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Your Turn

 

By Chris Carr

 

August, 2013

 

 

 

 

 

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!”

“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?

“You?”

“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 first.”

“You the guest, nigga. You should be first.”

“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?” Brice charged.

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.

“Your turn,” He croaked, eyes never wavering.

 

 

 

Rodney and Brice are longtime friends with a burgeoning secret.

 

 

 

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 actions mean?

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 nipple.

“What you waitin’ for?” The silence engulfing them again, they listened to each other’s excited breathing.

“Nigga get up.”

You get up.” A moment passing, Brice complained,

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“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 covers.

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. 

 

 

How far will they push it?

 

 

 

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. 

 

 

 

And how far will it go?

 

 

 

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, Rodney blasted,

“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 growth.

“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 this.

“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!”

An exciting 'cumming of age' story, there's no telling how far the boys will go. Highly competitive the duo challenge themselves into places unknown, even as they constantly question their actions. Who's first and how far will they go?  

Stay tuned for this sizzling hot story, cumming soon! 


 

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