God, I hate school. . .Not the building or the institution itself. I'm not a faggy goth kid who sits behind the school, smoking like a chimney, bitching about 'The Man' and my never-ending need to stick it to him, whoever he may be. No, the classes aren't that bad. I can deal with learning and running around on a strict schedule like a little lab rat or something. It's the people. The fucking people. . . If you can even call them that. 'Robots' is a better term. Everyone in high school thinks they're so goddamn important, gossiping about who gave who head or stupid shit like that. Give it a rest already. No one cares. I guess they're too busy shoving their heads up their asses to realize that none of this is going to matter ten years from now. No one is going to care who banged who when whoever got really drunk at that one party at so-and-so's house. It's just not. Going. To. Matter.
I'd like to think my friends and I are different from them, but that goes back to my point of every high school student thinking they're better than everyone else. Oh well. We'll grow up eventually I guess. I'm in no particular hurry, I suppose. No way in hell am I ready for 'the real world.' No sir, not Craig Tucker. I'm the kid that just goes with the flow, even though I usually end up getting fucked over in some way. I'm the kid who doesn't really contribute anything to society. No extracurricular activities for this student. Nah, I'm a bit of a slacker. I like acting up, goofing off, boozin up, playing World of Warcraft (shut the fuck up), lounging around the house in my underwear, and being a slug in general.
". . .Right Craig?" Unlike my best friend who'd just elbowed me lightly in the side, obviously expecting me to respond to his most recent antic. He flashed that big smile of his, looking at me as if my answer would make all the difference. It must have been how he looked at everyone, which was probably why he was so well-liked. Clyde's bright grin never leaves his face, nor does the glint in his eyes. He's the carefree type who, no matter what ridiculous drama is going on in his life, always wears a perfect yearbook smile. And even though his grades aren't the best, he's athletic. Running-back for the school football team and first-baseman for the baseball team. I have to admit, I'm kind of envious. I'm rarely caught smiling, and when I do it's a big, ugly glimpse of my totally fucked up teeth. I'm no looker, believe me. My choppy hairstyle frames my acne-pitted face awkwardly. Other people say I'm not that bad but whatever. I see myself in the mirror every day and know it's not true. And I'm far from carefree. I stress out all the time, and my short temper goes off in a heartbeat. I guess Clyde is sort of like my better half, which is most likely why I stay so close to him. If I didn't have him, my whole existence would be all fuckulated and off-balance. Gay as it sounds, it's true. I'm. . . Standoffish. . . Yeah, that's the nice way of saying that I'm a total asshole. That's why I don't have many friends. I'm still not entirely sure why Clyde, Token, and Tweek still talk to me. They probably feel obliged because of our closeness in grade school.
My group of friends hasn't always been the 'cool' crowd, necessarily. . . We weren't losers either though. Tweek was, and still is, this scrawny, paranoid, caffeine addict, who jumps at even the slightest commotion. Token is rich. And black. Two things that REALLY stand out in this piss-ant town. And Clyde. . . Well . . . He's always just been really. . .Sensitive. . .I guess that's the right word. He used to cry a lot. As for me, well, I'm not that great either. I'm a kind-of lanky, skinny-but-not-too-skinny, short-tempered, foul-mouthed son of a bitch. . . See what I mean? I think a lot of people are scared of me. Not that I really blame them. Whenever anyone would pick on my friends, I'd always be the first one to defend them, ready to throw a punch or two if the need arose. I remember one time, this jackass Cartman had really fucked Clyde over, which he was eerily good at. Being the 'sensitive' kid he was, Clyde cried like a baby. I'd like to say that was an exaggeration, but I'd sort of be lying. Anyway, I wasted no time in confronting the fatass that'd made my friend cry and threw a few punches. I earned a good number of cuts and a black eye in the process, but I'd gotten him back for what he did to Clyde. No one really messed with him after that, and it was around that time he and I considered each other 'best friends'.
I nod in response to whatever it was Clyde was asking me about, feeling like a total dick for getting lost in my thoughts instead of listening to my friend. He doesn't seem too put off by my apathy, however, and continues with his chatter.
