DYLAN!
CHAPTER THREE
We don't trust the police, so I called Renny's restaurant and talked to my mom, telling her, "It's after seven o'clock, and Chubby isn't home yet, so I'm worried." She said, "Sweetheart, you're not supposed to call here unless it's a major, major, major crisis. We've talked about that. I'll get in trouble. Renny hates us getting personal phone calls at work." I mumble, "I'm sorry, but what should I do?"
"First, run on down to the window washing shop on Pollard St. and see what's up. Okay?." "Yep, that's what I'll do. He'll be there."
It's embarrassing that I didn't think to do that before calling Mom. Goddammit! I headed for the door, and Chubby walked in all smiles, "Hi, Dylan, wassup?" He had his latest best friend, Ricky, with him. Chubby glanced at the food I had ready for our dinner and, looking guilty, he mumbled, "Oh, Dylan, I forgot to call! We got caught up on planning work schedules and... I'm sorry, but I already ate with Ricky. Wait! I told you yesterday, didn't I?"
Shaking my head, I looked from Chubby to Ricky, pissed off at Chubby'. "No, you didn't say anything yesterday." Chubby mutters, "Damn, I meant to; I really did. "Um," he rubbed the top of Ricky's head and said, "I mentioned to Ricky that you and I do each other's haircuts and he wants me to give him one. We'll be in the basement. Enjoy your dinner." I stared at them, thinking: The fucking gall. So unfair, so rude! And the nerve of using my basement to give that dickhead, Rickie, a haircut. Then Chubby stops at the door to the cellar and says, "Oh fuck, my bad. I didn't introduce, ah, Ricky, meet by best bud, Dylan Newman. Dylan, meet Ricky Ortiz."
Ricky was about as tall as me but bigger. Bigger as a football player, not bigger like a fatso. He was nice looking in a macho way, but looked older than Chubby and me. He has raggedy brown hair that needed cutting, and his skin tone and last name made me think he's Hispanic, but I have no idea of his particular heritage. Anyway, Ricky came over to shake hands briefly and, in a flat, fast manner, said, "Nice to meet you. My main man, Jeff, says you're cool, so any friend of Jeffrey's is okay by me." Nodding, I said, "How ya doing?" That was that. Chubby took Ricky downstairs to give him a haircut.
My main man, Jeffrey, huh? What a fucking phony! Nobody calls Chubby Jeffrey! What a jerk-off! After cooking the chicken and noodle casserole dinner in the microwave, I realized I'd lost my appetite. Neither Chubby nor I have ever walked into my house with a stranger before. And, when did either of us ever eat without the other? What a prick Chubby is becoming. We always wait for each other to eat together.
And what's all that laughing and giggling downstairs about?
I go over to the doorway and shout down, "Chubby, we've got homework to do." No response for a few seconds, and then in a voice that was half giggling and half trying to sound serious, "I did mine in study hall, Dylan. I forgot to tell you. I'm sorry, buddy." I stay at the top of the cellar steps, and a few seconds later, they both burst out laughing. Then Ricky screamed, "Jeffrey, you're getting the same."
I slammed the cellar door, went into my bedroom, and got out my homework. Goddamn, but I'm worked up. A lot of different emotions were percolating in my head, getting me upset. Is it fear I feel? Is it that I'm afraid I've lost the number one place in Chubby's life that I used to have? I thought I was the stable, steady one, and Chubby was the funny sidekick. Is that how I really saw it? Is that how it was, or was that just in my head? Well, it's not like that now! He's more or less abandoned me. I can't get him a nine-dollar-an-hour job and introduce him to all those new cool asshole friends, like Rickie can.
My anger is closer to rage at how unfair Chubby is being. It makes me feel sick to my stomach and powerless, too. Let's face it, he's betrayed me. We've always stuck together, and now he laughs at me. Then I thought, stop! This is a childish outburst! I'm not thinking sensibly." The reality is that I'm crazy jealous about Chubby having another best friend and doing stuff with him and not with me. That's the simple truth of the matter. I'm green with envy, and I suck for being so small-minded about it. And I might as well get ready for things to worsen, too. I was thinking about this recently. I don't have any close friends because I spend every second with Chubby listening to all that crazy shit he's always saying, all his factoids.
Oh my God, I have the worst headache! After taking three Tylenol, I laid down on my bed and tried to calm down. I said out loud, "Try to think straight and make some fucking sense!"
Chubby and I have too much history together to just split as friends. He has no intention of doing that. I'm being paranoid. He has another friend, so what? Christ, did I think I'd be the only friend he ever had his entire life? Get real, Dylan; grow up, man! I needed this good hard talking to myself, and I'm feeling a little better after it and feel more mature, too. Then I thought, what a difference five hours can make. Five hours ago, I was getting my dick sucked for the first time, and now, I don't know what to call this thing that's happening to me, but I know it's fucked-up, that's for sure.
Getting off the bed with a purpose now, I completed a paper for English and then went into the kitchen for a drink just as Chubby and Ricky came thundering up the cellar steps, giggling like they were ten years old. Ricky popped through the kitchen door first. My mouth dropped open seeing his hair was less than a quarter inch long. Then, Chubby stepped into the kitchen and said, "Ta-da!" His hair was the same.
An enormous new flood of jealousy blackened my brain. Chubby and I cut each other's hair, not that freak, Ricky. This incompetent dork, Ricky, cut off the nice burr haircut I'd just given Chubby? I was speechless with a new, higher level of rage than before. My face felt hot, my eyes blinking wildly, as Chubby asked, "How do you like our new look, Dylan? We were goofing around, and the attachment guide fell off the clippers when I was cutting Ricky's hair, and I started laughing so hard. I mean, he looked so funny with that almost-bald strip down the middle of his head, so I couldn't stop laughing, and then Ricky got me in a headlock and returned the favor."
They put their arms around one another's shoulders, Ricky leaning down to Dylan's size to put their heads together, saying, "What should we call this look, Newman?"
I've never felt like this, hating on Ricky with all my heart and soul. Chubby saw the expression on my face and stopped laughing long enough to say, "It's just hair, Dylan. It'll grow back in a couple of weeks."
Then to Ricky, with a chuckle, "But, I kind of like it. What do you think, Ricky?" Ricky said, "Yeah, we'll do each other every week and see if the rest of the guys on the crew want to do it too. We'll call it the window-washers'-haircut, invented by Jeffery Romero."
Ignoring me completely now, Chubby got them both a Coke, and then they patted each other on the back and rubbed each other's almost bald heads. Their laughing was grating on my nerves till I thought I'd die. I said, "I'm trying to do homework, so if you two braying jackasses don't mind, take this silly shit up to your place, Jeffrey."
