I arrived in Dallas on a Thursday morning. My old fraternity brother and roommate was getting married that weekend and had asked me to be his best man back in college one night after a night of beers and pot smoking. I didn't think he would remember asking me on account of the weed and alcohol, but then I got a call from him about a year ago confirming the offer. I agreed, albeit reluctantly.
Being the best man meant giving a speech, and I had grown to loathe public speaking. Not to mention, I was always secretly attracted to him.
He was a country boy. Tall, about 6'4" and husky with soft brown eyes and a kindhearted Texas charm that was hard to find in the hustle and bustle of a busy city like Los Angeles. On any given day, you could find him wearing bright-colored polo shirts, thong sandals, and Chino shorts that always revealed the outline of his thick cock when he wore them. It was enough just to keep my eyes focused on his face most days. There was an odd tension between us but he never acknowledged it.
One night, while we were both piss drunk at our old fraternity house, he stumbled into my room and took off all of his clothes before climbing into my bed. He didn't say anything. He just laid there silently with his soft dick out illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the curtains.
It looked so beautiful nestled in the dark, curly pubic hair. I didn't need any further instruction. Laying there in the stillness of the night, I could hear the thumping of my heart as I pretended to unknowingly rest a hand on his leg. I slowly moved my hand up his thick, hairy thigh before bringing it to rest on his shaft which was lying flat against his hairy stomach. My heart was racing.
"Fuck, am I really doing this? Maybe he is asleep! This is wro—"
As if on queue, he shifted a bit on the bed and his cock began to stiffen. Maybe it was my imagination but it seemed as if he began to rock his hips back and forth while my hand lay motionless on his now semi-hard cock.
To this point, I had only seen his cock behind the fabric of his pants. I figured it was sizeable, but now, with it growing under my paralyzed hand, it felt gargantuan.
His uncut cock had grown to about 7 1/2 inches and was narrow at the head but widened out toward the base. The base was as thick as my wrist and sat nestled in a tangle of hair that went down to his heavy balls. A proper southern trouser snake.
I took a moment to look down and take a mental picture of the contrast of our bodies next to each other. His pale, white, tall, "average Joe" frame, next to my milk chocolate, short, athletically built frame. And his cock, about the same length as mine, but thicker by any measure.
Without warning, I leaned over and took the head of his cock in my mouth. He let out a sigh of approval. I tasted precum as his foreskin rolled back to reveal a dark purple head. I began sucking him at a steady pace and he bucked his hips to match my rhythm. Before long, his breathing became ragged and I could tell he was about to cum. I had managed to deepthroat him by that point and had no intentions of removing my mouth. He reached his climax and made to remove his dick from my mouth to shoot on his belly, but I pressed down even further on his cock at that last minute and he erupted in my mouth shooting shot after shot of piping hot jizz in the back of my throat one after the other. He shook violently on my bed in a silent, throaty orgasm before going limp.
For a moment, we just laid there spent, but then he eventually stood up without a word and put his clothes back on before exiting the room. We never spoke about it and it never happened again.
Now, 7 years later, here I was about to stand next to him as he made a lifetime commitment to his future wife in front of God and family. It made me uneasy.
Ashton picked me up from the airport that day. He swung the door to his old Jeep open and greeted me with that big smile and Texas drawl.
"What's up, city boy!? Ready to get fucked by this Texas heat?" he exclaimed.
"Yeah... no." At least, that's not what I wanted to be fucked by.
I hopped in and we sped off toward his family home. When we arrived, I was greeted by his parents. His mom embraced me with a big hug and then made an inappropriate joke about me being black, to which I took no offense, and his dad shook my hand with a strong grip and gave one of his hearty laughs that said, "excuse my wife, we're not racist, I promise."
Right off the bat, I realized where Ashton got his good looks and charm from. His dad, Marty, was not just handsome, he was a goddamn stud. He was shorter than Ashton with bright blue eyes that you could easily get lost in if you looked too hard.
Ashton's, by comparison, were light brown like his mother's. Marty was in his mid-50s and built very much so like your average, retired dad, who's earned enough in life to own a large suburban home and take yearly summer trips to Positano. He had strong biceps and was very tan from being out in his garden every day. His salt and pepper hair was shaped into a military-style crew cut, he had a killer smile, no doubt the work of some brilliant ortho surgeon, with a square jaw and a drawl that could make George Strait blush. He looked a bit like Cary Grant if Cary Grant was rough around the edges with a thick southern drawl and had a military background.
The thing that really got me, though, was the pair of casual grey cloth shorts that he was wearing which clearly revealed the outline of his fat cock head. I could identify the shape of it very clearly. There was no way he was wearing underwear, I thought to myself. No one else seemed to pay it any mind. Maybe they were used to their dad's thick bulge proudly on display, but I almost froze in my tracks the first time I noticed it.
My throat was dry and I became uncomfortable at this realization and tried to divert my attention elsewhere.
"Marty, what a great garden you've got back here! Are those tomatoes?" I asked, trying to find something to take my mind away.
"Yes, sir! I've got lettuce, tomatoes, green onions, cilantro, and a few other things back here along with a lemon, orange, and apple tree. Everything you see back there is edible! Gotta stay ready for the end times, ya know!?" He beamed at me with his bright smile and blue eyes and I looked away quickly.
"Shall we go inside for a drink?" Marty asked, breaking the silence.
"Yeah, a drink sounds great," I replied.
"Whiskey good? Or do you want one of them spiked seltzer waters my wife likes? I know you California boys are all a bit gay," he said with a hint of mockery in his voice. He looked at me with a sly smile then laughed a hearty laugh before slapping me on the back.
"I'm just fuckin wit ya, kid!" He belted.
"Whiskey is fine," I said, ignoring the jab.
"Great!" He replied.
I followed behind him and found my eyes wandering down to his firm, shapely ass behind the thin cloth of the grey pants and his thick, hairy legs that led down to his big, clean feet placed firmly in his sandals. I felt my cock stir in my pants and quietly scolded myself before entering the house.
The day went on normally with a lot of talk of weddings and families and planning. It was exhausting. We had the rehearsal dinner later that night where Marty bought out the bar for the entire wedding party. We all ate and drank and laughed while sharing embarrassing stories of Ashton in front of his soon-to-be wife.
As the night wound down, I found myself casting furtive glances at Marty across the table as he charmed the bridal party with old war stories and heroism. He was a natural lady killer. Every girl in the room was enchanted by his effortless conversation, cocksure demeanor, and hearty southern laugh.
He hardly seemed to notice me as I put on my best straight boy impersonation for the groomsmen telling of our sexual conquests in college and crazy parties and epic beer pong games but leaving out the details that might get Ashton in trouble with his fiancée.
"I love you bro," Ashton said, grabbing my shoulder. "Thank you for being here for me," he mumbled through his drunken haze before throwing an arm lazily around his bride-to-be and reclining in his chair.
"Anytime, bud." I replied.
Later that night, we all returned to the house, with the exception of Ashton's fiancée, who was staying in a hotel with her mom and bridesmaids. I practically carried Ashton to his childhood room where he flopped onto the bed in his rehearsal dinner attire and laid on top of his covers. I removed his shoes and threw a blanket over him for good measure.
"I lerrrv youu man!" He said drunkenly.
"I love you too, man. Get some rest. I'll come get you in the morning." I replied.
He gave me a half-hearted thumbs up then dropped his hand back to the bed and passed out almost immediately.
I was still piss drunk and decided to head to the backyard for a smoke. After a few moments, Marty stepped out on to the back porch and lit a cigarette of his own.
