This is a series of stories about a number of boys growing up in a Midwestern college town in the eighties. There may be scenes which some could judge to be illegal, immoral, and/or unwise. If you fear it may be illegal, immoral, or unwise for you to read this, then don't! The author of this series does not encourage or sanction the violation of any laws. Do not operate heavy machinery while under the influence of this story.


If you would like to comment on the story, please write to me at chrismac1787 at yahoo dot com. (sorry for the cryptic address, this helps avoid spam)..

Red Squared 

Chapter Three


               It was starting to get dark. Randy's and my parents were sitting in the lawn chairs. They had finished off the wine and had started on the hard stuff. Randy and I were sitting on the edge of the concrete as lightening bugs darted about and the locusts sang in the trees. The adults were discussing politics, something neither Randy or I had must interest in. I was filling Randy in on the best places to hang out in, who the cool people in the tenth grade were likely to be, and any trivia he needed to know about Allenwood, and I was getting a pretty good feeling about the guy. Except for being a perv and a goofus, he really wasn't a bad guy. He had a great sense of humor and we joked and kidded each other and by the time his Dad told us to open the ice cream, we were rolling on the concrete laughing ourselves silly over the stupidist shit you could think of. I was having a blast.

               The adults didn't want to mix their poison with ice cream, so Randy and I would get to eat as much as we wanted. I pulled the container from the machine while Randy ran inside to get some Nestle's Quik to sprinkle on top. Just as he returned, Mickey emerged from around the corner, back from football practice

               "Hey! It's the Mickster!" my Dad yelled a little louder than usual. The women cheered and Randy's Dad jumped up, tripped over the lawn chair and landed face down in the grass, to the hilarity of the others. Randy stopped on the patio, watched his father struggle up while laughing stupidly. Randy just stood there, his face blank, and then turned abruptly toward the ice cream machine. He was silent as he quickly dipped the ice cream into two bowls. Mickey ignored the two of us as he fixed a plate with two steaks and potatoes and regaled the adults with his exploits on the practice field. Randy and I both sprinkled Nestles Quik on top of the ice cream and then he looked at me and finally spoke.

               "Follow me," he said woodenly.

               I shrugged and did as I was told. We walked around the corner of the house to the front and sat down in the dark on the front steps.

               It was quiet. The only sounds were the crickets and the other creatures of the night competing with the muffled hum of traffic on University Drive. A jet was passing by in the distance. A Trans Am sped by with Foreigner blaring from the window. We ate our ice cream in silence.

               Finally, Randy turned to me and said softly, "This is really cool. Thanks."

               "For what?" I asked.

               Randy was silent a moment and then answered, with a shrug, "For sitting here with me, eating ice cream, watching the night, being my friend."

               I sensed there was more to this than merely eating ice cream. Goofus was turning out to be deeper than I realized. He really was a nice guy and suddenly I felt a pleasant sense of affection for the dork. And, respect. And, pity.

               After another silence, he turned and asked me "You have a lot of friends?"

               I smirked and replied, with a hint of shame, "Well, not really. And, I won't know hardly anyone at Allenwood High except the people who were ahead of me at South Haven. So I guess we're in the same boat."

               I gave him a smile and he answered with one of his own.


               After a moment, I asked, "So, did you have a lot of friends back in Michigan?"

               His face clouded again and softly he answered, as he looked out across the yard toward the lights of the south side, "Naw. Not really. Never got a chance to really get to know anyone." He paused and then added, "I always wanted a buddy."

               My heart wanted to break.

               "Well," I answered, shocking the shit out of myself, "you have one now."

               Randy slowly turned, his face inscrutable. The he reached out with his right hand. I reached out with mine and we shook. Then, he gave that goofy grin of his again and jumped up.

               "Come on. Lets get your cot ready and get ready for bed. Then we can put some tunes on and shoot the shit."

               I grinned, too, and said, "Sounds like a plan. Let me run home and get my stuff."

               "What stuff?" he asked as we walked across the driveway toward the corner of the house.

