OUR LAST SUMMER – one last chance to be close to my straight best friend.

Hey everyone!
This is going to be kind of a long one. Unfortunately, I had to break it down a lot due to the character limit. Well, a lot of the stories I’ve read here have touched me in many different ways: some on an emotional level. Others were so intense that I couldn’t stop thinking about them. So, I wanted to give something back. Kind of both, in one story. My own story: desperate, and yet loving. Devastating, and yet full of heart. Messy, and yet tender. Just as life can be.

I’ve been living in the States for a while now. English isn’t my first language, though. Even though I spent a lot of time rewriting this story, there will be a few spots where that shows. Sometimes I had to look up words I’ve never heard or read before. So it might seem a little awkward here and there. I hope you’ll forgive me for that.

The place where the story happens doesn’t really matter. It could be a village in the U.S., in Europe, Australia. What does matter, is that it takes place in a somewhat rural area. Not just geographically, it’s more about a conservative way of life and how it affects growing up as a gay boy.

What you're about to read is more or less exactly how I remember the most painful, and yet most beautiful time of my life. It was the time after my best friend and I graduated from high school. I was 18 years a that point, he had just turned 19. This summer was supposed to be our last summer together. For me, it was time full of unspoken love, endless longing, and the heartbreak of knowing it would all end soon. I’ve been in love with him my whole life. But I never said a word. Never could. Never seen a chance he might feel the same way. And I knew this would be my last chance to be close to him.

# OUR LAST SUMMER

**1. Summer**

It was our last summer before everything changed. Before college, before we had to start pretending to be grown-up. I think some part of me already surrendered to the fact that there was no going back. Tom and I had been best friends since we were eleven. People used to joke that we were attached to each other. Well, we were. It was just us. Always. We didn't care about parties or football or trying to be cool. We told each other almost everything, watched horror movies until 3 a.m., made each other laugh so hard we cried. But for me, it had always been more.

I don’t even remember when I first realized I was in love with him. Maybe I always was. It wasn’t just a crush. And against my deepest wishes, it turned out not to be a phase. It was something deeper. I surrendered to it. I couldn’t name it first, but it became clearer and clearer that I was different than all other boys. And with the years rolling by me, I finally knew I was gay. And I loved him. With ever breath I’d take. I never told him, of course not. Not when he hugged me too long. Not when we shared a sleeping bag that one freezing night and I couldn’t sleep because I could feel his breath on my neck. Not when he kissed her, at the party and I went home sick and couldn’t explain why. I always tried to hide it. Even when we used to jerk off together sometimes – side by side, like it was no big deal. But, I’d steal glances at him. At his hand. At his cock. At his face when he came. It burned me, deep within. With wanting. With guilt. He was so freaking close. And yet, so freaking far.
Around that time he was with that girl, Lena. Kind of. Or wasn’t anymore. They were on and off for over a year, and it never really made sense to me. She didn’t get him. Not like I did. She never laughed at his dumb jokes. But still, they had that thing. Or pretended they did. And I just stayed quiet. I was really good at that.

We’d been going camping at that lake every summer since we were kids. Just the two of us. No phones, no people, no pressure. We pitched the same tent in the same clearing, swam in the same water, built the same fire pit. It was our place, our thing, our ritual. And that year, I knew it might be the last time. He was going to Berlin. I was heading to the West Coast of the U.S. Different futures. Different everything. Live would tear us apart. I knew that. I’m sure he did, too. Neither of us said it out loud, but the silence around it felt heavier than anything we could’ve spoken. At that point, I was so damn scared. Not just of the distance or being alone. I was scared of losing him. Of drifting apart. Or worse – knowing he’s with someone else. But, for one more summer, it was just us. And I tried so hard to pretend that was enough.

**2. Camping**

That thought followed me all the way out to the lake. That familiar dirt road that turned into a narrow path which ended right in the woods. It all looked exactly the same. The sun was still high, but the shadows between the trees had already started to stretch. Tom parked the car under some trees and sat for a second. “Just like always“ he said. „Let’s go.“ We climbed out and started grabbing our stuff. I knew every piece of gear by heart.
A couple of years ago Tom had found the spot by accident, biking way too far down that dirt trail. There was a lake, hidden behind walls of pine trees, and a narrow strip of land where you could pitch next to the lake. No one else ever came. It wasn’t on any map. We made it our place. We never invited anyone else. Not once. Even when people asked, even when we were older, had cars and could’ve turned it into a party spot. It was the only place we could fully breathe. And we would’t dare to give anything from that away. Out there, there were no parents, no expectations. No Lena. No pressure to be a certain kind of guy. We could wake up when we wanted, swim naked, smoke without worrying someone would rat us.

