Invited

Chapter 11

( Fantastic Progress )

At my house, getting out of the SUV, I tell Billy, "This has been the best afternoon of my life."

He smirks, saying, "Yeah, well, it was pretty special for me too. See you tonight."

We're boyfriends; that's what we are.

If he hasn't already, Billy will realize that sooner or later. We messed around three times this afternoon, got haircuts, and then he basically told me he was gay for me; or implied as much. Even though I'm not at all sure how to go about it, I'm going to try to be the best boyfriend ever. Yes, I'm pretty 'effing excited!

Inside the house, Mom calls from the kitchen, "Hi, sweetheart. Dinner in a half-hour."

I'm like, "Okay, Mom."

As I'm heading for the stairs, she walks into the living room, asking, "Did you have a good day? Oh, and I see you've been to your uncle's barbershop again." "Yes, Mom, it's been an awesome day, and, yes, I got a haircut."

Mom reluctantly adds, "Well, you look nice."

"Thanks, Mom," and I go upstairs to my bedroom.

Lying on my bed, I can't stop smiling. What an incredible afternoon; plus, Billy invited me out tonight too. Eight o'clock can't get here fast enough.

Closing my eyes, I picture Billy's face, beautiful smile, and tight slim body; everything about him thrills me. After daydreaming about him for a while, I sigh contentedly and hop off the bed to take a shower because tonight I have a date with my boyfriend. Oh man, that sounds good.

At dinner, Dad says, "You've impressed me, son. I like how you're staying on top of your grooming. It's quite a turnaround from your last ten years."

Mom says, "I miss your blond curls, Gary, but you're a handsome, clean-cut young man. John Baxter mentioned that to me at work today."

What? Trying for casual, I mumble, "Thanks. Um, John said that, Mom?"

She smiles, "He said you're a good worker. I added the rest because it's true."

Damn, it's going to be difficult telling Mom and Dad I'm queer. I'll put off telling them, um, probably indefinitely.

In my bedroom again, I use a little AXE Body Spray. Not too much, just a little. My hair barely needs combing because the bangs are trained to stand up on their own, and there isn't anything I can do to get the bristly hairs at the crown to lie flat. What the fuck, though? Billy likes our haircuts this way. He rationalizes that our haircuts are magical instead of simply admitting he's gay for me. Whatever works, I guess.

Looking at myself in the big mirror over my bureau, I shake my head. No, I don't like this shirt. Instead of the T-shirt, I put on a polo shirt to dress up a little for my date tonight. Pacing around my bedroom until, at seven-forty-five, I go downstairs to tell my parents, "Billy Underwood is picking me up and, um, we'll get a cone at DQ, then hang out."

Dad shrugs, and Mom says, "Okay, dear. Don't make it a late night; you have work tomorrow."

Fuck, that gives me an ache at the back of my head because, Omigod, she didn't need to tell me that! I'm not ten years old. I force a smile, "Yes, I know that, Mom."

Outside, I walk to the end of the block and see Billy's SUV coming toward me. Oh, good, he's only ten minutes late tonight. That's awesome.

Billy's always smiling, which makes me smile back at him. God, he looks good! Getting in the van, I say, "Goddamn, you look great, Billy!"

Before I get the seatbelt on, still smiling, he reaches over, pulls my head next to his, and, looking in the rearview mirror, he excitedly says, "Look at us with these matching magical haircuts, Gary. We look great!"

Yeah, well, I was just thinking about our so-called magical haircuts. He lets go of me as I mumble, "Yes, we look like brothers."

He goes, "Ha! I should be so lucky to look like you."

Fastening my seat belt, I go, "Whaddaya talking about? You're beautiful, Billy." He drives away, "To you I am, but you're the only person who has ever felt that way."

I say, "And your hair looks better than mine." He nods, "That's true, yeah. Yours looks okay too, though."

See, we're boyfriends, and boyfriends compliment each other. I love him so friggin' much I can barely breathe.

Billy says, "It's odd that my hair looks better than yours because blonds, like you, have 150,000 hairs on their heads while brown hair people, like me, have an average of only 110,000."

What an odd thing to know. I go, "Gee, I wonder who counted all the individual hairs?"

He laughs, "I never thought of that," and drives away. I stare at him until he mumbles, "You're staring at me again." "That's because I love you so much I can barely breathe."

Pulling into the Sears parking lot, he glances at me, smiles, and says, "Yeah, I know how you feel about me. The thing is, though, you tell me you love me too often."

