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Subject: Closer than Ever, Chapter 9 Closer than Ever by RJ This story is about the love been a father and his son and contains sexual activity between the two of them. If such themes offend you, do not read. If you have any questions or comments about this piece, want to know about any of my other works, or just want to reach out, please don’t hesitate to email me. A list of my works, including links and descriptions, can be found here: https://bit.ly/2S5IYDI. If you would like to be added to a mailing list for this story (or all stories) and receive emails about any updates, let me know. Please also consider donating to Nifty if you fty/donate.html ~ Chapter 9 (Son’s POV) ~ This summer has been one for the books. Usually I’m not doing much of anything: some reading, hanging out with friends, occasionally going to the beach. Basically just lounging around and killing time until school rolls around again. This summer, though, it seems I’ve made the most of my time-off, especially with this internship. Working under Dr. Michalski’s tutelage has been incredible. He’s somewhat of a genius underneath that cold shell of his, so there’s a lot to learn from him and (under his wing) excel at something I didn’t think I’d be good at. Even the research itself is interesting. I start to feel that “meaningfulness” Dad speaks about once I do diagnostics on real patients. Seems I’ve really taken for granted how much work goes into doing anything in the medical field. Living with my dad has been the best part of this whole situation, though. We’ve settled into a bit of a routine. I wake up earlier than he does (aside from when he’s called in for emergencies), so I always make sure I have the coffee machine started for him. If we have time when he gets up, he thanks me for the coffee and gets right down to whipping up breakfast for both of us. I always handle the dishes. Then we take our shifts at the hospital. Typically I’m home alone for a while when I get back, and most of the time, I try to have some sort of dinner ready for him when he returns. He’s always grateful, and we eat and chat about our days before relaxing in front of a movie, or playing a board game, or (my favorite) having sex until we decide to hit the hay. It’s a comfortable flow that we’ve established. And then, to top it off, Brett finally returns. I haven’t had any contact with him in a little over a month, ever since he left (save for a few messages through Facebook when he could access a computer), so it’s a surprise seeing his name pop up on my screen after he sends me a text. I gasp slightly, picking my phone up and reading it: “Guess who’s back babyyyyyy?” “Brett’s back!” I say, quickly typing back a response. Dad turns his attention away from the movie we’re watching to look at me. “He just got back?” “Yeah, I think so,” I say, and just as I finish speaking, Brett confirms that he just got in. Then he hits me with another round of texts, asking if I’m home and then telling me I should come over. “Brett wants me to swing by.” “Right now?” Dad asks, checking his watch. “Isn’t it kinda late?” “I guess.” But I still want to see him. A whole month has gone by without any real contact, let alone physical. I need a hug from my best friend. “Can I go?” I ask, turning to Dad. He looks at me with an amused smile. “Why do you need my permission?” “I don’t. I just need your car.” I finally got my license just a few days ago. Passed on the first try, no thanks to Dad’s exceptional lessons. But I still need to save up if I want a car of my own. “Oh, right,” he says with a laugh. He strokes his chin as he considers it. “MY car, though?” “Pleeease?” I beg. “I haven’t seen him in so long.” He sighs. “Fine. You can borrow my car.” I grin, positively giddy. “But no smoking. Or any of that. Understand me?” I almost chuckle at hearing him get all stern and fatherly with me for a moment. “Yes sir.” I tell Brett that I’m at my dad’s and will be over within the hour. He tries to say that I don’t have to come all this way but it’s too late. I’ve made my decision to come now. I don’t mind the drive, either. I’m still on that “Just got my license!!!” high so I’ve been driving constantly. Any time Dad needs something from the store, I perk up at the chance to get behind the wheel. He says it’ll wear off soon once the “triviality” of driving becomes apparent, but for now, I’m going to enjoy it. When I arrive at Brett’s, I let myself in (as his mom always tells me to do) and call out for anyone. Doesn’t sound like anyone’s downstairs, so I head straight up the staircase to Brett’s room. I knock on his bedroom door and then poke my head in, smiling when Brett turns his head curiously towards me. His mouth splits into a wide grin. “Damn, you got here fast.” “I rushed,” I tease, stepping into his bedroom. And before I know it, we pulling each other into a tight embrace. It feels so good to hug him. I guess I didn’t realize just how much I missed him until this moment. “Welcome home.” “Good to be back,” he says, giving me a tighter squeeze before pulling back. His face looks a little flushed from how tightly we were hugging (as does mine, I’m sure), but he has a bright smile on his face. “And good to see you haven’t changed,” he says with a laugh, looking me up and down. I roll my eyes. “It’s been a month, not five years,” I say. “Felt like it, though,” he says before running his fingers through his hair. “What the fuck have you been up to? I wanna hear things.” “Forget me,” I say, moving to the bed and sitting down. “I wanna hear all about this trip. So spill.” He grins and starts to talk as he slowly unpacks things, telling me all about his escape to Peru. For the most part, he was in Cop’s parents’ village, so it was “a drastic change of pace, let me tell you.” But they also did plenty of things that money gave them the opportunity to do. Zip-lining. Paragliding. Plenty of surfing and just lounging at the beach. And, his favorite part, Machu Picchu. Thankfully he took plenty of pictures on his camera, and we spend about a half-hour going through them all. I’m incredibly jealous, but I’m so happy