There is a concept that states that to obtain something of value, something of equal value must be given in return. If you gain something, you pay the price willingly or unwillingly.
I first encountered the concept in a TV show about a pair of brothers who attempt to use magic to bring back their dead mom, and it backfires pretty badly because there isn’t anything that’s as valuable as human life. It stuck with me, and I’m glad it did, or things might have gone off the rails. Well, more than they did.
Let me back up a bit so this makes sense.
*****
I’m Zach. I was only 20 when I met my boyfriend, Will. We were both theater nerds, though he had transferred into my school from community college. By then I was already making a bit of a name for myself, thanks to my romantic looks and tall, lean build. I was no hunk, but I was sexy, and I knew it, but I tried to play it down with false modesty and leaned a bit into the nice guy vibe. I like to think it was true, but I did play it up. I also worked pretty hard on the craft, because I had it in my head that I wanted to be taken seriously as an actor and not just rely on my looks. I also knew I had a fair bit of talent, and my profs had instilled in me the notion that talent was only going to take you so far. So I worked hard, and I built a solid work ethic by sophomore year. By that point I had been acting regularly since I was about nine, had a few awards to my name, even a local commercial.
So here I was, ready to audition for a play where I’d likely get the male lead again.
And this adorkable little blond nerd with honest-to-god freckles and big blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses shows up to the audition, too. He was in a baggy dark blue zippered hoodie that was only partly zipped, white t-shirt, and jeans, and he was called before me. He stood up, then immediately tripped just enough to unbalance himself – and spill his coffee all over himself.
He cursed and shrugged off the hoodie, but his white tee was ruined. It had got about 10 of the 12 ounces in the cup. So he pulled the shirt off and hastily threw the hoodie back on.
Now, Will was shorter than me. I’m pretty tall — at least 6’4”. He was probably 5’6” – but he was *ripped* under that t-shirt. Tight, taught, 8-pack abs and satisfyingly meaty pecs and shoulders, and arms that matched. The faintest bit of downy hair traced a trail into his pants, which I suddenly doubted were as baggy as they appeared.
I gulped, swallowing hard.
Fuck, someone needed to trash that hoodie, and every shirt in his closet, for daring to cover that up. He was *hot*. And I now had a boner to contend with.
Thankfully, he had to audition, and I had a good 10-15 minutes to recenter myself before it was my turn.
I spent it in the bathroom, in the most urgent and speed-run wank session I’ve ever engaged in. Pure business: get the boner out of the way and BREATHE again.
They called my name just as I was leaving the bathroom, thankful for the noisy fan and aggressive sanitizer smell of the room for helping hide the evidence of my masturbatory moment.
My remaining frustrations, I tried to channel into the audition.
*****
Fuck. He got the lead. I got the menacing villain.
Still a juicy role, and my height really helped make me look more a threat. The female lead went to Angie as it often did, who was a mere 5’2” and with her sultry latina looks, made a hell of a pair with ol’ Will.
But I was gracious, right up until the first read-through, when I saw the obvious chemistry between them and knew the director had made a good call. That pissed me off.
Was I jealous of him?
Or … was I jealous of Angie?
*****
Three weeks in, and my sour expressions hadn’t dimmed, apparently.
“Seriously, Zach, you need to tone it down. If you’re just getting in the zone, that’s one thing, but you don’t need to stare daggers at the boy!” This was from Davon, my sassy gay friend, who was likely doomed to a lifetime of typecasting as the sassy gay friend. He was one of those guys who was flamboyant at 2 and out by age 5. “I know you’re the baddie and all, but REALLY.”
And he was right. I hated that he was right.
I’d been staring angrily at Will and Angie for weeks and I began to suspect, with mounting annoyance, that it wasn’t my character’s beef with his rival that was driving them.
It was my own growing obsession with this perfect little studmuffin.
Now, it’s fair to say that I wasn’t *out* per se, but I wasn’t exactly in. And I wasn’t exactly experienced, as they say, but it was a theater department at a mid-sized school, and experimentation wasn't exactly rare. I’d kissed about half the people in the show, including the crew. But somehow, it never went beyond some modest groping and a fair amount of making out.
Pro tip: theater nerds are almost always either massive hoes or repressed awkward weirdos when they’re off stage – sometimes both. Makes things exciting. We’re also often pretty tactile and cuddly, which I suspect comes from embodying emotion very broadly. Without fail, we crave attention and we get it from each other whenever we can.
