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“Brad and Peter, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,
First comes love, then comes marriage,
Then comes Peter with the baby carriage.”
I woke up in a cold sweat, heart galloping, as I heard the kids I had been dreaming about chanting that old children’s taunt. And goddammit, my motherfucking dick was as hard as a steel girder, way beyond morning wood, with my cockhead swollen and about to pop, shiny with precum. Which made me remember more of the dream, the sucking and fucking that involved my roommate Brad that happened before the kids started chanting…
No two ways about it, it was time for me to get laid — really laid. Hard cock in hot wet pussy laid. Real sex and not the “experimental” kind Brad and I had been having just because it was easy and convenient, two horny single guys living together, who wanted like any other guy to take care of our needy cocks. No girlfriends in sight, so why not make do with a little helping hand action, some sucking here, some ass-fucking there, for the sake of convenience?
That dream and my reaction to it told me something important: it was time for me to stop dicking around with this “phase” Brad and I had tumbled into and get blue-ball relief where I should have been getting it all along, with a woman. Who had the kind of love hole for which my big aching pussy pleaser was made, after all….
That was the day, the day I woke up lathered in sweat from that nightmare, that I decided I had to do something about moving to the next phase, the real-sex phase of my life. And it’s when I made that decision that I turned into the fucking asshole I mentioned when I started this story about what happened between my buddy Brad and me. Though I didn’t realize at the time that I was making a decision that would turn me into a fucking asshole down the road…
Looking back, I now see where things went wrong: when I decided I was going to find myself a girlfriend and leave Brad to his own devices, I didn’t tell him what was going through my mind. Reason being, I now realize, that some part of me deep inside suspected our “experimentation” had ended up meaning more to him than it did to me. Or so I thought — more on that point later.
And I didn’t want that, didn’t want to see it or admit it had happened. I told myself he was the one who first reached for my dick and offered to help me out when we started shooting off together. If what we’d been doing had made us gay, then he was gayer than I was, kütahya escort because he started it. No way was I gay. And no way Brad could be, either, because if he was, that meant I’d been fooling around with a gay guy and that would make me gay, too.
No way in hell was I gay.
It was time to hunt up some pussy.
You’re probably wondering why we hadn’t gotten our straight asses out and found some women to fuck way earlier than this. Thing is, it was just so damned easy to keep doing what we’d been doing since we started living together after college. We knew each other back in high school, enjoyed each other’s company, liked having a bachelor pad where we could kick back, put our feet on the coffee table, open a cold one, and, when we felt like it, pop in some porn and get our rocks off. Together. We could belch, scratch our balls, eat cold pizza for breakfast, and no one was going to nag us about it.
There were our jobs, too. Brad busted his ass every day working on construction sites and came home bushed. My office job was pretty demanding because I was low man on the totem pole, the new man in the office. I was Pete the gofer who was expected to put in extra hours when tax-reporting crunch time came around. We were just getting started in our work lives and didn’t have a lot of “spare” time to do much except eat, sleep, work, rinse and repeat the next day.
Well, with some mutual jerking thrown in, some sucking and fucking: easy-peasy to get relief right there with each other instead of starting a serious dating game… With women. Who weren’t just falling out of trees into our lap, anyway, in our little hicksville city in the middle of nowhere.
And there’s this, too: even in high school, Brad had been, well, the word people used was intense. He was even built like a coiled spring: wiry, short, ripped like hell from carrying around sheetrock and lumber, hods of bricks — shit like that. If I hadn’t been straight, I’d have noticed that he was a hot-looking dude in a neat, buff package, dark and brooding and intense, with a firehose hanging between his legs, something guys can’t avoid looking at when they’re in the shower together after gym class.
Not that I’m gay or really noticed. But that was Brad.
