tagGay MaleMy Son's Best Friend

My Son's Best Friend



Chapter One: What ever happened to...

It was something that had been on my mind for much of the summer, but I hadn't mentioned it to my son until the day he was heading off to college. I tried to be as casual and distant as possible when I broached the subject while we drove out to the University of Buffalo, where he would be starting his freshman year of college, not wanting to expose my more than casual interest.

"What ever happened to Marc?" I asked in a flip manner while the seemingly endless trip along the interstate droned on. "I didn't see him all summer, and you two were always joined at the hip."

"Fucking faggot!" my son blurted out, and the ferocity of his reply almost made me lose control of the car and the little U-Haul we were towing behind us.

"What?" I asked after regaining control of the vehicle.

"Sorry," he said, apparently just then realizing how loud and strident his answer had been. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh," I said, but after a few minutes of awkward silence, he did want to talk about it.

He told me about how after they had dropped their Senior Prom dates off, Marc had made a pass at him. More than a pass, I guess, but more like a grab of his crotch.

"I should have known he was a queer," my kid said. "He never really went after girls like he wanted them. They were more like friends. When I think about all those times we spent together, the times he saw me naked, and the times we even slept in the same bed..."

I watched my son shudder as he let his voice trail off, and I was very disappointed in his reaction for a couple of reasons. The first being that I had hoped he had been raised to be a more tolerant person, and would have been more forgiving toward a friend that had been like a brother to him all those years.

The second reason I was saddened was that he didn't realize that the man sitting next to him, his father, could have easily fit all the derisive words that he had applied to his former friend. Queer. Faggot.


Chapter Two: Fighting the feeling.

My wife was aware of my bisexuality when she married me over twenty years earlier. Bisexual barely described my sexual experiences prior to meeting Kara. I had been with only a couple of women before meeting and falling in love with the woman that would become my wife.

How many men? I couldn't say with any degree of accuracy, and I'm not especially proud of the fact that even during a very promiscuous age, I could have been described as extremely promiscuous. I was a poster boy for the phrase "young, dumb, and full of cum", and although back in the 70's it was a very different and MUCH safer time to live that lifestyle, it was still very reckless on my part, and I'm lucky to have made it through healthy and wiser.


Chapter Three: Marc.

After helping my son move into his room at college, I spent the entire six hour ride home thinking about Marc. I wasn't shocked over the revelation that he was gay, because I had suspected as much from the first time I had seen him. I was sorry about what had gone down between the two former friends, and had to admit to myself that part of the sadness I was feeling was because I wouldn't be seeing him around our house any longer.

My mind went back to that day when Marc had come along with the rest of our family for a picnic at a State Park near our town. It was just before their Prom incident must have occurred. While my wife and son set up the picnic table, I had gone to the beach house with Marc to change into bathing suits.

When we got into the changing area, I was a little surprised at how open the area was. Usually, this kind of place would present a visual feast for me anyway, but the prospect of changing next to my son's best friend was an added treat.

Marc was a very slight young man, and at around 5'7" was a couple of inches shorter than me. I have a fairly slender build, but Marc was even thinner, and his body was very athletic. Marc had just gotten a full-ride scholarship to our local college for his swimming prowess, and it showed.

Marc undressed very slowly, and I was certain that it was because I was standing next to him. I felt a tad strange getting naked next to Marc, but I was certain that once he got a glimpse of my body, he would feel less self-conscious about his own.

When I got naked and fumbled around with my trunks, I could see his eyes looking over at me. Like just about everyone else who had ever seen me naked, I saw the familiar double take when he saw my genitals, but I pretended not to notice while I took my time putting on my trunks.

Years ago I had stopped being ashamed of myself when others would see me naked. Part of that came from the fact that a lot of men, mostly older men, were quite attracted to me just as I was. This gave me the confidence to let it all hang out, even though in my case, what "hung out" wasn't even 5 inches long when erect, and less than half that limp. I wasn't blessed with thickness to make up for my shortcomings, and that, combined with my almost total lack of body hair, made me crown myself with the title, "The Man that Puberty Forgot".

