Dan Needs A Public Education

This a spin-off from "Xander Shows Me My Prostate" from the POV of Luka's best friend Dan. He's falling down a rabbit hole of his own, unexpected kinks - this story explores the mischief they get him into (and the ways they get him off).

Comments appreciated, feedback and ratings adored, and eager readers welcome to check out my site for more stories. I just released a new book called "You Can Look" - if you have an underwear kink, like I do, I think you're going to enjoy it...

-A

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The rest of my shift goes by like I'm in a daze. My brain can't fix on anything, keeps hopping around from thought to thought, like that time I drank three Big Gulps-worth of the shitty coffee in the gas station urn, and spent pretty much the next twenty-four hours hopelessly wired. 

It feels like I've done something unutterably wrong. Like, not just experimental or dirty, not in the usual way; this isn't like giving myself a facial, or jacking off in Luka's parents' basement while the rest of the house is asleep above me. 

I don't even know if it's, like, illegal. I mean, I know public stuff comes with a big risk, if you get caught. Exposing yourself or shit like that. But if it's two dudes behind a couple of locked restroom stall doors, and they just happen to have a partition between most of their bodies, is that, like, a crime as well?

The uncertainty should be enough to hose whatever horniness is left in me down with mental ice water. The fact that it's not is almost more worrying than anything else right now. 

It's just that... I wanted to cum, and then I got to cum, and I didn't have to do it myself. Didn't have to jack my own dick, rub one out like I'd been doing three, sometimes four times a day since I was in my early teens. Didn't have to persuade someone else to do it, either: go to the effort of finding a girlfriend, coax her into playing around. 

I'd wanted to cum, and there was a hand eager to make that happen. 

It wasn't like I'd just discovered the secret of perpetual motion or something, or how to change lead into gold. But, fuck, when you spend four-fifths of your waking hours turned-on - or, at least, that's how it feels like sometimes - the idea that you could get that dealt with, without having to take matters into your own hands, feels like a breakthrough somehow. 

If, y'know, you can look past the whole "a stranger just groped me in a skeezy restroom" part. The part I'm simultaneously obsessed by and also trying my best not to think about fully. 

Not for the first time, I wish I could tell someone about it all. Explain, more than what happened physically - what I might want to happen physically - but the way my brain is churning and the thoughts I'm having. 

The only person would be Luka, though, and it's not like his brain is in any more of a stable place at the moment. I've always thought about my best buddy as being fairly... well, straight-laced. 

The idea of him fucking another guy still takes some getting used to. 

Not because it's a dude, really. At least, not in some whole, boring "that's gay" way. Labels always seemed like a shitty thing to get hung up on. But just because, well, it feels kinda out-of-character for him. Or, at least, the character I figured I knew. 

My phone chirps in my pocket; I pull it out, unlock the screen. Wonder whether my friend is a mind-reader. 

"turns out you're a good photographer," Luka's message reads. 

I realize I'm grinning like an idiot at the screen. 

"fuck yes I am," I type back, "so he liked the pics???"

How could he not like them, is what I'm really thinking. I'd made my buddy look so damn good. 

"only sent one, but he liked it," came his reply. 

I waited, a solid minute, to see what he'd say next. Then realized - not for the first time - that if I wanted Luka to open up, I'd have to be the one that coaxed him into it.

"so did you do the deed???" 

The mental image of his face, blushing, sprung into my mind. I'd seen it so many times, but it never failed to amuse. Or, frankly, to encourage me to tease him a little more, whenever I got the opportunity. Luka's so easy to wind up that way. 

"yeah, it was good," pops up.

Rolling my eyes, I hit the call button. Clearly, if I wait for him to describe the sort of details I'm looking for, we could both be ancient before we get to the juicy stuff. 

I don't even let him say hi. "'Good'? Dude, are you fucking kidding me with that lame-ass answer?" 

It's not a video call, but the sense of his self-consciousness is almost tangible. "Wasn't sure how much detail you wanted," Luka says, sounding a little defensive. 

There's no way to hold in the snort, not when I think about how much "detail" I saw last night, framed in the screen of his phone. "So you fucked him?" 

"Uh, yeah," he agrees. 

Silence, which I interrupt before it has a chance to spool out too far. 

"And?"

"Like I said," he tells me, "it was good." 

Now I'm kinda wishing I'd waited to have this conversation in person, because that way I could reach out, grab him by the shirt, and shake the information loose. "Dude, you're impossible," I scold. "Did you at least last more than ten seconds?"

His giggle is... unexpected. Only makes me more curious as to just what happens when my best friend goes into fuck-mode. 

