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I wait at JJ’s front door for a second before knocking, then I go for it. I hear him moving on the other side of the wall and then he opens it up.
JJ grins at me and I feel all the tension melt away. He goes in for a hug and I hug him back and we’re standing there in his hallway hugging and it’s all okay. I’m still in my workwear, so the shiny parts of it rub noisily against his tee-shirt and boxers.
I take a step back and smile at him. “JJ.”
“H—hawk.”
“Hello.”
“Here,” he says. “Come in. My family isn’t home right now but they will be, uhhh, you know. Whenever. Yeah.”
He steps in and I step in after him. The apartment is actually really nice. I know Keoni’s apartment is nice as well — as in it’s in a nice part of town and it’s bougie — but he is a bachelor living in a one-bedroom he hasn’t decorated beyond the surfboard on the wall. Someone in his family has got style. Money and style. We walk through the kitchen and the formal dining room on the way over to his room wordlessly. I look around at everything, a little impressed. JJ slows down so I can do it.
“So,” he says, outside the door to his room. “Ummm…”
“It’s a little messy?” He nods. “Don’t worry, really. We’re guys. I get it.”
“Yeah. Um. And. Yeah. It’s a little. Y—you’ll see.”
He opens the door and lets me step in.
His room looks like the room every 13-year-old dreams of having, and I can’t say it isn’t fucking awesome. It’s not too big, enough to fit a console with a TV on it, a nice shag rug, and the bed that he has tucked against the wall on three sides. It’s dark in here, with the blinds drawn completely down. He has string lights cozily draped over the bed. There are posters for a few of the things I know he’s been interested in forever — Minecraft and Survivor and some webcomics. They cover most of the walls, besides a blank space which perfectly fits where a bunch of 4x6 photos would be. Those photos are on his dresser, flipped over. The bed isn’t made and blankets and pillows are cascading off of it. The floor is covered in clothing as well. The trash can is overflowing.
Survivor is playing on the TV — looks like one of the new seasons, although I don’t know much about it beyond what he’s told me. Over on the bed, I can see he was playing The Sims and eating a slice of pizza. The room smells strongly of weed.
He steps in behind me and closes the door. “Yeah.”
“Not bad!” I say. “Really really really. Not bad, dude. It’s not.”
“Yeah,” he says, and then he sniffs in. “Can I h—hug you again?”
“Of course.”
I place my backpack on the floor and we hug again, this time for much longer. He places his head in the nape of my neck and keeps it there, I think crying or at least loudly sniffling. I don’t mind it at all. It’s just nice to see my buddy again. I rub his back and let him do what he needs to do. After a minute or so he lets go. His eyes are red.
“I’m sorry,” he says, giggling. “I’m a little s—stoned right now.”
“Dude,” I laugh. “Actually or are you joking?”
“A little.” He sits down on the bed. It actually looks quite comfy, with the darkness of that side of the room just barely broken through with the glow from his computer and the lights. “A little stoned, I mean. I’ve been ranging from a little stoned to very stoned for, you know, ten days now.”
“Ah,” I say. “Uh, shoes off?”
“Crap. Should h—have told you at the door.”
I take my work boots off now and place them next to his door. I hope I tracked mud all over the floor — that would be a good impression for me to make. He pauses Survivor and puts some sad indie girl on the speaker he has on his desk.
“Um. If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s all good, but…” I swallow. “How has it been?”
He laughs at that. “It’s so— fucking weird. Ugh. And I’m s—sure you noticed, but my stutter h—has been really bad recently, so.”
“No, it’s all good.” His stutter was never awful like what little kids have in TV shows, so I got used to it pretty quickly. It is much worse than usual right now. I don’t quite know how to describe it. It’s something in between a block (where the words are just not coming out) and a traditional repeating-first-consonant stutter. I’ve always found it endearing, but right now it’s just kind of sad. “Yeah. Shit dude. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. I dunno. This is my…” He puts his head in his hands. “Aahh.”
“We can talk about it later.”
