John and Me

One December 24th in the mid-sixties, my friend John and I
went hiking on a nearby mountain. The weather was normal for
Christmas in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The temperatures was in
the forties during the day, below freezing at night. The sky was
overcast and we had decided to explore a part of the mountain
we'd never seen.
At this time, John and I had messed around before but we'd
never talked about "it." Our encounters had occurred during
sleepovers at my house or his, after the lights were out. I'd
lie in the dark, waiting, listening for the rustle of covers, the
soft creak of springs, then the sense that John was by my bed.
His hand would snake beneath my sheets. I would suppress a moan
when his hand cupped the bulge in my Jockey shorts. He'd squeeze
and my cock would throb, swelling quickly to its full size.
Yes, John had always started the sex play. The size of my
cock always fascinated him. It was fat and, even then, a long
eight inches of meat. I humped at his hand and he'd let my hard-
on out of the confining shorts and begin stroking. I could feel
in his grip his intrigue with my cock and every nerve in my body
tingled.
As soon as he felt my oozing pre-cum, he'd stop and return
to his bed, leaving me high and horny. I'd tug my shorts off and
make my way in the dark to his bed where he lay waiting. He was
always lying atop the covers, naked from the waist down and with
his cock standing rigid, awaiting my grasp. His cock fascinated
me as much as mine seemed to enchant him. Thinner and shorter
than mine, it was the only erection I'd ever held, besides mine
of course. It felt absolutely wonderful as I gripped that hot,
pulsing shaft, wanting to see it, even to say something.but I
knew that a word or a light would break the spell and turn the
fun unreality into guilt-ridden actuality.
John would hunch upward, wordlessly urging me on. I'd jerk
on that cock, feeling its heat, smelling the musky scent that
made my mouth water. I would lower my head and slowly let him
into my mouth, in the darkness not fearing the naughtiness and
names and stigma. It was like a dream and in dreams we can do
anything.
His cock tasted delicious as it slid over my tongue and
tingled my tastebuds. My fingers would toy with his balls and he
would moan, arching his back and driving that hard bar of his
until the head tickled my throat and his entire piece was between
my lips.
I always knew when he was about to come. Sixth sense or the
sound of his breathing or trembling of his prick or something, I
don't know. But I'd take my mouth away just as he started
spurting and jack him off. Even though I couldn't see his cum,
it excited me to no end to realize that I was making him shoot
off.
Something else that I never understood. Before he could
finish coming, sometimes just as he had started, he'd push me
away, as though he was overcome by guilt at our actions. But in
the silence and darkness, I was just grateful for the experience.
I'd grope my way back to my own bed, grab hold of my cock and
beat off, then fall asleep. In the morning, it was always as if
I'd dreamed about it. John never mentioned it, never gave the
slightest hint that we'd done anything. Had it been a dream on
my part? Was the dry cum crusting my shorts merely from a wet
dream?
But that Christmas Eve day on the mountain changed all that.
The previous night had been rainy and cold and ice hung from
stone outcroppings. The air was chilly, but we had dressed
warmly and the walking itself had us plenty warm. We stopped
often, admiring the view, finally finding a large, flat area
where we built a small fire. I told John that I had to take a
leak. He surprised me when he suggested we have a contest to see
who could piss the farthest.
We stepped onto a rock and unzipped. I've always been one
of those guys who can't piss if anyone is around. So I stood
there, dick in hand, not feeling the cold at all. I felt very
warm just knowing John was next to me, and I felt him looking at
my dick. I watched as he unzipped and fished out his own prick.
When I saw that it was half-hard my cock quickly got longer and
thicker and hotter. His responded as well until we both stood on
that rock with our rock-hard pricks poking out.
His looked just like I'd envisioned it on each of those
nocturnal trysts. It was a five-inch long pink beauty, circum-
cised with blue veins running along it. It curved upward and was
capped with a smooth crown that was flushed. Downy light brown
curls surrounded the base where it protruded from his fly. My
mouth watered as I branded the image of John's cock into my
brain, giving form to the unseen pole I'd frigged and sucked so
many times in the past. I wanted to see his balls and to use my
tongue on him, but I figured I'd let him call the shots.
"That's a, uh, big one," John said quietly and haltingly
When his hand reached for my poker, I gladly relinquished my grip
to let his fingers curl around it. "Hot," he said. I just
closed my eyes and moaned and John pumped my prick. Within a
minute I felt pre-cum ooze out and John stopped. That's when I
discovered that John had thought my pre-orgasmic fluid was my
cum. He always came so fast he'd never experienced pre-cum. I
told him I wanted him to watch me come.
