I opened the pill bottle still half asleep from sleeping in to noon and poured two caplets into my palm. I swallowed them quickly, before my mother heard me in the kitchen. Not that she would have been concerned.
I had been on Prozac for three weeks now, starting it just before my first college semester ended. Now, home for a long winter break, I was upping my dose to two 20 mg pills a day.
"It may affect your sex drive and make it difficult to perform. You will have erections, but reaching orgasm can be difficult." I laughed on the inside when my doctor warned me of the antidepressant's dreaded side effects. After my girlfriend and I split up last summer so she could attend her Ivy League University, I hadn't had any sexual needs at all. Or so I had lead myself to believe.
I retreated to my room where I was still unpacking my suitcase from college.
"What's the use of putting all these clothes away? I'll be driving back to campus in a few weeks." Peering out my large bay window overlooking our four car garage I saw the upscale neighborhood I grew up in the last five years. The air was cool this time of year in the Pacific Northwest and overcast clouds cast a permanent sense of sadness over the landscape. I missed the warmth and optimism of summer. But since attending a private expensive college without my friends, I had gown solemn and taciturn.
Bling Bling! My iPhone alerted me to a new text message. It was Tracy.
"Hope your first semester went okay. I'm staying in New York for the holidays, see you in the summer break?"
My ex-girlfriend won't be around--I guess it will just be me.
I type my response, "Hope you had a fun semester..." after I pause, I don't bother to push send.
I lay back on my bed, close my eyes, and try to drift off to sleep. I want the holiday to be over soon.
Maybe it was the Prozac, but I slept until 4:30 in the afternoon. I had been having an erotic dream about Tracy.
She was you typical "good girl", a band nerd. The two of us never had sex, didn't even get past first base. We had a few make out sessions lying here on my twin mattress with our lips locked and tongues dancing but that as far as it went. Several times l placed her hand on the zipper of my jeans hopping she would get the hint. Only once did she stoke my member through my jeans. It hung hard down my pant leg, and Tracy gently tranced its 9" length along my Levis. She stopped kissing me and remarked, "Wow!", but then pulled her hand away. It was one of the few times she made me feel good.
Lying on the bed, I pulled out my cock. I was rock hard thinking of Tracy. Despite her leaving away from me for an Ivy League education, I was still hot for her, she had long blond hair and soft lips. For a thin 18 y/o coed, she had perky C tits and a tight curvy butt. Too bad she only let me touch them though her clothes.
I gently stroked the shaft carelessly up and down; despite being a virgin who had never officially "used" my cock, I had always liked it. The head was bulbous and thick, much wider than the already girthy shaft. Once, I had measured the length after Tracy and I had one of our unfulfilling make out sessions. I was over 9" long-- but it was my large mushroom head that I thought made my cock so unique. Sometimes I wondered if I would even fit inside a woman. It made me wonder if Tracy had thought I was simply too thick and long for her. I knew the average woman's vagina was only around 5-6" long, where would the rest of my manhood fit inside her? Too bad no one knew...
It was starting to get dark outside, and my mom had left for her therapy session with my father. Ever since my dad moved out almost two years ago, they had therapy each week, and, while they may finally be talking with one another, they had been distant with me. To clear my head, I bundled up and took a stroll around the neighborhood. When my family moved into this upscale neighborhood, I marveled at the small, elegant estates. The Richardson's had their small English Tudor, the Billings with their Spanish home & swimming pool, along with the Swiss chalet style home of the Birchmeirer's. We had grown close to these families, before my parents had their troubles, now those family relationships felt ages ago.
The Birchmeirer's were nice, had a few kids. He was a tall, early 50's, handsome lawyer in the neighborhood while his wife was the beautiful WASPy head of the local ladies league. She was tall, platinum blond, and was probably the exact same dress size as when they were married.
The Richardson's beautiful English Tudor home sat inside a protective castle of tall hedges. When my family moved in, I thought the home was at the center of a hedge maze. They had a large deck in their backyard with a hot tub set in the middle of it. My freshman year their son had a birthday party where we played in the warm water. He had since left for college and I hadn't heard from him in years. Mr. Richardson was an architect, was in his mid-40s with boyish blond hair and a closely shaved beard. I think he had remarried when they moved in to a younger blond bombshell. It was quite a scandal in the street, my mother always said she was too young for him.
