DYLAN!
CHAPTER FOUR
Carl is my sex mentor, so I'll ask him for advice. Find out if I'm doing anything wrong or anything right. I don't know why I often think badly about Carl, labeling him a fat fuck and all. He's been good to me, and when I call him, I'll tell him I appreciate everything he's done for me.
When Chubby got home from his job, we had a quick dinner, then we went to the movies. Friday night at the eight-screen Movie Multiplex is a popular night for the movies, and we ran into some of the window-washing boys there. Thankfully, one of them wasn't Rickie. The three guys Chubby introduced me to were okay guys. Two are still in high school, and one dropped out in the tenth grade. All three seemed like rougher, more brutal guys than Chubby and me. They also were on a mind-altering substance tonight: marijuana or something. They were all very loud, calling Chubby Jeffrey-the-Giant. Maybe they sarcastically called him Giant because he's shorter than them. Or perhaps they're just all hopped-up-druggie assholes. I'm glad we're seeing different movies. Standing in line for popcorn, I saw Robby Dickers in another line and waved.
He got his popcorn and came over to say hi. His younger brother, who he introduced as Dodger, was a very cute fifteen-year-old with a great smile. I stared at him, thinking I never used to look at other boys like I do now. Thank you for that, Carl.
We did a quick handshake, and I introduced Chubby, who was nice and friendly like always. Robby looked so fresh with his beautiful, pale complexion, dark rosy pink blotches, one on each cheekbone, and blue eyes with that light blond hair. I put my hand in my pocket to rub my semi-hard cock a few times. Robby asked what day we could get together next week to discuss his job as a sports reporter for the school newspaper next year. We decided on Tuesday.
Robby and Dodger's movie was about to start, so we split up. Watching them go, Chubby mumbled, "Wow, rare to see a guy take his little brother to a Friday night movie." I muttered, "I guess so, Chubby, but fifteen is only two years younger than Robby and us." We saw a comedy tonight that got Chubby on a roll laughing, which was contagious, and we had a great time but were exhausted from the laughing by the end. On the bus going home after the movie, Chubby comes out with, "Don't get all bent out of shape, Dylan, but after work tomorrow, the boss is having a barbecue cookout at his house, and there is no fucking way I can get out of going."
He was looking out the bus window when he said that. Looking over at the back of his head, I know the boss is the foreman, and the foreman happens to be Ricky Ortiz's father, and I know that this means I'll be by myself all day Saturday and Saturday night, too. But I also know I've got to stop being a baby about this kind of thing. And I like Chubby too much to make him uncomfortable, so I said, "Just to be up-front about everything, Chubby, I hate that job you got, and I hate that psycho Rickie, but I'm fine that you've got to do what you've got to do. Have fun."
With that slight grin, he turned and looked me in the eyes, squeezing my hand, "Thanks for understanding, bro." During the rest of the ride home, he told me all the reasons he wished he could get out of going to that barbecue, and you know what? I didn't believe a word of it.
Sleeping on Saturday morning felt great. I got up about the time my Mom got up, which was around ten o'clock. We had an excellent breakfast together, and then she went off with Tris, Chubby's mom, to the Spa for their hair and nail appointments and then clothes shopping. I'm so happy my Mom has such a good friend in Tris. Friends make life unique. After thinking about it for an hour, I finally said, "Fuck it!" and I called Carl. He was surprised to hear from me. He seemed reluctant when I asked if I could come over and talk with him. "Look, dude, I spent all that time mentoring you, and you didn't appreciate it. Now, without any warning, you call me up and want to talk? What's up with that?"
It took me a few minutes to admit to him I was an ass. I apologized for not telling him how much I appreciated all he's done for me and talked him into seeing me. After ending the call, I was surprised at how much I really did want to speak with him. I only feel comfortable discussing this type of thing with him because it's gay, and Carl's the only person on Earth who knows I'm gay.
Anyway, Carl did say I can see him, but I should bring a condom. I said I would, but I'm not going to because I don't want him to fuck me. I want him to mentor me about the sex I've had or almost had. He won't fuck me without a condom, so I'm not bringing one. If he has one of his own, what the hell? I wouldn't mind all that much if he screwed me, but I won't encourage it. The last time I was fucked was almost a month ago, and it was with Carl, who is still the only one who has ever done it with me.
Since then, the Marine sucked me off twice, and I sucked him off once. Those blow jobs are the only sex I've had in a month, which hardly qualifies me as a sexually active gay seventeen-year-old. I want to discuss this with Carl, especially about the Marine. Carl is much more experienced and older than me, so getting his input could be helpful.
While making lunch, I felt proud of myself for calling Carl and, for once, initiating some help. I need to get someone else's impressions about the Marine. I've decided never to see the Marine again, but I'd still like to understand my reactions and attraction to him. Carl can help me compile information if I ever encounter this situation again. I want to be prepared, like the fucking Boy Scouts... BE PREPARED! Carl told me to come over at four o'clock because his parents and sister would be at the Mall then, and he expected them back by six o'clock, so we'd have two hours.
Giving myself plenty of time to get there by four o'clock, I started walking to Carl's, admitting that this might be a waste of time, but there was always the chance Carl had some insight about my relationship with the Marine. I haven't given Carl enough credit for showing me my gay nature, and he deserves credit for the information about sex, about Ivy League college applications, and about lots of other stuff he's helped me with. It was a half-hour walk, and Carl opened the front door as I went up the front steps.
Wow, it was surprising to see Carl's improved appearance. He had gotten a nice tan during the senior class trip to Florida, and he also managed to clear up his zits. He also had a new, stylish, short haircut. He looked good but hadn't lost weight and might have put on a couple of pounds. The seniors graduate next week, and then two weeks after, the rest of us get out for summer vacation.
I smiled, saying, "You're looking good, Carl." He muttered, "Thanks." Even though no one was home, Carl wanted to go to his room, and that was fine, except his room was a sloppy mess. Not that it mattered, but I wondered why his room was a mess now but impeccable the last time I was here. He told me that after graduating, he'd be leaving for the family's vacation home on the ocean in Maine, and they'd be there till the end of August. His aunt, uncle, and cousin share the place with Carl's family. I don't know why he's telling me this, but the good thing is, he said it to me without his old nemesis, bad breath. He's shaping up, and if he'd lose weight, he'd be hot.
