"Just out of curiosity," a friend asked recently, "have you ever tried writing anything from the guy's point of view?" In fact I have, a long time ago in a notebook that I'd filed away years back, although I'm not sure that this is what he was hoping for. Comments welcome!!!
If I really put my mind to it, I’d say that Mark had been my best friend my entire life. We grew up just a couple of houses from one another, attended the same schools until it was time to leave for college, and had spent most of our vacation time together since then. Even after he left home to take an apartment closer to college, in Rhode Island, we saw one another as often as we could, and this latest visit – a few days before the spring semester began – was just one more in a long line of the things.
We had nothing planned; we’d drink, we’d chase girls, we’d catch a movie or two, and the only thing that was at all different was, the guy he shared the apartment with, Tom, would be in town at the same time as me, which meant I wouldn’t be sleeping where I normally did. But no matter. Mark had the biggest of the two bedrooms, with a couch and a camp bed for me to choose from – although, as we settled down for the night, I found myself wondering whether the floor wouldn’t have been more comfortable than either.
“Having trouble over there, Pete?” Mark’s voice cut through my latest impatient sigh, as I tried to squeeze my six-foot frame into a five-foot space.
“If I could just get my legs comfortable, I’d be okay,” I murmured, and he laughed. “You can always hop in with me. I promise I won’t snore.”
“Okay.” I couldn’t count the number of nights that he and I had shared a bed in the past, and wasn’t certain why we were so adamant that tonight would not be another one. Sleepovers at one another’s homes while we were growing up, saving money on motel rooms when we went out to Colorado for a week of skiing… I’d probably spent more nights asleep alongside Mark than I had ever spent with a woman, and not given the matter another thought.
“Thanks.” He flicked on his bedside lamp as I maneuvered myself off the camp bed and into the queen sized that he was nestled up in, and if I noticed that he was naked as I pulled back the single sheet that covered him, it didn’t register. Again, why would it? You spent as much time together as we had, and you’re certain to see one another’s todger at some point.
We talked for a while, till I felt myself drifting; said goodnight and I was away…. Away, that is, until I found myself awake again, to feel his body nestled tight against mine. Tight and, although I knew from his breathing that he was fast asleep, insistent. I can safely say I had never previously been awakened by the weight of a hot, hard cock pressing against the small of my back. But I could certainly feel one now and, as I lay there in the silence, I could feel my own prick stirring as well.
What the fuck? I’m not gay. Not even mildly bi. In fact, I’ve never even given that side of life a second thought, and I’m damned certain Mark hasn’t, either. He’d have mentioned it if he had, because I know there is nothing that we haven’t shared at some point in the past. Including every last dirty detail of our sex lives. And, if I’d thought about it, I’d have figured that his hard-on was just an involuntary reflex, his dick sensing the warmth of another body in the bed, and simply trying its luck.
But I wasn’t thinking about it. Or rather, I was, but not in any way that I would ever have dreamed of doing. My own cock was rock hard now, reacting exclusively, and exquisitely, to the feel of his against the bare flesh of my back. I could feel my boxers tenting around it, and thought about slipping out of bed, running to the bathroom and jerking myself off. Moving, though, would disturb Mark, and for some reason that was one thing I didn’t want to do.
I adjusted my position a little, rolling until I was half on my back, and his cock rolled with me, resting on my hip. There was, what… six inches of space between my cock and his. I rolled again, flat on my back now, with one hand pressing down on my shaft, angling it towards where his cock head now lay. So close!
I was holding my breath now, fearful that the slightest sound might disturb him, cause him to roll over and away from me. But feigning sleep as well, so if he did wake up and discover how we lay, he wouldn’t know I’d had anything to do with it. Just like he wouldn’t know if my hand slipped away from my throbbing cock, and gently touched his.
At twenty-one years of age, I knew exactly what my cock felt like, and - assuming I'd even given the matter a moment's thought, which I hadn't - I guess I just assumed that every other guy’s would feel the same. Right? Wrong. The moment my fingers brushed his… and that’s all they did, they brushed it… it was as though I’d stuck my hand inside an electrical socket. The heat was unbelievable, the feel of the flesh was astonishing. And when I raised my hand to my face and sniffed, the faintest aroma almost caused my heart to burst.
How long did I lay there, touching his cock and then breathing it in? Two minutes? Five? Twenty-five? I don’t know, but every time I did, I moved down the bed a little, curling up into what could have been called a fetal position, but which had just one thought in mind. To bring my face closer to that magnificent cock. And suddenly Mark moved as well, stretching in his sleep, as though he were trying to hoist himself up the bed – and now his erection was no further from my face than it had been from my cock a while before. I didn’t even need to use my fingers anymore. I could smell him without moving, tart and taunting, an odor unlike any I had ever smelled before, and more alluring than any as well.
