My Trusted Friend Ch. 06

Never having worked with an editor before, I had no idea what to expect. Now, LarryInSeattle may have spoiled me for all other editors. Many thanks, Larry.

+ + +

Huge changes overtook our lives in the year and a half following the threesome we'd had that New Year's Eve. My wife and I wound up moving in February to a small city more than twelve hours drive from the house in which I'd had my first "experiment" and my wife and I had had our first "adventure" with our trusted friend. We got pregnant shortly after we arrived and welcomed a daughter into the world nine months after that. A month later we took in one of my wife's cousin's children, who'd been orphaned by her mother's meth addiction.

My internal conflict about having cheated on my wife—and about discovering she had cheated on me at least once with my friend—scabbed over and I didn't pick at it. The rigors of moving, my new job, and becoming the parent of two children pushed almost all of that from my mind. My wife and I frequently found ourselves exhausted from the rigors of parenting and our sex life suffered, but we were happy and I felt a fulfillment that I hadn't known before.

My friend's work schedule and the relative suddenness of our move meant that I hadn't had the chance to see him before we moved away. The responsibilities of our new family and my new job meant that I hadn't been able to make the long trip to see my parents or my sisters since the move, let alone my friend. And while my parents and one of my sisters had made the drive up to see us following the birth of our child, my friend hadn't yet been able to do so.

We talked on the phone at least a couple of times a month. My uncertainty of our status as friends after having become sexual, both individually and together with my wife, proved ridiculous. Our bond was still strong. It helped me sometimes just to talk to him about the new stresses to which I found myself subjected. I needed that long-distance friendship, that link to my past so much that it was easy to mentally brush aside the fact that he and my wife had cheated on me at least that one time. I felt so close to the two of them and I needed them both so much that whatever they had done seemed trivial in the light of all that had come after it. Besides, I figured, how could I hold it against them when I'd done it too? Maybe watching them fuck and getting turned on by it had helped me deal with it in some way. I still had my moments of anxiety, but I got over it.

My wife and I sometimes talked dirty to each other about the nasty things we'd done during our two threesomes with our friend. It added some spice when we did.

My friend and I never discussed any of the sexual things we'd done together when we spoke. We'd never actually had any sort of real discussion of our sexual activities or what they made us think or feel, even when we had been together. That sort of thing was uncomfortable. We still clung to the illusion that we were "manly men" like we had always done until the lust overcame us and our cocks came out.

Life was pretty good for me, overall, until some bad news came: my wife's aunt was coming to visit next month, in June.

My wife loved her aunt more than she loved almost anyone but I couldn't stand the woman. The thought of being trapped in our small house, with no privacy and no real space between us for the nine days she planned to visit, filled me with dread. My wife understood this and had a plan.

"Why don't you drive down and visit your family while my aunt is here?" she suggested—and I loved her for it. "She's coming to see me and to spend time with the kids. Besides, you haven't taken any time off from work since we moved. "

It was a fantastic solution and it lifted my spirits immediately. I arranged the time off, spoke to my family, and then called my best friend. Three weeks later I kissed my wife before hopping into my truck and getting on the road.

This story isn't about driving on twelve-hour road trips or visiting my parents, sisters, nieces, nephews, and cousins. So all I'll say is that after I spent a loving week with my family, I drove four more hours to spend a couple of nights with my friend before I would head back to the wife and kids. As I drove that leg of the journey, I began to wonder if he had any expectations of something sexual between us. I wondered if I did. My life had changed so much in a year and a half. I'd thought about having sex with him during that time, but the physical distance between us since I'd moved made the possibility that we'd do anything sexual again seem distant also.

I rang the bell and we hugged like long-lost brothers when he opened the door. He offered me a cold beer and asked what I wanted to do for the next two days.

"This trip is about you, dude," he said. "This city is a tourist mecca—and I know you've never really spent much time here. Whatever you'd like to see, wherever you want to go, I'm game."

He'd mentioned this idea during our last phone call and I'd given it some thought. There was a list of six or eight tourist attractions, museums, and historical sites that I really did want to see. I told him the places that most interested me and he sprang up, asking, "You ready to get started?"

"Right now?"

