Jock-struck Ch. 02

Note: All the characters engaged in sexual activity are 18 or older.

When the bathroom door finally swung open, I turned onto my side to catch a glimpse of Oliver. The ambience of the room was just right--dimly lit, cozy with the aroma of oud in the air. Yet, I couldn't fall asleep.

Oliver walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. His damp hair was combed back with his fingers. Water droplets trickled down his glimmering chest, and my eyes followed the trail they left behind before disappearing into the towel.

Before my eyes could catch sight of his lower body, he turned around to rifle through his closet. I sat at the edge of the bed and unabashedly stared at his firm, round glutes hugging the damp fabric of the towel. "I thought you were tired."

"I don't know, dude. I can't sleep," I said with a sigh.

He turned around to meet my gaze but caught me staring at his ass. I quickly looked the other way.

"Perhaps you want to talk about what is bothering you so much that it has chased away your sleep?"

You.

The picture of your magnificent cock.

Oliver pulled a pair of gray sweatpants from his wardrobe and quickly put them on. He tossed the towel onto his chair and plopped down on his bed opposite mine.

"What's going on in that little head of yours? Stressed about the midterms, or some chick I haven't heard about?" he asked.

His words made me chuckle. There was something so comforting about our friendship. He could take one look at my face and know immediately when something was wrong.

We sat and talked for hours about our lives--things weighing on our minds like upcoming tests, competitions, deadlines, and commitments. The stress of being an overachiever was crushing us both. I had to stay at the top of the class with straight

As and other co-curricular activities to secure a full-ride scholarship for my master's, while Oliver was stressed about winning tomorrow's match and what it meant for his hockey career. Somehow, we both knew that we'd survive this whirlwind called adulthood with each other by our side.

"Are you thinking of giving her a second chance?" "Riv? Hell no!"

I heaved a sigh of relief.

"So why did you send her the pic... of your cock anyway?"

Oliver laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "She loved my cock. She'd never miss a chance to suck me off. I like to remind her from time to time about her loss."

I snorted. "You're crazy, man. Was the picture edited or something? Because you looked massive."

"Nah, dude. No filters. I'm just well-hung," he said, patting his bulge through the fabric of the sweatpants.

The way he casually touched himself made me shift uncomfortably in my seat.

There was no doubt about it either, because I could see the heavy outline of his shaft through the gray cloth of his sweatpants.

"I doubt that," I teased him playfully. He scoffed. "See for yourself."

Before I could fully comprehend his words, Oliver lifted his hips a little slightly and hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband, pulling his pants down his thighs.

My breath got caught in my throat. Even soft, his penis was remarkably long and thick.

"Can I touch it?" The words left my mouth before I could even think.

Without a shred of hesitation, he got off his bed and strode toward me. "Of course, River," he said softly, stopping right between my knees.

I swallowed hard and wrapped my hand around his soft dick. My fingers curled around his shaft as I pumped it gently in my fist. His cock was so thick that my fingers could barely meet on the other side.

"Man, it's so big and chunky," I breathed out, my gaze darting up into his dark eyes. Oliver's manhood instantly began to swell and harden right in my palm.

"Told you, dude," he shrugged with a cocky smile.

"Do women enjoy it, or is it too much for them?" I asked, curiosity overriding my common sense.

"They either love it, or they pretend to."

I ran the pad of my thumb over the slit of his cock, and a shuddering breath left his chest. His thick, rock-hard shaft was barely a few inches from my face.

"So what did Riv say after seeing it?"

"I was too embarrassed to send her that picture after I accidentally sent it to you."

I cupped his heavy balls in my hand and gently squeezed them. Each one was the size of a large egg, so full and swollen with his cream that they were hanging low.

"Your hands are so soft," he rasped out.

A bead of pre-cum glistened at the plush tip of his cock.

With a gloating smile, I relentlessly stroked him long and slow, from the root to the crown, coaxing more jizz out of his balls. Oliver's eyes squeezed shut, and a loud, guttural groan left his chest.

The thick white cream leaked from his crown over my hand. I used it as a lube and kept pumping his manhood.

I squirmed on the bed, desperately fighting the urge to touch myself. I had no idea why I was doing this, but I couldn't stop. And I didn't want to.

The wet, squelching sounds and his low moans echoed through the quiet room, driving me wild and making my own dick throb hard inside my pants.

His flushed, handsome face looked so raw and erotic that I had to bite my lip to keep from whimpering.

"Don't stop, dude. I'm so close," he breathed out.

I tightened my grip until my knuckles turned white and pumped him harder and faster. His face grew rigid and his hips bucked upward. Suddenly, a thick rope of hot semen shot from his tip, splattering across my face.

"Fuck! River!" He grunted loudly, throwing his head back.

I desperately kept stroking his meat and squeezing his balls as rope after rope of his jizz jetted out, painting my face in thick, warm cream.

By the time he finished, he was drenched in sweat, and his spunk was dripping down my chin.

Breathless, Oliver blinked his eyes open, utterly mesmerized by the sight of my cum-laden face.

His warm hand cupped my cheek. "Fuck... that was so hot. I haven't come like that in months."

With a wicked smile, I let go of his cock, stuck out the tip of my tongue, and licked a streak of his salty cum from my lip. "Glad I could help."

"That's what a best friend's supposed to do, aren't they?

Chuckling, I got on my feet and headed to the bathroom, tossing my ruined t-shirt into the laundry basket before washing my face.

Staring at my reflection, a wild revelation hit me.

A straight man wouldn't give a handjob to his best friend. A straight man would never enjoy taking a facial.

A straight man definitely wouldn't lick his best friend's cum off his lips.

Maybe I wasn't as straight as I had thought.

Feeling jittery, flushed, and painfully aroused, I went back to the room. Oliver was sitting on his bed, and his pants already had a very evident tent pressing against the fabric.

I tried not to stare as I crawled back under my covers. "Sleeping?" he asked, spreading his legs wide on purpose.

I glanced at the digital clock glowing on his bedside table. 11:30 PM, it read.

"Yeah. I've got an 8:00 AM intercollegiate Quizzathon, and you should be resting for your match, too."

Nodding his head slowly, he went quiet as if he were pondering over something. Just as I raised my hand to turn off the lamp, he blurted out.

"River... would you like to... you know... suck it?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, leaving no doubt that he was just as desperate as I was.

The offer was totally up my alley, and in the past few hours, I'd fantasized about it at least a dozen times.

"How about I give you more than that if you win the match tomorrow?" I proposed. Oliver's face lit up instantly. "Promise?"

"Promise."

I was eagerly waiting for tomorrow.