Barry and I were old friends. We’d met in high school, and drifted apart a bit in high school, only to mutually discover our attraction to boys in our sophomore year. He went to college out west, and I went out east, and once again we drifted apart only to be reconnected again in our late twenties after a mutual friend’s wedding.
And in all that time, I’d never acted on the crush I’d had since day one.
Barry, back in school, had been a husky boy, which is a kind way of saying he was chubby and out of shape. I, however, was skinny and out of shape, being the sort of naturally lean kid whose shape owed more to genetics and an aggressive metabolism than to any effort on my part.
But college had changed both of us. For my part, I had been persuaded to put in a little time at the gym by a roommate, and had managed to finally pack on a few pounds of lean muscle. It took a while, but I finally filled out enough to look less like a refugee from North Scrawnistan and more like, well, I suppose a track or cycling or swimming sort of jock. Which was funny because I hated running and was hopeless on a bike.
Barry, however, had gone the opposite route at first, putting on double the usual freshman fifteen, and then some. And then he spent a summer building houses and all that flab converted to bulky muscle. He wouldn’t be picked to model underwear packages any more than I would, but he got strong and solid, and stayed that way with relatively little effort afterwards.
All of which we mutually discovered about four months after graduation when we found ourselves back in our sleepy little home town for a party.
“Ty? Is that you, man?”
I hadn’t heard his voice in over two years, though we had texted a few times for birthday and Christmas wishes. I spun round.
“Barry? Damn, you look good!”
“Look who’s talking! You finally put a little meat on those bones!”
The big lug went in for the hug, and I gladly obliged. It was a good hug, sincere and comfortable, and I was oddly reluctant to let it go.
Barry had to be 220-240 pounds, which is a lot for someone who is only 5’7. But his bulky build wasn't flabby these days, it was solid, and he’d sprouted a fair bit of hair on his arms and sticking out of his shirt collar. He looked bearish, in a white button down camp shirt. It suited him.
As for myself, at 6'3” or so, I was about 180, and if I’m honest, looked like a very tall twink who was just starting on his way to being a twunk. I was wearing a tight shirt and skinny jeans, and with my spiky brown hair, I’d been favorably compared to the guy from Doctor Who, if he got hired by Marvel. In fact I had chosen this particular shirt because my pecs were finally coming along and I liked the way they stretched the material — and because it was snug enough to show my abs.
Though we were surrounded by people we had gone to school with, it felt like we were alone as we eagerly caught up. I think we probably annoyed our host by basically ignoring her party, but it was always so effortless to talk with Barry.
Eventually the party wound down and we ended up a few blocks away at the sole all night diner, nursing a couple beers and letting the discussion wander through the 20 years we had mostly in common.
And then, because we were buzzed and feeling nostalgic, we ended up going back to the hotel, and chatting in my room until entirely too late. The bottle of Jameson’s we grabbed from the bar was likely a factor.
Seriously, I was never one of those guys staying up until 2am. Sensibly asleep by 11 was my preference. But there it was, 230am, and we were still finding excuses to keep the vibe going…right up until I stifled a long suppressed and very dramatic yawn.
“Sorry, man, it’s not the company, I swear!”
“Fuck, it’s late, isn’t it? I can’t remember the last time I had this much to drink,” Barry said. He wasn’t alone, I thought, spying the quarter bottle of whiskey we had not yet finished off.
“You can crash here, if you want,” I offered, gesturing at the second bed.
“Damn, I might have to. I am going to have enough trouble getting to the bathroom.”
I shucked my pants and crawled into one of the beds, and knew I didn’t have much time before I passed out. Which is when I felt him crawl under the covers — of my bed.
“Um,” I said, bleary eyed.
“Dude, don’t over think it. I missed you, man.”
“I missed you too.”
“Nah, I mean…” he pulled me closer, and I could feel his boozy breath in my ear. “I mean, really missed you. I fucking love you, bro.”
