Craigslist

Craigslist 80

WARNING

This story details explicit gay sex between men, teens and boys. If you find this kind of thing distasteful, or if you are underage wherever you live, then stop reading this now, and delete this file. The story is completely fictional; the author does not condone or encourage any of the acts contained herein.

Craigslist

Chapter 80

By: Tim Keppler (nemoami@yahoo.com)

Edited by: Bob Leahy

"But whhyyy?" Kai whines.

"Because Kenny and Dinh don't think you should be spending your time like that."

"But...umm...they're just games."

"Yeah, but a lot of kids don't do anything else. They just play video games. That's it."

"But Kenny and Dinh write video games."

"Yup. And that's why I trust them when they say you shouldn't be playing them."

"But...."

"Kai, you know the rules. We all have to agree on something like this. If you want video games, you have to convince Kenny and Dinh."

"But I can't. I've tried."

"Well, then you're SOL."

Kai looks at me, confused. Then he gets it.

"So outta luck," I say, and smile.

"You sure about the `so'?" he asks, giggling.

"No, but I'll leave it to your imagination," I say, tousling his hair. "Now go play with that silly Thumper-cat," I say, pointing behind the door where Thumper has been lurking, waiting to be noticed. The minute he realizes that Kai has seen him, he streaks out of the office with Kai in hot pursuit. Cats are much better for 8-year-olds than video games, and much more fun ultimately. And this cat is wild. Kevin once told me that Thumper was a "terrorist," and that wasn't far from the truth. Thumper and the boys take turns chasing each other. You never really know who'll be in the lead.

This "discussion" about video games is one of a series of ongoing harangues we have with the boys. We don't have cable TV, and we don't have video games, and we monitor their PC usage pretty closely, not because we're concerned about where they might surf on the net. We do it because we don't want them spending hours each day glued to a monitor. We want them to be kids, to run around and actually play with their friends rather than meeting up with them on Facebook. So far we've been pretty good at keeping them focused on kid stuff. Jason and Kenny work with them on school work, and Dinh, well, Dinh is mostly their best friend, although he can sometimes be pretty aggressive with them. Dinh insists on good behavior. He wants them well behaved and social, and this week they've been better behaved than Dinh himself.

What with Nathan's cancer, and subsequent courting, Dinh hasn't been getting the kind of attention he longs for. He's been pretty grumpy, and a little abrupt with the boys. Some attitude adjustment was in order, and I have to attend to that attitude adjustment now.

Thao, who now lives with us, initially was a little put off by the screams he might hear in the kitchen. You get to the basement from the kitchen, and the basement is where discipline is applied. I don't really discipline Jason and Kenny any more. I spank them, but it doesn't really count as discipline. It's something they enjoy, and something we do...quietly. They both like to cry, but that's about their limit. Once they're crying, they've gone as far as they want to. Dinh, on the other hand, likes many, many forms of discipline. He's endlessly creative. And he's not quiet. He likes to scream. I don't know that the pain he experiences is any worse than what Kenny or Jason get from their spankings. It's certainly more diverse, more varied, but I doubt that it's worse. He never really knows what I'm going to do to him, though, so there's probably a fear factor that enhances the pain, but the more exotic and inventive I get, the more he seems to like it.

When I get to the kitchen, I find Thao chopping onions for a soup he's making this evening. The radio is playing softly in the background, a classical station, the only one we have in the bay area. For a moment I have a sense that Dinh can hear the music because his shrieks seem to be in rhythm with the violin section. "He is very vocal today," Thao comments. I smile. The fact that this is the only comment Thao makes is a testament to how far he's come from his hollow christianity. He talked to Dinh soon after he first heard him screaming, and Dinh assured him that it was consensual. That was all Thao needed to know. He goes on about his business, and so do we. It's very refreshing.

I make my way to the basement door, and open it just as Dinh shrieks again. I smile at Thao, and walk downstairs, closing the door behind me. Dinh is suspended from the whipping frame. He's on tip-toes, his feet barely touching the floor. He has clamps attached to his nipples, and those clamps have eight-ounce weights attached to them. He has an inflatable butt plug penetrating him, and it's rather-fully inflated. He has a parachute ball-stretcher attached to his scrotum with a pair of two-pound weights attached to it. He screams when he sees me. "Please, Tim, please...."

You probably think that Dinh wants me to...remove something. You probably think that he wants me to reduce the pain. Believe me, that's not what he wants. I've fallen into that trap before, and have been faced with petulance and anger. What he wants is to get off just as he is. Personally, I would find that...daunting. I'm not sure I could get off if I were in as much pain as he's in. But he can, and will. All I have to do is suck him a bit.

But I don't.

Instead, I sit down on a chair across from him and watch him writhe. "How much do you want this, Dinh?"

"Plleeeaaaasssseeeee."

"How much?"

"Please let me cum," he whispers.

Now, truth be told, he's been hanging here by his wrists for about an hour. We attached the nipple clamps, the ball stretcher, and inserted the butt plug. Once everything was in place, I started to suck him, slowly at first, and then more rapidly, all the while inflating the butt plug. When he'd get close to orgasm, I'd stop sucking him. How many times did we do that? I don't remember. Maybe a dozen. Right now his dick is blue steel, and he is just so deliciously sexually frustrated. I get up and cross to him, running my finger down the underside of his dick. He shivers. "Please!"

