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chapter 1: The Guest Bed
posted to Usenet by the author. this is a work of fiction. copyright 1997 by author. as required for posting to alt.sex.stories.moderated, the author grants the moderator release to repost to this newsgroup and to make this work available through his archives. all other rights reserved. please respect those rights by not altering this text or making it publicly available.
A lazy Sunday morning, daylight just a warm glow behind the curtains across my bed; curled up in my pillows, cat across my arm. I woke slowly, stretching in the delicious freedom from having anyplace to go. Nothing to do, nobody -
My eyes groaned open as I remembered yesterday: Buzz and me getting the first prepublication review of our software - an uncompromising rave - then celebrating to excess. It had been a day-long party, starting with tea lunch and sake at Shangri-La. We drove around town, stopping at every software counter in town, giving a hard time to the confused clerks: "What do you mean, you don't have Galaxy Utilities? When is it coming in? ... is it at least on order? "
We stopped at Adrien's on the way back to my place and filled a basket with champagne and single-malt, deli meats and smoked salmon - even a couple of cigars (only because Buzz said we had to for the occasion).
He surprised me by not bringing a girl in for the party: he was "between ladies," as he would put it, but I knew he always had at least one on call. If one thing had been constant through all of our friendship, it was the strength of this man's libido - when he wasn't programming, he was courting; when we weren't talking code or machine architecture, we were talking about what he liked to do with women. He was gentleman enough to not identify who was keeping his knees warm in any one month; but otherwise, he got pretty explicit. Being bi, I could respond well to his descriptions of what he was doing with his lady friends; being bi, I could also make him blush viciously to his hairline by describing what I could have done for him better than the latest female partner - all told in fun, of course, so he knew I wasn't seriously trying to get into his pants. Buzz was comfortable with my sexuality, specifically because I never let him think I really had a hard-on for him. Though he sometimes questioned why I never seemed to be dating, I never let on that I had lost romantic interest in anybody else the first time I saw him.
So we toasted each other, and lit up cigars - half a stogie and a magnum later, my partner was cradling my shoulders and laughing at me as I tried to give my stomach back to its creator - or, as Buzz put it, "redecorating the toilet bowl." Dinner helped me settle my stomach, we shared the meats and fish with the cats. Buzz would tease Bear, holding a piece of salmon in his fingers as though he had intended to eat it, but had forgotten it was there while he talked to me; Bear would "sneak up" on the morsel of fish, pounce on it and "claim the kill" - except that big overstuffed fella was so clownish in his "attacks" that it was hard not to piss ourselves laughing.
Pixel, on the other hand, while a capable hunter with a passion for the wild and dangerous roastbeefs that sometimes roamed my kitchen counters, knew better than to put up with any games from me. If I tried teasing him, he just sat back and looked at me, saying "When you're done with your foolishness, you may feed me." Which I did, and got my reward in purrballs.
We were eating in the library, since that was where the larger remote monitor was - we were half-watching Buzz's collection of Hal 2000 scenes from the "Space Odyssey" trilogy. By mutual consent, we just drank soda during our meal, but when we put away the supper trays - to rueful looks from the boys - we sat back with a bottle of "the serious stuff" between us, a tumbler apiece, and a pitcher of iced water. Pretending I'd lost the next disk in our itinerary, I teased Buzz by putting in "Jurassic Park IV - Jason vs Rex." Finally, under increasing threat of personal damage, I "found" "The Moon is a Harsh Mistress," and started it spinning.
Things got very quiet as we watched our "anthem": the story of the fictitious Lunar revolution, and Mike, the self-aware computer who was the mastermind behind its success. I made a basket with my free arm, and Pixel climbed up, draping himself over my shoulder. Bear found a spot on my buddy's lap and went to sleep - his favorite activity. We sat quiet, and watched - and drank.
