Cock-Sucker - Testimony Ch. 03: Wolfie

"I've never seen yours dangly, it's always standing proud, what about flesh-torpedo, Magic Wand, One-Eyed Trouser-Snake, Fuck-Stick..."

"Fuck-stick? You made that up. You invented it!"

"Well, how about this, for those who like giving blow-jobs, what about Tonsil-Tickler? Or it's your Mouth-Organ, get it?"

By now we're both laughing uncontrollably. And 'playing the mouth-organ' becomes a regular sniggery joke between us. A coded reference that sets us off into bursts of laughter.

He tells stories, acting out the parts, that always doubles me up with laughter. "I was with this other guy, we were sitting on the bed together, tossing off. It's not as though we were friends or anything. I didn't even like him all that much. It was just curiosity I guess, and the spirit of experiment. I'm sure you've done stuff like that too...? And he did have a nice cock. Inevitably we're soon tossing each other off, you know the way it is. It's just starting to feel real good. Then he gets a bright idea, stands up awkwardly and grabs a handful of elastic bands from the top of the unit. He pulls and pushes us around until he gets us so that we're both kneeling on the bed side by side, he gets both our cocks in his hand and squeezes them together, then pulls an elastic band round them, so that we're fixed together at the groin. He looks down at our two cocks, rolls the band further down so its at the very base of both, and he likes what he sees, so he gets another band and slips it around just below the heads, this is tighter and stings a bit, but that only makes us laugh and grimace all the more. Two cocks, fastened together side by side by two elastic bands."

He continues. "They look swollen, flushed red and distressed, but he's not done yet. A third elastic band, about mid-point, then he begins fumbling around so that he can fit one around our balls. By now I'm helpless with laughter, it's uncomfortable, but he succeeds, so that our four balls are sticking out from the tight encircling band. He gets yet another band, but with the jostling, the pressure and the feeling up he's losing control, his head goes back, he's biting his lip, but it's too late, he begins spunking off. As I'm crushed in so tight to his pulsing jerking cock it sets me off too... with the sperm-ducts constricted it's the strangest weird sensation, verging on painful, but hey - any cum is a good cum and soon both our cocks are drenched with spurting spunk. It's only then he tries to get the bands off. They're slippery and stringy-wet with dollops of spunk, they're biting into the tender skin of our softening dicks, and it takes - like, forever..."

All the while he's acting it out, holding his cock, holding imaginary elastic bands carefully with thumb and forefinger, as I laugh.

At other times we just lie together in the Laundry Room, languorously naked, not exactly in each others' arms, but with limbs casually entwined, my head resting on his bare stomach, or his on my chest, simply basking in the comfort of physical intimacy. Finding solace together in each others' body-warmth, a sanctuary of tenderness in this terrible place. Probably my most 'gay' moments of them all, because it's emotional as well as sexual. We must look like something out of Oscar Wilde's most fevered decadent dream, nude youths, all passion spent in post-orgasmic glow. But those moments of - dare I say, closeness, help keep me sane.

And as we lie together he whispers to me. "You want to know something? Me, I'm a sexual opportunist. I've always taken whatever I can, whenever the opportunity presented itself. You, you're different. You're more focussed. You're a cock-sucker, it's what you do, it's what you were born to do. I knew it from the first time you did me. You're a blow-job artist."

I was unsure how to respond. "Is that a good thing?"

"It's not a bad thing. We are what we are. I knew from the first moment we did it, you are a born cock-sucker. It's in your DNA. You do it so beautifully because you have that need within you."

I stay silent. I recognise the truth of his words. The words stay with me. Yes, this is what I am. This is what I was destined for. I was born to suck cock...

This is bone-hard anatomical fact. Kept on the permanent edge by a sex-addiction so powerful I'm able to think of little else. In my mind, I am now the 'little boy blue' from 'The Random Rod' book, desired and abused by turn, enduring the attentions of lustful masters because that is the role that has been written for me. It is my story.

There's another book I browse, called 'Horatio Cockblower RN' by Dick Diver, which is a kind of sado-erotic version of CS Forester, set in maritime Napoleonic days. It's geographically incorrectly subtitled 'a tale from down-under', unless that's a pun on the genital zones? The central character, Horatio Cockblower is a young idealistic puritan naval officer who takes leave of Emily, his demure chastely virginal fiancé and his strict upstanding clerical parents in Portsmouth for his first commission with the Levant Company, to serve god and empire as captain of the 'Golden Satyr'. On their maiden voyage into the Mediterranean the shocked captain discovers members of his crew taking cabin-boy Tinker below-decks to 'show him the golden bolt', which is naval euphemism for buggering him. In attempting to stop what he erroneously decides is 'abuse' the crew mutiny and cast him adrift in a row-boat.

Beaching on the Barbary Coast he is captured by arabs and placed in an all-male harem where he's trained in man-on-man sexual techniques. At first he resists, but gradually he accepts his new situation. The novel ends with the once-virtuous captain broken, his spirit crushed and reduced to servile sexual slavery. As such, its morality is seriously flawed, unless it's to be read as the darkest black humour, or an assault on religious pretensions in the way it sets up the contradiction between spirit and flesh. Maybe. Reading it, I'm inclined to wonder whether god has a sense of humour. Then I wonder whether I'm a bad sinful person for wondering whether god has a sense of humour.

'Horatio Cockblower RN' and 'The Random Rod' are silly, ridiculous stories designed only to stimulate a pleasing reaction in your groin. And, despite everything, they succeed in producing that effect on me. Stupid brainless tales, who could take them seriously? Yet here I am, living my own story, and who could reasonably believe all the things happening to me? My situation is nowhere near as bad as good Captain Cockblower's. But, like him, certain conclusions must be drawn. Everything seems to be conspiring towards convincing me that what I am living now, is my life. This is what I have been destined for by fate, by genetic disposition, or by some generous deity with a dirty mind and a playful sense of humour.

What extreme strangeness has it in store for me next...?

(The story continues in Part 4)

by Tristan Trotsky