It was coming up on Christmas and I had no idea what to get Kurt.

Oh, did I tell you about Kurt? Let me give you the ten cent history of Kurt Hummel. He's the kid that I found wandering around Dalton's Grand Staircase a couple of months ago. It was kind of funny, actually.

Nick told me he'd seen the kid coming in the main doors – not hard to miss since he wasn't wearing a Dalton uniform. Nobody said anything much, he might have been just a student looking to transfer and taking the tour, but he wasn't accompanied by one of the sophomore guides from the headmaster's office -you know, the ones with the cardigans and beanie hats that lap at the heels of Headmaster Chilton.

Anyway, Nicky had heard him humming a show tune, something from 'Wicked' he thought – so he figured he was here to spy on us. The Warblers are getting ready for Regionals, so we've had to field a few spies these past few weeks.

Nicky had followed him to the music department, but of course, that isn't where the Warblers practice, so it was a dead end. The kid didn't get ruffled, though, he asked around and found his way to the Student Center and Jeff took up the tail, following him to the rooms at the top of the Grand Staircase. Jeff sent me a text saying he was going to continue to send him on this wild goose chase we were staging, so I just happened to be walking by the bottom of the stairs when he was walking down.

The plan was, as usual, to confuse and frustrate him until he left, we kind of got off on torturing kids like him, until I looked up the staircase and saw him. He was wearing (and I'm not kidding here) dark glasses. Inside. He took them off as he came down the stairs and looked at me with those eyes. Those eyes.

Have I told you about Kurt Hummel's eyes? I could write a book. At first glance, they look blue. Like a sort of sky blue. He has thick lashes that take forever to float up and down his cheeks when he blinks, they're so long. Then there's the color. Yeah, you could say they're blue. Or gray. Or green. And you'd be right on every count – it's a sort of mixture of all of those with a golden sunburst in the center and it changes with what he's wearing, or his mood, or the weather...they seem to be different every time I look into them, and I do that a lot. He looked at me for about a second, decided I must have looked approachable because he held out his hand.

“Excuse me, can I ask you a question? I'm new here,” he said, then hit me with his smile. I was mesmerized. It was all I could do to get my shit together and speak.

“My name is Blaine.”

“Kurt.”

“C'mon, I know a shortcut.” And I just grabbed his hand and took off to sing 'Teenage Dream'.

That was a while ago, and a lot had happened since then. I wanted Kurt – from that very first minute I saw him, I wanted him. And shoot me if you want to, but I started planning how to go about making him mine from that very first day.

Some days went well...like the time I asked him to practice a duet with me. I told him I was singing it with a girl, but needed to get the practice in and could he be so kind as to help me? He did. We sang “Baby, It's Cold Outside” chasing each other all over the seniors' common room at Dalton. I thought it was romantic, the flirty words, the coyness he invoked to play the part. Then afterwards? He told me it was creepy that I asked him to sing ...and I quote: “A date rape song”. Sheesh! He may have said that to be funny, though, because he was really convincing when he was singing.

I was so obsessed, I memorized all kinds of stupid stuff, just so he'd be interested in me: Books he liked, TV shows he hated, fashion designers he idolized, Broadway shows and all their songs, right down to his coffee order. Hah! He was impressed with that one!

We started hanging out together, and I asked him to 'help' me with stuff. First to serenade a guy. I didn't even like the guy, it was someone I'd had coffee with, but the green-eyed jealousy monster it stirred up in Kurt? Worth every embarrassing minute. And none of the guys in the Warblers caught on. They thought I was legit, liking that guy with the stringy hair and bad skin. Who could believe I'd like anyone when I could have Kurt?

I did misjudge some stuff, however. I should never have flirted with Rachel. I was drunk, which might have been a tiny bit of an excuse, but it made Kurt so crazy I could very well have lost him there. Who knew he had such a bias against bi-sexuality? I still don't think that makes sense, and I believe it was just his jealousy rearing its ugly head, but I don't want to test it, you know? Totally not worth the risk.

