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Humping My Hung Buddy

Chapter 3: Boy Lesson

The water had clouded up by then, coconut foam mostly dead, jets still hammering away. Jimmy stayed slumped at his end with his forehead down on his forearm on the rim, and I sat sideways at mine, dripping.

"So how many fingers," he mumbled into his arm.

"What?"

"The finger thing. In your ass. How many."

"One's plenty," I said. "Two, maybe."

He turned his head enough to get one eye on me. "How deep does it have to be."

"Not far. Like, one knuckle and then you wiggle it around."

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Do you have to be clean first?"

"If you shower it's fine. I mean, for me it has been."

He rolled his shoulder and made a face at me, like he was thinking hard, but exhausted, from the heat and the intense orgasm.

"Well I've actually tried it before, but it was stupid and did nothing," he muttered. "But your fingers felt good."

I laughed at him so hard I inhaled water and started choking.

"I'm serious," he said, his eyes wide and both arms rising out of the water, palms up like he was pleading his case. "It's a me problem I guess."

"Yeah. It's a you problem."

"Somebody who knows the angle should just show me," he said, fast, still half implying that it was a joke.

The jets turned off suddenly, and the water quickly got still. We were both turned toward each other by then, naked, no bubbles to hide behind.

"I'll show you," I said.

"Like a lesson."

"Like a lesson."

"Okay," he said. "No homo."

"Of course."

And for some reason, we both got quiet, weird, our virginities rising to the surface. Neither of us stood up for a minute, pretending not to look at each other's hard dicks in the water. I was pretty sure I saw a clump of one of our special sauce additions floating between us, but I didn't even say anything.

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When we finally climbed out, the room was pure steam and the tile was soaked, and we both stood there soft and dripping and neither of us reached for a towel to cover anything. A week earlier I'd have been calculating modesty angles and making sure I faced away. Now I just stood in his parents' bathroom with my whole package out, drying my chest.

Jimmy's energy came back, and suddenly he could not shut up. He toweled his hair manically.

"That water is disgusting now," he said with a grimace, then did a bad impression of Spencer asking what the special sauce was.

"We should give him a cup of this water," I said, and we both chuckled.

"We could just bottle some of our jizz for him," he replied, naturally escalating beyond where the joke needed to go.

"Ok mister horse cock."

"My dick is at a four out of ten right now, for the record," he announced. "Not a zero. A four."

"Great, Jimmy."

He wrapped the towel around his waist and pointed at me with two fingers. "I'm gonna go down and set up."

"Set up what?"

He went out the door, still naked and carrying the towel, without explaining it, and I heard him stomp down the stairs two at a time.

I stayed in the watery master bath for another moment to take in a steamy breath, with my towel over my shoulder and the fan grinding away in the ceiling, and I didn't follow him. I pictured him lying back on that bed with his knees up while I did something to him that I had only ever done to myself. It gave me a thought I couldn't really put into words yet, and I was glad I was alone for a moment. 

So I went to the kitchen instead, mostly dry but still dripping a bit onto the floor tile, with the light over the stove the only thing on in the whole downstairs.

I opened the fridge with no plan whatsoever. There was leftover lasagna, a lot of yogurt, and I spied some veggies in the crisper drawer, under a bag of spinach.

And a cucumber. 

I was standing there holding the cucumber before I even realized that I had reached in and grabbed it. It was thick, and heavier than it looked. It was like a shorter version of Jimmy's dick. I opened the cabinet by the stove, knowing where they kept their olive oil, and grabbed that bottle next.

I dropped the towel onto the floor, and braced one foot on the seat of a kitchen chair, back to the counter, and poured oil into my palm. I coated my palms and fingers first, the same as I do in the shower, then reached for my hole, one finger and then two, rubbing slowly in circles until my body stopped fighting back. Then I oiled up the cucumber and reached back and put the tip of it against myself and pushed.

The stretch of it made my whole stomach jump. I had never done this before, but the urge was strong, and I was going to get this in there. It was thicker than two fingers by a lot, and for a second it would not go, and I breathed out and pressed steadily and felt the ring of my ass give and open around it, cool and wide and strange. Once I got started, the rest slid in slightly more smoothly, and I fed it in slowly until a good six inches were sitting up inside me and the stretching burn was already turning into a much more bearable, low, heavy pressure that spread up inside me.

I put my foot down on the floor and stood up straight, and it shifted deeper, past the widest point, and it started to continue its journey into my ass on its own. 

I had to grab the counter as I felt the weird sensation of the object disappearing into my hole, finding its landing place somewhere in my guts. My dick suddenly pulsed to life, and in seconds it was pointing straight out from my body.

I rinsed my hands under the tap. Then I picked up the olive oil off the counter, leaving my towel behind, and stepped toward the basement, ready for whatever this lesson was going to become.

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I walked stiffly down the basement stairs. Each step drove my anal object up into me further. I took them one at a time with a hand on the rail.

Jimmy was lying on a towel carefully spread on the king bed in a fresh pair of gym shorts and nothing else, hair still dripping onto his shoulders, phone face-down beside him. The mini fridge hummed in the corner. The little window up by the ceiling was black.

He didn't say anything about me still being naked as I set the olive oil down on the nightstand.

"Did you raid my mom's cabinet."

"Yes."

"She uses that for salad, bro. She's gonna make a salad with that."

"She'll never know."

"I'll know," he said. "I'll be eating salad... and I'll know."

"Trust me, it's worth it."

I sat down on the edge of the bed near his hip, one hand on the frame, lowering myself onto it carefully, making sure my secret cucumber didn't fuck me up on the inside. He propped himself on his elbows toward the middle of the bed with his back to the wall side, facing me.

