Missed Opportunities...
Sharing a bit, to those whose lives I've been watching lately...
I was fifteen, he was sixteen. He was my best friend. I idolized him in a way that I didn't realize was love. Not then anyway. I didn't know what it felt like to be in love, how could I know. But the sun rose and set in his smile, and I wanted to be just like him.
His parents were gone for a week to Mexico. Friday night came, and I abandoned my home for a weekend at his place. We rented movies, almost exploded ourselves with the gas grill, and figured out how to soak the little seal labels off the unopened alcohol bottles so that we could make strawberry daqueris.
We got a little buzzed.
Bed time rolled around, and I stripped down to my white jockeys and layed down on the couch in the den while he went to get me a pillow and blanket. My eyes half closed, my arm draped over my face, I was really happy. He returned quietly and stopped in the doorway. He stood still for a very long time, then softly called my name. I didn't move. I played possum. Why? To see what he'd do, I guess.
Slowly he came down into the den, dropping the pillow and blanket next to the couch. He called my name again. A half whisper. I steadied my breathing and kept my half lidded eyes hidden behind my arm. Again, my name. He leaned over me and tried to look into my face. I could see him peering in to see if my eyes were open. I didn't move. One last time, he said my name. A little more forcefully than before.
I stayed still. Or most of me did, at least. In my white jockeys, things had started to shift. There was a tension in the air that it could sense.
He leaned back for a moment and just sat there looking at me. The movement in my jockeys was more than obvious at this point, and my heart was beating 1000 times a second with fright and anticipation.
He leaned over and pressed his lips against bulge that had formed in my shorts, kissing it gently, then sat back up quickly.
My heart skipped a beat.
His hand slowly rose and touched the tension there. Softly. Carefully.
Then his hand moved towards my leg, and a finger snaked it's way under the legband on my jockeys. It felt around the still new hair for a moment, before moving down and gently caressing a testicle. Back up, deeper into the unknown it went until it touched the shaft that was threatening to tear through the white cotton that encased it. Along the side a bit, then up and over, hooking it and pulling it towards the leg hole where the intrusion had been made.
The next thing I knew, my young manhood was exposed to air for the first time by someone besides me. He wrapped his hand around it carefully. His hands were square, I can remember that. He had strong hands. But he was gentle. He moved his hand up and down once, twice, a third time. Then he leaned in an pressed his lips to the tip for another kiss.
Maybe I caught my breath, maybe he was afraid of getting caught, but he slipped his newest toy back into it's hiding place, covered me with the blanket, then vanished into the hall to his bedroom.
I never said anything to him. I don't know why. We both wanted the same thing. But for some reason, I thought that if I had 'woken up' he would have hated me for it. Maybe it was because up until then, he flinched whenever we touched and drew away. Maybe it was because I was scared. Either way, my family moved away eventually. Now that we're so far apart, and I think we could both handle the situation, the opportunity just isn't there.
This is a (sad but) true story.
I was fifteen, he was sixteen. He was my best friend. I idolized him in a way that I didn't realize was love. Not then anyway. I didn't know what it felt like to be in love, how could I know. But the sun rose and set in his smile, and I wanted to be just like him.
His parents were gone for a week to Mexico. Friday night came, and I abandoned my home for a weekend at his place. We rented movies, almost exploded ourselves with the gas grill, and figured out how to soak the little seal labels off the unopened alcohol bottles so that we could make strawberry daqueris.
We got a little buzzed.
Bed time rolled around, and I stripped down to my white jockeys and layed down on the couch in the den while he went to get me a pillow and blanket. My eyes half closed, my arm draped over my face, I was really happy. He returned quietly and stopped in the doorway. He stood still for a very long time, then softly called my name. I didn't move. I played possum. Why? To see what he'd do, I guess.
Slowly he came down into the den, dropping the pillow and blanket next to the couch. He called my name again. A half whisper. I steadied my breathing and kept my half lidded eyes hidden behind my arm. Again, my name. He leaned over me and tried to look into my face. I could see him peering in to see if my eyes were open. I didn't move. One last time, he said my name. A little more forcefully than before.
I stayed still. Or most of me did, at least. In my white jockeys, things had started to shift. There was a tension in the air that it could sense.
He leaned back for a moment and just sat there looking at me. The movement in my jockeys was more than obvious at this point, and my heart was beating 1000 times a second with fright and anticipation.
He leaned over and pressed his lips against bulge that had formed in my shorts, kissing it gently, then sat back up quickly.
My heart skipped a beat.
His hand slowly rose and touched the tension there. Softly. Carefully.
Then his hand moved towards my leg, and a finger snaked it's way under the legband on my jockeys. It felt around the still new hair for a moment, before moving down and gently caressing a testicle. Back up, deeper into the unknown it went until it touched the shaft that was threatening to tear through the white cotton that encased it. Along the side a bit, then up and over, hooking it and pulling it towards the leg hole where the intrusion had been made.
The next thing I knew, my young manhood was exposed to air for the first time by someone besides me. He wrapped his hand around it carefully. His hands were square, I can remember that. He had strong hands. But he was gentle. He moved his hand up and down once, twice, a third time. Then he leaned in an pressed his lips to the tip for another kiss.
Maybe I caught my breath, maybe he was afraid of getting caught, but he slipped his newest toy back into it's hiding place, covered me with the blanket, then vanished into the hall to his bedroom.
I never said anything to him. I don't know why. We both wanted the same thing. But for some reason, I thought that if I had 'woken up' he would have hated me for it. Maybe it was because up until then, he flinched whenever we touched and drew away. Maybe it was because I was scared. Either way, my family moved away eventually. Now that we're so far apart, and I think we could both handle the situation, the opportunity just isn't there.
This is a (sad but) true story.