We found our place, the same flat patch of ground we always used. Tom kicked aside pinecones and old twigs with his feet, then tossed me the poles like he always did. “No broken ones this year,” he said. “Progress.”, almost like a command. He dropped to his knees and started laying out the tarp. I admit: just sometimes, with that short blonde crew cut and that attitude, he spread some military vibes. I loved that.
The tent was always a mess. Poles bent, zippers stuck. We never fixed it. Tom said it gave the whole thing character. He always did most of the setup. Said I was too slow, but I think he just liked the ritual of it. He’d take off his shirt five minutes in, sweating and swearing and smiling like he’d never been happier. And I’d watch. I crouched beside him, pretending to dig through the food bag so I didn’t look like I was staring. I couldn’t stop glancing over. His shoulder blades moved smoothly under his soft skin. We didn’t talk much during setup, didn’t need to. He’d grunt, I’d hand him a rope. He’d throw me the flashlight without looking. It was like we moved in sync, like we’d practiced it a hundred times. I loved this part. Not because of the tent and camping and stuff. But because it felt like we were building something together. Like, in those quiet minutes, we were more than just two guys on a camping trip. We were like soldiers in a stormy night with a vow to defend. No retreat, no surrender. Tom leaned back on his heels when we were done, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’re basically professionals.” I nodded. He looked at me. “Glad we did this,” he said. “One more time.” That hit me harder than I expected. I turned away, pretending to do something, heart pounding stupidly in my chest. Yeah, one more time.

By sunset, the fire would be going. We’d sit on a half-rotted log and pass a joint between us, shirts off, arms sticky with sweat and bug spray. The lake would glow gold for a while as it went still. Completely still. That was a stillness that got right into you. Sometimes we’d talk about stupid shit: Who’d survive longest in the apocalypse. Other nights we didn’t say much at all. Just sat there. The kind of silence that didn’t feel empty. Out there, he was different. Softer, maybe. Calmer. Like whatever he carried the rest of the year, it didn’t follow him past the trees. And I loved him most, in those moments. Not when he was being funny, not when he tried to fit in back home, even when he didn’t. But there, at the edge of the firelight, eyes heavy, letting the world fall away. That lake wasn’t just some place we went. It was the only place I ever felt like he might see me the way I saw him.

**3. Water**

The next day, the summer gave it all. The afternoon heat was brutal. The air shimmered above the grass, thick with the smell of dry grass. We’d spread out an old blanket near the edge of the lake, half in the shade, half under the sun. Tom was lying on his back, arms behind his head, eyes closed. His shirt was loose, almost see-through from age and too many washes. Faded gray, hanging wide at the neck. He was wearing those black mesh shorts. Loose, light, sitting low on his hips. He wore boxers underneath, the waistband always showing. I lay next to him, trying to look at the trees. At the clouds. At anything but him. I wasn’t good at that.

“I’m gonna swim,” he said suddenly, stretching before he sat up. “It’s too fucking hot.” He stood and brushed the grass off his legs. I watched him. I couldn’t not. He peeled off his shirt: Shoulder blades, collarbones, sweat catching the sun. Then the shorts and boxers, both in one go. Casual, like always. Like it was nothing. God – *for me*, it was everything.
I’d seen him naked a thousand times. Locker rooms. Lake trips. Jerking off side by side. That one time we streaked through the football field at night. Drunk, high, sick, laughing, shivering. I’d seen it all. And still, this hit me like a punch to the gut. He stepped out of the pile of clothes and stood there, back half-turned. Everything about him was familiar. And yet, so far out of reach. When he turned toward me to tell me to follow, something cracked in me. It revealed every inch of his body. His flat Stomach, just enough definition to trace. A hint of lines above his hips. His dick. Oh Lord. He hung soft, low, curved forward with its natural weight. The foreskin sat loose, relaxed, hiding the head completely. His balls hung full, darker then the rest of his skin. And the way he stood—completely unaware of what he was doing to me. How badly I wanted to fall to my knees and bury my face in him. Everywhere.

