What We Learned in the Dark

I don’t know what it is about letting someone watch me cum. It’s vulnerable, it’s horny, it’s kinky, it’s forbidden, and it’s friendly.
I don’t know whether the tiny pieces of experience I’d had earlier in my college years had left me needy or whether this was just my baseline, but my needs were making me more adventurous lately. At least they were virtual. Strange faceless cocks, typed compliments, encouragements, orgasms dedicated to me.
Recently I’d started using a group space. Occasionally, I took the risky move of accepting an impressed and impressive user’s offer into a breakout room, to type and masturbate alone. This was new for me, and I wasn’t sure how healthy it was, but I enjoyed being enjoyed by people I enjoyed just as much.
I like bodies to be a bit older. I need them not to be muscular, just soft bodies.
And I’ve gained a soft spot for a great penis.
So when I logged on, someone had sent me pictures. The message he sent with them was, “I read your profile, and oh god, that sounds amazing. You have such a hot mind. That video you posted made me cum, so here’s one for tomorrow.” Even without seeing a live image, I was flabbergasted.
I won’t mince words. The pictures he sent stunned me. That penis had all the things I loved to touch: large, soft, slightly floppy balls, a long shaft pumping with external veins, and lots of unstretched excess foreskin, gathered around the whole head with some extra gently bunched up on top. This thing wasn’t just gorgeous; it was a gift to himself as well. It had all its erogenous zones in excess, and his orgasms must just stun him.
I looked at his profile—his age, his body, his oral fixation, his interest in helping the inexperienced, his horny eagerness. It all checked my marks.
Why keep that to myself? So I typed:
“Oh my god, it’s perfect. No, that’s actually, literally, the best penis I’ve ever seen. I love it. And I like your profile too.”
A reply came very soon: “Holy shit, let’s cam.”
Before I could even finish typing a reply, the request came in. I glanced around to confirm no one was around. I Accepted.
Both of us, maybe in our excitement, forgot to hide our faces in that first instant, but as he adjusted himself and his camera, I soon saw a half-buttoned shirt and then the nakedness below it.
I smiled at the cock he showed me, even lovelier live—full and pretty. I stood and backed up, presenting myself openly to him, letting him see the entire part of my body I was about to relish with pleasure.
He grabbed himself, and I watched his ballsack dance. I grabbed myself, and I wasted long seconds with my eyes closed, knowing I was being watched and just reveling in that fact.
I returned to reality and watched him. His masturbations made his ballsack dance, chaotically. I never knew which way those beautiful balls would flick next. His shaft reached so high. And there was something about a perfect button-up shirt and an erection emerging from under it, and something about how high it towered up that shirt.
I heard him groan even in the seconds he wasn’t pumping. I think he just enjoyed my existence. As I hiked one foot up for some reason, putting myself at both a high and low angle and opening wide for him, I could tell he could see both my eyes and my balls, and I was for the moment too feverish to mind.
I’m embarrassed to say it, but the excitement of the owner of that cock enjoying me, and the search for the perfect reason to cum all day, got me to orgasm in very, very few minutes.
He saw me quickening my movements, and he moaned and quickened his own. Our arousal escalated each other into happier moans. For once, I decided not to resist how much I needed to cum and just let it happen. I knew this man wanted to see it. I wasn’t in the mood to disappoint a half-naked admirer.
I came, quite a lot, and it had run down my hand and onto the floor, and he enjoyed watching that.
Something about the excitement made me adventurous for just one more instant. He clearly needed one more moment of inspiration. And it hit me.
I let him see my face again. And while he pumped his long shaft and swiveled his hips in something brewing, I let him watch me lap my tongue along my knuckles, gathering any cum I could reach into my mouth. He stumbled back again, and I saw his whole self too. With a surprised and dumbfounded guffaw, he entered a cum face, and I watched cum leap up and around. We watched each other finish ourselves off. And, as usual, we made little gestures and hotkeyed the window closed.
Next day.
So this isn’t completely impossible and unbelievable, because it’s not a huge city that I live in. But holy crap, world. Really?
I admit it was risky enough to become naked for a man on a site that filters by city. But I liked to believe that one day I’d be brave enough to do something about it, more than what was essentially interactive porn and unconsummated possibility.
So, as weird as it was, we noticed each other at exactly the same time. It had to be the same time, or the other would have looked away by instinct. But there, on a commuter train, really near to each other—the back-and-forth seats in groups of four meant that a quarter of the way up this car, I saw him.
We had seen each other’s faces yesterday. We had seen each other’s cumming faces. And now, the surprise at the unlikelihood stopped us from looking away long enough to get us past the initial fear response.
We were now in the second, far more cerebral fear response. The possibilities of ruined secrets, the hazards, the social situation. In real life, the age gap was a more real fact between us: not just an exciting arouser, but a social norm.
He was trying to look away a bit. I was trying to look away a bit too. We kept returning glances. Eventually, it was just silly. We were just not strangers anymore.
The train had crossed a boundary and entered a less populated suburb. So the car was less populated anyway.
I would never tell him this, but I was just barely aware of the fact that my stop was back there, and just consciously enough aware that I wasn’t on a schedule that I would be missed about.
The man casually stood up for a minute.
A stop later, the man casually sat down.
In my four-section of seats.
“I can’t tell whether this sucks or whether this doesn’t suck,” I eventually said, a little smarmily, a little shyly.
The man gave a single breath of a chuckle.
“Know what you mean.”
“It is you, right?”
