Chapter I
My throat felt hot and sticky; I pulled my knees up to my chin, looking down the grassy bank towards the river. Standing on the bank, Michael was unbuttoning his pants, having already stripped himself of his shirt. I swallowed and it felt like a pebble going down my esophagus and landing in my stomach, heavy and weighty. And warm. I watched as Michael pulled his jeans down his legs and to his ankles, and then stepped out of them; first one foot, then the other. He was wearing briefs. Not boxer-briefs, but actual briefs, the kind of underwear my brother made fun of me for wearing when I was in middle school, calling them tighty-whities. Before I could get a good look, my friend turned towards my direction, and I looked away; my eyes hastily focusing on something behind him so that he'd (hopefully) think I had never been looking at him at all, but at the beautiful scenery across the water.
"Come on, man!" he called, "Don't be a pussy. Get in the water."
But I was scared. I may not have been able to spy as much as I'd wanted to just then, but a few times I'd seen my friend undress, although, unfortunately, only down to his underwear, and I could tell that he was much more amply blessed down below than I was. Added to my shyness and fear of emasculation was the terror of being found out as a homosexual. If Michael ever suspected I was gay, it might be the end of our friendship forever. He might get scared that I had a crush on him, or that I wanted to have sex with him, and distance himself from me. And he'd have been right, too. I absolutely wanted to fuck Michael. He was so fucking handsome; to me anyway. I'd had a crush on him my entire life– well as long as I'd known him anyway.
We were both in our early twenties now, so that was around a decade of friendship. Friendship I could just as good as throw away if he were to ever find out I was gay, if some look or involuntary movement of the body should give me away.
"Dude! Come here! I need to show you something."
I knew I had to do it anyway. I couldn't sit on this hill forever. So I pushed myself up off the ground and went down to the water, brushing the dirt off my hands as I did so. I stood at the edge of the water and asked what he wanted to show me.
"Dude, get in the water. I'm all the way over here." he called out.
I sighed. I brushed my hand through my hair and let it fall back down to my eyebrows; I kicked my shoes off and quickly stripped to my briefs (boxer-briefs, my brother had bullied the small undies right out of my wardrobe) and tried to hurry into water as quickly as possible, so as to hide the fact that I really had no bulge at all to fill them out, a fact that made me feel very insecure. When I was younger, I used to even wonder if I was gay because my dick was small.
"What is it?"
I asked when I was in front of him, rocking back and forth with the water, crouched down a bit so it was up to my chin. Michael's chest was above the surface, the black hair matted and glistening with drops.
"This."
He replied, and splashed me in the face. Of course. I did the same back, and tried to get out of his reach, but no such luck. He pulled me down under the water, dunking my head and holding me under. I struggled, trying to get back up. At least, for a moment, until I realized I could see his crotch, up close and personal. His dick bobbed against the material, no longer held down by gravity. As always, I could see it was big, but I wondered just how big. Even soft, it was clearly massive; how much did it grow when he was turned on? Fucking a chick, or beating it to porn. My own didn't really grow much, that's one reason I was so damn shy. It was about 2 inches soft, and maybe 5 hard on a good day. Maybe I'd have more confident, even in my sexuality, if I'd had a bigger cock and felt more like a man. From what I could tell, in those few brief moments I had gotten to see Michael in his underwear, he had a pretty massive bulge. Here, under the water, I could see more clearly the outline of his dick by itself. It looked bigger than mine was hard.
I suddenly realized Mike had let go of me a while ago, and jetted myself up to the surface. He looked at me strangely, pushing his short black hair back, so it was slick against his skull; some of it jumped back up in protest, creating little spikes on a flat valley. Had I been in front of him below the water, staring at him as he watched me watch him? I covered my crotch in protest, and then quickly removed my hands when I realized it made the situation even more weird.
"You're weird, Lance."
He said, and swam off. I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell him that even though I was weird and stupid that he was the only person who had ever made me feel good about myself. Michael was an awesome friend. He knew I was insecure and he had often defended me growing up. It was only around him that I could come out of my shell. He made me happy, especially since he was the only guy that had ever really been my friend. We weren't a natural match: he was cocky, confident, and very masculine. He was tall, hairy, and had a deep voice and country boy swagger; the kind of guy that stood with his legs real wide apart and never censored his thoughts. I was kind of the polar opposite, the kind of guy that was still awkward and gangly in my twenties, although his confidence had worn off on me some, and I'd become more social; the kind of guy that was quiet and reserved and nerdy. I didn't have much body hair, and what I had was light, and that was another thing that made me insecure besides my high voice and small friend peter. I just tried to keep to myself for the most part in order to reduce my anxiety. It was only around him that I felt I could (mostly) be myself, and talk about stuff I liked, even if he didn't really get it. He never made me feel annoying or uncool, and even if he wasn't truly interested in what I was saying, he let me talk and just admitted when it didn't make sense to him. That's why I loved being around him, and that's why I was horrified at the thought of him ever finding out I was gay, because I didn't want to lose my only friend, the one person who made feel secure in myself when he was around. Really, the only time I ever felt insecure was when we undressed around each other or he made jokes about gay people, or when I got too horny and was scared he'd realize.
