Recovery

bypupwos©

This story is set in the world of "Secret of the Strongman," written in 2000 by Nancy Rose. You can choose to find that story first or not; I think that this one works fine either way.

Warning for those who don't like such things: this story involves magic.


* * * * * * *

It didn't seem especially important, going in. Just another play in the fourth quarter of another game. We were winning pretty handily, but it's not like either of the teams had a chance at State or anything like that. Just another high school football game, a minor run for a few yards that didn't really mean anything. Until just a spat of bad luck, a bad hit and unlucky positioning and then WHAM, I was out cold. I woke up in the hospital to a blur of concerned faces. It sucked, but that's not what this story is about.

My left leg was broken in four places. That was it for my football career. I was pretty good: I wouldn't have gone pro or anything, but at my random suburban public school, I definitely stood out. It was a big part of who I was. I got okay grades and everything, but my social circles pretty much all revolved around sports - a fact which was made abundantly clear by the next few months. Oh, the team and the cheerleaders and everyone were nice to me and everything: the beloved star athlete on crutches, how could they not be? But after the first attempt at surgery didn't really work out, and it became clear that this wasn't a temporary thing, that I had no prospects to take more than a few painful hobbling steps at a time for at least a few years, if not forever: I got tired of the pity party, and they got tired of having their boring mascot around. My girlfriend and I split up, kind of acrimoniously, and eventually I started eating lunch with my old loser friend Max again, like back in fifth grade.

Max's mom was friends with my parents, and we had been best friends through elementary school, but once things started getting cliquey and stuff in middle school, I kind of separated myself from him. Don't feel great about that, but there's a price to being popular, right? The twig-skinny boy with Harry Potter glasses who seems to be a couple years behind on puberty maybe has a shot to hang out on the periphery if he's into cool bands or something. When he's always lugging around some thick novel with pictures of dragons on the cover, that's a much harder sell.

But he came and checked up on me in the hospital, and then again afterwards, and, well, he just felt so much more genuine than the big performative shows of affection from the jocks, you know? Plus, he had always been pretty funny, and a low-key nerdy best friend just seemed like a good fit for this new shitty senior year I was living out.

Anyway, that all happened. It sucked, but whatever, high school sucks for most people, right? The year went by, I took the SATs, got into some okay colleges (though not the ones that had been sniffing around for football scholarships beforehand), went to prom with this cute girl who I think was only half taking pity on me, threw my cap in the air with everyone else, dragged Max along to a graduation party or two.

After all that, we had other plans. Max's family had this remote cabin up in the mountains. We used to go up there every summer when we were kids, and it was always basically exactly the stereotypical perfect summer idyll: swimming in the lake, barbecues in the backyard, catching fireflies in jars. I'd asked him about it a few months ago, and we got fixated on this idea of one last perfect summer up at the lake before we went off into adulthood. We'd somehow convinced our parents to let us head up there for a while, basically until we got bored, after graduation. So we loaded up my car with groceries, piles of DVDs and books - no internet up there, imagine that! - and, hidden under a pile of clothes, a bunch of beer scored from an older friend. Then we hit the road.

* * * * * * *

The cabin was a little musty, but it had solar panels and a backup generator for hot water and the TV and stuff. After we opened it up to air out, we sat down out back, opened some beers, and watched the sun set over the lake.

I don't really remember how it came up, and we were a few beers in at this point, but this part of that first conversation up at the cabin stuck with me:

"Hey, Casey, do you believe in magic?"

I snorted a bit. "What, like guys in tuxedos pulling rabbits out of top hats?"

"No, no, like...forces science doesn't understand, you know?"

"Telepathy? Aliens? Ghosts?"

He thought for a second. "Sure. I mean, maybe not farmers getting picked up in a flying saucer and anally probed, but...something."

I knew Max was into fantasy stuff, but he's a typical super-atheist meganerd, so I thought he'd be more grounded than believing in all that crap. Still... "I guess I'm vaguely open to the possibility of something like that, but I'd have to see some pretty good evidence of it."

"Yeah." He looked off into the distance for a minute and smiled a little bit to himself. "Yeah, I guess so."

