We did not, upon that revelation, start fucking immediately. We hung out a few more times, getting to know one another more intimately, and he got me to open up about some of the hetero-flexible fumbling I had attempted, and he was patient enough to educate me about his life and identity.
We had sort of abandoned the part of the conversation about our feelings for one another until it came roaring back after a few stiff, late night drinks at his place one night.
We were on martini number 4(?)5(?), when he slurred, “You are totally queer for me, aren’t you? You totally want to see what’s between my legs, don’t you.” He always had a pretty bawdy sense of humor, so I just let it slide and sort of giggled, “Whatever, man – you’re wasted.”
Then, the mask fell, and he got serious and intense. “Why can’t you just admit it? You’ll still be you, even if you’re a fag.” He had hit something there – I was so sure that being intimate with him was going to destroy some piece of my identity. But I knew then that he was right. I did want him, and, more importantly, I was falling for him.
“I want you to kiss me like you did last week, ” I told him. Without hesitation, he was on me, his mouth pressed to mine, our tongues circling together. Instinctively, my hand reached between his legs, rubbing urgently at the crotch of his jeans. At this, he pushed me away by the chest and stood up, grinning. “I get it,” he said, “You want to suck my cock, don’t you?”
“You’re cock?” I replied, still confused. “But I thought–”
“Well, shut up and suck it, faggot,” he commanded, and started unbuttoning his jeans. His tighty-whitey-clad crotch was level with my face, and I timely raised my hands to pull down his underwear. He was unshaven and thoroughly hirsute, with a thick mat of hair that began in a dainty line on his belly and extended down over his crotch and thighs. His cock poked out in the center of his bush, thick and engorged.
“You want me to suck your c-clit like a cock?” I stammered
“I want you to suck my cock like a cock, he replied, almost angrily, reaching behind my head and pulling me to him. The scent was intoxicating – musky and vaguely sweet, but also tinged with an astringent masculinity. Seized by the moment and eager to comply, I took his cock in my mouth hungrily and found that it was far fuller than I expected.
As I took it between my lips, flicking my tongue over the hood and down the shaft, he grunted, grasping my hair in his fist and pressing himself against me. My head spun from the alcohol, and I was consumed by need for him. At one point, he instructed me to lay back on the couch, so he could straddle my face. His furry, muscular thighs pressed against my temples as he ground his cock into me feverishly.
I remember grabbing his calves as he rode me, reveling in the rock-hard flesh that kept me pinned to the couch. A he reached the throes of orgasm, he leaned back, letting out a heaving sigh and clutched the top of the couch for support. Seeing some daylight between his body and my mouth, I reached up gingerly and began to tease a finger inside him.
At this point, he froze stock-still and jolted out of his reverie. He then pushed my forehead back, so that my mouth was no longer in contact with him and said the thing I’ll never forget (this is absolutely a direct quote). “That pussy is off-limits. It might as well not exist. I’m the one that does the fucking here. You get it?”
Spoiler: I didn’t get it, but he definitely showed me.
To be concluded in part 3
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/j67cig/mt_pegged_by_a_transman_firefighter_part_2