Head next door

Reluctantly I text Stanley that I was on my way, then quietly let myself out the back door. I slipped from my yard into his. The garage door was closed, but I knew he left the side door open, so I let myself in.

Stanley was standing at his work bench with a beer in his hand. A half dozen empty bottles were already like up along the table behind him. He was dressed in a pair of red basketball shorts and shirtless. I could help but notice that his upper body was in pretty good shape with some pretty well defined pecs.

"Dude, seriously, what the fuck?" he asked, clearly shaken by what had just happened.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not queer, John," Stanley said, taking a drink from his bottle. "I like really really love pussy. And boobs. I love everything about women. I love my wife, and her pussy. I love how she feels when I take her from behind. I fucked her right here, bent over my work bench just last night. I'm so not gay!"

It was a strange conversation to have in a place that was so "manly." Stanley's garage smelled of freshly mowed grass and WD-40 with just the faint hint of gasoline. We had spent several evenings in this garage drinking beer and looking through his secret stash of dirty magazines, never imagining that one day I would swallow his cum.

"It's okay, Stanley," I said, but couldn't help but get a mental image of his wife getting bent over the work bench. "I understand. It just happened. We can forget about it and pretend it never happened."

"I fucking can't, man."

"Of course you can."

"You don't understand, John," he continued after draining the bottle. "I am sooooo not gay. I didn't want you to blow me. I'm not even sure why I got in that truck. Then you were sucking my cock and swallowing my load. Now I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about how it felt. I got blowjobs from a few different women before I met Carol, then her, and then...fuck...you were fucking amazing."

I tried to find words, but nothing seemed appropriate at the moment as I wasn't completely sure where he was going with his rant.

"I am not gay, John!"

"Okay, I believe you, Stan," I said.

"But I can't stop thinking about how your lips felt," Stanley said. "Better than my wife or any woman I've ever been with."

He stepped out from behind his work bench and the tent in his basketball shorts was clearly visible. Stanley might not be gay, but he was clearly harboring some gay thoughts.

"I want to feel it again," Stanley said. "I want you to suck my cock again...just to prove that I'm not gay."

"Seriously, it's alright," I said. "You busted a nut in my mouth, that doesn't make you gay. I happen to have a cock, so I know what feels good a little better than Carol does, I'm sure."

"Don't make me beg, John."

I stared at him for a moment, still unsure what to do next. Stanley was my friend and clearly he was struggling with what had happened in Diego's truck. But it was also possible that Stanley, like myself, had some secret unexplored passions just waiting to get out

"John..."

Then he reached down and pulled his hard cock from his shorts. A drop of precum already glistened on the tip.

"Carol is already in bed," he said. "Nobody will ever know."