The Boys of Summer

The Boys of Summer 22: Deceptions and Redemptions

This story explicitly depicts young men forming erotic bonds with each other. Generally they are between the ages of 14 to 17, and they "generally" agree that peer relationships are best. However, among this particular group of youths, there are some who consider scoring some hot older fellow a coup, while there are others who remain enchanted by younger lads. These liaisons appear as dangerous edges, and the author has attempted to depict such outlawish trysts in a realistic way. Also, some of the fellows depicted here do other "bad boy" things like experiment with drugs and get in terrible fights. Last, being sexually versatile, as jocks typically are, they occasionally even have sex with girls. Ultimately, many are the spirits of the young who, in these pages, simply say, "Fuck the rules."

There is plenty of raunchy sex in this tale, but if all you are looking for is pure fapping material utterly devoted to some precise specialty, you might want to look elsewhere. In publisher's lingo, this is a "Coming of Age" novel.

Author's Note: I was particularly pleased with how this part of the story came out. We have one of the longer sex scenes in the story coming up; it is so long, I split it across two chapters. This is only the first part.

Deceptions and Redemptions

When they were putting on their shorts, Collin said, "Man, those shorts are so 1985!"

Collin could tell that he had hurt Ricky's feelings even though Ricky hid it well, saying, "That's the point, Collin. It's retro! Besides, baggy clothes are out. Boys showing off their bodies is back! 'Skin,' as they say, 'is in!'"

"'Gay,' as they say, 'is the way,' you sound!"

Ricky laughed. "That was a funny comeback, Collin!"

Getting Ricky off that track, he said, "Remember what I said earlier?"

"About what?"

"About really doing some earning with the babes?"

"Yeah? No."

Collin said, "Well, I thought I did. I mean, when I said that we lacked 'social value' in the way men have it with them?"

"Yeah. OK."

"Well, yesterday, when we were walking back, I saw a shady area with lots of ground water, and there were tiger lilies. Let's pick some flowers!"

Ricky, thankfully, did not use that an opportunity to mess with Collin, instead, Ricky said, "That's a capital idea!"

Collin laughed at Ricky's use of a funny expression. He was always coming up with these from his reading.

They had a little time. The girls had said "one o'clock." They would probably be late, but it would be better if he and Ricky were waiting.

They agreed on that and went up to the place Collin had seen. Ricky knew about it. He suggested that Collin very carefully select the flowers and not take the whole plant, for tiger lilies were rare and special, and, Ricky thought, they might even be a protected species.

Ricky said, "I'm going to pick butter cups. The yellow centers will match Susie's yellow bikini. Also, I'm making a wreath for her hair. You wanna make a necklace? I'll show you how to make a daisy chain!"

Collin laughed. "Dude. You are such a fag!"

Ricky laughed. "I know. Right? But Dude! We will rock their world! By the end of this afternoon, we will be famous."

Collin agreed. "This was a good idea of mine, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I hope they are not late. I don't want the flowers to wilt."

By the time they arrived at the swimming hole, even though they were early, the girls were already there. Collin saw them talking with the other girls. They had definitely hit the girl net!

When they presented their gifts, Collin saw the looks in their eyes. Christine asked, "So whose idea was this?"

"It was Collin's," Ricky said.

"But," Collin added, "I was just going to, you know, make an arrangement. It was Ricky's idea to weave them together."

They wore their flowers the whole time. Susan noted that the buttercups matched her bikini. Collin said, "That's why he picked them."

Ricky went to the diving block and dove in using one of his flashy, show-off dives, spinning and flipping in the air and landing with one of the splashes that was like a bullet shooting into the water with a ploonk.

When he came out, he joined them on the rocks, but he sits very low on them with his feet on a shelf in the water.

Ricky's cousin Jackie wanted to learn that move. Collin listened to his explanation closely. He would never admit how infuriating Ricky could be with his amazing athletic skill. Ricky told her that the way to learn was to first start by learning how to dive backwards, starting by standing in the water, then moving to out of the water but still low, then starting to practice the spin, then moving higher without the spin, then adding the spin back in, until, finally, you were doing it from the high block.

