Invited

Chapter 48

( FULL OF PROMISE )

Monday morning, I lie in bed, waiting for my alarm to go off, smiling and thinking about last night when Ronny and I made love in the back seat of my Mom's car at the Sears parking lot. I sniff my wrists, hoping to smell his scent, but can't. It's strange that I can't since my arms were around him for almost three hours.

Ronny and his slightly undersized boner, with love shimmering all around us, did one helluva job fucking me last night. That memory makes my anus muscles twitch, tightening and loosening on their own. Ronny's my man, topping me fantastically.

Flipping over onto my stomach, I push my ass up, wishing Ronny were here to do it again. After making love, we were in each other's arms for the longest time, not talking, just being as close together as we could get. Yes, we have miraculously found our soul mate, our love of a lifetime, and neither of us has any intentions of letting go of this miracle.

When he moved his head, his crown's too-short cowlick hairs tickled my nose, reminding me of when Ronny made a face, feeling his short haircut as he was getting out of Uncle Tony's barber chair. I had to cover my mouth to hide my chuckling, then goofily happy when Ronny called my uncle, Uncle Tony as if he were his uncle too.

Sometimes I can barely catch my breath when I'm with Ronny, and right now, I'm illogically frustrated that I need to wait all day before we'll be together again. Yeah, I know, that's fairly stupid of me, but we were born to be together; we're incomplete when apart. We both know there's no logical explanation for our love affair, but at the same time, to us, it's inconceivable that we wouldn't be in love and together.

Whaaat? Haha, yeah, that's right, it doesn't make any sense, but we don't care; we KNOW what we know!

Thinking about him, I fiddled with my dick until my alarm went off.

Okay, it's a new week. Getting out of bed, I hit the button on my phone, killing the alarm, then stroke my firm penis a few times, biting my bottom lip. Wow, I'd love to do a quick jerkoff, except only Ronny Lynch is allowed to make me cum. That part of me belongs to him now, and sometimes he even makes me cum in my pants. No, not on purpose, but we have so much fun together... it's a blast!

Loving someone as much as I love Ronny seems almost like a burden at times. Nah, but not really; it does take up a lot of my time, though. Still, it's the best part of my life, and now that we've connected like this, I can't imagine living without him. We need to stay together forever, or till the stars fall from the sky.

I make a loud 'Grrrr!" sound to get me to stop daydreaming and get ready for work!

A half-hour later, I showered and did everything else I needed to do in the bathroom, got dressed, and I'm now outside waiting for Malcolm to pick me up. Hmm, it's interesting that Malcolm didn't seem especially broken up about me not participating in his morning wake-me-up fuck last Friday. I'm hoping he'll be just as nonchalant about me not participating again today. Today and every day in the future. Nope, I'm never doing it with him again. I can't and won't be disloyal to RL; no way!

Yeah, I slipped up one time and let Malcolm fuck me. It was the day after Ronny's and my first date. Our relationship tightened significantly since then, and no one could get me to cheat on him now. Ronny's my man, my lover forever. He's kind of our leader, too, although he refuses to officially accept that designation. That's okay; I know who our leader is, and I think he does too.

Right on time, Malcolm pulls up to the curb; I get in the car, smiling and trying to sound cheerful, "Good morning, boss. You're looking handsome, as always."

Without looking at me, he mutters, "Shut up. I'm hungover, so don't talk."

Swell. I look out the window and think, 'Well, what's your problem, Gary? You're getting a ride to work avoiding the bus and the train... so what if the boss is an asshole?"

Ten minutes later, at a red light, he does look at me, sternly saying, "I'm hungover and in a bad mood, so don't give me that bullshit about not wanting to do our morning pick-me-up fuck that you spouted at me on Friday. Whether you want it or not doesn't matter. I need it this morning, so your ass is getting spanked, then fucked! Got it?"

I start to say, no, we're not doing that, but he cuts me off at the first syllable, snarling, "I said, don't talk!"

Well, fuck you too, asshole! I guess this is the end of my employment at United Paper Products because I'm not doing it with psycho Malcolm. I'm loyal to Ronny, not this handsome, macho black wild man.

In my head, I think of smartass ways to tell him to fuck off. Then, when he pulls into the garage, I come to my senses and decide not to say anything. He could smack me around with one hand tied behind his back, so it makes no sense antagonizing him. I'll try reasoning with him, and if that doesn't work, which I'm sure it won't, I'll quit. Maybe I can get a job as a bag boy at the ACME Market with Ronny.

When he parks the car, Malcolm unnecessarily nods his head for me to get out. Seriously? What'd he think? I was going to sit in the car all day. Yeah, that's right; I'm in a bad mood now too.

Making a face, I get out, and we start walking to the garage exit with Malcolm's hand tightly gripping the back of my neck, pushing me along, not saying anything. He walks fast, and his long legs take longer strides than my shorter legs, meaning I need to take more steps to keep up with him.

Then, going inside the building from the loading dock, he lets go of my neck, mumbling, "Go upstairs and log us in on the time clock, then get your ass back here lickety-split. Oh, and you better have a condom with you, or your pants are going to be soaked in olive oil again."

Taking a deep breath, I say, "No, my pants won't be soaked in oil, and no, I don't have a condom. Listen, I'm not doing sex with you this morning or ever. If you don't promise me right now that we can continue working together without you fucking me, I'm going to the third floor and quitting this job. I'm dead serious about that!"

He dismissively waves a hand at me and mutters, "Knock off the bullshit, Grant. Do what you're told. Sign us in and get your ass right back here. I'll be at our favorite spot for fucking, and I want a good, slow, enjoyable blowjob first. Get my mind off my hangover."

Shaking my head, I say, "No, I just told you I'm not..." and I see Malcolm looking past me, and he's frowning, so I look behind me, and there's Morrison walking onto the dock. Malcolm and I both looked startled because, first of all, Morrison was never at the office this early, and he never came down to the loading dock until late in the afternoon.

A man with several chins and a sharp-beaked nose, about forty years old, follows Morrison out the door. His belly looks loose, jiggling like Jell-o hanging over his belt as they walk toward us. When they're ten feet away, the man snorts up some mucus or something and spits a glob of it over the edge of the dock. Eww!

Malcolm says, as a question, "Morrison?"

Morrison nods, "Good morning, fellows." Looking at Malcolm, he nods at the man with many chins and says, " Um, this is Gene Simmons; Gene, that's Malcolm, who you'll be working for, and the young, good-looking fellow has been temporarily filling in on this dock job."

