Invited

Chapter 30

( Forbidden Fruit )

After lunch, I again got into what's become a familiar trance-like frame of mind working the DL2000 machine. It's the repetitiveness inherent in this nearly mindless work while, at the same time, a part of my brain does need to be alert enough that I don't put my fingers in the wrong place and get them cut off. Admittedly, that doesn't requires much brain power, but enough that I can't totally daydream a hundred percent of the time.

I do spend some time thinking about Mark Jones, my redheaded, extremely good-looking lunch partner. He's either a colossal tease, or he's gay and serious about me being his boyfriend. I'm leaning heavily toward him being a huge tease, although he did hint about the boyfriend's possibility again today.

Yeah, but that's what a big tease would do, right; be consistently a big tease?

Well, teasing or not, Mark is probably assuming I'm gay, or he wouldn't be talking about guys being boyfriends. No one prior to Billy ever thought I might be gay, or at least, no one's ever mentioned it to me. Well, there was that one guy from high school who I met with George at the LGBTQ club party we went to last summer. I didn't think I knew the gay guy, but he said we knew one another and claimed in eleventh grade; he almost said something to me about joining the LGBTQ club. Wow, that would have blown my mind back then.

Anyway, I'm finished my second day of work and on the train going to the 69th Street Station, where I'll catch a bus home. Billy's currently with that toad, Ron-something, probably at his parent's house in the Poconos. If so, I wonder what they're doing.

Thinking about that, I get a startling painful stab of jealousy that burns my heart like acid reflux. Well, I've never had acid reflux, but I'll bet it feels like the stabbing pain of a heart on fire. Wow, that green monster, jealousy, is a monumental bitch!

I experienced jealousy's negative power only once before. It was when Billy and I first met Pat Summers, and Pat was focused on Billy. It was as if he was sucking up to Billy and trying to edge me out of the picture. Then, when Pat concentrated on me, the jealous fire went out. Now, this Ron asshole has ignited it in me again.

Standing in line for the bus, I'm thinking about how that Ron-asshole popped into the picture just when things were beginning to really go well for Billy and me. I'm muttering about that when someone taps my shoulder. I snap my head around and see a small woman with large teeth who says, "The line is now moving, sonny."

Yeah, people are getting on the bus. I mutter, "Sorry," and catch up with the baldheaded man wearing a large backpack who was in front of me in line. There's a funky odor coming from his backpack. Public transportation is not an ideal way to travel.

I walk down the aisle on the bus, hoping to get a seat by myself. I found an unoccupied seat and, sitting on it, I tried convincing myself that Billy wouldn't mess around with anyone but me. He's said as much at least twenty times, so why not believe him? Maybe because I've messed around with Pat, so, you know, why wouldn't Billy do the same with this Ron person?

Honestly, though, Pat and I only messed around making out a little. Um, more than a little, I guess. Still, it was just making out, nothing serious, and Pat says it's normal for gay friends to do that.

Encouraging me to be more sociable, knowing he'd be with Ron tonight, Billy set me up with Pat as my date tonight. He set it up, so I assume he doesn't care if I make out with Pat, and since he doesn't care if I do it, he might think nothing of doing it himself with Ron.

Thinking these thoughts, I almost miss my stop but hurry up the aisle in time to get off the bus behind two women who took their time going down the two steps to the curb. An old lady with tight little gray curls all over her small head holds out her hand and says, "Slow down! What's your hurry, young man?"

The old bat! I mumble, "No hurry. Have a nice day."

As I'm walking into the house, I get a text message. Standing in the living room, I take out my phone and read, 'Bud, I promised William I'd look out for you tonight, but my Mom is using the car, so can we use your mom's car?"

What the fuck? Look out for me? What's he even 'effing mean by that?

Oh yeah, Billy and I had this idiotic discussion last night about him telling Pat to look out for me tonight, and that pissed me off! Billy claimed he didn't put it like that to Pat, but I know he did, and now Pat will try acting like Billy for me tonight. Bullshit on that!

In my house, taking off my coat, I yell to Mom in the kitchen, "I'm home, Mom!"

As I'm going upstairs, she says, "For goodness sake, dear, please don't yell in the house. I'm right here, and you startled me."

I'm bullshit mad that Billy and Pat think I need to be taken care of. Without even asking Mom about the car, I angrily text Pat, 'So sorry, Pat, but my Mom is using the car tonight. Maybe we can get together some other time.'

Goddammit, that'll show him! I don't need anybody taking 'effing care of me, um, except Billy Underwood!

Stalking around my bedroom, my head pounding, I look at my phone, waiting for Pat's reply. Hmm, though, it occurs to me that I wouldn't mind spending some time with Pat tonight. What else do I have to do?

I hear 'ping' and look at Pat's text on my phone, 'No car, no problem, Bud! No one will be home here, so walk over at seven o'clock. I'll see you then. Oh, and get one or two of Billy's joints. We'll get higher than a kite can fly.'

He doesn't lack self-assurance, confidence, or balls, that's for sure!

I text back, 'Billy's someplace in the Poconos, so I won't be able to get joints."

After sending that text, I realized I didn't object to his instructions to walk to his house and, more or less, agreed that I'll be there at seven o'clock tonight.

He texted, 'Oops, ha-ha, my bad. I forgot he was obviously out for the night. See you at seven. Don't be late!'

Bossy fucker! Well, I haven't seen Pat for a while, and Billy wants me to be more sociable, so why the hell shouldn't I go over there? The 'taking care of me' bullshit got me all riled up.

Yeah, no matter how unnecessary and dumb it is, I know damn well Pat will act in charge, thinking he's looking out for me, taking care of me. That's okay, though. What the hell... Pat's a natural guy/guy type, the same as Billy. Overconfident guys like those two can't help but be in charge of pushover guys like me.

It was childish of me to get upset about, basically, semantics. Taking care of me, looking out for me, being in charge, whatever. So what if he thinks like that?

Yeah, who cares? Now I'm actually glad Billy went to the trouble to set me up with Pat. I'd never have called Pat on my own! I'd never have invited him to hang out on my own, and Billy knows that. And hell, I like Pat, and I like being in the girl/guy role where we're making out. And, oh boy, he's even a better make-out than Billy, although I'd never admit that to either of them.

Other than with Leonardo, Pat told me he'd been exclusively the man in charge of all his other gay relationships, and he's been in quite a few relationships. So, I can deal with that for a night. And I'm not forgetting that Pat is one of the three genuinely cuter-than-shit guys I know.

Earlier, my worrying about semantics... me needing to be 'looked out for' or someone needing to 'take care of me', almost caused me to miss out on hooking up with Pat for some innocent making-out fun.