To follow up on his small talk, I told him the latest news about the school newspaper. Then, he wanted to know what mentoring I needed. Not leaving anything out, I told him about the Marine and me. He groped himself, and I got a stiffy. The whole affair was sexy-hot, and I'd had no hesitation about admitting that to Carl. It's the scary lack of control part that I was primarily concerned about, and Carl was a good listener. Still, when I was done, he made a face like he was considering all sides of this and then theatrically rubbed his chin, considering how to explain it all to a dope like me.
Once he got started, I was afraid his lecture would never end. He pontificated about dominant/submissive relationships, how the master/slave relationship is an extreme example of that, and how castration and all kinds of things are possible when just the right submissive individual gets under the control of just the right dominant master. He said that it was dangerous for guys just to put themselves under the control of these dominant types because they could find themselves with a dog collar around their neck, eating out of a doggy dish. On and on, he lectured, giving examples of how he felt a person should react at the first sign of a dominant move by another. No, not to reject it totally out-of-hand, but to compromise so that both parties understood what the other was willing to do or tolerate.
Carl played with himself through his sweatpants while giving examples of dominant behavior. I thought he seemed to know an enormous amount about this topic, but he must have realized the same thing because he stopped, frowned, and then explained how he only knew this stuff from reading about it online, and blah, blah, blah. He felt he had to justify himself as being a top-only, never being the bottom, which usually indicates a dominant personality, although he claimed he was flexible. That's confusing because being flexible means you'll be a top or a bottom. For all I know, he may have talked himself in circles.
He then switched emphasis away from himself and instead chose various points from my story that demonstrated my extremely submissive behavior toward the Marine. Most of what he said made sense, although some of the castration and extreme master/slave stuff seemed a bit over-the-top, but...
He told me that when he and I first started together, he'd mistakenly assumed I was playing more of a dominant role, but as we went along, it was apparent the submissive role was what I wanted him to play. More blah, blah, blah, and I told him I didn't know we were playing roles. Carl just shook his head and said, "Lack of good communication will fuck you up every time." He somehow blamed it all on me, which sucked because I didn't know what he was blaming me for. My head went in circles when he stood up and declared I should get the picture by now. He'd already provided much, much more information than I wanted to know or could understand, so I was happy he was done.
Well, I suppose it all confirmed what I had more or less thought about what worried me the most: having no control at all when I'm with the Marine. Overall, on the plus side, all the information Carl provided was somewhat comforting because it demonstrated that my relationship with the Marine wasn't without precedence. It was, in fact, not especially rare within the gay community. I wasn't a pussy, and I wasn't a mental case, either. Some guys, such as myself, have a propensity to submit to a more dominant sexual partner.
Carl said, "Lastly, Dylan, your Marine relationship can also be seen in the heterosexual community. The stereotypical woman dressed in black leather with a whip putting the hurt on some poor submissive guy who is on all fours." I scratched my head, not having a clue what he meant by that. Anyway, I was all talked out and ready to go home. Carl has a way of using six words when one would do. All this information didn't solve my problem, but it did help me to understand what I was dealing with, and, as I said, it mostly helped me to know I wasn't a one-in-a-million freak by acting submissive to the Marine. I checked my wristwatch and saw we'd talked for almost an hour.
I said, "Jeez, an hour! Well, I better get going, Carl. Thank you! You're a great mentor for me; you really are, and I appreciate it." He chuckled and sarcastically said, "Where do you think you're going? You owe me a little something that I like to call a good fuck."
All of a sudden, he's acting arrogant and bullish. "Carl, are you implying I have to let you fuck me for you to mentor me?" He made a face, rolled his eyes, and said, "I'm not kidding around with you. Get your pants off, or I'll take them off for you." He's a big fellow, and no one was home, and I'd just told him I was submissive to the tough Marine, so Carl assumes...
I shrugged, "Carl, I don't have a condom. I thought you were kidding about that on the phone." He told me I knew very well he wasn't kidding, "Don't give me that shit, Newman!" Taking me by surprise because he'd never gotten physical before, he came over and roughly pulled my T-shirt over my head, and when put his hand inside the waistband of my cargo shorts, I shouted, "Wait a second! Jesus! I'll do it."
I dropped my shorts and boxers, leaving me naked except for my sneakers. Carl took his time getting out of his sweatpants, then said, "Get those sneakers and socks off, too. I want you completely naked." He pointed and added, "On your knees right there." I took a deep breath and thought, should I make a big deal out of this or humor him? Hmmm? It's not like I didn't know this was a possibility, and I haven't been fucked since he did it for me a month ago.
What's so bad? I murmur, "I want to cooperate, Carl. I'm excited that you're willing to give me another chance. You're the only guy who fucked me, and you do it so good, too." That's not all bullshit, either. Now, I was looking forward to that incredibly sexy feeling again, and then the thrill of sexual climax was a pleasure nothing in this world could match. Carl has to adopt his silly dominant role because of everything I told him, but so what?
He's a big fat kid a year-and-a-half older than me, but right now, he's not too bad in the looks department, and I know I can expect a hot fuck, so I'm up for it. Pulling his extra-large Polo shirt over his head, Carl mutters, "Okay, that's what I expect to hear from you. Hot damn, I like those shaved pubes. Your Marine had a good idea with that."
He dropped his sweat pants, then his jockey shorts with the yellow piss stain on the front. Carl's cock being normal sized, a bit smaller than mine, fits my ass perfectly. I concentrated on that. Like he told me, I dropped to my knees and gently picked up his penis. Sucking it into my mouth was easy, it was already reasonably firm. I pretended it was Chubby's cock and sucked away with my eyes closed.
Blanking that thought from my mind, I was surprised at how hard Carl got so fast. He loved to play with and talk about my light blond hair, which is another odd thing that I don't want to think about. Instead, I got into serious cock sucking. It wasn't long before Carl was grunting, then muttering, "Stop, I'm going to cum. Stop!" I took his cock out of my mouth, sat back on my heels, and looked up at Carl's face. It was scrunched up as he concentrated on not blowing his load.
Soon, he relaxed noticeably and then looked sternly down at me. I guess acting stern is part of the role he's playing. "While you're down there, get the tube of KY jelly I have hidden in the cabinet under the sink. It's in the hole of the toilet paper roll, way in the back." I found it and handed it to him, asking, "Do you have a condom without lube?" He said, "Something like that. Get in the bedroom and lay over the side of my bed. I'm going to do you while you're on your stomach with your feet on the floor."