that he got to experience this. “So what about you, man?” he asks me after I’ve pestered him enough about his trip. “What’s new with you?” “Well…” I bite my lip as I reach into my pocket to pull my wallet out and show him my license. “Check it.” “Whaaat?!” he says, snatching the card out of my hand and laughing. “You finally got it!” “AND my passport,” I say with a happy smile. “I’m so proud.” He chuckles as he looks at the picture. “You look like you’re both eight-years-old and seventy-two.” I grab the card back from him and tuck it back into my wallet while he laughs. “Fuck you. Yours isn’t any better.” “Yeah, I should’ve cut my hair before I got my picture taken,” he says. In his, he looks like a raggedy mess since the DMV wouldn’t let him wear his hat for the picture. “Well, congratulations, anyway.” “Thanks,” I say, smiling. “I still want to go on that road trip with you, by the way.” “Yeah?” He grins a bit. “Well, good, because I planned the whole thing out already.” “Huh?” I watch Brett as he hops off his bed and rummages through one of his bags. He pulls out an old map that he scribbled (quite messily) all over, picking out routes and stops of interest. I wonder how much time he put into this whole thing. Or how he even went about it. It’s not like he had a stable internet connection most of his trip. “I was bored and wanted something to look forward to,” he says as I scan the map. I look at him skeptically. “You were bored in Peru?” “It was a whole month, man,” he says. “I was getting homesick.” “Is that your way of saying you missed me?” I say with a grin. He pushes me over and I fall back on his bed with a laugh. “I’m gonna ignore that comment,” he says, smiling and taking the map from me before I can really look at it. “When do you wanna go?” “I can’t leave until my internship’s done,” I tell him. “Still have like threeish weeks left.” “We’ll do it right after, then,” he says, folding up the map carefully. “I don’t have any more plans this summer anyway.” “Not working at Holly’s?” He usually works at the local burger shack by the town reservoir. He shakes his head. “They’re closed this year. Family issues or something,” he says in a low voice, as if it’s a secret. I make a face, but he doesn’t seem bothered. “I won’t miss it, to be honest,” he says with a laugh as he heads back over to his bag and puts the map back where he found it. “But the money would’ve been nice.” Then he turns to me. “Wanna stay over?” I wish. “I brought my dad’s car.” “So ask him if you can stay.” He argues with me about it for a moment before I give in, pulling out my phone to call my dad. When Dad picks up, I specifically make sure I emphasize the fact that Brett is “begging” me to stay over (to which he throws a pillow at me), and I ask Dad if I can keep the car for the night. For some reason he chuckles before saying “That’s fine. Just bring it back before eleven.” I can do that. Brett and I never sleep in that late, so I agree to his terms and tell him I love him. Right before I hang up, Dad shouts “Use a condom!” and I feel my face get warm when I glance at Brett, who’s grabbing some clothes for me to sleep in. Bastard. Thank God Brett didn’t hear that. “Shorts or sweatpants?” he asks me, holding up one in each hand. “Um. Shorts,” I say. His sweatpants are just a bit too tight around my waist. He tosses me his shorts as I stand up and start to strip down to my underwear, pulling on Brett’s cozy athletic shorts. I try not to watch Brett undress, but I can’t help it. He looks tanner — probably on account of that Peruvian sun. And maybe even a little more fit? His core looks particularly good, his arms just a bit more filled out. Maybe he worked out while he was “bored” in a foreign country. Brett pulls on the sweatpants I denied and, for a moment, he notices me looking at him. I quickly turn my head away, though, fussing with the shorts I came over in and pretending like I care that they are neatly folded before I put them on his dresser. “Wanna watch a movie or something?” he asks. I smile. “Yeah, sure.” So we both climb into his bed — him shirtless still, and me in shorts and a t-shirt, lying casually close while we put on something random from Netflix. Even though he hates it, I talk through the movie — but he lets me (and often engages me) because I’m at least talking about the movie and not something irrelevant. Halfway through the movie, while I’m in the middle of speculating how it’ll end, Brett shifts, sliding closer to me before he drapes his arm over me. I bite my lip but slide back a bit so that we’re spooning comfortably. We offers his input casually, countering my opinion with one of his own as we relax into each other. I end with “We’ll see” before smiling as we settle comfortably. This isn’t new, either, this physical contact. We’ve cuddled a million times before, but somehow, this time, it feels… different? Closer? More intimate? I’m not sure. I just lie there, wondering if he feels it too. “It says we’ll be there in like, twenty minutes.” “Thank God,” he says, and I hear the exhaustion in his voice. Which is fair. We’ve been driving for nine hours without stopping much. We decided to skip out on most of the points of interest Brett had planned out since half of them don’t exist anymore. His map was a bit too old. Even some of the routes have changed over the years. “Check if there are any restaurants around that area,” Brett says, his voice muffled since he’s chewing on a handful of almonds without a hint of etiquette. I grin. “As you stuff your face with nuts.” “Fuck off,” he mumbles with a laugh. “I’m starving.” “Well, my phone is dead,” I remind him. “So use mine.” He points to his phone propped up on the dashboard, which we’re using for navigation to the Falls. I unhook it from its holder and pull up Google Chrome to look up any cheap options that’ll be in the Niagara area. But of course, the last thing that Brett had opened on Chrome pops up: porn. I laugh at the keywords he punched into the search bar on Pornhub. “‘James Deen’?” I question, looking over at him. “You specifically looked up James Deen?” “What?” he says, looking at me innocently. “He has good vids.” One