Chapter 17
( The Weekend )
I'm having difficulty drifting off to sleep because I can't stop reliving each part of tonight's perfect date. Finding happiness is the thrill of a lifetime, and for me, happiness is being in love with Billy and being loved in return. This must be what true love is.
Billy made my happiness possible when he finally agreed that we're young gay lovers. He doesn't freely admit that, but he will say it when I nag him about it. Omigod, though, some of his crazy rationalizations discrediting that possibility in the past are comical.
No, we're still not in a perfect situation, though, as we're not nearly ready to tell anybody about our relationship. I don't know if we'll ever be prepared to do that. That's the last thing I thought about before falling asleep.
Waking up Wednesday morning, the first thing I think of is Billy staying at home to study for his stupid midterm exams tonight and tomorrow. It seems strange that he needs to spend so much time studying when he has almost a photographic memory for random information. Why doesn't he have that capability when studying for exams? Well, I know what he'd say. He'd say he only remembers things that interest him, and the things he is forced to study at school don't interest him. Still, there should be some carryover.
Not only will I not have my nighttime dates with Billy, but George has classes on both days, so I won't get to hang out with him during the day either. Plus, I don't have a work shift at the market until Thursday, so today will be like most of my teen years, having nothing to do and no one to do it with.
Well, that's not entirely true. Dad thought up something for me to do. He wants me to turn in my notice to Weis Market today. Sitting at my computer, I Google how to resign from a job appropriately.
Uh-huh, as with most things I Google, there is a lot of conflicting advice available. I like the recommendation of keeping the notice concise while showing gratitude for the job opportunity and without airing any grievances. With that in mind, I type a two-line resignation letter and print it out. Signing it, I fold it, and that's that.
On the brighter side, after the next two days of boredom, here's something perfect in store for me. Obviously, it's that Billy's spending the weekend with me. Mom will be in Florida with Dad, so I'll have the use of her car, and our weekend could be epic.
After doing everything I need to in the bathroom, I get dressed and carry my resignation notice downstairs. Mom is on her way out the front door, saying, "Oh, good morning, dear. I'm late picking up Mary Rosinhymer's for our volunteer work at Goodwill."
I'm like, "Oh, but you said I could use your car to turn in my resignation this morning."
She's hurridly looking in her purse for something, "Sorry, Gary, I forgot about this volunteer thing. I'll be home at one o'clock, though. You can use the car then."
Shrugging, I mumble, "Whatever," and out the door she goes.
Squeezing my privates, I go into the kitchen, thinking about Billy. He's in a college classroom, maybe thinking about me. While putting a K-cup in the coffeemaker, I get an urge to jerkoff. Billy and I have been messing around so frequently lately; jerking off isn't something I've been doing a lot of, but it's not as if I never do it.
As the coffee maker gurgles a thin stream of coffee into my mug, I squeeze my privates again, then go back upstairs. In my bedroom, I pull my pants down and lie on my bed. As I stroke my dick, I'm thinking about having Billy's twin dick in my mouth. "Um, um, um," this feels good. My penis gets hard as I stroke it straight up and down, squirming on the bed, now thinking about licking his asshole.
Stroke, stroke, stroke, "Ah, ah, ah, Omigod, um, um, um," and then,
"Oooh!" as cum shoots straight up.
Gasping, I roll over to avoid the cum coming down on me. Watching it plop on the blanket, I squeeze out drools of creamy cum, then spread the gooey stuff up and down my still-hard cock. Goddamn, that felt good! Wow, I'm a little dizzy but feeling good too. Sitting up, I say aloud, "It wasn't as good as taking it up the ass from Billy, but it wasn't bad either. Whew!
After wiping my dick with a T-shirt from the laundry basket, I swiped the T-shirt on the blanket, scooping up most of my spunk. Wow, that was a very worthwhile three minutes. Back in the kitchen, I sit at the table with my mug of coffee and try to decide if I want to exert the energy to make a fried egg sandwich.
Glancing out the window, it snowed a little overnight, but it's mostly melted by now. Checking the weather on my phone, I see it's supposed to reach fifty degrees today. I can ride my bike to Weis Market and get this resignation notice turned in. Wearing my puffer coat and my uncool Koda Cap, I ride my bike to the market, sweating by the time I get there.
Taking my hat off as I'm walking through the automatic front doors, I bump into my boss, John Baxter. He goes, "Hey there, Gary! What's your hurry, pal?"
