Setting note: I was in the US Navy before DADT was implemented. Samuel and I weren't paranoid, there was actual imprisonment on the table if one was caught being gay. I subscribe to the belief that it is no crime to break an unjust law, but the military doesn't exactly share that view. I didn't realize my sexuality until after I'd enlisted, and the choice I made was to stay for my enlistment rather than taking an Other Than Honorable discharge.
Samuel was problematic for me. We were classmates and roommates for about six months during Navy “A” school, which meant we were together nearly every waking minute, seven days a week. And he drove me absolutely nuts.
Not because of any personal failings. Far from it, he was awesome. Generous, kind, deliberately inclusive, funny as all hell, open and sincere when the occasion warranted, competitive in the best of ways, largely unaffected by other people's bullshit, he was then and is now one of the best people I've ever known.
And God knows his appearance didn't hurt anything. He was, in a word, gorgeous. About 6'3” and something over 200lbs of ripped muscle, with dark, dark skin and a face so pretty you could lose your train of thought just looking at him, he made most of the girls and no few of the boys swoon. Which probably clues you in as to why he was problematic for me.
I'd resolved to pay the price for not realizing I was queer until after I'd enlisted by being a monk, at least until I was in the Fleet- this was before even DADT, mind you, much less acceptance- and here I was spending hours in a tiny little room with a walking reminder of how much I'd rather be exploring my suddenly-awakened sexuality.
Sam and I got along from the start. Couple of good natured jock wiseasses with similar attitudes about people and the daily grind of life in the service and just the world in general. By the end of our first week knowing each other we were tag-teaming the humor in and out of class. Our trash talk on the basketball court drew spectators.
And our one-upmanship quickly took on a life of its own. We were both in great shape, even for being in the military, and we both liked to show it off when occasion presented. Which brings us to the beginning of our story.
One day I came back to the barracks as a working party was going on, maybe twenty men and women out doing general maintenance and cleanup of the complex, and the first thing I saw was that Sam had stripped off his dungaree shirt to work in a tank top.
“Look at this clown,” I said to one of the girls in our class. “Gotta get all the attention all the fucking time.”
“I don't mind,” she said with a laugh.
“Watch me piss him off,” I said. She laughed again when I peeled off both dungaree shirt and t-shirt, joining in the work with my chest bare. Sam affected a sneer when he saw me.
“Man,” he said, “look at this fuckin'...”
“S'up?” I said, grinning at him.
“Alright, bitch,” he said. “You don't even want to start.”
“S'up?” I said again. He laughed and headed into the barracks. By the time he came out most of the working party had caught on that something was up, and everyone laughed uproariously when they saw that he'd lost the wife-beater and put on a pair of running shorts. Mind you, this was before Jordan popularized the baggy look, our issue shorts were nuthuggers. Sam was bare skin from the waist up and from his upper thighs to his boots.
“Oh, come on,” I said. “Boondockers? And black socks? With running shorts? I win on your bad taste.”
“It's a working party, son,” he said. “We wear boots to work in this man's Navy. I'm only out of uniform if the Chief says I am.”
We looked at our boss, Chief Duncan, who was watching in benign amusement.
“Hey,” he said with a shrug. “This ain't a parade. I seen motherfuckers work in their boxers in the tropics.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said. The laughter was even more uproarious when I stepped out of my half-laced boots, pulled off my pants, slipped my feet back into my boondockers, and went to work wearing only my issue white boxers.
“I like this game,” said Susan, the girl I'd spoken to. “Look at all the abs.”
Sam laughed with everyone else. He grinned at me for a long minute, then reached for the waistband of his shorts.
“Don't count,” I said. “Unless you finish the working party.”
“Shit,” he said, still grinning. He stood indecisively for a minute, but when I started to raise my arms in triumph it was too much. Off came the shorts, revealing a nice crisp pair of tighty-whities. The laughter was riotous, with guys turning their heads and even running away around the building.
We looked at each other a minute, both smiling broadly, then I shrugged.
“Tie?” I said. “It's all underwear. And you don't want to dare me.”
“You wouldn't,” he said.
