Water
#2 of Benefits?
Of course, I paid for that blessing dearly the next day.
I fucking knew better than to go to sleep drunk. How many times had Brad and I done this? Fucking vodka, too. My eyelids were stuck together and the skin on my cranium felt stretched to the breaking point. For a while I just laid on the couch, waiting in trepidation for my body to tell me how bad I fucked up. I came to the conclusion that I'd had worse, but this morning was not gonna be pretty and I was gonna be grateful for a nap when I got back to my house.
"Want some water?"
I moved my eyes from the basement ceiling too quickly and my stomach responded with an ominous churn. Brad was standing beside the couch, offering a red plastic cup.
How many times had we done this?
Twice now, if we're counting how many times you masturbated your best friend, you faggot.
Brad standing beside the couch I was sprawled on. Red plastic cups. I had handled his genitals.
I took the cup.
Funny how water never felt good to my hungover stomach. I knew it was what I needed, and it helped wash away a bit of the fuzzy feel in my mouth and smooth some of the dry cracks in my throat, but once it hit my stomach it always feels like I just added the catalyst for an explosive chemical reaction. The water was a little lukewarm, too. Not terribly easy to quaff in my current state.
But later it'd make me better, right? Every time I found it hard to believe. I just wanted to sleep again, sleep it away, ignore the problem. Wake up on Brad's couch again in a few hours and feel fine and consequence-free.
Was I even thinking all this about the hangover anymore?
"How you feelin'?"
I swallowed another mouthful of water. "It's been worse." My voice cracked dryly on the first word. Cat got your tongue? Ohhhhh wait that was last night, sorry.
"You can grab some cereal if you want when you're ready and I can take you home anytime."
I nodded and brought the cup to my muzzle again so I wouldn't have to embarrass myself by speaking/squeaking again. Since I'd sat up and was hunched over my knees, my face was right about Brad's crotch level. Probably not just from the alcohol that my stomach's a little seasick.
He turned and went back up the stairs. His smell lingered, or I thought it did.
His fucking smell...was I serious with this shit?
I made it upstairs eventually, largely due to the pull of the bathroom. While the sexual function of my cock was the last thing I wanted on my mind at the time, I noticed that the head still had a dry film of residue on it, reminding me of my own surreptitious satisfaction last night. If only the shower needed to get rid of that could also wash the chalky feeling off of my palms and lips. Apparently that's what having a friend's dick all over them the night beforehand made them feel like. Chalky.
The kitchen was too bright but at least it was comfortably warm in the late-summer humidity. Nothing worse than shivering while you're hungover. I ended up with a bowl of cornflakes and milk in front of me after all. The sound of the crunch in my head was massively magnified.
It wasn't Brad that greeted me first in the kitchen, but his father. Once a strapping young lion himself like Brad was now, Mr. Boyd still had the size but his beef wasn't mostly muscle anymore. Due to his wife being a pretty good cook, and his affinity for cheap beer that probably carried over from his college football days, he had a respectable gut on his front to match his large frame. His mane was bushy and full, if a little faded in color due to his climbing age. Brad's parents had had him late in their twenties and were never able to conceive again, so he was their only child though they were both nearing 50.
Mr. Boyd was more than used to me staying in his house; when Brad and I had become friends back in seventh grade soccer I started spending plenty of time hanging around. Mainly because Brad was my only good friend and I didn't really have any other hobbies, but also getting out of my own house and away from my three siblings for a while was definitely a bonus factor for me. Brad's family had even half-adopted me at the time, since my parents were usually busy with my brothers and sister and I often rode the bus home with Brad and rode with his parents to and from practices and games.
Brad's father was also probably used to me being foggy-eyed and pained-looking in the mornings too; I'm pretty sure he knew what we did during my overnight visits, though by a mutual tacit agreement we'd never discussed it. Well, he knew about the drinking is what I meant. Doubt he was as wise to the recent bout of sexual favors I performed for his son.
"'Mornin, Langley," Mr. Boyd rumbled amiably in greeting.
I painfully crunched through the mouthful of cereal I'd been in the middle of. After swallowing, I lifted a paw casually. "Hi." My voice was a little steadier this time, but I still kept the word count and volume to the minimum necessary.
"Is Brad up?"
"Yeah, he was before me. He said he'd take me home."
"Good. I'll need his help with some things later today. Did he seem...okay?"
"I'll be fine," Brad grumped at the mention of chores, entering the room right on cue. He was wearing basketball shorts and a sports t-shirt. Different ones than last night. I inwardly cringed as I remembered the fate that befell yesterday's shirt.
"Your mom's already in town for the day, so once you take Lang back home, I'll need your help on the car."
"What's wrong with it again?"
