This is a story concerning gay males, classified within the Gay Male section. If you don’t like or might even be offended by reading stories involving male homosexual activity, you should not read this story.
Jonathan and James had been good friends for quite a long time. Really, just about as long as they could remember.
They were both now 21 but they could remember when they first met. It had been in Miss Johnson’s third grade class. Turned out that they actually didn’t live that far away from each other, but apparently had never before crossed each other’s paths. Up until that time they had pretty much stayed within their own neighborhood. Johnny played with kids in Meadowbrook Park, Timmy with kids in Montclair Park. But, there was really only a few blocks separating their homes. In fact, John passed the street on which Tim lived (Elm Street) everyday on the way to school. A few blocks for young kids within a large suburban area though can be quite a barrier. Until, at least, they met within Miss Johnson’s class.
They instantly took a liking to each other. They were really unsure why. For whatever the reason, they became good friends; no, the closest of friends.
They suffered all of their childhood toils and traumas together: having to deal with Miss Emerson’s ridiculously strict discipline in the fourth grade; Coach Robinson’s humiliation of Timmy’s inadequate athletic skills in the fifth; having to stay after in Mr. Edwards’ class in the sixth for unruly misbehavior. There were also good times: sharing their first cigarettes in the seventh grade; sneaking out at night to crawl under the fence at the drive in movie; skinny dipping at night in Higgins Lake; and sharing their first taste of beer stolen from Mr. Peterson’s garage. They were hardly ever without each other. Whenever either one of them was planning on doing something, he was planning on doing it with the other. Johnny even joined Timmy’s family on some of their family vacations (Johnny’s father had died when he was young, and his mother simply couldn’t afford nice vacations).
But, they slowly drifted apart in high school. It was never really clear why. Although, in hindsight, it should have been clear. All of the guys were beginning to talk about girls, about dating, about how far they were going to go, about how much they were getting.
Johnny never joined in these discussions. The boys just figured he was shy. In fact, Johnny never even seemed to try to get a girl. None of them knew of him even going out on a date.
Timmy did go on dates, and did have some success. He then traded stories with the other guys. His exploits were never particularly impressive. In fact, the other guys generally found them to be a bit pathetic. They felt they were growing up, becoming men. Timmy just seemed to stay like a kid, apparently satisfied with just holding hands, stealing a kiss, or, at best, a quick feel. To them, Timmy seemed to be a bit wimpy. They recalled how he had been equally pathetic in Coach Robinson’s gym class.
But, at least he was no Johnny. To the guys, Johnny turned out to be a tremendous disappointment. He was a big, athletic, handsome guy. He had been the star of the junior high baseball and basketball teams. He could probably get any girl he wanted. However, in high school he kept largely to himself. He just seemed to drift away, go off on his own. Nobody really understood why.
Timmy tried to keep him with the crowd, which was ironic, as originally Johnny had been Timmy’s meal ticket. The other guys had tolerated Timmy’s meekness largely because he could produce Johnny. If you invited Timmy to a party, Johnny would come. If Johnny came, the girls would want to come.
But, Johnny seemed to become uncomfortable even around Timmy, and Timmy could not understand why. In hindsight, he supposed that he could have simply just asked what was bothering him, but such open talk about feelings and relationships, was something none of the guys did. Guys spoke with their actions, not with their words, and Johnny’s actions seemed to be clear. So, Timmy eventually accepted Johnny’s departure. He missed him, but he respected his apparent decision.
Johnny eventually dropped off of the baseball and basketball teams. Without these sources for respect and esteem, he was soon ostracized. Even if he wanted to rejoin the crowd, it was unlikely that he would be accepted. As the guys saw it, the teams had needed him but he just selfishly quit. They might have won the regional championship; no, they would have won the regional championship if Johnny was still on the team. Why should anyone help him now?
However, when guys eventually started to make fun of him, for being some sort of a loner loser, Timmy would still defend him, although not being able himself to offer any reasonable explanation for his odd behavior and poor, selfish decisions. Timmy would remember their many years together, their closeness throughout their childhood. That had to mean something, even if it apparently meant nothing to Johnny.
By the time Timmy graduated from high school, Johnny though had become only a memory. Timmy rarely noticed him, or even saw him.
Not until, however, they were, once again, enrolled in the same class; this time at Templeton College. By now they were young men; 21 years old. They had left the petty cliques of their childhood behind. They were starting their new, adult lives.
John nodded at Tim when he entered the class, acknowledging simply that they knew each other, suggesting nothing else. Tim, however, kept thinking about him throughout the first session. He in fact missed much of the professor’s outline of the syllabus.
When class was over John took off, heading away once again. But, this time, Tim would not let him just walk off. He caught up to him, although it wasn’t easy, as John was walking like he wanted to get away.
“John, hey, wait, hold up.”
John stopped, turned, and waited for Tim, his facing revealing no expression.
Tim caught up to him. “Hey man, so you’re taking Miss Harding’s Human Anatomy 503 class.”
“Yea, that’s right.”
“Wow, she’s some stuff, isn’t she.”
“Yea, I imagine she’s good looking.”
Tim sighed, at least to himself. Johnny doesn’t seem to have changed. That was such an odd way to put it. Tim wondered if he had some sort of mental disorder, like schizoid or something. He had read about that sort of thing in his introductory psychology class. Well, if so, it wasn’t his fault. Johnny had been his best friend. He should work through this with him.
“Hey, no fooling.” Tim changed the subject. “Look man, you know, it’s been a long time. We should catch up on things.”