I had déjà vu. Not only did the question bring up the memory of yesterday, but then of something else.
That was it. The moment of deciding not to hide. grin
I asked that question, and then we both looked downward.
And there was clarity.
I excite this older man.
He still excites me.
Without standing this time, he switched seats beside me. We looked around conspiratorially. There was one other passenger in the car, and the makeup of the seating arrangements had some very interesting line-of-sight flaws.
The older man said something to me, not very loudly. “Okay…………… I have a crazy idea.”
Those words alone made me dizzy. This was very, very, very, very real. Unless I was very much mistaken, a man twice my age was about to negotiate sex with me. The feeling in my stomach was almost definitely desire; it just felt very queasy to be this close to crossing the line.
After a moment, he continued, and I’m sure he saw how flushed my cheeks were.
“I work at this place that’s still under construction. And the construction is delayed. I’m literally the only person in my part of the building.”
“Oh! And you want to…. cam there? ……Wait.”
“Heh.” We interchanged between looks at faces and at crotches.
“You’re really serious?”
“What do you think.”
I looked around again. The train was going up a hill, and some sort of electric engine was making it conveniently loud around here.
“I think it’s really unfair that you saw me finish so quickly. I usually last.”
He smiled at that answer.
“Do you want to come over?”
I didn’t answer at first, but I’m sure my rosy cheeks, dilated pupils, and dry-lipped heavy-breathing mouth were unambiguous with interest.
“We don’t have to.”
“Oh god, I actually think I might want to. I think I might actually be doing this? Am I doing this?”
“You’re in control of your choices. If you come by, we’re all alone with no one telling us not to. No one but ourselves.”
“Why an office?”
“I’m divorced, still living together for logistics. No problems with going afield, dating or sex. What’s your situation?”
“Um, about to move into a shared apartment? No privacy now, no privacy then. Yesterday was a lucky chance.”
“Mhm. It’s hard, stealing moments to be by yourself. I know it. Doesn’t have to be this way.”
“So an office?”
“Heh. Seriously. I’m only there to hold down the fort while we wait for construction to resume. Fucker in charge doesn’t even want to hire a watchman.”
“Wow.”
We went up another slight incline, and the impatient driver again made the engine loud.
The man said, “Let me ask you something……………. did you lick your hand for my sake?”
I blushed a lot more, then smiled a little.
“No. I like it.”
Then he heaved a breath out. He looked a little dizzy in his reaction. “Jesus Christ,” he said. And, with him in a surge of horny appreciation and me having a crazed post-pubescent moment again, at the same time, we both let our hands fondle all over each other’s shafts, probably a little less subtly than we should have on the train. I felt the unlikely length and fierce solidity and warmth of a penis through tailored pants. For the first time, I noticed he was wearing a tie. His hand was large, and had a gently commanding presence on my shaft as he slowly rubbed up and down.
Just like yesterday, my desire for him had skipped entire steps in my pleasure, and our needy grasping at each other made us squirm for each other. We exchanged needy glances.
I glanced nervously back and forth throughout the car. No one had noticed. I wanted more. I wanted more so desperately much. He obviously did too.
“I’m Marcus,” he said quietly, becoming subtle again but giving my shaft one last loving little caress.
“I’ll come. I’ll come to this place. Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Oh yeah. I’m bored out of my mind there, every day. Fuck, how’s tomorrow?”
I stared at the cylinder in his pants.
“Early tomorrow?” I said, more boldly than I had ever said anything.
So how did I as a young man know so much about pleasure?
Flashback time. I’d had one girlfriend, and we’d kissed A LOT, but we were too shy to do anything more than that. Which was probably for the best.
I also said I’d had one sexual experience with a guy. I guess, although there was no emotional attachment, it was technically an affair.
For someone with little experience, I have a very specific idea of how to treat a penis.
I learned a lot about how to feel good at a wilderness retreat. The kind of retreat where you’re not your family’s problem for a week. A post-grad immersion into outdoor leadership. Everyone was in their early twenties, technically grown-up but still a bit dumb about life. Surrounded by others whose bodies were being transformed into different shapes by the same chemicals that told you to respond with aggression, and also the same chemicals that punctuated arousal into moments of delirious frenzy.
Two thirds of the guys around us would be straight and told that manliness was impressive feats of douchiness. A third were interested in their fellow guy, half without realizing it, and were currently secretly crawling out of their skin with desire, their heteronormative counselors none the wiser that splitting participants by sex was overlooking two important facts: one, that some guys are gay or bi, and two, that some guys are so overwhelmingly interested in trying sex that camaraderie is an idea some of us will inevitably conceive of.
Some of us use our in-group instincts to include or exclude. Some of us use our instincts to feel who’s safest to stay away from and who to stick with.
I had good instincts about exactly one friend. He just had nothing to prove, and didn’t mind telling me about the things he was a geek about. So I let myself get a bit geeky, and otherwise we were just guys together, but without proving machismo all the damn time.
I could go on and on about a relatively good short-term friendship. But I’m sure that what you want to hear is that, one afternoon while the retreat was taking a break and we had no interest in the stupid jokes the other guys were saying, we just wandered for a bit, talking about video games. What you want to hear is that when he sneezed and caught it in his elbow, his sweatpants bobbed about and flopped back and forth a serious erection, in the kind of sweatpants that are just terrible for hiding them.
There was no time to be cool about it. He noticed me noticing at the same time I noticed. He even sneezed a second time, robbing him of a crucial second to somehow hide it before it was really obvious. There was nothing to say, and while I was having this “It happens to others too” guy moment, he was apparently having a “My life is over” moment. I had to do something; I could tell I was about to lose the only person to talk to without going insane.
