It is a dark October night in Boston as I walk home from St. Paul’s Church after a Christian Doctrine class. I’m not at all religious but my mother is. I go because she has put the heat on, and I am tired of fighting her. She had my back growing up, so one hour a week of Catholic gobbledygook won’t kill me. Maybe I will meet another 17-year-old kid and wind up having sex with him. That isn’t likely to happen — this is the ‘60s — but something else does.
Just as I turn the corner onto my street, I am surrounded by Dennis and Joey — two of the neighborhood semi-toughs. That means they pretend to be tough, but it’s mostly for show.
They stop me in my tracks. Dennis, who is crowding me from behind, sarcastically whispers in my ear. “Hey, dog, what are you doing out so late — looking to get laid?”
Late? It’s 9 o’clock.
I have no choice but to play along. “I was at a class at St. Paul’s,” I mumble, not sure what to say.
Joey is in front of me blocking me from moving. “A class? A CLASS?” he shouts. “In church? At night? Aren’t you the little nerd?”
Joey and I went to the same high school and he is unimpressed that I am an honor roll student.
“You think you’re hot shit, don’t ya, smarter than me, smarter than everyone, studying your brains out, making me look stupid,” he taunts.
“I don’t think that,” I reply, but actually I think he is as dumb as a doorknob. I answer with my head down, wondering what I did to deserve this harassment.
Dennis changes the subject, “Pete, you remember that clubhouse we had in my basement a few years ago?”
Of course I remember. Dennis and I used to smoke cigarettes he stole from his mother’s purse and drink beer pilfered from his dad’s supply. I also remember that one night after we had too many beers, he dared me to suck his cock and I complied. Dennis dropped me as a friend shortly thereafter — wouldn’t speak to me, just erased me from his life. It was a painful experience, and it was obvious that his macho self couldn’t handle what happened.
Joey is suddenly curious. “What was this club you guys had?” And suddenly I’m worried about where this will lead.
“We just smoked cigarettes and drank beer,” I say, hoping to minimize the damage.
Dennis looks up and says, “Pete’s not telling you the whole truth. Let’s take him down to the clubhouse and smoke a joint. Might loosen his tongue.”
Now, I’m sweating as I don’t want to go to Dennis’s basement. I wonder how I can get out of this sticky situation.
“Guys, thanks much, nice seeing you again, but I got homework and it’s getting late. I gotta get home.”
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Dennis says as he winks at Joey. The two of them push me toward the alley that leads to the back of the three-decker where Dennis lives.
“You can do your homework later,” he says. “Or not at all,” Joey chimes in, as we move past the door.
Dennis flips on a light switch, but it’s still fairly dark below.
“You remember where the clubhouse is, Pete.” And he laughs, knowing full well that I remember. “Lead the way.”
I head to the back where a small area is fenced in by pine boards that reach about 6 feet high. The fence that surrounds the clubhouse is bright yellow because Dennis and I painted it one summer. There is an opening about 3 feet wide. They push me inside.
My eyes refocus as Dennis lights candles that sit on top of 50-gallon barrels that are now empty but still smell of oil. I see a raggedy sofa, an upholstered chair we rescued from the trash and a small table, upon which we played cards. The dirt floor is covered by a remnant of a carpet, also taken from the trash.
Sit your ass down, Pete,” Dennis commands in a voice that has become increasingly bossy.
He sits close to me on the sofa and Joey sits in the chair.
Dennis pulls what looks like a thin cigarette out of his pocket and flicks his lighter.
“Have you ever smoked weed?”
“Weed?” I ask innocently. “You know, grass, marijuana,” he snaps impatiently. “You are such a dork. No wonder I don’t hang out with you anymore.”
Joey doesn’t miss that bit of news. “You hung out with him?” he asks incredulously. “Hard to believe.”
“He has his uses,” Dennis says. “Why don’t we get stoned and see where this goes.”
Dennis takes a couple of hits, hands the joint to Joey, who does the same. “Your turn, geek,” as he hands me the joint.
I’m not sure it’s a good idea to get high with these two, but I have little choice. Both are much bigger than my 5-6, 135 pounds. Dennis is 18, 5-11, a wiry 165 pounds. He has light brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, luminous skin, sprinkles of freckles, a handsome Irish face and a lithe and lanky body. He has that Irish pugnaciousness as well. I have watched him win fistfights with other guys. Of course, I have a total crush on him.
Joey is 20 and has more meat on his bones. He’s Italian, handsome, olive skin, black, thick eyebrows and brown eyes. He is 6 feet, about 190 pounds with hair covering his arms and creeping out of the top of his white T-shirt. His body is solid and his ass fills out his jeans beautifully. They are both wearing Levi’s and black leather jackets and boots.
Joey was a senior at my high school when I was a freshman. He was always in trouble and in the head master’s office. I imagine he has too much testosterone.
After two hits, I am feeling the bearable strangeness of weed. Lightheaded and anxious, I wonder what they have in store for me. They are clearly stoned.
Dennis’s voice has morphed into something menacing, more imperious, and he has a sarcastic grin on his face. This beautiful guy looks a bit scary on grass.
