Bloodlines - 1. Chapter 1

January 24, 1998

This little shit had been trying to get in my face all night, fucking with me, checking me, slashing me, all the dirty tricks I'd learned about since I was a midget. I charged toward him, the puck attached to my stick like glue. All I had to do was get past him, and then it was me and the goalie. I watched his eyes; they were staring at my hands and stick. Perfect. I moved my hands and tilted the stick, preparing to pivot the puck right, but my body was ready to shift left.

He moved, edging to my right, just like I thought he would. Dumb fuck. I moved my body left and breezed by him, ignoring the stick that shot out at my shins as I passed him. Now it was me and the goalie. He moved forward to reduce my angle, assuming I'd shoot as soon as I could. No need for that. I'd just blown past the only guy even close to me. Everything happened in slow motion then, which is just as well considering how fast I was skating. I pulled back my stick to slap the puck into the goal, pulling the goalie even farther out, occupying his attention, then moved my stick forward but much more slowly, knocking the puck slightly to the right. I stopped my stick and backhanded the puck to the left, smacking it behind the goalie and into the goal. The light went off, the horn sounded, and for the first time all night, we were winning.

The cheers fueled my excitement and my ego. Here was my left wing, Kelso, slapping me on the back, and Garner, the right wing, pulling me into a bear hug. The two defensemen joined the fray, as we cheered and screamed. I looked up into the stands and there were my parents, standing up and clapping and cheering for me, proud and supportive as always. They were older than most of the other parents, sometimes people even thought they were my grandparents. They'd had me when they were in their late thirties. I was an only child, “their little miracle.” We skated back to the bench.

“Way to fake them out Carrswold,” the coach said.

“Thanks coach,” I said respectfully.

“Preppers goal scored by Matt Carrswold, number 42, assisted by Todd Kelso, number 23. Goal scored at 14:21. University 2, Shaker Heights 1,” boomed the announcer. The crowd cheered again. There was the school mascot, Prescot the Prepper, bouncing around in the stands. He had to be the most idiotic mascot ever, the ultimate in snob appeal. His head was modeled after “Bob's Big Boy,” and his body had the classic blue blazer and University School tie.

I refocused on the game now; it was almost over, just a couple of minutes left. The coach nodded and we got up, Kelso, Garner and I, ready for a quick line change. As soon as the three guys on the ice got close to the bench we were off, flying out toward the puck. I was picking up speed, really flying, when a golden opportunity presented itself. The guy that had been pissing me off all night was there in front of me, ten feet away, the puck landing smoothly on his stick. Number 34. Cam Heely. The biggest asshole on Shaker Heights' team, either on or off the ice. I charged toward him, getting my body ready for the impact.

He looked up just a second before I crashed into him, giving me the satisfaction of seeing the alarm, the fear on his face. I drove him backward and sent him flying into the boards. He crashed against them and looked at me, his eyes wide, his mouth wide too, the wind knocked completely out of him. He collapsed to the ice, got up, then collapsed again. The Shaker coach came out then, along with the jock-sniffer that was the team doctor. They helped him up and the three of them hobbled over to the bench. He looked over at me and just glared, fire in his eyes. I gave him a grin, taunting him, which just pissed him off more. I ended up in the penalty box for the rest of the game, but I didn't give a shit about that. It was a perfect game. I'd gotten the game winning goal, and I'd knocked that fucker Heely on his ass.

They announced the “three stars of the game” and I was the first star, getting to skate out to more accolades from those who had stayed behind. My parents were there, of course. They were always there for me. Near them, with her own group of friends, was Ashley Parkes, a girl I'd been kind of seeing for a while now. Her parents were friends of my parents, so they thought it was cool that we were an item. She was nice, didn't piss me off, and let me fuck her. Pretty much all I needed, I thought cynically.

“Fucking awesome goal!” Kelso said as we stripped off our pungent hockey gear. It always had that gross combination of odors that only a hockey player could stand: boy and mold.

