My Friend Showed Me How Big It Gets 02: Vibrating Massager (Patreon)

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Chapter 2: Vibrating Massager

I thought about nothing but Finn's oversized cock for the next day. His parents were still visiting his sister up at State, and we walked to his house after school and went straight to the den.

I sat in the big recliner as he dropped onto the old, worn couch. It looked bigger when it wasn't covered with all the dudes' bodies from movie night. The middle cushion sank about two inches lower than the ends, in front of a TV that was probably too big for the room, but I liked the way it looked on the wall.

I looked at the side table that separated our seating positions. It was covered in random sundries and junk. There were a couple remotes, a stack of coasters, a hair tie, a plastic thing with a handle on it that had been sitting there since I started coming over and that I hadn't looked at directly before tonight. I couldn't really tell what it was, some strangely shaped toy.

I had been thinking about his dick basically constantly since he showed it to me the day before. Not in a way I would have said out loud. But I'd seen it soft and I'd seen it hard and I had the whole progression now in my head, and the rhythmic way he stroked it to its full, mesmerizing size. And on top of that he was the same guy who said he took it slow with girls, who I'd never heard tell a single hookup story, not even like, a fake one. He'd whipped it out in my face in the middle of a conversation, just upon a suggestion. And then he'd told Danny he doesn't whip it out for just anybody.

I think I subconsciously just wanted to sit closer to him, and I slipped off the chair onto the couch opposite him. We put on some show about people renovating a lake house and neither of us watched it really. Finn kicked his shoes off and turned sideways, and his legs came up over my end of the couch, one shin across my thighs and his heel hooked over the far cushion. It was like when he put his arm on the back of the couch behind my head, with four other dudes in the room, except it was just us.

His basketball shorts had ridden up on the leg that was across me. There was a farmer's tan on his thigh that stopped in a hard line partway down, dark above it from being outside a lot, pale below.

"You ever notice the guy on this show never wears a shirt," I said.

"He wears a shirt sometimes."

"Look how he takes it off randomly, one shot to the next he's just guns out again. Like especially in the demo parts."

"Probably 'cause of the dust."

"That's not why."

"They're all in a network agreement to take their shirts off," Finn said. "It's in the contract, you need ladies to watch these shows too."

I said something back and he said something back until we ran out of steam. The lake house people kept talking about load-bearing walls and neither of us said anything for a while, which had become normal for us.

I looked away from his leg and then I looked back at it.

I don't know how we got onto it, except that it was the same territory as the pushups conversation in his room.

"When was your first time," he said. "Jerking off, I mean."

"Twelve."

"Same. Thirteen maybe." He had his hands laced behind his head. "I didn't know what was happening the first time. I thought I discovered the coolest thing in the world that I needed to tell all my friends about."

"Everybody thinks that."

"I looked it up after. On the family computer." He huffed. "That's probably still in a search history somewhere."

"Your FBI agent knows," I said with a laugh.

"So how often now," he said.

"Few times a week." It was the same lie I'd used in his room, and I stuck with it.

"I've been more like every day lately." He flexed his foot against the far cushion. "I do it dry, mostly."

"Dry? That's insane."

"What do you use."

"Lotion, like a normal person." I hesitated. "Or spit, or conditioner in the shower. Or..."

"Lotion's for guys with no calluses," he said, implying that I had soft, non-working-man hands. I rolled my eyes, enjoying the ribbing.

"What do you watch," I said.

"Depends." He shrugged with his shoulders against the armrest. "Nothing crazy. Sometimes nothing, just thinking about stuff. Or instagram for random thirst traps."

I kept my words plain.

"Porn," I said, "Normal stuff, whatever comes up."

But the actual answer had gotten complicated in the last twenty-four hours, and in the three times I'd pleasured myself in that interval, each time had involved a lot of imagining Finn holding his big dick in front of my face.

"My friends back home used to jerk it together sometimes," he said. "Sleepovers, somebody's basement. One of them would put porn on the TV and it'd turn into a rowdy group sesh."