I may have said it in a nasty way, too. Chubby stopped cold and stared at me; I'd never called him Jeffrey. Slowly shaking his head, he says with real concern, "Don't be so upset, Dylan. We're just goofing around. Bro, are you alright?" He sees that I'm pouting like a toddler and says, "Hey Ricky, how about we call it a night? I'll see you tomorrow in homeroom. Okay, dude?" Ricky had a strange look on his face, staring at me, mumbling, "Sure, Jeff." Then he hesitated, his face got red, like mine, and he asked me, "Is this a bad time of month for you? Do you got your period or something, Newman? You need to chill."
I couldn't help myself, I screamed, "Get the fuck out of here!" My face was purple with rage, the vein pulsing at the side of my forehead. I can never remember hating anyone like I hated him. It was a dizzy, sick-to-my-stomach feeling. As soon as I screamed at him, Ricky took two steps, grabbing the front of my T-shirt and pulling back his other fist to throw a punch. Chubby yelled, "NO! Don't you dare hit him!" and stepped halfway between Ricky and me, facing Ricky. "Let go of him, Ricky! He didn't do nothing." Ricky looked at Chubby with a frown and then pushed me away, ripping my T-shirt, saying, "You're lucky you got your bodyguard with you, asshole, or I'd knock your smartass teeth down your throat. Don't ever scream at me again, ya skinny fucking fairy."
I yelled back, "You're fucking postal, Ortiz! Get some professional help." Chubby, with a hand on both Ricky's and my chest, said, "Calm the fuck down, Dylan," and to Ricky, mildly, he said, "I already told you that Dylan's okay. He's cool; he's my number one homeboy, so stop threatening him and calling him names, or you and I can't be friends."
And then, in an even more reconciling manner to Ricky, he added, "Come on dude, save your energy for the freaking window washing. You know we got to do that fucking Morris place tomorrow, and it's got more windows than the Pentagon."
He was ushering Ricky toward the front door as he talked. Ricky looked back at me with hatred in his eyes but said nothing. Chubby followed Ricky outside. Taking a huge breath, I thought that that went pretty well--NOT!
After another deep breath, I peeked out the front window and watched Chubby animatedly explain something to Ricky, who finally threw his hands up in the air. Then they did a quick one-arm hug and rubbed each other's newly barbered heads again. Ricky got into a gray Plymouth SUV and drove away. Chubby turned to come back up the steps to the front door, so I went to my bedroom and slammed the door. Chubby called my name outside my door a few times. I muttered, "I told you already, I gotta do my homework." He said, "I'm sorry about that performance of Ortiz's, Dylan. He's got a wicked bad temper. See you in the morning. Um, and it's your turn for the cigarettes, okay?" Still feeling sick to my stomach, I didn't say anything. I heard him quietly go out my front door a short while later. I felt like crying. Well, I was crying a little.
The crying didn't last long because I gave myself another tough talk.
Recognizing that I'm acting wicked jealous and admitting that fact helped me get back to rational thinking. All the emotions involved in jealousy are exhausting. That feeling of fear that something so important to you might be lost or that something unspecified but equally important will never be known. Maybe jealousy is tied into what we learned in biology called a fight or flight response. Feeling your very survival is being threatened. I meant, metaphorically speaking, where friendship and lovers are concerned. That's what you feel when someone so important in your life seems to be leaving you behind for someone else. Jealousy is a bitch!
Thursday morning, I woke up feeling drugged, hung over, or both. On a brighter note, today was a nice, sunny, warm day, so I put on Dockers khaki shorts and a T-shirt. Printed on the front of my T-shirt was, "SARCASM...one more service we offer."
To complete my routine of getting ready for school, I took a piss, washed my face and hands, brushed my teeth, and then spiked my hair with some electric blue, hot head spike'n. I did everything like I was a robot. My brain and body were functioning in slow motion. I ambled aimlessly around the kitchen.
Mom sleeps in because she gets home late, at around one AM. Finally, I got myself a bowl of Frosted Flakes and a glass of cherry Kool-Aid. I finished breakfast and was ready to leave, but first, I peeked outside through the family room window and saw Chubby waiting for me, just like it was a regular morning. Feeling embarrassed at how I behaved last night and not knowing how to approach Chubby, I hesitated going out. Then I noticed he was wearing his Red Sox baseball cap. Well, that's good! I won't have to look at that hideous haircut, at least. He wore Nike shorts and a bright orange T-shirt that offered this advice in big, blue letters: "PROCRASTINATE NOW!"
Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to face the world. Chubby was subdued, "Hi, Dylan." I returned the "Hi," and we started walking in silence. We walked the first six blocks, then right on schedule, I pulled out a Marlboro Light cigarette, lit it, took a drag, and passed it to Chubby, who took a drag, lipping it as usual, and passed it back to me. When we'd finished the cigarette, Chubby flicked the butt halfway across the street and said, "Okay, Dylan, I'll start. I'm sorry I brought Ricky to your place last night and I'm really, really sorry about him cutting off my hair. Especially because of that cool burr haircut you gave me. Mom's going to be pissed off at me; she liked that haircut and told me so. From this day on, I promise only you can cut my hair and no more surprise guests at home. Okay?" He punched my arm lightly and added, "You're not going to be mad at me all day, are you? I can't stand it when you're mad at me, Dylan."
I mumbled, "I'm such a baby sometimes. Shit, Chubby, I'm sorry about how I acted last night." We stopped walking for a quick one-arm hug with two pats on each other's back. Chubby said, "That's a start, but come on and do what you always do." He lifted my arm and pulled it around his neck. It made me smile, and I hugged around his neck, while Chubby added, "What do you always say, Dylan? Come on, dude." I said, "I love you, bro," and hugged his neck again.
Chubby asked, "All better now?" I nodded, smiling broadly. With Chubby, it's easy to smile. We walked a little further, and it just occurred to me, so I told Chubby, "You know what? Since that fight with the Chavez brothers, you and I have done a complete role reversal on each other. Total role reversal." Chubby looked concerned for a second and then said, "I have no fucking idea what that means, but if you say it's so, it's fine with me." I looked at him, and he put such a cute grin on his face that I had to smile back. I felt so close to him.
Chubby punched my arm again and said in a serious way, "We're unlucky in one way for sure, though, you and me." When I asked why, he said, "We don't have any hair on our chest. Guys with hairless chests are more likely to get cirrhosis of the liver than men without hairy chests."
Another one of Chubby's off-the-wall factoids. He always gets me with those things because they're unexpected non-sequiturs. I recovered and said, "Hmmm. I think a person first needs to drink at least a fifth of gin every day for twenty years, plus have no hair on his chest before he can get cirrhosis." Chubby said, "Oh!" We lit our second of two. We share two walking to school. What a beautiful morning. I felt much better about life. Chubby and I only have one class together, so I don't see much of him during the day. I thought a lot about him, though, especially today.