“Sam,” I said, “I would spend the night naked in the lounge on a dare.”
“Fuck it,” Sam said, reaching for his waistband. I reached too, but the Chief interrupted.
“Nope,” he said quickly. “Nope, nope, nope. I call it a tie. Shorts stay on. Idiots. Finish my deck and get your asses to your homework.”
It was only when the laughter had died and we were actually working that the oddness really struck me. I was in my underwear, in the center of a five-barracks complex that housed hundreds of students, sweeping the concrete. With seemingly half the Navy hanging out the windows to watch and laugh. The Chief was right, we were idiots. I made that point to Sam when we finally got to our room.
“Yeah,” he said, grinning ear-to-ear as he opened the door. “Can't even deny.”
“Can't deny what, Booter?” said Jeff, our senior roommate. “A” School isn't like a frat, there's not a strict hierarchy, but when guys straight out of boot camp are roomed with guys who are near the end of the curriculum seniority does lend some authority.
Our situation was a little odd because I was actually a Fireman, an E3, for having some college credit. Meaning that I technically outranked both Jeff and our fourth roommate, Scott. They were a couple of assholes, but the dynamic had settled into a kind of d é tente. They didn't try to make us do their laundry or make their beds or any shit like that, and we accepted polishing the floor and cleaning the window and other little things. And them calling us “Booter,” which was especially silly given that they were a whopping ten months further from boot camp than we were. Combined.
The only real annoyance was the bunk bed. The way our four-person rooms were set up was normally four single beds, with a desk and a wide wall-locker for each person. The desks had cabinet tops that made them about six feet tall, and normal practice was to put the heads of the beds along one wall and the lockers opposite them, with the desks between the beds to form kind of a bay or cubicle, thus allowing each person a little privacy. It was tight quarters and you had to sit on the edge of the bed to use the desk the way it was intended, but the privacy was more than worth it.
Unfortunately for us, Jeff and Scott had been in the room by themselves for a few weeks before we'd gotten there, and they'd managed to swap out two of the single beds for the bunk bed and short couch that should have been in the duty room. No way we were getting the singles back, the duty petty officers would have murdered us for trying. So until the boys graduated and went to the fleet, they got to watch TV comfortably and keep chairs at their desks and we got to sleep on a sagging, ancient bunk, Samuel's ass arcing down so low I bumped it when I climbed out of bed. Good times.
“Can't deny that we're sexy motherfuckers,” said Sam in answer to Jeff.
“Why the fuck are you in your shorts?” said Scott.
“He just told you,” I said. “Because we're sexy motherfuckers. We can't cross the quarterdeck without getting our clothes torn off, man.”
Sam laughed, Jeff snorted derisively, and Scott called us a homophobic slur. I went to my locker to get some sweats, but as I started to pull them out Sam bumped me lightly with an elbow and shook his head almost imperceptibly. Having absolutely no problem looking at his nearly-naked body for a while longer, I went along. We did the evening routine in companionable exhibitionism, cleaning the room and tending to our uniforms and cracking the books, all of which were daily requirements. It wasn't until I went down to the rec room for a soda that Sam was able to explain why he'd denied our modesty.
“Hey,” he said, strolling casually into the room behind me, big grin on his face, as if hanging out in his BVDs was par for the course. “You know why I'm fucking with them, right?”
“I didn't know that
you were fucking with them. I just figured you'd lost your mind.”
“That, too,” he said. “Nah, man. Didn't you see how hard Jeff was staring at you?”
“Nope.” I didn't add that with Sam mostly naked I probably wouldn't have seen a rhinoceros in the room. And it was a small room.
“Yeah, man. Both of 'em, but especially Jeff. Seen it before when you come back from the shower in a towel or whatever. He looks at me, too.”
“Yeah?” I said. “No, I hadn't noticed. Huh.”
Curious, I decided to test Sam's observation. After my shower I came back to the room and stood at my locker stark naked while I put on lotion and used the little mirror on the door to tend to nonexistent stray hairs at my sideburns.
