Matt and Jens

by Gordon Phillips

  But Matt turned, and leaning forward, kissed me again—which distracted me. I soaped his chest, which with the hair, produced considerable lather. I did his cock too, which was intoxicating, and got him really excited, and hard. He took the soap from me.

  “Now you,” he said. I stepped into the spray with my back to him, shivering in anticipation of another shower shag. He didn’t disappoint either, but this time he took his time, even going to so far as to tease me, putting his slippery cock-head against my sphincter and then pulling away.

  The third time he did this, I pushed back suddenly and his cock-head popped inside. He groaned and, seeming to accept his fate, thrust forward in a long, slow motion, sliding his cock all the way in, until he was balls deep.

  I felt the tingle of my prostate, and groaned. He chuckled and began to nuzzle my neck, alternatively kissing, nibbling, and even nipping me all the way from the ears to the shoulder. He felt more relaxed this time. I felt none of the strange anxiety tension there had been the first time, though he still was as ardent. That, given the fact that he had climaxed twice already, made me feel some appreciation of his “condition.”

  I didn’t mind, however, and pushed back with my ass so that his cock-head hit my prostate harder, and I gasped and writhed more intensely.

  We came, more or less, together, and I felt the familiar sense of full prostate orgasm, and I remember having a sudden idea, which passed immediately.

  I decided I would bring it up at another time, however.

  * * * *

  We didn’t sleep in the same bunk, and when I awoke, my first thought was of what had occurred to me when I was being shtupped in the shower.

  I got up and, finding Matt in the kitchen making breakfast, sat down at the table and looked at him. He caught something in my gaze.

  “What?” he said.

  I grinned. “I was thinking.”

  He looked at me, grinned, and rolled his eyes. “Oh, God!”

  We both chuckled, and he served the meal. We ate without discussing the point, until at last Matt, having finished, looked at me with an amused expression and said, “Well?”

  I reached out and took hold of his hand. He looked down at this, but didn’t respond. I had the sense of some barriers still up, and struggled not to feel disappointed or cheated.

  “This thing of yours,” I began. “You said it was like a compulsion, right?”

  He looked uncomfortable, but nodded. “You saw, yesterday.” He held up three fingers. “And I could have gone more.”

  I nodded. “Not a problem,” I said. “That’s kind of my point. You don’t feel—satisfied—for long, right?”

  I nodded. “What about—trying—something else?”

  He looked at me, a puzzled expression on his face. “What—?” He began, and then stopped. “No!” he said, looking horrified.

  I looked at him, and nodded. “You remember how you were impressed how I came when you fucked me in the shower, and I told you about the prostate?”

  He nodded hesitantly.

  “Well, straight guys, they use special stimulators for that. Have you ever seen any of those videos, straight guys self-stimulating like that?”

  He hesitated, then nodded.

  “And you saw how intensely they came?”

  Again, he nodded.

  “Well? What about trying that?”

  Matt frowned. “We don’t have one of those things here.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We do. I do.” I deliberately looked down at my crotch and back at him.

  He blushed and looked down.

  “I always thought those guys who used those things, well—I thought they were, kind of perverts. It looked so creepy.”

  I shook my head. “You’re being judgmental. And what about gay guys? What about me?”

  He looked at me. “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’m not—” He caught himself and blushed.

  I said nothing, sensing he was at a cusp of sorts. We both sat there for some time, him not looking at me, me studying him. Then he turned his head and looked straight at me.

  “Alright,” he said. “I’ll—try it.”

  Chapter 8: Conversion

  “Just to see,” I suggested.

  He grinned sheepishly and nodded. “Just to see.”

  Then we were silent for a while.

  “Maybe a drink first?”

  “Sure.”

  After the drink, I suggested we shower. We did, and under the spray, using that wonderful glycerin-based soap, I penetrated Matt’s ass.

  I did this gently, and only after manually making him hard, to get him into the mood. (I was already there.) I eased inside, saying, “It’ll sting a bit at first, but that goes away, trust me.”

