Chapter 13: Interlude
Back in my room and having showered, I sat on my couch in a bathrobe not reading the book in front of me, despite eyes scanning and rescanning the same paragraph. What was going on? The rat lab was so much simpler, I found myself thinking. You put it in the box, you taught it to pull the string which turned on the light so it could push the bar and eat the reward. All you had to do was find the appropriate times to flick the light on and off and present the food and you could train the rat to do anything you wanted. Operant conditioning. And the rat didn't try to put you in a box and make you pull strings and push levers while you were training it. Undergraduate life: simple times.
Adam's fucking Corey clearly was a life-changing event for the kid, and, to hear Brad speak of it, it was a change for the better. Adam's not fucking Matt was, in a sense, a life-changing event for Matt as well, though to hear Matt speak of it, it was not for the better. And what about Brad? How did Adam's treatment of Brad play into this? And the others? There must be a common thread in there somewhere. How could I discover what it was if every time I got near the guy I went weak-kneed and empty-headed?
And 'stay out of Matt's pants'? What the hell was that?! Clearly Adam had seen Matt on his way over when he said it. Was he just jerking me? Perhaps that was it -- perhaps I was looking for a true Alpha Male, and all I had really found was an asshole. I found that shallow response to be highly gratifying.
Come to think of it, why was it so emotionally satisfying to think of him as an asshole? Why should that give me pleasure? Perhaps because every time I was around him I found myself doing things I didn't want to do, and that made me angry. Yes, Adam really pissed me off. I looked within myself and was surprised at the depth of my rage. I really hated the guy. That's strange, I thought. Hate is such a strong emotion.
The germination of an idea made me retreat from that thought. If I hated him, he surely hated me as well. But why would he hate me? I had come to the camp as an aide for Johnston, for all they knew. I was a nobody. But only a few days into the summer, Brad came to me for sexual release. Brad -- one of Adam's regular fuck-buddies. Then Eric -- for all I knew another of Adam's pals -- then Matt. Was that it? Adam had been the center of their sexual world while in the gym. Now I was slowly taking that role. Was Adam jealous?
Now that was a satisfying thought. It must be right. Of course he would say he, "didn't know there was a war," when I had asked to call a truce. People are so rarely in touch with themselves when they're jealous, especially those without the tools of self-analysis. Adam was jealous of me. And why not? I was stealing his sexual thunder. I was dethroning him -- at least, from his perspective. I was threatening the very foundation of the self-image he must have been building up all these years: that of being the Alpha, even if he was not able to be explicit in his understanding of it. The resolution of the question brought me some internal peace and a bit of happiness as well.
With it, I was able to reflect on the subsequent event of the day: fucking Matt. That had been fun. The boy was so giving, so open, so eager, so completely responsive. I had had a full panoply of foreplay in mind, but he had short-circuited it, engineering the fuck out from under me.
Engineering. Adam was an engineer? I just didn't see differential equations in him. Was I not looking at him correctly? No, that question was settled.
I had collapsed onto Matt after we came -- I, twitching violently deep in his bowels, he, having found release from the friction of my abdomen on his dick. We kissed, ferociously at first, but decrescendoing as the blood coursing through our veins slowed. By the end, still in him though soft, he bearing my weight without complaint, I was gently licking the sweat from his neck and chin.
He began to giggle.
"What's funny?"
"Nothing. I always laugh after sex."
Matt was a pure spirit.
"That was pretty fun," I said.
"It sure was, amigo." He nipped my ear.
"I didn't mean to fuck into you like that -- all at once. You surprised me. I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"Are you kidding," Matt laughed? "It was great!" Then, more seriously, "did you think it was great? I mean, you liked it, didn't you?"
"Yeah, puppy. It was great."
Matt was a puppy, I had thought, for the second time that day. Bright-eyed and trusting and bouncy and playful and cute and ready to give unquestioned fealty to anyone who scratched him behind the ear.
"Listen," I said, somewhat unsettled by that last thought, "I'm going back to the room to clean up. You want to come?"
"Naw," he said, "if it's all the same to you, I'll go back to the lake and take a swim instead."