I was going to sit by the fire and jerk off, but John
suddenly got an idea. A crazy idea.
"Let's put a hole in this ice and you can 'do it' to the
hole," he said. He was indicating a frozen sheet of ice several
feet long which hung from a boulder like a frozen waterfall.
John would never use the "dirty words" like "fuck" or "suck,"
but always euphemisms. Even today, it's still a rarity for him
to let a bad word (like "cock") come from his lips.
Using a rock and a stick, John proceeded to make a hole in
the ice, which turned out to be several inches thick. It took
several minutes and he had underestimated the circumference and
had to enlarge it. He kept glancing at my still stiff prick,
dribbling juice in long, clear strands to the ground.
"Wonder if that could freeze?" John asked.
"A cum-cicle," I said and we laughed.
Finally the hole looked big enough.
"Now, I'm going to crawl under the ledge here so I can
watch, " John told me. I was a bit disappointed because I wanted
to watch him watch me. I wanted to see his face, especially when
I shot off. But again, I was willing to follow his lead. After
feeling to make sure there were no sharp edges, I stuck my hot
cock into the ice. (Nowadays I still laugh when I think about
fucking that ice-hole!)
I was only vaguely aware of the freezing grip of the ice
surrounding my cock. Believe it or not, I had sweat beading on
my forehead and heat throbbed through my cock, hot enough so that
water soon began dripping onto my balls as the friction melted
the ice.
I could only see John's feet sticking out and I could only
imagine his expression as my purple-headed cyclops fucked the
hole. At one point I felt John's fingers on my meat. I felt my
balls tighten as they prepared to release their load.
I made a couple of loud noises as I humped at the ice. I
held still, my cock fully imbedded, as it throbbed, sending my
juice rocketing out of the tip in front of John's eyes. It was
the most powerful orgasm I could remember as it felt like my guts
were trying to launch out of my prick. I yelled and grunted with
each wracking spasm, wondering if my jerking body would shatter
the ice veil.
Finally, the contractions subsided. Though my cock was
still stiff, with the lava drained from my body, I quickly became
aware of the cold, particularly the sub-freezing cold that my
prick was inside. I shivered as I pulled my cock from the icy
glory hole and looked at its stiff, blue-tinged length. I felt
it, my fingers feeling wet, chilled flesh, my numb cock barely
aware of the warmth of my hand. I quickly tucked my cock into my
pants to let it warm up.
John crawled out, his face flushed as red as the tip of his
dick, snug in the grasp of his hand.
"Wow!" he said. "I can't believe that . . . seemed like a
gallon of . . . of stuff . . . ."
"Your turn," I said. John moved to the hole but it was way
too big for his smaller prick. "Hang on," I said. I hurried
behind the screen of frozen water. The light filtered eerily
through the translucent ice and I felt as if I had entered a
dreamscape. I could see the dark shadows of his legs and then I
saw the hole with John's stiff prick jutting through. A foot in
front of his cockhead was the gray rock with long strands of my
cum dripping down and freezing into white stalactites.
I moved into the confining area, opened my mouth and let the
helmet of John's stiff soldier inside. I closed my lips as
tightly as I could around the shaft. My chin rubbed the ice but
I didn't care. I felt warm all over as if I'd plugged into a hot
reservoir of body heat, a direct link to John's boiling juice.
He began fucking my mouth and within a few seconds I knew he
was about to shoot his goo. I was going to take it in my mouth
and let his stuff warm me. My own cock throbbed with excitement,
even though I had just come minutes before.
John groaned and stiffened and a thick oyster of hot cum
spurted into my mouth. God, how thrilling! The first time spunk
ever shot into my mouth and I knew instantly that I'd want it to
happen again and often. The salty sweet taste of that simmering
gob of gonad goo tasted divine and I eagerly awaited the next
shots from the spurting nozzle. But even as my lips tightened
around his cock, John backed away, pulling that spitting rod from
the warmth of my hungry mouth. A spurt hit my upper lip and
tongue as I desperately licked into the hole, hoping his cock
would return.
I felt very disappointed and rejected and, after a second or
two, crawled out from behind the frozen wall of water. John was
just zipping up and I saw white streams of sauce slowly running
down the ice like molasses. I felt almost like getting on my
knees and licking the tasty stuff from the icy sheet and
licked my lips, relishing the flavor of the juice that I had
gotten to taste.
