Invited

Chapter 21

( Sunday )

Billy is still sleeping when I woke up Sunday morning. Watching him sleep, I lie here thinking about all the fabulous stuff we did yesterday, bringing a smile to my face. Yesterday, February 23rd, 2022, I'll mark it down as my best day so far on Earth.

Planning ahead, I slide out of bed and go to the closet, where on the top shelf is my condom supply. Three condom packets go on the bedside table, where Billy can easily reach them. Heh-heh.

Back in bed, I notice Billy isn't making a sound. I know he's alive, though, because his chest is rising and lowering. With my face an inch away from his, I notice for the first time that he has some very pale freckles across the bridge of his nose. The freckles were probably more noticeable when he was younger.

What's this? A tiny, fluffy feather somehow made its way out of the down pillow. It's hard to believe that this little feather came from the underbelly of some unfortunate duck. It takes about a million of these to make one nice fluffy pillow.

Picking up the little feather, I wonder if Billy's ticklish. Grinning, I move the feather across his nose, and, sound asleep, he wiggles his nose. Doing it again, Billy goes, "Argrunt," and moves his head to the side. I've got my hand over my mouth, trying to keep from laughing as I drag the feather over his ear; he swipes at his ear with a hand, then turns over onto his stomach.

Tossing the tiny feather in the air, I blow on it, and it drifts over the side of the bed. The clock on the bedside table reads nine-oh-five, so we've had over eight hours of sleep, which should be enough, right? I only drank a couple of cocktails last night, so I'm not hungover. Instead, I'm feeling frisky. Reaching under the covers, I squeeze Billy's right butt cheek. It's a nice tight handful of perky ass.

Hard to believe, but it's been almost nine months since Billy and I were at Sara Donald's pool party. I can still see in my head, clear as day, Billy's perky ass in his cool-looking bathing suit. He has a tight body too, but not from working out; it's Nature's gift.

My fingers gently rub his head, his light-brown hairs running through my fingers, clean and soft, even as short as it is. Well, yeah, it's short; we just got haircuts a couple of days ago. Last night, I was surprised when Billy said he doesn't believe our haircuts are magical.

He had me convinced he thought there was something special going on, and I bet he feels that way again. For now, though, he said he's been half joking about that all along. Well, if he's half-joking, that means he still believes there's some magic happening--another one of his funny rationalizations for why he's gay as if he wouldn't be gay otherwise.

With a quiet sigh, I lie against him, putting my arm across his back, and right away, with his face in the pillow, he mutters, "Did you tickle me a little while ago, or was I dreaming?"

"I tickled your nose and ear with a tiny duck-down feather." He flops onto his back, my arm sliding off him as I protest, "Hey!"

Then, I cuddle against his side. He puts his arm under my neck, mumbling, "It was probably a goose-down feather, Gary, not duck-down. Goose-down clusters are bigger and fluffier and, therefore, preferable."

Ha-ha, who else would know that?

Rubbing my nose on his shoulder, inhaling how nice he smells, I mutter, "And how in the hell would you know that?"

He says, "I guess I read it someplace, and don't wipe your nose on my shoulder."

"I enjoyed how your body smells; I didn't wipe my nose on you."

Going up onto his side, smiling his great smile, he murmurs, "Is that so?" and puts his other arm around me, then glances at the bedside table. He goes, "Oh, I see you reloaded our condom supply. Does that mean you're hoping we'll mess around this morning?"

"What would you guess my answer to that question might be?"

Smiling his gorgeous smile again, "Yeah, you're right; I knew the answer. It was a rhetorical question 'cause you can't get enough of us messing around and taking my dick up your ass, can you?"

Grinning, "What do you think the answer to your latest question might be?"

He snickers, pushing the covers off us, then wrestling me onto my stomach, "It's a full-time job keeping you satisfied." He smacks my bare ass, then reaches for a condom packet.

Smacking my ass again, not hard, though, "Don't move, babe. Um, except you need to push your ass up a little." I do that, and he gets between my legs to rub his penis against my buttocks, murmuring, "Smooth skin. Hey, I just noticed something else we're twins about."

Looking back at him, "What's that, babe?" He laughs, "I told you ten times the word babe is my term of endearment for you. You can't use it!"

I feel his hand lightly rubbing my leg, then he says, "The new twin thing is, um, I noticed neither of us has much hair on our legs. Ain't that weird? We have twin, almost hairless legs."