“Yea, I suppose.”
“No, I’m serious, Johnny. C’mon, let’s go get some coffee.”
John could tell he wasn’t going to be able to shake him off, and he certainly couldn’t avoid him all semester. They were in the same class. He thought perhaps that he could drop the course, enroll in something else. But, Tim was right. They used to be real good friends. That deserved at least a cup of coffee. “Alright, sure, I’m game.”
“Cool!” Tim replied. He was relieved. They went to the campus coffee shop in the student center.
They shared a private table, and caught up. It was a good talk. No, it was a very good talk. It didn’t resolve anything. Tim didn’t ask the more pointed questions. He didn’t want to pressure Johnny. He just wanted to have a nice conversation again, one without any pressures or issues. And they did. It was very nice. For at least awhile, they felt once again like old friends.
It had always been easy for them to talk to each other. They could talk about anything when they were growing up: their classes, their parents, movies, shows, sports, their plans, their wishes, their lives, their fears, the stars, the end of their lives. But, it all just seemed to end at some point, and yet now their easy rapport had returned. Perhaps it was because they were no longer in high school, no longer around their peers who seemed to pressure them to act one way or the other. Perhaps it was just because time had passed. The explanation though didn’t really matter. It was just good that things were apparently, at least possibly, back to normal.
They even shared past memories. It was always interesting to share memories with old friends. It was amazing how your friend could have such a different memory of precisely the same thing. Tim recalled how they snuck into the Johnson’s backyard to swim in their pool while the family was out of town, on vacation. If their own parents had found out they would have gotten into big trouble. Both of them remembered how they climbed over the backyard fence, removed their jeans and t-shirts (they were wearing swimming trunks underneath), and dove head first into the deep end. The water was really, really cold. Each of them pretended that he didn’t care, but they didn’t stay in long. Tim, however, had forgotten that his wallet had fallen out of his pants when he was taking them out. John had spotted it when they were just about over the fence. “Wow,” Tim said. “That’s right. I forgot all about that.”
Another memory was a big fight John had with Billie Rogers. According to John’s memory, it was over a bad call during a baseball game. According to Tim, it was over a perceived insult. It wasn’t like it was a significant difference, but it did seem odd to them that they were both certain about how each had remembered it. In any case, it did in fact lead to a pretty nasty fight. Both, however, did remember that John won the fight and Billie went running home to cry to his mother.
They shared lots of memories. Before they knew it, hours had passed. They decided to take their conversation to a neighborhood pub, where they switched from coffee to burgers and beers.
Tim found it particularly nice to be sharing beers with John. It helped the both of them to relax, and it stirred up additional memories: the first time they got drunk was with each other. John recalled how Tim once threw up outside the window of his car. Thank goodness he had at least gotten the window down. Tim had virtually no memory of that, but, then again, he didn’t have much of a memory for that evening even the very next day.
They even began to recall some of their favorite jokes of childhood. These Tim had a better memory for. The only funny thing about them now was how unfunny they now were. Like the one about the man walking down the street who noticed a small boy trying to reach the doorbell of a house. Even when he jumped up, he couldn’t quite reach it. The man decided to help the boy. He walked up to the porch and pushed the doorbell. He looked down at him, smiled and asked, “What now?” The boy said, “Now we run!”
Yes, it wasn’t actually particularly funny. But, when they were kids it seemed hysterically funny. Actually, some of the jokes were so stupid that it was funny realizing how it made no sense to them now that they ever thought they were funny. The beer helped with this as well.
They eventually even closed the bar. They were having such a good time that they didn’t want the evening to end. They retired to Higgins Park. They often went to the park at night when they were kids. One of the more pleasant memories were the evenings in Higgins Park, watching the stars and swimming in the lake. They knew of a particularly good place to swim, where it was quite deep close to the shore, an inlet hidden well by large trees, one of which you could swing out far out onto the lake. At least it seemed far to them when they were kids. Even when they weren’t swimming, they enjoyed lying back in the grass, staring at the stars, talking about just sort of everything.
“Hey,” Tim suggested, “Let’s go swimming.”
“Yea, right,” John responded.
“No, I’m serious. Why not?”
“Well, we’re no longer kids for one thing.”
“Does that mean you don’t like to swim anymore?”
“No, but swimming in the Higgins Lake is something kids would do. If I want to swim, I’ll go to a club or the university pool.”
“Not at night you won’t. They aren’t open, and swimming at night is a much better experience.”
Tim was right about that. Swimming in the dark was a lot more fun. The reflection of the moon on the water was spectacular, and the silence was eery, at least with respect to the sounds of humans. The sounds of the crickets, frogs, and owls added to the spooky atmosphere, and when you went underneath, it was deadly silent with total pitch blackness. Yes, they both had enjoyed that.
“But, we have no swimming trunks.”
Tim would not be discouraged. Beer can do that too, although it was beginning to wear off. “We didn’t need them when we were kids.”
“Yea, but we aren’t kids now. I think I’m a little old for skinny dipping.”
Tim laughed at John’s modesty. “Well then, you can just use your briefs as trunks. If you like, I will do the same, and I promise I won’t look.” Tim decided not to wait for any more arguments. He just turned away and began to take off his clothes.
For awhile John just stood there and watched Tim undress. He had a bad feeling about this. But, the evening had been so good, the feelings so nice. It had to be a good thing to renew old bonds. Old friendships, particularly ones as strong as theirs had been, should not just wither and die. He turned away and removed his clothes as well.