Marc continued to undress while I fiddled first with the string that held up my trunks, and then with folding my clothes. Marc's body was nearly as smooth as my own, and as his hairless chest became exposed my eyes traveled down to his stomach with his well-defined abs.

I almost felt guilty in continuing to look as his pants came off, but kept on looking anyway. When the underwear came down, I saw the tiny tuft of jet black pubic hair first, and while that was expected, what came next wasn't.

My jaw might not have hit the ground when Marc's briefs did, but it couldn't have been far behind. I was dumbstruck as my eyes got sight of Marc's cock, almost refusing to believe what I was seeing.

To put it bluntly, little Marc was hung like a horse. His beige cock swung down between his legs like an elephant's truck. Incredibly thick at the base, it tapered somewhat as it reached the glans, which was long and conical in shape. Behind his flaccid hose, a pair of nice-sized balls hung loosely in a hairless, wrinkled sac.

I snapped out of my trance when I realized that Marc had noticed me staring at him, but if it had bothered him, he didn't seem to let it show, and he proceeded to take his sweet time getting his trunks on as well.

Why should he hide himself, I thought to myself while I mumbled something before securing my stuff in a locker and hustling out to the beach. If I had that equipment on me I'd walk around flaunting it every chance I got.

I felt like an idiot for having stood there naked next to this kid, trying to make him feel less embarrassed about having what I had assumed to be a build similar to mine, when it turned out that not only wasn't 18 year old Marc a kid chronologically any longer, he certainly wasn't physically either.

For the rest of the day, no matter how much I tried not to, whenever I saw Marc, my eyes went to his trunks. The tan trunks were baggy and revealed nothing, yet when I looked at him, it was as if they weren't on him at all. All I could see was that incredible cock swinging lazily between his legs.

While this vision might have made the long drive pass by in a more interesting manner, it gave me a boner that was stuck to my underwear when I finally made it home. Kara having already fallen asleep, I tiptoed through the quiet house and went down to the den, where I slowly stroked my dick while reclining on the couch.

I came quick and I came messy, spouting cum all over my chest and stomach. Because I was so exhausted from the driving, I feel asleep right after that, which would have made for an interesting sight had my nap lasted until morning when my wife got up.

Instead, I woke up a half hour later, with the cum hardened on my body and my dick hard again from having dreamed of you-know-who. It took only a minute for me to pop another load all over myself, an orgasm much less messy but no less satisfying than the first one, and only then did I get up and head into to bed after a brief trip to the can to wipe myself down.

"Mm," Kara cooed, scrunching up next to me when I got into bed, grabbing at my drained little pecker. "Missed you."

"I'm dead," I told her, blaming the 12 hours of driving for my lack of response, and soon dropped off while dreaming it wasn't Kara's hand on my dick.


Chapter Four: Swim meet.

I found a seat in the bleachers on the side of the pool in the humid University rec center and leafed through the program, looking for his name before finally finding it way down toward the bottom of the page. Marc swam the 100 meter freestyle, and was also listed in the 100X4 relay, but both were much later in the event, so I had to sit through almost the entire meet before Marc would appear.

Strangely enough, I was not aroused while looking at all the swimmers parading around in their very brief swimsuits. I had never been attracted to that type of man, having always been drawn to older, hirsute guys, and that description fit none of these men.

I was beginning to think that I had just been in a strange mood that day in the changing room when I saw him. Marc appeared from out of the locker room to begin to warm up, and as he went into the water a few times to loosen up, I felt myself getting hard already. My eyes kept traveling down his lithe and lean torso, always stopping at the minuscule trunks, as I tried to figure out how he could fit his package in them without revealing how well endowed he was.

He was dwarfed by most of the other swimmers, who all seemed much taller and more physically mature than he did, and I felt bad for him, hoping he wouldn't embarrass himself when his chance came.

As it turned out, I needn't have worried, because he finished 3rd in his individual event despite a slow start, and swam a middle leg in the relay which his team won. Not a bad showing at all, especially for a freshman who was competing against older swimmers, and I was as proud of him as I would have been for one of my own.