I go, "Uh-huh, but I already knew that."

He mumbles, "It's disgusting how that creep Chicky has almost as much hair on his legs as on his 'effing head." I mutter, "Gross! And his chest was like a forest of hair too."

Feeling his penis getting hard against my right butt cheek, I look back as he rips open the condom packet, mumbling to himself, "Why in the hell did I mention Chicky?" Then he says emphatically, "We need to blank that Chicky conversation out of our minds, Gary. it'll ruin our messing around."

Nodding, "Yeah, you're right." He rolls the condom on his twin dick, looks at me, smiles, and says, "Maybe I thought of that asshole, Chicky,

because, by comparison, messing around with you is, well, there is no comparison." I nod and smile.

He adds thoughtfully, "He's a pig; while you're awesome and a thrill to mess around with. Um, I wanted you to know that. I don't tell you enough about how special you are."

Looking at him expectantly, I'm waiting for him to walk that sentiment back a bit, but instead, he smiles and says, "What? You want me to say more?"

Shaking my head, "No, um, thanks, that was wicked nice to hear, babe."

He laughs, "Don't call me babe! That's my word."

Hoping for more compliments, I ask, "How about the guys you messed around with in tenth and eleventh grades? How do I compare to them? "

Shaking his head, he mumbles, "Oh, Jesus, back then, we didn't even like each other back then. No comparison there, either. It was experimentation while calling each other queers. Constant arguing like, you're the fag, not me. No, you're the fag. Like that. Unpleasant, then two weeks later, we'd be at it again."

I mutter, "Oh, jeez, that sounds sucky," and glance at his condom-covered boner listing to the side. It bumps my left butt cheek, leaving a few slippery lube spots. He uses his index finger to nudge his dick to my asshole, then leans forward, and the head tightly squeezes inside me. I go, "Umm!"

Billy asks, "You okay?"

I mutter, "Uh-huh, I'm good," He slowly pushes the rest of his hard condom-covered penis inside my ass, spreading my rectum to the max, filling me up spectacularly back there. He murmurs, "This never gets old, does it, Gary? Oh God, it feels good..."

Billy's right about that. It always feels good and new, too. It doesn't matter that it's pretty much the same thing every time. Basically, Billy moves his hard penis in my rectum until we're stimulated enough to have an orgasmic climax. Climaxes are exactly what natural selection over eons intended. As I've thought before, maybe not intended the way we do it, but in all living things, genes evolved with a strong will to pass their gene to new generations, ensuring the proliferation of the species and, for humans, as a bonus, it feels incredibly good too.

Obviously, taking it up the ass won't pass genes anywhere, so we're left with it simply feeling good, which is quite enough for me.

After lightly rubbing his hands up and down my back, Billy grabs my hips and pulls up, mumbling, "Keep your ass up, okay?"

Partially up on my knees now, I mutter, "Sure," and he slowly pulls his boner back, the hard swollen head creating a million delicious pleasure vibrations coming off my prostate. Shivering, I scrunch my face, murmuring, "Mmmm, feels so good, Billy."

He groans, "This is 'effing fantastic. Messing around first thing in the morning might be the best messing around there is."

He does a few steady thrusts, then mutters, "Oh, hell, yeah. Here we go," and gets right into the shorter, harder, and faster thrusting, "Slap, slap, slap," creating hard-to-believe tantalizing pleasure vibrations that spread out from my rectum to my toes, fingertips, and the roots of my hair.

Moaning, "Um, um, um," I'm on my hands and knees now; Billy's up on his knees, hammering his hard boner up my ass, his crotch slapping against my buttocks, my body jerking forward with each thrust.

It's an avalanche of sexy pleasure, both of us quietly groaning and moaning as the thrilling pleasure grows and grows until the inevitable happens. "Ahhh!" I blow my load, shuddering and shaking at the intense indescribable sensations of sexual climax.

Dropping my forehead to the back of my hands on the bed, I squeeze my eyes shut, concentrating on the spreading, the almost painfully intense heated pleasure that begins fading too quickly. Then, a quiet "Oooh, umm," from me, and my body relaxes. With a sigh, I drop to the mattress, Billy's dick pulling from my ass, cum squishing under me.

Billy lies next to me on his back, gasping, "Holy shit. We climaxed at the same second, Gary. Twin climaxes," and he snickers, adding, "Jesus, that was a fast one, huh? How was it, babe?"