Anyway. Davon was right, and he must have caught my expression before I shut it down.
“Oh my GOD you’re hot for him aren’t you?”
“Shut up!”
“Babe, I ain’t judging. Boy is FINE. If he were a bit taller he’d be unstoppable, but who doesn’t love a short king anyway?”
“Angie seems to,” I groused.
“Did you forget that lovely girl bitched at you at the after party for the last show? I seem to recall her complaint that you were too damned tall and made her neck hurt….”
“Shut up,” I countered. Brilliant retort, wasn’t it?
“Now honey,” he whispered. “You know I am not one for telling tales, but you ain’t the only one who got caught looking at the other.”
My expression told him everything. Or possibly the deep blush did.
*****
I reined in my staring as best I could. Now that I recognized I was feeling some kinda way about the boy, I could properly separate it out from the character and really focus properly on performing, or at least that was the plan. But I still avoided him outside the theater setting, to the extent I could.
Looking at him – when I wasnt playing a character that hated his dreamy prince – was kind of painful. He just got better looking as we rehearsed, and made it hard to control myself.
Besides, I *liked* Angie and she seemed to like him, and I was pretty sure they were “getting into character” on the regular. No good would come of me lusting after him. And I could tell that the apparent hostility was bleeding over, making me a bit sharp with the rest of the cast. I didn’t need to turn them against me, and it wasn’t fair to the show, and… and it wasn’t fair to him. Why was I like this?
Fuck, I *was* lusting after him. Just purely physical lust. I’d resisted getting to know him at all, despite plenty of opportunities, and I’d rationalized it as staying in character. Well, I wasn’t about to let my stupid horny brain keep distracting me. I needed to figure out how to channel that into something useful.
*****
Acting is magic.
It’s all about illusion on one level, and on another it’s about transmutation. It’s how you combine a bit of trickery with a bit of empathy. You get part of the way there with costumes and makeup and lighting, but when the actor really finds the hook for a character, he can go from cosplay to performance. A great performance is felt and transmitted between actors in the moment, and combined with the illusion and willing audience, can make hearts break or fill with joy as needed.
A key skill is to take the power of one emotion, or memory, and use it to power a different one. Need to cry on command, you call up the memory of your grandfather passing away. Your passionate love that reads so well? It might be the fact that you’re hungry and annoyed. You do a bit of emotional alchemy every time you act.
So if you’re decent at reading people, and decent at imagining and empathizing, you have an advantage in talent . You still have to learn the lines, work out the blocking and the timing, rehearse, and do all the other things. You have to learn and earn those skills, and you have to build a professional ethic — that isn’t always easy. Everyone has a different mix of those natural talents and skills and habits, but you need some of all of them to have staying power. A pretty face or hot bod or great voice don’t hurt either, but they’re things that get you noticed and cast; they aren’t going to substitute, in the long run, for the other elements.
If you have looks and talent, you still need to work on those skills. And despite what I can clearly see in hindsight was an appalling sense of ego, it’s fair to say I had looks and talent. More than most. But I’d rarely had my position as alpha dog of the theatre kennel truly challenged. I was getting a lesson in humility and not enjoying it.
Because objectively, Will was really good at the acting stuff, on top of being a secretly hunky, sweet nerd. He seemed almost too wholesome, and of course that’s why he was cast as the hero. Whereas I’d been cast the villain for similar reasons: my height and smoldering dark eyes and sharp features made me a natural opposite. Neither of us could change those fundamentals about our looks.
And so I shrugged on a bit of maturity and got the fuck on with the work, repurposing my list into my character’s jealousy. And boy did it work. The villainous tirade could have been arch or camp, but instead i drew on my lust and played it as a confession, and damned if he didn’t react in kind. That rehearsal, that pivotal climactic confrontation was electric. The crew actually applauded.
We both realized we’d just made that magic, and impulsively hugged.
It was then, I think, that I realized that he was doing the same thing I was and channeling his own lust into the performance. Because when we hugged, we were both hard as rocks.
*****
We managed to keep that same energy up through final dress, and by then the skills could keep us on the rails. Practice makes perfect, right?
Opening night we knew we hit our stride, and the reviews that Sunday were full of praise. By the time the show wrapped a few weeks later, there was talk of regional awards. We were all giddy, but I had to keep that energy going for the show, so I tortured myself by keeping my distance from Will whenever I could.
