Gay s*x Confessions Series

Homosexual Fantasies About His Best Friend - Blowing My Best Friend's Brother - Part 1

It was the summer before senior year in high school. I had just turned eighteen and was ready to take on the world in every way except sexually. I knew I was gay, but I was totally in denial, completely in the closet and devoid of any s****l contact with men.

I knew I was really cute. Girls called me all the time. They loved to tease me about my classic "Italian Stallion" looks - the dark hair, brown eyes, and hairy chest all on a 6’1" frame complete with the perfect name to match those features - Joey.

Ever since I started working out three times a week when I was a sophomore, at least one girl a month asked to feel my biceps. I had to admit that I liked all the attention; I only wished it came from jocks instead of cheerleaders.

There was one jock in particular that I liked, my best friend, Steve. He came to my house every day that summer. I had to devise a hundred ways to hide all the boners that I popped just by being near him and smelling his sweat mixed with his masculine cologne or watching his muscles bulge in the sun as we played tennis.

Even his wavy blond hair made my hormones react. The hardest (no pun intended) time for me to hide my erections from him was when we wrestled. Steve was on the wrestling team at school so he constantly put me in half-nelsons or pinned me to the lawn.

Even though he was straight, I think it gave him some kind of rush to have a guy in a position of submission. A few times, I swore I saw a couple spots of leakage on his shorts right at the end of the outline of his seven inch prick. Maybe it was just sweat.

He would have been so freaked out if he knew how badly I wanted to taste it to find out. I had the scene and the procedure all worked out in my head...

I would wait for a really hot afternoon. I would leave the air conditioner off. When Steve got there and commented on how hot it was in the house, I would explain that the AC was broken and suggest that we go in the pool right away.

We would both change into our swim trunks. Of course, that would be all we were wearing so I would get to admire Steve’s perfectly jock-toned body.

Steve was that rare wrestler whose bulk was all muscle. There were no extra pounds on his body that were not added from some type of physical activity at the gym.

I’d let Steve walk in front of me as we headed for the door to go outside. After stealing a quick glance at his tight butt, which perfectly filled out his sexy swimsuit, I’d snap my beach towel right into his ass cheeks.

Being the macho stud that he is, Steve could never let a move like that go unchallenged. Naturally, he would have to snap me with his towel, too. That would put us right where I wanted us - in the beginning stages of physical contact which inevitably leads to a wrestling match between us.

Before long, Steve and I would be throwing each other around on the carpet in my living room. After some halfhearted attempts to come out on top, I’d let him pin me down so I would be lying flat on my back and he would be on top of me with his knees pinning my arms. It was one of his favorite moves.

It was also one of my favorites because it put his man bulge within inches of my face. Many times, it was close enough for me to get a whiff of his sweaty crotch. I swear I could sniff that man stink long enough to get high from it.

I just had to push Steve back a little and throw him off balance which would, in effect, leave him sitting on my c**k. His firm ass muscles and my boner would be separated by nothing more than the flimsy material of our bathing suits.

After enjoying that sensation for a moment, I would then bring both my knees up to his ass in a quick and forceful motion, throwing him off balance once more and finally forcing him to lay down flat on top of me. That was the perfect position to put us face to face and more importantly, c**k to c**k!

At that point, I would squirm around a lot, pretending that I was trying to get out from under him, but all the while actually making sure to rub our c***s together and create some real friction between our bodies.

Besides the frottage going on below the belt, we would also be bare chest against bare chest with the only lube being our teenage sweat. The feelings of his hard, round nips, rubbing against mine would send another surge of lust right through my body directly to my cockhead which would definitely leak precum.

I would continue my pretense of struggling, but really let Steve pin me down again (supposedly helplessly) giving him the "win" his macho ego desired so badly. Steve would announce, "I beat you, sucker," which was his cry of triumph whenever he bested me with his latest wrestling move.

I would laugh and say, "You’re right. You won. To the victor goes the spoils."

Steve would reply with an almost confused look on his face and a monosyllabic, "Huh?"

I would smile to myself, not giving a s**t if he recognized famous quotes, just content that if I was going to be best friends with a typical dumb jock, the best position to have him in was laying on top of me half-naked, a mass of sweating, bulging man-muscle.

I would explain what I meant about the victor getting the spoils. "Since you won the wrestling match, I’m going to give you your reward." Then I would slowly let my hand slide across his arm to his chest. I would look deeply into his endless blue eyes while I traced the ridge of his nip with my fingertip.

Then my hand would make its way down his chest, enjoying the ripple of each stomach muscle as it passed over them. Finally, my slightly trembling hand would come to the tip of his c**k which would be in a semi-hard state.

Steve always explained that situation as a "No homo" thing - it was just something that happened to all wrestlers from time to time due to the accidental stimulation the c**k got as it rubbed against another wrestler’s body parts.

Admiring the spots on his swim trunks that could either be sweat or precum, I would finally go in for the kill. Not able to take the suspense any longer, I would wrap my arms around him, grab his buns for leverage, and shove my face into his bathing suit, ready to perform all the necessary tests.

The first one would be the sniff test. Did those spots have that distinctive pungent jock-crotch smell or were they sweeter like precum? Of course, with all the rest of the smell coming from the moisture building up around his sweaty ballsac, I might mistake the source of the odor.

The second test would then be the taste test. I would let my tongue explore each wet spot on his swim trunks.

During all this activity on my part, Steve would go from a state of surprise to a state of enjoyment and relaxation as he enjoyed the sensation of my hands and mouth all over the outline of his p***s through his swim trunks. He wouldn’t say much except variations of, "Don’t stop, Joey," and, "f**k yeah, Joey, right there, do that again."

Once determining with the taste test that his c**k had in fact been leaking precum the whole time, I would have to reach into his pants and let that pecker out so it could find its way to my waiting mouth. It needed to be drained of all that precum so we could get to the real thing...

Anyway, I must have played that scene over and over in my head multiple times a day, just wishing I would eventually get the nerve to actually make it happen with Steve. It was almost torture seeing him every day and spending hours with him, but never being brave enough to put my plan into action.

Each day after Steve left, I would have to whack off for at least at least thirty minutes to relieve the pressure in my engorged c**k - pressure caused by spending time with this Adonis of a man whom I desired so much.

I thought I would die when Steve told me he’d be gone for a whole two weeks to stay with his aunt and uncle clear across the country. Two whole weeks without him! What was I supposed to do?

I had some magazines I bought at a drugstore and there were websites of course, but that wouldn’t be the same as having those chiseled cheekbones to admire and having my very own blond haired, blue eyed god with whom to spend each and every day.

The night before he left, I was so desperate at the thought of not having his muscular legs holding me down in one of his many wrestling maneuvers that I wanted to blurt out how I felt about him and beg him not to leave. Instead, it came out as, "I’ll miss you, guy. Who else am I gonna hang with, play tennis with, and swim with?"

"I’ll miss you too, bro," he said. "Hey, I got an idea. Why don’t you give Randy a call? He never goes out much anyway." With that, my dream man waved goodbye and took off for two weeks.

For the first three days, I stayed in bed every morning for an extra half hour to soap up my d**k with my own saliva and pump my own rod, just to take the edge off.