Xander Shows Me My Prostate

I'd wondered if he would feign amnesia the next morning. Emerge from where he slept on the couch in the rec room, blaming the vodka for conveniently forgetting the stuff we'd got up to; counting on my own embarrassment to go along with the thinly-veiled excuse. Assume, in fact, that I'd be thankful for it. 

Instead, Dan emerged in the kitchen with a wry grin on his face, bypassing only from the most direct route to the coffee pot to nudge me in the shoulder and give me a pointed wink. 

I'd not hung about long after we'd both cum. With it dripping down my crotch and soaking into my t-shirt, I'd grabbed my clothes off the floor, bid my similarly-sticky best friend good night, and pretty much run up to my own room. Mentally crossing my fingers that my parents wouldn't walk out into the hallway unexpectedly, and catch me half-naked. 

"You excited?" Dan asked me, over the top of his steaming mug. I rolled my eyes at him, more from habit than anything specific to this particular question. 

"Don't make me regret telling you," I warned him. Saw his eyebrow lift.

"You weren't complaining when I was helping out last night."

I shrugged, feeling suddenly awkward. Part of me had wanted to delete the photos Dan had taken of me, wipe them from my phone and hopefully sidestep any need to examine why the mental image I had of myself was so different from what I saw on the screen. As I'd flicked through them this morning, though, laying in bed and blushing at shot after shot of myself throbbing-hard and utterly exposed, I hadn't quite been able to hit the trash button. 

Xander might want to see the others, I'd told myself. Knowing that was, at best, just one small part of my justification. 

"Anyway, asshole, I'm gonna go somewhere I'm actually appreciated." 

I chuckled at Dan's description of his crappy part-time job, behind the scratched plexiglass in a gas station by the highway. It was shit, he was the first to agree, but it also kept the cheap vodka coming. 

"Let me know... well, just... y'know," he said, giving me a look. I glanced down at the contents of my own mug, feeling self-conscious. 

"Don't..."

Silence, for a beat. And then, just when I thought he was about to walk out of the kitchen, he nudged me gently in the shoulder. 

"Look, he's hot, but... well, you're a catch too, okay, dude? Don't forget that."

I'd looked up just in time to watch his back disappear down the hallway. 

Ten minutes later, I'm down to the dregs of the mug when the doorbell rings. I'm preparing to say yeah, I can sign for it, to the FedEx or UPS guy, when I pull open the door and find Xander grinning on the step.

Blink at him, feeling instantly wrong footed. 

"Morning." 

It's like he's feeding me the lines; helping me to make conversation while my brain attempts to reboot itself. "Uh, morning."

He glances me up and down, takes in the tattered t-shirt with its fair share of holes, and the sweats I threw on after waking up. Grin spreading a little wider as his eyes return to meet mine. "Gonna invite me in?"

I take a step to the side, body acting on instinct, and Xander moves past me. Leaving me to close the door behind him, knuckling at my eyes as I try desperately to reassert myself. 

"Uh, I didn't know you were... y'know, coming over," I say, finally. He flashes me a wide smile. 

"If it's a bad time..." 

Hurriedly, I shake my head. Sure, I'd have preferred to be dressed, and awake, and vaguely rational, but if my options are seeing him now or Xander leaving, I know which I'm gonna pick. "No, not at all. I'm just... uh..." I gesture down at what I'm wearing, not that he hasn't already clocked my scruffiness. "I'm not really dressed yet."

He cocks his head to the side, slightly. Smile still warm. "So get dressed, then."

I stutter out something in the affirmative, then make for the stairs. Realize, less than halfway up, that he's following me. Is right behind me, in fact, as I walk in through my bedroom door. 

"Uh..." 

Xander gives me a look. "You were gonna get dressed," he prompts, helpfully. I can feel myself blushing. 

"Right. But... uh... I should," I swallow, awkwardly, "shower first, y'know."

The thought, suddenly, of him following me into the bathroom and standing there, watching, as I soap myself, flashes bright into my mind. Simultaneously horrifying and yet enough to make my cock start to thicken. Which is a problem, given I'm not wearing anything under these sweats. 

"Okay," Xander says, simply. Watches me as I back out of the room, eyeing him almost warily. 

