Gay and Straight - Imperfectly Matched
by Dave M. and Bill R.
DISCLAIMER AND WARNING
Since some day either of us may wish to visit around where you live and don't want to have the law grab us (but "you" can grab us, though - Bill), we defensively wish to absolutely state that this story is maybe fictional or not. Any resemblance of these characters to any in real life might be coincidental or not. If you should be reading this NOT in accordance with your local legal standards, please discard this story before you go any further in an appropriate and ecologically-safe manner. Recycle photons! [Actually, you have no choice - A. Einstein] Otherwise, welcome, but be prepared for what may prove to be a rather bumpy ride.
This story is declared as Copyrighted by the authors. No posting, excerpting, quoting or other use of any kind is allowed other than with our permission.
My name is Bill. I am, I'm pretty sure, a gay teenager, living in one of the Middle-Atlantic states in the U.S. This story may contain graphic descriptions of a gay guy (me, hopefully) having sex. If that's NOT what you want to read about, then adios, friend. I should tell you here that I am not the real writer. Dave is. He has a way with words that I do not. I add mine to his, he checks me out, and he combines us together into one complete unit. (Yes, you did get it)
My name's Dave. I'm the straight man in this act. This story may contain graphic descriptions of me having straight sex (if I'm lucky, and if Bill will let me include it). If that's NOT what you want to read about, then adios, friend.
There. Bill, I think we've just about alienated everybody. There should be nobody left who'll want to read this story. I TOLD you.
Wait. Look. There IS one guy. Over here. Hey, guy, you actually want to read about us? How a straight guy found out about how his best friend was gay - and the journey through hell that we took - but came out the other side, and are still best friends today? Well, let's pull up some chairs - the three of us - and let Bill and I talk to you - just you - and tell you our story.
PROLOGUE First of all, this is being co-written by us two guys - Dave and Bill. We've been friends forever, living about 3 minutes away from each other (if we can cut through the back yards and avoid Biff, the big dog - but we bring him food, 'cause he's ok) since we were zero years old. We didn't know whether to do it as a sequential "Bill's Story" and "Dave's Story" or to weave them both in-and-out in one story. We'll try the weaving. If it doesn't work, I'll have learned something (but you'll have a headache - sorry!). This story took nearly a month to write, after school, some on weekends, in bits and pieces, rewriting, polishing, using a dictionary and a thesaurus for just the right words, and discussing the final product with Bill for accuracy. And the spell checkar. I wanted it so much to be "just right". And I learned stuff about Bill that I didn't know, about what was inside him, until he revealed it for you. How the hell do YOU rate so much? I (Dave) agreed to do this story only because Bill guaranteed being anonymous. We're using an alternate email name and some of the incidentals have been modified so as not to give anybody in town, in school or on other teams a clue as to who we are. Neither of us wants to be found out and I don't want any unsolicited offers. Sorry if I'm rude, but read our story and find out that a best-friends relationship sometimes allows for exceptions in life. If you're also straight and your best friend should have you read this, all I can say is that I don't either recommend or discourage you from what we have. You have to assess yourselves and figure out what you want to do for each other. Just don't cause him hurt. I'm kinda religious, I guess, but not heavily and not churchy, and I gotta suppose that who we all are and what has happened has probably been intended for all time to happen. Everything that has come before has specifically led up to this. Maybe for you, also. Tread carefully, because He's probably watching specifically what you do and how you handle this situation. You are being tested. Remember, the greatest commandments have nothing to do with hurting. Neither of us remembers when we first became friends. Kindergarten, maybe? I remember us stealing all the silver and gold crayons from everybody else's cubby-hole storages, 'cause we thought they were valuable. There's nothing like sharing an early life of crime to forge a bond that will last for all time. We're in High School now. No, it's not traumatic - it's kinda medium. We're in a mostly middle class sort-of semi-suburban/semi-rural town with a small area of upper middle bigger houses and a lower income area. A trailer park, too, but it's nice - Boulder Estates - although there ain't no boulders and it isn't an estate. I guess "charming" is as good a description as any. The residents seem to be there long term and have individual landscaping. One of the guys from school lives there with his mom. Divorced, I think, but nobody asks. Bill: Actually, I'm Charles William, but since so is my dad, everybody calls me Bill. I am 5'9" and 140lbs. I am lean, smooth and I think good looking. Dirty blonde hair. Hazel eyes. 6" of equipment at full attention (Dave said for me to say instead that it was only 3" ... but that some liked it that WIDE!) And I run track and cross country. Guys behind me get sucked along in the vacuum because of my speed. Twice my shoes burst into flames because of air friction. Running track gives me great legs. Man, I should be able to clamp onto you and fuck forever. I don't know when I realized that maybe I was gay, but I do remember a TV show that had scuba divers in glossy-wet wet suits when I was about 9 or 10. And it stuck with me. I also remember my one year's boy scout summer camp at 11 and the open-to-the-sky but otherwise enclosed shower building with all the other guys there. I remember seeing another troop's guys naked, laughing and yelling, dragging one of their guys, fully dressed, under the showers to get him soaked. I remember wanting to be that guy being held, carried, dragged by five naked guys, hands all over him. All those legs were flexing. I am "not out" and no one knows or even suspects, except Dave. And he has kept my secret. Even lied at times to do it. He's the best. I go through the motions, go to the dances, dance with some of the girls - some are ok as people and conversation - and say all the right things and point out big boobs. Dave: I'm kind-of medium looking, brown hair, 6'2", 185lbs and am quite content with what I got "down there". I play football on the school team but am not really great at it. But I do OK - I get in the game on a regular basis. I also write sports articles for the school paper and I once wrote a reflective story for the non-jocks