Invited

Chapter 31

( Once Upon A Time In Pat's Bedroom )

We're in Pat's bed after some serious messing around. He's sounding a little bit exasperated, saying, "Forget needing to be invited, Bud... whatever that means. If we do it again, it will simply be part of a one-time night for us; a couple of gay buddies having some innocent fun together."

"I hear what you're saying, Pat, and I'm sorry for frustrating you. You need to understand, though, that this is all new to me. I've never been in this position before, and I've never known anyone like you. How am I supposed to know what's the accepted thing to do?"

Nodding, "Believe me, you're fine, Bud; among us gay boys, innocent stuff like this happens all the time." I'm shivering because Pat pushed the covers down to the foot of the bed.

He murmured, "I'll warm you up," and he laid his warm body covering me.

I go, "Oh, um, nice," and his arms go around the back of his neck, his face close to mine. "Gary, seriously, this is no biggie. We'll merely further enhance our secret memory night of a lifetime by doing it once more. That's all I'm going to say about it."

"Pat, please don't pretend this is an insignificant matter. It doesn't seem right for me to be in love with Billy and mess around like this with you."

"Of course, I see your point, Bud, but believe me; it happens all the 'effing time with us gay guys. You and I are not breaking new ground here. We're not reinventing the wheel. We're having a mutually enjoyable, almost whimsical night as gay friends. It's harmless and, ultimately, will be just a cool memory. We'll look back on it and smirk at it as inconsequential. Think of it as a 'Once Upon a Time in Pat's Bedroom' kind of thing."

Pat's trying to talk me into doing the fucking messing around again, which seems like overkill. So, using Billy's non-sequitur method of changing the subject, I go, "Oh, that reminds me. Did you see that fantastic movie "One Upon a Time in Hollywood" starring Brad Pitt and Leonardo DiCaprio?"

"Oh, fuck, yeah, I did! How about that scene near the end when Brad Pitt and his rottweiler kick the living shit out of the hippies holding knives and a gun on them! Oh, man, that's one of my top movie scenes ever. Great 'effing flick that we should watch together sometime!"

Continuing to lie on top of me from head to toe, grinning, he continues, "But we don't need to watch it right this minute, heh-heh. Listen, we already fuc..., um, messed around once, and that can't be changed. So, I ask again, what's the difference if it's a once or twice messing around night? A night that no one will ever know about other than you and me?"

I mutter, "Two minutes ago, you said you weren't saying anything more about it."

His naked body feels so good draped down mine, his arms around my neck. Damn, I can't help it if my desire for him grows, whether I want it to or not. I can feel our penises touching and getting firmer and firmer. At the same time, his handsomely cute face hovers three inches in front of me, his tremendously kissable lips so close, his boyishly male scent in my head, his expressive eyes, and his sincere-sounding pleasant voice making some sense, um, if I stretch logic a little.

He grins, "Yeah, I did say that, but, come on, you want to do it again, don't you, Bud?"

I've already broken my word to Billy and myself, so how much worse will it be if I make the most of my night of falling for the forbidden fruit, Pat Sumers, again? I'm trying not to grin back at him, but he's so 'effing cute; I grin, mumbling, "Okay, apple, I'll take another bite of you; let's do it."

Nodding and smiling, Pat murmurs, "I really want to, but you're not agreeing because you're exhausted from my nagging, are you? I don't want you to hate me later, claiming I bullied you into it.'

Grinning, already committed in my mind to do this, I say, "Jeez, I said okay. Isn't that enough? Is there no pleasing you?"

"Well, as I said, I don't want to be that guy who somehow made you do something you didn't want to do. Could you say one more time you want to do it?"

Looking into his pretty green eyes, I bite my lip, hating myself, "Yes, I want to do it again, Pat. You're right; I liked it, so will you mess around with me one last time?"

His eyes open wide, "Oh, that was perfect, you hot shit! That, um, ah, surprised me a little as well..."

Sounding excited, he adds, "But, um, never mind that. Ah, let's see... how about pulling your legs back, and we'll, ah, mess around right here. No, wait! Do you think there's still enough lube in your butt? No, why take a chance; I should get some fresh lubricant."

Holy shit, I've never seen Pat discombobulated like this before. I surprised him by coming right out and asking him to do it again, especially when he gave me two chances to back out. I couldn't resist, though, and he was right; we did it once, so how much worse is it for me to do it again? One last time and, hell, you can't hang a person twice.

Pat says, "Don't move, Bud," and he scrambles off the bed, mumbling to himself, "Where did I put that KY tube?" Then he laughs, "Oh, shit. I just stepped on it," He picked the tube up from where he had dropped it earlier on our clothes, which we threw on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The lube tube in his hand, he climbs on the bed, more in control now, and says, "Whew, I got excited there, Bud. Okay, pull your legs back real hard."

