First Timer 22
I’m sprawled across the motel bed in nothing but black boxer briefs, phone glowing in the dark like a cheap lantern, thumb flicking through bookings. Same parade every Friday: married dudes sneaking out on lunch breaks, gym bros with protein-shake breath, closet cases who tip extra to keep their rings in their pockets. Then this one slides in. “FirstTimer_22.” No face pic, no stats, just a DM timestamped an hour ago.
“Never done this. $400. Please be chill. I’m nervous as fuck. Never even kissed anyone.”
Four hundred for a virgin? That’s rent, groceries, and a new pair of boots. I fire back the address fast. Room 12, Starlite Motel, edge of town where the trucks rumble past all night. Knock twice. Bring cash. Condoms optional. I’m covered either way.
Room smells like someone tried to murder the evidence with industrial bleach and lost the fight. Cheap carpet shampoo clings to the air, mixed with old smoke and something sour under the bed. I crack the window anyway. Parking-lot noise leaks in: diesel engines idling, a couple screaming by the ice machine, the neon VACANCY sign buzzing red like a heartbeat. I light a smoke, let the cherry glow while I wait, ash tapping into a plastic cup.
Knock comes soft, almost polite. Then again, harder, like he’s working up courage. I stub the cig, swing the door open.
Kid’s maybe twenty, twenty-one tops. Skinny as a rail, hoodie zipped to his chin like it’s body armor, backpack clutched to his chest with both arms like a life raft. Brown hair sticking up in sweaty tufts from nervous fingers raking through it. Glasses fogged from the cold outside, sliding down a nose that’s never been broken. Eyes wide behind the lenses, deer-in-headlights style, pupils blown huge. “You’re… Jax?” Voice cracks hard on my name, puberty’s last revenge.
“Yeah, kid. You’re late. Cash first.” I hold out my hand, palm up.
He fumbles inside the backpack with one arm still hugging it. Pulls out a rubber-banded roll of twenties, crisp like he hit the ATM fresh. Hands shake so bad the whole wad wobbles. A single bill flutters free, lands on the carpet between us. I crouch slow, pick it up, tuck it in my pocket with the rest. Count quick under my breath. Four hundreds exact. “Relax. You paid. We good.”
He steps in, shuts the door behind him like he’s afraid it’ll slam and alert the whole block. Stands there frozen, backpack still glued to his chest. I take it gentle, pry it from his grip, drop it by the ancient TV that only gets three channels. “Sit.”
He perches on the very edge of the bed, knees bouncing like pistons. Hoodie sleeves swallow his hands completely. “I’ve never… you know. With anyone. Not even a handjob. Not even a kiss. I mean, I’ve watched stuff, but…”
“Cool. We’ll go slow.” I cut him off before he spirals. “You change your mind at any point, say the word and I hand your money back minus twenty for the room. Deal?”
He nods fast, glasses slipping down his nose. I reach out, push them back up with one finger. Cute. Freckles across the bridge. Lips pink and bitten raw.
I peel my shirt off slow, let it drop to the carpet. Nipple rings catch the yellow lamp light, silver glinting sharp. His gaze locks on them like magnets, then slides down my abs, tracing the deep V that disappears into my boxers. Mouth actually opens a little, breath hitching audible. I step close, close enough to smell his nervous sweat under drugstore body spray. Unzip his hoodie slow. He lifts his arms like a robot, lets me peel it off. Skinny chest, zero hair, ribs showing under pale skin that’s never seen sun. Couple freckles scattered across his collarbone like constellations. I push him back gentle onto the bed. Springs creak loud, protesting. “Pants off.”
He kicks off beat-up sneakers, laces still knotted. Shoves his jeans down with trembling fingers, boxers catching on the way. Plain gray cotton, tented hard, dark wet spot blooming at the tip like he’s been leaking since the drive over. I palm him through the fabric, just a tease. He gasps sharp, hips jerk up into my hand like he’s been shocked. “Easy, kid. Breathe.”