When he was down to his boxers he turned back around. Tim was standing there, grinning, wearing only his white, tightie wighties, as they used to call their jockey briefs when they were younger. John’s underwear was more mature, dark blue boxers with grey stripes.
They both felt a bit self-conscious. John broke the ice. “You’re still in good shape, Tim. I’m impressed. Do you still work out?”
“Me?” Tim was surprised by the compliment. It was John who was the athletic one. He was still in great shape. He had excellent muscle tone, well developed and tightly cut pecs, and even the difficult to achieve abdominal six pack ripple. Tim would give at least half his life savings for a body like that, although being a 21-year old college student, that really wasn’t saying much. “John, you’re clearly the macho guy.”
John laughed. Tim noticed that his pecs even twitched with his laughter.
Macho would not be the word that John would use to describe himself, although he did admit that some of his closer friends did at times describe him that way, his really close friends. In any case, he was not going to let Tim deprecate himself. “Tim, you always had such a low opinion of your body, and that was always ridiculous. Look at yourself.”
“I mean it. Look at yourself. Look at your chest.”
Tim looked down. However, his eyes did not at first go to his chest. They instead went down to his white briefs, and the little bulge. For a moment he felt terribly self-conscious, quite silly, even childish, standing like this in front of John, who appeared so much stronger, bigger, masculine. However, he did as John suggested. His eyes went to his chest.
“You have a great body, Tim. Look at that definition, that tone.”
Tim had to admit that there was in fact little fat on his body. He did exercise a great deal, and it showed. He was not a big guy, but he was in good shape. He instinctively tightened his pecs. They perked and twitched.
John teased him. “Hey, let’s not start showing off.”
Tim looked at him, laughed, and took off down the hill for Higgins Lake.
John ran after him, diving into the cold, dark water.
The swim was invigorating, although the water was much colder than they had remembered. The time of the year was not so much different than before. It was probably the case that their level of tolerance had dropped with age. In any case, they didn’t stay in terribly long.
They emerged from the water together. As soon as they got to the shore they realized what a comical sight they were. Tim’s white briefs shown brightly in the moonlight. “You might as well be waving a white flag for anyone within a mile to see,” John observed. In addition, the cotton was now clinging tightly to his genitals. Tim did not have a lot to notice beneath his tightie wighties, but the little bulge of his penis and testicles was clearly outlined.
John’s cotton boxers were even more revealing. Their dark blue did not stand out so much in the night light, but the wet fabric was now clinging tightly to his skin. And, in his case, there was quite a bit more to cling to.
John observed, “We look like a couple of girls at a wet t-shirt contest.” Tim had to laugh at that. It was certainly true. Their wet, clinging underwear did little to hide anything. On the contrary, their boy parts were now actually more displayed than concealed, enclosed in a skin tight wrapping that traced every inch, every bend, every curve, and every bulge of their dicks and balls.
They did not, however, try to hide themselves with their hands. They only just laughed at the comicalness of the sight. They turned to climb up the hill toward their slacks and shirts.
Tim walked out in front. John’s eyes followed the sight of Tim’s taught, boyish ass, each cheek seeming to have its own independent movement as his legs pumped up and down, pulling his body up the sharp incline. He was reminded of times that he would watch the butts of his male friends working out in a gym on a stair master or a bicycle. He enjoyed watching them. It motivated him to work even harder in his own exercise, a nice distraction from his own exhaustion and pain, although more like an inspiration.
But, this was even better, much better. This was a half naked butt, hidden only by tight, wet white briefs, and, even better still, it was the half naked butt of his old, his best, his childhood friend, Timmy.
He had to look away, as he could feel his cock beginning to swell.
Tim looked back as he worked his way up the hill. He was intending on making a joke about the fact that their friends would probably have a field day if they saw them like this. But, before he could get out the words, he could not help but notice the heavy swinging of John’s genitals as he was climbing up the hill. Fortunately, John was himself looking away and did not notice that he was looking at his stuff. He turned back to face forward, his face a little flushed. He attributed that though to the exertion of treading up the hill.
When they arrived they realized that wearing their underwear might not have been well thought through. They clearly could not put their slacks on over them. Their slacks would only just get wet, and they would feel terribly uncomfortable driving home. In fact, it would be best to dry out before they put on their shirts and pants. Fortunately, it was a warm evening. Tim suggested, “Hey, let’s just strip these off and dry out before we head back.”
John could not argue with that. The wet boxers were really quite uncomfortable.
They both pulled down their underwear.
It was a social etiquette among guys not to look at each other’s naked genitals when changing for a pool or gym class. Most guys felt quite uncomfortable about their size. In their flaccid state, penises can look terribly unimpressive, even pathetically wimpy. And, those who were comfortable looking at the tools of their neighbors could get a reputation for having “intentions.” So, you kept your eyes averted.
However, Tim and John were not just neighbors, they were old friends, the best of old friends. They had been through a lot together, including the process of growing up. They had looked before, and had done more than that. They had always been comfortable with their nakedness and their private parts, at least until they began to drift apart.
Tim had to look. Frankly, it would have been odd for him not to look, given John’s size, and, as well, given their past. On more than one occasion they had spoken quite openly about their developing manhood.
“Wow,” Tim observed, “you’re still pretty impressive, John. I guess you must have made quite a few ladies happy with that.”
John smiled awkwardly. He was a bit surprised at how forthrightly Tim had spoken, but then, no more so than when they had been much younger. “Not really, Timmy.”