If I weren't hooking up with him tonight, I'd be home alone, jealous as shit that Billy's with Ron. Damn, ha-ha, I've done some pretty quick rationalizing, turning my initial negative attitude around, so I'm now thinking positively about Pat's contention he's my substitute boyfriend, my man who's in charge of me, and who's looking out for me.

I better look my best for Pat. I spent the next forty-five minutes in the bathroom, getting as clean and presentable as I could for Pat. I even shaved, which took one minute, then a long shower and shampoo getting squeaky clean for my make-out date with Pat. After drying myself, I put on a touch of aftershave and half a squirt of AXE Body Spray.

It will be evident to an experienced relationship guy like Pat that I've gone through a lot of trouble making myself as good as I can be for him. Then I make it even more apparent by choosing my newest skinny jeans and Polo shirt. Then I spend five minutes on my hair. This is the longest my hair has been since first getting the short butch haircut last summer. It's long enough now to comb.

I was checking myself out in the mirror, and, yep, I look pretty good and smell good too! Pat always looks good, so he deserves me to put in the effort to look good too. Jeez, the more I think about him, the more anxious I am to get to his house and, um, see what he has in mind for us tonight.

During dinner, Mom and Dad are busily talking about their strategy for the weekly gin rummy card game with the Kauflins down the street tonight. Consequently, they don't ask me their usual probing, grilling questions about my personal life.

After brushing my teeth and gargling with horrible mouthwash, I put on a lightweight hoodie and tell my parents, "I'm going to hang out with Pat Summers tonight."

As I zipped up the hoodie, Mom said, "Oh, I met Pat's mom at the supermarket a week or so ago, and she's the nicest person."

I nod, "Uh-huh, see ya," and I'm out the door.

After walking three blocks, I stop. Wait, what am I doing? It's only six-thirty. Goddammit, it's too early to get to Pat's house, but I can't go back to my house now. They'd have a thousand questions.

Jesus, can it be that subconsciously I'm more excited about this date with Pat than I realized? Shaking my head at how dumb it was to leave a half hour early for my date, I continued walking the last three blocks. At six-thirty-five, I sigh and ring Pat's doorbell. His dad answers the door and says, "Oh, um, you're William, right?"

Forcing a smile, I mumble, "No, ah, I'm the other one, Gary. Heh-heh."

Mr. Summers looks startled as Pat's cute lookalike sister, Jena, squeezes by him, saying, "Yeah, he's Gary, the cute one, Daddy. William lives across the street."

They're still calling him William because, for reasons unknown, that's how Billy first introduced himself to Pat.

Mr. Summers says, "Well, come on in, son. Pat's taking a shower."

When I walk inside, Mr. Summers goes into the little library that's off the living room, and Jena, her green eyes a brilliant green, asks, "So, you have a date with Patrick tonight, huh? You beat out William for my brother's attention, huh? Good for you, but does your boyfriend know about this?"

I sit in an armchair, ignoring that inane series of questions. Then, glancing at the stairs, I mutter, "Ah, do you think it'd be alright if I wait in Pat's bedroom for him?"

Instead of answering my question the way I didn't answer hers, Jena sat on the footstool in front of my chair. She carefully ran her index finger across, then down the back of my hand, then said, "My parents and I are going to the middle school's library's hour-and-a-half read-a-book program. I have two projects that the librarian selected to put on display, plus I'll be reading to the audience a poem I wrote."

Looking at the stairs again, hoping to see Pat, I nod at Jena, "That's nice, but do you think..." and she interrupts, "After that, we're going to Friendly's restaurant for sundaes. When asked to come with us, Patrick said, "You're joking, right?"

She giggles at that, then says, "I knew he wouldn't want to be there, so I read him my poem, and he said it was wonderful. I have it memorized. Do you want to hear it?"

"Huh? Hear what?"

From the top of the stairs, out of our view, Patrick yells, "Who are you talking to, Jena? Is that Gary?"

She yells, "Yes, your date is here."

Pat chuckles, "You're a piece of work, Jena." Then, "Come on up, Gary!"

Jena's hand is on my thigh. She squeezes it, saying, "Someday, I hope I have a boyfriend as pretty as you. What's your last name? I want to record this in my diary."

Standing, I mutter, "Wallingford," and go upstairs.

Pat's standing there with a towel around his waist, looking handsomely cute and sexy; his long dark brown hair, almost shoulder length, is around the sides and back of his head. Smiling, he says, "Couldn't wait until seven to see me, huh? I like that in my boy."

Rolling my eyes and making a face, I go, "Please, stop with that man/boy bullshit, Pat. We've been over that already, and you're not my man, and I'm not your boy. I'm nobody's boy!"

Snickering, nodding his head for me to follow him, he walks toward his bedroom, mumbling, "Oh, you're going to be like that tonight, huh?" He grins at me, hitting my arm, "No, seriously, I'm joking with you, Gary. Jesus, lighten up, Bud."

In his bedroom, he throws the towel on a desk chair, mumbling, "Close the door."

He's naked, his back to me. His skin is blemish-free, taut, and very pale with a slight pinkish tint. His firm-looking, hairless bubble butt ass makes me quietly gasp, then inhale noisily, looking away but then seeing a dark reflection of his frontal view from the blank computer screen on his desk. I can't help but gawk at the reflection of his long-looking penis.

Frowning slightly, I stare at it as it swings when he bends over to get underpants from a bureau drawer. It looks seven or eight inches long, but that can't be right. The reflection must make it appear longer than it is.

Quickly turning to face me, his long dick swinging again, he steps into his jockey shorts, grinning and saying, "William, um, I mean Billy, wants me to look out for you tonight, but since we're staying in, there's not much looking out, I need to do, right?"

I sputter, "Huh? I wasn't looking at anything."

He mutters, "I didn't say you were."

I say, "Oh, um, seriously, there's no need for you to look out for me. Frankly, it pisses me off that you guys talk about me like that. I'm not some immature dweeb who needs looking out for."

He says, "Yeah, yeah, but you were looking at my dick, weren't you? Haven't you ever seen a long penis?"

Shaking my head, I mumble, "I was not looking at your dick! And, fuck, yeah, of course, I've seen dicks as long as yours, um, probably."

His cock and balls make a prominent bulge in his white jockey underwear. He snickers again as he adjusts his junk, "What are you angry about?"

Defensively, I mutter, "Who says I'm angry?"

Shrugging, he says, "Whatever. Listen, I'm sorry for teasing you about saying I need to look out for you. I know you don't need to be taken care of, okay?"

I'm like, "So why do you and Billy say I do?"

"We're joking with you, obviously! But, hell, you are younger than either of us, and you're sort of, um, innocent or something. Hey, you know we only tease the guys we like the best, right? And you were looking at my dick, heh-heh."