               "My toothbrush and my shorts."

               "Oh, uh, well, OK," he replied with a curious shrug. I gave Randy my empty bowl and angled off toward my own house as he proceeded onward to the back.

               I was already getting hard as I walked through the cold empty house and up the stairs. By the time I reached my bedroom, I was actually trembling. I couldn't tell if it was because of the abrupt temperature change from the warm night or, perhaps, something else. I was afraid it was something else. I had mixed feelings as I opened the door and entered my room.

               I didn't turn on the light. I left it dark and pulled a pair of red running shorts from my dresser drawer, the pair I usually slept in, and an old tye-die I had gotten at last fall's Hippy Fair at ASC. It had been too big for me then, but now, it was just right. Mom would never let me actually wear it in public and could barely tolerate it as a night shirt. But, maybe, Randy would think it was cool!.

               I adjusted my boner so it wouldn't be too screamingly obvious and looked around. I caught site of my clarinet case and grabbed it. Slamming my door I almost ran down the hall. I stopped in the bathroom on my way out and picked up my toothbrush and then was out the door.

               Micky was attacking the ice cream as I came around the corner. Randy was sprawled on the patio, his long, lanky legs spread wide, leaning backwards on his arms. The 'rents had lit some tiki torches as they continued to inhale their cocktails. Dad turned and saw me carrying my clarinet case and snorted, "Hell, Tobe, you moving in?"

               Mother and Mrs O'Neil chuckled.

               "I brought my clarinet because Randy and I might jam a little."

               This brought an overly dramatic look of shock to my Dad's face as he nearly choked on his scotch.

               "You? Jam?"

               Before he could completely lose himself in his hysterics, Randy stood up and declared, "A real jazz artist has to have feeling. Toby's got feeling."

               Dad started to make another smart ass comment but Randy's look kinda shook him up. He didn't respond, though Randy's Dad, to smooth things over, joked, "Well if Toby wants to move in, we may have enough food, if he doesn't eat more than Randy!"

               Grateful for the comic relief, the adults all laughed. Mom added, "Well, I think Micky may have him beat," as my little brother walked by with a heaping bowl of ice cream.

               Randy looked at me and motioned to the patio doors.

               "Come on," he said softly with a grin.

               I followed him up the stairs, this time not bothering to avert my eyes from his cut-off clad ass and his thighs. I was boned like crazy by the time we got to his room. He shut the door and locked it, which surprised me. I would never have thought to lock my door. My mother would shit bricks if either Micky or me locked our doors. Mom was always asking me, when I was in a particularly sullen mode, if I was "on the dope." A locked door would send her into orbit.

               Randy turned and said, "Make yourself comfortable," as he turned on the lamp beside his bed.I dropped my clothes on the floor in the corner and set my clarinet case down next to his.

               "Oh!" he said, as if he just remembered something. "I'll be back," and he ran out the door.

               I sat down in front of the stereo and turned it on fairly low. It was still on the college station, but now that it was after ten, they had changed their format from classical to jazz. Though I didn't know the piece, I knew it was Miles Davis. I looked around the room and squeezed my hard-on through my jeans. Then, I saw the hint of a cardboard box peeking out from beneath Randy's bedspread. I wandered where he had gone and how long it would be before he returned. I knew what was in the one box, but I was curious about the box he had opened last night and then put away. I had to know what was in that one.

               Could I get away with it? I thought for a moment until my dick decided for me. I crawled across the floor and was reaching under his bedspread when, suddenly, I heard a crashing sound in the hallway. I jumped back toward the stereo and looked at the door in fear.

               It opened and there stood Randy with his typical goofy grin holding a retractable cot in his right arm and two glasses of pale orange juice cradled against his t-shirt with his left arm. He struggled into the room and looked at me with a humorous, exasperated look.

               "You just gonna sit there like a dork?"

               I jumped up and grabbed the orange juice. That's when the odor hit me. I looked up him in shock as he dropped the cot at the end of his bed and, once again, locked the door.

