DYLAN!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Robby called, "Dylan, let's go," so I ran around to the side of the building where the Dickers' pickup truck was parked. I've decided not to mention Joel's threats because why would I want to get Joel more pissed off at me? Trying to act as if nothing happened, I smile briefly. Robby grins and we get in the backseat. I liked the sunburn on Robby's perfectly shaped nose.
Ha, I've never seen a more perfect human nose. My nose was sunburned, too, but not seriously burned. Wearing the company baseball hat helps. We were beginning to acquire a tan on our arms and faces that is healthy-looking and attractive, especially on Robby! What a cute-looking guy he is; he and his brother. Yum!
When we pulled up at the house, Chubby was talking with Dodger. Chubby had walked there from his window washer job. Later tonight, we'll get a ride home from Robby, but for now, I yelled over, "Hey, Chubby! You made it!" He smiled, mumbling, "I got a ride from Brian Monday."
Oh, he didn't walk. Brian must be a window washer boy. Chubby was introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Dickers. Then he and I did our usual hug, and then I did a quick one-arm hug, handshake, and pat on the back with Dodger, jokingly asking him, "Hey, how come I never get that fast-as-a-wink kiss you give Robby?" He kissed me so quickly I wasn't sure it happened, but the smirk on Dodger's face confirmed he'd done it. I said, "That's better, you little homo," and Dodger laughed and gave my ass a squeeze. Jeez!
Mr. Dickers rocks with the grill. Oh my, the food was so good. Sweet barbecue sauce on crispy-skinned chicken off the grill. As everyone knows, the taste of chicken cooked on a charcoal grill differs greatly from chicken cooked in an oven. Mrs. Dickers made French fries that killed and coleslaw that was creamy and delicious. There was sweet corn on the cob, cucumber slices with Vidalia onions, and tomato. We drank freshly made sweet iced tea with lemon. Haha, pretty good!
Chubby looked over at me, and I knew he was thinking about our dinner at Ken's and the iced tea and lemon we'd drank there after being turned down for beers. We smirked at one another and then thanked Mr. and Mrs. Dickers for the great dinner. They were very pleasant and then went inside. Chubby and I put on our bathing suits on in a small pool bathroom off the attached garage, and later, in the pool, there was a lot of childish nut crunching going on. Dodger was unmerciful, and one had to defend oneself. It was fun to act like ten-year-old kids. You get four rambunctious teenage boys in a pool together, and there will be some wrestling going on, which is fine from my point of view.
Oh yeah, the bodies of those three boys, all wet, slippery, tight, smooth, and muscular, had my cock working overtime. And not just mine. No teen can control that thing called a penis when circumstances allow it to operate with a mind of its own. I made it my business to be clumsy enough with my arms, hands, legs, and feet to explore those hot teen bodies as inconspicuously as possible, and I confirmed that there were boners at one time or another in all our swimsuits. As a matter of fact, I don't recall Dodger's boner ever going down. He has a hard four-and-a-half-inch boner, and even though water and boners don't get along normally, Dodger's boner was holding steady the whole time we were in the pool.
At one point, Dodger tried something new. He had his hand inside the front of my trunks with his fist around my boner for just a second or two. He mutters, "Oops, I didn't mean to do that," and then did it again five minutes later. It was swift, but I almost blew my load the second time. I had to float over to the side of the pool and try to keep from hyperventilating. It's frustrating that I don't know how to follow up on Dodger's aggressive, sexy behavior. What if he thinks he's just doing acceptable teenager screwing around, like us kids did on the Middle School bus?
It sucks not knowing stuff and not knowing how to find out the answer. I need my mentor, Carl Denton. Yeah, I might be invited to visit Carl in Maine. If he ever gets around to inviting me and Willie, we can have one of our mentor sessions about this sort of thing. I'd love to know how to handle this aggressiveness on Dodger's part. Maybe it's not what I think it is, and he's too young for me anyway. Or is he? And why couldn't it be Robby instead of Dodger? Carl may have ideas; he's very experienced.
Robby drove us home at dusk because the mosquitoes were coming out to eat us alive. Chubby and I sat on our front steps and smoked a cigarette after getting dropped off. Mosquitoes don't care for cigarette smoke. Chubby thought the Dickers brothers were great guys, and then he got melancholy just before going up to his place. He'd said, "I really like your friends, Dylan. They're much nicer than the guys I've met through the window washing job. The Dickers are more like our kind of people, you know?" I shrugged, remembering the window washer boys Chubby and I met at the movies that time. They were crude and rude.
Wistfully, Chubby added, "I'll be really happy and relieved when we have enough money to get our driver's licenses, auto insurance, and some car. Then I can leave the window-washing crowd behind." I didn't know what to say, so I hugged him and mumbled, "You can handle it, Chubby."
He gave me a wry smile, patted my head, and hugged me, saying, "I feel so good for you, Dylan. You're safe and happy working for the Dickers."
Safe? Chubby added, "We'll be okay," and that's when he went up to his condo. It was the first time he'd come right out and implied he was unhappy about that job, and he included Rickie by not excluding him. He isn't happy with any of them. I don't want to gloat, but I knew there was something wrong with Rickie the first time I met him. Chubby disagreed with me at the time; he thought Ricky was soooo cool. Well, like I said, I'm not gloating, but I was right.
