I never thought that this would come. This day. This moment. This rite of passage. But it did. And I won’t lie and say it was perfect, because it wasn’t. In fact, it was terrible. But in so far as it was terrible, it was also beautiful, and something that I will never forget. It was September 10, 2005—I had turned 21 years old four days previous. I even remember the day! What I did previous to that evening seemed irrelevant, and so I can’t tell you what I did or where I was. I will always make a terrible witness, so please don’t ask me to testify…ever.
A dear friend of mine invited me to a surprise party that was to be thrown for his coworker. We arrived at the apartment building in Pioneer Square, and had a few drinks prior to the celebration. As I recall now, we had Malibu rum with pineapple juice—something that, at the time, made me feel good inside and out. My stomach no longer has any tolerance for such a sugary and sweet libation. Never make this drink for me…ever.
People were jovial and drinking from the keg. We had roof access, and could see most of the downtown area. It was a beautiful night. The time eventually came for my friend and I to head home, and we did so. He pissed on the King County Administration building while I stood watch from the street on 5th Avenue. I made sure not to look at him. I didn’t want him to get nervous and not get it all out. We walked up to First Hill, where we parted ways; he to his dumpy apartment on 9th Avenue across from St. James Cathedral, and I to my more upscale (daddy-subsidized) apartment on Spring Street. I thought I was in for the night. I was wrong.
The phone rang. It was him. We had met only once prior to this evening; it was less than a week ago, at this point. We met for Chai and a very uncomfortable game of Scrabble. He was having a house party. His parents were out of town. He was 17 years old—over the hump, and soon-to-be-18. “What are you doing?” he asked. I told him I just got home from a party, which I was surprised to hear come out of my own mouth. I was at a party…who would have thought? “Come to me…”. “Let me sober up a bit, and then I’ll head over”. I did just that. I downed two glasses of water, waited ten minutes, and grabbed my car keys.
The drive was not long. He lived right south of Carkeek Park. “I’m here.” “Where?...I don’t see you.” “Come out to the street.” “Hey!” He ran up to me and gave me a big bear hug…but let me assure you, he was no Bear. We made some small chit-chat as we walked over and into his house. “Guess what? My friend from kindergarten is here…and she doesn’t believe me that I’m gay!” I didn’t really know what to say to that. He was very drunk…and stoned to boot. “Do you want anything to drink?” he asked. I was unbelievably nervous at this point. I knew what was coming. It was my time.
“Go down to that room on the left” he exclaimed. “Where is your bathroom?” I replied. He motioned where I needed to go, and I took a long and pensive piss. I don’t think there’s ever been a more anticipatory piss session in all of my life. I finished up, washed my hands, and made my way back out into the hallway. I quickly found him, and he escorted me, jubilantly—as any drunk and stoned high-schooler would do—to the room he mentioned prior to my bodily purge.
I entered, hesitantly, and turned around, watching him as he worked ever so hard to lock the door. This was his party, remember, and it would make sense that people would attempt to seek him out. He did not want any unfortunate interruptions. He told me to go sit down on the bed. I looked over at the bed and back at him. “Why?” I replied. My internalized trepidation about what was to happen was taking over. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do…”. “Okay,” I said, and I went and sat on the bed.
He approached, standing between my legs, and leaned down to kiss me. Twenty-one years and four days into my existence I experienced my first real kiss. It was heavy and sloppy. His tongue plunging down my throat. My heartbeat rising. Adrenaline kicking in. Soon he was undoing my pants, and getting down on his knees. First his tongue was inside my mouth, and now…now, I’m inside his mouth. He is sucking my dick and I don’t know what to think or feel. I’ve heard stories that your first time is always over in a few seconds. But he worked that cock to the point where he was tired, and I still had not come. I felt bad. I wanted to come for him. It was no longer about me. This was not my experience, it was for him.My mother once mentioned to me to be sure to “return the favor”. I’m sure she intended for that to mean that I should eat a girl’s pussy, but nothing repulses me more than that. In this instance, I leaned back up and stood him up. I undid his shorts and pulled out his seven inch uncircumcised dick. I hesitated for a moment, being that I’ve never really cared for foreskin. Then again, it’s not as if I had been in this position before now. I went for it. I pulled the skin back, and put him in my mouth. He moaned and I kept at it with pseudo-enthusiasm. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
After a minute or so, we embraced and shed our clothes around the already messy room. Rolling around on his sister’s bed, naked, kissing and touching, I asked him if he had a condom. He said he did in his room. He had to find his clothes and sneak across the hall. He eventually came back, again offering me a drink. I declined.
It was dark, and I still had no idea what I was doing. He lied on his back, legs in the air, while I stood, knees bent, on the floor next to the bed. Unfortunately for him, he had no lube other than the minute amount already on the black condom. He jumped up off the bed and headed to the bathroom. Apparently, when in dire times, water helps. At least that’s what he did. His salivation increased, and used his excess spit to help me with insertion.
Still not knowing what I was doing, I tried, unsuccessfully, trying to get my dick inside him. I told him to get up and get on his hands and knees. I figured I would have a better angle and line of sight to penetrate him. It worked. I started fucking him, hard and good, and it was one of the hottest moments of my life. How did a hairy and obese guy like me get in a position to fuck a toned and almost hairless guy like this? That’s all I could think of while I was riding him.
He got tired of being in that position, and turned over, returning to his original position on his back. He had loosened up by then, and it was easy to get my cock back inside his asshole. We fucked and made out for maybe twenty minutes or so before he came all over his chest. I was nowhere near finishing, but I knew that he came. I decided to call it quits. He got up and went to the bathroom to clean up.
I got the condom off and waited for him to be finished in the bathroom. At this time, I heard him near-violently throwing up. All that booze and pot and fucking really did him in for the night. I asked through the door if he was okay. He shrugged it off as if he wasn’t just retching into the toilet. I waited five more minutes. He had passed out on the toilet. I knocked on the door again to ask if he needed anything. “No, I’ll be out in a minute,” was his reply. I slowly found my clothes and began getting dressed, inevitably getting blue balls from not coming.
He came out of the bathroom a little while thereafter and curled into a ball on the bed. He seemingly passed out on the bed. I sat there…not knowing what to do or say. Finally, I offered up “would you like me to leave?”—this was around 3am. “Yes..” Half-jokingly, “are you going to regret this in the morning?” “Probably”. I don’t know what he meant by that, if anything other than a drunken stammer to a seemingly nonsensical question. I got up, quietly found my way out of his, got into my car, and drove without purpose.
I called my sister in California
The end.
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