Two things were obvious: One was that Jeff was, in fact, staring. The other was that Sam was taking a good long look, too. He was in the chair at the desk by our bed, his eyes cock-level, and his gaze was fixed enough that he didn't even see me grin at him. After a few minutes I walked over to the bed, still naked, and stopped right in front of him. Neither of the idiots could see us, which was probably for the best.
“Got radar-lock, Mav?” I said.
“Shit,” he said, laughing. “Nah, Goose, he's too close for missiles. I'm switching to guns.”
Never did put any clothes on that night. I kept waiting for someone to say something, just to see who'd break, but nobody did. And Sam couldn't let himself be upstaged, so after his shower he followed suit. Y'know, just your typical completely-heterosexual-and-don't-you-dare-say-otherwise all-male environment.
The next couple of days followed the same pattern. Sam and I walked around naked after our showers, everyone got a show, nobody hurried to put his clothes back on. And nobody offered a peep of protest. The only difference was that when Sam tried to turn my trick around, walking up naked while I sat in the chair, it was him that blinked. I just took a long look at his big, uncut cock, then looked up to meet his eyes.
no myth,” I said. He cracked, hopping up onto his bed with a laugh.
Any game gets boring if it just repeats. Any sexual
game gets boring if it just repeats and doesn't lead to, y'know, sex.
Since I couldn't fuck any of the boys, particularly Sam, I pushed the teasing. By the end of the week I was spending most of my time in the room naked and almost never putting on more than boxers. The idiots, Jeff especially, stared openly and shrugged off my insincere offers to get dressed. And Sam, bless his heart, just couldn't let me one-up him. I saw a hell of a lot of his perfect body and more than a little of his gorgeous cock.
He mimicked anything I did. If I sat naked on the edge of Jeff's desk while I discussed a problem on an upcoming test, Sam found an excuse to sit in the same spot. If I stretched or threw off a set of pushups, he immediately followed suit. If I sat akimbo on a chair, junk on display, he nervously found a similar pose.
Mind you, his bit of hypocrisy wasn't lost on me. I left it alone at first, because Jeff and Scott really were assholes and I was pretty sure their repression was one of the root causes of that assholery, but I can't help holding up mirrors when I can be a wise-ass about it. Sam brought it on himself.
It was the end of another long day of exhibitionist attention-whoring. It is hard goddamn work being queer, closeted, macho, fabulous, horny, and frustrated all at once. Sam and I had the room to ourselves because the boys had off-base passes, and we were amusing each other with brutal jokes at their expense. My exhibitionism is well established, but even so it was the “straight” guys, Sam included- hell, Sam especially
- who were the most excited by all the nudity.
“Seriously, Kenny,” he said after a long, hilarious recounting of me waving my cock in Jeff's face while we talked about a knotty problem on my upcoming test. “I thought he was going to dive on it. I don't think he blinked once.”
“Yeah,” I said. “He completely lost what we were talking about.”
“We're laughing, man,” he said. “But it's sad if you think about it. You want some dick, you should get some dick. Can't be going through life scared to be who you are.”
The side-eye I aimed his way was off the scale, but he didn't notice.
“Yeah,” I said. “That is, in fact, pretty sad. People scared to be who they are.”
“Hey,” he said, “next time you get a hard-on you should do that again. Motherfucker's head might explode.”
“Or his cock,” I said, miming an exaggerated orgasm. Sam laughed so hard he had to sit down.
“So,” I said. “That's not too far? Waving my boner in a repressed dude's face from two feet away? Be funny to me, sure, but we might be inching up on a line, here.”
“Fuck 'em,” Sam said. “You've offered to get dressed like five times. Me too. He's makin' the world a little nastier with his homophobic bullshit. Every time he says faggot
he earns the worst we can do. Seein' a naked dude up close a lot more likely to make him better than worse.”
“All right,” I said. “You know I'll do it. Just want to make sure you're complicit. We agree that it would be hilarious to wave a big, hard cock in the face of a dude that's clearly in denial.”
It's not even like I was hiding who I was really talking about. The smirk on my face had to be as plain as day.
“Yeah, man,” he said, grinning widely. “And if he's smart and puts a move on it, I'll give you two some quality time.”
