Brad is a very straight guy who gets one random thought. Just one stray thought. That leads to another and another. And then a question. And then that thought becomes an obsession. That might just push him to venture to find out about gay – straight action.
It all started with a thought. One thought. Three weeks ago. When my girlfriend, who, let’s face it, was never very good at blow jobs, was actually giving me one. It started with me looking down at her and thinking, ‘You know, I bet someone with a dick would probably know how to totally rock at this’.
That’s how it started.
The thought that maybe, a man, someone who had a cock, might understand his way around a cock. One thought, and then the rest of the thought. There’s nothing I love more than a good blow job. And the rest, rest, of the thought. With your eyes closed a mouth feels like a mouth, right?
All of which led to a sickening obsession that I just needed to know, needed to find out, needed to understand, which led to the total formation of the thought, could a guy blow me better than a chick?
And the sick thing, the unfortunate thing, the hot thing, was, even though I was totally straight, I knew I wasn’t going to let go of this thought until I found out.
Aaaaannnnd, it led to the obsession. Yeah. Led to the absolute obsession; the one that had been on my mind, for every single minute, every second, every friggin’ millisecond.
It turned in to… the thought. From a random thought, to the thought, to THE THOUGHT. From a random wisp of a dandelion puff blowing on the wind to a fucking monsoon pounding on my brain.
Tsunami, tornado, and blender on shredder-pulverize-setting my brain—twenty-four seven, for the last three weeks.
You know, the thought. Like I could maybe, actually find out the answer to this question. Because… my best friend is gay.
Michael is gay.
We’ve never talked about it. We never needed to. Just like we never talked about my being straight. I met Michael the first day in college and we’ve been best friends ever since. Twenty years later we’re still best friends.
He’s not a flaming kind of gay. He’s not a feminine kind of gay. He’s not an ‘I’m over compensating by being hugely macho kind of gay’. He’s ‘I’m just a normal kind of guy’ kind of gay. I’ve always known he was gay. He’s always known I was straight. End of story.
As soon as I had THE THOUGHT I broke up with my girlfriend.
I didn’t think I would actually act on THE THOUGHT at first. But then, after a few days I knew I would. And it was obvious who I would act on it with.
The more time that went on, the more…ah…aggressive I got about it. Like I wanted to force him. Make him. Throw him against a wall and… well you get the picture.
Of course he has no idea.
Hardly fair, is it.
But that doesn’t change my thinking, either.
So finally, yesterday, I called him.
And when he asked me what was wrong, I simply said I really needed him to come down to see me.
That brings us to today. He lives about an hour and a half north of me. In a few minutes, he’ll be here.
I took a long shower. Shaved my perpetual five o’clock shadow. Put on my best black T-shirt and favorite faded jeans and combat boots. I thought about cologne and nixed that idea as stupid. Paced until I had to force myself to stop. I thought about doing some push-ups to relieve tension. Apparently stupid ideas is all I got.
Michael and I had been friends for twenty years. He was a physician’s assistant for God’s sake. It wasn’t like he was going to freak out over biology. He might freak out over it coming from me though.
There it was—the knock on my door.
I opened the door and we did the man hug shoulder bump thing and the back pat.
“Brad, hey,” he said with a big smile. Then he got a look at my face and his tone changed. “What’s wrong?”
I gestured with my head for him to come in. “Time for some brewskies, for sure, M.,” I said.
“Okaaay,” Michael said.
“Eh, fuck that, let’s have some gin and tonics, heavy on the gin,” I said.
“You’re massively wound up, Brad,” Michael said. “That’s not like you. What’s up?”
I poured us our drinks. I downed mine. “Knock yours back,” I said.
My expression must have been grim.
“You’re worrying me.”
I took our glasses and set them down.
“Okay, you trust me, man, right?” I said.
“Ah, yeah,” Michael said.
“Okay, brace yourself,” I said.
He could tell I meant physically so he got into a fighting stance.
Now Michael’s no lightweight. Like most gay guys he spends a lot of time in the gym. He’s in great shape, but he’s all lean muscle. I outweigh him by at least 25 – 30 pounds. I don’t go to the gym, ever. I’m in construction. I spend my days heavy lifting and my nights cage fighting.
I grabbed him by the shoulder spun him around and threw him up against the wall. His arms splayed up and out and his face mashed sideways into the wall.
“What the fuck?” Michael said. I could tell he was wondering if I was pissed at him for something he might have done.
I pressed into him; pinned him there with my body, fitting every curve of my body into his. The energy instantly changed, electricity arcing up between us in a huge scorching blast.
“Shit. What?” he said.
“Listen to me,” I whispered into his ear. “Because I’m only going to say this once,” I said.
“Holy fuck, Brad,” Michael said. “What the hell are you doing?”
“LISTEN to me,” I growled.
“I. Want. A. Blow. Job.” I said. “From you.”
“You heard me,” I said and dropped him.
I stepped back. Then I took another step back.
He looked down. Turned around. Dusted off imaginary lint from his shoulders. Adjusted the sleeves of his dress shirt. “You’re a fucker, you know that? You could at least give a guy some notice.”