I mutter, "Sorry." He snickers, "Well, if you don't overdo it, hearing you say it does make me feel good. Hey, did I tell you I had a dream about you a couple of nights ago?"

Shaking my head, "No, what were we doing in the dream?"

He snickers, "What do you think we were doing?" I'm like, "Messing around?"

Looking solemn, he says, "No, we were standing close together in a strange room, not doing anything. It was so real, though; it woke me up."

I go, "You remembered the dream because you woke up right after dreaming it. Most dreams we forget."

Parking the SUV behind the dumpster, he looks at me and says with a grin, "When I woke up, I had a hard boner. Maybe the boner is why I woke up."

Shrugging, I murmur, "I probably dream about you every night, but I can't remember the dreams. I wish I could."

The van's idling as Billy says, "I probably shouldn't tell you this because you'll make more out of it than you should."

I'm like, "What is it? I won't make too much out of it."

He says, "I was determined to cut back on our messing around, but I missed it too much, so I messed around with Chickie, which I hated. Right after that, I called you. And I know I alluded to all this earlier today, but I wanted to come straight out with it tonight. You deserve to know how much I like you."

Sitting here looking into each other's eyes, I murmur, "I think about you all the time."

He asks, "How come you didn't call me? That's what I was waiting for, and then I couldn't wait any longer and called you."

"I didn't call you because I didn't want to be a bother. I never call anyone."

Making a face, he mutters, "That's crazy. Are you saying you've never called anyone in your whole life?" I go, "That's right, but I will if you're inviting me to call you."

He laughs, shakes his head, and says, "Christ, you're lucky you've got me to look out for you. C'mon, let's get in the back of the van."

We get out of the SUV, then put the second and third row of bench seats down. Getting in the back, Billy sits against the driver's seat and says, "Over here, Gary. You can sit between my legs. We'll do some buddying up."

I do that, leaning back on him, and he puts his arms around me, saying, "It's okay, you can lay your head on my shoulder."

When I do that, he kisses the side of my forehead and murmurs, "We're special together. You can count on me not to take any more breaks from our messing around. I know now that that doesn't work."

I'm so happy that tears form in my eyes. He's a wonderful boyfriend, but I don't trust my voice right now, so I nod, "Uh-huh." He kisses my cheek and murmurs, "Turn your head." I do that, and we kiss on the lips.

He smiles, asking, "Are you glad I'm not taking any more breaks?" I gulp, "You know I am. I want to be with you twenty-four hours a day."

He chuckles and hugs me, "Oh, Christ, I've never been loved and idolized like this before in my 'effing life. I told you that before, though, didn't I?" I nod, "Yes, but you deserve to be loved and idolized."

He says, "Thanks, but can you try not being so obviously gay while you're doing it? I know you're in love with me, but as I mentioned two 'effing minutes ago, try using the L-word less,"

He moves his nose across my cheek, murmuring, "I swear to God nobody smells as good as you."

I'm like, "It's the AXE Spray I use." He goes, "No, not that scent. Your personal scent is what I meant," and he does a long kiss on my cheek. Like a ten-second kiss, then he licks my ear.

Oh, man, nothing is as good as this. I snuggle against him, rubbing the side of my face against his. He snickers, "Fuck, I like you better than anybody, but I told you that before too, didn't I? You've got me repeating myself like an 'effing dork."

Sitting like this, my dick hard as stone, I listen to him telling me something about Global warming and how 750 billion tons of ice melts every year. He rubs his chin on the side of my head, muttering, "That's 24,000 tons of water adding to the world's oceans every second, year-round."

Hmm, that sounds like bullshit, but I could listen to his youthful-sounding voice forever. I don't care what he's talking about as long as it's just me he's talking to.

He leaves his arms around me, so I hold onto his wrists, my arms on top of his. Billy tells me about the courses he's taking at Community College and how he wishes I was going with him. Then he says, "Except if you were going with me, you couldn't rent our apartment."

He called it our apartment! Jeez, I've got to get a full-time job that pays enough to afford an apartment.

After maybe twenty minutes, Billy says, "Shit, I almost forgot. I've got a joint for us to smoke. Get up, and I'll show you what we'll do." I move aside, and Billy crawls to the tailgate and pushes it open. "C'mon, Gary," and he sits on the floor, his feet hanging out the tailgate, telling me, "Sit next to me, and we'll blow the smoke out the back."