"I dunno, Dinh. I'm not sure you deserve this, yet."

"Please, Tim, please...please...plleeeaaaassssseeeeee." He's so cute.

"If I were to do this for you, Dinh, how would you want to get off?"

He's nearly breathless, nearly beside himself with lust. "It doesn't matter. Just, please, do it."

"I mean," I say, running my finger down the underside of his erect dick once more, "would you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes...yes...please...fuck me."

I stroke his torso, and then seal my lips to his for a really-sloppy kiss, pulling him a little forward. He tries so desperately to rub his dick against my leg, to get a little friction, but I won't let him. I move back just enough so he can't make contact. After a couple of minutes, I break the kiss. "So, you'd like me to fuck you?"

"Yes, please." He's close to tears.

I stand in front of him and slowly take off my clothes, and as I do, his eyes get really big, and his dick, which has been erect for...so long...rises a degree or two. Then, when I'm naked and when he is nearly frantic, I circle behind him and deflate the butt plug, slowly removing it. I lube up. At the height he's hanging, I think I can hit his prostate with every lunge. I line up, and enter him abruptly. He sighs and then moans. I slowly withdraw, and then thrust forward. He whimpers. I withdraw again, very slowly, and then thrust forward, and he starts to cry. This is where I want him. This is where he wants to be. I begin a steady rhythm of thrusts and withdrawals, pulling gently on the chain connecting his two nipple clamps. After maybe ten minutes of this, I reach around and start to stroke his dick -- once, twice, three times, and then four. And then we're there. "Oh, fuck!" he screams. "Oh...oh fuck." And he cums, shooting rope after rope of cum for probably six feet. "Oh, fuck" he says, sobbing. And then...he slumps.

During his orgasm, I've cum, too, although I doubt that Dinh knows it. I doubt that Dinh knows much of anything at this particular moment. I pull out of him, remove the nipple clamps, remove the weights and the ball stretcher, and release him, carrying him to the chair in the corner where I hold him and let him wind down.

After a while, he's draped over my shoulder, but coherent. "Jesus fucking Christ that was intense!"

"Good intense?"

"Oh, fuck, it was the best. It was the best of the best. I didn't think you could keep me on edge like that for so long. And then when you left me there and went upstairs, I thought I was going to lose my mind. Fuck that was intense. Thank you baby," he chokes. "That was the best."

"My pleasure," I reply, giggling. And it was a pleasure!

I suspect there's a little sadism in all of us, and a little masochism as well. I know I have both. When you can uninhibitedly explore that with someone you love and trust, someone who really enjoys it, as Dinh does, that is a joy. What Kenny and Jason like is the sex after the spanking. They like the cuddling, the intimacy, and the confession. Then they like the sex -- when their ass is a little...warm. But Dinh likes to mix the sex with the pain. He likes the actual sex act to hurt a bit, and that can be pretty exciting for me as well -- hurting him a little. Don't get me wrong. If I had any sense that I was doing something against his will, something he didn't enjoy, this scene would not be erotic. But seeing him hanging from the whipping frame, writhing in pain, and knowing that this is what he wants, knowing that this is how I can please him, well, that gets me hard almost instantly. For my part, I like a little pain, too, frankly. I love having my nipples pinched. I like it to hurt when you pinch them. It drives me crazy. But it doesn't drive me as crazy as it drives Dinh. For Dinh, pain is sex. He finds it very erotic. Sometimes you don't even need to touch his dick. Sometimes all you need to do is squeeze his balls and he cums spontaneously. I once made him hold his ass cheeks apart while I flogged his asshole with a whippy little riding crop. I did this to Jason and Kenny years ago. With Dinh, I did it so softly that I can't imagine there was any pain involved. I think it was just the idea of someone flogging his asshole that got him off, and my god did he get off! He came in a gush. Sex is mostly a mental thing. It's a state of mind. You have to be willing to take off your clothes -- both physically and mentally. You have to be willing to make yourself vulnerable to the person you're with. And, this is why trust is so important. If you can't trust him, you can't be sufficiently naked in front of him to have any fun. (And, of course, you gotta wonder why you'd have sex with someone you can't trust anyway, don't you. But, a lot of us do just that. Hell, a lot of us have sex with people whose names we don't even know.)

But, Dinh trusts me. He trusts me not to really hurt him. That's why he can enjoy it when I hurt him, and it's why I can enjoy hurting him. Trust is a powerful aphrodisiac! The idea that someone would abandon themselves to you, that someone would cede control of their body to you, freely giving you the right to inflict whatever amount of pain you choose, that makes my dick hard just describing it. Dinh is very dear to me. I try to give him what he wants, as I do Jason and Kenny. They're all different, all very individual. That's the spice of this particular dish -- all the different flavors.

We're going camping! We haven't been camping in so long. All six of us are going -- Jase, Kenny, Dinh, the boys, and me. We're going back to Guernville, where we haven't been since the episode with Andrew. I honestly haven't had the heart to go back there, but it's so beautiful, and it's a really good place for the boys to swim, and the town is so cute. I told the boys that if they did well on their quarterly report cards, we'd do something special, and they have been working at this. It shows. Kevin got all 3's, the highest score you can get. It's the equivalent to straight A's. Kai got all 3's except for a 2 in PE, and as you know, I don't give rat dick for PE. He runs, he plays, he bicycles, and he plays hop-scotch. He's not very good at basketball, it seems. Of course, he doesn't quite top 4 feet tall, so who's surprised? So, their reward is a long weekend of camping, and they are just so excited, nearly blind with anticipation. "What should I take, Daddy?" Kevin asks me.

