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When it comes to brojobs, Jane Ward wrote the book. Literally. It’s called Not Gay: Sex Between Straight White Men. She has all kinds of fancy theories about how “sex between straight white men allows them to leverage whiteness and masculinity to authenticate their heterosexuality in the context of sex with men." Yeah, ok. That…wasn’t really what Schmidt was thinking about when he looked back on that one really, truly insane night during police academy.
And it drove him a little crazy, when he really went there in his mind, that he couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol, like Jamie Foxx had said in that…actually that song seems a little non-consensual now that he thought about it. ANYWAY, the strongest drink they’d had that night was coffee. But, in his defense, coffee could do strange things to a guy after a while! He’d even looked up all these scientific studies about how sleep-deprivation impacted the body just as much AND in similar ways as intoxication.
Mmhmm.
But no matter how he tried to rationalize it, Schmidt couldn’t deny that it had happened. And… And that he’d enjoyed it.
Fuck.
For Jenko’s part. He didn’t give it much thought. It happened and if he were to dwell on it for any meaningful period of time, which he did not, he would simply place it in its appropriate context. It wasn’t the first time for him. And it probably wouldn’t the last.
Oh well.
It had started when they were going over flash cards together for the big final exam. The one that would pretty much determine their buoyancy in the sink-or-swim race that is police academy. Around 2:00 in the morning, they’d reached that moment when everything (re: EVERYTHING) is funny. Getting the question right was funny. Getting the question wrong was fucking hilarious. And when it was Schmidt’s turn to ask the questions to Jenko, the taller more muscular guy would spill over onto his chubby friend’s lap trying to suppress tears whenever he messed up.
Schmidt, still fairly alert even in his giggly state, noticed immediately that his pal’s gob was dangerously close to his own gonads – a fact which Jenko couldn’t really have guessed because up until this point, they hadn’t really ever seen each other naked. Most people assumed that Jenko was packing heat in the dongalong department and, like they did with most overweight guys, they assumed that Schmidt had a teeny weeny.
This assumption wasn’t completely off base. Schmidt’s dick was about five inches – he’d measured weekly for most of adolescence hoping in vain he would hit six or at least 5.5 so that when he said it was six , that wouldn’t be a complete and total lie. But regardless of the length of his peter, what these assumptions about him didn’t entirely account for was the fact that the penis is not the only feature of the male genital array. What Schmidt lacked in the schlong, he made up for in the sack.
The ball sack.
Schmidt’s ball bag was voluminous in the extreme. He had to keep wearing tighty whiteys even when all his peers switched to boxers because his nuts would swing around and slap up against his thighs every time he moved at a pace even approximating a brisk walk.
He had to keep those suckers supported and tied down most of the time. But during their late night study sessions, he’d changed into some plaid pajama pants and, in his hurry to not let Jenko spot his junk, he hadn’t thrown on any underwear at all.
So here he was with his low hanging nuts snaking down his right pant leg, obscenely close to Jenko’s open mouth, when he started really sweating that the two might make contact.
Schmidt swallowed hard. He tried to move away but his slap-happy study buddy just kept snickering and smacked him hard on the knee. Schmidt jumped, not sure if he should be appreciative or horrified that the high velocity hand had not landed right on the family jewels.
That’s when something changed. Jenko noticed Schmidt’s anxiety and asked about it.
“Yo dude, what’s up with you right now?”
“What do you mean?” Schmidt feigned ignorance but the sleep deprivation had him way past the point of being convincing.
Jenko held eye contact with his comrade as if trying to read his mind.
“Hahahahahaha.” The bigger dude busted out laughing after such a pregnant pause. “Whatever man. We are totally going to ace this thing.”
Seeing his opening, Schmidt jumped on, “Yes!” They high fived. “Man, I gotta take a pee. Brb.”
Schmidt surreptitiously grabbed a pair of briefs that were lying on top of his dirty clothes hamper as he exited the room. He planned to cage up his nads in the bathroom and avoid this whole thing. When he got in there, he stripped off his pajama pants and was about to step into the tighty whiteys when they door started to swing open.
“Hey man, I gotta go too.” Jenko swallowed the last word as he came face-to-face with Schmidt’s package.
“What the shit?”
Schmidt was horrified. He was so embarrassed. And he didn’t know what to do with his face.
And then as if his entire body was conspiring against him, the unthinkable happened.
He got wood.
“Oh man, those have got to be the biggest balls I have ever seen in my whole life.”
Schmidt was at a loss for words.
“Thank you…?”
“Yeah, man, that’s fucking awesome. Bigger than your boner, that’s for sure.”
Jenko grinned and slapped the penis playfully, bending down to his knees to take a closer look.
Schmidt swallowed hard, color rising in his face. It was like all his worst fears coming true all at once.
But somehow, despite that, it felt like Jenko didn’t mean it in a particularly degrading way. Schmidt almost felt comfortable actually, that is if he could untense his muscles enough to feel anything at all.
“Can I feel ‘em?”
Now that was just weird. But Jenko didn’t wait for a response. He just…reached out and touched someone. And that someone was Schmidt. His hand palmed the satchel and lifted slightly, bobbing up and down to feel their full weight. He ran his thumb along the seam between the two egg shaped testicles, finding that slightly ticklish sweet spot where there was no hair and it felt especially good to rub.
If Schmidt had already been hard, now he was dripping with precum.
“Haha,” Jenko chuckled at the clear spooge, thoughtlessly moving his thumb up to spread it along Schmidt’s piss slit, lubing up his whole flat head.
“Ok, listen, I really have to pee.”
“Oh stop, you know you can’t pee with a boner.”
“What?”
“Have you ever tried? There’s a sphincter muscle somewhere in your crotch that turns that shit off when you’re turned on.”
Schmidt stared at his friend blankly.
“Yeah, and then the precum is stimulated to emerge to clear the way of any urine that’s hanging around cause piss is toxic to sperm.”
Schmidt was actually more shocked that Jenko had produced such detailed biological factoids than the reality that he was feeling him up.
“What? Sex ed was always the most interesting class. It was practical. And I got held back twice so…”
But Schmidt couldn’t really dwell on this as the genital massage got more and more intense. What did occur to him though was that, due to their massive multi-day study sessions, Schmidt hadn’t ejaculated in about three days and this was a far cry from his norm of once every six hours or so.
“Uh, Jenko, listen.”
“You close, man? Right on! Do it!”
The childlike glee that his friend was showing was truly, madly, and deeply … bewildering.
But.
It felt pretty good.
And.
There really wasn’t any stopping it at this point.
Schmidt threw his head back, screwed up his face, and started to emit noises that most resembled that of a baby raccoon being tortured.
Jenko laughed so hard he cried as rope after rope of Schmidt’s semen landed all over his face.
“Oh my god, man, you have got the most unbelievable o-face I have ever seen in my entire life.”
Schmidt internally questioned how many dudes’ o-faces his pal had actually witnessed but he was coming down from a great orgasm and couldn’t be bothered to fully commit to that line of inquiry. At least not at the moment.
He let out a sigh: “Well you, fuckhead, have my seed all over you so you have no room to talk.”
“Naw dude, I am never gonna let you live that down.”
And even as the situation was as obscenely absurd as was at all possible for a situation to be, the “never” in that sentence warmed Schmidt’s heart just the tiniest bit. Because this guy was slowly turning into his best friend. And he really did hope that friendship would last forever.