Old Friends

I haven’t seen Bobby in probably fifteen years. We were best friends growing up although our lives took on radically divergent paths. He knocked a girl up when he was still in high school and took the Army route to clean up his act. I went to college and got that degree everyone said I needed. I ended up going to law school, and now I’m a corporate lawyer. I’m on the verge of being a big shot, I guess. Anyway I haven’t thought about Bobby in ages. Then, out of the blue, he asks to be my friend on Facebook. Turns out we live one neighborhood apart. I’m in this wanna-be poshy neighborhood where the young, hip, rich and gorgeous live. Trouble is I’m too old to be “young,” I’ve never been hip, I’ve got too goddamn much student debt to be rich and I’ve never been considered gorgeous. So I don’t exactly fit in, but I found a house I really liked and I bought it. Bobby lived about a half-mile from me, but it was like crossing the border. The hip, young, and pretty gave way to old, tired and downtrodden. Where there was a new coffee shop going up on every corner in my district, in this one some old Korean guy owned the local grocery. The place usually got by through the alcohol sales - legal and illicit. But Bobby was happy. That’s what he told me when he invited me over to meet his family. And it was a good, even great, reunion. His wife Heather was this cute little fireplug of a woman. She wore a loose fitting top that showed off nice boobs to great advantage. She had a compact, tight body and sure enough, she admitted to being a phys-ed teacher for the local school district. Bobby owned his own car shop. I remember him always liking to play with cars as a kid, and in the Army he ended up in the motor pool. He learned to work on cars, and learned to live a simple life. He was happy - truly happy, I thought later - as he and his wife just radiated happiness. Bobby’s daughter was now almost seventeen, and she was no where to be found. I was so happy for them both, and I left that night feeling pretty badly. He had it all - a good-looking wife who he obviously loved, and she returned the favor, and they were living the American dream. Maybe it wasn’t in my neighborhood, but dammit he had something more important than status. Didn’t he? A week later Bobby calls me, it’s Friday night, and I’m driving home in my BMW after a rigorous gym workout. He asks to come over, to see my place. Explains that Heather and Beth were out together, doing some silly woman thing. I say sure, why not, and ask if he still drinks beer. He confirms it and I pick up a case. I haven’t had a beer in months; I’m suddenly looking forward to cracking open a beer and having a conversation with the one guy on the planet that knows me inside and out. I wonder if he’s told Heather. I told a girlfriend, and that was that. She stalked out, furious that I admitted to sucking a guy off. Truth was, we were both drunk, tried it once, and had never spoken of it again. Was it fear? At seventeen you live in mortal fear of being labeled a faggot. So yeah, we never spoke of it. Not once, not ever. The girlfriend that I told was no big loss. Sometimes I wonder why I told her at all, unless it was some passive-aggressive way of getting her to dump me. It worked, but I had to wonder. And truthfully, until he found me on Facebook and until I sat last week and shot the breeze with him and his wife, I’d not given Bobby or our one night illicit act a moment’s thought in years. But as I was putting the beer in the fridge, I found myself wondering about that night so many years ago. About...it. I remembered it, despite the haze of alcohol. I remember how it felt, how it tasted. I’d never had another cock in my mouth, but I still remember his in my mouth like it happened yesterday. Sometimes I even fantasize about it happening again. So there was this electric undercurrent of tension that was there from the start, from the moment Bobby walked in my door. We got our beers and settled onto the front porch. We rocked on chairs while Bobby smoked a cigarette here and there. Though I hadn’t had one in years, I took one. It tasted awful and made me cough something fierce, yet the old ways came back so easily. Don’t they always? “So it’s been like what, nine years? It’ll be our tenth anniversary in a few months,” Bobby was saying about Heather. “She seems nice.” “She’s great,” he confirmed. Then, he shot me a sly look. “She told me that you gave her the once over.” “I did,” I agreed, laughing. My efforts at hiding what I was doing were minimal. “She