What are we up to now? Oh, yeah. Blackbird. I may have had an inkling that I wanted Kurt (okay, it was more than that, but you'll understand in a minute). The Warblers have this tradition that they give a canary to the new recruits, and so they gave one to Kurt. But the damn bird died. I was kinda broken up over it, I like birds, and my canary -the one they gave me, Caruso, is still living in my bedroom at home today. Kurt took it pretty hard, and he sang him a dirge: 'Blackbird' by Paul McCartney. (note here: just another inappropriate song, because Sir Paul wrote that song about the Civil Rights race riots in the US, not about a bird. But I digress). Anyway, seeing Kurt with tears making his gorgeous, expressive eyes look like a storm was raging in them...well, I don't mind admitting it did things to me. Hard things. I couldn't even sit still, it was so bad. Lucky for me, the Dalton uniform blazer covered a wealth of, ah, territory so nobody else was the wiser, but I sat in the common room for a good long time before I could walk without obvious obstruction.

That's when I took a risk. I knew the guys wanted me to sing the lead – well, I did all the time by then – but I decided to cash in on my power and just sailed in and told them, without discussion, that I was singing with Kurt. And nobody batted an eyelash over it.

Flash forward: I waited like four days to find Kurt alone. He was decorating the coffin for Pavarotti. I kissed him.

To tell you the absolute truth of it, I was scared. Yeah, me. I thought I'd have to convince him, seduce him into it. I was ready for a long, drawn out fight. But after the first kiss? He was all up for it! He just about removed my tonsils by the end of the day. We kissed for hours, and I never wanted it to end.

After that day, it was rough. One time he wanted to be cuddly and clung to me like a koala bear. The next day, he had the touch-me-nots and told me about how romantic he thought just touching fingertips could be. I was so confused. Which made me (finally!) realize he was the one that was confused. He wouldn't talk to me about it, so I had to get out the big guns. I went to his dad. It was always weird talking to Burt. He seemed friendly enough, but still he had a kind of strange reserve, like he didn't want to get too close to me, and I knew it wasn't because I'm gay...I mean, his son is Kurt! I couldn't figure it out. Anyways, I told Burt he should have 'the talk' with Kurt because the kid would never go looking for it by himself. Burt seemed kind of irked that I dared to say something and I knew Kurt would hate me for doing it, but by the end of the next week, he had pamphlets and his dad had made sure he knew what was what. Mission accomplished.

After that, there was nothing left to stem the tide. Kurt was insatiable. He pulled me into the janitor's closet for kissing and groping, he stayed late after Glee club so we could sneak down to the showers and, well, shower. He knew every unoccupied nook and cranny in Westerville, Ohio. I had unleashed a monster. Oh, and he learned fast. Talk about zero to sixty in three seconds, I know he would never google stuff that could be traced later, but he must have been at the library a lot because I found a copy of “The Joy of Gay Sex” in his messenger bag - inside the book jacket of “Paris Fashion of 1995”. There were little yellow post-its with notes marking all kinds of things in that book. I just had a minute to glance over the pages, but it only took a second for me to get hard, first thinking about what the men were doing in those pictures. Things I wanted to do. With Kurt. And then, wait for it,......the realization that KURT must want to explore some of those things, too. Why else would he mark the pages? Shit. My heart was pounding so hard, and every drop of that blood was going straight to my cock. I was amazed and scared and so turned on in that moment.

Kurt walked back in the library where we were sitting and one glance in my direction told him what I was looking at. If I hadn't been involved in the whole thing, if I had been sitting in the chair across from me, it might have been amusing. You know Kurt wears those jeans that look like they're painted on him? The ones that are so tight that you can count the change in his pocket? He was wearing the cream colored ones. I could see his cock getting hard – as though it were a live thing unto itself, struggling to be free of the confines of that fabric. He was looking straight at me, trying to see if I was sporting an erection, too, but my Dalton blazer covered it up. Like I said, it covers a lot of territory.

Kurt got a look on his face, and I knew that look. I nodded. He disappeared. I followed a few moments later, walking as calmly a my ever-harder cock would let me, to the girls' washroom in the basement.