I swam after him, but kept my distance and acted like I wasn't scared, just hanging out. He climbed up the steeper bank to the right of where we'd gotten in and looked down at me. He looked like a greek god to me; muscular, broad, as if sculpted by the heavens itself. His black hair was all sticking up as though gelled; I felt my heart flutter. He reached a rough hand down, telling me to get out of the water, and I obeyed, feeling his strength ripple through his arm and down through my body as he pulled me onto the ground. On all fours, I looked up at him, seeing his big, rounded bulge from my low, vantage point and feeling for all the world like a bug that deserved to be squashed. God, I was such a creep.
I stood up quick, but not quickly enough. Michael had noticed me looking at his underwear, and he looked down at mine. My face felt red and hot. I wanted to cover my crotch, but I knew it would only draw attention to the situation and make it worse, so I just pretended that I didn't notice a thing, which was very difficult to do when I felt like a banana peel curling into black leather under a hot midday sun on black Texas tarmac. Mike gave a little laugh, saying
"It wasn't that cold in the water buddy, you must be a grower."
From the way he walked off afterwards I could tell it was just a joke, not indicative of anything. He wasn't really thinking about the size of my dick and whether it had shrunk in the cold or whatever, he just made an observation for a laugh and would forget about it in a few seconds. Or at least, he would have if I wasn't so insecure about the subject. After that, my anxiety got the better of me and I got real quiet and nervous. We walked into woods, him in front and me trailing behind. We hadn't put our clothes back on, so I felt extremely vulnerable, like I was totally naked and exposed, although my biggest fear was him paying attention to my dick again and realizing how small I actually was and thinking differently of me because of it. I really have no idea why I had such a hang up when it came to size– straight men don't care if their pals are big or small, they don't choose friends based on how big their erections are. Obviously. But for some reason, I just had this deep rooted insecurity about my manhood. And my feet were getting covered in leaves and smashed dirt.
When we got a little further into the woods, Michael found a little clearing, which he said would be just perfect for the camping trip (scouting out locations was the entire reason we'd come out in the first place), and the best place he'd seen to set our tents up. Plus it would be close to the water, so we could go swimming, he pointed out. I nodded and smiled, but I was mostly doing my best just to keep things together and avoid staring too long at the thick hair peeking out from my friend's armpits, or looking down south of the border at all. I will admit, however, that I couldn't stop myself from sneaking looks when we went back to where we'd left our clothes and got dressed; or that I felt I'd hit the jackpot when I caught him pulling up his faded jeans over his crotch and the waistband caught under his fat round bulge and pulled it upwards, turning it into a fat, angular protrusion in which I could see his massive cock head pressing against the material, straining to get out. Instantly hard, I turned around in order to hide my boner in my waistband and pull down my shirt over it before Mike saw anything, but you better believe I took a mental snapshot for jerking material later.
It was on the way home that my friend asked me what was wrong.
"You've been really quiet, Lance."
He said. He wasn't much for sharing serious feelings, but he sounded concerned, which made me, in turn, feel concerned. Usually his boisterous confidence barreled through my insecurities and made me feel better.
"Do you not want to go on this trip?"
He asked. I gave a nervous laugh. I didn't, but I didn't want to let my best friend down. I was quite honestly terrified that I would get morning wood and that he and his friends would laugh at how small I was. I was terrified he would get morning wood and I would get caught looking. I was scared his friends would make fun of me or realize how much I liked him and tell him. I was scared of how much I wanted to be around him nude body.
"You know I was joking, right?"
"What?"
I asked.
"About being a grower. The cold makes all guys shrink, I know that. You don't have to be embarrassed."
I felt a sharp twinge in my chest, like a guitar string wound too tight that finally pops. I really loved how Michael always tried to help me build up my confidence, but I also thought he must realize that his own dick was still huge, and so he probably realized I was just small. We weren't even camping yet and this was already happening to me. I stayed silent.
