First Time in the Men's Room

Barrett stood at the urinal with his cock in his hand and the downtown restroom humming around him, pipes knocking behind the tile. He was eighteen, a city-college freshman with a lean frame and nowhere else he had to be for the next hour. Fluorescent light made everything look harder than it was. He had nearly finished when the door opened and a man stepped up beside him.

Rupert was forty-two, a muscular businessman whose suit jacket strained across his shoulders and whose shirt pulled tight over a chest that clearly saw a gym more often than a desk. He unzipped without looking over, thick fingers drawing out a heavy cock that settled warm and substantial in his palm. Barrett kept his eyes forward until he felt the glance. Then he looked.

Rupert’s shaft was already thickening, darkening at the head, veins lifting as blood filled it. Barrett’s own cock stirred in his fist before he could pretend otherwise. The older man’s voice came low and even.

“You’ve got a nice cock.”

Heat shot through Barrett’s stomach. He turned his head fully and watched Rupert’s length rise, the crown swelling, the weight of it obvious even half-hard. His mouth went dry. He heard himself answer without thinking.

“Yours looks damned good too.”

The words hung between them. Rupert stroked once, slow, letting the skin move and the head gleam under the lights. Barrett’s fingers tightened. They stood shoulder to shoulder at the porcelain, two strangers with their cocks out and hardening in the open air, the restroom empty except for the drip of a faucet and the low rush of their breathing. Barrett’s pulse hammered. He wanted to reach across the few inches of tile and wrap his hand around that thick shaft. He wanted Rupert’s hand on him. The want was sudden and total, electric enough that his knees felt loose.

Rupert glanced at the door, then back at Barrett’s flushed face and rising cock. A small, certain smile touched his mouth. He gave himself another slow stroke, and Barrett’s cock jumped in answer, already leaking at the tip. Neither of them looked away. The tension sat between them like a live wire, mutual and unmistakable, and Barrett knew he was not going to walk out of that restroom the same way he had walked in.

Rupert tucked himself away only enough to zip, then nodded toward the exit. “My apartment’s two blocks from here,” he said, voice still calm, still low. “Come with me. I’ll show you what that mouth of yours is for, and then I’ll fuck you.”

Barrett’s cock throbbed so hard he had to bite the inside of his cheek. He was already aroused past the point of pretending he might say no. Curiosity burned under the arousal, sharp and clean. He had never sucked a cock. He had never been fucked. Standing there with his own dick hard and Rupert’s offer hanging in the tiled air, he wanted both more than he had wanted anything in months.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay. Yeah.”

They walked out into the late-afternoon street with their jackets half-buttoned over obvious bulges. Rupert’s car was a dark sedan at the curb. Barrett slid into the passenger seat, heart pounding, and the doors locked with a soft click. The drive was short, just long enough for the city to blur past the windows, and Rupert did not waste it. One big hand left the wheel and settled high on Barrett’s thigh, palm hot through the denim, fingers spreading until the edge of his thumb brushed the swollen line of Barrett’s cock.

“Keep it out if you want,” Rupert said. “I like looking at it.”

Barrett fumbled his zipper down and freed himself. His cock stood up against his stomach, flushed and wet at the tip. Rupert’s hand closed around the base and stroked once, firm and unhurried, then returned to the thigh and squeezed.

“When we get upstairs,” Rupert said, eyes on the road, voice roughening, “you’re going to get on your knees. I’m going to put this thick cock in your mouth and teach you how to suck it. You’ll gag. You’ll drool. You’ll take as much as you can, and I’ll hold your head and show you the rest. Then I’m going to bend you over and open that tight hole with my tongue until you’re shaking. I’ll slick my cock and slide it into you slow the first time so you feel every inch. After that I’m going to fuck you hard. Long strokes. Deep. You’ll moan for it. You’ll take it. And when I flip you onto your back, I’m going to pound you until we both come.”

Barrett’s hips jerked. Rupert’s hand slid higher again, knuckles grazing the underside of his cock, not quite stroking, just promising. Barrett gripped the seat and breathed through his mouth. Every sentence landed like a hand on bare skin. He could already taste it, already feel the stretch he had only imagined. The older man’s thigh was solid under the suit pants, muscle shifting when he braked. Barrett reached over without asking and laid his palm there, feeling the heat, the strength.