"Take your shorts, a pair of jeans, three t-shirts, three pairs of underwear, three pairs of sox, your tennies, and your bathing suit." Kevin makes a list, and then runs off to his room to collect the requisite garments. And, I have the good sense to put him in charge of Kai's wardrobe as well, so we kill two birds with one stone. He loads everything into a grocery bag that I give him. He is nearly frantic with excitement. These boys have never been camping before, I realize. We've done a lot with them, but we've never camped. For them, the idea of sleeping out in the open -- well, more or less open -- is totally exotic. They're intrigued.

Contrary to popular belief, it is possible to sleep six people in a 1984 Westfalia. They weren't designed for it, but it's possible to do it. There is one stipulation, though. Two of the six people need to be munchkins, one of whom ideally should be less than four feet tall. Kai is the perfect size. So, you end up with two adults on the roof, under the pop-up tent, and two adults on the fold-out bed in the back of the van. The kids sleep on the floor on a foam mattress. Their feet end up under the fold-out bed, and the head of the tallest ends up between the two front seats. Of course, if anyone needs to pee in the middle of the night, there's a potential crisis, but I have that one figured out, too. We buy kitty litter in huge plastic containers designed to hold 30 pounds of litter. The plastic containers are also capable of holding quite a volume of...urine. For those sleeping on the roof, we have a tube and a funnel leading to the bottle. For those on the ground floor, the route to the bottle is more direct: whip it out, stick it in, and wiz. The only complication is that the Westfalia only seats five, and that causes me some concern, but a friend of mine, an airplane mechanic, came up with perfect solution, and even supplied it. In small planes, the stewardesses sometimes don't have any place to sit, so they use fold-out seats. My mechanic friend was able to attach one of these seats to the back of the front-most passenger seat. You end up riding backwards, but who cares? It's an ideal solution and should keep us legal.

I spend a day or so collecting everything we need for the trip. Westfalias were so ingeniously engineered that you have everything you need for a trip like this, and more. I mean, you have a stove, a fridge, a sink, a water supply, a separate battery to power 12-volt electrical devices so you don't drain the main battery, and, of course hook-ups for electricity, water, and sewage. And you have more closets and cubbyholes than you can imagine, ample space for everyone's needs. It is a tiny little self-contained home away from home. It'll be a tight squeeze for the six of us, but Kenny, Jason, Dinh and I squeeze tightly regularly, and the boys do the same. This should be a blast.

We get the Westfalia loaded up the night before our departure, and the boys are just irrepressible. They want to start early. "Please, Daddy," Kevin says, "can we sleep in it tonight?"

"Who's `we,' Kevin? I'm not sleeping in the van when I can sleep in my bed."

"Kai and me. Can we sleep in it tonight?"

"You're going to be sleeping in it for the next two nights. Your own bed is going to be a lot more comfortable."

"Please!"

What the hell. It's not like it's going to hurt anything. The van's in the garage, and the garage is closed. Even if they decide to get out of the van in the middle of the night for some reason, they're still enclosed within the compound that is our home. They'll be safe. "Okay. After your baths, once you're in your PJs, one of us will bring you out here and tuck you in."

"Yes!" Kevin screams, once again really excited.

"How was it?" I ask him the next morning.

"It was a little scary. We were all alone. Kai was a little freaked, but we sort of just huddled together. It was really comfy."

Poor little Kai got roped into that adventure, I think, but he's none the worse for wear, and he's his usual bubbly self when I see him at breakfast. "You okay, Kai?" He nods and smiles. He's fine.

We start out after breakfast, and to my utter and complete astonishment, Dinh volunteers to drive. "You drive a stick?" I scream.

"Yeah," he says, surprised and confused. There are these things I don't know about my guys, and it just pisses me off. This is a happy discovery, though, because I don't really like to drive. It's good to have some extra coverage.

Guernville is about two hours from us. It's north of San Francisco, but south of Sonapanoma (a contracted form of Napa and Sonoma -- the "wine country" as the snobs call it -- as if wine is the only reason these towns exist). It's not really a long trip, but the Westfalia doesn't have power steering, and Dinh is tired by the time we get to San Francisco, so we stop at Jason's favorite porridge shop and buy take out -- Pork and Preserved-Egg Porridge and an order of Beef Chow Fun. We'll have this for lunch when we get to Guernville. The campground I usually go to has "hook-ups". For us, that means that they have electricity for campers, and I have a small microwave in the van. Reheating something like porridge and noodles is a snap.