  He grunted.

  I penetrated, slowly, inch by inch, forcing myself to take it slow. He was so tight that the sensations were almost mind-blowingly pleasurable. But I reminded myself to think of him.

  “Feel anything?” I asked when I had penetrated finally to the hilt.

  “Uh—like what?”

  I sighed. “You’ll know, when it happens.” If it happens, I reminded myself.

  I pulled out, slowly, and almost lost myself in the waves of sexual excitement that flooded me. Then, trembling slightly, I deliberately shifted my angle of penetration and again thrust forward.

  This time the sexual heat was so intense that I felt I was close to cumming, which I decided I must not. But it was hard, and the more powerful the sensations became, the less power my mental processes seemed to have. They seemed unimportant.

  When I was again buried to the hilt, I felt myself on the brink, and stopped where I was for a full minute to recover. I had, somewhat, but when I began to pull out again, slowly, the pleasure built up and up until suddenly I knew I was over the brink, and with a mindless thrill I thrust forward a third time, hard, and to the hilt.

  “Ahh!” Matt cried. But at the same time my cock began to pulse as my orgasm overcame me. I pulled back and thrust again, in the same direction, and again Matt cried out.

  As my orgasm continued, I felt the added pleasure of feeling I had found my friend’s prostate.

  “You’re cumming, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Yeah. Sorry!”

  He chuckled. “No problem. Am I that hot?”

  I moaned quietly and leaning forward, put my forehead against his back between the shoulder blades. “Yes!” I said quietly, and felt him chuckle.

  “I guess we’ll have to try it again some other time,” he said, sounding disappointed but not upset.

  I considered. “Actually, I’m still hard.”

  “Really!”

  “That’s right. Your fault, by the way.”

  He chuckled, and I felt him beginning to warm to the interaction more fully. He pushed back with his ass, and I moaned quietly.

  “You bitch!” I murmured, which made him chuckle more.

  Having recovered my presence of mind, and still quite hard, I pulled out and thrust in again, slowly, in what I thought was the same angle. There was no reaction this time, however, and in my irritation at that, even though I was in more or less to the hilt, I gave a sudden, hard further thrust, and this time he cried out.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “Yeah!”

  “Okay,” I said, “let yourself give in to it. Just savor the sensation inside, and I would suggest, don’t touch your cock.”

  “Right-o.”

  I fucked him, carefully at first, until I got the exact right thrust down, and then I just hammered him, enjoying it, but not dangerously close to cumming myself. I focused on him, on the idea of fucking a real fag slut, giving him what I knew he wanted. It was my fantasy, but it seemed to help.

  Soon he was writhing and groaning, and from time to time he would deliberately clench his sphincter, which always made me gasp with extra pleasure. I began to find myself getting close, and at the same time he was obvi
ously having an intense and close-to-cumming time. And, when he finally gave an extra-loud bellow, I thrust in hard, and held it. I felt his sphincter begin to pulse on my cock shaft, and that stimulation, in addition to knowing he was cumming, put me over, and I began to cum for a second time.

  I held him by his hips the whole time, and savored the sense, and the sight, of his body, slick and shiny under the never-ending spray. Lots of water, I thought, and felt a sense of hedonistic pleasure that was wonderful all by itself.

  Afterwards, we washed ourselves off again. He stood looking at me, a little shy.

  “How was it for you?” he said.

  I chuckled. “Amazing. But that’s not important. How was it for you?”

  He said nothing, but shook his head. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

  I felt disappointed, but then he stepped forward and we hugged. It was an affectionate, kindly action, and we both stood there enjoying it for some time. I found myself thinking that we hadn’t actually kissed yet in this session, but that, I decided, could wait. And if it never came, well, that was okay too. I felt something special was happening here, mostly for him, but through him in me too. And I found that was enough.

  Not that I wasn’t distinctly interested in more, but that was another thing.

