Dave and I had been enemies for years, even though we only lived one house apart. He still lives with his folks on the other side of Mrs. Murphy's place. I live by myself in my parents' house on this side of Mrs. Murphy's. Mom and Dad both passed away a couple of years back, within six months of each other. I guess Dad just couldn't live without her. He left the house to me, and I chose to live in it rather than sell it. It made more sense than keeping my expensive apartment in the city, and the commute wasn't too bad.

Anyway, about Dave. We went to primary school together, and were best buddies. Living so close, we did everything together. Then we got to high school. We were still buddies for a while, and still hung out, and did things like jerk each other's cocks, and even suck each other off. We even tried butt-fucking each other. But we each made new friends at school and drifted apart a little.

But when we were sixteen, Sheena came along. She was a girl in the same grade as us. I made friends with her first, and even took her on a date to a movie at the local theatre, now long gone, one Friday night. But Dave was the real smooth-talker of the two of us, the ladies' man. He also took her on a date and talked her panties off her. At least that's what he claimed. He boasted about it all over school, and all the guys believed him.

Sheena phoned me about it and told me it wasn't true. He had put his hand in her panties, but that's all. I chose to believe Sheena and confronted Dave about it in front of his new friends. They egged him on to challenge me to a fight. And that's what happened. We met at a local park, each with our own followers, and proceeded to beat the shit out of each other for what seemed like hours. A passing cop eventually broke it up, dispersed the crowd of cheering onlookers, and ordered both Dave and I to be on our way home.

We did just that, going by different routes to the same street. We both lied to our parents about why we were so bloody-nosed and black-eyed; neither of us ever claimed victory; but our friendship was over. We never ever spoke to one another again. We would go out of our way to avoid meeting, and would not look each other in the eye if we did meet. That was ten years back. All over a girl!

I would see him drive past occasionally, always with a different girl in his pick-up truck, always avoiding looking in the direction of my house.

Anyway, the neighbor, Mrs. Murphy moved out of her house recently, into a retirement village. The house is up for sale, but she phoned me the other day to see if I would do her a big favor. Her husband's tool shed —actually a 2-car garage, but he had lost his license the year before he passed away—was a real mess. It hadn't been touched since he died. She asked me if I would clean it out for her this weekend. She said she would pay me to do so.

Of course, I refused her offer of payment, so she suggested I could keep any tools or supplies that took my fancy. Anything else could go to Goodwill or to the dump. She knew it was a big job to ask of me, so she had also asked another young man to help. She had told him also that he could help himself, but she was sure we could work things out between us.

I asked her who it was, but she just said she was sure I wouldn't know him, but he would be at the shed at ten a.m. on Saturday.

So, on Saturday morning I put together a couple of sandwiches and a couple of beers in a cooler, and headed through the connecting gate to Mrs. Murphy's tool shed. On Friday afternoon, I had brought home a pile of empty cardboard boxes from work, and had already stowed them in the shed.

It was now ten-thirty and the other guy had not shown up. It was a stinking hot day and I was all by myself. The shed had a metal roof, and even before I set to work I was sweating. I started by taking my shirt off to relieve the heat, but it felt so much better I decided to slip my jeans down. After all, I was alone here. No-one would see. I undid the top buttons, slid down my fly and slipped my pants down over my buttocks. The whole action felt daring and sexy, and gave me an instant hard-on.

I slipped my pants completely off and began on the task for the day. I organized the bunch of large cardboard boxes for sorting the stuff, some for the dump, some for Goodwill, and some for stuff to keep for myself. Most of the junk in here was going straight to the dump - left-over motor oil, part cans of paint, rusty old tools, old magazines, all sorts of stuff. I tossed things into the boxes I had allocated for them and soon worked up a sweat.

I don't understand how I didn't hear the door of the tool shed open and close, because it was a squeaky thing. The first thing I heard was the voice:

"Nice ass ... for an asshole!"

It was a voice I recognized, even after years of us not speaking to each other. Yes, you guessed. It was Dave, my ex-friend, my enemy.

I didn't turn around at first. Maybe I didn't want him to see my woody. Who knows?

"What brings you here, you cocksucker?" I asked, sneering.

