...It’s hard to talk with your mouth full of cock. And anyway, I was fairly certain Butch Hollins’s question regarding the origin of my skills of sucking said cock was a rhetorical one. So I ignored it and kept up the suction. I didn’t want him to come too soon, so I teased him a little. I pulled off and let my tongue play with his cockhead, dance around the rim, lick the shiny mushroom head. Up to that point, Hollins had kept his hands by his sides, but just then he placed one on the top of my head and applied a modest but determined pressure. I smiled to myself: my tasty frat boy had just stepped over an invisible line. To reward him, I ducked down on his shaft and worked it with my throat. He was a chubby six inches—big enough, and I was no size queen.

When his cockhead hit the back of my throat, Hollins sucked in air like he’d been holding his breath for the last few minutes. I assumed the dull thunk I heard was the sound of his head hitting the bathroom door. It was out of sync with the rhythmic thumping from the music of the party downstairs.

While I worked Hollins’s cock with my mouth, I used one hand to massage his balls and perineum, but didn’t venture farther. I didn’t want to spook him. You had to be careful with straight boys. I kept my other hand on my own shaft, stroking it at a steady rhythm. When I felt his balls tighten and draw up, I took him down as deep as I could and hummed around his cock. His hips bucked and his warm cum gushed down my throat. Those guttural grunts and groans he made pushed me that much closer to my own release.

Hollins lifted his hand off my head, but otherwise didn’t move away while I brought myself to finish. It didn’t take long. My spunk splattered on the tiled floor, with a few stray drops landing on the cuffs of Hollins’s jeans.

“Boarding school,” I said, standing and zipping up my jeans.

“Huh?” Hollins’s eyes were still glazed over.

“That’s where I learned to suck cock,” I elaborated.

Hollins said nothing. Clearly, he wasn’t the chatty-after-sex kinda guy. That was fine with me. I made a half-hearted attempt to clean up the mess I’d made. I dabbed at it with a wad of toilet paper, then I gave up. I was sure the floor had seen worse and probably would see more of it before the night was over. We were in a frat house, it was Saturday night and the party downstairs was just warming up.

I checked myself out in the mirror: there was a drop of spunk at the corner of my swollen mouth. I stuck my tongue out and licked it off. Tussled dark hair: check. Blue eyes above flushed cheeks: check. I looked my debauched best. It was time for me to take my leave before things got awkward.

“It’s been nice blowing you, Hollins. See you around, ’kay?” I said with my friendly, it’s-no-big-deal smile I kept for these occasions.