Les, my closest friend now that Mike has been killed in Iraq, sits quietly on the couch listening intently as I tell him about my explorations with Mike in that scout tent so many years before. How our relationship had grown beyond experimentation. How our experiences had left me shaken, doubtful about my sexuality, but oh so excited. About how I believed that I had "loved" Mike in a way that was very close to the love I had felt for women.
There is a long pause as I stand over him, hoping his reaction will not be too harsh, that he will not think ill of me, will not cease to be my friend because of my "queer' feelings for Mike.
Les rises. Stands still for a moment and looks straight in my face, then leans forward and kisses my lips lightly. I stand in shock, not knowing what to feel, my face tingling where his coarse beard has touched.
He takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom. I stand near the door, mute and paralyzed, my emotions in an uproar, watching as he lights several candles and turns on the steaming water. I feel like a virgin on her first date as Les begins slowly unbuttoning my shirt. My breath catches in my throat as my pants puddle at my feet. A huge lump forms at my solar plexus as he kneels to doff my shoes, his face inches from the monster, his breath hot on my thighs. I want to scream at him that I don't want this, that I am "not that way", but my voice won't work and my loins are afire.
Hand gentle on my lower back, Les firmly guides me toward the steaming shower. "Get in", he says, "relax." The hot water on my neck and shoulders relieves the tension a bit. "I shouldn't go through with this," I keep telling myself, but I seem powerless to act.
Several uncertain minutes pass before Les slides in behind me. I feel his stiffening manhood bobbing around behind me, between my cheeks and on the backs of my thighs. he grabs the soap and, reaching around me, begins to soap my chest and nipples, his rough beard and fluffy mustache feel odd, but exciting, scratching over my back and shoulders. I begin to stammer as his hands soap lower.
"Les, er, I . . ." I want to scream, "Stop! Stop!" So why don't I?
"Shh", his voice whispers in my ear. "Just relax. I want you. So bad."
His soapy hands move lower. Across my belly. My thighs. One hand slides slipperily under each side of my ball sac, cupping gently, massaging. He takes my hardness firmly in one hand, soaping up and back along its length, sliding my foreskin on and off the monster's engorged head. The other hand moves to circle round and round the head. The intensity causes my hips to draw back against the length of him, snuggling all down the tight crease between my cheeks. His kisses and nibbles and tiny bites are roving down my back. My body is covered with goose bumps.
Suddenly his hands leave me. He draws back. The sense of relief at his cock moving away from my sensitive crease is almost as intense as my sense of loss. Confused, I start to turn. But Les moves around in front of me. He uses the weight of his body to force me gently back against the shower wall. His face finds mine, lips hot on mine, tongue seeking, probing. At my first kiss from another man, I have an eerie sensation of extreme strangeness and extreme forbidden excitement. His hands move to soap my back. The kiss goes on and I find myself responding, our tongues twining. His hands soap the cheeks of my buttocks, slippery fingertips gently sliding, teasing between , up and down.
Les's mouth leaves mine and moves down, kissing and nibbling my hairless chest, His tongue, his teeth on my nipples are like no other feeling. Our cocks brush and bob against one another. He kneels before me. Drawing back a moment to let the steaming water rinse me, his hands roam over my legs, my inner thighs, my balls. He draws my foreskin back tight against my body, stretching my cock hard and long, its crimson head bulging. Snaking out his tongue he inserts its tip into my tiny cock lips. Involuntarily I jerk forward and pierce his lips, but he guides my hips backward, pulling me out of his warm mouth. Swirling his tongue around and around my sensitive cock head, he reaches and slides my foreskin forward, enclosing his tongue, licking around under it. My knees nearly buckle at the intensity.
And now, finally, I relax, surrender, knowing that this skilled lover will bring me joy. For now, for the moment, I am his, come what may, Conscious thought is a thing far from me, alien. The swirling in my head, the intense pleasure, blots out everything. There is one universe, this small shower stall, the two of us its only inhabitants.
At last he leans forward, taking me deeply inside his mouth, the head of my throbbing manhood entering his throat. He takes my hand and guides it to his neck, where I can clearly feel my cock bulging and moving inside. How wicked, how wanton, how wonderful! He slides his mouth on and off me, simultaneously laving my length with his tongue. My hands move to embrace his head, fingers entwined in his long hair. I draw him against me. I can feel his nose in my pubic hair, my balls on his chin, I mightily resist the urge to fuck strongly forward.
His hands move to caress my butt, fingertips teasing. With one fingertip he twirls and teases at my tight hole, then slips it gently inside. I jerk forward, pushing my cock deeper in his throat. His head moves forward, forcing my hips back, impaling me deeper on his finger. He picks up the pace, alternately taking me deep in his throat and impaling me deeper on his finger. Nerve impulses from all over my body rush to my groin. I feel the pressure building, feel my hot seed rising.
His finger leaves me. His mouth leaves me. He rises to his feet. I feel barren, empty, abandoned, lonely, longing. My legs are tight and shaking.
He turns around, reaches behind him to grasp my dick, and leads me by it, still dripping, out of the shower and into his bed.
I awake as golden fragments of morning sweep slowly across the small bedroom and gently kiss my face. I feel spent, used up. It is the first time I have awaked next to a sleeping male form since Mike's sleep-overs in my early teens. Les lies beside me, his spare form sprawled on the bed, arms akimbo and legs spread. His yellow hair is spread beneath his head like a radiant halo. His dick lies peacefuly along the golden down at his thigh, surrounded by its own halo of nearly transparent golden curls. Even in its flaccid state, it is nearly twice the size of mine when fully erect. Its bare head, the golden curls around its base, his thighs, are lightly coated with the dried traces of left over lust. I lie on my side and gaze at him for a while, reliving the events of the previous night.
