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On the Prowl
Part I
I will never forget the moment when Kirk, my blond blue-eyed buddy from high school, unzipped his jeans and let my mouth have its way with him. Remarkably, he did the same with me. We were 22 at the time, and a little drunk to be honest. But the attraction and unspoken sexual tension between us had been building for years, and finally, in the privacy of his college apartment, it came to a head. No pun intended.
From ninth grade on, Kirk was one of the cutest guys in school, and on that evening, in his apartment, when he shot a thick rope of semen into my mouth, he hadn't changed a bit. Kirk still had sparkling blue eyes, a dimpled grin, a swimmer's build, and a plumped-up penis. Never before that day, though, had I seen him erect, let alone in full orgasmic bliss.
When Kirk and I first met, we did not have a lot in common. Today we do. We both are married with two cars, two mortgages, and two kids apiece. Though we tasted each other sexually as 22-year-olds and have privately done so several times more, we have, for good or for bad, joined the mainstream of straight American life. But as we would eventually reveal to each other, we both yearned to know what could have been, or might have been, had we grown up perhaps 15 years later, at a time when must a few mouse clicks would have revealed that our feelings for each other -- but also for women and our wives -- were nothing unusual. That sometimes guys like both men and women. That emotional ties between guys can be healthy.
* * *
Anyway, I should introduce myself. My name is Stuart, and today I am 38, as is Kirk. We both live in Iowa, the state where we both were born and where we both grew up. He works as a hospital administrator in a small town, and I work for an insurance company in Des Moines. My job, unfortunately, is to scrutinize claims from people who were injured in car accidents and to withhold money from people who quite frankly deserve it. It's depressing work much of the time, but it pays for my kids' orthodontist bills.
I could have been a doctor. Should have been, really. Kirk said so himself. I aced every science class I ever took, but my family lacked the funds to send me to med school so I settled for a four-year degree and a physician assistant's certification instead. More on that later.
* * *
The first day of seventh grade is when I first set my eyes on Kirk. We lived in a town of about 7,000 and had gone to different elementary schools -- he the Catholic one, I the public one -- so we had little chance of seeing each other before that day. We were about the same height back then, but the similarities ended there. I was an intense know-it-all type with a round chubby face, frizzy brown hair that was always out of place, and a bubblish butt. Kirk, by contast, was a happy-go-lucky boy with straight blond "feathered" hair that perfectly parted in the center, thick glasses, and a string-bean of a body that left him, quite frankly, with no ass.
Gym was our first class of the day. To this day I find it odd to require 12-year-olds to arrive at school squeaky clean only to make them get hot and sweaty during first period. But somebody had to have gym first, I guess, and it might as well be the seventh graders.
The school administration had sent a letter home informing our parents of what we were to bring and wear for gym -- a light-colored t-shirt, polyester blend shorts available for purchase at the dime store store downtown, athletic shoes, an athletic supporter, towel, soap, and deodorant. I, of course, had tried on my jock for size at home, an experience that culminated as it probably did with pretty much every 12-year-old who slipped on an athletic supporter for the first time: a trip to the mirror, and a throbbing erection. But somehow, once in the locker room, I was able to keep my penis under control as I unbuttoned my Levi's, slipped out of my shoes and shirt, and removed my white briefs as I watched Kirk and the other boys do the same.
I stole a glance to learn that Kirk and I were at about the same place in the puberty department. I had played enough strip poker and Truth or Dare enough to be comfortable with my naked self, and Kirk was equally comfortable. Once in the gym, though, I was pretty nervous. I was a clumsy, awkward boy who always was the last one picked for the team. Sports did not come easy for me, but they did for Kirk, and on that first day I marveled at how quick he was on his feet, how he could do the obstacle course with ease and precision, thick glasses and all.
We did not work up much of a sweat, but the gym teacher made it abundantly clear that we would be showering that day and every day. A couple of the boys balked, but the directive did not freak me out in the least. I was comfortable with my body, and Kirk too. There was no ignoring that he was among the first of us to strip off the shoes, socks, t-shirt, shorts, and jock, pretty much in that order. Then he dug his towel and soap out of his gym bag and headed to get clean as I followed right behind.
