The following fictional narrative involves sexually-explicit erotic events between males. If you are offended by such material, are too young, or live in an area where it is not allowed, don't read it.
In the world of this story, the characters don't always use condoms. In the real world, you should care enough about yourself and others to always practice safe sex.
The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.
Special thanks go to Tom, my editor and occasional collaborator, for all his help. Tom wrote the last scene in this chapter, the one about Raul and Trey. As always, I want to thank Evan, Patrick, Ash, and Mickey for their encouragement and good advice.
Timmead88@Yahoo.com Chapter 15: Summer Fare
STEVE:
This summer's turning out to be less of a bitch than I thought it might be.
The `rents wouldn't believe it if they knew I'm really digging Mead's class, but then I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of telling them that anyway. Icy lectured the first couple of days on how the Lost Generation guys were all changed by the First World War. For an English teacher, he sure knows a lot of history. While he was doing that, our homework was to read cummings' "The Enormous Room." What a cool book! It's full of French, and my high school French didn't help any. But there's a list of the French phrases cummings uses in the back, so I managed with that. That cummings was one angry dude, and I can't say as I blame him after what the French put him through. And they were supposed to be our allies!
Mead says most of the young guys who wrote about the war were just as angry. I'm looking forward to reading the rest of them. The little professor says to wait until we get to dos Passos if we want to see someone really pissed off with the world.
Anyway, it's a new experience for me to look forward to class. Mead's cool. I have been getting involved in the class discussions, too, believe it or not. And not just to make my usual smartass remarks.
One day Trey Withers asked me to go to the Union with him after class. His buddy Ced Jones isn't around, so maybe he was just lonely. In class he sits with this Spanish guy on the tennis team, Raul something or other. But Raul took off after class. Withers and I got coffee and donuts, his treat, and sat and shot the shit for an hour. We talked at first about Mead's class and the cummings book. He says he's really liking that stuff, too. Then he started asking me about where I was from, where my room is, what I liked to do, what my favorite books are, what music I like. I felt a little turned inside out when he got through, but, you know, I really didn't mind it. He didn't seem pushy or anything. And he asked if I'd like to go catch a flick with him sometime.
I guess I'll do it. In that class last spring I sort of figured that Withers and Jones were probably arrogant jerks, like a lot of jocks. Trey's not like that. I still wonder about what's between him and Mead, but he never talked about the little prof, and I didn't ask. But what the hell? I may as well take in a film with him as stay home. There's never anything on the tube, and you can't read all the time.
Something else kind of cool happened this week, too. Leah, my girlfriend, sort of, is home for the summer. Like we were never all that serious anyway. So I've been hanging around the municipal pool in the afternoons. I could swim at the university rec center, but the pool there's always filled with jocks and fuzzy old profs. So, I catch some rays and watch the chicks. Oh, yeah, and I swim a little, too.
Well, this one afternoon, Wednesday, I think it was, I was just sitting there. It was a kind of a cloudy, cool day. It gets that way around here, even in June. There weren't all that many people at the pool. Some kids were playing in the water, and they were all yelling and having fun. When I heard something that didn't sound right, I looked around to see what it was. There in the 6 foot section was a little girl, and she seemed to be in trouble.
I looked around for the lifeguard. He wasn't where he was supposed to be. He was off in a corner of the fence talking with some girls. I knew it would take too long to get his attention, so I jumped in and went after the kid. I'd lost sight of her, but I knew where she had been. I did a surface dive when I got there. In that clear water, she wasn't hard to spot. I grabbed her from behind (I do remember something from life-saving training in high school), and pulled her toward the surface.
When I got her to the edge of the pool, the lifeguard was just coming up to see what was going on. We got her up onto the side of the pool, and he checked her out. She had swallowed a lot of water, but she was OK. He gave her a lecture about staying out of the deep end of the pool and made her sit out for half an hour, just to be sure she was all right. Then he thanked me. He said that had been a real wake-up call for him, and he wasn't going to get very far from his station any more when he was on duty. He asked my name, clapped me on the back, and said, "Thanks, Steve. I owe you one."
The next afternoon, when I went back to the pool, the lifeguard, who told me his name was Chance Alford, called me over to his station. There was a couple there wearing street clothes. "Steve, this is Mr. and Mrs. Sowards, Bridget's parents." It took me a minute to figure out that Bridget was the little girl I pulled out of the water. No one had told me her name. I said hello, and asked how she was.
"Bridget's fine, Steve," her father said, "and we owe it all to you. She told us what happened, and we just had to come and thank you." Her mother didn't say anything, but she just came over and gave me a big hug.
Well, talk about being speechless! I stammered something about not doing anything anyone else wouldn't have done. We chatted for a few minutes. Then they thanked me again, Mrs. Sowards hugged me again, and they left. Nice people . . .