I nod, "Hi," and Malcolm mutters, "How ya doing?" Gene makes another snorting sound, a longer one this time like he's snorting up a huge gob of thick phlegm, hacks it out, then mutters, "Sorry about that, um, nice to meet you guys."

Gawd! That snorting he does, his waddle chins flapping, is so gross!

Morrison looks at me and says, "Um, you're back on the third floor, Jerry."

Jerry?

Then to Malcolm, "Gene is my full-time hire for special projects starting with the remainder of this loading dock project." To me, he says, "Thank you, Jer. You've helped out a lot, but they're expecting you upstairs. Um, I suppose in the mailroom."

Hey, you don't need to tell me to get lost twice. Trying not to yell, 'YIPPIE!" in their faces or smile too hard, I nod, "Sure thing, and thanks, Morrison," then, "See ya, Malcolm," and I walk inside and over to the elevator, grinning like a motherfucker. Holy shit, I get on the elevator and hit the button for the third floor. Oh boy, this is awesome!

Malcolm can fuck one of Gene's chins, perhaps.

Oh, God, I'm so excited. Hell, I can't wait to do that boring job running Pitney Bowes's DL2000 envelope-opening machine. It'll be fun doing that compared to sweating my balls off on the loading dock and getting yelled at by Malcolm.

Getting off on the third floor, I smile at how clean everything seems. Everything but me that is. I'm wearing beat-up old clothes and grass-stained sneakers, thinking I'd be working on the dock today. I'm grinning like a fool at everyone I pass as I walk through the office. Going past the HR department, I nod and smile brightly at Serenity, who hired me. She grinned and smiled back at me this time, although with that same look in her eyes of, 'Who the fuck is that kid?'

Nothing can upset me now, though. At the mailroom, I knock on the mailroom supervisor's door, and Maggie Dwyer yells, "It's open, for Christ's sake, just come in." Ha, she's always grumpy, but her bark is worse than her bite.

Opening the door, I say, "Hi, Maggie. Ah, Morrison told me to report to the mail room, um, he hired a replacement for me, and, um..."

Immediately, I could tell she wasn't expecting me. She's squinting her eyes, probably trying to figure out who Morrison and I are. I help her out, saying, "Ah, or should I report directly to Fredrico?"

She snaps her fingers and points at me, nodding her head, "Yeah, you're Grant, right? The part-timer DL2000 operator. Yes, you need to report to Fredrico. Um, and ask him to tell you about United Paper Product's dress code if you think of it."

I was never a part-timer here. I've always been a full-time employee, but I let the part-time remark slide, mumbling, "Okay, dress code. Uh-huh, I'll be sure to do that." She nods encouragingly, and I back out of her office. Gee, I wonder how she keeps her job?

Oh, good, there's Fredrico! Wow, I forgot how beautiful he is with that pale tan skin and his perfect facial features, and his smile that rivals the Underwood brothers, Billy's, and Charlie's smiles.

"Good morning, Fredrico!" He stops talking to Emily and gives me that smile I was just thinking about. It makes me smile broadly back at him.

He goes, "Grant! Um, sorry, I meant Gary! Haha, I'm so glad you're back." Then to Emily, "You've been saved, Emily, Gary's back. He'll take over the DL2000."

Huh, after weeks of seeing her every day, I just now noticed Emily is cross-eyed. She moves her head and appears to be looking in my direction, her eyes crossing, as she mumbles, "Where ya been, Grant?" Fredrico says, "Never mind where he's been, Emily. Please tell Debby you'll be working with her all week. Off ya go now."

When Fredrico puts his arm across my shoulders, I say, "I thought I'd be working on the dock, which is why I'm dressed like this."

"Don't worry about it. The mail is backed up again, but you'll get us caught up..."

I get right to work, and, oh boy, working the DL2000 machine is so much nicer than doing manual labor that includes heavy lifting, inhaling disgusting dust particles, and being mistreated by Malcolm. I can't stop smiling as the day flew by and would have been excellent, except Mark Jones didn't show up for lunch, and I had to eat alone.

Then, at five o'clock, I gave a two-second thought of going to the dock for a ride home with Malcolm but immediately dismissed that crazy idea and headed for the train station instead. So, one good thing today was getting back to a civilized job, and one bad thing is I'm again taking the bus and train to and from work. I prefer this over that, though.

On the bus, Ronny texted me, 'Richie, would it be possible for you to pick me up right after you get home from work? Mom is meeting my Dad in town for a company dinner, and I'm hoping maybe I could eat with your family and get to know your parents better. Love, RL'

I text back, 'I'll be at your house as soon as I can, and, of course, you can eat here. Love, RW.' I did initials for Richie Wallingford. Seriously, I like the first name that Ronny gave me better than the one my parents gave me.

Ronny sends a thumbs-up emoji, and I send one back to him, then grope my junk, realizing I got a hard-on while texting with him. Yeah, I've got it wicked bad for my man, Ronny Lynch. I love him like life itself! Jeez, and now I'm super excited that I'll be seeing him before dinner.

Thank God Mom's in the kitchen when I get home. She could have been working and had the car with her. When I tell her about Ronny, she's fine with him having dinner here and fine with me using the car to pick him up.

She turns off the kitchen TV and says, "We're not eating until seven o'clock because your Dad is working late. And, honestly, I'm glad you're picking your friend up rather than him driving that motorbike through Philadelphia's rush hour traffic. That makes me nervous, and I don't want to hear about you riding on that thing."

"Yes, Mom," and off I go. She still falls back into old thinking that I'm still her little boy. I let it slide, though, because she's been doing that less and less since I came out as gay. Maybe she respects me for being honest about a difficult topic and, maybe, finally realizes I'm growing up.

Driving to Ronny's, the traffic is heavy, a nightmare traffic situation during rush hour, and it takes an extra fifteen minutes to get there. He's sitting on the front stoop when I pull up to the curb, smiling brightly. My eyes are stinging a little bit because I sometimes get emotional seeing Ronny. I watch him coming over to my open window, sunlight glittering off his glasses. He leans down so we can kiss. "Seeing you makes my heart beat fast, Richie."

I nod, "Me too. You're looking cool, Ronny."

He jogs around to get into the passenger seat, then says, "I didn't have classes or a final exam today, so I spent all day thinking about and missing you, you cute motherfucker."

I say, "Thanks. Jeez, I'm shaking," and hold my hand out, saying, "Look at my fingers shake, Ronny. You do that to me." My arm goes around his neck to pull his head next to mine. Our cheeks together, I murmur, "You smell so good."

