Frank's signal was the first vital lesson he gave me beyond the game of pool. "My place is about twenty minutes from here, Frank. Wanna follow?" "Sure." In thirty we stood beside my queen size bed. Such an incredible teacher this ape-man Frank turned out to be. Because he was so eager to be pleasured he put me at ease, transformed me into the expert, motivated me to be the take-charge guy, and Frank offered only a minor protest when I told him to, "Get naked, Frank. Stretch on out." "Well, now, Melvin, I ain't showered since this morning. Better let me freshen up." "Hey, Frank, I'm funky, too. Don't worry about it." Surprised myself again. Why not let him shower if he wanted? Or at least clean his crotch? Why didn't I want him freshened up? Don't know. Didn't know much of anything. Knew I'd wanted Thomas since those first sprouts of hair appeared under his arms. Certainly knew I'd want him to be fresh for my tongue if I ever got that chance again, but for this man here and now, I wanted him just as he was -- raw and rugged, looking and acting and smelling like a man. My second lesson learned. I didn't want some sweet-smelling pretty boy. Didn't want some effeminate wrist flipper. I wanted a fucking man. A knuckle-dragging Neanderthal, a hard-working, hard-bodied, pussy-poking, gas-belching, butt-scratching, sweat-encrusted slab of masculine nastiness. And I wanted to devour every fucking inch of this man who laid naked right there on my mattress. If only I knew how. How long could I conceal from him my... (I hate this word)... virginity? But wait! I was no virgin. I was an apprentice. After all, I did have a bit of experience. Had at one time taken a man's penis inside my mouth, if for but a few brief minutes. Yes, an apprentice I was, and same as I'd done for Paul Bresco in learning his window installation business, I would work slowly and carefully with this man until I knew what I's doing. This man, this Frank, seemed to be so tragically horny and long-neglected he was willing to lay there like a beached whale and let me do exactly that. Surrendered in a four-corner sprawl he became my lab rat, an instrument of learning for my lips and tongue. I learned how to control my gag reflex, how to take his six inches of length to the depths of my throat, how to blanket with my lips and tongue his one-and-a-half inches of width, his two inches of diametrically helmeted and cut corona. I accustomed myself to swallowing his gloriously throbbing mushroom so I could extend my tongue onto his salty nuts. Frank's man tools were ideal for my apprenticeship -- perfectly shaped and sized, constantly in a state of zeppelin-shaped rigidity. He was so happy to have a warm and wet mouth giving him such attention that he basked silently, moaned occasionally, and conveyed kindly his pleasure with an expression of ecstasy: lower lip behind upper teeth, upper lip showing me his upper teeth. I experimented with every technique I'd ever dreamed someone could apply to me. With Frank putting no pressure on me to hurry or to do anything this way or that way, my enthusiasm steadily intensified. My excitement matched his, and by the time his nuts shrank to nothing and he exhaled deeply to signal his coming explosion, I was ready for him. I drank him. I drained him, never releasing him until every dramatic contraction ended and every last spurt of his discharge belonged to me, in my gut. Even then, I refused to let go. Remembering the many times I'd tortured myself with slow jacking long after I'd shot my masturbatory load, I did the same to him -- with my mouth. What a rush it was to have complete control over such a powerful man. My god, any other time he could've buried me in his bear hug and crushed the life right out of me, but here he was at my mercy, wanting me to stop but hoping I wouldn't. Tormenting him was pure pleasure for me. I watched him convulse and contort and twitch while I targeted the apex of his sensitivity -- that supercharged triangle of skin below his piss slit. Vital lesson number three. Licking a man here when he's inside your mouth is like torturing him with electricity, an ecstatically-charged voltage of pleasurable torment. Frank took it like I needed for him to take it -- never begging, never complaining. He never said a god damned thing. Nothing in human language. All was prehistoric. All was physical. His toes curled forward and back, their frenzied scraping together heard behind me. His spine writhed, repeatedly rising and falling, his chest and belly rising and falling in synch. Fists clenched. Teeth clenched. Eyelids clenched, while his head jerked left and right. Frank was perfect for me, perfect for my learning, and he wanted my lessons to never end. On this night, Frank and I were made for each other -- me needing a man who made my mouth water; him wanting affection of an intensity nearly forgotten, and with both of us having fulfilled one another's needs he should have been ready to go on home. He wasn't. |