“Really, man, I mean, honestly. I wish I had your package.” Tim did feel a bit self-conscious standing naked in front of John. Not only was he naturally smaller, but the cold water made him look all the worse. He was also uncircumcised. All that one could see was a lumpy little tube of furrowed skin, like he had a peanut all wrapped up in an oversized cloak.
John teased him. “Well, I hope it does get a bit bigger than that. I mean, can she even find it?”
Tim was surprised at that remark, and relieved. A remark like that from just about anyone else would be demeaning and aggressively insulting. But, they had teased each other quite openly when they were young. He smiled; maybe the old John was coming back? “You know it’s shrunken up from the cold and wet. It’ll be fine in awhile.”
“I know that,” John replied reassuringly, but he continued to tease him. “I remember you got it up pretty big for Lucy.”
Tim’s face flushed again with that memory. There was one time when the two of them agreed to drop their pants for this girl in their neighborhood. She wanted to see a boy’s erection. Both Tim and John complied behind a few pine trees in her backyard. “That was kind of fun, wasn’t it.”
“Lucy was pretty darn impressed with your pecker, as I recall.”
It is curious though how memories will vary. Tim noted, “Yea, until she saw yours.”
“What?” John replied. “That’s not how I recall it. I think she had a thing for you.”
“It was your thing she had a thing for, at least after that evening. She used to follow you around after that night. Hey, by the way, what ever happened with her? You went out with her, didn’t you?”
John wanted to change the subject, or at least he wanted to change back. “No, I swear, I think we were about the same size once we got hard. Here, let me show you.”
Tim’s draw dropped as he saw John reached for his own penis and began to stroke and squeeze it with his right hand.
“What are you doing, man?” Tim asked incredulously.
John just smiled at him. “Reliving old memories, Tim.”
Tim wasn’t too sure that he wanted to be this sentimental. “Hey, man, what if someone sees you?”
It was clearly John’s turn to be bold. “If someone was going to see us, they would have by now.” John just stood there comfortably in front of Tim, handling his cock, which was clearly beginning to swell in the soft light of the night.
Tim’s eyes were transfixed on the sight of John’s hardening dick. His heart was pounding with a confused, nervous excitement. It was true that they had done such things as kids, more than once. But, it seemed to have a different meaning, a different implication, then. He wasn’t too sure he wanted to take part in this.
But, it would be awfully weird and perhaps irreversibly harmful to their relationship if he suddenly just left now. He could perhaps though tell John to at least stop playing with himself. Frankly, that should hardly seem to be an odd request. But, John was an odd guy. Always had been. Apparently, jerking off in front of you was not odd to John. And, he had to admit, it wasn’t really odd when they were kids. On the contrary, it had been exciting, fun, and really much more than that. It cemented the fact that they were best friends, the closest of friends. He would stick it out for awhile, so to speak, for John, at least for the sake of their history together.
John could see the apprehension on Tim’s face. “Really, Tim,” he said. “You shouldn’t be so uncomfortable about your body. We used to be very comfortable with each other. Why should that have to change? Why be so uptight now?” It was now John’s turn to remind Tim of the past importance of their relationship.
Tim nodded, although with considerable apprehension. He looked at John’s growing cock. He remembered watching John’s thing grow when they were adolescents, as his own grew as well. But, he had never done anything like that since then.
It was rather awkward now, at his age, to watch another guy get a hard-on. He knew that there was something wrong about this. He really shouldn’t be doing it. It wasn’t like he was a homosexual, not that there is anything wrong with that.
But, then, there was something appealing about it, seeing the soft, limp member slowly become harder, thicker, longer, stiffer. He watched as the head of John’s cock grew particularly swollen, all red and flush with energetic, engorged excitement.
John stopped pulling on it. His cock was now quite stiff and erect, like a proud staff jutting out manfully from his body. He was an impressive sight.
“What do you think?” John asked.
Tim didn’t know what to say. “It’s, uh, well, it is pretty big.”
“Is that all?”
“What? What else can I say? Geeez, man, you got your wacker all sticking out there!” Tim looked around, wondering again if anyone could see them. They were standing on the downward slope of a small hill. There were trees to the left and to the right of them; the lake in front of them. Nobody was likely to seem them. It was reasonably private, but, still, it was outdoors.
“Relax, Tim. We’re safe here.”
Tim wasn’t so sure.
“Besides, it’s kind of fun doing this outdoors, right out in the open. Taking a chance like this. Remember when we pretended to be prisoners of the Amazon women in the jungle? To save our lives we had to satisfy the Queen’s daughters, in front of the whole tribe.” He again reached for his cock, stroking it softly to maintain his stiffness. “We had to keep our erections until we had pleased all of the daughters.” He said more softly, “C’mon, you try it now.”
Tim knew that there was a part of him that wanted to do it. He recalled how much fun they had the few times that they had shared in this kind of stuff. He was often though a bit, actually, a lot, embarrassed about it later. He never did, and would never, tell any of his other male friends about it. They might think it queer or weird. But, these were perhaps among the most fun and certainly the most intimate of times he had spent with John. He felt a stirring in his loins.
“Let me just see how big you can get it. I bet you that, in the end, it will be about the same as mine, perhaps even bigger.”
Tim would like to at least leave the evening with his pride, his manhood, restored, or at least his pride in his manhood restored. His manhood seemed somewhat on shaky ground, particularly if his college friends could see him now, his terribly limp weeny contrasting with the upright stiff cock of John. “Alright, but don’t tell anyone I did this.”
