DYLAN!
CHAPTER TWO
I've got my dick out, trying to start pissing, but I can't because this strange young man is staring at me. Giving up on pissing, I begin to put my dick away, muttering, ''Haha, I guess I don't need to piss," but the Semper Fi man yells, "Oh, no, you don't." What the fuck is it with this guy? I was panting, barely able to breathe, when this six-foot handsome guy took hold of my dick and casually put a hairy arm around my neck, under my chin, and used it to hold me up tight to his chest.
He said, "Relax against me, and you'll pee. Go ahead, relax." I gulped, my body as stiff as a board, and he yelled, "Relax, Goddammit!" Why was he annoyed that I couldn't pee? This is so inappropriate! It borders on assault. Hell, it is assault. To make matters worse, his five o'clock shadow scraped my cheek as he whispered in my ear, "Listen, you cute motherfucker, keep your body against mine and do what I fucking say. It shouldn't be this hard to take a piss. Relax!"
I squeak, "Could you let go of me, please?" More calmly, he said, "I'm helping you. Do what I tell you. Stay against me," and his arm moved from under my chin, his hand going under my T-shirt to rub my belly. This was so unexpected that I did what he said and stayed against him. As his fingers rubbed closer to my pubic hair, he murmured, "Close your eyes and picture a waterfall," and he said in a hypnotic voice, "Close your eyes and relax," and again in his soft, dreamy voice, "Close your eyes and relax."
To call this weird doesn't adequately describe its bizarreness. Even so, my eyes fluttered as my heart pounded dangerously hard and fast. There wasn't any way I could relax in this position. Undeterred, he appeared confident that I could and would, "Good, you're relaxing." Like before, he said that smoothly several times, and I started thinking about his breathless voice and the yoga-like mantra...
As I'm contemplating that, the man is still holding my dick, and I begin peeing. What? A pee stream started, slowly at first, but quickly got faster. Soon, the stream was fast and fat, piss coming out hard as a horse piss. I had both hands holding onto his hairy wrist, thinking, 'Oh, God, I've never pissed this hard before in my life...'
As my piss stream petered out, the man murmured, "There you go. Feel better?" Unconsciously, I nodded, "Yes, much better."
Whoa!! I really needed that piss, and I shuddered as he flicked my dick a few times to get the last drops to drop. Then, still holding me against him, he said, "That felt good, didn't it?" I muttered, "Un huh." He scratched the side of my jaw with his wire-like beard, putting his lips on my ear and whispering, "Come over here with me. This will feel good, too."
Hesitating, then shaking my head, he said louder, "Yes, you must come with me. It's not far. Just away from our piss tree." With an arm around my shoulders and still holding my dick, he walked me beside him to a nearby, low bench. I took tiny steps, the strange man murmuring encouragement, "That's good. Be careful; go a little further to that bench. Do you see the bench?"
Almost floating in a trance-like state, I murmured, "The bench. Yes, uh-huh, I see it." His voice was low and without anger, but it still sounded very authoritative. My hands were both loosely holding onto the hairy wrist of the arm with the hand holding my dick. At the bench, he sat down and started sucking my penis. What? Oh!
He had my nuts firmly in one hand, not hurting me but squeezing a little tighter than was comfortable. He sucked my dick slowly as if he had all the time in the world, occasionally squeezing my nuts hard enough to make me squeak out a sound, "AH!" He had brilliant blue eyes, and he would look up and open them wide. I don't know why he did that, but I looked away each time, and I did not attempt to move away because he had my nuts in his other hand.
I have, of course, sucked off Carl many times, but I'd never been sucked off, and it was a very unique sensation as part of a wildly unique situation. He got me hard by bobbing his head back and forth so that his lips massaged my cock from head to root. When it firmed up enough to satisfy him, he licked it for a while and then sucked on the head until I couldn't help but make "Ah, ah, ooh!" sounds.
The guy let go of my nuts and pulled down his shorts, and got hold of his long penis. Now it was my eyes that opened wide as that long cock of his got even longer when he stroked it. He stroked it steadily without slacking off his sucking and licking on mine. By now, I was huffing quick snorts of air. I'd never felt or seen anything like this before, and, Omigod, my cock was alive like never before, throbbing with sensational pleasure vibrations, my nuts buzzing and moving in their sac. I looked down again and did a double-take because he wore a wedding band on his left hand.
