It Can't be Him

My stomach dropped as he entered the restaurant accompanied by a handsome older man I presumed was his partner. I watched closely as the hostess walked the couple to their table in the swankiest restaurant in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. I looked at him closely to see if it was in fact him, simultaneously shifting my head downward to lessen the chances he'd see me. I caught a glimpse of the table next to us on the banquette, the only empty table in the place. "Oh my fucking god," I thought to myself as I dined with my very conservative wife. A moment later the hostess seated his partner next to me on the banquette and sat down diagonally across from me, maybe a foot or two away from my wife. He looked my way and instantly recognized me. Now I knew. It was him. Sitting right before me was a man I hadn't seen in 23 years. The only man who's cock I ever sucked.

Twenty-four years earlier we were best friends. Our families both spent the summers at our vacation houses in Martha's Vineyard. My family lived just North of Boston in a wealthy suburb and Garrett was from a wealthy town in Fairfield County Connecticut. Our summer homes were across the street from each other and every year from eight to 18 we spent every summer day together on the island.

The summer before we went to college, Garrett was sleeping over as he often did. Our parents were on an eight-hour sunset booze cruise together, so we decided to help ourselves to one of my father's many bottles of imported whiskey. We were sitting on the couch, pretty drunk and watching one of my parents porno DVDs that they thought was a big secret. Out of nowhere, Garrett unzipped his shorts, whipped out his massive erection and began stroking it.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing," I exclaimed shifting my eyes from his face to his hand pleasuring his impressive manhood.

"I'm horny as shit man, I haven't gotten any all summer," he responded.

It was a tough summer. We were both good looking jocks and there were plenty of hot girls our age dying to hook up with us, however we both remained faithful to our girlfriends back home. As I recall, I jerked off an average of two to three times a day, but in private of course! I'm sure Garrett did the same.

"Don't even tell me you don't want to blow a load right now, look at those fucking tits," he continued, nodding his head towards the blonde actress taking it from behind on the TV.

I was speechless for a few seconds, my head clouded further by the six or seven glasses of bourbon, "I mean, I'll leave you alone man, but you better fucking clean up after yourself. It's my fucking couch man."

We both let out a laugh and Garrett said, "don't be such a fag man, just fucking crank one out with me."

Needless to say, as a drunk, straight, suburban white dude in the late 1990's, I was confused by how not wanting to watch him jerk off his big dick while taking care of myself made me a fag. As I contemplated the situation, he blew my mind further.

"Dude, we haven't gotten any pussy in two months. It's like prison or navy rules dude. As long as your not taking it up the ass, it's not gay. We're young guys, we need to blow loads," he philosophized as he continued to stroke himself.

"Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?", I inquired utterly confused.

"I'm sick of jerking off into a sock by myself. Sarah is already away at school, I won't see her for at least another two months," he responded not clearing up any of my befuddlement.

"So you jerk off in front of a dude? That's how you substitute getting laid?"

"Why not, this fucking porno is hot, your mom knows how to pick 'em!"

"Fuck you! And Yo, seriously, put it away man, this is fucking weird," I uttered shaking my head.

"Like I said, prison rules man, actually, we could...," he paused.

"Could what," I asked.

"I would love a hand that's not mine, jerk me, I'll jerk you."

"Get the fuck out of here," I half-screamed as I got up off the couch. "What the fuck man, what are you talking about?"

"Dude, neither of us have gotten laid all summer, it's like we are in prison. In prison you do what you gotta do to get some."

"Would you stop babbling about prison, what the fuck are you talking about? We didn't get laid because we both decided not to cheat," I said in a lower volume.

"Yeah, it's like we are locked up. It's not gay dude, just one dude helping out another like we are in prison," he rationalized.

As we drunkenly bantered back and forth, my eyes occasionally shifted downward to his still exposed erection. I had never had a "gay" thought in my life, but I still have to say, it was a nice fucking cock. His long, thick, clean-shaven pole stood straight up from his preppy faded-red shorts. It was right about the time guys started shaving their dicks. I don't think it's unfair to say that all guys have had fleeting moments of curiosity here and there, but I was sober enough to realize that if I grabbed that big cock or he grabbed mine, it would be in my head that I did something gay. So I wasn't going down that road. Or so I thought.

