Copyright © 1999,   Nomad.  ALL Rights Reserved

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit, or on another website 
without the written permission of the author.  The author may be contacted 
by writing mrdouble@mrdouble.com or mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.

Original posting date: 
Wednesday AM, January 13, 1999

A wildPage Author story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: myfog.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com
 

My Fog

Written by Nomad

I was 17 in 1990, and life was good : I had a very good bunch of 
friends; I enjoyed and excelled at school; the future looked bright. 
After the events which follow, the future still looked bright, but very, 
very different. Hell, the present and the past had seemingly reshaped 
themselves into a different and form - the proverbial rose-tint of 
hindsight.

At that time, I had never had a girlfriend - plenty of female friends, 
but none that could warrant the elevation to "girlfriend", that mystical 
glory-being. "My girlfriend and I . . .", is a phrase that I used to 
dream of being able to say. It has a certain vital austerity - the 
simplicity, and to an extent, the finality of the term conjures a realm 
of meaning and well hints at a whole intrigue. Maybe through a 
cowardice, I could never bring myself to say - "would you like to go out 
on a date?", let alone "would you be my girlfriend?". Despite all of 
this though, I was not, at the time overly bothered - I've always been 
forward looking, and knew that in time my glory-being and I would 
collide, and at that moment, all doubts and cowardice would be 
dispersed, like a heavy fog on a windy day. 

Fog, you see, can bring comfort - standing on a foggy moor brings to me 
a sense of great solace. Its like a natural blanket - water particles 
that obscures the vast outdoors, and makes the moor seem smaller, more 
comfortable. You stand in the centre of a sphere, delimited by the range 
of your vision - who knows, or who cares what lies beyond? So, I was 
single, and so were all of my close friends, a situation I guess that is 
self-sustaining. You can't "go out" with a friend - it changes too much 
in your relationship, and being close friends, we never really extended 
our horizons. (There's that fog again). But, this year was the year that 
changed everything.

Philip has been my best friend since we were 13, and our relationship 
has always been very open, and very close. Philip was a handsome boy, 
with fine brown hair, brushed forward. He was slightly short for his 
age, but well proportioned, and quite athletic, though not overly 
enthusiastic about sports. His hair coupled with his brown almond shaped 
eyes always caused people to be reminded of a choir boy, and did have a 
look about him that would drive your average Priest wild - caged 
innocence, ripe for release into the wilds, and a slight tamed 
femininity. Me, at that time I had a larger frame than most : a rugby 
player frame. Brown hair, and grey eyes, I was not the most handsome of 
boys, but nor was I ugly. We used to have sleep-overs on a regular 
basis, and the tale at hand owes everything to these encounters. As I 
cast my mind back to the first time that anything of note happened 
between us, I recall vividly our first discussion about masturbation. It 
was after school one Friday, and Philip was to be staying over that 
night to keep me company while my parents were away for the weekend. My 
brother had been palmed of to some friend, and we were two 14 year old 
boys home alone - we were expected to get up to mischief! And not 
wanting to disappoint whoever might be expecting us to be mischievous, 
we were.
	 
At that time I had been masturbating for about three years (not non-stop 
I do hasten to add), but I had never spoken to anyone about it. Tales of 
going blind, or growing hair on the palms of the hand never used to put 
me off. I used to live for "the feeling", as I called it then. Of 
course, initially it was just a feeling, with no glorious flow of cum, 
and no mess to clean up (on the plus side). But, with time, my wrist 
action used to produce a tiny bead of a glistening liquid at the mouth 
of my hardened cock.(I always have though of the hole at the top as a 
mouth, and used to take great pleasure in making my cock laugh, by 
squeezing the head this way, and that! A theory borne out by thinking of 
cock-stimulation as telling a great joke - the best jokes make people 
spurt a mouthful of milk everywhere!). 

But that day, I told Philip that I had a video with a naked woman on it; 
looking back, I laugh at how excited we got - it was a recorded tape of 
some TV drama, where a stripper gets her kit off, and you see her 
breasts for all of 30 seconds! Oh, the days of despoiled innocence! As 
we watch this, over and over, I get bold and start to rub my erection 
through my trousers "Do you do this?" I asked, looking pointedly at my 
cock, then his.

"Ummmm, what do you mean?" he blushed as he said this, looking more and 
more the choir boy as his colour deepened. 

"You know exactly what I mean," I rubbed a bit harder, and then wrapped 
the material of my shorts around my six inch cock, so that its profile 
was obvious. Philip stared, perhaps at a loss for words. I did feel a 
bit guilty at springing this on him, but that said, it wasn't something 
that I had planned. I looked at his shorts and saw a similar, though 
less defined profile of an erection.

"Why you asking me that?", he countered, buying himself time. I knew 
what the answer would be in the end, but I just wanted him to say it - 
it was becoming the object of this encounter, and it had nothing to do 
with "the feeling", or even the woman's jiggling breasts. In a way, even 
at that time, I knew that an admission would lead to other things and I 
found that that was what I was longing for. 
"No reason. Just wanted to know if you wanted to join me while we watch 
the vid." I feigned disinterest. Well, sort of - the feeling that I had 
at that time is so lucid in my mind - I had to stop rubbing myself as I 
knew that I would cum soon. I was finding the situation so intense that 
my entire body was shaking, making spasmodic and very much visible 
movements. I was shaking with pleasure! The first time that that had 
ever happened. 

