Max has always been the kind of guy who affected me more than he should have.That jock vibe of his, broad shoulders, a chest like he's been hitting the gym, abs so tight it's like every breath is a workout. And his habit of saying, half-jokingly, half-seriously: "Man, I'm always horny. I could fuck three times a day, but I don’t always have someone to do it with. Good thing I've got my hand."
I pretended it amused me, but every time he said it, I felt something I shouldn't. Because the truth was, if it weren't for our friendship, if it weren't for that thin, invisible thing I was afraid to cross, I would have told him a long time ago that he had something much better than his hand right in front of him. Me.
But his birthday was fast approaching. Too intimate? Maybe. Too suggestive? Probably. And yet the idea came to me on its own, so naturally that I didn't even question it: I'd buy him a Fleshlight. A decent one, soft, well-fitting. One that would feel good to him.
When I held the sleek, black box in my hand, I felt a slight rush of adrenaline. Part of me wondered if this was overkill. The other part, the one I usually keep locked away, was glad that I could finally give him something that at least came close to what I really wanted to give him.
I went over to his place that evening. Max opened the door wearing a gray T-shirt and athletic shorts, fresh out of the shower, still slightly damp. He smelled clean, masculine. His hair was tousled as always, as if someone had just run a hand through it.
"Hey, Matt," he smiled broadly. "Come on in."
I stepped inside, holding the box in my hand.
"This is for you," I said, handing it to him.
He raised an eyebrow, curious.
"A gift? What's going on?"
"Birthday," I reminded him with feigned nonchalance. "I thought you could use it."
I didn't know yet how much this would change our relationship. But when he looked at the box, and then at me, with that glint I couldn't decipher, I felt that today I was opening not just the door to his apartment.
I was opening the door to something much bigger.
Max sat down on the couch and placed the box on his lap. I watched as his large hands, the same ones he supposedly uses to get off when there's no one to fuck, began to tear open the plastic wrap. He did it slowly, with curiosity, maybe even with a slight excitement he didn't try to hide.
"Dude… what did you buy me?" he muttered, lifting the lid.
When he saw what was inside, his eyes widened for a moment. A quiet chuckle escaped him, but it wasn't a laugh of embarrassment, more of that surprised, genuine delight that comes when a guy gets a gift that perfectly hits the mark.
"Oh ho," he leaned in closer. "Well then… I won't have to work my hand so hard."
The way he said it hit me like an electric shock. I watched him turn the toy in his hands, feel the material with his thumb, gauge its weight. Even his breathing deepened a little.
Meanwhile, I tried to look normal, calm. Not to give away that this scene, him, the gift from me, his hands on something that would wrap around his cock, was starting to heat me up from the inside.
I stood up, wanting to end the moment before I revealed more of myself than I wanted to.
"Well, I'm off," I said with a slight smile. "Let me know how it works."
I took a step toward the door, but Max looked up at that very moment.
"Hey." His voice stopped me in my tracks. "Wait."
I turned around. He was holding the toy in his hand, and something appeared on his face that I don't think I'd ever seen on him before: full, open curiosity. And something else… something that could be mistaken for an invitation.
"I'll try it out now," he said casually. "And I'll let you know if I'm satisfied."
Time slowed down completely for a second.
This "stopping me" wasn't accidental. Nor was it innocent. Max could have done this tomorrow, in an hour, when I was at home, when no one was watching. And yet he was looking at me and wanted to do it in front of me.
"Stay a moment," he added, in a tone that sounded more like a statement than a request.
I felt something stir inside me. Warmth, tension, anticipation. I nodded, slowly returning to my seat, and I knew one thing:
Max wasn't going to test the gift after I left.
He wanted me to witness it.
Max set the box aside and stood up, as if testing the gift in front of me was as natural to him as trying on a new pair of shoes. But what he did a moment later took my breath away.
He grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt, lifted it in one fluid motion, and pulled it over his head. My gaze immediately locked onto his body. His chest was broad and firm, the hair on his chest forming a line that led downward, his abdomen divided into distinct muscle segments, each one moving as Max took a calm breath. That body was alive, strong, perfectly built… and had long been the subject of my fantasies, which I had never dared to voice aloud.
I wanted to say something stupid, some kind of joke, to break the tension, but the words stuck in my throat.
Max, meanwhile, slipped his fingers into the waistband of his shorts. He slid them down slowly, in one fluid motion. As if he did this every day in front of me. As if nudity were no step, no signal, just a natural stage of this display.
His cock sprang out immediately, heavy, hard, ready. Not semi-erect, but a full, firm erection, triggered either by anticipation or by my presence.
I felt my heart pounding beneath my ribs like a hammer. Like the air was getting too hot. Like all those fantasies I'd kept beneath the surface were suddenly surfacing, spreading throughout my body like an electric current.
Max looked at me from under half-closed eyelids, not shyly, not questioningly. He was simply gauging my reaction. As if he cared. As if he wanted to know if it was making an impression on me.
