Getting Off

Excerpt

Getting Off
J.R. Hart © 2022
All Rights Reserved

Kade

I want to believe JJ when he tells me straight guys get off together. And I have no reason not to believe him. But still, the whole situation feels strange to me. Straight guys? Getting off together? Blame it on boredom, blame it on my complete willingness to run into a situation headfirst without knowing what I’m getting myself into, but I plan on going.

Because I want so badly to believe. I don’t know why, other than I’m just so damn curious about the whole situation. Call it anthropological. Or call it my intense need to believe some form of porn is actually true. Hell, blame it on an ill-fated crush on a straight jock I’d never have a chance with.

I’ve still got a seed of doubt.

I mean, the whole question came from a questionable situation in the first place: a hookup with someone who says he’s straight. That isn’t uncommon on hookup apps, the kind of guys who say, “It’s not gay to top,” while actively trying to get in a gay guy’s pants, but I don’t have time to unpack all their internalized homophobia or whatever. I’m not going to sit someone down and tell him, “Hey, bro, maybe you’re not straight if the person you’re topping is also a guy.” But my point stands. I had a hookup, he said he was straight, and he mentioned some offhand comment about how straight guys watch porn together.

Which, whatever. I brushed that off at the time. But now it’s been eating at me and worming its way through the back of my mind, and I’ve got two major questions about what he said.

One, how many of his friends are actually straight versus straight in the way he’s straight, and therefore what they’re doing would be an objectively non-straight activity?

And two, is there a chance there are straight guys in the world who watch porn together? Because I believe there are guys who share porn recommendations. I believe guys tell each other that such-and-such girl in such-and-such video is hot and they should check it out. Recommendations, I find entirely plausible. Watch parties? Not so much.

I’d ask my friends, but let’s be real. None of my friends are straight. A lone gay best friend in a pack of straights is the kind of Hollywood wildness that doesn’t seem to happen in real life. You watch movies, or read books, and you’ll see this one gay best friend in a group of a bunch of straight people and I sit there and think, Where’s the actual representation here? Gays clump together. We can’t help it. So, my friend group? Not a good starting point for finding out what The Straights do in their free time.

I have exactly one straight friend I can ask, outside of my roommate, and I’ve never seen my roommate invite anyone over for any reason, let alone to watch porn with them. Which narrows it down to the one straight friend: JJ. And I feel like I can trust JJ, trust what he’s saying is true, but there’s this part of me doubting the whole thing. I can’t picture the scene: a group of guys, watching porn, hands on their dicks…the whole concept is wild to me. From a sociological perspective, I’m absolutely fascinated.

And maybe I’m just being jerked around by my hookup. If I am, this is good information to have. If he’s lying, okay, maybe it won’t necessarily change my behavior, but it’ll make me feel the tiniest bit more satisfied if I know he was lying all along. And now that I’ve reached out to JJ I’m obsessed with the idea.

The thought of men actually doing this? Come on, that’s just the sort of bad porno aesthetic I’m into. It ranks right up there with, “let’s play strip pool before my mom gets home,” or, “I was out jogging in the woods and this hot guy just happened to catch up with me and offer me a bottle of water, and also his dick.” It makes me wonder, what will happen next? The muscular jock sucks the twink off? I’ve seen it a million times, just not in real life, and never with straight guys who would probably never even touch each other. Still, I want to witness it firsthand, or something. I’m craving confirmation.

Which is why I asked JJ. Because I can trust him, because he’s straight, and because he’s disposable. Which sounds really shitty but hear me out. JJ and I aren’t close. I mean, we’re close in that he hosts a good study group, and it’s nice to have a friend in class, but I don’t know him know him. We aren’t BFFs or anything. If this situation were to go horribly wrong, get super awkward, and he felt bad or weird about it after—not that I think anything is going to happen, but I’m not ruling out the possibility—then we don’t have to talk to each other anymore.