"Yeah, I did," Luka says.

I bite down on my chuckle, the noise chewed off and short. "And did you... y'know..."

I want to know it all, everything I could possibly hear about how it went, but Luka can be skittish. It turns conversations like these - well, not that there's been a conversation quite like this one, but in general, anyway - into something like settling a wild horse.

"Did I cum in him? Yeah, I did."

I blink, phone pressed against the side of my head. Again, not so much for the detail, though the detail is fucking hot as hell, but because hearing it said so bluntly is so unexpected. The laugh comes out before I can help it.

"Fuck, dude," I tell him, snorting, "you're full of surprises." I've seen his cum-face now, some sly part of my brain reminds me. I know how he probably looked, when he was unloading into that dude. 

And, because I know him in other ways, too, I can also imagine that Luka might be very close to freaking out as well. 

"But you liked it, right?" I check. Hear him laugh again.

"Yeah, of course. And he seemed... well, he didn't seem disappointed."

Honestly, the very idea of it. Of someone not being pleased with my bestie. The ridiculousness is enough to make me grunt with annoyance. "Well of course he wasn't," I tell him. "You're a fucking stud."

The silence reminds me that, despite what I see, and what I figure this guy - and plenty of other people, for that matter - see, Luka doesn't seem to understand why he's a catch. My buddy can be so frustrating that way. 

"You gonna send him more of the pics?" I ask. They're not bait, now, or at least not for getting this "X" guy worked up for Luka's first time fucking him. But that doesn't mean I don't want my most-excellent handiwork to go to waste. 

"Yeah, I guess," he agrees. "Need to decide which."

I spool back through my memory of his camera roll, what it was filled with after I'd got done instructing him and posing him. Realize, as I do it, that I'm hard again. Something about that whole process, of taking charge and bringing out that side of my friend, seems to have a direct line to my crotch. 

"The one where you're jerking off, the last one," I decide, eventually. "Your dick looked really big in that one." 

Luka snorts. "Stop thinking about my dick, dude." 

The idea that it's that - my fucked-up imagination - which is the most weird thing here makes me chuckle. "You're the one who jerked off with my load," I remind him. 

"Only because you were jacking off and got cum all over my fucking dick, idiot!" 

As I'd predicted, Luka's outrage was both inevitable and amusing. It's enough to make me grin at how well I know him. 

"Wow," I deadpan, "you help a guy out with some free lube, and this is the thanks you get." 

"You're generosity personified," he replies, the sarcasm heavy. 

I'm liking the joking around, but my brain is also still madly curious. "So, you gotta tell me now, which do you prefer?" 

"What do you mean?" 

I can hear the frown in Luka's tone. Roll my eyes at it, even though he can't see me. 

"Y'know, fucking a guy, or getting fucked in the ass by a guy," I explain. It's not like I don't know how much fun it can be to finger myself while I'm jerking, reaching for that super-sensitive spot inside which makes me see stars. The idea of a dick hitting that, over and over again... well, the appeal isn't exactly a mystery. 

All the same, the thought of burying myself into something tight, and hot, and slick... 

"I dunno," Luka says, finally, breaking the silence. "They're really, uh, different."

I'm squeezing myself through my sweats, I realize. Hand kneading the ridge of my cock, fingertips squeezing my thick tip where the fabric clings around it. It's not entirely clear to me whether I'm thinking about Luka fucking, or getting fucked, or how I'd feel in either of those situations. Brain not rebelling at the idea of being on all-fours as someone pounds into me, and the fact that I'm so okay with that, with imagining it, makes me shudder in a way I don't quite understand. 

"Like, how, though?" I press. I can hear the edge to my voice, now, the rasp that seems to have been supplied directly from my erection. Wonder, fleetingly, if my friend can hear it too. 

"I need to be drunk for this conversation," Luka says, finally. 

"There's still vodka," I remind him, chuckling. He likes to complain about the cheap booze I bring, but beggars can't be choosers. 

"Bad vodka, yeah," he points out, just like I expected. 

"Does the job, though."

A beat, and then I hear him sigh. Know, from so many similar sighs over the years of our friendship, that I've got my way. 

"Fine," Luka tells me, "come over after you're done with work."

I can't lie to myself and claim that I'm not fascinated. With the idea of my uptight best friend hooking up; with the fact that his first time is with a guy, not a girl. It's not like I wouldn't be as interested if he'd found some chick to bang too, but there's definitely something extra-intriguing about discovering this new side to him.