“Heely's a douche bag,” I said.

“Yeah, you knocked him on his ass big time!” Garner said, and then started laughing. Kelso turned away to take off his pants, his jock strap framing his cute ass perfectly. Then he pulled the jock off, grabbed a towel, and headed to the showers. I followed him, admiring his physique, the way his muscles moved as he walked. He had dark red hair that was thick on his legs, trimmed on his ass and pubes, and non-existent on his upper torso except for large bushes under each arm. I picked a shower near him and did what I'd done for years. I washed myself off while checking out the other guys, making sure I didn't get busted doing it, and making sure I didn't look so much that my dick got hard. Years in a locker room had taught me this art. I was a master at it now.

Garner grabbed the shower next to me. He was completely different from Kelso. He had dark brown hair, cut really short. Kelso was about 5'11 with massive shoulders and big muscles. Garner was 6'2, tall and lanky, with sparse body hair.

“Big party tonight,” Garner said. “Harleton's throwing it.”

“I'm there,” I said. Jerome Harleton threw the best parties. Booze, weed, and an indoor pool. “I've got to do dinner with the 'rents. I'll meet you over there,” I told him.

“Don't forget Ashley,” Kelso teased.

“She'll get there on her own. She's desperate for the cock,” I said, grabbing my dick.

“Yeah, I heard she collects miniature shit,” Garner teased. He was full of shit too. He'd seen me hard, I'd seen him hard, and I was longer. My seven inches trumped his six, and I was just as fat around. Kelso ignored the conversation. His dick was thick, really thick, but only about five inches long. It looked like a fireplug.

“Then you should hit on her,” I said. I turned off the water and grabbed my towel. I put on my clothes; the white oxford button down shirt, some nice khakis my mother bought, and the requisite blue blazer with the University School tie. I stood in the mirror and worked on my hair. Kelso was on one side of me and Garner was on the other and it almost made me laugh. Kelso, at 5'11, then me, at close to 6'1, then Garner at 6'2. Kelso with his dark red hair, Garner with his dark brown hair, and me with my dark blond hair. Kelso thick and muscular, Garner tall and lanky, and me, the average of the group. We were a study in contrasts.

“Call me,” I said to them, slapping my left pocket where I kept my cell phone, and headed out to the lobby.

My father saw me first and walked toward me, a big smile on his face. I lived for his praise, basically worshiped the ground he walked on, and this was one of the two ways I could get his attention: sports and grades, both of which were top notch at this point. “Great game son,” he said calmly. “I'm proud of you!”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, giving him a somewhat formal hug.

“You did marvelously,” my mother said, with that locust valley lockjaw of hers that seemed to be a throwback to the preppy ’80s. Kelso's mother loomed up as well. “Geneva, how absolutely wonderful to see you.”

“Amanda darling, it's so fabulous to see you as well,” she responded to my mother. If they tilted their heads any further back while they were talking they'd fall over backward.

“I'll meet you at the restaurant,” I said, hoping to avoid a conversation with Geneva Kelso. She was notoriously long-winded.

“Sounds good,” my father said. I left quickly then, heading out to the parking lot to find my SUV. It was my pride and joy, a GMC Yukon Denali, brand new, black on black. It was a Christmas present from my parents, and it still smelled new despite lugging hockey bags around. It was snowing again, so I started the engine and scraped all the snow off the windshield. Across the parking lot I could see Cam Heely tossing his hockey bag in the back of his Ford pickup. He looked shorter off the ice, maybe an inch or two shorter than me, with dark brown hair that was cut longer, so it hung in his face. He had really pointy, chiseled features, much finer than it seemed when his face was buried behind a visor. He must have felt someone staring at him, as he looked over at me briefly. Then he recognized me and flipped me off, which just made me laugh. I hopped into the GMC and let it warm up for a minute while I checked my messages. It was mostly just congrats from my friends. Then I realized that my parents had already left, so I motored off to the country club for dinner. My parents liked to go there after hockey games so they could gloat to all their friends if I did well.