"Just needs an oil change probably, but I've been noticing the air conditioning being a little weak too. Oh yeah, you'll have to mow the lawn too."
Brad huffed but didn't protest. I didn't envy him the lawnmower-hangover, but he seemed mostly fine. Damn him and his alcohol resitance/resilience.
"Okay. I'll have to fix the belt on the mower though, it came off last time just as I was finishing up. Lang, you almost ready?"
I tipped the bowl up and poured the remaining sweet-flavored milk into my muzzle. "Yeah, I'm good anytime. Lemme get my backpack."
I gingerly descended the stairs and picked up my backpack from beside the couch I usually slept on. I noticed there was still a slight reddish stain on the concrete from last night's spilled drink. I'm sure properly cleaning it up was also on Brad's to-do list for today.
Back upstairs, I said goodbye to Mr. Boyd and nodded to Brad that I was ready.
The car ride started out silent. It wasn't quite noon, but the sunny suburban day was already as drowsy, hot, and still as the two occupants of Brad's truck. His parents had gotten him a Ford when he turned 16, and it was only a few years old at the time. I didn't even have a car yet. My oldest brother had gotten an old one with help from my parents when he'd gone off to college last year. With any luck I'd do about as well in two years.
The warm, bright weather outside the truck made me droop my eyelids down to a squint but at least it kept the throb in my head to a dull pulsing. I rested a long lupine arm on the bottom of the window, watching the houses and green lawns pass by without seeing any of them. There was only one picture in my mind at the time.
I chose my words.
"Are we gonna ignore last night?" I mumbled it a little bit, and didn't really direct it at Brad.
"What?"
"Last night."
"Yeah, what?"
"You DO remember what we did, right?"
I could feel my lion friend bristle beside me, and he tersely muttered "Yeah, what about it?"
EVERYTHING ABOUT IT
"Dude, I jerked you off...twice..." I was blushing, for fuck's sake, and the words were uncomfortable in my mouth, not unlike some other things had been recently.
"We were drunk, man. It felt good. Doesn't mean anything. I mean it's not like we're gonna start dating or shit now, right?"
I tried not to let my head hang too low or let my ears droop too much. "Yeah."
"We do and say a lotta dumb stuff when we drink. It's the whole point. Don't make it weirder than that. I didn't really mind. Obviously." Do it again. "Did you?"
"Yeah no, I...liked it...but..."
"What?"
I didn't say anything for a while. "I don't know. I just kinda...I don't know. I'm...confused."
"About what? Are you gay?"
Awfully matter-of-fact, he was being about this. "Brad! I...it was just...!"
I saw him looking sideways at me. The look said "Come on, man." I looked out the window again.
"Probably...I never thought about it before but I guess I started it for a reason."
"Wait, you've never done anything before?"
"Hey, you KNOW I haven't been with a girl--"
"Duh, we've talked about that. But that was seriously your first time then?"
I didn't respond at all. I felt so lame.
"Shit man, that's rough. Fuck, maybe I should have helped out sooner, eh?"
"I DIDN'T KNOW!" I was so confused and conflicted that I was getting defensive, and as usual when I was getting defensive it was because I was trying not to betray any of my inner pain, and I felt even lamer now that I was strangling back tears.
"Dude, calm down. It's not a big deal. I'd even thought about you being that way before. You're my friend, man, I don't care."
"Easy for YOU to say it's not a big deal..." I was being sulky and I knew it. Faggot.
Brad sighed. "I know. I didn't mean it that way. We're cool though, man, really. We just gotta get you some before you go crazy."
Yeah, before I go crazy. Before the pressure gets to "desperately grab your best friend's junk" level. That WOULD be crazy.
We were pulling into my driveway.
"Just...don't make it weird in your mind, dude. Relax. Nothing wrong."
I opened the passenger door and slid out with my backpack drooping off one shoulder. I actually looked back at him this time. I didn't see anything out of character in his reassuring eyes, sympathetic half-smile, or even the self-consciously combed patchy fuzz around his head, neck, and chest.
I tried to return a smile as convincingly confident as his. Standing on the hot pavement in my sandals and wrinkled, slept-in, double-sperm-encrusted shorts, I agreed with him verbally. "Yeah. Not weird."
* * *
None of my family members paid much attention to me getting home. Like I said, me coming back from Brad's after a night or even two was pretty standard weekend fare. Fine with me. Left me alone to take a nice warm nap, which blessedly came easy. I really needed a shower but for now my bed was cool, my eyes hurt, my mind was numb, and there was still kind of a lump in my throat.
I don't remember if there were lions in my dreams, but I do know they were in my thoughts for the rest of the day when I woke up on that somnolent Sunday. I opened my eyes that afternoon well-rested and headache-free, but with my stomach mid-growl already. I was sweating a little bit from the heat, which just magnified the musky scent from my lower half...
