I grew up in Fort Collins, Colorado. By high school I had several friends, but I grew up with two friends, Tyler and Brent, who lived close by. We were dorks. We got good grades, liked studying science and technology, and played a certain fantasy sword and sorcery role-playing game popular in the eighties.

I figured out I was gay by fourteen. Those junior high showers... wow. It put me in a funk for a few months, off and on, but I dealt with it by fifteen and eighth grade. I learned how to take peeks during the showers and while changing. Most of my friends were developing, as was I, and those views were all the sources of naked entertainment I had. There was no internet or online porn yet, and magazines weren't easy to find, let alone get your hands on. Fort Collins was a pretty religious little city, and those magazine were not available except in one or two places where guys under 21 weren't allowed.

So I watched my friends and many other guys grow. Man, the crushes I had. But one continued the entire time - my friend Tyler. Yeah, he was a dork and all, but a damned hot dork. To me anyway. His blond hair was all curly and wavy and sort of long, he had a long, narrow face with generous blue eyes and red lips. Great smile, great laugh, and so smart and kind and considerate. His body was nice, too. Taller than most of us, he was lean and narrow, but not so skinny you could see his ribs or hips. He had such nice big pink nipples. And, man, he was developed! Even in junior high he had one of the longest dicks in the showers. And he wasn't circumcised, hiding his head entirely, except the very, very tip. It was always long and full, never shrunken. He had nice balls, too. They were big and heavy and hung, and they swung and swayed as he walked.

Other guys were hotter, in some ways or many ways, but I always liked Tyler the most. Maybe because he was a friend, not just a guy in the showers. I knew him, and I knew he was a great guy. Whatever it was, my crush for Tyler was constant from the start of puberty. I wouldn't hesitate to say "Yes" if asked if I was in love with him. Not that anyone would dare ask me that. Or that I'd dare answer it, either. Not in the eighties as a teen. Nope.

So, when we were 16 and had just gotten our licenses and cars, my life changed forever.

One Saturday we were going to a role-playing gaming meet at one of the other area high schools. Brent was going to pick up Tyler, hit the gaming store, then pick me up after I got home from music lessons, and then drive us to the gaming meet. Well, they never showed up. I was so pissed. When I called Brent's house, his mom said he'd left on time. I called Tyler's house and he'd been picked up on time. It wasn't like one of us to not be on time or not let someone know why. In a couple of hours, Tyler's dad called me to say they'd been in an accident and were at the hospital. Brent was still unconscious and headed to surgery with head trauma. Tyler was awake with two broken arms and some bruises on his face and neck and back pain, and was getting x-rays done.

I drove to the hospital almost in tears. Okay, honestly, I was wiping my eyes a lot on the way there. When you're a dork, you have the best friends. We all know what it's like to be treated cruelly, so we don't to that to each other. We trust each other, and we'll do almost anything for each other. Dork friends are very close friends.

I had to wait for hours with their parents. Brent got out of surgery but only his parents could see him, and he probably wouldn't be awake or allowed other visitors for at least a day or two. He was in really bad shape. Tyler, though, I got to see him with his parents. He looked scary as hell. His face was swollen and bruised and he had a couple cuts. Both arms were in casts from biceps to wrists, several fingers on both hands were wrapped and splinted, and he was so drugged up he hardly said anything.

When I got home, I though how lucky I was that I'd had lessons that morning and was to be picked up later. But then, if they'd picked me up instead of going to the gaming store first, we'd not had been there that moment the cement truck had swerved. If I hadn't had the lessons, they would have picked me up later anyway, we didn't want to get to the gaming meet that early. So after thinking about it, I realized how unlucky Brent and Tyler were. It was the exact timing between my lesson and the registration opening time that decided it. So it was at least half my fault, or so I saw it. Which made me feel pretty guilty.

The newspaper had a couple stories about the accident. Brent and Tyler were sitting in the middle turning lane waiting to turn left into the strip mall when a cement truck had veered into the middle lane to avoid two almost-stopped cars and hit them head-on at almost forty, pushing Brent's car into the front of the car waiting behind them. Brent's Citation wasn't much protection, and crumpled right up. It had taken the fire department almost an hour to get Tyler out, and almost two hours to get Brent out.

It was two days before Tyler was sent home. Brent had a lot of head and chest trauma, and was probably going to be out of it for days, but he was out of the worst of it and was probably going to recover. There was a real concern he might have brain damage.