“Uhhh..”
“Just…. Just tell me for real. Did you ever think about fooling around?”
Oh shit.
“Because I did. And it scared me, back in school. Then in college, I figured some things out. Important things.”
I was silent, and terrified.
“I really liked you, bro. And I figured out why. So I gotta know if you ever felt the slightest—“
I was kissing him before he finished the sentence.
Unfortunately, whiskey dick is a reality. But fortunately, what we were feeling for each other I was not just horny lust. We made out very aggressively, and we hugged. It was all rather sweet, but inebriated exhaustion doesn’t lend itself to passionate frottage or bed based acrobatics. There was a bit of giddy giggling and some blurry eyed intense eye contact.
Then I needed to get up and pee, and then he did.
“Fucking beer tax,” he groused.
“Probably for the best, I’m too tired to do much more tonight,” I replied.
“Or too trunk. I mean drunk.”
“Yeah. Up for more cuddling though.”
He snuggled up against me in the little spoon position. “Don’t read too much into this, I’m just kind of cold,” he laughed.
“Heh.” I wrapped my longer arms around him, enjoying the warmth and the scent of my long-time friend, and the feeling of his well padded muscles. “You know, you got pretty solid.”
“Yeah? I hate it, man. I was hoping to lose the flab, but at least there’s some muscle under it.”
“Lucky. I can’t seem to add any mass.”
“You’re kidding, right? Lanky boy. You look great.”
“I would rather be bulky and a little chubby over that kind of muscle.”
“Dude, you have visible abs. Shut the hell up,” he said.
“I’m serious.”
“Pity we can’t just trade a little.”
“I’m game if you are,” I said, nearly asleep already.
“You got it,” he agreed, and then snuggled back into me.
****
“Hey.”
I knew that voice.
“Dude, wake up,” it said. Sounded like Barry.
Oh shit, it *was* Barry!
I sat up a bit too fast, and was punished for it by a very painful throb in my head. I blinked slowly.
“Yeah” I muttered.
“You awake?”
“The fuck kind of question is that? You just woke me up.”
Yeah, I’m not a morning person at the best of times, sorry.
“Well, wake up some more then. Something weird is going on.”
The world swam into focus as I aimed my eyes in the general direction of the sound of his voice and stifled a yawn.
“Like what? Is this about last night?”
“Maybe? I don’t know, but….well, maybe I better let you finish waking up a bit.”
I peered at him, still groggy. Something was weird, he was right.
Then it hit me. He looked… leaner.
“…the fuck?”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “I noticed it when I got up to pee.”
“How the hell did…. But where did it go?”
“Guess,” he said.
I looked down…and suddenly, I knew.
“Bingo,” he said. “I’d guess about twenty pounds or so. But man, you’re a lot taller so you spread it around a bit.”
I took in my torso with confusion — my abs were still there, but they had some fuzzy padding that hadn’t been there last night. My arms were just a bit thicker, too.
“You’re saying that you lost twenty pounds and I…somehow found it?”
“Don’t need to say it. Unless you have a better explanation, this is what we got right now, Ty. And I ain’t complaining. Looks good on you!”
“But what…when…why…how?”
“You got some of my mass, overnight. Why? We talked about trading. How is anyone’s guess.”
I stood up carefully, realizing that my center of gravity felt a little off. “I don’t remember any wish-granting genies or fairy godmothers.”
“Me neither. I guess the universe was listening,” Barry said. “Guessing you need to —“
“Yup,” I affirmed. The urgency of my bladder made me cut the chat short, and I felt a little dizzy, so I sat and took care of business. I let Barry know I needed to freshen up, and set to brushing and gargling the previous night’s poor decisions out of my mouth. Then I took stock in the mirror as I stripped to hop in the shower.
Shit, Barry was right. Twenty extra pounds looked good on me.
***
“It’s all yours,” I said, exiting the bathroom.