Our school shower room had four sets of posts with five showerheads on each. That first day, as on pretty much every day we had gym, I chose a showerhead next to Kirk. At that point in my life I had seen perhaps eight friends naked total, so the experience of seeing so many naked bodies all in one place was fascinating. Kirk was particulary worth watching. He seemed so uninhibited with being naked.
As I would later learn, that was understandable, since he had two older brothers, two identical-twin younger brothers, and an older sister -- all of whom had to share one shower. In Kirk's family, Mom and Dad's bathroom would be off limits to the kids.
What I really remember about Kirk, though, was his eyes -- how, when his glasses were stowed in his locker, his eyes were candy blue and beautiful, how even at at age 12 they sent a message of sincerity and provided a path into his soul.
Remarkably, Kirk and I were assigned to the same gym class for three straight years, so I got to see him naked in the shower a glorious three times a week. Sometimes I hit the shower first, sometime Kirk did, but we always seemed end up at the same post of showerheads and in a position that gave us good views of each other's bodies.
Something magical happened to Kirk between eighth and ninth grade, and when he came back to school after a summer of farm work, he had grown probably four inches and was a bona fide was a stud with blond hair, blue eyes, a tan from the summertime Iowa sun, and muscles pumped up a bit from farm chores. The girls were starting to notice my studly friend, particularly after Kirk's parents found money for him to get contact lenses so that his beautiful blue eyes were on display for all to see. But even as Kirk enthusiastically flirted with he girls, he continued to fixate on me -- in the shower, and otherwise. I was kissing girls, too, but also attracted to Kirk. And mighty confused.
In tenth grade, the showering stopped because gym was no longer required. But in a way, that was good, because it was as sophomores when the friendship between Kirk and me really took off. We went to movies, ate at each other's houses, hung out between classes and at lunch, and talked -- really talked, not just about stuff, but about emotions, things that mattered, and with almost intrusive eye contact. Ours was a deep friendship, as deep as two 15-year-old boys can have anyway. We seemed to be soul buddies, and from the way Kirk looked at me, and I at him, we both sensed there was emotional and not just physical attraction. He cared about me, and I about him.
Still, the physical attraction intensified and continued, even outside the showers. I got confirmation of that fact about a week into sophomore civics class. The teacher had assigned us to sit two to a table, and because we were buddies, Kirk and I scrambled to sit next to each other in the back row. It was about two weeks into the semester when Kirk pressed his knee into mine and kept it there. I didn't move a muscle. We sat that way for the better part of the period and repeated that experience probably 20 times. Sometimes he started it, sometimes I did. I couldn't believe that Kirk -- cute, straight-acting, blue-eyed Kirk -- found me attractive! But if there was any question, it evaporated in sophomore choir when he unmistakably and repeatedly eyed the bulge in my crotch. I had done the same to him, of course, many times. Those experiences left me exhilarated but also confused. We both had girlfriends, for God's sake, and there we were, pressing our knees into each other and eyeing each other's bulges.
Was I straight, or gay? What about Kirk? Certainly we had to be one or the other.
* * *
Kirk turned 18 in December and I in January. In February, he invited me to the town pool. I said sure, and when I arrived I was bummed to see he was already in his trunks. But there was little question that he enjoyed watching me slip into mine, and we did a few laps and then spent most of the time in horseplay. Looking back on it, the swimming invitation was Kirk's ploy of having a way to see -- and touch -- my skin.
Afterward, just like old times, we stripped out of our suits and lingered for a good, long while as soaped ourselves up and soaked up each other's nakedness. My God, he looked great, particularly when his blond hair was all wet. Kirk looked at me with those candy-blue eyes, as if to say, I love our friendship, but also when you soak up my body. I about melted as I shifted my gaze from Kirk's face to his smooth chest to his V-shaped groin and to his 4 and a half inch penis. Kirk was thin but pleasingly so, and his lack of body fat made his dick look even bigger than it was. His testicles dangled enticingly under the warm spray as my best friend rinsed the chlorine from each inch of beautiful body. He was, in every way, beautiful. Each inch of him was beautiful.
In March, the whole school learned that my blond beauty of a buddy had not had his sports physical yet. His only sport was track, which took place in the spring, and somehow he was among the students who had fallen through the cracks. The student body learned about this during first period, when the teacher (the choir director, actually) read the daily announcements, which included a short list of student athletes who had not yet made the trip to one of the handful of town doctors.