"You guys coming to my party this weekend?" Token pipes up, beaming with pride at the mention of his upcoming soiree.
"Hell yeah, dude!" Clyde smiled again, practically glowing. I didn't have to look over at Tweek, since I already knew that the question wasn't directed towards him in the least. The kid. . .Tweaked, for lack of a better term, at mass social gatherings. It was a wonder he even made it through school.
Deciding to live up to my 'friend' status, I agreed to show up. Even though I didn't really like huge social things that much, I would probably end up being called over as a designated driver anyway to haul Clyde's drunken ass home. I don't really mind that much. I'd rather be dragged out of the house at ungodly hours of the morning than risk losing my best friend to something as lame as a DWI accident.
The bell signaling the end of our lunch period rang a few moments later, and the four of us sluggishly stood up and collected our things together. Clyde and I went in the same direction for our next classes, since they were relatively close to each other, spending as much time together before class as we were allowed, since everyone else kind of sucked. Every day I'd stand outside the classroom with him and talk about the usual shit until the second bell rang, making me late to my class. It was only at that point when I would start for my own classroom, feeling his eyes follow me down the hallway until he was pulled inside the room by his teacher.
***
The rest of the week came and went as usual-- The boring classes, normal gossip, retarded, pointless homework. I guess to some people it wouldn't be considered retarded and pointless, but I don't really care about the busywork the teachers assign us. I've never been that bright to begin with. Besides, it wasn't like I was one of those douche bags who thought they were so badass and hardcore for not doing their homework. Yeah, I think it's stupid, but at least I try. It was finally Friday anyway, so at least I didn't have to worry about school for another couple days. TGIF, right?
Token's party's tonight too, that being an excellent distraction from the more boring things in life. I played WoW for awhile, then chatted online, then decided to finally start getting ready. I'd planned on arriving a bit late anyway since I didn't want to be the awkward kid standing next to beer keg but not drinking a single drop. I could afford to leave and arrive back home late anyway with my parents and sister visiting my grandmother for the weekend.
Half an hour later, I was showered, dressed, and ready for action, so to speak. I drove my slightly beat up Honda Accord out of our average-sized driveway, and made my way to Token's house, ready to party-hardy. . . Not. Oh well. Clyde would be there, so at least I had some one I could hang out with.
***
I arrived around 9 PM at my friend's ridiculously large mansion, hearing the blaring music from about a mile down the road. It wasn't like anyone would call the cops or anything, seeing as how this town's police force could've been easily replaced by, say, a pack of drunken monkeys. I parked my car at the curb, a bit farther away from the other vehicles around. I knew what drunk people sometimes did to cars that were in their way, and I didn't want to risk mine getting puked on, or worse, pissed on.
When I approached the door, I considered knocking, but then decided that it wasn't one of those parties. I guess this is what you would consider a 'rage,' beer everywhere, loud music, and people you've never even seen before acting like they've been your friend your entire lives. Slowly, I stepped inside, instantly greeted by an even louder pounding of the many stereo systems, as well as the stinging smell of alcohol. At least there wasn't any puke yet.
I was half heartedly greeted by a few kids from school and waved slightly in response as I awkwardly made my way over to my brunette friend.
"Hey, Craig!" He sounded genuinely happy to see me, which he probably was since he was almost always genuinely happy. Or acted like it, at least. . .It always seemed genuine to me, though, so I decided not to question it any further. I grinned back at him and gave him a bro-hug, one of those handshake-pat-on-the-back things. He introduced me to a few people I had never seen before, and would probably never see again, beaming as he showed off his 'best friend.' Honestly, I wasn't much to show off, but hey, whatever made him happy.
By this time, the drinking was full-force, beer pong tournaments reaching their peak. Most everyone was a bit flushed in the face too, the alcohol clearly taking effect. I noticed that Clyde was looking a little tipsy himself, reeling slightly as he strode over to one of the beer pong tables, ready for more. I decided to hang back a bit, being the social oddity I am. I watched him play a couple games, cheering every now and then when he made a good shot. He tried convincing me to play multiple times, but I declined, knowing that if I started drinking, I wouldn't be able to stop. I paid attention in fourth grade. I don't drink and drive. You shouldn't either, kiddos. Heh, look at me being Mr. Responsible. God, I feel like a fucking parent or something. Gross.
