Green Room II
So magnificent was the night, with its zillion twinkling stars against a matt-black sky, we ate our steaks in the fresh air by the pool. "Hey," I said, "you wanna see an elephant? Kyle knew a guy at school who did this in class." I turned out my pockets, unzipped my fly and produced my schlong. "See? Two ears and a trunk. Pretty cool, huh?" Then I gazed into the vastness of the great unknown and said g'day to Kyle.
"He's gotta be out there somewhere, and I figure he's watching us. Did you know that Kyle was the one to nickname you Fingers?"
"Did he give you or Brett a nickname?"
"Not really, but Graham calls Brett `Conan', as in Barbarian. Kyle never nicknamed Brett or me. He sometimes referred to us as boygods, though."
"Was he a boygod?"
"More than that. He was the most special friend anyone could hope to have."
Next morning, Fingers and I devoured toast spread with avocado and sprinkled with ground pepper when Brett rocked into the kitchen. He wore an ear-to-ear grin, which made it patently obvious he'd enjoyed his night with his girl.
I spent the rest of the day listening to Fingers' music. You'd be right at home, G. Moody Blues, Def Lepard (Jesus, what were those guys on?), Bread (way cool music) and, yes, loads of Pink Floyd.
Fingers had a date with his girl that night, and apologized profusely. Hey, she's the main thing in his life and I certainly wasn't about to stand in the way. Besides, it also provided Brett and I with an opportunity to be together by the pool and chat. He eventually got into a really deep convo about his concern for me and drugs, and where I was headed. However, he wasn't all serious. We enjoyed a few good belly laughs along the way, sharing jokes or inventing weird scenarios about Kyle. Kyle entered our convo quite a bit. That was to be expected because I met Brett through Kyle.
As we talked and laughed, I asked him to hang for a moment while I darted into the house to fetch two beers. When I returned, I placed my hands on his bare shoulders. He didn't flinch.
"I worry about you, Stuart."
"Don't sweat it," I said while I kneaded his shoulder blades. "Half the world is worried about me already. Hell, even my dad speaks to me now."
"Yeah--with his fists. That seems to be the only talk you understand these days."
"Oh? So tell me you didn't enjoy beating the crap out of me in the garage. Just a bit."
"No shit! I enjoyed hitting you a lot!" he laughed.
"That's what Kyle loved about you--that annoying laugh of yours."
"Stuff you, mate," he laughed again, but nonetheless enjoyed my touch. "That feels wicked, man"
"So let's go inside and I'll give you a fair dinkum massage."
Guessing which way Brett's mood would swing at any given moment was like trying to pick the winning number of a lottery. I was never hundreds about Brett, so you can imagine my relief when he wasted no time in lying on his stomach on the couch. Woohoo! He wasn't mad at me, but how far could I push my luck?
I placed my hands on the waist of his jeans, then moved under his stomach to reach his fly buttons. Hello? No resistance. In fact, he raised his hips to allow my fingers access. Once his fly buttons were undone, I slipped his jeans down his legs. Oops! His boxers came with them, and I got a gawk at the cutest butt on the planet--hard and tight. But, just as quickly, he reached for his boxers and pulled them back up. Damn! What a party pooper!
Nonetheless, I massaged his powerful, muscular back as he closed his eyes and allowed me to transport him to the land of bliss. I learned my massage technique from Kyle. He was the best at massaging. He ruled.
We didn't speak, at least not until my hands arrived at his legs, which were like solid oak, except better looking. Brett's skin is smooth, and cling-wraps the muscles. A boner? Me? Go figure.
"You're putting me to sleep," he mumbled. "That feels A1, mate."
"I'm enjoying it too. You got a good bod."
No response to my last comment, not even a thanks. I wanted to massage him the whole damn night, just to feel the erotic smoothness of his skin--with permission. Interestingly, he don't bother to reclaim his jeans when I finished, and he didn't mind my gawking at his semi, which fought for air in his boxers. The vibe was cool and I didn't want him to go to toddle off to bed--just yet. I needed an excuse to keep him awake, and in my company. I loved every minute of it.
"Feel like sharing a joint?"
"Why not?" he said, and smiled that smile.
Out in the garden, I noticed the air had cooled significantly. I lit the joint and took a deep drag, and felt the wave invade my entire body, a sensation that is difficult to describe to a non-smoker. I watched Brett take the joint and put it to his lips. He held the smoke in his lungs for a while, then exhaled a rapidly expanding cloud of blue-gray. Like me, he knew the longer you held the smoke, the more quickly it affected the brain.
"Was Kyle the only guy you ever BJ'd?" It was a question out of the blue, and I wasn't sure what prompted me to ask it. It was as much of a surprise to me as it was to Brett. And right away, I expected him to bite off my head. But he didn't.
"What inspired that question?"