It was at the wrap party when Angie proposed a toast to “her boys”.
“Okay boys, show’s wrapped, you don’t have to hate each other anymore. So, time to kiss and make up!” She said. And suddenly the cast and crew began egging us on.
We shrugged, and obliged.
And suddenly, all that tension released, and got replaced by excitement. We kissed — a quick peck on the lips, and then the damn burst as both realized with some surprise that we wanted more. We kissed like we had waited months for the chance, ignoring the laughs and cheers of our crew. When we finally pulled apart and gasped for air, our eyes stayed focused on each other.
And half an hour later we were making out in the storage cubby off stage left.
*****
A week later and there was no point hiding it — everyone knew we were together. Secrets tend to have a short shelf life in the department. But we didn’t care.
Because that first week, we actually got to know each other, and not just in the biblical sense.
Will had been scrawny until he got beat up once too often in middle school, and that led to him dedicating a good chunk of his high school years to making sure it didn’t happen again. Somehow all that testosterone swimming through his veins had been too busy pumping up his muscles to make his face too jockish. The effect was that of a former twink who was perpetually surprised to have hulked out. The same discipline and work that he had put into learning his lines, he’d honed building his body. He wasn’t super bulky but he was utterly ripped and shredded; when he flexed his muscles exploded with power and size, taking him from toned to tanked. It contrasted with his innocent doe-eyed face.
Whereas I was in decent shape, fit enough, and tall. I had dark eyes under thick brows, and they made me look romantic, apparently. But my real gift was my oversized bait and tackle.
By the time I got to college, I was well aware that I had a big dick and balls. Nearly eleven inches long and overly girthy, it had been the bane of at least two short term relationships already. Not everyone is willing to deal with a boner the size of their forearm. But somehow I’d kept the full extent of it hidden — luckily I was a grower and flaccid, I was only about 5.5 inches.
We didn’t talk about our dicks at that point, for what it’s worth. We were kids, and on the cusp of actual adulthood. We made out a lot, kissed and groped like mad, but events conspired to prevent us doing more than that for nine whole days.
*****
“Jesus, you have to be twice my size,” Will gasped.
We had finally got enough privacy and enough time, at the same time, to go further. And as we made our best efforts to not die of embarrassment whilst simultaneously yanking off shirts and unbuttoning trousers, he managed to free the beast.
I was nearly at full mast, and it had been an uncomfortable couple of minutes for me. My cock sprang up like it was on hydraulics.
“Fuck, man, I knew you were big, but god damn.”
“You can talk,” I replied, eyeing his spectacular torso. “With your monster pecs and a frikkin ten pack…”
He blushed adorably, taken back. I took advantage of his distraction to yank his pants down.
“…shit. You have to be so disappointed,” he said.
“Why?” It was just a normal dick, maybe 5 inches and a bit on the thin side.
“I’m kinda small down there.”
“Big everywhere else,though,” I replied. “Fuck you’re sexy.”
“You don’t mind?”
“I wanted you to fuck me,” I said huskily. “I’ve never been fucked before. I don’t think I could take anything bigger than that, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Really. But you’ll need to prep me a bit,” I said. “Lube is in the drawer.” So were condoms. I picked a box of standard size and a box of magnums.
He didn’t need to be told twice; he began to work my hole with a lubed up finger and soon two. I’d read up and watched some videos — it’s amazing what’s out there these days — and I’d managed three fingers a few days before. I had also done what I could to be as clean as possible.
It’s fair to say I’d given it a little thought. I was ready as I could be.
Will took his time kissing me while he worked me open, and then handed me a condom. I stretched it over his straining cock — it fit decently — but it occurred to me that I was glad I’d had the sense to pick up some jumbos. (No way would those regular size rubbers would fit my cock, and that wasn’t my pride talking, just reality.)
All of those thoughts were instant and nearly simultaneous; my brain was busy shouting “HE GONNA STICK IT IN ME” over and over.
And then, finally, he did. He hoisted my legs up, lined up his cock, and pushed, slowly.
I thought he’d ripped me in half at first, but that was just inexperience. My ass had just gotten used to a couple fingers, and was outraged by this new bold intruder. But he sensed the sphincteral panic and gave it a moment until my butt realized it wasn’t so scary.
He could see the pain in my face, and laced his fingers in mine, and told me it would be okay, and he was right. We were breathing, almost in synch.