               "Hey, these are drinks!"

               Randy's grin grew goofyer.

               "No shit, Sherlock!"

               I sputtered.

               "But, bu, bu, we, we can't do this? What if we get caught?"

               Randy rolled his eyes and took one of the glasses.

               "Hell," he said as he collapsed in front of the stereo, "you're parents are so wasted, they'll be lucky to find their own house tonight."

               As I started to protest out of loyalty and shame, he added, "Shit, my parents'll be lucky to find their house. And, its their back yard!"

               I had to chuckle, which caused Randy to display his goofy grin again.

               "I've never drunk anything like this before, except for that wine tonight."

               "Me neither. It'll be fun!"

               I had never had a friend to break the rules with before, and I had to admit that this was seriously cool. I grinned and sat down next to Randy. We sat cross-legged, my bare right knee touching his bare left knee. I took a sip and was immediately shocked by the strong taste that overwhelmed the o.j.

               "What is this?"

               Randy was listening to Miles, his eyes closed.

               "A screwdriver. Its vodka and orange juice."

               "Man, like how much vodka is in here?"

               "I've never made one before, I figured half and half."

               That seemed to make sense to me, so I took another sip. Randy grinned.

               "So, you're into jazz."

               "Yeah. But I never tell anyone that."

               "Yeah. I know," he said with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

               Just as Miles ended and was replaced with Monk, the most god-awful banging erupted at the door.

               "What the fuck you fags doin' in there?"

               It was Micky. This time, I was going to kill him.

               Randy grinned and jumped up.

               "Hey! Come on in," he declared as he threw open the door. "Join the party!"

               Micky looked around the room with the typical jock's disdain before his eyes landed on the screwdrivers.

               "Hey, you're drinkin'!"

               Randy grinned and put his finger to his lips. Conspiratorially, he waved Micky into the room, drawing him into our criminal behavior.

               "You want mine?" he asked.

               "Fuck, yeah!" Micky declared as he swooped down on the glass sitting on the floor beside me. This was too much for me.

               "Hey! He's my little brother!"

               "Its OK. He can have one."

               I sighed with dismay as Micky took a gulp and choked.

               "Shit!" he declared as he recovered. "How much vodka did you put in there?"

               Randy and I looked at each other. He shrugged.


               "Fuck, you're an alky! It's only supposed to be a shot!"

               I was amazed.

               "How the heck do you know that?" I demanded.

               Micky dramatically sighed and rolled his eyes, but before he could answer, I said waived my hand and said, "Never mind. I don't want to know."

               Randy grinned and sat down at the foot of his bed. Micky turned with distaste to the stereo and declared, "What is this shit?"

               Before either of us could answer, Micky turned it to Rock100. I was not an Arrowsmith fan and, apparently, neither was Randy, but he smiled and indulged Micky, who took another big swig, turned the volume up and started playing air guitar.

               Randy winked at me and I grinned indulgently until the kid decided to crank the volume. An old Who song came on. Micky took another big gulp, which amazed me because I was barely able to swallow the sips I was taking, and started going crazy with the air guitar. While he was preoccupied with being Pete Townsend at the Hammersmith Odeon, Randy crept behind him and slowly dropped the volume notch by notch until we could hear my Dad in the kitchen yelling, "Hey, Mickster! It's time to head 'em up 'n' move 'em out!"

               Micky muttered, "Fuck!" and downed the remainder of Randy's screwdriver. As he stood up, he swayed dangerously and then giggled stupidly. Randy caught him and maneuvered him toward the door. As he reached the hall, he turned to us and declared, "You fags have fun, tonight!"

               As he disappeared out of sight, I buried my face in my hands.

               "Hey, what's the matter?" Randy asked.

               "My brother's such a jerk."

               What?" Randy asked incredulously. "You're lucky you have a brother who loves you!"

               Now it was my turn to look incredulous.

               "Micky loves me? Did you hear what he said?"

               Randy nodded.

