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School was terrible. Not the classes, which were typical and perhaps a bit behind the level I had been at on base, but the people. They had life-long friends. I was the new kid. I was forced into a fight by my third day. I gave as good as I got, but hated every second of it.
My sister had no such problems. Girls are definitely different.
The bus rides home were a daily gauntlet of insults and harassing. A kid named "Hank" assured me that it wouldn't last. They would find another target soon enough, as long as I stood my ground when it got physical. Now, I was never a big fighter, but I had learned that the easiest way to get someone to stop trying to fight you was to not care about doing serious damage.
When "Leon" decided I was going to be his victim, I let him in close, let him land one (a good one), and backfisted him just behind the temple. He went down like a sack of feed corn. Whereas I could have stood over him and finished what I started, I simply turned around and left him there. His friends waited until I got some distance before hurling taunts at me, none of which carried any seriousness to them.
I'd made my point. I hate fighting, but that doesn't mean I can't do it.
After we had been there for over a month, and I still had no friends to speak of, my Dad asked me if I'd considered trying the Scouts again.
I told him that it didn't really interest me, but he asked if I'd meet one of the local Troop's leaders anyway. Just to see.
Fine.
On a Monday evening, a knock came on the door.
At the door was a fairly tall man in khaki shorts. He was broad across the shoulders and had a bit of a gut, not obese, but heavy. He would be called a "bear" in today's world. He had powerful legs beneath the hem of the baggy shorts and his auburn hair was evident all over him.
He was introduced as "Dwayne".
My folks went into their bedroom, leaving the two of us alone. He did his best to convince me to try the Scouts again, telling me everything that I had heard before. Good deeds and badges and citizenship and all that happy horseshit.
He sat on the sofa and I on my Dad's recliner in my favorite shorts.
I listened out of politeness, but was simply not interested. As I was telling him about my last experience with the organization and how it held so little interest that I simply stopped going, I noticed that his eyes were not meeting mine as much. He was glancing more and more at my bare legs.
To see if I was right, while he tried to explain that every troop was different and theirs was a much more friendly group, I turned in the chair, throwing one leg over the arm. If he wanted to see the package, this was the view he was after.
I told him, it wasn't the lack of friendliness, it was the whole concept.
Bingo. He kept looking at my thighs.
Okay. Let's see how far we can take this.
He had asked if there was any particular reason I dislike the Scouts so much, I sighed and cast a look down the hall, as if I were afraid of being overheard.
He got the hint and asked my Dad if it would be alright to take a walk, that there might be something I wanted to discuss in private (Oh, was there ever).
Once outside, I was given the unwitting aid of several kids in the lawn running around and by us. I looked at them and at Dwayne. He suggested we sit in his car.
He had a station wagon. As we approached it, I pictured myself in the flat, back area, my face down and my butt up in the air getting drilled relentlessly. It made me grin as we climbed in and sat down.
"So," he asked. "What's the reason you don't want to try the Scouts again."
Okay, here we go. "I just don't think they'd like me," I answered. "Once they find out I like guys as much as girls."
He was quiet for a few seconds. With my head half turned, I caught him glancing at my soft, young thighs again, so I turned in the seat, giving him a better view.
"You like boys?" he asked with his throat working on a series of swallows.
"Sure," I said. "But, not as much as I like men."
He swallowed hard. I saw his Adam's apple jump two or three times before he spoke again. His gaze was practically glued to my lap now. "Have you-... have you ever-...?"
"Yes." His eyes came up to mine. I smiled suggestively.
After another few seconds (and a few more hard swallows) he asked, "And you're sure you don't wanna join the Scouts?"
"I might think about it," the Little Buddy said. "If there was a really good reason to."
He swallowed a few more times, his eye jumping from mine to my open legs and back. There might be one. There just might be one.
I went to the first Scout meeting the following Wednesday evening.
Dad came along, not only as my ride, but to see what they were like. He spent most of the meeting sitting with Dwayne and talking. They went over the same drivel as the other group. The same drawn-out bullshit about badges and good deeds and upcoming events.
I was bored to tears.
