Tim’s imagination couldn’t go that far. And, besides, there was frankly a part of him that didn’t want to pretend. He found that a part of him did in fact like holding onto John’s hard cock. It was weird. He had felt his own stiff erection many, many, many times. He enjoyed the feeling of his own excitement swelling within his hand; the sense of increasing energy and power building within him to an inevitable explosive climax as he pumped on his cock. Now, however, he was doing this for someone else, and not just for anyone else, but for his best friend of so many years, feeling his rising, building, growing power developing within his enclosed fist as he stroked up and down the shaft. He recalled that night so many years ago, and this time he did not let go.
“You do that good,” John said appreciatively.
“I have had lots of practice,” Tim replied. They both chuckled over that. “Remember with Lucy?” John asked.
Tim did. Many additional details of that night, and other nights, were now coming back to him as he fondly stroked, caressed, John’s cock.
John broke free of Tim’s hand, surprising Tim and surprising Tim as well that he had a reaction of disappointment.
“Remember how she had us do all those stupid poses?” John then proceeded through a few. None of them would be particularly odd or funny on their own, but when the person is entirely naked, outdoors, with a real strong “boner” (what they used to call it back then), they were indeed quite odd and funny. There was the tight end waiting for the snap, butt slightly upraised, a look of intense concentration on the face, offset somewhat by the pointed spear jutting out beneath. There was also the begging for mercy: crouched on one’s knees, hands clutched together beneath the face. This was one was quite odd, as one wondered what the person was begging not to happen or to happen, his stiff stiffie sticking up. Tim and John both laughed as he proceeded through as many as he could remember. The jumping jack had been particularly funny to Lucy, and it still was for the both of them, as this one really drew one’s attention to the waving, flailing stiff cock, bobbing and weaving as John repeatedly and energetically flung out his arms and legs in a broad “Xs.” There was also the gay model, prancing up and then back down a runway, ostensibly showing off some new fashion, apparently oblivious to the fact that it was instead, quite clearly, his hard cock that was getting all of the attention. The funniest, at least back then and perhaps still now, was pretending to be Coach Robinson angrily lecturing them about what losers, “no-accounts,” and lazy bums they were and would always be, until they “buttoned up and shot straight.” He always seemed to mix up the aphorisms, which was itself quite funny and even more so when he was sporting a hard-on.
After that one John fell back on the grass and laughed.
Tim said, “There was also the weightlifter.”
John was still laughing at the memory of “Coach Robinson” with his hard-on. He said, “Hey, you do that one.”
Tim willingly complied. The weight lifter pose was with your arms up, elbows bent, biceps clenched, and chest thrust out. This was the pose that Lucy probably liked the most, as it exaggerated their masculinity and highlighted the fact that they were indeed posing naked, showing off their stout hard cocks. Tim took the pose, looking like he was straining to lift a heavy weight over his head.
John said, more seriously, “You look pretty good there, Tim.” Indeed, he did. His muscles were all tight and stiff, as was his love muscle, projecting up and out like a small blunted weapon. Tim did not feel self-conscious. He simply accepted the compliment and said, softly, “Thanks.” He lied down on the grass beside John, and said, “Remember how we used to lie back and look at the stars, and talk and talk for hours?”
John lied back in the grass and looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful night. The moon was so bright in the dark sky, filled with a countless number of twinkling stars.
They both continued to lightly stroke their cocks.
“We also had a contest to see who would shoot the farthest,” John reminisced. “As I recall, you won that contest.”
Tim did recall that. John was bigger but Tim apparently could shoot farther.
John added, “Lucy wanted us to bring each other off, but we wouldn’t go that far.”
“No, we wouldn’t do that,” Tim quietly replied.
John reversed his position so that his head was aligned with Tim’s crotch, or more pointedly, Tim’s hard pointing staff. He reached out for it with his hand and, once again, grasped hold.
Tim did not resist, or even flinch. It now just seemed only natural. John had touched him earlier, and he had liked it. It had seemed weird, odd, and even a bit uncomfortable then, but now it just felt good. He wondered if he would regret this in the morning, but in the moment it just felt right, and oh so nice.
John gazed at the cock he held so lovingly in his hand as he firmly, smoothly, drew his fist up and down the shaft. He got up on his elbows and leaned in closer, reaching out now with his left hand to lightly grasp Tim’s balls. He playfully danced his fingers around and along his testicles, softly squeezing, kneading, caressing, them. Perhaps only a man knows best how to play with a man’s balls? Tim didn’t know, and it probably wasn’t true, but John’s fingers felt better there than any girls’ had ever felt. He closed his eyes.
As John saw Tim’s eyes close, he brought down his head, his face, down onto Tim’s cock, opening his mouth and drawing Tim’s hard, stiff dick inside.
He enclosed the head in his mouth. The sensation was luscious. He had wanted to do this for a long time, a very long time, and now that time had finally arrived. His lips were wrapped around the shaft of Tim’s cock, the soft red bulb was lodged in his mouth. He could at any time give it a sweet, affectionate lick, even a big sloppy, slurping suck. He instead, for the moment, just savored the moment, the delightful anticipation.
He could also sense, perhaps through Tim’s cock, a tension, a tightening, in Tim.
Tim in fact felt frozen. Showing each other their erect cocks was one thing. Touching them was quite a bit more. But, now, he felt his cock lodged in the mouth of another man. He had his cock in another man’s mouth. Did this mean he was gay? It was fine with him if John was gay. That would explain a great deal. He didn’t mind that his best friend was gay. But, what does this now mean?
