Better Friends

The night has gone quite splendidly. I am up forty bucks from our weekly poker get together. There's forty bucks my wife June, will never know about. Maybe I'll even tell her I lost twenty. It's not that there's a problem, It's just nice to have some playing around money. As I gather the stinking ashtrays flowing over with cigar and cigarette buts, stick my fingers in five or sick beer glasses in order to better carry all at once, Jack ambles down the hall from my bathroom.

I have known Jack for about thirty five years, actually since he left a whopping fart in the seat in front of me in first grade. We have vacationed together up north, hunted deer together and killed many a keg between us. He is a fairly important man in town, an alderman and owns a wildly successful Chevy dealership. Last month I bought my eighth pickup from Jack. He gave me a terrific deal as always. Once when June was going through a bout with breast cancer, Jack watched my kids for two whole weeks. Took care of me, too. He and Marge took over all our chores, even paying our bills. That's the kind of guy Jack is. A real solid guy. The type you can always count on. Like when he was my center when I was quarterback of the Prairie High Falcons. In over three years of playing, no matter what monster of a lineman was coming over the middle, Jack never failed to place that ball firmly in hands I held cupped under him.

Through the years we have had many disagreements, the worst being when his horny sixteen-year-old son Jeff was dating Chrissy, my first born. That one almost split us up for good. But we saw it through until Jeff eventually found a girl who "would".

As he ambles over to help me clean up, Jack stumbles a bit. "Woah, buddy, how much have you had to drink," I inquire.

"Not Enough, " Jack giggles.

"Well, numbnuts, I don't think you should be driving tonight. Even if the cops do work for you."

"Heh, Heh, yeah, they ain't gonna mess with me."

"No, but I am!" And so saying I scoop up his keys from the counter and shove them in the pocket of my well worn jeans. "Now you gonna call Marge and tell her you are stayin' the night or do you want me to? If I do it, you will sound irresponsible, but if you do it, you will sound responsible."

"Naw, cummon, Mike I can't stay here. How am I gonna get to work tomorrow, shower and all that."

"For Christ's sake Jack you own the place. You can shower here, sleep here, if need be you can even borrow one of my suits We are after all, the same size. Now cut it out. You know I am right. You can't drive, It is too late to ask Marge to drive all the way over here, June and the kids are visiting her mom and dad in Idaho, I got three bedrooms you can sleep in, not countin' the guest room. Now Knock it off. so you are staying and that's final!"

"Well, Jeez, jeez, OK, OK, Mr. quarterback."

"On second thought, don't let's wake Marge, it's after one. Just stay and we'll call her first thing in the morning. She knows where you are and she knows I wouldn't let anything happen to you. You know that too, don't you Jack?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure. I love you, too, buddy. Anyway, now I can have another beer."

"Sure, we'll have one together. And we'll have a shot of that 20 year old bourbon I have been saving!" Pointing to the remaining detritus. "Leave that shit, I'll get it in the morning. Cummon." I pop two Pabst from the fridge and snatch the bottle of golden brown liquor by the neck, heading for the den.

Propping up my feet on the coffee table I hand one beer to Jack as he plops beside me on the nearly collapsed sofa. He has sat in that spot so many times the old leather is shaped to fit his butt. The hills and valleys of this old broken down sofa have accommodated our rumps many times before; heard all the tales of woe and screams of joy, all the victories of this team or that, all the bitter defeats; For both of us, plopping here is like coming home.

Tonight, though, something is different. His thigh lies along mine in that same old familiar way, that same old familiar heat warms the leg of my well worn jeans. So why am I noticing? I shake my head and the strange feeling passes. My hand absently punches the remote. Some old fight comes on. The typical battle royale between two aging former champs, too old to be taking punishment, but too stupid and too poor to quit; trained for nothing else, and still young by non-boxing standards, they battle on. Like most of us I guess.

"Did you here about old Ted Blaine?"

"No what about Him?" I take a sip, a swig.

"He's fuckin' dead man!"

"Ted? Ted's younger than me. What the fuck happened, Man?" I pass the bottle.

"The big C. man, cancer, of the prostate."

"Holy Shit, man. God damn, they are droppin' like flies all around us."

"Yeah, kinda scary."

"That fucking cancer man, scares the shit outta me!"

"Me, too. Especially that prostate shit. I hear first you lose your ability to fuck, to cum, to make cum, the whole nine yards. Then the rest. It only took Ted nine months from the time they said he had it, then blam, gone!"