I drove up to the club and the valet took my car. I didn't really pay attention to him; I was just focused on eating and getting to the party. I needed to get fucked up, and I needed to get laid. Of course they knew me here and led me to my parents' table, where they were already sipping gin and tonics.

“That really was simply the best game,” my mother said. She drawled out the vowels in ‘really’ and said the word ‘simply’ so precisely the ‘p’ came out stronger than seemed normal. It was her way.

“Thanks, Mummy,” I said and kissed her on the cheek.

An older man approached the table. “Dr. Carrswold, I hope you don't mind me interrupting. I hadn't seen you in so long I felt compelled to come and greet you.” He had a rigidly formal manner.

“Why thank you. Amanda, you remember Dr. Allen? And this is my son Matt.” I stood up to shake his hand while my mother stayed seated and extended hers. “I read your latest paper. Most insightful,” my father said.

“I just do the research, you put it into effect. I see you have optical centers in Lorain now, and Akron as well?” he asked.

“We do. We've been growing quite fast. There simply aren't enough skilled doctors to perform LASIK surgery. The demand is high,” my father said.

“So it is. Well it was good to see you. I will leave you to your family dinner,” he said, smiling at us.

“If you went to Johns Hopkins you could study under him,” my father said to me.

“I told you I'm going to Stanford, Dad,” I said firmly. I'd already gotten an early acceptance and made up my mind.

“It's a good school, certainly, but they don't even have a real hockey program,” Mummy said. She always chimed in to back up my father, like the well-oiled team that they were.

“I don't want to play in the NHL, and Stanford has a club team. It will be fun,” I responded. We'd had this discussion several times and I had no desire to revisit it. Besides, what parent in their right mind would be bummed if their kid went to Stanford?

“I'm sure it will, and I'm sure you'll do quite well,” Father said, picking up on my mood and changing the subject. “Who was that young man you knocked down?”

“Cam Heely,” I said. I didn't want to even think about that asshole, much less talk about him.

“I've met his mother,” Mummy said. That she said no more spoke volumes. They didn't move in the same circles.

We moved onto safer topics, like the shitty weather. It would be so nice to be in California next winter, to get away from this fucking cold. I'm used to cold. I play hockey, for Christ's sake, and that means being on the ice a lot. But being outside in Cleveland, with the frigid winds blowing off the lake, shit, that would pierce you to the bone. In the end, dinner was done, and so was my duty to my parents for that night. I said goodbye, retrieved my GMC from the cute valet, and hurried over to the Harletons' house.

There was already a bunch of people there, so I parked my car outside and down the street. It kind of sucked, because my legs were sore from the game and the fucking wind and snow were freezing my ass off, but I reminded myself about the end result, and that motivated me up the drive. Off to the side, parked in the driveway, was that familiar Ford pickup. What the fuck was Cam Heely doing at a University School party?

I followed a few people into the big house, probably a little bigger than ours. Harleton was a big-time lawyer, or something like that, and his kids were as spoiled as the rest of us. His son Jerome was in my grade. The dude was a total geek. Why were all guys named Jerome geeks? I wondered about that as I roamed through the house, looking for my friends.

Instead, I ran into Cam Heely. “Carrswold,” he said in as unfriendly a manner as the environment would allow.

“Heely,” I responded similarly. It was bad form to take conflicts on the ice and carry them off the ice. “What are you doing here?”

“Is it your fucking party?” he asked rudely.

“No, I'm just wondering who has bad enough taste to have you as a friend,” I said, pretending it was a joke, when it wasn't. I moved past him before he could think up something else to say, happy with myself for getting in the last word.

I found Kelso, Garner, and a bunch of the other guys in the kitchen next to the keg. I poured a beer for myself, and then one for a cute Hathaway girl named Tina.

“You wanna go out back?” Kelso asked.