Plus, he lives in my building, and I am a slut for convenience. He’s right here, two floors down, and anyway, he’s hot. I mean, abs for days, long limbs, soccer body… I’m not into sports, but they’d almost be worth watching for the way the players strip their jerseys off after a game, mop the sweat off their brow…fuck. If I’m going to watch this kind of scene—from a purely sociological standpoint, mind you—it helps if the guys involved are, you know, aesthetically appealing.

And I can’t ask a stranger. How would I know if a stranger was bullshitting me? And JJ’s not bullshitting me. I don’t think so, anyway. JJ just gives off one of those vibes. Like, trustworthy. Honest. The kind of guy who tells the truth about everything. He doesn’t seem like someone who would fuck with me, you know? And he’s a throwaway. If he got offended by me asking, well, then I haven’t lost a whole lot. He’s a no-lose option. And besides, he didn’t say no. That gives me the confirmation I need: two straight guys—or rather, one straight guy and one guy who claims he’s straight but is on an app designed for gay hookups—have confirmed this for me now. Apparently, straight guys do jerk off together. And apparently, I’m going to get to witness it firsthand. I can’t say I’m not excited.

But confirmation, the words alone, aren’t enough. Not when he’s already offered to let me witness this ridiculous, beautiful event for myself. And I want to. I want to see it so bad. I’m not expecting personal gratification because these are straight guys and straight guys probably watch straight porn, and I also know to keep my hands to myself. But I’m there for sociological reasons. Or, anthropological ones, maybe. But I know JJ from sociology class, and from a sociological perspective…you know. So, I’m going. Art History be damned, because—this once—I can miss that class.

Which is why on Tuesday at two in the afternoon, I’m standing outside JJ’s dorm, knocking. I’ve been here before a couple of times, mostly for study groups, but this is different. There aren’t any textbooks this time, no crowding around his coffee table made out of splintering pallets and an unfinished sheet of plywood. So, I’m standing here, still knocking, wondering what this is going to be like. I’m not sure what to picture, how many guys might be here, or if I’ll even know what to do with myself. After all, I’m only here to observe, but if they’re all sitting there with their dicks out, I’m going to look like an asshole if I’m not doing the same thing. I’m starting to get cold feet about the whole situation, ready to turn around and leave, because am I really about to sit in on a group of straight guys watching porn? The whole situation screams an opportunity for me to basically get hate crimed, and I’m realizing the potential for this to go wrong…except it’s a little late to back out now the door’s opening, and JJ’s standing there in nothing but his boxers.

Also, he’s alone.

I’m not sure how to take that.

“Hey.” I’ve got my backpack slung over my shoulder, and he gives me just enough room to get inside with a gesture and a nod. I wouldn’t have brought my backpack, but I have class after this. Hell, I have class during this.

“Hey,” JJ answers, and he’s smiling. A lot. “You can, um, get comfortable? If you want?” He swings the door closed behind us. His pitch shifts every sentence, and every single one sounds more like a question than a statement. Maybe he’s regretting asking me here, a random token gay guy in their weird straight ritual. “The uh, the couch is over there?” More question-not-questions.

“Yeah, uh. Okay.” I put my backpack down by the door and step toward his threadbare couch. It has to be something out of the ’80s, some dumpster find, and I’m praying there isn’t a rat in it or something. Bedbugs, maybe. The fabric is worn and the stuffing pokes out of one of the arms. Yeah, perfect rat entry point. I bet he found it in front of a frat house, a rejected discard after one too many parties. I’m trying not to think about the sickening things lurking in the fabric, the rotting, disgusting vomit or God-knows-what-else the previous owners left behind. At least it doesn’t smell.

On the coffee table—or the boards assumed to be a coffee table—he’s already got the laptop open, on a porn site, like he’s been expecting someone to show up. Which, he was, but… “Where’s everyone else?”

“They must have been busy.” He shrugs. “You can get more comfortable if you want.” He glances down at himself, at the cute boxers with bright-red hearts on them, then glances at me, still fully clothed.