I do that, my spine curving and my ass coming up off the mattress. Pat grins at me, "I got a tad rambunctious, Bud. What a great night we're having, though," and he strokes his long cock, spreading lube up and down the shaft and then over and off the head.

He grins and mumbles, "Umm, that feels good," and puts more jelly on his hand, then strokes his cock with tighter strokes until it's hard enough to hang away heavily and stiffly from his body.

Squeezing the lube on my anus, he pushes it in with a finger, then rubs the finger around inside me until I'm squirming on the bed, my legs pulled back with an arm around each, my feet dangling on either side of Pat.

In and out goes his heavily lubed forefinger, his eyes watching it intently. Already, my dick is hard and tight against my belly as I murmur, "That's plenty slippery, Pat."

My heart is pounding as my anticipation swells until it's all I can think about. Omigod, I can't take my eyes off that long cock of Pat's. Dropping the tube next to him, Pat guides the fat hard rosy-colored head of his snake of a penis to my anus, then exerts enough pressure that the lips begin spreading, finally accommodating half his hard boner's head. I make a long breathy gasping sound.

With the head secure, Pat smiles, muttering, "I'm so turned on! Jesus, I feel like I'm fourteen years old again, experimenting with Danny Sullivan. We wondered if we could do it twice, back-to-back. And yeah, we could and did."

Huh?

Then, he grabs my hips, his eyes blinking spastically as his face scrunches up; he humps the head and two inches of boner inside me. I go, "Aahh!"

Pat shudders, then humped another four inches of hard chubby cock up my ass. I squeal, "IEEE, oh! Umm," then gasp, "It feels good," as I lift my ass further off the bed, doing a partial sit-up.

Lying back down, my eyes close, and I murmur again, "Feels good, Pat."

Pushing in the last of his boner, he lifts his hips, then humps hard against my buttocks, murmurs, "It can't feel any better to you than it feels to me, Bud," and he grunts, humping hard against my butt again.

I go, "Oooh, yeah," as a billion buzzing pleasure vibrations become activated. Umm, I squirm a little, mumbling, "Do it hard, fuck me hard, Patrick," I let go of my legs to wrap them lightly around Pat's waist, my ankles locking.

Pat nodded, muttering, "Do it hard, huh? Oh man, I'll do it the way Leo used to fuck me."

I don't know what that means, but I'm so captivated by that long fat cock of his that I nod my head a few times. Pat nods his head back at me, then grins, "This is so cool of you!"

He does a half dozen long thrusts, all eight inches in play. Each long trip up my ass seems to take a while. I hope it never ends as I grovel on the bed, moaning, "Um, um, um, Omigod."

Then, after six or seven steady insertions, he leaves his long hard dick, fully impaling me, and says, "Try getting on your hands and knees. Turn over." He helps my struggling efforts to do that with his hands on my hips, encouraging my effort to do it without his boner coming entirely out of my ass. It gets silly, and we start giggling as he's saying, "No, go slower, ha-ha, don't stop, though."

His dick head ends up as the only part still inside me, but we manage it, and as I settle steadily on my hands and knees, my head near the headboard, Pat rubs up and down my sides, "That was so cool of you, Gary! You rock! Here we go."

The earlier long sort of slow thrusts got my rectum's nerve endings percolating, all primed for more aggressive activity, and Pat obliged with fast, hard, four-inch thrusting, his crotch banging against my ass.

It's flesh against flesh, "Slap, slap, slap" sounds echoing in the bedroom, joining my moans of, "AH! AH! AH!' My body was forced forward with every hard thrust, inch by inch, until the top of my head was hitting the headboard with every hard thrust.

The pillow gets bunched between my arms and the headboard, but it's below my head, so it's no help. "Slap, slap, slap," and "AH! AH! AH!" Bump, bump, bump.

Pat's making breathy sounds as he hammers his boner inside me, my dick a hard flagpole pointing straight out, which is to say, straight down and bouncing with me on my hands and knees. There are a million pleasure-screaming nerve-endings inside my rectum, and they're all screaming and clapping with glee while almost as many are doing the same around my asshole, pleasure soaring to heights too high to comprehend. To stop bumping my head against the headboard, I leave it there, pressed against it.

"Slap, slap, slap," until climax and my mind explodes, me letting out a squealing sound I've never heard before as I blow a hot stream of cum against the sheet below me. It hits so hard it splatters onto both my knees as I gasp, trying to inhale, then shudder at the spreading heated sensations of climax, involuntarily holding my breath. The feelings are too intense to comprehend and breathe at the same time. So, I hold my breath.

Too quickly, the mountain of pleasure drops to a shaking good feeling and then fades even more, and I let out my held breath, gasping. My head drops to the mattress between my hands as Pat lies against me and, with a groan as if he's in pain, fills me to overflowing with his seed, all squishy, warm, and gooey. He's breathing as hard as if he'd just run a marathon; his breath is hot and moist against my back, his dick still inside me as he gasps, pressing against my buttocks.