"Why don't we just go down to the beach, guaranteed we will find a couple of girls to fuck around with," I suggested.

"That's cheating, we decided not to do that," Garrett responded matter-of-factly.

"So having a dude crank you off, that's not? Explain that," I proposed.

"Dude, we're not fags, so it's not cheating. I stroke myself every night, cranking yours is basically the same thing. It's masturbation. And we watch the porno and imagine it's a girl's hand, but it's not! Get it," he replied confidently to my challenge.

"Ah, no, don't get it."

"Dude, how about this," he began, "sit down, whip it out, I'll jerk it for a minute. If you want me to continue, you begin cranking mine. If you chose not too, we rub one out on our own."

I have no idea how I agreed to that. I mean I do, I was a little drunk and curious and his dick was impressive. But I regret it to this day as that night spoiled my otherwise unblemished record of heterosexuality. The porn was blaring in the background and I was half-hard already. So, well, I sat back down.

"I'm not hard yet, dude. And I thought I had a nice cock, but it's not in the ballpark of yours," I informed him.

"Just sit back, let me take care of it," he said as he reached over and placed his hand on my crotch and squeezed gently.

I couldn't believe how fast it happened. A few minutes before, a homosexual encounter had never crossed my mind and now my best friend was rubbing my stiffening pole. And I was enjoying it, like way too much. I stared straight ahead at the woman onscreen who was now on her knees getting her face plowed. I didn't even need a minute, I wanted it to continue. So I reached over without looking and felt around for my friends sizable shaft until I made contact. I wrapped my fist around it, it was so thick my fingers couldn't touch, and I began to dry stroke it. "Holy shit," I thought to myself, "there's a ducking dude's cock in my hand." It was confusing, but so arousing!

As I stroked him, my average cock reached its full potential and began poking through my shorts. Garrett unbuckled my belt and unfastened my navy blue shorts. He stuck his hand under the band of my boxers, made his way through my thick pubes and wrapped his index finger under my shaft and thumb in top of it. With a slight tug and maneuver, he freed it and it joined his pointing up towards the ceiling being dry-rubbed by another man.

We rubbed each other's dicks as we watched the actress' face get absolutely pummeled. I'll admit to anyone reading this, I fantasized about Garrett fucking my face in such a fashion while he jerked me off. However, that was not gonna happen, (although it did about an hour later). It was so fucking taboo and exciting, I felt an approaching climax after only two or three minutes of my first and only gay encounter.

I closed my eyes and started breathing heavier. Garrett taking my cue increased the pace of his strokes. I also began to slide my hand up and down his pole at a faster pace. All of a sudden, he let go of it momentarily and spit a huge wad in his hand and returned to my stiff, throbbing rod. He turned his body towards me and leaned into it a bit. I looked down and his large hand consumed most of my five-inch cock. His thumb and index finger were wrapped right below the head. His movement closed off my angle to jerk his stiffy so I moved my hand to the back of his neck.

I squeezed tightly as my orgasm began with a slight dribble of cum. I opened my eyes at the perfect time to see the actress receive her money shot to the face. I began to moan softly, then louder and louder. A thick stream of jizz shot up a few inches into the air and landed on my shorts. The orgasm was as intense as any I could remember since those first few times I jacked off. A few more spurts flew from penis hole and landed on my shirt and another on my pants. I grabbed the couch cushion with my free hand and enjoyed the last few seconds of that euphoric climax before reality set in. A dude just jerked me off and I touched and stroked a fucking cock.

When I came off my orgasm, guilt and shame swept over my body. I got up to go to the bathroom to clean up and just be alone for a minute or so. As I stood up Garrett said in a raised tone, "Dude, what the fuck? Are you forgetting something."

"I need a minute man, just, just, give me a minute dude."

I went to the bathroom and closed the door. I was so ashamed. I was a cock-stroking faggot. I couldn't believe the fucked up decision I just made. What the fuck was wrong with me? Thats my best friend and now it will be awkward forever! And I still have to make him cum, or not, which would be more awkward?

I don't remember everything going through my mind as I wiped cum off my shirt and shorts, but I remember wondering if my dead grandmother saw me and knew I was a homo! At least I was pretty smashed, so that tempered the feelings a bit. I finally calmed down a bit and got my composure. I walked back to living room and sat back down.

