Invited

Chapter 41

( Ronny Lynch )

I'm standing outside Billy's bedroom door, listening to him and Ronny laughing their nuts off. Huh, I guess the haircuts Billy's brother, Charlie, gave them weren't all that upsetting. Pat chimed in, saying something I couldn't make out, and all three were laughing now. I stand here frozen, feeling left out and, for some reason, unable to open the door.

Glancing behind me, not seeing Mrs. Underwood, I give serious thought to going back down the hall and out the front door. I'm angry and jealous beyond all reason and not up for dealing with this shit.

I don't need to be here. I have options! I didn't use to have options, but now I do. For instance, I could text Malcolm, although I'm not going to. That's too extreme. A better idea, I could text Barns and have another date with him. Last night was a pretty good date. It was my first experience as the top guy, which was incredibly interesting. It would have been, um, even more interesting having Todd's eight-inch dick up my ass. Maybe next time, although I probably won't follow up on that.

While I was running through all this junk in my head, Mrs. Underwood came up behind me, "Gary? Why are you standing here?" Jesus! I almost jumped out of my skin.

"HUH! What? Oh, um... I was just about to see if, ah..."

She smiles, asking, "Are you alright?"

I mumble another lie, "I forgot to bring something and thought maybe I should go, um, I can't decide..."

She's holding a platter of chips and dip, "Oh, William will be happy you came to see him. Um, here, why don't you take this dish of chips in there and tell the boys there are sodas in the fridge if they want them."

Taking the platter from her, the mask I brought with me is dangling from my fingers; Mrs. Underwood says, "Ah, you do know that William's past the contagious period, right? The mask isn't necessary, although it won't hurt to wear it."

I nod, "Uh-huh, okay," and she reaches around me as she's forcing another smile and opening the bedroom door for me.

"There ya go, Gary. Well, um," and she hurries back down the hall, probably thinking she needs to get away from crazy me.

Billy and Ronny are looking at themselves in the bureau mirror. Startled at my unannounced entrance, they look over at me, their eyes wide open. Same with Pat, who's sitting at Billy's desk, his back to the desk and his elbows on the desktop. He goes, "Hey, Bud, whatcha got there? Dip and chips?"

He gets up, and I hand the platter to him as Billy says, "Hi, Gary! Dude, you're freaking lucky you weren't here earlier. My 'effing brother is home from college, and he gave Ronny and me shitty haircuts. You would have been his third victim," and he rubs his head, ruffling the short, uneven hair between his fingers.

I'm not sure why, but I feel like I could scream. Billy tells me, "Ronny was the first victim, so he got the shittiest haircut, Hee-hee. Charlie hasn't cut hair for two years, so he practiced on Ronny."

Ronny, rubbing his head with both hands, mutters, "Billy lied to me about his brother's barbering skills," and they do fake wrestling, rolling onto the twin bed. Frozen in space and time, I stare stupidly at them, feeling dizzy.

Pat, crunching on a mouthful of chips, asks, "Are you okay, Bud?"

Looking at Pat, I nod and say, "I want to, um, do you mind if I sit on that desk chair?"

Frowning, Pat puts the chip and dip platter on the desk and hugs me with both arms, "Why would I mind? I've never minded anything you do, but you do look awfully pale. Are you coming down with this fucked-up virus?"

I mutter, "No," and look at Billy and Ronny, who almost fell off the twin bed. Looking at Pat again, I mumble, "Um, Pat, can you hang out with me after dinner tonight?"

He kind of guides me onto the chair, saying, "I'd love to, but I can't, Bud. Sorry, but I've got a study group thing to go to tonight. I think Ronny is going to have a date with you, though."

What?

Before I can think about that, I hear a loud THUMP and more laughing. Ha, Billy's and Ronny's goofing around finally made them fall off the bed.

Pat nods at the two guys on the floor and rolls his eyes, then shrugs, "Yeah, we're studying for the final exam that William and I have. He's part of the study group tonight, so we're driving there together."

"Oh, um, but what'd you say about Ronny having a date with me? He's not going to the study group?"

Pat says, "Nah, he didn't have that class, but he was in a study group this morning for like three hours. Tomorrow we all start taking final exams. As I said, yeah, I heard Billy say something about Ron looking out for you tonight."

Billy's on his feet, asking, "Gary, what the fuck bro... are you coming down with something? You look as white as a ghost."

"No, I don't. Um, Billy, Pat told me, ah. I mean, what do you think I'm going to be doing tonight?"

Sounding out of breath from wrestling, Billy says, "Calm down, Gary. You always get ahead of yourself. Listen, good news, I'm past the contagious stage, so I can get the 'eff out of this room! I'm actually looking forward to that study group Pat's talking about. There will be drinking afterward, though, right, Pat?"

Shrugging, Pat says, "That's what I'm told."

Ronny says to Pat, "Hey, Summers, how about bringing that platter of chip and dip over here."

I glance at Ronny. Huh, could I actually have a date with him? Well, if he invites me, I wouldn't mind. Actually, there's something about him tonight that I haven't noticed before. Too bad I don't know what that something is because it's making me feel funny.

Then for the first time in our lives, Ronny's and my eyes meet. He looked over unexpectedly, and looked into each other's eyes for maybe a whole second before averting our eyes. What was that? I felt something. I don't dare look back at him. I do another fake cough, muttering, "Is it hot in here, or what?"

Pat says, "I think you're coming down with something, Bud," and he puts the platter on the bed. I shrug as they dig into the chips and dip. I don't because it's tortilla chips with guacamole dip... grossness in a bowl.

Their heads down, they're dipping into the glop as I look at Billy's and Ron's haircuts again. Jeez, I'm glad I wasn't here. Their haircuts are choppy and uneven but not especially short; mostly just uneven. Heh-heh, I almost snicker out loud but turn it into another fake cough at the last second. Billy is going to hear some mocking haircut-shaming comments tonight at the study group party.

On the other hand, he and Ronny have the same shade of light-brown hair and, more or less, twin-butchered haircuts. They're the twins, and although neither of them is cute per se, they do have pretty much the same size bodies, and they're wearing matching oversized black t-shirts with I SURVIVED COVID in red letters on the front. Where did the T-shirts come from?

As if he just read my mind, swallowing some chips and dip, Billy asks me, "Did you notice the t-shirts Ron and I have on?"

How could I not notice them? I'm standing next to the bed, on Billy's side, muttering, "Oh, uh-huh. Where did they come from?"

Ron says, "I bought them on Amazon just in time for Underwood to get over his Covid attack."

Billy rubs his fingers through his unevenly cut hair, telling me, "You know, you need a haircut too, Gary. Keep our tradition going by getting our butch haircut. And say hi to your uncle for me. I'm not sure that I'll ever get back to our magical twin haircuts, but you can at least carry on your half of the tradition."

Why doesn't he want to go with me? I stay calm, nodding and mumbling, "Oh, I don't know." I don't want to ask Billy about anything with Ronny and Pat here.

Lightly punching Ronny on the shoulder, Billy snickers and says, "Charlie got you worse, Ronny. You should go with Gary to his uncle's barbershop and get the rest cut off. It'll be even then, at least... heh-heh.."