John was staring at me with the strangest expression on his
face, confusion and fear in his eyes. He mumbled something about
having to go to the Christmas eve service at church and we put
out the fire and quickly hiked down the mountain. John talked, I
listened, but he didn't mention what had just happened, again as
after our nighttime encounters.
I found out the next summer that he had, indeed, been
frightened and confused. His body wanted the pleasure my hand
and mouth gave, just he had enjoyed feeling and touching me had
pleased him. Yet he was torn by what his religious upbringing
had drilled into him, plus the litany of asinine, prejudicial
derisions his father had uttered over the years. I now know that
what he felt is a common experience. Why I never felt the
artificial shame or the society-imposed guilt, I don't know.
John just says I'm a hedonistic sex maniac whose brain shifts to
my cock when I get horny. Which is often. Maybe he's right.
It was months before we had another sleepover, though, and I
waited a long time waiting for the rustle and squeak before I
fell asleep disappointed. I awoke, though, with John's hand
briskly jacking my cock and he kept going even after my pre-cum
flowed. When I realized that he was going to jerk me off, the
simple realization sent me over the edge and I felt the tug
inside that sent my nut oil zooming through my cock and out.
"Wow!" John whispered from the dark as my cum fountained
out. I could feel it fall back on my cock and John kept pumping
as it coated his fingers and hand, filling the air with the
sloshy sounds of wetness.
Before he could move, I reached out in the black void and
found his crotch. Seconds later I freed his poker and spoke.
"Let me," I said. I seemed to feel him start to withdraw
then to give in as I pulled and maneuvered his boner to my
already-salivating mouth. His hand, thoroughly drenched with my
cum, still held my cock and he squeezed as my lips found the
heated shaft of his feverish prick.
"Oh, ye-s-s, suck it!" he hissed, surprising me. John had
never encouraged me before, and he didn't need to ask twice. My
hands unsnapped his pajama bottoms, pulled them down and grabbed
hold of his ass cheeks, pulling him forward and sending that
delicious dick still deeper into my mouth. I felt him tremble and
his cock spurted thin, sweet pre-cum onto my waiting tastebuds.
I rubbed and squeezed his butt and groaned around his dick to let
him know that I was enjoying myself (and him) and that I wanted
more, whatever he had to give me. I wanted to suck and swallow a
bellyful of thick jism from him. I still vividly recalled the
fresh taste of him from Christmas Eve and I wanted to taste him
again, to swallow his offering and feel its heat in the pit of my
stomach.
I was not disappointed that time. John's cock swelled in my
mouth and I pulled him to me hard, his pubic curls mashing my
lips, and he grunted as he shot his steaming spunk into my mouth.
John held onto my head, I suppose out of some fear I'd changed my
mind. No way.
I didn't swallow but let the stuff accumulate in my mouth,
surrounding his cock with its warmth and puffing my cheeks. I
eased his cock part way out to make room for the abundant flow of
cream and by the time his cock was drained my mouth was filled
with his sweet syrup. It felt divine, warm and thick and gooey,
and its taste was even better than I remembered.
I kept sucking on his slowly-shrinking piece while John
caught his breath and regained some of his composure, then his
body jerked from my tongue work on his sensitized glans and it
slipped from between my lips, dragging a dollop of cum out with
it that drooled down my chin.
I wanted to savor the taste and texture of the scummy load
in my mouth, but I had to swallow a bit before my cheeks burst.
I gulped a small wad of slime that slid down my throat to my
stomach. Delicious. Fantastic. Wonderful.
"Thanks," John whispered in the darkness, his hands still
holding my head. His sweaty pubes tickled my nose and I inhaled
the yummy smell as his limp prick brushed against my lips. I
gulped again and let my tongue snake out to lap as his spent
piece. I even licked at his small sac, tasting the crotchy tang
there. His body still shuddered, but he didn't move away; in
fact, he held my head right where I wanted.
"My pleasure," I said just before I again sucked that
shrunken wonder between my lips. Cum still coated the inside of
my mouth and leaked from his cock and I sucked him again, de-
lighted at the prick pacifier in my mouth that swelled and soon
gave me yet another mouthful of warm gravy. We had exchanged
silent promises and thoughts and instinctively knew that we would
always share the pleasure of each other.

But that was 39 years ago. John is married to a beautiful
lady. We are both straight but I would truly like to suck his
cock again (and again and again!) Certainly a 3-some would be a
blessing. Ah, to suck his cum from her pussy!

John, if you read this, let's get reacquainted. Let's get
together, your wife, too.