Chapter 2 – Chapter 2

The 19th Hole (Part Two)

Michael and I were quickly thick as thieves, conspirators in a gay/straight bromance. At 30, it was not easy to make new friends. Being with Michael was like writing on a blank page. He did not demand, judge, or react. He took what he got. He did not expect or insist on more. He was an easy friend.

In our bromance, I learned Michael had grown up very poor, the only child of two alcoholic parents who refused to work. His father was Mike, and Michael thought so little of him that he insisted on his full Christian name, as he was the full man he thought his father was not.

Michael started life in a shitty neighborhood in a forgotten Missouri town. When he was 8, he moved to a farmhouse outside the forgotten town. He had to feel like he lived on the edge of the abyss.

Michael was pretty much on his own from the get go, no siblings and, in his formative years, no neighbors. He had learned to entertain himself and to be comfortable on his own. He had been bullied for being "different" and "smart" throughout, especially in High School. The "different" was almost certainly "gay." The "smart" was almost certainly "smarter than everyone else."

Michael was the smartest person I'd ever met. He could talk about anything. He seemed to have read everything. Maybe that's what you do when you are alone all the time.

He was also the kindest person I'd ever met. The worst I ever heard him say about another human was "I'm not sure he's a good person." From Michael, that was a stinging indictment.

I quickly loved Michael. I did not tell him that. But, I did. He made me feel better about myself simply by being my friend. He was the best person I'd ever met. Nothing in his upbringing portended the man I knew.

And he loved me. I could see it in the way he looked at me. I could tell it in the way he treated me. I just could not figure out why. I was not near the person he was.

We spent a lot of time together. We were the yin to each other's yang.

And, he left me alone. Mostly. I had caught him meat gazing me a little, but I did not mind. I had nice junk, and it was generally visible (the head of my dick was big and easily showed through my shorts and my jeans, especially since I rarely wore underwear).

But that was all I encountered. I have a healthy ego, and I expected Michael at some point to move on me. We were drunk and high and horny together a lot. But, he didn't.

It was winter. The golf season was over. Michael and I had settled into a routine. On Tuesday nights, I went to his apartment, and we played Scrabble or cards. We drank a little, but not a lot, as we both had to work the next day.

On Friday nights, we met for drinks after work downtown with a group of my friends. We'd find someplace for dinner, either as a group or as a pair. We'd go out after dinner, almost always to straight bars. We'd finish the night by getting high back at my apartment. Michael often stayed over. He always slept on the sofa. He was always gone when I woke up.

Saturdays were for trying to get laid, so we went our separate ways. On Sunday, we met for brunch at 11 at the Club. Michael always asked about my Saturday. I never asked about his. I knew I should, but I just couldn't.

One random November brunch, I decided to quit being a bitch and asked Michael if he was seeing anyone or getting laid. Michael was candid in his response.

"Nah. I'm not good at it. And, I'm too busy chasing rainbows."

I wondered if I was the rainbow.

My birthday was Friday, December 17. When we got back to my house, Michael handed me a package. It was an autographed picture of Jack Nicklaus, my childhood hero, with his putter raised over his head on the 17th green at the 1986 Masters, which he had won in stunning fashion at the age of 46, in the twilight of his heroic career. Michael included a simple note, "Thank you for being my friend."

I was touched. I hugged Michael and thanked him. It was the first time we had hugged. It lasted a little too long, as Michael pulled me close and held me tight.

When I pulled away, Michael's eyes were wet. I asked why. Michael's answer overwhelmed me.

"I've never had a best friend. I've wanted one my whole life."

I hugged Michael again. He cried into my shoulder.

I had no idea what it was like to live life on the outside looking in. I had always been on the mountaintop. I was white, came from a good family, was attractive and athletic, and had always had a seat at the table. I remembered kids like Michael, the ones who seemed to disappear when the last bell rang. I always wondered where they went and what they did before the first bell rang. But, I never took a single step to find out.

