Had Cal approached me 18 months earlier, I would not have understood what he wanted and I would have found it easy to flee. But that changed about 18 months earlier when an older friend explained to me that “cocksucker” was more than a derisive word used by males to provoke other males. Instead, I was in awe of the explanation that some males actually suck on the cocks of other males and that is how the word “cocksucker” had come into being. Honestly, I felt dizzy just hearing that simple explanation and all I could think about was someday being able to suck on a hard cock, even though I had no desire to earn the label of “queer” or “homo” or anything of the sort.

I thought about it all of the time and fantasized nightly to thoughts of having one of those hard things in my mouth, but I was a bit shy and lacked confidence and didn’t imagine that I would ever actually do it.

In fact, when I began going to the Basement after school to plays games with others my age, I would never have anticipated that such an environment would become the place where it would happen.

The Basement was under what had formerly been a recreational center and an after-school center before it failed financially and was purchased by business people for offices. As a concession for the many kids who would otherwise be displaced and unsupervised, kids like me, the new owners cleared the Basement and permitted us to congregate there as long as we didn’t vandalize it which was not likely to happen since we were grateful for the shelter and also because we often had oversight by a parent or a grandparent.

Although I was a boy, I found it much more to my liking to hang out with girls who came to the Basement. They were far less aggressive and confrontational and I just found it easier to relate to them. Taylor was a cute girl and we became friends although not close enough that we would hang out together away from the Basement.

Cal was Taylor’s grandfather. He didn’t come to the Basement at all during my first two weeks there. Then, he came several times a week and sometimes, he came every day.

I liked him. He was kind and somewhat affable. He talked to me a lot and I felt pride that he paid more attention to me than the others. A couple of weeks after first meeting him, I left the Basement earlier than usual and once outside, he called to me and talked about things I don’t remember except for one part that I remember very clearly—he said I was a “very pretty boy”.

When I was very young, I was often mistaken for being a girl. When people would meet one of my parents, they would sometimes say, “And, what a pretty little girl you have”, or they would ask me, “What is your name little girl?” I can’t count the times that happened but I can say that I loved it and wanted it.

So, when Cal said I was a pretty boy, those feelings surged quickly. I thanked him and smiled and felt such great warmth and pride that he had said that. I spent the night trying to sort out crazy notions that collided with each other in my head. I could not get one thought to stop long enough for me to think it through because it too soon was bounced out of place by another thought. I liked what he had said but I could not figure out why.

The time after he called me a pretty boy, he said the phrase that I have never forgotten. In fact, as I write this, I can still see his face and hear the inflection in his voice. He said, “You are a pretty boy, Brynn. And, you have a very pretty little mouth.”

My knees nearly gave out and I found it hard to breathe. The words. That phrase. “You have a very pretty little mouth.” I think I gasped but I didn’t have enough control of my faculties to remember clearly. However, I am certain I gasped inside. His phrase literally took my breath away.

I don’t remember what I might have said but I know I smiled after he spoke. Smiling came easy. Talking was more difficult. But then came the question, what else might I have done that I didn’t remember? What if I said “thank you”? Would he take that as an invitation to do more? I hoped for that but I also had some hesitation and that hesitation came down to one thing:

Taylor!

This was Taylor’s grandfather! How could I possibly even fantasize about getting on my knees before her grandfather and sucking on her grandfather’s penis? She was my friend! How would I ever face her and how much would she hate me if she ever found out.

I was susceptible to attention from older men and I suppose some of it could be a daddy-issue thing but I also know that I was born submissive and that makes me gravitate towards men who symbolize control, such as men who are much older or much bigger or very aggressive.

It is very much about power and control. The dominant/controller seeks power and a major part of their sexual quest and satisfaction comes from a sense of power over their vanquished partner. The submissive seeks to surrender to the power and sexual needs of the superior, dominant, controlling, stronger male. The greater the differences are between a dominant/controller and a weak/submissive in age and size and experience, the more likely they are to be drawn to each other. The greater the differential, the more they are attracted—generally speaking. Although I didn’t know about the philosophy of those things, my submissiveness was present and being in the presence of a man like Cal, tapped on those submissive traits.