His bed sheets were a mess but didn't smell bad. I lay there, my ass at the side of the mattress and my feet on the floor. Carl spread my legs apart, and then I heard him lubing up the condom on his erection; it sounded like he was jerking off. I would have checked it out, but he had a firm grip on the back of my neck with his left hand, pushing my face into the mattress. More role-playing as the dominant top. Carl didn't hesitate and stayed true to his imagined dominant role by forcing the head of his cock into my asshole, plowing it in until his crotch was right up tight against my buttock. "Ya like that entry, Newman? You get off on that?"
His fat thighs were surrounding my buttocks; his nut sack smacked the back of my trembling nuts. I couldn't answer right away because the pain rolled up my body. Gasping for air, I mumbled, "Please, take it easy, Carl," was all I managed to say as he withdrew five inches or so and then plowed right back up inside me as far as he could go. I was trying to get off the bed after that, but he had a firm grip on the back of my neck with a surprisingly strong hand holding me down.
Another pile-driving slam up my asshole and then another and another; the KY lube really helped, and the pain was fading, and then I felt my cock begin growing under me, and things started to feel better quickly. Carl's throbbing boner was sliding more easily in and out of me, and he took his hand from the back of my neck, knowing he had me now. I wasn't going to miss the good part; in fact, I pushed my ass up for him. He snickered, then began humping steadily, with me moaning quietly; Carl wasn't messing around with this fuck. It felt so good! He grunted with every fast slam up my hole, now with a grip on either side of my hips. Thrust, thrust, thrust, slap, slap, slap. "Ooh, Carl, feels awesome!"
With his grip on my hips, Carl lifted my hips off the bed slightly, pulling me into each of his forceful thrusts up inside me. In only three minutes tops, I felt my balls start tightening up against my body. It felt even better than I remembered, and I knew I was going to blow my load early. Carl had maintained a rapid penetration from the start, and I was right there on the edge of climaxing. I tried to warn him that I was about to spunk his sheets, but it came out like a moan of pleasure, "Carl.. ah Carl Ooh ah... Carl!" and I shot an excellent blast of cum.
Oh, what an incredibly awesome climax, pleasure roaring all over me. I'm shuddering with pleasure. It's incredible to be fucked so good it makes me cum without even touching my penis. It's the best, and I'm happy I called Carl this morning. I felt a fondness for him as cum was still drooling out of my cock, and he continued fucking my ass. When I blew my load, he squeaked and began humping me faster. After the last climax contractions, he lay on my back and, using both his hands; spread my ass cheeks apart, making them as flat as he could make them so that he could go slightly deeper. Breathing hard, he did short, fast rabbit quick humps for fifteen seconds before squealing like a snatch and climaxing.
He squirmed and rotated his large hips while climaxing... then another hump and a groan as more cum left his cock and then another smaller one. This fat boy was seriously turned on, but it was odd that I felt so gooey and slippery inside my rectum. Did the condom break? Two more weak humps and Carl completely collapsed on me, moaning and wheezing from the effort of it all. It was his best fuck of me. I knew that for sure, and I almost hate to say it, but it was hot. I let him lie on me for a minute or so, but that boy weighed about two hundred pounds, and I finally had to say, "Awesome, Carl, but please, you're smothering me."
He took two big breaths and slowly got off me, pulling his cock out of me at the same time. I made an "Oooh!" sound, and he squeezed my ass affectionately, saying, "I heard you calling my name when you were coming. You forgot how hot I can get you, huh?" He was impressed with himself, and he should be. He gave my ass a damn good screwing, and maybe I wouldn't mind doing it again before he leaves for Maine. Then, a shock when quite a bit of liquid drooled from my hole and down the inside of my thighs. I reached back, thinking, "Lube from the condom?" Then a thicker, creamier substance drooled out, and a long strand of a gooey substance.
I wiped back there, fearing it was blood, but it wasn't blood. It was a lot of Carl's cum. I screamed, "You fucked me without a condom? I'll get AIDS!"
"Yeah, I did you bareback, and it was the best fuck I ever had. And what's more, I'm going to do you again in a little while, but stop with the AIDS bullshit." I shouted, "Fuck you, Carl. You can forget that pipe dream of fucking me again. You may have infected me, and then my parents will know I'm queer!" Using his bed sheet, I kept wiping at the drooling cum until my ass was dry, and then thirty seconds later, more of Carl's cum would drool out, so I finally just sat on his bed.
He said, "I'm not infected. I told you I only fuck my cousin and you. This was the first time with either of you; I haven't used a rubber because I didn't have one, and you were supposed to bring one!" He got me there, but I said, "Still, you should have discussed it with me first."
He sat beside me and nicely said, "You're right, but after your experience with the Marine, I thought I could get away with being tough, and you'd do what I say."
My look at him implied, get fucking serious, but I didn't say anything. Carl admitted it was dumb of him, so I patted his back and smiled slightly. "It's all right. That was a damn good fuck, Carl." He said, "Yeah, I enjoyed that sex with you, Dylan." He said his parents would bring pizza home for Saturday night dinner and asked me to stay. We could do this again after dinner? "Please, Dylan. We both enjoyed it, and I think you like me more than you admit. Come on, you cute fucker, let's do it again later tonight."
Well, I had nothing going on tonight. Mom's working and Chubby's at the barbecue, and it did feel excellent getting fucked by fat Carl. Oh, there I go again with an insulting thought. He deserves better treatment from me than that. His stupid role-playing was his attempt to try and accommodate me. Carl isn't a bad guy, so I said, "If you promise to stop role-playing, then I'll stay, and thank you for inviting me. You've been good to me, Carl, I know that. Not just the fucking, but the mentoring and getting me that senior editor's job and other stuff too. Yeah, let's do it after dinner. You did me good, dude!" Carl called his Mom's cell phone and set it up so I could stay for pizza.
We both pulled on our shirts, pants, socks, and sneakers. Carl said, "I know I'm pushing it, but the rents won't be here for twenty minutes at least. How bout I trim your hair for you? You know how hot I am for your hair, and I'm being honest, Dylan. I'm excellent at cutting hair."
I feel tight with Carl now, like we've bonded as true friends. I need a haircut, and Chubby had that almost shaved head so that we wouldn't be having a haircut night for weeks. I said, "Sure, Carl, I'll take a chance on your barbering skills." Cutting your friend's hair is an intimate endeavor, or at least it has always been for Chubby and me. We've done it for years, so the moms don't need to pay a barber.
