DYLAN!
CHAPTER EIGHT
When I was done telling Chubby about Carl's graduation party, leaving out anything to do with gay sex, he looked confused, mumbling, "What? You didn't know anybody there? Fuck, that party sounds as boring as watching paint dry. Sorry, Dylan, but how did you stand three hours of that?"
That's a good question. Squinting my eyes, I said, as if it were a question, "Fabulous food and the spiked punch." He rolled his eyes like, whoop-de-doo! Then, "You're still trying to impress that dork, Carl Denton, but why? You've already got the job as next year's senior editor of the newspaper."
"Yes, Chub, but he's mentoring me about the job and being very helpful, plus he is not a dork, and, um, he's even said he'd give me another haircut. That's how considerate he is. You're working six days a week, so..." Chubby says, "He's a better barber than me, but you and I have been each other's barber since we were little kids." I mutter, "Well, he offered, so..."
Our evening went as usual after that; Chubby loosened up as the night went on and didn't make a big deal out of the haircut situation. He seemed relieved because he has the window washer job and he's doing things with Ricky, and he feels less guilty if I'm doing some stuff with Carl. He told me how lucky he was to have me as a best friend and how much my friendship meant to him. It caught me off guard because he's usually not that, uh, sentimental, I guess is the right word. We were in the recliner together as usual, and there was a lot of physical contact watching baseball on TV, which I thought was hot... the physical contact, not the baseball game.
During a commercial, Chubby said, "None of us is perfect, Dylan. We all do things we wish we hadn't done, right?" Omigod, what's he referring to? I could feel my face turning red as I asked, "Like what? Whaddaya mean?" Chub says, "Like anything. Hypothetically, would you stop being my best friend if I did something you might think is gross or disgusting?" He sounded so wounded it scared me.
"What's wrong, Chubby? Are you in trouble?" He got irritated then and said, "For Christ's sake, I ask a perfectly understandable hypothetical fucking question that best friends are probably always asking each other, and you throw a fucking fit. There's nothing wrong! What could be wrong? Is that what you think, that I'm doing something wrong? Well, is it?"
This was bizarre, and I yelled back at him, "Are you nuts? Why are you mad at me?" We both had furrowed eyebrows and angry looks on our faces. Then I said, "Okay, Chubby, here it is: I can't think of anything in the world that you could do that would make me not be your best friend. Okay?" Chubby said, "That's all you fucking had to say in the first place! Thank you! There wasn't any need to start accusing me of doing disgusting stuff."
Frowning at him, then relaxing, I mumble, "We're good, Chub." That job is getting him down. He nodded, satisfied with my answer, and we returned to watching the game. We were both quiet for what seemed like an hour, but was closer to ten minutes before Chubby mumbled, "Sorry, Dylan. I don't know why I'm yelling at you." I told him that was alright, and I hugged his shoulders. He turned into me more, and we had an excellent snuggling three-inning period, watching the Red Sox lose again.
On the way to school the following day, smoking our first Marlboro Light together, Chubby said, "You know how much a billion is, Dylan?" I said, "A big number! A million, millions, I think." He passed the cigarette to me, "Go back one billion minutes, and Jesus was alive on here earth, and one billion hours ago is the Stone Age." I said, "Are you sure about that? That sounds like a big old crock of shit, one that you don't expect me to check out. Something you just made up."
Chubby nods and mutters, "Uh-huh. Ya wanna bet ten dollars?" I mutter, "I guess not," and Chubby flicked that cigarette butt all the way across
the street and then said, "Fucking A, you don't want to bet!" I laughed, and Chubby grinned that great grin of his. I love him. The rest of the week that followed Carl's party was dull compared to the previous couple of weeks. Carl didn't text me, so after two days, I used my haircut as a reason to text him, saying he told me to text about my haircut and then lie, lie, lie about other reasons for texting, but he didn't fall for any of my lies and didn't text back.
I didn't give a shit about the haircut, obviously; I wanted him to fuck me. This is the problem with a one-sided boyfriend arrangement; the other party isn't aware of it and is much less invested in it. Fuck! Still, there's some good news. It's the last week of school for us underclassmen! Since Carl didn't answer my texts, I'm now doing what he told me to do. I'm waiting for him to call me.
Willie and I talked three times before he flew out to L.A. He'll be gone for three weeks, living with his grandparents and sightseeing with the movie
stars. That wouldn't surprise me, as Willie is highly clever and exciting. We're getting together to make out and maybe more as soon as he returns. I'm quoting Willie, who says he will be my dominant top if we have a relationship, and I believe the chances of that happening hover around a ninety-nine percent sure thing.
At school, Robby and I talked daily about the lawn mowing job we'd be doing this summer. Wow, thinking about being with Robby daily, getting sweaty together, and all that was fun. Haha. Oh man, seriously, Robby is candy for my eyes. Thinking about his looks made me realize how I'd wasted my early teen years being oblivious to the hot-looking boys around me. Now, thanks mainly to Carl, I recognize those boys who possess hot boy beauty, so hot it can take my breath away. Carl can say boy-pussy, so I'm saying 'boy-beauty.' It was so much fun to look and dream about maybe doing this or that with some of these cute boys. And I know I'm lucky to have as many nice-looking and pretty boys in my classes as I do because most guys are NOT cute. They're not ugly, but they're not cute. My section of Framingham, Massachusetts, is the exception to the rule, so lucky me.
Robby finally invited me over for a swim on Saturday. Technically, Dodger did the inviting, but Robby was there. Dodger, Robby, and I were talking at Robby's locker, and Dodger asked his big brother, "Can we invite Dylan over for a swim, Robby?" Robby was like, "Oh, absolutely. Saturday morning, for sure." It appears Robby never thinks of stuff like inviting guys over. I'd tried before to wangle an invite out of him with no luck. It's like he's clueless.
Whatever, I've got my little buddy Dodger looking out for me. He and I exchanged smirking looks at the prospect of swimming together tomorrow and maybe Dodger crunching my nuts. I get half a stiffy from just looking at either Robby or Dodger and looking at them together equals a full-blown boner. Man, being a gay teen has its moments, a lot of them, actually!
Most days, I was still running my four miles after school, and each time I ran, I stopped in at the rest area with my asshole scrubbed, but no Tom Delcarmen, no Marine in sight. I admit I was disappointed every time he wasn't there. When I woke up Saturday morning, it was pouring rain, which meant no swimming with Robby and Dodger. Fuck! All my final exams for Junior year were completed, and every paper assignment was completed and turned in. I was good with school, so the entire day was open in front of me for all the good that would do me. Chubby was working, Carl was in Maine, and Willie was on the West Coast. I've no idea where Larry is; if I knew, I'd probably call him. The thing about being gay and experiencing gay sex is you always want more. I was horny because I've had nothing in the way of gay sex since last Monday at the party.
Jerking off was, of course, an option, and I took that option as soon as Mom left with Tris for the spa. While stroking myself of late, it was always Carl I fantasized about, thinking about the way he engulfed me in his body while fucking me with those steady four or five-inch humps of his big hips, driving that great cock head up and down my boy-pussy. Oh my God, that felt so, so good. Visualizing that scene in my head got me so hard, and I eventually shot off a long string of cum, panting and pulling on my rod for all I was worth. It was a pleasant relief but nothing like the real thing. Once you get a taste of the real thing, especially from someone who knows how to fuck you good like Carl does me, oh boy, nothing else compares. I lay there on my bed, still stroking my softening cock, mainly thinking about Carl. My boyfriend, Carl, and what would he look like seventy-five pounds lighter? Would I fall in love with him?