So finally into the shower I went and stayed there for a looooong time. Scrubbed my junk possibly more than necessary but nothing more than that. I never jerk off in the shower, I'm always too relaxed to get worked up about anything. Though today I was also a little scared to. So I just washed the overnight funk out of my pale gray fur and stood under the water thinking aimlessly about Brad.
It's not like we're gonna start dating or shit now, right?
Of course not. Brad isn't gay. Am I?
I sure wouldn't blame anyone for thinking so.
I guess I never REALLY liked that wolf girl Narah. I just made a show of saying I thought she was hot when the subject of girls came up around Brad. The extent of our relationship was me acting nervous around her when we were chemistry lab partners last semester and her probably thinking I was a weirdo. Or gay. Can girls tell that sort of thing?
Can guys?
Did the guys on the soccer team suspect? I mean, everyone got teased and called a faggot every now and then, it's fucking high school. But how much of my worry about it was paranoia and how much was me just being a sensitive little bitch? And did it even matter? I wasn't really friends with any of them anyway. I got along with most people though. Would they care?
YOU GONNA GET US DRUNK AND GRAB OUR DICKS TOO?
I turned the water off. Shook my body from head to tail to fling off the extra water. Stood there dripping and drooping. Unsure of what exactly I was so unsure of.
I toweled off what moisture I could and then stood between the unmercifully loud fur dryers while brushing my teeth to get rid of some of the stranger flavors that had built up over the last day or so. My stomach was still not happy about being empty except for the remains of the cereal I'd queasily eaten this morning. Ah, the familiar post-hangover hunger.
Putting on a fresh pair of shorts, I made my way to the kitchen, passing through the living room to do so. My sister Delana, older than me by a year, was watching TV.
"Jesus, Lang, put a shirt on will you?"
I said, "K," and didn't break stride. Delana sighed and tapped on her phone. Probably texting one of her girl-friends how annoying her brother was. Fine, I could deal with that.
I made it to the kitchen, where my mom was spooning cookie batter onto oven sheets. On my way to the fridge, I swiped one of the dollops and popped it in my mouth.
"Hey! If I come up short I'll be sure to tell Brian that one of his classmates didn't get a cookie because of you."
I just shrugged and crunched on the chocolate chips in the sweet dough. As I dumped a couple of Hot Pockets onto a plate and took them to the microwave, my mom spoke again. "I'm starting dinner after this, you know."
"I haven't eaten all day though." I punched START.
"With eating habits like that you're never gonna put on any weight," Mom said over the hum of the microwave. "You think Brad ever skips meals like that?"
I wasn't facing her so I felt safe with a grimace. "He has to watch it, he's a frickin' linebacker. I just have to be fast."
"You still don't need to be any skinnier."
The microwave beeped and I took the plate back to my room, again paying no attention to Delana's conspicuous huff and eye-roll.
I sat down on my bed with the plate of what amounted to rolled-up pizza and feebly flopped my tail while I waited for my laptop to boot up. I knew Brian would be hogging the TV downstairs playing video games as always, the little shit, so I resigned myself to an evening in my room watching shows on my computer, putting off the small assignments I had until tomorrow's study hall or never. Trivial assignments like what we'd had so far in the first month of the school year rarely concerned me much, especially since it was during soccer season. I'd do the important stuff and keep my grades decent. I'd never be the salutatorian of my class like Delana was on track to be.
When Mom called for dinner only an hour and a half later, I was already hungry again. My mom wasn't as good a cook as Mrs. Boyd was, but she basically cooked in bulk for three kids and Dad, so there would be enough for me to be able to catch up for missing lunch. I put a shirt on and headed to the kitchen.
There wasn't much left to do but grit my teeth through dinner conversation, wait out the night, watch stuff on my laptop, and hopefully be able to sleep before facing whatever school would bring tomorrow. Somewhere in there I masturbated. I tried not to think of Brad's short, fat dick while I was doing it. Or the mildly spicy scent that I now knew came from his scrotum. And DEFINITELY not his slightly flabby ass that I'd gotten a closer, if equally brief, look at last night than I ever had in the locker room back in junior high...
Aw, fuck it. Fuzzy memories of the firmness of his balls in my hand, the end of his penis in my muzzle, the slimy ooze of his sperm down my throat. I swallowed as if in sympathetic memory and entered the final stretch with shorter, faster strokes on my dick and an agonizing knead of my testicles. My penis was longer than Brad's.
I liked his more.
I rolled over slightly on my side and came into my left hand. While I caught my breath I tried to clear my mind but ended up just staring at the substance in my hand. Would it taste like Brad's did?
Jerking off over my best friend. Who was using who here?
I sighed and mumbled out loud, "I'm so fucked up."