My First French Kiss - 1. My First French Kiss
My First French Kiss,
A Boy and his Redhead
An Erotic Tale
by AC Benus
That phrase boys will say to one another, 'beat your meat,' still gets me rock-hard every time I hear it, and there's a good reason why.
Summers when I was young we took family trips to Arizona. My dad had friends from Demming, New Mexico, who relocated to a small town in Arkansas, so the break between my eighth and ninth grades, we took a side trip on the way home to see them.
Arkansas can be considered a dangerous place – home to the KKK's front office, and none to friendly too anyone not clutching a bible and screeching about how evil 'the H-words' are. But when I was a kid, what did I know about that? Nothing.
In Fayetteville we were going to settle down and make a home base for daytrips here and there. We arrived about one o'clock in the afternoon and my folks began to look over the roadside eating opportunities. My dad loved KFC, but my mom insisted we go to Burger King for a change.
The restaurant was cool and dry inside, compared to the wet, steamy August air outside. There were hardly any people, and only one guy worked the counter. As my folks ordered, I watched him – a medium-sized teenager, 16 or 17, with dark short hair, clear skin and full lips. He wore a polyester polo shirt in the odd brown color of the chain employees of the time, but even through it, the tanned and smooth skin of biceps and lower arms commanded attention from its short sleeves. I could see his chest was well built too, and his neck was strong and straight. Weird thing was, as I was watching him, he seemed to fumble with the order and divide his attention between my mom, giving the instructions, and me. I saw him lick his lips a couple of times, and as I say, they were full, so the extra bit of sheen on them made me feel something – something like I wanted to taste them.
I told my folks I'd pick up the tray when the food was ready, so they drifted off to sit in a booth in the back. I folded my arms and leaned my lower back against the counter. I half turned. The guy with the dark hair was spreading his arms on the counter and leaning towards the back of my head, I saw his tongue moisten his lips again.
“Not from around here, are you?”
I glanced into his big brown eyes. Now I could tell his breaths were oddly choppy, like he was taking small, forced bits of air in through his nose. “No,” I said. “What's it like here?”
He leaned almost next to my young ear, the hairs standing up there with the sultry breath that was like a blast from the wild summer heat just outside the door. “We've got a back room. Want to see it?”
I stood up. Within ten seconds my dick was at full attention. I faced him, and he looked down at my fly, and again his lips were drawn into his mouth a second, and came out wetter and redder and more inflamed and so much more inviting to me than before.
“You crazy?” I whispered. “I'm just a kid….”
“Maybe, but one old enough to knows what he wants, right?”
I couldn’t answer with words, because I had to use my hand, and use it with force, to push my stiff prick down behind by shorts waistband. He half smiled, and for the first time I saw all his dark, teenage charm in a full light. Now it was me licking my lips.
The cook rang the pick-up bell. The older teen reluctantly took his eyes off mine and slowly arranged the food on a tray. As he slid it forward, and I reached to grab it, his hands landed on mine. Looking up from the steaming fries, his face now seemed truly sad, like I had hurt him in some way. He let go, and I went to our table still feeling the heat his touch had burned into my skin like a static tingle.
After the meal, I made sure I was the last to get through the door. As I stalled and fumbled with the rubbish – my parents safely exited – I slid slowly along the front of the counter.
The dark-haired guy kicked out his hands, like before, and lowered his head and neck to get just that little bit closer to my passing face. “Come back real soon, ya hear?”
I continued to walk, but turned my head. My dick was stiff again and I had to walk funny, which I'm sure he saw, and which I'm sure made him hard too, for he stood up, adjusted his teenage cock bending his polyester uniform slacks, and looked sad again.
I paused at the door. I had one last look for this guy who was now making my breaths short and intense. He winked at me, and I went back out into the heat.
A short time later, and thirty minutes of driving in circles, a motel was selected. The chosen one seemed positively bucolic compared to the others, but of course it wasn't. This motel just wasn't pressed tightly against the road, and it had some margins of grass and trees.
My folks were in the office. I stood leaning against the back bumper of my dad's truck. I heard the office door open and its little bell jingle, but when I stood up, I didn’t see my folks. Instead a kid my age, and maybe a couple inches taller, was shoving his hands in his jean pockets and slowly coming my way.