The shit! He had not told Collin any of that! He had just let Collin back flop and get water up his nose!

Ricky could be very competitive sometimes!

But Collin could see he had a soft spot for Jackie. He liked those tomboys, Ricky did. It occurred to Collin then that if he were to actually praise Ricky and ask him humbly, Ricky would probably be happy to teach him some of his diving and swimming tricks too. Collin decided he would consider that. He did not like the idea of yielding his dominant role for a fleeting instant, but, at the same time, a little part of him knew that was weak, and by that, he actually revealed fear.

Ricky had taken Jackie over to the beach. They were standing knee deep for their practice back dives, and they had gathered a crowd of children.

Susan said, "That's just the cutest thing! Look how the children adore him!"

Then Christine said something that shocked, disturbed, and thrilled him. She said, "I was thinking the three of us — just us three — ought to hook up."

Collin had looked at her, surprised. She said to him, before he could say anything, "Isn't that, like, every guy's fantasy?"

As much as Collin liked girls, there was one thing that irritated him sometimes: It was the way they would try and assert their own importance over a guy's friends. He had dumped Susie over that. It was petty and unnecessary of them. Very insecure. They wanted a guy to be all confident while they did not hold themselves to the same standards. It was bullshit.

But before he made that leap into a favored fantasy, he said, "It would really hurt Ricky's feelings, and why would you want to exclude him? I don't get it."

He looked at Susan, who was pointedly looking away. He asked her, "Did you two talk about this?"

Looking at Collin, she said, "Yes. I told her he would feel betrayed, and he has done nothing to deserve that."

Then Christine said, "But she also said that Ricky might agree; I mean, I'm not talking about right now, you know, but soon."

Susan said, "He's more into you that he is us. He likes us, but he loves you."

Collin said, "That's what I'm saying."

Christine added, "I'm sure you could figure out how to get him to agree."

When Ricky came back, all wet, laughing his sunny laugh, Collin felt tortured by guilt.

Collin could see Ricky looking around curiously. The girls were chatty enough, but Collin was feeling subdued. Ricky must have sensed the tension, for he finally said, "Look, I don't know what's going on, but you guys are acting strange. What's going on?"

Collin, before the other two could say anything, said, "You and I need to talk."

Ricky got the message. He shut up for the moment, then he said. "Well, I gotta go move my hides into the sunlight."

They left then and made their way up the road, as they rounded the bend, Collin asked, "Do you really need to move the skins?"

"I do if I want them to dry today, yes. But what's up? Why do I have a bad feeling?"

Keeping his voice tone flat, Collin simply said, "They wanna have a three way with me.".

He could see it Ricky's his face. It was a fleeting instant, but he may as well have punched Ricky in his stomach. Still, it was better to just tell him the truth without excuses.

Ricky covered it well. "And not me. Huh?"

"I told them I would tell you. I told them it would hurt your feelings."

Ricky sighed, "Well, I suppose I should be glad you guys didn't just ditch me and then lie."

"They said that it wouldn't be bad if you agreed."

"So you're asking me to agree? That way they get themselves off the hook and put it on you, on me?"

"If you say, 'No,' I won't do it."

It was the truth.

"But you know I won't say that, huh, Collin?"

"Yes, Ricky. I know you wouldn't say that, and you do want me to have this, don't you?"

Ricky's eyes started to water. He said, "I feel like the kid getting picked last for the team."

Collin was silent. He did not know what to say. In his secret heart, he thought all his worst fears about being gay were proving to be true. It sucked to be gay.

No matter what they say, gays are outcast! All this talk of "tolerance" is a lie!

Collin was genuinely sympathetic. He put a hand on Ricky's shoulder. It was not meant to be a gay move. It was the touch of brothers. He knew Ricky would not misinterpret that.

Ricky pulled himself together. Calmly, he said, "I won't cock block you, Collin. I'm happy for you. I'm sad, but I'm happy. You should do it. You'll have a blast. It's a hot score, man. Do it!"