“Why don’t you tell Joey what you did to me here in the basement?”
My stomach drops as the moment of reckoning has arrived.
I decide to say as little as possible. “We smoked cigarettes, Dennis.”
“Yes, we did…. what else?”
“We played cards and drank beer, I think — I don’t remember it all that well,” I say innocently, lying through my teeth.
“What else? Tell Joey what else. He’s dying to know.”
Joey has this shit-eating grin that confirms that he already knows what we did and that this is an exercise in humiliation.
Joey moves off his chair, grabs me by the back of my jacket.
“What else, Pete? I want to hear all about it.”
I’m mortified, but I decide to come clean and hopefully they’ll let me go home.
“I touched Dennis,” I sheepishly admit. “I was drunk and got carried away.”
“Go on,” Dennis scowls. Tell Joey the rest.”
“Like I said, I had too many beers and I touched him through his jeans.”
“Touched him? Touched what?” Joey’s voice has gotten more combative. “Spit it out.”
“I touched his penis. He dared me to. He was always daring me to do stuff like that.” I flash to a memory of Dennis pushing me onto my knees and barking, “Eat me raw.” Although I wanted to, I feared he’d tell the whole neighborhood. Then on that fateful night, the planets aligned and my lust overcame my fear.
“Hmmm, you acted on a dare? Hmmm,” Joey presses me. “So you touched it through his jeans? Was his dick hard?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?” Joey seems to get off on repeating my every word. He really is dumb. “I think you did more than that. Maybe we can jog your memory.”
Joey pulls me out of my seat and pushes me onto the rug. “On your knees,” dickwad. We are going to do a little reenactment.”
Dennis stands and moves his crotch inches from my face.”
“Pete, show Joey what you did that night to your old buddy here,” and he lets out a nasty laugh.
I have a knot in my stomach, both from shame and incredible excitement at the prospect of sucking Dennis’s dick again. He’s the sexiest guy in the neighborhood and I have jerked off many times to the memory of that incident.
I reach out and touch the front of his jeans. I can feel his tube snaking down his pant leg. It is hard. It also is much bigger than I remember.
“Is that familiar to you now,” Joey brays.
“Yes,” I say. I figure I’m trapped in this situation and might as well make the most of it.
“Unbuckle his belt,” Joey orders. “You need to show me everything you did.”
I’m realizing how much Dennis turns me on and how much I miss hanging out with him. The truth is, I’d do anything he wants. I only wish annoying Joey weren’t there. I reach up and unbuckle Dennis’s belt.
“Now, unbutton his Levi’s,’ Joey orders.
Dennis watches me with a smirk on his face. He really has turned into a prick.
I get the top button undone and move downward till the other buttons have been threaded through the loops.
“Pull his jeans down,” Joey commands as he pushes his body against the back of my head.
I pull his jeans down to his knees.
I look up and Dennis has moved his hands behind his head in a classic top-guy pose. “God, he’s delectable,” I think to myself.
“I dare you to suck my dick,” Dennis orders, just as he did on that night years ago in this very place.
His white briefs stare me in the face — working class Fruit of the Looms, tightly encasing his goods. I am stoned and the guys have pushed me beyond the point of no return. I no longer care what they think and don’t need further instruction. I just want to taste Dennis’s cock. I start licking it through the cotton fabric like a starving dog on a steak.
My body temperature seems to have gone up a few degrees as I get his briefs wet with saliva. I can smell a hint of piss and cum on his underwear, but I’m not sure if those smells are real or just imagining them because I’m high. His Fruit of the Looms are bleached white, not grayish, and hug his crotch tightly. The fly is bulging promisingly toward my lips.
Suddenly, Joey, always impatient, reaches over and pulls Dennis’s undies down a few inches so that his light brown pubic hair pops into view. The elastic band of his briefs still covers his dick. He has a big bush.
“Put your nose in his pubes,” Joey says. “I want to see how much you love a man’s crotch.”
I have lost all fear and shame. All I can think of is worshipping the dick I have envisioned in my masturbation fantasies. I want to wrap my lips around it, but it’s not exactly the dick I sucked off a few years ago. It’s much bigger and fatter.
I sniff and lick Dennis’s pubic hair. As I lift up his T-shirt, I see his treasure trail climb up his belly, I lick that, too. His skin is pinkish-white. He had much less hair on his crotch and tummy the last time I saw it. I take in his scent. I think to myself, ‘Why do Irish boys smell so good?’ Or is it just that I’m a dark Italian and favor the opposite.
Dennis’s bush smells clean and dirty at the same time. I can smell a touch of the Dial soap he uses, but it is steamy in this basement and his crotch sweat has overwhelmed that. The copious amount of hair has held his man smells well. My erection pushes against my own BVDs.
I don’t wait for Joey to order me to reenact that scene from years ago. I grab the sides of Dennis’s briefs and pull them all the way down to his knees. Out pops the pink splendid cock of my dreams.
The 4 inches it used to be are now closer to 7. The shaft is thicker and the mushroom cap bigger. The circumcised head is perfectly shaped, irresistible. It smells fragrant as if he hadn’t shaken off the drops of his last piss. I can’t ignore how strong his legs look, made sexier by a dusting of light brown hair sprinkled on his thighs down to his ankles. I have seen him bike in the neighborhood. That must account for his athletic legs.