“I’m, uh. I mean, if today’s not a good time, I can just…go.” I don’t want to push or pry, but I’m starting to wonder if this is some weird prank, like maybe nobody’s coming and he’s pulling my leg and lured me here for no reason except to see if I was gullible enough to believe guys do this. And I’m not keen on pranks at all.

“No!” he yelps. “No, I’m sure the others are just, uh…busy?” He gives me a look I can’t really place. “This isn’t a set-in-stone thing. We’re not like an intramural jacking-off club or anything.” He blushes and looks away and I immediately feel bad for doubting him.

“What, you’re not the UKC Jerkoffs or something?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

“It’s more that we sort of hang out, and if someone brings up porn, maybe we show each other some recommendations or something.” He’s backtracking. I can see it in his face. So now, this is less “something we do together, come to the next meeting,” and more “yeah, sometimes we talk about porn,” and why the heck am I still here? Why was this something he said they did, only to tell me it’s not regular or intentional? Why tell me Tuesday, two in the afternoon, a direct answer and an invitation to join? I’m weirded out, and I’m wondering if I should leave, but I’m also dying for details. That’s what got me into this mess. I’m curious as hell about this.

“So then, do you just want to text me the next time you guys do that or something?” I’m not sure where to go from here. After all, outside of classes… I don’t know. We don’t have a connection really. We’re definitely not jack-off-watching-porn-together friends. Not yet, anyway.

“You can stay if you want. Just because there isn’t a group of us doesn’t mean I can’t prove my point that straight guys watch porn together sometimes. We’re still two guys. There’s still porn to watch.”

“But I’m not straight,” I tell him. I’m pretty sure JJ knows this, that he knew it before I texted. I’ve never been a fan of hiding it. Why hide who I am, when I’m proud of myself?

“I-I know that!” he stammers. “But I am a straight guy! I can show you we get off around other dudes and it’s not a big deal.”

I nod, taking in what he’s saying. Now it seems a little like he’s after a chance to experiment. And that? That’s totally something I can get behind. JJ wouldn’t be the first guy who has used me as a chance to explore, and I’m sure he won’t be the last, either, if that’s what this is. So, I’ll follow his lead. “Okay. I mean, if you want, then I guess fire her up?” I tug my shirt off, hoping at least being on more common ground clothing-wise will make him feel less awkward.

I didn’t miss the glances he’s taking toward the door, but I can’t read the look of uncertainty on his face. Is he looking at the door because he really is expecting more people to join us, or because he’s scared of someone seeing us like this? Or maybe he’s just worried I’ll bolt.

“What do you want to watch?”

“You pick,” I say, chuckling. “I’m not sure you want to see what I’m into.” I can only imagine the sheer horror, or at the very least, the discomfort he’d feel if we sat here side by side while I type in my favorite kink site or the soccer twink video that always does it for me. It’s better to let him choose, at least at first, so I settle back on the couch and pull my leg up, hugging it as if it makes me look confident. Maybe I just look guarded. I really don’t care either way. I don’t want to move and put my foot back down because then I’ll just look fidgety. I watch as he browses. Whatever he picks is sure to be a trip.

After five minutes, I’m tempted to tell him to pick something. Anything. Sitting here browsing half of a porn site is boring at best and horribly awkward at worst. “You decide,” JJ finally relents. “Show me what you like. Only if you want to. I don’t have to get off to it.”

I damn near lose it, almost do a double take. What I like? Is he serious? “You sure?”

“Yeah. Go for it. I mean, I can’t find anything worth watching.”

Nothing worth watching. On an entire porn site, he found nothing worth watching. Either he’s really picky or he’s really nervous, and I’m not sure which is the better option. I’m tempted to remind him I’m gay, that whatever I usually watch won’t be a straight guy’s cup of tea, but instead, I’m taking control, fingers on the touchpad. “All right, well…first, what I watch isn’t on this side of PornBee. We have to, uh, go to the other…” I move the cursor and click a couple of times, navigating to the gay side of the site. “Right here.” I lean to the side to give him a better look at the screen. I want to give him the chance to tell me this isn’t what he wants to watch. But he doesn’t say anything.