Feeling devastated and desolated, Ricky did what he always did when grieving. He used work and action to take his mind off it all. He decided he would go hunting. After dressing for the task, he gathered his gear and his rifle. Just as he was walking off, he decided to return to grab a couple cartridges of "shorts." These were slightly less powerful than the usual rounds he used with his 22. But the report was quieter, and for squirrels, they were still quite powerful enough.

He went directly to the meadow with the oaks where he and Collin had hunted. To his surprise, he missed his first shot!

This was what he liked about hunting. To succeed, one must have an empty mind. One had to focus on the outer world, not the inner world. It tuned the senses and stimulated the nerves.

He was glad that his first shot had not put a small animal in painful agony by grazing it. Ricky abhorred causing animals any needless pain. When he killed, he gave them as merciful a death as was within his power.

It had been a bit of a long shot. He had forgotten to account for the slight touch of "drop" the less powerful round had, so he took a few practice shots to "range in."

He calmed himself. He needed a half dozen more squirrels. With that number, there would likely be no more hunting in this area for a few months, for the population would be thinned. Already, he saw the population had shifted to smaller squirrels. They had moved into the vacuum created by harvesting the bigger males. Squirrels were extremely territorial.

However, there would be no murderous rampage, as he had done in his younger years, wiping out the gene pool of whole regions and streams. He had learned to be a conservationist by making the same mistakes that the Native Americans had made in the Paleolithic era.

He thought of Roan. He would ask him about that.

He sat under a tree and emptied his mind. He heard the cry of a hawk, and then another one! Two hawks! Their voices were different. Yes. A mating pair. One had a deeper voice than the other.

He looked up. There, happily chewing a nut on on the branch of a tree was a cute little squirrel, nice and plump. A red squirrel. An invasive species, actually. Imported from China. The natives were gray. He aimed for its neck and blew its head clean off.

It dropped to the ground in two pieces.

Then another came to investigate its dead companion. He shot that one through the heart and lungs. It dropped near its mate.

One time, he had killed a pregnant female. He had carefully dissected her to examine the fetuses. It was extremely interesting, those pea sized babies. He felt bad about that, and after that, he learned to spot when the females were pregnant. It was the same with trout. He always threw the females with eggs back.

He watched. He waited. He heard the chittering of two squirrels have one of their interminable territorial battles. He had seen them knock each other right out of trees on many occasions, landing with loud thumps. Per his observation, they could survive falls of forty feet.

He turned his head. He waited until they were separated and yammering angrily at each other, but sitting still. Without hesitation, he swung his rifle, dropped one, and then, the other quiet then, his little whiskers wiggling, he shot in the head, aiming for the eye.

Ricky ordinarily did not do head shots because he wanted the brains for tanning, but the body of the second had been obscured by leaves, and even a leaf could throw a bullet off.

He then gathered up his four kills and moved to a new spot where he got two more, and then in the last spot, he bagged three. It was enough.

He felt purged.

After loading up his game bag, he sat under the very tree where his little Roan had given him a cute pounding, and he he checked his cell phone for reception. He gave Ryan a call. Fortunately, Ryan was at home reading. Ryan read a lot.

He told him everything, and he bawled his silly head off. As always, Ryan gave him good advice and good knowledge. Ricky learned about the "Kinsey Scale" for the first time. According to this theory and some studies, perfectly homosexual or heterosexual people were actually rare. Of course, with Ryan, nothing was certain. He said that many of Kinsey's findings were disputed and other studies suggested many further gradations, but Ricky was satisfied to learn that he was not "weird." He was normal, and so was Collin. It was "no big deal."

Back at the cabin, meaning to look up more information on the internet, he found his father and Patrick were back. They had gone to the lake, rented a boat, and gone fishing. Patrick had actually hooked a large brown trout, but his dad had reeled it in. His brother was very pleased with himself and beamed in the light of Ricky's praise.

He skinned and cleaned the game. Pat even came out to watch, asking questions. He wanted to learn. He wanted to help. Ricky taught him some things, even giving him the great honor of letting him use his skinning knife. Ricky was done before sundown.

