Invited

Chapter 47

( Too good to be true? )

It was four-thirty when we lost the second softball game. Then, Billy hooked up with Pat for a ride home, and I took off for Philly driving Ronny home. I'm feeling good, so proud, about telling Ron Smart and his girlfriend that Ronny and I were gay boyfriends. They'll quickly spread the word, leaving Billy Underwood out of it.

At a red light, I look at Ronny, smile and reach over to tip his baseball cap back and ruffle my fingers through his new haircut, telling him, "I'm so proud to be your boyfriend, Ronny. I can hardly wait for that dick-head Ron Smart to tell everybody about us being gay motherfuckers, and you look dynamite in your glasses!"

He gently pushes my hand away, "Don't mess up my hair, Richie, okay? And, yeah, that guy was a dick-head, alright, but telling people you're my boyfriend won't mean much because nobody in your neighborhood except Billy and Pat knows me."

Gee, he's getting more comfortable getting bossy with me, and it makes my dick feel good when he does that. I'm grinning at him, flicking my fingers at his bangs, teasing him as he bats my hand away again, grinning back at me, "Stop it, Richie..." He catches my fingers, holds my hand, then rubs my hand against his cheek.

"Ooooh, that gave me a sexy chill, Ronny." Then a car horn toots. I look up, see the green light, wave at the driver behind me, and drive off.

Ronny's holding his hat, patting at his hair that was cut too short at the crown, so the hair won't lie down. He said, "Oh, I meant to ask you earlier if you could stay for dinner at my house tonight. Mom and Dad always go out Saturday night so we can, as you call it, mess around after they leave. Whaddaya say? You know, and this will give them a chance to know you better."

Making a face, I mumble, "Well, yeah, I want to do the messing around part tonight, but I'm not good at social situations such as having dinner with your parents. Couldn't you and I eat at McDonald's or something?"

"Sure, we could, but I'd want my parents to get to know you really well and start thinking of you as family."

Yes, I know! It's extremely unlikely for two guys like Ronny and me, meeting only a couple of weeks ago, to be lovers for life, but we're positive that that's what's going to happen.

Nodding, I say, "You know what? You're right again, Ronny. You said we're getting married after I graduate college, so I'll be your parent's son-in-law, right? They need to get to know me, and me them."

Holding up his hand, "Yes, but wait a second, Wallingford. Both of us need to agree about the getting married part, not just me. I mean, I just suggested that we get married after college, but it's up to you to want to do that too. It's not like I made the decision for us."

I've become confident about driving in Philly, and that's good because I'll be driving these streets every day getting to and from Ronny's. Keeping my eyes on the road, I say, "Uh-huh, but I trust your decisions on, um, everything, so I'm following your plan about us marrying when I graduate."

"I just finished telling you I don't have a plan. If there's a plan, it needs to be OUR plan, not mine."

Nodding again, I mumble, "Yeah, that's what you said, but you do have a plan, and I'm following it. You decided we're getting married, or you wouldn't have told me about it. It's all good, Ronny! That's a long way off, anyway."

He shrugs, "No sense in getting hung up on semantics, I guess. Who cares whose plan it was; we'll get married after graduating college. So now that's settled, how about you staying for dinner tonight?"

"Sure, Ronny, um, when we get to your house, I'll call home and ask if having dinner at your house will be a problem of some sort. I can't imagine why it would be, but I've never eaten at a friend's house before, so I'm not sure how it's supposed to work."

He rubs my shoulder, "You've never eaten at a friend's house in your life? Gee, that's a sad thing to hear. That makes me feel bad for you. Didn't you have any friends other than Billy?"

"Yeah, I had a few friends! I'm not retarded. What the fuck, Ronny? I had friends, but just not the kind where we'd eat dinner at each other's houses. And I never had a sleepover either."

"Holy shit! Seriously?"

I glanced over at him with a quizzical expression, and he quickly added, "Oh, um, don't worry, though, it's okay. There's nothing wrong with, um, not ever having had a childhood sleepover, although it is rather unusual."

I've got nothing to say to that because I never thought there was anything wrong with not having a sleepover. I'd have felt awkward as hell doing that.

After a few minutes of silence, Ronny says, "And, ah, I'm aware that you're socially challenged in some, ah, ways, I guess. Well, Billy told me about it, and I'll help you with that. Ask me about anything you're unsure of, okay?"

Glancing at him again, I'm like, "What? That's so, um, well, even though it's partially true in a way, it was a rude thing for Billy to say about me. What else did he tell you about me?"

"Only great things, Wallingford. He said you're wonderful and that he likes you better than anyone he's ever known. He also mentioned to me you had a, you know, a kind of serious social hangup about certain things."

Hitting the brakes, I mutter, "Fucking asshole! No, not Billy. That dickhead in the pickup pulled out in front of me and almost caused an accident."

Then, "Um, Ronny, I do not have serious social hangups or whatever Billy said. No wonder you were hesitant to go on a date with me. Christ! I mean, sure, there are some things that are awkward for me, but I'm not some kind of freak."

"No, no! He just said something about you spending most of your time in your bedroom jerking off. You know, until he took you under his wing. He cares about you, Richie! He also sincerely believes he was doing you a favor by setting you up for dates with Pat Summers and then with me. And he was sure right about you and me, huh?"

Nodding, I grin at him, "Yes, I love him for that. You're my top main man of a lifetime. You and me and destiny, right?"

Ronny mutters, "Oh, jeez, yeah, I guess he had to talk me into my first date with you, but not because I thought there was anything wrong with you. The opposite was true. I didn't think you'd have the slightest interest in me, but Billy swore that you and I were very much alike, except for you being, um, you know, that socially challenged thing, and, haha, he said you were ten times cuter than me. Christ, you know all the crazy shit Billy says, the things he comes right out with. Heh-heh, ya know?"

I'm like, "Yeah, I guess. So, he was filling you in about what I'm like while talking you into going out with me. So I'm curious if he, um, elaborated about why he likes me better than anybody he's ever known?"

Shaking his head, "Sorry, that's all he said about that. Ya know what? I thought it was creepy the way Billy seemed to be saying he wanted me to, um, well, make you my boyfriend. Naturally, I had to wonder why he wanted me to be your boyfriend instead of him."

I'm nodding, "It's fucked, Ronny. The whole thing is fucking nuts, except for you and me; we're real! I mean, we're a true miracle, and I'm hoping Billy Underwood had loving reasons for finding a new boyfriend for me. Mostly, though, I'd hate to think you and I would never have met if it weren't for Billy."

He muttered, "Nah, as I said before, we were destiny's children; you and I were going to be together one way or another."

Then, turning to look at me, he goes, "And don't get me wrong, Billy truly likes you. At one point, he said you deserved a better boyfriend than him, and another time he said he wanted to hook you up with me because he was only pretending to be gay, and he didn't want to disappoint you about that."

"Pretending, huh? He's so full of..."

"Yeah, I didn't believe any of that shit, either. Still, Underwood is so cool, and, as I told you before, I was hoping he'd give me a chance to be his boyfriend, so that's why I agreed to have a date with you. I told Billy I'll take care of you; look out for you. You know, even though I never thought you needed taking care of, and you don't!"

