DYLAN!
CHAPTER TWENTY
In the motel's shower stall, Willie puts his arm across my shoulders, saying, "Let's not talk anymore about you know who, okay?" I lean against him, feeling I won this discussion, mumbling, "If you-know-who is Larry, I agree!"
We're showering together after a fabulously sexy hour in bed. My glowing smile had faded because Willie went off a little on the gay prep boys' disciplinary horseshit again. He, Carl, and Larry are into dominant/submissive sexual play. I can get into playing submissive to Willie, but only sometimes. He takes it too seriously sometimes because doesn't know any better. He's been playing the submissive role for two years at prep school with his roommate, Larry. Now he gets to be in the dominant role with me, and sometimes he overdoes it... that's all I'm saying.
Apparently, Larry has been telling his protegee Willie to get tougher with me, and Willie thinks if he doesn't take a firm hand, we won't last as boyfriends, when it could be the opposite. We were quiet as we showered, and when Willie had me as clean as clean can be, he hugged me and whispered in my ear, "I love you, Dylan."
When I washed his slim, tight body. I thought of all the pluses in our relationship and tried to think of the minuses, but I couldn't come up with one, except the bogus discipline concept. The bottom line is I want to be Willie's boyfriend, so I told myself to at least listen to his discipline talk at dinner and give him the benefit of the doubt.
Hell, I can tolerate some nonsense, especially if the other part of the experience is wildly positive, which it is with Willie. I'm not perfect, so why should I expect him to be perfect? Could we try the art of compromise? Maybe I can give in on this a little, and Willie can give in on that a little.
He interrupted my thoughts, saying, "Don't look so serious, sweetheart. I'm not going to dump you at dinner. We'll work it out."
What? I pretended I didn't hear that because it pissed me off that he would assume I was worried he'd dump me; that's the least of my worries. I'd been thinking positively again, so I didn't want to lose that frame of mind by commenting on that not-happening possibility of him dumping me. Instead, I was flip, saying, "You have a hot body for a skinny boy, sweetheart."
Willie frowned at me, probably because I used the term of endearment he had been using for me. I smiled at him in a nice way, and he couldn't help but smile back, and we kissed quickly. I was turning the shower water off, taking the initiative of deciding when our shower was over. Get Willie used to us taking turns deciding things. Baby steps toward equality. Willie frowned again, then said, "I wish I could read your mind, Dylan," then he dried my hair with a big white fluffy motel towel.
We took turns drying each other and then got dressed. Willie reached over to pull the necklace's cross from beneath my button up the front shirt, and then cupped my face in both hands to kiss my lips and say, "You're the cutest boy I've ever known. I feel so lucky that you're my boyfriend." Nice!
Leaving the motel suite, he put his arm around my waist, and I stopped in my tracks and asked him not to walk with me like that unless we were in a gayborhood, which is to say, a neighborhood that was gay-friendly, like in Cambridge.
Willie urged me not to worry about what other people thought, that we weren't hurting anyone, and that we should be able to walk together however we wanted. We stood outside our room and argued about it with him looking angry. I mumbled, "Compromise, Willie," and he changed to an exasperated expression, and mumbled, "Oh, okay, if it means so much to you." And off we went, looking more like good buddies than boyfriends. The truth is, I like Willie holding onto me, but it makes me self-conscious in crowds of straight people.
At the restaurant, Willie ordered buffalo wings as an appetizer for us to share. He told me, "Look at your menu so you'll know what you want when the waiter returns."
That was an outrageously unnecessary instruction. I'm not six years old. However, instead of telling him that, I surprised myself by feeling my balls move because of his authoritative manner! I murmured, "Oh, okay, Willie, but you don't need to tell me things like that, though," and opened the menu.
Hell, it was only six weeks ago he had hyperventilated trying to be stern with me. That was in his bedroom during his mother's birthday party, and now he's acting confidently, and he's pulling it off okay, too. It looks like I'm a sucker for cute, confidently dominant young guys. Maybe that's because I couldn't be that way myself, and I admire those who can.