But I didn’t move. I just stared. Hoping I looked casual. Dying inside. He looked down at me and grinned. “Dude. You’ve seen me naked, like, a million times. Don’t be weird.” Well, mission failed. I blinked, my mouth suddenly dry. “I’m not.” – “You’re acting like I just pulled out a gun,” he laughed, already walking toward the water. I waited a few seconds before I stood up. My hands shivered as I pulled my shirt over my head. I tried not to think about the way my heart was slamming into my ribs. I took off my shorts, then my briefs and followed him down to the lake, silently. Even though everything in me was screaming.
Tom dove in with that lazy grace he always had. His body slipped under the surface, legs kicking up a burst of bubbles. I waded in slowly. The water lapped around my thighs, my stomach, my chest. Tom popped back up a few meters out, shaking his head, flinging drops from his short hair. “Still the best place on earth,” he shouted, voice echoing off the trees. I swam out to meet him. The lake deepened quickly. Within a few strokes, I couldn’t touch the bottom. We floated side by side, drifting. The sun was high above us, so bright I had to squint when I looked at him. He splashed me suddenly, right in the face. “Asshole,” I coughed, laughing. I tried to dunk him, and we wrestled in the water, limbs tangling, sliding against each other. His arm locked around my chest, pulling me under for a second before I came up gasping. We laughed, really laughed. God, I hadn’t laughed like that in months. We wrestled a little more, chest to chest. And then it happened. For a second, just a second, our dicks brushed underwater. Skin on skin, real, way too real. I froze. Tom jerked back a little, blinking. Then he burst out laughing. “Wow!” he said, half-choking. “Did our dicks just…?” He was cracking up now, wiping water from his face. “Dick collision. Fuckin’ aquatic sword fight. Jesus.” He kept laughing, shaking his head. Not cruel, just dumb, harmless, like it was the funniest thing that had happened all day.
My skin burned from everywhere he’d touched me. I tried to laugh with him. But it came out thin. Because for me, it wasn’t funny. It was beautiful. That split-second of touch, his shocking softness, the accidental intimacy – it hit me like a current straight to the chest. I wanted to hold on to it. To rewind, stay there, feel it again. But it was already over. He’d kicked away, a few meters off now, still laughing to himself. “God,” he said, grinning. “That was so fucked up.” I stayed where I was, floating, dick half-hard, heart pounding. It hurt. Not because it happened. But because it meant nothing to him. And yet, to me it meant everything.

**4. Fire**

By the time the sun dipped behind the trees, the air had cooled just enough to make your skin notice. We’d thrown on dry clothes – bare feet, worn out shirts, same old mesh shorts. The lake behind us was still glowing faint orange, but the sky was slowly starting to fade into deep blue. Tom crouched by the firepit, arranging the branches like always, like it was serious business. He always made a show of it. When the first flames caught, he gave a little nod, proud. He pulled a joint from his backpack. It was a little bent, but still intact. He lit it in the campfire, took a long drag, held it, then let the smoke pour from his nose. “Hell yeah” he said, smiling as he passed it to me. We sat a couple of feet away, so he could barely hand it over. Our legs stretched out toward the flames. The fire cracked quietly. Crickets filled the silence around us. I took a hit. Let it sit in my lungs a second too long, then coughed and exhaled slowly.
Tom stared into the fire like it had answers. “Sometimes I wonder,” Tom said, voice low, “if I’m ever really gonna feel like I belong anywhere. Like I’m not just… playing a version of myself people can deal with.” That hit hard. I wanted to tell him I understood. That even here, in the safest place I knew, I felt like I was hiding something huge just beneath my skin. Instead, I said, “Yeah. Same.” I was pretty stoned right now. Tom lay back on the ground, arms crossed under his head, eyes half closed. He looked peaceful. Like none of this touched him. Like he’d just slide out of this summer the way he slid out of everything, light and easy. I sat upright, knees pulled to my chest. My chest was tight. Had been for days. Maybe for years. He looked over. “You good?” I didn’t answer right away. I stared into the flames. “No,” I said. Quiet. Too quiet. Tom sat up. Not fast, not dramatic, just enough to really look at me. “I don’t think I’m okay with this,” I said. He tilted his head, confused. “With what?” “This being the end,” I said. “You going to Germany. Me leaving. Everything changing.” He didn’t say anything. His mouth opened, closed again. I kept going. I couldn’t stop. “You’ve been the whole world for like, the missing part of me, Tom. And now we’re just… going in opposite directions. Like it’s nothing.” My throat closed up. My vision blurred. Tom blinked a few times. Looked down. Swallowed. “Shit,” he said. Barely a whisper. His face was soft now. Not smiling. Just… concerned, I guessed. “I didn’t know it was that bad until this very moment,” he said. “I mean, I knew it would suck, but…” He shook his head. “I feel the same,” he added. Then, finally, he said, “But, maybe this is just what happens. People grow up. They go.” I shook my head. “It shouldn’t be this hard if it’s normal.” I looked at him. Really looked. “I don’t want to go without you,” he whispered. His voice cracked just enough to make me break all over again.