  And that was when I realized that I might have fallen for this guy a bit—or more than a bit. It was the first time I felt that feeling without the clamoring for possession or fulfillment. It was the first time that I felt that the other person’s interest was profoundly more important—and I didn’t quite know what to make of it.

  * * * *

  Matt seemed troubled the next time we interacted.

  “What’s up?” I said.

  He looked at me, then away. He laughed uneasily.

  “I’m not sure. There’s a thought, what I’ve heard—that taking it up the ass makes you gay.”

  “What!”

  He chuckled apologetically. “Silly, I know. But, strange—I kind of, sort of, feel a bit that way.”

  “What way?”

  “Like, well, like something in me has been—I don’t know.”

  “Try to describe it.”

  He looked at me, irritated for a moment. Then he nodded.

  After a little while he said, “Changed. No. That’s not it. It’s like, a feeling of—” he made a gesture with two hands, “of something inside me having snapped, like a twig.” Then he looked at me, puzzled and appealing.

  I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “But how does that feel? Good? Bad? Something else?”

  He considered. “It feels—strange.”

  “Okay, but strange how?”

  He considered again. Then he looked at me and shook his head. “You know, I don’t know. Funny.” He paused. “But not—bad. Not exactly.”

  “Good?”

  “Huh.” A pause. “I don’t—know.” He looked at me and suddenly pulling me into a hug, held me for a while. I put my arms around him, and savored the sensation of being physically close. And I felt his hard-on too. And my own.

  We said nothing more, but when we went to bed and turned out the lights, after a minute or two he climbed into my bed and we lay together, spoon fashion, him behind me.

  At some point in the night I awoke, feeling him next to me. We were still in spoon fashion, but now I was the one behind, and the awareness of that wonderful ass pressing against me, started to give me a hard-on. I shifted my position so that my hard cock was pressed, hot-dog-like, between his cheeks. Then I felt around and discovered that he was rock hard too, and oozing pre-cum from the tip.

  I grasped the shaft of his cock, and he moaned quietly. Then I stroked him, slowly, and he shifted his hips, thrusting forward and then pushing back. It was when he did the latter that he moaned again, louder this time. I fondled his cock-head with my fingers, taking up the slick pre-cum, and reaching down, began to apply this to the tip of my own cock. After several repetitions of this—he was oozing copiously—my cock-head was almost as slick as his. I pulled back and then pushed my cock between Matt’s wonderful ass-cheeks, until I was pressed against his sphincter. I was shivering with intense excitement by this point, but now I found I dare not thrust inside him. Not without his permission.

  I just held my position, which was a kind of torture, but I resigned myself to it—until he shifted suddenly, pushing back with his ass, so that my cock-head was forced in through his sphincter and inside him.

  I groaned quietly, savoring the exquisite sense of my cock penetrating that ass, sliding forward inch by delicious inch while waves of bliss filled my body and washed over me.

  Matt shifted now, pushing back more, so that I slid in further, and with a thrust of my hips, drove inside until he gave a shudder and a moan. I smiled. I had hit his prostate first time lucky.

  I repeated the thrust until Matt was moaning and thrashing slightly. He was awake now, or at least half awake. I fucked him like he was a bitch in heat, and he pushed back with every thrust, wanting it deeper, harder. When I felt him beginning to shake and tense, I eased off, and he groaned in frustration. When he had recovered, I resumed my stimulation and brought him close a second time.

  I repeated this a number of times, and at last had him more or less hovering on the brink in a continuous state of near-climax. He was shivering and moaning continuously, and I used my cock very, very carefully, at last pushing him just over the brink—but only so that he came a little bit. I could feel it with my hand, which hovered around his cock-head. I eased off and the cumming stopped. Then I resumed, and he moaned and came a little bit again.

  I kept this up for many repetitions, just easing him over the brink, and feeling the semen leak rather than spurt out of him. He was making odd noises now, almost like a whine. I decided that I liked the sound, and kept up what I was doing.

