OLIVER'S ADVENTURES
Chapter 7 (More Summer 1)
by Donny Mumford
I woke up to another beautiful summer day. First thing I thought about was the dream I'd had last night, the one where Frankie and me took a shower together and we jerked each other off and then washed each others' skinny, slippery bodies till we were so clean we shimmered and shined. I'm laying on my side, looking at the wall thinking about that dream when I thought, 'Wait a second! Aren't those Frankie's round eyeglasses on the bedside table?' I turn my head and there's Frankie sleeping next to me.
Ah ha! I hadn't been dreaming after all. Trying not to wake Frankie I slowly turn over so I can look at him closely. The sunshine's pouring in my bedroom window high-lighted Frankie's bright red hair against the whiteness of the pillow case. And, oh my, what a beautiful complexion he has, so smooth and flawless. My face close to his, I see a little spit bubble at the corner of his mouth, it expands and contracts as he breathes in his deep, peaceful sleep. With just the very tip of my tongue I licked the bubble off the corner of his lips just as Frankie exhales a nice tooth-pasty breath in my face. Like an artist's drawing, Frankie's facial features are perfectly proportioned and outlined nicely by his bright red hairline that runs straight across the top of his forehead and then follows the contour of his face, down to his closely clipped sideburns. I traced along it's path with my finger tip, barely touching him as my finger moves on his face. Light blond fuzz shows itself just below his sideburns and a little at the ends of his upper lip. I brush against this fuzz with the back of my finger and it's so soft I can hardly feel it. This is fun, scrutinizing Frankie's face so closely I can see subtle details that combine to create his very special appearance, which is oh so cute.
His eyebrows are strawberry blond, finely and thinly formed, while his eyelashes are light brown, long and curved. Being objective I'd have to admit that Frankie's nose is maybe a bit too cute for a boy, and his chin is definitely too cute, but I wouldn't change a thing on his face even if I could. Unable to stop myself I leaned down to lightly lick his full, dark pink lips. Not a peep out of Frankie. His ears stick-out away from his head, just like mine do, but his are even more noticeable because his hair is clipped very short around the sides and the sun's shining through the back of his ear making it appear almost translucent. I need to fight off the urge to suck that whole ear into my mouth because this is one luscious looking boy. So clean looking, so pure. Putting my face lightly against his cheek I feel his smooth silky skin and with my nose against the side of Frankie's forehead I inhale and then shiver at the sexy boyish odor of him. I rub my nose in his short red hair and smell how nice that and I can't get enough of Frankie Nerney. Last night I'd shampooed Frankie's hair, seemingly forever, and a low moan escapes my lips just from thinking about last night. Pressing my nose against his cheek now ti inhale more of his scent causes my cock to firm up as hard as the posts at the top of our bed. Another quiet moan of pleasure from me.
Last night I'd pulled our boxer shorts off both of us so I could suck and lick his cock and balls until he fired off his second climax of the night. I'd been stroking my own boner right along with my sucking and licking and I remember surprising myself by licking his you know what hole. What a rush that had been. so I did it more than once hardly believing how much it turned me on. Frankie too. Oh my God, it was the best night of my life. Last night we never got around to putting our boxers back on so I take this opportunity to reach under the sheet and rub Frankie's smooth, hairless belly and then down into his closely shorn, bright red pubes. I cup his large, hairless nuts in my hand and quietly giggle to myself just thinking about giving those nuts a tight squeeze and watching Frankie's eyes flash open. No, I don't want to wake him just yet, because I'm enjoying myself too much. Running my hand down the inside of his thigh as far as I can reach as Frankie moves his legs open some more which allowing me full access to his private parts, and makes me think he may be playing possum. A quick check of his face to be sure he's still sleeping, then back to rubbing and caressing his body.
My breathing is coming in short bursts now from the thrill of exploring Frankie's body; it has me excited and hot. My hand roams under his balls till the side of my hand is in Frankie's crack, between his firm, plump bum cheeks. The side of my index finger touches his hole so I rub it and it closes up tight. Thinking about pushing my finger inside him gets me aroused and I need to stroke my hard boner a few times, then bring my hand back to rub all around his groin area again; legs are spread and very relaxed. On the loading dock I love to look at Frankie's fantastic legs when he wear shorts, and even though he's only my height, his legs look long. Nice long, thin, shapely legs with noticeable definition in the calf muscle.
Actually, other than the sparse hairs on his calves, his legs looked almost pre-adolescent. I don't know if such a thing even makes sense, but I think Frankie has pretty legs and at the same time they're athletic looking too. I bent down some to lightly lay the side of my face on Frankie's belly, near his pubes so I can reach to touch his feet and run my hands over those shapely calves of his. Once again I became acutely aware of Frankie's scent and it's especially boyishly sexy down here, so much so it makes my shoulders shudder. Loving the feel of his legs when I run the palm of my hand from his foot up his calf to his knee, then up his thigh to his crotch. Frankie's short pubes turn me on too. I should do mine like I cut his. Running the palm of my hand on his calves again, those sparse blond, almost straight hairs on his calves are the only hairs he has on his legs and I like the feel of them on my fingers. I move my head down further and lay the side of my face on his thigh, inhaling his crotch area deeply and almost have a spontaneous climax enjoying this stronger 'Frankie smell'. Now I don't dare stroke my boner or it'd be messy. The skin on his knees is taut and the muscle in his calf is hard even with him relaxed like this. Jeez, I want to lick his leg not just feel it. In my quickly formed fantasy, I'd see myself licking the soles of his feet and sucking on his toes until they dripped with my spit, and then lick and suck all around his calf, licking behind his knee and then around to the front of his knee and up the inside of his thigh, leaving a spit trail all the way up to his balls. I want to suck both his large nuts into my mouth filling my mouth so full that I'd have to breath through my nose.
