Bro Code

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“Dude,” yelled my roommate Bob, “you wanna get the door?”

“You get it,” I replied. “You’re closer.” Which was true. And besides, I had just settled back into my plush, oversized sofa to watch Monday Night Football, and it would be a struggle to get back to my feet.

“I’m making dinner,” said Bob. Well…yeah. Guess he had me there. Per our Monday night tradition, Bob was making his famous Spaghetti Bolognese, which he did with a level of skill that would have made his Italian ancestors proud. I sighed, freed myself from the embrace of the sofa, and made my way to the door.

“Oh shit,” I groaned as I looked through the peephole.

“Who is it?” Bob shouted over the noisy kitchen fan and the sizzle of ground beef on the stove.

“It’s Cyn.”

Cynthia Reed, our overly friendly neighbor in the brand new apartment complex where we lived. But she didn’t want to be called Cynthia, or Cindy, or Cyndi. She insisted that everyone call her Cyn, pronounced “sin,” which was just one of many things about her that made me uncomfortable. Bob and I, a couple of swinging twenty-somethings, had pegged her as trouble ever since we moved in a couple of months earlier. Although she was attractive, our fortyish divorcee neighbor came across as…lonely? Needy? Perhaps even a bit…desperate?

For a moment, I considered just ignoring the doorbell and hoping she’d go away. But Bob’s bellowing and the powerful odor of cooking meat were probably enough to assure her that we were home, and she was nothing if not persistent. As if to prove my point, the doorbell rang again.

“Well, let her in, why don’t you?” boomed Bob.

Why don’t I? Well, mostly because I’d been avoiding her for the last three weeks, ever since the night I ditched Bob and some other friends at a nearby bar and went home early for a quiet evening. Unfortunately, I had run into Cyn wrapped in a towel, who urged me to join her in the Jacuzzi. Unfortunately, I’d drank enough in the bar earlier that night that sitting in a hot tub with Cyn didn’t seem like such a bad idea. Unfortunately, she looked really good in the bikini she was wearing under the towel.

One thing led to another, and somehow we moved from the Jacuzzi into her bedroom before any alarms started blaring in my head. Having awkwardly extricated myself, I got the hell out of there, thinking she’d be pissed off and I wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore. But I later heard from mutual friends that my panicky exit had somehow convinced her I was a “true gentleman” for not “taking advantage” of her, and that clearly I was “someone special.”


Bob, of course, had very little sympathy. She had made a play for him a few days after we moved in. He had shut her down unequivocally. Perhaps because his girlfriend was in the room with us at the time.

“Jesus Christ, just open the door,” he shouted. “We’ll have plenty of spaghetti, see if she wants to eat with us.”

I sighed. Putting on my best fake smile, I opened the door, and…the world turned upside down. In the peephole, I’d only been able to see her face. Now I got the whole show. She looked sexier than I’d ever seen her, even in her bikini in the Jacuzzi.

“Hi, Steve!” she beamed. “Is Bob here? I’m on my way to a Halloween party for my office. I wanted you guys to see my costume.”

She was dressed as Elvira, Mistress of the Dark. Elvira, in case you don’t know, had a TV show that hosted cheesy horror movies. She would appear at the beginning of the show to introduce the movie, and then before and after commercial breaks, increasing the cheese factor with a weird comedy shtick. And she was smoking hot, in a goth/vampire kind of way: dark hair, pale skin, pail eyes, too much makeup…and the hottest black dress you’ve ever seen. A deep, plunging neckline that showed off acres of cleavage and dipped dangerously close to the navel; and a slit up the thigh that just kept going, and going, and going. And going.

Well, our neighbor Cyn already had most of what it took to be a killer Elvira. Long dark hair? Check. Pale skin and eyes? Check. Overdone makeup? Check. Long, dangerous legs? Oh, yeah. Mind-blowing cleavage? And then some. The only thing that wasn’t part of her everyday routine was the obscene dress, but apparently she’d obtained that as well.

I don’t know how long I just stared. I was jolted back to reality as Bob crowded into the doorway and nearly tripped over me to get a better view.

“Jesus, Cyn,” he said. “You look fucking amazing! Don’t you think so, Steve?”

“Uh,” I replied.

“Thanks, Bob, you’re so sweet,” she giggled, leaning in to brush him with her boobs and kiss him on the cheek. I got no kiss and no tit, just a little sideways smirk from her that actually made me feel jealous. Bob was grinning like a fool, and his face was bright red.

“You wanna come in for dinner?” he asked. “It’s my famous spaghetti.”