Where did he get his energy?
We kissed goodbye, and went our separate ways.
Feeling, for the first time, that things were working out pretty well for the summer, I began reading my book in earnest, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door.
"C'mon in," I called.
The door swung open. Brad stood in the threshold, still in his bathing suit, still damp from the lake.
"Heywooooood," he crooned, a mischievous grin on his face.
"Yeah, alright," I laughed. "Get your butt in here."
Shutting the door behind him, he strutted directly toward me across the floor of the room, stepped up onto and over the coffee table, then up onto the couch on which I sat, standing over me with a foot at each hip. My eyes took him in from his sandaled feet up. His calves were planes intersecting at interesting angles, the flat surfaces of them jutting out from behind his shins. My hands found them, and I enjoyed the feel of the coarse thin hair that covered them. Normally yellow, it had bleached translucent in the sun, and made his legs shine with light. My gaze continued up to the thighs I had met on the trainer's table in the gym: massive quadriceps in front, hamstrings which when flexed, might even have been larger than my head. The Spandex Speedo suit he wore was a rich cobalt blue, a color which suited him perfectly. Its shiny material stretched over the cheeks of his ass just enough to make the soul yearn in anticipation of what lay below. In front, it was filled with his package.
I am no cook, but I will tell you that here is a recipe for a hard on: a dorsal view of a really full ball sac stuffed into a glossy, tight suit on a boy who could pull off wearing a glossy, tight suit. As his legs were spread enough to straddle me as I sat below him on the couch, I was able to peek between them, where the material of the suit, pulled as it was forward by his dick and balls, separated from his thighs. Tufts of blond hair emerged from where his tan line marked the change from milky white to golden honey.
Above the suit, the trail, the abdominal muscles -- broad, horizontal, as distinct from each other as the treads on a tire. His proud chest capped by his diminutive nipples, his face guileless, happy, looking down at me looking up at him, his damp hair spiking in every direction. I raised one of my hands, and tickled his balls through the material.
"You are just so stunningly beautiful," I said, "there should be a law against you."
Brad smiled even more broadly, raised his fists to near his ears, and flexed his entire upper body in a pose straight boys practice countless times in a mirror. But oh, so very rarely, to such effect. Having had the opportunity to play, to use his body in a way that wasn't work, like the other boys, Brad was in a good mood.
I continued to lightly stroke his balls through the material. In a very uncharacteristic move, though, Brad took the initiative. While he had, both times I had serviced him, been quite content to let me minister to his needs by passively enjoying, this time, he was active. He peeled the suit down under his balls, and gave his dick a few strokes, speeding his erection. Half kneeling -- and you can imagine what that did to his hamstrings -- and supporting himself with on hand on the wall behind my head, he lowered his dick to my mouth.
"Heywooood," he sang, "open up, Heywooooood."
I did. He pushed his dick into my mouth, and I greedily sucked on it, as a baby who had just learned to nurse. It tasted of fresh water, it smelled of 19-year-old. Not needing my hands, I was content to leave them on his calves. Much as I like the look of a smooth torso, there's something about the feel of hair on legs that is so erotic. I peered upward, at him. His face was purposeful and determined. As his dick grew in my mouth, he began a rocking motion, lowering his hips by kneeling a little more, rotating them in, raising up a little by extending his knees, then rotating out. The sensation was altogether pleasurable for me, even if it wasn't particularly meant to be. I was satisfied, having had my moment with Matt, and without the need for imminent release, giving a blow job can be a mighty fun task. To keep his balance, he had put both hands against the wall. From my perspective, it was as if he was doing vertical push-ups into my mouth. His armpits were cavernous like Adam's, though blond and far lest tufted.
Now Adam would not be smiling the way Brad was. If Adam were fucking my face this way, it would be with fury, not joy. If Adam...wait -- why was I thinking about Adam?
