Fucking Away a Friendship? Ch. 02

Hey everybody. Yeah, it has been a while, I know. Been going through a few changes. Haven't been writing as much. I'm slowly working my way back to it. I've had a lot of emails about continuing this story. So, here it goes. There isn't as much sex in this one as there will be in the ones to follow. So, I apologize in advance for those who want to go straight to the sex.

As always, there is a lot of truth to this story and there is embellished truth. It's up to you to decide what's what.

And it'd be good to read "Fucking Away a Friendship" if you haven't or you might not get a couple of things in this story.

Until next time...peace. FL

Fucking Away a Friendship - Disclosure

Drew and I finally had the talk.

I mean, we'd been talking with each other for the past month, carrying on as if nothing was eating at our conscious. We always seemed to avoid that conversation. It was as if neither of us wanted to upset the other nor do anything to make the other uncomfortable. Our vibe was cool. And we're guys. Guys are like that, sometimes to a fault.

So one day Drew, Malia and I were running up to Coit Tower. On a clear San Francisco day, Coit tower offers one of the best views of the City. At night, it's a popular make out spot I've seen it all up there – sex, drugs, marriage proposals, fights and fights involving sex drugs and wedding proposals.

Our run started in Sausalito. We spanned the Golden Gate Bridge, coming down on Lombard Street. We stayed on Lombard the whole way – even ran on curves east of Hyde Street. Up and down we went until the final climb up Telegraph Hill to the circular parking lot.

Save for a couple of, "glass there! dog shit! pot hole!" yells it was mostly a silent run. We ran to the cement wall farthest from the tower and looked through the trees at the bay.

"OK, screw this," Malia said, breaking bit of silence. "You two need to talk! I'm tired of walking around on egg shells! I'm tired of not knowing what to say and when not to say it. This is driving me crazy. We need to deal with this, and we can't start dealing until you fuckers talk to each other about it! Mark, what's that stuff you always say, 'The ducking of communication rarely leads to resolution.' Well, both of you stop your damned ducking and talk! Drew. Drew! DREW! Don't you even think about coming home until you guys have talked."

Malia turned, ran across the parking lot and started down the hill. Drew and I stood the awkward stance, looking around, almost avoiding making eye contact.

"I got some more Giants tickets," he said. "You wanna go?"

Just like that.

Guys will be guys. Ask them to talk about solenoids and they won't have a damn clue what they are, yet they'll talk about them for two hours. Ask them to talk emotion, and they're like retracting turtles. They ease back in that shell, eyes on a swivel, trying to see if anybody notices their sprint to noncommittal.

Twenty minutes later we're at Pac Bell watching baseball.

Guys.

Middle of the fourth inning, Giants down 3-2 to the San Diego Padres, and Drew gets started.

"Dude, I'm sorry," he said. "I thought it would be different."

"Look man...," I started before he cut me off and proceeded to tell me 20 years worth of a history that I didn't know we had.

I never knew a one-sided conversation could be so strange, that it could evoke feelings of utter dismay. I wasn't angry. Wasn't happy either. It was disbelief wrapped in misunderstanding.

But it was Drew's story - rather stories. And from the middle of a major league baseball game and into the night at this little blues bar called Lou's, I listened.

Drew started his tale going back to our eighth grade formal dance. I'm sure you're looking at this screen and shaking your head now. Eighth grade? What the hell?

Imagine what I was doing. Anyway, Drew said that was the first time he noticed something different about his feelings toward me.

He put it out there, that it wasn't a gay thing, even though he said that he wondered for a bit if they were gay feelings. But they weren't, he didn't understand them at the time. All he knew is that there was something about the way girls reacted to me that he liked.

"You remember that 8th grade dance don't you?" he said. "Remember April, right? April ... what's her name? April? Short, big ol' titties on her? Madonna freak?"

"Yeah D, I remember April," I told him, shaking my head. "Why don't you remember her? April Marlowe. Ap-ril Maarrr-lowe. You took her to the damn thing."

"Oh. Yeah. Ok. Anyway, you danced with her the whole time. And I mean the whole damn time."

"Dude, I can't believe we're sitting here arguing about shit that happened in eighth fuckin' grade! Plus, Susan got the flu and couldn't go. And all your ass did was stand against the wall watching like a damn goof. April wanted to dance. So did I."