"Well . . . OK, yes I do it sometimes, but, but, but I don't want to do 
it now. Not with another guy, its not right." Well, I'd never done it 
with anyone else, but decided not to argue with him at that time. This 
time I feigned sensitive empathy, and said it was cool. And, not wanting 
my pride to be damaged continued as if what I was doing was perfectly 
normal. I held of my ejaculation, and after a while switched the video 
off, and suggested that we go and play some computer games (on my old 
Amiga). 

Despite the video incident, playing the games was just like normal, and 
our easy comradeship hadn't changed. I was glad of that, as I had had a 
sudden worrying thought that Philip might have found my actions just too 
weird. The day went on as normal, and after cooking and eating a meal of 
steak and chips, we settled down and watched a video, some Kung Fu movie 
or other. Nothing more was said about masturbation, sex or cocks. But, I 
was really trying to think of a way of bring the subject out again, as 
subtle as I knew how, but was drawing blanks at all stages. 
So, nothing happened, and we showered and headed for bed - he was to 
have the spare bed in my room, despite their being empty beds in the 
other rooms. We were accustomed to staying up late, chatting about this 
and that. Fond memories I have of those chats, but it was then that it 
happened, as we were lying their, during a moment of quiet where we were 
both just looking through the window up at the stars. He turned to look 
at me; he stared me straight in the eye.

"You want to masturbate together?" he asked me straight out. I shuffled 
into a kneeling position, and my quickly growing excitement must have 
been obvious through the flies of the boxers that I sleep in.

"Yeah!" was my quick reply, perhaps to quick, so I tempered the response 
by adding "you wanna?". A small smile appeared on his face, but he 
didn't get out from under the sheet.

"Yup. OK. But only through our pajamas right?"

"Sure, if that's OK with you."

"You start though." I was perfectly happy to initiate proceedings, 
especially seeing as I had already done so earlier on that day. My cock 
was already fully engorged, and I started rubbing the head through the 
thin material of my boxers.

As I did this, Philip joined in, and I could see his pianist's fingers 
playing a dirge, a slow and almost mournful tune on the organ of his 
soul. As his fingers depressed the meager covering, I saw the contours 
of a cock that I so wanted to see and to touch. But to see and to touch, 
as I had seen it before in the showers at school, but never enlarged 
with passion or excitement. And I had never ever touch a cock other than 
my own ever before. As I watched, my own activity slowed. Philips face 
became very peaceful, and his fingers played on, working the tune into a 
baroque magic now, swiftened and unrelenting. I was fascinated, and my 
hands now only massaged my glans, my foreskin pulled back. Precum 
provided the necessary lubrication, the fabric of my boxers damp. 
Philips brow creased, and he looked at me, smiling again as his hands 
slowed down.

"I've cum", he announced to me. I was surprised, firstly at the speed of 
it all, and secondly at his forwardness. I had thought him to be very 
embarrassed about it all, but evidently it was a simple and easily 
overcome barrier. I looked down at his underwear and now saw a large 
damp patch.

"There is a tissue in that box there", and I pointed at a box of 
Kleenex, "you can pass me one too, as I'm almost ready for it". I 
redoubled my actions as Philip stood, and I saw the evidence of his 
shrinking cock - a sizeable bulge, probably six or six and a half 
inches. "Ahhhhhh!" I simply said as I came. Philip knelt down next to me 
and proffered me a tissue, which I accepted gratefully. He stared at my 
boxers, as I put my hand beneath the waistband and wiped the cum away. 
Philip got a tissue for himself and did the same, discarded it in the 
bin, then went back to his bed.

"That was intense" I said "I've never done that in front of anyone but 
you" it sounded lame, but I was at a loss for a quality soundbite.

"I know" he replied, and that smile returned to his face. He snuggled up 
in his own bed, and I could tell by the way that he held his body that 
he was content with what he had done. He closed his eyes, but I 
continued to watch him, his body profiled by the thin sheets. My cock 
slept limply and slightly damply on my thigh as I watched. After a time, 
I sighed and got out of bed to go to the lavtory. I passed the bin that 
we had placed our cum soaked tissues is, and could not resist reaching 
down and picking Philip's tissue up. I sneaked to the bathroom, and 
unwrapped my unexpected gift. 

His cum, silky white and pungent had an alure. I lifted it to my nose 
and sniffed it - a heady parfum, and my cock began to stir again. Its 
extention had a mimic - my tongue slowly unfurled, and I held it steady 
just before it touched the liquid. Should I? I did - in slow motion, my 
tongue pressed flat against the cum on the tissue, and the taste, the 
smell and the texture filled my senses. My tastebuds were enveloped - 
the flavour trickled from the front of my mouth to the back : salt, 
sour, sweet. Sweet, sour, salt. My mind broke it into its constituent 
units, showed me the truth, then swirled it back to its glorious whole! 
My nose grabbed the scent, and the silkiness of it filled my mouth! 

I groaned. Then, quietly : "Oh, Philip!"

"Yes?". I turned, my engorged cock coming to bear on Philip through my 
boxer's flies. I was discovered! "How long have you been there?" I 
asked. (I had thought, in my guilt soaked state to grab a towel and 
cover myself, or at least draw some material over my cock! Fool!)

"Long enough."

My heart stopped, and I dreaded what was to come next - some 
denouncement of me as his friend perhaps? "I was . . .".

"Forget it! I saw you pick the tissue up. I don't mind.". YES! "Let's go 
back to the bedroom . . .".

MORE??????



















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