A gay sex stories: The Straight Family Friend Ch. 02
I have a few close friends that I consider trustworthy enough to keep stuff I tell them to themselves. I’m obviously talking about those friends I’m sure most of us have that know about me being gay and have known for a while. They even know about my absolutely crazy body count of four. Well, I guess five now, but they don’t know about that. And yes, it’s still five. This is really silly but I deleted Grindr a little while ago out of a sense of some twisted loyalty, I guess. Don’t ask me, I don’t even know myself what’s up with my brain.
All I know is that until this absolute unit of a thirty-something-year-old man decides to stop having adventures with me, my ass, or boypussy, I guess, belongs to him.
But yeah, for the part you guys actually want to read about. I promise to try to keep my rambling to a minimum.
After that surreal first time, I was shaken to my core. My mom asked me about the locked door and I almost fainted, but you know, half-truths are more believable than outright lies. So, I told her James was the one that closed the door behind him and he probably locked it accidentally because he wasn’t familiar with it. It was utter bullshit and I’m sure if I would’ve said that about a girl my age, my mom would’ve whacked me over the head, but in this case, she didn’t question it.
I darted to my room after that and I swear I used so many tissues that night, I’m responsible for half of the Amazon’s deforestation.
James didn’t text, call or visit until the next Sunday. I was really anxious about it, even though it made perfect sense. Why would he have my number? He didn’t ask me for it and it would be kinda weird for him to ask around for an eighteen-year-old’s phone number.
Thankfully, I did see him that Sunday at church. He and his wife were sitting a few rows ahead of my parents and me. And thank the good Lord they were because if he gave me one of his smirks for staring at him like a madman, I would not have been able to answer for my actions.
I don’t remember what he was wearing that day, but I know he always uses those shirts that cinch a little bit at the waist, always untucked over jeans. I spend way too much time looking at him, I know, sue me. Point is that it was making his back look massive, even his arm looked ginormous as he rested it on the back of the bench so he could hug lucky pregnant Lindsey with it.
So, I spent the entire service having sinful thoughts about those arms, and that back, and the owner of them, and the owner of me; which meant by the time it was done, I couldn’t get up. I got a good scolding from my mom for being anti-social and not getting up to do the usual round of socials at the end of every church visit. Yes, I know I’m eighteen, but she’s a religious, conservative mother. Trust me, it annoys me too.
I would love to say he approached me that day and whispered something into my ear and we ended the day having passionate sex in a church restroom stall, but unfortunately what happened was that he took one look at me and I started to shake like I was about to pass out, I’m pretty sure I became pale too and I tried to smile at him but it was probably more of a stroke-victim kind of look.
That was the whole extent of our interaction that day. Real-life stories can be a bit of a bummer sometimes, but I’m mentioning this because it’s important for later when we did do naughty things.
I was very hopeful that my parents would talk to him and Lindsey and invite them to our house again, but my parents had been a little fuzzy about her “not feeling well” the last time they visited us and they didn’t want to bother them.
That meant another whole week of feeling anxious about the situation, though I have to say, by the end of it I was starting to doubt it would ever happen again. Like maybe it was a one-time thing, he needed to blow off steam, or cum, and I was clearly there, thirsty and available. It was already mind-numbingly lucky that I got to have him that one time anyway.
Then another Sunday went by. This time he did give me a short smile, but no interactions. At least before he used to shake my hand, but nothing. I started thinking maybe he felt guilty, which wouldn’t be that weird if you consider we met at church.
Then my dad’s birthday came around. He turned sixty, which was a mildly big occasion. And with that I mean they invited half the town over for a barbeque that lasted far too long because who would’ve thought cooking for more than twenty people on a regular grill would take like five hours?
James was there. And he looked so good. Like, so good. I keep going on about clothes, but you guys need to understand that clothes adore this guy and his perfect inverted triangle body. He was wearing a leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt. I don’t think I need to say more.
When they arrived at the house, he did shake my hand, and maybe it was my hopeful delusions but I think he lingered just a couple seconds longer than usual. He flashed me his signature smirk while I tried to compose myself after looking at him for the first time that day. I didn’t compose myself. The reason being, he said:
“I have something to show you later.”
My mind started racing so fast I don’t know how it didn’t break my skull from the inside. He said that out loud, in front of a bunch of people, next to his wife, who was looking at me with affection, as if she was so proud of me for taking her husband’s cock up my ass like a champ and I was about to do it again.
I was confused, excited, paranoid, and nervous as hell, but I just nodded along.
A few hours went by and I kept trying to find him with my eyes without being too obvious. He was always with the other dads, talking about football, or basket, or baseball, or something, I don’t know anything about sports. He did look back a couple times and nodded at me. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean, but I nod back just in case.
There was a birthday cake, I died of cringe as everyone sang happy birthday to my dad, who is a goof and loves that kind of stuff. But after all that, it finally, finally happened.
“Hey bud, I got some more Pokemon cards for us to open. Let’s go,” he said with a decent crowd around us to hear, and, to my surprise, he pulled out a couple of packs from his pocket. If there are any Pokemon fans out there, they were Silver Tempest packs, I checked, but nothing of value, unless you count the hunk they came attached to.
“Mason, leave James alone. He needs to take care of Lindsey,” my adorable, Jesus-loving, Bible-thumping mom chimed in.
“Oh, it’s okay, Mrs. White. I’ll go chat with the girls for a while. He’s been saving those packs for like a week to open them with Mason.”
My soul left my body when I heard that. There were only two possible options in my head. Actually, to this day, I still think there were only ever two options.
Either he legitimately felt bad for wrecking my ass and bought me cards as a way to apologize, or he was about to give me a second core memory that would brand me for life as one of the luckiest gays in the world.