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By Chris Carr
Today was Brice’s turn and he was
nervous as a mouse in a room full of cats. His mouth had written a check his ass
couldn’t cash (literally) and now his time was up. True, his boy Rodney had
owned up to his side of the bargain, taking his lumps when it was his turn but
that didn’t ease his anxiety. This
was the big one! He’d never be the same after this.
Staring up at the ceiling, he lay on his
back (he’d requested this position). His breathing ragged, his dick wagged
above his taut tummy, harder than stone, a pearl drop of clearness building atop
the head. The quiet deafening, sounds seemed amplified. His
thundering heartbeat, Rodney’s excited breathing… he even heard cars passing
by in front of the house. Smells too, his nose sensing the tension in the air as
Rodney moved over him, his boy scent hovering. His skin sensitive, every motion
of the bed evoked a sensation, causing his dick to bobble, his balls to pull
tighter. Then he felt Rodney slip a lubed hand up his dick and he shuddered, his
toes curling a soft sigh escaping him.
Opening his eyes, he looked up at his
buddy, his childhood friend, his confidant and their eyes met. Blinking, Brice
stared into his eyes, his own eyes bucking as Rodney pushed, breaching his
well-lubed orifice. Before he knew it, the swollen head of Rodney’s dick had
popped his cherry, lodging just inside him. Gasping, he arched his back, his
hand instinctively pushing against Rodney’s chest, halting his advance.
“Wait!” Frozen in place, they stared
at each other as Brice rode the waves of pain. His backside on fire, he wondered
if he’d made the wrong decision. Not just today but several weeks ago when
they’d crossed that line…
Rodney knew and he supposed Brice did
too. It’d always been there, the tension…taut, just beneath the surface.
From the nights spent huddled together on his small bed to the hot afternoons
wrestling, it was there, a foregone conclusion, long before they could admit it.
And although it was always there, no one wanted to be first.
How it started neither knew but if pressed, Rodney thought it might’ve started with Brice’s sleepovers. His home environment turbulent, many were the night Rodney woke to find him on the floor. Actually, he first discovered Brice on the floor when he tripped over him. Jumping up to run for the bathroom he wasn’t aware the boy had climbed in the window earlier. In the dark he stumbled over him, banging his head on the wall. Surprised, he stared at Brice’s form, his urgent need to pee finally ripping him away.
Eventually he became accustomed to the
boy’s presence, deftly stepping over him in the night. Almost a permanent
fixture around Rodney’s house, even his mother accepted his frequent visits.
“Brice staying for dinner?” She’d
ask opening her purse to leave money for a pizza as she headed out the door.
Working evenings at the county hospital, she was marginally comfortable leaving
one teenager home alone, let alone two. Rodney’d protested enough, asserting
that they were old enough to take care of themselves. “Besides, we need
anything, we can always call,” He promised.
For the most part her fears were
unfounded, the boys fairly trustworthy. Rarely venturing out, they quietly
lounged their evenings away in front of the TV or online. And boys being boys,
there was roughhousing, which lead to wrestling, a favorite pastime.
Tossing and giggling, they were the
surrogate brothers they’d never had. “Nigga let go!”
“Say uncle and I will!”
Often taking Rodney’s wiry frame for granted, Brice would find himself entwined, the boys frolicking like two bear cubs. Shorter, with a sinewy build, Brice loved sparring with his friend their wrestling a wholesome way for them to blow off steam.
Following a couple of weeks stepping
over Brice, Rodney suggested he sleep in the bed.
“That an invitation?” Brice
chuckled. Not missing a beat Rodney replied,
“Nigga, you know that’s been your fantasy.”
“Nigga in yo dreams!”
“Oh, so you been dreaming about me?”
Between the wrestling and cramped
quarters of Rodney’s bed the tension built, bumping against the surface,
looking for ways out.
“Whoa, nigga, that a rocket in yo
shorts or are you just happy to see me?!”
“You wanna see? I know you been
wanting to. Wanna see it?”
The taunting and contact, proximity and
exposure. When the challenge came, it wasn’t shocking...
On the morning in question they’d
awoke with the usual hard-ons, both of them racing for the bathroom, stumbling
over each other at the door as they jockeyed for entry. Dicks wagging, they
scuffled, risking a near accident until finally Brice tripped inside, slamming
the door behind him.
Dancing around until he finished, Rodney
darted past him as soon as he exited, yanking his boxers down moments before an
arc of piss bounded from his hardness. When he finished, he was a bit surprised
to see Brice had crawled back in bed, breaking with their tradition of morning
piss then breakfast. A lazy Sunday morning there wasn’t any rush but still, he
found it odd.
Crawling under the covers, he lay there,
the TV droning on, his thoughts wandering. What
were they doing and why weren’t they getting breakfast? Time passing, they
lay there, respirations heavy. Finally Brice spoke, his voice almost startling.
“You hard?” Actually it was just
above a whisper. Glancing at his longtime friend Rodney blinked. The question
was odd, almost as odd as Brice getting back in bed. Where was this going?
“I asked you first.” Stumped, Rodney
felt his face heat up. A mischievous grin edging across his face, Brice shifted
slightly beneath the covers. “You ain’t even gotta tell me.” He knew and
Rodney knew. His heart pounding in his chest, Rodney looked away.
Moments passed, the only sound the
constant chatter of the TV. Mouth dry, he couldn’t bear looking back, his
heart in his throat. This was his nigga, his ace, his homey from way back and
there was a line that, once crossed, couldn’t be uncrossed.
“You first.” His ears burning now,
Rodney studied the ceiling. Was Brice saying what he thought?
“Me first?” Nodding, Brice gazed at
him, his face impassive. “And what about you?”
“I got that.”
“But why me first?”
