I was confused, feelings all mixed up and my head totally all over the place. Of course I was pleased. No point pretending I wasn't. You wouldn't buy it, would you, if I tried denying it since I've already admitted I was desperate to get into his pants? I had wanted to get some action going between us and I'd succeeded. He'd cum loads. I'm not apologising. What would you be doing if your best buddy was this good looking, well built guy and you'd never talked about sex, never done anything, and I mean anything, with each other. I'm talking sex stuff. So how am I supposed to feel when we're pressed up against each other, stiffies rubbing on each others stomachs, arms around each other? It was like we'd gone from nought to sixty in a few seconds. One day we don't go in for mentioning pecker and the next we're as good as fucking. Well, OK, not quite. So, then what does he do? He damn near drowns me in jizz! Now how hot is that! The stuff was dripping off me, streaming from my navel down into my pubes. Shit, can you believe it, I'd made him come. In spades. Except, if you think about it, I hadn't. And neither had he - made himself come, I mean. It was like - well, like spontaneous combustion; that's good eh, spontaneous cumming? Look, no hands! I can't pull that one off. Hey, no pun intended. Well, except during the night of course, but I don't think that counts. I mean you hardly need a special talent for cumming so as to have a wet dream, do you? The opposite actually, if you think about it. So, you'll be wondering, what is this wanker on about, all this guffy nonsense about his 'mixed feelings'? Well, imagine you're just about to pull off something really fantastic. Like you're at the arcade with your mates and you're just about to get to your best score ever or get to a level you ain't ever reached before and suddenly, whoosh!! It's 'Game Over'! 'Out of time!' 'Come in number 69, your time is up!' And you'd not even gotten close to sixty-nining. So now you get me? I was not well chuffed. Me, I'd taken precautions to make sure there's be no problems in the early-spunking department. But him? I call it inconsiderate. OK, fair point. I knew where I was headed that morning but I'd not broken the news to Paulo. Well, you can't, can you? Can hardly announce to your mate who, for all you know, is probably a virgin, bring a cum towel buddy 'cause you sure as fuck are going to need it.
So, anyway, back to the story. He's lying on the couch looking seriously off and I'm standing there with a handful of cummy tissue and a pair of very blue balls. The booze, the jigging and the sex had been all too much for Paul. I don't suppose his dad had ever even allowed him as much as a lemonade shandy and I'd been plying him with Buds. I laid him on the couch, cleaned him up as best I could and went off to dump the sticky tissues in the kitchen bin. Next, I grabbed our stuff from the drier. When I got back he was slumped on the couch, looking decidedly pale. "John, I think I should go home ..." There was a slur in his speech. I considered. No way was he going to be able to bicycle home, no way was I going to allow that. I could have walked him home, supporting him if necessary but I didn't fancy the possibility that we might meet someone - one of our mates would be bad, one of our parents' friends would be worse. Much, much worse. I made up my mind. "Come on. Lean on me. Bed for you my boy while you sleep it off." I heard myself. Crissakes, I sounded like my father.
On our way upstairs he decided that he wanted to pee. In the bathroom he stood unsteadily at the toilet bowl, fumbled about with his prick and slumped forward. I got him upright, got his arm back round my shoulder, kind of supported him on my hip. He began to spray piss in all directions. I reached down to guide his hand but he allowed me to take over completely. So, there I am, I've got this nice bit of boy meat in my fist at last and I'm lining him up for a leak. He giggled then hiccupped. I tried to sound a bit jokey, lighten the mood, like. "OK, go ahead, big boy," I said. "Zanx, pal." Don't recall if he meant my expert handling of his equipment or the unintended compliment. He continued to piss. Fuck it, but the pee still went in all directions before I got the aim properly adjusted. Me being cut an' all, I wasn't to know foreskin acts like a bloody spray nozzle. So finally I got the jet well directed and I stood there with my best mate leaning heavily on my shoulder, my hand around his prick and I contemplated the stream of pale yellow fluid flowing from his body. When he was down to a trickle I had myself some fun; I gripped his shaft, eased his foreskin back then forward then back again. Hey, guys, I was really just giving it a really good shake, getting the last droplets off. Just luck I got the bonus of playing around with his foreskin, watching his penis glans wink in and out. Paul didn't seem to notice and he stayed soft as a bunnykin's ear.
