Calculating X In Comic Book Equations

I was pissing after lunch when my best friend took a spot at the circular trough next to me. As he fished himself out I kept my eyes on my own stream. I’ve seen Jeremiah’s dick many times but he still gets squirrely if he catches me peeking. “Hey," I grunted in greeting.

“Hey,” he returned. Nothing for a long minute, but as I was shaking and putting myself away Miah said, “My mom’s not home this afternoon.”

“Yeah?” I asked, not responding further. Letting Miah lead was a lesson I’d learned pretty damn quick.

“Yeah. Something about planning a fund-raiser for the PTA, which means she’ll have three glasses of wine at the restaurant and call Dad to pick her up after work.” He joined me at the sink. “Then she’ll have another glass of wine and he’ll have a beer and they won’t be home until at least six.”

“Yeah?” I glanced up at our twin reflections in the mirror. We’re complete opposites in every respect. His hair hangs to his shoulders, thick and so black it looks blue in the sun, while my white-blond locks are frizzy and have a tendency to curl if I go too long without a cut. His eyes are blue, mine brown; his nose aquiline and mine flat and flared. His lips are full with a pronounced pout, mine thin and prone to half-smile too much, giving me the look of a smart-ass plotting mischief. We’re roughly the same height, but while he’s lithe and limber I’m . . . let’s just say I sometimes lumber when I walk. He still has his foreskin too, lucky bastard. Pulling my mind from the gutter I realized he was waiting for me to expound on my one-syllable response; sometimes Miah is hard to read, even for those of us who’ve known him his whole life. “So you’ll have the house to yourself for a few hours, then.”

“Yeah.” He grabbed a paper towel to take a cursory swipe at his hands, then another to turn off the tap, and finally got to the point I’d been hoping he’d make. “Wanna come over after school?” The restroom door banged open and a quartet of seventh-graders trooped inside, a-hoopin’ and a-hollerin’ and destroying any further attempt at conversation. As I dried my own mitts, I noticed the kids all chose separate stalls to do their business instead of using the trough. Either afraid somebody might see their wieners or, worse, afraid they’ll see someone else’s. Shaking my head, I followed Miah into the hall. As the door swung shut behind us he resumed our conversation. “My brother brought me some new comic books home from college and I figured we could read them together.”

My blood surged, and my always-interested-in-“comic books” dick stirred in my jeans. Glad my long t-shirt covered the activity, I let a beat or two pass as if I were considering and finally answered, “Sure, sounds cool, I got nothing else going on. I’ll have to call and ask my mom, though.”

“She won’t care,” he answered confidently, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Nah, but she’ll get mad if I don’t ask.”

“True.” Arriving at the T-intersection where he needed to go left and I needed to go right, he shot me a two-fingered salute and a grin. “See ya on the bus.”

“See ya,” I echoed, and watched his surprisingly full and meaty ass walking away from me before remembering where I was. Shoving my hand in my pocket to rearrange my uncomfortable rager, I cursed and forced myself to hurry to Algebra. Trust me, nothing kills an erection faster than trying to calculate X.

Before sixth period, I called home from the pay phone. As expected, Mom gave her blessing with a warning for me to be home by dinner, allowing plenty of time for my best friend and me to “read comic books”. When the final bell rang I was out of my seat and slamming the locker shut within five minutes, and less than half that again passed before I climbed onto the bus. Miah had saved a seat for me and I sank down beside him with a feeling of relief; I’d been on edge, all-but-waiting to hear something had “come up” and we wouldn’t be able to have our afternoon, but he smiled and moved his long legs to the side to make room for my bookbag without saying a word. Our comfortable silence endured all the way to his stop, despite the usual pent-up mayhem around us and the dizzying warmth of his body pressed against mine from shoulder to hip. My dick perked up in my jeans, reminding me of our impending plans, but luckily it only swelled to half-hard and wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Mom?” Miah called as he opened the front door. “You here?”

“Her car wasn’t in the driveway,” I reminded him when only silence answered.

“Never hurts to check,” he answered, and I couldn’t fault his logic. Dropping his bookbag by the stairs, he headed for the kitchen. “Want a sandwich?”

