DYLAN!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Chubby had tears in his eyes, seeing how beat up I was, but I tried to calm him, mumbling, "Chubby, I'm hurt but not injured. These are cuts and bruises that will heal fairly quickly. That maniac is a strong man who could easily kill me, but he knew what he was doing and made sure not to injure me in any serious manner."
Chubby remained highly agitated and near hysteria, but oddly, that had a positive effect on my outlook because I was consoling him instead of hating Joel. I mean, I do hate Joel, but I'm not fixated on the hate. Chubby and I made a pact after the Chevez beating that we would never again let a wrong done to one of us go unpunished. Also, Chubby caring so much made me feel the loving concern he felt for me. It was so touching it made me want to weep, but I'd done that earlier, and I'm done with tears. I want revenge.
Chubby nodded his head when I said I wasn't injured, and he murmured, "Let's get some fresh air." We walked around the block twice and smoked three cigarettes between us, passing one back and forth and then lighting another one. Chubby was looking at me closely and said, "The left side of your face is swollen, and the right side is bright red." I shrugged, and he told me I had a cut near my eye and blood on my chin. Then he said, "Tell me about it, Dylan. Tell me everything."
I felt it would be cathartic, so I started at the beginning and told him about the mysterious queer note in my locker and then the condom thing and why I thought it was this maniac, Joel Mc Carty, who did it. Chubby had heard of Joel dropping out of school. He's only a few years older than us and is known as a problem in Middle School. I explained to Chubby how Joel was a bodybuilder on steroids, about the cigarette smoke incidents, and how Joel used those times as an excuse to harass and finally beat me up. Joel calling me those gay girlie boy names. I told him everything as best I could, but Joel had been yelling at me after smacking the shit out of me, and I was in a blurry haze, knocked me unconscious for a few seconds, and no memory of the actual smack or landing on the cement steps.
Chubby thought about the name-calling, accusing me of acting gay or whatever Joel projected in his head, and said, "I can't imagine why that fuckwad would be calling you faggy names. You don't look or act anything remotely like a queer at all. You don't have any, um, you know, stereotypical queer mannerisms. You don't act queer, but that Mc Carty guy sure as shit is queer." I mutter, "He is a latent homosexual. I'll bet my left nut on that."
Nodding, Chubby added, "That pervert is projecting his desires and perversion onto you. He sees you the way he wishes you were. That's one sick motherfucker, and he's got you mixed up in his brain somehow. That sicko can't admit it's him, not you, that's the fucking queer."
I wish Chubby weren't so homophobic, and I never knew he was until recently. It's disturbing, so I wasn't feeling comfortable about the direction of Chubby's conversation, so, not wanting to prolong it, I changed the topic. "Yeah, Chubby, but what are we going to do about it?" We went up to Chubby's place, ate the dinner he'd prepared, and talked more about my afternoon nightmare. Chubby began ranting and raving about the two of us meeting Joel in the parking lot tomorrow morning. I told him that, frankly, Joel would kick both our asses, but Chubby wasn't thinking about a fair fight. He was planning on hitting that asshole over the head with a baseball bat to even the playing field a little. Then more conventional fighting, beating the shit out of him with fist flying and feet kicking.
By the time we'd finished dinner, we'd both calmed down and come to our senses. We will get revenge on Joel, but I needed the lawn job for now, so revenge would have to wait. "We got to keep our eye on the prize, Dylan. When we get the money we need, then we even some scores, including Rickie's." I ask, "What score do we need to settle with Rickie? I thought you were friends." Chubby muttered, "For now, Dylan, just take my word that there's a score to settle with Rickie. Those two assholes will find out that they fucked with the wrong boys." We left it at that for now.
Chubby's concern and support for me in the aftermath of my beating intensified my deep affection for him. It is a warm sensation in my heart to know the person I love most in the world cares about me as much as Chubby does. You can't fake the level of emotion he displayed, but there's something else that surfaced here. What is Rickie doing to Chubby that requires payback? There have been hints of problems with the window washer boys, Chubby being grumpy after work, and so forth, but there is nothing specific.