And then we both just sat there, staring at each other. Eyes wet. Hearts completely fucking exposed. There it was. That thing we’d never said, never let surface. We didn’t want to lose each other. But we didn’t know how not to. Because friendship, or whatever it was between us, wasn’t enough to stop time. And no matter how much it hurt, leaving was the only way forward. I buried my face in my hands. Couldn’t hold it back anymore. The sobs came hard and ugly, shaking my whole body. Tom moved without hesitation. He stood up, sat down right next to me. He reached out, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me against his chest. No hesitation. No questioning. Just warmth. His chin resting on the top of my head. One hand cradling the back of my neck. The other around my back, holding me together. I cried into him. Openly. Without trying to stop it. And he didn’t move. Didn’t let go. Just held me. I could feel his heartbeat. He just stayed with me, as I was falling apart in his arms. And in that moment, I hated the world for making this feel so final. Because this, he, was home. And I was already leaving it behind. And when I finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, I saw it. His face was wet. He wasn’t sobbing. He hadn’t made a sound. But the tears were there, sliding quietly down his cheeks, catching the firelight as they fell. He didn’t wipe them away. He just looked at me. And I looked at him. And in that silence, with our arms around each other, everything we couldn’t say finally had space to exist. We talked for hours that night. About what was coming. About how it hurts. About how we needed each other.

**5. Heat**

The next day, by the time we crawled out of the tent, the sun was already high. Everything was quiet except for the distant buzzing of insects and the soft slap of water against the shore. We moved slowly, like our bodies weren’t quite ready to belong to the day yet. Tom made coffee in the little camp pot, and I dug out the stale bread and peanut butter. We sat cross-legged on a blanket, ate, barely talking. Later, we laid down on a green patch of grass near the lake. Tom dropped down first, stretched out shirtless, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. His chest rose and fell slow. A few beads of sweat clung to his collarbones. I lay down beside him, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat from his skin. Neither of us said a word. There was something comforting in the silence, though. In just being near him. Shirtless, barefoot, a little sunburned, a little hungover from too many emotions. Okay, and too much weed. I focused on pretending again that the world wasn’t about to pull us apart. His arm brushed mine when he shifted. He didn’t move away. I closed my eyes and let the sun hit my face. I didn’t know how long we lay there. Time didn’t work the same way out here. I thought a lot about we’d said last night. Eventually, Tom broke the silence. His voice was quiet, like he wasn’t even sure he was going to say anything until the words came out. “Yesterday night,” he said.” I turned my head, slowly. He was still staring up at the sky, one arm over his forehead to block the light. “Did you mean all that?” he asked. I swallowed. “Yeah, of course I did” I said. “Every word.” He didn’t nod. Didn’t move. Just let the silence hang again. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I don’t know what the hell I’m gonna do either,“ he said eventually. „You’ve just... I don’t think I’ve ever felt as at home with anyone else as I do with you.“ Hit and sunk. He turned his head then, looked straight at me. “I don’t want this to be the end,” he said. I nodded slowly. My voice almost didn’t come. “I don’t think I could handle that,” I said. He shifted, turned toward me a little more, resting on one elbow „I’m serious.” he said. I blinked. “We need to figure something out,” he said. “Whatever it takes. You and me.” And in that moment, under the burning sun, I believed him. Even if I knew the world would try to prove us wrong. Tom had turned slightly toward me now, resting on one elbow. His skin was glowing, flecked with a few blades of grass, his chest slow and steady with breath. Then his fingers brushed my forearm. Soft. Casual. Like nothing. Or maybe like everything – I don’t know. Just skin on skin. But it hit me with voltage. His words, the way he looked at me and that slightest touch – it completely got me. He looked relaxed, like the sun had melted every sharp edge off him. I froze. I lost ist. My pulse slammed in my neck, too fast, too loud. And God, the way he was just laying there. His bare torso, stretched and open in the light. That flat chest, that hot skin, that long legs. Natural. Unbothered. It made my mouth go dry. My eyes snapped back up, guilt blooming in my chest. Our eyes met. The heat spread across my skin. My thighs tensed without meaning to. I swallowed hard. Tried to breathe. His finger still touched my arm. Light. Steady. Warm. I was unraveling. Not because I didn’t know how or what to answer. It was right there – and I still couldn’t say it. My whole body was shaking. Not on the outside. Not yet. But inside, like something in me had come loose. Like the ground was shifting beneath me, and I had to choose whether to fall or jump. I looked at him.