I know, what were we doing in the girl's washroom? Let me tell you that McKinley is an old building. I think it's been here since the turn of the last century, and I don't mean 2000. It has been refurbished, added on to, redecorated, fixed, and generally messed around with every time a politician wanted to garner a few extra votes. So I guess it wasn't such a surprise that there was a girl's washroom in the tiny hallway behind the boy's locker room. As you are imagining, it is always totally deserted. I had no sooner pushed the door open when I was slammed against the wall, Kurt's lips assaulting mine as he grabbed a fist full of my curls and moaned deep into my open mouth. Wow. All this because I happened to see a book he was reading while looking for some candy he usually kept in the bag.

Have I mentioned how hot Kurt is? Well, take that and add him pasting himself to my chest, his tongue down my throat and he makes these obscene noises that make me even harder, and you can imagine the state I was in. My cock was trying to get to his through the layers of jeans and boxers and I wasn't one for denying it anything in those days. I rutted against Kurt, rubbing friction and hot, sloppy, open mouth kisses down his neck.

“Did you see my book?” he asked, his voice getting higher in excitement as I licked over his collarbone.

“Yes, baby, I did. Which do you want me to do to you?” I asked, knowing he had probably made one of his famous lists, after careful consideration of all the pros and cons of every position and act. Sometimes it paid to have a boyfriend with such a penchant for organization.

“I have a list...” he grinned. See, I told you so.

“In order of what? Let me guess, difficulty? Amount of foreplay required? Ah, alphabetical?”

He laughed, which is so hot when I'm nuzzling my face into his neck.

“No, in the order I think you can come the most.” Just like that. No hesitancy, no games, just straight to the crux of the whole matter. That's Kurt. Always honest, always full disclosure. Or at least I thought so then. I have probably never been so wrong in my entire life. With a relationship like ours, what could he be hiding? Haha....I would find out, but not for a while.

That all comes later. Let's get back to the girls' washroom:

“I like that. Tell me just one thing. It doesn't have to be the top of the list thing, but something simple that can be accomplished in, say, an abandoned girls' washroom with a minimum of clothing removal?” I prompted him. I got a huge smile in return.

“We can start with something simple. I can take down your jeans and suck your cock,” he offered. Now, the idea of getting a blowjob is pretty great, especially when you're hard as a I was and your boyfriend is, too, and there's privacy and well, you've only done this once before – last week in the backseat of his Navigator at the parking lot at school. When you've done that once, believe me, you're looking for another opportunity.

“Okay, but you can't come. I know that's how it ended last time, but I want to suck yours, too. And there isn't enough recovery time – we have to be in Math in 45 minutes,” I said, barely able to get the words out because he was peeling my jeans down my thighs. He was so eager, which only added to the tension as I pulled his down, too. It was only natural that we gravitated together and rubbed our cocks for a few strokes, that heavy silken feel to the skin as it slid next to more skin. Kurt was so good to look at, his cock much larger than you might think given his slim build. That whole thing about the size of a guy's thumb being an indication of the size of his equipment? Complete bullshit. Kurt was slim and tall, but what he was packing was anything but 'slim'. Thinking of him pushing that huge thing inside me had me drooling with want, but with a bit of fear, too, wondering how on god's green earth it would fit. It barely fit in my mouth, and I have a big mouth.

“Blaine, hurry,” he whispered to me. Now, there was nobody to hear us, I knew because I'd coaxed a real wail out of him last week when we were here. It was during classes, but nobody heard, so we knew it was pretty soundproof. The boiler room was between us and the rest of the classrooms. But he chose to whisper, and who knew that whispering would be so damn hot. I heard a groan escape my throat and my fingers dug into his thighs where I was stroking him.

“Please,” he whined, letting out a whimper,” Please, Blaine, put me in your mouth. I want you to suck on me, to lick me, let me get harder while your tongue brings me closer...” Kurt begged. I had him in my mouth and was struggling against my gag reflex trying to fit it as far down my throat as possible, just to hear him moan. I drew back a little and nodded towards the couch that was against the wall. He moved towards it and we fell back on it, me on top as I returned to the task at hand.