I was nodding and thinking, huh, I'll be damn! I say, "Yeah, but then, as soon as you and I were alone, you immediately forgot about Billy being your boyfriend and fell in love with me, right?"

"Well, duh, obviously! Jesus, if you're not convinced of that by now... well, I'll need to try harder, I guess. Ha-ha. No, it's you and me, Wallingford, forever. Billy isn't in the picture as far as that goes, and if he tries getting back in the picture, he's in for a big disappointment. I told him that too!"

Smiling, I murmur, "Oouwee, I loved hearing you say that, Ronny. God Almighty, I'm grateful Billy cared about me enough to introduce you to me and talk you into going on a date with me."

Ronny shrugs, "Yeah, I guess, but even if he hadn't, as I said, we would have connected anyhow. It's destiny."

Parking in the alley behind Ronny's house, "I'll call my Mom about eating dinner at your house."

When asked if it would be a problem, she said, "A problem? No, it's no problem, dear. Is everything okay?"

I tell her everything is fantastic and then a little about the softball games, and she says, "I'm sorry you boys lost the second game, but it sounds as though you had a good time. I just want you to be happy, Gary. Are you happy?"

"I'm way past happy, Mom. I'm hovering in the area of ecstasy. This past year, especially the past ten days with Ronny has been the best of my life by far." Then, tearing up, I murmur, "And, Mom, thanks for caring so much about me and being so supportive about me being, um, different."

Sounding like she's tearing up, too, she says, "I love you and want you to have fun and enjoy your life, but be safe too."

Yeah, I know what she's referring to. When I end the call, Ronny's eyes are big as he asks, "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

Shaking my head, smiling, "Nothing is wrong! I'm not crying! It must be a gay thing that makes me tear up when I'm happily emotional." Then I squeeze the back of his neck, "You make me emotionally happy all the time, so I'm always hiding my tears from you so you won't think I'm weak."

Giving me a curious look, Ronny mutters, "Maybe Underwood's right that you do need some taking care of." We both burst out with a laugh, and Ronny adds, "Seriously though, you might need a little, um, help in certain situations, so you can be sure that I'll take care of you if you tell me what you need help with."

That's so sweet! I don't say anything, though. I'm touched by the way he said he'd take care of me, but I'm afraid my voice would have that crying sound in it if I tried telling him that.

My 'coming out' last night and then coming out again today at the high school, and being with Ronny, hugging him, hearing his loving comments. It all adds up and makes me feel the way I told Mom I was feeling... hovering near ecstasy but also emotional. Hugging around Ronny's neck and rubbing my nose against his cheek, I feel more tears, but I'm smiling still.

He finally says, "You're never going to let go of me, are you?" I shake my head, and he chuckles, then takes my arms off him, saying, "It makes me feel wonderful that you like hugging me so much, Wallingford, but you overdo it a little. Well, I don't mean to be critical. Ah, so what did your mom say about you having dinner here tonight?"

Sitting up and wiping my eyes with the heels of my hands, I nod, "No problem, we're good to go with the dinner thing. I don't need you taking care of me, though. You were right the first time about that."

Taking a deep breath, I sigh and mumble, "Christ, I'll try harder to keep the drama under control, Ronny, but, as I said, I sometimes get emotional. And, well, I'm good now, so..."

Looking at me, he asks, "Are you good, really? Everything's okay?"

"Uh huh, I just said it was."

Ronny's like, "So, we can go inside, and you won't scare my parents with an emotional outburst or anything, right?"

Getting out of the car, I'm like, "Holy shit! Seriously, I was hoping you'd be a little more compassionate, Ronny. I was experiencing a couple of tender moments there, and I included you in them."

Going in the basement door, he puts his arm around me, mumbling, "Uh-huh, you big crybaby," and we both snicker. I'm like, "Jesus, it's a good thing I don't need a heartless hard-ass like you taking care of me."

We chuckle going upstairs; Ronny's looking at me, then wiping my cheek with the pad of his thumb, muttering, "You've got tear tracks on your cheeks, and Omigod, your skin is so smooth. Don't you shave at all?"

"I shave, um, like weekly or biweekly, and I do not have tear tracks on my cheeks.

He chuckles again, muttering, "Yeah, you do. Boys, don't cry, Wallingford! Don't you know that?"

We both snicker as I mutter, "Fuck you," and he puts a finger to his lips, going, 'SHH!" We both laugh at that. We laugh at everything; we're kind of like girls in that regard.

The stairs end in the kitchen, where we see his mom emptying the dishwasher. As we're stepping away from the stairs, Ronny and I, for some dumb reason, can't stop smirking at one another, my hand holding his wrist as his mom says, "Hi, boys. Did you win your baseball match?"

"They're baseball games, Mom, not matches like tennis. And, yes, we won one, then lost one. Can Richie stay for dinner?"

She looks at me, "Oh, it's Richie now? How many names do you have, Gary?"

Blushing, I look at Ronny, who says, "His middle name is Richard, so I call him Richie. I'm his boyfriend, so I can do that, and when he graduates college, a year after me, we'll get married, and his name will be Richie Lynch. He'll be your son-in-law."

I love Ronny for saying all that. Coming right out and saying all that. Holy shit!! Smiling brightly at Ronny, he smirks at me, then winks, and shivers run up my spine. His mother makes a face, "Sure, of course, that's exactly what will happen. Dream on..."

"It's not just a dream, Mom, but time will tell."

She adds, "Time will tell, and in the meantime, of course, Gary-Richie can stay for dinner."

Ronny mutters, "Thanks," then reaches around his Mom to get two Pepsis from the fridge, asking, "So, what are we having for dinner?"

"What would you boys like to have?"

Ronny mutters, "Hamburgers and fries."

She closes a cabinet door, mumbling, "All males must think alike. That's what your Dad said he wanted for dinner when I asked him. It's Saturday night, so no problem. That's what we'll have, burgers and fries... and a salad."

Ronny mumbles, "Awesome, Mom," and then, looking at me, he nods toward the stairs in the living room. I nod back at him, and for no reason, we grin at one another, and Ronny pats my ass to get me moving and then follows me to the stairs.

I'm awed by Ronny's brashness, saying we'll be married. I admire how mature and ballsy he was and how cool he looked in his glasses when he winked at me. Biting my bottom lip, I squeeze my junk and look back at him. He grins, smacking my ass again, "Get up those stairs, Richie Lynch."

Inside the bedroom, I say, "Christ, you've turned into my idol, Ronny. You were our man explaining to your mom what we're doing together long-term. I wish I had the words to describe how much I love and admire you."

He goes, "Ha, I was just showing off for you, trying to impress you. My balls were shrinking to little marbles while saying all the marriage stuff to my Mom."

I put my arms around him, my face close to his, "Still, you said it, and I loved hearing every word. I'll be proud to be Richie Lynch, my husband's, um... what will I be?."

He goes, "You'll be my cuter-than-shit husband, the cutest husband anyone we know will ever have. Married gay guys are both known as husbands."

I'm like, "Oh, so that's how that works, huh? We'll be each other's husbands. I was wondering if I'd be your wife."

He laughs his ass off, "Oh, I'm so sure you'd be okay if I called you my wife. Hahaha."

Actually, that's what I thought I'd be when he said I'd be Richie Lynch and he'd be my husband. I don't know how gay marriage works. How could I; how could Ronny?"