Bridget hadn't been around during all of this, but she showed up a little while later. She marched right up and gave me a hug, too. Of course, when she hugged me, her arms were around my waist and her head was against my stomach. I sat down in one of the deck chairs, and she climbed up on my lap. She's this really cute little blue-eyed blond. And I think I've become her friend for life. She had to tell me all about her parents, her big brother Ernie, her friend that for some reason she's mad at just now, her cat Sylvester (yeah, she watches the cartoon). Then she wanted to know all about me. Was I really a student at the university, did I have a girl friend, what my folks were like, what rock groups were my favorites. And you know what? I loved it. She's such a little doll.
The next afternoon, Friday, I guess that would have been, Bridget was right there again, only this time she had a half dozen of her friends. You'd think I was a rock star or something. They all just sat around and looked at me and asked me questions and wanted to tell me about themselves. Oh, yeah, and they giggled a lot. It was all kind of cool. I guess I'll tell Trey about this. It's my turn to treat for coffee anyway.
On Monday of the second week of the summer term, Tim asked Trey to stop by the desk for a moment after class. Trey, who had been asked by Steve to go for coffee, told his classmate to go ahead, that he'd meet him in a few minutes at the Union.
Professor and student smiled warmly at each other as Trey asked, "What's up Dr. Mead?"
"Dr. Mead?"
Trey smiled. "Well, we ARE still in your classroom. Hey, I'm dying to hear all about your weekend."
"How about this evening? You and I have a lot to talk about, Trey. I've got some steaks, and I've bought a charcoal grille. Why don't you come over for supper? I'll do the steaks, and we'll have a salad and something."
"Hey, that sounds great. Can I bring anything? How about potato salad?"
"Yeah, that would be great. You could just stop by a supermarket and get some."
"Oh, I'll get Fein's. You know nobody can make it like they do."
Tim put his hand on the back of Trey's head, looked intently into Trey's hazel eyes, and said, "Fein's will be great. You know we've needed to have this talk for a long time, don't you?"
Resisting the urge to grab Tim, press their cocks together, and kiss him, Trey took a deep breath and nodded.
That afternoon Tim worked on strategies for the next day's class discussion. He also chilled a bottle of the Guenoc chardonnay that Stan had put him onto. Ced had told him that Trey enjoyed wine, so he was pleased to have a respite from the beer that seemed always present when members of the brotherhood were together.
Tim was sure Trey would want to know what happened in Cleveland the previous weekend, and he was prepared to give him an expurgated version. But he also knew that he had to explore with Trey this bond he sensed they had. He wondered whether or not to tell Trey about the dream. Doing so would risk making them both sexually aroused, and Tim feared that. He loved Ced, was committed to Ced, but there was this constant sexual tension between him and Trey. Dangerous, perhaps, to talk about it.
When Trey arrived, they hugged. Both were wearing baggy shorts and polo shirts. Tim was wearing moccasins without socks, and Trey had on sandals, also without socks. Although neither acknowledged it, both had erections as they walked through the house to the patio. Tim lighted the charcoal as Trey was opening the wine. While the charcoal was getting to its proper condition, they sat on the shaded patio in brand new outdoor furniture and sipped the chilled wine. Tim, as requested, was telling Trey about his weekend with Ced.
"Man, I knew Ced had this guy Francis when they were in high school, but he never told me what he looked like. Cornrows? Piercings? Big dude, huh?"
"Oh, yeah. Fierce looking, Trey, but a really great guy. Left me wondering what Ced could see in me after having a hunk like that."
Trey half closed his eyes and smiled. "I imagine Ced reassured you on that score."
"Indeed he did," Tim laughed. "And it wasn't so much what he said, though that was sweet. He showed me pretty quickly that my insecurities were groundless."
"Tim, I can't believe you just marched up to those toughs and told them to clear out. I'll bet Ced was fit to be tied!"
Laughing again, Tim said, "Oh yes. He told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to learn some, I think his word was `prudence.' Now, I'll go get the steaks, and we can start bringing out the other food. Would you open that bottle of merlot on the counter?"
Tim had fixed a garden salad. Trey transferred the potato salad from its plastic container into a bowl Tim provided. They carried plates, silverware, and food to the patio table. As the steaks grilled, they had another glass of wine while Tim described Ced's parents and their home. Then he talked about the Rock Hall briefly, but Trey had been there, so they didn't pursue that much. Tim was disappointed to know that Trey didn't know James Taylor either, but they did talk briefly about Nick Cave, whom Trey had mentioned in his "Icy's Revenge."
Tim went back into the house, brought out two more stemmed glasses and the merlot, and poured them each a glass. They tucked into their food hungrily.
As they were eating, Tim asked, "Have you managed to get together with Steve Metz?"
"Oh, yeah. I was going to tell you about that. I can report that he's loving the course."
"I gathered that from the way he was getting into the class discussions of `The Enormous Room'."
"You know, underneath the `I don't give a shit' pose, he's a pretty decent guy. And it seems like he doesn't understand why anybody would be interested in him."
"I guess we'll have to work on that, won't we? " Tim said, looking meaningfully at Trey.
"Yeah, I think we should. Oh, and he's got himself a fan club!" Trey went on to tell Tim about Steve's rescuing Bridget. "Now he's surrounded by this crowd of adoring little girls. And I think he loves it. He seems to have this thing with kids. Most guys would have told them to get lost, or just quit going to the pool for a while."