No, I want to read comic books. I bit down on the words, knowing it was always best to let Miah lead. “Sure.”

He waited until we sat down with our feast of sandwiches, chips and big glasses of sweet tea before finally broaching the subject of the day. “Man, you are not going to believe the magazines my brother brought home this time.” As casually as if he were discussing real comic books.

My dick instantly swelled from half-hard to three quarters. “Yeah?” I asked, my voice only cracking the tiniest bit.

He acted like he didn’t notice. “Yeah, man.” Brushing his hair out of his eyes he continued, “You ever hear of Swedish Erotica?”

I had to swallow a huge bite before answering. “It’s a porn company, right? Don’t they advertise in the backpages of Hustler?” Knowing damn good and well they did.

“Yup. My brother got hold of a couple of their magazines and man . . . man!” Miah shook his head and took a sip of tea. “Nothing like Hustler or Penthouse, just spread pussies and the occasional limp pecker. I’m talking full-on sex here!”

“Yeah?” I asked, my voice cracking again. My dick swelled to full at the thought, and I reached down to rearrange the situation.

Noticing the movement, Miah smirked but didn’t call me out. “Yeah. Big color and glossy pictures of blowjobs, fucking, even anal!” I was gratified to notice his own adjustment but didn’t call him out either.

“No way!” I breathed.

“Hell yeah way.”

Struggling to keep my voice even, I said, “Cool.” He smirked again and we applied ourselves to quickly finishing our snack. After tidying up our mess we raced up the stairs, leaving our bookbags to linger in the foyer; we wouldn’t be needing them. Once in his room Miah showed his customary caution and locked the door behind us, no matter that the house was empty. When we were secure from anyone who might bust us, we stood and looked at each for a moment, as if to savor the tension. Like me, he wore a long t-shirt, obscuring his crotch, but I’d be willing to bet his dick was as hard as mine.

“So,” he said at length, “wanna play some Pong?”

We both burst out laughing. “Seriously,” he said, heading towards the bath connecting his room to his brother’s next door, “lemme go piss and I’ll get out the mags.” Wishing I had the courage to invite myself along (we stood together every day at the trough at school, after all) I fidgeted and inspected my surroundings. Nothing had changed since my last visit: same double bed, neatly made and just big enough for two teenage boys to lay side by side; same messy desk and shelves decorated with the models he’d put together until he bored of the hobby; same posters on the walls, Kiss and Rush and Pink Floyd. I did notice he’d swapped his tv for the larger one in his brother’s room, giving him a bigger picture to whip my ass at Pong on. Lucky bastard even had basic cable hooked up in here, and he’d lately been begging his parents for a VCR. They’d probably give it to him too. Did I mention how lucky a bastard he is?

After an inordinately long time Miah reappeared, carrying a damp towel which he dropped beside the bed. “Your turn,” he said casually.

“Yeah.” I didn’t really have to go but figured going now would forestall any interruptions later and besides, Miah was secretive to the point of paranoid about allowing anyone to see his stash spots. I took an inordinately long time in the bathroom as well, mostly trying to calculate X and get my dick soft enough to pee through, and by the time I returned he’d removed his shirt and kicked off his shoes and was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the magazines in question on the mattress beside him. The overhead light gleamed off his bony shoulders and trim, smooth chest, and my dick twitched back into a full erection. “Get comfortable, man,” he invited.

I toed out of my shoes and stripped off my shirt. Miah has seen my skin many times over the years, so I didn’t feel the usual self-consciousness about baring my torso in front of others. I’m not fat, exactly—my mom says I’m “husky” if that helps—but I could stand to lose ten or so pounds. I’m also moderately hairy, not hirsute by any means but downy enough, and I’ve been called “bear” way too often to find it funny anymore. I’m relaxed around Miah though, always have been, so I plopped down beside him and pretended not to notice the bottle of lube he’d also pulled out from his stash. Yes!

Miah smirked and nodded at the obvious ridge in my jeans. “Eager, are you?”