He's married? That thought, though, evaporated instantly as my cock felt so good I had to concentrate on it. It was shiny and slimy with spit and truly as hard as I've ever seen it, longer too, and maybe past the six-inch mark. It no longer was skinny-looking, and it felt fantastic. He pushed his face into my stomach so that his nose poked through my pubes, and some of my cock went into his throat. He did something with his throat muscles, and I was dancing on my toes, one foot than the other, moaning, "AH, AH, AH! Oh, no, oh..."
I was right at the tipping point of blowing my load down his throat when he pulled my cock out and licked up and down the shaft, letting the swollen head squeeze precum out that he lapped up... all the time, stroking his long cock. I had both hands on his broad, strong shoulders to keep from falling, my hips now humping on their own as again I reached the point of no return, and climaxing was mere moments away as I made desperate moans, almost whining because I needed to climax most desperately.
I felt my climax building as he put the head in his mouth and bobbed down on it. I squealed like a girl with a mouse running up her leg and spewed cum down the strange twenty-something-year-old guy's throat. Then, trembling, I shot another load down there. Without swallowing, he sucked my nuts dry. There wasn't even a drip of cum on his lips. He pulled his head away from my limp dick slowly; it flopped against his chin. He took in a long breath, then, his eyes opening wide, he grunted, "Ahh," and blew a string of cum from his long boner. I turned my head and watched it shoot out six feet, quickly followed by a fatter load of cum that only made it three feet before gravity dragged it down.
He went, "Whew! That was wild!" and then, letting go of my dick, he stood slowly while pulling his shorts and jock up in the same motion. In a calm, conversational voice, he said, "That was delicious. What's your name?"
Frowning, I shrug, "Dylan, and I'm going to call the cops on you." He chuckled, rubbed my head, and mumbled, "No, you're not. Listen, I run Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Meet me here Friday afternoon at three o'clock sharp!" He put a hand lightly on each of my shoulders, looked me in the eyes for five seconds, squinted his glowing, deep blue eyes, and nodded as though he'd confirmed something. I was a statue, not even blinking. Then, thinking he was done, I started to pull up my jock, but he grabbed my hand, saying, "I want you to shave your pubic hair. Make sure you take care of that before Friday. I don't particularly appreciate sticking my nose in pubic hair. It's a phobia I have, making an exception for you, and you're welcome."
Frowning, confused again, I mutter, "What? Shave what...?" He says, "Yes. All my boys shave." With his index finger, he outlined low down on my belly, a small half circle above my cock, saying, as if it's something normal, "Leave a little bit of pubic hair just above your dick. I allow that, but ensure the hair is no more than half an inch long. Shave the rest so the skin is as smooth as a baby's ass."
Not surprisingly, that outrageousness left me speechless. He said, "You're stooping. Stand up straight! I can't abide slouching boys. Hands behind you." I did that by involuntary reflex or something. My cock and balls are still hanging out in the open, my shorts around my ankles, and to make this even odder, I'm still feeling buzzing all over my body from that thrilling climax. Awesome feeling. I looked at this handsome young man and thought, "He's in his early twenties, or maybe younger?"
He looked back at me and said, "Avert your eyes!" I looked down, and he squeezed the back of my neck and ran the palm of his hand up the back of my head, then over the top, messing my short hair. "Just stand there, but straighten up."
Jeez, I can't stand any straighter. What the fuck? He used both hands to feel my shoulders, saying, "You are one helluva good-looking kid! Your full lips and those sexy bedroom eyes. Goddamn! Well, I can help you, and I will." Feeling down both my biceps, he mumbles. "You don't lift, do you? Still, you've got yourself some nice guns. God's gift, huh?"
I don't know what he's talking about, but I don't know why I'm still standing here. Is it that I'm afraid to try leaving? Yeah, maybe. If I go along with this crazy man, perhaps he'll let me go. Meanwhile, he's feeling from under my armpits, a hand on each side, down to my buttocks. He squeezed my left and right buttocks simultaneously and said, "Jesus Christ, kid, you've got the hottest ass I've ever felt on a man or woman. Nice swimmer's body. Are you on your high school's swim team?"
