Mike
For several years now I've been having dreams. Dreams of the most impeccable human specimen I've ever seen, Mike. He has beautiful blond hair, brown eyes that stair deep into you and perhaps the sexiest body in the world. He's six feet tall, not too tall, but not short. His torso resembles that of a god's rock hard abs, muscular pecs, well developed biceps and the cutest little belly button. His legs are strong and powerful, a result of years of hockey and any other sport you can name. I've only ever caught a glimpse of his bulge, but from what I've seen he has nothing to be ashamed of. But even with all of that, the sexiest most luscious part of his incredible body is without a doubt his soft, sensual lips. Every time I saw him I would attempt to strike up a conversation just to have an excuse to watch his lips move. The mere thought of touching them was enough to get me off. And as our friendship grew, this became increasingly difficult to hide.
I've been in school with him now for 15 years, he's a year younger than I am but he fast tracked through high school and now we attend the same university. With every passing day as my lust grows, among other things, our friendship becomes stronger. I thought it would be heaven going to a big university with only him and a few other friends from high school. Not knowing anyone else, having only each other to sit with in class for at least a few weeks. But we were friends, so we sat together all the time, in every class we shared. For the first few months it was incredible, I got to sit beside him in cramped seating, our legs touching, our arms touching his lips but a foot and a half away from mine. It was perfect. Or so I thought.
The innocence of forbidden fruit, like everything else, fades with time. I began to lose control. In class while holding my books over my thighs, I began pleasuring myself while staring at him. With every slight turn of his head I would fear him catching me, but I couldn't stop myself. My primal urges always won over in a battle with my common sense. Everyday was harder than the last. I found it next to impossible to keep my hands off of him. He was and is everything I've ever dreamed about. Every time he opened his mouth to speak I dreamed of passionately kissing him, confessing my love, our tongues softly caressing, my hands exploring the ridges of his body slowly making their way to the inevitable bulge growing in his jeans, groping, tenderly massaging, loving. And that's when I would fall back down to Earth, my underwear soaked as the result of wet dream. My heart would be pounding out of my chest, half from the excitement of the dream and half from the fear that he'd noticed.
This carried on for about a month, everyday sitting next to him, so close but unable to act upon the urge that now dictates my life. Every waking second was spent . . . . .
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