               "Yeah. You oughta feel lucky you gotta brother who cares enough to dump shit on ya. If he didn't love ya, he'd ignore ya."

               I thought about it a moment and then I realised he was right. I looked up at Randy in amazement. He was pretty damn smart.

               "I gotta refuel," he declared picking up the empty glass. "You're have a glass ahead of me."

               He disappeared as I sat and pondered the situation. Randy had just shown me how much my little brother really cared for me as well as introducing me to breaking rules, drinking vodka, and God only knew what else. This was not an unproductive evening!

               I took a big gulp of my screwdriver and turned the station to Q-102. They were just finishing a commercial for the latest zit-cream, which made me glad Randy was out of the room. Then, Willy Nilly came on to announce Boogie-Check!

               "Hey! Q-102! Where's your boogie?!"

               "South Haven!"

               "All right! What's Boogie'in' in South Haven?"

               "Well, my cousin's here from Boston and we want to Boogie to 'Bad Girls' by Donna Summer!"

               I knew that voice! That was Kelly Duncan!

               "Bad Girls! Oooooh. Who is this?"

               There was that unmistakable giggle.

               "This is Kelly."

               "Ooooooh. Are you a bad girl, Kelly?"

               Oh my God! Willy Nilly didn't know he was talking to a boy! This was too hilarious!

               "Yes!" Kelly replied in a nasty voice. "I'm a really bad girl!"

               There was another giggle in the background and Willy Nilly said, "I think there's another bad girl there! What's her name?"

               I was about to roll on the floor laughing. Randy returned with the carton of OJ and the bottle of vodka as Kelly responded, "Terry."

               "Well, here's your song, you dirty bad girls. Donna Summer on Allenwood's Q-102!"

               I explained the situation to Randy as he came in. Neither of us had actually admitted anything sexually to each other, but I explained that Willy Nilly thought Kelly and Terry were girls and he thought it was hilarious.

               "I love this song," he declared as he poured another screw driver for himself. He was still pretty much sober, since Micky had guzzled his drink. I was catching a buzz and it felt pretty good as I finished my glass. Randy guzzled about half his glass and declared, "I gotta dance," as Donna got into the song.

               As I sat on the floor, I watched as Randy started really boogy'in down to the song.I had to admit that he was a really good dancer. And, I could see his half bone in his cut-offs.

               I fixed myself another screwdriver, probably as strong as the one Randy had prepared, and took a guzzle.

               "Come on, man! Get up! Let's dance!"

               OK. It was one thing to dance by yourself in your bedroom. It was something else to dance when someone was dancing watching you while they danced. But, it was a completely different thing to dance in front of another guy while you were in the same room. But, I was feeling free and happy and adventurous and... my dick was hard as a rock.

               Oh, fuck! If I stood up, Randy would see my boner! Well, what the fuck was going on, I asked myself. You know what a perv he is. You know what a perv you are. You know you are spending the night with him. Do you really believe that when all is said and done, that you are going to lay down on the cot and go to sleep like a good little clean Christian boy, unpolluted by spilling your seed immorally?

               The song was making me HORNY! Suddenly, I didn't give a shit. I took another big guzzle and stood up.

               "Awright!!" Randy declared as I started getting into the rhythm of the song.

               Here I was partying with a guy in his bedroom, guzzling screwdrivers, and dancing to disco with him. I felt free. All those inhibitions that I wore like a straight-jacket dissolved and I was having a blast. Randy gave me a nasty grin as we worked our hips and swayed to the beat. He was mouthing the lyrics and when Donna sang, "Hey, Mister! I got what you want!" he pointed down to his crotch and I almost cracked up. I gave his crotch another look and realized he was boning more than before. There was no hiding that elephant dick in those cut-offs.

               As "Bad Girls" faded away another song started fading in and when we both recognized it, we both looked at each other with thrilled looks and almost screamed, "I LOVE this song!" We both grinned like idiots with joy knowing that we both had someone to share this with. Even today, I think Thelma Houston's "Don't Leave Me This Way" is the ultimate Disco anthem.