"Probably the same thing that brings you here," he sneered back. "I promised Mrs. Murphy I'd help some guy to clean up her husband's tool shed. She didn't tell me the guy was you. If she had, I wouldn't be here."

"Yeah, she didn't tell me it was you, either. Sly old bitch!"

"Well, since we're here, we can try to get along, just for today," Dave suggested. I still hadn't turned around. "I may as well join you," he added. "Does this turn you on?"

I turned around. Dave had discarded most of his clothes also. He was leaning back over a work bench with a raging hard and flashing a tit at me from under his black singlet.

In spite of my animosity towards him and the years of estrangement, I had to smile. Dave had always known how to do that. He was handsome, he was a charmer, and he had a lovely cock.

And my smile was the beginning of the end of ten years of animosity.

In the years since Sheena, I had realized I didn't much care for girls, anyway. Men were what attracted me, especially young, good-looking dark-haired men — men who looked like Dave.

My own dick hardened further at the sight of Dave's. I was embarrassed. I did not want my ex-friend, old enemy to realize that I was gay, that he made me horny. I turned away from him again and muttered something like "Let's get this over with so we can get out of here."

I started slinging some of the useless crap into the boxes for the dump.

"These boxes here are for the dump," I pointed out to him. "The ones on the workbench are stuff to keep. Either yours or mine. The boxes by the door are for stuff for the Goodwill store."

We set to work at the task. Most of the stuff in the shed was useless junk, the hoarding of decades; tools that were obsolete and rusting; old small appliances that no longer worked.

We would occasionally pause in our task to ask "Do you want this drill?" or "Do you think Goodwill will take this old plane?"

The number of boxes for the dump kept mounting. The things that either of us wanted to keep were minimal.

We worked mostly silently, but I realized that it gave me a sort of pleasure to be working alongside Dave again after all these years. We slogged away at it for about two hours, before I said, "Hey, let's take a break. I've got a couple of sandwiches and a couple of beers. I'll share them with you."

"That sounds great," Dave agreed.

We perched ourselves a short distance apart on the work bench, and I offered him a sandwich and a beer from my small cooler. Now that we were not keeping ourselves busy working, there was a strained silence between us.

After what seemed like ages, Dave said to me, "Hey, do you remember the time we snuck into this very shed while the Murphy's were out?"

I remembered it quite clearly. It was the time we had fucked each other, and not long before our parting of the ways.

"Sure I do," I answered. "I remember the Murphys came home and almost caught us. That was when he still drove, and he opened one of the roll-up doors to bring his car in."

"Yes," Dave laughed. "We had to hide under this very bench," he added.

"Stark naked," I reminded him. "And our clothes were still in a heap on the floor. When Mrs. Murphy got out of the car she saw them."

"I think she figured they were Mr. Murphy's because she picked them up and took them into the house."

I laughed out loud at this memory. "Boy, were we scared! We had to wait until it was all quiet then sneak home naked."

"It was easier for you," Dave pointed out. "Your place is right alongside the tool shed. My place is way over on the other side of the house."

"And then worrying about our clothes! And a couple of days later, when Mrs. Murphy stopped us when we were walking by her place …"

"And gave us each a brown-paper package with our name on it … "

"And she just smiled and said, 'You have to look after your things, boys' … "

"And when we opened the packages it was our clothes, all cleaned and ironed … "

"She must have known we'd been … "

"… fucking," Dave finished.

There was a long silence as we sat there on the bench, naked. But the talk had stirred more than just memories. My dick was swelling at the thought.

I saw Dave staring at my cock. I broke the silence

"You were the only guy I'd ever fucked," I confided in him, "until a couple of years ago." I expected him to sneer at me and call me faggot or something. But he didn't.

He stood and stalked away from me, back to me. As much as I lusted for his tight butt, I was afraid that he was about to say something really nasty to shatter the little calm of nostalgia which had surrounded us.

His back to me, Dave said, "So you're a homo, eh, Jim?"

Rather defiantly, I answered him. "I'm gay, yes." Gay sounds so much better than homo.

Now the rejection would come for sure, and a reversion to ten years of hatred.