“Like you’re not,” I returned, despite not being able to tell for sure because of the way he was sitting. He snorted but didn’t contradict me. “I’m just horny, man. I haven’t jerked off since last night.” Pushing a little, but we did talk about masturbation sometimes, when we were alone. Like now.

His cheeks pinked and he nodded. “Same.” Indicating the magazines, “There’s a couple of decent Playboys too, but—”

“Bring out the good stuff,” I growled.

He laughed at my impatience even though he’d clearly been baiting me. Holding up two, he asked “Which do you want first? They’re both hot.”

It didn’t really matter, though I inspected as if it did. Both had the Swedish Erotica logo on the covers, but the pictures were different: one was a full-on shot of a massive dick halfway plunged into a blond girl’s pussy while the other portrayed an Asian girl (thought they were Swedish?) licking on another massive dick. The magazines weren’t even open yet and I already felt painfully out-matched.

“Well?” Miah asked, shaking the stroke-books. “Which?”

I grabbed the one with the Asian chick. “This’ll do.” He relinquished it and unfolded to stretch himself out full-length on the bed, pillow under his shoulders and head against the wall. As I’d figured, he was already hard too, tenting out the crotch of his khakis, and he nudged it to the side so it lay more comfortably as I joined him, taking my accustomed place to his left, within easy reach of his dominant hand.

“So, pretty sexy, huh?” he asked after a few minutes of silent perusal.

“You weren’t lying,” I said, and I wasn’t even embarrassed when my voice cracked. He didn’t notice anyhow, intent on the porn in his face, but I was hyperaware of his every movement. The pictures in the magazine were enticing, the Asian chick and others getting their brains screwed out in ways I could barely comprehend, but my gaze kept drifting over, turned on more by the way he slid his hand down his bare torso. His hand slid lower, lower still, finally settling on the ridge in his jeans and squeezing, ever so slightly.

“Check it out, man,” he said, suddenly turning towards me and pretending not to notice where my eyes were trained. “She’s taking three, one in each hole. Can you believe this shit?” He squeezed his dick again, his eyelids fluttering at the pleasure.

“She, she seems to like it,” I stammered, squeezing my own denim-covered hardness and hissing at the muted zing. Dammit, why didn’t he move a little faster? If I was at home I’d already be naked and halfway to orgasm.

As if sensing my impatience he unbuttoned his khakis and slid a hand inside for some flesh-on-flesh. I copied him, sighing in relief at the contact. We returned to our books, though my eyes kept sliding over to him.

“What are you looking at?” he asked suddenly, and I panicked; I’d been looking at his hand moving in his pants. Leaning over, he glanced at the page I had open. “Two chicks,” he exhaled into my ear, making me squirm. “Do you think any girls we know do that stuff?”

“Pruh, probably,” I said, as though I had the slightest clue. I breathed him in, clean sweat salty with arousal.

“Man, I’d sure to watch two chicks get it on live, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh, sure.”

Finally, mercifully, he moved away, microseconds before I would’ve thrown protocol to the wind and attacked. “Screw it,” he said, dropping the magazine to his side and unzipping his pants. Within seconds we were both naked, his sleek, uncircumcised length rising from his small nest of black curls, my stumpy, cut cock quivering in the jungle of my dark-blond bush. “Switch?” Miah asked, holding up the magazine he’d been perusing and brushing his hair out of his eyes with his free hand.

“Okay.” We swapped out and I idly thumbed through the pages, seeing dicks and pussy and cum on every conceivable part of a female body, but my attention, as always, was on Miah, watching the way his hand slid up and down, the way he twisted his grip slightly at the top of his stroke, the way the foreskin pulled back, exposing his weeping mushroom head, at the bottom. If he felt my study he didn’t act like it, his attention glued to the magazine. I kept my grip loose and slow, the way I like to edge myself, and though our elbows frequently bumped together, since I was right-handed and he was a lefty, neither of us said a word. We’ve been jerking off together for years, since right after we learned how, and I’d guess at least a third of my orgasms to date have been in Miah’s company. Sometimes we even talk about it, usually under the guise of discussing comic books. Murmuring back and forth about what we were seeing, showing each other the occasional particularly sexy picture, we teased ourselves hotter, higher, until finally—finally!—he sighed and reached over and grabbed hold of me, his aim true despite how focused he was on his magazine. The mutual handjobs began not long after we started beating off together, but we don’t talk about them. Like, at all. I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the way he jerked (loose and slow, of course) then reached over and wrapped my fingers around his own. His breath hitched, but he kept his attention on the stroke-book.