Riding to work on the bus Thursday morning, I contemplated our hot time at the Dickers last night. It was great having Chubby with me. I was showing off Chubby to the Dickers brothers and showing off the Dickers brothers to Chubby. It made me feel important somehow. I sure liked them all, and Mr. and Mrs. Dickers were friendly and considerate, too. They know we kids want to be left alone, so they didn't horde in on our fun, and I appreciated that. They fed us fabulously, and then it was, "Have fun, boys. There are sodas in the cooler," and they disappeared.
The next morning, I enjoyed another nice boner from the bus ride, and then everything went well at work--no run-in with Joel and no queer notes in my locker. I saw Joel during the day but looked away every time. Still, it's nerve-racking that he wants to kill me. Then I thought, what a baby I am! Joel's a negative aspect of this job, but why would I deserve a stress-free, easy job? And I remember Chubby's negative endorsement of everything about his job situation, and, reading between the lines a little, he has a much tougher time at work than I do, and he's not whining.
Life is full of challenges; both Chubby and I have known that for years. We're tough enough, and we've always had each other's back until now. Now we're more or less on our own in the workforce, and, like I said, I've probably got it easier than Chubby.
After dinner, Chubby and I were on the steps smoking and making each other laugh, reminiscing about embarrassing experiences we've had as younger kids taking care of ourselves with our moms working from four o'clock in the afternoon until midnight as waitresses at a restaurant/bar. Later, when we hugged goodnight, I imitated Dodger's and Robby's quick-as-a-wink kiss with a fast kiss on the side of Chubby's head. He had no comment, but maybe he didn't realize I did it. I quickly hugged him again, and then I watched him go up the outside steps to his place. Goddamn, he's got the most incredible ass of anybody ever.
Lying in bed, I was sure I could still smell Chubby's scent. It was still in my head as I stroked myself slowly for twelve minutes before a small splash
of cum hit my hand just before sleeping. Oooh...
On Friday night, Chubby and I went to the movies and ran into a couple of kids who were in Chubby's homeroom last year. When we spotted them, Chubby said, "Oh, man, these dudes are funny, but they're always getting into trouble somehow. We had a bitchin time last year in homeroom." Two kids came running up, yelling, "Jeffrey, is that you making the farting sounds?" People turned around to stare at us. Chubby and his pals were high-fiving and laughing about their inside farting joke.
After the hellos and introductions, they wanted us to smoke pot with them. We didn't do that, but we did wander around with them in the parking lot while they smoked a joint, and we smoked a Marlboro Light. Inside the movie theater, Chubby's friends, Marshall and Desmond, sat with us and laughed out loud at everything anybody in the movie said. The movie itself was fairly funny, while Marshall and Desmond were hysterically funny. Their laughter was unreal-sounding.
Some older patrons were going, "Shhh! Shhh!" but the audience was primarily kids our age, and it got riotous. It was a fun night, but we almost got into another fight before it was over. Some kid pushed Chubby leaving the theater, so he and I went at the kid hot and heavy, but Lowe's Movie Theater resident cop broke it up before anyone got seriously hurt--just another night of laughs, fights, and threats among the local teen natives.
Saturday, we both worked and after work, Chubby went to his first Saturday night meeting of the window washer boys while I was getting ready for my date with Willie. After showering, I used Mom's hairdryer to brush my hair up straight, creating sort of a longish old-time flattop hairdo, as Willie asked me to do, but my hair didn't look like Willie's. That's because my growing-out burr haircut isn't all the same length on top the way Willie's is. It's slightly similar, and that will have to be good enough. I've seen online that some gay guys do bizarre fashion stuff like Willie wanting me to have the same haircut as him. I also want to ask my mentor, Carl Denton, about this because it seems odd.
I did the best I could with my hair to please Willie; now I'm outside waiting for him. And, just like last time, he pulled up in that hot convertible, smiled, looking cool, and waved at me. And like last time, even though we were looking at one another, he blew the horn, making me chuckle. What a cute nut he is. Yep, and of course, he looked adorable, with his little boy smile, almost shy.
Coming down the steps smiling back at him, I tried to flick my cigarette butt into the gutter, but it flew right over Willie's head with my heart in my throat. Willie goes, "WOW! That was cool." He thought I did it on purpose. I laughed, partly with relief the butt didn't hit him or his car and partly because he thought I'd do something like that on purpose.
He said, "Dude, I love that you at least tried to match my haircut." Then, when I got in the car, he said very sincerely, "Thank you for doing that, Dylan." I rubbed across my grown-out burr haircut that didn't look anything like Willie's and swallowed hard. Jeez, he's so easy to please. It gave me that feeling I get with him where I want to hug him and tell him how special he is and that everything will be alright.
Willie leaned over to kiss me, and this time, I found myself saying, "Sorry, Willie, but can we wait till we're out of my neighborhood? I'm in the closet and, you know... please." Willie goes, "Oh, I forgot, Dylan. I'm the one who needs to say I'm sorry!" As he pulled away from the curb, I was unwrapping a piece of Dubble-Bubble because of my cigarette breath. This bubble gum tastes so delicious for about ten seconds, then loses ninety-five percent of its flavor. What's up with that?
I admitted to myself, as I chewed that piece of gum, that the note in my locker with QUEER! written on it had influenced my behavior. Just now by asking Willie not to kiss me in my neighborhood. Somebody saw me doing something queer somewhere sometime. It must have been with Willie, but maybe someone saw me with the Marine. It's alarming to know you have an unknown enemy out there. Then I go back believing it's Joel Mc Carty. In any case, it's not Willie's fault or his problem, but I had let it get in the way of Willie's ideal date, which includes a kiss hello.