Making a face, Ronny says, "No fucking way am I getting a more butchered haircut than I've already got."

Billy yells, "Butchered? What the fuck you talking about? Gary's uncle isn't a butcher. Not when cutting the butch-style haircut Gary's getting. It's a haircut reminiscent of the nineteen fifties. Right, Gary?"

"I don't know anything about the fifties, Billy. And neither does my uncle. He was born in the nineteen eighties."

Ignoring that, Ron and Billy mess around doing fake wrestling again, with Pat yelling at them, "Hey, assholes, watch the chip and dip platter!"

Quickly picking the platter up off the bed, he says to me, "As you can see, Bud, Billy's feeling a lot friskier."

Nodding, I wish I was wrestling with Billy because there are very few ways to have more bodily contact than wrestling. It's a fifteen-second wrestling match, then Billy hops off the bed and, breathing deeply, gives me a hug, asking, "Are you okay, Gary? You look pale."

I mutter, "I already said I'm fine! Everybody says I look pale, but I'm fine."

Billy dips a chip in the glop and says, "Well, as you've heard, Pat and I have this study group thing tonight, but I'm not forgetting you. Ronny's eating dinner here because I asked him to hook up with you tonight. How about that? I'm always looking out for you. You won't need to be alone pulling on your worm in your bedroom all night."

I make a face, "That's okay; Ronny doesn't need to hook up with me. And I don't pull on anything in my bedroom."

Ignoring that, he excitedly says, "Ronny is going to take you for a ride on his motorbike. I've been unable to take care of you, but I got Pat, and now I'm getting Ronny to keep you company and look out for you."

Oh, balls, the same old shit. It's Billy's insane idea that I need someone looking out for me. It's absurd, but Billy is so sincere about it that I almost believe it's true. Plus, now that I know Billy and I are not going to be getting our magical twin haircuts together, I'm more than a little flustered. I don't want to act petty or jealous, though, so I'll pretend I'm fine with being 'looked out for' until Billy, and I can talk about all this in private.

I nod, "Yeah, well, okay, thanks, Billy," and I look over at Ronny, who rolls his eyes and says, "I'm honored you'd even agree to this. I didn't think you would." Looking at Billy, he mutters, "So you were right, Underwood... again."

Ronny grins then as if something unspoken just passed between him and Billy. He gets off the bed and walks over, rubbing his unevenly cut hair, and says, "Seriously, though, Wallingford, we need to know each better anyway. Hopefully, we can become friends, especially since I'm going in on the apartment with you and Underwood this fall."

I'm like, "Apartment?" and Billy goes, "Yeah, it's not definite yet, though. You know, we'll see if we can all get along."

Ronny says, "Anyway, if you can come back here tonight around seven-thirty, um, I guess we'll go, ah, somewhere on my bike."

Billy squeezes my shoulder and says, "Um, Gary, I sort of promised Ronny that you'd show him the Sears parking lot that I've told him so much about."

Thinking back to when he and I would be rolling around naked in his mom's SUV, I mumble, "Okay, but we'll be on his motorbike, so what's the point of, you know, going there?"

Billy mutters, "Yeah, I know, but you can at least show him our favorite dumpster, haha," and he steps away from me to get some chips and dip.

We haven't made eye contact after that first time, so I sneak a peak at Ronny's eyes, and he looks into mine, then looks away and tentatively puts his arm around my waist. Squeezing, he quietly said, "Please give me a chance, Gary."

Pat and Billy are arguing about something as I give Ronny a quizzical look, then nod, mumbling, "Of course, Ronny." He bumps against my side and says, "Listen, I don't know what's up with Billy setting us up on this date, but I'm sensing a crazy sort of melting sensation touching you. You're, um, so, ah... I don't know."

I'm frowning, clueless about what's going on, but feeling a strange attraction to Ronny, who shrugs and mumbles, "And I'm really sorry for acting shitty to you the other day, but um, it's because, um, I don't know. I was nervous, I guess."

Now I'm looking at him as if he's speaking Greek.

He says, "Seriously, would you say something, please? I know Billy's wrong about you needing to be taken care of; that's bullshit. I think it's intended to make him feel needed. No one needs to take care of you, okay? That being said, lets you and me humor him. Plus, you and I can maybe become friends. I'd sincerely like that. I think we can be great friends."

Holy shit, I'm not at all sure how serious he is, but he sounded wicked sincere; but, not being used to anyone confiding in me like that, I shrug noncommittally, and Billy calls over to us, "Hey, I heard that, Ron! Look, dick-head; I know Gary better than anyone. He sometimes does need looking out for by a more mature, responsible individual, such as yourself."

Fuck that; I don't listen as they get to talking back and forth, snickering at something. Let them talk. What I do know is that somehow Ronny sounded much different from earlier, and I felt a gooey melting sensation in my balls. All of a sudden, I'm wicked intrigued with Ronny, and I'm more than just okay about going on a date with him.

Billy and Pat have told me many times that some gay friends mess around sexily even though they're not boyfriends, and we're obviously a group of that type of gay friends. So I suppose Ronny and I could have sex on our date, although I wouldn't have believed any of this if I wasn't living it. And I'm not complaining; just saying...

Still, I'm not sure what to make of Ronny tonight. I hated him before tonight, but now I'm beginning to think he might be a really good guy. I like that he said I don't need anyone 'taking care of me, and I felt something funny when he was being so sincere. His arm around my waist is making my dick quiver.

Ronny murmurs, "Do you wanna sit with me on the bed? Um, there's no place else to sit."

It's weird, but I do want to sit with him; then Billy joins us. The three of us sit on the bed, the headboard at our backs as Pat mumbles, "The three stooges," and lies across the foot of the bed.

It grosses me out the way they're eating from that horrible chips and dip platter, Ron swallowing, then asking me, "Don't you like guacamole dip?"

Shaking my head, "No, it looks like someone threw up in a bowl."

Ronny laughs, then starts gagging. I pat his back, then Billy tells me, "These chips are 'effing dry. Would you get some Cokes for us, Gary?"

I'm used to doing what Billy says, plus I'm on the end of the bed closest to the door anyway, so I slide off the bed and, in the kitchen alone, get three Cokes from the refrigerator. We all snap the tab on the sodas I bring back as Ronny says, "Thanks," and holds an arm out, inviting me to sit next to him on the bed.

I get next to Ronny, and, like earlier, he puts an arm around my waist, explaining, "It's dumb of me, maybe, but I'm a little nervous about tonight, and being with you this afternoon is helping a lot. Sorry, but um, ah, why so quiet tonight? Is something wrong?"

Where to start? Yeah, but Ronny isn't anything like the overly-confident Billy and Pat. Ronny seems more unsure of himself than me. I go, "Oh, nothing's wrong; I'm good. It's just that Billy's twin bed isn't big enough for the three of us sitting on it like this, and it feels like I'm going to fall off the side any second, heh-heh."

He tightens his arm around me, and we're already tightly together, with Billy's arm across Ronny's shoulder. Well, it should be at least slightly awkward being this intimate with my former enemy, Ronny, except now I think I had him figured out totally wrong.