I did not know what it meant to grow up Michael. I did not know the feeling of being bullied in school, as Michael had been. I did not know the feeling of being alone most of my life, as Michael had been. And, I did not know the feeling of being spurned by my parents, as Michael had been.

Michael stayed over again that night. Unlike prior nights, I told him to sleep with me. With the emotion of the evening, it seemed like the right thing. We both slept on top of the covers in our jeans and sweaters. As always, Michael was gone when I woke up. I had not felt him leave.

I had wondered if Michael would move on me in the night. I had not decided what I'd do if he did. I may have been a little disappointed he hadn't.

The next Friday night was Christmas Eve. We went through our regular routine and wound up back at my apartment with drinks and a bong. I was spending the next day with my family. I was sad to learn Michael was spending it alone. I was more sad when he answered "I'm used to it" when I shared my disappointment. I knew I should invite him to my family's, but I was 30, unmarried, and I didn't want to try to explain to my extended family why I was bringing a hot gay guy home for Christmas. So, I looked out for myself, not Michael.

It was snowing. We could hear the snow through the windows, which is one of my favorite sounds. It's like falling peace.

The lights were dim, we were high, and we were listening to one of my Cat Stevens albums (I had an awesome record collection, having inherited it from my dad when my parents downsized).

When "Peace Train" came on, I decided to broach the subject of Michael's lack of interest in me.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. Anything."

"Why haven't you ever made a move on me?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"You really are, like, the vainest person ever," he chided. Then, he broke into song, "You're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you, don't you, don't you, don't you?" He had a beautiful singing voice.

"Isn't it?" I jokede.

"It's not. I bet you have never gavotted. I bet you don't even know what it is."

"I don't."

"To answer your question, we're friends, you're straight, and I wouldn't want the fact that I'm not straight ruin the fact that we're friends. Our friendship means too much to me. I'm not going to risk it. Like I told you, I've never had a best friend before."

I soaked Michael's answer in. It was not an "'I don't want to' answer." It was an "'It's not a good idea' answer."

We sat in silence, my question and Michael's answer hanging between and over us. Michael broke the silence.

"Have you ever?"

"No. My best friend in college almost blew me once, but I stopped him."

"How do you 'almost' blow someone?"

"It was weird. We were drunk and high and we kind of played a game of gay chicken. I let him go a long way. I crowd fowl only when he was about to put my dick in his mouth."

"You shoulda let him blow you."

"I'm not gay."

"I know, but every straight guy should get head from a gay guy just once, so they know what a really good blow job feels like."

"I don't think Jordan was gay. I doubt it've been a 'really good blow job.'"

The silence returned. I broke it this time.

"Do you really think gay guys give better head than girls?"

"Absolutely."

"Why are you so sure?"

"One, I've had both, and it's not close. Two, you're never good at something you don't like. If a gay guy is sucking a dick, it's because he wants to suck that dick. He longs to suck that dick. He is going to suck that dick as long and as hard as he can. He is going to savor that dick. If a girl is sucking a dick, it's a means to an end. She doesn't want that dick in her mouth. She just thinks she has to have that dick in her mouth. And she's going to get that dick out of her mouth as soon as she can."

"So, you lick sucking dick?"

"I fucking love it."

"Really? What's to love?"

"Power. Control. Bringing someone else pleasure. Showing off."

"What are you showing off?"

"My base skills, man. I'm really good."

"It seems like a weird thing to love."

"It's not."

My mouth was dry. I was pensive and nervous. I was also hard from all the talk of head and sex. My dick was down my right leg and pressing against my jeans. It wanted out. I caught Michael looking at it.

He re-started the conversation.

"Have you ever had a really good blow job?"

"Aren't blow jobs like pizza, even the bad ones are good?"