We had many of the same classes, only a few differences, so I kept up with their homework lists. When Tyler got home from the hospital, I went over and we got started with his missed work. He was pretty drugged up still, with two broken arms and some broken fingers, and neck and back pain, so we didn't get much completed. But at least he was home. Brent was still doped unconscious at the hospital, but I did get to see him. He looked like he was just one step from dying. Hardly recognizable.

With both arms and a couple fingers on both hands unusable, and so much back and neck pain, even taking a pee was difficult and painful, so he didn't get dressed, he just stayed in bed wearing nothing. It was hard to not think about that as we sat on his bed, him under the covers, working on his homework. When he'd have to go use the john, he'd hobble to the john and back. Since I'd seen him naked in gym class for almost four years, he didn't ask me to leave or not look. I'd seen it all already anyway. Still, I felt a little bad getting those looks - because it seemed at least half my fault he was in that pain and situation.

After a few days, Tyler's pain meds changed and he was more coherent. I thought he might now consider his nudity as he got out of bed to use the john, but he didn't. I was more careful not to be seen looking, though. But I had to. I mean, he was sexy. His blond hair was light enough that it was blond everywhere. Not many guys with blond hair had blond pubes, usually light brown, but not Tyler. Blond pubes. Man, nice. His long dong hung out of them, swaying side to side along with his nicely hanging balls. Not that he had that many pubes anyway. Almost all guys our age had hair under their arms by now, and Tyler did too, but not much, and it was so blond that it was sort of hard to see. He didn't have much hair on his legs, either. Or anywhere. Not even around his nice pink nipples. No sign of facial hair. He seemed younger than sixteen, until you saw how tall he was. Or how hung he was.

Anyway, my crush on him was only getting worse as I saw him naked every day after school.

His mom took off work to stay home with him for a while, but went back to work when he was able to get to the kitchen for the lunch she would make and leave out for him. So then we were alone after school for three hours every day. Sigh.

He always smelled like soap. I asked him why once, and he said he took a bath almost every morning. His mom ran it for him. I asked him, laughing, if she dried him off, too. He laughed and said he did that himself as best as he could, but he smelled so much like soap because he couldn't get completely dry.

Boy, I thought about coming over to help him dry off after his bath! Wow, would that be fun! I wondered if I could somehow get him to take baths in the afternoon. I mean, wouldn't it be easier than in the morning? Doesn't his mom have enough to do every morning, already making his breakfast and getting it to him in bed, and fixing his lunch, and all, and still running his bath water? After a couple of days, I pointed all of that out.

And I added, "I mean, I'd see you naked in gym class anyway, so what if it's here instead? And I honestly don't think it'd be too weird to dry you off. I mean, I don't have to look or anything, if it bothers you or anything."

He laughed as he said, "If it bothered me having you see me naked I'd tell you to close your eyes when I use the can." After a pause while he looked thoughtful, he said, "It would be nice not to get into bed still wet some places. Makes the bed damp and kind of uncomfortable for a while. I mean, I can't sit on a chair or anything until Mom and Dad leave. And they want me out of the bath before they leave so they know I didn't fall getting out of it or something."

"If you take your bath in the afternoon, I'll be right here in the next room, and if anything happens, I'll be right here and know it."

"Yeah, I think it's a good idea."

Cool!

So the next day after school, Tyler said that he would take his baths in the afternoons from now on.

Cool!

That was also the day Brent was taken off the drugs and finally woke up. We found out the next day. He was going to be okay. He knew who his folks were, who he was, and sort of remembered waiting in the turning lane and seeing a truck heading toward him. So that next day was awesome! We knew Brent was going to be okay, and I helped Tyler take a bath.

I ran the water, making it as hot as I could stand, like he asked, as he stayed in his bed working on homework. When it was ready, I watched him get in. Without being able to use his hands, it looked dangerous, for sure. I nearly helped him into the water. Of course the sight got me hard.

I leaned in the doorway as he washed with a sponge on a stick. It looked awkward and difficult. I really couldn't stand it.

"Dude, I've seen enough. This is stupid."

I walked to the tub, got on my knees, picked up a washrag, and began washing his shoulders and back.

"Oh, man, thanks. I just can't do that."

I dared to wash his back right down to the start of his butt cheeks. Then he sat back and I washed his face, neck, and chest. Then his arms above his casts, his pits, then his sides. I went right down to his hips.

"Dude, man, that feels too good," he said, sort of laughing and red-faced. "I haven't been really clean since before the accident."

"Lift a leg."