It was dark by the time I headed home. Walking past both the Birchmeirer's and Richardson's homes, I noticed the lights were low and cars were missing. Perhaps they had driven to downtown Seattle for a party?
Suddenly, from the darkness surrounding the home, I heard a strange noise coming from the deck. In the cool, dark air, the soft noise traveled easily. I heard shuffles, footsteps, and finally dark whispers. A burglar? How would they have got past the locked gate? Against my better judgement, I went to check it out.
From my youth I knew all the secret entrances to many of the yards along our street. I crawled under a hedge and quietly shuffled down the grass lawn. I made my way past several shrubberies around the side of the home until I crouched down, behind a small shrubbery. As I peered up on the deck, through the ornate railing around the beautiful backyard deck, I saw two people quietly whispering.
"Robbers?" I thought to myself. Looking closer I realized they weren't local hooligans at all. It was Mr. Birchmeirer and Mr. Richardson -- half naked and kissing! As my eyes adjusted to the moonlight, I made out their white bare chests exposed to each other. Mr. Birchmeirer's broad shoulder sat atop slightly hairy pecks and stomach. But the defined abs on Mr. Richardson shocked me. He was in great shape and clearly enjoyed his frolicking friend's hands tracing his pecks and tweaking his nipples. They began to kiss, and I could make out their tongues dancing together outside their lips, still an inch apart.
Both men had their jeans loosened down to their thighs. Mr. Richardson had a nice cock, smaller, but it stood tall and erect. But my other neighbor's manhood was a nice 6-7". It swung heavy, to and fro as they kissed, often lightly bopping and rubbing Mr. Richardson's erect penis. As their make-out session intensified, the two phalluses because entangled, wrestling with each other for supremacy in the moonlight. They twitched and fluttered about -- I could almost see their thick veins pulsating from my vantage point.
This was insane, I had to get out of here, and it was none of my business. Both men had nice, attractive wives and were respected members of the home owners association. If they found out I had seen them cheating with each other?
"Bling Bling!" went my iPhone—another text message! Oh why hadn't I silenced it!
"What was that?" One of them said. Before I had time to turn tail and run, both men peered right at me.
"Jeff?" they both said timidly.
"Crud!" I said through my gritted teeth as I sprinted back along the lawn and crawled under the hedges.
Safely back in my home, I slammed my bedroom door and turned off the lights. Out of breathe, I hunched down on the ground, below my bay window. I couldn't believe my own phone game me away. I reached into my pocket to silence the device. It was then that I noticed to my horror... my massive cock was a solid piece of granite.
*****
Why am I so hard? I thought to myself as I sat nervously in my dark room. It was 6:00 PM on a dark clear night, my aloof parents were out and my ex--whom I'd masturbated to often during my first year of college was staying in NY for the holiday. On top of all this, I caught my neighbors having a make-out session in the cold crisp air.
My whole life was falling apart, family, neighbors-- I didn't know what to believe in anymore. To top it all off, my 9" virgin cock was stiff after seeing my first gay scene; and I was 100% straight.
A tear dropped down my cheek as I sat on the ground. My sadness had got the best of me. I was completely alone.
The doorbell woke me from my reverie.
Oh no! I thought. Looking out the window. I saw no cars in driveway, someone had to have walked here. My neighbors--They were gonna call me out, shame me, and tell my parents what I had done.
As I tried to hide myself under my bed, I came to the realization that they can't possibly tell my parents, Mr. Richardson and Mr. Birchmeirer would be in more hot water than I was.
Ding-dong!
The bell rang again. Reluctantly, I lumbered down the stairs, ready to face the music.
Through the frosted glass in the door I saw two dark figures waiting patiently. The cops? They called the cops on me?
"Um, Jeff, this is Mr. Richardson, Bobby's father... could we talk?" I listened silently, afraid to open the door. Another voice continued, "We aren't mad at you, or what you saw. Honestly, we just want to talk."
Reluctantly, I unlatched the lock and opened the front door.
