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"Friends and Beds," Part Three
Chapter 3: Adam... Again
I was on my hands and knees on a soft mattress, the bedsheets and blankets crumpled and strewn about. Adam's hard cock was ramming into my ass at full speed. The room was filled with the sounds of fucking, his loose balls slapping against my ass, the rocking of the bed springs, his ragged breaths coming out in huffs and puffs and my low guttural moaning. His hands gripped my hips as he thrust in and out, and to keep the rhythm going, whenever he stopped for a second, I pushed back on his dick, my prostate singing out against all this sensation. I was covered in sweat, droplets sliding down my exposed back and landing on the mattress, intermingling with the puddle of precum that was forming below the flared head of my dick, peeking out from behind my wrinkled foreskin.
Adam lowered his torso, the wet matte of hair pressed against my back, his hips making short jabs into me. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me up, him still inside me. I lifted my right arm and held the back of his soaked head, as I had seen in many many Sean Cody scenes up to this point. I turned my head and stuck my tongue out like the wanton slut I'm sure I looked like and was met with Adam's tongue, emerging from his mouth to meet mine. His hips rocked against my ass and we were in perfect harmony.
"Fuck, man, you're hitting it," I moaned into his mouth.
He separated from my face. "I love you."
The fucking stopped momentarily, though his cock continued to pulse inside me. "What?" I asked.
"I'm in love with you, Max," he said, more forcefully this time.
I thought about what he'd said, but before I could respond, he said, "And you're going to be late for class."
"Huh?" I asked.
And then, like the cliche this was, I woke up. I looked around. I was in my bed in my apartment. My roommate, Mary, was gone, which was awfully convenient because I was sporting a tent in my boxers, which were also filled with cum. I had a wet dream, and I hadn't had one of those in ages since I try to jerk off often. I hadn't had sex with Adam since the night we hung out with Sean. That following morning wasn't awkward with Sean, who woke up, seeing me and Adam in the bed next to him and thought nothing of it. It was a bit awkward with Adam, mostly because, once again, we didn't talk about it.
As I walked to the bathroom in my sploogy boxers to take a shower, I thought to myself: What exactly did my dream mean? I'm one of those weirdos who believes in messages in dreams, or at the very least that the images aren't completely random, so what did this mean? I've gotten gay sex in the last few weeks (twice, specifically) and I've obviously liked it, so there's that. But where was this love shit coming from?
I stepped out of my boxers and stepped into the shower. As I lathered myself up, my hands running up and down my -
Yeah, I'm going to forego some potential masturbation in the shower at this moment to get into some psychological bullshit that I think is important in discovering why my mind was racing so much. I had a pretty lonely childhood - not many friends, that sort of thing. I was always obsessed with the idea of having a best friend, a best buddy specifically. My best friend in high school was a girl and, though I love her to death and we helped each other through those pretty hellish years, there were things I couldn't talk to her about (and vice versa). So, throughout my life, I've wanted to find that guy who I could be completely myself with and vice versa. Someone I could whine about girls with, toss back some beers without judgment, go watch a baseball game, bullshit aimlessly. A partner in crime, if you will.
But what happens when you find that guy and then you fuck him? Things get all fucked up. They blur. Platonic love blends with romantic love. What you would normally be admirable in a bud suddenly becomes attractive, sexualized. You wonder if the reason you want to hang out with him all the time is because he's awesome or because you want to tear his ass apart.
It's a problem I continue to have to this day.
So this is where my head was as I absent-mindedly jerked off in the shower. (Of course I was going to. Despite the big load drying on my boxers, my big balls were still fucking full and I needed to clean out the pipes.) After fingering my ass a bit to speed the process up, a shot a few squirts, but I felt no pleasure. I was wondering about my friendship with Adam, what it all meant. Was I using him? I mean, it was beginning to be a pattern of us getting fucked up turned into a sex session. Can I hang out with him without this happening? What if it happened again? What if I initiated it? What if he did? What the fuck?