It's both a relief and a disappointment that he makes no move to come with me. Not that it stops my brain from moving on to the next anxiety, the thought of him sat waiting for me in my bedroom. Not that I think he'd have any interest in going through my stuff, and not that there's really anything problematic for him to find. More that... well, Xander can be unnerving enough to me when he's right in front of me. The idea of what he could be deciding about me from the shit hanging around in the room I grew up with is potentially mortifying. 

I'm trying not to mentally catalog every embarrassing photo, school award, and stuffed animal I was too sentimental to throw away, as I soap myself as brusquely as possible while still being effective. Usually the shower is my happy-place, and I could spend as long as possible - or until my parents start hammering on the door - in there. Right now, though, I feel like the clock is ticking. 

Faucet off. Dripping across the floor, not caring that my mom is going to give me shit for that later, I quickly towel off the worst of it and then pull it around my waist. Try not to wince as I glance at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. Flushed cheeks, big eyes already looking panicky. Xander's going to think I'm a crazy person.

He's sat on the bed when I get back to my room; carefully shut the door behind me. Wish, in that instant, that I'd thought to take some clean clothes to the bathroom with me, because it seems entirely clear that he's planning on remaining there until I'm dressed and ready.

"Uh, sorry about the wait," I tell him. He's still smiling, and making little disguising of the fact that he's looking me over. 

"No worries, Luka."

He looks good. Real good. T-shirt just on the relaxed side of tight, doing nothing to disguise the body underneath. Denim cutoffs that end mid-thigh, hems either artfully frayed or else they're just at that perfect age. And of course that self-confidence I've always associated with him; the way Xander just fills his space, no more, no less. 

It makes me - topless and with a damp towel hanging around my hips - feel disappointing in contrast. 

"I... uh..." I gesture at the wardrobe. "I'll get, um... dressed, then."

He gives me a look that says that seems like a pretty reasonable plan, given the whole "getting ready for the day" strategy, and I bite down on a wince. 

Turning to the closet feels like a rescue; at least then he can't see my face and the way I know I'm blushing like a tomato. The blood rushing in my ears, as I try to fight the flood of embarrassment and the torrent of self-criticism that I know comes with it. Furious at myself for - once again - showing Xander what a fuck-up I can be. 

I'm so distracted, even, that I don't hear him moving behind me. Only realize, with a gasp, when I feel his bare arm slide around my torso. 

"Have I mentioned before how cute you are when you're unsettled?" His voice is close to my ear, his lips must only be inches away. I'd probably be able to feel the heat from him, even, if my body didn't feel like it was experiencing head to toe pins & needles. 

I don't know how to answer; don't think, even, that my brain and mouth have it in them to collectively piece words together. Not that it seems to matter that much, since Xander's fingers are already stroking gently down my chest. Strumming softly across my nipple, while his other hand slides across the smooth expanse of my belly. 

I'm hard. Instantly so, never mind the butterflies in my stomach or the fizz of nerves in my chest. Cock pressing against the towel, and if I wasn't aware of it already then there's no mistaking the thick bulge of it when Xander turns me, slightly, until I'm facing the mirror. 

It's difficult to look at myself, and so I fix my gaze on Xander's face, hovering over my shoulder. His eyes staring back, smile knowing, as I feel his fingers tugging at the loose knot holding my towel in place. Watching as I recognize the easing of the fabric's grip on me, until - with hardly more than a nudge - it tumbles down around my feet. 

His stare slides down, along my reflection, until I know he's looking at my erection. 

It isn't like Xander hasn't seen it before. Hell, I sent him a photo of myself last night which showed even more than he's seeing now. And yet, despite all that, I'm still fighting the urge to cover myself with my hands. Hide the shameful truth of how quickly, how easily he affects my body.

His hand is quicker, though. Fingers wrapping gently around my shaft, as though just weighing its heft, its thickness at first. Refusing to jerk me, to play with me like I'm suddenly desperate for, and my hips are about to start pumping me through his grip by the time he gives me the first, slow stroke. 

I open my eyes to find Xander staring at me again. A feeling like I've just been caught, somehow.

"You feel good," he murmurs, as I twitch in his fist. I don't trust myself to reply.