Speechless, I ignored the question. He looked into my eyes, "Are you?" Shaking my head, I'm hypnotized or something. He put the palm of his hand on my forehead and pushed up my short bang. Chuckling at first and then mumbling, "This is beyond belief. You've got a better ass and a prettier face than my wife! Where did I go wrong?" He laughs some more, muttering, "Goddamn, this is priceless," then adding, "And my wife would kill to have the shade of blond hair you've got."
He took his hands off me and asked, "Are you aware how rare you are?" I shrugged, and he added, "Yeah, whatever, you're clueless," and he bent down and pulled my running shorts and jockstrap cup up for me, then patted my ass. He picked up and handed me my water bottle, saying, "Be here Friday, three o'clock sharp, minus your pubes. Bring everything else, though, including that adorable pouting expression." He patted my cheek, and I felt myself blushing."
Chuckling, he said, "You're too much, Dylan! Okay, you leave first. I'll give you a head start so we don't have to run together. I don't particularly appreciate running with anyone. So, go ahead, take off." And this time, he swatted my ass hard, and off I ran as fast as I could, my arms pumping, my legs flying, like I was running a hundred-yard dash. I'd exhausted myself in three minutes but was way down the trail and finally had to slow down to a jog. My breathing was raspy and hard, sweat dripping off my face and wetting through my T-shirt. I jogged without thinking about anything. My objective was to stay ahead of him. I did not want that guy to think I was waiting for him. He said he didn't like running with anyone, including me, so I picked up the pace again and, shortly after, had a painful stitch on my side. This blows, so I gave up on completing the second mile and took the shortcut to where I started.
I emerged behind the Super Stop & Shop Market's parking lot, cutting through some weeds and up a little incline. This is over a mile short of the four miles I usually run. Slowing down gradually to a walking speed, I stopped entirely at the back of the building. I took my sneaker and sweat sock off to pore water on my leg and scrub at the guy's dried cum.
That was easily the most unbelievably bizarre thing ever happening to me. It makes my experience with Carl seem like normal behavior. Carl was weird, but the guy at the rest stop, what could anyone make of him? Rubbing my leg vigorously, I got most of his cum off. Looking at my hand for a second, then l looked around, seeing no one; I smelled my hand but didn't detect any cum odor.
My mind was all fucked up. Nothing to do about that except move on. After putting my socks and sneakers back on, I started to jog slowly around to the front of the Market, heading for home.
Walking home, I was no longer intimidated by the handsome young stranger. His tattoo, SEMPER FI, was a Marine slogan or something. He fit my idea of what a Marine was like, and, holy shit, what a way to get my first blow-job! Yeah, but what to make of it all? I mean, a hot-looking, young, married Marine sucking me off? Who would ever expect that? Groping my junk, I admit that It was a terrific blowjob. My first one, and I can't imagine a better one, so that surely was not his first.
I jogged slowly across the parking lot, very thirsty, but I used my water bottle to clean up a little. I hated to do it, but I had no choice. I'll pay two dollars for a bottle of water at the Supermarket. Sweaty and disheveled, I bought the water, hustled back out again, and drank the whole bottle. I'm not really into recycling yet, so I chucked the bottle into a trash barrel, wondering why the hell they charge two dollars for a bottle of water. The answer is that they can.
At home, I thought about the young Marine. Somehow, I know Semper Fi is Latin for 'Semper Fidelis,' which means 'always faithful.' The Marines may not think of it as 'always faithful,' but it has to be something like that. Anyway, getting my first blow-job from a Marine was the last thing you'd ever expect, and a married Marine at that. It was mind-blowing, is what it was.
Then I thought of the fuss he made over me about my looks and body. He said I was special. Waiting for a traffic light, I made a muscle. Huh, my bicep looked okay, but what did he mean that I had guns? Then I glanced across the street to see two teenage girls looking at me, giggling like only girls could. The one who looked like Olive Oil imitated me making a muscle, and the one looking like Mrs. Porky Pig pretended to feel it, and they both giggled some more.
Girls suck! My face burst into flames as I hurriedly walked further down the block, forgetting about waiting for the traffic light to change. I'll cross the street at the next traffic light, away from those laughing female hyena cartoon characters. Those girls made me go out of my way, so I'll need to walk down busy Main Street to connect with my original street a half mile from here. This is not a familiar area, leading me to downtown Framingham.
