Xander Shows Me My Prostate

Dan sounds like he's nothing more than curious, the vodka already softening whatever bite might normally be there in our mutual teasing, but I can't help it, I react like he's just accused me of something unimaginable. 

My phone is where I tossed it, unthinkingly, on the couch between us. The screen still lit up, in fact, and showing the preview - small, yeah, but big enough - of the photo Xander sent in return to mine, earlier. Enough skin visible to tell that yes, he's definitely naked, even if his hand is kinda covering his junk too, and the framing cuts off at his neck.

I grab at it, squeezing the lock button as a sense of growing anxiety spirals up through my chest. If the drink Dan had forced me to have was starting to take the edge off my stress, that's all upended now. 

"It's just spam," I tell him. Trying to keep my voice lighter, breezier than I actually feel. As casual as I can be, despite the flush of mortified horror that's running through me in sickening waves. Risk a glance up at my best friend's face, to see his reaction.

The way his eyebrow is arched suggests he's unconvinced. "You save your spam's number, dude?" Dan chuckles. "So who's 'X'?"

That's how Xander saved himself in my contacts, just the first letter of his name. I grit my teeth.

"Nobody. Just some guy I know from..." My brain is racing, but with all the effectiveness of a broken engine. None of the cylinders firing in the right order, and it feels like it's about to shake itself loose out of my skull. "Uh, from the gym. From working out."

The way Dan's staring at me leaves me feeling like my lies aren't doing a great job, but I force myself to hold his eyes. If I act guilty, it's gonna be even more obvious that I'm trying to bullshit him now. 

"And he sends you naked pics? Sounds kinda sus, dude."

There's still no real judgement in his tone, more a kind of amusement if anything. And that makes it worse, somehow, because it leaves me feeling like Dan is seeing all the way through my - admittedly pretty shitty - story, isn't persuaded in the slightest, and is now just playing with me until I say something even more incriminating. 

I shrug, the gesture tight and awkward from the tension in my shoulders. "Progress pics, y'know."

The hint of a grin curls his lips. "Progress pics."

If I focus on it, really try hard, maybe I can do a shrug that doesn't look like I can't move my upper body properly. I'm still not sure it's any more effective. "Y'know. Show how well the workouts are going."

He's nodding, slowly, as though that makes sense, and I'm suddenly wondering if I actually got away with it. A dumb explanation getting the benefit of alcohol and a best buddy who doesn't spend too much time thinking in general, and if I wasn't the most effective liar then maybe, just maybe, it didn't really matter this time?

"So let me see, then," Dan says, idly, holding out his hand. I blink at him, squashing down the renewed flush of horror that's threatening to spill through me. 

"Uh, I don't think..." I start, stumbling as I realize I have zero fucking idea how I wanted to finish that sentence. 

Dan jerks his hand, impatiently. "Lemme see his progress, dude."

I could tell him that it seemed rude, showing someone else's photos to a guy they didn't know. Or I could try going on the offensive, challenge Dan as to why he was so curious, only that would likely just escalate things until I had explaining to do, too. 

There are zero good reasons why he shouldn't see, at least as far as my panicking brain can come up with, and it's not like I have more than a handful of seconds before it starts to look, well, even more suspicious.

So I tap the message notification, Xander's photo filling the screen - my eyes instinctively glancing down the contours of his body, despite my brain's insistence that now isn't the time; now really, definitely, absolutely isn't the time, as alluring and intriguing and fascinating as it might be to me - and, jaw clenched so tight I think I can hear it start to creak, pass Dan the phone. 

He sits back, looking at the screen with an appraising expression. I even see him play with the zoom a little. Then glances at me over the top of the display. 

"He's your trainer?" 

It's a suggestion that has connotations I don't want to start dwelling on, not right now, even if it automatically makes some part of my crotch twist with a reaction I don't have a name for yet. I force myself to shrug, even as I wish I could reach out and snatch the phone from Dan's fingers. "Nah, just a guy who gives me some... tips."

He nods, slowly, looking back at the display. "Cool tats."