Stammering, "Oh, sorry, John, um, I was just, ah," and I hold up the letter, "Ah, I rode my bike over here, um, to sort of, well, turn in my resignation."
He smiles, "You're sort of turning in your resignation? Aren't you sure?"
I'm mystified as to why I ever had a crush on him. He looks and acts like an adult, especially when compared to Billy. What young guy has ever had a crush on an adult?
I say, "No, I'm sure I'm quitting, um, resigning. First, though, I'm working the six-day shift starting tomorrow."
He says, "I hope the reason you're quitting is that you're going to college." We're inside, standing at the side of the automatic doors with shoppers going in and out.
"Yes, I will be going to college, but for now, I've got a full-time job at United Paper Products in Philly. Um, I'll be taking a couple of classes at night, though."
He squeezes the back of my neck, "Congratulations! That's great, Gary. Um, I guess you can turn your resignation notice in at the office, and I wish you good luck," and he continues on his way outside. What'd he mean by saying he guesses that's where I turn it in? Doesn't he know?
Huh, I didn't get any shivers when he squeezed my neck, and he certainly didn't seem to be broken up about me quitting. What did I ever see in him?
Going upstairs to the office, I stand next to fat-ass Sally Day's desk. She ignores me, pretending to be busy shuffling papers.
After thirty seconds, I go, "Um, excuse me," and she looks up, "What is it now, Gary?"
Now? This is the first time I've spoken to her since I interviewed for the job. Holding out the two-sentence resignation notice, "John told me to give this to you. I'm quitting after my next shift."
Frowning, "What? You're quitting?" She grabs the letter. Glancing at it, she mutters, "It's not my job. Give this, um, I guess, to Rita in Human Resources."
Sally's not noticeably broken up about me quitting, either. I'm like, "Where might I find Rita?"
Still, without looking up, she points to an office at the far end of the building. I mumble, "Oh, yeah, thanks," and then walk past a dozen desks, wondering what all these people do all day.
At a desk outside the office, I go, "Um, excuse me." An African American woman looks up and smiles, asking, "How can I help you?"
Holding out the resignation notice, I tell her, "Well, I'm quitting, and here is my letter of resignation."
She looks confused, asking, "I'm sorry, but where do you work?"
This isn't going well. I go, "I'm a part-time bagger and parking lot grocery cart collector."
Nodding, she grins, then says, "Well, all you need to do is tell your supervisor your quitting. This letter is very professional of you, though, um," looking at the letter, she adds, "Gary."
I'm like, "So, I don't need to put it in writing?"
She goes, "No, that's not necessary, but, as I said, it was very professional of you."
Why the hell didn't John tell me this, or fat-ass Sally Day? Feeling my face getting red, I shrug, "Well, okay then. Thanks."
She says, "I'll see this gets in your file since you went to the trouble."
Muttering, "Thank you," I turn around and, feeling like a jackass, walk back past all the desks to the stairs.
Walking out of the building, I'm blaming not only John and fat-ass Sally Day but Dad too for this latest unnecessary and embarrassing episode in my life. Part-timers come and go routinely in a supermarket, apparently not being important enough for letters of resignation; we just leave.
Riding my bike home, I try being more positive, a glass-half-full thinker, chalking this up to a trial letter of resignation. Now I know how to do it for when I quit my full-time job six or seven months from now. I'll turn into a full-time college student then.
The rest of Wednesday played out boringly, but I didn't mind much. I watched a little TV and then surfed the gay porn sites, jerking off several times. At night, I watched a new James Bond movie on Showtime. Huh, James gets killed at the end. Too bad because Daniel Craig was the best Bond I've seen. I guess he is getting kind of old, though.
I drive Mom's car to Weis Market on Thursday and work from nine until two o'clock, missing George during my breaks. After that, I stop at the sub shop for a cheesesteak, take it home, and eat it there as Mom takes the car to buy food for Billy's and my weekend together. Hmm, thinking about that, I go to my bedroom and jerk off.
At dinner, I resist the urge to confront Dad about the bogus need for a termination letter. When he asks me about it, I just say I turned it in this morning. The rest of the diner conversation was Mom and Dad lecturing me on being responsible this weekend, me nodding my head, not listening but agreeing with everything, whatever.
Then, I spend the rest of the night in my room watching TV and jerking off like in days of old. It was okay, but I missed Billy. Friday morning, before Mom and Dad leave for the airport, Dad asks if I need money, which I don't. I'm fat with cash. There are some hugs goodbye and redundant reminders of what I'm not to do when they're gone.