"You want to come fish in the river with me, Pat?"

"Um, my fishing rod is broken."

"How broken?"

"The line is all tangled up."

This was a constant problem with his brother. The kid was always breaking stuff, but he would rarely attempt to fix anything. Ricky debated about helping him with that. He had a look at his pole. Yes, the line was a snarled tangle, but there was so little left on the reel that it was time for new line, and Ricky was losing time. The fish would be biting.

"Tell you what, Pat, I'll put some fresh line on the spool tomorrow. But I gotta go fish now."

"Can I come? I won't scare them. I'll stay behind you. I could hunt for bait in the river!"

That last was a useful service. There were various larvae in the river that clung to rocks or hid under them, and Pat was the master of finding them. "That would be great, dude! Sure! I was gonna drop in under the bridge and fish up. OK?"

"Let me get my bait can!"

Patrick, like most of the river kids, had no fear of wading in the rough water. He would seek the shallows while Ricky worked the eddies behind the bigger rocks where the bigger fish lay.

Despite himself, Ricky wanted to spy on Collin and the women. He had chosen the stretch of water just upstream from the bridge, across from which lay the Hanson cabin, with this in mind. Once they arrived at the bridge, he saw the cabin was lit up. He could see several people moving downstairs. He could hear music and laughter.

They were having a party, a party to which he was emphatically not invited.

They could have invited him in. They could have just asked him if he'd mind playing piano while they fooled around upstairs. There were a hundred ways they could have played it other than the way they did.

Fuck them!

He hurried ahead of Patrick and plunged into the river, hiding his face so Patrick could not see his tears.

The river was beautiful.

It soothed him.

Soon, he was zipping trout from the water, catching one for just about every three casts.

Patrick, to the side by the bank behind him, easily kept up, for he would climb out and dash along the path then drop in when he thought he found a good spot.

They worked their way back up to the swimming hole that way. Ricky had five fish, and Patrick had a bait can full of critters. Ricky suggested that he anchor the bait can in the shallows at the end of the swimming hole. That way, the bait would be alive tomorrow, and Pat could use it to catch a bunch of fish with his newly fixed up pole.

They cleaned Ricky's fish at the swimming hole then. Patrick wanted to try to do it, so Ricky let him have a fish to clean. He did it safely and well with Ricky's razor sharp little trout cleaning knife.

"Looks good Pat! I see Dad's been teaching you!"

"Yep!" Patrick beamed.

He was, Ricky had to admit, a cute boy.

Back home, their dad had already eaten, so Ricky fixed up Patrick with a plate of sautéed trout, the skins crispy, the meat just cooked through. He had Patrick make a potato chip dip using a packaged mix.

Their father was kicked back in the living room with his feet on the coffee table, flicking through the television channels in that way of his, refusing, ever, to watch commercials. In this way, he would watch four or five shows at a time.

Ricky only watched television to be social. On his own, he never did.

Patrick even pleased Ricky with his table manners. He held the fish daintily and took small, careful bites rather than his old style of mouthfuls so large the food would literally fall out of his mouth. He took his time; again, as compared to wolfing the food down. He would have to ask his dad how he persuaded Patrick to so vastly improve his table manners in a matter of days!

Astonishing! I have a little brother who I actually enjoy!

Patrick noticed him watching. He looked up, worried no doubt that Ricky would abuse him for his eating habits. He could see the self-conscious look on his face, but Ricky just said, "The fish is good, huh?"

"Perfecht!" Patrick said, with his mouth full of visibly chewed mush.

He still needed work. But progress was progress.

While he did the dishes, Patrick joined their father on the couch to watch television and eat the chips and dip.

When he went into the living room, he saw Patrick snuggled up next to Dad, and his father had an arm around him. Patrick was almost impervious to physical affection. He actually did not liked to be touched, ever. It was an amazing transformation.

He told his dad, "I'm gonna shower and then go play guitar in my gazebo, OK?"

His dad nodded, "Sure, Ricky, but, ah, weren't you planning on going out tonight?"

