This story is fiction. The characters are adults in adult situations. Warnings: The only person you can ever hope to truly know is yourself. Trust no one; use condoms. If you are not of legal age or in a jurisdiction in which this document is illegal, go way. This is my story. Please respect the copyright.
Long before John would have liked, Wylie stretched and yawned. Seeing John, he smiled warmly. Then, as he came fully awake, he frowned.
John stood, hoping to exit before Wylie started talking. He wanted more time to think.
Wylie jumped to his feet and confronted John, his eyes dark and his face in a scowl.
"Just what the fuck's got into you? When you quit talking to me and started avoiding me, I tried to figure out what I did wrong. I thought back on every conversation, everything we did together. I wanted to know what I did to make you hate me. I just about went crazy. I would have done about anything to get back to being friends. After a couple of days of trying to talk to you, I figured it out. I haven't done anything wrong."
A short pause, then he spat, "It's you!"
"You've met other guys and see now, I'm not in your social class. Maybe you live on a big-assed ranch and I don't own a pot to piss in. But, I thought we were gonna be friends. Instead; you're embarrassed to even know me. I bet you decided breaking off our friendship was for my own good. Because I just wouldn't fit in. Well, if that's it, why didn't you have the balls to say something. I could at least try to understand".
"Instead you sneak around like a snake. I've seen you watching me between classes. Like I was some kind of experiment. Like you wanted to know how us peons live when we don't have our Better's to show us the Civilized way".
"That snobby bastard you brought in to "borrow a book". He sure looked down his nose at me. You two will make a fine pair. Maybe y'all could get one of those suites or an apartment off campus. Y'all can get drunk and laugh your asses of about the poor, struggling, blue collar bastard. You know, the one who can only afford Lone Star and was dumb enough to think you were his friend."
"I may not be rich, but that doesn't give you the right to treat me like shit ." The words and emotions came rushing out of Wylie's mouth. As he talked, the frown evolved into seething rage. His eyes, black with hated. His mouth in a snarl, spittle rolled from the corner of his mouth.
He was ready to kill or cry.
John saw Wylie's hands begin to tremble, like an old man with palsey, or like a young man about to loose control. Wylie clinched his fists.
Spit flew when he continued, "You pretend you don't know me in public and ignore me when we're alone. You need to find another place to live."
"Buddy, if you stay in this fucking room, with that attitude, your life will be hell. You understand me? I can't afford to make waves here. I can't ask for another room assignment. You can get one in a heartbeat. In fact: I think you better do that today. Cause right now."
He paused and took a deep breath as if reconsidering what he was about to say. "Cause right now: It's all I can do to keep from kicking your fucking ass. Your shit had better be out of here, by the end of the day!"
John had watched Wylie's face grow more menacing as he talked. He had seen Wylie tremble, fighting for self control. The muscles and tendons stood out against his neck.
The fact that his voice never got louder than a conversational tone, only added to the image of "controlled destruction" that was Wylie. His adrenaline charged muscles were bulging. He knew, if he made an aggressive move or if he said the wrong thing, he would have to fight. He knew no matter how he fought, Wylie would feel no pain. He didn't want to fight Wylie; wasn't sure he could.
He would choose his words carefully.
While John had spent the better part of an hour, just watching Wylie sleep. That time was also used to speculate on what Wylie would have to say. The permutations had not allowed for this. None of the considered responses, were appropriate. It had never occurred to John that Wylie thought him a snob.
He was about to defend himself.
Then again: Maybe it would be better to end it this way. If Wylie thought John was a snob, they could never be friends. Maybe the dreams would go away. Besides, maybe this confined space had contributed to these strange feelings he was experiencing. Maybe he should get his own apartment, like his Dad suggested. John didn't want to be gay. He liked fucking girls. He had to lie to Wylie. Didn't he?
John found it impossible to meet Wylie's dark eyed gaze. Trying to step back, he stumbled, almost falling.
Wylie simply watched. His body poised, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.
Recovering, John found an interesting spot on the floor between the two and stared at it, unseeing.
The lie began: "Wylie, I'm sorry. You're right. I have been thinking, about us, about our, uh, friendship."
At this point John found himself scanning Wylie's face. He avoided eye contact. He cataloged Wylie's features. Even though he was sure he would remember for a long time. John took a moment to reinforce his memories. This would be the last time they would stand this close. The last time, maybe, to even speak. John wanted to make sure he built a memory. This; last time..
His own brown eyes met Wylie's gaze; and held it.
John took a deep breath and started over, "I admit it. I've been avoiding you. But, it's not what you think. I never thought about whether, or not, you have money. I only think about you and it scares me."
John's voice cracked.
Would he have no dignity left? Was he going to tell Wylie everything? He wanted to shut up; he couldn't. Whatever the price he couldn't leave with Wylie hating him. When he finished talking, Wylie might still hate him; at least then he would have a reason they could both live with.
John continued, "Look, I never had a close friend. Never had a friend I could talk to. I practically told you my life story within the first few minutes we met. Spending time with you is great. I realized that you already meant so much to me. If you got to where you didn't like me, I`d be really hurt. It's happened to me before. I figured if I stayed away from you. I could get to where, if you turned out to be an asshole, it wouldn't bother me. I figured if I avoided you for a while, it would help me. I wanted to still be friends. Like I said, we got so close, so fast, it scared me."