Barry sat at the small table with a cup of crappy hotel room coffee, lost in what seemed to be literal navel-gazing.
“Ok,” he said. “I may need to borrow a spare pair of boxers and a t-shirt, if I can.”
“If you think they’ll fit,” I said. “And I do briefs.”
“At least they should get me through breakfast and to my room,” he said.
“Small mercies — speaking of which, this room has complimentary toiletries, so help yourself to the toothbrush.”
Nodding, he bounced over to the bath and got to work. I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t fully close the door, so I could see him check himself out as he brushed his teeth. And much as those twenty pounds looked better on me, their absence from his body made him look a lot fitter.
I liked what I was seeing.
***
Once we struggled our way into clothing that, while not ideal, would at least keep us from being charged with indecency, we mutually agreed that a drive through and a quick trip to Walmart or Target was probably in order. Without Barry’s usual pudge, it was pretty certain that the boxers he had packed were not going to fit properly.
That’s when the next weird thing happened. We ordered our customary McMuffins, and practically inhaled them on the way to Walmart. I had the opposite problem to Barry’s — my briefs were bought for a skinny person with no ass to speak of, and Barry informed me that I was now the proud owner of “an actual butt”.
As if pointing it out had some magical power, I became intensely aware that he was right. Suddenly the confused signals my body was sending began to make a bit of sense.
“Seriously bro, you got some cakes going on now. Maybe cupcakes, but before — no offense — they were pancakes!”
“Nice. Glad my nonexistent butt has been entertaining to you.”
“Well, I’m certainly entertained now. Can’t wait to follow you into the store.”
But the thing is, he was right. I’d had a flat ass for years, and suddenly I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what to do about that.
Not that I’m a fashion conscious sort of guy, but I was glad our purpose was limited to purely utilitarian needs because the selection wasn’t great. And of course, we needed to figure out our new sizes, so we brought some jeans and shorts to the fitting rooms. Turned out he’d gone down a size, and I had gone up one. And I bought the chinos I’d tried on because they fit me better than what I was wearing. Barry grabbed some sweat pants.
“At least it’s cheap,” he said as we got into the car.
***
And in all that time, I’d never acted on the crush I’d had since day one.
Barry, back in school, had been a husky boy, which is a kind way of saying he was chubby and out of shape. I, however, was skinny and out of shape, being the sort of naturally lean kid whose shape owed more to genetics and an aggressive metabolism than to any effort on my part.
But college had changed both of us. For my part, I had been persuaded to put in a little time at the gym by a roommate, and had managed to finally pack on a few pounds of lean muscle. It took a while, but I finally filled out enough to look less like a refugee from North Scrawnistan and more like, well, I suppose a track or cycling or swimming sort of jock. Which was funny because I hated running and was hopeless on a bike.
Barry, however, had gone the opposite route at first, putting on double the usual freshman fifteen, and then some. And then he spent a summer building houses and all that flab converted to bulky muscle. He wouldn’t be picked to model underwear packages any more than I would, but he got strong and solid, and stayed that way with relatively little effort afterwards.
All of which we mutually discovered about four months after graduation when we found ourselves back in our sleepy little home town for a party.
“Ty? Is that you, man?”
I hadn’t heard his voice in over two years, though we had texted a few times for birthday and Christmas wishes. I spun round.
“Barry? Damn, you look good!”
“Look who’s talking! You finally put a little meat on those bones!”
The big lug went in for the hug, and I gladly obliged. It was a good hug, sincere and comfortable, and I was oddly reluctant to let it go.
Barry had to be 220-240 pounds, which is a lot for someone who is only 5’7. But his bulky build wasn't flabby these days, it was solid, and he’d sprouted a fair bit of hair on his arms and sticking out of his shirt collar. He looked bearish, in a white button down camp shirt. It suited him.
