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The Long Journey

by SandiJean

The Long Journey

The Long Journey

By SandiJean

I guess I was nine years old when I first had the feeling that I was in the wrong body. It started with me sneaking up to the attic and trying on an old two-piece bathing suit of my mother had packed away. I stuffed socks in the top, and stood in front of the mirror, posing this way and that, admiring my handiwork. It felt so good and natural. I found myself wishing that something would happen to me in my sleep one night, and I would waken in the morning in the body of a little girl. From time to time, I would put myself into a meditative trance and try to convince my body to alter itself, but my adolescent level of awareness just did not have the skill or knowledge as to how I could complete the task.

Over the next few years, I would sneak up to my special hiding place and try on that bathing suit and sometimes other women's clothes that were packed away there. I loved the way they felt against my skin and the cute way they made me look. I would even, sometimes at night, have dreams that I had been kidnapped by a couple or someone else who had wanted a little girl, and decided that I would be that person.

Sometimes I would wake up and realize that the groin area of my pajamas had become wet with something, so I would enlist my old friend the sock to sheath my penis, so I could prevent having another "accident" in my bedclothes.

I did my best to keep my secret desires from my family and friends. I did all the normal male oriented things; I rode my bike with my gang, played sports, fished, became a Boy Scout and did Guy Things with my Dad. I even had girlfriends and crushes. I honestly believe that no one ever suspected what was going on inside me.

Inevitably, as I approached my teen years, the hormones began to kick in. Most notably of these was testosterone, and as I began to notice the changes that were taking place in my body, I sadly accepted that I was going to stay a male. I packed my dreams and fantasies away along with the stash of women's clothes, and went about the business of being the average, ordinary young man that society expected me to be.
As I was approaching my later teen years, I was spending more time thinking about my future. College, marriage, the nine-to-five world, and white picket fences were occupying my thoughts more and more, but I was just going through the motions because it was what society expected of me. In the back of my mind, though, I was looking for an escape because things still did not seem right inside me. Then something happened that set me back on the path for awhile, and enabled me, years later, to accept who I am and not be ashamed about it.

I had a part-time job in the summer and after school at a place where the next closest person to me in age was about eight years older. I was in the adult world now and expected to conduct myself as one. There was no time for childhood fantasies.

I really got along with my boss. He was funny and he treated me like one of the gang, not some gangly high school kid.

One night he showed up at the store at closing time. He had been out drinking with some of his pals from his Army Reserve Unit and seemed too drunk to drive. I voiced my concerns to him and he agreed. I offered to drive him home and he agreed with one exception: he was house-sitting for another friend of his who was away with the family on vacation. I saw no problem with driving him out to the estate, which was several miles outside of town. I had no problem when he invited me in for a tour of the mansion. And after a couple of beers and a couple of shots of Wild Turkey, I had no problem with spending the night either. The only hang-up, as he explained, was that we would have to share the bed in the master suite. I forget his reasoning, but I accepted his explanation. I had become interested in what it would be like to sleep on the silk sheets, so off we went. We couldn't lie in the bed with our street clothes on because they might ruin the sheets, so we stripped to our underwear and crawled under the covers of the king sized bed. I was about to doze off when he turned toward me and announced that I should not be surprised or scared if I felt a hand slipping under the waistband of my briefs. I chuckled and said something like I wasn't worried about that, he would probably pass out in a few moments anyway, and if that did happen, it would probably be an accident.

Sometime later, I was indeed awakened by a hand caressing my thigh, and working its way under the elastic. I lay there rigidly for awhile, nervously allowing him to explore, expecting him to realize his error and withdraw, but when he kissed me on the mouth, I realized it was no mistake, and when he began working his way down my chest, kissing and licking me, I didn't protest. I was starting to relax a little and his hand on my crotch, massaging my scrotum didn't feel that bad. I even noticed that I had an erection. He must have noticed too, because he wasted no time pulling my underwear off and started licking me like I had a popsicle between my legs that he was afraid would melt and he wanted every drop of it. Soon the action of his mouth going up and down on my shaft had me breathing harder and faster. His tongue was like magic. It felt so much better than when I would be fumbling around in the back seat of my car with whichever girl I happened to be dating at the time. The bonus was when I finally began to climax; he forced my shaft as far into his mouth and throat as it would go and swallowed every drop if the creamy fluid I had just shot from my loins. As he pulled his mouth off of my member he made sure with his tongue that there was no errant semen left on my body. I had just received my first blow-job from a man I would never have guessed my friend and employer was gay, but the performance I had just received did not come from a novice. It was an experienced mouth that had just ravaged my body.

