Hot electric sex sizzling on the monitor, scan lines interweaving, displaying pixels lost in a seedy depiction of a man in ecstasy. He never saw this before, wondered how it could be that a guy that he knew so well was suddenly steeped in this delicious mystery.

Click.

A man, tongue lightly tracing the delicate flesh of another, whose head was cropped off of the picture, the anonymity more of an obscenity than the lustful act itself.

He heard his friend softly snoring on the bed, spied the smooth white flesh of his chest gently heaving up and down to the tune of some yet unknown rhythm. He'd seen that sight before, but knowing what he knew now somehow made the sight erotic. The flesh was ghostly white in the dim light, and most of it covered in shadow. But that fleeting view of flesh was somehow more sensuous - sinful - than the full nude.

He shivered slightly, although it was hot and humid in the room, the legacy of a summer's day in Augusta. His right finger moved surreptitiously to his lips, picking up moisture on its tip. Saliva dribbled down on his chin and he savored the feeling of it trailing down his neck. He moved his wet finger to his left nipple and started sliding it around in delicious circles. He felt conspicuous then, thinking about what he must look like in the dark with the glow of a monitor the only illumination. But then he truly didn't care. Didn't give a fuck. He mused that it might be the weed talking right then.

Time shifting, his friend called it.

"You know," he had told him, "when you're fuckin' baked, and, like, you experience the consequences of the decision you made a split second before you make the decision to do it?" He'd never been high before, thought at the time his friend was full of shit. But he knew what he meant now.

"How the fuck did I get here?" he asked to himself quietly. He giggled a bit and again took in the sight of his friend under the sheets. Sheets which covered the bed he was sitting on now, whereas the last place he remembered being was in front of the computer. He won't notice, he thought to himself. Earlier, his friend had been pretty baked too. However, he had a rough day, he said, wanted to put in early. But feel free to fuck around on the ‘Net. He had gotten bored and decided to click around on his friend's computer. He had expected to find some sort of porn or another. But not that kind.

He'd never had sex before. Pretty sure his friend here was the same way. Never tasted another's flesh. It was a little salty, the texture exquisite, his tongue dancing on the goosebumped skin he was only a moment before coveting. He suckled the nipple, smelled the heat radiating from its surface.

The sheets were slightly damp, the body under it pliable and moist to the touch. He pulled the sheets down lower, exposing the hard stomach beneath it, which was gently heaving up and down in time to the sound of his friend's breathing. His finger traced the lines on it that seemed etched with a chisel. It flinched at his light touch.

"Mmm," he heard above him. It was the little noise that one makes sometimes in a bad dream, or after a fleetingly intense sensation. It wasn't quite as disturbing as what he heard next.

"What the fuck?"

He lifted his tongue off of the sweet flesh. He'd be mortified right now usually, he thought to himself. The weed again. Instead he smiled.

"Mmmm, god, you taste so good." He moved himself up, shoulder to shoulder, and could see a shocked look even through the darkness between them. His head moved down, connecting their lips. He was getting these strange sensations now, drug induced for sure. It was like a pre-shiver, that almost uncomfortable sensation that energy is vibrating and pent up within. Only shivering didn't shake it off. He felt it through his body, his extremities - through his fingers dancing on his friend's chest, through his semi-hard penis. He moaned just then as he slipped his tongue into the wet hole it had found.

His friend, if he had been in shock, was certainly not showing it now. Sure, his body was rigid, uncomfortable, but he was massaging that away with his hands. He was aggressive, he knew what he wanted, what he needed to have happen. He was sure his friend would sense that and let it happen. And he was letting it happen.

He had read once that the greatest erogenous zone was the brain, and when masturbating experienced that fact. Sometimes he could come, sometimes not, depending on what he thought of at the moment. Sometimes he'd be going at it, and some stupid thought - like, oh, whether or not he was going to skip class the next day - would pop into his head. That would be the end of it. Now, however, he was thinking of no such thing. Just flesh, his friend's supple lips on his own, and the way he felt a pair of hands slightly rubbing against his chest.

"Don't be afraid man," he whispered softly, "I want you to touch me."

That seemed to release something within his friend. Made it okay. He savored the feeling of his friend's warm hands running up and down his body, the way his breathing was getting deeper. He remembered one of the pictures he had found on the computer shortly before. Hot sex. Hot, sweaty bodies sliding against each other, natural lubrication easing the motion of two lovers.

He moved lower and shoved the bed sheet to below his friend's knees. He couldn't see the boxers in front of him, but he could smell the musk wafting from below. His slight touch found the elastic and he tugged on it, pulling the boxers down to the upper thigh. He jutted his tongue out, and it met flesh again, the texture different this time.

"Oh, fucking Christ," he heard above him, "oh, god yeah."

The pubic hairs tickled his nose, and he almost gagged when he took him in the first time. It filled his mouth, and it had a sweetness to it that he couldn't place. He made obscene motions with his head and his tongue, imagining he was one of those guys in the picture. He wanted to be a slut. A dirty, cock-sucking slut.

His fingers were wet now, picking up saliva as he pumped his friend's cock up and down.

"Lift up your knees," he ordered softly. Like a private in the army following orders, the knees lifted.

"What're you doing?" he heard, "wha... unghh. What're you gonna do?" It was pleading, almost a whisper.

He didn't answer. Pretty hard to do with a cock in your mouth. He almost giggled at the thought. He pushed a wet finger between his friend's ass crack, and put the very tip into his asshole. The convulsion that followed took him by surprise.

"Oh my fucking... chhriisssttttt," he heard above.

He was excited. The time shifts were coming faster now, the loss of control total. He didn't care right then if his mother paid a surprise visit and found him sucking off his childhood friend. He didn't care if the neighbors upstairs heard and called him a goddamned fag for the rest of his life. He shoved another finger in and finger-fucked the hole with an intense passion.

"Ohhh. Ahhh. Fuck me!" he heard, "god I'm gonna blow my fucking wad."

He didn't really care where it went. He wanted it all over his mouth, his face, dripping off of his eyebrow. And indeed, it did go everywhere.

It was as if it was in slow motion. He could feel the stream of come spray his face. It was an exhilarating and debasing experience. And he loved it, loved the cheapness of the moment. The come dripped off his face as more struck his forehead, his ear. He let some of it in his mouth and savored the flavor.

His friend's back had arched, tensed in what seemed like agony. Light from the monitor traced graceful lines along the edges of his chest muscles. It shimmered for an instant as it bounced off of the thin film of sweat that had developed.

Closing his eyes, he rubbed the still-dripping cock on his face, savoring the velvety texture and the slickness of the mess it had made. His friend was breathing softly now, quiet - as if still asleep. He didn't know if it was an embarrassed silence, or merely a contented catatonia. He didn't really care. For now, it was okay.

He could deal with that.