tagGay MaleFrankie and Johnny

Frankie and Johnny

bybjmichaels©

"You're such a prude... guys do that for each other all the time," he said for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Yeah-- gay guys do that all the time..." I said with a smile.

"You know what? You're a real prick-tease..." he continued.

"How do you figure that?" I asked.

"Because whenever I'm near you I get a hard-on and you won't do anything about it," he answered. "You could at least be a good friend and give me a handjob."

"I'm not gay," I said.

"It's just sex—giving another guy a handjob doesn't mean you're gay—you're just doing him a favor—you're helping him relieve his frustrations...besides, how do you know you're not gay if you've never tried it?" he replied.

"I don't have to jump out of an airplane to know I don't like sky diving," I countered.

"You're afraid of heights—that's why you wouldn't sky dive—are you afraid of a hard penis, too?" he said. Then a smile slowly crept over his lips as he added: "Or are you afraid you might like it—that your sheltered little world would come crashing down around you if you touched a guys cock? You're pathetic—you've been thoroughly brain-washed by society—I always thought you had a mind of your own...."

And round-and-round we go. Frankie and I have been best friends since I moved into the same apartment building. That was three months ago. We immediately hit it off and constantly hang out together.

He never flaunted his sexuality, but never hid it either. He is open and honest and it is one of the traits I admire about him. He's smart and funny and fun to be with. It is a challenge for me to keep him as entertained as he does me.

It was late and we'd gone swimming. No one else was at the pool so Frankie dared me to go skinny-dipping with him. We were alone so I thought, why not? The warm water felt deliciously wicked 'down there'.

We played around in the pool: he was a much better swimmer and would try to pull me under water. When he succeeded I panicked, but he always made sure I was okay. His hands actually felt pretty good on my body. He has strong, but gentle hands.

It was when we climbed out of the pool I noticed his erection; I didn't think anything about it—he always complained about his constant hard-on's and nowhere to go to satisfy them.

Instead of stepping back into our swim trunks we just wrapped towels around ourselves and went back to his apartment.

In his living room, where we had earlier shed our clothes and put on our swim trunks, we dropped our towels—his prick was still hard when he began the conversation.

"Johnny, look at me," he said posing with hands-on-hips. "Isn't it beautiful—are you absolutely, positively sure you don't want to play with it? How could you not want to feel it?"

What fascinated me most wasn't his erection (even though I did look at it maybe longer than I should have), but his clean shaven crotch. I knew he shaved his underarms and chest hair, but this was the first time I'd seen his crotch.

"Doesn't it hurt when you shave down there?" I asked.

He chuckled. "Yes, it hurts—especially the way I do it—I don't just shave—I also use tweezers to pluck out any stubble...it's worth it, though. My boyfriends love my smooth, clean feel....and they don't have to pick any pubic hairs out of their mouths anymore...."

Subtle, I thought.

He stepped into his tiny boxer shorts as I pulled up my briefs.

"I don't know why you can't at least try touching it—you're already a cross-dresser—you love to wear panties—come on over here and give it a little squeeze...."

"These aren't panties," I said, getting annoyed with that comparison; he'd teased me before. "They're cotton string, bikini briefs and I buy them in the men's department."

"Yes, but RED?" he laughed.

I blushed then I heard his voice soften.

"Johnny," he said, I looked into his deep blue eyes. "Take one last look before I put it away...isn't it gorgeous?"

When his eyes traveled down to his prick my own eyes followed along.

He saw me blush as I thought to myself, yes...it is gorgeous—it's perfect. I was jealous—I wished I had one that long and firm, too.

"Sorry—shows over," he chuckled when his prick disappeared into his shorts.

"Glass of wine?" he asked me.

"Ah, sure-okay," I said as the image of his prick slowly faded from my mind.

He sat on the couch and I was a few feet across from him in his soft, leather chair. There was still that damned bulge in his shorts; it was very disconcerting.

We talked about our jobs; the projects we were currently working on. During our conversation his hand absentmindedly grasped his erection through his shorts and slowly stroked it. It was distracting to say the least.

Suddenly he blurted-out: "You know—I almost forgot—I owe you one."

"What do you mean?" I asked wondering what he could possibly owe me.

"Well, I watched you masturbate—it's only fair that you get to watch me," he said, and before I could protest he pushed his shorts to his knees and his cock sprang into my view once again. Then he added: "Of course, if you don't mind—I'll do it the 'old fashioned' way...."