Taking a chance, I stroked my boner while thinking about his balls in my mouth and precum drools over my fingers. It surprises me that my nuts, already so full of cum they they're hard and tight up against my belly. They're both waiting for my brain to give them the signal to shoot their loads up and out of my swollen cock. Oh, would that feel fantastic, but I want to keep enjoying this other sensation of being on the verge of cuming a little longer. Another groan slips out of me and a long, whispery breath hisses out between Frankie's lips. Hearing that I look up at his face just as Frankie's eyes began moving quickly behind his eyelids. Yeah, I seem to remember reading somewhere that fast moving eyeballs behind sleeping eyelids indicates of dreaming. Gee, I wonder if maybe he's dreaming about me. Wouldn't that be nice. Moving my head out from under the covers, I lay it next to Frankie's head on the pillow I try calming myself down. Breathing regularly again I give my boner a couple of strokes and think what a great way this is to start the day. Maybe it can be a regular thing with Frankie and me, and maybe that can be so in the not too distant future too. I can dream, can't I ? The temptation too great, again I reach down and feel Frankie's big cock, which has now become fairly hard. Apparently, this is a dream-induced boner. Hey, if he actually was dreaming about me, from the size of his boner I'd have to guess he's sure enjoying the dream. It made me grin just looking at him. How lucky can I be? Frankie Nerney in all his perfection and all his cuteness laying next to me in my friggin bed, and he's maybe dreaming about me too. What could be better! Wrapping my entire hand around his firm cock I begin stroking his big, long, uncut cock. First pulling the hood off the head of his cock and then sliding it back on, and then off and back on again; getting a nice rhythm to my stroking and shortly Frankie tightens his eyelids and lips, while I increase the pressure and speed of my hand job, getting a quiet grunt from Frankie.
When he moves his head back and forth on the pillow I slow up the stroking and use my left hand to begin stroking myself again, matching strokes on my cock with strokes on Frankie's. God, this is so hot! What a wild, first thing in the morning turn-on. I love this! Then, from his private dream-world Frankie says something. He's talking in his sleep so I moved my ear close to his lips and listened and the second word sounds like, "Pete". Pete? PETE? What the fuck...? I stop stroking our boners and shake his shoulder a little. Frankie says, "Smuoodin kiev" and I shake him again. His big blue eyes open and he looks startled, then asks, "Oliver, what are you doing here?" I answer with a question of my own, "What was your dream about?" Frankie, looks puzzled, lifts his head and shoulders off the mattress, getting up on his elbows and asks, "My dream? Jeez, I don't know. Why?" No sense beating around the clipped-bush, so I ask right out, "Was it about Pete?" Frankie thinks a second and asks, "You mean, Pete, the mailroom kid? No, it was about something to do with me taking a piss and telling somebody not to peek. Something dumb like that. Why'd ya wake me up, Oliver?" "Oh! I ah, I didn't know what time you wanted to get up." He tells me it's not really important, he needs to take the world's biggest piss anyway so it's just as well I got him up, and asks me where the bathroom is. I point at my small bedroom bath; the one with the shower that we jerked each other off in less then eight hours ago. Frankie jumps out of bed seemingly surprised he's naked. On the other hand, the fact that he's sporting a huge boner apparently is not a surprise to him. He asks, "I slept naked?" and I nod my head 'yes', and he mumbles, "That's random alright. Oh, wait a minute! Fuck, it's all coming back to me. Oh no!" and he scurries into the bathroom picking up a pair of boxer briefs off the floor where I'd thrown them last night. He picked-up the pair I'd had on last night. That causes my boner to twitch, but then, what doesn't. I'm trying to figure out: Pete or peek?? Hmmmm? And figure out if Frankie's gonna rationalize our sex last night as due to the beer, as in he was drunk. Well, he was but even if you're drunk you don't do all the things we did together last night unless you're predisposed to that to some degree.
Speaking of Pete, I can't help wondering about his closely cropped pubes and think it strange that it wasn't long after Frankie told me he liked his own short pubes, the very ones I'd cut for Frankie's when we were looking for that splinter, and a couple hours later I discover Pete's barbered pubes. Coincidence? Unlikely, but I couldn't very well bring it up with Frankie or I'd have to say how I knew Pete had clipped pubes in the first place. Curious situation here. After a minute I started to think maybe Frankie's in my bathroom wanking off since I'd given him such a nice head start before I shook him awake. Putting my ear against the door and can hear his loud, strong piss stream hitting the water in the toilet bowl.
Guess he did have to take a wild piss, but what about that "Oh no!" comment from Frankie when he remembered what we'd done together last night. That reaction can't be a good sign for my case. And balls, what a hangover I've got. I hadn't noticed it while I was enjoying myself playing with the sleeping Frankie, but now, ohhhh my fucking head. I pull on the boxers Frankie wore to bed last night and then put on my old bathrobe. Frankie soon comes out of the bathroom with a concerned frown on his face, using my toothbrush again. There's toothpaste drooling out of both corners of his mouth as he talks around the toothbrush and it sounds like, "Don't get the wrong idea about last night, Oliver. Okay?". I'm beginning to get a really bad feeling about this whole turn of events. He hands me the toothbrush and I absently begin brushing my teeth with it, staring at Frankie, but he won't make eye contact. Frankie goes back in the bathroom to scoop handfuls of water into his mouth at the sink, rinsing out the toothpaste. I say nothing, just stare at him and wait nervously for whatever is coming next.
