This story is semi-fiction
Usual rules apply; must be over eighteen or at least the legal age in your jurisdiction.
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Grumbling, I rolled over in bed and grabbed my ringing cell phone from my bedside table. "Hello?" I croaked, my voice strained from lack of use. "Hey man, we still on for today?" came a reply. It was Michael, my best friend from childhood until now; at the age of twenty five. "What's today?" I mumbled, tired and disorientated. "Eh, hello? We're supposed to be watching the game together!" he said exasperatedly. "Oh yeah, sure. What time you coming over?" I said, cottoning on. "Well I've been knocking on the door for about half an hour so eh... NOW!" he said, yelling the last word into his phone. I jumped out of bed. "Sorry man, I'm on my way down" I said, clicking off my phone. I was at the door of my bedroom when I realised I was naked. "Oops!" I laughed, grabbing a pair of boxer shorts and throwing them on. I ran down the stairs and flicked open the door, greeting him. "Hey, sorry I was fast asleep!" I said, apologetically. "Go on into the living room, I'll be down soon!", and with that I took off up the stairs again. I had a quick shower and threw on grey sweatpants and a navy hoody. Today was a big day in our favourite sport: rugby. We'd been looking forward to today for ages so that we could kick back and relax, have a few beers and watch the game.
Although I am very straight acting, I'm in fact secretly gay. I go out with my friends and chase women but I'm not really interested in them. I was raised in a very stereotypical sports-mad environment, the women in my family are girly and the men are manly; everything is how it "should be" so to speak. So I have hidden my sexuality from them. I am almost six foot tall, give or take an inch, with dark brown hair and permanent stubble because, as I have shown in the first paragraph, I can be quite lazy. I am fairly athletically built, having played sport all my life. A nicely shaped abdomen, not overly muscular but in decent condition. I'm not overly hairy but I'm far from smooth.
Michael, on the other hand, is a complete ladies man. Very handsome and a smooth talker, he always gets the girl he wants. That said, he could be cocky at times. He was tall, about six foot three, very tanned (unlike me) with an average body. While he beat me with good looks, I won hands down when it came to a good body! He has dark brown to black hair and cute little dimples when he smiles.
Anyway, I went back downstairs after I got dressed and grabbed a beer out of the fridge, where Michael had left them. "How long `til the game starts?" I called from the kitchen, as I popped the cap off the bottle. "About two minutes, hurry up!" he shouted back. I hurried into the living room and threw myself down onto the couch beside him. "This'll be great!" he said, the excitement in his face obvious. I smiled and we clinked beer bottles and settled down to watch eighty minutes of non-stop action (and in my case, to check out the hot muscular guys).
At half time, after three or four beers, I picked up the remote and changed channels. "Hey hey what are you doing?!" Michael cried, looking at me as if I was mad. "Eh... its half time?" I said, trying not to laugh at him. "You don't wanna hear the studio analysis, its only three old guys talking about their opinion!". He stood up. "I do now change it back!" he said, half smiling. I also stood up. "No!" I said simply, and quick as a flash I ran from the room. I could hear him thundering after me, so I ran upstairs, towards the spare bedroom. "Come back, you fucker!" he yelled after me. I laughed and keep running. Uh oh, dead end. I swung around and he was at the end of the corridor, about ten feet away. My only option was to charge, and charge I did. I pushed my way by him but he grabbed me and tried to pull me back towards him. The loose waistband on my sweats began to slip. Uh oh, I thought, not wanting to get a boner in front of him. He did not retaliate and tugged my sweats entirely off. He stood there, victoriously, with my sweats in one hand and grinning. "The pants for the remote!" he panted. I nodded my agreement, grinning.
We held out our items but before he could do anything I grabbed the sweats and ran downstairs. "You bastard!" he laughed and chased after me. I ran to the little room just off my kitchen, where I had a washing machine and tumble drier, locking the door behind me. As he furiously banged on the door and threatened to barge through it, I quickly put my sweats back on. Then I silently unlatched the back door of my house and jogged outside. Shit! I'd forgotten about the window in the kitchen, he saw me through it. He disappeared from the window and I knew he must be using the front door to get outside. In my little back yard, with a small patch off grass, I'd nowhere to hide. Sure enough, he came running around the corner of my house. I was cornered, literally no way out. I held the remote firmly and my hand and braced myself as he came running towards me. He tackled me to the ground and we wrestled for a minute as we struggled against each other. My heartbeat quickened. Not for the first time, I wanted him. There and then.
