Lighthouse

Amber Fountaine stories contain sexually explicit descriptions of consensual sexual activity and are not suitable for reading by anyone under the age of 18, or anyone offended by reading such material. These acts include gay and bisexual activity as well as any combination of piss play, diapers, cross-dressing and other fetishes and perversions that may please the author's whims. The characters in these stories are fictional, but are mostly based on the author's true experiences, as well as the experiences of others he has met. Every attempt to conceal these identities has been made. These stories are placed in Nifty for the enjoyment of its readers and are not to be copied and/or distributed without the approval of the author.

The Lighthouse

by Amber Fountaine

Chapter One

Paul and I jumped at the job. It seemed perfect for us. It had just enough adventure to it to excite a couple of twenty-one year old college guys and I guess we're both romantics at heart because the idea of living in a rustic old lighthouse for a month or two seemed to both of us as . . . cool. I'm not sure how else to put it. What ever chord it struck, it struck us both because we told each other, almost in perfect unison, "Let's do it!"

In a small college town, the alternatives for a summer job - as we'd already discover the hard way - were indoors, flipping burgers on the shift no one else wanted; or maybe outdoors, working at Wal-Mart or a grocery store, collecting shopping carts in parking lots in the summer heat. With that to compare to, this lighthouse gig was like a gift from heaven.

Maybe I should explain how we got into this sort of last minute job hunt thing. I'm Nick, Paul is my roomie, and we both play baseball for Mid-State University. Mid-State had never had a very successful athletic program in any major sport. Exactly how and why the baseball team jelled like it did that season is still a matter of speculation. But it did. And half-way through the season, we knew we'd be in the regionals, even if we coasted. We were all afraid to say, "Omaha," out loud for fear of somehow jinxing our chances, but we were all thinking this might be the year that we actually went to the College World Series.

That's not until June, when the school was officially out for the summer. And to get to Omaha, there's a few regional tournaments to get past on the way. But that didn't seem to bother us. We were sure we'd be playing baseball right up to the final game of the World Series in mid-to-late June and had made our plans accordingly. Or in our case, hadn't made any plans at all, assuming we'd be busy.

So back in April and May, when the other kids that weren't going home for the summer began lining up summer jobs, Paul and I were still on the ball field. He and I were the middle infielders on a highly touted defense with pretty good batting averages to boot. Since we were both juniors, we'd be eligible for the player draft this year and while we both said we wanted to go ahead and graduate, a nice fat check from some major league club might easily have swayed either of us.

As a result, all we thought about was baseball. When we got eliminated in the first round of regionals, and then we were overlooked in the draft, we were in shock. For a couple of days we moped around the dorm, all the while knowing we had to make a decision on our summer plans and make it quick. If we stayed in the dorm, we'd have to pay for the summer months and they were pressing us to stay or go. Neither of us wanted to go home for the summer for one reason or another and that was about all we agreed on.

"I want to do something - go somewhere," Paul told me, "Just as long as I don't have to see or hear a baseball game."

I agreed. I knew by the time the fall semester started, and we got back in the gym to prepare for our senior year, and the Major League pennant races were heating up, we'd feel different. But right then, at that moment, it hurt to walk out of the dorm and see the baseball field off to one side in the distance.

Then we happened to notice a small poster on the bulletin board near the dorm entryway. It had been there all year, maybe for the entire last three years, but up to that moment, we'd never noticed it. There was a company in town that specialized in part-time and temporary jobs and they were looking for college students to fill positions.

"Wouldn't hurt to go by there," Paul suggested.

"Beats the shit out of staying here all day," I agreed.

That's when the angel of fate stepped in. Every temp service within two-hundred miles of the coast had been notified of the immediate opening for two people, preferably a couple, to run the lighthouse for a month or two. The only qualification was that the man (or woman I suppose) of the couple must have mechanical ability. The reason, as explained to us, was that while the lighthouse had electricity most of the time, it was in a very remote location and in bad weather, when the lighthouse was needed most, the electricity was subject to go out. There was a standby generator that needed to be kept at the ready.

Paul and I were both old hot-rodders. If there was anything we loved as much or more than baseball, it was cars and engines. We were both engineering students with a desire to work in Detroit - or play for the Tigers. We'd have been happy either way.

At first, the lady we talked to at the temp service had hesitated to tell us about the job. Obviously, they wanted a man and wife for the job as a fill-in for the man and wife that were there now. But a phone call to the State office that had posted the request, after they'd thought about it for like - two seconds - was that two guys would be okay too - as long as they were available immediately.

Now if we'd been thinking, that should have told us that there weren't dozens of people clambering for this wonderful job. But I guess we were as desperate for a job as they were as desperate for someone to fill it. We had exactly one day to make up our minds, load up Paul's car, and head for the coast. The only thing I could think of that I didn't particularly like was that I didn't have time to get my fishing gear from home.

The way it was described to us was that this place was on an island, out off the coast, south of the bay where the ships entered the Intracoastal Waterway, right where one of the biggest rivers in the state flowed into the Gulf. There was a guy down the coast that had a contract to deliver food, mail, and if necessary, gas for the generator, and came out at least once a week. Paul assured me that the people that lived at the lighthouse probably had plenty of fishing gear and that he intended to spend most of his free time swimming. We really thought of it as a paid vacation!

Then we met the Dartmans. The guy at the temp service said we'd be filling in for an `older' couple. Geoff, the guy with the supply contract that took us out to the island and would be storing Paul's car called them "older." Geoff looked to be pushing forty, almost our parent's age, and that was older to us. When you're twenty-one, anyone over the age of your parents automatically puts them in the same bracket as your grand-parents; so meeting two people with gray hair, and one of them on crutches, made us wonder if they'd be back at all.