Shuddering, we continue taking deep breaths, his heart hammering like a drum against my back for half a minute. With a long sigh, he finally mumbles, "Holy shit, that did not disappoint. Wow!"

He takes another deep breath, then lifts off me and pulls his dick from my ass as I go, "Ahhh, um, nice, really excellent, Pat. Excellent messing around."

Laying over on my side, I grin at him, "I'm glad we did it again."

He lies facing me, "You are so nice to say that 'cause you ease my conscience."

Smirking at him, we slide away from my cum shot on the bottom sheet, then I sort of sing, "Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind."

He grins, "Yeah, like that; thanks, Elvis."

We hug, our bodies moist from the heat of that sex. A minute later, though, we both shiver, and Pat gets the covers and pulls them over us. We snuggle under the covers, face to face; our naked bodies stretched out, our faces within inches of one another, Pat's arm over my side.

He murmurs, "That was awesome, but I liked the first time we did it better. How about you, Bud?"

"Why are you still calling me Bud?"

Pat shrugs, "I don't know. Did you like the first time or the second better?"

I ask, "Do you use tooth-whiting toothpaste? Your teeth are so white they're almost blinding me. And I liked both times, but yeah, the first was my favorite, I guess. It lasted longer and, um, was; I don't know... it seemed as if you wanted to please me more, not that the last one didn't please the hell out of me too. Your experience shows."

He nods, "Um, has William, um, Billy ever mentioned anything about your, ah, unusual, ah, unique ability to take a dick up your rear end? I've never known anyone who makes less of a fuss about it hurting. At the beginning especially."

"Yes, he's mentioned that, but it's no big deal. All the gay models on porn channels are the same as me. Ah, we're sweaty and gooey with spunk? Doesn't that bother you at all?"

He strains his neck, looking over me at the clock on the end table, then says, "I don't mind being messy, but it's only eight-thirty. We could take a shower together if you want. Have you ever done that? Showered with someone else."

I go, "Do you mean like after gym class showering with forty guys?"

Snickering, "You know what I meant. With one other guy."

Nodding, "Of course! Billy and I have showered and taken a bath together... we're boyfriends."

Sitting up abruptly, Pat says, "Well, you're pretending I'm your man tonight, so we're taking a shower together."

Getting up, I mumble, "You're pretending you're my man tonight. If I'm pretending anything, I'm pretending I'm not the shittest, less loyal boyfriend ever. I've gotta be honest about how good you are at messing around, though, so I'm not having much success pretending otherwise. "

Both bareass naked, I follow him from the bedroom. He says, "You're an excellent boyfriend to William but inexperienced and, therefore, you don't realize this kind of friendship sex happens all the time with us gay guys. I told you that before, and it's not bullshit."

Walking into the bathroom, I mumble, "It's a stereotype that all gay guys are promiscuous."

Pat turns the shower on, "I guess you're right, as I rarely, um, messed around, as you called it when Leonardo was my man. Maybe two times, and one time it wasn't my fault; not entirely. I was high on pot."

Holding his hand under the water flow, he grins, "Neither of my messing around experiences was worth a long-term memory. I hope you can't say the same about our 'once upon a time in Pat's bedroom.' I know I'm not going to forget tonight. You made it fantastic!"

When the water is the perfect temperature, "Let's get in the tub, Bud."

He holds the shower curtain back, and I get in mumbling, "I guess I won't forget this date either, but it was you who was the fantastic one."

He steps over the rim of the tub, pulls the curtain closed, then puts his arms around me, water pouring on us, "Date? Were we on a date tonight?"

Leaning against him, I mutter, "Put your arms around me, Pat." Yeah, I have minimal willpower. He hugs me, and I murmur, "I guess this is a date, Pat. What else would you call it?"

His hands rub up and down my wet body, "I call it hooking up, making a friend for life."

Letting go of me, he pours bath gel into my hands, then his, and we wash. It's a little disappointing we aren't bathing each other, but I'm in over my head again as I have been all night. No, I'm not blaming Pat. I'm blaming myself!

We've rinsed off and dried in less than five minutes. Walking back to the bedroom, Pat asks, "Will you help me change the sheets?"

I'm used to Billy holding hands, but when my hand brushes the back of Pat's hand, he doesn't take hold of it. I pull my hand away, saying, "Sure, I'll help you do that."

In the bedroom, Pat gets a clean pair of jockey shorts from the bureau, tosses it to me, and says, "I don't know about you, but I insist on clean underwear after a shower."

I mutter, "Thanks," and we both pull on a pair of his underpants, then strip his bed of the soiled sheets. As we're working on getting the fitted sheet on the bare mattress, Pat says, "Leo would make me do this by myself. He never helped with anything."

Successfully getting my corner of the fitted sheet in place, I go, "You cried over Leo the first night Billy and I met you. It doesn't sound like you're still broken-hearted about him leaving you to join the Navy."

