I had known Mark since we were kids, but everything changed the summer we both turned twenty-one. We were sprawled on the floor of his apartment after a long night out, beers sweating on the coffee table, when he looked at me and said, straight out, “I’ve wanted to touch you for years.” My heart slammed against my ribs. I had always thought of myself as straight, but the way his eyes held mine made something low in my stomach twist and heat up. I didn’t answer with words. I just leaned in.
His mouth was softer than I expected, warmer, and the first slow press of his lips sent a shock straight through me. I had kissed girls before, but this felt different, hungrier, like he was learning me by taste. When his tongue slid against mine I groaned without meaning to, and Mark smiled against my mouth. “You okay?” he whispered. I nodded, already hard in my jeans, and pulled him closer.
We didn’t rush. He took his time unbuttoning my shirt, fingertips brushing over my chest, thumbs circling my nipples until they tightened. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was memorizing the way my skin reacted. I reached for him too, sliding my hands under his T-shirt, feeling the lean muscle of his back. When he finally pulled the shirt over his head I stared. I had seen him shirtless a hundred times, but now every line of him looked new and dangerous.
Mark’s hand moved lower, cupping me through my jeans. The pressure made my hips jerk. “Fuck,” I breathed. He laughed quietly, almost tender, and popped the button on my fly. His fingers wrapped around my cock and I thought I might come right there. I was leaking already, and he used the slickness to stroke me slow and steady, watching my face the whole time.
I wanted to return the favor. My hand shook when I reached for him, but he guided me, showing me how he liked it, firm at the base, thumb rubbing over the head. Feeling another man’s cock in my hand for the first time was overwhelming, thick and hot and alive. We stroked each other like that for long minutes, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, until Mark pulled back and said, “I want more.”
He led me to his bedroom. The sheets were cool when he laid me down, but his body was burning as he covered me. We kissed again, deeper, and he worked his way down my chest, tongue tracing every ridge of muscle. When his mouth closed around my cock I nearly blacked out. It was wet and tight and nothing like anything I had felt before. He took me deep, throat working, one hand rolling my balls gently while the other stroked what he couldn’t swallow. I threaded my fingers through his hair, not pushing, just holding on as pleasure rolled through me in thick waves.
I came with a broken sound, pulsing against his tongue. Mark swallowed every drop, then crawled back up to kiss me, letting me taste myself on his lips. “Your turn,” he murmured, and I knew what he meant.
He lay back, legs parted, and I settled between them. His cock looked bigger up close, flushed dark and curved toward his stomach. I licked the head first, curious, salty-sweet. Mark’s breath hitched. Encouraged, I took him into my mouth, learning the weight and heat of him, the way the vein on the underside pulsed against my tongue. I couldn’t take him as deep as he had taken me, but I used my hand at the base and tried to match the rhythm he had shown me.
His moans were low and filthy, and they made me hard again.
When he pulled me up he was breathing fast. “I want to be inside you,” he said. The words sent a fresh rush of heat through me. I nodded, nervous but aching for it.
Mark was careful, patient. He slicked his fingers and opened me slowly, one at a time, crooking them until he found the spot that made my vision spark white. By the time he rolled on a condom and pressed the head of his cock against me I was pushing back, desperate. The stretch burned at first, then melted into something deeper, fuller. He moved in small thrusts, watching my face, whispering how good I felt, how tight I was around him. When he was all the way in we both went still, breathing hard.
He fucked me with long, steady strokes, hitting that same spot inside me over and over until I was moaning with every push. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. The friction built and built until I came again, untouched, streaking across my stomach. Mark followed seconds later, hips stuttering, face buried against my neck as he groaned my name.
Afterward we lay tangled together, sweaty and quiet. He traced lazy circles on my chest. “You okay?” he asked again. I turned my head and kissed him, slow and grateful. “Yeah,” I said. “More than okay.”
We stayed like that until the room grew light, talking in low voices about what this meant, what we wanted. There was no rush to label it. All I knew was that my body still hummed with the memory of him, and I already wanted to feel it again. Mark smiled when I told him, and pulled me closer. “We’ve got time,” he said. And for the first time in my life, that felt exactly right.
