Invited

INVITED

Chapter 24

( New Messing around )

After directing Pat to my house, he parks at the curb, "Oh, you live in a duplex."

Getting out of the car, I mutter, "I guess. It's an attached house or something." Whatever!

Dammit, why did I get out of the car, though? I meant to stay in the car long enough to talk Pat out of coming inside with me. Yeah, but what excuse could I have given for him not coming in?

Pat's wearing my hat again and still copying Billy by putting his arm across my shoulders as we walk to the front door. He leaves his arm there as I unlock the door, and we go inside.

Pat heads us for the stairs, snickering and mumbling, "Don't you think it's crazy that I'm so weirdly interested in guys' bedrooms?"

I think he meant that as a joke, so I snicker, and he squeezes my shoulders and excitedly says, "I cannot believe my incredibly good luck to move to a new neighborhood where two gay boys like you and Billy live!"

He seems to be handling his grief about Leonardo joining the Coast Guard a lot better today. I spread my arms inside my bedroom, mumbling, "As you can see, there's nothing special in here."

Pat chuckles, "Well, you've got the same size bed as mine. I had a twin bed for years. Then when my sister was old enough to sleep in a bed, she got the twin; I got a double."

I nod, "Uh-huh. Ah, you've seen my bedroom, and I don't want to mess around in here, so let's have a Coke and maybe smoke a cigarette outside."

Sounding whiny, he goes, "Ooh, come on, Gary. Let me try out your bed with you. At least for a couple of minutes. Please! We're not going to do anything except make out a little. There's nothing wrong with gay friends doing that."

Jostling me with the arm around my shoulders, he goes, "Five minutes is all."

Making a face, I'm like, "Are you sure it's routine for gay friends who aren't boyfriends to make out?"

"Yes, why is that so hard to believe? Let me ask you this. Did you make out with Billy before you two were boyfriends?"

Nodding, "Well, yeah, but how would we ever become boyfriends if we didn't start messing around in the first place?"

Grinning, he mutters, "I rest my case," and guides me to the bed.

Lying on the bed, I can't help but chuckle, then mumble, "There's something wrong with that logic."

"Probably, but you can't honestly say you don't like making out with me, so why bother getting your brain all twisted around with logic? We're gay, so we need to take advantage of the good aspects of that situation because God knows there are negative aspects to it as well."

He's right; I mean the part about me enjoying making out with him. What young gay guy wouldn't want to do that with him? He's so attractive. Plus, it's flattering that he likes making out with me this much. Still, I feel guilty doing it. On the other hand, what's the 'effing harm?

Damn, Billy's always saying 'effing this, 'effing that, and now he's got me saying it all the time too.

Lying on my bed, Pat is on his elbow, looking down at me, grinning, then incongruously mumbling, "Let me feel your chest."

"What? Huh?"

He pushes his hand under my shirt and says, "You're hairless, huh? I knew you would be, and I like that in my boy."

"Jesus, Pat, I'm not your boy. How many times do I..."

He interrupts, grinning, then saying, "No, you're right. You're not my boy yet. Gregory, my sixteen-year-old boy in high school, who I told you about, was hairless like you. I wasn't, though. At sixteen, I already had hair on my chest. Then a couple of years later, I met Leonardo, who hated that I was hairy. He made me shave my chest and legs, then use Nair to keep myself hairless for him."

I'm looking at him, frowning in disbelief as he says, "I'll bet Billy's a hairy guy."

Shaking my head, "What, Billy? No, he's not hairy. We have twin hairless bodies and legs, or almost hairless legs."

Pat's narrow eyebrows go up, "Why did you say, twin?"

"Because he doesn't have hair on his chest or legs, and neither do I. We have the same twin hairless bodies. Almost hairless, anyway."

He goes, "That's wicked unusual. The man, Billy in your case, is usually hairy like a bear, so I assumed he was."

I mumble, "Get real! And Billy's not my man. Why do you keep saying that?"

He chuckles, "Yeah, he is your man, and he should be hairy like me, at least. I'm kind of disappointed that he's not."

Good! Maybe now Pat will stop making goo-goo eyes at Billy, idolizing him.

I say, "You're stuck on this hairy bullshit and, um, the man and boy thing. In both instances, Billy and I aren't like that. Sure, he's the guy/guy, and I'm the girl/guy, but we're not man and boy. We're nothing like that. Hell, he's only two years older than me. How could he be my man?"

He laughs out loud, "Omigod! Guy/guy and girl/guy? Is that what he told you?"

"No! It's what I call us because he's, um..." and Pat says, "Because he's your man."

Shaking my head, "No, he's the guy/guy." We both laugh at that, although I'm not sure why I'm laughing.

Pat murmurs, "Damn, you have the prettiest blue eyes. "

He changes subjects the way Billy does, but I'm happy to move on from the man/boy bullshit, so I goofily open my eyes as wide as I can. He snickers, then mutters, "Look at your long girlie eyelashes too. Sweet."

I mumble, "Gawd! You're embarrassing both of us."

With his hand still under my shirt, feeling my heartbeat, he slowly leans his head down and kisses me on the lips, his tongue then going inside to lick my pink tongue.

Short of breath, I take a big inhale through my nose and kiss him back. Then, just like on his bed earlier, I can't stop myself from making out with him. We do it for; I don't know how long, maybe ten minutes, his hand still on my bare chest, rubbing it now while he was rubbing between my legs with his other hand, quietly moaning with arousal.