“Sure,” I said. We headed outside and Kelso pulled out his dugout and packed me a hit. I inhaled it carefully, getting as much into my lungs as possible, luxuriating in the smoke and its THC that would hit me shortly. I handed it back to Kelso and he packed a hit for himself, then another for me. It only took two or three hits for the pot to take effect.

The door slid open and Heely came out, pulling out a cigarette as he did. He looked like he wanted to turn around and go back in, but that would face him, and he couldn't do that. He was in a social Catch 22. But the pot mellowed me and I was feeling nicer, and remembering my manners.

“Dude, want some?” I offered. Kelso looked at me with no small amount of irritation since I was offering his pot to this guy neither one of us liked, but I fronted him weed all the time.

Heely looked at us, wanting to say no, but wanting to get high at the same time. I smiled at his struggle, and that made him smile back. It was the first time I'd ever seen him smile. It was captivating. His scowl was so unattractive, but when he smiled his perfect white teeth gleamed, his narrow, almost sunken cheeks fleshed out with a little dimple in the left one, and his eyes sparkled. “Yeah. Thanks.”

I watched him take the bat and put it between his lips in what was almost a sexual way and felt my dick hardening. I looked away to avoid making myself look like a complete pervert. I'd had enough, but did two more hits just to watch him do them.

“I gotta go inside,” Kelso said. “I'm fucking freezing.”

Heely looked at me and pulled out a cigarette. “I'll be there in a sec,” I told Kelso.

“Want a dart?” Heely asked, offering me a cigarette.

“Nah. Ask me again in ten or twelve beers,” I joked.

“You fucking nailed me on the ice today. Asshole,” he said.

“You deserved it,” I said, not backing down at all.

“What did I do?” he demanded.

“You put your fucking stick on every part of my body except up my ass,” I said.

“Yeah, but you liked it,” he teased.

“Right, you keep telling yourself that.”

“It's hockey. It's all good. You're not as big of a douche bag off the ice as I thought you'd be,” he said.

“What made you think I'd be a douche bag at all? I'm a great guy. Everyone loves me,” I joked, making him laugh and choke on his cigarette.

“All you US guys are douche bags,” he said. “I guess that's not true though. You did get me high.”

“See. Busted another stereotype. Now I have to go inside and find my girlfriend so I can get laid,” I joked. Did that bother him? Did he cringe a little bit when I mentioned Ashley?

“Cool. See ya later,” he said philosophically. I headed into the house and found that I didn't want to be there. I wanted to stay outside with Heely. I thought about his lips, his sensuous lips. God, I wanted to kiss them. But that wasn't going to happen. No way was that going to happen. This thing I had for guys, that was not coming out.

I paused in the breezeway and took a deep breath. I knew I found other guys attractive. I'd been drawn to them since puberty. But my parents were religious people, and they thought homosexuality was an abomination. If I was gay, they'd hate me. Worse, I'd disappoint them. So I'd cut a deal with myself. I allowed myself to think about guys, to fantasize about them while I beat off. In exchange, real sex was only allowed with women. I'd managed to keep my feelings hidden, hidden from Garner, who was pretty cute, and hidden from Kelso, who was a walking wet dream. Why did Heely seem to bring those feelings out so strongly? What was it about this guy that made me want to do all the things I'd fantasized about?

“What are you doing out here?” Garner asked, opening the door.

“Dude, just being stoned,” I said. He laughed and I followed him in, and then went on a quest for Ashley. I was about to hike up the stairs when I realized that I could just call her. Stupid stoner tricks: forget you have a cell phone.

I checked my phone. Lots of bars and no messages. I hit the speed dial and heard her phone ringing. The fourth ring started and I was getting ready for voice mail when she answered.

“Hey Matt,” she said cheerfully. “You were a stud on the ice.”

“Hey Ash,” I said in my sultry voice. “I'm ready to be a stud off the ice too.”

She giggled at that. She had the cutest giggle. “You are a stud off the ice.”

