Invited

Chapter 18

( Friday Night )

After messing around, then playfully wrestling in bed, Billy thinks we should take a bath together. I've got no problem with that. He takes my hand when we slide off the bed and walk naked to the bathroom. Billy's always been a touchy/feely type of guy, but holding hands surprised me initially because he'd been very reluctant, for months, to say we were boyfriends, and regular friends don't hold hands, right? Mixed signals for a while, but we're sort of on the same page now, finally.

He lets go of my hand in the bathroom and smiles, saying, "It's your bathtub; fill her up, bro." When I lean over to start the bath water running, Billy smacks my ass, "You know what, Gary? You've got a cuter ass than that stuck-up Sherry Dune, and guys voted her the cutest ass in our senior class."

With water rushing into the tub, I stand up, rub my butt cheek, and mumble, "Oh. Well, um, thanks."

Reaching behind me, he pushes my hand away and then cups my butt cheeks, a hand on each one, pulling me against him; our private parts squish together as he murmurs, "I never imagined messing around with you would become the most important thing in my life, but I guess it is. I can't think of anything more important."

I kiss his lips, then murmur, "Those other guys you messed around with didn't know how to be a proper girl/guy for you, so they lost out."

He raises his eyebrows, "Hmm, I never thought about it like that, although I don't think they felt they lost out on much." I go, "They're fools then."

Smiling, he lets go of me, "If you say so, Gary. Um, as my so-called girl/guy, how about if you get your top guy a vodka and orange juice and get one for yourself while you're at it."

I'm like, "What will you be doing while I'm doing that?" He smiles, "I was thinking I'd get us a Marlboro cigarette that we can share."

I glance at the bathroom window, mumbling, "Oh, okay, but we'll need to open the window a little." He nods, "Fine; I'll do that."

Good thing it's not freezing today, although it is cold enough to snow. I don't bring that up, though, as it would be a negative vibe to an otherwise perfect afternoon.

Billy pats my ass as I leave to get our drinks. I like doing errands for him, and he knows I do. In other words, he's being considerate when he asks me to do stuff, plus he continues thinking of ways to compliment me. Billy's the perfect top-guy boyfriend for me.

It feels weird being bare-ass naked in the kitchen. I glance at the window over the sink, then pull the curtain shut. From a cabinet, I get two of the glasses Dad uses for his old-fashioned bourbon cocktails, then pour an inch of Gray Goose in each. Taking ice from the bin in the freezer, I add four cubes to each glass and pour OJ from one of the quart containers we bought before getting our haircuts. A quick stir is all there is to a screwdriver cocktail.

Carefully carrying the drinks upstairs, I find Billy sitting in the tub, leaning against the end opposite the faucet with water still pouring out. He smiles, "Hi, Gary; funny meeting you here." Snickering at that, I hand him a screwdriver, then turn off the faucet, asking, "Where's the cigarette?"

After taking two gulps from his drink, he goes, "I stupidly left my pack of Marlboros at home. Do you think it would be all right to smoke a joint here? I opened the window."

Stalling, I'm trying to think how that would work as I gawk at the open window. Billy asks, "Do you have a fan we could put at the window to blow out the smoke?"

Swallowing a mouthful of my screwdriver, I go, "Not a window fan, no, but we have a regular fan I could put on the windowsill."

Billy nods, "That will work. I knew you'd figure something out, so I brought a joint and lighter. They're on the toilet tank next to the cute little room deodorizer thing."

Looking at the toilet, then at him, I ask, "Is there enough room in the tub for both of us?"

He smiles, "Sure, it's a bigger tub than the one at my house. The water is a little bit too hot right now, but it'll feel perfect when you're sitting between my legs, lying back against me."

Grinning, I put my drink next to Billy's joint, mumbling, "I'll get an 'effing fan." He smiles, then picks up his glass and drinks more of his cocktail. Damn, he looks sexy and cool!

We have central air conditioning, so we don't use a fan during the summer, but I know we have one or two fans in the basement storage area. I don't see why we have them, but we do.

I like how it feels being naked, but as I said, running around my house in this condition feels weird. In the basement, I find a small, round fan and an old wooden stool eighteen inches high. This thing can work as a little table next to the bathtub. Bringing both items to the bathroom, Billy goes, "You're awesome, Gary! That thing can be our bathtub table."

Grinning, I nod, "Yeah, that's what I thought too."

After putting the stool/table next to Billy, it takes me a couple of minutes to get the fan secured between the windowsill and the lower window sash. Turning the fan on, I mumble, "There we go, that works."

He says, "Fantastic! We need an ashtray too," then he laughs, adding, "I feel like a dick sitting here while you do everything. I shouldn't have gotten in the tub so fast. Sorry."

"That's okay; I like doing things for you."

He mutters, "I know you do, but thanks anyway." Putting my drink and a soap dish as an ashtray on the stool, I ask, "Do you want me to light the joint?" He holds up his empty glass, "I hate to ask, but would you mind making me another drink?"

Chuckling, I mutter, "Is there going to be anything else I can do for you other than another 'effing drink?"

He smiles, "Um, yes, would you put my lighter and joint on this little stool? That would be appreciated. And, ah, could you make the drink a little stronger this time? Please."