Chubby is growing up, making friends, and doing things with them, but even so, I can see our friendship bond is still the strongest. It was time I tried making another friend or two. I should be expanding my horizons or some such shit. It didn't take me more than a second to think of Robby Dickers, the guy I'd like to get to know better. He's in two of my classes, and we have the same lunch period, and his hall locker is near mine, so I see quite a bit of him. We're casual acquaintances, friendly acquaintances, but not buddies.
Hmm, since I'm now the senior editor for the school newspaper, maybe I can somehow use that to open a little conversation with Robby. I'll give it some thought during Geometry class. Anything to avoid thinking about geometry is a good thing. There's this little thing that Rob's totally unaware of. It's that I've had sort of a crush on him since the beginning of the school year. It's funny, but before fat Carl sort of "outed" me to myself, I'd never considered my interest in Rob as a crush. In those olden days, I told myself that Rob was just a quiet, shy kid who might make a nice friend.
So, I'd like him to be more than just a friend; being a friend is a good place to start, though. Robby is our high school baseball team's second baseman and a pretty good student, too, but other than those two things, I don't know much about him. Well, haha, I mean I know what he looks like. He's my size, five foot, ten inches tall and slim, about a hundred and thirty pounds. Also, like me, he has light blond hair, but the thing I like most about his face is his mouth. It's super cute, like a little kid's. Bow-shaped lips and dimples that show up with almost any facial movement. That's a new concept for me, thinking guys are cute. It's a lot of fun checking out the boys and evaluating their looks. Some guys seem to have ultra-pink tongues and gums... Rob's like that. Then there's his very white teeth, and I really like his looks.
Robby gives that little grin and then looks away as if he's shy. I'm not an outgoing kid, but I seem like a Mr. Personality extrovert compared to Rob Dickers. Now that I've been thinking about him, something has occurred. It's that I'd like to kiss Rob on his mouth. That's freaky because I couldn't stand even the thought of kissing Carl, or any other boy, until very recently. The fact that I want to do it surprises the hell out of me. Oh my God, so many new things in my life lately.
Carl saw my gayness before I did, and he's done me a big favor by accelerating my acceptance of it, of my sexual nature. I suppose it was always there in my subconscious mind, but I was denying it in my conscious mind or something like that. I guess everyone eventually recognizes their true self at different ages. And, maybe some aren't able to act upon it right away, being more a case of happenstance, and I gotta admit that was my situation. Carl pushed me to recognize myself. I didn't treat him with the respect he deserved. Instead, I took him for granted and thought of him as a bit of a dork. I should have been paying more attention, and I should have told him thank you more often.
Geometry class was almost over and I hadn't devised a plan that would let me easily open a dialogue with Rob. Maybe it's because I keep thinking about Carl or going back to thinking about Chubby and me and that strange thing about us changing roles. It has to do with my gayness. Not too long ago, I was sure Chubby was gay, and I didn't know what I was. And now, I'm sure I'm gay, and I don't know what Chubby is.
The fact is, Carl and I are the only ones in the world who know I'm gay, and Carl is the only gay person I know. Chubby is still a suspect. Then I thought about that horror show with Ricky Ortiz last night. It was the first time in my life that Chubby and I had been on opposite sides of something, of anything. Then, as it turned out, we weren't on opposite sides. Chubby was on my side when it counted the most; he stood up for me, not that shitbag, Ricky. I felt good about that last night and even feel better about it today when everything has had a chance to sink in.
Well, now Geometry class is over, and I'd thought about everything except what I wanted to think about, which was starting a conversation with Rob. The school day ground to a halt finally, and I was at my hall locker putting books away, still without a plan for Rob when here he came down the hall. He's walking with a couple of guys, and, as usual, he isn't saying anything. Rob is popular, as most members of sports teams are, but he's very quiet, too.
Like I said, shy. It's funny how some kids are so shy. It must be in their genes. Looking at him, I'm again thinking, he's cute. It is amazing to realize that. It's still a very new concept to me. And the fact that I'm thinking like a gay boy is different now, too. A new realization about myself and a little bit of a scary one sometimes because I get to feeling alone. Also, I wonder why I didn't realize all this earlier. That's something to ponder another time because I need to figure out what I should do about Rob right now.
And there he is, two lockers down from me. I try for cool with, "Hey, Rob, wassup?" He sticks with being shy and, without actually looking at me, says quietly, "Oh, hi, Dylan. Gee, I meant to congratulate you a while back when I heard you'd gotten next year's senior editor's position. You write well, and you deserve the position, so congratulations."
That was a wicked long speech for Robby, and totally unexpected. I thanked him and devised an idea on the spot, just like that! "Hey Rob, would you be interested in being a reporter for the newspaper next year?" He closed his locker and leaned against my open locker door as I jammed my backpack inside. Up close, his blue eyes looked like a light shone behind each one; his eyebrows were very light and perfectly shaped. And he has very healthy looking, pinkish-white skin, completely smooth. He has that blotch of dark, rosy pink on each cheek that is rare for guys. And this is crazy, but I stared at his hairline, too. It's so perfectly straight, following the contour of his forehead, and his hair above it was full-bodied and shining clean. That's my overall impression; Rob was ultra clean, as if he were brand new.
He said, "What's wrong?" when he noticed me staring at him, my mouth slightly open. I shook my head and said, "Ha ha, sorry, Rob. I space out sometimes." I told him what I had in mind for his reporter's job next year, "Ya know, about twenty percent of the senior class is on a varsity sports team, and I thought it would be interesting if the other eighty percent of us got an inside look at how the elite twenty percent see things here at school. What's it like looking through the eyes of a student-athlete? You know, this would be for next year, as a senior.
What do you think?"
He said, "I'm flattered you'd think of me for this, Dylan. I'm surprised you even knew I was on the baseball team." I told him he was the first person I thought of when I got this idea, "I swear, Rob, I thought of you." I could be sincere about that because it's basically true. Rob looked away and blushed a dark pink, which matched the color of his cheek blotches, the same dark rosy pink all over his face, from his forehead to his chin. He mumbled, "Thank you."
I wanted to hug him! Instead, I asked if he'd walk with me for a bit since we both go home in the same direction for the first six blocks, and he was excited, saying, "Sure, I'd like to walk with you." I couldn't believe that he thought walking with me was something cool to do. As we walked, I asked him again if he'd like to be on the paper, and he said, "Oh yeah, definitely. Those kinds of extra-curricular activities look good on college applications. The only thing is, you'll have to guide me along and spend some one-on-one time with me."