I returned to the very happy present. Brad's dick, now fully distended, was poking at my larynx on his in-strokes. I timed my breathing to match his rhythm, and tried opening my throat for him as he went deep. So long as he kept in time, I was able to accommodate. I became fixated with looking at his stomach as he pumped my mouth. During the withdrawals, his stomach relaxed, returning to a state of mere beauty. During the deposits, when his muscles tensed, it was godlike.
After one particular withdrawal, there was a knock at the door. Rather than pull out entirely, though, as I expected he would, Brad, not missing a beat, plunged right back in. Not without, of course, first calling out that whoever was at the door should feel free to come on in..
It was Doug, who greeted the scene before him as casually as Brad had invited him in. I, it seems, was the only uncomfortable person in the room, stuffed, as I was, with a mouthful of dick. I marveled at Brad's expectation that it wouldn't matter to me that he had invited someone into the room while I was giving him a blow job.
"Bad time," Doug asked? "I can come back later."
"No prob, dude," Brad responded, still in his rocking rhythm, "why don't you join us? Heywood wouldn't mind, would ya, buddy?"
Of course, he didn't take his cock out of my mouth, but kept right on, half-masting me, then full dicking. The question it seems, was rhetoric. This surely pissed me off. I'd have to remember to be angry, later, I thought. When I had more time, and the ability to speak.
Of all the boys, Doug looked least like a gymnast. This isn't to say he was not in shape -- he was -- just a different shape. Where the rest of the boys had sculpted definition to their bodies, Doug was covered in a sixteenth-inch layer of padding as if he still had his baby fat. This softened out his features somewhat which, added to the fact that he was the widest and biggest boned of the team, gave him the appearance of a football player. Somehow, I was reminded of the old cartoon of the dopey Warner Brothers sheepdog. 'Which way did he go, George? Which way did he go?'
He wore jams and had a towel wrapped around his neck. Apparently, he had had the same idea Brad had: top off a fun day of swimming with a quickie. Given the paucity of entertainment options, I wondered, briefly, just how many knocks on the door there were going to be that afternoon.
Doug shrugged and came into the room. Brad showed no signs of letting up, and feeling a little out of control, I brought my hands to his hips and pushed him out. Brad was not offended. He took it as an opportunity to stand down off the couch to offer room for Doug to get in. His hand went to his dick and began stroking it lightly to keep it hard.
Doug meanwhile, had come into the room, but showed no signs of an idea of how to continue. Brains, I recalled, were not his long suit. I was about to make a suggestion, but Brad took the lead.
"C'mon over, dude. You want to fuck him? I'm having too good a time getting the head to give that up."
Hello? I'm in the room, you know.
"Sure," Doug said, considering the idea. Then, deciding he liked it, added, "yeah. I'll fuck him!"
"Why don't we go into the bedroom, where it'll be more comfortable," I offered, beginning to get up.
"No need, bud," Brad said, pulling the coffee table away from the front of the couch. "We'll be fine right here."
Sure. They'll be comfortable...
Doug lowered his jams, revealing a truly magnificent dick. Large and blockish like the rest of him, it hung down, straight, even and rectangular. Almost as long soft as it was hard, it was crowned by an arrow-shaped, big, rubbery, circumcised head. While not as big as Adam's, it came close, in substance if not import.
Brad pulled me off the couch by the shoulder, stepped up on it again, turned, and sat with his back to the wall, on the backrest. He spread his knees, and pointed the still-slick dick he had been stroking at me. I turned toward him and, legs planted on the floor before the couch, bent at the waist to bring my mouth down to his crotch. Rather than wait for me to take him, he brought his hands behind my head, and pulled me forward onto him. My, but he was pushy today. Doug walked up behind me, and began dick-slapping my ass to get himself hard.
"Wait," I said, forcibly pulling myself off Brad. "Lube."
Brad considered this for a moment. "Yeah, okay," he said, as if I had been asking his permission. "Why don't you go get it, bud," he said to Doug?
Doug, caught on the idea for a moment, finally saw the light. "Oh," he said, "you mean for me." Okay. So the boy didn't have to be smart, and he wasn't. All was right with the universe.
"It's in the night table to the right of the bed," I offered. Doug went off into the bedroom to retrieve it.