"Just thinking aloud--wondering what it's like, I guess."
"Can I ask you a straight-up question?"
Before answering, I took another deep drag of the J after he passed it to me. "Sounds like you will anyway."
"I'm confused about you, Stuart. You can get any chick you want, any time you want. There's no question that chicks think you're hot. So here's the question: are you gay?"
"Do you think Kyle was gay?"
"He was bi. I don't think he hid that from his friends. He hated the label, though. All he wanted was for his ... his bisexuality ... to be accepted as normal. But back to the question: are you?"
"Gay? Because I have my eye on you?"
"I hadn't noticed."
"You're the one who says I'm hunky. So ... are you? And stop avoiding the question."
"Okay, I'd like to suck you off. I think you're a god, and so did Kyle. Happy now?"
Brett nodded for a while, deep in thought. And then: "Before I met Kyle, I would have beaten you to a pulp for what you said just now."
"Okay, you wanna wrestle?"
Each movement Brett made was calculated. He took a last drag of the J and stubbed it out on the barbecue. Without warning, he charged at me and grabbed me around the waist. The force allowed him to carry me all the way to the pool where we both flew into the icy water. *KER-SPLASH!*
The chill immediately took my breath away, then I waited in panic for the punches to fly. I waved my arms frantically in an endeavor to fend off the imaginary fists, stirring up the water like a high-revving outboard. But they never arrived. What the ... ???
I opened my eyes to see Brett standing waist deep, and tossing his head to flick the hair from his face. He then laughed--a real belly-laugh that inspired me to join the mirth. "You should see yourself, Stuart! What's with the bloody dance?"
"I thought you were gonna lay into me." My laughter quickly subsided to a nervous giggle.
"Why should I? You're already doing that to yourself." And with that caustic remark, he turned to walk up the steps, but then paused to face me. "You better get out of that water before you catch cold, mate."
While still in the pool, I removed my jeans. Ever tried to remove wet jeans on dry land? I also removed my boxers and noticed my lazy cock hanging over my nads, which took a swing or two as I exited. Meanwhile, Brett entered the house to fetch a couple of towels, one of which he threw at me. The night chill had begun to bite my skin and caused goosebumps to blossom all over. I looked like a plucked chicken, only slightly sexier. Brett, still dressed in wet boxers, toweled himself, looking like a million bux. You had to be there, G. That guy is a living god.
"So," I said as I eyed his bod, "you shy in front of me now? Scared I'll eyeball your jewels or something?"
Brett's face was blank, as was his mind. He hadn't a clue how to respond. I approached him, knelt before him and dug my fingers into the waistband of his boxers. At any moment, I expected a fist, but I was too trashed to give a damn. Apparently, so was he.
Somehow, for a reason I failed to comprehend, he raised his feet to allow me to remove his boxers. His cock was at eye level, and I watched in awe as it rose in response to my attention. Brett caught his breath as I cupped his weighty nads in my hand.
"What the hell are we doing, Stuart?"
That sounded to me like a question that needed a serious answer. I removed my hand, stood, and faced him directly in the eye. "I really want to do this, mate. You don't need to do anything. I just want to experience what Kyle experienced. I'd really like that, but I'll understand if you don't want to. Hey, Brett, it's just the two of us here."
I felt his hand on my head, eager to keep it where it was as I pleased him and sent him to heaven. His other hand made an erotic tour of his chest and abs. Instinct took control, and his hips jerked back and forth, sending his length as far down my throat as possible. "I'm cumming!"
I moved my face to one side. His knees buckled. My cheeks, eyebrows, chin became the recipient of a dozen bullseyes, some of which entered my mouth. How on earth he managed to remain upright is a mystery.
"Oh, my fuck!" he gasped and wobbled.
But my mouth was currently occupied by his slowly deflating manhood, which prevented any intelligible utterance from me. Besides, I didn't want to let the damn thing go. This is what Kyle experienced.
Then, I suddenly felt stupid, and wondered what the hell he was thinking. It seemed an age that I remained in position, staring at his thick, awesome prize as it floated about in the night air.
"You gonna stay down there forever, Stuart?"
I stood, wearing a sheepish expression, and looked him in the eye. Without warning, he burst into laughter. "What's so funny?" I asked.
"You dickhead," he guffawed, "you look like you had a fight with a meringue pie!"
Immediately upon hearing a brilliant line like that, I couldn't help but to dissolve into hysterical laughter. I could easily picture how I must have appeared. I heard him still belly laughing on the lawn as I disappeared into the house to clean up. You could have heard him all the way from Byron. Hahahaha!
When I emerged from the bathroom, Brett was fixing coffee in the kitchen. Neither of us bothered to dress, and sat naked at the table. However, I was still curious about his thoughts. Did he think I was crazy? A loopy? Gay? Then he spoke two words that absolutely floored me. "Thanks, mate."