When I heard Kirk's name, I wondered whether physicals were different once a guy turned 18 like Kirk had. I fantasized about what it would be like to ask him to take off all of his clothes except for his underwear, to poke his armpits, chest and abdomen, to slip my fingers just below the waistband of his briefs, to say that the time had come to take down the underwear, to offer reassurance at the site of his erection, and to carefully sqeeze, stretch, and prod the organ that looked so perfect in the showers of the town pool.
Remarkably, a week later, I got just a hint of what the doctor had experienced. It happened in the school lunch room. My right hand was grasping the right side of the table when Kirk, standing nearby, moved to the side of the table and pressed his crotch into my hand. He felt so different through his jeans than I felt through mine. His penis was soft, but not as soft as mine. He was, I would later learn, a "shower" not a "grower" like me. But after a couple seconds of having his 18-year-old penis on my knuckles, I moved my hand away for fear of being caught and then choked down the rest of my lunch in a state of utter confusion. Kirk had a girlfriend! And I had the hots for girls, too! Yet there he was, pressing his penis into my hand, and I was enjoying it.
What the hell was going on?
* * *
Just a month before graduation, my dad died in a car accident. None of my friends knew what to say. Among them was Kirk. But unlike my other friends, Kirk did not ignore me. He was there -- at the funeral, and afterward, when I needed a friend. He let me talk it out on my terms, and after driving home from a movie one night he did not freak out when I started to cry.
He was busy on the farm that summer, but we talked a lot and stayed close. We were headed to different colleges, but ones close by to each other. No one from our high school went to my college, but several of our classmates went to Kirk's. At college he started dating a woman from high school, and I started dating someone I had met at a party. My relationship didn't last long. After five beers, I told her she had nice tits, and the next day she dumped me.
Remarkably, and unfortunately, about a year into our Freshmen year Kirk's dad also died, not in an accident but of a heart attack. I was among the few in our high school class who took time to go to the funeral. Of course, I did know what to say, and Kirk let it be known with his teary blue eyes that he appreciated it, and appreciated me. For the first time, we hugged. Kirk's oldest brother had begun running the farm anyway, and the twins were still home. So Kirk was free to continue his studies.
About two months after the funeral, Kirk invited me to his campus to go bowling in his college's student center. He was still with the girl from high school at the time, but I could tell things were not going well. I sensed she had not been very supportive of his dad's death. As for Kirk and me, we barely talked about his dad. Nor did we talk about Jessica. I could tell he just wanted to have a good time with his buddy and that he was not in the mood for one of our many, meaningful heart to hearts. As we spent the evening throwing gutter balls, Kirk looked even sexier than he had in high school. He wore jeans that were baggier but much more stylish, and he had started wearing his hair a little shorter in a way that would have made him pass for a member of the swim team. He was working out every day, and even through his sweatshirt I could tell he was bulking up. I had started running too, and Kirk said I was looking good. But not as good as Kirk. He was, at age 18, damn hot.
One thing led to another, and it got late, and it was cold, so Kirk asked if I wanted to stay over instead of heading back to my campus. He said it in a tone of voice that conveyed urgency, uncertainly, and excitement. My voice trembled a little as I said it was a good idea.
The invitation had come at an interesting time. Just a week earlier, a woman in an upper-division psychology class had been making the rounds in the Freshmen dorms at my school, handing out sexuality surveys. She assured me my answers would be totally anonymous and then left me alone to complete the questionnaire. Among the questions was a sexuality continuum question. Where on the the scale of gay or straight did I fall, 1 being totally straight, 7 being totally gay? I couldn't believe what I was reading! I put an x right between the numbers three and four, folded the paper two times, and handed it back to the senior student. Amazingly, with a question, I finally had an answer.
The survey was on my mind as I followed Kirk back to his dorm room. I looked at his back, and his flat butt, and wondered whether I'd be having my hands on them in a matter of moments. I felt my precum developing and my heart racing, but when Kirk turned on the light he was in for a surprise. There was his damn roommate, asleep on his loft. Apparently roomie had intended to go home for the weekend but ended up catching a cold and decided to stay on campus instead. I could tell it was news to Kirk.