Moving on from that, I'm like, "Ronny, we're both grungy and sweaty. What are we going to do about that before dinner? I should have showered and changed clothes at my house. Look how dirty my jeans are from sliding into second base."

He squints his eyes, nods his head, and says, "Uh-huh, I forgot about Billy warning me that you can get whiny at times. Don't worry, though, we can clean up before dinner, but first," grinning at me, he says, "You mentioning marriage made me think of big favor I wanted to ask you."

He still has his arms around my waist as I swipe his short bangs to the side of his forehead, mumbling, "Oh yeah? First off, it was you who brought up the marriage talk. Next, whatever the favor is that you want me to do... I'll do it."

Shaking his head slightly, he looks serious, saying, "You don't know what it is, Wallingford. Um, it's this: when we start college in the fall, would you introduce yourself to everyone as Richie instead of Gary? I'll feel proud you're committing yourself to me by accepting the name I chose for you."

I say, "First of all, yes, of course, I'll do that for you, but not your last name until we're married. I'll say I'm Richie Wallingford. Secondly, I want to clear up the whining thing you mentioned. I was NOT whining! Billy always said that I whined, but I never did!"

He says, "Thank you so much for going along with the new name, Richie! Heh-heh, that'll be so cool! And, um, that whining remark was me trying to be funny. I don't think you whine. I thought you'd laugh when I said Billy warned me about you whining."

"Oh, I didn't get the joke, Ronny. I didn't realize that was a joke."

We're standing just inside the bedroom door as he nods and says, "That's okay. You and I are just learning about one another. As we get to know each other better, we'll recognize when we're kidding around joking and when we're being serious. But, jeez, it's so cool of you to go along with your name change."

Leaning against him like I used to do with Billy, I'm like, "It's nothing. I'm glad to do it for you. And, yeah, we are learning more and more about one another. Haha, fuck, it's like everybody else in the world learns everything about someone before deciding if they're in love. We're doing it backward. We fell in love and are now slowly learning about who we fell in love with."

He murmurs, "You're so good-looking! Jesus, sometimes I need to just stare at you and pinch myself or something. You're awesome," and he takes my hat off and tosses it on his bed, then does the same with his hat, saying, "Hi, Richie Lynch. Jeez, you're a cute motherfucker, ain'tcha? Haha..."

"Oh, thanks, but, um, that's my name after we're married, not at college."

He goes, "I know that! I was just trying it out, and it sounded really good... Richie Lynch."

Rubbing the pad of my fingers across his forehead to move his bangs to the side again, I murmur, "Actually, I like the name Richie that you gave me better than my real name of Gary."

Ronny shakes his head once, and his bangs drift back down his forehead as he grins about that. I make a face, and he tightly squeezes his arms around me, muttering, "You are so perfect! Everything about you is perfect. Is this, um, are us two too good to be true, do you think?"

I shrug, mumbling, "I don't know, but I hope not!"

"Well, have you learned anything about me that you don't like?"

"Nope, I haven't! Or was that joking again?"

"No, it was a real question."

"Oh, well, I love everything about you, and as wonderful as everything is between us, I believe it's real, and it's not too good to be true. I know it's true, Ronny. You and I will prove it."

We're still standing just inside his bedroom door, continuously touching. He murmurs, "You make me believe it's true, Wallingford. You're my idol."

I grin, "And, as I said three minutes ago, you're my idol, Ronny. We're each other's idols."

He mutters, "Yeah, but we're also sounding like a couple of over-the-top fags," and we both laugh as he hugs me tighter. That gets us going off into one of our kissing make-out frenzies that lasts two or three minutes. My dick gets so hard it hurts. I squirm in his arms, moaning, "Ronny, wait, please, um, I feel like I'm going to cum in my 'effing pants."

He kicks the door shut behind us and asks, "Do you want me to fuck you now? Should we, um, you know, do it now, or...?"

Taking some quick deep breaths, I murmur, "Can we wait for a second, please, Ronny? On, dammit, I think I did cum in my underpants again. I was hoping it was just precum, but I don't think so."

Sounding serious, he mutters, "Actually, if you just squirted cum, you did it in my underpants. Remember I made you cum in your pants like four hours ago, before the softball game, and then I lent you the underpants you currently are wearing and shooting off in."

I'm snickering, "Oh, fuck, you're right." He starts giggling as he adds, "It doesn't take much to get you to cum in your pants." He squeezes my junk, "How's that feel, Richie?"

My head lulls against his shoulder, "Felt good, but I squirted more juice in your underpants."

We start giggling for real, my arms around him and him squeezing my dick again, his other arm still around my waist. He stops giggling all of a sudden and says, "Damn, I think I'm going to cum too, umm, ooh."

"I know that's a joke, but can I suck you off again, Ronny. I really liked doing that."

Nodding, then letting go of my dick, he unbuttons his jeans. Then, when he pulls them down, his almost four-inch boner pokes out the fly of his jockey underwear right next to the faint piss stain.

No hesitation, I pull his underpants down and drop to my knees. My eyes open wide, seeing precum drool, then hang from his piss slit. I lean over and tongue his boner inside my mouth, my tongue twirling around the head. After swallowing his precum, I cover my teeth and tightly slide forward on his boner, the smallish pointy head popping into my throat, making me gag for a second.

My dick gets hard in the goo in my underpants as I back off his steel boner and then go down on it again, the head in my throat making me do another short gagging sound. The third time I do it, Ronny holds my head between his hands and humps his hip once, twice, and with a groan the third time, he shoots a long stream of cum in my mouth and down my throat.

Coughing out a bubble of his cum, I watch it pop and drool down my chin. Swallowing twice, I then suck on his softening cock as Ronny leans over and kisses the top of my head, murmuring, "You're my most wonderful dream lover come true, Wallingford. That felt so good I feel faint," and, taking a big inhale, he steps back, pulling his dick from my mouth, almost stumbling with his jeans and underwear below his knees. He makes it to his desk, where he plops his bare ass on the desk chair.

As I'm licking my lips, I stand and adjust my wet, hard dick in my pants, then follow Ronny to the desk, leaning against the desk right next to him, grinning, "Can I borrow another pair of underpants?"

His dick is back to its flaccid three-inch condition, looking skinnier than usual. Its size is fascinating, but I forced myself to look away. I wasn't quick enough, though. Ronny saw me gawking at his fabulous worm-size penis and said, "Seriously, Wallingford, why are you always staring at my dick, and with that weird expression on your face? You're always doing that when your dick is the same as mine, so look at your own dick."

Feeling my face getting hot, I bite my tongue and let that ridiculous penis comparison slide by, then I ask, "What expression? What are you talking about? I didn't have an expression on my face, and why would I stare at your dick when it's just like mine? Er, or almost."

He shrugs, "I don't know. Well, I'm sorry then. I thought you were staring. Shit, I shouldn't have said anything, anyway. You can stare at any part of me you want." He smiles, "I stare at you all the time."

Slowly running my fingers through his short, just barbered light brown hair, I murmur, "That's okay, Ronny. Gee, I wish I had hair like yours. I like how your hair feels, and it always smells good, um, like, um, like hair should smell."

He laughs, "Goddamn, you are so good for my ego. You keep thinking up things to compliment me about. That's very nice of you."