"Damn, Lance. You know it doesn't matter, right? Even guys that are small get laid all the time. Girls don't care about it as much as we think. I'm not really that big, but girls love me because I know the right things to do."
"Not big??"
I said incredulously, adding a little scoff at the end and immediately realizing what a mistake I'd made. Mike looked over at me, frowning.
"Why'd you say it like that?"
He asked. I waited, hoping he'd keep talking and spare me. No such luck.
"Well I can just tell."
"Tell... what?"
He replied slowly. He stared straight ahead at the dirt road like he was afraid of looking at me, which was just fine by me. I sighed.
"That you're big, man."
I said weakly. I felt like a total creep. I was starting to feel like I needed to open the door and jump out of the truck, just to exit this unbearable tension in any way possible.
"My dick?"
He asked. I slapped my forehead in exasperation.
"Yep. Duh."
He kinda laughed.
"Yeah, maybe. Big, but not that big. And how do you know, anyway?"
I stared out the window, watching the trees roll past, crisp, brown autumn leaves sparse on their branches. I felt defeated. I knew I should just stop talking, just salvage what was left by not digging myself into a deeper hole, but I also felt like there was no point. Michael may not have been smart, but he wasn't dumb. He could put two and two together, but whether he would take it as far as extrapolating that I was actually gay, as opposed to simply a weird guy insecure about dick size, I was unsure of. I couldn't stop myself from talking though.
"I don't know, I just saw. You're obviously big. You don't have to lie to make me feel better."
"It's really not that big. Maybe slightly above average."
He shrugged. I scoffed again, and clapped my hand over my mouth. Mike looked over at me, his dark eyebrows raised. Fuck, he was cute.
"You're that convinced I've got a horse cock?"
He asked. I kinda nodded, trying to laugh to make it into a joke, but unconvincingly. Michael slowed the truck down, pulling it over onto the thick, leafy side of the road. My face burned in pin prick spots and I could feel My heart speed up.
"We'll see."
He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down, exposing his underwear, gripping his package tightly in a neat, bulbous ball. I could see a thick line on dark black pubic hair protruding from above the waist of his small, white briefs. I swallowed, hard, and my hands were suddenly slick with sweat. He looked over at me, one eyebrow raised.
"Well? You too."
I shook my head, fast.
"I ain't just showing you my dick. That's gay. Comparing is different."
"I can't."
My voice cracked with nervousness. I wanted to get out of the truck right then. Sure, I wanted to see my friend's dick, but my fear of being found out overruled it. Michael's expression softened. I could tell he felt bad for me.
"I'm not gonna make fun of you, bro. Mine isn't as big as you think and yours isn't as small as you think. And anyway, it's about using your tongue and fingers. And positions."
I almost felt like I was gonna cry. Michael hastily continued,
"Well look, you can show me later. Don't feel bad, it's fine dude, it's fine. Look."
He pulled down his briefs, freeing the rest of a wild tangle of thick, masculine pubes. Even despite the forest of hair, his cock looked immense. It was clearly soft, and yet had at least an inch and a half on mine, and was much, much thicker. I could only stare in amazement. This is what he called average? His balls were also incredibly massive; they didn't hang low, but were extremely big and round, and covered with black hairs. Mike grabbed his thick cock and began to jerk it, and it started to grow both in length and width as he did, until it was nearly twice the size it already was. I felt like my entire world had been erased, and the only thing that had ever existed was here and now. This tremendous cock, bigger than anything I'd imagined, filled me with an overwhelming sense of inferiority and emasculation, but also with a sense of devotion and worship and respect. Michael deserved worship. He deserved to be revered as a god among men, superior to the likes of me and most other guys, if you could even call us that anymore. He was the leader, the winner of the game. His masculinity and confidence was backed up with a massive manhood. Huge testosterone-producing nuts, an immense dick that he could wield like a weapon to defeat men and conquer women. He'd get any woman pregnant on the first try, put any man to shame, reduce them to pathetic servility. I wanted to get on my knees and worship the smallest hair on his ballsack as though it were the creator of heaven and earth. I wanted to live the rest of my life as a scabbard for that weapon, with it holstered down my throat 24/7, my nose glued to his crotch so that my nostrils were full of hair, blocking my only route of breath as my entire throat would be fully filled with his immense dick. He'd hump my throat when he wanted to cum and simply pee down my throat when he had to pee; straight down the middle of my throat, where his bulbous cockhead would no doubt be stretching my esophagus past its possible limits, and straight down into my stomach, no swallowing involved. I'd be his human fleshlight, his human toilet, I'd be his obedient servant. I'd be the dirt under his big toe. I was nothing. I was worthless.
