Story Teaser:
I'm secretly in love with my best friend. When he invites me camping, how will I keep my horny urges in check?
Author's Notes:
- This is a stand-alone story of roughly 9500 words. High-frequency words include shorts (39), skin (37), legs (27), and cock (14). No smut until very late in the story :p
- The narrator and his friend Kevin attended university together. Both are 24 years old.
- This story describes consensual sexual activity among men in graphic detail. Readers should be comfortable with gay/homosexual content.
- This work is fiction. It's intended as light, enjoyable reading for an adult audience. Settings may be real, but the characters are imaginary.
*****
UNDERNEATH A WARM AFTERNOON SUN
"Dude, put away your scrawny legs."
"Huh? . . . Oh." Kevin turned around, smirked, and shook his head. Then he resumed watching the deer we spotted off in the distance.
He'd been massaging the back of his legs just below his ass, providing me with a view that was irritating. Maybe his hamstrings were sore, but in rubbing them he'd been lifting the back of his shorts higher than I could handle at the moment, revealing the fabric of his boxers and the near-entirety of his skinny, hairy legs.
Maybe he's just trying to annoy me,
I thought.
Nah, that's paranoid.
In any event, I regretted telling him to stop. It wasn't often that I got such a good peek at his tight hamstrings. Though his legs were skinny, they were toned from running and biking. It would be amazing to touch them, feel those tough, lean muscles with my fingers.
I imagined kneeling behind him and running my hands up the back of his legs. I'd start just above the ankles, slide up the curves of his calves, then slow down once I passed the back of his knees. Inching higher, I'd lift his shorts and massage his hamstrings, my fingers touching his tight skin and all those little hairs that glinted in the sun. I'd slip my fingers up beneath his boxers too, seeing how close I could get to his hole . . .
"Need to rub one out?" Kevin joked, interrupting my fantasy.
"Ha! You wish you were that hot," I replied, thankful he couldn't hear my thoughts.
Kevin laughed. "Yeah, sure," he said sarcastically.
Then he yawned and stretched, raising his arms in the air. The motion lifted his shirt, giving me a peek at the top of his boxers, which puffed a bit over his shorts, and the smooth skin of his lower back, which had just a touch of hair right above his waist. His boxers were silky and checkered, with deep blues and purples that complemented his silver shorts and light blonde hair.
I wondered if he knew how deeply I felt or how horny he could make me. We'd been good friends since we started rooming together in university. As time passed, as we took classes together, partied together, and stayed roommates, my feelings grew into something of a monster.
I thought I did well hiding them from him, but sometimes I led a parallel life in my imagination, pretending he was with me for every walk on campus and every shower in the dorms. It didn't matter who I dated. No one could compete with him.
I tried to follow a rule never to think of him while jerking off. I got attached anyway. And fiercely jealous. He always dated women who were kind and smart and pretty, but I resented them, my feelings making me irrational.
"I dunno why I'm so tired," he said, yawning again.
"It's cuz we were in the f'ing car all day," I replied. His yawn was contagious and I yawned too.
The drive had been nearly four hours, the latter portion on narrow roads that curved around hillside farms or through patches of forest. I remember thinking about how good all those grapes looked whenever we passed a vineyard. The other crops I didn't recognize, unless we passed an orchard whose trees bore something obvious like apples.
Despite my offers, Kevin insisted on driving the whole way. Secretly I was relieved. An hour outside town was a bridge that scared the hell out of me. Half a kilometre long, it curved across a deep ravine, one lane in each direction. The guardrails, a sturdy grid of metal posts and wires, provided expansive views of thousands of trees and a churning river impossibly far below.
At first, I'd get scared as soon as I saw the shiny blue sign posted a hundred metres before it began:
THIS PROJECT PARTLY FINANCED THROUGH THE COHESION FUND OF THE EUROPEAN COMMUNITIES
But now I knew every house and every hill in the few kilometres leading up to it.
