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I carried this chip on my shoulder for almost three months. I had to be good at having sex and whether I was sucking dick or eating pussy or fucking. I knew what I'd been told about not really having to keep proving to others that I was good enough made sense but it was like it didn't really set in. I was... aggressive with some of my male friends and whom I regularly had sex with. I'd suck them off and was ready to do it again even when they said that I didn't need to... but they had heard about what happened to me and not too long after it had all happened. They would agree that, yeah, I was really good at sucking them until they shot jizz but, man, enough is enough!

They got together one day to tell me this and to tell me that I didn't have to suck them until they were sore to prove that I was good enough and if I didn't stop acting like this, they were gonna stop doing it with me. Well, that "intervention" snapped me out of the very foul mood that guy had put me in, and it had made me mad at myself for, as my mom had said, letting him get to me like that. Damn it. They were right and I wasn't. I "calmed down" and got back to doing it with the guy for the sheer fun of it but in the back of my mind, I was still determined that no one was ever going to say that I wasn't good at doing this.

Ever. Still, I had to learn how to accept failure and that was a very hard lesson for me to learn and it took me a long time to learn it. I had to learn that I could do the best I could and... it just wasn't good enough for the other person and, yeah, girls would sometimes feel that I didn't do it to them "the right way" and, as such, I had to learn to not kick my own ass because as my mom told me about some other thing, "You can't make everyone happy and it's a mistake if you try to!"

I had to deal with the... conflict because, one the one hand, I was being told to excel at everything I did but, on the other hand, sometimes, I just wasn't going to excel and there will be people who would feel and say that... I suck at something. Not as good as they wanted or expected. And the very important lesson of learning from both my mistakes and failures so that I could continue to strive to be the best I can be.

I hated that guy and for a long time. It wouldn't be until I was an adult before I realized that by hurting my feelings that day, he taught me something very important and he'd actually done me a favor. Indeed, I would run into him one day and, for a brief moment, I saw him flinch because, of course, he remembered that day, too. He apologized and I accepted it; likewise, I apologized, and he accepted it.

"I lied to you about not being good at it," he had said as we sat in a bar having a couple of drinks. "I knew you were good at it because all the guys were telling me that if I wanted my dick sucked real good, I had to check you out. That first time? Man, it was really the best ever and I wanted you to do it again and... I said the one thing I thought would get you to do that and I said it. You got me off two more times and I fucked up and tried to make you feel bad enough to do it one more time - but I didn't even think that it would make you mad enough to beat the shit out of me like you did!"

"All you had to do was ask me to do it again," I said. "I would have gladly kept right on sucking you off until you wasn't going to get hard again for a few days... but that's not what you did or said. I... understand it now and I really am sorry for kicking you in the balls like that but you deserved it for hurting my feelings the way you did."

I learned a powerful lesson that day and I learned some shit about me and my temper, too. By kicking him in the balls like I did, I could have killed him and when I learned that it was possible to kill a man like that, it scared the shit out of me and, yeah, being told that I was lousy at sucking dick wasn't worth killing someone over so the answer to this was to... not ever get mad about that ever again.

The next time a guy told me this I was proud of myself. I didn't get mad but I did tell him, "You didn't say that when I had you begging for your mom to save you and you were shooting that big load into my mouth..." It shut him up. I would learn that if a guy didn't like the way I sucked him - off or otherwise - well, he might not have had fun but I did because I got to, once again, do something I knew that I loved doing:

Sucking guys' dicks and swallowing all the cum they had to give.

I can remember the sheer joy of discovering sex with guys... and I can remember the first time a guy told me that I wasn't good at sucking dick.

It hurt. It was embarrassing. It wasn't that I failed to make him shoot his jizz (and as we learned to call it back then) because he most certainly did; it wasn't that I had asked him, "How was it?" No - he came in my mouth, moaning and groaning and trying to cuss and when I'd gotten ever drop out of him, he looked at me with a sneer on his face and said, "You suck at sucking!"

