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"Dude, You Too?" chapter 4: "We good bro?"
My phone chirped and the digital deadbolt unlocked with a confident but cheap-sounding mechanical whirr. This front door lock would do for now, but once Sam and I put this condo on the market we'd have to find something that felt a little more sturdy. Something that sounded like it guarded a truly special place--safe, private, and exclusive.
My heart was in my throat as I pushed the door handle down and walked into the space.
"Heya! I'm here," I called out, closing the door behind me. "Sam?"
I couldn't help but glance up to see the security cam above the door. The one on which Sam had seen me surfing Bateworld while I sat at our makeshift breakfast bar last Friday.
I swallowed my pride and kept going.
Sam really had done a lot of work this morning while I was at the doc. The place was the cleanest I'd seen it since the day we closed escrow. All the demo debris was gone. No carpets, no drywall, no popcorn ceiling, no dated track lighting, no heavy drapery blocking the amazing 14th-floor view of Downtown Atlanta. It had all been hauled away, leaving a totally blank canvas for us to create something really unique. Even the concrete floors looked great.
The only fixtures that remained in the condo were 2 of the 4 commodes, still in the spaces that used to be bathrooms, and the kitchen island which held the only working sink left in the place. They were all still plumbed and functional.
Sam had rescued a fridge and a small microwave from one of the flips a while back, and those were here too. The previous owners had also left three bar-height stools behind. They were too tall now that we'd chopped the island down to counter height, but we needed someplace to sit if we were going to be working in here 8 hours a day for the next several weeks.
"In here," Sam called back from what used to be the main bedroom.
With only the naked wooden framing left of the walls that used to separate the rooms in this massive space, there really was no in here' because it was all just here.' Once you were a few feet in you had a line of sight through to just about every part of the condo.
"I brought Burger King!" I half yelled.
He hollered back, "I brought somethin' better! Check this out!"
I dropped the bag of burgers, fries, and onion rings on a large piece of plywood that was serving as our countertop and headed for Sam's voice. Rounding the sharp corner of the unsanded edge of half-inch ply, I looked up to see Sam with a huge grin, naked from the waist down, standing with his feet spread apart and making finger guns at his penis.
The air completely left my lungs. I felt like I'd been hit in the chest with a wrecking ball. My hands flew up to my face, covering my eyes.
"Sam!" I shouted before opening my hands, peekaboo-style, to look again.
"What?!" He said, sounding genuinely shocked.
My eyes stayed focused on his face. He was still smiling huge and looking extremely proud of himself.
"I thought you'd love this! Come'ere," Sam beckoned, "Take a look!"
It took me a beat and a couple of side steps to realize Sam wasn't pointing at his penis. He was showing off a long, thin box he was straddling. A metal switch enclosure left in the wooden framing had played a trick on me -- it was blocking a very important part of my view. Sam was fully clothed, but the junction box obscured his shorts, leaving just his hairy shin visible.
"Big screen!!!" He shouted and raised his hands over his head.
That action caused his t-shirt to rise up, showing about two inches of his flat, hairy belly.
I was still recovering from what I THOUGHT I had seen and couldn't really speak.
Still straddling the box, Sam said, "Dude, I wanted to do something to say I am sorry for the whole security cam thing, and I thought we could set this up so we'd have somethin' to watch or just listen to while we work on this place." His grin started to dim a bit, and a look of genuine regret and concern washed over his face. "We good, buddy?"
"Did this come out of the company budget?" I asked with a half smile.
Sam jumped up off the box and took three long strides over to me, arms spread wide.
We are not huggers. I think we hugged once when we sold our first flip, and once after his dad called in the middle of a job to say Sam's mom had passed. Otherwise, we were handshake or fist-bump buddies.
This time Sam wrapped his arms around my shoulders and squeezed hard. It felt awesome. I reached around and returned the embrace. Keeping my hands in fists for some reason.
When we finally broke, he stepped back, put his hands on my shoulders and said, "Yes. Yes, it DID come out of the dang company budget. You should be happy. My apology gift is also a write-off." He poked me in the chest to punctuate those last two words.
I shoved him, smiled, averted my eyes, and said, "Thanks, bud."
As if the hug hadn't been groundbreaking enough, he brought his right hand under my chin to lift my eyes to his and said, "I'm truly sorry." Then, he kind of cupped the side of my face, his thumb in front of my ear, palm against my neck, fingers spreading into the hair on the back of my head.
Almost instinctively, I tilted my head into his hand. And looking straight into his dark brown eyes, I said, "We're good, dude. We're totally good."
Sam grinned that big, comforting, southern grin. Kind of patted me with his fingers still intertwined in my hair and said, "Then let's have some fuckin' lunch! Did they have the Impossible Whopper?"
