Oh My Hunky Friend Pt. 02

After a while, the chatting topics dried up and so we decided to rewatch the iconic Jurassic Park, the highlight of our childhood. It was a fitting landmark for our blooming relationship. We watched in darkness, hunched at opposite ends of the bed, and flung witty jokes to hide our suspense.

Though I couldn't see Connor in the darkness, I felt his presence and longed to be closer. I longed to touch him. But no, that would be inappropriate. We were just friends and friends had boundaries. When the movie was finished, Connor turned on the lights.

"Bro, Jurassic Park gets better every time," he exclaimed.

"It's a classic for a reason," I replied.

"Yeh that's true. But one thing Laurie. Why were you sitting so far away from me? I was gonna ask you to come closer but didn't want you to feel uncomfortable. Next time, feel free to, you know, snuggle up. It's more fun that way."

"Sure Connor," I said breathlessly.

"Alright then. It's getting late. As I said, I've got a rugby competition tomorrow. I've gotta wake up at eight o' clock. My dad's still at work so my friend is going to pick me up."

"I'll set an alarm then."

"There's no need. Just get a good sleep. Don't wake up early for my sake."

"I wouldn't want to miss out on you leaving," I said firmly.

Connor looked at me strangely. And with that, I headed off to my bedroom. Clutching my cross, I thanked Christ for reuniting me with Connor and this sense of content soothed my soul. For once in my life, I slept immediately without the clashing turmoil of thoughts. My best friend Connor had brought stability to my life.

The moment I woke up, I bolted downstairs. Connor was already by the door, wearing a black and blue tracksuit. His forehead was riddled with creases and his eyes were squinted as he paced back and forth, biting his lip.

"Good morning Connor! Ready for the game!" I exclaimed.

"Yeh I guess," he mumbled back.

I looked at him with concern. I'd never seen Connor so flustered. Usually, he was so assured and never hesitated to speak his mind. But now, he suddenly seemed a shadow of his former self. But I didn't think too much of it. Connor was strong, Connor was perfect. Why would he feel nerves. Perhaps he wasn't a morning person.

"Look Laurie, I'm getting picked up by a friend in about five minutes. You get some breakfast," said Connor.

Without elaborating, Connor barged the door open and left the house. He was gone without saying anything. My feeble whisper of "bye" was left painfully unsaid. I trudged away into the dining room.

I felt empty.

Chowing down my cereal, I noticed movement outside the window. A shining Lamborghini's engine was revving up. I caught a glimpse of Connor in the backseat, laughing and sniggering with two of his friends. I clenched my jaw. I wanted to be there. I wanted to see his smile up close again. Instead, he was sullen and grumpy with me this morning. Why? Did he suspect that I had thoughts about him?

But then he looked at me. Though his face was wrinkled with lines of smiles, his eyes were of a sad glint. I didn't know what that meant.

But then the car rushed away. I was left confused. For the rest of the day, I reverted to the only mode of living I had mastered: the art of doing nothing. My parents never let me go out so I had plenty of time to practice.

I read a bit. I slept a bit. I prayed a bit. And time flew before I knew it. But of course, in the back of my head, thoughts of Connor lingered. I missed him terribly. But I was sure he didn't miss me. He was obviously having a riot with his rugby friends, my sorry self relegated into irrelevance. Just like I deserved. I hated myself for digging myself into an emotional hole that I could never escape.

It was in this mood of doom that I explored the house, pacing up and down the stairs. I was too absorbed in my own thoughts to notice the endless sequence of rooms (I even didn't notice the indoor swimming pool) but on the fourth floor, I came across a door for a room that I couldn't ignore.

The door was slightly yellow and the knob had lost its shine. It was clearly well used. I felt a yearning to look inside. Surely a peek wouldn't hurt. Slowly, I twisted the knob but it wouldn't budge. Locked.

I sighed in both disappointment and relief. Though my curiosity was left burning, it was for the greater good. It would be a betrayal of Connor's trust to rifle through his privacy. I thanked God for the presence of that lock. Otherwise, I would have succumbed to the temptation. Then, there would be no going back.

It was raining outside when I saw Connor returning. Reading in my bedroom, I saw him from the window, trudging through the rain in a blue jacket, his hood concealing his face. Excited, I ran downstairs and opened the door for him. But he barged past me.

