Unrequited Love

Every week is exactly the same. I don't know why I allow myself to be treated this way.

I wait for you in my car in the parking lot—you are never on time. Sometimes I wait for as long as forty-minutes for you to park next to me, and when you finally arrive I can never get out of my car fast enough without you honking your car horn. Your passenger door is always locked, and since you have tinted windows I have to knock on the door until I hear you open the lock.

Once I am seated beside you and I see your handsome face my heart melts and I smile at you. You never smile back at me.

Even though I just barely get seated you always say, "What are you waiting for faggot—open my pants and take out my cock."

"Yes, sir," I always respond. That is all you permit me to say.

I open your slacks—I'm getting good at unbuckling your belt—then I slide your zipper down. You laugh at me when I struggle pulling down your slacks and underwear. You finally lift your hips to assist me.

Your long, slender penis is lying against your thigh and I know better now than to wait so I bury my face into your crotch. As soon as I press my lips and tongue against your soft flesh, and I breathe in your manly aroma my own penis stiffens inside my pants.

I kiss and caress your beautiful cock. I fondle your scrotum—I massage your balls the way you like it. I run my tongue up and down the underside of your cock. As your penis becomes fully stiff I feel the vein that runs the length of your shaft enlarge and your purple, mushroom cockhead becomes three-times its normal size.

"Suck me off, faggot," you always say when you're ready to use my mouth.

"Yes, sir," I say softly.

I wet my lips and slide them over your cockhead. My tongue lathers your soft skin—my tongue is never still and never leaves your cockflesh. I settle into a smooth and slow rhythm; my lips rising and falling on your cock while my hand strokes your shaft.

I know you love to be sucked for at least ten-fifteen minutes. My jaw muscles always ache when I'm finished.

It is during this time that memories flood my mind. I think about what I could have done differently and I curse myself for not having the self-control to have resisted you in the first place. I am a weak man and am paying the price for my weakness.

You were my roommate in our last year in college. You had gone to school on a football scholarship, but had suffered one too many concussions and was advised to quit playing football. You moved out of the 'jock dorm' and just happened to move in with me.

I had never had a gay thought in my life. The idea of sex with a man never occurred to me, but when I first saw you naked in our room, and felt my heart pounding and my pulse racing, I felt scared and ashamed.

We did everything together. We hung-out together—we partied together—we talked and laughed—we even met our future wives when we were together. You were smart and funny, you looked like a Greek God, you were very fun to be with—I felt lucky to be able to be your friend.

One night after we had double-dated, and as usual, the girls wouldn't 'put-out' for us, we were especially horny when we returned to our room. We stripped down to our underwear, you in your boxers and me in my bikini briefs, and you decided you wanted to talk instead of sleep. You had a strange look in your eyes.

"Have you ever thought about making it with a guy?" you asked me.

My face turned red. "No—no...I'm not that way," I stammered.

"Neither am I," you said, "...but, you know...I've seen the way you look at me...when I'm naked...I've seen you looking at my cock...I know you want my cock."

I was in shock. Before I could say anything you moved next to me on my bed and put your arm around me. I was both thrilled and embarrassed. You took my hand and pressed it against your cock—you had a hard-on. I tried to pull away but you are much stronger than me.

"Squeeze it," you said in a low, odd voice, as you held my hand on your erection.

It was at this moment in my life that my self-control completely broke down—I should have known better but my weakness got the best of me--I squeezed your cock through the fabric of your boxers.

You smiled and held my hand against your cock and began moving it up-and-down your shaft. When I began stroking your cock without guidance you suddenly lifted your hips and pulled down your boxers.

"Look at it," you told me. "Look at my beautiful cock—I know you want it."

I was in a trance. It was like I had no free-will to resist. I stared at your cock. You took my hand again and placed it on your hard flesh. My cock stiffened inside my briefs. You noticed my excitement and laughed.

"Just as I thought—you love my cock," you said triumphantly.

"Stroke it for me—make me cum—this will be our little secret—nobody will ever know, okay?" your words were mesmerizing.

My hand seemed to act on its own volition. I began stroking your cock.

"Okay," I said.

The feel of your hot flesh in my hand was the most thrilling sensation I had ever experienced. I couldn't take my eyes off your cock as I stroked it faster-and-faster. When I watched the long strands of white cum shooting from your cockslit I thought my own balls would explode.

You wiped the cum from your thighs and smoothed it over my face. I was too humiliated for words.

You left my bed, turned out the lights and climbed into your bed.

"Pull down your shorts and jerk-off—I want to hear you jerking-off..." you said in the dark.

I don't know why I obeyed you. I pulled down my briefs and wrapped my hand around my shaft and began stroking it. I was so far gone I knew it wouldn't take long.

"Think about my cock while you masturbate..." you said softly.

I pictured your beautiful cock as I stroked myself to the most powerful orgasm of my life. When I came, I heard you laughing in the dark.

Your hips began a slight, upward thrusting as you held my head to your cock. My hand stroked you faster and my lips and tongue worked hard to make you cum. I felt your balls contract in my hand and I pressed my tongue to your cockslit. My tongue lapped up your semen as you thrashed about wildly. When you finished I cleaned your cock with my lips and tongue.

"Your turn, bitch--look at my cock while you masturbate," you order.

You always make me jerk-off after I pleasure your cock. I'm not allowed to open my pants so I stroke it through the material. I stare at your long, slender cock lying on your thigh. I shoot a huge load in my briefs that instantly stain the front of my slacks. The smell of my semen permeates the air inside the car.

"Get out, faggot—see you next week," you say without a trace of a smile.

I get out of your car and walk back to mine—the semen stain on my slacks is unmistakable.

Every week is exactly the same. I don't know why I allow myself to be treated this way.