and anti- jocks on the "human why's of sports" - that it's not necessarily all bravado and type-A personality in-your-face conduct. Although some is. It got a local Honorable Mention that year. I read kinda' widely and my best classes are English and Study Hall. Some of the words and styles here are from readings I've liked, so don't be impressed. It's not me - it's them. I've been told I have a much broader than normal vocabulary (from reading all that stuff), so you may see it here. Math sucks - have YOU ever found a use for the quadratic equation? I like the girls, but I've come to the conclusion that I'm kinda too shy to do much. I don't have a steady girlfriend, but I generally meet someone at the dance and ask if they want to dance with me. There's probably not much with me to attract any of the major babes, here. And those with relationships seem to last about a month or two, then crash. No thanks - I'm not interested in regular crash-and-burns. It's safer this way. And, no, I haven't gotten laid yet. I think I'm the world's oldest virgin. Bill talked me into writing this story with him. When I asked him what the hell for, and that I'll be damned if I broadcast this for guys in school to find out, and where the hell did he get the idea to "write a story", since I tend to be the good writer in English class and for project papers, not him. He gave me a floppy of about ten short stories and one epic of many chapters that he said he got off of a site he accidentally came across last year on the net - it's a reading room of gay stories, and you're probably reading this there, now. He said these ten stories were particularly selected to show me kind-of what's going on inside him and with the world that he's a part of. I read the stories. Which ones are irrelevant - you've probably read them too. Some of the authors' commentaries even talked about other readers who were straight, whose friends put them onto the stories to similarly find out about what its like for them. I gotta tell you, it was rough-going at first, trying to relate to characters that something inside of me was repulsing them and their lifestyle away. Especially the graphic parts [Hey, this is truth time - I will NOT bullshit you or dress it down. I respect you too much]. But the more I read, and the more that I connected it to Bill, the more I came to accept the characters - especially the ones in the epic where there was time for character discovery and development - causing me to now kind-of regret some earlier attitudes that I might have displayed at school, perhaps to you. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry. Well, that's us, and this is our story.Chapter 1 - Stunned By Discovery
Dave:
We're both over at each other's houses with random frequency. And have been forever. Wherever we happen to be at lunchtime, we eat. I'm sure it's averaged out over the years, but to each other's parents it must look like we're both part of their family, we're over there so much.
We'll each remember that day forever, the day that I found out that Bill was gay.
At home, I always keep my hot magazines between the mattress and the box-spring of my bed, pushed deeply in so that mom doesn't find them when changing the sheets. Boobs On Parade. Nudists Holiday. Slut Magazine. You know, the industry standards. Well, Bill and I traded magazines regularly - actually I gave him some on loan and got them back. After all, I got them from Paulie, whose father has the store downtown where you buy newspapers and magazines. It used to be a "confectionery store", whatever that means, but now it's just the newspaper store.
It was Friday, about 9:30p in October. It's burned into my mind. We were up in Bill's room and he left to go downstairs to bring some munchies back up. I just wondered, if anything, what he kept there under the mattress, like me. Never before any indication that he had anything. I just wondered. Kind-of like the urge to check-out the medicine cabinet of somebody's house you're visiting when you're using their bathroom. I lifted the bedspread and slid my hand underneath and in. I pushed my arm deep and slid it side to side. I felt the glossy paper and dragged it out. Holy fuckin' shit! It was full of, like, 20 year old guys sucking each other's cocks, sticking it up each other's asses ... and kissing, mouth-to-mouth.
I remember now clearly - I never had that happen before - that my mind went absolutely dead blank. It stopped. It shut down. It was like a thick fog you couldn't see through. I was frozen there. At that instant, Bill came whipping into the room ... and stopped dead.
He saw me with the magazine.
He said something like, "Dave, let me explain...", but I recall myself saying "I just remembered, I gotta go home," and I went past him in that fog for the door, down the stairs and out. He was calling out something behind me, but I couldn't hear. I don't remember walking home, but I do remember walking into the house, going directly to my room, removing a minimum amount of clothing and going right to sleep. I swear, that's true. I fled into sleep so I wouldn't have to think about anything.
Bill:
I ran up the stairs with two bags of corn chips so we could watch TV in my room. Mom and dad were downstairs. When I came in the room, I saw Dave with my magazine that I kept hidden. Oh Shit. Oh Shit. Oh Shit. Oh Shit. Oh Shit. Oh Shit. I looked at his face, and it was stone. It was absolute stone. I never saw him like this. Never. I tried to tell him the first thing that came to me, that it was a joke that I was going to mail to Scott, one of the guys on his team that was always bustin' his balls about something or other. I don't know whether it was a good or bad excuse, but it was something.
But Dave just said he had to go home and pushed past me and went downstairs. I kept calling after him to wait, but he wouldn't. He just had that stone face and kept on walking like I didn't exist.
Hearing the noise, my mom came out into the front hallway, with Dave gone and me at the foot of the steps, with my stomach twisted into a knot. I almost couldn't breathe. She asked if we had an argument or something. We had never before had one that I could remember. I said "I don't know" and ran back upstairs to my room. She called up and said for me to call him tomorrow and apologize. I guess moms know stuff, like, that it doesn't matter who's right or wrong - that gets forgotten quickly. The important thing is for the clearer thinker to eat big shit and to call and apologize. That way you start talking and the fight gets over and forgotten sooner.
Saturday I called about 11:00a. Dave was out and I left a message with his mom. She asked me if we had an argument because Dave came in early last night and went straight to bed. He never did that. I said we did, and that I wanted to apologize.
He never called back.