               Randy's arms were working it and his hips were churning so sexily as the song built up and when the chorus began, we both raised our arms and let loose.

               "Oooooooh, Baby! My heart is full of love and desire for you, so come on down and do what you got to do!"

               I felt wonderful. How many times had I danced to this music in my bedroom, alone, pretending I had a boyfriend dancing with me, understanding, loving, getting into it. Sometimes, it was Kelly Duncan in my fantasy. Sometimes it was another cute boy from school. Sometimes, it was just some amorphous figure with no definite face. It was never anyone like Randy. But, tonight, the way he was so carefree and happy, getting into it and having a blast, I was thrilled. This was just right.

               When Willy-Nilly finished his three-in-a-row with Blondie's Heart of Glass, I didn't think I could take anymore. Randy had the same ecstatic expression on his face that I knew must have been on mine. We danced and bopped and swayed and worked it until I didn't think I had any energy left and when the song finally ended and the zit-cream commercial came back on, we both collapsed on the carpet and just grinned at each other like idiots.

               "This is so cool," Randy said softly, looking at me with a beautiful smile. I realized what a jerk I had been over the last couple of days. Randy was such a good person and so happy and easy-going. Then he made a comment that almost broke my heart.

               "I'm glad you're gonna be my pal."

               Our eyes met and I just grinned.

               Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

               "Hey, uh guys. Uh, we're going to bed now. Ya'll might wanna hold it down a little, OK?"

               "Sure thing, Dad!" Randy called.

               "OK! You two have fun and have a good night's sleep!"

               "Alright. Thanks."

               Randy slowly sat up and crawled over to the stereo to turn it down. I laid back and relaxed, with Randy sitting crossed-legged between the stereo and my head.

               "Man, your parents are so cool," I said.

               "Yeah, I guess. Most of the time."

               We were silent for a moment, then Randy said, softly, "Man, you are so boned."

               That kinda surprised me. A warning bell went off in my head, but I told it to shut-up. I leaned up and looked down at my shorts and Randy was right. My dick was hard as a rock and it was at an angle toward my left leg and pushing out the khaki in a way that was unmistakable.

               "Yeah, I guess I am. Dancing does that to me, I guess."

               Randy chuckled. "Shit! Everything does that to me. I'm like hard all the time.

               I turned my head to the left and found Randy's crossed legs just inches from my face. Behind them, his crotch was swollen with that Godzilla dick about to tear out the cloth and attack Tokyo.

               "You're lookin' pretty hard, yourself," I said softly.

               "Yeah,"he replied. "Fuck, I love getting hard."


               A pause.

               "I've been half hard all night."

               "Yeah, me too."

               Another pause.

               "Fuck. This booze makes ya hornier 'n shit. Man, my dick is so hard, I can't stand it. It hurts, its so hard."

               I was trembling with horniness at this point.

               "Yeah. I'm so horny, I'm dyin'."

               Another pause.

               "Dude, I gotta do it. You wanna jack?"

               "Fuck yeah, man! Let's do it!"

               "Awright! Dude, I knew you were cool! When I saw ya dancing last night, I knew you were alright."

               I grinned as Randy whipped his t-shirt off. I sat up and whipped off mine. We turned facing each other, our legs extended as we both reached down to the snaps of our shorts. I ripped the zipper down on my shorts and hooked my thumbs under elastic as Randy opened his zipper. As soon as he pulled the flaps back, I could see he wasn't wearing underwear. That almost doubled my horniness.

               I was finally gonna get a chance to see that superdick up close. I couldn't wait. I pushed my shorts down my legs just as Randy did and our rigid dicks were free, both snapping upward against our bellies.

               "Dude," I whispered, almost reverently. "Your dick is so fuckin' big."