“No, it’s not that, it’s just that I’m h—having trouble finding both the words and then m—making the goddamn words. It’s weird! It’s weird it’s weird it’s weird.” He pauses. “I don’t know. I miss h—him so much. And I know it’s not… uh… a normal breakup. Because we’re still… I don’t know. Involved? But he’s in Washington now and h—he’s already making friends and I’m. I’m h—here. And. I’ve just been so depressed.”
“Can I sit next to you?”
“Yeah.”
I do. “What do you want me to be today? Like, do you want to talk, do you need help cleaning up, do you just wanna watch TV and eat pizza and get stoned? I’m up for anything.”
“Can you just be a warm body?”
“Fuck yeah, dude.”
He lies backwards on the bed. His tee-shirt rides up and shows a bit of his tummy. He’s gained a little weight since the last time I saw him — nothing too big, but he definitely has a bit of a gut now. I try not to think about his bulge right now but his dick is running down his left thigh. I’m pretty sure if I got the right viewpoint, I could see it poking out the fly a little. I let that idea fade from my mind because it is not appropriate right now in the slightest.
Instead, I lie down next to him and look up at the ceiling. It’s covered in those little 90s glow in the dark stars. I can’t tell if they’re put up purposefully — I can make out the Big Dipper in them, but I could just be seeing things. That’s what happened with the original constellations anyway.
We sit and listen to his music for a few songs. I’ve heard this stuff before over the radio but I’ve never purposely sat and listened to it — it’s great. Synth and drums and guitar. We sit and listen and I watch his chest rise up and fall with each of his breaths. Our knuckles are touching but neither of us move our hands.
After maybe 15 minutes, I shift my body and suddenly remember I’m wearing a jacket inside his house. The air conditioning is nice but not enough for me. “Ohh…”
“Are you okay?” JJ says.
“Lemme take off my jacket.”
“Oh, of course.”
He sits in the corner of the bed hugging a large stuffed tiger while I stand up and put my jacket on my backpack. “I don’t really wanna wear my work pants right now…”
“You can take them off,” he says, and then maybe he realizes the nature of that sentence because he immediately follows it up with, “Or go through my closet for something.”
“Can I?”
“Yeah.”
“Sleepover!”
I look through his closet for a little bit. Most of his clothes are on the ground but those are just the underwear and shirts. It seems like he hasn’t worn a proper pair of pants for a little bit. There are some pajama bottoms and jeans but nothing I really want to put on right now. The air conditioning feels great against my fur anyway.
I turn around when I hear his tail thump against the bed. He’s smiling.
“Dude.” He giggles. “Dude, what?”
“Oh. Uh. Just wondering if you would want to sleep over, actually.”
“Yes,” I say, not even thinking about it. I piece together my schedule. “Yeah. Yeah.”
“Cool. Yay. I can get the air mattress out later.”
“Cool! I loved sleepovers so much, dude. Dude, we would do sleepovers like every weekend.”
“I never actually really did any,” he says. “I was i—invited to them, just so you know, I just really… I have rituals before bed and I don’t like changing them.”
“Yeah. You were invited to them.”
“Shut up!”
I laugh, then slip off my work pants and put them with the rest of my stuff. I’m wearing a pair of briefs right now — I catch myself in the door and my bulge is particularly emphasized, pointing up and to the right. It’s not anything more than what I look like in my speedo every day, except these are light gray so it’s pretty obvious. When I look back at JJ, he doesn’t have a look of horror on his face, so I think it’s okay. He hugs the tiger close to him.
“What do you wanna do?” he asks. “What do you do at sleepovers? I think I h—have an idea of what you do at girl’s sleepovers but not boys.”
“What happens at girl’s sleepovers?”
“They… talk about boys and do make up and stuff? I just said that because my sister has a lot of sleepovers.”
“That sounds right. Boys talk about girls. They play tag. Play video games. Drive places. Steal parent’s alcohol. Eat snacks. All that stuff.”
“Can we have a boring sleepover?”
“Dude, we can have the most boring sleepover ever.”
“Can we watch Survivor?”
“We can watch Survivor.”
“Can I explain every single thing that’s happening to you?”