The following week, on a day when Taylor was not there, Cal caught me isolated from the others for a few seconds and approached me and bent over to my ear and whispered, “I would love to drive you home tonight. We can talk. Okay? Don’t walk. I’ll drive you.”

He drove an older four-door. Quite a big car. It was nice but it had seen its years. His voice and mannerisms were calm. Said he just wanted to have a chance to talk with me. He drove to a cul-de-sac that had been cleared for construction although construction had not yet started.

I can’t say I remember all that he said but I do remember not feeling any alarm or sense of danger. He was pleasant and non-threatening. I do know the subject matter but I don’t know the exact words or sequence of how he talked. Essentially, he said again that he liked pretty boys with pretty mouths and “boys who are like girls”.

We talked on following days, sometimes outside of the Basement in a mini-park area. It only took a few discussions for me to admit to him that I had “thoughts” about men and only a short time later, he asked if I had ever seen “a grown man’s penis” (words that have stuck with me since) and I said “no”. He asked if I wanted to but being a shy and a sub kind of person, I could only shrug. I mean, how could I possibly just come out and say “yes” to something like that? Wouldn’t that mean I was admitting to being queer?

Besides, did I really want to see the penis of Taylor’s grandfather? Even if no one ever told her, I would have to look her in the eyes and try to conceal the fact that I had seen her grandfather’s cock; that I had agreed to it and I had gone with him just for the purpose of seeing it.

He took my uncertainty as a “yes” answer and he told me to stay after the others had left and the Basement normally closed for the night. Since I was unsupervised, I could come and go and stay out late with no accountability. After he said that, I was completely incapable of rational thought and I was light-headed just thinking of what was going to happen. Was I honestly going to let a grown man expose himself to me.

My greatest adversary was that I had grown to like Cal and I really wanted him to like me. That made it hard to say “no”. He wasn’t dangerous or offensive. He seemed like a horny older man but he was a nice one. I liked that he titillated my sexual curiosity. I also admit that I had sexual fantasies nearly every night of being on my knees and sucking on his cock and hearing him tell me how good I was.

I complied with his request for me to stay after the Basement closed because maybe I owed something to him since he had paid so much attention to me. Besides, I had no plans to suck on his cock; only to look at it.

When the overhead lights went out at the Basement that evening, I was alone with Cal in that isolated place near the back. One small light from the side caste the slightest of illumination but as my eyes adjusted, I could see clearly enough.

“I’m glad you stayed, Brynn,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you would. Nothing is going to happen that you don’t like because if you don’t like something, then we’ll stop.” He went on to say, for the first time, that he suspected that maybe I had a desire to suck cock, a statement that shocked me although I did my best to seem unaffected. He said he would not pressure me for that and that he would only show me his cock if that was all I would do.

He told me to kneel and just relax. His voice was friendly and soothing and my knees slowly began to bend even though I am certain I did not tell them to do so. He told me just to stay still and just watch and he would go slow and my body complied even though I didn’t give it any kind of command.

He moved in front of my face and pressed his fingers against an area of his pants that revealed that tube-like appendage and he told me it was a preview and for me to look at it so I would have some idea of the size of what I was about to see. I didn’t tell my eyes to stare at his crotch, but they did it anyway.

His fingers went to the zipper of his pants and slowly tugged it down. He reached through the opening and told me to relax and to keep watching and to not be nervous. I trembled and hoped it wasn’t noticed. His fingers fumbled for a while and then he asked if I was ready. I was too frozen and unable to reply.

“Are you ready, Brynn?” he asked again. “If you want to see it, then you have to let me know now that you’re ready. Do you want to see it?”

My head nodded. Either it rebelled against me or it decided to obey him, the superior and controlling male, or maybe it nodded because the hidden cocksucker in me was so strong.

He pulled slowly and then . . .

Then . . .

His cock pulled out of his briefs and through the zipper opening and it popped up before me and it was one foot away from my face and it was pointed directly at me and I was stunned! I couldn’t believe it! I was on my knees and a grown man was exposing himself to my young eyes and I was . . . I was . . . I was staring,–not just looking but–staring at his erect cock, the fully developed penis of a fully grown older man! It was . . . It was his . . . his sex organ. It was the “thing” he used to have sex. It was adult. It was for adult sex.

