Camo Hat • Chapter Seven
by Sean Reid Scott
Posted: in the before time :: Approx. 3700 words
AM CAME INTO MY TOWNHOUSE AND PROMPTLY plopped down on my couch. “Dammit,” he said. “I just don’t understand women.”
It was the first time I had seen Cameron upset about anything. He always seemed pretty easy-going, even though I could tell underneath his calm exterior a typical “Type A” personality resided.
“Fuck, sometimes she just drives me crazy,” he continued.
It had been a week or so since Cam had picked up Maya, and he had told me of every one of his “encounters” with her-- in vivid detail. So much so that his stories provided much fodder for my fertile fantasy life.
“What is it?” I asked.
He reclined back on the couch and sighed. “She just wants to run everything.” He lifted his camouflage baseball cap off his head and scratched his scalp, then replaced the cap. “Is there such a thing as a woman who doesn’t want to take over everything?”
“I hear ya, man,” I said. “Never found one yet that I’d be comfortable with.”
He looked up at me and smirked. “That’s not saying much.” Then he grinned and his grin quickly turned into a laugh.
I joined him in laughter. Although we had never discussed my sexual orientation, it was a fact that had apparently been established. Come to think of it, we never really talked about much of anything as far as relationships go-- either ours or relationships with anyone else. I hadn’t yet actually found out why he had befriended me-- why he liked me so much. But it was kind of cool to not have to know. I think guys (straight ones, anyway) just don’t talk about this kind of stuff very much. And the fact that Cam didn’t talk with me about it, made it-- well, it was just cool that he thought of me as just a regular guy who didn’t need an explanation. We just were friends. We just were.
Cam never pressed me about the fact that I got off on him, and I never brought it up either. Actions speak louder than words, I guess. As Cam and I laughed, it felt so cool to just be able to be myself in front of him, and to be totally accepted-- just as I am!
His laugh calmed down and turned to a scowl. “She wants to plan out every night of the week for me now. Shit. She spends five nights in my bed and she thinks she is my own personal social director now.”
“Like what does she do? What does she plan out?” I asked.
“Everything. She wants to go out to the bars one night, then she says we have to go to a party at her girlfriend’s house, then the next night she plans a movie... She can’t be spontaneous! I hate planning out everything. Sure, it’s okay for some things, but every night?”
“So, just tell her ‘no.’”
“I do,” he said. “Then it’s a huge fight. I tell her to stop running my life, and she gets all upset that I ‘never want to spend time with her.’ It’s unbelievable. Then she starts on this kick where she keeps asking me the same question over and over. Even if I tell her I don’t know, she keeps asking. Finally I just have to get away from her. So here I am.”
“She’s at your place?” I asked.
“She was when I left. She tried to call me while I was driving over here, but I didn’t answer. Then she sent me about 20 text messages. I ignored them. One of them said she was going home, so I suppose that’s where she is now,” Cameron said.
“Shit, dude,” I said. “That’s the shits.”
“Yeah. It’ll blow off. But fuck, if women weren’t such a turn-on, who needs ‘em.”
“You’ll get no argument from me, man,” I said with a wry smile.
“You’re no help. Why I came here, I’ll never know,” he said. He didn’t need to smile at his comment. We both knew he accepted me and liked me. There’s something so powerful as when a friendship gets to the point where no explanation-- or apology-- is necessary; when the basis of interaction is total acceptance.
“So, you going to spend the night here?” I prodded.
“You wish, man,” he smiled.
“Can’t blame me for trying.”
That was another thing about our relationship that had been well-established, without actually verbally spelling it out: If there was to be any physical contact (the kind that got me off) or any kind of muscle display, Cam was the one who would initiate it. I never got anywhere when I tried to get him to do anything.
He sat up, rubbing his head through his baseball cap. “Naw, she’s gone home now. I can go home and be the king of my castle again.”
“Well, no sense going home on an empty stomach,” I said. “How ‘bout I throw some steaks on the barbecue. Got some beers in the fridge.”
