First time with a guy

My slut phase after the divorce was a fucking whirlwind. I’d spent so long being someone’s husband, following all the rules, that when it all fell apart, something in me just snapped. I needed to feel everything I’d been missing. I played around with a few women, and it was fun, sure, but there was this nagging curiosity in the back of my mind, a question I’d never let myself fully ask: what would a guy be like? What did it feel like to be with one, to touch one, to taste one? The thought alone sent a jolt right through me, equal parts terrifying and thrilling.

So, I did what anyone does in this century. I created a profile on the usual app, my heart hammering against my ribs as I set my preferences to ‘Men’. The flood of messages was overwhelming. A lot of it was crude, direct, just a dick pic and a “u up?”. It was enough to make me want to delete the whole thing and forget about it. My courage would come in waves, usually late at night after a few drinks, and then vanish by the cold light of morning. I’d chat with a guy for a bit, the fantasy hot in my mind, but when it came time to actually meet, I’d chicken out. Every single time.

Then, I started talking to Leo. He was different. His profile pictures showed a guy with a genuine, easy smile, warm eyes, and a mop of messy brown hair that looked like he’d just run his hands through it. He was 22, bi, and had this incredibly calm, patient way of texting. He didn’t push. He just talked. We talked about music, about stupid TV shows, and eventually, about why I was on the app. I told him I was new to all of this, that I was nervous as hell. He said it was cool, that everyone starts somewhere, and that he’d be happy to just hang out, no pressure. It was that, the “no pressure,” that finally made me feel like I could breathe. After a week of chatting, the fantasy wasn’t just a dirty thought anymore; it was a real, tangible possibility with a face and a name. One Thursday night, with a bottle of liquid courage in me, I typed out the message: “You still wanna hang out?”

His response was almost immediate. “Yeah, come over.”

The drive to his apartment felt like an out-of-body experience. My palms were slick with sweat on the steering wheel, and my mind was racing through a thousand scenarios, most of them ending in catastrophic, humiliating failure. What if I couldn’t get it up? What if I had no idea what I was doing? What if he took one look at me and changed his mind? I parked my car a block away, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest. I walked up to his door, the sound of my own footsteps deafening in the quiet night. I took a deep, shaky breath and knocked.

The door opened, and there he was. He was even cuter in person, wearing just a pair of soft-looking gray sweatpants and a tight white t-shirt that showed off his lean, toned frame. He smiled that easy smile. “Hey, you must be Mauricio. Come in.”

His place was small and cozy, dimly lit by a single lamp, with band posters on the walls and a faint, clean smell. “You good?” he asked, his voice softer than I’d imagined.

“Yeah,” I managed to get out, though my voice was tight. “Just… a little nervous.”

He didn’t laugh or make a joke. He just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me in a warm, solid hug. It wasn’t sexual; it was comforting. “That’s okay,” he murmured into my shoulder. “It’s totally normal. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

But I was there for a reason. The hug, his scent, the closeness of his body, it all melted the last of my hesitation. I pulled back just enough to look at him, and then I leaned in and kissed him.

It was different from kissing a woman. The feel of his stubble against my face was a rough, new sensation, and his lips were firmer. But it was good. So good. He kissed me back, his tongue meeting mine, and a low groan escaped my throat. He took my hand. “Come upstairs,” he said, his voice now a little husky.

We stumbled into his bedroom, a similarly cozy space with a rumpled bed. We fell onto it, a tangle of limbs, and just made out for what felt like an eternity. His hands roamed over my back, under my shirt, and I did the same, feeling the hard planes of his muscles. We broke apart only to frantically pull our clothes off. When he was finally naked, standing in front of me, I let my eyes drink him in. He was perfect. Slender but defined, with smooth skin and a trail of dark hair leading down from his navel. And his dick… fuck. It was bigger than mine, not porn-star massive, but a solid, beautiful seven inches, thick and curving slightly upwards, with a cute little bush at the base. It was hard and already leaking a little.