He just looks at me, then at the screen, then at me. “Okay, so which one are we watching?”

“We don’t have to watch this,” I remind him. “We can watch anything you want. It’s fine. I’m flexible.” I’m not, but I’m not here to get off anyway.

“Nah. You’re my guest. We can watch it.” He adjusts the hem of his boxers but doesn’t make a move to take his cock out. I don’t think he has any plans to touch himself; he’s just curious about what I want to watch. But then he slides his boxers to his ankles and shakes the leg they’re still hooked on to get them off entirely. “You can get more comfortable if you want,” JJ repeats. “I mean, we’re watching porn, not Thor or something.”

“Have you seen Chris Hemsworth? That may as well be the same thing,” I joke, and he laughs, but I find myself following his lead anyway, sliding my pants down to my ankles, my boxer briefs going with them. Now I’m bare-assed on his ratty couch. And here we are, two guys. One supposedly straight. One definitely not. And we’re getting ready to watch gay porn. Together. Naked. I’d say it’s not weird, but it absolutely, 1000 percent is.

He leans forward, looking at the video titles on the screen. From here, I have an amazing view of his gorgeous body without him knowing I’m staring. He’s one of those perfectly toned guys, a soccer player, tall and strong. I’ve seen him play—not on purpose, but you know, longboarding past the field during practice—and I’ve seen him take someone down with a swift kick to the ankles. The whole thing is intimidating but more than a little hot. My eyes trace his back, and all I can think about is how shitty it is that the reason I asked JJ in the first place is because he’s straight. For a second, I find myself wishing I had a shot with him, because he’s drop-dead gorgeous. But then he settles back in his seat, shaking his head a little, and I have to look away before he catches me staring.

I lean forward now, glancing back over my shoulder at him. “Do you see any you like?” He’s chewing on his lip, and I realize I’d really like to be doing that, actually, biting his lip.

“Nah, just…whatever’s fine, really.”

“Okay.” He asked for it, I remind myself as I skim the titles. If I were alone, I’d think of a particular star I like, type in the name, all that, but I feel like admitting I know the names of my favorites is a bit much, even if I’ve heard enough straight guys talk about the ones they love best when they’re not watching shitty POV blowjob videos of a girl crying. What’s the appeal there? So, I just skim, waiting for a title to catch my eye. I get now why he took so long looking…it’s really hard to pick a video when you’ve got pressure on you to pick a good one. A title catches my eye. My straight friend uses me like a sex toy. It’s clearly amateur, and thankfully short, which makes it a perfect way to test the waters so he won’t have to suffer for long watching it.

Unlike in professional studio porn, there’s no lead-up and no plot to get into. The video starts right in the middle of the action, focused on a blur of grainy dicks and asses on the screen, and it’s very clearly been shot on a cell phone. I don’t want to gawk at him, to stare at JJ and make him feel weird, but I’m so curious to know what he thinks of my choice of video, if he’s totally repulsed.

He clears his throat, and I use it as an excuse to glance at him. When I do, he’s laser-focused on the screen and biting his lip hard. His eyes flash over to me, then quickly back to the screen. As far as I can tell, he’s not intentionally touching himself, but his palm is grazing his cock and even though it’s clear he isn’t touching himself seriously, he is touching himself. That’s…something.

I focus back on the screen and I’m suddenly self-conscious about the video I chose. What if I get hard while I’m watching and JJ’s weirded out? I mean, yeah, I know he said he does this with his friends all the time, but I’m pretty sure now that isn’t what actually happens, which makes me feel even weirder. But surely JJ would understand if I touch myself—we’re watching porn, after all—so I inhale sharply and I graze my fingertips over myself, watching as the guy on screen finishes inside his friend. Dammit. The video’s already over.