I called Sunday about 12:00n because I knew he'd be home and his parents would be at church.
No answer. I left a message on the machine.
Then I walked over and knocked on his door. No answer. I looked in the windows. Nobody moving around. I threw pebbles at his bedroom window. No answer. So I went back home with my stomach still in a knot and feeling like I was crumbling apart from the inside. My mom asked if I had seen Dave yet and I said no, he was out yesterday and he is at church now, with his parents. She said "Oh, OK" and went on with what she was doing.
He never called back.
Monday, I was wanting, yet dreading, to see him. I watched out the window to see him when he walked by for school so that I could go out to walk with him, as we always did. No Dave. He must have gone down the other street. He is deliberately avoiding me. Deliberately.
I am losing my best friend and I don't know how to stop it. Make it stop. MAKE IT STOP!
Chapter 2 - Confrontation Bill: Being that I had waited, I was probably behind him, so I hauled ass, smacked into overdrive and basically sprinted to school. There were skidmarks on the street from my shoes. Time slowed down and space started to curve I was going so fast [Damn, I guess I AM learning something in Physics]. By the time I had gotten to school, he was not at his locker, and classes were going to start in a few minutes. I'd see him in 3rd period when we had the same class - History. The teacher, Mr. Crotty, is so old that I know why he had studied history - because there was so much less of it when he was a kid. Third period arrived and Dave came into the room. He looked at me but then looked away. At least his death-face was gone. I went over near him and said, "Dave, we gotta talk." He said, "Not now, maybe later." I asked/demanded, "When?" He said, "I don't know. Later". And Mr. Crotty called the class to order and I had to weave back to my seat. Class finished and Dave instantly left. I figured I'd catch up with him later in the cafeteria. Wrong. He wasn't there. He was avoiding me. Shit, I should have known this would happen, sooner or later. Guy gets found out. Guy gets cut-out by everybody. Guy gets harassed? Guy gets beat up? Dave wouldn't do that, but would others at school do it? I could easily think of a dozen macho-jocks who might. Is Dave gonna tell? Third was our only same-class that day, so I waited for him after practice that afternoon to talk to him on the way home. I knew he'd avoid me, so I kinda', I guess, hid and waited for him to go home the other way. And he did. Dave: That weekend was a dead weekend to me. It was like moving through thick soup - I just didn't want to think about what I had found out. Is this what "denial" is? The one foundation of my life that I thought I knew - my best friend - turned out to be something so incredibly opposite that everything fell apart. I know you count on your parents, but you don't really "know" them. They have adult concerns and adult likes and dislikes. But you "know" your best friend, who you told your quiet unfulfilled lust-longings for Tricia M. or Alicia B. to. And it seemed like he understood. But did he at all? Mom gave me his messages, but I didn't want to talk about it. I just wanted it to never have happened. I went to the mall Saturday. I don't "do" malls, but I did it Saturday. So I wouldn't be home if he came. And Sunday, too. This really sucked. After about a half-hour, I was bored shitless. All the girls there were either in a herd or were with their boyfriends. My folks knew something was up when they saw that I was not over at Bill's house and I was going to bed early. They asked, but I firmly shut the issue down. I guess they felt it wise not to pursue it, that this was our matter to settle. I guess they thought that I was more mature than I was actually acting then. Monday came and my stomach was still in a knot. I felt like I was crumbling apart from the inside. And they say that identical twins are linked, in some mysterious way. All I could think of was Bill - as soon as I awoke, as I got ready for school, and on the walk to school - the other way, so I wouldn't have to see him and talk to him. I don't know what I would talk about. I didn't even know what it was that I felt myself - what it meant, what I actually thought of him, and where I wanted to go from here. I just wanted it not to be. I knew he'd see me in third period and that I would just say I didn't want to talk about it then. With a full class around, he probably wouldn't push me into it. He came over to me, but I said "Later", and he had to get back to his desk. I avoided where he'd be for the rest of the day. I avoided the issue for the rest of the day. I avoided confronting myself with having to make choices for the rest of the day. I avoided myself for the rest of the day. Football practice was good. It occupied my mind completely and all this built-up-whatever that was inside got a chance to be exhausted. Hell, did I love to hit that afternoon. Every hit I put onto some guy was double-adrenalin-powered designed to crush and hurt, and burnt off some of the built-up poisons. I got out of my equipment and took a shower, totally drained. Not defensive, not hostile, not avoidance-laden, just completely drained. I walked out of the locker room and started to walk home. As I walked past the corner of the main building toward the driveway out, Bill stepped out from around the corner and just started walking alongside me. Every nerve in me tensed for what was to come next. But nothing came. We just walked. Like usual. Like nothing was different with him. Like he was the same guy I always knew. We came to my house and Bill said "Later", waived at me and continued on his way home. Not a word had been spoken the whole way. The crash- moment never came. It was not forced. The next morning, I walked past his house at the regular time. He came out and we walked to school again in silence. Small steps. Bill's team had the use of the field Tuesday. I waited and did my homework in the back of the detention room ... and walked home with him. After several minutes of silence, I said, "Hey, how was practice?" He said, "Exhausting. It was like I burned everything out of me." I said, "Yeah, I know what you mean." He said, "Dave, we always know what we mean." And all of a sudden it hit me. Like a wave. It washed over me, caught me up and I couldn't get out. I don't cry - I don't even feel sentimental. But something hit me. Sadness. Loss. Hurt. My best friend would not be. Everything. I swear, my voice broke when I said "What happened?" Bill: I couldn't believe it. My big, hulking buddy's voice cracked. Tread easy, man. Every single defense of his may be down, now, like it has never been before. Small steps. "I didn't feel I could trust anybody," I simply said. We walked on. "You could've trusted me," Dave said. We walked on. "Well, what happened when you found out?" I asked. He turned on me and grabbed my arm and said "You lied to me, man, YOU FUCKIN' LIED TO ME!" "What did I say to you that was a lie?" "Everything, man. When I told you about Tricia and Alicia. When we talked about babes. Everything." I told him "What you're talking about is just temporary passing shit. What I didn't tell you or anybody was because it would have destroyed my life if it got out. Not just some passing babe, but DESTROYED MY LIFE! Get the difference?" I was starting to get hot. I had to cool off. "... And I was afraid of losing you as my only friend. Because you'd probably avoid me like the fuckin' plague afterward. And tell everybody at school, and I'd be worth nuthin'. You must really hate me now." "I don't hate you," Dave said. Silence. Don't say anything. Let those last words hang out there so that they soak back into him deep. The rest of the way, nothing was said. When we got to my house, I asked, "You want to come in for a while?" Dave said, "Nah, I gotta get home for dinner. But thanks." And he walked on. Small steps.Chapter 3 - Reconciliation