He waited two minutes, then patted my hand, asking, "Have you decided yet, Dylan?" My dick firmed up, and I liked this feeling of being looked after. Omigod, I know it's so stupid, but I liked it. I asked, "Do you think she-crab soup is okay as a starter?" Oh, Christ, this is fun.
He nods, "Sure, but what else are you going to have?" I mutter, running out of breath at the end, making it sound like a question, "Um, the deep-fried soft-shell crab with French fries?" Am I acting tentative, or am I seriously tentative; not acting? Now, I don't know. Haha, I chuckled and Willie said, "Please don't laugh at me. Don't take me for granted, Dylan."
I'm like, "What?" and he nods, "There was no call from you on Monday, and you only called on Tuesday because you found out your brother wouldn't be here this weekend. You didn't think to mention to me, your boyfriend, that you're having your body pierced; not giving a shit what I thought about it. When I tell you I've researched a barbershop we can go to together, you say, let's get mohawks. You're not the least bit considerate, never mind grateful that I went to the trouble arranging my motel room, or this restaurant, or that I got this reservation, or anything. You take it all for granted and disrespect me at every turn, and I'm the dominant top, no less! I can't even imagine how you'd treat me if you were the dominant leader in our relationship."
I could hardly believe my ears, and couldn't think what to say as my eyes started stinging. As humiliating as it was, I had to wipe my eyes with the back of my wrist. Willie was not moved. He looked sad. I said, "Chubby isn't my brother; we're best friends. Willie, I'm new to this gay boyfriend thing, so I depend on you to correct me, but not dump me when you know I, um, love you."
Still looking sad, Willie shook his head as if I wasn't getting it, then gave examples of me not paying attention to him and how I disrespected him, but it was just a repeat of what he'd already said. I'm thinking how ironic that I was feeling so cocky just fifteen minutes ago, making the point about Willie walking with his arm around my waist, and never dumping me, and now I'm feeling lost.
Have I been insensitive to Willie? I guess I can see some things from his viewpoint. It was clear that I do not want to lose Willie as my boyfriend. So, without intending for it to come out sounding pathetic, like it did anyway, with my voice cracking and sounding whining, I said, "Please, Willie, I'm really sorry. I think you're awesome and I should have told you that and thanked you more for everything. I sincerely apologize! I love you. Please tell me what I can do to make it up to you?"
Willie sat back in his chair, looking like he hadn't expected me to be so contrite, but I swear, I never know what he might come up with next. The waiter set down the buffalo wings and asks, "Are you boys ready to order?" Without looking up, Willie, sounding like an adult, said, "No, give us a few more minutes." The waiter mumbled, "Certainly," and left.
Still looking into my eyes, he said, "I want to hear you tell me sincerely that you'll accept my decision on things when, um, I make a decision about, ah, something." I'm like, "Whaddaya mean?" Willie vaguely explained that it's his job to decide what is appropriate and that it's my job to accept whatever he chooses.
I wondered if this is the sort of thing that the Mohawk man meant when he said all of us cute gay boys play at being gay. This seems like a game Willie's playing without him realizing it, but why be stubborn and throw away future fun and games with Willie because my pride won't give in to this crazy idiosyncrasy of his? I muttered, "Sure, okay. You decide." He sat back in his chair, looked at me, and asked, "That wasn't so hard, was it, baby?"
I told him it wasn't hard and, for the hell of it, I apologized again for all the bother. Willie smiled, patted my hand, and said, "Let's try the buffalo wings," and he made a cute face. I picked a wing up and took a bite. It was hot, but the blue cheese dressing was cool.
We ate the wings, nodding at one another and Willie appeared to be back to being the Willie I liked. Our waiter returned, and Willie ordered more buffalo wings and large iced teas. He was being as nice and sweet as he'd ever been. I was so glad I swallowed my pride and accepted Willie's nonsense.
The waiter, a bald man about forty-five, dropped off our iced tea and the additional buffalo wings and muttered, "I'll be back in a minute for your order. When the waiter left, Willie has a mischievous grin and says, "Dylan, I memorized some more stuff for dinner conversation. We need some laughs after the gloom I laid on our dinner date."