“You want that,” Rupert said. It was not quite a question.

“I want it,” Barrett said. His voice cracked. “I want you to teach me. I want you to fuck me.”

Rupert’s fingers tightened on his thigh hard enough to leave a mark Barrett already knew he would look at later. The car turned into an underground garage. By the time the engine cut, both of them were breathing like they had run. Rupert leaned across the console, close enough that Barrett smelled cologne and clean sweat, and spoke against his ear.

“Good boy. Upstairs. Now.”

The elevator ride was a blur of mirrored walls and Rupert’s hand at the small of Barrett’s back, guiding, possessive, never forcing. The apartment door shut behind them and the city noise dropped away. Rupert’s place was spare and warm, a leather couch facing tall windows, the late light turning the floor gold. He shrugged out of his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and let Barrett see the chest and stomach underneath, thick muscle, a line of dark hair disappearing into his waistband. Then he opened his pants and drew his cock out fully.

It was bigger than it had looked at the urinal. Thick, heavy, the head broad and flushed, a clear bead already shining at the slit. Barrett stared, mouth watering, cock aching in his open jeans.

“On your knees,” Rupert said.

Barrett dropped. The carpet was soft under his knees. Rupert stepped in close, one hand settling on the back of Barrett’s head, not pushing yet, just resting there, warm and sure. The scent of him filled Barrett’s nose, skin and musk and the faint trace of soap. Barrett opened his mouth and leaned in.

The first taste was salt and heat. He licked the bead from the slit, then closed his lips around the head and sucked. Rupert groaned, low in his chest, and the sound went straight to Barrett’s cock. He took more, inch by inch, tongue working the underside the way he had always imagined he might. The thickness stretched his jaw. When the head nudged the back of his throat he gagged, eyes watering, and pulled back with a wet sound, spit stringing from his lip to the shining crown.

“That’s it,” Rupert said. His fingers tightened in Barrett’s hair, guiding him back down. “Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat. Take it again.”

Barrett did. He sank until he gagged a second time, drool spilling over his chin and onto Rupert’s balls. The older man held him there for a heartbeat, then let him up, then guided him down again, setting a rhythm. Barrett’s world narrowed to the thick cock sliding over his tongue, the weight of it, the way Rupert’s hips rolled in small, controlled thrusts that taught him the depth without overwhelming him. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder. Spit ran down his neck. His own cock leaked steadily onto the carpet between his knees. Every gag made his eyes water and his cock jump. He wanted more of it. He wanted all of it.

Rupert’s voice stayed steady even while his thighs tensed. “Look at you. Eighteen and already drooling on my cock like you were made for it. Use your hand on what you can’t swallow. Twist. Good. Just like that.”

Barrett wrapped his fist around the base and worked it in time with his mouth, slurping, gagging, learning the shape of the head against his soft palate. Rupert fucked his mouth in short strokes, careful and deep, praising him in a rough murmur every time he took another inch. Barrett’s jaw ached. His chin was soaked. He had never felt so used and so wanted at the same time, and the combination made him moan around the shaft until Rupert’s breath caught.

“Enough,” Rupert said at last, pulling free with a wet pop. His cock glistened, angry-red and dripping. “Pants off. Bend over the couch.”

Barrett scrambled up, kicking his jeans and briefs aside, shirt shoved to his ribs. He braced his hands on the back of the leather couch and bent, ass up, legs spread, heart slamming. Rupert knelt behind him. Big hands spread his cheeks. Cool air hit his hole, then the hot, wet drag of a tongue.

Barrett cried out. Rupert rimmed him slowly at first, broad licks that made his thighs shake, then tighter circles, then the pointed push of his tongue against the tight ring. Barrett’s cock swung and leaked. He pushed back without meaning to, greedy for it, and Rupert groaned against him and licked deeper, opening him with spit and patience until Barrett was panting and the muscle fluttered under the attention.

“Please,” Barrett heard himself say. “Please, I want it. Fuck me.”