The weather is perfect. It's maybe 80° F. and clear. Sleepy Hollow camp ground is right across the street from a state park that sits right on the bank of the Russian River. The first order of business will be swimming. Kevin and Kai have gotten to be really-good swimmers. It's all that time they spend at the YMCA after school. They've become amphibious, but don't often have the opportunity to swim in real water, which is to say, water that's not so chlorinated that it hurts your eyes. The Russian River is pretty slow moving, which is also good. Dinh and Kenny are also outstanding swimmers, though Jason and I are not. I don't really have the upper-body strength for it, and Jason has never really liked to swim. But we all swim today, and have the best time splashing around, racing, and tickling each other under water. Kenny does one dive from a sort of cliff along the shore, and as he plunges into the water, his trunks pop off, much to the boys' amusement. They take great joy in rescuing his trunks, and then hiding them. Are they surprised that Kenny's not much concerned about whether he wears trunks to swim or not? I think they are, and it sort of takes the fun out of their prank. If he doesn't care that he's naked, where's the fun in hiding his trunks? And what's worse, Dinh, Jason and I, all take our trunks off as a show of solidarity and throw them onto the shore. Then, together, we go and tickle the boys, pulling their trunks off in the process. Now all of us are naked, splashing around in the river, and having the time of our lives.

Guernville is one of the gayest little towns in America. Years ago, it was made up mostly of straight, well-to-do San Franciscans who wanted a summer home. But...little by little, the faggots infiltrated. We now own the town, much to the chagrin of the "old money". And, when I say we own the town, I mean it. We own the city council. We own the mayor. We own the beaches. It is ours. There are two big gay clubs, one of which Jason and Kenny know...intimately. And there are any number of gay-owned businesses, one of which we visit tonight. The Triple R restaurant is a place where we had dinner the last time we were here. The food is very good, but the restaurant is part of a resort -- a restaurant, bar, and hotel. It's a very nice place, but clothing is definitely optional, so it's going to be interesting to watch the reaction of the boys.

Kevin and Kai know who we are, and they know what we do together. They've caught us at it a couple of times, and they've found videos and pictures that have been pretty explicit. We've never knowingly presented them with images of what gay sex means, but...umm...if you live in a household with four sexually-active gay guys -- now six sexually-active gay guys, counting Nathan and Thao -- you're bound catch on. So I'm not especially concerned that they'll see things they don't understand. Gay sex they've seen before and they know it's how we express our love for each other. That's not a problem. What they haven't seen is a lot of public nudity, and there's a lot of that in Guernville, much like in San Francisco. And, they're going to see a lot of it this weekend, because this weekend is leather weekend.

Honest to god, I didn't know. This is the weekend of the parade, a weekend when all the leather folk come out to play, and there are hundreds of them. They're everywhere. On the way to Triple R we pass a guy dressed in leather pants and a t-shirt. He's probably in his early 50s. He's very fit and muscular. He's probably 6'2". He's imposing. His "boy" is probably in his 30s. He's not "slight," but he certainly smaller -- probably 5'10" and slender. He's naked except for a pair of tennis shoes. His body is clean shaven. His hands are cuffed behind him, and he's being led on a leash -- that's attached to his nipple-rings. He's wearing a cock ring that makes his equipment...protrude. His ass and back are bruised, really bruised. They're a lot more bruised than I'd ever let Jason get, or even Dinh. These guys are strolling along with another almost-identical couple, except in the latter case, the "boy" is being led by a leash attached to his Prince Albert piercing. He's being led by the dick.

Your kids take their cues from you, but our cues are very mixed right now. I personally don't care what these guys do. I'm stoic. If this is the relationship these guys have with each other, that's fine. Dinh is wide-eyed. He's really curious, I think, about what it might feel like to be paraded around naked in this way, and I realize that I've never done that with him. I've done it with Jason and to Kenny, but never to him. Note to self: time for a little public nudity for little Dinh. Kenny is smiling. His expression is ultimately enigmatic. His smile could be appreciative or it could be derisive. It's impossible to tell. Jason is laughing. There's no mistaking his response. He finds this a spectacle, an amusing spectacle. The boys have no idea how to respond. They start at awe, and end in laughter, whispering to each other in Cantonese, especially as these two couples pass us on the street, close enough to touch.

Our signals aren't mixed for the next couple that ambles along, though. The "top" is black, probably 6'2" and maybe 40, and the "boy" is Caucasian, and probably the same age, and nearly the same height. The black guy has a very long dick, I notice. The Caucasian guy not so much. The Caucasian guy sees the boys, Kevin and Kai, and gushes. "Hi, little fellows," he says, reaching out and lifting Kai into the air. Kai is stunned, and really frightened by the look of him. He starts to cry. Kenny, Jason, Dinh and I are stunned as well, stunned and angry. It's Jason who takes the most aggressive posture, though. "Put him down!" he orders.

The Caucasian guy looks at him with amusement. "Or what?" he asks.

Jason looks at Kenny, who nods. "Or I'll kill you."

The Caucasian guy smiles. That's before he gets kicked in the face. Kenny basically catches Kai in mid-air, and carries him off to the side. "You want more, asshole?" Jason asks, seething. He doesn't, apparently. He cups his face in his hands, and scurries off with his partner. It's okay to admire, but don't touch.

In all, we pass maybe 20 naked men before we get to Triple R. "Daddy," Kai asks, having recovered from his ordeal, "why is everyone naked?"

"I dunno, baby. There must be some kind of party going on. Or, maybe they're hot."

He looks at me and giggles.

"Yeah, it's probably not the best way to deal with the heat, is it?"

He shakes his head, still giggling.