My angsty brain fully on fire, I got dressed and walked down to campus. As I walked in the hot autumn sunshine (oh, the perks of a Southern California college education), I mulled over my feelings for Adam, for our friendship and what I wanted the next step to be. Did I want to just forget about the sex and see if it came up again? Did I want to date Adam? Did I want to stop being friends with him because I only wanted to fuck and suck his thin, wiry hairy body whenever I was with him?
Throughout my two classes that day, I heard professors and classmates drone on and on about contemporary absurdist poetry and Chinese-American gospel music, and all I could think about was Adam. I felt like a teenage girl, and that really pissed me off. Finally, during my walk back home to my apartment, I heard my phone ringing. It was Adam. I picked up, trying to sound cool.
"Hey, what's up?" I asked.
"Yo," came the high-pitched reply. "I'm finally moving out of that shitshow I've been living in. I'm gonna need help moving. Can you help me?"
"Um, it depends," I answered honestly. I had a paper due in about a week, and since I was a senior, I wanted to make sure my grades were as high as possible (though I knew I probably wasn't going to graduate with honors, I had gotten a perfect 4.0 for two quarters the previous year and I had suddenly tasted greatness, which admittedly wasn't as good as tasting cum... wait, what? Get your head out of the gutter!) "When were you thinking?"
"Tomorrow night?"
"Night? Not this weekend?"
"I'm going to sneak out in the middle of the night so I don't have to deal with my bastard roommates."
"Where are you moving to?"
"To The Elms." The Elms was a massive apartment complex across the street from where I was living. It was a cement block of tiny windows with tinier balconies, completely devoid of character or charm. But then again, it had a massive pool and a gym, which was much more than I could say for my place. And it was across the street from me.
"Okay, sure," I said.
The next night, I walked over to his apartment. When I knocked on his door and he let me in, the place was a swirl of clothes, books, and garbage. As I started throwing things into garbage bags (his instructions), I decided to get the shit over with. "So," I began. "We should talk about what's happened."
"What do you mean?"
"You know. The fooling around."
"Oh, yeah, that," he said, throwing a rumpled tee into a garbage bag (What did it smell like? Did it smell like him? God, his combination of body musk and Axe body spray was surprisingly intoxicating. My dick is getting hard. STOP IT GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER THIS IS SERIOUS, MAX!) "I mean... it was just fooling around, right? I mean, we just got drunk and fooled around and that's it."
"Right."
"I'm not gay. It was more to try it out. It seemed like the thing to do at the moment, and now it's done."
"Yeah."
"So, the old college try. I like to experience as many things as possible, and if I like it, I keep doing it. If I don't, then I don't."
I was beginning to feel weird, awkward, like I'd opened a Pandora's box and everything was coming out in a way I didn't imagine. I mean, I wasn't expecting him to say he was in love with and that we should get married (Lord, no), but it felt like he was being dismissive about the whole thing. While I had been freaking out about my feelings towards him, he had just hand-waived it as a thing to try out and thought nothing of it. That not only made me feel cheap, it made me feel unimportant. But, on the other hand, I rationed that I had been so freaked out to lose his friendship and that his flippant attitude about the whole thing actually made me worst fears a moot point. Ultimately, this was a good thing. The only problem was that I wanted to have sex with him again. But maybe it was just that I wanted to have sex period. I was such a mess around my ex-girlfriend that I couldn't ask her. And I wasn't into the gay scene on campus, so it wasn't like I knew a whole bunch of slutty queens that I could proposition. I mean, maybe one, but I didn't want to do that (that, by the way, is a silly story for another day).
I helped Adam move into The _____, lugging all his junk and clothes into his spacious studio. It was insanely late by that point and he asked me if I wanted to crash on his couch (he had had another friend of his lug that piece of shit with the use of two skateboards – I never understood how that physically worked). I told him that I couldn't, and mostly it was for two reasons: 1) I lived literally across the street – I could see his window and balcony from my living room, and 2) I didn't know if I'd try to rape him in the middle of the night. I mean, not really. I wouldn't do that, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't try to cuddle in his bed naked somehow.
It was best to avoid that shit altogether.