Didn't seem to be any sense wasting around. I spent a few extra minutes in the shower that night, thinking about sex and washing my cock very thoroughly. Wasn't easy holding it under my towel on the way back to the room without attracting attention, but speed and timing were my friends.
Sam was at his desk. Nowhere else to be, really, except in bed. I walked straight over, put a foot on the arm of the chair, and shoved him back diagonally, trapping him against the wall in the narrow space between desk and bed.
“Hey, man,” I said, dropping my towel. “What do you think of this? Think a dude with repressed homoerotic urges will be able to resist?”
“The fuck?” he said. “Kenny-”
“I know, right?” I said. “I mean, I can't claim any credit, but it's a pretty awesome cock.”
“Damn it,” he said, but he couldn't stop himself from laughing. First a little, then a torrent, his hand over his face in embarrassment. I leaned on the bed and left my erection aimed at him for at least a full minute while he laughed and stared straight at it.
“Well,” I said when he finally started to get the giggling under control, “you were honest. You did, in fact, find it hilarious.”
“All right, all right,” he said. “Well played, motherfucker. Get it away.”
“You sure? You wanna be smart, put a move on it, I'll let you.”
“Move,” he said forcefully, although still with a laugh in his voice. I flopped down onto my bunk, not bothering to cover up.
“I'll get you back for that shit,” he said.
“Yeah?” I said. “Gonna get some wood and wave it in my face? Got news for ya: You're there. All you gotta do is drop your shorts.”
I pointed at the obvious erection that was tenting his running shorts.
“Aw, man,” he said, laughing again. “I surrender. White flag, fucker. You a cold piece of work.”
He beat a retreat to the shower and the idiots were home by the time he got back, so his white flag ended the skirmish.
The next week was our last with Jeff and Scott. They'd made it to graduation, and much to our delight both of them shipped out straight away. My hope was for any kind of improvement in our next roommates, but our luck was better than that. It was Sam who spoke up when Chief Duncan started assigning the next class their quarters.
“Hey Chief,” he said. “You know we got that ancient bunk bed, right? Think you can hold off on giving us new guys until we get some real racks for 'em?”
The Chief looked like he might snarl, but Sam grinned at him.
“First in the class, second in the class,” Sam said, pointing from me to himself. The Chief broke into a grin.
“First class clown,” he said. “Second class clown... All right, fine. I'll order up a couple new racks. 'Til then you got the Hilton.”
Do I need to tell you the game went to a whole new level once we were alone? I don't need to tell you the game went to a whole new level once we were alone.
The game went to a whole new level once we were alone.
Sam wasn't sure what was up. That much was clear as soon as we got back to the room. We stayed dressed while we moved our gear and shuffled the furniture a bit, and it seemed to me that he was a little disappointed about it. So, of course, I dropped my towel the instant I came back from the shower and moved straight into his personal space, sitting on the edge of his desk while I put on lotion.
“Shit,” he said with a grin. “I was afraid you were gonna do something like this.”
“You were afraid I wasn't,
” I said. “Check out my abs, man. I been doin' those oblique exercises you showed me.”
“Yeah, you're gettin' pretty ripped. Not like mine, but...”
“Samuel, your obliques look like a fella could use them as handles. Many's the night I was tempted to grab them and pick you up onto your rack. I will not have my perfect torso disparaged by specious comparisons to a Greek god. I am but a man, after all.”
He laughed, obviously delighted with the praise. His eyes followed my hands as they lotioned up my shoulders and chest and abs, and when they reached my cock I could actually see him take a big breath.
“See,” I said, “the trouble with putting lotion on your cock is that the more you use, the more you need.”
“Until suddenly you got too much,” he said with a laugh. “I'm gonna grab my shower. Like, right now.”
He didn't quite run out of the room. Nearly, but not quite. And when he came back, he stood close and grabbed my lotion bottle.
“Don't want to ash up,” he said. By the time he was done, we were both sporting substantial wood. And neither of us bothered to hide our stares.
That was the routine for the next couple evenings. Class, work, play, shower, teasing. And while I was probably winning on points in the pushing-things-along department, it was Sam that initiated the touching. I'd just finished my routine, lotioning up about three feet from his rapt gaze, when he took me by surprise.