We cleaned up our dishes in the kitchen, then went to the finished basement in my condo, climbed into the recliner, and watched the last two innings of the Red Sox game. Chubby was against my side like always, and we talked quietly while watching TV. Our conversation was sentimental stuff about how he and I have been together almost every day of our lives and how we depend so much on each other for support and encouragement, Chubby adding, "And we love each other, Dylan. We're not queer, so I'm not afraid to say I love you. We're like brothers for fuck sake, and brothers usually love one another."
I hugged him so tightly, the side of my face against his, knowing not to push this conversation any further on the topic of love. I'm happy Chubby can say he loves me, but I knew he felt awkward saying the words. Then we watched the game without talking, but we were lying against one another the whole time. It was a wonderful evening with Chubby, almost counterbalancing the horror of earlier today with Joel.
I overslept Tuesday morning, groaning and sore all over. I ran for the bus, knowing the prick driver wouldn't wait even if he saw someone hurrying to make his bus. I was there in time, though, and took my usual seat in the back, alone. Chubby told me on Sunday that he was staying late at work to earn overtime pay tonight. I don't think he had a choice, but he knows I'm helping Willie set up his computer, so I won't be here, so he might as well work overtime. Helping Willie with his computer is the lie I told Chubby. Willie is picking up his 'date,' meaning me, at seven-thirty.
That's true enough, but my mind was mostly on Joel McCarty, not Willie, this morning. I'm going to do everything I can to stay out of Joel's way, and when I do see him, which is inevitable because we work on the same crew, I'll do what he told me to do, which is don't speak to him and walk like a man. That's easy because it's how I always walk. I've never been a swisher like Willie's two friends in Cambridge. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
I'm not even going to look at Joel, and I won't smoke if he's anywhere I can see him. That's all I can do for now. I hate letting him think he can treat me that way, but for now, I've got to play it just like that. Damn! It does help tremendously to know when summer ends, Chubby and I are going to make Joel very sorry he fucked with me. Then, another worrisome thought pops up: there might be something horrible in my locker again this morning. Fuck!
Trying to change my mental outlook, I think about something good coming up. First, I had my date with Willie, and then, on Wednesday night, there was the barbecue and pool party at the Dickers. That's more like it. Oh man, I wonder what new tricks Dodger has in store for me. Jeez, I really had to smile thinking about that surprising janitor's closet jerk-off we had together. That kid should wear a warning label as they put on Dunkin' take-out cups: 'Contents very hot!' No shit.
I went directly to my locker and opened it. After lying, telling Robby my bumps, cuts, and bruises happened, tripping and falling down four steps at the condo. He looked skeptical but probably figured, why would I lie about it? Then, I smiled the whole time Robby and I were doing the massages because I had to control my grunts when a sharp pain from a sore spot was being massaged. Out on the job doing one lawn after another, Joel looked at me hard. I looked down, and he walked away nodding, satisfied he'd made his point. After that, I stayed away from him as much as I could, and when I couldn't, I looked down like a whipped dog.
First thing in the morning, he was aggressive with that challenging, hard stare at me when I would have thought he'd be a little nervous that maybe I called the cops on him or at least complained to Mr. Dickers. The two things he threatened me not to do. Chubby and I don't deal with the police, and we decided it's best not to make waves on the job until I've made the money I need, so I'm not telling anybody anything. Only Chubby.
Once I got over the humiliating early morning encounter with Joel, acting timid and scared, the day flew by. Robby and I were quite intimate with the afternoon massages. I was getting really good vibes from him. Jeez, my boner was extra hard and just about to leak by the time he was done with me. Omigod, my body tingled, and so did my dick. Robby is so hot. and he's so nice. A really nice kid.
Tomorrow night at his pool, there will be a lot of slippery, tight, smooth teen-boy bodies getting squeezed and hugged, all in the name of rough-housing and wrestling. Teen boys in a pool are about as hot as it can get wearing swimsuits, and then the next level is skinny dipping, which the Dickers claim never happens in their pool. Hmm, a challenge! I can't help but wonder if Robby's and my intimacy with the massages will escalate when the opportunity presents itself, maybe in the pool.