A few weeks later, I went to my first frat party. With Adam. Here's how it goes: a classmate of mine was randomly in a frat (I say randomly because he was the gayest gay who ever gayed and he did not seem the frat type, especially the super-straight white dude frat he was a part of), and he asked me if I wanted to go to a party his frat was having that Saturday night. It was a half-naked party, supposedly. Guys could only wear two pieces of clothing (socks counted as one) and women could wear three pieces of clothing. I said "Sure." My thought process was free booze (or at least, my friend would get me a few free drink vouchers, which meant that I had to get the strongest shots possible and toss them down quickly so that I'd be appropriately fucked up) and access to a bunch of half-naked ladies (because of my major, by this point I had classes only with my fellow majors, so the pool of prospective hook-ups or girlfriends or boyfriends). I asked if
I could bring a friend. I was told I could.
Adam asked me what I was going to wear. We only had two pieces of clothing to wear or else we'd be turned away, and I wasn't going to fuck off my first frat party. I told him that I was wearing a pair of gray briefs and a white t-shirt. I even shaved my inner thighs for it.
"Ewww, dude, you're not going to wear socks?" Adam asked, scrunching up his face. "Why don't you just go shirtless?"
"Um, because I would look like a whale squeezed into a speedo," I answered.
"Fuck that. Spilled beer on the floor? I can handle that."
"What about broken bottles?"
"If I cut my foot, I can sue. Therefore, my student loan problems will be solved!"
Somehow this reasoning made sense to him too. Adam decided to wear his blue boxers and a pair of knee-high socks. I changed my mind about the t-shirt and instead wore a white button-down shirt, which went down to my thighs and hid my underwear. I put on black sunglasses (hoping that they wouldn't count that as a piece of clothing) and made myself look as close to Tom Cruise in "Risky Business" as possible. Okay, a chubby Tom Cruise. But still! It was close.
We walked the few blocks to the frat house. I wore disposable flip flops that I'd bought at Rite Aid earlier that day and hid them in a bush two houses down from the frat house. I was willing to cut my feet on a sticky frat floor, but I was not willing to walk the three blocks to and from barefoot. Fuck that shit. However, I figured, I'd be really trashed by the end of the party, so if my flip flops were stolen, I'd be too drunk to notice the gravel and asphalt hurting the soles of my bare feet. This is how much though I put into this party.
Our names were on the list and we walked in. The party was in full swing, but it wasn't the kind of outrageous bacchanalia that pop culture makes you believe frat parties will be. It was a humongous house, and the open areas were jam packed with people, all mostly naked and dancing and drinking. Luckily, there were enough people there that Adam and I faded to the background and didn't look out of place, and enough shirt covering my tighty whities that whenever the inevitable boner popped up, it would be blatantly visible. Because there were a lot of nipples on display. A lot. And Max likes nipples.
Anyway, we started drinking. A lot. We danced. I found a girl incredibly beautiful and told her so, in one of the most embarrassing moments of hitting on people in my life (though, I will admit, my line to her was fucking spectacular - "Someone here thinks you're beautiful. Me." How I didn't get laid from that boggles my mind to this day. But then again, I looked like chubby Tom Cruise). And after a few hours, I was thoroughly trashed and beginning to get over being in that crowded room that smelled of stale beer on the floors and sweat. I wasn't getting lucky. Adam wasn't getting lucky. I wasn't going to puke in a random frat house. I wanted to go.
We stumbled out of the frat house and I remembered to fish my flip flops from the bush nearby. We started walking back to Adam's apartment and, as he rambled on about wanting to spark up a joint when we got back to his (this is where my regular clothes were), I decided that I was going to fuck him that night. I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I decided that this might be my last chance and that I would make it happen (Calm down, I don't mean by force. Fuck.)
We got back to the apartment, and Adam went searching for his stash and a pipe (I had successfully converted him to using a pipe as opposed to rolling a joint). After he put a t-shirt on, Adam and I sat on his balcony, passing the pipe, overlooking the strangely quiet street. It was a Saturday night in a college town - things should have been popping, but it was silent. It wasn't even that late. I looked across the street at my own apartment. The lights were out. The roommates were sleeping. I thought about how any other night, I'd be doing the same. My life had really changed since becoming friends with Adam, and not just because we'd had hot sex twice. I finally felt like I was with a dude who understood me and was cool hanging out with me the way I was.
