Michael's Self Discovery (boyxboy)

Yellow

Yellow Means Caution

WARNING there are depictions of oral sex, and male genitalia in this chapter!

Cautiously I stretched my hand out towards him deciding, against all urges, to place my hand on his chest. His chest was warm, and his heart beat clearly felt in the touch. I slid my hand lower, and lower, before lifting up his shirt, and placing my hand on his stomach. Did I dare go lower? Or did I just stop? I couldn't decide. I slowly started sliding my hand down his treasure trail, before reaching the waist band of his shorts, and likewise the waist band of his underwear, before I stopped—looking at his face, asking for permission. His eyes were closed, as he rolled on his back, placing his arms behind his head.

I took that as a yes, and slowly slid my hand down the front of his shorts. I reached bush first, running my fingers through the long, black hairs—I let a slight moan escape my mouth. I then slid my hand down further, finding his throbbing shaft. I wrapped my hand around it, massaging it from base to tip—taking in the texture, shape, and size of it.

A slight moan resounded from Michael's lips. My own erection was throbbing and aching for a touch; as it had been since I'd first kissed Michael, and even more so after he'd kissed me. I stroked Michael's dick, inside the confines of his shorts for a few minutes, before he inquired about going further.

"You should suck it. . ." he said, his eyes still closed, his arms still behind his head, his body still tense from the alien feelings he was experiencing.

I didn't know whether or not I wanted to take this, whatever this was, to that level. I was afraid that I to would fail at a sexual action with him, resulting in only adding to his pain.

"Are you sure?" I asked nervously. I had wanted this for a long time, I'd wanted him for a long time.

"Go for it." He said, greenlighting the advance.

I slowly slid his shorts down his legs, following more quickly by his underwear—boxer briefs, that ever so tightly covered him, or at least as I'd remembered from gym class a long while ago. Under the covers he was naked, except a shirt, and that was enough for my penis to take full control of the situation. I pulled the blanket off of us. The chill of the room met my clothed body—I can't picture how the chill felt to him. . .

His prick was standing erect. . . before my very eye, laid out almost as if by careful choice by a sculptor was his cock, crowned with a bulbous pink head—footed by a thick vascular shaft, engulfed at the base by a lush blanket of black pubes. Having already gotten further now, than the whore had earlier, I took the next step with greater confidence and speed.
In one swift motion, I engulfed as much of his cock as my mouth would allow. He shuttered, shook, and let out a moan—all at once. I'd only massaged the length of his shaft four times, before he shot his load in my mouth. I sucked, and swallowed, all of his load, and continued sucking him until he stopped me.

I asked, "So...?"

He didn't reply.

I laid on the bed next to him, as we had originally been arranged. I was nearly asleep, when he broke the silence, "That felt so weird. But I liked it."

"Cool." I said, amid shaking myself awake.

The silence was again resounding. It was late into the night, and I was considering driving home.

"Should I stay, or do you want me to go?" I asked him.

I longed to hear him say, <You should stay.> but I got no words from him. I looked over at him, and he was fast asleep. I smiled, deciding that I would stay in his bed with him. This was the closest I'd coming to having a boyfriend, and I wasn't about to let it be over. I pulled the blankets over both of us, stopping to admire his flaccid dick that still lay exposed. I considered going for a second round, but decided that would be wrong. If only he'd offered to take care of mine. . . I thought to myself as I lay under the blanket with him, absorbing his body heat.

I awoke several, at least I assume several, hours later. The sun was streaming through the solitary window in the room. He wasn't in the bed beside me, as he had been when I'd last remembered. I got up from the bed, my eyes slow to adjust to the sunlight. I saw no sign of him. I aimlessly walked through the house, looking for, but not expecting to find, him. I made my way to the kitchen, sitting at the bar—my mind searching for memories of what had happened last night. My pants tightened at the thoughts. I walked to the bathroom, to release what was left of last night's fluids—urinating with an erection was arduous, but not impossible.

I went searching through the house, this time determined to find him. I looked in each of the seven rooms in the house, respecting the eighth room that was his parents'. I couldn't find him anywhere. I texted him "Where are you?"

He replied almost instantly, "Sitting in a tree outside. Why?"

"I'm looking for you, that's why. Why a tree?"

"Come and find out :P"