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“You don’t have to be alone,” he sighed as he rested his forehead against mine, his body tense and vulnerable in my shadow, coming closer than he’d ever done before. I looked at him, this face I had seen a thousand times but was now looking at me with a range of emotions it never displayed to me before. Pity, sadness and most of all lust. I hated his face in this moment. I wanted to beat it bloody for being such a weak little faggot. I wanted to scream that he should shut the fuck up and be a man. But rejecting him, this open wound of a boy standing in front of me in the street light, would break his heart. And that is the one thing I couldn’t bear to live with. So I kissed him.
I didn’t plan it like this. It should’ve been just another fun party night like we’ve had so many times. I wanted to escape the drama with my dad and I had booked a hotel room looking out over the city’s busy square with all the popular clubs. The rush of alcohol still in my mind, the air filling with smoke from my lungs. Usually I would have invited some blonde bimbo to come up with me. I could have impregnated the bitch to clear my head. But how long was I going to do that? I’m 26. I’m not particularly good looking, scrawny, short, teeth fucked up from fights, drinks and drugs. But I could talk myself into any panty. Had for the past ten years. And the joy always ended the second I pulled out of their pussies. It wasn’t what I was looking for anymore, but what was I did not know.
This is how I came to look not at a beautiful girl in her underwear begging me to eat her out, but at my best friend, drunk and pathetic. He had seen how I was hurting and wanted to talk. He always wanted to talk. Like a nagging wife. He might be the only one I answered though. I couldn’t trust those girls to understand but he did. He listened. So here he was, ready for bed, in nothing but his ugly briefs, short like me but fatter. His build awkward and unmanly. He had pretty eyes and hair but that was about it. He looked like faggot and it bugged me.
I closed my eyes, pressed my lips onto his and ignored the cold, stern kiss back. It wasn’t escort bayan gaziantep anything like kissing a girl. It was harder, dryer, rougher in a sense. I slid my tongue into him and licked the inside of his mouth. My teeth bashed into his, our mouth wide open in duel. I pressed so hard he stumbled backwards and my body followed. I couldn’t stand to look at his face so I didn’t. I kept my eyes closed and mouth wide open as I threw my half naked body onto his, the warmt of our boxers briefs crashing into each other.
He started to moan, signifying his pleasure over the shared emotions I tried to run away from. I was relieved. I always knew this is what he wanted. He couldn’t confront me by talking if he was moaning. But my anger hadn’t subsided. My fear of losing my best friend, of showing him how much I actually cared for him, ever present. If he wanted to be more than friends and ruin everything we had, so be it. But it would be on my terms. Without thinking, I lifted his legs up in the air, I ripped this faggy grey boxers from his ass, took my dick out and jammed it inside of him.
His ass had looked so good. His ass had always looked good. It was meaty and round, and in his pants looked a lot like that of a girl. The boys and I had joked about it often. But there, lying there in the orange light, it was mine. No one else’s. He was my best friend. It belonged to me and I wanted to feel it inside. So I did.
He screamed.
“Stop, let me prepare first. You’re hurting me!”
But I didn’t care. This is what he wanted, I knew it. This is how we could be together. How we could share the love we had for each other. My toes dug into the sheets and my rock hard dick dived deeper into his dried up cunt. It hurt a little, but it was so warm I didn’t care. I felt his body resist but once my shaft was up to the hilt inside of him, and I rested, I could feel his body giving up. He was mine now. I kissed my best friend again so I didn’t have to look at him and started to buck my hips.
He moaned.
Now it was me who sighed, who let his entire body relax and move on instinct. Something about him, about knowing this naked body in my arms, of knowing the lips on mine, even of feeling the male genitals against my stomach for the first time, which felt gross, sticky and weird, made me whole. Sex with women wasn’t like this, this instinctual, this painful. I smelled his odour which I had known since we were boys and felt safe. I heard his voice, which I had a thousand conversations with, in my ears. And my lower body plowed into his.
His arms slid over my back, his legs over my ass and arms. I felt closer to him than I had to anyone before. Was this what Love was like? I didn’t have time to enjoy. I had to keep pounding. I had to hear the pain his voice. I had to punish his weak little body for desiring this. I had to punish myself for doing this. No. This was just natural unloading for a man. It didn’t matter for my dick if the hole was attached to a woman or a girly boy. All that mattered was blowing my seed and feeling the warmth of flesh. I pushed my hand onto his face. I didn’t want him to see me. I didn’t want to see him. I wanted him to choke. To die knowing he wasn’t a man. A disgusting little faggot for wanting dick. I didn’t care that he was like this but I had to make him suffer for it all the same. And if it was dick he wanted it had to be my dick he wanted most. No one else’s. My pounding increased, aided by our sweat and juices. My hips moved up so my dick stretched his hole up. He screamed in agony. He tried to stop me but I grabbed his wrists and pushed them down. He started weeping. I knew I was doing the right thing.
Deeper, harder, I had to keep going, I had to hurt him, fill his back with my load. My balls slapped against his ass. My dick slid in and out of his pussy as if they were made for each other. He kept his own legs in the air with his hands. My arms stood like pillars beside his face. I finally looked in his eyes. He stared back at me with a mixture of agony, lust and love. This face. It knew me. It looked into my soul. It knew my dreams, my wants, my hopes, my love. He didn’t have to say it but I saw that he knew how much I needed this. How much I wanted this, too. This wasn’t just him getting his dream of banging a straight boy, like I knew he always secretly longed for my dick just like every faggot. No, I needed to do this with him. With someone who cared for me and wanted to heal my pain. The pain that told me I could never love a girl. That I didn’t deserve happiness. The pain that saw me for the monster I was. He saw it, and he told me I deserved better anyway.
My dick started to tingle inside of him. His hole was wide open and his ring had softened for me. Something happened in my brain. I moaned in pleasure as my mind was literally blown. I smiled at him, and he smiled back. I lowered my face and planted my lips onto his again. This time I knew what to expect. This time our lips enveloped each other. This time our tongues danced. This time I told him I loved him too. My arms weakened along with the image I had of myself as a lady killer, they reached under back and gripped his face. His hands sought my face too. His legs grip tightened around me. And my dick slowed down into long strokes. One. Deeper. Two. Stretch him until he rips. Three. Impregnate him.
“I love you,” I breathed into him.
“I love you too,” he moaned.
Our bodies finally experienced what it was like, what it meant, to make love. To produce it with two bodies that looked exactly alike, despite nature, religion and the rest of this world telling them they could never experience this, they shouldn’t experience this, but, with two dicks, two flat chests and two broken hearts, did anyway.
We both moaned into each other and we both tensed up. His cum shot between our stomachs, providing for the necessary lube between our bodies rubbing together fast paced. I shot my fertile load far into his belly where it belonged. Wet from sweat, cum and tears, we collapsed into each other. We panted, we laughed foolishly and we looked each other in the eyes before we kissed again. Thankful, validating, conforming of the pleasure we just shared. We fell asleep like this, me still inside him and our bodies glued together with bodily fluids. In each others arms, our faces touching each other. We were men. We were in love. And we were lonely no more. At least for now.
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