A Man Like George (mm Short Story)

TheEasyA

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Hello! This is a story I wrote quite a long time ago. I thought maybe everyone else might like to read it.

There hadn’t been much to say about George. For as long as I had known him, he had been somewhat of a loner. I knew he had children – my mother told me that – but they didn’t speak to him. I supposed that could have been a good thing, though. George was only in his early thirties and could still find a woman who would want to marry him. I told him as much almost every day.

I had started talking to George about these things the week I began painting his house. It had been a summer job – a little easy spending money before I headed off to college in the fall. All I was tasked with was painting two bedrooms inside the one-story home – one white and one dark brown.

My job began simple as one could expect. I arrived at George’s house (only a fifteen minute walk from my own), he directed me to the rooms, and I began painting. Each day, George made sure that I was comfortable, keeping the air conditioning on and offering me drink after drink. The whole thing had been a thousand times better than any side job I had had before.

Then, something changed.

By the fourth day of my visiting, George began sitting in on the job. We’d discuss the typical things – sports, school, and women. But there was one topic George never wanted to touch. Whenever I would bring up is ex-wife and children, he’d stand and leave the room without saying a word. It was odd, I’ll admit, but not something I hadn’t faced before.

Finally, the last day had approached. I had just finished the second room, running a paint brush down the edge of the door frame, when George walked in with a glass of lemonade. He handed it to me, and I drank gratefully. After almost finishing off the entire glass, I reached it back and returned to my task.

Then, George said something that I’ll never forget.

“Your girlfriend is one lucky bitch.” He had said it so softly that I almost missed it – almost.

I turned to him and cocked my head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” he inquired, ignoring my surprise.

“I, uh, no,” I stammered.

“Are you a virgin, then?”

I had never talked about the subject with anyone before, let alone George. Sure, we’d discussed the women we found attractive, but that was as far as it had ever gone. I didn’t know what to say in response.

“Come on, Elliot,” George prodded. “Just tell me if you are.”

“No,” I stated blandly. “Why is that important, anyway?”

He ignored me once more, continuing to dig into my private life. “So, you’ve had a pussy?”

“Mr. Roth!” I couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Yet, at the same time, I was intrigued. I had only slept with one girl in my life – Rebecca at basketball camp when I was sixteen. It had been silent, a little painful, and an overall unenjoyable experience. Up until that point with George, I had never even heard someone use the word “pussy.”

George chuckled lightly. “What? It’s normal to discuss these things.” He reached forward and retrieved the paintbrush from my hand. “The real question is whether or not you’ve had a dick before.”

I felt my face grow hot and my stomach lurch. I couldn’t understand it, but there was a feeling growing rapidly within me – a feeling of desire. I attempted to push the thought from my mind, but it was fruitless. I couldn’t lie to myself and say I hadn’t noticed George the second I stepped through his front door.

At thirty-one, he was trimmed and athletic. His stubble looked like it was meant to be that way and not like he had forgotten to shave. His hair – brown and peppered grey – was short and styled so that it swooped upward. And his body. Yes, that was what I noticed the most – the bulging muscles and the skin-tight form of his tee-shirts.

I wasn’t supposed to feel those feelings, though. I was straight. I liked women and breasts and “pussy,” as George had called it. Sure, I found some guys attractive, but what guy didn’t feel even the tiniest bit envious of their friends’ asses?

“Elliot,” George pressed, pulling me from my thoughts.

I looked at him, my eyes probably wide in bewilderment. “Y-yeah, what?”

“I asked if you’d ever tasted a dick before.”

I shook my head, my eyes never leaving his. “I’m straight, Mr. Roth.”

“Please,” he whispered, bringing a finger to my lips, “call me George.”

And I did. “Okay, George.”

“That’s better. Now, do you want to taste a dick for the first time?”

“Uh…” I didn’t know what was coming over me. Really, I should’ve asked for my payment and left as quickly as possible. But I couldn’t stop imagining what lie beneath George’s cargo shorts.

“Just say ‘yes,’ and you can.” He had a hand against my cheek now, one finger stroking the smooth skin. “I’d be honored, really. An attractive young man like yourself.”

And that was the deal-breaker. In all of my eighteen years, I hadn’t heard a single romantic interest call me attractive. Granted, I had only had five girlfriends. But I was always just a free ride or a wallet to them. George had suddenly made my heart swell.

“I-I want to,” I sputtered, and I really did.

“Great,” George grinned, “let me show you how.”

Before I could register what was happening, George was on his knees and his hands were fiddling with the button on my jeans. After a quick fight with it, he had them undone and was sliding them down. My boxers went with, springing my surprisingly erect shaft free.

George licked his lips at the sight. “My, oh my, you’re big – much bigger than I thought.”

“W-what did y-you think?”

“With your muscles and height, I thought about six inches. But this? Well, I’m just going to have to taste it to find out.” He wrapped his smooth hand around me and began to gently stroke back and forth. I immediately melted at his touch, my knees buckling and my head lolling back in a moan.

“That’s good,” I breathed.

“It’s only the beginning,” George whispered, then showed me what I had been missing my entire life.