Feeling my face get hot, I look away, mumbling, "How could I miss looking at it? Ha-ha, it's an 'effing snake."

Slowing walking to me, he's ruffling his fingers through his chest hair, not that there's much to ruffle through. I stand here with a partial grin, watching him, then offer no resistance when he hugs me, murmuring, "William is so fucking lucky to have you for a boyfriend."

He kisses my lips gently, the big bulge in his underpants against my leg, his lips feeling good on mine. Damn, he's awfully cute.

After some extra pressure from his junk on my thigh, he steps back, mumbling, "I wanted to get that kiss hello out of the way. You can relax now, okay?"

As he's pulling on a T-shirt with "I DON'T CARE! in big letters on the front, I mutter, "I'm relaxed. Why wouldn't I be?"

He steps into an old, raggedy-looking pair of sweatpants, saying, "I think I make you nervous, although I don't mean to. We'll sit at the desk and watch some Elvis reaction videos. My favorite reacter is a guy named Ok Sceez, a cool light-shin black guy, or maybe he's Hispanic. Oh man, he loves him some Elvis."

After pulling a chair with clothes on it next to his desk chair, Pat tosses the clothes toward a pile of dirty clothes in the corner and says, "Have a seat."

As he fires up his computer using a very long password, I glance sideways at him, admiring his good looks. To me, his incredible attractiveness is hampered somewhat by his long hair. I mean, hanging around his head like that, it looks like a hairdo a middle-aged lady might have. His face is shiny and clean, though, and his pale complexion makes his bright green eyes stand out. Yep, Pat has striking movie star quality or male model looks.

The first video is a reaction from this young guy, Ok Sceez, who appears to be in his early twenties. He reacts to Elvis singing and dancing to a song called Jailhouse Rock. Pat looks at me and says, "This is from the movie of the same name."

I nod as if that means anything to me. I'm not nearly as impressed with Elvis' performance in this video as I was with the others we watched at the Sears parking lot. This reactor guy, Ok Sceez, is super impressed with the video, though, and Pat laughs at the guy's over-the-top reaction.

Pat goes, "As my man, Sceez, says, Elvis is the king of cool."

To say something positive, I mumble, "Elvis looks young."

Then after a few seconds, I can't resist asking, "Ah, if you want me to help you pull your hair back into a ponytail like I did last time, I'll be happy to do that for you."

He grins, looking at me, "Is my hair freaking you out?"

Shaking my head, "No! Not at all, I was just offering, um, if you wanted, um..."

He jumps up, "Okay, thanks. I think my hair is dry enough now." Then he reaches over and rubs his fingers up the back of my head, asking, "What's with your hair, though? Are you letting it grow out? It's the longest it's been since I've known you."

"Oh, um, no, I don't think so. Tuesday is when Billy usually has us see my uncle for a haircut. It's been over a month, and this is a Tuesday, but he's at the Poconos, so, um..."

Pat goes, "What? You get home haircuts from your uncle?"

"Well, yeah. I mean... no. My Uncle Tony has a barbershop on Elm Street. He's a professional barber."

Pat is using a big comb to comb through his thick, dark brown hair, mumbling, "Oh, he's a barber, huh? I haven't been to one of those guys in quite some time. Here, put this elastic on," and he pulls his hair back in a bunch.

As I work the elastic band around his ponytail, his hair feels very soft. Then, Pat pushes the band closer to his head, asking, "There, is that better? My long hair isn't still bothering you, is it?"

Defensive again, I mutter, "No! It didn't bother me. I don't care how you wear your 'effing hair. I just thought you might want my help like last time."

He has nothing to say to that. Instead, he goes to the door, opens it, listens, and says, "Good, they finally left. Let's go downstairs, grab a beer, and smoke on the porch."

Shrugging, I mumble, "Sure, okay," and he steps into slippers with a faux fur lining, then puts an unopened box of Marlboro cigarettes in the pocket of his sweatpants, and we go downstairs.

I'm still wearing my lightweight hoodie as I follow Pat onto the back porch. He's wearing a T-shirt, carrying two cans of Budweiser, saying, "William, um, Billy's trip to the Poconos on a motorcycle is the kind of cool-as-shit adventure I'd like to experience."

Handing me a can of beer, he puts the other can on the porch railing and takes the cellophane off the Marlboro box, asking, "Do you have a light?"

I never have a light, having never owned a lighter. Mumbling, "That would be no, Pat. When have I ever had a light?"

He snickers, "I don't know. Go inside to look in the top drawer next to the sink. There should be a couple of Bic lighters in there from when my parents smoked."

Without hesitating, I go inside. Well, it was his beer and cigarettes, so the least I could do was get the lighter. Plus, hee-hee, the way he ordered me to do it caused a twitch in my nuts. I'm a sucker for overly confident, slightly bossy guys like Billy and Pat.

There is a yellow Bic lighter in among many items in this catch-all drawer. Outside, as I'm giving the lighter to Pat, he mutters, "Thanks," and lights two cigarettes, then passes one to me, adding, "Open your beer, and we'll toast one another."

More bossiness; it makes me grin and mumble, "Okay."

With smoke drifting from the cigarettes between our lips, we pop the tab on the beer cans and tap the cans together. We take our cigarettes from our lips, and Pat says, "To us, the two coolest, best-looking motherfucking gay boys in Springfield, Pennsylvania."

He smirks as I roll my eyes, both chugging beer. Pat does an exaggerated burp that we both chuckle at because burps and farts are funny. He says, "If Billy were here, I'd just have said the three coolest gay motherfuckers, etc."

Exhaling disgusting cigarette smoke, I go, "You'd leave off the part about being the best-looking, huh?"

Shrugging, he's like, "Yeah, no offense intended."

Grinning, I say, "You know, you often say things that could be construed as offensive, adding 'no offense intended.' The thing is, though, you've already inferred something offensive. Billy does that too."

He grins and says jokingly, "No, I never do that. That's a ridiculously idiotic comment, Gary. Are you stupid or something? No offense intended," and we both laugh our balls off at that.

Biting the filter of his Marlboro, he steps in front of me, puts his beer can on the railing, then pulls down the zipper of my hoodie and puts his arms around me inside the hoodie, hugging me, still chuckling and muttering, "Ha-ha-ha, no offense intended you stupid motherfucker," and we laugh some more. Then, seriously now, Pat murmurs, "It's colder than I thought. Warm me up, Gary."

I've got my cigarette in one hand and the beer in my other as Pat's grinning around the cigarette between his teeth. He's an inch or so taller than me, so his cigarette is bobbing near my nose. I move my head back to avoid it, saying, "Maybe a coat would warm you up better than this."