thing escort kocaeli I love about Brett is that he’s somewhat shameless about these things. And I don’t really care if he was scoping out a porn site for a specific male performer, but I still like to tease him. “I thought I was the gay one,” I mutter. “Shut up and look up some restaurants,” he says with a grin, focusing on the road. “Yeah yeah,” I say, pulling up a new tab on Google. “What are you in the mood for? Italian sausage?” “I think he’s Jewish,” he says with a laugh. I snort. “I’ll find something kosher, then,” I tease, which gets another chuckle out of him. As I’m looking up restaurants, Brett speaks up. “Hey, so, we didn’t really talk about the whole gay thing yet,” he says. I look over at him. This is the first time we’ve really addressed this. Between the time I came out to him and the time he left for Peru, it was never discussed. “Do you want to talk about it?” “Do YOU?” he asks, glancing at me quickly before shifting lanes. “I mean, I don’t really know what to say,” I admit. What is there to talk about, really? I’m gay. The end. “Well, have you done anything yet?” I tense up. Done anything? Oh, I’ve done plenty, Brett. “To… what? Confirm?” I ask, going for the lighthearted approach. “Well yeah, basically,” he says, taking it more seriously. “You never know until you know, you know?” I laugh at his phrasing. “I guess.” There’s a pause before he speaks up again. “So have you?” I bite my lip. Should I lie to him and say no? That I’m still as pure as they come? If I say yes, he might ask questions — such as “Who?!” But maybe I can leave that bit out, because I don’t necessarily want to be dishonest with him. “I might have,” I say vaguely. “No shit?” he says, laughing and looking at me. “So, what, someone finally popped your cherry?” “What do you mean, ‘finally’?” I say with an amused grin. “Also, ew.” I hate that expression. “It’s just about time, man,” he says. “I’ve been dying for you to, how you say, ‘join the club’,” he says in a terrible French accent. “I’m glad you’ve been so concerned about my dick getting wet,” I say. “Because I care so much about your dick,” he says with a grin. Then he looks inquisitive. “Who was it with?” he asks. “Anyone I know?” “Can’t tell you,” I say simply. But now he just looks even more intrigued. “So it IS someone I know.” “Can’t tell you,” I repeat. “You’re really not gonna tell me?” “Is it that important to you?” He opens his mouth but then second-guesses himself. “I guess you’re right,” he says, shrugging and letting it go. “Well, if you don’t wanna tell me, you don’t have to. But congrats!” He pats my thigh with a laugh. I just smile and thank him, though I wonder how he’d react if he knew exactly how it went down. Who it went down with. How many times it has gone down. That’s far too much information that I’m willing to share with anyone. And I think Dad would appreciate that as well. The rest of our day goes by without a hitch. We both get hefty meals at a diner just ten minutes from the Falls, each of us scarfing down our breakfast foods while the waitress (who Brett so smoothly charms) charges my phone behind the counter for me. After leaving her a hearty tip, we head straight for the Falls. And what a sight it is. To me, it has always looked generic in photos. But in person, it’s a marvel. Or maybe it’s just the mood that I’m in and the person I’m with. Brett’s energy is infectious, and he’s smiling so broadly as we walk around that I can’t do anything else but share in his joy. My favorite spot is the observation tower, though. That’s a breathtaking perspective. Brett can be pensive at times, but I’ve never seen him so silent and so contemplative as he stares off at the Falls from this high vantage point. I wonder what he’s thinking about. He seems transfixed for well over a minute, almost like he’s meditating with his eyes open, and he only snaps out of his trance after he hears the shutter of his camera — I just took a picture of him. He turns to me and smiles before snatching the camera to take pictures of the both of us with the view in the background — and in one of them, he even kisses my cheek. It starts to get dark after a while, though, so our goal is to find a place to crash for the night and then make the long journey home in the morning or afternoon. The first motel we try is fully booked. The second one almost doesn’t let us rent out a room since we’re both underage, but the lady feels bad that we’re so far from home that she lets us stay (especially since Brett slides cash across the counter). I also think she took somewhat of a liking to us since she was wearing a pride flag pin on her shirt and probably thought we were a couple or something. So she gives us the key to Room 49 with a smile and we thank her profusely before grabbing our bags and heading to our room. It’s stuffy, but it seems clean enough at least, which is what I was worried about the most. As I set my bag down, Brett immediately collapses on the one bed with a heavy sigh, letting his bag hit the floor. “God, I’m exhausted,” he says with a moan. I laugh. “You should’ve let me drive a bit.” “‘You should’ve let me drive,'” he mocks before I kick his leg. He winces but laughs. “Maybe tomorrow.” I smile at him, watching him rest with his eyes closed. “Are you gonna fall asleep?” “I might,” he says, chuckling. “Nah, I’m awake, I’m awake.” He sits up and stretches a bit, yawning slightly. “No, go ahead and sleep if you want,” I tell him. “I think I’m gonna shower.” I start pulling out a spare t-shirt, fresh socks, and a change of underwear from my bag. “Alrighty,” he says, looking around all confused. “I’ll be here.” I chuckle a bit before heading into the bathroom. It’s a little dingy, but not horrible, and the water is piping hot, so I can take a nice, long shower to thoroughly wash the day off of me. What a good day. First time we’ve really gone this far on our own before, and we got to do it with each other. I’m a little sad that this trip is ending so soon, though. Maybe we can budget the rest of our money and tack on something extra on our way back home tomorrow. As long as it’s not expensive. Both of us still need to save up plenty of