Between Best Friends

Kyle and I have been best friends since 2nd grade, when my family and I moved to the Midwest. Throughout those childhood years of bike riding, hide and seek tag, and all those other things kids did back in the day, we were inseparable. If one of us happened to be out without the other, invariably we would be asked; where's Kyle or where's Ross.

High school was a different dynamic. The childhood games stopped, and the leisure activities changed. Kids never know that the last time they meet on the street corner on their bikes will be the last time they will meet on the street corner on their bikes. It just happens. They might still meet, but now they will meet at the local hangout, parking their cars, getting out, leaning against hoods or doors or trunks. The topics of conversation change. Kyle and I rode those changes, but that friendship bond didn't.

Around this time, our peers began questioning the nature of our relationship. I found this out later. Word around campus was that we were gay. Neither of us helped that situation, in that neither of us dated in high school. Neither of us had the self-confidence to take that leap and ask a girl out, and we both had poor self-images. I could spend great deal of time explaining the root causes, but knowing the cause doesn't change the reality.

We graduated high school and off to college we went, he to his, me to mine. I stayed local, he went away. We gave Ma Bell a lot of money with our long-distance phone calls, as well as writing weekly. How much easier communication would have been then if we had had cell phones and the internet. The weekends we made it home, the holiday breaks and the summer breaks, we spent as much time as we could together, renting VHS tapes, watching sports, talking about our bourgeoning sex lives.

I had finally lost my virginity to a frustrated housewife I worked with in an affair that lasted several months. To this day, when I hear "Maggie May", I think of her. She taught me a lot, and I may share that sometime. Kyle lost his to a girl on campus that asked him out. That story is Kyle's to tell, not mine.

Senior year in college, due to his circumstances, Kyle couldn't come home. So, I requested the week off from work and went for a visit. He was living in an apartment off campus. I sometimes envied him being able to go to school. live in a nice apartment and not have to work. His family's wealth allowed him that luxury. It wasn't the kind of envy that clouds things, just a "gee, it must be nice, wish I could" type of thing.

Concerning my sexuality, I had a good amount of experience. I had developed very good oral skills, I am pretty well endowed, and ever since my first, I've always wanted my partner to be satisfied. I had one that commented that after we were finished, it was the first time she hadn't needed a vibrator when the man she was with finished.

Based on Kyle's stories he told me; his experience level wasn't the same as mine. I later found out why, but that is for another time. Most of his experiences were with his right hand, which he used a great deal. Yes, a great majority of people masturbate, but no one masturbates; it's the dirty little secret. No one owns up to it. We did.

I remember the first time I did it, I had no issues telling Kyle I did. Kyle told me the first time he did, which was after the first time I did. Reality isn't like fiction. There isn't a plot line being followed, there are no character arcs to develop, and people just do what people do. We may ask why we did something or why someone else did something, but the truth is, sometimes things just are. We shared our experiences, solo and with a partner. We just did; that's the reality. Believe it or not.

The night before I was going back home, we did some barhopping. We both got pretty lit. Back to the motivation thing, that may have been a contributing factor to what happened, at least from my side. I say may, because after that night, what I did became a part of who I was.

As I said, we were more than a little intoxicated when we got back to his apartment. We stayed up for a while shooting the shit, then headed to bed. We shared his bed that week. His living room furnishings were a love seat and a non-reclining chair. At 6'2", neither of those options are comfortable, so we just slept in his bed.

We lay there talking for a while, reminiscing, talking a little about what life would be like after college. The conversation dried up, we said good night, and I rolled over to to sleep. Even drunk, I have a hard time going to sleep, always have. After a while, I felt the sheet moving. Then, I not only felt it moving, but I could hear the rasp of the friction.

Now, we had shared a lot, but this was something we hadn't shared. Unless I was wrong, Kyle was jacking off in bed next to me. I lay there, feigning sleep, listening to the sound of what I assumed was his hand moving on himself, rubbing against the sheet that I felt moving with each rasping sound. To my surprise, I actually started getting aroused. Back to motivation, I don't know why. Reality doesn't always explain why.

Motivation. What motivated me to roll over on my back? Again, it may have been the alcohol loosening some inner inhibition, or awakening some curiosity, or just making me a voyeur. Either way, I rolled over on my back, my head turned to my right towards him. I was still doing my best to fake being asleep.

When I rolled, over, Kyle stopped. In the dim light from the streetlight and apartment lights outside, filtering through his blinds, I could see the mound in the blanket where his hand was resting. After a couple of minutes, I heard the rasp and watched the mound start moving.

I don't know why I did, still after all these years, I don't know why, but I reached over and put my hand on his, feeling his closed fist moving on himself. He didn't push my hand away, and later I found out why. I didn't apply pressure or try to influence his play in any way. My hand simply rested on his as he stroked.

I moved my hand a little downward and my pinky and finger next to started touching his erect shaft. I continued simply laying my hand on his, with those two fingers touching him as he stroked, increasing the tempo slightly. At this point, I was fully erect, and my mind was a maze of messy thoughts. Kyle had been my best friend for all those years. I had been with several women, but yet my fingers were moving up and down his shaft as he masturbated, and I was turned on.