I glanced around at the other party goers, becoming a little sick to my stomach just watching them. I'm all for having a good time and shit, but some of this was just ridiculous. The girls around were pretty much all at least half-naked, grinding against guys who were totally smashed out of their minds. It was pretty disgusting, the way they were basically having sex on the dance floor. A few people actually were getting it on right there in the open for everyone to watch. A show for all the voyeurs in attendance, I guess.
Maybe I was just jealous because I was a virgin. I felt really lame and out of the loop for it, since everyone else was always talking about sex. With all the parties he went to, I assumed Clyde was part of that loop too, even though he never mentioned it. I don't know though. I guess I always wanted my first time to mean at least SOMETHING, though, as faggy as that sounds. Not just some drunk party-hookup. Girls around here were mostly skanks anyway, so I didn't really want to browse. Whatever, it's happen eventually. . Right? . . .Okay, time to think about something else.
Clyde came over periodically to check on me, as best friends will do. He'd sit and talk with me about whatever. His face was flushed now as well when he spoke to me and I assumed that the alcohol was kicking in for him too. He'd get a little too close at points, goofing around and doing shit like putting his arm around me, but that's just what Clyde did. Despite the slight scent of liquor on his breath, he still smelled decent enough for me to not inch away. His Old Spice worked wonders, enabling him to drink as much as he wanted while still managing to smell good. A few of the kids that he'd introduced me to earlier in the night called him over for another round of pong and he stood up slowly, nodding and smiling at me once more before heading in their direction.
The next time I looked at the clock it was about 2:30 AM, and I wondered where the hours had gone. It's not like I was doing anything particularly exciting. Mostly I just listened to everyone else's conversations and occasionally glanced over to check on Clyde. It's amazing what you can learn by just hanging back and listening. Makes for good potential blackmail material. See? Told you I was dick.
A shrill shriek caught my attention and I immediately turned my head to see what the deal was. Clyde had won the most recent series of games, and it appeared that he'd decided to celebrate by yarfing all over some cheerleader's $300 shoes. Honestly, I didn't see how he could be drunk enough to puke like that since he seemed as if he won every pong game he played that night, but it was still some funny shit. I burst out laughing, earning more than a few reproachful looks. Hey, I couldn't help it, I'm an asshole, remember? I secretly liked seeing prissy girly-girls getting their comeuppance like that. Okay, it was time to go. I grabbed his arm and hauled him outside before angers escalated any further, Clyde grinning like a dumbass and singing his apologies the whole way out. He was a nice drunk, I'll give him that.
I shoved him into the passenger's side of my car and climbed into the driver's seat, turning the ignition and putting the car in drive. I pulled away from the party as soon as possible, hoping to avoid any potential threats of an enraged boyfriend of the cheerleader or something. Finally relaxing a bit, I leaned back and turned the radio on, opening my mouth to say something to my companion. Noticing he was staring intently out the window, however, I decided not to, unwilling to interrupt his drunken thoughts.
About ten or so minutes into the car ride, he turned and looked at me somewhat frantically. The flush in his cheeks had faded by now, so that was a good sign. "Craig, you've gotta let me stay at your place tonight!" He pleaded at me with the best puppy-dog face he was able to muster.
I looked over at him skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "What, why?" Truthfully, I didn't really have a problem with it since my family was out of town and all. Besides, I didn't wanna miss a chance to hang out with him. But there had to be a reason why he couldn't go home.
"Uhh. . ." He grinned sheepishly, trying to be cute. "Well, ya see. . ." He glanced at the ceiling of my car for a second before turning his gaze back to me. "I sort of told my parents that I was staying at your house tonight," he finished brightly, saying it as if were handing me an early birthday present or something. When I didn't respond at first, he became nervous and continued to explain himself. "They said if I went to any more drinking parties, they'd ground me from football, and you know, I just can't . . I-I mean--"
"Dude, don't worry about it," I cut him off, half grinning over at him. "My family's out of town anyway." It wasn't the first time I'd saved his ass, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last. God, he was so hard-headed, always acting first and not worrying about the consequences until they smacked him in the face. Well, maybe that's what I liked about him.
