John Was Leaving

He's leaving after graduation, next week. Leaving for another city so far away. He's my best friend. He's been the only best friend I've ever had. John. A simple name does not do judge to the complexities you've shown. He's leaving after graduation, forcing me to attend university all alone, with no support, no back up. I'm supposed to step into the tumultuous sea of books, rhetoric and profs, haranguing me with papers, exams and the answer to whether or not Leopold Bloom liked to eat feces. Who knows? Who dares? Who fucking cares?

And just like that, I'm going to be alone. It's not like he couldn't go to my university. He could've gotten in. John could've gotten a scholarship to any single prestigious, pretentious pantheon to higher learning in the country. He plays basketball like a god. Nobody can touch him. He's the envy of absolutely everybody and then there's me. I'm not jealous of his skills, as parading yourself up and down a court dribbling an orange sphere interests me not one little bit, not one little quark. My hobbies and little fascinations lie in other places.

John and I have known each other since we were – god, how long – since we were about six. I guess our mothers had signed up on the same day to be recess helpers, standing out in the playfield, arms crossed, with derisive snorts for the baby who can't pick himself up. She and her stood together that first day and apparently struck a bond. Not sure how considering my mother and his today. They seem so different and alien to each other. But in the past, that day, when we were very young (now we are six), they decided to become friends of some sort or the other. This led to, of course, the ubiquitous play date. While we hesitantly offered our most prized toy to other for inspection (and subsequent approval), our maters domina chain smoked and bitched about their husbands.

We held to each other in the beginning, in the primordial chaos of kindergarten. We had a few things in common at first, a common sharing of a January birthday, making us both older than most kids (born in November, fruits of the Valentine's hullabaloo).

John showed an affinity for sports right away. His graceful stride and lithe maneuvers marked him right away as a bright spot in an otherwise dull mixture of spoiled rich kids, learning about poor people in an enclosed brightly lit protected space, while our parents had "key parties" and ended up drinking too much too often.

After elementary (and some failed attempts at spats), we were a duo of the most classic kind. John slept over at my house as much as we dared, for fear of the dreaded "It's a school night" rationale that smashed our whispered and quickly forgotten plans for the night.

If John's parents had been characters from a movie, I'm sure they'd have been George and Martha and completely scared of Virginia Woolf. They bickered constantly, but had so much invested in their son they couldn't bear to separate. We never slept there and John never wanted to. My parents were Nick and Nora. Notice how both pairs are famous for drinking.

So we created this protection against them with each other. Blah, blah, blah, you know the story. We're the Bridge to Terabithia without the death and famous film adaptation. It's like Stephen King's The Body sans a body. You get the idea.

I could sink into warm nostalgia forever. He's my best friend. And he's leaving. Taking everything with him.

To celebrate this scarring moment in our lives, John is staying over at my house for two nights in a row. We're going to just have a normal weekend, just like every other weekend, nothing maudlin. One last weekend with each other and then he's moving away. He's coming over really soon.

"Fuck it's hot," he says immediately, walking into my room. He's got his overnight bag, which carries only clothes, as his toothbrush and other amenities have been living here for a decade. He drops his bag and walks over to the computer where I'm sitting surfing the net.

"Looking at porn?" he asks, chuckling.

"No," I mutter.

"Sure, you're not. Why is it whenever you're not around, and I bring up the history, it's all tits, tits, girls and pussies?"

"It's not-"

"It 'cause you still haven't fucked anybody. You're horny. It's all getting built up in your head."

"That's not the case, I-"

"Sure it's not. Whatevs. I'm going to grab a Coke. It's fucking hot. You want one?"

"Please."

He leaves me for a moment and I hear his stomping around the kitchen. He's never been the lightest of steppers. It seems his only grace and liquidity of movements is when he's trying to shove a ball through a hoop. I've always lamented his caveman-esque clomping in the house. My mother's even commented on it.

John trudges back into the room and I hear the spray of the can opening. He places one on my desk and throws himself on my bed. "Fuck. It's hot."

"I know. You've told me, like, eight times."

"Fuck off."

"Watch the language, dude. Mom's still home."

"When are they leaving?"

"I don't know. I think about eight."

"Yeah?"