"I knew there was a pretty decent person in there somewhere. I hope you'll keep having your coffee talks. It will definitely help him to have a friend like you."
They finished eating and carried the plates, food, etc. back to the kitchen.
"What a luxury to have a dishwasher," Tim said, "even if I do run it only every other day since Ced's not here."
Tim made coffee while Trey cut pieces of a cheesecake he had brought from Fein's. They took plates of the dessert and mugs of coffee back to the patio.
When they were seated, Tim said, "Trey, you never talk about your family. As well as we are coming to know each other, I know more about the other guys' families than I do about yours. Would I be prying if I asked about them?"
"Of course not. But it's a short story. There's only my brother, Robbie."
"I didn't know you had a brother."
Trey's eyes lit up. "Yeah, Robert Lee Withers. He's a neat kid."
"No other family?"
"Our folks were killed when their plane went down the summer after my freshman year."
"Trey, I'm so sorry. What a loss for you and your brother!"
"Yeah. If I hadn't had Chaz and Ced and Mark -- and Stan -- I don't know what I would have done. They helped get me through the grief. It was a lot harder for Rob."
"Where is he?"
"At the moment, he's with a school group in France. He's starting his last year at Richmond Country Day this fall. He lives with my Uncle Jack. That's Stonewall Jackson Withers, by the way."
"I take it you and Rob are close."
"As close as two brothers four years apart in age can be, I guess. He looks a lot like me, though he's better looking, I think. And he's a whiz at tennis, plays on the school team, and he keeps me running when we play each other."
"Does he have college plans?"
"Well, I'd like for him to come here, because he'd make a great addition to the tennis team. Dad went to William and Mary, but he decided we'd gotten too -- Southern? He insisted that I go out of the region. I wound up here mostly because of the reputation of the tennis team. I don't think Uncle Jack wants Rob to come here, but I've got a while to work on them both before he starts applying."
"Should I make some discreet inquiries about scholarships?"
Trey smiled. "No, thanks. Money isn't a problem. Rob and I have trust funds. Neither one of us would ever have to work if we didn't want to. But that's not the Withers tradition. `You have to do something useful,' Dad always said. And Uncle Jack feels the same."
"Tell me if I get too nosey. What did your father do?"
"Do you know, I'm not sure? I think he took a shit pot full of old money and made a lot of new money with it in some kind of banking. He also managed some kind of charitable trust."
"And you're majoring in marketing? You aren't planning to market the family money, are you?" Tim asked with a smile.
Trey returned the smile and shook his head. "Huh uh. I just chose marketing because I couldn't think of anything better to do. Got any ideas?"
"Well, Trey, you've just given me one. But I want to think about it for a while. Let me tell you later, OK?"
"Sure, Tim. But now you've got me curious, so don't wait too long."
"I promise."
The mosquitoes were beginning to be a nuisance, so they went inside. They put their mugs and plates in the dishwasher, went into the living room, and sat down.
Tim was about to put a cd on the stereo when Trey looked directly at his new friend and mentor and said, "Tim, you said this morning that we needed to talk. Can we do that? Really talk?"
Tim put down the cd, smiled, and said, "That's why I invited you here this evening -- I was about to call you `Tiger,' but, you know, you remind me more of a lion."
"That's funny. Raul calls me `leon'."
"Not surprising. Now, I want to put this carefully. Trey, I know you understand how much Ced and I love each other and how committed I am to him."
"Don't I, though!"
"But I have to tell you that, at the same time, I feel this powerful link between you and me. In fact, I had a remarkable dream about you a week or so ago."
"No way! I had a dream about you not long ago, too. You tell me yours, and I'll tell you mine, OK?"
"That should surprise me, but it doesn't. You and I clearly have some sort of connection, and we need to explore just what it is. Frankly, it's going to be hard to tell you about my dream without getting boned up at the thought. And nothing sexual must happen, right?"
"Oh, man, Tim! Your dream is sounding more like mine all the time. Maybe you'd better lash me to the chair while we talk about them," Trey said, grinning.
"I didn't know you were into bondage, Withers," Tim said, grinning back.
"OK, smartass, just tell me about your dream, and I'll try to behave."
So Tim recounted in minute detail the dream he had had of Trey. (See chapter 12.)
When he finished, even though they were wearing baggy shorts, both men obviously had erections. Trey seemed short of breath when he said, "Tim, that's fantastic. Except for the locale, it's so much like mine, even to the words we said and the things we did." Then Trey told Tim his dream. (Also in chapter 12.)
When Trey finished, the two looked steadily at each other, hazel eyes looking into green ones.
"What do you think that means?" Trey asked, finally.
"There's no rational explanation. The Iceman is without a clue, but Tim Mead knows in his heart that you and he are deeply connected. I feel close to you in a way that I don't feel with Ced. He's my lover. You're more like -- like the brother I never had, I guess. I sometimes look at you and I'm certain that you know what I'm thinking or feeling. Am I making any sense?"