At home after work, I didn't bother with dinner because Chubby's not here and I'm eating at Willie's. Instead, I was getting ready for my date. Showered, I used a hairdryer to get my hair to stand up in a flattop like Willie's. My hair is now too long, though, so I combed it over. I wish Carl was home to give me a haircut. Oh, jeez, my dick got stiff from thinking that thought. I like Willie better than Carl, but Carl gets me sexually hotter and crazily aroused.
Then, I muttered, "Fuck," and, to satisfy Willie, I used hair gel to get my hair standing up. It looked silly, but maybe Willie would agree, and I could forget about trying to have a hairstyle like his. That's too nutty, anyway. Checking myself in the mirror, I rolled my eyes but was glad I couldn't detect anything too obvious from those face slaps of Joel's, and that surprised me because they seemed so devastating yesterday. The little cut was still there, and maybe my cheek was slightly puffy, but it was nothing that should draw much attention. Joel slapped me four or five times, but with his open hand, so he wouldn't leave any lasting marks that could be used as proof, he beat me up.
Just as I was about to go out to my front steps for a pre-date cigarette, the doorbell rang. It was Willie, and he had a beautiful smile on his cute
face when he said, "I came to pick you up the proper way this time, Dylan." At least he didn't have a corsage. I muttered, "Huh?" and he hesitantly asked, "No one is here, right?" There was a little sunburn on his longish, cute nose. He has a healthy, tanned, almost pretty face, but he is totally one hundred percent boy; that's what Willie is. His corny nineteen-fifties flattop went perfectly with his all-American boyish looks, too.
Swallowing and trying not to act like a dweeb who's overwhelmed with their date's attractiveness, as I was at the moment, I said, "Hi, Willie. You look nice. Um, no, no one is here. Come on in. Forgive me for acting like a dweeb, sorry." Willie walked in, ignoring my embarrassing beginning, held open his arms, and in a charming way said, "Come on, baby, let's have our first kiss for this date." He's so unique he hypnotizes me. I walked into his arms thinking I was lucky to be on a date with a boy who looked so cute and clean, healthy, sexy, boyish, and innocent: All in one.
I got wrapped up in Willie's arms around my waist; my arms went around his neck. Willie Worthington is uplifting my spirits second by second, hugging me with undisguised affection. Just what I needed. Chubby is always there for me, of course, but it means a lot that there is someone
else who cares for me, too, especially after Joel dominated me so badly that I lost some respect for myself. The make-out following our first kiss was so typically Willie, meaning it was hot and sexy, and it quickly put me into an erotic state of mind; everything else flew from my brain.
A minute into that make-out with Willie, my thoughts turned to concerns that I'd be creaming my cargo shorts shortly. I gently pulled my head away from our make-out and said, "Willie, it's embarrassing, but I'm afraid I'm going to cum in my pants." He grinned and matter-of-factly said, "Don't be embarrassed, I expect you to do that." He put his mouth on mine, and that talented tongue of his went to work. Oh my God, it was all around my mouth, my lips, my nose, my neck, feeling so smooth and sexy. I quickly surrendered myself to Willie.
His lips sucked my top lip till I was going, "Nooo, ohhh, Ahhh..." Willie giggled through his kisses at my horniness, grinding his crotch gently into mine. It appears that he was determined to make me cum spontaneously. It was a luscious feeling to have a wet cock in my pants during this sloppy make-out, on the verge of climax with each second that ticked by. As my climax got closer and closer to exploding, the thought floated by in my mind that Willie is a lot more experienced in everything than I gave him credit for. Did he learn everything from Larry?
I relaxed and let myself climax right into my clean underwear. Climaxing without me or anyone touching my dick. Willie was rubbing up the back of my head, sucking on my tongue, making quiet pleasure sounds in his throat. His boner was never in doubt, so, trying not to squeal like a school girl, I felt the first small squirt of cum splattered into my jockey shorts, then I went, "Ahhhh, ohhh," as cum shot up from my nuts and burned shooting out my cock's pee slit, me moaning and carrying on like it was my first climax ever, but that's what happens when a person is horny as a toad.