Rolling my eyes, I put my drink, the lighter, and the joint on the stool, then pick up Billy's glass as he mutters, "Thank you so much, boyfriend. You're the best. Can I have a kiss?"

Grinning again, I lean over, kiss him on the lips, then mumble, "Con artist." He smiles, his big eyes shining brightly. Wow, what an amazing boyfriend!

Back downstairs, my pecker swinging in the breeze, I realize I'm cold. Well, that's not exactly a shocking development considering I'm 'effing naked. Adding an inch and a half of vodka to Billy's glass, I put two more ice cubes in it and filled the rest with OJ, then noticed a bag of pretzels. Carrying the drink and pretzel bag upstairs, I smell marijuana smoke before I reach the bathroom.

In the bathroom, I say, "We're going to need a lot of air freshener."

Ignoring that, he goes, "Oh, good, pretzels! And thanks for the drink, buddy!" He passes the joint to me, and I take a drag, hold in the smoke, and exhale, feeling dizzy.

Putting the joint in the soap dish, then I get in the bathtub, water slushing over the side. "Oh, I guess you should have let some water out first, Gary, or I could have done that."

Sitting between Billy's legs, facing away from him, water pouring over the side, I mutter, "I'm cold." He drags off the joint, holds the smoke in, then lets it out and says in that funny-sounding voice right after exhaling dope, "Slide down in the hot water."

My knees come out of the water when I slide down. "You're nice and warm now, right?"

Nodding, I stay like this for a minute as Billy holds the joint at my mouth, and I take a tote off it. Exhaling, I slide up and lean back against Billy's chest. He puts an arm around me and kisses the side of my neck. I sigh, and we smoke the joint, with Billy holding it to my mouth each time, neither of us saying anything.

The bathroom reeks of marijuana smoke when Billy stubs out the butt in the soap dish; I feel as of I'm floating, totally relaxed against him as he puts both arms around me. Closing my eyes, I'm floating in my lover's arms; I can't imagine how I could be more contented; that would be impossible.

A few minutes later, Billy squeezes his arms around me and murmurs, "How are you doing? Are you okay?"

I'm like, "Yes, I'm good; how about you?" Taking his left arm from around me, he lifts his glass off the stool, muttering, "Awesome, I'm awesome." My ear is close enough to his head to hear him swallow his cocktail. He holds his glass to my mouth and tilts it so I can drink from his glass.

Swallowing, I gasp because it's a strong drink. The vodka taste is very prevalent and not pleasant at all. Well, I made the damn drink, so why am I surprised it's so strong?

I reach over and pick my glass up to avoid another swallow of Billy's drink. We eat pretzels and drink our drinks. He says, "I love that these pretzels are wicked salty," and then gulps down half his remaining drink.

Putting the glass on the stool, he squeezes his arms around me tightly, then murmurs, "It feels so right when I'm taking care of you like this, but, at the same time, I'm kind of disappointed in myself that I, ah, that I like doing it so much. I never expected to be sort of gay for you. That's, um, an unexpected development, to say the least. I thought you'd be fun to mess around with, but that would be the end. You know, the way it was with those other guys I messed around with in tenth and eleventh grades."

I eat a pretzel and drink some of my drink, hoping he'll say more. He chuckles and nuzzles his face against the side of my neck, then licks my ear, mumbling, "Instead, when we're not together, I find myself overthinking about our next time messing around with me taking care of you the way I do. Sometimes I fantasize that an asshole will knock you down or something so I can step in and kick his ass to protect my adorably immature, naive, and socially backward boyfriend."

When I don't say anything, he snickers and shakes me, muttering, "Say something."

Grinning, I can't help grinning when I'm with him; I turn my head and say, "You forgot to mention that you're also in love with me."

Shaking his head and smirking, he goes, "After all my embarrassing drug-induced meanderings about how special you are to me, that's still not enough for you?"

Getting serious, "I love you with a passion, Billy. You're my idol, my best friend, my love of a lifetime, and everything you said added to the incredible happiness you've already provided me."

He seems startled, then mumbles, "Well, okay, then. Um, that was a good speech. Fucking marijuana, you know?"

I mutter, "It reduces inhibition allowing a person to say what's in their heart."

He drains the dregs from his second drink, then mumbles, "It's the effin' vodka too, and our freakin' haircuts. Christ, I can't believe all the shit I was babbling out." Squeezing me again, he says, "We're private, Gary! Don't ever repeat stuff I say when I'm high, not to any-fucking-body."

Finishing my drink, I put the glass on the stool, "I'd never do that."

Kissing my cheek, he murmurs, "I know you wouldn't." He presses his face against the side of mine, "Mmm, I could eat you up; you smell so good."

I go, "I'm enjoying how this is going so much; let's smoke another joint."

He laughs, "Oh, no, you don't. You've already got me wrapped around your little finger. Another joint, and I'd be rimming your ass, you cute fucker."

Oh, man, I could be here with Billy like this forever. His hands slide down my side and onto my thighs, "I like your body, Gary, but I wish I were your height and you mine. That's how it should be, with me being the guy/guy and you being my girl."

I mutter, "We're almost the same height. Anyway, in my eyes, I think you're much taller than me, and I'm your girl/guy."

Snickering, he goes, "Right, girl/gut, but I love how you flatter the shit out of me. That's how you got me to love you, right?"