I allow myself a tight nod in response. "Yeah." Trying desperately to remember whether Dan has met Xander before in person - it wouldn't be weird for my sister's oddball clique to be here when my best buddy was hanging out - and, if so, if it's likely he'll have seen enough of his body art to recognize it here. Given how distinctive Xander's sleeve is, what I'm really counting on now is Dan's shitty observational skills.

He's silent for a few seconds more, then he grins, and the floor of my stomach drops. Because I recognize that smirk, and it means there's a whole load of shit about to come my way.

"Looks like you've done some, uh, growing of your own, dude." Dan glances up at me with a knowing look, and when he turns the phone around it's my photo, the one I sent Xander first, that's filling the screen.

"Dude, what the fuck!" I exclaim, angrily. Knowing that's just the sort of reaction he's trying to provoke, that I'm walking straight into it, but unable to stop myself. Lunging, in fact, across the couch to try to grab my phone from his hand, but Dan holds me at bay with one socked foot against my chest while he pinches in on my photo. 

"Showing off some serious muscle here, dude," he teases, and when he flips the screen around again it's a close-up of my half-hard cock. Barely concealed by the hand I kinda have hovering in front of it, something I thought Xander might find amusingly sexy but which now just seems designed to further embarrass me. 

"Fuck off," I tell him, hotly, and reach again for the phone. "Give it back."

He doesn't even reply, just swipes around the screen again, staring at it with an appraising eye. "Chest is looking pretty good, dude," Dan observes, mildly, as though I'd asked him for a casual assessment. "Abs aren't popping like his are, though."

My abs, whatever there are of them, are in fact currently pressed against the sole of Dan's foot, as I make another desperate attempt to grab for my phone. He holds it away, out of my furious reach.

"Kinda weird that these are the only two progress pics you guys have ever sent each other, no?" he asks, eyebrow raised. He's showing me the sparse conversation between Xander and me, now, nothing in it bar two thumbnails and the "X" at the top. I glare at him. 

"I deleted the old ones."

Dan nods, slowly, as though that makes perfect sense to him. "Yeah, you wouldn't want pics like this just hanging around, would ya dude. Not when there's so much... on show." 

I want to wipe that smug, knowing smirk right off his face, but I'd settle for getting my phone back and my own face retreating from its current tomato-red condition. 

"Give. It. Back." I grind out. Dan gives the screen one more, pointed look.

"Ask nicely?" 

I close my eyes briefly, count quickly to five in my head, and then force myself to stare at him in a way that I hope is less murderous. "Give it back... please."

A beat, and then I hear the click of him locking it, right before he tosses the phone at me. Sending me toppling back in my desperation to catch it, Dan's foot giving me a final, helpful shove in my belly so that I go sprawling on the cushions.

If looks could kill, I would need a new best friend. Instead, Dan is just laughing at me. 

"So you hooking up with guys now?" He's waited until I just about got myself upright again, clothes straightened, breathing nearly back to normal. I roll my eyes. 

"Fuck off."

Another laugh. "No, seriously, if I'd known you were getting down with dudes, I wouldn't have bothered telling you about that ass stuff. Didn't realize you were already onboard with it."

I hold his eyes, pointedly, for a moment, saying nothing. Then, when I'm confident Dan is paying me full attention, I repeat it. "Fuck. Off."

A snort, as he shakes his head. "Sounds like you need a finger or two up there, dude. Or whatever it takes for you to get off and stop taking shit so seriously."

It's too much to look at his face, so I stare at the wall, feeling petulant and sulky but not quite sure how to jolt out of that. "You're ridiculous," I tell him. 

"Yeah, Mister 'Sharing Progress Pics,' I'm ridiculous," he fires back, voice dripping sarcasm. 

I reach for the TV remote and stab at the buttons. Dan and I both like dumb science fiction and low-budget horror movies, and I'm hoping that if I can distract him then I can also put an end to his questions. And for a while, too, it seems like it's working. There's enough obviously-fake gore to keep us both entertained. 

"So how do you know him?" 

I frown, only half-turning my head so I can still watch the screen, where some chick is getting chased by a guy with a chainsaw. For some reason she's decided not to take off her high heels, which seems like a pretty stupid idea to me. "What?" 

Dan gives me some knowing side-eye. "Your progress pic buddy. How'd you know him." 