"Yeah, you sure are. You know how they say that twins have some sort of special connection, that each one can usually intuit what's going on in the other's mind?"
Tim nodded yes.
"I think that's what I feel with you. Except, and I think you share this, there is a strong sexual attraction between us. I KNOW you feel that, Tim. This is nothing like what I feel for Rob."
"Trey, it scares me how much you probably know about me."
"Well, that must work both ways. So where do we go from here?"
"We can start by admitting that we love each other. We can make it clear that, however tempted, we're not going to bed with each other. And we can be grateful for this exciting and powerful thing we've discovered that we have."
Trey had tears in his eyes. "Tim -- Timmy, I don't know what to say, man. I've been feeling for weeks now as if I were somehow a better person because I know you. But this is just -- beautiful. Thanks -- brother?"
Tim stood, stepped over to where Trey was sitting and held out his hands. Trey took his hands and stood. The two embraced. Each was aware of the other's hard cock as they pressed against each other, but they didn't grind them together.
"You called me a `sleeping lion' once. Remember that?"
"Of course."
"Well, Trey, yes, you are my brother. And you, too, are a lion. Our dreams have made that connection for us. Now we must see how things play out, and I, for one, can't wait!"
Trey gave Tim an extra squeeze. There were tears in the green eyes as well as in the hazel ones.
TIM:
As he was leaving, Trey bent down a little and gave me a very tender kiss. It had gotten dark as we talked. I put on some Debussy, turned off the lights, and sat in the darkened living room.
I had been boned up most of the evening, and there was the usual wet spot in my boxers. I thought back to the evening when Trey had rubbed me off through my pants and began stroking myself through boxers and cargos. At the time I had been humiliated and scared. But I had also been extremely turned on. Junior, erect already, became rock hard and increased the amount of precum he was oozing.
Then I thought back to the next night, the time when Chaz and Trey shaved me, and after that when, doggie style in their living room, Trey took my cherry as Chaz watched and commented. Again, humiliating and a little painful at the time, but a real turn-on as I thought back to it. I hated what they were doing to me, but I was scared to death by the pleasure it gave me. When the pain subsided, Trey's fat cock inside me felt incredible. Nothing had ever hit my prostate like that, and, as much as I didn't want to, I couldn't help loving it.
Junior was throbbing by this time, and I continued to stroke him, almost absent-mindedly, through my shorts.
I became so hot I decided I'd better get out of my pants. First I pulled off my shirt. Then, kicking off my moccasins, I dropped the boxers and the cargos together, allowing my cock to spring free. I felt a drop of precum hit my belly as Junior bounced up.
Totally naked now, I sat on the sofa, put my feet on the coffee table, leaned my head back, and began to pump very slowly. I thought of the time when Ced and I got our "revenge" on a very willing Trey. As the others watched. Yeah, as they watched! What kind of an exhibitionist was I becoming? Anyway, they looked on as, doggie style again, I took Trey. I tried to hide from Ced how much I was enjoying it, but Ced knew. I've tried to explain to him how different my feelings are for him. That nothing I did with Trey in any way diminished the love I have for him.
But fucking Trey was hot, and we both loved it. What a sensation his chute was, so much tighter than a woman's! It felt like it gripped the whole length of my cock. Perhaps the whole thing was even more erotic because we were trying to pretend we were not enjoying it.
By this time, I knew I was getting close to coming. I thought next of my dream of "claiming" Trey in the clearing in the woods. How bizarre that he had a dream in which the same thing happened between us, but in his bedroom! What a strange but wonderful dance we're all doing!
Finally, I thought of Trey sitting there on the patio and later in the living room, his fat cock tenting his shorts both times, and that did it!
I came a lot. Not wanting to make a mess on the new furniture (imagine explaining that to Ced!), I caught it all in my hand. But there was so much, it was running over the sides of my cupped hand. I knew I couldn't get to the kitchen before some of it spilled on the rug, so what could I do? I licked it out of my palm, of course. Timothy,' I wondered, what have you become?'
STEVE:
Trey Withers and I got in the habit of going to the Union for coffee and donuts after Mead's class. Sometimes that Raul dude came with us, but most of the time he didn't.
One morning Trey and I were talking about "The Sun Also Rises." He asked me to explain something I had said in class. "Well," I said," it just seems to me that Jake Barnes isn't like cummings in the first book we read. He's way beyond angry. The war experience for him was so bad he's just hustling around trying to keep busy so he won't have to think about it."
"Yeah," Trey said, "and sometimes that doesn't work. That's when he finds himself crying in bed."
"Uh huh. That's just it. But what's with the Brett Ashley bitch? Why does he keep following her around getting her out of trouble?"
"That's really sad, isn't it? He loves her, but he can't screw her. And she HAS to get screwed by any guy that's got a bulge in his pants."
"And, Trey, you know the coolest part? He makes it clear at the end that he knows they wouldn't have been faithful to each other even if he hadn't been shot in the balls or whatever it was."