Carl got me seated on his desk chair with a towel on my shoulder, and with just a comb and scissors, he cut my hair in silence, taking ten minutes to do it. It's the kind of thing that gets me hypnotic and trance-like, listening to the click of the scissors and feeling the comb on my head and running through my hair, and it's an enjoyable experience. Weirdly, I noticed Carl got a boner while cutting, but I already knew he had this weird thing for my hair. Chubby told me there is something called a haircut fetish, so I assumed Carl has that fetish. I can see why someone could develop that fetish. It can seem, at times, hypnotizing to get a haircut.
His mother called up to us, saying the pizza was here, which finally ended the haircut. He gave me a handheld mirror, and I saw that Carl was more of a professional barber than Chubby, and this looked like a real professional haircut, although it was too short. When I complimented him, he shrugged as if it was nothing special. Damn, though, he's good!
He introduced me again to his parents, and I sat beside Carl. We had pizza with his parents and fat sister, who screamed at Carl that he'd cut my hair too short. Then she came over to run her pizza-greasy fingers through my hair as Carl ranted and raved to the parents that she was out of control and needed some severe discipline. They took deep breaths and ignored it all. It was awkward for me, but I had real feelings for Carl now, so I bumped his arm and smiled so he'd know it was all right.
Later, upstairs, Carl gave me another bareback fucking, and it was one he could be proud of. He made me cum after only a few minutes again. I heard him chuckling when I got frenzied during my excellent climax. He was able to hold back his climax for another five minutes, at which time he humped me so fast, deep, and hard that I squirted out another little climax of my own just as he was filling up my insides with a more significant load than his earlier one.
We lay on our sides in bed with him still inside me, and after about ten minutes, with our breathing finally under control, he fucked me for a while longer and had another little climax. Not me, but the entire thing felt good while he was doing it. We both were naked and after his last climax, he enveloped my body with his enormous one, saying, "Did you like that one, Dylan? You didn't call out my name this time."
He hugged me like there was no tomorrow, which continued for a while. I kept telling myself to be nice and tolerate it, and I began to like it and snuggled in against him. He murmured, "Move your leg between mine," I did it. He kissed me, "You're my boy now, ain't ya, Newman?" I nodded because it's nice being appreciated and wanted. He rubbed my head, murmuring, "I want you over here regularly, okay?" I nodded, "Sure, thanks, Carl."
It occurred to me after a while that I was being submissive to Carl, but that was alright; I liked it and was disappointed when he finally pulled his soft cock out of my ass, mumbling, "We need to get cleaned up." My rectum was sore, but nothing major. For the hell of it, I clung to Carl, who smiled and kissed me. His bedroom had a small attached half bath, and Carl had his arm around my shoulders, walking me to it, saying, "I'll fuck you bareback from now on, but you can't have sex with anyone else unless it's protected sex." I nodded, "Yes, Carl."
Inside the small bathroom, Carl stopped me and gave me a very sloppy kiss, hugging my naked body against his fat nakedness, and I sprung a boner. Omigod, I sprung a boner making out with fat Carl. He let go of me and grinned, looking at my boner, asking, "Do you need another hard fucking. I seem to be getting you extraordinarily aroused, hot, and bothered, Dylan." For some reason, I felt meek, saying, "Yeah, you're sexy hot, Carl. I'm hot to do it with you again, but my ass is too sore. Is it okay if we do it tomorrow? I mean, I will do it now if you want, but..."
He said, "No, that's okay. Tomorrow is fine. Here, to hold you over," he did a one-minute sloppy kiss. I used to hate him kissing me, but now my dick was a rock when he broke off the kiss and licked across my cheek. I gasped, thinking I was going to cum. He has ultimately won me over as his submissive bottom-sex buddy. I couldn't catch my breath, panting as Carl pulled me against him again, murmuring, "Text me tomorrow. I'll fit you in, but I have a busy day preparing for vacation. How much will you miss me when I'm in Maine?" He ruffed my too-short haircut as I clung to his fat body, my dick throbbing and me frowning, thinking I'll miss this totally.
He said, "Don't worry, I'll invite you for a weekend." Still acting timid to him, I sound like a wimp, mumbling, "Really, Carl? I'd love to see you." We cleaned up and got dressed, then he gave me another long messy kiss, his tongue in my mouth and his hands groping my ass, and I liked it. The half-hour walk home was hard on my sore rectum, but I was mostly shocked at how intrigued I was by Carl. I've got a crush on him or something. It's beyond belief! Fat Carl?
No one was home at Chubby's place or mine, so I locked the bathroom door and took a bath, my first one in a long time. Lying in that warm tub of water, I thought about Carl fucking me tonight and about how good that had felt and about how he was an okay guy, but I'd overdone the snuggling and gave Carl the wrong impression. It's just that in the moment, I let my dick control my brain. I liked the sex, but come on! Snuggling and hugging with all that fat of Carl's... that makes no sense!
When we were lying in his bed, he hugged me, and I groveled as if he were super-sexy instead of a good-looking fat guy. Actually, he has gotten pretty good-looking. Anyway, he told me he would lose a lot of weight this summer, and when I saw him in September, I'd be lucky if I could get a date with him.
Carl likes me, and that affects how I feel about him. Everyone likes to be liked, right? I do! Then I thought about the Marine who didn't seem to like or dislike me. I thought about the way I climaxed when the Marine deep-throated me and compared that to the climaxes I had tonight. I believe the Marine still wins, but Carl is in the conversation, which is borderline shocking to me. I can't deny it, though.
Then I had the awkward sense that I wanted to mess around with Chubby sexily. That is getting to be more than just a fantasy. Is obsession too strong a word to describe my feelings for that? And how about Robby Dickers? Holy shit, do I want every guy I know to fuck me?
After the bath, I got dressed and had a soda. Then, I looked out the window for Chubby. Around eleven o'clock, I saw a gray Plymouth SUV pull up to the curb. Oh, fuck, that's the retard, Rickie's SUV. I got a cigarette from my Marlboro box, expecting Chubby to be here soon and we could smoke on the steps, but he was still in the car ten minutes later. What the fuck? I stared at the car from my front window, and eventually, Chubby got out, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, then fastening his cargo shorts. Huh? My heart beat hard. What?
Did he and Ricky do some gay shit together? I watched Chubby lean back in the open van's door for thirty seconds, and when he pulled his head back out, he was groping his crotch and wiping his mouth again. They were talking loudly; I could hear the sound of the words but not what was said. Then Chubby's laughter. I felt dizzy.
