I was 14 in 1990, and life was good: I had a very good bunch of friends; I enjoyed and excelled at school; the future looked bright. After the events, which follow, the future still looked bright, but very, very different. Hell, the present and the past had seemingly reshaped themselves into a different form completely - the proverbial rose-tint of hindsight.

At that time, I had never had a girlfriend - plenty of female friends, but none that could warrant the elevation to "girlfriend", that mystical glory being. "My girlfriend and I..." is a phrase that I used to dream of being able to say. It has a certain vital austerity - the simplicity, and to an extent, the finality of the term conjures a realm of meaning and well hints at a whole intrigue. Maybe through cowardice, I could never bring myself to say - "would you like to go out on a date?" let alone "would you be my girlfriend?"

Despite all of this though, I was not, at the time overly bothered - I've always been forward looking, and knew that in time my glory-being and I would collide, and at that moment, all doubts and cowardice would be dispersed, like a heavy fog on a windy day.

Fog, you see, can bring comfort - standing on a foggy moor brings to me a sense of great solace. It's like a natural blanket - water particles that obscure the vast outdoors, and makes the moor seem smaller, more comfortable. You stand in the centre of a sphere, delimited by the range of your vision - who knows, or who cares what lies beyond? So, I was single, and so were all of my close friends, a situation I guess that is self-sustaining. You can't "go out" with a friend - it changes too much in your relationship, and being close friends, we never really extended our horizons. (There's that fog again). But, this year was the year that changed everything.

Philip has been my best friend since we were 13, and our relationship has always been very open, and very close. Philip was a handsome boy, with fine brown hair, brushed forward. He was slightly short for his age, but well proportioned, and quite athletic, though not overly enthusiastic about sports. His hair coupled with his brown almond shaped eyes always caused people to be reminded of a choir boy, and did have a look about him that would drive your average Priest wild - caged innocence, ripe for release into the wilds, and a slight tamed femininity.

Me, at that time I had a larger frame than most: a rugby player frame. Brown hair, and grey eyes, I was not the most handsome of boys, but nor was I ugly. We used to have sleepovers on a regular basis, and the tale at hand owes everything to these encounters. As I cast my mind back to the first time that anything of note happened between us, I recall vividly our first discussion about masturbation. It was after school one Friday, and Philip was to be staying over that night to keep me company while my parents were away for the weekend. My brother had been palmed of to some friend, and we were two 14-year-old boys home alone - we were expected to get up to mischief! And not wanting to disappoint whoever might be expecting us to be mischievous, we were.

At that time I had been masturbating for about three years (not non-stop I do hasten to add), but I had never spoken to anyone about it. Tales of going blind, or growing hair on the palms of the hand never used to put me off. I used to live for "the feeling", as I called it then. Of course, initially it was just a feeling, with no glorious flow of cum, and no mess to clean up (on the plus side). But, with time, my wrist action used to produce a tiny bead of a glistening liquid at the mouth of my hardened cock. (I always have though of the hole at the top as a mouth, and used to take great pleasure in making my cock laugh, by squeezing the head this way, and that! A theory borne out by thinking of cock-stimulation as telling a great joke - the best jokes make people spurt a mouthful of milk everywhere!).

But that day, I told Philip that I had a video with a naked woman on it; looking back, I laugh at how excited we got - it was a recorded tape of some TV drama, where a stripper gets her kit off, and you see her breasts for all of 30 seconds! Oh, the days of despoiled innocence!

As we watch this, over and over, I got bold and started to rub my erection through my trousers "Do you do this?" I asked, looking pointedly at my cock, then his.

"Ummmm, what do you mean?" he blushed as he said this, looking more and more the choirboy as his colour deepened.

"You know exactly what I mean," I rubbed a bit harder, and then wrapped the material of my shorts around my stiff six inch cock, so that its profile was obvious. Philip stared, perhaps at a loss for words. I did feel a bit guilty at springing this on him, but that said, it wasn't something that I had planned. I looked at his shorts and saw a similar, though less defined profile of an erection.

"Why you asking me that?" he countered, buying himself time. I knew what the answer would be in the end, but I just wanted him to say it - it was becoming the object of this conversation, and it had nothing to do with "the feeling", or even the woman's jiggling breasts. In a way, even at that time, I knew that an admission would lead to other things and I found that that was what I was longing for.

"No reason. Just wanted to know if you wanted to join me while we watch the video." I feigned disinterest. Well, sort of - the feeling that I had at that time is so lucid in my mind - I had to stop rubbing myself because I knew that I would cum soon. I was finding the situation so intense that my entire body was shaking, making spasmodic and very much visible movements. I was shaking with pleasure! The first time that that had ever happened.

"Well ... OK, yes I do it sometimes, but, but, but I don't want to do it now. Not with another guy around, its not right."