He mumbles, "Thanks, but chill out a little bit, okay? We're kind of blocking the street."

Cars driving by are blowing their horns because, I guess, my car is partially blocking a lane. Ronny says, "Can we drive away, please? We're going to get rear-ended."

"Oh, sorry," and, letting go of Ronny, I slide the car into the flow of traffic.

Fastening his seat belt, he says, "I didn't mean to snap at you. I apologize."

Shaking my head, "No problem," and I tell him about what happened at work. He asks, "Were you really going to reject your boss, even if it meant you'd need to quit your job?"

"I swear to God, Ronny, in my mind, it was already done. Happenstance in the form of that man, Morrison, saved me the trouble. Obviously, I had no idea Malcolm's boss was replacing me by hiring a full-time assistant, or whatever the man's job is."

Ronny's quiet the rest of the ride to my house, maybe thinking about my loyalty or maybe not; he gets quiet like that sometimes. I make myself keep quiet too. It's the opposite of how it was with Billy, who couldn't abide silence for longer than a minute or two.

Although we didn't talk during the ride, we both glanced at one another every couple of minutes with a smile, and he squeezed the back of my neck once and left his hand there for a little while. That seemed a very affectionate thing for him to do.

Pulling to the curb in front of my house, I looked at Ronny and said, "I'm not shaky now, Ronny. I'm super relaxed and happy being with you." He grinned, and as he was reaching his hand over, he slowly opened his mouth, so I opened my mouth too, and he gently put his thumb in my mouth. Grinning around it, I sucked on it, my eyes staring into his eyes with love and devotion. Pulling his thumb out of my mouth, he put it in his and sucked it.

He's chuckling as he doing that. Wow, I'm wicked surprised at how sexy that was; poking at my hard boner that's sticking straight up, I murmur, "Holy shit, that was the sexiest thing ever, Ronny."

Taking his thumb out of his mouth, he laughs, then says, "No, it wasn't. You're the sexiest thing ever." Then, "I saw a couple of gay models on the 'Barely Eighteen' website do that and thought you'd laugh."

Still snickering, I mutter, "Wow, it was cool, and it's awesome to see that we're still bringing out the cringe-worthy mushy lovie/dovie shit. It's as if we're on serious mind-altering drugs or something. We could write a book on creepy behavior."

Chuckling, we get out of the car and walk to the front door with Ronny saying, "You're right, but let's try not to embarrass ourselves by doing cringe-worthy shit at the dinner table."

"Yeah, of course not, but having meals at each other's house is a really good idea. It's turning into something special. I mean, I felt almost comfortable with your parents at church and at brunch yesterday. Well, no, not comfortable. More like I wasn't totally petrified as I would have been if I hadn't eaten dinner with you guys Saturday night, which broke the ice, sort of."

We both chuckle at that, then, inside the front door, Ronny whispers, "We're going to be part of both families, so the sooner we can feel equally comfortable with either family, the better. And the only way to do that is to be around them and do things as a family; me here with yours and you in Philly with my family."

"You're so smart, Ronny."

Mom calls from the kitchen, "Dinner in twenty minutes, boys," and I call out, "Okay, Mom."

Dad, who just got home, is still in his suit and tie as he carries a glass of wine into the living room, saying, "Hi, guys. What are you two up to?"

I say, "Nothing much. Ronny's parents are at some company dinner, so he's going to have dinner with us."

Dad turns the TV on to watch the news. Sitting, he mumbles, "Yeah, your Mom told me. Any time, Ronny," and we go upstairs to my bedroom.

Inside my bedroom, Ronny says, "Your parents are more relaxed about me being here than my parents are with you at my place. They still seem uptight or something."

I shrug, "I thought it was me who was uptight. Maybe they're sensing my uptightness. Plus, all four parents are still getting used to us being openly gay. It's still very recent, but I think we're all doing great with that. Don't you?"

"Yes, we're doing okay, Wallingford. You, um..."

I cut him off, putting my arms around him, mumbling, "I'm just so happy to be with you. I can't, um, I don't know how to say it. Ah, I'm enraptured, enchanted, and enthralled by you. As I told you earlier, I sometimes can't catch my breath when I'm near you."

He frowns, mumbling, "That's sweet of you, RW. Would you sit down? I need to say something about, um, your, I mean, our behavior."

I sit on the desk chair, and he pulls over the stool I stand on when hiding things, like condoms, on the top shelf in my closet. Sitting on the stool, Ronny holds my hand and says, "First of all, not that it matters; those three words you just said about me. Um, they all mean the same thing. They're synonyms but never mind that. What I'm starting to worry about is the way you're building me up to be Superman or the most perfect this or that, and I'm not. I can't live up to that."

"No, I'm not doing that, Ronny. I love you; that's all I mean by saying stuff about how smart and great you are."

He makes a face, "We joke about it, but um, ah, look, I love you too, but you're, um, sometimes you get carried away and seem, well, you seem very young, um, and immature. I know Billy carries it too far, saying you need to be taken care of because you act so young at times and you don't know how to act other times, but I don't think it's that serious, just a little bit."

I frown at that, so he squeezes my hand and says, "It's nothing to get upset about, but what I'm trying to say is your, um, I mean our level of excitement about us, about you and me, is excessive and can be a tiny bit embarrassing at times. I mean, sometimes it's like you're a little kid blowing the great thing we've got together all out of proportion. Do you know what I mean? I'm not explaining this well at all."

Making a face, I'm like, "Ah, is this one of those times where you're trying to be funny?"

"No, I'm not trying to be funny, but I am overblowing the hell out of this point I'm trying to make. Damn! Fuck it... It's okay; the hell with it. Forget I mentioned anything. I mean, if we can appreciate what we've found in one another but be a little calmer about it, that would be good. That's basically all I'm trying to say."

"Calmer? Why? Our relationship is a thrilling 'effing development, Ronny. Our love affair is epic!"

"Yes, and we've had a couple of weeks of being extremely demonstrative with high exuberance about this incredibly good fortune of finding our perfect partner for life. So, now, maybe we could level it out a little. We're solidly together forever; there's no question about that, but I'd like to be a little bit cooler about it. I shouldn't have done the thumb-sucking thing, for example. I wanted to make you laugh with that, but it just encourages your immaturity, I mean, our immaturity. As gay guys, let's set a good example. Be mature and, um, not do dumb things like make out on a public bus, for example. Don't do stuff like that."

I nod, "Oh, hell yeah. I totally understand and couldn't agree more with you, but can I sit on your lap at dinner? You can feed me."

