Peter has finished off the story - sex and romance. Ah. ... I think we'll probably write about these two guys again. Let us know what you think.
Paul Calling John part 07
You gotta love that John, respecting me when I was least respectable. If that's not the mark of a true friendship what is? I had just made a major embarrassment of myself, shot my cum all over myself and him and his carpet. I didn't know where even to begin apologizing or explaining or whatever, felt like a little bug looking for a rock to hide under, figured I had best just head home. Except John doesn't want to send me home in this state, and offers to get my clothes so his mother won't find me naked on the family room couch. I could just imagine that encounter:
"It's OK ma'am, I prance around naked in other people's houses all the time. Oh, and I shot a nice load of jizz on your carpet too. And how was YOUR day?"
I had to start giggling in spite of myself.
"You're drunk" John accused me.
"No, but I gotta piss," I answered.
When I sat up laughing I noticed my bladder was about to burst. I was a little clumsy though, almost tripping over my own feet as I got up, and John helped me up the stairs towards the bathroom. I could walk OK, actually felt light as a feather, practically floating upstairs, but John was there to keep me going straight. We made it to the bathroom just in time, well almost, I think I may have missed the bowl the first few drops or so. John, he went straight for my dick and aimed the stream at the bowl. The weird thing is, I saw him holding my dick but I can't remember actually FEELING him hold my dick. It was more like I was watching him hold some other guy's dick. I even remember being a little amused to see him really getting into this task, fingering the foreskin, milking out the last few drops. But I just felt like some detached observer, my consciousness hovering above these two guys standing at the toilet. After John finished the milking, he led the other guy next door to his bedroom. It was surreal, this out of body experience, if I may call it that,my disembodied eyes watching John putting my former self to bed. John, he lingered over my unmoving body like a dwarf over sleeping beauty in the fairy tale. Then finally he draws the sheet over me.
Story over.
When I woke up I saw out of my own eyes again. Guess I was still alive after all, maybe got sent back to complete some unfinished business. Well there's nothing like departing from this earth and coming back again to gain a whole new perspective on things. I loved John. I LOVED him. It didn't hurt to admit that to myself, actually it felt good. John, he was sitting next to the bed, looking right back at me, with a monster boner sticking out from his house coat. The beautiful sight of it made my own rise up too. John was looking right back at me, saw me staring at his boner, so I joked:
"Doesn't that thing ever go down?"
He covered up and threatened to inspect mine.
"You wouldn't dare!" I replied in mock disdain.
"Oh No?" John asked, as he rose out of his chair.
"Oh no, oh no, don't don't!" I cried out in pretend dismay. But John, he actually hesitated, couldn't he tell I was kidding?
"Don't look, don't look at my dickie!" I continued, and raising my knees to my chin as if to hide my boner, but actually uncovering myself from the duvet in the process, affording John an explicit view of my ass and balls. John leaned forward looking down between my knees, and then threw my own comment back at me: "Doesn't that thing ever go down?"
"Not while yours is up," I replied, expecting some witty comeback from John, but then something else happened. I had not hesitated lifting my legs and exposing my asshole. After all I had showered twice today, and figured I was pretty fresh everywhere. Only I had not accounted for the effects of three beers or so. Suddenly and without warning a wicked beer fart escaped noisily from between my cheeks. If the sound was bad the smell was ten times worse. I lowered my legs back on the bed. John, he had backed away instantly, waving a hand before his nose and swearing.
"What the fuck... man, what did you eat... whew!"
Maybe I should have been embarrassed, but the look on John's face I couldn't help myself, I had to laugh. John headed for the window and opened it wide.
"Your turn, try to beat that one," I threw at John.
"Man, another bomb like that will condemn the house" John retorted, still waiting by the window. Then I remembered a funny riddle: "How many beans does it take to fill a can of pork and beans?"
"Ah man, that's old," John said, but I was not going to let him dismiss it just like that.
"Well then tell me, how many beans does it take?"
John decided to be a sport about it, and started to sing out the answer: "The answer my friend, is blowing in the wind, the answer is blowing in the wind."
