I had always wondered. That low, persistent ache in my gut whenever I saw two men together, the way my cock would twitch at the thought of another guy’s hands on me. I was twenty-two, living alone in a small apartment after college, and one humid August night it finally happened. His name was Marcus. We met at a bar neither of us usually went to, both of us nursing beers and stealing glances until he came over and said, “You look like you’re thinking too hard.”
We talked for hours. When he asked if I wanted to come back to his place, my mouth went dry but I nodded. The walk there was quiet, charged. The second the door closed behind us, Marcus pressed me against it and kissed me. It was nothing like kissing a woman. Rougher, needier, his stubble scraping my chin, his tongue pushing deep like he already owned my mouth. My hands found his waist, then slid lower, feeling the hard line of his cock through his jeans. He groaned into my kiss and ground against my palm.
“First time?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look at me.
I nodded. He smiled, slow and dark. “We’ll go slow.”
He led me to the bedroom, stripping his shirt off on the way. His body was lean and muscular, dark hair trailing down his stomach. I followed, clumsy with my own clothes until I stood naked in front of him. My cock stood straight out, already leaking. Marcus looked me over, licked his lips, and stepped close. His fingers wrapped around my shaft, slow and firm, stroking once from base to tip. The sensation shot through me like electricity. I gasped.
“Lie down,” he said.
I did. He knelt between my legs and took me into his mouth without warning. Hot, wet heat surrounded my cock. His tongue pressed flat along the underside as he sucked me down, taking almost all of me on the first try. My hips bucked. I’d never felt anything like it. He worked me steadily, one hand cupping my balls, the other sliding under my ass to pull me deeper into his throat. Every time he swallowed around me I moaned, louder than I meant to. When he pulled off, strings of spit connected his lips to my glistening head.
“Turn over,” he murmured.
I rolled onto my stomach, heart hammering. Marcus spread my cheeks and licked. The first swipe of his tongue over my hole made me jerk. He held me open and kept going, slow circles, then pointed thrusts that pushed inside. I buried my face in the pillow and whimpered. No one had ever touched me there. It felt filthy and perfect at the same time. He worked a finger in alongside his tongue, then two, scissoring gently, stretching me while he whispered how tight I was, how good I tasted.
When he finally slicked his cock and pressed the head against my hole, I was shaking. He went slow, one hand on my lower back, murmuring encouragement. The burn was sharp at first, then melted into a deep, full feeling as he sank deeper. I felt every inch. When his hips met my ass I let out a broken sound I didn’t recognize as my own.
Marcus stayed still, letting me adjust, then started moving. Long, smooth strokes that dragged over something inside me that made my cock throb against the sheets. He built speed gradually, fucking me with steady, deep thrusts. Each one punched a moan out of me. I pushed back to meet him, chasing the feeling. His hand reached around and stroked my cock in time with his thrusts. I came hard, clenching around him, cum soaking the sheets beneath me. Marcus groaned and followed seconds later, pulsing deep inside me.
We stayed like that, breathing hard, until he softened and slipped out. He cleaned us both up with a warm cloth, then pulled me against his chest. I fell asleep with his arm around me, sore and satisfied in a way I’d never been before.
That was years ago, but I still think about it. How right it felt once I stopped fighting what I wanted. How good it was to finally let another man inside me. I’ve had plenty of sex since, but nothing ever matched the intensity of that first time, the moment I stopped wondering and started knowing.