We both laugh, then he says, "Okay, okay, maybe I'm making a mountain out of a molehill, but can you dial down your, um, exuberance? Maybe dial it back a little bit; that's all I'm suggesting."

"Yes, I can do that. Plus, I think you're right, although it's not exactly a news flash that I can act immaturely. First off, I'm the youngest by more than a year between everyone I graduated with, including you, Billy, and Pat. I'll work on it, but you need to help me, too. For example, my feelings are wicked hurt right now because I don't take criticism well at all, so can you give me a hug?"

I'm smirking, and he shakes his head slowly, smiling. He hugs me, kisses me, and says, "Of course, I'll help you, but I think this immaturity act is all part of your grand plan to make me be more in charge than I want to be."

"Gary! Dinner!"

I say, "Dinner, Ronny. Um, nah, it's not my grand plan at all. I don't have a plan, never mind a grand one. Um, however, you do need to take charge of matters when matters need someone to take charge of them. Meanwhile, I'll be pretty busy working on being more mature."

Shaking his head again, he lets go of me, mumbling, "I don't have a prayer, do I? You're going to have everything your way no matter what, aren't you?''

Going downstairs, I say, "No, you're our leader. You'll have everything your way."

He laughs, "Yeah, right."

Then, during dinner, I was acting so mature my Mom asked, "Is everything okay, Gary? You don't seem like yourself, um..."

"Everything is wonderful, Mom! It's just that, minute by minute; I'm feeling myself becoming more and more mature."

She makes a face and then looks at my Dad, who shrugs. Ronny and I smirk at one another.

Later at the Sears parking lot, after the second time we fucked, we're lying in the back seat of my Mom's car when Ronny murmurs, "You know what, Wallingford? Forget all that maturity bullshit I was talking about earlier. I was wrong. You should be any way you want to be, and I'll love whatever that is."

"Okay, Ronny."

"Yeah, I was getting a big head, thinking I knew it all. That's because of how you built me up until I start thinking I know something, but I don't. I don't know any more than you do."

"Yes, you do, Ronny! You're older with a lot more social interaction experience than me. Plus, you're naturally more mature; it comes naturally to you, and you've got leadership ability coming out your ass. I'm learning from you. You're my hero and our leader. I know you didn't want to be, but you're our leader by default. Anyway, what you're doing and how you're doing it is awesome!"

He snickers, "Oh, man, you're doing that building-me-up shit again, and there's no reason for it. I mean, we don't need one of us to be a know-it-all leader. You and me, we're co-leaders. Hell, remember we made a point of agreeing with the no need for a leader thing just last week?"

Smiling, I mutter, "Yeah, we did, but I had my 'effing fingers crossed behind my back, so..."

"Heh-heh, you're the most fun I've ever had, Wallingford."

"You too, Ronny."

Wednesday, Ronny took his last final exam, then started his part-time bag-boy job at Acme Market on Thursday. We've been texting one another a few times a day and seeing each other every night after dinner. And for the third Sunday in a row, I went to church with the Lynch family, and I'll be doing that every Sunday.

On Monday, I went with Ronny and his parents to a Memorial Day party at Lenape Lake. It was a party Mr. Lynch's company sponsored. Then, much later that afternoon, Ronny and I joined my family at Uncle Tony's Memorial Day cookout in his backyard.

I introduced Ronny to everyone. They'd all heard about me coming out as gay and were curious about my boyfriend. During the introductions and discussions, no one slipped up and said the words gay or queer or fag; nothing like that. They most likely were whispering things like that behind our backs, though. My cousins probably were telling each other, 'I knew our cute girlie-looking cousin was queer!'

Yeah, I've always suspected those two homely-looking girls were jealous of my good looks.

After Ronny and I had eaten for the third time today, Uncle Tony came over to us as Ronny, and I were sitting close together, our sides touching. I was drinking a beer, so Uncle Tony asked Ronny, "Can I get you a beer, son?"

Shaking his head, Ronny smiles and says, "No, thank you. I'm not much of a beer drinker."

I said, "I'll drink enough for both of us," and Ronny said to my uncle, "No, he won't; I won't let him. Trust me."

"Good, you take care of him, Ronny. Gary's my favorite gay nephew, ya know."

Ronny grins, "He's your only nephew, gay or otherwise," and we all chuckle. Uncle Tony pats my shoulder and says, "Seriously, guys, I want to compliment you two for handling yourselves admirably. Be proud of who and what you are. I know I'm proud of this one." He rubs my head, adding, "And don't go two months between haircuts again. Okay, buddy?"

I say, "I won't, but I used to go three or four months between haircuts. Remember that? No more, though; I'll be in your shop Tuesday, a week from tomorrow, Uncle Tony." Then, bumping against Ronny, I add, "And, um, I'm going to get Ronny to come with me."

Uncle Tony nods, muttering, "Well, good... I need the business," and adds on a serious note, "If I can do anything for you boys, just let me know."

He pats both our backs, then wanders over to talk to his daughters, my female cousins, both of whom brought dates to the cookout. Neither of the guys they brought with them was cool in any way. Both are unattractive and dull but somehow seem to think they're hot shits. I don't know what they based their hot-shitiness on. Haha, they didn't say five words to Ronny and me. Maybe they ignored us because we're gay while they were being obnoxious braggarts, both talking too loudly.

That'll always be a question we have: is someone ignoring or being rude to us because we're gay or because they're rude all the time?

Then, a week from Tuesday, Ronny did come with me, and we both got haircuts from my uncle and Omigod; that made me so happy! I know it's crazy, but it made me so happy that Ronny came with me, and for some reason, I was so proud of both my uncle and Ronny. When Uncle Tony asked Ronny how he wanted his hair cut, Ronny said, "Not like Richie's." We all chuckled, then Ronny had to explain why he calls me Richie. Then he said, "Can you do a regular haircut for me, Uncle Tony?"

I loved that Ronny calls my uncle, Uncle Tony! My uncle laughed, then said, "A regular haircut, huh? Yeah, I do a lot of regular haircuts, Ronny."

Snickering to myself, I knew what Uncle Tony's regular boy's haircut was like. Actually, it's pretty much like the haircut Ronny got from the woman barber the last time he was there. That was almost a month ago, and she had an excuse for cutting his hair so short. She was working around the bad haircut Charlie gave Ronny a couple of weeks earlier.

Anyway, yeah, Uncle Tony's regular boy's haircuts looked pretty much like haircuts for ten-year-old boys. I smirked at Ronny as he was getting out of the barber chair, feeling how short his hair was at the crown and making a face at me. I had to cover my mouth, hiding my laughing, and Ronny, not knowing why I was laughing, started laughing his ass off with me. Uncle Tony just looked puzzled. Gay guys, ya know?

