Right Time, Right Place...

How did we end up together? Right time, right place, and a screw-up in a hotel reservation. It was as simple as that.

Okay, let me back up. We had known each other a long time. Business associates, gym buddies, best friends, really. Since our marriages went south, his then mine, a long time ago. Neither of us had any interest in going that route again, so it was work, and some community projects that took up our time. That and the gym, bodybuilding.

So we were there because a bunch of guys at the gym had subscribed the weekend to support one of the young dudes who was competing. We signed on because they needed two more to make up their quota. The deal included transportation and accommodation, but we opted to drive down, arriving in time for the semi-finals in the afternoon, with the finals in the evening.

We figured we would register, drop our bags and come on down for the events. When we got there, the room had not been made up. The desk, with apologies, said they could complete the check-in so we would not miss the afternoon, and gave us our keys, on the promise all would be ready and our luggage waiting in the room when the event was over.

As the afternoon crowd dispersed, I went on up, he was to follow. The luggage was in the room, as promised, but the room was a single. We had been guaranteed a double.

Back at the desk, the clerk apologized, and assured us - he had joined me by then - the oversight would be righted immediately. But when the clerk checked his occupieds, he discovered to his chagrin there were no doubles available. He explained the predicament to the concierge who immediately got on the phone, searching nearby hotels for alternate accommodation. There was none. All rooms sold out. Besides the competition there were two conventions in town.

The concierge rechecked the occupieds, apologized again, said there were no doubles to be had, but the hotel could offer us a king-size single.

Not on. We were adamant. At this point I should make it clear that both of us were straight as an arrow. Then.

So, looking at each other, we sort of asked the other what we should do.

"Well, it is what it is," he - my guy that is - said, "It's not what we had been guaranteed, but let's not dick around. I am not really keen on four hours drive home in the middle of the night."

I was not so upbeat.

But he prevailed. "It's one night, and it's not like we haven't shared a room before," he said.

I caved. "Okay."

The concierge, relieved, immediately said, 'Then we would be pleased to have you stay as our guests. I will have the night auditor comp the charges."

"Well, that certainly sweetens the deal," we agreed.

"It is our error," the concierge said, "and we appreciate you working with us through what for us is an embarrassing situation."

In the evening finals, the kid placed second. There was an impromptu lobby reception, him still in his briefs, trophy in hand, posing for photographs, congratulations, hi-fives, thank you's all around. And general criticism and comment on the judging, "It should have been yours. Next time."

After that it was, .. well, as I said, it was a matter of the right time, right place.

Right time. Right place. And the right guy.

So, immediately we're in the room, he was kicking off his shoes, making himself at home. Shirt out of his pants, unbuttoning it, then shirt and pants off. He retrieved a bottle of scotch from his overnight bag, got two glasses from the console, poured himself the requisite dram, straight up, and asked, "You want?"

"Thanks, no," I said. Then I changed my mind, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Port or starboard?" he asked.

"Hmm?" I replied.

"Port or starboard? Left side or right side?

The bedding arrangement. I shrugged. "Right, I guess." Meaning I would be on his right, and he would be on my left.

"Right it is," he said.

"I'm sleeping naked. Just so you know," he said.

"You've got your side. I've got mine," I replied, but, 'Fuck,' I thought, 'seriously what have I said 'yes' to?'

"Works for me" he said. "Shower?"

"Go ahead. When you're finished." I said. He stepped out of his slacks and shorts, and, bare-assed, disappeared in the bathroom.

I kicked off my shoes, unbuttoned my shirt, likewise got out of my slacks, folding them at the knees, legs together, draping them over the back of a chair. Then I settled in a side chair with my scotch, clicking through the TV channels, the door to the bathroom open.

He came out, hair still damp, flipped back the bed-covers, punched up the pillow, and dropped onto the bed. "What's on?" he asked, indicating the TV.

"Just the local sports," I replied.

"Anything about our boy? " he asked.

"Not yet anyway," I replied, offering him the clicker, "You want it?"

"Naw," he said, then changing his mind, "well, maybe."

I went into the bathroom. Showered. Dried off and hung up the towel.

Then, back in the room, I pulled on a fresh pair of gotchees. Like him I preferred to sleep in the altogether, but in deference to the current arrangement, I thought it appropriate for one of us at least to have a minimum of modesty.

I walked around to my side of the bed, sat down, swung my legs up and onto the bed and stretched out straight.

He was thumbing through his Blackberry, hunkered on the bed with his knees up. He glanced at me in my gotchees, and snorted.

