My Friend Showed Me How Big It Gets 08: Final Measurement (Patreon)

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Chapter 8: Final Measurement

He got up over me on his knees between my legs and put two greasy fingers down there and started pressing in. Flat on his bare mattress, in the morning with his parents downstairs, his fingers inside me.

"Go slow," I said.

"That's the idea," he said. "Anything's possible if you go slow enough."

I looked down at his hard, large cock.

"I don't know how possible that thing is for my ass, dude."

He smiled as he continued toying with my hole.

But he was right, annoyingly. He did one finger for a long time, working circles into me, basically the same circles he learned from me doing them to him, and it burned, and then it didn't. When he put the second one in I grabbed at his forearm the same way he'd grabbed mine, and he stopped dead and waited, and then he kept going. My legs kept trying to close around him and he leaned his shoulder against my knee and held me open.

"You ready for me?"

"I don't know."

"Okay." He kept going.

A minute later I said, "Do it."

He greased himself up, the whole absurdly heavy piece of meat shining in his fist, red and wet, intimidating me. He got my ankles up onto his shoulders and folded me back as he leaned his broad, dense body onto me, lining himself up, and put the head against my hole as he pushed forward with his hips.

I said his name into my own arm. It hurt, and I told him it hurt, and he stopped and stayed exactly where he was and put his forehead down against my shin and waited, not moving one millimeter, until I pushed my hips up at him.

Then he dropped down over me onto his hands, and his face was six inches over mine, and he started moving.

The first minute was me holding on to his shoulders and breathing through my teeth. My fingers dug into the muscle on either side of his torso, my eyes fixed on him, his adorably masculine concentration face, the same one I recognized from Bio class.

I felt pressure, and a dull ache, and the feeling of being way too full, and I kept thinking,people do this all the time, he did this. He kept his strokes short and slow and watched me take them, and I could hear his parents' pans clanking in the kitchen under us, which was just a surreal addition to this experience.

Then it changed. One slow stroke dragged over a spot inside me and my whole stomach jumped, and the ache did a flip inside me, and I suddenly wanted it deeper, and I understood every noise he had made into the pillow the night before. I had been so smug about eliciting those noises out of him, and I got it now. A moan came up out of me from under my ribs, way too loud, and his hand clamped over my mouth while he laughed down at me, his shoulders shaking, without slowing his hips even a little. I moaned again into his palm as he grinned above me.

"You feel so good," he said quietly into his hand over my face.

My ankles slipped off his shoulders one at a time as he settled lower onto me, his abs squishing my balls as his chest came down closer to mine. I hooked my feet behind his lower back, crossed over the base of his spine, and pulled him in with my heels. He sank deeper and exhaled hard through his nose, and I kept pulling every time he pushed, setting his rhythm from underneath him with my legs.

He started to give me everything he had. The frame started knocking against the wall and we stopped paying attention to the sounds we were making. His stomach dragged over my dick on every other thrust, a sweaty layer forming between us, and he had one forearm planted next to my head and his wavy hair hanging down into my eyes, and he watched my face the entire time, not looking away.

"Look at you," he said. "You're... perfect."

I exhaled hard and finished without either of us grabbing my dick. It went up my own stomach and chest in three long pulses while my heels dug into his lower back.

He pulled out and got up on his knees over me and grabbed himself, squirting a second later as he squeezed the head of it tightly, getting streaks of his fluid across my chest into what was already there, a heavy volume of boy juice, slightly whiter than mine, his abs seizing and his mouth open.

And then he started laughing. Mid-squirt, still pumping himself, cracking up and giggling down at me from above with his shoulders shaking and his hand still rubbing himself slowly, and I lay there under it and laughed with him.

"You always do that," I said.

"I know."

"I love that about you."

He looked at me for a second with his hand still on himself and cum all down my front.

"That's a weird favorite thing," he said.

"I stand by it."

He got a clean T-shirt out of his drawer and wiped my chest with it, and then his own stomach, and then threw it toward the closet where the sheet was. He walked bare-assed across the room to the junk drawer under his desk and dug through it, and came back with a yellow tape measure, the metal contractor kind.

"We still never measured," he said.

"We don't really have to," I said.

"I'm curious."

"You could've measured yourself anytime."

"I want you to help."

He handed me the tab end. He was already coming back up toward hardness after just getting off, and by the time I had the tab pressed flat at the base of him, right against his pubic bone, he was all the way there again and I had to hold the tape steady against him with my thumb.