Dave:
I don't think we ever really addressed the unspoken issues after that. Like guys normally wouldn't. Sometimes ... just sometimes ... when two people know each other well enough, respect each other well enough and care about each other enough, you don't push them to admit something outright that you know they feel internally. You don't force a surrender. You don't rub their face in it. You allow him a face-saving exit. I think Bill knew that, with the issues on the table with me being hurt by what I thought was his betrayal and by his being gay, that what I thought was betrayal was the main issue and his being gay wound up taking an incidental back seat. Had the betrayal issue not been there, would it have been different? I don't know. I hope not. I don't want to lose him as my friend. And his being gay, even though unknown, had never been an issue with anything before in our friendship or lives. And out of self-interest as well as loyalty, I would not reveal his secret. I don't know. Now that I hold his secret, I feel more trusted and have a greater duty of care over his, I guess, well-being at school. When your best friend has slipped and is hanging over the cliff, and you have hold of his hands, you ignore the pain and somehow find superhuman strength to pull him back up to safety, and keep him from further harm. I don't know. I'm here in places I know nothing about. But we just play this out, day by day.
In small steps.
Chapter 4 - Exploring Dave: It's Thursday after school and we're up in my room with the door closed. Dad's not home from work yet and mom's downstairs probably doin' dinner or stuff. Oh, yeah, my older brother's off at college and my sister's out somewhere doin' girl shit, like their nails or the mall or somethin'. Maybe talkin' about guys in their eighth grade class. We're sitting in my bean-bag chairs and talking. "So, what's it like to be gay?" Holy shit, did I just say that? As soon as it escaped from my mouth, I wanted to reach out, grab it, and swallow it back in. This was just like when Uncle Mark let the "F" word fly out in casual conversation at grandma Janet's Christmas Dinner table. The universe momentarily stopped ... and the silence was so thick that you could cut it with a knife and spread it on the rolls. It took about 10 minutes to somewhat recover from that one. And forever afterward, everyone laughed in secret about the time when he said "it", and Uncle Mark was forever branded as an asshole. In life, there's no such thing as "off the record". But Bill was a sport about it. It was his turn to pull me back from the cliff. Damn, it feels good, knowing there's always someone there who'll watch your back for you. It felt like we spent hours kinda openly discussing what he was about. I was left with the impression that where he was at, I was at, except in different gender directions. What I had always felt, he had always felt. We could speak more openly than I would to anyone else on earth, even my parents, because we knew each other so well. But I hesitated in asking the Big One, the One I Wanted To Know The Most but didn't want to know, at the same time. Bill's no asshole - he could feel that I was dancing around something but not going into the center where it was. So he said it: "Dave, what the fuck is it? You've been fartin' at something for the last ten minutes but then you make an "ahhh" sound and ask some dorky question that you obviously just made up. You know I won't bullshit you. What is it? Just say it." I gulped a lot of air and, I could feel kinda quaveringly, asked ... "Uhh, well, uhh, what about me?" "What do you mean what about you?" Bill replied. "How do you feel about me?" I asked, not wanting to know, but dying to know. "Ohhhh!" he said, understanding dawning on him. "You want to know if I got a thing for you?" I said "I gotta get outta here." It was getting just too embarrassing. Then Bill said, "No, Dave, it's OK. I'm sorry. Look, let me put it this way. You're hunky and kinda good looking, but I'm not in love with you. If we worked at it, I could be in lust with you. But not in love with you." Home barometers for six blocks around must've visibly moved because of the exhale that I released from the built-up tension of expecting the worst. "You think I'm hunky? And good looking?" He said, "Dave! Don't you know? Don't you gotta clue? You're a dude." I was paralyzed. I didn't know. I always thought I was kind-of, well, you know, ordinary. I said, "I always thought YOU were the dude. You got that blonde hair that the babes like, you're lean from running track, they look at you and lick their lips like you're a pork-chop, and your face looks kinda really OK. I'd say that if you put the focused moves on any babe that you could eventually have her." But then I realized what I was saying and I said, "Oops, sorry." Then Bill kinda laughed and said, "No, this is cool. You never told me what you thought about my looks, before." I replied, "Well, you know, guys - straight guys, I guess - don't really go around tellin' each other how good the other looks. They're considered the competition. And it might show that you've assessed their good looks for "personal reasons" and you immediately become suspect of being a fag. Oops, sorry, again." Bill said, "There's no need for you to keep apologizing, so please cut it out. You're making me feel weird. Let me say it out. We're still the same as we were last week. And the day you stop bustin' my balls is the day you don't like me any more. And I am not some fragile babe. I can take what you give and I'll give you back a worse shot. Like always. There's no way that I'm in love with you. You're my best friend. My buddy. I would not come on to you. But, if you should ever want to experiment, then you've got someone you know who would be willing, who would keep a secret, and who understands you the same as you understand yourself." All of a sudden, I kinda got this very thick, buzzy feeling all throughout my insides. I never felt this before. "What do you mean, experiment?"Chapter 5 - Clarification
Bill:
Holy Shit! He took the offer! No fuckin' way! Or ... maybe it's just a shopping inquiry.