***
Pretty much the first thing I did when we got to my house was hand him a toothbrush and send him to the bathroom. Sorry, but puke-breath smells gross. Clyde's Old Spice couldn't cover that up if he DRANK it. While he was busy minting up his mouth, I went into my room and changed into a pair of sweatpants, deciding to leave my shirt off. I usually slept in just boxers, but there's an unspoken guy-code stating there's gotta be at least two layers covering your junk during a sleep-over.
I reclined on my bed and flipped the TV on to some random channel, happy to find that Family Guy was on. I was laughing out loud at one of Peter's shenanigans when Clyde found me in my room and slowly stepped inside, probably trying not to fall over. He flopped down on the bed next to me and checked to see what I was watching, grinning a bit when he saw the Griffins. Regardless, I handed him the remote, making it clear that he was free to watch whatever. Rather than take me up on that offer, however, he decided he wanted to roll over on top of me. . . And not just to pin me down, either.
My eyes widened and I felt my face heat up as he stared down at me, hazel irises unwavering. His forearms supported him enough so that our chests were just barely grazing together. A slight shiver crawled across my spine when we both inhaled at the same time, making our contact more prominent. Yet I still couldn't bring myself to push him away. He was drunk after all. He didn't know what he was doing and he wouldn't remember it. . . He didn't know what he was doing when he leaned his head forward and lightly touched our lips together. . .
That's why I couldn't let him do it. I shut my eyes tightly and brought my hands up to grasp his shoulders, pushing him back. Much to my surprise, he looked sort of heart-broken. I stuttered as I tried to explain myself, sitting us up a bit on the bed.
"Y-You're drunk, dude," I muttered, shaking my head slightly and pressing him back into a kneeling position. "You don't want to do this," I reasoned with him, wondering myself if I wanted him to do it. Wait, what? Of course I didn't want him to do it. I'm not gay.
At that moment, Clyde thankfully broke my internal musings. He swung his body around and let his legs dangle off the side of my bed, sighing heavily and grinning wryly as he stared out the window. I sat up on the bed as well, looking at him with my head cocked. After a couple moments of awkward silence, he turned and looked at me again, his eyes thoughtful. Okay, I was a little scared now. He didn't have his trademark grin. I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but I didn't need to.
"I've been sober for awhile, Craig," he admitted, making my jaw drop slightly. He chuckled softly at my reaction and ran a hand through his chestnut hair. His cheeks were flushed again. "I, uh. . .I thought you knew," he mumbled, chuckling nervously again. I couldn't even bring myself to shake my head. He'd been sober. He knew what he was doing.
"B-But. . ." I found my voice. "You threw up. . ."
He shrugged slightly, grinning wryly at me again. "It must've been something I ate," he reasoned. Clyde looked guilty, so I assumed he was pretty much faking being drunk the whole time. . .Did he have this planned out? That fucker.
Suddenly, I became painfully aware of everything. Straight guys aren't protective over their friends the way I am of Clyde. They don't. . .Look at their best friends the way I sometimes catch myself looking at him. They don't refrain from drinking a single drop of alcohol at a party just so they can drive their drunk ass friend home. And they sure as hell don't recognize their best friend simply by the smell of their cologne. Shit. I am gay.
Clyde was looking out the window again, his elbows on his thighs and his face resting in his palms. He looked troubled. . .For the first time in a long while. Was he really that disappointed that I didn't let him have his way with me? Hell, I would've let him continue if I knew he was sober! I just didn't want him doing something he'd regret. . . Yeah, so what if I care about him?
I shifted my body, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, letting my legs dangle as well. His gaze remained on the frosty window and I could tell that he couldn't bring himself to look at me.
"You fag," I said bluntly.
The reaction I was looking for came easily. Clyde was so predictable sometimes. He turned his head and looked at me, a mixture of anger and hurt plastered on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but I stopped him.
