Xander Shows Me My Prostate

I was embarrassed as fuck, and also couldn't stop getting hard thinking about it, and that was a pretty fucking difficult mix of things when you throw in the fact that I literally couldn't stop thinking about it. My brain would be caught up in a movie, or food, or whatever bullshit chores my mom and dad were making me do, and then bam, suddenly I'm thinking about how incredible it felt when Xander's fingers nudged across that panic button in my ass, and I'm blushing and boned up all at the same time. 

I say panic button because that's how I was starting to think about it: the super-sensitive spot inside me that was gradually making me go nuts. 

There was no way I could wear the usual boxer shorts any more, they were zero fucking use at hiding my dick when it reacted. I ended up pulling on the compression shorts I had for football at school, just because they were tight enough to keep things at least a little bit subtle down there. Rather than, y'know, my hard cock just wagging around in my sweats 50% of the time. 

Problem was, the way they clung to my dick just ended up reminding me of Xander's erection, and the way it'd bulged in his briefs. Not that I was getting off on thinking about how hard he'd been, but fuck, the guy was fit and while I usually would've said briefs were kinda dorky, on him they looked pretty amazing. 

Made me wonder if Lucy, the girl he was seeing, liked him wearing them. Definitely a lot sexier than my baggy plaid boxers, even I could tell that. 

Maybe it would've been better if I'd just been jerking off morning and night, my fingers hunting down that nub inside me that Xander had located. My buddy Dan, the kinky freak that had got me into trying all this ass stuff in the first place after he read about it on some dirty messageboard, had told me that after he realized how it felt he'd been shoving his fingers up there twice a day for weeks. He gets addicted to this shit pretty easy. 

I'd liked how it felt - okay, that was an understatement - but, even though my body had clearly enjoyed the idea, I hadn't tried it again. It'd been three days since I'd blown my load all over myself as Xander pumped his fingers into my hole and then bust all over my crotch, and I had to admit I was a little bit worried about just how much I was thinking about it, and how doing it again seemed so incredibly tempting. 

That sort of thinking led you down the path to freaky-Dan territory.

I couldn't be completely sure that if I started jerking off that wouldn't automatically end up with me playing with my hole again. It was kinda wild to me that I'd gone for, like, eighteen years without ever thinking about my ass as something other than boring and functional. Now, just the idea of pulling on my dick had my brain instinctively jumping ahead to how it would be so much better if I was rubbing my prostate at the same time. 

Fuck Dan, and fuck Xander too. Fuck them both for screwing me up like this. 

I'd gone from jacking it twice a day to basically three days of cold turkey, and fuck, my body wasn't happy with it. It wasn't like I was some sort of sex addict - I mean, shit, it wasn't like I was getting any of that regularly from girls, either - but if I didn't cum first thing and then right before bed it was just a given that my brain would struggle to focus right. That's what happens to guys, y'know?

Three days without cumming and my mind was in meltdown.

I was starting to do embarrassing shit, like touching myself when I shouldn't, or even dry humping without realizing it. Watching TV or playing some video game, and finding I was grinding the controller or the remote against my dick through my jeans, maybe. I knew it'd gone too far when I was making a sandwich and ended up rubbing myself against the edge of the kitchen counter while I was doing it. My body just desperate for some sort of friction. 

What was really messing up my brain, though, was that while I wanted to say it was all about how amazing it'd been to cum that way, if I was being honest it wasn't just those physical sensations. The fact that it'd taken Xander helping to get off so incredibly, well, that mental picture kept surging back into my head. Even the shock at him walking in and finding me on my back with a finger shoved inside me had twisted, somehow. Less embarrassing - though yeah, it was still pretty fucking embarrassing - and more like a naughty thrill or something.

The fact he hadn't freaked out, or reacted badly, or called me a dirty pervert still blew my mind. Almost as much as the way he'd shown me how to finger myself right, even. I mean, sure, Dan and I talked about kinky stuff sometimes, but there were limits; I wasn't gonna just sit there in the room with him while he tugged on his dick and played with his hole. 

Even if now there was some side part of my brain wondering whether Dan did it to himself the same way Xander had to me.

I would've thought Xander's reaction would be shock, or disgust, or maybe feeling embarrassed for me. Honestly, most of my big sister's friends were these try-hard weirdos, the sort of people I'd be worried if they actually did like me. 

Xander, though... it would've sucked if he'd decided I was gross or something. Not that we were friends, not really, but we were definitely friendly. The idea of that ending made something in my chest feel all twisted and sickly, even if I couldn't put a name to it, exactly. 

He'd not said anything negative, though. In fact he'd been totally the opposite of judgmental, and just got to work showing me what I was missing. Looking back on it, I still can't quite believe that he fingered me while I jerked off, and that he jerked off too while he did it, but at the time it seemed... okay, not normal, but not crazy either. 

It didn't stop me worrying about what he might be like when I next saw him, something I found I wanted but at the same time didn't want, too. Like, the memory of how he'd been might end up being better than the reality of running into him, if Xander had started regretting what'd gone down. Not that I got the impression that he would, not at the time, but then again you can't really predict shit like that. 

