Campfire Revelations

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Dance

“Sorry, lads, duty calls,” Danny said, flashing his cheeky grin and swinging a small backpack over his shoulders. “Those arses aren’t going to fuck themselves!”“They might just fuck each other,” I pointed out. This ridiculous banter had been going on for most of the trip from Birmingham to our campsite in the Lake District. It was exhausting, but I found it impossible to stop with Danny. He always seemed to bring out the cheeky schoolboy I had never been, rather than the professional twenty-seven-year-old I was supposed to be.“Good point,” he conceded, “all the more reason to hurry.”He set off through the trees as the last rays of the sun gave the few scattered clouds a golden hue, calling out over his shoulder: “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”“Is there anything you wouldn’t do?” I yelled back, but a raised middle finger was his only response.Turning to Amelio with an idiotic grin, I immediately felt awkward, suddenly aware how annoying that three-hour drive must have been. I had known Danny for two years, but Amelio had only met him a fortnight ago, and only joined my team at work three months before that. Why Danny had barged into our IT office to demand that he join us on this trip, I had no idea. Ostensibly it was to take the place of Darren, who had “bottled it”, but he could easily have asked Will and Ed, instead of arranging this elaborate “coincidence” of them camping nearby.Perhaps I had made the odd mention that he was our age, seemed cool with his short mohawk, neat beard, nice arse and an impressive sleeve of tattoos, but I hadn’t spoken about him that much… had I? To my surprise, my new colleague had agreed immediately, and now here we were, abandoned by the instigator on the first night.“Sorry,” I said, “I promise I’m not that bad on my own.”“It’s alright,” he said with a wry smile. “Although I may have to be in charge of music on the way back.”Other than sex, the only other topic of conversation in the car had been our habitual bickering over what to listen to:“I’m driving so we’re listening to Madonna,” Danny would start.“You know I hate Madonna.”“Yeah, and I still can’t believe that someone who loves cock as much as you doesn’t like Madonna.”“That’s ridiculous. It makes less sense than if I said you can’t be gay and not like Judas Priest, at least Rob Halford is actually gay. Or şehitkamil escort we could listen to Rainbow, they weren’t gay, but come on: they’re called Rainbow!”“We’re not listening to metal.”“Why can’t you be stereotypically black instead of stereotypically gay? I’d be fine with hip-hop or reggae.”“Hip-hop is too American–”“Um, Madonna–““–is fabulous, so she gets a pass. And reggae is dad music.”“Madonna is mum music.”“No, I love my mum, but she hates Madonna.”“I love your mum even more now.”“Don’t even think about it. Anyway, you can’t hate Madonna as much as I hate your Cannibal Hannibal or whatever–”“Cannibal Corpse!”And so on. Poor Amelio.In the absence of something else to say, I handed him another beer, then sat back down on the ground to take in the sunset. Blue sky was changing to purple above the green summer foliage surrounding this idyllic clearing. The small valley would provide shelter if the weather turned foul, although right then there was barely the whisper of a breeze to rustle the leaves around us, birds tweeting their evening song providing the only sounds besides the crackling of the fire my companion was tending. Watching him, I realised how little I really knew him.“Hey, Amelio,” I said, moving closer to be more sociable, “I’ve been meaning to ask you: where’s your name from? I mean, ‘Amelio Murphy’ is a bit of a mixture.”“Family tradition,” he replied, and took a sip of beer. For an instant, I thought it might be a long, awkward evening, but he continued: “My great-grandmother was Mexican, and that side of the family have insisted on Spanish names ever since. Dad’s name is Emiliano, which obviously went down well in Dudley back in the seventies…”We laughed, and from there the conversation took off. While the remaining daylight retreated, we found we did have interests in common other than a love of PowerShell. The discussion turned to Japanese cinema, then mafia movies, and then off on a tangent about Italian food. The August night remained warm despite the clear skies, but Amelio kept the campfire fed anyway. Our conversation faded away, and we sat watching the yellow flames consuming the wood.“So, do you have a… girlfriend at the moment?” I hazarded to break the silence, wanting to clear up his preferences once and for all.