HUNTER MOUNTAIN, NY, WINTER 1997

HUNTER MOUNTAIN, NY, WINTER 1997

This is a true story. Mostly.

Schuyler had easily convinced me that a ski trip upstate with four other guys was a better alternative for Spring Break than a binging week-long stupor in Cancun with prongs of dumb-ass twats from all over the US. His words, not mine. I had nothing against drinking, nothing against seven days of tanning and partying. I even didn't have much against prongs of dumb-ass twats; I was barely 20, in my sophomore year at Princeton, and enjoying as many experiences as I could. Even if I had recently come out to a few, carefully selected people, I was nonetheless very comfortably moving about in mostly straight circles. It was as much part of my social life as were the occasional forays into the gay nightlife along with a slowly expanding group of gay friends.

But I hadn't gone skiing since I had been in College and skiing always had been, along with soccer, a sport that I enjoyed more than any others. My mother had been a competitive skier in her college days and her family owned a big house in Colorado, where my brothers and I went at least three times a year throughout our childhood. Most sports actually bore me pretty quickly, but soccer and skiing unlock within me recklessness and dedication, in a way few other activities do – except sex, sometimes. I'm an aggressive soccer player, I've been told; I'm just as aggressive on a slope, I've often myself felt.

My growing fascination with Schuyler over the previous few months, my attraction, my puzzlement, my frustration, my irritation towards him was, however, the deciding factor. I never knew exactly where I stood with Schuyler; apparently, that March, he wanted to drive with me and join his friends up on Hunter Mountain, in the Catskills. That was where we stood then and I was fine with that.

We both had to spend the weekend in New York City at the start of our break; I wanted to see my older brother, he had some family obligations. I spent the weekend in Brooklyn, he on the Upper East Side. I took the subway to his place, had the doorman make my presence known and waited in the lobby. Schuyler came down, with his bags, we walked to a parking structure a few blocks away and got in his BMW. The car was already stacked with two pairs of skis and boots. We took off and were quickly on the 87. It was Tuesday afternoon, we had three full days of skiing ahead of us, and four nights together, before having to drive back down, in time for Schuyler to hand back the car keys to his sister, with whom he shared the car bought by his parents.

The place in the Catskills belonged to Brian. It was through him that I had met Schuyler, at the beginning of the academic year. Brian and I played soccer together and became friends fairly quickly. Brian was a cocky, loud-mouthed, energetic guy. He had strong and sharp features: a big forehead, a big nose, pointy jaw, high cheekbones. With brown cropped hair, a tall and nicely defined body, and a garrulous laugh, he seemed to lack any self-awareness or restraint; he was always bragging and horsing around. He wasn't particularly academically minded, but coasted by efficiently enough. Many girls loved him; a few of my female friends (the ones I hang around with in coffee shops discussing Flannery O'Connor or Frank O'Hara) actively despised him and chastised me endlessly for hanging out with him.

Brian and Schuyler had met when rushing the same fraternity. Brian had gone in, but Schuyler had balked from the Greek life at the last minute. "I didn't want to become my father", he later claimed, in the single act of rebellion against his well-off wasp-ish family I have ever witnessed. Brian had introduced us when Schuyler came to watch one of our games. We instantly hit it off. For the first couple of weeks, we actually ended up spending most of our time together. Schuyler was very tall, with longish unruly blond hair, dark thin eyebrows and brown eyes. He was very thin, with the kind of sinewy muscles that come with running and tennis, the only two sports he practiced. There was an aristocratic air about him, an aura of a young British lord – though I was probably the only one who described him that way, other people favoured "hot" and, for the most articulate of them, "snarkily handsome" or "elegant with a hint of depravity". I agreed.

Schuyler was dating a woman named Jennifer, a senior; I was myself in an on-and-off relationship with Laura (along with a few hook-ups with guys). But that didn't prevent us to spend a lot of time together. We went to the movies, to bars, to clubs; we went running together and studied together at times too. We got drunk a lot.

There was an intense connection between us; that much was obvious, but neither of us acknowledged it in any formal way. Then one night, we kissed. We had been party-hopping from one fraternity to another, we could barely walk straight. It was a cool autumn night. I don't remember what we were talking about, but we were laughing uncontrollably. I stopped walking and rested on a tree, on the sidewalk. He leaned towards me to whisper in my ear the rest of his story or argument, he stumbled and fell on me. I caught him, held him up. Our eyes locked and we kissed.

One of us said that we should call it a night. I wish I could remember which one did. I don't. We went our separate ways. There was a bit of awkwardness between us in the following week (coming from him, not me). But we kept seeing each other, just not as frequently. We even tried a double date once. Laura hated Jennifer and was ambivalent about Schuyler, so that didn't happen again.

We kissed again, twice, in the subsequent months. Once, during some kind of truth or dare game with a bunch of other people: he had to French kiss a guy and he chose me without hesitation. Everyone was wooing and hurraying, and he brazenly shouted "I'm so hard!" afterwards. Another time, another party, another drunken moment, he kissed me in the bathroom of a frat house. And three times, as I crashed at his place because I was too wasted to go home, I would wake up, during the night or in the morning, finding him spooning me (and gently snoring).

It wasn't like I was pining for him the whole time. I could not figure him out, but was not about starting longingly a conversation where I would confess a shattering love for him and beg him to be true to his own feelings. I didn't know what his feelings were. And I had my own life without him - satisfactorily filled with crushes, one-night stands, confusion, and some mild burgeoning soul-searching. If something were to happen with Schuyler, it would. In the meantime, I got the release I needed from my attraction to him by occasionally jerking off thinking about fucking him.

I did know our friendship raised some eyebrows. Jennifer was always apprehensive and guarded around me; so was David, Schuyler's best friend, who at times, when drunk or high, was downward aggressive toward me. I knew David had heard about my gay experimentation and I knew he hadn't kept that information to himself. Schuyler told me about it, casually, but having as sole point of the conversation with me the fact that David thought it would upset Schuyler – whereas he "really didn't give a fuck". That was the only time my sexuality had been referred to between us. That was two weeks before he invited me to drive up to Brian's house in the Catskills.

We were going to meet up with the guys, who had arrived late night on the previous Friday. Brian brought his roommate Joe, a short, stocky, ginger-headed guy with pale skin and freckles. Joe confessed to try and compensate his small height by a working out routine that bordered on obsession. He had massive arms, legs, shoulders, all seemingly leading to assorted features: a small, round, beefy face, small, round, beefy hands, and small, round, beefy feet. Joe wasn't much outgoing, but seemed to fit in any social groups, any parties. He had a Southern drawl, but wasn't much of a talker. He always went along with the flow – yet occasionally quipping an unexpected joke or comment that cracked up his audience. Joe was a big pothead and, as everyone seemed to know and bluntly acknowledge, an avid devotee of masturbation. That was his thing, that was one of the few quirks for which he was known. A trademark more than a badge of honor, something he never refuted nor boasted. A few weeks after I met him, I learned that his name wasn't actually Joe – that was a nickname given to him by the guys at his fraternity and quickly used by everyone else. When asked about its origin, Brian told me: "Joe is J-O-, as in jacking off or jerking off." "And the E?". "Oh, I don't know, we never got that far. Eternally'? Enthusiastically'? `Everlastingly?' Any of these would work."

I suspected Joe was a virgin, as I had never seen him chatting up girls, let alone having a girlfriend. But a straight virgin, definitely, as attested by his tastes in porn – which, given the right of amount of pot, he would describe at often painstaking length.

But Brian, and Schuyler, had also invited David. I had nothing against David. I did resent his somewhat morbid nosiness about my private life (I would often hear he grilled with little subtlety people who were close to me), but he was mostly civil and cordial around me. He was also Schuyler's friend and I confess sharing a similar curiosity about the nature of their relationship – albeit without ever acting on it. David wasn't particularly handsome, yet I personally found him attractive and sexy: short wavy black hair, blue eyes, big nose, a solid waist and pumped-up pectorals. His aloofness, a sometimes enticing quality in some men, somehow de-sexualized him for me, yet there was an intensity about him that I occasionally found arousing. In many ways, he was closer to what I vaguely thought as "my type" than what I imagined the type of guys Schuyler would be attracted to – if indeed, he did ever develop physical attractions that made him want more than a kiss and some adolescent spooning.

We arrived at Brian's in the early evening. The place was a duplex, on the top two floors of a three-story big wooden chalet, a faux-old building at the end of a small cul-de-sac, flanked by other, similar constructions. The area was a bit of let-down, it was small and lacked either the quaintness or the elegance I had gotten used to in Colorado. I'm far too young to already be a snob, I thought, and waved it off.

Brian welcomed us inside enthusiastically. He was animated and, as he manically repeated, "psyched" to see us. As soon as we got in, a strong musky smell overpowered me. Though not as drastic as a locker room after a soccer game, the apartment could not disguise its recent occupation by three guys who had been skiing all day and, apparently, drinking a decent amount of beer. Joe and David hugged us welcome too. Brian and Joe were wearing sweatpants and socks, David was in jeans and bare feet. Brian had a tank top on, that made startling his reddening tan from the neck up; he also sported the first signs of a raccoon-like sun mark of his sunglasses around his eyes.

The duplex had a large main room with an open kitchen, a dining area and a living-room, leading to a small balcony. On the side was what Brian called the "family room", much smaller, with a couch, a TV, a VCR and shelves of books and board games. He took us upstairs to where the three bedrooms were. One had bunk beds and was occupied by Brian and Joe, the two other rooms had medium-sized double beds. Unblinkingly, Schuyler dropped our bags in one of the room, which he had apparently decided we would share. He stopped abruptly, perhaps realizing that the sleeping arrangements could not have been that obvious to everyone involved. "David snores", he quipped, "and I need my beauty sleep".

While showing us around the place, Brian was agitatedly describing the few days they'd already spent there. Everything was, apparently, "awesome". The snow was awesome, the weather was awesome, the slopes were awesome, the girls were awesome – although not awesome enough to have accepted their multiple invitations to move from the bar where they met to either one of the three bedrooms of the duplex.

There was still some spaghettis left for us; David would reheat them while we changed from our winter urban clothing to something more fitting for slouching and drinking with buddies. I found myself alone in the bedroom with Schuyler, the door closed and suddenly shutting us from the noise and animation with which Brian had overwhelmed us. We both began to undress; I couldn't help but peeking at Schuyler's briefly naked torso, and briefly naked legs. I realized a strong sense of expectation and anticipation was hardening my cock. I hid the bulge in my boxers when I changed into a pair of cargo shorts. Before leaving the room, Schuyler patted me on the shoulder and said "Well, if Brian is to be believed, these few days are gonna be awesome".

We ate. We drank. A lot. The three guys were obviously already a little buzzed when we had arrived and Schuyler and I tried to catch up with them. Soon enough, there were a lot of empty beer cans scattered on the dinner table and, as so often happened when drunk, Brian steered the conversation towards girls. Brian was a self-described "tit-man" and recounted at lengths the attributes of the women he had tried to pick up the previous nights in the nearby bar. "Though the real perv", he said, "is our pal Joe here. Do you know that he managed to beat off on a lift?!?". Joe shyly poked him in the ribs, though that seemed to be the extent of his minding.

"He had managed to be just ahead of us and take a lift on his own. Dave and I were seated in the chair behind him and Dave noticed some weird movements. His right arm was jerking like crazy. We confronted him and, sure enough, he had been rubbing one off!"

"I was horny", Joe said simply. "I had tried to jerk off during lunch, but there was a long line at the bathroom".

"The dog had some cum stains on his ski pants! You'll see them tomorrow. It's pretty awesome."

Everyone was laughing and all trace of Joe's embarrassment had completely vanished. "Where do you guys jerk off when you really need to?", he asked.

The usual and expected answers came from the four of us: college bathrooms, showers, bedroom when no one's around. Schuyler came up with "a rest stop, once", which jolted me briefly with arousal. David said he had recently jacked off in an airplane bathroom. We all, almost simultaneously, chimed in "Me too!".

"I like the fact that people are waiting in line outside while I beat off", said Schuyler.

"It's funny", I said. "When we do it, we feel like we're the only one who has thought about it and we're doing something pretty risqué, whereas, actually, tons of guys do it."

