Red Jocks

I was vacuuming my room; the dust was beginning to pile up in the corners, and tumbleweeds seemed to roll across the polished boards, every time I moved. It had to be done. When I was done, I headed out onto the landing and then down the stairs, one by one. I gave the hallway the once over, well, I was into it by then.

I vacuumed into the doorway of Tim’s room.

I saw hunky Ben's red jocks on the floor by the bed. The same jocks he’d been wearing the other night.

Ben, Tim and I had taken drugs all weekend, at home, laughing and joking and playing music really loud. Ben, at one stage, was lying face-down across the coffee table illustrating the fine art... of something, when the crimson material of his jocks appeared just where the crack in his arse started, as his trackies hugged his cheeks. I love guys in jocks, remembering Ben's a bottom.

My day off, what am I to do to amuse myself? I saw the crimson jocks, again, discarded on Tim's bedroom floor, when I went out to get the mail. When I came back in from the mailbox, I stood in the hallway and gazed into the bedroom. Then I thought fuck it... what the hell… they still smelt like him. Yum! I spent the next little while lying on my bed with Ben's jocks under my nose. The front was best, I could smell his foreskin.

I thought about the time that we'd all taken far too much. Tim had passed out. I was spinning in my own, lurid world. Ben got up and said he was going to bed. From my position on the floor, I was looking straight at his crotch. His cock pointed straight up. He caught my blurred gaze, looked down and ran his hand over the front of his blue, track pants. His cock was rock hard, banana'd. The cotton of his floppy pants kind of stuck around the hard shape of him, like a rocket. He looked straight at me out of the very tops of his eye slits, his face was flushed red and I could see the expression he would pull when he was getting sucked off. He rubbed his cock again. He pulled his head back and tried to focus. He rubbed his hard cock again. He smiled.

“Good night,” he said.

He staggered off to bed.

Or the other night, when we'd also consumed lots of e's and Ben and Tim were sitting on the floor. Ben turned around and pashed Tim, as he did, his cock expanded in his pants, filling out under the denim like water in a garden hose. The head was pushing at the waistband of his semi-unbuttoned jeans, when it was done. Tim lay his head back on the couch. I got the sense that Ben was looking at me. I lifted my eyes to meet his. He leant down and adjusted himself. Smiled and continued to kiss Tim. I went to bed.

I thought about the one time... Ben came out of the shower just as I came out of my bedroom. It was a Sunday afternoon, twilight of one of those weekends. Ben's blue eyes focused on me. His face was strong and gorgeous under his curly blond hair. Strong neck. Curved chest. Pale skin. I didn't think... I was spinning, really stoned. I could quite easily have thought Ben was Manny, momentarily, maybe... we were both tripping... because I would never, normally...

I remember the light went dark around him. I slid my hand up his towel. He kind of jumped as my hand cupped his hairy balls. I moved them around in my palm. I slid my hand onto his cock, which was stiffening quickly. It was warm, and suddenly thick. Ben's expression didn't change, he didn't move. Fully barred, he’s impressive. I squeezed it hard.

“Hey Ben, are you hungry?” Tim called out from downstairs. Ben pulled himself out of my hand. Adjusted himself. His towel tented noticeably.

“Yeah, maybe I am,” he said, with his eyes fixed like steel on me. He turned and walked down the stairs, adjusting himself as he went, without looking back.

“Yeah... I could go, um... lunch, sure.”

I tossed the jocks into the washing basket.