money for that mysterious thing called “the future.” When I hop out of the shower and put on my underwear, shirt, and socks (no way I’m walking around barefoot here), I find Brett smoking. He’s in his underwear and a t-shirt, mostly blowing smoke out of the back window. He smiles when he sees me. “Dude, this stuff your dad gave us is the shit,” he says, breathing out. I laugh. “He has his connections,” I say, stuffing my clothes from today back into my bag. “Want a hit?” he asks, offering me a toke. But I shake my head. “I’m good.” If we’re sleeping together, I’ll be fine for the night. I don’t really care for smoking otherwise. He pouts a bit. “Well, I don’t wanna get high if you’re not gonna get high.” “That’s never stopped you before,” I say, watching as he puts out the joint. “Yeah, but this is our trip,” he says, and he places the joint in a sealed bottle where he keeps his weed. “We gotta be on the same wavelength.” I roll my eyes but smile. “Whatever, man,” I say, climbing under the covers. It’s not a particularly comfortable bed, but after all that traveling, it’s practically a godsend. I let out a happy groan, and Brett teases me about the noise I just made before he heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth. I let myself relax a bit until he comes back and slides into bed with me. “Can I shut this off?” he asks, pointing to the lamp. “Yeah.” He flicks the switch and puts us in semi-darkness, the fluorescence outside streaming through the blinds. He gets comfortable under the blanket and then sighs heavily, resting on his back. I hear him smack his lips a couple times before I can only hear our breathing and the occasional rustle of a leg moving under the blanket. I’m both so exhausted and so wired. It’s somewhat annoying, to be torn between the desire to sleep and the urge to stay awake and talk. But I start replaying our trip in my head: the long car ride up, where we blasted music and sang along to middle-school classics; the delicious French toast I devoured at that diner; the breathtaking view from the top of the observation tower… I open my eyes and focus on Brett. “You awake?” I ask. “Mhm,” he responds lowly. “Can I ask you something?” Now he opens his eyes and turns his head towards me. “What’s up?” “What were you thinking about at the top of the tower?” He looks confused. “What do you mean?” “I don’t know. You seemed both lost and focused or something.” He smiles slightly. “I was just taking it all in, man,” he says. “Sometimes you need a moment to really appreciate everything.” “Hm,” I say in response. Sounds like him, always taking a moment to “soak it all in.” Sometimes he sounds a bit like a hippie with all his talk of “the collective” and “the flow of the universe,” but that seemed simple enough for me to understand. “Thanks for doing this with me,” he says. I smile. “Yeah, of course.” “I know you don’t really care about the Falls, but… I wouldn’t wanna come here with anyone else.” I feel somewhat bad for making fun of him for wanting to visit Niagara Falls so badly, but I’m glad I did this, too. And his words are so sweet that I just smile to myself. But I can’t help but wonder, is that all he means? He really knows how to make me feel special, sometimes. But how special am I? After a minute of quiet, I break the silence with a question I’ve been dying to ask since he returned from Peru: “Do you still think about me?” His eyes shift towards mine, hold for a moment, and then drift away. Then he sighs through his nose. “Yeah,” he says softly, and my heart skips a beat before he looks at me again. “What about you?” I shrug, using a joking sort of tone. “It’s… how did you put it? ‘Crossed my mind’?” He smiles, seeing that I’m trying to keep this topic light. “Funny.” “It really has, though,” I say more seriously. He ponders something for a second. “But it’s different for you.” “How?” “You’re gay.” “So?” “What does that make me?” he asks. “I thought I was straight for so long and now I’m thinking about my best friend more than ever?” More than ever? How often is that, exactly? “Am I bi now?” “I don’t think it’s a big deal, Brett,” I say. He scoffs. “Seriously?” “If there’s anything I’ve learned about dealing with my sexuality, it’s that it doesn’t really matter.” He stares at me for a moment as if contemplating it, taking in what I said. Then: “Have you told anyone else besides me?” “Just my dad,” I say. Still don’t know how my mom will take it. “Oh. Well, he’s more understanding than most.” “You were pretty understanding too.” “I guess so,” he says, looking back up towards the ceiling. “I thought about what you told me a lot while I was in Peru, you know,” he starts to say. “Being separated was so… strange. I don’t know how to describe it.” “It sucked,” I say simply. He laughs. “Yeah, it sucked,” he agrees. “But I mean, like…” He pauses for a moment, leaving me to wonder where he’s going with this. Then he just sighs. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say,” he finally says. “I just think about it a lot.” What does he mean? Which part of our conversation is he referring to? “When you say ‘it’, you mean–?” “Us,” he says. I bite my lip. “Before or after the kiss?” I ask. “Both?” he says questionably, glancing at me. “More so after, though. I mean, at first, I just thought it would be fun. Chicks do it all the time, and I really didn’t think it’d be weird with us, you know?” “Sure,” I say. “But then, after it happened, and then after you came out, and then after I went to Peru…” I wait for him to finish his sentence. Yes? What, Brett? What are you trying to say? But he doesn’t say anything. “Do you regret kissing me?” I ask. “No,” he says immediately. Then he looks at me again. “I kind of regret not doing it sooner, though.” I don’t know what he’s getting at, but it’s making me both excited and nervous. I need clarity. Then, he laughs, saying “I damn near kissed you that night I got back.” “Really?” “Yeah. It was like a weird impulse or something.” He chews on his bottom lip slightly before asking “Would you have stopped me?” My breath kocaeli anal yapan escort almost gets caught in my throat, but I manage to say “No.” Even now, I