The boys acted like I was more of an intrusion than a potential recruit. There weren't even any that sparked any interest, except perhaps one of the older boys, who was about to leave the troop due to age anyway. There was, of course the momentary fantasy about being the object of a gangbang, but that would probably just get me beat up, so it faded quickly.
When we got home, I told my folks that it just didn't hold my interest.
Dwayne, they told me, was worried about my lack of friends. He thought I could use something other than my books and radio.
I told them flatly, "I like Dwayne, just not the Scouts."
How I had managed it was beyond me, but Dad got on the phone. It was decided that, if I was willing, Dwayne would come by every now and then. He would take me fishing or perhaps camping, and generally be a mentor and friend.
Okay. Sounds good.
Anything to get to spend more time around him. He might have been new at this sort of thing. I might have to bring him along.
As soon as he was told that it was alright with me, I was put on the phone with him.
Would I like to go fishing this Saturday?
Why, yes. Yes, I would like that very much, thank you.
He seemed very happy about that. Very happy indeed.
Just as the sun breached the horizon that Saturday, there was a knock on the door. There was Dwayne, wearing the same khaki shorts and a silly hat with hooks and lures and an embroidered fish jumping from the water.
I was told to have a good time. (Let's hope) We went out to his station wagon, where he had all the necessary regalia for a day of fishing.
I had brought my rucksack, with a plastic jug of Kool-Aid, a beach towel, and (of course) my trusty tube. (There was no sense in being unprepared)
As we drove out of the apartment complex, I asked if we had everything that we would need. He seemed certain that we did.
We drove for more than half an hour, out into the country beyond the sprawl of the city. He wanted to know about school and friends and how I was adjusting to my new life and everything he should have asked about. I answered honestly.
I asked where we were headed.
"A lake I know of," he told me. "I go camping out there once in a while."
"With the Boy Scouts?"
"No," he answered. "With some friends of mine. One's from the Scouts, but we go camping ourselves once in a while."
"You really like camping, huh?"
He smiled and nodded. "I like getting away from the world when I can."
I understood that.
On a divided four-lane, he slowed down at a crossover, turning left onto a narrow road that stretched into thick forest. It branched twice, Dwayne taking the right turn each time. The pavement ended and we bounced along on the dirt track.
I saw the lake off to the right. We circled around for a while before he pulled to the side where there was a wide spot. Across from it was a foot path leading down to the shore.
"This is it," he announced.
In three minutes, we were walking down the path, carrying poles and a tackle box and a net. We reached the shore and found a flat spot to set down. Hooks were baited, lines were cast, and we sat watching the tips of the poles.
I had worn another pair of shorts that day. They weren't quite as short, but were looser. If I crossed my legs just right, he would have a decent view of my brief-covered balls. I shifted around, as if I were uncomfortable, scooting closer to him each time.
I think he took notice the third time, because he blushed.
He tried to talk about the same things most adults wanted to talk about. The things they thought were important to a kid, but that kids generally thought were bullshit. I let him go on, answering politely and honestly.
Okay, I thought. He's checked me out four or five times. He goes quiet immediately afterward, and then he asks me about friends and girls. Time to get him bothered enough to get on subject here. Daylight's burning.
I got a flash of myself and Carl in the PX.
"I gotta go piss," I told him, standing up and setting the pole down. I stepped over to the nearest large tree, discovering that I did have to piss. As I had in the PX restroom, I pulled down both shorts and underwear, dropping them as far as my knees, and started wetting the fallen leaves and pine needles.
Hey, back there. You checking out this sweet, young ass?
I shook off and bent to pull up my shorts, being sure to bend at the waist and show him a little between the cheeks.
Yep. When I turned around, Dwayne was as red as a beet. His eyes were wide and his hand on the pole was trembling.
I sat back down, close enough to him that I could feel his body heat, and picked up my pole, sticking it between my spread thighs.
He finally got it. With a heavy, chest-shaking sigh, he asked, "So, these boys...?"
I turned to him smiling. "What about `em?"
"How... how did that get started?"