Frankie wanders around adjusting his crotch and then says it's cold in here with the air conditioning, so I gave him the bathrobe I'm wearing. He mumbled, "Thanks" Frankie's boner had gone down, as mine had. My boner went down when he'd said "Oh no!",remembering about last night. I put on a T-shirt and flimsy basketball shorts. Finally picking-up the clothes we'd had on at the picnic and go in the hall to start the washing machine. Frankie follows saying, "Fuck, I'm starved!" I've never seen anybody eat more than Frankie, and he stays just as skinny as me. Trying my best to smile at him slightly, I say, "Sure, Frankie, what can I get ya?" What I get us first, are tall glasses of orange juice and three Tylenol each. We're both suffering from hangovers and I swear to myself I'm drinking less the next time beer is involved; whenever that might be. Pouring himself a huge bowl of Frosted Flakes and milk Frankie says, "That kiddie sex play from last night, Oliver. Ah, you know, um, it's mostly booze related with all that fucking beer we had. I guess I wanted to prove to you that I was cool after you telling me you're gay and all. It's a fucking awkward position to be put in, Oliver. Ya know?" I eat some dry toast and nod my head noncommittally. I don't want to talk about it, especially if we're going to follow that line of bull shit. At least he didn't pretend he couldn't remember any of it. We both had tea too, and we ate and drank in silence for a bit. Believe it or not, Frankie crunching those fucking Frosted Flakes, mouthful after mouthful, starts to get on my nerves and I pretend to myself, for a minute or so, that I don't even really like Frankie all that much, but that's a lie.
He finishes off his cereal by drinking the left-over sweet milk right from the bowl and when he puts the bowl down I look at the milk mustache on that cute face of his and think to myself, 'I'm screwed. Who am I kidding? I'm in love with this boy and, sadly, I know I'm not going to get to have him for myself. He's too intent on marrying that cow just so he doesn't have to go back on his word to her. What a fucking shame for him, and for me." Frankie cocks his head a little and asks, "You cool with what I'm trying to say about last night. Um, you know, that it was childish stuff, doing a circle jerk and sucking on our boners. Guys do that crap when they're thirteen years old and it's a new adventure back then, but now it's just plain embarrassing. Okay, so you're queer and of course you'd take what I was willing to allow, but I was hammered, dude!" In my head I say, "Fuck you, Frankie. You're lying to yourself and you're going to ruin all three of our lives because of it. Yours, mine, and the hippo's. You don't hardly like her, never mind love her. The two of you will make each other miserable in the first month of your marriage." That's what I say to myself. What I mumbled to Frankie is, "I'm sorry I forced myself on you. I hope we can still be best buddies again." He said, "It's okay, let's forget about it. Sure, we're best buds. You got any eggs?" I did. Together we made him a three-eggs & cheese omelet, along with three pieces of toast. I had another cup of tea while I watched him eat his second breakfast of the morning. By now I'm feeling sad and a little sick to my stomach. My life is a roller coaster ride. Big highs followed by astonishingly fast lows. Goddamn, I really thought I'd hit the jackpot with Frankie, boyfriend-wise, for a few hours there anyway.
Frankie goes in the bathroom to do more bathroom business and I put our clothes in the dryer. I couldn't make myself start a conversation because I don't know what to say and I don't have any enthusiasm for it now anyway. Guess I'm kinda pissed-off at Frankie if truth be known and, generally speaking, I'm as disappointed as I can ever remember being. Even though I'm mad at him this second, I know I have deep feelings for him which I have to believe is love. 'cause if it's not, I can't imagine what love is. But love or something else, it don't look like there is any way it's going to turn out good for me. Admitting this to myself it's no surprise that my eyes start stinging; and yeah, they're stinging with moisture which is sometimes referred to as crying. I make damn sure Frankie doesn't see the water works.
When he's done in the bathroom he telephone's someone on his cell phone and is very apologetic to the person on the other end of the line. It doesn't sound like he's talking to Darleen though. Frankie seems all shook-up after the phone call, his hands are actually a bit shaky. He says he forgot, because of all the beers, he was suppose to work for Darleen's uncle this morning and the uncle is very pissed off. "Can we get going now, Oliver?" he asked me in a quiet way. I can't think of another time I'd seen Frankie so jumpy and I have a scary feeling in my stomach. Maybe he has troubles I don't know about, Hell, I don't much about hi, except I love him: that kinda important and of corse I want to help him in any way I can. He want's to go and as soon as the clothes are dry, he puts his on and we head out to his uncle's place. It sure as hell didn't feel like we were best buds during the ride. We drove with the top down and the traffic noise, which can be a bitch when big tractor trailers are involved can be a bitch, and wind noise at seventy miles an hour made it almost impossible to talk. This was convenient, actually, because I have the distinct feeling that neither of us had anything we felt comfortable talking about. What a disastrous conclusion to the best day and night of my life. I thought we were beginning something wondrous together and then Frankie tells we weren't 'beginning' something, we were ending it'. That's a mighty big difference alright. So, I guess you could say at this particular moment I'm on a roller coaster ride that went high as the sky for awhile and then went down fast as a wink all the way down to hell.
Frankie directs me to an off ramp and then we turned this way and that way with me trying to memorize each turn so I'd be able to get back to the highway after dropping Frankie off. Now that we're on quiet secondary streets we can talk normally and Frankie tells me he needs to work off some money he owes this guy, Fallon. Fallon wasn't actually Darleen's uncle, but rather a friend that her uncle had introduced Frankie to last year. To make a long story short, Frankie explains, "This guy is a bookie and I stupidly lost a bet on an NCAA tournament game last March and then doubled-up on it and lost that too, and so on. Terrible bad luck, but what it means is I owe the guy twelve hundred dollars, but this isn't in your life, Dylan, and I'm sorry I even need to explain it to you because you're gonna think less of me, but back then I wanted to win some free money, dammit!. I don't have the money to pay my losses so he's letting me sorta it off off." Frankie tells me all this while talking very fast, embarrassed about it,like he couldn't wait to get it over with.