He shrugs, working on the flat sheet now, "You're right. I was a fool, crazy in love with him, and only realized now that I'd had time to reflect on how big a fool I was. I lost perspective getting mesmerized by a dominant guy like Leonardo. All I wanted to do was please him, and the more I did that, the less respect he had for me, and the more he basically humiliated me. It was a vicious circle leading nowhere good."

Changing the pillowcase, I mutter, "You're not inferring Billy, and I are like that, are you?"

Looking at me, he goes, "No, I'm not. I wasn't even thinking about you and Billy."

Nodding, I help pull up the blanket and bedspread. He says, "That's done. Thanks! Now I want to see something, um..." He sits at his desk and logs onto his computer, then gets a song playing. Standing, he says, "Let's see how well you can dance."

"In underpants?"

He grins, "Yeah, why not?" He starts moving to the music, so I dance with him, smiling. Pat has a lot of energy, and he likes doing fun stuff.

He's got a lot of smooth dance moves, then he stops and goes, "Hey, what the fuck? Who taught you to dance like that? I thought I would impress you, but you dance cooler than me. That's not fair, you being cuter and a better dancer!"

I tell him how I taught myself to dance, dancing alone in my bedroom while watching dance videos. He hugs me, "That makes me sad, Bud. You were dancing on your own."

Excitedly, I say, "That reminds me what a great song, 'Dancing On My Own,' is. The song by Robyn."

Pat mutters, "Yeah, I know that one," and he brings up the hot video of Robyn singing "Dancing On My Own."

We dance to the song, both grinning; I mumble, "You dance cool, Pat. Hey, and there's a slower version of this song by Calum Scott."

He dials up that video, and we do a slow dance to it, Pat kissing me at the end. I say, "Calum's version, you can interpret that he's referring to the guy who isn't taking him home tonight. You know, you can make it a gay song."

He holds up his finger, like, wait a second. Then says, "In Texas, we dance differently." From his closet, he comes out with a pair of cowboy boots, "Try these on, Bud."

I'm like, "Seriously?"

Then he grabs a cowboy hat off the shelf, puts it on my head, and says, "I've got more boots and hats at my grandparents' ranch, but the last time I was there, I wore these boots and that hat during the plane ride coming home, heh-heh. A cowboy returning to Delaware."

I mutter, "The boots are too big. I wear size nine."

He goes, "Oh, balls! They're size ten, but the hat fits you."

He goes into his bureau for a pair of sweat socks, saying, "Sit on the desk chair." When I do, he puts his sweat socks on my feet over my socks and mumbles, "Try the boots on now."

Chuckling, I pull the boots on and stand up. A little wobbly, I walk across the room, muttering, "How can you wear these things all day?"

He mutters, "You get used to them," then, "I'm going to teach you to dance the two-step."

At the computer, he gets another video playing as I adjust my cowboy hat, looking in the mirror over the bureau, asking, "Two-step? What's that?"

Pat stands, "It's a country and western dance that originated decades ago in Texas and has spread all over." Then he describes the dance as he does the steps, "It's a right foot, two steps forward, a closing step with the left, a forward step to the right, and so on."

Frowning, I try it, mumbling, "The way you moved your feet didn't exactly jibe with what you were saying, and what's the country song you've got playing?"

He nods at the video playing on the computer screen, "He's Clink Black singing "A Good Run of Bad Luck."

In cowboy boots and hat, wearing only a pair of Pat's jockey underwear, I try following his dance steps, saying, "It's more like a marching drill than dancing."

He says, "Not if you step with the music and get a little body action going. For Christ's sake, step with the music! Dang, boy, copy me! Ha-ha."

I laugh, "Don't get feisty; I'm not dissing your two-step dance thing, but it's a little awkward wearing 'effing cowboy boots for the first time, ya know?"

Laughing, we fuck around with that for a while, and then he plays a Kenny Chesney video of "American Kids," and I'm doing the two-step okay by then.

Pat's finally had enough and said, "C'mon and sit with me. I'll show you some photos of the ranch." We sit, and I ask, "How about showing me a photo of Leonardo."

Snickering, he goes, "I'm not proud of this, but when he told me about joining the Coast Guard. Um, you said Navy a while ago, but he went to the Coast Guard. Anyway, I was like a crying bitch, and he called me a pussy, among other things, so I acted like a girlie bitch and deleted every photo I had of him. About fifty of them."

He's got his phone photos, scrolling through them, then stopped, mumbling, "Huh, I missed one of Leo," and showed me a guy standing next to a smiling Pat, Leo slightly taller. He's stocky with a short beard, a macho-looking guy, smirking, and not especially good-looking.

Nodding, I mumble, "I think I saw that picture once before."