"I guess I don't mind dying, well, yeah, I guess I'd mind like hell, but, jeez to lose IT first and then go through all that. I Think that's what I am scared of most."

On the screen the two fighters are slumped against one another like spent lovers, each gasping for whatever air he can suck; punching listlessly and praying for the bell. At the clap, ten seconds before the bell, they separate and dance around a bit, one punch landing, soaked up like the hundreds of others before it.

Jack and I sit quiet for a few minutes, watching the fight, but not really. I for one am contemplating eternity, or the lack thereof, mortality.

My glance drops and I can't help but notice that Jack has an erection, his cock long down the leg of his business suit pants. I quickly look away.

"What do you know about the prostate,"Jack asks.

"Not very much, just what I've heard."

"Like what."

"What the fuck you askin' me that for? What am I your doctor?"

"Well, don't get pissed, man I was just askin'."

"What the fuck you wanna ask me something like that for, huh?"

"Look, Mike, I was askin' you 'cuz, well, who the fuck you gonna talk about this shit with if you can't talk to your best friend? Huh? Who else?"

Turning to look straight in Jack's face, concerned by a tone there, a hint of something. "Jack, is there something wrong?"

"I dunno if I wanna tell you now."

"Cummon, man, I'm sorry.. I didn't mean nothin'."

"Well, were you ever, like, not , not able to, well, you know, with June?"

"You mean ED, Like on the Commercials?" I laugh loudly.

"God Mike, you gonna laugh at me?"

"I am only laughing, my good friend, because that kinda shit happens to everybody. Just forget it. Buy her a sexy new negligee or a new dildo, you'll be fine. Fuck, I couldn't help but notice you seem to have one fine hard on right now."

Jack blushes a bright red, stammering, trying to say something. "When I heard about Ted."

"Yeah? Uh huh?"

"Cummon Mikey, listen to me now, ok. "Don't laugh and don't fuck around. This is serious. And I can't think of anybody else in the world I could talk to about this. Please?"

"Okay, buddy, I'll try. I'll be good. Haven't I always been here for you. All these years. If it's serious, if you need me, need my help, I'm here for you. Always. You know that. I am your best friend. Your very best all the time forever and ever friend, like we used to say in the fourth grade. Okay?"

"Like I said, I went to my doctor cuz I heard what happened to Ted and I wanted to, you know, check things out, be sure, ya know, get a checkup. Have you ever done that, you know get a prostate exam, where the doc,you know sticks his finger up yer. . . "

Smiling slightly. My doctor's a 'she'."

Mike laughs, "Figures."

"Well anyway, here goes: the doc sticks his finger up in me, and you know, feels around in there. And so I says 'What ya doin' in there doc, drillin' for oil'. And before I even got the words outta my mouth he touched something in there and I swear to god, don't you Laugh, Michael Hunter. I swear to god I shot a huge load right out on the examining bench thing there. I was so fucking surprised, so fucking embarrassed. And ever since, I swear I can't get it up for Marge. I keep thinking about that finger, about how strong I came."

"And you are thinking about it now? That's why you have a . . . er hard on right now?"

Jack blushes again. "Shit Yeah, I guess." he reaches pushing down hard on his crotch like all guys do to get rid of a hard on, even though we know it just makes it worse. "But that ain't the point. What am I gonna do?"

I turn and slap him lightly on the shoulder. "First of all you gotta stop worrying about it. Worry is the death of erection. Hmmm. I know. Have you asked Marge to, you know, use her finger on you?"

"Are you kiddin'? After all these years? She'd think I was cheating on her and learned something new from some whore or something. I can't ask Marge to do something like that!"

"Why not? Well, ok, friend, now it is your turn to not laugh." I can feel myself blushing at the roots of my red hair, the balding spot in the middle hot, my freckles flushing crimson. June uses a finger on me sometimes, especially when she is going down on me. I don't think I ever had the, the . . . prostate thing, whatever that is, but . . . but, well hell it feels good and I like it."

"Really, she, June, plays, with your, your ass?"

"Well, not all the time, but yeah, I asked her to years ago. I was reading this, thing, you know, actually in a woman's magazine, you know, one of those 'Twelve Ways To Please Your Man' kinda things. So I asked her if she would try it, showed her the magazine. It took a while to talk her into it, you know women, but yeah, she does it now some times and I like it. Sometimes. Haven't you ever er, you know . . . done it in Marge's ass?"

