This story is pure fiction. If you are not 18 or older, please leave immediately.
Do not continue reading. Also, if gay male sex isn't
your thing, you might want to stop here. Otherwise, I hope you have a great
If you liked this story, please let me know. Feedback, comments, thoughts, criticism are all welcome. DO NOT email me if you are under 18 years of age. Andrew J (Email: firstname.lastname@example.org; Yahoo IM: andrewbjo)
Eric and I had no idea what to expect when we got to Las Palmas. I expected the worst - that both our sorry asses would get publicly humiliated and then dumped. Hell I probably would have dumped us. My t-shirt was completely soaked at the armpits, and my hands were clammy as we scanned the restaurant for the girls. Eric’s hands were visibly shaking.
“Oh man… I’m fucked.” Eric spotted them at a corner table, huddled together, looking distraught. Julie’s jaw clenched and the muscles in her neck tensed up as soon as she saw us. Eric let out a whimper. For an instant I thought he was going to bolt.
As Stephanie turned around to look at me, I shrunk at eye initial contact. Hurt, disappointment, and confusion. My mind subconsciously took in every signal I received, as she stared at me with her beautiful but saddened brown eyes. She was definitely upset… I could see it in the way she slouched, and in her furrowed brow.
As we walked towards their table, I desperately scanned Steph’s aura for signs of anger. Anger was the one reaction I feared the most in her. All other reactions I had the courage to deal with. I’ve only ever seen her angry twice in the five years I’ve known her, and it was almost the end of us on both occasions. Trust me. Stephanie was the last woman on earth you wanted angry at you.
Eric was a big, nervous, shaking mess. We sat down at the table, and, following a period of awkward silence, he tentatively reached across the table for Julie’s hand. She abruptly got up, and left the restaurant.
Steph said she’d better go too, as Julie was pretty upset. As she got up to leave, she touched my shoulder and said we’d talk later. I nodded obediently with much penitence and apology as I could muster. But deep down inside, I felt a tidal wave of relief surge through me. She touched me. Years of being with Steph had taught me that a we’ll-talk-later tap on the shoulder meant things would eventually be OK.
“Man, we’re fucked. I’m ruined. She’s gonna dump me, Dave. I can tell.” I ordered us coffee and breakfast as Eric sat beside me and whined and whimpered.
“I can tell. It’s over.” He looked at me with such a pitiable expression I had half the mind to wallop him and tell him to be a man. The other half felt really bad for him. It couldn’t be easy. Unlike my Stephanie, Julie was very emotional, often irrationally so, and seemed like a very high-maintenance girlfriend.
It was a sweltering day, and after breakfast we decided to head back to the comfort of our air-conditioned hotel room. Typically, Eric wasn’t a talkative guy, except for when he was stressed out. So, all morning I listened to him talk non-stop about how much he loved Julie, how he never wanted to lose her, and how miserable he would be if they broke up.
I listened to him, counseled him and supported him as much as I could. We
stayed in for the whole afternoon, afraid to leave for fear that we’d
accidentally run into the girls.
At about 4 o’clock, the girls returned. Julie went straight into the bedroom and locked the door. My girlfriend asked me to join her for a walk. Nervously, I agreed. We headed towards the beach, found a bench to sit on, and talked. Boy did we talk.
Steph told me she was confused, but not completely surprised, at what had happened. She said I had a lot of introspection ahead of me. Was I bisexual? What did that mean for our relationship? And how was I going to figure it all out?
Most importantly, she told me, rather she reminded me, that she loved me. And that she wasn’t planning on leaving me, or abandoning me at this juncture in my life.
“That would be cruel,” she said. “You’ve got some serious figuring out to do, and I’ll be here at your side while you’re working through it.”
I was touched deep down at her gentleness of spirit, and her generosity, and felt tears welling in my eyes.
Then, she made me make a promise.
“Be safe. Don’t put yourself, or me, in any danger. If you do, I’ll kill you. And I mean it.”
Now, guys that are 6’2’’ tall don’t cry in public. We just don’t. Gay, straight, or anything in between. So I did the equivalent. I pouted, and, holding a really long, sad expression, put my head on Steph’s shoulder, letting her stroke my hair if she chose to do so.