Suddenly, a chuckle cut right through my reverie like an exacto knife through paper. I looked up at Michael, mouth agape.
"Your friend's pretty happy to see me."
He said. For a moment, I didn't understand. I looked around. Not seeing anyone outside the truck, I looked down. It was true, my friend was standing at attention, quite rigidly so. My jeans were tented, and a rather large damp spot had formed where my boner leaked precum as a result of my vivid, excited imagination surrounding Michael's majestic erection.
My eyes began to water. I was so overwhelmed. I wanted to laugh, cry, and cum at the same time; I felt like I was going crazy, having a mental breakdown. Tears began to leak out of the side of my eyes despite the fact that I wasn't really crying, and at the same time I groaned as my head shifted in my pants and brushed against my jeans. It pulled a trail of slime in a line towards my left pocket.
Michael looked at me with a concerned expression, and asked me what was wrong.
"I... I thought..."
I couldn't get the words out. True, Michael had just gotten hard in front of me, but did he still not realize that my getting a boner just by looking at his probably meant that I was gay? I decided to play it safe.
"It's just that my dick is a lot smaller than yours. I feel insecure."
He grinned, slapping his thick rod into his wide, manly palm several times. I felt extra spurts of precum ooze from my cock in response to each thudding slap.
"Don't feel bad, dude. Like I said, size don't matter. May as well take it out now."
He reached over and pulled the side of my jeans down, just a little bit, hooking his finger inside of them and brushing it against my leg; I shuddered. I was so confused, but I obeyed him regardless. It was as though his fat cock had been inserted into my brain and was now controlling my actions. He was my master. I pulled my jeans and underwear down, exposing my dick. I was so aroused that it was probably an entire inch bigger than usual, making it only slightly smaller than Michael's completely flaccid penis had been. I tried to inconspicuously thrust my hips upward in order to make my cock look bigger. It poked upward from a field of sparse, light pubic hair.
I looked towards Michael slowly, scared. He was smiling at me.
"Nice. Not too bad."
He said. I laughed a laugh that was more of an exasperated sigh.
"I know it's not big, Michael. And you know yours is massive. What the fuck. It's immense, you must know that, you have to. And your balls," I grabbed mine, my hand underneath them to illustrate how high and tight they were, "each one is almost as big as both of mine combined. You're like a fucking specimen of perfect masculinity. You're like the king of them. And I'm... I'm a fucking loser."
Another tear dripped down my cheek. Michael let go of his cock, letting it fall to his leg with a resounding thwack that sounded like dropping a tire onto concrete; his smile fell from his face at the same time.
"Dude you're... normal. You do realize that, right? It's not like you have a micro dick."
I looked away in shame. Half of it was because I kept opening my big mouth and making everything worse. I could hear Michael let out a big sigh.
"Look, man. Yes, I know I have a horse dick. You're right. Maybe I wanted to show off. Yeah, I knew it was a lot bigger than yours, but I didn't realize I was gonna make you feel so bad. Anyway, I knew you'd like seeing it, so it's like two birds one bone."
I clenched my teeth. What on earth was this man talking about? I began to feel worried about the direction the conversation was taking. I just wanted to go home now. I felt Michael's fingers gingerly push into my hair and he turned my head until it was facing him; he was looking at me tenderly.
"Dude, can't you just enjoy it? It's what you wanted, right? Or am I really so delusional?"
My boner began to wilt as anxiety took over. What was my friend thinking, what was he saying? What had I gotten myself into? I let out the meekest "what?" possible, in fact I don't think that even a mouse could have heard me. But Michael did.
"You want my cock, right? You're a fag for me? Or in general, not sure which. But you want this."
He pointed down at the fat snake resting on his leg. Anxiety buzzed through my skull. Michael smirked.
"Little gay boy. I been noticing you looking at me. I guess if you can't have a big dick like mine you want it up your ass so you can at least have it somehow."
I suddenly began to cry. I covered my face with my hands. What was happening? Was Michael going to stop being my friend? Was he mad at me? What was going on?
"Hey!"
A shout shocked me out of my meltdown. I took my hands away from my face. They were wet with salty tears, and more streamed down my face. Michael hastily rubbed them away with the back of his hand, the hair brushing against my cheek. I was totally nonplussed.
"I don't like that. I don't like seeing that. I don't like how that makes me feel."
It was like he was struggling to communicate something that genuinely made him uncomfortable. He began to run his left hand through my hair, almost nervously, like he was trying to fix it, while he dried my face with his right.
