Chapter 9

Ian:My first time

One touch of lips isn't enough. For neither of us. I kiss him again, and he is responsive. He wants this; I wasn't mistaken. The realisation provokes unexpected emotions, in magnitude and character. I've known lust that drove me crazy before, but this is beyond lust. It's soft. Warm. Caring. Jesus.

I stroke his upper lip with my tongue. He opens his mouth. I go inside. God, this is wonderful slick and hot tongue swirling. He's moaning a little.

I let go of his wrist and put my arm around is back, pulling him closer.

I can feel he's hard. The notion and sensation of his arousal stiffens my penis. I'm not repulsed at all. I'm doing something I never thought possible – French kissing Cedric Carmichael and relishing it – but I do. I need to take a breath though, so I extricate my lips from his mouth and start lick-kissing the line of his jaw and his throat.

He's mumbling 'no' over and over, but his words are in stark contrast with his behaviour. His head is tilted backwards, his dick is hard against mine, and he's clinging to me as though he intends never to let me go.

I do know what he means, though. If I stop, he'll be safe again. He doesn't trust me.

I attack his mouth once more, however, so he can't protest any longer. And I put my hand under his sweater and shirt to the naked skin of his back. Touching him feels electric, and unexpectedly different from touching a woman. The texture of the skin differs very much. Beneath my hand, I feel warm solidness, strength, and muscles. I like it. I want more of it.

'Let's go to the bedroom,' I suggest against his cheek.

If he hesitates, it's only for a fraction of a second. 'Yes,' he says hoarsely.

He lets go of me and moves quickly. I follow suit.

On the doorstep, we both hesitate. A scene similar to this (yet very different) occurred nine years ago. His then wife was also present at the time.

It's understandable that he doesn't want to go through with it. I can't push him. We'd better take it slow.

He seems to have made a decision, though. Not only to want to go through with it, but to take the lead as well, apparently. Taking my hand, he enters the room, pulling me along.

'Sit down,' he says, gesturing to the bed.

When I comply, he kneels and takes off my shoes and socks, very carefully and concentrated.

With his hands around my angles, he looks up. Dark eyes. Almost black right now. They come closer.

He claims my mouth. This is not by way of speech; it is exactly what he does. This kiss is entirely different from the one I initiated earlier. This is not soft and exploratory. This is aggressive. (Well, I know since recently that he's capable of aggression, don't I.) I am mouth-fucked by his tongue. And I love it. It's maddening too.

When I regain some of my brain, (partly because it's suddenly refilled with oxygen) I'm lying on my back on the bed. Cedric is leaning over me, regarding me solemnly. I know what the look means; he's asking for permission. To do what, I don't know, but it's all fine with me. I give him a slight nod.

Two thuds ensue. Shoes falling from his feet. He starts to unbutton my shirt, making sure to touch as much skin as possible in the process. He strokes my chest, nipples, abdomen. Then he places his hand over the lump in my trousers.

For the first time since I kissed him, what we're doing feels awkward. I know two men (if straight) shouldn't enjoy kissing each other like we did, but it just happened. It only felt wonderful and I didn't bother reassessing my sexuality. His hand on my cock is placed there with deliberation, however, which makes it feel more intimate somehow.

He removes his hand, and I instantly want to protest. Then he starts to remove his clothes. Efficiently, not at all teasing, but I'd never have thought that I would react this strongly to the sight of another man getting naked. My cock rears, my heart races, my mouth gets dry and I'm aching to touch him.

He turns towards me. Broad, smooth shoulders, ditto chest, tight pinkish-brown nipples, proud standing cock. My penis jerks again, and I realise I'm still almost completely dressed. Too focussed on Cedric's body to have done something about it.

I quickly loosen my belt and trousers. He takes the legs, pulls, and flings them through the room. Then he helps me to get rid of my jacket and shirt. I'm still in my briefs, but he doesn't seem to notice.

He lies down close beside me, putting his arms around me, rocking our bodies. It feels wonderful, but my underpants are nagging me.

He stops rocking and smiles at me (very sexily, I might add). 'My, Ian, I do believe you're captured by your briefs. Shall I attempt to free you?'

'That would be spiffing,' I reply gruffly.

He releases me by simply stroking my buttocks, genitals, and thighs under the fabric of my underpants, so they move downwards in the process. I push them down the last bit and kick them away.

It's a relief to be fully naked. It's also unexpectedly embarrassing. I have experienced numerous first-times in bed with a new partner, and being without clothes has never bothered me. I know I have nothing to be ashamed about. But now, I feel nervous. I'm lying on my back again. Cedric is regarding me with relish. He doesn't move.

I have been looked at, but never like this. Women, however lustful, were always regarding me with anticipation for what I was about to do to them, for my actions. I've never been the recipient of lustful looks alone, never been the one that was awaiting the action. It feels unfamiliarly vulnerable.

He moves. He strokes my thigh upwards, leans in and takes a keen interest in my genitals, judging from his explorations. It feels very nice. He leans in further, lowers his head … licks my penis. Up, down, and up again, and then he takes it in his mouth. Oh, Jesus.

This is also done to me before, of course. I previously have received blowjobs. But not like this. Not this skilfully warm, slick, wet alternate swirling, laving, sucking. My god, how does he know this?

I groan. I'm on the verge of despair. It feels so good. I don't want it to end yet.

He adds something to the touch. His hand, partly at the root of my cock, partly cupped over my testicles, moves lower, rubbing my anus. I tense for a second. This is not an entrance. He keeps sucking though, exquisitely, and I relax. He keeps rubbing too, and it's starting to feel nice, even when he presses inside a little. Jesus.