“You can.”
“Oh thank god.”
JJ gets one of his VHSes out and sticks it into the TV. His tail is wagging furiously. He sits down and starts telling me as much as he can about this season without telling me any spoilers. I have to pick a favorite in the first 5 minutes to appease him — I pick a surfer girl that I immediately forget the name of and he seems to be satisfied. I really enjoy watching him smile and just get completely engrossed in something. It’s wonderful to watch. He’s also memorized the ads in the commercial breaks. He started out by asking me every five seconds if this was okay but by 10 minutes in, he felt more than okay about it.
When we get to the second act break, he lies down and looks at the ceiling. “Eye strain.”
“Staring at that old television.”
“I know.” He looks serious for a second. I stand up and begin to collect all of the pillows and blankets on the ground and throw them onto the bed. His mattress is comfortable enough but it’ll be a lot nicer with all this. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah?”
“Did gay things happen at the sleepovers you went to growing up?”
I throw a pillow at him. “What?”
“I dunno! That’s what they do in like. Like that’s the rumors, you know?”
“Hmm…” I throw the last blanket on the bed. “Not at any I went to, but I do know what you’re talking about. It’s not really GAY, from what I hear. It’s experimenting.”
“Ohh… okay.”
“Oh, but you know what does happen at sleepovers?”
“What?”
“You wake up with the hardest cock of your life and you can’t do anything about it.”
“Dude…” He clearly likes that idea. He covers himself with every single blanket and pillow and lays back onto the bed. He has like six normal pillows and then six throw pillows, not to mention the comforter, the throw blanket, and all the plushies. “Woah.”
“Ugh. So embarrassing. I just. Dude, I just fucking remembered I got a wet dream at one.”
“Really?”
“I was like, shit, 14? 14. It was our first like teenager sleepover… we stole road signs, we drew on the face of Zephyr Lansbury, we drank Chris’s dad’s Vodka and replaced it with water… and I woke up with cum soaking my fucking briefs.”
“What did you do?”
“I woke up first, thankfully, so I just. You know. Dealt with it.”
He sits up. “Do you get a lot of wet dreams?”
“When I’m, like, pent up. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t get wet dreams but, uh, you know precum?”
I snicker at that. “Do I know precum?”
“I know some guys don’t do it!”
“Yeah, I guess. Yeah. Hey, give me a pillow.”
He hands one over and I hug it. I cozy up into the corner. It’s so much nicer feeling my fur against the blankets.
“I… oh my god, okay, stop me if you don’t want to hear this, I precum super easily.”
“Really?” I think about that for a second and feel my face tighten. I hope he can’t see me in the darkness of the room. Is that why he’s been covering himself with all those pillows? “Like, what?”
“Like… pretty much as soon as I get a boner. Sometimes even if I don’t have a boner and I just get aroused. Oh this is so embarrassing…”
“I’ll say something embarrassing about myself after.”
“No, ah, just like. Oh my god I cannot believe I’m saying this to another guy.” He lies down on the bed in front of me and covers his face with his hands. “Like pretty much every day I come home from work or whatever and there’s a precum stain in my boxers.”
“Woah!” I say, grinning. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles.
“What’s got you so worked up?”
He grins. “I don’t know! W—whatever!”
“I get it, I get it. Sexy construction dudes. Bending over. Fat asses.”
“Shut up!” he giggles. “Okay. You say your thing now.”
“What thing?”
“You said you’d say something!”
“Shit, right. Okay. What’s my thing?”
“You know it deep down.”
I snort and sit back. The vibes in here are so nice. I appreciate it for a moment. All the various textures on the bed, the different colors of the light as the images on the TV change, JJ’s little noises. It’s definitely dark outside now. The commercial break ended so we’ve been talking through the show for a few minutes.
“I got it.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh. Dude.” It’s so fucking embarrassing. I don’t even want to look at him. “I, for as long as I’ve… been a sexual being… I have always loved my own cum.”
JJ sits up and looks at me, ears back. “Hawk.”
“I know.”
“Wait, tell me more.”
