Blue Pete

While it is, perhaps, a little uncommon for one straight guy to see another with a stiffie, it isn't exactly unknown, and as Pete and I were good mates I'd just laughed it off: "Hey – I don't want you keeping me awake wanking all fuckin' night!"

Pete had chuckled at first, unbuttoning his shirt, but then became subdued and looked maudlin. He'd said, quietly, "It's not a wank I need, mate. It's a woman..."

I nodded. "Yeah, I know, Pete. We'll start going out on a Friday night or something. Get you sorted..."

He looked over at me, still dispirited but clearly grateful at my attempt at encouragement, and nodded. "It's not even a woman I need... it's Karen [or whatever her name was]..."

He left his vest on, which was the same shade blue as his briefs, like he always did and pulled off his socks.

I said, "Yeah... I know... but it's time to move on..."

He smiled sadly, "She had this way of giving a blow job..." I saw his cock swell at the memory and a small wet circle appeared at the tip of it.

I quickly intervened. "Come on, mate... we're not getting back onto the past... it's not good for you..."

And, still smiling weakly, he nodded and left it there. Went off to brush his teeth and stuff.

I thanked God I'd managed to shut him up; that the old, by now monotonous, wound hadn't been reopened.

His cock was still fully hard in his briefs, with the bulbous mushroom head looking swollen and prominent, when he came back into the room and I was in bed. He hadn't even tried to conceal it among the folds of cotton at the bottom of his vest; I guess he felt comfortable that we were such good friends that he had nothing to be embarrassed about.

I noticed that the wet spot on the material at the end of it was a bit bigger: I would assume that was from a small leakage of piss after he'd been to the loo rather than dribbles of precum.

He rubbed the stem of it gently through his briefs with one hand while he checked the alarm with the other, obviously unaware he was almost masturbating in front of me. When he saw I was looking over at him, he abruptly stopped, flashed me a self-conscious smirk and muttered, "Sorry, mate... I even felt myself getting boned up when I was talking to Gladys on reception today... I'm that horny..."

I grinned. "I think it's time to squeeze the cheese, mate..."

He smiled back but shook his head. "Naah... not in polite company, Seb..."

"I wasn't suggesting you do it here, mate!" I laughed (although, to be honest, I wouldn't have minded if he had). "I meant in the bathroom or something."

He got into bed alongside me. "To be honest, it's not worth the effort. It's not exactly a fulfilling substitute for the real thing, is it? I find it makes me more depressed afterwards..."

I shrugged. "I've always been a pretty active fan of it, actually..."

He smiled, shook his head and turned off the bedside lamp. Then, in the darkness, "I'll see you in the morning, mate."

I shifted my position slightly. "Yeah. 'Night."

It took me a while to get to sleep, as I remember. Pete seemed to be unconscious within seconds of switching the lamp off and snored next to me gently. I was surprised by how he did that because when I feel horny it takes me ages to nod off; if I'd have been him I'd have either had to masturbate, whether in the bed or in the bathroom, or would have lain there for an hour or so, my cock throbbing and my mind racing through different fantasies.

But Pete just seemed to instantly slump into a deep sleep.

I vaguely remember, when I was in a state of being four-fifths asleep, the bed intermittently vibrating slightly: gently moving in a rapid rhythm for a few seconds and then being still for a minute or so. I dimly wondered if Pete was wanking in his sleep or was having an erotic dream, but oblivion overcame me before the question could pique my interest.

The next part, though, I remember very clearly.

I think you would too, if it had happened to you.

It must have been three or four o'clock in the morning – the room was still pitch black – and I awoke to feel one of Pete's arms splayed over me and his groin grinding against my hip. His state of heightened excitement was obvious: apart from the feel of his rock hard cock rubbing against me, he was panting warm breath into my ear.

I tried to ease him off me, but my movement seemed to stimulate him further, as though persuading his unconscious mind that the woman he was obviously dreaming about was real. I felt his other arm snake beneath my back and he grabbed me more tightly. His cock really stabbed into my hip and he groaned in appreciation, perhaps at the friction of his briefs against his engorged bell-end.

He began making low grunting noises which would have been comical if it were not for the awkward position we were in. He sounded like an ape; he'd no doubt be embarrassed but amused when I did an impersonation of his noises to him as we dressed the following morning.

It was the strangeness of the noises he made that convinced me he really was asleep: until then, I'd wondered if he might be having a joke with me or was perhaps – however out-of-character it might have been – using me as a kind of masturbatory aid.

But now I was certain he was quite deeply asleep. Highly aroused, yes; but even vaguely aware of what he was doing, no.

I thought I'd turn my back to him, hoping I could give his unconscious mind the brush off; that it might take the hint. That turned out to be a major mistake. The first of several.

I managed to squeeze my body around – his grip was almost excruciating – so that I faced away from him, but again my movements just served to elevate his excitement. He began thrusting his hips towards me and panting gruffly against the back of my head like an over-amorous dog.

I felt his cock against one of the cheeks of my arse but I still didn't foresee what might be round the corner. I was wondering whether to wake him up; how ashamed he'd be when he realised what he'd been doing to me.

I opted not too. My second mistake.

Pete kept grunting, stabbing his cock against my bum with rapid but uncoordinated thrusts. It just sort of lunged around, as though not knowing what it was looking for. His arms tightened around my chest. My teeshirt was being squeezed so hard against my nipples I could feel friction burns developing.

His breath was hot and his grunting becoming louder.

I kept thinking, "He'll wake himself up and I'll pretend I'm still asleep, so as not to embarrass him..."

But he didn't.

He began pushing his crotch even harder against me and I felt a hot, moist sensation against the top of my arse, just above the waistband of my briefs. His cock had forced its way out from his own briefs; it was exposed.

Again I wondered whether to awaken him. I was thinking, "This has gone way too far..." But again I hesitated. Now that his cock had pushed its way out from his briefs, his embarrassment would be multiplied. This wasn't something we could so easily laugh off; this was becoming too serious even to be the subject of ribbing the next morning.

I realised that I ought to have awoken him at the beginning but the knowledge of that wasn't really any use now.

I tried again to move away from him but, like before, his passions were simply further inflamed. He held onto me firmly, gasping aggressively, and, as I tried to twist my body to free myself from his grip, he struggled to restrain my movements by rolling on top of my back.

Now I thought, "Oh, shit..."

Pete wasn't too heavy – his build was actually slim and athletic – but the position he held me made it almost impossible for me to free myself. My arms were held tightly by my sides and my face was pressed closely into the pillow. His chest was heaving against my back while his hips continued to thrust his crotch against the top of my arse cheeks.