Still grinning around his cigarette, he slightly shakes his head, the cigarette still bobbing as he says, "Nah, I like using you as my hand warmer. No offense intended... ha-ha."

Snickering, I slide along the railing, then step away, and Pat's arms pull out of my hoodie sweatshirt. He takes his cigarette out of his mouth, saying, "You're very huggable. Almost as huggable as this kid, Charlie Dean, I used to know."

I go, "Almost as huggable?"

He snickers, "Yeah, almost, no offense intended. Seriously, though, I messed around with that huggable motherfucker, Charlie Dean, all through ninth grade. That was our thing, hugging each other until we both had hard boners, then taking turns sucking on the boners. You know, no one ever gets as hard a boner as when they were thirteen."

I shrug, and he asks, " Did you ever do that hugging and sucking with a buddy?"

Dragging off the cigarette, I exhale smoke towards him, grinning and mumbling, "Nope."

He says, "Oh, my poor bud, Gary. You've missed so much in life, haven't you? You probably never had the fun of a circle jerk with your little friends pulling on recently acquired new bigger dicks, right?"

I drink some beer, then say, "Why are you asking me questions you know the answers to? I told you that Billy is my first-ever boyfriend, and we've been boyfriends for only eight months. Before that, I was straight and had no sex with anybody."

He goes, "No, you weren't straight! You were confused until William straightened you out. I was never confused, so I had a lot more fun."

Shrugging again, I mutter, "Hell, many guys I know had way more fun than me, and I mean straight guys as well as unknown, possibly gay guys. Every-effing-body had more fun than me, but now I'm having more fun than them. Since Billy took me under his wing, I've been flying high."

He grins, dimples on both cheeks, "Here's a joke you've probably heard. This guy with a head the size of a softball goes into a bar. The bartender asks what's up with the guy's tiny head, and the guy says he met a beautiful woman genie who offered to fulfill one wish. The guy asked to screw her, and she refused, so he said, "Okay, how about giving me a little head then?"

I groan and then snicker, saying, "I know an even older joke than that. This guy is having a terrible day. He gets fired from his job; his car gets stolen, and the bus he needs to ride home crashes. Walking the rest of the way home, to make things even worse, he sees that his live-in girlfriend has packed up her stuff to leave him. He asks why she's leaving, and she says because he's a pedophile. The man says, "Pedophile? That's a mighty big word for a twelve-year-old girl to be using."

We chuckle, flick our cigarette butts into the backyard, then Pat puts his hands inside my hoodie again, hugging me, swaying us side to side, murmuring, "We should do something fun. How about if we get naked in my bed and make out?"

I lie, saying, "I Googled about gay friends, and there was nothing about gay friends randomly making out, naked or otherwise, and yet you claim it's routine."

He rubs his nose with me, grinning like mad, lightly humping his junk against mine, mumbling, "You didn't Google jack-shit. That was a lie, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it was, but Pat, I don't think this is what Billy meant about you looking out for me. Just saying, no offense intended."

He snickers, "You're cute. Give me a kiss."

I'm like, "What will your neighbors think seeing two boys kissing on your back porch?"

Ignoring that, he murmurs, "Come on, give me a kiss."

We're looking into each other's eyes, his green eyes shining, his pink bow-shaped lips grinning, his pure white perfect teeth glistening between his lips. It's an irresistible invitation, so I move my head two inches toward him, and our lips meet.

With our lips touching, he murmurs, "Go ahead; you need to kiss me first, Bud."

He's so desirable, so I kiss his lips, and that gets him started into a hot make-out. Pat has me backed up against the railing, his arms inside my hoodie tightly hugging me as our heads move slightly, and we suck on lips, our tongues sliding together, saliva all around our mouths with muffled moans of arousal, and we do it for almost a full minute. Then, gasping and inhaling deeply, Pat's head turns to the side, my lips dragging across his cheek.

As our boners poke against one another, Pat gasps and says, "That's the first time I pulled away from you, Bud. Holy shit, you were so hot I was getting dizzy. I couldn't catch my breath."

My boner is achingly hard, poking my zipper, but I can't move it because I don't want Pat to see he gave me a boner. Not wanting to admit I got carried away, I mutter, "No, I'm sure we both broke the kiss off simultaneously."

His arms are still around me as he says firmly, "It's okay that I needed to catch my breath. Don't worry about shit like who broke off our making out first. We'll be doing more and more of it, and sometimes I'll need to catch my breath, and sometimes it'll be you. That's not important, but for right now, we're going upstairs to get in my bed naked. Please don't pretend you don't want to because I know you do. And bring that beer can inside."

My eyes are blinking as I mutter, "Pat, um, ah..."

He sternly says, "Never mind hesitating and mumbling Pat this and Pat that. Just do what you're told... we're going to my bedroom." . Nodding, my dick vibrating, I start walking, mumbling, "Okay, but you don't need to be so mean-sounding. And we're only going to make out, right?"

His left arm comes out from inside my hoodie. He leaves the right one around me, urging me forward. "I'm sorry if I sounded mean, Gary, but you get indecisive at times and need a little push, no offense intended."

We put our empty beer cans in the kitchen trash as he grins, squeezes his arm around me, and mutters, "Fuck recycling."

As we're going upstairs, I come to my senses enough to say, trying to keep it on the light side, "No offense intended, Pat, but I don't want to get naked in bed with you."

He tightens his arm around me, muttering, "Yeah, you do want to do that."

I mutter, "Not really," and he says thoughtfully, "Okay, don't get naked in my bed, but will you at least lie on the bed with me?"

Surprised he gave in so easily, I quickly said, "Yeah, sure," and that's what we do, lying side by side.

Sharing a pillow with me, Pat says, "Recently, I've spent quite a bit of time with William. We studied together two afternoons, rode back and forth to school, and hung out other times, so I'm starting to know him. He's smart and a good guy, so you're lucky, but he doesn't have a helluva lot of experience with gay relationships. Did you know he didn't have any gay activity during the six months before you and he hooked up?"

I'm like, "Were you two guys talking about me? And, yes, I knew about the six months."

"Yes, of course, we talked some about you, Bud, but we talked about a lot of other stuff too. Then, William, ha-ha, right in the middle of a conversation, will drop in preposterous facts that had nothing to do with what we'd been talking about. How the hell does he know all that shit?"

Shrugging, "He likes to read stuff online, and if it interests him, he remembers it. I like hearing and learning about that stuff."