He did, so I washed it from toes to nearly his groin. I was more than willing to wash further up, but, well, you know. Then the other leg. When there was only those certain, private places left to wash, he picked up the sponge-on-a-stick again.

"Can you really get clean with that, with your fingers and arms?" I asked.

"Good enough," he said. "I'm sure you don't wanna be washing my dick and balls."

Oh? You sure about that? I though to myself.

When he was done, I helped him out of the bathtub. As he stood there, I used a big, thick towel to dry him off, all over.

"Dude, thanks. I really just can't do this stuff."

"I bet," I said not looking away from his body as I dried it.

Since I was doing it, I decided to do it right. After drying his awesome hair and face, I got his arms, pits, chest, back, sides, hips, legs, feet all over. Then I made sure I got his nice butt dry, and between his lean thighs, and toweled off his hanging balls with care, and all around them, and then his long, hanging dick. Well, by then it wasn't hanging. He was more than a little... excited. It was almost horizontal! And bigger than I'd ever seen it.

"Dude, is this thing huge or what?" I laughed. "You better not be enjoying this too much!"

But I was hoping he was, and quite a bit, too.

He laughed, then said, "Hey, what do you expect? I can't beat it off, ya know."

"You can't?" I asked, looking up at his face.

He was blushing deeply, smiling widely, and so cute.

"No," he said. "I can't even hold onto that luffa right. How do you think I can beat off?"

"You really can't? At all?"

"Nope. I'm dyin' to bust a nut. The best I can do is lay on my front and rub it against the bed and..."

He laughed and got even redder faced.

"Shit. Does that work?"

"Sort of. Not all the way. I got tired trying. It takes too long and makes my back hurt too much. I sort of do it with the sides of my hands. After a couple days, anything works," he finished with a laugh.

"Shit. When was the last time you got off decent?"

He rolled his nice blue eyes upward, sighed, and said, "The morning before the accident."

"Over two weeks? I'd go crazy!"

"I'm going to!" he laughed, looked back down at me again.

Yeah, you know what I was thinking. And boy was I thinking it. I mean, I had his hard meat in my hand! And that big thing was getting bigger as it got harder. Well, I had his hard meat in a towel as I gently rubbed it dry. One hand. The other was sort of cupping his balls through another part of the towel.

"Should I try to get under the foreskin?" I asked.

The way that thin skin clung to the shape of his head beneath it was really fascinating. The small opening was just big enough to reveal the deep cleft and the slit in it on the tip. The opening was about the diameter of a dime. The tip was so pink!

"Not with the towel!" he laughed, then got even more red-faced.

"Then what?" I asked.

"Dude, it's too embarrassing."

"What?"

He sighed, rolled those great eyes of his again, and said, "I have to use a Q-Tip, and... uh..."

"What? Come on. We don't want it to get infected or something. I'll do what needs to be done, man."

He told me. It seemed, well... hot! So I put the towel down, got a Q-Tip from the package in the cabinet, and got back on my knees in front of him. He was totally hard by now. It was pointing a bit upward, bouncing softly. Following his instructions, I got the cotton tip wet, held his shaft with one hand and gently and carefully slid the Q-Tip between the top of his glans and the foreskin. I slid it slowly and gently and carefully around the top of his glans, feeling out the area where the coronal edge was, cleaning along it. When I removed the Q-Tip it was grubby with thick, almost clumpy stuff. It smelled strongly. Sort of bad, but sort of good, too. It was really weird! I used six Q-Tips to clean beneath his foreskin - on top, both sides, and on the under side of it.

He sort of laughed and snickered and sighed a lot! I mean, it probably felt kind of good. He sure stayed fully boned up! It was throbbingly hard. So was mine!

Then he guided me as I used the Water-Pic. I turned in on, made sure it was set to its lowest setting, held the towel beneath his head with one hand, and gently and carefully slid the tip of it beneath his foreskin. I moved it around, washing his glans with the flow of water, which ran out around his head and foreskin and drained onto the towel I was holding.

He sighed, almost moaning at times, as the water and gentle vibrations washed out his tight foreskin.

I felt his dick almost twisting in my grip. It swelled and throbbed so much! I wondered just how good this felt. Not having a foreskin myself, I had no idea how sensitive it was. Or what it was like not getting off properly for two weeks.

After a few moments, he grabbed my hand and bent over me. He held my hand still, pushed it away a bit, and groaned, "I'm gonna get off if you don't stop."

"Really?"

"It's too much!" he grunted. "Take it out, quick, but not too quick! Quick!"