Yin And Yang 3

There was nobody special I wanted to see at my ten-year reunion, but I went anyway, and was pleasantly surprised. It was a fun evening, and I collected a few phone numbers of people I hoped to reconnect with later. As the evening wound down, I ended up at a table with an old friend, drinking beers and talking. Keith and I had played in a couple of bands together in middle school and high school. He was an awesome keyboardist and vocalist even at that young age, and I played guitar. When he left the state to go to college, we fell out of touch. Once we graduated and got day jobs, the music just kind of went to the wayside for both of us.

I hadn't even known that he had moved back to town. He lived in the Montrose, which was the gay section of Houston. I had always suspected he was gay. He worked in an art gallery by day, doing installations of artwork on the side. I was amazed at how much some people paid to have artwork installed. I guess I never thought about it, but when you buy a large or expensive sculpture or painting, it makes sense to have it professionally installed. He was doing okay. I had always liked Keith, and didn't care who he fucked. As for me, I was in between, and in a dry spell. After having so much trouble getting rid of the last whacked out girl I was in a relationship with, I was a little hesitant to dive back into any sort of serious relationship.

We decided to get together to work on some arrangements, then work in a bassist and percussionist to do some gigs, just for grins. Keith had a shed in his back yard that he had soundproofed. It was air conditioned, so it would be perfect for rehearsals.

Over the next few weeks, we worked on putting together enough material to play clubs. Keith had some original songs he wanted to do, and I helped him polish them. We worked pretty hard; several hours a night, three or four times a week. Keith was fantastic, even better than I remembered. I was surprised at how good I was, especially after not playing with other musicians for so long. It didn't take me any time at all to knock off the rust. I was confident we'd have no trouble getting gigs.

Every night after we finished working, we'd sit and talk, just to wind down. Keith was easy to talk to; he wasn't like what I expected gay guys to be like. He was just like any other guy. He wasn't limp wristed, and he didn't talk effeminately. If you didn't know, you'd never know. Go figure. I'd never been around gay men before, so I guess I always believed the stereotypes you see at the movies.

One night, as we sat talking after rehearsals, he was telling me about a customer he'd had that was really a jerk. After a disagreement over the price of an installation, Keith had decided he didn't want the job, and the guy had blasted him, calling him an "arrogant, little, butt fucking fag".

Keith was kind of laughing when he told the story. He couldn't believe the guy got so unreasonably angry over such a minor disagreement. I couldn't believe that Keith was taking it so well.

"Who the fuck cares why he was unreasonably angry? If he'd talked to me that way, I'd have to kick his ass. Doesn't it piss you off?"

"Randy," Keith said, "if I fought everybody that was homophobic, I'd have to fight every straight male in the world."

"That's not true! There's plenty of us that don't feel that way."

"Oh, the enlightened ones, eh?" Keith said, laughing.

"Yes. Why are you laughing?"

"Look, Randy, you're a good friend and a nice guy, but straight men are just homophobic."

"Bullshit! I'm not."

"Okay," Keith said, hoping to change the subject.

"I'm NOT!"

"Okay, okay. Sorry. Let's forget it."

"No, let's not forget it. Why do you say we're all homophobes?"

"I was wrong. Sorry. Let's just drop it."

"No. Why do you think that?"

"Look, Randy, everybody...male, female, straight, gay...doesn't matter...everybody starts out fucked up when it comes to their sexual identity. Agreed?"

"No, not agreed. I'm not."

"Okay, I guess I'm wrong, then. Now can we drop it?"

"No, we can't. I don't know why you think that."

"Because it's true. Every straight male secretly fears the side of them that's feminine. Haven't you ever wondered why?"

"Tell me, Dr. Phil. Why?"

"Because they're afraid they might be attracted to other men. There's a part of everybody that's attracted to men, just as there's a part of everybody...even me...that's attracted to females."

"Have you ever been with a girl?"

"No, I've never acted on it, and I would never want to. Though I can see the beauty in the female form, I'm not aroused by them. Have you ever been with a man?"

"Hell, no! Why would you even ask?"

Keith just shrugged his shoulders.

"Shit, man, you're crazy."

Keith said nothing.

"Well, I can tell you, I don't have even one little bitty part of me that's ever been attracted to anything but women."