Then, I thought about my new friend Willie, which was a nice thing. He's so cute and so cool. I loved making out with that boy. It all made me feel lucky to have Carl looking out for me. He introduced me to Larry, and from Larry, I met Willie. Oh, they are so hot, those three. I wish I could be with Carl, Larry, and Willie right now, just like at the graduation party. That silly concern I had about including spanking in our relationship seemed like a small thing now. Fuck it, spank my ass, Carl!
So, that passed the time, but an hour later, I was so bored I jerked off again, and thanks to that memory of Carl humping my boy pussy, I got off real nice that time, too. Finally, something good!
Because of the rainy conditions, Chubby got off work at two o'clock, and we got to go to a late afternoon movie. We got soaked walking there in the pouring rain because we were too cool to wear an umbrella or raincoat. It was a soggy time coming home, but we had a lot of laughs together. Sunday was full of sunshine, but I got no call from Robby inviting me over for a swim, but that's okay. After making our special Sunday breakfast, Chubby and I did our run. Chubby was in a great mood today, as he used to be daily. It was a great morning, afternoon, and night with Chubby. Nothing special, except it all was special when I was doing it with Chubby. It was like our days before he got the window-washing job.
So, it was a good weekend with my best friend, and the next day, Monday, I got a text from Carl that I needed to be at his house right after school. Ah-ha! I'll be there, which is what I texted back to him. I'm relieved because he wasn't sure he could fit me in before leaving for Maine. That reminded me I might see him, Larry, and Willie there in a month. God! I just got a boner.
School will be a waste of time these last three days because all the tests and work projects have been completed and turned in. All day it was busy work and bullshit, but the clock finally reached two o'clock, and I was one of the first ones out the door. I jogged most of the way to Carl's, excited with a squirmy feeling in my cock and balls. I'm horny for my one-sided boyfriend. Carl doesn't know I think of him as my boyfriend; he knows I've got the hots for him, though, which I do.
Taking a deep breath, I ring Carl's doorbell, and he answers, looking good. He's got a short summer haircut, the beginning of a tan, and he's handsome. I gulp and timidly mumble, "Hi, Carl, thanks for having me..." He cut me off, "C'mon in; let's go! Don't stand there on the stoop like a stoop!"
I come in and see he's holding his cell phone against his chest, telling me, "Go upstairs to my bedroom and get undressed," and then he talks into his phone, "Sorry, someone was at the door. Um, when I get there, I expect..." and he angrily waves at me to get upstairs. I was staring at him, playing with myself. He's bigger than life to me. In his bedroom, I take everything off except my jockey underpants and look at myself in the full-length mirror on his bedroom door. I look okay and maybe better than okay. I'm squeezing my junk as Carl opens the door, muttering, "Don't play with yourself. You're not twelve years old, Christ!"
I can't catch my breath; he's so awesome, but it's impossible to ignore that he's, um, well, he's fat. His stomach hangs over the waistband of his shorts, and the handlebars on his sides bulge out his Polo shirt noticeably. I murmur, "Thanks for having me over, Carl." He points at me and says, "Never binge-text me again! Got it?" Nodding, I feel my dick getting firm. Isn't that odd? I get aroused by Carl treating me poorly. "I'm sorry, but you said I needed a haircut, and I didn't want..." He said, "You can leave your underpants on while I do your summer haircut, and then he went into his little bathroom and closed the door.
I take three slow, deep breaths and get myself under control. I hear the toilet flush and water turning on, and then Carl comes out drying his hands on a small hand towel, saying, "Look, I'm sorry for being snippy, Dylan, but I've got a lot on my mind. After your haircut, I'll give you a good hard fucking that will need to hold you over until I get back from Maine." I hold my hand up, and he says, "You're not in second grade. Whaddaya want?" I shrug, "You said maybe I could come to Maine, so..." Carl shakes his head, "I don't remember saying that. Can you water ski?"
"Water ski? No, I don't know how to do that." Carl moves the chair facing the mirror on the door, mumbling, "Sit up straight, don't slouch! Keep your head steady." I sit, my back straight like I'm at attention for the Marine. Carl takes a box containing his haircut clippers and other barber stuff off a shelf and plugs in the clipper. He looks at a few attachments, chooses one, puts it on the clippers, and runs them down the right part of my head, leaving maybe a half-inch of hair in the clipper's wake. It was so fast and so shocking; my dick boned up instantly and outshot a squirt of precum, feeling like a climax. Pushing my boner to the side, I moaned, "Ooh, Ummm," as Carl, without feeling he needed to explain, did that front-to-back run of the clippers five more times, moving the clippers over each time and then to get any hairs he missed, he does it all over again, pressing the clippers on my scalp.
I remember having a sexual reaction the last time he cut my hair, and it was the strangest thing! It's a sexy feeling, and I'm not sure if I'm reacting this way because it's Carl cutting my hair or because it's being cut without checking with me if I wanted a half-inch burr haircut. He just did it. I had no say. I'd rather not have a haircut this short, but I don't care all that much. Sure, he could have asked if I wanted my hair this short, but I wanted to please him, so no problem.
As if that wasn't bad enough, he changed the attachment to a shorter one and ran the clippers up the sides and back, leaving only eight inches of hair. My Marine would approve of this haircut. Carl was done in three minutes, and my light blond hair was shorter than ever in my life.
Unplugging the clippers and putting them away, Carl says, "That'll hold you until I get back from Maine." I guess I'm not going. Well, I usually will be cutting grass on Saturdays anyway. Carl mutters, "Get the dustpan and brush from my closet and sweep up your hair. I need a soda. Do you want one?" I'm in a trance, still sitting here, looking at myself in the full-length mirror on the door, my underpants wet with precum. Carl, clueless about anything unusual happening, mumbled, "I'll bring you one, anyway. Get busy sweeping up your hair, Newman!"
Getting a haircut in your underpants would be freaky for almost everyone, and it was for me, too. Freaky, but I've got a boner. I hear his heavy footfalls thumping downstairs. He's not in the best mood or his usual awesome self today. I can't stop gawking at my reflection in the mirror on the door. This is the first time in my life I've seen myself with a burr haircut, and I try being pissed off about not being consulted, but I can't get mad because if Carl likes it, then I like it, too! The sides are almost to the scalp, but I think it looks cool.
I know that Chubby will scuff at the haircut because he didn't do it and because Carl might as well be a professional barber; he cuts hair so well. I haven't seen anybody with a better burr haircut than mine.
Hopping up, I'm like, "Dammit," because I don't still have a boner, but the wet spot has seeped through the front of my underpants. I take them off and get the dustpan and brush. Getting aroused from a haircut is so fucked up, although all boners are appreciated, and this one felt extra good. I meticulously swept up every hair off the hardwood floor, not that there was a big pile of hair because the last haircut Carl gave me was short, too. Dumping the hair in a wastebasket, I stare at myself and nod because I like anything Carl does with me.