"Whaat?" he asked, "You think I want to jump your frame?!"

"A guy can dream," I retorted. Ironically, I have thought how many times later. But then, thinking of getting it on with anybody, let alone a guy, let alone a guy whom I considered to be my best friend, nn-nn, no way.

Nevertheless, getting into bed beside him, I could feel myself coming up with something of a chubby. I pulled my knees up, like his, and thumbed through my Blackberry, looking for what messages there were.

He looked over, sizing up my predicament. When I stuffed my hand down through the elastic top to rearrange my stuff, he snorted. "You're gonna strangle yourself."

Then continued, "What the hell," he said, "be comfortable. 'Let it all hang out'. 'Let the wind blow free'."

I looked over at him in all his glory, and figured, 'Okay. What the hell,' raised my ass, shugged off the shorts, and pitched them over to the chair where I had hung my pants.

"Better?"

"Yeah," I had to concede.

He downed the last of his scotch, and put his Blackberry on the bedside table.

"You ready for the light?"

"Yeah," I said.

All the time he was thumbing his Blackberry he had been fondling his balls. He gave himself a couple of final strokes, pulling the foreskin down from around his head, then letting it slip back up. One last quick stroke, then he twisted to turn off the lamp, just as I was leaning over to put my Blackberry on my bedside table. Our asses bumped.

"That's one!" he said, just as he clicked off the light.

Lights out, settled and laying on his back, he began to speculate on what it would take for our boy to win the next regionals.

Repositioning to lean on his elbow, our legs brushed.

"Sorry," he said.

"That's two," I said,

"Any more and you'd think we were up to something!" he came back, amused, then carried on with his ideas for the kid to take the title.

I countered, 'yessed' and 'no-ed', embellishing, enlarging, modifying, concurring on what he was saying.

Then discussion over, he dropped off his elbow to lay on his back, stretching out full length, settling beneath the covers. "Y'okay?" he asked.

"Okay," I replied.

My turn to stretch out full length, my left arm back and burrowing under the pillow, cradling my head. "I'm okay. Yeah," I said, and to myself. 'Just kinda weird we should be in the same bed.'

He moved again, kicking out his legs, stretching, flexing his pecs and shoulders, trying for a comfortable position. Then another, the kicking, stretching, and repositioning starting all over.

He moved again. And again.

'Okay, enough,' I thought.

Now I wanted to change position.

Turning over, my hand landed flat out on his thigh. I think I was as surprised as he must have been, but in the instant before I could take my hand away, even as I was formulating what would be a stuttered apology, before even we knew what was happening, his arms were around me, and mine around him, pulling and holding us together, our mouths searching out and finding each other, hungry, our tongues probing deep, deeper, and hungrier. Insatiable. Our mouths wanting more and more, our arms holding us tighter and tighter together.

Between our bellies, his cock, my cock, coming up hard. My pelvis, his pelvis, humping, rocking, rolling. Deep in my groin the vague but powerful ache. Then warm, pumping, shooting, viscous, molten, hot, spunky, he, I, ejaculating simultaneously. Him moaning, and me moaning, holding each other. Tight.

And we continued to hold each other, but now gradually coming down, our pelvises still grinding, lava between our bellies.

I was cheek to cheek with him. His cheek, hard, male, masculine. The stubble of his beard, bristly, the complete opposite to the feminine softness a lifetime-ago of my wife's cheek.

Then, his mouth to my ear, I hear him asking, not the shrill vituperation I once might have expected, instead, low-keyed, husky, non-accusatory, "What the hell just happened?"

I panicked. 'He's pissed. Maybe worse. Fuck. How long I have known this guy, appreciated his friendship, appreciated his company, appreciated his counsel, and now - blown out of the water. Gone. Done with. That and what else. Fuck.'

We broke apart, and lay there, neither of us saying anything. Me, silently beating myself up. 'Fuck it. Damn it. Damn it all to hell.'

'

'Fuck it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck and fuck'

'Damn it all.'

Then his hand was on mine. "You okay?" he asked.

I swallowed, hard.

"You okay?" I asked.

"I'm okay if you're okay," he said.

I grasped his hand, held it tight. His grip tightened on mine.

Neither of us said anything more.

It was a long pause, then he asked again, "You okay?"

"I'm okay," I said again, tentatively, but at the same time realizing 'yes, I was okay'.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, now more resolved.