               Up close, it was even more incredible than when I saw it through the window. It was thicker than mine by just a little. But, it was long! He had big round balls that were covered with red hair. They were churning around as he leaned back and spread out his legs, showing himself off to me. He had a thick nest of red dickhair around the base that I desperately wanted to run my hands through. Rising out of that, the long shaft of his dick was so creamy white and straight until the scar from his circumcision. There it turned red and the shaft slightly bent downward and then back up again. The head was so cool. It was perfect. Just fucking perfect. A perfect cone and there was clear juice leaking out of the slit at the tip. His dick was pulsing with his heartbeat and my mouth was salivating with each of those pulses.

               "Yeah," he finally replied. "I guess it is. Your dick looks pretty fucking cool, too!"

               I looked down at mine. My hair was more a reddish blond than Randy's and my dick was maybe two-thirds as long as his. While his was straight, except for that slight curve down and then back up around the circle, mine kinda curved upward. Mine was throbbing like Randy's and there was a little clear juice seeping out of the slit on mine, too. Man, I wanted to wrap my fist around it so bad. Actually, I wanted to wrap my fist around Randy's dick.

               As my eyes looked back up at Randy's dick, his right hand moved over and he started running his fingers through his dick hair and then down to his fat balls. I did the same thing and couldn't believe how hot this was.

               "God damn, I'm so fuckin' horny," he whispered, his voice turning me on so hard. "You jack a lot?"

               "Fuck, yeah," I replied. "Every chance I get."

               "Yeah. I probably beat my dick five or six times a day. I'm fucking always hard and horny."

               With that, he wrapped his hand around his dick and started pumping it. I couldn't wait, so I did the same. We both moaned as our hands started working our dicks, arms flying up and down.

               Suddenly, Randy took his hand away and said, "Stop, try this."

               I took my hand away and watched and he ran the tips of his fingers over his balls and along the rigid shaft of his hot dick.

               "Tease it," he whispered.

               "Oh, yeah" I breathed as I brought the fingers from both my hands to my dick and balls and ran them all over.

               We were both squirming our hips around as we played with ourselves, our eyes locked on each others bones. Randy's breathing was pretty heavy and it was adding to my horniness. I wanted so bad to reach over and grab his dick.

               "Hey," he said. "Reach over there and pull that box out from under the bed."

               "Which one?" I asked. I froze and looked back at Randy as he bit his lower lip and grinned nastily at me.

               "So, you were watching last night!"

               My face was burning.

               "No, I wasn't! I didn't see anything!"

               Randy grinned even more.

               "So, how'd ya know there was something to see?"

               I was busted, Randy grinned and said, "Hey, man, its cool. I was kinda hoping you were watching. That's what made it so hot for me."

               I swallowed and grinned. "Yeah, it looked like you were really getting into it."

               I buried my face in my hand from embarrassment.

               "Hey! Don't be embarrassed. Its cool."

               I smirked sheepishly.

               "Well, its just, I dunno, weird, I guess. Beating off in the window and me watching ya beat-off in the window."

               Randy grinned.

               "What's the big deal? Its not like I was parading down the street and perving old ladies! I knew you were the only person who could see me. Besides, I thought it might help break the ice."

               He paused a moment and I looked up. His face became serious for a moment.

               "I, uh, I didn't think you really liked me much and when I saw ya dancing there, well, you know, one thing kinda led to another."

               Boy, did I feel like shit, all of a sudden. I had judged Randy by the way he looked. I called him a goofus just because he was so lanky and red-headed and had zits and was clumsy. Yet, he was sensitive and intelligent and thoughtful and loyal, all traits he had displayed tonight in abundance. I looked up at him with such remorse.

               Sensing things were getting too serious, Randy suddenly grinned and declared, "Besides, sex is fun! People have too many hang-ups about it. Just do it and enjoy it. Did ya like watching me jack?"

               Grateful for his friendship and for the comic relief, I grinned and said, "Yeah."

               "Did you jack watching me?"


               "Was it the hottest thing you ever did?"

               I grinned even more.

               "Yeah. It was."

               Randy leered really nasty-like and scooted over.

               "You wanna do something even hotter?"

               "Yeah," I breathed.

