I'm Not a Fag, Dude

It was 1994. God, I was such a skater.

What else could there have been in life? Nirvana, Mossimo, Vans and Eddie Bauer flannels. In Michigan there's shit else to do in a world before internet or cell-phones. Unless, of course, it's winter and the girlfriends are on some class ski trip in Aspen. Then there's nothing but listening to Smashing Pumpkins and beating off. My parents both at work down at the plant, it was all I could do to sit on the old, busted orange couch in the basement near the furnace, reading porn magazines I had gone through a thousand times and wishing I could score a dime of pot. My best friend threw his muddied feet up onto the trunk that served as my coffee table.

"Right here," Eric said, brandishing a Hustler tape in-hand. I couldn't read the title because his hand was covering it but it was obvious it was an old 70's-era family love video.

I shrugged.

"This one is hot, dickhead. I figure while the girls are away, we can at least get on with our old bullshit, you know?"

I kept reading, pretending not to be interested but the reality is that I was intrigued. When Eric and I were 12, that was one thing. I mean we had scrawny little bodies and our dicks were both ridiculously small, we laughed at the huge cocks of the guys on the screen and when the girls came, we splattered all over ourselves and made fun of each other about it. But we were 19, now. Things were -- different.

I glanced him from the corner of my eye. "You're such a fag," I laughed.

He slapped me on the arm, "You'd know, Mary!"

I laughed, again. Eric had been my best friend since we were seven. We supported one another through some awkward years. Puberty was the least of it. Dating girls, barely passing high school, graduating, getting out first job at old man Travis' construction company. Moving up in the world to making pizza at the Fair Lanes. Bowling, drinking, laughing. And now -- unemployed and without any desire to do anything but get fucked up and skate till I broke something.

I'd shared everything with Eric. My first beer, my first love, my first paycheck. Why was I so nervous about his putting this rickety old tape into my VCR?

I got up and climbed the stairs to where, sure enough, Eric had left the door unlocked. Eric didn't worry about privacy. His Mom had taken off when he was a baby and his dad was drunk when he wasn't working. Sometimes when he was.

When I came back downstairs, Eric's flannel shirt was open and so were his pants. He had pulled his T-shirt up around his neck, exposing his washboard abs. Eric shaved hairless. I couldn't figure out why. It's not like he's a swimmer or something. He just did it. Weird.

He was rubbing his cock through his boxer shorts, already warming up even though the only action on the screen was still cheesy 70's foreplay.

"I'm in the tub, ma!" said the boy on the TV who couldn't have been 5 years younger than the teased-hair bimbo playing "Ma".

"There's nothing you've got that I haven't seen before, son!" Said 'Ma'.

"Jesus!" I muttered as I went to the old refrigerator and grabbed us a couple of Millers. I didn't need to ask if Eric wanted one. I just cracked the top off of it for him.

I came back to the couch and crossed in front of Eric.

"Dude!" He complained.

I set his beer down on the trunk. I took a long swig of mine and went back to my mag.

"Hey, aren't you going to watch this?" Eric shot at me.

"What? You beating off? No, thanks." I said. Dude, I'm a straight guy and Eric knows that. Hell, he and I were dating girls who were on vacation together! This whole thing is beyond weird -- it's raising questions about my best friend.

"You would, you queen," he said, grabbing my ear and giving it a tug between his fingers.

"Watch it!" I said, "Dude! Is that the hand you were just touching your needle-dick with? Gross!"

"Mommy, I want you to take a bath with me," said the poor drug addict who would do anything to score some smack, even be in this shitty porno. He's probably dead, now.

"But, you're my son! Don't be a pervo, Joshua!"

'Pervo'? The fuck? What drove this guy to do something so degrading? Why was he so hard playing roleplay about fucking his Mom? Why was I watching? Why was my cock getting hard?

I didn't dare look at Eric. I could tell from the sound that his hand was down his shorts and on his meat. I did know Eric wasn't circumcised, his Dad was a Jew-hater of the sheet-wearing variety and said no son of his was going to go through life looking like some God-killer. Whatever, but it made Eric's self-loving pretty noisy. And remarkably wet, I remember noticing all those years ago.

I stood up and pulled the chain of the single lightbulb in the room. I expected a response from Eric but all I heard was the sound of the elastic band of his boxers coming down and then the faint sound of his foreskin as he yanked, unhindered by clothing.

I sat on the couch and waited it out. Out of the corner of my eye, the light from the TV gave me a pretty good glimpse of Eric's penis.

I guess I was expecting it to be huge? Eric had grown into such a man, he worked hard, he played hard, he was super responsible with money and shit, much more than I was. I kinda looked up to him. I guess I always assumed his had grown more than mine over the years.

Suddenly he stopped. Had he cum? I didn't think so. "Dude, you're making me feel like a fucking perv," he muttered.

I swallowed hard, "I'm sorry, dude. Don't worry about it, I'll get there."

"At least get out your junk so I know you think it's hot," Eric whispered.

"It's hot. I'll do it when I'm ready," I assured him.

He went back to beating it. His breath accelerated and he sucked it in to control his arousal. We'd talked about controlling orgasms. It was one of Eric's favorites. He'd read about it in a book at the library. The public library!

I was getting too hard, this was weird. I decided it was the music and sounds of the porno, so I decided to turn my attention back to the TV.

As 26-year-old "Ma" made love to 22-year-old "son" on the bathroom vanity while "sis" watched through a cracked open door, I couldn't take it anymore. Between the movie and the sound of Eric's loving, I had to be free. I unbuckled and unzipped and freed my own dick.