“Your house… means you’re
“You the guest, nigga. You should be
“Com’on nigga, quit stallin’.” A
smirk creeping around the corners of his mouth, Rodney looked away.
“We all in then?”
“All in or all out. Which one?”
Staring at his buddy, Rodney slowly
lowered the covers, his eyes never leaving Brice’s. Exposed to the cooler room
air, his dick bobbled, jutting upward, conveniently finding its way out the
opening in his boxers. Nervous, his heart pounded while his palms sweated, his
fingers trembling. Mouth dry, his swallow was audible.
Days passed, neither of them
acknowledging what’d happened. Going about their days as normal as possible,
they’d even retreated to far sides of the bed at night. His thoughts whirring,
Rodney had no answer for Brice’s actions, only questions. Why’d he get
back in bed? Why’d he asked the question? And, most importantly, what did his
The questions nagging, the days rolled
by, he and Brice apparently avoiding the subject. They’d walked close to the
edge and retreated, slamming the door behind them. Then they woke up next to
each other. Entwined actually, Brice’s head nearly under Rodney’s arm while
their legs wrapped around each other. Wrapped body to body, the heat was like a
furnace, warming their fronts, prodding their mutual morning erections.
How they’d entangled like that they
had no idea, but somehow, during the night, they’d found each other,
subconsciously doing what they couldn’t consciously do. Those first few
moments they lay entangled, sleep gradually wearing off, consciousness slowly
replacing it. Awareness seeping in, no one moved...
Once again the nagging question became,
what were they doing? Like the last time they were breaking with tradition.
Instead of bounding out the bed and racing for the bathroom they were still
laying there, frozen like store mannequins, save their retracted pelvises.
“What you waitin’ for?” Brice’s
voice almost startling in the previous silence, Rodney was at a loss. They still
weren’t looking at each other and Brice’s head was still near his left
waitin’ for?” The silence engulfing them again, they listened to each
other’s excited breathing.
“Nigga get up.”
get up.” A moment passing, Brice complained,
“Because…” A subtle movement
beneath the covers signaling him, Rodney’s post writhed in response. Brice’s
dick had just thumped against his leg. Damn, my nigga’s hard as fuck! But they
were always hard, especially in the mornings.
His heartbeat echoing in his ears,
Rodney’s dick involuntarily flexed, bumping against, he was certain, Brice’s
hard fence post.
“You first this time,” He whispered,
his voice ragged. A long silence passing, Rodney thought Brice would renege on
their previous agreement until, so subtly he didn’t notice it at first,
coolness from the other side of the bed swept over the furnace beneath the
Excited beyond all means, Rodney
couldn’t process why. Just knew this was so wrong, it was super-hot! And
wasn’t it the forbidden things that always brought the most satisfaction?
Stolen candy was always way better than bought. And a stolen kiss in an empty
Sunday school class was ten times better than the whole hog with a slut!
Craning his neck to look down he’d never seen anything so utterly wrong, yet incredibly exciting. This time Brice had lowered his boxers, pinning them beneath his taut balls. Thrumming to the beat of his excited heart, his dick was harder than steal. Like a steal pipe it writhed and flexed, the skin so tight it was almost smooth. The skin on the head pulled taut, light reflected off its shiny surface.
Outside the room they went about their
lives as if nothing’d happened. Neither mentioned it or even referenced
anything remote to it. It was as if
it hadn’t happened. Still, contact in the bed continued, the duo waking more
frequently to entwined bodies and wicked hard-ons. Clinging to each other like
forlorn lovers, they were often surprised at how tangled they’d be.
Brice’s home still tempestuous, it was as if fate was throwing them together. Awaking to find their bodies twisted together they’d quickly retreat, the moment awkward but nothing became of it. Their nights steamy, the impasse may have never broken had that video not showed up on Rodney’s phone.
All of a sudden Brice was all over him.
Huffing in his ear, he spoke in husky tones.
“Lemme get this and we cool,” He
huffed, scooting his eager inches across Rodney’s vulnerable hole. Incensed,
“Nigga, you best to get off me!” Sex
crazed, Brice wrapped his arms around his buddy’s shoulders.
“Com’on nigga, you owe me.”
“You crazy!” Undeterred, Brice’s
dick leaked between Rodney’s cheeks. Getting close to the fire igniting
something wicked, he had no explanation for his actions. All he knew was,
Rodney’s ass felt good against his hot pipe and he wanted some. Out of his sex
crazed mind, he hastily posited,
“Ok, you first.”
Craning to look over his shoulder,
Rodney’s face was a huge question mark. Just
like that they’d leaped the gorge? Was this how niggas become gay?
Confused, he stared at his friend, his warm groove sensing the boy’s anxious
“We good?” Brice prompted, snuggling
against his friend. “I’ll be easy. Like the first time with Janae.”
“Nigga, I ain’t Janae!” Nuzzling
his neck, Brice couldn’t believe he was entreating his longtime friend like
“I know, I know. Figure of speech,”
He corrected. Uneasy, Rodney stalled,
“Why I always gotta be first?”
“Yo’ house,” Brice mocked, sliding
his leaking pipe up the boy’s groove. A gauntlet of emotions rushing to the
surface, Rodney struggled with his rationale. There’d never been something
that was so wrong but so wickedly right between them. The idea he’d get
Brice’s luscious ass in return intriguing, he found himself considering it.
“You always say that.” It was a weak
argument but he had his pride.
“Com’on nigga,” Brice pleaded, his
dick feening for some Rodney ass.
“Me first?” Rodney reiterated.
“Yeah, you first.”
Excited beyond all reason, Brice started
pushing. Prying Rodney’s poor hole asunder, he’d almost popped the head in
before Rodney could scream.
“Wait nigga!!” His asshole afire,
Rodney glared at the boy. “Thought you said you’d be easy!”