I storm into the bedroom, water dripping from my forehead, down my shoulders, my chest, and onto the carpet. I try to be quiet so I don’t wake Ivan. I rummage through my closet, searching for a towel, and when I finally grab one, I bury my face in it.
Then I hear a lazy voice say, Bro what the fuck? and when I turn around, I see Ivan lying in bed, squinting in my direction. I don’t know why, but I instinctively cover my cock. I notice his morning boner roll from one thigh to the other, and it leaves me completely speechless. When he makes some kind of questioning sound, I babble a quick apology for the noise. What time is it? he asks, exhausted. 8:30, I say, to which he responds For fuck’s sake, isn’t it Sunday? I nod. He looks genuinely confused. I try to explain that JD wants me to go to the car wash with him. Ivan's head thumps back onto the pillow, and I swear I hear his brain cells rattle inside his skull. That dude needs to chill, he says, slowly rolling onto his side, leaving his spine peeking through his skin. I hear him start snoring quietly almost instantly.
After a second of two, I snap out of my daze and grab the first clean T-shirt I can find. I can't find any clean boxers, so fuck it — I just throw on a pair of sweatpants and go commando. I also jam a snapback with a red flower print onto my head, brim backwards, hoping it hides the cock Ivan drew on my forehead last night.
By the time I get to the front door, JD is already tying his sneakers. He glances up at me. You ready? he asks. He's wearing a compression shirt, and for a second I wonder if car wash is actually some kind of code name for a local gym. I guess, I say. The thing makes his shoulders and chest look massive as fuck. His legs are hidden under grey sweatpants as well, but he still looks better, obviously. I’m not complaining.
We head down the hallway. Even though I’m an inch or so taller than him, I feel like some kind of shell walking next to him. It hits me then how much the amount of meat on your bones changes the way you feel—and probably the way people probably see you. I catch myself wondering what kind of guy I'd be if I looked like that.
In the elevator, JD smiles at me. His whole face lights up, and it feels genuine. Contagious. Weirdly (or not) it makes my cock twitch.
He starts talking about yesterday, about how fucking crazy it was, waiting for me to pick up the conversation. God, I wish I could just talk with him normally. I stutter something back, agreeing, apologizing, admitting I don't remember all of it. He casually taps my forehead. But you remember how you got that cock drawn on your forehead, yeah? he asks. I say Yeah. Yeah, I do. Then he asks if I remember us jerking off on the couch. I say Yeah. Yeah, I do. Then he asks if I remember us finishing into the bowl. Yeah. Yeah, I do, I say, already dreading what comes next. Then he asks if I remember us tasting our loads. I do, but I can't get the words out. I swallow them instead.
When he sees my defeated face, he suddenly gets serious and takes a step closer. He grabs my shoulders. My brain goes completely blank. I feel my crotch getting damp with precum and I rather look at the ceiling, too embarrassed to look at him. Look at me, he says softly, but in that manly way. I lower my chin and look into his eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more honest pair. You know, he starts, when you finished that bowl, I knew we had found a good one. You're fucking awesome, dude! he yells the last few words, his voice bouncing off the walls of the elevator. The elevator doors finally open, but JD keeps holding onto me, waiting for my answer. I thank him awkwardly. I feel my cock getting harder and pray it doesn’t show. When he steps out of the elevator, he glances down at my crotch. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It must be so obvious. And I’m right.
He stops mid-step, like someone just hit the pause button on the whole world, and chuckles for a split second, amused, then looks me seriously in the eyes. Bro… for real? he breathes out quickly. Sorry, I’m sorry, this... I say nervously, but JD suddenly jumps right back into the elevator and quietly, almost hurriedly, asks if he can touch it. It catches me off guard, and I wonder if I heard him correctly. W-what? I ask. I want to feel your hardness, man. Can I touch it? he asks again. I nod, nervous that someone might catch us, but that doesn’t seem to worry JD at all.
I feel his hand grab my cock through the sweatpants, gently at first, but then his fingers press harder against his palm. My cock fights against the pressure, refusing to give in, staying hard as a rock. I don't just feel it in my cock — the feeling creeps through my whole body, second by second. Bro! Your dick is made of steel! he announces quietly. Strangely, those words make me feel proud as fuck. He notices and then lets go, but the feeling does not leave me. He turns and steps out of the elevator again, and shouts triumphantly into the hallway: You’re so cool, man!
I just stand there, stunned, watching him walk away until the elevator starts closing. The doors nearly catch me before I shove my hand between them and stumble out.
My brain keeps trying to process the last thirty seconds and eventually just goes Nah, fuck this. I mean, what kind of bro handbook did JD grow up with? I'm pretty sure feeling your buddy's boner in the elevator isn't in most of them. Then again, what the fuck do I know? I need to get used to it. Except… I don’t think I can. Or want to. I don't think I'll ever get used to him grabbing my dick or telling me I’m cool because of the way it is. Or for any other nasty shit I do when my brain is turned off. Back home, they'd have me locked in a fucking asylum for eating that bowl and letting him feel my precious reproductive parts. But here, I'm cool… like I just showed him a new trick on a skateboard. It shouldn't make me this happy. But it does.
I quickly catch up to him, still covering the tent under my sweatpants. Luckily we’re alone. I can't stop smiling.