Again, I had no reason to lie. I told him about the fort. I told him about Derek and Jason and Bruce. I told him about Johnny and his "new sensation" and how much I liked it. I told him about Eddie and me and what we shared. As far as Vic and Carl, I sort of blended them into one person, telling him not only about the beauty of being pounded into the psychologist's couch but the adoration and love I felt (in such a short time) for Carl.
His face stayed red throughout. I left the stories hanging in the air. There was nothing more for me to say. He had to be the next one to speak. That would tell me whether or not I had been right about him.
But, he didn't say anything for a while. The silence was about to get to me.
Say something, damn it. It's your move, make it.
Finally, as I was about to screw up the situation by throwing out some random thing that might derail the whole endeavor, he asked plainly, "So, do you even like fishing?"
Ah hah! He got it.
"Not really."
Come on. Figure it out. You can do it.
His head lifted and he started looking around the area. He wasn't looking for jumping fish. He wasn't looking for a better fishing spot. He wasn't looking for inclement weather.
He was looking to see if there was anyone around. Not someone that might have overheard, but anyone at all. Anyone whose presence might put a stop to his next move, his next question.
Other than tweeting birds and various tiny fauna scurrying through the leaves and underbrush, we were the only living creatures in sight.
"You wanna get outta here?" he asked.
Like a brazen hussy that not only understood, but had been waiting for just such a question, I asked, "Do you know a good spot?"
He turned to me with an expression that blended surprise with acceptance. Once again, he cast a gaze around the area, this time looking over his shoulder at the road itself.
When he turned back to me, he was wearing a slight grin. "Yeah," he said. "I think I do."
The fishing gear was tossed (almost haphazardly) into the rear section of the station wagon and we were back in the front seat. He drove us further around the lake until the road forked, we could keep following the banks of the lake or turn away, deeper into the thick trees.
Dwayne did the latter. Deeper and deeper into the shadow-casting forest, further and further from the world.
He stopped and backed into a small side road, getting the long car out of sight of the trail. There was a wide, flat area with a fire pit and a warped, faded picnic table back there. A public campground. It was out of the sight of any passersby. It was shaded. It was private. It was perfect.
I wasted exactly zero time. As soon as he shut off the engine and sat back in the seat, I crawled over to him and slipped an arm around his neck, kissing him just below the ear.
His hesitation made me think that he was a rookie at this. I learned later (through the clear pane of hindsight) that he was the "grooming" type. It was likely my aggressive approach that threw him off his game.
Once I placed my free hand on his thigh, nibbling at the lobe of his ear (which seemed to work well on Carl), he relaxed and got the point. His arm slid around my back and he pulled me onto his lap.
He had scratchy stubble on his chin, but that didn't matter right then. He wasn't as good a kisser as Carl, but I didn't care. He was getting into it as much as I was.
We made out for a while, his hands exploring my back and legs and eventually, my butt.
He took the lead (at last) and said, "Let's get more comfortable."
I had to veto the back seat. I pointed at the very rear. "There's a lot more room back there."
The fishing poles and gear were placed on the floor of the back seat and the seat itself folded down, providing even more space. He lifted the trap door in the rear (where there was actually a third seat hidden) and removed a thick, heavy comforter. It had stains on it that might have been soil or grease, but it was soft and provided a bit of cushion.
Excellent. He was more prepared than I had suspected.
We clambered in and pulled down the door.
The few moments of shock that he showed during that initial session went away quickly.
I started by crawling right up into his arms again and planting heavy kisses on him that he answered with enthusiastic hums and moans. I sat up and pulled off my tee shirt, pulling at his as soon as we were kissing again.
Since it had worked well with Carl, I kissed down his chest and sucked and flicked my tongue on his hairy nipples. The hair was new to me, but his reaction was perfect. I felt his boner growing against my hip and shifted myself so that I could grind our hard members together.
When I had him shivering and moaning, I continued down his fairly rotund belly, kissing every couple inches on my journey to his belt.
"Jesus," he whispered.
