Apparently the men of this county like to pay for their pleasures. I had a cool hundred-dollar bill in my back pocket to prove it.
This was no man, either. The kid was barely nineteen. The beard he was attempting to grow was barely peach fuzz that clung to his long, sloping line jawline; his skin was the color of bittersweet chocolate. His frame was thin, his shorts the preppy plaid so popular in this part of the country, his shoes made to grip the slippery decks of a sailboat. His T-shirt was of a fine weave, featured some fussy sewing around its V-neck, and probably cost more than my entire ensemble put together.
Not that I'd removed any of my clothing. I wore what I think of as my cruising sneakers—a pair that's so old and ratty that I don't care if they get spattered with mud, piss, or cum. My jeans hugged my hips; my own T-shirt was tucked in the buttoned denim, though it had come loose in the back. My fly was unzipped; I'd hauled out my dick and nuts and let them hang heavily. The metal teeth bit slightly into the flesh. Enough to bring me pleasure—not enough to cause pain.
He handed me the plastic canister. Thicker than a can of vegetables, it was at its broadest end, though not as large as a coffee can. It looked like a shortened telescope of sorts, save for the puffy, pink lips spilling over the top. They opened in what was supposed to look like invitation. A flexible slit opened in their center. I stuck my index finger into the molded mouth, teasing the hole with its tip. "This is what you want me to fuck, huh?" I asked, sticking my finger in to the base. I held the mouth near my dick, so he could see exactly how deeply I'd be going in.
The kid's eyes opened wide. He sucked in his lip, wet them, then nodded.
I shrugged. I've played with a Fleshlight before. One of my readers sent one to me, so I could try it out. I'd never before had the opportunity to use one in front of another person, though. And I certainly hadn't been asked to pleasure myself with one of the devices for pay, until now. "I'll fuck it," I told him, trying to convey that I was horny enough to fuck anything. Then I whispered, like we were trading secrets, "Get down close and watch."
He fell to his knees with a thud on the family room floor. This neat, paneled room was filled with family photos; a framed painting of a desert temple occupied by handsome, dark-skinned pharoahs and consorts hung over the fireplace. The kid had probably grown up playing video games and Sorry! in this room, I figured. Now, with his folks away, he'd invited me over to play a game of an entirely different sort.
I could feel his breath on my dick, he was so close. I grabbed some of the lube close at hand and squirted it expertly in my palm, then slapped it onto my dick until it glistened. With my clean hand I gripped the barrel of the Fleshlight, and used my slimy finger to probe it once more. The kid cleared his throat. The base of his hand massaged his dick through his pants. I wondered if he'd be bold enough to take it out.
"You watching?" I asked. It was a rhetorical question. He'd barely blinked since I'd started. I pushed the head of my dick against the molded mouth. My engorged head caused the soft material to swell and distend. Then, slowly, deliberately, I slid inside. I let inch after inch disappear, bit by bit, while he licked his lips and breathed heavily close by.
A Fleshlight to me feels nothing like the real thing. Someone had given me the tip of soaking mine in warm water, before use, in order to render it warm and pliable. This boy hadn't done that with his. The sensation was tight and not unpleasant, though to me the real stimulation came from knowing the kid was fixated on my every action. I could see the excitement in his eyes, could read almost every pornographic thought flitting through his young mind. He didn't look at any part of me save my dick and swinging balls, as I slowly worked the plastic barrel up and down over my shaft. I twisted and turned the cylinder so that it smacked with every stroke; when I'd withdraw my dick, the pink lips would cling to the meat as if reluctant to let go.
For long minutes I worked the Fleshlight over my inches. Gradually, over time, I added more hip motion. Eventually, without any announcement, I was fucking it with my hips.
"Hold it," I told him. I reached out and took his hands and curved one, then the other, over the hard plastic shell. "Hold it tight." Once I'd gotten him angling it correctly, I let go and stuck my hands behind my head, so that my pit hair curled over the edges of the arms of my T-shirt. I bit my lower lip and screwed up my face to make it look as if I was having the ride of my life. My lip rose and curled into a sneer, hugging one side of my nose. "Fuck yeah," I whispered, as I continued to fuck the device.
He clung to the walls as if his life depended on it, his neck crooked so that he could watch my angry meat sliding in and out. "Maybe," he said, speaking for the first time in long minutes, "maybe you want to fuck me."
"You didn't pay for that," I drawled.
It was that admission, more than anything the Fleshlight itself was doing for me, that pushed me over the edge. I came soon after in a noisy rush in which I rattled the table of knick-knacks behind the sofa next to me. He and I both held down the barrel to the base of my dick while I unloaded. His fingertips rested on mine for a moment after I'd done. Then he withdrew.
I was pulling in my dick and zipping up when he started to unscrew the interior of the Fleshlight from its casing. He lifted the plastic shell to his lips, and upended it. Like he was chugging the last remains of a Frappuccino, he downed the load I'd left inside. A trace of my spunk remained on his lips when he was done.
That gesture, more than anything else he'd done the entire time, aroused me. "Can we do this again?" he asked. The hope was written plain, in his eyes.
He needed this, on some level, I realized. He needed this remove, this distance from what he truly wanted. I understood that I shouldn't push it. I shrugged. "Sure. You know how to get me."
"Thank you," he said, in an automatic, well-bred manner. He walked ahead of me and graciously opened the side door. "I'll be giving you a call."
I was pretty sure he would be, too.