"Are you fucking kidding, she'd throw me out of the house!"

"Wow I had no idea Marge was so, so, so straight. She does go down on you though, right?" "Well, she tried it once and never liked it so I don't force it."

On the screen the two old timers cling to one another like old desperate friends, tossing in the occasional swat as if to say, "I am still here". It strikes me as extremely intimate, this mortal embrace. I notice that I have a raging erection from all this sex talk. I wonder if fighters ever get erections from all that intimate contact. Immediately I think of that erection bulging next to me and try to shut off the image. "Imagine. Thinking about Jack's erection. My best friend." I get up clumsily and head for the kitchen. "I need a glass of water," I lie.

I drink anyway to keep up the image and calm down my raging dick, and immediately have to piss. "Be right back, gotta piss. It is getting late. You think we can talk more later? You okay if we postpone until I am more sober and thinking straighter?" I head for the bathroom, close the door and take 'him' out. "What a strange night," I think. I cannot deny I have a hard on from thinking about, almost, well, ok, looking at, Jack's hard on. But only through his slacks, so it doesn't really count. Immediately I imagine what he would look like without the slacks. "What the hell is going on?" I shake, wipe and leave.

"You want to shower tonight or in the morning, or both? I ask Jack."

"Well, is there enough hot water for both of us?"

"UH, WHAT?"

"Shit, Mike, not together, I meant one after the other. What the hell you thinking?"

By this time I am standing over Jack, he is seated on the sofa. My raging hard on is about a foot from his face.

"I don't know, I been thinking all sorts of strange things tonight."

"So I see," Jack says, gesturing at my crotch and grinning.

I do the pushing down thing, right there in front of his face. The result is the same. My erection only grows. "Fucking thing won't go away. You'd think with all I have to drink I wouldn't be able to get it up. But there it is and it ain't going away."

"Me too," Jack says, shrugging.

"Did you ever think about,". . . I begin.

"Yes," Jack answers quietly.

"What?"

"All those times in High school, all those times you stood behind me and basically put your hands on my balls, my ass? Oh yeah, I have thought about it." Realizing that the liquor, the talk, the situation, has made him speak perhaps more openly than he intends, he looks down at the floor, avoiding my gaze, the back of his neck flaming crimson.

I step forward and place my hand on his upper arm. "You mean? You don't mean? What are you saying, Jack?"

"I don't know. It's just all these years, everything. You are always on top of things, always in charge, always . . .always there, always touching me, but not really. Most of the time I don't know what to feel."

"Jack. Jack, look at me!" I grasp his other arm, his eyes rise to meet mine. "Are you really saying what I think you are?"

"Like I said. Maybe it's the liquor, maybe I am finally facing the truth, maybe it's just poor old Ted, losing his hard on, his cum, then his life. Maybe it's that goddamn finger. I don't know. I don't know nothing anymore. I am just tired of being good old regular Jack. Good old go along to get along. I want to Live before I go out like poor Ted."

"Cummon, buddy, Let's get you a shower and into bed. Take the day off tomorrow and we'll talk some more." I move my arm around his shoulder. "Okay? Okay Jack? Come on." I take his arm and lead him down the hall, into the bathroom, turning on the shower hot and hard. Go on Buddy, you'll feel better. I'll get you a towel." I slip out of the bathroom, but it turns out June has denuded the cabinet of towels for the trip. Moving to the back laundry room, I grab a couple of big fluffy black towels and return to the bathroom.

Jack is in the shower already as I turn to hang the towels on the rack. His head is under the water so he neither hears nor sees me gawking at him, as he nonchalantly pulls on and strokes his cock and balls. I stand there rooted. The pebbled glass of the shower door distorts, but does not obscure the length and strength of Jack's equipment. Still I stand and watch. "Why am I standing there watching my friend stroke himself," I ask myself. In answer, my own cock throbs and rises inside my worn old jeans, spreading out along that thin whitened patch worn in the jeans by his constant presence.

My Adam's apple seems to have grown to the size of a cantaloupe. My heart is pounding , my pulse beating in my ears like ocean waves as I quickly tear off my shirt and jeans. Something in my head keeps telling me "No! No! What is this? Are you turning fucking gay or something," but something else, something stronger, from a deeper, more primitive place urges me on as I tear off my clothes and reach for the shower door.