He smiled that sleepy smile of his, and we munched our donuts. I have to say I feel easy around the guy. He's not like any jock I've ever known before. He seems so OK about who he is, he doesn't have to put anybody else down. He acts like he really likes me.
He asked if I still had that crowd of little girls hanging around me at the pool, and I said yes. But now there were some boys, too.
"Steve, what in hell do you do with them?"
"Oh, we just talk. They want to tell me things about their lives, their brothers and sisters, and their `rents. They want to know what groups I like and what flicks I've seen. You know, Trey, they think I'm cool. Imagine! Me, cool?. Just because I pulled Bridget out of the water that day."
"Steve, that's just what attracted their attention. They think you are cool because you let them hang around with you at the pool. You're nice to them. How great it is for kids that age, to have a college guy who'll sit and talk with them and, more important, listen to them."
The irony of it struck me. I had just been liking Trey because he'd take time to have coffee and yak about the things we were reading for Mead's class.
"So, Steve, what major did you finally declare this spring?"
"Don't tell Mead this, but at the time, I decided on English, mostly because I knew it would give my folks fits. I can just hear my dad saying, `English! But what can you DO with an English major?'"
Trey laughed and said, "That's fantastic. Don't tell Tim, but I am going to change majors. I've decided to major in English. So we may be seeing each other in lots of classes."
"First of all," I said, "I'm not going to stay an English major. I've had another idea recently."
"Oh, what's that?"
"Look, Trey, I appreciate your interest, but I'm still working this out. Let me think about it some more, and then I'd like to know what you think, OK?"
"You got it, dude. Now, you said, `First of all.' What's second of all?"
"Oh, I was just going to ask, what CAN you do with an English major?"
"Put him in command of some troops, I suppose."
I damn near choked on my coffee. "Oh, man, that's baaad!" I said, laughing.
"Yeah, Steve, that's an old one. To give you a straight answer, I haven't talked with Tim about this yet, but I think I might really like to teach lit in college some day."
"And put up with jokers like me?"
"Hey, man, don't sell yourself short. Seems to me you have a pretty good brain there, even if you do try to hide it sometimes. Besides, can't you tell that Tim respects your ideas just by the way he relates to you in class?"
"Yeah, he told me once he thought I could do `excellent work,' or something like that."
"Steve, while we're talking about you, let me ask you something?"
"Sure, man."
"Do you swim laps at the pool?"
"Not very often. It's too crowded. Why?"
"Well, you know swimming is great exercise. And I was just wondering how many laps you could swim before you got out of breath."
"I dunno. Maybe some day I'll go to the pool at the rec center and see how many I can do."
"If you do that, dude, let me know. Maybe I could meet you there and we could swim together. Your sorry ass will be draggin' by the time we finish, I promise."
"You wish!" I said, but I couldn't help thinking he was probably right.
I wondered what Trey had in mind about us getting together at the pool, so I decided to find out. One day after class I asked if he'd like to meet me at the university pool at 7:30 the next morning. That would show whether he was serious or not. He said he'd be glad to.
He was waiting for me in the lobby when I got there, looking a little sleepy. I felt a little smug. I am not sure why.
He wanted to high five when he saw me, so we did. Then we showed the attendant our university ID's and went into the locker room. We got out of our clothes. I couldn't help noticing what great shape Trey was in. I mean, I don't make a habit of checking out other guys. But the dude is pretty impressive. He must work out, but not too much. He wasn't a bodybuilder or anything like that. Just good definition and a little bulk around the chest and shoulders. I have what is called a "swimmer's build," so I'm a bit trimmer than Trey.
Trey pulled on a speedo. I began to put on the trunks I wear at the city pool.
"Man, Steve," Trey laughed. "I want to see what you can do in the pool. Those baggies will cause all kinds of drag."
"Yeah, well, I'm not a racer any more, you know."
"Still, why don't you wear a pair of mine?" He winked at me. "They're clean, I promise."
"Damn, you're serious about this, aren't you? OK, I'll wear `em if you insist."
He opened his locker, reached toward the top shelf, and suddenly there was a cascade of speedos of all colors, red, blue, green, black, and yellow.
My remark was SO intelligent. "Wow!"
Trey laughed. "Well, Steve, I wear a different color every week. Just a way I indulge myself." He picked up a pair of lemon yellow ones and tossed them to me.
I noticed that that was the color he was wearing, too.
It had been a while since I had worn speedos. I'd forgotten how good it felt to have my equipment nestled there, but I was also a little embarrassed by the size of my bulge.
Trey took a quick glance at my package, said "Lookin' good, man, let's go," and headed for the pool.
On our way to the pool, we passed a guy I didn't know. He was obviously a friend of Trey's, though. He smiled and said, "Trey, you two look like something out of a Doublemint commercial."
"Yeah, Geoff, we could double your pleasure, fer sher!"
The guy chuckled at that. I was embarrassed to death. What was going on, anyway?
At that hour there were a couple of older guys, profs probably, swimming laps. But the pool had lots of empty lanes.
"C'mon, lifeguard, show me how to do laps," Trey said, standing, ready to dive into the pool. "You count down."
