At least this time, he answers the door himself. The young twink has scruffy black hair, neatly trimmed but he obviously just got out of bed. It’s only 11 in the morning. We were supposed to meet yesterday. I waited for his message, parked nearby in the Food Basic’s parking lot for 45 minutes before I gave up. Later he texted that he had slept in.
I’m giving him another chance. He’s worth it.
He barely greets me, and as I crouch in the doorway to unlace my leather boots, he stands over me so I won’t run in and steal his stuff. We don’t say much because his mother’s in the kitchen a few steps away. I used grindr instead of knocking, so she doesn’t even know I’m there. She peeks out, drying a frying pan, and scolds my host for some misdemeanour another language. When she sees me she smiles in polite surprise.
“Good morning,” I said, beaming. “Strange weather lately, eh?” Don’t mind me. I’ll just be downstairs having sex with your son. Might be a while!
Last time I nearly bolted when his sister answered the door. Today I take it in stride. Maybe they know and maybe they don’t. Guys who are out with their families do things that would have shocked me just a few months ago. Everybody’s different. Especially this guy.
Still, I head for the door to the basement in two giant steps, eager to get away from his politely suspicious clan.
The bottom of the stairs are covered in heaps of clothes, vomited out by an old dryer.
“Ah, I see it’s laundry day.” I try to make conversation.
“Yeah, “ he replies. His mom shouts something after us.
He turns and hollers back up the stairs. “No, everything is in there, my pants are clean already!”
We navigate our way through the mess to his room, the only part of the basement that is clean. By clean, I mean free from shit you can trip over, not clean in the sense that the surfaces have been wiped in the past five years.
His room is dimly lit by a lamp on the shelf. Dark blue walls, except for a crudely painted graffiti figure. It watches over the desk where a very large bong rests. The plastic tubes in the contraption are stained brown from use and hard water.
He notices me staring at it. “Want some?” He asks.
I chuckle, “Nah, I tried weed before but it just makes me quiet.“
“Oh you’re one of those.”
The bong quivers and I hear someone bounding down the stairs, singing. I back into the corner, pressed against the wall like I’m furniture. Another young guy bounds into the room. Hot. A younger brother? Maybe a boarder?
He doesn’t notice me. He grabs the bong. “Eh?” He grunts and looks at my host.
“Take it.” he says, and the intruder leaves cradling his prize. My host closes the door after him, but it his does little to stop his loud singing. It’s not off key, but it’s nonsensical, as if he can’t remember every third word and makes them up as he goes. I wince at the noise, but my host ignores me. He’s swiping away on his silver iPhone. Suddenly the tinny sound of a top 40 song eeks out of its speakers, and the sound of the singing, bong-using boarder fades.
Still clicking at the phone, he slips one a finger under his pants and clumsily tries to pull them down. My heart races when he reveals the top of his public bone. But his finger stops there. He’s going to need two hands to get it over his boner, but he’s engrossed in checking his messages first.
With a lopsided grin, he finally throws the phone on the desk, runs his hands through his thick hair, and looks up at me. But my eyes are locked on the tent in his pants.
“I really love you sucking my dick, “ he tells me. “Are you going to swallow again?”
I look him in the eye. “This time,” I tell him, “I want you to try to cum right down my throat.”
“I’ll do it,” he agrees.
Fat chance. I know he won’t reach, but it’ll spice it up a little. I take off my shirt for him and he steps out of his pants, nude.
His dick is ready, slightly curved, and rapidly emerging from its in delicious tan foreskin. He’s his balls are closely shaved. Only a small trapezoid of artfully trimmed fuzz sits atop its base. He falls back on the bed, resting on his elbows.
I bend down and lick his balls. The skin of his sack is smooth as plastic. I lick up and around and suck in his musky scent, slowly making my way up his mast. By the time I get there his soft pink glans is throbbing and he stares at me with a look like he got a new toy and can’t quite believe it’s real.
But I refused to mouth it yet. I only came back for one reason. “I want you to face fuck me. Like last time.” I climb up the bed beside him, prop myself up with a pillow.
“Ha! I love that.” He gets up and towers over me, one knee on other side. With his hand on his cock he guides it into my waiting lips. I feel it slide up against the back of my mouth. I close my mouth and suck on it lightly, tasting the delicious salty flavour of the first lick. Then his hands go to my shoulders and he starts to thrust at me. The bed strains and squeaks. But something’s different. Each time I see his belly come at me, he gets a little harder, until unexpectedly, he slides past my tonsils and cuts off my breath. Fuck, I wasn’t expecting this. Last time he couldn’t even reach.
His body is hot now, sweaty, and as I begin to smell the scent wafting down from his armpits, my cock is raging hard in my pants. But too soon, he stops and slowly lowers his butt onto the bed beside me.
“Holy fuck you got bigger,” I tell him in amazement.
“Oh, really? Thanks.” He props his cock up and flexes, examining it proudly. Then he aims it at me, waiting.
I prepare for a long haul. Last time it took over half an hour and I got tired. I was hoping to have him do the work. I’m not looking forward to getting a sore neck again. I take a deep breath, lie between his legs, and wrap my mouth around his dick.
I give him everything. I suck in a breath and plunge down to his bone, come back up, and suck as I massage his cock with my tongue. Maybe he’ll only take twenty minutes this time.
A few seconds later he grabs my shoulders. I stop and suddenly he’s grunting and thrusting upwards frantically on his own. His twink butt grinds into the bed as he twists himself up into my face. When I try to get a quick breath, the fucker jams himself so far down my throat that I once again my airway’s cut off. I wait helplessly as he tenses up, gives one last quick jerk, and explodes. I can only stare at the base, cross-eyed, as it rhythmically pulses, literally pumping out his load. I stop counting after six. I can’t taste a thing. I can only imagine each spurt splashing against the back of my throat, oozing down on its own time.
When he’s done, I keep sucking, trying to eek out what remains of his delicious flavour, while he sits up, watching and grinning at me. But I’ve overstayed my welcome. He’s done with me now, and itching to get back to his phone, or his bong, or whatever else he does, so I reluctantly release his member.
“We definitely have to do this again,” he tells me, nose down in his iPhone.
“For sure.” I know I’m being used and I love it.
When we’re finally dressed, he sees me out so I won’t take his stuff.