“So when are you coming over to the party?” I whined.

“I can't come tonight. I promised Cecilia that I'd hang out with her. It's a girl thing,” she said.

“But Ash, you said you'd be here. I've been looking for you for hours. I even scored the game-winning goal, just for you,” I lied.

“I know baby. And it was awesome. You're my hero. But I can't do it tonight. But I'll make it up to you tomorrow. Take me out,” she said. I felt the rage boiling up in my body, a rage fueled by having my expectations crushed, by knowing that I was going to have to satisfy my own hormones tonight, and by feeling rejected for some smarmy little bitch like Cecilia.

I said nothing, letting the anger boil, and then tried to get it under control. No good would come of venting at Ashley. She wasn't going to change her mind, and she might just suck my dick tomorrow if I was nice about this. “It's fine Ash. I'll try and have fun without you,” I said somberly. “There are lots of people here anyway.”

“There are?” she asked curiously.

She couldn't see my evil smile. “Yeah, even some of your girls are here. Jessica and Kaitlyn are already downing beer.” They were both sluts and both hot after me.

“Well, try not to enjoy yourself too much,” she said. I could feel the jealousy buried in her voice.

“Fuck that. I'm having a blast tonight. But I'll see you tomorrow baby,” I said. Then we said a quick goodbye and hung up. I felt considerably better knowing that she'd spend the whole night wondering if I'd fucked Jessica or Kaitlyn. The only one I really wanted to fuck, though, was Cam Heely.

I headed to the kitchen and started drinking beer, lots of beer. I drank until I was so fucked up I could barely walk, but I still managed to make out with Jessica and Kaitlyn, and I made sure that I did it in front of a bunch of Ashley's friends. They'd tell her and she'd be all pissed off, then I'd remind her that if she'd been here like she said she would it never would have happened.

Somehow I ended up in the pool, totally naked. That didn't really bother me. I had a toned body and a big enough dick that I didn't have to be ashamed of being seen nude. After a while, though, it dawned on me that the guys in the pool were all Shaker Heights guys, and all drunk. I couldn't fight a whole fucking high school, so my survival instincts kicked in. I found my boxers, dried off more or less, and went wandering back into the house to drink more beer.

I found Jessica again and started making out with her. She was a blond, like Ashley, with big tits, freaking huge tits. We were lying on a couch and she was on top of me, her hand on my hard dick, stroking it. It must be sticking out of my boxers, I thought, but I didn't care. It felt so fucking good, the feel of her soft skin, her soft hands, stroking my cock slowly. But something happened that made her stop, so she got up and started to walk away. Before she left, she turned around and smiled at me, kissed me one more time, and slid my dick back in my boxers.

I wandered around, looking for my pants, and amazingly enough I found them, along with my cell phone. I looked at the call history and noticed like a million calls from Ashley, which made me laugh. I called my parents and the machine answered. I left them a message telling them I was staying over at the Harletons', trying to sound as sober as I could, then put the phone back again.

For some reason, I thought doing a shot of Jaeger would be a good thing. And if one was good, two were better. That lasted for about half an hour when I had the courtesy to stagger out into the back yard in the freezing fucking wind, wearing only my pants, and puke my guts out on the lawn. I'd just finished spitting the last of it when I looked up to find out I wasn't alone.

“Dude, you are fucked up,” Jerome said. I just stared at him. “Go upstairs and find a room to pass out in. Pick one, doesn't matter.”

“Cool,” I said, and stumbled back inside, my teeth chattering. Everyone was laughing at me and it was starting to piss me off, so I took Jerome's advice and headed upstairs. They had one long fucking staircase, I discovered. I finally dropped down onto my hands and knees because it seemed easier to climb that way. Finally I was at the top of the stairs. I pulled myself up and headed for the first door. I opened it up and saw some guy's naked ass moving up and down as he pumped some chick. “Sorry,” I muttered and moved to the next door. This room was pitch black, but I could see the bed clearly enough. I walked in and closed the door, took off my pants, and staggered over to the bed, collapsing into it.