“Do your back?” he said.
“Sure,” I said. “Thanks.”
His hands actually trembled when they touched my shoulders. That faded quickly, though, and the only word I can use to describe the slow, exploratory way he worked his way down my back is sensual.
There was a readily noticeable bulge in his pants as he fled to the shower.
I was already holding the lotion when he got back. He laughed when he saw me, but he didn't hesitate to drop the towel.
“Do your back?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. There was a certain huskiness to his voice.
His body really was spectacular. We both subsumed a lot of our pent-up sexual energy in working out, and it showed. His back was broad, the V down to his waist dramatic, and the big muscles in his shoulders were beautifully defined. By the time I got to the small of his back I was enraptured.
The only question was how far he'd let me go. He didn't protest when my hands drifted to his sides, nor when they glided over his narrow hips. I figured his perfect, round, rock-hard ass would be the limit, but he only stiffened a little as I crept my way onto it, and he actually relaxed by the time I was done.
So I kept going. I dropped down to my knees and slowly worked my way down his muscular legs. Even his calves were big and cut and well shaped.
At last I was done, much to my disappointment. I hadn't noticed until I stood up, but my cock was more than a little swollen. When he turned, my better judgment failed me.
“Do your front?” I said. There was a long pause.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
If touching his back had turned me on, touching his chest was like foreplay. Michelangelo would have been proud to have carved Sam's torso. By the time his pecs were thoroughly moisturized I was way past teasing. Had he been ready for it, he could have fucked me right then.
His abs drove me crazy. I think I put all the lotion on them with my fingertips, and I probably did every inch of them at least twice. My hands actually started toward his completely-erect cock, but he twitched back and I stopped.
I didn't hesitate to drop to my knees when I'd finally exhausted the time I could reasonably spend fondling his obliques. His thighs were magnificent, but honestly it was pretty tough to concentrate on them with his cock right in front of my face. It was hard enough that it had a drop of pre-cum at the tip. And it was gorgeous. Long and thick and perfectly shaped, with the head just peeking out of the foreskin at full mast. It jumped at one point, and I realized my face was close enough that he'd felt my breath.
I didn't even get up when I was done. I just laughed and fell back onto my ass, my own cock as hard as his.
“Jesus fuck, man,” I said. “You were chiseled out of stone by a sex maniac. Never change your workout. Ever. Just do exactly what you do right now for your whole life.”
“Fuckin' Kenny,” he said, laughing and falling back onto a chair. “I almost said something about your shoulders, but it seemed like too much. Ain't nothing too much for you, though.”
“Not much, no.”
Returning to our room had become like some kind of Pavlovian conditioning. I started to get hard as soon as afternoon muster was over. By the time we headed for the shower the next day- simultaneously this time- hiding under a towel was a bit problematic. We watched each other wash, which was a huge reason not to shower together and one that I filed away. Too many guys in that shower, all the time.
“You first,” he said when we got back to the room. He tossed me the lotion bottle, his towel already on the floor.
All that stuff I wrote up there about touching his body? That. Again. No loss of effect for being repeated. I was beside myself with lust by the time I stood up after finishing his legs. He did my back again, and I was literally holding my breath to see if he'd keep going.
He did. My erection bobbed in front of me as he rubbed the lotion into my ass, and when he came around in front I saw that his cock was as hard as mine.
“Damn,” he said. “I, ah... oh, fuck it.”
He touched my chest and torso as languidly as I'd done with his. And he was completely rapt, I really thought he might kiss my chest a couple times.
He stayed on his knees for a minute when he was finished. His eyes were locked on my very, very hard cock.
“Hey,” he said. “You trim your hair down here, right?”
“Why? So it looks bigger?”
“That doesn't hurt any. But also because I don't like flossing when I go down. Least I can do if I'm going to ask someone to trim their pubes is keep my own nice and neat.”
“You shave your nuts?” he said.
“Yeah. Got a special little electric just for that.”
“Show me how?” he said.
“Sure,” I said. I got out my clippers and my little electric body groomer, but when I started to turn them on my crotch, Sam stopped me.