Me? I didn’t bother. I still held my magazine in front of my face, but I couldn’t take my gaze off the cock in my hand. Slimmer than me, longer, it pulsed with a foreign-but-familiar warmth. I pulled the foreskin back, squeezed the shaft so a drop of pre pearled on the head. He slid his thumb over my own glans, rubbing in the drops welling up with every squeeze.

Abruptly, he let me go. I would have complained had I not known why. Sure enough, he closed the magazine and laid it on his chest, then threw his left arm over his eyes, giving me silent consent. I slid down on the bed, leaned over his crotch. I took a moment to enjoy the smell of not-as-clean sweat and strong salty arousal, and sank my mouth onto him. He groaned as I sucked gently on the head, licking my way under his foreskin, then groaned again as I drew more of him inside, but he kept his arm across his eyes. We’d been blowing each other for a couple of years now, but not once had we admitted how much we enjoyed it. I relished the taste of him on my tongue, the bitter sweetness of his pre, the throbbing heat of his shaft. He groaned again as I took him almost to the pubes, his free hand coming down to lightly caress my scalp, comb through my short locks of hair. I rolled his balls in my fingers, wishing I had the courage to suck them into my mouth too, but I didn’t know if he’d freak if I tried, and I damn sure didn’t want to spook him into halting our encounters. He hunched into my suckling mouth, writhed under my touch, whined way back in his throat. Getting close, I could tell. He’d “accidently” shot in my mouth once, and though I’d bitched and gagged and ran to the bathroom to pretend to spit, I couldn’t lie to myself about how much I’d loved the taste. However much I’d not be averse to letting him do it again, the lube he’d pulled from his secret stash hinted he wanted something different. His breath caught and he roughly pushed me away. I would have lamented the loss had I not known what he planned next, so I lay down beside him and threw an arm over my own eyes (I wasn’t allowed to watch), both anticipating his touch and savoring the taste he’d left behind in my mouth.

I didn’t have to wait long. Almost before I’d blocked him out his fingers were slipping around me. I pictured his head lowering over my tense, sweaty body, pictured his lips parting to take me in. As if in confirmation I felt his panting breath on my naked glans and then the slow, tentative touch of his tongue, licking around the rim and digging briefly into my slit. I longed to twist my fingers in his shaggy hair and push him down my shaft, but in addition to not being allowed to watch I wasn’t allowed to touch, leaving me blind and at his mercy. His tongue flicked down the underseam of my shaft, then back up to circle my glans again, and I wasn’t sure if he was hesitant or just teasing. Risking his censure I lifted my arm slightly, just in time to watch his eyes flutter closed and the heat of his mouth settle around me. I gasped and let my head fall back, reining in the urge to hunch up into his suction. He leisurely drew me further inside, further still, until his nose was buried in my pubes. Now, I’m not huge down there, don’t get me wrong, but I’m big enough to be a mouthful, and as ever I was impressed by the ease of his action. He hadn’t been this good at first, using too much suction and painfully unaware of his teeth, but he’d only gotten better over the years. I risked another peek, unable to resist the visual of my cock buried in his throat, his eyes squeezed shut as he savored. Feeling a bit like I was somehow invading his privacy, I let my arm drop back over my eyes, gave myself up to Miah’s ministrations. He came up off of me, lingering at the top to lap at my glans before swallowing again, maddeningly slow. Lightly stroking my balls, aware of their sensitivity. Unable to help myself, I groaned and hunched up, gagging him, and he laid a gentle hand on my flank, pushing me back to the mattress, and resumed his slow and careful bobbing. I’d “accidently” shot in his mouth once too, not long after he did it to me, and where I’d gagged and made a big production of being grossed out, he merely swallowed and never said a word about it. I never said anything either, and while I was once again not averse to repeating the experience, I was still pretty dang sure he had other activities in mind.