I counted backward from three, and we both dived into the pool. I was determined that he wasn't going to show me up, so I set a pretty fast pace. At the end of two laps, I was several lengths in front of him. In the third lap, I found out I couldn't keep up that pace, and he began to gain on me. By the end of the fourth lap, I was pretty winded. I really struggled through the fifth lap, and at the end rolled over on my back to just float and breathe a little. Trey kept right on going.
He did two more laps, just to put me in my place, I think. When we both pulled up out of the water, he wasn't even breathing hard.
"OK, asshole," I asked, "what was that all about?"
He smiled like I was a kid who'd just answered a question in class properly.
"Got a little out of breath there, did you, Steve?"
"Yeah, so what?"
"So you look like you're in great shape. You can really move out on the first lap or so. Don't you think you should be able to keep up that pace a little longer?"
"Why? It's not like I'm on the swim team or anything."
"I think maybe you COULD be if you were in decent shape. You've got the initial speed for sprints. But, man, you're short-winded. Do you have any idea why?"
"The cigarettes, I suppose."
"Exactly. Sorry if I sound like a big brother, but, man, those things will kill you. You look good, but you would be so much healthier if you'd quit smoking. And I think maybe you would really have a chance at the university swim team if you did. Were you on your high school swim team? "
"Yeah."
"Will you promise me to at least think about it?"
"OK, if you insist, I'll THINK about it. But don't count on me giving up my smokes."
When Trey and I got out of the water, I was really embarrassed to note that our speedos had turned practically transparent. You could see my pubes clearly through the fabric, which had molded itself to my dick and balls. I might as well have been naked. It wasn't quite so bad with Trey. Yeah, you could see his package outlined pretty clearly, but his blond pubes didn't show through like mine did. Had he chosen the yellow suits on purpose? If so, what was he up to?
We walked together back into the locker room, where we shucked off our suits and went into the shower room. Once, as we showered, I thought he was checking me out, but when I looked at him, he just gave me this sleepy smile and turned slowly away.
As we were dressing, Trey said, "I don't know about you, friend, but I'm ready for something to eat. Wanna go to the Union and get something to eat before Mead's class?"
I can always eat, and I hadn't had anything yet, so I said that sounded good. I don't know about him. He seemed really pleased that I was going to have breakfast with him. What's with that?
TREY:
"On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?" --Meatloaf
That evening Raul talked me into going to one of those little independent movie houses, the "Wenders." Stupid name if you ask me. The kind of pretentious name you'd find in a university town. But he insisted, and since I felt a bit restless anyway I didn't put up much of a fight. Hell, better than sitting at home and reading on a great summer evening. I loved the cummings book we had just been discussing, and on the net I'd found a poem by that author that I liked a lot, "pity this busy monster manunkind." But I wasn't in any mood to read right then.
Anyway, Raul said it was only 20 minutes by foot and really nice outside, so we walked to the theater. On the way he told me a bit about it. Seemed they ran mostly European movies that were relatively unknown over here. Well, I guess at this point I was expecting something like an even blurrier version of the Blair-Witch Project.
I was sure we were lost till we rounded one corner and I saw a crowd of forty, fifty people waiting in front of a nondescript building. As we came closer, I could make out several male couples among them.
"Uhm, Raul?"
"Yes, mi león?" Why was he grinning like that?
"Is this a kind of gay porn shack you're dragging me to? Am I about to get outed, or what?"
Raul gave me an exasperated look.
"Gay porn?" he shouted, trying in vain to suppress an evil grin that grew wider by the second. We were only 20 yards away from the crowd. What if they'd heard that? I dragged him into an alleyway.
"Not so loud, dammit!" I muttered.
"Relax, stúpido!" he said, more subdued, but still with a gleam in is eyes. "Haven't you seen all the mixed couples and the chicks out there? Do they look like typical gay porn viewers to you?"
"Well, I wouldn't know!" I said, somewhat miffed. Then I got a hold of myself and added "I guess not. Sorry, Raul. I overreacted."
Raul grinned.
"Don't fret. You're sexy when you fly off the handle like that. I should tease you more often."
People say I'm a pretty even-tempered guy. Raul, on the other hand, can make a saint lose his patience. Now, a saint I'm not. I shoved him up against the wall. When he struggled half-heartedly, I pushed his hands behind his back and held them there with one of mine. My other hand grabbed his chin. His face was turned up now, his eyes wide and dark. I descended upon him, growling, taking ruthlessly possession of his mouth, his lips, teeth, tongue. He welcomed me, moaning, shivering against me as I devoured him. I felt wild at that moment. Doing this outside with the risk of getting caught added to the thrill. His cock pressed hot and hard into mine. He let me ravish his mouth to my heart's content. At long last I tore myself away from him. We were both panting heavily, Raul kind of slumped against the wall, eyes closed, lips a bit swollen.
