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One on One

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By Jack DeFacto I know this is going to sound like something out of Dear Abby, but I never thought I would be writing one of these. I’m a normal guy, twenty-two years old and a college senior at a big university in California. Up until this past Thursday night I would have said I was as straight as they come, but now I’m not so sure. Thursday started off normally enough. I have class from eight until noon, a solid stack of upper division Chem courses that pretty much destroy my brain for the rest of the day. After lunch I meet up with my best friend Greg for some one-on-one basketball down in the gym. While neither of us is good enough to make the team we play hard and fast, and an hour of that is enough to drain the stress right out of me. We were showering afterward when Greg started telling me about this porn video he’d just gotten. He swore that the girl was a dead ringer for a freshman that we’d both been panting after all semester. The girl was dynamite—blonde hair, blue eyes, big tits and the longest legs you’ll see outside of a racehorse—but apparently also as frigid as they come. So imagine his surprise, Greg told me with a grin, when who is there in front of him last night, getting a double penetration, but little Miss Kelley Anne? I hadn’t been laid in almost two weeks, and the thought of the virtuous Kelley Anne taking two the hard way was enough to get my interest up, so to speak. Normally I consider watching porn a solo experience (unless I can talk whatever girl I’m banging at the moment to join me, anyway), but when Greg offered to show me this particular DVD I jumped at the chance. It was late afternoon by the time we got to his apartment, beer and take-out pizza in hand. A beer a piece helped the first slices of pizza go down and then Greg put the DVD in and sat down beside me on his well-worn couch. It wasn’t Kelley Anne, but the resemblance was remarkable. The girl had the same shy, innocent expression as our girl, her big blue eyes telling you she’d never even kissed a boy before. Of course I knew it couldn’t be true—for the porn actress, at least—but damn, did she make you believe it. I drank a second beer while the not-quite Kelley was “persuaded” to first suck and then fuck her college boyfriend and then his roommate. By the time the science wonk from next door had appeared to join in the fun I had a mild buzz on and a massive hardon that was threatening to split my sweatpants right up the middle. I kept shifting on the couch, finally putting one of the couch’s matching little pillows on my lap to hide my excitement. This, I thought, was why I never watched porn with another guy. What was I supposed to do with my throbbing cock now? The movie ended and I started to get up, wondering how I’d hide my erection long enough to make it to the bathroom where I could whack off in privacy. The silence was interrupted by a soft whirring sound as Greg’s DVD player automatically slid to the next disc in the machine. Another porn movie started up and Greg wordlessly handed me another beer. The movie was one of my favorites (young—very young--Asian girl and four well-hung sailors, if you really want to know) and I sat back down, a little light-headed. I don’t know if it was the beer, or if I was more stressed from class than normal, but within five minutes I was totally wrapped up in the show. By the time the black guy was bending her over and sliding his ten inches up her tiny asshole I was lost, the pillow forgotten. I was sipping the last of my beer, trying to make it last, when I felt a hand on my cock. It had gotten dark outside, and we hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights, but of course I knew who it was. The idea floored me—I knew Greg to be as big of a pussy-chaser as I was. Hell, I’d played wingman for the guy on more than a dozen occasions, to be treated to a blow-by-blow (so to speak) account of the action the following day. Now the same hand that had finger-fucked his first girlfriend when they were both thirteen was sliding up and down my shaft, the palm pressing with knowing firmness against my throbbing cock, only the thin material of my sweat pants and boxers between us. I opened my mouth to say something and then snapped it shut. What the hell was I supposed to say? Knock it off, I don’t like that? My cock was growing even harder, if that was possible, under his hand. I don’t swing that way? Neither did he. Or did he? Unsure of what to say that wouldn’t sever our friendship, my gaze went back to the screen. There my Japanese doll was deep throating a guy with a dick as thick around as my wrist. “How the hell does she do that,” Greg asked conversationally. Was I drunk, I wondered? He sounded so damn normal, like he wasn’t rubbing my dick. “Practice,” I replied. “Lots and lots of practice.” “Take it, baby,” he whispered. At the same time Greg’s hand gripped my cock and began to stroke it firmly though my baggy sweats. My hips twitched forward