“I’m worried,” he tells me. His blue eyes are guileless. When he makes the admission, he sucks on his lower lip.
I’m aware that my load is leaking out of his hole. Tim’s little teen butt is nestled between the bone of my pelvis. Every time he moves, a little more of myself oozes out of him. Since he’s got his cock in his hand and is thrusting back and forth as he stares down at me, he’s moving a lot.
I reach out and remove his hand from his dick. He’s not going to shoot. Not that way. “Why are you worried?”
“I don’t want to turn you off,” he says.
“You’re not going to turn me off.”
“What if I do something wrong?”
“What in the world can you do wrong?” I ask him. I hold his hands as we talk. His fingers twine through mine. I watch as his eyes search the ceiling for an answer. He finds nothing there, and grins a little at himself. “You’re not going to do anything wrong.”
I try to pull him down beside me. This is a conversation best suited for taking place in my arms. He’s a little bit stubborn, though. He remains sitting on my midsection, his knees digging into my rib cage. “What if it hurts?”
“Why in the world—?” Oh, I realize, with a start. He’s not worried about it hurting himself. He’s concerned about me. “Sweetie,” I say. This time, when I pull him down to me, I don’t allow him to put up resistance. My arms surround him. I nuzzle his neck, lay down soft kisses onto his jawline, and stroke the messy curls from his eyes. “I don’t think you’re capable of hurting me. Did it hurt when I fucked you?”
He shakes his head. “Oh hell no,” he says. “I loved it when you fucked me.” Is he trembling at the memory, or from the chill? It was the late afternoon when we slipped out of our clothes and into my bed. It’s past dusk now, and the air cascading down from the window high over the bed makes my skin break out in gooseflesh. With my ankles, I hook the blanket that’s lying crumpled and most of the way onto the floor, and pull it up over us.
We’re in a cozy nest now, cuddled together. A world consisting of us two alone. I continue to stroke his hair with the flat of my hand and look into his eyes. “I just don’t know whether I’ll make a good top for you.”
He’s completely naked for me now. Not just undressed. He’s stripped down, his soul laid bare. We’ve arrived at the unadulterated truth. He’s breathing swiftly and shallowly. Has he ever had to be this nakedly honest before? I doubt it, this early in his sexual career. “You’ve never topped,” I say, laying a palm on his chest. He’s so warm, so vital. So fucking young. “You told me you wanted to try it. Do you still?”
Tim’s afraid to say yes, but he manages to nod.
“Do you want your first time to be with me, still?”
His eyes are filling again. I can see them in the dim of the room, glistening like gems. “Mr. B______, I’ve been jacking off about you for weeks. What if I cum too soon, though?”
I place another hand on him to soothe him, before he becomes too agitated. “Tim,” I say, recalling him to himself. “This isn’t about you being a power top. You’re not being graded here.” He relaxes a little, hoping what I tell him is the truth. “What we’re going to do—if you want to do it, and if you want to do it with me—is about one man and one young man making each other feel very, very good. That’s all that matters. If you enjoy yourself, you’ve succeeded.” I pause to let my words sink in. “So let me make you feel very, very good.”
When I lean forward to kiss him, his neck cranes to meet me. His lips are soft, and slightly puffy. They’re the color of candy. He tastes sweet like candy, too. “Let me be your first,” I urge. “All right?”
“All right,” he says.
When I pull back the sheets, he trembles again. His dick isn’t just hard. It’s hard in that raging, all-encompassing way that teen boys manage at the drop of a hat. I reach for the lube on the bookshelf next to the bed and squirt some in my hand, then cup my fingers around the curve of his cock. He shivers, then bucks at the warmth of my touch contrasted with the lube’s coolness. His lips twitch. His hands dash out to stop me from masturbating him too much. Maybe he is close, like he worried.
“If you feel yourself shooting, just try to go in as deep as you can. It will be fine.” I’m speaking in my dad voice, my teacher voice, the voice of the wise elder imparting both advice and assurance to the young. “Okay?” I ask.