His other hand slides up my chest, fingernails trailing along my throat and up, under my chin. Gently coming to rest, two soft fingertips, on my lips. Something in his expression teasing, then. A challenge in it. 

Opening my mouth isn't a conscious decision, but somehow his fingers have slipped inside. Are resting on my tongue, and then I'm sucking them. Watching Xander as he watches me, lapping around his digits as my blush burns even brighter. 

I know, when he pulls his hand free, what's happening next. 

The waiting is the worst. His hand out of sight, behind my back; the knowledge - or at least as close to certain knowledge as I can get - of where he's reaching now, how Xander plans to use those fingers I've so diligently slicked for him. And then, even with all that expectation, that anticipation, I still jolt when I feel them brush against my hole. 

He's stroking me more firmly now, hand tighter on my cock as he pushes the first finger inside me. My ass pushing back, more instinct, an urge to impale myself on his hand as my cheek brushes against his hip. Eyes still hooked on his, on the twist of his smile, as he grinds in the second digit. 

It's fast, faster than he's worked me before, but even as I clamp down on the hiss from between my teeth I'm arching my back to meet him. Muscles recovering from the initial shock, that weird and exquisite stretch, and now I just want more from him. More friction, more power; more attention to the parts of me that are the most sensitive, the most intimate. 

"It feels like you grew another inch in my hand," Xander tells me, chuckling softly. I grunt as his fingers flare across the precum-slicked head of my dick, the sound becoming a gasp as that whole-body shudder forces him even deeper into my hole. 

I'd started out the day expecting to fuck him, and now all I can imagine - all I can desperately hope for - is that Xander's going to pull out his cock and drive it into me. Fuck me standing up in the middle of my bedroom. 

"You know you can't cum, right?" he says, voice soft and teasing. "Not yet, anyway."

The groan I give is needy, frustrated. Like a kid told he has to wait for Christmas morning, and I hear Xander laugh at my blunt desperation even as I pant and try to push myself back onto him more. 

Then, the sudden emptiness as his fingers slide out of me. A playful slap on my ass, and he's stepped away; leaving me breathless, hunched over still, a long strand of glistening precum already spooling out of my dick and easing its way to the carpet. 

"Bastard," I accuse him; hear Xander laugh again. 

"Let's get you dressed, Luka."

It's as though we're occupying two different worlds. Overlapping but so very changed nonetheless. Xander sliding hangers across in my closet, looking through my shirts, while I stand naked, flushed, rock hard and still desperate for him to turn around and take pity on me. Use my body in the ways I know he can generate most pleasure, for the both of us. Having to fight the urge to whine for it, like a petulant kid.

"I think these," he observes, jolting my brain from its horny loops, "and this." Holds out a pale blue t-shirt and a pair of shorts. They're ones my mom got me last year, mid-thigh and kinda tailored in dark gray, because we had to go to some dumb summer recital my sister was in and she thought they'd make me look smart. 

"I need underwear," I point out to him. Xander smirks at me. 

"No, I think you're fine."

I grit my teeth, but don't bother to argue. Because I recognize that expression, that grin, already. It's the one which says he's getting off on tormenting and teasing me, and there's some part of my brain which is telling me that if I just behave, give him what he wants, then maybe I'll get lucky and he'll nail me before we even get out of the room.

He's watching me as I pull on the shirt, and then gingerly step into the shorts. Pull them up my thighs, seeing my bobbing cock still eager and hopeful for attention. The swollen head wet with my own natural lube.

Xander steps forward; runs his fingers around my tip, my legs flinching, and for a moment I think I've done it. Held out long enough to overcome his appetite for taunting me. 

He holds his fingers up, to my mouth. Obediently I let him slip them between my lips, lapping at precum. Just for a few seconds, though, before he nods. 

"There. Can't be getting your shorts all sticky." An evil grin. "Or, at least, not yet anyway."

I swallow the grunt of frustration, then focus instead on trying to fasten the zip and the button without catching myself in the process. By the time I've eased myself inside, my cock is a clear ridge across my hip through the gray cotton. 

Xander looks me over, then nods approvingly. "Fuck, Luka, you look amazing." I can feel myself blush, and yet I don't want him to stop. Want another compliment, and another, until maybe I can start to let myself believe them too. He steps forward, hands sliding up my bare arms. "You ready for the day?" 

