Xander Shows Me My Prostate

I'd spent about sixty seconds in the shower, trying to resist the urge to jerk off. Telling myself that it was a test of restraint, of self-control. Even as the hot water washed the mix of mine and Xander's cum off my body, and as my fingers tentatively felt around my ass where his had just been playing. 

That was my mistake, because that got me thinking about how he'd fingered me with his cum as lube, and that meant he'd pushed his load into me. Or some part of it, anyway. 

Did Xander bareback his girlfriend Lucy when they fucked? The idea that we might both have had his cum in us was making my head spin, not least because I felt like I ought to be freaking out. And yet I wasn't. 

My hand had found my dick on instinct, and within about a minute I was watching my cream spin down the drain between my feet. Gasping for breath and wondering whether, in the grand scheme of dirty perverts, I'd somehow managed to leapfrog my best buddy Dan and unexpectedly take the lead. 

I was still thinking about it now, two days on. The idea of what my brain should be treating like a big deal, butting up against what I was actually concerned about. On the former list, it seemed like being jerked off by another guy as he fucked me with cum fingers should be more of an issue than I actually seemed to find it now. 

Instead, I was too busy wondering how many girls are up for playing with your ass while you screw them. 

Xander and Lucy did that, I was fully aware. He'd fuck her, while she'd reach under him and go hunting for his prostate, he'd told me as much. Just put it out there, as though it was no big deal. 

I may be inexperienced with girls myself, though, but I was pretty confident Lucy was going to be the minority in being okay with that. And that was making me feel like I just discovered I owned a sports car, but that the garage door to it was perpetually locked. 

I want a girlfriend. Or, at least, I want to be having regular sex; the relationship part is still negotiable. But there was no guarantee any girl who might decide she wanted to fuck with me would also be eager to play with the parts of my body I now know are fun to play with. 

The shitty thing is, there isn't really anybody I can talk to about this stuff. Like, the closest person is probably Dan, but the idea of asking my best friend for relationship advice would be like taking that sports car to a butcher to get fixed after a crash. He had zero experience himself.

Which left Xander, basically. And yet, even after everything that had happened so far, I wasn't sure he and I were the sort of friends who could talk about all this shit. 

Not that I'm not still excited at the idea of seeing him again. Like, embarrassingly so. 

Since I don't have his number, though, all I can do is wait for him to be at our place sometime. I can't ask my sister when he might be coming over, because that'll look seriously sus, and I don't really want to be answering questions about why I'm suddenly interested in one of her friends. Not that I'm ever outright rude with them, but I don't think it's a mystery that I've never had time for her clique. 

So yeah, it's been two days and my palms are getting itchy. 

I jerked off. After that time in the shower, after Xander left my room with a big, wide grin, I must've beat my dick about a half-dozen times. Even then, I was walking around with at least half a boner most of the time. I don't really want to think of it like that, but I can't shake the idea that it's because I didn't finger my hole while I was doing it.

The first time around, after Xander showed me what was what, it was because I didn't want to get hooked on it. Now, though, I have this weird suspicion that I'm not gonna get it right if I do it on my own. Like, I want to have just one more lesson, just one more chance to make sure I'm rubbing that bubble of sensations in my ass just perfect, y'know. 

And yeah, I know, it sounds like the sort of thing addicts say. I hear that too. Only instead of drugs or booze, I'm obsessed with the idea of my hole getting played with. 

It's a mind fuck, I'm telling you. A total mind fuck.

Not so much of one, though, that I don't perk up every time I hear the front door open. Listening out for voices I recognize. My sis has a big friend group, yeah, but I think I can pick out Xander's familiar tones even from a crowd. And then, late in the evening when I'm pretty much thinking I should just whack it one last time and go to bed, I hear it.

Hear him. 

I can't let myself seem too interested, too keen. That would be fucked up, really fucking desperate. So I wait in my room for ten minutes or so, trying not to catch my own eye in the mirror, just in case I have to acknowledge how really damn weird my life has become lately. Simping over some guy, pretty much, who some part of my brain - or maybe my body, I dunno - has decided holds the key to getting off in the most perfect way.

I just need to learn, is what I tell myself. Xander gets his ass played with, by his girlfriend, and he's not any less of a man. It doesn't make him gay, or any of the other things I can imagine my buddy Dan accusing me of if he knew all the shit that was going on. That he'd fucking started, quite frankly, just because he'd found out how good it could feel when you play with yourself back there. 

Not that I figure he'd see it from that perspective, the dick.

I've got on sweatpants and a t-shirt, and my hair looks semi-okay rather than like a total haystack, and so I finally allow myself to pad barefoot down to the kitchen where I can hear them all talking. Loudly, in fact. My guess is that my sis and her buddies have been out, and had a drink or two already, but now they're switching to the home stuff because it's cheaper and half of them don't have proper jobs yet. 