When he looked at me, his gaze was unreadable. I stretched out my hand to pull him more upright, but he used my momentum to manoeuver me into a corner. Before I knew what was happening, he was down on his knees, opening my fly. My words of protest died in my throat as he took me down his, swallowing my cock whole. He bobbed up and down on it like a man possessed, while I fought hard to remain standing and quiet. But I couldn't suppress that growling in my throat, which, some minutes later, when I exploded in an absolutely intense climax, turned into a full roar. Raul then backed off a bit. I could tell he was collecting some of my juice in his mouth. And right when I was finished, he got up and fed it back to me and even managed to arrange my dick back into my pants as we swapped my cum back and forth. We separated, and he ended up with most of it.
"Thanks, buddy, that was great," I murmured. Then my mind cleared a bit, I remembered where we were, and, well, he found himself shoved up against the wall again.
"Are you fucking nuts?" I shouted. "What if we'd gotten caught?"
He seemed amused, if that smug grin on his face was any indication, and said, in a low voice:
"The Lion has shown his teeth, once again."
"Yeah, and I'll put them where it hurts most..."
"Later, stud, later," he interrupted me, "now let's go and see that porn flick!"
Of course we were the last to arrive. They didn't even have popcorn, so we settled for potato chips. The place wasn't that packed, and we found some nice seats in the middle. We had just sat down when, without commercials and further ado, the show started. It was a British film, Beautiful Thing,' and I had been partly right, cause it featured a gay couple, called Jamie and Ste. Getting used to that accent took some time, but then I really enjoyed the film. Unlike most American movies, the characters in this one seemed so real to me it was amazing. I was totally captivated. Every now and then I just had to put my hand on Raul's knee and squeeze it, and he squeezed mine right back.
On our way home we were silent, walking close to each other, as we left the din of the crowd behind us. It was still warm, the air balmy, so we fastened our shirts around our hips. We were both wearing tank tops, and as we ambled along our naked shoulders touched sometimes, sending sparks down my spine. I felt a tension in the air between us that I knew would lead to some pretty wild sex as soon as we got home.
And so it was. The door of our apartment had barely shut behind us when Raul jumped my bones. Oh yeah, I remembered, he hadn't come yet! He gave me one of his trademark mouth-fucking macho kisses that had me breathless in seconds.
Damn,' I thought, somewhat resignedly, here we go again -- ` But I was wrong.
"Trey, mi león," he said, looking at me intently, "I want you to do me. Will you?"
Wow! Now that was a surprise! Maybe even to Raul himself. He seemed a bit -- dazed as he stood before me, still panting from our kiss, with a sizeable bulge in his jeans.
"You sure, Raul?" I enquired. "I haven't done that very often, but I'd love to!"
"Believe me, I haven't done that so often either. We'll be making this up as we go. Isn't that what Indy says?"
"Indy, huh? You want me to make a last crusade into your temple of doom?"
"Ungh! You're so bad!" he groaned. "Come on, mi amigo!"
He took my hand, dragging me toward his room. I hesitated. Do Raul in Chaz's bed? I don't think so.
"We'll do that in my bed, studly. And stop rushing. If I'm going to top you, I'll do it MY way."
Man, I felt fierce saying that. An arm thrown over his shoulders, I steered him over to my bed. We kicked our shoes off. I made short work of his clothes, as he did of mine. Then I looked him over appreciatively. He was one sexy beast! His hairy body, not bulky, but toned, his smooth skin shades darker than mine, his black eyes on fire! One look at his rock-hard cock told me how much he craved what was to come.
Forcefully, I pushed him backwards onto my bed. At the last moment he managed to get hold of my right hand and pulled me down with him. I landed on top of him, heavily. His skin was hot and a bit damp because the air outside had been humid. At the side of his neck I could see his pulse racing. He bucked under me, trying to throw me off, but I was heavier and stronger than him, and he finally gave up. I guess he needed that, the knowledge that I could dominate him physically. At the same time, it probably made him slightly afraid. Realizing this, I felt tender and feral at the same time.
"Don't worry, cub, you're in good hands," I assured him.
He blinked once, blinked again. Then he pressed his head back into the pillow, offering me his throat in wordless surrender.
Oh yes, that was it, and I responded in kind, giving him a long lick from his collarbone to his chin. He gasped. I gave him another lick parallel to the first one and another one, till all of his neck I could reach was wet. His moves under me got more and more frantic, especially as I drew my beard stubble lightly over his wet, sensitive skin.
"God, Trey, stop that!" he panted.
"Shaddup," I growled, but I did stop -- only to bite into the soft flesh between his neck and shoulders. He yelled then. I hadn't bitten him that hard, had I? Judging from that yell, I had to have drawn blood...But I looked, and there wasn't any. Only some slight indentations, nothing more.
"Come on Trey! Do that again! Mark me!" he demanded.
And mark him I did, leaving hickeys and teeth marks all over his sweating, shivering body, while he cursed and spurred me on at the same time. With his dark complexion I really had to work for it! At long last I backed off, admiring my handiwork. He sported a long treasure trail of hickeys from his throat down to his hips! Even some on the insides of his thighs! Gazing back at me from under lowered eyelids, Raul lasciviously spread his legs in invitation. Yeah, this man was mine tonight! What a rush to see him lying there so submissively, waiting for me to take him!