They leave in Dad's car, and I get this slightly nervous but excited feeling about being in charge of the house for the next four days. Okay, what's next? Well, Billy will be home from his last midterm exam at three o'clock, and I'll pick him up then. Yes, I'm jittery with excitement, but I put that aside for now and drive to work.
At ten o'clock, I'm collecting carts from the parking lot wearing my coat, hat, and gloves when it occurs to me that I need to work tomorrow, Sunday, and Monday. What the hell will Billy do in my house when I'm at work? And why the hell hasn't this occurred to me before now?
Then, back inside the market bagging groceries, I'm thinking, what's the big deal, though? I mean, he lives six blocks from my house, so he can walk home and do whatever he wants, whatever he usually does during the day. We've rarely hung out during the day, anyway. Yeah, but he talked about us staying in bed all day. Dammit, nothing ever turns out perfectly.
Later, bagging groceries again, my boss, John Baxter, taps me on the shoulder and says, "Gary, it looks like we're getting a huge snowstorm beginning around six o'clock tonight and continuing throughout the night. I know your Mom will be in Florida, so I don't want you to even think about riding your bike to work in the snow. I've been wondering, um, if it's okay with you, why don't we consider today your last day here at Weis Market? What do you think about that?"
He must assume since Mom isn't working the shift with me, I don't have a ride. Should I tell him I have the use of Mom's car? No, I'm not an 'effing idiot!
Frowning as if I'm disappointed, although nothing could be further from the truth, I nod, "Oh, I guess, if you say so. I mean, with the snow coming, that's probably for the best."
This is fantastic!
He squeezes the back of my neck, smiling, "It's been a pleasure having you working here this summer, Gary. If you ever need a letter of recommendation, I'm your man for that. Good luck to you."
As he walks away, the registry clerk, Janice, says, "Christ, Gary, John tried to make it seem a considerate move on his part, except that the HR department had already hired a full-time bagger and cart collector through their program for hiring the mentally challenged. In this case, a twenty-four-year-old guy who lives with his parents a block from here. He walks to work. He started work three days ago without much to do. Now, though, without you working here, John can put the new guy to work collecting carts and bagging."
What the fuck?
A customer begins unloading her groceries, so Janice returns to work before I can comment, but, damn, they replaced me with a mentally challenged guy?
Well, so what? Good for that guy, and John's squeeze on the back of my neck didn't give me even one shiver this time, either. He's more concerned about his 'effing part-timer budget than he is with me. What a conniving prick he turned out to be.
Later, looking at the big clock on the wall, I see it's one-thirty. I've only a half-hour left of my Weis Market career, and my boss can't wait for me to be gone. That's the thanks I get for never missing a day of work and breaking my ass doing this shit job!
Wait an 'effing second, though. What am I upset about? As I thought earlier, this is a fantastic turn of events. Fuck you, John; this works out perfectly for me! Some things occasionally do work out perfectly, after all. Oh, man, I'm done with this job.
I'm giddy now, telling Janice, "I think it's wonderful of Weis Market to hire the mentally challenged, but I hope the guy doesn't get as bored as I get doing this job."
She says, "Don't you mind losing three days' pay?"
Chuckling, I go, "Nah, I've saved almost $5800, and I've got a full-time job starting a week from Monday with a salary of $500 a week."
Done running the registry, she helps me bag, saying, "That's awesome, Gary. I'll miss you."
I'm glad somebody will. I go, "I'll miss you too." Not really.
Driving Mom's car home, it hits me that I'm done with collecting grocery carts in the rain and snow and bagging people's 'effing groceries. I'm done with ladies telling me to put the eggs in separate plastic bags. Why is that? Do they think eggs can break if they're in their own 'effing plastic bag, ya dumb...
Calm down, Gary!
I let a sense of elation swarm over me, making me yell, "YES!" I stop at the sub shop for my regular lunch, smiling and telling the guy at the counter, "Thank you. Your cheesesteaks are the best!"
He gives me a goofy bored look as he hands me the change from my twenty. I go, "Have a great day!"
I was laughing out loud as I got back in the car. When was the last time anything this unexpectedly good happened to me? I can't stop smiling at home, drinking a Coke, and eating my sub. This turn of events avoids a negative weekend situation that Billy doesn't even know existed. We can stay in bed all weekend if we want, and the storm can snow its ass off for all we'll care.