The cut hairs are in the trash, my boner has left the building, and I put the dustpan and brush back where I got them. I'm sitting on the desk chair again, smiling and admiring my reflection in the mirror on the door, when Carl opens the door and asks, "How do you like it?" I say, "It's my favorite summer haircut of all time." He rubs my burr head, mumbling, "You are a very likable motherfucker; I gotta give you props for that. Anyway, it's good that you like the haircut because I've decided it's your haircut until school starts again in the fall. If I'm going to be seeing you a lot this summer, I want you looking sharp." I nod in hero worship of Carl.
Then, with a finger under my chin, lifting my head, Carl says, "You need to suck a boner on me, then use this," and he holds up a tube of K-Y lube, "To lube your pussy and my boner. You, me, Larry, and his boy, Worthington, have never had sex without a condom, so as long as we stick with that, I can do you without a condom. It won't feel different for you until I drop a load in you, but I do notice the difference." I nod, kneel, and say, "We've already done it without a condom."
"I know that! I'm reinforcing that you cannot have sex with anyone without a condom. Got it?" Nodding, "I'm sorry. Yes, I understand, Carl. I won't have sex with anyone but you." Why did I say that?
He mutters, "Whatever. Give me a good blowjob, but stop when I say to stop." Picking up his average-looking penis, except for the oversized head, I ask, "Are we boyfriends yet, Carl?" He says, "No, we're not! Suck my cock. You're my cute, sex-toy boy who asks too many questions and is going to be spanked if I don't have a hard-on two minutes from now."
I almost don't want to suck a boner on Carl in two minutes so I can experience his discipline. Christ, that thought made my dick twitch. Wanting always to do what Carl says, I suck on his tasty cock, licking and stroking it, and get it bullet-hard in ninety seconds. He says, "That's good. Lube me up, but don't stroke it too much!"
Pushing gel up my ass a little, then leaving a blob of it on my anus, I stoke two fistfuls of lubricant on his boner, feeling it grow a little. It's plenty hard. "Here, use these tissues to wipe your hand, Dylan. I don't want you spreading lube on my desk." I do that, and he says, "Lean over, hands on the edge of the desk, and push your pussy up so I can mount you with a bang."
Oh, God. I'm wickedly aroused. Carl has me wrapped around his little finger. I'd do anything for him. Then I screeched, "Ahh!" as he plowed his hard cock right past both sphincter muscles and humped his cock up my ass until he was grinding his groin on my buttocks. My brain is flashing red blotches of pain, but almost immediately, the pain feels warm and manageable, the lips of my anus providing the heat, still stinging, but Carls pulls back his boner and pushes it back up my ass. He's not being rough, nor is he being gentle... he fucks his boy just right, and I'm almost purring.
Carl's fucking my ass perfectly, and the pain turns to a kind of pleasure I can't describe. Here's what I know: So far in my life, nothing comes close to how good this feels and how much I love Carl fucking me. And believe me, there are some drawbacks, like his belly fat floppy against the lower part of my back and the fat from his thighs feeling gross against the back of my skinny legs, but I ignore that because everything else is perfection. Oh, except when he climaxes and lies on my back, and his tits are bigger than my mom's. That feels, um, like a fat naked woman lying on my back. A few not-perfect things, but overall, there is nothing I like as much as getting fucked by my boyfriend, Carl.
He gets into an excellent rhythm, and I'm unto a mantra of, "Oh, oh, oh, oh," and then, "Fuck me, Carl, fuck me.... it feels so good. Then, "Smack" when he slaps the back of my head, murmuring, "Shh! My parents are downstairs." I go, "Ahhh," and climax, shuddering like mad as a strong, creamy load of cum smatters against the desk chair. Carl makes a grunting sound as he humps into me extra hard and leaves it there, humping against but butt cheeks as he fills me up with his load.
Gasping, he pulls out with his cum running out and down my buttocks, around under to my scrotum, and down the back of my legs. I stay bent over, holding onto the desk as another shudder rolls over me, and then a fabulous after-effect with shivers. Carl is pulling up his pants, out of breath, mumbling, "Get dressed," and he smacks my ass hard, "Smack!" I yelp and pick up my wet underpants, pulling them up; they're immediately soaked through in the back with Carl's cum. My precum in front and Carl's cum in back. My underpants feel wet, but I like it! Then, putting on my shorts and T-shirt, I enthusiastically say, "That was fantastic, Carl. Can I come tomorrow, please?"
Carl says, "NO! I don't know what I'll be doing. I'll text you when I want you. Hurry, get dressed!" I'm dressed, and Carl hustles me downstairs, where I see his mother coming in the side door carrying a grocery bag. She says, "Oh, you look so nice, Dilbert." Then to Carl, "Did you give him that haircut? It's so preppy and summery." Carl mutters, "Yeah, mom. His name is Dylan. Not Dilbert." I say, "That's okay," and Carl pats my ass, saying, "Okay, out you go," and walks out the side door with me, adding, "I might not see you again until after Maine. Don't worry, though; I have my barber tools, so I'll redo your summer haircut. Um, don't nag me, though. Text me once and wait for my instructions."
He ushered me out of there pretty fast. I hold onto Carl's arm, murmuring, "I was hoping we'd do something, Carl. Make out or have a second fuck or whatever. I don't get to be with you much, please... I think you're so..." He yanks his arm away, muttering, "Larry warned me I was being too nice to you. Look, I gave you a great haircut and fucked you. Jesus, we're not married! That's all for now."
I looked down, and he sighed and rubbed my head, saying more nicely, "Okay, I'll try to fit you in before I leave." He looked around, then hugged me. "I knew you'd fall for me. Didn't I tell you that the first day I took you under my wing? Huh, didn't I?"
I hug him back, "Yes, I remember that. You were right, too. I love you." He mutters, "Jesus," and chuckles, then lets go of me, "That's all for now, Dylan. Take off." I nod, grinning and saying, "Don't forget. You said you'd fit me in." He chuckles, "Yeah, I'll try, but do not send me forty text messages, or I won't fit you in."
Walking home, I keep running my fingers over my head, feeling my half-inch burr haircut. It still feels soft, but the sides and back resemble the Marine's haircut. So, it was only twenty minutes total with Carl, but I can't be too disappointed. I felt great about my haircut and that hot gay sex, and I begged my way into seeing him one more time before he left.
It's a half-hour walk home, and when I got home, I realized that I won't do much running this summer because I'll be working for Robby, so I better take advantage of these last two days. Because of the precum and Carl's cum inside and on me, plus the lubricant, I took a quick shower and scrubbed my ass. Dressed, I got a water bottle for the run because it was hot today.
My run was a good one! I'm feeling light on my feet and made good time for the first two miles. There's nothing like being sexually satisfied, which I am, but I'm still hoping for a Marine surprise. Whoa, what's that? Coming up to the rest area trail, I saw someone going around the bend. Oh man, it has to be Tom. And, just like that, I'm nervous with anticipation. I did a mental check: pubes shaved last night, and my ass was scrubbed less than forty-five minutes ago. They were the two things I needed to get right or get a Marine spanking again, and I did not want that. A Carl spanking is okay; a Marine spanking is not okay.