"Dude, a deal's a deal, you gonna finish me off or what man?" Garrett asked.

"Dude, give me a few minutes, don't you feel what we just did was fucked up?"

"Yo, we had a deal, prison rules dude," he retorted angrily.

"Again with the prison?" I uttered shaking my head.

"Dude, you better fucking blow me now, you made me a fag! I finished you, you have to finish to me."

I let out an an awkward laugh and let him know there was no fucking way I was gonna blow him. I asked him to just give me some time and I promised to finish him off. I needed to at least "refill". We sat there, in silence, watching the next scene which ironically was a MMF threesome. Both dudes had big dicks, but I bet Garrett could compete. The feelings of guilt and shame remained and more confusion set in. As I watched the actor's big dicks enter the women's vagina and asshole simultaneously, a curiosity for pleasuring Garrett's cock set back in. It was like I went temporarily homo. I wanted to, I mean I think I wanted to, as I remember, I was fantasizing about sucking his dick.

After about 20 minutes Garrett broke the silence. "Dude, you ready?"

"Yes," I responded sheepishly and shifted to get into position to stroke his monstrous member.

"Nah, I'm fucking soft as shit now," he informed me, "you gotta do better than that," he continued as I reached for his now flaccid but still impressive penis flopped over his fly.

"Im not sucking your dick dude," I said assertively.

"I know, pull your pants down. Im not having you cum first again though. Let's rub cocks. Im gonna hump you until I'm done," he ordered stressing the "I'm".

I didn't resist, I wanted it. I was a little drunk, getting horny again, and already a fag, so I figured what the fuck. I picked my ass up off the couch to slide my shorts and underwear off as Garrett stood up and dropped his pants. As he stood straight up I was eye level with his low-hanging cock. He pulled his shirt up a bit exposing the lower-part of his lean, muscular six-pack. I almost leaned forward to take it in my mouth but I resisted the momentary urge. He then straddled me with a knee on each side of my outer legs, grabbed the back of the couch and started rubbing his cock against mine.

Garret was about 4 inches taller than me, about 6'2", and he rested his goateed chin on the top of my head as he pressed his hardening manhood into mine. I looked to the side and saw his fully-flexed muscular forearms and the bottom of his bulging biceps under the short sleeves of his polo as he pulled on the back of the couch for leverage with each thrust. I was fully erect again as the thin, soft, warm skin of the undersides of our shafts rubbed against each other and our sacks intertwined. I really am not attracted to men but in the heat of that moment, be it the drunkenness or taboo-ness, I lost myself. I buried my face in his chest and grabbed his rock-hard muscular ass cheeks and humped away.

In retrospect, Garrett must have realized how into it I was and stopped with the posturing "prison" and other bullshit. He took off his shirt and directed his left nipple into my mouth. I accepted it willingly, tonguing it in a circle and nibbling it lightly as we dry-fucked. Before I knew it I was kissing his neck and shifting further up to softly bite his earlobe. He moaned softly as I lightly scraped my teeth on it and then he turned and planted an open-mouthed kiss on me.

I accepted his tongue and grabbed the back of his head, running my fingers through his tight-cropped brown hair with one hand while I pulled his huge cock into mine by his ass cheek with the other. After kissing for a minute or so, I pulled my face away. Breathless, I looked at his deep-set brown eyes and high-cheek bones, and uttered a short sentence I would regret for the rest of my life right after I blew my load, "let's 69."

Garrett didn't hesitate. I was athletic, but he was much more powerful. He got up and pushed me by my shoulder to a missionary position on the couch. He carefully placed his knees on each side of my shoulders and bent over into a 69 position. His warm, slightly sweaty sack rested on my face, covering my eyes. I quickly moved my hand up to grab the base of his cock to maintain some control and opened wide. I stuck my tongue out and placed it on his bulging mushroom head and guided it into my mouth as he journeyed downward. I felt the ridge of his tip pass my lips and his thick shaft travel down my throat a few inches more, as far as I could physically accept. I held that base firmly as he pumped his cock into my mouth to somewhat control the depth. Everything happened so quickly, I didn't even realize right away that he was already sliding his mouth up and down my pole.