First, he brought his tongue down and licked up the tip. Then, he brought his lips around the last bit of the tip and sucked. It wasn’t a head bobbing type of motion. It was more of a suctioning.

I couldn’t believe it was happening. I had never had a blowjob before, and it was more than I could have ever imagined. The way his tongue trailed my length made my head swell. I could already feel the need for release building.

George could tell, because he stopped his motion and asked me, “How many times have you came at once?”

“I…usually just the once. Why?” I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to keep going.

He smiled and planted a peck on my slit. “Because I want to empty you completely.”

And so, he did.

In a blur, George brought his mouth down onto my shaft and began sucking it. In a mix of motions, his head bobbed up and down while his hand stroked and twisted my skin. In seconds, I could feel myself readying to burst.

“G-George,” I spluttered, “I’m a-about to come. I’m s-so close.”

He pulled away for the briefest of seconds. “Come down my throat, baby.” He went back down and resumed his motion. He released his grip and moved forward so that my entire length was in his mouth. I could feel the back of his throat smash my tip. My release was moving, rising up my length. Then, George gagged, and I was gone.

“Oh, fuck,” I called out, throwing my head back and thrusting my hips forward. My release shot out, straight down George’s throat. It had been the most I had ever produced. Usually, I would twitch two or three times, each stream shortening. That time, though, I shot out seven times, and it didn’t feel like anything was letting up.

When, to my dismay, my climax died down, George pulled me from his mouth and licked his lips. “You’re a work of art, Elliot. Did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t.” The complete vulnerability of releasing in his throat was enough to somehow boost my confidence. I wanted to try more. “Can I try it, now?”

George stood and placed a kiss on my lips. As our tongues mixed, I tasted the saltiness of my come. He breathed against my face, “I thought you’d never ask.” He placed his hands on my shoulders, then, and forced me to the ground. I had no time to prepare as he yanked his shorts down and released his massive size. It was almost as twice as long as mine. I needed two hands just to grip it completely.

“I showed you what to do, baby,” George declared. So, I repeated everything he did. Starting with the licking of his tip and down to pulling him into my throat. As soon as the tip touched the back, I gagged and made to pull him out. George stopped me, though, placing a hand on the back of my head and pressing down.

My gagging continued as I struggled to find air. George wouldn’t let up, though. He pressed farther and farther until I felt him pass my tongue and slide ever so far down my throat. Then, he pulled out completely.

Looking down at me and panting, he said, “Your throat is so fucking good. Can I fuck your face?”

I had never heard of it, so I agreed. “Sure.” George then grabbed onto either side of my face and thrust himself through my lips. Keeping my head still, he began to use my mouth as a hole. With each thrust forward, his tip smacked against my throat and I gagged. All the while, I grabbed onto my own shaft and stroked it, pre-come dripping to the floor.

At last, George removed himself. “I want to save my come for something else.”

I looked at him, my lips dripping with saliva and pre-come. “What do you want to do?”

“Stand up and take off your clothes.” I did as I was told, removing everything down to my socks. “Now, stand against the wall.” Again, I obeyed, placing my hands above my head and spreading my feet apart.

“What are you going to – oh!” A wetness on my hole broke my sentence off. I knew the feeling of George’s tongue by now and was more than excited for something new.

Eventually, his tongue stopped, and he stood. With his hands spreading my cheeks apart, he slid his shaft forward and through my hole. I winced a little, but the pain wasn’t unbearable. In fact, it was quite pleasant. Was this what every girl felt when a man had her?

Once completely inside, he picked up a steady rhythm and began to fuck me. I moaned and cried out as his thrusts grew in intensity. George panted along with me, breathing my name every so often and wrapping a hand around my waist so that he could grip my own length.

“Oh, Elliot,” he cooed, stroking and thrusting at the same time.

I leaned into him, feeling the way his dick pulsed within me. “Fuck me, George.”

After a while of passion, I heard George mutter, “I’m going to come.” Then, he was out of me and had me back on my knees. “Open your mouth, baby.” I did as I was told, even sticking my tongue out as I had seen in the magazines. A few more minutes of stroking later, George howled to the ceiling and released his tension.

I closed my eyes and felt the warm smacks of his streams soaking my face and tongue. One, two, three. The number rose and rose until, at last, he stopped completely. I opened my eyes and felt that one had been almost glued shut. I wiped at it, coating my fingers.

“Eat it,” he commanded. I stuck my fingers in my mouth and sucked gently. I continued like this for a while, wiping his come and swallowing it. When I felt my face was clean, I stood and kissed George. His hand traveled down my stomach and grabbed onto my now flaccid dick.

He chuckled into my mouth before pulling back and announcing, “Looks like you don’t even need hands.”

I followed his stare and found that he was absolutely right. At my feet was a puddle of my release. My dick was soaked, too, dripping onto my thighs and making a mess of my pubes. I laughed with him. “I guess I didn’t.”

“Come on, then,” he motioned, “you need a shower before heading home.” I followed him out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the bathroom. I walked inside and made to close the door, but his stuck out foot stopped me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“I just wanted to see my come on your face before you washed it away.”

I laughed and closed the door. As I stepped into the shower and washed away our passion, I thought that perhaps I didn’t need a woman after all. I just needed a man like George.