“Like… ugh. Like half the time I masturbate I position myself so I can give myself like, a facial, you know, or like so I can drink it. Ew. Drink it.”
“Woah. Can I ask a question?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s the appeal?”
I think about that for a second. “It’s. Ugh. Oh this is so stupid. I like the way it mats my fur up, you know? I like how warm it is on my muzzle. It’s just nice.”
“Ohhh…” he says. “You know, I can… suck my own cock.”
“WHAT?”
“Yeah.”
I imagine that. Fucking awesome. I look down at him and he has this half-smug, half-embarrassed look on his face. That’s fucking awesome. “Shit dude. Oh, I get close but I can’t— really?” I mean, with the pipe that he has, like obviously, but that’s still awesome.
“I can get the whole thing in there.”
“REALLY?”
“Yeeeah. All the way down. Like balls on my muzzle.”
“That’s so fucking cool.” That makes me warm inside. “That’s so cool. Do you ever like cum in your own mouth?”
“All the time,” he says. “Yeah.”
“Oh that’s so cool. How do you do it? Like do you flip over onto yourself?”
“I do that, but I’m also, uh, like…”
“Big enough?”
“Yeah. Big enough that I can just do it sitting.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit dude. That’s awesome.”
We sit here for a second, basking in the glow of getting to talk about this kind of thing. I’m not hard right now but I realize with any jostling I probably could be. He’s covering himself up enough that he could have been hard this whole conversation and I wouldn’t know.
“What is sucking dick like?” I ask. “Like your own compared to another?”
“I’ve never sucked another dick,” he responds.
“Right right right. Forgot.”
“But sucking your own feels really good. Like, especially when you have a good amount of it in your mouth? It’s so nice. I’ve always wanted to suck another guy’s dick.” He swallows. “Have you? Don’t need to answer that, by the way.”
“I mean. I dunno. I’m just getting used to the idea of calling myself attracted to men and it’s always been very abstract…” I think about that time I masturbated to a photo of JJ’s face. “I’d try it, definitely. Another guy cumming on my face sounds nice…”
We make eye contact and I swear to god “We could try that together” almost comes out of my mouth. I don’t know. JJ and I compared dicks once but I don’t think anything’s ever going to happen between us, especially right now. I don’t even know if that’s something I’d want. Then I think about sucking his dick and I get a little hard right there.
“Now that you’re single…” is what I say instead.
That piques his interest. “Yeah?”
“Oh, just, you know. There’s a whole world out there to enjoy.”
He smiles. “Yeah, yeah. Ramone.”
“Untapped fuckin’ market!”
We laugh at that for a second and then sigh. It’s quiet for a little bit. The episode of Survivor ended when I wasn’t looking.
After a bit, he sits up. “I’m gonna go use the bathroom,” he says.
“Sure.” I think I killed it by mentioning him being single. “Is your family home?”
“Yeah, definitely. I can grab us some dinner too? More pizza?”
“Fuck yeah.”
He stands at the door and smiles. “Thank you for coming over, Hawk.”
“Of course, man.”
And I swear to god, I see a glimpse of the front of his boxers as he goes to put his pajama bottoms on, and there is a huge wet spot of precum dripping down the front.
We spend the rest of the night doing normal sleepover things. I meet his sister and his parents and we all eat dinner together, actually. They know a lot about me. We rewind the episode of Survivor that we talked about sex through and watch four more after that, and we do some drawing just for the hell of it. We don’t even get high — that’s how much fun we’re having. At around midnight my body gives out from all of the swimming and construction work I did today and he offers me the bed to sleep on.
I tell him we can just both sleep on the bed and we do. We sleep in opposite directions, both facing out towards the rest of the room. We say goodnight and I close my eyes, then watch him do his full nightly routine. It’s cute.
When I wake up in the morning, I’m rock hard. It’s not funny.
We only exchange a few words since I have to sneak out to work, but about an hour later he sends me a text saying that he had lots of fun and we should do it again sometime, and that he’ll be back at work soon.
I don’t know what kind of game we’re playing, but I can’t say I mind it.