Eric looked over, "Damn," he said.

I was grateful that the dark disguised my ridiculously girly blushing. I was so relieved he was impressed with my cock when I was barely impressed with his.

Granted mine looked different. I was a pasty white where Eric has a natural bronze. I was circumcised, giving me the bloated mushroom-head that I'd never thought was a big deal until I saw Eric's. Intact cocks looked gross to me. But as I spied him out of my peripheral vision, it's skin-flap moving back and forth with his strokes, exposing his head like a turtle peeking out, I was fascinated.

Was he feeling this, too? This weirdly comfortable sensation.

He seemed to read my mind, "I'm not a homo," he whispered.

"Shut up," I whispered back as I started to jack off.

He beat harder. I did, too.

As we got busy by ourselves on my deflated old couch cushions, our feet up on the coffee table, I couldn't help but imagine his presence getting closer and closer to me. I came close to climax several times. I didn't want Eric to think I was a pussy so I closed my eyes and thought about the scores of the last baseball game I'd watched. Shit, that was years ago.

Then I realized it hadn't been my imagination. Eric switched hands and his right pinky grazed my left. He had closed our distance on the couch.

I gasped. He beat harder. I squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted to punch him and call him a queer. But I didn't know what was going on. Suddenly, I could smell his cheap musk cologne as his chest hovered over me. I inhaled sharply and turned away. My eyes fluttered open.

He went back to his position with my bottle of Keri that I had stolen from my Mom's medicine cabinet. The lotion that was on the old nightstand next to me.

"I tried to do that without you noticing," he apologized.

"Just shut up!" I answered. I was so hard and this was so weird and I had been so convinced he was going to...? Kiss me? Hold me? I felt like I was on another planet or in a parallel universe.

He lotioned up and I did too. I had nearly chafed myself I was beating it so hard.

"Ma" was climaxing in the scene. Soon it would be the start of a new scene with "sis" helping Daddy in the garage or something.

I started to worry how awkward it would be to still be beating myself off while the scene started with new foreplay. I stopped jerking and closed my eyes. I thought about football but that proved to make things worse. All I could think about was scoring touchdowns, kicking field goals, charging big strong linemen in tight pants with bronze skin and hairless washboard abs!

Wait, what was that?

Warm and soft? I wasn't coming. I had stopped beating. Something soft and warm and slick like a pussy slid over the head of my penis. I didn't dare open my eyes. It worked the head. I released myself completely and it worked my shaft. Dear God, no. How did I know this would happen? Do I say something? What do I say? Get your hands off of me, queer? I couldn't say that to my best friend and mean it. What if Eric was struggling with something real? What kind of friend would I be then?

I opened my eyes. Eric's bronzed forearm muscles flexed over my lap. The calloused pads of his fingers scraped ever so softly through the lotion and ran up and down my stock. Calluses! How strange is that! His hands were manly but they were soft and warm. I guess that took me by surprise. I hadn't ever thought a man's hands felt that way. Kind of like my girlfriend Michelle's but with more coverage as it worked up and down. It was - different? In some ways, worse. In some ways -- I swallowed hard -- in some ways it was better.

I didn't look at him and I could tell he wasn't looking at me. As I felt myself peak, I heard his beating recommence. He was beating us both. That, I had to admit, was talent.

I felt the base of my cock swell from the inside out.

"I -- I..." I stammered.

He beat harder and faster.

"Whoa whoa whoa..." I said stupidly.

He said nothing only kept going.

A volcano of semen welled inside my balls. It's hot lava of pleasure nozzled in my cock and violently erupted into the open air.

I heard something. A grunt, I think. Was it me or him? The fuck did it matter, my best friend was getting me off! And I fucking loved it! Who am I kidding? I loved it!

I'm not a fag, I thought.

"Im not a --" I eeked out as I came violently....

"Me neither," he whispered and then came, himself.

Eric's eruption made me erupt again. I'd never felt anything like it. He was still beating me long after I'd have stopped. I grabbed his hand to make him stop but he only slowed.

"I'm done!" I cried out and pulled his hand off of me.

"Jesus!" He whispered as he came harder.

After it was done, I sank back into the cushions of the couch, wet and elated and confused. You would think that this was the weird part, right? But strangely enou, I looked to him and he looked to me and there were no smiles or laughs, no awkward silences. It was relief.

We sank back into the cushions and gazed up to the floorboards of my Mom's kitchen.

"Sam?" Eric asked.

"Yeah?"

"Does this change -- things?"

I shook my head. But that was a lie.

"You're the best friend a guy could ask for," he said.

I turned to look him in the eye, "How long has this been going on, Dude?"

His eyes wandered shamefully, "Forever, I think?"

I nodded, "You are gay, Dude," I said with the most kind tone I'd ever used that expression. "Or at least bi."

"What about you?" He asked.

I shrugged, "I'm mostly confused."

He laughed, "Confused," he quoted me.

"Don't laugh," I chided him, "Remember this is you getting freaky on me, man. Don't laugh at me right now because I'm not laughing at you."

His face turned gravely serious.

"You came," he reminded me.

I rolled my eyes, no need of being reminded.

"I'm not suddenly gay because I enjoyed it."

He smiled, "I knew it," he slapped my belly painfully, "you're such a fag."

I doubled over, "asshole," I spat. I went to the fridge and pulled out a couple more beers. I turned back to him.

"Let's get totally shit-faced and see what you do to me," I said with a grin.

He smiled, "No, no, it's your turn."

I shrugged, "I'm just confused."

He nodded, "Yeah. Me, too."

That's how the whole thing started.