I was always fascinated by the sound the door handle made when I pushed it down with my thumb. Cli-click. Whenever I visited Joreg it was like entering into another world. I walked into the dark foyer—the lights were off. I could hear his scurrying footsteps upstairs. I closed the door behind me and began taking off my clothes off like he’d instructed. Deep breathes. His place smelled like lilacs, always.

I fiddled with my cock before going upstairs, tossing it in my palm but it remained flaccid. I tried not to worry, that only makes it worse. Growing up you first learn that you can get an erection, then one day you cum. You learn that you enjoy coming and you’re always erect—anything will set you off. Next you find out that it’s possible to become impotent, and you worry. You worry and worry, because you don’t like being impotent: it’s embarrassing and sends the wrong message. Then you learn that you have no control over any of it. You get erect when it’s right, you cum when it’s necessary and thinking about it does absolutely nothing. Joreg taught me to feel, not think.

I went upstairs and found him in the living room with his feet on the coffee table. His eyes were on the TV, watching the hockey game, which was muted. He looked over, his expression unchanged like he was still watching the game.

No talking, he’d instructed beforehand.

I went to the edge of the coffee table and sat down like he told me to. I looked over at the TV for a few moments before lying back. I was flaccid. He reached down and slapped my balls. “What’s this?” he said. I began playing with myself, trying to get hard.

He laughed. “You can’t do this, can you? This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this.”

I sighed and stopped fiddling with myself. I moved my hand from my crotch to behind my head.

“You’re going to talk, aren’t you?” he said.

I stared up at the ceiling and closed my eyes.

“You said it wouldn’t be like this,” he continued. “How is this fair? We can’t go on like this.” His voice cracked. I opened my eyes and looked over at him. He was serious. “How is this fair?” he repeated. “Is this fair? You can talk.”

“I don’t know. I think it’s fair. I was worried about getting hard. I didn’t want to ruin things and now I ruined them.”

“That’s why you’re like this?” He slapped my balls again.

“I can do this.”

He stared at me for a moment. “Get on your knees,” he said standing up. He undid his pants and pulled out his cock. I did as I was told and positioned between his legs. His cock filled my entire mouth. I didn’t worry anymore—I was hard. He pushed and pushed until I gagged. I tilted my head back and his cock slipped out of my mouth and caught his shaft with my left hand. “Don’t touch,” he said, pushing my hand away. I lunged forward and swallowed his flesh so it was further down my throat. My eyes were watery. He finally pulled me off and sat back on the sofa, leaving me on my knees by the table. I turned. He dabbed some of his pre-cum onto his finger and tasted it like he used to do.

I crawled over and tried to put his cock in my mouth again, but he grabbed my forehead and pushed me away. “Please give it to me,” I whispered.

“No talking!”

This was how we played.

I stared at him silently for a moment then leaped forward but he pushed me away. I tried again and again until he gave in. Instead of sucking, I relaxed my face onto his crotch. I took a deep breath and smelled scent of his soap—I loved that smell. “I’m going to cum,” I said after a few minutes. “Where do you want me to cum?”

“Where did I tell you?” he said.

I got back up on the black coffee table and lay on my back. He stood up over me and stroked himself. “This is mine,” he said, grabbing my balls. We both knew that wasn’t true anymore. I used my elbow to lift me up and put his cock to my lips hoping he’d cum in my mouth. The feeling between my legs was too insatiable to wait though. I had to cum. I groaned like I was having convulsions.

I closed my eyes after. I don’t know if he came too but there was some cum rolling down my forehead. I wasn’t sure who’s it was.

The room was silent.

He began wiping my stomach and thighs with a towel. He lifted my hand and wiped it down too.

He sat back on the sofa put his foot up so it touched my arm. I grabbed onto the edges of the coffee table so I wouldn’t fall over. We stayed like that for a few moments not saying a word to one another.

“Go,” he finally said.

I opened my eyes, jumped to my feet, and continued down the stairs without looking back. I got my clothes on that were piled by the front door and left.

That was the beginning of the end for us. Things were never the same after that. I used to think it was a sad story but now I see it as one of the most wonderful connections I’ve ever shared with someone but we would never go back to the way things were.

Continue to Prologue Part II HERE

Mike Miksche’s first novel, Paris Demands, is out June 25th but you can pre-order it and save (only $12): http://www.lethepressbooks.com/store/p199/Paris_Demands.html

(draft III)