Oh My Huny Friend

Author's note: Sorry for the delay as life got in the way. A note for first time readers is that don't be deterred by the low reviews for Part 1. I made a big mistake by making such a small chapter with little pay off. This chapter is around 7000 words so I won't be making that mistake again. So I'd advise you to view Part 1 and Part 2 as one chapter and hopefully this improves your enjoyment. And please feel free to let me know how my story made you feel. As a newbie writer, this sort of feedback gives me a lot of motivation and, to be honest, turns me on. ;)

In a sorry state, I lay on my bed for an hour in a cocoon of self pity. My thoughts deviated to Connor many times, causing an uncomfortable tent in my pants. Frustrated, I reverted to Christ and silently chanted memorised bible verses. I would not lose myself to the clutches of pleasure.

After a while, I heard a knocking on the door. Flinging off my bed sheets, I unlocked the door and stood before Connor. It was only now that I truly considered how big Connor was. A few weeks ago, the doctor had measured me as five foot nine. A respectable height. Even then, I was only up to Connor's shoulder and had to strain my neck to behold his face.

Though he had a large scar and a crooked nose, Connor's face had an angelic quality that I had overlooked in the primal landscape of the gym. His pores were free of zits and so his skin gleamed like a god. As he wore a wide smile, I could see that his pearly whites were perfect. I had never seen a man so well manicured.

And yet, I had never seen a man so masculine. He wore a loose black t-shirt that tried to hide his muscles but failed spectacularly. I tried not to stare at those bulbous biceps, rippling with thick veins.

To make things even worse, his forearms were so hairy that it made me salivate at the idea of his rough grasp manhandling my sensitive areas without remorse. All these dirty thoughts rolled uncontrollably through my head in a second. Connor caught me taking a glance at his arms and winced. I averted my gaze with shame. He must have thought I was so weird. I needed to salvage the situation.

"Hey there Connor. How's things been going," I ventured, teeth chattering.

"Yeh Laurie, good. Sorry about that earlier. I get all dizzy after my workouts and have no idea what I'm doing. You look great though," Connor said, leaning awkwardly to the right.

Inwardly, I let out a massive sigh of relief. By the sounds of it, Connor had forgotten what had truly happened during that hug. I now had a fresh slate in which I could present myself as normal and not some drooling degenerate. Besides, him remembering that incident would have made things even more awkward than they already were.

"Thanks. You do too. It's been so long that I don't even know what to say"

"I know right. I still remember the good old days and I miss 'em to bits. Getting older has just been stressful if I'm being honest with you."

"Tell me about it," I said, very abruptly.

A silence hung between us. Although Connor didn't remember that incident, things were still very awkward. I guess that's natural considering we hadn't met in person for three years. One can't underestimate the amount of things that had changed drastically in that time-frame: I had been scarred and battle-worn by the travails of secondary school and the verbal barbs of my fellow teenagers. And Connor, well... Connor had become a man. It would take time to sweep away the cobwebs of our friendship.

"Well it's no good just standing here and talking. Let's just go to my room and chill there," said Connor, understanding the situation.

I nodded in approval. I followed Connor into the seemingly endless corridor; the walls were littered with strange abstract paintings. I was no art critic but all forms of creative expression intrigued me. And I was also desperate to find a topic of common interest.

"What are all these paintings? Did you make them or something?" I asked.

"Hell no. My dad's too rich for his own good so he bought all this junk. He thinks he's sophisticated or some shit like that," Connor replied.

"Oh I thought so."

As we hiked up the swirling staircase, I scolded myself internally for asking such a stupid question. Despite having no charisma, I was so insistent on babbling like an idiot, outing myself as a dim witted fool. I decided that the best course of action was to simply shut up until spoken to.

Ripped from my internal monologue, my gaze fled with a thirsty agenda towards the glorious sight of Connor. As Connor marched up the steps with ease, I couldn't help but admire how his tracksuit bottoms were snug against his small ass: not too tight but just enough to send my imagination purring.

I fantasised about the divine feeling of clasping that tender firmness with needy hands, my fingers trailing across the striations of his tensing muscles, hot to the touch, wandering further and further in the search of something even harder. Perhaps my efforts would elicit Connor's high-pitched moan, a moment of vulnerability that I would cherish.