As I sit right against him, he lights the joint, takes a drag, holds the smoke in, then exhales, murmuring, "Whoa, this is some good shit. The thing is, though, with asshole Chickie away at college, I'll have a harder time buying grass." He puts an arm around the back of my neck, "Here you go," and holds the wet-lipped end of the joint to my lips. I inhale, and he murmurs, "Hold it in your lungs, Gary. That's the way." I exhale, leaning tighter against him.

Without talking, we smoke the joint down to a roach with Billy's arm around me, taking turns inhaling, Billy holding the joint to my lips when it's my turn. Smoking pot is the only time Billy seems comfortable with silence. He flicks the roach into the night, and we sit in a stupor staring out at the star-lit sky. The marijuana effect has our heads lulling together; then he kisses me, murmuring, "I probably like you more than anyone I've ever known. Did I tell you that before?"

I mumble, "Uh-huh," and we kiss again with both Billy's arms around me. He says, "Let's lie back," we do that, his arm under my neck, our calves and feet dangling out the tailgate.

Wanting more bodily contact, I roll partially on him, my face against the side of his face, my arm across his stomach. He murmurs, "That's right, snuggle against me. I'll take care of you."

How to describe the spectacular way I'm feeling? It's a blissful sense of contentment, significant happiness, and a Zen-like peacefulness. I only ever feel this way with him.

Our marijuana highs fade after a while, and Billy mumbles, "Fuck this. Let's get inside, Gary."

We sit up, then slide off the tailgate to stand on the blacktop. Billy closes the tailgate, smiling, "That was some random shit we were doing, huh? Damn good high, though."

I put my arms around him and lean against him, pretending I'm still woozy from the joint. Billy says, "You don't smoke pot as often as I do, so it has a stronger effect on you. You'll be fine in a few minutes."

Rubbing my face against his, he giggles, then we kiss with his tongue sliding into my mouth, me moaning quietly, "Mmmm." Our lips make a smacking sound when they part.

He asks, "You okay now?" Nodding my head, "Uh-huh," He goes, "Oh fuck, haha, I'm getting a boner." I kiss him on the lips, then we walk around either side of the SUV and climb in opposite doors. He snickers again, "We could have gotten in the same door. Hey, why aren't you talking?"

I haven't said a word for a half-hour. I clear my throat, then say, "I don't know, but being with you is blissful happiness. I never experience that with anybody else."

He makes a face, "Blissful? That's a compliment, right?" We chuckle, then I mutter, "Yeah, I meant it as a compliment for my boyfriend."

He smirks, "Boyfriend, huh? You're trying your best to make me gay like you, but it ain't working. I'm simply messing around with the best buddy I've ever had."

He said I'm the best buddy he's ever had; that's sweet! He gives me a squeeze, murmuring, "Buddying up with you is fun. It never was with the high school guys or Chickie, but it is with you.

I am making fantastic progress here!

Billy says, "Let's get naked." I mutter, "Okay, that's the best way to buddy up," and, on our knees, we get undressed, grinning at one another. It takes less than thirty seconds to get naked, then Billy holds out his dick, "You can blow me a little, but don't make me cum."

We're still on our knees, so I lean down and lick his penis as he asks, "Do you have a condom with you?" Looking up at him, I'm like, "Condom?" sounding disappointed.

He says, "Don't look at me like that; I'm gonna do you bareback but with some lube from the condom, helping things along this time. I don't like hurting you."

I mumble, "It doesn't hurt that much," He says, "Well, it hurts the head of my dick, Gary. It's not all about you. Don't pout; we can do bareback every time."

I mumble, "Oh, I didn't think about it hurting you, sorry. And, yes, I have a condom with me."

He holds out his hand, so I get my wallet from my shorts, then hand him the condom. He mutter, "Thank you," and I pick up his dick, mumbling, "No problem."

Billy is being even more affectionate tonight than he was this afternoon, and he was damn sweet to me this afternoon! I can feel his love. He's elevated our messing around to romantic messing around, lovers' messing around. He likes to say he's taking care of me, and, yep, that's exactly what it feels like to me too.

Licking and sucking, then stroking his penis arouses me greatly, and my dick gets as hard as Billy's. In about a minute, he mutters, "That's perfect. You're fabulous at getting me hard." I continue to suck on the head of his cock until he rubs my head, "I said, that's good, Gary."

Reluctantly I take his cock from my mouth, do a quick lick on his nuts, then let go of his boner and grab mine, squeezing it. He says, "How about if you get on your back and pull your legs out of the way."

