Like Brothers in Arms





















 Illustration by

Michael Kirwan

Story by Scott Zona 


— originally published in Honcho magazine - May, 1992 —


Tie a lavender ribbon ...




Nobody could have been more surprised than I was when I answered the phone. I had just walked through the front door of my house that Friday evening and heard my phone ringing. When I picked it up, it was Ken, a person I hadn't seen or spoken to since our college days.


Our relationship wasn't always so icy. Back in high school, Ken, older by a year, was my best friend. I idolized him like an older brother, and he readily slipped into the role of father-figure, mentor, and counselor. We were almost always doing things together, games, dances, we even double-dated a couple of times. By the time we were in our late teens, we even looked alike. He and I both shared dark curly hair, although mine was always longer than his. We were both athletic and had well-developed upper bodies but, as I remember so well, his chest sported a forest of dark curls long before mind did. So, although he was a year ahead in his physical development, we looked a lot alike. Back then, we thought we'd be pals for life.


It was natural that we planned to go to the same college. When he left for college, I felt a genuine loss and loneliness but vowed to get through my last year of high school on my own. It was a little easier than I expected. I had always relied on Ken and his many friends, but in Ken's absence, I really came into my own. I was elected president of the school's Democratic Club and soon found myself organizing letter­ writing campaigns and peaceful demonstrations. The mantle of leadership rested comfortably on my shoulders, and soon I was so involved in my social and political responsibilities that I hardly noticed when Ken's letters stopped coming.


By the time I got to college the changes in our lives were irreversible. Ken had entered the ROTC program, with the intention of a career in military engineering. I blossomed in the college's liberal atmosphere and found dozens of organizations and causes in which I became involved. Ken and I traveled in very different spheres and hardly saw each other. By the end of my first year, we could not have been more different: my hair was shoulder-length, I had a moustache and I always wore T-shirts with a political message, whereas Ken had adopted the disciplined and ascetic life and look of an officer in training.


It was during my second year that I found my favorite "cause"--gay rights. At first it was just another liberal political position for me, but gradually, working with others during meetings and marches, I realized my own gay feelings. It wasn't long before I had my first sexual encounter with another man. Looking back on it now, I realize that many of my political activities in high school were simply the outlet for repressed and denied sexual energy. By the end of my second year Ken and 1 weren't speaking and I never told him about myself. He never knew his best buddy was gay.


So when I answered the phone and heard Ken's voice, I hardly knew what to say. He had been stationed somewhere in California, last I heard. I was surprised to hear him announce that he had left the military and would be in town by the next evening. He asked if he could stop by to visit.


It's been said often enough that people, like wine, mellow with age. Perhaps that's true. I was still a liberal, still a member of some solidly liberal organizations, but I long since had given up marching in the streets. I wasn't the bomb-thrower that I once was. For his part, Ken sounded, well, tired: tired of standing at attention, tired of saluting, tired of maintaining that harsh military demeanor.


"Sure, Ken, I'd love to see you," I said. "You can stay with me, if you like, for as long as you want. The guest room is made up, and it would be great to spend some time together. I 'll pick you up at the airport. What flight will you be on?"


Arrangements were made and the next day I arrived at the airport just a few minutes before his plane landed. I was a little nervous. I couldn't help but wonder what my old buddy would be like. What would we talk about? What would he think about my gay lifestyle, which would inevitably come up if he spent more than a few hours with me. I paced anxiously by the gate, scanning the outpouring of passengers for Ken's face.


Our first meeting was not as uninhibited and tearful as one of those reunions you occasionally see on the local news show--you know, where two brothers had been separated by World War II, or something. Ken looked just about as I expected, just a little older, that's all. His eyes were a little more pale, his brow a bit more furrowed. There was a certain edge to his voice that I took for his uncertainty about seeing me after so many years.


Once we were back at my place, I poured him a drink. He still liked vodka and O.J.; at least that hadn't changed. We talked about our folks, about my job at the community college, and about life in California, but when I asked about his decision to leave the military, his smile quickly faded and that same drawn look I saw in the airport returned.


"There were a number of factors that entered into my decision," he said softly, while staring into his drink as he swirled the ice around the glass.


"So let's hear 'em," I said.


He suddenly looked up at me. "You know, Scott, I was good. I was the best damn engineer on that base." His voice rose and trembled. "I was the reason our unit got top ratings for four years running. My own commander told me that." As he spoke, his hands trembled and his eyes glistened. "I was there for them every single time they needed me. I was the one they always called. My work was done right and done on time every single God­damn time."