I read it out loud, "Jesus it's over nine inches."

He just nodded with a slightly cocky smile. Then he pulled it out of my hands and did me, pressing the tab into my skin as he stroked me mechanically, and he read mine out loud, "six... and change."

I already knew there was a difference, but that felt wild to see the numbers. He basically had a dick and a half swinging between his legs, and adding in the thickness, it was probably three of my dicks.

"Told you," he said.

I just shook my head and slapped him on the ass.

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He wanted to shower with me, and I didn't hate the idea, except for doing it with his parents nearby. But their bathroom was on the other side of the house, so we ran down the hall naked and got into his shower together, the two of us crammed under one shower head as the mirror fogged over. He squirted his shampoo into my hair before I could ask, and scrubbed my scalp firmly with his fingertips, and I stood there with my eyes closed and my hands on his waist and let him.

Then it was my turn. I soaped his back, his shoulders, down each big arm, and I got the washcloth up under his balls just before I snuck a finger up his ass, making him flinch. He rolled his eyes at me.

"You don't have to be so thorough."

"Hygiene," I said as I continued to clean the rest of him, carefully.

I had never been this close with a friend before, and obviously I had never hooked up with a guy. I never had a brother either, and standing there soaping him down while he stood still for it, I got the strange sense that this was what brothers must feel like, except with sexy feelings attached to it. Weird thoughts. One tall jock who was hung like a horse, and me.

He stepped past me under the water to rinse and tipped his head back and closed his eyes, running both hands slowly through his hair to work the shampoo out, water sheeting down his chest, his throat exposed. I looked at him doing that. And I felt a rush go up my chest that I did not have any control over, because I suddenly could not picture my life without him in it.

I looked down at the drain and squeezed the washcloth out.

Too mushy. Too real, I thought to myself. I handed him the soap.

After we dried off and snuck back into his room, I put yesterday's shirt back on and Finn looked at it for a second, pulled a clean one off the folded stack in his closet, and handed it to me without saying anything.

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His dad was at the kitchen table reading the news in large print on his ipad, which he lowered enough to say my name and raise it again. His mom was at the stove with her political podcast playing and she put a plate of eggs down in front of me before I sat.

"You boys were up early," she said.

"Sorry for the noise," Finn said, making my stomach turn upside down, wondering if she would know.

"No bother," she said without looking.

We sat next to each other on the same side of the table with our knees touching underneath it, and they stayed touching through the entire meal, through his mom asking how AP Bio was going and me saying it was fine, through her asking whether we'd started the lab writeup and Finn saying we had, which was a lie, through his dad putting the paper down to ask if I was staying for the game later.

At one point she looked at the shirt I had on, which was blue and clean and had a frisbee tournament logo on it, and then she looked at her son, and then she asked me if I wanted more toast.

"Yes please," I said.

Finn's foot pushed against mine under the table.

After, the two of us stood at the sink doing the dishes, him washing and me drying, because his mom asked and he did it without one word of complaint. He bumped my hip with his hip every time he handed me a plate, every single time, and his parents were four feet away.

"I can drive you home, honey," his mom said, drying her hands.

"I'll walk him," Finn said.

She didn't ask why. She said okay and told me to come back for dinner sometime, they were doing an Italian thing again.

····[]····

It was cold enough out that we both had our hands in our sleeves, and we walked the whole nine blocks talking about the lab writeup and whether the data was good enough. At the corner by my street he stopped and turned toward me and tapped the back of his knuckles against my chest, twice, the same as the front door, the same as the hot tub.

"Same time tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I said. And then, because I was never going to get a better window than that one: "So what are we."

He put his hands in his pockets and thought about it for a second, longer than I'd expect, which is how he thinks about everything.

"You're my favorite person," he said. "Same thing you said."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the same answer you gave me."

He was right, and I stood there on the corner with my hands in my sleeves and found that I didn't need a different answer than that.

He started walking backward up the block, still talking.

"Bring the calc book, by the way, we need the graph from the back. And don't let me forget the pigment thing, my dad's gonna want the table done before the game."

"Watch where you're going."

He turned around and put a hand up over his shoulder without looking back.

Finn: You still have my calc book

Me: Bring it tomorrow

Finn: That's what you said last time

Me: Different circumstances

Finn: Also the writeup is due Thursday

Me: I know

Finn: Also I already miss you