Our lips collided clumsily because hey, I was pretty sure neither of us had ever done this with a guy before. We didn't really seemed to mind, however, because the kiss deepened as both of us became more comfortable. The two of us leaned closer together, applying more pressure with our mouths. My eyelids slowly fluttered shut as I felt one of Clyde's arms snake around my waist, the other finding it's way behind my back, hand pressed between my shoulder blades. Subconsciously I must have arched forward, because our chests were rubbing against each other again. He moaned softly at the contact, sending a wave of tingling heat down to my stomach.
I found myself unzipping his jacket and tossing it haphazardly onto the floor, my hands sliding themselves up underneath his shirt immediately after. I would do anything to hear him make that noise again. He seemed to sense this and released another guttural moan, his body shuddering slightly. I was painfully hard at this point, my face flushing deeply as I felt my erection twitch beneath the fabric I had covering my lower half. Unwillingly, I whimpered, wanting more.
This must have been the last straw for Clyde too, since the next thing I knew, I was on my back with him hovering over me once again. Our kiss broke and he gazed down at me with his dark jade, slightly-glazed eyes, scanning my body as if it were something to be revered. I shifted awkwardly, licking my still-tingling lips. He noticed this and chuckled softly, leaning forward to place another quick peck on my lips. When he drew back, his lips moved to my neck, leaving soft, barely-kisses across my jaw line along the way.
"I've wanted to do this for awhile," he whispered nervously into the crook of my neck, giving me goosebumps. I'd never seen Clyde like this. Well, I mean, I'd obviously never seen him like THIS, but. . .He was so nervous. Careful, even. The hard-headed, carefree Clyde I knew was . . .Not this one. I didn't mind though. This was more. . . Intimate. Like a side of him reserved only for me.
I smiled slightly in reassurance. And I never smile.
His confidence had obviously returned since he began sucking on my neck, no doubt leaving a few hickies in his wake. My Adam's apple was next, my nipple following shortly after. The entire time, my body was writhing in pleasure, small grunts of approval escaping my lips as Clyde's tongue continued it's assault. I laced my fingers into his hair, feeling a little selfish for hogging all the pleasure. Instinctually, I arched my hips, grinding them into Clyde's. We both ceased whatever it was we were doing at that particular moment in order to properly savor the sensation of our hips rubbing together.
Both of us must have gotten the same idea, because in the next moment we were both frantically scrambling to remove the rest of our clothing. If it had felt like that with the fabric, then. . . I almost came at thought of what it would be like without. So much for the guy-code. My bottoms were easy to get off, being sweatpants and all, but Clyde was so eager that he was having a bit of trouble.
I leaned back and smirked at him as he fumbled with the button on his jeans. It was obvious that he was shaking with anticipation. "You'd better hurry up," I teased, still smirking. "Or else I'm gonna come before you even get those off." It totally wasn't true, I just wanted to get a rise out of him. I hoped it wasn't true, at least. Besides, maybe if I made a trademark, smart-ass comment it would calm him down a bit.
He looked at me with furrowed eyebrows and worried eyes, obviously catching onto the gag. "N-No!" He stammered, still frustrated with his fly. "You need to let me finish, too!" Finally, Clyde's jeans were off and our clothes proceeded to be kicked onto the floor, leaving us the entire bed.
We kissed again, hotter this time, and I lost track of where my lips ended and where his began. The distance between our bodies was microscopic at this point, the heat between our legs increasing as our arousals continued rubbing together. Although the friction was unbearable, we decided to be stupid testosterone-induced high school males and make a competition out of it. Whoever moaned first lost. . . Or came. Whoever won would get to top, loser had to take it up the ass. Of course, this made it even more passionate, us grinding together madly while trying to keep our mouths shut and stave off our climaxes.
It was. . .Sort of a tie in the end. I ended up moaning first, however, Clyde came immediately afterwards, and I was soon to follow. It was like some sort of sex-epic. And Clyde, being the stupid asshole that he is, insisted that he had won since I sort-of caved first. When it came down to it, I knew I wouldn't be able to overpower his jacked-up football muscles with my scrawny arms anyway, so I got to be the bitch after our refractory periods had expired, which must have happened in record time.