"I got ditched. It's a long story."

They looked at each other, Ricky sad, his dad sympathetic. His dad told him, "Patty's going to stay inside with me tonight."

"I get to sleep on the couch!" Patrick announced, evidently regarding that as a special treat. He added, "That's were Dad slept last night!"

Ricky shook his head. The kid was clueless.

He and his dad grinned together at the shared joke.

The Wolf Boy

After showering again, for Ricky was prone to many showers a day, he walked to his gazebo wearing only a towel and his sandals. He put on his big, sleeping boxers and his big t-shirt, fired up his laptop, studied up on Kinsey and other researchers using links Ryan had emailed him. Then he brought up some of the music he had been studying. He played guitar for an hour or so, then slid into his sleeping bag, put on his headphones, and listened to his favorite Rachmaninoff followed by the ultimate in world bending music — his beloved Beethoven.

He had read that as a boy, Beethoven had an unhappy home. He would sneak off into the woods and listen to the sounds of nature, and these sounds always thereafter inspired his music. Ricky could relate.

As always, the music took him, far, far away. But the moment the piece was over, he snapped back to brutal reality: Sometimes it just sucked to be gay.

He thought about jerking off, but he didn't. He would only think of Collin. Restless, he considered seeing if Josh was down for a v-chat, but Josh would see his turmoil and ask too many questions.

It was too warm of a night. Ricky, after sweatily tossing and turning, kicked off his covers.

He got out of his bag and checked all the mosquito netting. He sat on Collin's sleeping bag. He leaned over and smelled his pillow. He could smell Collin's hair on it. He sat down cross legged on his bag. He held his head in his hands. He cried again.

He just had to let it out. He'd feel better in the morning. Collin would be nice to him. He'd feel sorry for him.

This made Ricky cry more.

He did not want anyone to feel sorry for him.

Finally, he took a shuddering sigh. He decided he would go down to the river. He knew he would not sleep. He would sit in the moonlight and play guitar. The river was his faithful friend. He would not be alone.

He was also irritated that Diane's family had left their damn back porch light on again, ruining any chance of getting night vision in his gazebo, and therefore blocking any view of the stars, the bats, and the owls. One time, he had taken his air rifle and shot it out, but he wouldn't do that. There would be another "investigation," but he was done lying. That was then. This was now. He would go to the river.

He decided to lower the shades on that side of his gazebo before going to the river. But when he stood up in the doorway to do that, he had an eerie feeling of being watched. Once again he was pissed about the light. He had looked right at it and was thus blinded, but he caught a scent...

It was a human scent... Perfume?

He looked around, seeing no one. He listened. Nothing.

There it was, that smell!

Tentatively, he called out, "Who is there?"

No one answered.

He shielded his his eyes from glare of the porch light with a forearm and stepped down from his gazebo, seeking deeper dark, not wishing to be exposed.

Casting his mind's eye toward the presence he felt, and standing then in the shadow of a tree, he looked into the darkest place, and there, he saw a shadow within a shadow.

He could recognize that outline from a half mile away.

Collin!

Collin?

To him, knowing he was listening and watching, Ricky said, "I didn't hear you come up."

"I was quiet," Collin said.

Collin could be amazingly stealthy.

Ricky did not know what to say. Lamely, he said, "I was thinking of going down to the river and playing guitar."

"In your underwear?"

Collin had made no move to move forward. He was just standing there.

"No. I was going to put clothes on."

Their voices are having one conversation, but their souls are having another.

"I left them," Collin says.

"You left them?" Ricky asks.

"Yes. I left them with each other," Collin answers.

"Why?"

"You know why," Collin says, moving forward in his light footed way.

"No, Collin, I do not."

"Yes, Ricky, you do."

Collin places his hands on Ricky's waist. He has to look up slightly. His face is impassive. Like a classical statue, his thoughts are his own; the viewer is not included.

"Tell me, Collin. I cannot read you right now."

"I think you can."

Yes. Collin is radiating heat. He wants Ricky. He is going to have him.

He looks elegant, Collin does.