Walking around a corner, there it was, staring me in the face. A big Marine recruiting sign over the third shop in a block-long stretch of attached stores, a strip mall. How fucking ironic is that? As I walked past the storefront, two Marines talked to two tough-looking teens. One of the Marines looked up, saw me staring, smiled, and waved his hand for me to come in. I started jogging again, my heart pounding. I need to get the fuck away from there.
A block further, I stopped jogging and walked casually, again contemplating my weird afternoon. A married Marine wanted to suck me off. It's mindboggling, but what a great introduction to getting blown! Something this bizarre makes me wonder what will happen to me next. Well, first of all, I know where I will not be at three o'clock Friday afternoon. That's what I know for sure. I don't know if I should change my route for the four-mile run. If Chubby were still running with me, I'd challenge the Marine, but Chubby's washing windows for nine dollars an hour.
The troubling thing is, I'm getting a buzzing sensation low in my belly, contemplating keeping my same four-mile route, and so what if I run into the Marine again? I'll know what to expect, and I won't take any shit this time. A married Marine isn't going to take a chance. I'll call the cops on him if he hurts me somehow. I wish I could talk about this with someone. Should I call Carl? He said he was my mentor. No, that's stupid. I don't want to start up with that tub-of-lard again. And, no way I'm bringing this up to Chubby. I wish he had never gotten that window-washing job, though. We should be together like we used to be. We did everything together, just Chubby and me. The Marine thing would never have happened if there had been two of us at the rest area.
Unfortunately, Chubby isn't likely to return to our old schedule because he likes his new schedule too much. Sure, his fingers ache, but he said he's used to it by now. "All the guys get used to it," he said. Well, goody for them, is what I say! Frankly, I'm sick of Chubby telling me how funny his homeroom buddy, Ricky, is. Like, I give a shit. Ricky's dad could get Chubby that job but couldn't get one for me. That's very suspicious if you ask me. Could it be that Ricky wants Chubby all to himself?
Oh, man! I sound like such a loser. Jealousy is an ugly thing. Taking a deep breath and starting to jog the last half-mile home, my mind kept going back to the Marine. His eyes are so blue, and his body is as hard as a barbell. I felt under my chin with the back of my hand, remembering his hairy arm under there, holding me against him and that breathless voice of his. Was it scary or sexy? I don't know; both, I guess.
I know one thing for sure: I never had a climax like the one I shot in his mouth. Whoa, I almost passed out, and he kept sucking my cock afterward, too! Give me a break; what an incredible feeling! Here's another thing I know for sure, I've never seen as much cum at one time, at one place, as that Marine shot off, some spray from it going on my leg.
That hairy arm of his felt so, I don't know, macho, tough, or something. I wonder how those muscle-bound hairy legs would feel wrapped around me the way Chubby wraps his hairless ones around me when we wrestle--all that squiggly Marine leg hair. And I already went over this in my head, but he said I was special. Prettier than his wife. Hmm, I don't care to be called pretty, though. Better-looking is what he should have said. Oh, fuck, why am I thinking these thoughts? Stop it!
I jogged around Pleasant Street onto Oak, where our two-decker duplex was. It's one of six matching, two-decker duplexes in a row. They're old, but it's been home-sweet-home for the last thirteen years. I wish the Murphy boys would stop parking that piece of shit pick-up truck in their front yard because it makes the neighborhood look trashy.
Chubby will be home from work around six o'clock, but Mom and Tris, Chubby's Mom, were home when I went inside. They were in our first-floor unit chatting away. Tris and Chubby live on the second floor, right over my Mom and me. Cozy, huh?
Mom says, "Dylan, your face is very red and sweaty, honey. It's too hot for you to run forty miles or however far you run every day." My Mom could find something to worry about is she won the lottery. I say, "It's nice to see you too, Mom," and then kiss her on the cheek. Tris smiles and rubs my shoulder as I give her a peck of a kiss on the cheek. I say, "Hi, Tris."
Mom and Tris have been best friends longer than Chub, and I have been alive. As usual, we talked about different fun things for half an hour. Both the Moms are fun and very supportive of us boys. While we talked, I drank a quart of red Gatorade. The moms were proud of Chubby for getting that job and "blab, blab, blab." Then, Mom asked about a test I had in biology, so I figured it was time to move along.
