I'm currently traveling back to Maine for a while before I start my Masters program, so I'm writing this post up early to make sure you guys get something fun to read while I'm busy trucking my massive amounts of crap halfway across the country. Enjoy.
Yesterday I received my Bachelor of Arts diploma in what was an exciting, but then very, very boring ceremony. What I do remember, however, is being told at one point by out speaker to stand up if anyone had ever supported us in our endeavor to better ourselves and to reach our goals. Of course we all stood and, like most of my peers, I immediately thought of my family and my professors who were all there to applaud me. But I also thought of some people who weren't there. I thought of Chris, who I've realized from writing this blog I actually cared a great deal for, maybe even to the point of being in love with him, and who I certainly miss. I thought of my first boyfriend back in high school who was the first person to ever read a poem I wrote. And my ex-girlfriend who was sitting a row behind me. I thought of Rob the Breeder who had told me honestly that I was a great writer. I thought of my aunt who had insulted me deeply earlier in the year who I no longer talk to, but who once had been the greatest champion of my life choices. I thought of my two friends who moved to Hawaii for school, who texted me to tell me they loved me.
And I thought of Paul, the man who taught me more about sex and making love than anybody else.
As I said, Paul ran an organization at my high school, but didn't teach there. From what he told me, he used to, but he was in his 50s when I first met him and very much retired. Still, I had friends who were in his group, so I knew him by face around the school and saw him frequently when I was being a delinquent and loitering after school. I lived only slightly more than a mile away, so I shunned the bus and made my way home by walking every day. It only took me about 10min to walk if I really moved, and if I left right away I would usually beat the bus. All that information is to say that I frequently was around after school when most of the students were gone, and that is when Paul would show up.
But that's not how I really met Paul. When I was younger I would often plant myself in the basement mens restroom of a local library and suck off older men. I don't go there anymore after a combination of two VERY BAD events made it so that I never returned to that particular library ever again, but I hear that it is no longer a very cruisey place, though I've noticed a distinct lack of cruising in Maine lately (if you know different, feel free to let me know). In any case, I really met Paul for the first time in one of my long sessions of being planted on a toilet, drinking cum, when I was fourteen years old.
I had already blown probably three guys there (which was not nearly the largest number I'd blown in that spot) before he walked in. I didn't see his face at first as he took the stall next to mine and tapped his foot on the floor. There was no one else in the bathroom at the time so I simply said, "The door is unlocked."
Soon he was leaving his stall and opening the door to mine. When he did, he stopped short as we both recognized each other. The recognition didn't stop either of us, though. I think we both knew why the other was there and knew that neither of us would tell. He unzipped his fly and pulled out a cock that was pretty large but thicker than I was used to, and walked to my awaiting mouth. He pushed in and I opened up wide, letting him fuck his way in and out of my mouth while I reached in his pants to play with his balls.
"Do you come here often to blow guys?" he asked me. I grunted my reply as he hadn't removed his cock from my mouth.
"Do you like to swallow their cum?" Again, I grunted.
He grabbed my head at some point and began to pick up his pace. He asked me if I liked getting fucked too, and I grunted yes again. Within a fairly short time he was shooting his load in my mouth and I was swallowing it all. He sighed as he pulled out of my mouth and said to me, "I'd like to do this again, if you want."
"Sure," is all I remember saying in reply.
"Why don't you stop by my place after school on Monday and we can do it then." He told me where he lived and it turned out his place was very close to the school and on my way home, making getting there after school not a problem.
"Ok," I said. I trusted him not to be a creeper, knowing that he worked at the school, so I didn't see any problem.
On Monday I went to his place after school like he had told me to. When I knocked on his door, he opened it wearing nothing but a very soft pair of shorts. He wasn't an amazingly attractive man, but somehow seeing him shirtless turned me on a great deal. He brought me through his livingroom which was full of cameras and framed photographs of Maine landscapes. He told me that in his retirement he still made a little money selling inexpensive framed photos to people. As I write this I feel a bit of regret at never asking him if I could have one or buying one from him. But back then I thought landscapes were dull.