"Some party that my dad's office is having."

"Gross."

"You're not kidding."

"Well, maybe not. Is your dad's secretary going to be there? She's a killer."

"Probably."

"God, I'd love to sink my dick in her."

"Ugh."

"You see, that's why nobody'll let you fuck them. You have no confidence. Girls like confidence."

"I have confidence."

"Sure, you don't. You're weirded out anytime anybody talks about pussies and tits and cunts."

"Ugh, screw off."

"Fuckity fuck cunt pussy vag."

"Ew," I say, laughing.

"Puuusssyyy," he warbles, trying to sing it like an opera singer. He doesn't have a bad voice, that John.

"Shut up! My mom's still home."

"She probably can't hear us already." He makes a drinkie-drinkie motion.

"No doubt."

"So what are we doing tonight?"

"I don't know. I thought we'd, uh, I don't know."

"No surprise." He thinks for a moment. "We can try and crack the code on the tv!" This is something John has been trying to do for months since my parents got satellite television. The channels that feature content designed for adults is protected by a password that my father set up. When asked why he even bothered getting the channels, he said that it was a cheaper to get all the channels than to pick and choose. As soon as John discovered that free high definition pornography was only a simple password away, he's been obsessed with getting in there.

"Okay," I reply somewhat mutely.

The sun is going down, throwing orange knives of light along my floor and walls. Because my room's window faces the west, I have to close the drapes in order to avoid being blinded by the sun. John stands there in the light of the sun, his muscular arms crossed and his head turned. He looks like an Apollo, standing at the gates of Mount Olympus. His brown hair tussled just so (a look that takes his fifteen minutes, he once confessed) and his blue eyes glinting like ice.

"Okay. Let's go watch some South Park while we wait," he tells me. South Park is one of the many shows that we both like, but for different reasons. John prefers the scatological humour and I prefer the political subtext. Our tastes are similar, but they differ in reasons why. That is something that's always struck me about our friendship. It's not opposites and it's not sameness.

We go into the living room and watch television. Nothing more to it than that. After an hour or so, my parents come out of their room, dressed in moderately professional attire. My mother is already drunk, but hides it well, with the experience of a woman who has been publicly intoxicated more than enough. My father tells us that they'll be home quite late, and that we shouldn't be waiting up for them. He tells us that if we're going out, give him a call on the cell. I confess that we didn't have plans for out of the house. My mother also tells me that there's frozen pizza defrosting and to put it in the oven when we're hungry.

"But for God's sake, turn off then oven when you're done," my father intones gravely. This is in reference to the time that John left the oven on for a day and a half while my parents were visiting with somebody.

"Sorry," John mutters. More clearly, he asks, "Can we turn on the air conditioning?"

"Nope, sorry," my father says. "It's been broken for two days and I guess so is everybody else's. The repair company told us they'd be by in three to five days."

"Damn," says John.

"Okay, have fun," they demand and they depart.

As soon as they're out the door, John is playing with the satellite. When you get to know John, you learn that nothing gets between John and porn. Nothing. He begins hastily with different combinations of numbers that my father may have set up. He tried originally with obvious numbers such as birthdays, anniversaries and things like that, but to no avail.

I stand up, my back sticky with sweat and my armpits wet. I glance at John on the floor in front of the tv, a trail of sweat from his neck to the middle of his back. We're both drenched. It gets hotter in the house at dusk because the rays fly right through the huge open windows.

Grabbing a Coke from the fridge, I ask John how progress is coming along. He tells me to fuck off.

"Sorry, just asking."

"I'm taking my shirt off," he says. "This shit is way too hot."

I gulp down my Coke and I hold the can to my forehead.

"You should, too," John tells me.

I frown. But then why not? I'm in my house. So I take off my shirt and toss it onto the kitchen table. I frown again because I haven't really been without my shirt in front of anybody. Not since I grew a bit of chest hair. Nothing too gross, but a patch just between and above my nipples. I've not even been without my shirt in front of John. He's never even seen me naked and vice versa. Not even as a child, or at least as I can remember.

A moment of silence and then, shockingly, the rhythmic sound of breathing from surround sound. Someone's being fucked. I return to the living room to see a well-endowed actress being pounded by a man.