"Imagine the gallons of jizz floating in the planes' shit tanks!", Brian said.

"I've done it in an airplane, but at my seat, under one of those lame blankets they give", said Joe.

"Well, you're the fucking Maestro."

Everyone then seemed to remember things, the animated conversation clearly jogging some memories. I recall Schuyler had done it on the golf course of his dad's country club and in the pool of a hotel in Saint Barth, David while skinny dipping with friends and in an empty classroom of his high school, Brian on a crowded beach and in all the shower stalls of the different gyms where he had been a member. Joe's list was incredibly long, but I remember him mentioning the fitting rooms of the Gap.

When asked if anyone had ever been caught, it was down to Joe having his older brother barging in his room and a friend being awaken by Joe's spanking during a slumber party. Brian had caught his little brother jerking off. "I high-fived him and told him to finish his business".

A silent pause followed, as if everyone was lost in their own thoughts and recollections. Joe broke it, by standing up and saying softly that it was time to go to bed. Brian asked him "No jacking tonight? I won't be hearing shuffling in the bottom bunk?"

"I didn't say that", Joe said. "I do need a quickie. G'night." And he walked to the family room.

"Joe never goes anywhere without bits of his extensive porn collection. He brought some tapes, I've seen them. I guess now is the time they'll be of some use to him". Brian started to tell us about the number of VHS tapes that were stacked in their bedroom (and in boxes in the basement) at the frat house and explained the eclectic tastes Joe seemed to display. Brian's voice was loud, as always, but not loud enough to completely muffle the sounds of female moaning that we were starting to hear from the family room.

Distractedly, my eyes glazed over Brian's crotch and I could see clearly the outline of his hardening dick in his sweatpants. I was so horny myself, I couldn't quite focus on anything else than the porn next door, Brian's dick and David's and Schuyler's lustful, bleary, drunk eyes.

Brian must have sensed that no one was really paying attention to what he was saying; he stopped, looked at us three and smiled. "Dudes, looks like you're more interested in that lady's rolling good time than in my stellar conversation. We can go check it out if you want; Joe doesn't give a shit." Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and walked to the family room. We followed quickly. "Come on, you dog, make some room for your buddies", he said to Joe who, indeed, didn't seem fazed by our barging in. He was sitting on the sofa, focused on the action of the screen, his sweatpants slightly pulled down, stroking his dick. Without diverting his eyes from the TV, he moved to the side of the couch, leaving two spaces available. Brian sat in the middle, I sat next to him. David went to the one armchair on the side and Schuyler, with no place left, sat on the floor, his back against the sofa, sandwiched by Brian's left leg and my right one.

Brian immediately pulled down his sweatpants and boxers to his ankles, and gripped his dick – which was, as I had noticed, already considerably hard. David unbuttoned his jeans and yanked them just mid-thigh. I unzipped my shorts and slid my hand in my underwear. Schuyler, whom I could watch somewhat discreetly from above and aside him, just placed his right hand on his crotch, and grabbed his bulge.

"So, Joe, tell us everything about this charming young lady. Who is she? What's her story? What are her dreams? Her ambitions?" asked Brian jokily, as the woman on the tape was devouring sultrily the big cock of some construction worker, while fingering her pussy and clit.

"Shut up", said Joe, completely engrossed by the movie. "You're welcome in here, but just shut up".

And indeed, Brian did quiet down. We all did. There wasn't complete silence, however. The woman was moaning quite loudly, our collective jacking, even if still slow, wasn't noiseless and Brian apparently couldn't help himself and made some sporadic comments, with a raspy and obviously excited voice. He remarked on her tits, on her ass, on that "big welcoming mouth", on her "wet snatch". I was transfixed by the scene I found myself part of. I'd had some experiences of jacking off with a buddy, when I was in high school, but never had I whipped and stroked my cock in front of and along four other guys. I'd had one experience in a sauna where a bunch of guys were jacking off together, but this was decidedly different. And incredibly hot.

I didn't cast glances around; I couldn't bring myself to it yet, however much I wanted to. But I did have a perfect view of Schuyler's penis, who had –seconds after me- taken it out of his boxers. For a while, he was the only one in the room who was only half hard. His cock looked smooth like silk and was pulsing, slowly but surely hardening as he was softly fondling it. When it became fully hard, it was Brian who actually gawked "Dude, you have a monster hidden between your legs". David and I quickly turned our heads to look, while Joe was still more interested in the big cock on the screen who was now pounding hard (and in overlit close-up) the woman's cunt.

Indeed, Schuyler's cock was impressive. Like many tall, thin guys, he had, a tall, thin dick. By far the tallest of us five. Brian's earnest and vocal astonishment made me feel free to look at everyone's dicks, without being sneaky. Joe's was a fat, tiny pecker. David's was probably just below average, but with a nice girth. Brian's was, to me perfect: thickness and length just above average, seemingly offering a good grip for Brian's strong hands.

Schuyler didn't outwardly react to Brian, but I could sense a certain gushing ease. Watching the screen, he said "Ben's not far behind, though, right?" Which froze me for a second. How could he know, since he has his back to me? It's only when Brian muttered "Indeed, indeed", that Schuyler turned around to glance at it, as if to confirm a visual memory. I glanced sideways at David, and was faced with a slight frown of puzzlement. He too seemed to puzzle at Schuyler's apparent familiarity with my dick.

None of this mattered for long, however. I wanted to focus on and enjoy the astonishing moment I was experiencing. I seemed to be the only one who felt this dizzying, intense horniness. The guys seemed lost in their own one-on-one with whatever was going on on the screen. Brian, who had finally been silent for a while, said "Lube?", nodding at Joe – who, without looking away from the screen, bent sideways to reach for something under the couch. He produced a bottle of lube, which he dropped on Brian's lap. Brian opened it and smeared his hard cock, watching the liquid sliding down his shaft like I had seen him watching a big greasy burger plate being served to him by a smouldering waitress. When he was done, he threw the bottle at David who had just nodded his need for it. I watched David's different technique, who poured some lube in his palm, rather than directly on his dick. David's must have mistaken my interest in his dick for an interest in the lube, for he passed it on to me as soon as he was done. When I was wet enough, I gave it to Schuyler, who had raised a waiting left hand. Our fingers touched, mine soaked with lube and some precum that had started to leak. For some reason, that felt incredibly hot.

Joe was the last one to lather himself, before dropping the bottle of the floor, not bothering to replace it in its previous hidden spot. There was now, to my hyper sensitive ear, a lot of wet, sloppy noise from five lubed up dicks behind jacked. I tried to picture the scene, as if I was standing with my back to the facing wall. What would I see? Five guys watching porn intently. Five guys stroking their wet hard cocks at almost the same pace. Some of the guys glancing at another.

The guy on the screen was now sliding his cock between the woman's breast, while she herself was loudly masturbating. "Fuck, this is hot!", Brian gasped. "Don't cum just now," said Joe, "cos he's later gonna cum all over her tits and you'll dig that. But she's first gonna take it up her ass."

I slowed down my stroking, because I knew I wouldn't last much longer and I didn't feel like being the first done and just waiting weirdly for everyone to finish themselves off. I wasn't the only one, however, who was reaching the next, probably final phase of their wank. Brian slid down a bit, flattening his back on the couch and straightening his long, naked, hairy, muscular legs, his big feet protruding from bunched up sweatpants at his ankles and his toes wiggling through his white tennis socks. His head was now lower, right next to my stomach. Joe sat straighter, on the edge of the couch and pulled the front of his t-shirt over his head. David took out his jeans and sat cross-legged on his armchair, naked but for his black t-shirt.

"Dude," Brian said to Joe, "I don't think I'm gonna last that long. You guys mind if we fast forward a bit to the tits part?" Schuyler was the only one to say something ("Sure, no problem"), as David, Joe and I were too absorbed. Joe reached for the remote and speeded the scene up. I was watching Brian and Schuyler furiously beating their meat, as the big cock on the screen was blurrily banging the woman's ass 8 times faster. Joe resumed normal play as that cock was still inside her.

It was Joe who came first, without any fanfare. He said nothing, made no noise, no face, kept staring at the screen. I had started to look at him because the rhythm of his stroking had reached frantic pace, but his hand seemed to be the only part of his body that was in trance. He came on his stomach, a few dribbling spurts out of his small hard cock. Distractedly, he took some with his index finger, which he brought to his mouth for a lick. David, who had a nice panoramic view of us four from his armchair on the side, caught this too and he himself, still cross-legged, started ejaculating. He didn't cum much and I thought that he must already have jerked off recently – and the sudden flash image of David jacking off in his room sent another jolt that brought me closer to my own climax. But it was the sight of David's bare feet and his toes (with tuffs of black hair on them) splattered with drops of cum that made me explode. I hadn't cum in a few days (I never feel like jerking off when visiting my brother) and I apparently had a lot to expunge. I came all over my chest, breathing heavily. I was so lost in my own orgasm that I missed Schuyler's. When I reopened my eyes, his stomach, his pubes, his dick and his right hand were slimy with his cum.

True to Joe's prediction, the sight of the guy on the screen cumming all over the woman's gigantic breasts sent Brian over the edge. His whole body tensed up, he squeezed his cock, so tightly I thought it could hurt, he made a tortured sex face and grunted briskly three times, with each squirts of cum forcefully milked from his dick.

Joe removed his t-shirt and used it to wipe himself. Brian said "Good idea" and did the same with his tank top. I was woken from my stupor when I saw them handing out their soiled shirts to whomever wanted to use them next. Brian threw his at David, Joe gave his to Schuyler who, when he himself was done, passed it on to me. I started to try and remove the copious amount of cum on my chest with a t-shirt that was soaked with Joe's and Schuyler's sperm. It wasn't very effective, but my head was spinning, with a sudden rush to jerk off again.

But Joe stood up and said, "Now it really is time for bed. 'Night, guys". Everyone slowly stood up and followed him upstairs. I went to the balcony, ostensibly to finish my beer and smoke a last cigarette. But I needed a small, silent break, to take it all in and to quash the re-emerging horniness. I then went up, everything was silent. I brushed my teeth and went slowly, noiselessly inside the bedroom. Schuyler was already in bed and breathing sleepily. I undressed to my boxers and t-shirt, and slid tactfully inside the covers. I fell asleep. I woke up once that night and felt Schuyler's arm around me.

Schuyler woke me the next morning when he climbed out of bed. His sleepy face and frumpy look made him sexily boyish; his hairy legs and his raging hardon in his boxers made him sexily masculine. He stopped in his tracks, probably mechanically on his way to the bathroom, when he seemed to become aware of his own erection. He looked like he was questioning the need for it to subside before stepping out of the room. He caught me looking and smiled. "You know," he said, "it's funny how, after all these months, Jennifer still thinks my morning erections are caused by the mere presence of her next to me in bed. She doesn't seem to know the concept of morning wood. I'm certainly not keen on educating her; I get some great blow jobs and I brush her ego the right way". He laughed at his own joke and, probably concluding that, after last night circle jerk, there was little need to be prude, he walked out.

The whole day was fantastic. It was sunny and mild, the snow was more than decent and I felt exhilarated to be on skis again. All of us had were good enough skiers to spend the day together, but Brian and I had much more experience. Brian was fiercely, even if amusingly, competitive. He would often call a race at the top of the slope, dart off before anyone was truly ready and speed down recklessly. I usually managed to catch up with him and beat him at the finish line, which made him bark and curse the crassest things he could think of. David and Joe were slower, slightly more apprehensive on the slopes. Schuyler compensated his reluctance to speed by an impeccable style and technique.

No one made a direct allusion to the previous night's cumfest, except, maybe, Brian when he said, in the middle of lunch, "I'm so glad you guys are all here. We're having the best time, aren't we?"

Brian's excitement had by then very much moved to the planned festivities for that evening. He wanted to take us to a club nearby, one where they had gone on Saturday – and returned from with blue balls. That's all he could talk about. Schuyler being fixed up with Jennifer, Brian kept saying he'd be the "perfect wingman", though I couldn't figure out how and why he'd need anyone's help to start chatting up women.

We started drinking early, as soon we got back to the duplex. We drank beer while we were taking turns for the shower, while each of us was getting dressed, while we ate some frozen pizzas. We took shots of tequila, just before getting into Brian's SUV and driving off to Tannersville, 5 miles east from where we were staying.

