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My Buddy Mike
I never have figured out why Mike insisted on being friends with me.
We didn't have a lot in common, to put it mildly. We both went to a major Southern university, but he was an archetypal Tennessee good ole' boy. I was from New York. He was outgoing, popular, socially graceful. I was an introvert and it took a while to break through my shell. I was never comfortable in crowds. He soon joined one of the top frat houses. I never joined a frat. He liked to party. I liked to read.
But insist on being friends he did after we met in the dorm freshman year. His room was two doors down from mine and he would just drop in unannounced, in his charming way ("OK, put away the books and let's talk about me for awhile"), and start shooting the shit. I enjoyed his company and he was plenty smart, although not bookish like me. He had a great sense of humor and could always make me laugh. We had a couple of classes together and he shamelessly mooched off my work, which was OK with me. He was pretty lousy at math and I more or less tutored him in a subject that I found so simple.
His easy charm was magnetic. As tall as me (about six feet), he had dark blond hair and blue eyes, a trim body, and a dazzling smile. Girls found him quite irresistible and he took full advantage of that fact.
As it was too far for me to go home for Thanksgiving that first year, he invited me to spend the holiday with his family on their farm in West Tennessee. It was quite a farm, several hundred acres of top-quality farm land, and his father owned the John Deere dealership in town. In other words they had plenty of money. His family was very nice and made me feel welcome.
I hated the dormitory with its raucous, towel-snapping culture, and so sophomore year I got an apartment near campus, just a small living room and a kitchen. The kitchen had once been an upstairs porch and as it was big enough, I put the bed in there. Mike was always dropping in to hang out and he often brought a six-pack of beer (which wasn't allowed in the dormitories). Sometimes we'd get pretty sloshed.
One night he started talking about the co-efficient of expansion that he'd been studying in chem class. I'd never taken chemistry, so I barely knew what he was talking about. Then he said, "What's yours?"
"What's my what?" I asked.
"Your co-efficient of expansion."
"Mike, what are you talking about?"
"What's the difference between your dick soft and your dick hard?"
"Isn't that a little bit junior-high-schoolish?"
"Yep, sure is, but let's find out anyway."
Without waiting for me to agree very typical of Mike he just dropped his shorts and boxers and picked a ruler up off my desk. "Three inches soft," he announced. "Now let's get it hard." He began stroking and in no time was hard as a rock. He measured again with the ruler. "Six and a half," he said. "But my dick curves up, we should measure along the curve. You got a tape measure?"
I went and got one from the tool drawer in the kitchen. "Seven and a quarter!" he announced triumphantly. "Beat that, if you can."
I couldn't. I was a six and there was nothing to do about that. Mike had watched me measure, still naked from the waist down, completely comfortable and relaxed. After I'd measured and conceded defeat in the dick contest, he said, "Well since we both got hard-ons, we might as well beat off, right? Let's see who shoots first." As usual, he just assumed I'd go along and started stroking, his legs stretched out from the chair he was sitting in."
I started stroking too, but I had an advantage over Mike in this new contest to see who could cum quickest. I was deep in the closet, but I was totally into guys and dick. I'd already discovered the action in the third-floor library john, where guys went to find cocksuckers and cocksuckers went to find dick to suck. I'd been sucking dick since I was 14 and it was by far my favorite kind of sex.
So sitting across from this hot, self-assured guy as he stroked his beautiful cock, his balls rising and falling with each stroke, it didn't take me long before I shot my load, which arched over my head and partially landed in my hair.
"Whoa, man!" Mike said. "You must have been hot to trot." He started stroking furiously and soon shot his load as well.
I went and got a towel for him, cleaning the cum out of my hair with it first.
"You know," he said, after he'd cleaned up and put his pants back on, "Sex shouldn't be enjoyed alone. It's interpersonal by its nature. I've always liked jerking off with a buddy instead of just doing it alone."
"You get laid plenty," I said, winking at him. "At least you claim to."
"I do," he answered. "I can't help it if girls insist, can I? It wouldn't be gentlemanly to turn them down." He smiled as he said it, but I knew he was mostly telling the truth. I'd seen girls making moon eyes at him often enough. "But still," he continued, sometimes even I swordsman extraordinaire! like to just rip off a piece without all the complications girls always create. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah," I said.
"And anyway, you're the most antisocial guy I know. You never get laid. So beating off IS your sex life, right?"
I didn't dispute the fact or, of course, tell him about my frequent visits to the library john, with its carefully tended glory hole between the two stalls.