Walking up the trail, I'm thinking that I can enjoy the whole scene with Tom, understanding that it is just regular gay sex play. He's the dominant part, and I'm the submissive part. It's the same with Carl, so there's no mystery there. It's all fun!
Around the last group of trees and, yep! The Marine is pulling down his running shorts to take a piss, just like the first time I met him. A smile broke out on my face, thinking that I'm not horny, so I'm interested in how it'll feel being fucked when I'm not horny. Getting ready, I stood up straight with my hands at my side and shoulders back. I'm beginning to get a stiffy already. Adjusting my package a little, the Marine looked up, his piss stream just beginning. "Where ya been, Dylan?" he asked casually. Then, "Excellent haircut!" He was making me nervous again with those cloudy blue eyes staring right into my eyes.
Gulping, I said, "Um, thank you. My, um, friend just gave me this haircut two hours ago." Tom's pale yellow piss stream was tentative now as he finished and said, "Get over here right now." What was this, something new? But I hustled right over, and he nodded to his big penis, "Put that in your mouth." It was still dripping pee when I took it in my fingers. He said, "Bend down and put it in your mouth!"
When I bent down slightly, hesitating, he got a killer hold on the back of my neck and pulled my face right into his bush, rubbing my face around in the wiry hairs. I could smell his urine. Pulling my head back a couple of inches, he took his penis from my fingers, pushed it against my lips, "Open,
Dylan." I did, and when that big, fat cock head was in my mouth, he let loose a long, strong stream of pee, saying, "Swallow it." I did, but I hiccupped, and pee sucked up my sinuses, as his cum did that time I sucked him off. Pee blew out both nostrils, and a lot of pee was streaming down my chin and the outside of my neck, rolling onto my T-shirt. It was light-yellow urine that smelled like you'd expect pee to smell.
It tasted like urine smells, too. More pee flowed from his penis, and I coughed, then inhaled more up my sinuses and out my nostrils, same deal all over again. It burned my sinuses, and I was gasping for air and splattering Tom's pee all over myself. His firm grip on my neck kept me level with his crotch. When he finally ran dry, my face, the front of my neck, and my chest were pretty much drenched and dripping.
"If you want to play games with a Marine like you've been doing with me, finding where I work and so forth, you've got to expect some payback like today, for example. Now, get your ass over to the bench and suck me off. The last time, you did it the way you liked, and this time, you'll do it the way I like, meaning deep throat." He walked me toward the bench, still bending me over with the grip on the back of my neck as he muttered, "I like your new haircut, so I'm going easier on you than I was thinking I'd go."
I tried to tell him that I had to pee, too, but I was too busy getting oxygen into my lungs. Finally, I grunted, "Please, Tom, I need to pee." He said, "Well, why didn't you say so when we were at our pee tree?" He dragged me back to the tree, and while I was still bent over, he used his other hand to wipe my face and neck with the little towel he always has. He got the wet pee mostly off me, but there was still plenty of pee dampness left behind. Letting go of my neck, he got his wrist under my chin, then his forearm, and jerked me upright. "Pull down your pants and pee," he said in a conversational voice.
His actions seemed mad at me, but his voice sounded like he wasn't mad at anything. As I struggled to get my running shorts down, he raised his forearm under my chin, so I had to get up on my tip toes like the other times I pissed with him. His face was beside mine, and he scratched my cheek with his whiskers, muttering, "You smell like urine," but he didn't seem to mind the pee on my face. I swear to God, it felt like he was kissing the side of my head, and I think he was. My pee came gushing out as I really had to go. When my pee stream began running out, he pulled down the back of my shorts and pushed his finger way up my asshole.
Stars twirled around inside my head with pain. That finger had no lube, not even spit, and it hurt. "All done, Dylan?" he asked in this friendly, concerned voice. I grunted, "That hurt." The Marine said, "Did it? Just imagine how much it would have hurt if your ass wasn't full of lubricant. How long ago were you fucked?"
My face almost burst out in flames; it got red and hot. Tom couldn't see it, but I felt it, timidly saying, "Two hours ago," and he snickered, "I'm not all that shocked. And I missed seeing you the last couple of runs I've done." My senses were all over the place. He didn't care; I was just fucked? He seems nice, so why was he rough with the piss? When my pee stream dried up, I shook off the last few drops, and then he used that finger up my ass to pull and guide me over to the bench, and on the way, I got a painfully hard boner, and I stroked it while moaning softly.
Sitting on the bench, he said, in a pleasant conspiratorial voice, as if we were both in on this rough-housing, "I'll bet you missed this kind of mistreatment, didn't you? I could tell you liked it hard that time I spanked you, and your little dick got hard." I grunt, "It's not little," and he rubbed his mostly soft penis around my pee-stained face. I was in a fog and said nothing about that, so Tom said, "Don't pout, Dylan. I'm going to let you suck it." Without uttering a word, I got on my knees and took hold of his flaccid penis in a trance, and sucked on the head for a minute. It is a very nice penis head, and I like sucking cock, so...
Then, getting with it, I began lapping from his nuts to the head of his cock, all around it, saliva dripping off my pee-stained chin, and then sucking the head some more, amazed that it was getting longer and harder. The skin of my boner was about to split; my cock was so hard. Tom grunted,
cupped the back of my head with his right hand, pulled my head forward so there was a straighter avenue down my throat, and forced his bone-hard penis into my throat, the fat head spreading my esophagus making me gag like crazy as all those familiar panicky feelings occurred like the last time. This was never going to be pleasant for me, but I was stroking my boner with each penetration of my throat.
It's become evident that being dominated arouses me greatly. He knew that before I did, but there is so much to learn, ya know? It felt incredibly good to stroke my cock, and I was just able to get enough oxygen in me around his boner to survive. If I hadn't had that fabulous climax a couple of hours ago, I would have climaxed by now, but Tom pulled his cock out and did a quiet, "Ohhh, fuck..."
I looked up, and he was biting his lower lip taking short, rapid breaths, precum drooling from his hard boner as he wheezed out, "You're a sexy hot- shit, aren't you?"
It's pathetic, but I love it when he compliments me, and I grin like a dork. He said, "Okay, hottie, stand up, turn around, and bend over to grab the bench." He spread my ass cheeks, and I had a scary thought he was going to try to fuck me bareback with that huge cock of his, but no. Instead, I felt his tongue on my buttocks. He licked there for a while; it felt weird more than it felt sexy. Then a lap from just under my balls up my crack, then again and again. My softening penis began firming up when he started licking over my asshole, then on my asshole, and finally, totally unbelievably, his tongue went inside me.
What a bizarre sensation that was, but I mean in a sexy manner. Another new experience that had me squirming like mad. It was almost too odd to be sexually arousing, and yet it was. My face was scrunched up, and I wanted to stroke my boner, but Tom chose that moment to reinsert his finger up my ass, pulling on it, saying, "Come on, Dylan. We better get inside the lavatory for this next trick." Up on my toes, he fast walked with me half bent-over into the lavatory, then through the little foyer to the toilets area.