By now he was leaning forward from the edge of the sofa. He didn't face me. From where I sat beside him, I saw the back of his shoulders coiled like a steel spring. It was pretty clear that I had struck a raw nerve. "So, I don't understand, Ken. What made you leave?"


He looked over his shoulder at me, a single tear trailing down his cheek, and answered, "They did." Ken slumped forward and buried his face in his hands. "They made me leave," he mumbled.


"What? I don't believe it! You were discharged?"


Ken was quietly sobbing into his hands, and I leaned forward and put my arm around him. He responded by turning to me and putting his arms around me. He pushed into my arms, nearly pinning me to the sofa, and rested his head on my chest.


As I stroked Ken's shoulder, I looked down at his body and noticed, to my surprise, my buddy's thick dick clearly outlined in the folds of his jeans. Out of curiosity, I let my left hand slide down his back and under his arm, until I had his left pec cupped in my hand. His hard nipple felt like a small caliber bullet under his shirt. I gingerly massaged his pec and felt his tit stand erect.


Ken's left hand rested on my stomach. When he felt my hand on his chest, he moved his hand in ever-widening circles around my stomach, until his hand brushed against the top of my jeans. He kept up the gentle belly-rub until my T­shirt bunched up and was no longer tucked into my jeans. He slipped his hand under my shirt and ran his strong, moist hand among the hair around my navel.


If Ken was the least bit confused about the messages he was sending me, I was about to make a big mistake. But hey, no man can touch me like that and not expect me to respond in kind. After all, I'm only human, and I was one hell of a horny human at that. I didn't know what Ken was thinking or what he thought he was doing, but I was damn sure I knew how to finish what he started.


Ken turned his face up toward my neck and delicately kissed me below the jaw, as if by accident. I felt his fevered breath on the sensitive skin of my neck, and soon my own cock began to swell. I got even harder when I felt Ken slip his right hand under me and begin massaging the small of my back, at the base of my spine, just above the butt crack.


As Ken's breathing grew less ragged and his tears subsided, my cock strained against the confinement of my jeans. I gently moved my hand down the side of my buddy's chest and narrow waist. My hand slipped over his back and continued down the curve of his ass cheek. I boldly grabbed a handful of ass and began a rough massage. I traced my fingers along the crack of his butt and allowed my fingers to linger briefly over the sensitive rim of his butthole.


I reached up with my free hand and began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the broad, hairy chest that I remembered from our days together in high school. If anything, he was in better shape now than he was then: he'd filled out and developed an easy, uncontrived masculinity. I buried my fingers in the dark curls that clothed his pecs and pushed him away from me so that I could face him squarely.


"Do you know what's going on here?" I asked gently. He looked at me with his mouth open and his dark eyes very big and nodded. "Is this what you want?"


"It's what I've always wanted," he whispered. He reached up and put his powerful hand behind my neck and pulled me to his lips. Our mouths met in open tenderness.


It was a kiss like nothing I had ever experienced. Maybe it was the conflicting emotions of familiarity and taboo. Maybe it was the unbridled release of years of suppressed desire. Or maybe it was feeling his pain give way to pleasure. Whatever the reason, it was the most thrilling kiss I've ever had. By the time our mouths separated, my cock was rock-hard and throbbing with every heartbeat.


I slipped his shirt off his shoulders and eased Ken back against the sofa. I knelt between his legs and began undoing his pants. He lifted his butt off the sofa just high enough and long enough for me to slip his jeans down around his legs. His cock, all seven, hard inches, was clearly outlined under his white cotton boxers.


I leaned forward to follow the outline of his cock with my lips, tugging gently at the fabric of his shorts and inhaling deeply of the pungent and strangely familiar aroma of his crotch. All the while, I massaged the inside of his legs, stroking the sensitive skin behind the knees, then running my hands along the ropy muscles of his thighs.


