I met Chris out of college, playing a game of pick up basketball during lunch break at my first job. We were both the jock type, shared the same sense of humor & hit it off immediately. He was blonde, blue eyed from a long line of Norwegians, while I was black haired & green eyed from a wide mix of East Europeans & God knows what else. Despite this people thought we were brothers & I've stacks of pictures with us together, arms over each other's shoulders, always smiling. We chased women, vacationed, got drunk together & shared our dreams with each other. I never thought of him as anything else than as straight as they come.
As time passed we continued following the same course, we both got married about the same time, started families around the same time & did the same Middle Class thing of moving to a respectable suburb & "settling down". But something strange happened to Chris. While I tried my best to stay in shape, he got fat, looked & often complained of being tired & was slowly less & less fun to be with. Gradually we drifted apart, hearing only from him when the annual birthday & Christmas cards arrived until one year those too stopped.
I never found anyone I could replace him with & I often regretted losing the best friend I'd ever had. Life wasn't nearly so much fun without him around.
Then one year I came home to a voicemail, Chris left a message saying he wanted to hook up again & sounding cheerful. I couldn't say no & 2 days later, eager for a Friday night of fun, we met in a sports bar in town. Chris rolled in looking slim, chipper & youthful, if slightly grayer & a bit frayed. I had to admit I probably looked the same to him given all the years that had passed.
We spent hours catching up &, sadly, he spun a sorry tale of unhappiness, separation & divorce.
My own marriage of almost 10 years had also had troubles. After a while, although I love my wife, Anne, somehow our bedroom time lost its sparkle, especially after having kids. We'd get busy only to hear one of them crying or needing a diaper change. As they grew up we got more time to ourselves & I suggested we spice things up a bit on our Date Nights, at first with toys, sexy clothes & fantasies, but then finally bringing in someone else for 3 somes.
At first it was other women which my wife insisted that she would select, but eventually she wanted to try another guy. "It's only fair!" she insisted. I was uncomfortable, but had to agree & soon after one of our regular female playmates supplied her boyfriend. I didn't like it, I was straight & didn't want to go anywhere near him when we got undressed & down to business. And there was one condition, there was no way he was going to fuck Anne.
"That's fine" he'd said, reaching down to his uncut cock & peeling back the foreskin to reveal a shining head. He'd beckoned Anne to come over & slowly pushed her shoulders down so she was bent over, hands braced against her knees, her ass facing me, her lips parting as they slipped over his now rigid cock. Something in me snapped, broke open & flooded out & I felt something that not only couldn't I contain, I couldn't even tell you what it was.
I positioned myself behind Anne, grabbed her hips roughly & fucked her, trying not to look down at her head as my thrusts made it bob up & down that hard shaft & the way her lips formed around that solid cock.
Some time later we had another girl-guy-girl session & it was my turn for clean up duties while the girls wore fluffy robes, lay on the bed, drank wine & talked whatever girly stuff girls talk about after sex. I was at the sink with a bowl of hot, soapy water & a collection of dildos, vibrators & cock rings rinsing off a realistic 8" dildo with warm water. As it flopped into my hand, warm to the touch after being rinsed in the water, it felt odd as my fingers ran over the balls, up the shaft & around the head. I felt dizzy, a buzzing sound in my ears &, swiftly, furtively I looked round to make sure I wasn't about to be discovered, I lifted the dildo, curled my fingers around the firm shaft &, forming my lips into an "O" slid it into my mouth.
I felt terrible.
Meeting up with Chris again was, I was convinced, the cure, I was surrounded by too many women, I needed guy time. I was 45, successful in my career, respectable & comfortable. I needed guy time, drinking in bars, trying to get a look down the barmaid's shirt & swapping dirty jokes. Which is exactly what we did for many weeks. Anne seemed pleased that I'd got my old friend back & that I was out of the house with a buddy & was a lot happier.
"You back to slaying pussy now you're single again?" I'd asked. I'd ribbed him about it before & he'd always played along, without ever being specific. Secretly I had hoped he'd hook me up with some of his one night stands or fuck buddies as our bedroom friends were becoming less & less available. When I first met Chris he'd always had a steady stream of really hot women in his life & I had no reason to think he'd changed. But then he dropped a bombshell one night.
