"You're such a prude... guys do that for each other all the time," he said for what seemed like the hundredth time.
"Yeah-- gay guys do that all the time..." I said with a smile.
"You know what? You're a real prick-tease..." he continued.
"How do you figure that?" I asked.
"Because whenever I'm near you I get a hard-on and you won't do anything about it," he answered. "You could at least be a good friend and give me a handjob."
"I'm not gay," I said.
"It's just sex—giving another guy a handjob doesn't mean you're gay—you're just doing him a favor—you're helping him relieve his frustrations...besides, how do you know you're not gay if you've never tried it?" he replied.
"I don't have to jump out of an airplane to know I don't like sky diving," I countered.
"You're afraid of heights—that's why you wouldn't sky dive—are you afraid of a hard penis, too?" he said. Then a smile slowly crept over his lips as he added: "Or are you afraid you might like it—that your sheltered little world would come crashing down around you if you touched a guys cock? You're pathetic—you've been thoroughly brain-washed by society—I always thought you had a mind of your own...."
And round-and-round we go. Frankie and I have been best friends since I moved into the same apartment building. That was three months ago. We immediately hit it off and constantly hang out together.
He never flaunted his sexuality, but never hid it either. He is open and honest and it is one of the traits I admire about him. He's smart and funny and fun to be with. It is a challenge for me to keep him as entertained as he does me.
It was late and we'd gone swimming. No one else was at the pool so Frankie dared me to go skinny-dipping with him. We were alone so I thought, why not? The warm water felt deliciously wicked 'down there'.
We played around in the pool: he was a much better swimmer and would try to pull me under water. When he succeeded I panicked, but he always made sure I was okay. His hands actually felt pretty good on my body. He has strong, but gentle hands.
It was when we climbed out of the pool I noticed his erection; I didn't think anything about it—he always complained about his constant hard-on's and nowhere to go to satisfy them.
Instead of stepping back into our swim trunks we just wrapped towels around ourselves and went back to his apartment.
In his living room, where we had earlier shed our clothes and put on our swim trunks, we dropped our towels—his prick was still hard when he began the conversation.
"Johnny, look at me," he said posing with hands-on-hips. "Isn't it beautiful—are you absolutely, positively sure you don't want to play with it? How could you not want to feel it?"
What fascinated me most wasn't his erection (even though I did look at it maybe longer than I should have), but his clean shaven crotch. I knew he shaved his underarms and chest hair, but this was the first time I'd seen his crotch.
"Doesn't it hurt when you shave down there?" I asked.
He chuckled. "Yes, it hurts—especially the way I do it—I don't just shave—I also use tweezers to pluck out any stubble...it's worth it, though. My boyfriends love my smooth, clean feel....and they don't have to pick any pubic hairs out of their mouths anymore...."
Subtle, I thought.
He stepped into his tiny boxer shorts as I pulled up my briefs.
"I don't know why you can't at least try touching it—you're already a cross-dresser—you love to wear panties—come on over here and give it a little squeeze...."
"These aren't panties," I said, getting annoyed with that comparison; he'd teased me before. "They're cotton string, bikini briefs and I buy them in the men's department."
"Yes, but RED?" he laughed.
I blushed then I heard his voice soften.
"Johnny," he said, I looked into his deep blue eyes. "Take one last look before I put it away...isn't it gorgeous?"
When his eyes traveled down to his prick my own eyes followed along.
He saw me blush as I thought to myself, yes...it is gorgeous—it's perfect. I was jealous—I wished I had one that long and firm, too.
"Sorry—shows over," he chuckled when his prick disappeared into his shorts.
"Glass of wine?" he asked me.
"Ah, sure-okay," I said as the image of his prick slowly faded from my mind.
He sat on the couch and I was a few feet across from him in his soft, leather chair. There was still that damned bulge in his shorts; it was very disconcerting.
We talked about our jobs; the projects we were currently working on. During our conversation his hand absentmindedly grasped his erection through his shorts and slowly stroked it. It was distracting to say the least.
Suddenly he blurted-out: "You know—I almost forgot—I owe you one."
"What do you mean?" I asked wondering what he could possibly owe me.
"Well, I watched you masturbate—it's only fair that you get to watch me," he said, and before I could protest he pushed his shorts to his knees and his cock sprang into my view once again. Then he added: "Of course, if you don't mind—I'll do it the 'old fashioned' way...."