After the event ended, I went down to pool-side where the families and friends of the competitors were milling around their loved ones. Marc was talking with a swimmer from one of the other schools when he caught my eye, and his eyes lit up when he saw me, and hurried over to greet me.

"Mr. Wells!" he gushed excitedly. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Hey, gotta support the local school," I said as he gave me a brief hug. "I happened to see this event listed in the paper, so I thought I'd come root you on."

"Awesome!" Marc said.

"Look, would you like to grab a cup of coffee or something?" I asked, looking around for his folks.

"Love it!" Marc said. "Give me about ten minutes to shower, okay?"

"Of course," I said, and watched as he hurried into the locker room.

I stood patiently outside the arena, trying to compose myself while Marc changed. I felt like a predator, probably feeling a whole lot like the men that wanted me back when I was 18 felt like. It's not the same these days, I kept telling myself. 18 in 2009 isn't like 18 was in 1973, and my interest wasn't based on anything like those men had in me.

"He's not a kid anymore, he's a man" I mumbled to myself, as I saw him walking toward me with his gym bag in hand, wearing a black satin sweat suit and a big smile.


Chapter Five: Chatting.

I offered to take Marc out to dinner, but he declined, telling me that he had to watch his weight, so instead we found a booth in a Starbucks just off campus and had a couple of cups of coffee.

"Imagine finding a Starbucks so close," I said with a grin as we made ourselves comfortable.

"Yeah, there isn't another one on this side of the street for another couple of blocks," Marc quipped, and after we exchanged small talk for a while, he asked about my son.

"Todd? He's doing well," I said. "Of course, getting news out of you kids is like pulling teeth."

"Glad to hear that," Marc said as he blew on his coffee.

"When I drove him out to school," I said slowly, measuring my words carefully. "I asked him why I hadn't seen you all summer."


"Yeah, and he... told me about what happened," I admitted, watching the flush of color come to Marc's cheeks.

He looked so young and innocent, sitting there kitty-corner to me in the booth. His smooth baby face, with his short spiked black hair, made him seem younger than his years, and I suspect that I saw a lot of myself in Marc at that age, with a few very obvious differences.

"Oh," Marc said with a great deal of difficulty. "Yeah. Guess I screwed up big time."

"Who doesn't?" I told Marc. "If I had a hard a dollar for every mistake I made at your age..."

"Yeah, but this one was major," Marc said. "I don't think he'll ever forgive me."

"Give him time," I told Marc. "I think that he'll get over it eventually."

We looked into our coffee cups for a few moments before I spoke again.

"Does anybody know?" I asked. "About you being gay, I mean?"

"No, I mean, I'm not gay," Marc protested, looking around as he spoke quietly. "I'm just... confused. I like girls too, it's just that... I don't know what I mean."

"You're young," I told him. "You're still trying to figure everything out. If you like men and women, then you're probably bisexual. Nothing wrong with that."

Marc shrugged and went back to toying with his coffee. He started to say something but stopped and went back to staring into his cup.

"Let me tell you a story," I said finally. "It's about this guy who was about your age. He was confused too. He was insecure about himself, and was very insecure about his body. He liked girls, but they didn't seem to feel the same towards him. He had a really bad experience with the first girl he had been with, so he was as miserable as could be."

"Sounds familiar," Marc whispered.

"He had an experience with a man, an older man, and the man was so kind and so understanding, that the guy began to feel better about himself. He had a bunch of experiences with other older men, and they were almost all wonderful. Eventually, he met a wonderful woman and they got married and had a great life, with kids and everything."

"Maybe that's what I should do," Marc said. "This other guy - was that you?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"Does Mrs. Wells know?"

"She knows that I had experiences with men," I told him. "She doesn't know how many or anything. Frankly, what I did back then is not something I would recommend to anyone. Things got dangerous since then."

"I know," Marc said. "There are some things that guys do, you know, with each other, that don't interest me. Kissing on the lips, and like with... the ass."

"I see. I think you'll find a lot of men that feel the same way," I assured him, not bothering to mention that I was most assuredly one of them these days. "What is it you enjoy?

"I dunno. Weird stuff. Ever hear of frottage?" Marc asked me, and when I told him I didn't, he explained it to me.