She didn’t choose to do so.
Steph continued to say that, more immediately, we would have to take care of Julie and Eric. Julie was her best friend, and she wasn’t handling it well at all. If Eric was gay, it would be the most humiliating thing possible to Julie. And, according to Julie, if he wasn’t straight, he was gay. There isn’t really any such thing as a bisexual.
“I think the two of them just need some time, and some space,” Steph said. Therefore, she continued, for the rest of the vacation, we were going to try to keep the two of them apart whenever they needed to be apart.
“Which means we girls sleep in the bedroom for the rest of the trip. And you and Eric sleep in the living room. You, of course, will sleep on the sofa.”
I nodded, and said I’d do anything she wanted.
Then, as an afterthought she pointed her finger at me admonishingly and said, “And keep your hands off him!”
I looked up at Steph, a bit surprised at this last part, and noticed she was half smiling. Relieved, I returned her smile, and we shared a little laugh.
She put her hand on my head, which still rest on her shoulder, and slowly started stroking my hair.
God bless you, Stephanie. God bless girlfriends like you.
Now that my faith in my relationship with Stephanie had been restored, I could channel all my energy into supporting my buddy Eric. And good God he needed it.
For the next several days, Steph and I stayed close to our respective friends, and kept them apart as best we could. The girls did their own thing during the days, and Eric and I did ours. After the first two days, the four of us started hanging out together on the beach, and going to restaurants together. There was a still an awkward silence between Eric and Julie, but at least they weren’t storming away at the very sight of each other. The warm weather and the overall relaxed mood of Puerto Vallarta went a long way in helping things too. It’s hard to stay angry with someone when you’re on vacation.
I think Stephanie was right, in that all the two of them needed was a little time.
There seemed to be an unspoken pact between Eric and me, that nothing would ever, ever, ever happen between us again. Not that we really wanted for it to. We completely avoided touching each other, and stayed well outside each other’s social comfort zone. We stopped sharing the bathroom, which we were used to doing before, and never sat on the bed together. We barely took joining seats at restaurants or clubs. It was sort of strange, and felt a little artificial, but that’s how it was.
During the nights, the girls stayed in the bedroom. Eric got the bed in the living room, while I slept on the sofa. Eric was a much less used to roughing it, and was more delicate in nature than I was, so I let him have the bed. The sofa was extremely uncomfortable. It was barely even long enough for me, and every night I eventually ended up on the floor.
For the first two nights, Eric slept erratically. He tossed and turned, and fidgeted. He would sit up in the middle of the night and start sniveling. Man I would hate to be Julie’s boyfriend, I thought to myself, smugly.
I tried being there for him, and talking about stuff whenever he needed it, day and night. The one thing we never talked about was our sexuality, or what had happened between us. It was part of the unspoken pact. But we talked about everything else. This was very amusing to me in hindsight, the fact all we cared about was our girlfriends, not the fact that we had possibly miscalculated our sexuality, or were discovering a whole new universe within us we were unaware existed.
All the counseling I was doing for Eric began to give our relationship a new dimension. I started looking towards him as a much more than just a friend. Perhaps even as a younger brother. I began to feel protective of him, and was genuinely concerned with his life and welfare on a that transcended mere friendship. I think he started looking towards me as a big brother too.
On the fifth day of our vacation, things were definitely getting better. The four of us spent the day on the beach, relaxing and drinking, and Eric and Julie even shared a few jokes together. It was really nice to see. It couldn’t have been easy for Eric. He was still deeply embarrassed over what happened, and conflicted. But I was proud of him to see him getting his relationship back together, slowly, but surely, and proud to see him reverting back to the good old, happy Eric.
That night, after the girls had turned in, Eric and I were both getting ready for bed. It was a balmy night, and we had both stripped to our shorts.
“Thanks Dave, I really owe you big time for all your help,” Eric said, as I was emerging from the bathroom.
“Hey, no worries,” I replied. He put his arm around me and gave me a brotherly hug. I hugged him back, and then said, “Go to bed, man. Let’s get some rest.”