Glancing at him, he appears okay, so I bump his shoulder and say, "You always look so cool, but especially tonight, Willie. I want to say thank you. Um, I feel lucky to be your boyfriend." He took a big breath and bit his bottom lip, tried to say something but coughed, made a face, and then, in a strangled voice, said, "You're welcome. It's my pleasure, Dylan." He was beaming.
Willie drove us down Route 30, past the turn-off for his house, and onto the Mass Pike. His car has an "EASY PASS" thing on the windshield, so we hardly slowed down at the tolls. He shouted over the traffic noise to tell me, "We'll eat at a TGI Fridays outside Cambridge. The movie theater is nearby. Is that okay with you?" I nodded and smiled.
It's not easy talking in a convertible, flying down the turnpike at seventy miles an hour. I've lived in Massachusetts all my life, but I've never even been to Cambridge. You can't get around much without a driver's license. There's the " T " in and around Boston, of course. That's the MBTA, the train/trolley/subway system in Boston. It's pretty good, and if you live in the suburbs, you can take the train to Boston, but you need a way to get to the train station... Catch 22.
It's early for most diners, but TGI Fridays always has customers at any time of the night or day. The restaurant's full name is Thank Goodness It's
Friday. It's a chain and an okay one. We got a booth, and Willie came right into the booth beside me and took my hand. That was too much for me, and I asked him if he wouldn't mind sitting across from me. "So, I can look at your cute face." He blushed, started to protest, and then reluctantly moved across from me. Damn, two of us sitting next to each other in a booth is going overboard, even for Willie.
He is, in many ways, a contradiction. He can be shyly naive and innocent, but he also tries to be the suave, in-charge top guy, too. I agree with most of his unusual ideas about how our boyfriend relationship should go because it's harmless, and I like him so much. When he was settled in across from me, I tried to explain, "Willie, I'm so new at coming out as gay; I don't always know what's right or what's expected of me. So, please don't be mad at me."
Willie isn't sneaky with a nefarious agenda of some kind. This is how he is. He makes a little speech, some of which I've heard before. "Dylan, I never in a million years thought I'd ever have a date with a boy as hot and sexy and cute as you, and as nice, too. I know you wouldn't intentionally hurt my feelings, but sometimes, as you said, you don't know any better." Nodding for him to go on, I stared back blankly at his seriously sincere, cute face, waiting for him to tell me what he was referring to specifically.
When nothing was forthcoming, I told him again that I was lucky to be his boyfriend. He was beaming, saying he was the lucky one, and added, "Let's look at the menus."
I wasn't lying. I am lucky Willie wants me as his boyfriend. He attends an exclusive Prep school with wickedly wealthy parents who bought him a hot sports car. Willie knows his way around Boston, Cambridge, and L.A. Christ; he's the trophy date, not me! I'm the country bumpkin without a driver's license. Chubby and I are the only seventeen-year-olds without driver's licenses in the country! I wanted to hug Willie and tell him how wonderful he is.
We looked at the menu, and a college-age waiter arrived on time to take our order. Willie ordered Fried Mozzarella for our shared appetizer and said I was his date and should order first. The waiter rolled his eyes but kept a straight face as I took a deep breath and ordered Jack Daniels Glazed Ribs for my main course, a baked stuffed potato, and a salad with Italian dressing. Willie said, "I'll have the same as my date's having, thank you. And please bring us extra napkins, and we'll both have Cokes." I cringed, but the waiter said, "Your Cokes will be right out." I'm convinced Willie is oblivious to how awkward that was for me.
It will be quite a challenge changing Willie, so I have a feeling I'm the one who'll wind up changing and accepting Willie as he is. He smiled at me so hard when the waiter left; it was obvious he was proud to have me as his date. That's nice, although I may have blushed a world's record blush along the way. After some small talk about whether I thought the waiter was cute and did the waiter come on to me at all? I muttered, "No, to both questions, Willie."
Then he had a funny long rap about waiters, and it was obvious he had memorized it for tonight. Then he listed several things women put in a newspaper personal ad when seeking male companionship and what those words actually represent. Decoding the buzz words, he called it. For example, if a woman says she's 'forty-ish,' it means she's forty-nine. If a woman describes herself as 'athletic,' she's really confessing that she has no tits.
He got me laughing pretty good, and the more I laughed the more confidently he came out with additional examples. If the woman puts 'average-looking' in her personal ad, it means ugly. If she lists herself as 'beautiful,' it means she's a pathological liar. 'Emotionally secure' equals heavily medicated. 'Feminist' means she's fat. A 'fun person' means she's probably been called annoying frequently by other male companions. If she says she's 'new age,' she has body hair in the wrong places. 'Outgoing' probably indicates she drinks too much and is loud and embarrassing. 'Large-framed' would be used to describe a hugely fat woman. And others like those that he'd memorized.
He was so cute calling out these funny lines. Our appetizer and Cokes came while I was red-faced from laughing. It was humorous stuff, but Willie's facial expressions and laughter struck me as very funny, too. The harder I laughed; the harder Willie laughed at his memorized jokes. He didn't realize the waiter was standing behind him at first. And, by the way, the waiter did have a cute smile on his not-so-cute face. When the waiter laughed along with Willie and me, Willie looked up, saw him, and said, "Oh, our fried cheese and sodas."