I'm not sure what to say, never placed a bet with a bookie in my life, not even knowing one, so I ask what kind of works he doing to work off the twelve hundred dollars which is like a months pay at our job, but Frankie wouldn't say exactly. He said, "Personal stuff and running some errands, that sort of thing." As we pull up to where Frankie directs me, Frankie says that this guy Fallon has a super, up-scale condo, but he prefers conducting his business out of a ratty looking trailer that he owns, and I have to wonder what kind of business one runs out of a ratty trailer in a dumpy trailer park, which is where we're at.The neighborhood got nasty real quick and Frankie instructs me to turn down a gravel side road which made for a very bumpy ride in the Mini Cooper. Around a bend and there they were; eight or ten more off the main track run-down looking trailers, all up on cinder blocks. Trash blowing around and an unpleasant cesspool smell is quite prevalent. I make a face like 'What the fuck stinks?' and Frankie looks embarrassed, and says, "Yeah, ain't it lovely. Pull in at the third trailer on the left, Oliver. I'm so sorry to bring you here, but I'm in enough trouble with Fallon I had to, although you cat imagine how humiliating it is for me." I pull up slowly, kinda of scared because Frankie seems scared. A man with a scowl on his face is walking towards us. Frankie and I are both the same size, about five foot-nine and this guy is a little taller than that, but he has at least ninety pounds on us with a huge pot belly. I'd say he was in his late thirties, deep tan, bald dome. His remaining hair, starting quite low on the sides and back of his head, is dark and long enough to collect in a ponytail that drooped past his shoulder blades. Very full sideburns travel down to a soft jaw. He's wearing John Lennon glasses on his beak nose and both his chins bounced as he quickly walks toward the car. I'm thinking, 'What the fuck?' because this guy's wearing a cream colored, cashmere blazer and chocolate brown slacks with mesh loafers. I count six gold rings, three on each hand, with a fat gold chain hanging above an open necked dark blue,collared shirt. The overall image is Ben Franklin in tacky expensive Italian clothes, so what the fuck's he doing in this dumpy trailer park?. He's displaying an obviously fake smile with scorn dancing across his thin lips. Frankie is so obviously nervous, fumbling with the seat belt and he's just barely able to get himself standing up when this guy, Fallon, is at the car. Fallon pulls his arm back and Frankie covers his face with both his hands as that meaty paw of Fallon's swings around and smacks the back of Frankie's head so hard Frankie's glasses fly off his face and land on the dashboard of my car. I yell, "Hey!" as Frankie goes, "I'm sorry, Fallon."
I'm so shocked I bring it down to a muttered, "Hey, don't do that," as Fallon swings his arm again and gets Frankie on Frankie's right hand, which is partially covering his face. I jump out of the Mini saying, "I'm calling the police you asshole. Fallon pays no attention to me and mutters to Frankie,, "Could you fucking take any longer getting here, Nerney? I had to do two deliveries myself you dumb shit. You are going to do an extra favor for me as soon as we get inside, aren't we, cute lips?" Frankie kept saying he's sorry, whining his car broke down and he had to call me for a ride. Fallon's breathing hard, his face red as he swings his hand again, this time slapping the top of Frankie's head, "SMACK!" . I take out my cell phone and hit 911, but as far as Fallon's concerned I didn't even exist. Frankie pleads, "Please Oliver, don't! Please!" Fallon give me a look of annoyance, as he's grabbing Frankie behind Frankie's neck with Fallon's big, meaty left hand and starts dragging him toward the trailer. I moved my mouth, but nothing came out. I couldn't be more astonished or flabbergasted if a space ship landed in front of me. This behavior is so far out of my range of experiences I'm speechless and aghast. All I do is watch Fallon drag Frankie up three rickety steps and inside they go to that trailer's over-sized aluminum door which banged three times against the side of the trailer after Fallon's attempt to slam it shut behind him..
I sat there dazed, my heart pounding with fright. What to do? Franking begged me not to call the police, but I hear loud shouting from inside the trailer... I can't make-out the words though. Looking around, not knowing what to do, I see Frankie's glasses on the dash board. I slowly pick them up, wondering what to do.. Frankie needs his glasses 'cause he 's very near-sighted, so with my heart trying to pound itself out of my chest, I walk at a snail's pace towards that trailer. Up the three creaky steps I go to tentative knock on the door. Silence inside now. I hear some rustling around, then Frankie, on the other side of the door, peeks out through window in the door and sees me. He buttons his shorts with one hand and opened the door a crack with the other. I see a bright red hand print on the side of his face and he has tears in his eyes. When the door opens a little Frankie holds it opened with his hip and absently pulls what appears to be a short, black hair off his lip. Not being able to form words at the moment I continue to silently stare at the red hand print on the side of Frankie's cute face. Everything seems to be happening in slow-motion until, in a fast, low whisper Frankie said, "Don't worry, Oliver. Fallon lost his temper, that's all, but he's fine now. I got to get back to him, I mean get back to work for him or, that is, um look, I'll see you tomorrow. Please, please don't tell anyone about this or you'll really get me in trouble." I mumble. "Please come out of there with me, Frankie, I'll drive you home, or any where else you want to go." I hand him his glasses as he stares into my eyes, he's mumbling, "You're so beautiful, Oliver. In many ways too." A little smile as he touches my hand, then takes his glasses, mumbling, "Thanks," then quickly he adds, "I love you too," and closes the door.
Did he say, 'I love you too?' With a puzzled look on my face I back away from the abruptly closed door knowing Frankie's in some kind of trouble, and in a trance-like state, walk to my car knowing this, whatever this is, is way the fuck over my head. Getting in the Mini starting the engine, I slowly back into the driveway that's directly across from Fallon's trailer. My plan so is to turn around and get the fuck out of there. I'm not at all sure what, if anything, I can do to help Frankie, but I know that getting out of here would be step one. The neighbor's driveway is rough gravel and as I slowly back into it two big, mangy looking black and brown dogs with big heads roamed in behind me growling. A cold chill goes up my back as they slowly walked in unison towards my car. I keep backing up, looking at the dogs in my rearview mirror. The biggest dog spots something that, to me, looks looked like half a cat sticking out of a shrub and and the dog snaps at it with long yellow teeth and shakes his head violently. The other dog started to grab for the thing and they began to fight with each other over whatever-the-fuck that thing was. There's throaty growling and teeth gnashing at each other right beside me and I almost wet my pants. Fumbling around, my hand shakily trying to hit the button that puts the convertible top up, the dogfight accelerates moving right in front of my car blocking my way out of the driveway.