I got in the barber chair, and Uncle Tony didn't bother asking me how I wanted my hair cut; he gave me the same short butch haircut I got last time, which is what I would have said I wanted if he had asked me. I'm still connecting in a way with Billy. Walking out of the barber shop, I asked Ronny, "Are you okay with me getting this haircut, considering Billy's still getting the same one?"

"I'm not jealous that you two have identical haircuts. Not at all because I know without a doubt who you love with a wild passion." He giggles, adding, "It's me! I have you, and he doesn't. And next time, maybe I'll get a butch haircut too. All three of us will have the same old-fashioned haircut. That'll freak out everybody who sees the three of us at college, or anybody who sees us anywhere for that matter."

"And, holy shit, with my haircut, you'll look even cooler than you do now, RL!"

Then, two Saturdays after Memorial Day, my Dad came with Billy, Ronny, and me to finalize the lease for the apartment we boys finally decided on. Each of us had a cashier check for one-third of the first and last month's rent. It's a garden apartment, meaning it has a private entrance. All the apartments in this complex have private entrances.

So that's cool. What isn't too cool is these apartments were built in the 1960s, over sixty years ago. Fortunately, though, they were renovated ten years ago, so they're kind of modern with semi-newish appliances and so forth. The apartment complex is within walking distance of the college, assuming you think a mile and a half each way is within walking distance.

There wasn't any reason my Dad needed to be there as we simply passed the rental lady the checks, and she passed us a signed rental agreement, a lease, and receipts for our deposits. I guess Dad wanted to be sure that everything went as planned, which it did. We can pick up the keys on July first.

It's unfurnished, our apartment is, so we need to furnish it, but that's no problem. Between the three families, we have more furniture promised than we can use. On the first of July, we'll rent a U-Haul or something and move all the second-hand furniture into the apartment. To say three young guys between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one are as excited as young children on Christmas morning... well, that's how excited we are about this apartment. Yeah, I mean, living on our own! Whaaat? Dude!

Then, the next day, Sunday, Ronny and I got home from church, and I drove to my house because my Dad insisted on coming with Ronny and me again. This time when I'm paying for my new, used car. He drove us to the dealership, me in the passenger seat and Ronny in the back. Haha, I started to get in the back with Ronny, who hissed, "No, get in the front, Richie."

Yeah, I know, 'new, used car' is an oxymoron.

Ronny and I already checked this car out every way we could using its VIN and found it's never been in an accident, as well as other encouraging facts about it. So, I'm buying this nice-looking, thirteen-year-old, blue 2010 Honda Sport with 142,000 miles on it for $6,495. The dealership got the license tags and whatever else was necessary at the RMV, and I'd already bought auto insurance, so I'll be driving it away today.

When he saw it, Dad was pleasantly surprised, saying I got a good deal on this car and then he drove home alone. Ronny and I, in my new, used car, drove to Billy's house, both of us happy as a dog with two tails, both wagging like crazy.

Billy's smoking a cigarette on the back porch when we drive up his driveway and toot the horn. We get out of the car as Billy comes off the porch to give me and Ronny guy hugs; then he hands me his cigarette and gets in the driver's seat of my new, used car, mumbling, "Sweet ride, Gary!"

Taking a drag from the cigarette, I say, "It's cool, isn't it, Billy?"

Getting Billy's approval is important to me. He's Ronny's and my idol.

Billy nods, "Yeah, Gary, I already said it was a sweet ride. And for only sixty-five hundred dollars, brother, you got yourself a good deal."

Ronny and I nod, feeling proud we've impressed Billy with our choice of my new, used car. Billy gets out, takes his cigarette back from me, and says, "Okay, so at college, Ronny will have his motorbike, and Gary, you've got this cool car, and I'm getting either my Mom's van or, more likely, my cousin's 2005 Mini Cooper convertible. We'll have any type of ride we need at college, plus that cool apartment for the next three years."

Ronny says, "Um, yeah, Underwood, but when we graduate, Wallingford will still have his senior year to complete. We could keep the apartment for another year, I guess, but I don't know if we should. What do you think we should do?"

Billy rubs my head, grinning and mumbling, "We don't need to decide now, but yeah, I forgot our baby boy here will still have his senior year to complete."

I lean against Billy, and he says to Ronny, "Well, it's three years from now, and it's going to be just the two of you, so it'll be up to you to take care of things, Ronny."

To me, he mutters, "You miss me, don't you, Gary?" I shrug, and he puts an arm around me, telling Ronny, "You'll need to handle things, Ron. I'll be working at an 'effing job so I can start paying off eighty thousand dollars in college loans."

Ronny and I want Billy to hang out with us, so I nod my head at Ronny, as our leader, to say something. Ronny goes, "So, Billy, um, we should take Richie's car for a test run, don't ya think?"

Billy still has his arm around me as he holds his cigarette butt to my lips, and I take a last drag from it. Then he says, "I'd like to go for a test run with my two favorite numbnuts, but I can't this afternoon. I promised my bro, Charlie, I'd go to the Phillies game with him today."

We hang around shooting the shit with Billy for another five minutes, but then he sends us on our way, saying, "Look, I gotta go inside to change clothes. Text me next week, and I'll take a ride in your car, Gary. You be cool, Ronny, and take good care of our boy."

We do goodbye guy hugs, then I drive away, asking, "What should we do now, Ronny?"

I didn't mind that Billy treated me like a baby. He always has, and now I'm totally used to it. I know he means well, and Billy isn't about to change, that's for sure.

Anyway, I don't want him to change. He always refers to and acts as if I'm his very, very special friend, who he cares a lot about. That is so sweet, and it makes me swell with pride that I've earned this special place in his heart. Yeah, he likes me better than anyone he's ever known, so how cool is that?

To answer my question, Ronny wants to do is hit golf balls at the driving range, so that's what we do. I talked him into taking up golf, and he's already pretty good at it. After an hour on the driving range, we went to my house and later had dinner there; then we watched music videos in my bedroom, waiting for it to get dark so I could drive my Honda to the Sears parking lot.

The feel of Ronny's body and the scent of him is as familiar to me as my own body and scent. That's on my mind because we're sharing the desk chair while watching videos. I'm squashed against the back of the chair, and Ronny, because he's shorter than me, is sitting between my legs in front of me on the same chair. My arms were around him as he surfed YouTube, the side of my face partially against his. The only way this could have been any better is if we were naked.