* * * * * * *

Turns out that if you can't really walk on a leg, swimming isn't much easier. Hiking was out too. Still, I spent a bunch of time floating around in the lake, and that was pretty nice. We grilled a lot, fished some, and mostly just hung out by the lake.

A few days in, we were lounging around by the water in our bathing suits, and I noticed Max checking me out a bit. I was pretty buff in my heyday, of course, and though my legs had taken a bit of a loss, I still managed to get to the gym, do what lifting I could still do, and kept in pretty good shape. Max, by contrast, is super scrawny, no real muscle to him at all. With his shaggy long hair, total inability to grow a beard, and a bit of natural hip going on, he even looks kind of feminine.

He noticed that I had seen him looking, and he kind of blushed and looked away. Was he...into me? He had never really had a girlfriend or anything. He did talk about girls he found hot, but had never really had the confidence to ask any of them out, despite my encouragement. Was that all a front?

Looking away, he asked, "Hey, could you maybe do me a favor?"

"What's that?" I asked, a little apprehensive about what he was going to ask. Not that I have anything against gay people, mind you. Just, it'd be kind of weird if my childhood best friend who I was alone at a remote cabin with came onto me. I didn't want to have to deal with that.

"Could you...help me work out? I don't really know what to do, and I've tried some stuff but I never really got any results," he explained, gesturing at his skinny frame.

Relieved, I told him that of course I would. His training regimen started that day.

* * * * * * *

A week into the stay, I was now running Max through some cardio and bodyweight exercises every day. We were only a few days in, but he was dedicated. On top of that, we were mostly just hanging out outside during the day, watching shitty movies, playing the old Gamecube that had been up there since we were kids, and drinking beer.

Before long, we had gone through most of the groceries and the illicit booze. The former we could drive into town for more of, but as two eighteen-year old boys, the booze was harder. Facing the prospect of running out, we convinced ourselves that it would be better to go out in a blaze of glory than trickle it out over a while, and that we should get totally smashed. So that's exactly what we did.

That night was epic. We started with one-on-one beer pong, moved on to drunken Mario Kart, talked all kinds of bullshit sitting on the shore, then decided to take a probably ill-advised drunk-as-shit night swim. I couldn't be bothered to go back inside for my bathing suit, so I just stripped off and eased myself in. My leg didn't even hurt too much. I turned back to see Max standing on the dock, ambivalent about getting naked, but then he finally steeled his courage and dropped trou. I cheered as he cannonballed into the water. We horsed around for a while, then eventually hauled ourselves up on the dock, somehow having survived this poor life decision. He pulled his underwear back on, so I did too.

I lay there for a while, looking at the stars gently spinning overhead. Not spinning like they're supposed to spin, way too slow to notice, but spinning because I was drunk. I made some dumb joke about that that didn't totally make sense - the cool water had sobered me up a bit, but I was well past the point of being that coherent - but Max laughed his head off at it.

I sat up and looked at him with a big stupid grin on my face. I was so drunk and happy, and with the best friend I had ever had in my whole life. Again, I was way too drunk for me to have a clear memory of exactly what I said, but I vaguely remember saying something about that, and then something dumb about how the only way it could get better is if we had a couple of girls here with us.

Max had been just as happy as I was, but when I brought that up he suddenly lost the smile on his face and kind of looked at his feet. I, drunkenly, pushed him on that: wouldn't that be great? "Yes, absolutely,"" he said, and then quietly added, "for you."

What did he mean by that? I, drunk, went ahead and straight up asked if he was gay, adding that it was totally fine if he was.

"What? No! I just...I mean, look at you, and look at me. I couldn't make a girl happy."

I protested, no way, he was totally good looking, plus we were working on his exercise plan and he was making great progress there. He kind of snorted, not totally believing me, and so I started going off on a drunken rant about how he couldn't expect to see big results in just a week, but if he kept at it like he was going now, it would totally work out. After a while, he cut me off.

"Yeah, I mean, maybe that's true. But there's one thing it won't help with."

He gestured down at his crotch. Now, I didn't mention this earlier, being a gentleman and all. But I had noticed when we first got naked, and reconfirmed now, that he was considerably less endowed in that department than I was. Judging by the inadvertent glimpses I'd had in locker rooms over the years, I was maybe a little above average, and Max was definitely on the small side. Not super tiny or anything, but for sure below average.