The "club", as Brian insisted on calling it, was a big wooden lodge that seemed to have been transformed into a night spot quite recently. It was already and surprisingly packed inside, with people from all ages, yet a clearly large college kids crowd. Brian hadn't stepped in for more than two minutes when he was already fretting like a dog after having spotted some girls he had noticed on the lift lines. The music was loud and far from my taste, but Brian and Joe seemed to like Puff Daddy or R. Kelly enough to drag us to the dance floor with barely the time to get ourselves a Rolling Rock in our hands.

We were having the best time. I had rarely seen Joe so involved with his surroundings, he was cracking me up with jokes and quick sarcastic comments about everyone surrounding us. David and Schuyler were talking to each other a lot and it was nice to see the easy and natural bond they clearly had. Brian was all over me, constantly wrapping his arm around my shoulder when he drunkenly tried to approach girls. This was, however, working better than his attempts a few nights before and soon enough, we were in a booth, Brian, Joe and me, sharing tequila shots with two girls, Penny and Kate, who seemed as drunk and horny as we were. They were both juniors at SUNY Binghamton; Brian quickly played our Ivy League card, which made me cringe – as it always did. Schuyler and David joined us sporadically, in between stops at the bar or to the dance floor. It was quickly obvious that Kate was into Brian and Penny into me. Just as obvious was Brian's delight and Joe's genuine indifference at being the funny little fifth wheel.

Penny kept touching me while she talked; my shoulder, my neck, my arm, my hand. I had rested on her thigh my own hand, which she squeezed at some point, moving it up closer to her crotch. Brian had, by then, taken Kate fully into his arms and kept whispering things at her ear – things she pretended to be offended by, but which made her giggle rather than retract from Brian's grip.

I was getting really drunk and my head felt heavy. I was also slightly uncertain about the turn of events. Penny was objectively hot and I had felt a permanent semi-erection since we had been seated so close together. But a large chunk of my brain was still processing and wallowing in images of last night's circle jerk, of Schuyler's hand slimy with cum, of David's hairy feet splattered with jizz, of Joe's semen-soaked t-shirt rubbing my chest, of Schuyler's morning wood. I decided to take a little break, clear my head and get my shit together. I excused myself to go out for a smoke (thankfully, no one at the table followed me). I went outside but was faced with a whole bunch of college kids smoking by the entrance, which was far from the quiet alone time I longed for. I walked around the building, heading for the back, stepping over a broken fence. When I reached the corner to the back of the club, I stopped in my tracks. The moon, while not full, was bright enough for me to instantly recognize the two human shapes ahead of me, and what these shapes were doing.

Schuyler was standing against a tree, David was on his knees in front of him, sucking him. It was cold outside and they hadn't shed or opened any clothes. Schuyler's long dick was sticking out through his zipper, his hands were on the back of David's head, he was slowly facefucking David who himself seemed to be doing his committed best to take as much as he could of Schuyler's cock.

Schuyler, who was facing me, saw me quickly, but didn't seem to startle, let alone to stop. He made no move that could have alerted David to the presence of an intruder. If anything, he increased his rhythm slightly and opened his mouth a bit, as if gasping from pleasure. He was staring at me, while I was staring at him, unable to decide what to do. It clearly became obvious, however, that I had no place staying there. There might have been some pleading in Schuyler's eyes to join them (it was a bit too dark to ascertain anything of the sort), but I couldn't think how and why David would welcome me in what was obviously their moment, during an evening they had spent mostly goofing around together. I turned around and walked back to the entrance. Being alone now was the last thing I wanted. The evening had so far laid interesting tracks to follow; what I had just witnessed was bound, if mulled over, to push me off rails.

I went back inside. Brian jumped from his seat when he saw me. "Come on, Ben's here, let's go to our place for a last drink. Where the fuck are Sky and Dave?".

"I don't know. Bathroom? Dance floor? Bar?"

"All right, Joe, why don't you go looking for them and bring their asses outside. Me and Ben, we're gonna walk our supermodels to their car and I can explain the way to our place."

The girls giggled and led us outside, to their car in the lot. When we got there, Brian immediately took Kate in his arms and started to hungrily make out with her. Penny surprised me by pushing me seductively against the car door and kissing me. She slid her hand down on my crotch, I placed one of mine on her breast. I was dizzy, drunk, very horny.

Five minutes later, we were still all making out, ignoring the other couple's presence, when Joe shouted from a distance "Found them! Let's go!". Brian ran to Joe and handed him his car keys. They should drive, he decided, while he and I would ride in the girls' car. Easier than giving them directions. When Brian ran back to us, his erection was not only obviously apparent, it was making him move with some kind of limp.

I was in the back seat with Penny, who seemed to have become so drunk she was slurring her words and had a hard time keeping her eyes open, even when talking to me, even when sliding a hand inside my jeans to fondle my semi-hard cock. The drive was mercifully short. The guys had arrived before us and we were welcome by a too-bright light in the living room and freshly opened cans of beer, handed to us by a smiling Joe.

I heard the sound of David upstairs in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. I looked quizzically at Schuyler who told me "He's beat. He's off to bed". I almost told him that he should probably share a bed with David that night, as I will need our bedroom for at least a while. But, because what he had just seen me witness at the back of the club, I knew that such casual logistic suggestion could be interpreted in so many different ways, that I didn't want to bother.

Brian was in no mood to socialize and have a few more beers or any other "last drink" promised at the club. He led Kate straight up the stairs to his bedroom. Joe took his beer im and headed to the family room. "Okay, guys. Well, let's call it a night then," he said. "I call dibs on the family room couch". As soon as he entered that room and shut the door, I could hear the sound of him turning on the TV and VCR.

Schuyler and I locked eyes. I was way too drunk to know whether that lasted one second or ten. I came back to my sense and took Penny's hand, leading her up the stairs. I wished Schuyler good night.

I reached our room and could very distinctively hear Brian trash talking to Kate in the room next door. As soon as she hopped on the bed, Penny started to undress, hungrily staring at me, trying to be sexy while her movement and look were clearly affected by her drunkenness. I took all my clothes; I felt strangely liberating and exciting to get completely naked, to free my cock that had been thrashing about in my underwear all evening, stirred and stiffened repeatedly. As I took them off, I could feel my boxers wet from all the precum that had leaked in the last few hours.

Penny pushed me on my back, which felt incredibly relaxing. She positioned herself between my legs, pushed back her hair behind her ears and started to suck my dick. She wasn't excellent at it, her somewhat clumsy moves made worse by her drunkenness. But her mouth, her tongue, her saliva felt amazing enough and, in that moment, she looked quite beautiful. She took her time, which was just what I needed to fully concentrate on what was happening and trying to sober up a bit. But the noises coming from next door were a little distracting. Brian was increasingly loud; he was apparently commenting noisily on everything he was doing and everything that was done to him. "Yeah, you take that big cock in your mouth!", "Fuck, yeah, your tits are awesome", "Man, that feels good", "Take it, take it, take it!". This was, I couldn't deny, completely turning me on. I closed my eyes and imagined them both in the same room as Penny and I, me and Brian getting blown side by side. I was incredibly hard.

Then I opened my eyes and saw Schuyler. He was standing by our door, half way in, half way out, and watching me and Penny intently. He smiled when I saw him and nodded jokily towards Brian's room as if to say "Can you believe this guy?". Yet, I couldn't believe him just standing there. I had been in that exact same situation earlier, stumbling on him being sucked off by David. But it was inadvertent – and I had left. He was not moving, just watching.

Penny may have sensed my distraction, because she turned around to look at what had caught my attention. She mumbled "oh fuck", her voice wet from her saliva and my precum. Without thinking, I told her in the nicest, softest, most reassuring voice "Don't worry, it's cool". Hazily, she went back to sucking me. As if that had been the signal Schuyler had been waiting for, he unzipped and took out his hard dick, and started stroking slowly, watching and visibly enjoying the action.

Next door, Brian was obviously done with foreplay and was vocally and expressively fucking Kate. His grunts, moans, exclamations and dirty talk were much louder than Kate's, even if she was clearly enjoying Brian's cock inside her. As on cue, Penny and I moved around, she lied on her back and raised her legs, I held her thighs and wrapped her legs around me, and entered her. She was so wet I went in very easily. I started to fuck her and couldn't help let my body follow the pace given by Brian's bed creaking rhythmically next door. I glanced back a few times to check on Schuyler who, sure enough, was still there, jacking off. My attention kept darting back and forth between Penny, Brian, Kate, and Schuyler. I started to feel dizzy. My dick was so hard, it almost hurt. I kept thinking that Schuyler was jerking off, watching my naked ass move up and down, my dripping cock slide in and out, my balls bounce rhythmically.

I realized I wanted to be able to see Schuyler better, without having to strain my neck. So I slid out of Penny, lied on my back and had her sit on my cock and ride me. She was perfect; she was hopping up and down like a pro, even if I could tell she was getting dizzy too – though probably because of the alcohol, rather than all the action surrounding us.

I was wild with horniness. Brian was all "Fuck, oh fuck. Yeah, feel my dick, feel it. Fuck, you're good". Schuyler was jerking off increasingly faster, our eyes solidly locked on each other. It came to me that, at this moment, Joe was probably whacking off in the family room. And I could picture it all. Vividly. I had seen Brian's naked, sexed-up body and hard, wet cock last night, I could (and did) visualize him quite clearly pounding Kate. I had seen Schuyler's hand sliding up and down his impressive dick last night, I could (and did) visualize his jerking off better than the dim backlight from the hallway allowed. I had seen Joe's focused, intense masturbation last night, I could (and did) visualize him clearly on the couch, enthralled by the VCR action, furiously beating off his small, hard cock.

I started to moan uncontrollably. I felt bad when I realized I was going to cum so soon, like a horny teenager. I felt bad for not going down on her as she had on me. I felt bad for not making sure she'd had her own orgasm. But it was all too much. Whereas I had so far been mostly silent or quiet, I suddenly yelled "I'm cumming!". I heard Brian laughing and shouting through the walls "You go, Benny boy!". I came inside Penny, in a rapid sequence of shaking thrusts. As I was gasping for air, I saw Schuyler himself reach climax. It was a little dark, but I could make out drops of cum falling on the floor of our bedroom, some of it through the fingers of Schuyler who had tried to cup it and prevent making a mess. He left the room as soon as his body stopped shaking. I heard him rinse his hands off in the bathroom, then go down the stairs and drop on the living room couch.

Penny lifted herself out of my softening dick and lied besides me. She was asleep in an astonishing short time. I was left, naked and exhausted, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Schuyler, thinking about David (had he been sleeping through all this?), slowly dozing off, with Brian's and Kate's grunting and moaning as a lullaby. Brian's loud orgasm later jolted me awake, briefly. How long had they been fucking? But I fell back asleep instantly, taking Penny in my arms for extra warmth.

I woke up late, after 11 am, with a terrible headache. I vaguely recalled Kate entering the bedroom at some point in the middle of night and hurriedly whispering to Penny to get her things so that they could leave. The space next to me was indeed empty and cold. I walked down zombie-like to find Joe finishing some cereals and Schuyler and David, slouched on the couch, reading the sports section of the newspaper. I heard Brian upstairs, heading for the bathroom and turning on the shower. The mood seemed to reflect the overcast weather outside. I casually asked Joe if he had slept on the couch, just to make some kind of conversation. Without looking up, and with a hint of anger or resentment, he mumbled "Yeah. I'm used to it".

The whole day was shitty. We didn't get to the slopes before 1:30. Brian was the only one who regularly tried to lighten up the mood, but his bursts of enthusiasm or jokes were usually followed by him theatrically holding his head with both hands and moaning "I'm so hung-over!" David and Joe were both moody, cranky and mostly silent. But Schuyler was at his worst. He was snarky and obnoxious, snapping conceited judgement at everything (the weather, the slopes, the snow) and everyone (the dumb college kids, the moronic lift attendants, the tacky white trash beginners on the slope). Towards the end of the day, and my own headache taking its sweet time to subside, I was nearing my limits.