wouldn’t stop him. I’m this close to initiating something myself. And that’s when I get an idea… My heart starts racing at the thought of what I’m about to suggest, but Brett makes it so easy to be around him. To want him. It’s the same issue I had with my father. I guess the more time I spend with Brett, the more I want to explore things just a little bit further… And he has said himself that it would be fun. “We could mess around a bit,” I tell him before adding “If you want.” He stares at me, unmoving aside from his lips, which shift into a half-grin. “Yeah?” “Could see if you’re actually into it,” I say. “‘Confirm’.” He laughs at my joke before pausing for a moment. Then he shifts onto his side, facing me. “You won’t think it’s weird?” “Unless your dick is shaped like a spiral, no.” He chuckles. “More like a zig-zag.” I shrug. “Zig-zags, I can deal with,” I say, smirking. He laughs. “Well okay then.” I smile softly at him as we look at each other, daring the other to make the first move. Turns out it’s him. He slides a little closer, and I shift forward more until our knees bump into each other. Then, Brett’s eyes shift to my lips before both of us slowly lean in. Closer and closer until finally, we’re kissing. It’s not like how I remember it. The first time we kissed, I think I was caught so off-guard that I couldn’t really take in the feeling of Brett’s lips against mine. But now that we’ve both leaned in with purpose, the sensation is different. It feels fuller, somehow, this kiss. Now I notice all the things that come with it: lips, breath, how close our bodies are, the way our noses nudge when we shift, the little wet noises each separation makes. And even as I melt into it, I’m full of questions. Should I touch him? Should I wait for him to take the next step? He could recoil at any moment, but… he wants this. Whatever that means for him, he’s thought about it enough to really want this, so I decide to be bold and bring my hand down to his crotch. I lightly grope him through his boxers, and upon that first bit of contact, he grunts against my lips before laughing. “Something funny?” I ask, smirking. “You,” he teases before leaning back in for more kisses. This time, I get some tongue. Light intrusions before I start sliding my tongue back against his. My grip with my hand gets a little more insistent, and I feel him breathe out a little more heavily through his nose. Is he getting hard? I think he is. His dick feels like it’s becoming more of a presence. But then he distracts me by touching me back. I feel his fingers tentatively reach towards my groin and nudge my bulge with his fingers. Well, not my bulge — my tent. Because, apparently, I’m rock hard already. He brushes against it a couple of times before stroking it with his fingertips, and I let out a little moan, realizing how incredibly horny I am right now. I don’t think he means to tease me. I think he’s just exploring curiously. And then, all of a sudden, he moves his hand right into my underwear. He slides it up the leg of my boxers and quickly wraps his fingers around my boner, gripping tight. He breaks the kiss. “Whoa,” he says, looking down between us a bit. Not that he can see anything with this blanket over us. “What?” “Nothing,” he says. “Just… crazy.” He smiles a bit. “Feels so different from mine.” “Does it?” I ask, wondering if he means just the sensation of holding another dick or if we’re noticeably different sizes. Curious, I try to reach in through the fly of his boxers — until I realize there’s a fucking button in the way. “Seriously?” I ask. Brett laughs, sensing me struggle. “Here,” he says, and then he starts pulling his underwear off. I follow suit, too, around with him as we both strip out of our boxers. Once naked from the waist down, Brett slides a little closer to me and grabs my cock. I do the same to him, reaching over to grip his (surprisingly) hard cock and stroke him slowly. I enjoy feeling out his hardness and letting my fingers wander over each inch of him. It feels exploratory, the way he’s touching me, but it feels good, and I let out a soft “Ahh” whenever he gives my dick a firm squeeze. Wanting to feel all of him, I reach further down and cup his balls with my palm, testing the weight. “Damn, dude, your balls are huge,” I say. They feel like low-hangers too. He laughs. “Probably just ’cause I haven’t gotten off in like a week.” “Jesus,” I say, giving his balls a gentle squeeze. “Why so long?” He just shrugs. “Haven’t been in the mood to… you know,” he says. “When’d you last get off?” I snort. “Before we left this morning,” I say, moving my hand back to his cock to resume stroking as he works mine. He lets out a louder laugh. “Nice,” he says. I feel his thumb nudge against the underside of the head, and I let out a little moan before he asks if he can see it. “It?” “Your dick.” “Oh.” I laugh. “Um. Yeah.” He pulls the blanket off of us and kneels beside me, lightly holding his cock in a loose fist. I’m about to sit up and join him when he just reaches over and grips my dick, tilting it at various angles as if inspecting it. So I do the same to him from the position I’m in: lying down comfortably on the bed. I replace his hand with mine, letting myself take in the sight of his cock. Whereas I noticed a lot of similarities with me and Dad, Brett and I seem pretty different, though I can’t exactly tell why. Maybe it’s the shape of the heads that aren’t the same? Or maybe it’s the proportion of his balls to his cock? Mine don’t hang nearly as much as his do. Or maybe he’s just more well-endowed than I am. “I think yours is bigger,” I say, giving his cock a little shake. “What?” he asks. “No way.” Then, to confirm, he straddles me, pressing our dicks together. I swallow as I feel our balls rest against each other while he holds our cocks up with both hands. He adjusts himself to compare base-to-tip length, and sure enough, he’s bigger — but not as big as I thought he looked. “Not by much,” he says. Maybe half an inch, or less. “I think your big ass balls are throwing me off,” I tell him, letting him stroke us both. He just laughs, but he seems focused on our dicks, stroking one