Pat goes up on his elbow, looking down at me, saying, "Anyway, my point is that he's almost as naive about gay relationships as you. I've been in four of what I considered serious relationships in that I was positive I was in love. Sadly, not one of those relationships lasted as long as six months. Well, not until the last one with Leonardo. And now, in hindsight, I saw that I was the only one in love between Leo and me. He had no problem leaving me behind to join the Coast Guard because he didn't love me. He called me a pussy for crying about it."

I say, "That's sad. I'm sorry to hear that."

He shrugs, then grins as he slowly moves his hand under my Polo shirt, "I like feeling your hairless chest, Bud. Is that okay?"

"Yes, I guess, but please stop calling me Bud."

He mumbles, "Sorry. I wanted to say that, assuming you and Billy are still together in the fall, you'll be making a big mistake living together. Being together 24/7, day in and day out, one or both of you will see cracks in the other. Something you couldn't imagine now will begin annoying one or both of you. For example, Billy likes to make friends, and they'll use your apartment as a clubhouse. You'll see."

I shake my head, "Nah, that won't happen."

His fingers rub my right nipple as he says quietly, "Well, let's just say, hypothetically, you and William break up in the fall."

His hand comes out from under my shirt, and he puts it on my forehead, pushing back my bangs which are too long and curly now to stick up straight on their own. Flattening the hair against my scalp, Pat added, "I'm speaking hypothetically here. You split up, and then I'd have my chance with you, right?"

Moving my head away from his hand, I mutter, "That's way too hypothetical for me, Patrick. I can't imagine splitting up with Billy."

"Yeah, I understand that's how you feel now. What if he broke your heart, though? Let's say he found another lover; for example, this guy he's spending the night with at the Poconos. I'd be there to save the day. I'd scoop you up and treat you like a prince, showering you with affection enough to heal your broken heart." He sings, "I'd take your part. Like a bridge over troubled water, I would ease your mind."

Refusing to take his hypothetical seriously, I say, "Oh, I'd not only be your boy, but I'd also be a prince, huh? And you'd sing Elvis songs to me all the time as well."

He says, "Don't joke around because I'm serious. Listen, my grandparents have a ranch outside of Houston, Texas, that I'd take you to and buy you cowboy boots. You could wear one of my cowboy hats, and I'd get you one of those hookey cowboy shirts with arrows stitched at the corner of the two pockets on the front. You'd be my boy and a monstrous hit with every gay cowboy in Texas."

Laughing, I mutter, "Oh, brother, you have a vivid imagination."

He chuckles, "Yeah, and in six months, your hair would be long enough that I could fix a stubby ponytail for you in the back. I'd make you into a mini version of me. Plus, I'd get your ears pierced, and you could wear a small black steel earring in each earlobe. Omigod, you'd be the coolest gay cowboy ever."

Ignoring all that, I go, "Actually, Billy and I are considering getting an ear pierced. Maybe I'll wear a black steel earring in my pierced earlobe just for you."

He mutters, "Yeah, okay, be flip now. You'll be less frivolous about everything when a breakup happens," He slowly lies over partially on me and brushes his lips against mine, "Yeah, you'll be my gay cowboy, not just my boy. Do you know how to ride a horse?"

Pat's scent, his everyday scent without cologne or anything, is very nice, and with his face this close to mine, the smell is swarming around in my head. He murmurs, "Okay, never mind that for now. Go ahead, Bud; I know you want to kiss me again. It's okay; go ahead."

His lips, so sexy, are right there. Barely lifting my head, grinning at him, I kiss his lips, and he kisses back, then murmurs, "That's twice tonight you've lit my fire with your lips," and he takes over from there, leading me into another fabulous make-out.

Our faces move back and forth, lips rubbing against lips, nose rubbing against nose, chins rubbing, saliva wetting our faces, and then his tongue is in my mouth. I lift my hips to grind against his hard dick as I groan; my cock is a rock-hard spike in my pants. He sucks on my mouth, his hand now tightly squeezing my hard cock. I struggle unsuccessfully to get on top of him. Our bodies slide together, his mouth never leaving mine, and then, captured under him, I stop struggling, feeling deliciously dominated, and Pat murmurs, "There you go. That's my boy; lie just like that for your man."

Me docile now, panting, Pat's face hovers over me, our noses almost touching and his eyes shining; he says, "Kiss me again." Captured by his charisma, I do what I'm told and again lift my head and kiss his lips, a moan of arousal coming from my throat. He nods and smiles, his hands going under my head, holding it, then he does a luscious long lover's kiss, then another one, and I feel hypnotized, my lips quivering against his, my penis a petrified stone.

Pat slowly, deliberately drags his lips across my cheek, then murmurs in my ear, "Even though I could, I'll never do anything with you that you don't want me to do. With that in mind, would it be alright if I tasted your penis? Can I do that, please?"

I'm in a trance staring at his youthful, beautiful face. His green eyes look into my eyes as he sincerely says, "It'd only be an innocent friendship experience between us two and no one else. Can I?" He lightly kisses me, asking, "Okay?"

My whole body vibrates, tingling sensations all over as I nod my head the slightest bit because what's the harm? Plus, Pat's being so sweet, so friendly, and it's so flattering that he likes me so much that he wants to taste my dick.

Yeah, and it's such a fantastic feeling being the desired center of attention after a lifetime of being more or less ignored.

Pat grins, "So I'm sure; was that a nod of your head, meaning I can suck your dick?"

I nod again, "Yes, I agreed twice already."

"Well, okay, then! Thanks, Bud. I'll try making you feel better than you've ever felt before," and he slides down the bed, his fingers going into the waistband of my skinny jeans, pulling my jeans down the bed with him.

He stands at the end of the bed and pulls off my sneakers so he can pull my skinny jeans off. I stare at him as if I've been hypnotized.

Grinning at me, Pat takes hold of my feet and pulls me down the mattress until my ass is at the end of it. He lets go of my feet, and I drop them to the floor, my boner poking my underpants up embarrassingly. Pat grins again, nodding at the tent in my underpants. Then, making a face, his eyebrows arching, he slowly pulls my underpants off, pulling my boner forward, and then it bounces straight up as Pat gets my jockey shorts off, dropping them on top of my jeans.

He nods encouragingly, smiling and saying, "I'm going to drop my sweatpants, too, so we'll be even."

In this position, lying on the bed with my feet on the floor, it pushes my crotch up, my boner a hard arrow putting to the ceiling. Pat takes his sweatpants and underpants off, and we're naked except for our shirts. Against all odds, I feel relaxed and comfortable, staring and marveling at how smooth and confident Pat is doing everything. It's as if none of this is a big deal.

My five inches long boner looks small compared to his seven-plus inches firm long penis hanging stiffly away from his body. Without touching his hard dick, he holds my dick in his fist and mumbles, "Thanks for letting me do this. It's been almost two months since I've tasted a guy's cock."

