Good Friends

Good Friends by Traumarei, traumarei@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: This is a work of complete fiction, alas...

I've always been smaller than Matt. Younger, too, by about six months, but that was only coincidence, really. But always, from when we first met in fifth grade, he was bigger than me. And that made a difference, all though middle school and even our freshman year. At first, we argued a lot; but by the middle of seventh grade, we had worked out a division of labors, of sorts. I was in charge of academic things--making sure we both got good grades, and figuring out the new video games. Overall, though, he was the boss. I might make suggestions, but he made the decisions. Even our parents seemed to expect it to be that way.

As a budding jock, Matt's popularity expanded dramatically during middle school. His friends from sports started coming over to his house. Several of them--Chris, and Ahmed, and Eric--became special friends. Sometimes they would do jock-things together that didn't interest me, but most of the time we all hung out together. They were all jocks, and I wasn't, but we were friends anyway--with Matt as our leader and central connecting hub.

Early in fifth grade, my parents made sure I had access to accurate information about sex. It didn't seem like that big a deal to me, but Matt was impressed and surprised at my level of knowledge the next year. Our human reproduction unit covered the basic biology pretty well, but was pretty vague on other topics, or used words that college freshman would have had trouble following. Fortunately, I had read a better description of masturbation than the one in our textbook, so I was able to describe the mechanics of it for Matt after the day we talked about it in class, even though I had never tried it myself. I was even able to tell him some of the common slang terms for it.

A few days later, he dragged me up to my room to tell me how cool jacking off was, then pestered me until I pulled out my own penis and tried it under his direction. My first orgasm was just the way the books had described, except that the feeling was much more powerful and affected me a lot more than I had expected. Immediately jacking off became a daily habit for me and--so he informed me--for Matt as well. We never jerked off together alone again, but several times in seventh and eighth grades, the guys would start talking about sex and someone would suggest we have a cicle jerk. I always enjoyed these occasions, and didn't worry about them too much, since the books I had read said it was pretty normal for guys our age to masturbate together sometimes. I loved to watch the pearly streams of semen erupting from their cocks over their hands and streaming onto the towels we laid out to catch the spill.

Overall, middle school was pretty good for me. Spending time together with Matt and his friends, I got to be more confident and outgoing. By eighth grade, I had established my niche. I played clarinet in the school band. I was on the newspaper staff, and in the chess club. I got pretty good grades, and I had a good set of friends.

Then ninth grade hit, and high school, and I was suddenly once again a young-looking, weak nerd. What confidence I had gained over the previous years, I almost immediately lost. I'd been the best clarinetest in eighth grade, but wasn't even in the top half of my section in my new band. The high school chess club had died several years before. I volunteered to work on the school newspaper, but all they did was make me a reporter's assistance and use me for clerical work. Nothing I really wanted to do.

For the most part, Matt and my other friends didn't really realize what was going on with me. They had all made the JV football team, and it kept them busy after school--not just with practice, but with friends and social opportunities related to the people they met on the team. They just assumed that I was busy with similar events in my own sphere. We would get together from time to time, but they were awfully busy, and I couldn't follow a lot of what they were talking about when we did find time to meet up. None of them had the same classes or lunch schedule that I did, so there was never really any opportunity to make connections in school. Soon I started avoiding and making excuses so that I wouldn't feel like a fifth wheel when they were around.

The other thing that made ninth grade really bad was the sudden, unwelcome realization of the direction my developing sexual feelings were taking. It started one day late in the fall when I heard Matt talking about a date he'd been on. It wasn't anything serious, but of course the other guys all teased him about whether blow jobs and fucking, and him feeling her up. Listening to my friends, I found myself vaguely disgusted at the mental picture that flashed in front of my mind of Matt with his hands on a girl's genitals, based on the pictures I had seen in the books I'd read on puberty.

I would have dismissed this as just another evidence of my own late development--something I'd done on previous occasions, when similar thoughts had crossed my mind. But just then I happened to look at Ahmed, who was stretching while he laughed at something Chris had said. And the flash of his smiling teeth and four inches of exposed stomach shot straight to my groin, and I couldn't stop myself from picturing him naked, with an erection. The answering twitch in my cock told me I was interested. Really interested. Oh, damn, I thought.