We wouldn't do this naked, though. Not with my parents at home. We no longer mess around fucking when our parents are home. It's like, for some reason, now that they know we're gay, it seems rude to have sex when they're in the house. It's their house, not ours. It would be disrespectful somehow. We'll be in our own place in two weeks, and until then, we'll use the back seat of my new, used car when having sex.

Even fully clothed, we get boners; nothing we can do about boners. I mean, Christ, Ronny, and I give each other boners while texting one another, if you can believe that, so it goes without saying we get boners having bodily contact with one another.

That's true, and I've unintentionally climaxed in my pants from just bodily contact making out with him; there's always the danger of blowing a load in my pants when we're making out. Right now, with my body tight against Ronny's back sharing this chair, I'm beginning to feel faint from extreme sexual arousal. His body, his scent, his voice as he gets excited about a video; everything about him is so special to me. Sucking on my lips, I nuzzle my face against the side of his neck; his skin is so smooth and taut, smelling so good; I moan quietly, "Mmm, Ronny... mmm, I think I'm gonna cum, ah, yeah I..."

He hopped off the chair, pulling away from my arms, "Not again! C'mon... hold off, Richie. Wait until we're at Sears. Can't you hold off?"

Still sitting, nodding, I'm groping my junk, making a face. Whew, I nod my head again, my face still scrunched up a little, "Uh-huh, yeah, I think I'll be okay. Oh, yeah, I'm okay now, but don't yell at me, okay, Ronny? Holy shit, though," then I laugh, "Oh, man, Ronny, you turn me on! Wow, ha-ha, that was something."

Standing next to me, his hand on my shoulder, "Well, can I sit down again? You okay now?"

Holding my arms out, "Yeah, but bro, that felt so good. Getting so hot and bothered like that is almost as good as a full climax situation. Jesus, I was right at the tipping point of blowing a load in my pants again. Holy shit. Whaaat? Haha."

Chuckling, he sits in front of me again, his back against my chest, then my arms go around him as he mutters, "God, you're fun to be with. Ya know, I don't think you realize how good you make me feel when you get hot and bothered like that from just touching me. It's wicked flattering, RW."

"Well, it's, um, what's it called, our pheromones? The scent thing we have for each other. That's just the start, though. You're so hot and sexy!"

"Thanks! Ya know, I never thought another guy would ever think I was desirably hot and sexy. Certainly, never as irresistibly desirable as you think I am. I've known I was gay for years but never thought anyone would ever get excited over me because I'm undersized and not especially good-looking. What did I have to offer, ya know? And yet you love me..."

Hmm, I wonder if that undersized remark included his dick, or was it strictly about him being five-foot-seven or eight and thin.

I say, "You know how I feel about you, Ronny. To me, you're beautiful. And, um, wicked cute, too, now that you're wearing glasses. You're all that, plus you're hot and sexy and attractive in ways I'm not. For example, I wish I had straight light-brown hair like yours and I was as smart as you and as mature. Plus, your body is the most huggable, awesome-smelling body I've ever hugged, seen, or smelled. In other words, there isn't anything about you that isn't desirable, so I can't imagine how you ever thought you weren't desirable."

Pressing his back against me and hugging my arms that are around him, Ronny murmurs, "What a priceless gift you are to me, Wallingford. If we hadn't met, I'd never have known what I was missing, but I know now, so we can't ever be apart. The joy you provide in my life makes my life glow as bright as the Cosmos. So, thank you, thank you."

Yeah, well, that's pretty sweet...

Later we're at the Sears parking lot in the back seat of my new, used car, getting undressed and grinning at one another. "Tonight we'll break in my new, used car, Ronny."

Nodding, "Sure, I'm going to fuck you, of course. First, though, I want to suck your dick."

I finish getting undressed, muttering, "Huh?"

Ronny's naked on the bench seat next to me. Turning to face me, he lifts my dick with his thumb and forefinger, saying, "Yeah. You suck mine for me all the time. You're always sucking my dick, and it's not fair to you. And, um, maybe sometime I'll try that foot thing you've done for me too."

"Sure, if you want. The thing is, though, I love sucking your dick, Ronny. It gives me a boner doing that, so don't worry about it not being fair or whatever."

"Yeah, baby, but everything gives you a boner. You're a walking boner, RW."

I'm partially facing him now too, and he drops my penis, puts a hand on each of my shoulders, mumbling, "C'mon, sit back on the seat, Richie, and spread your legs."

I do that, and he gets on his knees between my spread legs on the floor. Picking up my penis again, he stroked it a few times, and I grunted, "Umm, mmm..." He leans his head down and puts his lips around the head, then sucks it making me squirm on the seat. Ronny sucks it for thirty seconds and then goes down on it once, twice, three times, and already I'm lifting my ass off the seat, "Un, un, oh, ooh..."

Taking my stiff cock out of his mouth, Ronny looks up at me, saliva on his chin as he grins, "Sucking your dick is almost like I'm sucking my own dick."

"Huh? Whaddaya mean? Um, you mean like Billy and I have twin penises. He was always saying that, but you're not, um, implying that you and I have, um..."

Stroking my saliva-dripping semi-boner, he shrugs, "Well, baby, I've never seen Billy's penis. Is it just like ours?"

I snort out a chuckle, "Um, haha, this is so funny."

He frowns, muttering, "What's funny?" and I add, "No, I don't mean, ah, yeah, Billy has a dick like mine, er, like ours."

Ronny's stroking my hard penis, mumbling, "Well, when you think about it, it's not so odd the three of us have lookalike penises. The majority of guys have average size penises; that's what makes them average."

I snort out another chuckle and shake my head, "Sorry, um, I just thought of something else that's kinda funny, but never mind that. Ah, I've been meaning to ask you about how neat your pubic patch is. You obviously do something with it."

His fist goes around my penis; then he strokes, strokes, strokes it until now it's a ridiculously hard boner, "Yep, I use my Manscaping kit, and I was thinking that you and I could do each other's pubic hair when we're in our apartment."

"Do each other? Whaddaya mean?"

"Well, I bought a $119.99 kit from Manscaping a year ago but didn't do much with it until I fell in love with you and wanted to have a neat pubic area for you. I'll tell you about it in a minute, but I really want to do this first."

I nod, "Okay, sure," and he puts my boner in his mouth and goes down on it as I croak out, "Ahh, ahh..."