According to what they told us, Sam Dartman needed a hip replacement and Doreen, his wife, who didn't appear as old, possibly my mom's age, would be staying with him until he was fully recovered. They expected to be back in thirty to forty-five days, sixty at the very most if there were any complications, and that they should know for sure within a week. Sam was scheduled for surgery as soon as they could get him to shore and checked into the hospital.

"Sure thank you boys," Sam told us as he hobbled to the boat with Doreen and Geoff carrying a couple of suitcases. "They've been trying to get someone out here for months. Should have thought of a couple of you college kids quicker." Grinning, he added, "Try not to party too much." You have to love guys with that sort of humor. He told use that like he'd just told the funniest joke ever. Then he paused to let Doreen and Geoff get in the boat and used the opportunity to say to me privately, "The best time to use the telescope is in the late afternoon and early evening." Then he winked and let them help him into the boat.

As Geoff was untying the lines, because neither Paul nor I knew enough to help with that, Doreen told us, "If you need to clear out some space in a dresser, that's okay. They just told us this morning you were coming."

Then they were waving and we were waving and in a few minutes they were a dot on the horizon.

Paul asked me what Sam had whispered to me and I told him what Sam had said about the telescope. He gave me a blank look, sort of looked around 360 degrees and then chuckled. "At what?"

I had to agree with him. There'd been a resort of some sort out on the point we'd gone around to get here, but that was at least a mile away and looked deserted. So we set about to explore where we'd be living for the next few weeks - and we weren't very impressed.

If this paid vacation had been one we'd have had to pay for, I think we'd have been on the first boat to shore and asking for our money back. One of the great things about this job was that we got paid and had no place to spend it. If we didn't go on a spending spree when we got back to shore, we'd have some money saved up for the fall. We'd filled out paperwork that allowed them to send our check straight to the bank. But other than that, there wasn't much to like about the deal.

We'd both imagined one of those tall, round, white, concrete lighthouses like the pretty pictures in jigsaw puzzles. This place was more like a four-hundred square foot cabin with a sort of second floor in one corner that looked as if someone had built a gazebo on the roof. In a corner of the cabin, there was a small, steep, fully enclosed stairway up to the second floor with a big fuse box on the outside of the stairs. Throwing the lever up turned on the light and made the whole house shudder as it began to turn. The first time we tried it, we quickly killed the power thinking we'd done something wrong. But after a couple of tries, we determined that once it got going, it smoothed out to a soft, rumbling noise that we'd have to learn to sleep through.

The emergency generator was outside under a small shed. Paul pointed out the size of the fuel storage tank and speculated as to why we'd need a nearly full, 250 gallon tank if we only lost power for `a short time' as they'd told us. I suggested that - hopefully - it was because Geoff's boat couldn't haul much more than a fifty-five gallon drum and that he probably used a bigger and much more expensive boat to refuel the tank and therefore, it was done less often. One of our instructions was to make a daily test of the generator, letting it run for a minimum of fifteen minutes to keep the battery charged. The engine was just like the one in my uncle's old truck, which I figured got maybe fifteen miles to the gallon at an average of thirty miles an hour. If that worked out to two gallons an hour, and we didn't run the generator for much longer that the required fifteen minutes, then we'd use less than four gallons a week - unless the electricity went out.

Most of what we knew about the job had come from Geoff. He was a super nice guy that had lived in the area all his life. He told us about being a commercial fisherman who had changed over to doing charter work and said that the only time the electricity had gone out for a long time had been when a large boat had anchored outside the bay entrance and had pulled up the power cable when they raised their anchor. That's when they'd put in the generator. There were huge signs, like billboards, telling boats not to anchor in the area. One covered the back wall of the cabin and another was a couple of hundred feet offshore, over near the point. But as Geoff said, shit happens. There was a radio we could use to call the Coast Guard if we saw anyone looking like they were going to drop anchor or if we spotted any sort of emergency or couldn't get the beacon on for any reason. We could also contact him on another channel if he happened to have his radio on and needed something added to his next delivery.

"If a storm blows in," he'd told us. "It's a good idea for one of you to stay up in the loft and scan the area with binoculars for small boats trying to get in that might founder."

By the time Paul and I had finished our inspection we felt like we were being taken back fifty or a hundred years in some time machine. We were college kids, used to the latest technology, like spending hours a day on the computer and walking around campus with a cell phone or some music machine in our ear. To our dismay, the cell phones had gone out of range back around the point and neither of us had thought to bring so much as a radio. Paul had brought his lap-top but I wasn't sure why. We had electricity to keep the battery charged, but no way to connect to the internet. He was going to get very tired of playing Solitaire, the only thing I could think of he could use it for. There was one radio, a clock radio beside the bed, and no TV. Not exactly modern conveniences. But it did have a stove and refrigerator and I guess we should have been thankful for that.

For that matter, I didn't understand why they still had things like a lighthouse. I mean, with all the GPS navigation now, even the smallest boat should have one. Geoff's boat had one. Even my dad's little fishing boat had one. There wasn't any excuse in my opinion to be getting anywhere close to running aground or whatever purpose the lighthouse served.

The first week went rather quickly. And just as Geoff had told us, we had a shopping list for him when he brought out our supplies, along with the news that Sam's operation had been a success and he should be back on schedule. Geoff must have sensed we had little experience in the kitchen back when he'd brought us out and had joked about the food he'd be bringing. We were just young and naïve enough that we didn't catch on to a lot of the things Geoff had said.

The `staples' that the job provided were for someone that could cook; a small problem we hadn't considered. Eggs we could fry. Milk we could drink. But neither of us had any idea how to put it together with the flour and sugar to bake anything. For Paul and me, fixing a meal meant something like a bowl of cereal or a PBJ. There was another small problem too. Sex.