Pat has a pleasant skin scent when he isn't wearing AXE body spray. It's different than Billy's scent but very nice. He smells like a guy. That's the best description I can come up with.

I move my head to the side when I feel like I might cum in my pants. He sighs, kisses my cheek, and murmurs, "I know, ha-ha, I almost came in my jockey shorts too. You're a fabulous make-out, Gary. I felt hot desire coming from you, turning me on like wildfire."

Staring at his face and big shiny green eyes contrasting sexily with his pale creamy/white complexion and his dark brown hair. Jesus!

I'm breathing deeply as his hand moves from my chest. He pushes it under my belt and takes hold of my boner, asking, "Can I jerk you off at least? Your cock is hard as steel."

It's unnerving to realize I didn't think to object when he did that. His hand felt good on my bare chest, and it felt even better wrapped around my boner. Feels really good.

Shaking my head, though, I mumble, "No! stop! You never keep your word! You said five minutes, and it's been much longer than that."

Taking his hand out, he rubbed back through my short hair, changing the topic again, "I'd love to see those blond curls you mentioned."

Keeping up with him, I'm shaking my head, grinning, and saying, "No, you wouldn't want to see my curls. Someone called my hair Shirley Temple hair."

He shrugs, "Who's Shirley Temple?"

"I don't know. A girl with a million curls, I suppose."

Pat says, "Yeah, whatever, I'd still like to see the curls. If I'm ever your boyfriend, as your man, I'm going to insist you don't get a haircut for a year."

I laugh, "Before I got this short haircut, I used to get a haircut every three or four months, but I never went a year without one."

He twists some hair at the front of my head between his thumb and forefinger, murmuring, "It's such a shiny, pretty blond color. You should be proud of it."

I make a face, muttering, "Proud of my hair color?"

He says, "Yeah. Hell, look at my blah-looking brown hair."

I say, "Well, I already told you I think your ponytail is cool, and Billy has brown hair too, so I like brown hair."

Gently kissing my lips again, he says, "I know you liked our making out, so let's do more of that now that the danger of blowing loads in our pants has passed."

There he goes again. Yep, Pat's like Billy in that he simply changes the subject from what he doesn't want to hear, then goes on with his agenda. In this case, his agenda is making out with me. He likes doing that as much as I like doing it with Billy. I still don't feel right about doing it with him, though.

Rolling away from him, I get off the bed, saying, "No more! You're right; I like making out with you. Most gay guys would because you're wicked cute, complimentary, and fun to be with, but I'm not so sure it's the right thing for me to do. And, yeah, I know what you said about gay friends and all, but still..."

He goes, "Oh, boo to that, but thanks for the compliments. Our making out is harmless fun, so please keep an open mind about it. Will you do that for me?"

Standing next to his bed, nodding, I mumble, "Okay, but what if I ask Billy about kissing with gay friends?"

Getting off the bed, chuckling, he says, "Maybe it'd be best if you didn't do that. It's between you and me, Gary. We won't do it if you don't want to."

Walking over to me, he grins again and puts his hands on my shoulders, murmuring, "I think you'll eventually come to the correct conclusion on your own," and he kisses me.

Damn, he's a good kisser, so, smiling, we chuckle as we kiss back and forth for a minute or so, then he ruffles my hair again, saying, "Ha, I stupidly thought I'd fall for Billy, but it's you I find who is hard to resist. You're so, um, innocent or something. So pure."

Putting my hat on, I jokingly say, "I'm far from pure, but I am a lot of fun," and we both snicker at that.

He says, "Okay, I'm reluctantly leaving you to your four o'clock, man." Then, looking at his watch, he says, "It's only three-thirty, though. Hey, if you want me to hang around a little while longer, we could..."

I interrupt, "No, that's alright; I need to wash up and straighten up the bedspread."

He laughs at that, and as we go downstairs, he says, "I liked your bedroom a lot, Gary, and hope to see it again soon."

I shrug noncommittally as he puts his coat on. Then, I walk outside with him, wanting to part on good terms, so I say something complimentary. "You smell nice, Pat." He mumbles, "What? Ha-ha, so do you."

Huh, it's surprising how much more comfortable I am with Pat now. I'm not in the awkward condition I was in earlier. It must be that Pat has somehow made me relax, plus I got my hat back.

Outside, stopping on the top step, Pat on the driveway looking up at me, and damn, he's so attractive. He says, "It was awesome hanging out with you today. I'll text you tomorrow. Maybe we can hit some more golf balls or something."

Nodding, I mumble, "Yeah, that'd be great." Damn, I didn't mean to sound so eager.

He stops, "Um, hey, how about tonight? Could we..."

I go, "I don't know, um, Billy might..."

We're not letting each other finish sentences, and it's his turn to cut me off, saying, "But, he said he's studying tonight. I'll call you after dinner, okay? I think I can get my Mom's car. Yeah, I'll call you," and he gets in his car.

I wave, thinking, wow, if I wasn't in love with Billy... Pat gives me a grin and a wave as he drives away.

Groping my junk going back inside, I think maybe he's right that innocently making out as gay friends is an okay, fun thing to do. I know one thing: I never had this many friends before I was gay.