Oh, good, I like messing around this way because I can see his face. He rips open the condom packet and wipes the lubricated condom on his hard penis, then rubs lubricant on my butt hole, then more on the head of his boner. Holding the condom, Billy looks around, unsure what to do with it.

I say, "Wrap it in one of the Handiwipes." He gets one, muttering, "We need one of those little trash bags that hang from the headrest, you know?" Shrugging, "I guess."

He wipes his fingers on the carpeted floor, then wraps the condom in a Handiwipe. Dropping it, he smiles at me, "I think I'm addicted to you. You're getting to be like a drug to me."

I murmur, "Yes, I'll be your drug and your girl/guy." He smiles, "Right, the crazy guy/girl thing. That's kind of a weird but funny concept you dreamed up."

Biting his bottom lip, he puts a hand behind my legs just above my buttock, pushes on them, lifting my asshole, "Hold your legs back." I do that and then spread them so I can see his face. Pressing the head of his boner against my quivering asshole, Billy lets out a long exhale, then humps the head in past my sphincter, and we both gasp, "Ahh!"

The lube helped a lot, but it still hurt to have my anus spread wide like that. Compared to the thrill of having my lover's cock inside me, though, the hurt hardly registered, and it's fading in thirty seconds anyway. Billy marvels at my rectum. He's probably embarrassed about his rectum's apparent lack of elasticity.

The head of his boner is in past my sphincter muscle, so Billy puts his arms inside my hanging feet, a hand on the floor on either side of me, and, looking concerned, asks, "Are you okay, Gary?"

I'm holding my breath as the pain fades. Exhaling, I murmur, "I'm good. I love messing around with you like this." He mutters, "Me too. Here we go," and he slowly pushes his engorged boner up inside me, both of us moaning, "Mmmm."

The tight lips of my anus sizzle as his boner movers tightly against my prostate, getting it vibrating with pleasure at every fraction of an inch his perfect sex organ goes inside my body. I stare at the concentration on Billy's face, his eyes closed and his head back as another low, "Mmmm," sound escapes from his throat. When his body is tight against my buttocks, he gently humps a few times, murmuring, "This feels better every time we do it."

Taking my arms from around my legs, I get both arms around the back of his neck and pull his head down. He offers no resistance as our lips meet.

It's a lovers' kiss, a slow luscious romantic lovers' kiss. I can't imagine how Billy could think of it as anything else. Then, with my arms holding the sides of our heads together, he pulls his boner back until his cock's swollen head is pulling outward at the lips of my anus. The lips tighten around the neck, holding onto it tenaciously. He pushes it back in with a low moan, then does it seven or eight times with me experiencing ecstasy.

Fully impaling me, his crotch tight against my buttocks, he stops and murmurs, "I'm going to cum." Well, it's a miracle I haven't cum myself yet.

Billy lifts his head, so I take my arms from around his neck. He sits up and takes hold of my hips, smiles at me, he says, "This feels so 'effing good." then it's fast three-inch thrusting making, "Slap, slap, slap," sounds in the van. Slapping sounds along with my embarrassing-sounding moans of exquisite pleasure.

As usual, it doesn't last long. After thirty or forty seconds of his fast thrusting, my cock is a steel pipe throbbing parallel to my stomach. Then, I make a screeching sound climaxing with cum streaking out as a spray, followed immediately by a creamy, hard, straight line of electrified cum that splatters under my chin, then a shorter shot slides halfway up my chest.

As I'm shaking in extreme sexual pleasure, Billy humps hard against my ass and blows his load inside me. His face is red and damp; he grunts and pumps more cum inside me as I watch his stiff body begin to relax. He looks relieved as he moans, "Wow, holy shit, that was good."

Pulling his penis out, he smiles and slowly lies on the floor beside me, mumbling, "You can put your legs down if you want."

I snicker, "Oh, yeah," and drop my legs, adding, "I was hoping you'd want to do more."

Looking curious, he pushed the tip of his index finger into the cum that had pooled on my chest. He looked at his fingertip, then sucked the cum off, "Your cum tastes a lot better than his." I know who he means, Chicky. Now I'm curious, "Be honest, Billy. Is Chickie the only guy you've ever messed around with the way we do it?"

He reaches to the pouch on the back of the passenger seat for Handiwipes, rips one open, and cleans his flaccid penis, "No, not really. It was Chickie who got me started doing it again, but I messed around with other guys before that. Not like we mess around, though. It was mostly just handjobs and blowjobs messing around. Only once in a while trying to take it up the ass."

"Who were these guys you messed around with?"