It felt so hot, so fantastic to cum without touching my cock. I was humping against Willie, not thinking about anything but my dick and Willie, groaning and moaning, "Oh, Willie. Mmm, fuck..." He held me tightly and let me have my climax, the sides of our faces touching, as Willie quietly asked, "You okay, Dylan? Was that good for you?" He sounded so sincerely concerned and so loving and, like I've said any number of times,
Willie's so sweet. I nodded, clinging to him as follow-up after effects from my climax zipped pleasurably around my groin. it was such a fabulously sexy thing to experience. I'm still relatively new to all this stuff, and it's all wonderful.
Cum was drooling past my jockey shorts wetting halfway down my thigh, which was the only thing that kept this from being a perfect experience for me. I'd thought earlier that making out with Willie could cause spontaneous climaxing because I'd come close to doing it with him before, so it wasn't a big surprise that I did it tonight. Then I briefly wondered if it was possible for me to go through the rest of my life and never meet another guy who could make me do what Willie just made me do. It's possible, I suppose.
Willie stepped away and broke my hypnotic spell, saying, " I have something for you. I bought something for you." Another surprise. I excitedly said, "You bought something for me? What is it?" Willie said, "Oh my God, look at that!" He was pointing at the spreading cum stain on the front
of my shorts. We both laughed awkwardly, and then he said, "Do you want to change your shorts first? Go ahead, it's okay." Damn, I didn't get many presents, so I went upstairs to the bathroom to strip and wipe cum off, and then into my bedroom, naked from my waist down, my limp dick swinging.
Willie ad followed me upstairs, making me jump, saying, "Hey, nice dick, babe. I love that shaved pube look you've got going for you, too." He was pretending he'd never seen it before. I was going through my bureau drawer looking for clean underwear, casually asking, "Do you want me to
shave your pubes for you, Willie?" He had a little box in his hand. It wasn't wrapped or anything. He shrugged and said, "Yeah, I'd like that," and held out the box. I was putting on jockey shorts, took the box, mumbling, "Jeez, thanks, Willie. It's a rare day that I get a present."
As I lift the lid of the little box, Willie mutters, "It's not much. I saw it yesterday while looking at watches and thought it would look good on you." It was a plain metal necklace with a cross pendant at the front. The metal chain was the color of cloudy stainless steel. The cross pendant was about an inch long and an inch across and had a black shiny material inside the metal outline of the cross. It was a very cool necklace.
As I stared at my present, something about it made me think it was expensive, but I didn't know what it was. Willie said, "It's from the men's collection of David Yurman. I got it at Long's Jewelers at the Mall." I asked, "This used to belong to some guy named David or something? It's a regifted necklace?" Willie smiled in a way that I interpreted as he wasn't sure if I was serious. He took the necklace from me and fastened it around my neck, saying, "Don't be funny; you know it's not used. David Yurman is a designer of jewelry. There, it looks so cool on you." He hugged me around the neck and said in my ear, "I'm so lucky to have you as my boyfriend. I love you so much." Wow, I was really touched.
As I admired my necklace in the mirror over the bureau, I said, "I love you too, Willie, and, as I told you before, I'm the lucky one; you're special, not me. I love this present. I've never had a necklace. Thank you!" Willie looked embarrassed and waved his hand at me and said something about it was nothing; he had about ten necklaces. I didn't doubt that, but I was a tiny bit concerned about one thing, and it was wearing a necklace. Chubby never wore a necklace. I said, real casually, "Ah, you say it's from the men's part of that David what's-his-name guy's stuff, right?"
Chuckling, Willie mumbles, "Oh, come on, stop teasing me, Dylan. Anyone can see it's a guy's necklace. It's nothing like a girl's, for Christ's sake.
You're always joking around." I grinned, "Yeah, I can see that," although, of course, I hadn't been sure. We kissed again quickly, and then I took him downstairs to the little half bath off the finished basement and pulled his shorts off. With my cool necklace pendant cross swinging and then settling against my smooth chest, I said, "Sit on the toilet seat, Willie, and I'll make short work of those pubes." I'm glad to do this for him because it's more pleasant blowing someone without pubic hairs getting in my mouth.