We finally get to Triple R and make our way inside. What we find are at least six tables of naked men. My father's favorite expression of utter consternation and amazement was "Sweet long-suffering Jesus on an ice-cold thundermug!" I liked the expression, but had no idea what it meant. It took the Urban Dictionary to explain it to me, and then I liked it even more. A "thundermug" is basically a chamber pot. It's made of metal mostly, and is probably enameled. When you piss in it, it sounds like thunder. Jesus is "long-suffering" because of the crucifixion, but also because he's sitting on this icy vessel that's probably been sitting under the bed for the entire night, and back in the days of thundermugs, your house wasn't heated at night because you weren't awake to stoke the fire in the fireplace. Sitting on a thunder mug was preferable to going outside in the snow to the outhouse to pee, but not by much. Scanning the room, I realize just how many naked men we have here, and the expression seems appropriate. "Sweet long-suffering Jesus on an ice-cold thundermug!" I say, and Kenny giggles. This was probably the wrong weekend to bring the boys to Guernville.

We're seated at a table by a topless waitress. She has star-shaped nipple shields held in place my barbell nipple piercings. They're not unlike what we saw on Janet Jackson when Jason Timberlake engineered the famous "wardrobe malfunction". Kevin is mesmerized, absolutely rapt, and I would swear I see a tiny bulge form in his jeans, another indication of his latent heterosexuality. You can't always get it right. Kai, too, is amazed, but isn't fixated on the waitress. In fact, in Kai's case, he doesn't know what to look at, and so his head swivels from side to side as he tries to take in everything. We order, and our meals arrive. It's just at the moment when I'm about to tuck into my Lamb Oso Bucco that I realize that I know one of the naked guys. Crossing the room, I pat him on the back. "Barry!" I say.

He turns, looks at me, and his eyes light up. I haven't seen Barry in a couple of years. He's about my height, and probably 40. He's very trim. He looks really good. His husband, James, is with him. James is about 5'8" tall, blond, and very well built, and believe me, it's easy to tell because I can see absolutely all of him, as with Barry. "You're looking well," I say. "All of you!"

Barry giggles. "We've never done anything like this before. We thought it'd be fun."

"Is it?" I ask.

"Mostly," he nods. "It's very liberating."

"I can imagine!" I say, giggling.

We chat for a couple of minutes, and he invites us for drinks after dinner. They're staying at Fife's, one of the gay resorts. I accept. "Those are mine," I say, motioning to our table.

James is captivated by the boys. "The kids are adorable," he says, "and so well-behaved."

"Yeah, Jason, Kenny and Dinh have them on a pretty-short leash. They're very good in public. And they're getting quite an education this weekend."

"Barry nods. "Yeah. Interesting choice of a weekend to introduce them to Guernville."

"I didn't know. I swear to god, I didn't know."

He nods and laughs. "Well, let's have cocktails after dinner. James and I will even get dressed."

I nod, kissing him quickly on the cheek, and go back to our table to eat. The food at Triple R isn't spectacular, but it isn't bad either. It's about the best you can do in Guernville. The service is excellent, though, and very cordial. The waitress with the nipple shields, it turns out, is very friendly and brings the boys a free dessert -- banana pudding -- which makes her their best friend for life. She tousles their hair, and chats with them, captivating Kai. Kevin, I notice, mostly talks to her tits. She notices, too. "You're about the only one in the room interested in them," she says, with a laugh. Kevin laughs, too, nervously.

After dinner, we follow Barry and James back to Fife's, and it is a fucking zoo, let me tell you! Fife's is sort of half hotel, half dance club, and half campground. I know that's too many halves, but that's how it is here. The campgrounds are hysterical. You're assigned a grassy plot of about 20'X20'. Have you ever seen faggots camp? No, that's not what I meant to ask. What I meant to ask is if you've ever seen queens camp. A faggot is a generic word for a gay guy, any gay guy. It's a good word. A faggot denotes a bundle of sticks, twigs, or branches bound together and used as fuel. It was what the inquisitors used to start the fire when they burned heretics at the stake, and what Wildmon, LaBarbera, Shaftly, Bush, Nicolosi, and the other bigots would use to incinerate us today, were it only still legal. (Ahh, for the good old days.) It's a word that reminds us of our heritage. A queen, on the other hand, is a fag...with style. The decorations for these camping plots are extravagant. There are ribbons, and tapestries. There are carpets. There's antique furniture. I love to come here for events, because they're just so over-the-top. Barry and James actually have a room, but we tour the camp sites first, and Kevin and Kai are just...captivated. "How'd you do that?" Kai asks one very-beefy bear who has managed to suspend lighted balls above his plot seemingly out of nowhere.

"Magic!" he says with a laugh, tousling Kai's hair.

Kai nods, completely entranced.

There are historical themes, patriotic themes, even christmas themes, and it's the middle of fucking July. It is just too funny. Once the tour is over, we head up to Barry and James' room, which turns out to be a suite. Barry is an entrepreneur. He works for one of the venture capital firms in the Silicon Valley. His job, he told me once, is to lose money. "If you're not losing money, you're not trying hard enough to find the next Microsoft, or Oracle." He had a point. James is a pediatrician with a private practice. I'd guess that they bring in maybe $750,000 a year, and that's a conservative estimate. It may be closer to a million. The point is, they live very well, and their room at Fife's shows it. It's...sumptuous -- Persian rugs, solid cherry furniture, paintings by local artists, an enormous plasma television, and a fully-stocked wet bar -- pretty much everything you could ever want in a luxury accommodation. And...a grand piano. Not a baby grand, mind you. This one is a concert grand. The minute Jason sees it, he moves across the room and begins to play a Chopin Mazurka. Barry takes drink orders, gives the boys glasses of apple juice, and sits down to listen, captivated. When Jason finishes up, he twirls around and smiles at me.