"Ugh," I say.

John has a grin the size of Rhode Island on his face.

"Success," I say.

"Fucking A. This is great. Free fucking porn whenever I want." As soon as he says it, his grin drops. This is the last weekend. He sighs and then goes back to watching the porn.

I sit on the couch, away from him and sip at my Coke. He sits cross-legged on the floor, right in front of the tv, like a child. It strikes me that we haven't really grown up. We may be graduating from high school in a week, but we're both still so young. He's still prone to outbursts and tantrums. He's still – we're still so innocent. He gives a lot of bluster and tall talk, but he's still a kid.

After graduation, are we supposed to be instant adults? Without each other? We're just supposed to become responsible adults at college and we're supposed to do that without the support of each other? How dare John's parents take him away? Why couldn't they wait? Just one year of college and we'd probably be okay without each other. Now I'm growing up and I'm growing up without my best friend.

I sniff slightly.

John turns his head, and says, "Come over here. You gotta watch this up close. It's so hot."

I get off the couch and sit beside him on the floor. Now we're watching this dick slide in and out of this... pussy. The woman's moans are guttural and primitive. This is the base behavior. It's kind of hot. I don't think I've ever seen fucking this big. Thanks to the big screen tv, the dick is about the size of my leg on this shot. It's like being a gynecologist with this epic.

The rhythm of the heat. The Passion. The organic.

I glance over at John, and he has a lump in his jeans. I can feel my dick getting harder with every passing second.

The shot changes. The man is panting. He stumbles to a standing position, and she stays on her knees. He's masturbating, groaning, stroking and her mouth is wide open. Oh. He throws his head back and his cock sprays cum on her face. Her tongue hanging out, lapping up the cum, appreciative shudders and sighs emanating from her body. My dick is really hard. I've always liked cumshots.

The woman smiles, gobs of cum dripping down between and on her breasts.

The scene changes and we're introduced to another woman, wearing silky lingerie. John stands up abruptly, his jeans tight in the crotch and he announces, "It's just too fucking hot for these jeans." He unfastens the button and rips down the zipper. He slides the jeans down, bending over as he pushes them to his feet. When he straightens up to step out of the jeans, I see the huge hard-on trapped in his underwear. He's wearing briefs, and he's always worn briefs, an affectation I've been copying since forever. He sits back down on the floor and says, "Sorry, buddy, but I'm just too damn hot."

"It's okay."

"You can take off your jeans too. I'm not embarrassed."

That's fine. He's not embarrassed, he says. It's not him who I'm worried about. My cock is really hard. He's never seen me with a hard-on. Nobody has ever seen me with a hard-on.

I shake my head and continue watching the porn. The girl is rubbing her crotch while a dude walks into the room. Oh, surprise. So he asks if she needs any help and of course she does, so he starts rubbing at her crotch. He's not the only one doing it. I notice John is dragging his hand back and forth over his mounded lump.

Watching John rub his hard-on is making my cock strain against my jeans. My mouth feels dry and I'm having trouble swallowing. My heart is pounding in my head and in my chest.

I clear my throat and I unfasten my jeans. John's not paying attention. Not while that dude is licking the girl's vagina.

I stand up a little and drag the zipper down. I push my jeans down, feeling the slick sweat on my thighs. I step out of my jeans and I immediately sit down, my dick making a huge tent in my briefs. So now here we are, both of us, almost naked, in the living room watching porn.

John says, "Man, I'm so horny."

I don't say anything. I can hardly breathe.

There's something different about this. John and I have watched porn together before. We've looked at porn on the internet together for years, since we got the internet. It's never been like this. I don't – I don't think I can describe it.

The girl is now sucking the dude's dick, slurping up and down the shaft. I want to take my dick out and stroke it, but there's no way I'm going to do that with John sitting right beside me.

There's this silence sitting there. Silence sitting stupidly beside us.

John is the one to break it. He stands up and says, "Come on, let's get a drink."

"Okay," I mutter. I stand up, leaning over a little, to hide my erection, while John walks proudly with his. He walks into the kitchen and grabs a cam of Coke from the fridge. He passes me one and I open it. I gulp at it. I really needed the break. John punches my arm and says, "Thank fuck I broke that password, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Porn all weekend."