Chubby came up to the unit's front door but not to my door. He took the stairs up to his second-floor duplex, whistling. Whistling? He never whistles!
Somehow, I got the guts to step outside and call up the steps to him, "Chubby? Are you okay?" All I heard was his door closing. My mind was all over the place, and I felt that horrible jealousy again. Even though I was wickedly concerned about Chubby, I'd had an exhausting day, and in bed, I finally drifted off to the mercy of the closest thing to death: deep sleep.
I was lying in bed Sunday morning, thinking about seeing Chubby doing something in icky-Ricky's SUV last night. There isn't any sense in fooling myself. I mean, the van sat there for ten minutes, and then Chubby got out, wiping his lips and buttoning his pants. That behavior might lead a suspicious person to believe that he and douchebag Ricky were involved in some gay hanky-panky unless there was a girl in the car, which I seriously doubt. Making it even worse, Chubby stuck his head back in the car a couple of times, and each time, he popped back out, wiping at his mouth. What else could it be except kissing? Thinking these thoughts hurt my stomach and my head, but it was right before me. And the buttoning of his pants while getting out of the car!
Whoa, I gotta take a couple of deep breaths here to get a grip on reality. Then, being fair, I haven't exactly been a choirboy lately, either. Yesterday Carl fucked me a few times, and I acted like a girl having her first crush. Embarrassing! Before that, Carl was mentoring me about submissive gay sex, a discussion prompted by my recent oral sex activities with the Marine. I can't be throwing stones at gay interaction when I'm living in a glass house myself. It still hurts that Chubby would turn to freaky Ricky for a gay outlet! Why not turn to me?
Thinking about Carl's lecture regarding dominant/submissive sex, he gave me some good advice, and he looked pretty good while giving it to me, too. He is still fat, but I find him much more likable than I used to. He's been really nice to me, and what the hell? I think I have a crush on him. I get aroused thinking about being with him today sometime. He said he'd try to fit me in for an hour or so. This infatuation I have for Carl surprises the hell out of me, but there it is
Now, how am I feeling about Chubby? I'm jealous, but am I pissed off at him? My recently developed lust for him tends to confuse my thinking.
Still, I'd be a hypocrite to be pissed off at Chubby after my sexual activities with Carl and the Marine.
Getting out of bed, I begin my morning bathroom ritual. Then, looking in the mirror and, oh yeah, I'd forgotten about the short haircut Carl gave me last night. I was feeling sort of close to him at the time, and he asked humbly if he could give me a haircut. He has always had a thing for my hair, so I said okay. I felt a little of the haircut fetish I've heard about, too. It was sexy getting a haircut from my fat crush boy, but what the hell can I tell Chubby? I mean, why was I even at Carl's in the first place?
While brushing my teeth, I heard the front door quietly close. That's Chubby. On Sunday mornings, Chubby and I make breakfast for our Moms. They work late nights at the bar and sleep late in the mornings, so Chubby and I make breakfast on Sunday mornings. This Sunday, it's at our place.
Coming out of my room a few minutes later, I see Chubby wearing his Red Sox baseball cap. That's a good sign because I won't have to look at his almost bald head. Last night, he didn't have the cap on getting in and out of Ricky's SUV, though, did he? Oh shit, I'm beating a dead horse here. Jealousy is a nasty emotion!
Glancing at me for a second, Chubby said, "Morning, Dylan," and I said a chilly, "Hi." Chubby's taking hot red bliss potatoes out of the microwave. Tossing them from one hand to the other and finally bouncing them onto the counter. We slice them, brown them in oil, and add sliced onion, making home fries. Watching him cutting the potatoes, I bit my lip, then looked away because he was sexually hot. That great little body and the cutest face, and damn, I've got it bad for him.
We've known each other our entire lives, and everything about him is so familiar that I can predict what he'll do next. I see that oh-so-familiar look of concentration on his face. He tries to do everything he does the very best he can. I took a deep breath and forced myself to look away. Then, after another deep breath, I asked, "Did you have a good night?" I started the electric juicer, juicing oranges, thinking, Chubby's face is so perfectly smooth with his healthy, pale-tannish skin tone is, um, well, it's beautiful, is what it is.
Chubby mutters, "Last night was okay. How about your night?" I'm trying to snap myself out of this mood where I'm idolizing and ogling my best friend. Pouring the orange juice into a pitcher, I mumble, "I didn't do much last night. Um, were there girls at that barbecue last night?" Chubby says, "Girls? There's no such thing as window-washing girls, Dylan. A girl wouldn't last two hours cleaning windows as we clean them. We're professional window washers, not some girl with a paper towel dabbing at the window with Windex or something."
An outlandish rant like that one usually makes me laugh out loud, but not this morning. I put the juice in the refrigerator, saying, "I was referring to window-washer's girlfriends. Anyway, what time did you get home last night?" Chubby slaps the knife down and turns to really look at me for the first time this morning, "What the fuck is this, the third degree, Dylan?" He stops, his mouth open, looking startled. Then asked, " And who cut your hair?"
Now I felt defensive and, in one long sentence, babbled out that I needed to discuss some stuff with Carl about the high school newspaper. He was cutting a neighborhood kid's hair, so he offered to give my hair a trim while we discussed the newspaper," and without taking a breath, I reminded Chubby that his best buddy, Ricky, had done more than give him a trim. It was more like a shaved head. Wow, how'd I come up with that awesome lie?
Chubby studied me with furrowed eyebrows for a few seconds to see if I was for real, then said, "Ricky's not my best buddy! You're my best buddy and best friend, and I'll never have a better one! But that's more than just a trim you got there." I muttered, "Yeah, well..." and dropped the subject to start cracking eggs into a bowl, then cutting slivers of cheddar cheese to scramble with the eggs. Chubby started frying some Jimmy Dean breakfast sausages. Today's Sunday breakfast will be home fries, scrambled eggs with cheese, sausages, rye toast and jelly, orange juice, and Dunkin' coffees. Chubby and I will flip a coin to see who goes for the coffee a block away.
While crunching the eggshells down the garbage disposal, I admitted to myself that I was mad at Chubby, not that I had a real reason to be; I just was because of what maybe happened last night with that pricky Ricky. Chubby and I did the same food preparations every Sunday, so that part of the morning went smoothly. Chubby took a quarter from his pocket, flipped it in the air, and said, "Called it, Dylan!"