I found myself alone with Schuyler on a lift. We didn't say much to each other; he was obviously not inclined or interested in talking about the previous night, and I was not eager to launch any small talk that would inevitably trigger a scathing, haughty diatribe against anyone not as cool, not as rich, not as educated as he believed himself to be. We were getting close to the end point when he unexpectedly asked "How good was that chick's blow job last night?"

"Fine." I wasn't sure I wanted to have that conversation.

"David gives great head."

"Cool."

"I can have him blow you if you want, you know. He'll do it if I tell him to".

"Schuyler, drop this. I don't know what's going on between you two and I honestly don't give a fuck. But it's obvious he has some kind of strong feelings for you. So, come on, don't be a dick with him."

"Cute. What can I say, you gay guys seem to fall like flies around me."

I felt an irrepressible rage surging through me. We were just standing up from the chair, ready to slide sideways and exit the lift. As we did, I punched Schuyler hard on the chest. He fell down hard. Surprised and furious, he had a hard time getting back up, like a bug wiggling on its back. "What the fuck, Ben?" Thankfully, the other guys, who had been ahead of us, didn't see any of that. They had started going down the slope as soon as they had seen our chair nearing the end of the lift. I raced down to catch up with them, leaving Schuyler behind, brushing snow off his expensive ski jacket.

This too wasn't mentioned again. But it didn't help the mood within the group. We got back to the duplex, Brian and Joe called first pass for the shower, as they had volunteered to go to the local store to get more food and beer. I just lied on the bed, alone, trying but failing to take a nap. I heard them getting ready to leave, I heard Schuyler tell them he'd tag along, I heard the door closing, I heard David taking a shower.

When he was done, I stepped in the bathroom, undressed and took a shower myself. This was incredibly reinvigorating, the cleaning up I needed, the final withering away of any trace of last night's beer, cigarettes and tequila. I dried off, put on some shorts and t-shirt and walked downstairs. David was lying on the couch, apparently also trying to take a nap and also failing to maintain his eyes closed. He was wearing a hoodie, some shorts and black socks.

"You OK, David?"

He didn't answer.

"You mind if I turn on the TV next door or you want some quiet?"

"Whatever."

"Listen, David, is there a problem? Did I do or say something?"

Silence again.

"Just fucking say something."

He sighed heavily, repositioned himself cross-legged on the couch (flash: that's how he jerked off two nights ago. End of flash) and looked up at me. I slowly sat down on a chair in front of him. He looked sombre, a little upset, introspective, but the crankiness or spite had mostly disappeared from his gaze.

"I don't know what to tell you, Ben. This is my own shit. Mine and Sky's. I fucking hate that you come between us, but there's nada I can do about it. It's probably not even your fault, I don't know. I can't figure you out. Mister butch soccer player who bangs a blonde he picked up in a bar. If you dig playing the ultimate jock, that's your deal. It's just fucking idiotic of Sky to fall for that."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Dave? I'm not coming between you two guys. I don't even know what's between you two guys. And there's nothing between Schuyler and me."

"Really?" Then came back some creeping anger in his eyes, some piercing, defiant, challenging anger. I might have blushed, for I felt uncomfortably stupid for lying to him, just when I was trying to have him speak his mind and, possibly, his heart. Yet I genuinely did not know what was indeed going on between Schuyler and me; I was still repressing any deep or inquisitive thoughts about that, and I surely didn't feel confident enough about the possible answer that I would launch such introspection openly and vocally with David.

"Listen, David, this is getting out of hand. Whatever creeping weirdness or confusion may happen sometimes between Schuyler and me is nothing. And certainly nothing that does compare to the connection you guys have had for, what, three, four years? How long have you known each other?"

"It doesn't compare?" he blurted angrily. "Oh, it does compare, Ben, sorry, but it does. You fucking his brains out compares to the mere blow jobs he accepts from me. It fucking does compare."

"What?"

"Schuyler talks, Ben. He talks to me. We share everything. You know nothing about him, I know everything. And I know you tried to force yourself upon him one night and he waved you off with a kiss. I know how he came back to you the next morning and told you he changed his mind and drove you to a fucking motel and begged you to fuck him. I know how you fucked him well and hard. Man, a fucking motel?!? Can you get any trashier than that? He tells me everything, man. He told me you fucked him last night, on this very stupid couch, after your stupid blonde had sneaked out with her stupid friend."

My jaw had dropped, my mind was fuzzy and blurred. I kept trying to utter some words of denial, but nothing came out. Yet the silence, his expecting look, the stuffy heat in the room, his obvious pain, were suffocating me.

"This is fucked up," I finally manage to whisper. "You guys are fucked up. Nothing of this is true and nothing makes sense. What the fuck is wrong with you two?"

I had spoken so softly, so slowly that David was taken aback. He shrugged, shook his head, looked down. "I don't know, Ben. I don't know."

I rose and went to sit down next to him. He froze a bit, not entirely welcoming my peace gesture. I chose silence over asking him more. I did not want to spend the next few moments having to deny point by point, fact by fact, all the crazy shit that may lay in store. And I didn't want to explain what did actually happen with Schuyler the previous night. That moment belonged to me and seemed miles removed from all the constructions that Schuyler appears to fabricate in what I couldn't help but see as a frontal and deliberate assault on David's feelings.

Then, shaking me out of my thoughts, David spoke again, with a cold and hardened voice. "Then you fuck me. You fuck me right here, on this couch where you allegedly didn't fuck Sky last night. You give me what he didn't get."

I didn't have time to process what he had just said, let alone answer anything coherent. He stood up, walked to the family room and came back with the bottle of lube that we all happily used two nights before. The contrast between that bottle, paraphernalia of careless and happy collective spanking, and the serious, tortured look David was giving me as he aggressively pulled down his pants and boxers, was startling.

David lied down on the couch, on his back. Still wearing his socks and hoodie, he lifted his legs and held his thighs with both hands, exposing purposefully his slightly hairy ass to me. "Lube me up", he said. Speechless, I took the lube, squirted some on my hand and started to massage his hole. I realized, confused, that I was growing quickly a very powerful erection. How could I? Was I that much of a callous horndog? But I was only sure of one thing: I wanted to fuck David, I didn't care why, I didn't care what it meant. I was going to fuck him and not think about Schuyler, not think about anything but David himself, his hairy legs, his socked feet in the air, his pulsating asshole, his open mouth, his lustful stare.

"Have you been fucked before?" I asked him.

"It's none of your business. Just do it. Please. You want me and I need this. So just do it."

I unzipped my shorts and took out my cock. It was so hard. I did want him. I really did, more than anything, it seemed, at that precise moment. I lubed my dick, rubbed the tip of the head in and around his hole, slowly getting the first inch in, then grabbed both his ankles, and pushed slowly forward. "Come on, go deeper", he said coldly, staring at his my dick gradually disappearing in his ass. He didn't give any hint of pain or discomfort; I was easily inside, which made me think he had been fucked before. By whom, if not by Schuyler? When, where, how, how often?

I started pumping hard. I lowered myself to try and kiss him, but he turned his face away. Not aggressively, quite gently actually, as if to say, "let's not, let's not fool ourselves into thinking this is something that it's not".

He wasn't touching himself at all, he wasn't moving much, except for some expert bucking from his ass to set a faster fucking pace. But he was now looking at me, staring at me. He was lost somewhere. He opened his mouth and stuttered "This... is... fucking...good...this...is...so...fucking...good". I was fucking him quite forcefully by then, he had lowered his knees to his chest and his whole body was shaking with each of my thrusts.

I was banging him. I felt like I was trying to ram deep inside him all the lust and the frustration he inspired in me. Or pushing back inside his ass all the weirdness, all this Schuyler business, their strange bond – like you try to push back a genie in his bottle. But I was also telling him with each deep thrusts, with each slamming of my balls on his ass, with each squeeze of his body and of his ass cheeks, that I liked him, I actually liked him; that he was sexy as hell; that he was hot, hotter than Schuyler probably made him feel sometimes; that he needed to fix his life, to punch Schuyler in the face some day; that he needed to get laid, fuck, be fucked, eat pussy, eat cock. It wasn't a mercy fuck or a pity fuck – nothing of the sort. I wanted to jolt him, to fuck him out his sullen complacency. However daft, self-important I obviously was then, I was fucking him so hard that he said "You need to stop. It hurts a bit. Cum in my mouth".

I reluctantly pulled out, with a plop that seemed to shake him one last time. He tried to reach for my dick, motioning me closer. I straddled over his face, put my dick in his mouth. He started blowing me and jerking me off. That combination quickly led me to dumping a load inside his mouth.

Pushing me to the side, he stood and walked briskly to the sink, where his spat all my spunk and rinsed his mouth with a glass of water. He came back, his raging erection bobbing up and down with each step. "Don't you want to cum?" I asked. "No, don't worry. I'm good, I'm very good". He pulled his boxers and shorts back on, I followed suit. We were quickly both dressed, back to normal, to the very weird normal that had been the previous thirty minutes. Except that now, he smiled at me. Faintly, briefly, but I saw it. He took me in his arms and hugged me. I hugged him back and that moment felt like the nicest, most touching moment I had ever shared with David. He patted my on the back and stepped back.

He started tidying and cleaning up the dining area, scattered with some untouched mess from our late breakfast. The outline of his erection was slowly disappearing. "Could you please not mention this to anyone?" he asked, looking away.

"It's not my style to do so."

"Ok".

"David, I know it's none of my business, but I think you and Schuyler should try to work things out."

"Yes, I know." Then after a pause, "You should too". He smiled gently and I smiled back.

"Yep, I guess." I said.

Climbing the stairs to go the bathroom and wash up, I paused and told him "By the way, David, if you ever want to do this again, I'll be happy to."

"Good to know", he said without looking up.

The guys came back some fifteen minutes later. It wasn't just in the apartment that the mood had lightened up, apparently. They were talking loudly and jokily as they got in. Schuyler seemed relaxed and I spotted a couple of tender gestures he discreetly made towards David. And he was all smiles to me. Brian announced cheerfully that he had seen the people downstairs pack their stuff in their car and leave, so we were free to make as much noise as we wanted that night. "PARTY!" he shouted. All of us looked at him cautiously, doubting that we had sufficiently recovered from the previous night's excesses. And indeed, our dinner at home was fairly subdued and Brian had to use actual force (vigorous kicks in the butt) to drag us to the nearby bar. The one beer I had felt surprisingly good and my spirits were lifted, but our group didn't quite rally to the level of exuberant celebration Brian was still painstakingly trying to emulate.

"All right, guys", he finally concluded, "let's go home. If we're to have a mellow evening, at least we should be smoking something. Joe, you brought some stronger pot than the stuff we smoked on Sunday, right?"

Joe nodded and that seemed to be the signal we needed to drag ourselves back to the car, back to the duplex, back to the dining table.

We laid a bunch of beer cans on the table while Joe was fetching his pot. We started drinking and passed around the first joint. After a few minutes of random chatting, I started to feel the powerful effect of Joe's pot. "Man, am I the only one who feels a bit high already? What is that shit?"

Everyone giggled, which was, in itself, an answer to my first question. I didn't get answer to my second one, as Joe was studiously rolling a few more joints and carefully and neatly setting them on the table. It was quickly apparent, however, that the strong pot was not going to be the kind that knocks you out, but rather the one that pumps you up.

"Poker, anyone?" asked Brian, an avid player whom we knew happened to supplement his parents' allowance by playing off campus with more serious crowds.

"Strip poker?" Schuyler quipped back.

"Nah, there are no chicks here", Brian said. "What's the point? Plus I've seen all your dicks in their full glory already, and none of you seemed particularly embarrassed. So you lose nothing, you pervs."

"I'm not playing for money with you, Brian. Not again", said David.

Brian appeared to be thinking, then a mischievous smile lightened up his stoner face. "I'll tell you what, we'll play naked poker. Some of you might find it harder, so to speak, to bluff. And, Joe, be a good man. I saw you brought this playing cards set with porn on each of them? You OK with the agony of giving them away? We'll divide them up and use it as fake money. Whatever we win we get to keep. Believe me guys, it's good porn. Very handy when you travel."

