I was born nasty. I swear I can remember being sexually aroused sliding along the top of my crib's side rail when I started sneaking out to explore the universe around me. Mom thought it was cute when I popped a chubby in the bath when she washed my penis. Oh, yea, 'penis'. No 'wee wee' in our house. Everything about the body, sex, and life was honest and open.

The folks let my brother keep his Penthouses and other 'stuff' under the towels in the cabinet under our bathroom sink. I was sneaking them out even before he told me it was O.K. Right off the bat I knew something was different between us. Warren was all drooly over the girls. Me, I was studying the guys. Warren thought the shots of big breasted females licking on each other were hot. I favored shots where a hot mouth was ready to swallow that stiff pecker or where that hard humper was going for some meat. I had wet dreams and hot jack-off fantasies about those pricks from the first day I found Warren's stash.

My brother wasn't dumb. He caught on. Sat me down and explained things. Guess he even told the folks that maybe I was going to be different — gay was the word used on television. Perverted was the one used in church. We quit going after that one sermon. Dad even made a crack about how come, if it was such a sin, that God gave some people those urges. Mom was hugging me a lot trying to convince me and herself that it was O.K.

Warren and I had rooms at the back of the house. The master bedroom was at the front. He got me turned on to horror films — Halloween, the varied adventures of Jason and Freddie and vampires. The idea of sucking blood gave me a hard on. I'd lie there with my hand in my pants playing with myself. Still do. Just last week I grossed Warren out laying in the middle of his floor whacking away watching 'From Dusk 'til Dawn'. Man, would I love to crawl in bed with George Clooney. So. I had two reasons for squirting that night.

Warren was a cool brother, sometimes. Even bought a few male skin magazines for me. But I knew it embarrassed the hell out of him to do it. He only did it twice before I looked old enough to go get my own. I'd acquired a fake ID that added five years. The family characteristics of early facial hair and broad shoulders made it so I hardly ever got carded — whether buying porn or cigarettes or beer. Oh, yea. I told you I was born nasty. I was smoking and drinking at twelve. That, even in my family, I had to sneak around with.

Warren wasn't so cool when it came to music. He was all MTV. Me, I'd discovered skateboarding and the punk scene and loved it. Body slamming. The whole anti-attitude. We agreed on some rap but little else. Sometimes it was a battle of decibels with us both pumping up the amps on our favs, trying to drown out the other's 'noise'. Now that brought instant parental disapproval.

Warren bringing home girls, having them stay overnight, pumping away and screaming — that no one but me made a comment about. So when I finally made a real close friend, a buddy that I found had all my interests in common, I figured everything was going to be cool. We'd met on the streets, skateboarding. He had on this totally awesome glow in the dark 'Misfits' tee and a Mohawk with sideburns. Bobby was as nasty as I was, or more. He lived with his uncle. Ate and slept there when nothing more interesting was available. He had already done all the stuff I had just fantasized over. At least he sure talked a good story.

But … the day we walked in and I announced that Bobby was staying over and asked what was there to eat, the shit hit the fan in big squishy turds. Dad lost his reserve of understanding and dumped out a lot of feelings he must have been hiding since the first. Bobby made a hasty retreat with a wave and a sardonic smile. "Sounds too fucking much like home. Later, asshole."

I didn't take the crap for long. Slammed out yelling about hypocrisy and how I hated my brother's guts. Knew that was just jealousy as soon as I said it. Was mad enough that, right then, I didn't care. Called dad a fucking Nazi and left him trembling in rage.

Bobby was just standing down at the corner. He'd been waiting. We went to his room at his uncle's place. Defiantly we held hands walking along, boards under our arms. He just told his uncle that we needed the house, wanted to be alone, and it happened. Turned out Bobby gave the guy head ever so often and had him wrapped around his stiff cock, in a manner of speaking. So, with damn little foreplay, there we were, naked and hugging on each other in his bed.

Turned out we weren't as compatible sexually as we were in everything else. Bobby was into sucking cock. No problem. Bobby dug doing 69. No problem. Bobby loved having someone slurp up his balls and slobber all over his hot cock. No fucking problem. Hell, I took to cock sucking like returning to my mother's breasts. It just felt natural. And Bobby tasted so mother-humping good. I couldn't get enough. He was a fat-dicked dude. It was all I could do to get that mother between my lips. But it fit. Fit fine. Somehow the mechanics of cock sucking just were there for me. Like I'd dreamed about it enough that reality and fantasy were one and the same.

We both were ready to blast off after damn little time. Laid there jerking and twitching, fisting each other's cocks. Another beautiful, totally perfect, just-like-I-knew-it-would-be, feeling. I wanted him to shoot. Wanted to see someone else's spunk flying. Just thinking of what was coming — Bobby cumming — make me jerk faster on him and with my hips as he pounded my cock. It was better than I'd dreamed. That torpedo of his blasted away in my hand. It was a totally different display that I was use to seeing erupt from my own cock. His cum squirted out in rapid fire, high flying drops. They were miniature white marbles flung out to splat down all over him, me, the bed, even off onto the floor. It kept shooting out. Not one gush but a seemingly endless shower. When I ejaculated it was the old familiar initial rocketing glob of stringy goo followed by bubbling, gushing thick white pasty cream that pulsed out and dribbled down my cock and coated Bobby's hand.

So, where was the incompatibility? Well that came to the surface after we horsed around in the shower and then, still naked, raided the 'fridge and took our drinks and sandwiches back to the bedroom. Bobby was all hot and hanging heavy before we finished the first pair of sandwiches. Told me he had a constant hard on when prime meat was on display and reached out to lightly caress my face. There was a look in his eyes I hadn't seen before. The feel of his hand and the gleam in his eye bothered me. Bobby was going mushy on me. He started talking serious stuff. Stuff I didn't want to hear. Then he said the right thing, the wrong way.

"I want to make love to you, Clint. Want to fuck your brains out, turn you into a quivering mass of hot begging flesh." The loving gleam in his eyes had hardened up and been joined with a heavy dose of pure lust. But all I heard with the first eight words. It scared the living shit out of me. Hey, I knew I was gay — but no way was I queer for another guy. Sex I could handle, ached for. Love? That was something else. I grabbed his hand.

"Put a break on it, Bobby. You're going too fast." My voice was quavering. At the same time I could feel a cold chill settling in my loins — shriveling my cock, pulling it in to hide in my brown bush.

It was like I had reached out and slapped him, hard. He actually got tears in his eyes. He shook his head. Hugging his stiff cock in one hand he looked at me pleading. "But, Clint, I need you. I'll take it easy. Don't want to hurt you, just fuck your ass, lover. It's such a fine ass. Please, Clint."

That word. I shuddered again. But maybe I was overreacting. This sounded like a pretty sexual desire. I did want it. I'd experimented before with my own thumb soaping in the shower. Even squeezed in a cold green cucumber covered with butter once. But. That damn cock of Bobby's. It was so fat. He did try to be gentle in his way. But it hurt. It wouldn't fit and he wouldn't stop trying.

Bobby ended up just humping between my buttocks, reaching around and pinching my nipples, chewing and sucking on the back of my neck. What ruined it was his talking. He was talking that way again. Talking all about how he loved me, needed me, wanted me to be with him. I'd got all hard again when we started. Was rubbing my way to another climax on the cum splattered sheet when he started whispering in my ear. I lost my erection. Bang, like that it was gone. The pinching, tweaking on my nipples just hurt. No pleasure thrills. Those fled with my erection.

I avoided Bobby. He was crushed — for about a day. Now he gives me a hard time calling me pussy boy and giving me the finger.