Over against a sink, Tom says, "Suck my cock first to get it real slippery." I turned around, still bent over; I took his boner and sucked the head till it
was dripping with my spit. He turned me around again, and when I felt him take hold of my hips with both hands, I instinctively grabbed hold of the sink. Gritting my teeth, he pressed the fat head of his cock against my anus, increasing the pressure little by little until the head forced its way inside me. I didn't scream like a little girl. I groaned and whimpered and begged, "Wait a second, please." He pushed his big boner in little by little till about two inches of that eight-inch, fat boner was in my boy pussy. I was lucky to have the leftover lubricant from Carl's fuck inside me.
Tom pulled his boner out two inches and then back in two inches, and again and again, and it started feeling good, then better than good. I moaned, "Mmm," and he pulled his cock out of my ass, saying, "That's all for now. I just wanted you to feel it. Finish sucking me off." I'm like, "What? Why..."
He says, "Yeah, turn around, but stay bent over and finish me like that. It'll be easier taking my cock down your throat this way." I felt beat up and abused. My cock had gotten limp again, but what could I do? I put his hard cock in my mouth and was shocked to taste acrid feces from my ass. I cleaned it, but not up inside my rectum where this big cock had been. It took half a minute of severe sucking and licking before I lost the shit taste, and by then, he was deep-throating me with smooth thrusts of his hips, and shortly, my boner came back up and, against all odds, two minutes later, I had one of the hardest climaxes ever. Black dots flooded the inside of my head, and there was a little girl in the lavatory making a shrill sound when I shot off like a volcano.
The Marine climaxed in my mouth right about then, and fifteen seconds later, cum was blowing out my nostrils again. During his climax and my subsequent efforts to clear my sinuses, I never stopped stroking my cock. It was such an erotic feeling to be involved in this dominated sexual experience. I had no explanation for why; what had seemed like a nightmare when I was going through it was now incredibly sexy to me. Tom had pulled his cock out and was stroking it, saying quietly, "That was hot, wasn't it?"
I thought it odd that he didn't appear the least concerned that I might be pissed off at him for bullying me like that, and I wasn't pissed off at him, which is another odd thing. Tom went to the sink, ran water and soap from the provided canister to clean the finger he'd had up my ass, and then he wet his towel and began wiping my face, all the time talking in this friendly voice as if we'd worked together to make it a hot, sexy time. I stood there in a daze following that unbelievable climax. Tom cleaned my face and neck, then muttered, "Take off your T-shirt, and I'll rinse out the piss, Dylan. In this heat, it'll dry quickly?"
Then, looking at me, he stepped back and asked, "What's wrong, you look confused?" I told him I didn't like the way he treated me today. Tom chuckled and said, "You're kidding, right? I saw the cum fly out of your little cock, and I heard your moans of pleasure after you squealed like a cunt having her first climax." He's serious about that. He pulled my T-shirt off over my head and washed the pee out in the sink. Then, wringing it as dry as he could, he said, "Come on, Dylan, we need to talk."
Outside, he spread my T-shirt on the bench in the sun, and we stood there with me bitching about him pissing in my mouth, and he said he hadn't planned on it, but if I didn't like it, why did I do it? He was surprised I'd never tried water sports with my boyfriend. Tom said he could take or
leave them and asked, "You have a boyfriend, right?" I nodded even though Carl said we weren't boyfriends. Then we talked about Tom's rough behavior and how he thought that's what I liked.
I used the excuse that I was new to all this and didn't know what I liked. And when we were done talking about it, he put his arm around my shoulders, and I had my arms around his waist. He said he wanted to tell me a bit about himself. He'd met his civilian wife at a Marine training facility; they fell in love, she got pregnant, and they married. He loved her, he loved their year-old daughter, and he expected to spend the rest of his life married, but he also got an itch for male-sex play occasionally, too. I was the fifth submissive partner he'd had sex with since he was sixteen years old, and he liked me the best of them all. I thought he probably told the other four the same thing.
I told him I wouldn't run this summer because I'd be working. Tom gave me his work email address and told me I'd have to email him to arrange a meeting, at which time he'd finish the fuck he started today, and I'd need to bring the condom to show him I wanted him to fuck me. He had pushed the head of his boner in me so I'd have an idea what I was in for.
He left first, and I went into the lavatory for more cleaning. I still smelled his urine, so I washed my face and hands using the soap dispenser. Drying with paper towels, I was positive I'd never call him and wasn't sure I believed his story. Walking out of the lavatory, I deleted his email address, and now there's no way I can email him. What am I thinking? I know where he works. It's a street I'll be sure to stay off of.
Carrying my damp T-shirt, the rest of the run wasn't that great because my asshole was sore, but I persevered, and approaching the house on this scorching day, I noticed Mom had the window air conditioning unit running for the first time this year. Inside was refreshingly cool. I heard Mom
getting ready for work in her bedroom as I got a cold drink and thought about how I'd survived the Marine experience and probably had learned something, although I'm not sure what that was if anything. I smiled because I like being a gay slut, haha.
Taking a bath is a recently acquired indulgence since accepting that I'm gay. Yeah, after some hot sex, I like to soak in a bath whenever I can. It's a terrific place for contemplation, and I'm big on contemplating stuff. I contemplate different things about my life, and occasionally, I'll do it until I give myself a headache. Some might call some of my contemplating worrying. Anyway, most of my contemplating has to do with boys. How much I admire the way they look and the way they act. I've also been contemplating how there are uniquely complicated aspects of gay relationships and how much I've still to learn. After a bit, I go back to contemplating about boys again.
There's a funny thing about baths in my past. My best friend Chubby and I used to take one together every night when we were young kids. In those days, we'd hug, kiss, and sometimes say we love each other. When we got to age eight or thereabouts, you can't do or say stuff like that anymore.
Finished soaking, I pulled the plug and turned on the shower. Tomorrow is the last day of school, after which I start my new job cutting grass for the Dicker's Landscaping Company. Wearing only clean shorts and a T-shirt, I bumbled around the house, waiting for Chubby to get home from work. He showed up on time tonight but was grumpy and irritable. Lately, that's the way he is after work. I'm feeling good, clean, and sexually satisfied; I'm in a great mood.
So, I make it my mission to cheer Chubby up. For the next ten minutes, I was a whirlwind of positive energy, incredibly clever and funny. It wasn't easy bringing him out of his foul mood, but after some of my witty banter and some clever repartee, he said, "Dylan, if you tell one more cornball joke, if you pat my back or rub my fucking head one more time, if you try tickling me, or do anything except be quiet, I'll kill you." I said, "I've succeeded in bringing you out of your shell! And, may I say, you are adorable when you're acting happy like this."
That led to a wrestling match, and even though it got me all sweaty again, I loved every second of it. We ended up wrapped tightly together, breathing hard, the sides of our faces together, red and sweaty and wonderful. I know him well and could tell he'd overcome his bad mood. He caught his breath and said, "Give up?" and I said, "Never!" because I wanted to stay like this, but I began getting a boner, and I didn't want him to notice, so I meekly said, "Yeah, I give; you win."
Chubby let me up. "I was just trying to cheer you up, Chubby." He said, "Yeah, I know you were, and you did a good job of it, too. I was just kidding about killing you... mostly. Let's get some fresh air." Outside, smoking and walking close together, we'd rub shoulders every few steps, not talking much; we just enjoyed being with one another.