“That sounds good,” he said, standing up and heading for the refrigerator.
We ate inside; it was just too hot to stay out on the patio. Cameron and I talked into the night. When we were out of beers, I started making margaritas. Cam kept lamenting about Maya, about how hot she was, about how good she was in bed, and about how angry she made him.
I kept making him more margaritas.
And he kept talking. Geez, for a guy who isn’t big on words, he sure was emptying them at quite a fast rate.
I had no idea how much booze it would take to get a huge guy like Cam totally soused, but I realized that he was getting to that point. Man, he had it bad for Maya.
More drinks for the huge hunk.
I diluted mine quite a bit.
I suppose I should have been more wary of my feelings, and intentions, at this point, but the more I was with Cam, and the more I saw his huge muscular body, the more I wanted to enjoy him. What I was fantasizing about doing was risky. Really, it was stupid, because I was risking our friendship. As I said before, I had come to understand the number one rule in our relationship: Only Cameron gets to initiate any kind of intimate, personal physical contact.
I was about to violate that rule. His drunken state seemed to beg me to at least try.
By midnight, Cam had nearly collapsed on my couch. He insisted that he be allowed to drive home, but I managed to grab his keys from him and hide them. He was actually pretty understanding, and I think he understood that he wasn’t able to drive. So, I took his shoes off him and gave him a soft pillow for his head. His huge frame overflowed my large couch, but as he lay there with his eyes closed, he did look comfortable and content. I turned the lights down enough to get him more comfortable, but not so much that I couldn’t see what I needed to see.
I decided to establish a little physical contact, on a platonic level, just to set the stage for more. moved to the end of the couch and put my hands on his shoulders. “Dude, you’re so tight,” I said softly. “Just relax, and let me see if I can’t get these muscles to relax too.” I gently massaged his traps and delts. Shit, they were so hard! Cam didn’t seem to mind the attention; a soft smile came over his mouth. I continued massaging.
Cam’s contented expression suddenly changed to frustration and anger. “She’s a bitch!” he said to no one in particular. “Damn, bitch. What good is she...” He squirmed on the couch a little, but I continued to massage.
“It’s okay, man,” I comforted. “She’s not here. We don’t need her anyway. It’s just you and your best friend, man. Just relax.”
He smiled again, his eyes still shut. “Yeah. You’re my best friend. Who needs women...”
He was really drunk.
My hands trembled as they ran over and over his broad shoulders. The T-shirt he wore hugged him tight, as usual, and I was so nervous about touching him, and about how I was planning on touching him that I couldn’t keep from trembling. I guess there’s something about doing a subversive act that makes it even more titillating. I squeezed hard in order to reduce the trembling.
Cam settled down even more, and soon his breathing had slowed down into a pattern that could only come with a deep, deep sleep.
I moved my hands down onto his chest-- slowly. He didn’t move. Slow, steady breathing. He was out cold.
My hands moved slower, onto his pecs, brushing over his nipples. Oh shit, this is hot. I scooted my body around to the front of the couch, and kneeled beside Cam. I was next to his chest-- his head to my left, and his feet down to my right. He was too big for the couch, that’s for sure. His left foot hung out over the end of the couch’s arm, and his right foot rested on the floor, which was actually quite fortuitous because it made him kind of splay his legs apart, exposing his crotch rather conveniently. He kept breathing slowly, and I continued my tactile invasion of his privacy. Down, onto his rock-hard abs my hands wandered. Then back up to his chest. Then down again.
Cam rustled a bit. He turned his head from side to side and said, “Yeah, you bitch-- you always want to feel me out, don’t you.”
Finally I found the nerve to say, “It’s not Maya, man. It’s me, Matt. She’s gone now. It’s just us guys.”
Cam, his eyes closed the whole time, smiled and said, “Yeah, just us guys. I like you, Matt. You’re not a bitch. You’re a dude. How come you’re always so nice to me?” I could tell it was a rhetorical question, because as soon as the words were out of his mouth, his face totally relaxed and he dove into a deeper sleep again.
