[ 1 ]
He throws me into the couch, then climbs atop me like a horse, straddling my chest and gripping my shirt tight.
It’s finally going to happen.
He tells me he wants to have his way with me, his eyes greedy and black, all his dark hair tousled from our bout of wrestling on the floor where he almost tore my sleeve. Not that it matters, as I suspect my clothes won’t be on for much longer at this rate.
I tell him I’ve always been his to do with as he pleases. He laughs in my face and, just when I think he’s going to kiss me, he reaches down, slips his hand into my jeans and grabs a mighty handful of my manhood. I gasp, my lips parting, and an evil look of triumph takes his face.
This is mine, he tells me in a word or two. This is mine until I’m done with you, Benny. You got that? Your cock belongs to me.
Between stolen breaths, I tell him to do whatever he wants with it. My roommate of two years and best buddy of seven, I tell Trent I’m so fucking horny for him I feel sick.
Or maybe it’s his vice grip on my balls that’s inspiring the nausea. You’re goddamned right, he whispers, then clasps my hair into his other hand and pulls my head back onto the couch. One hand gripping my junk, the other my hair, I’m in his complete control.
Just where I’ve always wanted to be for years. Ever since grade school when he started dating girls and I felt the stab of jealousy every time he brought one around. Ever since we enrolled at (and dropped out of) the same college and our parents called us “inseparable” and my sister rolled her eyes and said we had a bromance. Yeah, a bromance, a romance, every kind of mance, whatever kind, I want it all. Trent and his messy hair and his piercing eyes and his slender sculpted swimmer’s body and his skinny jeans and his lip ring and about a hundred other things I could list about him.
I’m not sure how it happens, but suddenly his lips are an inch from mine. He smells so clean. He calls me something—horny fuck, dipshit, my bitch, boy toy, I don’t quite hear him—and then he lets go of my hair and starts to unzip himself. Through the tattered skinny jeans, I see the outline of Trent’s cock. Yes, it’s big, I’ve seen it many times, though not in this context. And it is raging.
I can’t believe this is happening. All these years … why hasn’t this happened yet? Why didn’t I know that my own best friend …?
Fuck face, I hear him say, though I don’t see his mouth move. Those full lips and that lip ring and that look in his eyes … Kiss me, Trent. Stop being such a tease, please, and put those lips on me. Let me feel those lips, please. Don’t make me beg.
Then he sits up and I get a front row seat to his pants opening. He’s going commando today and his cock, throbbing and veiny, pops out and stares me in the face.
Little Trent: not so little at all.
He asks me if I want to suck it. Even with the courtesy of a question, I know I don’t really have a choice. Not that I want or need one. I want that cock so far down my throat I gag. Please, please, please. Please let me have that cock. I open my mouth, ready, my tongue ready to receive, my hungry eyes watching.
You want it? The evil grin that spreads across his face makes my cock pulse. It’s strange how he’s let go of my balls, yet I feel like he’s still got them squeezed with his long, mighty fingers. I want it so bad.
My mouth is open. Please, please, please.
All the times our hands would graze when we both reached into the chip bag. All the video games we’d play—how even the boyish competitiveness between us would somehow seem so sexual. All the times we’d borrow each other’s clothes, even though I’m bulkier and his clothes fit hilariously tight on me.
Trent brings his hands up behind his head, all cocky-like, and just with his hips he thrusts himself at my mouth.
His cock slides in like a friend who’s come home. My tongue, the welcome mat. I feel his weight on my chest as his thighs squeeze, pushing his cock in, deeper and deeper.
I moan, feeling his cock in my mouth, twisting my head and sucking. I hear him laugh, as if my horniness amuses him. There is something about the taste of his cock that intrigues me—something musky, masculine, sweaty. The scent and the taste reel me in, making my heart drum with excitement. I’m consumed by him. I’m engulfed in everything Trent, from his smell to his taste to his weight on my body.
“How’s that taste, dumb fuck?”
I open my eyes.
“Tasty?” asks Trent again, and he’s not straddling me. He was never straddling me. I was dreaming. His pants are zipped up and there’s no cock in mouth.
I try to speak, find my mouth is stuffed. I reach up and pull out a sock—Trent’s sock.
“What the fuck?” I say, half a laugh and half a repulsed choke bleating out of me.
“You were moaning and shit, I felt left out,” answers Trent, amused. “What the fuck did you dream you had in your mouth? My cock?” He laughs, then adds: “Need a trip to the spank bank, Benny?”
I look down my body and realize I’m tenting in my sweat pants. My face flushes red, but I fight the humiliation and say back, “Yeah, alright, wanna tell me how long you were lookin’ down at my boner like that, fag?”
He snorts. “I’m out. Catch you after work, bitch.” Then he struts to the door.
I watch him as he leaves, how his ass and his tiny waist move in those skinny jeans and how his broad shoulders give him that athletic triangular shape. I’m breathing heavily as though my dream were real, watching hungrily as Trent shuts the door behind him.
But my dream will never be real. He doesn’t know I’m into him. I’m just his best friend who’s only dated two girls in my life. Trent will always be the straight roomie I can never have. I will always be the desperately lonely dude everyone thinks is straight, the man’s man, the dude with the bulky football build who’s never played a day of football in his life. It’s only in my longing mind that these desires are fulfilled. If only it weren’t for the agony of waking up …
His sock still in my grasp, I cram it back in my mouth and slip a hand down my sweat pants. My eyes rocking back, I start jerking off and struggling frenziedly to return to my place on the couch, to the engorged cock on my tongue, to the weight of Trent atop me with his smart fingers and evil plans.