Sucking Dick At My First Job 04: Hung Twink New Guy (Patreon)

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Chapter 4: Hung Twink New Guy

"Oh, is that what it sounded like?" I said.

It came out a little faster than I meant to say it, which ruined the attempt at casual boredom. I kept the rag moving on the counter in front of me, facing out at the lobby, and I did not look up at him.

Tyler shrugged. He was half-leaning over the sneeze guard on the customer side with both hands down in the containers, and he didn't look at me either. He tipped another cup of olives into the cup that was already full and pushed them around flat with two fingers.

"I dunno," he said. "Maybe."

Then he moved down the row to the onions, and started talking about other things.

I stood there with my rag rubbing a circle on an already clean counter, my ears burning with the idea that he knew. I wondered if he believed me, or if he cared.

He hadn't pushed, because he wasn't fishing for an answer. Maybe he was already sure of what happened, and he'd just wanted to hear what I'd say. Maybe I was thinking about it all more than he was.

He clicked a lid onto the veggies and thumbed the edge to make sure it clicked in.

"Anyway they never repainted our half," he said, apparently talking about some remodel his parents had done on their house. "So the spot by the door is kind of weird now."

"Yeah, I bet," I said absently.

I looked at him properly then, for maybe the first time since he'd started. Skinny kid, curly blonde on top, short at the sides, a little grease shine on his forehead from standing near the oven. His uniform shirt was too big because the owner only ordered mediums and larges, and this dude was definitely a small. He had a spot of sauce up high on his apron, where it gets on you from leaning against the cut table.

He was more observant than I thought he was, and he acted like a golden retriever with ADHD.

I kept wiping, waiting for it to be closing time. My hands wanted a job, so I gave them one. I did the whole length of the front counter, then the top of the drink machine, then the counter again.

I couldn't really explain why, but I was compelled to finally dive a little deeper.

"You got a girlfriend?" I said.

Tyler looked up. "What?"

"A girlfriend."

"Oh," he said. "No."

"You talking to anybody?"

"Not really. There's a girl in my chem class, Marissa, but she's got that thing where she's really nice to everybody, and I also help her with her homework. Meaning I mostly just do it for her. So I can't really tell. Like she said my shoes were cool and I thought about it for two days and then I saw her tell a guy his backpack was cool. And I was like whattttt."

"What do you do on your nights off," I said.

He apparently liked someone finally asking him a question, and came around the end of the counter and hopped up onto the low prep counter across the aisle. So now we were both on the kitchen side, facing each other across the rubber mat, me standing with a rag, him sitting there swinging his feet.

“Mostly I play this game online with a guy named Caleb,” he said. “He lives in Arizona. I’ve never met him, and he’s probably my best friend. Is that sad?”

“Little bit,” I said.

“And we got a dog with a skin condition, so me and my brother or my mom have to hold him in the tub and scrub him down with this medicated shampoo. Prescription shampoo. For a dog. He fusses the whole time like we’re murdering him.”

Then, unprompted, he did an impression of his younger brother singing in the shower, complete with the wrong words. 

I kept waiting for him to get cagey.

"You ever get in trouble at school?" I said.

"Oh, I ditched a few times," he said. "I'd go to the library and play on my computer. I got caught once and when they told my mom she just laughed. She didn't even care."

I asked him something else, I don't even remember what, and he answered that too, instantly, at length. I finally realized my subconscious intentions at one point. I was standing there trying to collect something embarrassing of his so the blowjob comment would have some equal weight, and he wasn't holding anything back, which took the power away from anything I might find.

I wiped the same two feet of counter, again, then again, probably ten times.

"Okay, but the actual worst is the candy shop guy," he said, and swung his heels, and he was off.

I had already heard the coupon story. This was the extended version. The guy at the candy shop two doors down had refused a coupon that Tyler said clearly applied, and the refusal had apparently incited a grievance that Tyler had since been angry about.

"So don't go in there," I said.

"I've been in there like four times and every time it's buddy this, buddy that. He said it to a lady with a stroller. And apparently he doesn't even own it, he just runs it for his mother-in-law, which explains a lot about the whole personality."

Then he finally said something interesting, probably without realizing it. 

"And anyway, that's the same energy this girl had who tried to blow me one time and couldn't fit it in, and then we tried to have sex and it didn't fit there either, so I'm still a full virgin basically. But so then he goes, 'buddy, the coupon's from the Sunday paper,' like I don't know where I got it."

He kept going on about the coupon, I think. I wasn't listening anymore. Did he just say he has a big dick? His mouth kept moving and his heels kept knocking the cabinet door, and none of it made it into my head.

I looked at his face while he talked. Guys who lie about their dick can't help doing a victory lap about it, even a small one, and he did none of that. He was still annoyed about the refusal of a coupon. His hands were doing a coupon gesture, holding them square. He had said "so I'm still a full virgin basically" in the identical voice he had used about his brother and the dog bath.

"...and he wrote the date on it with a Sharpie, which, you can't just do that," he said.