After putting my hat in the closet and straightening the bedspread in the bedroom, I decide I have time for a quick shower. Yeah, Pat's sexy scent is probably on me. Oh shit, I said sexy scent when earlier I only considered it nice. Well, it's nice and sexy.

Showering, I have a crazy thought, wondering how big Pat's dick is. Then, another crazy thought about how his so-called hairy chest and legs would feel. He's very clean and young-looking, so it's hard to imagine him having a really hairy chest. I think back to feeling Chicky's hairy chest, but that doesn't work as a comparison because Chicky was revolting.

Showering, I admit Pat Summers is far from revolting. I admire how casually confident he was this afternoon. When Billy and I met him, Pat was almost shy, then this afternoon, he was anything but shy. He has that mysterious something that Billy has too. It's a kind of confidence or something that my friend George never had. I gravitate to guys who take over a situation, and Pat is like Billy in that regard.

Sliding back the shower curtain, I get out of the tub, shaking my head to clear it. Drying myself, I say aloud, "Pat can't compare to Billy Underwood!"

Hmm, I think he's copying Billy, though, imitating Billy to get me to make out with him. But if he is, so what? It's flattering, and he's still the cutest guy I've ever made out with, and that's not putting George or Billy down at all. None of us had anything to do with the looks we were born with. And, anyway, maybe George is closer to pretty than cute. Cute guys are rare!

Drying myself, I try thinking of all the guys I've known, evaluating each guy's cuteness, and realize hardly anybody I've ever known is especially cute. They're all average-looking, some below average, and then there are, um, you could say guys above average like George, Pat, and me. Plus, that guy, Mark, at work, and Billy almost qualifies because of his cute profile. Other than that, though, none of the guys I saw in school all those years were cute. As I said, cute guys are rare.

And it's surprising how deeply I'm into guys now. I never thought much about them nine months ago. Certainly not in the way I'm into them now. I have Billy to thank for opening my eyes about that and for many other things as well. Ha-ha, I guess Billy is my main man, except I don't feel like his boy. And what's that even mean?

After spending some time on my hair, I get dressed and go downstairs to look out the window, anxious to see Billy. I'm going to ask him if he thinks he's my man. And I'm super psyched he changed his mind about coming over this afternoon.

Four o'clock comes and goes, though.

By four-fifteen, I'm considering trying to work up the nerve to text Billy. Texting him is something I've never done. I'm still trying to talk myself into texting him when I see the SUV coming down the street. Gee, that's a relief! My finger was shaking, contemplating texting him for the first time. I couldn't think of words that would ask where he was without sounding demanding.

Opening the front door as Billy's parking at the curb, he sees me, and as he's getting out, he smiles his smile, yelling, "Bet you thought I wasn't coming."

Shaking my head, I yell, "I never gave that a thought. You wouldn't disappoint me."

Stepping back from the door to let him come in, he smiles again and says, "Sorry I'm late. I gave this cool dude I met in class a ride home and then got lost coming back through Philly. It was a way I wasn't familiar with. Do you have a cold soda? I'm parched."

Walking into the kitchen, I ask, "When was your last class finished?"

As I get two Cokes from the refrigerator, he mumbles, "Um, today I was done at two; why?"

Handing a Coke to him, "Um, two o'clock, huh? That's over two hours ago, so..."

He takes three big swallows, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, "Yeah, well, I hung out with Ron for a while at his house before heading back."

Nodding, "Oh, Ron is your new friend's name. Um, what did you guys do? Play computer games or something."

He looks irritated, mumbling, "Why the third degree? Well, never mind that; don't pout. If you must know, Ron and I are both trivia nuts. He's into pop culture, and I'm into more of, um, science and odd historical facts. We were having fun exchanging our knowledge. Finally, I've met someone who appreciates that kind of shit."

That makes sense. And I guess I should be more attentive to his spouting out the odd information. Billy says, "Let's have a cigarette. Ron doesn't smoke, and I'm dying for one."

On the back porch, we sit on the bench against the railing where Pat and I sat. As I stare at him, Billy finishes his soda, puts the can down, and lights a Marlboro. He takes a drag and, as he exhales, he holds the filter to my lips. After taking a drag, I mumble, "You didn't lip the filter."

Laughing, he gets his spit on the filter, then takes a drag as I ask, "So, Ron's a friend from your second semester, huh? Um, is he gay by any chance?"

Billy gives me a look of annoyance, then mutters, "Yes, he's gay. Jesus!"

Trying not to, but I frown anyway, and he sighs, then says, "Listen, there's no need for you to get jealous. Ron's into his own relationship; he's not interested in me like that."

Shrugging, I go, "Um, did you kiss this gay pop culture guy?"

Billy goes, "What? NO! What the hell, Gary? What a crazy question."

"It's not crazy! As you know, that's one of the good things about being gay. You can do an activity with a gay friend and then make out a little, but not as boyfriends. Just an innocent make-out with a gay friend for the fun of it. Straight guys can't do that."

Exhaling smoke, he mutters, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Have you been reading this nonsense online or something?"

I'm like, "No, it's just something that came to mind because of your new friend, Ron. In your vast experience, though, don't gay friends sometimes make out together just for the hell of it?"

He shrugs, "I suppose, but you can't prove it by me. I've had no experience like that. On the other hand, I've never had a boyfriend, um, before now, so..."