My face turned beet red as he stroked his cock right in front of me.

Frankie and I had exchanged our spare apartment keys in case of emergencies. Last week, he used my key when I was home alone. I was in the bedroom doing...well, you know—and he caught me—unbeknownst to me he stood in the doorway and watched me masturbate. If I masturbated the 'normal' way, lying on my back, I would have seen him.

But no, I use the 'friction method'. I lie on my stomach and grind my hard-on into the mattress; that way had always resulted in better orgasms for me. On occasion I beat-off the 'old fashioned' way, but it was never as satisfying.

That day, I was thoroughly embarrassed when I turned and saw him watching me.

"Why do you do it that way?" is all he said. "It seems awfully messy...."

I didn't answer him but I had to agree—it was messy: a pool of cum on the sheet; and my belly slick with it, too. If I went to long without washing the sheets you could actually catch a faint aroma of dried cum.

Later, much to my amazement, we had a discussion about masturbation techniques.

I tried to explain myself. "Well...I'm not circumsized and I found out early-on that it feels better this way-- when your foreskin covers your glans while you orgasm, it's...well, spectacular—all the cum is trapped against your cockhead inside the foreskin and your orgasm is super-intense. I've tried jacking-off the normal way, but...well, I mean, all you do is shoot in mid-air—it never feels as good as my way...."

He smiled and said, "Damn, wish I could try that...."

I slowly shook my head then said: "It's not...I don't think it's healthy...I mean, whenever I have sex with a girl and I cum inside her it's like...."

"Like what?" he asked.

"It's the same thing—it's like I'm cumming in mid-air—in some sort of deep and yawning crevice—the intensity isn't there--it's not very satisfying...afterwards, when she's gone, I always masturbate my way...I may have ruined my sex life forever doing it this way...."

He was now masturbating furiously in front of me. I should have gotten up and left, but I was frozen in place. My eyes riveted to his swiftly moving hand and the total hardness of his long prick.

I was close enough to see the pre-cum leak from his slit; he smeared it on his cock; his cock glistened with his manly juices. My own cock became hard inside my briefs.

"Do you know what I'm fantasizing about, Johnny?" he said through labored breath.

I was too caught-up in the moment to realize I shouldn't have answered his question. "No...what are you thinking about?"

He closed his eyes and laid his head against the couch. A big smile spread across his face as his hand became a rapidly-moving blur on his cock.

"I'm dreaming I ripped off your panties and forced you over that chair and I'm ramming my cock in-and-out of your tight little asshole...."

Suddenly he cried out and I watched spurt after spurt of cum shoot from his cockhead into midair. I shivered as I watched his cum splash onto his belly and thighs. The volume of cum amazed me. My own breath caught in my throat.

When he opened his eyes he pointed to the large, pre-cum stain on the front of my bulging briefs.

"Johnny, are you SURE you don't want to play with my cock? Your panties are wet."

I laughed nervously and shook my head then gathered up my clothes and dressed.

Before I walked out the door he said: "Johnny, dream of my hard penis when you masturbate tonight, okay?"

The next morning as I knocked on Frankie's door I felt happy and refreshed. I had indeed pictured his cock when I'd masturbated the previous night—I would never tell him that though.

It seemed only natural since fantasies of sex with women hadn't given me very satisfying orgasms lately. I didn't find anything wrong with picturing his cock, after all, it was a FANTASY—not REALITY.

I've fantasized about many things which have no possibility of coming true—I'm sure you have to. That's why it's called a FANTASY.

It was Saturday which meant we had a tee time at a nearby golf course. On the way to the course Frankie says, "Loser buys dinner tonight, okay?"

That was our standard golf bet. I always replied, "Good—I haven't had steak and lobster since the last time we played...."

"Whatever happened to Linda? I haven't seen her around lately--she seemed nice...." he asked me while we rode to our golf balls after we teed-off on the first hole.

"Yeah, she was nice," I replied. "I thought she had it all...she was smart—funny—she cared about people—she treated me great—she seemed to be actually interested when I spoke—I don't think it was an act...I dunno...."

"The sex wasn't good?" he asked. Frankie and I had always been open and honest with each other. There wasn't a single topic that either of us felt like we couldn't mention.

"Well...she was pretty good—she actually wanted it more than I did...I dunno, something was missing...I couldn't 'feel' anything—there wasn't a spark there...."