After it finishes, we’re left in awkward silence. He’s not saying anything, so finally I manage to speak. “You can, um…you should pick now. If you want to.” Or maybe this whole situation is over now that we’ve watched something and I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth.

JJ shrugs. “You pick one. If you want, anyway. We can watch whatever.”

“I already picked,” I counter, but neither of us make a move toward the computer.

“Okay. I’ll pick.” He scrolls for a minute or two, not switching back to the straight side of the site right away.

“You can switch it back to the straight side,” I prod. “I don’t care.” I don’t want him to feel like he has to stay on the gay side of the site to make me feel more comfortable. I was only ever supposed to be here as an observer, even if a fly on the wall would never get that idea from how we were sitting.

“It’s, uh…yeah. Okay. I’ll do that.” He sighs and it sounds like relief as he clicks back to the main site. “We can try a compromise maybe?” He switches to a category labeled MMF and says, “Maybe this can get us both off.”

So that’s the goal then, I realize. Getting off. We’re supposed to watch this together and get off. I mean, he said it, but I had sort of assumed that was no longer how this worked. Or something. I’m not sure what I assume anymore. I don’t have high hopes when he clicks the first video on the suggestions, but I nod anyway. “Yeah. Maybe so.” He’s clearly trying to be considerate and trying to make me feel comfortable. As the video continues, though, JJ still isn’t really touching himself. He’s just sitting and watching the video. When he does finally go to touch himself, I can feel his eyes on me. I’m not sure how to take it. In a way, I wonder if he’s trying to feel me out, to see if I’m weirded out by the inclusion of a girl in the video, like maybe I won’t want to participate now. But he’s not making a move to get himself worked up, and I don’t really want to be the first one to make an effort. It’s like we’re both sitting here, daring the other one to start jacking off fully.

His hands are at his sides, palms up, and his thumb grazes my leg. I freeze in place. The touch had to be an accident. There’s no chance in hell he tried to touch me on purpose. But then his thumb glides across my skin, electric and—from what I can tell anyway—intentional. I look down at his hand and try to see if he even knows he’s touching me. As I do, JJ lifts his hand and moves it closer, so half of it rests against my leg.

I don’t know how much I’m supposed to acknowledge what’s happening here, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I put my hand down, overlapping JJ’s, but barely touching him. If he reacts, I’ll play it off as an accident, in case he’d never meant to touch me at all. But me touching him only makes him bolder, and he puts his hand on my bare thigh.

I’m waiting, taking several deep breaths, because what’s even happening right now? But I put my hand on top of his after, because if I don’t make a move by the time the video is over, one of us is going to have to turn on another one, and I’m positive that will break whatever spell he’s under.

I kind of want to stall for that reason: if he’s going to regret this, I don’t want to push it ahead. The whole thing feels horribly misguided. But I don’t want to bother, at the same time, because he’s attractive as hell, and if this goes horribly wrong, well, at least we only have one class together.

As his hand inches up my leg, I’m wondering if this is how all “straight guys jack off together.” But then I remember that whole situation is probably a lie anyway, even if it’s not the prank I’d initially worried it was. But my confusion doesn’t need an answer right now. What I need is for one of us to make a move. So, with my hand on his, I’m guiding it ever so slowly toward my cock, stopping a few inches away so he can decide if he wants to make the final move or not.

He only takes a second to decide, and I almost jump when he slides his hand over, grasps my dick, and works it slowly. In response, I move my own hand to his leg. As I inch it up, I glance out of the corner of my eye to make sure I’m getting where I need to go. He’s harder than I expected, and as I touch him, his cock twitches in my hand as if it’s jumping into it, easing into my touch. I match his pace, both of us leaning against the couch, legs spread apart so our knees and feet touch, arms crossed over each other.

