Control Ch 3 - Sex Stories

Control Ch 3

... between me eating pussy and you sucking a dick?”

“I don’t know,” I answered, “None I guess.”

“Well, tell me how it felt,” she said, kneeling by my bed, her warm breath washing over my swollen but flaccid member, “Did you like it?”

“I was nervous,” I admitted, staring at the ceiling fan, “And a little drunk.”

“I been there,” Megan agreed, “How did it taste?

“His dick?” I asked rhetorically, “Salty. You know, like sweat. It was a hot day.”

“Was it soft when you started?”

“No. He was already hard. And he was kind of mad at me.”

“Why?”

“Well, he went first,” I said, “I was supposed to warn him but I came in his mouth. He gagged and spit and cursed and shit.”

“He wasn’t really mad,” my older sister said.

“Why?” I asked, a little confused, “What makes you say that.”

“Because he was hard, dummy,” she laughed, “He liked it and didn’t want you to know.”

I shook my head in wonder. My sister was pretty smart. After all that spitting and fussing, David was just putting on a fucking show. And I let him fill my mouth with his cum and I swallowed every bit of it. That had been months ago but, and I won’t admit to this but, I’ve masturbated many times to that memory. I’ve even tasted my own cum a few times since.

“You must have liked it as well,” Megan said.

“What makes you say that?”

“You were soft as a marshmallow until you started thinking about that night. Now you're fucking hard as a preacher's pecker at a double wedding.”

“What?” I ...

... asked incredulously, “You’ve been stroking it.”

“Nuh-uh,” she laughed, “I stopped touching it before you started talking about sucking his dick. And besides, you’ve been laying there thinking about it for the last ten minutes without saying a word.”

I just closed my eyes and resigned myself to the truth. Yes, I did like it. Would I do it again? Given the opportunity, I think I would. I didn’t want the reputation of being gay. But my sister just told me that sucking a dick isn’t what makes me gay.

Augh, this shit is so confusing, I thought.

“No judgment, little brother,” Megan said, “Just admit it to yourself. You won’t be so mixed up then.”

“Okay,” I finally admitted, “I did it and I liked it. The feel of it in my mouth. The taste of his sweaty skin. His smell. Even the taste of his cum. I liked it all.”

It’s funny how, when you’re about to admit to something embarrassing up until it’s out in the open, there is a foreboding and terrible dread. Then, when you’ve owned it it’s so much easier to live with.

It’s like skydiving for the very first time. On the ground, your fear starts to grow when you suit up and put that parachute on. You wonder if it’s going to open or if it’s going to tangle and send you to your end. Then you climb into that old, rickety airplane that never flies more than a mile away from the small airstrip that you are going to circle until you finally do it. Then when you stand on that threshold, your heart pounding, a fucking mile above the ...