I said, "Look, we're best friends, and we can do what best friends can only trust each other to do. That's a universal. Gay or straight. Best friends would do stuff for best friends that others wouldn't. Now, I know you've never been laid, but you'd love to. But the complications are too much. You know you're not like Steve and Randy and Mark and those other "golden boys" on the team that the girls just "fall and spread" for. They get fucked virtually on command. You, you're one of the regular guys. You'd have to set up that whole relationship thing before a regular girl'd let you go for a ride. She wouldn't want to be an ordinary guy's one-night-stand. No bragging rights there. But between us, if you wanted to feel what it's like, well, I'd be willing to help you out, but only because you're my best friend."
"You'd do me?" Dave asked.
"Just the same as any other best friend would," I said.
He sat there, not saying anything. Just sat there, unfocused, looking at nothing, thinking I guess.
"Well?" I said.
"I think you're full of shit," he said. "I think you just want to try it out on me for yourself."
Caught.
"Yeah," I said. "I guess you're kinda right. But I can't trust anybody else," I said with a kind-of pleading tone in my voice. I don't know anybody else who's gay in this school. Everybody's so straight."
"Yeah, just like YOU acted," Dave said, and I realized it was true. We're all perfectly camouflaged and passing for acceptable. And missing each other and the opportunities of a lifetime.
But this is here and now. And wishes don't count. "Well, can we?" I asked.
"Can we what?" asked Dave, either acting thick or being thick.
"Can we get together so I can try some things out? You're absolutely the only guy I can trust. You'll be he only one and I promise, you'll feel good. Or I'll stop if you tell me to. But you're the only one I can trust."
He said, "Well ... maybe. Hey, there's no fuckin' way I'd have to do anything back, is there? That shit's rude! No fuckin' way!"
"No, no," I said. "You don't have to do anything you don't want. You can even tell me how to do it."
"I can order you around and you'll do it?" Dave asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"No fuckin' way!" he said. "I don't want a puppy for a buddy, I want a full guy, someone who's equal, got power, not some wuss I'd have to carry."
And I realized another Truth about our friendship. Even though I'm gay and he's straight, it always was and always will be one of equals. He doesn't view my being gay as a lessening. He's not like in those stories. And he's not going to take advantage of me. Man, he's the best.
But I DO want him to take advantage of my offer. Hmmm, how to do this.
"Dave, you're right about your ordering me. It wouldn't feel right. But I still need your help to discover what this stuff is about. Will you, with me? I need you."
"I don't know, man. That stuff sounds kinda rude, y'know? I don't know about you suckin' my cock and stuff. It'd be all kinds of weird."
"No it wouldn't," I said. "You read those stories. You got a picture of how it'd be. The reason you think it'd be weird is only because everybody's just said that for years. For instance, think of Alicia blowin' you, OK? Now, think of some plain lookin' zero-kind-of freshman girl blowin' you. Someone from the newspaper staff, for instance."
"Yeah, there is some kid in circulation, I think. Kinda ordinary, got glasses."
"Well, what if she got you aside somewhere and said, "Dave, please, I need to ask you a special favor. All the other girls in my class are always talking about guys and their equipment, and, well, I don't know, I've never seen one and I feel embarrassed when they bring me into the conversation. Would you do me a special favor and, well, kinda' let me see it and feel it, and maybe taste it? I swear I'll treat it with respect." Would you let her?"
"In an instant!" Dave responded, with a husky power in his voice.
"So there. It has nothing to do with looks. It has everything to do with the feeling."
"But you're a guy!"
"No shit, Batman. But the feeling is exactly the same. Exactly. And intense."
He just sat there again, paused. A hopeful sign.
"Uhh, umm, well, maybe, I guess so, yeh, Ok." He looked kinda uneasy. Like a rookie. Like he wasn't quite sold on this. "Uh, how are we gonna do this?"
I suggested, "Why don't you just sleep over my place like you do lots of times? Then we can figure it out from there."
My bedroom's upstairs on the opposite end of the house from my parents big bedroom. I have twin beds in my room, same as Dave does, thanks to our parent's acknowledgment of our frequent mutual stay-overs over the years, but my good hope is that, as the night gets quiet, only one bed would be occupied.
"O.K., Saturday night, so we don't have school the next day," Dave said.
I responded, "How about Friday?" I couldn't wait the extra day. I was going to have enormous sex the whole night long. Things were gonna blaze. My cock was gonna explode. I was gonna shoot huge amounts of cum and hit intensities like I never hit before. This was going to be incredible. I was so hot, then, that I couldn't imagine how I was going to make it to Friday night. And this was Thursday. That Friday would be one week from the "discovery". Kind of a full circle thing. Closing a loop that was opened, but being more full and complete on the re-closing. And I thought of that, not Dave.
"OK, I'll tell my mom. After school, I'll pack a bag and bring my shit over. I'll have dinner there.