“I’m sorry, okay? I know it’s weird to have a hard-on out here, it’s not what we were talking about, it’s just getting like that all the time, okay? That’s probably weird, I’m weird.”
I suddenly thought of all the recent hard-ons I’d had and now I wondered if anyone noticed them and was nice about them. I realized this was another moment where I had one second to respond before most avenues through the talk would disappear.
What answer what answer what answer
“Me too!”
The way I rushed it out of me must have sounded like enthusiasm. I tried to calm down and repeat.
“Man, me too, all the time. I don’t know whether it’s just how guys are when they’re finished growing up, whether it’s just like this forever, but maybe it is, and maybe it’s normal?”
He tried to chuckle as though he didn’t still perceive the moment as a catastrophe. But I was obviously rescuing him from the awkward moment, and I think he was grateful. Which meant we had to talk about it together, to make it feel normal before we could move on.
“There is no way people fuck this much,” he said conspiratorially. “But why does this happen this often then? I must just be weird.”
“We must be weird,” I corrected, and that let him smile. “Or maybe it doesn’t come back for longer when you do more than…. Y’know…”
We were both dashing our faces back and forth, scanning the landscape. This was a weird thing for people to know you were talking about.
“I don’t know how much longer we’re meant to wait, man,” he said.
We sat on a big log where a sliver of space between tree branches showed miles of forest and lake.
This was a big thought. And we looked out at the lake in our view while we seriously thought about that.
And back at each other.
We both noticed each other’s erections at the same time, and then we both saw each other hiding ourselves, and we looked at each other, laughed nervously together.
And then? And then we just sort of… gave up.
We reluctantly stopped hiding the very revealing shapes we made in our pants, his sweatpants a wide tent and my track pants a form-fitting cylinder.
And then I noticed that this moment, this giving-up, sort of gave us permission to not look away. We hadn’t looked away for a bit now. For the first time in my life, I let my erection be looked at.
“Me too,” I simply said again. “All the time, and it’s… strong, like it needs a lot of… things.”
“Yeah. And this week…. Like… we have this…”
“One giant room of cots close to each other?”
“Yes! I have no time alone except in the latrine, which… isn’t great.”
“Not a great latrine.”
We laughed.
And he paused for a moment, then noticed our erections again, and that let him keep going. “But it’s like, really, really dark out here at night, and when it’s late, it’s like…”
“There’s no sense of sight! Right! It’s spooky, like your eyes just aren’t for anything, I can’t tell whether they’re open. So I think about, maybe…”
“Yeah, but there’s noise, and there’s-“
“-Mess! And there’s-“
“-Too much at stake.”
We laughed and nodded.
And looked at each other’s pants.
“Sorry I keep looking.”
“Well so am I.”
“Why do we keep doing that?”
“Dunno?”
“Do you think we’re gay? Is it weird that I haven’t thought about it?”
We must be pretty cool people, for that question not to be dangerous. He definitely wasn’t saying that to get something out of me; he was just genuinely curious what it meant.
“Yeah, I… know what you mean. I like girls, but… when I’m like this? I’m not sure exactly what I want to happen. I think it could be a few things that are okay.”
“Yeah, same. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do about this, even if I could have whatever I want. Is that weird?”
I started counting. 40 minutes until we were due back. 20 minutes of walking in a completely different direction than the others were hanging out. Which would put us in trouble in about 45 minutes.
“How should we find out?”
He had gotten a bit closer to me by the time I asked. If I didn’t know better, I’d speculate that his body was asking for me.
It was a really open-ended question; I didn’t want to scare him about what I was starting to think about, but when I said it, we both looked at each other’s erections. And at each other. And at each other’s erections. His hopped at me a bit.
We were breathing pretty heavily.
“Oh god, could we actually? Like, is this crazy?” he said to me.
“It’s crazy. And I think I’m going to do it.”
He heaved at me.
And then he obviously performed the distance-counting and minute-counting I had just done. And looked back at me, and nodded nervously. And breathed heavily.
“What should we do?”
“I have no fucking idea.”
“Okay, should we stop, or should we go, or….??”
I noticed a dense thicket nearby. And when I walked to it, he walked too. I walked to the far side, facing the water and away from everything else. We were now even more hidden, and seeing over a bit of a drop-off.
We looked around and around, and confirmed it was impossible to see us unless you got close enough to make a lot of noise first. We didn’t exactly communicate what we were preparing for; we didn’t even know.
We stared at each other and grabbed our pockets and hesitated and watched each other give each other brave nods, and then we slowly and then rapidly pulled our pants and underwear down, quicker once we realized the other was really going to do it.
We each looked at naked erections in front of us for the first time. His had his pink head emerging a little from between the opening (mine hid completely behind what I now understand is foreskin), peeking out a little every few seconds, maybe as some sort of repeated flex. Both bounced with flex, and we even humped a tiny bit as reflexes. And both of us were wet at the tip for some reason we didn’t understand. I had never seen that, and now it was happening to us both.
We pointed ourselves at the lake. It felt weird not to be alone; we were bashful to say the least, but there was no possible way to convince our post-pubescent bodies not to masturbate for one more minute.
Something felt better about my touch than it had before. Looking back, there are probably three different reasons it felt better.
At the start, we closed our eyes and heard each other’s muffled movements.
Then we watched the lake.