From where I was, I had a clear and close-up view of Ken's enviably hard stomach, each band of muscle standing out like an unplanted row in a newly furrowed field. I was fascinated by the patterns made by the hair on his chest and stomach. The hair grew down across his upper chest, then divided and swirled in opposite directions around his powerful pecs. More hair grew down the center line of his torso, converging around his navel and there meeting the short hairs that grew up from under the waistband of his shorts. Under his arms, great tufts of dark, almost-straight hair shot out in all directions as if charged with static electricity.


l paused in my cock-tease just long enough to take off my own shirt. l couldn't help but notice how similar we still were. Ken's chest and stomach were a bit harder than mine: my three visits a week to the health club were nothing compared to the daily life of a military officer. A handsome mat of chest hair clothed my pecs, narrowing to that same, fine line that trailed down the center of my body and disappeared into my jeans. My dark, bronzy nipples protruded from my hairy pecs and looked like a set perfectly matched to those on Ken's chest.


Ken's dick stirred under the white boxers, now damp where my mouth caressed it. Ken fumbled with his shorts just long enough to pull his cock and balls out for me. He cradled both balls in his hand and pointed his thick meat at me. Against the white of his shorts, his cock took on a deep, port wine color, and his ball-sack a deep golden brown. With his other hand, he guided my head down between his legs.


Ken's cock was the same size as mine. As I eased my lips over the thick red knob, I imagined what it would be like to go down on myself. I probed his pee-slit with my tongue and tasted the familiar, salty-sharp flavor of sex. l ran my tongue around the rim of his cockhead and imagined the electric sensation that must be flooding Ken' s brain. Ken's hands on the back of my neck grew more insistent, and l took in more of his shaft.


Ken let out a low, almost inaudible moan, as I gathered up his cock into the warmth of my mouth. l plunged down on his shaft and buried my nose in the aromatic forest of black pubic hair at the base of it. I pulled up, sucking and pulling on the sensitive skin under his cock­head, until only the tip of his cock was in my mouth. Then 1 plunged down again.


As l gave him my best blow-job, he roughly massaged my neck and shoulders. l opened my eyes to see his free hand slowly and deliberately caress his own chest and pinch his own nipples. I was mesmerized by the beautifully sculpted flesh that filled my mouth, oblivious to whatever else might be happening around me. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, as if we were underwater. All I heard was the sound of blood rushing through my ears, until Ken whispered sharply, "Suck my balls; suck 'em now."


I pulled off his cock and lowered my aim to his floppy, low-hanging balls. They were heavy with a load and stretched the crinkly skin of his scrotum to its limit. l took one stone, then the other into my mouth, and rolled them both across my tongue. Ken let out a satisfied moan, and I pushed his balls deeper into my throat. I made a low, throaty humming noise and sent subsonic vibrations dancing across his cum­filled orbs. Ken sucked air and rolled his head from side to slide with the exquisite pleasure.


After some time, Ken's voice pulled me out of my ball-sucking trance. He ordered me to take off my jeans. As I complied, he stepped out of his boxers, then stretched out before me on the floor, with his head at my feet.


"C'mon," he growled warmly. "It' s my turn. I've been wanting to taste your cock ever since we played on the varsity baseball team together."


I smiled at the memory of those happy days and eagerly presented my cock to Ken's mouth. I felt his full lips stretch over my shaft as I plunged deeper and deeper into his throat. As the sensation of my buddy sucking my cock flooded the pleasure centers of my brain, I quickly bent over him and took Ken's tool in my mouth. We were sixty-nining with the fervor of reunited lovers, not just reunited friends.


In perfect unison, we slurped and sucked each other's dick. As I gulped and swallowed his rigid meat, my eyes drifted to his big balls, still damp with my spit, hanging off his cock, and below them, the moist pucker of his fuck-hole. I explored the ticklish rim of Ken 's hole, hoping for an invitation to probe more deeply. When that invitation came in the form of his twitching ass-ring, I suggested to Ken that we change positions.


Ken slouched on the sofa with his ass hanging over the edge. He spread his powerful legs and revealed a ball-sack so heavy with cum that his balls completely covered his asshole. I'd never before seen balls hang that low on a guy. Somehow, the way his floppy balls covered his butthole made him seem more vulnerable, more mysterious.


I prepared Ken for my cock by lifting his ball-sack and probing his hole with my finger. His rim muscles twitched and jerked as I began to snake my finger deep into his ass, but soon the muscles relaxed, and Ken was ready for my aching dick. Ken opened his eyes and gave me the same nod of encouragement that he used to give me as I stepped up to home plate and raised my bat. I knew that fucking my best friend, a guy who was almost like a brother to me, would forge a bond between us that would be stronger than the bond between ordinary lovers.


