We met at the university. First day, first year, first class. We sat next to each other and a common friend we share passed by and told us “you too should be friends.” And so we did. We were part of a big group, almost 20 of us. A tight group, to this day. We truly became family. But my relationship with him was different.

We would all go on vacations together, a tradition we started in our first summer as university students. During that first trip, in Mykonos nonetheless, we kissed. It was a secret, it still is, as he was never out. I was, since the beginning, but out of respect, I never shared it with anyone. It was a secret worth keeping.

A rare moment of solitude, just the two of us lost in a big empty villa. The others were by the pool of the residence, and we, young and drunk, found ourselves lost around the house trying to “explore.” He caught me by surprise. “Sorry, I just wanted to know how it feels.” I smiled and I kissed him back.

He was very shy and we never found ourselves alone again, at least during that trip. When we got back to Athens I invited him to my house, “to watch a movie.” It was our first time. The very first time, for both of us. At least with another man. Even though I was more sure of myself, I hadn’t had any kind of experiences in that sector. We were exploring what being alive meant, and we surely had fun. Always in secrecy. Very often. The gang thought we were just best friends, which was not a lie, but we were more than just that. The kind of love we had for each other was beyond labels.

After we graduated, he moved to London to continue with his studies. I stayed in Athens and changed careers. Our communication may got scarce, but we never lost touch. I would visit him occasionally and we would spend whole weekends fucking like rabbits, not leaving the flat. Or he would be back for the holidays, and again, fuck like animals. As if we were running out of time.

And it seems we did. We both got into relationships, and eventually the fucking stopped. Me with a boy, him with a girl. I was happy for him, he looked happy and ready to settle down. A couple years into the relationship, he told me he proposed to her. A shock at the beginning, but understandable at the end. Bisexuality does exist, he ensured me. And he insisted I had to be his best man. We laughed so hard, “such a cliche,” I thought. But there shouldn’t be any other way, so I accepted the responsibility.

The directions for the bachelor party were clear; the celebrations would be done in two parts. One, a night out with all the boys. And two, a night just the two of us. In secrecy, as always. He insisted, “just one last time.” How could I say no? It was what I wanted the most. A last night with him, my secret lover and best friend.

A night I will never forget. We booked a nice room at a fancy hotel in Athens, took mdmd, listened to our favourite songs, and fucked like animals, for hours. We laughed, we cried, we fucked. Again and again and again. We shook hands and promised that would be the last time. At least as long as he is married. And then we fucked some more. I remember I haven’t seen my cock that red ever again. It was swollen for days, but it was worth it.

Why am I sharing this now? Because I am horny and I miss him, in that way. I keep jerking off thinking of that night, but I want to feel him once again, naked, his body against mine. I want to kiss him and suck him, in secrecy, as always. I want to shove my cock inside his mouth and send my cum deep inside his throat, the way he likes it. I want him to look me in the eyes and tell me, “just one last time.”

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