I relaxed and allowed my hand to continue its erotic exploration of Cam’s mammoth muscles.
After about fifteen minutes of gentle, soft caresses of Cam’s torso, I finally moved my hand down onto his hip. I felt out his quad, moving inside and outside his huge leg. Then, I reached out and moved back up to his torso, on the far side. Slow, soft, gentle touching. Cam seemed to enjoy it. Whenever he formed an expression on his face, it was a pleasant one now. After another few minutes, he stopped moving totally. He just lay there and breathed slowly. He wasn’t going to be waking up for quite awhile.
Confident that I was safe, I brushed my hand down over his crotch. He wore khaki shorts, and the fabric was soft. I cupped my hand on his genitals and squeezed lightly. Shit, my hand barely was able to cover the real estate that his bulge produced.
Cam didn’t move.
I took my hand off and moved back down to his leg. I came all the way down his thigh, to the end of his shorts, and then started upward underneath the pant leg. Even unflexed with Cam unconscious, his quad muscles were enormous, hard and rippling with striations. Fuuuuuck.
My cock was totally stiff under my shorts, and I knew I was very wet with precum. But I didn’t mind soiling myself with clear honey-- it was unavoidable, I was totally helpless to stop it, just as I was helpless to stop the course of my hand, and my plan.
My heart raced. I felt my face flush with heat. The prospect of exploring and taking advantage of Cam in this way was intoxicating.
I pushed my hand up the inside of his shorts leg-- holy mother of gawd! His muscles were unbelievably hard and warm and massive! I moved all the way to his crotch. He was wearing briefs. I fingered the ribbed edge of them, right next to his ball sack. God, this was so hot! I left my hand there, on the very warm skin of his upper quad, and just rested it there. Occasionally I wriggled the tip of my finger against his briefs. I could feel my cock throbbing with each of my heartbeats.
Cam was almost snoring; though not really-- but it was a heavy, deep-sleep rhythm of breathing.
I nudged the tip of my index finger under the elastic leg band of his briefs. My other fingers moved on top of the fabric. A little farther. My finger met the trimmed edge of Cameron’s pubes. I thought I was going to ejaculate right there.
“Not yet, little buddy,” I found myself telling myself. “Show some control.”
I kept my hand right there, and explored his pubes oh so softly. I soon realized that I needed more, and that this angle-- up the pant leg of his shorts-- wasn’t going to allow much more. So, I pulled my hand out of his short leg, very slowly.
I realized that I hadn’t been breathing and involuntarily inhaled a deep breath. Cam did the same. My hand moved back onto the surface of Cam’s khaki’s and over to his button and zipper. The button came fast enough, but the zipper needed two hands. Keeping my eyes on Cam’s face, I undid the zipper slowly, silently.
I was afraid I was going to have a heart attack.
Sure, Cam had jerked me off a few times, now. And yeah, I had been privileged to be able to touch a few of his muscles. But he’d never let me get close to his cock. That had been off limits, so far anyway. What I was doing here, was clearly against the rules.
I pried open his shorts, revealing tighty-wighties that were stretched over a bratwurst that was so large that it looked obscene. It was limp. And yet, even in this state, his member was easily bigger than any boner I had ever seen. I rested my hand on the fabric and squeezed the warm penis that lay beneath the cotton.
My own cock began to twitch, and involuntarily I pressed it against the front of the couch as I kneeled there. But amazingly, I found the “self control” to pull back and hold off.
Another squeeze, and then I relaxed my grip and gently moved my palm and fingers over and back the mountain of manliness. His genitals were enormous, and yet perfectly shaped. It was a thick, stout penis. I ran my fingertip up and down it. It was still limp and it curved under his briefs. My touch hadn’t registered with him, and he wasn’t getting excited at all.
I marveled at its warmth, its firmness, its girth.
Cam sighed again, and I froze, looking up at his face.
Nothing. He turned his head and relaxed again.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I had come this far, and there was no turning back now. I slid my hand up to the elastic waist band and slipped my fingertips under it.