I'm rubbing my hands back and forth on the outside of Billy's legs. "Everything I compliment you about is true. You've never realized how awesome you are."

He goes, "And nobody else has either, apparently."

I go, "As I said, they're a bunch of fools. Not you; the others were the fools."

He gets his hand on my chin, pulling my head around, and we kiss; his tongue then slides on mine. My dick has been hard for ten minutes, and after that kiss, it's sticking straight out, hard as a rock. His mouth slides off mine, "How about if you get on your hands and knees."

When I do that, more water slushes onto the floor, then more water goes over the edge as Billy stands. I turn my head to watch him as he reaches over, almost slipping, to grab the tube of Vaseline from the shelf over the sink. I'll be damned; I never noticed that it was there.

He mumbles, "I spotted this ten minutes ago," and unscrews the cap.

As he squeezes the tube, I glance at his dick which looks hard as it hangs to the left, away from his body.

Muttering, he goes, "There's not much in this tube," then he strokes his dick, and it looks shiny with Vaseline, "But, there's enough." He pushes a small glob inside my ass, and I go, "Oh!" but it felt good. I was startled, that's all.

Dropping the tube on the stool next to our drink glasses, Billy gets a hand on each side of my hips, "Lift your ass a little more, Gary. Keep it out of the water, okay?"

I do that, and he bends his knees, snickering and saying, "You have no idea how anxious I am to do this." I mutter, "Me too."

The hard head of his dick pushes against my anus as Billy gripes, "Why is it still so 'effing tight?"

I can feel my asshole spreading, so I don't know what he's complaining about? Then, we both go, "Ahh," as the head slides tightly in the past my spinster muscles, the one outside and the one inside.

"Oh, yeah," mutters Billy, "Is it feeling good, Gary. I hope it didn't hurt you too much," He lifts my hips a tiny bit more.

It hurt, but not enough to mention, so I gasped, "Yeah, feels good."

He mutters, "My boyfriend's miracle rectum," and then slowly pushes his very hard boner inside me. The Vaseline is working okay, but it'll probably be a bitch cleaning up afterward.

That passing thought is quickly forgotten when Billy's tight against my buttocks, fully inpaling me, and I have that indescribably wonderful filled-up feeling back there, filled up with Billy's hard cock. It makes me shiver with pleasure and forget about any minor pain during the process. I go, "Mmm, yeah, do it, Billy."

He rubs his hands, one sticky with Vaseline, up and down my back, murmuring, "I love doing this with you."

It feels better by the second as I moan, Mmm," and push back to feel his boner move inside me a little. Leaving his boner in my ass, Billy humps against my buttocks a few times and then pulls his engorged penis out until the head gets caught at the thinner neck area by the muscles in my anus. I don't need to do anything; the muscles involuntarily grip tightly, not wanting to let it out.

Billy makes a breathy sound as he pushes it back inside me and then does slow thrusting a few more times, his boner moving tightly but smoothly now.

Groaning, "Oh, fuck," he begins faster and harder thrusting, using only about three inches of his boner. Sensations soar mightily, and the slapping sounds ring off the bathroom's tile walls, "Slap, slap, slap," every time Billy's wet crotch slaps against my wet buttocks.

I'm moaning, "Oh!" and he's going, "Uh!" with every hard thrust, me being forced forward, then back, the waster making waves in the bathtub,

"Oh, oh, oh, Billy." "Uh, uh, uh, oh fuck, uh, uh!" Sweat forming on my forehead in hot water, the Vaseline melding from our body heat, smears around my butt cheeks and Billy's crotch.

It's a pleasure to treasure for five or six minutes, my dick now an iron pipe pointing straight down, water slushing around it as Billy thrusts his twin boner inside me. We're quietly moaning at how marvelously our bodies are providing each other with this mutual ecstasy, the best kind of messing around ever!

Then, another level of excited anticipation as our climaxes come thundering into our world, and it's almost scary. Mine explodes, "Ah, ahh, ahhh!" an explosion of sensations like galaxies colliding somewhere in the Cosmos, semen roaring from my throbbing dick hitting the water like hitting a wall. I'm shuddering, black dots floating in my vision, making me blink and then shiver as gorgeous sensations spread out from my groin, the insides of my legs, and the small of my back.

Holding my breath, the orgasmic climax fades, and the world comes back into focus. I do one last little shudder and feel Billy doing one last hump against my buttocks, gasping and, I assume, blowing his seed inside me.

Another hump against me and another gasp from Billy, then he exclaims, "Holy shit, messing around in an 'effing bathtub, that was a first, huh? Jesus H Christ, that was sick!"

Pulling his dick out, he plops down on his ass, water rushing toward the faucet end of the tub. I watch my small load of cum float in the water. Some of Billy's drools from my ass, only smallish cum shots because of our earlier oral messing around climaxes.

"Come on, sit back, Gary."

I sit between his legs, mumbling, "Water messing around is awesome."

Wrapping his arms around me, he kisses my cheek, "Did I take care of my girl/guy, okay?"

Holding onto his wrists, I lie my head on his shoulder, murmuring, "Yep! Nobody could do it as well."

He goes, "Good. It's funny how it felt like I was shooting a waterfall of cum inside you, but it couldn't have been much because you emptied my balls when rimming my ass an hour ago."