Ha! I was like, "Oh, of course, Robby, I'll give you all the time you need." He chuckled and bumped my shoulder with his shoulder, saying, "Only my little brother and my Mom call me Robby anymore." Quickly saying I was sorry, he piped in with, "No, not at all, I like it."
So, I'll call him Robby. We agreed to get together one day after school to kick some ideas around for the newspaper. It was so easy to talk to him and I was kind of giddy thinking about working with him one-on-one. Rob turned left on Waverly Road, and I went straight. I spent the rest of the walk home thinking about how I missed having Chubby to walk home with. I missed his rants, his factoids, and his energy. I didn't even smoke a cigarette. It's more fun when I'm sharing them with him.
After saying "Hi" to Mom and putting on my running outfit, I was off to do my four-mile run. Running is addictive, and my Mom says I have an addictive personality. It's the same for Chubby. We get in a grove with something and don't want to change anything about it. Naturally, as I ran, I thought about tomorrow and meeting with my Marine again. He might have had almost as much to do with acknowledging my feelings for Robby as fat Carl had. They both brought me "out," so to speak. Frankly, I'm over being scared of the Marine and I'm now looking forward to my second encounter with him.
Sure, I vacillated back and forth with that, but seeing him again is the winner. At the two-mile point, I came around some trees, half expecting the Marine to be there. He wasn't, though; no one was. After looking around for thirty seconds, I had no trouble peeing against the Marine's pee tree. Then I put my wrist under my chin, but with no hair on my arm, it didn't feel like when he did it. Over at that bench, leaving my shorts and jockstrap cup under my nuts like they were for my pee, I stood up straight with my hands clasped behind my back the way the Marine ordered me to stand, and I got the hardest boner just thinking about him sucking my dick. I muttered out loud, "No way I'm jerking off here."
As soon as I was all put back together, I smacked myself on my ass as the Marine did, and off I flew, running like I was doing the hundred-yard dash, same as yesterday. When I got winded, way down the trail, I slowed to a jog, thinking that the Marine was hot, and I was excited and anxious for tomorrow afternoon to get here. I need to shave my pubic hair, but how do I propose that crazy idea to Chubby? I need a believable explanation for doing that because I don't dare meet the Marine unless I do it.
Later, Chubby and I we're acting slightly awkward after that yelling episode with the creatin, Ricky, last night. Chubby quietly asked, "How was the run today? I miss running with you, and I miss walking home from school with you, too." That started us talking a little more, and we started relaxing. We did homework in my bedroom, and then watched the Red Sox on TV. During the third inning, I muttered, "I'm sorry for making a big deal out of you shaving your head." Chubby rubs his head, "It's not shaved. It's a quarter inch, I think."
So, I got a brainstorm and muttered, "Hmm, how random and cool would it be to use that on my pubes." Chubby jumped right on top of that idea and took over the proceedings. "Hey, bro, what a ballsy idea! You first, Dylan," and, just that easy, he got the barber clippers. He wanted us to totally make up after last night and would have said it was a great idea if I'd suggested we used pink fingernail polish.
Chubby said, "Take off your shorts and underpants, and your socks off, too. Your feet need a foot massage." He was slightly up-tight when he said that because he has that crazy foot fetish and he gets a bit aroused, that's what it looked like to me anyway. He recognized what a bizarre suggestion shaving our pubes was, so he took the opportunity to include his bizarre foot fetish, which he seems to be losing interest in the older he gets. He used to massage my feet and do all kinds of shit to them, but not much lately.
In my condo's finished basement, I marvel at how easily this worked out. I sat on the toilet seat in the basement's half-bath and Chubby massaged, smelled, licked and sucked on my feet until his entire almost five inches of boner could be seen sideways in his shorts. He made little quiet humming sounds along with some groans as he fondled and made love to my feet.
I don't have even a touch of foot fetish, but watching Chubby get sexually aroused got my dick firming up a little. His foot fondling went on for a while, but the TV is in a direct line from where I sat so I mostly watched the baseball game while Chubby enjoyed his fetish. The way he sucked on my big toe was kind of erotic, even to me. He'd lick slowly up the arch of my foot, ending with my big toe in his mouth where he gave it as much tongue all over my toe as the Marine had given my dick. Guess what I was thinking.
Glancing down, seeing Chubby's cute face, his eyes lightly closed, I though, I'll bet you anything he ain't doing this with Ricky. Chubby wouldn't be comfortable doing this with anyone but me. He finally took a deep breath, said, "Oh man, your feet needed a lot of attention tonight, Dylan."
He took another deep breath, adjusted his crotch and asked, "How do your feet feel now?" I told him that they've never felt better and after one more deep breath he turned on the clippers and within ten seconds all my pubes lay around the base of the toilet. "That was cool." he said, "We should have thought of this sooner."
I mutter, "Yeah, that almost gave me a boner, but now the stubble is prickly against my nuts, my scrotum. He said, "Oh, well, we'll shave the area. You know, this could turn out to be a pain in the ass doing it regularly." I shrug and he uses a washcloth to wet my groin and then spreads shaving cream from the same can we've been using for three months to shave the peach fuzz from our upper lips. Chub sits back on his heels and says, "You better stand up now, Dylan. I think I can shave you easier that way, avoiding cutting your dick off."
Standing up nice and straight with my hands clasped behind my back as I did for the Marine, I'm getting another boner, so I relaxed. There was no hesitation, Chubby held my dick out of the way and, using a safety razor, shaved my pubes. I couldn't help it; I got a roaringly hard boner. Chubby grinned, then squeezes my boner and finished, saying, "This looks so cool, Dylan! Come on, do mine now." then he added, "You got a longer boner than I do. You're lucky." I just said, "Dude!" I used the barber clippers on his pubes, moving his smaller penis this way and that.
It occurred to me that this is the first time either of us have ever touched the other guy's privates. My dick had been touched many times by Carl, who thought he owned it, and by the Marine, who will own it if I'm not careful. I tried to make my mind blank, but the mutual penis touching and the whole idea of shaving each other's pubes was too arousing to ignore. Putting it out of my mind didn't seem to work because my penis has a mind of its own, and in this instance, it was determined to get harder and harder, eventually sticking at least six inches straight out from my crotch.
I was mad at myself for not putting my shorts back on before starting on Chubby's pubes. By the time I was done shaving Chubby's stubble, holding his cock the whole time, his cock had gotten as rock hard as mine. Breathing hard, I definitely felt I was going to cum any second. This is NOT what I thought would happen to me. If anything, I expected Chubby to get sexually turned on, not me.