Pat says, "I gotta take a piss," and as soon as he walks out of the room, Billy says, "Go ahead, Ron. What are you waiting for? Do I need to do everything for you?"

I turn my head to look at Billy, "What are you..." but Ronny is gently pulling my face around to his, murmurs, "Sorry, but Billy, um..." and he kisses me the way you might kiss your brother as he goes off to war or something. Billy says, "Really? Is that it, Ron?"

Ron mumbles, "Sorry, Gary," and gives me a one-second sloppy kiss this time. He doesn't seem to notice that I'm not objecting in any way, and he could have gone longer. Ronny has sexy lips and a pleasant boyish scent. He's gentle, yet he has a sort of dominant way of kissing, and he's very intense about it too.

Billy goes, "Kissing cousins, huh?"

Frankly, it was a better kiss than Billy usually comes up with. It's close to one of Pat's better kisses. Ronny got my dick hard, me leaning into him, and I wouldn't have broken off the kiss as early as Ronny did... no way! Yeah, holy shit, that was interestingly hot!

It was stunning, actually. I'd never have expected a kiss like that from him. Ronny turns to Billy and mumbles, "Right again, Underwood. Wallingford's a good make-out. I can see that,"

Billy looks past Ronny to me, "Ronny's a good kisser too, huh, Gary?"

I try to be cool, but snort out a nervous chuckle, then nod, "Yeah, ha-ha. I don't know, but yeah, I guess he is."

Billy goes, "Well, I'm hoping you have the best date of your life with Ronny. Have the time of your life. Haha, after tonight, you'll probably drop me for him."

I don't know how to react to any of this, so I look at Pat, who's back from the bathroom, saying, "Don't look at me, Bud. I've never kissed either one of them. I know how good a kisser you are, though."

Ronny says to Billy, "Okay, so, what exactly, um, do you expect us to do tonight? I ride him on my bike to the Sears lot, then what?"

Billy strains his head around in from of Ronny, asking me, "Are your folks going to be home tonight, Gary?"

I don't know why Billy is totally setting Ronny and me up on this date tonight, but he certainly is.

And, oh, jeez, no, Mom and Dad won't be home tonight, but should I admit that or lie and say they will be home? It's Mom's and Dad's every other Wednesday card-playing night with the neighbors. Hmm, I do want to give myself a chance to be friends with Ronny. That kiss makes me want more. Plus, he's older and more experienced than me, and he's been super nice to me this afternoon, so I'm interested in what he'll be like as a messing around gay friend.

I'm feeling adventurous too, plus I know Billy wants me to be more sociable, so I tell the truth, "My parents will be playing cards at a neighbor's house tonight. There won't be anyone home, so we can hang out there if you want, Ronny."

Billy goes, "That works, but Goddamn, I can't wait until the three of us have our apartment, ya know? Then this kind of thing won't ever be a concern. Anyway, for now, this will work great. You two will be having a blast while Pat and I are being bored to tears with the 'effing study group."

All of a sudden, I'm not feeling confident about doing this, so, probably sounding too hopeful, I ask, "Can you guys hook up with us right after your study group?"

Pat mutters, "Nah, there's a beer party afterward, and it'll be too late. Plus, as I said, we start taking final exams tomorrow, but, dude, the four of us can begin thinking about a threesome or even a foursome."

Ronny, sounding sarcastic, says, "Jeez, Summers, you're such a hot shit. Threesomes, huh? After Wallingford and I get it on, that'll leave you and me doing it, I guess."

Pat mutters, "Christ, dude, chill! I didn't think you'd take that shit seriously. Fuck, I was kidding! Anyway, I'm getting tight with a guy at school, so I seriously doubt you and I are going to be dating any time this century."

Ronny, sounding contrite now, goes, "Sorry, but I was kidding too, obviously!" then he runs his fingers up the back of my head, asking, "Are you okay dating me tonight?"

I shrug, "Sure, why wouldn't I be?" and Pat says, "Gary, don't do a fucking thing with him you don't want to. And if he gives you any trouble, tell me, and I'll kick his ass for you."

Looking at Ronny, then back at Pat, I mutter, "No problem. I'm pretty sure I can kick his ass myself, Pat."

Billy says, "Nobody is kicking anybody's ass. Jesus!" Then, "Of course, Gary doesn't need to do anything he doesn't feel like doing." Looking at me, he adds, "You know that, right?"

I nod, "Yes, of course. I'm fucking eighteen years old, not eight..." and Billy says, "Don't get upset, Gary! You're the baby here. We're all older than you, me being the oldest, and I'm used to looking out for you. You should be flattered."

Goddammit, I think Billy's hooking me up with Ronny because he's found someone else he likes more, or he's grown tired of me. It's something like that, I just know it!

Ronny says, "Whatever, Underwood. You told me to bring a change of clothes, so is it okay if I take a shower before dinner? For my date tonight with the baby." He chuckles, then murmurs, 'Just kidding you, Wallingford."

Shrugging, Billy says, "Go ahead and take a shower." Then he does his awesome smile, adding, "I'd shower with you, except my Mom will be back any second now."

Ronny mutters, "Jesus, forget dreaming about that. Sharing an apartment or not, you're not ever showering with me, dude."

He slides off the bed, smiles at me, then ruffles my hair, smiles, and says, "You can shower with me any time, though, Wallingford."

He sounded so friendly. Shy but friendly, too, and I couldn't help but smile back at him. He adds, "I hope we can have some fun tonight."

I should be turned off by the thought of Ronny messing around fucking me, but, as I inferred earlier, I'm not turned off. Not turned off by Ronny Lynch because I'm with the program now! I'm totally into the idea of gay friends messing around. I've got a boyfriend, and yet I've messed around with Pat, Todd, and Malcolm, so why not add Ronny to the list of messing around gay friends?

Gay guys mess around a lot, or some gay friends do. Not all of them, and maybe not most of them, but some do... we do. And, yeah, this cavalier attitude I'm faking is a result of Billy's apparent loss of interest in me. I know he likes me a lot, but he doesn't love me; I'm pretty sure he doesn't. or he doesn't love me the way I want him to.

I say, "You know what would be cool on our date, Ronny? If Billy will give us one of his marijuana joints. One of the ones he stole from Charlie's stash. We could smoke it at the Sears parking lot."

Ronny points at me, "Great idea! I'm not much of a pothead guy, but we need something like that to relax us or relax me anyway."

He picks up a small satchel and looks at Pat and Billy, who are talking about something, then quietly says to me, "Never mind what Underwood thinks; I hope you realize I'm going to be depending on you as much as you may be depending on me to make our date work, okay? I don't really know what I'm doing with this date."

Gee, Ronny is very different than I expected, but whatever, I sort of grin, not sure what he even means. Then he goes, "I'm serious about that. Okay?"

I grin again, still not sure what he means, and he gives me a friendly look as if he's asking... are we good, bro? So, I nod encouragingly and smile at him because there is something mysterious that I like about him. He's not cute, but there's something there for me, maybe something major.

Ronny nods back at me, "Okay, then. I feel good about you and me. I don't know that I can explain it, but I think you're special." and he goes to the bathroom.

I get a shiver thinking about tonight with Ronny as Pat's telling Billy and me, "Dudes, I've found another genius gem on YouTube. This video blew my fucking mind!"