"Uh huh," I said.

I had a version of Tyler's dick in my head now. I hadn't thought about it at all a minute and a half before that. My brain built it out of his offhand detail.

And my body had an opinion about it, down low, immediate, with my apron thankfully hanging off my hips. I hated that. I had been perfectly happy hating this guy. Hating him was clean and simple.

He was still talking. He had gotten to a part about the Sunday paper not even being sold in this town anymore.

"Show me," I said.

He stopped.

That was the first time I'd seen it happen. The talking just quit, mid-word basically, and he tipped his head over to the side like a confused puppy.

"Show you what?"

"Your dick."

Pause.

"What?"

"Is it really that big?"

"I mean, yeah," he said. "Or her pussy was just really small I guess."

"Prove it."

He didn't think about it long. He shrugged one shoulder, said "Okay," and slid down off the prep counter. "But you have to show yours too."

"Okay."

Then he undid his work pants. Right there in the aisle, with the front windows behind him showing the black parking lot, the front door still unlocked, and nobody out there at all.

He got the button open and bent over to shove everything down to his knees in one motion, pants and briefs together, and gathered his shirt and the front of his apron up out of the way with his forearm, holding it against his stomach.

I was standing a step and a half from him with a rag in my hand, and looked down.

There was a small patch of hair above it, either trimmed or just not much to begin with, very light brown and thin against pale skin. And it was big. Completely soft, hanging there heavy down the front of his thigh, and it was still bigger than average, thick all the way down, circumcised, but with a fold of skin at the head. His balls hung low and loose under it, warm from a whole shift in black polyester, and they were kinda big, low enough that the whole thing had weight to it, just sitting there.

I looked at it, then I looked at the counter, then I looked at it again.

"Now you," he said.

I lifted my apron and pushed the front of my pants down with one hand, showing my dick, hairier than his, normal looking, just a dick. He looked for a second, then I put mine back up.

Tyler adjusted his grip on his shirt and stood there, keeping his hips square to me, no shame in it at all.

"So yeah," he said, his dick starting to wiggle with his body as he talked. "Anyway, the thing about the Sharpie is he didn't even have to do that."

I looked past him for a second. The front door was unlocked, same as always, and the windows behind him showed the parking lot and one light pole and my own reflection standing there holding a rag. Dom had grabbed his hoodie off the chair and said he was out, but he had done that before and come back for something he forgot, and his car had been parked in the back lot that whole shift, and I had never once heard it start. So he might be gone and he might be sitting out there texting the blonde girl.

I ran the odds that someone might walk in, and what I came up with was that the odds were bad, and I didn't care. My dick throbbed against the seam of my jeans just from knowing that.

I didn't lock the door. I didn't say anything about the walk-in either, and it was right there down the hallway with a whole fridge worth of privacy in it.

What I did was take a step and a half sideways, put my shoulder against the counter by the drink machine, and reach out and get Tyler by the forearm and move him over with me, so his bare ass was to the counter edge, and the big silver machine with the ice hopper sat between the two of us and the windows. Dom had used that same spot with me. That machine covers a person from the chest down if he stands close enough.

Tyler moved when I pulled him, still holding his shirt up out of the way with his other forearm, and didn't ask why.

"Anyway," he said, picking right back up, "it's obviously bigger when it's hard. Like, that's soft. That's not even the thing."

"Prove it."

That shut him up. Tyler had nothing ready to say. He looked off toward the pass, then at the floor, and laughed at nothing, one short one through his nose.

"Yeah, okay," he said. He got his hand on himself and started working it, and the laugh came back, at nothing again. "This is so weird, right? Like this is a weird thing we're doing."

"Uh huh."

"I'm just saying, like, I've never, in a pizza place." He kept his fist moving, his other hand back behind him with his fingers hooked over the counter edge, gripping it. It filled out, redder, coming up off his thigh, thickening noticeably in his hand. Then it stopped. It sat at about halfway toward full rocket ship, heavy and hanging out at an angle, and it just stayed there while he worked it up and down.

"Okay, so, here's the thing about me," he said, still going, no embarrassment in his voice at all, just annoyance. "I don't get all the way hard when I'm nervous. It's a whole thing. It's never happened. I could be, like, into it a hundred percent and this is all I get."

He kept talking. He said something about a girl and a basement and how it had been the same then, and how it always works fine when he's at home in bed, and I stopped listening to his actual words. I stood about a foot from him watching his fist pump, watching the head push out through his fingers and pull back.

"I got you," I said.

And I went down. I got my knees onto the rubber mat behind the counter, my apron bunching against my thighs, and that was that.

Nobody had a hand on the back of my neck. Nobody pressed down on me, or tilted their head at a doorway, or told me to. There was no instruction at all. I got down there because I wanted to.

Tyler looked down at me with his hand still on himself.

"Oh," he said. "Okay..."

I took his wrist and moved his hand off and put mine on instead, and even at half mast it filled my palm. It was heavier than Dom's. Thicker in the middle, and the skin was hot and loose over it, and when I squeezed, the head pushed out fat and shiny and a little wet. I leaned in and put my mouth on it.

