Curious

by Seth King

  He yawns in his sleep and unfurls his body. I am taken aback again by his long, thick legs, muscular towards his ass and leaner down to his ankles. You can see tendons and muscles moving right under his skin, and damn, he’s so pale up near his ass and dick that you can see his brownish pubes. Oh, those pubes, I could get used to that sight…

  “Hey?” he asks, and I sit up and gasp – he’s awake.

  “Oh,” I say. “Hi.”

  “What are you doing?”

  I swallow my pride and decide to just throw it out there. “Well. I kinda wanted to wake you up with a blow job, as part of the pact, or whatever. Is that cool?”

  “I mean…if you insist…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s just so torturous,” I smile shyly. “I just woke up horny, and – yeah. Get ready.”

  I lean closer, closer, closer…

  “Wait,” he says, making me stop. “Before we, um…let’s make some ground rules.”

  “Rules?”

  “Yeah, just like they do on the football field. No games without guidelines. I don’t want to fuck this up – I said that before, and I really meant it.”

  “Can’t we do that later?” I ask after a moment. “I’m kind of turned on by what’s happening in your dick area right now.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Here, taste it.”

  I can’t believe what I’m doing, but I reach down, get some of his liquid on my finger, and then rub it slowly across his lip. He licks it, then pauses.

  “Wow,” he says, his eyes burning. “Tastes like…salt. And alcohol. Guess we’ve been drinking a little too much…”

  “Now my turn. Okay?”

  He swallows, then nods. “Okay.”

  My tongue gets closer, closer…

  “Oh wait,” he says, “um…one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “The thing is, I only come in my girlfriends’ mouths, or else I can’t get off. I just like how it feels.”

  “Fine, I’ll let you come in mine.”

  “You sure?”

  “It’s whatever,” I shrug. “I get come all over me, all the time, when I jack off. We make the same semen, right? We’re both just guys…”

  He leans back again with his legs open, propped up on his elbows. For a moment I just stare at him – God, I’ve never studied a male body like this, but I love it. I’d bet that any woman would pay money to look at this body right now, but the view is all mine. Combined with his cleft chin and his playful eyes, it’s something anyone would pay to see. I guess there’s a reason he cycles through girls like most people cycle through pairs of underwear, even if he thinks it’s because there’s something wrong with him and everyone dumps him…

  Finally I take his dick in my hand. It’s not giant, but it’s fat, and his balls are much bigger than mine. Shit, I could really get used to these things…

  “You ready, or are we just gonna lay here all day?” he asks.

  “Oh, yep, I guess…”

  I move to his dick and kiss the tip. I have to pause to keep myself from having a surreal, oh-shit-what-is-going-on? moment. This is no more wrong or right than if I were kissing a vagina, and I have to remember that. Best friends notwithstanding…

  Then I lick him from his tip to his balls, and I find that a rush goes over me when I hit the balls. Damn – I really like these things. I take one into my mouth as I start to jack his dick – it tastes sweaty and male and amazing. Maybe I really am fully bisexual? Who knows – right now all I want is to taste his come, and try it out.

  “Touch my nipple,” he says. I do it for a minute, and soon I feel more comfortable. I rub him from his pec down to his abs, which are smooth and hairless and defined, then down to his waist – this is the biggest difference yet in the women I’ve been with, because where a woman’s waist is soft and fleshy, his is harder than a bone. He widens his legs as I run my hand down his leg and feel his bulging calf muscles – I can tell he does a lot of squats…

  Then I just do it – I make full contact with his tip, then take him all the way to the base, meaning I’ve given my first official blow job – and truth be told, I fucking love it. Love it. He’s so thick I have to immediately spit him out, but then I do it again, savoring his salty taste this time. It’s…different, but not in a bad way.

  “Oh fuck…oh fuck,” he breathes, and it is a bit jarring to hear my friend talking like this, I can’t lie. But not jarring enough to stop. “Beau…yes, suck that cock…”

  I take him deep, once, twice, three times. His cock makes a squishy sound against the back of my throat that makes me giggle a few times. I have to remember not to use my teeth, but soon I’ve found a rhythm. I suck him faster, faster, faster…

  He’s going to come quickly – I can tell. He tugs my hair hard one last time and then suddenly he is twitching all over. He groans, goes still, and soon his dick is spurting something down my throat. I can’t believe I am seeing my best friend during his most intimate of all moments – an orgasm – but then again, I can. It just feels…natural, somehow.

  We each just pant for a minute, and I think he’s just as surprised as I am. Then he looks down, still breathing erratically. “Wait, where’s my come?”

  “Oh, I, um…swallowed it.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. Couldn’t help myself. Easy cleanup.”

  “Well…what do I taste like?”

  “Like…bread, and beer, and salt,” I say.

  “Is that bad?”

  “Not really. Just…new.”

  Our eyes lock, and something zaps me down to the core. Then he tears his eyes away and curses.

  “What?” I ask as he takes out his phone.

  “It’s Lane, wonderful Lane, telling us we’re already late for some wedding thing. Guess we’d better get going. Yay!”