Pat shrugs, "I may have shown it to you. I forgot there was one pix of him still in my photo albums. Anyway, look here. That's the ranch," and he flashes about a dozen pictures that I quickly glance at.

He points at a long-range photo, "It's a gentleman's ranch, meaning, while they have some horses, it's not a working ranch. My Grandfather was a stockbroker making his fortune, mostly on dot-com companies in the nineties. Heh-heh, before you and I were born."

He stops, frowns as if he's listening for something, then goes, "Oh, fuck, they're back." Giggling, he runs to the bedroom door, "I better lock the door. Jena will be running up the stairs to try to get in here."

He pushes the button on the doorknob half a second before the knob rattles, and Jena yells, "You beat me again, Patrick. Let me in, please."

He's looking at me, grinning mischievously. I'm like, "Jesus, don't let her in here. We're still wearing only our underpants. Well, I also have boots on and your cowboy hat."

Pat yells, "No, you can't come in, brat."

We hear Pat's father saying, "What's going on, sweetheart?"

Jena says, "Nothing, Daddy. Patrick and I are playing our usual little sister, big brother game."

I'm looking at Pat like, what the fuck?

He appears to be having a good time, snickering, shaking his head, and telling me, "Heh-heh, she keeps me on my toes, but let's put some clothes on."

Then he yells, "Hey, brat, wait a minute, and we'll be right out."

Pulling off the cowboy boots isn't easy, but I get them off, then pull off Pat's sweat socks. He's already got his jeans and shirt on, opening the door while I'm still in my underwear and a cowboy hat; that's all I have on.

Pat's sister squeals and jumps up on Pat, her legs around his waist as he hugs her, saying, "You're the worst brat sister ever!"

He kisses her, and she giggles and squirms out of Pat's arms, saying, "You're letting William's boyfriend wear your hat, Parick?"

I would have thought she'd mention I'm wearing her brother's jockey shorts and nothing else. Pat says, "I was telling him about Grandad's ranch and wanted to show him how perfect a cowboy he'd be."

She nods, "Yeah, next to you, he'd be the cutest cowboy in Bliss Wood. It'd be fun seeing you two gay boys teasing all those old gay dudes at the Fairytown Tavern, hoping they had a chance with one of you."

I struggle to pull my skinny jeans on with socks on my feet. Not a good idea; not with skinny jeans. You usually put skinny jeans on past bare feet, so they slide past your feet easier.

Pat looks around, eyes shining at me, and explains, "Bliss Wood is where my grandparents have their ranch."

I mutter, "I'm sure it's a swell town." Can I believe he's excited about playing around with his bratty sister?

Mrs. Sumers is at the door now, "Come on, Jena, time for bed." Thank God I got my jeans on. Then Mrs. Sumers asks, "Did you boys have fun tonight watching Elvis videos? Oh my goodness, grandma loved Elvis! I heard Elvis all the time growing up."

Pat pulls Jena's pigtail, mumbling, "We're done watching Elvis, Mom. We're totally into country and western square-dancing music now."

She purses her lips, "Square dancing, huh? Well, that is fun too."

Jena says, "He's bull-craping you, Mom."

She goes, "Oh, you, watch your mouth, young lady," and they go down the hall.

I've finally got my shirt and sneakers on, saying, "Well, Pat, um, it's been quite a night. I need to get home, so I guess I'll see you around the ranch sometime."

He ruffles my hair, and I go, "It was fun, cowboy; ha-ha. Also a bit dangerous, messing with that apple of forbidden fruit you offer."

He makes a face, muttering, "It's only nine-forty. The night is young, and I've got Mom's car now. Let's ride around and maybe get something to eat."

Well, yeah, I'm always up for something to eat, plus I'll get a ride home instead of walking the six blocks, so I mumble, "Okay, sure, how about sharing an Italian sub with me? I could go for that."

"Good, let's do it," and we walk out of the bedroom as he yells down the hall, "Bud and I are going to get something to eat."

Going downstairs, his mother calls something to Pat, but he shakes his head, smirking and asking me, "What'd she say?"

I shrug, "I couldn't hear her, sorry."

He gets keys from a dish on a table near the front door, yelling, "I'm borrowing your car, Mom!"

Then, "Come on, Bud," and he puts his arm across my shoulders, murmuring, "Try keeping up with me, okay?"

I lean against him because, as I've admitted ten times... I have no willpower. He rubs his fingers in my hair at the back of my head and licks the side of my cheek, then murmurs, "That's my boy," and we go outside.

In the car, buckling our seatbelts, Pat says, "The sub shop is closed by now, though, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah, you're right. How about going to McDonald's? I'm hungry."

He nodded and drove away, saying, "What a spectacular night. I haven't had a night like this for at least a year. The last time was when I was infatuated and going out with a boy, ha-ha, I called him little-penis-Dickie. And, ha-ha, his last name was Darling. Little-penis-Dickie-Darling. Omigod, Dickie liked taking it up his ass almost as much as you. No offense intended."