"C'mon now, can't you see that's what I'm getting to. I danced, what, two, maybe three songs. But it didn't matter. I had a better time watching you dance with April. Actually, it was watching April with you. Man, you were about as oblivious then as you are now. I don't know what kind of sexual shit April did or didn't do in eighth grade, but damn. I remember the look on her face as clear as if she were sitting right here. She was fuckin' floatin'. At first she just kind of watched you dance. I think she was amazed that you could dance as well as you do. You were in your own little world, like you are most of the time you dance. There was something about you that had her mesmerized. She smiled much of the time. When she wasn't smiling she had this odd look on her face that I didn't understand until a few years later – it was that look women give when their thinking lustful shit. And she was giving it then. I remember you spun around once and bumped into one of her boobs. You froze for an instant and apologized to her. And what did she do?

"Shit, I don't even remember," I lied. I did remember. She smiled and told me it was all right. No harm. That she was a tough girl. Then she laughed.

"I'll tell you what she fuckin' did," Drew said. "She smiled at you. Her eyes were wide and sparkling, her cheeks were pinchably puffy from the smile. Her right hand went up to cover her boob. She massaged it four times and then told you, still smiling mind you, still smiling, 'Maxwell, that's all right. It was really no harm. I'm a tough little girl. I can take it.' And you were almost satisfied with that. I say "almost" because you took a step back so you wouldn't touch her again. But, fuck, dude, every time you turned around or you spun around, April inched closer to you. She wanted you to "accidentally" bump into her again. We were in fuckin' eighth grade. I know she didn't know exactly what she was feeling, but she liked whatever it was, and she wanted more of it. And there I was standing behind the punch bowl table because I'd gotten a hard on watching April just melt into you. Dude if you were fucking then, you could've had April Fucking Marlowe right then. You could've fucked April Marlowe! After your mom dropped me off, I went straight to my bedroom and beat off with the look of April Marlowe's face on my mind. And you were the one who caused that look."

We talked more. Drew described similar school dances or high school parties. Much of it was like the eighth-grade dance episode. Then he started talking about college stuff.

By college we were both fucking. Correction: We were fucking a lot! Our freshman and sophomore years were spent in the horizontal position. Being a football player for our school, pussy was easy to come by (no pun intended). It seemed like every other girl wanted to be with a football player. And if they couldn't get with the player, his friend would do.

I wasn't a nationally known player, but I wasn't a slouch either. I was a second team all conference player, late round draftee who had a cup of tea in the league. People around campus definitely knew who I was. That knowledge had Drew and me going crazy with the girls. It's a wonder we didn't get diseases.

"Rachel Jones," Drew said, laughing.

I laughed along with him. Rachel was a total freak, would do just about anything, anywhere. And she let you know it, too.

"If I'm into you, you're into me," we both said, just cracking up.

That was Rachel's thing. She claimed she didn't sleep around with a lot of different guys. But the guys she did fuck, she fucked a lot.

Whatever.

Neither of us believed her, but she was just so damn fun to be around, even when Drew wasn't fucking her.

I never fucked Rachel. Don't get me wrong, I would have. But even back then, I had these weird morals or standards or whatever you want to call them. Rachel told me she wanted to fuck me, specifically because I was a football player.

I couldn't get with that. Even then I wanted, at least the illusion that the girls were into me, not my stature at the school. I wasn't stupid. I wasn't naïve about it. I knew that several of the girls I fucked did it because I was a ball player. But they didn't have to open their mouths about that. The fucking – at least in my mind - was about me and her not about her and her need for a football player. But Drew had no problem with why the girls wanted to fuck. He was just happy they wanted to fuck.

After Rachel and I had our little spat. She went to Drew and started asking a thousand questions about me. Drew later told me that Rachel was both shocked and awed that I wouldn't have sex with her for what she thought was a stupid reason – shocked because no guy had ever turned her down, yet awed because she thought there was something intriguing about that.

Drew told me one day what Rachel was scheming to try and make me jealous by screwing Drew and letting me know about it. We both laughed, but I could tell Drew had something for her. I just didn't know exactly what it was.

Anyway, we let Rachel carry out her little plan. She came to the apartment while I was eating. Drew hadn't made it home from class yet. Rachel and I had a little small talk, mostly her talking about not understanding me.

