I had always known there was something different about the way I looked at other guys, but I buried it deep under layers of denial and straight-laced expectations. At twenty-two, living in a cramped off-campus apartment during my senior year, I told myself it was just curiosity. That all changed the night my roommate's friend, Derek, stayed over after a late party.
Derek was twenty-three, built from years of construction work, with broad shoulders, a scruffy jaw, and eyes that seemed to see right through my bullshit. We had talked before, casual stuff about sports and classes, but that night the apartment was empty except for us. My roommate had passed out elsewhere. Derek and I sat on the couch with beers, the TV flickering low.
The conversation turned personal fast. He admitted he had fooled around with guys before. My heart hammered when he asked if I ever had. I shook my head, voice tight. "Never. Not even close."
He didn't laugh. Instead, he shifted closer, his knee brushing mine. "You want to?" The question hung there, raw and direct.
I nodded before I could stop myself.
Derek's hand landed on my thigh, firm and warm. He leaned in and kissed me, slow at first, then deeper, his tongue sliding against mine. The taste of beer mixed with something hotter. My cock hardened instantly in my jeans, pressing against the zipper. I had never felt anything like it with a woman.
We moved to my bedroom without speaking much. Clothes came off in a rush. His body was solid, hairy chest tapering to a thick cock that curved upward, already leaking. Mine was average but throbbing, the head shiny with precum. He pushed me onto the bed and wrapped his hand around both our shafts, stroking them together. The friction made me gasp.
"First time," he murmured, "so we'll go easy." But easy didn't last. He dropped to his knees and took me into his mouth. The wet heat was overwhelming. His tongue worked the underside while he sucked, one hand cupping my balls. I thrust involuntarily, and he took it deeper, gagging lightly but not stopping. My hands gripped his hair as pleasure built too fast.
I pulled him up before I came. We switched, and I tried returning the favor. His cock felt heavy on my tongue, salty and masculine. I gagged at first but found a rhythm, bobbing while he groaned and told me how good it felt. "Suck it like you mean it," he said, voice rough. I did, saliva dripping down my chin.
Derek flipped me onto my stomach and spread my cheeks. His tongue found my hole, licking and probing. The sensation was electric, new, and filthy. He worked a finger inside, then two, stretching me while he stroked my cock from underneath. I moaned into the pillow, pushing back against his hand.
When he rolled on a condom and slicked lube over himself, my nerves spiked. "Tell me if it's too much," he said. The blunt head pressed against my entrance. He pushed slowly, inch by inch. The burn was intense at first, then gave way to a full, aching pressure that sent sparks through my body. Once he was buried deep, he started moving, long strokes that hit something inside me that made my cock leak onto the sheets.
We fucked like that for what felt like forever, him pounding harder as I begged for more. He flipped me onto my back, legs over his shoulders, and drove in deeper. Sweat slicked our skin. His hand jerked my cock in time with his thrusts until I came hard, ropes of cum hitting my chest and stomach. Derek followed seconds later, groaning as he pulsed inside me.
Afterward, we lay tangled, breathing heavy. He kissed my shoulder and asked if I was okay. I was more than okay. I felt awake for the first time.
We did it again that night, slower the second time, me riding him while he watched my face. By morning, I knew this was only the beginning. My gay first time had cracked something open, and there was no going back.