“Hey,” he said, stopping next to me.
“Hey,” I replied. “Who are you?”
“My dad owns the motel.”
“Oh.” I resumed leaning on the bumper, but made room for my new friend. He kept his hands in his pockets and leaned next to me. This kid was a redhead and his bare arms were dotted with freckles, but his face however, wasn't. His angular features stared frankly at me, and I had to turn away a second, assuming he'd know what I was thinking. I was thinking that this kid was about the best-looking redhead I've ever seen, so different from the gawky-looking Ralphie in my school.
“You staying long?” he asked.
“Yeah, a few days.”
“Oh. Good. Wanna hang out?”
I had to smile, and I really didn't care if I looked like a goof. “Yeah, I'd like that.”
He looked odd, like I had said something, but it passed in a moment as he stood. “I'll come by your room in, like, 30 minutes and show you around. Cool?”
Just as promised the redhead boy knocked on the door, and my mom shouted after me as I left “Be back by six so we can go to dinner.”
Again the sultry air smacked my face as I closed the door behind me. I was surprised; the kid was gone. I looked towards the office. Nothing. I looked the other way, and the redhead was at the end of the line of rooms waving at me. I jogged up to him, but before I got there, he walked off down the side of the building.
I turned the corner, and everything changed. The back of the property was pretty. There was a slope down to a creek, and the noise from the road almost seemed to disappear.
I met up with my host. He smiled at me. “You like it, don’t you?”
“Yeah I do!”
“Let's go sit down there. It's quiet.”
And he was right. After he started down the slope, the view of the motel was gone. We sat in the grass Indian-style, and he pulled up a tall blade of something and stuck it between his teeth. As he sucked on it, he looked me straight in the face, asking “You ever beat your meat?”
I bet I blinked a few times. I didn't know what he meant. “My 'meat'...?”
A riotous smile lifted the corners of his grin. “Yeah—” he grabbed his crotch with wide-elbowed bravado “—beat off! You know!”
“Oh. Yeah. I jack off.”
“Ever beat another guy's meat?”
I shook my head, thinking I was forcing him to hold my eyes, but instead his gaze fell on the tent pole in my shorts.
“If you're interested,” he went on, “an older guy showed me how.”
He scooted next to me. His hand fell on my dick through the fabric, and as my touch landed on the freckles on his lower arm, his fingers pulled back the leg opening. Up popped my cock to the open air. I rubbed his skin. It felt a bit rough, and I loved the sensation.
I leaned over and felt his upper thigh through his jeans. His dick was hard too, and compressed along his leg. I said “Do you mind?”
He just lay back with his hands behind his head. I undid the big brass buckle. It flopped noisily to the side of his waist, then I worked the copper rivet that held his jeans up, and it loosened with a sigh from the boy. I held his eyes as I undid his zipper and reached in. No go; it was too tight. I kneeled and tugged on his Levi's below the knees as he raised his backside. The denim slid down, and at first I saw something I'd never imagined before. Red pubic hair! It was soft and fuzzy, and just dotted the base of his dick – which was still three-quarters hidden. Together they seemed like the bright caramel drizzle of an ice cream cone. I pulled more, and his fat cock sprung to full attention in the open air. He immediately started stroking himself, so I lay back down by his side and did the same with my dick.
Our heads were side-by-side, and when I glanced over, he was staring not at my prick, but at me. I half smiled, for I'd rather have looked at his face than at anything else at that moment.
After a few more strokes, he sat up and folded his legs right up against my waist. “This is something one of the older guys taught me.” He lifted his hand to his mouth and drew out a deep wad of spit. It came into his palm, and he carefully transported it to the tip of my cock. I saw him rub it up through his fingers, and then I had to close my eyes and grip onto the side of his leg for support. He slipped his silky spit over my cockhead and I nearly cried out in disbelief. His touch was sensational: soft and creamy, warm and delicate and it applied just the right pressure to make me want to climb up his torso and cling on for dear life.