I let out a long sigh, "Umm, felt so good, Billy. I know what you mean, though. My climax felt like it could move mountains, but then I watched my little blob of cum float away."

He wistfully mumbles, "You know what? I'm so hooked on you; I'm totally fucked."

"No, you're not. We're perfect for one another."

"Well, maybe, but it'll be a bitch after college switching to girls. How the hell am I ever going to hook up with a girl who can compete with you? That's what I meant about being totally fucked."

As if to emphasize his point, he hugs me tightly, kisses my cheek five times, rubs his face on mine, and then holds his face there, murmuring, "You're too perfect, Gary. Why do you have to be so perfect? Why don't you ever irritate me or piss me off?"

Moving my hands from his wrist to clutch his hands, I mumble, "I don't want to irritate you or piss you off. I love you like life itself."

He mutters, "I'm doomed," and we sit like this for a minute in silence. One minute is almost all the silence Billy's comfortable with when he's not smoking pot. He rests his head against the tile wall and says, "Humans are wicked curious, bro. There's this new academic endeavor I read about called archeoastronomy. Have you heard about it?"

I mumble, "No, of course, I haven't. I'll bet you can't spell that word."

He says aloud about fifteen or sixteen letters, spelling the word, but how the hell would I know if he's correct? He says, "There, I just spelled it. It's a field of study that hopes to determine what the ancients knew about astronomy. They'll study structures like Stonehenge, for example."

Grinning, I go, "Uh-huh. No, I never heard about that."

He mutters, "I would have thought they'd already know Stonehenge was set up for sunrise on the summer solstice. Somebody already figured out shit like that, and they need to tell this archeoastronomy group about it."

Grinning and rolling my eyes, I nod, "You'd have thought they would have, uh-huh." He squeezes me, "Hey, are you making fun of me, you cute motherfucker?"

Slushing around in the water, I turn my body to face him, sitting on my ankles, "Me, making fun of you? Never, you're my guy, who I love with a passion."

He makes a face, "Yeah, well, I'm not telling you any more interesting science shit because you don't appreciate knowledge."

Putting my arms around his neck, I murmur, "I appreciate the hell out of you, though."

He goes, "Yeah, you do, doncha?" We kiss, and then he says, "Let's wash now and then rinse off under the shower."

We act like little kids giggling and squeezing much too much bath gel on each other, then using our hands to spread it around on one another's bodies. Then, Billy conscientiously cleans the Vaseline off his groin and my butt cheeks. Next, we're simultaneously shampooing each other's hair, kissing, and acting like fools in love.

Half the bath water ends on the floor before Billy pulls the plug, closes the shower curtain, and turns on the shower. We stand under it, hugging each other because the water is initially cold, then it's too hot, but we get it just right, and eventually, we're squeaky clean and thoroughly rinsed off.

Getting out of the tub, Billy says, "Heh-heh, that was embarrassingly childish of us but fun."

Looking at the floor, I mutter, "I hope water hasn't leaked through to the ceiling of the living room below us."

Muttering, "Oh, fuck," he grabs two big bath towels and drops them on the floor, moving them around with his feet, soaking up the water.

I nod, "Good idea," then, "We need to do a wash load of towels."

Ignoring that, he gets another towel, "Stand there, Gary. I need to dry you like you're my little brother." His drying technique is quite rough, invigoratingly rough. I liked it.

When he's satisfied that I'm appropriately dried, he says, "Go downstairs and check if water leaked through the ceiling while I dry myself."

Walking downstairs, I notice it's getting dark outside, so I turn on some lights. Then, without a clue what we'll do about leakage in the ceiling, I look up but don't see any water dripping. Whew! Going back upstairs, I report, "Nah, no leakage. We got lucky, Billy."

He nods, "You need to be more careful next time." I go, "Me? It wasn't only me."

We walk back to my bedroom, and Billy says, "You're the one who got in the tub before draining out some water."

Putting my arm around his waist, I mutter, "Yes, that was my bad, daddy."

He smiles and puts his arm around me, mumbling, "So, start being good, or you'll need to go to bed early tonight." I snicker, "Oh, no, not that."

In the bedroom, he picks up a comb from the bureau, "Stand still and let me comb your hair."

I stand in front of him, and he combs the hair down on top and flips it up in front, muttering, "Our haircuts don't require much combing, but we dare not ignore them."

"Right, or the magic might..." He chuckles, "Don't mock me or the magic!"

After combing his hair, he drops the comb and looks at the bed, "We're so clean; shouldn't we change the sheets?"

When he asks something like that, he means that's what we're going to do. It's not really a question. We changed the sheets as I mumbled, "With the towels and sheets, we already have enough for a washing machine load."

He climbs in bed, getting between the crisp new sheets, and shrugs, "Whatever. As the so-called girl/guy, that'll be your job, don't you think?" I get in bed, and he holds out his arm, inviting me to snuggle against him.

I do that, my cheek resting on his shoulder, his arm around me, my arm across his belly, "Yeah, I don't mind doing that, Billy. I've done washing load chores for Mom."

He goes, "When we're in our apartment, I meant."

The tips of my fingers drift through the top edge of his soft pubic hair, "Yes, sure, I'll do the wash when we're in our apartment."