"Fabulous as usual, but I blew my load on the sheets. Sorry about that." Shaking his head, "We changed these 'effing sheets last night, and now you tell me you're lying in your spunk? Jeez, Gary."

Grinning, "Yeah, I know. It's irresponsible of me, heh-heh, but where else could I shoot my load?"

He pulls the condom off, chuckles, and mumbles, "Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I'm glad I'm not in charge of doing the laundry."

I mutter, "You are in charge of getting rid of that condom, though."

Holding it up, he says, "Look at that little ball of semen. It felt like Niagara Falls coming out, but it's like maybe only an ounce." Snickering, I go, "My load was much larger than that tiny amount."

He laughs, "Maybe you should be the guy/guy then."

Shaking my head, "Nah, I wouldn't want to hurt your inferior rectum; no way."

Abruptly sitting up, he gets off the bed. Then, holding the condom away, he mutters, "Yeah, a dick in my ass always hurts. Hey, who knows, though, someday maybe we'll switch."

I shrug, much preferring how we do it now, and he's like, "Well, come on, babe, we need to shower, and someone needs to change the sheets again."

In the bathroom, we take a piss, then shower together, acting like little kids playing in the water, but we manage to get squeaky clean too. Standing next to one another, we brush our teeth. Done with that, Billy asks, "What's for breakfast?"

I'm like, "What do you feel like having?" He picks up the comb, "I don't know, but stand still, babe."

Making a face, I stand there as he combs my hair, saying, "Next time we get our haircut, I'm asking your uncle if he knows how to do a skin fade on the sides. I saw a video of a barber who was wearing a sports jacket giving that trendy skin fade haircut to a young guy, and his haircut looked wicked cool."

Done combing my hair, he combs his own as I mumble, "Uncle Tony won't know how to do some trendy new haircut."

Putting the comb down, he shrugs, "Then maybe we need to find a new barber. Um, how about scrambled eggs for breakfast? Can you cook scrambled eggs?"

Without thinking about it, we hold hands walking down the hall, our twin dicks swinging in the breeze with me, saying, "Of course, I can cook scrambled eggs, but we can't hurt Uncle Tony's feelings by going to another barber."

He shakes his head a little, "Alright, but when we get our apartment, we're not driving back here for haircuts. We can find a trendy barber near the campus."

"Maybe that will work, yeah." The handholding is nice, but there's something odd about it too. I mean, right from the start, George Brown used to hold my hand on our couple of dates, so I wonder what it is about me that guys feel they need to hold my hand?

Drinking mugs of coffee, we eat scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon for breakfast. Crunching on a piece of slightly over-fried bacon, Billy says, "Our cosmos horizon, the size of the seeable universe, is a mind-blowing 46.5 billion light-years away in any direction from the earth."

Nodding, I ask, "What should we do today?" I ignored his light-year babble because what's there to say to an incomprehensible fact like that?

Finishing the last of his three scrambled eggs, he ignores my question too. "Even though the Big Bang started our universe 13.8 billion years ago, it has been expanding ever since, and now it's that staggering number of light years in size. Initially, it expanded faster than the speed of light, which is very fast. For example, light takes only 1.3 seconds from Earth to the Moon."

I say, "Here's an idea. I could change the sheets; then we could spend the day in bed together. You know, as we used to talk about. Whaddaya say to that?"

Getting up and clearing dishes to put in the dishwasher, he asks, "Aren't you the slightest interested in cosmology?"

"Sure I am. I've got a TV in my room, so how about if we spend the day in bed watching repeats of NOVA?" Smiling and chuckling, Billy says, "Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go through life, son."

I'm Like, "Huh? What's that mean? I'm not fat."

Still chuckling, he mumbles, "That's a classic line from an old movie called Animal House."

Smiling and rubbing my head, he says, "Okay, maybe this applies to you... skinny, clueless, with a dick up your ass, is no way to go through life, babe? Does that work better?"

Finishing my coffee, I smirk, give him the finger, and mutter, "I'm not clueless," then get up to put my coffee mug in the dishwasher.

Getting his arms around me, he says, "I know you're not," and he kisses my cheek, adding, "I'm being a bore quoting facts about the cosmos simply because they interest me."

"How about my idea of spending the day in bed?"

He laughs, "Sure, let's do it."

