Mark and Barry Ch. 01

He took Mark's cock in his fist now, held from below, held where he could stroke it properly. Mark drew breath, preparing...

Barry stroked fast, and then faster, feeling Mark's tensions rise, as if the swimmer were lifting on the balls of his feet. As his hand slid up and down, Barry looked at Mark's trim belly, his hips, his buttocks dimpled with excited strength. Mark, bottom clenching, thigh and calf muscles too, his belly a churning sea, shifted his feet, almost unbalanced, as he began to lose his head.

Barry shifted a little to one side and pointed the penis away from him. No mess on him, he didn't want that, he wasn't gay. He thought briefly of his hardwood floor. The orgasm was coming --

No, it was here. Silence broken -- "Nnnh -- shit -- uhh!" Mark spiked his hips thrusting forward, thighs and fists clenching, as the wave of pleasure crashed into him. His arms and neck rigid, thick with strength that wasn't there before.

And then his pulsing cock shot out a stream of cum, as thought left him and fire coursed through his young body. And then another, as Barry stroked, and then, as Mark rammed his hips into the air again, his pubis meeting only the base of Barry's fist, the end of his penis stretched red and swollen, a third squeezed out, fell on the floor. Then just rivulets dripping from the tip.

A voiced but wordless exhalation, and panting relaxation, and Barry's hand dropped away, and the two boys were no longer one, but two.

Mark, drained and tired, breathed hard as his stiff prick swung free, still dripping semen. The room felt warm. Somewhere in the building something mechanical hummed, sounding terribly loud now. It had happened and Mark was okay. It was done. He breathed.

Had Mark been masturbating himself, he'd have gently squeezed his penis now, stretching the pleasure out as long as possible after orgasm. But with his cock instead simply hanging free, still sensitive, orgasm having roared out instead of being coaxed, he felt almost like an animal. Yes, a male animal, a lion or something, all fucked-out, his seed shot carelessly wherever he pleased, a still-stiff, still-sensitive and raw, but relaxed dick sticking carelessly out in the open -- an animal who had finished sex -- for now.

Ignoring the wetness, he pulled his pants up over himself, and, a little shakily, eased himself down cross-legged on the floor. He was still unsure how he felt about what had just happened. But calm, and satisfied.

Barry had stood, and he wasn't quite sure of his feelings either. But he knew what he needed. "Hey," he said, and as Mark looked up, he gestured. "Your turn."

Fair's fair, Mark thought.

Plus, he wanted to.

With both hands he reached up to undo Barry's pants. Pulling them down to the ankles, Mark was faced with a short but thick cock. Barry's penis, erect, stood straight out. It wasn't like, say, a soda can. But... well, thick, that's all.

And now that Mark looked at it, he realized that a penis that is merely above-average still can make quite an impression with its size.

The head was, surprisingly, even a little wider than the shaft. To Mark it was the swollen head that seemed surprisingly outsized. And it dripped with pre-cum. Barry, without a single touch, thanks to only the acted-out kisses and the determined stroking of another man's dick, had oozed his own lube.

Mark wasn't used to that. The only penis he'd had any experience with was his own, and it didn't wet itself up, not like that, not until he actually came. But, fair's fair, and, squatting down, he reached up and took the hot, slimy cock-head in his closed hand.

"So big," he thought to himself, as he stroked downward, spreading Barry's pre-cum over his shaft. Circling it, his finger and thumb could meet, but only if he squeezed a little.

And though the other man's penis was thick, it was not very long. Mark's large fist was just as long as the shaft. Pinky nestled in Barry's sparse, sandy-brown, curly pubes, his forefinger was tucked neatly behind the ridge at the top of the cock-head.

Which left his thumb sliding back and forth, under the fat red plum, The pre-cum's slickness hadn't started to get sticky yet. After a minute, Barry's entire cock was wetted, and as slippery as if it'd been oiled. Barry, hands on hips, gave a soft grunt as the younger man took advantage of the frictionless lube to slide his fist all the way up and down.