I started saying something about how that doesn't really matter, you've got more than enough to make a woman happy, you've just got to give it a shot and you'll be fine, you'll love it, et cetera et cetera. He clearly wasn't really buying it, and I, drunkenly, started getting a little exasperated with him for not believing in himself. At one point, and this is the only part I totally remember, I said: "Well, if there were anything you could do to help out with that, you know I'd totally be all for it. But there's not, so-"

He looked up at me then, and said quietly, "Actually, maybe there is."

"What?" I had meant what I said - I loved Max, he was my best friend, and I would do anything for him. But what did he want me to do?

"You remember when I asked if you believed in magic?"

I looked at him with what must have been a dubious face.

"Well, I do. Sometimes, at least. When there's evidence. And...are you willing to try something crazy?"

* * * * * * *

I was drunk enough that I went along with it. Max didn't totally tell me what he meant, but he ran inside and came back with a bag in his arms, along with three cans of beer.

"Look what I found!" We thought we had drank it all, but apparently some had somehow accidentally ended up in his room or something. "This is the night of beerocide, right? No can left behind!"

We cheersed and each quickly downed a can. He offered me the last one, and I graciously took it. As the six-two one-ninety guy, to his probably five-nine one-forty, it only made sense that I should be taking the extra.

As I was working on the last beer, he started opening up the bag and fiddling with what was inside of it, but leaving the bag zipped so I couldn't see whatever that was.

"Okay. Are you totally sure you're okay with this? It's...kind of super weird, but I really think it could help me out."

I nodded drunkenly. "Anything, man."

He took a deep breath. "Okay. Well...here goes. So, you know how my uncle won all those strongman competitions?"

"Steroids?" I joked, laughing at myself, but he just shook his head. It was hard to envision any close relative of scrawny little Max winning strongman competitions, but I guess that's genetics for you.

"Not exactly." He took another deep breath. "So...when he died last year, he didn't have any kids, and he left most of his money and whatever to my mom. But he gave me this." He pulled out some kind of piece of jewelery or something. A gold chain, with some kind of flower in a pendant on it? There was some small shiny jewel at the center of the flower, maybe even a diamond.

"Cool," I said, not really knowing what to think of that.

"I didn't know him very well, but Casey, I saw pictures of him as a teenager. He looked like me. Then, a few years later, he looked like Arnold fucking Schwarzenegger."

"That's great!" I butted in. "So you'll get a growth spurt or whatever once you start working out -"

"No," he interrupted. "He told me about it. It was this," gesturing at the amulet. "It lets you...take some of the masculinity from someone for yourself. It just...I feel like I really need some more masculinity, and you have so much to spare, and I'd just take a little..."

I nodded slowly. This was nonsense, of course, but it seemed like Max really believed in it, and I was totally willing to play along with whatever if it made him feel better.

"How's it work?" I asked.

He took another deep breath. "That's the thing." He kind of paused, looking at me sheepishly. "You'd need to, uh...give me a blowjob."

Oh.

Oh.

I thought it out for a second. It seemed like Max was really just desperate for sex, but too afraid to ask a girl. For a second I got angry that he was trying to trick me, but I looked at him, sheepishly not looking at me, and thought I saw honesty. He really believed this. Probably because he just wanted to believe, because he wanted a blowjob. I had heard of guys doing some weird-ass things to try to get laid, but this really took the cake.

But...would it really be so bad? Max had helped me out so much this year, and I had been so awful to him when we were kids; I really, honestly felt like I owed him a lot. Not that he was guilting me into sex: I really wanted to do something nice for him. And it's just like a bunch of skin and blood, right? What's the big deal? I could suffer through a few minutes of unpleasantness to do a nice thing for my friend, my best friend, really my only friend that counted.

We started talking at the same time: "Never mind, this is dumb," he said, at the same time as I said "Okay."

He looked confused for a second, not sure what I had meant, so I said, "Alright, I'll do it. What do I have to do?"