"Why are you moving like that?"

"I don't know," I lied. "That jacuzzi bench up there is brutal on your back."

"No it's not."

I shrugged, and he dropped it. He stared at the ceiling for a second and then blew out a breath.

"Okay," he said. "Teach me."

He hooked his shorts, shoved them down, kicked them off his ankle and threw them at the laundry pile in the corner.

He got himself flat on his back in the middle of the bed with his head up near the pillows, and pulled his knees up, and let them fall open, his big dick and balls hanging down, touching the bedspread beneath him. His hands did about four different things out of nervousness and then he put them behind his head, letting me take the lead.

I knelt beside his hip, facing down the length of him, and poured oil into my palm and rubbed it warm between my hands.

"Cold?" I said.

"No."

I reached down, moving his heavy balls out of the way of his ass with my fist, and felt around under his taint until I found the soft spot that responded to my touch. He looked down at what I was doing, then closed his eyes as I started gently pressing against him. 

Circles, the pads of two fingers, pressure on and then off, the same slow thing I'd done under the water with my thumbs, except now there was a lamp on and nothing was hidden and I could see everything I was touching, the pink of him, smooth, tightening every time I came back to the center.

"Okay," he said. "Okay."

Then I pressed a warm finger inside, just pressure testing him. And he opened for me like nothing, no fight in him at all, my whole finger sliding in to the knuckle on the first push, warm and gripping.

"Dude," I said. "You just took that."

"Is that bad?"

"No, I just expected you to get tight. My own body has never been that easy for me in my life."

"Natural talent," he said, and his voice cracked in the middle of it.

I curled my finger and his hips came up off the bed about an inch.

"Oh," he said.

"There it is."

I worked him with the one digit for a minute, in and out, slowly curling on every pull while he made efforts to relax as his heels started sliding on the sheet. I added the second finger and he finally did clamp up slightly, grunting as his stomach flexed hard, and then he opened around that too. The heat inside him was ridiculous. It gripped down on my knuckles and dragged back on me every time I pulled out, like it didn't want to give my fingers up.

"I'm going deeper," I said.

"Yeah."

"Say if it hurts."

"It doesn't hurt. Keep going."

His mouth kept moving with nothing coming out of it, like he was loosely making out with the air. And the proof was lying right there on his stomach, his thick meat starting to throb against his abs, leaking a steady clear string into his navel, jumping every time I curled my fingers up into him. I hooked them once and it kicked and slapped down against his skin.

"Your dick just moved on its own."

"I know," he said.

I looked up at his face and he was already looking at mine, and he didn't look away, not once, not while I twisted my wrist and spread my fingers apart inside him, not while I pushed in slowly to the last knuckle and held it there and watched his mouth open.

"Feel that?"

"Yeah."

"That's the good spot."

"Yeah," he said.

"I was never actually sure that other guys had that too. I thought it might just be my magic button."

"Keep going."

I greased my fingers with a dab of fresh oil, and pushed back into him, three fingers this time, and he took them with a low grunt. I curled upward and rubbed at that swollen spot until his heels dug trenches in the sheet.

His breathing got heavy, open-mouthed, chest heaving, and one hand came down off the pillow and grabbed for his dick.

I caught his wrist with my free hand before he reached it and pinned it against his hip.

"Bro," he said with an exhale.

His other hand came sneaking across his stomach from the far side, so I got creative. I rose up on one knee, brought my foot over, and shoved his forearm off his stomach with it, holding it down against the bed beside him. He was completely stuck, one wrist under my hand, the other under my foot, and my fingers never stopped moving inside him.

"You bastard," he groaned.

I worked vigorous circles against the spot and he started groaning like it hurt him, this desperate, cracking sound on every exhale, his hips bucking up at nothing. His dick throbbed up off his abs, drooling onto his stomach, and he pulled both arms against my restraint, unable to free either one. Sweat suddenly shined across his chest and his thighs started to shake.

"Damn," he said. "Dude. Please."

And right when the torture looked like it was about to break him, I gently let off of him.

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I sat back on my heels, watching him heave. He didn't even reach for himself after I took my fingers out of him. 

I met his gaze when he opened his eyes. "I want to try it too."

Jimmy came up onto his elbows. "You do?"

"Yeah."

I stood up off the bed, turning my naked ass toward him, and climbed back up on my hands and knees facing the wall side, forearms braced on the bed.

And I slowly pushed the green cucumber out of my ass.

"What the FUCK?"

He had gone up onto his knees beside me. His hand came down on my lower back, and then his other hand closed around the end of the cucumber where it had come into view, and he drew it out slowly, all of it, inch after inch, while I held still and breathed through the drag of it leaving me.

"That's still going," he whispered. "That is STILL GOING. Bro. Bro, this is a whole cucumber."

It came free and I felt myself close.

Then he screamed like a joyful schoolboy, and went backward off the side of the bed onto his feet, holding the thing up over his head, momentarily forgetting about how horny he was, his big dick swinging rock hard in front of him, almost choking on his own breath so hard he had to lean on the mini fridge.

"HOW LONG," he wheezed. "How long has that been in there."

"After the hot tub."

He doubled over. "I'm dying dude. This whole time you had a cucumber in your ass."

"Yeah. That's why I was walking weird."

"You said it was the JACUZZI BENCH." 

And every time he almost stopped laughing he looked at it again and it started over. "This is a vegetable. This came out of a refrigerator."

It took him a solid minute to come back down. He got up onto the bed on his knees, still holding it, and set it on the nightstand next to the oil.

I hadn't moved. I was still on my hands and knees facing the wall.

"You can just fuck me," I said.