At last, right when I was on the brink of losing my mind, he pulled away. I kept my arm over my face for a long minute, steadying my breath and allowing my urge to nut calm. When I finally opened my eyes, I found Miah laying on his belly, stuffing a pillow under his lower torso to raise his plump, hairless ass higher, silently inviting me to partake in another act we don’t talk about. While I scrambled to climb between his spread legs, he grabbed one of the magazines with one hand, laying it open in front of him, using the opposite elbow to push both the lube and the other magazine in my direction. I grabbed the stroke-book first, laying it across his back “to give me something to look at”, then the lube. Miah idly paged through his own magazine as if he had no other interests in the world, but the way he kept arching his hips up told a different story. I greased myself up first, using enough lube to sink my entire body inside him if necessary, then parted his cheeks to spy the tiny, hairless opening hidden deep between. I felt the urge to press my mouth there, to lap at his most intimate skin, to prod his musky ring with my tongue, but once again I was afraid I’d spook him if I tried. Ah well, maybe someday. He whimpered as I touched my greasy fingers to his hole, arched his back some more. Slowly, carefully, I inched my way inside, his tight grip easing under my studied penetration. I pushed my digit all the way in, swirled it around, crooked my knuckle so I grazed his sweet spot. He whimpered again, lowering his forehead until his hair whispered across the magazine in front of him. Pulling out, I added another finger and began frigging, gentle at first but ramping up the speed until his whimpers turned to groans and he bucked into my touch. Recognizing the signal, I withdrew my fingers and placed the drooling head of my rager against his entrance. He reached around and grabbed hold, guided me into his heat, and both of us groaned as I sank inside, his inner walls hugging my aching shaft, welcoming me into his fleshly embrace.

We’ve only been doing this—fucking—since last summer. I’d stayed over one night, and we’d been doing our usual mutual jerk routine when he suddenly rolled over on his side, taking me with him. I’d thought it was funny Miah insisted on using lube to jerk me with, but I didn’t catch on to his real intention until I was already halfway inside him, and I was so surprised I didn’t cum immediately, lasting at least thirty seconds before filling him full of my goo. I wasn’t embarrassed though, since he shot all over the sheets the instant I was fully seated. We didn’t talk about what we’d just done, naturally, but over time we’d gradually fucked more and more, to the point I began anticipating it when he initiated one of our “comic book” sessions. I’d been leery the first few times, wondering if he’d expect me to reciprocate, but so far he’d never even tried, much to my relief. I’d give him my ass if he wanted, but on the whole I was happier with him giving me his. Sometimes I wondered how he’d gotten the idea, or why he’d decided to do it at all, but I never questioned. He’d hinted to jerking off with his brother a time or two, and I had a sneaking suspicion they’d gone farther, maybe done some of the same things Miah does now with me, but I couldn’t ask, of course; it was none of my business, just as it was nobody else’s business what the two of us did. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder and at the same time wish I had a brother of my own instead of three giggly sisters who made it their mission in life to bust me spanking.

At last, at last, I was all the way inside him, pressing my jungle of pubes into his cheeks and reveling in his velvet grip, staying utterly still to give him time to adapt. Like I said, I’m not huge down there, but I’m big enough, and it usually takes him a minute or so to adjust. Fine by me, because if I’d moved so much as a fraction I would’ve came, no matter how desperately I tried to calculate X in my mind. Miah sighed, long and loud, and raised his head, refocusing on the magazine he’d just been laying on. He was used to me now, ready for me to begin. I straightened the stroke-book I’d placed on his back, flipped a few pages to give him the illusion I was turned on by the porn instead of him, and started pumping. Slow at first, moving only an inch or two, rocking back and forth, opening him up. He sighed again, flipping pages and pressing back into my thrusts. Confident he was relaxed enough for full-on strokes, I pulled almost all the way out before sinking back inside and grinding against him. Drawing back halfway, I plowed in again, hard, making him gasp. I noisily flipped a few pages, muttered, “Boy this bitch’s ass looks tight”, and he groaned again. Exiting completely, I observed his gaping hole quiver and threaten to close before I sank back inside. He let out a throaty moan and lay his head back onto the magazine, spreading his legs further apart, giving me permission to fuck harder, deeper, faster. I screwed in and out, jabbing the head and top of my shaft few inches back and forth before slamming balls-deep, watching my cock piston in and out, watching the goosebumps prickle across his plump cheeks. The bed squeaked with every thrust, almost but not quite loud enough to cover his whimpers. Recognizing his surrender, I took control, flinging the magazine off the bed and pulling out, flipping him over onto his back. He didn’t object, merely raised and spread his legs. His hard cock throbbed against his belly, the head sticky with pre. I shuffled into position and pressed my glans against his distended hole. He groaned again and closed his eyes as I bottomed out.