As for myself, at 6'3” or so, I was about 180, and if I’m honest, looked like a very tall twink who was just starting on his way to being a twunk. I was wearing a tight shirt and skinny jeans, and with my spiky brown hair, I’d been favorably compared to the guy from Doctor Who, if he got hired by Marvel. In fact I had chosen this particular shirt because my pecs were finally coming along and I liked the way they stretched the material — and because it was snug enough to show my abs.
Though we were surrounded by people we had gone to school with, it felt like we were alone as we eagerly caught up. I think we probably annoyed our host by basically ignoring her party, but it was always so effortless to talk with Barry.
Eventually the party wound down and we ended up a few blocks away at the sole all night diner, nursing a couple beers and letting the discussion wander through the 20 years we had mostly in common.
And then, because we were buzzed and feeling nostalgic, we ended up going back to the hotel, and chatting in my room until entirely too late. The bottle of Jameson’s we grabbed from the bar was likely a factor.
Seriously, I was never one of those guys staying up until 2am. Sensibly asleep by 11 was my preference. But there it was, 230am, and we were still finding excuses to keep the vibe going…right up until I stifled a long suppressed and very dramatic yawn.
“Sorry, man, it’s not the company, I swear!”
“Fuck, it’s late, isn’t it? I can’t remember the last time I had this much to drink,” Barry said. He wasn’t alone, I thought, spying the quarter bottle of whiskey we had not yet finished off.
“You can crash here, if you want,” I offered, gesturing at the second bed.
“Damn, I might have to. I am going to have enough trouble getting to the bathroom.”
I shucked my pants and crawled into one of the beds, and knew I didn’t have much time before I passed out. Which is when I felt him crawl under the covers — of my bed.
“Um,” I said, bleary eyed.
“Dude, don’t over think it. I missed you, man.”
“I missed you too.”
“Nah, I mean…” he pulled me closer, and I could feel his boozy breath in my ear. “I mean, really missed you. I fucking love you, bro.”
“Uhhh..”
“Just…. Just tell me for real. Did you ever think about fooling around?”
Oh shit.
“Because I did. And it scared me, back in school. Then in college, I figured some things out. Important things.”
I was silent, and terrified.
“I really liked you, bro. And I figured out why. So I gotta know if you ever felt the slightest—“
I was kissing him before he finished the sentence.
Unfortunately, whiskey dick is a reality. But fortunately, what we were feeling for each other I was not just horny lust. We made out very aggressively, and we hugged. It was all rather sweet, but inebriated exhaustion doesn’t lend itself to passionate frottage or bed based acrobatics. There was a bit of giddy giggling and some blurry eyed intense eye contact.
Then I needed to get up and pee, and then he did.
“Fucking beer tax,” he groused.
“Probably for the best, I’m too tired to do much more tonight,” I replied.
“Or too trunk. I mean drunk.”
“Yeah. Up for more cuddling though.”
He snuggled up against me in the little spoon position. “Don’t read too much into this, I’m just kind of cold,” he laughed.
“Heh.” I wrapped my longer arms around him, enjoying the warmth and the scent of my long-time friend, and the feeling of his well padded muscles. “You know, you got pretty solid.”
“Yeah? I hate it, man. I was hoping to lose the flab, but at least there’s some muscle under it.”
“Lucky. I can’t seem to add any mass.”
“You’re kidding, right? Lanky boy. You look great.”
“I would rather be bulky and a little chubby over that kind of muscle.”
“Dude, you have visible abs. Shut the hell up,” he said.
“I’m serious.”
“Pity we can’t just trade a little.”
“I’m game if you are,” I said, nearly asleep already.
“You got it,” he agreed, and then snuggled back into me.
****
“Hey.”
I knew that voice.
“Dude, wake up,” it said. Sounded like Barry.
Oh shit, it *was* Barry!
I sat up a bit too fast, and was punished for it by a very painful throb in my head. I blinked slowly.
“Yeah” I muttered.
“You awake?”
“The fuck kind of question is that? You just woke me up.”
Yeah, I’m not a morning person at the best of times, sorry.