John laughed at that. “Now Tim, who would, who could, I possibly tell.”
He had a very good point there. John was now entirely outside of Tim’s circle of friends. Tim in fact didn’t even have any idea who John’s friends were, or even if he had any. He hadn’t even known John was a Templeton student until he saw him in Miss Harding’s class. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said as he reached down for his own penis. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Just like old times,” John said. Tim self-consciously grasped his penis in his thumb and forefinger. He picked it up and began to stroke it. He liked to use just two fingers when he played with himself. He squeezed it, and drew the foreskin on and off of the head.
He felt self-conscious to be doing this in front of someone. He hadn’t ever even done this in front of a girl before, at least not from the very beginning. He kept pulling on it, stroking it, but he was making little progress. This itself became embarrassing to him. Not only was he smaller than John, and very small right now, but now he couldn’t even get it erect when he wanted to.
John could see his discomfort. He moved up to stand at his left side. Tim’s heart pounded harder. John put his right hand on Tim’s shoulder and said quietly, “Let go of it.”
“What?” Tim asked, quite apprehensive about where this might be going, but he did let go.
John told him, “Close your eyes.”
Gladly, Tim thought. His self-consciousness decreased with his eyes shut, but then rose sharply as he felt John’s left hand grasp his limp penis. “Wait,” he meekly protested.
John spoke calmly, “It can be a lot easier if someone else does it. Just keep your eyes closed and imagine that it’s someone else, someone whom you have always wanted to hold your cock, to stroke your big, masculine cock.”
That wouldn’t be hard to do, as he wanted to quickly forget the fact that it was John’s fingers now on his penis, holding it, stroking it. He imagined that it was Miss Bixley, the Romance Languages teacher. He did have the hots for her. She was so terribly pretty, so cute. He masturbated to her many times at night, and, he now found that masturbating to such a fantasy was a lot easier, a lot better, when it wasn’t his own hand doing the stroking. John’s hand was certainly bigger, stronger, more masculine than Miss Bixley’s, but it was a lot easier imagining that John’s hand was hers than it was to imagine when it was his own.
He very quickly began to swell and harden, imagining that he and Miss Bixley had gone skinny dipping, and that she had become curious about what he would look like if he got hard. It was admittedly a dumb fantasy, but its closeness to the real thing made it easier to imagine. He began to breathe more slowly, more deeply. A sigh of pleasure even escaped his lips as his cock swelled in John’s hand.
John’s heart was also beating faster. His own cock swelled a bit, even without any physical contact. “It’s getting really hard,” John whispered.
With the sound of John’s voice, Tim, for a moment, forgot his fantasy. He imagined, more accurately acknowledged, that it was John’s hand holding his cock, and, he did not recoil. He did not even feel upset. His heart rate quickened, although this could simply reflect a rising tension with the realization that another man was actually masturbating him.
But, perhaps most importantly, his erection did not go away. If he thought about one of his current male friends seeing him like this, doing him like this, his arousal would become overwhelmed by a self-conscious embarrassment, but once that thought was gone, all he felt was John’s hand, his fist, sliding up and down his cock. His thoughts then stayed with the reality.
And, he would have to admit, John was good at it. John didn’t just do one thing. He didn’t just grip the shaft with his fist and slide it up and down, as had been the case a couple of times with girls Tim had dated. It wasn’t that they weren’t good at it. He sure as heck enjoyed it, but some girls didn’t really get in to exploring the possibilities. John did. He tried different things. He would twist his fist as it moved up and down the shift. He would at times just play with the head of his erection with his fingers, exploring and caressing the curves and ridges of the swollen crown with the tips of his fingers, or even just with the palm of his hand, rubbing around and around the tip of his cock against the soft cushion of the palm, and then adding to that a soft grasping, caressing of the ridge of the sulcus with the tips of his fingers. He would bring in his other hand, briefly using both, each one doing something different, or both doing the same thing, then back to one hand again. The variation was itself really nice. He would also just use the tips of his fingers to stroke the shaft, a quite different feeling from the more common fist technique that Tim’s past dates often seemed to prefer. One would think that the full hand grip was more stimulating, as there was more contact, perhaps even more pressure, but Tim personally found that using just the fingers to grip and stroke felt better. He couldn’t explain it, he couldn’t justify it, it just did, at least to him.
And, most importantly, John sensed this. He seemed to adjust and alter his technique with the reactions of Tim. How he did sense it, how he could sense it, was not clear. It could be cues in Tim’s breathing, a change in the expression on his face, or even in the swelling or twitching of the cock, but the explanation again did not matter. What was so evident to Tim was that John was really very good at this, and he was enjoying it.
For a moment he even felt an excitement, a thrill, realizing that it was in fact John’s hand grasping his hard cock. He then noticed the touch of the tip of John’s cock occasionally bumping him, touching his abdomen. He felt an impulse to reach out and grasp his as well, but he knew he shouldn’t. That would be wrong. That would be too weird. It was weird enough to actually be enjoying the feel of John masturbating him.
John was himself openly enjoying it. He smiled with pleasure at the feel of Tim’s stiffening erection within his fist. He had always wanted to do this, ever since that night in Lucy’s backyard, and only once since then had he even had the opportunity, but it was quickly cut short. His fantasy was now coming true, and he dwelt in the pleasure of the moment.