After cleaning up and brushing my teeth, then unnecessarily recombing my hair, I change my clothes and put on my coat to pick up Billy. I can't remember being as excited about anything as I am about this four-day weekend that will be starting in about ten minutes.
Outside his house, I blow the car's horn, and a minute later, Billy comes out carrying a small satchel, smiling his big smile. He tosses the bag in the back seat, then gets in, buckling up, "I think I aced all four midterms."
Oh, um, I was hoping this weekend together would supersede the importance of his stupid midterms, but I force being excited for him, saying, "That's fantastic, Billy, but you're brilliant, so I'm not surprised."
As I drove away, he gave a much more detailed description of each exam. More detailed than I care to hear about, and then he described how he prepared perfectly for each one. I'm like, "Wow, that's, um, you really know how to study."
He isn't overly modest about, um, anything, saying, "Yeah, I had the perfect approach to each subject and highlighted, blah, blah, blah.
When I pull into my driveway, he asks, "Why did you drive to your house, Gary? We need to get booze, preferably vodka, or did you already get it? I've got six of my brother's joints in my bag, but we need vodka too if we want to party like it's nineteen ninety-nine."
I'm like, "What's that mean; the nineteen-ninety-nine thing you said?"
He goes, "Don't you know anything? It's from an old song referring to the end of the twentieth century."
Backing out of the driveway, I mumble, "Uh-huh, you're excited about this weekend too, though, right?"
Smiling, he rubs my head, saying, "I just aced my midterms, and now I get to sleep with my boyfriend for the next three nights. I'm more than excited; I'm thrilled, jubilant, on fire, and hot and bothered."
I go, "Oh, me too."
He laughs, then says, "I need to do a better job of letting you know how much you mean to me."
Turning the corner, on the way to the State Liquor store, I say, "How much you love me, right? That's what you meant."
Chuckling, he mumbles, "Yeah, that's another way I could have said it, I suppose."
Parking, I'm like, "I like hearing you say you love me occasionally."
He snickers, "By occasionally, do you mean hourly?"
I laugh, "No, once a day would be nice, though."
Smiling, he says, "Well, I'm having a hard time refraining from hugging and kissing you right here in the parking lot. You've wiggled your way into my heart as I would never have believed possible. As soon as we get the vodka, I'm taking you to bed and messing around with you until we're both exhausted."
Squeezing my junk, my heart overflowing with love for him, I mutter, "I probably won't get exhausted for quite some time."
He says, "We'll see, but for now, hop out and ask someone to buy vodka for us." Handing me two twenties, he adds, "Look! Two youngish-looking guys are walking toward the liquor store right now. See if we're lucky, and they're good guys."
After hearing all that romantic stuff from Billy, I'm happy to do what he says. Nodding, I take the money and get out of the car.
Jogging to the sidewalk, I say, "Excuse me." Both guys keep walking with the tall one saying, "We aren't interested, kid. Take a hike."
I say, "I'll give you twenty dollars to buy me a bottle of vodka."
They stop and look at one another, then the fat one says, "Twenty bucks?" I nod, adding, "The vodka isn't for me. It's a present for my Dad's birthday."
Fatty goes, "I'll pretend I believe that bullshit story. Let me have the money, and I'll buy it for your old man."
The tall guy rolls his eyes, muttering, "I have nothing to do with this, Tyler." Tyler holds out his hand, and I give him Billy's two twenties plus one from my pocket, saying, "Thank you so much. I appreciate this, and so will my, um, old man."
Fatty mumbles, "Yeah, sure," and he and the tall prick go inside. Looking over at the idling car, I give a thumbs-up to Billy, although I can't see him because of the weak sun's glare off the car's windshield.
It's ten nervous minutes before the two guys come out, each carrying liquor bags. Fatty gives me a single bag, saying, "You didn't get this from me," and they keep walking. Hmm, he kept the change from the two twenties Billy gave me. Fuck, the last bottle of vodka a guy bought for me cost thirty-four dollars.
The hell with that, though. Walking to the car, I get in the driver's seat, handing Billy the bag. He goes, "Hot shit, just like that! You're awesome, Gary." He pulls the bottle out and says, "Grey Goose. This is good shit."
I'm like, "He didn't give me any change." Billy says, "That's because it cost $39.99."
I'm backing the car out of the parking spot, asking, "How do you know that?" He says, "Because that's what this little sticker on the bottle says."