"Okay," Keith said. "Then why can't we drop it? Why are you getting so upset, if it's not true?"

"I'm not upset."

"Okay."

"And even if I am, anybody would be."

"That's right. Any straight guy who's been told that there's a feminine part of him would react that way. That's my point."

Now I was mad. I didn't know exactly why, but I was mad. I didn't say anything.

"Look, Randy, I know you're straight, and always will be. I'm not questioning that. Listen, everybody has a masculine and feminine side; the Yin and the Yang. That doesn't make you less straight. It certainly doesn't mean you're gay. I never meant to suggest that."

"Well, I don't know about Yin and Yang, but I do know I'd never be turned on by a guy."

"Randy, we don't control what turns us on. We can deny it in our minds, but our dicks have a mind of their own."

"Well, mine would never be turned on by a guy."

"Okay, if you say so."

"I do say so."

"Okay, you want to prove it?"

"How."

"Oh, I don't know. A small wager. If your dick gets hard by touching a guy, you lose. If not, I lose."

"Thanks, but I won't be touching a guy."

Keith held his hand out toward me. After looking at it for a minute, I shook his hand.

"See, you can touch a guy. You're still straight, no harm done."

"Yeah, and I didn't get hard either."

"You would if we were naked."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"You think I'm going to get naked with a guy?"

"Look, here's the deal, macho man. I'm just saying that you can't touch a naked man while you're naked and keep from getting hard. You don't have to touch his dick or fondle him. Just touching. I'm saying it's impossible to touch a naked person, male or female, while you're naked, and not get aroused. There's just something about being around a naked person, especially when you're naked, that's really hot."

"That's bullshit."

"Really. Think about this. Ever watch porn? Have you ever wondered why the guy pulls out of the girl before cumming?"

"Yeah, so you can see him spray his load on the chick."

"That's right, so you can see his dick spray his load. That's exciting, no matter whether you're a girl or a guy, straight or gay."

"Bullshit."

"Hard to argue with that logic," Keith said.

"Just because I don't want to get naked with you doesn't mean you're right."

"No, it doesn't, but I believe I am."

"Well, you're wrong, but I ain't getting naked with you to prove it."

"Okay, okay. You ever been in the same room with a naked man?"

"Yeah, sure, in the locker room at school or in the gym."

"Were you naked at the same time?"

"Yeah, sometimes."

"And it wasn't the end of the world, was it. No big deal."

"That's right, but I didn't touch any of them. I'd have been punched out if I had."

"Okay, here's the deal. I've got a massage table in the house. I'll set it up and lie on it. You take off your clothes and give me a massage for fifteen minutes. I won't touch you, and you don't have to touch my genitals. If your dick gets hard, I win. If not, you win. If you win, I'll give you $200. If I win, I give you a forty-minute massage, including a prostate massage. If you haven't had one of those, you don't know what you're missing. Either way, you win," he said, grinning.

I didn't know then what a prostate was, but it sounded like something I didn't want massaged, and I guessed it probably involved my asshole.

"No way!" I said. I wasn't taking off my clothes.

He was a good guy, but way off base this time. I was still a little hot, having him question my manhood. I probably should have blown it off and gone home, but I didn't like my manhood being questioned.

"Okay, hot shot," I said. "I'll take that bet. If you win, you don't have to give me that massage. If I win, I'll take the money."

"Oh, but I want to give you that massage. That's the wager," he said, grinning.

"Okay, you're on, stud," I said.

There was absolutely no way I could lose, so I didn't worry too much about the consequences.

Still, I was nervous; not that I would be aroused by a guy, but just having to take off my clothes around a guy. The two hundred dollars would come in handy, and prove my point. Plus, it was no big deal. It's not like he was going to fuck me or anything. I was bigger than him, so he wasn't going to be able to take advantage of me.

We went into his house. The table was under his bed. He unfolded it and set it up in his living room, moving some of the furniture away to clear some space. He turned on his stereo and put on some new age mood music, then lit a number of candles and turned off the overhead lights. Shadows danced around the room as the candles flickered. He got out a couple of bath towels to lay on the table, and some hand towels, then set a bottle of massage oil within reach of the massage table.

"I'm not going to get AIDS or something, am I?" I said, only half facetiously. I was getting nervous.