On my way to get four medium-sized hot coffees, I questioned the law of averages. This was the sixth Sunday in a row, and I guessed a fifty-fifty chance wrong. I smoked a Marlboro, trying to recall precisely when I realized I had this wicked crush on Chubby. After seventeen years, I suddenly recognize I'm sort of in love with him. Is it as simple and as complicated as that? It probably started in the hospital waiting room when Chubby was unconscious after the fight with the Chavez brothers. And, maybe after that, my feelings for Chubby just grew in my subconscious mind until I couldn't ignore them any longer. Could that be it? Carl was an essential ingredient here, too. He brought me out to my gay nature and opened that door in my mind, and now I look at guys and evaluate how cute and/or sexy they are. Through that open door, Chubby has somehow slipped in and made it all the way from my head to my heart.
When I got back with the coffees, both Moms were in the kitchen laughing with Chubby, and I tried my best not to bring them down. After breakfast Chubby says, "Dylan, I got to help Mom take some old clothes to Goodwill. Do you want to do our run when I get back?" He was trying to be so upbeat, so I was, too. "Yeah, sure, Chubby. I'd like that!" And less than an hour later, that's what we were doing.
It wasn't as hot today as it's been, so we didn't drink the extra water, but after the first two miles, I still wanted to stop at the rest area to pee.
Chubby went right over to the bench and sat down while I took a pee against the same tree the Marine and I used. Chub said, "God damn, Dylan, I'm winded. It's amazing how fast you lose wind when you stop running for a few weeks."
Looking over my shoulder, I see Chubby sitting exactly where the Marine sits. Wouldn't it be fabulous to go over with my cock and balls out, me standing up straight in front of Chubby and him sucking me off? Oh boy, watch out, or I'll be sporting a boner the rest of the day thinking about that.
Instead, I got my mind on other things, showing him the inside of the lavatory, and, like me, he was surprised at how clean it was. As we were walking out, Chubby rubbed his eye, then muttered, "Shit. There's something in my eye. I think it's an eyelash."
Both his eyes were tightly closed, and tears were rolling out under the lid of the left one. I took his hand and led him to a spot outside where the sun shone through the trees, and bending his head back, I lifted the tearing eyelid. His eye was bloodshot already. Chubby has longish eyelashes, which any girl would love to have, and he has beautiful eyes, too. Getting a loose eyelash under an eyelid happened to Chubby about once a month.
I told Chubby to roll his eye up, and then I saw the eyelash. Pulling his T-shirt up to dab lightly at his eyeball made me pause and gawk at his exposed belly and the lower part of his chest, as smooth as a baby's bottom. I stared at his body, marveling at his finely, naturally detailed, slim, muscular build. Then, taking a deep breath, I concentrated on the eyelash and got it out with a dab of his T-shirt, thinking: He's beautiful, and not just his skin, all of him. I've never before thought of Chubby as beautiful or sexually attractive, but it's on me hot and heavy now, and, oh my God, what am I going to do about it?
Chubby says, "Did you a get it yet, Dylan?" I let go of him and told him to blink a few times. He said it was out but still scratchy. Walking down the rest area trail toward the main drag, Chubby said, "Women blink twice as often as guys do." I nodded and muttered, "Huh," and he had a mischievous grin, adding, "The most common name in the world is Mohammad," and I replied, "Yeah, I think I heard that before someplace." As we reached the main trail and started running again, he said, "The volume of the moon is exactly the same as the volume of the Pacific Ocean," I said, "Huh! Ya don't say."
He's trying to get me to challenge him about these bizarre factoids, but I'd learned my lesson about that years ago. Chubby has a photographic memory for trivia. It's kind of like an idiot-savant thing. He doesn't have a photographic memory for practical school work or anything valuable, only crazy, off-the-wall factoids, which he reads about online. I used to bet he was wrong about this crazy stuff, but he always backed it up with some authoritative source, and I lost those bets every time. Now he plays the game of trying to find something so nuts that I won't be able to resist betting he's wrong. I'm no longer inclined to do that, although he keeps trying to get me to.
Jogging for a while, and then, simultaneously, we both turned to check on one another to be sure everything was okay. We laughed at the coincidence and exchanged friendly smiles, and that struck me as so fucking sweet. How did I take this kind of stuff for granted for so many years when it's so special? Near the end of any four-mile run, we aren't usually doing much talking because we're winded. After this run, I felt so proud of Chubby for still being able to finish in a pretty good time. I put my arm around his neck and hugged his head against my chin. His hat fell off, and the buzzed hair on his head scratched my jaw, making me think of my first encounter with the Marine and his five o'clock shadow.
Without mentioning it, we walked to Tony's convenience store, where we always stopped for a Gatorade. I bought us two lemon/lime Gatorade, and we wandered into downtown Framingham. I'd ignored the urge to walk by the Marine recruiting store downtown until now when the desire to do it won out. Chubby followed me, not caring where we went as long as we walked off the four-mile run. Through the plate glass window, I saw only one Marine behind a desk today and no recruits. The one Marine was my Marine.
I stopped and gawked at the Marine as Chubby finished his Gatorade standing beside me. The Marine looked up and saw me but didn't change expression. No matter, I could tell he recognized me. What gave it away was the arrogant tilt of his head as he looked at me, sending a chill through my balls as I stood up straighter.
"Thinking of joining the Marines, Dylan?" Chubby asked jokingly. I muttered, "Not likely, Chub," he pulled on my arm to get me moving, and we sauntered home, feeling good after the run. For the rest of the day, we just hung out together as we used to do all the time before his window washer job. I never feel as comfortable in any situation as I do with Chubby when it is just him and me. Well, duh, we've been inseparable for seventeen years now.
Another thing we always do on Sundays is the four of us have dinner together. With the Moms working six nights a week, Sunday is our only opportunity to have dinner together. This Sunday's dinner was roast leg of lamb with mint jelly, roasted potatoes, kernel corn, and coleslaw. After eating, with no Red Sox game on TV to watch, Chubby and I played a computer game. Time flies when you're playing computer games. Chubby always wins because he will never stop concentrating for even a second; he's fantastic! I don't have the drive he has for games. The drive of, "I MUST WIN!" Mostly, I just like to have fun.
It was getting late. I was sitting on Chubby's double bed, and Chubby was seated at his desk, deep into the game. He was also killing me in this round, so I quietly closed the laptop and put it on the bedside table. Then, snickering, I picked up this beanbag of Kermit the Frog. Chubby used to love everything about Kermit when he was a little kid, and he keeps this Kermit beanbag in his bookcase for old-time sake. I picked it up, took aim, and fired it off his nearly shaved head. BONG!! Chubby is quick as a cat, and with a big smile, he dives on top of me and immediately gets me in a headlock. We roll around on the bed, trying to get the upper hand, but today, Chubby already has it.