The appetizers were nothing special, and while eating our ribs, Willie told me several things that reminded me of Chubby's factoids. I asked, "Willie, um, how do you remember all these funny lines and factoids? Did you memorize all these things to make dinner conversation tonight?" He did a fake cough into his fist and asked, "How did you know? Ah, yeah, I memorized everything. I was afraid nothing would occur to me that was interesting, and you'd be bored on our date."
That was so unusual and, um, sweetly innocent, I was speechless again. What to say about memorizing dinner conversation. It would never occur to me that someone would do that. It's extraordinary to say the least. How much time and energy must it have taken? I said, "Damn Willie, that is so, um, so special of you to go to the trouble, and it's been great dinner conversation, too. Funny AND interesting! Thank you, but I've always liked your extemporaneous conversation very much, too. I think you're a special and interesting person." He swallowed hard and squeaked out, "You're special too."
After saying that stuff and with Willie discontinuing the memorized aspect of our dinner conversation, neither of us could think of anything to say. Next time, I'll memorize what to say when the inevitable awkward period occurs. Trying to be funny, I finally said, "Oops, Willie, let's go back to the memorized conversation," we both laughed. It was easier going from then on. Frankly, he was generally interesting because of his unique history, background, and his 'take' on gay dating. All that is worth a whole night of conversation.
After dinner, we found where we'd parked the car, and Willie drove us into Cambridge, Massachusetts, looking for The Brattle Theatre. Willie
wanted us to see an old gay-oriented movie, "Shelter." He'd been here a few dozen times, but driving around Cambridge is never easy. Luckily, he found a parking spot two blocks from the theatre, so we got out, and he locked the car, saying, "You're my good luck charm, Dylan. That is the best parking spot I've ever found in this town." Then, stopping, he motioned for me to come near him, and he got me around my waist with his right arm. That was how we slowly walked to the theater. There were other gay couples mixed in with obviously straight ones; some of them paid a lot of attention to us.
Fortunately, I didn't see anyone I knew, which is no surprise. Willie knew a few guys. He said, "Hi" to them, and they bumped fists or slapped hands walking by us, mumbling, "Willie, my man. New boyfriend, huh?" There was a long line outside the movie theatre, which Willie ignored as he led me along the line toward the front. We stopped close to the front of the line, and Willie said, "Good! There they are. Hi Martin! Hi Jeremy!''
Two slightly older-looking guys turned and gave Willie big smiles. Both guys are shorter than Willie and me at about five-foot-seven and they're both, um, stocky. They were average in the looks department, nothing special. Both wore earrings, and both had a tattoo on their neck. I thought, "Ugh!" to that. They weren't touching each other, but something about them made me feel sure they were gay. I would have thought that no matter where I happened to see them.
The one with dyed blond hair, said, "My favorite stromo, Willie Worthington. Hi sweetheart, and I see you've got yourself that butch, retro haircut, and your boyfriend has one too." The two guys giggled nicely but it sounded girlish. The natural blond told Willie, "Come on honey, you and your boyfriend get in line with us." The people behind him mumbled and grumbled, but no one had the balls to challenge us for butting in front of the line.
Willie introduced me as "My boyfriend, Dylan Newman," then introduced his friends to me as Martin Remington, the natural blondie, and Jeremy Goldman, the dyed blondie. Willie said, "They're not boyfriends, just gay friends who hang out together, doing random sex now and then." Then they took turns hugging me and kissing my cheek, me saying, "Nice to meet you," to each one.
I learned how Willie knew these guys while the line moved at a snail's pace. Martin worked for a lawn service that did work on the Worthington property. One day last summer, Willie took some bottled water out for the workers and gave a bottle to Martin, who has extraordinary gaydar and outed Willie on the spot. Willie chimed in with, "Oh, Dylan, you should have seen Martin. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just short/shorts with his hairy legs bulging with muscles, and he was all sweaty and hunky looking; plus, I was horny because I hadn't seen my roommate, Larry, for three weeks!"
I smiled but couldn't think of anything to say except yuck to the hairy legs and the neck tattoos, but I couldn't say that, so I asked Martin, "What does stromo mean? You called Willie that." He giggled, moved his head in a girlie manner, and says, "Willie is our stromo friend." Jeremy says, "He seems straight, but we know he's gay. Martin and I are fags; anyone can see that, but most people wouldn't know Willie was; or you either, Cutie." Nodding, I mumble, "Oh, I see." I guess I do, anyway.
Willie tells me how one thing led to another last summer, and Willie and Martin ended up in one of the five garage bays, Willie doing oral sex on Martin and Martin returning the favor. During the following weeks, Martin was banging Willie regularly. Martin, smiling brightly, and added, "Willie will be my favorite twink forever, but I'm trying to seduce this old guy I'm with, Mr. Jeremy Goldman, who's even older than I am." Jeremy says, "Yeah, two months older." Willie mutters, "They're not that old. Both are twenty-two, Dylan."
The two friends of Willie's were funny, so there was no need to memorize conversation with these two around. Getting a word in would be a challenge. Their conversation was mostly borderline outrageous, but they're both nice guys, and I enjoyed their company. Inside the theatre, there wasn't any talking once the movie started.
Martin and Jeremy sat there like two regular moviegoers, but not Willie and me. He had his arm around my neck, and my head pulled over to touch his; my forehead against the side of his head, and he'd occasionally turn his head to kiss the side of my face. I wasn't annoyed by this embarrassing position because, first of all, he smelled good, and he was the first gay boy in my life that I sincerely liked, so it was nice to touch him and nice to feel desired. The first time, I felt desired. I was grateful to Carl, and once I thought I loved him, but I never actually liked him.