Joe brought two sets, a regular one and the porn one, which was indeed very hot. Each of us got a little stack. No one seemed to start the undressing part, however, until Brian, having dealt the first hand, started to strip quickly and efficiently. David followed immediately, then me, then Schuyler and Joe. We were high enough that this somehow seemed like a funny idea. "Excellent", Brian kept saying. I glanced at David's stomach, below his navel; I remembered seeing him leaking a bit of precum earlier when I was fucking him and wondered if I could spot a little patch of dried cum. I couldn't, but didn't realize I had been staring for longer than could appear casual. Brian shouted "Ben, you dog, watch your cards, not David's schlong!". Everyone erupted in laughter; I joined in. The joke wasn't funny enough, however, to justify so loud and long a laugh. Clearly, we were all high as a kite. And it all went downhill from there.

We kept smoking pot, drinking beer and trying to play poker. We were much more successful at the first two than the last. No one could concentrate; one, two, sometimes three of us would giggle uncontrollably, Brian would make all sorts of crass comments on the porn cards (which we all found hilarious), David and I were shouting loud non sense to keep Joe from thinking about whether to call, raise or fold. All this while we were all stark naked, all of us always in the ebb and flow of hardening and softening dicks. We were having the best time.

Brian suddenly stood up and shouted excitedly to Joe, while jumping up and down : "Put on my song! Put on my song!" Joe went to the stereo and pulled from a pile a tape which he inserted in the player. Chumbawamba's "Tubthumping" started to play and, young stupid college kids that we were, we all went wild. Joe raised high the volume and the five of us started chanting loudly, dancing clumsily, jumping around in the living room, our cocks flying around, our naked bodies bumping into each other.

When the song was over, Joe rewound it back, while we lit two other joints and passed them around. And there was more singing, more jumping, more cock swinging. Brian climbed on the coffee table and screamed "I get knocked down, but I get up again!" along with the song. Everyone was laughing completely hysterically. The song was played about five times before we were all exhausted, panting breathlessly and giggling.

Joe managed to breathe out "Dude, you got a fucking boner!" pointing at Brian's dick, which was indeed more than half hard. "I know!!!" Brian laughed, followed by all of us, Joe actually rolling around on the couch holding his chest, as if his chuckling was painful.

"I – need – to – spank – my – big – fat – Irish – salami", Brian started to chant in a robotic voice. "We – want – porn". Even as high as I was, I was astounded at how utterly idiotic Brian could become. And yet. And yet. I found myself, just like the other guys, chanting along "we-want-porn", louder and louder. I do remember thinking, "please let me forget this moment tomorrow and forever" (that, obviously, didn't happen).

Brian dropped to his knees in front of Joe, joining his hands as in a prayer and talking in a chirpy voice: "Joe, Joe, Joe, you are my god, you are my hero. You have pot, you have porn, you even have my song ready to be played at my will. If you had tits, I'd marry you and make you ten little babies. Please, be kind to your humble servant and give us porn, dirty slimy porn. Pretty please." It was Schuyler's turn to roll around laughing, on the floor, bumping against the coffee table. "We want porn!" he managed to say between hiccups.

Joe stood up and, feigning reluctance, said "Aaaaall right, if that's what make you guys happy", and motioned us to follow him in the family room. We all cheered and ran after him. Joe seemed to be careful about choosing the tape he wanted to play – though I was pretty sure none of us really cared which one his expertise and selective taste would deem best fitting for the moment. Brian was rock hard by then, Schuyler, David and I were quickly getting there. Only Joe seemed to sport a soft dick, though I noticed it grow as he was browsing through his selection. He pushed a tape in the VCR, visibly pleased and eager.

So we were back in a circling jerk, in the exact same room as two nights before. Yet, everything was completely different. The room had been darker, quieter, with us five side by side jacking off somewhat seriously, with occasional sideways glances towards the other guys' cocks. Now, it was brightly lit, we were laughing and shouting, pointing at each other's erections as if they were the most hilarious and funky things we'd ever seen. Brian stood on the couch and started mimicking getting a blow job. He was holding an imaginary face between his hands and facefucking it, rolling his eyes with exaggerated ecstasy. Only Joe had resumed the exact same position and attitude on the couch; he was the only one who was paying some attention to what was going on the screen as well as to what was happening around him.

It was Joe however who asked if any of us could suck their own cock. I remembered trying a couple of times when I was fourteen or so – with mixed results. Schuyler claimed he used to do it all the time. "Why the hell did you stop? Because you managed to fuck your own ass?", David asked him. Schuyler was puzzled briefly, unsure whether that comment was more loaded than he cared for, but the hilarity around him quickly engulfed him.

Of course, Brian suggested that we all try and, of course, everyone thought it was fucking brilliant idea. Soon enough, there we were, the five of us crouching in acrobatic positions, David, Brian and me on the couch, Schuyler against a wall and Joe on the armchair, darting our tongue and lips as far we could, trying to reach our dicks. Schuyler was trying to voice some tips and directions, but the position he was in made whatever he uttered barely comprehensible. David lost his balance and dropped all over Brian. I cracked up, which made me lose my own balance. We all started to try again, determine to get at least to lick the tip of our heads. There was a most frustrating third of an inch between my tongue and the holy grail. I gave up, in order to better watch the fantastic spectacle offered by the persistent efforts of the others. Joe was nowhere near, but it was funny to watch his small body all curled in a ball. Brian and David were giggling too much to be able to concentrate. Then I shouted "Guys, guys, I think we have a winner!". Schuyler, even if not technically sucking himself, had just succeeded in planting a kiss from his wet lips on the head of his long cock. Everyone cheered loudly and jumped on him to hug him our congratulations. We all fell on the floor, a big bundle of naked bodies and swording dicks.

We were panting, still exhilarated. Brian disentangled himself and stood up. "Guys, I am so fucking horny. I'm sorry, but enough child play. I need to whack it off real bad." He stood in front of the couch, watching the screen and started to jerk. We all enthusiastically took our own positions: Joe sat back to his now designated space, Schuyler and I stood next to Brian, and David, for some reasons, stood on the armchair. We all watched intently the action in the movie, all voicing loud encouragement to the guy engaged in a very hot threesome with two women with, predictably, big breasts.

Schuyler was the first to moan that he was close. Brian briskly took his arm and told him "Dude, show us again! Kiss your fucking dick again! Cum in your own mouth! That'll be awesome!".

Schuyler kneeled down on the floor, then moved so he could curl his back against the wall, lowering his crotch as close as he could to his mouth. His big legs were dangling in the air and I saw their weight was making it hard for him to keep his balance. So, with my left hand, I grabbed one of his ankle to steady him, while continuing to jack off. I had one of his big feet right next to my face. It felt incredibly hot. We formed a circle around him and were all cheering his name. He didn't quite managed to kiss his dick again, but did manage to use one hand to jerk off. The he groaned huskily a few times and started spraying his wad all over his own face, sticking out his tongue to eat some of it. The cheers grew louder.

I helped him settle back to a sitting position. He was grimacing, his body aching, but he was still giggling too. He breathed heavily, recovering from an intense pot-induced orgasm, cum dripping all over his face. I strongly wanted to lick it off, to kiss him. I didn't, but I pretended to help him wipe off some it and quickly smeared on my cock what my fingers had managed to gather.

And we were back to watching the movie, back to jerking off. A couple of minutes later, I saw Brian wanking speedily but trying discreetly to get the attention of Schuyler, David and me. He had the most devilish look on him and was tilting his head towards Joe, who was now beating off on the armchair, his open mouth gaping from fascination at what was going on in the movie. Brian mouthed silently "Look at me, look at me", while slowly, stealthily, moving towards an unsuspecting Joe. He stopped right next to him, and resumed his wanking as if nothing was going on. Then I saw him gasping a bit, the sure sign of his incoming orgasm. In a split second, he turned his body around and started to squirt all over Joe's face, who had not seen it coming and was completely startled. We all laughed harder than we had yet laughed that whole evening. Joe was screaming "What the fuck? What the fuck?", while spitting Brian's jizz out of his mouth and frantically wiping his face off. None of us could stop our hysterical, uncontrollable chuckle.

Gasping for air, I said "Guys, I really need to cum soon too. Let's get this over with."

"Okay," said Brian, "I've got a game for you three late-cummers. It's inspired by the brilliant actions of Sky and myself. I think we should all cum on someone's face tonight. There won't be any volunteers, so let's use the beautiful women our pal Joe has nicely provided us with. Gather around the screen, jack off and try to cum on the screen only when there is a close-up of one of the women's face, ok?"

This seemed as good (and as absurd) as any way to cum and I was so high and so horny by that point that I would probably have hypnotically agreed to any idea Brian's devious mind would have come up with.

David, Joe and I stood up close to the TV screen, which was conveniently at a comfortable height. We'd only have to squat down just a bit to have a perfect aim. The screen itself wasn't huge though, so our three bodies were a bit pressed against each other. I stood in the middle, Joe to my right, David to my left. I decided to jerk off with my left hand, to have my arm rub against David's.

We were blocking the view of the screen and, to check whether we succeeded in our aim, Schuyler and Brian came over and stood right behind us. Schuyler was between me and David, with one hand on each's shoulder (how fitting, I thought), Brian did the same between Joe and me. I could actually feel small parts of each naked bodies of all four guys touching my own flesh. It was electrifying.

The task at hand, however, was trickier than I thought. It helped that they were two women in the scene, but most shots at that stage were close-ups of penetration. There were intermittent and somewhat brief close-ups of the women's faces feigning ecstasy, but they were not easy to foresee. Joe, who might have seen the movie so many times that he knew its sequences by heart, was the first to cum and, indeed, his timing was perfect. One of the woman was shown screaming with delight as her snatch started to be filled with the guy's dick, and Joe moaned and bucked and came at the perfect moment. He didn't shoot much (his constant masturbation must have an impact on the size of his loads) but he did shoot perfectly. And the result was actually kind of cool, I thought. There was indeed cum dripping on the woman's face, albeit virtually.

I could feel David tensing up next to me. Like me, he was probably edging, trying to figure out the best moment to let go. And he did. He did start to shoot during a face closeup, but that image didn't last long and the action was back to a close-up of the dick sliding in and out. David came gallons, buckets, a seemingly endless load. I mentally computed backwards: he hadn't gotten laid last night and he hadn't cum when I fucked him. There must have been a lot of cum building up in his balls, waiting restlessly to be released.

The screen was now covered with cum, slowly dripping. It was incredibly hot. I was jerking off watching Joe's and David's mixed wads, which were now superposed with a dick banging a pussy. It was all too much for me and, not giving a damn fuck about timing my orgasm, I came all over the screen too, adding my own load to the gluey mess, slowly sliding down and dripping on the floor.

"You suck at this, Ben!", Brian said. "Dave was just half bad, but Joe is our clear winner".

Brian seemed to be the only one still worked up, but barely ; all of us were just breathing hard, knocked out. Joe feebly asked what he had won.

Brian seemed to think for a while, then said, "Dude, I have no idea. I haven't thought this through. I dunno, eternal admiration?".

"I'm cool with that", he said, while wiping off the TV screen with a pillow.

There was still one joint left, resting on the dining table. I went to fetch it, lit it and went back to the room where everyone had just settled on the couch, armchair and floor. It was quite a sight. Naked bodies spread wide for comfort, limp dicks coated with drying cum, gazing stoner eyes. I sat on the floor too, against the wall and the joint was passed around. Everyone was pretty quiet, but clearly content and comfortable. There were a few "this is nice" mumbled, but my eyes were closed and I was too stoned at that point to tell their voices apart.

At some point, twenty minutes later (forty? ten? thirty?), David stood up and said "come on, guys. It's fucking late. We'll clean up tomorrow. We should get to bed if we don't want to waste the whole day tomorrow." We obediently followed him upstairs. Schuyler and I dropped on the bed; we were still naked so I pulled a blanket over our two bodies. I came closer and put my arm around him, pressing my stomach against his back, entangling my legs with his. We fell asleep, quite blissfully.

All of us were, predictably, useless the next day. We didn't emerged from bed before 1 pm and couldn't get things really moving. Everyone seemed to take hours in the shower (I couldn't imagine that this could be caused by any of them jacking off, not after the sexual exhaustion of the previous night). The coffee seemed to brew forever before being ready. David took hours to bring back some fresh bread he had decided to buy. No one was talking much and no one seemed particularly bothered by the dragging of our inactivity, except me. I wasn't cranky, but this was Schuyler's and my last day and I wanted to enjoy at least part of it on the slopes, especially since the sun was back. We were set to leave early the next morning, with the goal of reaching the city before 9am, as promised to Schuyler's sister who was supposed to have the car back for the weekend.