Chapter 6 - The Friday of Forever Bill: I couldn't think of anything else that night and all Friday in school. Our get-together occupied everything. Dave: I couldn't think of anything else that night and all Friday in school. Our get-together occupied everything. I was having second thoughts, third thoughts, fourth thoughts. Was I, when it finally came time for it, gonna be grossed-out and back out and have to go home? Then what about Bill? I don't want to hurt him. Maybe I shouldn't have said yes. But he wants it, and it won't hurt me to help him out. Oh, Shit, what if he bites me - that's my most sensitive place - no fuckin' way I'm exposing that. No way. Soft pussies don't bite. But that mouth of his, I've seen it for years, slowly forming words, smiling, yelling and cheering, he wouldn't do that. I trust him. Kind-of. I was in a turmoil. Stomach-knots all day. School was out and I had practice. Our game was Sunday. That was one of my worst practices. Coach was all over me. Hope he forgets by Sunday and doesn't cut any playing time from me. Bill wasn't gonna wait for me. Said he was goin' home early to rent some tapes and set his room up. It was usually a shit-hole with clothes and stuff all over the place. But he says he's comfortable and his mom has always cut him some slack because he does OK in school, doesn't hang out with thugs, and is generally an OK guy around the house. I went home, did some stuff there that had to be taken care of (yes, "chores") threw some minimal stuff into my gym bag, grabbed some baloney slices from the 'fridge and cut through the back yards to Bill's house. Biff was out and came charging up to protect the place. I think he's a Great Dane. But then he recognized me, slammed on the brakes and wanted his ears scratched and his belly patted. But first, the baloney. We get along great. I guess dis-similar types CAN get along great. And maybe, in a kind of way, I do love that galumfy ol' dog. Maybe there's different kinds of love. Maybe I love Bill, but I don't have to "Love" Bill. Ugh, steer away from that shit. I got to Bill's place about 6:00p and dropped my bag in the living room. They were about ready to sit down to dinner and were just waiting for me. I washed Biff off my hands and joined them at the table. It was the usual parents-kids conversations - what's goin' on at school, what's the game look like Sunday, Bill's all-time-best second place finish two weeks ago and how he's going to maintain that, what're we gonna do tonight - you know, general stuff. Dinner finished, we took our plates to the kitchen and we roared upstairs to his room. I took my usual place, back leaning up against his bed, facing the TV. We were going to do a video. Now, I know I probably shouldn't have, but I couldn't resist. "What'd you rent, movies with Show-Tunes?" He turned and attacked me. We were beatin' the shit out of each other. Softly. Laughing. Like we'd always done. This felt so good. We were still the same. It's the old days again. Bill never left. I never wanted this to end. But we tired of the wrestling and both rolled back, exhausted, laughing. We saw that Bill's dad had poked his head in the door for the noise and saw his two sons being 16. He smiled and ducked out, no doubt remembering being 16 also. And wishing that he could be again. And join in. He got a Star Trek flick - I love Star Trek. I know Bill can take 'em or leave 'em. He's into Martial Arts - and I prefer to just leave those. But we manage compromises. We've always managed to find compromises. Because the alternative would be unthinkable. The movie was over and we did homework to get that shit out of the way. I think I was also trying to forestall what was coming. It was about 9:30p and we were trying to decide if we wanted to go out for a short break and see if anyone was hangin' out at the school, or if we wanted to watch the other video now instead of tomorrow morning. What was the movie? Oh crap, it was something like Flung Dung starring in Fists of Fury. I said "you did that on purpose, didn't you?" He smirked. Cage-match to the death again. With a similar ending. We watched the "Fists" and kept hitting each other when they did on the screen. Mid-movie, around 10:30, we heard his parents walk down the hall outside, which was our cue to turn down the volume - both the TV and us - an arrangement that had evolved at both houses over the years. The movie was over and the house was quiet. And Bill said, "Well...?" My stomach tightened into a knot. I was venturing into places unknown and, I'll admit, I was scared. Me, who could throw a tackle onto you and blast your crushed body into the grandstands, scared of this. I was. I hesitantly said "OK," and got up from against the bed. So did Bill. I looked at him and he looked at me. He then pulled his shirt up over his head and off, and waited. I did the same. He kicked off his shoes. I did the same. He sat down on his bed and pulled off his socks. I sat down next to him and did the same. He looked at me and I looked at him. He then grasped his belt, unbuckled it and slowly pushed his pants down and kicked them off. The knot in my stomach tightened, but I did the same. He's boxers, I'm briefs. That's just the way it is. That's the way we slept. I said, "What's next?" He said, "Now I try and make you feel good." Bill: My desire was burning beyond belief for Dave. I kept looking at his body. His muscles were built up from football and the weight room that they had to use. His legs were lightly-haired and were thick and powerful. Muscles visibly moved under the skin. This guy is built for power-sex. I slid off the bed, knelt on the floor and faced him, looking up between his legs. This is the most perfect place in the world for me to be. I reached up and gently started to pull his briefs down. He actually lifted slightly to make it easier. His treasure revealed itself. It was perfect. Both Dave and I are cut, so it's what I was used to. It was soft in the nest. I pulled his briefs completely off and moved forward to kiss it. When I did, I lightly dragged my lips and tongue across it, and Dave made a light, shivering, exhale- moan. I held onto those powerful tree-trunks of legs and slowly engulfed the head and compressed shaft of his soft cock. He said "Oh, God" in between more moans and clutched tightly the blankets on my bed. I could feel his cock starting to grow in my mouth. I slowly pulled up, dragging my lips along the outside and my tongue along the underside. He said "Jesus" and clutched my head. It continued to grow. I continued to slowly go up and down and he started to make straining noises. The muscles in his legs tensed and they grew hard as steel. He started moving my head on his own up and down, faster and faster, up- and-down, up-and-down, up-and-down, faster-and-faster, faster-and- faster, faster-and-faster until he scrunched up completely, made that straining noise and pumped gusher after gusher after gusher of his cum into my mouth. I didn't think about it. I just swallowed it. It had to be about six