Then, as we started making noises, we noticed we watched each other. We watched each other’s hands give ourselves pleasure. We watched our techniques. We adapted. Pick up each other’s wordless tips, maybe. (No pun intended. Pointers? No, that’s worse.)
Our excitement started to speed us up, and at about the same time, we got too fast and sensitive and had to stop for a minute. We leaned against a tree and breathed.
We still watched each other’s erections closely. And then we noticed each other’s stares, catching each other in the act.
What do you do with that moment? Mutually caught red-handed staring at erections?
We heaved for a moment. His penis flexed. Mine flexed too.
“What do you think it will be like? Doing stuff with someone?” he said.
“I have no idea. But it feels like the scariest part is to show yourself to someone.”
“Like this?”
“I’ll say. Hard part over then??”
“Should we, like, practice?”
We breathed.
“What should we practice?”
“Dunno. I’m going crazy. Like… what should we do? How do people do this?”
“I have no fucking idea.”
“Hah, exactly!” he said. “Like, I think I’ll suck at… whatever I’m doing? And I don’t want to be stupid at it.”
“Me too, exactly. I think that may be the point. And maybe this is normal? I have no clue. This is probably crazy and nuts. So, I guess, let’s be absolutely fucking crazy. Um… wanna… switch?”
I was right; he was just too horny to let shyness reign. “I might be bad at it?”
“Me too. Yeah, we probably will. But I can’t hold it in anymore either. Um, let’s just be stupid and do stuff and just fuck it all up and find out how to not be bad at it all?”
“At what exactly?”
“Dunno? I just kind of know I’m going to go nuts if I can’t do something about this. Unless you don’t want to! But if you do, even a little, then should we… try it out?”
If you’re clever, you’ll know how this went, the good and the bad.
We brought our hands up and almost grabbed ourselves out of habit, but in a moment of scared consent, our hands carefully switched places. We fumbled with the reverse grip and gradually found each other.
It feels very, very different for someone else to put their hands on your erection. You don’t know what’s about to happen, so everything’s a surprise. The tightness of the grip’s a surprise, the motion is a surprise, the timing is a surprise. I felt a soft hand touch me, find a grip, and then hold me. I became dizzy with the first gripped pump, which was at a different angle than I could even reach. Different inches of me were ground. He was nervous enough that he held my penis gently as he thrust up and down with quick motion. The first foreign grip on my shaft was accidentally gentle, eager, and very attuned to its own performance.
So far, the uniquely-shaped grip on the shaft in my hand was moved only by its own tumultuous excitement, but now I tried pumping it sideways, in corkscrews back and forth. The movement was new enough that it seemed to surprise him with feeling, good feeling.
We kept doing that for a while, my knees bending a little with the stunned pleasure response, hips moving towards what worked and away from what didn’t. We were bad at this; it was clear, but two hands held each other’s penises and were obviously giving them the best pleasure each of us knew how to.
After a minute, our bodies were clearly trying to do something else. We didn’t really want to stand anymore, but we didn’t want to sit either. We both seemed to look like we needed something; he looked as frustrated as he did grateful at the teasing touches of a first handjob.
I tried listening to what my body wanted, what it was asking for, what it was moving to, and I think we both realized our mouths and each other’s privates were getting closer. Instinct probably.
We looked at each other, and it was as obvious as a sweatpants erection.
We were crazy alright. Too much in the moment to access our “weird filter.”
Again, one of those moments. A second to choose what to do before the choices disappeared, or the moment stopped.
For once, I didn’t make the choice. This equally nervous, equally hyper guy dove onto me before I could dive onto him.
Just like a first kiss, I patiently let the first bumping of teeth out of the way and let the enthusiasm get us through. Just like a few years beforehand, I’d exchanged sloppy-faced kisses with the girl who would for months become my girlfriend. On that mountainside, a tongue and the long inside regions of two lips found me and slid all around me, slowly finding out how to actually do that.
I let myself bounce between instants of gasping groans and vocalized flinches with some newbie mistakes, and cooperatively, we did just what we said: we helped each other not be bad at this.
I watched him. For the second minute of what I realized with a surge of pleasure and amazement was my blowjob, he had figured out what not to do and was apparently letting himself go through a routine of something he clearly didn’t mind doing. I had no idea, in that moment, whether he was doing it well or badly (kind of bad but less so every second); I didn’t know what was normal, but what was happening was maybe great.
I watched, and he was enjoying it when he wasn’t fumbling. When he didn’t fumble, the sheer fact of what was happening and the soft, soaking, sliding motions raced me through different stages of it. In fact, when he took a deep two breaths, changed his angle, and went way back down, it all happened at once, and before I knew it, I had held his ears for balance.
I’m sure neither of us had watched someone else cum in real life before, but the changes in my sounds, my movements, into something less dignified, must have tipped him off. He took my shaft in his hand again and started wiggled pistons up and down. He now had my shaft pointed right off the drop-off, aiming, and my balls danced chaotically, spattering teeny drops of saliva as I was raced through the final moments of my pleasure. I saw him look at the drop-off and my shaft, back and forth, and as my sounds changed once more, he stopped his double-takes and suddenly plunged his face onto me again. His hands still wiggled my shaft even as my head vanished between his cheeks.
There was nothing to do about it anymore; I let the whole cumming happen right then. I didn’t choose this outcome; my body accepted it.
He gave a sloppy and clumsy and wonderful attempt to take it. He held onto my hips to balance us as my body tried to decide how to give someone else cum.