* * * * * * *

There was supposedly a bit of a ritual to it before it started, which I kind of had fun playing along with. First, we went inside and he had me shave off the week of stubble I'd built up. Then he gave me a white bathrobe to put on, along with the pendant. Once I'd done that, a set of women's underwear with a sheepish look on his face. "It's part of the ritual," he said, and I shrugged. It was sexy stuff, black and lacy. He sheepishly, without even saying anything about it, also put a tube of bright red lipstick down on the counter.

"Okay, you change. I'm going to go sit on the bed inside, and when you're ready you come in and just...start." He paused for a second, then added, speaking quickly, "If you're still okay with it. If you don't want to I totally -"

"Nah," I cut him off, "in for a penny in for a pound, right?"

He smiled awkwardly, not really making eye contact with me, then turned and left the bathroom.

I started fumbling with the bra. It was big enough to go around my chest, and the cups were pre-stuffed with some wadded-up tissues or something. I giggled and jokingly showing off my fake breasts in the mirror. This was kind of fun. Then I pulled off my underwear and put the panties on. Awkwardly, I was starting to get sort of hard, and it took some fidgeting to tuck myself in without hurting too much or ripping the underwear. It felt...good, honestly. It was a nice material. Maybe silk?

I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a man in drag, of course. Not even that: just a man wearing women's underwear. But the pendant caught my eye in the mirror, nestled just above my fake cleavage. Somehow, it lent some kind of elegance to the whole affair. When I looked back at myself, I was still a man in a bra, but somehow...it didn't look as bad.

When I put the lipstick on, my lips were brighter and fuller than I had expected them to be. If you only looked at them, you could imagine they were a woman's lips. That plus the pendant helped me recognize some aspects of femininity in myself that I hadn't really seen before. I had never realized my lashes were so long, or my nose so delicate.

Whoof. Was I really going to go through with this?

Yeah, I really was. Fuck, I thought, I hope this doesn't ruin our friendship.

* * * * * * *

I walked into Max's bedroom, finding him sitting awkwardly on the bed, now naked again. I used my crutches to get up to the door, but then left them leaning outside before coming in.

He had kind of a sheepish look on his face still, and started to say something again about not needing to do it, but I shushed him. I did my best sexy sashay across the room. I was drunk enough, or caught up enough in the moment, that I didn't really feel the pain I normally would from walking without a crutch like that. Instead, I stuck my tongue out and pulled on the top of my robe to reveal a bit of fake cleavage. He smiled at that, but I could tell it was a mix of thinking that was funny and actually being aroused.

I was beyond my inhibitions at this point. I'd play along with this magic bullshit, but really what I wanted was just to give my friend a good first time. My only real friendship might already be ruined; might as well make it worthwhile, right?

I made it up to the bed, and tentatively reached out to put a hand on his side. He shied away from my touch a little bit, but I just left it there and gently stroked him for a moment, looking at his face. He was looking away, with something of a pained expression. I reached up with my other hand, put a few fingers on his chin - smooth, even though I know he hadn't shaved in a week - and turned his head to face me. He gave me an awkward half-smile. I didn't smile back, just stood there looking into my friend's eyes, and slowly brought my hand down from his chin, brushing across his chest, down his stomach.

Max went from a strained smile to a look of pure lust as I brought my hand down and brushed it along the light pubes just below his stomach.

I reached further down and, taking a deep breath, made first contact: I ran my fingertips lightly along one of his balls. It was...surprisingly exciting. I felt his cock jump up when I touched him, and he kind of squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

I took the opportunity to break the eye contact, which I was starting to feel a little self-conscious about, and carefully got down on my knees in front of him. My leg stung a little getting into position, but I'd probably be okay.

There it was, right in front of me.

He looked pretty much as hard as he could get already. I tentatively ran a finger along his shaft. It was surprisingly warm, but otherwise didn't really feel like anything. Tentatively, I wrapped my index finger and thumb around him and gave a light stroke. I heard Max breath in sharply, and I looked up, making eye contact with him again. He looked excited, mainly, but a little apprehensive. I gave him a little smile, and trying to keep my eyes on his, reached out and licked the tip of his cock.

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bypupwos© 8 comments/ 28361 views/ 41 favorites

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