His free hand slipped over my mouth and I could feel just how hot and out-of-control my breaths were as they bounded off his flesh back to my nose. “Shush,” he warned. I tried to laugh, but his fingers kept pressing, so my open mouth wound up closing on the side of his hand. And I loved it. It tasted slightly salty and clean, and I started exploring it with gentle bites that let him know when he applied just the right pressure on my cock. My tongue started roving over his flesh too, bringing more and more of his 'taste' into my mouth.
I was gonna blow. The tension in my lower back made me arch it, and I tried to groan so he'd know to stop, but he didn't. I used both hands; one grabbing onto the upper arm of the hand that covered my mouth, and the other to latch onto the lower arm and wrist that was jacking me, or as he would say, 'beating' me. I pulled on that arm, but he only slowed down and his touch became more deliberate and madding to me.
I raised my head half off the grass and watched as I came. I spurted nearly up to his face, which was bent over his task, and he flinched slightly but kept beating me as I spurted time after time. Most of my cum fell in milky driblets on the hand he used to still torture me. My whole lower body spasmed, and my legs collapsed from the forced extension of my climax. He finally let go and I could breathe again. My hands went to cover my eyes and I felt like a slow leaf drifting back to earth.
“Damn,” my redhead said. “Too bad Carter isn't here. He loves it when boys cum on his hand.”
“Who's Carter?” I asked from my daze.
“The guy who showed me what I did to you.”
I sat up. “Oh.” Now I looked and saw his cock was still straining, so I grabbed onto it without much thought.
He said “Wait” and took my jacking fingers to spread my own cum all over them. “Now,” he instructed, “go slow and easy, and spit in your hand if it feels dry.” His smile warmed me, and again I thought he was about the handsomest guy I'd ever seen, much less be so close to.
For the first time I considered what I was doing. I lay my touch on, trying to remember the details of how my redhead had started with me. I toyed with the head, forming just a ring with my grip and sliding down with only enough pressure to feel it slip and slide. The kid reeled his head back, and his mouth opened with a groaning sigh, so I went to the base of his shaft with increasing pressure.
I jacked him smoothly for a few minutes, then thought I'd try the next thing too. So I hocked a thick piece of spit and drooled it into my palm. As I continued to 'beat' him, he rocked side to side, and I thought he might topple over, but with every sign of pleasure from him, my dick sprang back to life.
“Ugh—” he let out, eyes opening on mine “—I'm gonna…I’m….” He was rocking towards me at that moment, so I grabbed the back of his head and kissed him. I'd never kissed anybody, and somehow in the dimness of my half-thinking mind, a kiss seemed like something guys didn't do.
He panted in my mouth, didn't exactly resist my pressing lips, and then spurted all over my hand. I kept jacking him as he had done to me, and I tried to keep his lips pressed on mine, but he turned his head out of my grip, and came over and over, while leaning the other way.
As soon as he stopped, and I let go, I felt sad. “Did you like it?” I asked self-consciously.
“Yeah, of course. You saw the way I shot!”
“Sorry about the kissing thing. Did you mind?”
“No. Well, I never kissed before.”
“Me neither. Didn't you like it?”
“Yeah…. I liked it. It's, you know, different.”
I put my hand on his upper arm. “Can we, try it again?”
He shrugged and leaned in. Halfway in the center between us, our eyes closed, our lips touched, and we explored by tentatively parting them and closing them. Moisture rose, and noses got turned, and soon I felt his hand pulling the back of my head deeper into him, and I did not feel sad any more; no, quite the opposite.
I was still aglow that night as we went 'in town' to a restaurant that my redhead's father had suggested. “Down home, Southern cooking,” he proclaimed, “it can't be beat.”
The old part of town was neat and trim and looked just as well kept as the outer roads with their motels and fast-food joints.
We walked into a place where booths lined the left side. The area on the right had tables of various sizes. I just wished my new friend were with me, for my parents seemed dull company after spending time down by the creek with him. Something in me had changed and it seemed a cruel joke to act outwardly as if nothing had. As the waitress led us back, we passed a table with a young family at it. Two shaggy-haired, dishwater blond tots, with dark complexions and soft features, couldn't have been more than three and four respectively. Both were boys and both sat on their hands and swayed to tamp down their natural boisterousness while they waited for their food. Their mother was a rather non-distinct blond woman, and their father was a young African American with a noble-looking reserve. I have to admit, I glanced at them more than twice, for other than the Jefferson's neighbors on TV, this was the first interracial family I'd ever seen in real life.