At Tom.
At the boy I’d known since I was eleven.
The boy I’d built my life around.
The boy I’d watched through locker room steam with heartbreak.
The boy I’d fallen in love with, without meaning to.

And I knew. This was it. Not just a day. Not just a moment. It was the moment. If I didn’t move now, if I didn’t reach for him, I would never forgive myself. For after this trip, we’d go back to real life. To dorm rooms and deadlines and distance. To silence. And he would drift into someone else’s future. Not mine. And I’d have to carry this thing – this love, this hunger, this story that never got to be told – alone. Forever.

I looked down at his body again, just for a second. And then up, into his eyes. He was watching me now. Really watching. And I saw it, the tiny flicker of confusion. The tilt of his head. The question forming behind his lips. “What’s going on?” he asked, low. “You’re looking at me like…“ He didn’t finish. My throat closed. My heart pounded so loud it drowned out the world. I leaned towards him. Couldn’t stop. All those years. All that wanting. All that hiding. It was too much. Like everything in me had been waiting for that single, impossible impact. And so I whispered, “Can I…” That’s all I had. And then I kissed him.

**6. Desire**

His lips felt warm, softer than I imagined, realer than I could bear. And for one second, just for one, he didn’t move. Then backed up. Not violently, but just enough to tear the contact. He looked at me like I’d slapped him. “What the fuck are you…?” His voice didn't sound angry, rather startled. I pulled back fast, and raised my hands in a kind of silent apology. “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I meant to…” That was all I could say. I didn’t try to explain. Didn’t run away even if I wanted to. I just sat there, my face inches from his. Everything inside me was shivering, shaking. Tom stared at me. One brow raised. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle that had suddenly started speaking. And then something in his expression shifted. Just slightly. His eyes flicked to my mouth. Then back to my eyes.

And he leaned in.
Slow.
Deliberate.
He kissed me.

And this time – God. This time, there was no hesitation. His hand cupped the side of my neck. His lips pressed firm, yet alive against mine. I felt his breath, felt the heat of his chest closing in on me, felt everything else fall away. There was just the kiss. It was a kiss that tells you: This is real. This is happening. After all the years, all the silence, this was it. Like I always wanted.
He kissed me like he needed to. Like something in him had cracked open and there was no way to put it back. Our lips collided, not careful, not soft, they pressed harder, and suddenly we were grabbing at each other like we’d been holding back for years. Because we had. Well, I had. His hand slid up into my hair, fingers curling at the back of my head, pulling me in like he didn’t want any space between us. I held his face; my thumb was brushing over his cheek. Then I let my arms wrap around his shoulders, clutching his back. And then his tongue touched mine. God. It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t slow. It was deep, wet, full of this messy, raw hunger. His tongue pushed into me like he wanted to taste something that had always been just out of reach. I opened my mouth wider, met him, matched him, let it happen. Let it all happen. I moaned – quiet, shaky. Our bodies were so close now there was no room for thought. Just heat and skin. Soft, slippery tongue on soft, slippery tongue. The taste of him. His hands moved, one gripping my side, the other buried in my hair, not letting go. I was holding him just as hard, hands clenched at his back like I needed to anchor myself to something solid. His tongue filling me, faster, then soft again. And I was shaking. Fully. Because after all these years of hiding, I was finally kissing him. Really kissing him. And he was kissing me back.