There wasn't any particular reason for me bouncing that beanbag off Chubby's noggin, but I sure liked that it got us wrestling. We're older now and hardly ever wrestle anymore. I initially struggled and thrashed around like a madman, but wrestling is one of the most exhausting things you can do. I quickly was breathing like crazy, and my heart was pounding like a drum. Of course, Chubby was putting out just as much energy as I was, but he began with a headlock, so advantage Chubby. Breaking that first headlock is never easy, and the more I tried, the tighter Chubby held me around my neck.
The thing about wrestling, though, is that there isn't another activity on earth, including fucking, that requires as much intense bodily contact. That's a fact, and I was wrestling with the one boy on this planet I most wanted physical contact with, so I had a smile on my face even with all my losing effort to get free. Quite soon, it was apparent I was squirming in defeat. Chubby had me under his control and, therefore, had won, but I had a plan. I wanted to struggle and squirm just enough to get the side of my face against his, and by the time I managed that, we were both sweaty, so I could slip around just a little bit more until the corners of my lips were against the corners of his. Our sweat mixed together, and it was so hot for me in more ways than one.
Both of us were breathing hard, temporarily resting in that face-against-face position. Chubby said, "Give up yet?" The ends of his lips moved against mine when he asked that. It made me breathless, and I couldn't speak. Instead, I moved my head slightly from side to side, indicating I wasn't ready to give up. Chubby increased the pressure around my neck, and his legs squeezed around my stomach. I had a hard-on, feeling his lips moving, asking, "How 'bout now?"
Afraid I might go off in my pants, I said, "I give," and he let go of me, but not before his face slid over mine, his lips wet with saliva wetting my lips. My boner throbbed and took control of my brain while, simultaneously, my sphincter muscle and my balls contracted tightly, forcing that indescribable sexual sensation of cum screaming up from my nuts, flying out my iron-hard penis as creamy, gooey cum saturating my jockey shorts as I mutter, "Ooh, umm," and do a whole-body shudder. It was extemporaneous, without anything touching my dick, a totally new erotic experience. Sure, Carl fucking me makes me cum without me needing to touch myself, but this was even more outrageously awesome.
Just being held by Chubby and feeling his spit and his sweat caused me to climax spontaneously. Thankfully, he had just let go of me and was climbing off the bed, not paying attention to me. When I groaned with the pleasure of climaxing, Chubby said, "Are you all right?" Dizzy with the afterglow of that thrilling climax, I mumbled, "Yep, just a small cramp in my leg." I rolled off my side of the bed and pulled my T-shirt down to cover the big wet cum stain on the front of my pants.
A little later, I went downstairs to my place to get some sleep. For sure, I didn't need to jerk off tonight. You get a great night's sleep being sexually satisfied like my first Chubby-induced spontaneous climax had done for me. Wow! I wonder if there will ever be another.
Monday morning, it was raining hard, with thunder and lightning. Chubby called my cell phone to say his mom would drive us to school. It was still raining after school, so I didn't do the four-mile run but got soaked walking home. I'd already decided not to meet the Marine even if it hadn't rained. I'd made up my mind not to see him because I wasn't strong enough to handle his dominant behavior. To be transparent, I decided to follow Carl's advice. Most of Monday afternoon, I waited for Chubby to get home from washing windows. Of course, they just washed inside today.
Then, as planned, I met Robby Dickers at my high school newspaper office on Tuesday. Carl wasn't using the office, so why shouldn't I? Robby is so shy he stood outside the office for fifteen minutes before I looked up and saw there. "Rob, why didn't you come in?" He smiles, shrugging, mumbling, "I didn't want to bother you, Dylan." That made no sense since we had arranged to meet here at this time, but I ignored it.
Instead of commenting, I pushed a chair for him to sit on. He looked so clean and brand new that it was mind-blowing. Those rosy blotches in his cheeks, his longish, light blond hair, his pale pink complexion, his earnest look, his cute face, and those shiny blue eyes, I could eat him with a spoon. We discussed how many hours a week he could be relegated to the newspaper next year, considering his being on the baseball team. I enjoyed sitting close to him and bumping into the side of him now and then.
I immediately noticed that Rob was another boy with a pleasant odor. Different than Chubby's, not as sexy maybe, but wicked pleasant. It was an excellent time for me to be this close to him. Finally, we came up with a schedule that we agreed upon, and I typed it into the computer, printed it out, and signed it. Now. It only had to be approved by the newspaper faculty adviser, and Robby would be on staff.
As we left my office, Robby mentioned the Red Sox and discussed this year's disappointing team. One thing led to another, and Robby told me about his hobby of collecting autographed sports paraphernalia, like autographed balls and programs and pictures of Red Sox players and some New England Patriot players, too. I was all ears and wide-eyed because Chubby and I love the Red Sox, Celtics, and Patriots.
Today, it was dry and hot, and as a result of this unseasonable May heat wave, Robby and I were sweating lightly, walking to his house to look at his collection of autographs. It was no problem missing another day of running. Spending this time with Robby will go a long way towards us getting to know each other and having a better working relationship. His house was about as far from the high school as mine but in the other direction, and he was in a nicer neighborhood with all the single homes sitting in the middle of an acre of land. They were standard eight-room houses but looked huge compared to our duplex.
During the walk, we mainly talked about baseball, but Robby also frequently mentioned his brother, Dodger. They're very close, and I discovered that Dodger is a family name given to the second son in all the Dickers families where there are two or more boys. They have a cousin named Dodger and an Uncle Dodger, as well. Weird!
Robby didn't have a great grasp of why his family does that odd name thing, but whatever. Both brothers are athletic, but Dodger is the real star of the two, particularly in swimming and diving. Robby's parents work at the landscape and snow plowing business they own, and Robby works for them in the summer.
It was my turn, and I told Robby the equivalent information about my family and me, skipping over the fact that I'm a bastard, and never knew my biological father, and that Mom never married him or anyone else. Robby was too polite to pry into my missing father's situation. I told him about Chubby and his mom and how the four of us formed a family. Robby said, "Gee, that's so cool, Dylan." What?