“Sorry, dude,” I said.
“What the fuck?” Michael said.
“I’m not gay,” I said. Although this made no sense to say this at this point.
“No shit,” Michael said.
“Listen,” I said starting to back track. “I’m sorry if I…”
“Of course I’ll do it,” he said and smiled.
Oh thank God, I thought.
“If you’ll call Lisa,” he said.
“What?” I said. “Your friend Lisa?”
“Yeah. I’ll give you the blow job of your life, if you’ll tell me, number one, why you want one from me, two, why now, three, why the fuck did you spring it on me like that, and four, if you promise to call Lisa right after,” he said.
“My brain kind of lost blood after you said you’d give me a blow job,” I said.
He laughed. “Do you need me to repeat that?” He asked.
“No, if you give me a minute for my hearing to catch up and my mind to replay it I think I can make sense of it…ah….” I said.
It took a minute.
“Um…” I said. “Ah….one…” I paused trying to think. “Why do I want one from a guy or why is the guy you?” I asked.
“Both,” he said and he crossed his arms over his chest.
“You fuck-head, you’re enjoying this,” I said.
“You bet your life,” Michael said. “Spill.”
“Ah,” I said toeing my boot into the carpet. “I…ah… had the idea that if you had a dick you might know your way around a dick enough to give a better blow job and I wanted the best mind-blowing blow job I could get,” I said softly.
“What was that?” He said with his hand behind his ear.
“Asshole,” I said.
“That answers the why now,” I said, “because I just thought of that.” I paused and stared at him hard. “The ‘why from you’ is pretty obvious, I mean who else could I ask?”
“Thanks,” he said, heavy on the sarcasm.
I thought about going over and touching him to soothe how shitty that sounded but ah, no.
“Um, and, I’m kind of an ass. I didn’t know how else to spring it on you. I’m not exactly going to send you flowers,” I said.
“Fair enough,” he said.
“But I’m not trying to be a jerk about this either,” I said.
“I get that,” Michael said.
“And I don’t want to do this if it’s going to ruin our friendship,” I said.
Michael rolled his eyes.
And I had the desire to throw him up against the wall. Again.
I was going to ask him about why he wanted me to call Lisa as soon as it was done but he pushed me in the middle of the chest, hard. Then he pushed me in the middle of the chest again. I staggered back.
What the fuck?
I fell back on the couch.
He put the bottom of one foot on the inside of one of my knees and pushed hard, using that leverage to push my legs apart.
He bent down, grabbed me behind the knees and gave me one hard yank pulling me toward him so I was slumped down a little further on the couch. He was stronger than I thought.
“Stay there,” he said in a loud firm voice while pointing at me. “We do this now.”
He got up, turned the living room lights off but left the kitchen lights on. Darkness was good.
Michael came and kneeled in front of me and started unbuttoning his shirt. The idea of him taking his shirt off scared the shit out of me.
“What are you doing?” I asked. My voice went up a lot.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” He said in a strong voice.
When his shirt was all the way off he twisted it up, fast, into a rope like blindfold and tied it around my eyes. I relaxed. Blind was good.
He shoved an open hand up into my throat, hard. “Now, you’re going to moan when I say moan, you’re going to say ‘oh God’ when I tell you to say ‘oh God’ as a matter a fact you’re going to make the exact noises and sounds and words I tell you to say.” His hand tightened around my throat.
Every interaction we’d had in the last twenty years flew through my mind at hyper speed. Nothing prepared me for this.
“But other than that I don’t want to hear a FUCKING thing out of you that isn’t a distinct sign of absolute pleasure is that clear?”
I tried to nod but I couldn’t move with his hand squeezing me the way it was.
“Good, just so we understand each other,” Michael said.
He released his hand and I coughed and took in a deep breath. Holy fuck, I certainly didn’t expect that. He put his hand on my dick over my jeans. His hand was huge and he palmed my whole cock and moved his hand upwards in a way that felt fantastic.
“Ah, fuck,” I said on a groan.
“Now that’s the kind of sound I want to hear,” Michael said. “Brad, if you want to stop, the time to stop is right now. Because once I put my mouth on your cock, I can tell you, I’m not stopping.”
“Ah shit,” I said. My cock kicked under his hand, instantly growing hard and long when he said mouth and cock.
He laughed again.
I could hear him lean forward, my senses heightened. Then I felt him breathe, superhot air over my balls and then my cock and then up right at the very tip of my cock. Teasing me. Then he redid the same pattern, licking me through my jeans. It was subtle but it made me…hungry…antsy…concerned…eager. A cocktail of want and need and fear.
He ripped off my belt and opened the snap on my jeans and pulled down my zipper, fast. Like he couldn’t wait and he was full of power. I usually go commando but I was wearing underwear today; it seemed pretentious and presuming not to. Michael repeated the same routine, palming my entire balls and then cock and then the head and very tip. Then breathing hot air over it all. Then licking over the same path. I got harder.
The top of my cock peeked out of the waistband of my underwear. Michael leaned forward and gently, just barely, licked the very, very top of my cock.
I started breathing through my mouth because I almost lost it.
What the hell was I doing?