We struggled for a minute longer, then simultaneously stopped, panting for lack of energy. I was on the bottom and he had my arms pinned to the ground. His face was mere inches from mine. We looked each other in the eye and I wanted more than ever to kiss him. He grinned and swiftly flicked the remote from my hand and grabbed it, laughing as he ran away. I lay there on the ground for a minute panting. I lifted my head up and saw a very noticeable boner through my sweats. How he didn't notice, I'll never know but I was very glad. We were closer than brothers and I would hate to ruin that friendship.
I slipped a hand into my trousers, returned my cock to a less noticeable position and walked back into the house. He grinned manically when I walked into the room. "Never good enough, Ol!" he grinned. My name is Oliver and everyone called me Ollie, except Michael who'd always called me Ol. I never shortened his name though most people we knew called him Mick or Mike.
The second half of the match commenced and we had a few more beers. By the time the match was over, it was fair to say we were tipsy. Our team had lost and Michael was in a depressed mood. "Here, have another beer" I said, holding one out to him. He stood up. "Forget beer! It's time to get something better!" he said, walking into the kitchen. I followed him. He went straight to my drinks cabinet (I know, it's odd to keep drink in the kitchen but I find it handy). He took out vodka, whiskey, WKD, Mickey Finn's, Archers and a whole lot of other shit I had stowed in that cabinet. He then took out a large mixing bowl (a gift from my mother which I never used) and started throwing a bit of everything into it. "Whoa man don't waste my booze!" I said. He grabbed two mugs out of another cabinet and poured out some of the concoction for each of us. He downed his. "Well?" I said, nervously holding the mug. "Not bad!" he said, smacking his lips. I tried it and, admittedly it was kinda nice. We drank the rest of the bowl between us and both felt a bit tired then so we went back into the sitting room and popped out the leg rests on my recliner-couch.
We were both worse for wear. Although fairly drunk, I kept myself (and only barely, at that) from telling him I wanted him. It was always a danger when we drank together. He fell asleep after a few minutes. I stared at him, my eyes slipping in and out of focus. My god, he is hot, I thought. He snored loudly and I grinned. He always maintained he didn't snore. I wonder what his cock is like? I thought. Although we played sports together, I never had the opportunity to see it in the showers because I always left before the showers for fear of popping a woody. I stood up, shakily. I was drunk and knew I'd be hung-over but I was perfectly aware of what I was doing. With Dutch courage egging me own, I knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his leg. No movement. Slowly I eased my fingers under the waistband of his trousers and ever so carefully (for the state I was in) eased them down. He was wearing white boxers which gave a good display of his bulge. Very carefully I eased the boxers down too, not the full way but to about his knees. Suddenly he jerked and I stopped, terrified and my heart beating faster than ever. But he settled back down, he must just have twitched in his sleep. So now I had a perfect view of his cock. It was completely flaccid and, incredibly, just as tanned as the rest of him. He had a nice bush of black pubes, neatly growing around his crotch, and the barely noticeable trail leading down into them. I took out my phone and snapped a few pictures. I was just about to pull his trousers back up when I decided against it and returned to my recliner to sleep.
I woke up a few hours later with a headache. "Ow!" I groaned, holding a hand to my head. Michael woke up at the sound of my voice. "Oh my HEAD" he groaned, growling the last word. He sat up. "Whoa, what the fuck?" he said, looking down at his cock. "What happened?", grabbing his jocks and trousers and quickly pulling them back up. I laughed. "You don't wanna know!" I said, standing up. "I do, tell me! I wake up with my trousers down, what the fuck like?" he said. "Eh... lets just say you were very horny last night!" I grinned. The look of shock on his face was hilarious. I went into the kitchen to get some paracetemol for our headaches and got a shock when he was right behind me when I turned around. He pinned me to the counter and pushed his body close to mine. "I don't think your telling the truth!" he said, smiling maliciously.
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