  At last he was utterly exhausted, covered in sweat, and just shaking—when he pushed me away with a hand.

  “No more!” he gasped, his voice hoarse. “I’m done, done! Okay?”

  But I still hadn’t cum. I made to pull out, slowly, but at the last moment reversed the direction and thrust forward, savagely, and hit him on the prostate while I came with an intensity that blew my mind.

  And, the thing was, he came too. At least his cock shaft began to pulse against my fingers and his sphincter against my own cock. But he didn’t eject any semen this time. He was totally empty.

  After that, we fell asleep, me, still hard, buried inside him.

  * * * *

  I woke up, alone. I found this slightly disappointing, and had to chide myself not to become attached.

  When I encountered him in the lounge, he seemed withdrawn. I looked at him, and sat down beside him on the couch. Tentatively I reached out and touched his thigh. He looked down at my hand, but didn’t respond.

  I sat back and sighed.

  After a little while, I felt his hand come and rest on top of mine. I looked at him and saw he was smiling, a gentle, friendly smile, if a little sad.

  “You okay?” I said.

  He nodded, then opened his mouth, and closed it again.

  When he opened his mouth again, he said at last, “It’s—odd.”

  I nodded.

  He was silent for a time, then turned and looked at me again, his eyes surveying my face with that expression I was coming to know so well. I watched as his face softened in response, and felt something move in my chest.

  Finally, he leaned toward me and kissed me, gently, on the lips.

  The kiss lingered, and after a little while became passionate. Then he shifted and bore me down on the couch, lying on top of me. We were both hard as a rock, and soon were naked. Then he did an odd thing—he went down on me.

  I felt a little uneasy at this, but I watched him as he did it, and sensed his own unease. He wasn’t the best, and personally I’d rather suck than be sucked. But then he raised his head, and began to crawl forward, until he was kneeling with his knees under my armpits.
>
  And that, of course, brought his ass down on top of my cock. I realized, then, what he had been doing: lubing my cock with his saliva. And now he was reaching underneath him, lifting himself up, positioning, and then slowly, slowly sinking down.

  My cock-head penetrated him, and he rode me like a champion.

  It was odd, the sensation—I’d never before done it in this position. But watching him, and rubbing his hairy chest as he bobbed slowly up and down on top of me, was erotic enough. I saw he was getting off on it, and imagined him as one of those straight guys self-pleasuring with a prostate stimulator.

  Strangely, that image didn’t bother me. It was enough that he was enjoying himself, and with my cock. I became hypnotized watching him, and when semen began to ooze out of the tip of his cock, I reached out and took it away with my fingers, and sucked them clean. Matt saw this, and that seemed to turn him on more. But mostly it was just Man Riding Dick, and it went on and on!

  Since I was lying there, for the most part quite comfortable, this wasn’t a problem. I didn’t cum, but I did come close, and certainly found the experience hot. And when he collapsed on top of me, dripping with sweat, I held him as he lay there, shaking, and thought about how wonderful he was.

  We showered after that and, yes, that was my turn. I came inside him like a stallion, and he came too, with not much cum, however. And with that, we were both satisfied—at least for that moment.

  I caught him looking at me a little later, and smiled.

  “If you’re thinking of another round, just to let you know: I’ll never refuse you.”

  He laughed and came to me and we kissed and held each other. He didn’t pursue the idea of sex in that moment, however, and later on, over a meal, he explained why.

  “I think,” he said, “just the awareness that I can have it anytime,” he looked away in momentary embarrassment, “and, I mean really testing that, well, it’s kind of made it feel less dominating.”

  “Good,” I said. “That’s what I was hoping.”

  “Though it hasn’t gone away—”

  “Heaven forbid!” I cried, with such obvious, if joking, earnestness that Matt laughed, and kissed me. His kisses now were always lingering, as though even a casual peck would strike him by the intensity of the sensation when it was consummated, so that he had to linger and enjoy.