"Huh?" Jack looks up, confused as he sees me stepping into the shower. But then his eyes rove downward, see the state my cock is in, raging hard and throbbing. He steps back from the sheer force of it. I move forward and pin his body against the shower wall with mine. His cock is as hard as mine, poking me in he lower belly. My arms go around him. The stiff curls of his chest hair are rough against my nipples. Our cocks touch, his need throbbing against my dick.

I reach between us to retract my foreskin, so taut it seems ready to split. My hand touches his hardness and I grasp it, the first cock other than my own to ever be in my hand. He feels hot and heavy in my palm. I stroke him gently and he moans, "Oh Mickey," leaning against my body and urging his hips against me in a soft fucking motion, the slippery head of his cock slipping through my fist and bumping against my groin. I gasp as he reaches to grab me. We stand there for a few moments, our bodies gently swaying against one another, cocks in each other's hand, steaming water pelting our heads.

Jack pushes me softly back to look in my eyes. "What now," he asks. I am gone, lost. If this is sin, so be it! If this is queer, so be it! Once again my body forces him back. My lips find his. His beard and mustache are scratchy, weird and masculine against my face but so exciting, so intimate. He struggles against me, trying to pull his lips, his face away, but I persist, my tongue probing, searching. He struggles again. I move my fist on his manhood tight and hard and fast. He moans into my mouth and opens to me, returning my kiss hungrily, almost brutally. I release his cock and reach behind him, grasping his ass cheeks and grinding his cock against my erection.

Once again we separate, circling like boxers in a tiny ring. I reach for his raging cock, but he turns aside. I grab his arm and turn his back to me, stepping forward to lay my body against his, my long manhood poking at his tight buns. "Wait," his voice chokes. As best he can in the confined quarters, he bends in that position of long ago, his hands around an invisible football. I step forward, cupping my hands under his ass, as I have hundreds of times before, but this time I feel the soft tight flesh of his naked balls on the back of one hand, the hardness of his cock against the palm of the other.

"Hut, down, blue, eighty three," he whispers. I take hold of him and move forward, the long, strong stretch of my cock lies in the groove above his tight ass cheeks, throbbing. I move my hands on him as I slide my hips forward and back, cock sliding slipperily - blindingly, achingly hard.

Above my hands the soft warm swell of his scrotum slides over my knuckles, so I turn over my hands, reaching with one to grasp his rigid dick, the other his tightening balls. From deep within him he breathes "Oh." Above my hands the soft warm swell of his scrotum slides over my knuckles, so I turn over my hands, reaching with one to grasp his rigid dick, the other his tightening balls. From deep within him he breathes "Ohh". I caress softly with both hands. Jack's cock pulses and throbs in my left. My right hand feels his balls tighten and draw up, as my hand moves forward and back, the knuckle of my middle finger bumps along and slightly in and out of his puckered anus. I invert my right hand, still holding his rampant cock with my left, and begin to tease and tickle and poke at his tight hole. With each contact his cock jumps and his ass contracts as if trying to suck in my finger.

The fluid oozing from my cock and running down his crack, mixes with the warm water from the shower to provide excellent lubrication as my finger plunges deeper. After a few strokes Jack is panting and wriggling.

Suddenly I break contact, reach around and turn off the shower, grab Jack by the arm and lead him dripping to my bed. I haven't waited all these years for a meaningless quickie. I lay Jack on his back in the middle of my bed, spread his legs and kneel between them. His dick points straight at the ceiling and mine points straight at his. I smile and bend to take his cock head into my mouth. I am astonished how much I like the smell and taste of him.

All the jokes I've made, all the sneering comments about cock sucking, yet here I am, and enjoying it. My tongue swirls around and around jacks slippery cock head, feeling it throb in my mouth, feeling and tasting the lubrication flowing from him. I use my hand to pull up his foreskin and slide my tongue under it to lick all around inside. I pull his foreskin back tight against his body so tight that the little lips of his cock part, so I flick my tongue rapidly over them and point my tongue poking the very tip between his cock lips.

Jack moans and squirms below me, thrusting his hips up at me, seeking deep penetration of my throat, but I back off, teasing him. I purse my lips around the fat throbbing vein along the underside of his cock, sliding up and down, burying my face in his balls on the down stroke. His pre-cum wets the side of my face, so I lick at it, savoring the hot musky taste. I tease and taste and nibble and lick, crazy with the joy of my first cock.