I’m staring at the woman with the squalling baby, daring her to sit beside me on the bus again. She’s done it every damned day this week, and we’ve been the only two people on the fucking bus. Every. Damned. Time. I’ve even had the driver ask me if I could do something to shut the kid up, and it isn’t even mine, nor is its mother. I do try, but I fail. Maybe that’s why she sits beside me. Maybe watching someone else fail reassures her that it isn’t just her the kid wails for.
But I sigh, nod at the glaring driver, and pick up a green and yellow rattle from the back of the pram, shaking it in the rugrat’s face while its mother smiles gratefully and checks her mobile for texts.
I peek, and see there’s probably a dozen of them waiting for her attention. I’m not surprised, really. There was a good possibility that she’d miss an air raid siren over the kid’s noise, so she had no hope of hearing a few quiet beeps.
She’s reading on, and the kid is howling on, and I’m still shaking the fucking rattle like my life depends on it. I’m smiling, but I can feel the unsteady twitch in the corner of my mouth that’s belying my calm exterior. Two more stops. Two more, and she’ll be gone. One more… aaand, silence! Thank fuck for that.
Settling back into my seat, I sigh again and stretch my legs, wiggling my toes in my shoes. It’s been such a long day. I’ve been sat in the same chair, in the same office, talking to the same people about the same bullshit things every day this week, and I’m tired. But it’s the weekend, and I have no plans, so I’m just going to sit on my ass and do nothing until Monday.
The bus has rolled to a stop, and it’s my turn to get off. Just as I draw level with the driver, I take a deep breath, and he gives me a dirty look. The stench is overwhelming, and he starts to laugh as the doors creep open and I leap to the ground. Surely he could have held that until I got off, it’s not like he doesn’t know my stop!
The wide street is quiet enough for me to hear each of my foot falls. As I walk beneath the trees, I think about the one good thing that happened this week: Jeanette.
Jeanette is the new girl at work. She started on Monday, and by that afternoon I was infatuated with her. I don’t know why, exactly, because she isn’t my usual type, but yeah. I definitely would.
There’s a problem there, though. One that I can’t see myself getting around any time soon. That problem? I’m not the only one who would. At least half of the guys in my workplace are single, and all but two of them are panting over Jeanette already. Most of them are better looking than I am, too. Those who aren’t have more money than me. Jeanette likes money, I heard her tell Michelle the receptionist in the lift at lunch time.
Even my house mate, Neil, is sniffing around her. I love the guy, but I’d been happy to see him move back to the London offices when our team leader came back from Ibiza on Wednesday. Neil is what the girls at work call a ‘metrosexual’. He’s a real ladies man, and they say that not only can he deliver in the bedroom, but he can hold his own in the boutiques and hair salons in town too, and has out-shopped Michelle and the other girls many a time. Oh, and did I mention he earns twice as much as I do? No? Well he does.
I’m just approaching the Woodley house that’s six from the one I share with Neil. I slow, pricking up my ears to see if the same sounds I heard yesterday and the day before are there again. In many ways I hope they’re not, but something in me really, really wants to hear them.
Sure enough, just as I’m passing by the wonky conifer at the bottom of the short garden, I hear it. It’s only faint, because only one of the bedroom windows is open, but I’m listening so hard I can make out every word.
“Oh, William! Oh God yes, fuck me. Fuck me harder, baby, you’re so fucking good!”
Jesus, that Rachel Woodley has some lungs on her, which is understandable given that she’s possibly the biggest woman I’ve ever seen. She has to be a size twenty eight at least, but even though I’m not a lover of big women, I feel my belly flip. She sounds so much hotter than she actually is.
Hoping nobody can see me, I peek up at her window. Holy shit, there’s definitely one person who can see me, and it’s Rachel. She’s actually waving at me, though I’m not waving back. I’m too busy staring at her pendulous boobs swinging around the window sill.
“Good lord, woman!” I gasp, shocked so much I trip on a bit of pavement that’s been cracked for almost half a year, and nearly break my ankle.
Someone laughs, and I spin my head just as Mrs Wilkinson – my old English teacher – gets out of her car. She’s shaking her head, and pointing at the Woodley’s place. “At least she’s enjoying herself,” she says with a shrug.
