"That happened from looking at me?" he asked, eyeing my discomfiture. I squelched the mad tide of lust long enough to swallow and nod. "Wow!" he smiled, edging closer.

John and I had been best friends since his family moved here at the beginning of last school year. We had become best friends and we always told each other everything. Solemn oath: friends forever and no secrets. Especially about this.

"I'm scared, John."

"Why?" he asked, moving in really close. I could feel his breath on my lips and chin.

"Cuz I don't want to lose... "     ' your respect,' I almost said, "... you."

"For getting a boner?" he asked. "You won't," he said, flatly: " I think we are better friends than that. Come here." He put his face to mine. He didn't make any noise, but I could imagine him purring, trying to put me at ease.

I almost couldn't contain myself: his boyish freckle-y cheek, cool and downy by my lips. I didn't kiss him. I mean, not really. I just reached out and hugged him desperately to me, pressing my face to the side of his. Feeling his cool ear on my fevered cheek. My lust for him was like strong wine, making me focus and lose track at the same time. The closeness to him made my lips tingle and buzz.

"Ev?" he said, feeling a tremor go through me, "Let me show you something." I nodded. He helped me straighten out on the sofa, climbed on top and pressed himself into me. I felt the fullness at his crotch: I had a sharp pang of pleasure and another rush of trembling as I confronted the reality of the boy above me. As I felt him breathe on my face.

"MMmmm, show me some more," I murmured, as I slid down to position myself. To thrust upwards, slightly, into his boy-bulge. I thrust tentatively, connecting. Connecting fully. Feeling the reality of the package there, of his generous boy treats, of what we were doing. The reality of his warm boy-body. That he was there, lying on me. That he was pressing back. That he was my best friend. That I was somewhere I had to be, had to go, doing something I had to do. No choice. John with me, pressing. It was too much to think. Too much, too hot. A claustrophobia of sexual delight The excitement rising in me. Rising to a keening urgency. Panting. John pulling back to look at me, smiling and leaning in to kiss me. A long, slow, brotherly kiss. Not a lover's kiss. All lips. All boy. I almost suffocated, wanting him. Wanting to merge with him. Wanting to breathe him in, drown in him. Wanting to be one with his downy cheek, his smooth succulent boy skin. I could smell him: young, sweet, comforting.

I whimpered: a long, shuddering distress signal, followed by a fit of trembling. John reached down and released my belt, popping the button. I was almost paralyzed with anticipation: "Oh, John... John... Ohh!" Another tremor shook me.

"Man, you're hot!" he sympathized, reaching down to put his hands on my nuts. They scrunched and hurt, slightly, feeling huge and wanton, there in his cupping hand. My penis blazed in some other universe. "Do you want to do something... you know... together?"

"Y-yess," I stammered, beset by another tremor I was helpless to control.

"K," he said, stripping to his tented briefs, starting with my sneaks and socks. He made me more and more naked. Made me ooze and shake. Made me helpless and frank. Made me ready. I had no secrets, here.

Finally, his hands running up my thighs, pausing. A rush of anticipation and lust, as his hands cup and warm my nuts, as my penis begins to buzz and hum. As his fingers dip past the waist band of my briefs, come to rest on either side of my cockhead, come to touch, to caress. The sensation is spectacularly pleasurable: "Augggh!" I cry, trying to thrust upwards, into the waistband. It moves with me, thwarting me. He reaches down to hold my straining tool in his cool palm. I yelp and give myself to his hand and try again to thrust.

John grins. Stripping down his briefs, he exposes himself to me. Beauty beyond my imagining: his tender prick and gorgeous young sack. So incredibly Boy. His colors so perfect, so intimate. Lowering mine, too, he straddles and lowers his treasure to press thrillingly upon mine. All those lonely fantasies suddenly fulfilled.

Thinking of his boy thing touching my prick, feeling him on me. Feeling his excitement. The sex energy in his buzzing dick. Feeling his breath on my face, on my lips. Feeling him with me: his freckles, the down of his cheeks, smooth prick against mine and he was all boy, all clean and so young and smooth and my prick was getting bigger and the buzz was stronger and his breath on my face and his gorgeous lips, the yearning in his eyes and his tender prick, tender prick his tender prick against me. Mouthing his cheekbones, his brow, his hair. Mouthing his ears and jaw. Mouthing him, moving to his lips, touching. Feeling him position himself to thrust. Moving my balls up, under him, to feel his pressure, his pleasure, his thrust. His thrust, launching me up, somewhere, to ring with pleasure. Coming back down. Whew! almost! Pressing again harder, longer, the threshold of inevitability slipping past. His cheek. His downy cheek. The boyness of him and his clear eye, as I close mine and come against him, come against him, toes curling, arching to feel him more, come against him, feeling his face on me, come against him, against him, feeling his weight, feeling his cheek, his lips, his inadvertent tenderness, his wanton maleness. His beauty, his boyness, his total boyness.

Helping him to hump, to slide in my slippery wetness, to stay moving, moving against me. Feeling him harden and arch, hearing him huff and pant. Looking him in the face, as his breathing stopped, as his brow furrowed, as he looked at me, a dawning look of outraged wonder, as his eyes slid shut, as the look change to disbelieving rapture, as I felt him tremble, deeply, momentarily, a tiny cry and his tribute delivered helplessly between us, bringing comfort, fulfillment, trembling friendship.