Every weekend, Blake and Tim would get shitfaced and fuck as many people as possible.
Since they were pledges together during their freshman at Syracuse, they'd stuck together and advanced through college and life in general. They both made it into the frat, then became the leaders, then they graduated with decent honors. They both got into law, going down to Manhattan and working in a big firm together, recently breaking a case that everyone else thought impossible to win. And they have been living together for about a decade ever since they first met. Now both at 29, they are successful friends who never have hopes of slowing down. In one word, they'd describe each other as "awesome".
The biggest difference between the two of them was that Blake was gay and Tim was straight. This never bothered either of them, as they'd learnt to figure out how to handle the "morning routine" of getting their partners out by 9am the next morning. The boys shared a nice loft in the city with two bedrooms and enough space to spare, so there was never an issue of a sock being on the door. Every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night, the boys would go to any local bar they could think of, find their catch of the day, and go back to someone's home and finish the job. The next morning everyone was back in their own homes. The method has worked like a charm, and both guys were equally capable of picking up anyone they'd like. They even have managed to map out the right bars so that they can go to the same place and both find partners to take home. That's not to say there's never been overlap (or experimenting) but everyone ends up happy at the end of the night.
But that is what made this one night in particular much different -- they both struck out.
~~Friday Night~~
Blake paid the cab fare and did his own personal walk of shame. But instead of the usual post-sex sadness his partners face, he was instead going home after finding nobody. Tim was already upstairs, trying to sober up and watching Law and Order. Blake sat down on the couch and stared at the TV
"No luck for you too, huh?" Tim said without even looking at his roommate.
"What gave it away," Blake responded, "the lack of a dude following behind me, or the fact that I'm sitting at home watching Law and Order on a Friday night?"
"Don't knock it 'til you try it..." Tim was barely paying attention to the episode, anyway. He was mostly just trying to distract himself from the conversation he'd had at the bar with a possible target. The words she used still rung in his ears. Shallow, inconsiderate, self-centered, and so on. It wasn't the first time he'd heard those words or had been rejected. Hell, he was turned down two other times that night before her. But what hung over him was that he had already fucked her once before and completely forgot about it. She hadn't forgotten. Tim felt really bad for himself more than anything after that and walked home, feeling like he'd been kicked in the balls. The three shots and two Heineken's he'd had didn't help either.
Blake, on the other hand, had the opposite problem. He went into that bar hoping to find some game, but he couldn't find anyone. At all. In the bar that night were three gay guys -- Blake, a janitor that cleans the floors, and a guy there with some of his friends to celebrate his engagement. After talking to nearly every person in the bar, Blake realized that he was going to either have to start over at another bar, or go home. Half in the bag already, he opted for the latter. Blake usually finds his mate early on in the night, and the bar they were at tonight had proved fruitful over the years. But he always had the harder selection, having to go for what was there for him, while Tim had a choice of nearly anyone at the bar.
The horrible night the two had had led to a conversation over a nightcap at one in the morning: Who'd be a better...? They played this game often enough, where one would say a job or a description or whatever, and the other would say who'd do it better. It was a great game to play drunk, especially when they got together with some other college buddies every few weeks. But that night, it was much more somber. Who'd be a better fireman? a better teacher? a better bartender? Boring stuff, mostly to keep them awake and talking while they finished their beers. But then Tim said something that surprised both himself and Blake.
"Who'd be a better gay guy?" He asked, mostly in a not serious tone. Blake looked at Tim and laughed, before saying it was no contest. "Tim, you couldn't even survive in my scene. You're afraid to be in a locker room at the gym."
Tim smiled at the response, but pushed the question. "You used to fuck three guys a night, but you don't seem to be doing too well anymore, especially tonight. I bet I could have done better."
Blake stood up and started to shout a bit. "Well, if I was a straight guy, I'd do better than you! I'd at least remember who I had already fucked. You have to give me that!"
Tim was getting angry now, screaming "So it's a bad thing that I get too much pussy? Tell me, how does shit taste? You've got your head buried in an asshole often enough! And do you even use your dick, or does it just like there when a guys tool is shoved in your ass?"
Blake, almost too drunk to be having this conversation, responded by pulling out his penis. "You think you could do better with this than I can? You think that you could get more guys to fuck you
than I can?"
Tim, staring right into Blake's eyes, responded only with "no doubt about it." Blake went over to Tim and pulled down his friend's pants. "If this were mine," he said, "women would crawl to me."
Tim pushed Blake off balance, sending him to the floor while he pulled up his pants and went to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. Blake got up after some time and walked into his room, closing out the rest of the loft and sitting in the darkness of his own bedroom. Both still seething with drunken rage, they both went to sleep angry and horny. But their troubles had only just started.
~~Saturday Morning~~
At 8:25, Tim's alarm went off. According to their routine, Tim would wake up first and let his lady shower, followed by Blake and his gentleman twenty minutes later. Today, though, he had a massive hangover, and nursing it would be a bitch. Tim walked into the bathroom to take a morning piss and shower, still groggy and cloudy from the night before. But when he grabbed his dick to take a leak, something felt off. His bladder was emptying, and he could feel himself pissing, but the penis in his hands wasn't doing anything. When he looked down, he realized why with a yelp. It wasn't his dick.
Across the hall in Blake's room, Blake woke up in a puddle of urine of someone else's creation. Looking down to examine himself he saw why. The penis attached to his legs wasn't his. It was Tim's. Something really fucked up happened over night.