The necklace felt cool around my neck, and that cross pendant had a nice solid feel to it. Nothing flimsy about it. Willie was holding the bottom of his polo shirt up away from his lap as I ran the electric trimmers through his pubic hairs. That left only a sandpaper feel to his pubes, which I wet with warm water and then lathered with shaving cream. Neither of us spoke as I shaved him. Willie ran his fingers over the top of my hair a few times. I did this slowly because I didn't want to nick his belly with the razor.
I'd been holding his long dick in my left hand during the shaving, and it had become a full-fledged boner. I felt all around his smooth groin area, mumbling, "Perfect, Willie." He dropped the bottom of his Polo shirt and breathlessly said, "Suck me off, Dylan. I got ridiculously aroused as you were doing that. Can you do that thing with your throat that you did last time? I want to cum in your mouth." Jeez, I love to suck teen cocks, so no
hesitation from me.
His now smooth, hairless pubic patch made his penis look even longer. I guided that long, hard boner inside my mouth and sucked on the head for two minutes as Willie was running the fingers of both hands through my hair, grunting and doing little humps off the toilet seat. "Dylan, baby, that feels fantastic. I love it!" and then he comes out, "I wish you wouldn't put gel in your hair. I like dry, clean hair. Okay?" As he asked, "Okay," I swallowed his cock and went through a series of swallowing motions in my throat. He was making squeaky sounds from his throat, then I pulled his out of my throat and sucked on it again, then swallowed it again, then everything all over again. That was it for Willie. He sounded like he was underwater, gargling for oxygen as he climaxed, firing most of his cum down my throat. I got a nice taste when I backed completely off of it, and he fired a spurt of cum in my mouth; the first big stream went down my throat.
I gently sucked on the head of his long boner as Willie moaned, moving around on the toilet seat and had made three weird squealing sounds blowing his load, and he told me later he'd never heard himself make sounds anything like that before. Of course, he's never been sucked off like that before, either. We cleaned up in the half bath a bit while Willie complained about the gel in my hair again. "These flattops need to stand up naturally, Dylan. You need to train it to stand up, not gel up your hair like you're spiking it. Come over to the sink."
I did, and he had me bend over so he could wash the gel out of my hair. Then, upstairs in my mother's bedroom he used her hairdryer and a round hairbrush to get my hair to stand-up without gel, but my hair is too long.
Willie turned off the hairdryer, shaking his head. Mumbled, "You need a haircut," gave me a wet kiss on my lips, and we went outside to stand on my steps, so I could smoke a cigarette before getting in his car. When I was done with the cigarette, I refrained from flicking the butt, just stepping on it instead. The night was quite warm, and with a top-down convertible and the big rock & roll sound flowing from his stereo, it was a cool-hot ride to his house. Willie said we were going to hang out there and that the chef was making burgers and stuff for our dinner.
As we cooly drove down Route 9, Willie groped himself and said, "It feels really neat to have shaved pubes! Thanks, Dylan." I smiled and reached over to squeeze his hand like Chubby's always doing to me. We were quickly at his driveway, heading to his mansion.
On my Tuesday night date with Willie, I wanted to do something with his computer so I could rationalize I wasn't telling a one hundred percent lie to Chubby, just a ninety-nine percent one. Willie, of course, had a state-of-the-art system, much too sophisticated for me to understand, but he gave me the password; I logged on and fucked around with it awhile. Willie stood beside me, rubbing my back and mumbling, "What are you trying to do, Dylan?" I signed off, "I was checking to make sure you were using this excellent Apple computer at its maximum potential."
He asked, "And am I?" I mutter, trying not to laugh, "I don't know. It's too advanced for me." Snickering, he moved the palm of his hand from my forehead to the back of my head, playing with my hair. Constant bodily contact with me is Willie's thing. And, you know what? None of his touching was annoying to me at all. I loved the attention and the feel of his hands on me. Being with him was fun and funny, although, like Chubby, Willie wasn't always funny intentionally, but neither was I. He looked really good, and tasted good, and smelled sexy and hot and boyish and yummy. There wasn't anything about Willie that I didn't like; nothing important, anyway.