That first week it wasn't mentioned. I don't know why. It was something we'd talked about in the dorm all the time. Maybe because now we were sleeping in the same bed. There was one night that first week that I woke up with Paul's arm around me and it had scared me to death. That had never happened when the team traveled and he and I had shared a bed. The school budget was tight and if we overnighted somewhere, it wasn't unusual for the team to sleep four to a room in a pair of full-size or queen-size beds. We'd been told about the lighthouse accommodations when we first heard about the job and didn't figure that to be a problem. But on the road, we'd never slept together for more than a night unless we went to a tournament or something. Sleeping in the same bed every night was a lot different than I'd thought.

We'd both jacked off under the covers in our dorm room many times in the last three years. At first we'd denied it and then as we'd gotten to know each other, had gotten to where we joked about it. We never flaunted it or anything, but had reached a point where if one of us was doing it, the other would soon have a pud pounding session going too. But in the same bed . . . at the same time . . . that was all too queer sounding to me. I was surprised when during the second week Paul told me he didn't feel the same way.

Since there wasn't anyone around for miles, by the third day we'd decided wearing swim suits was silly. We'd spent enough time in the showers together, both in the dorm and in the gym, that nudity was nothing to us. Of course that had been when we were surrounded by other guys and had girlfriends to take care of our sexual needs - at least some of the time. But one afternoon in the middle of the second weekend Paul came in from a late afternoon swim while I'd been taking my turn testing the generator, and he was half hard, pulling on his dick, and told me, "Shit dude. I don't know about you, but I HAVE to jack off and I don't care who knows it!"

I laughed. "What happened? See a sexy mermaid or something?"

"I wish Nick! No. The damn water just wasn't cold enough."

We'd been cautioned about the tides and currents surrounding the island. We were close enough to a river estuary that we had fresh water to swim and bath in except at high tide. The island was what was left of a volcanic dome that had withstood the battering of millions of years. Geoff brought us big bottles of water for drinking and cooking, but our water supply came right out of the bay and it was just as easy for us to dive off the dock to rinse off as it was to hop in the shower.

"So what caused the wood that you needed a cold dip?"

Paul clammed up and blushed and that wasn't like him. Of the two of us, he was by far the most outspoken, especially about sex. I wondered if it had anything to do with his being up in the loft for a while, prior to his running out and diving off the dock. I didn't ask, just told him, "Well the only one that will know about it is me. If the monkey needs a spanking, get after it."

"You plan to sit there and watch?"

"I might," I teased. "But I know how SHORT the show will be."

"Shit too! Any time you want to compare hard cocks, you know you'll lose."

He was probably right about that. My average size dick wasn't close to his that I could tell. Suddenly I wondered just how big his cock got when it was hard, probably because he was still pulling on it and it was bigger than I'd ever seen it. I shrugged, like I wasn't really that interested, but asked casually, "So how big does it get?"

That seemed to be all the approval he needed to begin jacking it up to full size. Since I'd asked, he no longer was showing off, merely answering my query. I watched mesmerized as he beat his meat for at least two minutes and then stopped, hard as a rock, with precum drooling from the tip, his prick bouncing and twitching slightly. "That big enough for you?" he asked proudly.

The last part, the words, "For you," ricocheted around in my brain as I put them together with any number of thoughts. Had he really gotten hard for me? Was he offering me his cock? Did he think I liked cocks of a certain size? And did his measure up to what I wanted? "Hey! It's not for me," I finally protested.

"Too bad," he told me, then headed into the bathroom to finish in private.

Back in our dorm room, when one of us jacked off, the other would usually follow suit and sometimes we'd both have our bedcovers bouncing in unison. So I reasoned that if Paul was going to jack off, I wouldn't be out of place doing the same thing. For some reason, watching Paul had gotten me hot and hard and I needed to almost as bad as he had. I stood long enough to slip out of my shorts and since I wasn't wearing underwear, was quickly spurting out a load into the palm of my free hand. When I finished, and opened my eyes, Paul was standing there grinning at me.

"Interesting," he commented. "I got turned on looking at all those naked bodies. You got turned on looking at my naked body." Then he turned and walked to the door, pausing to tell me, "Go ahead and lick your hand clean. I've seen you do that when you didn't think I was watching."

I didn't know what to say. But he was right about both things. I had gotten turned on watching him jack his cock and usually when I jacked off in the dorm, I'd roll on my side when I was ready to cum and try to catch it in my hand. Then when I thought Paul wasn't looking, I'd lick my hand clean. I'd probably done that dozens of times in the last three years thinking I'd gotten away with it. But all this time he'd known that I like the taste of my cum. For some reason, maybe to see his reaction, and though I was blushing from head to toe I'm sure, I brought my hand to my mouth and licked up my cum.

Paul grinned a little bigger, and went out to take another dip.

That night I was almost afraid to climb in bed with Paul. And it wasn't until I heard him begin to lightly snore that I relaxed enough to go to sleep. In the meantime, I thought about what had happened that day, getting hard again in the process, and then remembered what he'd said about seeing all those naked bodies . . . . I almost woke him up to ask and wondered why I hadn't caught that earlier.

In addition to the large boats that were headed into the bay and channel, there were often pleasure craft in the area. I'd seen everything from small aluminum fishing boats to house boats and pontoon boats go by and assumed Paul had caught sight of some impromptu nudity. One afternoon I'd spotted a pontoon boat with two guys and four girls and the girls had been topless. I'd watched them until they'd gone out of sight. In addition to Sam's telescope, there were two pair of high power binoculars up in the loft.

The telescope that Sam had mentioned was also in the loft and way too powerful to look at anything like a passing boat. It was one of those kind that's sort of short and fat and you look into the side of and study stars and planets and such. The science club back at my high school had bought one like it, but smaller, as a gift to the school. I assumed Sam was an astronomer or something to have spent that kind of money on a telescope. Obviously, I still hadn't thought it all the way through or I would have caught on that late afternoon and early evening are NOT the times you want to be star gazing. And up in the loft, after the beacon was on, you wouldn't be able to see anything anyway.

