Page 6 of Faking It Right
But he wasn’t joking, was he?I banged my head against the headboard with a groan. Was it bad that part of me was tempted to say the hell with being straight and let him have his way with me? After all, there was no anatomical difference between Harley’s mouth and a woman’s, except his was probably bigger and more talented. And damn my cock for throbbing at that thought.
It wasn’t like I could knock on his door and say, “Hey, on second thought, would you mind getting me off?” Although, knowing Harley, he’d probably drop to his knees and suck me off before I could rethink my life choices. But that was a bridge I wasn’t ready to cross yet. We were close friends, but notthatkind of close.
But you could be, that pesky little voice chimed in. It irritated me that my hang-ups about hooking up with my best friend were the only thing standing between me and bliss. But really, what was the big deal? It was only a blow job, and nobody would ever need to know. It could be our little secret. Letting Harley work his magic would just be a friend helping a friend, right?
But that presented two major dilemmas. One, what if I discovered I actually liked it and wanted an encore? Two, wouldn’t I owe him in return? If merely talking about it had gotten him half-hard, I couldn’t fathom him going through with it and not getting aroused.
The thought conjured an image from earlier that afternoon. His erection had been so long, hard, and flushed, standing proudly like a flag marking a successful conquest. Why did that memory make me feel flustered? It should have turned me off, but instead, it had me leaking precum as my cock practically begged for action.
Which was weirder: jerking off because Harley had me all hot and bothered or letting him go down on me? He was definitely game, but my only hesitation was the fear of enjoying it a bit too much. It was a ridiculous excuse to hold back, but what was the alternative? If I let him have his way with me, I’d eventually owe him a favor in return, and I wasn’t a selfish asshole. Since I had zero intention of sucking his or anyone else’s dick, that wasn’t an arrangement that would work.
I thumped my head back with a groan as the uncomfortable itch of desire crawled under my skin like eight thousand angry hornets. If I wasn’t going to ask Harley to help with the mess he’d started, my only other option left was to take matters into my own hands. The fact that I even considered it meant mycommon sense must have fucked off on vacation in the Bermuda Triangle, along with my will to exercise.
But really, having my dick stand at attention due to his teasing was about as normal as a penguin applying for a mortgage, right? Not to mention the DNA explosion in my underwear from watching him fertilize some random stranger’s tonsils while my name slipped from his lips like a prayer to the god of awkward boners.
That memory replayed in my mind against my will, as vivid as if it were happening right in front of me again. Harley had his head tilted back against the cushions as his body arched up with a sensuous sigh. I remembered how he’d run his fingers through the man’s hair in a way that made me tremble with a confusion that felt downright scandalous.
Watching that mouth engulf Harley’s colossal cock was like witnessing someone bend the very fabric of reality. It was less about fellatio and more a masterclass in how the laws of physics were merely suggestions when sheer determination was applied. I could practically see Harley biting his lip, stifling a moan as his hips thrust deeper into the eager mouth waiting to devour him.
My hand snuck under the covers, making the tough decision for me. It wrapped around my rigid length and started working it in sync with the bobs of the guy’s head as he sucked off my friend.
Jerking off to the fantasy wassucha fucked-up thing to do, but my body demanded relief and wouldn’t accept my hesitations about how wrong it was to touch myself while thinking of Harley.
But somewhere along the way, the guy on the couch wasn’t some random dude anymore. It was me, with Harley between my legsas he teased my tip with his tongue. The playful gleam in his blue eyes made my heart race as he toyed with me and then slowly let me slide into his mouth. Before I was even halfway in, I exploded all over my fist with a gasp in real life.
I panted as I tried to process the whiplash that came with the satisfaction offinallygetting off while knowing it was weird that I had jacked off to thoughts of my gay best friend sucking my dick. While it had been a fantasy, it had feltso damn good. It certainly beat the hell out of the last woman I had been with, although it didn’t take much to accomplish that feat.
Lacey had licked my tip a few times like my dick was the worst-tasting lollipop in the world before she gave up. Before that, Santana and her teeth had proven that biting wasn’t one of my kinks. And who could forget Risa complaining about her jaw being tired after a pathetic two-second try?
Come to think of it, whenhadI ever had a good blow job? No one had ever really rocked my world with their mouth before. Except for Harley in my imagination, which was more than I could handle.
Throwing off the covers, I confronted the evidence of cum on my hand that proved that fantasizing about my male best friend getting me off had been more sexually satisfying thanactualblow jobs with women.
What the fuck was I supposed to do withthatdisturbing little nugget of information?
The next morning,Harley strolled in like everything was fine. And maybe for him, itwasnormal. But my reaction to him eating a banana was anything but. Each time he put it into his mouth to take a bite, my dick got a little harder as it got all the wrong kind of ideas. It didn’t help that he looked extra attractive in a fitted blazer over a button-down with the sleeves rolled up to flaunt his forearms, paired with tight jeans that made his legs seem to stretch into next week.
It was the same Harley I’d seen dressed up a thousand times before. Same impeccable style, same attention to detail, same everything, except now I knew what he was packing, and my brain refused to delete that information, no matter how hard I tried.
How had I never noticed before that he had perfect dick-sucking lips? And why couldn’t Istopnoticing now? He might as well have been deep-throating his banana, considering how close I was to blowing my loadagainfrom watching him. What was happening to me? I’d thought about dicks more in the last eighteen hours than I had in my entire life.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Harley was doing it to fuck with me. I mean, why else would he sensuously pull the banana from his mouth, letting it drag over his full lower lip? What other reason did he have to wet his lips with his tongue in such a suggestive manner, giving me all sorts of inappropriate ideas about what I wanted to experience with his mouth wrapped around my hard-on?
Unable to take it any longer, I dropped my head on the table with a groan. How was I supposed to stop thinking about fucking Harley’s mouth?
“Wow, somebody’s feeling dramatic this morning,” he joked. Thank god. For a second, I thought my pervy thoughts were broadcasting straight from my brain into his. “Why are you acting like going home to see your family is such a hardship when you have the best parents in the world?”
“I don’t want to deal with any of this shit.” A pit of dread formed in my stomach. “I’m so tired of Mom setting me up with women. Pretending to date you is theonlything that will make her leave me alone.”
He gave me a disbelieving look. “Do youhonestlythink dating me will put a damper on your mom’s mom-ness? Jacinta is the poster child for being extra, and I adore her for it.”
I hated that he was right. “Fakedating,” I reminded him, trying to wrestle back control of the conversation. He really needed to quit doing that. “She likes you enough that she shouldn’t feel the need to set me up with a parade of women who are all wrong for me.”
“How long are we supposed to keep up this charade of yours?” It was a small mercy when he finished the last bite of his banana and tossed the empty peel onto the table. Maybe now my stupid dick could get soft again.
The question made more sense than putting pineapple on pizza, but finding an answer felt like trying to catch a fart and paint it purple. I shrugged, making a noise reminiscent of a dying seal. “I don’t know. But I’m hoping we’ll get lucky, and they’ll make a big scene about it so we can make a dramatic exit.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “In what universe would your parents get upset about you being bisexual? They’re the chillest people on the planet.”
