My First Time with the Guy Next Door

I was nineteen, living in a cheap off-campus apartment for the summer, and completely obsessed with the guy next door. His name was Chris. Twenty-four, quiet, worked construction, and had the kind of body that made me forget how to speak whenever he walked past my window without a shirt.

I was the classic skinny twink: soft light-brown hair, pale skin that burned in ten minutes of sun, narrow shoulders, and a waist so small my jeans always needed a belt. Chris was the opposite—broad, tanned, arms thick from work, and a calm way of looking at people that made my stomach flip.

We’d exchange polite hellos in the hallway. Sometimes he’d help me carry groceries. Once he fixed the leaky faucet in my kitchen without me even asking. Every time he left I stood there hard and embarrassed, wishing I had the guts to say something real.

One Friday night in July the air conditioning in my place died. It was past midnight and the apartment felt like an oven. I heard music coming through the wall—low, slow. I pulled on a pair of thin shorts and a tank top, walked the ten steps to his door, and knocked before I could talk myself out of it.

Chris opened the door in gray sweatpants and nothing else. His chest was bare, a light sheen of sweat on his skin. He looked at me for a second, then stepped aside.

“AC out?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s unbearable over there.”

He let me in. His place was cooler, darker, smelled like clean laundry and something woodsy. I sat on the edge of his couch while he grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. When he handed me one our fingers touched. I didn’t pull away.

Chris sat next to me, closer than he needed to. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

I laughed nervously. “Just hot.”

He studied my face. “You always this quiet around me?”

My heart was hammering. I set the water down. “I’ve been wanting to… say something. For months.”

“Yeah?” His voice stayed calm. “What?”

I swallowed. “I want you to be my first.”

The silence stretched. Chris didn’t smile or laugh. He just reached out and brushed a strand of hair off my forehead with his thumb.

“You sure about that?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He leaned in and kissed me. Slow at first, testing. Then deeper when I opened my mouth for him. His hand slid under my tank top, warm palm spanning my narrow back. I made a soft sound against his lips. Chris pulled the shirt off me completely and tossed it aside.

“Come here.”

He guided me onto his lap so I was straddling him. My thin shorts did nothing to hide how hard I already was. Chris’s hands settled on my hips, thumbs stroking the soft skin just above the waistband. I could feel him getting hard underneath me.

He stood up with me still in his arms like I weighed nothing and carried me to the bedroom. The sheets were cool. He laid me down and peeled my shorts off slowly. My cock sprang free, flushed and leaking against my stomach. Chris looked at it for a long moment, then leaned down and took me into his mouth.

I gasped. His tongue was hot and wet, working the underside while he hollowed his cheeks. One big hand pinned my hip so I couldn’t thrust. I tangled my fingers in his short hair and tried not to come too fast. He sucked me until my thighs were shaking, then pulled off with a wet pop.

“On your stomach.”

I rolled over, face in the pillow, ass up. Chris knelt behind me. I heard him spit, then felt a thick finger press against my hole. He rubbed the spit in slow circles before pushing inside. The stretch burned. I clenched around him.

“Breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”

He worked that finger in and out until the burn faded. A second joined it. He curled them and found the spot that made my toes curl and my cock drip onto the sheets. I pushed back against his hand, chasing the pressure.

Chris pulled his fingers out. I heard the condom wrapper tear and the wet sound of him stroking himself. Then the blunt head of his cock pressed against me. He held still.

“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“Don’t stop,” I whispered.

He pushed. The head popped inside. Sharp pain flared through me. I bit the pillow hard. Chris stayed frozen, one hand rubbing gentle circles on my lower back until the pain softened into a deep, full ache. Then he sank the rest of the way in, slow and steady, until his hips were flush against my ass.

“Fuck… you’re so tight.” His voice was rough.

He started moving. Long, careful strokes that let me feel every thick inch. The burn melted into heat. Pleasure built under the stretch until I was rocking back to meet him. Chris reached under me and wrapped his hand around my cock, stroking in the same rhythm.

“You feel so fucking good around me,” he murmured against my shoulder. “Taking me like you were made for it.”

I moaned into the pillow, legs trembling. He sped up gradually, the wet slap of skin filling the quiet room. Every deep thrust hit that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyes. My hole felt stretched wide and claimed.

Chris leaned over my back, chest against my shoulder blades, mouth next to my ear.

“Gonna come soon. You want it?”

“Yes—please—come in me—”

His thrusts turned short and hard. The hand on my cock tightened. I came first, shooting thick ropes across the sheets while my hole clenched around him in waves. Chris groaned low and deep, hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside the condom.

He stayed buried for a long moment, breathing hard against my neck. Then he pulled out carefully. I felt open and sore and strangely proud. Chris rolled me onto my back, brushed sweaty hair off my face, and kissed me soft and slow.

“You did perfect,” he said against my lips.

I smiled, still catching my breath. “Can I stay tonight?”

Chris pulled me against his chest and tucked the sheet around us both. “Yeah. You’re not going anywhere.”

I fell asleep with his arm around my waist and the deep ache between my legs reminding me I wasn’t a virgin anymore. The next morning the AC in my apartment was still broken, but I didn’t care. I already knew exactly where I’d be spending the rest of the summer.