"Me, too," he replied, his back still to me. "I'm gay, too."

This came as quite a shock to me. Although we had played around, I always thought that for him it was just that - boyhood playing around. I had sometimes imagined and hoped Dave might be gay, and we might reconcile, but I also always thought that it was just a hopeless fantasy.

"But the girls I've seen you with?" I objected.

"Just friends," he replied. "Most of them disappear as soon as they realize I'm gay."

"What about Sheena?" I asked. "Did you fuck her?"

"No," he admitted. "I just said I did to split you and her up and to impress the boys. I phoned her and apologized a few years back. She hung up on me."

"Why did you want to split us up?" I asked.

Dave turned to ftoward me now, a torment look on his face. "Because I was jealous," he said. He was sporting a raging hard-on. "I didn't want to lose you to a girl," he admitted. "I was in love with you."

I stared at him in amazement.

There was a long silence.

"I still am … "

There was another long silence.

"And I've always been in love with you," I confessed. "I've had a few boyfriends, but they've all looked just like you!"

More silence, until Dave burst out:

"What a couple of wasted lives!" Dave exclaimed. There was another long pause. "I guess we've got a lot of catching up to do … if you want to … " His look of pain, of frustration, had changed to a whistful smile.

"I want to!" I exclaimed, as I stood and went toward him. Dave's small smile grew broader, and his cock grew harder as I approached.

I reached him in a few steps. He was already moving toward me. There in this deserted tool shed, where we had first fucked each other ten years before, we embraced and did something we had never done before. We kissed! Boys don't kiss, but men do!

It was not just a friendly kiss; it was a hungry kiss, a devouring kiss, as if we wanted to each swallow the other into himself. Our dicks below us were rock-hard and thrusting against each other as we strained to draw the other into ourselves.

I drew back from him long enough to look him in the eye and whisper "Friends?"

"Friends," he whispered back, and we kissed deeply again.

My cock was hard and swollen with desire. Dave may have been the better-looking and better-built guy of the two of us, but I had always had the larger cock, longer and thicker, where his was long and slim. Right now mine was almost at the bursting point. My balls were crying out for release of the cum bottled up inside me.

"Oh, God, yes!" I exclaimed. "Even though I've hated you all these years, I've always dreamed of fucking you again some day," I confessed.

"Then now's your chance," he told me.

There was nowhere to lie down in this mess, so we settled for a sit-fuck. I sat on a chrome kitchen chair that seemed strong enough to take the weight, and Dave backed up onto my dick. We didn't have any lube with us, of course, but I found a little can of 3-in-1 oil on the workbench, and slathered some along the length of my dick and rubbed it in. At least it wasn't 10-40!

We had been just kids experimenting when we had fucked ten years earlier. At that time, both of us had shot our wads almost as soon as we entered the other. Now we were older and more experienced in the ways of gay sex and butt fucking, but the effect of ten years separation made this occasion just as intense.

My cock slid into Dave with little trouble. He was ready and able to take it all, and sat back onto me, pushing my dick way up inside him. It was a little awkward, but with Dave bending and straightening his knees, and me pushing up from the chair to meet his downward press, we managed to have quite a creditable fuck.

When Dave's knees began to give out, we both hastened our pace until my whole body quivered and I cried out in joy as I shot my massive load of cum deep into him. He wanted more of my essence, and pumped at my cock with his ass muscles as it spasmed inside him, draining me of sperm. Spent, I withdrew, and we kissed again, and again, and again.

"I'll cum in you later, at your place," he told me, "but right now let's get this tool shed finished off."

It took us a couple more hours to sort the stuff, then to get dressed and load what had to go onto Dave's pick-up, which he had gone and driven over from his parents' place. It took us another hour to take most of it to the dump, some of it to the Goodwill store.

Our last call was to the little unit in the retirement home where Mrs. Murphy lived. She was pleased to see us and to get our report that the job was done.

"I'm glad everything went off well," she said. "Just as I hoped. I'm so glad to see you boys are friends again," she added. "I hope you didn't leave your clothes behind this time. Remember, you've got to look after your things, boys … especially things that are important to you!" And she smiled knowingly.

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