A lot of it somehow got on his shoulder. He noticed, and I suddenly felt really weird about that.
“Sorry, I–“
“No, it’s okay?”
We stared at each other once again.
We didn’t know what to do. I just knew that I couldn’t stop. My need to cum gone, I was still just too fascinated, and so I came down to him and gave him help getting up. When he realized what was happening and that it was really happening, I helped him balance, and then saw how close his privates were to my face.
There was that wet tip again. Why?
I knew what I was meant to do next. And it was strange to actually take that leap, but how could I not.
I was so, so curious.
So, forcing past hesitation, whatever made it wet, I licked it. And then it was on my tongue, and even more in a web between my tongue and him, so I licked more. And knowing I would probably have to taste a whole lot more of it, I put my tongue away and closed my mouth. And let my saliva spread it around.
I had just eaten candy.
I had spent the last few minutes deeply, deeply interested in what testicles tasted like and felt like; for now, I completely forgot to find out, because for the next few minutes, I had a new framework: this was a candy dispenser, and I was drinking candy from a really fun pump. When the candy was gone, I smiled at him, put my hands on his balls, lifted the whole shaft of skin again, and pumped up and down him. I made the same kind of teeth mistakes at first, but something about the last few seconds had reloaded the candy.
I tried drifting along the shaft with my lips and was met with the stark taste of salt. The whole penis had a thin layer of tart, salty skin, more-so lower down, and coming back up, I was met with more caramely, buttery slick.
It was simply impossible to be an accident. That settled it: humans are designed specifically to enjoy blowing dick. And some terrible mistake in history had made most of us forget this.
Or was this just me? Was I just… freaky?
Or was it just him? Had I found the one dick that was nice?
And to watch him. His hands were stabilizers on my head, and sometimes he arched way back, and sometimes he’d lean his weight on me, and always the heavy, heavy breathing.
I was clumsy, and we had to whisper to each other how not to fail at this a few more times. I don’t think we ever expected it to not be a chore, but it was absolutely wonderful.
And then, in an uncomfortably intense moment, he said something that changed both of our lives: “slow down!” as he became close.
I slowed down.
More of the strange liquid met my kiss as I slipped him back into my mouth. In slow motion, with slipperiness beyond what my spit could have done alone, I softly slid my face all the way onto his shaft and softly slipped all the way off, again and again. His discomfort was gone, and his process begun again, in slow motion, coming back much, much stronger. I could hear it in his whispers. I could feel it in my mouth. I experimented with that: every time he started enjoying himself even more, I became slower and softer and wetter. Soon my mouth was applying only the tiniest amount of pressure on his shaft, sliding along the outside without enough pressure to truly pump anything out. He sounded a bit desperate, but not mad about it. As large drops of my spit and his candy rivered down his shaft onto his balls, I let my lips and my tongue slide along the surface, which apparently paused his state of 99%.
It was completely without warning then that, after one graze of tongue to tip before a descent, things got bigger in my mouth. His sounds changed, and I held his middle closely as he started releasing globs of something far, far thicker while he was still inside my mouth.
Cum is very different than what I had been drinking up until then. I wouldn’t learn why it was different for a while, but what I took was viscous, and seemed to want to stick together in two or so lumps, and it’s not quite salty and not sweet but just intense. But the fact that it was so extremely slippery felt kind of fun inside.
A third time, my mouth asked the penis for a little bit more, and it simply had nothing more to give me, but my friend obviously didn’t mind the sensation of my tongue’s request at all.
I lifted my face and watched the penis slip out of my lips and flop a little. It looked pinker now.
Soon we were standing again. And we just breathed again.
“I really was going to just shoot off that drop-off.”
We laughed.
“Me too.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Noticing you looking at me too? Like, looking at it like it was okay. I suddenly didn’t feel weird for needing this.”
“Yeah. Yeah, yes.”
“Hey, uh, what was the taste like?”
“Well, you had it too.”
“Is it weird if it wasn’t a bad thing?”
“Is it weird if it was fucking tasty?”
I saw a bit more on his cocktip, like an after-eruption. Somehow, I found the courage to embrace my freaky, and I bent down and gave him one last lick right where it was beginning to fall.
It was like it sealed the deal. Whatever the deal actually was.
We just grinned; we understood each other now.
We were a bit messy, with who knows how many minutes to get presentable beyond awkward questions.
And as you’d guess, we couldn’t just leave it there. We knew we’d need more, and soon. But this was probably our only free-for-all time that week.
As we pulled our pants up and walked, we whispered forbidden and very stupid ideas.
We began to tentatively realize that the only time ‘alone’ was not alone at all: in the complete blackness of the cabin at night, where even the rustle of a sleeping bag could be heard sometimes. The middle of the night, surrounded by guys whose coolness with all this could be anywhere on the spectrum.
This was fucking crazy. It was a stupid idea. And our unbelievable, overwhelming horniness gave us an all-or-nothing boldness it was physically difficult to ignore or deny.
So, after evaluating the risk for far too few seconds, we resolved that we would take advantage of the absolute pitch-blackness of the cabin at night. For the whole rest of the week.
This was a far, far more impressive accomplishment than is apparent yet. I can’t even begin to explain the superhuman stealth required in this situation. It was a testament to how unbelievably horny we were that we resolved this was in any way a good plan.
Once a certain point of night finally came, that far away from civilization, eyes really were useless. You had no input from that sense. Which made hearing better.
If we were absolutely, completely silent—not even a single hard breath—then the nearby campers just might fail to notice how much was happening inside the room, right beside them. In retrospect, it was a miracle no one turned on a flashlight to get to the latrine during an inconvenient moment.