That was not what John expected to say! if he shut up now, maybe he could leave with some dignity.
Seeing no change in Wylie's expression nor demeanor, he continued, "I haven't told you everything, some things, I can't talk about. Like; I'm not sure if I want to major in business. I know it means a lot to my dad. He expects me to help him run the ranch and stuff. He's getting older. I wasn't sure if my major is what I want or what he wants."
" I realize that, all of a sudden, being twenty isn't much different than being ten. Except the choices seem to effect other people more. That's been on my mind a lot. I mean, I want to make my dad happy, but I got to do what's right for me. I know it sounds stupid, even to me. I didn't want you to laugh at me. I wasn't sure I could trust you to talk about my problems. Now that it may be too late; I guess I just did."
John really wanted to shut up! He had hurt Wylie, he owed him an explanation; but at what price?
"Wylie, you haven't done anything wrong. I'm sorry I made you think I'm a snobby asshole, like Randy."
"Can you accept my apology? I'll to try to be the best friend you ever had?" " I swear to you, I am not a snob. Besides, snobs don't have to shovel horse shit, on a regular basis."
" I fucked up, and I'm sorry."
Why did it sound like he was begging?
"Wylie, I didn't think. I didn't think about how what I did, would make you feel. I guess I figured what I did wouldn't matter to you. I am sorry. I was selfish. I hope you can forgive me. If you can't, I'll move out today."
A pause, then eyeing that same spot on the floor, almost in a whisper, " It's up to you."
John was amazed by what he had just said. What he told Wylie was the truth.
Some of it, he had never admitted to himself. Perhaps what he just shared with Wylie was the kind of things "best friends" talk about. On the other hand; he had never felt so exposed in his life.
Johns body began to stiffen. Again his eyes searched Wylie's face. This time was different. If Wylie made a smart assed remark or even smirked at John, without a doubt: John would deck him!
He waited.
Wylie breathed deeply. His face relaxed, as did his posture. John waited.
Wylie smiled.
John realized he was no longer in danger of Wylie attacking him.
He waited to hear Wylie's first words. Then he would relax. Maybe!
Wylie said nothing.
Instead; He literally jumped into John's arms.
Without hesitation, his embrace was returned with equal fervor.
After a moment of just being close, Wylie whispered in John's ear, "John, I understand why you ignored me. I felt exactly, how you were afraid you would feel. You were an asshole. I would do almost anything to keep from feeling that way. It hurt so bad. I could never make you feel like that. You have to talk to me. We have to trust each other. John you mean more to me than anyone I know."
Wylie's lips were so close to John's ear they caressed the sensitive flesh. The warm, moist breath tickled inside his ear. John's hands were unconsciously kneading Wylie's naked back, as if to confirm his presence.
He felt a pressure against his groin. Without thinking he shifted to accommodate the pressure. When he realized it was Wylie's cock now throbbing against him: His own cock swelled in response. Both cocks throbbed at different rhythms. They seemed to be having a conversation of their own.
To John, it was only a moment.
In reality their cocks had carried on quite a conversation. It was becoming more intense as the seconds ticked by.
Suddenly; Wylie released John as quickly as he had grabbed him. The jump that had brought him into John's arms, was reversed.
Wylie's backward momentum was halted when he slammed into the door.
John was confused. He had enjoyed the embrace and all that entailed.
Why had it ended so rudely?
He looked to Wylie for an answer.
What he saw was a vivid reply. Wylie wore a mask of extreme concentration. His handsome face was contorted. His eyes were clinched shut. His jaw set in fierce determination. John watched as beads of sweat erupted on Wylie's brow.
His brain forced his vision to Wylie's crotch. There he found his answer. Wylie wasn't preparing to fight; he WAS fighting.
Fighting not to cum!
Wylie's cock had escaped from the fly of his boxers and was throbbing, angrily. A shiny drop of precum clung tenaciously to the cockhead. John watched as the drop lengthened with each throb. Wylie was about to cum!
John was mesmerized.
He wanted to touch it. He could touch it! Wylie wanted him to! Maybe?
A strand of precum was suspended from the piss slit. Wylie's foreskin was partially retracted. John memorized every pulsing vein. He wanted to step forward and touch Wylie! He hesitated.
Wylie's cock began to deflate. The foreskin began to, once again, cover the head. The strand of precum seemed to be sucked up by the foreskin. The original, single drop was visible.
John was disappointed.
He chided himself for acknowledging any disappointment. He had Wylie back. He would happily live with small disappointments. He would be a best friend. He would learn to trust. He would deal with the dreams.
After all; dreams are just, dreams.
Once the danger of cumming had past, Wylie relaxed.
John smiled and received a self conscious grin in return.John's own grin spread into a smile, "Ok, I guess we are officially best friends."
Glancing down at his own deflating manhood, Wylie mumbled, "I gotta get a girlfriend."