Watching Billy trying to blow a smoke ring, I'm like, "Anyway, I'll bet there are straight friends who would like to mess around a little with a best friend, but they're too cowardly to follow up on their desires."

Billy drags off his cigarette, then says, "Well, I don't know about that either, but probably you're right. The thing is, though, you've always given me too much credit for knowing the gay scene. I don't know it per se. I mean, yeah, I've messed around a lot more than you have, but I'm not in a clique of gay friends or anything like that."

I nod, "I know that; I was just wondering, that's all."

He says, "Maybe when we're in our apartment, we can hook up with a group of gay guys. So far, I've only known isolated guys who wanted to mess around, but we were never real friends. We were guys who messed around together, then told one another to get lost."

Then he grins, adding, "That is until you fell in love with me. Oh boy, everything looked different to me after that."

Well, I'm not learning much here. Pat's a more sophisticated gay guy than Billy, certainly more so than me.

Flicking his cigarette butt over the railing, Billy chuckles, "Okay, here's one of the historical facts I told Ron. It goes back to the Civil War. A Union general named Fighting Joe Hooker got a severe concussion when a Rebel canon ball hit the porch he was on, and a column of the porch landed on his head. He was unconscious for a few days, and when he woke up, he wasn't as eager to be fighting Joe Hooker anymore. Instead, his headquarters became known for the steady stream of prostitutes who came and went night and day. These women became known as Hooker's girls and eventually as hookers. That is the legacy of Fighting Joe Hooker to this day."

Making a face, I go, "Really? Calling prostitutes hookers goes back to the Civil War? Did Ron know that?"

Billy goes, "No, he didn't have a clue about that. But then, I didn't know what the most popular children's toy of all time is, but Ron does."

I go, "What is it?"

"What else? Barbie dolls."

Shrugging, "I think your random facts are more interesting than Ron's."

He smiles, "Of course you do," and he hugs my shoulders, adding, "Let's get in your bed."

My soda is half full, so I ask, "Do you want the rest of my Coke?"

He takes the can and gulps the rest down. In the kitchen, I mumble, "I was wondering, um, do you, ah, think of yourself as my man and me as your boy?"

Billy laughs, "What is with you today? Another crazy question."

Shrugging again, which is one of my favorite things to do, I say, "A couple of times, you've told me: that's my boy."

Rolling his eyes, he goes, "It's just an 'effing figure of speech thing. No, I do not think I'm your man. We're boyfriends, I guess. Christ, I surprise myself every time I say that because not too long ago, having a gay boyfriend wasn't remotely on my radar screen. I'm still not sure we qualify as boyfriends, but to please you, ya know..."

Going upstairs, Billy's hand resting on my shoulder, I say, "Well, have you ever heard of boyfriends where one was the man and the other the so-called boy?"

Smiling, he moves his hand to squeeze the back of my neck, giving me chills, "Do you mean one is the guy/guy and the other the girl/guy? If so, my answer is still no. I've never heard of that. It was you who made those silly designations up, although, strangely, I kind of know what you mean."

As we take our shirts off in my bedroom, I say, "Oh, good, you know what I mean. Um, so, what do I mean?"

Laughing, he goes, "You're the one who told me this. You mean I'm our leader, and you're the passive boyfriend. Ha-ha! That is so excellent for my ego."

I mutter, "Oh, yeah. That's right."

Yeah, well, I can see how Pat could twist it around to a man/boy arrangement, but Billy sees it differently. Ya know, Pat called me a novice in the gay world, which I am, and if he gets to know Billy better, he'll call him one too.

When we're naked as the day we were born, Billy says, "Do you have a condom?" I get one out of the bedside table drawer and plop it on top. Billy wiggles his finger at me, and, grinning, I walk to him. He wraps his arms around me, capturing my arms at my sides, "Umm, you smell and feel nice, Gary. You just took a shower to be fresh for me, didn't you?"

I go, "Uh-huh," and he murmurs, "That's my boy," then snickers because we just talked about him saying that. I rub my cheek against his cheek. It's a tiny bit scratchy from his sparse whiskers.

I murmur, "Billy, actually, I kind of like thinking of you as my man, but I don't like being the boy. Do you know what I mean?"

He squeezes me tightly, "Not completely, no, and would you please drop this dumb topic? If we're actually boyfriends, we're equal boyfriends. Me, hee-hee, being a bit more equal."

We kiss, then I murmur, "Okay, that works for me," and we awkwardly walk like this, my arms at my side, his arms around me to the bed. Falling over on it with Billy giggling, "You're a nutcase today and at times amazingly immature, but I find you an irresistible messing around buddy anyhow."

With Billy on top of me, our privates squished together; we get into a hot make-out, soon springing hard as rock boners. Billy murmurs, "Earlier, I was thinking about doing this with you; can you believe I was actually thinking about it?"

He reaches for the condom as I pull my feet back, my knees up and spread. Taking a gulping deep breath, I watch him tear open the condom packet as I mutter, "Oh, I'm glad you were thinking about doing this with me. I think about it all the 'effing time."

He mutters, "What?" and rolls the condom on his hard dick that's sticking straight out from his pubic patch. Staring into my eyes, "What'd you say?"

Shaking my head, "Never mind," he puts a hand behind my thighs, pushing them back, raising my asshole. My eyes drop to his condom-covered boner, then back to Billy's bright, two-tone brown eyes.