I grimace, wishing I could just ignore him, but knowing that would just make him all the more curious. "He's just a friend of my sister," I say, blandly. 

A chuckle at that. "A 'friend of your sister,' right." Dan snorts. "I dunno, dude, I don't send nudes to my sister's friends."

Finally giving in and turning, I give him a look. "Your sister and her friends are fourteen."

He laughs again, then grimaces. "Yeah, there's that." I feel him kick me - lightly, but pointedly - in the leg. "So did you reply to him yet?" 

Sighing, I fix my eyes on the screen. Unsurprisingly, the guy with the chainsaw has caught up to the girl, and equally unsurprisingly she fell over. Some part of my brain is trying to decide whether she's an important enough character for them to actually kill off, or if I should expect some kind of rescue any minute. Like I wish there was some way to rescue me from this awkward-ass conversation my best friend seems determined to have.

"I've been sat right here with you, did you see me texting?" 

Dan's laugh is the sort you give when everyone knows you've touched a raw nerve. "So you're not gonna tell him he looks so big and buff, and his muscles are crazy huge, and his cock looks so..."

"Dude!" I can feel my face flushing as I interrupt; wish that I hadn't hit quite that volume but I really didn't need Dan going on any further. "Stop being such a pain in the ass, jeez."

He winks at me, like it's a victory just getting me to react so vocally. Actually, in terms of our teasing, it probably is. "Three fingers now, dude, and no pain at all," he tells me, waggling his eyebrows up and down. 

I sigh again, shaking my head. "TMI, dude, TMI." 

Problem is, I know him. Know how his brain works. And once he's on one of his obsessions, it's seriously difficult to derail him.

"How many have you managed, then?" Dan asks me, looking at me expectantly. It's not, by the grand scheme of the dirty bullshit we've talked about openly before now, the worst or more intrusive question he's ever posed, but I'm not much in the mood to answer it anyway. 

"Dream on, buddy," I tell him, dismissively. Hear him snort in amusement. 

"At first, I was like, no fucking way. No way I can get three fingers in my ass, it's not happening. But holy fuck, I did it." He high-fives himself, which should be embarrassing as hell but Dan doesn't seem to care. "My dick was like, totally rigid. That was an epic cum, dude."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself," I deadpan. 

He winks at me. "So seriously, you managed three yet?" I stare at him, face intentionally blank, refusing to rise to the bait. "Still stuck on two? I know what you're thinking, dude, it's like 'no way can my ass stretch like that' but fuck, with the right angle and lube, it fucking can." 

I've been trying not to let it get to me. No, not just that, it really hasn't been getting to me; my frustration at Dan looking through my messages, and my lingering mortification of him seeing the photo from Xander in the first place have both kept my brain from straying. There's something about the way he's describing it, though, which means I can't help but think of what Xander and I did together. 

I'd had doubts too. Not been sure I could handle Xander's fingers; not even been certain that I wanted to. But then, somewhere between that first, sly digit pushing into me, and the feeling of it massaging my ass from the inside-out, and then the second, and the way he scissored them inside my hole and gradually overcame my muscles and my resistance, it stopped being something to fear and started feeling just plain fucking good. 

Too good. Because then it was hardly any step at all to a third finger, and then Xander's cock, and suddenly I'm pressed against the tiles in his shower and he's pounding my hole while I beg for his dick in me. 

"Dude, are you bricked up right now?" 

Dan's voice snags me back into the present, in time to see him stare with amusement where the thick ridge of my cock is clearly outlined as I strain against my sweatpants. The stretching, clinging gray fabric only making the shape of it more obvious, more obscene. 

"Are you getting hard thinking about me fingering my asshole, dude?" Dan asks, laughing. I glare at him.

"Fuck you. No, I'm fucking not."

He's loving this, I can tell. Hugging himself, he's laughing so hard. "Thinking of me beating my meat and getting all worked up," he accuses. 

I'm tempted to throw the remote at him, but just about resist. "Dream on, idiot."

Dan gives me a sly look. "So who's got you boned like that? Lemme guess, mysterious Mister X?"