He hugs my shoulder, "Awesome, Gary. This weekend we can sort out how we'll do everything when we're living together on campus."

I've been trying to ignore something, but it's driving me crazy. The Vaseline inside my rectum is itching like mad. I keep tightening my rectum muscles to itch it, but without success. It still itches like mad. Finally, Billy goes, "Why are you so squirmy?"

Making a face, I mutter, "The Vaseline. You washed it off my butt cheeks, but inside it's wicked itchy."

Shaking his head slowly, he goes, "That sounded like whining."

"That's because I was whining. It's 'effing itching!"

Snickering, he says, "Oh, that explains why it sounded like that."

Abruptly sitting up, his arm coming off me, I say, "Jeez, I've got to try cleaning the Vaseline out."

He rolls his eyes, "No, for Christ's sake, you'll screw it up. I'll do it for you."

We get out of bed, and he smacks my ass, grinning and saying, "You require a lot of taking care of, don't you?"

I'm like, "No, I don't. Whaddaya talking about?"

He puts an arm across my shoulder, "I'm joking with you, Gary! Jesus, lighten up. Come on to the bathroom. I don't mind taking care of you."

In the bathroom, our feet getting wet from the still-wet floor, he mumbles, "We forgot to close the window." I take the fan off the windowsill, and Billy closes the window, "It's starting to snow hard, Gary."

"Yeah? Well, snow was predicted."

Billy says, "Whatever, we're snug in here. Lean over, and I'll take care of your itchy ass."

I hold onto the bathtub's edge as Billy looks in the hamper, pulls out one of my T-shirts, and says, "This thin material will work," He wets part of it and adds some bath gel. Then, smiling, he pushes his finger inside my rectum, muttering, "Try not to spring a boner," and we both snicker.

He was joking, but the longer he twisted his T-shirt-covered finger in my asshole, the harder my dick got. Laughing, I go, "That feels good." He goes, "I'm getting a boner, too," and we laugh. Looking back, I see he was kidding about a boner, but I've got one for real.

After using the soapy finger, he wets other parts of the T-shirt to stick up my ass rinsing out the bath gel. Finally, my dick pointing up, hard against my belly, Billy mutters, "All the soap is out. How's it feel?"

Standing, I go, "No more itch, thanks, daddy."

"Don't call me that," and he puts the T-shirt back in the hamper, "No more itchy feeling, right?"

"It feels great." He chuckles, pointing at my boner, then wraps his hand around it and strokes it. I'm like, "Ah, ah, no, Billy." He takes his hand off my dick, muttering, "Stop your whining," then holds my hand, and we return to the bedroom.

Standing next to the bed, he says, "Hey, you know what? We should put condoms on the bedside table in case of emergency."

Nodding, "Good idea! They're on the top shelf of my closet, hidden behind some stuff. I'll get a few."

He shrugs, "Okay, but I was kidding. We haven't been here that long, yet we've messed around three times already."

I mumble, "Yeah, it's been a great start to our weekend, but I'll get a few condoms anyway. Just in case, ya know?"

Putting four condom packets next to the bedside lamp, I get in bed between the sheets and snuggle against Billy. His arm goes around me as he says, "You know, I might bitch about doing the ass-cleaning thing for you, but I always feel good after helping you. That was the third time I needed to do it too, but, as I already said, I like taking care of you."

Snuggling tighter against him, I murmur, "Thanks, daddy. Nobody could do it as well."

He snorts, "As well? Hell, nobody else would do it at all."

We snicker at that, too. Then, rustle around on the bed, get comfortable, and talk for a half-hour about the college campus apartment and when I should rent it. The more we talked about it, the more it seemed unrealistic to get it before August.

Billy says, "It'd be impossible to convince my parents there was a viable reason for me living with you in an apartment all summer. Unless we wanted to tell everybody, um, we're 'effing gay for one another."

I go, "Needless to say, we're not doing that, and I don't want to live there alone for five or six months. I wanted to move out of the house, but not so much when I get right down to the reality of it."

He goes, "Damn, Wallingford, you're being wicked mature about this, and that's so unlike you."

We snicker again, "Oh, are you implying I'm the only immature one?" and I get my arm around his neck. Joking, he goes, "Hey, don't start wrestling like we're twelve-year-old kids! We'll get sweaty all over again."

Settling down, sharing the pillow, we get back in our favorite position, with me against Billy's side and his arm around me, my head on his shoulder. We talk about what we'll do this weekend and then about what we'll have for dinner.

Finally, Billy looks at his wristwatch and says, "Holy shit, it's almost six o'clock. Seriously, what are you going to cook for our dinner?"

"How about a frozen pizza?"

He squints his eyes, giving me a look, "Pizza? Maybe later for a snack. It would help if you cooked a real dinner for us. We're not going to live on frozen 'effing pizza every night while living in the apartment."

No surprise; my dick has been relatively firm for a while now, leaning against Billy. Then, out of the blue, giggling, Billy tightens his arm around my neck, pulling me on top of him; our privates squish together, and I go, "Ah, yeah, the twins want to play some more."

