Blowjob From My Gay Friend 03: The Bi-Con (Patreon)

OnlyLit Link ;)

Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.

Blowjob From My Gay Friend

Chapter 3: The Bi-Con

I remained completely gay-free for a few days after that. I started to think it had just been a couple one-offs, something about the vibe I was giving off, or some ethereal attractiveness imbued directly by Teddy when he took my male-blowjob-virginity. 

I still wanted to see the boys and get laid, by a girl, I hoped. So come Saturday I was out with my hall mates hitting up the party scene. We ended up in a house where somebody had killed every light except the stove hood, and a bluetooth speaker the size of a shoebox was trying to be a whole PA system and failing. Maybe forty people were packed between the couch and the kitchen doorway, and that counted as a dance floor, at least for college kid purposes.

Kate was in front of me with her back against my chest. She was in my sociology lecture, and she had found me by the couch and put my hands on her hips herself. Her skirt was thin enough that I could feel the tops of her hip bones through it. Her hair kept brushing my jaw and it smelled fruity. I was hard against her, confirming that my dick was still into girls at least.

She rolled her hips back into me and pushed, and some animal part of me registered a comparison against Teddy, against Marcus. I pictured what fucking her would be like, whether her titties bounced when she took it. But somehow I already knew her pussy wouldn't be as tight, or as wet, or as suited to a dick as whatever a dude could do with me. Part of my brain had latched onto this newly ignited curiosity about male-on-male sex, and at least for now, girls just weren't going to win out.

But I fought the urge to ditch her. I dug my fingers into the points of her hips and gripped harder, trying to force my whole brain back into the girl actually grinding on my dick. It half worked. Her ass was soft, how a girl's ass was supposed to feel, and I made myself notice that.

I leaned down to her ear. "You're gonna get me in trouble."

"You'd deserve it," she said, without turning around.

The song changed into something with less bass and she spun around inside my arms without stepping back, so we ended up face to face, her hands loose on my shoulders, both of us still standing, the dancing turning into more of a lazy grind against each other. She was talking over the speaker about her roommate and somebody named Colton and I was only able to hear maybe every other word.

My eyes went past her.

There was a guy dancing by himself in the corner near the stairs. Freshman, based on his vibes, and thick and muscular, like he was a wrestler. He had on a grey shirt, sleeves cutting into him. He wasn't dancing for anybody. He had his own thing going in about two square feet of floor and looked completely fine about it, punching up into the air in front of his face, looking serene.

Kate followed my eyeline without turning her head much.

"That's Miles," she said, turning back to me. "He's a bi-con."

"A what?"

"He's bi, so he says." She shrugged one shoulder. "But he fucked me last weekend. Didn't seem gay to me."

"Oh really?"

"Here, actually. Upstairs." She looked back over her shoulder at him. "It was fine."

"So he's bi or he just says he's bi?"

Kate's eyebrows went up an inch and I heard how the question sounded after I'd already asked it.

"Ask him yourself."

She turned back to her roommate, and a gay friend who I guess was probably Colton, and I was suddenly chilling by myself.

I had let two guys play with my dick in one week. So either I'm a straight guy sending out vibes, or gay guys just love me. I liked the second idea a lot better. And as I watched the bi-con shake his ass across the room, I had a sudden urge to test the theory further.

Miles had some girl hanging on him now, in a cropped top with her back to his front and his hands on her waist, doing what I'd been doing a minute earlier. He was facing my direction over the top of her head, and he happened to look at me.

I held the eye contact. All the way across the room, over everybody's heads, longer than a guy typically holds the gaze of another guy.

No smile, no eyebrow. He kept his hands where they were on her waist and kept moving with her for a few more bars while he looked at me, and I kept looking, and my heart started to race. I could feel it in my neck.

He took his hands off her waist, said three or four words into her ear, and walked the diagonal across the floor to me.

I watched her turn around looking for him. He had left her standing in the middle of the floor with her hands up. And I got harder against that wall than I'd been with Kate on me.

He came in close enough to me to talk without shouting, and put his forearm on the wall next to my head.

"What's your name?"

I told him.

"Where do you live?"

I told him that too, the building, and he nodded.

"You drunk?"

"No."

He looked at me for a second. Up close his face was even younger than he had seemed from across the room, his jawbone cut like a male model. "You want a massage?"

I started to laugh, but it came up my throat and stopped. My instinct to say "haha bro what" didn't make its way out of my mouth.

"You give massages," I said.

"Yeah." 

"Are you good?"

He tipped his head toward the stairs. "Find out."

I pushed off the wall, and followed him.