And that was that. All these days I had been fretting (and fantasizing) about this encounter and he had made it totally easy. I felt genuinely close to Sam for the first time, and it had taken a series of unfortunate events to make that happen.
The rest of the day was pretty normal. We rolled out a large printout of the existing floor plan on the kitchen island, spread our Burger King feast out on top of it and began to plan the future for this penthouse.
As we talked and ate and worked, I realized that I was definitely experiencing Sam differently today. The way he smelled, the way he moved, even the way his clothes fit him. I'd never really noticed any of that before. But today, as the afternoon sun streamed in from the HUGE Centennial Park-facing windows and started to turn the light inside the unit to kind of a soft amber, I kind of felt a little man-crushy on the guy.
He REALLY was good looking. About 6'1, athletic but not a body builder. I'd guess he's around 190 to 195 pounds. Dark hair, eyes and skin like most guys with South Asian heritage. His forearms and legs were moderately hairy. I hadn't seen him shirtless, but I assumed that he had that same black body hair on his chest and abs as well.
I didn't know a LOT about his family, except that his parents were born and raised in India. He came along after they immigrated to the U.S. and settled in Beaufort, South Carolina.
Sam (whose GIVEN name I learned last Friday was Srinivasan, before he'd had it legally changed to Sam at 18) had a thick Low Country accent. He kind of sounded like Blake Shelton, but more bro-y.
It was coming up on 4 p.m. and technically we weren't supposed to be `working' on the condo past 5. Homeowner Association rules. But it had been a pretty productive day, even with the late start.
We'd decided that the master bath would be a semi wet-room design, with a free standing tub and a large shower sharing one half of the room. A floating vanity, dual sinks, and tons of storage would flank the other wall. Condo plumbing required the commode to stay where it was, so the room was basically designed around that.
The kitchen would be the biggest transformation.
Sam was up and animated as he described the new tech he'd been reading about that would really make this a modern cook's dream.
"Everything controlled by a smart speaker," he proclaimed. "Alexa, pour three tablespoons of water from the pot filler." He was holding his hands up to his face like he was shouting at the device. His muscles flexing under the dark skin on his hairy forearms. Biceps stretching the fabric of his plain white T a little.
"Alexa, preheat the top oven to 350," Sam continued. "Dude it's going to be rad."
"Rad?" I chuckled. "What is this 1987?"
"I don't know... I was like four. But it IS gonna be rad. Trust and believe."
I always forget I've got a few years on him.
Sam went on, "White quartz countertops with just a hint of grey-brown veining. That stacked stone-style backsplash we did in the Oakhurst house. Can we swing Wolf appliances? How sexy would a big six burner be in here?" He was on a roll. "Cabinets to the ceilin', white uppers, grey lowers. Like at the Inman Park house..."
I interrupted his flow, "Cabinets to the top of 12 foot ceilings? Are we installing a rolling library ladder too?"
But that only made him more excited, "We COULD! I saw this really cool one in `Dwell.' They installed it in some modern mansion in Malibu. It looked sick!"
Sam had his hands above his head again, pantomiming rolling the ladder around the future cabinets. He was facing away from me and his raised arms caused his shirt to ride up again, this time showing me his lower back which had some definition. It also offered a look at where his love handles would be. Maybe it was the stretch of his arms above his head, but there were none to be seen. It made me want to work harder on my core.
"Anything's possible dude," I affirmed. "We just gotta budget it out."
"Right..." He came back to earth a little. Then, still facing away from me, he said, "If I could only get paid to masturbate, we'd have unlimited funds!"
He turned his head and gave me a cheeky grin.
I got that hollow feeling in my chest again... like I needed to exhale, but there was no breath in my lungs.
"Too soon?" He asked turning his full body to me.
I pulled the laptop that we'd been using to look up prices for bathroom fixtures over to me and pretended to type.
"What do you want your username to be?" I deadpanned.
"Username?" He asked kind of quizzically.
"Yeah, on OnlyFans... I'm setting up your account so you can get paid to masturbate." I smiled a smart-aleck grin at him.
He put his hands down and leaned into the counter across from me. "Dude... can I tell you how much money I have spent on that fuckin' site since lockdown. It's embarrassin'."
"I need some new blood in my OnlyFans feed," I admitted, not looking up from the screen. "Maybe we should compare notes."
"Compare sumpthin'" Sam drawled, almost pouting.
I quit acting like I was looking at the laptop and noticed him staring down at the plywood. He was kind of tracing the woodgrain with his finger.
It got quiet for a while. Probably not as long as I remember, but it was the first awkward silence of the day. It felt like our new connection was starting to slip, and I was feeling like it was my fault.
Sam had really made an effort to make me comfortable about today. He was continuing to open up to me. He'd been dropping hints. Putting them in the wind like dandelion spores for me to notice as they floated by. And I HAD noticed. And I APPRECIATED that. I just wasn't sure where to go with it yet. Was it my turn to blow a spore his way?
