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Making the Best of It By Tom Cup
Finally I can admit my feelings for Jack. We had known each other since the third grade. We became best friends in high school and now we are college roommates. Jack was the man about town type. You know the type. Jack was the guy whose parent thought he could do no wrong; and because of that Jack was proud and confident. The girls loved him. Jack was always lean and muscular. He was captain of this or that team for as long as I could remember. He didn't brag, but he did walk with a swagger.
Me? That's another story. I had the misfortune of being born into the Marshall family and quickly thereafter being named Matthew Jonathan Marshall (If that don't give you a clue nothing will). My parents were devout Christians. By devout I don't mean the go to church every Sunday and Wednesday devout. I mean the pray at every meal (in public or not), spare the rod spoil the child devout. I learned early in life that God made tree switches especially to fit on the hind parts of little boys. Tree switches were the big guns brandished by Gods law enforcement agents on earth; my parents, the Marshalls.
Now I hope no one is getting the idea that my parents were abusive because they weren't. I only remember being whipped twice, maybe three times, in my life. But with a switch it made quite an impression. I was determined not to do anything that would cause my parents' disapproval, that's my point.
Jack knew this and it never seemed to bother him. When other kids would rib me for not drinking beer, or smoking, or having a girlfriend or whatever, Jack would back me up. He'd announce that he wasn't drinking anymore because he didn't want his friend feeling left out (this went for smoking and everything else except girlfriends -- Jack had plenty of girlfriends through the years) and he threaten to pound anyone's face that had the nerve to offend my religious conviction -- my religious convictions were very simply. I did what my parents' told me. It was my belief that if I did I wouldn't get switched, a fate in my mind far worse than going to hell.
My first real crisis of religious conviction occurred when I was thirteen, in the form of my first wet dream. I believed that if I thought, said, or did anything against my parents' wishes that God would whisper my sin in their ear and the switch would follow. God to me was like a finger pointing Santa Clause that would rat you out -- he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake! -- so if the nocturnal emission wasn't enough to cause me to fear for my soul (and my ass), then the subject of the dream most certainly was. I dreamed of being in the shower room at school with a bunch of my male classmates. We were showering as usual and then (I'll never forget this) Kenny Bryant asked if I wanted him to scrub my back. I said, "Sure." I could feel the soapy wetness as the warmth of the water and his hand glided over my body. He turned me toward himself. I looked down and my penis was rigid in the falling streams of water. Kenny reached out and grabbed it. I became a conduit of breathless excitement as liquid joy shot from my body. I woke with a start. It was a month before I could look at Kenny again. But I learned an important lesson. My parents weren't omniscient. There were things that I could do, or think, that they wouldn't know about; masturbation became one of my favorite secretly disobedient acts; fantasizing about boys the other.
By my senior year, while staying over at Jack's house, and watching Jack bang Tammy Johnson (pretending I was asleep, of course. I'm not a perv!) I was well aware of my predicament. I was the token religious friend to everyone in school. My classmates thought I was cool because I didn't try to force my religion on them, and of course, Jack was my best friend. But I also realized as I watched Jack's tight, muscled, ass contract and expand as he pump into Tammy that I wished, with all my heart, that it were I beneath him. I came that night, as Tammy and Jack came, without touching myself.
So after Jack and I became roommates, it's true that I did sneak more than a few peeks. In fact, there was nothing else I liked to do better than to look at Jack and jack off to my fantasies of him. So when he asked, "So what do you think about when you're jacking off?" I nearly shit.
"Who says I jack off?"
"I do. And don't give me that religious bullshit. Save it for the assholes. I know you ain't no saint."
"OK. I'll admit that I do but I don't really think about anything."
"How is that possible?" Jack asked turning in his bed to face me, "I mean how can you beat off and not think of anything?"
"I don't know. I don't," I lied.
Jack sighed and laid back on his bed. I did the same. Soon I heard him unzipping his pants.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Jacking off. You want to join me?"
"God Jack. Don't do it here."
"Why not? We're alone and in our room. It's not like either of our parents are going to barge in on us."
"I know but ... do it in private."
"Why? You saw me fuck Tammy and you didn't object."
"I did not!"
"Come on! You weren't asleep. I know it."
"Yeah, how?"
"Cause when you were asleep I checked your drawers." I gasped. Jack laughed. "You really got off on watching me give it to old Tammy and I got off on letting you watch. I was kinda hoping you thought about that sometimes when you jack off. I know I do."
"What?" I asked feeling like I was dreaming.
"I've noticed how you look at me Matt and it's OK."
Jack slipped out of his pants and underwear and laid on his bed. He began stroking himself slowly, rolling his hand over, under, and around his cock. I watched, swallowing hard. Jack looked at me, smiled and winked; he then turned his attention back to his cock. I watched as Jack cupped his balls, as his hand ran slow up and down his shaft, as the speed of his stroking increased, as his breathing became rapid and finally as his back arched, and his cock jerked and tossed, jetting Jack's milky cream into the air. His chest, abdomen, and pubic regions were splattered. His breathing was still erratic as I laid back, faint from the experience, intoxicated by the aroma in the air.
I had no intensions of performing for Jack, as he had for me, though I knew his performance would give me ages of jack off material. My eyes were closed; I was trying to regain my sense, to understand what had just occurred when I felt Jack sit on my bed next to me. I opened my eyes. Jack shushed me. I felt his hand slide over my still throbbing cock.
"Jack no," I whispered.
"No what?" Jack asked, "No, this isn't what you fantasize about? No, you haven't wanted me to touch you since high school? No, you don't want me to jack you off? No what, Matt?"
I had no answer. I watched as he removed my pants and underwear. I closed my eyes as he began to stroke me. He was gentle. He wasn't in a rush to get me off and then pretend the evening had never happened. He encouraged me as my breathing became rapid and, just as I reached the peak of bliss, his lips came hot down on mine sending me reeling into jerking spasms of cosmic bliss.
When I was again able to open my eyes, Jack was lying beside me running his hand through my hair. I stared into his eyes. He smiled and kissed me again. I was both confused and overjoyed.
"I know what you're thinking," Jack said, "But everything isn't black and white, gay or straight Matt. You're my best friend. I know you love me, Matt. I've known for a long time. I love you too. Hell, and now we're college roommates. We might as well make the best of it."
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