Getting more Handiwipes, he opens two packets and uses them to wipe cum off my chin, chest, and stomach, muttering, "You don't know them. They were from our high school but not our neighborhood. Then there was one guy I knew at the shore. The best guy happened when I tried out for the wrestling team in eleventh grade. He was a senior but, again, not from our neighborhood. We tried a number of times, but neither of us could do the messing around, taking it up the ass without pain, but we did it anyway, or he did it, I should say. Mostly we messed around blowing each other a lot."

He makes a little pile of used Handiwipes, then smiles at me, asking, "Are you jealous that I've messed around with those other guys?"

Shaking my head, "No, you hadn't taught me about messing around when you were doing that. Now that you and I are messing around, though, I'd be wicked jealous if you messed around with anyone except me, and I mean Chickie too."

He shrugs, "I probably won't, so don't worry too much about that." I go, "There's nobody else on earth I'd want to do messing around except with you. I'm madly in love with you. You're my whole world."

He mutters, "Uh-huh, thanks, but could you lighten up on the L-word."

Going up on my side, I lean down and kiss him on the lips, then lay my head on his chest, "Billy, we've been messing around a lot today. Doesn't that qualify us as boyfriends?"

His fingers rub back through the bristly short hair at the crown of my head, muttering, "Oh, fuck, I suppose you could say that if it makes you feel better. Christ, you'll have me saying I'm a fag before you're done."

I lie, telling him, "I know you're not gay. Our identical magical haircuts allow you to say we're boyfriends. You're just messing around playing at being my boyfriend."

He mutters, "Yep, exactly! That's what I'm doing, alright. It's wicked good fun too. The most fun I've ever had." I murmur, "Me too."

Reaching over for more Handiwipes, he mutters, "Lie over on your stomach. You're leaking cum from your ass. I'll help you clean that up."

He rips open another packet, then wipes my ass, muttering, "Jesus, the 'effing things I need to do for you." Handing me another wipe, "Hold this on your butt until the cum stops drooling out of your ass."

I do that, and he mutters, "Wearing a rubber has its benefits." I'm like, "But as you said, doing bareback is worth the extra trouble, right?"

He goes, "Yeah, I did say that," and he checks to see that the drooling cum situation is under control.

Mumbling, "Your good, Gary," he gets his arm under me, "C'mon, let's buddy up a little," then, "Go ahead, lie on me the way you like to do after messing around."

Moving the side of my head to his shoulder, half my chest on his, then my right leg goes between his legs. "Good. Are you comfortable?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm very comfortable." Billy puts an arm across my back as I snuggle against him. He asks, "Am I taking good care of you tonight?" I smile, "Yes, the best. No one has ever taken care of me as good as you."

He murmurs, "You've never messed around with anyone else, so it's understandable if you think our messing around is normal, but it's far from normal. Inherent with all the other messing around I've done, there's an almost violent aspect to it. Not fighting, I don't mean that, but a roughness with no thought of buddying up. We didn't like each other for the most part. It was messing around to satisfy normal urges, normal for us, and we did it in a reluctant and, ultimately, not in a very satisfying way. Oh fuck, I can't explain it! You're too immature and innocent, which, by the way, is the reason I'm always saying I'm taking care of you. What I'm actually doing is protecting you from, um, that."

"I'm not sure what you mean about violence being part of the messing around and no one liking one another. Why did you mess around with guys you didn't like?"

He mutters, "I just told you, ah, never mind! Forget it. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Lazily ruffling his fingers through my hair again, he says, "I'll stick to concentrating on us and our twin dicks and twin haircuts and our twin messing around buddies. I like that about us. Your naivete is rubbing off on me, and it's far better than anything I've experienced before. I'll leave it at that."

I go, "Well, if I were your twin, I'd know what you mean."

He mutters, "Yeah, probably, but you wouldn't like it. Hey, do you know what the humorist Josh Billings said about twins?"

Smiling, I mutter, "Of course I don't."

Billy goes, "Heh-heh. He said that there are two things in life we are never truly prepared for... twins."

I snicker, "He means as a parent, I guess. I never heard of Josh-whatshisname."

Billy mumbles, "I liked his quote because you don't expect twins to be the two things we're never prepared for. You expect the two things to be death and, um, taxes or something else."

Not spending any time figuring that one out, I lie here as contented as a purring pussy cat. He's now telling me something about Russia and the Ottoman Empire. His voice is a joy to listen to, even though I can't follow the point he's making at times.

I finally say, "You have a photographic memory, don't you?"