Concentrating hard, imagining myself sitting in a tub of cold water, hoping this would get my dick to back off. It wouldn't stop vibrating, though, and feeling awesome until I groaned, "Oh, fuck!" and, facing away from Chubby, I stroked my throbbing boner. The foreskin sheath slid easily back and forth over the sensitive, swollen head of my penis. "Oh! Ohh! Oooh!", my body shuddered and a string of cum three feet long shot out and dropped to the bathroom floor. I stroked it again wicked fast, my eyes and mouth tightly shut, making soft moaning sounds in my throat as another shorter spurt of cum shot out making be shudder all over. Then cum drools as I kept stroking, slower now. I managed to grunt, "Ohhhh, Jesus! That was not in my plans, Chubby. Man, I'm so embarrassed, but it just happened."
Chubby said, "Whoa, that was da bomb, man! I never saw you spunk. Well, fuck, I never saw anyone spunk before. In person, I mean. Wow, watch me." I noticed his boner is now sticking straight out, an almost five-inch steel pipe. Standing with stiff legs, Chubby used the circle formed by his thumb and index finger tightly around his boner to manipulate his foreskin back and forth over the dark red head of his cock. I watched in fascination while he jerked-off for less than a minute, his face all scrunched up, blowing spit sprays out a small opening between his lips. Then he arched his back thrusting his groin out as far as he could and said, "Ooooahhh" and a hard, thin, four-foot squirt of cum shot out hitting the bathroom door.
Chubby squeaks out, "Oh yeah! Shit! Ohhh!" and two more quick squirts of spunk splatter on the tile floor, then he drained his nuts, the cum drooling down his shortish root. Chubby grunts, "Fuck, that was awesome. Damn!" He sat on the toilet seat again, breathing hard, still stroking his cock. "Whoa, Dylan. It was hot having you watch me. Goddammit to hell, what's wrong with us two. We should have started doing this years ago. Lots of guys do it together, ya know?"
He's partially right. Some guys do it, but even a couple of months ago, something like this wouldn't even enter my mind. That's a major reason why we didn't do this together earlier. I certainly didn't want to tell Chubby about Carl or the Marine. I nodded, muttering, "Yeah, you're right, Chub. It's pretty cool." Chubby's smirking and taking credit for the whole thing, "It's good to see you lighten the fuck up a little bit, Dylan. We're not queer, you know. Just doing a little natural experimenting with our bodies like everybody does."
He went on a little bit about this topic as we got dressed. Me nodding, and grinning because you'd have thought we should be ashamed of ourselves for not whacking off together sooner. The funny thing is, Chubby talks an aggressive sexy adventurous life, while I'm the one who is living one. Um, that's as far as I know, anyway.
Dressed, I wrap Chubby in my arms and hug him because I love him like a cherished brother, or maybe more than that. He hugged back and we swayed a little before kissing cheeks and letting go. So soon after climaxing, that hug felt like much more than our regular hugs. Neither of us had anything to say after the hug. We finished putting the barbering stuff away, swept up pubic hairs, wiped up the sperm, and crawled into our favorite recliner together to watch the rest of the game.
Chubby dozed off as I thought, Damn, I didn't leave the little patch of pubes on top like the Marine said. Fuck it; this worked out better than I could have hoped for. Goddamn, I wonder if the Marine will be surprised I did it. I'm surprised!
When awakening the next morning, the first thing I did was feel my smooth belly where pubic hair used to be. The second thing I did was feel my heart beating fast, thinking about meeting the Marine during my run after school. I was still experiencing a combination of excitement and a touch of fear. That formula continued all day. On the way to school, Chubby and I never even mentioned last night's activities. It's now part of the Dylan/Chubby experience. Beside jerking off, there was something else about last night that I can't put my finger on.
Then, walking to school, I could sense Chubby feeling closer than normal, which I wouldn't have thought possible. I mean, we're already closer than brothers. It's beginning to look like icky-Ricky doesn't have a chance of splitting Chubby and me up. School dragged on all day because I was anxious to get on the run and meet my Marine. At the same time, I had a constant nervous, scary feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not scary like a clown at midnight, but an uneasiness scare. This was something new to me. It's my first time feeling nervous with scary anticipation while simultaneously being excited with desirable anticipation. Opposite emotions about the same thing.
My aroused penis stirred, my heart nervously beat too fast, and my hands with a upsetting tremor. I was jittery the entire day because I knew I was going to meet him. It was nerve-racking, but I'm seventeen years old and only now finally dipping my toe in the sexual ocean to determine the temperature, metaphorically speaking. It's past time for that, too.
At the end of the day, while closing down the school newspaper, there was no doubt, I was going to go through with it. The scary, weird feeling in my belly existed stronger than ever, so that didn't change, but I knew I was going to meet the Marine just the same. Smoking two cigarettes on the way home I tried to calm my nerves. There's nothing to be afraid of. He's apparently married and is bisexual. What else can it be? He's taken a liking to me and if I can grow some balls really quick, I'll find out a little more about gay sex. Maybe, at the same time, I will experience the sexual thrill of my life thus far. Also, I wanted to feel proud of myself for being gutsy enough to do this.
At home, Mom asked me. "Dylan, what's wrong? You're acting strange, honey." I told her, "I'm not acting strange, Mom. Everything is great, truly," and went to my room to change clothes. She yelled after me, "Your voice sounded funny too." Mothers!
In my room, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, maybe I do look a little funny, but that's because I'm really nervous! So, what, though?
The important thing is that I'm committed, so with my running stuff on, I go out the door carrying my bottle of water and begin the four-mile run. Jogging slowly until I got warmed up, I kept telling myself. "Act like a man, for Christ's sake! You've never been a wuss. Don't start now!"
There's something about that Marine that draws me to him, but I was increasingly nervous the closer I got to the cut-off trail. Shaky as hell, but determined to experience this again, I had myself psyched to find out if it could possibly be as hot the second time as it was the first. I'm so freaking nervous about it, though. After running for forty minutes or so, I saw the sign for the rest area turnoff trail right in front of me, and without hesitating, I followed it.
Slowing down to a jog and then walking the last ten yards. My heart was thumping, and I was taking short, fast breaths as I again questioned myself, why are you doing this? I felt compelled to do it. I can't EVER remember feeling this apprehensive about anything before in my life and, at the same time, having this high a level of anticipation. My groin was definitely buzzing, and I groped myself with both hands just before reaching the trees. Then I stopped, getting myself under control before taking little hesitant steps around the group of trees, and there he was, standing near the pee tree, sweating and breathing hard.
He must have arrived a minute before me. I glanced down at my Swiss Army wristwatch: It was five minutes to three. The first thing I noticed was his new crisp, Marine-style, white side-wall haircut. He looked so cool, so confident, so hot. Feeling unsure of myself and a little bit scared, I stopped and waited, panting slightly and silently telling myself to calm the fuck down!