“Your junk is clean,” he said. “It's mine that's a mess.”
I grinned and leaned back against my locker.
“Yeah, all right,” I said. “But the word of the day is reciprocation.
“That's a big word,” he said, returning my grin.
“And fraught with meaning.”
Who says fraught
?” he said, then took on the worst snooty English accent ever. “I say, my good man, your choice of vocabulary is positively rife with implication.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “You gonna fondle my cock or what?”
“You first,” he said with a laugh.
It was the third time I'd been on my knees in front of him. And the third time I couldn't do what I really wanted to while I was there. I was very, very careful to maintain a casual air, figuring open lust would end the game.
Not that I didn't have a good time. He gasped when I gently took his half-erect cock in my hand. I didn't exactly stroke it as I moved it around to get access to his big balls and his pubic bush and his perineum, but I didn't exactly not
stroke it, either. It should probably take... what, five minutes? ...to trim that area. Took me maybe twenty. By the time I was done he was breathing hard and didn't seem far from getting off.
“Okay,” I said. “One high and tight. Don't forget to tip your barber.”
“I almost did,” Sam said, then immediately looked embarrassed for saying it. Which I didn't help by grinning at him for a long few seconds, until he finally broke and laughed.
“Hell,” I said standing up and offering the tools. “If you think that was fun, wait'll you get your hands on mine.”
He took the tools readily enough, but then just stood there staring at my cock.
“Come on,” I said. “Kneel before Zod.”
He cracked up, but after another second he got down on his knees.
As significant as it is to touch anyone's naked junk for the first time, it's that much more profound when there's all that garbage about same-sex activity in the way. Sam actually sighed when he took my hard cock in his hand, and he didn't even seem to be aware of it. I didn't tease him. After all, I was only weeks from my own first time getting sexual with a man.
He went slowly, if not quite as slowly as I'd done. And even though he never touched it, his cock stayed proudly erect the entire time. By the time he finished his tentative first touch had become a more sure grip, and he kept hold of it until he'd stood up.
“Okay,” he said. “Wasn't really much to take off.”
“Nah,” I said. “I try to be a classy bitch.”
Sam laughed and beat a retreat to his bed, and I mostly left him alone the rest of the evening. Neither of us got dressed, though.
The next couple nights we repeated the lotion routine, with the addition of putting it on each other's cocks. We had to be the two softest-skinned guys in the Navy. And the two horniest. I know I wasn't masturbating, and if he was he was sneaking out of the room to do it. Spending a solid hour every night with some degree of an erection and no satisfaction at the end had me about ready to fuck a knothole in a tree.
It was Sam, again, that next raised the level. He was standing behind me, working on my shoulders and arms, having this time gone bottom-to-top up my legs and back. I breathed a laugh as he ran his hands down my biceps.
“See,” I said. “I can't even reach the front of your arms when I do your back. I lose track of how much bigger you are until we get this close.”
Our size difference really was enormous. My last big growth spurt came after my eighteenth birthday. By the time I left the Navy I was around 5'10” and 180lbs, but when I enlisted I was only 5'7”-ish and in the 140lb range. Which means Sam was half a foot taller than me and maybe sixty pounds heavier. Out in the world I didn't notice it so much. My competitive streak just registered bigger people as challenges. In close, especially naked, it was like we were different species.
“Hell,” Sam said. “I could reach your chest and abs from here, too.”
He gently pulled me against his chest. His cock, which was completely erect, pressed against my ass. When his arms slid around me to caress my chest it drew an involuntary sigh out of me, and it was everything I could do not to lay my head back on his shoulder. He took his time, his warm breath on my neck, and when his hands finally reached my cock they definitely gave it a few strokes that weren't strictly required for moisturizing purposes. And he didn't immediately step back after letting go of it. His hands drifted back up to my chest, still holding me close, and I was keenly aware of his erection against my ass.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice thick. “This is much more efficient. You should definitely do it like this more often.”
He breathed a laugh, so close it was like he was blowing on my neck. I didn't quite swoon. Not quite.
“All right,” he said, almost whispering it in my ear. “But what are you gonna do? You gotta jump up to reach my knee.”