He stared at me.

"Are you alright?".

"Um... Yes".

I was horrified. We had gone up the stairs, passed through a corridor, stood outside Connor's room and I hadn't even noticed! Such was the deep and depraved extent of my daydreaming. God forgive me, what had I become? However, there was no time to mull over my shock. Connor was waiting.

I followed him into his room. It was similar to my own: minimalistic and bland. My parents would have been proud. The only thing missing was a few Jesus portraits and bible quotes framed across the wall in a neat line. The only thing that showcased even a bit of personality was a PS5. When packing for my summer visit, I had been expecting Connor's room to be a messy extravaganza of discarded clothes and eccentric interests. I was preparing myself to embrace the chaos of a typical teenager's room. On the contrary, it was so perfect that it looked unused. And so, I was now strangely disappointed.

Connor lumbered towards his bed, arms dangling loosely by the side, and sat down in a reckless thud. I followed him, careful not to trip over the edge of the brown carpet, and settled beside him. My heart skipped.

"So... What do you want to do?" Connor asked, hunched over and mouth twisting in a shy smile.

"Um..."

Frankly, I was confused. Expecting Connor to take the reins, I had no idea of how to re-establish our friendship. I was never the most socially intelligent person in the best of times; most of my friends were made accidentally through a shared hobby and not through any premeditated effort. But Connor seemed just as clueless as me. But maybe it was worse than that. Maybe he didn't want to be friends with me and his offer of inviting me was just a courtesy, nothing more.

"You probably play Fifa. Do you want to just do that for a bit?" asked Connor, while twiddling his fingers awkwardly.

"Yes".

When Connor went over to the PS5, I noticed he had a rather odd walking style: a lumbering waddle with one shoulder tilted awkwardly while his left foot was slightly splayed. For an athlete of undeniable strength and coordination, it was strange to see him so uncoordinated.

But I was getting carried away. He asked if we could play Fifa. And I said yes. Why? I've never had the slightest interest in football, let alone a digital version of it. What had gotten into me? Ever since my reunion with Connor, my calculated self had been replaced by a headless chicken that ran on whims of idiocy. Unfortunately, I was now forced to bear the consequences of my actions.

While setting up the match, Connor kept asking questions and I kept replying yes, yes and yes. Embroiled in panic, I didn't even look at Connor and that was a miracle considering the way his minty breath floated towards my cheek, tempting my tortured self.

Before I knew it, the match started. I looked over to Connor; his eyes were squinted in deep concentration and he was gripping the controller so tight that I was optimistic that it was certain to break. Considering my lack of experience, Connor's intense focus was unnecessary because he'd win anyway. But in a moment of respite, I enjoyed watching Connor's competitive spirit in action.

And then back to reality. I started spamming buttons that I had used in other games - such as Stardew Valley and Minecraft - but to no avail. Connor scored a goal immediately. For a moment, he shouted in satisfaction but then stopped. He looked at me strangely, arching his right eyebrow.

"Are you sure you know how to play?" he enquired.

"It's been a while," I whispered, barely audible.

And then he did it. Connor grasped my hand and I surrendered control. He gave deep words of advice that flowed over me like nectar, leaving me blissfully ignorant to the actual meaning. His eyes met my eyes. They were so calm, so patient that one could never guess that he was a hulking rugby prodigy.

And oh... My eyes met his thighs. Though hidden by those pesky tracksuit bottoms, I was still enraptured. Perhaps I would rest my head on his lap, sinking further into the flesh, while he played with my raven locks, giving them a cheeky tug. Then, I would slip away, between his mighty thighs, and let him crush me senseless and still I would plead for more. Somewhere, my religious instinct was commanding me to stop my forbidden train of thought. But it was left unheeded, drowned in a flood of lust.

"... So yeah that's all you need to know. Don't worry, I forget stuff all the time. For example, I've already forgotten what I had for breakfast this morning," he said with assurance.

"Oh thanks."

"Don't think of it."

By some miracle, I had remembered some of the controls Connor taught me and was able to become slightly more competent at the game. I managed to pass the ball about in defence. I swiped a frantic hand through my hair. Playing FIFA was surprisingly stressful.