Nodding, feeling better about it, I lie, mumbling, "Yeah, that's what I thought."
Billy puts the bottle back in the bag, saying, "You know, I missed not seeing you the past two nights. Heh-heh, I had to whack my mole a few times thinking about our missed messing around."
Parking in the driveway at my house, I mutter, "How flattering. I can hardly wait to suck your mole for you." We're both snickering while walking inside. I call out, "Mom, Dad, I'm home!"
Billy goes, "Wouldn't you pee your pants if one of them yelled back, what's in that bag, Gary?"
Taking my coat off, I'm like, "Were you serious about us getting in bed now?"
He goes, "Does the Pope wear a funny beanie?" I'm like, "Yeah, I think he does."
Billy drops his satchel on a chair and says, "First, we'll make screwdrivers and take them upstairs with us. Did you lock the door?"
Nodding, "Yeah, it's locked." Leaning against him, I murmur, "I missed you so much, Billy?"
He hugs me, his hand rubbing up the back of my head, and we kiss a quick one on the lips. It's a lovely lovers' kind of random kiss. Then he goes, "Wait a second, Gary. Your hair, um, our hair. We've forgotten something important."
Rubbing the side of my face against his, I mumble, "What'd we forget?"
He says, "Orange juice to go with the vodka, for one thing." Then, flicking his fingers at my hair, he goes, "For another thing, with so much going on, we missed our three-week haircut on Tuesday. We need the magic haircuts, especially for our three days in bed. Holy shit, dealing with the midterms and whatnot, I forget about our haircuts?"
I'm like, "I'm pretty sure it hasn't been three..." and he ignores me to interrupt, "Well, it's only three-thirty, so let's take care of those two matters first. It'll be worth putting off our messing around for half an hour or so."
Stepping back, I go, "No, it's only been two weeks, Billy."
He says, "Two or three, whatever. It'll be three weeks as of next Tuesday, though, right?"
Confused now, I'm shaking my head, mumbling, "Really?" He goes, "Yes, so we're a couple of days early. C'mon, it'll add to our spectacular time this weekend."
I know it's only been two weeks, but he's fanatical about Uncle Tony's haircuts being somehow magical to our romance, so what the fuck? Billy wouldn't use the word romance, of course.
Whatever, I go, "Let's go then," and put my coat back on. He's putting his coat on, muttering, "Are you sure it's only been two weeks?" I grin, muttering, "Pretty sure, yeah. What the hell, though? As you said, two weeks, three weeks, whatever."
He puts his arm around my neck, hugging me against his side, saying, "That's why I like you so much, Gary. You're a go-along kind of guy."
Smirking at him, I mumble, "Did you mean to say that's why you love me so much?"
Laughing as he zippers up his coat, he asks, "Is an hour up already?"
We go out to the car; touchy/feely Billy has his arm across my shoulders as he asks, "How come your uncle never charges you for haircuts?"
Shrugging, "I don't know. He's my uncle, so I guess that's why. I'll split the twenty dollars with you, though. That way, we'll be equal."
Getting in the car, he goes, "No, that's okay. I just wondered that's all."
We stop at the convince store, where Billy buys two quarts of OJ, and I buy three packs of Butterscotch Krimpets. At the barbershop, we find Uncle Tony sitting in the barber chair, watching something on TV.
He goes, "Hey! My two favorite customers." I say, "Hi, Uncle Tony."
Getting out of the chair, he's like, "Is it three weeks already?" Then, "How you doing, Billy?" Billy gets in the barber chair, ignoring that question, and instead, he tells Uncle Tony about the midterm exams he aced the last two days.
I sit in a waiting chair, smiling and sincerely in love with my quirky boyfriend. After twenty minutes of buzzing haircut clippers, we say goodbye to Uncle Tony, both of us with crisp haircuts. Billy's in a buoyant mood hugging around the back of my neck, saying, "Holy crap, boyfriend, this is going to be the most awesome magic carpet ride of a weekend ever!"
He's a little bit crazy with his haircut magic belief, but so what? It makes him energetic and excitable, and happy. When Billy's happy, I'm happy.
Walking to the car, we grin at each other as we rub each other's heads. Driving back to my house, Billy says, "We look badass with these haircuts, don't you think?"
I go, "Now I do, yeah, but when I first got this haircut at the beginning of the summer, I hated it. Now, almost nine months later, yep, it's a badass look."