The following day, there was excitement in the air. It was the last school day of our Junior year. On the way to school, I asked Chubby if he was sorry the school year was over. It was a beautiful June morning, and we shared a Marlboro Light as Chubby said, "I liked walking to school with you, and I liked hanging with the kids once I got there, and I liked Math, but other than that, I'm glad it's over." His comments were thoughtful, followed by this tidbit: "Coca-Cola was originally green. Did you know that?"
Another outlandish non sequitur. I mumbled, "Duh, who doesn't know that?" He said, "You are such a dick," and, with a little smile, he squeezed my hand like he often does. As we were finishing our second shared cigarette, both of us tried to remember when we'd gotten hooked on smoking. It was last summer when we were concerned about not looking cool enough during our vacation in Wildwood, New Jersey. We'd noticed many of the cool boys were strutting up and down the boardwalk smoking cigarettes. Well, we're cool, too, so we bought a pack of the same brand they all smoked, and after getting sick a couple of times, we learned how to tolerate it.
At school, waiting for the bell, I was leaning against the fence, staring at Chubby, who was leaning against the gate across from me. I think he's beautiful. I didn't know that for the first seventeen years of my life, but now I recognize Chubby as a beautiful boy. Maybe he is a little short at five feet seven inches, but that doesn't bother me. He's very slim like me, but he has the hottest, toned, well-defined, hairless body of anyone his size on the planet--great-looking ass of two firm half-melon buttocks, too. I stare at him a lot now. He used to stare at me all the time. It's as if we somehow changed roles. I think it happened after we got beat up together some months ago. Chubby got hurt pretty badly, and I started thinking about life without him. My feelings for him have kept escalating till now; I'm in love with him. That's about it in a nutshell. He doesn't know it, of course.
His pale tan complexion is so creamy, smooth, and healthy-looking that I want to lick it. Chub has that beautiful tan skin, while my complexion is pale with my blond hair. We both have brown eyes that our Moms say sparkle. Uh-huh, sparkly eyes mean there's a lot of intelligence behind them. We roll our sparkly eyes when we hear BS like that, but our Moms have always been big fans of ours, so they can say what they want. The four of us are family. Two Moms and two boys; what's wrong with this picture?
Chubby and I can do nothing, stand here in the schoolyard, not talking or anything, and yet we're contented being together. Then the warning bell blares out, and I take a deep breath of resignation, but I'm glad to hear the bell today because, as I said, it's the last day of my junior year. We split up at the school's main entrance, and then I'll hardly see Chubby during the school day, but we'll be luckier next year and get into the same classes. Before we split up, Chubby squeezes my hand and says, "Later," I nod and smile as he saunters coolly down the hall and disappears among the throng of noisy kids.
Later in the day, which was dragging something terrible, someone goosed me in the hall. I whipped around, ready to fight, but it was Dodger, and he was looking mighty cute. He muttered, "Oh, it's you, Dylan. With an ass that hot, I thought I was goosing a chick." The smirky look on his face made me laugh. I say, "Sup, dude?" and Dodger says, "Whoa, I like your summer burr haircut. Where did you get it cut?" The bell rang, "A friend of mine cut it. See you later, Dodger!" Dodger's like, "Cool!" Then he ran for his class.
I planned to cut the study period scheduled for this class. I casually walked around to the boy's lavatory, and Dodger was there. "Hey, are you skipping class, Dodger?" He's sitting on a wastebasket, biting his fingernails. With a cute grin, he mutters, "You're quick, aren't you?" I had to smile because the Dickers brothers are so much fun to look at. If only somehow, by some miracle, by some bit of magic, or twist of fate, those two could be gay, or if even one of them is, this summer would rock like a rock concert!
I take a piss, Dodger's biting his nails. Washing my hands, I look away because it's awkward watching him biting the nail of his middle finger, making a wet-mouth sound. As a young kid, I'd had that nail-biting habit, and what a bitch it was to break the habit. Glancing at him, gnawing on a nub of fingernail, I stared, and it became hypnotic and brought back memories of my habit.
Dodger wasn't looking at me. He was fixated on biting that fingernail; his adorable face was a mask of concentration. My lips were parted as I stared in fascination; the silence, except for the wet biting sounds, went on for a few more minutes. Then, he slowly rolled his eyes up to look into mine. I stared back at him, panting little breaths. Ever so deliberately, in slow motion, he took his finger, dripping with spit, and put his wet middle finger on my bottom lip and held it there, doing tiny nods. In a trance-like state, my lips opened, and he gently moved that bitten-nailed, spit-dripping finger into my mouth.
I was panting little puffs of breath as I went into my long-ago fingernail-biting mode. It's like riding a bike; you never forget how. I adjusted my head slightly to the side and got my bottom teeth just right so that my top teeth could gnaw a tiny nub of nail off Dodger's finger and then spit it out the other side of my mouth. I got right back into the ritual of fingernail biting as if I'd never stopped, took that nail down to the nub of the skin, and chewed off the cuticle.
My concentration was intense now, just like Dodger's had been, and a few minutes later, and only as an afterthought, I lifted my eyes to look at Dodger the way he'd looked at me. Now it was his turn to stare at me transfixed, with his lips parted and the tip of his pink tongue showing between those perfect, bow-shaped, pouty lips. What a cute face, with his fuzzy, growing-out buzzcut hair and those shiny brown eyes. He slowly took my hand without changing his facial expression. I knew what he would do, and I let him do it for some strange reason.
With a steady calmness, he brought my hand up to his mouth and sucked my index finger inside his wet, warm mouth. His tongue lapped, and his mouth sucked the fingernail over and over. When he'd softened my nail sufficiently, he got the big top piece between his top and bottom teeth, and the entire top came off in one rip. A big piece of my nail was spat out to bounce and lay on the sink beside me. It was a pretty big piece of shiny, wet fingernail that used to be attached to my finger. Dodger was then into precision bites of my nail, getting it roughly down to the nub. Finished with that fingernail, he went to the middle one and began sucking and licking the nail in preparation for its removal. I had a boner so hard you could break it off and hammer it into a tree if you wanted to.
For a while now, I'd just had Dodger's finger in my mouth, sucking on it, not biting it. I was too intent on watching Dodger, fascinated with his apparent sense of purpose. He had two nails chewed off pretty much, but they weren't nearly chewed down enough to satisfy a nail-biting enthusiast like Dodger. It was simply a matter of available time. If he had twenty minutes a nail, he'd get each one down to the low level of his fingernails below the top of his fingers.
My head felt overheated, sweaty, and heavy, and my breathing was shallow, and then there was that hard boner in my pants. It was a very pleasurable, dreamy state of mind but a little scary. From outside, we heard a loud yell or cheer, and then the door burst open, and Dodger jumped off the wastebasket, our fingers coming out of each other's mouths. What? Huh? We froze there and looked at each other for a second. Then, Dodger whispered, "You're the coolest dude I've ever met." I stared at him, coming out of a trance, and said, "C'mon!" And we went outside, now feeling odd because of that weird in the lavatory.
The last class was cut short, and I'm glad those two kids came busting in there... school's out! As Dodger and I walked toward the school's main entrance, I heard guys yelling, "See ya next year, motherfuckers," and other shouts like that. My fingernail-chewed left hand was hidden in the side pocket, but it felt so strange not to have fingernails again. I scratched the inside of my pocket with the bare pads of my fingers, and everything felt weird. Outside, we met Chubby, who said, "I'm getting a ride to work, Dylan. Would you take my backpack?" I took it, and he hurried off, saying, "I'll see you at home later, Dylan."