Every so often, Willie would whisper in my ear, so low I could hardly hear him, "I think I love you, Dylan," and he'd kiss the side of my face. I was a little bit annoyed by this smothering attention from Willie, but on the plus side, it gave me the hardest boners ever. As the credits were running at the end of the movie, Willie twisted our faces together, and he did his world-famous make-out, stopping just seconds before I blew a load in my pants. I was panting when Willie said, "I guess we should get out of here now, Dylan." Well, yeah, the lights were up and we were the last two in here, so, yeah...
He said he thinks he loves me, but I'm sure I don't love him. Love is a confusing emotion, so I don't know much about it. As I mentioned, I made the misstate of thinking I loved Carl but quickly realized I didn't, and he barely even likes me. So, no, I don't love Willie, but I'm getting the biggest crush on him the world has ever known. The more time I spend with him, all his corniness aside, the hotter I think he is sexually. It surprises me each time I upwardly reevaluate my opinion of him.
Martin and Jeremy were waiting for us outside, and the four of us went to a Starbucks one block over. After getting our drinks, we took them outside and sat on a bench in a common area. Not sure what kind of drink I should try, Willie bought me a sweet iced coffee that tasted like a milkshake. It's the first drink from Starbucks I've ever had, and it was good. Jeremy talked about his last date, which he called his one-hit wonder, meaning the guy never called Jeremy after the one time.
Martin complained about his latest boyfriend, who broke up a month ago. "He was a total size queen, and I guess, in the end, I simply didn't have enough size for him; my dick wasn't long enough." They laughed at stuff I didn't understand, but that's okay. I was enjoying myself, and they all treated me as if I belonged with them.
We all liked the movie about a surfer dude who falls for his best friend's brother. There were a couple of subplots, one involving a young kid who looked up to the gay guy with hero worship. One of the things I really liked about the movie is that the gay guys were like Willie and me. Straight acting, or stromos." Martin and Jeremy referred to Willie and me as twinks, but all in good fun. I take it as a compliment.
This area in Cambridge is what the guys called a gayborhood because it's gay-friendly. Jeremy wanted Willie and me to join them at this gay club they were members of that featured great homo hits. I found out that homo hits mean gay club music. I need to take notes on all the gay slang so I can remember it. Willie knew it all; he'd hung with these two, as well as with other gay kids closer to his age, who lived around here. It was nice to know Willie had gay friends. I'd thought he was an isolated, lonely boy, but I'm glad to be wrong about that. He is popular, which doesn't surprise me. He's incredibly likable, although kooky, too.
All of this makes me wonder why Willie allows Larry to control him as he does. I know why Carl controls me. He was my mentor! Anyway, Willie politely declined the invitation to dance with Martin and Jeremy, telling them he had other responsibilities to fulfill for his date. Wink, wink.
I learned some things listening to those three describing gay guys they'd known. A versatile bottom was a guy who tops, too. Willie claimed that is what he is, which works out for us! We're very compatible, and I feel really good about that. The other thing is, after all we've done tonight, it's only nine-thirty!
Willie finished his drink and announced he had to get his date home to bed. Martin and Jeremy laughed and clapped, saying, "Yeah, baby! You do him good, stud! Love you, Willie." They hugged Willie and me, saying I was lucky to have Willie as a boyfriend. Martin added, "You didn't do too bad for yourself, Willie." They joked about Willie letting them know if he breaks up with me. They'll want my phone number and so forth. As I said, it was all in good fun, and I could tell it built up Willie's self-image and made him feel great. I'm happy about that. With his arm around my waist, we walked back to the car, Willie assuring me that the night had just begun.
It was a chilly ride on the Mass Pike, driving back to Weston at sixty-five miles per hour, Willie insisting on leaving the top down. Once we were off the Mass Pike, moving much slower, it was a lovely summer night. I had to shake my head and smile as we drove to Willie's mansion because the driveway was so ridiculously long.
Willie filled me in on the current situation: his mother was in Scotland sightseeing with her sister, and his father was in New York City doing business, but Willie wasn't on his own. There is a live-in chef in the vast house, Ruman Diezel. Also, Mr. Worthington's assistant, Paul Windell, and his wife, Martha live here, too. Mrs. Windell supervises the housekeeping. Basically, Mr. and Mrs. Windell were in charge of the mansion, and the owners, Willie's parents, occasionally spent a few days there. Willie does, too, when he's not at boarding school.
Theoretically, Mr. and Mrs. Wildell were in charge of Willie, too. You know, as his guardians, but actually, he comes and goes as he pleases. His allowance was two hundred dollars a week, but that was pocket money. He has an American Express card for most things he buys. My head was spinning hearing him say these facts as if they weren't anything unusual.
Parking the car in the fourth garage bay, Willie held my hand walking to the house, and inside, we kissed and fondled one another until I was again on the verge of cuming in my pants. I loved making out with Willie from the start. When we had dueling boners in our pants, he grinned and asked, "Whatever should we do now, Dylan?" I clung to him, gasping, "Fuck me, Willie."
He murmured, "Yes, that's a good idea. I'll do you hard and hot," and he held me tightly to his body; his boner felt so long, poking sideways in his pants. He held my hand again when we went upstairs to his room, where Willie breathlessly gasped, "I'm so aroused by you, Dylan. Let's get undressed quickly!" I was pretty much breathless myself as we got out of our clothes in record time, and Willie lapsed back into copying his roommate Larry by demanding, "Get down on your knees and suck my cock. Do it over there," pointing to a thick Oriental throw rug right next to the bed.
