I was a 23 yo twink in Boston with Mondays off. I very much wanted to suck cock, but it was the AIDS era and I hated condoms. So, I stuck to dating or trying to date girls.

Looking for porn on a Monday, I went into one of the few remaining ABS venues left. While eyeing the porn covers, this short, medium build guy, 40ish, in a rumpled suit started hovering near me, clear even to naive me he was cruising. I noticed him head toward the booths. I was SO nervous my dick and balls shrank but I waited 10 seconds and followed him back, just in time to see the booth he went into. I went into one next door, dropped all the quarters I had in the slot, selected a channel of gay porn and sat on the bench. I was about to chicken out. I didn’t know enough to signal but he put his dick through the GH anyway. I had already stood up to leave.

So, his cock was not 12 feet long like they seem to be in a lot of these confessions and stories. It was above average in length, thick, circumcised and as handsome a cock as it possibly could be. For a split second, I thought someone was playing a cruel joke and had bought one of those sculpted, realistic, top-of-the-line dildoes from the store and poked it through the glory hole. That's how beautiful. When I am not horny, I will admit a cock is not a bouquet of roses or an Ansel Adams landscape. No, its beauty is sublime, and by that I mean it has a transcendent primal power that shatters conventional, bougey notions of beauty.

At that moment of seeing that cock, framed by soft wispy pubic hair instead of the usual wiry nest, I had an epiphany I could only put into words much later. I was looking at where I started my life journey, half of my DNA shooting out of a cock into the world, not this cock but the Father Cock, what I call Phallus, the ancient Latin word for it. I was staring at an avatar of that male creative energy, and my new god wanted one thing from me: Worship.

That's what I did. I kneeled like a Catholic in that very Catholic city. I started by burying my nose in his balls and inhaling the incense inside my newly discovered, admittedly sleazy chapel -- a glory hole booth in the storied district of the Combat Zone. That incense was the musk and sweat of a ball sac, washed that morning with soap and water but encased all morning in tidy whiteys. I sucked those nuts reverently with my lips cup carefully to protect them from my teeth. I remember those first suckling sounds, probably inaudible outside the booth, but loud in my ears. I was only licking up sweat and pheromones, but I was feeding for the first time on Phallic energy like a newborn at the teat for the first time. I licked up the shaft, spit dripping from my tongue, long wet hungry licks. I think I made an 'mmmm' noise that was answered by a low moan from the other side of the half-inch plywood partition.

For the first time in probably a full minute, I was reminded that someone was attached to that cock on the other side. One thing I didn't realize then in my youthful innocence, raised in a Southern town with no father, two sisters and a mother, was how much I craved male approval, any approval or validation at all for any reason. Suddenly, I wanted to please this anonymous man more than anything. I took the head of that cock carefully between my thick lips, lips that more than one man had called 'cocksucking lips' and gently sucked a dick for the first time.

If you know anything about semen, then you know that there are sugars in it to fuel the sperm. In a full load, the flavors are not like honey. Let's not pretend, BUT in the pre-cum, which is excreted to lay out the meal for those sperm, those sugars are perceptible on the tongue. It is cock nectar to me. The sweet wine of Phallic communion. I licked it and was instantly hooked. I wanted MORE. I wanted everything with which Phallus would reward me. I almost the entire shaft into my mouth with that first swallow but being inexperienced I couldn't quite make it. On the third or fourth try though my hunger and desperation cause me to really swallow like I was taking a drink and it went in. His moan was louder that time. I am not sure how many times I pistoned my head and sucked that cock. The experience, my first as a cocksucker, remains detailed and vivid to this day, but I was lost in the moment. I think he came within two or three minutes, but it was long enough because I remember taste and thought that crossed my mind.

His final, climactic moan wasn't the loudest one but it had a guttural depth and rawness to it that I will never forget. I had pleased a man in the most basic way and in payment he shot rope after rope, long white stream after long white stream of that Holy Seed into my desperate hungry, fledgling mouth -- hungry bird that I was. I could write hundreds of words about those first tastes of cum, but I realize for most of you reading this may already be too long, too overwrought. You're probably already doubting this weirdo, dick-obsessed fag. Don't care really because I have that intense recollection. It was cum. I won't pretend it was cotton candy, but it was powerful primal stuff and in a way I have been 'chasing the dragon' ever since, trying to recreate and re-experience that first taste and swallow of the communion wine of Phallus, consuming the kind of seed that began me. I didn't hesitate or think about it. I just drank it down. No mess and I nursed to get every drop until he pulled back and denied me anymore. I must have kneeled there stunned for a full minute when heard the door to his booth open and thud shut. For the first time, I was aware of the throbbing of my own dick, leaking so much precum.

I frantically opened my fly and pulled my average, cut dick out and pulled it dry, using the precum for lubrication. Just a light touch on the frenulum and I shot three thick ropes of cum into my other hand, a drop or two on my pants. I licked my hand clean and retrieved the dollops on my trousers, licking them from my fingertips. The TV clicked off, and I probably only had a minute or two before one of the people who worked there knocked to demand I put more money in the slot. I quickly zipped up, tucking away my softening cock, buttoned my 501 jeans and exited the booth. I want to say all the clerks looked at me and I blushed with shame on my way out, but neither happened. They were preoccupied with business and I was just another in a dozen or more cocksuckers in the ABS on a relatively quiet Monday.

I entered the frigid air, made my way to Washington station (later Downtown Crossing) and back to Jamaica Plain. Later that afternoon, I would freak out, worry about AIDS and pledge to never do that again. Maybe one day I will tell you where that led next, and it wasn't, thankfully, to a hospital bed and illness. If you made it this far, thanks for reading.