"Yeah."

I walk to the living room, my hard-on subsiding slightly, and John follows me. He punches me in the shoulder, kind of hard and says, "Hey, jerkturd, aren't you happy? I broke that code?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Man, if you don't brighten up, I'm going to kick your ass."

"You couldn't," I grin.

"I can, and I fucking will. You get in a better mood right this fucking instant or I'm going to come over there and make you cry like a little girl."

"I'd like to you try."

"I won't try. I'll just do it."

One of our favorite games is trash talking followed by wrestling. He beats me every time, but the time it takes has been getting longer and longer. My skills at wrestling are developing.

He pounces at me and grabs my shoulders so that he can get his leg between mine. His move is predictable. He's going to try and trip me. I step forward, throwing him off, but he manages to swing his other leg between there. He hooks around, and I feel one of my legs give out. I drop, and he spins me around. He throws his hand beneath my arms and hooks back around my neck, effectively putting me into a headlock.

I feel his slick sweaty stomach stick against my back. I crouch down against him, and I feel – I feel his hard-on pressing against my ass.

"Do you fucking give up?" he shouts.

"Never," I mutter.

He starts lifting me up by the headlock, and throwing me down. I keep landing on my feet, of course, but this motion is making his cock stick a little bit more in my ass. I can the briefs getting between my cheeks because of his dick.

My half erection has gone back to being a full erection.

As he lifts me up again, his cock slides between my legs, touching against that secret area between sack and hole. He throws me down, sliding his cock back up between my cheeks.

Oh fuck.

He changes position, grabbing both my hand and pulling them sky high. He cocks his knee and drives it into my back. This makes me arch my back away from him, exposing my huge erection. My cock is hard enough that it's pulling the underwear away, exposing quite a bit of my pubis area.

He keeps grinding his knee into my back. I arch further and further back (so much that my chest bone cracks a little) and my underwear strains and strains, until snap, it snaps off my dickhead.

Fuck. Fuck.

My cock is out in the open.

John is completely oblivious as he shouts some trash talk into my ear. He lets go of my hands, and my back straightens out right away. I reach down quickly to fix my underwear, but he pushes me.

I fall face down onto the couch and I begin crawling away. He grabs my ankles with the intention of flipping me painfully onto the ground. As I crawl away, I feel my underwear slide down my hips. With my cock outside, the briefs have nothing to hold them on as I wriggle along the couch.

He tightens his grip on my ankles and flips me. I fall on my ass onto the floor, my cock completely exposed. John sees it now. He sees my erection. His cock, which had begun to calm down, begins to rise anew.

I turn around quickly and scramble away from him. As soon as I'm on all floors, gravity takes over and my briefs slide down my wet sweaty thighs making everything I keep hidden all exposed.

Oh fuck. Fuck.

I crawl a little bit, the warm air blowing over my naked ass. John steps on my ankle and I shout. He puts his hand on my hip and throws me onto my ass. Then he steps on my chest, pinning me to the ground. I'm looking up at him, his cock hard in his briefs, somewhat askew from the wrestling and he looks down on me.

"Uh," I say. I cover my hard-on without any luck. Naked, exposed, forced to lie down from my best friend, sporting a decent erection himself.

"What do you got there?" he says, nodding at my hands, cupped around a hard cock.

"I, uh, nothing."

"Sure it's nothing. It's okay. Take care of it."

"What?"

"Take care of it. Beat off. You may as well. You'll probably get blue balls if you don't."

"I."

"Sure," he says. He steps off my chest, and I curl up quickly, trying not to show off my dick. John turns back to the TV, the porn still blaring and moaning. He hooks his fingers into his briefs and drags them down his thighs. He bends over slightly, his cheeks spreading a little, showing the tight sack hanging between his legs and the little puckered hole.

I look down at my cock and there's some definite precum leaking out. I don't think I've ever been this horny before in my life. I wrap my fingers around the shaft and squeeze. A little more liquid flows out of my dick, shining in the dusk.

John sits down, completely naked, with his legs straight out, one arm holding him up. The other arm is holding his cock. Holding, then stroking. He's masturbating in my living room.