The Marine glanced up without changing expression. He didn't appear the least bit surprised I showed up. After glancing in my direction, he took two steps away from the tree, pointed back at it, and said, "Take your pee." I swallowed hard and, standing up as straight as I could, walked slowly, like a zombie, over to the tree. Spreading my legs slightly, I pulled the front of my running shorts and my jockstrap cup down to catch under my nuts and waited. I wanted to, but I didn't look back. I could sense him behind me a second before his hairy arm came around my neck, under my chin more firmly than the last time. He spoke in a no-nonsense manner, "Don't wait for me to tell you what to do every time; get against me tightly and stay like that."
Gulping and coughing, I leaned back against him, feeling that slightly sweaty, hairy arm tickling under my chin. The fleeting thought that he could kill me in an instant flew through my brain, and I discarded it just as fast as it arrived. I took a deep inhale and held it. His body was damp with perspiration, and soon, the back of my T-shirt was damp as well. Adjusting his hairy arm lifying my chin, raising it awkwardly, he used his other hand to feel my shaved belly and down all around my cock and balls but said nothing. I tried to relieve the pressure under my chin by going up on my toes as he fondled my teen package. Then, rubbing next to my nuts on my thigh, he finally ran his hand behind to grab a fistful of my buttocks and squeezed hard.
Oh my God, the feel of him excited me greatly. I'm so glad I came back to him. Waiting for him to tell me what to do; up on my toes, my legs got jittery, my heart beat hard and fast, and I was getting dizzy. In that hypnotic voice, with his lips brushing my ear and without the scratchy five o'clock shadow he had the first day, he said, "Exhale! Breathe the fuck out, or you'll pass out. You need to relax, as I told you last time."
He rubbed the side of his face against the side of my head just above my ear, and I could feel his semi-swollen eight-inch cock against my buttocks. Him being three or four inches taller than me, his organ rubbed against the top portion of my ass. His penis was sideways in his running shorts, and it didn't feel like he had a jockstrap on. Doing what he said, I gasped out an exhale but immediately had to do a huge inhale of another wheezy, deep breath; my breathing was totally out of its normal pattern. I was all fucked up while I continued leaning back against the Marine with all my might.
He wrapped both arms around me now, leaned back, and casually lifted me off my feet; his cock was getting harder and harder as he put his lips against my ear again and said, "It'll be okay. Calm down. You're excited, I understand that, but you've got to breathe!" Both my hands were on his wrist again, the one he had holding me around my stomach. He lowered me back down, and when my feet touched the ground, my cock, and balls bounced as he continued to hug me, swaying me slightly from side to side. I laid my head back against his shoulder, and he nuzzled the hair on the side of my head with the side of his chin. It was a surreal moment in time for me, as if I was in a different dimension, dreaming or something.
The two minutes we were like that, I got very relaxed, and my breathing slowly became regular again, although my heart continued beating too hard and fast. Sensing I had recovered sufficiently from my near-frenzied state, he said, "That's good," and just like that, he took my penis in his fingers and said, "Pee!" A second later, a stream came right out, and I had a long piss, followed by a shoulder shudder, his flick of my dick to get the last drops off, and then me doing that deep breath of relief after a much-needed piss.
All business again, the Marine said, "Okay, you need to come over to the bench with me now. I need you to concentrate and do everything the way I tell you." I felt nervous again. Like Wednesday, he held onto my cock and led me over to the bench, using my penis as a short leash, me taking little, fast steps outside his feet so I didn't step on his heels. When he sat down, I stood as straight as possible, hands clasped behind me. I was hoping he'd compliment me for doing it the right way and maybe compliment me for my shaved pubes, too.
Standing before him, averting my eyes, with my hands clasped behind me, I had the absurd realization that my penis was erect. That totally took me by surprise. When did that happen? It was sticking six inches straight out from my shaved crotch. Maybe it got hard when he used it as a leash to lead me over here. No! Now I recall that it got hard near the end of my piss. How unusual!
Sitting up straight and somehow making it look comfortable, the Marine casually took a long pull on his bottle of water and then wiped his face with a small towel he retrieved from the waistband of his running shorts. When I dared, I stole a peek at him. He looked so tough but kind of boyish, too, almost like a kid playing a tough Marine. Every time I looked at him, he appeared younger and turned me on more and more every minute. It was crazy. Not just his hot looks but how he did everything, even drinking water. He didn't swallow, gulp, gulp, gulp, like I do. He allowed the water to just roll down his throat.
Suddenly, I had this sense that I really wanted him to like me and maybe tell me again that I'm special as he did Wednesday afternoon. His thirst quenched, face wiped off, he stood up and looked me over the same way he did before, except, this time, he put his hands under my T-shirt and ran the palms of his hands over my chest, around my back, and my sides, coming around my belly. He hesitated for a second, my dick a wooden pole, then his hand rubbed down to grasp my boner and stroke it slowly.
I gasped, and after a few strokes, he said, "Get back to standing straight!" I stiffened my body again and stood up so straight my neck ached. After feeling my body a bit, he nodded to himself, took his hands away, sat down, and pulled out his long, hard boner. It was too long to stick straight out of his crotch like mine; his went out hard and straight but slumped down due to its length and the weight of that swollen head. If I was braver, I'd say something about a slouching boner, but he probably wouldn't see the irony nor the humor in it. Instead, I tried standing up even straighter.
Still sitting on the bench, he took my nuts in his fist and squeezed them too hard. Looking at my face with those glowing blue eyes of his, he squeezed my balls harder. I scrunched my face and took the pain without a whimper. "Good," is all he said. Then he put my boner in his mouth and sucked it fast with strong pulls from his lips and tongue. He sucked me off like he was sucking on a Tootie pop that he wanted to consume in record time.
It was as if there actually was some yummy flavor coming off my bone-hard penis. When a small squeak escaped my lips as I squirmed at the thousands of pleasure sensations his mouth was creating, his blue eyes looked up again, and I moaned, "I'm gonna cum." Taking my cock out of his mouth, he held it sideways against my thigh and began sucking small parts of my shaved belly with a combination kissing/sucking motion that pulled my flesh between his front teeth for a light bite as shivers and goose bumps ran all around my body, me shivering as if a cold breeze had blown over me. He went back to sucking on my cock, sucking it gently now. He wasn't stroking himself like last time.
His thumb and index finger of his left hand held my penis at its base against my belly, and the other hand was between my legs rubbing from just behind my balls back to my asshole using his middle finger. He did it over and over, and it was getting sweaty and slippery down there. He pushes his nose into my belly and swallows the head of my boner... it slid right down his throat. This time when he swallowed the head of my cock, I went up on my toes, and he pushed his middle finger all the way up my ass. It made me come down off my toes and then quickly back up on them again, sputtering and shuddering and making "Aaaahhh" sounds.