"Did you ever?"

"Honestly, not really," He said. "I'd grab food from upstairs and wait until it was over. It was more of a Danny type of crowd, honestly."

"Pussy," I said, a shit-eating grin forming on my face as I looked at him.

He rolled his eyes, smiling.

"I would've," he said. "Just wasn't my cup of tea."

"Would you ever?"

"Probably."

"I would."

He lifted his head off the armrest and raised an eyebrow at me. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, it seems fun to me." I said it with a shrug and kept my eyes on the lake house people. "I've never had friends that wanted to do that though."

"Huh," he said, and let his head drop back.

Then he shifted his hips to get comfortable and I looked down at his shorts, and there was a full outline running up under the fabric toward his hip, and at the exact second I saw it he pushed himself up on an elbow and looked at my lap.

"Dude."

"Dude, look at yourself."

"I'm not the one with a tent in his sweatpants."

"You have a whole CIRCUS tent of cock right there," I said. "There's an elephant trunk and everything."

He chuckled, looking down. "Guess we talked about jerking off enough then."

He pointed at my sweats and I pointed at his shorts and neither of us covered up. I didn't put a pillow on my lap and he didn't roll onto his stomach. We sat there in the blue TV light arguing about which one of us had caused the mutual boner situation.

There was a magazine on the floor by the couch, some fishing catalog his dad got. I rolled it into a tube.

"Don't," he said.

I jabbed him in his bulge with it, and he didn't even try to move his hips out of the way. He barked out a laugh and swatted at the magazine and I got him again, right on the crest of his oversized manhood, and his whole leg came up off my thighs.

"You're gonna break it," he said.

"It's a magazine."

"You're gonna break it."

He twisted around and grabbed for the side table without looking, sweeping his hand across it, groping randomly for an object to return my attack, and he came up with the long plastic thing. He swung it down at my crotch and it connected right on my dick through the sweats, and his thumb hit a switch on the handle on the way down.

The thing shuddered to life in his hand with a low, buzzing whine.

We both stopped. He held it up between us like it had bitten him.

"What the hell is that."

"It's my mom's," Finn said. "I think it's a back massager."

"Turn it off."

"I'm gonna."

He didn't turn it off.

He looked at it and he looked at me, and he pressed the head of it down onto my dick through the sweatpants, grinning, waiting for me to jump and shove him off, which is exactly what the bit would have called for, except I was frozen in place.

I laughed for about half a second, and then the laugh cut off in the middle of my breath. My hand went down and grabbed the edge of the cushion by my hip and squeezed it as I stared down at the thing touching my dick. It was vibrating roughly, giving me a strange sensation of sexual thrill as he held it firmly against me. The buzz went straight through the fabric and up the underside of my dick, all along the shaft, and my hips came up off the couch about an inch on their own.

Finn's grin held.

"Oh my god," I said. "That actually feels good."

He kept it there. Not for the half second the prank needed. He pressed it harder and moved it up toward the head and my mouth fell open. My thighs pulled together around the handle.

"Yeah?" he said.

"Yeah."

"I wanna try it," he said.

He took it off me and put it on himself through the shorts, and his abs pulled in tight and he went, "Oh, fuck," in this high voice, and then we both laughed at his voice.

I had known him about six weeks by then and I had heard him be quiet plenty of times, but this was different. He had his bottom lip pulled in under his teeth and his eyes on his own lap, and his breathing turned shallow, and he didn't say one word for probably a minute. He rolled the massager head along the outline of himself through the fabric, up to where the head made a bulge near his hip, then back down.

Then he leaned over and put it on me again, as if to say, okay, back to you.

I got up onto the middle cushion, right next to him, so he didn't have to reach. Our bodies were touching from shoulder to thigh. He worked it on me for ten or fifteen seconds, moving it up and down my rock hard dick-print as it throbbed against my sweats. He looked up at my face intermittently as he did it, straight on, no embarrassment about staring at me, the same face he made reading a gel under the light in fourth period.