Well, I'd never done it with anyone else either, but decided not to argue with him at that moment. This time I feigned sensitive empathy, and said it was cool. And, not wanting my pride to be damaged continued as if what I was doing was perfectly normal. I held off my ejaculation, and after a while switched the video off, and suggested that we go and play some computer games (on my old Amiga).

Despite the video incident, playing the games was just like normal, and our easy comradeship hadn't changed. I was glad of that, as I had had a sudden worrying thought that Philip might have found my actions just too weird. The day went on as normal, and after eating a meal of steak and chips, we settled down and watched a video, some Kung Fu movie or other. Nothing more was said about masturbation, sex or cocks.

But, I was really trying to think of a way of bring the subject up again, as subtly as I knew how, but was drawing blanks at all stages. So, nothing happened, and we showered and headed for bed - he was to have the spare bed in my room, despite their being empty beds in the guest room.

We were accustomed to staying up late, chatting about this and that. Fond memories I have of those chats, but it was then that it happened, as we were lying their, during a moment of quiet where we were both just looking through the window up at the stars. He turned to look at me; he stared me straight in the eye.

"You want to masturbate together?" he asked me straight out. I shuffled into a kneeling position, and my quickly growing excitement must have been obvious through the flies of the pajamas that I sleep in.

"Yeah!" was my quick reply, perhaps to quick, so I tempered the response by adding, "You wanna?" A small smile appeared on his angelic face, but he didn't get out from under the sheet.

"Yup. OK. But only through our pajamas right?"

"Sure, if that's what you want."

"You start though." I was perfectly happy to initiate proceedings, especially seeing as I had already done so earlier that day. My cock was already fully engorged, and I started rubbing the head through the thin material of my pajamas.

As I did this, Philip joined in, and I could see his pianist's fingers playing a dirge, a slow and almost mournful tune on the organ of his soul. As his fingers depressed the meager covering, I saw the contours of a cock that I so wanted to see and to touch. But to see and to touch, as I had seen it before in the showers at school, but never enlarged with passion or excitement. And I had never ever touched a cock other than my own ever before.

As I watched, my own activity slowed. Philips face became very peaceful, and his fingers played on, working the tune into a baroque magic now, swiftened and unrelenting. I was fascinated, and my hands now only massaged my own glans, my foreskin pulled back. Precum provided the necessary lubrication, the fabric of my pajamas now damp. Philips brow creased, and he looked at me, smiling at me again, a little embarrassed as his hands slowed down.

"I've cum," he announced to me. I was surprised, firstly at the speed of it all, and secondly at his forwardness. I had thought him to be very embarrassed about it all, but evidently it was a simple and easily overcome barrier. I looked down at his pajamas and now saw a large damp patch.

"There is a tissue in that box there," and I pointed at a box of Kleenex, "you can pass me one too, as I'm almost ready for it."

I redoubled my actions as Philip stood, and I saw the evidence of his shrinking cock - a sizeable bulge, probably six inches or so.

"Ahhhhhh!" I simply said as I came. Philip knelt down next to me and proffered me a tissue, which I accepted gratefully. He stared at my pajama pants, as I put my hand beneath the waistband and wiped the cum away. Philip got a tissue for himself and did the same, discarded it in the bin, then went back to bed.

"That was intense" I said "I've never done that in front of anyone but you" it sounded lame, but I was at a loss for a quality sound bite.

"I know" he replied, and that smile returned to his face. He snuggled up in his own side of the bed, and I could tell by the way that he held his body that he was content with what he had done.

He closed his eyes, but I continued to watch him, his body profiled by the thin sheets. My cock slept limply and slightly damp on my thigh as I watched. After a time, I sighed and got out of bed to go to the lavatory. I passed the bin that we had placed our cum soaked tissues is, and could not resist reaching down and picking Philip's tissue up. I sneaked to the bathroom, and unwrapped my unexpected gift.

His cum, silky white and pungent had an allure. I lifted it to my nose and sniffed it - a heady perfume, and my cock began to stir again. Its extension had a mimic - my tongue slowly unfurled, and I held it steady just before it touched the liquid. Should I? I did - in slow motion, my tongue pressed flat against the cum on the tissue, and the taste, the smell and the texture filled my senses. My tastebuds were enveloped - the flavour trickled from the front of my mouth to the back: salt, sour, sweet. Sweet, sour, salt. My mind broke it into its constituent units, showed me the truth, then swirled it back to its glorious whole! My nose grabbed the scent, and the silkiness of it filled my mouth!

I groaned. Then, quietly: "Oh, Philip!"

"Yes?" I turned, my engorged cock coming to bear on Philip through my pajama's flies. I was discovered! "How long have you been there?" I asked. (I had thought, in my guilt soaked state to grab a towel and cover myself, or at least draw some material over my cock! Fool!)

"Long enough."

My heart stopped, and I dreaded what was to come next - some denouncement of me as his friend perhaps?


Nobody has left a comment on this story, yet.