Ironically, Kevin loved that bridge. He thought it'd be great for bungee jumping. Foolish in some moments, I'd heartily agree, quietly grateful that it would probably be illegal.
He's nuts
, I'd think.
Once we'd parked, it was a long hike to the campsite. We unpacked, set up our tent, and decided to chill. It was a surprising thirty degrees out, a lazy summer day whose bright sun could induce a long nap.
Kevin returned to where we were sitting and grabbed some pretzels out of the open bag between us.
I tried to tell if he was sad, but he didn't seem any different than usual. He'd originally planned to make this trip with his girlfriend, but she ended it about a month ago, so he invited me to come instead. I'd agreed immediately, looking forward to spending a few days alone with him despite no real desire to camp or shit in the wilderness.
"So you good Kev?" I asked, trusting he'd know what I meant.
"Yeah," he said, not exactly convincingly. But then he continued, seeming to dismiss any ambiguity. "I think I'm over it; it's not like we dated for very long."
"True," I said.
Should I say something else?
Feeling inadequate, I decided to leave it at that.
What else can you say?
I thought.
Reaching over, I grabbed a few waffle pretzels from the bag. I put them in my mouth one at a time, salty side down, savoring the tingling of that flavor on my tongue. I used to do the same thing with Toppas cereal growing up.
"You're lucky," Kev said suddenly.
"I am?" I replied, pausing the next pretzel's journey from hand to mouth.
"No expectation of children."
To that I nearly laughed. Kev and I frequently ranted about unruly children misbehaving in public — and blamed their parents, who obviously sucked at parenting. People glued to smartphones while little hellions ran wild.
Kev vowed that his children would never behave like that. I vowed never to have any at all.
"You'd be surprised at how many gay guys want kids," I said, "and how many parents are desperate to become grandparents."
"We're doomed," he said, rolling his eyes.
I was relieved that Kev seemed himself. He sometimes became distanced and quiet after a breakup, declining to discuss it but seeming preoccupied nonetheless. I never knew how to respond or if our usual joking around was appropriate. I wanted to tell him that he was perfect and that anyone who rejected him was a fool beyond measure.
Kev had many assets besides his appearance, but that aspect of him was endlessly distracting. He had long, fluffy blond hair that swept across his forehead and sometimes covered his eyes. He was thin and athletic, but never wore skinny jeans, which sucked, because he would definitely look good in them. He'd deny it, but I'd always suspected he was a conscientious dresser, looking a bit sharper than the other guys at university.
I was jealous of his looks. I thought I'd gotten decently hot through running and lifting, but Kev was hot
and
cute. He had light brown eyes and a sexy smile that seemed to melt everyone. Yet he hated the attention. Or that was the impression he gave. At social events he would veer between easy conversation and silent observation.
But the worst part was that he was smart too. It's easy to dismiss good looks if someone's an idiot.
I thought about our conversation in the car. Randomly, he told me he didn't believe in free will.
"Our brains are shaped by every decision we've made," he'd said. "And that means all our past experiences determine what decisions we make in the future. We might think we're going back and forth over something, but I bet the decision would be predictable based on the accumulation of previous choices and experiences."
I wasn't convinced. Was he saying that past events set us on a course that we can't change?
But so many things affect decisions
, I thought.
Like being hungry.
"Would you ever punch me in the face for no reason?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"Then do you really have that choice? You think you do, but if you'd never actually do it, then is it really a choice?"
He had a point there, I had to admit. But I didn't like the idea. I held it as a point of pride that I tried to act ethically, tried to think about how my actions affected other people. But if my choices are increasingly predetermined as I move through life, what does that mean?
"So are criminals not responsible for their behavior?" I asked. "Can we predict who is likely to commit crimes based on the choices they made early in life?"
"Hmm," Kev said, "I'll have to think about that one."
Then he was quiet for the next half hour. And when he started talking again, it was about a song he heard and how it sounded just like some other song . . .