  Nathan Sykes

  Before I know it, we’re back on the beach. The games we have to play with the other wedding party members are just as boring and uncomfortable as yesterday’s activities. As soon as the cocktail hour arrives, Beau and I grab some free drinks from the bar and then get out of there. We’ve got some sex sessions to figure out…

  It was my idea, really, to make our little pact official. So that afternoon we sit on the porch and finally draft up a Key West Constitution. That’s right, no more playing around – if we’re going to do this thing, we’ve got to actually do it right. We’re messing around with some delicate shit, here – the closest friendship we have in the world, actually – and we’ve got to go about it correctly. Last night proved that.

  “First, no love,” he says, and I pause. “I mean, obviously. But that would just be…weird.”

  I study his face. Is that regret I see moving into his eyes?

  “I know this sounds like something out of a bad movie or something,” he continues, “but…don’t fall in love with me, and I won’t fall in love with you. Not that we’re in any danger of that happening, but…yeah. Neither of us needs that right now. Last night was dramatic enough.”

  I roll my eyes, but my stomach is falling at the same time. “Trust me, love is a four-letter word to me right now,” I say as darkly as I can. “There’s no chance of that happening.”

  “Well…good.”

  I pause, then lick my lips. It’s a little awkward at first, to be sitting here talking about sex with the best friend you’re about to have it with, but that evaporates quickly as our glasses empty again and again. Soon we’re drunk and laughing and having a grand old time. I always attached a little more emotion to sex, so I demand a few things that take some negotiating, and he has a few sticking points, too. But soon the list is complete.

  I set my iPad on the table and read it one last time. I’m an English major probably going into law school, so I’m a little proud of how professional it ends up looking:

  The Rules of Key West

  by Nathan and Beau

  (hereby referred to as The Parties)

  First of all, the pa
rties are to serve as each other’s sex toys, nothing more, nothing less. This is simply a sexual agreement between friends.

  If one party is horny, the other party must agree to a sexual release, unless serious outside circumstances interfere.

  Protection must be used if requested by the other party.

  No public hookups.

  If one party seeks outside sexual pleasure from another party, the other party should be notified, but is not to interfere.

  Kissing on the mouth is only allowed if explicitly agreed between both parties beforehand.

  No romantic feelings (e.g. ‘falling in love’) are allowed, under any circumstance. Period.

  See article seven again. Seriously.

  And so it is official: from that point onward, we are each other’s sex objects. I exist to please him, and he exists to please me. It’s that simple, and until further notice, I don’t have to give a shit about girls, or girl problems, or girl anything. I’ve got a big dick at my disposal, and I’m going to get full use out of it.

  And it really does turn out that way. We just don’t think about anything anymore. I serve him, and he serves me. We hit the gym again that evening for a boozy weightlifting session, except this time we only make it ten minutes before he’s begging me to follow him into the bathroom. It seems that the framework of the agreement has freed him already. There’s an elderly man in the showers, so we head into the steam room and turn up the steam before I gobble up his dick and don’t stop pumping his shaft until he’s squirting down my throat.

  “Wait,” I say before we leave. “I want to come, too.”

  He knows he has to agree now, so he exhales. “Okay. Come on my face, then.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? I really liked it – it was so warm and salty and stuff…and I want to feel it in a different way now…”

  “Okay, you’re getting weird. Just let me blow this load.”

  “Your wish, my command…”

  He kneels under me, reaches up, and massages my nipples while I jack off. Soon I am moaning and he is kissing my balls, and boom – a white liquid is all over his cheeks. I rub it around with the tip of my dick just to elongate the moment, and he doesn’t object. Damn, he is so beautiful…

  “That was easy,” I say soon, to nobody in particular, as we head back down the hallway.

  “It was. You know what? It’s cool not to have to worry about taking a girl out to dinner, entertaining her or dealing with any of the other stuff that comes along with sex.”

  “Yeah. But…”

  “But what?”

  “You know, what do you think it means that both of us have had the same issues connecting with women?”

  He shivers a little. “I don’t know, Dr. Phil, but right now I’m not too concerned. Relax. We’re in paradise. Let’s just have some fun, and get some dick, too…”

  ~

  As the trip rolls on, we go around together like best friends, but use each other’s dicks and bodies like lovers. It’s pretty much the perfect balance of heart and penis, and the best thing is that I don’t have to worry about getting rejected afterward, or waking up to a text detailing all the different ways I wasn’t good enough.

  When we wake the next morning, we’re so both bashful about our bad breath and stinky armpits that we simply tangle up our legs and jack off together, spurting onto our newly tanned chests at the same exact moment in a reverie of moans and sighs and “oh, fucks.”

  Later, I drag him into a bathroom at lunch to suck on his nipples, but then I end up sucking his dick and swallowing the resulting liquid – and all of it is perfect.