Then there's the fact that, well, I get the feeling Luka is kinda hung up on the dude part, too. Or maybe he's more hung up on telling me about the dude part, out of some fear that I'm gonna judge him for it. Have, I dunno, a bad reaction. 

Part of me wants to just tell him that it's a dumb thing to be afraid of, and that I don't give a fuck about how he gets off. Problem is, I know my best friend gets so antsy about this shit, if I'm too upfront about it he's only going to recede further into his shell, like a spooked turtle or something. 

So I sit there, button-bashing on some racing game in Luka's parents' basement. If I'm winning, it's only because he's so damn distracted. I get the feeling that neither of us are really into whatever the game is, frankly, but it's a good buffer for whatever awkwardness might come up. 

I can't help it, though. Eventually, I have to ask. 

"So, like, how did it actually feel?"

If the way Luka just crashed his car is anything to go by, the question caught him off-guard. When he answers, his voice has this kinda forced disinterest to it. 

"How did what feel?"

I glance across, seeing his frown. He doesn't look back, so he doesn't see my eye-roll. "When you fucked him, idiot."

His car doubles up on its damage. Any other night, I'd be giving him shit for it; telling him that he shouldn't be allowed behind the wheel if these are the skills he's working with. Tonight, though, it's a completely different skillset that I'm fascinated with.

Just when I think I'm going to have to ask again, he haltingly answers. "Uh... like, tight," he explains. "Hot. Lots of friction."

It's not exactly the most descriptive explanation, but I figure we can work our way up from there. "What about getting fucked?" Raise my eyebrows when he gives me a pointed look. "Is it, like, y'know... your fingers?"

Luka sighs. "Do you really want to know all this shit?"

I try to make my shrug casual. "Come on, dude, who else can you talk about this stuff with?"

I'm doing my best to seem casual about it all. To not just blurt out the million questions that are rattling around in my brain. If it's gonna happen, I know, Luka has to be the one that wants it to happen most. 

"I guess it's a bit like with your fingers," he concedes, finally. "But... thicker. More... god, I don't know." A sigh. "Solid, maybe? And deeper." 

He smiled when he said it. Just briefly, there and gone again so swiftly that you'd need to have been staring at him to see it. Luckily, I was staring. 

"But good, right?" I press. 

Luka shrugs again. "I mean, I was hard when he did it. Stayed hard, I mean." 

I want to bite my lip as I picture it, but I'm trying my best not to react too strongly. Nothing, at least, which might unsettle him from this sharing mood. Even though the idea of my best buddy's fat dick wagging around while he gets reamed is lighting up my imagination in ways I'd never have predicted it could. 

"Was he hard?" I ask, instead. "When you fucked him?" 

Luka frowns, like he's running back through some mental tapes of it all. "Yeah," he says, eventually, "I think so."

My brain is flip-flopping between the two sets of images. Luka with his legs pulled back, looking up as the guy jack-hammers between his cheeks, and then the dude on all-fours in front of my friend. His big cock still hard as he gets pounded, and the look on Luka's face as he buries himself with each stroke. 

I'm squeezing at my dick, through the basketball shorts I changed into before heading over, without even realizing it. 

"Then he jerked off while I fingered him," Luka adds. 

My head snaps around, the instinct as strong as the urge to grope at myself was. Finding him staring at me, a knowing smile already curling his lips. 

Force myself to turn back, looking at the screen even though I'm hardly paying any attention to the cars or the controls at this point. Luka's words replaying on a loop in my head, as I factor them into my mental theater. 

"Fuck, you mean after you'd just cum in him?" I can't hold in the chuckle. "That must've felt..."

I'm trying to find the word, but Luka supplies it before I can. 

"Squishy," he suggests, "and really hot, and wet, and soft." 

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying my level best not to react. Not to break the flow of his description. 

"He was sitting on my chest," Luka adds, "so I was right there when he blew."

My fingers twitch; the car on the screen has a one-on-one with a barrier. It'd be enough to lose the race, if Luka was even playing any more at this point. 

"Did he cum on your face?" I can't not ask, not after he's planted the possibility in my brain. Hoping the fact that I'm still staring forward, across the room rather than straight at him like I wish I could, won't disturb the spell. 

"In my mouth," Luka says, as plain as if he was telling me the day of the week. 

I can't not look at him. Game pretty much forgotten, fingers not even bothering with the buttons any more. I need to see his expression, make sure I spot every twitch and gesture. Because this guy, the person I'm sitting next to on the old, battered couch, it's almost as though he's suddenly a stranger.

"Dude, what the fuck?" 

It comes out harsher than I expected, surprise hardening my tone. I can see my mistake by the cloud that smudges his expression. 