Of course it was.
It had for a long time.
"Sit down," he said calmly, gesturing to the spot next to him.
I smiled, though inside I was a nervous wreck. I sat so close I could feel the warmth of his skin, the scent of his body, that slight tremor in the muscles of his thighs, which held a tension ready to explode.
For a moment, he looked down at his cock, as if assessing its hardness. Then he looked at me and muttered:
"Well… I think it's ready for testing."
Those words hit me exactly where they were meant to.
There was something raw, confident, masculine about them.
Something that said: you'll watch, and I'll do it.
I sank a little deeper into the couch, trying not to give away how hard I was getting. My heart had already stopped asking if this was a good idea.
My body knew it was.
It always had.
Max took the toy in his hand, weighing it like a tool that was about to show him a whole new kind of pleasure. But before he did anything, he reached out his hand toward me, lifting his chin slightly.
"Pass me the lube."
His tone was calm but absolutely confident, as if he were giving an order to someone who had long known his needs. I reached into the drawer next to the couch, I knew his apartment so well that I didn't even have to look and pulled out the bottle. I handed it to him, feeling Max's fingers brush against mine for half a second. Too brief to call it a touch, and yet… long enough to feel it in my gut.
Max unscrewed the cap. I saw him focus his gaze on his cock, as if preparing for some kind of ritual. He slowly poured the lube onto the head, letting it run down the shaft, glistening in a wet streak. He sighed quietly, didn't even moan, just let the air out in a way that made my whole body react.
"I'm glad you're here," he said suddenly, without irony, without a laugh. "You want to do it?"
He fixed his gaze on my eyes, not on my hands. And that look made the air in the room thicken. I could have turned down the offer, I could have pretended it was too much… but I couldn't. I could never say no to him.
"Sure," I replied calmly, though inside I was on fire.
I reached out, wrapped my hand around his cock and began spreading the lube. A focused motion, my fingers moving slowly along the shaft, there was nothing erotic about the gesture itself… but its warmth, its hardness, the pulsing beneath my hand, it was more than it should have affected me. I tried to stay in control, breathe calmly, focus only on the task at hand and not on the reactions I wanted to provoke in him.
Max watched me in silence, as if studying how I'd behave, how I'd move, whether I cared. Then he took over the hand movement and began lubricating the toy opening, stretching it with his finger, preparing it as thoroughly as if he already had a plan for how to use it.
At that moment, there was no ambiguity between us.
Just him, his body, his cock, his focus.
And me, beside him, in the role I'd accepted without hesitation.
When he was done, he raised the toy to hip height and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.
"All right," he muttered. "I guess we can get started."
Max settled comfortably on the couch, legs slightly apart, hips thrust forward, as if he wanted to give me a perfect view of what he was about to do. In one hand he held the toy, in the other he supported his cock at the base. For a second, he simply watched as his head touched the soft entrance of the toy. And I watched him.
When he began to slowly push his cock inside, his whole body trembled.
Not forcefully, not theatrically, but genuinely.
"Ohhh..." he exhaled deeply, lowly. "Oh fuck, that feels good."
The way he sounded hit me right in the gut. I hadn't expected something as simple as his first inch inside that toy to make such an impression on me. But Max pushed the toy further in, slowly, inch by inch, until the soft texture enveloped half the length of his cock. His breathing quickened, and his chest rose high.
Then he began up-and-down movements. At first slow, controlled, testing. His hand tightened around the toy with varying pressure, as if he were searching for the perfect grip. He changed the pace, sometimes faster, sometimes almost stopping mid-stroke to feel the difference more precisely. His hips finally began to move in gentle unison, light thrusts, short but steady.
I sat beside him, hard, warm, with a tension in my lower abdomen that grew with every sigh he let out. Today, however, I didn't want to touch myself. I just wanted to watch. I wanted to memorize his face, his body, the way his abdominal muscles tensed with every stronger pull of the toy downward. It was a sight like the fulfillment of something I didn't even dare to name.
"Holy shit…" he mumbled, tilting his head back. "This is better than I thought."
The toy made a rhythmic, wet, smooth sound. Max picked up the pace, his lips parted, his hips began to work harder, his whole body was in motion. I knew he was close, I could tell by that characteristic tightening in his thighs, by the trembling just above his knees, by the way his breath suddenly caught in shorter gasps.
"Matt..." he let out without thinking, like in that moment he had forgotten he was supposed to hide anything. "I'm... gonna..."
And then it happened.
His whole body arched, his hips pushed forward, and I knew he was filling the toy. Max groaned low and sharp, sending a shiver through my whole body. His hand didn't stop moving until a moment later, as if he needed a few more seconds to come back into his own body.
When he pulled the toy away and looked at me, there was no shame in his eyes. No joke, either.
"Maybe... you'll drop by tomorrow," he said calmly, as if it were the most obvious invitation in the world. "And try this with me?"
I nodded.
Because at that moment, the only thing I could think was:
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