I blow the Mini's horn repeatedly at the dogs and an old gnarled woman with scraggly white hair and a white mustache comes storming out of the trailer. She's wearing an old house dress that I can almost see through, waving a big, old rusty rake and as she leans over the railing of her trailer's front step she yells, "Get that piece of shit car out of my fucking driveway or I'll come over there with this rake..." I immediately drive off the gravel driveway, over a weedy-looking vegetable garden and, with that old bitch screeching in the background and lots of gravel flying back towards her from my rear tires, I roared out of that shit hole with the back of the Mini swerving from side to side as I bump up onto the trailer park's main gravel road. When I reach the blacktop road I realize I'd been shouting, "Fuck you!" hysterically over and over as loud as I can yell, spit flying from my mouth. Getting myself under control, I stop doing that and made the correct left turn burning rubber getting the Mini Cooper S up to speed . Sweat's pouring off my face with my heart beating faster than a hummingbirds'. What a cluster fuck that entire experience had been. Holy shit, what has Frankie gotten himself involved in? You never know what troubles people have because they hide the humiliating or embarrassing ones. I know all about that.
Driving home I can't think of anything to do about this scary situation. Frankie begged me to do; well, basically to do nothing, and I can do that alright except I'm scared for Frankie. At home later on I'm still shaky. My folks have returned from their trip and I tell them I'm coming down with a summer cold or something. After a bowl of tomato soup and a Coke I'm a little calmer, but still worried. The day drags on with me imagining all kinds of scenarios for Frankie's situation. After dinner I go to bed early and have a tossing and turning nights sleep with scary dreams. At work Monday morning, hoping to talk with Frankie, but he's not in yet. It really worries me when he does't show at all, but thankfully he call me on my cell phone line shortly before starting time. He's on his way now and he wants me to punch his time card for him. I punch him in as if he were on time and when Rocky comes around a little later asking where Frankie is I tell him Frankie's in the shitter. We talk a little about how much fun the picnic was, then off Rocky goes on his way to check up on his other employees.
Frankie makes it to work a half hour late looking like he always does. I'm so relieved when we're doing our customary hug hello I temporarily forget our conversation Sunday morning about him not wanting to do anything, um, anything gay I guess is what it boils down to. He's in denial, but it seems hugging's still okay anyway. Frankie actually holds on to me for an extra beat or two this morning. I glance at his face with a questioning look on mine and Frankie, in a gentle way says, "Let's not talk about anything right now. Okay?" I nod my head and squeeze his shoulder. When Frankie isn't paying attention I try to see if he has any bruises on his neck from when Fallon grabbed him by the neck, or if there are any other signs of Frankie being hurt in some other way. Like I said earlier, he looks pretty much like he always looks except he does have dark bruises on either side of his neck where Fallon gripped him dragging Frankie to the trailer. My next concern is wondering if Frankie might still be willing to do our spit swapping this afternoon? Ya can't say I don't have an optimist's outlook; we didn't do our morning spit swapping, so I'm hoping for this afternoon's.
After all our fellow blue collar workers have finished their morning break with the catering truck on the loading dock, Frankie and me have our break. We like to do our breaks alone in the cafe. We're each making ourselves a cup of coffee and I take a chance asking, "When do ya think we can talk about everything that happened yesterday, Frankie?" He puts his coffee down and said, "Please, give it a fucking rest, Oliver." He has that crying-sounding voice when he says it and then he storms outside to sit on the loading dock with his back against the building leaving me standing there in the cafe holding my coffee, worrying. Sadly, I sit down and think about crying myself, but decide not to although it;s a close call. As hard as I try I can't think of a clever way to approach Frankie, so fuck it. I take my coffee, pick-up Frankie's coffee and bring them out to the dock. "You want this, Frankie?" I ask him, holding out his coffee cup. He doesn't look at me, saying, "Yeah, sorry," taking the cup and then firing up a cigarette. I get my pack of Marlboro Lights out and light one too. We smoke and drink our coffee sitting side by side with our backs leaning up against that big building, in silence. The sun's just reached over the top of the truck we're unloading and hits our faces feeling warm and somehow comforting.
We both finish the last drag on our cigarettes and, almost simultaneously, we flicked our smoking butts toward a large metal trash drum ten feet away and both butts go right in the open top. Frankie and I looked at each other with a look on our faces implying, 'That was cool', we bump our fist together lightly and grin at each other. Frankie takes our empty coffee cups inside and go back to our unloading and storage responsibilities, but with very little conversation. It's an odd feeling because every other day we've worked together we're constantly talking and joking and laughing the day away. Today I'm just happy for that little grin from Frankie at the end of break. As the morning turns into early afternoon Frankie is more relaxed and gives a quick squeeze to the back of my neck or pat on my butt with nice little smile as we work together in the hot summer weather. Just before lunch we're inside the truck bed taking an item out of it's cardboard box when I stop, and say, "Frankie, this is a fucking emergency and I'm not kidding." He looks up at me with a concerned look on his face, so I continue with, "I need a fucking hug, Frankie. Right now or I might get sick to my stomach right here all over these boxes." He gives a little grin and opens his arms and inside of them I go. I don't know who hugs who the hardest, but it sure feels as good as anything I can think of at this moment. His body and his scent have become so familiar and maybe necessary by now because I love him so much. The hug works wonderfully with the sides of our faces pressed together, so I rub my lips across his cheek. Frankie pulls his head away from mine just a little as he quietly says, "Give me some time to sort things out in my head, Oliver. Okay?" I mumble, "Sure, Frankie", but I kiss him anyway. He doesn't kiss back, but he doesn't pull away either and I think I felt the beginning of a boner in Frankie's jeans too. I'm hoping I've made a start for us on our road back together. Maybe Frankie sees it that way too.
