PART 1
I hold Richie’s photo in my paw.
I find the photos as I’m rooting through my storage unit. A bunch of Polaroids I took my junior year of college in 2002. 23 years ago. I was really looking for some old bedding I packed away, something to make the sleeper cabin of my semi a little more comfortable for the upcoming months, but instead I find these photos. Here I am, 43 years old, sitting on the floor of my storage unit in the Florida heat, staring at all these old memories.
The bulk of the photos are me and my old drinking buddies, probably taken over the course of a couple of days before I forgot I owned the camera. There are some guys I still call sometimes, some guys I haven’t thought about in years. I stare at each photo, hold them up to the light, remember all-nighters and great conversations and real happiness.
Then I pull the photo of Richie with his dick out and I drop it right there on the concrete. It’s him. A brown and white border collie sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling at the camera and sticking his tongue out. He is completely nude, his dick half-erect. You can tell he’s shaking off a night’s sleep in the photo. Written in Sharpie in my old handwriting, large block letters, are the words “Richie ‘02.”
I can’t say I don’t smile at it. Beneath that are more photos we took that day, Richie flexing, Richie with his paw wrapped around his dick, us having sex. I used to be so fit. All of the photos have a pink tinge. All of them are blurry.
The overhead Florida sun is getting to me. Plus, I’ve popped a pretty nasty erection looking at these photos. I grab the stack of photos and take it to my truck. I sit in my bed (still no bedding, because I didn’t think to grab it), blast the AC, and stare at the photos.
It’s Richie. I haven’t seen his face in years, not even a photo. The last time we spoke must have been at his wedding ages ago. We got into some stupid blowout fight about nothing shortly after college and then we went our separate ways, but he was the most important person in the world to me. We were best friends and roommates all four years of college with lots of intermittent messing around when neither of us had girlfriends, and that was the early 2000s. I know I’m gay now, but there’s no way in hell either of us would have ever considered it gay or told another soul then. I’m sure if it was now, we would have dated. It might have turned out differently.
I start rubbing my bulge through my shorts as I look at the photos. There are some great pictures in here. We look so young, so happy. We’re just guys having fun.
I go back to that first photo of him sitting on the bed and lower my shorts. I start stroking my dick to it. That is a guy in his fucking prime. Big pecs, big muscles, leaning back on the bed so casually. I remember he had just woken up when I took that, that we had a weekend with nothing to do and no parties to go to and so we decided to fuck and take a bunch of photos.
I lean back in my bed and imagine I’m there. Imagine we’re 20 again getting back to our apartment after a night listening to the Deftones with our girlfriends in low-waisted jeans, and all there is left to do is fuck. I remember his toned body, his big dick, his smile. I moan his name under my breath.
It doesn’t take me long to finish all over my tank top. I drop the photo back into the stack and collapse back onto my bed. It’s freezing in here. A little bit of sunlight peaks through the blinds but it’s mostly dark too.
I hope he’s okay.
I know we left it weirdly, I know he’s married, I know I just got a little bit of cum on an old Polaroid of him, but I really sincerely hope he’s okay.
One last time, I look through the photos. Other than dating them with the year, none of them have any writing on them. That is until I get back to the first photo and flip it over, where with some stroke of luck I’ve written his phone number down. The chance that he’s still at that number is so low, but I give him a text anyway.
Hey, Rich. This is Jaime. My route’s taking me through Arizona in a few weeks. I figure if you’re still around there, we could meet up for lunch sometime. Your call. – Jaime
It’s formal, so formal for someone I knew so intimately, but I don’t know what else to say. I hesitate before sending it, then I put my phone down and return to the dark cabin. I grab a fast food napkin and wipe all the cum off my tank top, then roll it off and throw it in my laundry bin. I’m going to seriously regret that masturbation session if it turns out something awful happened to him.
As I’m putting the photos away, my phone lights up. I look over.
It’s him.
Jaime! I can’t believe it!
Yes, come have dinner with me and the family. I’d love it.
PART 2
My truck parked in a ditch out in the Arizona desert, I stand at what should be Richie’s new address. I’ve made thousands of deliveries in the 20 years, but this is definitely the one I’m the most nervous about. I check myself in the reflection of one of these desert-y glass trinkets his wife probably put out in the lawn and I see myself as I really am. 20 years older than I was the last time we were together.