I lick the head of his fat 7-incher.
Joey has been silently watching the action, but that’s about to change. He pushes my head closer to Dennis. “I can’t believe how crazy you are for Dennis’s cock. You’re really into it, you whore.”
I ignore Joey’s babbling and wrap my lips around Dennis’s cock head.
“Jeez, he’s really putting his mouth on it,” says Joey, who is too dull to imagine anything but straight sex in the missionary position.
“I thought you were pulling my leg, Dennis. And I thought he was playing along until he had a chance to escape when we weren’t paying attention.”
Dennis gets right into the scene. “I told you he was a cocksucker — aren’t you a cocksucker, Pete?” He hadn’t been so nasty the first time I sucked his dick.
I don’t bother to answer that stupid question — how much more evidence do they need? — and continue sucking Dennis when he does something I don’t want — he pulls his dick out of my mouth and holds it tantalizing a few inches from my lips.
“Say it, Pete. Tell us what you are or you won’t get my cock.”
I’ll say anything to prevent that from happening.
“I’m a cocksucker, Dennis.”
“Louder. Joey didn’t hear you.”
“I’m a cocksucker,” I repeat, turning my head and looking directly at Joey.
And whose cock do you want to suck the most?”
“Yours, Dennis.”
“And why is that?”
I realize that I have to play this silly game to get Dennis’s cock back in my mouth.
“Because it tastes so fucking good.”
This answer and my use of profanity please Dennis and Joey, who erupt in laughter. Dennis slaps my face hard and says, “Potty mouth, didn’t you just get back from church? Shame on you.”
He grabs the back of my head and pulls me onto his dick. “Show Joey what a great cocksucker you are.”
I do exactly that, slurping on the head, licking down the shaft, returning to the head and using my tongue to polish his tool. Dennis makes load sounds of pleasure.
“You were born to suck my cock.”
I cover my teeth with my lips, not wanting them to nick his cock and threaten to stop feeding me. I move downward hoping to get his whole dick in my mouth. I have sucked off other guys — mostly in the back row at the Strand Theater, so I think I can handle his 7-incher. I want to please him.
As I get every inch in my mouth Dennis speaks: “Damn, if I knew how good you sucked cock, I wouldn’t have ditched you. Your mouth is better than a pussy.”
“Your loss,” I snap, and Dennis slaps me across the face.
“Shut up and suck it.”
I work my mouth into a rhythm, up and down his shaft, take it deep, then I just suck the head with as much suction as I can muster. Dennis bends his legs slightly to give me a better angle. I’m thrilled to be blowing his mancock. It was a boycock when I first laid eyes on it.
Joey has been content to watch me servicing Dennis, but I can feel his crotch pushing against the back of my head and his hand is down his Levi’s stroking his dick. He seems mesmerized by the show we’re putting on.
I can feel Dennis’s precum dribbling into my mouth. I can’t remember his having any the last time. I am bent on giving him my best blowjob and I wonder if any of his girlfriends go down on him. They’d be no match for me.
I lick around the crown again. It is much wider than his shaft, making it look like a real mushroom. As he gasps, I take it down to the root. His dick pulsates in my throat and so far I haven’t gagged. Suddenly Dennis, who has let me do all the work, grabs my ears and begins to fuck my mouth.
“Take me, you little cocksucker. Let’s see how much you like it when I get rough with you.”
He holds my head in place and begins to plow my mouth furiously. His mushroom bangs against my tonsils. I resolve not to gag as I am loathe to embarrass myself in from of these two studs.
“Grip my cock harder with your mouth, Pete. I’m going to go deep again. If you take it all without gagging, you’ll get a mouthful of my hot Irish cream.”
These words electrify me as I am eager to take his seed. His deep plunge pushes him over the edge. He rockets cum into my mouth.
Oh, fuck, fuck,” he moans, as I count seven shots. He has pulled out of my throat so that I can savor the taste of his cum on my tongue. I’m happy that he didn’t shoot down my throat directly into my stomach.
My cheeks bulge with this 18-year-old stud’s load, and I’m determined not to let a drop escape. It tastes warm, tangy, sweet and strong. I think to myself. ‘I never thought I’d taste Dennis’s cum again. This evening has turned into a bonanza. Should I hold his cum in my mouth and savor it or swig it down?’
The decision is made for me. “Swallow it,” Dennis orders. “I want my jizz in your belly.” I let it slide down my throat.
“Open your mouth so I can check that you swallowed. When I give you my cum, you are obligated to swallow it.” Dennis has become full of himself, but I am so smitten by him that I don’t mind.
“Good boy,” he says. “You deserve that after a great blowjob.” I’m surprised that he is throwing a compliment my way.
After getting what I have longed for all these years, I am ready to head home. But when I try to get up, Joey pushes my shoulders down and moves from his spot behind me to the spot in front of me. His black Levi’s show a promising bulge. He unbuckles his belt.
“My turn,” he says.
(To be continued)