"I haven't had sex in over a year, and I've been tested for AIDS, HIV and STDs since then. I'm clean," Keith answered. "You don't have to worry about anything. You can't get AIDS by giving or receiving a massage."

About the time I started questioning why the fuck I had allowed myself to be goaded into this, he pulled out a bong and loaded it with some weed. On my third hit, my ears started ringing and my eyes watered up. By my sixth hit, I was really stoned, but I had several more anyway. It was really strong pot.

Keith stood and pulled off his shirt. I got up and turned my back to him. When I was nude, I turned around, avoiding eye contact with his crotch.

He had a big grin on his face, and said, "Okay, big boy, I'm ready."

He set the timer on his phone for fifteen minutes, then lay face down on the table. As he got on the table, I got a quick glimpse of his dick.

Now everybody knows that there are two types of dicks in the world; those that are made to grow, and those that are made for show. Most men, myself included, have those that are made to grow. They're small when not aroused, and grow bigger as they get hard. Then there are those lucky few that are made for show. Dicks that are always at their full length, or close to it, even when soft. Those are the ones that look good in tight pants or in the locker room. A lot of people, especially women, think that those guys have bigger dicks, but when they're aroused, they really don't get much longer than they started out.

Keith had a dick that was made for show; even with the quick glimpse I had seen, I could tell it was uncircumcised and hung eight or nine inches long. Mine, on the other hand, was shriveled up, only the circumcised head sticking out of my thick patch of pubic hair. Whenever I jumped in a cold body of water, or dropped my pants for a doctor's visit, or any other uncomfortable setting, it would shrivel up like this, smaller than normal.

Perhaps that's why guys hate locker rooms so much. I think most guys believe they're at least average size, if not bigger. They don't want to find out otherwise by comparing it in a locker room. That grin on his face, when he called me "big boy", could have been a reference to my shriveled up dick. It was embarrassing.

He was lying face down on the table, his arms down at his sides.

"Warm up the oil in your hands before putting it on me, please," he said.

I picked up the bottle and poured a generous amount, then rubbed my palms together. I had never really given a massage before. Sure, I had massaged people's shoulders or necks before, but not like this, with a massage table and everything. Not certain how to proceed, I started on the neck and shoulders, then tentatively worked my way down the spine before spreading my hands to his sides and coming back up to the neck. That seemed the way to do it. After working his back and neck muscles for a while, I kneaded the muscles in his arms for a while.

In clothes, he looked a bit scrawny, but working his muscles made me realize how wiry he was. He just didn't have any fat on him. Most guys, even those that are at their ideal weight, have a stomach that protrudes a bit. Almost everybody has at least a small bit of a love handle above their hips. Randy had neither; he had an absolutely flat tummy with no love handles, but without clothes you could tell he had good muscle definition.

As I worked my way down to his legs, I suddenly realized, even in the uncertain lighting and my stoned condition, that he had no body hair.

I recoiled momentarily, and said, "My God, what happened to your hair?"

"I don't like having body hair," he said. "I've had it all removed. I had electrolysis on my face, and I get laser removal regularly on the rest of my body. In between, I wax."

"That is so gay," I laughed.

"See? You are homophobic," Randy said.

"Bullshit. Are you saying being as smooth as a newborn baby isn't the gayest thing in the world?"

"Of course it's gay but you use the word as if it's a bad thing. Now do my gluts and legs, please."

I moved down to his waist and warmed up more oil, then began kneading his gluts. The slim waist and smooth bottom didn't feel different than a chick's; maybe just a little more muscular. I could feel the stirrings in my balls as I worked on him, and my dick grew to its normal size. It wasn't hard, but it was no longer so shriveled up.

"Oh, shit," I thought to myself.

I quickly began thinking of the all-time best Astro's player at every position to take my mind off his body.

"How in the hell can my fucking dick start getting aroused? He's a fucking guy," I thought, incredulous.

"Okay, Bagwell at first, Biggio at second. Those are no brainers."

I worked my way down to his thighs, working on them one at a time, rolling the muscles in my palms, then on to his calves.

When I was finished with his legs, he turned over on his back. I figured probably ten minutes had passed. Just five more minutes, give or take a bit.