Then he took it back to himself, as I watched a pre-cum stain appear at the head of his dick.

Soon he was back on me again. I tried to stay quiet as I gripped the couch with both hands, clamping my jaw shut, and I lost the fight anyway, letting out a short grunt through my nose.

"You're gonna cum," he said, declaratively, with a hint of a smile on his focused face.

"That one did something," I agreed.

There was a dark patch spreading on the front of my sweats where the head of me was, and I saw him look right at it.

"You're leaking," he said.

"Yeah."

"It'd work better with less in the way." He said it to my lap, not to me, not looking up. "The fabric's eating most of it."

"Probably."

"So."

I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and pushed my sweats and my underwear down to my thighs, lifting my shirt up as my dick came up flat against my stomach and then immediately smacked back down against my leg. It was the first time he'd seen mine. He didn't say anything about the size, which was dwarfed by his monster dong, and I appreciated that more than I could have explained.

He put the plastic straight onto the underside of my shaft, no cotton in between, and I said "oh" out loud like an idiot, and my whole stomach hollowed out and my legs straightened all the way out on the floor.

"Too much?"

"No."

"Okay."

He rode it up to the head and my hips chased it as several strings of pre-cum formed a small web of pleasure on my body.

Then he pushed his shorts and briefs down over his thighs with his free hand and pulled himself out, all of that monster meat out in the fresh air again, and there it was for the second time in a week, hard already, pointing up along his stomach, a thick blue vein along the top and the head shining. A real man's dick, and it was something worth looking at. Sitting on the couch made it look even bigger somehow, resting up on his abs with his shorts stretched under it.

I could feel the heat off his thigh against mine, and I could smell his musky balls again.

"Bro," I said.

"I know."

"That's not a normal amount of cock."

There was a pause.

"We should do it at the same time," he said.

He grabbed my hips with one hand, and pulled me over to him with his strong arm, making me feel small, but also taken care of in a strange way. He leaned forward off the cushion to do it, turning my whole lower body until our hips lined up facing each other.

Our faces came close together, close enough that I felt his breath on my cheek when he exhaled. Both of us had our legs pointed straight out on the floor, tightening up like a boy's legs do when approaching sexual excitement, our upper bodies turned in toward each other, both of us staring down at the same spot.

Then he shoved us together, holding our dicks tightly, and closed his hand around the two of us at once, and his fingers didn't come close to meeting. Both our dicks were wet and leaky, and mine basically got tucked in under his, feeling the warmth of his body radiating into mine immediately. His ran longer past my head by a lot, and it was thicker in the middle by more than I wanted to admit while I was looking directly at it.

That comparison number I had been keeping since middle school stopped updating right there, shattering into a thousand pieces in my head.

He put the massager onto the two of us at once, near the heads of our dicks, while the sensitive undersides vibrated forcefully against each other. I had never felt so intimate and so pleasurable in my life.

My vision actually blurred for a second. His grip tightened and he began to run his hand slowly up and down our shafts, keeping a vice grip on our meats, his strength holding us right in the hot spot of pleasure. I could feel his pulse through the side of my shaft, or mine through his, and the buzz ran through both of us at the same time so I couldn't tell what was happening to him and what was happening to me.

"Okay," Finn said. I felt his breath on my lips when he said it.

"Yeah."

He worked his fist up and down a little more, an inch or two, holding us together, and kept the massager pressed right where our heads touched. He had the whole operation in his hands, both of us, the stroke, the speed, and I just sat there against him and breathed.

I felt the throbs from his cock, all the way to the base, and they suddenly sped up into rapid bursts. I didn't even realize what was happening until a wet warmth landed across my stomach and shirt, his hand clamping down and his abs seizing as a strangled, high-pitched noise came out, boyish and embarrassing. He squirted more ropes across my stomach and over my hand and down onto his own knuckles in long pulses, way more than I thought a guy could produce, his hip lifting off the cushion each time.