“Nope,” he laughed, “men only for me. I don’t have a boyfriend either, though.”He paused, the firelight dancing in his brown eyes, as he measured me up. Then his mouth was on mine. The suddenness took me by surprise, and together with the effects of the alcohol, I responded late – too late. He broke off with a muttered apology, staring into the flames. I studied his profile, the glow of the fire on his beard, his lower lip trembling just a little in defiance of his tough demeanour.“Amelio,” I said quietly, “it’s okay. I just… wasn’t expecting it.”He nodded, but continued to observe the dance of the orange demons over the burning wood. A yawning void opened in my chest, pulling me to sobriety as I struggled to find something to say to salvage the situation. I had wanted that kiss, damn it!“I mean it, I…” I floundered, “I’m a fucking idiot.” That got him to look at me. “I’ve been thinking of you every night for the past two weeks, and then I can’t even remember to kiss back. I’m a fucking idiot.”“Really?” he said, raising one eyebrow. “I only just told you I’m gay!”“What, you’ve never fantasised about straight guys?”He nodded, that cute smile playing around the corners of his mouth. My panic receded for the moment – I had at least kept us on speaking terms. Yet something bothered him. Surely I wasn’t his first? Only one way to find out.“Have, um, have you been with guys before?” I asked, a little hesitantly.“Some, not many.” With a sigh, he looked to the night sky, collecting his thoughts. “I had a bad experience with the last. I… have scars.”“Ah,” was all I could say. Shit. Nothing traumatic had ever happened to me, just some partners who were crap in bed. How could I comfort him with no comparable experience?“Do you want to talk about it?”“Nope,” he replied, and then met my gaze. “Not now, anyway.” He let out a chuckle. “Killed the mood there, didn’t I?”“No, it was my shitty kissing,” I assured him, then added coyly, “we can always try again… now?”Oh, that smile! Even half hidden in darkness, it was beautiful.“There is something you need to know first,” he said, slowly, monitoring my face for a reaction. “I wasn’t born ‘Amelio’.”“So… your great-grandmother wasn’t Mexican?” I ventured.“Actually, she was, and my birth name was Spanish, too. But… you know the Johnny Cash song, A Boy Named Sue?”“Of course,” I replied, thrown by this sudden tangent.“Well, I’ve always liked it, because the name I was given was… wrong, too.”“Sue doesn’t sound very Spanish.”“It wasn’t actually Sue.” I bit my lip, hoping I had not gone too far with that last flippant remark. “I don’t speak my old name. It is now Amelio, after a colonel in the Mexican Revolution. According to my grandmother, her mother had an affair with him, but I chose it because he was… like me. Let me show you.”Getting to his feet, he turned to me, towering above me in the flickering shadows, and began undoing his belt. My head was reeling – I was ready for a nice hard cock, but this was the weirdest lead up. He pushed his boxers down. The fat member I had been imagining failed to materialise, as the bulge that had been hovering near my head had come down too. Instead, there was a nest of curly hair, and the unmistakable shape of a vulva. At the top, above the folds of his labia, was a clitoris – large, but definitely not like any penis I had ever seen.How long I remained staring, I do not know, but I was suddenly aware that my mouth had gone dry from staying open so long. My eyes travelled up Amelio’s shirt to his face. Words would have to be chosen carefully – clearly, he had had to struggle with gender in a far deeper way than just who he found attractive. Also, I was horny, and I was pretty sure he was – maybe that was the key.“You are the most attractive man I have ever met,” I said, “and I want us to fuck now.”A growl was all I heard before being pulled roughly into his crotch. Hairs tickled my nose and a familiar, sweet, masculine scent filled my nostrils. A moment of uncertainty gripped me. How should I think about the hard body part between my lips? Cock or clit? Then, I realised it didn’t matter. I was kissing it, not talking about it. Just lick it and see what he likes.Tentatively, I opened my mouth wider to give my tongue room to manoeuvre. What it met was smaller than any penis it had encountered, yet at about the size of the first joint of a finger, larger than the equivalent possessed by the cis women it had brought pleasure to. Gently, with tongue wide and relaxed, I explored along either side of the sheath, with only the lightest brush of the tip. He was getting harder, so I was doing something right. I closed my eyes for a moment to calm my thoughts. Stop making comparisons to previous partners! Forget everything else, and try to make him cum!

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32