But my interest was piqued to the point that the next afternoon, while Paul was busy taking his turn with the generator, I used the time like he'd done to check out the loft, in case I'd been missing something.

There was one sailboat heading in from somewhere and I watched them for a short time with the binoculars. Then, just to see how powerful that telescope might be, I pointed it in their direction and could tell the guy at the helm hadn't shaved that day! As powerful as it was, it was hard to hold it on the boat and harder still to find it again when a slight movement would cause me to lose it. And that's when I accidentally pointed it at the resort.

NOW I knew where Paul had seen all those naked bodies. It was the weekend and that resort was a nudist camp! It didn't take five minutes for me to be in the same condition that Paul had been in the day before and I debated about heading for the dock for a dip in the cold water. However, I didn't think it would do me any more good than it had Paul. So slowly I began stroking myself, watching the men and women. The girls at school were almost all into a `bikini' cut of their pubic hair, leaving a small patch of short hair just above their slit. Seeing women walking around proudly displaying a full bush was arousing if only because it was so different. And the variety of tits was amazing too. All the tits I'd seen were near mirror images of each other, as you might expect from girls in their teens. But the tits on grown women came in all sorts of sizes and shapes.

When I heard Paul shut the generator down, I hollered down at him. "You asshole! Why didn't you tell me about this?"

He stepped around the corner of the shed to where he could look up at me, hanging out one of the openings. There were no windows on the top floor; just openings with an overhang to keep most of the rain out. So he grinned up at me. "Damn Nick. Took you long enough to find them!" he hollered back. Then he disappeared and I assumed he was coming to join me. When I heard the door at the foot of the stairs open, I knew I'd been right and wondered what he'd say when he saw my erection. Yet when he got to the top of the stairs, he just looked at me quizzically.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

Now it was my turn to be quizzical. "The naked bodies. What did you think?"

"Out there?"

"No asshole. Down on the dock. Hundreds of them," I said with sarcasm. "Of course out there. Where did you think?"

"In the books," he said, moving to take my place at the telescope.

Almost immediately, I heard him say, "Holy shit!" Then he looked up at me. "It's a fuckin' nudist camp!"

"Well I haven't seen any fucking, but you're right about the nudist part." Then I asked, "What books?"

He blushed and nodded to the small locked cabinet on one side of the room, then went back to concentrating on the telescope while I looked in the direction he'd nodded. It was a small cabinet with two doors, about waist high, and with a recently added hasp and padlock. I'd noticed the cabinet the first day, and seeing the lock, assumed it was for parts for the beacon or tools or something, and sort of laughed that anyone would bother to lock anything out in the middle of . . . maybe a gazillion gallons of water. Whoever had put the hasp on had been in a rush and the part that was supposed to be folded under to hide the screws was stretched out and someone - obviously Paul - had taken out the screws to get in the cabinet. I'd never noticed it at all until that moment.

So I walked over to it, opened the doors and found a huge stash of porno books. These were the naked bodies he'd gotten excited about, and not the ones I'd accidentally found with the telescope. I grabbed a handful of the books, or magazines, and laid them on the top of the cabinet, amazed by just the cover pictures alone.

Every year at our dorm we'd had to sign a paper stating that we understood the rules about alcohol and drugs and pornography in the dorms. And every year within a week or two there'd be beer cans in the trash in the hall, the smell of pot in the evenings, and a well used Playboy' or Penthouse' or something similar would be left for the next occupant of one of the hallway restrooms. But never had I seen magazines like this! The people in these pictures weren't just fucking one-on-one. They were doing it in groups and the women were doing it with each other. And most amazing, so were the men! On the cover of one magazine was a picture of a guy fucking a girl while another guy fucked him and two other guys were getting their cocks sucked by the fucking guy and gal. I was afraid to open it or any of the others for fear of what I'd see next. But one thing for sure, the cock that had gotten stiff while I'd been looking through the telescope was now as hard as I'd ever felt it. Stiff to the point of being painful and I was afraid to touch it! I was sure just shifting it would cause it to explode.

I was standing there looking down at the magazines and didn't realize Paul had walked up behind me until he spoke.

"Awesome huh? "Now you know why I got so fuckin' hard yesterday."

I nodded and mumbled, "Yeah," again.

"You wouldn't believe some of the shit in there," he told me. "Wait until you see some of the ones in the bottom of the other cabinet."

I didn't see how anything could be any wilder than what I was looking at, but I opened the other door and took a few books off each shelf. The magazines from the top shelf were all about guys dressed as women. I was amazed at how good looking some of those men looked dressed as women. If you covered their erections, you'd swear they were women. But the ones on the bottom shelf, as Paul had indicated, were the most incredible. In addition to sucking and fucking - all men sucking men I noted - the pictures involved people pissing on each other. And not just on their bodies; in over half the pictures that I glanced at quickly, they were peeing in each other's mouths! In a couple, everyone - both male and female - were wearing diapers AND not just like it was Halloween or something - those diapers were obviously very wet! Grownups in diapers . . . phenomenal!

I was tempted to say, "Holy shit!" like Paul had when he'd first glanced in the telescope but I was having a hard time breathing. My ears were ringing and my whole body felt numb. I'd never imagined some of these things. Sure, I'd heard people remark, "Piss on you," but it had never occurred to me that anyone really did that. The cross-dressing . . . well, I'll admit I had tried fooling around with my cousin Adele's clothes back when I'd been in high school. I'd put on a few things, jacked off, and after doing it a few times, that had been the end of that. And maybe, if I was really, really honest, I'd thought about what it might feel like to hold another guys cock and yes, even what it would be like to put it in my mouth. But that DID NOT mean I wanted to really try it. I think everyone has to be at least a little curious about what sex would be like with their own sex, as much as it's discussed in the media these days.