I tried to pass to my goalkeeper but my sweaty thumb slipped and hit the button for scoring a goal. My defender shot the ball and slammed the ball past my goalkeeper and into my own net. It was two-nil to Connor. I looked at him, nervously gauging his reaction.

Connor's mouth curled up in a slight smirk, suppressing laughter; his smile-lines clashed with his long scar, lengthening it and distorting his face. His blue eyes sparkled. And then a gleeful snigger arose, making way for a strange but hearty noise.

It took a while to register but I realised it was a laugh. It sounded more like a tortured donkey throwing up. While laughing, he slapped his thigh, making a solid thud. Though it sounded weird, he certainly had an infectious conviction and so I started laughing nervously as well and eventually, I guffawed without a care in the world. For someone accustomed to overthinking every action, I simply let free and lived in the glory of the moment. After an age, our laughing dwindled and silence was upon us again.

"Bro, that was hilarious! No offence, but I've never seen an own goal like that in my entire life. You just ran up and fucking pelted it!" he said, still laughing "But seriously, what's the deal with your laugh? It's so weird. No, I mean, don't take it in the wrong way. I like it."

"Wait what?" I asked in surprise.

"Your laugh."

"What about it?"

"Bro, you don't know? It sounds so fucking weird!"

I was so confused. No-one had ever said anything about my laugh. But to be honest, I barely laughed in public or in front of my parents. More importantly, did this idiot not know about the weirdness of his own laugh? How was that even possible?

"Do you not know? Your laugh is terrible, probably even worse than mine" I retorted.

"You're joking surely. No-one has ever said a thing," he said, very seriously.

"I'm not joking."

"Anyway, never mind about that. But I think it's safe to say that you've never played Fifa in your life. But why lie? We could have done something else, it's no big deal," said Connor.

The light-bulb seemed to radiate directly upon me, making sizzling heat flow into my face and then my cheeks blushed tomato-red. My mind went terrifyingly blank. The answer to the question eluded me. Connor stared at me, waiting with clenched jaws.

"If I'm being honest, I don't know Connor. I really don't. It's just that it's been three years and things have changed and I don't know what to think about it," I confessed.

"But I've not changed Laurie. Although we haven't met for ages, you're still my closest friend and I don't want that ever to change. I wanted to come and visit you but you were always away and that's why I invited you over this year. I really want things to go back to before," said Connor.

"Things are still the same Connor, I assure you that," I said, frantically "Other than that you're a six foot something rugby player in a prestigious high school, I guess that things are the same."

Connor blushed as well.

"So that's it. I've grown. I'm gonna be honest, sometimes I hate my muscles. It does more harm than good. But I never thought it would get to this."

"No, no, don't blame yourself. It's just that you look like the boys who bully me. It's my fault really. Your muscles though... Your muscles look good."

I had no idea what possessed me to suddenly share something so personal; I hadn't even told my parents yet. However, before I could feel the wave of instant regret, Connor met my eyes with a warm look of empathy, his cragged features softened.

Without warning, he gave me a hug. I reciprocated, wrapping my arms tight around his solid back muscles. I rested my face upon his chest, cheeks rubbing against his stiff, concealed nipple. A tear rolled down my cheek: not sadness, content. It was a sensation I hadn't felt in ages. Connor arched his neck and set his full, red lips against my ear, eardrums tingling in anticipation.

"You should've told me. I'd fuck 'em up, you know that. By the time I'm done with 'em, they'll have no teeth to chat shit with," he whispered.

"I know. But don't. Being with you is enough."

"Fine but if I ever see them, I'm having a chat. But seriously, cheers for the compliment. Working my ass off in the gym is hard and encouragement like that is what keeps me going."

Then he pulled away. Unconsciously, my hands wouldn't let go. I wanted to stay in deep embrace forever. It wasn't anything sexual. It's just that Connor's touch made me feel something I had lost. I didn't want to lose it ever again. Connor looked out of the window.

"It's dark and I'm tired. I want to talk but it's best to do that tomorrow when we're refreshed," said Connor.

I nodded. We walked downstairs to the guest room, shoulders bumping against each other. He said good night to me with a cheeky smirk and then off he went. Curled up in my bed, clutching my cross, I felt strange. I missed him already. My existence felt empty without him. And so, I drifted into an instant dreamless sleep. Tomorrow, I would see him again.