Warming a little more oil, I worked his pectoral muscles. I could see him staring at my dick as I leaned over him. It swayed with my movements. His dick began to stiffen. It had been lying over his sac, pointing toward his right knee, but now it began to rise. My dick was only inches from his face, and as he continued to stare, his dick rose until it pointed straight up at the ceiling, then continued until it pointed toward his face. It continued getting harder until it had an arch to it, curving down toward his stomach. It had grown to at least ten inches, and his sac had tightened against the base of his cock.

"Shit," I thought to myself as his huge dick twitched. "Let's see, gotta be Craig Reynalds at short, right? Now at third...hmmm... Enos Cabell? Doug Rader? Cammy? It's gotta be Cammy."

Keith broke my train of thought, asking me to work on his legs. As I moved down to his legs, he bent his knees and allowed them to fall to the sides, spreading his legs. With no pubic hair at all, his large dick looked immense, and it was as stiff as a dick can possibly be.

Moments after starting on his legs, Keith said, "Okay, it looks like we have a winner."

I looked down at my crotch, and my fucking dick was erect. I couldn't believe it. My heart beat faster as I realized that I had lost the wager.

"Un Fucking Believable," I said.

It wasn't as hard as it could get, but it was undeniably hard, hard enough that I couldn't argue the outcome of the wager.

"Don't look so glum," Keith said, grinning. "It doesn't mean you're gay; probably."

"Fuck you," I said, unable to look him in the eye.

Now that I wasn't rubbing on his body, my dick was already starting to soften. Too fucking late.

"Okay, hop up here," he said, patting the table as he stood.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. No matter how certain I was about anything, I would never again take a bet without being willing to accept the consequences of losing. Never again would I be that certain of anything, not even my name.

I lay face down on the table, positioning my nose and mouth in the hole of the headrest, so I could breathe.

Keith poured some oil in his palms and began working on my shoulders.

"Relax, buddy," he said. "As long as we're going to do this, there's no reason you shouldn't enjoy it. I'm quite good, and there's nothing better than a good massage."

He was right. I relaxed the tension in my neck, taking deep breaths and releasing them slowly as I consciously relaxed each individual muscle in my face, neck, shoulders, then back. He was also right about being good at massaging. His hands were strong, and he progressively worked deeper and deeper into my tissue, removing the stress from my neck and back.

He silently worked on one muscle group after another. My head was still buzzing from the weed, allowing me to really relax, once I made up my mind to do so. When he finally spoke, telling me it was time to turn over, I was so zoned out it startled me. It took me a moment to process the words, then I turned on my back.

He was so fucking aroused, his cock was as hard as a rock, with that odd curvature. I quickly looked away, and stared straight at the ceiling. He positioned a cushion under the small of my back to relieve pressure, then started working on my upper body; first my pecs, then my arms. His cock was only inches from my eyes. I told myself not to look, but for some weird reason, I couldn't keep from peeking at it occasionally. Man, was it ever big. How could such a scrawny guy have such a big dick? Maybe because he was so aroused at being able to touch another guy. What a weirdo.

When he moved down to start on my lower body, he said, "Don't freak out, dude, but I'm going to put this harness on you. I'm not trying to pull anything. I'll touch you as little as possible, okay?"

He had some sort of a leather collar, and was holding it near my dick, which was a little bit erect again.

"What's that for?" I asked.

"It's a cock ring. It'll make you bigger and harder for longer. You'll like it, I promise."

With that, he strapped part of it around my dick, right above my balls, snugly but not tight. The other part of it went between my balls and my dick, stretching my balls away from my dick. It seemed too loose to have any effect. Even though he was good at his word, touching me only as much as necessary to put the thing on me, I began to grow a little as he touched my balls. As I grew, the ring became tighter. Once the blood flowed into my penis, making me stiffer, the ring kept it from escaping.

"Let me know if it feels too tight. You want it very snug, but not tight enough to be painful. Okay?"

I nodded.

"Have you ever had a prostate massage?" he asked.

"What the hell is that?"

I had never heard of a prostate.

"Your prostate is what delivers your sperm. Massaging it is the most amazing thing ever. Everyone should try it once."

He bent my knees and positioned my feet flat on the table, then spread them apart. I let my knees fall to the sides. Ripping open a little foil pouch, he pulled out a condom and slipped it over his middle finger. It was pre-lubricated, but he still covered it with massage oil.