Another half hour of work, mostly in silence, and then Frankie says we should probably eat our lunch now. Long ago we'd given up on the main cafeteria because it's too far from the loading dock and we think it's a little too pricey too. Plus, like for our breaks, we prefer to eat lunch just the two of us whenever possible. Our mothers make our lunches each morning, like we're school kids again. In the cafe we take our brown bags out of the mini refrigerator and sit together at a small round table. I flip a coin to see who buys the drinks today, and I lose. Doing these kinds of things, ones that have become everyday routines for us over the last six weeks is a nice feeling. I buy us bottles of Snapple from the vending machine and then we look into our lunch bags. "What ya got Oliver?" Frankie asks, and I go, "Egg salad on a bulky roll. How bout you?" He goes, "Tuna salad and tomato on toast." We exchange sandwiches without another word. It's so odd for the two of us to have this quiet time together. Usually we're both talking at each other at the same time, or making each other spit his sandwich out by saying something outlandish, or making a face or pretending to pick our nose while eating, or any crazy thing you can think of. Now we eat in silence. I'm looking down reading the label on my Snapple bottle and when I look up Frankie's staring at me. I ask, "What?" and with his mouth full of egg salad sandwich, Frankie goes, "Don't get the wrong idea from this, but I believe you are the cutest looking boy I've ever seen." I squint my eyes and half made a face expecting some smart-ass remark to follow, but instead Frankie adds, "Actually I'm just stating the obvious. I mean, fuck, you look in mirrors don't ya." Shaking my head, my mouth working, but no words coming out; a condition I find myself in regularly when I'm with Frankie. After what we'd just been through Sunday morning with Falon and then today's lack of conversation, this has to be one of the last things in the world I expected Frankie to say. I'd have to go way back to my days with Tyler to come up with anyone as unpredictable as Frankie. There are any number of things about my deceased childhood friend, Tyler, that Frankie reminds me of every day. It's a little scary sometimes, but also wonderful and emotional too. I can feel my eyes stinging and my lips tremble, and not just because Frankie said something sweet to me, but because it reminded me so forcefully of Tyler. Frankie made his statement and then went back to eating his lunch, which is actually my lunch.
Biting my lip, waited for the stinging feeling to leave my eyes, I mutter, "Not to put too fine a point on this, but I've always felt you were the cutest boy I've ever seen and as you've said, I look in mirrors so that includes me too. But, don't take that the wrong way." Frankie shakes his head with a wry grin on his face, mumbling, "I don't have any fucking idea why I just said that dumb-ass gay thing to you about being cute, but I guess I mean it. You got me crazy Oliver, you really do." He said it in a way that didn't seem like he meant it angrily so I say, "Good" and we finish each others lunch and get back to work. We're back in the cafe again for our afternoon break drinking cokes and talking more easily with each other. Frankie didn't want to talk about him and me or about Fallon and the money he owed, so we talk about other stuff like Frankie and Darleen heading back for their sophomore year at West Chester University in September. We talk about that university being only a one hour drive from the University Of Pennsylvania where I'll be going and we talk about our college loans that are piling up, and about what we'd be doing after this job is finished next week I tell Frankie my plan to visit my brother in Seattle and how I'd already made the reservation using the plane ticket Christian gave be at the beginning of the Summer. I haven't told Christian about me coming to see him because I want to surprise him. Frankie, in a dejected manner tells me he'll be working full time for Fallon until college starts, but he won't say what the work entails.
Just before we leave for the day I mention to Frankie how much I miss swapping spit with him and he reminds me that he's trying to work things through in his head and would I be patient with him. He goes, "Way back when we'd started the spit swapping we were intent on seeing how bizarre we could be, and see how much fun we could have with it just for the laughs, but then later maybe we let it get out of hand". After this little lecture he ruffles my hair then we say goodbye for the day, so the hair ruffling was the high point of that exchange. Fuck it, I'm going to stay optimistic about future spit swapping, which of course is a euphemism for making-out, no matter what Frankie says. We're more into our old joking ways Tuesday with some of our usual goofing around. Some good old ass grabbing too, and some bodily contact that most people would call hugging, but by the end of work Thursday there's still nothing in the way of kissing or spit swapping. We walk out of work together heading for the parking lot with me trying to think of a way to mention spit swapping again. Finally, without a better plan, I grab Frankie as he's getting in his car and with my arm around his neck I go, "God damn, Frankie, lets do some of our famous spit swapping before this gig ends next week. What do ya say, dude?" Frankie's body is taut as a steel spring when I first put my arm around his neck, but right after I'd said my piece he relaxes and, probably to change the subject he runs his fingers through the hair on the back of my head, muttering, "You need a haircut, Oliver." I tell him I'm thinking about waiting until college starts so I can have Alexander give me a haircut. Frankie asks me in a real quiet voice if Alexander and me were going to pick-up where we left off in Wildwood and he finishes with, "I mean are you two gonna be gay together?" In a quiet voice, I reply, "Not if you don't want me to." Frankie thinks about that for a few seconds and apparently decides to by-pass that remark and return to my original topic of spit swapping that I asked about when I got my arm around his neck. He goes, "We can swap spit if you promise not to let us get too carried away, we'll do our world famous spit swapping tomorrow, just like we use to do. Okay, Oliver." I mumble, "Okay, Frankie," and he rubs my head some more, grinning, then adds, "Okay then." and I let go of him. We wave at each other as we drive off. Frankie has on that beautiful smile of his; the one I haven't seen for awhile. Oh boy, spit swapping tomorrow. Just thinking about that gets my boner aching just like in the old days.