Billy and I walk over to watch the video Pat's talking about. He brings it up on his phone as Billy pulls my curly hair, saying, "It's going to be quite a while before we get back into our world, babe. You're my favorite person ever; don't forget that."

Nodding my head, but without a clue what he means. I don't know what anybody means. It sounded ominous, though. I mumble, "I love you, Billy." He grins, "I know you do, and it's been the best part of my life so far."

We have a kiss, then, rolling his eyes; Pat says, "You two are giving me a boner. Are you ready to watch the world's greatest singer? Different from Elvis. This guy is a very nice young-looking Filipino guy named Marcelito Pomoy. He sings this amazing song on a Filipino radio station bus as if it's no big deal to sit in front of a mic and sing both the soprano and baritone parts of a song... singing a duet with himself, in other words."

Billy's like, "He's wasting that talent on the radio. Listeners will think it's two people singing."

Pat says, "Damn, you're right. I didn't think of that. Anyway, the song is 'The Prayer,' and it was originally sung as a duet by Celine Dion and Andrea Bocelli. Those two are serious performers, and Marcelito sounds exactly like both artists!"

Watching and listening to this guy effortlessly and spectacularly sit there and sing this beautiful song, both parts equally and powerfully performed in staggering perfection, is truly mind-blowing! It's also a welcome change of topic from Ronny's and my mystery date.

We're shocked watching what very few, if anyone else, could do what Marcelito is doing. We watched it twice, then found another one of Pomoy's amazing performances. In this one, singing on the same 107.5 radio station bus, he sings 'The Power Of Love." 107.5 is a Filipino station, and, of course, Marcelito is Filipino, but the song is probably not played on any stations outside the Filipinos. It's on YouTube, though!

Ronny, looking shiny and clean, comes back in the room, asking, 'What are you three guys huddled there watching?" Pat shows him, and we all shake our heads, muttering, "Damn, unbelievable..."

Pat and Billy watch something else as Ronny says to me, "Hey, ya know what? Obviously, you're the cutest guy I've ever been on a date with, and I'm wicked excited and more than a little nervous about it. So, if I seem goofy, please give me a break."

Huh. I have a totally different feel for Ronny Lynch than I had before today. There's something about him that I never noticed before, although I'm not sure exactly what it is. Something good, though. I swear, my dick shimmers when he looks into my eyes.

I try to say, 'Thanks for the compliment,' but gulp instead. He grins and puts his arm around me, "We're pretty much the same clueless guys, Wallingford, so I'm starting to believe we'll be okay tonight."

I nod, "Yeah, I think we'll be fine, Ronny." We grin at one another, and my dick gets firm. Damn!

At five of six, Pat leaves to have dinner, and a few minutes later, Billy reaches to the back of his bottom bureau drawer and comes out with a joint. He gives it to Ronny and says, "I wish I could smoke this with you guys."

Then, Billy looks at me, "Hey, I know you'll have fun with my guy here. He and you should be perfect together. I know I'm right about that!"

Before I can say anything to that incredibly weird comment, Mrs. Underwood calls them to dinner. Leaving the bedroom, Ronny says he'll pick me up, so I quickly describe how to get to my house. He nods, "Okay, yeah. It's what, six blocks?"

I nod as Billy breaks off to use the bathroom, and Ronny walks me out the front door. Standing together on the stoop, he says, "Ah, look, we both know Billy has some crazy ideas. I mean, he still isn't sure he's gay, haha, right?"

I chuckle, and Ronny goes, "Anyway, I just want to say that we don't need to do anything sexy if you don't want to. We can watch a movie at your house or go to the movies. It's up to you, but I hope you'll want to at least make out a little... no pressure, though."

As I said, he is not cute or good-looking, or handsome. As with most people, Ronny Lynch is average looking. Okay, his nose is too small for his face, but not ridiculously so, and his brown eyes are smallish too, and his ears stick out like the open front doors on a Mini Cooper. Plus, he's undersized. Well, he's Billy's size which is an inch or two shorter than me. Ron recently made the unfortunate decision to wear a so-called trendy beard which hasn't improved his appearance at all. His whiskers are skimpy, barely enough on his upper lip to qualify as a mustache.

On the plus side, his mouth and lips are full and sexy, and he has a very, very nice smile with sparkling white smallish teeth. Almost baby-size, smallish teeth, and his mouth is all bright pink and white and clean-looking, too, so that's cool. And all of that registers with me as I mumble, "Well, don't put the pressure of deciding what we'll do on me. I'll do whatever you think we should do."

He does his nice smile and says, "Are you kidding? A cute guy like you is going to acquiesce to what I want? Christ, what if I'd like to lick you all over, make- out with you, suck your dick, and then fuck you for twenty minutes. Haha, maybe we better go with what you suggest."

"Do you really want to do all those things with me?"

He grins and nods, mumbling, "I hardly ever get to have sex of any kind, so I say dumb stuff like that when asked. You apparently don't know how cute and sexy-hot you are, do you? Ninety-nine gay guys out of a hundred would want to do all those things and more with you."

I go, "Gee, thanks! A few hours ago, a gay guy at work said I was too girlish-cute or something like that, so he wouldn't make out with me. He must be the one guy out of a hundred."

Shaking his head slowly, Ronny mumbles, "He must be an idiot! Billy was telling me how you can be naive at times, almost childlike, so perhaps you misunderstood what the guy was hinting at."

Squinting my eyes, "Do you think I'm childlike?"

He says, "I don't know what the fuck to think. At times I think maybe you're pulling everyone's chain, jerking us off for shits and giggles. Actually, I can't tell if you're serious or joking when you come out and say unexpected things. But I don't really give a damn about any of that. I just want to be a nice date for you."

I say, "Well, you're a lot nicer than I thought you'd be. I'll try to be the best blind date you've ever had too."

Ronny mumbles, "Holy shit. Well, being the best won't be hard because you're my first blind date, and you're super impressing me already."

He glances quickly inside the front door, not seeing anyone there; he kisses me on the lips. I grin, and we kiss again; then I hear Billy yell, "Dinner, Ron!"

"See you a little later, Ronny."

He smiles and slowly swipes my inch-and-a-half-long curly bangs over to the side of my forehead the way Mark needs to do with his much longer bangs every two minutes. Ronny says, "I like your pretty blond curly hair. See you in an hour or so, Wallingford."

Nodding, I get the shivers. Then grin, saying, "Okay. And, hey, maybe I'll let you call me Gary."

He goes, "Oh, hell. I call everybody by their last name. Sorry."

Holy shit, this thing with Ronny is unexpectedly interesting, and now I'm psyched about our date!

Walking the six blocks home, I think that this day just might be the most unusual of my life, and I've already had some really unusual ones in the past year. Today started with me getting assigned to work for the very weird Malcolm on the loading dock, then he fucked my brains out in two minutes, drove me home, and threw me a kiss. And now a date with Ronny Lynch, something I couldn't have envisioned in my wildest imagination even one day ago, and we'll likely end up naked together in my bed.

While all that is very weird, especially the fact that it's Billy who set the date up for Ronny and me. But even a weirder part is me not being more flustered about everything. I used to get wicked flustered, but not anymore. In fact, I'm good with it; I like it!

