"You don't have to be alone," he sighed as he rested his forehead against mine, his body tense and vulnerable in my shadow, coming closer than he'd ever done before. I looked at him, this face I had seen a thousand times but was now looking at me with a range of emotions it never displayed to me before. Pity, sadness and most of all lust. I hated his face in this moment. I wanted to beat it bloody for being such a weak little faggot. I wanted to scream that he should shut the fuck up and be a man. But rejecting him, this open wound of a boy standing in front of me in the street light, would break his heart. And that is the one thing I couldn't bear to live with. So I kissed him.
I didn't plan it like this. It should've been just another fun party night like we've had so many times. I wanted to escape the drama with my dad and I had booked a hotel room looking out over the city's busy square with all the popular clubs. The rush of alcohol still in my mind, the air filling with smoke from my lungs. Usually I would have invited some blonde bimbo to come up with me. I could have impregnated the bitch to clear my head. But how long was I going to do that? I'm 26. I'm not particularly good looking, scrawny, short, teeth fucked up from fights, drinks and drugs. But I could talk myself into any panty. Had for the past ten years. And the joy always ended the second I pulled out of their pussies. It wasn't what I was looking for anymore, but what was I did not know.
This is how I came to look not at a beautiful girl in her underwear begging me to eat her out, but at my best friend, drunk and pathetic. He had seen how I was hurting and wanted to talk. He always wanted to talk. Like a nagging wife. He might be the only one I answered though. I couldn't trust those girls to understand but he did. He listened. So here he was, ready for bed, in nothing but his ugly briefs, short like me but fatter. His build awkward and unmanly. He had pretty eyes and hair but that was about it. He looked like faggot and it bugged me.
I closed my eyes, pressed my lips onto his and ignored the cold, stern kiss back. It wasn't anything like kissing a girl. It was harder, dryer, rougher in a sense. I slid my tongue into him and licked the inside of his mouth. My teeth bashed into his, our mouth wide open in duel. I pressed so hard he stumbled backwards and my body followed. I couldn't stand to look at his face so I didn't. I kept my eyes closed and mouth wide open as I threw my half naked body onto his, the warmt of our boxers briefs crashing into each other.
He started to moan, signifying his pleasure over the shared emotions I tried to run away from. I was relieved. I always knew this is what he wanted. He couldn't confront me by talking if he was moaning. But my anger hadn't subsided. My fear of losing my best friend, of showing him how much I actually cared for him, ever present. If he wanted to be more than friends and ruin everything we had, so be it. But it would be on my terms. Without thinking, I lifted his legs up in the air, I ripped this faggy grey boxers from his ass, took my dick out and jammed it inside of him.
His ass had looked so good. His ass had always looked good. It was meaty and round, and in his pants looked a lot like that of a girl. The boys and I had joked about it often. But there, lying there in the orange light, it was mine. No one else's. He was my best friend. It belonged to me and I wanted to feel it inside. So I did.