"No, no one has ever been proven to have had a true photographic memory. I remember facts pretty well if they're interesting. Have you ever heard of Hyperthymesia?"

Licking his right nipple, I mutter, "What do you think?"

He says, "You probably haven't, but there are people, not many but some, who remember every event in their lives, plus public events they hear or read about. Hyperthymesia is an uncontrollable association of everything they've ever been aware of from every day of their life."

I'm like, "How can they function with all those memories in their head?" He says, "I didn't read about that, but it sounds like a curse, although they probably do well on tests."

For all I know, he made that word up. I can't Google the word because how the hell would I ever spell it? I mumble, "Some of the things you tell me are hard to believe."

He goes, "Some time I'll Google them with you to prove they're true." I'm like, "Google? Did you just read my mind?" He snickers, "I don't know, did I?"

Grinning, I climb fully on him, murmuring, "Take care of me some more, Billy."

Smiling, he hugs me, then mumbles, "Damn, I could mess around and buddy up with you all 'effing night. It's awesome doing this with someone I like as much as I like you. Those other guys, as I said, it's as if we didn't even like each other. We just felt the need to mess around with another guy, you know, for the hell of it. After messing around, we never did buddying up... ever! Certainly not the way you and I do it. Frankly, I never in a million years expected it could be this good. The credit needs to go to you. You've changed my thinking about messing around."

I murmur, "Billy, I'm your boyfriend. That's why you like messing around with me."

He says, "Let's sit up as we did before." He sits against the back of the front seat with me between his legs and his arms around me. "Lay your head back, Gary, c'mon." I gladly do that, and he says, "Yeah, that's the way."

A few seconds later, he's like, "Aren't you going to hold onto my arms as you did earlier?"

I do that, and I hear another non-sequitor. He says, "I wish I had blond hair like yours. Not the fucking curls you had, but the blond color of your hair." The side of our faces are touching as I mutter, "I like your hair better than mine."

He runs his fingers back through my short hair and says, "It feels good to like someone enough that I actually want to take care of them. I'm almost two years older than you and much more experienced at messing around, so it feels like the right thing to do. It's weird, but I like doing it a helluva lot more than I ever thought possible."

Nothing could be any better than this.

Doing little licks under my chin, he snickers and murmurs, "I wish we were younger so we could do sleepovers, ya know? We're way too old for a sleepover, but Christ, I would love spending all night in bed naked taking care of you."

I'm so relaxed it's as if my dick is the only bone in my body. I murmur, "Oh Gawd, just imagining a sleepover with you gives me shivers, Billy. Loving you as I do hurts sometimes. My desire for you can be almost painful."

Hugging me, he chuckles, "Love hurts, huh? I'll try avoiding it then."

I can feel his firm dick against my buttocks, so I murmur, "We could probably mess around again if you wanted to do that." He goes, "I was thinking the same thing. Hmm, if you get on your hands and knees, we'll do it like that."

I do what he said, and he gets on his knees behind me, mumbling, "I'm sure there's enough random lube in your ass and some of my jism from the first time."

His firm cock is pointing up against my right butt cheek as he humps his groin against me a few times, rubbing his hands up and down my sides. "You know, Gary, you have an amazing body to mess around with. I really like it."

Omigod, this is fantastic! My dick is already so hard it's sticking straight out like a branch on an 'effing tree. It's so hard you could hang a swing from it. The head of his dick feels plenty hard enough, too, as he presses it against my asshole; then I gasp when Billy humps his cock inside me and then grunts, pushing it all the way in until he's tight against my ass, his hands on my shoulders pulling me back at him.

Leaning against me, he murmurs, "Are you okay?" I'm like, "It didn't hurt much at all. I don't think my hole closed up entirely from the first time, and now it feels so good I'm trembling."

He goes, "Yeah, well, I'm pretty good at doing this by now. Plus, obviously, you have the number one miracle rectum of all time."

Assured that I'm fine, Billy, full of confidence now, gives my ass a good hard fucking that lasts six or seven minutes, or it may have even been longer than that.

As far as I'm concerned, this is our best messing around yet. This is like the pleasure of a lifetime, one that never lets up. It's a constant pleasure with me moaning, "Ah, ah, ah," at every fast hard thrust. My grunts joined the music of the slapping sounds and Billy's grunts of "Um!" with every hump of his slim hips.