Rupert stood. A drawer opened. The cap of a bottle clicked. Cool lube slicked over Barrett’s hole, then a thick finger pressed in, slow and sure, working the lube inside. A second finger joined it, stretching, scissoring, finding the spot that made Barrett’s vision white out for a second. Rupert’s other hand stroked his own cock, coating it until it shone.

“Breathe,” Rupert said, and the broad head nudged Barrett’s hole.

He pushed. The stretch burned, bright and enormous, and Barrett gripped the couch and bore down the way his body seemed to know how. The head popped inside. Both of them groaned. Rupert held still, one hand spread on Barrett’s lower back, letting him adjust, murmuring that he was doing perfectly, that he was tight and hot and taking it so well. Then he slid deeper, inch by thick inch, until his hips met Barrett’s ass and the whole heavy length was buried.

Barrett shook. He felt split open and full in a way he had no words for. Rupert drew back slowly and pushed in again, a long, deep stroke that dragged over every nerve. Then another. Then another, building, the pace steady and thorough. The burn melted into a heavy, rolling pleasure that made Barrett moan on every thrust. Rupert fucked him harder, hips snapping, the couch creaking, balls slapping skin. Long strokes. Deep strokes. Barrett’s cock bounced and leaked onto the leather. He pushed back to meet them, wanting the depth, wanting the weight of the older man’s body driving into him.

“That’s it,” Rupert growled. “Take it. Take every inch. You feel how deep I am? That’s mine now. Your first cock, and you’re moaning for it like you’ve been waiting.”

“I have,” Barrett gasped. “Fuck, harder, please, don’t stop.”

Rupert obliged. He gripped Barrett’s hips and pounded him, the rhythm turning rough and perfect, each stroke bottoming out and pulling a broken sound from Barrett’s throat. Sweat slicked their skin. The room filled with the wet sound of fucking and Barrett’s helpless moans. When Rupert slowed, it was only to pull out carefully, turn Barrett, and guide him down onto his back on the couch cushions, legs lifted and spread.

“Want to see your face,” Rupert said, and slid back in.

The new angle hit deeper. Barrett’s eyes rolled. Rupert braced a hand beside his head and fucked him in long, driving strokes, watching every flicker of pleasure cross the younger man’s face. Barrett reached up and held onto those thick shoulders, feeling the muscle work, feeling the cock piston into him again and again. Rupert kissed him once, messy and hot, then straightened and pounded harder, the couch thumping the wall, Barrett crying out with every deep thrust, cock slapping his stomach, untouched and desperate.

“I’m close,” Barrett panted. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

“Come for me,” Rupert said, voice breaking. “Come while I fuck you.”

Barrett’s hand flew to his cock. Two strokes and he was gone, back arching, hole clenching hard around the thick shaft as he shot across his own chest and stomach in thick pulses, moaning Rupert’s name. The grip of him dragged Rupert over the edge a second later. Rupert drove in deep, held, and then pulled out with a rough groan, fist working his shining cock. He came hard, stripes of hot come landing across Barrett’s chest and the mess already there, pulse after pulse, until he was spent and shaking.

They stayed like that, breathing wrecked, the room smelling of sex and sweat and lube. Rupert’s hand rested on Barrett’s thigh, thumb stroking once, gentle now. Barrett blinked up at the ceiling and felt the ache in his jaw, the deeper ache in his ass, the sticky warmth cooling on his skin, and under all of it a satisfaction so complete it made him laugh once, soft and disbelieving.

Rupert caught his breath and looked him over, pride and heat still in his eyes. “You took that first fucking like you were born for it,” he said. “Tight, eager, loud. I could fuck you for hours.”

Barrett wiped a thumb through the come on his chest and met his gaze, cheeks flushed, smile unsteady and real. “I want to do it again,” he said. “Soon. I don’t want this to be the only time.”

They cleaned up in the bathroom with warm towels and quiet hands, no rush, no awkwardness, just the easy aftermath of something both of them had wanted. At the door, jackets on, city waiting, Rupert’s hand lingered at Barrett’s waist.

Barrett looked up at him, already hungry again under the soreness, and asked the only question that mattered.

“Same time next week, or do you want me back here tonight?”