Banging my head into the wall, I was left dazed and confused. My first emotion was hurt: did he really hate me that much? The next was a realisation that he hadn't even noticed I was there. He was too embroiled in the red mist of rage.

Connor charged into the living room. He kicked the sofa repeatedly with all of his might, droplets of rain spraying from his jacket. I swore I heard of crack.

His eyes were like an all-destroying tempest, devoid of any meaning except from the escape of anger. His teeth were bared in a devilish snarl as he screamed soundlessly, his veins almost popping. This was not the Connor I knew.

Instead, this beast reminded me of the bullies who used to brawl in the middle of the school corridor. I was very scared. Without thinking, I edged further and further from Connor. I would shut myself in my bedroom. I would drown myself in my blanket, muting the sound. I would cry. Just like I did when my parents argued. But by some miracle, I ignored my better instinct and didn't.

Instead, I tip-toed across the room, towards the raging figure of Connor. He didn't even look at me. Strangely, I didn't shiver. I also shivered when I was scared. Perhaps, I wasn't scared because my trust in Connor was too great.

I placed my hand on Connor's shoulder, slightly rubbing his tenseness. He turned back at me, staring with a fiery gaze. But I didn't falter. I met his eyes yet again. In a moment, his rage collapsed and his face changed into a quivering mess of confusion.

Connor buried his face into my chest; I felt the unsteady heaving of his breath upon my chest. He smelt of sweat and mud but I didn't care. Nothing mattered except him.

"Sorry you had to see that," he whimpered.

"Don't worry. I'm here," I whispered back.

For a time, we remained in silence. I didn't ask for details. He was my best friend and that was that. Anything else I didn't need to know. But he told me anyway.

"It's not fucking fair Laurie, it's not fucking fair. Things never go my way," he snivelled.

I stayed silent. Connor released himself from my chest and stood in front of me, eyes burning red. It was my turn to listen.

"Nah that's stupid. It's my fault. It's my fault that I don't work hard enough in the gym. A cramp? What the hell is that? The team is counting on me, England is watching and I choke like an idiot. What's the point? Rugby is a shit sport anyway, always was," he ranted.

I still didn't say anything. Though I craved to soothe Connor, I knew nothing about rugby. I would just sound like a fool if I talked nonsense advice from the top of my head. At that moment, I felt utterly useless: as Connor would say, a "shit" friend. I restrained my tears.

"You know Laurie, thank you," Connor announced with a smile.

"What for?" I replied, incredibly confused.

"I never get a chance to form my thoughts, if that makes sense. Usually, I take my anger out in physical action. You stopped me. You made me think and work out why I'm annoyed without saying anything. Just being with you was enough. But now I don't know. I don't feel angry, I feel sad. I always get sad but not this quickly," he vented.

"Connor, let's do something you enjoy. Let's play fifa," I suggested, grabbing his shoulder in an attempt to steer him away from sadness.

"Yeh, yeh, we should" he said.

We walked slowly towards the stairs, shoulder to shoulder. But Connor kept opening his mouth and closing his mouth. His forehead was knitted with hesitation. I looked at him kindly, urging him to speak.

"No. I've been hiding too much. The true me. It's embarrassing, please don't laugh. I've told anyone and I never thought I would. Actually, I'll show you tomorrow. Not today..." Connor rambled.

"...Slow down, Connor. It's perfectly fine. If you don't feel comfortable, you don't need to say anything," I tried to say with assurance.

" No, no I want to tell you. I need to tell someone. Especially you. It's so embarrassing though. You know what, just follow me. I can't bring myself to fucking say it," he said.

And so I did. As we walked up the stairs and down the corridor, Connor walked far slower than usual. He kept fiddling with his fingers, staring intensely into the ground.

It was so strange. I thought Connor was perfect. But in a matter of a few moments, I had witnessed him unravel into a mere mortal.

I also was slightly ashamed. At times, I grovelled in self pity while assuming that I was the only one who suffered. But even Connor had his own problems. And so, I became slightly more centred in reality.

We found ourselves in front of that mysterious door that I found earlier today. Connor's entire body shook as he twisted the key inside the keyhole. I held his shoulder and the shaking stopped.

I stepped in the room and looked around in disbelief. The room was an extravaganza of colour and chaos. Posters of various characters draped the walls and in the corner, there was a library of sorts, full with comics and movies. The bed was smaller. The TV was smaller and the light was dimmer. Yes, there were wrappers and other junk littered across the place. And yet it felt like a home. It reminded me of my past. Our past.