I sighed, then said, "Don't start that bossy shit with me, Willie," and he said, "Please, Dylan, just do it." Well, now it was half an order and the other half a plea, so I got down on my knees and sucked his cock, which is something I like doing very much, anyway. I can't imagine why anyone wouldn't want to suck on a teenager's youthful, healthy-looking penis. Willie had a very boyish smell that I've noticed on a few other boys, not that I've had a lot of erect penises in my mouth or had the opportunity to be intimate enough to smell many young teens. Still, I'll notice a guy's scent if he has one.
Sucking and lapping just the head of a guy's cock is my favorite part of blowing a guy. I use plenty of saliva so the swollen head slides around my lips, and my tongue slips over it quickly, and then the tip of my tongue pokes the pee slit for ten to fifteen seconds to get it gaping open. Willie's huffing and puffing bursts of air, his fingers through my hair. In my minimal experience, I feel that Carl has the best cock head I've sucked. His dick is shortish, but the cock head is firm and large. Chubby's penis is like that, too. I've only sucked Chubby's cock's head in my dreams, though.
Knowing I could handle it, I pushed my head forward with my throat relaxed, and Willie's boner slid tightly down my throat, my nose buried in his pubic bush. I pulled my head back until the head of his cock was at my lips and then swallowed his boner again. Willie gasped and went up on his toes, groaned, moaned, and blew long exhales through his lips, creating that steamed heat sound that's so sexy-hot!
Keeping his boner in my throat, I made swallowing motions and felt the head expand. Willie grunted, "No, I'm going to cum," and he stepped back till his cock slipped out of my mouth. I gagged, and a string of saliva and precum connected the head of his cock to my tongue. Willie turned away, breaking the strand, and hurried into his bathroom, where I heard water splashing in the sink. Getting up, my boner lulling to the side, I went over and watched Willie running cold water on the head of his hard cock. The very thought of doing that to myself made me shudder and squeeze my softening dick.
"I want to fuck you so bad, Dylan, and I almost blew my load down your throat. Martin's the only other person who ever sucked me off, and it didn't feel nearly as hot as when you just did it. Holy shit!" I mumbled, "Who is Martin?" Then I remembered the two guys we left an hour ago and added, "Never mind. I remember him."
Jesus Christ, we just left Martin, but I get discombobulated doing sex with Willie. He ignored my question anyway and said, "Wow, baby, the deep-throating took me by surprise. Don't get me wrong, it felt awesome, but right now, I want to fuck your boy pussy." I nodded with half a smile because the talk of fucking had him panting again and almost causing him to hyperventilate like he did at his mother's party.
Watching this naked teenager drying his boner, I felt lucky because he's so attractive; his slim, taut, almost hairless body was flawless, and his long cock... oh, man! I force myself to look away because it's a seven-plus-inch boner almost sticking straight out from his sparse pubes, and you don't see that often. It wasn't a boner for long, though. The cold water got it soft, but it still looked cool. Seven inches of teen cock looks excellent, even soft. When mine is hard and erect, it barely reaches six inches and looks shorter than that when next to Willie's.
Taking deliberate deep breaths, Willie says, "Get in my bed, on your back." The bed was made this time, so I pulled back the covers. The purple sheets from last week had been replaced with black silk ones. They looked very sexy and were cool to the touch. I got under the covers comfortably on my back with my head on Willie's pillow. He pushed a button, and the lights went down low as music from several speakers around his room came on strong. Willie says, "I like this song!"
I recognized it right away. Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." This rendition of that song was by K D Lang, and her powerful voice filled the room, and with the orchestra behind her, it sent chills through me. Without commenting about the music being an unusual choice for a teenager, Willie got under the covers and climbed on top of me, wrapping his arms around my neck. His breathing was slightly labored at first but calmed down as he again began his unbelievably hot style of making out with a lot of tongue, lips, and saliva. He sucked and kissed all around my mouth, face, and neck. He'd concentrate on one spot for thirty seconds until I was squirming with pleasure.
His smell, the feel of his skinny body and smooth skin, and the music filling my head, it was all so sexual I had chills. My fingers ran through his silly flattop hair, so soft and silky. And then another rendition of "Hallelujah' played as Willie and I kissed and moaned, our dicks again as hard as wood. Our hands caressed one another as our lips never parted. In the background, more renditions of the same song played. I looked later and discovered the artists, most of whom I'd never heard of, were Bon Jovi, John Cale, and others I couldn't even pronounce the names. Right now, I'm gasping for oxygen and groveling under Willie's body, anxious to feel him inside me.
He was relentless as if he were a starving animal intent on devouring me. He humped his hips as we made out, while his knees, little by little, pushed my ass up off the mattress. After a bit, I pulled my feet forward, and he inched his knee against my buttocks; I spread my knees, creating an open invitation for Willie to fuck me. The powerful music echoed all around us, his long boner lying hard on top of my throbbing, dripping erection, the top of my swollen cock's head reaching only to the bottom of Willie's boner's swollen head. I gasped for air, hardly believing how hot and sensual this was, my submissive body position was begging him to mount me.
He lifted his head, sweat on his forehead, a pinkish flush to his face, and barely above the music, "You ready for it, Dylan?" All I could do was nod. My face was sweaty and wet with Willie's spit. It added to the feeling of being slippery and slimy and ready to be dominated by Willie's long erection. He moved back slightly, and I felt his wet cock head at my anus. Then, without hesitating, he humped it inside me hard without lube. It hurt, but I didn't care; I sang out with the song, looking at Willie through slits in my eyelids; I saw his glazed eyes, his mouth open, panting little burst of air, a small bubble of spit at the corner of his mouth.