Looking intense, he lines up his stiff boner. Then the cool, slippery nipple at the end of the condom hits the center of my anus, making me shudder a little. Billy pushes his boner's head against my asshole, anticipation growing even stronger in me. Encouraging him, I nod my head, and he puts more pressure. As my anus starts opening up, my eyes open wide. Then, with a, Ooh!" from me, the head tightly passes by my sphincter muscles and nestles inside my body--very little pain.

Billy's eyes close as he moans, "Mmm, feels so 'effing good."

Taking his hands off my legs, he leans forward, supporting himself with a hand on either side of my chest, then slowly pushes his hard sex organ up inside me; each inch it travels feels better and better until I make a low moan of sexual pleasure.

With a breathy sigh, Billy's tightly against my buttocks, then humps against my ass a few times before withdrawing his pleasure-giving five inches of hard penis, then pushing it back in. I moan again, arching my back as a billion pleasure vibrations flood over me.

Two, three, four, five slow penetrations, each one setting off higher levels of pleasure inside me, my dick standing straight up, throbbing and drooling precum.

Billy moans, "Umm, oh, fuck," and begins thrusting faster and faster, harder and harder, as I squirm on the bed with an arm around each of my legs, pulling them back until my knees touch my chest. "Slap, slap, slap!" Billy grunted with each thrust, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, his eyes now tightly closed, "Slap, slap, slap."

Taking his right hand off the bed, he wraps it around my boner and strokes it with each thrust of his hips, and in ten seconds, we both blow our loads, me screeching a little as I'm flouncing on the bedspread, brilliant lights sparking in my head, the sky on fire.

Billy kept thrusting for thirty seconds after I climaxed, me scrunching my face at the almost painful pleasure of a lifetime. The shuddering pleasure leaves me weak when it fades away too quickly.

Billy stops thrusting. We breathe deeply; pulling his dick out, he sits back, blinking his eyes. "Holy shit, Gary, that was 'effing terrific, huh? Omigod!"

Grinning, I mutter, "My man," and he laughs, then pulls the condom off and holds it up as he's done before, saying, "Goddamn, I thought I exploded a pint of cum; not this little ball of it."

Then, with his eyebrows up and a grin on his face, he points at where my cum shot landed.

I go, "Yeah, I know, it went straight up and felt gooey when it came down to land on my neck." I reach over to grab some Kleenex as Billy snickers.

Wiping my neck, I say, "That was some serious messing around. When you grabbed my boner, I climaxed in two seconds."

Getting off the bed, he mumbles, "No, it was more like ten seconds but blowing my load with your dick in my hand, that was so 'effing hot! Fabulous messing around."

I'm still wiping my neck as we walk down the hall to the bathroom with Billy holding the condom out, saying, "Was that our hottest messing around yet?"

"It was nuclear hot, but every time we do it, I think it's our hottest. As I said, you're my man, Billy!"

He goes, "Yeah, I suppose you're right about that. Heh-heh."

He ruffles my hair, muttering, "You did okay too, boy." We chuckle, both quite pleased with ourselves, happily contented and temporarily sexually satisfied as well. Wow, it feels good!

Billy flushes the condom, then uses toilet paper to wipe lubricant off my ass, mumbling, "I gotta take care of my boy."

I go, "Okay, okay. I'm not mentioning that man/boy 'effing crap anymore. You're my guy/guy."

He shakes his head, "Oh, I thought you said I'm your boyfriend."

I shrug, "Well, yeah, you're that whether you want to embrace the concept or not."

Washing our hands, he mutters, "I probably am, I suppose. Why does everything need a title, though?"

With his arm across my shoulders, walking back to the bedroom, Billy says, "Forget all that. Let's get under the covers in bed again. I don't need to be home as early as I thought."

"Oh, good, but we need to keep in mind that my Mom will be home around five-thirty."

In bed, under the covers, we automatically assume our usual positions of me snuggling against Billy, his arm around the back of my neck. We don't even need to think about it; we just do it... it's our thing.

Billy tells me about settling in with his new classes for this semester and how, out of the blue, this guy Ron just started talking to him about his boyfriend.

He goes on, saying, "First of all, can you believe he assumed I was someone he could talk to about his boyfriend situation? Then, what really surprised the 'effing hell out of me even more, was me telling him about you! I mean, not too many months ago, I would have told him to tell his boyfriend story to someone who gives a shit, and here I was bragging about my messing around, bud, er, my boyfriend."

Eating this up. "What did you tell him about me?"

He laughs, "I told him you seduced me or hypnotized me into falling for you."

I'm like, "No, you didn't tell him that! Did you mention how 'effing cute I am?"

Laughing again, he goes, "I may have mentioned that, but don't you think it was weird for someone I just met to tell me about his boyfriend? I mean, he didn't know I was gay, um, assuming I am. Finally, I got around to asking him why he did that, and he said it was because of our eye contact when we were walking into class. He said I smiled conspiratorially at him."

"Well, what did you say about that?"

"I told him I smiled at everybody, and we had a laugh about his misinterpretation. He said he's surprised my smile doesn't attract gay guys daily. What do you think about that?"

Snuggling tighter against him, I say, "I agree with him! I told you before how I can't believe those fools you messed around with in high school didn't fall in love with you the way I did."