in each hand, side by side. I look up at him, licking my lips slightly as I wonder… “I can, like… blow you if you want me to,” I suggest, feeling my heart race. That gets his attention quick. His eyes snap up to mine and he looks at me with a half-grin. “Really?” “Sure,” I say, playing it off as no big deal. “You don’t mind?” So he wants it. “No.” I smile a little. “C’mere.” I pat the spot beside my head. He grins and then laughs softly before he hops off of my lap and shifts over to the side of my head, holding his cock the whole time. I lick my lips slightly as I shift partially onto my side to reach over, grab his member, and bring my lips around it. Brett immediately swears, moaning softly as I take him a little deeper — but I don’t pull out all the stops yet. I focus on the basics first: lots of tongue around the head and smooth bobbing motions. I glance up at him once and notice that he’s staring down at me intently, biting his lip as I pleasure him with my mouth. After I give his balls a tug, I notice something: how differently he tastes compared to Dad. Something about his precum is much different, maybe. Possibly less sweet, but still, it’s an undiscernible flavor. I’ll have to categorize it as “Brett.” I try to impress him a little bit by taking him deeper. Into my throat. As far as I can go down. I open my mouth a little wider and sink lower, lower, lower, until my nose is nestled into his trimmed pubes. I grunt a bit, muffled by the head of his cock, before I grip his ass to hold myself in place. Brett lets out a half-laugh half-moan, stroking my hair once before I pull back slowly and gasp lightly for breath. Fuck. I’m proud of myself for handling that. Thanks for all the lessons, Dad! “That was kinda awesome, dude,” he says, pushing his hips forward and nudging the head of his cock against my nose. “Stop,” I say, laughing as I playfully swat at his cock. He chuckles a bit before giving his cock a tug and then glancing between my legs. “Can I try yours?” he asks me. I arch my eyebrow. “I mean… if you want to,” I say, both caught off-guard and unsurprised. “Tight,” he says, which makes me laugh. Until he bends down and gobbles up my cock, that is. I inhale sharply, trying not to moan too loudly as Brett mimics my earlier movements and bobs up and down slowly. He takes it pretty slow. Sometimes he stops altogether to focus his tongue a bit more. I know what’s probably going through his head: finding a proper rhythm between lips and tongue. It requires both focus and the willingness to let yourself do what comes naturally. Quickly, though, I think he’s getting the hang of it, making my toes curl a little as he takes me in an inch at a time and often pulls off to lick or suck on the sides. He tilts his head to the side, my cock poking his inner cheek. Then, mouth full of cock, he glances up at me before he starts laughing, letting my dick fall from his lips. “What?” I ask. “This is so weird,” he says, chuckling. “We can stop,” I tell him, thinking he’s uncomfortable or something. But nope. He’s not uncomfortable. “Nah, fuck that,” he says, picking my cock up again. “Just don’t look at me with those judgmental eyes of yours.” “I’m not–” But I’m cut short as he takes me back into his mouth. “Okay,” I say softly, licking my lips as he keeps a good grip on my cock and slowly slobbers over me. I turn my head towards his lower half and get the idea when I see his cock dangling from his groin. Perfect moment for a good old-fashioned 69. I reach over and tug on his cock, and as I start to shift onto my side, he quickly realizes what I want to do. He pulls off my dick for a moment as we shift into position, both of us getting between each other’s legs, resting on our sides, putting hands on each other’s members. I take him in first, and I hear him breathe out against my cock before he starts to go down on me again too. We both start to get into it more. Teasing each other. Testing each other. Sometimes we’ll move our hips slightly. We start to care less about where our legs end up (like with Brett’s thighs over my head as I suck on his balls). Brett often reaches around and grips my shirt as he tries to take me deeper into his throat, and even though he struggles every time he tries to deep-throat me, he keeps at it. Don’t worry, buddy. That takes practice. But I show him how good he can get. I hold onto his hip as I bob back and forth deeply, fucking my throat on his cock at a faster pace, making loud, obscene (but sort of sexy) noises as I practically choke on his cock. I hear and feel him moan against me, and then, suddenly, he pulls his hips away, his cock sliding abruptly from my mouth. As he grips his cock tight, I feel his lips leave my dick and then he moans out, tensing. “Fuck, dude.” I chuckle. “You okay?” I ask, before I see what he’s doing. “Did you almost cum or something?” “Yeah,” he says, laughing as he holds back his orgasm. “I would’ve fuckin’ nut all in your mouth.” Not that I would have minded in the slightest, but I appreciate that he’s a gentleman. I just reach over and give the head of his cock a little lick and he says “Hey!” before rolling away from me entirely, almost falling off the bed. I laugh as I rest on my back again. “Be nice,” he says. “I WAS being nice,” I tell him, smiling as I reach down to give my hard-on a little tug. “I hate you sometimes,” he mutters, grinning as he climbs back into bed with me. This time, he rests next to me in our original positions: face-to-face. He smiles a little before laughing breathily. “Kinda wish we picked up condoms or something.” I blink. “Why?” Though I know why. “I mean…” He blushes a bit but laughs. “I don’t know. Would you wanna…?” I arch my eyebrow, waiting for him to finish his sentence. I just want to hear him say it. “Wanna what?” “Fuck.” Again, there goes my heart, skipping more beats. “Um. Would YOU want to?” I ask. Does he really want to go all the izmit yabancı escort way in one night? I know Brett. He doesn’t just fuck to fuck. He’s had plenty of hookups with plenty of girls, but he always says something hippie like “coitus is more sacred to me” and doesn’t go beyond oral and hand stuff unless he’s