“I’m okay,” I said, after a moment. “I think … I think you can move now.”
He gently pushed further inside, cautiously, watching me intently. I gasped a few times and shuddered, and then he began to pull back. So far so good, I thought, It was getting better pretty fast.
Then he found my prostate and his stout helmet bumped it and I saw stars. A gout of pre spurted from my raging cock, and maybe it was the angle (it was barrelling toward my chin, the way he had my folded), but it looked bigger than ever.
“OH SHIT” I gasped.
Will was a quick study, and now he knew where to aim, he began to work his way up to a steady, and very accurate, pounding. His strong hands effortlessly lifted my hips to guide the trajectory of his dick. Every time he shifted my position – because I was effectively useless by then, my hands uselessly bracing my torso against his pushes but accomplishing nothing – he found an even better angle. In retrospect, his relatively short dick needed to be at max to hit my love button properly, but his strong core and stamina made it easy for him to reliably adjust and plumb my depths. And my ass seemed to want him there, desperately clutching his fuckstick only to feel every bit of him slide past.
I don’t think we lasted as long as it felt, because it was a new experience that burned itself indelibly into my brain. I barely had time to warn him, but we’d been in pretty good synch anyway, and shot our loads almost at the same time.
He pulled out and half rolled onto his side, his latex sheathe filled with cum and still attached to his barely-abated raging erection. He kissed me and we snuggled happily for a bit, though I was covered with my own secret sauce – it had hit me in the chin, the forehead, the top of my hair, the pillows, the headboard, and the wall behind the bed.
And then after about 10 minutes, when we’d caught our breath, he grinned and pulled me on top of him.
“My turn,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. And no. But I want to try.”
“I don’t want to hurt you – you’ll tell me if it hurts?”
“I expect it to hurt a little,” he said, with a faint hint of nervousness behind the excitement.
*****
Unfortunately, no amount of lube or enthusiasm was going to put my giant dick into his ass, not without casualties. His ass tentatively accepted one finger with a generous amount of lube, and then unwillingly allowed a second. But several minutes into our attempt, it was clear that was nowhere near enough. My bloated glans was too fat for his poor ass.
“FUCK,” he roared. “I really wanted to try it.”
“Shh, it’s okay,” I said. “We have time, we could work up to it.”
It was a good theory.
*****
I first encountered the concept in a TV show about a pair of brothers who attempt to use magic to bring back their dead mom, and it backfires pretty badly because there isn’t anything that’s as valuable as human life. It stuck with me, and I’m glad it did, or things might have gone off the rails. Well, more than they did.
Let me back up a bit so this makes sense.
*****
I’m Zach. I was only 20 when I met my boyfriend, Will. We were both theater nerds, though he had transferred into my school from community college. By then I was already making a bit of a name for myself, thanks to my romantic looks and tall, lean build. I was no hunk, but I was sexy, and I knew it, but I tried to play it down with false modesty and leaned a bit into the nice guy vibe. I like to think it was true, but I did play it up. I also worked pretty hard on the craft, because I had it in my head that I wanted to be taken seriously as an actor and not just rely on my looks. I also knew I had a fair bit of talent, and my profs had instilled in me the notion that talent was only going to take you so far. So I worked hard, and I built a solid work ethic by sophomore year. By that point I had been acting regularly since I was about nine, had a few awards to my name, even a local commercial.
So here I was, ready to audition for a play where I’d likely get the male lead again.
And this adorkable little blond nerd with honest-to-god freckles and big blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses shows up to the audition, too. He was in a baggy dark blue zippered hoodie that was only partly zipped, white t-shirt, and jeans, and he was called before me. He stood up, then immediately tripped just enough to unbalance himself – and spill his coffee all over himself.
He cursed and shrugged off the hoodie, but his white tee was ruined. It had got about 10 of the 12 ounces in the cup. So he pulled the shirt off and hastily threw the hoodie back on.
Now, Will was shorter than me. I’m pretty tall — at least 6’4”. He was probably 5’6” – but he was *ripped* under that t-shirt. Tight, taught, 8-pack abs and satisfyingly meaty pecs and shoulders, and arms that matched. The faintest bit of downy hair traced a trail into his pants, which I suddenly doubted were as baggy as they appeared.
I gulped, swallowing hard.
Fuck, someone needed to trash that hoodie, and every shirt in his closet, for daring to cover that up. He was *hot*. And I now had a boner to contend with.