"Right," he said. "So if either of us feels like dumping a load, we don't have to feel shy about sharing the moment, right?"
"OK by me," I said, secretly elated at this unexpected turn of events.
From then on, if Mike was horny and he usually was, despite all the pussy he was getting we'd end up side by side on my bed, stroking our dicks and blowing loads.
One night, maybe six months later it was in the spring, maybe a month before the end of school our sophomore year, I'd gone out for a hamburger around ten thirty. On my way back I walked passed the woman's dormitory complex and ran into Mike as he was taking a girl back home from a date.
He greeted me and introduced me to the girl but said he had to get her back before curfew and so couldn't talk; he'd see me later. I didn't think he meant that literally and so when I got home, I just stripped down to my boxers and piled into bed. Within a few minutes, the doorbell rang. I answered it and there was Mike, his dick hanging out of his pants.
Without really thinking about it, I just grabbed it and shook it as though it were his hand. "How do you do, Mr. Cutter?" I asked, using his last name, making a joke of it.
"Doing fine," he said, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Doing fine." He'd obviously had a few beers that evening and was feeling no pain. "You know how I hate jerking off alone, and, man, I'm on fire to dump a load. Join me?"
Naturally I said yes and he headed into the kitchen where the bed was, stripped off his jeans and boxers and lay on the bed, his legs dangling over the side. He was already hard. I sat down beside him, slipped off my boxers and started stroking.
"Hey, buddy, do me a favor?" he asked.
"What?"
"Jerk me off?" he said very low.
"Your hand paralyzed?" I asked, my heart beating fast.
"It's OK," he said, "just buddies helping each other out. It doesn't make you queer or anything to touch a good buddy's dick when he needs some help. And anyway, you've already touched it, right? It's not like you've never had it in your hand."
I knew I was going to do it. I'd been dreaming of his dick for months now, hoping against hope that one night in the library john it would be Mike slipping his dick through the glory hole for me to suck. But I was still in the closet, still playing straight. I was so afraid that if he found out I was a homo, he'd cut me off and our improbable, but very real, friendship would end. I tried to make a joke of it.
"The things I do for you, Mike, I swear. You'll never be able to pay me back for all the favors you owe me."
"Don't worry," he grinned at me. "I'll think of something. Trust me."
I took his dick, rock-hard at this point, in my hand. I could just close my thumb and finger around its beautiful thickness. He was circumcised, which is my favorite kind of dick, and his big balls hung low in their sack between his firm thighs.
He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. "Feels so good," he said quietly as I began to stroke him.
His cock was magic in my hand, so beautiful, so powerful, so utterly desirable. I was in homo heaven being allowed to give a hand job to this handsome, magnetic man off. His balls began to move up towards the base of his cock. He was close.
"I'm cumming, man," he said and then shot a big load that landed on his chest and stomach. He just lay there, his chest heaving a little, my hand still on his dick.
"I'll get a towel," I said, standing up and going to the kitchen end of the room. I was naked and had a raging hard-on as I came back with the paper towel.
"Looks like you enjoyed it too," he said, smiling at me.
"It was cool. As you say, you're my buddy. Buddies help each other out."
"You need me to return the favor, buddy?" he asked.
"Nah," I said, "I'm OK." I thought immediately that I should have said yes, so he wouldn't figure out that I was queer. But I didn't really want Mike to jerk me off. It wouldn't have been right, somehow. Homos help out straight guys, and a straight guy doesn't need to return the favor. He's doing the homo a favor just by sharing his dick with him, letting him touch it.
Mike didn't argue. I think at some level he had figured things out already. He was lousy at math, but he had enormous people skills, able to read others intuitively, see into their souls, so to speak, without their even being aware of it.
He put his jeans back on, said, "thanks, buddy. You're the coolest guy in school. Even if you are a total recluse and antisocial fuck." He grinned at me and headed for the door. As soon as he was gone, I got into bed and jerked off. Within seconds I had a massive climax as I thought about having had Mike's cock in my hand, how it felt as he pumped his cum out onto his handsome chest, how it had left a faint masculine musk on my hand, which I breathed in as though it were perfume, which to me it was. I rolled over and fell asleep almost instantly.
From that point on, of course, every time Mike and I jerked off together, I took care of him and then I'd take care of myself. He never again brought up the subject of returning the favor and neither did I. It just seemed natural to the both of us that that was how it should be. Mike never took advantage of his alpha status, he just took it for granted, like he did his good looks. And, since I'm a cocksucker, serving alphas just comes natural to me.