Dinner was as expected: I drifted through thoughts of red hair and freckles and how it felt to kiss a handsome boy my own age, and how it felt to make him cum under the pressure of my touch. But halfway through the meal, a passerby uttered the N-word to the gentleman with his children and wife next to him, and outwardly at least, nothing happened. The family proceeded to finish their meal in steady quietude, then pay and tip the waitress before collecting their things and going out into the August evening. They acted as if nothing had occurred.
Some minorities, I thought to myself in the same repressed stillness, can be hidden, but the question is, what if they aren’t? And if I can hide, should I?
It was the next afternoon, after we had repeated our scene down by the creek – a scene that incidentally was revised to my total satisfaction, with kissing both before and after the 'beating' – I was very happy.
“Where're you taking me?” We were walking in the grass along the road, the cars whizzing by.
“To have you meet Carter.”
“Oh.” Now I grew curious, for up ahead was one of the only familiar places for me in town.
As we entered Burger King, the smell of French fries and salt, and the tang of ketchup melded with the cool air to welcome me home, in a manner of speaking.
My redhead gestured down the hall to the restrooms. “Go wait at the end.”
I did as told. Besides the doors to the crappers, another door said 'Employees Only.' In a few moments, my kissy kid came down the hall to me, all beaming, hands shoved in his Levi pockets. Just as he got next to me, the employee door opened, and the teenager with dark hair and sultry ways stood there. “Come on,” he whispered, glancing once over his shoulder.
We were ushered through the dishwash area and into an office. This room had a desk and chair at one end and sofa on the other. My redhead immediately made himself at home and plopped on the couch with feet in the air. The sexy teenager in his uniform slowly eyed me and closed the door. I heard the lock click.
“Carter,” my redhead announced, “this here is my friend from the motel. We've been using your techniques on each other, and I thought I'd give the kid a shot at a master class.”
“Carter...?” I muttered. “So, it is you.”
He laughed once through his nose. “So, it's you. I knew I'd get you in here.”
My dick sprang up. He motioned me to the sofa, licked his lips and held my hands. My motel boy rotated on his ass and swung his legs out of the way. He swiftly kicked off his Converse sneakers.
Carter used my hands to lower me onto the sofa, but then he didn’t let go – only laced his fingers with mine a second, raised them up and played with them. I wanted to laugh, giggle really, but it was all too serious.
My redhead sat Indian-fashion with his knees touching my thighs. His hand landed on my chest and began to massage and explore the surface of my tank top, up to the collar and sweep of arm cutouts, which he tugged at and brought down around my tits.
Carter released his hold, and his grip moved to the waistband of my red shorts. He pulled, and to let them slip down, I arched my backside up closer to his grin. My stiff prick was in the way though, caught on the elastic, but Carter tugged again, gripping both hands on the bands of my shorts and jockey briefs, and yanked. I raised up again, and my cock flopped free as my newly bare ass descended onto the cool, air-conditioned couch fabric.
I was intent on Carter's face, intent on what he was planning on doing to me, because I suspected it was more than my redhead's 'beatings,' but in a slow-motion instant, my motel boy leaned over my right cheek and his mouth parted to land on mine.
My eyes closed. I heard Carter spit into his hand. He worked that spit over my dick and I moaned helplessly into my redhead's mouth. My motel boy responded by shifting onto his knees and leaning full on the side of my chest. My hand went up to touch his head by the ear.
Carter gently worked on my dick, lingering on each of the up-strokes, there, right on my throbbing dick head, but with his other hand, he began to rub my ass and explore. My feet, still with my flip-flops on, rose into the air.
His fingers roved across my backside and made their way to my hole. I resisted; tensed up my thigh muscles, and one of my foam-soled sandals fell to the floor.