We'd finished up at our favorite bar & headed back to his place for more beers & pizza, a one bedroom condo in a part of town that was a tad skanky, but cheap enough for him to afford a comfortable, if somewhat basic, place to live. We were sat on his old couch, cracking open ice cold beers & Chris shook his head, "Nah, man. I got taken to the cleaners in the divorce. It kind of took all of the fight out of me for a while with dealing with all that shit" He sipped his beer, "And..." he shrugged "I dunno, honestly, somewhere along the way I lost the touch."
I was simply stunned. "Shit man, when was the last time you got laid?" I wasn't ready for his answer.
"A year...maybe more." He was just so fucked up from the brutally messy divorce, he explained, that he ended up putting girls off. He'd tried & tried, but sooner or later something would come out, or set him off & say or do something that would put them off he'd get turned down.
"Shit, he said quietly, "what I wouldn't do to be able to sit back & just relax while some chick blew me. FUCK!" He seemed really down.
"Well, you know what they say?"
"What? 'There's plenty more fish in the sea' or some other feel good crap?" he took a sip of his beer & I pulled my usual shit-head move, timing it right for when he had a mouthful.
"No! Just 'If you want something done properly, do it yourself'!"
Beer sprayed everywhere, down his t shirt, down his nose, hell out of his ears for all I know. He laughed hard, schwacking me with a discarded shoe & calling me an ass hole. I'd caught him this way so many times, he fell for it every time. We laughed like school boys.
"I'm so hard up I wish I could." He said, finally calming down
I leaned over & admitted, "I used to be able to do it." His face changed from laughing to shocked. I nodded when he refused to believe me. "OK, I was 16 & VERY flexible. I only tried it maybe 10 or 12 times."
"Well?" he prodded
"Umm, well it made my neck hurt & soon after I got beaten to a pulp in a school football game & spent 2 weeks on crutches. I never got my flexibility back." The next sentence came out without me even thinking about it, "But at least I knew how to do it right & it didn't cost me a movie & dinner."
Chris didn't acknowledge me, so I continued "I mean, do you remember Bridget?" A pained look crossed his face & he rolled his eyes. "Huh! Worst fucking blow job EVER." He muttered.
Bridget was in a class all of her own & our small town beauty. We'd both chased her, like all the other guys had. She was tall, slim, with long, shapely legs, great body & tits that get a dead man hard. Chris wined & dined her for months, determined that he'd score. It cost him flowers, meals in expensive restaurants & every bit of skill in bedding girls he could muster & she'd played him along for all she could get out of him. But when I asked him if he'd gotten anywhere he had grimaced & shook his head, saying "Terrible!" over & over again. It seems that Bridget gave the worst Blow Jobs in the world.
"Jeez, man!" he'd groaned, "She scraped me with her teeth & she blew me...I mean fucking BLEW me like a fucking kid blowing up a balloon. My dick hurts like bitch right now!" It was something he'd never forgotten.
"Well," I continued, "how many girls have you heard say that only another girls knows how to lick pussy?" I felt a shiver run through me, like I had in my kitchen, months before with that dildo in my hands. "Same thing with guys, I guess. Plus you get all of the fun without the clingy crap afterwards. I mean, it's just sex to guys, nothing complex, you get your jollies & move on." By now half of me wanted to get up & run out of the door. I felt I was twisting the tail of a tiger. Girls might slap you across the face or throw a drink on you, but Chris was no girl & I'd seen what he could do when jealous ex-boyfriends had taken a few swings at him over some woman he was talking too. Chris packed a punch & I'd no doubt he still could.
He looked at me sideways, I guess I must have shown something on my face as he looked at me again, puzzled, cautious....dangerous. "What?...what do you mean?"
I looked right at him & suddenly I was saying the words, quite without thinking. "Just some fun, that's all." I nervously took some of my beer, realizing that I was shaking inside & that it was making my voice wobble. "I mean, you know, with girls it's all complicated, but for us...well, it's just sex, just fun, just...." I shrugged & trailed off.