Garrett got into a rhythmic cadence sliding his massive erection in and out of my mouth as he pleasured me. Unfortunately, I again was not able to hold out for long and prematurely ejaculated in his mouth. Garrett reached over to the coffee table and grabbed my half-full glass of bourbon and spit my seed into it. As he did that he tightened the grip of his knees on my head to make sure I didn't pull the same shit and try to get away. I did want it to be over after I came, but having that big dick fuck my face at that moment was still exciting.

After spitting my load into the glass, he put it back down on the table and wrapped his arms under my legs. He buried his face in my cock and thrusted his pelvis, concentrating on finishing.

I still remember feeling him approaching arousal. He began to shake and changed the cadence of his thrusts. He would give three or four quick insertions into my face and then press down hard into my throat. I tried hard to open as wide as possible, yet still keep pressure on his shaft and minimize scraping it with my teeth. After four or five iterations of that pattern, he let out a loud groan, which coincided with a large deposit of semen into the back of my mouth. I struggled not to swallow it but to no avail. After his first release, he picked up the pace of his thrusts in and out. As I opened wider to release his penis, his cum slid down my throat as the next shot of spooge erupted from his penis. I enjoyed the feeling of his man juice sliding down my gullet, so I joyfully swallowed the second shot. That one was larger than I expected though, and I decided to spit out any further deposits. However, Garrett continued to forcefully press his full body weight down upon me for the duration of his lengthy orgasm, and did not release me when it was over. I think he wanted me to swallow it all because when I finally did, he released me.

The rest of that night was really fucking awkward. I had no idea until the next summer what was going through Garrett's mind, but I couldn't stop thinking about how I was going to deal with the fact that I just swallowed a cock. We didn't talk much and did not see each other the next two days. Three days later, I went over to say good-bye when we left for the summer, but did just that, said a quick good-bye as I headed for the ferry.

The next summer was the last we both returned to the island at the same time. In fact it was the last time I saw him until a few months ago in the restaurant. The summer didn't begin well and it didn't end well. Our homosexual encounter the previous summer put a huge strain on the relationship. We only called each other once and it was an awkward conversation. In fact, I was drunk and a few nights before and jerked-off to the thought of swallowing his cum. I truly only had the one homosexual encounter, but I have fantasized on very rare occasions over the past 20 or so years.

However, when I arrived in the Vineyard the summer after my freshman year, I was determined to put our indiscretion behind me and salvage the friendship. The night Garrett arrived we went out to a few bars, just the two of us. We talked to some ladies but didn't get lucky. Everything was normal. I mean it was just one night. We were drunk, it happened, what the fuck, why not. I thought I could get over it. And maybe I could have except...

After the bars closed we got in my car and drove to a beach parking lot. We were having a few more beers and talked about sports, pussy, college, cars, etc. The topic of our dick's in each other's mouths the year before didn't come up and it seemed like a distant memory we both wanted to and could put behind us. Until. Until that is, when we were about 14 beers deep (don't judge that I was driving, I was 19 and stupid with a rich father who knew all the local cops), Garrett told me he was an actual homo, always knew he was a homo, and was in love with me. I didn't let him go for long, since as he continued I got really pissed. Before we did what we did, he had experiences with older men. He knew what he was doing and it really pissed me off.

I am much more tolerant and open-minded now, but I was a testosterone-fueled jock in the 90's then. I could have fucking knocked him out. That is, if he didn't outweigh me by about 40 pounds of rock hard muscle. The night we fooled around was a fleeting memory, an experimentation, I was a straight, alpha, pussy-loving, anti-homo jock, who just happened to one time, in a moment of weakness, swallow my best friend's penis and massive load of cum. That night and the relationship didn't end well. I knew I couldn't kick his ass so I just got out of the car and walked home from the parking lot. We never had a civil conversation again.

As I laid in bed that night, I remember thinking about how bad this could be. He could tell people what we did. I mean, he seemed ready to tell the world he was an ankle-grabber. I couldn't have him outing what I did. So I devised a plan. A plan that worked. A plan that as I grew older and more tolerant, I regretted, but at least it kept my secret, for a long time that is. But a few months back at the restaurant, that plan backfired.