We had dinner at this long table covered with a white linen tablecloth. Willie and I sat across from each other at the end, nearest the kitchen. Two tall, thin candles were burning with the huge overhead chandelier on a dimmer switch turned down. Willie was the master of the mansion and told the housekeeper, who acted as a waitress, to please turn on some music. She played a forty-some-year-old Bruce Springsteen's album called "Born to Run." This was the first time I'd ever heard it, but I recognized one of the songs from a radio station that plays rock music from the seventies, eighties, and nineties. Some very excellent rock from that era, and, to be honest, a lot of it sucks too. It's odd dinner music, in any case.
The food was, um, different. Willie called it simple fare kicked up a notch and cooked perfectly. The cheeseburger had a cheese I'd never heard of called Gruyere. There was sauteed sweet onion with a dressing that reminded me of Ken's Russian dressing on the toasted bun. Nice roll, I gotta say. At first, though, I was worried because the burger wasn't cooked much. It had a nice char on the outside but was red inside. I looked at Willie, nodding at the burger as if... is this safe to eat raw? He grinned, shaking his head, and said, "Don't break my balls by pretending something is wrong with that cheeseburger."
What? I muttered, "I'm not breaking your balls, Willie. C'mon, this is an undercooked cheeseburger. It's almost raw." He laughed, "Yeah, undercooked, haha, sure." I'm not into raw meat, but it's obvious Willie thinks this is okay, and I'm his guest, so I hesitantly took a bite. It was delicious. Willie was eating it, so it must be a special hamburger, and you don't need to cook it much.
Instead of French fries, there was a big serving of the creamiest, most succulent scallop potatoes I've ever tasted and then a wedge of iceberg lettuce with a white dressing with spots of mold or something where the dressing had gone bad, past the used by date or whatever. Willie said, "There you go, breaking my balls again. It hasn't gone bad. It's blue cheese dressing the chef makes from scratch."
Huh? Like I said, it was tasty but scary. Needless to say, I'd never heard of blue cheese or blue cheese dressing. It had a very unusual taste. Then, almost ruining the dinner further, was the red wine. I tried my best to drink it, but it sucked, so I drank some water, and that was a little fucked-up, too. It was sparkling water of some kind with a lemon slice in it. To be fair, except for the water and wine, everything was different but really tasty.
The dessert was strawberries over vanilla ice cream. They didn't try to get fancy and fuck this up. The chef, who I never actually saw, was maybe trying a little too hard and was fucking up some classic fare to use Willie's words. The ice cream, like the salad dressing, was homemade. With all their money, you wouldn't think they'd have to have the chef concoct homemade ice cream and salad dressing from scratch. I know Ben and Jerry's is expensive ice cream, but, come on, these guys are loaded. I mentioned it to Willie, who smiled, mumbling about casting pearls before swine.
Like last time, Willie had memorized conversation for dinner, and in between bites of a raw cheeseburger, he told me about the difference between women's and men's English. What they say and what they actually mean. With women, sometimes yes means no, and maybe always means no. If she says we need, that means she wants. There were a few more. Then, making a face, he muttered, "It sounded funny when the comedian said it." I say, "I can see how it could be funny. I mean, you said it funny." We eat more, and Willie drinks most of his wine and then says, "When men tell a woman, nice dress, he means nice cleavage. Love you means let's fuck, I'm bored means let's fuck, and so does let's dance. When a man tells a woman, those shoes don't go with that dress, he means I'm queer; leave me the fuck alone."
I nod and eat some scallop potatoes, making me yearn for French fries, then say, "These aren't as funny as some of the others on our last date, but the fact you memorized these for me makes me love you." He said, "You're right; the others were funnier, although, as I said, the comedian I tried copying made this shit sound funny. Anyway, that's the end of my memorized dinner conversation."
Willie apparently feels it's his responsibility to have conversations, which is useful, except it never gives me a chance to say much. He described some of the many things that fill his days. For example, he'd had two kids from his prep school over for the afternoon on Sunday. They come over at least once a week, and Willie goes to their house almost every week for an afternoon. Neither of the guys was Larry, and neither of them was gay, although they knew Willie was. He said, "We did exactly what you and I will do after dinner, Dylan. Play tennis and then take a swim in the pool."