I waved at him and then noticed I had a wet precum spot in my underpants from that fingernail-biting weirdness. As I walked home, Robby Dickers called, "Dylan, have you seen Dodger?" Then, "Oh, I like your haircut. It's cool!" I mutter, "Hey, thanks. Yeah, Dodger was right here a minute ago, then Chubby came over..." Then we see Dodger coming out the front door. Robby says, "Dodger and I are getting summer haircuts today. What barbershop did you go to?" I say, "A guy, um, Carl Denton, gave more this haircut. He's better than most barbers." Robby asks, "Is that the fat guy who runs the school paper?"
Dodger and Robby hug and kiss quickly, then Robby asks, "Do you like Dylan's haircut." Dodger says, "I get mine cut like that every time, so yeah, I like it. Robby asks, "Do you think Carl would give us haircuts?" Oh fuck. I shake my head, "No, he's too busy, but I will. I've given Jeffrey Romero haircuts for years. If you want, I'll give you guys haircuts."
Robby frowned, squinted, and muttered, "Oh, I don't know. No, that's okay; we don't want to bother you." Dodger says enthusiastically, "Yeah, dude! Let's bother Dylan. He can be our barber, Robby. Why do you want to wait in a barbershop? Shit, yeah, thanks, Dylan." Robby shrugged, obviously not thrilled about this, but he's too polite to hurt my feelings and says, "Yeah, sure, okay. Thanks, Dylan."
They walked home with me, discussing what kind of haircuts they wanted. Mom left the air conditioning running inside my house, and I was feeling very hot, so the cool room was quite a relief. I was self-conscious about my chewed fingernails, so I did my best to keep them away from Robby's view while getting us Cokes. After taking a big gulp of Coke, for some reason, I told the brothers one of Chubby's factoids, "Did you know that Coke used to be green when it was first introduced?" Dodger said, with that world-famous boyish grin on his face, "What a load of shit that is!" I muttered, "Look it up!"
Why did I even bring that stupid thing up? I know why! It's because Dodger has me all fucked up, that's why. He's worth the trouble, though.
Robby's my size, five foot, ten inches, and about a hundred and thirty-five pounds. Dodger's about Chubby's size and a hundred fifteen pounds. Both brothers are well-built... it's a gene thing. Robby has blond hair and blue eyes. Dodger has brown hair and brown eyes and is proportionately smaller than Robby, but other than that, they're like identical twins who happened to be born two years apart. They'll make you do a double-take the first couple of times you see them together. They both have the same pinkish/white skin I have, but they have those rosy blotches on their cheeks. Hey, we're all wicked good-looking, not that we had anything to do with it!
We brought the Cokes to my room so I could exchange my school Polo shirt for a T-shirt. Dodger went over and flopped on my bed, then pulled my pillow out from under the bedspread and smelled it. "Yep, it smells just like you, Dylan," and he laid his head on it and pretended to go to sleep. I said, "You can nap, little boy, while I'm giving your big brother his haircut." Dodger goes, "Oh no, I want to watch Robbie get all his beautiful hair cut off."
I stepped out of my school khakis and, keeping my back to the guys so they couldn't see the precum wetness on my underpants, I pulled on cargo shorts, and then we all went to the finished basement with me carrying a kitchen stool for the guys to sit on while I cut their hair. Robby looked nervous sitting on the stool. He has beautiful hair, almost my shade of blond, but his hair has more curl than mine; more body. Combing through it to get out any tangles, I realize I'd never had hair as long as his. Then I thought about Willie, who has an over-the-ear hairstyle like guys had in the seventies, and Larry's hair was straight down to his chin level, all around his head, and it looked stupid! Carl has a neat, preppy haircut that looks good on him. If only I weren't so fat, I'm beating a dead horse about that.
While I was getting the clippers, scissors, and trimmer out, Robby said, "If you don't have a barber cape, I'd better take off my shirt," and he pulled his shirt over his head. I was standing right next to him when he did that; a wave of warm air from under his shirt, smelling sexily of Robby, floated over me. Yum! I'd already seen his hot, smooth, hairless body when I was at his place for a swim that time, but I looked again because Robby's special. He's a natural athlete, and he's got the body to prove it. The flowing, subtle, muscular definition is what I wish I had. The perfect male form for a seventeen-year-old boy, and I knew Dodger had a slightly smaller and hotter version of the same perfect male form. I bit my bottom lip, took it all in for just two seconds, then looked away. I didn't want to get caught staring. Chubby and I use a piece of old bed sheet we'd cut up as a barber's cape, but Robbie didn't want it around him, just in his lap,
"This will keep the hair off my shorts, Dylan, but I don't want it around my neck. I'd rather feel the hair slide off my shoulders and down my back. Ya know?" Well, actually, no, I didn't know, but I shrugged and said, "Yeah, whatever." He'd told me earlier to cut his hair like mine was, and he'd see how that style looked on him. I was like, "You want a burr haircut?"
I couldn't believe he wanted a haircut like mine. It's not a buzzcut, where all the hair is the same length. Carl faded the hair on the sides and back, and I can't do that. He's much better at cutting hair than Chubby and me. We put an attachment on the clippers and use that. Robby asked, "Shouldn't I?" I shrugged, "Why not get a short haircut and work your way down to a haircut as short as mine." He said I should use my judgment, which I did. I had a blast cutting his hair short, first with scissors and then clippers. It was a test to see if I get as aroused giving someone a haircut as I get when Carl cuts my hair.
The test results were inconclusive because I'm sexually interested in both Carl and Robby. So what is it? My sexual interest in them or haircutting? It's both, but as I said, it's inconclusive. Anyway, both brothers appeared surprised at how good their haircuts looked. They didn't expect I'd be this talented. Ha! Carl is much better, but I'm pretty good.
Then, Dodger could be the poster boy for buzzcuts; that's how good he looked with one. His brown hair, even a third of an inch long, was soft, and there were so many hairs packed into each square inch of the scalp that even buzzing his hair felt like velvet, and no scalp showed. During the short time, this haircut takes Dodger, uncharacteristically, remained quiet throughout. He'd gasped air in a burst occasionally, and I think he was playing pocket ball with himself. Even with all that, the haircut went well, and when it was over, I rubbed my hands all over his head, pretending to brush out the loose snippets. Dodger pushed his head back in my direction while I massaged his scalp.
Then, Robby called, "Ah, Dylan, would you mind looking at something in here for a second?" The brothers were in the half bath, and I'd just pulled the tab from another can of Coke. "Sure, what's up?" I sauntered over to that little powder room, the door open now, and right away, I saw Dodger, with his pants down, grimacing and saying, "It hurts. Don't touch it, Robby; you're too rough." What the fuck?
Dodger's baggy shorts were around his ankles, and his jockey shorts were stretched and suspended between his knees. The first thing that really caught my eye was the wet precum stain at the front of his jockey underwear and the long, brown skid mark across the crack. I thought of Dodger's little speedo bathing suit with an identical skid mark, which I was forced into wearing that time at their pool. This boy needs to learn to wipe himself better.