The buzz was getting stronger, but as I've learned now that I'm older, being drunk then getting high is not a good combo for me. However, I was young, dumb and full of cum (I'm all of those things except young now, ha) and I could handle that. I felt the familiar rumblings in my cock - we had achieved lift off - and I slowly turned to Adam. He was blathering about something philosophical, as tends to happen when you're high, and I just stared at him. I'm sure he thought I was just high. I was, but I was fascinated by his mouth. His lips moving, imaging my tongue in there. Or something else...
"Hey," Adam broke the silence. "You wanna shotgun? The bowl is almost done."
"Sure," I responded.
He inhaled the dying embers of the pipe and turned to face me. I leaned in close, oh so close, and opened my mouth. He slowly let out the dying plume and I sucked it in. Once he was done exhaling, I brought the small amount of smoke into my lungs and exhaled. He opened his mouth, jokingly trying to get the final wisps of smoke out. When he couldn't, I leaned in and put my hand on the back of his head. I gently pushed him towards me and opened my mouth, my tongue slipping into his waiting mouth.
I was worried he'd push me off, since the kiss was kinda unsolicited. But like I'd hoped, he accepted it and his tongue met mine to meet on the battlefield. Now, keep in mind, I was drunk and high at this time, so my memory of what happened is hazy. My remembrance of that evening is in fits and starts.
We're on the ground of the balcony, pressed against the stucco railing. His t-shirt is lifted over his head, exposing his heaving chest as he sits on the floor. I'm on my stomach, my dress shirt unbuttoned, my chest pressed against the cold floor, my mouth wrapped around his pulsing cock. My torso is a mess of gooseflesh from the cold, except for a strip across my tummy which was resting on his boxers that were around his ankles. One hand twisted across the taut skin of his dick, then other hand on his ass, two fingers gently penetrating his hairy hole. Part of me hopes no one can see, the other part could give a fuck.
Adam is sprawled out on his bed, his shirt and boxers and socks gone, his face in his pillow. I'm fully naked too, laying on him, pressing him into the mattress. My tongue snakes into his ear, my cock rests perfectly in the furry crack of his ass, the precum dripping out like syrup, making his hole sticky. My hands are kneading his shoulders, and he purrs like a contented cat.
Adam's in the bathroom, puking. I stand on the other side of the door. My cock is not hard at this moment. I say, 'Brush your teeth and rinse your mouth out before you come out!"
We're making out on his bed. I'm on top of him, the room filled with sounds of our breathe and tongues and lips smacking. My cock rubs against his, both pieces of flesh impossibly hard. I rise back up on my knees and grab one of his legs and wrap it around my waist. He gets the idea and wraps the other leg around my waist. I then lift his ass up a bit so that the hole lined up with my cock. I begin fingering his ass a bit.
"If you were a chick, we could do this all the time," he groans. That statement is a little bit weird and could have offended me and made me lose my boner. But I get what he meant. If gender and sexual orientation and labels weren't as big a deal as society made them, then maybe we could be together. Or at least fucking around without fear of repercussion or judgment or self-recrimination. It is a lovely thought. But rather than dwell on that stuff, I want in that ass. Finally.
"Got lube?" I ask. It isn't the sexiest thing to say at that moment, but it is crucial.
I'm pushing my cock into Adam's ass. A sweat has broken out on his body, his chest hair curling from the perspiration. The tip of my cockhead pierces his hole. My shaft and glans are coated in lube, as is his hole. I slowly move my dick into his hole. The head pops through and I see Adam's face grimace. I stop, letting his ass adjust to my invading member. The walls of his asshole grip tightly to my bulbous head and it feels incredible. I can feel the foreskin peeling back, knowing that it will retract fully once I am inside.
"Just give me a minute," he says.
His face begins to relax. I slowly push myself into him, inch by rock hard motherfucking inch. I look down and see my cock disappearing into him and wish I had a camera. I'm not balls deep inside Adam.