As Ronny sits there bare-ass on his desk chair, I casually play with his hair, twirling some around my fingers until he pulls my fingers away and holds my hand. Looking up at me, he says, "Stop mussing my hair, and your hair is a beautiful shade of light blond, and if you'd let it grow out a little, it would look better than mine."

"I don't think so. But I like touching every part of you, Ronny, and that includes your hair and, of course, your wonderful penis. I especially liked having that in my mouth."

He squeezes my hand, "I don't know what feels better, Richie, fucking you or you sucking my dick. Honest to God, I didn't even know there were pleasure sensations in existence as unbelievably fantastic as the ones I experienced with you. This is a new world for me, and you've made it possible; you are that world."

Squeezing his hand, I murmur, "I feel the same way about you, Ronny. You're my whole world." Then I lean over, put my arms around his neck, and kiss his cheek. Then keeping my head next to his, my arms around his neck, his arms go around my waist, we hug like this for a minute or so. Even sweaty from playing baseball, he smells good.

We sigh at the same time and let go of one another. I step back as he stands and pulls his pants up, mumbling, "Just now, us hugging each other, I was thinking how unfair it is that you're always the bottom guy or, if we're not doing that, you're always sucking my dick. It's unfair of me to take advantage of you like that. You're too nice. I need to bite the bullet and, no matter how much it hurts, be a bottom boy for you, and next time it will be me sucking your dick, okay?"

"No, Ronny, please! We've talked about this already and agreed we should continue everything exactly as we are because, for one thing, you're much, much better at being the top guy. You're a way better top than me, plus I prefer being the bottom. I swear to God, I do. I love being the bottom boy for you, Ronny... I LOVE IT!!"

He bites his lip, then asks, "Really? Wow, I mean, if you're sure, then I'll be happy to continue being your top guy. Actually, I was kind of thinking I'm doing a really good job of having sex fucking you, especially considering my limited past experience at having sex. Plus, as you said, I do like how we've been doing everything. So, as long as you want it this way, I'm happy about making you happy because I sure am."

"Huh? Well, we're in agreement that you're my man, my dominant top, and I love it that way. I love you too. You're our leader, Ronny. You're older and more mature, so it makes sense I look up to you as our leader."

Nodding, he goes, "Okay, I'll be your man, Wallingford, but stop with that leader shit, okay? We don't need a leader."

"If you say so, Ronny."

He goes, "We'll see how it goes because maybe you're right, Richie. Anyway, I'm wicked proud of myself because, as I said, without hardly any experience, you really love the way I'm doing you during sex. That sounds conceited of me, but I'm not being conceited. Actually, I'm mostly shocked that I'm fucking you so well. Before you, I was a top only one other time in my life, and it was way back in the tenth grade."

"Well, yeah, you told me that before, but I think you're the best ever. I love your penis, too, probably as much as you do. Um, but, ah, how about lending me another one of your underpants?"

He goes, "Oh, haha, sorry. I forgot. Of course, I'll lend you underpants," and he goes into the top drawer of his bureau. Tossing me a pair of white jockey shorts, he says, "You've always mentioned my penis, and for real, I think my dick is the main reason you're enjoying our anal sex so much. Huge cocks have got to hurt like mad where mine is obviously plenty big enough for you, and I feel I've learned how to use my boned-up dick in ways that give you the most pleasure, but please don't hesitate to tell me how I can do it even better, okay?"

Kicking off my sneakers and then dropping my jeans, I step out of my wet underpants, "Yeah, sure, Ronny, but considering the size of, um, well, your dick, I can't imagine how you could fuck me any better than you're doing."

Looking at the plop of wetness in my underpants, I mutter, "Uh-huh, it felt like a lot more, but it was mostly precum," and hold the underpants out to Ronny, who chuckles and bats them away with his hand, mumbling, "So you agree that my dick is the perfect size to give you the most pleasure?"

Oh man, I could do a number on that, but this is the first time Ronny, as my top, is searching for compliments about topping. The few tops I've had all were looking for compliments after messing around fucking me, so why shouldn't Ronny do the same?

As I put on my third pair of underwear today, I say, "Look into my eyes, Ronny." He stares into my eyes, and I say, "This is the honest-to-God truth. You're the best top I've ever had the pleasure of having sex with."

As I'm pulling up my jeans, he asks, "How many tops have, ah, you know, fucked you beside me? I mean, if that question isn't out of line."

I say, "No question from you is out of line. There was Billy, Pat Summers, and my boss at work."

He mutters, "Oh, okay. I knew about those three, and now me. So, nobody else, though, huh?"

I like fucking around with his hair, so I swipe his short bangs over to the side again, mumbling, "No, nobody else. And for the rest of my life, you're my man and the only one I want fucking me."

He puts his arms around my waist and says, "Even though I'll sound like an asshole saying this, Wallingford, I gotta say it anyhow. It's this: you better make damn sure I'm your one and only top. I don't want you fucking with anybody else from now on. And, of course, I give you my word that I'm not going to fuck anybody but you. There; did I sound like the biggest asshole ever?"

Grinning, "A little bit, yeah. Haha, no, you could never sound like an asshole to me, Ronny. I promise to obey your rule too, but I'm human. What if I slip up when I'm drunk or high?"

He grins and says, "Well, I'll forgive you, of course! And it isn't my rule; it's, um, my wish, my hope. I don't make rules for you."

We hug and rub noses, snicker, and then, as we always do, we make out for a minute or two. Taking a deep breath, my nose bumping Ronny's, I mutter, "Holy shit... do you think we'll ever get past this cringe-worthy mushy, lovie/dovie phase of our love affair? You know, do you think there will ever be a time when we won't constantly be touching, kissing, or having sex?"

He shrugs, chuckles, and mutters, "Is that a rhetorical question? Haha, anyway, I do know the answer if it was a real question. I hope this phase of our loving relationship continues on for a long, long time, so..." and then he stops in midsentence as we hear, "Ron! Dinner in ten minutes!"

Letting go of each other, Ronny says, "Come on, you cute motherfucker, let's clean up in the bathroom."

After we do that, Ronny finds a pair of skinny khakis that are too big for him but fit me. I put those on along with one of his clean Polo shirts that fit perfectly. I'm wearing Ronny's clothes, from his underpants to a clean pair of sweat socks.

He asks, "Are you feeling clean enough not to be embarrassed at dinner?"

Nodding, "Yep, thanks for lending me your clothes, Ronny. Jeez, it feels so sexy wearing everything of yours. Oh, Gawd, I may cum in your underpants again."

He smiles, "Try not to," and I gently take his glasses off and clean them using a soft T-shirt from the open bureau drawer, murmuring, "I don't think you realize how enormously impressed I am by you. You're my man, Ronny, and my main goal is to not let you down."

He takes his clean glasses from me and, sounding a little choked up, says, "Thank you, Richie Wallingford."

Grinning, he puts his glasses on, gulps, and gets serious, saying, "You're going to make me cry, Wallingford. That was so sweet of you to say. I'll be your man, and I'm not going to let you down either."

Staring into one another's eyes, we both look like we're going to cry, then Ronny goes, "It gives me a hard-on seeing you wearing my clothes."

He said that so seriously, so sincerely, we both burst out with a laugh, Ronny asking, "Is this really happening to us? Is this real, are we real, or are we in each other's dreams?"