It overwhelmed me. I wanted to run and never do anything of the kind again but I suspect that the queer in me was forcing me to stay there and to not miss the opportunity, an opportunity that had been a long time coming and probably wouldn’t come again soon, if ever.

“You like that, Brynn?”

I felt instant exhilaration from his words. I felt . . . I suppose . . . turned on or maybe it was more like I felt sexy. His words coursed through me. He liked me. He paid attention to me. He was nice to me. He was an adult who noticed me and talked to me.

But his cock . . .

As soon as my eyes looked at his penis, there were waves of sensations that went through me and with every one that felt one way there was another just as strong that felt contrary. It was ugly but it was sexy; it was dangerous but it turned me on; it was adult yet it wanted my mouth.

In one instance, I wanted to run from it because I was afraid of it and in the next, I wanted to push my mouth forward and take it in.

And that is how I found myself in a dimly lit place, on my knees, with a grown man’s erection right in front of my face.

“Just look at it, Brynn. You don’t have to do anything.” Fingers of his right hand moved it slightly from side-to-side and he stepped a half-foot forward. “That is, unless you want to.”

I couldn’t respond. It was so hard. I wanted to feel its hardness, not with my hand, but with the ever-sensitive parts of my mouth. To . . . To . . . To suck . . . To suck on it. Okay, there I said it, at least to myself, before I suddenly reversed that thought and screamed silently in my head “No! No! No! I don’t want to suck on it. I’m not a faggot! I’m not a cocksucker!”

Cal stepped another half-foot to me and his cock was four inches from the tip of my nose. I could see every outline, every ridge, every change in coloration. It was so beautiful but so forbidden. It was so hard and I sensed it had needs but . . . but . . . I wasn’t a cocksucker! I had never done it before except in hundreds of fantasies. I wasn’t a cocksucker! It couldn’t expect to get its pleasure form my mouth. I didn’t know how. I was too young. I was a virgin.

And – And – And – this was Taylor’s grandfather!

Then I realized that he hadn’t asked me to suck on it. The battle of sucking on his cock or not sucking on his cock was all within me!

He turned sideways and I was astonished and very much in awe with how long it looked. It was straight like a pole because of its great hardness and it looked like a baton sticking straight out. In reality, I suspect it was seven inches long with normal thickness, but for my young and virgin eyes, it looked like a monster.

He turned back to me and soothed me with words to just look at it and to get closer and to see it from all angles. His fingers very slowly stroked it near the base. I caught a glimpse of his balls for the first time and thought I would be ill. They looked so nasty and dirty and disgusting and yet — for some reason — I knew I wanted to like what men’s balls looked like and to appreciate them.

Then, he did one thing that changed everything. At the time, I didn’t understand why, but now that I have more knowledge, I realize it has to do once again with me being a sexual submissive.

He stepped forward again and he put one hand on the back of my head. As soon as I felt his hand on my head, I felt like a balloon within me popped and all of the air escaped suddenly. It was the air of my willpower. His hand absorbed it and I instantly felt it drain from me. It was like I wilted; like he had begun to take control of me; like my strength to resist was leaving me; like my own ability to think or decide were ebbing away.

If it all could be put into one word, that word would be—surrender.

“Smell it, Brynn,” he commanded. “Just smell it. Know what a real man smells like.”

Not only was it intoxicating, it was everlasting. He touched his erection to my nostrils and rubbed it there and even later I could smell the scent of his penis and I can recall that scent even today.

After a short time, he said, “You can suck on it, Brynn. Don’t be afraid. We’re here. No one will know. I been around enough cocksuckers to know that you’ve been wanting to suck for a long time. Now is your chance. Who knows if we will ever be here again?”

The last part of his statement sent panic through me. What if I never ever again got a chance to taste it and feel the hardness and actually suck and know what it was like to suck, suck, suck?