My eyes overflowed with hot tears immediately and like he had slapped me in the face. I wanted to crawl off somewhere and just die. I wanted to punch him in the face but all I could do was sit there with those tears running down my face and my nose getting all snotty. I wanted to make it up to him and said as much and he decided to give me another chance to do it right.

I wound up sucking him off two more times before he decided that I was barely good at it and it was in that moment I realized that he had used me. "You said that so I would keep doing it to you, didn't you?" I asked and accused.

"Yeah, and you fell for it!" he said.

And that's when the fight started. I was angry on top of having my feeling hurt again; I attacked him in a blind fury - I learned what they meant by getting mad and seeing red - and by the time some adults stopped to break us up, I had a busted lip and both of my hands really hurt; I wound up spraining my ankle when I kicked him as hard as I could in the balls - that made him throw up but didn't stop me from beating on him and when one of the adults grabbed me and literally threw me off of him, I was still swinging and crying and blubbering.

He was... a mess. Both eyes blackened; he lost three teeth, both lips split open (he needed stitches) and I missed banging his head on the sidewalk but learned that one when one adult took me home to my parents and told them what they saw and did. Then the bad part: Telling them why I had not only gotten into a fight but why did I do what I did? And... I lied. Kinda. I told them that he said I wasn't - excuse me for cussing - shit and was teasing me over and over and I hit him but, of course, I wasn't going to tell them why he had said that:

That would have gotten me beaten and worse than the licks he'd gotten in on me. What was "even worse" was they were both trying not to laugh for a moment before they got serious and, of course, I didn't see anything funny about being told that I wasn't any good at sucking dick and then being used to suck him off two more times and being told I was barely good and him stabbing me in the heart for falling for his trick.

My mom took me aside and let me know that it's okay to not be good at doing something and that being told that I'm not isn't a good reason to beat someone as badly as I did but, at the same time, I had to defend myself as a person because I shouldn't let anyone make me feel like they're better than I am and, well, that I'm not worth shit. She got me cleaned up and gave me an ice bag for my busted and very swollen lip and... grounded me for two weeks and let me know it could be even longer and depending on what the action the guy's parents wanted to take against me.

I wound up getting off of punishment after two days because his parents agreed that he started the fight and, yeah, he got beaten pretty bad but that's what he got for starting the fight in the first place. Once I could go back outside, I was hoping to see him again... so I could beat him up again but he'd been grounded for a month, as I would later learn and it was a good thing, too. Even when I eventually saw him again - and he avoided me at every turn - that was fine because I had nothing to say to him and, in fact, I didn't speak to him for a whole year and refused to accept his pitiful attempts to apologize for what he said and did.

And it made me even more determined to be very good at sucking dick. It was already "bad enough" that I'd lost my mind and was sucking dick like it was going out of style but I got "worse;" any guy who wanted me to suck them off would get sucked off and as many times it could be done to prove to them that i was good at doing this but I would grow up and think about this first bad moment and realize that I was sucking every and any dick I could and not because I had to prove to guys that I was good at this: I was doing it to prove to myself that I was good at it.

And not realizing that I didn't have to. I'd suck a guy off and he'd be more than pleased that I made him shoot and I swallowed every drop of it; I'd had a few grown up dicks and they were more than impressed at my ability to suck their much bigger dicks and drinking down all that grown-up jizz like it was water. There was this one "old guy" - and I mean he was ancient at the age of 14 - who literally had to make me stop sucking him and I was pissed that he made me stopped and he asked me what the hell was wrong with me. I told him that he needed to know that I was good at doing this and he said, "Well, whoever told you that you weren't is an idiot because you are good at it - why do you think I came looking for you?"

I would realize that he wisely said, "Just because some asshole didn't like how you did it to them doesn't mean you aren't good at it - and you need to remember that, okay? Now, it's my turn to suck you off..."

I remember that first taste of cum. I remember not really understanding why he wanted to put his "thing" in my mouth but he paid me so he could do it and I would, much later, realize that it was the money that made me go with it more than anything else. He stuck the head of his dick into my mouth and told me to suck on it - gently - and lick it and, wow; the taste and feel and a lot of other shit was going through my mind and he's moaning and telling me that I'm making him feel really good - and I remember hearing this making me feel... good? I'm still not sure about that moment but I can remember being so engrossed with sucking and licking the head of his dick that I was taken totally by surprise when this... stuff started shooting into my mouth.