“Awww, I wish I could,” she said. “But I have to get to this party. It’ll probably be boring as hell, Ankara escort but it’s for work. I’d much, much rather hang out with you boys.”

And then she was gone. Even after the door closed, Bob still had that idiot grin and continued staring at the door like she was still there. Then, without warning, he turned toward me and punched me hard in the shoulder, knocking me off balance so I stumbled against the door.

“Hey, what the fuck!” I protested.

“You’re a fucking moron,” he growled.

“Me? What the hell are you talking about?”

“You coulda tapped that the other night, and you just walked away? What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re a disgrace to the male species.”

“We’re not a species, we’re a gender,” I replied. “And it’s a lot more complicated than that.”

“What’s complicated? Jesus, what a body. Fucking magnificent. And you’re always moping around here about not getting laid.”

“It just didn’t feel right,” I said.

“Well, how’s it feel now, Romeo?” he asked. Romeo?

“Uh,” I answered.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he said.

“Hey, if you think she’s so hot, go for it.”

“I just might,” he replied. “Hey, spaghetti’s ready, let’s eat.”

During the busy week that followed, we didn’t see Cyn at all, so the memory of our Mistress of the Dark faded quickly. Bob was racking up some serious overtime on a big project at work that was running behind, and I worked feverishly on a paper for one of my MBA classes.

When I got home Friday night, after a bitch of a week, I felt like I needed to cut loose and party. But I was also feeling tired, so the bar scene didn’t have much appeal. I was feeling horny, but I didn’t really have a girl to call, since I was in a prolonged dating slump. As I was considering my options, Bob got home, carrying a small, brown paper bag.

“Fuck me, what a fucking week,” he said.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“Well at least I got the fucking project done, so I won’t have to work this weekend. Did you turn in your paper?”

“Yup,” I said. “All done. So do you and Mrs. Bob have plans tonight?” Mrs. Bob was what I called Bonnie, his girlfriend.

“No, she went deep sea fishing with her family. Gone till Sunday night.”

“Oh, the cat’s away,” I grinned. “You gonna call K.C? Or Shondra? Becky, maybe?”

Unlike me, Bob usually had no shortage of places to sheath his sword, although he seemed to be in danger of turning monogamous with Bonnie.

“Nah, don’t think so,” he said. “Kinda tired. Thought I’d just hang around here tonight.”

“So in that bag there, you must have…”

“Porn!” shouted Bob, pulling a couple of video cassettes out of the bag.

“Awesome!” I said. “It’s a porn night, then! I’ll order us a pizza.”

Bob and I had our own unique way of using porn. As raging heterosexuals, we weren’t about to strip down and beat our meat in the same room at the same time. But we each used porn quite a bit, and we were open about renting it (this was the 80s) and bringing into the apartment. Individually, we would politely ignore the reality that each of us masturbated with it, and we had an unspoken agreement to provide each other with private time for individual wank sessions.

That being said, one of our favorite male bonding activities was watching porn together. Fully clothed, no monkey slapping. We did it for laughs. We’d mercilessly critique the actors and the plots, we’d turn down the sound and narrate our own dialog, and best of all, make liberal use of fast forward and rewind. Nothing beats hitting rewind after a cum shot and watching the dude use his schlong to vacuum all the jizz off his partner’s tits.

So that’s what we were doing an hour later when the doorbell rang.

“You wanna get the door?” said Bob.

“You’re closer,” I replied.

“But I’m doing the remote,” he said, as he stopped the movie.

“Fucker,” I growled.

As I started to pull myself up out of the couch, the moment had a strange familiarity. It grew into full-blown déjà vu when I opened the door, and there stood Cyn. A little mini skirt and heels highlighted her ridiculous legs, while a tight tank top reminded us that she did, indeed, have breasts. She smiled a naughty looking smile and shimmied her tits for me. A river of mixed feelings gushed through me. Those killer legs…those sweet tits…those scary, desperate eyes…

“Hey Steve,” she purred. Yes, purred. “Can I come in?”

“Uh,” I stated.

“Hey Cyn!” Bob shouted from a foot behind me, almost causing me to jump forward into Cyn’s delicious breasts. “Yeah, come on in! What are you up to tonight?”

Cyn’s breasts took the initiative. At Bob’s invitation, she stepped into the doorway. I turned sideways, but so did she, and she dragged her lovely boobs across my chest. That was the wakeup call my cock needed.

“Hey Bob,” she growled. Yeah, definitely a growl this time. “I just thought I’d see if I could cash in my rain check for spaghetti.”

