By the time I was thirty, I’d fantasized about having sex with another man for a few years but had never done anything about it. Too be honest, I was neither eager nor reluctant to try it, I was happy with the women in my life and figured if something happened with another guy, it would happen. I never thought it would happen with my best friend!
John and I had known each other since we were boys. We met in the fourth grade and were bosom pals all through school. We went our separate ways for college but, unlike many cases of childhood friendship, we stayed in contact and met from time to time, filling in the space between with letters and telephone calls. I was best man at his wedding and godfather to his first kid. His wife and I got along well, and I hoped to be as happy as he was if I ever got married.
Nowadays, we live in different cities, about three hundred miles apart. I’d visited John a couple of times and now he was coming to see me. I’d invited him to stay at my place to save on expenses, and he thought that would be great. There was only the one bedroom (and one bed) but neither of us thought of each other in a sexual way, so it would be like an old sit-com, with the two main characters having to live (or in this case, sleep) with the inconvenience!
When John arrived for the weekend, it was great to see him. He hadn’t changed since I’d visited him the previous year. The same age as me, he was about my height (an even six feet), stocky, with a few more pounds than he wanted, short but thick blond hair and blue eyes. Even if I were gay, I wouldn’t have thought he was handsome. But John was my best friend, and it was sure good to have him around again.
The first night, he was kind of tired from his trip, so we had dinner and then talked at my place till we decided to go to bed. I wore my usual pyjama bottoms and he stripped to his underwear. I hadn’t been in the presence of a male so naked since my college track days, and back then, thinking about doing it with a guy was years in the future. Now, as my friend took his clothes off, I wondered if John might be a good choice for my first time bisexual experience. His body was thick but not unattractive, his chest smooth and barrel-like. I found myself wondering what his cock looked like. I shook my head mentally, knowing that John was as straight as they came and wouldn’t do anything sexual with any man, never mind me.
Nonetheless, as I lay in bed, inches away from him, I started to think of ways I could suggest an encounter, ways which would, if he didn’t want any part of them, could be dismissed by me as misunderstandings. My dick grew as I thought, but other than a raging need for penile relief, I didn’t come up with anything.
The next day was fun. We went to a movie, then to a video game arcade (just like we had in school – though the games were more advanced and we weren’t as good at them!) then watched girls from a park bench downtown and talked about everything. We then went to dinner, a bar for drinks and got home about midnight.
When John told me he was going to shower, I almost blurted out the request to join him. I don’t know why but I thought he might be receptive to me tonight. Another part of me suggested that I shelve the idea of bedding my best friend and wait until an appropriate stranger presented himself.
Unlike Friday night, when he was way too tired, John was talkative as we lay in bed, the lights off and the apartment silent. We chatted about various things but I steered the conversation toward sex. I brought up our first times, how he had lost his virginity to my sister one night when she had a fight with her husband and got drunk because of it; how I’d had my first taste of sex with the mother of a boy we both loathed.
“God,” John said, chuckling, “I’ve got a big woody thinking about your sister!”
“I have one, too!” I said. Then a thought hit me, and I asked, “Hey, do you remember Carla?”
“Carla? God, Cal, I haven’t thought of her in ages! She thought my cock was the longest thing since God created anacondas! What a laugh!”
I was on the right track. John had always believed his organ to be small, and since the average is, so I’m told, six inches, I guess he’d be right. He claimed that his cock wasn’t more than four inches long. So when Carla, his girlfriend from before his marriage, kept telling people how long it was, we wondered if it was a form of ego-boosting, or whether she’d just been fucked by midgets all her life.
“Now, don’t start that again!” I said. “She thought you were long, so you must be!”
“I’m not, really!” John laughed.
