He Kissed Me

(Gay porn, detailing man-on-man sex in street language, so entirely unsuitable for kids or the sexually modest)

[A short short story (under a thousand words) from 1/16/96, intended for a volume of such stories (A Thousand and One Kisses) that was never published, perhaps in part because of the sexual explicitness of this story. The story is also one piece of my fiction about the characters Sundance and Butch.]

He Kissed Me

I’d go there every so often. Cut school, which didn’t have much to say to me anyway, and ride my bike downtown (a long slow uphill, actually, which meant a nice glide back home in the late afternoon). No one remarked on me going to movies in the middle of a weekday; I looked 18 rather than 14 (early growth spurt, a pile of muscle-building farm work), so I guess the people at the Bijou thought I was just a farm boy between chores.

I loved the cowboy stuff, Montgomery Clift and Guy Madison especially. But I’d watch anything, for a while. Sooner or later I’d check out the men’s room, which was nicely placed (you went down a long flight of metal stairs into the basement, then along a corridor to an odd corner well out of the way of accidental visitors) and usually had some action, if you were willing to wait for it.

This guy I called Murphy — he looked Irish, but I never got his real name, since we never, either of us, uttered a single word — was a regular. The first time, he was standing at the last urinal with his cock hanging out, half hard. I stared at his cock and into his eyes, he turned away from the wall and towards me, I knelt down in front of him and sucked him off. He had a very sweet cock, just the right size, and he came fast, always did. When he was done he’d zip up and walk out, wordless and expressionless. He had calloused hands and wore work clothes and boots; I figured him for a construction worker of some kind, with empty times between jobs. We always played the same scene.

The fifth or sixth time I came down to the t-room I walked in on Murphy zipping up and this frat-boy type (going from bottom to top: penny loafers, pressed chinos, crisp white shirt, dark blue figured tie), curly black hair and cute as hell (I called him Mitchell, which turned out to be his name and he was a frat boy too; sometimes I just know things), was watching him with that thanks-and-see-ya look I’d seen in my own face in the mirrors here.

Our Man Murphy left, and Mitchell and I looked at one another, approvingly. Ya wanna suck my dick, shit kicker? he said, like he was offering me a beer. (Amazing! Guys almost never talked down here). I could feel my face flush with embarrassment, plus desire. Sure do, I blurted out. (I learned early that it pays to be up-front with what you want.)

He steps forward, I start bending my knees to worship in front of him, but he puts his hands behind my head and pulls me back up. And towards him. And kisses me — first just brushing his lips against mine, gently, then opening my lips with his tongue and entering my mouth. I can taste the sweetness of his mouth and, I think, a bit of the saltiness of Murphy’s cum. I do what I guess you’d call swooning — this has never happened to me before, though I’ve fantasized for years, on my bed, cock in hand, about long loving kisses from Monty or Guy — and Mitch, my lover Mitch, moves his hands down to embrace me, catch me, pull me against him. I can feel my cock, hard and leaking pre-cum, standing straight up against my belly, trapped by my briefs. Through his chinos and my dungarees I can feel his cock, a firm companion alongside mine.

Now he presses his tongue hard into my mouth and we both start moaning and I can’t believe that I can be open to, filled by, a man this way, it’s like getting fucked but with mouths, oh Jesus, I love dick up my ass (how come nobody ever fucks in this place?), oh Mitch, kiss me harder enter me. Mitch commences to growl, wolf-kisses me, and I shoot my load right in my pants, and he feels it happen. He chuckles. My mouth is hanging open, gulping air in, as Mitch puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me down, with one hand unzips himself and pulls out his cock, with the other guides me onto it. I look up adoringly into his eyes, see that he’s past amusement, hurtling through arousal, he fills my mouth with cum.

We rested a while, my forehead on his belly, and then he helped me up so we were face to face again. We both said our thank-yous, and he kissed me a second time, affectionately, and I got hard again, and he went down on me, smiling, licking some at the first load of cum before taking my dick in his mouth and getting another.

Afterwards we kissed, third time, and I put my tongue in his mouth, we both liked that a lot. He offered his name and a short bio, and he asked for mine (I even told him about Sundance being my private name for myself). He admitted he had a thing for hunky farm kids, and I admitted I had a thing for cute college boys. I told him he was My First Kiss, and he replied gravely that it was his pleasure. (College boys are, in my experience, usually polite, unless they’ve been drinking.)

Every man I have ever loved, except one, looked enough like Mitchell to be his brother. Butch looks like Mitchell grown into a Real Man. I told Butch this a couple of years ago, and he told me it’s called imprinting. (I didn’t tell Butch that it took him some time to get past his reluctance, to get to be as good at kissing as Mitchell was at age 19.)


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