Don't Hesitate

"Matt, I need some help."

Huh, I thought to myself. Why was it that people often called me when they needed assistance? Because I am a talented person, capable of handling a diverse selection of issues? Possibly. Or maybe it was due to the fact that I always kept my cool, no matter the obstacle. After years of dealing with other peoples' problems, though, I came to the conclusion that I was simply a sucker for anyone in need.

"Uh...Matty. You still there?"

Regretfully coming back to reality, I responded to Kyle's query with a questionable grunt.

"Are you sick?" Kyle asked tentatively.

"Yeah. I'm sick of having to deal with everyone else's prob..." I hesitated. This was Kyle, after all, a decade-long friend who not only rarely asked for any help, but who had also been there for me in times of personal need. I stuttered over the word "problem" and went on to assure Kyle that I was not at all ill.

"Ya sure? That sounded like one helluva grunt."

"A temporary thing, but it is resolved now. What's going on, lightweight?"

I had a number of nicknames for Kyle, most of which revolved around him being a wrestler. An athletic young man, Kyle was a successful wrestler for the high school we graduated from last spring. He gained a few pounds since then, which is to say he maybe weighed 120. Kyle had a nicely formed torso—small but defined pecs, a visible six pack and a stunning Adonis belt—that he enjoyed to flaunt to any and all who crossed his path, including all of us who were his teammates and saw him daily in the locker room. I admired his hot looks, especially his smooth and hairless skin. Damn, I reflected, to be back in that locker room...

"Lightweight? God, have you seen me lately? I must have gained..."

"...five pounds since high school. Yeah, big guy, we all know you have lost control of your weight. What are you now, 140 pounds?"

I threw in the extra twenty pounds just to piss him off. Kyle became instantly defensive.

"140 pounds! Are you serious? Who is saying that about me? Damnit, I weighed myself this morning and the scale read 119. 140!" He exclaimed one more time.

Smiling to myself, I said, "All state, I'm just pissing with you. You should know that about me by now. Anyway, about this help you needed." I stopped talking in hopes that Kyle would transition into telling me how I could help.

"140 pounds, Matty. That was pretty fucking mean. Just because you maintained your weight at 157 doesn't mean you can toss out shit to everyone else." Here Kyle paused, taking a deep breath and settling himself. "Umm...yeah, about that help I mentioned earlier. I'm not really sure how to even begin talking to you about this stuff, but it has to do with me and Elise. I was wondering if you could offer me some advice."

Kyle's comment wasn't that out of the norm. He and I often discussed the ladies we were dating. "Ok. That's nothing, Kyle. What do you want to know?" I asked.

"Well, that is the thing. I have an odd request for you. Is there any chance you wouldn't mind me stopping by your place for a bit? This whole thing requires you to see something."

I quickly scanned my apartment. My roommates left in a hurry to head home for fall break; I was told they were simply too rushed to wash their dirty dishes and clean up all the trash that somehow seems to accumulate in any area inhabited by college men. Books, empty cans, some Chinese food containers, and a flock's worth of feathers from the pillow we tore up in a drunken frenzy dominated the living room. A kaleidoscope of jackets and wrestling gear somehow levitated near the entry. Oh wait, they were draped over the kitchen table! The kitchen itself resembled a piece of modern art I was forced to study for class: a broken beer stein guarded a corner of our countertop, while at least two cases of mostly empty beer bottles created a maze over the rest of the expanse. A loaf of Wonder bread occupied the sink and some halved oranges adorned the handles on the cupboards. Much like the art, the scene in my kitchen seemed to make sense the night we caused the mess, but I found no meaning while looking at it the next day.

"No problem, Kyle, as long as you don't mind a little mess."

"Sweet. I'll be over in a few."

I hung up and started whistling Leonard Cohen's "Closing Time" while reclining on my couch, only to jump when I felt a sting in my lower back. How the hell did that fork get there? And what was that covering the utensil...shit, Miracle Whip? I chuckled while wondering exactly what all we did the night before.

***

I had just finished hiding the fork in a roommate's bed when I heard the most annoying sound offered in an apartment: the incessant buzzing of someone trying to get through the front door. With the couch now free of all signs of Miracle Whip, I returned to my comfortable post and awaited my friend and his unknown odd request.