What Kirk did next I will never forget as long as I live. He turned on his desk lamp, turned off the overhead light, threw me a towel, and starting stripping. Silently, we slipped out of our sweatshirts, jeans, and underwear. In the dim light, he walked entirely naked to his closet to retrieve a towel for himself. As he crossed in front of me, I could tell that Kirk's penis was just as I had remembered it from the last time I had seen it in the town pool's locker room. It was plumped up, about 4 and a half inches, seemingly on the verge of getting hard. Kirk watched me undress and smiled just a touch when he saw I had lost about 15 pounds. Then we wrapped ourselves in towels and headed down the hall, with Kirk carrying the soap and shampoo that we'd share.
As we entered the bathroom, I was delighted to find that Kirk's dorm had what mine didn't -- a gang shower. But my spirits dropped a bit when I saw we would not be alone. Unfortunately, a fat Freshmen was in there with us, and he was not hurrying and I could tell Kirk was eye candy for him. Just as the fat guy left, a stud with a body more built than Kirk's but too much acne for my taste took his place. He seemed pretty oblivious to both of us -- in other words, pretty straight.
Though Kirk and I were not alone, I had plenty of license to soak him in in the dorm's gang shower, and I could tell he was doing the same with me. I had spent most of the evening thinking about how he had become even cuter than in high school, and in the shower I was able to confirm that he had really been filling out. Kirk's torso, still super smooth, had just the right amount of musculature on his pecs and biceps. His workouts had given his groin that lean V-shape look that remains a total turnon to me to this day. Under the spray, his 19-year-old penis was nothing short of fantastic -- larger and perkier than mine, but not obscenely so, curved just slightly to the right, with an absolutely delicious circumcision scar. Although he was a blond, his pubes were surprisingly dark, and just a handful of strands of hair hung from the bottom of his scrotum, which in the shower began hanging deliciously low.
We lingered in the shower for probably 10 minutes, talking about nothing in particular, watching the water slide effortlessly from our bodies. We'd wash our parts for a second and then third time, for no particular reason, gazing at each other for more time than necessary when I asked to use the shampoo or he asked for the soap back. I fluffed myself up to make me look bigger, but Kirk did not seem to mind that I was on the lower side of average. He appreciated me for who I was, and what I looked like. As he would tell me a few years later, it was my ass that had turned him on all those years.
When our time in the shower had reasonably come to a close, I dried myself with the towel Kirk had given me. As I put it to my face, I could tell it was not clean, that it had touched Kirk's naked body and now was touching mine. I watched Kirk dry his hair, then his chest, and then his crotch, and as he placed each foot on the bench to dry off his legs I took a long look at how his public hair curled up when dry, how his penis had shriveled just a bit in the cool air, and how his testicles were now retracting a bit toward his groin.
Back in Kirk's chilly dorm room, my buddy put on a pair of shorts and climbed into his bed on the loft. It took every bit of my strength to not climb up there with him. I put my undies back on and climbed into a sleeping bag on the floor. I thought I heard Kirk jacking off, probably while envisioning the sight of me in the shower. But I could not be sure because he and his roommate kept -- I am not making this up -- a pet hamster that was making quite a racket.
What I was sure of was this: There was no question that I was going to jack off in Kirk's sleeping bag, and that given the excitement of the evening, both socks would be necessary. I pushed my briefs to my knees, fantisizing about what it would look like to have seen Kirk do that on the exam table during his sports physical, once he was 18. I relished the thought of Kirk laying there on display in front of the doctor, of the doctor stating that he was glad that Kirk's testicles were hanging so low because that made the testicular examination easier. I recalled the image of what those dangling testicles looked like in the shower, how the water flowed off of Kirk's naked, plump penis and onto his scrotum. How he let me soak him in and did nothing to conceal himself from me.
The orgasm in Kirk's sleeping bag was intense. Semen splashed not only between my pecs, but also onto the sleeping bag. There was little I could do about that. As I cleaned myself up with both socks, I gave thanks for seeing my best friend from high school completely naked one last time. But as it turned out, it would not be the last time. Because I was bound to become a physician's assistant, the fantasy of helping my best friend experience an adult physical examination would not be a mere jackoff fantasy.