In the meantime, Brad would have no time wasted. As soon as Doug understood what he was doing, Brad cupped his hand behind my head again and fed me his dick.
"Yeh, dude, that's the way. Use your tongue."
Without Doug behind me, I had no reason to stand. Kneeling on the couch in front of Brad, I circled the base of his dick with my hand as I played tricks on it with my lips and tongue. Brad resumed his rhythm, this time moving my head backward and forward on him, rather than taking the energy to do it himself. From the bedroom, I heard sounds of rummaging.
I quite liked the shape of Brad's dick. So many dicks have flared heads. Doug, it seemed, was one of them. Brad's dick, on the other hand, was tapered, reaching its largest girth in the middle. This made sucking it a pleasure. Furthermore, it was also surprisingly and enticingly pale. On the average man, the flesh of the dick stands out in its relative darkness. Brad, though, was so fair, his skin, where untanned, was so pale, that his dick was a pinkish alabaster, set off by its garden of almost pigment-free hair.
The rummaging continued in the other room. The KY was the only thing in the drawer. I pulled, once again, off Brad's dick, and called out to the bedroom, "the other right, Doug. It's in the nightstand on the other right." The sound of a drawer shutting, some footsteps, a drawer opening, then, from the other room, "okay. Got it."
I looked up at Brad, who giggled, shrugged, and pulled me back onto his dick. Doug reappeared from the back of the room, and took up his position behind me. With Brad's dick still firmly implanted in my mouth, I put my feet back on the floor, raising my ass to waist level in front of Doug.
Again, he started dick slapping my ass, each beat proving that his cock was getting harder. What started feeling like being struck by a strand of fresh bread dough began to feel like being hit by a rubber baton. By the time it felt like a broom handle, Doug deemed he was ready, and began lubing himself up.
I became a bit nervous. A man who was not the brightest bulb in the marquee was about to attack my ass with a very respectable weapon. But Doug proved, to my surprise, that in this area, at least, he knew the proper way to insert tab A into slot B. He aimed the substantial head of his dick at my ass and, rather than slamming home, applied slight, but growing pressure. I was able to relax into him, but was still grateful when, the lips of my sphincter finally stretching open and popping around the ridge of his head, he waited before continuing. Placing a hand on each of my hips, he slowly edged into me, allowing me to adjust to the fullness of him.
It had been a while since I had been fucked, and I was reminded of the glorious sensation of saturation it caused -- of completeness. Doug passed my prostate causing an involuntary shiver to rise from my depths. He pressed on, coming to rest in a special place I had almost forgotten existed. I felt his thighs pressing against my hips, his pubic hair tickling the crack between my cheeks. Fully inserted, again he paused while my chute accommodated to his girth. I found myself squeezing him with my pucker in spontaneous rhythms of internal origin. He waited for the spasms to pass before he continued.
Satisfied that I was relaxed and ready for him, he began his work. Pulling out until the ridge of his head was just within my assring, he reversed and in one smooth, liquid motion returned to full in. Again and again, the ridge of his dickhead, acting like a ribbing, pushed and pulled the flesh of my insides, running over, with each thrust, the knob of my prostate. Brad, in front, began to match his rhythm, pulling my head off him as Doug withdrew behind, forcing himself fully into me as Doug pressed in. It was a most pleasant sandwich, being both the filling and the filled.
When their motion became coordinated and easy to maintain, Brad spoke.
"Nice, huh, dude?"
"Fuckin' hot," replied Doug.
"Hey," said Brad, a thought occurring to him, "you think I can put a move after the Gaylord I do near the end of my high bar? I'm thinking if I can get just a little more amplitude in the recovery, I can add to the combination, even if it's just something like a giant with a half twist."
If I could have slapped him, I would have. But my hands were busy on either side of his hips, holding onto the top of the couch's backrest to give me leverage against the forward movement behind me.
"I'll spot you tomorrow if you want to try it," Doug replied with a grunt as he drove home.
"Thanks, dude. I'll run it by Johnston."
I pulled off Brad's dick, and looked up at him.
"Do you mind," I asked? "How about a little attention to the apparatus at hand."
