South Africa
Part 63

About an hour after Kyle and I had walked home from school, I was doing my homework when the phone rang. "Hello?"

"What did you mean by saying you're some kinda substitute for Paul?"

"Hey, he's not here, and I am. Go figure."

"I didn't even know he was gonna visit Cape Town. Anyway, I made friends with you over a year ago. So how do you figure you're a substitute? That's bullshit."

"Listen up, Kyle. You're the kinda guy who can't handle being alone and independent. You stick to your friends like shit to a blanket."

"So? Anyway, I've been thinking about what you said. Seems to me like you found my friendship with Paul too intense. Maybe you don't think you can fill his shoes or something."

"So now you're studying psychology?"

"I just wanted you to know that you don't have to fill his shoes, that's all… and he doesn't have to fill yours. That's not the way it's supposed to work."

"Whatever. Hey, listen, I've got a stack of homework… and so do you. Catch you later."

"By the way, before you go, my folks are battling with finances, and might not be able to put me through post-matric next year."

"But I thought it was all organized?"

"So did I."

"But that means… fucking hell."

"That we won't be at school together? There's a positive side, Mark."


"You'll be alone and independent."

"Fuck off, Kyle."

"See you tomorrow."

Well, that bit of news hit me like a bombshell. Sure, the relationship between Kyle and me was often strained, but better strained than no relationship at all. Hell, I was about as good at making friends as I was at flapping my arms and flying. So maybe the fork in the road that would compel the two of us to choose different directions was closer than I thought.

For a week or so, I withdrew into my shell. I told myself that it was due to the pressure of schoolwork and prefect meetings, but I knew better. I was between a rock and a hard place with Kyle. I needed him as a friend, but I didn't quite know how to respond to his affection for me. In fact, I would often reject it, and therefore upset him. But it wasn't a case of wanting to reject his affection, it was a case of not knowing how to handle it, let alone return it.

The brief friendship I'd had with Paul wasn't like that. We'd become instant buddies, without the complication of showing affection or being close. But Kyle? Hell, he wanted to throw his fucking arms around everything that came within reach, and he'd chase anything that didn't.

Another thing that was plaguing my thoughts was the persistent vision of Paul and Kyle alone in my bud's room. They were both hunky guys. No way could they have shared the same bed without… without what? Jesus.

"Kyle here."

"Hey, bud. Wanna rock over for a while?"

"I thought you were mad at me or something. You've been so damn quiet all week. And you hardly said a word when we walked home from school this arvie."

"Nah… just the pressure of homework and stuff. Hey, I'm still in uniform."

"Don't change until I get there!"

"You pervert," I laughed.

He was right. I didn't need to fill Paul's shoes. Kyle liked me 'cause of who I was... faults and all. And Carol was right. I had to lighten up. There was a part of me that was as hungry as hell for Kyle's love and affection, as well as his admiration for a bod that I'd worked damn long and hard at being proud of.

In spite of everything -- all my phobias and fears -- I couldn't help but be aware of that desolate void within me that constantly cried out to be filled, to bond with another male. And the only guy who could fill that void was Kyle. It would never happen, though... not unless I allowed it to. I had no choice but to chill.

When I opened the front door, I was greeted by the mop of spiky, black hair, and the trademark, big, cheesy grin… a sight that was impossible to take for granted, no matter how many times you saw it. It radiated joy and warmth in abundance, and forced you to return the grin.

My crazy bud followed me to my room where he watched me change outa my school uniform. I'd always been a tidy kinda guy, so I took my time folding and hanging clothes, which provided Kyle with plenty of opportunity to gawk as he sat on the side of my bed.

"Hey, are you gonna stay like that… in your boxers?"



"'Cause I feel like staying in my boxers, that's why."


"Hey, if you stop fucking staring at me, you can get down to your boxers as well."

"I'm wearing briefs."


I watched him ditch his clothes until he'd arrived at his white briefs… the ones with a pouch, and narrow sides. He had his dick tucked down into the pouch, forming a prominent, sexy bulge. "That's the only prob with white briefs… the wet spot makes them see-through."

"What wet spot?"

"The one I'm gonna get. That’s why I tuck my dick down into the pouch."

So there we were, walking around the house naked except for our under rods. I was wearing soft cotton boxers that hugged the shape of my cock, and left precious little to the imagination.

I was so damn tempted to compliment Kyle on his bod, and tell him how fucking hot he looked, but I just couldn't summon the nerve to say it directly. "You should swim in those briefs. I'll get Carol to come and watch you. And then she'll get so damn horny, I'll be making love to her all night."