Whenever he used just one hand on Tim, he used the free hand, usually the left, to keep himself hard. Actually, he probably would have stayed hard even if he didn’t use his hand. The feel of Tim’s hardening cock in his other hand was enough to keep himself quite stiff. But, it did feel good to play with his own cock as he played with Tim’s.
“Open your eyes now, Timmy,” he said, as he let go of Tim’s fully engorged cock.
Tim was feeling a little breathless. This was a most unusual experience, but any time his cock was so hard and stiff, the experience would be awash with an intense sense of pleasure. Tim looked down. His cock was indeed rock hard: the shaft pointing up and out at a sharp angle, the bulb a deep purplish red.
He smiled. His dick did not look so small now. In fact, he felt really good about it.
John said, “Alright then, here, let’s compare them.” He stood up tight against Tim’s side. They both smiled as they looked down at their parallel erections. They both felt quite proud and, for the moment, relaxed in their mutual feelings of sexual arousal. This did bring back fond memories of the evening in Lucy’s backyard.
Tim did not feel self-conscious, even though John was standing right next to him, their naked shoulders and arms touching, and, most importantly, each sporting a stout, bold hard-on. “I still think you’re bigger,” Tim observed.
John could see that he was right. Anybody could actually see it. But, John wanted to make a closer comparison. “It’s hard to tell this way.” He moved over to stand more at an angle. “Here, let’s get them side by side.”
That was hard to do, but Tim was losing all self-consciousness as they laughed over their struggles to line up their dicks for comparison. Their hardness made it all the more difficult. They kept bumping them against each other. John would crouch down, as he was a few inches taller than Tim, but then lose his balance as they tried to maneuver their dicks so they were entirely parallel to one another, side by side. Facing each other seemed the easiest way, but it was also the oddest way, at least to Tim. They finally had their cocks facing and pressing against each other. This did indeed provide a good comparison of thickness and height. Their balls were aligned as well, and bouncing against each other as the shafts of their hard, erect cocks were firmly standing, skin to skin. To keep them from sliding out of place, John grasped them both in his large right hand.
Tim’s heart was once again pounding, now with excitement as well as tension. There was something quite arousing about feeling another erect cock firmly pressed against his own. Two hard erections in their own special embrace. It didn’t hurt that John’s hand was also, once again, tightly wrapped around his cock. Tim gasped, “You see, yours is bigger than mine.”
“Yes, you’re right, but not by much, not as much as you would have expected. Yours clearly grew a lot more than mine did.”
Tim had to admit that was true. John’s was clearly bigger, but his was a reasonable second. It felt good to realize that his stout erection stood up well against John’s, literally as well as figuratively.
John let go of their cocks. They did not though separate entirely. They were still touching at their tips, bowed against each other, like the swords of two knights saluting each other before a duel.
John observed, “It’s like their giving each other an Eskimo kiss.”
Tim stepped back in self-consciousness. “Now what?” he asked. He noticed that they were just about entirely dry. The soft breeze had helped. Perhaps they should just get dressed?
John realized that he might have gone too far with the kissing allusion, but he did not back off. On the contrary, he stepped back up to Tim. “Here, why don’t you stroke mine as well, for a bit.”
“You’re kidding me,” Tim replied.
“No, why not? I did it for you. It would be only fair.”
That’s true, but holy cow, that would seem to be crossing the line. “We never did that when we were kids,” he protested.
“Actually, that’s not true, Tim. Remember the sleep over?”
‘Crap,’ Tim thought. He was right. It can be amazing what you forget from your past. They had touched each other, and for quite a bit of time, at least as he remembered it now. But, most importantly he felt at that time, not for all the way. It’s was just a normal healthy curiosity. Neither of them had girlfriends, no apparent prospects for getting one, at least one who would likely ever touch them there. So, they had tried it, just briefly, just to see what it would be like.
And, it had been exciting. So exciting though that Tim quickly stopped before it went too far.
The memory of that excitement now returned. He could feel his heart really pounding. He had to admit, at least privately to himself, that he was curious how it would feel, how it would feel to hold another guy’s cock in his hand. This was a thought that would occasionally cross his mind, but would just as quickly be dismissed and suppressed. Only with John could he have ever admitted this thought, but he would not do so even now, even though John’s hard cock was so much right out there, although perhaps precisely because he also had such an openly stiff erection was why he couldn’t admit it. That would seem awfully gay, not that there was anything wrong with that. Man, he felt really confused, even a little light headed. He looked down, bashfully, and reached out with his right hand to gingerly place it on John’s stiff dick.
As soon as he touched it he could feel his heart kick into even a higher gear. He quickly looked around again, staring into the darkness around them, listening for sounds other than the wind through the leaves, the bull frogs croaking, the crickets chirping.
This was too weird for words. His mouth went dry. He was right out in the open, standing naked in a warm summer night, a hard-on bursting forth from his body, his own hand grasping the hard cock of another man.
He thought that if this was the hard cock of anyone other than his old friend John, his old best friend, the kind of friend you will never have again, he would be pulling his hand away like he had touched a red hot steel pipe. Instead, he just let it stay there.
John quietly sighed with pleasure at the soft feel of Tim’s timid hand. “Go ahead,” he encouraged him. “Get a good, hard grip.”
“This is strange.” Tim said, not a particularly articulate expression of about a hundred thoughts and feelings he was having, but it was the best he could do.
“Yea, I suppose,” John replied, “but nobody has to know. C’mon, just pretend like it’s your own.”