I joined him in the chorus, and it got the both of us laughing.
"Ah, don't be a sissy, now get back here," I asked him.
John remained at the window for a few more seconds, as if trying to think of some wisecrack, but then he just shrugged his shoulders and walked back towards the bed. Compared to his normal self, he was being unusually restrained.
"Take a load off your feet," I suggested, changing the subject, and patting the empty space on the bed beside me. Again John hesitated, but then slipped off his house coat and laid down next to me. There we were, both lying on our backs, our boners half way down again, each waiting for the other to make the next move. There was something I needed to tell John, had made up my mind I would, and yet I was still scared, did not want to overdramatize and freak him out. I had wanted to slip it in between jokes, had missed the opportunity, and with this unusual silence between us now, I wasn't sure where to begin. First I needed to hear John say something, anything, and so I gave him a little poke in the ribs.
"Hey," he protested, and dug his fingers under my rib cage in retaliation. He knew my tickle spot, no way I could lie still while he did that, had to sit up, laughing. I decided to go over into full attack mode, swung up over on top of John, kneeling with my knees to either side of his knees John's tender belly vulnerable before me, ready for the onslaught. But what caught my eyes more than his unprotected belly was his equally unprotected dick, swollen but slack. Without thinking about it, I attacked the dick instead, grabbed it with one hand, and squeezed. I had expected an outraged John to throw me off the next instant, but he remained motionless, only took in sharp breath. I released John's penis, not quite believing that I had actually touched it, squeezed it even, with my bare hand. Part of me searched frantically for some apology, some explanation, but I couldn't find any, and John, he just looked so... so... OK so horny, don't know what else to call it. Both our dicks had risen back up to full attention. Experimentally, I grasped it again, squeezed and let go. John only groaned. Then I repeated the manoeuvre in rapid succession, squeeze, release, squeeze, release, faster and faster.
"Ah, Uhmm!" responded John.
I couldn't think, didn't want to think, just started pumping him with my right, myself with my left hand, up and down and up and down, slow at first, gradually faster, accelerating to a frenzy, relishing the intensity of John's sighs and groans. Faster and faster I didn't want to stop, and yet my arms tired quickly. I had to give myself a breather, flung myself down on top of John, chest to chest, our hearts pounding on each other. Down below I could feel the two rods, hot, stiff and sweaty, pressing between our bellies, and it was almost like I didn't know which rod was mine and which was John's, and it didn't even matter whose was whose. All that mattered was that there were two, the feel of two was something very novel, something very intense, like we had broken through some new barrier, entered a new world hot and intimate, incredibly intimate, and then I felt it, the shockwave through our bodies followed by the warm wetness spreading between our bellies. Did it again?
"John," I started, "I'm sorry, I guess I uhm..."
"No," John cut in. "No that was me, that was... awesome"
John could speak no more, just lay there, still, looking spent and yet so tender, so fulfilled, beautiful. I wanted to tell him how beautiful he was like this but couldn't. Instead I felt another shudder going through my body, a big heaving, from my belly on up. No, not an orgasm, I was sobbing, just couldn't help it. I rolled back on to my back, not wanting John to see me cry. It made no sense, I hadn't cried since -- I don't know, not for as long as I could remember. And I wasn't hurt and I wasn't sad, and yet here I was balling, my belly convulsing with every sob.
"Paul?" whispered John, turning towards me. "What's wrong?" "...love you," I heard myself whisper.
"What?" asked John, probably not believing he heard right. I couldn't say it again, couldn't say anything at all, could only lay there, my world turned inside out, blinded by the tears streaming out of my eyes.
Then I felt John's dry lips touching my cheeks, gently mopping up the wetness there. I closed my eyes and felt him kiss me there too, his lips warm and soft, following the wet trail from my closed eyelids down to my ears.
Then he whispered, "I love... I love you too" and I felt a fresh tear falling on my cheek.
This crying was contagious, John, his eyes were wet too, crying and laughing, somehow we did both at the same time. I raised my head, and touched my lips to John's.