by Greg Scott
All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc. In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it. Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.
Our wives go out together every Wednesday after work and the earliest they've ever come back to our house is midnight. The longer we have been married, I find myself looking forward to Wednesdays with increasing anticipation. The girls' night out gives Tom and me the only chance we have to be alone. Even though we don't use the time to do more than talk and maybe watch a game on TV during those seasons when there are Wednesday night games, I still value that time with my best friend of about six years more than any other regular event on my boring calendar.
But I guess I'm getting a little ahead of myself for you to get a clear understanding of how I've arrived at this point in my life--a point when all my other friends are off at college building their new circles of friends.
At the time one of my friends said that it was something like two brothers marrying two sisters, but that was putting too fine a point on the situation. A closer analogy might have been that it was similar to two cousins marrying two friends. Tom and I weren't like brothers--at least not the way that I have usually thought brothers would be together.
I wouldn't really know, since I don't have any brothers (or sisters for that matter), but I've always figured that brothers would tell each other everything. But there were some things that I had never shared with Tom. I suppose that he would say the same thing.
Tom and I did seem to share a strong bond, much like I do with my cousins only stronger I guess or at least more frequently. We seemed to almost stumble onto each other during our freshman year in high school, but once we connected we hung out together all the time. Some of those times it would just be the two of us, but most of the time it would be with other guy friends in various combinations.
We all (Tom, me and all of our peripheral buddies) were part of what I guess you could call the "straight arrow" group, the ones the teachers and other parents would point to as examples. We were part of the elite college track, maybe not bound for the Ivy League but certainly headed to prestigious second tier schools after graduation. Tom, being from a devout Catholic family, had Notre Dame in his sights. I gave serious consideration to Rice. Late junior year, Tom and I decided that it would be cool if we both went to the same school, so we agreed upon Vanderbilt as a compromise between my desire to find someplace warmer than northern Indiana and Tom's refusal to move to the Lone Star State.
Don't get me wrong! We were not pigeon-holed into the face-in-a-book-all-the-time crowd. No, we played sports, even if we were only good enough to barely make the teams and spent most of the time sitting on the bench, even as seniors--basketball, baseball and, in the Fall, cross-country where we always finished in the middle of the pack at meets as well as practices.
Both Tom and I found girlfriends at the start of our junior year. He stuck with Heather, but I moved through several in fast succession until Becky just sort of stuck around. I was never sure why it was she. It was Becky who got a Christmas gift from me that year, so you can see how quickly I passed through the other three or four. I was going to get her a bracelet with a tiny diamond, but my mother talked me into a simple sterling silver alternative. Becky gave me a box of chocolates in public and a box of condoms in private.
I thought that Becky's second gift was pretty gutsy since she and I had never progressed beyond some heavy make out sessions. I took it as a signal that I should initiate a little more intimacy. Interestingly Heather bought Tom the same gift, although we didn't realize the supposed coincidence until we compared notes more than a year later. At the time that we finally discovered that we had received the same present, we wondered if the girls had conspired in the gift selection, because by that time they had become friends--mostly because whenever we went out it was the four of us. It took us both more than a year to use those presents.
The first time any of us actually had sex, we were all together. I had borrowed my dad's car to go on a bowling date, although the girls saw to it that we never got to the bowling alley. If you had asked my dad the next morning how I had done, he would have told you proudly that I rolled a 182 as I had reported to him. Actually, all I rolled was Becky on the front bench seat of the Buick, while I listened to the sounds that Heather and Tom made from the back.
Tom and I compared notes the next day, probably the most revealing conversation that we had up to that point. Tom's description of the back seat events had more specific details than I actually remembered from my front seat reality. He delivered it with more enthusiasm than I actually felt about my encounter.
If I had told Tom the truth, I would have explained that I would have preferred jacking off in my room, thinking about anything that I wanted to imagine. My fantasies during masturbation were not consistent. I would usually begin thinking about making out with Becky, but quickly my mind would wander to the shower room in the school after a strenuous baseball practice or, more often, to imagining Tom doing the same thing that I was doing, stroking and experiencing those same physical sensations at the same time.
Instead my description of the previous night parroted Tom's narrative. How incredible it felt to finally be inside her; how I wish I didn't have that artificial barrier between me and the inside of her; how my mind was filled with images of her as I fired my load into my girlfriend, even though I'm not sure that I could have cum at all if I hadn't heard the grunts, groans and almost-squeals of Tom's climax just a couple feet away. I didn't tell him how I had imagined his semen filling the tip of the rubber. I don't think that I was even aware of what I wished could be happening at that moment--with or without a condom on the rod that I had only seen soft in the locker room that we shared so many times before.