I mutter, "Yeah, well, I took a little offense at that. Why'd you call that kid little penis?"

He laughs, "Why do you think? He had a two-inch penis. We didn't care, though, because his two-inch penis didn't have much to do with him taking it up the ass. Anyway, Leonardo broke Dickie and me up. I fell for Leo right away. I was flattered he was interested in me. Well, I told you how that worked out; not well for me."

"Um, Pat, ah, what's the total, ah, I mean, how many different guys have you, ah, messed around with?"

Shrugging, he grins, "None were as cute and desirable as you. That's for sure!"

"Oh, please! No, seriously, how many?"

Pulling into McDonald's parking lot, he shrugs, "It depends on what you mean by messing around. If you mean how many guys I've had anal sex with, you know, fucking either as a pitcher or catcher, that would be only four or, no, it's been five since ninth grade. Then another guy it didn't work all the way with."

I'm like, "I can't even imagine that."

He shrugs again, adding, "Well, on the other hand, if you mean the number of guys I've done something gay with, like jerking off or blowing, it'd be maybe another eight boys. Some of them were one-time shots, guys I barely knew. Well, two of them were total strangers."

I mutter, "Jesus," and he laughs, "Yeah, I'm a slut, ha-ha. The thing is, though, there were only three boys I was serious about. In love with, actually. The rest were recreational quick sex acts with horny guys about my age. We just wanted to get off, ya know? One thing, though, I never had anything to do with older men. As you put it, I was invited to participate with a few older men. But, no, I'm not that big of a slut that I'd be involved with older men."

Frowning, I mutter, "You're not a slut. Stop saying that."

Getting out of the car, Pat looks at three guys huddled near the ACE hardware store that shares the parking lot with McDonald's. He mutters, "I think one of those guys is in my Lit class. Wait here, Bud. They appear to be smoking pot," and he saunters over to the group.

Goddammit, I don't know why he wants to get involved with those guys. They look like badass hoods.

I watch as Pat high-fives a guy, then there's laughing. It's not cold, but I feel conspicuous just standing here like a dork, so I wander over to the McDonald's entrance and look at my phone, pretending to read a text.

It's at least five minutes before Pat comes back, mumbling, "Oh, there you are! I wondered where you got to. Yeah, he was a guy in one of my college classes, and they were smoking a joint."

He holds a joint up, "Ta da, I bought one. The prick charged me fifteen dollars for it but claimed he was doing me a favor because it was their last one. Heh-heh, from the look of them, they don't need this one. Holy shit, are they wasted!"

Putting the joint in his shirt pocket, he goes, "Well, let's get something to eat, and then we'll smoke this fifteen-dollar Bo-Bo.

Pat orders fries and a Coke. I get a Big Mac and a Coke. We sit at a table to eat, and Pat says, "After buying the grass, I only had enough money left for the fries and Coke."

"What? Why didn't you say something? I've got money." He shrugs, "That's okay. Do you want to share?"

That's what we do; passing the BigMac back and forth and eating the fries in between as Pat tells me that the guy he bought the joint from said he'd have more later in the week if Pat wanted to buy more. "So, Bud, now I've got a source."

I finish the last of the BigMac, mumbling, "I'm not a huge fan of smoking grass. Once in a while, it's okay, though."

We dump our trash and walk out, Pat exclaiming, "Hey, I'm not a pothead either, Gary. I like to get high once in a while; that's all."

He drives away from the parking lot, saying, "I guess we'll smoke this baby at the Sears lot behind that dumpster. I don't know any other place to smoke it, do you?"

Shrugging, "We could have smoked it right there. Those guys did. Marijuana isn't totally illegal, you know? Not in small amounts, anyway."

He mutters, "I'll feel more comfortable doing it out of view."

Me too, so I nod, "Sure."

All the snow has been gone from the parking lot at Sears for weeks now, so no problem. Pat parks behind the dumpster and says, "We'll smoke it outside, okay?"

We get out and lean against the passenger-side back door while Pat lights the joint. I'm trying really hard to adopt his attitude that gay friends messing around is normal and not some hideous violation of one's true love. I also need to keep in mind Billy's urging me to be more outgoing and sociable, although it's hard to imagine he was referring to being sociable to this extent.

Pat inhales some marijuana, holding it in his lungs, then holding the joint to my lips. I drag off the unlipped, dry end of the joint, smiling and thinking of Billy lipping everything he smokes. Exhaling, Pat mutter, "This shit is potent."

I mumble, "Yeah, I guess, but we don't need to share the joint the way Billy shares it with me. Pass me the joint; don't hold it to my lips just because he does that."

Pat grins and gets his arm around my neck, pulling me against him, "Yes, I do need to do it the way he does it," and he holds the joint to my lips. I snicker, "Yeah, okay, jeez," and inhale.