"She digs me, huh?"

"Fuck you... she digs white briefs."

"But you never wear any briefs."

"Sometimes I do. I've got briefs… for your info."

"So wear them."

"I do."


"And then what? Turn you on?"

"Yeah… then we can go fuck Steph and Carol."

So he was obviously having the same prob. He was also avoiding the issue, which was staring us both in the face… two horny guys in their underwear. How would he have handled a similar situation with Paul? Dumb question. But I wasn't Paul. And Carol was right again. Kyle was afraid of me… afraid to tell me exactly what was on his mind. So that made two of us. He scared the shit outa me as well.

"Or give each other a hand job?" My own words surprised the hell outa me as well as Kyle.


Well, it was pretty fucking clear that neither of us was gonna make the first move, so I rustled up some food, which we took back to my room and ate as we listened to music. He was sitting on the side of my bed, while I was sitting on a chair at my desk.

"You still missing Paul?"

"Yeah, a fucking stack. But don't gimme that crap about being a substitute again."

"Chill. I've had a chance to think about it. It's cool."

"So what did you think about?"


"Hey, Mark," he asked after pausing to figure out what I'd meant by 'stuff', "can I massage you?"

"Go for it."

I had no idea where the awesome magic in Kyle's fingers came from, but he had a way of manipulating my shoulders that totally banished all tension from my bod, and transported me to a place that could only be compared to smoking a j. But the cheeky fucker couldn't help himself. Every now and then, his hand would find its surreptitious way to one of my pecs, and squeeze it. Oh, what the fuck, I thought as my pec muscle responded to his touch. It's not gonna kill me. Besides, it was his way of demonstrating his admiration for the result of my workouts. And even if I did say so myself, my bod was in peak condition.

Then came the inevitable question. "I don't suppose you wanna lay on your bed with your boxers off, huh?"

"Nope." What choice did I have? My boxers were showing a wet patch, and I had a raging fucking boner that was screaming for a pair of lips. To stand up, and move, would've been like a huge, flashing neon sign saying… well, whatever. I was hoping that Kyle hadn't noticed , but he obviously had, 'cause in a flash his hands moved down to the elastic of my boxers. Without saying a word, I grabbed his wrists, and replaced his hands on my shoulders.


"No biggie."

"Anyway, it's cool 'cause I can still feel all that solid, shoulder muscle under my hands. Fucking wicked. Hey, can you stretch? I wanna see something."

"What do you wanna see?"

"Just fucking stretch."

What the fuck. So I raised my arms, clasped my hands above my head, and leaned back. "So what do you see?" As if I didn't know.

"Fuck! Every fucking pec and ab muscle is screaming down there!"

There was no way he was gonna be able to resist touching me, so I let him run his hands over my chest and flat stomach for a moment before I decided to offer some token resistance. "Fuck off, Kyle. I should've known better."

"If I was Carol, you'd let me play a little."

"You're not Carol," I laughed. "So shuddup." Actually, it was difficult to ignore the humorous side of Kyle's dogged persistence. When he got hold of you, he was like a terrier with its teeth anchored permanently to your ankle as you shook it furiously. Anyway, I figured what was good for the goose… "Here," I said, pointing to the chair as I stood. "You sit down and stretch like I just did."

He did as I asked, and locked his hands above his head as he stretched backwards, forcing rolls of thick muscle to gather around his shoulders. Meantime, there was no way he could hide the monster threatening to tear his briefs apart at any moment, or the large damp spot on the white cotton.

I stood behind him, then let my hands cruise over the smooth, firm contours of his chest and abs. Whoa! This wasn't about feeling a guy's muscles. This was about something much more than that. The strong sexual affect my actions were having on my loins was undeniable, not to mention totally fucking scary! After a few moments, I got the shakes big time, and had to back off.

"What's the prob?"


Just then the phone rang. It was Carol. When I'd hung up after the brief convo, I told Kyle I had to go see her.

"You'd better change your boxers."

"What for? One wet patch is the same as the next."

"How come you've got a wet patch now?"

"I gotta go, Kyle."

"Answer my question."

"Hey, I dunno why. OK?" I shrugged as I hurriedly dressed. "We're all a pile of guts, dude, made outa chemicals that do their own thing. So I don't know why certain things happen. They just do."

"Thanks for inviting me over."

"That's cool, bro. And I'm sorry about being kinda moody lately."

"Hey, we're friends. Don't stress about it."


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 Mark Part 64