As I stood there trying to ignore the pain of my swollen cock, and the excitement I felt, glancing down at the magazines and trying to look like I was nonchalantly glancing through them, I recalled something that had come to mind while trying to fall asleep the night before. Paul's reaction to me licking up my cum had made me think about how often I'd done that and when I'd started. I'd narrowed it down to a year and a particular summer and then had blocked it from my mind. But as I looked at one of the books with men dressed as women, usually sucking the cock of another she-male or man or group of men, I was certain it had begun that same month my cousin had spent living with us while my aunt and uncle were in Europe - the month I'd dressed in Adele's clothes. I'd gotten the urge to taste cum while I'd been dressed in my cousin's lingerie.

"I think it's time for me to go jump in the bay," I tried to joke.

"Won't do any good," Paul told me, still standing close behind me. "Water's too warm to help. Let's grab a handful of these books and take them downstairs and enjoy ourselves."

While I was nervous about where that might lead, there was no doubt I needed to `enjoy myself' as Paul had put it. I got even more nervous when I turned and saw Paul's shorts on the floor by the telescope and when I glanced down, just like I suspected, Paul's cock was as stiff as mine, almost poking me in the hip. I reached behind me to grab some of the magazines, hoping to get an assortment from each shelf without looking, and then headed for the stairs. I saw Paul grab some too and then he was right behind me.

Because the beacon room was open to the elements, there was a plastic cover for the telescope and I'd just reached the bottom of the steep stairs when I realized we hadn't put the cover back on. I turned to say something to Paul and came face-to-face with his cock, stiff and leaking precum, no more than a foot from my nose. I froze like a deer in headlights, torn between two urges. The first was to bolt and run. The second, the one that made me blush and flush with excitement, was to kiss that cock and put it in my mouth . . . The thought that I'd actually want to do that - for real - was as stunning as the books or Paul's stiff prick.

With willpower I didn't know I had, I stepped back against the door, looked up, and told Paul, "Don't . . . uh, don't forget to cover the telescope."

Paul laughed at me. After sharing a dorm room for three years, he knew how excited I was and how close I'd come to doing something with his cock. I think we both understood by then that we weren't leaving that giant rock of an island before we'd taken our friendship to a MUCH higher level. Whether it was that afternoon, or that evening in bed, or sometime that week or month; we tacitly understood at that moment that we were going to try it all.

There was one table that served multiple purposes in the small cabin. It was the main piece of furniture in the main room that also served multiple purposes. When the place had been built, it looked like it had been intended for one person to live there alone in one large, 10 by 10 room, the bottom half of a two-story 10 by 10 building. That lower level had functioned for everything except the toilet. That was sort of an attached room off to one side that housed the shower, sink, and commode. Directly above on the second floor was the lighthouse beacon room. Then someone had added six or eight feet on one side to house a larger kitchen area and then built on a second long room on an adjoining wall to act as a bedroom. By the time they'd finished, the original ten by ten had grown to eighteen by twenty and two separate rooms on the lower lever with the beacon room now above one corner of the structure.

I put my handful of magazines on the table and moved to sit at one of the four chairs at the table. I was surprised that Paul didn't try to join me until he explained what I hadn't caught on to.

"If we sit at the table, we can't watch each other," he pointed out. "Let's go in the bedroom."

I nodded dumbly, picked up my handful of magazines again, and this time I followed him. When he put his handful of books on the bed in the middle, I did too and when he laid down and began stroking his cock, I took off my shorts and joined him, using the pile of books in the middle of the bed as a divider, to keep from getting too close. After about a minute, he picked up one of the books and using his free hand, began to page through it, holding it so that I could see the book and not his cock. I thought about saying something until I noticed the book he'd picked up was one of the ones showing men dressed as women, usually with a cock in their mouths. I could tell by the noises he made that Paul was enjoying the book and wondered if it was one I'd grabbed without looking, or one he'd grabbed on purpose. It seemed to me that Paul was turned on by guys in drag, something I would have never suspected.

After a moment, he asked, "Nick . . . Would you do something like that?"

Assuming he meant dress as a woman, I told him, "Maybe." I'd been thinking along the same lines and was trying to remember what I'd liked about it that time when I'd gotten into Adele's things. I was wondering if I should tell him about that.

"It wouldn't bother you knowing the woman is really a guy? Or would you want to be one of the girls that's doing the sucking?"

I realized then that he'd meant would I let another guy blow me. I should have asked before I answered. "Oh. I thought you meant dress as a girl. I . . ."

"You'd dress as a girl? Really? That would be so cool. I'd love to see you do that. You'd look cute dressed as Nicki."

I should have known by that time to keep my mouth shut unless I had all the facts and thought it through. But instead, I told him, "Well that's not likely to happen here. All we have with us is jeans and shorts and some t-shirts and a jacket." Then I tried to joke, "I thought about bringing my prom dress but changed my mind."

He turned and looked at me and I was amazed when he asked, seriously, "Do you have a prom dress?"

"No asshole. I was joking. There's no way to dress like that here if we wanted to."

"But you would if you could?"

I shrugged, not sure if I would or not. It was an exciting idea . . . but weird and I was sure I'd be doing things like those `girls' in the magazine if I tried it. But . . . I was pretty sure I'd be doing that anyway the way things were going. So . . .

Paul interrupted my thoughts. "There is a way we could do it if you want to," he said, still serious. "She left most of her clothes here, remember?"