**7. Longing**

We broke apart. Not all the way, just barely. Our mouths parted, but our foreheads stayed pressed together, noses brushing. Both of us were breathing hard. Tom blinked slowly, like he was waking up from something. Like he’d just remembered where and who we were. He pulled back a little further, eyes searching mine. He kept his hands on my sides, like they weren’t sure if they should stay or let go. “What the fuck is happening?” he asked. His voice sounded confused. I swallowed hard. My lips were still tingling. My hands were still on his bare back. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I just… I couldn’t not kiss you.” He didn’t respond right away. His eyes still locked on mine. And then, I just dropped out: “Can I… go further?” The words felt fragile. I could feel how close we were to something that couldn’t be undone, that might as well break our friendship apart. Right here, right now, forever. But, I didn’t care anymore. Not if it meant I got to touch him again. Not if it meant I got to know what it felt like – to finally, really have him. Even just for once.
He didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no, either. He just looked at me, breath still heavy. That look on his face like he couldn’t believe what we’re doing. And maybe like he didn’t want to stop. So I moved. Slowly, like I was afraid to scare it all away, I shifted up onto my knees. My knees pressed into the ground. He followed. Came up onto his knees too, right in front of me now. No hesitation, no words. We were face to face, chest to chest. I placed my hands on his waist again. He rested his on my shoulders, like he didn’t know where else to go. Then we kissed again. Slower this time. Deeper. We kissed like it hurt not to. And as we leaned into each other, our hips pressed together. And there it was: That sudden, unmistakable pressure. His cock, hard, pushed against mine through the fabric of our shorts. I felt it instantly. Warm. Alive. Mine throbbed in response, like it had been waiting for that exact moment my entire life. I gasped. Our hands gripped skin, waists, backs, necks, anything we could hold on to. And without planning it, our hips started to move. Just a little at first. I pushed into him. He pushed back. Our rhythm picked up without a word. I couldn’t think. It felt so fucking right. The pressure, the friction, the heat between us – our cocks grinding against each other. And I could feel his size. He was bigger, I knew that. But now I felt it. Not by a little. Every grind made that difference even clearer. I moaned again, couldn’t help it. He groaned back, low, surprised, like the sound had escaped him. I reached down, fumbled at his waistband, tugged his shorts down just a little. He didn’t stop me. He didn’t hesitate. He did the same to mine. We pushed them past our hips, down to our knees.
And then – our cocks sprang free. Slapped up hard between us. Skin on skin. The feeling hit me like a shot. Warm. Wet. Pulsing. I looked down. I had to. Our cocks were pressed together, bare, throbbing, wet with sweat and pre-cum, sliding over each other with every little movement. And fuck. Seeing him like that was almost more than I could take. His cock was beautiful. Thick and long, about seven inches, maybe a little more. Hard, with a slight upward curve and just the faintest lean to the left. The shaft was smooth, the head broad but still mostly hidden beneath his loose foreskin, which didn’t fully retract yet. His pubic hair was light, blond like the rest of him. Trimmed, neat, soft-looking. My own cock against his was smaller, around five and a half inches, slimmer, curved gently upwards. My foreskin was tighter, pulled back completely, the head shiny and soaked. The difference was obvious. And that turned me on even more. The way they rubbed, side by side, then head against head, then shaft sliding down shaft, it was electric.
I could see clear drops forming at both tips, mixing, spreading between us as we moved. His foreskin glided back just a little more, slow, sticky. We were grinding intensely now. Fucking with our cocks, hands tight on each other’s bodies, breathing hard. Our stomachs brushed, our thighs trembled, our cocks kept sliding together like they were made for it. I was overwhelmed. I'd never wanted anything more in my life. We slowed for just a second. Our hips stopped moving, but our bodies stayed close. My forehead rested against his, our cocks pressed together. I opened my eyes. His were already on me. Wide. Shiny. “You okay?” I asked, voice low. He nodded. Swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You?” I nodded too. “I want this,” I said. “Like… really. I’ve wanted this for so long.” He didn’t speak, but his face softened. I took his wrists, gently. My fingers wrapped around them carefully. Then I guided his hands down. And I placed them right there – on our pulsing cocks, side by side. He didn’t pull away. He looked down for the first time. Really looked. And I saw it hit him. The sight of our dicks together, gliding against each other, flushed and leaking, so fucking hard. He licked his lips. Then he wrapped both hands around us. Together. And started to move. We kissed again. Tongues pushing deep, bodies slick and trembling. He stroked both our cocks together, slow at first, faster and faster. I moaned, my whole body on fire.