really interested in her. I always tease him for it, but now, in this context, how does that apply? Is it still sacred? “Only if you do,” he says back. I laugh. “It’s not too much for you?” He shrugs. “I mean, obviously I’m enjoying this,” he says, and he reaches down to slap his hard dick against my thigh for emphasis. I grin a bit. Can’t argue with that logic. “I guess we could,” I say. Then I pause. “What did you have in mind?” I ask. “Like… how do you wanna… you know… pick roles?” He looks confused before it dawns on him, and then he laughs. “Right. That’s important.” He scratches his head. “Um. I don’t know. Have you taken it before?” I blush but nod. “Yeah.” “Damn,” he says, looking at me curiously. I see his eyes look down briefly. Is he picturing me getting fucked? “How was it?” “I won’t lie, it’s… a lot,” I tell him. “At least at first. But once you get used to it, it’s kinda fucking great.” “I believe you,” he says with a little nod. “I’ve only done like, fingers before, but that’s always fun.” Fingers? On his own? Now I can’t stop picturing him exploring with a little solitary ass play. “It’s a lot different than fingers, Brett. Trust me.” He laughs. “Well now I’m nervous.” “I’d treat you right,” I say, laughing. He just smiles. “I know you would, Jo.” I lick my lips a bit. Does that mean he’d want to try getting fucked? This is a lot to handle right now. “What happened to all that ‘Fucking is a sacred act’ thing?” I ask. He looks surprised by my question. “I still think it is.” “But you wanna do that with me?” “Yeah.” I swallow thickly, realizing my breathing is getting labored. It’s that feeling of knowing what’s going to happen. The feeling of embracing the inevitable. Brett still thinks sex, penetrative sex, is a more emotional step for him, and the fact that he still wants to take that step with me is… Well, my chest is fluttering. “I don’t mind bottoming,” I tell him. He arches his eyebrow. “You sure?” “Yeah.” It makes more sense, anyway. I have the experience. I’m showered and ready to go. And we have no lube, but it’s gotten to the point where even Dad and I don’t often need lube anymore. A solid rimjob and plenty of spit and I’m good, assuming Brett is okay with prepping me. I know he’s eaten ass before, but those were girls. Though I guess all rules and reservations are thrown out the window when I’m involved. There’s just the issue of protection… which Brett so kindly addresses. “We could… skip the condom this time around,” he says softly. Fuck. The thought of raw-dogging it with Brett is giving me chills. “You sure?” “Yeah,” he says breathily. “I just… really wanna do this with you, Jo.” I try biting back a smile but I can’t resist. “Okay,” I say, nodding a bit, and he smiles back at me before take our shirts off and then shift around a bit. We decide on me getting on my elbows and knees so Brett can position himself behind me. He asks me if I can handle it with just spit, and I tell him I can, but it has to be a lot of spit. Emphasis on “a lot.” Brett, in response, gets down behind me, and I feel his hands spreading my cheeks apart before his thumb grazes my hole. Instinctively (and out of surprise), I pull away, feeling the slightest bit embarrassed. I’m showing Brett my most intimate place. He’s looking right at it, curiously petting it with a couple of fingers before, amazingly, I feel his hot breath near it. For that split second, I mentally prepare myself for his tongue, but nothing can really prepare me for that initial electric sensation. It’s like a shock that shoots up my spine every time, numbing me enough to somewhat get used to the feeling. I moan out in pleasure, and Brett takes that as me asking for more. He sheds his tentativeness and goes in more, holding onto my thighs as his tongue wears me out. I grab onto the stiff pillow in front of me and hug it, lifting my ass up a little more as Brett focuses. He pulls back a few times to spit on my hole, rubbing it in nicely with his fingers. I even feel some saliva drip across my taint, but he quickly laps it up and continues rimming me for who knows how long. All I know is that I’m in heaven. Then Brett pulls away and positions himself behind me. I feel him grip each of my hips and then press his hard-on between my cheeks. He asks me if I’m ready, and I just nod, sitting up on my hands and knees this time and willing my body to relax. Brett spits down onto his cock, working it in lightly before he pushes forward. Relax, Jo, relax. Let him in. You can do this. I close my eyes, trying my best not to squint as the head of Brett’s cock slides into me. I bite my lip harder the further he pushes into me. Thank God he’s not as big as Dad. I’d be dying right now. I try to picture what Brett is seeing. I imagine him looking down, watching his cock sink between my cheeks. I almost wish I could see his face as he enjoys my warmth, my tightness. How do I compare to his girlfriends, I wonder? He’s certainly tender with me, taking his time. Or maybe he’s just trying his best not to cum. I know I had to take it slow the first time I did anal with Dad. “Fuck, Jo,” he moans out when he’s almost all the way in me. “How is it?” I ask. “So fucking–” Then he just moans. I smile slightly. I’m assuming he was going to say “good,” but he just pushes his hips forward, pressing them into my ass as he gets balls-deep inside me. I clutch the sheets tightly, breathing slowly. Then he starts moving. Back and forth. Back and forth. In and out, keeping a sure grip on my hips. As I try to hold back any noises, I can hear the sound of my hole trying to hold onto his dick as he moves. Fucking insane. This is crazy. I can’t believe I’m doing this with Brett right now. He pauses, and I hear him spit down on his cock a bit before resuming. Then, he reaches forward to wrap an arm across my chest and pull me up so my shoulder blades are against his torso. I clutch onto his arm, letting out a few moans as he starts to really find a good rhythm, seeing that I can handle what he’s giving me. Brett leans in and kisses my neck, his other hand moving away from my hip and right to my cock and I’m beside myself. I just let myself moan and