Heaven. I felt like I was exploring Heaven itself.
My hand moved inside and ventured through the simple, trimmed forest of his pubes where it met the cylinder. Involuntarily, my fingers spread out and rose up, pushing the cotton away so I could move onto my target.
Pure. Unadulterated. Manliness.
I swear I could hear a chorus sing Handel’s “Alleluia Chorus” at that very moment. It was as if the epic moment of my life had been realized.
My hand caressed it. Gently squeezed it. Lightly massaged it. I felt its smoothness, its powerful mass, its length, the freakishly defined rim that ran around his apple-sized head. Oh, the head! I explored every millimeter of it, from that thick rim to the piss slit. Then I got to know the ridge of his shaft. I could feel tight, taut veins pulse all over it. It felt like a relief map of highways and super highways.
Another gentle squeeze.
Is it just me, or is this thing getting bigger?
I continued to touch it. God, it was so warm. I moved down onto his lemon-sized nuts and wrapped my fingers around them with a luxurious squeeze. Holy shit. My whole body stiffened as my hand tightened on him. Holy fuckin’ shit. Oh, it felt like nothing you could ever imagine.
Yeah, that thing is getting bigger.
He was starting to get more firm, and longer. I looked up at his face; nothing. He was out like a rock.
Must be involuntary. He’s probably dreaming of Maya right now.
And with that thought in my mind, I watched and felt as his cock began to swell to unearthly proportions. Within a few minutes, thanks to more of my tactile coaxing, he had a full erection; the end of his penis extended quite a few inches above his waistband, and precum started to moisten his T-shirt, well above his belly button.
Oh shit, that’s going to leave a mark, I thought.
Gawd, that thing must have been the biggest rod on the planet! His ridge was so pronounced-- it looked like one of those licorice ropes laying on top of a foot-long beer can or something. I gently pulled his briefs down and slung them under his balls. Then I commenced with a slow, gentle open-hand exploration (again) of his cock and balls.
Slowly, Matt. Take your time. Self control.
My whole body trembled. I literally had to lift my hand off it at one point, and move away from the couch because of my trembling. My heart raced, my face burned. My hand, however, yearned to return and so I let it. I patted it. I petted it. I caressed it more, and squeezed it softly, enjoying its hard warmth. More precum dribbled out his slit and onto his T-shirt. By now, his abs were becoming quite defined through the cotton fabric of his shirt as the dark wet spot grew to encompass much of his twin rows of mountain rock. I didn’t know what I was going to tell him about how he got all wet there, but then, I didn’t care about that. All I cared about was now, and enjoying this moment.
I put my left hand on his sweet, huge, thick pec and felt it. All of it.
Meanwhile, back on my right hand, I wrapped my thumb (thank god for those opposable thumbs!) and forefinger around the base of the shaft. Wasn’t able to close them together. I pushed down, toward his balls. It stiffened, involuntarily flexing and oozing out a large dribble of precum; the head rose into the air and I held the base of his cock hard. He pushed back against me. I looked at his face, and he seemed to tighten his forehead, working the resistance. I held tight. More clear juice flowed out of his slit in a spider web-like string, down onto his shirt. He kept pushing at my hand, rotating his hips.
I relaxed my hand, gently letting his penis move back down to his torso. His facial expression seemed frustrated.
I looked at it. I took in the whole scene-- me, here, holding this thing, stimulating my muscle hero. My cock was so close. So close!
I didn’t want to hold off anymore.
With my left hand still on Cameron’s massive chest and my right hand resting on his erection, I pushed my torso forward, just once, so my cock squeezed itself between the couch and my body.
That’s all it took.
My right hand gripped his cock firmly, as did my left hand with his chest. Cum burst into my shorts, filling them. I jerked harder and harder with each blast. I pulled Cam’s penis back, up into the air. I closed my eyes, holding onto it hard at its base. I moaned.
Shit, man. Be quiet!
I climaxed. And I climaxed. Into my briefs.
I pulled harder on Cam’s cock.
And then, without warning...
He started to come.
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