The Better Man

It wasn’t like I expected anything earth-shattering to occur the morning after I woke up next to my best friend Ron. He was still him, the well-built stud covered from arm to arm in tattoos, and I was still me, the hopeless romantic falling deeper in love with him.

Of course, my timing sucked. When hadn’t it? But even I knew I was pushing the envelope this time being we had to be at the chapel in a couple of hours for his wedding.

Last night was his last hurrah, his rite of passage, his bachelor party. We ordered the expensive stuff, getting drunk out of our minds, and moved it over to the hotel room where we made it rain with the entertainment. After we got rid of some of the lames, we bounced some of the strippers off our dicks just for fun, joking about who got who’s sloppy seconds (or thirds or fourths). The way we were going at it, it was quite amazing Ron and I were still left with our dicks in our hand watching some girl-on-girl flick. Like I said before, we put away the liquor, so it was next to impossible to say how it started. He said something, and I said something, and the next them I know I felt his hot juicy sperm painting the outside of my backdoor as he pushed it through again.

I don’t remember much after that. I passed out in the pleasure and pain of it all, through the ejaculation of a physically and emotionally draining load.

And here I lie with dried spunk between my booty cheeks a few hours later, pretending to be sleep holding onto my best friend for dear life. My face nestled in his trunk-like neck, cursing myself under my breath that I allowed this to happen right before his wedding. I wasn’t expecting him to cancel his wedding, but I didn’t want him to get married to her. Not after we found this.

The terrible part about it was that I didn’t start out looking at him like this. I wasn’t even looking at dudes at all. Had I been, certainly I would have said he wasn’t my type. He shaved his head to hide his receding hairline. He looked too well-worked. Too beat up, too rugged, too manly. When I did start looking at dudes that way, he did flip the bill in having that look. That down low look, nobody could tell. But I quickly rejected him in the same stroke, too. Because if my business ever got put out there, I was going to make sure without a doubt it came out I was the man on top and not some bottom bitch to some alpha male.

The funny thing is I don’t know when everything changed? One day he was my boy, my best friend Ron, and the next he was Ron the Man with those kissable sexy-ass lips. It was just a thought running through my head about smooching on them that soon pressed reality when things fell apart for him. His assignment at the construction site came to an end, giving him a boatload of free time that ultimately led to his girl finding out about his cheating and kicking him out of their spot. He came to me man-to-man, defeated, and desperate, asking me for some help as he got back on his feet.

I had an efficiency when he first moved in. And because we were boys and our minds weren’t even working like that, we slept in the same king-sized bed. He was on one end. I was on the other. It was damn near comical watching him snore and fart throughout the night. It was just plain annoying when he rolled out of bed in the morning, waking me out of a dead of sleep because he thought I should’ve gotten up because he was up. Then he turned around and got upset with me because I didn’t get up and make him some coffee to get his day started off right.

“I ain’t your bitch.” I often offered groggily.

“I ain’t yours either.” He frequently responded, sitting a plate of gourmet breakfast food in front of me with a glass of orange juice, as sort of his way of saying thanks for everything.

As could be expected, as friend sharing a confined space, we got into it a few times. The thing was we were sounding more like frustrated lovers than we were boys. But I understood. We were both operating under a pressure cooker of unknown change. Ron was aggravated on the job front, even more so running out of money to haul ass to a job interview. I was over in my corner fighting my own battles, dealing with my ever-changing feelings about him. Was he still my boy because I was feeling him? Was he trying to send me subliminal signals about being so much more? It was one thing when it was all in my head, like looking forward to seeing him walking around in his funky drawers. It was another when he went out of his way to include me in every facet of his life.

Who shoulder was he crying on when life was ganging up on him? Who did he tell his secrets to? Who kept them under lock like Fort Knox? Who did he share his hopes and dreams with when he thought the world would laugh? Who encouraged him to look into trucking school while he was out of work? Who narrowed down the search for schools that had a financial aid program? Who did I make him promise to ride shotgun with if he made it?

Who was there when he graduated? When he made his first dollar, who did he make sure got fifty cents? When he got his long awaited first day off, who did he want to spend the whole day alone with? In bed, mind you. When he landed that local route, who did he tell first? Me.

I was falling in love with him, though I hardly saw him on his countless expeditions cross-country. He called every day, sometimes three and four times a day to tell me about this site or that one, or just called wanting to talk. He even told me about his mishaps about trying to get laid on the road. I didn’t take it to heart because that was trying to get a nutt, and if we were together it would have been so much more. But when he got that route that made sure he came home every night, he got his confidence back and a new girlfriend.

The upgrade to the two-bedroom apartment was different. I didn’t know how much I missed waking up to him in my bed until I bumped into him in the common space. Even our conversations changed, being more like foreign strangers trying to engage in small talk. I tried to change that whenever I was bored. He tried to change that whenever his tv was on the blink by climbing back into my bed. Like before, he stayed on one side, and I stayed on the other.

One night, we just happened to be watching a porno off one of those freaky-deaky channels, and he just pulled it out and started yanking away. I just looked at him—without trying to look too hard. His response was it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen it before, and he creamed along his inner thigh. I spent a few nights jacking off to the mental image of him jacking off against my sheets. But that soon turned to jealousy when I overheard him one night trying to get in a phone bone with his girl. He was talking about doing this and doing that with his trucker muscles flexing and quietly screeching out another nutt as I stood outside of his door, closed my eyes and did the exact same thing.

