(posted December 29, 2005)
by Harry Hopkinson
His eyes are brilliant and blue. Of a brightness that boys have when they’re still young and restless and so easily bored. They are looking up at me. I am caught in their wet blue.
My head tilts back and my eyeballs roll into their sockets. I open my eyes and look down again. He is also looking down. He is bent on freeing my balls from my jeans. He smiles when he succeeds. I groan as he feels, lifts and fondles one and then the other. He plays adeptly with their hairiness and heaviness. Deftly, he dips his head and sucks on a ball. I feel his tongue gliding back and forth. I smile. He’s good, this bright-eyed boy.
I grab his wet, curly hair with my hands. His muffled groan penetrates my groin. He slides his wet tongue from my balls up my cock to its glistening tip. He hovers over its dimensions. His breath is heavy and hot and moist. I bring his head down. He complies and opens wide.
His mouth fucks me with vigour and obvious pleasure. I push against his throat. My head pounds. I move his head in rhythm to my pulse. All I can sputter is “fuck.” I tighten my grip and tense my arse. I gasp and come and spurt, shooting him from the inside. I see sweat and a trickle of white. And a minute later those eyes again.
“What’s your name?”
I tell him.
“I’m George,” he says. “And I love the taste of your cum.”
“Flattery will get you far,” I tell him.
“Ah, but right now I like being … here.”
The blue brightens with his smile. I pull him up and we kiss. Our tongues meet, and in his mouth I can taste myself. By now my taste has mingled with his. It’s a delicious combination.
My naked penis rubs against his covered hardness. I run my hand along the bulge. Impressive. I smile and reach for the zipper. He closes his eyes in anticipation. That smile again.
“Come here, George.”
I take his hand and lead him to my bed. We sit and I turn to face him. How can anyone’s eyes be so blue in this darkened room? He closes in on me, and the question falls aside.
I was first drawn to him when I noticed his balls. They were pressing their asymmetrical fatness against his pants. They seemed ripe and ready to burst. I wanted to suck and taste them. I imagined their weight in my mouth. The point at which the seams of his pants met was a bullseye for my gaze. I couldn’t look away.
He was casually seated in the café, glancing over the menu. I approached and asked him for his order. He looked up at me and smiled. He returned to the menu and said he would like the gunpowder tea. He looked up again and asked if I was new here.
“Yes”, I replied.
It was a job to get me through university. He asked me what I was studying.
“Arts,” I replied.
He shifted in his seat. I glanced again at his crotch. He’d graduated eight years ago, he said, and was now an engineer. Then he paused. He remarked on the blueness of my eyes. I smiled and said I’d return with his order. I felt him studying my back as I walked away.
He is asleep now, lying on his back with his penis slung over his curls, balls heavy between his legs. I look up and survey his room. Spartan. Clothes on the floor. Light coming in through a crack between the curtains. I think back to when I first kissed him on his bed. I had bitten his bottom lip because I wanted to taste his mouth.
He stroked my penis. I rubbed its tip against his belly. He told me I was big. I told him he was bigger. He laughed and tilted his head. Then he pushed me down and took out a condom from a drawer. He placed it over my penis and pulled it down its length. He eased me slowly inside him. I felt him contract and expand until I was finally embedded.
I remember thinking how he looked like an Asian woman, squatting there, moving up and down, up and down, up and down. And then he dropped to his knees and embraced me with his thighs. I held onto his hips and followed his rocking motion, slipping in and slipping out. We moved faster. My breath grew shallower. His mouth was open and panting. His balls were big and slapping. I ran my fingers down his back. I squeezed his arse. He moved faster. I lost all sense of time. And then the room exploded.
I have always shied away from a love that is big. Why fuck with emotions that make you burst and bleed? A big cock inside you is better than a big broken heart. Boyfriends are alright as long as they keep their distance. But sometimes something is not just big; it is so big it makes you bold. It shakes you and won’t let you go. It slaps you and you want more. It’s not something you feel very often. If you don’t follow it, then you are left wondering. You are left wondering for a very long time.
When this blue-eyed boy came to me in the café, I felt something big. I felt something I didn’t want to feel. Perhaps it was simply a matter of timing. The reasons are irrelevant in the face of what I felt. I felt bold. This may well turn out to be too big for him and for me. But as they say, there is only one way to find out. To find out, you have to be bold. To find out, you have to be big.
He returns the next day. Different pants, same bulge. He smiles when he sees me approaching.
He is coming towards me. I know what I want: camomile tea and him. He asks me what I want. I tell him. Boldness.
They leave the café together after closing time and walk the short distance to the house where one of them lives. They get out of bed the next morning and fuck against the wall. They have a long, long shower. Sitting comfortably in his kitchen, they have bacon and eggs on toast. It is the weekend. They
have all the time in the world.
One talks about his studies, the other about his work. They are getting to know each other. There is boldness living here.