We don't talk while smoking the rest of the joint, and it's hitting me pretty hard; this joint is plenty potent. He tries to flick the roach, but it slips off his fingers and drops to our feet. Both of us laugh our asses off at that, Pat's arm around me as we lean over, laughing as if that was the funniest thing we ever saw.

The laughing ends as quickly as it started, and Pat mutters, "I think that fucker was laced with something. C'mon, let's sit in the car."

We were leaning against the back door on the passenger side, so we got in there and huddled together, snickering about, well, who knows what? I don't know, but we lean against one another, swaying a little until Pat says, "Oh, wait! I memorized one of William's crazy information bits that he drops into conversations without any connection to, um, to what?"

I finish it for him, "To what was previously being talked about."

He nods, "Yeah, that's right. Here it is. Um, infinity is long; so long, it can't be measured."

My head lulls on his shoulder as I mutter, "That wasn't one of his better ones."

He nods, "Yeah, but, um, when we die, we're dead for billions of years while the universe continues and couldn't care less."

"That's so deep, Pat," and we both laugh again as if that was funny.

Pat says, "Wait a minute. Here's the thing. Yeah, I remember it now. While we think about being dead for billions of years, no one seems to think about the billions of years we didn't exist before we were born."

I go, "Huh, oh yeah, that's interesting. Yeah, I didn't think of that before you mentioned it. Um, what's it mean?"

"Fuck if I know. Probably nothing," and he leans his head down and kisses my lips. The next thing I know, we're lying on the seat, making out like wild things, our faces wet with saliva. Panting, Pat goes, "One more time," and he's pulling his pants down, nodding at me to do the same.

The sexual heat is roaring in here, both of us with boners that crept up on us as we made out. I don't even hesitate this time. With my pants pulled down to my knees, I get on my stomach, pushing my ass up, and Pat, with one leg on the floor, his other knee is on the seat. He pushes the head of his dick in past my sphincter muscle, and makes a groaning sound as he does it, then pushes more of his boner inside me.

Thank God for the earlier lubricant and the wet precum on his cock, but it still hurt more than the first two times we did it. Even so, I keep my ass off the seat, giving my boner space, with the tip touching the seat.

Pat groans, "Oh, fuck, this feels so freaky good," and continues pushing the rest of his eight inches inside me. With noisy breathing, he pulls it back, me going, "Ummm, ahh, ahh," and then Pat drives it back in, and I moan, "Pat, umm, ooh... Goddamn, yeah..."

Three more full semi-slow thrusts and withdrawals, with us moaning quietly now as the sexual pleasure rolls over us. He gasps, then says, "This is awkward, Bud. Can you get on your knees?"

Inching my knees under me until I'm on them, my forehead still on the back of my hands on the seat, I mutter, "Okay?"

He slides his cock all the way in, murmuring, "Tight, but yeah, this is good," and then he pushes the back of my legs, my knees getting closer to my head and hands until I'm almost in a ball with my ass on top. Pat brings his other leg, or his knee, onto the seat and pulls his cock back, then drives it almost straight down into my rectum as I shudder with pleasure.

His boner feels more engorged than ever, and it's moving very tightly but smoothly too, or smoother than the first thrusts anyway. Each inch his boner moves forward or backward in my rectum trips hundreds of nerve endings into something like pleasantly intriguing electric sparks of pleasure. Still, when a hundred thousand of them are active simultaneously, the cacophony of scintillating pleasure vibrations in my rectum has me almost deliriously overwhelmed with pleasure from another world.

Needless to say, my relatively limited experience with this sort of thing hasn't included being fucked with my body in basically a ball, so it's a new sensation for me, a spectacular one. This unexpected spontaneous sex is a thrill ride to the moon and back, but traveling at the speed of light and, therefore, it's over too quickly.

Pat's fast, hard, thrusting, familiar slapping sounds in our ears last less than two minutes. With a gasping inhale, he does a hard hump against my butt and shudders as he climaxes. I know the feeling and make a long breathy sound as I'm shooting my load of cum, such as it is after the prior two climaxes. It splats on my shirt that hangs away from my belly, a quick, burning streak of cum that felt like my balls may have come out with the goo.

I'm doing a snorting odd laugh as I shook with pleasure that was so intense, and yet this was such a silly way to mess around it struck me as comical. That, plus some of the marijuana effect, lingers in my blood. Pat hears my laughter, hahaha, and snickers, too, as he pulls his dick from my ass and partially stands, bending a bit, his head against the car's roof, as he pulls up his pants, asking, "What's so funny, Bud?"

Unwinding my body, I stand like Pat, my head against the ceiling, holding my shirt out, looking at the small smear of cum. Shaking my head, grinning at him, I say, "Nothing's funny. Look, I came on my shirt."

He nods, "Uh, huh, but pull your pants up to absorb my cum coming out of your rear end. Don't get any on the seat, okay?"