He laid me down on the bed and started kissing me again, but this time, he didn’t stop at my lips. He kissed my jaw, my neck, my collarbone, moving down my chest, his tongue flicking over my nipples, making me arch my back. He continued his slow, torturous journey down my stomach, kissing and licking every inch, until he was nestled between my legs. He wrapped his hand around my cock, his grip firm and sure. “You still good?” he asked, his breath hot on my skin.

“Fuck, yes,” I gasped, my hips bucking involuntarily.

Then he took me into his mouth.

A strangled, guttural moan was ripped from my throat. It was a sensation unlike any other. The heat, the wetness, the skillful way his tongue swirled around the head while he bobbed up and down. He was incredible. I looked down and the sight of him, his lips stretched around my shaft, his eyes closed in concentration, was the most erotic thing I had ever seen. He looked up at me, our eyes locking, and I could feel the pressure building deep in my gut, a tight, coiling heat. “Leo… I’m close,” I panted, my fingers tangling in his hair.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he hummed, the vibration shooting straight through my dick, and took me even deeper. One of his hands cupped my balls, massaging them gently, while the other stroked what his mouth couldn’t take. It was too much. I cried out, my body seizing up as I came, hard, pulses of hot cum shooting down his throat. He swallowed every last drop, milking me with his mouth until I was twitching and oversensitive.

I collapsed back onto the bed, boneless and breathless. He crawled up my body, kissed me deeply, and I could taste myself on his tongue, a salty, musky flavor that should have been weird but was just intensely hot. “Your turn,” I whispered against his lips, the curiosity now a burning need.

He smiled. “No rush. Take your time.”

He laid back on the pillows, and I mimicked his path, kissing my way down his chest and stomach. His skin tasted clean, slightly salty. When I got to his dick, I hesitated for a second, just looking at it up close. It was veiny and beautiful. I leaned in and tentatively licked the shaft from base to tip. He let out a soft sigh. Emboldened, I kissed the swollen, slick head, tasting his pre-cum. It was mild, a little salty. I opened my mouth and took him in.

The feeling was incredible. To have this hard, living flesh in my mouth, to feel him pulse on my tongue. I started slowly, trying to remember what felt good for me. I bobbed my head, using my tongue, exploring the shape of him. His moans grew louder, his hips giving little involuntary thrusts. “Oh, fuck, Mauricio… that’s so good.”

Hearing him moan my name like that sent a fresh wave of arousal through me. I got more confident, taking him deeper, faster. I relaxed my throat, determined, and managed to take him all the way down until my nose was buried in his pubes. I deep-throated him. The feeling of his dick hitting the back of my throat, the faint, masculine taste of him, it was all a fucking turn-on. I set a rhythm, one hand on his hip, the other fondling his balls, and I sucked him like my life depended on it.

His breathing became ragged, his moans turning into desperate pleas. “I’m gonna cum, man… I’m really close.”

I pulled off, a string of saliva connecting my lips to his glistening cock. “I want it,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I want to feel you come in my mouth.”

I went back down, sucking him with a fervor I didn’t know I possessed. A few more strokes and he suddenly tensed, his whole body going rigid. “I’m cumming!” he cried out, his hips lifting off the bed. The first warm, thick spurt hit the back of my throat. Then another, and another, pulse after pulse filling my mouth. The taste was stronger now, musky and unique, but I loved it. I loved the physical proof of his pleasure. I swallowed every drop, not letting a single bit go to waste, until he was soft and sensitive in my mouth.

I crawled up and collapsed beside him, both of us slick with sweat and breathing heavily. He pulled me into his arms, and we just lay there, cuddling, his cum still on my breath. It was intimate in a way I hadn’t expected. After a while, we got dressed in a comfortable silence. He walked me to the door and gave me one last, soft kiss. “Drive safe.”

I saw him a couple more times after that. It was always just as hot, just as intense. But life got in the way, as it always does. I still think about him sometimes, though. I miss his cute ass, his easy smile, and goddamn, I really miss his dick.