A harsh knock sounded from the front door. I yelled for Kyle to come in, which he did, only to immediately disappear from view.

"What'd you do?" I asked after jumping from the couch. There was Kyle, slowly rising from the floor and attempting to understand what he was seeing in my apartment.

"A little mess? Christ, Matty, this is beyond anything I've seen for a long time. How many people did you have over last night?"

"Well, let's see. There was Dustin, Tyler, Luke, me...yeah, just the four of us. No, Jeremy came back late, too. So that makes five. Ha!" I guffawed, "You slipped on the Vaseline we spread over the floor for Jeremy. Oh shit, that's funny."

Kyle glared at me as he regained his stance. "Five people! Holy shit!" He lifted a beer bottle off the counter and returned his stare to me. "Why is this bagel underneath the beer bottle?" He asked, sincerely confused.

"A coaster. Hell, I don't know. We started drinking early and went all night. You know how that goes," I said while returning his look with a rueful smile.

"Fuck. I wish I was here for it. Why didn't you call me?"

"It was a Code Red night," I explained. My roommates and I created a drinking code system based on our nation's security threat level; code red meant no one was allowed in except those that lived in our apartment.

"Oh," Kyle quietly responded. Brightening up a bit, he went on to say, "It looks like you guys had a damn good time. Does the offer still exist for me to move in next year?"

"Absolutely, Academic Honorable Mention." Kyle looked at me askance; I understood the silent reprimand and recognized that that particular nickname was a bit of a stretch.

"So," I went on, preventing Kyle from chastising me for my stupid nicknames. "You and Elise are having some trouble, from the sounds of it. How can I help? What did you want me to see?"

I returned once again to my position on the couch, fully expecting Kyle to come into the living room. After a period of silence and no Kyle, I stood back up and looked at him.

"Well, fucker, are you going to stand there all day or what?"

"I guess not," he said as he took a step in my direction. He slipped again and almost fell down but managed to recover. "Fah! Vaseline!" Employing what could only be described as a shimmy, Kyle finally made it to the safety of the carpet and strolled into the living room, taking a seat near me on the couch.

While I was in full recline mode, Kyle sat rigidly on the edge of the cushion, looking everywhere but in my direction. "What are you watching, Matt?"

"Top Chef. Bravo has a marathon running today. I can't stand that this Robin is still around—she is that red headed one there—but man would I love to eat Kevin's pork."

That brought a laugh from Kyle. I instantly recognized the double meaning and was about to clarify but instead began chuckling along with my friend. "Ah, Kyle, I'm glad you came over. I've missed hanging out with you."

"Me too, Matty. This has been a tough past two months without you around." We both considered the dramatic changes that occurred in our lives since we graduated. While I still lived close to my hometown and, subsequently, Kyle, I discovered that college was a demanding lifestyle, especially while trying to live up to the scholarship I had been given for wrestling. Kyle was attending our local community college for a year to build up his GPA so he could attend my university. It was a difficult transition, going from spending everyday with such a close friend to barely seeing them.

"Next year will solve the distance, ten pins," I said. "You'll be living here and will be helping me spread the Vaseline on the floor for some unsuspecting fool."

My comment brought out a grateful smile from Kyle. "I look forward to it, Matt. I really do."

"So, about you and Elise. Come on now, bud, tell me what's going on." I gestured with both hands spread out, attempting to invite Kyle to let me in on his problem.

"Hmmm. How can I say this?" I remained silent while Kyle scanned his mind to phrase the issue however he wanted to. "Elise and I are experiencing some problems. Problems with, in...you know...in bed. She said...she told me. Damnit. Matty, I guess I'm not pleasing Elise like I should be. She told me that a couple days ago. I'm coming to you, Matty, because I can't admit that to anyone else. But honestly, I can't take the charge that I'm not performing well in bed. Fuck. This sucks."

Yes it does, I silently considered. No man wants to be told by his lover that he simply isn't good in bed. I decided on providing reassurance. "Come on, stud, she's probably PMSing and taking it out on you. You're a good dancer. Isn't that supposed to mean something?"

"That's what I thought." Kyle still wasn't looking at me. Instead, he was focusing on my TV. What did he see in there, I wondered while waiting for him to continue.

"It just, it sucks. Now she doesn't want to have sex and I'm worried that this is the end of our relationship. You know what I mean?" Kyle asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, I can see why you are worried. But things will work out, right? You two have been together too long for this to all of a sudden come up."