"That pose, in the bedroom this morning..." I started.
"Yeah?" He looked up.
"It reminded me of that guy... um...," I searched my brain for a sec...
"Ahhh, you picked up on that?" Sam knew where I was going.
"Is it Mark or Matt..."
Sam interrupted, "HandyMatt on Bateworld. Exactly. That dude is a frickin' rockstar man. I wish I had half of his confidence. He just does not give a shit about showin' it all off. Love that guy."
"If you'd put your tongue out it would have been the perfect imitation." I hoped he would take that as a compliment.
"You know," He stood up straight, still across the island expanse from me, "I experimented with that look before you got here... but I dialed it back at the last minute."
"You ever message with that guy or anything?" I asked.
Sam kind of shifted on his feet, "Nah, I don't really interact too much on Bateworld. I hit the like button on pics, I rate videos, and take polls and stuff. But with no photos in my profile it's hard to get people to chat much."
I nodded and realized my hand had made my way to my lap. I didn't remember putting it there... I think it's just force of habit when I get to talking or thinking about Bateworld or masturbation or masturbators.
"Yeah, that's a bit of a hurdle. Even with no self-pics I've still managed to make a couple of longish-term chat buds over the years though.... But eventually, even they kinda fade away. I'm in a bit of a dry spell right now."
Sam nodded and kind of tilted his head, "A chattin' dry spell or a masturbation dry spell?"
"Definitely not a masturbation dry spell. I don't think I've ever had one of those." I tried to think of a time when I did, but was coming up empty. "Even when I had Covid I didn't... I COULDN'T... go a day without penis." I caught myself off guard with that last word.
"No days without penis." Sam echoed my words back to me kind of under his breath but not really. I also heard him stress the word `penis' just slightly.
"Every day is penis day buddy." I punched the word again.
He looked up from the plywood. "Uh huh," he agreed. "I penis EVERY day."
This was escalating quickly. 'Penis' was now a verb and I needed to adjust mine. I saw his hand shift something in HIS shorts as well.
"You penis every day bro?" I asked. "Penis your penis every day?" The word was starting to morph in my mouth... penis was becoming `peenus'. The E was getting longer with each utterance.
Sam was now openly, holding his crotch, kind of pinching what I assumed was the tip of his penis. I wondered again if he was circumcised or not. Was I about to find out?
"All of my alone time is for penising bro." Sam kept up our circular banter, and added a new angle: "Pornography and penis masturbation."
I took the bait, "Porno bate buddy?" I was nodding and alternating my gaze between his eyes and his hand on his fly. His palm was now kind of pressing into his pants and moving n a circular motion.
I stood up and started to more openly handle my own hardening sex organ.
Sam's eyes darted down to my hand, "Porno and penis bro."
"Uh huh," I nodded, "Leaky porno penis." Now I was just saying words, looking for his triggers.
"Yeah buddy," Sam pulled his shirt up and placed the hand that was on his crotch on his belly. Dipping his fingertips just barely under the waistband of his cargo shorts and confirmed, "I have a leaky, hairy, adult, penis-erection in my pants bro."
In anticipation of my doctor's appointment earlier in the day, I had worn some loose, nylon basketball shorts. Now, pre-seminal fluid was leaking into my boxer briefs and starting to come through the light grey fabric of my shorts. Making a very obvious wetspot.
"Dude, check it out, my leaky, hairy, adult, peenus is making a pre-seminal fluid stain on my shorts bro." I nodded down inviting him to openly stare.
Sam's hand pushed further into his shorts. He elaborated, "That's what penis does bro, it gets erect and produces pre-seminal fluid buddy."
My penis needed my fist, badly... but rather than go down under my waistband like Sam, I pulled up the loose, nylon of my shorts and reached in from underneath.
Sam pulled his hand out of his cargo shorts, undid the button and unzipped the fly revealing a pair of generic, white, y-fronts. On the waistband I could see a thin blue stripe over a thin yellow stripe.
"Tighty-whities for your penis bro?" I nodded toward his exposed bulge.
He mimicked the pose he did earlier, feet apart, chest out, double finger guns pointing at his crotch, and this time he stuck his tongue out, "Alllllgggggghhhhhh" is my best approximation for the noise he made before he holstered his `weapons' and shoved his right hand into his briefs.
Meanwhile, my right hand had snaked it's way up my shorts and under the snug right leg hole of my boxer briefs. I locked eyes with Sam as my hand wrapped around my shaft.
"You OK bro?" I checked in with Sam.
"Yeah buddy... You OK?" He breathed back as his the waistband of his underwear strained against his thick wrist buried deep inside the pouch beneath.
"Yeah man, all good." I confirmed.