Human rectums have some very sensitive parts. I've read online that there are external and internal sphincters, and both appear to be full of nerve endings, especially the external ones. I don't know, but maybe the external one is the anus. Whatever it is, mine is extremely sensitive and provides a lot of pleasure. The internal sphincter appears to be highly stimulated from the pressure and fullness created by Billy's engorged boner. Then there's the prostate gland that's involved with ejaculation and urination. That's a fabulous pleasure glad when stimulated by a hard cock. Of course, a finger can get that gland all worked up too.

Everything combined, plus Billy being the guy messing around with me, has created an ecstasy in me that I can't adequately describe. I don't know words that could explain how much pleasure I experience while messing around like this with Billy.

It's our longest messing around ever, but it ends as our shorter messing around ends. Just as I'm hoping it will go on forever, my climax comes roaring up on me, and it's, "Ooh, ooh, ahhh!" with cum exploding from my vibrating boner creating the highest level of pleasure known to humankind: orgasmic climax. As happened the last time I blew my load messing around on my hands and knees, my cum stream hits the SUV's floor so hard it splatters, and the spray hits my knees.

As I tremble from that, Billy lays on my back, wraps his arms around my stomach, humps against my buttocks, and climaxes as he's gasping a funny-sounding long ragged breath. I'm making a face at the intense sensations streaking all over me, then, as always, they too quickly fade away, and I feel weak.

After taking a deep breath, Billy mutters, "Oh, yes, that was special!"

Letting go of me, he walks backward on his knees, pulls his dick out, then sits against the back of the driver's seat again, saying, "Goddamn, I feel super 'effing satisfied. How about you?"

With a big smile on my face, I walk toward him on my hands and knees, then put a knee on either side of his legs and sit like that facing him with a hand on each of his shoulders. He smiles as I go, "You've taken fabulously good care of me. I've never felt this spectacular before in my life."

Smirking, he says, "I'm becoming a genius at taking care of you, but my cum is leaking out of you again." He gets a Handiwipe, muttering, "This is the last wipe in the pouch, so hold it under you."

I do that as he says, "Speaking of geniuses, who do you think the number one genius of all time is?"

Sitting on the Handiwipe between his legs, still facing him, I lean my forehead against his, "Would it be Einstein?"

He goes, "Not really, although he's one of the top ten, I'd assume. Different so-called experts have differing opinions about who the biggest genius was. Many say Issac Newton is the top genius of all time."

Rubbing noses with him, I mutter, "How about Leonardo da Vinci?" We kiss, and it's another one of our lovers' kisses, dreamy and lasting ten seconds or more.

He murmurs, "Or Michelangelo, or Phidias." Rubbing my cheek against his, I ask, "Who's he?"

Billy hugs me, murmuring, "Phidias was an artist, a painter, I think."

We do some buddying up, making out for a few minutes, then, turning around, I sit between his legs and lean back on him with my head on his shoulder. Billy says, "There you go," and I mutter, "Newton discovered gravity, right?"

Billy goes, "In the year 1600 and something, he realized that whatever made an apple fall to the ground also caused planets to orbit the sun." I go, "Yeah, everybody has heard that story."

He snickers, "Not in the seventeenth century. Anyway, most brainiacs agree that Einstein has to be credited with the single most brilliant idea of all time. He made the seemingly impossible intellectual leap of figuring out that gravity could be understood as a curvature of spacetime."

Snickering, I say, "I don't know how much of what you say is accurate, but it's wicked impressive that you can even come out with all this stuff."

He says, "The guys mock me when I mention things like this, but reading and remembering all of it is the second-best fun I have. Messing around with you is my number one best fun, though."

I say, "I think you're the number one genius." He snickers, then says, "Well, I'm your idol, so yeah, you'd think that."

This afternoon and tonight, we've been constantly touching in one way or another, and mostly Billy's the one who's initiated the bodily contact. He's always been touchy/feely, but this is on a much higher level of touchy/feely, and it's beyond wonderful!

With his arm around me, Billy tells me that he Googled apartments for rent near the Community College, and there are several vacant studio apartments. We talk about him spending nights with me at our apartment and how it makes sense for him to bunk in with me during all snowstorms this winter. I resist reminding him that I'm not in a position to rent one of the vacant one-room apartments.

He doesn't initiate another messing around tonight. Two times during a date usually satisfies him. We do more buddying up, though, more making out, and I can sense his desire for me. One time after a sweet and delicious make-out, he murmured, "I like taking care of my boyfriend." He slipped up this time and said boyfriend without realizing it.

As I'm floating in a sea of love for him, he drops me off at ten-thirty. There is no kiss goodbye, but we're in front of my house, so I didn't expect one.