"That was spectacular," Barry says. "I didn't know he could play music."

"I don't think I've seen you since Jason's great revelation," I reply. "He's not writing code anymore. He's the Concertmaster for the San Francisco Symphony."

"Really? That's a change. But...umm...isn't the Concertmaster usually the principal violinist?"

"Yeah. The violin is his primary instrument. Piano is a...sideline."

"I see. When did you discover this talent?" Barry asks.

"Couple of years ago."

He giggles, smiling, looking at Jason. "Well, that surprise must have earned you a few."

Jason nods ruefully, and then goes back to playing, this time Beethoven, followed by Schubert.

"So, what have you guys been up to?" I ask Barry.

"Well, James has been doctoring, as ever, and I've been branching out into the political sphere. Politics doesn't pay much, it turns out, but our investments will keep us afloat. I've started a new foundation, Equal Marriage California. Geoff Kors of Equality California, Lorri Jean of the Los Angeles Gay and Lesbian Community Center, and Steve Smith, the asshole they hired to run the campaign, did such an outstanding job of propelling Proposition 8 to victory in the last election, I thought it was time for some new blood in this arena. Kors and Jean are absolute idiots, and are now whining endlessly about how our loss of marriage rights in California wasn't their fault. James and I donated nearly a million dollars to the cause, and they fucked it up. What made me the angriest, quite frankly, is that a week after the election, a week after we lost the vote despite a significant lead in the polls only a week before the election, I got a form letter from Equality California asking for an additional donation to fund a campaign in 2010 to regain our rights. I called Kors and told him he was a fucking imbecile, an utter waste of oxygen. He was sniffling by the end of the call. He knows he botched it. It was at that moment that I decided to work this thing myself rather than throwing more money down a rat hole called Equality California. I got in touch with Kevin Cathcart of Lambda Legal, and Kate Kendall of National Center for Lesbian Rights, and we agreed on a strategy -- which is a hell of a lot more than Kors and Jean had last time around. Now it's a matter of implementation. We're looking for a campaign manager, someone we can summarily fire if he or she fucks it up."

"Really? I think I've heard about this. I think it was Ashton Pickering who was talking about this last week."

"Yeah...yeah...yeah. Ashton has been helping us with some of the field work. A campaign like this requires a lot of face time, and therefore a lot of volunteers. He's been pulling those together and getting them trained."

"So, who are you talking to about managing this thing?"

"We have a couple of names, but no one you'll have heard of. No one I've heard of either, frankly, and that makes me nervous. We can't afford another Geoff Kors. We need someone with at least half a brain, preferably someone with some marketing skills, which Kors sure doesn't have. Do you know anyone who'd be interested and willing?

"Umm...maybe."

"Who?" Barry asks, incredulous.

"Uhh...maybe me."

There is dead silence in the room as Barry parses what I've just said, and as Jason and Kenny do the same. I worked on the last campaign for marriage equality, and came home every night depressed. It was clear to me early on that it was going nowhere. It was clear to me that we'd lose. It was clear to me that the bigots would win. They were aggressive with their lies. Our entire campaign consisted of responding to them. They set the agenda, and we let them. It was, quite frankly, pathetic. We had no strategy. Kors and Jean had no idea how to win.

"You are shitting me!" Barry says. "You'd do this?"

"I think so," I say, musing. "Marriage is the single most important issue in gay rights right now. If we can't marry, we'll never be equal. That's not to say that we'll be equal even if we can marry, but it's a starting point. Jason and I are legally married. Did you know that?"

"No," Barry responds. You got it done in those short six months?"

"First day. We were married on June 16."

Barry laughs. "Good for you."

"Ultimately, I want this to go a lot farther than same sexes. Ultimately, I want to be able to marry Kenny and Dinh as well. I want us all to be married. But, you have to start somewhere. Yeah, I'd do it."

"It's yours," Barry says. "The job is yours, because I know you'll get it done. What kind of salary are you looking for?" he asks, leery.

"Nothing. I'll do it for free. I need to touch base with the board at Youth Renewed, my current job, to see if I can get a leave of absence for the months it'll take to get this done. We have such a good staff now that the Center can basically run itself for a while, but that is a contingency."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Tim, this meeting was kismet. I'm sure as shit glad we came to Guernville this weekend. You have no idea how glad!"

I nod. There are these fateful moments when you find yourself in the right place at the right time. This is one of those moments. But, I don't think the boys think so. It's past their bed time, and Kai is starting to get cranky. It's time to go back to the campground and put them to bed. We say our goodbyes, and pile into the Westfalia. Honest to god, the boys are asleep by the time we get back to Sleepy Hollow. All we have to do is move them to the cushion on the floor. It'll be Jason and me on the roof under the pop-up tent, and Kenny and Dinh on the lower bed. The only question is...can we...umm...make love without waking the boys. We're going to try.