When it became clear that the guys might just be spending the whole day lounging in the living room or on the balcony, I told them I was going to ski on my own. No one objected or stirred, except Schuyler who asked for ten more minutes to be ready and join me. I saw David hesitate a bit; he then said, softly, "You guys go and enjoy yourselves".

It felt good and healthy and energizing to be outside. Schuyler was fairly quiet, but serene. We were both a bit sore and tired, so we stayed on easier slopes, going at a slower speed. Yet, at some point, at the top of a hill, just exiting one of the lift, taking in the gorgeous view, Schuyler asked if we could just sit for a while, enjoying the sun, the quiet and the panoramic beauty. We took out our skis and sat down on the snow, at a comfortable distance from the small patches of other skiers. We took out our sunglasses, closed our eyes and basked in the sun and cold air.

Then Schuyler said "I can't believe what happened last night", followed by a chuckle softened by obvious embarrassment.

"I know. I want to laugh, but I'm still shocked by my own shame."

"I'm fucking mortified, Ben. Completely fucking mortified." He laughed nervously. "What did Joe give us to smoke? Was that some kind of illegal Mexican stuff that sends people straight to loony bins?"

"I don't know. I do know that Brian is a certified nut job."

"He's completely mental."

"We were laughing the whole time, though. So, hopefully, we'll be able to laugh about it again when we're old."

"Yeah, good story for our grandkids".

"Absolutely. Or for your personal essay for Law School. `How I overcame obstacles: It's hard to suck your own dick, but with loud cheers from inspiring people and a helping, trusting hand holding my ankle, I managed to at least lick it.' "

"Aah, shut up, shut up, shut up," he giggled. "My eyes are burning! I do not want to be reminded! Ever! Damn, Benjamin, please, let's make a pact and never ever refer to that batshit crazy evening again, ok?"

"All right, maybe. Yes, fine." Then, after a pause: "We're pretty good at never talking about weird stuff happening between us anyway, aren't we? We've got practice by now."

I felt him startle a bit and I immediately regretted coming off too strong, and rather too passive aggressive. I can't stand it coming from other people, I shouldn't indulge in it myself.

We were silent for a long moment. That's the good thing about talking outdoors, you can safely retreat into silence if need be, it is less awkward than in a restaurant or a bar. I felt nonetheless I should be saying something, something casual and random, just to soothe the tension I had impulsively caused. Yet it was Schuyler who spoke first.

"Listen, Ben", he said, "I'm sorry about what I said yesterday afternoon."

I left a brief pause, as I was unsure how to react. I had never known Schuyler to act with much contrition after the few instances when I had confronted him about his recurring obnoxiousness.

"That's okay," I just said.

"Are you sorry you fucking punched me?"

"Nah. Not really."

"Fair enough," he said, smiling. "I can be a prick sometimes".

"Yes, Sky, you can. You should get seriously beaten up some day. It'll do you good. Including to your pretty face."

"Aaah, but you wouldn't love me anymore. I know you're only after my handsome good looks. And my money. And my big cock."

"I've certainly not gotten much of that."

"My money?"

"Your gigantic, monstrous, freak show cock."

We both laughed.

"But don't get carried away, my friend. Your dick is big, but not that big", I lied. "And I've seen many".

"You have, have you?"

"Yes, Sky, I have", I replied, turning towards him and making a point of holding his stare. I wasn't looking away, and for a while neither was he. Until he said, "Why have you never talked about it with me?". I had rarely heard him being so genuine, so earnest. It did move me and for a brief moment, I did feel like a bad friend. But all the things that he himself was hiding or fabricating surged back, strongly enough to steer me on a track of slight caution.

"I figured you'd ask if you wanted to know."

"Why is it about me wanting to know anything? I think I made it pretty clear that I was ok with it. What else do you need from me?"

"You're ok with it? How gracious." I didn't like where this was going: resentment and bitterness burying the things always left unsaid, slowly annihilating the opportunity of having them, finally, vented. "I'm sorry, Schuyler," I said, almost biting my lips to try to contain a creeping, simmering anger. "And I don't need anything from you. I really don't. But, come on, yes, we've been ignoring the big fat gay elephant in the room, but don't put it on me."

"I'm not".

"You are. I was the one who was supposed to bring it up?"

"You're the one that fucking came out, Ben. And how do you think it feels that you didn't come out to me? That I had to hear about it from David?"

I was stunned into silence by his serious, quiet, even tone. And by the fact that he was right. Or he sounded right. He appeared to be right. I felt humbled; I felt I needed to do the right thing, say the right thing. I breathed heavily, as before diving in a cold pool, forced myself to open my mouth, making it inevitable that words would come out. Some words, any words. There just needed to be some words, some true words.

"All right. I get it. I can't bring myself to be sorry, but I get what you mean, I do. I think you're right, I also think you are being unfair. I guess it's possible to be both. I could have talked to you about it. I could have talked to you right after I came out to my brother and his buddy. Or right after I tried to put it into words to Laura. I could have talked to the friend that you are most of the time. You're a good friend, Sky, and you do mean a lot to me as such. But you're not just that, don't fucking pretend. I don't kiss my friends, I don't push my tongue down their throat. I don't hug them and spoon them at night, like two stupid lovebirds. So yeah, I couldn't figure out exactly when and how to bring it up. Should it be before or after you kiss me? Before or after you take me in your arms in your bed and I can feel your dick against my ass?"

"My soft dick, Ben. There is nothing sexual about it. Don't fucking make it dirty".

"There's nothing sexual about it? Fuck you, Schuyler. There is nothing sexual about you looking at me while you're getting a blow job from David? There's nothing sexual about you jerking off peeping at me fucking a girl?"

"Oh shut up, Ben. You're being a complete dick. It's not the same, it's not the same at all. How can you think showing some affection is the same as a drunk jerk off? So what, you think Brian or Joe are now going to write you love poems because they wagged their dicks at you?"

I was fuming with fury. I stood up and tried to step back on my skis, to get as far away as I could from him. But I was too frantic, too angry, and there was too much snow packed on the soles of my boots. Schuyler stood up too and grabbed my arm. "Stop, Ben. Just stop. STOP! Sit back down. Please".

I did. Silently. Not looking at him. I was breathing hard, trying to collect myself. He resumed talking, soft and focused.

"Fine. Fine. It sucks that you're gay. It really does. I shouldn't say it, I shouldn't feel it, but it fucking sucks. It has sucked since the very moment David gleefully told me about it. Don't get me wrong. You can and you should be as gay as you want. Go get gay boyfriends, dance to gay music, go march on a gay fucking parade, have a gay wedding in gay Holland, have tons of little gay babies. But yes, it's just me, me, me. It sucks for me. I don't need that complication. Everything is just so fucking confusing, I just can't handle more shit like this."

He paused. I didn't know whether he expected me to jump in. I certainly wasn't going to. If we could finally get past the insults, maybe we could get to the bottom of things. Or close enough. He turned to look at me, I briefly glanced at him, before facing the sun again.

"Why do you have to be so intense?" he softly, almost painfully said. "Why is everything so fucking intense with you? It really wasn't like this when we met, was it? I remember thinking what a cool guy you were, how simple, straightforward, healthy you looked. You really seemed to have your shit together. I remember being struck by your nose, isn't that weird? I remember thinking it gave your face a mix of a Greek statue slash middleweight boxer. I remember thinking that a guy with a face like that must be a really cool guy to hang out with. Totally uncomplicated."

My nose? My fucking nose? A Greek statue? Where was he going with this?

"I know there's always more than meets the eyes", I said, "but I don't really see how your life was in such need of someone "uncomplicated". You have a serious girlfriend who loves you, you have a best friend who's more than devoted to you, you –"

"Is that how you see it?" he interrupted. "Wow, Benjamin. You think Jennifer loves me? You think David is devoted to me?"

"Well, yes, I do. If I'm wrong, don't just give me shit and make me feel stupid. Just tell me."

"Jennifer loves that I'm a healthy, rich, Upper East Side, J-crew Republican, that our dads belong the same fucking golf club, that we already have our summer share in the Hamptons all set up for next July."

"Real Dickensian."

"Shut up. I'm just saying. And I can actually deal with that, to a large extent. That's just how things are. Fine by me. But I'm not stupid to think this is love. You know, the good kind. The butterflies in your stomach kind, and all that shit. As for David..."

He seemed to hesitate a moment, darting quick looks towards me, before resuming. "David is just... I can't believe you don't see what's going on. Or I guess I can believe it, I make enough efforts to hide all that shit. But I would've thought you, at least, of all people, would see through it."

"Again with the insults?"

"No, no, no. Sorry. It's just... You're getting things wrong, Ben, completely wrong. David is not devoted to me. David... if there's any devotion going on, it's actually more on my side. I mean... I'm not getting this right. Listen. I met David at camp the summer before my senior year in high school. I told you that. I didn't tell you how much he changed me, for the better actually. I was, I don't know, a dumb rich jock, I guess. He opened me up to so many things. I was completely fascinated by him, bordering on obsession. His opinion mattered more than anything else in the world. I would have done whatever he would tell me to do. And, well, actually, I have. But it never felt good, because David is kind of cruel, you know. He convinced to choose Princeton over Yale, so that we could be together. But in our first day on campus, he said we should spend less time together, so that we can expand our social circle. He talked me out of joining a fraternity, then insisted we hang out constantly with Brian and Joe because it was apparently suddenly really cool to be in a frat house. He pushed me to pick up tennis, then deemed it a sport for obnoxious snobs. He criticized my choice of major, my clothes, my holiday destinations. I was always either a childish snob blindly following his rich family's footsteps, or a dim-witted loser posing as a rebel."

He took a breath before continuing: "I thought meeting Jennifer would be my lucky break. She's hot, smart, fun and the sex is awesome. And for a while, it was really splendid. Then David sneaked his way into becoming her best friend. Jen suddenly fawned over him, like he was the second coming. According to her, I should listen to him more because he had made so many really astute observations about me while they were out together for drinks or on the bench watching me play tennis while sipping fucking chardonnay in juice bottles. My world was shrinking, it's like the walls were closing on me. You know that scene in Star Wars, right? That's how it felt like: I was knee-deep in shit with walls threatening to quash me like a bug. My being rude, domineering, abrupt with David sometimes is just a defense mechanism. I'm trying to fight back."

I was stunned. I swallowed with some difficulty. But I let him speak. I had wanted him to break the enduring silence between us. This was it.

"Then you came along. That's what I was trying to explain. You were like, I don't know, a ray of sunshine? Is that corny? God, I'm so fucking corny. But, yes. With you, I could breathe, I could talk, I could laugh. It really felt awesome, you know. Of course, I did see that you were somewhat complex, but it just made you interesting and made me feel okay about my own complications. But then, we kissed. It was actually terrific. But it freaked me out a bit. I didn't know what that meant, what I was getting myself into, what it would change between us. But it didn't change anything, right? And that felt good. Reassuring. Calming. I could just be myself, show affection, you didn't mind. You were my friend, my sexy, handsome, boxer-faced friend. And it was all good, all simple. You can't imagine how fucking awesome that was for me. But then I heard rumors about you fucking guys, getting blow jobs and all that. And then David told me what he'd heard. I really, really, forced myself to shut it all out from my mind, to convince myself that it didn't change anything to whatever you and I had."

"But now, you think it has."

"I don't know. Hasn't it? You fucking want to talk about it, you fucking ambushed me to talk about it –"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Sky –"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. You're right. So, I don't know. The thing is..." he hesitated, "I guess it all depends on how you feel about it, how you've felt all along." His voice had dropped lower and lower. His final question came out as shy, tentative, apprehensive.

"How you feel about me depends on how I feel about you?"

"I guess it does, yeah."

"That doesn't make any sense to me. Except that it sounds pretty cowardly."

"Oh, don't get all self-righteous on me, Ben. I'm trying hard here. I'm trying very hard to make sense of it all – and you're not saying squat. So, really, I'm not sure who's the coward here."

I cringed. "Right. Sorry."