The moment I woke up, I sped down the stairs. I foraged through the living room and the conservatory in a desperate bid to find him. But I found Connor in the dining room. And Mr Richards too.

They were seated on opposite ends of a table that stretched across the room. The dim light of the archaic chandelier reflected upon its shiny surface. Mr Richards picked apart a smoked salmon impassively while Connor spooned cereal in sullen silence.

Seeing me, Connor stood up with a smile and hurriedly arranged a chair beside him. I hurried towards Connor and then sat next to him. With that crooked smirk, he whispered good morning. His hand pressed hard against my shoulder; I couldn't help but let out a satisfied giggle. Mr Richards stared at us with hollow eyes.

"Good morning Lawrence," he said.

"Good morning Mr Richards," I replied.

"I see that you and Connor are back together again. That's great to see."

"Yes Mr Richards."

"Well. You two have fun, I've got work. Bye Lawrence," said Mr Richards, jumping out of his chair.

Mr Richards strided away down the corridor. His smoked salmon was left unfinished. Connor stared at his leaving father with an intense frown. I wondered what had happened between them.

Connor, back to his usual self, insisted that he'd make my cereal. I was too shocked to refuse; Mother and Father always made me cook their breakfasts, let alone my own. With shaking hands, he placed the cereal bowl on me with a clumsy thud, spewing spurts of milk on the table and on my hand. Connor was shot with a look of horror and wiped my hand furiously.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry! I'm always such a damn klutz," he said.

"It's fine. Don't be so hard on yourself," I assured him.

Connor sat back down and resumed eating his cereal. He was a noisy but voracious eater, slurping down his breakfast at lightning speeds. I looked at my own serving with overwhelming dread. He had mixed so many different brands of cereal and used so little milk that it resembled porridge. Though Connor seemed to love it, it didn't look appetising to me.

But I didn't want to offend him. He had gone to the trouble of making breakfast for me. He didn't have to do that. I would have to be a cold hearted soul to disrespect such an act of kindness. And so I chowed down the monstrosity without complaining. The taste wasn't bad but the texture was nauseating.

Once we had both finished, Connor suggested that we retreat to his bedroom. There, we talked and talked and talked for hours on end, making up for lost time. Connor talked about his rugby career and surprisingly, I was interested and kept answering questions.

Though I didn't care for the sport itself, I was very proud of how accomplished my best friend was. Though he seemed embarrassed to say it, I could infer easily that Connor was certain to become a professional. Fortune was bound to reward the good people who deserved it. Such was the grace of God. He also revealed that he had a rugby festival tomorrow and would only come back at night. I felt a pang of selfish disappointment. I wanted to be with him.

Unlike myself, Connor seemed to be a popular figure in school. Throughout the day, he kept getting phone-calls that he kept declining. Connor said they were his friends but his irritated expression seemed to contradict that.

Connor also had a girlfriend. I wasn't surprised. A god amongst men like Connor would have the choice of any woman he desired. She was called Jenny and he showed a picture; she was clearly attractive with her dark hair and blue eyes. Strangely, I felt happy for Connor and didn't feel even a shred of jealousy.

In fact, during our long conversation, I never once lusted for Connor. Instead, I grew to love him purely as a friend. And so I rejoiced, thanking God for my bestowed discipline. Now, I could enjoy my best friend's company without any blasphemous disturbances.

However, we didn't just talk about Connor and his exploits. For the first time, I was able to unload my woes upon someone else. Though I hid many details, Connor listened patiently to my struggles at the hand of bullies and attempted to give me solid advice. He told me to tell the teachers and surely they would do something. Still, I was sceptical. Teachers never did anything. But Connor urged me to at least try. I promised that I would.

But it wasn't all doom and gloom. I told Connor all about my various literary interests. Though I had a few good friends at church and school, none really cared too much about books. By contrast, Connor listened with interest while I rambled about the Chronicles of Narnia and Lord of the Rings, though he had read neither. In between all my ramblings, Connor would open his mouth, as if he was going to talk, and then close them again, with a wistful look in his eyes. In hindsight, it was strange to see bold Connor so indecisive.