I don't throw the remote, but I do turn away from him in frustration. Pulling my knees up against my chest, arms wrapped around them, as I stare at the screen without really seeing what's going on there. For a while there's just the sound of screaming co-eds and gas powered hand tools. I'm ignoring the weight of Dan's gaze on me, refusing to look around.

"Dude, if you wanna get your dick sucked by some guy, it's no big deal," he says, eventually. I narrow my eyes, glaring even as I continue to obstinately face the TV. 

"Who said I was," I shoot back, flatly. 

Dan sighs. When he speaks, his voice is quieter. "Okay, fine. It's no big deal if you wanna sext with some guy. Or whatever." Silence; there's no way I'm going to rise to that bait. "Come on, Luka, I don't give a fuck what you want to do with guys. Don't be like this."

I let my stare slip across, slightly. Just enough that he knows I'm kinda, sorta, almost returning his.

"Nobody said I was doing anything with guys," I remind him.

He watches me for a minute, then snorts. "Well maybe you fucking should, because that guy is a stud. Jeez!"

I can't help it; maybe it's how unexpected it is, or maybe I'm just wound too tight and it was only a matter of time before the ridiculousness of the evening proved too much for me. Whatever reason, there's no way I can stop the wild snort of laughter that escapes me, and then once he hears that, there's no stopping Dan from laughing too. That only sets me off more, and in under thirty seconds we're both howling.

It takes a while for us to calm down, especially since just when one of us starts, the other ends up setting them off again. I rub the back of my hand across my face, and find it's streaked with tears. 

"Seriously, dude," Dan says, trying to settle himself with some deep breaths, "are you hooking up with him?"

I use the fact that I could do with steadying my own breathing as an excuse to think what, exactly, I want to say. Because it's clear that Dan either isn't hearing, or just isn't believing, my denials.

"I don't know if..." I start, then feel the words stutter and stumble out into nothing. Because I really don't know what I'm trying to say, here. That I don't know if I'm ready to talk about this stuff, what Xander and I have been doing and what that says about me. That I'm not sure I'm okay with telling my best friend that yeah, I've hooked up with a guy, and not just once, and not just in the basic way he's probably envisaging. 

Maybe he can see some of the frustration and uncertainty in my face. Maybe he just knows me well enough by now. 

"You remember that time we went on that school trip, and I got freaked out on the rollercoaster, and I pissed my pants?" Dan asks. I frown, momentarily confused by the extreme change of topic. 

"Uh, yeah," I agree, finally. "And actually you shit your pants, not just pissed them."

He snorts. "Right, exactly. And you didn't tell anybody, or make me feel like a fucking idiot. You just gave me your spare shorts and made excuses while I cleaned myself up."

We were fourteen, barely. Probably needed to stand on our tiptoes just to qualify to get on that dumb rollercoaster ride. The only thing which had stopped me from freaking out myself had been the fact that Dan started seconds before I did. 

"Are you telling me you pissed yourself again?" I ask him, grinning. He rolls his eyes, but he's still smiling. 

"No. Idiot. I'm telling you that I'm your best friend and you're mine, and I'll give you shit until the day one of us dies, but I'm also never gonna fucking judge you. For, like, anything." He frowns, momentarily. "Well, unless you, like, kill a dog or something. That'd be fucked up."

I stare at him, and his goofy expression that's trying to look earnest while also being kinda semi-drunk, and it's like there's too much in my head suddenly. Far, far too much for me to come anywhere close to thinking straight, what with memories of Xander and I swirling around with guilt and uncertainty about what liking it so much means about me, and this dumb fuzzy warmth toward my idiot best friend, and yeah, okay, a little of the vodka too. 

And so maybe it's the latter that gives me the final jolt, the nudge of courage, when I look at Dan and - shrugging first, because it's not like I understand one fucking bit of my life right now - nod at him. Hearing the words out loud almost as astonishing, unbelievable to my ears as I figure they must be to his. 

"I mean, yeah... we hooked up. More than once."

---

This is the seventeenth part of an ongoing story - thank you to everyone who has commented, emailed, or rated it so far!

If Luka's exploration of his sexuality has you looking for more straight-boys-discover-gay-play tales, and you enjoy your erotica filled with ass-play, cum, college boy hookups, and some remote-control sex toys, then I think you'll like my story "Seven Days to Squirm" too...