Ronny sucks cock better than I do. Pleasure sensations are streaming from my boner, so I've got my ass fully off the seat now, my hands on the seat at either side of me, holding me up. His lips-covered teeth are tightly on my boner as up and down he goes... once, twice, again, again, until I make a screeching sound humping my hips and blowing a hard stream of cum into Ronny's mouth. Cum bubbles out on either side of his mouth, then runs down his chin.

Lightbulbs are flashing behind my eyes as my penis vibrates with scintillating sensations. Ronny's still slowly sucking on the head as I shudder, "Please, no, Ronny, it's wicked sensitive now."

He nods, sucks a few drops of cum out, then takes my dick from his mouth and holds it against my belly, saying, "Other than peeing, you don't use it for much, so it gets sensitive easier than mine. I mean, I'm using it all the time fucking you two or three times a day, so it's used to a lot of activity, and it takes a lot to get my pecker oversensitized."

I mutter, "Oh, uh-huh," and he licks my balls, then under them, lifting them with his tongue as I squirm, grunting, "Ah, ah, umm, umm... Ronny, ah, ah..." My arms are getting shaky from the effort of holding me off the seat this long, and I don't know why I'm even doing that.

Dropping my ass onto the seat, my fingers go through Ronny's soft hair. Making a face, he lifts his head as he's probing in his mouth with two fingers, going for one of my pubic hairs that got loose. I mumble, "Pubes in the mouth is a good reason to use that Manscaping shit you bought. What's in the kit?"

Shaking a wet pubic hair off his finger, Ronny gets off his knees and sits next to me on the back seat; grinning, he takes hold of my hand and asks, "How was that blowjob, baby?"

Baby again? I like that!

Putting my free arms around his neck, I'm like, "It was the best blowjob I've ever had."

He shrugs, "Really? Well, thank you. You know, your cum tastes good. It tastes like, um, well, I don't know what, but something good."

I lean my head over and kiss his lips, then rub my nose against his and ask again, "What's in that kit you bought for clipping your pubes?"

He goes, "Oh, yeah, the Manscape kit. As I said, it costs $119.95 and includes what they call the lawn mower, which is a barber's hair clippers. Let's see, um, there's what they call an anti-chaffing ball deodorizer and ball spay toner plus disposable shaving mats. Two free gifts came with it. One is what they call the shed, which is a storage/travel bag, and the other is Manscape boxer shorts. You know, underpants."

Nodding, "Boxer shorts, huh? Holy shit, that's weird, but it'll be sexy using the lawn mower clippers, then spraying all that other shit on each other's balls, and taking turns wearing the boxer shorts."

We're laughing like crazy at the thought of doing that bizarre stuff and making fun of it. When it's all said and done, though, it does sound like sexy fun. Then we sit with our arms around each other, our bodies touching. We're as comfortable with one another as it's possible for two guys to be. We talk about the apartment and which bed we'll have in our bedroom.

Ronny goes, "I say we take the double bed your parents said is disassembled but simple to put together."

Nodding, I say, "Well, Billy already told us he's getting the big bedroom, so maybe we should put a twin-size bed in our smaller bedroom."

He goes, "Yes, it would be fantastic to share a twin-size bed with you, but Billy wants the twin beds. The double bed will fit okay in our smaller bedroom," and blah, blah, blah.

Tired of talking about that, grinning at Ronny, I use my fingers to move his bangs to the side, then slide a finger down his perky nose, saying, "Yep, you're right, we'll use the double bed. You're decisive, Ronny. Billy can have the big bedroom; I'm just glad he's going to be with us in the apartment. Maybe some of his cool will rub off on us the way I'm, day after day, absorbing some of your cooler-than-shit personality."

Ronny moves his face against mine, murmuring, "You're always building me up, and it's giving me a confidence I never felt before. Seriously, Wallingford, being more confident feels really good, and I thank you for making that possible. I can be our leader, so you won't ever dump me, RW. I couldn't bare that. Swear you'll never leave me..."

Tearing up, I kiss him, murmuring, "Are you joking? I'm never leaving your side, Ronny..." and we get into an insanely hot make-out, our naked bodies lying out on the bench seat, our feet kicking the side window, our arms around each other, our lips sucking, and our tongues pressed together. Seriously, it's hard to imagine being more aroused or more deeply in love than we are right now.

After saying all that, we're actually having less frantic make-outs than we used to. We're having confident lovemaking with deeper intimacy than our earlier almost out-of-control love that we tended to express, to demonstrate, in a sexual frenzy.

We now feel a deeper sense of unconditional love with sincere empathy. There's trust in what's become our romantic altruistic love of caring, tenderness, and deep affection. All that is freely given while expecting nothing in return but getting more than we could dream of in return. It's Joie de Vivre, the gayety of contentedness, rapture in a euphoric love. Ultimately, though, it's an indescribable love affair we're part of...

All of that is in our hearts and minds, but there is, of course, a physical wonderment in our love as well. Making love by sharing our bodies during sex is a powerful exclamation point of mutual deep romantic love. Our roles of Ronny being the top and me his submissive bottom are firmly established and one hundred percent agreed upon, including Ronny grudgingly being our leader.

Certain physical realities are also involved in establishing our top/bottom roles, but we'd be in our perfect sexual roles even if the physical limitations didn't exist. I'm referring to Ronny's faulty rectum eliminating the possibility of him being the bottom boy. Meanwhile, I have a miracle rectum that's perfect for the bottom part of anal sex.

Over the past six weeks or so, Ronny and I have fucked almost a hundred times, and there's a familiarity between his boner and my rectum that create sexual pleasure at mind-blowing levels. Yeah, we're in the proper roles of a perfect romantic relationship.

Panting and sweaty from our energetic making out, both of us with hard boners, Ronny lies on me, gasping, "Um, is there a condom in your jeans, Richie?"

His penis is too small to use regular size condoms. The one time he tried using one, it came off in his partner's ass. He wants to use the condom's lubricant, though, so I nod and reach to the floor, where I dropped my pants. Fumbling in the side pocket, I come out with a condom packet and give it to Ronny, mumbling, "You are the best make-out lover who ever lived."

He takes a deep breath, "Thanks, you too, Wallingford." Another deep inhale, then, "Turn over," and he lifts off me as much as he can without getting off the seat. I turn over onto my stomach and push my ass up, then look back at my lover with a smile, so proud of him.

Ronny grins back at me and smacks my ass, muttering, "What are you smiling about, pretty boy?"

"You make me smile, Ronny." He grins, and tears open the condom packet, then takes out the slippery condom and wipes lubricant on my anus as I move my ass, muttering, "Oh, that's cold!"