I'm feeling spacy, and maybe I look spacy too because, tightly stroking my hard dick, Pat asks, "Are you okay, Bud?" I nod, "Uh-huh," and he leans over to lick my boner's head, then his tongue slides back and forth. I go, "Ahh," and squirm on the bed.

Pat closes his lips-covered teeth on my cock and tightly goes up and down on it, then does it again; this time, when he goes down on it, the head of my boner goes tightly into his throat. I shudder and shake, moaning, "Umm, ooh, umm."

He leaves the head in his throat, and it's two or three seconds of me squirming and moaning like I'm in pain. I'm not in pain, but I am in uncharted waters again. My hands are on Pat's head, pulling his hair, then he moves his head back, and my hard cock's head pops out of his throat.

Shuddering, I go, "Ooh! Umm," and Pat asks, "Are you okay, Bud?"

I nod my head three or four times, and he goes down on my boner again, the head plugging into his throat again as I squeal, Ahhh," and almost climax.

This time when he pulls his head back, he slides his lips tightly up the five-inch shaft of my hard-as-iron boner, continuing up the head until his mouth is off it completely. I moan, my back arches off the bed as I gasp, my vision shimmering as if I'm looking through water.

A sparkling string of clear precum stretched between the head of my dick and Pat's lips. He moves his head slightly, and it breaks off to drift across his chin. He swipes at his chin with the back of his hand while holding up a plastic container in the other hand, asking, "Can I, Bud? One time only. It'll be our secret, and we'll be friends for life."

Where did that container come from? Still shivering, trembling bodily pleasure all over me, I mumble, "What is it?"

"It's KY Jelly, a lubricant."

My eyes focus on his cock, a ridiculously long wooden boner seemingly defying physics by sticking out straight, eight inches of it now, not seven. Sexual arousal swarms over me as I reach to stroke my boner, but Pat pushes my hand away, murmuring, "One time only, Gary, and we'll have our friendship secret forever. Okay?"

In a trance, I nod once, and he squeezes some of that stuff on his fingers, then strokes lubricant up and down on his long boner. The lubricant shines on his cock as he squeezes more of it out and rubs it on my anus, then pushes some inside my asshole with his finger. His finger goes in all the way as Pat whispers, "Does that feel okay, Bud?"

I'm making a face, lifting my ass, and nodding my head. "Pull your legs back." Nodding and muttering, "Uh-huh," I do that, desperately wanting to feel that long boner inside me.

He asks, "Are you sure this is okay with you?"

Actually, I'm impatient for it, grunting, "Yes, go ahead. Do it!"

He grins, "You're awesome," and inserts his finger inside my asshole again, all the way in, rubbing it slipperily all around in there, awakening my prostate that sizzles with strange pleasure, making me gasp and lift my ass off the bed again, my back arching once more. He moves his finger back and forth two more times, a severe expression on his face. Looking into my eyes, he guides the head of his impressive boner to my asshole and does a slight hump of his hips, pushing the head in past my sphincter. I go, "Ahh, OW!"

Pat's arms go inside of my arms that are holding back my legs, and with his fingers gripping my sides, his thumbs pressing the middle of my stomach, he rubs up my body past my breastbone to my armpits. I shiver and forget about the pain of entry because his hands feel good as they rub downward until his thumbs are pressing next to my groin. I shudder and moan, "Oooh, umm. Ahh, ooh..."

Realizing I'd closed my eyes, I opened them, and he smiled, then quietly asked, "Okay?"

He looks sincerely concerned, compassion in his expressive eyes, asking, "Everything all right, Bud?" I nod, and he slowly pushes his long boner all the way up inside me as I make a long "Shssss" sound that goes on longer than I expected. It's a very long boner and heftier than I thought it would be, at least as chubby as Billy's boner. No, it's fatter than Billy's.

I've never felt this filled up before, and there's a bit of lingering pain, but not much, and it's fading. Pat runs his fingers and thumbs up and down my torso again, giving me shivers, then he shudders, too, his thumbs pressing on either side of my boner. His thumbs rub a circling pattern there; my penis, a steel rod sticking straight up, jiggles a little. I moan, "Ummm, ooh, umm."

I'm an over-stuffed turkey until Pat begins pulling back his long hard boner; the head had swelled wider than the long shaft. My head, the one on my shoulders, moves back and forth on the mattress as I moan with deep arousal, my insides throbbing with pleasure, pumping pleasure from my prostate button.

Pat moans, "Umm, this feels so good, Bud."

When his boner begins moving back inside me, I shake and grunt, "Harder, harder." Pat pushes it in faster, withdrawing immediately as I thrash around, pulling my legs back tighter, my knees against my chest now, my toes curling as he pushes all eight fat hard inches of boner back up my ass. As I make a whining sound, my eyes tightly closed again, my head going from one side to the other as I groan and moan as the pleasure soars.

Pat's hips thrust faster, still pushing and withdrawing all eight inches of his hefty hard cock, the head as hard as the shaft. Each time Pat fully impaled me, he humps once against my buttocks, making his balls swing forward and collide with mine, creating this delicious stab, almost a thrill of pain in my balls to go with the pleasure in my rectum.

Precum drools down my little iron flagpole as I whimper at the fantastic sensations I'm feeling. Each thrust is quicker now, maybe taking a whole second which is fast considering the length of his sex organ. When it moves even more quickly, I make a gurgling sound and open my eyes, seeing Pat's head back, his eyes closed, and his lips parted.

His hands are gripping my hips now as he lifts my ass slightly with each thrust, and then he goes, "Ooh, oh, fuck," and shortens his stokes, three of four inches thrusting, faster and faster, his crotch slapping off my buttocks, "Slap, slap, slap," with me gasping, "Ah! Ah! Ah!''

My climax is on me now, hovering near the tipping point for thirty or forty seconds, and then, "Eeeiii, oooh!" as all the muscles in my body contract sending a sizzling stream of cum pumping out from my balls up my hard cock, and out into the world, once, twice, three times, boom, boom, boom!

The creamy substance shoots straight up three feet or so, then comes straight down to splatter, "Splat, splat, splat," on my stomach surrounding my belly button. Letting go of my legs, they shoot out on either side of Pat as he makes a noisy breathy sound humping against my buttocks and filling me up with his creamy juice, filling me up further into my bowels than's ever been filled up before.

His body is stiff as he scrunches his face and shakes a little. I'm squirming on the bed, my feet dropping to the floor. Pat pulls his long cock out of my body, steps back, and shudders again, seemingly holding his breath as he bends over, his hands on his knees.