Snickering, Billy mutters, "You're hard to satisfy, ain'tcha?" He rubs my head with both hands; then we make out like lovers with slow, long, succulent kisses, Billy squeezing my butt cheeks and me squirming on top of him, moaning quietly from the sexual heat. After a while, he moves his head, gasping and inhaling deeply, then murmurs, "Can you reach one of those condoms?"

I can; then I rip it open. He nods, takes another deep breath, and says, "Good, give it to me, Gary."

I'm still lying on him as he reaches over my back and wipes lube from the condom on my anus. "Lift a little. Help me out, for Christ's sake."

When I lift my hips off him, he reaches between us, gets his hand under my boner, wipes lube on his hard dick, then hands the condom to me. I toss the ripped packet and the condom to the bedside table. They hit the lamp and dropped to the floor. Billy mutters, "Sit up, babe."

Babe?

Straddling his hips, I get on my knees, and he moves his boner down my ass crack to my anus. With a nod of his head, I sit on it, and the head squeezes into my ass. Billy's eyes get big as I try grinning, mumbling, "Ow."

His hands are on my waist as I lower my hips, his boner going inside me inch by inch until I'm sitting on his lap. Billy's biting his bottom lip, looking serious. He shakes his head slowly once, murmuring, "I don't know how you take it up your ass so easily. You're my hero."

As I slowly lean forward, some of his hard cock slips out of my ass, but not all of it. I lie on Billy's chest, his arms going around me, and I murmur, "No, you're my hero. I'm your devoted girl/guy."

He quietly says, "Who I think I love," and he humps his hips, pushing his boner two inches tightly right over my prostate gland. The head feels so big and so hard. I gasp, "Oh! Mmm, Billy."

It's an awkward way to mess around, but incredible sensations are swarming over me just the same. Billy can only move two inches of his boner with each thrust. My arms hug around his neck, my face against the side of his as I moan, "Ah, ah, ooh, ooh," at the constant scintillating pleasure vibrations with every one of his short thrusts.

It lasts maybe ten exotic minutes before Billy goes, "I'm going to cum," and then his whole body shakes as he's climaxing. A second later, I squeal and shoot my load. Semen blows out, but only up to Billy's and my belly buttons.

Breathing deeply, our bodies shudder, then slowly relax as we sigh and hug one another. I kiss his cheek, murmuring, "I love you so much." He rubs his hands up and down my back, muttering, "I know, but, Omigod, look what you've done to us. We're a couple of queer boys in love."

"I couldn't have done it without your invaluable participation." He snorts a laugh, "Yeah, I'm to blame as well, but you're too 'effing irresistible; that's my excuse."

We stay like this for a minute, Billy lightly rubbing his fingers on my back as his cock flops out of my ass. We both go, Ahh," and then, in a strained voice, he asks, "Do you know what Extremophiles are?"

I go, "Let me ask you something. What do you think the chances are that I'd know that?"

He chuckles, "Probably zero. They're microbes. They're living things that survive in the most extreme conditions imaginable. Boiling water like the hot springs of Yellowstone, for example. That's no problem for these badasses. The most mind-blowing extremophiles are the microscopic, eight-legged water-dwelling creatures called Tardigrades. They've proven to be indestructible. The most unkillable life form ever discovered. In 2007 the European Space Agency strapped tardigrades to the outside of a space capsule that was sent into Earth orbit for twelve days. Exposed to the vacuum of space and extreme cosmic radiation, they all survived."

Grinning, I mutter, "So what?"

He laughs, then sputters, "Dammit, I told myself I wasn't going to tell you any more interesting science shit, and I went ahead and did it anyway, wasting my breath again."

I'm like, "But, Billy, nobody would believe that."

"I don't give a shit; it's a fact."

Hesitant now, I'm like, "Really, that's true?" He says, "Yes unless Neil Degrasse Tyson's article is bullshitting everybody."

I mumble, "Neil, who? Did he go to our school?"

He laughs, "You dumb ass."

"No, seriously, it is interesting. Thanks for telling me."

Squirming under me, he says, "Yeah, well, we're sweaty and covered with 'effing cum again. Don't get any on the clean sheets; keep it on our bodies. Come on, let's get out of bed and clean up."

I mutter, "Yes, daddy."

He goes, "Goddammit, don't call me that."

Walking down the hall to the bathroom, he tries holding my hand, but I put my arm around his waist. He smiles, then puts his arm around my waist, muttering, "You're irresistible."

Grinning at him, I nod, "You already said that."

"Well, it's 'effing true. I'm totally fucked." I'm like, "You're not fucked! I already told you we're perfect for each other."

Using washcloths to wash up, then, in the bedroom again, we put on our clothes, and Billy gets the comb. "Stand still, Gary." We both burst out laughing as he combs my hair, muttering, "What's so funny? I need to take care of my boyfriend, don't I?"

Loving being the center of his attention, I nod, "Uh-huh, you do." After getting my hair just right, he kisses me and says, "There, you look good enough to eat."

Oh God, can life get any better than this?

In the kitchen, I say, "Okay, I'm going to make us a good dinner." Opening the refrigerator, I see a long note from Mom with instructions on preparing three dinners. Billy and I read the note together.

He says, "Oh, boy, your Mom rocks. Let's have the steaks tonight. They look great, and I'm starving."

Mom gave directions for cooking the steaks on the grill, plus tips for frying them in case it's too snowy to use the grille. Billy goes, "The grill, right?"