The thing I really remember about this moment was (a) being surprised and (b) not knowing what it was but there was "so much" of it that I was about to choke and gag and... I swallowed it, well, I swallowed whatever hadn't flowed out of my mouth. I remember what it tasted like as if I was tasting it right now: It was sweet, kinda salty, and I would realize that it tasted... boozy, too. I liked the way it tasted and the way it felt in my mouth. I would grow up and think back on this moment and wonder why I didn't spit it out... and I don't have an answer to that but I still feel that I swallowed it more out of self-defense than anything else.

What I did know is that I wanted more of that taste and feel. He would pay me more money to stick it between my butt cheeks and that felt really weird but good and he shot more stuff between my cheeks which also felt weird and good... but I couldn't get that new, strange, weird but kinda good taste out of my mouth and I can never forget how... tingly and excited I felt. I remembered, later that day, that he had, in fact, sucked my little dick and I would feel that I'd "forgotten" about that because he shot cum into my mouth and overrode this part.

What I knew was that he shouldn't have done that and I shouldn't have "let him" do that; I should have told my parents what happened but there was two reasons why I didn't: The first was they wouldn't believe me and I'd get a beating for "lying" on an adult and the other was... they would take the $50 I had "earned" by letting him do it. And I wanted to do it again. I couldn't wait to go outside the next day and tell my male friends what had happened and they were just as excited by it as I was; I would realize, later in life, that some of them already knew about this and some of them wanted to know about this and doing this to each other... just made all the sense in the world even though none of us were producing cum - but we could make each other have that really good feeling.

A week later, I busted my first nut in a girl. I couldn't wait to tell the guys what I could do and when one guy was sucking my dick and I felt that feeling I'd felt with the girl, I told him - or I think I did - that I was going to shoot and I did; I still remember the look on his face as my cum shot into his mouth and, unlike me, he hurried up and spit it out and said, "Ew! What was that?" I told him that it was the "baby making stuff" and the same stuff that man had shot into my mouth and I had swallowed it; that made him suck me again until I shot it and this time, he swallowed it.

I had fun sucking his dick even though I could feel his dick "twitching" in my mouth but not tasting anything other than his skin - and he tasted like Ivory soap. Later that day, though, I was sucking a guy's dick who was a couple of months older than I was and, yeah, he shot his stuff in my mouth and I swallowed all of it - and I remember the look on his face because he didn't seem to believe that I swallowed it but he found out why I did when he sucked my dick and I gave him a taste of what he'd given me. I was so hooked on this that, today, it still embarrasses me at times. I would suck other adult cocks - and because I wanted to and they didn't make me do it and they would shoot their stuff in my mouth and would be surprised that I did my best to swallow all of it but I would wind up limiting my cock sucking to my friends and slurping down their cum since it was more... convenient.

But that first taste changed my life forever. I have no regrets or shame about it because of what I learned about men and sex. Illegal? Immoral? Sure but that's how real life can be even when we believe it shouldn't. I was such a cock whore, though. All you had to do was show me your dick and I'd want to suck it and swallow your cum and I'd get mad if that didn't happen and, sometimes, fighting mad. Literally.

Was there something wrong with me? I thought so at first but realized that there was really nothing wrong with me because I also loved to lick and suck on a girl's pussy, too, and while they couldn't shoot anything my mouth, just doing it made me feel just as good as sucking a guy's dick did.

That first taste was the best taste ever.

There was a point when no one had heard anything about him. No one knew where he was, and the family feared that the police was going to show up any minute now to tell us that they found him dead somewhere. Maybe he'd left the state? Maybe he was in jail because the cops finally caught him doing... shit and they could finally make it stick? We didn't know.