I scoot closer, trying to get more comfortable. Other than that, there’s no romance to this. We’re just hands and cocks and movement, friction and low groans, pants and gasps and a quiet “oh fuck,” once in a while, but nothing more. I’m not stopping as long as he’s not, matching him stroke for stroke and slowing him down once in a while by slowing my own hand down.

Even as the video ends, neither of us try to start a new one. The screen is just cycling through recommendations of what we should watch next, still shots of men and women in various configurations with shocked or horny or surprised faces. We don’t look at each other and we don’t say anything. We just keep letting this happen, touching each other.

I don’t mind it either. Letting it happen is okay, and I’m fine with it if JJ is. He’s leading, going with the flow, and I’m playing along with whatever he wants. If it were entirely up to me, I’d move, get on my knees and give him the best blowjob he’s ever had, but the thought of changing what we’re doing only makes me more worried I’ll spook him. Hands are one thing, but mouths are quite another. And anyway, hands feel nice.

He speeds up and to me, it feels like encouragement, a silent clue he’s close and wants to finish, so I speed up too. I wonder what will happen if one of us comes first, if he’d want to stop as soon as it happened and he processed what we’re doing. And it seems like he’s close, his ragged breath and mumbling curses giving me all the information I need, his leaking cock giving me even more to go on. “Fuck, yeah, God,” he mumbles. “Right there. That’s it.” His hand slows down but his breath indicates I shouldn’t, so I don’t. I keep pumping his cock with my fist and feeling his breath heavy against my shoulder as he leans into me, gasping out before a low groan, come glazing his chest and stomach.

I wouldn’t blame him for stopping there. He got what he needed and I’m well-equipped to take care of my own needs in my room if I have to. But JJ doesn’t stop. He takes a moment to recover and keeps stroking me, saying nothing. It’s like he doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact I just made him come. Instead, he looks around, like he expects someone to have shown up during his orgasm, and when he sees no one is here, he leans down into my lap.

Clearly, this is his first experience with something like this. But that’s okay. His hand doesn’t stop, so it takes him a moment to coordinate and get my cock in his mouth, and even then, he’s hesitant, like he’s gone to take a sip of his soda at the movies only to find the straw has moved on him. Except he’s the one moving it. His tongue feels good, though, flicking over the tip as his hand works furiously fast. He doesn’t go deep at all, but he doesn’t have to. His hand, his lips, the warmth of his tongue, it does what I need. I’m close, pulling at his hair and trying to tug him off in time. “I’m gonna come,” I warn, and finally he backs off, moving his mouth away without stopping his hand.

My come pools around his fingers, the rest dripping across my skin to the dips of my collarbones as I lean back. I can barely breathe, taking a few shaky breaths to recover from what happened. “Fuck,” I mumble. We’re silent now, both breathing, my head spinning over this entire situation.

“I don’t know why I did that,” he finally confesses.

Turning to look at him, I can see the blush creeping over his face. So, I nod. “It’s all right,” I try to reassure him. “It’s fine.”

“It isn’t weird?”

He’s got self-doubt written all over his face. “Nah, it’s…not weird,” I tell him. “These things happen sometimes.”

“Yeah.” He says it like a statement, but I can tell he’s not entirely convinced. “You’re not, um…going to…uh…?”

“Stays between us, man,” I tell him. I’d want that kind of reassurance if I were in his shoes.

“Thanks.” He’s tugging his boxers back on, standing up and grabbing a towel that’s draped over the back of his university-issued desk chair, and wiping himself clean before tossing it to me. “So, uh, if you wanted to like, y’know…” I’m thinking, Spit it out, but I get that’s easier said than done. “We could do it again sometime, maybe.” Perk of him having a single room, I’m guessing.

“Yeah, okay.” I don’t have high hopes we actually will. He seems too shell-shocked by us even touching like this once, let alone again. “Text me if you want to.” I’m leaving the door open to it just in case.

“I’ll text you,” he tells me, and he meets my eyes for the first time in a while. Maybe we will do this again.