It was another several months until the event that sealed the fates of Tom and me. My parents had decided to go on an extended weekend retreat to celebrate their twentieth anniversary. Obviously a senior in high school can't have a baby sitter. Furthermore, the perfect son doesn't have to be shipped off to Aunt Jane or Uncle John. He can be trusted on his own. Just provide one basic guideline: no parties, because strangers who can't be trusted might come and cause a ruckus that might disturb the neighbors.
I think it was Heather who first identified the loophole in my parents' instructions, which I was committed to obey. Four people, she explained, isn't a party.
We should get together to watch a couple DVDs on Friday night, Heather suggested, to which Becky quickly agreed. I think it was Becky that actually chose the movies. They had become close enough friends by now to work in tandem.
Becky, if she was the one chosen for this part of the seduction, chose History Boys, which had a strong gay theme, followed by Shortbus, one of the most remarkable, although still extremely erotic movies I have ever seen. While the focus of the latter film is upon sexuality in general, its central theme to me seemed to deal with male to male sexuality. I felt a little uncomfortable by the increasing level of my arousal during the DVDs, but Becky seemed oblivious, so I didn't feel terribly defensive about my reaction.
The movies were followed by the massaging of our two crotches--Becky on mine and Heather on Tom's. I don't know Tom's reaction, but I do know that Becky had a substantial handful to caress in my case. The two movies together had turned me on as much as I ever had been. Unfortunately for Becky, I wasn't sure exactly what it had released within me. While her later objective became clear eventually, her techniques may have awakened an unwanted reaction within me.
It didn't take much persuasion for the girls to persuade us to head upstairs to my bedroom. It took even less convincing for the girls to let us know that condoms were not necessary this time. They said that it was the low time in their cycles, which they declared to be in unison.
If you give a high school senior a choice between a condom and not, guess which he will choose. We both had enough confidence in our partners to know that they would not have cheated; thus they were safe in terms of STDs. We also trusted them enough to know where they were in their ovulary cycles.
What seemed like half way through, Becky suggested we change partners. Maybe she was as fixated on Tom's cock as I was. After all, we were on the same bed together. She was the same distance as I was from Tom's awesome penis, but Heather seemed just as excited by the prospect of the exchange as Becky, even though I was barely hard by now and couldn't have seemed that impressive.
Yes, we switched. Tom rode Becky in a way that I now realized that I had imagined. I fucked Heather, spurred on by knowing that I was where Tom had been moments before. It was as if I felt his cock in her, stretched in a way that I only needed to expand a bit in breadth even if I couldn't reach the same depth.
I came in Tom's girlfriend first, but I heard Tom explode into Becky only seconds later.
Less than a month later, Tom and I both learned that our girlfriends were pregnant. Both Tom and I had no idea whose baby will belong to whom, because that next morning after our switch of partners we did the deed again without protection with our own girlfriends. We decided that we didn't care which baby was whose--that's how close we were. Of course that was a relatively long time ago--or at least a few years seems that way to me.
Now things were suddenly different. We have both given up Vanderbilt, Notre Dame and Rice. We have given up our friends who have gone off to other colleges. All that we have left is our friendship and our respective marriages that have different effects on both of us.
To be honest, I feel trapped and perhaps even betrayed, but I'm not really sure about the betrayal part. It's just something that I feel.
As for the babies, they just sort of disappeared shortly after our week apart weddings. Both Becky and Heather miscarried, again about a week apart after about of month of marriage. Neither Tom nor I received any bills from a doctor or hospital, or any other documentation of the end to the fatherhood that we had both come to expect and even developed some excitement surrounding. Different from the stereotypes, Tom and I were more emotionally distraught than either of our wives. I think it was recognizing the seeming lack of emotion in Becky that made me suspicious of the whole chain of events.
So that's how two married guys, still only twenty years old, found ourselves sitting on the couch that Wednesday night while our wives enjoyed their girls' night out.
"Are things okay with you and Becky?" Tom asked as we sat on the couch watching a televised baseball game that neither of us found very interesting.
"I guess," I replied with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. "Why did you ask that?"
We never discussed our marriages. Maybe that was because we spent so much time together it was almost like we were all part of the same relationship, although we had never again had sex with each other with the other couple around. On the other hand, maybe it was simply because that's not a topic most men like to discuss.
"It's just that Heather said that there seemed to be some tension between you and Becky. It wasn't anything that Becky told her; just something that Heather sensed."