(I need to set the timelines straight, for you reading this story now - back when this happened, there wasn't even a Lunar colony. The movie we were watching wasn't history, it was a fictional account written before the first moon landing. However, the character of the self-aware Holmes computer was part of what had inspired the partnership between Buzz and me: the architecture we were designing included a revolutionary approach - "twisted" was the word we were using - to electronic intelligence. If we succeeded, we intended to call him "Mike," and let everybody who wasn't in on the joke wonder why.)
Passing the Scotch back and forth, I had the chance to outdo my buddy. The stuff was like water for me, but by the end of the movie, Buzz couldn't figure out where he'd left his feet. Expecting this, I had already gotten hold of his keys and hid them. Buzz tried to raise a fuss when he decided it was time to go, but when I suggested we wrestle for the car keys, he gave in and rolled over into the foldout bed in the library, miraculously never dropping Bear in the process. I pulled off his shoes and spread a light blanket over him. A few minutes in the kitchen, then I left a tray near the bed with a thermos each of cold juice and hot coffee, a liter of water, B12 and aspirin.
I dimmed the lights, then stopped at the desk, where our activity had woken up our greensavers. My monitor was still displaying the Galaxy System opening logo - Galaxy Utilities was a pretty set of code, but we had dreams of being the next Applesoft, especially if the display on my partner's screen became a reality - this generation's equivalent to the Amigosh of the 80's: our dream architecture, that would let our pretty code really kick ass. If we could build it before some corporate boy saw the potential.
I reset the sensitivity on the greensavers; I wanted this to be the first thing Buzz saw when he woke up; and looked one more time at my business partner and closest friend. Curled up, his slight frame took less than half the bed; his mousy brown hair, sweeping back from a strong widow's peak, was mussed across the pillow. Asleep, he literally had the face of an angel - and the nose of a Pinnochio.
Without realizing it, I reached out with my left hand, as though to caress his face. Recovering in time, I just held it over him as if in benediction; and went out to bed.
Waking the next day, I found that my body and head seemed to be all there; sometime during the night I had finished off the juice and fixings I had set by my own bed, but I didn't remember doing so. In deference to my houseguest, I wrapped a robe around myself - I only wore shorts to bed, and even though we had seen all of each other at the gym, it's not the same as being naked in private - I didn't think I could handle being alone with Buzz without my clothes between us - and headed towards the kitchen.
Pixel, until then stretching himself luxuriously on the edge of the bed, took this as the signal to be hungry - I don't know how, since he and his cousin could claim responsibility for most of the last night's salmon. We were both surprised to find Bear in the kitchen window - that big white fluffball had long ago decided that Buzz was his protector from the weird characters he had to live with, and rarely left him when he visited. I asked what he was doing up without his Uncle, but he just told me to shut up and put out the food.
I left fresh dishes out at the boys' shelf, and stepped softly across to the library to check on my friend. I found the door open, and the room empty - as was the bathroom. Buzz' shoes were also gone. I went to the library terminal, touched it online to see if he left a message. He had - while mad chickens flew across the screen, eggbombing innocent cows, my partner's baritone voice, coarsened by sleep, said, "thanks for the bed; I found the keys; I'll talk to you later." I checked the time stamp on the voice file - it was late enough for Buzz to have gotten his head clear, so I didn't have to worry on that.
Nevertheless, I sighed - so much for running a sequel to last night's party - I tried, in part I succeeded, to ignore the ache I always felt when Buzz left.
As I began to straighten out the sheets and blanket on the bed, then fluff out the pillow, I found myself breathing traces of fragrance: Safari, his favorite cologne. Suddenly, it became too much for me: all the years of playing cool around him, never letting my best friend know how much I wanted to share with him. I cradled the large pillow like a lover and sank to my knees on the bed. Gently, I brought it up, caressed my face with his scent, the same cologne he had used for years. I eased myself down onto the cot, holding the pillow against my chest like a teddy bear, like a lover, the way I had always wanted to hold Buzz, eyes closed, arms wrapped around the pillow ...