Okay. What had happened was totally out of nowhere. Totally not us. Not him. Not I. And it took us a long time - a good year or so - to get our heads around it. And when we did, what we came down to, was, way more than just needing to get our rocks off - hell, we had long time mastered that as solo performance art, - in so many words, the need for sexual intimacy, to get it on with somebody, close up and physical. Something we had long ago suppressed, or sublimated in our work lives, when our marriages went south.

Neither of us, when we had gotten married, were sexually experienced. We were virgins, and as married life went, we had just sort of reverted to virginity. Any sexual needs we just sort of buried. For half a lifetime. For two half a lifetimes. But they were still there, ready and waiting for the right time, right place and right other. And who other better than your best friend.

At the time though it was pretty scary. He says he was terrified. 'It was like looking into the abyss,' he said. What we had going, all those years as friends, which he, we, valued above just about anything else, on the brink. As it was we came out of it all right.

He cleared his throat. "So,' he urged, "What are you thinking?"

"Hmmmn," I dodged.

"Hmmmn, like 'Is he going to like me in the morning'?" he was asking.

"Something like that!"

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Will you like me in the morning?"

"Yes," I said, forcefully, and meaning it.

"And ditto,' he said. He sounded relieved, but still needing assurance.

Then, "So you're cool?"

"I'm cool."

"Okay," he said, definitely relieved. "So we're good. You and me, mate?"

"We're good, yeah," I said, "You and me .. mate."

'Mate.' I picked up on the word. Sounded good then, still does. 'Mate.' It was the right word.

Suddenly I began to shiver. Then my whole body was shaking. Twitching. Wave after wave of energy flowing down head to toes, then back up again.

"You okay?" he was concerned.

"Yeah," I said, "I think so."

'I think so,' I told myself, because it was like in the shivers, and the waves of energy, every one of my muscles, my whole body, was coming alive.

Then he began to shiver. Then he was shaking. Twitching. And later he would tell me it was the same for him, coming alive. His self, his whole being, our selves, our whole beings, energizing.

He was holding my hand. The shivering and twitching slowed and stopped. After it stopped he continued to hold my hand.

Then, on my belly I could feel the semen liquefying, and the pool was beginning to run to my side.

"Kleenex," I said. He quickly pulled one from the box, and I swiped at it. Then swung my legs off the bed to head for the bathroom.

"Guess we better," he said, pulling out another Kleenex, wiping himself down, off the bed and with me heading for the bathroom.

I soaped a washcloth, and lathered my belly. Just as I was about to rinse and wring it out, "Gimme," he said. He took it from me and lathered his own belly.

'Ooo, ooo. That's bumping things up a bit,' I thought.

Our eyes met in the mirror, for just an instant. Straight on, rock steady, no quick looking to one side, no hint of 'we might just have gone too far.' Just a slight mischievous upward curve in the corners.

But in that instant it was like I had looked into his soul. Straightforward, outgoing, fun-loving, sincere. No duplicity, no hidden agenda. Surefooted. Masculine. One all right, all round, okay guy. It was a moment of pure friend-with-friend, male-with-male, man-with-man recognition, like a warm, firm, sincere handshake. I told myself, 'if it was going to be anybody, I was lucky it was him. You are one lucky dude.' I could only hope he had seen and saying the same thing.

I looked back to what he was doing. His belly, now wet, skin glistening, soapy, our semen in the lather. He rung out the washcloth under the cold, rinsed it again under hot, and handed it off to me. "There you are, lucky," he said.

'Lucky.' It was like a jolt of electricity went through me.

I quickly rinsed off my belly, and handed him the cloth, and watched as he rinsed his belly, then rinsed the cloth out under the cold again, wrung it, and dropped it on the rim of the tub.

I smiled to myself, 'So that's how he takes care of it!'

Back in bed, we lay on our backs. Close, but not touching.

"Lights out? Again," he said, hand on the lamp switch.

"Lights out," I confirmed.

'Lucky', he had said. Why had he said that?

"Lucky?" I quizzed him.

"Mmm, mmm," he replied. Then, realizing it was a question, 'What?"

"You called me 'lucky'?"

"Did I?" "No, you called me 'lucky'."

'Lucky,' I thought again. 'Yeah, I am lucky. The one I considered to be my best friend, here, in bed, beside me. Him, with that muscled body, that beautiful, muscled body that he had sculpted and hardened, that beautiful muscled body I had spotted as he sculpted it and hardened it, living, breathing, here in bed beside me. Best friend. And now something more than best friend.