Being the geek I was, of course I didn't just leave it at that. Instead, I researched. Several hours spent searching the Internet gave me my answer. After looking at a few of the standard are-you-gay sites for teens, I decided to get a bit more daring and looked up some gay porn sites. Wow! I had never gotten so hard so fast in my life, at least not since those circle jerks. Nope, no question at all.

So was I the only gay guy in the group? Mentally, I catalogued my friends' reactions over the years, only to arrive at the sad but inescapable conclusion that all of them were overwhelmingly heterosexual. Sure, they had been up to some fun in middle school. But thinking over what they said, and where their looks were being drawn these days, it was clear that girls Really Turned Them On. No way could they have faked it. Maybe with someone else who didn't know them as well, but not with me. So now I had another reason for drawing away from them. I didn't think they'd hate me for being gay. It was just one more point of difference.

That was around Christmas. The guys and I spent some time together during the break, and it was fun. Then school started, and the end of the semester and beginning of the next one, and I picked up my intention of withdrawing from Matt and my other friends and going it alone. It was really hard, but I thought it was the only thing I could do..

Other things weren't going well either. I had gotten into several advanced classes, but it turned out I wasn't as well prepared for them as my advisor and parents had thought. Working on the newspaper was still boring, so I dropped that, partly so I could use the extra time for studying. I was starting to hate the clarinet. And suddenly, for whatever random reasons things like that happen, I was being bullied again by some of the other ninth graders, for the first time since I had become friends with Matt back in fifth grade.

By the end of the year, things had gone into a steep nosedive. I struggled to get B's and C's in my classes last quarter, where before I had been a mostly A student. A lot of mornings I had a hard time convincing myself to get out of bed. I stopped seeing my friends entirely, giving them the excuse that I was busy and needed time for studying, which was true enough though it wasn't my real reason. Some days the words I said to my parents on the way out the door in the morning and over the dinner table where all I said to anyone.

I got through my finals, then crashed for the next two days. By this time, my parents had started to figure out that something was wrong. They hadn't realized it earlier, partly because I'd done such a good job of hiding it from everyone, and partly because they were used to me spending a lot of time with my friends. They didn't realize I had pretty much dropped out of that social group. Most of all, I think they found it hard to believe that such a good middle school career could crash so spectacularly, with no apparent reason.

And then the final report card of the year arrived, mailed a week after school was over. To say that it took them by surprise would be an understatement.

They talked. We talked. I assured them I was not on drugs. They supervised an inspection of my room to make sure--not, they said, because they doubted me, but because they would feel really bad if it turned out they were wrong and didn't catch it. Everything was clean as expected, though we all had an embarrassing moment when I opened up the drawer near my bed where I kept my baby oil and the small towel I used as a cumrag. I didn't even mind the whole drug-interrogation thing that much. Didn't really have enough energy to care, actually. Afterwards, they took me out for a large pizza and ice cream sundae. Eventually, they got around to asking why I'd stopped spending as much time with Matt and my other friends. I said we'd kind of drifted apart, and I blamed our different interests and the different social circles we were now running in.

I did my best to explain away my problems as just a tough quarter, with harder classes than expected and the general problems of trying to find my way socially in a new setting. I assured them that things would be better the next year. But I couldn't hide the fact that I was depressed, and that really didn't get better.

I didn't say anything about being gay.

July came, and with it a trip out to Oregon to see our extended family. I always liked visiting theme. My parents thought a vacation might be just the thing to help put the hard year behind me. And it was nice, and my depression did lift some. I did my best to smile and laugh and be positive. What I didn't realize at the time was just how poor an imitation it was of my usual level of energy and social interaction.

We came back to find a registration packet for my sophomore year. My advisor had included some recommendations to help with getting me back on track gradewise. And so we starting looking over possible schedules. And as we were talking, I mentioned that I'd really just as soon drop band, since I wasn't enjoying the clarinet that much anyway.

I guess it was a sign of just how out of it I was that I didn't anticipate my parents' reaction. Both of them got really upset. I said I couldn't see what the big deal was; people changed what they liked, and I had stopped liking band. I didn't see at the time that what bothered them was that I didn't seem enthusiastic about anything anymore. Then they started talking about me getting counseling, and I blew my top. I said that if they thought I was crazy, they should just say so and I'd stop bothering them with it. Then I went upstairs to my room, slammed the door, and went to sleep.

The next day, Matt came over.

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It was about 10:30. I was awoken by a soft knock on my bedroom door, but ignored it. Then the door opened and closed, and Matt was sitting on the chair in front of me.

