It's been some years since I wrote the first and most recent instalment of my experiences with my close friend Tom. So why have I chosen to continue writing about them now? Tom and I fell out of touch over the years, as we grew into adulthood our lives simply moved apart. Recently however, we managed to see eachother again. What happened during that reunion will be the subject of another "episode", but suffice to say it jogged my memory of earlier times and spurred me on to resume my accounts, as much for my own sake as for any potential reader's. So apologies for the long hiatus; I doubt many people will read this who read the first part when it came out, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
In the first chapter (which I suggest you read for the background) my sexuality had been brought into question by my oldest and closest friend, Tom. At what had initially seemed an ordinary sleepover, I had become aroused by tales of his former exploits, and we had done some "experimenting" of our own.
...
The next morning it was as if nothing had happened. We woke up, wandered bleary-eyed downstairs to the kitchen and made ourselves breakfast and coffee, all while saying very little. When it became clear that the events of the night before would remain unspoken, conversation began to flow more naturally again. We talked about video games, and the upcoming week at school, but not at all about what was pressing on my mind. The time passed and I soon found myself thanking his parents for having me over and catching the bus back to my house.
I've always believed that you can often best be alone when in a public place. As I rode the bus home I had time to myself to think about what had happened, and what it might mean. Was I gay? I certainly didn't think so. I still wanted to chase the girls at the local private school, but clearly something had changed; or perhaps more accurately, I had realised something about myself that I had till now been unaware of.
I know a few friends - one of whom the boy who Tom had experimented with before - who have deeply struggled to come to terms with their sexuality. And as much as I understand the difficult mental situation that such people often go through, I honestly cannot say it's something which had ever bothered me after that first night with Tom. The night before had been a frantic, almost unthinking, experience, but I will equally always remember that bus journey home as the moment I no longer felt the need to put any kind of label on my sexuality. If I felt like fooling around with a girl, I'd go for it, and the same for guys.
But this set of stories is primarily about Tom, and so to my experiences with him I will now return. What had surprised me about the night before was how much I had enjoyed taking on the more passive role of being the one sucking his dick, rather than the other way round. As great as Tom's prowess for oral sex was (and remains), the eye-opening part of the evening for me had been the pleasure I had received from pleasing him. You will remember how I had even ejaculated with next to no stimulation while I was going down on him, I was so turned on by the feeling of his cock in my mouth.
Indeed, as soon as I'd got off the bus and walked back to my house, I went straight upstairs and almost ripped my pants and trousers off. As I had done many times before, I began masturbating; only this time I imagined it was a smaller version of Tom's penis I was stroking and I jerked myself off not in the usual functional way, but how I imagined Tom would want to be were it really his cock I was holding. I began with long, slow strokes, gently squeezing precum from the tip. I gathered this with my fingers and let the taste remind me of Tom, then continued at a faster pace. I alternated between this speed and the slower pace before, teasing myself, but imagining I was drawing out his pleasure rather my own. Of course, what I really wanted was to be performing oral sex once more, but I had to make do. Now, I moved my free hand down to my balls and teased them with my fingers. I could feel this was bringing me closer and closer to the edge so I increased the speed at which my hand was moving, now moaning as quietly as I could. My orgasm tore through me - the best I had ever given myself - and to my surprise I felt the first spurt of hot semen hit the underside of my chin, the rest of them covering my chest and stomach.
I felt dirty. Only this time there was no sense of shame in that fact, but I found myself revelling in it. As I lay there with one hand still on my scrotum and my body covered with the fruit of my own ministrations, I knew a whole new avenue of sexual adventure was open to me now I had let go of the compulsion I had felt before to be strictly heterosexual. It was one of the most exciting periods of my life, as if I'd been exploring what I'd thought to be the world's most beautiful garden, only to find a hole in its wall, to have crawled through and to have found myself in another garden of equal but differing delights. I repeated my lurid performance twice more that Sunday.
Just as the morning at Tom's house had been surprisingly normal, so too was our first day at school together after that night. I remain sure to this day that no-one detected any sign of what had gone on over the weekend from me or him, we simply continued as normal and did not mention it to eachother even when far away from ears desperate for teenage gossip. It seemed to be business as usual. I'm not a hundred percent sure what I was actually expecting to be different, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed somehow, especially when Tuesday came and went by in exactly the same manner.
By the time we came out of our class just before lunch on Wednesday, it appeared to be shaping up as the third disappointing day in a row. That afternoon we were due to have a double Games lesson, which in mine and Tom's books meant an afternoon off school. We were by no means lazy, nor at all in bad shape, but for the last couple of years we'd managed to skive nearly every Games lesson that the sports department -- our bitter enemies - had tried to force us into. Instead, we would wander casually into town and sit in one the many charming, back-alley pubs that could be found there. Sometimes, when the weather was warmer, we'd buy ourselves a bottle of wine and sit by the river, watching our class-mates playing cricket in the playing fields from the secluded park on the other bank. The teachers, often fully aware of our exploits, never seemed to mind our Wednesday trips out as we were otherwise near-model students.
We had a normal lunchbreak that day: the school food was the definition of mediocrity, and we had spent the rest of it sat in the common room, chatting with our friends about not much in particular. When the bell rang, signalling that lunch was over and P.E. about to begin, I was surprised to see Tom grab his sports bag from the rack and begin heading towards the sports hall. Not wanting to be left behind, I grabbed mine as well and followed him. Why wasn't he skipping Games like we usually did? Had someone finally given him a bollocking for his truancy, or was he actually trying to avoid spending time alone with me? I ran and caught up to him, joking about how shocked the sports teachers would be to see these two unfamiliar faces, and together we filed into the changing rooms with the rest of our classmates.