Willie's hard boner went inside me two inches with that first thrust, and a calmer look came over him, and then another thrust of his hips sent three more inches of boner up my rectum. We both moaned, "Ahh, ooh..." Then a steady push of the remaining two-plus inches of boner slid tightly up my ass with Willie's eyes wide open now, and then he bent his head back so much I saw his Adam's apple protrude. Huh, that was the first time I'd noticed his Adam's apple. His head came back with a slight smile on his lips as he withdrew almost his entire cock, and I thought I was going to cum right then. It felt so good, but I didn't cum.
Another "Hallelujah" began, along with two quick hip thrusts driving his cock back and forth inside me, the pain lessening with each thrust. He began five-inch thrusting, and now the pleasure overtook the discomfort; the pleasure was pouring off my prostate gland, and his fat, fast-moving iron rod sensitized my anus, and it was so good! He drove his cock inside me again, and I was limp under him, feeling wholly dominated by Willie and his boner. Dominated most wonderfully, pleasure covering my body with every trip Willie's boner made up my ass. My cock was as hard as Willie's, the head of it poking his belly with every thrust he made. .
His magnificent boner insisted I open up for it, and now Willie's doing whole seven-inch penetrations, and I'm moaning, "Willie, Willie, fuck me, fuck me," the sound of music faded under the force of Willie's fucking. He forcefully pushed my knees down against the mattress on either side of me, my feet in the air, and fucked me like I've never been fucked before. Hallelujah, over and over.
My eyes were tightly closed as I concentrated on the incredible sensations in my rectum, barely hearing the music now. My nuts were churning cum, my cock was twitching, and then that unmistakable feeling of impending climax. I held my breath, then squealed, contracting every muscle in my body as cum shot out of my boner to splat on Willie's belly button, as worlds collided in my head.
As a billion points of light and pleasure streaked over me, I shudder, and Willie fucked me faster, and my second cum shot hit his chest just as Willie emptied his nuts up inside my bowels. It was so squishy inside me that Willie's boner slipped out of me twice. The first time it slipped out, he was firing some creamy cum, and it ended up on my scrotum. I was stroking my cock with every hump of Willie's cock up my ass, fabulous, fabulous, hallelujah!
When Willie fumbled his boner back inside me, it felt so good I moaned, "Ahhhhh. Yeah..." and he pumped my asshole for a couple more minutes. He stopped thrusting, exhausted, leaving his cock inside me; him lying on me, squishing cum between us as he quietly moaned and squirmed on top of me.
I could feel his heart pounding just as hard and fast as mine. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I hugged him against me for all I was worth. I wrapped my legs on top of his, and he got his arms around my arms. We were a tight bundle of teenage boys; from a glance, someone would have trouble deciding whose body part belonged to whom. We were wet with cum, spit, and sweat and as tight together as a ball of twine, and just like that, the music was over, our ragged breathing the only sound.
Our bodies slid against one another to get tighter together, cum squeezed out of my ass around his semi-hard cock. Willie squirmed his knees up to my buttocks, and I rearranged my legs to get him in a scissor-hold around his back. We tightened everything up, and I could feel his cock slide up inside me another inch. I took quick breaths and hugged him tighter. Willie's lips against my ear, "Tell me you love me, Dylan." I said, "I love you, Willie," he kissed my ear, then tongued it until I thought I'd faint from the sensations, saliva dripping from my ear onto my neck.
I didn't believe I was in love with him, but I think I loved him as a gay friend who I had sex with. Giving up on my ear, Willie very quietly said, in a speculative manner, "Hmm, I think I fell a little bit in love with you when our tops, Carl and Larry, were fucking us at Carl's, and you and I held hands while we got fucked."
I mumbled, "Oh, uh-huh." His cock was getting harder now, and he began very short thrusts with a burst of warm, moist air from his mouth on my neck with each thrust of his cock. It wasn't long before he was fully boned again. He mumbled, "Oh my God, this feels so good," and I loosened my legs just a little so he could start fucking me again with longer thrusts.
Shortly, with sweat dripping off his forehead, he was again doing full seven-inch humps in and back. He broke free of my arms to lift me and push my knees down against my sides again and fucked me steadily for ten or twelve minutes, with both of us going, "Ah, oh," with every thrust in and every pull out. Willie finally groaned, "I'm going to cum again." I think we both splattered a spurt of cum about the same time. He was breathing hard when he laid back down on my sweaty body, his cock inside me. We were silent except for our raspy breathing.
We lay together in a ball for ten minutes or so, and then we both had to pee. When Willie reluctantly pulled out of me, I felt so empty back there and so wet back there, too. His cum, drooled down from my asshole to join the earlier drools that had dried on the inside of my thighs. With a deep breath, I followed Willie out of bed and into the bathroom. After peeing, we climbed back into bed. Willie pulled the covers over us, and we quietly talked about our lovemaking, as Willie called it. That was okay with me. Then, I was truthful when I told him it was the most sexually satisfying fuck I'd ever had with anyone and that, furthermore, sex with him was thrilling to me.
