Date: Tue, 28 Dec 2010 07:05:28 -0800 (PST)
From: Mark Searles <msearles16@yahoo.com>
Subject: From Tragedy a Romance part 2

From Tragedy a Romance part 2

(The remaining parts of this story is pure fiction.  My fantasy of how I'd
hoped things would have turned out.)

There were no more advances from Brad and no more mention of it.  His
recuperation seemed to be accelerating and I was starting to question
whether I was even needed anymore.  Every day I took him home, and every
day we went to his room where he stripped down to his boxers and asked my
help.  Every day he stretched out on his bed, sitting up on his elbows and
we talked about just about anything -- things that happened at school all
the way to the most intimate details of our lives. I even told him that I
was still a virgin, and I learned from him that he had about as much
experience as could be expected of an average 19 year old, though he was
intentionally vague.  Every day, I tried to get a peek of what else was
under those boxers, and every day I went unrewarded.  Some days after an
especially late night of cramming for an exam or writing a paper, one or
both of us would just fall asleep right there on his bed.  My heart was
still breaking.  I knew he was getting better and these special moments
weren't going to last much longer.  My advances were still going unnoticed.
I was tortured.  I continued to rush home for marathon jerk off sessions
each night.  I'd even hit the Internet (as it was in the early 90's) and
considered some hook-ups, but when I got the chance, I couldn't do it. I
was worried that I might run into Brad there in the chat rooms, and then
how would I explain that.  I also wasn't willing to give up my virginity to
just some stranger on the other side of the screen.  So I just resorted to
trading pictures, porn and fantasy to get me through those nights.

One afternoon we had moved out to the dining room to study.  We took a
break and were sitting on the sofa, drinking beers and watching TV.  Brad
was telling me how great he felt, how he felt better than he had in months,
that he had a check up with the doctor the next day and was hoping that
maybe he would be able to start driving again.  I tried to be happy for
him, but selfishly I was devastated.  I turned away from him, as not to
show him my true feelings. I stoically watched the television, but felt
some movement behind me.  I turned around, and Brad had his pants down
around his ankles.  Slightly buzzed, he said, "Damn, I'm horny, I need to
take care of this."  His hard cock was poking up through the fly of his
boxer shorts. Finally I was getting a peek of what was under there.  I
couldn't take my eyes off of it.  His cock was perfect, so smooth and
creamy and pink.  He was cut and the head was perfectly proportional to his
smooth cream colored six inch cock.  I must have gasped audibly, as I
popped a hard-on almost instantly.  Brad noticed too, I was only slightly
embarrassed.  He said, "Looks like you have something to take care of too."
As I pulled off my pants, and released my hard eight inch cock, Brad pulled
down his boxers.  I got to see his trimmed blonde pubes, so light they were
barely noticeable.  His smooth ballsac hung low, and his balls perfect eggs
that hung low between his legs. They were disproportional to the rest of
him -- huge and full.  Mine could never compare.  He leaned back on the
sofa, closed his eyes and starting jerking his cock.  It was the perfect
thickness for his hand to wrap around.  I sat down next to him and watched
while I gently stroked my own.  But it was time for me to make my move.
What could I lose?  I reached over, placed my hand on his knee, and then
slowly worked my hand up his thigh feeling his soft, light blonde leg
hairs.  I placed my hand between his legs and took his balls in my hand.
They jerked and started retreating up inside of him.  Brad continued
stroking his cock as he leaned back further, pushed out his hips, and
spread his legs so that I could have better access to his balls.  I think I
even heard him moan.  I worked my hand up and ran my fingers through his
pubes and around the base of his cock.  I pushed his fist off of his cock
and wrapped my hand around.  I started moving my hand up and down, the skin
of his cock felt as soft and smooth as it looked.  He had just enough
foreskin for me to pull it up over the head.  I felt the head wet with
precum.  I ran my thumb in circular motions on the head of his cock, lubing
it up with his precum.  Brad shuddered.  He opened his eyes and looked down
at me; he reached his hand over and grabbed my cock.  Not to brag, but I'm
pretty big. His hand couldn't get all the way around my cock's thick girth.
I have a lot of foreskin, and he started pulling it up over the head of my
cock.  It was dripping with pre-cum and he repeated the favor of playing
with my pink mushroom head and lubing it with my own pre-cum.  We were
stroking each other.  It felt so good jerking a cock that wasn't my own.  I
could feel the cum building up in my balls, and I could feel his cock
throbbing and getting even harder in my own hand.  We both threw our heads
back and closed our eyes enjoying the feel of one another.  Soon, Brad's
body tensed up, his legs went rigid, he used his heels to push his ass up
off of the sofa his cock pointing up to the ceiling.  He let out a load
moan.  His cock began to spurt streams and streams of hot creamy cum.  The
first shot landed on his face and then he continued spurting all over his
shirt, leaving a vertical line of cum from his face to his cock, and
ultimately all over my hand.  Either he was a huge cummer, or he hadn't cum
in a very long time.  Either way, I hoped to have the opportunity to check
it out again.  Next thing I knew, I was letting out a guttural moan and
shot my load almost as far as Brad had.  Both of us were covered in our own
cum and our hands were covered with one another's.  I couldn't help myself,
I needed to feel his warm cum on me. I rubbed my cum covered hand all over
my cock and pubes.  Brad did the same.  We were both spent.  We laid in our
own mess and rested there, catching our breath and allowing our cocks to
reach their soft state.  Neither of us said a word.  Soon after, Brad got
us each a wet towel to clean off.  I pulled up my pants, I needed to get
home, change my shirt and get cleaned up.  He reminded me that I didn't
need to pick him up in the morning.

I was still so confused.  Was he just a straight guy that needed a good
jerk off?  Could he really be that clueless as not to know how I felt about
him?  Did he know and was he so cruel to torture me that way?  Or, did he
feel exactly the way I felt about him?

(We'll all find out the answer in part 3)