One of the fun parts of the Westfalia is...umm...fucking. It's quite a light vehicle, so any movement will rock it. And, if you're on the roof, under the pop-up tent, it's almost like being out in the open. Suddenly, your exhibitionist tendencies come to the fore. There's a thin piece of canvas between you and the world, and, personally, I love that. Any sound you make is heard everywhere. And any movement rocks the van. Everyone in the campground knows what you're doing, and I'm fine with that, frankly. I don't know why, but it makes Jason feel that much more...delicious. He's naked, and I'm naked, and we're cuddling. He feels so soft, and so smooth. We can see the stars through the tent window, the stars and the moon. As I enter him, he groans. He feels so good, so warm. He envelopes me. There's no way to do this face to face given the cramped quarters, so we can't kiss. But I can nibble his ears, and bite his neck. I am just so in love with him that there's plenty to do. As I establish our rhythm, Jason whimpers softly, and after fifteen or so minutes, he's the first to cum. "Oh...oh...Jesus...," he says softly, and Dinh below us giggles, knowing what's happening up above. And then I cum, my dick buried in Jason's ass. Yeah, somehow making love in the presence of the stars and the moon, in the presence of god and everybody, is a real turn-on. Before we leave here, I resolve to take Jason out there on the picnic bench.

The next day, we take the boys back to the river across the street for a stint of swimming. I actually fling a giggling Kai into the river, and dive in right after him. We splash around for an hour or so, and then get dried off, and drive into town. We visit the book store, the candy store, a tiny little pottery store, a garden where a local folk band is playing bluegrass, and then we head back to the campground, having picked up dinners at the local supermarket that we can microwave. At about 9pm, having eaten, we get the boys to bed and sit outside drinking tea. It's a really-nice evening. It's about 70° F. I'm almost tempted to suggest that we go across the street and dive into the river again, but a better idea comes to mind. Climbing into the back of the van, I pull out a large blanket and spread it on the ground on one side of the Westfalia. "Last night, when Jason and I were making love," I say, "I realized how much I wanted to...umm...make love to you all...out in the open."

They all nod. Dinh is the first out of his clothes, followed by Kenny, followed by me, followed by Jason. Years and years ago I remember running in the Palo Alto Foothill Park. I used to bicycle up there, and then run along the trails. It's a really-beautiful park, and a very good place to jog. One Saturday, while running, I nearly tripped over a heterosexual couple fucking in the bushes. They looked so...serene, and so...totally into each other. I've never forgotten the image of the two of them. That's what I want for us. I want to fuck them with abandon in front of anyone who cares to watch. Exhibitionism is interesting, isn't it? Why are we so concerned about being naked in front of each other? Do we think we're ugly? Do we think there's something wrong with the human form? Where does this weird sense of "modesty" come from? It's a disease my family never caught, I guess. I grew up in a one-bathroom house. My father would get up at 6:30am. He'd shower and then stand at the sink to shave -- naked. If I had to pee while he was shaving, I'd see him -- naked. (He had quite a big dick, I remember thinking.) It was no big deal. When my sister had her kids, she had no problem whipping out a tit to feed them -- wherever she happened to be. We have quite a complex with public nudity in this country. Where does that come from? The Europeans don't have it. Go to a park in Germany in the middle of summer and you're very likely to see a lot of dicks and a even more tits. Go to a beach in Miami, and if you see either of those things, you're also likely to see a fair number of cops arresting the "miscreants". No comprendo! Who cares? We all have the same stuff, right?

But...but...there is an allure to public nudity that comes directly from the fact that it's not socially acceptable. The very idea of fucking in public makes my dick hard. I guess that says a lot more about me than about the act itself. I'm just really into...iconoclasm. I like civil disobedience. Well...and I like Jason's ass, and Dinh's...and Kenny's. And, maybe that's the problem. The problem with the Westfalia is that we can't all sleep together. There's only room for two on the roof, under the pop-up tent, and there's only room for two on the lower bunk. I'm used to the four of us sleeping together. So, between my desire for a four-way, and my desire to expose myself, the idea of fucking on the ground, under the stars, is just really appealing.

And it turns out to be quite wonderful. The air is fresh, tinged with the scent of pine. The evening is warm, maybe 70° F. I start with Dinh, entering him in one slow thrust, and he does what he always does, he screams, "Oh...oh...OH!" This draws the attention of the campers next to us, and I see their curtains rustle out of the corner of my eye. But that instant of my attention is all they get, because I am just so into Dinh at this moment that I can't be bothered to wonder who's looking. And Kenny is into Jason. Kenny usually likes to be the bottom, but every once in a while the urge takes him and he wants to top. Usually it's me he fucks, but tonight, it's Jason. "Oh, Christ, Jase" he says kissing him, "you feel really...nice!"

We're at it for probably an hour. I fuck Dinh, and then I move up behind Kenny and slide into him while he continues to ream Jason. It's a mini-orgy we have here, and quite a delightful one. Are we observed? Yes. I've heard rustling for much of the time we've been out here. But, again, there's a spice to exhibitionism. I asked Thanh, one of the actors in Shawn and Dinh's porn movies why he does porn. "Is it the money?"

"No," he replied. "There are a lot of ways to make money. No. It's the eroticism." I guess I looked at him funny. "Imagine having sex with a really-cute guy with four or five people circling your bed. Imagine getting fucked by a really-cute guy while some guy points a camera at your asshole. It's just sooooooo erotic. And, in the back of your mind you know that thousands of guys are going to see this scene, are going to see you getting fucked by this really-cute guy. They're going to want to be you, or maybe to be inside you. It's like getting fucked by thousands of guys at once. It's just very exciting. That's why I do porn."