I will never forget the moment when Kirk, my blond blue-eyed buddy from high school, unzipped his jeans and let my mouth have its way with him. Remarkably, he did the same with me. We were 22 at the time, and a little drunk to be honest. But the attraction and unspoken sexual tension between us had been building for years, and finally, in the privacy of his college apartment, it came to a head. No pun intended.
From ninth grade on, Kirk was one of the cutest guys in school, and on that evening, in his apartment, when he shot a thick rope of semen into my mouth, he hadn't changed a bit. Kirk still had sparkling blue eyes, a dimpled grin, a swimmer's build, and a plumped-up penis. Never before that day, though, had I seen him erect, let alone in full orgasmic bliss.
When Kirk and I first met, we did not have a lot in common. Today we do. We both are married with two cars, two mortgages, and two kids apiece. Though we tasted each other sexually as 22-year-olds and have privately done so several times more, we have, for good or for bad, joined the mainstream of straight American life. But as we would eventually reveal to each other, we both yearned to know what could have been, or might have been, had we grown up perhaps 15 years later, at a time when must a few mouse clicks would have revealed that our feelings for each other -- but also for women and our wives -- were nothing unusual. That sometimes guys like both men and women. That emotional ties between guys can be healthy.
* * *
Anyway, I should introduce myself. My name is Stuart, and today I am 38, as is Kirk. We both live in Iowa, the state where we both were born and where we both grew up. He works as a hospital administrator in a small town, and I work for an insurance company in Des Moines. My job, unfortunately, is to scrutinize claims from people who were injured in car accidents and to withhold money from people who quite frankly deserve it. It's depressing work much of the time, but it pays for my kids' orthodontist bills.
I could have been a doctor. Should have been, really. Kirk said so himself. I aced every science class I ever took, but my family lacked the funds to send me to med school so I settled for a four-year degree and a physician assistant's certification instead. More on that later.
* * *
The first day of seventh grade is when I first set my eyes on Kirk. We lived in a town of about 7,000 and had gone to different elementary schools -- he the Catholic one, I the public one -- so we had little chance of seeing each other before that day. We were about the same height back then, but the similarities ended there. I was an intense know-it-all type with a round chubby face, frizzy brown hair that was always out of place, and a bubblish butt. Kirk, by contast, was a happy-go-lucky boy with straight blond "feathered" hair that perfectly parted in the center, thick glasses, and a string-bean of a body that left him, quite frankly, with no ass.
Gym was our first class of the day. To this day I find it odd to require 12-year-olds to arrive at school squeaky clean only to make them get hot and sweaty during first period. But somebody had to have gym first, I guess, and it might as well be the seventh graders.
The school administration had sent a letter home informing our parents of what we were to bring and wear for gym -- a light-colored t-shirt, polyester blend shorts available for purchase at the dime store store downtown, athletic shoes, an athletic supporter, towel, soap, and deodorant. I, of course, had tried on my jock for size at home, an experience that culminated as it probably did with pretty much every 12-year-old who slipped on an athletic supporter for the first time: a trip to the mirror, and a throbbing erection. But somehow, once in the locker room, I was able to keep my penis under control as I unbuttoned my Levi's, slipped out of my shoes and shirt, and removed my white briefs as I watched Kirk and the other boys do the same.
I stole a glance to learn that Kirk and I were at about the same place in the puberty department. I had played enough strip poker and Truth or Dare enough to be comfortable with my naked self, and Kirk was equally comfortable. Once in the gym, though, I was pretty nervous. I was a clumsy, awkward boy who always was the last one picked for the team. Sports did not come easy for me, but they did for Kirk, and on that first day I marveled at how quick he was on his feet, how he could do the obstacle course with ease and precision, thick glasses and all.
We did not work up much of a sweat, but the gym teacher made it abundantly clear that we would be showering that day and every day. A couple of the boys balked, but the directive did not freak me out in the least. I was comfortable with my body, and Kirk too. There was no ignoring that he was among the first of us to strip off the shoes, socks, t-shirt, shorts, and jock, pretty much in that order. Then he dug his towel and soap out of his gym bag and headed to get clean as I followed right behind.