Eric turned out the light and crawled into the bed and I lay down on the sofa. It had been a long, fun-filled day, and I was exhausted. I slowly drifted off to sleep, feeling happy that things were finally turning out okay for Eric, and glad that I was there to help him out.
I must have been asleep for a few hours when I was awoken by Eric’s soft voice.
“Dave?” Eric was kneeling beside the sofa, quietly calling my name in my ear. His hand lay on my bare chest.
“Huh? You OK?” I asked, suddenly awake and alert. I took hold of his hand. His expression was soft and earnest. His face and shirtless torso were illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the glass doors of the balcony.
“Yeah, I…” He looked down.
As I looked at my best friend’s handsome, masculine features, his messy hair, and his lean, smooth torso, I felt a familiar stirring within me. The way his slender waist disappeared into his loose fitting shorts, and the way his lower back curved inwards, then graciously continued to join the mounds of his ass…
“Go back to bed,” I said, as gently as I could, surprised at my own willpower. I let go of his hand, and patted him on the shoulder. His bare skin was warm, and my hand lingered for a second longer than I had intended.
“You’re right,” Eric said, turning away. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t…” He got up and headed back to the bed.
“Eric?” I said, hesitantly. My throat was dry, and I felt weak as the fire took hold of me.
He led me by my hand to the bed. On the way we managed to discard our clothes. This time, our sex wasn’t a mad, desperate animalistic rush of hormones. Rather, it was slow and deliberate, and we savored every moment of it. We kissed passionately. We explored each other’s bodies slowly, caressing, touching, massaging. Broad shoulders. Firm chests. Hairy armpits. Stubble. More stubble.
Thick, athletic thighs. Waists tucking into narrow, slender hips. Firm, hard, muscular ass cheeks. Round, and firm, that seemed to buck and rev when they were grabbed.
Sex organs. Real, with dimension. Identical to my own. Complementary in their similarity. A penis, hard and stiff. Our relative sizes seemed irrelevant this time, we were so overwhelmed by our similarities. A rigid shaft that throbbed with our pulses. Tight, hard veins underneath, leading to a flared head, surrounded by an incredibly sensitive ridge of nerves, just like my own. Emanating heat. Raw, masculine heat. And balls, just like my own. Tenderly encased in a sac of skin. So precious and so vital and defining of my maleness, and therefore my whole being.
Private areas, like that sensitive perineal area between my legs where I so hated being touched. By anyone. Eric felt that way too.
And the most amazing part - the smell. Eric smelled masculine. He smelled like a man. The musky, aroma of testosterone.
I was amazed at how good it felt to be with Eric. At how natural it all was, and at how perfectly my best friend and I connected. As though our bodies were an extension of our minds, and our friendship had just extended, in due, natural course, into the physical realm.
I gave my first blow job that night. I felt a cock inside my mouth, against my tongue, and grazing my tonsils. How did I instinctively know to shield my teeth? I also got my first blow job from a man. My gay buddies were right. Guys do give better head.
We made love for as long as we could before both needing to let go. Our orgasms were quick, simultaneous, and explosive. We erupted like volcanoes, our cocks pointing straight up as we sat face to face in embrace, kissing each other. We never once broke eye contact with each other.
Eric and I held each other in embrace. Blissfully, we refused to separate, or to sleep. It felt good, in fact it felt perfect. We didn’t separate until we saw the first signs of the sun emerge in the sky, through the glass doors of the balcony. We then carefully cleaned up, put our shorts back on, and I went back to the sofa.
I lay down, too overcome with emotion to sleep. With the sexual connection I’d just had with my best friend. And more importantly, with the spiritual connection I’d just had with myself.
If wanting Eric meant I was gay, then there was no doubt in my mind. I was gay.
And somehow, deep down, I knew Eric felt the same way.
(to be continued…)
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-- Andrew J (Email: email@example.com; Yahoo IM: andrewbjo)
Check out the first story with Eric & Dave in it Straight Jock Foot Massage.
Copyright 2006 Andrew J (firstname.lastname@example.org) All Rights Reserved.