Hmmmm. Interesting, I thought. But, he's right. The idea that people may be watching us is intensely erotic. The idea that we're completely exposed. completely...well...naked, is just so exciting. Initially, there's a bit of fear, as there is with most good things, but then your instincts take over, and your conscious mind vanishes. You move into sub-consciousness. You've shed every vestige of artifice, and now you do whatever your body and soul want to do, and you don't give a damn who sees it. It's sort of the definition of abandon, isn't it? It's very liberating. Rather than hiding in your bedroom, you bring it out in the open. You expose yourself -- literally and metaphorically. And, I imagine that, for gay guys, this experience is even more powerful than for heteros. For us, it's sort of the ultimate coming out, or at least that's how it feels to me, at this moment, under the stars, with my dick firmly entrenched in Kenny's ass. It feels...free.

After an hour or so of rutting, we snuggle. We cover ourselves with another blanket, and fall asleep, only to be awoken the next morning by a medley of mocking birds just at sunrise. We quietly open up the van, and take our respective positions, Kenny and I on the roof, and Dinh and Jason are in the lower bunk. But we're awake now, and I'm not going to fall back asleep. What I want to do will require concentration, in any case. What I want to do is...kiss.

I've said before that kissing is the most intimate sex act. You're face to face, eye to eye. You're as close to him as you'll ever be. I lean over and kiss Kenny. He leans into me. We kiss for several minutes, and then, inexplicably, he starts to cry. "What's wrong, baby?" I whisper.

"I don't know," he replies. "I just feel really...good right now. Really close to you."

I hug him, pulling him closer, and we kiss, a long, long kiss. I just adore Kenny. He's so open to me, so vulnerable, so available. I go through these cycles where I think I have a favorite. Is it Jason, Dinh or Kenny? Truthfully, and I say this with some embarrassment because it's so completely lacking in...discernment, my favorite is the one I'm with at any given moment. At this moment, I couldn't love Kenny more. I'm completely into him, completely focused on him, and this kiss is the most important event of my life. Last night, when I was making love to Dinh, Dinh was my favorite. I used to think that was a little superficial...well, actually, a lot superficial. Now? I just think it's the way it is. I dote on all of them. I couldn't live without any one of them. They are my life.

On the way back to San Jose, we stop in San Francisco at a sweet shop that Kai likes. Kai is especially fond of black sesame ice cream. How do I even describe this? I guess what you do is take raw sesame seeds and toast them until they're nearly burned, until they're black. Then you grind them up, and add them to the ice cream concoction. It's...umm...okay. Kai loves it, though, and this is one of the few places you can get it. We're all ice cream hounds, frankly, so this is an important stop. Kai get his black sesame cone, I get rice ice cream, an Italian thing, Jason gets green tea, Dinh gets blueberry, and Kenny gets durian, a fruit so revolting that I can't stand to be in the same room with it. Durian smells like what? Rotting fish? Or pussy. (Sorry, ladies. Straight men love your fragrance, thankfully. I find it revolting. It's just the brand of pheromones we're attracted to, I guess. I would pay money to lick Jason's ass, but the one sexual encounter I had with a woman was not...umm...appetizing. Chaque'un à son gôut.)

Once we have the ice cream, we get back on the road, arriving home at around 7pm. To my surprise, Nathan and Thao have made dinner, a seafood feast. We have catfish, prawns, squid, Stir-fried Scallops in XO Sauce with Asparagus, On Choi stir-fried in garlic. It's a serious feast, an amazing feast. "Jesus fucking Christ," I scream as we get in the door and the fragrances hit me. "What have you guys been doing?"

Nathan runs out, squealing. "We've been cooking. Wanna join us for dinner?"

Kevin is the one to answer. "Yeeaaahhhh," he screams, launching himself at Nathan, and hugging him. The meal is delicious, and just what we need after two nights worth of Caucasian food! An hour and a half later, after the boys are in bed and the tea is made, I hear a scream from the master bathroom. It's Kenny. "Holy fucking shit!" he wails. Nathan and Thao both snicker, and Jason, Dinh and I look at each other in confusion. We make our way to the bathroom, and there is Kenny, staring at a new shower curtain. It's a life-size image of Dinh, Jason and Kenny, all naked. It's a photo I took a year or so ago. It's a really-good photo printed on clear plastic, and I swear to god, if you walked into the bathroom, you'd think they were in there with you. It's that good! I'm stunned. I look around the room, and the one with the biggest grin is Nathan. I give him a look, and he nods.

"It was in an ad in The Advocate. It's a new company called `Photo Shower Curtains'. I thought you needed something different from the fish motif. This is sorta cute, hunh?"

"Oh, Nathan, this is just too great. I love it," I exclaim. "It's fabulicious. It's magnifient. It's superb. I love it," I scream. "The resolution is unbelievable. You've even got the little mole on Jason's dick," I say, giggling. Jason goes three shades of red, cuffs me, but is also laughing uproariously. It is just supreme. What an amazing gift. I'm not sure what the boys will think of it tomorrow when they have their bath, but I think it's one of the best things I've ever seen. Wonder what Becky will think the next time she's over for dinner and needs to pee? I guess we'll find out then.

Published first at: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Nemo-stories/