We met online.
He was cute: slim, olive-skinned, shy. I’d spoken first when we’d first connected, and slowly he became comfortable enough to talk freely. We exchanged a few pictures and arranged to meet. The next day, he arrived at my flat.
I was wearing short white shorts and and a white polo shirt when I answered the door. He was wearing skinny jeans and a t-shirt. I poured us each a glass of wine in the kitchen and came down to the living room, where we sat at each end of the L-shaped sofa and talked.
He was more shy in person even than he had been online. He would speak for a moment and then become bashful. His cheeks would redden a little and he would look down in embarrassment and push a lock of hair out of his eyes. But the wine seemed to relax him and he drank it quickly. He told me his parents didn’t know he was gay but that his friends did. He told me he studied not far from where I lived. He was flattering. We started talking about films and I suggested we go next door to my room to watch something. He agreed and followed me through.
We were barely a quarter of an hour into the film when I realised that he was looking at me. I turned to face him, and for a brief, electric moment our eyes met. I felt my heart pounding in my chest. My breath stopped. It was if all the world around us had dimmed, leaving us alone in the light.
And then our lips met, and within moments we were drinking in each other’s scent, tasting and savouring each other, fumbling with our clothes. We stripped down to our underwear and I moved on top of him, pressing my body against his, our sexes straining against fabric, grinding against one another.
He played with my hair while our tongues massaged and explored each other, and soon I was moving down, down his body, drunk with lust, kissing his neck and chest and stomach, sensing his sex straining beneath his briefs. He moaned softly as, slowly, I pulled down his underwear, revealing his hot, throbbing sex. Then I took him fully in my mouth, going deeper and deeper until there were tears standing in my eyes and I was ready to choke. I moved up and down his sex, tonguing it, responding to his moans and the rising and falling of his chest. He massaged my hair with his hands and his body bucked to the rhythm I was setting.
I prolonged the inevitable, slowing my pace whenever he threatened to come. When he did, an hour later, I let him go as deep as he had ever gone, and his body bucked and shuddered and long, thick ropes of come hit the back of my throat. He filled my mouth with so much of his juice that it cascaded from my lips and over his sex, making it slick and wet and hot. He bucked again and again, and finally the tension left his body. I swallowed what I could and let the rest hang from my lips as I rose to my knees.
He pulled me gently towards him and we kissed.