I say, "It's a true miracle," and he steps away, but I say, "Stop for a second," and get his comb off the bureau. As Pat did for me a few times, which I thought was sexy, I tried combing a small pompadour in Ronny's bangs. He stands up straight, grinning as I comb through his hair, our eyes shining. We take deep staggering breaths, touch each other's cheeks, and nod at one another, love dripping from our eyes. His bangs flop back on his forehead; he takes my hand, I drop the comb, and we go downstairs.

I'm feeling, um, I don't know. I mean, even though Ronny hasn't done anything special, I feel that he's looked out for and wonderfully taken care of me.

At the dinner table, his parents smile too hard and act too formally, too stiffly, but we're all working on being comfortable acknowledging Ronny's and my recently confessed homosexuality. It'll get easier with time, but Ronny's right to get his parents and me working on being familiar with each other. Hell, we're just beginning the process of becoming used to a new family dynamic. It's new for all of us.

We're all very polite and on good behavior, so I, for one, was glad when dinner was over. We were back in Ronny's bedroom congratulating each other for handling that okay, and we kept telling each other it'll get easier and become more natural with time.

Still, I'm worried and ask, "Are we being pussies about this, though, Ronny? It's a strain being with people who we just recently confessed we're gay. I never expected to do that in my life. You, as my leader, did it the night before, so I had to follow and do it too. And I'm still finding it hard to believe I actually did it."

He's putting my dirty clothes, including underpants wet with cum, in a plastic bag, saying, "It's only our first week, baby, and, by the way, it's been the best week of my life despite the trauma of coming out to my parents and the world."

I liked him calling me that term of endearment, so my eyes blink back a tear or two as I mumble, "It's been traumatic for sure, Ronny."

Putting his hands on my waist, he shakes his head, "Yes, but it's worth all kinds of uncomfortable trauma to have you as my boyfriend. I can't believe I have a boyfriend, never mind one as good-looking as you. You're the cutest guy I've ever seen in person, and I mean that, no bullshit. Plain-looking Ronny Lynch has the cutest boyfriend in Pennsylvania."

"You're embarrassing me, Ronny. Tell me more," and we snicker; then he asks, "Do you want to go to the Sears lot?"

I'm like, "Does the Pope shit in the woods? I mean, is a bear Catholic? " We get into a laughing fit, hugging and kissing, our hands groping each other's ass.

I gasp, then mutter, "Jesus! I feel like I might cum in my pants again. You're too attractive and smell too good; your body's too hot and sexy, and it's all way too arousing for me, Ronny."

Taking his hand, I place it on my junk, "Squeeze it, Ronny."

"No way! If I do that, you'll shoot off again, and I'm running out of clean underpants. Billy's right; sometimes, it is necessary to take charge of you because you get carried away with things."

I go, "Was that you kidding again? Being funny?"

Nodding, "Yes, I was kidding, joking about that. You don't need to be taken care of any more than I do. Or, maybe we both do, but if we do, we'll take care of each other. Um, should we go to the Sears lot?"

"Actually, I was seriously thinking about how well you were taking care of me. You handle everything so easily, too."

He smiles, "You're giving me a bloated ego, a swelled head with all your compliments. Keep it up, but meanwhile, should we go to the Sears parking lot? You decide."

Following Ronny to the stairs, I'm like, "Sure, we can go there, but you said your parents go out Saturday nights, so..."

He goes, "Shh! Please!"

He wasn't joking this time, so, stopping on the stairs, I gave him a look like, 'What the fuck?'

He whispers, "Oh, I didn't mean to use that tone of voice. I'm sorry! Forgive me; I didn't mean to talk down to you like that. It's just that I was hoping to sneak out of the house without needing any more conversation with my parents, and you were talking loudly again."

Shrugging, I quietly mutter, "I was talking normally, not loudly, but that's okay. I won't talk at all."

He grins and puts his finger on my lips, whispering, "Uh-huh, but, Shh! And, yeah, Billy said you pout at times, so..."

His grin makes me smile, and I try to suck the finger he put on my lips. We start snickering again like little kids. "Shh, if you'll be quiet for two seconds, we can slip out the front door. I can't wait for Mom and Dad to go out. I want to have sex with you at the Sear lot. I feel funny doing you with them in the house."

I nod, murmuring, "Yes, I understand, Daddy," and we, quiet as a couple of mice, slip out the front door and jog around the two end housing units to the back alley where I parked the car. In the alley, Ronny says, "I didn't mean to talk quite as sternly to you as I did and don't call me daddy. Are you mad at me?"

"No, it's okay that you're bossy to me. It's perfectly alright because, let's face it, I understand that you are sort of our, um, not leader, er, um, our, ah... what are you?"

We both laugh, then he says, "I'm like you; that's what I am. And as I already told you, you're way too nice! You don't need to be okay with me telling you to be quiet. If I hear anyone else tell you that, I'll tell them to go fuck themselves."

Getting in the car, I mumble, "You're making too big a deal out of this. Talk sternly all you want; I don't care. I love that you'll stick up for me, but let's both chill out, okay? It's not, um... I mean, it's okay to yell at me if you want. I'll yell at you sometime. Haha, no, I won't! We're good; we're way better than good!"

We're both snickering again, the snickering sounding suspiciously like giggling. Giggling like a couple of little girls as he mumbles, "Yeah, right, we're good."

I drive out of the alley onto the main street. I don't need directions, as I'm beginning to know my way around Philly. Feeling him still staring at me, I glance at him, mumbling, "We're cool... we're good, but were we giggling like girls?"

Ignoring that, he says, "I'm going to ask you something that I swear if you say no, it's no problem. As a matter of fact, I expect you to say no, but I want to ask anyway."

"Stopping at a red light, I look at him and say, "Yes, I'll do it."

He smiles, "I haven't told you what it is yet. Um, it's this: would you go to church with me tomorrow morning?"

I nod, "Sure, I'll go with you, although I don't believe the part in the Bible about Jesus rising from the dead. I mean, some of the Bible is historical, but not all of it. Some of it is made up from stories."

There's silence, so I glance at Ronny and see his jaw hanging open. I'm like, "What? Ah, are you Catholic or something? I hope you don't think I'm dissing your religion or anything like that."

Slowly shaking his head, he mumbles, "Well, you sort of are dissing my religion. Um, anyway, we go to church every Sunday, but we're not Catholic. We're nondenominational Protestants, and the church is just outside the city. Ah, you're saying you don't believe in Jesus Christ?"

"Oh, I believe he was a real historical figure, but it's the raising from the dead part that, um... plus all the science about the Cosmos that's available nowadays that wasn't, um, known back two thousand years ago... ya know? Um, and the incredible size and scope of the Universe, a billion-billion light years and so forth, how would a God be available to listen to trillions of individual prayers, for example?"

He appears speechless, so I tentatively ask, "Do you still want me to come to church with you?"

"Well, yes, more than ever. We need to convert you to see the light. Actually, I'm amazed and thrilled you're willing to come to church with me after finding out you're an atheist."

I go, "I'll go anywhere with you, Ronny, but I'm more like an agnostic than an atheist because I guess there could be a power or something that rules the Cosmos. Probably not, but who knows?"