Looking out the back door, I see it's still snowing with a three-inch accumulation on the porch, where the grill sits. We exchange looks, and he goes, "That's not much snow. I'll be able to use the grill."

Shrugging, "You're the guy/guy; you decide." I preheat the oven for frozen French fries, ignoring the directions for boiling broccoli. I'll make a salad instead.

Billy's like, "Well, do you have an 'effing snow shovel?"

"Of course we do," and I go to the basement to get it.

Bringing it upstairs, Billy takes it, saying, "I'll shovel," and we put our coats on. On the porch, Billy shovels a path in the powdery snow to the grill, mumbling, "The snow is coming down harder than I thought, but it's easy to shovel."

Then, the grill won't light when I push the button, so I go inside and rummage through kitchen drawers until I find a long lighter that I saw Dad use the last time he grilled. Billy followed me inside, waiting impatiently until, holding up the lighter, "I knew we had this somewhere."

He nods and takes the lighter, then fires up the grill while I put the French fries in the oven on a baking sheet.

Billy comes in, brushing snow off his head and shoulders, saying, "Piece of cake."

"That reminds me. We have Butterscotch Krimpets for dessert." He laughs, "Oh, hot shit, but let's have them now."

I'm like, "Okay, I bought three packs."

Billy says, "I'll make us a drink. Where are the glasses?"

"Oh, um, we left them in the bathroom. I'll get two clean ones."

We tap glasses when the drinks are made; Billy says, "To secret boyfriends who are having a blast together."

After gulping down a swallow of the too-strong screwdriver, I get a pack of Butterscotch Krimpets from the pantry. We feed each other a Krimpet the way a bride and groom feed each other a slice of wedding cake. We're grinning like mad with whole Krimpets in our mouths. When he finally swallows his, Billy goes, "That's a perfect snack to have with a screwdriver."

When the grill is hotter than hell, Billy Googles how long to grill twelve-ounce steaks reading the instructions to me from his cell phone. He nods, mumbling, "No problem, right?"

He doesn't even wear his coat when putting the steaks on the grill. Closing the grill lid, Billy comes in, and we look in the refrigerator for salad dressings. Billy picks up the bottle of Ranch dressing, "Ranch is the way to go, right?"

I'd rather have Russian, but nod, "Yep, ranch," and grab ketchup for the fries.

Without falling on his ass on the slippery porch, Billy hovers at the grill, checking his wristwatch, then turns the steaks over and waits inside, looking at his watch and holding a platter to put the steaks on and a big fork. Looking at him through the glass top of the backdoor, I smile and then put out the French fries and salad.

Billy comes inside with the steaks, muttering, "Fucking snow." When we sit down to eat, he grins, "What, no candle?"

The steaks are perhaps a tad too rare for me but juicy and tender, so I compliment Billy on his grilling expertise, and he nods, "Yes, these are perfectly grilled. I've grilled hamburgers at home, but these are my first steaks."

Then he explains how he pressed the steaks with a finger to test that they were done medium-rare. He read that online ten minutes ago but made it seem like he invented the process himself.

Grinning, I go, "So you pressed your finger on those burgers you grilled at home?"

He stuffs a French fry in his mouth, then goes, "No, don't be ridiculous. You don't do that with burgers." When I smirk at him, he laughs, "Okay, I just read to do that online tonight."

We eat everything, and then we're too full to eat another package of Krimpets for dessert. Billy's a fanatic about cleaning up, so we're putting everything in the dishwasher, the salad dressing and ketchup back in the refrigerator; using kitchen cleaner, he wipes down the counters and the table, then sends me up to get the glasses from the bathroom as he wipes up melted snow from the floor.

When I've put the glasses in the dishwasher and turned it on, Billy looks around the kitchen, gets paper towels to wipe up more melted snow water on the floor, then says, "That's pretty good, don't you think?"

I mumble, "Well, yeah! The kitchen is cleaner now than when we started."

He goes, "Damn, I wish I remembered to bring my Marlboros. I like having a cigarette after dinner."

I go, "How about the joints you brought with you?"

Shaking his head, "It's not the same at all. Don't you know anything?"

Looking out the window, I shrug, "Well, the plows won't be out until the storm is over, so I don't want to drive in this. We could, however, walk to the 7-Eleven and buy a pack of cigarettes."

He looks dubious, so I go, "Remember when we walked four miles home that day?"

Rolling his eyes, "How the hell could I ever forget that? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that was the start of you turning me into a queer!"

Narrowing my eyes, I'm like, "I didn't make you gay, Billy, and you know it."

Waving his hand at me, he goes, "I know. Can't you take a joke?"

"Yeah, I can take a joke, but you won't stop with your outlandish rationalizations. First, pretending you're not gay for me, and then you insist on blaming me for it after admitting you are."

He puts his arms around me, "Christ, Gary, I'm not serious about that. I'm, ah, as I said, just kidding around. Okay?"

"Okay. Well, do you want to walk to the 7-Eleven? It's only a half-mile, at the most."

Looking out at the snow coming down, he goes, "What the fuck? Sure, let's go."

Putting on our coats, I ask, "Ah, me saying that stuff about you blaming me for everything wasn't whining, was it? I don't think it was."