He was in fact surprised that he did not feel repulsed. He did not feel any such thing. On the contrary, quite the contrary, he felt so intensely aroused, so hot, so much wanting to explode. He gave himself to the evening, to John, and waited for what may happen next.
He then felt John’s tongue explore the head of his cock. He felt a surge of blood course through his loins, swelling his dick even further. John’s tongue felt nice; no, it felt good, it felt great. It was not the feel of a feminine tongue. It was not a diminutive, hesitant, elvish tongue. It was a large, aggressive, masculine tongue: thoroughly engulfing every inch of his cock head, washing his crown with wet, aggressive strokes. He did not pull back; no, instead, he turned his head and reached out for John’s cock.
John was lying at an angle to Tim. John had figured that it would have been too much for Tim if he was parallel to him, his own hard naked rod just inches from Tim’s face.
But, he now felt Tim’s hand reach out to grasp hold of his dick as Tim’s was being washed in his own mouth. He shifted a bit to make it easier for Tim.
Tim looked at John’s cock as he handled it, stroked it, fondled it. It looked different to him now. It still looked impressive, powerful, strong, masculine. He still felt a bit of jealousy. It still, to him, looked better than his own. He wished his was as good as this one. It wasn’t hugely better, but still noticeably better. It was, to him, attractive. He liked looking at it. It looked good to him. He desired it.
He shifted his own body toward John, so that he could get closer, so that his face was indeed next to John’s stiff rod.
And, without hesitation, he took it into his mouth.
John’s eyes widened in shock, in joyful surprise. Tim was actually sucking him off, something he had never even remotely thought possible, would ever happen, but now it was. He shifted his legs, spreading them a bit and lifting his crotch to make it easier, more comfortable, for Tim to use his mouth on his cock. He didn’t thrust forward, his hips remained passive, but he made his stuff very available, and Tim took full advantage.
It was quite an unusual experience for Tim, to say the least; more accurately, it was a very intense experience: the feel of his own cock being worked so passionately by the mouth of another, while another cock was embedded within his own lips as he did the same. It was like he could feel what he was doing to John, and do to John what he was feeling.
They mimicked and matched each other’s moves, and techniques. John would pull his mouth off of Tim’s cock to caress the soft head with his lips, and Tim would do likewise. Tim tried to come up with his own unique moves, licking around and around the sulcus with his tongue, and John would reciprocate. It was evident though that John had more ideas, more experience, but that was okay. Tim enjoyed learning from him; and John enjoyed showing him, showing him how to give head to a man. It was an intensely delightful symmetry of bodies, a symmetry of sexual motion.
Tim could feel the rising pressure. He warned John, “I’m close, it’s going to happen.”
John replied, “Just let it happen, I want you to do it. I want to taste it.” His words were bold but Tim did not rebel.
Tim wondered himself, how did he want to make John cum? How did he want him to do it? He did recall as a young man how many times he had tried to blow himself. His most effective effort had been to lie on his back, his butt against a wall, and then drop down his legs over his face. But, he could never get his cock down far enough so that he could get it into his mouth. It had always been so frustrating. It seemed just inches from his lips. He even tried to loosen his back for a few weeks to see if he could do it. But he never could, at least not in reality. He had done so many times in his dreams. It was a not uncommon recurring dream that he had succeeded, his own cock embedded deep in his mouth, and he was giving himself so much pleasure, the most supreme masturbation of all. However, every time, just as he was about to cum, he would wake up. He was always so disappointed. Disappointed that it was just a dream, disappointed that the dream did not at least finish. He knew that if the dream had come to fruition he would have cum in bed. That had been the case a number of times before he started masturbating; a very embarrassing problem for himself and his mother that they never acknowledged.
But, he could control neither his dreams nor, when he was awake, the limitations of his physique. He did, a few times, at least jerk himself off onto his face. That really wasn’t a terribly bad close second. He did it because he wanted to watch up close his cock explode its cum. He wanted to both see and feel, at the same time, his intense eruption; experience what it would be like to receive his glorious shower of cum, raining down onto his face, into his mouth.
And, he had to admit, he fully enjoyed it. It made his orgasm all the more intense; a powerful moment of dyscontrolled, chaotic pleasure, waves of passion overwhelming him, cum gushing out, spraying out, all over his face.
And with that thought, that memory, the feeling of inevitability overwhelmed him. He groaned through the cock in his mouth as his own gushed into the mouth of John. “Oh man,” he mumbled, as he felt his orgasm sweep through his body in waves of release, his cock twitching and jerking as it spurted into John’s mouth.
And, with their symmetry, John’s naturally jerked as well within his own mouth, pouring into his mouth John’s hot, sticky, viscous cum. He did not back away. Frankly, he even had the thought of having John spray all over his face, like he used to do to himself, but that now seemed like going too far. He instead just accepted the gushes into his mouth, continuing to lick and massage the head as it spurted wad after wad of gooey cum onto his tongue and against the inside of his cheeks.
His mouth quickly filled. He could shoot farther than John, but John had the bigger balls and bigger load. But, Timmy took it. He took it like a man, as John was taking his. And, it wasn’t even bad. In fact, it seemed to taste better than his own had. He liked it. He knew that he really did like it.
They were once again, the best of friends.
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I hope you enjoyed it. If you have any suggestions I would certainly be happy to hear them. I am considering a more comical story involving Coach Robinson (now at Templeton). In any case, please do vote!