Brad was intense as in inclined to say almost nothing unless he thought it really needed saying — and that made him easy to live with, since he stayed out of my way and kept his mouth kütahya escort bayan shut about my lazy sloppiness. Ask Brad a question, and he’d tell you exactly what he thought, never dressing up his words the way I might do, because I’m pretty good at schmoozing, even if I’m the one saying it. You got the motherfucking straight truth from the dude’s mouth, whether you wanted it or not. He was just wired that way — intense and honest. And that formula doesn’t make for having a lot of friends, including girlfriends, around. Brad seemed pretty cool being on his own, quiet, going about his business, and our living arrangement suited him for that reason.
But not me. Not any longer. Not after that dream woke me up and told me something important: I needed to get laid. Really laid. I needed to find a woman.
Which made me remember Lou. We had hit it off at an office party several months back, flirted a little, shot the shit. She came with a jerk who was supposedly her boyfriend, but it was clear to me and anyone with eyes to see that he was an asshole and didn’t deserve her. Because she was plain nice, an anemic word that doesn’t do justice to her, and sexy as hell, thick red-blonde Scandinavian hair down to her shoulders, lush tits to die and go to heaven for, an ass that made you want to get her naked and launch an exploration. Sexy and nice, genuinely friendly in the classic mid-American way…
Lou had given me her number at that party, and I decided the day of that dream that I’d give her a call and see if she’d like to go out with me next weekend.
When I called, Lou sounded genuinely happy to hear from me. Said she remembered me well from the party and had been hoping I’d call. She had enjoyed our shooting the shit session. The word “cute” figured in somewhere, too, when she talked about remembering me — my cute grin, attractive eyes with a hint of devil in them. Lou had clearly been thinking about me. I was in her head, and she was going to be in my head now. And not just in her head. I intended to make sure of that.
So Lou it was: we went out Friday night (I told Brad I was seeing friends) and had a hamburger at a little diner on her side of town, then drove around talking for several hours, letting the warm night air flow into the car. Have I said there’s not much to do in our little city in the middle of nowhere? We both enjoyed each other’s company.
Nothing in the way of hot and heavy escort kütahya action, but when I parked in front of the apartment she shared with a girlfriend and we sat in the car having a good-night kiss, I did try copping a feel of those big tits on top of her sweater, and she didn’t push me away, so I got a clear signal that I could do more when the time was right. We frenched, too, while I felt her tits up, and I don’t know about her and her pussy getting wet, since I didn’t feel it, but my motherfucking cock felt like it was going to break out of my pants.
That was the first date. I came home hot as hell and jacked off twice in bed that night thinking about her and those tits, that ass, the hot, wet pussy I inteded to get my cock into when I knew she wanted it.
I won’t bore you with date-by-date accounts of what happened after that one, but let’s just say that one thing led to another, as they have a wont do do when big hard peckers and needy wet love tunnels are involved. By maybe the third or fourth date I had fingered her pussy, and, yes, it was wet and ready to be fucked, and she had stroked me off and told me what a big tool I had and now much she’d like to spend some time in bed playing with it. We talked about sex and fucking, though I did not tell her anything about Brad — as far as she knew, I lived by myself — and she didn’t know I was a virgin. In the cock-in-cunt definition of virgin, that is, not the cock-in-guy’s-ass version. Which didn’t really count as losing virginity…
She told me without batting an eye that she loved sex, loved fucking, loved a big hard dick in her hands, her pussy, between her tits, and had had action before, though not a lot of it. Whether she was shitting me or not, I don’t know, but she also said my thick, hard joystick leaking fucking precum like a firehose was the biggest she had ever played with, and she couldn’t wait to have it inside her. She jacked me off that evening as we sat in the car outside her apartment. Twice. And I fingered her wet cunt and rubbed her hot, hard clit to several orgasms and asked if I could keep the soaked panties she pulled off to let me get to her pussy.
I came home with them in my pocket and felt like a king, a man. I was on my way to becoming a man. A real man. For the first time. My cock was finally going to get some real action. And I couldn’t wait. How I could make it till our next date on Saturday, when she told me she wanted me to spend the night with her since her roommate was out of town, I didn’t know.
Those panties drenched with pussy juice were going to get a real workout between now and then, that’s for sure.
And Brad didn’t need to know about any of this or what was going on. He liked spending time to himself, after all, didn’t I say earlier?
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