“Right? But I better come up with something, or you're gonna win this round.”
He laughed at that. His arms were hadn't moved, so I turned around without stepping away, leaving us chest to chest and cock to cock. He still didn't let go. We grinned at each other, inches apart.
“If you're playing chicken,” I said, reaching awkwardly for the bottle of lotion, “you're going to lose.”
“Huh uh,” he said, grinning.
I was able to reach around him pretty well, of course. Which doesn't mean I did it quickly or efficiently. Doing the top of his shoulders and the back of his neck with my arms around him can't be called anything but an embrace, and if it had been tough to keep my head clear with his breath against my neck, resisting the urge to kiss his beautiful face just inches from mine was a conscious act of will.
His hands slid down to my waist when I leaned back far enough to rub the lotion into his chest, but he still didn't let go. Nor did I make any pretense of being anything less than sensual about the task. Once I'd rubbed the lotion in I spent maybe five minutes tracing the outlines of his well-defined muscles before grinning up at him and tweaking his nipples.
His laugh faded to a moan as I slid down to my knees, dragging his cock slowly along my chest and letting it bump off my chin. I know he could feel my breath while I reached around to fondle his ass at some length. And when I finally took his balls in one hand and his cock in the other, his knees started to buckle. Just seconds later, before I'd really even started playing with his big, sexy equipment, he reached down and stopped me.
“Whoa,” he said. “Hold up.”
“What?” I said. Then I caught on and laughed. “Uh oh. I warned you.”
“Nah, nah,” he said. “You'd only win if you went further. You don't get points 'cause I've got blue balls.”
“You almost gave me a facial. You want to win, feel free to put more lotion on my cock.”
I stood up, still holding his cock, his hand still keeping mine from moving.
“Or,” I said, “just move your hand for about thirty seconds and I'll give you the win. I mean, I'll call you minute man, but I'll give you the win.”
“Let go,” he said, laughing. When I did he flopped down on his bed, cock slapping against his stomach.
“You ain't kidding about the blue balls,” I said. “I bust a nut right now we'll need a bucket to clean it up.”
“For real,” he said. “Feels like I been hard for a month.”
Could I have made the move right then? Yeah, probably. But at eighteen I hadn't spent any points on Seduction yet. We both went to bed pent up. Again.
The next night was a repeat, albeit with Sam more on point, ready to stop my hand the instant the lotion was on his cock. The closeness and the caresses were driving me out of my mind. In a good way, of course, but out of my fucking mind.
He caved to the tension first. I woke up somewhere in the small hours, hearing something indistinct, and realized that my covers had been pulled back. I was naked, semi-erect, and on full display by the moonlight streaming in our window. And when I looked to see what the soft noise was, the reason for my exhibition became clear. Sam was sitting on the side of his bed, staring at my body and jacking off. He was obviously trying to be quiet, his breath coming in little suppressed gasps. He was also obviously very close to cumming.
It was all too much for my self restraint. When I sat up he jumped about three feet. But when I stood and put a hand on his chest to push him down onto his back, he went without resistance. I sat on the edge of his bed, took his cock in my hand, and set about finishing what he'd started.
“Just a dream,” I whispered. “We won't even remember it tomorrow.”
His cock was hot in my hand, and his perfect abdominal muscles jumped when my thumb slid across his glans. Clearly this was not going to take long.
Sure enough, after only a few minutes his abs started flexing and his cock swelled. The orgasm, when it took him, was huge. He shot better than half a dozen long, thick ropes of cum all the way up onto his chest, and he kept pumping for a long few seconds even after that.
For all the sexiness of his body and for all the fun of really working on his cock for the first time, it was his face I watched as he came. We were looking each other right in the eye. When he'd finally come down enough to focus, I grinned and winked and got him a towel, then rolled back into my rack.
“Night, Samuel,” I said. He just groaned a laugh and made no answer.
The obvious flaw in my plan didn't occur to me until he was sound asleep: My cock was so hard I could have fucked the cinder block wall without drilling a hole first. I was going to have to close the deal with Sam soon or I'd never get a night's sleep.
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