Date: Mon, 6 Jul 2009 23:54:59 -0700 (PDT)
From: Marc McClean <mj_mclean2001@yahoo.com>
Subject: What Friends Do

This is an erotic story about man-to-man sexual activities. If you are
offended by such material, too young to read such, or it is illegal in your
community, stop here and find something that won't get you in trouble.
Otherwise, please enjoy! If you do, please drop me a note at
mj_mclean2001@yahoo.com
Thanks!

WHAT FRIENDS DO

By M.J.  McLean

My best friend writhed in front of me in just a pair of tight black bikini
briefs, his tanned muscles glistening with sweat as his body matched the
beat of a dance track, and for a moment, all I could think of was how glad
I was he couldn't see my growing hard-on beneath the blue-and-white boxer
shorts I had on, because that's all I had on.

It could take me days to unravel all the things wrong with that sentence,
if only I could stop staring at what was straining to escape the bikini
briefs. Happy birthday to me.

In 16 years of friendship, I'd seen many sides of Dax Taylor -- the second
baseman, the trombone player, the church boy, the Army recruit, the guy
whose eyes teared up at the end of sad movies, the soft shoulder wet with
my tears every time I broke up with The One -- but every side shared one
common trait: They liked girls. Dax was straight.

He was the new guy in the small Arizona town when we met. We attended the
same Mormon ward and we were thrown together in church groups because we
were roughly the same age; I think I'm older by 10 months. For me it was
lust at first sight, which wasn't all that uncommon in my teen years, a
time when I fell in love with most of the guys in high school at least
once.

Somehow, we became friends. My mom thought it was the music -- I played
saxophone in the band -- but we just fit. We were there for each other,
double dating (all the better to see Dax in a suit), enduring scout camp
(he looked hot in a uniform), studying (late nights in the family room,
falling asleep next to each other on the sofa bed).

I managed to keep my feelings to myself, having turned it into an art form
to survive in a small town surrounded by Mormons. But when I came out, I
came out first to Dax, who shrugged off the news: "All the more girls for
me, right?"

Through it all, we never hesitated when one of us needed help. "It's what
friends do," we'd say, whether it was driving 30 miles when Dax's truck
broke down in the mountains or sitting with me when I broke up with The One
again.

I went to college, Dax joined the Army, but we remained close. We wound up
in Tucson by the time we hit our mid-20s. Dax got married, twice, got
divorced twice and got over both break-ups in my guest room.

"It's what friends do," I told him.

More than once, other friends warned me that I was letting Dax get in the
way of finding love, that I couldn't let go of him, but I didn't want to
hear it. The thing was, as I approached 30, I was freaking out more easily
when a relationship went sour and then recovering a little too quickly when
Dax showed up to help me pick up the pieces.

Two weeks ago, when Blake someone-or-other walked out, Dax took me out to
get drunk and, as he helped me navigate the hallways of my apartment, he
murmured something in my ear.

"One of these days, you're gonna get it right, Kip. I just don't know what
it's gonna take for you to do it." He took a breath. "I'd make it right if
I could, you know. It's what friends do."

As my thirtieth birthday approached, Dax started hinting about a surprise
party. I made him swear not to do it. I have never liked birthday parties
-- not my own, anyway -- and I was dreading thirty in ways I was only
beginning to understand.

"I should get you a stripper, dude," he said, leering a little. "Just a
little private party, you and a hot guy in a g-string."

"I can't believe you said the phrase `hot guy in a g-string,'" I said,
laughing. "You are so gay!"

"Yeah, you wish," he said. "Problem is, the only strippers I know got boobs
and hoo-hoos.  Have to work on that."

I finally made Dax promise not to hire a stripper and not to throw a
party. "Let's just you and me celebrate, OK? What friends do?"

"You're such a loser, Kip," he growled.

"And what does that make the best friend of a loser?" I replied.

"A saint," he said. "A fuckin' saint."

Dax was vague the night before my birthday about what we would do.

"I'll call you," he said.

But he didn't and I started gathering up the self-pity as I drove home from
work, suddenly wishing I had let him invite a few friends over, just so I
wouldn't get drunk alone.

The apartment was dark and empty when I got home. I actually felt a tinge
of sadness as I poured a gin and tonic. Then the phone rang.

"Dude, happy fuckin' birthday!" Dax said. "I didn't do a surprise party,
just like you said. But guess what, dude? I got you a stripper. He's on his
way now, so don't go anywhere." And he hung up.

