The Siren

“You don’t have to like girls.”

I had never been this close to Byron before. I don’t think I’d been this close to any man aside from wrestling. Byron kissed me then, and I felt my cock harden inside my jeans.

“What do you mean?” I asked, scared, backing against the wall. “I don’t have to…”

“…like girls,” he repeated, and he kissed me again.

How did he know? How could he tell? I couldn’t ask. His mouth was on mine once more, and his hand was in my pants. I’d had plenty of women touch my dick before, but no man had ever come close. Why was there a difference? Why did it matter than Byron had his fist around my cock, and that his skin on mine felt more real than anything I’d ever felt before?

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said, and now he kissed the side of my neck, and I thought about how much I hadn’t wanted to dance with those spangled girls in the bar. Pretty, they’d been. But as repellant to me as that inflatable doll Suzy had left as my consolation prize.

I watched, dumbfounded, as Byron went on his knees in the alley. What was he doing? What was he thinking? He popped the fly on my Levi’s, and then my cock was out in the air, but only for a second before his warm lips found the head, and he started to suck. I wanted to watch him, handsome Byron, with his high cheekbones and his always messy straw-blond hair. But I couldn’t watch, the pleasure was too intense. I had to lean my head back on the bricks, close my eyes, think about anything else so I wouldn’t shoot right away.

Suzy and I hadn’t fucked in the last six months we’d been together. I’d tried, but I couldn’t get it up. She’d been patient, as patient as a type-A girl like her could be. She’d changed our diet. She’d insisted on exercise. She’d even done research on Viagra. I couldn’t tell her what I couldn’t tell any of them: that I could play the part of the rock-solid boyfriend at the start, because something new made the game interesting. But after things got real, my body rebelled. Didn’t matter where my head was—sometimes you can’t force a lie.

Byron used his palm to cup my balls as he sucked me. He worked me harder with his mouth than any girl ever had. He knew what he was doing. I felt myself getting close. My thigh muscles tightened. I wanted to come—oh, hell, yes—but I didn’t want this to end, either. This was the best thing that I’d ever experienced—no joke. A BJ in back of a happy-hour bar. What a strange world this was. I’d fucked women in penthouse apartments. I’d done the deed on a balcony in Paris. I’d even managed a threesome with two girls who were more anatomically perfect than the inflatable doll Suzy had left.

So what made this night trump all others?

Byron did. His mouth was warm and willing. His hands stroked me and played me. But then I started to worry. What would he say when he was done? Would we go back to being buddies? Would we…

“Come on,” he urged, backing up far enough to insist, “come for me. Let me swallow you up.”

That was all I needed. His lips locked around me once more, and I came hard, slamming into him, feeling that brilliant explosion of pure pleasure rocket through me. I was demolished as he moved back. I tucked myself into my jeans with shaky hands. Christ, that was good. I said it in my head before I could even manage to make my lips work.

“That was…” I started.

“…so fucking good,” he finished for me, and I had to smile.