Ronny says, "See, we're just getting to know one another, Wallingford. My family is very religious. I pray every night, and I've been praying for you. Um, but so what if you're not a believer... I don't care. The fact that I don't care surprises me, though... haha! I only care about you! I only wanna be with you."

Mumbling, "Hootie & the Blowfish reference, cool," as I'm driving past 69th Street, adding, "Nobody I know is as religious as you say you and your family are. Not that that's a problem at all. Not at all for me. What else don't we know about each other?"

Ronny shrugged, then said with his cute grin, "What was a Hootie & the Blowfish reference?"

Glancing at him, "Only the group's huge hit 'I Only Wanna Be With You' that you said about me. And what don't we know about one another?

"You don't know that I like vanilla ice cream best; then pistachio is my second favorite ice cream."

I say, "Vanilla is my favorite ice cream too, then chocolate. Here's a secret I haven't told anyone for fear of being mocked. I like broccoli, but not if it's overcooked."

We laugh and exchange goofy likes and dislikes until I drive onto the Sears parking lot. Stopping behind the dumpster, I look at Ronny and say, "I'm shivering with anxiousness for you to make love to me." My hand goes to the back of his head, gently pulling his head over so I can kiss him on the lips, then murmur, "Oh no, Ronny! I can't help getting emotional again."

We snicker, then he says, "You make me feel important, Wallingford. You make me feel as if I actually am your man when we fuck. I get such a rush from the way you, um, idolized me. I'm wicked psyched to give you the best fucking you've ever had."

Nodding, "Wow, um, should we get in the back, Ronny."

He takes a deep shuddering inhale, then lets it out slowly, nodding, "Uh-huh," and we get in the back. Immediately, we're fumbling around, making out and rubbing each other's ass and junk, then bumping into one another, anxiously getting our pants down.

Ronny strokes his hard-as-steel pink-skin spike, his almost four-inch boner. I'm leaning over the back seat, my feet on the floor and my bare ass pushed up. Looking back, I watch Ronny stroking his dick until he sees me gawking at him, and he spanks my ass, saying, "What are you looking at, pretty boy?"

We snicker again; then he squeezes between my ass and the back of the front bucket seat as I'm anxiously sucking on my lips, arousal building in me at the speed of light. I nod encouragingly as Ronny's almost four-inch hard boner, poking straight out from his neat pubic patch, drips some precum. He holds his boner between his thumb and forefinger, scrunching his face up, then guides it to my quivering asshole.

The pointy rosy-pink head is shiny with precum, but I murmur, "Could you use some saliva, too, Ronny." He drools a long bubbly string of saliva onto my asshole. I go, "Oh!" as the wetness runs down my ass crack.

Ronny humps his pointy-headed boner in past my sphincter muscles, moaning, "Umm, oooh..." as I groan, "Ow!" and he pushes his cock the rest of the way up my ass and grinds his crotch against my butt cheeks, his fingers digging into my hips.

The flash of pain from my anus faded quickly as my cock throbs in its tightness; the thrill of having Ronny's hard penis inside me overrides any lingering pain. No one else has affected me this way. It's like Ronny is electricity, his little penis electrifying every nerve ending in my rectum as I shudder with sexual pleasure.

When he begins thrusting his iron dick in my ass, it's an indescribably scintillating sexual experience that nearly blows my mind. Too quickly, I make my high-pitched girlish squeal as a hot, creamy load of cum comes screeching up from my balls to blow out my wooden boner, blasting against the back of the back seat, cum spray flashing back on me.

When my climax blew, my hips humped forward so hard that Ronny's short boner pulled entirely out of my ass. As I'm shaking from my violent climax, Ronny blows his load onto my buttocks and up my back a little. Making a snarling sound, he hammers his cock back up my ass, then moans quietly in pleasure, humping it back and forth inside me.

"Oh, fuck, Ronny. That feels so good," as I lay my chest on the seat, the top of my head pushed into the back of the seat, I keep my ass pushed up for Ronny. He has a hand on either side of my hips as he steadily fucks me, both of us moaning a mantra of, "Oh, oh, oh, umm..."

There are no slapping sounds from his steady thrusting that quickly puts me into a wonderfully dreamy trance of extreme pleasure. Ronny is magic to me as we float together among the stars, a constant vibrating pleasure coming from my rectum. My dick again is as hard as a rock and throbbing with pleasure.

After a while, I'm dreamily amazed that Ronny is able to maintain a boner this long. Still, eventually, I forget about it and assume his dick will maintain its hardness sliding up and back inside my body as reliably as my beating heart. I'd guess it was twenty minutes before my second climax snuck up on me and woke me from my pleasurable dreamy trance to take me to thrilling new heights of pleasure. And now there are slapping sounds as Ronny's thrusting faster and harder, smacking against my buttocks, slap, slap, slap.

Apparently, both our second climax buttons got punched simultaneously, as we're both energetically involved now. I've lifted off the seat, stroking my hard cock and gasping while pushing my ass back into Ronny's thrusts, "Ah, ah, ah, Ronny... ooh!"

A few seconds later, unable to help it, we both make embarrassing squeals, our climaxes blowing with incredibly sexy hot, brilliant sensations bursting all over both of us. We couldn't help but squeal out like that, and since we both did it, it was all right. Shaking with a gooey warm pleasure continuing to spread all over me, I go, "Mmm, Ronny, oooh, umm, feels so good..."

Ronny's chest is on my back now, his heart pounding hard on my spine; some of the gooey stuff he shot inside me is already drooling out around his dick as his arms hug my stomach. I sink back onto the seat, and we stay like this, Ronny on my back, his dick up my ass, for a few minutes, our chests heaving.

With a sigh, Ronny thrusts his dick in my sloppy ass once, twice, and then his now flaccid penis slides out to lie wetly on my right butt cheek. After a while, Ronny mutters, "Damn," and rotates his hips, dragging his penis across both my buttocks, smearing cum in a line across both cheeks and then Ronny flops on the seat beside me.

I pat his thigh and murmur, "That was the best sex I've ever had. You've gotta be my man forever."

He pats my shoulder, "Yeah, I believe I will be," and, blowing out air noisily; I push off the seat to turn around, lean over the back of the passenger seat, and get the box of wet wipes I put in the glove compartment a week ago. Standing bent over, I pull out some wipes, pass two to Ronny, then use two to wipe at his cum that's drooling out of my ass. Then wipe my dick and the front of my thighs where cum spray from the first climax hit and is still sticky.

Putting two wipes on the seat next to Ronny, I sit my bare ass on them, smile at him, and murmur, "My idol and my main man, Ronny Lynch. I'm feeling wicked lucky to be your boy."

He smiles, "And you're a damn good bottom boy, too!"

Sliding over to him, I lean against him, mumbling, "You're never getting rid of me, Ronny."

"Good, I'll be your man if you say so, but in my mind, you're the most important person in the world, and I'm always going to treat you that way."

Grinning at him, "Seriously, though, how can this be, Ronny? How can we be so quickly immersed in one another's life? I know it's real and happening right this second, but how is it possible for everything to be so perfect? We met ten days ago when we didn't even like one another, and then, bam! just like that, we're lovers for life. Are you sure all this isn't too good to be true?"