I give a good confident knock on the door to disguise how fast my heart is thumping. From inside, the voice of a teenager goes, in that way teenagers always do, “Dad!? There’s someone at the door!” Then about half a minute later, after some thumping against the floor, the door opens.
And it’s Richie.
And I can’t help but laugh, because of course the fatass gained a hundred pounds.
We hug instantly. It’s electric. We hold each other’s bodies tight and laugh so hard. We hug until we’re done laughing and then some more.
We pull away.
“Jaime. You haven’t aged a day.”
“Fuck right off.”
Dinner goes exceedingly well.
I learn a couple of things in rapid succession.
One: no wedding ring. It seems like some shit went down with him and his ex-wife, a woman I never met besides early photos of her on Myspace when we were still doing that and a wedding I was pretty drunk during, but we don’t discuss it much.
Two: his 17-year-old son, Riley, is kind of a little shithead. He spends the whole conversation on his phone then skitters away after 20 minutes. Richie agrees.
And three: Richie and I still have it going on. It’s like no time’s passed at all. We sum up the last 20 years in a couple of sentences and then start joking around about tacky lawn ornaments and reminiscing about girls we dated in college. He teases me about how I managed to stay stick-thin in the profession that takes people and makes them fat and I tease him about how he was a college athlete and now he looks like a truck driver. There’s no awkward pretense, no apologies, we just go straight into it and don’t look back. Considering I was jerking off to a Polaroid of him a few weeks ago, this is an excellent place to be.
After our laughter grows silent, Richie puts his paw on the table. “Hey. I wasn’t kidding with what I said before. You look good.”
“Is, uh…” I glance at the staircase behind him. “You know?”
“Riley has this online girlfriend he spends all day with on Discord. You could hit him with a sledgehammer and he wouldn’t notice.”
I chuckle. “You were complimenting me?”
“I’m just saying! Time’s done worse!”
“You look great too.”
“Is the hundred extra pounds doing it for you?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just funny. When we were 20, I was so concerned with how I was ever going to be attracted to 40-year-olds when I was that age–”
“I remember this. You really were concerned.”
“I know! And now I’m 40 and I can’t get a hard-on unless you’ve got a little bit of texture, you know? Like a finely aged wine.”
I snort and he laughs.
“What?”
“No, no,” I respond. “I get it. You’re like a hard parmesan rind.”
We laugh, both enjoying the teasing we used to do so often. I can’t tell if this is good-natured fun or something more, if he’s thinking about the same thing I’m thinking about. I don’t know if that was just a thing to pass the time for him or if it still sticks in his mind now.
Just to test the waters, as we finish laughing, I wistfully add, “We had fun.”
“We had so much fun, man.”
And then, more overt, “We fucked like rabbits.”
“Dude. Was there something in the water? We fucked like we were going to die if we didn’t fuck.”
“We were just 20.”
“Yeah. Fuck. I miss that.”
“Being 20?”
He smiles. “Nah…”
“Fucking?”
“Whatever.”
“I miss it too.”
It’s like all of the air is sucked out of the room. We’ve had our fun. We both want to fuck. We’re so close to fucking. One of us just has to make the move and it will happen.
“Jaime…?”
“Yeah?”
“You wanna… finish up dinner and… head upstairs?”
I nod profusely.
We don’t even put the dishes in the sink. Richie makes his way upstairs and I follow him and as soon as we get through the door we’re making out.
Kissing is different. There’s more mustache than before.
I haven’t kissed like this in, well, 20 years. I’ve cruised a fair number of times but none of those guys are interested in kissing and I haven’t had a girlfriend since I started trucking. Even with the mustaches there, we both get it. We know the feeling of each other’s mouths.
But we both clearly know what to do. With the same mutual understanding of the nature of the sex we were having, we pull our pants down after a minute of kissing. We sit there with our hard-ons in our briefs, kissing with the hunger of 20 years. I can see the shaft of his cock from the way it pushes his underwear up. We slowly stroke ourselves as we kiss, the bristles of his mustache tickling my face. I pull away and laugh but we get right back into it.
