HE calls the shots...

You find his gaze from his one good eye, piercing. There is a hardness to this young man. You find yourself slipping to your knees and crawling towards him. He tilts his head, looking at you, studying you, he hasn't survived this long by not analyzing every situation. He see's where your eyes are, looks down at the crotch of his worn jeans. A corner of his lip rises in a smirk. Even with his missing eye, he somehow still makes you think of a mischievous child the way he grins.

"I'm not gay." He finally says, you look confused, disappointed. Then he laughs again. "Is what I would say if I was looking to date. One thing I've learned, you take what fun you can, when you can." You hear the jangle as he starts to undo his belt. What is it about a clicking belt that can sound like a dinner bell going out. You can see as he pulls his fly down there is no underwear, he reaches in and pulls himself out as casually as if he was about to take a piss. While he's not dirty, you can smell him, the sweat and hormones of a young man who had been exerting himself.

It's thick and long, uncut and laying over two duck egg sized balls. That sweaty musty smell of a young man why tries to stay clean, though hard to do as hard as he has to work and fight to survive.

"Two rules, we're not kissing, not on the lips anyway. Second, We're done once I cum."