Then, probably self-conscious about the direction of our conversation, Billy changes the subject and talks about how maybe we shouldn't take every class together because the separation of a couple of hours a day might make getting back together something to get excited about."

I emphatically said, "No, that idea sucks! I want to be in every class with you. When you need to take a piss, I will too. When you want a smoke, so will I."

He chuckles, "Me and my shadow, huh?"

I mumble, "I wish we could share clothes too. I mean, the same ones. We'd buy big jeans we could both fit into and big shirts..."

Laughing, he shakes his head, "Stop! Jesus, only you could think up something like that. Have I mentioned that I like the way you idolize and love me?"

"Yes, you have. It's good for your ego, right?"

"It's good for something, you cute motherfucker you," and we kiss, rubbing our hands over each other's body until breathing deeply. Billy gets me on my side, facing away from him, then slides his boner up my ass, assisted by the leftover lubricant from the earlier condom usage.

Nothing feels this good as I pull my knees up to almost my chest and bite my lip to keep from moaning embarrassingly loud. With his arm over my side, his hand on my heart, he does hard, fast humping, his iron boner sliding tightly back and forth inside me. The pleasure is impossible to adequately describe.

Grunting, he gets me on my stomach now, me pushing my ass up, and the slapping sounds can be heard, "Slap, slap, slap." They join the party, adding to the thrill of it all.

I'm biting the pillow with scintillating pleasure vibrations shivering all over me, my boner flat against my belly, leaking precum.

Billy grunts, "Um, um, um," driving his hard cock in and out as if he's on a mission from God. My climax comes roaring up on me as I try lifting my hips higher. Then gasping and squealing cum gushes up from my hard balls to sizzle out my bone-hard penis, shooting all warm and creamy up my body.

Shaking from the enormous pleasure sensation of climax, I drop onto my stomach, shudder, and quietly moan, "Mmm," feeling extra wetness inside me from Billy blowing his load in my rectum. He drops onto my back, gasping, his dick still inside me, his warm moist breath against the back of my neck, then he's still.

Our chests heaving for a bit, then, grinning, I mumble, "When you open your textbook, I open mine. When you take notes, I take notes..."

He chuckles, "My 'effing shadow," and rolls off me, his dick coming out of my ass to drag sloppily across my left butt cheek.

He puts his face against the side of my head, "Did you make a mess on your bed again, you naughty boy?"

"Yes, daddy," and he smacks my bare ass, "Don't call me that," then he puts his arm across my back, mumbling, "Ron showed me a picture of Charles, his boyfriend. You're approximately six hundred times cuter than Charles."

Grinning into the pillow, I mutter, "You're good for my ego," and he smacks my ass again, "Let's clean up."

He gets off the bed, mumbling, "C'mon, boy, do what you're told."

Getting off the bed, I'm like, "I should never have mentioned that man/boy bullshit," then catching up with him in the hall, "I mean, as I said a while ago, you being the man part is alright; it's good, but I don't like the boy part."

Holding hands with me, he smiles, "Yeah, you did mention that, but once it's out, you can't put the toothpaste back in the tube."

I go, "Why would anyone want to put the toothpaste back in the tube?"

Snickering, he mutters, "That means once you've brought something up... um, never mind."

We clean up in the bathroom, get dressed, put our coats on and sit on the back porch again, talking about him staying in tonight and tomorrow night to study.

"But, Gary, don't start pouting. I'll try to get over here in the afternoon for an hour or so after class if your mom is still working the afternoon shift at Weis Market."

As he's lighting a cigarette, I'm like, "that's great! And I don't 'effing pout!"

He gives me a smirking look, and I ask, "Are you giving a ride home to that trivia guy tomorrow?"

Nodding, he takes a drag off the cigarette, then says, "Yes, his car is at the dealer's getting a new exhaust system or exhaust pipe or something. That's what friends do; they help each other out when they can."

Leaning against him, "I know that! Um, but when is his car getting fixed?"

He makes a face, "Are you jealous?"

I shrug, "No, just curious."

Holding the cigarette to my lips, he goes, "His car will be ready in a day or two, and he's working on getting his motorcycle back on the road as well. Motorcycles are so cool."

When I shrug at that, he says, "Anyway, as I've told you before, you and I are going to be sociable guys when we get the apartment. It's okay for you or me to make other friends, so get used to that And, hell, you've already got that friend, whatshisname from Weis Market, and now we've met Pat, who seems like an okay guy. That's just a start, though. You can't be jealous every time I talk to a new guy."

I say, "How many times do I need to tell you that I'm not jealous? I already told you that two or three times. Plus, I have another friend too. He's Dave Summerset. We play golf and go to the movies sometimes. I'm as sociable as you."

He smiles, "No, you're not, but you are cuter," and I mutter, "Thanks."

He goes, "Anyway, I know Dave too. He plays basketball at the high school, but I didn't know you two were friends. I'm wicked jealous of that," and he again smirks at me.

I go, "You're not jealous; you're my man, and you know your boy wouldn't dare to mess around on you."

He shrugs, "I don't know about that, but if you want to mess around, go for it, although I don't want to hear about it."

"I'm not messing around the way we do mess around."

Shrugging again, he mutters, "Whatever; as I said once before, we're not married. We're only boyfriends because that's what you say we are."

I go, "We're boyfriends for life."

