Dotting the “I” in bi

I had gotten some on my fingers. In an impulse I licked it off and savored it on my tongue for a few seconds before swallowing it. Didn’t taste quite as good as Dave’s, but it reinforced the flavor that had been fading from my mouth.

My balls were still sensitive, but it was bearable now. I made myself decent, checked to see if I hadn’t gotten any jizz on my pants, and went home.

During dinner, all I could think of was Dave’s cock and how it had felt in my mouth. I can’t say I was thinking about Dave himself. No matter how I searched my feelings, I can’t say I felt anything other than friendship for him. I wasn’t in love with him. I knew I never could be, not like how I felt about girls all the time. See, this was a time before the internet. Before porn, sex stories and LGBT. Everything we knew about sex came from rumours, whispers and wishful thinking. I had just landed in puberty, trying to figure out how to approach girls, trying to become acquainted with my own body, and then this happened. So my conclusion, reflecting back on my younger years, was that I just loved cock. Nothing more, nothing less. And that was OK. I was OK with it.