For the occasion of his first ménage à trois, he had worn his most splendid finery. Ricky had told him to be sure to pack something for special occasions. He had on some crisply pleated charcoal slacks and black, polished, pointed boots. They looked like cowboy boots, but they were short and light. His shirt was silver gray and shiny, with subtle embroidery on the collar, and Collin had on a black leather string tie with a silver and turquoise piece at the throat. He was brilliant in the dark. His very presence glittered.

Collin could put the style on when it suited him.

"Oh, Collin. I love you so much," is all Ricky can say, the grief of his loneliness burns away as he stands in the light of Collin's fire.

"That's my girl," Collin agrees.

From Collin, it feels like praise.

"Talk to me, man. You know how girls are. We need the details."

"Let's go inside. You can undress me, and I'll tell you about it."

"Yes."

Collin takes Ricky's hand, and hand in hand they go in. Ricky feels like he is in a dream. He is disassociated. He is outside himself. He watches himself lower the canvas screens on the side of the gazebo where the porch light is shining. He sees Collin sit down on his sleeping bag covered bench. He stretches out his legs and crosses his ankles. He leans back on a straight arm. The pose raises one shoulder and tips his head.

He looks at Ricky's body up and down.

He says, "You really are very pretty, Ricky. You are a 'pretty boy.'"

"Should I say, 'thank you?' Collin? The way you say it sounds strange to me."

"You should say, 'Thank you.'"

"Thank you, Collin. You are truly one of the most beautiful youths in the world."

"'One of the most?'"

Ricky has finished lowering the shades. They are in deeper darkness. There is still some dim light from the two cabins on either side, but these are hundreds of feet away. "Don't be vain, Collin. In Latin, 'vain' means 'empty.' Don't be so empty that you must always be filled by constant assurances and superlatives. Girls like confident men, and so do I."

"Thank you for the lesson in manners and Latin, Ricky. Take off your shirt and underwear. I want you naked when you undress me."

Ricky, standing in the middle of the gazebo, one of his legs barely touching one of Collin's outstretched legs, pulls off his big t-shirt and tosses it to bench to the side and opposite the door of the octagonal structure. He drops off of his long, baggy, sheer, basketball shorts and casts those to the same pile. He stands nude before Collin.

As though seeing himself from a distance, he takes a one-legged pose, a fist on a hip, the other hand idly tapping the thigh of his unweighted leg.

Collin looks him up and down, slowly. "Your big dick is not hard, Ricky. I thought you'd be hard by now."

"Do I have a big dick, Collin?"

"I'd say seven inches counts as 'big.' Now, start undressing me, and I will tell you about my day. Also, you have my permission to lavish me with praise, for I am feeling 'empty.'"

"Yes, Collin," Ricky says as he kneels demurely at Collin's feet, his thighs close together and his back straight. Ricky faces the door, and Collin's legs stretch out in front of him. He is hypnotized by Collin's eloquent formality. Collin does have a way with words when he wishes.

"You look spectacular in your outfit. The string tie was a particularly elegant touch. The turquoise complements your amber eyes, and the way it harmonized with these short, faux cowboy boots was inspiration."

Ricky has lifted up one of Collin's legs and lays it across his naked thighs to reach the zipper on the side of the boot. The warm contact with Collin's thigh is electrifying, and Ricky feels his penis respond. He runs a hand up Collin's calf as he takes off the boot.

Collin sighs. He has a lot of tautness in him. Ricky feels the energy being transferred to him, and there, it dissipates, making the little hairs all over Ricky's body stand up.

Collin says, "I saw you on the bridge, Ricky, with Patrick, looking at the Hanson cabin. Did you see me in the living room?"

"No," Ricky says as tosses the boot to Collin's zone, the far end where he kept his clothes. He slips off Collin's sheer sock, saying, "I only saw that there were a lot of people, and I heard music."

"You should have been there, Ricky. It would have been better." Collin moves his leg and crosses the other one over so Ricky could work on that foot.