There was yet another element of seduction and it was even stronger and that was his hand was still resting on my head. He wasn’t gripping my head in any way but just the feel of it made me feel wilted under its control and when it stroked my hair and he called me a good, pretty boy, it was just very seducing.

“Go ahead, Brynn. Just try it. Just a couple of minutes. See if you like it.”

His hand was debilitating and I couldn’t move and I was terrified of the fact that the desire to suck had grown so big within me. My eyes were glued to his rock hard penis.

Then . . .

I felt it!

He had put his penis to my closed mouth! That “thing” was against my lips!

He told me to just let it happen. It was hard and felt like velvety rubber on the end. There was no mistaking it was rock hard like a steel rod and … I knew there was no turning back and no getting away and I doubted very much that I had any amount of willpower and I believed he was right about me having waited for it for much too long, and . . .

He pushed against my lips but not very hard and mouth opened and his cock began to push into it. HE was pushing it into my mouth and that was so very important because it meant that I was NOT responsible for what was happening, he was! I wasn’t realllllllly a cocksucker but rather, he was just pushing his penis into my mouth. It was all on him! I could take his penis into my mouth and be completely innocent!

The argument was perfect!

I remember his groan and then I felt both of his hands on my head and then I felt him pushing into me and then I felt … I felt … I felt Cal’s fully matured erection spreading my mouth and I felt it crawling into me. Cal groaned, “Yeah kid suck. Yeah just like that. Enjoy. I know you been wanting it.”

I closed my eyes—on purpose. I told my eyes to close. I told my mouth to just go ahead and enjoy because it was obvious it was going to do just that whether I approved or not. I told my tongue to keep moving while also realizing that there was nothing I could do to stop it. I told whole self to just enjoy and to suck and suck and to taste cock for the first time. I felt dizzy. Sucking on it drove me crazy. I was in a dreamy state just sucking and sucking. I let myself be a cocksucker and love it. I could suck with no guilt because he was responsible and besides, I might not ever get to suck on one again.

I felt like Jello inside. It felt like I was nursing — nursing on it — nursing on Cal’s penis. Sucking like a lttle lamb. Sucking like I would never ever get to suck on a man’s cock ever again.

And then, Cal began talking to me and his words began driving me into crazy-lust because he told me I was a great cocksucker and such a pretty boy and such a pretty little mouth and that I sucked cock so good. I was flattered and I wanted to do it even better and make him happy and please him and I wanted to be the best cocksucker that ever lived.

I would have sucked on his cock for as long as he wanted and however he wanted, but he had a little different idea.

He moved me two feet backward without ever taking his cock from my mouth. I felt the wood paneled wall against the back of my head. He stepped up closer to me and had both of his hands on my head.

His hips – they – they began – they began moving. He was – he was – he was fucking me! He was fucking my mouth, slowly, very slowly, but he was fucking my mouth! That 60-something year old man was fucking me in the mouth! In a dim-lit basement. Late at night.

And ——– and —- I was letting him do it! In fact, I felt almost like a girl. My mouth was like a pussy, that was my conclusion. He wanted my mouth to be like a girl’s pussy. He wanted to have sex in my mouth like other men did it in girl’s vaginas. He had said I would like it. He was right: I DID like it. It felt good. His hardness. Feeling the sexual need that seemed to throb in his shaft. A grown man somehow finding sexual pleasure in my mouth like he would in an adult female. It made me feel adult. I was having adult sex. I was giving him pleasure like other men found in girls.

He went slow. He groaned. He called me a cocksucker many, many times—not to be derisive (I don’t think)—but it seemed more that he loved that I was good at it, especially for my first time doing it.

He began going a little faster and his fingers pressed my head a little more. Even though he was holding my head in place, I was also making sure my head stayed how he wanted it so he could fuck me just like he wanted.

I was so into it and surrendered to it and filled with sexual excitement and wanting it to last for hours and hours and dieing to hear him tell me when it was over that I was a great, great cocksucker. I mean, if I was only going to do it that one time, then why not be the very best and give him the best “mouth” I possibly could.

I felt desperate to hear his tell me those things. I wanted a grown man to tell me that I was the best sex he had ever had, or at least the best he had had in a long, long time. I craved his appreciation and I would have done anything with my mouth to get it.