"Yeah, I know what you mean...." he said wistfully.

"Is that what happened with you and Charles?" I asked him. He'd been with Charles for several months and they both appeared to enjoy each other then suddenly I never saw Charles again. "Was he an 'upper' or 'lower'?"

Frankie laughed as he corrected me, "No, it's 'top' and 'bottom'...I'm a 'top, and he was definitely a 'bottom'...but, well...it's like you said—there was something missing...."

We began talking about our previous relationships and how whenever a person came along that we thought could be 'the one'-- 'something' wasn't quite right—'something' was always missing, but we couldn't define what that 'something' was.

We quickly breezed through the course. I was returning to the cart after teeing-off on the 18th hole when he finally said it:

"I just love watching you wiggle your little butt when you address the ball." He said it every time we'd played the past few weeks.

"I bet you say that to all the guys," I responded.

"No way—have you seen most guys' butts?"

In the clubhouse afterwards, we had a couple glasses of wine, and then Frankie smiled and said: "Let's get naked and take a shower in the locker room."

"I bet you say that to all the guys," I replied.

"No way—have you seen naked guys? Yuck!"

We laughed and went to the locker room. This ritual began a few weeks ago, too. Before that we'd never showered after golf. Now that I think about it, it started around the same time we began skinny-dipping in the pool.

I wasn't totally naïve. I thought for sure he was trying to seduce me.

As usual, we stood under showerheads opposite each other. And also as usual, he said, "Johnny, look at this...." And I would follow his eyes downward and look at his impressive erection.

"I'm not that 'easy'," I said, "I want some romance first...."

We would laugh and finish our showers. His advances were becoming increasingly blatant, and I wondered what I should do about them.

Frankie dressed fast then excused himself. When I walked out of the locker room he was on his cell phone. He ended the call and we carried our clubs to his car. I didn't ask who he had been speaking with—it was none of my business.

We had both shot 84 so no one had won our bet.

"I think I owe you a dinner anyway..." he said in the car. "How about 'Bern's Steakhouse'?

He didn't owe me a dinner, as-a-matter-of-fact, I probably owed him several dinners, but I said: "Sounds great to me." He knew that was my favorite restaurant in town.

Once again, the steaks were perfect; the cabernet delicious; and our conversation lively and free-flowing. Frankie was knowledgeable on so many topics it was fascinating to listen to him. I joined in whenever he brought up a subject in which I was well-versed.

When we left the restaurant I was in a great mood so when he suggested we stop for a nightcap I readily agreed.

When he pulled into the parking lot I saw the name of the place and laughed.

"OYK's? The name of the bar is 'OYK's'? I asked incredulously.

He joined in my laughter, and asked me: "Yeah...do you know what the letters stand for?"

"I could never guess..." I replied.

"It means--'On Your Knees'..." he said and I burst out in laughter once again.

He said: "I love the name—I think it's sexy as hell...."

He had taken me to several gay bars in the past but not this one. That was something else we did: I'd show him my favorite 'straight' bars, and he'd take me to 'gay' bars that he enjoyed.

'OYK's' was only about half-full, and it was Saturday night.

"It's date night..." Frankie explained. "Most of the guys are out eating or at the movies or doing something with their boyfriends...but about an hour-or-so before closing time they'll all come here for last call—this place will be wall-to-wall faggots."

I laughed and followed him to an open booth. Quickly, 'a cute little thing', as Frankie described him took our order and disappeared. When the server came back with our bottle of wine I looked closer at him: he wore short-shorts and a tee shirt that only covered him just above his naval.

I had to agree with Frankie: he was 'a cute little thing'.

A nearby pool table was vacant so Frankie fed it quarters and we played a couple games.

Midway through the second game I heard a familiar voice that made my skin crawl.

"FRANK-EEEE---HOW ARE YOU?---IT'S BEEN SO LONG...."

It was Mikey, one of Frankie's ex's. He was a real cupcake, or as Frankie corrected me—a twinkie. He was a little too flamboyant for my taste.

When the game was over, Frankie invited his friend to join us in the booth. He quickly slid into the seat between me and Frankie. He seemed genuinely happy to see Frankie again.

Mikey dominated the conversation; once I became accustomed to his sing-song voice I grew to enjoy listening to him tell Frankie about the guys he'd recently been with, and there seemed to be no shortage of them either.