In my bedroom, I went online, looking at a gay porn video. My Mom and Tris left for work at three-thirty. They're waitresses at Renny's Bar and Grille Restaurant, mainly in the bar section. They work together, just like Chubby and I planned to work together, except that fucker, Ricky, has upset our plans. Yeah, well, I don't want to get started talking about injustice because it makes me jealous, and I won't let it go. The hell with them! Maybe I will see the Marine this Friday. I don't have a whole lot of anything else going for me, and I still can't get over that blow-job. You know, when you are a best friend with someone and do everything together, it means you don't make many friends besides the best friend since you're both exclusive and all that. So, when one of the best friends finds another friend, the other best friend feels a little pissed off being left out. Just saying...
I flop on my bed, bored with the porn. And I don't want to think about being left out, so I think again about those hairy arms and legs of the Marine and how they intrigued me, maybe because Chubby and I have almost no hair at all on our arms and legs. As far as that goes, are we the weirdo for being hairless, or is the hairy Marine the weirdo? Oh, and I'd forgotten about him telling me to shave my pubes. That's not happening. Maybe I should do it, though, because at least he appreciates me, and I'd like to get sucked off again.
Damn, now that I'm pretending in my mind to meet him again, I'm feeling excited and nervous at the same time. Not knowing what he might do next is an intriguing kind of anticipation. It's sort of a thrill ride, like a roller coaster. He said he would treat me special or that I was special. Something like that. And how about his bossy way of saying things? He's a man's man.
Into the bathroom, like magic, creamy Vaseline appears on my finger so I can finger my hole while jerking off. The whole time, I fantasize that it's my Marine who's fucking me, using that eight-to-nine-inch boner of his. Oh God, this is hot! Not being circumcised makes it so extra excellent to masturbate. The foreskin is a self-lubing sheath that creates this constant tingly feeling the length of my prick and then all over my body. I start with slow strokes and increase the speed as I go; the same goes for fingering my hole. It feels so good and makes me stroke my cock faster and faster, all the time fantasizing that my finger is the Marine's cock, my foreskin gliding on and off the head of my swollen penis, and, "Aahhhh," before long, I grimaced forcing out a hard splat of spunk, splattering on the mirror over the sink.
Holy shit! I never reached the mirror with a cum shot before. God, that felt good! I can't stop, so I slow down with the stroking over the next minute, thinking all the while that my dick is covered with Marine's slippery saliva as I stroke, stroke, stroke. Oooooh, damn, he was something alright. I couldn't believe when the head of my boner was in his freaking throat? Come on! That was so hot!.
My heart is pumping hard, and I'm taking fast, short breaths because that was a primo jerk-off I just had. Then, realizing I'm overdoing the Marine bullshit, I stop pulling on my dick and clean cum off the mirror. I moped around the duplex for the next couple of hours, wishing Chubby would get home. Bored but curious about how I would do it, I pulled down my running shorts and jockstrap to look at my pubes: regular pubes, dark blond. I have light blond hair but dark blond pubes. I ran my fingers through them, thinking I could easily do without them.
Then I was back to thinking about the Marine sucking my cock, and I daydreamed a little about how good it felt when fat Carl first started fucking me. I was trying to remember if my climax was better from Carl's fuck, or the Marine's blow-job. I'm sure it was the blow-job, but to Carl's credit, I didn't feel particularly used by him as I feel about the Marine. Lying around the family room thinking about these things, I glanced up and saw it was six-thirty. Six-thirty? Chubby was always home by six o'clock. I wandered over and looked out the window, down the street in the direction Chubby walks home from, but no one was in sight.
This is curious. Going outside to smoke a cigarette, I fret about where Chubby might be. Angry that I didn't think to get a phone number. We didn't need each other's phone numbers because we were always together. It scares me thinking maybe Chubby ran into the Chavez brothers or turds from their high school drop-out posse. Telling myself there was surely a harmless explanation for Chubby being late, I went back inside and got our dinner out of the freezer. Chubby likes salads, so I made one and kept it in the refrigerator, trying to stay busy.
He still wasn't home by seven o'clock. Should I call Mom at work or the police?
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com
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