I tug the waistband down slow. His dick springs out free, average length but thick at the base, flushed angry pink, pre-cum already stringing from the slit in a long clear thread. Veins standing out under thin skin. Circumcised, head shiny and swollen. I stroke once, slow from root to tip, thumb smearing the slick. He whimpers high, fists the sheets so hard his knuckles go white, toes curling into the carpet.
“Gonna taste you first.” I drop to my knees between his legs, push his thighs wider. He’s shaking, but he spreads. Take him in my mouth in one smooth slide, lips stretching around the girth. Hot, salty, virgin twitchy. Tongue swirls the head, flicks the slit, tastes the pre-cum flooding fast. Lips seal tight, suction light. He lasts maybe thirty seconds, tops. “Fuck, I’m—” Voice breaks.
Cum hits my throat in short, sharp bursts, thinner than I’m used to but a surprising amount, like he’s been saving it for years. I swallow easy, keep sucking gentle through the aftershocks till he’s shaking, oversensitive, trying to push my head away. Pull off slow, wipe my chin with the back of my hand. Spit and cum mix shiny on my lips. “That’s one. You paid for the hour. Still good?”
He stares at the ceiling, chest heaving like he ran a mile, glasses completely fogged now. Nods mute. Dick’s still half-hard, shiny with spit, twitching against his belly. I climb up, straddle his hips. Reach behind me, lube two fingers from the bottle on the nightstand. Work myself open quick, one knuckle, two, scissoring till I’m loose and slick. He watches like it’s live porn, eyes tracking every slide. “Touch me.”
He hesitates, then runs shaky hands up my thighs, over the ink snaking down my hip, thumbs brushing my hip bones like he’s memorizing. I guide his dick to my hole, still half-hard but thickening again fast. Line up, sink down slow. Head pops past the ring, stretch burns perfect, just enough bite. He fills me easy, eyes rolling back, mouth slack in a silent O. I pause balls-deep, let him feel the heat, the grip, the pulse around him. “Breathe, kid.”
He does, ragged and wet. I ride steady, slow rolls at first, clenching on every upstroke to drag a groan out of him. His hands find my hips, grip like he’s drowning, fingers digging into muscle. I lean forward, bite his neck just above the collarbone, suck a dark mark that’ll bruise purple by morning. He moans loud, hips bucking up to meet me. Second load comes fast, deep inside me, warmer than the first, flooding in pulses. I milk him dry, grinding down hard till he’s whimpering again, oversensitive and spent.
I jerk myself off across his chest. Fist slick with lube and his pre-cum, stroke rough and fast. Cum in thick ropes, stripe his pale skin, pool in the hollow of his throat, drip down the sides of his ribs. He stares at the mess like he can’t believe it’s his doing, fingers twitching like he wants to touch but doesn’t dare.
Clock on the nightstand hits fifty minutes. He’s limp, grinning stupid, glasses crooked on his face. Sweat cooling on both of us. I hand him a towel from the stack the maid left. “Worth the four hundred?”
He nods, breathless, voice hoarse. “Can I… book again? Like, next week?”
I smirk, roll off him, feel his load leak slow down my thigh, warm and sticky. “Next lesson’s five hundred. Practice makes perfect.”
He dresses slow, hoodie back on like armor again, jeans sticking to his legs where sweat and cum dried. I walk him to the door, lean against the frame. He pauses on the threshold, turns back, cheeks still flushed. “Thanks. For real. I thought I’d die a virgin.”
Door shuts soft behind him. I lock it, slide the chain. Sit on the bed, legs still buzzing, feel his double load shift inside me, a reminder that’ll ache good tomorrow. Open my phone, fingers sticky. Room smells like sex and nerves now, bleach long gone. Count the bills one more time under the lamp. Four hundreds, crisp and new. Feels heavier than it should.
Wipe myself rough with the towel, toss it in the corner. Hole throbs, stretched and full. Pull on my boxers, let the cum dry crusty on my skin. Neon still buzzes outside. Light another smoke, inhale deep, stare at the water-stained ceiling. Kid’ll be back. They always are after the first taste.
Phone buzzes. New DMs already rolling in. Ignore them. Finish the post, thumbs flying.