Shit. I did not want to face a stripper, no matter how cute or muscled he
might be. Maybe that was part of turning 30: It just seemed a little
skanky, especially a private dance. Was I that hard up?

Someone knocked. I considered pretending to be out, but couldn't remember
if I'd locked the door and finally opened it.

He was standing in the doorway, back to me, dressed in a baseball uniform.
Nice touch, I thought, and nice ass. I felt something stir and decided to
play along.

"C'mon in," I said, "living room's this way."

"Go sit in the blue chair and wait," a deep voice said. Dax must have given
him the layout of the room. I complied, getting a little more excited by
the prospect of a hot guy in a g-string, Dax's promised surprise.

I settled into the chair. And Dax walked into the living room, looking for
all the world like the second-baseman I lusted after all those years ago.
Dax. Shit. Damn.  Omigod. Dax was going to strip for me.

My heart quickened. I had told Dax about my teenage crush, but never told
him how serious it was or that it had never gone away. Could I let him do
this, even in fun?

"Dax, you don't have to ..."

"Happy birthday, Kip," he said as he plugged his iPod into my sound
system. "I'm gonna give you a show you'll never forget, stud."

"Dax, I ... "

"It's what friends do." He turned on the music, a thumping dance track
whose beat his hips caught as he swayed and thrust. He raised his arms
slowly, tipping his cap and flipping it to the floor. Just that prelude to
stripping raised the heat in the room. My mouth went dry.

Dax circled the chair, brushing my arm, raking his fingers through my
hair. Oh my god, was he really doing this? This is more than what friends
do, especially straight friends.

"Now Kipster," he said, moving around in front of me again. "This isn't
going to be your usual strip show."

"It isn't?"  I asked, my tongue heavy.

"No, Kip, it's a special strip show," he said, hips tracing a slow circle.
"It's what you call an interactive strip show, an audience participation
show. You see, every time I take something off, you have to take something
off."

"What? Dax, what are you talking ..."

"No exceptions, sir. I take something off, you take something off. Got it?"

I tried to nod, my mind torn between wanting to see my best friend strip
and not wanting to ruin our friendship.

"Dax, listen, you're my best friend. I don't want to ruin that. You don't
have to do this ..."

"Shhhh ...  Happy birthday, my friend. This is what I'm doing for you. It's
time. Now watch..."

Dax slowly unbuttoned the baseball jersey, pulling it free from the pants.
He let it slide off his shoulders, his broad, muscled shoulders. I'd seen
Dax shirtless before.  I'd seen him naked more than once, even, but this
was different. I was seeing him anew. I swallowed. My cock started to
grow. Oh lord.

The shirt finally fell to the floor. Dax licked his right index finger and
traced a line down his chest and to each nipple, tweaking them and licking
his lip. Where had he learned this? He moved closer to me, took my hand and
put it on his chest. I felt his heart beating as fast as mine.

"Now you," he said.

I looked blankly. He reached out and grabbed a button on my shirt.

"Now you."

I could still stop this, but I didn't. I fumbled with the buttons and
tugged until I could shrug off the shirt.

"No fair, Kip, you're wearing a t-shirt underneath. C'mon, that's gotta go,
too." Dax leaned over and took hold of the undershirt. He pulled it up over
my head, his touch sending shivers through me. "That's better." Dax tossed
the shirt aside and took a step back.

He seemed to notice my shoes and smiled. "Oops," he said.  He kicked off
his sneakers, leaving the white socks on. "C'mon, buster, shoes and socks."
I did as I was told, breathing more heavily. My cock was nearly hard now,
the blood pumping almost in time to the music.

Dax circled the chair again and unfastened his belt as swayed. He
unbuttoned the uniform pants and, slowly, peeled them from his hips,
exposing not the jock strap I expected, but a pair of tight, black bikini
briefs, packed tightly enough to make me gasp a little. Dax thrust a little
to the beat and let the pants fall to the floor, stepping out of them. I
closed my eyes briefly and took another deep breath.

"You like it, don't you, Kip?" Dax's voice had taken on a deeper,
scratchier tone and his eyes drilled into me. "I thought so. Your turn,
birthday boy." He winked. I gulped.