His eyes were glued to my cock, an apprehensive look in them, as I gave it a few strokes.
"You have to prep me good for that whopper of yours."
Compared to Chaz's, my tool wasn't a whopper. But I was't going to argue just then.
"You'll be more than ready when I'm through with you!" I promised, bringing out the lube from my drawer. At first I put a pillow under him. Then I thoroughly slicked up his cock and balls. Then his asscrack, rubbing my finger back and forth over his rosebud, eliciting a hiss from him every time I passed over it. My other hand was busy with his cock, jacking it leisurely. After a while his sphincter didn't seem so tense any more. I applied more lube, positioned one finger at his entrance, and pushed in. He took my finger easily, so I added a second. Suddenly he seemed very tight, and I waited a bit. He drew some deep breaths, then nodded at me to proceed. Slowly my fingers went in further. I twisted and turned them inside of him, scissoring him open carefully. Finally I figured he was as relaxed as he was going to get, so I threw him the KY.
"Lube me up good, cub," I told him, and he did, slathering the stuff all over my rigid, throbbing weapon. He let himself fall back again, and I scooted up between his legs, positioning my cockhead at his entrance. Our eyes locked. I pushed. Slowly, very slowly, his muscle started to give, and without stopping I buried myself into him to the hilt, accompanied by a long, hoarse cry from him.
"Damn, Trey! Your cock is lethal!" he panted. "It feels even bigger than it looks! But come on now, mi león, show me your power!"
He lay there, arms spread out, hands open, turned up, like a skewered butterfly. No, a St. Sebastian, speared by my arrow! I started fucking him with small jabbing movements that triggered ever-new contractions of his love muscle. His chute was SO soft and hot inside! When I felt him get a little less tight, I began pulling out more of my dick and slamming into him more forcefully. He yelled every time I pushed in, so at first I thought I was hurting him. But at the same time he was fucking back at me with a vengeance, so he must have been OK.
Our bodies clashed together with a wet, smacking noise, on and on. I could see my sweat dripping down on him! He grabbed his knees and pulled them up and apart to give me even better access. At my next push inward he went crazy.
"Yes, ah, yeah, that's it! Oh fuck yes! Harder, hombre! Fuck, ugh, fuck me harder!"
So I kept that angle and increased the speed and power of my fucking. I remembered how long and thoroughly he had fucked me that Sunday. I wanted to return the favor. And I did. I could go for a long time. After all, he'd sucked me off that afternoon. Without letting up, I battered into him, hitting his prostate every time, if his howls were any indication.
Finally I felt him tighten up again. He became quiet, and the tension in his body seemed to rise.
"Now!" he shouted. "I'm coming! Aaaahh!"
And his cock erupted between us, spraying both of us with his love juice! His sphincter was clenching around me like a vise! I knew I wouldn't last much longer now. Just then Raul wiped up a bunch of his cum with his finger and FED IT TO ME! That was all it took. I shot my cum into his tight channel.
"Yes," I growled. "Yes! Take it! Take it all!"
Then I collapsed on him, boneless, breathless.
He recovered a lot faster than I did.
Pushing me off him, he said, "God! I need a shower! Mind if I go first?" He got up and headed for the bathroom. As he went, he looked back over his shoulder and winked.
I didn't mind at all if he showered first. No way I'd be able to move now! I was so wiped! Raul really was a hot stud, sexy as hell. A great fuckbuddy. But I just felt depleted afterwards. Exhausted. And there was nothing of the glow I'd experienced with Chaz.
Raul and I had hot sex like that all through June. We did everything, jacking off together, rimming, sucking. Though he instigated most of the sex during this month, he always insisted that I be the top.
It was a wild time. That horndog just couldn't seem to get enough. He wanted us to get our rocks off somehow two or three times a day. One morning we had gotten up real early to play tennis. He beat me. You know I'm not a morning person. In the locker room, which was deserted that early, he pulled something. I wasn't wearing anything but my jock, shoes, and socks. While I was bent over untying my shoes, he licked his finger good and stuck it up my ass. I began to protest, but Raul said, "Chill, hombre! No one is here." So there I was, grasping my ankles with my hands while Raul massaged my nut. And, man, I gotta admit, it was fantastic. I think the danger that someone might walk in made the whole thing even hotter. After I had filled my jock with spooge, Raul pulled me upright, turned me around, and gave me a mouth-raping kiss.
Quite a guy, that horny Spaniard.
But as steamy as all our sex was that month, for me something was definitely missing.
During that time, I came to realize that I needed more than the thing he and I had going. I wanted what Tim and Ced had, a partner that I really cared about, someone to make love with, not just someone to have sex with. What is it Ced called Raul? A fuckbuddy. I didn't want just a fuckbuddy. I needed Chaz. Yeah, that was it! I needed Chaz.
Well, I'd be seeing the big goof soon. And I wouldn't let him get away this time!
(Chapter 16, "Chaz in His Own Write," will be posted in about two weeks. --T.M.)