Luka shrugs. "What?" Like he's trying to brazen it out, only I know him well enough to see the brittle edge to it, too. Just familiar enough that I can fall back into our usual roles, or mine at least; lean into it, and see how far I can push him.

"Did you swallow it?" 

He holds my stare for a second or so, but then looks away. When he finally speaks, it's with that same, mild flatness. Like he's hoping he can still the strength of my own reaction, if only he can deliver the truth as blandly as possible. "What do you think?"

What I think, I want to tell him, is that someone has body-swapped my best friend and turned him into some sort of sex addict. That it's like I'm seeing two Luka's, the guy I know - have known for most of my life - but overlaid with some stranger wearing his features. 

Features which were getting sprayed with another dude's load just hours earlier. 

"Don't freak out," he says, and I can't help the way my face twists into an entertained grin. Or, for that matter, the way my hand is pawing more eagerly at my crotch, cock throbbing in my fist. 

"Who's freaking?" I shoot back. "Just surprised at you, is all."

Luka gives me a look. "Just seemed right at the time, y'know," he says. As though that explains everything. 

I chuckle again. "And then what?" Because I know he wants to tell me, now. That we're past that whole air-of-mystery, oh-I-couldn't-possibly-say bullshit; the truth is right there, in front of me, assuming I'm willing to reach out for it. 

He doesn't answer my question, though. Looks down, instead, to where my hand is kneading my erection. Gaze pointed. 

"Are you getting off hearing about all this shit?" 

I follow his stare down, to where the swollen ridge of my dick is clear through the silky fabric of my shorts. It's not like he hasn't seen me hard, I remember. Not like we haven't sat together, jacking ourselves like the best of buddies. 

"Just sounds hot, is all," I tell him, smirking. "And it's not like you haven't seen it already."

Luka rolls his eyes, but I can tell he's amused too. "If you're looking for permission," he says, sounding unbothered, "I don't care."

It's not so much permission as an acknowledgment. Of what we've already done, and of the power of what we've just been talking about. Of the fact that, whether or not we put it into so many words, the stuff he's been doing is a turn-on to both of us. 

My stomach squirms as I suddenly wonder how he'd react, if I shared a little of what I'd done today, too. Whether he'd bone up or recoil in horror if I told him about that anonymous hand reaching out for my cock, and the way it'd milked me under the cold metal partition in the gas station restroom. 

I'm thick between my fingers as I pull my dick out, through the leg of my shorts. Harder than normal, it feels like, and throbbing as I feel the weight of Luka's gaze on me. 

Part of me is desperate to tell him, to share what I succumbed to. I ask him another question instead, hoping he'll fill the silence before I do. 

"So what did you do next?" 

Luka sighs, like my fascination is a foregone conclusion. "How much detail do you want?" 

I shrug; grin at him, squeezing myself pointedly. He sits back, against the arm of the coach. I can't help but notice the way his shorts are bulging now, too, even if Luka doesn't seem entirely aware of it. 

"Fine, then," he concedes. "We ended up in the shower together. He picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist and rode his cock while he pressed me against the wall." 

He's watching me as he spills his secrets. Eyes searching my face, the way my body is twitching as I listen to him. There's a little fear there, I know there is; know my best friend too well to ignore the fact that he's cautious about sharing this stuff. And yet there's something else, too, some edge of defiance. As though he wants to test the limits of my acceptance as well, like it's a challenge. 

"You nailed him, and then he did you in the shower?" I'm stroking myself now, slow and even pulls. See the way Luka is watching it happen; his nod of confirmation distracted. 

"Yeah," he tells me, lust burring his voice. "And then he blew me, and then we both played with my hole."

I smile, unable to help it. Thinking about the photos I took of him, how I'd posed him so as to show him off to the full. "He really loves your ass." 

Another shrug. "We played with his, too," Luka says, "I think he just likes ass stuff." 

There's really no way to hide my amusement, now. "Yeah," I concede, "I get that."

I expect him to blush, to try to change the subject. That's what the Luka I know best would do. Instead, the look he gives me is positively sly. 

"Have you managed more than three fingers yet?" 

Staring at him, I shake my head. Wondering if he's picturing it now, my legs pulled back as I squeeze half my hand into my hole. Wonder, too, how he looked when it was another guy's cock stretching him. Whether he was filled with doubts as it happened, wondering despite all the evidence if it was even possible. 

And then swallow, throat suddenly dry, at the realization that I need to ride this wave of honesty, of bluntness, as far as I can. 

"If he likes your ass so much," I suggest, "you should make him a video."