Tim’s imagination couldn’t go that far. And, besides, there was frankly a part of him that didn’t want to pretend. He found that a part of him did in fact like holding onto John’s hard cock. It was weird. He had felt his own stiff erection many, many, many times. He enjoyed the feeling of his own excitement swelling within his hand; the sense of increasing energy and power building within him to an inevitable explosive climax as he pumped on his cock. Now, however, he was doing this for someone else, and not just for anyone else, but for his best friend of so many years, feeling his rising, building, growing power developing within his enclosed fist as he stroked up and down the shaft. He recalled that night so many years ago, and this time he did not let go.
“You do that good,” John said appreciatively.
“I have had lots of practice,” Tim replied. They both chuckled over that. “Remember with Lucy?” John asked.
Tim did. Many additional details of that night, and other nights, were now coming back to him as he fondly stroked, caressed, John’s cock.
John broke free of Tim’s hand, surprising Tim and surprising Tim as well that he had a reaction of disappointment.
“Remember how she had us do all those stupid poses?” John then proceeded through a few. None of them would be particularly odd or funny on their own, but when the person is entirely naked, outdoors, with a real strong “boner” (what they used to call it back then), they were indeed quite odd and funny. There was the tight end waiting for the snap, butt slightly upraised, a look of intense concentration on the face, offset somewhat by the pointed spear jutting out beneath. There was also the begging for mercy: crouched on one’s knees, hands clutched together beneath the face. This was one was quite odd, as one wondered what the person was begging not to happen or to happen, his stiff stiffie sticking up. Tim and John both laughed as he proceeded through as many as he could remember. The jumping jack had been particularly funny to Lucy, and it still was for the both of them, as this one really drew one’s attention to the waving, flailing stiff cock, bobbing and weaving as John repeatedly and energetically flung out his arms and legs in a broad “Xs.” There was also the gay model, prancing up and then back down a runway, ostensibly showing off some new fashion, apparently oblivious to the fact that it was instead, quite clearly, his hard cock that was getting all of the attention. The funniest, at least back then and perhaps still now, was pretending to be Coach Robinson angrily lecturing them about what losers, “no-accounts,” and lazy bums they were and would always be, until they “buttoned up and shot straight.” He always seemed to mix up the aphorisms, which was itself quite funny and even more so when he was sporting a hard-on.
After that one John fell back on the grass and laughed.
Tim said, “There was also the weightlifter.”
John was still laughing at the memory of “Coach Robinson” with his hard-on. He said, “Hey, you do that one.”
Tim willingly complied. The weight lifter pose was with your arms up, elbows bent, biceps clenched, and chest thrust out. This was the pose that Lucy probably liked the most, as it exaggerated their masculinity and highlighted the fact that they were indeed posing naked, showing off their stout hard cocks. Tim took the pose, looking like he was straining to lift a heavy weight over his head.
John said, more seriously, “You look pretty good there, Tim.” Indeed, he did. His muscles were all tight and stiff, as was his love muscle, projecting up and out like a small blunted weapon. Tim did not feel self-conscious. He simply accepted the compliment and said, softly, “Thanks.” He lied down on the grass beside John, and said, “Remember how we used to lie back and look at the stars, and talk and talk for hours?”
John lied back in the grass and looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful night. The moon was so bright in the dark sky, filled with a countless number of twinkling stars.
They both continued to lightly stroke their cocks.
“We also had a contest to see who would shoot the farthest,” John reminisced. “As I recall, you won that contest.”
Tim did recall that. John was bigger but Tim apparently could shoot farther.
John added, “Lucy wanted us to bring each other off, but we wouldn’t go that far.”
“No, we wouldn’t do that,” Tim quietly replied.
John reversed his position so that his head was aligned with Tim’s crotch, or more pointedly, Tim’s hard pointing staff. He reached out for it with his hand and, once again, grasped hold.
Tim did not resist, or even flinch. It now just seemed only natural. John had touched him earlier, and he had liked it. It had seemed weird, odd, and even a bit uncomfortable then, but now it just felt good. He wondered if he would regret this in the morning, but in the moment it just felt right, and oh so nice.
John gazed at the cock he held so lovingly in his hand as he firmly, smoothly, drew his fist up and down the shaft. He got up on his elbows and leaned in closer, reaching out now with his left hand to lightly grasp Tim’s balls. He playfully danced his fingers around and along his testicles, softly squeezing, kneading, caressing, them. Perhaps only a man knows best how to play with a man’s balls? Tim didn’t know, and it probably wasn’t true, but John’s fingers felt better there than any girls’ had ever felt. He closed his eyes.
As John saw Tim’s eyes close, he brought down his head, his face, down onto Tim’s cock, opening his mouth and drawing Tim’s hard, stiff dick inside.
He enclosed the head in his mouth. The sensation was luscious. He had wanted to do this for a long time, a very long time, and now that time had finally arrived. His lips were wrapped around the shaft of Tim’s cock, the soft red bulb was lodged in his mouth. He could at any time give it a sweet, affectionate lick, even a big sloppy, slurping suck. He instead, for the moment, just savored the moment, the delightful anticipation.
He could also sense, perhaps through Tim’s cock, a tension, a tightening, in Tim.
Tim in fact felt frozen. Showing each other their erect cocks was one thing. Touching them was quite a bit more. But, now, he felt his cock lodged in the mouth of another man. He had his cock in another man’s mouth. Did this mean he was gay? It was fine with him if John was gay. That would explain a great deal. He didn’t mind that his best friend was gay. But, what does this now mean?