I tried avoiding him for the next couple of days, even tossing him out of my room when he came by. He wanted to know what was wrong, getting up in my face to do so. I wanted to grab him and kiss him and pull him on top of me. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to fuck me as I wanted that intimacy with him.

I first tried to show him after I hooked up the three-way with Brandy, this freak I met wanted a threesome with another guy. Of course, Ron was my first and only choice, looking ultra sexy with his shirt off around the pool, showing off the hair on his chest, glistening with water. At first, he wasn’t down with tag teaming my girl with me in the room, but we were boys. It’s like playing in a basketball game or something, I reasoned, nothing to be uncomfortable about.

He eventually saw it my way, as I felt the hairs of his ball sac brush up against mine while I was stationed on the sofa with my long slender dick digging out her ass while he took out her pussy. The way she was cooing and crowing, I was tempted to toss her out of the way and throw my own legs up in the air for him. He was pile-driving her so hard that he probably wouldn’t have paid attention to the difference. And that was when I knew I wanted him to fuck me.

Instead of being straight up, at the risk of losing our friendship, I simply asked him to move out. I cited his girl was working my nerves, with her calling the house and unannounced visits. He looked scared. He told me he would kick her to the curb. That he felt she was trying to get too serious too soon. I wasn’t hearing any of it and chose to move instead.

I pull back and screw every guy and girl on the block, trying to get him off my mind. I was just settling in emotionally with my new girlfriend when I got a call from him telling me he was getting married.

I was ready to throw a temper tantrum and did in a variety of nonviolent ways.

I smiled when I met his fiancée. I gave a toast at their engagement party, being his future best man. And in a couple of hours from now, I was expected to stand next to him as he married her.

I prayed if I kept very still against him, and my eyes closed that we could sleep through the nightmare taking place at the chapel. He wouldn’t have to marry her, and we could have a chance at our own happily ever after.

My dreams were dashed when he stirred awake, and his hand reached down squeezing between my slick butt cheeks. The cum had long dried, but I was still wet with sweat from our night together. I felt his dick stand up against my leg. He leaned over with a kiss on my forehead. His breath was a bit sour from the alcohol. I didn’t mind, mine was too. We bumped and grind lying on our sides, our pricks hard, and he was trying his best to push me over onto my back. Apart of me wanted to resist suddenly, what would this mean now that we couldn’t blame it on the spirits? The other part of me didn’t give a damn. My body wanted him. My asshole missed receiving him.

How he pinned my knee back to my chest and started working my nipples with his mouth, I will never know. I just know I loved every minute of his body on top of mine, as he worked his tongue down to my toes. The way he worked it, he had my hole aching to be filled. I had to remember I was a man about mine and stopped short of calling out his name like a bitch. But I couldn’t stop myself from screaming when he started tongue-fucking me and I was gripping his bald head for dear life.

He broke my grip, putting my legs on his shoulders and then around his waist as he probed the head of his dick into me. He didn’t wait for me to relax and open up. He just pushed the entire length of his hose up in me like it was nothing. Pushing it through the taut rings of muscles and just held himself there, in his attempt to get me use to his size. I wanted to tell him to get out of me, that he had to work it in slower, allowing me to get use to him back there. He surprised me by kissing me again, this time on the lips. He told me he thought about being like this with me ever since he saw the way boxer briefs hugged my booty. He couldn’t understand how come we hadn’t ended up here before, sleeping in the same bed and all.

I was wordless with his huge dick up in my ass, pulling out and pushing back in to settle into a wicked rhythm. He had me arching my back and my legs spread like a whore and gyrating back wanting every filthy inch of him in me every time he knocked bottom. I was screaming and shouting against the sensation of it all, especially when his balls drummed against my numb-tingled hole.

I tried my best to breathe through the moaning and groaning, only to have the breath knocked out of me a time or two. I hadn’t clue behind the extent he was blowing my back out until I shot my cream all over my stomach and chest with barely a full stroke.

“Damn, this some good ass,” Ron huffed, pouring with sweat as my hole started gripping him tighter.

The bed was rocking like a theme ride, and I was reaching for the edges of the bed for some steady balance. I didn’t remember much from the night before and wasn’t up on being a skilled bottom for some man, but I knew without failsafe he was close to popping off.

“Get that ass, motherfucker! Flood me out with those babies!”

I grabbed his neck, and then mistakenly clawed his back trying to make my way down to his pumping ass. I used all my strength to hold him steady when he was all the way in me and let go just a bit when he was going back for more momentum. Looking up at him, I could tell that his dick was so hard that it hurt trying to get that sperm out of him.

“I’m about to cum!”

I locked down on his ass, feeling first warm spurts splash around my insides before I felt a creamy river empty out my asshole as he finally pulled out after his weakening thrusts.

He collapsed on top of me, kissing me all over and telling me everything I wanted to hear before the moment changed and he told me we needed to shower and get dress and get ready to go to the chapel.

If I said anything to the contrary, I felt I was letting him know I was feeling him more than I should. I refused to bitch out over him or over some dick. I simply held my head high and played my role as the best man at his wedding to her.

After I gave my ceremonial toast, I left and headed back to the hotel. I probably wasn’t even in my room a good fifteen minutes before Ron was pounding on my door, and it was like we hadn’t skipped a beat, he had me in bed for Round Three.

He spent his first night as a married man with me, and almost every night thereafter for the next three months. Out of everybody, and out of the risk of losing him, I convinced him to go back to her, either to work it our or to end it.

Three months later, we were in lying in bed watching his divorce case on tv.