I broke the kiss to whisper: “Can I do more?” His eyes locked on mine. He didn’t nod. He just said, quiet and rough: “Yeah.” That was all I needed. I leaned into him, kissed him one more time and then gently pressed him back, guiding him down into the grass. He let himself fall into the green. I pushed his shorts the rest of the way down, over his legs until they were off. Then mine. We were both naked now, everything exposed. And God. He looked perfect. Flat on his back, legs slightly spread, golden skin flushed with heat. His chest was smooth, hairless, with just a hint of muscle over bone. His stomach dipped just slightly inward, soft and taut at once. God – his cock, twitching against his belly, the foreskin halfway over the head. Drops of pre-cum glimmered at the slit, slowly running down the shaft. His balls were full, tight, big, cradled in a soft patch of blond hair. He looked at me. I bent down. I kissed his mouth. Then his neck. His chest. Over the flat of his sweaty stomach. My lips went down his body, stopping just above his cock. I looked up at him. He didn’t move. I kissed his balls. Soft. Careful. I felt them tighten under my lips. He moaned. His hand found the back of my head. Then I licked up his shaft, slowly, from base to tip. His cock felt thick and hot against my tongue. And finally, I kissed the head. His foreskin gave way slightly, and my lips met the skin beneath. I pressed my lips around the head, felt his foreskin stretch gently back as I took him in. The taste hit me all at once: Pre-cum, skin, saltiness. I wanted more. Inch by inch, I let his cock slide deeper into my mouth. His thickness stretched my lips wide. My jaw ached, but I didn’t care. I wanted to feel all of him, give him everything I could. His fingers curled at the base of my skull as I sucked him. “Fuck…” he breathed. “That feels…“. I moaned softly, and the vibration made his cock twitch on my tongue. I started to move faster. Up, then down. Tom started with slightest thrust of his hips, timed with my motion. Careful. Testing. His cock pushed deeper and harder. I didn’t gag. I welcomed it. He moaned again. Louder now. His grip in my hair tightened. We found a rhythm, my mouth, his body, both of us shaking a little now. “Shit… I’m getting close.” I let him slip from my mouth, wet, with one last swirl of my tongue around the head. He looked down at me, eyes blown wide, lips parted. “God… you' look so fucking cute like this,” he whispered. I backed up a little. His cock glistened in the sun, soaked, twitching against his belly. Toms eyes were filled with want. I moved up over him, kissed every inch, until I reached his mouth again. I kissed him. He kissed me back. Deep and messy. Like he didn’t care what I’d just done, or maybe that he loved what I’d just done. I pulled back just far enough to look at him. “Do you… want to go further?” I asked, voice low, a little broken.