His language was broken by his lust and the fucking of my mouth but he slowed his fucking and managed to ask if I knew about semen. I tried to nod. He asked if I had ever seen it or knew how it was ejaculated and I shook my head, or tried to.

He explained it was a safe and healthy fluid; that it shot out in spurts; that he would be extremely pleased if I would let him ejaculate in my mouth (I nodded even though I didn’t know much about the topic but I was desperate to please him), and he told me when he was ready, I would know and when that time came that I should push my tongue down hard against the bottom of my mouth and then back as far as it would go so it would close off my throat and keep the spurts from gagging me.

I felt practically insane with the idea of it. So nasty. So wicked and nasty and disgusting. Letting a grown man ejaculate in my mouth was just overpowering to my senses. Yet, I was determined I would let Cal ejaculate in me—fully!—and I would take it all and, if I did that, he would tell me I was the best cocksucker ever and I soooo wanted that!

He began fucking my mouth a little faster, then a little more, then a little more. His hands gave increasing pressure on my head to hold it in place. I held still. I whimpered sometimes but otherwise I was silent and still and just wanted to let him fuck me without distracting him in any way from his pleasure.

He went faster and harder and then he cried out, “Now! Now! Get Ready. Your tongue—down and back. Readddddddy!”

And then — then it happened.

His cock quaked and his body shook and he groaned and he moaned and then ———- I felt it! He began ejaculating– in me, in my mouth, to my throat which was closed off by my tongue. He was jizzing – yes, that was the word. He was jizzing in my mouth and I was letting him! That seemed to me to be a terribly queer thing for me to do—just hold still and let a grown man ejaculate in my mouth, but I wanted him to. The stuff was awful and horrible and gooey and thick and warm and disgusting but I held my ground and was determined to let him ejaculate in me completely and make him happy with me.

I have no idea how long his orgasm took or how many spurts he had into me. I do know that when he was done and his hands relaxed and, even though he didn’t yet pull his cock out of my mouth, I twisted away and spat on the floor.

I distinctly heard him laugh, just one time. When I finally looked up at him, he was all gentile and asked if I was okay and there was no trace of a smile or laugh. He told me he liked me. He said I did good. I smiled up at him although I suspect there were streamers of semen around my mouth.

“Are you sure you’ve never done that before?

I shook my head.

“Well you have some mouth on you. Damn. I’ve had some cocksuckers but that is one smooth and snug mouth and you really fucking know how to take dick. Amazing kid. Amazing.”

He drove me home. I didn’t say much. My head was spinning and confused. I said goodnight and then lay in bed just remembering what had happened and how wonderful it all was and how I was completely innocent yet how it was so overwhelming. Yes, I still had his semen in my mouth and I could still feel the film it left, so—yes—I was officially a cocksucker, but then again, I wasn’t. I hadn’t agreed to suck his cock and I wasn’t the one who caused it all to happen. He had used my mouth. If anyone had guilt it was him.

That argument was important to me for many reasons but the single most important reason would be one I knew I would face the very next day.

Taylor!

I couldn’t imagine facing her. My friendship with her and the future of things with Cal are for a later story and if you are interested in that, you can e mail me at brynnboi at juno.

I knew I was a cocksucker, even before I ever met Cal. I say that because in my times alone after dark when I was in bed, I found times when I faced up to the strong desire I had to suck on one of those hard, hard things. I knew I was different from other boys who would use the word “cocksucker” to anger other boys yet, every time I heard them say the word, it had always turned me on.

And, the first time I heard about cocksucking, I was crazy and dizzy just thinking about it. I had no idea anyone could suck on a cock and not become ill from germs and I just could not think of anything else for the longest time.

All of it was hard for me to admit to other people, but I eventually admitted it all to myself. I am a cocksucker; I am submissive, and I love sucking cock, I love much older men, and I love having them fuck me in the mouth.

Even though I denied all of what happened in the Basement that day, I knew I was a cocksucker. I knew it then and I know it today.

The difference is that today, I admit all of it.

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