There's an interesting thing developing this week. It seems like my suspicion about Frankie and the mailroom kid being involved together somehow is unfounded because the mailroom kid, Pete, apparently has a crush on your's truly. Monday morning while I was waiting for Frankie to get to work Pete came to the cafe for coffee before work and that's a first for him. As usual, he was real shy and wouldn't make eye contact saying good morning and asking I'd mind if he had his coffee here. I told him to grab a cup and keep me company. We sat at the little cafe table with me trying to make small talk to loosen Pete up, and he picked up my hand and put my fingers in his mouth to suck on them like he did last Saturday at the picnic right after I'd jerked him off. I was startled as you can imagine, but it was a sexy thing for him to do so what the fuck, I didn't pull my hand away. While he's licking my fingers his head was down, but I see that he shyly was looking up at me with his eyes up at the top of their sockets. His face got bright red and he was fidgeting like mad. I couldn't help but smile at him and kind of chuckled, letting him do what he wanted with my hand. Frankly, it started giving me a boner to top all boners. Pete's long curly hair was hanging down and hiding a lot of his face, but his huge brown eyes looking up at me were shining. He sucked on my fingers for a full minute and then gently placed my limp hand back on the little cafe table we were sitting at. My hand was limp, but not my cock. Pete didn't say anything and neither did I.
All week after that he's been showing up around the loading dock. Tuesday he started asking me to rub his hair for good luck. When I do it he pushes against my hand with his head like he did at the picnic and today, Thursday, in a voice I could hardly hear, he asked me if I thought I could do to him what I did to him at the picnic again sometime. Without thinking, I hugged him to me, "You bet, Pete. That was fun, wasn't it, dude?" He nodded his head yes and goes, "When do ya think you could do it?" I told him we'd work something out. I had Frankie on my mind so much that I didn't want to get distracted, but once Frankie and me are tight again it might be fun to have some play time with that shy little fellow with the big cock. We'll see how that goes, but right at the moment I'm excited about the spit swapping with Frankie that's coming up tomorrow morning.
In the morning it's raining hard and the forecast is for more of the same all day. Rain appears to cause people to forget how to drive. They do stupid things and big traffic jams occur, and this almost made me late getting to work and as a result I had to park further away than normal, but I had spit swapping on my mind and so the rain and these other little annoyances were of no real concern to me. Running for the building in the rain I got pretty wet which is no concern to me either, but then I saw something that could be a real concern to me. It was the little group of people in our cafe that I see through the glass door as I run up to it. Usually there is either nobody or just Frankie there when I come in. Today it's Frankie, Rocky, and the two regular loading dock guys, Howard and Bart. What the fuck do they want? Getting a big "Hello" from everyone and a glance from Frankie indicates something not too cool is happening, but what, is the question. The not too cool thing is that the two regular guys will be working on the loading dock with Frankie and me all morning, which means no spit swapping. We'd all be working on a special truck that's due to arrive any minute. All five of us would unload this truck so that the driver could get back on the road by one this afternoon. Swell! I shake my head a little because what else can you do? Shit happens. No spit swapping this morning, but we still have this afternoon and I'm determined to make the best of the situation. Howard and Bart are big strong guys in their thirties, both married and both originally from the South. They are one hundred percent 'Mayberry USA' types with their 'golly-gee' this and 'gosh darn' that, but damn nice guys. Bart's telling this tale he's just heard about. It seems this guy in Mississippi runs into the corner store and yells to his friend, 'Bubba, some asshole just stole your pick-up truck from right out front da store!'
Bubba says, "Did ya see who it were?" His friend proudly replies, "I couldn't tell who the fucker is, but I got the license number of the truck, wrote it down right here on my arm." Well, at the punch line those guys go into hysterically laughter and leg slapping with Rocky, Frankie and me chuckling and exchanging looks and smirks at the yahoos' exuberant reaction to the corny joke.
Howard is from Mississippi which is why Bart told the joke in the first place. Bart's from Tennessee and Howard's got a story right back at him. He says, "This here Tennessee State Trooper pulls over a Tennessee hayseed who was driving his jalopy about fifteen mile an hour, on the wrong side of the highway. The trooper comes up to the driver's window and asks, "Got any ID?" The hayseed scratches his head and says, "Bout whut?" Oh my God they go into convulsions, both of them laying their heads on the cafe table pounding it and carrying on something awful. It's sad, but good too; good that guys can so easily entertain themselves. Just as the fellows are sitting up and getting their laughter under control the special truckload pulls up to the loading dock and Rocky says, "Oops. Time for me to head on out of here before I accidentally lift something and get this crotch rot acting up again." As he quick walks away groping his crotch and yelling something about assholes, that none of us could catch, Frankie says, "Guess, Rocky is on his way to the main cafeteria for his real morning break." "Yup, yup, yup," says Howard, and out in the rain we go. Man oh man, Howard and Bart can really work, I got to give them their props. They each carry stuff off the truck themselves that Frankie and I would be helping each other get on a dolly, never mind carrying it. It's a frantic morning and around eleven-thirty Rocky makes an appearance to check our progress. He's pleased, but we'd done too good a job as it turns out because Rocky reassigned Bart and Howard back to inside duty saying Frankie and me can finish on time without the other two. "Good job, boys." and off goes Rocky with Bart and Howard in tow.
The rain hasn't let up and both Frankie and I are soaked working on the portion of the loading dock that isn't protected by the over-hang. We finish before one though, and the driver takes off so we have our lunch and go back to our regular responsibilities. During lunch there's there's potential of too many people wandering in and out of the cafe via the loading dock preventing Frankie and me from spit swapping. That left me looking forward to some swapping during our afternoon break when it's always just Frankie and me. As afternoon break gets closer I'm starting to breathe in little short bursts looking over at Frankie with anticipation and getting impatient. I'm thinking about how we haven't tasted each other's spit in almost a week. My heart's going bump, bump, bump and my dick is semi-hard thinking about what's coming up and, yes, I know I'm one horny boy but what can I do about it? I miss the feel and taste and smell of Frankie more than I can say and I only wish I could detect some of the same feelings from Frankie about me. It's a physical thing, a real, honest to God need I have to touch and feel Frankie. Ever since Cristobal exposed me to the reality of sex with another boy I really, really need it, and I'm not actually getting much of it. A lot of teasing and almost happenings, but since Alexander not much real action. At one point I need to stop working for a second and try to get myself composed. There's a kind of scary feeling in the pit of my stomach too. Frankie, with his short red hair flattened against his head by the rain, looking even younger then usual, comes over to me in the truck bed and asks if I'm alright. He says I'm pale. I look up at his sincerely concerned face and fall into him with my arms around his waist saying, "I miss being with you, Frankie. I know you don't want to hear this, but I love you. I love you so much." My heart's pounding as Frankie wraps his arms around me and rocks me back and forth in a nice hug. He kisses the side of my neck and mutters, "I know, Oliver. I know." He holds me for a minute or so and then pulls my chin up with a finger under my chin and our lips meet as my cock gets as hard as it can get. Frankie put his tongue in my mouth and licks my tongue, slowly he scraps saliva off his tongue against the bottom of my top teeth until I need to swallow a mouthful of his spit. I lick back at his mouth and we French kissed until I feel that big cock of Frankie's, all boned-up, pressing against the inside of his cargo shorts. The head of it reaching to the very top of the short's waistband. Moaning now, we move our noses back and forth against each other and then Frankie licks up the front of my nose and down on my chin and on my neck right under my chin.