gushers, then about another five smaller pulses, until he stopped and tipped-over sideways on my bed, eyes tightly closed. I just stayed there, unmoving, my mouth on his cock, not wanting to leave it. He stayed like that for a while, eyes closed and not moving. Eventually, he slowly sat back up and said "OK," and I pulled off his cock, which had started to relax back down a bit, again. I looked up at him and said, "Well, what was it like?" He closed his legs against my head and put his hands on my head and said, "That was the most incredibly intense thing that I've ever felt in my life. It's never been anything near like that when I've taken care of myself." I didn't know where to go from here. I know he didn't want to do me, and since he just had his shot and was getting soft, was it over? Is this all there is to it? Then I said, "You gonna take a shower before you go to bed?" Dave said, "Yeah, I guess so." So he slowly stood up and walked into the bathroom that opens both into my room and the hallway. He pulled my door lightly closed and he locked the hallway door, as usual from when he is was over here. I heard the shower start to run, to get the hot water from the basement up to the second floor shower head. Dave: Bill slid from the bed down to the floor between my legs. He looked up at me with that cool face. And kinda scraggly dirty-blonde hair. He was looking up to ME, to do what I wanted. I didn't know what to do next, but Bill started to pull my underwear down slowly - very ... slowly. I could feel it rub past my cock and it sent sensations through it. It never did that when I was getting undressed. Why now? He got them off. Now what? He started moving closer, placed his hands on my legs and kissed my cock. Ohhh, that felt good. Then he slid his mouth over my cock and down to its base. IT SENT ELECTRICITY THROUGH ME. It was more intense than anything ever before. His lips and mouth were like being wrapped in slippery silk. Liquid, gliding, flowing, up and down. I started clutching at anything. It built more and more. I clutched his head. Things got blinding. I couldn't see anything. There was just this intense, internal blinding blaze. Every nerve in me was screaming. I don't know what I was doing. I was lost in the blaze. And I started shooting. And shooting, And shooting. And shooting. And shooting. I collapsed. I didn't move. It was glowing. I could still feel it as it slowly receded. I wanted to feel every bit of it as it s.l.o.w.l.y faded away. I just lay there, flowing in it. Until it was gone. And was just an incredible memory. I opened my eyes, and Bill was still there, still keeping me warm and safe and protected. This was the best. I kinda got up and sat there. I didn't know what to do next. Bill then asked me if I was going to take a shower and I just automatically said yes, still kind-of disoriented from the blaze. I got up and walked to the bathroom and started the shower. If you saw the Star Trek movie, then you'll know that I was in the Nexus, and would want to stay there forever.Chapter 7 - Second Course
Dave:
I got in the shower, got wet with water as hot as I could stand, as is my usual, and turned off the water to completely soap-up. I then heard Bill's voice, lightly, from outside the shower curtain. "Is it OK if I come in?" I still connected him to what he had done for me and said "OK". I almost think I wanted to hug him, he had made me feel so good. I think I was still in the glow.
He pulled back the curtain and stepped in over the tub. He looked at me and I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and gave him a guy-hug. "That was the best," I said. He smiled and leaned his head on my shoulder and pulled in tight. We just stood there like that for a while. Eventually I said, "You gotta get wet," and turned on the water. He yelped - he's apparently a medium-temperature guy. I told him hot water opens up all your pores and lets the soap get inside to wash the oils in there away. He said he'll take the warm water and live with that burden. Warm water it was. But I wasn't going to give up my no-water soapdown procedure. Compromise. I grabbed the soap-bar and started to rub. Bill then said, "Here, let me do that." Hmm, OK, if he wants to. Might feel good. "OK," I told him.
I turned my back to him and he started gliding the soap bar all over me and rubbing with his hand following it - over my back, a reach- around to my chest, back down over my butt cheeks, inside the crack, down my legs, my calves, my feet. Then he told me to turn around. I revolved and he started on my front with my feet and started up my legs, s.l.o.w.l.y. By the time he got to my cock, it was straining as large as it could get. It felt like it could burst. He started to stroke it and I started to moan and I almost collapsed. My leg muscles just went out on me. He then stopped rubbing it and stood up. He turned around with his back to me and said, "Dave, push it in." He backed up against me and pushed his cheeks against my cock, which fit perfectly in between his crack, and proceeded to slither it up and down. I grabbed my arms around his front at the shoulders and started to hump slippery. Up-and-down, up-and-down. He said, "Push it in." I said, "It might be too big." He said, "Go slow. Just get the head in slow, then wait for me to tell you to go ahead."
I did as he asked. I felt in there, slathered it up with more soap that I rubbed from my chest, lined it up and started to s.l.o.w.l.y push. As I pushed it in, he was gasping - I don't know whether from pleasure or pain. But I stopped once the head was in and I asked him if I should pull it out and try later. He said, kind-of breathlessly, no, but just to wait a minute. I waited there like that until I got his go-ahead, and I started to push. He kept gasping and I kept stopping. We would wait, then start again. Eventually, I was all the way in. My pubes were against his butt cheeks. We waited like that for a short while and then I started to slowly mini-hump it back and forth, about a half-inch only or so. With an easier voice, he said "More," so I pulled back farther and pushed back in. It started to feel real good for me again and, surprisingly, Bill started to moan and hump-ass, too. We began to pick up intensity and that blaze started to return. I remembered its effect and, with all my mind, tried to encourage it back. But it was linked to my cock. So I started to fuck more feverishly. I was starting to lose my mind. I was starting to fuck him like a mindless animal. Pounding. Pounding. Pounding. Clawing. Grasping. Pounding. The blaze was returning. It was screaming in its blinding intensity. I couldn't think anything. I was lost in it. I was shooting, shooting, shooting into him. Pounding. Pounding. Stroking. Stroking, rubbing, rubbing, moving, moving, slowing, slower, done. I collapsed on his back, draped over it like a limp rag. We didn't move for a while. After a while, I straightened up and pulled out. There was kind-of a mess on me so we turned the shower back on and he cleaned me up.