He was very animated; his hands waved around as he spoke, and he bubbled with enthusiasm and sincerity as he described his lovers' attributes and weaknesses. I actually found him rather entertaining.

At one point, he became very serious and looked me in the eyes; his hand resting on my thigh as he asked me: "Honey, have you ever been with a guy so selfish that when he's fucking you he won't even give you a reach-around?"

I didn't know what to say so I mumbled: "Ah...no...I'm not gay..."

His eyes flew open wide as he exclaimed: "Well pinch my nipples—you sure had me fooled...."

I felt myself blush but Mikey didn't seem to notice; he just continued his rambling stories.

I was acutely aware that his hand never left my thigh, and in fact, he began stroking it, and it was getting very close to the growing bulge in my crotch.

Listening to the graphic details of his sex life was beginning to affect me, and in all honesty, his hand on my thigh was exciting me, too. It had been a long time since I had felt the touch of another human being.

As I shook the developing fog from my mind, I noticed his other hand was below the table between Frankie's legs, and from the up-and-down motion of his arm...well, you know....

"Hey—let's all go and party at my place...." Frankie suddenly announced.

"GOOOODDD-EEEEEEEEE...." Mikey squealed with delight.

As we slid out of the booth my main concern was that people would notice my full-fledged hard-on in my jeans. My eyes searched the room--no one was watching; no one cared what we were doing at all.

In the front seat of Frankie's car, Mikey once again sat between us. Before Frankie started the car, Mikey leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

"Honey, it's been way too long...." he said to Frankie as their kiss lingered on.

On the ride to our apartment building Mikey launched into another story about his sexual adventures, and once again, he began rubbing my thigh. My first hard-on had subsided, but it quickly returned under Mikey's nimble fingers.

Suddenly his hand moved to my crotch and he took hold of, and squeezed my erection. A shiver ran up my spine. I tried to push his hand away but somehow he grabbed my hand and pressed it firmly on the bulge in his slacks.

The hair on the back of my neck stood straight as he forced my fingers around his cock and I felt his heat and hardness. A jolt of electricity shot through my hand and up my arm. It was the first time I'd ever felt another guy's cock.

When I became aware that his hand had released mine, and that my hand continued squeezing his cock—I quickly jerked it from his crotch. I heard him softly laugh.

Inside Frankie's apartment, wine was poured and I settled in the comfortable leather chair while they sat next to each other on the sofa. Mikey was all over Frankie; kissing his cheeks and neck; stroking his shoulders and chest.

Finally Mikey said loudly: "IT'S TOO HOT IN HERE...."

He stripped-off his clothes until he wore what appeared to be a very white jockstrap. I hadn't seen a jockstrap since high school gym class.

Mikey began undressing Frankie. "Get naked with me, honey...." he cooed in his ear while his expert hands quickly unfastened Frankie's clothes until he was sitting in only his shorts.

The prominent bulge in Frankie's shorts was obvious for all to see. Mikey squealed again and announced, "Oh baby, I've really missed this bad boy...." And he tugged on Frankie's shorts until his hard cock sprang into our view.

Mikey wrapped his hand around Frankie's cock and stroked it. The scene unfolding before my eyes hypnotized me—I just had to look.

Mikey's soft voice spoke to me: "Johnny...you really need to feel his cock...so strong and hard-yet so smooth and soft...it's magnificent...."

His words caused my own cock to throb in my briefs. I controlled the urge to play with myself.

Suddenly, Mikey yanked-down his jock exposing his cock to my curious eyes; it had actually felt pretty good in my hand earlier in the car. It looked identical to mine: four-inches long, not-very thick, and uncircumsized.

When Frankie reached over and squeezed Mikey's cock and Mikey squealed with joy, I thought I would cum in my pants. Pre-cum leaked through my briefs and was visible on the front of my jeans; it never occurred to me to leave and give them some privacy.

Then I heard Mikey say: "Baby, I need to taste you..." and he almost fell off the couch as he knelt between Frankie's open legs.

My eyes were riveted on Mikey's hands and mouth as he slowly drew Frankie's cock closer to his pouting lips. He kissed Frankie's cock; his tongue snaked-out and licked up-and-down the soft flesh eliciting moans of pleasure from deep within Frankie's throat.

Beads of perspiration formed on my brow as I watched Mikey round his lips and slide them over the bulbous cockhead. I could make out the movement of Mikey's tongue as it thoroughly lathered the mushroomed-sized cockhead in his greedily sucking mouth.

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