“Fuck!” a male voice yelled. “Get the fuck off of me!” I sat up and stared at the bed. “Find somewhere else to sleep.”

“Fuck you. There's no more room. Scoot over,” I said.

“I'm not scooting over,” said the voice. It was vaguely familiar.

“Then I'm lying on top of your sorry ass,” I said, laughing. The lump didn't move, and that pissed me off and made me playful at the same time. I stood up, sort of, eyed the lump, and jumped on top of it. I found myself sprawled across a very hard body; this was no pussy I'd interrupted. His arms and legs started flailing around, trying to push me off.

He grabbed me in a wrestle hold and tossed me over onto my back and landed right on top of me, knocking some of the wind out of me. “How do you like it asshole?” he said, almost yelled. Then we both froze. I looked up at him, in the dim light, and finally made out his face. It was Heely. He seemed to come to the same realization that I did. “Oh, it's you. Trying to take me down one more time tonight?”

That made me laugh, and the movement my laughter caused an entirely different sensation. I realized that we were both wearing boxers, our crotches were pushed together, and I could feel something not hard, but getting there, against my dick. It was his cock. Our dicks had managed to rub against each other through the front of our boxers. This was the moment that I should have moved, or pushed him off, but I didn't want to. He didn't seem to want to either. I felt his hips move slightly, so slightly, moving his dick against mine. I felt myself harden in a second, and felt him do the same.

“You get laid tonight?” he asked me, in a really sultry voice, his face so close to mine I could feel his breath bathe my cheek as he spoke.

I swallowed hard. “Not yet,” I said. I felt his face coming closer, felt his lips barely touching mine, and then my control and restraint started to snap. I reached up and grabbed his head, pulling him to me. His lips were soft, so unlike the rest of him. I don't know if I'm a good kisser or if he's a good kisser, but I do know there are people that, when I make out with them, we just connect. Kissing Jessica: no connection. Kissing Cam: big time connection.

Then his tongue was forcing its way into my mouth and wrestling with my tongue. I wrapped each of my legs around one of his and used that as leverage to thrust against him. The strength seemed to fuel him, and he pushed back harder, so I pushed back harder still, until we were like two wrestlers, smashing our bodies hard against the other, fighting for dominance and stimulation at the same time. I contrasted kissing Cam to kissing Ashley. Ashley is a good kisser, but her mouth, her kisses, are sweet, gentle. Cam's weren't. They weren't a request, they were a demand.

I wrapped my arms around him now, holding him to me while he ground his body into me. I loved feeling him like this, on top of me, so in charge, so fucking strong. I felt my balls rise and knew I was close. “I'm gonna cum,” I said in a loud whisper. “You’re gonna make me fucking cum!” And then I exploded, crying out briefly until he clamped his mouth on mine to shut me up. I was screaming into his mouth as I shot stream after stream of cum in between us.

“So close man, so close,” he said as he continued on.

“Take as long as you want, I'm loving this,” I heard myself say. He smiled at me, almost giggled, and then he came. He tossed his head back, exposing his throat, which I leaned up and sucked on, then he collapsed onto me, nuzzling into my neck, as he blasted his load, mixing it with mine. Then things got uncomfortable.

“Uh, you got a towel or something?” he asked. I took off my boxers and used them to wipe the cum off of both of us.

“I'll go commando tomorrow,” I joked. That seemed to ease a little of the tension as we both lay down on our backs. I could feel him, so close, the heat from his body, but we were careful not to touch.

“That was pretty gay,” he said.

I moved so I was lying on my side, looking at him. I was much more sober than before – I guess fucking burned off some alcohol – and my eyes had adjusted to the room so I could see him, or at least shadows of him. “Yeah, it kinda was.”