"I'm sure it's just the same old ups and downs that all couples have," I said.
In fact, the tension that Heather saw was very real. Becky and I argued over everything, although I didn't remember doing so in front of our friends. We fought over money, about who should cook or wash the dishes, about whether we needed to move to a bigger apartment. You name it; chances are it had been the focus of one of our fights.
Both of us knew that the real reason for our almost constant state of anger was sexual frustration. Becky had a very high sex drive. She tried to seduce me nightly. During the early part of our marriage, I was a willing if not enthusiastic participant. Lately, though, I had perfected a series of techniques to deflect her.
My most frequently used diversion was managing to get into bed a few minutes before she did. I pretended to be asleep as she caressed me. Other times I would claim that my work day had been too exhausting, even though my job was completely boring but never really required me to do much of anything.
I know what you're thinking. Why would a red blooded, heterosexual male try to get out of sex? I couldn't tell you, because after a few months of marriage I finally realized that I am not heterosexual. I played around with a guy in high school several times, but I thought that it was just that--playing around. I know now that I was in fact responding to my primary urge. It wasn't a game; it was the real thing, even though that particular guy might not have been my first choice.
For a while I pretended to myself that I was bisexual, but then I became aware that whenever I had sex with my wife I pretended that another man was involved until Becky would just disappear from my mind and only that other man and I would be left on the bed. So here I was...a twenty year old homo in a fraudulent hetero marriage trying to explain to my best friend, the object of the majority of my sexual fantasies, that my marriage was just fine.
In some of my masturbatory fantasies that included Tom, I had developed several plans for his seduction. After I would cum, I would admit to myself that I knew I would never really attempt any of them, but those imaginary seductions produced my strongest climaxes, so I refined them and replayed them whenever I had an opportunity. None of my elaborate plans included what I said next.
"Have you ever played around with another guy?" I asked, obviously surprising Tom almost as much as I surprised myself.
"Why would you ask that? Have you?" Tom replied in a way that did not tip his eventual response.
"I asked you first," I said, sounding like a junior high school boy.
"You have, haven't you," Tom practically shouted with a big smile on his face. "Who was it?"
I had managed to box myself into a corner. I knew that Tom wasn't going to reveal anything unless I did. I also knew that changing the subject would be an answer, so I decided to go with a partial truth.
"Yeah, but nobody you know," I said feigning sudden intense interest in the television which was showing a beer commercial.
"You liar," he said perceptively. "I know everyone you know. Who was it? What happened?"
"I let Honcho blow me," I admitted the still only partial truth.
"Honcho? No kidding. Man, old Honcho like to suck on dicks? He was always the first one to make gay jokes. Well, he fooled me. Why didn't you tell me about this before?"
"I don't know, I guess I was embarrassed. Besides, he told me not to tell anybody," I explained.
Honcho was in our class and on the basketball team. Nobody knew how he got the name Honcho. It had nothing to do with his real name or anything else that anyone could figure out. Maybe he just thought it sounded cool and selected it himself.
He was very muscular; something that a lot of the girls seemed to think was great when he would sit on the bench next to Tom and me during the games in his revealing basketball jersey. He didn't play much either.
"How did it happen, man?" Tom asked with what seemed like genuine curiosity.
I was in his room with him after school on day when we were sophomores. He lunged at me and started wrestling. Obviously I was no match for him, and before I knew it my pants were open and my cock was in his mouth. That's what I explained to Tom, but I left out a few details. For example, I was already completely hard before he even started unbuckling my belt. I also omitted the part about the long kiss that I returned enthusiastically before he moved to my groin. The third thing that I left out of my initial description was what seemed to interest Tom the most.
"Did you do anything for him--other than giving him your cum, I mean?"
"Yeah, I blew him too" I said for the first time ever.
"I can't believe you never told me about this," Tom continued his recurring theme.
"You never answered my question," I said, attempting to shift the focus away from me a bit.
"No, I never did anything like that," he said as I felt my heart sink a little. "I wonder why Honcho never tried anything with me. Hell, why didn't you try something with me?"
"Would you have let Honcho blow you?"
"I don't know. I never thought of him as one of my major friends. No, I don't think I would have let him do it," Tom said thoughtfully.
"Are you disgusted with me," I asked.
"No, not at all man."
"Are you sure?" I said seeming to need reassurance.
"I could never be disgusted with you, Greg. You're my best friend. Sometimes I think you're my only really good friend."
"Okay, good," I replied thinking that we were finished with this topic and certainly hoping that we were.