Brad smiled down at me.
"No prob, dude. Really enjoying it. You just keep going, guy."
Brad pointed his dick back at my mouth, and with a flex of his considerable bicep, caused me to deep throat him. A flex of his hip ground his pubes into my lips, his dick as far down my gullet as he could get it. I played with him with my tongue, setting up an undulating motion from front to back.
Shortly before I thought I would pass out from lack of air, he released his grip and returned to matching Doug's rhythm behind me.
Meanwhile, Doug's dick was doing magic in my nether-regions. The warmth of the friction caused by his motion, the size of him in me as he moved, the constant pressure on my prostate from his size had brought me to full mast. He pulled himself in and out using my hips as a fulcrum.
Wanting another position, Doug bent over me, bringing his stomach and chest down to my back, and began using hip thrusts rather than a rocking motion to piston me. His hands now free, he did something entirely unexpected with them. His left slid around my chest to find my nipple, which he began tweaking. His right came around my waste and wrapped around my dick.
Doug began jacking me off.
"Yeah, dudes," moaned Brad, "that looks so fucking hot. Plug him, buddy. Plug him deep."
And deep was, indeed, the way Doug was plugging me.
The new position had allowed him to find new, more intense, more intimate places within me, and my body responded with renewed fervor and appreciation. I pressed back into him, trying to increase, even further, his penetration. His hand, calloused and rough, jerked my dick in matching strokes, in for in. Grateful for the pleasure Doug was giving me, I flutter tongued Brad as I contracted my sphincter as tight as it would go.
That must have done it. Brad's testicles withdrew and he began the soft guttural moaning I had come to associate with his cumming. Behind me, Doug frantically increased the pace of his hand, while his thrusting became more urgent and purposeful. His hand, in one of its strokes, hit a spot that brought me over the edge.
My first orgasmic spasm caused a predictable chain reaction. Clamping down on Doug brought him to the same state I had reached. He buried himself in me, milking the base of my dick as he unloaded his seed in creamy waves into my bowels. Seeing us cum pushed Brad beyond return, and, bringing his hips up off the couch in a violent thrust, he lodged his cockhead in my throat and exploded. Their two dicks throbbed and pulsed almost in unison as the boys filled my respective ends with surges of their opalescent goo. As they did, Doug milked my dick, as the thick strands of my own jizz shot forcibly onto...son of a bitch...the rug.
There was the panting, the last delicious twitches of spent pleasure, the sighs of satisfaction. Brad released me at the same time that Doug, with an ignominious plop, withdrew. I stretched, feeling just how long I'd been bent at the hip, turned, and collapsed onto the couch next to Brad.
"Cool," said Brad. "I gotta clean up. Fuck that was hot."
Doug turned to me, and smiled contentedly, dopily.
"Thanks a lot," he said. "I really needed that."
"Thank you, stud," I replied. "You got a great dick, and you really know what to do with it." He turned a little red in the cheek. "And thanks for getting me off. That was really...kind."
Doug shrugged, dismissing the gratitude. "Only fair," he said, reaching for his shorts.
Alone again, I melted into the padding of the couch, truly spent. What a day it had been. Adam, Matt, and then Brad and Doug. Doug! Of all things, of all people, to get me off like that! I was shocked, though grateful, by his generosity. If you had asked me the day before which of the boys would have been most likely to reciprocate during a quickie, the answer would surely not have been Doug. The camp was throwing me for a loop. I had so misjudged so many people all within the space of a week. How could that happen? It was my chosen profession to understand people. I had studied for years. And yet, here in the mountains, all my experiences, my expectations, my cognitive schemata were being turned upside down. Jocks could be smart. Brad. Dumb jocks could be generous. Doug. Beautiful boys could be attentive, and gay boys could do the straight-male-bonding thing. Matt. What was it that Sondheim said in Into the Woods? Giants can be nice, witches can be good. I drifted off to sleep with his tune wafting in my head. How could I have been so wrong about so much? At least, went my last conscious thought, I had figured out Adam. He was jealous. Of that I was certain.