The long wait until it was very likely every rowdy guy was asleep, listening for everyone’s breathing. The minute-long slow-drift out of sleeping bags by the pre-arranged first, legs towards floor, knowing just how to touch the floor and where to touch it without a squeak. The experiments in where the squeaks were, the memory of them when it was black.
Trusting it would happen when it wasn’t your turn. Lowering your own blanket with your feet. Raising your hips as slow as a casual turn over in bed. Waiting a moment. Lowering your hips in the same motion as lowering your underwear. Blindly lying there, surrounded by gentle snores, with a gently swaying, flexed erection in the cold nighttime air.
The faith that it would not be seen and yet that it would be found and drank.
The change in temperature the only hint that someone was closer. The breath on your shaft the kinky and exciting confirmation that you were not allowed to react to.
The moments after stealthily lowering my pajamas had my heart dangerously racing, well before the moment I felt a mysterious hand prodding onto my mattress, onto my body, using the found skin as reference for where to reach next, finally finding my shaft, approaching it with the rest of his body, and redirecting the shaft slightly up and slightly to the right, onto a clumsily seeking mouth silently finding me and soundlessly slipping deeply onto me.
The long minutes of anticipation to give a blowjob will soak a mouth in drool and soak a penis in precum. The first enveloping of horny penis into horny mouth was like static shock. I have no idea what he did instead of groaning, and I couldn’t see precisely what my body made me do to release my feelings quietly either.
But I didn’t know I could feel like this.
No whispers or gasps or changed breathing patterns were allowed. Vigorous sucks were forbidden; hands on wet cocks were forbidden. Those made sounds. Wonderful sounds, but dangerous sounds. Contact was mouth only once a penis was wet, and it had to be a gentle enough suck to be silent.
Without visual or spoken cues, we had feeling and taste as signals of how the other was doing. I felt the pulse of him, the gradual growth to fill my mouth further as I did things right. I noticed his taste becoming sweeter as his pleasure excited him and saltier as his excitement made him sweat in the cold.
The sudden orgasms were silent. Our sucking sessions were slow and soft, without a single suckle sound and without a single crackle of moving liquid. Without the right to warn each other, we accepted the truth that cum could surprise us at any time. When each of us began to cum, without letting a single sound happen, a single kick, even a harsh breath, I thrashed my face back and forth, up and down. I have no idea what my friend did. Without letting myself hump the face, the orgasms happened more slowly and more powerfully.
When cum is a surprise, reaction is key. Because hiding the evidence with flawlessly complete swallowing was also essential. And wonderful. We each had to stay with each other’s penises, waiting for them to settle out of erection to drink each other’s aftershocks. Swallow anything that would make a scent or stain a blanket.
And finally, as the time it took for someone to stealthily recover from feverish orgasm into a mouth was about the same time it took for someone to silently sneak into a bed and soundlessly expose his penis, there was just a short, agonizing moment for the other party to find that penis, lift it, and taste it with a stronger sense of stealth than his strong sense of hunger.
Stealth over hunger, always, but only just barely.
There was only once when bending over to seek my friend’s penis made my knee crack loudly. I froze. No matter what, I froze in time. I must have spent two minutes refusing to shift my body, so close to a cockhead I could smell its precum, breathing scared breaths onto it, obvious in my scandal except for the complete blindness of the many people surrounding me.
I took two minutes before I let myself begin to drink from what I happily, fearfully sniffed out. I can’t imagine how he felt when the frozen moment ended without warning and he felt a careful but delighted tongue on him. All I know is that in the morning, our last morning before continents permanently separated us, we stared at each other, not long enough for erections to reawaken but long enough to thank.
The sheer unimaginable gentleness required to have sex too quiet to be noticed four feet away taught me a level of stimulation, pleasure, caretaking, and joyous orgasm that I would seek for the rest of my life.
Even when stealth isn’t a thing, going down on someone with a soundlessly gentle touch was the best possible experience to give or to receive, lengthening the experience and doubling the sensation and simply making it more fun. Getting this touch is an overwhelming pleasure and a wordless message of how enjoyed your body is being. Giving this touch makes you a card-carrying expert at sex and lavishes your mouth with some of the most special and enjoyable tastes that exist.
This was unbelievably nice sex. Powerful secret orgasms were happily drunk by worshipping throats. Two horny young men spoiled forever for sex, seeking lovers willing to patiently enjoy what we knew to simply be the best sex possible.
It was only long after all that happened that it occurred to me what disaster would have befallen us if someone had needed a flashlight to find the latrine. There were a lot of us.
If the rest of the retreat was a single day longer, we would have collapsed from exhaustion from the strategically missed sleep.
The first night back, I really, really, really missed my retreat friend. I watched my masturbating penis dribble precum, and I wondered my first question about what all this meant, and I had to know whether it was just him. I thought of everything freaky I had already done, every line I had already crossed, and I needed to know; it was important. So I let myself find out.
As I switched hands, I licked the other, finding and gathering my precum.
And I knew then my future. I knew I could drink cock and enjoy it again. It wasn’t just my friend; I had discovered my favorite tastes, my favorite hobby. I could show other people the best taste in the world and take it from them too.
And I anticipated it and let the thought trigger my orgasm, and I carefully watched my penis cum, and I forced myself to confirm my theory. Before I let myself realize it was weird, I switched hands, and while I caught a second rush of cum, I lapped the first out of my palm right onto my tongue. My left hand finished my orgasm while I tasted more of myself, all instinct and no doubt. As I rushed the second emergence to my mouth and received it, gladly, I knew I would be a kinky masturbator too.