Then he started laughing. Mid-orgasm. Still pumping and cracking up at the same time, and I lost it too, both of us wheezing while it was still coming out of him. It was just kind of funny to see another guy cum.

"Sorry," he got out. "Sorry. Sorry."

"You got me... my shirt."

"I know. Sorry."

But he never took the massager or his hand off me, even as he let his dick fall down onto his thigh, cum dripping off of both of us onto the couch below. Through the whole thing, through his shaking, through him laughing so hard he had to put his head back against the couch, he kept it right on me and kept his fist around the base of both of our dicks, and he kept working it in that short stroke, oversensitive and twitching in his own hand, and about twenty seconds later I finished into his fingers and up onto the arm of the couch as my leg vibrated and my heel drummed on the carpet, and he held it there through all of it until I grabbed his wrist and pulled it off me.

"Ok, I'm done," I said with an exhale.

He clicked the switch. The buzzing stopped and the room got loud with the lake house people again.

He quickly wiped our jizz off the massager, and set it back on the side table exactly where it had been, next to the hair tie. We both stopped to breathe for a second, before he stood up, his bare ass briefly in my face as he turned toward the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a fistful of paper towels and handed me half of them.

"She uses that on her shoulders," he said.

"Don't."

"Her neck and her shoulders."

"I'm never looking at it the same again."

We cleaned ourselves up in stages, no real hurry to any of it. I scrubbed at my shirt with the paper towels until it was obvious the shirt was a lost cause, and Finn pulled his shorts back up and dropped onto the couch in the same sideways sprawl as before. When I sat back down on the middle cushion his legs came up over my lap again, shin across my thighs, heel hooked over the armrest. I rested my hand on his ankle because there was nowhere else to put it, and he didn't move it off.

The lake house people were picking out countertops now. We watched them do that for a while.

"Can I ask you something," I said. "How far have you actually gone? With girls."

He thought about it for longer than I would have expected.

"Made out a lot. Some stuff over clothes, once under." He scratched his chest. "That's about it."

"That's it? Dude. Girls throw themselves at you."

"I don't like pushing it," he said. "Even when a girl's really into it, I'd rather move slower than she wants than faster. It's always been like that with me. I don't know why."

"Even when they're horny for you."

"Especially then." He kept his eyes on the TV when he said it. "It feels wrong to rush somebody. Even if she's the one rushing."

I was confused, and I just picked at the seam on his sock with my fingers. It was my turn and we both knew it.

"I've done nothing," I said. "Like, nothing nothing. Never had a girlfriend, never hooked up. I've never even kissed anybody. Not with tongue anyway. I'm basically a kissless virgin, man."

Finn turned his head and looked at the side table. At the massager, sitting there next to the hair tie, back in its spot.

Then he looked at me.

"Not anymore," he said.

The laugh came out of me so hard it hurt my stomach. He was cracking up too, his legs bouncing on my thighs with it, and I shoved his shin and he pushed his heel harder into the armrest and kept his legs right where they were. Every time we almost stopped, one of us pictured it again and we started over.

When it finally burned out we sat there breathing, watching the show.

"You know what I like about you," I said. "You're so cool and casual about everything. Everything's just fine with you. You're my favorite person, man."

He smiled at that, a real one.

"Same to you," he said.

That was the whole exchange. We stayed on the couch through the end of that episode and most of another one, his legs across me, my hand back on his ankle, his arm coming up along the back of the couch behind my head at some point without either of us commenting on it. The lake house got a new dock. The shirtless guy stayed shirtless.

Somewhere in the middle of the second episode I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Just once, quick, my lips on the stubble at his jaw, and then I pulled back and looked at him to see what I had done.

He just smiled.

····[]····

When I finally had to go, I walked home with my shirt covered in jizz stains, feeling weirdly thrilled, relaxed. I kept thinking about when he didn't stop the massager on me after he was already done. He was shaking and laughing and he kept it on me until I finished too.

He's a good friend. He made sure I finished.

Finn: You left your calc book here

Me: Bring it tomorrow

Finn: Also we still never measured

Me: We don't really have to