What I had time for, staring at my exhausted, but no longer sweaty face, was asking what in the fuck I was doing with him. I knew he wasn’t straight, meaning heterosexual, for years and years. I also knew he was “straight.” Not only did he deserve to come out to himself before doing anything with a guy, but I liked him. A lot. More than I’ve liked a guy in a long time. Maybe ever.
Coaxing a man out of the closet with the promise of dick is not the way to make him your boyfriend. It’s the way to have a hot onetime experience that he’ll likely regret in the morning. Even more so if he’s drunk. I had several boyfriends in undergrad, but was somewhat of a slut between them, affording me many straight man encounters.
They were always the same, or close to it. I’m a masculine guy, not bad looking, and have pretty much always been in shape. So if a guy wanted to experiment, I was the safe choice. They’d always come onto me at a party, or the bar, or anywhere else he could get drunk enough to lose inhibitions, but still get it up.
We’d mess around, I’d suck him, but really, they wanted to suck me. Sometimes we’d fuck. I’m vers by nature, but after the second straight guy I tried to fuck and failed, I just told them I was a bottom. Easier that way. It’d be hot, fun, if somewhat sloppy sex, that I didn’t regret, but they always did to some extent. Of all of them, maybe two came out as bisexual. Several never made eye contact with me again. And the rest just faded into that we-say-hi-at-parties place where friendships go to die.
It’s a shame that so many guys need the effects of alcohol to experiment with their sexuality. But it is what it is. That’s just how men are. Some men, anyway.
And there I was, admonishing myself in the bathroom after rubbing my hard cock all over his in the middle of a club. Finn was sober enough to consent, but drunk enough to live out desires he hadn’t yet made room for. As the older, wiser, gayer man of the two, it was my responsibility to help him. Once he was ready, if he still wanted to fuck, or maybe even more, I’d be more than happy to oblige.
I splashed water on my face, stripped down to my underwear, and brushed my teeth. I slipped into my basketball shorts and exited the bathroom. Finn was lying on my bed, in nothing but his underwear, with his hand resting on his crotch. They were short, tight, pale green boxer briefs. At first, I thought he had just made a mistake and passed out in the wrong bed. But he was hard and wide awake.
“What are you doing, man?” I asked.
“Finishing what you started.” Finn pulled his cock out and tucked the waistband under his balls.
I was stunned. Frozen still. Mouth agape, drooling, and as hard as he was. His cock was glorious, sticking straight up to the ceiling below his hairless chest and perfectly sculpted abs. Long and thick, with big balls and trimmed pubes. The way he was lying made his legs look powerful. The hand not gripping himself drifted behind his head, exposing the tuft of hair underneath and framing his face with that exquisitely built arm.
His cock was a bit bigger than mine, and I was eight inches. Though I was thicker with bigger balls and bushier pubes. Then again, I had no fucking idea how big he was. Staring at that man’s cock and balls after beating off imagining what they’d be like, my entire being filled with anxious static. I knew we were very close to making a mistake, and I also knew I’d be almost powerless to stop it.
Finn stood, allowing his underwear to fall off, and approached me nude. My mind couldn’t think. My lips couldn’tspeak. He held his cock as he walked over, but his eyes never left mine. Finn wore the same look he had while we danced, only more of it. More confident, more in command of his desires. More willing to take what he wanted, no matter the cost.
He placed his hand on my chest, just to feel my heartbeat. Then moved it back and forth, fascinated, like the concept of a man’s body hair was a revelation from on high.
“I’ve always wanted to fucking do that,” he said, staring at my tits, holding his hard cock without stroking it. “You look so fucking good, man. Always fucking have.”
“Finn, what are you doing?”
His attention was rapt, and his eyes clear as they met mine. “Finishing what you started on the jet ski.” His voice was deeper with more gravel.
“C’mon, man. We’re drunk. You’re gonna regret this in the morning.”
“We weren’t drunk when you groped me on the water. I don’t regret that. Do you?” His eyes never left mine, set and strong. “I don’t regret dancing with you. The only thing I regret is not kissing you when I had the chance.”
He leaned in to kiss me, and my brain finally started working. I dodged him with a sidestep. “Dude, seriously, this isn’t a good idea.”
“Why isn’t it a good idea?” Finn made no move to follow me and let his dick go. His energy was assertive rather than aggressive.
“You’re not gay. First of all.”
“I don’t care what I’m not. I just know what I want.”
Jesus,he was going to kill me.
“What do you think you want, Finn? I’ll tell you right now, it won’t be the same come the morning.”
I had joked about fucking the best man as a huge middle finger to my brother and his shitty fiancée, but faced with theopportunity to do something like that, there was no way I could. There had to be a way to de-escalate before the night ended with Finn’s first same sex experience, and my unending shame.
“I already told you.” He smirked and took hold of his cock again. “I want you to finish what you started.”
Fucking Christ, he looked good. And his confidence and swagger were messing with my brain. There were fewer and fewer options for us to get out of it without someone spilling semen.
“I—”
“I want you to make me come. Right here, right now.” To add insult to injury, Finn started jerking himself as he spoke. “You asked me if I wanted you to, and I didn’t get the chance to say yes. That’s what I want. And I know you want it, too.”
“Fuck…”