I was surprised, in a kind of dull, vague sort of way. I'd seen the guys a couple of times earlier in the summer. Summers were crazy in general, with families going in all different directions for vacations, and there hadn't honestly been much chance to get together before we took off for Oregon. Not that I'd been in much of a mood to seek them out. Mostly I'd put them off with lies about the other things I was doing. Of course, most of what I was doing was staying in my room and sleeping or reading or listening to depressing rock music. I hadn't seen or talked to them at all since we got back.

Matt didn't say anything. After a minute, I asked, "Hey, what's going on?"

He just stared at me for a minute. Then, in a voice so tightly controlled that at first I didn't realize just how angry he was, he quietly asked, "What the fuck is going on here? Do you have any idea how I felt when your mom called me last night, saying she knew that you and me gone our separate ways over the past year, but asking if I'd be willing to talk to her anyway so she could get some better idea about why you've been so different this summer?"

Oh, shit. I'd never counted on my parents calling Matt to compare the lies I'd told them with the lies I'd told him.

He wasn't done. "Real nice to tell me we aren't friends anymore, asshole. Of course, it sounds like there's a lot you didn't tell me about this last year. I didn't know you stopped working on the newspaper. I didn't know you were having a hard time in your classes. Fuck, I didn't even know you had come back from your fucking trip to Oregon." He paused, and to my astonishment I thought I saw unshed tears in his eyes. "Jesus, Jerry, your life's been going down the toilet, and I didn't even know. What kind of a shit best friend am I anyway?"

I was ashamed. It had been years since I'd seen Matt anywhere close to crying. I wanted to crawl under my bed and hide.

"Well, one thing's for sure." He shook his head. "No more of this I-can-handle-this-on-my-own shit. Rest of the summer, you're with us."

And that was that. Over the next week, I spent a sizeable chunk of time each day with the guys, or whichever of them were available. Each of them made a point of giving me a hug and telling me they wanted us to stay friends. It was nice being with them, kind of, though it made me feel worse in other ways. Why were they letting themselves get dragged down by me? They were great guys. They deserved better. Mostly, though, I just couldn't rouse the energy to care very much about anything. It was as if there was a kind of curtain between me and the world.

It was the next Thursday. We were having a pool party over at Chris's--something I usually liked a whole lot. It was still nice, but I just couldn't get into it that much. I got in the water early--Matt made sure of that--but mostly I smiled and watched the other guys horsing around. And, of course, watching their wet, athletic bodies. I sure wasn't complaining about the eye candy. Still, I was the first to get out of the water to go home for dinner. As I was leaving, I heard Matt's voice saying, "Guys, this isn't working. We need to try something different."

Early the next evening, I was called downstairs from my room. I was surprised to see all the guys there, along with my folks. It looked like they had just come from a late football practice. When I came in the room, Matt pulled me over to stand in front of him, then reached around and pulled me into what he used to call a turtle hug: my back against his front, one arm over my shoulder, the other around my stomach. I was startled. This was something Matt used to do when we were a lot younger, when I was feeling upset or he was feeling especially protective. It had been years since he had done it.

"Mr. and Mrs. Strohm." Matt held on as he started speaking. "It's clear that Jerry's not a happy puppy. Just spending time kicking back with his friends isn't gonna get him back to where he needs to be." He drew in his breath. "The guys and I have some ideas, some things we think can help. Jerry can't make good decisions for himself right now. We want to do some things with him that he may not like and probably wouldn't agree to, some things he may think are a little scary. But we think this is what needs to happen. Is that gonna be okay with you?"

Dad nodded carefully, as if he understood more than Matt was saying. "If you think this will help." He paused. "Can you tell us anything about what you're planning?"

"No, sir. I think this needs to stay private between Jerry and us."

He nodded again, as if this was only what he had expected. "What do you need from us?" I noticed that no one was asking what I thought about this. It was clear that I wasn't going to be given a choice. I started shaking. Matt noticed, and squeezed a bit.

"Eric's folks are going to be gone this weekend. Jerry will need to be there one in the afternoon on Sunday. We'll bring him back Monday morning."

"Anything he needs to take?"

"A change of clothes. Toothbrush. His favorite shampoo. We'll take care of the rest."

"We'll make sure he's there." My dad looked around at all of them. "We trust you guys."