“Well, wake up some more then. Something weird is going on.”
The world swam into focus as I aimed my eyes in the general direction of the sound of his voice and stifled a yawn.
“Like what? Is this about last night?”
“Maybe? I don’t know, but….well, maybe I better let you finish waking up a bit.”
I peered at him, still groggy. Something was weird, he was right.
Then it hit me. He looked… leaner.
“…the fuck?”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “I noticed it when I got up to pee.”
“How the hell did…. But where did it go?”
“Guess,” he said.
I looked down…and suddenly, I knew.
“Bingo,” he said. “I’d guess about twenty pounds or so. But man, you’re a lot taller so you spread it around a bit.”
I took in my torso with confusion — my abs were still there, but they had some fuzzy padding that hadn’t been there last night. My arms were just a bit thicker, too.
“You’re saying that you lost twenty pounds and I…somehow found it?”
“Don’t need to say it. Unless you have a better explanation, this is what we got right now, Ty. And I ain’t complaining. Looks good on you!”
“But what…when…why…how?”
“You got some of my mass, overnight. Why? We talked about trading. How is anyone’s guess.”
I stood up carefully, realizing that my center of gravity felt a little off. “I don’t remember any wish-granting genies or fairy godmothers.”
“Me neither. I guess the universe was listening,” Barry said. “Guessing you need to —“
“Yup,” I affirmed. The urgency of my bladder made me cut the chat short, and I felt a little dizzy, so I sat and took care of business. I let Barry know I needed to freshen up, and set to brushing and gargling the previous night’s poor decisions out of my mouth. Then I took stock in the mirror as I stripped to hop in the shower.
Shit, Barry was right. Twenty extra pounds looked good on me.
***
“It’s all yours,” I said, exiting the bathroom.
Barry sat at the small table with a cup of crappy hotel room coffee, lost in what seemed to be literal navel-gazing.
“Ok,” he said. “I may need to borrow a spare pair of boxers and a t-shirt, if I can.”
“If you think they’ll fit,” I said. “And I do briefs.”
“At least they should get me through breakfast and to my room,” he said.
“Small mercies — speaking of which, this room has complimentary toiletries, so help yourself to the toothbrush.”
Nodding, he bounced over to the bath and got to work. I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t fully close the door, so I could see him check himself out as he brushed his teeth. And much as those twenty pounds looked better on me, their absence from his body made him look a lot fitter.
I liked what I was seeing.
***
Once we struggled our way into clothing that, while not ideal, would at least keep us from being charged with indecency, we mutually agreed that a drive through and a quick trip to Walmart or Target was probably in order. Without Barry’s usual pudge, it was pretty certain that the boxers he had packed were not going to fit properly.
That’s when the next weird thing happened. We ordered our customary McMuffins, and practically inhaled them on the way to Walmart. I had the opposite problem to Barry’s — my briefs were bought for a skinny person with no ass to speak of, and Barry informed me that I was now the proud owner of “an actual butt”.
As if pointing it out had some magical power, I became intensely aware that he was right. Suddenly the confused signals my body was sending began to make a bit of sense.
“Seriously bro, you got some cakes going on now. Maybe cupcakes, but before — no offense — they were pancakes!”
“Nice. Glad my nonexistent butt has been entertaining to you.”
“Well, I’m certainly entertained now. Can’t wait to follow you into the store.”
But the thing is, he was right. I’d had a flat ass for years, and suddenly I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what to do about that.
Not that I’m a fashion conscious sort of guy, but I was glad our purpose was limited to purely utilitarian needs because the selection wasn’t great. And of course, we needed to figure out our new sizes, so we brought some jeans and shorts to the fitting rooms. Turned out he’d gone down a size, and I had gone up one. And I bought the chinos I’d tried on because they fit me better than what I was wearing. Barry grabbed some sweat pants.
“At least it’s cheap,” he said as we got into the car.
***
