Page 11 of Loosened Up for My Bud

Stone’s nostrils flare. He takes a step forward, then stops. “You tell me, man. Would it?”

“I mean... it would be pretty gay, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, pretty fuckin’ gay.” He takes another step. He’s right in front of me now, his dirty jersey inches from my face. He smells like sweat and dirt and him. That masculine smell that, until this moment, has never had this effect on me.

“Maybe just the tip.”

The corner of Stone’s mouth quirks up. “Did you really just say that?”

“I’m just spitballing here. Thinking out loud.”

His eyes drag over me. From my messy hair, down my bare chest, past the angry bulge in my shorts, to my bare feet on the floor, then back up to my face. He looks at me in a way he’s never looked at me before. “Where’s that bottle of lube that we bought?”

“In the shower,” I breathe. “Left it there from… you know.”

“Go get it.”

6

It’s the longest walk of my life. Six steps from my bed to the bathroom door. My legs feel like they’re made of lead. I’m wearing nothing but my compression shorts, which are doing a piss-poor job of hiding how much I want this, how far down the rabbit hole I’ve already fallen.

In the bathroom, I see myself in the mirror over the sink. A stranger. A guy with wild eyes and flushed skin. A guy who’s about to walk back into his dorm room with a bottle of lube and let his best friend put his dick inside him.

The daredevil in me is doing cartwheels. The sensible part of my brain has officially checked out. I grab the bottle from the shower ledge.Silky Smooth.The peach on the label catches the light.

When I walk back into the room, Stone has taken off his own compression shorts. Not his jersey, but just his shorts. They sit crumpled on the floor by the foot of the bed, along with his dirty socks. His erection is straining up toward his stomach, thick and veined and angry-looking. The head is a deep, dark red, and it’s already beading with fluid. He’s big. Bigger than I would’ve thought. Bigger than I am, and I’m not exactly small.

But it’s the girth that gets me. The sheer thickness of it. It’s like a fucking beer bottle. There’s a jealous pang in my gut, followed by a hot spike of pure terror. That’s not supposed to go anywhere near anyone’s ass, let alone mine.

Stone sees me, and a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face. That goddamn smile that’s gotten him out of trouble more times than I can count, that’s charmed countless girls into doing god-knows-what for him. He’s using it on me now, and it’s working. I feel my resolve crumble. Whatever resolve I had left, anyway.

“Just the tip, you said?” He takes the lube from my hand. His knuckles brush against my palm, and I flinch. The contact is like an electric shock. He uncaps the bottle and squirts a generous amount into his palm. The slick, artificial peach scent fills the air.

He starts coating his cock, sliding his hand up and down the shaft, spreading the glistening lube over every inch. The sight is mesmerizing. Hypnotic. I can’t look away. His knuckles bump against the head as he reaches the top, and he lets out a soft grunt.

“Yeah,” I say, my own voice sounding foreign to my ears. “Just the tip.”

“Well… are you gonna get rid of those shorts?” He gestures with the bottle of lube to the fabric still clinging to my thighs.

Right. The shorts. I peel them down over my erection, which springs free and slaps against my stomach. I’m just as hard as he is, just as ready. I kick the shorts away, and I’m completely naked now. Stone’s still got his jersey on, so we’re this ridiculous picture—me bare-ass naked, him half-dressed with his dick out. Two football players with raging hard-ons. What a fucking scene.

“You keep your jersey on?” I ask.

“You want me to take it off?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Probably less weird this way. Both of us buck naked would be…”

“Yeah. Fair.”

“Unless you want me to take it off?”

“Nah. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.”

“So how do you wanna…?”