I'll let you in on two things here: first, yes there was a couch in the girls' washroom. Brittany told me there is one in all the girls' rooms in the school in case the girls get monthly cramps. I find this hard to believe, but apparently it's true. I asked Rachel once, but she just turned bright red and left the room. Maybe having two gay dads has left her with a complex about female body functions, something to file away for future reference for when I have a daughter of my own.

Second: you may wonder at my use of the phrase “Task at hand”. It sounds impersonal, as though this blowjob was just something for me to endure to get to my own pleasure. I assure you this was not the case. I enjoy blowing Kurt. Probably because he enjoys it so much. To see his face just fall apart when the heat hits him, you can map the inner struggle as he tries valiantly to keep from coming because he wants it to last forever, so he toes up to the brink then pulls back again and again, prolonging the inevitable until that moment just before the full blast of the orgasm hits him, there is the split second when you know it's coming, that there is nothing at that time that can stop it, and you know how good it's going to feel, that you could live for moments like that with nothing in between because it is so good. Well, I can see that on his face, and it's better than having my own orgasm, just the knowing that it was me that gave that gift to Kurt.

That blast of orgasmic energy is not the end, however. Then comes the part where you ride down the spiral of cooling off, the aftermath of all that energy that has to go somewhere, so it settles in your spine and down your legs as your body shakes and trembles in post-orgasm excitement just before the body defends itself from harm by making everything hyper sensitive. I know you're going to think “what a gay thing to say”, and if that is true, then I'm even more proud to be gay because this post-coitus part might be the most important thing of all. When Kurt's body is on the defensive like that, he's at his most vulnerable. Don't shake your head, man or woman- you are, too. That's the time that vulnerable time, I hold him. Wrapping my arms around him in comfort and warmth so he knows I love and care about him, that is what's important. Sexual satisfaction is key in a partnership like ours, but feeling safe in your lovers' arms is paramount to a lifetime of love. And it isn't one sided, either. Kurt holds me, too. And I relish it, love it, can't get enough of it.

That day in the girls' room, we were on the couch and I was sucking and soothing and licking for all I was worth until he was so close, then he put a hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me back. Unfinished. What the...?

He sat up and changed positions, laying a hand on my shoulder to stop me from moving. He moved so he could take me into his mouth and my world rocked. Yeah, I know it's cliché, but in this instance it is the absolute truth. I was hot from all the emotions and triggers of having his cock in my mouth and his moans in my ears, but to add the physical stimulus of his warm tongue lapping over my skin, sucking and stroking as he led me closer to the climax. It didn't take long, and I was ready to burst when he stopped again. Argh. He changed position and suddenly we were noses to knees and we could each benefit. He took me back in his soft, warm mouth and reached down to encourage me to do the same. Sixty-nine is my new favorite number. If you haven't ever had the privilege of having participated in this, I highly recommend it.

I know in all those romance novels and things like that, the lovers always climax together in perfect harmony, reaching the so-called peak and mixing their fountain of semen together as it streams out in pearly ropes a hundred feet long. Another totally bullshit rumor. I doubt two people come at the exact same time twice in their lifetimes. Not that this is a bad idea per se...but that it just doesn't happen, it's not that controlled. If you're concentrating on your own orgasm, you would have some problem making them synchronize. And, really, who would want to when you think about it. I don't know about you, but when I'm having an orgasm, I want my mind on it. And when I am doing my best to make sure my partner is feeling every little detail, is getting everything he needs to make it a mind blowing experience, I want my entire mind on him, not on myself.

We did not come at the same exact moment. And because of that, I was able to watch his expressive face as it softened for a second before I could see the heat building up and up to the point where there was no turning back and he gave his whole being into the throes of pleasure. It was the final thing that I needed for the heat to begin building inside me. As Kurt was coming down that slope of post-orgasm, I was just a the brink and his eyes got big, pupils darkening once more as he saw me teeter at the edge and the pleasure hit me, throbbing through my cock in sheer ecstasy.

We lay quietly for a few minutes, regaining our strength and then moving so we were in each other's arms, kissing and pledging undying love...all those things that just trip out of your mouth after satisfying and lustful sex. Not that we didn't mean what we said, but it was a bit intense for everyday conversation.

We soaked up all the warmth and comfort we could and then repaired our wardrobes and went to Math. We weren't even late.