His memorized a joke: Norman, from Maine, was visiting his cousin in Texas during the annual Chili cook-off. Norman's been known to brag about how he preferred hot, spicy foods, so his cousin asked him to be a judge at the cook-off, warning him that Texas chili might be a lot hotter than Maine chili. Norman dismissed that with a wave of his hand. There were two Texas judges, and Norman was the third.
The first Texas chili was called Monster Chili. Judge #1's notes on his score card indicated it had too much tomato taste. Judge #2's notes said nice but mild. Norman's notes read: Holy shit! You could remove dried paint from your driveway with this. It took me two beers to put the flames out.
The second Texas chili was called Afterburners, Judge #1 wrote on his notepad, smoky with a hint of pork. Judge #2. wrote, Okay, but needs more peppers to be taken seriously. Norman from Maine, wrote: Keep this out of the reach of children! I was gagging so badly that I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. More beer."
As with all jokes from Willie, the funniest part for me is Willie's face, real red, and him gagging from laughing so hard at his own jokes. He can hardly get the words out. This was exactly what we needed to put Willie's lectures behind us. Willie catches his breath, takes hold of my wrist, and says, "There's more..."
The third chili is called Black Magic. Judge #1... Great kick! Judge #2 it's a bit too salty. Norman: Call the EPA! I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I've been snorting Drano. I farted fire, and four people behind me needed paramedics."
He had more, but I begged him to stop because my stomach hurt from laughing. I'd already knocked over a water glass pounding the table, and now I felt dizzy. That outrageous kind of humor can get me to pee my pants. Willie said there were four more chili tastings, each hotter, but he'd tell me about them later.
The waiter waited for us to stop laughing, then came over and asked Willie if we were ready to order. I wonder why he didn't ask me. Willie ordered a whole lobster, fries, and a mixed green salad for starters. As we ate, he told me other humorous jokes and interesting factoids he'd memorized for our dinner conversation.
When he paused, I told Willie the factoid I'd gotten from Google about the average penis size being as short as three and a half inches. He refused to believe it. Of course, his penis is over seven inches long, so I can understand it being difficult for him to think guys are running around with three-and-a-half-inch dicks.
By the time we got to the dessert, it was hard to believe we'd had that awkward beginning to the dinner. He paid our bill with a hundred-dollar bill, and a twenty. That was the first hundred dollar bill I'd ever seen, and then we walked outside to a beautiful summer night. I wanted us to be light-hearted, so I put my arm around Willie's neck and hugged him as we walked by the line still waiting for tables.
At the motel, he was giving me tender loving care. We took another shower together, dried each other in silence, and got in bed naked. "Everything okay, Dylan?" I nodded and hugged him around his neck, feeling closer, more attracted to him than ever. I think I needed him more than he needed me. He loves me more than I love him, but I still need him more. Maybe that was obvious to Willie long before this.
Our make-out was hot, though. I was crawling all over Willie, kissing and sucking his mouth, tongue, and neck. We both had the hardest boners
stabbing at each other, and it was truly awesome. I couldn't get enough of his taste and smell and feel, and I could hardly breathe when he pushed back my head roughly and held me in place to work on that hickey. I loved that he wanted everybody to know that I was his boyfriend. I was docile for him until he said, "Oh Jesus, that's a beauty of a hickey. It's better than the one Larry gave me last year."
The hickey stung and burned, but I was proud of it. Willie drooled some spit on the hickey and muttered, "I don't want to see this beauty covered up, Dylan." I murmured, "I won't, Willie," and he said, "Now, spread your legs." I did that, and he got on his knees between my legs, and said, "Hold your knees back, an arm around each leg." When I did that, my asshole raised a couple of inches off the mattress. Willie muttered, "Good boy," and I felt the head of his boner at my anus. Willie spread my buttock, let some air out between his teeth, and humped the head of his cock inside me. "Oh, fuck, there was precum on the head to help it go in, but I wish he'd use some lube, too.