enjoy all the sensations he’s giving me. Brett has experience, so I’m not terribly surprised that he knows what he’s doing… But damn, he’s better than I thought he’d be. He’s managing to give me hickeys and jerk me off and fuck me at a steady pace all simultaneously, and without making too much noise. Like it’s easy for him. I just let my mouth hang open as I moan over and over, rocking my ass back into his lap. I’m not gonna last long at this rate. I’m feeling too good, too happy, too stimulated to hold back. So I tell him. “I’m close, Brett,” I say. In response, he pulls me back against him even more so I’m leaning into him a bit. He grinds into me as I both push back against his crotch and thrust up into his fist that’s so perfectly stroking me right now. I feel the orgasm build slowly, heating my body up gradually as if I’m standing out in the sun until finally, I feel that blinding bliss. I clench my eyes shut, tensing and gasping as Brett strokes the cum out of my cock. I feel it splattering up my torso before my dick throbs and oozes the rest of my load down my shaft and between my best friend’s fingers. “Wow,” he says, laughing in my ear as he loosely plays with my cum-covered cock. His hand is the only thing that’s moving right now. “I could feel you cumming. That’s crazy.” “Try being me,” I say, laughing tiredly before I turn my head towards him. He smiles at me gently, and I smile back. I can feel his hard-on between my cheeks. It must have slipped out at some point when I was grinding my way towards high heaven and I didn’t even notice. I reach between us and grab his dick, and his eyes close as soon as I touch him. He moans softly as I stroke him a little before I turn around. It’s his turn now. I spit down on his cock and work the saliva in with my hands, moving a tight fist up and down every inch of his dick. He moans out a little more, slowly shifting so that he’s lying back on his elbows, watching me. I lick my lips before moving down between his legs and, as I jerk him off, I slowly suck, lap at, and kiss his balls. Must be a weak point for him, because he moans steadily, swearing softly under his breath and pushing his hips forward for more. I increase the pace a bit, tightening my grip on the head of his cock every time I slide up to the tip. I hear his noises tense slightly, but I don’t notice he starts to cum until I kiss his inner thigh. I feel his cock throb in my hand and when I look up, the first rope of cum spurts from the head of his dick. He’s moaning now, but I surprise him by quickly taking the head of his cock into my mouth and swallowing his load down. His whole body twitches and lurches in surprise, and I feel him tug on my hair as I milk him dry. When I pull away from between his legs, he collapses on the bed, putting his hands on his face. I laugh slightly. “You okay?” “Yeah, I just need a minute,” he says. I chuckle a bit before bending down again to swipe the line of cum off his stomach with my tongue. Brett looks down at me and makes a face when I swallow. “You like that?” he asks, laughing. “Cum? It’s not bad,” I say, smiling a bit. “Wow,” he says. “I mean, good for you, I guess, but I hate it,” he says with a laugh. I almost start to get hard picturing him tasting his own product. “Mine tastes better than yours though,” I say. “No offense.” “Yeah right,” he says skeptically. I scoop a little with my index finger off my stomach before offering it to him. “Here.” He grins a bit as if asking if I’m fucking with him or not, but he opens his mouth and slides his lips around the digit, sucking the cum off. When he pulls back and licks his lips, he ponders the taste before nodding. “Weird.” “This is where you say ‘You’re right, Jo, yours IS better’,” I say in a pretend version of his voice. He laughs. “Maybe just a little,” he says before smiling at me. We stay like that for a moment: him lying down, me sitting between his legs, both of us just vaguely smiling and staring at each other. No words are exchanged. No weird tension. No awkward movements. Just the simple acceptance and appreciation of what just happened. I know he feels it too, especially since he slowly sits himself up in front of me, puts his hand on the back of my head, and gently kisses me. It’s tender, but he shows me just how deep a simple kiss can get. When I wake in the morning, I’m already thinking about last night. It’s fresh on my brain, everything that happened: the kissing, the touching, the closeness, the moans, the climaxes. The ease and playfulness of it all. My body still feels it too. I scratch my bare chest a bit as I roll onto my back with a sigh and then adjust my cock in my underwear. Well, not my underwear, actually. When I look down, I realize I’m wearing Brett’s. I must have mixed up our boxers in the dark, and the thought, for whatever reason, makes me laugh out loud. Maybe it’s not necessarily that, but more so the fact that I just fucked my best friend. Is this becoming a trend? Can I not get close to the men in my life without eventually sleeping with them? Brett stirs when he hears me chuckling to myself. I look over at his nude form next to me, resting on his stomach. He groans in that tired, just-waking-up way before he lifts his head towards the pillow and turns it towards me. “What?” he asks groggily, his hair a disheveled mess. But I just laugh. It’s not that funny. At all, really. Nothing is particularly humorous right now. But something is causing me to laugh in that joyful, free, happy-go-lucky way. It’s like a response to being tickled. It’s automatic, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I just laugh, and laugh, and laugh. And Brett looks at me with a confused expression before my condition becomes contagious. He smiles, and as soon as he lets out that first little laugh of his, I’m cracking up. I cover my mouth with my hand a bit after I snort, which only causes Brett to laugh even harder. My cheeks are straining to smile to widely, but damn I feel good. Waking up and laughing with Brett about absolutely nothing just feels like the proper way to welcome a new day. A new love.

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