Billy helps me change the sheets, then says, "Let's brush our teeth again." We do that, get undressed, and get in bed giggling like dorks as we grope one another. Then, instead of messing around further, Billy says, "Hand me the remote, babe."

Taking it off the nightstand and giving it to him, I'm like, "We're not going to actually watch PBS's NOVA reruns, are we?"

Smiling at me, he turns the TV on, presses the remote's talk button, and says, "NOVA."

Making a huffing sound, I mutter, "I guess we are going to watch NOVA reruns."

Smiling and squeezing his arm around my neck, he kisses my cheek, then says, "Watching it with you will make it ten times better than watching it alone." He presses his face against the side of mine, murmuring, "Mmm, you smell good too. That's one more thing we're twins about."

Fuck this. My left leg goes over him, and I sit on his lap, face to face, with my arms around his neck. Smiling, he murmurs, "Hi," and we kiss, then get into a serious make-out with NOVA playing on the TV behind me.

I started this, but in some imperceptible way, I find I'm now suddenly following Billy's lead with our foreplay. It's sloppily kissing lips, groping and licking tongues, then hugging and rubbing noses together while we both quietly moan with desire, then rubbing cheeks together. More kissing and licking, our dicks so hard they feel like throbbing rocks next to one another.

Still facing him on his lap, our faces bumping, he murmurs, "Lift, babe. There should be enough lube left over from our morning messing around."

With desire so strong for him I can barely breathe, I lift my hips, and his hand goes under me to move his stone-hard penis head to my anus. I don't need to be told what to do now. Hugging him around the neck, our faces side by side, I moan and drop my ass, clutching onto him as his boner tightly slides inside me. We both moan, "Ooh, mmm."

Hugging both arms around me, Billy murmurs, "We are so 'effing special together, Gary. It's mindboggling to me, realizing I'm having a hard time imagining us being apart."

Kissing the side of his face, I lower my ass feeling his boner getting fatter, then with a groan, "Ahh," I sit on his lap fully impaled, shivering with pleasure and so in love, I can't think straight.

He moves his head, so I move mine, and our mouths come together for sloppier, almost out-of-control kissing and licking, perspiration forming between us in a frenzy of lovemaking.

Gasping, Billy's mouth slides off mine as he murmurs, "Do it, Gary."

I lift and drop down awkwardly a few times, then get into a rhythm, and, with our heads together, we moan with intense sexual pleasure, my boner sticking straight up between our bellies; as I ride his perfect penis. Soon, I get into a mantra of, "Ah, ah, ah," going up and down on his pleasure-giving hard sex organ.

Billy's squeezing me against him so tightly it's almost as if we're one, and then, again, we climax together. Billy made a breathy desperate gasping sound while I squealed as if someone had just pinched the shit out of me. Embarrassing, yeah.

In my head, I'm pretty sure I felt Billy's cum shot hit inside me as my cum shot streaked out with nowhere to go except to drool gooily between us. We're both still tightly clutching as we shudder, sigh, then sort of go limp. My hands loosely hold onto Billy's arms with my forehead on his shoulder. Billy's hands squeeze either side of my buttocks as he takes a deep breath, then murmurs, "That worked pretty well, doncha think?"

Lifting my head, I nod, "Yes, I thought it did, too," and we snicker. Billy adds, "Holy shit, just when I think it can't possibly get any better, it gets better."

Then, with his hands trying to lift my butt cheeks, he mutters, "Sit up, Gary."

My arms go around his neck again as I grin, muttering, "No. I'm sitting like this until NOVA is over. You can watch it over my shoulder."

He laughs, then pulls my arms from around his neck, saying, "C'mon, we need to clean up. You blew your gunk all over me, and mine is drooling out your ass around my pecker. It'll get on the sheets. Come on."

I mumble, "It already did get on the sheets."

Lifting up on my knees, his dick flopped out of my ass, leaving my anus wide open. I put my hand back there, catching cum dripping, mumbling, "So what if a drop or two more of cum gets on the sheets? You're too much of a neatnik."

He slides out from between my knees, mumbling, "Cleanliness is next to, um, I forget what it's next to, but we're going to the bathroom." I get off the bed, and he takes my hand, muttering, "One of us needs to be the adult."

One hand under my ass, the other squeezing his hand, I ask, "Why? We're still kids."