So I was kinda excited and really nervous when I got home and heard my sister and a load of other voices in the kitchen. Nothing I can make out specifically, just a group of people all talking over the top of each other. Part of me wants to just go straight upstairs, bypass the whole scene, even though I did want to grab a drink from the refrigerator. But there's another voice in my brain saying that if I go in, Xander might be there, and seeing him would be pretty cool. 

My legs are carrying me down the hallway before my brain has a chance to decide either way. 

My sister's group is all friendly enough, even if they're try-hards too, so I get plenty of head nods and "what's ups" as I walk through the kitchen. Trying to make it look like I'm feeling casual and all, rather than giving in to what I really wanted to do and look around eagerly to see if he was there. 

Just stare at the refrigerator and focus, I tell myself. Go straight there, try to look casual, grab your fucking soda, and then walk out again. If you're feeling stressed, that's just because of the blue balls. 

I pull open the door and grabb a cold can; swing it closed behind me. Turn, to find myself facing Xander right across the kitchen island. 

He's grinning at me. I blink back, feeling a dumb sort of shock even though it's hardly a surprise that he might be here. 

"Hey, dude." 

I swallow, my nod back at him jerky and kinda forced. He's wearing this white t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, as though he'd just torn at it until it was close to being a wife beater. Perfect for showing off his half-sleeve tattoo as it sort of winds up and across his shoulder. 

"Uh, hey," I manage to say, finally. Trying to figure out if my voice was all pitchy and squeaky, like I was still going through puberty or something, or if that was just my ears ringing from the surprise still. 

"Hey Luka." 

Another blink, my head snapping around a few degrees like I'd got caught staring at him too long. His girlfriend, Lucy, was stood next to him, giving me a friendly grin. I had to swallow a couple of times before I could bring myself to respond.

"Oh, uh... hi Lucy."

Like I said, Lucy is really fucking hot. Not in a conventional, pretty-girl way, but sort of serious and strong, somehow. Like, you could imagine her being a warrior or something, which sounds stupid but there's just this totally non-feminine energy there, even though she's got great tits and all. 

The way they're both smiling at me is making me nervous. I didn't think Xander would've said anything about what he and I had done, would've felt the need to tell her, but then again we'd not discussed keeping it a secret either. It was totally possible that they had the sort of relationship where shit like that happens, but it's okay just as long as both the people are upfront about it too. 

Which could mean that Lucy was standing there, staring at me, with the full knowledge that her boyfriend had pushed two of his fingers into my ass while I jerked off desperately. I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that idea. 

Well, no, my brain isn't sure. My dick is twitching in my compression shorts. 

I want to be there, to talk to them, but at the same time I can feel myself starting to freak out a little. Like, it would be easier, almost, if I knew that Lucy knew what her boyfriend and I had done that one time. Then we'd all be on the same page, at least. Instead of how it is now, not being sure whether the look she was giving me was a grin or a smirk or what. 

I need to get out of there, before I do something totally fucking embarrassing in front of them. 

"Well, uh, I'll see you guys... around," I manage to get out. Lucy's smile spreads a little wider; Xander winks at me. 

"Sounds good, buddy," he says, with a nod. 

The spot between my shoulder blades burns at how I imagine their eyes are watching me, as I force myself to walk casually out of the room. 

My hand is already in my jeans pocket, I realize. Fingers squeezing the head of my cock through the lining and the tight cling of the shorts underneath. Other still gripping the cold can that I haven't even managed to open yet. 

I force myself to tug my hand out. Take a deep breath. 

Focus, you dumb shit. This is only weird if you make it weird. 

I take the stairs two at a time, trying to ignore how it pulls the stretchy fabric around my dick, but at the same time unable not to feel it. The day before, by the time I'd pulled the compression shorts off to get ready for bed, the front of them had been a fucking mess of precum. It hadn't even had a chance to dry, my dick had just been squirting that shit out all day as the horniness kept me on this perpetual mid-level simmer. My whole crotch sticky and wet.

I'd thought that felt extreme, but right now I'm not sure I can even touch myself through my jeans without blowing a huge load there and then. 

I pause at the top of the stairs, trying to catch my breath. 

"Hey, dude."

The surprise like a fist to the spine. Recognizing Xander's voice, of course, even from just those two words. Not even needing to turn around to confirm it, but of course I do anyway. Find him standing behind me, that knowing grin still plastered across his face. 

"I got you something," he adds. Pulls one of those little skinny backpacks, the sort on fabric cords not proper straps, around; tugging open the cinched-up top. 

I stare at the bottle in his outstretched hand. 

"Should work better than lotion," Xander explains. 

My cheeks are burning, I realize, because out of everything I thought that might happen, Xander presenting me with a bottle of lube had never even entered my head. He chuckles. 

"I mean, if you don't want it..."

Quickly, I shake my head. Hold out my hand to take the bottle from him. 