"You know those other girls are fucking you because you're a football player, right?" she said.

"Some of them, yeah," I said. "I'm not that stupid."

"What the fuck, then? Why would you turn me down?"

"Look Rachel, didn't you talk about this with Drew? Didn't Drew tell you?"

"Yeah, he told me some bullshit. That's what he told me, nobody, at least no 21-year-old guy I know thinks like that."

"I do," I smiled.

Drew walked in and Rachel walked to him and gave him a sloppy wet kiss before he could even put down his bag. Rachel then grabbed him by the string of his sweat pants and a led him to the bedroom.

Stopping at the door, Rachel looked at me and said, "I hope you have a good night. Don't wait up for Drew."

"Rachel!" I said as she was about to open the door. "Wrong door. That's my room."

Rachel gave me an icy grimace, turned and led Drew to his room.

Sporadically over the next few hours I heard moans, groans, grunts, yelps and squeals. The sloshing of Drew's waterbed had to be screwing with our neighbors, too.

I went to bed about 12:30 that night. About 3 am, they were at it again. But this time I could've swore that they were fucking in Drew's closet. The vocal sounds were a bit muffled, but I could hear rustling on the floor of the closet, which shares the wall with my closet, and the sound of hangers sliding across the metal rod.

Then I heard what sounded like fingernails scratching down the wall, followed by a hurried, "Oh shit. Inmyass. Inmyass. Inmyass. Inmyass. Oh fuck! Cum in MY ASS!!!"

I smiled again and rolled over. Drew had gotten him a little stinky dick.

"Dude, you know why I was so into Rachel? You know?" Drew said, bringing me back to the present. "I was into her because she was so into your crazy ass. You were a fucking mystery to her – one that she couldn't solve. And the way she acted toward you just drove me crazy. Remember she'd come over and flirt with you and you'd flirt back and she'd think she was getting somewhere. Dude, just watching the flirt game got me going. I was fucking the shit out of her those nights."

"Quite literally from what I remember," I said laughing.

"Fuck you, that was only for a couple of months," he said. "Shit I was 21; I didn't know what a damn enema was for!"

We both laughed.

"You remember that night with Isa?" Drew said.

"Ahh hell, I'll never forget that night," I said. "Isa was the fuckin' bomb! Oh my goodness that girl was the shit. Hands down, best sex ever. The shit she could do. Those eyes. Oh my goodness. And that was the night Rachel and Isa tried to have that contest. Oh shit! That was the night! Wasn't it!"

"Yeah, it was the first time we fucked in front of each other, too," Drew said.

I hadn't really thought about that.

Drew described the night, in his unique way, in a way I didn't know he knew until then.

"At the club," Drew started. "You and Isa were out there dancing. Isa was wearing that purple skirt. It was a sheer skirt with the little gold designs. When the lights hit her just right, you could look through the top of the "V", through her crotch and see beginnings of the rounded shape of her ass. From the back it was even better. The gold designs looked like circles from a distance. Up close you could tell they were fig leafs shaped in little ovals. The red lettering on each fig leaf said "viva para la danza" Spanish for "Live For the Dance." You and Isa were living right. The skirt hugged Isa's ass but simultaneously let it shake beneath the thin fabric. Her shirt was more of the same material."

"Yeah, she wasn't wearing a bra either," I said.

"I know," Drew said. "And she wasn't shy about letting you know."

I smiled, remembering Isa's attitude. She was confident of her body. She looked good, and knew she looked good. And as I later found out, she didn't do much to try to look good.

Good genes.

"Just like in middle school, you spun around one time and accidentally grazed her left tit," Drew said, continuing the tale. "And just like then you told her you were sorry. She smiled. At that moment, I swore you did that shit on purpose. It was your way of copping a feel and making it seem unintentional. But of course, that's not you Mr. Fuckin' high and mighty. There she was the sexiest thing in the club, and you were dancing in your own little world as if she wasn't there – until you saw her smile. Your demeanor changed after that. You noticed her, and she noticed your interest. I could tell because she changed, too. She fuckin' melted into you. You guys moved together like your were meant to be one. Then you got a hard on and yo..."

"Fuck that," I said. "You didn't see all that shit. No way. Imagination dude. You got a vivid imagination."