Like, you're in your mid-twenties and you're just fucking about. I won't say it to their faces, but jeez. Grow up already.

I stick my head around the kitchen door, and take a quick survey of the room. There's quite a few people in there, actually, spread out some, but my eyes latch like a magnet onto Xander when I spot him. Stood at the kitchen counter, where it juts out to divide that room from the place we all used to sit and have breakfast together. Back when my mom thought it was important "family bonding time" or something.

For a minute I just stare at him. I know, it sounds like I have some weird hero-worship thing going on, like I idolize him or something, but Xander really is pretty fucking cool. He looks good, of course, but he also has his life kinda on track unlike most of these goofballs. A job at a garage or something like that, and a hot girlfriend, and just this confidence about him that makes you want to talk to him.

I just think that, when he glances across and sees me. Big grin spreading on his face. 

I feel a bit sheepish as I walk over, even though it's my house too, because it's a bit like he caught me staring. Not that he knew how long I was looking for, or what I was thinking. It's hard not to think that he can read it from my face, though. 

"Hey Luka, how's it going, dude?" 

He seems actually happy to see me, or if he's not he hides that well. I shrug, still feeling self-conscious. "Y'know, the usual."

Xander laughs. "Don't sound so excited, buddy."

I glance around the room, suddenly wanting to take the focus off myself. "No Lucy tonight?" I ask him. 

Xander nods over to the corner; when I look that way, I realize his girlfriend is sat on the couch with a couple of other people, chatting animatedly. "I got made unofficial bartender," he adds, holding up a couple of bottles. 

It's not top-shelf liquor, even I know that. Then again, I don't expect it from this crowd, given what I'm guessing is the collective budget. Still, alcohol is alcohol. 

"What'cha mixing?" I ask him. He grins. 

"It's the Xander special," he says, with a wink that makes something inside me twist. "Recipe is a closely-guarded secret, passed down from Xander to Xander."

I squint at the bottles he's holding, and their counterparts on the countertop, and the slightly lurid drink already poured into a couple of glasses. Look back up at his face. "You're just mixing it all together at random, aren't you."

He stares at me for a few seconds, and then bursts out laughing. "Okay, you got me," Xander admits, "but it does the trick, right?"

Given how happy - and loud - people are seeming around us, I can't argue with his conclusion. Xander seems sober in comparison. 

"You drinking it too?" I ask him. He shakes his head. 

"Nah, I'm designated driver tonight," he explains. I nod. 

"That sucks," I tell him. 

Xander shrugs. "Just means you have to get your fun some other way, y'know?" 

I can't not read something into that, but doing so is making me feel that weird, twisty feeling inside even more. Not that I dislike it, really, but I have the sense that if it carries on I might say something that I end up regretting. Or, at least, regret having overheard. 

"Drink, please, bartender." Some girl with pupils that are bigger than they should be is grinning at him across the countertop. I can tell pretty easily that she's already had a few, and that she probably thinks her weird asymmetric haircut was a good idea. Whereas I think it actually looks like her wig has slipped to the side. 

"You wanna help me with the secret recipe?" Xander asks me, grinning. I nod, not quite trusting my voice. He holds out the bottles, and then - as I take them from him - slides a tall glass across the counter so that it's in front of me. 

Then looks up, at the girl, and there's a sort of half-frown twisting his face. "Can't let you hear the secret, I'm sorry," he tells her, with mock-seriousness. I just about choke down my snort of laughter. 

Only to freeze, as Xander leans in close to me - his mouth right next to my ear - to whisper. 

"I know you can follow instructions," he murmurs. It's quiet enough that I know nobody other than me can hear it, but I still glance around nervously. 

I feel like he's waiting for me to respond, so I nod my head. 

"Okay, so dump a shot of what's in your left hand into the glass." I do it. Xander takes the bottle, swapping it for another one. There's a syrupy smell from it, cut with something you might expect at a gas station. "Now a shot of that," he tells me, lips still close. 

I add what I think is about the same amount as before into the glass. Hold out the bottle to him. Xander chuckles as he takes it and sets it down on the counter. 

"Now, this is the part we have to get just right," he adds.

I'm expecting another vague instruction, but he steps in closer to me instead. His chest is pressed against my my back; it's not quite like he's fully behind me, shoved up against me, but I can still feel the heat of him from my shoulder down to my hip. My breath is caught in my chest at the sudden contact. 

Xander grabs my wrist, using that grip to position the bottle over the glass. Then, turning my hand in a way I can't not compare to the way he guided me in finger-fucking myself, he deftly tilts a splash of whatever it is I'm holding in with the rest of the liquor. 