"Dude, half the day is gone and at least three of the places on your list aren't open tomorrow."

I peed and grabbed my sunglasses and we headed out the front door.

Driving could be a nightmare in the city, so we walked and took public transportation to get from place to place. It was hot and we stopped in at numerous bars on our afternoon walking tour to rest and rehydrate. We didn't get back to his townhouse until well after dark. Nothing "experimental" happened between us that night. I reclined in his easy chair, my feet sore from walking all afternoon, and promptly fell asleep.

I woke to find that he had draped a blanket over me as I'd slept. The sun was coming up. I smelled the aroma of coffee and could hear my friend in the kitchen.

"Coffee!" I shouted.

"Coffee!" came his shouted reply and I made my way to the kitchen.

"Okay," what do you want to go and see today?"

I grabbed a mug and filled it with steaming black liquid. "Nothing," I replied. "My feet hurt and I'm still tired from yesterday's excursion. If it's up to me, we'll hang out and relax, maybe order pizza or some Chinese."

"Okay," he said, probably relieved not to have to go back out with me today to tourist attractions he'd already been to a dozen times. "How about we take this coffee into the living room? I've already got one rolled up and we can wake-and-bake to start our day of relaxation."

That sounded like just the ticket.

We played golf on his video game console that morning while stoned off of our asses and it was like being time-warped right back to college. Joking and carrying on, we were in a world of our own. It struck me sometime around mid-morning, when his bare leg touched mine, what that meant. We were alone. We didn't have to sneak around or be quiet for fear of being discovered. Neither my wife nor anyone else was going to arrive unexpectedly and declare that we were faggots to the rest of the world. Even if she did, after seeing me suck his cock and having me eat his cum from her pussy, my wife was unlikely to object. I remembered her words from just before that earlier episode, "I think a bit of gay fantasy is perfectly normal. It won't bother me a bit."

I found myself looking at him, his shoulders and his thighs, the crotch of his shorts. I thought I might have caught him looking at me as well. Maybe. If he was sending signals, I didn't know how to read them—and I certainly didn't know how to signal my own growing interest in renewing our sexual acquaintance. It had been so long. Our friendship hadn't changed, but what if this part of our relationship had? My cock, however, didn't waste time on such subtleties; it had a mind of its own.

Aha! I finally caught him looking. He'd noticed the tent in my shorts. I saw him staring at it out of the corner of my eye while I was lining up my shot. A few minutes later, I saw him staring again. He was trying to be subtle, but somehow—finally—my brain was actually able to pick up a clue. I let the game controller fall off of my knee and as I leaned over to pick it up off the floor, I put my hand on this thigh as if for balance.

"Sorry, man," I told him.

"'S 'okay, dude," he said.

He wasn't trying to sound aroused. He was trying to sound nonchalant, but I could hear a little bit of strain in his voice. He wanted me. Now what?

We played that stupid video game for another hour, both of us stealing glances at each other's hard rods poking up in our shorts. It was ridiculous! We were both aroused. Why couldn't either of us have the guts to make the first move? We ordered pizza for lunch and a thought struck me as we ate.

"Do you still have my videotape?" I asked.

"Dude, what tape?" he responded around a mouthful of pizza.

"You know: that really good tape we watched that night. I loaned it to you...?"

A light came on in his eyes. "Oh, yeah, that tape," he said. "Hold on."

He didn't go to the shelf of videotapes next to the VCR. Instead he headed out of the room and returned with the familiar case in his hand a few minutes later. "I can't keep this out here," he explained. "My neighbors might see it when they come over and think I'm a pervert."

In his hand was the porn video I'd loaned him. It was one of the few I'd actually paid full price for, back in the day. The video was stylish, kinky, and terrifically filthy and my wife had loved to watch it with me. It was the video I'd put on the night I'd first sucked his cock. He stood there, entirely unselfconscious about the bulge in his shorts that pointed straight at me. I leaned back to accentuate my own tented groin. He noticed.

"Wow," I said. "It's been a while since I saw that, but I still remember it as one of my favorites."

"Yeah, he agreed. "It's definitely high on my list."

"And speaking of 'high,'" I said, "is it about that time?"

