Page 1 of His First Time
1
Spring Break Fever
There wasa restlessness inside of me, a hunger, a hole I couldn’t fill.
I’d felt it since I was a teenager. Since I was a sweaty thing on the football field, the ends of my hair dripping beads of sweat into my eyes, down my face. Coach’s voice was a buzz, something far away, and all I could feel was the slow inhale and exhale of my own breath. I could taste the air around me: that salt sweat, that tang of masculinity. Testosterone flooding the air, so thick and dense you choked on it. I thought I was passing out. Heat stroke.
I was high as a fucking kite.
Changing in the locker rooms. Showering. Hiding the boners I sprouted, waiting and waiting and waiting until everyone had left. There was only so much time I could kill hunched over my phone, scrolling through my feed that had refreshed five times. I bullshitted with the guys near my locker, joked about not needing to rush since I was walking home. I could take my time in the shower, I said.
You not gonna have any hot water, they said. But they left me alone.
Senior year, I finally gave in. I stopped forcing my mind to turn away from those sweaty planes of muscle and the intoxicating scent of men as I jerked my cock. The first truly big orgasm I had, I imagined myself down on my knees, my lips wrapped around a thick cock, working it like I was trying to suck-start a leaf blower. I shot ropes that painted my chest, my chin. I couldn’t catch my breath after. I sucked my fingers, trying to get that feeling back. I tasted my own cum.
As amazing as those two minutes were, the crash that followed was enough to send me running to the bathroom. I showered, scrubbing my skin raw. Everywhere my cum had landed. I brushed my teeth, once, twice, three times, enough that I made myself puke. Hunched over the toilet, heaving toothpaste, bile, and protein shake, I took a good long look at myself in the toilet’s reflection.
Never again. Never do that shit again. Never go there.
Eyes up in the locker room. Eyes shifting sideways in the hall that senior year, winking at girls and watching their hair flips. I had Tracey on my arm for prom, and she and I were both eighteen, both old enough to get a hotel room for the night. It was good. When I sucked on her tits, I may have flashed back to that one moment, the seconds before I came the hardest I’ve ever cum in my life. For an instant, they weren’t luscious D cups in my hands, hard nipples in my mouth. I wasn’t trying to swallow her tits whole. I was trying to go down deeper on a thick dick.
We fooled around through graduation and summer, but she went to college on one coast, and I went to college in Texas. I was good enough for a walk-on spot on a Big Twelve football team, but not good enough for a scholarship. Whatever. I still was a footballer on campus. Still had the swag. Still had the chicks eyeing me up and down. Still got invited to all the parties. Still had sex thrown at me left, right, and center.
Still got to breathe deep that testosterone-choked haze, the post-practice funk that was one hundred percent man. More often than not, I’d have a half chub in my jock. Fuck it, I’d tell myself. I’m just relieved practice was done. And then I’d take another deep inhale and my eyes would go cross. My mouth would water.
But none of that. I’d already sworn. Never again. It was just a mistake. An aberration. One of those weird experimental things everyone goes through. Just a moment. Not a definition.
The season came and went. We played well enough to earn a bowl game. Not a major one, but a decent one. Coach was pleased, and when we won, there were parties for two straight weeks on campus. I showed up to my classes smelling like booze and sweat and sex, and my professors just sighed.
Whatever, man. It’s hard being an in-demand nineteen-year-old. Gotta please ‘em all.
Spring Break finally came, and a big chunk of the team decided to head out to Florida. We piled into trucks and cars, players and cheerleaders and anyone else who wanted to join the convoy, and headed east.
Spring Break in Florida is fucking insane. All the colleges east of the Mississippi head to the coast, and it’s just college party after college party stretching from Jacksonville to Miami. We stayed around Daytona, pulling into seedy motels that had jacked their rates just high enough to gouge, but low enough that college kids could still afford to pay. I ended up with three other roomies. Four guys in two nasty queen beds. If there was any action happening in here, it would be public as hell.
We pre-gamed and hit the beach, hiding beer and vodka mixers in water bottles as we soaked up the sun and the sand. Cheerleaders and volleyball players and tennis girls laid out and worked on their tan or frolicked in the waves. Some of the guys chased them, running the girls out into the surf. They splashed each other for a while and then paired off, girls wrapping their arms and legs around guys as they cuddled close in the warm and gentle breakers.
Nearby, there was a volleyball game going, guys from another university. Their accents grated, New England, with theyouseand the nasally tones. They were a little pale, a winter spent under snow jackets, but they were ripped and buff and wore their ballcaps backwards and their trunks low on their hips. I could count abs and lats and delts, measure circumferences of biceps from behind my shades. I spent more time watching them than I did Mandy or Courtney, the two freshman cheerleaders vying for my attention. I’d hooked up with both of them back on campus. They’d be down for a threesome for sure.
But I couldn’t look their way. I couldn’t watch them playing together in the waves. I ignored their calls, their flirty giggles, their attempts to draw me into the water with them. Maybe I’d have gotten a handjob from them in the surf.
Instead, my mouth watered as my eyes traced beads of sweat dripping down the spine of one of the volleyball players.
He was a beast, six-four, easily two-twenty-five pounds. He spiked the ball. I watched his muscles ripple. His back arch. His skin was tanning, and his board shorts dipped down, revealing a pale line of ass cheek before he landed on his feet. Dodging, swerving, diving. Trying to bat the volley that came back from the other side. He landed in a puff of sand, the volleyball ricocheting wildly off his fists.
It bounced and rolled… to me.
New England’s finest picked himself up and strolled over, sand falling from his sculpted muscles, little waterfalls of gold slipping down his chiseled body.Athlete, I thought.Football. Like me. Maybe a tight end. His thighs filled out his board shorts, the lines of his quads and his hamstrings fleshing out the white fabric.
My eyes roamed higher. To his cock.
Fuck.
There I was, senior year of high school and jerking off again, mouth open, eyes closed, desperately wishing for something thick and hard and long inside me, something hot on my tongue. I sucked reflexively. Caught the drool forming. My Adam’s apple bobbed as he came over.
Thank fuck I was lying on my stomach. My cock was surging, pressing into my towel and warm sand. All I could see was the shape of his package, the outline of a thick dick and two heavy balls, their shape, their shadows, beneath the white fabric of his board shorts. I bit my lip.
“Hey man.” New England stopped in front of me. His toes dug into the sand. He had a tan line across the top of his feet from his sandals. I wanted to lick it. “You play?”