For a minute, I just stand there, and so does he. Me still holding my breath, and I'm wondering what's going through Xander's head right now. 

"Okay, now just the soda water," he instructs. I carefully set down the bottle, and reach across the counter. "Not too much," he adds, "I don't think that's what the lady is looking for." 

The girl titters, and I try to laugh too. It's hard, though, with the heat from him pressing at me, and hard too because my boner is now jammed into the edge of the countertop. 

I add the soda, and then slide the glass across to her. She's saying something, I can tell from the way her lips are moving, but all I can pay attention to is the way Xander's hand has landed, casually, on my hip. Well, not quite my hip; almost on my ass cheek, in fact. Not squeezing, or rubbing, or anything other than just resting there. 

Whoever the girl is, she clearly has other things to do, and turns away from us. I'm expecting Xander to pull away too, but he doesn't. 

"Been practicing?" His voice is low, still, pitched just for my ear. 

"My drink-making?" I ask him. Feel a flush of happiness at his snort of amusement. 

"The lube made it better, right? Easier?" I'm struggling to believe that he's bringing that up here, in a room full of people, full of his friends. With his girlfriend sat on the other side, still talking animatedly with the people on the couch, but I know that at any moment she might look up and spot her boyfriend pretty much leaning on my shoulder and whispering in my ear. 

I'm not gonna push him away, though. The thought doesn't even enter my head. 

"I, uh... I jerked off with it," I admit. There's still this feeling of embarrassment, extreme self-consciousness, at telling him - telling anybody, really - that I play with my dick. Even though I have zero doubt that most people do it, or whatever the equivalent is with what's between their own legs. 

"But not..." Xander presses. I shake my head. 

His fingers are kinda tapping on my ass cheek, now. Just like he's drumming out some random rhythm, like you might on a desk while you're thinking. It's not making my cock get any softer. 

"Do we need another lesson?" 

He says it so casually, so matter-of-fact. Like it's not a suggestion that we play with my butt together, but something entirely dull and mainstream. Xander giving me tennis lessons, or helping me with my homework. I almost laugh out loud at the thought of that.

Instead I nod my head, slowly

"What's going on, guys? I hear the special recipe is making another appearance." The guy looks like he's had even more than the last girl did. Big goofy smile to go with what I figure is meant to be a similarly goofy retro t-shirt. I'm expecting Xander to pull away from me, now we have obvious company rather than the rest of the room just blithely doing their thing and ignoring us, but he doesn't. Only maybe stands a little taller, some of the pressure against my side easing. 

His hand is stuck on my ass, though. And I'm not moving, not doing anything which might dislodge it. 

"You want a single or a double?" Xander asks him. The guy frowns, and I add a few more drinks to my estimate of his current total.

"Uh..." 

Xander chuckles. "Kidding, dude. It only comes one way." He gives me a look, eyebrow arching, just to make sure I get the innuendo. I would roll my eyes, only the way his fingertips are pressing into the meat of my ass cheek is kinda a distraction. 

He hands me a bottle, and I start to go through the same routine as before. The measures pretty much as random as the liquor itself, a recipe based on the inability of those consuming it to differentiate. The guy's eyes have glazed over again, almost like he went into standby mode just as soon as it was clear we were doing our thing and needed no further input from him. 

I'm distracted, too. By the heat of Xander's hand on my butt, yes, but also wondering how he and I are going to get out of the kitchen together. Whether we'll leave separately, dilute the chances of suspicion, and meet up in my bedroom. Or if the room - and, maybe most importantly, his girlfriend - is so drunk, so collectively distracted, that we can just walk out and skip all the skulking and subterfuge. 

Xander sloshes a healthy glug of soda water into the glass; I nudge it across the counter. Maybe it's the movement in his peripheral vision, but the guy jerks back into life like a puppet. Grabs up the drink and gives us both a beaming, slightly out-of-focus grin. "Thanks, you guys are the best!"

I'm trying to figure out the words; the question to find out what Xander has in mind. Mind coming up blank, though. And he's no help right now, either - too busy looking up and down the counter, as though searching for something. 

His chuckle is pitched so that I'm the only one likely to hear it. I watch him reach over, pulling back a jar, then the sudden - and disappointing - absence of his hand on my ass. Removed so that he can unscrew the lid and dip his fingers into what I'm realizing now is a bottle of coconut oil my mom uses to cook with. 

I blink at him, confused by the sudden cooking distraction. Then freeze, as Xander holds up his now glistening fingers. Staring past them, slick with melting oil, directly at my face with a smirk I can only see as loaded, pointed. A challenge as much as anything; a test, of just how far I'll go to get what my body wants. 

There really was no need, it dawns on me now, to be brainstorming a plan to get us both to my room. My cock throbs against the hard edge of the countertop, as I realize exactly what he has in mind.

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