He snickers and hugs my shoulders, rocking us, mumbling, "For life, huh? That's quite a while." Then, incongruously, he tells me, "Did you know Rough Eye Rockfish can live for 250 years?"

"Obviously, I didn't know that."

Grinning, Billy slides off the bench, stretching, then muttering, "It's already five-fifteen, Gary, and, um, I don't want to do the 'Hello Mrs. Wallingford, how are you today?' routine, so I'm taking off now."

I go, "She likes you."

Walking inside, he smiles, "With your mom here, I'm worried you might try crawling inside my jeans or holding onto me so I wouldn't leave, and that would be embarrassing for all three of us."

Grinning, I exaggeratingly hold onto him, "Don't leave, Billy."

He chuckles and kisses me, "I'll call you tomorrow after class or text you if I can come over."

I'm like, "Don't get too fond of this Ron guy."

Billy grins, pats my cheek, and we both walk out the front door. "See ya, Billy!"

He waves and gets in his Mom's SUV, then drives away. My heart goes thump, thump, thump with love for him.

Back in my bedroom, after wiping at the cum on the bottom sheet, then making the bed up as best I can, I'm lying on the bedspread dreaming about when Billy and I are living together.

God, I can see him in my head, every feature of his face and body, as plain as if he were here. This afternoon we messed around with some awesome making out and then messed around again, fucking twice. If he could come over tonight, I think the number one thing I'd want to do is suck his dick until he climaxes in my mouth.

After dinner, I'm moping around in my room, upset about not seeing my man tonight. It's the first night in quite a while that I won't see him, and it feels strange. Why does he need to be so conscientious about studying?

When my cell phone rings, I immediately think, oh, it's Pat. I forgot that he said he'd call. Looking at the caller ID, it's Pat, alright. "Hi, Pat, um, wassup?"

He says, "Hi, Gary. I thought I could use Mom's car tonight, but I can't. Dad's at his new office in town sucking in with his new boss, and Mom took my sister to see some dumb movie."

Relieved, I mumble, "Oh, that's too bad," and he goes, "Don't sound so disappointed. We can still hang out. Nobody is here, so can you use your mom's car and drive over? We can watch some YouTube porn videos together and stuff. Leonardo and I did that a lot, and, you know, do whatever else we wanted to do. As I said, I'm home alone."

Oh, right! All I need is for Billy to see my Mom's car parked across the street from his house. I'm like, "Drive my Mom's car over there? You must be joking!"

He snickers, "Yeah, I am, ha-ha, but you could walk over here. I'd give you a ride home after the movie Mom and Jena are at."

"You want me to walk six blocks on this freezing February night so you can make out with me? Is that it?"

He goes, "Yeah, that is pretty much it, but don't forget that I'll be driving you home. Come on, Gary! No, I won't make out if you don't want to. We can just hang out and be friends. I'm lonely, and I like you."

Making a face, I go, "Alright, I'll come over if you promise we won't be making out."

Sounding excited, he says, "Great! Thanks! We won't if you don't want to. Thanks, Gary! I know we're going to be great friends."

"Okay, I'll see you in a half hour or so."

"You're awesome!"

Clicking off the call and making another face, I say aloud, "Well, Billy said we want to be making friends, and I need to be more sociable, like him."

Biting a knuckle on my forefinger, I frown at myself in the mirror over the bureau. Am I doing the right thing, though? I sidestep that, deciding I need to comb my hair and change my shirt. First, though, I brush my teeth.

Putting on my puffer coat, I tell Mom, "A new guy moved in across the street from Billy, and we're going to hang out a while."

Mom goes, "Do you need to use the car?"

"No, um, I'll walk. I need the exercise."

Dad says, "Can I believe my ears? Back in my day, I..."

Interrupting him, I grin, saying, "Yes, Dad, you walked ten miles uphill both ways to grade school."

He chuckles, "Don't get run over, son. Look both ways when you're crossing the street."

Zipping up my coat, I mumble, "Sure, but is it okay to run with scissors?"

Outside, it's not as cold as I expected. With my hands in my pocket, I start a brisk walk while remembering walking these same six blocks to see Billy months ago. I'm not an idiot, by the way. Of course, I know Pat thinks he's going to get me to make out with him, and as much as I'd like to do that, I'm not going to. I'm on a friendship mission to keep a friend company and, at the same time, prove to myself I have good-intentioned willpower to avoid Pat's eagerness to make out.

It hasn't even been twenty minutes since talking with Pat, and I'm already ringing his doorbell while looking across the street at Billy's house. So close, yet so far.

I expected Pat would be anxious that I came and opened the door immediately, but he didn't. Standing here in the cold, I'm losing the body heat from my brisk walk. Ringing the bell again, I hear, "I'm coming already! Jesus!"

Pat opens the door, "Sorry to keep you waiting out there, Gary, but it hasn't been nearly a half hour. Did you run here?"

Walking inside, I shake my head, "No, I didn't run."

Pat has on khakis, and that's it. He's barefoot and shirtless, his hair soaking wet. "I'd just gotten out of the shower when I heard the doorbell. You're fast, boy."

I mumble, "I'm not your boy."

"I didn't mean it like that. Come on upstairs so I can finish drying and then put some clothes on."