"I'll be gentle," he cooed teasingly, lightly pinching my cheeks and grinning. Great, his usual demeanor was back. Just the right time too, that fucker. "Alright, Tucker, where d'ya keep your lube?"
"You have such a way with words. I'm so incredibly seduced." Apparently it was obvious that I had some. Clyde grinned again, probably wondering about how many times I touched myself while thinking about him. I really wanted to punch him about now.
He chuckled at my apparent willingness to cooperate. Truthfully, I was nervous as hell. This was just fucking great- I was going to lose my virginity to a guy. My best friend. . . The thought of that was more arousing than it should have been. I guess I never realized how sexually frustrated I was with him until tonight.
Begrudgingly, I opened the drawer on my nightstand and pulled out the bottle, practically throwing it at his head. Clyde caught it with ease, still laughing softly. I flipped him off and, much to my surprise, he leaned forward and began sucking on my finger as he poured some of the substance onto his own. He slowly moved his hands to my backside, lightly running his slicked-up digits against my entrance. I shuddered. The brunette noticed this and seemed to somber-up a bit.
"You ready. . ?"
"Y-Yeah," I decided quietly, grabbing onto his shoulders and bracing myself for what was about to come.
Slowly, he pressed his first finger inside, looking pained by my cries of discomfort. Believe me, it was hurting me more than it hurt him. As he pushed deeper, I cried louder, tears forming at the corners of my eyes after he'd inserted his second finger and spread them apart inside of me. Clyde leaned down and pressed his lips to mine in a frustrated kiss. Whether it was to comfort me or to muffle my outbursts, I didn't know. Either way, I ended up whimpering pathetically into his mouth, my short fingernails digging into the skin of his neck, probably leaving marks. Truthfully, I kind of hoped that it did hurt him for as much pain as he was causing me. Finally, he withdrew his digits and I was finally able to relax for a moment.
"Sorry," he whispered, planting soft, light kisses in various places on my face and neck. I instantly forgave him.
When he pulled his lips away from my skin, my eyes shot open and I looked up, almost in panic. He was still on top of me though, grinning like a dumbass at my almost-fear. That fucker thought this was funny. I narrowed my eyes to glare at him, but he only responded with a light-hearted laugh.
"I'm not going anywhere," he assured me, still laughing a bit.
I felt my face heat up at being found out so easily. . . Well, I guess that's what happens when you decide to fag out with your best friend- it becomes impossible to hide anything.
I glanced away from his amused gaze. "Well are we gonna do this or what?!" I spat, my voice cracking in my attempt to sound upset.
It was his turn to panic, and I realized he was still nervous. His hazel eyes looked off to the side as his cheeks reddened.
"I. . Uh. . ." Yeah, Clyde had never had a way with words.
I smirked slightly, glad we were both in the same boat. In an attempt to calm him down a bit, I slid my hand down his side and around to his front. My fingers wrapped themselves around his throbbing erection and I heard his breath hitch as I began to slowly pump him. I'll be honest, I'd had a few dreams before about doing something like this with Clyde, but I wrote them off as simple curiosity. You know, as one of those things that everybody does at least once in their lives. . . My dreams were nothing compared to this. I felt his arousal twitch.
"Ahh. . . C-Craig. ." He moaned my name softly, thrusting into my hand as I continued to beat him off. Hearing my name like that almost sent me over the edge, but I managed to contain myself. Just as both of us really got into this little hand job, I stopped suddenly, letting go of him completely.
Clyde looked at me as if I had just personally insulted him, almost hurt.
I rolled my eyes and placed my hands on his shoulders, leaning forward and placing my lips on his neck, right underneath where his earlobe joined his head. I blew softly, causing him to shiver and wrap his arms around my waist.
"Fuck me," I whispered, what I hoped was huskily, against his skin.
It seemed to have the desired effect, because he moaned again, lowering me back down onto the mattress. He lathered his impossibly hard member with the lube from my nightstand and quickly tossed the bottle aside. Clyde clumsily lifted my legs, which I instinctually wrapped around his waist, and positioned himself at my entrance. He leaned down again, placing a comforting kiss on my forehead before beginning the penetration.