He steadily pushed his seven inches up inside me and then let out a lungful of air, mumbling, "Wow, that was tight! It felt awfully good, though," and he pushed down on the backs of my thighs, which I already had against my belly, and he fucked me at a medium speed with long thrusts, and it never felt this good before. I was murmuring, "Oh Willie, oh my god, that's good. Faster Willie... fuck me, Willie!"
Jeez, this reminds me of my first introduction to anal sex. I was ecstatic calling out Carl's name, and now I'm doing it for Willie. After four or five minutes, Willie pushed his cock all the way up inside me and leaned down, chest to chest, on top of me. He kissed me and said, "Feels good, doesn't it, baby?" I'm gasping for air, wondering why it feels so good this time. Maybe because I thought I might lose Willie for a while there or because Willie showed me who's boss, and maybe I liked him doing that.
Leaning on my belly and chest he used just his hips to do swift thrusts until a girl squealed out, "Wiiiiiillie!" and a stream of cum spurted from my petrified-wood-boner, feeling much better than the earlier fabulous, big loads of cum I shot out before dinner. Willie climaxed at the same time the girl called his name, and that filled my tank to overflowing. He was grunting and slamming his crotch against my ass.
Omigod, I was exhausted, and drooling sperm from my rectum. My climax of cum and Willie's big load combined to smear around on various parts of my body. He pulled out, saying his pecker was getting sensitive again. We lay together side by side, with Willie wrapping me up in his arms like always. I got the wild shivers and shakes with Willie's murmuring, "Shhhh, it's all right now, Dylan. We're good... don't worry." I think everything that happened tonight was catching up with me, resulting in that shivering, shaking reaction.
We lay there for fifteen minutes, me becoming calm. Willie was mischievous, asking, "Are you ready to do it again?" I knew he was kidding; I just hugged him a little tighter and mumbled, "That was the best you've ever fucked me. Why is that, do you think?" He said, "I'm not sure, but I remember asking Larry that same question. He said I felt a higher level of sexual pleasure when I finally realized and accepted that he was my leader and I'd promised to do what I was told. That's served me very well for two years. Now I'm promoted, sort of, into the leadership role with you. I began enjoying the best fucks from him after that, and maybe that's the difference with you too."
I thought, whoa, he is very sure of himself. He'd said all that casually as if it's as plain as the nose on your face. I said nothing, so he asked, "What do you think about that?" I mumbled, "You're probably right." He looked into my eyes, raising his eyebrows, and I grinned and muttered, "Not probably. You are right." Nodding, he asked, "What would you like to do now?"
What I'd like to do is smoke a fucking cigarette, but Willie has said no smoking. Except, Goddammit, it's my turn to get my way. I say, "I want to have a smoke, and I know the smell bothers you, so you'll need to puff on one, too. That way, you won't notice it so much."
I tried to say that in the same matter-of-fact manner that Willie had said about him being in charge. He goes, "What? I don't smoke!" and I used the example of smelling the booze on the breath of a drinker unless you also have a swallow of that drink. Then, you no longer notice the booze smell on others.
Willie says, "I know that's true, but I don't want to start smoking." I told him I didn't smoke enough to affect anything medically and that I plan to stop pretty soon anyway, but, "I'm talking about right now, Willie. I'm asking you to please do this for me." Then, to use a little leverage with his being in charge, I say, "I know I need your permission, and that's why I'm asking. Please!"
Taking this submissive position might work with Willie because he isn't like that turd, Larry. Willie is a sweet kid who wants to be liked. And it doesn't hurt that he loves me. He makes a face and mumbles, "Okay, but I don't want you to make a habit out of this, and we're not smoking inside."
So, I win one. Why not try for two? I said, "How about we grab some booze from the mini-bar over there and have a big-boy cocktail while we smoke on the balcony." Willie's no party pooper, "Sure, but you'll need to get us a soft drink from the vending machine to cut the booze taste a little." I was smiling inside as I said, "Yes, Willie."
Haha. I can play games, too. This is more like it.
To be continued...
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