This is not to say that Mike and I didn't have a normal friendship. We did. He'd invite me to come along with other buddies to go for pizza or whatever. He was always trying to get me to loosen up in a crowd, with limited success. Sometimes he'd just come over so we could watch television together. When we went to visit his parents, we'd go hunting together in season, go out with his old high school buddies, get drunk together.
But there's no denying that his dick was a growing bond between us and I was just so grateful to have access to it.
Then one night he showed up at my apartment late and horny and more than a little high. He'd been at some frat function and had stopped by on his way home to get a hand job from me. I stroked him and, as I had started to do when I jerked him off, I just started looking at his magnificent penis and balls, as though inspecting them, caressing them gently, feeling him up.
"You like my cock, don't you?" he said matter-of-factly.
"It's a nice one for sure," I answered.
"Why don't you get better acquainted with it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Suck it for me?" he asked quietly.
"What makes you think I'm a cocksucker?" I asked, alarm bells going off in my head.
He could sense my panic. "It's OK," he said. "It's OK."
"We're friends no matter what, man. You sucking my cock would make me feel real good. If it would make you feel good too, then let's do it. If it wouldn't, then that's OK. I've just had a feeling for awhile that you might like it as much as I would. The way you like to fondle my dick while you're jerking me off, the way you look at it. There's a look of such longing on your face."
Old Mike, ever the acute observer and reader of other people. I'd tried hard to make him think that my giving him a hand job was just one buddy helping out another. He'd seen through it in a minute. He knew I was homo not hetero. I felt liberated in a way. I now had nothing to hide from him, so I might as well give him what he wanted, as I sure wanted it too.
I'd been playing with his dick as we talked. Now I just bent over and took him into me.
Oh, God, it was such bliss. I could feel the power of his sexuality flowing into me as I sucked him for the first time, his beauty, his alphaness, his masculinity came through his beautiful cock and into me, making me whole. I could have sucked him all night, but after a few minutes, I felt his hand on my head and his body tense up. He erupted, sending a flood of cum down my throat.
We didn't say anything for a few minutes, just lay there while he recovered. He left his penis in my mouth until it was soft and I nursed on it contentedly, needing nothing more.
Finally he said, "OK, gotta get back to the dorm and get some sleep."
"Wait," I said, "I'll get a towel." I went into the bathroom and wet a washcloth and brought it back with a towel. He was just lying there, as always totally unashamed of his nakedness. I washed off his cock and balls and dried them gently. He took the service casually, realizing, I think, that I wanted to serve him in that way because I was now his cocksucker. He had said that he'd figure out a way to pay my back for jerking him off. And he had, he had given me, a total queer, the gift of his manhood and allowed me the privilege of serving him sexually.
Then he got up and got dressed. "Hey, buddy," he said as he headed for the door. "You want to come with us tomorrow night? A couple of frat guys and me are going to check out some new place across town that's supposed to have great ribs and is cheap too."
"Yeah, sure," I said, "If I wouldn't be in the way."
"I wouldn't have asked you if I thought that might be the case, asshole" he said, smiling that dazzling smile of his at me. "You really got to come out of the old shell a little, OK?"
"OK," I said, smiling back at him.
"You were great tonight. Just totally great," he added, as he left, "I'm so happy this happened. Happy for both of us."
He hardly ever mentioned it again. If he wanted to be serviced, He'd just give me that look and reach for his fly. Because of his up-curved dick, which was always flat against his stomach when he was hard, even when he was standing, it was difficult to suck him well from the classic cocksucker position. We soon figured out that if he lay on the bed and I approached his cock from the "two o'clock position," I could take it all in and deep throat him with no problem, his cock all the way down my throat, my nose in his balls. Once we figured it out, that's the way we always did it. He loved how my mouth felt on his dick as I slid slowly down the whole shaft and he entered my throat.
He'd come over for a blow job maybe once a week. If he had any guilt about it, I could never see it. I think for Mike it was just a very superior form of masturbation. And he was helping out a buddy, something he always liked to do, giving me something I needed, his dick.
For me, it was heaven on earth. Here was this big guy on campus. He was vice president of his frat and would certainly be president in his senior year. He sat on the student council and was managing editor of the newspaper. He was famously successful at bedding girls.