He fucked me with that finger, fast and faster, never taking it all the way out, just rubbing it against my prostate, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, all the while bobbing his head so my boner was in and out of his throat. I didn't even have a warning before a burning blast of cum shot up from my nuts and out my cock into the Marine's mouth. It felt like a torrent of teen cum, but it wasn't much more than the normal amount; it just felt like it was a lot more.
With my entire body vibrating in pleasure, he sucked my pee slit until every drop of cum was accounted for. I was blubbering and blowing sprays of spit out a small opening between my teeth. What a climax! It was over too fast, but other than that, it was the most intense feeling I've ever had. When the Marine pulled off my softening cock, he sucked my nuts into his mouth, another totally unexpected action. Dazed by it all, I suddenly realized that I was leaning down with my arms around the back of his neck. How I got in that position, I couldn't tell you. The hairs on the back of his head were so short it felt like sandpaper back there. I rubbed up his head, and when I got near the top, the hairs were slightly longer and they were soft. It was shocking that this hard Marine would have such soft hair. Still in a bizarre daze, I used both my hands to rub all around his head, up the back and sides, feeling the contrasting sandpaper and soft hair.
I quickly learned that the Marine didn't care for me rubbing his head. He pushed my bag of nuts out of his mouth with his tongue and said, "God damn you! Stand up straight. Hands behind your back." I got back in position, then sneaked a look down, and, oh my God, I've never seen a longer cock than the one he had at that moment. He was wiping the finger he'd had up my ass on the little towel, and then he tightened his jaw and closed his eyes for a second while he stroked that long, long boner of his. It only took four strokes before a stream of pre cum drooled out and hit the ground. He murmured, "Oooh," and sat up straight on the bench, definitely aroused, but he took his hand off his dick.
I felt proud that it was partly me that had aroused him so. He stood up, blew out another deep breath, and said, "Now you're going to suck me off.
Do you kneel or sit down when you give head?" I sucked off fat Carl initially sitting down, but he quickly insisted I do it on my knees, so I told the Marine, "On my knees," and got down in front of him and waited to see if he had further instructions. He moved us over a few feet so that my back was against the plank of pressure-treated wood on the bench. "Okay, kid, show me what you got."
I licked up from his balls to the head of his boner, and more precum had squeezed out of his pee slit. Taking the head of his cock in my mouth, I sucked the precum off his prick and swallowed it. Carl taught me to enjoy doing this, so I was the calmest since walking around those trees at the entrance. I liked sucking Carl's cock near the end, and now I tried to remember the way he had taught me to try putting everything I had into pleasing and pleasuring the Marine. He lightly held my head, his fingers playing with my hair.
Sucking and licking the top half of his boner and then rubbing his cock's head against the inside of my cheek and the roof of my mouth, doing the things Carl had instructed me to do for him. I thought it was going quite well, and I was getting my own stiffy back from sucking off the Marine. I wasn't even stroking myself, and I got hard. Not surprisingly, he smelled masculine, and that excited me, as did his thick, dark pubic bush. I had one hand around his boner and the other one ruffling through his damp pubic bush and then lightly squeezing his large bag of nuts as I sucked him off for all I was worth.
After five minutes, the Marine muttered, "No," and tightened his two-hand grip on my head to over-power my neck muscles, and now he was manipulating my head's movements. "Swallow it," he muttered, adding off-handedly, "By now, you should be taking it down your throat." He began directing his cock head against the back of my throat, and I gaged like mad, almost throwing up.
"You'll need to learn to do this eventually, so it might as well be now. Relax your throat muscles. Think of it as swallowing a large mouthful of something." His instructions were made matter-of-factly, as if he were talking about me learning to fry an egg. He thrust his boner in my throat, and I would have backed away, except my back was against that bench, and the bench was cemented to the ground. I tried to shake my head, but he held it too tightly. Relentlessly, he poked his hard boner at the entrance to my throat, and each time, my gag repelled it. My eyes were tearing like crazy; my dick was now limp as it could get, and I wasn't calm anymore. I didn't want to do this, but he wouldn't stop poking the back of my throat, so I let my teeth scrape his boner, and the lights went out in my head for half a second.
It took me a few more seconds to realize he'd slapped my face with his open hand. "The next time your teeth touch my pecker, you are going out for the count. Do you got that?" He left my head loose enough for me to nod, my ears still ringing. The slap was helpful because it kept my mind off gagging and sure enough, the head of his cock went down past my gag reflex, into my throat, and then quickly out. It scared me and fascinated me at the same time. Three pokes later, and his boner's head went down my throat again, and this time, he left it there for a couple of seconds. When I started to panic, he pulled it back out but pushed it back in again.
Tears began running down my face, and mucus ran from my nose as he forcibly trained me to deep-throat his cock. I don't know how long we did it, but I hated every second of it, and I hated him. It hurt my throat, and I couldn't breathe when I thought I needed to. I promised myself that if I lived through this, never again. I will never do this again.
I've learned my lesson. This Marine is dangerous! The tears had turned into a whimpering cry, but he wouldn't stop, and his cock head was going in and out routinely now. I prayed it was over, but no. Now he was seeing how deep in my throat he could get his cock. With no mercy, it was going halfway down my throat rather easily. Then he concentrated on getting the second half in my mouth and down my throat. Before he was done, I had completely surrendered my head and throat to the Marine and, as a result, with his strong hands controlling my head, I eventually found my nose repeatedly pressed into his pubes as he fucked my throat with the entire length of his full boner, all the way in and all the way out.
I gaged at times and gasped for breath other times, but he was going to fuck my mouth come hell or high water. As he got in a rhythm, sliding his slippery, saliva-dripping, long boner in and out of my throat, I concentrated on keeping my lips over my teeth. I was meticulous about it, as if it was my job to pleasure the Marine. In some part of my brain, I now felt like I belonged to him. Complying totally with him, gulping and making the swallowing motion he instructed me to do, and it aided insertion and withdrawal, and with the huge amount of saliva his action was generating, he was humping easily in and out of my throat. Like I said, with a comfortable, rhythmic thrusting of his hips, almost a dance move to a medium beat. It shocked me when I realized I was stroking my own boner again. When did I start doing that?
I stroked my hard cock in rhythm with every thrust he made down my throat. I could hardly believe I'd gotten a boner under those circumstances, but there it was, and after a while, I got that feeling deep in my balls that quickly resulted in me spurting out a dollop of cum. It happened just ten seconds before his eruption. The Marine was pulling up out of my throat when he grunted out, "Ohhhh!" and a large splash of cum hit the back of my throat. Some I gulped down and swallowed, but most I sucked up into my sinus cavity and coughed, then blew a large cum bubble out my right nostril. The Marine had his eyes tightly closed as the second smaller cum load hit the roof of my mouth and spilled out around his boner at both sides of my mouth; the cream drooled down my chin and down to my neck. He roughly pulled his boner out to stroke it with fast, tight strokes.