We not-so-quietly masturbated our penises for a minute or so. Making man sounds and mostly looking into each other's eyes, but sometimes looking down at each other's moving fists inside our underwear, or shorts and underwear in my case.
The fly of Sam's shorts was completely open, but somehow they hung on his hips without falling. He'd used his other hand to lift his shirt a little higher revealing more of his tight, furry belly. I followed suit showing off my much paler, less hairy, less flat gut.
"Nice bro." Sam finally broke the silence. He nodded at my midsection.
I kind of grunted out "I'm gonna need the name of your trainer dude," as I tilted my head toward HIS belly. He rubbed it a little as an acknowledgement. That somehow sped things up a lot in my shorts. I let him know: "I'm close to ejaculation bro. My penis is close to ejaculation."
"Ejaculate buddy. Go for it. Semen in your shorts, bro." Sam was nodding and looking at the fabric of my shorts shifting with each stroke of my fist. "Fuck yeah, masturbator."
That last word exploded in my head... like fireworks.
I announced, "I'm gonna ejaculate masturbator semen bro," and in a split second decision I pulled my penis out through the leg holes of my shorts and boxer briefs. Just in time to shoot three thick ropes onto the floorpan we'd rolled out on the island. Each pulse made a sound like when cookie dough hits wax paper before they go into the oven.
"Bro!" Sam called out, "Oh shit dude... you're semen is gonna make my peenus ejaculate."
His fist stopped moving, his pleading eyes stayed locked on mine and then, with a grunt that came from deep inside him, several pumps of white semen pushed through the fabric of his underwear.
Keeping a tight grip on his penis with his right hand, his left quickly scooped as much of his load from where it could not be contained by the fibers of his briefs, and wiped it onto the plans.
"Fuck bro." I sighed... "that was..."
Sam finished my thought, "...goony?"
I laughed, "I was gonna say 'amazing' but you are not wrong."
We both sighed heavily, looked at each other and started laughing.
I realized at that point that I was still holding my penis, keeping it pulled out of the leg hole of my boxer briefs and out of the long grey fabric of my basketball shorts. The flared head and about two inches of shaft visible coming out of my fist. I tapped it on the paper to shake off whatever residue was still clinging to my glans.
Sam asked again, "You good bro?"
I let go of my still semi-exposed penis, I held my hand out to him. The same hand I had just used to masturbate with. He pulled his right hand up and out of his underpants, and we shook across the island. Our heat and sweat and semen coming together in the grip.
"Really good dude." I finally replied.
"You really fucked up our plans," he said.
"What? YOU were the one doing the `HandyMatt' poses and talking about getting paid to masturbate. How am I to blame for this?
"No dude... look at the plans." Sam gestured to the paper laid out in front of us.
Once again my prostate had surprised me. I laughed, "It's weird dude. I am usually not a shooter."
"Coulda fooled me man," he nodded at the spray marks and globs of cum. "Dude your nut made ME nut. I didn't even have time to pull it out. I just had to blast."
"Well," I started, "this is actually the SECOND time you have caused me to set distance records."
Sam tilted his head while he zipped up his shorts, "The second time?"
As I pulled the fabric of my shorts and underwear back over my deflating dick, I revealed to Sam that he had been the focus of an extremely intense bate-sesh the night before. He laughed when I said the text in which he mentioned 'alone time' is what pushed me into a bate-hole.
Sam said that was funny because he had considered sending me a pic of his penis that night. Apparently he was feeling very proud of it. "The lighting was really good," he said. But ultimately he decided against it and just asked me to bring Impossible Whoppers from BK for lunch today.
We laughed about that for a couple of secs and then Sam patted the counter with his open palms, "OK man, you ready to head out?" He nodded at the darkening sky outside.
"Yeah man, let's go." I sighed. I handed him his laptop, grabbed a napkin from the BK bag to dab the lingering wet spot on my shorts, and we headed for the door. As I reached for the handle, Sam put his hand up against the door and blocked me from opening it. Then spread his arms wide and said in his thick Carolina drawl, "I'm comin' in!"
We hugged again... for the 4th time ever. This time I let my fists open up as I wrapped my arms around him, and pulled him in tight. I could feel his chin on my shoulder.
As we pulled apart he looked me in the eyes and, instead of ASKING, he declared, "We're good bro."
I nodded and said simply, "Good."
In the elevator on the ride down, Sam asked if I remembered that he had mentioned an idea about the condo.
"The kitchen ladder?" I asked.
"Ha, no," he replied. "I still wanna do that, but... do you remember that chat on Friday. The one you had with `Srinivasan' on Bateworld."
It was coming back to me, "sort of..."
Sam turned to me as we got to his level of the parking deck, I was two floors below. Through a big smile he asked, "What if we don't sell this place? Not right away anyway."
To be continued?