Well, okay, then.

Every other Wednesday at my house, we have pizza for dinner because it's a card-playing night for Mom and Dad. When Mom gets home from work, she doesn't want to make dinner. She wants to shower and so forth, getting ready to go out, and that's what is happening tonight.

I showered before going to Billy's, but there were some cleanliness items that still needed attending after dinner. I brushed my teeth and gargled, changed my shirt, put on fresh deodorant and a touch of Axe Body Spray, then tried fixing my hair to look good for my semi-blind date with Ronny.

Seriously, I can hardly wait to get my hair cut, but now I'm not sure about getting it cut in my old butch haircut style. I'd prefer a slightly longer cut, but if Billy insists, I'll get the butch cut... anything is better than this curly mess I've been dealing with for six weeks, and it gets worse every day.

My parents leave for the Reynolds' house a little after seven, and then I'm waiting outside for Ronny at seven-twenty. He comes roaring up on his motorbike two minutes later, stopping in front of me.

I go, "Cool motorbike, Ronny."

Putting both feet on the ground, one on either side of the rumbling motorbike, he says, "When I left the house this afternoon, I already knew Billy wanted me to take you out tonight, so I brought this with me."

He holds out a helmet, adding, "It's the helmet everyone I give a ride to must wear, including your boyfriend. It's the law."

I take the helmet, saying earnestly, "Thanks, but listen. Um, while I'm happy to go with you to the infamous Sears parking lot and dumpster, we don't need to do that. My parents have already left for their night out, so no one is home."

Sounding a little bit whiny, he says, "Please, put the helmet on, Wallingford. I want to see the dumpster, and you said we'll smoke the joint there, right?"

Oh, yeah, the joint. "Um, you said that, actually."

Huh, I could tell at Billy's that Ronny was a little nervous about tonight, but I didn't expect he'd be whiny. Normally, Ronny looks and sounds serious and grown up, and he's one of those guys who looks older than his age too. Somehow, the combination of him looking and acting older, plus our being unfamiliar, gives me a strange vibration or premonition or something. It's a jittery feeling, not an unpleasant sensation, but it is a new strange one making me shiver a little.

Maybe it's the way he insisted I put the helmet on, and when I did, Ronny laughed, then mumbled, "Holy shit, you're the first person to ever do what I told them to do. Haha, wow, that was a cool feeling watching you do what I said."

I give him a look, then murmur, "Yeah, well, you said it's the law, but there's something about you, Ronny. Something that I think is cool. I mean, it's all good; it's okay. We're good. Um, should I get on the bike now?"

He nods, and I lift my right leg over the back tire and sit snuggly right behind him, my crotch, my junk, touching his buttocks. I mumble, "Jeez, there isn't much room on the seat. It's small."

He moves forward an inch, asking, "Better?"

I go, "Uh-huh," and he says, "This is no time to be tentative or shy. For safety's sake, you need to wrap your arms around me and hold onto me tightly."

Again, doing what he said, my arms around his stomach, my face close to the back of his helmet it feels kind of weird because Ronny feels just like Billy. You know, they're the same size and all.

He lifts his feet and turns the handlebar grip, and we take off with the back tire squealing and the front one coming up off the road. Then, with me yelling directions, it's an exhilarating fifteen-minute ride, me hugging Ronny for all I'm worth. Then, going slowly now, we're riding down the bumpy pot-holed entrance to the Sears parking lot.

It's the second week in May, so in the Northeast at this time of year, it's getting dark about now, and the one headlight of Ron's motorbike makes it feel eerie entering the vast empty parking lot. Ronny does a circle in the parking lot, coming to an idling stop next to the dumpster.

"So, this is the famous dumpster, huh?"

Taking my arms from around him, sitting back slightly, I mumble, "Uh-huh. Look at all the condoms that rude litterbug assholes threw on the ground."

He snickers and kicks the kickstand down, "You need to get off first, Wallingford."

I swing my legs over the back wheel and stand next to the bike as he gets off. I tell him again, "You can call me Gary if you want. Um, and that was a cool ride, Ronny. I liked that."

We both take our helmets off and hang them on the bike's handlebars, then Ronny says, "Yeah, you liked it, huh? If you want, I'll ride you up to the Poconos sometime. My parents own an A-frame up there. It's a fun ride in the mountains, and you could stay overnight with me if you want to. Underwood did, but he didn't have a great time because he was coming down with the virus and couldn't enjoy the ride that much, or at all, I guess."

I knew all that already. Then, surprising myself, I realized I'd like to do that with him, "Really? Thanks, that'd be cool, Ronny. I'd like to do that with you. Thanks for inviting me."

Nodding again, he continues looking serious, saying, "Don't you think it's odd that this dumpster doesn't stink? It doesn't smell at all."

"I think that's because it hasn't been used for like two years."

He nods, then looks me in the eyes, "Wallingford, um, Gary, ah, well, I didn't know I was going to feel like this, but I do. And, um, I never thought I'd ever have the balls to say this to you, or anyone, but, um, what I want to say is, I'd like to fuck you right here against this dumpster, assuming that would be alright with you. Wait, I guess I should have said... 'IF' it's alright with you. Why would I assume it would be alright, ya know?"

I hesitate whenever I[m taken completely off guard like this. I mean, no one has ever come right out that blatantly saying they want to fuck me. I mean, before Malcolm this afternoon and now Ronny Lynch. Fortunately, I'm getting used to hearing the unexpected and don't freak out the way I used to.

"Holy shit, Ronny, that is one crazy motherfucker of an idea, but yeah, it's alright with me. I think I'd like that."

He nods, "Thanks! I can't believe you're okay with it, but I'm really, really glad you are."

He murmurs, "Sorry, but I need to do this..." and he then backs me against the dumpster. We look into each other's eyes as he very deliberately and gently grabs a fistful of my curly bangs in front to slowly pull my head down to his; then, he gives me a version of the kiss he gave me on Billy's bed. It's an even better version. A twenty-some-second awesome kiss.

When he moved his mouth away from mine, I lick and suck my lips, looking down at his fingers, watching them unbuckling my jeans. Done doing that, Ronny murmured, "Would you turn around now, please." Very formal sounding, and it's kind of hypnotic.

I turn, now facing the blue dumpster; he pulls my pants down, and, with a finger inside my underpants on both sides, he pulls them down too. My hands are against the dumpster keeping my body away. Ronny rustles around behind me, taking his pants down. He murmurs, "I hardly ever do this. It's so rare I can't believe I'm doing it now."

"Uh-huh. It's okay, Ronny. You're doing fine."

The weather is pleasant at about sixty-seven degrees, so not exactly warm, but not cold either. Ronny inhales noisily as if he's having trouble breathing, then wraps his arms around my stomach and presses his chest against my back, moving his hip back and forth, dragging his penis tightly on my buttocks.

Hmm, what? Yeah, it's strange because it doesn't feel his penis is very big. Nothing like Barns', Malcolm's, or Pat's cocks, and maybe not even as big as Billy's and mine. Curious...