"Please don't do that again."
I gulped. I could see Michael watch my adam's apple bob up and down
"You're gay, right?"
He asked. I nodded.
"Do you like my dick?"
I laughed nervously.
"How could I not?"
I replied.
"I'm not gay. But I knew you were. You guys like dicks, I wanted to show off and see what you think. And, plus," and here he looked guilty, "I kinda like how much bigger I am than you. I'm not gay, but I like that you're smaller than me. It makes me feel good."
After a moment he looked, again, like he felt bad. He put his right arm around my shoulder, bringing me closer to him.
"It's not like I'm saying you aren't a good size. I'm just saying I like when I'm bigger than other guys. A real macho thing. And I'm bigger than almost everyone."
I nodded.
"What do you want to do with it?"
He began to stroke his fat cock, rubbing his thumb across his broad mushroom head, sliding and smearing precum all over it; with his other thumb he rubbed a small circle on my shoulder.
"You want it in your mouth?"
He asked. I nodded again, he grinned. I paid attention to the way his lips parted above and below his perfect straight teeth and wanted so badly to kiss him, but somehow I knew that was something he'd never allow.
"I want it in my mouth."
I whispered.
"For what?"
He asked. I let out a small moan as he rubbed his thumb up my neck.
"I want to suck it. I want to suck your dick."
He grinned. He pulled on my earlobe and I whimpered.
"Can't suck it with just your mouth. I think you mean you want it in your throat."
He pushed his finger into my ear like he was giving me a wet willy and I squirmed; he grabbed my shoulder and held me still.
"Say you want my cock down your throat."
"I want your cock down my throat."
I repeated. My dick immediately jumped up in anticipation. Michael smiled.
"Your little soldier is standing at attention again. He wants my general to invade your throat real bad, huh?"
I smiled weakly. The dad jokes were ridiculous, but I wanted him so much. I loved Michael and had for years. True to his cocky, masculine attitude he was treating me a bit like an asshole, but I had to admit that I kinda liked it. I wanted nothing more than to be his cocksleeve. It was more than I'd ever expected. He pushed the index finger of his left hand through my closed lips, parting them. I tasted the salty taste of precum but didn't dare suck it off. He caressed my cheek tenderly, looked at me like I was a beloved pet, and then promptly stuffed his swollen dick back into a pair of underwear that strained not to rip, pulled his pants back up, and drove off.
For nearly ten minutes all I could do was stare blankly, first at him and then at the road ahead. My world was spinning and I had no idea how to process what had just happened, so I simply didn't. I just shut down. When we got into town he pulled into a gas station, got out, and filled the tank. He got back in and drove in the direction of my house without a word. Finally, I broke.
"What happened?"
I asked. He turned towards me, and asked innocently,
"What do you mean?"
"You... your dick. You said you wanted... you asked... but..."
He laughed, but not unkindly.
"I just wanted to know if you were gay. I figured I was right. And I figured you wanted my dick down your throat. You're such a fag, dude."
Tears streamed down my face, but I managed to keep all the sounds inside by covering my mouth. I knew it. Everything was over. Michael hated me. Ten years of friendship gone, just like that. My best friend gone. And it was my fault. For opening my big mouth. For admitting that I was a faggot. For even being a faggot. I didn't deserve him.
"I didn't deserve you."
I said in a low, strangled sob. He looked over at me.
"Ah, Christ. Fucking A."
He pulled over into an empty parking lot and turned to look at me, arm resting on the steering wheel.
"Man, you take everything so seriously. It's okay, you know."
But I couldn't stop myself, I was so overwhelmed and emotionally tired out. The tears just kept coming. Michael cursed under his breath and continued,
"Lance. Lance. I can't stand this. I can't see you cry. Please stop. Just stop."
I stared at him, trying to hold my tears in and failing.
"Why do you still not understand me after all these years?"
He asked softly. I didn't even know what to say. He didn't seem mad, that was for sure. So what was going on?
"Are you mad?"
I asked. He smiled, nicely.
"Nah. You're my friend. I never said we weren't friends just because you're a fag."
He smoothed the top of my hair. I felt like a dumb kid.
"But why did you do all of that? You showed me your dick just to find out if I was really gay? For no reason? Why did you even want to know?"
For a moment, Michael almost looked embarrassed, or maybe more like he was trying to figure something out. Then he responded, slowly.
"There's a reason. You're going camping still, right?"
"I guess so... if you want me to."
Mike grinned.
"Yeah, I do. Because I'm gonna need head for sure while I'm there."
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