He just showed up at my front door one day and he looked... okay. Didn't want to answer any questions about where the fuck he's been for the last couple of months. He said, "You know why I'm here, right?" Yes... I knew. It wasn't like I "wanted and needed" him in that sense. He wanted to have sex with me, and I was going to accommodate him... because it's what we do; it's what we've always done. And it was the best sex yet. Not rough but urgent, like he'd gone without any sex while he was "missing." Still refusing to answer questions even though he knew that I was going to tell our mom that I saw him and that he was okay but, nope, he wouldn't tell me where he had been.

I never found out, either. Still, whenever he came by to visit, it wasn't because he wanted to say hi and engage in pleasantries. He said, one time and as I was riding his dick, "You know, it's fucked up that the only time I want to see you is when I need some good dick..." and I agreed that it was really fucked up but that I also knew that we weren't going to change anything about that. I had asked him once if this ever bothered him and he said that it didn't because... it just didn't. It really didn't bother me (and hadn't for a very long time at this point) but I just wanted to know if it did. He did say that the only thing he worried about was showing up and me saying that I wasn't going to have sex with him anymore. And I had thought about that, too. Like I said, the dual immorality of it all wasn't lost on me but did it really matter? I didn't love my brother and like I was supposed to but I could make love to him... and that also had to count for something... didn't it? Yeah... I would find myself all up in my own head about it and acknowledging the sheer wrongness of it while also acknowledging the sheer... humanity of it, too.

And I was okay with it because it made no sense not to be. Having regrets or guilt about it made no sense because I sure as hell enjoyed the shit out of having sex with him and just as when I'd have sex with any other guy, I saw no point in feeling regret or guilt over something I wanted to do. Did that make me a pervert? Did it make him one as well? I don't know and I gave up wondering about that at some point in time. He'd show up because he... wanted or needed me and maybe I really did feel that strong desire for him as well... and that had to be worth something because that was much better than me beating him to a pulp whenever he'd start a fight with me...

And I did wonder if he did this because he knew we'd wind up having sex and it would be good. Maybe. I had asked him and he just... shrugged. God, I hated him for ignoring me like that and it was ass-kicking time which led to us, once again, having some fucking amazing sex. And I'd given up trying to figure out how the fuck that worked and kept working.

Because it didn't matter. This was all we had as brothers. Sucked that we had so much hatred for each other and knowing that he hated me because I had agreed that our mother did the right thing by throwing our alcoholic father out. Knowing that I hated him because he had so much hatred for our mother and talked about harming her, well, um, until that day she had her shotgun in his face and her finger on the trigger - but that's another story for some other time.

If I'm to be damned for this, I'm... okay with it. Wouldn't change a thing that we did and maybe, just maybe, because it was fate. I dunno.

The double dose of immorality of it all was never lost on me at any time. Never. It made me question it. How could something that everyone says is so bad feel so good? Because it's supposed to feel good... and even with your brother if it went down like that. When we were together, we were brothers... and we weren't; the reality said that we were two bisexual guys who could find great pleasure with each other and it was, obviously, the only way we could get along with each other without trying to kill each other... and that had to be worth something, didn't it?

I would sometimes find myself just watching him as he sucked my dick or rode it. He would be so... focused. Almost determined in a way I never understood. Yeah, sometimes and when he was pissed with me, it showed when he fucked me, ramming his dick into me almost as hard as he could - but not as hard as I suspected he really could because he knew - as I did - that we'd be fighting and where was the fun in that? It was expected since there were times I'd do the same thing to him and his "punishment" would be "worse" since my dick was bigger than his...

And he was one of the few guys in my sexual life who wasn't... fussy. While other guys were going on and on about big dicks, huge amounts of cum, being able to fuck continuously for hours on end, my brother... didn't give a fuck about any of that shit and that's a direct quote from him. Oh, sometimes, we'd joke about our father "cheating him out of a few inches" but it didn't matter to him any more than it mattered to me. We at least had this in common, too... and that had to be worth something, right? With him, it was always cum in his mouth, then cum in his ass so he could then cum in my mouth and ass. We got into the habit of 69ing as the thing to do when it was "just about" sucking each other off. There were times when he would bogart me, shove me onto my back and almost literally slam my dick down his throat and suck me until I came - then let go of me and say, "I needed that... and you got some work to do until you get hard enough again." We... took turns being the "aggressor" and depending on either individual need or, yeah, we were angry with each other.