He sighed and shifted in the bed and his hand slid up his dick a little, so that most of my hand was on him. I was still exerting no force at all; there was just enough of my hand touching his for his stroking to pull my hand along. We were reaching a crossroads. Neither of us had said a word up to this point. I didn't know if I wanted to let go and roll over or if I wanted him to let go, or if I wanted to say, "Hey, what the fuck are we doing, am I doing?"

He was now stroking quicker than he had been and my hand was slipping further off his. I wrapped my fingers around him, noticing his girth was quite a bit less than mine. No, this wasn't a dick-swinging contest. I wasn't thinking, 'damn, he's smaller than me,' or anything like that. I simply noticed that my fingers made a smaller circle around him.

Then, his hand was gone, and my hand was gripping his erection. The crossroads was reached. Did I continue stroking him or did I let go? Either way, what would be the ramifications to our friendship? We still hadn't spoken. His dick was starting to soften slightly, the excited erection slowly relaxing. I tightened my grip on him and started stroking.

I felt his slowly relaxing dick fill again, and I was stroking his fully erect penis. On the upstroke, as my hand slid over his head, I noticed that his head was more tapered than mine. I have a mushroom shaped helmet on myself, that is, when really excited, nearly as rigid as my shaft. His head didn't have that mushroom shape and felt very spongy under my hand.

I didn't know how hard to grip him. It wasn't like gripping my own, and I know all about squeezing too tightly or not tightly enough. Kyle took a deep breath and shifted a little more towards me as I picked up the tempo of my strokes. I started stroking myself as I stroked him. Then, another crossroads appeared in my addled brain. Again, motivation?

I scooted down the bed and without second-guessing myself or thinking what he would think, I licked the tip of his dick as I stroked. He inhaled sharply as my tongue slipped around the spongy tip. It was strange. There wasn't that horny, let's fuck mentality in my brain, or my body. I'm not sure what I was feeling as my hand slid up and down him, pulling the skin up his shaft and over his head as I tongued the tip like I would a woman's clitoris.

Then, I decided to do what I never thought in my lifetime I would do. I finished the downstroke; my hand wrapped around the base of him, and I opened my mouth and slowly slid my lips over his head and down his shaft, until my lips touched my hand.

"Oh, oh," Kyle groaned, as I sucked and moved my mouth back up to his head.

Okay, in a story, I give the best blowjob he ever got and all that. This was reality. I didn't know for sure what to do. I simply did what I knew I would like done to me. I alternated sucking and simply moving my mouth over him. Then, I sucked the head only while I stroked the shaft. All this time, I was stroking myself.

I stopped sucking his head and started bobbing up and down on him again, his shaft and head sliding through my lips into my mouth while my fingers were wrapped around him. He started making small thrusting pelvic motions as I slid him in and out of my mouth.

"That's it," he said. I could hear him breathing in short shallow pants as he thrusted upward. Then, my mouth filled with a slightly bitter taste, and I could feel his cum in my mouth. Without thought, I simply swallowed, stroked and sucked, as he came.

"Oh, ooh, ah," he sighed, or something like that, I was too surprised then to remember now, as he came. It wasn't hot spurts of cum spurting against my throat or roof of my mouth, like I had read about. It was simply just there, a fluid with texture not like my saliva and not tasting like my saliva. His pelvis was jerking under me as he rode the pleasure.

I felt him going soft in my mouth, so I raised up. I didn't see what the big deal was. The women I had been with had made a big deal about my ejaculating in their mouths, and if I did, a big deal about spitting or swallowing. I didn't get any of that. I laid my head back on my pillow, still slowly stroking myself, the aftertaste of him in my mouth. I was confused, but not in a bad way.

"Why did you do that?" Kyle asked, catching his breath.

"Why did you let me?" I asked, not sure why he was asking. There's that motivation thing again.

He didn't say anything. He just rolled over on his side to face me, then I felt his hand on mine as I moved up and down my shaft.

"You're big," he said, as I stroked, his hand on mine.

I didn't say anything, just kept stroking. I wasn't in the "homestretch" tempo yet, but I felt like I would need to get there soon. He moved my hand off, gripped me and started stroking. His grip was wrong, and I knew that no matter how fast or slow he stroked, I wouldn't get off.

He made no move to reciprocate the blowjob, just stroked. He started tightening and loosening his grip, speeding up and slowing down his tempo. I knew he was trying to get me off, but something was not working. I spit in my hand and started massaging the rigid head of my dick.

"Stroke right there, holding it kinda tight, in short strokes" I instructed him, putting his hand at the bottom of my shaft.

So, with him stroking the lower part, I stroked the upper part, running my saliva coated hand over my head. I was getting close. I spit in my hand again and went back at it as he stroked.

"Oh, yeah," I said, or some such thing, as I felt that ecstatic heat racing up my shaft. I came, my semen making small puddles on my stomach.

When I stopped stroking my head, he let go of my shaft and rolled over on his back. We didn't speak for a minute, and I was suddenly sure that I had made a terrible mistake and cost myself the best friend a guy could ever have.

"What time are you leaving in the morning?" Kyle asked.

"Noonish, I guess," I replied.

"Okay," he said and rolled over.

The episode didn't ruin our friendship, but it did change it, not in a bad way. I found out a bit later that he was bisexual, had known so for quite a while, and had fantasized about us together. I found out that I was also bisexual, and we had a few more experiences together before he died.

I can share more experiences of mine if anyone is interested.