I pick up my pace, wondering why I’m so flustered. I mean, it’s only a woman having a bit of exhibitionist sex, there’s no need to get myself all worked up about it. But for some reason, my cock lies dormant in my trousers, even though the sight of Mrs W in her yoga pants and leotard usually has it ramrod straight in seconds.
I’ve reached my door now, and I feel dejected. I’d been looking forward to whacking one off when I finally kicked my loafers off, but it doesn’t feel like that’s going to happen. The sight of Rachel’s too big boobs has completely turned me off.
The door takes its usual two tries to close, and I jog straight up the stairs. Neil is home, his presence betrayed by the shambles of paper shopping bags from Misfits and Modern Man by the dining room door.
As soon as I get out of my suit and shirt, I race down the stairs and head for the kitchen. Neil’s going to laugh his head off when I tell him I’ve seen Rachel’s tits trying to smash their way out of her bedroom window. Even though the door is closed – which it never is – I don’t bother knocking. I just barge in as if it had been wide open, and I freeze, staring at my house mate as he sits wide legged on one of the tall breakfast bar chairs, staring right back at me.
I’ve caught Neil doing many things in our time in this house, but I’ve never seen him having a frustrated wank over an eight by ten glossy photo of Jeanette in her white, almost see through blouse. I want to leave him to it, but seeing him sitting there with his meaty hand wrapped around his even meatier cock is strangely less shocking than what I saw going on at the Woodley’s, so I don’t.
He stares at me for a bit longer, holding my eyes with his, then ever so slowly, his hand starts to move again. I cast my gaze down, watching his fingers stroke up the long shaft, making his wrinkled foreskin gather above his thumb. The purple head of his cock disappears into his loose fist, just for a few seconds, before appearing again when he pulls his hand back down, smoothing out those wrinkles.
My own cock twitches in my boxers and I shift my weight from one foot to the other. I can feel myself getting hard. Harder, and harder still, and I suck my lips between my teeth and gently bite down to stop myself from licking them.
What the fuck am I experiencing? I’m a straight man. I’ve always been straight. I love and want women in almost all shapes and sizes, I’ve never once looked at a man and felt any kind of attraction. Even looking at Neil now, I’m not thinking he’s hot, or that I want my cock in him, like I know I would be if it was a woman masturbating in front of me.
But the way my cock is leaking onto my blue and white checked shorts is telling me that it isn’t on the same page as my mind. It’s finding all of this very exciting. It wants a hand on it, and it doesn’t give a fuck whether that hand is mine or my house mate’s.
Neil groans, and moves in his chair. His leg kicks out, and the other chair skids toward me. “Sit down, Mikey,” he says quietly. He’s still watching me, and still stroking his cock like doing so in front of me was the most natural thing in the world.
As much as I want to turn around and walk away, I don’t. I gingerly lower myself onto the chair instead, feeling the nasty PU surface stick instantly to the backs of my suddenly sweaty thighs. Neil lets go of his cock, spits on his hand, and when he picks up his steady rhythm again there’s a new sound. It’s squelchy, and reminds me so much of the sound I hear every time I sink my cock into a warm, wet pussy.
I wonder at the little smile Neil’s giving me, and he must see my puzzlement in my expression, because he inclines his head in the direction of my crotch. I follow his gaze, and to my horror I’m faced with the sight of my cock poking through the parted fabric that makes pissing in boxer shorts a simple affair.
My mind is yelling at me to put that shit away and get the hell out of there, but I’m so fucking turned on it’s embarrassingly easy for me to ignore myself. Neil is giving me an expectant look, but I shake my head. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.
“Come on, Mark,” he mutters. “I can see you want to, don’t be such a pussy.”
My grimace makes my eyes lose focus, but again, I’m shaking my head. “I’m not gay, Neil. I’m not even bi, and neither are you.”
He chuckles, and gasps a little, shifting his hips and making his cock look even bigger than it had before. “Helping a friend get off doesn’t make you gay, fucktard. Look at it as doing me – and yourself – a favour. Doing it with a friend is much more exciting than just using your hand and looking at a picture, right?”
