he leaned down, his hands looping into my sweat tops, pulling them and my briefs slowly down, exposing my still-floppy dick, and slowly dragging them down and past my ankles and off my feet. He slid back up my legs and took my semi-hard cock into his mouth, just sucking it like a lollipop.

I smiled at the pleasant sensations as his fingers started caressing my balls. He was already better at this, already more skilled than before. I heard his breathing become more ragged through his nose. My cock quickly hardened to solid rock in his mouth, and he slowly moved his lips up and down on it.

The next twenty minutes passed in rapture. Mitch lay between my legs, playing with and worshipping my throbbing cock. He would suck on my scrotum and testicles, lick up and down my cock, suck like a nursing baby, bob up and down like a buoy, and occasionally plunge deep and massage my entire penis with his tongue and throat. He experimented, seeing what he could do, and what got the best response from me. His hands explored up onto my stomach and chest, and around to my back and my ass, squeezing the cheeks, caressing my skin.

Suddenly, his careful attention sparked that familiar flame deep inside me. As my breathing hardened, he sensed I was close and concentrated all his attention on my cock head, sliding his boyish lips up and down, sucking hard. "Oh god..." I breathed, "I'm gonna shoot man..."

Suddenly he became ravenous, punishing my cock. My body tensed, and I ejaculated directly into his mouth. As the heavenly feeling washed over me, I groaned softly, my abdomen flexing under Mitchell's sweaty hands.

Slowly, the fire of the orgasm declined, and Mitch gently milked the last dregs of semen from my glans into his mouth. Finally, he looked up at me and grinned, obviously slushing my in his mouth, relishing the taste. The sight made me laugh. "Dude, that's fucking nasty."

That made him grin all the wider, and he finally swallowed. Without a word, he slid up even with me, straddling my right leg, and supported himself with his elbows on either side of my torso. I felt his hard cock press against my leg. He locked his eyes onto mine, and for an interminable moment, the world disappeared. My chest constricted, I couldn't look away from the endless well of his deep brown eyes. Slowly, he moved his face closer, and we kissed, natural in the moment. I felt his tongue in my mouth, and I tentatively explored his. I tasted something salty in the areas around his teeth and under his tongue. My breath exploded as I realized it was the remnants of my own semen. Oh, god, this was the best kiss of my life, hotter than any girl, sensuous in its manliness.

As we broke the kiss, I became aware that he was slowly grinding against my leg. His cock rubbed against my thigh through the black silk of his boxers, and he closed his eyes and tilted his head back.

Keenly I watched his face in the profile of the lamplight. I watched with fascination the rapture that shone there, how his eyelids pressed together, how his tongue darted between his fine lips as he gradually increased the intensity with which he was humping my thigh, the way his breathing varied. The feeling shifted as the top half of his cock poked out past his waistband. He changed between short thrusts forward and back and circling slowly with his pelvis. I moved my hands and groped his flexing arms and shoulders and back.

Suddenly, his face contorted, and he lifted his body onto his arms, grinding hard against me. I felt his sticky, hot semen begin to pool and smear on the top of my leg, and Mitchell grunted once in satisfaction.

As he slowed and stopped, he looked down at me and smiled once more. He rolled off and positioned himself over my leg. I saw him hungrily eye the that had begun dribbling down the inside of my leg. "Wait," I said spontaneously, smiling. "Share some with me." He smiled wider as his tongue slowly rolled up the beads of jizz, cleaning every drop thoroughly from my skin. Finally, he moved back up my body and kissed me, swishing his into my mouth. It was an odd taste, I thought. Acquired. But something in me liked it.

We both licked our lips as we broke the kiss. He rolled over and lay on his back at my side. We listened to nothing for several minutes. I thought that Mitchell had dozed off. Suddenly, he cleared his throat. "Does this make us gay?" he asked me.

I thought for a moment. "No," I said after a while. "We can decide that later." I turned to my side, facing him. "For now, let's just do what feels good." That answer felt right.

"Cool," he said. "But we've gotta keep this shit from getting to our heads. It's just sex, right? Just physical?"

"Right," I agreed. "Just sex."

"Alright." He punched me in the chest, as we often did to show our affection, and got up, adjusting his shorts and replacing his robe over his shoulders. He turned and softly opened the door and crept down the hallway. I was thirsty. I remembered some water in the bottle in my backpack. I drank a couple of gulps, knowing that any more would cause a late-night trip to the bathroom.

I felt good. My question had been answered. This last experience with my stepbrother clarified it to me. It felt different, having sex with him. It really was just physical, a release. With a girl, there was an emotional connection; it was deeply satisfying to make love to a good woman. It energized me, recharged me emotionally. Sex with Mitchell wasn't a substitute for that. It simply felt good.

There's room for both in my life, I decided, as I turned off the light and crawled under the warm covers.

that was just awesome, can't wait to read the rest

yea me 2

That was fucking hot.

bump

yeha, nice video