This was about the last chance to chalk this up to a friendly birthday
joke. I was about to say so, when I saw something in Dax's look. I stood
slowly and unbuckled my own belt.  I let my own hips move a little to the
beat as I unfastened the pants. They were dress slacks, so there was no
peeling; they fell to the floor immediately, leaving me in blue-striped
boxers, my hard-on poorly concealed.

I sat down, suddenly embarrassed by my condition. Dax smiled, a look of
what I thought was triumph crossing his face as he writhed in front of me,
my best friend in tight black bikini briefs, me in boxers that could no
longer hide the way I felt.

I figured the show was about over now. Dax rolled and swayed around the
chair again, pausing as he stood behind me, leaning over. I felt his lips
on my head and his hands on my shoulders and then on my chest, rubbing my
skin, and I realized something was different, something was changing.

Dax eased around and stood facing me. There was no doubt about what was
going on inside those briefs now. Dax's cock was as hard as mine, straining
to break out.  Suddenly, he straddled my legs and sat down on my lap. I
gasped loudly and nearly came on the spot.

"Time for the lap dance," Dax whispered. He slid forward a little until I
could feel his hardness against my stomach. He began to grind his hips into
my lap. I slid down so Dax could push himself into my crotch, now both on
fire and damp with precum. He thrust himself into my lap, grabbing onto the
chair arms, throwing his head back.

"Oh ... god ..." I breathed.

Dax eased off and in a quick movement knelt in front of me. He looked into
my eyes.  "You've wanted this for so long, I know. I've known all these
years how much you wanted me and now I'm yours, birthday boy. I'm yours.
But first ..."

He stood slowly. "We have one bit of unfinished business." He stuck his
thumbs in the waistband of the briefs and pushed them down over his
hips. His cock bounced out in all its glory. I don't think I'd ever seen it
hard. I figured it was close to eight inches, an inch or so bigger than
mine.

Dax kicked the briefs away and swung his hips, his cock mesmerizing me. He
took hold of it and stoked it once, twice. I didn't need prompting. I stood
and dropped by boxers. My own cock stood up at an angle, my balls already
tightening against me. I decided to go for broke.

I closed the distance between us and fell into Dax's arms. I kissed him and
he kissed me back. My best friend was sticking his tongue in my mouth,
kissing me like I've never been kissed. I wanted to ask why, I wanted to
stop and figure out why he was doing all this, but I couldn't break the
spell, not when I was this close.

Dax fell to his knees again and found my cock. He traced his tongue along
its length, sending more shivers through me. He tasted the precum and then
let my cock slide into his mouth. He was uncertain about it and he gagged
slightly at first. I wanted to thrust my cock into his mouth, but held back
and let him find his way. He licked and slurped, and tried to figure out
where to put his hands. His unsure movements made me want to cry.

Finally, I pulled him back to his feet. I pulled him to me and pushed my
cock into his, grinding my hips as he kissed me again. He pulled away and
reached for his pants, retrieving a small foil package. Omigod.

"Dax," I said breathlessly, "you don't have to ..."

"Kip, I want to fuck you, so just shut up," he said, his voice husky. He
unrolled the rubber and slid it on his cock. I anticipated what he hadn't
and scurried to the bedroom to get lube. I slathered it on his sheathed
cock, still not convinced this was a good idea.

"Sit down on the chair," I whispered, "the one without arms. It'll be
easier for you."  Dax was not as confident now and did what I told him. I
pushed lube into my ass and then straddled Dax as he had me moments
before. I eased myself over Dax's hard cock and slowly sat down. My body
was engulfed in feelings, so many that I actually did shed tears as I felt
Dax's cock slide in and out.

Dax thrust with me and I found his rhythm. I stared into his eyes, which
were as wet as mine. We fucked faster and suddenly, Dax froze and thrust
upward.

"Oh, fuck, I'm coming .... I'm gonna .. I'm ... oh, fuck, Kip, I'm ..." His
cock throbbed as he shot into the condom. Before I could touch myself, I
started to shoot, streams of cum splashing onto Dax's chest.

"Ohhhh....  ahhhh ... Dax ... "

I collapsed onto Dax. I felt his cock slip out of me and I leaned in and
kissed him deeply.  I didn't know what to say.

"Is this ...  is this really what friends do?" I asked.

Dax kissed me and pulled me close, finally whispering in my ear.

"Kip," he said. "You don't know how long ... how much ... Kip, I gotta tell
you a secret ...  I'm not that good a friend."


THE END