I said to him one time, "You know I can kill you right now, don't you?" and while I was burying my dick in his ass. He said, "I know... but bust a nut in me first before you do it." Were we joking, albeit dangerously, with each other in these moments? I don't think we were, and I don't think he did either which just made all of this even weirder.

I could tell he watched me as I sucked him and I would hear... something in his voice whenever he'd say something like, "Damn, you are so fucking good at this!" A compliment... or just a matter of fact as far as he was concerned? I didn't know but such things would make me feel closer to him... and that had to be worth something.

But the reality of all of this had long since settled into my mind. About as wrong as anything can get... but just as right since it was obviously a very normal thing for boys to have sex with each other and, well, duh, my pain-in-the-ass brother was a boy. You might not be able to imagine what it was like for me to have him screwing me and it was so fucking good and having him whisper in my ear, "You know I fucking hate you, right?" Yeah, I knew it and I hated him, too... but he could screw me like no one else could and he would often say the exact same thing to me. It didn't make sense, but it was proof to me that you really didn't have to like someone to have amazing sex with them.

After his death - and a couple of days after what would be the last time we'd have sex with each other - I felt like the biggest slimeball ever because my fondest memories of him were every time we had sex, from the first time to that last time. He was a... better bisexual than I was because he wasn't all in his head about it like I was; I wanted to know everything about this and... he didn't give a fuck about it. He would say, "I just know what the fuck I like and it don't matter to me as long as I'm doing what I like doing..." which would sometimes be followed with, "Are you gonna give up the dick or what?"

And like Pavlov's Dog, I would give it up right along with giving up my ass to him... because it didn't make sense not to and along the lines of it not making sense to stop doing something we'd been doing all this time. We talked about that night we got caught and I was... surprised to learn that while our mother read me the riot act, not only was he not afraid but he said that he was waiting for her to stop bitching me out so we could get right back to doing it and even said, "You owed me a nut in my ass and I wanted it and I was hoping that you wasn't gonna be a punk about mom reaming you out!"

I wanted to punch him dead in his face... but I understood because it wasn't like I had ignored what our mom had said but... I didn't care about it and neither did he. I knew he was having sex with his boys... because he never hid the fact that he was. It was... touching to hear him tell me about having sex with them and him insisting that they weren't as good at making him feel good as I apparently was and, yeah, I gave up trying to get him to explain that to me, not because he couldn't, but because he just didn't care to. "You're the best so just leave it alone and gimme some dick and hurry up because I got other shit to do!"

And I'd give it to him. Not because I loved him or even trusted him to an extent. More... out of a grudging respect for him as a man and on top of me knowing that out of all of the guys I'd had sex with, it was so much better with him... and I had had a hard time admitting this to myself given how much I also despised him.

He went through that same crazy thing I was still going through. He wanted to suck my dick a lot; he wanted me to fuck him a lot. He was getting the hang of fucking me and because he wasn't shooting, god, I could suck his dick for long periods of time because it felt so good in my mouth and it was either better or worse because I had realized that we came from the same parents - we both got our dicks from them. I knew what the word "incest" meant and knew that it should never be done between brothers and sisters because it was very bad... but when our parents bothered to explain this to me - and because, I think, they knew I was "physically developed" enough to have sex, my kid logic said that, okay, me and my sister shouldn't be doing it but we were but what they told me specifically said that it was bad for brothers to do it to each other... but that was a dodge because I knew that boys weren't supposed to do it already.

And whatever fear I had at first vanished quickly because we were doing it as many times a day that we could get away with and, again, sleeping in the same bed made it easier. Later in life, I would wonder if my parents had decided to get us bunk beds for reasons other than finally giving us our own beds to sleep in but even then, it didn't stop us from being awake in the dead of night and winding up in each other's bunk and doing it. I recently commented on a post that I was sucking his dick when he came for the first time and the short version here was that it was a big and proud moment for both of us and i was smart enough to know that if there wasn't another guy who wanted to do it, my pain-in-the-ass little brother would always want to do it. He couldn't wait to shoot his stuff in my butt... and I couldn't wait to feel him do it. It was... "nastier" than it already was because we weren't just two boys - we were brothers but that made it a... good nasty? I had no words for how I was feeling about screwing my sister and my brother but I would intuitively understand some shit about sex that drove home some other shit about having sex.