"I'm serious. Has any girl ever made love to your dick with her mouth, savoring every inch of it, edging you so you don't come too fast, milking every last drop of cum out of you because she knows you want her to eat your cum, and then staying on your dick until you force her to stop, because she just fucking loves having that dick in her mouth?"

"I'm pretty sure that's a 'no'."

"Well, that's how it's supposed to be. That's how I suck dick."

We had never talked about sex before. I was drunk and high and I wanted to know what that kind of blow job felt like. I was on the edge of the cliff looking over. I jumped.

"Care to prove it?"

I saw Michael flinch. I stood up, unbuttoned my jeans, pulled them down, and stepped out of them. I pulled my shirt over my head, and stood naked in front of Michael, my best friend.

Michael stared at my dick. It is almost 7 inches long, thicker at the head than the base, with a slight upward curve.

I could tell he wanted it. But, he was still polite, asking "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"I am."

"If we cross this line, everything is going to change."

"It doesn't have to."

"It always does. I've done this before, and it always does."

I moved forward, bringing my dick closer to his face. I should have, but, at that moment, in that moment, I didn't care if it changed everything. I wanted Michael to suck my dick. I need Michael to suck my dick.

He said, "I don't think this is a good idea. I don't want to lose my best friend over a blow job."

I responded, "You won't." I was not sure I was right. But, at that point, I was willing to say anything to get what I wanted. I moved forward again. My dick was now right in front of Michael's mouth.

Michael was torn. It was clear he wanted my dick. It was also clear he was worried about what taking it would mean.

I resolved his conflict. I took his head in my hands and pressed my dick to his lips. He opened his lips and took me into his mouth. I watched him swallow all 7 inches, burying his face in my pubes. As he did, he milked my dick with his throat.

Michael grabbed my hips and started to work my dick in and out of his mouth. I had never been deep throated before, and the warm moisture from the head to the base of my dick was pushing me toward the edge. But, every time I got close, Michael backed off, licking my balls or kissing my stomach as my orgasm ebbed. I now knew what he meant by "power" and "control." He was totally in charge.

I also knew what he meant by "loving" to give head. He clearly enjoyed what he was doing, and he was making it last as long as he could. He was savoring my dick. And, he was awesome at it.

I stood there watching him love on my dick, his thick lips sliding up and down the length of my shaft and his tongue applying pressure directly under the head.

The sight turned me on. I needed to come. I could feel my orgasm starting down in my feet.

I started to move in rhythm with him. He added his hand, gripping my dick as an extension of his mouth. I could not ward off the coming jolt.

I knew I should warn Michael, but I also wanted to come in his mouth. I wanted the full experience.

My affection for him overcame my base instincts. I gave him a heads up, so to speak.

"Oh, God, I'm gonna come . . . . I'm gonna come."

My warning had the opposite effect to the one I feared, as Michael redoubled his efforts and took my dick as deep as he could. I went over the edge, erupting repeatedly directly in his throat. As I finished, Michael slowly worked his way to the head of my dick, milking every ounce of cum I had to give.

Michael swallowed and took my dick back to the base again, clenching and unclenching it with his throat. I couldn't take any more. I had to force my dick out of his mouth. Just as he said I would.

I collapsed back onto the couch. I felt weird sitting there nude, but I was too spent to dress. And, my dick was too sensitive for jeans.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Sure," I said.

"What are you thinking?"

"That you were right."

"So, it was a good one?"

"Dude, it was a great one. I've never been sucked like that. I've never come like that."

"It's the difference between getting to do it and having to do it."

We sat there in silence until Michael grabbed the bong, took another big hit, and passed it to me. While I had the bong to my mouth, Michael told me I had a really nice dick. When I let the pot leave my lungs, I muttered, "Thank you."

Michael stood to leave, which was odd. He almost always stayed over.

"I'm gonna head out."

"No, you're not. You're staying here." I wanted Michael to understand nothing had changed.

There was no more discussion over whether Michael would stay the night. There was also no discussion over where he'd sleep.