I had to say something. I couldn't. I was thinking hard, but could not think straight. I asked him: "I'm guessing Jen doesn't know you and David are having sex together".

He frowned, and replied "Well, no, she doesn't. But David and I don't really have sex together."

"Explain that to me. I saw him sucking your dick off."

"Okay. When we first met, at camp, nothing of the sort happened. Only the last night, we kissed. In the following month, we would see each other frequently, we both lived in Manhattan. And we jerked off together a few times. I tried to kiss him again, but he refused. He said he didn't do that. I was upset and ashamed at first, then I thought this could be a good thing. We definitely weren't gay. We went camping for a few days together the summer before going to Princeton. I woke up the first night to find him blowing me. I was hard and it felt great. Still no kissing though. I felt really horny that whole time up in the woods and, against my better judgement, I urged him one night we try fucking. He wouldn't have it either. Don't be a fucking queer, he said. I was furious. He claimed that to protect our friendship, we should set up some rules. He alone set up the rules, actually. Since then, the only thing we do, and it's not often, is him giving me a blow job. But you know, I guess, in a way, it has worked for us".

"Really? Your relationship doesn't strike me as particularly healthy. Maybe that's just me."

"Right. Maybe. But sex fucks everything up, I know David's right about that. It does create tension. I do admit, sometimes, I try to tease him, sexually I mean. I walk around naked, with a slight erection. I talk about sex, I tell him things just to try to get a reaction from him."

"Do you get one?"

"Well, he blows me."

We both chuckled. I felt a wave of tenderness surging within me. I put my hand on his arm, gave it a firm squeeze. He smiled.

"Schuyler, what I don't get is that, from what you're saying, it sounds like David is not actually gay enough for you and I might be or become too gay for you to handle. And yet, he's the one giving you blow jobs and I get the kisses and hugs."

He took a pause. "I don't know. Maybe. Whatever. The thing is... The thing is, Ben, with you, I've always felt safe. David feels dangerous to me. David scares me, puts me on edge. What he agrees to scares me, what he doesn't scares me too, because it makes me want it even more. You know?"

"What if that was exactly his intention?"

"For three years? A whole master plan? He's not that much a psycho. But, yes, he knows how, when and where to draw lines, and I'm impressed by that, because I sometime feel like I'm all over the place. And that's what scares me the most, I guess."

"But you felt safe with me?"

"Yes. It felt like we had the same boundaries, I guess. They were wider, gave us more space than we usually have with guys, but there were there. You're being gay just kind of explodes them."

"Do you feel safe with Brian and Joe?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, I don't know, but I've never seen you with fewer boundaries than when the five of us were jerking off together. I mean seriously now, Schuyler, you licked yourself off and shot your load all over your face for all four of us guys to enjoy. You must have felt pretty safe."

"So, now, Brian and Joe are gay too? You gay guys are always convinced that everyone is at least a little bit gay, don't you?"

"That's the opposite of what I was saying", I replied calmly. "And I think you should stop obsessing about the gay label. It only makes you sound like a shit-scared closeted guy."

"I'm not", he said, surly but decidedly.

A long silence followed. Thankfully, he broke it. "Ben, are you, like, in love with me?"

"Damn, Schuyler, I don't know. I really don't. Especially not in the middle of a conversation like this."

"How can you not know?"

"How can I not know? You've just talked at length about how everything is so confusing for you, but I'm supposed to know exactly how I feel?"

"You know who you are, Ben. You have that going for you."

"Maybe. But it's not like finally being able to tell yourself and others `I like guys' suddenly makes everything around you appear in crisp Technicolor, believe me."

"Bummer," he said, smiling. "But what DO you know?"

I felt like a deer caught by in headlights. It really was my turn to speak now, I owed him that much. I was supposed to answer his question, start the process of wrapping up neatly the conversation, applying the finishing touches to the almost completed canvas of our relationship. But that canvas looked to me like a Jackson Pollock, really. So just open your mouth, I thought, and start listing the things you know. That much you can do.

"I know I like you. I know you have a powerful effect on me. I think there is a strong, intoxicating bond between us. I know kissing you always feels fantastic. I know I don't look at you sexually constantly, but I also know that, sometimes, I really do want to rip your clothes off. I know there are parts of your body that profoundly shake me. I know that seeing your cum splattered over your face was one of the most intense erotic experience I've had. I know I want to fuck you. I so want to fuck you sometimes, you have no idea. I know that sometimes I want to make love to you, which is not quite the same thing. I know you could one day really hurt me. And I know that, one day, I could really, really, really hurt you, because what I feel for you is occasionally so intense that I could unleash it either as a torrent of affection or as a shitstorm of destruction."

Schuyler looked away. I couldn't read him. I couldn't much try either, because it quickly became impossible for me to look at him. I had spoken fast, without thinking much. I was frantically reviewing mentally what I just had blurted. Yes, that was actually it. All of it. Schuyler would be right to call me intense, but so be it.

Schuyler said softly "But you don't know if you're in love with me." Was there sarcasm? A gentle irony? I couldn't tell.

"We should get going. You mind if I don't talk more right now? I don't want you to think that I'm running away from the conversation. But I'm exhausted, I feel drained."

"I do think you are running away from the conversation, but I understand. No worries."

As we stood up and started stepping back on our skis, he said "We're cool and all, right?"

"Yes, we are, Schuyler. We're cool".

As soon as we got back to the duplex, I went to the bedroom, ostensibly to take a nap. I had roughly two hours before dinner; I figured it would give me enough time to think, to make sense of this unfinished conversation, to be ready with whatever part of it I'd decide to unfold next. I had noticed David welcoming us back to the apartment with an expectant look on his face. He must have been unsettled by Schuyler and I spending the afternoon together. On my way back, I had tried, for a brief moment, to figure out how their respective narratives of their relationship did or did not fit. I knew I shouldn't be taking for granted either of them. I also knew that I didn't like how Schuyler had turned David into a scheming villain, yet I was trying to convince myself none of this should actually concern me. To each his own, so to speak.

Contrary to my expectations, I actually did fall asleep, even if regularly woken by the noise the guys were casually making.

It's David who came to tell me dinner was ready. He had knocked on the door and opened it without waiting a reply. He just stood there, however. Perhaps mistakenly, I felt his curiosity about what had happened between Schuyler and me was taking the better of him.

"You all right, David?"

"Yeah. Why do you ask?", he said, with a slight hint of irritation.

"No reason... David, I need to ask you something". I climbed out of bed and went to stand right in front him, probably a little closer than what would make him comfortable.

"What?"

"Are you in love with Schuyler?" This wasn't how I had phrased it initially in mind. I wanted to confront David, sure, to try to get a quick, even vague answer, about his stance towards Schuyler. That's it; I just wanted his general stance on the matter. How did my sleepy brain, within a few seconds, translate that into a lame, mushy line straight from a romance novel?

He laughed and looked indeed as if my question was the dumbest one he'd heard. There was a kind of relief too, somehow. As if he had feared something completely different coming to him.

"Are you?" he asked back.

"We're going in circles here", I said, staring at him, holding his stern look.

"As a gay guy, you might."

"Go in circles?"

"Be in love with him."

"Yes, as a gay guy, I might be. Are you gay too?"

"Don't even try to put a label on me, Ben. You know nothing and you'd understand nothing."

"I won't know or understand anything if you don't tell me something, that's for sure".

"I really don't think it's any of business. No offence, Ben, but it really isn't."

"None taken."

"What is it to you anyway?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe I'm looking for a reason to back off. To step aside."

"You're smart, Ben. It's hard to understand how you're not seeing the million good reasons for you to walk away. Run to safety, Ben, run."

"How many of these millions reasons have to do with you?"

"That's not for me to say. What I can say is that I know Schuyler better than anyone. He is trouble. You can go ahead and try to fix him. Be my guest. You'll do us all a favor."

"You're really not making any efforts to be likeable, do you?"

"That's not the conversation you want to pick if you want me likeable. I'll be likeable as fuck if you want to talk about books, movies, the meaning of life and death. I'll be so likeable you'll want to take my hand and walk me through a field of daisies. But no, I'm probably not very likeable when it comes to Schuyler. And not for the reasons you think."

We heard Joe shout at us from downstairs, reminding us to "get our asses down". "In a minute!", David shouted, still looking straight at me.

"Listen, Ben. I'm tired. I don't know what Sky told you. Just know that he has multiple versions of what his own life is, has been or will be. I've spent the last three years trying to make sure I have a space in each one of them. It's fucking draining. Schuyler is lost. But Schuyler is beautiful. He is so amazingly fucking beautiful. I've also spent the last three years dealing with that, with what it does to me. That much I have managed at least. I really, honestly, do not give a fuck whether you think I'm gay because Schuyler's beauty knocks me down. Judge, label, analyze all you want. But whatever you want to do with or to him, just make sure you're wearing some kind of fucking bulletproof vest."

"Why didn't you kiss me when we fucked?"

"What ?"

"When we fucked, I tried to kiss you. You turned away."

"Why did you want to kiss me in the first place?"

"I don't know. Heat of the moment, I suppose."

"Well, we were obviously having a different moment. Sorry, that came off wrong. I got nothing against you, Ben, I told you that. You just make things so much more complicated."

"I'm too intense?"

"Why do you say that?"

"No reason. So why did you want to fuck? My beauty knocked you down too? How many guys' beauty have you been knocked down by? At what point is it telling you something?"

He smiled, shaking his head slowly, as if I was a clueless kid. He certainly made me feel like one. "I wanted to know what it felt like. I wanted to experience what Schuyler seemed to be so curious about."

"David, I don't want to be crass, but I could clearly feel this wasn't your first time."

"Ben, I don't want to be crass, but surely you know that there are other instruments that a man can shove up his ass other than a guy's dick. And if you think that also makes me gay, you really do need to expand your mind a little".

"Don't be condescending, David."

It was then my turn to shout "In a minute!" to another, impatient, cry from Joe.

David sighed and went to the bed. I was surprised to see him lie down and stare at the ceiling. He briefly looked at me, as if inviting me to lie by his side. I did.

"Listen, Ben. We're having two different conversations at the same time, here. We're both too deep in our own world, with our own problems". He patted my hand with his. "I'll tell you what. Do what you feel is right for you. Don't worry about me, really. I cannot have a relationship with Schuyler. Just know that it's not because I'm a repressed closet case. My family is as liberal as they get. Plus, half of the world already seem to think I'm gay so, if I really needed to come out, it's not like the earth would explode."

He smiled at me and continued "I've actually started dating this girl, whom I really like. Who knows, maybe that will stick? And I'll deal just fine with the fact that I find Schuyler disturbingly beautiful and that you are an amazingly good fuck. Oh, and yes, that I like giving blow jobs. But, all in all, people have worse problems than that."

"Children are dying in Africa".

"Yes. Exactly."

We heard Brian from downstairs, loudly, angrily yelling "Fuck you guys, what the hell are you doing???" It was time to go down.

The whole evening was relaxed, mellow, enjoyable. Brian had bought wine for dinner ("Enough with the beers, we should have a grown-up night for once") and it tasted great. We talked at the dinner table for hours, about school, majors, classes. We discussed at length movies and TV shows from our childhoods. David was wittier and funnier than I had ever seen him. Brian behaved like an actual adult, or as close as he would ever get. Joe was smoking pot (all of us declined), smilingly following our conversation without contributing much to it (except for a long tirade on Fraggle Rock being unfairly underrated). Schuyler was strikingly charming and attractive. Our eyes locked numerous times, our legs rubbed against each other most of the night.

We had to leave early the next morning and, around 10pm, decided we should probably head to bed. The guys were going to play Trivial Pursuit. I silently wondered whether Joe was not already too high for that and if Brian would find a way to turn it into a sex game. We hugged everyone goodbye, as there was little chance of seeing any of them awake at 7 the next morning.

Neither Schuyler nor I had taken a shower since getting back from the slopes, so we decided to take turns. Schuyler would go first, while I'd start packing my stuff. He came back quickly, his hair all wet, a towel around his waist, carrying his clothes. I briefly flashed to David being "knocked down" by Schuyler's beauty. I knew what he meant. I left for the bathroom.