He says, "I'll be twenty in a few weeks, and you'll be eighteen on Tuesday, the 26th, right? We used to be kids. Now we're not." I mutter, "Yes, daddy," and he goes, "Don't call me that."

In the bathroom, Billy does most of the cleaning up, with me just standing there grinning. He wipes my ass with a bunch of toilet paper, then uses a washcloth to clean my stomach and twin penis.

Muttering, "There, I've taken care of you," he starts wiping my cum off his stomach.

Still grinning, I watch him for a bit, then mumble, "Daddy, cum is still coming out of my bumper, I think."

He laughs aloud and mutters, "What a brat you're turning out to be," and he rolls off some toilet paper into a pad and gives it to me, "Hold this at your ass. Jesus, act your age!"

Doing that, I'm still grinning, asking, "Um, I'm still fun to be with, though, right?"

Snickering, shaking his head, he mutters, "You have me so wrapped around your little finger it's a pathetic situation I find myself in. Yes, you're fun to be with. The most fun I've ever had, actually. Satisfied?"

Remembering George saying that to me, I'm like, "Yes, I'm delighted with that answer; thank you so much."

It's weird I'm thinking about George doing similar things that Billy does, but again, I'm wondering what there is about me that brings out the same responses from Billy and George. Well, it is a very small sample, as they are the only two guys I've ever dated. It could merely be a coincidence.

My attention immediately goes back to Billy as he dries his stomach, asking, "How about me? Am I fun to be with?"

Putting my arms around him, I murmur, "That's another rhetorical question, right? You make my life shine brighter than your 'effing Universe. No one has ever had as much fun being with another as I have with you, and no one in the history of the world loved anyone as much as I love you."

There's his radiant smile, "Yeah, well, okay then. Let's watch the end of NOVA."

Bringing the toilet paper pad with me, I sit on it, leaning against Billy on the bed, his arm around me. We watch the last thirty minutes of NOVA, a show about the Mars Perseverance Rover. As we watch something that's hard for me to believe is real, Billy tells me facts about the show before the narrator says it. I'm like, "Let me guess, you've seen this before, right?"

Chuckling, he goes, "Twice, I record all NOVA shows."

After the free Perseverance show, there's a program note indicating that future shows will cost $1.99 each. I look at Billy, who shrugs, "That's odd. It doesn't cost anything to tape the shows."

I'm not putting a $1.99 charge on Dad's Verizon account, so Billy scrolls through the endless number of channels and stops at a TV show in black and white. It's called "Leave It To Beaver" from many years ago. Black and white?

Billy says, "Look at the kid's mother running that old vacuum cleaner in high heels. Doing housework, she's dressed up as if she's going to a ball or something."

I mumble, "The brother, whatshisname, is sort of weirdly cute, but Beaver is a geek. See what else is on."

We watch an old 76ers-Celtics game on the NBA channel until one-thirty. Bored with the game, we get dressed, and I drive us to a Subway shop for lunch.

Inside the shop, we get in line, and Billy has a quick guy hug with Mac McBride standing in front of us. Billy asks, "What have you been up to, Mac?"

As we wait to place our orders, they talk about the senior homeroom they were in together, then about college.

Mac finally looks past Billy to say, "Hey, Gary, wassup?"

We know each other, but he's more a friend of Dave Summerset's than mine. The past two summers, Mac golfed at the par-three course with Dave and me five or six times.

I grin and say, "How ya hitting 'em, Mac? Do you get to the driving range much?"

"Dave and I hit a bucket last weekend."

The counter kid says, "Can I help you?" Mac gives his order; then we give ours. Mac is taking his sub home, so he waves, "Nice seeing you guys," and he's out the door.

We get our Italian subs and Cokes, then sit at a table. Billy goes, "Golfing sounds like fun."

Holding my sub, I'm like, "Maybe I'll teach you how to golf."

He nods, "It can be a useful skill in the business world."

Muttering, "Huh, I never gave the business world a thought. And, um, I'm not all that good at golf, but we can take lessons together."

He continues eating, so I add, "You know, take golf lessons together as one of the 'effing other thing we're going to do together for, um, well, forever."

His eyes come up to mine as he smiles, then makes a face and continues chewing.

Grinning, I go, "Well, we've been doing everything together anyway, so we'll just continue that with golf lessons and everything else we do until we die, and I hope I die first, but not until we're in our late nineties."