I applied the head of my cock to Ken's asshole. Ken's ball-sack slopped over my cock, one ball on either side of my dick, which was poised at the entrance to his hot gut. Then I pushed with my hips, and my dick slid under Ken 's sack and into the gaping mouth of his ass.


Ken held his breath and took all of my seven inches without making a sound. I had my dick in up to the pubes before Ken finally exhaled and opened his eyes. He had a dreamy, peaceful look on his face, and the worried, tired look that greeted me at the airport was gone. I started my fuck really slow, easing my hips back and forth and watching my cock move in and out of his chute, dragging his ball-sack every time. Ken rested his ankles on my shoulders and put his hands back behind his head. I guess he was determined not to cum until I had my lips back around his meaty dick.


I concentrated on the rhythm of love-making while absorbing the image of my closest friend impaled on my cock. He breathed easily, his eyes half-closed. Beads of sweat formed across his upper chest, and small droplets glistened among the wiry hair under his arms.


The tingle in my groin was growing more insistent, so I picked up the pace of our fuck. I was lost in the velvety smoothness of his slick fuck-hole, and as if to prove it, I tilted my head and ran my day-old beard along the hairy ankle that rested on my shoulder. My breathing was getting harder and louder, and Ken enthusiastically responded to my bronco fuck.


I was slamming hard into his ass, but he never flinched, even though I had to hold on to his thighs to keep from pushing him away from me every time I drove my dick into him. With every thrust, I buried my meat in his gut until I felt his balls brush up against my pubic bush. Ken just moaned louder, lost in his own pleasure trance.


I felt the explosive pressure building in my balls. My entire groin was tingling and ready to unleash a storm of boiling hot cum. All I needed to send me over the top was one last look at Ken, his eyes closed, his mouth forming a perfect O as he sucked in his breath, and sweat trickling off his rolling pecs and pooling among the hands of muscle that girded his stomach. A rushing noise filled my ears, and light and dark explosions blinded me. I plunged in my cock and came like a supernova.


I filled his ass with my milky juice, scouring his insides with the intensity of my eruption. My ass­cheeks clenched, only to fire another round into Ken' s gut. Another imperceptible flick of my hips, and yet another wad of cum was launched. When at last the spasms of orgasms released me, I fell back, roughly pulling my cock from Ken's white-hot ass. When I opened my eyes, 1 saw him smiling benignly at me and a small trickle of my cum oozing from his fuck-hole.


Ken opened his eyes halfway and grabbed his cock by the base of the shaft. He pointed it at me, and the juicy knob of his cock with its glistening diamond of pre-cum was an invitation I immediately accepted.


I wrapped my lips around my buddy's rod, and my tongue sought out the honey drop that clung to Ken's pee-slit. I swallowed all of his cock and gently stroked his balls with my free hand. As my mouth worked every inch of Ken's mighty dick, I felt his cum-filled orbs draw up in the sack. I knew that he'd be cumming soon.


My head bobbed up and down at his crotch, while Ken was pinching his own nipples. His breathing was sharp and ragged; his sweaty chest heaved with my every tongue stroke of his dick.


"Oh, God, I'm almost there," he whispered, between breaths. Then he grabbed my head in his hands and pushed me down on his cock just as the first jism exploded into my mouth. His cum flooded my throat in the sudden way light pours into a darkened room when a door is opened. I swallowed hard, then swallowed again. Mouthfuls of slimy man-juice kept coming, and only after Ken shoved his dick as far into my throat as it would go did the explosions cease.


Ken released my head and collapsed on the sofa, his entire body slick with sweat. I crawled up into his arms, and he licked the sticky cum from my lips. I kissed him deeply, and he held me in the safe circle of his arms.


Later that night, after we had moved into my bed, we sat up talking, and this time from the heart. I confessed to Ken that I'd had a crush on him since school, but for the longest time, I'd thought it was just the way a kid looks up to his best friend. When I finally realized the depth of my feelings for him, I thought he would reject me if he knew. For his part, Ken told me the truth about his military service. He said that he had been discharged for having a brief romantic affair with another male officer.


We talked long into the night and made love on white sheets shining in the light of the moon. He came again inside me, just as I shot pearly droplets of seed into the hair on my chest. By morning we knew that, throughout the struggle for our place in this world, we would always be best friends and lovers together, like brothers in arms.



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They may not be: redistributed; sold; altered; enhanced; modified by artificial, digital or computer imaging;
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