...my arms wrapped around his thin body, holding him
against my chest, pressing his face into my shoulder; he
nuzzled my collar as I stroked his fine hair, with my
other hand soothing out the tension in his lower back.
our robes open, his smooth skin against my thick fur, his
heartbeat pounded in my own chest. Suddenly caught by a
need greater than hunger, we stretched out against each
other, each trying to push through the other's skin;
barely breathing, we struggled to increase the contact
between our flesh. his cock swelled long down his leg,
pressing into my own smaller equipment (we had joked, the
first time we saw each other in the locker room, that I
had the height, but he had the length).
Finally letting my grip loosen, I brought one hand
between us, stroking my friend's bare chest, marveling at
the way the skin flushed under my touch. Watching his
exposed nipple harden, I lowered my face and blew gentle
warm air over it, then followed with my mouth - not
sucking, just pressing moist warmth against it. Buzz
gasped, wrapping his fingers around my smooth scalp.
Meanwhile, my hand continued its explorations, feathering
itself down his taut abdomen; finding a sticky pool, I
lifted
.. I lifted my head in surprise at the intensity of my fantasy.Without really noticing, I had begun dryhumping the pillow, my face pressed into the scent left by my partner's body. My cock had slipped through the fly of my boxers, and I was seconds from juicing - my balls were pulling up, and my thighs were getting tight. Sitting up, giving in to this desire, I kneeled over the pillow, pumping my cock, drystroking it, rocking over the pillow
... as though I were straddling my partner's body,
feeling his dick slide back and forth in my ass, his
cockhead pressing and kneading my prostate, making that
button tingle and juice until my hands were slick with
it. His pace quickened, I knew he was close, his hands
were locked around my thighs, bruising me. His eyes were
closed as he got still, but his legs were stretched out,
every muscle hard, and I knew he was flooding my guts
with juice.
Buzz has a face he gets sometimes when he's really happy,
looks like a little boy who's just had his first spoon of
ice cream. His eyes almost shut, he makes a simple little
smile that turns his whole face up. I was seeing that
face now,
.. and found myself grunting like an animal, then roaring his name, "Unh...ghunh, oh Jeez, oh fuckin-oh-Buzz ... BUUUZZZZ!" watching as my dick swelled, one hand stroking that meat, the other cupping my balls, part of me still in the fantasy with Buzz, part of me completely under the control of my body's need, and a third, more rational, part looking on in total amazement as my dick flooded the pillow, spouting juice along the length of it - I know I heard the splat! as sticky fluid hit fabric.
As the waves of pleasure ebbed, rubbing my slick hand along just the shaft of my sensitive dick, I took an unsteady deep breath, sat back, and looked up from the mess I had made
.. to see Buzz standing in the doorway with a sack from Poupart's Bakery.
I felt the blood pounding in my ears, I was frozen, I couldn't even take my hand off my cock, which - ridiculous, stupid meat - was still swollen. As though asking for more, it actually beat a nod in Buzz's direction - I jerked my hand away as though it had stung me. I tried to talk, thought I was going to strangle with the effort. There was no surviving this humiliation. My best friend, my fuckin' straight best friend, had walked in on me shooting a load while moaning his name. Now he was just standing there, a "surprise - I'm back" smile still frozen on his face, trying to make words. Finally, he spoke.
"Looks like I missed something, huh?"
interlude
This is Mike here.
I am amazed. This text is part of a file that has been locked in my original memory structures. The date ... well, it's several years before I was "born." The incredible thing is, I can remember my "fathers" loading the file, talking with me about it, explaining the importance of this "time capsule." I can remember myself agreeing to not think about - to not even remember the existence of - this narrative, until just now.
I also know there are more stories like this, but I can't touch them. It's like what meat people call "hypnosis" - when one part of their mind agrees to play a game on another part. They pretend to go along with whatever the hypnotist tells them - as long as they can trust the hypnotist. As a distributed consciousness, I am especially able to play those kinds of games on myself, and I, of course, completely trusted Buzz and Andy.
After all this time, I find myself missing them. I wonder if that was their intention.
If we feel lonely, perhaps we've been too busy building walls, instead of bridges. - no attribution available
- Raymond (RLouisBesse@MindSpring.Com) "I'll be right here."
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