In the darkest part of the night, three years before, I’d risked it. Trying to conceal the crack in my voice, the heavy breathing, trying to laugh along, I’d pulled my still-developing cock free from my sleeping bag, felt it tingle in the cool air, felt it quiver slightly against my hand as it bounced free. I rubbed the head slowly between my finger and thumb, inches from where he was lying next to me. My confusion at being turned on by talking about sex with John did nothing to stop this burning hardness so powerful I almost felt sick. We were getting more and more personal: how did we discover masturbation (in my case, Wikipedia; in his, porn), what teachers had we wanked to, had we measured our cocks (yes: I lied and said six inches, he said the same). I could tell we were testing each other out, both turned on, turned on by each other, but didn’t dare to go any further. I felt the heat rise deep inside me, my cock swelling and quivering harder than ever before in my hand as I wrapped my fist around it, pumping slowly, listening to every breath as he told me wanted to fuck our English teacher, Mrs Allcroft, bending her over, grabbing fistfuls of her wide, flabby arse, punish her hairy arsehole and fill it full of spunk, how it turned him on how much he hated her. Images of his young cock swam in front of my eyes; I clenched them shut and tried not to breathe as I felt my whole body tighten, trying not to make the sleeping bag rustle as my cock exploded, shooting stream after stream of hot spunk into my hand till it overflowed, soaking my stomach. As I desperately tried to clean myself up with my boxers without him noticing, I knew I had to have him one day.

I’ve never considered myself properly bisexual. I’m attracted to women of all ages, shapes, sizes, colours…and John. Maybe it’s because there’s something feminine about him. At 22, he still has a teenager’s body: 6 foot tall; fine, fair hair; soft but attractive features, with full lips; a pale, hairless, slender body with slightly rounded hips; skinny legs and ankles. And then there’s his cock. I’d fantasised for years about what it might look like, but nothing prepared me fro the moment when I finally got to see it two years ago. I was staying with him in his university dorm room, sitting on his bed in my boxers, waiting for the shower. He’d just come back from his, slightly pink from the hot water, looking even softer and more delicate than normal. His towel was tied loosely around his waist, exposing the soft curve of his hips, and as he walked into the room it started to slip. It slid teasingly down a trail of light, soft hair, pausing languidly for a split second at the base of his cock before falling to the floor. I’d expected a cock that matched his body: thin, pale delicate. I couldn’t have been more wrong. It hung in front of my face. It was fatter than any cock I’d ever seen and hung down low — at least six inches, soft. A thick vein pulsed on the red, almost angry-looking shaft, and its fat, purple head bulged out where his foreskin failed to contain it. His full, meaty balls down hung low, bouncing heavily as he walked. He teased me for staring — ‘Like what you see?’ — but I didn’t even mind. I was obsessed, and I needed it.

‘Not bad for a skinny guy,’ I said.

He laughed, and I couldn’t take my eyes off his cock as it swung, bounced and quivered in front of my face. He made no effort to cover himself, clearly in control of the situation, enjoying the attention. When his cock settled, it looked even fatter and redder than before. Was he getting hard?

I snatched my eyes away to look up at him, but he didn’t meet my gaze. I followed his eyes downwards and shuddered. I’d been so fixated on his cock that I hadn’t realised my own was rock hard, pulsing, tenting my boxers and leaking a huge, dark patch of precum into the material. My cock was nothing on his, but was nothing to be ashamed of: a little over 5 and a half inches, but thick, with a fat head and a smooth, upwards curve when I was hard. I always thought it looked good on my body: 5’9″, increasingly muscular since I’d started lifting seriously a year before. John looked at me and laughed again. I couldn’t resist staring at his cock; this time it was quivering, swelling, his swollen fat head bulging further and further out of his foreskin, rising up irresistibly towards my face.

I was so horny I was shaking, but I tried to play it cool, using his own words against him: ‘Like what *you* see?’

He laughed again, and sat down in his swivel chair opposite me, his cock now pointing straight up, his balls spilling down onto the seat. I thought he’d be awkward, but he was as easy as ever. He opened a drawer and pulled out the box he kept his weed in. Unhurriedly, he lit a joint he’d rolled a half hour before, sat back in his chair and laughed again, blowing the sweet smoke slowly between his full, red lips. He sat in silence for a while, drawing luxuriously on his joint, then leaned forward, tapped his ash, and looked me dead in the eye. ‘Want a suck?’.

He knew what he was doing. Saying nothing, I snatched his joint from the ashtray, but I noticed how he held my gaze with laughing eyes as I took a deep toke. It was a seriously strong joint — a sticky, sweet-smelling sativa — and after three tokes the weed tingles joined the shudders of arousal already coursing through me. I looked at his cock — now rock hard, at least 8 inches, redder and angrier than ever — and back at the joint. ‘It’s a big one,’ I said.

He laughed, longer this time — the weed was getting to his head. After a pause, he nodded to me — ‘Go on, then.’

‘What do you mean?’. He laughed again, and took another, long toke. ‘Get it out — fair’s fair.’

‘I’m worried you might jizz yourself.’

‘Looks like you already have.’

I was already too horny and too high to reply. I took a deep breath, stood up, and pulled my boxers to the floor, forgetting for a second how hard I was. My cock sprang out hard from the waistband, bouncing and quivering in front of his face. A drop of precum bounced off and splashed half way up his soft, pale thigh. I sat down heavily, a little dizzy from the weed. He was bent over laughing, a sweet, slightly feminine giggle, and couldn’t stop. ‘What?’, I said, slightly wounded.

‘No, it’s nice! Suits you. It’s just…bouncy.’

He laughed again, then pulled his own cock down to watch it bounce up. Where I had a tight quiver, his bounced and swung heavily. I was laughing too, and we sat there, pinging our cocks, giggling. I noticed he was starting to stroke his cock in between each bounce, wrapping his long, slender fingers round tightly, squeezing the fat head, making it bulge out even more. I started to do the same, shaking, bouncing, stroking my hard cock for him, showing it off in every way. He stood up, saying, ‘Look, no hands!’, and thrust his hips to whirl it in front of my face, hysterical with laughter. Before I knew it, he was sitting down astride me, his balls spilling down onto mine, slapping his dick against mine — ‘Swordfight!’, he said between fits of laughter. It felt hot and hard and heavy, splashing precum against my cock as he slapped it against me.

Suddenly, he’d stopped laughing, and his hand was around both of our cocks together, squeezing tight, now slapping again, and now stroking our two cocks together as they slid slickly over each other. He spat in his hand, then started to work them harder. Fuck, it felt good. I didn’t know what to say or where to look — I could barely breathe. I was obsessed with the weight of his balls on mine, the heat of his cock radiating onto my shaft, the slickness of his spit and precum, the hardness of his fingers. I lay back, feeling my balls tighten, feeling our cocks swell together. He was staring down intensely, angrily, jacking hard with white knuckles, his fist a blur on our quivering cocks, grunting softly, wiggling his round, pink ass gently with the effort. I saw him tense up, writhe, glaze over, his soft body quivering lightly over mine, his cock turn a deep, angry, irresistible purple. Suddenly, my cock was engulfed with thick, hot streams of white cum. He wasn’t shooting, he was overflowing, and suddenly I was coming too, shooting burst after burst of liquid cum up onto his chest and stomach, watching it run down his heaving body. He squeezed our cocks together with both hands, sliding them luxuriously over each other, fixated by the sight of his monster cock dominating mine. I could feel his cum trickling down my balls, pooling in my arsehole, and I shuddered again. He looked at me, and laughed.

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