All the guys came up and gave me a hug. Matt didn't let go from his turtle hug the whole time. Then the others left. He saw me up to my room, put a hand on my shoulder, and said, "It'll be okay. You'll see." Then he left.

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Several of the guys came over about midmorning the next day, and from then until late that evening, I was with them pretty much constantly, at my house or one of theirs, down at the local hamburger joint, or over at the school's outdoor basketball court, where they actually got me to play for a while. It was actually more relaxed than things had been the last several days. The guys seemed to be in a good mood, and they joked with me almost as if things were back to normal. No one would give me any details about what was going to happen the next day, but several people grinned and said I was going to like it. It was reassuring, at least a little bit.

That night in bed, I tried to get nervous about what the next day would bring, but couldn't really muster the energy for it. Finally, I decided that what was going to happen was going to happen, and there wasn't much I could do about it, and went to sleep.

I didn't do much the next morning. Ate breakfast, watched cartoons, tried to read a book. My attention was nil. About noon, my mom fed me lunch, then Dad drove me over to Eric's. He came up to the door with me--no chance to take off, if I'd been planning to do that--and waited while I rang the doorbell.

The door opened. Eric was there, with Matt and Chris. Ahmed, I assumed was probably inside, or would be coming shortly.

"Jerry. Come on in. Thanks for bringing him, Mr. Strohm." My dad took the hint and left. They closed the door. I stared at them.

"Come on. We'll be camping out in the downstairs." That's where Eric's room was, along with a TV room, exercise equipment, a bathroom, and a mini-kitchen that mostly wasn't used. Eric looked me over. "Looking good. Nice pants and shirt. Too bad you won't be keeping them on for very long." He smirked, and my stomach fell as I followed him down the hall and the stairs. I wasn't surprised, though. I guess I had been expecting something like this, at some level.

We went into Eric's room. Ahmed was already there, wearing--oh God. He was wearing only his boxers, which he pulled down and off as I watched. He grinned at me. He was hard. I gulped and glanced around. No one else looked surprised. Then Matt closed the door, and everyone was looking at me.

"Jerry." It was Matt, of course. "Jerry, stay calm." I realized that I had been starting to hyperventilate. "Jerry, some things are gonna happen today, whether you want them to or not. We don't want to force you. Will you cooperate?" I looked at my best friend, and found only love in his eyes. Slowly I nodded. "Ye-yeah." My voice was shaking. So was I.

Matt gestured. Chris and Eric came over, and started taking off my clothes. Meekly at their direction, I held out my arms and stepped out of my shoes, socks, and pants. They left me with my underwear on, led me over to the bed, and had me sit down.

Chris, Eric, and Matt then took off their own shirts, shoes, and socks. Eric sat behind me, holding me in a turtle-hug. It felt weird and really cool feeling his skin against my back. Chris and Ahmed sat on either side of my, their sides touching mine. Matt crouched in front of me and looked me in the eyes.

"This isn't going to be just about sex." As he spoke, Eric started rubbing his stomach with hand and stroking a nipple with the other. I could feel myself going hard. The only reason I hadn't done so earlier, I was sure, was because I was so nervous and uncertain about what was going to happen.

"We know you like guys." At those words, Ahmed moved his hand and started stroking the inside of my thigh. "If we didn't already suspect, your reaction to naked studmuffin here would have been a dead giveaway.

"None of us are gay." He held his gaze steady. "But you are. And you're having a bad time now." Chris started stroking my arm. It was really nice. I started to wonder if I had somehow gotten drunk without noticing. "Maybe you think we're not gonna be friends anymore, because we're jocks and you're a geek. Maybe you think we won't want you to hang around because you're gay and we're not. Maybe you're in love with us, just a little bit." At that I gasped, and I could feel tears starting to collect in my eyes.

Eric moved his hands down to my sides and started pulling my shorts down. Obediently I lifted up my butt so he could slide them down my thighs. Chris and Ahmed leaned forward and pulled my underwear the rest of the way off. I was completely naked.

"None of those things matter, because you're our friend." Matt and Chris started taking off the rest of their clothes, while Eric still held me from behind. "And if we have to pull 25 orgasms out of your cock in the next 24 hours to make sure you know that, then that's what we're gonna do." And with that, Eric pulled away from behind me and I heard the sound of his zipper going down, while Matt gently pushed me backwards. In a minute, I was lying on the bed, my legs dangling over the side, looking up at my four best friends, all of whom were naked and hard as a rock. I was too. And they reached out their hands and started to touch me.