Robby says, "Dodger has something wrong with his dick, but now he won't pull back that foreskin again so that we can see it." Dodger whines, "I just fucking told you that it hurts too much. I can't do it, and Robbie's too rough. Can you be gentle, Dylan?"
I'm like, "Huh?" I'd seen his teen package at the pool that same day I had to wear his skid-marked bathing suit, and let me tell you, this boy has the most outstanding-looking penis, balls, and pubes I've ever seen. And, I've been taking showers with hundreds of boys over the years in gym class, so I've seen a bundle of packages to compare it to. "Well, what do you think, Dylan? Can you do it?" asked Dodger. "I don't know, but I'll try." Robby and I changed places, and I was right in front of Dodger, who immediately clasped his hands behind my neck and pulled my head down to his height to put his head against the side of my face; there was perspiration on his forehead. What the...?
"Do it easy, Dylan," he moans as he's holding around my neck tightly; I guess he's anticipating some pain. Robby says, "Dodger gets excited, um, he springs boners getting a haircut, and sprung a boner while you were cutting his hair." Then he asks Dodger, "Are you still jerking off five times a day, ya little homo? " Dodger yells, "Fuck no! What do you think, man? I was taking a whiz, that's all."
These brothers are something, alright. Dodger's package consists of the usual things, regular size penis, balls, and a little sparse pubic patch, but there are no imperfections or veins or hair on his nuts or bends in his dick or anything. They're all pink and yummy looking. I'm not kidding; I just stared at his package for a few seconds before carefully picking up Dodger's penis. I said, "You get a boner from getting your hair cut? That's interesting, dude." Yeah, maybe I'll get some insight from Dodger as to why I get aroused during haircuts.
Dodger said, "Yeah, it's a little weird but cool too. Boners feel good." I mutter, "No shit, bro," and Dodger murmurs, "Be careful with my dick; go slow." As soon as I pulled on his foreskin the slightest bit, he was back with the pleas, "Ohhh, be careful! It'll really hurt." I looked at Robby, and he shrugged. I didn't know; this was news to me, too. Then he mouthed to me, from Dodger's view, "He's a big baby." I smiled and slowly, with a steady hand, retracted the foreskin off the head just a little. He'd been circumcised, but enough foreskin was left to cover half of that beautiful penis head with its twinkling pee-slit eye. Ah, nice! But there's work to do, so with Dodger going, "Ow, ow, ow, ow," I pulled the foreskin entirely back and saw two red sores right where the shaft of his cock meets the tulip head. Jeez, they looked wicked sore, alright. I said, "Holy shit, what are they?"
Robby mutters, "That's what we were hoping you'd know. You never got those, I guess?" I said, "Ah, no. I'd remember if I had those things on my dick." Robby said, "He's too embarrassed to tell Mom or Dad. Got any ideas, Dylan?" I said, "Yeah, let's Google these bitches. You know, Google Dodger's penis sores or something like that. See what comes up." Dodger groans, "Fuck! That's so obvious. Why didn't we think of that, Robby? You are one dumbass big brother." Robby grins and mumbles, "Push that skin back and forth over those sores a few times for me, will you, Dylan?"
It was all kind of funny. My computer is in my bedroom, but Dodger didn't want me to let go of the foreskin. He said he was too shaky to hold it without pulling the foreskin back and forth and causing himself pain. So, with Dodger's arm around my neck and my free arm around his waist, we took baby steps up the stairs and into my bedroom, me holding his penis all the way. I heard Robbie stifling laughter at our expense. We did look pretty ridiculous. During the trip, Dodger's cock was getting harder and harder until, finally, it became a full-blown boner. Inside my bedroom, I asked, "Do you think I can let go of this thing now, Dodger? I mean, your boner has stretched out, and the foreskin can't reach the sores now." He said, "No! Please, keep holding it. Let's not change anything; this is fine. It's not hurting like this."
It was fine with me too, but I had to go through the motions, so I did a fake exasperated sigh and held on to his hard penis, thinking how much I'd like to suck that thing, but only AFTER those sores healed. We Googled penis sores, and lots of stuff came up. Most of it was related to sexual relations that Dodger hasn't had any of, except with his hand, so that left only one real possibility. "How many times a day are you masturbating, Dodger?"
Dodger was reading the same stuff on the computer screen that we were, so obviously, he had to come to the same conclusion and whined, "How many times do I jerk off?" Robby goes, "Yeah, how many?" Dodger's doing a little more squirming now as he says, "Ya mean other than when we do it together every night?" and Robby's like, "Yeah, in addition to that." They do it together every night, really? Dodger looks at the ceiling like he's counting, or thinking, or maybe stalling, then whines out, "My balls generate one hell of a lot of sperm."
Robby asks, "How many?" Dodger mumbles, "It's freakish, man! I gotta do something to protect my health. You know about cows that get their bladders all filled up with milk and would probably die if someone doesn't milk 'em? You ever hear about that?" Robby and I looked at one another and rolled our eyes. Robby asks again, "How many times?" and Dodger says, "Oh, I don't keep count. Maybe, as you intimated a little while ago, it's four or five other times."
Robby and I laughed, and Dodger's red-faced now, calling us assholes. He knocks my hand away from his boner, goes, "OW! God damn it," and then starts laughing, too. According to the medical advice we found through Google, the only natural cure for his penis sores is to stop masturbating entirely for two or three days. Dodger cried out, "My nuts will explode," and we were all having a good laugh.
In the end, Robby and I promised we wouldn't masturbate for three days either, showing our support for Dodger. He goes, "Really guys? Ya promise?" and we both promise and a little later, Robby walks by me and mumbles, "Right! I'm not going to whack off for three days. Who's kidding who?"
We put some Vaseline on the sores to do something, and then a little later, we made up a frozen pizza in the microwave and bullshit with one another while we ate it. Robby kept checking himself out in that mirror over our sofa and playing with his new hairdo. I rubbed Dodger's velvet-buzzed hair every few minutes, and he'd smirk at me. We played computer games in my bedroom, and Dodger was a genius at playing computer games.
When Robby was on my computer, trying to beat Dodger's score, Dodger and I lay on my bed watching him. And, like Chubby, Dodger likes to get right up next to me. I have no complaints about that. If I'd neglected to rub his buzzed head for too long, Dodger would pick up my hand and put it on his head with a smirky grin. Other times, he'd pretend to get my right hand to his mouth as if he was going to bite off those fingernails, too. He was showing me all these facial expressions that could mean anything as far as I was concerned.
I had no idea what was on that little pecker's mind if anything. Robby's oblivious to Dodger's and my inter-play, concentrating on the computer screen. I glanced at the clock and was surprised to see how late it was. The boys had to get home for dinner, and Chubby would be home from work soon, so they got their few things together, and we walked outside. It had cooled down to a pleasant temperature by now. Out on the sidewalk, the brothers gave me a one-arm hug and pats on the back. Neither of them gave me that quick-as-a-flash kiss on my lips, though.
It was a no-sex day so far for me, although it felt as if I'd had sex. Being with the Dickers brothers is almost like having sex. Wow, it gets me hard when they do that fast kiss on the lips. Oh, can I believe I'm going to be working with Robby five or six days a week? I wish he were showing as much interest in me as his brother. Dodger is too young for me, right?
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com
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