"We've had sex so many times. Why am I not good enough now? You think she's cheating on me? Well? Matty?" Kyle was pleading with me for an answer at this point.

"No. No, Kyle, no. Elise is not cheating on you. Sometimes things get too routine, ya know? Think about all those wrestling drills we ran for how many years. That was boring, wasn't it? Elise probably just wants to do something new."

"Maybe." Kyle muttered as he sat there, looking like a defeated man.

"You wanted to show me something, right?" I asked, hoping that this would encourage some change in what was turning out to be a depressing conversation.

"What?" Kyle finally looked at me. His face, yet untouched by age, startled me with the strong look of despair, yet his eyes held an iota of hope and something else, something I had never seen from Kyle. I couldn't conclude what that hint of an appearance meant, but I was curious to see if it would become more apparent.

"You said you wanted me to see something, that my advice would depend on a thing you had to show me. What do you want me to look at?"

"Yeah...I did, didn't I." Kyle swung his head back to the TV. With reluctance evident in his every movement, my dear friend stood up and approached the entertainment center. He pulled a disc out of his rear pocket and inserted it into my DVD player. With that done, Kyle nodded to himself and returned to the couch. This time, I observed, he was sitting much closer to me.

"Matty, all I ask is you don't laugh. Ok? Promise me that much." All successful wrestlers, Kyle being one of them, have tenacity in their every movement, yet I noticed something new in his bearing. Was it sheepishness?

"I swear to you, Kyle, I will not laugh. What's on the DVD?" My voice was much quieter than I had intended it to be and, without noticing, I was sitting more alert than I had been.

"It's a recording of something. It's...you promise you won't laugh?" Upon my nod, Kyle continued. "I recorded me and Elise having sex. I though you might be able to point out what I'm doing wrong."

What. The. Fuck. That phrase screamed through my mind as I sat there looking at Kyle looking at his socks. He wants me to watch him bang his girlfriend? Of all the suppositions I made earlier, that was not one of them. I was shocked. I was upset. I was...intrigued.

"I...I...I guess I can watch this, if you truly think it will help." I stifled a nervous chuckle, not wanting Kyle to think I was laughing at him or his idea.

"Good." Kyle motioned his head towards the TV, grabbed the remote, and within a minute I was seeing he and his girlfriend sitting on his bed, making out. They were taking their time undressing each other, but all too quickly I saw the familiar, muscled torso being licked by his girlfriend. She continued her descent and eventually had her mouth wrapped around the dick of the man sitting next to me.

I was enamored. Elise was beautiful, no doubt, but I was more turned on by the sight of Kyle: TV Kyle and Couch Kyle. My mind raced; I thought about another class I was taking, Medieval British Literature, and the text we finished just before fall break, "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight." One of the characteristics of a Romance as opposed to an epic is the suspension of reality. Yes, I rationalized, this is a real life example of such a suspension. What I am watching and who I am watching it with are causing reality to be subverted. Sir Gawain casually fights the monsters of the forest; I not so casually watch my ever-so-close friend fill his ladyfriend with his monstrous dick.

I was thunderstruck. Having no clue what to do, I decided that maintaining my position on the couch and acting disinterested was the go-to plan. Yet, I couldn't help glancing to my right and taking a look at Kyle. And there he was, sitting even closer to me and sporting an unusually large tent in his Godforsaken sweat pants. Why is he sitting closer to me? I doggedly wondered. Why does he smell so damn good? I regretfully pondered. Where is that fucking fork with the Miracle Whip on it when I need it? I desperately wished.

"So what do you think, Matty," a newly introduced husky tone voiced aloud. What do I think? There is Kyle's asshole stretching and retracting on my TV as his balls slam against this girl's ass cheeks. And there are his thighs, fully muscled, rippling as he pivots back and forth, back and forth. What do I think? What the Hell do I think? I dare not talk.

Yet, being the numbskull that I am, I decided to venture out with an observation. "Nice ass," I stated. Could I be a little more ambiguous? If Kyle could read my thoughts, he would know whose ass I was referring to.

"What else," Kyle prodded.