His eyes come up to mine again as I grin, asking, "What? You want to live past our nineties?"

Finished his sub, he wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, smirked at me, and muttered, "Finish your sub. Let's go to the mall. I need to buy a belt. "

Nodding, I mumble, "Yeah, okay," and finish my lunch.

Walking out of the shop, Billy lightly squeezes the back of my neck, giving me awesome shivers as he mutters, "Yes, I do want to live past my nineties."

Driving to the mall, I'm like, "I don't think I've ever bought a belt."

He pulls the end of his belt out, "Look, the hole I always use on this 'effing belt is twice as big as it was when the belt was new. It makes the belt too loose, and it looks like shit, so I need a new one."

I mumble, "Mom must have bought my belts for me."

Shaking his head, "You're such a baby. My parents paid for most of them, but I've been buying my clothes since middle school."

I've got nothing to say to that, so Billy says, "Listen to this weird fact, belts didn't come into everyday usage for men's pants until the 1920s. Before that, belts were considered decorative."

I've got nothing to say to that either, so he smiles and chuckles, mumbling, "Yep, the 1920s. I'll bet you didn't know that, did you?"

Shaking my head, I snicker, "No, I didn't." He hits my shoulder, then rubs it affectionately, "You don't know nothing, do you?"

Looking at him, I grin and say, "Nothing is what I do know."

Chuckling, he mutters, "Okay, I should have said you don't know anything."

I mumble, "Well, I know who I love with a passion," and he nods, "That's really something special to know, alright."

Parking in the lower parking level at the mall, we take off our seatbelts, then Billy pulls my head over and kisses me, "Yeah, you are a lot of fun."

I'm walking on clouds going into the mall, asking, "What kind of belt are we looking for?"

He squeezes my right butt cheek, mumbling, "One in the men's department." I grin, "Oh, is that where they are?"

He buys a tan leather 30-inch-waist belt for $34.95; then we stroll the mall. Billy goes, "Look at the empty stores. Malls were really screwed by the Pandemic the last couple of years."

I go, "Even before the Pandemic, I'd see hundreds of cars in the parking lot, but it didn't seem like there were many people inside. And, have you noticed no one wears a mask anymore?"

Once in a while, you see someone with a mask on, but it's rare nowadays.

We end up at the food court for an ice cream treat, and naturally, Billy sees guys he knows there. He shows his great smile and outgoing personality, acting as if these guys and girls are his best buddies ever. They're friendly but not as exuberant about seeing Billy as he appears to be seeing them.

Yeah, well, I know a couple of them. Amanda Smith, a black girl, for one. She sat across from me in chem class junior year, and we talked a lot before class. In retrospect, I think she wanted me to ask her out.

She's holding hands with Francisco, or Frank, as he's called, Santiago. Billy's laughing with two guys I don't know as Amanda smiles and says, "Gary, you're looking good, dude. Where you going to school?"

Frank, looking bored, nods at me, and I tell Amanda I'm going to Community College. It's easier to lie than go through an explanation about taking a year off because I'm seventeen, plus I want to buy a car, blah, blah, blah, and so forth.

Now Frank seems impatient, looking away with a puss on his face. Amanda pays no attention to him telling me how much fun she's having at Temple University. Finally, Frank says to Amanda, "Do you want lunch or not?"

She makes a cute face, saying, "Oh, okay, Frankie. Nice seeing you, Gary," and they walk over to stand in line at the McDonald's booth.

Billy says, "Come on, Gary, let's get an ice cream."

There's a Haagen Dazs booth where we get scoops of ice cream in plastic cups with a plastic spoon. Each one costs almost as much as a pint costs in the supermarket. Mine is cherry vanilla, and Billy's is plain old vanilla.

Eating our ice cream as we're walking to the other end of the mall where the car is parked, Billy asks, "Which do you prefer, Haagan Dazs or Ben and Jerry's?"

Shrugging, I say, "Mom always buys the store-brand ice cream, but this is delicious, so I can't imagine Ben and Jerry's being any better."

We finish our ice cream sitting in the idling car; then, at Billy's insistence, I drive to a big trash container near where I parked, and we dump the plastic cups and spoons in there. I would have dumped them out the window in the parking lot.

At the house, Billy puts on his new belt; then we goof around playing a game on the computer. In the middle of the second game, Billy is so far ahead on points it's ridiculous. I'm saved by the bell when he gets a text from his mom. I take the opportunity to cancel out the game on the computer while Billy and his mom text back and forth a few times.

