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Where it happened: friend's house
Rating: 7
Category: Straight

All right, it’s the seventies and we’re both in junior high. My friend was a latch-key kid and his parents were gone for hours after we got home from school. He used to write and draw all these great pictures and we’d hang out or play G.I.Joes.
My dad had a huge stash of Playboy and Penthouse mags and I had recently had my first orgasm looking at them. John (I’ll call him that) and I were both skinny sci-fi geeks and didn’t get much attention from the girls, though we talked constantly about what we’d like to do to a few in particular.
One month an issue of Penthouse featured a lesbian strip poker spread and it was so hot I just had to share it. I slipped it out of the house under my shirt and rode my bike to John’s as fast as I could.
We went staight to his room on the floor when I got there and gawked at the pictures, wondering out loud whether any of the girls we liked were into that sort of thing. I had a raging hard-on and I’m sure he did too. I started to get an idea.
“Wouldn’t it be great if we could get some one here to do this with us?” I said.
“Not likely,” John replied.
“Well, let’s pretend.” We had a long history of pretending, believe me.
“Find a deck of cards, and we’ll play.
We can turn the pages to match what happens in the game.”
He looked at me kind of funny, but damn if he didn’t find the cards!
We sat down on his bedroom floor and dealt the cards. I won’t bore you with details about the game, but as the girls in the magazine lost their clothes, so did we. When we got to the last couple of pages, we were both naked, awkwardly trying not to look at each other or touch ourselves.
“Now what?” John asked. The magazine girls were licking each other at this point, and we were both hard as only horny young boys can get. So hard you ache.
I took a big chance and said “Well, the girls seem to like what they’re doing. Let’s say high card get’s to tell the other what to do.”
That funny look again, but he went for it. Wild guess who lost.
So we’re both sitting there, skinny, naked, barely any pubic hair, crazy horny, and John can’t decide what I should do.
“I guess I could blow you,” I heard myself say.
God, I relive that scene so many times now. That first tentative touch of his young cock. My first taste of salty pre-cum. The way his stomach fluttered with tension and excitement as I sucked him. I didn’t know it then but he was pretty big. I looked up at his face to see how he liked it, and his head was thrown back, eyes closed, gasping for air.

When he came (for the very first time in his life) it was like a flood of salt water. It was all I could do to keep hold of his smooth young hips as he bucked and thrust into my mouth, emptying buckets of cum down my throat with each stroke. It was my first blow job, too, but as he relaxed, almost passing out, and I swallowed the last of his warm, muskyfluids, I knew I’d be doing this again. And again.

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