"K...Ky...Kyle," I coughed, trying to mask my stammering, "Perhaps Elise doesn't like this position." Of course, just as I mentioned this, Kyle pulled out of her, his great dick fully and delectably erect, and changed his position by lying on the bed and having Elise ride him. His calf muscles taut and toes squirming, Kyle pumped away while Elise screamed with pleasure. Screamed with pleasure? Why would she be doing that if she weren't enjoying sex with Kyle?

The video continued for a long time—one thousand years by my count—but finally it came to a conclusive and awe-inspiring act. Kyle was kneeling on the bed, legs spread wide, stroking his can-sized cock while Elise nibbled on his cock head and, much to my surprise, massaged his ass. Even more surprising, Elise penetrated Kyle's ass with one of her fingers, then two, then three. Kyle suddenly pulled her head off his cock and began stroking his dick and instantly shot a face-covering load of thick cum.

I was exhausted. I was hard. I was trying my best to conceal my appetite, even though my dick was doing it's best to expose my honest reaction. The TV eventually went blank and I then looked to my right, to Kyle and his horse dick and tight asshole and all things sexy. Mr. Academic Honorable Mention was looking in my general direction, but not quite making eye contact. What is he staring at, I asked myself. And then I realized his eyes were making direct contact with my left hand, which had somehow managed to grasp the severe bulge affecting my shorts.

In a weak and rather foolish attempt to hide the obvious, I jumped again from my couch and wildly exclaimed, "Kyle, Elise has not a fucking thing to bitch about!"

Kyle could tell I was talking about him by the fact that I added his name to my declaration or even because, by the process of deduction, he was the only other person in the room. Instead, I think Kyle figured I was referring to him because my massive erection was pointing directly to his chest.

We made eye contact. That unknown glimmer I had seen in his eyes earlier fully revealed itself in that moment. With a particular graceful movement, Kyle grabbed my barely concealed cock and began stroking me. Not appreciating the fabric between the skin of his hand and the skin of my dick, Kyle grasped my shorts and forcefully tugged them down. My cock, reacting to the sudden release, slammed against my stomach with such force that I stumbled back a step.

Leaning forward from the couch, Kyle quickly reached for my cock and gripped it like an opponent's limb. The splendid pleasure I felt in my loins, however, did nothing for the questions barraging my mind. Why was Kyle doing this? Did I somehow indicate that I desired sex with this friend of mine? Did I want sex with this friend of mine? Looking down at Kyle, his cute mouth wrapped around my dick and his strong hands pumping away on my shaft, the main question I had was: where the Hell did Kyle learn these moves?

Oh my God! I had never felt such extreme satisfaction from getting head. I usually believed it was a necessary precursor to the more anticipated penetration, but my best friend was showing me just how great a blowjob could be. His hands continued their determined pumping, but ever so often one would slip down to delicately massage my swollen balls. And Kyle's mouth! My, how he swirled his tongue all over my cock head, adding pressure to certain spots and paying attention to nerves I simply didn't know existed. After a few minutes of this unanticipated yet greatly appreciated bj, I felt a massive stirring throughout my body.

Kyle must have recognized the signs—whatever those might be—and reduced his action from frenzied to deliberate. The sheer intensity of the situation slowed considerably, allowing me to consider my early questions.

I had no idea why Kyle would want to have sex with me, much the less another man, nor did I recall having ever led Kyle to believe I wanted the same with him. Yet, I distinctly recalled those times in the locker room, watching Kyle strut around in varying degrees of nudity; I always thought I was impressed with his physique. Yes, I guess I was, but on a more intimate level than simple admiration of another man's dedication to his body. I fully realized at that moment that IdesiredKyle. Trying to sound as smooth as possible, I decided to say something.

"Kyle," I panted, still trying to recover from the shock of everything going on, "what do you think you're doing?" I instantly felt the dolt for asking such a ridiculous question.

"I thought it was pretty obvious, state champ." Damnit. Not only was Kyle unexpectedly providing the best head I'd never thought to receive, but now he was stealing my nickname strategy!

"Seriously, Kyle, we need to talk about this." I showed my sincerity by grasping the back of his head and pushing it further on my cock. "I can't imagine how this is going to lead to better sex between you and Elise." Kyle giggled at my comment, an odd sound while his mouth was stuffed with nine inches of teenage dick. "Although, if you're serious about learning, perhaps I could teach you a few things." A thick shot of precum added an appropriate exclamation point to my offer.