"I didn't have to see it," Drew said. "Your expressions told me. Isa had her back to you. You were squatting down, swaying with her. You guys stood up. She turned, looked down, then up at you and smiled. She said something about you being "happy." But I couldn't totally read her lips. A strobe flashed in my eyes. But your put your hands out by our sides, shrugged your shoulders, then told her..."

"Look at you," I said, clearly remembering the moment. "What do you expect?"

"Yeah," Drew said. "That's exactly what you said."

"Man, you are a fuckin' freak," I said. "You should be in the FBI or something. Fuck, you've been practicing surveillance long enough."

"Whatever," Drew said. "Anyway, she pulled you to her. Your hands went around her back. She pushed them lower. She wanted you to feel her ass. You started to caress her ass. And she leaned her head on your chest, closed her eyes and sighed. I almost nutted right then. I don't know what it is you did, but Isa was all yours. She wanted you to have her body. The look on her face, the contentment saturated with lust."

Drew voice had changed. Deeper. Huskier. Lingering words. At times he was slow as syl ... a ... ble ... at ... a... time lingo. He was fuckin' getting excited just telling the story.

I looked at Drew's crotch.

Confirmed.

I shook my head and chuckled. The laugh brought him back to reality. He looked down, too. No embarrassment.

"Man, I wasn't the only fucker with a hard-on then," he said. "Wreckx-N-Effect's 'Rumpshaker' was playing. But you and Isa were out there holding each other and swaying like R. Kelly was singing 'Bump N Grind'. Every guy close to you was watching, and they were all envious. And when Isa backed away from you, grabbed your hand and led you to the exit, every girl who saw it smiled. They wanted to be Isa and Isa knew it. The guys ... we're so fuckin' stupid. A couple of the guys gave each other high fives. The girls they were with saw it and just walked off. Just before you got to the door, the two of you stopped and talked. Then Isa came back to me and Rachel and said those seven words I'll never forget; they were so fuckin' beautiful rolling off her lips: 'I hope you don't mind watching tonight.' My knees went weak as my stomach jumped to my throat. I leaned back, and sat on a barstool so I wouldn't fall."

I remember that. I thought Drew was having an asthma attack. I remember rushing to him, asking about his Albuterol inhaler. He was coughing and looking like he was trying to take deep breaths. His face had the serious almost yearning look. His quivering lips scared the shit out of me. I hadn't seen it before. This was as new attack.

Then as fast as it came on, it was gone. Drew look fine. He stood up straight, adjusted his jacket, apologized and said something about being lightheaded and needing to get out of the smoke.

"You fuckin' came right there, didn't you?" I said, only to see Drew smiling. "This whole time I thought that was the strangest asthma attack."

"Max, dude," Drew said. "Man, she said that, and I know at least five girls heard her. And the one standing next the Rachel, the one drinking that blue shit, she said, 'if he don't want to, I will.' It was amazing. You have a way with women. They gravitate to you. They want to be around you, listening to you, dancing with you, fucking you. They just change when they're with you. Dude, I know it sounds crazy, but it's like they lose their inhibitions. Either that or they're inhibitions relax a lot. That's what turns me on. It's not you. I'm not gay. I know that. Horny guys don't do shit for me. But horny women, women ready to give their bodies up, women who are letting their basic animalistic instincts take over, that's what turns me on. It's as if they've found an alpha male and they want nothing more than to fee you. They want to submit to you. They don't want to be dominated as much as they want to give up control and be thoroughly satiated. They want to taste you. They want to touch you and feel you shooting your semen inside them the way an alpha male is supposed to do. Look, men don't choose wanton women. The women choose them. And once the woman has made the choice, she'll do whatever it take to be certain that her pussy is satiated. That's what turns me on. Man, I'm tellin' you, I would've been content at that moment. I saw the whole thing play out, the whole flirting game, between you and Isa, the getting to know each other's limits, the dancing – all of it. I would've been happy with that, with knowing Isa had built up and passed the stage of wanting and needing you more than she needed anything else at that moment. Isa always could've said no, and you would've stopped, but she was past that point. Her pussy was taking her mind away. And what her pussy didn't get, her clit did. That's the way she was looking. But then, after Isa made sure I was all right, she pulled you to her she said – loud enough for several to hear – 'Let's go I need to feel this man inside me.' You led her out. Rachel and I followed. I could feel the stares. I smiled and wondered what I was about to see."