I don't know why I hadn't thought of that. The large bedroom had big closets and storage spaces on each end of the room and two large dressers. We hadn't had to bother any of it, because as I'd said, we hadn't brought much and hadn't worn much of what we'd brought. There wasn't anywhere to go and nothing to do that required us getting dressed. Geoff had let us know he came out on Thursdays so that was the only time we'd made a point to get dressed in anything more than shorts - if at all. I'd piled my things on top of one dresser and Paul had done the same with the other. I hadn't so much as bothered to open a door or drawer since we hadn't needed the space. But it would appear that Paul was a much more nosey guy than I'd ever thought to be.

"What are you thinking?" I asked, though I thought I knew.

"Well we don't have much else to do to entertain ourselves. If we were careful, I think we could dress in her clothes just for the hell of it."

In my mind I was almost laughing at his `just for the hell of it' remark. Like I hadn't noticed how close to cumming he'd been from looking at pictures of guys in women's lingerie sucking each other's dicks. That kind of kinky sex was obviously something he wanted to try and to my surprise, so did I! But rather than jump at the chance, I followed his laid back lead. "Might be fun," I mused aloud. "Damn sure be different than what any of the other guys on the team are doing this summer."

"Regret not getting in a summer league again?" he asked.

I shook my head and told him, "No. Not at all." In a couple of more weeks, I might not feel that way. We'd played summer league ball in the Dallas area the previous summer, hoping to get some attention from a pro scout. Nothing had come of it except the fun we'd had with a couple of baseball groupies that had fucked us silly for two months. So I hedged my original answer. "Well, I do miss Cheryl. But she could be married or going with some other guy by now."

"Very true," he agreed. "So who's going to do it first? Or should we both try it?"

"Dressing as a girl?" I'd never considered that he might want to do that too. Had he had an Adele in his past that I didn't know about? I'd missed the way he'd been saying `we' every time he mentioned it.

"Yeah," he told me, then answering the question I hadn't asked. Sometimes I swear he could read my mind. "I did it one time years ago. It was for some silly damn skit in school. I didn't have to dress completely as a girl, but for some reason I wanted to and even wore some of my sister's panties and stuff."

"She must have been a lot smaller then," I commented. His `little' sister was the size of both of us combined. Janie was going to college now at one of the schools we played in our conference and she'd come to the games a couple of times and I'd met her.

Paul laughed. "No, not Janie. I meant my older sister Lilly. She's the one I told you is married to the Air Force guy. Back then we were exactly the same size."

Like me and Adele, I thought. I'd gone on to gain a few more pounds and another couple of inches of height, but at the time, we'd been almost identical in size and had once been mistaken as twins. I'd tell him about that later. At the moment it was more important to keep the idea alive. "Oh. Well I guess if we both did it, we wouldn't have to worry about the other guy making fun of him or telling off back at Mid-State.

"Yeah. That's what I was thinking," he agreed. "I mean I trust you not to say anything no matter what we decide to try, but it's better when we both do it so that . . . well it keeps us honest. You know?"

"Sure. You're right. I trust you too." Then to let him know I was in tune with what he'd probably meant I added, echoing his words, "No matter what we decide to try."

The smile that remark got me indicated I'd guessed right. We seemed to be in complete agreement, though nothing had been said, that we should try all the things we'd seen in the books. Dressing in women's clothes seemed like as good a place to start as any. When Paul got up and went to the dresser where my things were piled, I knew I'd also been right about his being nosey. He knew exactly where to find the things we needed. What surprised me then was the assortment we had to choose from.

Like I said, there was nothing to do on this island. While a few boats went by close enough that we could wave, no one had made any effort to stop and visit, other than Geoff's duty call a couple of days back. Yet Doreen had an assortment of lingerie like she was a hooker that needed to change twice a day - or more. Living on an island, I could see the need to have a fish net, but not fish net stockings and garter belts to hold them up. Much of what she had was nearly identical to the things the models wore in the porno magazines. If that's what the Dartmans had occupied their time with, I could understand how Sam could have worn out his hip - to say nothing of a few other body parts! Paul and I had brought shorts and blue jeans and most of the time we were overdressed in shorts. The only thing that sexy lingerie would have been good for was entertaining a lover so we had a real good idea of how the Dartmans spent their free time!

"Wow!" Paul said for the umpteenth time as he held up a very sexy bustier. "I can't imagine Mrs. Dartman in this."

"Me either. Or Mr. Dartman. But it'll look great on you."

He looked at me and blushed. "You really think so?"

"I'm throwing wood just thinking about it."

"Shit! You throw wood thinking about the newspaper crossword puzzle." But the look on his face told me he was proud of my compliment.

Somewhere among all the bantering and teasing we were doing to each other, our minds went from wondering what it would be like to wanting very much to try it. As if by some mutual, tacit consent, we began picking out things to put on and then . . . we were doing it. We were putting them on. We had to help each other a couple of times and there was no doubt at all of our sexual arousal. Paul had somehow pushed his cock to one side so that it stayed inside his panties, but the head was oozing pre-cum that left a large round wet spot in the peach colored panties. The panties I'd put on couldn't keep my cock from popping up and it wasn't until I added a garter belt and trapped the head under it that it wasn't sticking out in front of me and drawing remarks from Paul.

At one point Paul pulled out a couple of foam pads, shaped like fake tits. "I guess she's flat-chested."

Doreen Dartman had been wearing baggy clothes and no makeup so neither of us had really paid that much attention to her. I couldn't remember if she'd been fat or thin as a rail. I guess somewhere in between as well as her clothes fit us. "Unless they were for Sam to wear," I told Paul.

He nodded. "You might be right. It looks like there's more than enough of this stuff for two people. Maybe they both get dressed up in it. There's three, no four sets of these rubber tits."

"Falsies," I corrected him. "That's what the girls call them, remember?"

"Why should I remember? They're just for the girls you go out with. All my girlfriends have real tits."

