Chapter 11: The First Taste
The space between his face and it seemed to shrink, then expand, then shrink again with every ragged breath he took. Garrett hovered there, the musky, intimate scent of his own skin filling his nostrils, a scent he knew but had never consciously registered from this proximity. It was clean, but uniquely male, a faintly salty, animal smell that made the fine hairs on his arms stand up.
“It’s okay,” Katy murmured from above, her voice—his voice—strained. Her hand, the one that wasn’t gripping the sheets, came to rest lightly on the back of his head. Not pushing. Just there. A point of contact. “Just think of it as… exploration. You’ve never gotten this close before.”
A hysterical laugh bubbled in Garrett’s throat but died unused. Exploration. Right. He was exploring the business end of his own dick while his cousin puppeted his body. His mind raced, a frantic scroll of objections. This is gay. This is so fucking weird. What if I’m bad at it? The last thought was so absurd it almost broke the spell.
“It’s a nice cock, Garrett,” Katy said, her tone shifting to something conversational, almost analytical, as if she were assessing a car she was thinking of buying. “Seriously. The veins, the shape… it’s fucking impressive. It’s a monster.”
Her blunt, admiring words did something strange. They objectified the thing in front of him, made it less a part of him and more a… tool. A feature. One that she was currently experiencing. The guilt from earlier, the feeling of debt, coiled tight in his gut. She’d done so much more for him.
“I don’t know if I can,” he whispered, his lips barely moving.
“Please.” The word was raw, stripped of all pretense. Her fingers curled slightly in his hair. “Just try. For a second. If you hate it, we stop. I just… I need to know what it’s like. From this side.”
That did it. The need in her voice, the sheer, desperate curiosity, mirrored his own confusing feelings. This wasn’t about pleasure, not really. It was about understanding the impossible situation they were trapped in. He took a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and let the distance vanish.
The first touch of his lips to the head was electric and bizarre. The skin was impossibly soft, silken, but the flesh beneath was unyielding. He felt Katy’s whole body jolt, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his own teeth. He pulled back immediately, eyes flying open.
“Don’t stop,” she begged, her face a mask of tense anticipation. “That… just don’t stop.”
He went back, more deliberately this time. He opened his mouth wider, ignoring the scream of protest from some deep, conditioned part of his brain. He took the head inside. The taste was a shock—clean skin, a faint bitterness, overwhelmingly organic. He focused on the mechanics, on what she had done for him. Licking, gentle suction. His tongue traced the ridge he knew so well, and the resulting groan from Katy was a feedback vibration he felt through his entire skull.
His jaw began to ache almost immediately. The size was, as she said, a problem. He could only manage the first few inches, using his hand on the shaft as he’d done before. He fell into a rhythm, a messy, inexperienced combo of mouth and hand. The awkwardness was still there, a thick fog around the act, but piercing through it were flashes of something else.
Katy was falling apart above him. Her hips started to move in tiny, helpless thrusts. The hand in his hair tightened, not guiding him, just holding on. Whimpers and half-words escaped her, sounds he’d never heard his voice make—high, desperate, utterly lost in sensation.
“Ohgod… Garrett… right there… don’t change anything.”
He watched her face, his face, contort in pleasure. The crinkles around the eyes that appeared when he smiled were gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and a slack jaw. It was the most intimate violation and connection possible. He was causing this. He was making his own body feel things he’d never quite felt from this angle, with this intensity. The power of it was a dizzying drug.
He could feel the tension building in her thighs, could hear the pace of her breathing become frantic. She was trying to hold back, to prolong it, but he could tell she was losing the battle. A part of him, a competitive, stubborn part that had always hated losing on the basketball court, wanted to win this too. Wanted to push her over the edge.
He redoubled his efforts, ignoring the protest in his jaw, focusing everything on the sensitive spot just under the head. He sucked harder, his hand working in tandem.
“I can’t… I’m gonna…” Katy’s voice was a broken thing. Her back arched off the bed, a strangled cry caught in her throat. Her hand clenched in his hair, holding him firmly in place as her body went rigid.
Her hand clenched in his hair, holding him firmly in place as her body went rigid. A white-hot wire of pleasure tightened from the base of her spine to the back of her skull, buzzing with an intensity that short-circuited coherent thought. Every nerve ending was firing at once, a chaotic symphony of sensation that was utterly terrifying and sublime.
Holy shit, this is what it feels like? The thought cut through the static, sharp and clear. It’s insane, like my entire brain is being rewired through my dick. She finally understood the desperate, glassy-eyed look guys got, why they’d promise anything for just another minute of this.
She tried to focus on the crack in the ceiling, on the distant hum of the fridge, on anything but the building pressure threatening to erupt. Think about spreadsheets, think about quarterly reports, anything boring. But the warmth of his mouth, the skillful flick of his tongue, kept pulling her back to the edge.