Our school shower room had four sets of posts with five showerheads on each. That first day, as on pretty much every day we had gym, I chose a showerhead next to Kirk. At that point in my life I had seen perhaps eight friends naked total, so the experience of seeing so many naked bodies all in one place was fascinating. Kirk was particulary worth watching. He seemed so uninhibited with being naked.
As I would later learn, that was understandable, since he had two older brothers, two identical-twin younger brothers, and an older sister -- all of whom had to share one shower. In Kirk's family, Mom and Dad's bathroom would be off limits to the kids.
What I really remember about Kirk, though, was his eyes -- how, when his glasses were stowed in his locker, his eyes were candy blue and beautiful, how even at at age 12 they sent a message of sincerity and provided a path into his soul.
Remarkably, Kirk and I were assigned to the same gym class for three straight years, so I got to see him naked in the shower a glorious three times a week. Sometimes I hit the shower first, sometime Kirk did, but we always seemed end up at the same post of showerheads and in a position that gave us good views of each other's bodies.
Something magical happened to Kirk between eighth and ninth grade, and when he came back to school after a summer of farm work, he had grown probably four inches and was a bona fide was a stud with blond hair, blue eyes, a tan from the summertime Iowa sun, and muscles pumped up a bit from farm chores. The girls were starting to notice my studly friend, particularly after Kirk's parents found money for him to get contact lenses so that his beautiful blue eyes were on display for all to see. But even as Kirk enthusiastically flirted with he girls, he continued to fixate on me -- in the shower, and otherwise. I was kissing girls, too, but also attracted to Kirk. And mighty confused.
In tenth grade, the showering stopped because gym was no longer required. But in a way, that was good, because it was as sophomores when the friendship between Kirk and me really took off. We went to movies, ate at each other's houses, hung out between classes and at lunch, and talked -- really talked, not just about stuff, but about emotions, things that mattered, and with almost intrusive eye contact. Ours was a deep friendship, as deep as two 15-year-old boys can have anyway. We seemed to be soul buddies, and from the way Kirk looked at me, and I at him, we both sensed there was emotional and not just physical attraction. He cared about me, and I about him.
Still, the physical attraction intensified and continued, even outside the showers. I got confirmation of that fact about a week into sophomore civics class. The teacher had assigned us to sit two to a table, and because we were buddies, Kirk and I scrambled to sit next to each other in the back row. It was about two weeks into the semester when Kirk pressed his knee into mine and kept it there. I didn't move a muscle. We sat that way for the better part of the period and repeated that experience probably 20 times. Sometimes he started it, sometimes I did. I couldn't believe that Kirk -- cute, straight-acting, blue-eyed Kirk -- found me attractive! But if there was any question, it evaporated in sophomore choir when he unmistakably and repeatedly eyed the bulge in my crotch. I had done the same to him, of course, many times. Those experiences left me exhilarated but also confused. We both had girlfriends, for God's sake, and there we were, pressing our knees into each other and eyeing each other's bulges.
Was I straight, or gay? What about Kirk? Certainly we had to be one or the other.
* * *
Kirk turned 18 in December and I in January. In February, he invited me to the town pool. I said sure, and when I arrived I was bummed to see he was already in his trunks. But there was little question that he enjoyed watching me slip into mine, and we did a few laps and then spent most of the time in horseplay. Looking back on it, the swimming invitation was Kirk's ploy of having a way to see -- and touch -- my skin.
Afterward, just like old times, we stripped out of our suits and lingered for a good, long while as soaped ourselves up and soaked up each other's nakedness. My God, he looked great, particularly when his blond hair was all wet. Kirk looked at me with those candy-blue eyes, as if to say, I love our friendship, but also when you soak up my body. I about melted as I shifted my gaze from Kirk's face to his smooth chest to his V-shaped groin and to his 4 and a half inch penis. Kirk was thin but pleasingly so, and his lack of body fat made his dick look even bigger than it was. His testicles dangled enticingly under the warm spray as my best friend rinsed the chlorine from each inch of beautiful body. He was, in every way, beautiful. Each inch of him was beautiful.
In March, the whole school learned that my blond beauty of a buddy had not had his sports physical yet. His only sport was track, which took place in the spring, and somehow he was among the students who had fallen through the cracks. The student body learned about this during first period, when the teacher (the choir director, actually) read the daily announcements, which included a short list of student athletes who had not yet made the trip to one of the handful of town doctors.