John tried to lighten the mood, " My first official act as your best friend, is to ask you to put that weapon away." Pointing to Wylie's cock, he continued, "Even morning wood could shoot a guy. Get dressed and get some breakfast with your best friend."
That night, after lights out, neither seemed concerned that the sounds of masturbation might reach his roommate. In fact it seemed one's sounds of pleasure, spurred on the other, who's sounds, in turn, enhanced his roommates experience. They came almost together. Silence; then sleep.
The next couple of days found them, once again, embracing their routine of; classes, swimming, study, food, beer, boxers and bed. They were overly considerate of each other. Wounds take time to heal. Still, they were young and resilient. For John, the dreams were affected by masturbation. But, only in that; if he jacked-off twice a day the dream was romantic. If he failed to relieve himself, the dreams would be the; hot, sweaty, eye to eye cumming, "wake up at the first spurt" kind.
John learned to appreciate both.
It was the Friday night after the confrontation. John and Wylie had walked a couple of blocks off campus, for pizza and beer. Each had met a young lady and each had set up a date. A little kissing and a few awkward gropes had left them horny and hopeful.
The girls had left. John and Wylie had a few beers more. Ok, more than a few.
They staggered back to the dorm. John had entered the room then decided he had to piss. Turning he bumped into Wylie who had just closed the door. They fell to the floor together. Wylie on top of John.
Like a horny rabbit he pumped his crotch into John's. He lifted his body above John's. Embarrassed beyond measure, he then made to get up.
Instead, John pulled him closer in an unrelenting grip.
Wylie didn't hesitate. He pushed again and again into John's crotch. John moaned and released his grip only so he could realign his dick to maximize his pleasure. Wylie arms wound under John's head, hugging it into the crook of his neck. John's hands moved down to cup and massage Wylie's muscular butt checks. It didn't take long until both had literally creamed their jeans.
Wylie rolled off of John. They lay still; in guilt, shame and elation. Neither moved.
Shortly, Wylie feigned sleep, John crawled to his bed and collapsed. He returned the favor, by snoring loudly.
Wylie, crawled and sprawled on his own bed.
Sleep did not come easy, for either man.
The next morning, neither referred to the encounter.
Their conversations centered around how drunk each man had been and, of course, the girls.
Their routine of classes, food, swimming, study, boxers, beer and bed was easily reestablished.
The following Friday, each had a date.
Neither got "lucky".
Wylie was in the room, in his boxers, already "drunk" nursing a beer. He offered one to John.
As he undressed, John related his tale of woe, "the bitch teased me from the minute we got close. I had a hard on all night. Finally, she told me she don't put out on the first date. So, maybe tomorrow night, I'll get lucky. I walked her back to her dorm and went to have some beers, maybe too many. Ah! What the hell, one more won`t hurt".
Wylie told how his date made it clear from the git-go, he would not be "getting lucky". He would continue the hunt.
They finished that round, while Wylie was sitting on his bed and John sprawled on the floor. Draining the final sip of his beer, John stretched and managed to grab two more beers from the small frig. He handed one to Wylie and resumed his sprawl.
He noticed that Wylie's eyes shifted. While John was speaking Wylie met his eyes. When Wylie was speaking his eyes seemed to lower their focus. John figured he was sleepy. It was while John was awaiting a reply from Wylie that he finally followed Wylie's lowered gaze.
Apparently, while retrieving the last round, John's cock had come out of his fly. He retreived his errant cock and Wylie began laughing.
John blushed.
Wylie, howled when he saw John red faced. "Man, John, I thought that thing was coming after me. At first it was laying on top of your drawers. The next time I looked the head was lying on the floor. I looked again and there was at least another inch on the floor. I figure, if you hadn't caught it, by morning I'd be fucked." All this was said punctuated with guffaws. By the time Wylie settled down he was wiping away tears.
John countered weekly, "I told you, I had a hardon all night."
They went back to talking about the girls.
John reached for another round. His cock escaped once more. This time, John waved it at Wylie, in what was intended as a threatening gesture, then put it away.
As this last round was consumed both were slurring their speech and responses were sometimes incoherent. Wylie slurred, "I got to piss." Getting up he let his foot get tangled in John's long legs and took a tumble. John crawled around until he was face to face with Wylie. In a equally drunken slur, he asked, "Wylie, you alright?"
In answer Wylie pulled John's face to his and laughing, kissed him. John immediately returned the kiss, even before Wylie's laughter died. Tongues wrestled and explored, hands sought, found and extracted cocks. Then the race was on. Each jacking and kissing the other. They moaned into each other's mouths. Too soon for both, they were covered in mixed cum. They fell, silently, asleep.
Sometime in the night Wylie woke John, "Hey man, you passed out. Get in your bed." The next day; it was as if nothing had happened, outside a few too many beers.
Individually, each visited memories they had, silently yet collectively, agreed to forget.
They each recalled the kisses and the cocks. John's was a solid seven; cut and thick. Wylie's was over eight and thicker, with that extra skin that slides so easily over and away from his cockhead. It was the biggest cock John had personally seen. The first cock, other than his own, he had ever handled.
The stage had been set: they would get drunk and hump or jerk each other off and pretend to forget about it the next day.