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I am:
Brandon, 30 years old, male, bisexual
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Inver Grove Heights, Minnesota, United States
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Male couple, bisexual
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“I’m going to put peanut butter on your balls,” I stated lamely, staring into his red, high eyes.
And that’s how you’d come to find me hunched over my boyfriend, figuring out how best to spread creamy nut butter all over his, well, nuts.
“Should I just, use my hands?” I asked, glancing from the jar to my naked boyfriend laying in the bed, penis up.
“I uh, I guess,” he answered hastily, glancing at me with excitement.
I dipped my fingers in the sticky mess and pulled out a large brown glob. I immediately plopped it in my mouth and reach for another fingerful. Shit this was going to be good. I looked down at his body, ready to rock his world with my mediocre oral skills. I tried not to focus on the tiny hairs poking out of his pubic region as I spread the peanut butter along his shaft.
“Ohhhhh that feels good,” he moaned, making me immediately recoil. I wasn’t going to jerk him off with fucking peanut butter. “Put a little on my balls,” he groaned with his eyes still closed.
I spread the rest of the substance on his genitals and sat back to admire my handy (geddit?) work. The longer I stared at the soft, squishy brown stuff covering his junk, the more I didn’t want to lick it up. But then he glanced up in expectation and I knew what I had to do. It’s fine. I told myself, as I pulled my hair back into a messy bun. You love peanut butter. And this will make the blow job a million times easier. I nodded curtly at my common sense and bent forward as a whiff of peanuts hit my nose. See? It’s not bad! I coached myself, as I licked the spread off of his erect penis.
It wasn’t until I sat back to catch my breath that it hit me. My saliva had made the peanut butter on his penis become runny. The brown sludge was dripping off of him and dipped into every crevice. I couldn’t look away but I also couldn’t go back down there. As I gazed at his balls, pruney and covered in a fine layer of hair, with sticky brown stuff caked in the nooks and crannies, I felt the peanut butter I had just slurped down rise up my throat.
“What’s wrong?” he panted, sensing my hesitation.
I tried to swallow back the bile that was making its way up my throat. I had to look away. I had to get out of there.
“It looks like literal shit,” I shouted, before running out of the room and making it to the toilet just in time.
When I came back ten minutes later (after throwing up everything I had eaten in the past week and using half of his bottle of mouthwash), I found him hunched over his penis, wiping it up with a tissue.
“I’m sorry,” I panted, unable to look at the offensive balls still somewhat covered in what looked like baby diarrhea.
“It’s okay,” he said, tossing the tissue in the trashcan and reaching for another, “it does look pretty gross.” He glanced up at me and smirked, before pushing the brown covered napkin under my nose “Smells pretty good, tho