He asked, "Thrilling, huh? You're glad I made you my boyfriend, then, right?" That sounds like a pompous, braggadocio thing for him to say, but the way Willie said it was sweet. It's hard to explain, but with Willie, his words often don't match the emphasis he puts on them. I said, "Oh yeah, Willie! Being your boyfriend rocks!" He asks, "How about the sex?" I'm like, "I already told you you're the best." He grinned, "Yeah, but I liked hearing it."
This is how you should feel after sex. Happy, sexually satisfied, and grateful to be with the one you're with.
We lay on our backs, our sides touching, and Willie's arm under my neck. Occasionally, he'd roll over on his side and nuzzle the side of his face against mine. So far, I haven't even come close to tiring of cuddling with Willie, and I'm not tired of his natural scent, either. I press my nose against his neck to inhale his unique smell. We lay together talking about things that happened earlier in the night, or as Willie puts it, earlier on our date. I was fascinated that he'd put together that CD of Hallelujah renditions. The song isn't teen material, as I said, but it was so like Willie to adopt that kind of unique song as his private mood enhancer for sex. Willie is an original teen who never ceases to amaze me.
He murmurs, "You're my boyfriend, and you'll need to find a way to get away during the week to see me." He still slips into that absurd dominant mannerism that doesn't sound believable coming from him. He's following his roommate, Larry's, example. I want to keep Willie from acting like his roommate without hurting his feelings. I explained my family situation, describing how close Chubby and I are and how we do almost everything together. I can't let Chubby down and leave him alone for dinner. I explained that if I told Chubby I was hanging out with a new friend, he'd assume he was invited to hang out with you, too.
After a further discussion, it came down to this: I can't tell my family I'm going on a date with my boyfriend because they don't know I'm gay, and I can't say I'm going to hang out with my new bud named Willie, because Chubby will want to come too, which means no sex for Willie and me. Willie listened with a sympathetic expression on his face. I was running out of ways to say the same thing.
Finally, he took an exasperated breath, held up both hands and said, "Okay, enough, Dylan! I can see it won't be simple for you, but I want you to do it anyway. We'll talk tomorrow about me picking you up on Tuesday at six-thirty for our next date. You figure out what to tell everyone. I need to put my foot down with this. I'm sorry to be firm, but it's necessary".
Whoa, that was not expected! I took a deep breath and surprised myself by saying, "Okay, Willie, I will. Somehow, I'll come up with something to explain why I needed to go someplace Tuesday night." Willie goes, "Yes, that's my boy, and you may as well set it up for every Tuesday night. Saturday and Tuesday will be our date nights. Sorry to have to get so stern with you, but I think taking the lead here is up to me. I know what's best for us".
Getting pissed off at his attitude, I was about to lose it and blurt out something I'd probably be sorry I said, but he leaned in and murmured, "Don't pout," and put his lips on my mouth. I'd missed my opportunity to protest because we were off to the races making out again, and I loved that. He broke the long kiss, pushed the palm of his hand up my forehead, flattening my short bangs, quietly saying, "You can't wait for Carl to give you a haircut. That might be a month from now. I'll take you to my hairstylist. I know I seem bossy, baby, but one of us needs to take charge, and I'm more experienced. Are we good with Tuesday being our regular date night during the week?"
I didn't want to fight because this was the most incredible night for sex I'd ever dreamed of having, and I didn't want it to end badly; plus, he sort of hypnotized me. I nod, "Yes, Willie," and he asks, "And you'll be coming with me from now on for your haircuts, right?" I nodded again, and he asked, "On my schedule, right?" "Yes, Willie."
He kissed me and murmured, "Okay, good. Now, move your head to the side. I want to give you my signature hickey." I'm uncertain when I fell into this, and I can't describe how much I liked it. I'm referring to this luscious submissive trance he somehow put me in, but I moved my head as he wanted and fell asleep with him sucking and licking a spot on my neck. First Carl, and now my actual boyfriend is giving me a hickey, a mark like a cowboy's brand on cattle, so everyone will know who they belong to.
He woke me around one in the morning. The first thing I noticed was that I was not at home. I never expected to spend the night here. Willie murmured, "Why don't you spend the night with me?" He woke me up to ask me that. I'm flustered, "Spend the night? My Mom would call the cops about her missing son. I'll spend the night when it's planned. Jesus, I've got dried cum all over me, and..."
Willie says, "Take it easy! Get up, and we'll take a five-minute shower, and then I'll drive you home. Don't panic, Dylan. Be calm, like me." I mutter, "Uh-huh, let's do it."
The shower water stung my new hickey, which Willie had really done a number on. He may be too much for me to handle. We drove to my house with the BMW's top up, and when we got there, Willie made out with me in the car for ten minutes before I could convince him I was too tired for any more. I still felt sexually fulfilled to overflowing, but that boy had an insatiable sex drive.
Before letting go of me, he said, "You're not mad at me for being stern with you earlier tonight, are you? Please say you're not. I only do it because we need to be together more than one night a week. You can understand that, can't you, Dylan? Come closer," and instead of letting me answer, he kissed me some more. Again, I didn't want to argue and spoil the evening, and I liked him so much that I didn't want to hurt his feelings either. When I got the chance, I said, "I can't be mad at you, Willie; you're my boyfriend."
One more sloppy kiss on my lips, and he said, "I love you, but I won't walk you to the door tonight because it's too late for that. Don't worry, I'll call you," and that was the end of our date at two o'clock in the morning. I slept like a baby in my bed. The next morning, Chubby had to drag me out of bed so we could cook our special Sunday morning breakfast for our Moms. Chubby frowned, asking...
To be continued...
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