It’s not every day you get to experience your own technique from the other side. The surrealness of it—watching her original body work over her, seeing her own blonde hair between his fingers—added a layer of dizzying feedback. She wanted to freeze this moment, to make it last forever before the inevitable crash.
But the crash was coming, a tidal wave of sensation building at the base of her spine, and she clenched everything, fighting it. Every muscle in Garrett’s body was taut, a bowstring drawn back, and the pleasure was so acute it bordered on pain. She bit her lip, drawing a metallic taste of blood, focusing on that sharpness to keep from flying apart.
Garrett watched the struggle on his own face—the screwed-shut eyes, the bitten lip, the tremors in the thighs. He recognized that specific, stubborn tension; it was the same feeling he’d get when he was right on the edge but trying to last longer during a lazy morning jerk-off. A realization clicked into place: she was holding back, trying to savor this, but he knew exactly how to unravel that control.
Without breaking rhythm with his mouth, his hand, which had been gripping the base, drifted lower. His fingers traced a familiar path down the shaft to the sensitive skin of the ballsack. He cupped the weight of himself gently, feeling the tight pull of anticipation.
Then he lowered his head further and took one ball into his mouth, sucking lightly, his tongue swirling around the taut skin. Katy gasped, a sharp, involuntary sound that was half protest, half surrender. Her hips bucked off the bed, and her hand tore from his hair to clutch at the sheets.
He switched to the other one, giving it the same attention, while his hand resumed a steady, punishing rhythm on the shaft. The dual assault was too much, overwhelming every nerve ending she was desperately trying to govern. The careful control she’d been clinging to shattered into a million pieces.
A raw, guttural shout tore from her throat—from his throat—as the orgasm hit her like a physical blow. White light exploded behind her eyes, and her body convulsed, back arching violently off the mattress. Heat erupted from the core of him, pulsing out in thick, warm streams that painted his stomach and chest.
The world dissolved into a shuddering, breathless stillness.
For a long moment, the only sound was the ragged symphony of their shared breathing. Garrett slowly sat back on his heels, the taste of himself—salty, musky, entirely foreign on his tongue—a stark reminder of what had just happened. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his mind a numb, static-filled blank.
Katy lay perfectly still, her—his—chest rising and falling in deep, slow waves. Her eyes were closed, but a faint, utterly content smile played on her lips. "Well," she finally breathed out, the word husky and spent. "That was... an education."
A shaky laugh escaped Garrett. "Yeah? Pass the test?" He couldn't look directly at the evidence of her climax, a pearlescent patch gleaming on his own stomach.
"With flying colors." She cracked an eye open, regarding him with a lazy, sated expression he'd never seen on his own face before. "Seriously. A-plus. Gold star."
The absurd praise, delivered in his own voice, broke the last of the tension. He slumped against the side of the bed, running a hand through his messy hair. "My jaw is killing me. How do you... how does anyone do that for more than five minutes?"
"Practice," Katy said with a soft chuckle, stretching her arms above her head with a satisfied groan. "I normally wouldn't get a sore jaw from this little blowjob but your body's cock is massive." She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her gaze drifting down his body. "We should probably clean up."
He followed her look, the reality of the situation crashing back in. He was sitting on the floor of his cousin's room, his mouth tasted like cum, and he had just given himself the most powerful orgasm of his life through a technicality. The guilt, which had been momentarily incinerated by the blast furnace of sensation, began to seep back in, cold and familiar.
"Katy," he started, his voice low. "About last night... and now... this is..."
"Complicated?" she finished for him. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her movements in his body still slightly unfamiliar, a touch gangly. "Yeah, no kidding. But also... kind of amazing?" She stood up, looking down at him. "Don't get all weird and guilty on me now, Garrett. We're figuring this out. Together."
He watched her walk to the en-suite bathroom, the confident sway in her step something new. She returned with a damp washcloth, handing it to him first. The gesture was simple, domestic, and it grounded him.
"Thanks," he mumbled, cleaning himself up. He tossed the cloth back to her, and she did the same with a pragmatic efficiency that was pure Katy.
"So," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "The big question. Are you gay now?" Her tone was light, teasing, but her eyes were sharp, watching for his reaction.
Garrett barked a laugh, the sound rough in his throat. "I don't know what I am. I just sucked my own dick. I think that puts me in a category all by itself." He shook his head, standing up. "It wasn't about... that. It was about you. And this... this whole messed-up situation."
"I know," she said softly. "And for the record, it was the best 'messed-up situation' I've ever been in." She grinned, a flash of her old self shining through his features. "My turn to make breakfast. I owe you one. A really, really big one."
She pushed off the doorframe and headed for the kitchen, leaving Garrett alone in the quiet room. The scent of sex and sweat still hung in the air. He looked at the rumpled sheets, then down at his own hands. They had just done something unimaginable. And the terrifying, thrilling part was that it didn't feel wrong. It felt like they had just opened a door, and he had no idea what was on the other side.