thinks you’re good looking,” Bobby reported. “She asked me why you were still single. I said I’d get the answer tonight.” “Aww, who wants to go over that crap?” I said, then took a pull on the beer. In the distance, the sky lit up briefly. A thunderstorm was on its way. “Well, Heather will grill you if you don’t tell me,” he warned. “She’s relentless,” he reports. “Damn woman always gets her way.” “You don’t sound too upset by that,” I comment. He grins wryly. “Nah, not too much. Easier that way.” I’m struck by how much the hell-raising kid I knew in my youth has mellowed and become your average joe dad. I wonder if he sees things that way, but I don’t ask. “Anyway, back to you. Why are you still single?” I shrugged. “Things haven’t worked out, that’s all. After college I was in law school and too busy yelling, drinking and studying to settle down. After that I was working close to two thousand billable hours a year in a goddamn sweat shop. I barely had enough energy to walk home, let alone try to find a girlfriend. Then, when I came back here I began dating a girl, and that lasted a little while but ended up falling apart.” I shrugged. “That was like eight months ago. I’ve not really tried since.” “Why?” he asked. I shrugged again. “Just not worried about finding a woman right now.” “What about sex?” “What about it? Sex isn’t the end of the world, you know.” “Yeah, but eight months? I’d be fucking knotholes.” I recall how my friend Bobby used to be very good with the girls. I wonder if he’s given Heather than full story of his sex life. “Not all of us are like that.” “Yeah, you never were,” Bobby said. “You were always the one in control of that.” “I say nothing; it’s a true statement he made. “Oh well,” I finally say just to break the silence. “Say, uh...” he says in a halting, hesitant way. I look over; he’s staring off at the approaching storm, but despite that I see the intense look in his eyes. “Do you, like, uh, remember that night?” “ That night?” I said carefully. We’re adults, yet avoiding the words. “The one night we...” “Yeah, that night,” he said with a sigh. “You ever think about it?” “Here and there,” I admit. “Not much recently. Until...” “Until I contacted you.” “Yeah.” He chuckled. “I never stopped thinking about it,” he says. I look over sharply. He’s turned to make eye contact, as if he knew that I was going to give him the stink eye. “Although it’s changed how. It used to be that I worried constantly that I was a fag, you know?” I nodded, both for him to go on and in agreement. I think he understood. “In the army? God, fags were hated, just hated . Here I was, a dumb kid with a baby girl back home, and what goes through my mind half the nights in basic? I’m a fag ‘cuz I sucked my best friend off.” “Yeah, I know the feeling. Not the pressure, but the...fear.” “Yeah? Anyway, so like I meet this girl and that girl, get married once, that falls apart - she was insane. So I meet Heather, the rebound girl, right? Except she’s perfect for me. In every way. She’s hot. She loves to fuck. She’s wild in bed. She’s smart and she has a plan and truthfully, she whips my ass into shape in short order. So we’re talking one night, maybe...two, three years ago? Something like that. We’re talking, we’ve been drinking a little - the girl was at her mom’s house, so we were having a fun weekend. We’d gone out and had some drinks, and she was feeling all frisky on the way home, fishing my cock out of my pants and stroking me while I’m trying to drive home from the bar. Anyway, we get talking after sex. She asks me what my deepest fantasies are, and my deepest sexual secret. I must have evaded her, because she tore into me. I told you she’s relentless, right? For three hours she’s pounding at me, and it’s not a little fight anymore but a screaming war. I’m furious, backed into a corner, and she’s onto me - probably knows by this time anyway - and I admit it. I sucked my friend off one night when we were kids. She calms down so fast it was like she flipped a switch. Tells me how fucking horny it makes her to think about two guys getting together, but not two gay guys. Two straight guys who get together for some play. She’s gone to bed with girls before. She’s been on the prowl for a guy to lure into our bed so she can watch me suck his dick, right? I’m all okay with it, but not okay. Then I find you.” “You find me...” I said quietly. “I find you. We’ve done it before. I wonder, I’ve been wondering...would he...will he do it...again?” I sigh. Look out at the impending storm. Tap him on