When I came back, similarly clad with a single towel, I was a little shocked to see that Schuyler had dropped his. He was casually roaming around the room, packing his bag, stark naked. It was a nakedness of his I had, I realized, never witnessed. I had seen him naked, briefly, going in or out of the showers at the gym, or quickly dressing or undressing whenever I shared a room with him. I had seen him naked, and then some, the two nights we all jerked off here together. But this was different. It was both an everyday, casual, it's-just-us-guys nakedness, but it was also powerfully full of possibilities, given what had been said between us earlier.

He had never been walking around naked with me. He had decided to do so now; it felt incredibly intimate – and arousing. He had also apparently decided to pretend it was all innocent. He was busy folding, tidying, chatting. I decided to follow his lead, took out my towel and finish packing, as naked as he was. But I felt free, more free, to take in what he was obviously displaying for my own benefit. I looked at his long legs, his hairless thighs, his hairy calves, his big feet. I looked at his long arms, his nicely defined biceps, his thin wrists and his long hands. I looked at his broad shoulders, his neck, his unruly blond hair, his fucking gorgeous face. I looked at his beautiful chest, his light treasure trail going down to a bushy crotch, his long, dangling, silky penis. I looked at his thin waist, his small, firm, bubbly ass. I knew he saw me looking. He kept pretending however that I wasn't, that he wasn't getting a little hard, that I myself wasn't getting aroused silently.

When we were both done with packing, we slid into bed, still naked. No boxers, no t-shirts tonight. He turned off the lights, but let the curtains open, with enough moonlight in the room that my eyes easily adjusted to see him clearly next to me, his own eyes open, staring at the ceiling. There was a lot of noise coming from downstairs (Brian being apparently annoyed at David's breadth of knowledge and Joe finding the whole thing hilarious), but we were both silent. Then Schuyler slowly slid his hand towards mine. He caressed it, grabbed it, squeezed it. I squeezed back.

He raised himself, turned towards me and rested on his elbow, watching me peacefully. I looked at him and he smiled softly. He slowly moved his free hand towards my body. He pushed the bedsheets down to my navel. He traced two of his fingers all around the features of my face, starting with my nose. Then my cheeks, forehead, nose again, my lips. His fingers moved down to my chest, drawing slowly straight lines up and down, left and right, then circles around my nipples. He placed his whole palm on my pecs, squeezed them, kneaded them. He did the same to my biceps, my wrists. He went back to my chest, my navel, then pushed the sheet away, uncovering my hard cock.

He was breathing a little irregularly by then. I had my eyes on him most of the time, but he never really looked back, or just very briefly. He was completely absorbed by his slow exploration of my body. I did notice his bulge in his sheet, slowly, jumpily growing to a full erection.

He took my dick in his hand and held it, tighter and tighter. He stroke it just a couple of times. Then he grabbed my balls and played with them. He moved and positioned himself between my legs, on his knees, sitting on his heels. He started massaging my thighs with both hands, raised my right leg and put my foot on his chest. He caressed my thigh, played with the hair on it. He rubbed his nipple using my foot. He closed his eyes. His cock was standing straight up, pulsating. It was fantastic.

He put my leg down, sat cross-legged and motioned me to do the same, facing him. I did and grabbed his cock as he grabbed mine. He leaned toward me and we started kissing. Everything was slow, so very slow: the kissing, the light movements of his fingers all around the shaft of my dick, my gentle strokes of his, my rubbing of the tip of its head. The constant noise from downstairs reinforced the silence in the room.

He kissed my neck, I licked his ear. We started jerking each other off more decidedly and our eyes locked. His stare was so deep, so intense. He opened his mouth a few times, gasping a bit. I was breathing very hard.

I backed away just a bit, starting to move my body down to take his cock in my mouth, but he stopped me. He looked at me very intently and said softly "Don't. I'm so fucking turned on right now, but I don't think I'm quite comfortable doing everything. I need to take it slow. This is weird for me. Good weird, fucking good weird, but still weird."

"It's okay," I said, "we don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"There is one thing I really do want. I want you to fuck me".

"That's not quite taking it slow".

"Maybe, but I've spent the whole evening obsessed by the image of you earlier, sitting in the snow, telling me you want to fuck me. I can't get it out of my mind, it's driving me mad. That's what I want right now. I really need you to fuck me."

"Have you done it before? You can tell me, it's ok if you have and I don't care with whom you'd have done it."

"No, I haven't."

"Well, it's gonna hurt."

"I'll be a big boy."

I gently pushed him down on the bed, on his stomach. I lowered myself to kiss his asscheeks. They were cold and soft. I spread them open slowly and darted my tongue in his asscrack. I was back then less than an expert at rimming – neither was I a particular fan. But at the moment, there is nothing that I wanted to do more. I licked his hole, circling my tongue around his sphincter, pushed in and out. I blew, sucked, kissed it. I spat on it, smearing my own saliva. I spat again and used my index finger to lube it more. I slowly inserted one finger, then two. He gasped. He was tight and I couldn't quite see how my dick was going to be able to penetrate him. He must have sensed my hesitation, for he said "Go on, don't stop, please don't stop".

I had fucked a couple of girls who had been virgins. It had made me tentative and overcautious. My only concern had been not to hurt them, nothing more, thinking there'd be plenty of times to experience the joys of sex when that first hurdle had been passed. It felt different with Schuyler. He was a virgin, and I certainly didn't want to hurt him, but I was actually driven by the craving of giving him the best first time possible. If tall, big, handsome Schuyler was to have a cock up his ass for the first time, I really wanted it to be fantastic.

So I rimmed him some more, lubed him some more, licked him some more, until three of my fingers were fairly easily sliding in and out of his ass, until I felt his lust and yearning for my dick were intense enough for him to be able to take it in.

I lied on top of him and positioned my dick at the entrance of his hole. I spat one last time and rubbed it on my head. I really wanted actual lube, but there was no way either of us could just go downstairs and grab the bottle left in the family room. Schuyler buried his face on the pillow. I pressed forward; the head of my dick was inside at once, like a pop, but I couldn't go any further. He was groaning in pain. I stayed in that position for a while, lowering myself so that I could kiss his neck, lick his ear a little bit. I pulled out just a bit and pushed back in. I had gained maybe a third of an inch. Schuyler's groans were a bit distressing. He said he was okay when I asked, though; he actually told me to keep going. And I did. I repeated the sequence of thrusts, each time gaining some miniscule territory of his ass. Then suddenly, he relaxed, briefly enough for the last half of my cock to be absorbed, to be swallowed completely inside. He actually cried in pain and was clutching the pillow forcefully.

I was in, I was completely in. I didn't move again for a while, I tried to kiss his mouth, but half of his face was still buried in the pillow. I licked the tears coming out of his tightly shut eyes. He mumbled "Fuck me, Ben, fuck me". I sensed his ass loosening up; it wasn't clenching my dick, trying to expel it or quash it anymore, it was now embracing it, sheathing it warmly and moistly. So I started to fuck him in earnest. Soon enough, I could feel, see and hear that Schuyler was in thralls. His eyes were wide, wet, bulging, incredulous. His breathing was erratic, shaken by gasps, grunts, hiccups.

My own ass was bopping up and down, at an increasing speed. But I wanted to be even deeper inside. I raised him to put him on all fours and resumed my fucking with a big thrust. He gasped again but begged for more, more, more. He started jerking himself off, but I wanted to be the one giving him every ounce of pleasure that night, so I brushed his hand away and replace it with mine. Every time he warned me he was getting too close, I let go of his dick. I grabbed his hair with one hand and put the other on his back, and rode him. I put both hands on his ass cheeks, spread them as wide as I could, and rode him. I put a hand around his hole, feeling my wet hard cock sliding in and out, inserted an additional two fingers in his ass, my cock rubbing against them, and I rode him.

I felt I was getting really close to cumming. I was completely wild with lust. I wanted to cum inside him, or on his ass, or on his face, or on his balls, or on his chest, or on his dick, or on his feet. I pulled out quickly out of his ass. My left hand went between his legs to grab his cock and pulled it towards me; it was so hard that it offered some resistance to be pulled backwards that way. I jacked off my own very hard dick and, with just few strokes, I came, putting my cock right on his hole, then on his balls, then on the shaft of his dick. It was an incredible orgasm.

Before even fully recovering, I immediately started to smear my cum all over his cock and jerking him off. It was sensational: Schuyler was on all fours, I was sitting on my knees right behind, my hand between his legs, jerking his dick, pulling it backwards, squeezing him to climax. I was milking him. I jerked him and jerked him, all the while thinking, "I'm milking him, I'm milking Schuyler". His dick had never looked so long, so fucking huge, so fucking horse-like as it did then. It was fucking sensational.

Without warning, Schuyler ejaculated all over the sheets. He was clenching his mouth shut, as if not to scream. A beautiful sight. A beautiful, sexy, amazing sight.

We both fell flat on the bed; him on his stomach, me perpendicular to him, on my back, my thighs on his ass. We were catching our breath, in silence. Downstairs, David was singing some kind of victory song. He had apparently won at Trivial Pursuit and Brian sounded like a loud, sore loser.

The alarm clock woke us up the next morning at 6:30. We sleepily, mechanically, got dressed in silence, walked our stuff downstairs noiselessly and put them in the trunk. I slammed the door shut and Schuyler ignited the car. He looked frumpy, but happy. He looked serene and beautiful. I had never been a morning person, so I had to make some efforts to reciprocate a positive, cheerful attitude. But I was happy, I was extremely happy, and I was hoping it did show.

Schuyler told me to relax and just get some more sleep. He might stop somewhere to get coffee, but he'll be fine driving to the city. I took him up on his offer and quickly dozed off. I barely opened an eye when we did stop at the gas station and I looked at him leaving the car, heading towards the store. I watched him walk, I watched him trying to see him as a stranger would. I had had him. I had had Schuyler. I fell back asleep.

I woke up as we crossed the George Washington Bridge, a couple of hours later. I yawned and stretched and looked at Schuyler. He looked more preoccupied and thoughtful than he had earlier.

"Everything all right?"

"Yes, absolutely. You? Slept well?"

"Like a log. We're already home, almost."

"Yep."

"Thanks for driving."

"You bet. I wouldn't let you drive my car anyway", he joked.

"We'll see, we'll see."

He hesitated a little bit then said: "Listen, Ben, I've been doing some thinking. Shouldn't we talk about last night?"

"We never do."

"But shouldn't we now?"

"Actually, I think we shouldn't. What we should do is fuck again sometime. And again. And again. We'll fuck so often that we'll get past the point when we feel the need to discuss anything. That'll be nice."

He chuckled. "Yes, it would be."

"But?"

"But nothing." A pause. "Except that I need to sort of few things out, I think. I need to sort things out with Jennifer. I need to sort things out with David. Neither of which will be particularly pleasant."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. I'm sure you can see that."

"Yes, I can."

"Hey, Ben, no awkward shit here. This whole week has been more than a little disturbing, wouldn't you say? I just need time. But last night was fantastic. You do hear me, right? It was fucking fantastic. I just need time so we can make this work."

We never did make it work. We tried many times, over the course of the following years. But that day, it seemed possible. That day, driving back from Hunter Mountain, age 20, everything seemed possible.

Coming out progressively in the preceding few weeks had felt a little tentative, apprehensive. Coming out seemed like crossing a river, leaving behind on a bank everyone and everything that was familiar, swimming towards a shore where you were promised bountiful gifts but where you didn't know many of the locals and even less about the actual landscape. The man that you were had to trade exile for self-realization, had to endure distance or alienation from his former straight fellows to enjoy the company of men deemed like him.

That week in Hunter Mountain changed all that. There might be a river to cross, but there were some marshes and islands, some currents and cross-currents, some bridges in the open air and some dark, secret tunnels underground. People swam, or dipped their toes, or got stuck in muddy water, or floated carelessly.

Brian, Joe, David, Schuyler and I all occupied, with various ease and comfort, our own space in the landscape. Brian's blunt untamed hormonal earnestness, Joe's masturbatory seclusion, David's disciplined sexual sociopathy, belonged to them, defined them, enclosed or freed them. I wasn't leaving them behind, I wasn't leaving anyone or anything behind. No one and nothing ever gets very far from sight. Schuyler wouldn't. I was reaching the shore, gladly, and I couldn't wait to meet the locals.

Comments, suggestions, reactions are welcome : benashtonvilla@yahoo.com