"Ha! I'll bet it's four-twenty somewhere," he conceded. One of the many truths of our friendship was that I never smoked weed at all, unless I was with him. Another truth was that he always had weed. He was a fully-functioning member of society and a deacon of his church. But he loved weed. "You know," he added, "I haven't watched this video since I borrowed it from you a couple of years ago. I just forgot. Wanna watch it now?"

"Sure," I told him. "I'll pop it in the machine while you get the refreshments. You didn't think I was gonna say no, did you?"

He got us each a fresh beer and produced another joint. We both knew what hitting "PLAY" on that movie meant and it freed us up to be more honest regarding our desires; it removed some of our anxiety. He sat down right next to me on the sofa, our shoulders and bare legs touching. We opened the beers, lit the joint, and watched a Marilyn Monroe fantasy fellate a man named Johnny in the video's opening scene.

We commented on the unfolding scene, touching each other to emphasize our points more frequently than was necessary. The touches began to linger and we stopped talking. I felt him reach over and gently take the head of my cock between two fingers through the material of my shorts. I let him. I sighed appreciatively at his touch. He leaned over tried to reach into the leg of my shorts with his other hand. My shorts did not cooperate to give him access, so I lifted my ass and pulled them down my legs and was rewarded by the sensation of my hard member being taken in his warm grasp.

"God, that feels good, man," I moaned.

"Mmm hmm," he agreed as I rubbed his bare thigh with my palm.

I just sat back and enjoyed the sensation of being softly stroked for a while before I tried to slide my own hand from his thigh and into his shorts. He wasn't having that. He pulled down his shorts to his knees and my large palm engulfed his smaller cock. I tried to match the softness and the rhythm that he was using on me.

As we sat there enjoying our stroke session a conversation broke out. That day would be the only time I would ever converse with my friend about our homoerotic experiences. As I was enjoying the feel of his silken erection and the sensation of his small, strong hand on mine, I asked him, "So, had you ever done anything with a guy before we, you know..."

There was a pause. I'm not sure whether it was due to the sensation of my hand on his cock, his on mine, or just a gathering of thoughts before he spoke of something he'd been trying to keep hidden for years. "Well, um, yeah," he finally admitted.

I lightened my touch on his cock, just teasing it really, and said, "Uh huh?"

His grip on mine tightened slightly, as if he needed something to hold on to while he confessed a long-held secret. "When I was younger, before I left my bible-belt home town, I ummm 'experimented' on and off for a couple of years with a friend."

"Two years?" I said, a little surprised. "That was a long experiment. So, who was it with?"

"A friend from school," he said. "He was a year older. It got intense. He fell in love with me. I didn't feel like that about him. He got possessive and obsessive. It was ugly for a while when I stopped seeing him. I got so scared that people would find out."

I let my mind absorb what he'd said as we unhurriedly massaged each other's erect member. I'd had no idea that my "manly" friend was so much more experienced than me, more than I ever would have imagined. I turned almost to face him, so I could lightly caress his balls with my other hand. "I guess over two years you got to try a lot of things...?"

"Pretty much everything," he admitted, moaning gently between the words.

The mental pictures that confession conjured up made me moan in turn.

"That's what I want to try," I said.

"What?"

"Pretty much everything," I answered hopefully.

"I'm not so sure, dude," he said, shaking his head. "That didn't end well for me." He didn't stop stroking my cock, though, and he made no move to stop me.

"You don't think I'm going to fall in love with you, do you?" I asked.

He chuckled. "Nah! Not you." I did love him, of course, but he was right that I hadn't fallen "in love" with him. I'd only experienced romantic love maybe three times in my life and my wife was the only person with whom I'd been able to maintain that state. I did love my best friend, but the nature of our bond was different.

"When I asked if I could suck your cock that first time, I told you that I'd never done that before and wanted to try it at least once. I had no idea you'd ever done anything like that before, and I took a chance because I knew I could trust you and, whatever your response, you'd at least not judge me." His whisper-light touch on my cock was keeping me in a perpetual pre-orgasmic state. I wanted to cum, yet I never wanted it to end. I moaned again and continued, "This is the same as that. I want to try the full-on gay thing, the whole nine yards.