Then, beneath the covers - 'No! Fuck!', - on its own, spontaneously, with no thought or intention on my part, my hand is in his crotch, groping it, feeling for what is between his legs.

'Oh, man,' my inner voice is yelling at me, 'what the fuck are you doing?' 'Fuck. Oh, no. Now he is going to be pissed. Oh, man.'

Except I am aware his hand is in my crotch, feeling out what I've got between my legs.

All systems on high alert.

'No. No. This cannot be real,' I'm thinking. 'Weird. Too fucking weird.'

His is thick, half-erect, in my hand. I stroke him down, pop his head out of his foreskin, pulling it down, riding it back up.

He has my balls, gently squeezing them, just enough that I get that hurting in my gut.

'This is so not happening,' I'm thinking. 'No way he's working me between my legs. No way I'm working him between legs. Kneading his balls. Rolling them in his scrotum. Feeling them hanging long and low between his legs.'

He's up and over my head, squeezing me, strong, stroking me. Down, then back up. Down, then back up again.'

Now I'm thumbing around his head, feeling for where the frenulum joins the foreskin to his shaft. He draws in a breath. Obviously a pleasure point.

And I stroke him down, then back up. I feel hair, half-way up, wiry and stubbly, trimmed like his pubes. He's hard in my grip, but somehow not hard. Not hard. Not soft. Funky. Mysterious. The head, firm, ripe. And leaking pre-cum, lots of it, sticky all through my fingers. I feel his fingers working my head, and it's wet and getting wetter as he works it.

'Oh, man, oh, man, oh man, oh man,' I am thinking. 'Surreal. Me glomming him, him glomming me. Absolutely freaking surreal.'

Pulling his foreskin back, down the length of his cock, then releasing it, pulling it back and down again, and releasing it. Him, his hand around mine, stroking it down, the length of it, to my pubes, then back up again, and down again. And I wasn't going to stop him. Nor was I going to stop stroking him. Man, I had to admit, I was enjoying this.

So was he.

'Mmmm,' I heard him moan.

We threw the covers back, not missing a beat. In what light there was I saw him wrapping a long loop of my precum around his thumb. Then he brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it. I felt a jolt in my guts. I wrapped a loop of his around my thumb, and licked it off. Pungent. Salty. A taste of almonds. Him. In my mouth.

Suddenly I wanted more than just to be tasting his pre-cum. I wanted him in my mouth. I wanted to go down on him. I wanted to take his dick in my mouth, suck it, make him blow his load in my mouth. In his ear, I said, 'I want to try something.' I twisted to get my face to his cock, opened my lips, tongued him around the head, and under his foreskin, then opening my mouth, went down on him. He was thick, and warm, and strange. 'Oh, man,' I was thinking, 'I got that cock, that beautiful, thick, veined, hard cock, in my mouth and I am sucking it.' 'Holy fuck,' I said to myself.

Time to time, going down on my wife, I had wondered what it would be like going down on a guy. Now, reality. I've got it, this beautiful, thick cock in my mouth, and I am sucking it.'

And it is way better than any vinegary muff-diving. Way, way better.

I am liking it. Surprise. I am liking this. I am really liking this.'

And so was he. 'Wow. Oh, wow. Whoa, whoa, whoa', I had heard him. He jolted and bucked when I first went down on him, his belly tightening, his hips jerking. He was moaning, even more, 'Whoa, whoa, whoa'.

I came up, "You want me to stop?"

"No. No. No.' he said. I went back down. He bucked again.

Then, moving, still keeping my mouth around him, he said, "Let's try this." He maneuvered himself around so his face was at my crotch.

"69," he said, rubbing his lips, wet, around my head.

I thought for sure the top of my skull was going to explode. He was taking in my cock, tonguing, sucking, massaging it. I bucked, humping, sheer pleasure energizing my pelvis. I could hear myself moaning.

"You like that?" I heard him ask. "Oh, fuck," I heard myself saying, his cock out of my mouth for an instant.

We were both moaning, sucking, our hips bucking as we sucked. Me, enjoying the feel of him, the taste of him in my mouth, the feel of being in his mouth, being sucked by him. Deeper, stronger. Trying out, discovering different little tricks. Pleasuring each other. Then feeling it coming, the climax building, his cock, my cock, engorging, then, - no stopping it -, passing the point of no return, hands now grabbing asses, pulling them. Exploding, shooting, hot, molten, deep into my throat, deep into his. Hands now holding hips. My mouth now filled with his liquid, living matter. His with mine.