Okay, I was mildly disappointed. He wasn't as long as either Carl or Vic, more along the lines of Lenny, but his dick was thick and perfectly tapered and was as hard as a rock by the time I freed it from his restrictive briefs. As he struggled out of the baggy shorts, I did the same. He left his socks on, which I thought was strange, but I didn't care. I wasn't after his feet.
Once again, there I was, naked in the back of a car with a grown-up.
Slowly, I ran my hands up each of his legs, crawling toward that stiff boner. He watched with happy fascination as I neared it. Giving him an eye-to-eye grin, I took his pecker in my hand and gave it a squeeze and a stroke.
"Jesus," he whispered again.
He had a lot more body hair than either Vic or Carl, but it wasn't a turn-off. I took the head of his dick in my mouth and started sucking, licking, stroking, everything that I had found effective.
Dwayne had lain back against the folded back seat, with his legs stretched out into the flat storage are in the very rear. It gave me easy access and provided a lot of space.
With the fervor of being deprived for several weeks, I slurped and sucked at him, groaning appreciatively and hungrily, making sure to stroke with every bob of the head.
Oh, I had missed this. The taste, the texture, the feel of him.
With a familiar groan, he flexed his hips, pumping himself into my moist mouth as I sucked him. Well, I thought. He's not gonna last long, is he?
Fine. I sucked harder, I stroked harder, I worked his head with more targeted attention.
And... there it was. SPLURT-SPLURT-SPLURT-SPLURT.
He gave me a good mouthful of manjuice. It wasn't such a wad that I couldn't swallow it easily. It was similar to Vic's, thick and salty. Not quite as stringy as some, but it had a texture that I was willing to leave in my mouth for a few seconds before swallowing.
Making sure I had drained him first, I crawled back up into his arms. He was willing to kiss me even with his taste still on my tongue, so I did. His hands found my naked butt, fondling and stroking. He was a little more forceful when he started fingering my butthole, rubbing it and pushing the tip in just a bit.
"Wait," I said. "Not dry. It'll hurt."
He looked at me with a silent question.
"Hold on." I crawled up to the back of the front seat and reached over for my rucksack. In that position, my hard pecker was right in his face. He took it in his mouth and sucked on it for a bit. I let him, digging out my nearly empty tube of lube and waiting for either my own orgasm or his losing interest.
He didn't lose interest.
I found myself holding the back of his head and basically fucking his face. He did not complain. I gave him what I had, coming with jolts and spasms, and he swallowed all of it.
Phase one complete.
I eased back down beside him, letting him kiss me again. His hands went back to my butt cheeks. I handed the tube to him with a grin. He looked at it for a second.
He shook his head. "You really thought this out, didn't you?"
"Mm-hmm."
I laid my head on his chest, just at the top of his protruding belly, and stuck my butt up in the air.
Pop.
Yeah, here we go.
He was rougher than the others, but he fingered my hole in the same progression of one, two, and three fingers. I groaned happily and moved my hips. My breath came heavier. I started kissing his belly and chest, sucking on his nipples again and felt for his dick. I had to get it hard again and it took longer than I hoped, but he kept probing deeper and deeper inside me as I did so.
When we were both prepped and properly lubed up, I tossed the tube onto the floorboards of the back seat, and threw one leg over him. It was wider ride, but that only spread my legs more. I guided him in, got past that single point of pain, and started riding.
He didn't waste time. He grabbed my butt cheeks and helped me ride. I leaned down and kissed him as I rode his pecker into me. Again, there were deeper places to reach than he was going to be able to get to, but I was getting my ass fucked by a grown-up, so I didn't care.
It got more intense as we went on. We tried to get into the doggie position, but there wasn't enough headroom again. We lay in a spoon position and he was able to work that for a bit. At last, I scrunched up the comforter and lay on my back, throwing my legs up and over, exposing my butthole to him.
He was heavier than either Carl or Vic, but he was able to fuck me deeper than before and his weight drove his pecker in with more force.
Once more, he was rougher than they had been. We might have to work on that.
But, then again, no. He was able to pound with flesh-slapping power, pumping his dick into my ass. His belly kept me pressed to the hard deck of the station wagon, making me feel warm all over. His thrusts filled my cock-hungry colon over and over, making me feel wanted and sexy. And eventually, his warm seed was shot into my innards, making me feel like I had done my job well.