We moved into the bedroom where he had a porn playing on a tv propped on his dresser. I remember looking up at it, but neither of the men in the scene looked particularly hot to me so I rarely looked at it again. Thinking that I was here for a quick blow job, I dropped down on my knees and reached for his shorts. He laughed and told me to slow down, gently bringing me up and onto the bed with him. We lay there for a while, talking about something I don't remember, before he rolled over and kissed me. And he really kissed me. I could feel his passion for me in his mouth opening over mine, and in his tongue running along my own. I got hooked on kissing him, pulling him closer, chewing on his lower lip, sucking his tongue like it was a cock. I hardly noticed that while we were making out he was taking my clothes off. Once he had me stripped to my briefs (yes, I was a briefs boy and I still love them) he began running his fingers over my body, lightly touching me everywhere while we kissed. I went into a shocked spasm, never having been caressed so gently over so much of my body before. My cock was straining against my briefs and I was leaking pre-cum like crazy. I have always been a leaker when it comes to pre-cum, it just pours out of me.
When his fingers brushed my nipples I whimpered into his mouth and I felt him smile. He began to focus on them, flicking his finger tips over them lightly. He pulled back long enough to note, "You like that. Good. We'll have fun with these."
By the time he took my briefs off he had totally seduced me, and I craved for him to touch my hard cock. But he didn't. Instead he pulled back and got off the bed, standing back to look at me. I grabbed my cock myself, but he sternly said, "No. Don't touch yourself until I say you can." His voice held no option to disobey, my first peek at the dominant side to Paul.
He was tenting in his shorts as he came back on the bed between my legs. He stopped at my left foot, lifting it a bit and licking the bottom of it. From here he licked his way up my leg, finally stopping at the base of my cock which he finally started to suck on. I was so excited by everything he had done already that I came quickly. He swallowed my load and pushed my cock far in the back of his mouth. When he was finished I could barely believe the pleasure I was feeling. My whole body was limp as he gently rolled me over onto my belly.
"You've been fucked before, right?" he asked. I told him I had and that I liked it. He reached over to his bedside table and grabbed some lube and began gently pressing his finger into my ass, pushing it all the way in. I moaned contentedly as he worked me open. Frequently in my own private jerk off sessions I was using the Vaseline in our medicine cabinet to finger myself, so his fingers found my hole very receptive.
Finally he said, "Do you want me to wear a condom?" I said no and he asked if guys usually fucked me without condoms and I told him I had never been fucked with a condom. At the time, the number of guys who had actually fucked me was low, three to be exact, but I was somewhat flattered that he seemed to think I was getting fucked often.
"Good. I don't have any condoms right now anyway," Paul said. I have no idea if that was true, but it didn't matter to me. He pushed himself in and my ass let me know that his cock was thick. But with patience from him, and a constant pushing out from me, he was in me all the way. He fucked me for a while, kissing the back of my neck and sucking on my ear. Finally he said, "Oh yeah, I'm gonna shoot." I was groaning in time with his thrusts as he picked up speed and then pushed hard into me, filling me up with his cum. When he pulled out my dick was hard again, so I rolled over and started jerking off. He stuck some fingers in my ass to rub me from the inside as I blew a second load on my belly. Paul, his fingers still in me, told me to eat my own cum so I got as much of it onto my hand as I could and licked it off.
"Good boy," he said as his fingers left my throbbing ass. "Let's wash up."
He very carefully washed me in the shower, making sure I was totally clean, then dried me off and had me get dressed. When I was finished, he had me join him in the livingroom with a can of coke and we sat on the couch, me clothed and him just wearing his shorts again. "I really liked that," he said, "And I really like you. I want you to start coming over here regularly so we can play around more. Would you like that?" I was really excited at the idea and told him so. He told me that he was free Mondays and Tuesdays and that I should come over after school on those days. Later I found out that on the other days he had other boys over, but that's a totally different story. With a promise to see him again the next day, I left Paul and walked the rest of the way home.