"No, no, I just..." My voice trails off, sentence unfinished. "Uh... thanks."

Another wink. "No worries. All part of the service."

The service, I thought. The way he'd serviced me; shown me the ropes, the ways I could feel if I knew the right places to stroke, and rub, and jab at. More than that, though, Xander hadn't just finger-fucked me and then gone about his life. At some point he'd paused and thought about the fact that I'd been trying to play with my ass with lotion, and so taken it on himself to address that shortcoming. 

The urge to ask him what he was thinking about that moment was suddenly almost overwhelming. Like, some sort of crazy fierce need. 

How much lube did he need, I found myself wondering. He'd said that when he and Lucy were fucking, sometimes, she'd push her finger in him and that would be what tipped him over the edge. Was she just using the slickness that he was screwing her with, or was she adding some especially for him?

He was looking at me curiously, and for a moment I had to stop myself from spiraling through some ridiculous paranoia thing where it was as though he could read my mind, tell what I was wondering, just from my face. Even though I knew that was stupid. 

"I can, uh, pay you," I offer. Xander rolls his eyes. 

"Nah, it's all good. Gotta make sure you're properly equipped, right?" 

He'd complimented me, I remember, suddenly. Told me I had "nothing to be ashamed of with this equipment," back when he'd had a perfect view between my legs. My hole, my cock, my balls... everything spread for him to see; a sense of exposure as mortifying as it was kinda sexy. 

It was hard to look at his face while I recalled all that. Only I can't look down, to the sweat shorts he's wearing, because then I'll think about how he'd pulled his dick out and jerked off right there in front of me too. Sitting so close to me, even, the wet head of it kept brushing against my thigh.

"Do you do it?" 

I bite down on my tongue as soon as the question comes out. As though I can chew back the words, even though I know it was too late for that. No way Xander hadn't heard, or didn't know exactly what I was referring to. 

He doesn't freak out, though. Just chuckles, then shrugs.

"I mean, sometimes. Feels good, right?" I nod. "But sometimes you just wanna get off right away, yeah? So, like... not every time."

Not like my best friend Dan, then, I think, the sicko who'd got me into this whole fucking mess by telling me how much fun he was having rubbing his prostate while he jerked off. He was so addicted, so he claimed, he was doing it every time now. 

Xander's giving me a curious look. As though my question has put a crack in some sort of barrier between us, and now that I've asked it, and that has happened, he was okay to ask something of his own. 

"Have you tried it again?" I shake my head. "Didn't enjoy it?"

You know I enjoyed it, I think. You saw how I blasted all over my fucking face and chest. How I got cum on the wall behind me, even. 

"It was good," I admit, "I just..."

He gives a sort of half-shrug. "It's your body, dude. If you like something, keep doing it. If you don't, you don't have to feel obliged to."

I want to explain that it isn't the reason. That pleasure hasn't really come into it, into the decision I make every time the urge to jack off is near-overwhelming, but then stop myself. 

Maybe he takes my quiet for skepticism. Xander gives me a smile. "Look, maybe just try it once more with the lube, right? I promise it's gonna feel better."

I'm pretty sure of that, too. In fact that was what I'm mainly afraid of. 

"Did you tell Lucy?" 

My mouth is on some sort of ultra-embarrassing autopilot. I know I'm blushing again, hate how much like a shy little kid I know it makes me look. Not that I can help my body's dumb responses, just like I can't help the fact that my dick is absolutely fucking rigid and throbbing where it's trapped against my hip right now. 

Xander's eyebrow lift. "Do you want me to have told her?" 

That was a question, certainly. Was it better to have what he and I had done together be some big secret, something the two of us knew but could never mention when we were around his girlfriend? Or would I prefer it if he'd described how I'd laid on my back with my legs spread, jerking desperately as he pushed two fingers into me and whaled at his own cock until he blew his load across my junk?

Could I handle the idea of her picturing that every time she saw me? In fact, had she been picturing it just now, in the kitchen, as I'd tried to string words together into some sort of polite sentence? 

"What would she say if she knew?" I ask him. Not sure if the question iss a hypothetical or something he can actually answer for sure. Xander's grin is knowing. 

"She's big on getting to know your body and experimenting, and getting help with that if you need it."

It wasn't an answer, but it seems like something more. Not quite an offer, but an invitation maybe. Something that means, if I want more than just us standing in the hallway together, I have to be the one that asks for it. 

Somehow I've managed to catch my bottom lip between my teeth. Force myself to release it; watch as Xander's gaze flicks down the degree or two to where the white marks are fading in the swollen pink flesh. 

"Maybe you could... help?" I ask him, finally. Hardly recognizing my voice as I say it. 

Xander smirks at me, knowingly. "Sure buddy, all you had to do was ask."

His eyes drop further, down to where I know without looking that my hardness must be pushing out the front of my jeans. Blunt, even as my words were halting. Then he looks back up at me, his smirk spreading. 

"No time like the present, right, Luka?"

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This is the second part of an ongoing story, and you can find more of my writing at www.alexpendragon.com - thanks for reading!