I told him I didn't know how to play tennis, and Willie said, "You'll learn, just like I'm learning to play golf." I shrugged, thinking that I'd like to be able to play tennis. Willie continues telling me about his regular activities, including driving into Cambridge a couple of times a week to hang out with his buds. Sometimes, during the day, he and his cousin, who lives in Wayland, see the Red Sox play at Fenway Park. Other times, they go into Boston for the day to mess around. He takes piano lessons twice a week and practices an hour a day. He has weekly tutoring lessons in French because he got a C- grade in that course last year. He described other things that keep him busy until my eyes glazed over, trying to contemplate his mind-boggling schedule. He also dated me two nights a week. Holy shit!
Chubby and I hung out during summers before we got jobs. That's how I'd describe it, handing out, and oh yeah, we got into trouble once in a while, too. Willie's so much more than I thought he was at first. I blush, thinking back to how superior I felt in our early times together during Carl's party. I was under the impression Willie was a dweeb with no self-confidence who had no friends and just happened to be cute in a unique way. He never came on like a rich, sophisticated, well-rounded overachiever like he appears to be. I'm impressed but baffled, too, as to why he was so taken with me.
What does he see in me that I don't see? I don't get why he seems so proud to introduce me as his boyfriend. He'd have no trouble getting a boyfriend, and he already has a lot of friends. And I don't understand why he looks up to Larry.
After dinner, we wandered around their beautiful grounds with Willie, naming various flowers and plants. Latin names that I wouldn't even be able to pronounce. We eventually circled back to an area with a lighted tennis court, full basketball court, and swimming pool. "This is our sports complex, Dylan," Willie said laughingly as if the area was embarrassingly inadequate. "We only have one court, and as you can see, there is no place to put another one, so my parents can't have tennis parties here. The pool is small, too, but since it's just you and me, it'll be perfect for us, right?" I nodded and smiled, completely overwhelmed.
We shot baskets first and then played a one-on-one game. Willie's only an inch taller than me, so it was a fair game as we were at equal skill levels. Then, onto the tennis court where I had never so much as swung a tennis racket. Willie gave me one of his rackets to use and gave me a basic lesson; then, he lobbed shots at me. It wasn't difficult to return the shots when he lobbed tennis balls at me. I thought I was doing great until Willie put a little extra on his serve, which was totally dangerous to a novice like me. He had an athletic grace about his every movement that I hadn't had an opportunity to see until tonight. I thought back to Carl's party again and how good a dancer Willie was as he tried to teach me to dance.
It's impossible not to admire a peer who can do many things better than you. I also felt slightly jealous that I never had the advantages that piles of money provide. It was getting dark but still quite humid and warm. Hidden lights began flickering on as the night darkened. "Time for a swim, Dylan, and please don't worry, I promise to get you home by twelve like you said. I know you need to work tomorrow."
I wondered about mosquitoes, but Willie said we wouldn't be bothered. There were many propane-fueled mosquito traps hidden around the grounds, eliminating mosquitoes. The pool wasn't like a regular backyard pool; it was made to look like a pond, about twenty by thirty feet, laid out irregularly, with a waterfall at one end. The water looked black instead of light blue like all the swimming pools I've seen. Subdued lighting created a very neat picture. It was very inviting.
A smiling Willie said, "Here you go, Dylan," he lifted my T-shirt over my head and pulled down my pants. "Wait!" I said, "I don't have a swimsuit!" Willie laughed and told me I was a riot. He pulled down my underwear, and I was naked except for ankle socks and sneakers, which I took off. I brilliantly assumed we were skinny dipping. Duh!
Willie got undressed and had me come around to the end opposite the waterfall, where a hammock was suspended between two trees. It wasn't a normal hammock, of course, but it was made to fit in with the decor of a pond in the forest with a waterfall. The forest consisted of beautiful decorative exotic types of trees and shrubs. We got in the hammock, which was quite comfortable and made of a soft material that smelled new or maybe just clean. Willie and I weren't new or clean; we were sweaty from playing tennis and basketball.