Inhaling deeply, a shot of cum hit my forehead, and then one hit my chin, and he squeezed his cock tightly, dragging out drools of cum that he spread around my face with the head of his cock. He kept groaning and taking shuddering big inhales, apparently unable to get enough oxygen into his system. I was desperately trying to clear my sinus cavities by blowing out through my nostrils. I did it so hard that my ears stopped up. Strings of his creamy cum flew out each nostril, but I couldn't get it all out because it was too sticky.
All I smelled and tasted was the Marine's cum. It smelled vaguely like a damp kitchen sponge and tasted faintly of hamburger. My climax had me groping my cock and squeezing my nuts. Goddamn, that second climax of mine had felt good!
The Marine staggered back two steps, still stroking his long boner and still breathing hard. Sweat covered both our faces, and of course, my face was also drenched with his cum load. He puffed his cheeks out and blew out a last big exhale before saying, "You did okay, kid." He stepped back toward me now with a smirk on his face, then cupped the back of my head with one hand, and with the other, he smeared his cum evenly over my face and into my hair. The smirk was almost a smile, almost friendly.
Then he said, "I'll help clean you up." He'd been wiping his sweaty face with his small towel again, then poured water from his bottle onto the towel and began wiping the cum and sweat off my face. I could detect the faint smell of shit on the little towel from when he wiped the finger, the one he'd had up my ass in the towel. After two swipes, he snapped, "Stand up straight! Do I need to tell you that every fucking time?"
I got up straight with my hands behind my back, and he continued with my facial clean-up, mumbling, "Slouching is disrespectful." He wiped at my hair, but I knew he couldn't get all the cum out of there; then he pressed the damp towel to my nose and squeezed it there with a finger on either side and said, "Blow hard." He made me blow four times before there wasn't any more cum to blow out. I could breathe through my nose again. Heaving the towel into a wire mesh trash basket, he pulled my jockstrap cup and running shorts up and said, "Did you like that?"
I'd been thinking about how much I hated it, so it surprised me when I said, "It was hot and sexy." He snapped, "Answer my question; did you like it?" I mumbled, "Yes, I liked it." He said, "I thought you would, but it's made me late, so I'll leave first. Give me a couple of minutes head start, then you can follow. Monday, you be right here at the same time," and just like that, he took off with a fast jog, leaving me standing at attention, I guess that is what it's called.
I'm wondering what I liked about it, if, in fact, I had liked it. I went over to sit on the bench, contemplating that question. My throat was sore, and I didn't need to contemplate that because it was obvious. My face was still stinging where he slapped me, but other than that, nothing came to me from my contemplating. I looked around at the different parts of this rest area, wondering, what the hell am I doing?
I don't know what I like or what I'm doing, so I stopped thinking about it. I took a deep breath and thought, I've never been in the rest area's lavatory, so why not? I walked over and went in the front door. There was a little foyer with many health pamphlets encouraging exercise, both running and biking. Also, good advice like don't start forest fires and don't litter. There were pamphlets and a list of penalties for doing some of the things you're not supposed to do. This is a Massachusetts State forest, so of course, there are a lot of rules and regulations, although there is no mention of gay blow jobs and deep-throating. I pushed into the lavatory proper and was pleasantly surprised at how clean it was. Apparently, the State Parks people are still servicing this place.
Looking in a mirror, I could see the Marine's finger marks in red on the side of my face, still showing from that smack fifteen minutes ago. I touched the red outline with my fingers and then felt my throat. It was sore and hurt, too. After washing my hands and face, then my head, I left the lavatory, I began jogging back down the rest area trail, thinking I may have liked it today, but I would never meet the Marine again. After fifteen minutes or so, I drank water from my bottle and noticed my throat felt okay. That's odd. I tried not to think about anything the rest of the way home.
Back at the house, there was a note from my Mom saying she was at the supermarket. Good! I didn't feel like talking. Instead, I took a long shower and slowly began thinking about my deep-throat experience. I first realized that the Marine had some almost magical way, besides his far superior strength, to get me to do what he wanted. This means I have no free will when I'm with him; therefore, it's a good thing that I'll be staying away from him.
Thinking about never seeing him again made me think about him. He was so handsome it was almost ridiculous. Add to that the fact I was now pretty sure he was even younger than I first thought. Maybe only two or three years older than me. Yes, he could still be a teenager. That is one super-hot teenager, but how did he get this power, this magnetism he seems to have? The more I thought about me rubbing his head and that sandpaper and then the feel of his soft hair up near the top of his head, it's... oh, hell, I don't know.
He's so unique that I began to want to see him again. I know I shouldn't ever take a chance seeing him again, but I wanted to anyway. His hands felt so steady whenever he touched me. He never seemed in doubt about what to do to me next. It was fascinating. Maybe I like it best when he has me captured with his hairy wrist under my chin, pulling my head back and up. And the strength in his arms. Hell, in his whole body, he's so fucking attractive and scary.
Lying on my bed after the shower wearing boxer underwear, I went over every step of today's encounter with him, and the more I thought about it, the harder my cock got. Eventually, I jerked off, seeing points of light in my head, arching my back and shooting a nice string of cum that went straight up and then down, landing on my bedspread. I played with myself while thinking about the Marine and then did another jerk off with my cock sticking up through the boxer's pee slit opening. That climax was super-hot, too. But, like the last time after seeing the Marine, I felt like a piece of shit again. Yeah, I felt as though I'd been like a wimp, letting the Marine do whatever he wanted with me. For God's sake, we didn't even know each other's names.
Being hard on myself as I changed my boxers, I compared my pathetic behavior to those guys I'd read about who go to Men's lavatories at rest areas and put their dicks through holes in the toilet stall partitions, allowing total strangers to then suck them off, or God only knows what else. I challenged myself to start doing that, and maybe I could also hang out at the restroom in the bus terminal downtown and give blow jobs to homeless derelicts.
I was getting carried away, but why I so easily allowed myself to be used by the Marine mystified me. Then, while scrubbing at the cum stain on my bedspread, I got pissed off at myself for constantly highlighting the hot aspects of the Marine instead of being more critical of my performance. I decided on two things: one, I wasn't ever going back to the Parker Park rest stop, and the other thing is I'd call Carl to get some mentoring about this whole experience so I could understand it better. Maybe I'll be able to use the information for future reference. Carl's the only one I feel slightly comfortable talking about gay stuff with, and he seems to know what he's talking about, the fat fuck.
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com
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