I know the feeling. It's a unique kind of pleasure that swarms around your groin, high on the inside of your thighs, and around the small of your back, heart pounding scarily hard and fast, and you can't breathe. An indescribable pleasure sensation that almost burns for a bit before fading, and you realize you've been holding your breath, exhaling with droopy eyelids and a goofy smile on your lips.

Shaking his head a little, Pat smiles, looking me in the eyes, and puts a finger to his lips like, 'Shh,' saying, "Our secret, Bud."

A tardy last zipping sensation buzzes around my dick, making me shudder; then I mumble, "Our secret."

Over his climax, touching my leg, he says, "Don't move, Bud. I'll get something we can clean up with. Um, how'd you like it?"

Still in a strange-feeling trance-like state, I shrug and nod.

He nods, "Good, it was good, right?" Then he turns and hurries out of the room but returns in a minute carrying a washcloth and hand towel.

As he walks to me, he uses the wet washcloth to clean his long penis, smiling and saying, "It'll be my pleasure to clean you up, sir. Did you enjoy the ride?"

This certainly isn't the dreamy hugging and kissing after-effects of a lover's sex act. Pat's in the playful manner of good fun, um, buddy sex fun that I'll bet he's had a lot of in his years of being openly gay. And I'll bet he's never had any problem finding willing partners, not considering everything he has to offer.

Using the same side of the washcloth he cleaned his penis with, he wiped lubricant from my butt cheeks, then the drooling cum he shot into my rectum. Doing that, he grins, saying, "My, my, what's this coming from this opening you've got back here?" Making a joke of it.

The fog is clearing from my head as I mutter, "We shouldn't have done that. I mean, I shouldn't have."

He uses the washcloth's clean side to wipe the cooling semen from my stomach, saying, "Don't think like that, Gary. We did it, you did it, and nothing will change that. We both enjoyed the hell out of that little five or six minutes in our lives, so leave it at that. It was an awesome shared experience, and it's our secret. Plus, now we'll be friends for life, always having this short time together that will always be our time, yours and mine, and nobody else's."

Somehow, this was more significant than he was making it out to be, and it warranted a more serious response than Pat's giving it. I suppose, to him, I'm simply one more conquest for his trophy case.

Finished his rudimentary cleanup, Pat dropped the washcloth on the floor, pulled the covers down, and said, "Scoot up to the top of the bed, and I'll give you a hug of thanks. You were wonderful, fabulous, actually."

He's holding the hand towel, and when I move up to rest my head on the pillow, he mutters, "Lift your ass, Bud, and I'll put this towel under you."

He grins, "Soak up any drippings, ya know?"

I do that, then settle down on the towel as Pat takes his shirt off, then mumbles, "Come on, Bud, lift your arms."

I'm getting used to doing what I'm told; lifting my arms, he pulls my Polo shirt off over my head, then pulls the covers over us. Grinning, he murmurs, "I'm still getting yummy chills from my climax. Are you? That was special."

We rustle around, his arm going around me as I mumble, "Yes, it was, um, really something."

Moving his head over, he kisses me, "You were the spectacular part of it, Gary. Jesus Christ, it was as if it didn't hurt you at all. The first thrust of my big boy usually gets a scream or something out of my partner. Hey, how big is William?"

I say, "Here we are in your bed naked, just like you said we'd be."

He snickers, "You encouraged me to pursue my dream of being naked in bed with you. I love being naked in bed with a guy, don't you?"

"Yeah, with Billy."

He looks concerned, "I hope you'll include me now."

Barely able to catch my breath because his body is so sexy hot, I mutter, "Uh-huh, you and Billy."

Hugging me, he kisses my lips. I can't resist kissing back as he leans dominantly over me. We make out for a minute or so before he takes a deep breath, shaking his head a little, then grins and uses the pad of his forefinger to trace around my lips, murmuring, "This is no BS, Bud. You have the sexiest, most perfect bow-shaped pouty dark pink lips I've ever kissed."

"Thanks."

He shakes his head, saying, "How in the hell did guys ignore you until Billy finally realized your potential? Are he and I the only two gay guys in this town with a brain? Can that be?"

I go, "I don't know, but thanks for the compliment."

He snickers, "Jesus, there are so many things I could compliment you about, but I won't. I'm afraid you'd get a big head and not think I was good enough for you, ha-ha. Shit, Willian, um, Billy is so fucking lucky. Still, I gotta hand it to him for realizing what a great boy you'd be for him, um, I meant great boyfriend."

"You're still stuck on that man/boy bullshit, aren't you?"

He goes, "Nooo! I'm speechless that no one helped you recognize your sexual nature years ago, though. What's with the gay guys in this town? You should be experienced by now and open to friendship casual sex instead of having a guilty conscience about our innocent sex play."

Shrugging, I mutter, "I want to believe what we did, as you say, was just playful, innocent friendship messing around."

He pinches my nose, grinning, "Well, I probably wouldn't refer to it as messing around, but it was innocent. Hey, how's it feel to be hugged by a guy with a hairy chest?"

I laugh, "Get out of here with that. The skimpy amount of hair you have on your sternum hardly qualifies as a hairy chest. That guy, Leonardo, making you shave was insane."

He goes, "Yeah, he was, but how about my hairy calves?" He runs his leg on mine, and I shrug, "They look hairy, but I don't feel the hair, so you might as well have almost hairless legs like Billy and I have."

He chuckles, then asks, "Well, is there anything about me you like?"

I get serious, saying, "Only about everything; that's the problem."

His hand, under the sheet, plays with my dick as he says, "It doesn't need to be a problem, Bud. You can have the apple and your boyfriend simultaneously, um, if we're discreet about it. I'd love that, and I can be the most discreet motherfucker you've ever known."

Frowning, I'm like, "Apple? You're an apple? Whaddaya mean?"

Shrugging, "Adam and Eve, the apple they ate. The forbidden fruit. That's me, the forbidden fruit."

"Oh, I don't believe that religious stuff."

He chuckles, "Neither do I, but the apple is still, supposedly, the forbidden fruit or something. Never mind that; I'm sorry I mentioned it. What about my suggestion of me being your secret sex-buddy friend."

Shaking my head, "No! As you said, I'm already feeling guilty for cheating on Billy. That's something I never expected to do, and it's you! You're too special to resist. You're too experienced for me. Anyway, you said we'd do it once and have a secret memory for the rest of our lives. So, that's what I'm going to go with."

"No, I meant one night. This couple of hours. It's still going on; this night is. Our special secret time is still ongoing. Yep, if you ask me to, I'll do it all again with you. It'll still be our one-night experience," and he rolls half on top of me, grinning and adding, "Do I need to dominate you again to get you to ask me to do it again?"