I didn't argue. We were done dressing. I had on a bra, panties, garter-belt, and hose, and I was ready to do whatever we were going to do. I wasn't sure what to do next and my silence encouraged Paul to take the lead.

"I never realized that doing this could be so exciting," he told me. "Look at how hard my cock is."

That was pointless. I'd been looking at little else for the last couple of minutes. But when he was sure he had my attention there, he began to rub the length of it through the nylon material.

"I don't think I've ever been harder," he said, then told me, "Feel it."

That was the cue I'd been waiting for. It took the decision out of my hands, so to speak, and freeing my mind to allow my hand to take the place of the one Paul had been using to stroke himself. As my fingers glided along the smooth nylon, I could feel the heat and power of the rampant erection beneath the material. I used the tip of one finger to rub the slick pre-cum around in a circle and he told me, "Take it out and do that."

Pulling the panties down in front, I freed that beast. Somehow - I honestly don't remember that I consciously made the decision - while stroking Paul's cock I'd moved from sitting on the bed to kneeling between his feet. With his cock now free of the panties, it jutted up and out, just inches from my face. I paused in awe of it, watching a bead of pre-cum turn into a string that grew to an inch before Paul used one hand to push his cock down and rub the head across my lips. I didn't need any more instruction, the message was clear - as clear as that pre-cum I began licking from my lips just before taking the head of his cock in my mouth.

Then I froze. There'd been all these voices in my mind telling me, "Do it," and "You'll never have a better chance to try it," and "You know you want to," and things like that and then all of a sudden, it was done. I had his cock in my mouth and it was like, "Oh shit! I did it. Now what?"

I remembered Cheryl Tanner, a girl I'd met the previous summer in Dallas that had given the most awesome blowjobs and thought, `do what she did.' Cheryl had been the one that had told me, "I don't know why they call it a blowjob when what you really do is suck." So I began to suck, like I was sucking on a popsicle. Then I began to lick too, like I recalled felt good to me. And then, once I got into it and heard Paul murmur approval, I really went to town, combining all the things at once. Paul continued to whisper words of encouragement that fueled my passion too.

I had an overpowering urge to be as much of a cross-dressed slut as any of the she-males in those magazines, urged on by the comments Paul was making. Again it was like he was reading my mind. I was trying to imagine myself as a sissy, cross-dressing, cock-sucking slut and that was exactly what Paul called me in between moans and groans of approval. Whatever those she-male sluts in the magazines could do, I could do better and there was one thing I could do they couldn't - make Paul cum in my mouth. I found myself craving the taste of his cum, willing it to spew forth both mentally and physically. I don't know if the mental part worked, but with the effort I was putting into the physical part, it wasn't a surprise when he shortly said, "I'm cumming," and then proved it by filling my mouth with his jism.

I really don't know why I expected it to taste different. While Paul and I were about the same size and build, he had darker skin and black hair and I looked more like a California surfer boy with blonde hair. I'd spent countless hours in the sun on the ball field, but where the uniform had covered me, my skin was as white as a hotel bed-sheet. So I guess that's why I thought there'd be a difference - like maybe his darker coloring would make his cum taste stronger. But it didn't. I fully intended to swallow it, but first I swirled it around in my mouth, enjoying the flavor. Paul noticed.

"Damn, you really like that spuz. Stick out your tongue."

For some reason, sticking out my tongue, covered with his jism, made me feel like more of a slut than sucking his cock had.

He smiled at me like a proud parent. "With a little makeup and a wig, you'd look hotter than the pictures in the magazines," he told me.

I took that for a compliment. I'm sure my dad had never meant anything like sucking cock when he'd told me, "Whatever you do, do it to the best of your ability." However, that theory applied to blowjobs as far as I was concerned and I'd just proven to my best friend that I had plenty of natural ability. I'd had a brief glance at myself in the mirror behind the dresser before I'd sunk to my knees and tried to imagine that image with a blond wig and makeup. I found the thought exciting. If I was going to turn into a slut, I wanted to be the best slut possible.

"My turn," Paul said, interrupting my daydream.

For a moment, I thought he was referring to one of the chores we split up and took turns at. Then I realized he wanted to try sucking me like I had him. No problem there. I'd been ready to blow a load the whole time I'd been sucking his dick. He helped me to my feet, then pushed me back onto the bed and laid between my legs. He played with my cock for a moment, smiled up and me and said, "I'll bet I'm better," and then went to work.

There was no way of knowing if he was better at it than me, but he sure was better than any of the girls that had blown me. I tried to compare his technique with the things I'd done and realized he was doing almost exactly the same things - with maybe one or two things I hadn't tried. Making a note to myself to try those things the next time made me suddenly realize that I'd already come to the conclusion that I'd be doing this again, and hopefully often. An hour or two earlier I might have taken a swing at anyone that suggested I was a cocksucker. Now, just like that, I'd sucked a cock and wanted more. I'd turned queer and apparently, from the enthusiasm Paul was putting into his efforts, so had my best friend.

There was a moment of shy, quiet, embarrassment as I recovered from my climax and Paul wiped his cheek where some of my cum had hit him. Not as vocal as Paul, I hadn't announced my impending eruption and he'd pulled back to lick my cock just as the first volley spewed forth. But he'd never hesitated to take the rest in his mouth and just as I'd done, he savored the flavor and then without me asking, stuck out his tongue to show me. He was right. A cum coated tongue was hot.

Crawling up beside me on the bed, he asked, "Now what?"

That was a reasonable question, yet it surprised me. Paul had usually been the leader or instigator or most of the things we did. For him to ask me was unusual. I was at a loss for an answer. "I . . . don't know. I'd say get dressed and go back to whatever we were doing except this is the most clothes we've had on in a week and we weren't doing anything."