He's feeling the half-inch hair sticking up at the crown of his head, "It's sort of a retro look too, and it's become our look. That's what I think I like about it the most; it's your and my thing, you know?"
Nodding, I pull onto the driveway, mumbling, "Me too. That's what I like most about it too."
Inside, Billy goes, "Let's forget about the screwdriver drinks for now. I want to get naked with you in bed." He takes hold of my hand, not waiting to see if I agree, and says, "C'mon upstairs."
Well, of course, I've no objection to this, as he knew I wouldn't.
In my bedroom, we grin at one another as we're stripping off our clothes, me dropping mine on the floor and Billy neatly piling his on the desk chair.
Stark naked, he gives me a look, and I mutter, "I know, I know," and pick my clothes off the floor, putting everything on the chair, adding, "I was going to do this."
He mutters, "Uh-huh. Hey, I like seeing your twin dick," and he lifts my penis using his thumb and forefinger, saying, "I feel like sucking a boner on this twin dick of yours."
Nodding, I'm like, "In bed?" Letting go of my dick, he goes, "Of course, in bed," and he pulls the covers to the foot of the bed; then, smiling, he holds his arm out, inviting me to lie on the bed. I scramble up on the bed, my head on the pillow with my hands behind my head. Billy crawls up on the bed, getting on his knees between my legs.
He gently picks up my dick, looks up, and smiles, saying, "I'm not a contortionist, so sucking your twin dick is as close as I'll ever get to sucking my own."
We both snicker as he puts the head of my penis between his lips, then continually swishes his tongue over it until I squirm on the bed, arching my back, groaning, "Ah, ah, ah. Billy, ah, ah..."
With my eyes tightly closed, my hands on his head as it's bobbing up and down, his lips sliding very tightly up and down the shaft. A million sensations get my feet spastically bumping against the outside of his. With every bob of his head, my hard dick slides on his tongue, going into that moist slippery soft mouth and then coming out with delicious vibrations buzzing constantly until my world explodes, my balls trying to shoot out my boner along with the gush of cum that's blowing into Billy's mouth.
"Oh, oh, holy crap, mmm," I moan as Billy goes up and down on my cock, spreading cum all over it until it loses most of its hardness. He pulls his head back, my cock flops out of his mouth, and he mumbles, "How fast was that? We should have timed it 'cause it might have been a world speed record."
Using the back of his hand, he swipes at the cum drooling down his chin as I grab my dick to squeeze it, gasping, then murmuring, "Omigod, that was fantastic. I wish I could do it that good for you."
Wiping his mouth now, he lies on his stomach next to me and puts an arm across my chest, saying, "You do it okay, Gary. I'll let you do it a little later."
Smacking his lips, he goes, "Mm, your cum tastes good."
Going up on my side, then lying partially on him, I tell him, "I'm still shivering from that spectacular climax. You're the best, Billy. Nobody can do messing around as well as you."
Rubbing my head, he goes, "How would you know? I'm the only guy you've ever messed around with."
Nestling against him, "I'm just saying it couldn't feel as good from anyone else because they wouldn't be you. You're the only guy I'll ever mess around with."
That's almost true too, minus a tiny bit of oral messing around with George, but that was before I fell in love with Billy, so it doesn't count.
His hand lightly rubs across my chest as he murmurs, "Your skin is so smooth and perfect," then he goes off on one of his non-sequiturs, "There's an Ivy League professor of psychology, I forget his name, whose expertise is things that make us feel insignificant. Who knew someone could specialize in such a field, you know?"
I'm like, "Huh? Whaddaya mean?"
He goes, "For example, he described how there are more bacteria in one centimeter of a human's colon, an unimaginably high number that's higher than the total number of people who have ever existed in the history of the world. That makes you think twice about who or what is actually in charge here."
I mumble, "Not really. I have no doubt who is in charge here; it's you."
We both chuckle as he mutters, "Heh-heh. Well, yeah, that's true."
Lifting my head to look into Billy's eyes, I mutter, "Who cares how many bacteria are in our colons? We're a lot smarter than bacteria."
He nods, "We're smarter than every other living creature that ever ran, crawled, or slithered on Earth, but when you get right down to it, how smart is that? Chimpanzees share 99% of the DNA of us humans, and there's no comparison as far as intelligence goes between humans and chimps. That 1% DNA makes an astronomical difference in intelligence."
Shrugging, I go, "So what?"