and I arched back against the cushions, my eyes closing. I could hear the girl moaning as two of the sailors took her at once. A third, I knew, was just waiting for the right moment to make the little whore airtight. Her moan became a hum as a cock slid into that delicate mouth and I moaned as well. Greg’s hand disappeared from my cock at the sound and I cursed to myself even as relief swept over me. We’d been moving toward something, I didn’t know what, and I wasn’t sure it was anyplace we needed to go. Now at least we could—my thoughts froze as I felt his hand on my bare stomach where my t-shirt had ridden up. Greg’s hand slid beneath my sweats and shorts and gripped my erect member firmly in his right hand. My cock twitched in his unexpected grip, a sure sign that my climax wasn’t far off. Did he know that? A few quick pumps would have finished me off right there. Instead, Greg’s hand began moving with almost painful slowness on my dick, his grip tight nearly to the point of pain. From my slick red head down the entire length of my rigid shaft to my balls his hand rose and fell. No hand but my own had ever gotten it that right before. Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was just that I hadn’t gotten any pussy in a couple of weeks. I still don’t know why I just closed by eyes again and leaned back on the couch, listening to a slender Japanese girl get fucked while my best friend stroked my raging hardon. My eyes resolutely closed, I could hear the zipper of Greg’s jeans go down as he freed his own cock from his pants, and after that his own breathing grew as rough and hoarse as my own. There was no way I could reach out and take him in hand, but I listened avidly as he began making little moans while he pleasured us, both of his hands stroking in the same maddeningly slow rhythm. When I could hear that the climax of the movie was coming I opened my eyes, staring only at the screen as the first of the four sailors ejaculated onto the girl’s wide-eyed face. As the first spatterings of semen rained down on her Greg’s rhythm quickened. My hips arched up, silently begging him for release, my hands tight fists at my sides. Greg complied, his hand on my erection moving with increasing speed as we both moaned in excitement, our wordless pleasure now louder than the cries of the men and girl on the TV screen in front of us. I gave up watching the movie and closed my eyes, letting the pleasure of Greg’s amazing hand job wash over me. Now his hand was jerking quickly over my cock, drawing me closer and closer to the moment I so desperately needed. “Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh, oh—“ Greg’s caress on my dick became erratic as his own climax rocked his body. I felt the couch jerk with the force of his spasms as he came. I could just imagine his cum spurting from his cock and coating his hand, making both slick with his spent pleasure. The image burned itself into my brain as without warning I exploded into orgasm. The sensation was more intense than anything I’ve ever felt. Not even losing my virginity at fourteen could compare to the waves of almost agonizing pleasure that roared through me as I spurted wave after wave of cum onto Greg’s still-pumping fist. He kept on stroking and I kept on cumming for what felt like forever, my cries very loud in his small apartment. Whet at last the waves of pleasure began to subside I collapsed back onto the couch, spent, unable to look at my friend. It wasn’t until I was completely flaccid that Greg stopped caressing me and withdrew his hand, which now glistened with my cum. We sat there in silence for a few minutes as the credits and inevitable promos for other movies appeared on the screen. When the DVD at last clicked off Greg got up without a word. A moment later I heard water running in the bathroom, and by the time he returned I had myself safely tucked away, my clothing neatly rearranged. We talked about nothing in particular for several minutes and then I headed out. By the time I got back to my dorm room I was trying to convince myself that it hadn’t happened. That worked for a while—it must have been the booze, I told myself firmly, nothing like that would ever really happen—but by the time I’d washed up and gotten into bed I couldn’t pretend any longer. My cock was a rising tent in my blankets, and all I could think about—all I’ve been able to think about ever since—was how good Greg’s hand had felt. What would his cock feel like in my hand, I wondered? I jerked off that night and have every night since, not wanting to wake my uptight dorm mate but unable to keep the hunger at bay. I bite my pillow as I come, wondering if I’ll ever feel that intense pleasure again. It’s only after I climax that the worry and guilt set in. Am I gay? Bi? God knows I don’t want to be. Tomorrow is Thursday. Time for our weekly game of one on one. I’ve got a pair of new porn videos in my backpack. Will I have the courage to suggest we watch them together, alone on the dark? I wish I knew. END

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