He's shaking his head, "I don't know, but I'm starting not to care if it's too good to be true. I like living in this fairytale with you, and it's all not only happening but getting better by the minute. You're my dream lover and the best friend I've always wanted, and other than our looks, you're my identical twin brother that I fantasized would be so cool to have, and as I already said, you're also the most important person in the world to me."

I'm squinting because my eyes are tearing up again. Ronny puts his arm across my shoulders and pulls me against him so that half my chest is against his, my face on his shoulder. He rubs my back, mumbling, "Go ahead and have a good emotional cry, Richie. It's okay. Hell, I cry sometimes myself."

"It's just that I'm so insanely happy being with you, Ronny. I find myself babbling, trying to explain how much I love you and how much you mean to me. Plus, you're so nice to me, and you fuck me in the most perfect way imaginable. It all makes me emotional." Then I grin, "Plus, I love the way you look in those 'effing glasses!"

He goes, "Jesus, you like the craziest things, Wallingford."

My right leg goes over both of Ronny's legs, and I sit on his lap, facing him, still grinning as I mutter, "My man! Take care of me, Ronny."

We snicker as he hugs me and then rocks me side to side a little, me docile in his surprisingly strong arms. Skinny boys are stronger than you think. Then, snuggling together, we make out the way lovers do it, slow and juicy, taking turns with the passive/submissive roles while quietly moaning with arousal for one another.

After a while, Ronny slides us both onto our sides on the bench seat, and we lie in each other's arms, not talking, just doing some gentle rubbing on each other as our cocks, hard as petrified wood, again begin leaking precum. Ronny murmurs, "Can you get around, facing the back of the seat, Richie? I wanna fuck you again so badly I feel dizzy with it."

"Uh-huh, right away, Ronny," and when I do that, a second later, I grunt as his boner punches in past my sphincter muscles again, and it's another fifteen-or-twenty-minute-long act of love-making, also known as anal intercourse.

With me experiencing ecstasy, Ronny does slow, steady thrusting for a long time, the vibrations of sexual pleasure rising higher and higher until I could scream at how good it felt. Ronny gets rough at the end, and we both blow our small loads of cum, mine feeling spectacular, streaking out and blasting against the back of the seat. Fourth climaxes in a couple-hour period tend to be small, and mine was, but at the same time, it felt crazy good!

Ronny made a screeching sound, climaxing and refilling my bowels with his cum that immediately began drooling right back out around Ronny's softening dick and then rolling under me to wet the back of my balls.

We're sweaty by now, and whether he realized it or not, Ronny was dominant in wrestling me around until I was facing him, and then he held me tightly, my arms pinned to my sides as he kissed my face here and there, then he licked across my lips. As I've often said, the top guy can't help but feel a touch of dominance over his bottom boy, who, by the very nature of being a bottom, is submissive to his top. This got into Ronny's head for a while, and I was sure to be docile for my man.

I loved him acting that way, but it's not his nature to be dominant for long, so he soon loosened his hold on me and acted embarrassed, mumbling, "Holy shit, what was I doing, Wallingford? Haha, grabbing you like that, I'm sorry. What's going on with me turning into an animal? Um, did I squeeze you too hard?"

"No, no! You were perfect, Ronny. I swear, you were the perfect top lover; the best lover any bottom boy could ever want. You're the best!"

He kisses my cheek, muttering, "You flatter me way too much, but thank you. Um, do you want to get up now? We're sweaty as hell."

As we're sitting up, he says, "You're so complimentary. God, if you're not careful, I'll start believing I'm as good as you say, and then I'll get a big head about it. I mean, are you serious about how good I'm doing at topping my lover boy of a lifetime?"

Oh man, he wants more encouraging comments about his sexual prowess. We start getting dressed, "Uh-huh, Ronny, I've never been more serious about anything in my life. You're the best lover I've ever had, and by a large margin too. I can't fantasize about a better one than you. Well, I don't think there is any way to be better than you are."

He shakes his head, "You're exaggerating again, but thanks, I love it... haha. It builds up my confidence hearing you praise me like that. Especially because I'm always trying to please you... I'm thrilled it's working."

Driving back through Philly, we goof off, telling one another more things about ourselves. Things we like and things we don't like about music, sports, TV, a little more about religion, the kinds of people we like and don't like, and anything we can think of. We're doing it for laughs a little bit, but we're learning about each other as well.

At eleven-thirty, Ronny wants to stop at Lilly's Diner. Parking, I ask, "What do you like about this diner?"

He mutters, "For one thing, it's open. Fast food joints around here are closed by now. I've eaten here, and I especially like their pies, and they make good coffee. It's like Dunkin coffee."

Inside, it smells like coffee. There are four people at the counter and a group of guys in a booth who appear to be in their early twenties and have obviously been drinking. None of these people pays any attention to us, though. We sit in a booth as far from the drunks as we can, and a waitress comes right over. She's making a snapping sound as she's chewing gum and asking, "What can I get you, boys?"

Neither of us orders pie; we order cheeseburgers and vanilla milkshakes. She gives us a squinty-eyed look and mumbles, "Uh-huh, coming right up." When she walks away, Ronny's like, "What's her problem?"

Shrugging, "I don't know," then I realized what her problem was. "Oh, ha-ha, Ronny, we're sitting on the same side of the booth."

"Holy shit, you're right. Well, that's because we're in love," and, grinning, he tries holding my hand. I pull my hand away, mumbling, "Those drunk guys might get frisky if they notice two queers in the diner with them," and I slide out of the seat to sit across from Ronny, mumbling, "As you said, Ronny, we don't want to flaunt our gayness in everyone's face. That's looking for trouble."

The burgers are greasy and delicious. The milkshake was real, not that shit you get at McDonald's that they call milkshakes. We enjoy our late-night snack and manage to avoid confrontation with anyone, and then Ronny insists on paying.

Outside, I'm like, "Next time, it's my treat."

As I drive to Ronny's house, he tells me about the part-time job he got as a bagboy for the ACME Market on 90th Street. I tell him about my bag boy experiences. Then, we sit in the idling car across the street from his house. We're holding hands and looking into each other's eyes, "Wallingford, er, Richie, this was my favorite night of my life. I couldn't love you more, although I bet I'll find a way to do that."

We kiss, and I murmur, "That's exactly how I feel about tonight," and my eyes tear up. He nods, looking serious as he wipes my tears with the pad of his thumb. Then, not mentioning the tears that are running down my face again, he says, "Billy wants us to rent the apartment as of July first, a month before my parents think we need it. I'm all for the July date, though, because I desperately want to sleep with you, and with the apartment, we won't need to say these goodbyes at night that get you overly emotional."

Undoing my seat belt, I lean over, two more tears run down my cheeks, and we hug with Ronny murmuring, "Don't cry. You'll make me cry, and I don't want to be a big baby like you," and he rubs my head, "I'm just kidding you, Wallingford. I was trying to be funny again, which I'm not good at. You can cry if you want."

"I'm not crying, Ronny. Something flew in my eye."

He chuckles, "Yeah, sure," and we do a really sweet kiss. He says, "I'm getting out now. Not that I want to, but I know you'd keep me here until the sun comes up if I'd let you. I love you, Wallingford. Um, are you still coming to church with me?"

Nodding, I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hands, mumbling, "Yes, what time should I be here?"