Finished, Billy tells me, "Mom and my old man wanted us to have Sunday dinner with them, but I said we already started a chicken dinner here. I figured you'd be uncomfortable eating with my family."

"And you figured correctly. Thanks."

He smiles and gets his arms around me, saying, "I know my cute boyfriend is a tiny bit socially challenged in certain situations, so I need to protect him."

I'm grinning, leaning against him as he ruffles my short hair, "Am I right?"

Omigod, it gives me a hard boner hearing Billy say things like that. I squeeze my arms around him, acting like I'm nine years old, muttering, " Yes, you're so right. Take care of me, Billy."

He laughs and hugs me, then sways me side to side the way he did last night when we danced together, and my heart just about bursts with love for him. We kiss slowly, a luscious lover's kiss that gets us all horned up and leads to much more energetic making out, hands all over one another. That leads to our pants coming down to our knees, and, with grunts and heavy breathing, Billy fucks me as I'm leaning over, supporting myself with both hands on the arm of the sofa.

With almost no lube left in my ass from this morning's messing around, followed by our later messing around, this time it doesn't go smoothly at first, hurting both Billy's boner and my anus. Persevering pays off, however, and soon it's, "Slap, slap, slap," and, "Um, um, um. Ah, ah, ah. Feels good, Billy."

He's holding onto my hips, pounding away, making breathy-grunting sounds as I'm being jostled so hard; I end up lying on the arm of the sofa, close my eyes to grovel in sexual pleasure. Thankfully, with all that going on, I still have enough sense to catch my streaking short stream of cum in my hand, squealing into the sofa cushion, then shake at the zipping aftereffects before sighing and doing one last shudder.

Already pulling his dick from my ass, Billy goes, "Holy crap, that was super hot. Holy shit, hahaha. Oh man, I liked that."

I murmur, "Yeah, wow," and push myself up off the arm of the sofa." Looking at Billy, he smiles, asking, "You okay?" I nod and show him my hand with a little pool of cum, my other hand pressed to my ass to catch drooling cum.

Billy goes, "Good, you caught your cum shot. My dick is sore, but I thought that was sexy hot."

On our way to the powder room, "It didn't hurt you too much, did it, babe?"

I go, "That depends on what you mean by too much. It didn't hurt as much as a root canal."

He nods, "That's good to hear. Have you ever had a root canal?"

Shaking my head, "No, I haven't, now that you mention it."

He laughs as we shuffle into the half bathroom, Billy holding both our pants up. I hold my hand with the cum under the faucet, and Billy turns on the water.

He's unrolling more toilet paper, mumbling, "No, seriously, Gary, did that hurt you?"

I'm like, "Nah, that scream you heard when you rammed your dick in was me screaming for joy," and we both laugh, bumping against one another.

Handing me the toilet paper pad, he says, "I'm going to try not doing that again, but you need to help by being less desirable, okay?"

Nodding, "Uh-huh, okay." He's smiling at me as he washes his limp penis, then he mutters, "Are we having fun, or what?"

Putting the toilet paper pad in my underpants, I pull them up, then my jeans, muttering, "One of us is."

He goes, "Hey!" and I lean against him, murmuring, "The most fun I've ever had by a factor of one hundred."

Walking into the kitchen, we wash our hands again. This time using the foaming disinfecting hand soap at the sink. I say, "You told your mom we're having chicken for dinner, and that is what we're having."

He nods, "Yeah, I saw the chicken breast in the refrigerator, but we hadn't started cooking yet. That was the lying part. It's only five o'clock, though, and that's too early for dinner, don't you think?"

I do, so we go back to the living room and turn on the TV, but can't find anything we want to watch.

Turning off the TV, Billy asks, "Do you want a cocktail?" I shrug, "Nah, not really, and I don't want to smoke a joint either."

He says, "Oh, huh, that's so weird. If I wanted to smoke a joint or drink a screwdriver, you'd do it too, wouldn't you?"

Grinning, I slide over on the sofa right against him, pick his left arm up and put it across my shoulders, then say, "Of course, I would. You're our leader and my loving boyfriend, so I do what you do."

Shaking his head a little, he mumbles, "My goodness, that puts a lot of heavy responsibility on my shoulders, which is a bit of a pain in my ass when I get right down to it," and he laughs, squeezing me against him.

