I raised my hands in a “truer words, man” gesture.
He went on. “So she’s hot and heavy into it and out of the blue—she puts her finger up my ass. And don’t you fucking laugh!” he said, laughing. “I don’t know how you do it. It felt… weird…”
“Good weird or bad weird?”
“Weird.”
“Go on.”
“So yeah. I grab her hand and just ask her what the hell she’s doing. She heard some guys like it. I told her some girls like having a dick balls-deep in their ass but I don’t pretend to slip out of her fuckin’ pussy and go to town on her other hole. Then guess what she says? Just guess.”
“I give up.”
“‘I’m not strictly opposed to that,’ she says. Can you believe it? So I tell her to prove it. And she’s drunk enough to do it. I’ll spare you the details, but the lady, she didn’t like it. She said it hurt, so I stopped. And now, today, she’s been remembering it. I told her I was sorry, that it would probably hurt. It’s new, y’know? Not used to being plowed. And halfway through a hand job she breaks it to me. She wants out. She says I took advantage of her and she wants out. We’re done.”
By now he was finished with his beer. At least he put the empty can in the sink instead of tossing it behind him. He was pacing.
“So,” I said. “Blue balls.”
“Blue motherfuckin’ balls, man. Dammit.” He grabbed his crotch. “I need to go finish this.”
“Hey, if you need a hand. Or a mouth…” I half-joked.
He unzipped his pants and laughed. “Meet me in the shower in five.”
“Har har. Have fun with yourself.”
He blew me a kiss and went down the hall. I heard his sopping jeans plop to the floor. My OCD kicked in and I all of a sudden wanted the floor clear. His jacket had already made a puddle on the floor by the table.
My self-pleasure could wait.
I saved my English paper and stood; stretched. I finished the last dregs of some tepid tea and picked up the jacket. I kicked his shoes to the door and went into the kitchenette. The ground-floor apartment was the bare minimum. We had a door that came into the living area. There was a sofa, the computer chair and desk, a secondhand beanbag chair I was convinced was infested with bedbugs, and a table. The table straddled the living area and the kitchenette, which was just a couple of feet of counter space with a stove at one end, a fridge at the other and a sink in the middle. Then a little hallway went to two small bedrooms, with a cellar door on the right and a bathroom on the left.
I followed the trail of footsteps to the hall, picking up Tyler’s shirt along the way. I came to his pants, then his socks. Right outside the bathroom door was his underwear. Kelly green with white trim. It was oddly cute. The hamper was next to the bathroom door and I tossed the whole outfit in, except for the underwear. I held it in my hand, staring at it, realizing I was hard. That was when I got the shiver. I had a sudden urge to bury my face in the underwear, to learn Tyler’s scent, but I thought that was a bit too creepy. It was a step too far. We were friends. I didn’t want to fuck that up. Him letting me sniff his underwear, that would be fine, but me sneaking a whiff, that was a violation.
I tossed the crumpled bit of green into the hamper and looked up. The bathroom door was open a crack. Not enough to see anything, but I did hear a low smacking sound—the distinct sound of masturbation. I blushed (how lame! I freaking blushed!) and went into my room. I considered waiting until he was done to take my turn in the shower and take care of myself. But I had been waiting what seemed like forever, so I lay down and jerked off. I fell asleep telling myself to remember to do laundry.
The next day, I did in fact remember the laundry. Tyler called while I was waiting for the washer to end its cycle.
“Hey, man, I’m at the store. Anything we need?”
I was feeling tired and still horny from the night before. The filter from my brain to my mouth wasn’t working right then, so I told him, “Just condoms and lube.”
There was a moment of silence and he said, “Adding it to the list.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. “Anything else?”
“That should do it.”
“M’kay. See you.”
“See you.”
I hung up and smiled. The buzzer announced that it was time to dry the clothes. I tried to hide my hard-on as I got up.
The sky was starting to open up and pour as I got back to the apartment. I went in and dumped the clothes on the table. I was sorting when the door opened and Tyler came in, soaking wet and carrying a couple of grocery bags. He was in a white tank top and shiny silver basketball shorts.
“Don’t even think about sniffing my undies, you perv.”
I looked up at him, then back at the clothes in my hand. Those damn green underwear. I dropped them.
“You wish. And they’re clean, anyway.”
He smirked and came over to the table and set the bags down.
“Fuck this weather. At least I missed the rain this time.”
He plopped on the sofa and raised his arms, stretching. I avoided looking at the tufts of hair in his pits. He was glistening. I turned to the grocery bags. “What are you talking about? You’re soaking wet.”
“Oh, this,” he said, lifting his shirttail to wipe his face. “I was jogging.”
“Jogging. In this weather?”
“Exercise is almost like sex, and I gotta get my sexual frustration out somehow. Still recovering from blue balls.”
I paused. He was saying his usual flirty things, but the edge of sarcasm was missing. He was just chatting. Casually, quietly. Almost a whisper. I reached into the first bag and heard the plastic rattle. I was shaking.
“So. How is single life treating you?”
“Not bad, man. I stopped shaving. She hated body hair. So now I’m getting all scruffy. I hear it’s in.”
“Scruff is hot, just don’t let your chest hair get to braiding length.”
He laughed, low and quiet, almost a growl. I calmly took out a tub of peanut butter. A loaf of bread. Some cheese. A bag of Ramen noodles.
“You know,” Tyler went on, “she even had me shave my pubes. Can you believe it? I let it go for the past couple weeks. I’m getting a bush.”
I came to the bottom of the bag and went on to the next one. Tyler stood and went to the fridge. I heard the freezer open. I pulled a bottle out of the second bag and almost dropped it. It was lube.
“Dude, Tyler. You couldn’t even spring for the real stuff? This is generic.” I dumped the rest of the bag out: a couple more packages of Ramen and a box of condoms. Tyler hadn’t said anything, so I turned around.
He was in front of the sink. He had an ice cube in his hand and was rubbing it over his forehead, down his cheek to his neck. His eyes were closed. I stared at the dark brown nipples standing at attention under his wet tank top. I looked back at his face and his eyes were open. He was watching me watching him. That knowing smile came over his face. He pulled the armhole on the tank top out and exposed a nipple. He rubbed the ice cube over the nipple and sighed, closing his eyes again.
I laughed, halfheartedly, and joked, “I noticed you didn’t get extra-large condoms. I guess you’ve been lying about your enormous cock.”
He looked at me again and said, dead serious, “Come on over and find out.”
Bam. Another shiver. This time it started at my scalp and went down my spine. At the same time a warm pulse radiated out of my gut and into my chest and crotch. My knees were shaking. I knew this feeling. This was the feeling I had the first time I was naked with another guy, alone. This was the feeling I got when I knew I was about to have a good time. All I heard was my heart pounding; all I felt was my face flushing.