It's such a layered question, the subtexts so deep and so numerous, that for a moment I can only stare at him. Trying to decide which strata of readiness he's talking about, indecision leaving me mute. In the end, I just nod.

He rolls his eyes, chuckling, then leans in and gently presses his lips to mine. Just briefly, leaving me still pushing forward even as he's already pulling away. If he hears the little growl of need in my throat, he's generous enough to not mention it. 

"You eat breakfast yet?" I shake my head. 

I know how I want to play it. Cool, less nervous and twitchy than I usually am around him. Try to be the confident guy that Dan seems to think I should be, even if I have to pretend. Xander's equal, basically, rather some kid he's inexplicably choosing to hang around with. 

It all goes out of the window as soon as get in the car. 

In my defense, it's hard to think straight when his hand slides onto my thigh as soon as I slip into his car. I don't even have my belt on, and his fingertips are already squeezing my leg. And any hope of playing it cool and trying to look like I'm relaxed is absolutely gone, because my dick is already, like, totally rigid again in my shorts. 

"So I have questions," he tells me, smiling, as we pull away from the curb. I nod, try to clear my throat which is suddenly thick. 

"Go on..."

He glances at me, still grinning. "Did you take that photo yourself?"

I don't need to ask which one he's talking about. Feel my cheeks instantly flush at him bringing it up, though. Part of me wants to ask what his reaction was when he first saw it; was he surprised, shocked. Did he think it was out of character for me? Had he already been hard, or did seeing me make him that way?

"My friend Dan took it," I admit, instead. See Xander's eyebrow arch. 

"And are there more?"

I should've known he wouldn't get caught up on the stuff I think I'd get hung up on. Curiosity about what Dan thought, or how that whole situation got started in the first place. Maybe in Xander's world, best friends just automatically fill in as porn shoot photographers when it's required of them. 

"Yeah," I tell him. Knowing, as I do so, that the inevitable next step is him wanting to see the rest. "I picked the one I thought you'd... like most."

His fingers squeeze me. Far enough down my leg, sure, but that doesn't stop me from imaging how his hand would feel gripping my cock again. 

"Well I haven't seen the others, but I definitely liked that one."

It feels like we're balancing on the edge of something, and my brain is squirming with anxiety. "Where are we going?" I ask him, instead. Hoping the change of subject will allow some of the pressure in my head to dissipate. 

I expect him to say his place. Want him to, really; want to know that, even if I'm too tongue-tied and chickenshit to ask, Xander has confidence enough for the both of us. That he's gonna feed me a bowl of cornflakes and then put me on his kitchen floor and push his fingers back into me, and indeed any other part of his body he might want to. 

"There's a fun breakfast place I know," he says, instead, turning to look me over again. "And I want to show off the hot guy I get to spend the day with."

I look away, out of the side window, face hot again. "Shut up."

His hand lifts off my leg; grips my chin, just firmly enough to turn my head back to him. "You're hot, Luka. That photo was hot, you were hot this morning when you were desperate to get fucked, and you're hot right now in those cute little shorts. You make me want to pull the car over right this fucking minute and have you here, y'know?"

I stick out my tongue at him. "So why don't you?" 

It's about as close as I can get to a challenge, to a direct request. See Xander's smile spread in response.

"Because when we fuck, later... when you nail me... I want you the horniest you've ever been in your whole fucking life, Luka," he tells me, and I hear the rasp of something new in his voice. Something I can dare to imagine that I've awakened there. "I don't want you second-guessing, or questioning it, or getting distracted because you're not sure whether I'm really wanting to be there with you."

It feels like my whole body is vibrating. Xander's words triggering some resonance through me, the sort of shake you get when you've had far too much sugar and your nerves are totally wired. I nod at him; feel a flare of satisfaction at the clear pleasure on his face. 

"When this..." - his hand drops from my chin, instantly finding my hardness and palming along its length until his fingernails are grazing around the flared tip - "is wrecking my hole, the only thing I want you thinking about is how much harder you can pound me. Got it?" 

---

This is the nineteenth part of an ongoing story - thank you to everyone who has commented, shared, 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...