He put a hand around my upper arm, just above the elbow, and steered me out of the doorway and down the hall past the bathroom. There were two doors at the end and he took the one on the right and I went through it after him.

····[]····

Somebody had stuck a blacklight strip along the top of the closet in that room and left it on for the party. Everything white in there glowed and everything else was dark purple. The bed was against the far wall, unmade, a strangely fancy wooden frame. He shut the door behind us and didn't lock it. The music came up through the floor as bass with no melody attached.

Miles went straight to the nightstand of a bedroom that was very clearly not his, pulled the second drawer open, and came up with a bottle of lube.

"You just gotta know where to look," he said.

I was standing at the foot of the bed facing him and I hadn't said a word. He came over, took the hem of my shirt in both hands, pulled it up over my head and dropped it on the floor. Then he went for the button of my jeans, popped it, dragged the zipper down and worked the jeans and my underwear down together in one motion to my ankles, and I picked one foot up and then the other and stepped out of them.

So I was naked in a stranger's bedroom and a random, jacked freshman was with me, still in his t-shirt and shorts. My dick stood straight out from me and glowed faintly at the tip where the precum caught the blacklight.

"Trippy," I said, looking down at myself.

He put both hands flat on my chest and walked me backward two steps until I sat on the bed, laying back on the comforter, my head touching the pillows.

He knelt on the bed alongside my hip, facing me, sitting back on his heels. He set the bottle down on the comforter next to my hip and put both hands flat on my chest instead.

He rubbed his hands together, making them hot, like he was taking it seriously. He slowly lowered them together over my crotch. I could feel the heat of his palms on my hard dick as it rested on my abs, and I braced for yet another guy to touch me in less than a week. 

But, he actually massaged me. He moved his hands upward, hovering over my body until he got to my chest. He pressed the heels of his palms into my pecs and pushed outward toward my shoulders, dug his thumbs into the muscle in front of my armpits and held there until it ached, then rolled each shoulder back into the mattress. He knew what he was pressing on. My chest, the ridge of muscle at the top of my shoulders, the line where my thigh met my hip, he gave each spot exactly the pressure it needed, no hunting around, like he had handled plenty of male bodies and knew what was under the skin.

"How'd you get so good at that?" I said.

"Played water polo in high school," he responded curtly, as if that explained it.

He kneaded down my stomach with both thumbs riding the lines of my abs, and when he reached my hips his hands split apart and passed on either side of my dick without touching it. It still flinched, bobbing up between his wrists, hard and ignored, still glowing at the tip. He squeezed down the top of one thigh and then the other, rolling the muscle in both hands, and then came back up the insides of them, his knuckles grazing close enough to my balls that they pulled up tight, and then moving away again. My hips kept tilting up after his hands. He watched that happen and kept massaging.

Then he cracked the cap and poured a puddle into his palm and rubbed his hands together to warm it, and he finally wrapped his fist around my shaft.

He started slowly. Long full strokes, all the way down to the base and all the way up over the head, his palm twisting a little at the top, and the lube made it silent and slippery and my stomach locked up on the third one.

Then his mouth came down on my chest.

He kissed under my collarbone, then bit, not hard, just enough that I felt the teeth, and worked down my sternum with his fist still moving. He caught my nipple with his lips and pulled it, and I remembered that I apparently have nipples now, thanks to Marcus, and my hips came up off the comforter half an inch. He went lower. He kissed down the middle of my stomach, biting at the skin over my abs, and every bite came with a full pull of his fist.

And his free hand went under me.

He got it around my hip and under my ass and dug his fingers in, gripping one whole cheek in his palm and squeezing, then spreading them apart and letting them close again, and then doing it again, over and over, a rhythm that somehow matched what his other hand was doing. He'd knead the muscle, pull the cheeks open, let them go. Pull them open. Let them go. His knuckles pressed between my cheeks, right up to the hole every time.

The butt play was weirdly doing as much as the fist was, maybe more. I lay there under a blacklight in somebody's house with a freshman jock jerking me off and kneading my ass, my hips lifting into his grip on their own, learning something about myself.

He worked his mouth back up to my chest and jerked me faster. His fist got tighter at the top of every stroke, right under the head, and he watched my face while he did it, and every time my mouth opened he sped up.

"That's it," he said into my skin.

I grabbed a handful of the comforter with one hand and put the other on the back of his neck, holding him down just as his tongue started to get rough on my nipple, and I came, squirting all over my own stomach, four thick pulses that pooled in the dip under my ribs, one streak hitting his cheek. My legs straightened out and my heels shoved into the mattress. My load glowed blue-white under the black light.