Mark wrapped his whole hand around the bulging head, twisted and squeezed, and got another grunt for his reward. He noted with mild surprise that the giant spongy tissue engorged back to its original size in seconds. His fist slid down and pressed against Barry's pubic bone, pulling the skin tight, then went back up with a powerful grip sliding over the nerve-filled softness at the end of that great trunk of a cock.

Barry twitched with pleasure as Mark worked him. He hadn't known it would feel this good. Girls had stroked him off, sure, but they were timid and naive compared with this.

He would have much preferred to fuck a girl, but for pure raw sensation, Mark's hand was... more. Mark wasn't a girl. He wasn't freaked out by the pre-cum, didn't give a damn about the angry, frightening look of the thing, and wasn't even remotely thinking about how hard it would be to fit the thick little bastard inside him.

Mark saw a cock, and he already knew what it liked, and he did it. With gusto and no fear.

And Barry had had no idea a hand job could be like this.

One-handed, Mark was sending Barry to new heights. He rubbed around the head with his thumb and his encircling fingers, smearing the seemingly-endless stream of pre-cum around it, and down the shaft until the pubic hair was wetted. No need to worry about chafing the skin here. The slit at the tip of Barry's penis leaked a little more wetness with every stroke.

Barry stepped his feet just a little farther apart as if to gain leverage. Mark mixed it up and gave the cock short, fast, hard strokes -- then just a slow ring of his thumb and finger squeezing its way past the slippery, hot head -- then hard strokes again. He twisted his fist a little as he slid up and down.

Up and down, with a fast-then-slow motion that had Barry's hips moving jerkily in reflexive response. Mixing it up. No sawing, rhythmic fucking motion here, just the sophomore's hand pleasuring the senior's dick in whatever way he chose. Tugging, twisting, then pumping.

And then just for a second, Mark's fingers teasing the swelling, hot cock-head. He smiled. Just his fingertips, five fingertips circling and teasing the moist, red fruit as Barry involuntarily pushed forward.

And then the fist again, gripping and sliding up and down. Double-time loose pumping for a second, and then a hard grip and slowly slipping the tight ring of his thumb and finger, tightly squeezed, squeezed over the head's ridge. Squeezing and slipping. Jacking Barry off the way he knew he'd like.

Mark wondered briefly what it would be like to take that slimy cock-head into his mouth. Just the head... he watched the flesh stretch and squeeze as he worked it. Fine, sure, but in his mouth? A little gross. Not something he was going to try. Not today.

A two-fingertip touch, gliding slowly, feather-light, from tip to base, as the dick twitched and danced. Then a slow finger running along the underside, brushing the soft, tender skin. Again the fingertips circling and teasing the head. And then, again, the hard fist pumping up and down the now-even-harder rock of a dick in pure fast stimulation.

Mark was vaguely pleased to hear a soft moan from Barry at that, and with his left hand, reached up and carefully hefted Barry's balls with his fingers. Barry shifted his hips forward as Mark gently caressed his ball sack while rubbing his cock. Barry grunted twice and began working his hips rhythmically now, his fat penis thrust into the air and into Mark's hand as if it were a pussy.

Barry had started this experiment, in fact, by thinking of an old girlfriend. As Mark had first started caressing his dick, Barry had thought of breasts, nipples, trim waist and flaring hips, of the feel of a tight, wet pussy yielding to his cock, inch by inch.

But those thoughts had left him as Mark stroked and stroked. He looked down to see Mark -- handsome, earnest Mark -- staring at his penis as he stroked the pleasure out of him -- and for then, for that moment, Barry thought only of Mark.

Barry still wasn't gay. Neither of the boys was gay. Either of them would have much preferred, at that time or any other, a nice-looking young woman to be there instead, legs spread wide and a smile on her face.

