I never planned on sucking cock. I was twenty-two, straight as they come, dated girls, jerked off to pussy and tits like every other guy. Then my roommate Jake moved in. Tall, lean, always walking around in boxers after the gym, and one night after too many beers he caught me staring at the outline of his dick.
"You ever think about it?" he asked, voice low, hand already rubbing himself through the fabric.
I laughed it off at first, but my own cock was getting hard. We were both drunk enough that the usual bullshit didn't matter. Jake pulled his boxers down and his dick sprang out, thick, veined, already leaking. "Touch it," he said.
My hand wrapped around him before I could stop myself. Hot, heavy, pulsing in my grip. I stroked slow at first, watching the head push through my fist, precum slicking everything. Jake groaned and pushed his hips forward. "Suck it. First time, right? Do it."
I dropped to my knees on the living room floor. The head tasted salty, skin smooth and tight. I opened my mouth and took the first few inches, tongue flat against the underside. Jake's hand went to the back of my head, not forcing, just guiding. I bobbed, getting used to the thickness stretching my lips. Spit ran down his shaft. I gagged once when he thrust deeper, but I didn't pull off. My own dick was throbbing in my jeans, untouched.
"Fuck, you're good at this for a straight boy," Jake muttered. He pulled out, strings of spit connecting my mouth to his cock. "Strip."
We were naked fast. Jake bent me over the arm of the couch, ass up. His fingers, slick with spit and lube from somewhere, rubbed my hole. I tensed when the first one pushed in. It burned, then felt weirdly good as he worked it. Two fingers, scissoring me open, hitting something that made my cock leak onto the couch cushion.
"You want me to fuck this virgin ass?" he asked, voice rough.
"Yeah," I said, voice shaking. "Do it."
The head of his cock pressed against me. Slow push, then the ring gave and he slid in. Full, stretched, almost too much. I grunted, fists clenched in the fabric. Jake held still, letting me adjust, then started moving. Long, steady strokes that got deeper each time. Skin slapped. My hole clenched around him. Every thrust rubbed that spot inside and my cock jerked, untouched, dripping.
He reached around and stroked me in time with his thrusts. Hard and fast now, both of us grunting. I came first, shooting ropes across the couch, ass squeezing his cock.
Jake kept pounding, then pulled out and painted my lower back and ass with thick shots of cum. Hot, sticky, running down my crack.
We didn't talk much after. Cleaned up, went to our rooms. But two nights later it happened again. This time I rode him, sinking down on his dick until my balls rested against him, then lifting and dropping, learning how to take it all. Jake's hands gripped my hips, guiding the pace, telling me how tight I was, how good my straight ass felt milking him.
By the third time I was on my back, legs over his shoulders, watching his face while he fucked me deep and slow. I jerked myself off to the sight of his cock disappearing into me. We came together, him flooding my hole, me shooting across my own stomach.
It stayed raw after that. No labels, just heat. I'd text him when I needed it. He'd bend me over the kitchen counter or fuck my throat until tears ran down my face. Sometimes he'd make me beg for it, make me say I wanted his cock even though I still dated girls on the weekends. The first time he came inside me without a condom I felt it for hours afterward, his load leaking out while I walked around the apartment.
We never called it gay. We called it what it was: two guys getting off. But every time he pushed into me, every time I swallowed him down, it stopped feeling like an accident and started feeling like something I needed. Straight or not, that first night changed what I wanted. And I kept wanting it.
