When Everything Is Blue(22)

Dave moves closer to me on the couch and takes off his shirt. He’s got a nice chest, hairy too, which I like. He’s not that cut, but there’s a solidness to his physique I appreciate. And he seems very comfortable with this dance, which eases my mind a bit.

“What are you into?” he asks, and I freeze. “Never mind.” He squints and assesses me, like I’m on a job interview and he’s trying to determine if I’m a hard worker or a slacker, whether or not he’s going to take the chance on me. I want to offer him some bit of assurance, but I’m pretty unqualified for the job.

“You ever had a blowjob before?” he asks.

I shake my head and try to swallow, remembering when Chris told me about that girl who offered to give him one and he turned her down. Now I’m in that same situation.

“You interested?”

It’s not much different from when he offered to cut my hair. Strangely, it reminds me that I still need to mow his grass.

“Yeah,” I say, because my prick is already twitching at the thought of it.

Dave buttons up, tells me to lean back and relax. Like when he cut my hair and taught me how to shave, there’s some preparation. He gets a pillow, for instance, and a condom, then gets comfortable on his knees in front of me. I feel really exposed as he looks me over, like he could make one wisecrack and ruin everything, but he doesn’t. He rubs me up and down a few times, not rough, but not too gently either. Kind of like it’s a regular old job and he’s done it a million times before. Strangely, his efficiency helps me relax a little. I lean back and close my eyes, gripping the couch cushions with both hands like it’s Space Mountain and I’m twelve years old, knowing there’s all this hype to the ride without knowing the ride itself.

Then Dave starts doing things with his mouth that feel really, really good. Like that roller coaster, my whole body is going for the ride. He’s drawing all these sensations out of me I could never accomplish by myself, making me utter things in a voice I’ve never heard before—yeah, come on, right there, fuck yeah. My hips lift off the couch as my dick goes deeper inside his mouth. His lips smack as he moans, and it sounds so wet and nasty and I want to ram it farther down his throat, but I don’t. No wonder the guys at school are always going on about it. Just when I’m about to cum, he slides me out, strips off the condom, and finishes me off with his fist. My dick explodes, and I think of that guy who used to smash watermelons with a hammer. All the red meat going everywhere, landing on people’s faces. I’m not very tidy.

“Goooooooal,” Dave says, and I chuckle, though it sounds more like I’m being strangled. I’ve been holding on to the couch for dear life the whole time, so when he backs away, I have to take a few deep breaths and uncoil myself like a snake.

Dave goes to the bathroom for a minute, comes back with a towel, and tosses it to me.

“Well?” he asks. “How was it?”

“Damn,” I utter, catching my breath. My dick is still raw and throbbing and exposed to the cold air conditioner. I put it away before it starts to look sad and dejected, thinking what most guys have probably thought at some point in their lives: if I could do that for myself, I’d never leave my bedroom.

“You’re welcome,” Dave says, and his self-satisfied smirk is back. I finish buttoning my pants and glance over at him, hoping he’ll tell me what happens next.

“You want to give it a try?” he asks with a teasing smile.

Like I said before, I’m a person who likes to return the favor. I settle down on my knees in front of him, appreciating the forethought of the pillow. Dave tells me what to do every step of the way. It’s not much different from when he taught me how to shave.

Dave’s a good teacher.





How Big Is a Centaur’s Junk?


MY ARRANGEMENT with Dave is unusual. Even I, with my limited experience, know that. We slip into a kind of routine. I come over to his place in the afternoons. We mess around some, then settle in to play video games or watch TV. Sometimes he smokes pot, and I listen to him tell stories about his friends in North Carolina. He seems homesick, and he’s always showing me pictures on his phone of people he used to hang out with and his little brothers. Not his parents, though. I don’t think they got along too well, even before he came out.

Neither of us are too concerned with putting a label on what we have going. Nor do we let on to the rest of our friends that we’re seeing each other on the side. After a couple weeks of hooking up, we’re at school one day when Dave starts telling this story to our friends about a girl who once jacked him off so hard that he came in her eye and she was practically blind for a few hours. He really gets into it, shouting and miming out the scene. Everyone thinks it’s hilarious, except for me, because I’m the “girl” it happened to.

Chris shakes his head and says to me, “I don’t believe half the shit that asshole says.”

“Me neither,” I say, while wishing Dave would shut the hell up. He should know better than to tell that story. It makes me feel like a tool, not to mention that if Chris found out it was me, I’d be completely humiliated.

Later on, when no one else is around, Dave asks me if I’m coming over that afternoon. I tell him I’ve got stuff to do. I don’t want to give him any more material.

He keeps bugging me about it while I load up my backpack with what I need for that night. My academic classes are all AP and honors. Other than a lot of homework and some studying, the classes aren’t that hard, but I do need to keep up with it if I want to make that scholarship money rain down.