His face turned toward me. “You're not gonna go tell everyone are you?”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “I'm gonna go downstairs and tell everyone. Hey everyone, guess what I did. I just fucked around with Cam Heely and had the biggest fucking orgasm of my life.”

“Shhhh,” he said while he giggled. But then he started laughing, and so did I. We'd laugh, then calm down, then laugh again, for what must have been like 20 minutes.

“Me too,” he finally said.

“You too what?” I asked.

“That was the biggest fucking orgasm of my life too,” he said. I felt my hormones kick in, recharged after the short break, and leaned in to kiss him again. He made to roll into me but I held him down. I'd never gotten to be with a guy like this, so I decided to enjoy it while it lasted. I kissed his neck, nuzzling him, doing what Ashley liked, doing what I liked. I kept moving lower, down to his nipples, sucking on each of them. He had a really nice chest, with well defined pectoral muscles. Everything about him was hard. I moved lower, using my tongue as a tracer, down his abs, nice, six pack abs, to the waist of his boxers. I pulled them down; he willingly lifted up his ass to let me pull them off.

“If I'm going commando, you have to too,” I teased, making him laugh again. I ran my hands across his groin, up and down his cock, then to his balls. He shaved just like me, just like Kelso, Garner, and all the guys on my team: he trimmed his pubes and shaved his balls. I gently stroked his cock, resting my face on his thigh while I did, my nose next to his balls, inhaling his masculine scent. He had a big dick, as long as mine, but a little thicker. It was awesome.

“Mmm,” he moaned softly. I got up on my knees and took his cock in my hand, knowing that I wanted to suck it, but somehow knowing that once I did this, I was going down a whole different road. Not that I could have stopped myself. I licked the tip like a lollipop and he moaned more loudly, pushing it up toward me, begging me to suck it. I opened my jaws and dove down on it, tasting him for the first time, tasting another man for the first time.

I began to bob up and down on him like Ashley had done to me. He moaned, pausing a few times to say “Hey, watch the teeth, K?” in an almost loving manner. That fueled me on, and I kept on sucking, really enjoying him. My hands rose up to his balls and they distracted me, so soft and pliable. I moved my mouth off his cock and down to his balls, licking them, sucking on each of them.

“Turn around,” he said. I turned my body so we were in a 69 position, and felt his breath on my dick. Then something cool and wet, and then I felt nirvana. He wrapped his mouth around my dick and wouldn't let go. It was the most awesome feeling in the world, so awesome that I knew I wouldn't last long. Ashley only pretended to suck my dick. This guy actually did it. I moved up to his dick and started sucking him again, matching his moves, feeling his moans vibrate against my cock. Then I came again, only I didn't warn him. I felt so bad, but I just started shooting in his mouth without trying to stop him or anything. Ashley would have killed me for that, but not Cam. He just latched on and sucked me until I was dry. I'd had to stop sucking him for fear I'd bite him in the ecstasy of the moment, so now that I was done, he reached down to jack himself off the rest of the way.

Even though I was spent, it made me feel like an asshole, just letting him blow me, cum in his mouth without warning, and then forcing him to finish himself off. I pushed myself back up and pulled his hand aside.

“You don't have to do that,” he said.

“I want to,” I said in my sluttiest voice. I dove back in and he started to moan, really moan, and I knew it wouldn't take long. “Matt, careful dude, I'm close man, I'm gonna cum,” he said, warning me. But I owed him one, payback, plus I was really curious to see what it was like, what he tasted like. One final groan and I felt my mouth filling up with his load. His cum was salty and kind of tart, but otherwise, not too bad. I sucked him until he finished blowing, then sat up and swallowed loudly, making him laugh.

Things were uncomfortable again, but not as bad as the first time. “Now that was really gay,” I joked. “I liked it.”

“Me too,” he said. We sort of moved apart on the bed then, he put on his boxers and I put on my pants, and we passed out in the bed, pretending like it was two guys who just crashed in the same bed. Nothing more, except that the room reeked of sex.