"Oh wow," he said from somewhere above my head.

I went at it how I'd been taught, opening up and pushing forward to take it in one go, because that was how it worked with Dom. But I quickly learned that it did not work properly on this one. It got maybe a third of the way and my jaw was already at the end of what my jaw does, stretched wide enough that the corners of my mouth burned, and the head was nowhere near my throat. It sat fat on my tongue, taking up my entire mouth.

I pulled off and looked at it, wet now and darker, and it had grown again just from being in there, and that made it worse.

"That feels so good," Tyler said. "Sorry if that hurts."

I went back down and tried again, angling my head, thinking I could get under it. I got a little more and my throat shut instantly and I gagged on it hard, and I came off coughing with a string of spit swinging off my chin onto my apron. Nobody had pushed me. I had done that to myself, making my own eyes water this time, on the hung twink's giant cock.

His hand came up. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, moving toward the side of my head, and then it stopped in the air a few inches away and hung there, and went back down and grabbed the counter edge again. He never got anywhere near me. He grabbed his own shirt hem after that, twisting it in his fist up against his stomach, and then the counter again, and he kept switching between the two of them the entire time.

So I quit trying to be Dom's good boy about it and worked out my own thing.

I wrapped both hands around the shaft, stacked, and that still left the top of it and it still left my mouth free. I put my lips over the head and sucked on just that, tongue running up under the ridge, and I let my hands do the rest, twisting a little on the up like I did on myself at home. Then I went sideways and dragged my mouth all the way down the side of it, wet and open, from the top down to my own knuckles, and back up.

"Oh man," he said. "Oh man. That's, yeah."

The talking didn't stop. It got lower and turned into a running report, "Oh wow, okay, that's crazy, dude..."and he never told me to do anything or move anywhere. 

I got more spit going and let it run everywhere, down my hands, down him, into his pubes. I'd already learned on Dom that loud and sloppy did more than careful bobbing did.

I went after his balls. They were low and heavy and warm, and I got underneath him, bending my neck back, and licked the whole underside of his sack with my tongue flat while my stacked hands kept moving up top. Then I pulled one into my mouth and held it there and sucked it and hummed.

This was really satisfying my need for dick that Dom had afflicted me with. It wasn't as satisfying as sucking Dom, but it was the methadone to my addiction.

I kept my mouth on Tyler's nuts while I poked his tight little ass hole with a wet finger, and his knees bent as his hand slapped the counter behind him.

"Whoa," he said. "Whoa, okay, nobody has ever, that's, whoa."

I stayed there a while, working both sides of him, my face pressed up into him and my nose in his skin and his whole weight resting on my mouth, while I stroked him to the tip. The sound of my own hands on him wet and fast was the loudest thing in the store. My jaw ached in the good way. My hand came off him and went down to myself, and I squeezed my dick through my jeans, just holding it hard through the denim, and I never got it out and I never undid a button. I held it and pressed, and it throbbed enough that pressing was plenty.

I went back to the head. Both hands running the shaft, mouth locked over the top third, taking him as deep as I actually could instead of as deep as I wanted, speeding up now as his hips started jerking in response.

"Okay," Tyler said. "Okay, that's, oh, I'm actually, that's gonna, like, soon. Like, soon soon."

I didn't come off. I sped my hands up and sucked harder and got my tongue moving under the ridge, and his stomach tightened above me and the hem of his shirt came out of his fist and dropped against my forehead.

He finished in my mouth while he was still talking, and it started so fast I felt it hit my tongue before I heard him stop. He filled my whole mouth in three pulses and kept going after that, and I kept both hands running him through it and swallowed twice, and a little ran out the corner and down onto my chin and I left it there. He held the counter with both hands. He didn't hold me at all. His hips gave one small push forward and that was the only thing he did to me the entire time.

I swallowed the rest and came off him and knelt back on my heels with my chin wet.

Tyler blew out a breath and then laughed.

"Oh my God," he said. He got his briefs up over himself, starting to go soft, and got his pants after them, and buckled, and shook his shirt back down over his apron strings. Then he looked down at me and grinned, and it was the exact same grin from his first day walking in the door.

"Thanks for the blowie, man," he said. "That was awesome."

The front door chimed while I was still down there.

I heard it before I even registered it, still dazed from my dick fix. By the time I got my hands off my thighs Tyler was already turning toward the lobby with his shirt straightened and his belt done and the most normal face in the world on him. I was on the rubber mat behind the counter with my throat still moving on the last of the swallow, chin wet, the front of my shirt soaked in a line from my collar down past my apron string, my eyes running and my face hot and pink and puffed up.

"Yo," Dom said, already talking, already chuckling as he came in. "Did he leave you here alone? Because I swear to God if he left you here alone with the..."

I stood up in the middle of his question.

He was three steps past the register when my head came up over the counter, and he stopped talking halfway through the laugh.

"Well," he said. "I didn't expect that."