"I am a little hurt that you never tried anything with me, though," he said locking eyes with me.
"What would you have done if I had?" I asked. I think my voice shook a little with that question.
"Honestly, I don't know. Want to wrestle to find out?"
I lunged at him and pulled him to the floor. We are fairly evenly matched, and we struggled for quite a while before I was on top of him, pinning both his hands about his head using only my right hand to hold them in place. He struggled trying to break free as I sat on his mid-section and made the best of my position to apply more pressure to his wrists.
When I used my free left hand that had slipped under his t-shirt to begin to lightly massage his chest, I felt him surrender. I suspected that he had been waiting for an opportunity to have an excuse to give up.
I released his wrists, but he kept his hands in the same place they had been when I was in control. I moved my weight off of him and shifted to a sitting position on the floor so that I could use both hands to caress him while I watched his body for a reaction.
He stared into my eyes. I couldn't tell if I saw fear or excitement in those eyes, but when I glanced at his crotch I had my answer. I saw the bulge that I had longed to see for several years or more.
I struggled to remove his t-shirt. He sat up and whipped it over his head, tossing it onto the sofa. But he didn't stop there. He wriggled out of his pants and underwear, pulling them off his feet that were still covered by white socks.
"You, too," he said.
I was out of my clothes as quickly as he was, even though he had a head start.
He climbed on top of me, grinding our cocks against each other. I had to fight an urge to cum immediately. I was aware that our touching chests were still sweaty from our earlier exertions.
I followed some sort of instinct as I maneuvered into position to lick the sweat from his entire chest. He groaned each time my tongue crossed one of his nipples. The salty taste of my best friend's fluids excited me even more, and I wedged my nose and mouth into his armpit so that I could feast on the exotic taste and aroma.
As I worked in one area, he would use his free hand to massage my buttocks. I felt electric shocks throughout my body. He must have experienced a similar sensation, because several times I felt his shivers under me.
Suddenly he rolled me over, running his tongue down the centerline of my chest and abdomen until he reached my belly button. He pushed his tongue into the small hole and wriggled it. It tickled but in a highly erotic way.
Then he continued his southward journey until he reached my throbbing and leaking penis. He licked it without any apparent second thoughts, and then he took it into his mouth and worked his way down the shaft gradually until he had it completely within him.
"I want yours, too" I whispered.
"You can when I'm finished with you," he declared.
His technique did not measure up to Honcho's, I must admit. However, knowing that it was Tom who was giving me this immense pleasure heightened my ecstacy beyond anything I had ever experienced. While it wasn't out of consideration for him, I didn't make him work too long before I delivered volley after volley of my juice into him.
Of all of the surprises that the evening had in store for me, the next one still stands out as the most shocking. He spun on his knees and kissed me deeply, sharing my own seed with me.
We broke our kiss finally, and Tom said, "I can't believe it, but that was really fun!"
I wasn't sure whether he meant the kiss or the blow job, but I didn't wait to get a clarification. Instead I dove onto that cock, which had been the focus of so many of my fantasies. I savored the texture, the feel of it pushing further and further into my mouth, and, most of all, the subtle but wonderful flavor. I noticed how different it was to my memory of Honcho's cock, although I may have imagined those differences because I was so very conscious that this penis belonged to Tom. I focused upon ever sensation; the was something that I never wanted to forget.
It's good that my concentration was so complete. I think that I was able to enjoy Tom's cock in my mouth for less than two minutes. Apparently what had led to this had him completely aroused. He delivered several large streams of cum into me, followed by at least half a dozen finishing trickles.
I wondered whether I should follow his lead by finishing with a kiss, but I didn't have to sort out the alternatives for long.
"Kiss me, Greg," he said.
I did of course, enjoying a kiss that seemed to go on forever.
Before our wives returned, Tom said, "You know we can never do this again."
"I know," I said.
I had known all along that this was to be a one time event. It was Tom's gift to me, even though he had obviously enjoyed himself.
"I really enjoyed it, Greg, but it's not who I am. I need to stay committed to my marriage."
"I know," I repeated myself without sorrow. Tom had fulfilled my fantasy, but he had also shown me the path that I needed to follow.
Within the month, Becky and I began our divorce. In the fall, I'll enroll at Vanderbilt but without my best friend as Tom and I had planned.
I still fantasize often, but my fantasies rarely include Tom, although they always include my new lover--even if he isn't the only guy playing a central role. I met him orientation weekend in Memphis. And I'm still grateful to Tom for the vivid memories of that one special girls's night out...or should I say, "Boys night in."
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