Fun with a buddy

Saturday morning. Snuggling my face deep into the flannel pillowcase as I grind my piss hard-on against the mattress. I'm in that dreamy, in-and-out phase of sleep -- what's technically called the hypnopompic state, when you're emerging from sleep to being fully awake. In simpler language, it's Snooze Alarm Sleep, when you fall back into fragments of dreams in the ten-minute intervals between the alarm clock's buzzing.

Anyway. There I am, drifting in and out of consciousness, but aware of my erection the whole time, when the phone rings.

It's Doug, my newest masturbation buddy.

''Just wondering if you're in the mood for some company,'' he announces, in his Virginia twang.

I'm standing in my living room, phone to my ear, naked as a caveman, and my penis begins to rise and stiffen at the thought of playing around with Doug.

''Yeah,'' I say, reaching down to squeeze my dick as I'm talking to him. The place is a mess, though, so I tell him to come over around 1 pm -- I need time to fix breakfast, shower, clean up my apartment a bit before company arrives.

_{[Shimmer, shimmer, BLING! In real life, a couple hours pass as Rob does the dishes, vacuums the carpet, lights some incense to combat the persistent odor of rat pee, and takes a shower so he'll be all fresh and clean when Doug gets here. It's necessary, but not sexy; this is why sitcoms have those musical transitions between scenes, to convey a sense of elapsed time]}

The doorbell rings. Doug's here.

Let me tell you a little about Doug. He's a married guy in his early 50s; working man's build with a hairy barrel chest, huge shoulders and, as he puts it, "big Popeye hands." His face reminds me a little bit of Dennis Franz from NYPD Blue, if you want an image. Doug has shyly hinted about some M2M experiences when he was college-age, but has only recently begun to explore that again after decades of marriage, and I'm his first regular buddy. So needless to say, he's fucking full of energy.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Doug has stepped forward to wrap his arms around me, pull my crotch against his, and kiss me. I'm really glad he doesn't have reservations about getting cuddly -- some bi guys think it's too gay to snuggle and kiss with another man, while some gay guys think it's too intimate to do that stuff with a j/o buddy. Me, I've enjoyed "recreational" cuddles and tongue wrestling outside of romantic contexts, just as I've enjoyed recreational sex. I think that stubble or facial hair looks so masculine that I can't help but want to explore it with my lips, the same way I love brushing my face against a bud's chest hair or inhaling the tangy sweat of his armpit as we roll around on the bed: My dick wants to be constantly reminded that I'm with a MAN.

"Hey," says Doug, grinding his stiffness against mine as we stand fully dressed in my living room, "how's it going?"

"Doing great, man," I answer, finally breaking away from our through-the-pants swordfight long enough to offer him a beer. [to be continued...]