It was only bad if you got caught doing it. My sister knew we were doing it and said that she wasn't going to tell - and didn't care - as long as I could eat her pussy and fuck her whenever she needed me to... and she needed me to a lot because, as she had said, she trusted me more than the other guys who wanted to fuck her. I was in a moral pickle and one that if our parents ever found out, I would be dead meat and maybe even literally.

As I've mentioned here many times on the various posts, our mom caught me fucking my brother and to this very day, I believe that she knew about it all along and had picked that moment to make it stop which, um, it didn't. It got weird between us after our mom threw our dad out because of his drinking problem and that moment affected my brother in some very bad ways and ways that would drive a wedge between us going forward and, again as mentioned here, we really did hate each other... except when we'd have sex. We could fight (and I'd kick his ass every time and with prejudice) and turn right around and deliciously suck and fuck each other - and go right back to fighting. We'd become adults and his life was still on that bad track and I was happy not to have anything to do with him but if he came looking for me, I knew why and he made no bones about seeking me out because he wanted some dick and, according to him, I still had the best dick he's ever had.

Sue me: Sex with my brother was very damned good and I'll say now that he handled his emergence as a bisexual better than I did because he saw no reason to think about it like I did. As I've shared here before, I didn't want to do it to him and at the time he started pestering me about it, we were still sleeping in the same bed and having him all up under me was bothersome because my hormones were telling me to just do it but there was always that threat of our parents catching us and I had nightmares about what they'd do to me.

He wore me down. Made me cave in. Pestered and bothered me about it until I finally said okay. Now, at this point, I had suspected that he might have been doing it with his little cadre of friends or, at the least, he'd been hearing about it and wanted to try it but I had had enough of him bothering me about it but in true big brother fashion, I was gonna teach him a lesson and starting with him sucking my dick and hoping it would make him barf or chicken out or something. And.. he didn't. We went to one of the hideouts us older guys used to have sex and pulled out my dick and said, "Put it in your mouth and suck it!"

I remember the look on his face... and it wasn't fear. He said, "Okay!" and went right to it and I would think later that it wasn't his first time sucking dick but I was still mad at him (but, really, mad at myself more) and he was still gonna pay for making me do this so when i was about to shoot, I didn't say anything and just let it happen, figuring that would freak him out... and it didn't. Oh, he was surprised but if it was possible to smile with a dick in your mouth, I could've sworn that he was smiling as he swallowed my stuff.

It was good... and I felt bad and a reality settled in on me: He wasn't going to be happy with just doing it one time and a truth that said that I wasn't going to be happy either. I sucked his dick - and knowing that he couldn't shoot - but it still felt good and he said that it did and I sucked him until I got tired and when I stopped he asked, "Are you gonna stick it in me now?" I... didn't want to but I wanted to. I put a lot of spit on my dick and smeared even more between his cheeks, got on top of him and said, "This is going to hurt..." and pushed my dick right in him. He didn't tense up. He didn't cry out. That little motherfucker said, "Oh! That feels good! Do it to me!"

So much for me teaching him a lesson. When I shot my stuff in his butt, he actually sighed and giggled a little and when I pulled out, the only thing he said was, "I can't wait for us to do it again!" And the "harsh" truth that I couldn't wait either. That night and under the cover of darkness, we did the same thing we'd done earlier that day but this time, he climbed on top of me and after some... difficulty getting his smaller dick in me, we managed it and he screwed me and it felt... wonderful. Better than when my friends screwed me. We didn't get much sleep that night and, in retrospect, I don't know how we didn't get busted because even now, I can recall how noisy we had been.

I still had to deal with feeling bad for (1) being pestered into doing it, (2) doing it, and (3) understanding that I liked it. It would be a lot of years before I would really understand why it was so good and understanding what it meant to create a monster.