“Well, Ankara escort bayan no spaghetti tonight, but we have some pizza left.”

“Awesome,” she said. She took my hand and moved toward the sofa, forcing me to follow.

“You look nice,” I said. Now there’s a killer line.

“Thanks,” she said. “I was supposed to go on a date tonight, but I cancelled.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” said Bob. “Why’d you cancel?”

“Because I saw that both of your cars are here.”

That sent a chill up my spine. I made eye contact with Bob, and it looked like he was feeling the same way. We were reduced to awkward silence, as Cyn got comfortable on the sofa. Since she still had my hand, I was forced to follow and sit next to her.

“Here’s your uh…” said Bob as he came out of the kitchen with a slice of pizza on a plate. He never finished the sentence, because he was staring at her legs. Well, not actually her legs, which were spread apart, but the area where they came together under her short skirt. I couldn’t see it from my angle, but I was sure he was looking right at her panties. He somehow set the plate on the coffee table without ever taking his eyes off the prize.

“So what are you guys doing?” she asked.

“Uh,” I replied.

“Watching porn,” said Bob.

“Jesus, Bob,” I protested. I felt my face burning with embarrassment.

“Oh, you boys are so BAD,” she said, but her tone of voice seemed to indicate she didn’t think it was bad at all. Bob flashed that idiot grin again.

“You wanna watch with us?” he asked, badly failing to make it sound like an innocent invitation.

“Hell yeah,” she said. Her voice suddenly seemed to be an octave lower, hitting a note that caused a dizzying vibration at the base of my cock. I was now rock hard, and I had to shift awkwardly to avoid extreme pain. Cyn noticed and smiled.

“Comfy now?” she asked, leaning into me and putting her bare arm over my shoulders.

Bob retrieved the remote from the coffee table, touched a button and the movie was back on. He switched off the kitchen and living room lights, and the room plunged into an erotic semi-darkness, lit only by the flickering TV screen. Then he sat on the sofa next to her, completing the Cyn sandwich.

“Come here, you,” she told him, placing her other arm over his shoulders and pulling him closer.

Onscreen, porn goddesses Tracy Lords and Christie Canyon undressed each other and started to play on a bed. For those of you unfamiliar with 1980s porn…that’s about as good as it gets.

“Fuck,” Cyn whispered next to me. Her hips began to move, and I felt her sigh.

In front of me, I could see miles and miles of her delicious thigh. Without asking my brain for permission, my hand reached out and began stroking her bare leg gently.

“Mmmm,” she said. My cock throbbed. My hand was only midway up her thigh, so I moved it slowly higher as I caressed her soft skin. She spread even wider, draping her leg over mine. I no longer had any doubt that I would be fucking this woman tonight.

My hand reached the very top of her thigh, and I expected to feel the fabric of her panties. Instead, I bushed something coarse but soft. Holy shit, it was her pubic hair. Cyn had come into our apartment without panties. I’d guessed wrong earlier, when I thought Bob was staring at her panties.

I started to caress her bush, seeking the moist treasure I knew was nearby. I stroked lower, and as I brought my fingers up, they slid through a warm dampness. I felt her breath catch, and my fingers slid back down, ready to spend some quality time with her pussy. Instead, though, they encountered another set of fingers. Aha, I thought, she’s so horny she couldn’t wait for me, she’s touching herself. I caressed her thick, stubby, fingers, feeling the hairy knuckles –

Wait a minute – thick, stubby, hairy? Oh shit…

I jerked my hand away. All the way away. Safely into my lap. I leaned forward and looked in Bob’s direction. There he was, staring back at me with an expression that must have mirrored mine: eyes wide open in surprise and horror, mouth grimacing in disgust and fear. My fingers, wet with Cyn’s pussy juice, had tenderly caressed…Bob’s hand!

I decided I didn’t want to look at Bob anymore at that moment, so I leaned back into the couch. My gaze wandered back to the TV, where Tracy and Christie were enjoying a wicked 69. Yeah, that felt safe. Pornstar tits. Pornstar legs. A lesbo scene, thank god…didn’t need to see pornstar cock right now.

Cyn brought her arm down off her shoulder, took my hand, and placed it back on her upper thigh. I quickly moved it down to mid-thigh. She didn’t try to move it again, so apparently we had negotiated a mutually acceptable compromise. A safe place for the moment, but what next?

The initial shock from briefly touching Bob’s hand was wearing off. It was clearly an accident. My heterosexual card was not going to be revoked. So the most pressing issue was, whose bed will Escort Ankara Cyn be sleeping in tonight? Her dripping, bare pussy was ready to be impaled upon a hard throbbing cock, but…which one? She didn’t seem to have an obvious preference, since she’d allowed both of us to grope her love triangle at the same time.