"It's when you rub your... you know, against a another guy's stuff. His dick or some other part of him."

"Oh, I didn't know it had a name," I said with a chuckle. "In that case, I do know."

"Yeah. Well, that and touching and, you know."

"Oral?" I asked, and when he sheepishly nodded I smiled.

"Do you still get the urge to do stuff with guys?" Marc asked.


"What happens?"

"Usually, I just try to let the urge pass, but there are times when I have given in," I confessed.

"You probably don't do stupid things like I did to Todd," Marc said ruefully.

"No, because I was usually the one being pursued," I said. "I was the submissive one, and so other men would come on to me. I guess they would have to go through the occasional embarrassment like you did. I had it easy back then, because I had a look that many men found attractive."

"You still look good," Marc said, and a chill went down my spine when he added, "Still look young."

"Well, that was part of what excited other men back then," I went on. "Even though they knew I was of legal age, I looked 13 until I was 30. Still do, without my clothes on," I added.

"I...," Marc started to say, but stopped himself.

"You were starting to say something," I reminded Marc when the silence overwhelmed us.

"Uh, I was just going to say that I must be weird, because of the type of guys that interest me," Marc said.

"I doubt that anything is considered weird these days," I told him. "Everybody has preferences about what turns them on in men or women. Men like redheads, or big breasts or tall women, and they aren't considered weird."

"Well, I find myself attracted to guys who aren't, you know, real big."

"Oh," I said, swallowing hard, and forced him to continue even though I was pretty sure what he meant. "You mean guys that aren't real tall and husky?"

"No," Marc managed to say, his voice choking up as he spoke. "I mean, guys that aren't... well endowed.

"Small cocks?" I whispered while my heart raced. "You get excited being with guys that have little ones?"

"Told you I was weird," Marc admitted, his face now beet-red.

"Not to me you aren't, Marc," I told him, sliding a little closer to him on the couch. "Let me tell you about what turns me on. All my life I've found myself toward men who are well endowed. Maybe it's a case of wanting something you don't have or something like that. You know? The grass always greener? Anyway, I was getting undressed early last summer next to this good looking young man. I was curious as to what he looked like naked, so I looked over at him when his underwear came off. You know what I saw?"

Marc shook his head, his eyes bulging while his chest heaved as his breathing sounded like a locomotive.

"I saw the most beautiful cock imaginable," I said while looking into his eyes. "I couldn't get over how this guy who was so slim and boyish looking could have a cock that was so big even flaccid, and ever since then I've fantasized about what it would look like hard. About what it would feel like in my hand, in my mouth, and about how I wished I was his age so I could do more than fantasize about it."

"What," Marc asked, his voice squeaking now. "What does age have to do with it?"


Chapter Six: What indeed?

I was excited, but looking at Marc made me even more so, because he was twitching and shaking like he was ready to explode.

"I wasn't soft," Marc finally managed. "After I saw you get undressed, I was so excited that by the time I got my underwear off I was almost hard. If you stayed for a few more seconds, you would have seen me hard."

"I wish I had stayed now. Looking at me got you excited?" I asked, and Marc nodded like a bobble-head doll during an earthquake. "After you saw how little my dick is?"

"It was beautiful," Marc wheezed, and after looking around I slid my hand under the table and put it on his thigh, feeling the hard muscle underneath the soft fabric.

"Where do we take this from here?" I asked, thinking the possibilities through in my mind.

"Want to be with you," Marc said with a crazed look. "I promise that I won't ever say anything to anyone."

"I know you wouldn't," I said, becoming acutely aware that for whatever reason, Marc wanted me as badly as I wanted him. "It's just that I have to get home tonight."

"Tomorrow night?" Marc asked - pleaded.

"Give me a phone number I can get you at," I said, and Marc grabbed a napkin and scribbled his number on it.

"This is unreal," I told Marc. "I never dreamed that you would be at all interested in me."

"Always have been," Marc said. "After seeing you and after talking to you like this... move your hand over to the left a little."

Marc was referring to my hand which was still resting on his thigh, and after looking around the almost deserted room, I slid my hand along the satin until it reached the destination that Marc was hoping for me to find.

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