When I heard Kirk's name, I wondered whether physicals were different once a guy turned 18 like Kirk had. I fantasized about what it would be like to ask him to take off all of his clothes except for his underwear, to poke his armpits, chest and abdomen, to slip my fingers just below the waistband of his briefs, to say that the time had come to take down the underwear, to offer reassurance at the site of his erection, and to carefully sqeeze, stretch, and prod the organ that looked so perfect in the showers of the town pool.
Remarkably, a week later, I got just a hint of what the doctor had experienced. It happened in the school lunch room. My right hand was grasping the right side of the table when Kirk, standing nearby, moved to the side of the table and pressed his crotch into my hand. He felt so different through his jeans than I felt through mine. His penis was soft, but not as soft as mine. He was, I would later learn, a "shower" not a "grower" like me. But after a couple seconds of having his 18-year-old penis on my knuckles, I moved my hand away for fear of being caught and then choked down the rest of my lunch in a state of utter confusion. Kirk had a girlfriend! And I had the hots for girls, too! Yet there he was, pressing his penis into my hand, and I was enjoying it.
What the hell was going on?
* * *
Just a month before graduation, my dad died in a car accident. None of my friends knew what to say. Among them was Kirk. But unlike my other friends, Kirk did not ignore me. He was there -- at the funeral, and afterward, when I needed a friend. He let me talk it out on my terms, and after driving home from a movie one night he did not freak out when I started to cry.
He was busy on the farm that summer, but we talked a lot and stayed close. We were headed to different colleges, but ones close by to each other. No one from our high school went to my college, but several of our classmates went to Kirk's. At college he started dating a woman from high school, and I started dating someone I had met at a party. My relationship didn't last long. After five beers, I told her she had nice tits, and the next day she dumped me.
Remarkably, and unfortunately, about a year into our Freshmen year Kirk's dad also died, not in an accident but of a heart attack. I was among the few in our high school class who took time to go to the funeral. Of course, I did know what to say, and Kirk let it be known with his teary blue eyes that he appreciated it, and appreciated me. For the first time, we hugged. Kirk's oldest brother had begun running the farm anyway, and the twins were still home. So Kirk was free to continue his studies.
About two months after the funeral, Kirk invited me to his campus to go bowling in his college's student center. He was still with the girl from high school at the time, but I could tell things were not going well. I sensed she had not been very supportive of his dad's death. As for Kirk and me, we barely talked about his dad. Nor did we talk about Jessica. I could tell he just wanted to have a good time with his buddy and that he was not in the mood for one of our many, meaningful heart to hearts. As we spent the evening throwing gutter balls, Kirk looked even sexier than he had in high school. He wore jeans that were baggier but much more stylish, and he had started wearing his hair a little shorter in a way that would have made him pass for a member of the swim team. He was working out every day, and even through his sweatshirt I could tell he was bulking up. I had started running too, and Kirk said I was looking good. But not as good as Kirk. He was, at age 18, damn hot.
One thing led to another, and it got late, and it was cold, so Kirk asked if I wanted to stay over instead of heading back to my campus. He said it in a tone of voice that conveyed urgency, uncertainly, and excitement. My voice trembled a little as I said it was a good idea.
The invitation had come at an interesting time. Just a week earlier, a woman in an upper-division psychology class had been making the rounds in the Freshmen dorms at my school, handing out sexuality surveys. She assured me my answers would be totally anonymous and then left me alone to complete the questionnaire. Among the questions was a sexuality continuum question. Where on the the scale of gay or straight did I fall, 1 being totally straight, 7 being totally gay? I couldn't believe what I was reading! I put an x right between the numbers three and four, folded the paper two times, and handed it back to the senior student. Amazingly, with a question, I finally had an answer.
The survey was on my mind as I followed Kirk back to his dorm room. I looked at his back, and his flat butt, and wondered whether I'd be having my hands on them in a matter of moments. I felt my precum developing and my heart racing, but when Kirk turned on the light he was in for a surprise. There was his damn roommate, asleep on his loft. Apparently roomie had intended to go home for the weekend but ended up catching a cold and decided to stay on campus instead. I could tell it was news to Kirk.