So we would have to rely on Bro Code. The unwritten, unspoken body of law that “all us guys” knew. Or were supposed to know. At first glance, the resolution seemed unclear. In my favor, Cyn and I had a bit of history, as we’d made out in a Jacuzzi and nearly done the deed in her bed. Besides, Bob already had a girlfriend, while I was in a serious drought.

On the other hand, she had initially come onto Bob after we first moved in. And when the opportunity came my way, I had muffed it, no pun intended. And…

…and I had told him I wasn’t interested. That he could have her. There it was, the deciding factor. I had vacated the playing field. It was Bob’s move now.

And he was making his move. While I was sitting there dithering, Bob and Cyn had started smooching. Her head was turned toward him, and the rest of her body was starting to shift that way. I sighed quietly, as the certainty of Getting Laid Tonight quickly evaporated. I pulled myself up out of the sofa, and they both stopped making out for a moment to look at me. I made a show of stretching as if I were tired.

“Well guys,” I said, forcing a smile, “I’m exhausted, I’m gonna get some sleep.” I slipped away quickly and closed my bedroom door behind me, wanting to avoid any further awkwardness.

So the only remaining problem was my painful hard-on. Briefly, I considered waiting up for a little while to see if Bob and Cyn retired to his room, so I could sneak out and jerk off to the Tracy/Christie lesbo scene. Somehow, that seemed kind of pathetic, so I dismissed the thought and brought out my secret porn magazine stash. I had a relatively recent issue of Penthouse, which would be good enough for now. Tomorrow I would find some alone time with the videos.

I stripped off my clothes, got comfortable in bed, and opened the magazine to the September Pet of the Month. Hell yeah, she was going to get the job done for me. But as I started squeezing and stroking my cock, my mind wandered to what might have been with Cyn. That long brown hair; those tan, bare arms; those gorgeous breasts; those long, soft legs, running all the way up under that skirt to her naked, hairy pussy…

I was startled by a knock on my bedroom door. I thought about just ignoring it and proceeding with my meat beating. But there it was again. For a moment, hope flared; had Cyn decided to send Bob to bed in favor of a wild night with me?

“Hang on,” I said. I hid the magazine under the bed and pulled on a bathrobe as I approached the door. Here we go, I thought. Showtime. My mind pictured Cyn standing in my doorway with tousled hair and heaving breasts. I opened the door, and…there was Bob. His shirt and shoes were gone. His muscular, hairy chest was just precisely NOT what I had expected to see. My cock immediately switched to Emergency Deflation Mode.

“Steve, why’d you split?” he asked. I had to fight down a surge of resentment. He was seriously asking me that, standing there in nothing but an old pair of jeans, minutes away from getting it on with Cyn?

“I’m just tired,” I replied, trying to smile and sound cheerful.

“Liar,” he said. “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Look, Bob,” I growled, feeling the resentment build. “I told you I wasn’t interested in her. She’s all yours. Have a great time. Goodnight.” I started to close the door, but he blocked it. Now I was starting to get seriously mad, and I opened my mouth to let him have it.

“She doesn’t want me,” he said.

“What the fuck are you talking about? She’d fuck anything right now. Of course she wants you.”

“No,” he said. “She wants both of us.”

I grew up in a small, redneck town at a time when the world was, in most ways, less tolerant than it is today. In particular, homosexuality was taboo. In fact, in my day, the worst thing you could call someone was “fag” or “queer” or “homo.” And if someone called you that, you had to be prepared to stand up for yourself, or else everybody would start calling you that.

In spite of this brutal negative conditioning, I like to think I turned out to be reasonably tolerant. I have gay friends, I vote in favor of gay rights initiatives, and I support tolerant candidates rather than homophobes.

But I insist that I myself am not gay. I have no sexual interest in males. I don’t want to look at them or touch them or even smell them. I don’t watch gay porn. I find it difficult to watch heterosexual porn if the male actor is too hairy or too hung or gets too much camera time.

Perhaps you’re thinking, he doth protest too much? Who knows. Maybe there’s gayness deep down inside me somewhere, and my adamant denial stems from fear and insecurity. Perhaps in a perfect, tolerant world, we would all be comfortably bisexual.

Whatever. All I know is, I have a strong desire not to touch or be touched by a guy. Especially a naked guy. And I don’t want to be in the same building with a naked guy’s cock.

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