"Think of it like a bucket-list kind of thing. You're someone I love and trust—heck, I shared my wife with you—and we're alone, we've got privacy and are secure from discovery by the outside world. I can't imagine feeling as close to another guy in this way as I do to you. You know we make each other feel good."

I emphasized this last point by swirling my fingers around his cock as I stroked it. I wondered about that last thing I'd told him. I'd certainly made him feel good, but he hadn't actively done much to make me feel good. I'd gotten my thrill from having him in my mouth and making him cum. The feeling of him pulsing and shooting in my mouth was indescribably erotic. I still craved it. I was a cocksucker. I'd assumed that he was just using my urge to suck cock for his own pleasure like I was using his cock for mine. I had wanted to try more, but was afraid of frightening him away with any crazy gay urges. Now that I knew he'd been in a secret, two-year relationship with a guy when he was younger and had done "pretty much everything," I didn't know how to interpret what we'd done or his response to it.

"So you'd want to..." he trailed off.

We'd been avoiding eye contact since we'd started this stroke-fest, so I looked him in the eye. "You can absolutely say no if you want and I'll still love you as my best friend, but right now I would love to convince you to spend the rest of the time before I leave tomorrow diving head-first into..." I searched for the best word and realized that maybe I didn't have a word for it, so I settled on, "pleasure."

His hand had almost stopped moving on my cock. I could feel his hips reaching up a little on each stroke that I gave his upward-curving member, so I knew he was getting further along down the path to climax. I leaned down slowly, which forced his hand from my erection. I made sure he felt my hot breath on his cock's soft crown.

"No guilt," I said, then licked the underside of him teasingly.

"No regrets," I promised and I took his crown into my mouth and kissed it wetly before releasing it. I tasted the small drop of wetness that had appeared at the tip.

"Just two friends doing whatever feels good, not caring about anything or anyone outside these four walls," I told him. "Giving ourselves over to absolute pleasure without worry of strings attached, future obligations, or anything but what happens between now and tomorrow."

I plunged my mouth down around his little cock, taking it to the root. I held it there, clamping down on it with my lips and tongue, squeezing tightly. I moved slowly up and off of his cock, releasing it. "What do you think, man," I asked. "Are you gonna make another one of my fantasies come true?"

I know he expected me to put his cock back in my mouth. I didn't. I left it there, jutting upward wetly. The poor thing must be getting chilly, I mused. He lifted his hips a bit and I blew cool air on his wet cock, but didn't let it reach the warmth of my lips.

"Uh, dude," he said. "That's a lot to process. I don't know how to..."

"Look, man, there's absolutely no pressure," I said, making sure to exhale heavily onto his cock as I spoke. "If you're not up for it, I hope you'll just forget I asked, okay? I don't want to feel weird for having asked you for something like this if you're not comfortable with it."

"Well, um, I..." he started.

"No, you're right," I said as I stood, my large erection bobbing near his face at eye-level. "It's a lot to process. Let me give you a moment or two."

"Where?" he asked as I walked towards the hall.

"I need a shower," I told him. "After we walked in the hot sun all yesterday afternoon and sweated our asses off, I just passed out in your recliner. I'm sure I smell funky and, regardless of how we spend the rest of my visit, I wanna feel clean."

Looking back at it, I can see now that I'd been a manipulative prick. If I'd really wanted him to not feel any pressure, I would've brought him off instead of leaving him achingly hard and longing for release. Of course, I'd never really been a cock tease before either, so maybe I should just think of it as being part of the "just about everything" I had hoped to experience.

I left him there on the sofa with his throbbing erection pointing up towards his belly. In the bathroom, I dialed the shower to a good temperature and stepped into the tub, closing the curtain behind me. The hot water was great and I grabbed the soap and started lathering myself. I fantasized about what might happen and found myself paying extra attention to my cock and balls. I fantasized a bit more and slowly caressed my pucker with a soapy finger, cleaning it, and then easing a bit further inside. Not for the first time, I wondered what it'd be like having my friend's cock penetrate me there. I wasn't frightened at all by its size or thoughts of pain, those did not enter my mind, but I shivered at the thought of the sheer eroticism of feeling its tender hardness slowly entering me, taking my last virginity.