Anyway, the conversation was easy, even if it sometimes seemed dorky. I have to say, though, I was captivated by the sound of Robby's voice. Something about his voice almost put me in a trance and made me want to believe every word he said. He was very likable, modest, and shy. When we got to his house, Robby used a key he had on a chain around his neck to unlock the front door, and then we went up to his bedroom. I didn't notice anything particularly interesting about the place; it was just an upscale suburban home.
For the next half hour, I was amazed by all the paraphernalia that Robby, his brother, and his father had managed to get Red Sox players and Patriot players to sign. Autographs his dad had gotten went back twenty to thirty years. I thought it was so cool to know the baseball and football players who signed these things actually held the picture or the ball or what-have-you in their hand while signing it, and now I'm holding the same thing in my hand.
When we'd scrutinized and handled everything two or three times, Robby went into his bathroom to pee, and I gazed out his bedroom window and saw an in-ground swimming pool in their backyard. A six-foot stockade fence was in place around the entire yard, so the pool area was very private. The afternoon sun shone off the blue water as a young boy swam effortlessly fast laps. Robby came up behind me and said, "That's Dodger. He's a swimming champion." I jumped at the first word from Robby because I hadn't heard him come back into the room. He was changing clothes, wearing boardy swim trunks, a plain white T-shirt, and sandals on his feet. I'd looked away when he changed into his swimsuit, so I don't know what his dick looked like. I didn't want to get caught looking at it.
Robby has a very taut, hot body. I did notice that. He smiled and said, "Let's say hello to Dodger." He had his hand on the back of my neck and led me out of his bedroom and down the stairs. That wasn't something a shy boy would do. Have I misread him? Even though we hardly knew one another, Robby was so sincere about everything that it didn't seem all that odd to me. He was familiar with his touching, just strange for a shy person.
I followed him out the back door and down the steps off the outside deck. Dodger was drying off with a big beach towel and smiled when he saw us. Robby and Dodger hugged, giving each other a quick-as-a-wink kiss on the lips. That made me do a double-take, but it had happened. Dodger is a few inches shorter than Robby, so after the fast kiss, he goes up on his toes to whisper something in Robby's ear. Robby said, "Gee, bro, I have no idea." I'd seen Dodger with Robby at the movie complex that time, but here, I see he looks almost exactly like Robby.
Dodger's wearing Speedo swim trunks, a light tan one. I can't remember ever seeing anyone wearing a Speedo in real life. Most guys wear Quiksilver-boardies like Robby was wearing, as I have at home. That speedo didn't cover much of Dodger, which is a good thing for a gay guy like me. He also has the hottest fifteen-year-old boy's body I could imagine. Like most swimmers, he's slim with long legs, especially considering his modest height. Although he looked just like Robby, Dodger had dark brown hair cut short and brown eyes, whereas Robby had blond hair and blue eyes. Other than those two things, they were like twins who happened to be two years apart in age and size.
Whenever I see Robby, the thought that he looks brand new flashes through my brain; Dodger looks two years newer and fresher, if you can imagine that. Un-fucking-believable is what it was. These Dicker boys are something to see! A baby-faced fifteen-year-old with a miniature, perfectly formed athletic body. Totally and perfectly proportioned for a boy his age, but strong looking too. Very toned and smooth. And, like Robby, Dodger had no body hair, just that unblemished pinkish-white skin that you could eat off of. It was a sincere pleasure and arousing to just look at him. Again, like Robby, Dodger was beautifully cute but still with a sweet and unassuming personality: no smartass teenage, know-it-all bullshit from the Dicker boys.
Dodger said to me, "Hi, Dylan. You don't remember me, but I met you at the movies. It's very nice to see you again," then he held out his hand, and we shook hands. The sun was at the hottest part of the day and very bright, so I had to shade my eyes with a cupped hand to look at Dodger more closely. He paid no attention to my staring. Instead, he asked Robby and me, "You guys want to go for a swim?" Robby said, "What do you think? I'm wearing a bathing suit."
I realized that Dodger wears that speedo because he races. It's a speedo racing swimsuit. Duh! Rob asks, "How about it, Dylan? Do you want a swim?" Dodger says, "We'll lend you a swimsuit." I shrug, "Okay, thanks." The idea of wearing a swimsuit of Robby's was giving me a stiffy. He said, "Dodger, you've got a bunch of swimsuits. Let Dylan wear one." Dodger said, "Sure, Robby," he pulled off his little speedo racing suit and handed it to me.
My mouth hung open as I unconsciously put my hand out and took the wet, little swimsuit from him. Both brothers were nonplus as Robby said, "It's really early for swimming, so Mom hasn't gotten most of our summer stuff out yet." Robby said, "I think a suit might be in the linen closet upstairs. You know the one, Dodger. It's my old green boardie suit from last year." I looked from one to the other and then down at the little Speedo swimsuit I held. The first thing I noticed was a brown skid mark along the inside crack and pee stains on the tiny inside front part. My dick twitched.
To say I was flabbergasted would be a significant understatement. First off, Dodger was now standing in front of me, totally naked. When he was wearing the speedo, he was almost naked, and now, completely. His regular-sized teenage cock and balls were just as perfect as the rest of him. He stood there with a smug look on his adorable face, as relaxed as if he were fully dressed.
If you've ever seen a perfect generic pencil drawing of a teenager's penis, balls, and pubic area in a school health study guide, for example, that's what Dodger's package looked like. It's a perfect drawing. His dick was slightly longer than Chubby's, about five inches, I'd guess, with a regular diameter cut, but the foreskin still covered the lower third of his dick's perfectly shaped pink head. He did not have hair on his nuts, and his pubic hair was sparse, and the ones he had were more like head hair than pubic hair. The thought of having that penis in my mouth had me stuttering as I held the little swimsuit, "Ah ah wa why. Um, are you sure you want to wear this? I'd be happy to wear that old green boardie Rob mentioned."
Dodger said, "No, it's okay, Dylan. You wear that one, and I'll look for the other one. You and Robby can swim in the meantime." I looked at Robby, and he nodded, saying, "You can change right here, Dylan. The neighbors can't see our pool."
The brothers both looked expectantly at me and, what the hell? I'm not shy. I dropped my pants, and Dodgers leaned over and pulled my jockey underwear down. I froze for a moment, hearing, "That's cool." Looking up to see who said that, I couldn't tell because both brothers had the same voice. "The shaved pubes, I mean." It was Dodger. I stood there with my cock and balls swinging in the breeze, holding that tiny bathing suit, wondering, What the fuck is going on here?
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com
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