Before getting out of the van, I say, "This was our best date yet, Billy." He smiles, "Date? Fuck that, we don't go on dates, but it was our best time messing around. I'll pick you up tomorrow night at eight."

Oh man, how awesome is it that he just assumes we'll have a date tomorrow night? Nodding, I go, "I'm looking forward to that."

In bed, I can't stop smiling because young love, first love, is an amazingly beautiful thing. So, this is what happiness feels like, huh? So sweet!

Wednesday morning, I'm outside waiting for George, bursting at the seams to tell him about yesterday. As soon as I'm in the car, George goes, "Oh, you got the haircut, I see. How was Billy?"

Trying not to sound like a twelve-year-old girl gushing about seeing a Johnny Orlando concert, I tell George everything about our afternoon and evening dates, including our messing around and buddying up and Billy accidentally calling me his boyfriend.

We sit in the car at Weis Market until I finish describing the highlights. Getting out of the car, George laughs, "Your boyfriend has quite an imagination for euphemisms."

I go, '"He won't say fucking because that's too gay for guys to do together. Oddly though, he has no problem saying blowjob."

Inside Weis Market, we do what we need to. We sign in and put our nametag vests on, then he says, "I've got some news too, Gary. I'll tell you about it at the break."

I glance around, then quietly say, "George, thank you for being happy for me. It makes everything more real and wonderful. You're a fabulous friend." He grins, "I like seeing you shine, Gary."

I'm sillily giddy all morning, smiling and cheerful to everyone, including customers. Being in love is like being high all the time. Merely picturing Billy in my mind makes my dick get stiff, but you know, buddying up with him or just being in his arms makes my dick hard too. It's more than our messing around; I'm in love with all of him.

Later, during our break at the picnic table smoking Winston cigarettes, I'm like, "What's your news, George?"

He touches the back of my hand, "Yesterday, while I was practicing what my guitar teacher taught me during the lesson, out of the blue, I got a call from a guy I dated in high school but haven't heard from in almost two years. His name is Sheldon Michaels, and he said he was looking at our graduating class yearbook and saw my picture. So, wondering how I'm doing, he called me."

I go, "Jeez, two years later, huh? What's this guy look like?"

Rolling his eyes, he goes, "He doesn't look like you, that's for sure. He's, um, average looking, except he, ha ha, has these wicked wide eyebrows that almost meet in the middle. Weirdly thick eyebrows, but except for that, he's okay looking, and he has the slim body I like in a guy."

I'm happy for George, asking, "Well, did he ask you out?"

He steps on his cigarette butt, saying, "Yeah, he did. We're going to meet for a drink at a bar he told me about."

"Oh, you have a fake ID license or something? You're only twenty."

He says, "Sheldon says we won't need a fake ID. The bartender is his brother."

I nod, "So, you guys will have a few beers feeling each other out to see if any sparks are flying, huh?"

He chuckles, "Sparks is unlikely, but we had a pretty good couple of months together way back when, so we'll see."

Stepping on my cigarette butt, I go, "I hope to hell it works out, and you end up messing around together. That way, we can compare our dates."

He says, "First, I'll need to explain to Sheldon what messing around means, but then, yeah, maybe."

I make a face at that then George says, "Can I see that picture you have of Billy again? I forget what he looks like."

I get out my cell phone and show him the picture I took of Billy a few weeks back." He looks at it, frowns, then nods, "Oh, yeah, that's right. Uh-huh, he looks nice."

I go, "Nice? He's beautiful!"

George grins, "You're beautiful; he's okay."

Putting my phone away, I say, "I'll take Billy's picture in profile next time, and you'll see how cute he is."

George grins, "Okay," and I ask, "When is your date with Sheldon?"

He says, "Tonight at seven-thirty. I'm nervous because I haven't been on a date for like six months, heh-heh, except with you."

I ask, "You're still going to golf with me after work today, right?" He goes, "Oh, yeah. I hope to be doing that when I'm at college too."

Our break is over, so we walk inside with me saying, "Maybe Sheldon could pluck his eyebrows."

George laughs, "Haha, maybe. I'll suggest that and see what he says."

After work, we drive to my house so I can get my golf clubs, then we play the par-three course and have a good time joking around about Sheldon's eyebrows. I'm seriously hoping this works out for George so I'll have less of a guilty conscience about his crush on me. He is a great friend, so I'm hoping he falls for the oddly-named Sheldon.

After dinner, I'm back to my full-time daydreaming about Billy and our eight o'clock date tonight.

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com

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