Thankfully, he had to audition, and I had a good 10-15 minutes to recenter myself before it was my turn.
I spent it in the bathroom, in the most urgent and speed-run wank session I’ve ever engaged in. Pure business: get the boner out of the way and BREATHE again.
They called my name just as I was leaving the bathroom, thankful for the noisy fan and aggressive sanitizer smell of the room for helping hide the evidence of my masturbatory moment.
My remaining frustrations, I tried to channel into the audition.
*****
Fuck. He got the lead. I got the menacing villain.
Still a juicy role, and my height really helped make me look more a threat. The female lead went to Angie as it often did, who was a mere 5’2” and with her sultry latina looks, made a hell of a pair with ol’ Will.
But I was gracious, right up until the first read-through, when I saw the obvious chemistry between them and knew the director had made a good call. That pissed me off.
Was I jealous of him?
Or … was I jealous of Angie?
*****
Three weeks in, and my sour expressions hadn’t dimmed, apparently.
“Seriously, Zach, you need to tone it down. If you’re just getting in the zone, that’s one thing, but you don’t need to stare daggers at the boy!” This was from Davon, my sassy gay friend, who was likely doomed to a lifetime of typecasting as the sassy gay friend. He was one of those guys who was flamboyant at 2 and out by age 5. “I know you’re the baddie and all, but REALLY.”
And he was right. I hated that he was right.
I’d been staring angrily at Will and Angie for weeks and I began to suspect, with mounting annoyance, that it wasn’t my character’s beef with his rival that was driving them.
It was my own growing obsession with this perfect little studmuffin.
Now, it’s fair to say that I wasn’t *out* per se, but I wasn’t exactly in. And I wasn’t exactly experienced, as they say, but it was a theater department at a mid-sized school, and experimentation wasn't exactly rare. I’d kissed about half the people in the show, including the crew. But somehow, it never went beyond some modest groping and a fair amount of making out.
Pro tip: theater nerds are almost always either massive hoes or repressed awkward weirdos when they’re off stage – sometimes both. Makes things exciting. We’re also often pretty tactile and cuddly, which I suspect comes from embodying emotion very broadly. Without fail, we crave attention and we get it from each other whenever we can.
Anyway. Davon was right, and he must have caught my expression before I shut it down.
“Oh my GOD you’re hot for him aren’t you?”
“Shut up!”
“Babe, I ain’t judging. Boy is FINE. If he were a bit taller he’d be unstoppable, but who doesn’t love a short king anyway?”
“Angie seems to,” I groused.
“Did you forget that lovely girl bitched at you at the after party for the last show? I seem to recall her complaint that you were too damned tall and made her neck hurt….”
“Shut up,” I countered. Brilliant retort, wasn’t it?
“Now honey,” he whispered. “You know I am not one for telling tales, but you ain’t the only one who got caught looking at the other.”
My expression told him everything. Or possibly the deep blush did.
*****
I reined in my staring as best I could. Now that I recognized I was feeling some kinda way about the boy, I could properly separate it out from the character and really focus properly on performing, or at least that was the plan. But I still avoided him outside the theater setting, to the extent I could.
Looking at him – when I wasnt playing a character that hated his dreamy prince – was kind of painful. He just got better looking as we rehearsed, and made it hard to control myself.
Besides, I *liked* Angie and she seemed to like him, and I was pretty sure they were “getting into character” on the regular. No good would come of me lusting after him. And I could tell that the apparent hostility was bleeding over, making me a bit sharp with the rest of the cast. I didn’t need to turn them against me, and it wasn’t fair to the show, and… and it wasn’t fair to him. Why was I like this?
Fuck, I *was* lusting after him. Just purely physical lust. I’d resisted getting to know him at all, despite plenty of opportunities, and I’d rationalized it as staying in character. Well, I wasn’t about to let my stupid horny brain keep distracting me. I needed to figure out how to channel that into something useful.
*****
Acting is magic.
It’s all about illusion on one level, and on another it’s about transmutation. It’s how you combine a bit of trickery with a bit of empathy. You get part of the way there with costumes and makeup and lighting, but when the actor really finds the hook for a character, he can go from cosplay to performance. A great performance is felt and transmitted between actors in the moment, and combined with the illusion and willing audience, can make hearts break or fill with joy as needed.