What Kirk did next I will never forget as long as I live. He turned on his desk lamp, turned off the overhead light, threw me a towel, and starting stripping. Silently, we slipped out of our sweatshirts, jeans, and underwear. In the dim light, he walked entirely naked to his closet to retrieve a towel for himself. As he crossed in front of me, I could tell that Kirk's penis was just as I had remembered it from the last time I had seen it in the town pool's locker room. It was plumped up, about 4 and a half inches, seemingly on the verge of getting hard. Kirk watched me undress and smiled just a touch when he saw I had lost about 15 pounds. Then we wrapped ourselves in towels and headed down the hall, with Kirk carrying the soap and shampoo that we'd share.
As we entered the bathroom, I was delighted to find that Kirk's dorm had what mine didn't -- a gang shower. But my spirits dropped a bit when I saw we would not be alone. Unfortunately, a fat Freshmen was in there with us, and he was not hurrying and I could tell Kirk was eye candy for him. Just as the fat guy left, a stud with a body more built than Kirk's but too much acne for my taste took his place. He seemed pretty oblivious to both of us -- in other words, pretty straight.
Though Kirk and I were not alone, I had plenty of license to soak him in in the dorm's gang shower, and I could tell he was doing the same with me. I had spent most of the evening thinking about how he had become even cuter than in high school, and in the shower I was able to confirm that he had really been filling out. Kirk's torso, still super smooth, had just the right amount of musculature on his pecs and biceps. His workouts had given his groin that lean V-shape look that remains a total turnon to me to this day. Under the spray, his 19-year-old penis was nothing short of fantastic -- larger and perkier than mine, but not obscenely so, curved just slightly to the right, with an absolutely delicious circumcision scar. Although he was a blond, his pubes were surprisingly dark, and just a handful of strands of hair hung from the bottom of his scrotum, which in the shower began hanging deliciously low.
We lingered in the shower for probably 10 minutes, talking about nothing in particular, watching the water slide effortlessly from our bodies. We'd wash our parts for a second and then third time, for no particular reason, gazing at each other for more time than necessary when I asked to use the shampoo or he asked for the soap back. I fluffed myself up to make me look bigger, but Kirk did not seem to mind that I was on the lower side of average. He appreciated me for who I was, and what I looked like. As he would tell me a few years later, it was my ass that had turned him on all those years.
When our time in the shower had reasonably come to a close, I dried myself with the towel Kirk had given me. As I put it to my face, I could tell it was not clean, that it had touched Kirk's naked body and now was touching mine. I watched Kirk dry his hair, then his chest, and then his crotch, and as he placed each foot on the bench to dry off his legs I took a long look at how his public hair curled up when dry, how his penis had shriveled just a bit in the cool air, and how his testicles were now retracting a bit toward his groin.
Back in Kirk's chilly dorm room, my buddy put on a pair of shorts and climbed into his bed on the loft. It took every bit of my strength to not climb up there with him. I put my undies back on and climbed into a sleeping bag on the floor. I thought I heard Kirk jacking off, probably while envisioning the sight of me in the shower. But I could not be sure because he and his roommate kept -- I am not making this up -- a pet hamster that was making quite a racket.
What I was sure of was this: There was no question that I was going to jack off in Kirk's sleeping bag, and that given the excitement of the evening, both socks would be necessary. I pushed my briefs to my knees, fantisizing about what it would look like to have seen Kirk do that on the exam table during his sports physical, once he was 18. I relished the thought of Kirk laying there on display in front of the doctor, of the doctor stating that he was glad that Kirk's testicles were hanging so low because that made the testicular examination easier. I recalled the image of what those dangling testicles looked like in the shower, how the water flowed off of Kirk's naked, plump penis and onto his scrotum. How he let me soak him in and did nothing to conceal himself from me.
The orgasm in Kirk's sleeping bag was intense. Semen splashed not only between my pecs, but also onto the sleeping bag. There was little I could do about that. As I cleaned myself up with both socks, I gave thanks for seeing my best friend from high school completely naked one last time. But as it turned out, it would not be the last time. Because I was bound to become a physician's assistant, the fantasy of helping my best friend experience an adult physical examination would not be a mere jackoff fantasy.
Is there going to be MORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Interest are piqued here.