Bill:
I thought his leaving the bathroom door slightly open was a hint. I know, he always did that, but this time, because of what we just went through, this must be a hint.
I gave him a couple of minutes to get in the shower and I took off my shorts and went into the bathroom. As I approached the shower, the water turned off. I moved up to the curtain, thinking of his body being all wet and glistening and slippery, and asked if I could come in.
Please say yes.
He said "OK", and I stepped in. He WAS all wet and glistening and slippery. I knew it. I was in lust with him. I wanted to be in bed with him forever. I wanted us to lick, suck and fuck each other forever. I just looked at him - and he hugged me! He put his arm around me and hugged me! I leaned against him. I melted into him. I wanted to be like this forever.
Then he broke the reverie. He turned on the water, and I yelled out. I think I got scalded. He said it wasn't THAT hot, and that it should be hot to be clean, or something. Well, "I" customarily use soap to get clean, rather than to burn the top layer of skin off to reveal the clean, fresh one below. So he turned the temperature down to something more human for a while, and then he turned it off and grabbed the soap. I instantly said "Let me do it", and he gave me the bar. This was heaven. This was not a cheap feel. This was a real feel. All over. Everywhere. That bar of soap and I explored every single inch of him. Every private and secret place we touched and rubbed and stroked. We visited every part of him. I now know every single inch of his body better than he knows himself. He has never seen his massive, strong, powerful back. I have. He has never seen his round, intoxicating, muscled globes that I so badly want to enter. I saw his pink hole. I know him.
And then I knew what to do next.
I asked him to turn around and started soaping him on his front side from his feet up. They were powerful feet. Feet that could propel him to knock over the strongest man any other team could throw against us. Feet that could pound down the field at incredible speed and overtake anyone. And those legs. Muscled, rippling, pillars of steel, powerful, lightly-haired, able to propel that giant frame instantly to high speed. I stroked them and loved them. I could feel each muscle separately defined. I climbed higher and higher until I reached his Power. It was straight up and as hard and full as it could ever be. I started to soap it and he started to moan. As I rubbed more, his legs seemed to collapse. I caught my Dave and steadied him. It was as lubricated as I could make it. I stood up and turned around and rubbed my ass-crack up and down his cock. He grabbed hold around me and started thrusting up against me. I knew he was hot, and so I asked him to push it into me. I've read hundreds of the stories about this moment, and now it was mine. Some said it hurt. Some said it didn't. Every one said it felt great. I just wanted to feel us joined. To be as one. To feel that Power up in me, taking me, having its pleasure.
I guess he read the stories, because he lubed me up with some soap. He pushed his fingers up my butt - I never thought he'd do that. Then I felt his rod. Pushing. Stretching. Man, it hurt. It was like burning. But then it was in and he stopped ... and we waited ... and the pain kinda went down, or just the sharp edge of it. And he slowly pushed in. And it hurt a little bit at each push. But he waited. And he asked if I wanted to stop. No, I wanted to feel it more than the discomfort mattered. And eventually he was in. All the way. I felt kinda stuffed back there. Very strange. And he stroked it back and forth. Every time he moved it, something flared. And it was great. And then he started to move faster. And faster. And he started to grunt. And groan. And growl. He was like a madman. If he wasn't holding onto me, I would've fallen over. He's a Big guy. And strong. All of a sudden, he jammed it all the way in, held it, arched back and let out a long groan. Damn, I hope my parents don't hear. The stories say they could feel it get bigger and they could feel it squirt. Sorry, none of those. Perhaps it was too worn from the abuse. It was kinda real good for me, but Dave seems to have gone to Heaven again. I was bent over and he was draped over me, still plugged in. I was carrying my Dave again. I'd do that any time.
After he recovered, he pulled out. I turned around and looked at it, and, how do I say it politely, it apparently had reached beyond where the toilet paper reached. So I spread some of the soap on it and we turned on the water and I cleaned it off and left it ready for action.
But there was to be none more, that night.
We finished the shower, went out to the beds, got in each our own and turned out the lights.
After a minute or two I said into the dark, "Dave?"
The voice came back, "Yeah?"
I said, "Can I come over?"
. . . And he said, "OK."
That night, we slept the sleep of angels.
EPILOGUE Bill: There's more to this story, if I can convince Dave to write it. There's Tim the freshman that Dave somehow kindheartedly picked up at school and Mike the sophomore, who's the guy who lives with his mom at the trailer park we mentioned earlier. I think Mike's seen more shit in his life than I and any other guy in this school will ever see, combined. Or would want to. Those two guys both do work into our lives and the spirit of this story, and we do more-or-less hang out together. I guess the story is in how they worked in. And how they became sexually active. But that's for another time, maybe. Oh, and Dave's birthday gift for me. But he may not want to tell you about that. I thank you for sitting here with Dave and me and hearing our story. I guess we gotta go now. Perhaps we'll run into you again. I know "I'd" love to. Well, see ya'. Bill. ... and me, Dave. I guess you are kinda cool. Later, dude. Maybe.