Then he stops. He's gone. It's cold. I feel disoriented. I hear a drawer open and close, and he's back with a little jar of Vaseline. Oh, Jesus, no. I don't want …

But I'm transfixed by his moves. He opens the jar, applying Vaseline on his fingers, looking at me, hypnotising me, telling me this is a good idea, I only have to lay back and relax, he'll take care of everything.

I comply. I even spread my legs and bend my knees, so he has access. He applies the Vaseline around and a little bit inside my arse, then he takes some more from the jar. He builds it slowly, pressing in a little deeper every time. It feels uncomfortable at first, but then not anymore. His finger inside my slick hole feels wonderful, and I find myself pressing back for an even deeper touch.

God. I'm melting. There's a most exquisite spot there.

'Please,' I rasp. 'More.' (Am I really begging another man for more anal penetration?)

He ads another finger. It's good. It's heaven. But it's not what I really want. His fingers are inside, his eyes are upon me, gauging my arousal, but he's so far away. I want him closer, inside me, melting with me.

'Fuck me.' (God. Never before have I uttered these words as a plea.)

He stops moving, but his finger is still inside. 'I haven't got the right condoms,' he says solemnly. Regretfully.

Damn.

'We could do it without a condom,' I suggest. 'If you're not disgusted by the idea.' It feels a bit surreal to be sexually bargaining like this while having his finger up my arse.

'No, not at all.' He smiles, pushing a little. I gasp. He smirks. Then he gets serious again. 'It could be dangerous, though.'

'No,' I assure him. 'I might have been sleeping around, but I never did it bare backed.' (I don't like this part of the conversation. It reminds me that there's a context to this, that we both have pasts, one's that are partially mutual as well.) 'My health is too precious to me.'

'The few times I did it have also been with condoms,' Cedric remarks.

So this clears the way. And renders us indecisive. How to go from here to anal intercourse?

'If you would be so kind as to remove your finger from my arse, I can get on all fours,' I say, deliberately mixing two styles of speech in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

It smarts when he complies.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' he asks.

I nod. He takes the jar and slathers his cock with Vaseline. I swallow. It's very erotic, watching him touching himself like that.

'Turn around,' he says. Ah, he's in charge again.

He applies more Vaseline in my perineum, then takes position behind me. I feel the tip of his penis pressing against my anus. There's resistance, hurt, and then he's inside.

'Are you all right?'

I nod. 'Yes.'

He pushes forward, slowly, cautiously, until he reaches 'the spot'. God, he's completely inside now, I can feel this balls against my bum. He doesn't move though, and I crave motion.

'Cedric.'

'Lower your head, Ian.'

What? What kind of submission game is this?

'Please.'

Then I get it. If I lower my head and lean on my forearms, he not only has better access but can lean over me as well. More touch.

I do as I'm told, and he leans forward, straddling my shoulders. He's licking the back of my neck. His hips rock, pushing his cock deep inside me. This is bliss. Oh, god. Ohgodohgodohgod.

I push back against him. We adopt a rhythm together, not only physically but in voice as well. It's a mantra. I'm babbling, 'Cedric … yours … forever,' while he's mumbling, 'Oh, god … Ian … I love you.' If we weren't building mutual orgasms in the process, it would be inexcusably embarrassing.

I'm there first (and my penis wasn't even touched directly) groaning and splattering sperm flecks on the sheets. I tighten my arse again, more deliberate this time. And effectively as well. He moans loudly, then stills, pouring his liquid inside me. I find it a rather horny notion, even at such a point in time where I haven't even begun to enjoy the post-coital bliss of my first shag as the shaggee.

'I'm going to withdraw now,' Cedric warns softly.

I clench my teeth. It does smart.

I turn around and smile at him; it has been a while since I've last seen his face.

He doesn't smile back. He's wearing a stony expression.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' he says in a flat tone. 'Would you like a drink before you go home?'

Jesus. No, this isn't true. He hasn't been playing a game out of revenge for what I once did to him, has he?

If he has, he did a wonderful job. I feel raped all of a sudden, and I realise that I get a taste of what I did to numerous women whom I left or dismissed after a one-night stand. I didn't rape them technically – I had their full consent – but if it was needed, I let them believe the sex meant more, luring them into sleeping with me when they probably wouldn't have done so otherwise.

I also realise that I must have thought what Cedric and I just did meant more than what we just did (I wasn't aware of that before, because I had other priorities at the time, like enjoying the exquisite sensations he was providing me). I wouldn't feel so deceived otherwise. It's a big change. It occurs to me, rather wryly, that I did a complete role reverse just now, being not only on the receiving end of a fuck, but also of the rejection afterwards (and the misleading in between). And now I'm paying for it. It turns out that I have feelings – who knew. And they are hurt.

I glance at Cedric, noticing that he looks far from victorious; rather sad, and … small, for such a tall man.

And then it dawns upon me. He doesn't want me to go; he fears it. He's assuming that I'm going home after what we shared, as revenge because he beat me up. Jesus. If he thinks I would go to that length just to hurt him, he's deranged. Or scared.

I touch his shoulder. 'The drink is optional,' I say. 'But I'm not going home, unless you really want me to.'

He doesn't respond for a while, he's only regarding me. The expression on his face doesn't change. Maybe he has a hard time believing me. Finally, he says, 'I don't.'

'Then I'll stay,' I tell him.

And I do. When I drift asleep, Cedric is spooned behind me, holding me. What an incredibly sappy ending of the day.