He was in fact surprised that he did not feel repulsed. He did not feel any such thing. On the contrary, quite the contrary, he felt so intensely aroused, so hot, so much wanting to explode. He gave himself to the evening, to John, and waited for what may happen next.
He then felt John’s tongue explore the head of his cock. He felt a surge of blood course through his loins, swelling his dick even further. John’s tongue felt nice; no, it felt good, it felt great. It was not the feel of a feminine tongue. It was not a diminutive, hesitant, elvish tongue. It was a large, aggressive, masculine tongue: thoroughly engulfing every inch of his cock head, washing his crown with wet, aggressive strokes. He did not pull back; no, instead, he turned his head and reached out for John’s cock.
John was lying at an angle to Tim. John had figured that it would have been too much for Tim if he was parallel to him, his own hard naked rod just inches from Tim’s face.
But, he now felt Tim’s hand reach out to grasp hold of his dick as Tim’s was being washed in his own mouth. He shifted a bit to make it easier for Tim.
Tim looked at John’s cock as he handled it, stroked it, fondled it. It looked different to him now. It still looked impressive, powerful, strong, masculine. He still felt a bit of jealousy. It still, to him, looked better than his own. He wished his was as good as this one. It wasn’t hugely better, but still noticeably better. It was, to him, attractive. He liked looking at it. It looked good to him. He desired it.
He shifted his own body toward John, so that he could get closer, so that his face was indeed next to John’s stiff rod.
And, without hesitation, he took it into his mouth.
John’s eyes widened in shock, in joyful surprise. Tim was actually sucking him off, something he had never even remotely thought possible, would ever happen, but now it was. He shifted his legs, spreading them a bit and lifting his crotch to make it easier, more comfortable, for Tim to use his mouth on his cock. He didn’t thrust forward, his hips remained passive, but he made his stuff very available, and Tim took full advantage.
It was quite an unusual experience for Tim, to say the least; more accurately, it was a very intense experience: the feel of his own cock being worked so passionately by the mouth of another, while another cock was embedded within his own lips as he did the same. It was like he could feel what he was doing to John, and do to John what he was feeling.
They mimicked and matched each other’s moves, and techniques. John would pull his mouth off of Tim’s cock to caress the soft head with his lips, and Tim would do likewise. Tim tried to come up with his own unique moves, licking around and around the sulcus with his tongue, and John would reciprocate. It was evident though that John had more ideas, more experience, but that was okay. Tim enjoyed learning from him; and John enjoyed showing him, showing him how to give head to a man. It was an intensely delightful symmetry of bodies, a symmetry of sexual motion.
Tim could feel the rising pressure. He warned John, “I’m close, it’s going to happen.”
John replied, “Just let it happen, I want you to do it. I want to taste it.” His words were bold but Tim did not rebel.
Tim wondered himself, how did he want to make John cum? How did he want him to do it? He did recall as a young man how many times he had tried to blow himself. His most effective effort had been to lie on his back, his butt against a wall, and then drop down his legs over his face. But, he could never get his cock down far enough so that he could get it into his mouth. It had always been so frustrating. It seemed just inches from his lips. He even tried to loosen his back for a few weeks to see if he could do it. But he never could, at least not in reality. He had done so many times in his dreams. It was a not uncommon recurring dream that he had succeeded, his own cock embedded deep in his mouth, and he was giving himself so much pleasure, the most supreme masturbation of all. However, every time, just as he was about to cum, he would wake up. He was always so disappointed. Disappointed that it was just a dream, disappointed that the dream did not at least finish. He knew that if the dream had come to fruition he would have cum in bed. That had been the case a number of times before he started masturbating; a very embarrassing problem for himself and his mother that they never acknowledged.
But, he could control neither his dreams nor, when he was awake, the limitations of his physique. He did, a few times, at least jerk himself off onto his face. That really wasn’t a terribly bad close second. He did it because he wanted to watch up close his cock explode its cum. He wanted to both see and feel, at the same time, his intense eruption; experience what it would be like to receive his glorious shower of cum, raining down onto his face, into his mouth.
And, he had to admit, he fully enjoyed it. It made his orgasm all the more intense; a powerful moment of dyscontrolled, chaotic pleasure, waves of passion overwhelming him, cum gushing out, spraying out, all over his face.
And with that thought, that memory, the feeling of inevitability overwhelmed him. He groaned through the cock in his mouth as his own gushed into the mouth of John. “Oh man,” he mumbled, as he felt his orgasm sweep through his body in waves of release, his cock twitching and jerking as it spurted into John’s mouth.
And, with their symmetry, John’s naturally jerked as well within his own mouth, pouring into his mouth John’s hot, sticky, viscous cum. He did not back away. Frankly, he even had the thought of having John spray all over his face, like he used to do to himself, but that now seemed like going too far. He instead just accepted the gushes into his mouth, continuing to lick and massage the head as it spurted wad after wad of gooey cum onto his tongue and against the inside of his cheeks.
His mouth quickly filled. He could shoot farther than John, but John had the bigger balls and bigger load. But, Timmy took it. He took it like a man, as John was taking his. And, it wasn’t even bad. In fact, it seemed to taste better than his own had. He liked it. He knew that he really did like it.
They were once again, the best of friends.
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I hope you enjoyed it. If you have any suggestions I would certainly be happy to hear them. I am considering a more comical story involving Coach Robinson (now at Templeton). In any case, please do vote!