And I was his cocksucker. It was to me he turned when he just needed to get off, to have his masculinity worshiped, his penis adored, to have sex be all about him for once. I was only too happy to take care of him. For a bottom homo like me, serving an alpha straight guy like Mike was as good as it ever gets.
By that time I'd hooked up with other students on campus who were into guys too. We'd get together sometimes and have a "homo night" at someone's house, eight or ten guys, naked and having fun. But this was before Stonewall, when to be openly queer was instant social death. We all had to be straight on the outside ninety-nine percent of our lives, however queer we were inside. But on homo nights, for once we could just be ourselves, unashamed of our love for sex with other men, and revel in the pleasures of male flesh.
It would have been a huge feather in my cap to have told them that I was Mike's down-low cocksucker. They would have been insanely jealous. But, of course, I never breathed a word about it. They knew I was his buddy, but none of them even asked if there was something going on. I just don't think they considered the possibility. Not Mike. They did ask if he knew I was queer and I told them we'd never discussed it, that perhaps he didn't want to know. And that was true, as far as it went.
And Mike was always so casual about it. I really don't think he thought much about it. He was nothing if not certain as to his own sexuality. Mine didn't threaten him at all. I was just another way to get sexual pleasure, while he helped a buddy get what he needed at the same time. A win-win. I remember him asking me once after I'd sucked him off if I remembered one of his old high school friends I'd met on one of my visits to his family. I said I did.
"He was my cocksucker in high school," he told me casually. "We had some good times together."
I wasn't surprised that he'd had a cocksucker before.
One night the doorbell rang after I'd gone to bed. It couldn't have been anyone but Mike, probably a little drunk and certainly horny. It was him. I asked how he was.
"Horny," was all he said as he came in. He just went to the kitchen/bedroom and started taking off his clothes, assuming (correctly) that I would service him. He lay down on the bed. He was already hard by that time so I just went to work and got him off in short order.
"You want to jerk off?" he asked after he had cum.
"Nah, it's OK," I said. "I'm happy."
He smiled. "You really like my dick, don't you?"
"Yeah, Mike, I do. As much as you do, I think. I'm so grateful you let me suck it."
"Hah," he said, "my pleasure. But enjoy it, buddy. I love sharing my cock with you, letting you have something you need. That's what friends are for, right?"
I figured that he'd get dressed and go on to his dorm room, but he said, "you want some company? I don't want to walk home." I said sure and he got under the covers of my double bed, buck ass naked. I got into bed also (I was wearing boxers and a T-shirt) and turned out the lights.
"Hey, thanks, man," he said, "I really appreciate your taking care of me when I need to blow a load." With that he rolled over and was asleep in maybe thirty seconds.
That was Mike. I don't know how many straight guys would be comfortable sleeping naked in bed with a guy they knew was queer. But he didn't think about it at all, just piled in and went to sleep without a worry in the world.
For the rest of our time at the university, I was Mike's devoted cocksucker. I must have taken a hundred loads from him, probably more, and loved every one of them. What a privilege it was to serve this wonderful guy sexually and be allowed to share the pleasures of his alpha manhood.
We stayed good friends after graduating. I moved back to New York. He went to work for his father and took over the business when his old man retired. He ended up owning half the John Deere dealerships in West Tennessee. We'd talk on the phone several times a month and when we saw each other, it was like old times. I'd almost always suck him off and it was as good as it had been that first time, back in college. But the sex stopped when he got married. He was not the kind of guy to fool around. He was as good a husband and he was a friend.
He got involved in politics. And with his good looks, infinite charm, and ability to make friends and size up people, he ended up in the governorship. He could have gone farther, but he chose not to, as he didn't want to spend so much time away from his family or from his beloved Tennessee.
We still talk and visit. His kids all call me uncle. I love to go to the farm and just veg out, away from the bustle of New York. I'm always more than welcome.
I've had a good life, a lot of friends, success, no regrets. But of all the things I'm glad happened to me, nothing means more to me than the fact that I'm Mike's oldest, dearest friend, his best buddy.
And, of course, for two wonderful years, I was also his cocksucker.
Making me his cocksucker was, in fact, an act of generosity on his part, typical of this generous, outgoing man. Sure he got pleasured sexually. But I got the immense privilege of serving him sexually. If you're a cocksucker too, you understand exactly what I mean. If you're not, you probably never will understand. But Mike, so intuitive, did. He shared his cock with me so that he could make me whole with the gift of his manhood. It's what every cocksucker needs and it's the most precious gift a straight guy can ever give someone like me.
Check out my other stories under "Prolific Authors."