the shoulder, nod towards the house. “Inside,” I say. We go inside, close the door. Go into the living room. Sit down. Next to each other. Not touching but close. I look over at him. My hand is shaking a little. My mouth dry, my heart hammering. And my cock stirring. Definitely stirring. Fuck it , I think. I’m such a lawyer sometimes that telling the honest, simple truth is a feat all its own. “The answer to your question...is yes.” He looks over at me. Steadily now, not bullshitting or faking or anything else. Studying my face, looking for hints of lies or deceit. “Really?” I snort. “Truth is, I never forgot that night, not really. I’ve never worked up the nerve to try it again. But I have never forgotten...” “What it was like?” he asks quietly, almost in a whisper. My dick is growing hard now in my shorts. “Yeah. What it was like. How...shit...how fucking...just...” “Hot?” “Yeah, dammit, hot. I never forgot it.” “Me, neither,” he says. “You hard?” “Yeah. You?” “Yeah.” He looks over, and quickly without saying anything else pulls his shorts and underwear down. For the second time in my life I’m seeing a male erection live in front of me. I take down my pants and underwear. He stares at me. I take my erection, holding it lightly at the base between my thumb and index finger, and wag it at him. Tentatively, he reaches out and brushes it with his hand. The touch is shocking and pleasurable. I reach over his arms and grasp his cock. It’s longer than mine but thinner, with a slight curve to it. As before, the soft velvety feel of the skin over top the hardness beneath amazes me. I groan as he expertly slides his hand up and down my erection. He then pushes my hand away and moves quickly. He’s down on the floor between my legs. He holds me tight, and then pulls the dick towards him and opens his mouth. Slides it inside. I groan aloud as his tongue and mouth caress skin and glands and erotic points. I gasp as he sucks hard, and cups my balls firmly. He begins to set up a rhythm, in and out, up and down, pressure and lightness. It’s all I can do not to cum. He releases me and holds the base of my cock steadily in his hand. "Damn,” he whispers. “My turn,” I say. He moves, and we switch positions. I hold the base of his cock in my hand, with my other I cup his balls. They are smaller than mine, too, but I’m sure no less filled with come. I go slowly, wanting to enjoy the moment. My tongue hits heated flesh and he moans loudly. I don’t hesitate or flinch as I take the head of him into my mouth, pressing my tongue against the underside of his cock. I swish my tongue in circles on the sensitive underside, and then push my head down onto his cock as much as I can. I fight the gag reflex, pushing him in deeper into my mouth. Then out, slowly, dragging my tongue down the underside of his cock. My hand, still circling his cock, now slides up and down it, moving freely with the saliva of my mouth. I use my tongue and slide it around in circles over the head of his cock while I slowly, gently stroke him. He’s moaning loudly now, and twitching. I’m close to making him come. I stop. Release him entirely. Grin at him. “Fuck...” he moans. “Why did you stop?” “You ready?” I ask him. “Yeah,” he says raggedly. “Yeah, man, yeah!” I use my whole hand on him now, and slide my hand down his cock, and my mouth follows. I go quickly, stroking fast, using pressure, and sliding the cock in and out of my mouth. I want to taste his explosion, and I know he’s close. I stroke harder, faster, use more tongue and pressure and then he gasps, grunts and spasms. His hips thrust upward powerfully, and the head of his cock explodes with milky, white semen. It covers my mouth and shoots into my throat. It’s salty and odd-tasting and delicious all at the same time. I don’t stop, sucking and stroking; I want it all, every drop, I want his nuts empty of semen before I let him go. But he pushes me away. “God damn no, stop!” he moans. “Jesus!” He looks at my face and mouth. “You took it in your mouth?” he asks. “Yeah. Always wanted to do that.” “Me, too,” he tells me. Though, now that he’s cum, he doesn’t seem as keen on sucking on me. Still, he gets down and puts my dick in his mouth. It excites him and brings me close, super close, and then over as I jerk and grunt and shoot spasms, a gusher of come into his waiting mouth. He groans as I fill his mouth with come. It’s so much that it dribbles out of his mouth some and onto his shirt. I fall back into the couch, spent. He climbs up and does the same thing. “Damn,” I said softly. “Yeah.”