A key skill is to take the power of one emotion, or memory, and use it to power a different one. Need to cry on command, you call up the memory of your grandfather passing away. Your passionate love that reads so well? It might be the fact that you’re hungry and annoyed. You do a bit of emotional alchemy every time you act.
So if you’re decent at reading people, and decent at imagining and empathizing, you have an advantage in talent . You still have to learn the lines, work out the blocking and the timing, rehearse, and do all the other things. You have to learn and earn those skills, and you have to build a professional ethic — that isn’t always easy. Everyone has a different mix of those natural talents and skills and habits, but you need some of all of them to have staying power. A pretty face or hot bod or great voice don’t hurt either, but they’re things that get you noticed and cast; they aren’t going to substitute, in the long run, for the other elements.
If you have looks and talent, you still need to work on those skills. And despite what I can clearly see in hindsight was an appalling sense of ego, it’s fair to say I had looks and talent. More than most. But I’d rarely had my position as alpha dog of the theatre kennel truly challenged. I was getting a lesson in humility and not enjoying it.
Because objectively, Will was really good at the acting stuff, on top of being a secretly hunky, sweet nerd. He seemed almost too wholesome, and of course that’s why he was cast as the hero. Whereas I’d been cast the villain for similar reasons: my height and smoldering dark eyes and sharp features made me a natural opposite. Neither of us could change those fundamentals about our looks.
And so I shrugged on a bit of maturity and got the fuck on with the work, repurposing my list into my character’s jealousy. And boy did it work. The villainous tirade could have been arch or camp, but instead i drew on my lust and played it as a confession, and damned if he didn’t react in kind. That rehearsal, that pivotal climactic confrontation was electric. The crew actually applauded.
We both realized we’d just made that magic, and impulsively hugged.
It was then, I think, that I realized that he was doing the same thing I was and channeling his own lust into the performance. Because when we hugged, we were both hard as rocks.
*****
We managed to keep that same energy up through final dress, and by then the skills could keep us on the rails. Practice makes perfect, right?
Opening night we knew we hit our stride, and the reviews that Sunday were full of praise. By the time the show wrapped a few weeks later, there was talk of regional awards. We were all giddy, but I had to keep that energy going for the show, so I tortured myself by keeping my distance from Will whenever I could.
It was at the wrap party when Angie proposed a toast to “her boys”.
“Okay boys, show’s wrapped, you don’t have to hate each other anymore. So, time to kiss and make up!” She said. And suddenly the cast and crew began egging us on.
We shrugged, and obliged.
And suddenly, all that tension released, and got replaced by excitement. We kissed — a quick peck on the lips, and then the damn burst as both realized with some surprise that we wanted more. We kissed like we had waited months for the chance, ignoring the laughs and cheers of our crew. When we finally pulled apart and gasped for air, our eyes stayed focused on each other.
And half an hour later we were making out in the storage cubby off stage left.
*****
A week later and there was no point hiding it — everyone knew we were together. Secrets tend to have a short shelf life in the department. But we didn’t care.
Because that first week, we actually got to know each other, and not just in the biblical sense.
Will had been scrawny until he got beat up once too often in middle school, and that led to him dedicating a good chunk of his high school years to making sure it didn’t happen again. Somehow all that testosterone swimming through his veins had been too busy pumping up his muscles to make his face too jockish. The effect was that of a former twink who was perpetually surprised to have hulked out. The same discipline and work that he had put into learning his lines, he’d honed building his body. He wasn’t super bulky but he was utterly ripped and shredded; when he flexed his muscles exploded with power and size, taking him from toned to tanked. It contrasted with his innocent doe-eyed face.
Whereas I was in decent shape, fit enough, and tall. I had dark eyes under thick brows, and they made me look romantic, apparently. But my real gift was my oversized bait and tackle.
By the time I got to college, I was well aware that I had a big dick and balls. Nearly eleven inches long and overly girthy, it had been the bane of at least two short term relationships already. Not everyone is willing to deal with a boner the size of their forearm. But somehow I’d kept the full extent of it hidden — luckily I was a grower and flaccid, I was only about 5.5 inches.
We didn’t talk about our dicks at that point, for what it’s worth. We were kids, and on the cusp of actual adulthood. We made out a lot, kissed and groped like mad, but events conspired to prevent us doing more than that for nine whole days.
*****
“Jesus, you have to be twice my size,” Will gasped.
We had finally got enough privacy and enough time, at the same time, to go further. And as we made our best efforts to not die of embarrassment whilst simultaneously yanking off shirts and unbuttoning trousers, he managed to free the beast.