  Something deeper is happening, too. I need him more with every touch, I crave him more with every lick, I even smile brighter every time he brings up an old inside joke or mentions an old story from the olden days. It feels too delicate to fuck with, like a Faberge egg balanced on the edge of my knee, so I don’t question it. But still we continue to have the hottest and most interesting hookups of my life, and each one intensifies.

  They go like this:

  In the evening we’re all supposed to meet by the pool, but I can’t stop glancing at his arms and his thick legs in his short little bathing suit. Finally he takes the hint and motions for me to go to the bathroom, where he meets me in a stall, drops to his knees, and services me until I bust in his mouth. We return to the group noticeably relaxed, but nobody says anything.

  The next day there’s a volleyball match, and it’s too much for me – watching his lean, muscled body darting here and there, glistening in the sun, getting covered in sand…our eyes meet again, and this time he’s the one who takes the initiative.

  “You don’t have a gag reflex, right?” he asks when we rush back to the room.

  “Nope, why?”

  “Because I want to fuck your throat. Like the other day, but more intense.”

  “What?”

  “I saw it in a porno – here, just lay on your back on the bed, with your head out over the edge.”

  I do as I’m told, and he slides himself down my throat – and from this angle, I can take all of him. Every last inch, actually. I reach around and grip the back of his firm legs as he thrusts in and out, huffing and puffing, fucking my throat deep. When he finally busts down the back of my throat, I choke on the amount of semen he produces.

  “Jesus. Are you sure you’re not a blue whale?” I ask afterward. “That was probably a gallon of come...”

  “I mean, at this stage, anything is possible.”

  And these are only a few instances. By the time that night arrives, I have had four orgasms in one day, slipped in between our other activities.

  I am also starting to notice certain things I’ve never cared to notice before, too. Why does everyone stand up whenever Beau walks into the room? Why does he always have the perfect joke to tell at the perfect moment? Why do women look at him like he invented the sun? What is the magic of this kid, and how can I bottle some of it for myself?

  There are other things, too, just between the two of us. The way he caresses my hand when I ask him to help me button a shirt, the way our eyes sort of get stuck in each other’s when we glance at each other from across a pool or a table, the way he got really worried when I disappeared underwater for a minute or two. I’m noticing so many things, but most of all, I’m noticing his smile.

  Because his smile could save cities. So many people aren’t really happy deep down where it counts, and it shows in their faces – when they smile, it doesn’t reach their eyes. But when Beau Lindemann smiles, it radiates all the way to his eyes, and then kind of bleeds into my soul, too. Something is happening here, blooming right out in the open in front of our friends, and I’m starting to wonder if I am really the only one dancing in all of this new energy…

  the fire

  from the diary of Nathan Sykes

  summer is enveloping us

  rolling us into her bosom

  taking us away

  into lands we never knew before

  and tell me

  because I want to know:

  when my eyes got stuck in yours at the pool today

  did you feel it?

  and when my heart twitched when you kissed my neck in the shower

  did yours twitch, too?

  because baby

  I am in flames for you

  and I’m starting to wonder

  if you even really feel any warmth in you at all…

  Beau Lindemann

  Fuck. I’ll admit it – things are happening. And things are…changing, too. Slowly, sure, but still, they’re changing. Every hookup is hotter, and every time I catch myself making eye contact with him, it’s harder to look away. And soon…

  Soon I feel myself wondering a few things, like: when did Nathan’s eyes get so hazel? Some eyes are just hazel, but his are hazel, like a glass of scotch lit from behind by a roaring fire. Who allowed this to happen? And why did I never notice any of this before?

  We
always had such a comfortable dynamic that sometimes we’d not even really speak that much – I’d meet him at a bar, he’d tell me with one look that he’d had a terrible day and needed a drink, and we’d scroll away on our phones for a few drinks while we just enjoyed each other’s company. But now it’s like I can’t stop talking. I chat and chat and chat, and once I even get into the situation with my mom – but then I pause and stop myself. I know way too many people who use their wrecked-up pasts to justify their current issues and excuse how they’re messes or disasters, and I had such a knee-jerk reaction against coming off like that, I stopped talking about her. Permanently. In fact, I have not uttered a word about her in four years…and yet today I wanted to just blurt it out, just like that…

  Anyway, Nathan is starting to feel less like Regular Nathan and more like…well, someone else. Someone new. Someone bright…

  I’m enjoying the pact, but is it normal for friends to feel these things? What is he to me now?

  “So have any girls contacted you this week?” he asks me after I meet him in the room that night. We’re both laid out in bed – the same bed – and the fact that my leg is against his leg is not phasing me at all. “Any snaps, texts, Facebook messages?”

  “Oh, I actually…well, I forgot about that. I wasn’t even paying attention. Something else came up that demanded more of my attention…”

  “Ha,” he says. “Speaking of that, I was thinking…we need to adjust the pact.”

  “Okay?”

  He swallows. “Yeah. The thing is…I like touching you too much, so this is now included in what we can do.” He rests his leg over my crotch, then grabs me and rubs my calf.

  “I’m fine with that,” I smile. Then I reach over and start massaging his arm, too. “But I’m adding my own rules. This, too. This is now allowed.”