From the beginning, it was clear that nothing was going to be under my control that day. Instead, my body belonged to them. And they made their ownership clear, stroking and sucking and licking everywhere.

During the first few minutes, Chris and Eric lifted my legs while Ahmed started stroking my butt. Suddenly it occurred to me that this was really happening, that I was naked, with my body at the mercy of my best friends. They could do anything they wanted to me.

Meanwhile, hands were stroking my chest. Someone got out vegetable oil and started rubbing it onto me and onto my cock, and then OH GOD, there was a MOUTH down there, on me, and I was helplessly cumming into--yeah, it was Chris, while Eric and Ahmed held my arms and legs and Matt stroked my head, holding me down so I couldn't do anything but cum and cum while Chris's mouth kept on working me, and it was sore but still they didn't let go.

Then Chris took his mouth off of me and they shifted around, and the hands were stroking me again, and a new and quicker, more demanding mouth--it was Matt, Oh God--and a tongue roughly thrusting against the underside of my cock, and I started to get hard again. And then someone was rubbing an oily finger around my ass, and I started to panic but I was still being held tight, and closer and closer and then it slipped in, Matt's finger, and it rubbed against something inside and OH GOD I was cumming again, cumming into Matt's mouth while he snickered at me, his mouth full.

After that they let me recuperate for a few minutes while they sat around, idly pumping their own cocks as they talked. Listening, I found out that while none of them had had sex with a girl yet, Matt and Ahmed and Eric had all had blow jobs during the past year. Chris was jealous, and Eric said he could have one off him after they were done with me. Chris threw a pillow at him. It was all good natured joking. Amazingly, in the middle of all the weird stuff we were doing, they were still just guys, just my friends. I don't think I had ever loved someone so much.

And suddenly tears were streaming down my face for no reason I could name, and I started shaking again except harder this time, and then I was sobbing, great gut-wrenching spasms as all the pain of the past year hit me, and I felt again that despairing conviction that I was utterly alone and completely worthless. And they were all holding me, pressed against my skin, as I shook and wept and clung to them. And slowly I calmed down, and the tears stopped, and I felt utterly drained, but better than I had felt for a long, long time.

"Hey Jerry."

"Yeah?"

"We really do love you, you know."

And then I started crying again, but they were happy tears, and quieter this time. And the others started kissing me and rubbing me, slowly, all over my body. I twas ticklish, but they held onto me, and it felt great. And slowly it turned into an orgy again, and by the end every one of them had shot onto my skin, and I had shot again, this time from having my cock teased and stroked and gently tickled so long that I came just from Ahmed blowing a stream of air onto my cockhead.

After that we cleaned up and took showers, and ate an early dinner of cooked frozen pizza, and settled down and watched videos, all of us still naked. Slowly as we were watching, it started to turn into a makeout session, with all of them taking turns with me in pairs, and the others making out a bit among themselves as they waited, though what they did with each other was clearly all physical and just in fun. And I wound up cumming a fourth time, with balls that had started to ache, as I humped Eric's back, our skin made slick with the baby oil, and I pumped on his cock while everyone else around us slowly jacked off to orgasm.

And we stayed up late, and I wound up telling them what my year had really been like, my voice soft and hesitant. We sat sipping wine from two bottles Matt had brought, and I could tell it was affecting me because I was saying things I hadn't been able to talk about all that year, all about the disappointments and bullying and loneliness, and thinking that I needed to draw away from them because they weren't gay and because I wasn't a jock. We'd left the lights off when it got dark outside, so everything was all silvery moonlight, flashes and reflections. I surprised myself at one point by saying, "I don't know if I would have survived another year," and started to cry again, and I started to figure out that maybe I had gotten a lot closer to the edge than I knew.

We slept that night all in the same bed. Before we went to sleep, hands moved slowly on me again, one final, gentle orgasm stroked out of me by everyone else all together, and then a towel wiped me off. Then each of them kissed me and I drifted off to sleep.

I got home the next morning at 10:30. We had slept in, then had a lazy breakfast, followed by another communal cum session and a shower, then got dressed for the first time since I arrived the day before. I started to get into my new clothes, then thought, what the hell, and put on the same clothes I had worn the day before. Then we all split. Ahmed took off toward his house. Matt and Chris walked me partway back, then took off for their own houses. They all had football practice later that day.