His wet hair hangs around his head at the same length, almost touching his shoulders, looking like a girl's hairdo. Yeah, he does have hair on his chest, as he said, but not in a gross way, and not a lot of it. It's scraggly hair and only on his sternum. That asshole Chicky had 'effing hair going down to his stomach and some on his shoulders. Gross!

Following him upstairs, I have a goofy thought that Pat has as cute an ass as Billy's. Looking over his shoulder, he grins and says, "I was sure I had enough time for a shower, but it seems you couldn't wait to get here."

I have nothing to say to that as I notice his back is still wet from the shower, but he doesn't have any hair there, so that's good. I mean, not that I'd especially care if he did. Why would I care?

I stand at the bathroom door watching Pat dry his chest and back, then his hair; although his hair is so thick, it doesn't get very dry from using the towel.

He grins again, mumbling, "I'm sorry about this," then gets a hairdryer going. Why can't someone invent a hair dryer that doesn't sound like a vacuum cleaner or a power mower?

Wow, Pat has a nice body. He's slim but with good muscle definition, especially his biceps. He looks strong!

When his hair is dry, he says, "Would you give me a hand, please," and he uses both hands to pull back his long hair. Nodding at a fancy rubber band on the sink counter, "Put that elastic around my ponytail. It's a bitch holding this hair back with one hand, blindly putting the elastic on myself."

I get the elastic band and, holding all the hair together, slip the elastic on. Pat mutters, "Thanks," and gets the elastic closer to his head. Smiling, he goes, "Good, that's done."

His hair was soft. He looks cool, and I self-consciously rub up the back of my head, feeling my bristly short hair.

Grinning, Pat touches my cheek, "You are so fucking cute!"

I mutter, "Oh, please, Pat..."

I follow him down the short hall to his bedroom, then watch him put on a polo shirt. As he's putting socks on, he says, "There's college basketball on TV. Villanova/St. Joe's. Should we watch the game? Um, I've got beer if you want one."

So, I'm wrong, and he isn't going to try making out with me after all. Huh!

I mutter, "Sure, or we could watch some porn videos." Then I immediately say, "Just joking!"

Christ, can I 'effing believe I said that?

He laughs, "On the phone earlier, I was kidding about that too, but whatever you want to do is fine with me."

Not really wanting a beer, but Pat opened two bottles of Bud, so I took one. He says, "We definitely can't smoke in the house, but we can have a cigarette on the back deck when you want one."

I shrug, "Nah, that's okay. I don't smoke much, just when, um..." and he interrupts, "Just when your man wants to smoke, right? I was like that with Leonardo; then I got hooked on the habit on my own."

We sit on the sofa in front of a big TV screen that's hanging on the wall. Pat uses the remote to get the game on the TV, kicks off his sneakers, and puts his feet on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Make yourself comfortable, Gary," so I do the same, putting my socking feet next to his, and he puts his arm across my shoulders, pulling me next to him, "Thanks for keeping me company tonight, buddy," then he kisses the side of my forehead.

Okay, that isn't making out.

I tell him, "Just about a year ago, a friend of mine, Dave Summerset, and I was at the Palestra for a St. Joe's/Penn game. Great atmosphere in the Palestra."

The beer is going down okay, so we have another one; then, at halftime, Pat gets us a bowl of popcorn to eat with our third beer. With the bowl in my lap, Pat's arm snuggly around me, we watch the basketball game, drink beer and eat the popcorn without talking. Billy could never go this long without talking unless he was smoking pot.

St. Joe's is way ahead in the game, so Pat clicks off the TV and puts the empty popcorn bowl on the coffee table. Sitting back, I'm comfortably leaning against him. Without saying anything, he nuzzles his face against mine, and we begin making out. It was the weirdest thing the way he did that, and I'm not blaming him because I was a willing and active participant.

I also didn't object when he pulled me onto his lap, my knees on either side of him, his arms around my neck, my eyes closed, me moaning quietly, kissing and licking jointly with him. Our boned-up dicks poked out the front of our pants, my face hot with sexual arousal until he quietly said, "Come on, Gary, we'll get in my bed now."

We get up and, with his arm around my neck, pulling my head against his, in our socks, we go upstairs to his bedroom. He murmurs, "Get undressed; I'll get us a condom."

Squeezing my hard dick, I can't think straight. Pat pulls out a bureau drawer and says over his shoulder, "I don't know how big Billy is, but I'm likely a lot bigger. Don't worry, though; I'll take it real slow and easy for you in the early going. It'll be a bit painful for you at first, but I expect you to bare with it, okay?"

Muttering, "Uh-huh," I pulled my shirt off, holding it now as Pat showed me an unfamiliar condom packet, saying, "I've only got two left, so would you show me around town tomorrow? I need to know where a drug store or someplace is where I can buy some of these."

Nodding, in a trance, I mumble, Sure," and he comes over, smiling, "I haven't topped lately; well, I never did when Leonardo and I were together, but I got lucky with a guy the week before we moved and discovered I've still got it, Ha-ha, topping's like riding a bicycle, you never forget how."

He undresses down to his underpants. Standing here, not moving, I glance at the huge bulge in his jockey shorts as he murmurs, "I can hardly wait to do this with you. You seemed psyched for it too," and he unbuckles my pants, adding, "Ha-ha, you want me to undress you, huh? Um, I lost my make-out boner, Gary, so you'll need to suck a boner on me, but it won't take long. Just imagining your lips on my cock is almost enough to get me hard."

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com

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