I was nearly at full mast, and it had been an uncomfortable couple of minutes for me. My cock sprang up like it was on hydraulics.
“Fuck, man, I knew you were big, but god damn.”
“You can talk,” I replied, eyeing his spectacular torso. “With your monster pecs and a frikkin ten pack…”
He blushed adorably, taken back. I took advantage of his distraction to yank his pants down.
“…shit. You have to be so disappointed,” he said.
“Why?” It was just a normal dick, maybe 5 inches and a bit on the thin side.
“I’m kinda small down there.”
“Big everywhere else,though,” I replied. “Fuck you’re sexy.”
“You don’t mind?”
“I wanted you to fuck me,” I said huskily. “I’ve never been fucked before. I don’t think I could take anything bigger than that, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Really. But you’ll need to prep me a bit,” I said. “Lube is in the drawer.” So were condoms. I picked a box of standard size and a box of magnums.
He didn’t need to be told twice; he began to work my hole with a lubed up finger and soon two. I’d read up and watched some videos — it’s amazing what’s out there these days — and I’d managed three fingers a few days before. I had also done what I could to be as clean as possible.
It’s fair to say I’d given it a little thought. I was ready as I could be.
Will took his time kissing me while he worked me open, and then handed me a condom. I stretched it over his straining cock — it fit decently — but it occurred to me that I was glad I’d had the sense to pick up some jumbos. (No way would those regular size rubbers would fit my cock, and that wasn’t my pride talking, just reality.)
All of those thoughts were instant and nearly simultaneous; my brain was busy shouting “HE GONNA STICK IT IN ME” over and over.
And then, finally, he did. He hoisted my legs up, lined up his cock, and pushed, slowly.
I thought he’d ripped me in half at first, but that was just inexperience. My ass had just gotten used to a couple fingers, and was outraged by this new bold intruder. But he sensed the sphincteral panic and gave it a moment until my butt realized it wasn’t so scary.
He could see the pain in my face, and laced his fingers in mine, and told me it would be okay, and he was right. We were breathing, almost in synch.
“I’m okay,” I said, after a moment. “I think … I think you can move now.”
He gently pushed further inside, cautiously, watching me intently. I gasped a few times and shuddered, and then he began to pull back. So far so good, I thought, It was getting better pretty fast.
Then he found my prostate and his stout helmet bumped it and I saw stars. A gout of pre spurted from my raging cock, and maybe it was the angle (it was barrelling toward my chin, the way he had my folded), but it looked bigger than ever.
“OH SHIT” I gasped.
Will was a quick study, and now he knew where to aim, he began to work his way up to a steady, and very accurate, pounding. His strong hands effortlessly lifted my hips to guide the trajectory of his dick. Every time he shifted my position – because I was effectively useless by then, my hands uselessly bracing my torso against his pushes but accomplishing nothing – he found an even better angle. In retrospect, his relatively short dick needed to be at max to hit my love button properly, but his strong core and stamina made it easy for him to reliably adjust and plumb my depths. And my ass seemed to want him there, desperately clutching his fuckstick only to feel every bit of him slide past.
I don’t think we lasted as long as it felt, because it was a new experience that burned itself indelibly into my brain. I barely had time to warn him, but we’d been in pretty good synch anyway, and shot our loads almost at the same time.
He pulled out and half rolled onto his side, his latex sheathe filled with cum and still attached to his barely-abated raging erection. He kissed me and we snuggled happily for a bit, though I was covered with my own secret sauce – it had hit me in the chin, the forehead, the top of my hair, the pillows, the headboard, and the wall behind the bed.
And then after about 10 minutes, when we’d caught our breath, he grinned and pulled me on top of him.
“My turn,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. And no. But I want to try.”
“I don’t want to hurt you – you’ll tell me if it hurts?”
“I expect it to hurt a little,” he said, with a faint hint of nervousness behind the excitement.
*****
Unfortunately, no amount of lube or enthusiasm was going to put my giant dick into his ass, not without casualties. His ass tentatively accepted one finger with a generous amount of lube, and then unwillingly allowed a second. But several minutes into our attempt, it was clear that was nowhere near enough. My bloated glans was too fat for his poor ass.
“FUCK,” he roared. “I really wanted to try it.”
“Shh, it’s okay,” I said. “We have time, we could work up to it.”
It was a good theory.
*****