"Dylan, I've been dreaming about this since Sunday morning when I woke up," and he wrapped me in his arms and wrestled around until he was laying on top of me, his cock on my cock, his legs in between my legs. His tongue was in my mouth, and in short order, my boner was stretching six inches and painfully trying to get to six-and-a-half. Willie's boner was just as hard, noticeably longer, stretching for more, too. It was very sexy to be entangled with a sweaty boy... slippery, nasty, and hot. We didn't engage in conversation again until Willie had fucked me twice.
He fucked me in the same manner he did it Saturday night, except there was no music tonight. We were outside in a hammock, and it turned out to be even better than Saturday night, and that is saying a lot because Saturday night had been my best sexual experience ever... until tonight. Willie started with the unbelievably hot make-out while inching my legs up and getting his knees under my buttocks slightly. I was under his spell, and shortly, he had my legs pulled back and up in the air. Then he pushed in the first two inches of his boner. My boner was so hard there was a danger of it breaking off if we were knocked the wrong way.
No talking, but plenty of grunting, heavy breathing, sighs, and moans of pleasure. Willie, once he'd penetrated me with those two inches of boner, arranged my legs and ass and body exactly like he wanted them and then casually leaned forward, sliding his long, sweaty, precum-slippery boner the next five-plus inches up my ass. He grunted once when he was all the way in me, and with sweat dripping from his face, he pulled out almost all the way and then drove it all back up inside me. I was holding my breath as his long boner went in easier the second time, and by the fourth time, he had his rhythm, and he fucked me steadily for five minutes, the hammock swaying slightly in the warm, humid air.
Everything felt primitive and exciting and hot as sweat from Willie's face mixed with mine. I quickly became highly stimulated and couldn't hold off climaxing a big load with a great deal of pressure behind it, and almost feinting as it flew out of my boner, spraying up on my neck while I was crying out a desperate, "Oh my God, Willie. Oooh!" Then smaller cum spurts traveled from my nuts up my shaft to pool on my belly.
Shortly after, with me still trying to appreciate all the colors flashing in my head, Willie made a squealing sound next to my ear, and in a second, my bowels were full of his cum. He fucked me in a frenzy for a minute, some of his cum splattering as it drooled out of my asshole. His thrusting slowed down, then stopped as we got into that tight ball of teen boys that we'd gotten into Saturday night. My arms locked around his back, his arms around my neck, and his knees tightly on either side of my chest, my legs wrapped around his waist, locked together on his back, our faces beside one another with our now soft penises squished between our bellies.
When we were nice and snug, and everything was perfect, we tightened that ball of teen boys even tighter, and then Willie sucked on my neck for twenty minutes, giving me a bigger hickey than the other one he gave me, and even bigger than the one Carl gave me. I was writhing underneath Willie before he was done. He was just licking it now, and I began to feel his penis grow between our bellies. Willy gave up on the hickey, took a deep breath, unwrapped his arms and legs around me, and said, "Roll over for me, Dylan. I want to do you laying on your stomach."
I rolled over, not as easy as it sounds, in a hammock, and Willie murmured, "Thanks, baby," and slid his long boner back up inside me, filling me up nicely. His cum from the earlier climax made it slippery, and it was so sexy to think about that. Willie fucked me roughly for about fifteen minutes before he climaxed again. I had partially pushed up on my knees to reach under and help myself get off. I'd been right on the edge of climaxing when Willie shot his load, and mine blew immediately after, leaving me limp but happy.
We lay together quietly except when Willie would whisper in my ear that he loved me. Then, he'd ask if I loved him, and I'd say I did because I felt I did. When he finally pulled out of me for good, much of his cum drooled out, too, and stained the material of the hammock. He said he'd have it cleaned, not to worry. We dove into the pool and swam for twenty minutes, stopping frequently to hug and kiss. Saying it was a dreamy evening is an understatement.
The swim cooled us off and cleaned us, too. We got dressed after toweling off, and Willie drove me home, where we made out for five minutes in the car, and then I thanked him profusely for the necklace and for everything else. He said he'd call about our Saturday night date and then he was gone.
Lying in bed, coming down off the high of this evening, I thought... Wait! I'll be on our Wildwood vacation on Saturday!
To be continued...
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