"I didn't ask you the first time! You hypnotized me somehow. I was under your spell, and you made it seem like I was invited to do, um, it all with you."

Looking serious, he flattens my bangs again, pushing them against my scalp, "I can't wait until your hair is long enough so I can fix it like mine."

I snort out a laugh, "You've got a one-track mind with that ponytail bullshit. Don't you realize that hardly anyone our age has an 'effing ponytail? Um, except for girls, that is."

He goes, "Why you..." and, giggling, he wrestled me into a pretzel, my arms held together with one of his hands around both my wrists and his knees behind my thighs, holding my legs up and back, my heels touching my ass. He kisses the side of my face, his long cock lying on my shorter one. "Only girls wear ponytails, huh?"

Chuckling, I go, "Girls and super-cool guys like you."

Letting go of me, we lie on our backs again. I mutter, "Jeez, you're much stronger than me. You look stronger too, and you're a lot bigger, ya bully."

He snickers, "I'm one inch taller and maybe ten pounds heavier; that's all."

Looking at him, I go, "You're much older, too, and much better looking."

"Nah, only a year older, and you're way better looking, but all the other things are true. I'm going to get us two more beers," and he gets off the bed.

I mutter, "Don't get one for me," and, as he puts on his underpants, he says, "Don't make me drink alone, Bud."

"And I asked you to stop calling me Bud, no offense intended."

He laughs, "Okay, but drink a beer with me," and off he goes, his incredible bubble butt ass looking sexy in his jockey shorts. I watch him go until he's out the door.

Damn, I should be feeling more guilty than I do! How often did I tell Billy I'd never mess around with anyone but him? Pat makes it seem so, um, like there's nothing wrong with me messing around with him. That it's an unimportant lark having fun with a gay friend, and maybe he's right.

Yeah, maybe because Billy sort of indicated the same thing. Hell, Billy doesn't seem the least bit worried about me messing around with Pat. Hmm, he did say once, only once, that I better not mess around with anyone else. Only once he mentioned it, so how strongly could he feel about that?

Pat's back with two beers and a bag of popcorn, telling me, "Put the pillows against the headboard, Bud."

As I do that, he climbs in bed, and we sit up against the pillows. He hands me a beer, muttering, "This night would be better if we had a couple of joints to smoke. That's the only way it could be a tiny bit better."

After opening the bag of popcorn and putting it between us, without thinking, I get against Pat's side like I automatically do with Billy.

Pat grins, "Oh, sweet move, Bud!" and he puts an arm across my shoulders, adding, "I'm glad you still like me."

Realizing I'm unintentionally giving off all the wrong signals again, my body gets stiff for a few seconds, then, without a better idea, fuck it; I relax and snuggle in against him. Turning his head, he kisses the side of my forehead, murmuring, "It's generous of you to make me feel like your man tonight."

Against his shoulder, I shake my head a little, "We agreed you'd stop with that man/boy BS, didn't we?"

He hugs my shoulders, "Oh, that's right. I forgot," and he chuckles, touching my forehead with the cold can of beer. I say, "Hey!" He holds his can to my lips, and I drink some. He goes, "That's my boy," and we both laugh.

Shaking my head again, I mutter, "What an irresistible ballbuster you've turned out to be. No offense intended."

Reaching over, he takes my can of beer from my hand and puts it on the bedside table, "We'll share this beer first, then yours. That's the way William does it with you."

He has me drink some more beer out of his can, holding it for me. Swallowing, I go, "It's Billy, not William. He told you he was William as a joke on the new kid."

Pat drinks half the remaining beer, then does an exaggerated burp; we chuckle at that, then he says, "I know it's Billy for everyone else, but I think William is a cooler name."

With Pat feeding me the beer, then drinking from the can himself; we finish both cans. He told me a few things about his and Leonardo's relationship while we drank the beers.

He said, "For example, Leo wouldn't have gone to get these beers as I did. He would have sent me for these two beers, and if I forgot the popcorn, he'd send me back down for it. Oh man, it got so I waited with bated breath for him to tell me what to do next. It got to be as if he was doing me a favor, allowing me to do things for him, trying my damndest to please him. And all that time, he was only pretending to love me while I could hardly breathe from loving him so much."

Hmm, but no, that's not like Billy's and my love affair!

Putting the second empty beer can on the bedside table; Pat says, "I learned from it, though, and promised myself I'd never be like him. Certainly not when I'm your man, Bud. And, yeah, I know you're dedicated to William now, so it's only hypothetical, but I'd never phony up about my feelings of love. Hell, maybe neither of us would fall in love with the other no matter what, but if we did, I'd be honest about it."

I mutter, "Hypothetically."

His arm around me jostles me as he snickers and says, "Go get us two more beers, and make it quick!"

I again mutter, "Hypothetically," and he goes, "No, really! It's your turn, ha-ha."

We've each had two cans of beer. Neither of us is drunk. Still, two beers make you think another beer isn't the worst idea ever. Even so, I don't feel like getting them, saying, "Oh, come on, Pat. You're the host. Um, you're my man, so you get them," and to suck in a little, I snuggle tighter against him and rub my leg on his, adding, "Please."

He says, "Screw the beers; you need to ask me to fuck you again. I'll only do it if you ask me to do it."

I'm like, "What? Are you saying you need to be invited before you'll mess around doing it again? I already told you that nobody invited you the first time, but that didn't stop you. It was more like you hypnotized me, and I was helpless in the hands of a much more experienced messing around guy."

He laughs, "You have a funny way of putting things. Invited and messing around, meaning asking and fucking, right?"

I say, "Yes, and I'm the one who needs to be invited, not the other way around. And the word fucking sounds so crude. I prefer how Billy puts everything. Euphemisms sound so much more civilized."

Ha-ha, I say that to Pat while I've made fun of Billy using euphemisms for sex terms.

Pat goes, "Huh. So, you need to be invited before you do things, right?"

"Yeah, I know it's a character flaw, but it's how I've always been, and it's why I never had as much fun as most guys. That's okay, though, because now I've got the best guy in the world in love with me. And you now, too, a gay messing around friend."

"Okay, Bud, I'll play along. We're naked together in bed, so I'm inviting you to mess around with me doing the, um, fucking messing around we did an hour ago."

I think I trapped myself. "Um, you're inviting me, huh?"

He murmurs, "Yep, you've received my invitation," He pulls his arm off me, then throws the covers to the foot of the bed. "We can do it right here on the bed. As you did earlier, you'll pull your legs back."

Then he stops, makes a face saying, "Nah, I still need you to ask me. Screw that inviting stuff; you'll need to ask me to do it with you, Bud. Just tonight, and then we'll never do it together again unless you break up with Billy."

Hmm...

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com

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