My face turned beet red as he stroked his cock right in front of me.
Frankie and I had exchanged our spare apartment keys in case of emergencies. Last week, he used my key when I was home alone. I was in the bedroom doing...well, you know—and he caught me—unbeknownst to me he stood in the doorway and watched me masturbate. If I masturbated the 'normal' way, lying on my back, I would have seen him.
But no, I use the 'friction method'. I lie on my stomach and grind my hard-on into the mattress; that way had always resulted in better orgasms for me. On occasion I beat-off the 'old fashioned' way, but it was never as satisfying.
That day, I was thoroughly embarrassed when I turned and saw him watching me.
"Why do you do it that way?" is all he said. "It seems awfully messy...."
I didn't answer him but I had to agree—it was messy: a pool of cum on the sheet; and my belly slick with it, too. If I went to long without washing the sheets you could actually catch a faint aroma of dried cum.
Later, much to my amazement, we had a discussion about masturbation techniques.
I tried to explain myself. "Well...I'm not circumsized and I found out early-on that it feels better this way-- when your foreskin covers your glans while you orgasm, it's...well, spectacular—all the cum is trapped against your cockhead inside the foreskin and your orgasm is super-intense. I've tried jacking-off the normal way, but...well, I mean, all you do is shoot in mid-air—it never feels as good as my way...."
He smiled and said, "Damn, wish I could try that...."
I slowly shook my head then said: "It's not...I don't think it's healthy...I mean, whenever I have sex with a girl and I cum inside her it's like...."
"Like what?" he asked.
"It's the same thing—it's like I'm cumming in mid-air—in some sort of deep and yawning crevice—the intensity isn't there--it's not very satisfying...afterwards, when she's gone, I always masturbate my way...I may have ruined my sex life forever doing it this way...."
He was now masturbating furiously in front of me. I should have gotten up and left, but I was frozen in place. My eyes riveted to his swiftly moving hand and the total hardness of his long prick.
I was close enough to see the pre-cum leak from his slit; he smeared it on his cock; his cock glistened with his manly juices. My own cock became hard inside my briefs.
"Do you know what I'm fantasizing about, Johnny?" he said through labored breath.
I was too caught-up in the moment to realize I shouldn't have answered his question. "No...what are you thinking about?"
He closed his eyes and laid his head against the couch. A big smile spread across his face as his hand became a rapidly-moving blur on his cock.
"I'm dreaming I ripped off your panties and forced you over that chair and I'm ramming my cock in-and-out of your tight little asshole...."
Suddenly he cried out and I watched spurt after spurt of cum shoot from his cockhead into midair. I shivered as I watched his cum splash onto his belly and thighs. The volume of cum amazed me. My own breath caught in my throat.
When he opened his eyes he pointed to the large, pre-cum stain on the front of my bulging briefs.
"Johnny, are you SURE you don't want to play with my cock? Your panties are wet."
I laughed nervously and shook my head then gathered up my clothes and dressed.
Before I walked out the door he said: "Johnny, dream of my hard penis when you masturbate tonight, okay?"
The next morning as I knocked on Frankie's door I felt happy and refreshed. I had indeed pictured his cock when I'd masturbated the previous night—I would never tell him that though.
It seemed only natural since fantasies of sex with women hadn't given me very satisfying orgasms lately. I didn't find anything wrong with picturing his cock, after all, it was a FANTASY—not REALITY.
I've fantasized about many things which have no possibility of coming true—I'm sure you have to. That's why it's called a FANTASY.
It was Saturday which meant we had a tee time at a nearby golf course. On the way to the course Frankie says, "Loser buys dinner tonight, okay?"
That was our standard golf bet. I always replied, "Good—I haven't had steak and lobster since the last time we played...."
"Whatever happened to Linda? I haven't seen her around lately--she seemed nice...." he asked me while we rode to our golf balls after we teed-off on the first hole.
"Yeah, she was nice," I replied. "I thought she had it all...she was smart—funny—she cared about people—she treated me great—she seemed to be actually interested when I spoke—I don't think it was an act...I dunno...."
"The sex wasn't good?" he asked. Frankie and I had always been open and honest with each other. There wasn't a single topic that either of us felt like we couldn't mention.
"Well...she was pretty good—she actually wanted it more than I did...I dunno, something was missing...I couldn't 'feel' anything—there wasn't a spark there...."