But amongst the posters of happiness, I spotted a touch of sadness. A photo of a beautiful woman with blonde hair and kind blue eyes was framed upon the wall, flowers placed beneath: it was Connor's mother. I could assume she was dead. I offered a quick prayer to God. I wouldn't mention it to Connor. He was already in pain.

Though I had ventured further into the room, Connor still lingered by the door. He twiddled with his thumbs, unable to meet my eyes. I couldn't help noticing how cute Connor was when he was nervous. Crinkles formed around his small eyes and his full lips pouted. It was difficult to believe that he was a hulking rugby superstar.

"I know it's so cringey. Don't judge me," he whimpered.

"No Connor. It's so cool. I've never seen anything like this before," I replied.

"Really?" he said with longing eyes.

"Yes of course. However, even though it's cool. I have no idea what I'm looking at."

"Oh. I'm a big fan of manga and anime. It's basically Japanese comic books. I do like western stuff as well but mainly manga."

I had friends at school who liked manga. But when the conversation fell towards it, I always fell silent. I didn't know anything about it and so why talk about it? Why learn about it? I just had to accept what I had. That's what my parents always said. But now, I was forced to face my own folly. Clearly manga meant a lot to Connor and now, I would listen.

Connor suggested that we watch his favourite anime "One Piece"; apparently, it was a good place to begin. I didn't argue otherwise. While he faffed with the remote, I admired his unrestrained smile: it was a thing of beauty. I could feel the sheer excitement reverberating from his body. It was this excitement that was missing in my life and I finally felt whole.

We snuggled up on the bed, shoulders smushing nicely against each other. He didn't seem to care about this sudden intimacy. But I was paralysed. I couldn't focus on the anime. I could only focus on him.

I cherished how his husky warmth seemed to envelope me in a cocoon of drowsy bliss and watched the dim light dance dangerously on the edge of his red stud. I loved the way his shoulder pressed firmly against mine, making my skin tingle and my knees go weak.

But he didn't notice my unrelenting gaze; Connor was fixated upon the TV and nothing else. His facial muscles relaxed and his mouth crept towards a gleeful grin; his eyes glinted with a sense of comfort. There was something so attractive about Connor at ease and not angry, not frustrated. I would do anything to keep him like this.

All of a sudden, Connor jolted from his reverie. I averted my stare towards the TV. I told him that the show was great so far. I agreed with every question of his fever like interrogation. I kept lying until he stopped speaking. I didn't even feel guilty for some reason; the aesthetic appeal of my best friend was greater than anything.

Connor walked over to the TV-stand and picked up a water battle. And then, with his left hand, he grabbed a bottle of lotion.

"Bro, do you mind if I jerk off a bit? I'll be quick. You just keep watching," he said casually, walking off into the distance.

I stared blankly.

"Jerking off?"

"Yeh I've got a raging boner for some reason. It happens sometimes," he said, walking back towards me.

"Do you mean masturbation?" I said, horrified.

"I mean yeah that's the technical term. Wait... Oh, so you're one of those people who don't jerk off? Honestly, I don't understand how you guys do it. Genuinely, I respect it but I can't help but get horny. Anyway, keep watching. I won't be too long," he said.

I tried to open my mouth to protest but no sound came out. The One Piece episode rolled on but I didn't care. And why would I? Connor was masturbating. I knew the mechanics from Sex Ed class. I knew that people watched porn while doing it. But I had never tried because I knew God would be watching my sin with disgust. But still, Connor was masturbating. Right now. The mere thought made me hot and bothered.

I swore I could hear him grunting,

Lost in my thoughts, I became shockingly erect. My tip pressed tight against my underwear, causing growing discomfort. I tried desperately to shift my penis but as my smooth hand met the warm hardness, and the penis, with a rebellious mind of its own, twitched and grew even harder. I flinched. This was wrong. I could feel my underwear getting sticky and wet like some drooling baby unable to control their own body. This was humiliating. And yet I liked it.

I scanned my surroundings. Connor wasn't coming. I threw a blanket over my lower body and whipped down my pants. My penis was a hard rod pointing into the sky. Streams of pre-cum had rolled down my shaft, shining in the dim light. I couldn't help but stare; yes, I have had my fair share of erections like any teenager but they were all random and not sexual. But this? This was the unmistakable product of bottomless desire.