Mom was there in the front room. I guessed she was working at home that day.

"Well, like at you!" she said. She had a huge smile on your face. "Who's this handsome, happy young man?"

"Delivery boy with a package, ma'am. You looking for a little personal service?" I snickered, and she slapped the side of my head, a grin on her face, then drew me to her. I gave her a long hug, and was surprised to realize that I was now taller than she was. It had been months since I had hugged her like that.

"It's good to see you looking so good again," she said softly, with a small catch in her voice. She pulled back, and started teasing me again. "And just why do this shirt and pants look so familiar, young man? Didn't we tell you to pack a change of clothes?"

"It's not like they had much chance to get dirty while I was there." Oops. I could feel my face turning crimson as I realized what I had said. My mom turned red too, though she didn't look terribly surprised.

"I don't think I'd better ask anymore questions about that." She was still blushing, but smiled and drew me in for another hug. "You have wonderful friends."

"Yeah, I do. Yeah, I do."

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The rest of the summer passed surprisingly quickly. My parents were amazed at how much my outlook had improved. The guys walked on water as far as they were concerned.

Everyday, at least one of them showed up to spend time with me. Unfortunately, despite how much better things were doing, I soon realized that I needed their checkups. Even with everyone's help, I still kept getting tired and discouraged and feeling like I was worthless as a human being. Eventually, everyone--with my reluctant agreement--decided I needed to be evaluated for depression.

I thought I was okay when we were talking about it beforehand, but once I actually got into the evaluation and had to tell the doctor about how I had been feeling, I got hysterical and started to hyperventilate. I wound up sitting on Ahmed's lap in a turtle hug, since he was the one who had come with me and my mom to the appointment that day. I don't know what the doctor thought, but we finally got through it, and I was put onto an antidepressant and set up with counseling once a week for the next six months. Eventually, we figured out that I've been suffering from long-term depression for a long time, pretty much all my life. It's just that being with friends from fifth grade on made it a lot better, until I hit high school and that support structure was taken away.

Things are better now. The new school year started, and it's better this year--at least partly because sophomores, I've found, aren't as obsessed with making other people miserable. Too much of their own junk going on. I've learned to ease back a little bit, and not try so hard. I'm still in the band, and I'm back on the newspaper staff, though I've given up on restarting the chess club.

The guys have been encouraging me to make new friends, doing the sorts of things I like doing, and I'm starting to do that. I realized I had come a long way when I found myself deliberately trying to be friendly with a few of the other loners and geeks. Some of them act suspicious, but I've actually started to pick up a few potential friends. It's the first time I've gone out on my own to make friends since Matt in fifth grade. Chris suggested once that maybe I could go out to the GSA in our school, but that sounds like suicide to me, and the other guys don't think it's a great idea either.

The guys still keep an eye out for me. If a day passes that I don't hear from one of them, I can be sure I'll hear from them the next day. I feel kind of ridiculous, but I've learned to stop arguing about it. It's not like I have a really good case for getting them to believe I can take care of myself without their help. And honestly, I like being cared about, though their protectiveness does get awful old sometimes.

And each week, on Friday or Saturday night, one of them comes over to my house, or I come over to theirs. They've got a fucking rotation going, which would just possibly be the most hilarious thing I've ever heard, if it were happening to someone else. Since it's me, I find it excruciatingly embarrassing. But the sex is really great. Nothing has ever gone beyond what we did that first weekend--no fucking or being fucked, nothing beyond a blow job or occasionally a little finger-fucking. Still, it's really great.

My parents know what's going on. How could we keep it a secret? I'm not sure they understand it, and I sure as hell am not going to talk to them about it to try to explain. For that matter, I still haven't gotten over being embarrassed about the comment Eric made one Saturday morning over corn flakes about sex as a natural antidepressant. What made it worse was that he didn't even seem to think he'd said anything to be embarrassed about. Fucking Gryffindor. Fucking jock.

The guys still make it clear that they're in charge when we get together. They think it's their job to pull as many orgasms out of me as humanly possible, and then a couple more after that. I'm always exhausted and sore in the balls, but I have a grin on my face.

Matt's right. It is about more than the sex. But the sex does help. And the love. Even if it isn't the kind of love I want, it's good enough for now. Especially together with the sex. Did I already mention that? They say they'll keep it up until I have a boyfriend of my own. I'm not complaining.