His paw reaches for my cock. My hoof reaches for his. As we start stroking each other, I let out a soft moan into his mouth.
“Yeeeeah,” he whispers, his forehead pressed against mine. “Fuck, that’s nice.”
We manipulate each other’s cocks out of the legholes of our briefs and keep going. We breathe together and we stroke each other, his tail slapping against the bed.
“You’re way better than my ex-wife,” he just can’t help but add.
I feel myself getting closer and closer. As that soft thrum manifests in my thighs, I pull him in for another kiss. Now that I’ve experienced a kiss with a mustache, I’m not sure if I could ever go back.
But before I can feel the relief of an orgasm, Richie pulls his paw away. “Dude.”
“Yeah?”
“You think I’m gonna let you cum just like that?”
“How’d you know I was so close?”
“You think I don’t know what it feels like when you’re close?”
I laugh. “Okay.”
“Remember when we used to do that thing?”
“We used to do a lot of things.”
“Where I’d sit on your face?”
I can’t help but grin. “That thing.”
“C’mooon. And you’d suck my cock like that?”
“You think I’m letting you sit on my face now?”
“I thought I was a finely-aged parmesan.”
“A finely-aged parmesan that’s going to break my neck if he sits on my face.”
“Dude. I can feel your cock throbbing.”
I press my forehead against his.
“You want it.”
“I do want it.”
“Told you.”
“But you have to not choke me to death.”
“Okay. Deal.”
I said we did many things, but this was the thing of our friendship. So many drunk nights we’d stumble back to the dorm room and he’d ask if he could do this because he just loved doing it so fucking much. At the time I wasn’t the biggest fan of it but now there’s nothing else in the world I want to do.
We find the position quickly. I lie back on the bed and he sits over me. It’s a little more intimidating now with the added beer gut he has, but of course I’m laughing by the time he’s positioned his cock over my face. He slaps it against my chin a few times.
“Richie!”
“That’s what you get for laughing.”
His precum flies over my chin as he keeps slapping it against my muzzle.
“Put it in my mouth already.”
“Alright.”
I open up and he places the tip of his cock into my mouth. It’s just as salty as I remember. He leans forward, his belly jiggling over me as he puts his paws on the bed, and presses the rest of his cock into my mouth. The tip of it touches the back of my throat.
Thankfully, I haven’t forgotten how to suck a cock in the last 20 years. He sits up and grabs my arms. I place my hooves on his thighs so I can tap if I need to. Just sitting like that and not even thrusting I can feel his cock throbbing in my mouth like he’s about to burst, so of course he’s grunting and groaning as I start to lick it.
“Fuuuuuck,” he moans, thrusting in a way I don’t expect. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
I tap his thigh and he pulls out.
“You good, man?”
I look at him upside down, panting. “Your ex-wife wouldn’t let you do that, huh?”
“She wouldn’t! Can you believe it?”
I chuckle. “I’m ready.”
He puts his cock back in my mouth and presses it against the back of my throat and we do the whole thing over again. He leans forward and starts stroking me. When I tap his thigh, he lifts his crotch up so his cock is still in my mouth but I have a little air to breathe, and when I tap his thigh again he presses it back in.
I was already close to cumming before, so just a little manipulation of my cock gets me right there. Unlike before, Richie is fully willing to let me cum like this. He’s a little preoccupied. Stroking me without a care about how fast he’s going, I tap his thigh a bunch of times in quick succession. That means not that I’m choking but that I’m about to cum and he should not, in any circumstance, pull his crotch away.
And at the same time, I can tell Richie is right there. Just as I start to let out a burst of cum all over my stomach, Richie is pumping his load down my throat. I let out one rope after another and as I feel that full warm pleasure, I have to take great care to swallow every last drop of cum Richie gives me. He tilts his head up and gives a full body moan.
Finally, he pulls back and his cock slips out of my mouth. He drops to the bed next to me.
We breathe in unison. We’re not touching but I feel him right next to me. I feel his warmth. My hoof inches over until it brushes his paw. He grabs my hoof.
“I missed you, dude,” he whispers.
“I missed you too.”