He’s picked up the picture of Jeanette and is wafting it at me as though trying to prove his point. Oddly, I don’t feel any more turned on than I had before. The picture of Jeanette and her just visible nipples has done nothing for me. But as soon as I look at Neil’s fat cock flapping around in his hand, my own cock bounces and leaks some more.
Swallowing the huge lump in my throat that doesn’t really exist, I shuffle forward and lean back against the breakfast bar. Neil is staring at my bulging boxers like they hold all the secrets of the world, and his eyes narrow when I slip my hand behind my waistband.
God, my cock is throbbing! I’ve never suffered from a floppy cock, but I’ve always believed that if I saw a guy doing this, it would shrivel up and die. Even when I watch porn I never pay attention to the man in the scene, my eyes are for the woman, or women, depending on what I’m watching.
But the tingles I feel every time I stretch my foreskin out fully are getting more intense every time Neil moans. I’m already stroking faster than I usually would be at this point, and I’ve angled myself so that the hard metal edge of the chair is pressing into my ass.
“What the fuck, Neil?!”
Neil laughs and sinks back down into his seat, giving me a look of pure daring. He’d just lunged forward and snatched my hand right off my cock so he could spit in it.
I square my shoulders, feeling a thrill run through me when I grab my cock and start stroking again, and Neil groans. Knowing that it’s his saliva that’s made my hand move smoother is doing funny things to me.
We’re both quiet now. I’m watching him and he’s watching me. The picture of Jeanette flutters to the tiled floor, but I don’t give a shit. I’m preoccupied by the way Neil is bouncing in his chair. It looks more like he’s fucking his hand now than wanking.
“Oh, this is hot,” he whispers. I agree with him; this is hot.
He’s making deep, rumbling sounds now, and I’m crying out, stroking so fast my shoulder aches, and my hand and cock are just a blur. Thick jets of cum are spurting from the tip of his cock, and he’s whispering my name, staring intently at my dick as though willing it to follow suit.
But as much as I can feel myself wanting to cum, I can’t. I’m tugging away, snapping my hips, sitting half off the chair and grinding my ass against the edge, but my balls are still full with no signs of letting go.
I’m angry now. I want to cum so badly, but not even closing my eyes and pretending that my soggy hand is Jeanette’s pussy does the trick. I stop, rub my hands over my face and growl. This was a bad idea.
But then something happens. I feel Neil’s hands on my thighs, feel his breath on my belly, but I don’t open my eyes. I don’t dare look. Then there’s warmth, and wetness, and a firm tongue stroking a line right down the back of my cock until I feel lips press against my balls.
Neil makes a whimpery ‘ugh’ sound, and my hips surge. He’s sucking now, lifting his head until just the end of my cock is in his mouth. He’s swirling his tongue around it, dipping it into the sensitive hole right at the tip, then flicking around the tight frenulum at the back.
His hands are on my hips and he’s tipping me further back, and my elbows rest on the breakfast bar. As soon as he has me where he wants me, I lift my hips and open my eyes so I can watch myself fuck his mouth.
I’ve never noticed how full his lips are before, but seeing them wrapped around my cock makes it obvious. His teeth are pretty perfect too, though those incisors are a little scary. He knows it too, seeing as though he’s digging them into my shaft and chuckling at my little jerks.
He’s sealed those plump lips tight around me now, and is encouraging me to pump faster. I can’t believe he’s taking all of me, but he is. My balls are slapping off his chin, and he’s grunting. Only one of his hands are on me now, the other is frantically tugging away at his cock.
I grab his hair and hold his head still so I can fuck him at my own pace. I’m not gentle either, but Neil doesn’t seem to mind. Both of us are growling again, and I angle my head so I can see what his hand is doing. As soon as he starts to cum again my balls tighten, and I yell, holding his face tight against my body as I cum straight down his throat.
Neil is standing up straight now, and to my utter shock, he taps the head of his cock against mine. “Cheers,” he says with a cheeky smile. “I provided the orgasms, so you can provide the pizza. Number for that new place in town is on the fridge. Oh, and Jeanette called just before you got home, she wants to go to the office party with you next week.”
I open my mouth, but he holds up his hand. “Don’t thank me, man. We’re friends, and friends help each other out. What happened just now changes nothing.”
“Just friends?” I ask him, hoping the answer is yes.
Neil nods and heads for the door. “Just friends.”