He smiles, "You say, so what, but what if we share 99% of an alien's DNA from someplace in the Cosmos? Compared to them, we'd then have the chimp's intelligence. We wouldn't feel we were so wicked smart then. The aliens' first graders would be learning Einstein's Theory of Relativity."
Resting the side of my head on his chest, I mumble my own non-sequitur, "What do you think true love is, Billy?"
He goes, "True love? Who knows? I don't; maybe the alien we share 99% DNA with can explain it to us."
Ignoring that, I say, "I think true love is when you can't, no matter how hard you try, stop thinking of the other person."
He mutters, "As I said, I don't know. The question is too metaphysical for me."
Not knowing what that means, I ignore it and crawl on top of Billy, fully lying on him with the side of my face against his, mumbling, "For me, nothing feels as good as your naked body against mine."
Billy mumbles, "We've got identical skin to go along with all the other stuff that's identical on us. Are you sure we're not related?"
I'm like, "Unless one of us was adopted, being related is probably a long shot."
Moving my hips side to side, my belly rubbing on his boner that now feels like a wooden dowel, I sigh contentedly. He snickers, "Do more of that. It feels good."
Getting aroused, I ask, "Do you want me to mess around sucking you off?"
He says, "Um, I washed the hell out of my ass, so I'm wondering if..."
I nod, "Oh, okay, I'll do the rimming messing around."
Turning his head, he licks my ear, "Sure, okay, if you're eager to do that again, it's okay with me."
Sliding down his body, I get between his legs. He pulls them back with an arm around each one, and that lifts his asshole off the mattress. On my knees, resting on my forearms, I do one long lick up his ass crack, over his asshole, and continue the lick up the bottom of his scrotum, then along the inside of his thigh, then lick up his boner from the root to the swollen head. Billy shivers on the bed, mumbling, "Jesus, mmm..."
Unable to resist, I suck on the big head of his dick for thirty seconds, my tongue swishing around on it, then let it slide out of my warm, wet mouth to plaster wet and sticky against his belly. Billy's hands are on my head as he moans, "Mmmm." He's squirming on the bed and running his fingers back through my just barbered short hair.
With my nose against the inside of his leg, loving his youthful skin so taut and smooth with its pinkish tint, I lick down to his balls before dragging my tongue onto his asshole again. By now, my dick is again hard as wood, and Billy's scent is swirling around in my head. If I was blindfolded, I could pick out his scent from a crowd of naked messing around guys. That might be a fun thing to do.
Like a kitten licking milk from a bowl, I'm quickly licking, licking, licking Billy's asshole, slipping into a sexy trance as I'm doing that. A minute later, he abruptly takes a hand off my head and grabs his boner, stroking it, moaning, "Ah, ahh, ahhh!" and then, with a whizzy gasp, blows his load onto his stomach and chest, He's thrashing around so much my tongue slides off his anus and across his right butt cheek.
Lifting my head, I see Billy still squeezing his pecker, his face red, his eyes closed, and his face scrunched up. He bites his bottom lip, muttering, "Oh, oh, umm, that was so good."
My dick is again a hard, heavy log between my legs, bobbing as I lift up on my knees, asking, "Good, huh?"
He opens his eyes, his face relaxing into a smile, "Yeah, uh-huh, that was good, you cute motherfucker.' He reaches over and gets his fist around my cock, then strokes me off in thirty seconds, laughing and saying, "Haha, fuck, we're really something together, huh?"
I shoot out weak steam of cum, grunting and shuddering a little.
Then, sighing, my shoulders shuddering again, I stretch out next to him on my stomach, murmuring, "You're the one who is really something, Billy. You make everything perfect."
Putting a leg between mine, he says, "Don't be stupid, Gary. It's both of us who make our messing around special."
Grinning, I roll on top of him again, our cum mixing between us, squishy and slippery. His arms go around me as we both snicker, then he mutters, "You're a sexy fucker, aren't you?"
I rub my hands front to back in his hair, murmuring, "I love how you look, feel, and smell. I love everything about you."
He mumbles, "Yeah, I know you do."
I make a face at him, and he smiles, asking, "What?" I go, "Don't you have something to tell me?"
He pretends to look at a wristwatch, asking, "Is another hour up already?"
Giggling, we wrestle until he's on top of me now, almost off the side of the bed. He goes, "Yeah, I love you. Satisfied?"
Nodding, I mumble, "Let's take a shower together." He goes, "No, we'll take a bath together." And that's what we do.
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com
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