Pushing myself further from the dumpster, I feel his dick, whatever its size, firming up. Ron does a short quiet moan, then moves his face slowly back and forth on the back of my neck and head. He didn't say a word riding here, not that it would have been easy to talk over the roar of the motor and road noise. Then, when we got here, he didn't have a lot to say either, but what he did say was all very nice, very serious. No smart-ass remarks or sarcasm. He's been quite serious since telling me to put the helmet on.

Leaving his left arm around me, his right-hand moves the head of his now firm dick to my anus. I don't know what to expect, and it's just occurred to me that neither of us mentioned anything about a condom or lubricant, and I wonder why we didn't. My excuse is Ronny's hypnotized me or something. This has been surreal, actually, and now, thank God, I'm feeling a little pre-cum on the head of his boner. Oops, except it immediately smeared off on my butt cheek before the head got back to my asshole.

Looking down, I see one of Billy's and my condoms on the ground, also noticing Ronny's and my pants and underwear around our ankles. I also notice Ronny is up on his toes, so I bend forward, hoping his boner will go inside easier like this.

Then, I'm like, "Ahh! OW!" when he's pushed the head of his cock against my anus that reluctantly opened, but without a little something to grease the works, it really hurt. Not used to this, I grunt, "Ow, oh, um, ow!"

My anus felt raw, spreading open against the dry skin on the head of his cock. It had to be hurting Ron too, but he steadily applied pressure until we both gasped, "Ooh! Ummm!" relieved the head was inside me finally.

We both breathe deeply for a few seconds, then Ronny pushes his cock in a little further, and I grunt, "I'm sorry, but that hurts, Ronny."

He's doing little half-inch dry thrusts and withdrawals, all of them hurting. My dick is soft and swaying slightly as Ronny continues doing the little thrusts. This sucks, but I'm beginning to feel bad for him, for Ronny. He's probably feeling awful that this is going so poorly.

Undeterred, though, he continues the slight thrusting, each one hurting me and probably him too. I bite my lip and concentrate on not bitching about this disastrously horrible sex while trying to ignore the hurt, which is lessening by the second. Yes, oddly, it isn't what I'd consider as painful so much as a rude type of soreness. Maybe my anus is getting numb as Ron's trusts are becoming longer, and yes, there's more pre-cum helping things to move smoother.

Shuffling my feet a little, bending over completely at my waist, my arms extending, keeping me away from the side of the dumpster, I nod and, sounding surprised, murmur, "Ah, way to go... it's starting to feel good, Ronny."

He doesn't say anything, so I concentrate on the length of each thrust as my dick begins firming up. The crazy thing is, mostly, I'm feeling good for Ronny! I'm so happy this is working for him. My best guess is each thrust, at the most, is three inches long, and, "Umm," they're feeling really good now, too; the thrusts are. Oh God, yeah!

"Umm, nice, Ronny. Ahh, umm."

Ronny's had both arms around me, but now he drops his right hand and grips my hardening dick at the root, his thumb and forefinger encircling it. Squeezing it, then stroking it in rhythm with his thrusting. Oh yeah, that feels good too!

In ten seconds, my dick is a roaringly hard boner, and his thrusting has me squirming and moaning, "Ah, ah, ooh, Ronny, um, yeah.." and then slapping sounds ring out in the night as Ron's crotch slaps against my buttocks, "Slap, slap, slap."

His dick isn't long, and it's not fat either, but somehow it feels fantastic inside me. It really does.

As close as I can come to it, the length of his trusts stopped expanding at three-inch thrusts. Still, as I said, it all feels really good! So good, in fact, that after a few minutes of steady pleasure, my climax button is now blinking and on alert to pop at any second, and that is shocking when considering the first three minutes of our messing around.

Ronny quietly moans, continuing a very consistent pattern of thrusting and stroking. It's got me very aroused with a zillion zipping pleasure bombs bursting continuously inside me and blooming outward to other parts of my body.

Nothing overwhelming, but lots of gooey pleasure that never lets up. It's hard now to even recall the first two or three minutes because the last five or so have been creamy good. I hear a series of low moans, "Umm, umm, ummm, ooh, so nice, yeah..." and realize I'm the one doing the moaning.

I'm in a delicious daze until all of a sudden, there's an abrupt change, and Ronny is grunting louder and thrusting much faster, his fingers no longer stroking but just holding onto my throbbingly hard boner.

I do a few gasps, unable to catch my breath, then let out a shrill sounding "Aaah," firecrackers exploding behind my eyes as I blow my load. It's a hard climactic stream of cum that bursts against the dumpster, splashing back against my groin and wetting Ronny's fingers. He does an extra hard thrust, going up on his toes as far as he can, then humping hard against my buttocks, screaming, "Yeeessss..." and filling me with his creamy goo.

He humps, humps, humps against my butt cheeks, his heart hammering fast against my back, then he lets out a long-held breath that's moist against the back of my neck, "Ooooh."

Letting go of my softening dick, Ronny hand goes under my T-shirt to rub my belly, his fingers spread rubbing my chest, going over my nipples again and again, getting them hard as little soldiers standing at attention.

My body, tight as a drum a minute ago, now relaxes to a ridiculous level, Ronny almost holding me up. We say nothing as I straighten and lie back against him, my arms back, my fingers squeezing and squeezing his butt cheeks. Hmm, surprisingly plump buttocks considering how slim he is otherwise.

We don't talk and don't separate, either. His dick, whatever its size, is still inside me, and his arms are still holding me around my waist. I don't want to move, I like the feel of this, and I like the silence. It's like if Ronny doesn't say anything; I don't feel I should either. I'm waiting for him to lead the way.

Ronny urges me with subtle pressure to sidestep to our right, moving us a few feet away from the cum splatter to a spot without used condoms at our feet. We take little side steps, our feet restricted by the pants at our ankles. Ronny's cock still feels fairly firm in my ass, and without withdrawing it, he does a hump against my buttocks every few seconds, which makes me act docile for him 'cause he's my guy/guy top.

To me, Ronny has a kind of unintentional dominance going for him. It's in the subtlest way possible, but ever since he rode up on his motorbike, I've felt a silly submissiveness to him. And I'm still feeling that way without him acting dominant in any way. It's more that I want to feel this submissiveness, even though I know Ronny isn't being the least bit dominant.

So, yeah, haha, it's a weird situation that I've sort of conjured up in my mind. What I can't ignore is the sense that something unique is happening. I'm getting crazily enamored of Ronny. It's more like an obsession that doesn't make any sense.

I shiver as Ron's cum squeezes around his dick to drool out of my ass and slide slowly down the back of my legs. There is no way Ronny's dick has even an average diameter, but my anus closed up around it tightly, no matter its girth. So, my anus is closed tightly with Ronny's hard dick in it, but cum is liquid, and liquid will find a way to drool out even around a cock filled asshole.

It's maybe ten minutes of the most intimate sensation of being almost one with Ronny Lynch, his boned-up penis in my ass for over twenty minutes. This is very different from anything else I've experienced, and my admiration for my date has increased significantly. I sense an insane closeness with him that's beyond sensibility.

Still against the dumpster, offering absolutely no resistance to Ronny pulling back his now super-hard boner that's been creating a tsunami of nerve endings noise, a crescendo of screeching pleasure that makes my entire body shudder. I gasp, "Ahh, oh, yeah, holy shit, yeah, Ronny, go ahead... fuck me again."