Rolling off me (after a few more minutes of dick-pumping bliss), he sighed. "You," he announced. "Are a pleasant surprise."
I giggled and rolled onto his belly, kissing him again. "And you," I told him. "Know how to make me feel good."
He was not as virile as Carl (for certain), but he was able to give me couple more good rides before the day grew late.
We had to struggle to get dressed again, having used my towel to clean up. The gear was replaced in the rear, the comforter returned to its spot, and we got back into the front seat. He wanted another series of deep kisses before we started for home, so I gave him some.
And we were off.
As we passed the fishing spot, he commented, "We're gonna have to go camping before it gets too cold out."
"Okay."
"Maybe," he began. "Maybe we could do it next weekend. I think I could convince [Ronnie] to come along. Maybe bring a little friend of his."
"Okay."
"That way, you won't be the only... Well, there'll be another boy your age along."
"Okay."
"You want to?"
"Sure."
He smiled wide and happy. "Yeah, you're a pleasant surprise."
He called me that Tuesday and told me it was on, if I got my parents' permission. I didn't as much ask them as tell them. They were fine with it (those naïve, trusting fools). When he called again Thursday, it was to tell me that "Ronnie" hadn't been able to get his "friend" to come along, something about a family matter.
"That's okay," I said. "Let's go anyway."
"Just you and me?"
"No. Ronnie should come, too. If he wants to."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
"You'll be the only boy."
"That's okay."
He was silent for a moment, but he said, "Alrighty then. I'll pick you up Friday afternoon."
"I get home at three."
"I'll be there."
He was as good as his word. I had packed my rucksack Thursday night, so I was able to get inside, change clothes, and get back down in less than ten minutes. We headed in the same direction as our "fishing" trip, but went beyond that turn-off. I sat beside him, in the center of the bench seat, and cuddled against his side as we went. I didn't bother asking where we were going, I didn't care.
We wound up at a public campground that came complete with single cabins scattered through the woods along yet another lake. This one was bigger, with islands of green algae floating here and there along the banks. The scent of autumn leaves filled every lungful of breath. It was idyllic.
The cabin he had rented for the weekend was far up the road. There didn't seem to be another one close by. Parked beside it was a faded, blue Toyota.
"Hm," he grunted. "Looks like Ronnie's already here."
Two. There would be two grown-ups for me. I started getting excited, sitting up to see if I could get a look at him.
I didn't though, until we stepped inside.
Ronnie was about the same age as Dwayne, mid-thirties, but was slimmer and more solid. He reminded me a little of Carl. His wide smile at meeting me made me feel safe and happy. He even gave me a big hug while Dwayne brought in the box of supplies for the weekend.
I couldn't help myself. While Ronnie had me in his arms, with my feet off the ground, I kissed him on the cheek. He chuckled and set me back down.
"Nice to meet you, Kid."
"Same here," I said, my eyes instantly dropping to check out any evidence of his endowment.
We got unpacked and set the place up. There were four cots, set against the walls of the single-room cabin. A small bathroom, with no running water sat off to one side. It was little more than a latrine with a wooden seat, but it would do. We unrolled the sleeping bags on two of the cots (I didn't have one of my own, but that would probably not matter that weekend, I would climb in with one or the other).
Dwayne started a fire in the iron pot-belly stove while Ronnie and I got to know each other. The same adult questions, the same honest answers. He got more in depth with his questions though. He really wanted to know about me, so I gave thoughtful answers. He wanted to know the deep-seated reasons that I sought adult companionship. It really made me think. "I guess," I told him. "It's because you can teach me more than my teachers can. About stuff I sure couldn't ask my Dad about and about my body and what makes me feel good."
His grin was pure and honest. He nodded. "You're right, Dwayne," he commented. "This one's special."
I was special? He thought I was special?
I felt as warm and exceptional as I had with Carl. I wanted to leap into his arms then and there, but I restrained myself. There was time.
There was plenty of time.
To be continued...