“No,” I said sharply, my voice for once not cracking, and he started. “Open your eyes, Jeremiah, look at me. Look at me, dammit!”

And, wonder of wonders, he did. Opened his eyes, locked his gaze on mine. His blue to my brown. Locked. And this, this is the main thing we don’t talk about. Because when we’re face to face and gaze to gaze, with no magazines to hide behind and no room for shame, there are no words. We don’t have to talk about these moments, moments that have become more and more frequent over the last months, moments where we lay ourselves bare and wallow in our nakedness. Our faces close enough for my sweat to drip down on him, close enough to kiss. His tongue snaked out, licked his lips, and I leaned closer until my mouth just barely brushed his. I thought for one electric instant that he’d let me in, but he didn’t, turning his head away before we were fully connected. Ah well, again, maybe someday. I drilled into him, faster, harder, deeper, and he panted and whimpered and looked at me, into me, and let me look back, both of us knowing the value of X, neither of us needing to calculate. I wrapped my fingers around his cock. “Getting close?”

He nodded. “Yuh-yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” I stroked his cock in time with my thrusts, watched myself sliding in and out of his warmth, feeling the orgasm building in my balls, snaking tendrils of need and flame throughout my body. He writhed under me, and I counted down. Three . . . two . . . one and he blasted off, wailing and quivering, his seed pumping out to spray his smooth skin and drip over my pumping fingers. His hole squeezed and let loose, squeezed and let loose with every shot, coaxing my own orgasm out of me. I threw back my head and buried myself as deep as I could manage, spurting deep inside him, staking my claim and wishing I could stay in the moment forever.

The world settled back around us, and I could see him pulling away, closing off his gaze. Taking the hint, I slowly extricated myself and collapsed beside him. We lay in silence for a minute, catching our breath, then he brushed his hair out of his eyes and swung his legs off the bed. “Here,” he grunted, tossing me the towel, still damp from his morning shower, before grabbing up his underwear and stalking into the bathroom, his gait slightly bow-legged. I sagged as he slammed the door, shutting me out. Wondering if we’d ever talk about all the things we did together, all the things we felt, I wiped my belly and crotch clean and buried the towel in his dirty clothes basket. In the silence I just barely heard him in the bathroom, farting noisily as he expelled my life from his body.

By the time the door opened I’d already dressed but for my shoes. He deliberately didn’t look at me as he entered wearing only his jockeys, his cheeks pink from the exposure. “Your turn,” he repeated, indicating the bathroom, and though I once again didn’t particularly need to go, I followed his tacit order, giving him time to return the magazines and lube to his stash. Not needing to distract myself into flaccidity any longer, I took a mediocre piss and washed the last of the grease from my fingers. My return found Miah, clad in a clean t-shirt and shorts, sitting on the edge of his bed, the wired controllers to his game system tangled in his lap. “You’ve still got a couple hours, right?” At my nod he extended one of the controllers to me. “Wanna play some Pong?”

“You just wanna whip my ass again,” I griped, but I took his offering and sank down on the bed beside him. “You know I’m no competition.”

He smiled. “You may not be much competition,” he commented, “but I’d still rather play games with you than anybody else ever.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “same.” Secure in our knowledge of the value of X, we played Pong and enjoyed the rest of our afternoon.

©2022 by Rusty Slocum, all rights reserved