Grunting in a gasping breath, Ronny murmurs, "Jesus Christ, Wallingford, you have me stupidly aroused. It's so different than, umm, ooh, fuck," and he again starts slow thrusting while breathing hard. Then, within a minute, he's pounding his hard boner back and forth inside me. It's like three-inch thrusts again.

Yeah, very fast and hard three-inch thrusting, the slapping sound of flesh against flesh ringing out along with my moans of deep sexual pleasure. My hands on the dumpster pushed us away from it, giving my five-inch boner room to stick straight out, throbbing like crazy again, pre-cum already dripping, drip, drip, drip.

Ronny's boner is now feeling almost four-inches long. It's sliding tightly but smoothly with fresh pre-cum and what was left of the earlier gush of semen inside me. Ronny's hands, the fingers spread, are again moving under my T-shirt over my chest and stomach, then down around my cock and balls until his right hand again begins stoking my boner. Too many sizzling super-pleasurable sensations are bursting into my brain to comprehend even half of them.

It's like I don't know what to pay attention to; my rectum that's in a state of apocalyptic pleasure or my throbbing, over-stimulated, wickedly hard penis, or my hard-as-nails nipples, or the fact that Ronny and I are floating together above the dumpster. No! That can't be, and I realize my eyes are closed, increasing my ability to absorb the pleasure Ronny's boner is providing me.

My entire body jostled back and forth from his hard thrusting, has me into a mantra of, "Oh, oh, oh," with each hard thrust of his mystery boner. My arms reach back, my hands again holding onto each of Ronny's butt cheeks, riding the short trip back and forth with them.

I couldn't even guess how long this awesome fucking went on. It could have gone on for the rest of my life, as far as I'm concerned. Nothing else in the world mattered except Ronny Lynch and me. We're in a time warp tunnel surrounded by sexual pleasure, plus that intimacy I mentioned in this dream world of pleasure.

As even the Cosmos will eventually come to an end trillions of years from now, our sex act is coming to an end. My climax built and built until I couldn't breathe, then creamy cum blew out my iron-hard boner, burning the piss slit as I again made that girlie-sounding screech.

That insane flash of unimaginable pleasure left me shaking and doing the embarrassing girlie scream. Ronny sounded almost as screechy when he humped against me so hard; I went up against the cum splatter on the dumpster, Ronny blowing his second gooey load of cum up my ass.

Oh, my God, did that ever feel hot and sexy and wet and, yeah, slimy! Perfection, in other words. It got me shaking until Ronny held me tightly for a whole minute, then I gasped and, like before, relaxed against him, ready for whatever he wanted to do next.

What he wanted to do next was get us sidestepping away from my latest cum explosion on the side of the dumpster. We're both taking small sidewise steps and deep breaths. Ronny spoke the first words heard from either of us in the last half hour. He said, "Stop here, okay?" and then stepped back and pulled his dick from my ass. I made a grunting, 'oomph' sound as a few hundred shivers zipped over me.

Taking his arms away, Ron turns, steps to his motorbike, and pulls a hoodie sweatshirt from a compartment under the seat. I'm very curious about the size of his penis but don't want to be too obvious about it. His hold on the sweatshirt is blocking his private parts as he mutters, "Should we pull our pants up or pull them the rest of the way off?"

I frown, "I don't know. Which one should we do, Ronny?"

"Um, I guess, pull them off; we may not be done. And I'm not bullshitting you when I say you're like the sexiest turn-on, um, fuck, I've ever had. I don't ever top! Hardly ever, anyway, but I had to with you. It was the strongest urge ever. I had to have you!"

I'm with him; we're into something strange. Maybe it is both our time of the month when we need sex or something. Guys don't have a time of the month thing like girls, though... or do they? I don't think we do.

We kicked our sneakers off and then hopped from one foot to the other like we were doing a weird dance pulling our pants and underpants the rest of the way off. Ronny, his back to me, drapes our clothes over the motorbike. Then he arranges the sweatshirt on the ground next to the dumpster, doing nothing to hide his penis.

I already saw it anyway. When he was hopping from one foot to the other, I saw it but had to look twice because it was no more than three inches long and it had a below-average girth.

Ron appeared totally and completely unconcerned that I was staring at his dick. Smoothing the sweatshirt, he mumbles, "Here ya go. Sit on this, Gary. We'll share it," and we both sit on it, our backs against the dumpster.

The size of his penis confuses me because it felt so good in my ass, but looks too small to have provided that much stimulation and pleasure. And Ronny's serious, mature demeanor has me feeling as I did earlier. I don't know, sort of like I shouldn't speak until I'm spoken to. Um, I feel like a docile kid, submissive to Ronny, and, as I've noted previously, he isn't doing a Goddamn thing that's dominant; he's just sitting next to me, the outside of our arms touching.

I glance at our pants on the motorbike, glance sideways at Ronny, then take a deep breath and gawk up at a million stars and the huge full moon partially lighting the night sky. It's hard to breathe, and I don't know why that is.

I mean, Ronny's not intimidating at all, but these prolonged silent periods are beginning to get to me. There are some sounds from night creatures, but none close by. It's like I can almost touch the silence around us.

Ronny glanced over at me and, looking serious, reached his hand over to finger-comb my curly bangs off my forehead again, "It's getting chilly, huh?"

I grin goofily at him, "Uh-huh," and he says, "Are you putting a spell on me or something? I seriously need to control my urge to eat you up, Wallingford. Damn, you're sexy-cute!"

Frowning, I mumble, "Really? I was thinking the same thing about you," and I put my arm around the back of his neck, pulled his head over, and kissed his mouth. It was a ten-second kiss he accepted without much of a reaction. Strangely, I could plainly see but couldn't feel his whimpy beard when we kissed. Huh, that's strange...

I relaxed my arm but leave it on his shoulders, then tightened it again and kissed him on his cheek, murmuring, "It's you who put an 'effing spell on me, didn't you?"

Damn, I'm liking more things about Ronny the longer we go on. I like that he looks and acts older than nineteen while his scent remains charmingly boyish. He smells clean and healthy, and his mouth is very pink with smallish super-white teeth. It's nuts how attracted to him I am all of a sudden. It hasn't been all of a sudden, though. I felt attracted to him in Billy's room and more so when he rode up on his bike at my house.

He glanced at me, grinned, then murmured, "Our date is going fantastic, Wallingford. We've got to have more dates together." Then, lifting his leg slightly, he adjusts his little penis, which is shiny with cum. The little skinny thing lies there in full view, but Ronny apparently doesn't feel he needs to mention it or its size.

He says, "Damn, I'm having trouble catching my breath. As I've mentioned a few times already, I'm not used to being intimate with anyone. And certainly not anyone as cute as you."

I mutter, "You don't need to keep telling me I'm cute; it embarrasses me. And, um, your cum is coming out of my rear end making a mess of this sweatshirt we're sitting on."

Fiddling with his three-inch dick, he shrugs, "I know, but that's okay. I've never felt like this before."