I got him into my bedroom, pulled back the duvet and deposited him gently on the bed. He curled, half smiled and closed his eyes. Sitting on the edge of the bed I let my eyes take in his body. He was in good shape even if he didn't work out as much as me. Don't suppose Paul's dad would approve of Gyms or Health Clubs. He'd say there was too much bare flesh, probably. Paul lay there peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a gentle sleep. Leaning over, I ran my hand lightly across his chest, then down over the tautness of his abdomen. I lingered there, enjoying the feel of him. Lifting my hand at last, I touched the curve of his butt, caressed him, his sweet, sweet butt - then from his hip, to thigh, down to his feet. I leaned forward to kiss them, a sort of penance. Kissing feet did not seem to me to be an intrusion, an invasion. They were alabaster white, delicately blue-veined, quite small and fragile in comparison to the rest of his frame. I ran my tongue along the tips of his toes, across the top of his foot. Sweeping over his calf with my mouth I thought I could taste urine that he had sprayed. I ignored it for everything about him tasted good. I lifted my head to gaze at him then leant forward intending to lick his balls... but he moved restlessly on the bed and seemed to sigh. I stopped what I was doing and guiltily pulled the duvet back across his body. I felt like ... I don't know. I'd let him down? Taken advantage? Deliberately gotten him drunk? That sounds lame, real sissy. I admit that I had wanted to make love to him. And I mean exactly that. Not just to jerk him off or shag him or suck on his cock - though I did want to do all that - I wanted ... I wanted it to be him and me, together, with each other, to each other; not me doing things to him. Can't be clearer. So, anyway, I covered him up again.
I went back down to the kitchen and fetched a bucket. Back in my room I placed it at the side of the bed nearest his head. Dad had done that for me once, a few months back, after that time in the park after the swim meet when I had disgraced myself. 'You have disgraced yourself, my boy. Bed for you while you sleep it off.' He'd said that then. As I did this I realised that I felt queasy too, suddenly tired, suddenly a little sick. I was a bit more used to alcohol than Paul but still we had sunk a few and that was now kicking in. I slid into bed beside the sleeping Paul. OK, you can snigger if you like but this was the first straightforward thing I'd done that day; the one time sex wasn't on my mind. Yes, honestly. He was curled up, lying on his side with his back towards me. I cooried up, moulded myself around his sleeping form and gently eased my arms around his waist. With the smell of his hair in my nostrils I felt happy. I lay there thinking. I started worrying about when he woke up. What the hell would he make of it, coming to with a bad head, in a strange bed, half remembering our mad games, finding his best mate curled up beside him? I wasn't sure enough that Paul would get his head round that. I slid out of bed, slipped on my shower-robe and crossed over to the armchair. I cosied into it and again tried to imagine how it would be when Paul awoke. Maybe we could grab something to eat and then who knows? I imagined he might say that since his balls had already had a good milking, could he oblige by emptying mine? I imagined him gripping my boner, giving it a good inspection before setting to work on it. I began to doze ...
I dreamed. A wish fulfilment dream ... like they tell you about in psychology class. That's what should have happened. Instead it was a nightmare...
... Paul drunk and naked, lolling on a bed, my bed. A bunch of guys gather round; I can't make out who they are and yet I know them. They move quickly around the bed, back and forth, spinning like on a merry-go-round. A leering Paul jack-knives upward from the bed, thrusts his hips into the air. Improbably, his engorged penis points straight towards the sky. It is impossibly large. The milling stops and hands stretch out and one after the other the boys around the bed grab at his penis, pull on it roughly, pass it to the next man. Others reach out to grip his balls, stroke them, then squeeze to cause him pain. I am on the fringe of this seething mass; I cannot draw close; it is as if I am tethered at a distance. I try to cry out but I have no voice. I still cannot make out who these boys are. And then the group seems to part and in the space that opens up I see that it is Ben who has stepped forward, who has grasped Paul by the cock and who is now yanking it viciously, pulling it from this side to that. He toys with the foreskin drawing it back and forth along Paul's cockhead. Paul opens his mouth wide and, no longer leering, lets go a long and silent scream. I see that scream but I hear nothing. And then he comes, in great fountains of jizz, torrent after torrent, thrusting upward from the bed, thick silver ropes of cum, and still Ben pulls and tugs at that sweet cock, tearing it to right and left...
I stirred uneasily. Half awake, half asleep, I struggled to remember what was truth and what was dream... I felt drenched in sweat. My right arm was trapped under my body and felt like a dead weight. I looked across the room and he was sitting up in bed leaning on his elbow. He grinned across the room at me. "Does that thing of yours ever go down?" he asked. I realized I was tenting quite spectacularly. Covering myself with the robe I grinned back, a big relief coming over me for he seemed quite chirpy. "Watch it, dude. Or I'll be over there to check the state yours is in."