I could feel it seducing me, taunting me with something I had always repressed but deep down, desired more than anything. Oh, I knew it would feel good if I gave in, better than anything else. Of course it would. But it was fear that stopped me. It was the fear of God. The fear of my parents. And so my penis was abandoned in the open, still begging for blessed relief but I couldn't. I wanted to but couldn't.

"I'm back," Connor said while walking towards the bed.

Panicking, I pulled the blanket even closer to myself and my penis trembled at this sudden rough contact. He said some things and I just kept saying yes. He put the TV on and my eyes just glazed over, not taking anything in. Luckily, it was getting darker and darker and Connor was sitting a bit further from me. Otherwise, it would have been the end.

I tried to muffle my heavy breathing and restrict the shaking of my legs. Sweat poured down my forehead and settled upon my eyelids. Blinking stung and I could no longer think. Even Connor was the least of my priorities. Acting somewhat normal was the only important thing.

Connor laughed hysterically, gazing into my eyes. Normally, his happiness would make me overjoyed but here and now, it was an emergency. In a playful gesture, he accidentally swiped his hand across the tip of my penis. My penis convulsed and shot out a spurt of pre-cum into the blanket. I let out a sharp groan, biting my lip in tortured ecstacy. I could not stop shivering; the sensation was perfect and yet so incomplete. I wanted, no, I needed more.

"Are you alright?" said Connor suspiciously. Luckily, it was very dark and he couldn't see the dark patch on my blanket.

"Yes," I whimpered, struggling with my endlessly hardening boner.

"Alright I'm tired. We'll continue tomorrow and by the way, don't bother going to your bedroom. Just sleep here."

And with that, Connor turned over to the side and went to sleep. Just like that. But it wasn't that easy for me. Unable to sleep, I tossed and turned without end. My pores were drowned in sweat and my heart pounded rapidly and without control. Worst of all, my erect penis was impossible to ignore, sweetly burning like a furnace of sparkling fever.

Looking into my blanket, I admired my penis. It was not the vulgar taboo I had assumed and instead, it was so beautiful. I longed to touch it. I craved the nirvana it promised. But God, as he always did, stopped me. I told myself I was glad but really, I was not.

After a few long minutes, the frustration was at breaking point. I felt like screaming soundlessly or hurting myself if I didn't do the deed. The deed that haunted my every thought. Complacence crept through my conscience. I started to ascend in boundless excitement. I would only do it once. God wouldn't mind. God wouldn't be watching. Deep down, I knew that he would but that did not bother me. Instead, it turned me on even more. Just once.

And so I dove. My dainty hand clasped the shaft of my penis. With a deep breath, I started to slowly stroke. I felt welcome warmth seeping up my twitching penis and my body shuddered with relief. I stopped thinking. Letting the sensual rhythm wash over me, caressing me, I stopped caring about anything. Only pleasure.

I threw my blanket off. A whoosh of cold air hit my sweaty, vulnerable body. The room was lit with a flickering lamp, giving a sense of dreamy fantasy. As I lowered my legs onto the ground, my excited boner dripped strands of pre-cum. Bending over, I twirled my delicate finger through those sour threads and lovingly massaged them into my penis.

Without thinking, I hobbled to the other side of the bed, my legs barely functioning with excitement. And there was Connor sleeping. The blanket covered most of his half-naked body but that added to my mounting rapture. The world asleep, I could now ogle at my prince with peace.

Connor was so peaceful, so innocent when he slept. Oh, the way his full, red lips pouted and his gentle, golden locks lay peacefully upon his forehead. I couldn't help but caress my swollen penis with tender longing as I basked in Connor's perfection. Such beauty could never hurt a fly.

I wanted to drag my needy tongue along the sweaty line of dark hair that spanned from his plump chest, blessed with perky nipples that I would suck dry, and through the sexy cut of his abs, ending in an ominous stubble that wandered deep into places unexplored. But I couldn't. Instead, I pumped my penis faster and let my imagination roam free.

I fantasised about my sleeping beauty becoming a monster. The mere thought almost made me cum. I slowed down the pace and regained my crumbling composure. But then I grew feral with desire. Perhaps those closed eyes would open and reveal an all-destroying storm of desire. He would shove me into the cold earth again and straddle me before attacking my lips with a clamping kiss, his forcing tongue plunging deep into my throat. Making it hurt.