Ronny gives my buttocks a smack, muttering, "Stop moving your ass!" Then casually, he pushes his finger inside me, spreading lubricant, my anus gripping his finger. Ronny looks at me, silently mouthing, I love you, and I mouth silently; I know, and I love you too.

As he's wiping lubricant on his almost four-inch-long boner, we stare into one another's eyes. Putting the partially used condom on its wrapper, then on the floor, Ronny gets between my legs, smacks my ass again, and I push it up more. He pushes his boner in past my sphincter, and I go, "AH!" then, with a scrunched-up face, Ronny pushes the rest of his almost four inches of hard boner inside me and moans, "Oooh, ummm, oooh.... oh, God..."

I go, "Mmm," because it barely hurt at all, followed by an enormous wave of pleasure that swarmed over me, completely obliterating any memory of the pain of entry, and now I moan, "Ahh, Ronny, ooh, ooh... feels so good."

He grinds his hip, smacks the side of my right butt cheek, then humps against my buttocks. With a hand on either side of me, his face a foot above the back of my head, Ronny thrusts his almost four-inch boner back and forth, each withdrawal almost pulling out completely. Waves of sexual pleasure spread over my body as I moan at the delirious vibrations sizzling in my ass.

There's steady thrusting with his body smacking against my buttocks, "Slap, slap, slap," and that goes on for a few minutes until I'm in a trance, my mantra, almost a cry now, "Oh! Oh! Oh! Ronny..."

Gasping in another deep breath, he stops thrusting, leaving his boner fully impaling me, then grinds his hips again. Sighing, he leans tightly against my ass, sighs once more, and says, "Please keep your ass up, baby. I can't get down this low on the seat."

I murmur, "Sorry," and push it up more. "That's perfect, and Billy's right. Your ass is a miracle," and he begins thrusting again as I whimper, drifting further into a world of pleasure.

Ronny mentioned this a few minutes ago, and it's true that he has become much more confident as the top, doing it in a no-nonsense matter, easily ensuring that I'm in a constant state of pleasure while getting his share of pleasure too. He's in charge and insists I stay in the perfect position for him to fuck so that we're both getting that maximum pleasure. It's so much better than the way he fucked me a month ago, and that was awesome, too, so this improved method is out of this world wonderful. It makes me tremble with happiness, Ronny confidently in charge.

After five or six dream-come-true minutes of Ronny's perfect-sized boner going tightly but smoothly back and forth in my rectum, I gasp out, "Ronny, I'm going to cum..." and reach under to grab my hard throbbing boner. He grunts, "Me too," and slams his cock up my ass hard, humping once, making a desperate gargling sound as he climaxes, filling me up with his creamy hot cum.

It feels so magnificent I can't help doing a girlish squeal shooting off my hot load of cum that sizzles out of my wooden penis, the hot stream skimming my chest and splattering on my neck under my chin. I'm pulling on my dick, getting cum drippings on my fingers, spreading them up and down my quickly softening penis.

Ronny pulls his dick from my ass, "Oh, Christ, Wallingford, that was the best ever... Omigod... How are you? You okay, baby?"

Ha! Although Ronny said he could never be like Billy and treat me like a baby, bossing me around, that's what he's morphed into. He calls me 'baby' and sometimes treats me like one, but that's okay; I like it from him. It would never happen a month ago, so is it me? Am I doing something to make guys feel I need to be taken care of, or is Ronny subconsciously emulating Billy?

As I just said, though, it's fine. I've got no problem with it. I murmur, "How can you ask if I'm okay? I've never been better in my life, Ronny. Oh man, though, can you do me some more? You fucking me make me feel so good I can't begin to describe it."

Nodding, he goes, "Yeah? You want me to fuck you more, huh? Okay," and he leans up, pulling on his dick, mumbling, "I'll do my best," then he feeds the head of his dick into my tightening up, closing anus, then an inch of the shaft goes in. He pulls it back and forth a few times, and when it gets hard enough, he moans, "Umm," and pushes the whole thing up my ass again. I bite my lip, then moan, "Ahh, yes, Ronny. Feels so good."

Hunkering over me, a hand on the seat on either side of me, he again begins steady thrusting as pleasure sensations reach thrilling levels once again. My forehead goes back and forth on the seat as I moan with pleasure. Ronny fucks me for hours and hours, both of us floating in ecstasy to the end of the world and back. We both finally have second climaxes, me first, squealing like a girl who stepped barefoot on a worm, then Ronny as he smacks my ass, grunting, "Yes, yes... fuck, yeah!"

Collapsing on me, Ronny's gulping in oxygen as my whole body is tingling with pleasure. He hugs me, his sweaty face next to mine, "Wallingford, I never knew life could be this good... thank you."

I nod my head, unwilling to speak because I'm emotionally in love and overwhelmed by the love I feel for him. I'd have that odd crying sound in my voice if I said anything. He kisses my cheek, lifts up, and pulls his dick from my ass. Sitting back against the seat, he says, "C'mon, sit up, Richie. I'm almost sitting on your legs. "C'mon, get up!"

Oh, God! I love when he uses that in-charge bossy tone of voice. I love it!

I pretend to be annoyed, though, "I'm getting up! Christ, don't yell at me. I had to wait for you to get off me."

Putting his arm across my shoulders, saying, "Don't be so sensitive; I wasn't yelling. And I didn't mean to sound irritated. Nothing about you could possibly be irritating."

He's so fucking perfect! I mutter, "You don't need to sound so bossy all the time, ya know?" Yes, he does! I love when he does that!

Again, sounding a tiny bit irritated, he says, "I'm sorry, Wallingford. Um, okay, you can sit on my lap if that will make you happy."

We both chuckle at that; I mutter, "Bullshit," and then I snuggle against him. God, we fit together so perfectly.

I say, "You know what, Ronny? Later, I will sit on your lap facing you. I'll put my arms around your neck, my forehead against yours, then ride up and down on your hard penis, fucking myself on it.''

Ronny goes, "Okay, yeah, you can do that later. You've done it before."

"Yeah, I know I have."

We goof around, making up different positions for Ronny to fuck in, laughing and hugging, then talking about where we'll go and what we'll do during summer vacation while living together in our apartment. Later, we made out again, but this time it lasted for only two minutes before I sat on his lap and did what I said I'd do.

Facing him, my arms around his neck, our foreheads touching, I fucked myself on his perfect boner. It was almost ten minutes of lifting and dropping back down on his lap, our faces again hot and sweaty. Finally, we both almost passed out from the intensity of our climaxes.

Yes, this was a great first date in my new, used car.

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com

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