I'm gasping for breath with my boner leaking as I hump against his leg. He reaches down and undoes the top snap on my cargo shorts so he can put his hand in my boxers and strokes my cock using only his thumb, index finger, and middle finger; just like he did in the shower last Saturday night. After six strokes I fire off a hard string of cum in my boxers and almost collapsed with the follow-up spurts as I squeal out a sound I've never made before. Frankie pulls out his hand and put his fingers, covered with my cum, in my mouth and I sucked them clean with a flickering image of Pete doing the same thing to my fingers. When I'm breathing regularly again Frankie put his hands on my shoulders with some subtle pressure downward and I go down on my knees and pull his cargo shorts over his slim hips without even unbuttoning them. Any thoughts of Pete is long gone. Frankie let out a long, "Oooooh" as I pull down his jockey shorts and buried my nose in his crotch licking his belly and stroking his long boner. I lick his balls like a dog, my wet tongue starting way under his scrotum and then continue around and up the front of that long piece of hard meat with laps that move his nuts around in their sac continually. My hands rub up and down his thin, strong, hairless thighs from his crotch to his knees and back slowly, over and over. When those big nuts of Frankie's are dripping with saliva I stop rubbing his legs and use both my hands to push both his fat nuts in my mouth. Oh my God, I just manage to get them in. It gags me at first, but I quickly get used to the lower nut pressing against the gag reflex area in my throat and I work my tongue on the underside of his balls as best I could. Frankie goes, "Aaaaaaaah.... Ohhh!" as I stroke his boner and suck on his balls. His balls tighten-up noticeably in my mouth as I continue to suck and stroke until cum explodes from his nuts up that long pole of Frankie's, first shooting straight up in the air, then gravity takes over and that big load of cum drops right back down landing in my wet hair and splattering on my forehead mixing with the rain on my face. His cum drools down to finally drip, drip, drip off the side of my chin. I struggle to get Frankie's nuts out of my mouth so I can breathe again.
Frankie's holding onto my head with both hands going, "Ah Ah Ah Ah" with each spurt of cum. When his nuts are empty we both plop down to sit on the floor of the truck with our arms around each other. In a minute or so Frankie says, "You went too far again, Oliver." I go, "I know. I'm sorry, but I can't resist you." Frankie sort of pats my wet head like I'm the dog that was lapping his balls couple minutes ago and then, just barely above a whisper, he asks, "What am I going to do, Oliver?" I shake my head slowly from side to side and think to myself, 'What indeed?'.
We'd missed out on each other for almost a whole week so our reunion hadn't lasted very long; we shot off our cum loads quickly, but the sensations we're enormous and the after shock leaves me with a feeling of exhaustion. By the look of Frankie's face, I guess we're both experiencing that feeling. We sit there holding onto each other for a few minutes until I suggest, "How bout we go in the cafe for a Coke?" Frankie said, "Oliver, FYI, you have my cum in your hair and it's also running down your face. Plus, you have a big load of your own cum in your cargo shorts. Perhaps cleaning-up first and then the Coke. Whaddaya say?" We both start giggling about that and it turned into a nice feeling laughing jag reminiscent of Howard and Bart's, so who are we to make a face and smirk at them. I mention that thought to Frankie and this got us laughing and slapping our thighs like the Southern guys did. We're back to our old selves, at least for now. Frankie helps me clean up in the lavatory as best we can, but with my rain-soaked clothes there isn't too much to be done except was the cum out of my hair and wipe it off my face. During our break we more or less just stare at each other, not sure what to say. The rest of the afternoon dragged to a finish and we did our old-time hug goodbye for the weekend. Frankie has already told me he's taking Darleen to a water park on Saturday and to a Pirates baseball game on Sunday, so I don't even think about him and me getting together.
My own self proclaimed girlfriend, Pattie, is a little bit mad at me for not seeing her all week, but she couldn't make too much of a big deal about it because of that drunken throw-up demonstration at the picnic. She doesn't want me bringing that up so I figure I'll take her to the movies Saturday night, but tonight I want to go out with a couple of guys from the swim team. I not sure if Frankie and me are back to last Saturday night's level of intimacy or just back to spit swapping or what, but this afternoon was pretty nice, I know that for sure, but longer range implications are, as always with Frankie, vague. With Frankie I never know what the next day will bring as he's obviously confused about what he should do, but we both knew who he wants; we both want each other. Getting Frankie to accept that fact is another matter all together. He doesn't want to disappoint Darleen or me; hell, Frankie doesn't want to disappoint anybody ever, except he doesn't seem to mind disappointing himself. Well, I'll have all next week to try and help Frankie see the light. Tonight I'm off to attend a bachelor party for the assistant swimming coach of my high school swim team that I was a member of for the last three years, going with the guys from the swim team I mentioned. Tomorrow night Pattie and me to the movies. It all sounds boring when compared to last Saturday night with Frankie.
to be continued...... Chapter 8 (Summer Job Ends)
Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
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