As I pull my pants up, I mutter, "Some of it's running down the back of my leg."

He goes, "I'm sorry about that, but holy shit, that was the most random fuck I ever did with anyone. I can hardly believe we did it like that. It was hot, though, huh?"

Buckling my belt, I mumble, "Yeah, it was, but you and I are dangerous together. We don't appear to have much willpower, no matter our good intentions. The worst part for me is that I really liked it. Your dick is, um, well, Jesus, it's something."

He nods, "Yeah, other guys have said the same sort of thing. I'm thrilled you like it." Then he looks around like he just realized we're in the back seat. "How'd we get back here?"

We get out and move to the front seats. The car has been idling with the heater on since we arrived, so it's too hot. We both roll a window down, and Pat drives around the dumpster, asking, "Are you pissed off at me? You shouldn't be because you started it."

I make a face in the dark that Pat doesn't see as I mumble, "I already told you; I'm ashamed to admit I loved it, and no, I'm not mad at you. Hopefully, I'm not that big of a hypocrite that I'd blame it all on you, but maybe we shouldn't see much of each other, Pat. We can't keep it in our pants."

He says, "You mean I can't, don't you?"

"No, it's not just you; neither of us can."

Pat's excited, talking about tonight, blah, blah, blah, but I'm hardly listening; super curious about why I'm not feeling as bad about tonight as I should. Maybe Pat's insistence that we had a more or less regular night between gay buddies is sinking into my brain, or, more likely, I've somehow adopted Billy's superb rationalization ability twisting the facts of the matter into a favorable conclusion for me.

When we're at my house, Pat is talking about our next 'Once Upon a Time In Pat's Bedroom.' saying, "I agree that we do not want to overdo it, Bud, so let's give it a week or so. William is a fanatic about getting good grades and will surely want to stay in to study for a test. I see him during the day more than you because he and I are carpooling two days a week, and I see him during the day on campus the two days we're not carpooling."

I'm looking at him as I unfasten my seatbelt, nodding as if I agree. Then realized that I didn't know what he meant, "Um, what are you saying? I work all day."

"All I meant is, I'll know what night he'll be staying in to study, and I'll text you. We might not be able to have a night in my bedroom, but it can be a 'Once Upon A Time In Pat's Mom's Car' kind of thing. Ya know? Not as good, but we'll make it work, okay?"

Looking solemnly, he adds, "And listen to me, Bud, this is important. I know you, and you'll eventually feel you need to do the honorable thing and confess that we've been making out and fucking, but do not do that! If you do, know that you're doing it for yourself and not for Billy. It'll hurt him and do no good for you! You still love him, so don't hurt him. If you tell him he may feel he needs to put on a show confronting me, which won't work out well for William, so that would be a lose/lose situation all the way around."

I'm nodding because I think he's making sense. What good will it do Billy to know I cheated on him, assuming he'd even be upset about it or consider it cheating? He's the one who once shrugged as if it was no big deal, then said we're not married when I told him about Pat and me making out. It was like Billy didn't want to hear it. Whatever, Pat's right... laying my burden of a guilty conscience on Billy won't benefit Billy.

Hmm, that's a fantastic rationalization: I think I'll keep it.

Pat says, "Give me a juicy kiss goodnight, Bud. I'll let you know when we can do all this again."

I only thought of it later, and maybe it's a small thing, but it was me who leaned over to Pat for the juicy kiss goodbye. He sat there waiting for me to come to him, and it was Pat who broke off the kiss after ten seconds or so, saying, "That's my boy, Bud. One more kiss," and I did what he said and kissed him again. He rubbed my head and said, "This was the best night I've ever had. You were spectacular!"

I'm a sucker for flattery, and mumbled, "Thanks, and kissed him again, hanging onto him for a few seconds. He finally smiled, "Okay, I know, Bud, but you've gotta go in now. I'll text you and let you know when I can do it for you again. Okay? See you next time, and I can't wait for that either, Bud! It's not just you, and mum's the word!"

I nod, gulp, and mutter, "Okay." He musses my hair, murmuring, "You're my boy, aincha?" I grin, "I guess, Pat," then get out of the car and watch him drive away until he turns the corner.

Walking into the house is when I realized how infatuated I was with Pat and how I was the one who was the most invested in the goodnight kiss. Thankfully, my parents are in bed because I've got tears running down my face, afraid of not being able to do right by Billy. It's not a boo-hoo cry, just scary tears.

In bed, I feel overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. I can't make myself blame Pat. He's doing his gay thing without thinking he's doing anything wrong, and he's not doing anything wrong. He's a hot gay guy with everything going for him, and obviously, I can't resist him.

Between now and the next time he invites me to have 'Once Upon A Time With Pat Sumer,' will I have worked up enough common sense and willpower to say, 'You're a great guy, Pat, but no thank you? Hmm, I doubt it.

To be continued... donnymumford@comcast.net

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