He says, "Ten-thirty. We go to the eleven o'clock service, and after the service, we get brunch at the Pancake House."

Another quick kiss and Ronny gets out, as I call after him, "I love you." He smiles, then runs across the street and goes inside his house without looking back. I watched him, then drive away with some tears still running, but I've never been happier. I don't wipe away the tears because these tears are Ronny's.

The drive home went without a problem, and at home, I unlocked the front door and quietly went right upstairs. In my bedroom, I got undressed, used the bathroom, then fell asleep with a smile on my face.

Sunday morning, I awoke at nine-thirty, pissed off at myself for not setting my phone alarm for nine. Still, I had time to shower and quickly get dressed in my best clothes. I put on my newest khaki pants with a leather belt, a white dress shirt, and a striped tie. With loafers on my feet, I hurry downstairs and into the kitchen, saying, "Hi, Mom! I hope I can use the car."

"Oh, you're dressed up, Gary. What are, um, why...?"

"I'm going to church with my boyfriend, Ronny, and I don't want to be late, so thanks for the car. Good morning, Dad!" and I'm out the door in a flash. Dad, looking shocked to see me dressed up like this, held his coffee mug in the air the entire thirty whirlwind seconds I was in the kitchen.

Traffic going through Philadelphia Sunday morning wasn't bad at all, and I made good time to Ronny's house. Plus, there was an open parking spot, only two houses down from his place. I'm ringing the doorbell at ten twenty-five. Ronny answers the door, smiling when he sees me, "Wallingford, you're so sweet to get all dressed up like that. Omigod, you look so nice!"

He takes my hand and pulls me inside, and we kiss for five seconds. He's wearing regular clean jeans and a pullover Polo shirt, sneakers on his feet. I use my fingers to swipe his bangs over to the side and off his forehead as he tells me, "It's kind of casual wear at church, but you look beautiful," and he hugs me, whispering, "I love you for getting dressed up and going to church with me."

His mom walks into the living room, dressed nicely but not in the way I expected. Nothing special, and then Mr. Lynch is dressed like Ronny. Mrs. Lynch says, "You are a handsome young man, Gary, or is it, Richie? I forget, but you look very nice." Then to Ronny, "Are you driving there with us, or...?"

He looks at me, "Do you want to drive? Or we can go with Mom and Dad."

Well, that's not a hard question. In fact, I assumed it was a rhetorical one. Obviously, I'd much rather drive than go with Ronny's parents and the awkward small talk during the drive. I shrug, "Um, I don't mind driving."

Ronny says to his parents, "Richie and I will see you there. We'll save seats for you."

It's a ten-minute drive, and we beat his parents easily. The church is a large building painted white with a steeple, and it, um, looks like a church. The many rows of pews were in two sections with an aisle in between that led to the altar. Behind the altar is a large area for a choir. There's also an area for what appears to be a church band, although that's a new concept to me.

The few times as a youngster that my folks took me to church, there was a choir, but the only musical instrument was an organ. Here there is a drums setup and a piano, plus seats for other musicians. Then, behind that is a large crucifixion.

So, yeah, it's a church. This one fills up fast, so it's a good thing Ronny saved two seats for his mom and dad near the front. I tried to get him to sit on a pew far back from the front, but he said they always sit up front.

There are song sheets and a program that I read as Mr. and Mrs. Lynch talked with fellow churchgoers they know from coming here every Sunday for years, and Ronny talks with a young guy sitting behind us who is fat but, from what I hear, seems to be a very nice person. I'm more interested in what I'm reading than I am in the fat boy. If I'm reading the program correctly, I'm going to be here for quite a long while.

It turned out to be a two hours church service. Shockingly, I liked it. The first forty-five minutes was some pretty good music, almost rock music except with religious lyrics. The band was like a rock band, and the choir was good, but here's the thing. Everybody stood and sang for the first forty-five minutes. At first, I was wicked self-conscious about singing, but Ronny kept patting my back as he sang. He's wearing glasses because I wanted him to, so I felt for him, I can sing.

It became a lot of fun, and we looked at one another a lot, smiling and singing loudly. Everyone was singing loudly, so no one could hear our voices from the rest of the congregation, which sounded pretty good. Everyone seemed in a great mood afterward, sitting down for the announcements, which took like ten minutes or so. The announcements were of next week's activities, and some of these people's entire social life had to do with church activities, apparently. Ronny didn't pay any attention to the announcements, which relaxed me as it doesn't appear he gets involved in the church's extracurricular activities.

Then six or seven boys with short neat haircuts wearing blue sports coats and light tan khakis, who Ronny said were called ushers, passed baskets up and down each pew, row by row, collecting the offering. Some people put smallish envelopes containing checks or money in the baskets, and others put cash. The Lynch family put an envelope. I looked at Ronny like, am I supposed to pay? He shook his head and squeezed my hand. God, I love how he looks in those glasses.

Next was the sermon that lasted over forty-five minutes, but the pastor was young, and I thought he was cute for a thirty-year-old man. I'll bet my left nut he was gorgeous as a fifteen-year-old. Plus, his voice was so smooth it hypnotized me. I hope I'm as cool-looking at thirty as Pastor Miller. He read Bible passages and then explained what they meant and how they applied in today's modern world. He slipped in, shoe-horned in some far-out rationalizations making the Bible passages apply nowadays, but he did a good job overall.

He summed things up and then encouraged the young people to attend Wednesday night's service. Ronny looked at me, raising his eyebrows which I took as him inviting me to come with him Wednesday night. I pretended I didn't understand and just smiled at him.

Finally, it was over, and the over two hundred worshipers filed out with much chatter, and then we stood outside as Ronny's parents talked with people. The fat kid waved at Ronny, so he waved back, but the kid didn't stop to talk. Ronny said, "That's Andy Burke, and he's going to the basement for coffee and sweet rolls. We always skip that and have brunch instead."

We met his parents at the restaurant, and that was fine. Then, I was uncomfortably the center of attention with Ronny's parents asking me questions, similar to how my parents have asked me questions all my life. They're nosing; parents are nosy.

They wanted to know if I liked my first time at a nondenominational service. Did I like the music? And they wanted to know what church my family attended, plus personal questions about my religious beliefs. It was all done, very friendly and nice, and thank God my boyfriend Ronny jumped in with answers for me when I was going, "Um, ah..." about matters like, do I believe in Jesus Christ? Between Ronny and me, we sidestepped some parts of my religious beliefs that Mr. and Mrs. Lynch probably would find disturbing, but mostly I was able to honestly say I liked the service.

Making Ronny proud of me, I told his parents I'd like to attend next Sunday's service if it was alright with them.

Of course, it was alright with them. Then I hung around the Lynch's house all afternoon watching a Phillies game on TV with Ronny and his dad, Ronny's arm protectively across my shoulders and us exchanging smiles every two minutes. I got a hard-as-steel boner being together like this with Ronny.

After the game, Ronny and I took a ride on his motorbike just to get out of the house. When we got back at five o'clock, his parents were in the backyard having cocktails, so Ronny and I had sex in his bedroom, then lay together silently in each other's arms on his bed for ten minutes or so. Then I had to get home for Sunday dinner then, but promised to pick Ronny up tonight around seven-thirty.

What a wonderful day with Ronny Lynch... this can't be too good to be true, can it?

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com

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