He smiles, "Close, but no, it wasn't. It was my adorable boyfriend putting his cute foot down for once."

Nodding, I snicker, "Yeah, that's what I thought too."

He asks, "Do you have a hat I can wear?"

Reaching to the closet's top shelf, grinning, I grab the Koda hat that Billy made fun of. It's the hat with the attached earmuffs that you tie under your chin, "How about this one?"

He laughs, "No, that's your hat," He reaches for my Phillies baseball cap, "I'll wear this if you don't mind."

I put the Koda hat on, and he mutters, "Dork," but then he does his fantastic smile and hugs my shoulders, "Let's go, dorky."

With our heads down, walking into the blowing snow, Billy mutters, "At least the snow is powdery, although it is at least four inches deep."

I nod, "And we're cleverly wearing sneakers, which shows how smart we are." He goes, "Yeah, and for a pack of 'effing cigarettes."

We walk another block, and I ask, "Do you want to turn back?"

He shakes his head, "Nope. We're gay, but we're not pussies." I mutter, "Uh-huh."

With the snow blowing in our faces, it takes twenty minutes to get there, so I guess it's more than a half mile. We don't talk for the last fifteen minutes, which is a record time for Billy to be silent without being high. Stomping our feet inside the store, Billy goes, "It'll be easier walking the other way with the wind at our backs."

The large lady behind the counter is wearing two sweaters, and she has her arms wrapped around herself as if she's freezing. It's hot in here. She keeps her eyes on us as if she thinks we're going to steal something. Billy smiles at her and says, "Nasty out there."

Her thick eyebrow almost connected over her bulbous nose, but when Billy smiled at her, she relaxed and smiled a lovely smile back at him, "What brings you, boys, out on a night like this?"

Billy mumbles, "It's not that bad. Um, a pack of Marlboro red, please."

She squints her eyes, "Are you twenty-one?"

Billy goes, "Well, I wouldn't be trying to buy a pack of cigarettes if I wasn't, now would I?"

Shrugging, she goes, "I have to ask," and plops a box of Marlboro red on the counter, saying, "That'll be $9.45," then she nods her head at me, adding, "Hon, do not share these cigarettes with your little brother there."

Billy, who doesn't look a helluva lot older than me, puts a ten on the counter, "Of course not. Um, how'd you know my name?"

She chuckles, "Oh, that's cute. I call everybody hon, hon."

Outside, I'm like, "You're little brother! "

He snickers, "Yeah, she needs her eyes examined." He's unwrapping the cellophane as I go, "This guy I had lunch with when I got my job in Philly thought he and I looked like brothers, and we sort of did, but you and I don't."

He shrugs, and I add, "Um, and so did some girls in line at the food truck."

Billy frowns, "You need to stay clear of that asshole. He's coming on to you."

I make a face at that ridiculous comment, then say, " "You're not going to smoke in this storm, are you?"

"You're Goddamn right I am. We walked through a blizzard for a smoke." Hunching over, cupping his hand around his Bic lighter, he lights two cigarettes and hands one to me. With the wind and driving snow at our backs, we head home smoking, me not inhaling, not much anyway.

It is easier walking back, and after five minutes, Billy flicks his cigarette butt into the street, muttering, "Not worth all the trouble, huh?"

I flick my barely inhaled butt in the street, too, "It was an adventure, Billy, plus now we have cigarettes for when we want one later." He squeezes his arm across my shoulders, smiling and saying, "That's my boy, always seeing the glass half full."

It's after eight o'clock by the time we go in the back door and take off our frozen sneakers. Billy mumbles, "I wish we had a fireplace. That'd be so 'effing ideal."

We hang our coats and hats on kitchen chairs so the snow will melt onto the linoleum floor, which we can easily mop. That was Billy's brilliant idea. I would have hung my coat in the closet, getting other coats wet.

In our stocking feet, we sit together on the sofa, our feet on the coffee table, Billy's arm around me as we watch the Philadelphia 76'ers play the Nets on TV. During a commercial, Billy says, "Sodium is a reactive metal that you can cut with a butter knife. Pure chlorine is a smelly, deadly gas, yet when added to Sodium, you've got sodium chloride, a harmless, biological essential compound better known as table salt."

I look at him, "What? Table salt. Is it iodized?"

He laughs, "Some of it is, yeah, and how about hydrogen and oxygen? One is an explosive gas, and the other promotes violent combustion, yet the two combined make liquid water, which puts out fires."

I go, "Those are part of the Periodic Table, right?" He goes, "Good for you, Gary! Yeah, they are."

Nodding, I go, "I'm not as dumb as you think."

He squeezes my shoulders, "I don't think you're dumb at all, babe. Far from it."

"Oh, good," and we go back to watching the basketball game. I'm not dumb, but I didn't recall learning any of that. I might have been daydreaming in class that day. Anyway, I'm getting used to Billy's outbursts of non-sequiturs. I like hearing them, although I immediately forget them.

The Nets are way up on the 76'ers in the fourth quarter, so we turn off the game and go upstairs as Billy saying, "I'm looking forward to sleeping naked with my not-dumb boyfriend."

We snicker and bump against one another, then Billy rubs my head, "How about you? Are you looking forward to that?"

I go, "What would you guess my answer to that will be?"

To be continued... donnymumfoed@outlook.com

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