"How's that, dude?" I ask. He nods. I pull back out slowly, then push back in. He moans loudly. I repeat the action, slow still, waiting for him to get used to the feeling. I'm tempted to jackhammer his ass, like he did to me, but I realize that I might be popping his man cherry, so I don't want it to be like my first experience.
I lower my body onto his and kiss him. His feet hook at the small of my back, the sweat dripping down my back and landing on his toes. The way he kisses me tells me that he's into it, that it's beginning to feel good.
I thrust in faster, though not insane, but enough that I'm beginning to get more sensation. I lift myself up on my arms and my hips begin rocking. He lifts his head, his hair wet from the sweat and begins licking on my chest. Once he clamps onto a nipple, he begins sucking like a baby and I go crazy. I start pumping at full speed, the sensations on my cock and on my tits just driving me to a breaking point.
I feel incredibly possessive of him, of his body, and I want him to know that, that I'm making that ass mine and I realize that if I'm the last guy he ever fucks, which is a distinct possibility, he will need to remember this. I need his ass to remember the feel of my cock, the shape of it, the speed of it, the hardness of it. I need his body to tremble when I want it to, to cum when I make it.
I lift back to my haunches, still inside him, and I spread his legs, resting them on my shoulders, grab his hips and begin pounding in earnest. He is moaning, I'm moaning. The room is filled with moans and slaps and the bedsprings singing. I only hope that his neighbors can hear us, can hear their new geeky neighbor being reamed. I love knowing that he is reacting the way I want him, that I'm making him feel this way.
He begins jerking his cock off, his right hand moving up and down the slippery shaft and racing me to get there, to get to the release. The room is spinning, a result of the alcohol and weed in my system and the exertion of physical force that I'm usually not used to. Part of me wants to explode into pure matter and take him with me, but another part never wants it to stop.
I can't hold it any longer. I feel the bottom of my cock begin to churn. My balls slap against his battered ass, but I just hear him yelling for more. His hand moves at an accelerated pace, moving his hand up and down so quickly that it looks like a blur of flesh. I lean down and snake my mouth in his tongue.
"Cum for me, baby," I whisper in my lowest possible growl.
His hand increases pace, as if it is even possible. Suddenly, he begins rocking his hips, lifting them up off the mattress, rubbing my dick even more. "Oh fuck!" he yelps, and his cock explodes, ropes of cum erupting from his piss slit. His ass suddenly presses down upon my cock, squeezing it. Adam is still cumming, the off-white pearls of semen exploding onto his hairy chest, his abs contracting, his pink nipples hard like eraser stubs.
I explode. My cock feels like it's being ripped around, my seed dumping out of me, pouring into Adam's opening. I yelp. I moan. I sound like a bitch in heat. I am sure that people can hear me and I don't give a fuck. I just know that I am feeling like a god at that moment. I am planting my seed, my essence, my DNA in my best friend's ass, in his body. His insides will soak it up and a part of me will be fused in his body forever.
I know that I must have collapsed next to him. I know that at some point, I got up and puked in the bathroom, the evening's illicit activities finally catching up with me. I know that I woke up around noon, Adam snoring next to me, both of us naked, both of us covered with drying cum.
We never fucked again. But that doesn't mean we stopped being friends. The next year, my first post-college year and his senior year, we lived together in this fantastic apartment in West LA. We jerked off together a few times while watching porn, but that was the extent of anything sexual between us.
Years later, a few years ago now, Adam was getting married, and Sean and I were co-Best Men, though really it was me, if for no other reason I lived closer to Adam and Sean lived on the other side of the country. I drove up to Adam's house to go get fitted for my tux, and that night we wandered the streets of his sleepy suburb while his fiancee slept. It was the only time we broached the subject.
"I haven't gotten laid in forever," I lamented.
"Me neither," he said. His fiancee was waiting until they got married, so while Adam had finally got her to let him eat her out, they still hadn't done the deed. I had definite opinions about that, but I had already told him these for months.
"So, um... you remember those few times we fooled around in college?"
"Oh. Yeah."
"What was that about?"
"I think we were both really fucking horny. And just lonely."
"Yeah. That was probably it."