               Randy spread his legs wide, his big Godzilla dick throbbing hard in front of me. He leaned back on his elbows, his dick pointing straight up in the air.

               "Feel me."

               Trembling, my right hand slowly reached forward and I gingerly touched the tips of my fingers to the hard, rigid flesh of his cock. I heard him breath in and felt his dick flex as my fingertips traced up and down his boner. I ran them down to his fat, tight balls and felt the soft red hair as they churned in their sac under my fingers. His dick was really throbbing and flexing and the liquid was really oozing out of the tip by now. I ran my fingers up the shaft. When I got to the sensitive area under the head, he almost growled when he exhaled. I rub the area hard with the tips of my fingers, causing his dick to push hard against my fingers. The oozing increased. The head of his dick was covered with clear ooze. I wrapped my hand around the top of his dick.

               "Oh, yeah," Randy whispered as I worked my hand around the slick head of his dick. Slowly, I began to move my hand up and down over the head and the sensitive area below it. I could feel his dick swell even more in my hand.

               Randy sat up and reached acoss to my dick. He scooted closer . We both lifted our left legs over the other's right legs so we could get close.

               "Damn, this is hot," Randy breathed. "I always wanted a beat-off bud."

               I grinned at him.

               "Me, too."

               We both started pumping hard on each other and I couldn't help but squirm as his hand gripped me tightly and pumped my dick. It felt so fucking good, so much more intense than when I did it myself. I could feel it building and I knew I was going to spew any second.

               Randy seemed to sense this and suddenly slowed down, just holding my dick, his hand wrapped around the head, the sensitive area, just barely moving, kinda grinding around and squeezing it, fast enough to make it feel so fucking good, but slow enough that he wouldn't bring me off. I tried to do the same for him, but I suppose my desire for him to get me off translated into my own hand really working the top half his dick. He started breathing harder and harder. His left hand reached across and started feeling my balls. I did the same to him, running my left hand through the hair around his dick and then down to feel and cup and squeeze his balls.

               "Ah, fuck," he breathed. "Jack it, dude. Beat my dick. Make me cum."

               As he said that, his fist started pumping me at lightning speed.

               "Aaaah," I cried out as both our fists standing jacking hard on each others dicks. We were both working our hips and pumping each other as fast and tight as we could. I could feel Randy's dick getting iron-hard when he suddenly threw his head back and closed his eyes. I was in such a frenzy that I could barely realize what what happening when suddenly, Randy began growling hard and loud as long thick wads of cum started shooting out of the tip of his big, throbbing dick and landing all over us. Wad after wad shot out and it was just too hot and sexy and nasty for me. I lost it. I kept jacking him as he pumped me over the edge.

               "Uh, uh, uh," I groaned over and over as I shot my own cum all over us. I could feel ropes of cum from both of us landing all over my face and chest and arms as we shot and spazzed and jizzed all over each other. And, when it finally ended, we both collapsed against each other, our foreheads touching, gasping, whispering, "Fuck," over and over.

               "Man, Toby, that was the best cum I ever had!" Randy said squeezing my dick and bring forth both a shudder and another ooze of Tobycream.

               "Fuck, Randy, I can't believe this. Damn, that felt good!"

               Randy leaned back and grinned that damned goofy grin of his.

               "Man, think about how much fun you and I are gonna have now!"

               I grinned.

               "Yeah, man. This is gonna be hot!"

               Randy just smiled at me and after a moment, said, "I got a best bud who likes clarinet and jazz and dancing and getting nasty. Fuck, this is the best. And, its gonna be cool to finally have a friend at school.

               You know, if he just hadn't said that last sentence, if he had just left it the way it was before mentioning school, I would have agreed. Randy, I had to admit, was a super cool guy. We liked jazz, we both played the clarinet, we were both in Marching Band, we loved to dance, and FUCK was he good at getting nasty! But, suddenly, I realized, he and I were gonna be best friends at school, in a new school, where first impressions were crucial, vital, and there was a small voice inside me, screaming, "OH MY GOD!"