He chuckled. "Yeah, we'd have to get undressed and go back to doing nothing. Or looking at the books. That's what we were doing when we decided to try this."

I automatically looked at the pile of magazines still scattered between us on the bed. One of us had grabbed the one with adults in diapers and in pushing the books around on the bed, it had wound up on top. Picking it up to show Paul what I meant, I told him, "I don't know if we need to get any more ideas from these. How would you like to have to wear diapers and be treated like a baby?"

What I expected was instant denial. To my surprise, Paul took the book from me and looked at the cover. Then he leafed through it, turned to me, and blushing, said, "It might be fun."

Trying not to show my astonishment, I asked, "Really?"

He nodded and began to tell me a story he'd never mentioned in any of our late night conversations. One time when he'd been much younger, and his little sister had to be diapered at night because she was a bedwetter, Paul had made the mistake of teasing Janie, and as punishment, his older sister had put a diaper on Paul too. "Then she told me I had to wear it until I'd wet it and . . . after I wet it . . . I . . . it felt so good I didn't want to take it off."

"How long did you wear it?"

"Just that night. I didn't tell Lilly I'd wet it. I wore pajamas over it and spent the whole evening before bed wearing it and then wore it to bed that night. Lilly kept asking me if I'd wet it yet, and I kept telling her no so I could keep it on. I . . . shit . . . it's hard to explain. Sounds fuckin' weird I know, but it really felt good. But I wanted to have it off the next morning before my folks found out about it."

While there'd been some advantages to being an only child, I could see where growing up with sisters like Paul had given him and opportunity to try things I'd never thought to try. He'd gotten to try wearing and wetting diapers in addition to wearing his sister's clothes. "Did you ever do it again?"

He nodded. "Yeah. A couple of times."

Immediately I wondered if he'd had any experience with the other things in the books. "Did you ever try anything with a guy back before I knew you?"

The grin and blush told me he had even before he spoke. Then he said again, "Yeah. A couple of times." Subsequently, beginning slowly, he told me about how when he'd worn Lilly's things and jacked off he thought it was so hot that he'd had to tell his buddy about it and his friend had asked for Paul to show him. "He said I looked so cute he wanted to kiss me and I dared him to and . . . he did and we started making out and he pulled out his cock and told me if I really wanted to act like a girl I should learn how to make a guy happy and . . . I made him happy a few times."

"A few times that day or a few times that summer or what?"

"A few times . . . over about a year or so."

I laughed. "No wonder you wanted to bet you were better. I was going up against an old pro."

He blushed a little brighter. "Hey! That was a long time ago dude!"

"No one since then?" I teased.

"Hey, come on Nick. If I was queer I'd have been after you long ago."

The very first thought that came to mind was, "I wish you had," probably because just moments earlier I'd been thinking about how we could have been helping each other out sexually for the last three years and that we'd wasted all that time. But I didn't say it. There was another thought that had been going through my mind at the same time - one spurred on by the cover of one of the books called, "Bi-Sexual Neighbors."

I dug through the pile, pulled it out, and showed it to Paul. "Do you think it's possible to be bisexual?"

Paul looked at me long and hard for a moment, then smiled and asked, "If JayLynn were to walk in here right now, naked as the day you said you saw her getting dressed, would you want her?"

"Shit yeah!" I answered without hesitation. I couldn't count the times that I'd jacked off with my eyes closed, thinking about the afternoon in my freshman year when I'd walked into the girls shower room by mistake. Baseball players love to pull pranks on each other - something that must begin in Little League. I know I've been the butt of many a prank going back that far. Being the new guy on the team and not familiar with the school, I'd been sent to get a bag of practice balls and the unmarked door I'd been told was the shortcut to the equipment room had turned out to be the back door of the girls locker room. JayLynn Potter had been `Miss Everything' - blonde, blue-eyed, and suntanned to a golden brown - everywhere. I'd noticed that memorable fact while standing in the doorway, my mouth open and my tongue hanging out. There were a couple of dozen girls in the room, half of them naked and the other half were damn near naked. JayLynn was the only one that I was sure had sun bathed in the nude. A thousand future fantasies formed as I stood there frozen in time and place. This was the school's cheer squad and I later came to the conclusion that they had to be at least partially exhibitionist to be into that because none of them tried to cover up when they realized a boy was standing there. It was JayLynn, aware that I'd gone into a trance-like state, that walked up to me, put a hand on my chest, and pushed me backward out the door.

I guess all young men have some female in mind that oozes sex and they think about when they masturbate. There'd been a poster of Madonna on my bedroom wall at home all through high school. But after seeing JayLynn, no other girl or woman could come close. Once again an image of her standing in front of me, totally naked, her little silver dollar size pubic bush beckoning to me, the nipples of her tits almost poking me in the chest, cause my cock to twitch.

"So what does that tell you?" Paul persisted. If he ever decided to become a psychiatrist, he was a natural. He was always answering questions with questions.

In this case, the answer was simple. "I guess it means I'm bi."

"Me too," he told me. "I mean it's not something I tell anyone. But I decided I must be. I know I like being with girls, but sometimes I think about what my buddy and I did and I know I liked doing it. So if I can like both, then I guess that means . . . well it has to mean I'm bi too."

"Now what?" I asked.

"Now what when?" he answered with another question. "You mean right this minute? Or later tonight? Or when we get back to school? Or what?"

I mulled that for a minute and told him, "All of the above."

He smiled. "Well I'm not going to worry about tonight until tonight. And I'm not going to worry about school until we get back there. But as far as right now is concerned, I think we should play some more."

I noticed he was already stroking his cock back to fullness and I expected he meant for me to give it another try. But before I could move down the bed and between his legs, he got off the bed.

"Let me show you something," he told me over his shoulder.

To be continued.

Comments appreciated: amber_fountaine@hotmail.com