“Okay,” he says, very softly.
Another handful of the lube goes onto and into my hole. I am hardly practiced at lubing myself, but I fake it, shoving two fingers inside myself and getting the cold ointment as deep into me as I can. “Let’s try it this way,” I say, as I roll onto my side. I pull up a leg and leave the other pointing toward the fireplace on the room’s other side. “Just go slow,” I ask him, trying to sound confident and not beg. “It’ll be all right.”
He’s not huge. Maybe six and a half inches. But I’m not the most experienced bottom of late, despite getting my hole stretched by the Russian a couple of times. He’s very sweet about it as he points his cement-hard meat at my hole, though, and nudges it past the hairy outer lips. When he starts fucking the head back and forth just inside my hole, making every micro-movement count, I can tell he was paying attention when I fucked him for the first time a few minutes before.
At least he’s learned from one of the best, right? I’m prepared to have to put up with some pain. I’m expecting to have to bite the pillow and think of England, to have to cover up my discomfort with some acting. But once he’s past the first ring, I’m actually quite comfortable. He’s grunting to himself slightly as he slides in, but he’s got control; he’s opening me like he knows what he’s doing, not like a teen boy topping for the first time. I was never this smooth at his age, that’s for sure.
“You’re good,” I groan out. I really want him in my hole. There’s no endurance here, no covering up my real feelings. England is the last thing on my mind. “Just keep . . . yeah. Like that. Just like that.”
“Is it okay?” he asks. I can hear a little anxiety in his voice, but there’s more urgency than fear.
“Oh god. It’s better than okay.” The deep bass of my guttural voice shocks even me. “Is it okay for you?”
The only answer he makes is his respiration, which is harsh and heavy. My suspicion that he’s all the way in seems to be verified when he starts moving back and forth over me. I turn my head to look. His eyes are closed. He’s got his hands wrapped around his chest, hugging himself like a little boy. His hips have taken over, though. Tim is sliding in and out of me at first tentatively, but then with purpose. His hands drop to my ass, and lightly touch me there. Then he puts his weight onto me, and digs in.
He doesn’t last long. I’m very proud that he actually made it into the hole before he shot, though—a lot of first-timers don’t manage that. He’s in me for about a minute, making my hole hungry for more, when all of a sudden he starts muttering to himself and lunges, sending me sprawling forward a good six inches. “—deep as I can,” I hear him saying to himself.
I realize he’s repeating my advice to him. “Give it to me,” I growl, contorting my leg higher. I want him in there as far as he can go. I need that boy’s cock. He’s setting my hole on fire in a way I haven’t experienced in a long, long time. “Give me all you’ve got.”
My own dick is making a permanent impression in the foam mattress, it’s so rigid. I ignore it, though. This is all about him, and his first time. He sputters when he shoots, showering me with droplets of saliva fine as mist. I can feel his rod jerking and swelling and letting loose inside me. Then, mid-squirt, he slips out.
“Put it back in,” I urge. “Quick.”
He shoves back in, going in at the wrong angle at first, but then shoving his gushing meat all the way back in. I feel like I’ve taken a gallon of his cum; I can feel some of it on the back of my thigh, dripping onto my balls. He’s still jerking and bucking and thrashing, eyes closed, lost in his own little world.
Or so I think. Because he opens his eyes and says in a panic, “What do I do? Pull out?”
“Stay in,” I urge. And I reach up and help him maneuver down to the bed, still in me, until he’s spooning behind me. I tug the blanket over our tangled bodies. His arms reach around and encompass my chest. He squeezes me tightly, and buries his nose against the curve where my neck meets my shoulder.
I’m so happy, at this moment. So happy. And I hope he is too.
After a moment, I’m sure he’s asleep. But then there’s a rumbling in his chest. “I’ve never held a man like this,” he says, his voice wondering.
Of all the firsts this evening, that’s the most remarkable for him. I fold my hands over his, and let him hold me until he sleeps.