Bobby Big and Tight - Part 2

Preface: This is the continuation of a true story. It involves a friend
and me and happened two years ago when we were seniors in high school. Both
of us were eighteen at the time. If descriptions of teen sexuality bothers
you or offends you, please read no further.

I.

It had been three days since our return from Maine and Bobby and I had yet
to speak. I wouldn't say that we were ignoring each other, as we were both
busy with track and school, but it was clear that neither of us were
actively pursuing a conversation either.

Just last Friday, a playful wrestle between us had turned into a hardcore
gay sex act that caught us both by surprise and embarrassment. I felt that
the best way to deal with it was to ignore it.

On Thursday, however, I got a note from Bobby in my locker - "I'm gonna
drink some beer tonight and give you a call at nine o'clock," the note
read.

I was excited and scared at the same time. Part of me hoped he would say
that our "episode" together was all a mistake and could we just forget it.
Another part of me really hoped that he'd say he wanted it to happen again
and would I come over.

"Maybe I am a queer," I wondered.


II.

I told my mom I was going to study up in my bedroom and then go to bed. I
had two shots of Jim Beam from a bottle I kept hidden beneath some old
baseball cards. It tasted awful and I thought I'd puke, but I didn't want
to be too sober if he was going to be drunk when he called. It wasn't long
before I started feeling well-buzzed and soon the phone rang.

It was ten minutes before nine.

"I got it mom," I yelled.

"Hey, if it isn't my partner in crime," Bobby said from the other end of
the line.

"Hey, how are you? You’re ten minutes early," I teased.

"Well, I wanted to get this over with before I fell asleep or passed out,"
Bobby laughed. "I've been drinking beer since six o'clock."

"So, what's up?" I asked a bit nervously.

"Well, right to it then," Bobby answered. I could tell he was nervous,
despite his obviously impaired speech. "Listen, my friend, I'm no fag and I
don't think you are either. I like tits and pussy, and want as much of it
as I can get, but, and this important, I like getting-off and getting-off a
lot. And I always thought that if I had a friend that liked getting his
rocks off a lot also that it would be kind of perfect, you know what I
mean? A little pussy here and there for real, but with a guy friend who was
willing to help out, there would be no dry spells, understand?"

"Yeah, I guess. Kind of like a friend who was a 'whore bag'," I said.

"Yeah, kind of like that." Bobby said, "But a whore that was still a
friend, because that's the important part, you know? A friend that was
willing to try new things and not get caught up in all that emotional
relationship shit that girls get caught up in. If I want to call you and be
bold and crazy