Carter stopped stroking me. “Relax,” he said. I pushed my redhead's lips away to see what Carter was doing. I caught him sticking his index and fuck fingers full into his mouth. He twisted them all around, staring at me; they puffed out his cheeks as he jammed them in and out of his slobber.
Those fingers came out of his mouth and got replaced by a sly grin, then I felt their hot wetness land near my pucker. With his thumb and smaller digits, I felt him spread room for his two big fingers to dab spit at my back door.
“Don't stick it in!” I said.
Carter grunted with a sigh. “There are other ways.” He stood, unzipped his uniform trousers and fished around in his boxers until his dick and big peach-fuzz balls popped out.
“Touch it,” he told me, and I leaned forward. My hand seemed so little on that fat teenage cock, but I gripped it, center of the shaft, and gently tugged. I could feel it pulsate with pleasure as Carter put his hands on the back of his head and gazed at me like he was doing some rough calisthenics. I used both hands, my motel boy leaned over, using my shoulder for support, and drooled a line of spit onto my pair of working hands.
“Yeah—” Carter chopped his breaths “—what good fuckin boys you are.”
While my redhead was leaning on me, I took a moment to undo his belt and loosen his sexy copper jean-rivet. I pulled down his clothes and freed his rock-hard cock. I kissed the shaft of it a moment, feeling like I was seeing a dear friend again, then I returned to Carter's dick.
As I was stroking him, Carter leaned over and took my motel boy's cock between his lips. I'd never seen anything like that before, and my redhead arched his lower back towards the grip of the older guy's mouth. I guess he'd never felt that either, for all he could get out was an astounded “…fuuuck….”
Now a glistening and soft-scented liquid was paused on the tip of Carter's dick, and I used it to moisten my palms. I worked it over and over on his cock, from his balls up to that meaty head, and more and more of that precum keep drooling out. I just couldn't believe how much harder his dick got as I kept methodically working it. It was exhilarating, and feeling his excitement under my control, plus hearing my redhead's moans and seeing that red pubic hair sink up to Carter's lips as he blew my motel boy, made my prick vibrate without anyone even touching it.
Carter stood up. Again his hands went to the back of his head as he told my redhead, “Now, do him, like I just did on you.”
My motel boy looked bashful; apologetic; never more sexy. I pulled him in for a quick kiss, and he went down on me.
The sensation was incredible. Soft and warm, somehow like what melting chocolate must feel like in a boy's hot August mouth. I closed my eyes, I had to, or else – well, I don't what would have happened.
Now Carter lifted my legs, and my other flip-flop tumbled off. I felt his tongue lick my ass cheek. I moaned, and he panted and moved his tongue to my hole. It flitted there. I stammered: "I'm gonna blow."
Carter took over. My cock in his hand, his hot forearm pressed against my backside, and as the pressure mounted halfway between the base of my cock and the finger pressed at my asshole, it slipped in. I shot halfway to the ceiling. But that was only once, for Carter's mouth clamped onto my cockhead and I shot again and again as his finger thrust in deep. I opened my eyes and watched the greedy teen's lips foam my cum around the edges of his mouth. I had to latch onto the fringes of his short and dark hair for support.
After I was spent, Carter lifted his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, drawing my cum all along the back of his forearm. He grinned at me.
“…Damn…” is all I managed to get out.
“See,” my redhead chirped, “I told you he really likes boys' cum.”
Me and Carter looked to him like we'd forgotten he was around. He'd been beating off the whole time, and I suddenly realized his fingers and my tank top were soaked in his warm cum.
Carter bent down and started to lap it up, first off my redhead's fingers, then off the rim of my tank top, then my flesh, and finally, off my nail-hard tit.
While the older teen was doing this, my motel redhead bent towards me, and we kissed, and you know, this time as we explored, and parted lips for one another, his tongue came into my mouth, and mine went into his, and damn it, I was really happy.
It was hard to leave Fayetteville that summer, but there was on consolation – knowing I had friends there, and that next August, we could do it all over again!
I originally posted this story on xhamster.com. In terms of the text, any and all eccentricities of punctuation, spelling, capitalization, and abbreviations are entirely mine; as is the fault of any words spelled correctly, but that I used in the wrong place.
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