Foolish Fire by Guy Willard Read Free Book Online

contain our excitement.
    The men’s room was completely empty, and we took two stalls, side by side.
    I’d done it often enough alone in here, but there was something about Bobby’s physical proximity that heightened my excitement this time. I was acutely aware of him in the next stall like a twin or alter ego. His sneakers and a bit of pant leg were visible in the lower gap of the partition between us.
    “Are your pants down?” I called to him softly.
    “No.”
    “What are you waiting for, dummy?”
    I heard the rustle of his pants dropping to the floor, the clink of his belt buckle hitting the tile.
    “Okay, I’m ready.” His voice echoed slightly in the high-ceilinged restroom.
    “Are your briefs off, too?”
    “Yes! I’m sitting here buck naked, with a hard-on fit to bust!” His voice trembled, though it was kept discreetly low. “What about you?”
    “I’ve been ready.” Indeed I was already fondling myself.
    “I can’t believe we’re doing this, can you?” he whispered. “This is crazy. What if someone came in just now?”
    “They wouldn’t know what’s going on—unless they can see through walls. What are you afraid of?”
    I could hear faint sounds from outside, but the roaring in my ears dimmed it out. The speakers installed inside the men’s room suddenly crackled into life; the feature was starting, but we didn’t care. I heard Bobby smother a giggle, then catch his breath.
    It grew silent but for the sound of our breathing—breathing interrupted by our mischievous giggles. I listened to the sighs and catches in Bobby’s breaths, timing my own beat to the tiny slaps I could hear whenever his fist hit his groin. It was soon hitting in a steady rhythm. I felt as if we were mentally linked, caught in the same psychic web, our two separate pleasures becoming one.
    Then I heard a quick gasp as he sucked in his breath. After what seemed a long, tension-filled interval, I saw, accompanied by the sound of his grunt, the sudden quivering appearance on the floor of the adjacent stall of a small white gob…then another, another—like drops of hot wax from a candle someone was shaking.
    At that sight, I felt my vision get blurred. A heartbeat later, my own offering, identical to Bobby’s in every way, joined the floor down between my feet. My heart was pounding furiously, as if I’d just run a sprint. As I tried to catch my breath, I could hear Bobby on the other side of the partition breathing just as hard, a staccato soughing punctuated by the catch of nervous laughter. Amazed at what we’d just done, I gazed down at the irrefutable evidence that Bobby and I were one: we had done the same thing, had felt the same ecstasy at almost the very same moment. And the scattered drops of white on the floor were the perfect seal to our boyhood bond.
     
    *
     
    It was the last night of Bobby’s stay. We were talking about what we’d done at the theater.
    “I can’t believe we actually did that, can you?”
    “We would probably be locked away if they found out.”
    “Who’s gonna find out?”
    He was sitting cross-legged on his cot with his back against the wall, and I could tell he was aroused. I could see the thick lump of his erection under his pajama bottoms, a hardness like a jackknife. I wondered if he realized how obvious it was. Despite myself, I found my glance stealing downward at his crotch, and he, noting the direction of my glance, brought his knees up in embarrassment.
    We found ourselves growing keenly aware of each other’s excitement. I saw a trapped look come into his eyes and he began to stammer and swallow.
    I tried to turn my thoughts elsewhere, to dampen my own urge, hoping that it would go away. And I knew he was probably doing the same thing. It became almost a competition, an endurance contest. Neither of us wanted to admit to the desire to masturbate. I was waiting for him to weaken and give in, and with a guilty look on his face find some excuse to go to the