The next morning, the world felt sharper. Every mundane detail—the steam from my coffee, the rumble of the train on the tracks, the face of a stranger scrolling on their phone—was layered with the memory of Marcus. The memory of his cock, his voice, the solid warmth of him through his pants. It wasn’t just a memory; it was a promise. A promise of today.
I got to the address he’d given me. It was a sleek glass-and-steel building, still swaddled in construction wrap, with a temporary logo on the revolving door that looked like a placeholder. The lobby was a pristine, empty cavern of polished concrete. No one was at the security desk. I followed his instructions to the service elevator, my heart thudding a nervous, primal rhythm against my ribs.
The elevator opened directly into a vast, unfinished office space. The air smelled of drywall, sawdust, and something electric. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave a panoramic view of the city, but the floor itself was a landscape of potential: bundled cables snaking across the concrete, half-assembled cubicles like modern monoliths, and stacks of ceiling tiles leaning against a far wall.
And there he was.
Marcus was standing by the window, looking out. He’d traded the button-up shirt for a simple grey t-shirt that did nothing to hide the soft, solid form of his body. He turned when he heard the elevator, and the slow, confident smile that spread across his face was everything. It was the same smile from the video call, but a thousand times more potent in person.
“You came,” he said. His voice was a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floor.
“You said it was safe,” I managed, my own voice sounding thinner than I wanted.
He walked towards me, his steps unhurried. He stopped just in front of me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. “It’s the safest place in the city right now,” he said, his eyes crinkling. “Completely off the grid. No cameras, no security, no nosy neighbors. Just us.”
The sheer, unadulterated privacy of it all hit me then. This wasn’t a risky, stolen moment in the dark. This was a whole world, built just for us. My shyness evaporated, replaced by a wave of pure, uncut lust.
I reached out, my hand trembling slightly, and placed it on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat, a steady, powerful thud under my palm. “Good,” I whispered. “Because I don’t think I could handle an audience right now.”
He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound. He covered my hand with his, his larger, warmer fingers lacing with mine. “No audience,” he agreed. Then he used his other hand to tilt my chin up, and he kissed me.
It wasn’t a frantic, fumbling kiss like the ones from my past. It was slow, deliberate, and deeply possessive. His lips were soft, but the pressure behind them was firm. He tasted like coffee and something uniquely, intoxicatingly him. I opened my mouth to him, and his tongue swept in, claiming me. It was a kiss that said, I’ve been thinking about this all night.
My knees felt weak. I pressed myself against him, my hands roaming up his chest, over his shoulders, tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. I could feel him, already hard and insistent, pressing against my thigh through his jeans. The memory of that perfect cock flooded my mind, and my own body responded instantly, aching with a need so sharp it was almost painful.
He broke the kiss, his breathing a little heavier. He looked down at me, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that made me feel like the only person in the world. “I’ve been thinking about what you did,” he said, his voice a low growl. “On the train. Licking your hand.”
A blush crept up my neck, but I held his gaze. “I told you. I like it.”
“Show me,” he commanded softly.
It wasn’t a question. It was an invitation. I took a small step back, my fingers fumbling with the button of my jeans. His eyes never left mine as I slowly pushed them down, along with my boxers, freeing my own straining erection. The cool air of the office was a shock against my overheated skin. I took myself in hand, stroking slowly from base to tip, spreading the bead of precum that had already gathered there.
Then, just as I had before, I brought my hand to my lips. I held his gaze as I slowly, deliberately licked the slick fluid from my knuckles. The taste was familiar—my own, a faint saltiness—but the act of doing it for him, of letting him watch this private, filthy ritual, was electrifying.
A low groan escaped his lips. “Jesus,” he breathed. He reached down and palmed himself through his jeans, squeezing the thick outline of his shaft. “You’re even better in person.”
He closed the distance between us again, his hand replacing mine on my cock. His touch was sure, confident, his grip firm and perfect. He stroked me once, twice, a slow, torturous rhythm that had my hips bucking involuntarily.
“I want to taste you,” I gasped, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “All of you.”
He smiled, a slow, predatory grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
He led me by the hand to a large, sturdy-looking desk that had been pushed against the far wall. It was covered in a layer of plastic sheeting. He leaned against it, his legs spread, and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. “Your turn,” he said.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I sank to my knees on the hard concrete, the slight discomfort nothing compared to the fire burning inside me. I reached for his belt, my fingers fumbling with the leather buckle. I finally got it undone, then the button, then the zipper. I peeled his jeans and his briefs down his thighs, and there it was.
His cock.
It was exactly as perfect as I remembered, but seeing it in person, in the bright morning light filtering through the vast windows, was a revelation. It was magnificent. Thick and long, with a heavy, soft-looking ballsack beneath. The foreskin was bunched at the tip, hiding the head, promising all the sensitive wonders I knew were hidden inside. The veins that snaked up the shaft were prominent, a roadmap of arousal.
I leaned in, inhaling his scent—a clean, masculine smell that made my mouth water. I flicked my tongue out, tasting the salty skin of his shaft. He shuddered, his hand coming to rest on the back of my head, his fingers tangling gently in my hair.
I took my time, exploring him with my mouth. I traced the thick veins with the tip of my tongue, I nuzzled my face into the soft warmth of his balls, taking one gently into my mouth and sucking. His sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement I needed.