Ricky feels it was pointless to explain to Collin how he had been feeling so sad to be excluded. As he removes his other boot, he tells him, "You have nicely shaped feet. Your toes are so cute! I like the way you trim the nails."

Collin then lifts both feet up so Ricky could massage them. To do this, Ricky turns to face Collin, and Collin slides further down the bench. This way, both of Collin's feet were on Ricky's thighs with Ricky's stiff cock rising between them. Ricky gives each foot a deep massage, using his strong, piano trained fingers to press firmly and deeply. Occasionally, he lifts a foot and presses it into his chest, staring into Collin's eyes while Collin stares implacably back.

"That feels great, Ricky. Yes. You may keep doing that." Collin leans back on straight arms and tips back his head. He rolls it from side to side. Ricky likes that move of his. It is one of his workout stretches. It makes his Adam's apple prominent.

"So what was with all the people there, Colin? A party?"

Collin lifts his head and looks at Ricky again. His tone is derisive. "Hardly. One of the Hanson twins showed up with a buddy, and they had their bimbo, party-girl friends. Same age as us, almost — the girls — and dumb as boxes of rocks. Christine did not want them to know about the triplet we were planning, and they were looking to use the rooms, but the thing is, Christine and Susan had the cabin reserved until tomorrow, so they totally crashed the place. But Jacob was all, 'It's my cabin. I can do what I want!'"

"He's a twat. His twin, Samuel, is cool though. He used to take me fishing when I was small."

Ricky's eyes are adjusted to the dark. He can see Collin clearly. He smiles at Ricky. It is his first smile of the night. "Well," he said, "it was awkward. Jacob's buddy — I forget his fucking name — actually kept calling me 'the jailbait.' How fucking about that?"

Ricky has moved Collin's feet together as he worked on his ankles. His dick is coming up under, just grazing them. Collin chuckles darkly and reaches down to undo his belt buckle. As he slides his belt out, he says, "Well, anyway, it turns out that Jacob, What's-his-face, and Bimbos One and Two were planning on their own little orgy, but it took like, four fucking hours before they and the girls could finally say, 'I won't tell if you won't tell!' By that time, they were all drunk off their asses. Except me. You know I don't like drugs."

Ricky knows. Collin also includes alcohol as a "drug." It is, of course, but not in common usage. His Collin is extremely pure that way.

"I almost left, Ricky, but Christine stopped me." He flips his feet off of Ricky then and spreads his legs so Ricky can raise himself up between them. When Ricky reaches up to slide down the turquoise clasp of his string tie, he says, "No. Let me do that. You can unbutton my shirt."

While Ricky is unbuttoning Collin's shirt, Collin removes his string tie. He surprises Ricky when he puts it on him and cinched it up a little. He smiles again. "There. Now you are my property. You look even more naked now."

Ricky becomes even more aroused. With Collin's shirt unbuttoned partway, he is able to reach under it and massage Collin's strong and shapely chest muscles beneath the tight tank top he wore as an undershirt. "You have the finest shape to your pects, Collin. Really spectacular!"

"Thank you, Ricky. I work on those. Too bad there's no weight set here."

"Yeah," Ricky agrees, "But swimming laps is great cross training."

"Yeah," Collin agrees.

Ricky's fingers play with Collin's rippling belly muscles then. "I love your belly, Collin. You really are splendid, man, just gorgeous."

"You really like to touch, don't you, Ricky?" He pets Ricky's long hair. His touch is sweet and gentle.

"Yes, I have been longing to touch you like this ever since I met you."

"Well now you can. You have my permission." Collin's hands are on Ricky's shoulders then.

"So what happened Collin?" Ricky asks as he undoes the clasp of Collin's slacks.

Collin leans back and stretches out his legs, scooting his bottom forward a bit so that the zipper would lay flat. In this way Ricky can unzip it. As Ricky undoes the last buttons of Collin's shirt, he explains, "So they all ended up in the big bedroom, and we ended up in the Susan's room. Finally!"

Ricky sighs as he slides a hand into Collin's pants and softly fondles Collin's hefty balls and slightly thickened cock, "You're tormenting me, you know."