I tried not to scream, I really did. I was unsuccessful, however, and couldn't stop myself from releasing a loud cry of pain. It was obvious that Clyde felt guilty for causing me this pain, but he continued pressing into me, his dick feeling about ten times bigger than it looked. And it didn't look that small to begin with. My hands gripped the bed sheets tightly and for awhile I thought that I was going to rip them to shreds. Tears were slowly sliding down my cheeks as he proceeded to pull himself nearly all the way out, then push back in, pained groans escaping my lips the entire time.
I wrapped my arms tightly around Clyde's neck, clinging to him for support as he continued thrusting. Suddenly, my vision went white and I moaned loudly again, though this time in pleasure. Clyde had found my sweet spot, and I was planning on making the most of this.
"C-Clyde. . !" I groaned, arching my body into him like I'd been a bitch all my life. "R-Right there. . ." He easily obliged and I moved my body in time with his, finding the rhythm. I clung tightly to him, moaning with every thrust and movement.
After several more pumps, he praised my name and released inside of me, riding out his afterglow with a series of noises I never knew my best friend could make. I came all over my own chest shortly after and Clyde withdrew himself, licking the semen off my chest while his slipped slowly down my thighs and onto my bedspread.
My fingers tangled into his hair again as I watched him with glazed over irises, his tongue boldly flicking across my bare skin. When Clyde had finished cleaning me off, his mouth began it's ascent to mine, leaving a trail of kisses in it's wake. Our lips met and I didn't even mind tasting myself through the kiss. He brought his hands up and gently brushed them against my cheeks, holding my face in position as his tongue explored my mouth. It wasn't like I was gonna go anywhere. I'm pretty sure he knew that, so I assumed he just wanted to be as close as possible. I didn't mind.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead on mine, our noses brushing together lightly. Our breathing was deep and in sync as we just sort of lay there, the perspiration cooling on both of our bodies. We remained silent for a good while, just waiting for the beating of our hearts to slow a bit. Occasionally, Clyde would brush a stray strand of hair from my face, or I would lean up and softly kiss him, but other than that, we made no attempts to move.
I was starting to think that this had all been a dream, until he finally got off of me, the air savagely hitting my chest and making me shiver. Clyde stood up and walked over to the window, looking outside, the thoughtful look back on his face. Starting to get a bit worried, I sat up and folded my hands in my lap, my body still stinging from our session.
". . .Dude?" I asked, my voice hoarse from the long period of silence.
Clyde looked over at me, scanning my flushed, sweat-shined skin, his eyes lingering on every love mark and hickey he'd made. He suddenly seemed to realize that he was still naked too, and shifted uneasily on his feet, trying to cover himself. I was starting to wonder if I remembered what we'd just done, until he spoke up.
"I-I'm sorry, Craig," he muttered, shuffling his feet and looking back out the window. "I shouldn't. . .I shouldn't have come onto you like that. . ." I blinked at him. "Y-You didn't have to let me do that, you know. . I was just. . .I mean, I've always sort of. . W-Well. . ."
I raised an eyebrow at him.
"Loved you." I had to strain to hear, he'd said it so softly. "That's why I made you. . .You know. . ." He trailed off, looking seriously guilty.
"You retard."
He looked at me again, more hurt than before. And it almost made me feel bad. Almost.
"You think you made me do all that shit?!" I practically snapped, standing up in defiance. "No one makes me do anything, you know that better than anybody! God damnit!" I cursed, throwing my hands up in the air. I didn't look to see his reaction. "You think I would've let you have sex with me if I didn't love you?!"
Clyde's jaw dropped slightly, a grin slowly spreading across his face. The grin I was so used to. The grin I grew up around.
"Thanks," he smiled, walking over to me and hugging me tightly.
"For what?" Clyde wasn't really thanking me for loving him was he? He'd said he loved me too, so I didn't see why he had a reason to say that.
"Being my D.D." He chuckled, pulling me into another deep kiss.
Maybe some things that happened in high school really did matter in the long run.