He didn't stop. He didn't slow down at all. He kept pumping me right through it and past it, like he wanted me to cum again, until I twitched hard and grabbed his wrist, and then he finally let go.

Post-nut clarity arrived on schedule this time. I was already halfway into it in my head, I should probably get back down there, or someone needs me, whatever, the words lining themselves up in my head while my elbows came under me.

I just started to rise when Miles confidently crushed my ambivalence, like he had seen it coming. He  put a hand on my hip to stop me, and he reached down, grabbed my shirt off the floor, and wiped my stomach with it.

"We're not done with the massage," he said, and his coolness somehow swayed me instantly.

I lay back again as he put both hands flat on my belly, his fingers pointing up at my chest, and pushed up under my ribs with the heels of his palms, slowly, and worked out to the sides and back in. It felt amazing as he pushed an exhale out of me. He did it a few more times, up under the ribs and out, and then he grabbed my hip.

"Flip over."

I rolled onto my stomach and folded my arms under my head, turning my face to the side, giving him full access to my glutes, and he moved up and straddled the backs of my thighs, sitting up on his knees over me, still fully dressed. I could feel the fabric of his shorts against my skin.

He put his thumbs on either side of my spine at the small of my back and ran them all the way up to my neck, hard, and something in my upper back released with an actual pop. He palmed my shoulder blades. He drove his elbow slowly into the meat next to my shoulder and leaned his weight onto it until I grunted, and he held it, and then let off. He seemed to expertly know what he was doing.

Then he went down. Back down either side of the spine, over the small of my back, then off the bed entirely to kneel by my legs, and he did my hamstrings one at a time, both hands wrapped around, squeezing and rolling up the muscle from the knee. Then the calves. Then back up.

I half fell asleep. My eyes closed and my breathing slowed and I lay there face-down with my nose against my own forearm and drifted.

And that's when I noticed a pattern. Every full pass on my thighs finished a little higher than the last one, and a little more inward between my butt cheeks. First, it ended at the top of the hamstring. Then it ended with his palms sliding over my ass instead of stopping under it. Then his hands went up over the cheeks and out to the sides. And after a minute, his thumbs were riding into the center of my ass, pulling me open and making my ass actually wink. I wasn't falling asleep anymore.

He kept working on me, and I lay with my face turned into my arm, tracking exactly how far his thumbs got with each pass, and did not say a word, and my dick filled up again against the comforter underneath me.

I heard the cap of the bottle click open somewhere above me. He didn't announce it. Cold, then not cold, and his thumbs came back up my ass slipperier than before, riding deeper each time, spreading me open with the heels of his hands on the way past.

And then the massaging stopped and one fingertip pressed flat against my hole and stayed there. I could feel my own heartbeat against it. He pushed, and the muscle stretched around him, a hot sting that spread into warmth as he sank in, one long slide with no stopping and no asking, all the way to his knuckle, while my face stayed turned into my own forearm. I felt full in a place where I had never felt anything like this before, and my hole clamped down around his finger and kept fluttering, gripping and easing off, gripping again. No girl had ever touched me there. Nobody had. And there I was, face down in somebody else's bed with a jock's finger buried in me, and in my head the only clear thought was, don't stop.

Then he curled it forward. I gritted my teeth, absorbing the strangeness of the situation. My knees dragged up under me on their own, my hips coming right off the comforter, ass in the air, and my dick went from half to completely hard in about two seconds, and I felt precum smear across my hip where it dragged.

My fists closed in the comforter.

The sensation brought me back to learning that my dick wasn't just for peeing. All those years of knowing exactly what my body did, girls, my own hand, other things I randomly humped in my bedroom. I had a specific list of what worked and how long it took to cum and what order it went in. And my ass had apparently been sitting there the whole time, wired to everything, doing absolutely nothing, waiting.

Miles kept the finger right where it was and worked it, small movements, unhurried, and he didn't say anything at all. He was watching what it did to me. Every time he pressed it my hips jerked forward and every time he let off they came back down looking for it.

"What is that," I heard myself say. It came out breathless and stupid and I knew it was a stupid question before it was all the way out.

"You're tight," he said. "I'm loosening you up."

Then he leaned down over my back and his chest came down flat against my shoulder blades, and it was skin. Bare skin, warm, more muscle packed onto him than I had. He had stripped his shirt off at some point while I was face down thinking about his thumbs, and I hadn't even noticed. His weight pressed me into the comforter with his finger still buried in me, and something thick nudged the back of my thigh through his shorts. He was hard too. So was I, still, mashing my dick into somebody else's comforter.

"What else happens in this massage?" I said, muffled into my arm.

"Find out."