**8. Revelation**

He looked like he couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He leaned in, kissed me once more, then whispered: “You sure?” I nodded. “I want to fuck you then”, he whispered. The words lit something in me, hot and deep. I moved completely over his waist. One leg on either side of his hips. His cock now pressed between my cheeks, thick and slick, right where I needed it. My whole body tensed. I swallowed. Then I reached down. Spat into my hand and wrapped it around his cock. His foreskin slid with the motion, wet and warm. I stroked him once, twice, spreading my spit across the head, down the shaft. Fingers slick, I reached to my hole: tight, pulsing, hungry. I rubbed slow circles around it, teasing myself open. I moaned, just from that. Tom watched every movement, his hands now gripping my hips, tightly. I lined him up. His cock in my hand pulsed against my palm. Felt the tip press right against my hole. I leaned back slightly, letting my weight shift, my other hand steadying me on his stomach. His abs flexed under my fingers. The pressure grew instantly. I kept his cock in my other hand, holding it steady, keeping that thick, swollen head pressed right against my entrance. I lowered my hips just enough to tease the tip past the first ring of muscle. It gave. I gasped as he slipped inside, felt my hole pull around him. Tight, slick. Tom moaned. “Fuck,” I gasped. I needed all of him. I kept his cock angled just right with my hand. The second muscle opened, wider this time. It stung for a second. But the pain melted into heat, and the heat into need. I exhaled shakily. And then, with one long, slow movement, I sank down the rest of the way. His cock slid in deeper and deeper, filling me inch by inch – until his whole shaft was buried inside me, so I could feel the weight of his balls pressing against my ass. He was so fucking huge and I felt every inch inside of me. “Jesus,” he groaned, voice barely there. I couldn’t speak. I was so fucking completed. Stretched wide around him, my hole pulsing, adjusting to the size. My heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear anything else. I let my weight rest fully on his hips. His hands still on my waist. I just sat there for a second, still, breathless. I leaned forward and kissed him again, really messy. Our mouths moved together like we couldn’t get enough of each other. Then I started to move. Slow at first. Just a gentle lift of my hips, his slick cock pulling slightly out of me, then sinking back in. Tom groaned, head tilting back against the grass. His hands gripped my hips tighter. “Fuck,” he breathed. “You feel… insane.” I smiled, shaky and flushed, and kept riding him, up, down, a little faster. My body burned, sweat ran down my spine, and his cock felt like it was made to fill me. Every movement hit deeper, fuller, more electric. Then he moved. His hips thrust up, just once, gently, but it rocked through me like a shock. I gasped. He did it again. Harder. “Oh, fuck,” I moaned. “Yes.” He started thrusting in rhythm with me, slow, precise, his cock pushing deep with every lift and fall of my body. I let him fuck up into me, my own movements matching his, like we’d been doing this forever.

I couldn’t think anymore. Then I felt his hand. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around my cock: Firm, warm, perfect. The first time anyone else would touch my cock. I could have stayed lost in this moment forever. His thumb circled my head, slick with pre-cum, playing with the sensitive tip. “Am I doing this right?” he asked calmly. “Yes,” I gasped. “Jerk me off. Fuck me.” His hand tightened instantly. His hips slammed up harder. I cried out, loud, raw. He stroked me faster, his grip confident now, his hand stroking my dick while his cock filled me, deeper and deeper with every thrust. I couldn’t believe it was real. But it was. Within just seconds, I got close. So fucking close. Tom was thrusting into me now with almost brutal force, his balls slapping up against my ass. And his hand – God, his hand – was stroking my dick fast and hard, his fist tight around my shaft, thumb dragging slick over my soaked, swollen head with every stroke.“Don’t stop,” I begged, voice broken. “Come for me. Let go.” he panted, his eyes locked on mine. My body tensed, every muscle pulling tight. My head fell back, mouth open – and I came. It hit me like nothing ever had. Not just in my body, but everywhere. I came so hard it felt like I was breaking open from the inside out. My whole body lifted, shook. My cock throbbed violently in his hand, spurting hot, thick treads of cum across his chest, his stomach, his skin – messy and endless. But it wasn’t just that. It was release. Of years. Of silence. Of wanting him in secret. It was every buried feeling, every stolen glance, every night I’d imagined what this would be – finally ripping free and flooding out of me in a single, shuddering wave. And for those seconds, as I came, moaning his name, his dick inside of me – I was fulfilled. I was completed. He stroked me through all of it, his hand slowing, milking me until I collapsed forward against him, shuddering, dizzy, breathless. And just as my orgasm faded, I felt him. Tom's whole body went still – just for a heartbeat – and then he groaned, deep and guttural, his cock pressing up hard into me. “Fuck…” I felt it. His cock twitched deep inside me, then pumped – once, twice – and then the heat flooded through me. He came. Long, slow pulses of thick cum filled me, coating everything inside. I felt every throb of him, every gasp, every moan. His face twisted in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open. “God…” he gasped. His cock twitched again one last time and then he collapsed fully into the grass, chest soaked with my cum, cock still deep inside me, softening slowly.

I leaned forward, still breathing hard, still shaking. Everything was warm and sticky. And I had never felt more whole in my life. For a moment, the world was gone. There were no plans, no cities, no tomorrow. Just the sweat on our skin. The cum between us. This was everything. Everything I’d ever wanted. And I had it. Even if just for now.

**To be continued**.