Huh, ya know, it's kind of interesting that I'm always defending my five or a little over five-inch dick while Ronny seems totally okay with his three-inch one. He doesn't feel the need to make excuses for it, and there's no reason he should. Instead, he should be proud of what he can do with it. I mean, it worked fabulously and stayed hard the entire half-hour it was inside me. There wasn't anything more I could want from his hard penis, his boner, which was closer to four inches when hard than the flaccid three inches it is now. All I mean is we guys are normally very conscious of how our dick measures up to everyone else's. Everyone feels that way except Ronny Lynch.

And another thing, every guy who has messed around fucking me has, in one way or another, sought feedback from me about how well I thought they did. Top guys want to be complimented for their macho fucking, their topping of us bottom boys, but there has been nothing at all like that from Ronny, who did a fabulous job of it.

After another few minutes without speaking, Ronny looks at me and murmurs, "I've never had a night like this. Everything I've done with you tonight has been like dessert; whipped cream and strawberries, chocolate cake, and vanilla ice cream. Delicious but smooth and sexy too. Billy talks about you a lot, but he never mentioned what a dreamily perfect sexual experience it is fucking you."

I'm like, "Wow, jeez! Um, thank you, Ronny, but you deserve all the credit."

He lightly moves his hand under my shirt, on my belly, then slides his fingers down to go around my limp dick. Lifting and squeezing it, he says, "I really need to apologize for my behavior the first couple of times I saw you at Billy's house. I was jealous of you because I was hoping Billy and I would become serious, but he kept talking about you."

Ronny's absently stroking my dick as he shrugs his shoulders, continuing to talk, "So, I hated you for being lucky to be born so good-looking with that gorgeous blond curly hair and your irresistible shy personality. And then I saw how nice you were to Billy. Um, how humble and unassuming you are even though you're, ah, well, you're beautiful."

Frowning, I'm like, "Please, stop. No one has ever complimented me this much, Ronny. You're too nice!"

His eyebrows go up as he excitedly says, "And I can't believe how cavalier Billy is encouraging his friends to, ah, you know, fuck your brains out. If you were my boyfriend, I'd be the opposite of that. I'd, well, never mind what I'd do because you're not my boyfriend."

What can I say to all that? Then, I don't need to say anything because Ronny leans down and puts my penis in his mouth. He sucks cock like Pat. They're experienced, and I'm quickly gasping, lifting my ass off the sweatshirt, my fingers in Ronny's unevenly chopped light-brown hair. Yes, he sucks cock like Pat, but he's like me in that he gets a boner from sucking guys off. I do too.

In less than a minute, we both have roaringly hard boners. Ron takes mine out of his mouth and then moves around in front of me, then lifts both my legs. In a trance, I put an arm around each leg and pull them back until my spine is curved and my asshole is up off the sweatshirt. I feel my anus puckering, only recently closed, and now anxious to be opened again.

Ronny and I looked into each other's eyes as he pushed the pointed head of his smallish boner in past my sphincter muscles; all four inches of boner followed as I moaned, "Ummm, yeah, Ronny, feels so good."

His crotch gets tight against my buttocks. and, oh my God, it feels fabulous! My anus has been somewhat loosened by now. Letting go of my legs, I put them around Ronny's slim waist, locking my ankles I reach over to wrap my arms around the back of his neck, pulling his head down so my lips could suck on his.

Ronny's eyes close as he sighs, then he humps against my buttocks, his cock feeling much larger than I know it to be. Then Ronny fucks me hard. Harder and faster than the first two times, me making squeaky sounds with every hard, fast thrust as we move forward and back locked together. It's nine or ten minutes of sexual ecstasy, "Slap, slap, slap," and then he pulls his cock out, and I moan, "Nooo..." as my legs fall away from him.

Sounding very serious and maturely in charge, he tells me, "Turn over, Gary."

I scramble around, getting up on my knees, my forehead on my arms that are on the sweatshirt. He shoves his boner back up my ass as I go, "Ooooh, umm, ahh, Ronny. Do it, Ronny; it feels so good!"

Gripping my hips, he pounds away, his boner feeling like the most perfect-sized boner ever! Ronny has impressive endurance too, which is a lucky thing for us because it takes quite some time and effort to fuck a third climax from both of us within a forty-five minute period.

Yeah, this has been totally surreal but amazingly wonderful too. Ronny and me, plus our combined eight inches of penis, can fly on our magic carpet ride through the stars, Ronny fucking me forever.

"Slap, slap, slap," Ronny gasping and me moaning, "Ah, ah, ah, umm, Ronny," and then he climaxes, making a loud inhale and exhale, his crotch against my ass. I whine, "Nooo," because he stopped fucking me; then, with a full-body shudder, my mind is blown as a small splat of something shoots from my paralyzed boner, followed by streaking shots of pleasure spreading out from my balls. Shaking, it's like being electrocuted with pleasure.

Ronny's lying on my back as we both breathe deeply, then he lifts off and pulls his dick from my ass. With long, breathy exhales, we both get back to sitting tightly next to each other on the sweatshirt. As if nothing just happened, I murmur, "Doesn't it feel odd sitting here with our shirts on but no pants?"

Nodding, "Yeah, this would have been even better if we were here in a car or something, ya know?"

Then he touches my shoulder, asking, "Ah, would you, you know, come here in a car with me sometime?"

"Yes, I'd like that, Ronny. I can usually get my Mom's car," and I smile and nod, adding, "Yeah, when can we do that, do you think?"

He bites his bottom lip, then murmurs, "I can't fucking believe this is happening. Um, but yeah, we can do it tomorrow night if you want."

Nodding again, I murmur, "You've been fantastic tonight, Ronny," and I put my arm around him.

He nuzzles against me, mumbling, "I've had more sex with you tonight than I've had in the last eighteen months. It's, um..."

Looking at him, "I'm like, "Didn't you and Billy, ah...?"

"Nope. We didn't have any sex at all. We hardly made out. Listen, Wallingford, honest to God; I can't fucking believe you're being this nice to me. I never thought someone as good-looking and cool as you would ever let an unattractive guy like me have sex with them. Hell, I was hoping to maybe have sex with Underwood, who's even out of my league as well, never mind cool, sexy, and cute Gary Wallingford."

"Jeez, seriously? And you're not unattractive, Ronny! Stop saying that! And I'm not cool, either... I've never been accused of being cool. Shit, I feel very lucky to be here with you."

Turning his head to look at me, a look of astonishment on his face, "Really? Are you serious?"

"Yes, very serious, but I appreciate what you said."

He says, "Gee, and here I thought tonight would be awkward for me, that you'd be condescending, just going through the motions of quick oral sex or something. You're totally different than I expected. You're as nice to me as you are to Billy. You make me feel special as if you're anxious to please me rather than what I expected, which was the other way around. The way it should be... me trying to please you. Oh, fuck, I don't know what to think."

Shrugging, I mumble, "I don't know what to think either, Ronny. It's been very special, but I don't know what's going on any more than you do. It's probably going to be complicated going forward, though. Ya know?

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com

Please consider making a tax-deductible donation of any size to nonprofit Nifty Southey can continue maintaining and building this wonderful free-story site. Easy instructions for donating can be found at Nifty.org.