From Tragedy a Romance part 2
(The remaining parts of this story is pure fiction. My fantasy of how I'd hoped things would have turned out.)
There were no more advances from Brad and no more mention of it. His recuperation seemed to be accelerating and I was starting to question whether I was even needed anymore. Every day I took him home, and every day we went to his room where he stripped down to his boxers and asked my help. Every day he stretched out on his bed, sitting up on his elbows and we talked about just about anything -- things that happened at school all the way to the most intimate details of our lives. I even told him that I was still a virgin, and I learned from him that he had about as much experience as could be expected of an average 19 year old, though he was intentionally vague. Every day, I tried to get a peek of what else was under those boxers, and every day I went unrewarded. Some days after an especially late night of cramming for an exam or writing a paper, one or both of us would just fall asleep right there on his bed. My heart was still breaking. I knew he was getting better and these special moments weren't going to last much longer. My advances were still going unnoticed. I was tortured. I continued to rush home for marathon jerk off sessions each night. I'd even hit the Internet (as it was in the early 90's) and considered some hook-ups, but when I got the chance, I couldn't do it. I was worried that I might run into Brad there in the chat rooms, and then how would I explain that. I also wasn't willing to give up my virginity to just some stranger on the other side of the screen. So I just resorted to trading pictures, porn and fantasy to get me through those nights.
One afternoon we had moved out to the dining room to study. We took a break and were sitting on the sofa, drinking beers and watching TV. Brad was telling me how great he felt, how he felt better than he had in months, that he had a check up with the doctor the next day and was hoping that maybe he would be able to start driving again. I tried to be happy for him, but selfishly I was devastated. I turned away from him, as not to show him my true feelings. I stoically watched the television, but felt some movement behind me. I turned around, and Brad had his pants down around his ankles. Slightly buzzed, he said, "Damn, I'm horny, I need to take care of this." His hard cock was poking up through the fly of his boxer shorts. Finally I was getting a peek of what was under there. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. His cock was perfect, so smooth and creamy and pink. He was cut and the head was perfectly proportional to his smooth cream colored six inch cock. I must have gasped audibly, as I popped a hard-on almost instantly. Brad noticed too, I was only slightly embarrassed. He said, "Looks like you have something to take care of too." As I pulled off my pants, and released my hard eight inch cock, Brad pulled down his boxers. I got to see his trimmed blonde pubes, so light they were barely noticeable. His smooth ballsac hung low, and his balls perfect eggs that hung low between his legs. They were disproportional to the rest of him -- huge and full. Mine could never compare. He leaned back on the sofa, closed his eyes and starting jerking his cock. It was the perfect thickness for his hand to wrap around. I sat down next to him and watched while I gently stroked my own. But it was time for me to make my move. What could I lose? I reached over, placed my hand on his knee, and then slowly worked my hand up his thigh feeling his soft, light blonde leg hairs. I placed my hand between his legs and took his balls in my hand. They jerked and started retreating up inside of him. Brad continued stroking his cock as he leaned back further, pushed out his hips, and spread his legs so that I could have better access to his balls. I think I even heard him moan. I worked my hand up and ran my fingers through his pubes and around the base of his cock. I pushed his fist off of his cock and wrapped my hand around. I started moving my hand up and down, the skin of his cock felt as soft and smooth as it looked. He had just enough foreskin for me to pull it up over the head. I felt the head wet with precum. I ran my thumb in circular motions on the head of his cock, lubing it up with his precum. Brad shuddered. He opened his eyes and looked down at me; he reached his hand over and grabbed my cock. Not to brag, but I'm pretty big. His hand couldn't get all the way around my cock's thick girth. I have a lot of foreskin, and he started pulling it up over the head of my cock. It was dripping with pre-cum and he repeated the favor of playing with my pink mushroom head and lubing it with my own pre-cum. We were stroking each other. It felt so good jerking a cock that wasn't my own. I could feel the cum building up in my balls, and I could feel his cock throbbing and getting even harder in my own hand. We both threw our heads back and closed our eyes enjoying the feel of one another. Soon, Brad's body tensed up, his legs went rigid, he used his heels to push his ass up off of the sofa his cock pointing up to the ceiling. He let out a load moan. His cock began to spurt streams and streams of hot creamy cum. The first shot landed on his face and then he continued spurting all over his shirt, leaving a vertical line of cum from his face to his cock, and ultimately all over my hand. Either he was a huge cummer, or he hadn't cum in a very long time. Either way, I hoped to have the opportunity to check it out again. Next thing I knew, I was letting out a guttural moan and shot my load almost as far as Brad had. Both of us were covered in our own cum and our hands were covered with one another's. I couldn't help myself, I needed to feel his warm cum on me. I rubbed my cum covered hand all over my cock and pubes. Brad did the same. We were both spent. We laid in our own mess and rested there, catching our breath and allowing our cocks to reach their soft state. Neither of us said a word. Soon after, Brad got us each a wet towel to clean off. I pulled up my pants, I needed to get home, change my shirt and get cleaned up. He reminded me that I didn't need to pick him up in the morning.
I was still so confused. Was he just a straight guy that needed a good jerk off? Could he really be that clueless as not to know how I felt about him? Did he know and was he so cruel to torture me that way? Or, did he feel exactly the way I felt about him?
(We'll all find out the answer in part 3)