I wanted to savor this. I wanted to worship it.
I wrapped my hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the solid weight of him. I slowly, reverently, pulled back the foreskin, revealing the glistening, flushed head underneath. It was beautiful. I leaned forward and swirled my tongue around the ridge, dipping into the slit to taste the precum that was now flowing freely. It was sweet, slightly musky, and utterly addictive.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips rocking forward slightly. “Just like that.”
I opened my mouth and took him inside. The feeling of his cock filling my mouth was overwhelming. He was thick and hot and impossibly alive. I took him as deep as I could, my lips stretching around him, until the head brushed the back of my throat. I held him there for a moment, breathing through my nose, my eyes watering slightly, before pulling back slowly.
I set a rhythm, a slow, worshipful glide. I used my hand to stroke what my mouth couldn’t reach, twisting slightly on the upstroke. I focused on the head, sucking gently, my tongue pressing against the sensitive frenulum on the underside. I could feel his thighs tensing, hear his breathing growing ragged. His hand on my head tightened, not pushing, just holding on, grounding himself in the pleasure I was giving him.
I looked up at him. His head was thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a silent cry of ecstasy. The sight of this powerful, older man completely undone by my mouth was the single hottest thing I had ever seen. It sent a jolt of pride and a fresh wave of arousal through me, and my own neglected cock throbbed in response.
I redoubled my efforts, taking him deeper, faster. I could feel him getting close. His hips began to thrust erratically, chasing the pleasure. I relaxed my throat, letting him fuck my mouth, letting him use me.
“I’m gonna cum,” he gasped, his voice strained. “Oh, god, I’m gonna cum.”
I didn’t pull back. I wanted it. I wanted all of it. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked hard, and with a loud, guttural shout, he exploded. His cock pulsed in my mouth, spurt after spurt of hot, thick cum coating my tongue and the back of my throat. It was everything I’d fantasized about and more—viscous, intense, and uniquely him. I swallowed it all, greedily, milking him for every last drop until he was spent, his body sagging against the desk.
I slowly released him, licking him clean one last time before tucking him back into his jeans. I looked up at him from my knees, my own cock still rock-hard and leaking. He was looking down at me, his expression a mixture of awe and pure, unadulterated lust.
He reached down and pulled me to my feet. “That was…” he started, then seemed to give up trying to find the word. He just shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Come here.”
He kissed me again, a deep, messy kiss that tasted of him and of me and of everything we had just done. His hands were everywhere, stripping off my shirt, skimming over my chest, pinching my nipples until I gasped. He spun me around, pressing my chest against the cool, smooth plastic of the desk.
“My turn,” he whispered in my ear, his breath hot against my skin.
He kicked my feet apart with his own, spreading me wide. I felt his hands on my ass, kneading the flesh, pulling my cheeks apart to expose my most private place. I shivered, a mix of nerves and anticipation.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice soft.
“Yes,” I breathed, pushing my hips back against him. “God, yes.”
I heard the sound of a cap snapping, then the cool, slick shock of lube being drizzled over my hole. His finger circled the tight ring of muscle, teasing, before slowly, gently pressing inside. I moaned, pushing back against him, taking him deeper. He worked me open patiently, first one finger, then two, scissoring them, stretching me, brushing against that spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyes.
“Please,” I begged, my voice hoarse with need. “Marcus, please.”
I felt the blunt, hot head of his cock press against my entrance. He was bigger than his fingers, much bigger. He pushed forward slowly, giving my body time to adjust to the thick intrusion. There was a sharp, burning stretch, but it was a good pain, a pain that promised an unimaginable pleasure.
He paused when he was fully seated, his hips flush against my ass, letting me get used to the feeling of being so completely, utterly full. “You okay?” he murmured.
“Don’t stop,” I gasped. “Fuck me. Please, fuck me.”
He started to move, pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in, a long, deep, powerful stroke that stole my breath. He set a slow, relentless rhythm, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside me, sending waves of pleasure crashing through my body. The only sounds in the vast, empty office were the slap of skin against skin, my desperate moans, and his low, guttural grunts.
He reached around and wrapped his hand around my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation was almost too much. I could feel my orgasm building, a tight, hot coil low in my belly.
“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a harsh whisper in my ear. “Let me see you cum.”
That was all it took. With a cry that was half his name and half a sob, I came, harder than I ever had in my life. My orgasm ripped through me, my cock pulsing, spilling my release all over his hand and the plastic sheeting beneath me. My vision went white, and my legs trembled, barely holding me up.
He fucked me through it, his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic, until with a final, deep plunge, he buried himself inside me and came, a hot flood filling me up.
We stayed like that for a long moment, our bodies pressed together, both of us trembling and breathless in the quiet, sun-drenched office. He rested his forehead against my back, his breathing ragged.
Finally, he slowly pulled out, leaving me feeling strangely empty. He turned me around and kissed me, a soft, gentle kiss this time, full of a tenderness that was more shocking than the raw lust from before.
We cleaned up as best we could with a stash of paper towels he had in a drawer. We got dressed in silence, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was a comfortable, sated silence.
As I was about to leave, standing by the service elevator, he stopped me. He handed me a simple black business card. It only had a phone number on it.
“My personal cell,” he said. “This place… it’s not a one-time thing. Not if you don’t want it to be.”
I looked from the card to his face, to the confident, hopeful look in his eyes. I took the card, my fingers brushing his. “I don’t want it to be,” I said.
And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that this was only the beginning.