"You do not seem too terribly tormented right now, Ricky."

Ricky titters at that. "No. I am pretty happy right now."

"You can stop that, Ricky. I want you to take my pants off. Then you can play with my dick."

Collin lifts his rump to assist Ricky in this process, but when Ricky makes to fold Collin's slacks, Collin takes them from him and does that himself. Collin, like Ricky, is fond of his clothes and had certain ways of handling them. Ricky understands. He watches how Collin do it, fact, so he will know for next time.

If there is a next time!

Collin is then in his white briefs and white tank top. Not cheap briefs, but fashion underwear, tight, and cut high in the leg. His tank top also is tight, and clings to his trim, muscular torso.

Ricky scoots forward to slide his hands along the top of Collin's well-shaped thighs. Collin does not merely "work out." He has studied the techniques of body building and uses exercise calculated to make nice shapes. It was he who introduced Ricky to what is a higher level of knowledge and skill than mere strength training.

As Ricky pets Collin's thighs, Collin carries on, "You know I have a mean streak, right? I mean, you should know, if anyone knows, but I'm not like you. You just explode, but I am a cold-blooded guy. I know it. And those chicks pissed me off, the way they prick-teased me all goddamned day! And then the little, er, condescending remarks about being young!

"So I decided I was going to play them."

Ricky is enjoying hearing Collin confess about his nature. He scoots even deeper between Collin's legs and rubs a cheek on one of Collin's downy thighs. He has the faint whiff of piss on his underwear. Not quite clean. He has, after all, been wearing the same pair all day. Ricky is fine with that. He reaches up and pets Collin's man meat. He is getting stiff.

They are taking their time. It is understood.

Collin is again toying with Ricky's long hair. He comments, "You should cut your hair, Ricky. It's getting a bit lanky. You look better with it about an inch shorter. Then it's more fluffy, like a young lion."

This is a new version of Collin.

Ricky likes this Collin very much.

"I will do that, Collin, and thank you, but the girls?"

Ricky is starting to writhe with the excitement of Collin's warm legs upon him as he is between them, feeling of Collin's thickening prick and big, heavy balls. He has to flip his dick up then to trace his fingers delicately along the big vein, the urethra, of the underside. His other arm wraps around one of Collin's calves, and he squeezes the Achille's tendon above Collin's heel.

Collin does not answer Ricky's question. His rising lust speaks first, "Oh, Ricky!" he heckles. "I'm gonna fuck you good tonight!"

Ricky laughs happily. He squeezes Collin's cock; it is almost fully hard. He says nothing. He knows that Collin is going to use him many ways that night. He knew that the moment he saw Collin in the dark.

They have all night.

Ricky moves a bit more so he can nuzzle Collin's gens in his sexy underwear. He rubs his nose on his balls, drinking in the scent of hot, sweaty, guy. Collin does not smell like a boy. He smells like a man. Ricky loves that.

Ricky does not even try to suppress his giggles. He wiggles around and hugs Collin's thighs. He reaches up to fiddle with the hem of his underwear at the side of his hard hip. He slides his fingers up under to feel the pit of the joint better.

Collin is letting Ricky touch him anywhere he wanted. And Collin, in his version of mutual reciprocity, rubs the back of Ricky's neck affectionately.

He is chuckling then at Ricky's silly, girly noises. He says, "So you want to hear what happened or do you want to get raped?"

"I want to hear what happened, and you can't rape the willing."

Ricky no longer considered Collin a straight boy who was taking a walk on the wild side.

Collin had not changed. Ricky knew that then. It was Ricky who had changed. He had transformed into the one guy Collin could trust. Finally, Ricky felt he understood his friend. Collin had a gate he lived behind. In that garden, Collin knew the truth about himself. But the world only saw what Collin let them see — the wall around it. Collin had had opened the gate for Ricky.

Him, and only him.

Questions? Comments? Critiques? Don't be shy. Let me know. All feedback is useful. Your letters have been helpful and encouraging. Heck, I'll even write you back. I like to do that.

Cheers, Dorian
(dorianswift@tutanota.com)

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