But that wasn't the case just then. It was Mark stroking his cock. It was Mark who was going to bring him to what was building into a powerful orgasm. It was Mark, a man who he'd only met a few days ago, a man not particularly feminine, an ordinary young man, typically masculine, whose strong hand was driving him crazy with pleasure.

Long minutes went by with Barry finding new heights of horny lust. The teasing mixed with stroking was a combination he hadn't experienced before. With girls, a handjob was brief foreplay before a fuck. But this... this was the fuck. He'd never felt another hand taking such care to please him.

Stroking, rubbing, sliding, teasing, and stroking some more. Mark's dry, cool left hand caressed Barry's balls and thighs as his slippery, hot right hand patiently worked magic on that bucking, jerking dick.

Barry huffed and panted, hips still thrusting and twisting side-to-side as he reflexively worked the cunt that wasn't there. Mark cradled his balls even as, cum nearing, they lifted (how strange to feel that on another man). Stroking Barry's cock solid and fast, up and down, he held his balls as the orgasm began.

He knew he was going to make the older boy cum. Enough teasing. He slid his hand up the shaft, just behind the cock-head, took a good grip, and pumped short strokes, fast, fast, fast. Then --

"Fuck! Uhh --" Barry shouted, as he ejaculated, shooting a fat wad of sperm into the air. Mark had released the choke-hold he'd made Barry cum with, holding the pulsating penis with an ordinary grip, and gently pumping up and down, as the orgasm ripped through him.

"Uhh --" Barry grunted again, as the next stream of cum spurted out of him. His sturdy torso was rigid, from the tight muscles in his shoulders and neck to his clenched ass. His abs -- and Mark's gentle, slow strokes -- squeezed the cum out as if by sheer force of pressure.

For a brief crazy second, Barry thought that he really should be fantasizing about some girl, at least right now. On the few occasions when he had jerked himself off before, it had been to pornography and he had, though he tried not to think about it much, very much enjoyed making himself cum while staring hard at a close-up, spread vagina on a computer screen. For one second he wondered if it was his duty to think straight thoughts, at this time of all times, while he was shooting his cum.

He didn't, though, As his sight returned, he looked down at Mark's hair, as Mark looked at his cock, as his cock squirted out its last pleasures at the touch of the other man.

After the last of his cum had left him, Barry sighed and, still standing, finally relaxed. Mark gently slid his loose fist up and down the used-up hardon in long, lazy strokes until the moment had fully passed.

"I should be repulsed," thought Mark. But he simply sat, and looked, and took it in. Barry's body was what it was. The two of them had no need to romance each other, nor to lie about their attraction.

They were not attracted to each other, Mark knew. And didn't have to worry about whether they ever would be. They were just two friends who had had a problem with being horny, and had helped each other out.

And it had felt fucking incredible.

They'd wiped up the mess on the floor, then, and chatted a little. They made oblique references to their impromptu sex session, and how they each hoped it would help them avoid problems at the next night's rehearsal. They washed out the beer bottles and, separately, went into the bathroom to wipe the wetness out of their boxers, and wash their hands, and take a brief look in the mirror.

At the door, each of them felt almost like they should at least hug goodbye, but they weren't guys who did a lot of hugging, and a "see you later" was all they got.

Each of them woke up the next morning, and, at some point during the day, thought to themselves, "I jacked off another guy's cock last night," and marvelled at how ordinary and normal they still felt. It turned out you didn't suddenly turn all queer after all, at least not overnight.

(Neither of them gave much thought to the fact that they had been, in turn, jacked off by a guy. That was just the satisfaction of lust. It had been intensely hot, for each of them, but the gender of the dude kneeling below them, getting them off, seemed hardly worth mentioning. That seemed quite normal.)

And they talked with friends, and laughed, and ate, and stared at the blackboard in class, and stared at a girl's boob-side in class, or a girl's ass going upstairs, and they studied their scripts, and each got through a pretty ordinary day.

And rehearsal, that night, went great. They were confident and relaxed. And if their cocks twitched, when they kissed, it was only just a little, and only just at first.

That was week one.