More minutes passed, as I inched down and he inched up; it could almost have been a ballet if he wasn’t so obviously sound asleep, and I wondered what he’d say now, if he woke up to find my face just inches from his helmet, and stretching my tongue out as far as it could go, in the hope of tasting the aroma that now obsessed me. The sheet was bunched up somewhere below my armpit and his balls, and the streetlight that shone in through the uncurtained window was just enough to illuminate the shadow of his shaft. I lowered my head a little further.
At the back of my mind, a tiny voice suddenly spoke. You’re trying to lick your best friend’s cock.
Wrong. I’m not trying. It was just the tip of my tongue that made contact, but his flavor flooded me, incinerating my taste buds with delight and desire. I withdrew it for a moment, to try and savor the flavor some more, but it was gone in an instant and I knew I needed more.
I tried to picture his cock in my mind. Like I said, I’d seen it a thousand times in the past, and once or twice – first thing in the morning, on his way for a piss – I’d seen his erection as well. Back then, though, it was just a biological function, a bit of his body that I had no interest in. I hadn’t mapped the veins or studied the ridges, hadn’t paid any attention to the thickness or the length, hadn’t gazed longingly at the meaty helmet… it would be meaty, I knew that, thick and full, soft behind its iron-hard strength… and I cursed the street light for not being brighter.
How far could I go? My tongue was on him again, and this time I held it there for as long as I dared. I let it swish over his helmet, felt the faint ridge of the eye in the tip, and let my tongue probe the entrance. Moisture met me. Pre-cum. It tasted even better than the flesh, and now a new thought obsessed me. I wanted him to cum. I wanted him to cum in my mouth. And I didn’t care whether he woke up or not.
My hand grasped his shaft, held it upright, as I rearranged my legs beneath me, and moved to kneel alongside him. I glanced up at him one more time. I didn’t know what this would do to our friendship… everything else I’d done, I could have still feigned sleep. But this? I lowered my head. It wasn’t too late to stop. It wasn’t too late for me to turn over and try to go to sleep, or get up and make do with the couch once again. Or even the camp bed.
And then a hand on the back of my head forced me down, at the very same moment as my mouth stretched around him, and now I knew that Mark had been awake this whole time, as desperate to feel my mouth on his cock as I was to taste his cock in my mouth.
No words passed between us, no sound more than a deep sigh of pleasure as my jaw relaxed and I drew him in, and the barely audible squeak of the bed frame as my head bobbed up and down, his cock slipping in and out of my salvia-flooded mouth; or a groan as I released him and allowed my tongue to do the walking, bathing his shaft in sensation and spit. I nuzzled down to his balls and sucked on them tentatively – he groaned again, and I drew one testicle into my mouth, sucking harder and then releasing it to return to the main attraction.
I broke. “Turn the light on,” I whispered, and Mark obeyed. And now I could see him, fat and firm, a lighter pink than the rest of his body, but proudly veined and surmounted by a thick purple helmet… as meaty as I’d hoped… that begged me to take it back into my mouth. “This is fucking amazing” – I didn’t intend to speak aloud, but I did, and Mark agreed. “You are fucking amazing,” he replied, and the hand that had been on my back was suddenly slipping down towards my ass, then between my legs to cup my balls, and then on to grasp my shaft.
He was jerking me and that was all I could stand. I needed all my concentration for this, for the wonderful cock that was back in my mouth, and now I was fucking him as hard as my head could bob, praying for him to cum before my neck muscles tired… and my prayers were answered with a lurch and a jerk that I needed all of my wits to withstand. And then he was flooding me, filling my mouth and leaking out around the thickness that I so resolutely clung onto, sucking as he spurted, fighting back the urge to cough or breathe, just drinking him in and swallowing as he twitched and twisted in my grip, and still sucking as he softened and I could take even more inside. Until my chin was on his abdomen and my nose was in his balls, and he was gasping and laughing and still jerking me off… jerking me till I came, and my jet soaked his hand – a hand that he slowly raised to his own lips and licked, before pulling me around till my cock was in his face, and then sucking me to satisfied softness as well.
We slept well that night and late into the following day. Neither of us mentioned what had happened that night and, all these years on, we still haven’t spoken about it. But occasionally, when we’ve had a few drinks, and the rest of the company… usually our wives, sometimes our kids, too… have gone to bed or elsewhere, Mark will laugh and remind me that he still owes me a favor. And one day, he insists, he’ll deliver.
My cock is waiting.