I felt so good! I didn't feel guilty about anything, I just lay there catching my breath and feeling sated. It wasn't long before we both had caught our breath and he was pulling me to him and engaging me in a long, soulful kiss. I remember how his stubble was abrading my skin, but I didn't mind. It was just part of the package. I was awkward though. I didn't know what was going to happen next, but I knew that I sure wouldn't mind a reprise of his actions of a few minutes before. However, he let me know that the next action was going to be tit for tat, as he gently but forcefully started pushing my head down toward his waiting erection. I was hesitant at first. After all, it was my first time with a man and I had no experience in these things. I had been using my hand to play with him, but that was not nearly enough. He was panting now and the words he was gasping out let me know that he would not mind if I didn't take my time getting to my goal. His passion only wanted to feel one thing, and that was my mouth bobbing up and down on his now stiff, purple veined member. The closer I got to my objective, the more pungent and intoxicating his scent became. I was remembering his actions on me and tried to imitate them as my now greedy, but inexperienced, mouth found the shaft of his cock and the tasty orbs that lay at its base. I tickled the glans with my tongue for a while, paying special attention to the little slit at its tip. I was about to get my first taste of pre-come and I didn't want to miss a drop of it or his pheromone drenched crotch.

The way he was squirming underneath me and pressing on my head, I knew that it was time for me to take the plunge, and plunge I did. I would like to profess that I expertly serviced him with my mouth, but I doubt that I did. I was almost overcome with the abundance and variation of the scents I was now experiencing. His hormones, my hormones, the sweat we had been producing, the alcohol we had consumed, the various scents in the room and the lovely pre-come I was about to taste for the first time, all combined to take me to a spiritual plain where I seemed to hear a symphony playing softly, gradually building up in volume and intensity, only to fade and soften. My head fell in rhythm with the music in my mind as my mouth bobbed up and down on his shaft. I would vary my strokes, going part way down for a while, then swallowing him until I could feel the shaft filling my mouth and the head nestling in the back of my throat. Soon, I had learned how to adjust my breathing so that when I took him all the way in, I didn't activate my gag reflex. I could now take him deep, more often. I had fallen into a steady rhythm which had him moaning with pleasure, and gave me a sense of pride when he began to breathlessly proclaim how good I was making him feel and what my virgin mouth was about to cause him to do. I was determined to return the pleasure he had given me and I also found that the more I took him into my mouth, the more I liked and wanted it. I couldn't seem to get enough. I was becoming so consumed with the waves of passion our symphony was creating, that I didn't want it to end. Finally, though, he started bucking wildly underneath me and began fucking my face with gusto.

Eventually he let out a loud moan, and rewarded me with what I had begun to desire. With a great push, he erupted in my mouth and I had my first taste of a man's come. It tasted better than the finest Christmas confection I had ever sampled. As I repeatedly swallowed his gift to me, I tightened my lips around his marvelous shaft. I did not want to lose out on one bit of his wonderful Man Juice. Soon his climax had abated and I reluctantly pulled my mouth off of his Pleasure Pole, but not before I had sucked every possible drop of cum out of him and my tongue had thoroughly cleaned every inch of his genitals and thighs. It was then I realized we had moved into a loose sixty-nine position and he had started lightly stroking and kissing my cock, causing it to become erect once more. I turned toward him and we kissed, cuddled, and played with each other as we regained our breath and came back down to earth. He suddenly turned away from me, grabbed my erection, and pulled it toward him, nestling it between his ass cheeks. The head was sticking out between his legs just enough so he could tickle it. I now had a nice warm sheath for my sword and I pulsed slowly and gently into it. The sensation reminded me of a pussy, somewhat, only better. Spent, I slowed my motion against him until we were tightly connected in a spooned position, and that was the way we fell asleep.

The next day dawned sunny and bright, but we didn't see it, because I woke to the sensation of him playing with me. When he realized I was awake, he kissed me good morning, and promptly moved between my legs and began servicing me. We spent the morning rolling around on that huge bed, making love time and again, enjoying our little escape from the world. (Later that day I realized my nipples were sore. I pulled up my shirt to examine them and noticed I had been given hickies from his repeated sucking on them.) I was carrying two trophies from our encounter on my chest!
By the time we started to get dressed and get ready to leave, I could happily say that not only did I now know what the joy of making love between two men could be, but I had also become a competent cocksucker. I was hooked. Never again would I have to wonder if I had what it takes to participate in same gender lovemaking. We had torn down those barriers and tossed out the taboos.

We continued our affair in secret for over a year, getting together whenever and wherever we could. He was married to a woman he would later divorce, and I was engaged to a woman I now knew I would never marry. After our time together had run its course, I left for the Navy because My Draft Lottery number had come up two and I figured being at sea was preferable to slogging through steamy jungles. Little did I know, Southeast Asia had a reservation with my name on it anyway. It would be five years before I would be done over there and able to return home. I had been thinking about looking him up with the possibility of resuming our friendship, but I never saw my First Lover again. He had died in a diabetic coma a few months before I returned Stateside.

But our time together was a lovely, lovely time.

As I write this, I have just come to realize that from the very beginning, that first episode until now, every cock I had, had the pleasure of taking into my mouth, did not get away until it had deposited its load of warm, tasty sperm down my throat. I sometimes wonder why are those of you out there who don't swallow, cheating yourselves of an extra pleasure?

In the days and weeks to come, my posts will reveal why I have entitled this volume of work, The Long Journey, and why I feel like I have finally found a home with this group.

Mistress/Master Sandra Jeannette.


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