We talk nonsensical, chuckling and snuggling, until Billy says, "Omigod, Gary. Can you believe how sickenly sappy we've become? We're out of 'effing control, bro. We need to get a grip!"

I rub his head, muttering, "No, we don't need to get an 'effing grip; we're doing sickenly sappy perfectly. No one could be more perfectly sickenly sappy than you and me."

Chuckling, he gets up, "I'm making a cocktail. Do you want one?" I snicker, "Of course I do," and get up to follow him into the kitchen.

We have just one cocktail as Billy grills the chicken breasts, and I make boxed macaroni and cheese. Yeah, it's far from gourmet mac and cheese with its processed dehydrated cheese, but I add milk as directed on the box, and we like it quite a bit. Also, we both like frozen Bird's Eye baby white and yellow kernel corn, so I cook that up and add a ton of butter, plus lots of salt.

We have ourselves a damn good Sunday dinner, except when I cut into the charred exterior of the chicken breast, it's pale pink inside. Looking at Billy, I'm like, "Shouldn't it be white all the way through?"

Billy says, "Did you see me Googling on my phone?" I shrug, "Yeah."

He goes, "I was Googling how to cook chicken, and I read where it's okay if the chicken is pale pink inside as long as the internal temperature is 165 degrees, and it is! I used your mom's meat thermometer and took the breast off the grill when it was 166 degrees. It's tender and juicy, right?"

I'm like, "Yeah, as long as I don't get trichinosis, it's delicious."

He smirks and shakes his head a little, muttering, "You might end up with a few tapeworms, but nothing major."

Snickering, I mutter, "Well, okay, then." It's actually the best chicken I've ever had. I'm going to tell Mom about this.

After dinner, we watch America's Funniest Home Videos on TV, laughing our balls off at the people falling in elaborate ways or a little kid blindfolded hitting a birthday pinata and missing it but connecting with daddy's nuts, or people hiding so they can jump out and scare the shit out of someone.

Then, we watch an old James Bond film on Showtime and get to bed at eleven o'clock. After a dreamy lovers' make-out, we do dreamy slow lovers' messing around with me on my back, my legs around Billy's waist. It's hot sex that lasts almost ten minutes before; with another embarrassing squeal, I climax into the washcloth Billy reminded me to take to bed for that eventuality.

Shivering with pleasure, Billy lying on me, my arms around him, we catch our breath, and he murmurs, "Are you going to miss sleeping with me tomorrow night?"

I go, "Yep, like pirates miss treasure and lovers miss pleasure."

He goes, "That much, huh? And how in the hell did you come up with that cornball rhyming thingamajig on the spur of the moment like that?"

He slides off me, and, sitting on the edge of the mattress, he takes off the condom as I sit up, "I don't know. It was pretty cool, though, don't you think?"

He's snickering, "Try not to say shit like that too often, alright?"

I go, "I don't know where it came from. It just popped into my head. How about I'm going to miss you like a "tick" misses a "tock," or a key misses a lock?" He goes, "Stop, please!"

We walk to the bathroom, Billy flushes the condom, and we wash up a little as he says, "I'm addicted to you, so I'm going to miss sleeping with you like a motherfucker."

Going back down the hall, I'm like, "That doesn't rhyme," and we both chuckle, get in bed and go to sleep snuggled together, quite pleased with ourselves.

Monday morning, we do roughhouse messing around, ending up sweaty with me shooting cum on the sheets again. Gasping, and sweaty, Billy says, "I love me some morning messing around, wow! What a great way to start the day."

He wraps the condom in Kleenex, and we stay in bed talking about the past few days, laughing and exaggerating the messing around we've done since Friday afternoon.

Billy goes, "Still, as much messing around as we did, it wasn't close to the amount we thought we'd do when living together at our apartment."

Shrugging, snuggling tighter against him, I mumble, "We did the perfect amount; that's what I think."

He smiles, muttering, "Almost," and he fucks me bareback for ten or twelve minutes before I shoot more cum on the sheets squealing with pleasure. A minute later, Billy almost makes a squealing sound himself when he blasts off.

We're a mess now as Billy lies on me, his sticky dick dragging along my leg, cum drooling out from my ass. Billy smiles, "Now, we've done the perfect amount of messing around, babe."

I mutter, "You're right again, babe."

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com

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