Waiting for a Miracle

WAITING FOR A MIRACLE

by Donny Mumford

Chapter 19 'No Problem'

Because Mickey's dick is sore from our twenty-minute double-fuck this afternoon, we're doing only oral sex tonight. His dad is out with his lady friend somewhere, so the coast is clear for hanky-panky in Mickey's bedroom. One-minutes after walking into the bedroom I've got his cock in my mouth, but a problem soon pops up. Tonight, for whatever reason, I can't take his six-plus-inch boner in my throat. That's weird 'cause yesterday, Wednesday, I did it the first time we ever tried it, but now I can't. Mickey 'came' in my mouth anyhow, so...

Wiping a dab of his semen off my chin, I'm like, "Bummer I couldn't do it," and he goes, "Well, fuck, I felt you tightened up your throat muscles and you bit my dick at one point." I go, "I didn't bite it!" Mickey's disappointed as he mutters, "It felt like a bite, and to be honest, I don't think you tried very hard to, ya know, let my boner slide down your throat. And, jeez, all your gagging sounds were disturbing. Not sexy at all..." Shrugging, I mutter, "I tried," and he goes, "Well, try harder," and he smiles, rubbing my head, adding, "You got me 'off' good anyway, babe."

I feel bad about disappointing Mickey, but his cock seems bigger tonight or something. And then, when we try doing it later it's the same result. I was gaging like mad, pushing him away. This time Mickey doesn't even get 'off'. We're both holding our arms out like, 'what the fuck is going on here?' Later on, our third attempt at deep-throating fails too, although Mickey had a pretty good time 'cumming' in my mouth again.

So, ya know, I glad that at least Mickey got 'off' twice so far tonight. I'm swishing my tongue around trying to figure out what his semen tastes like as he's wiping his dick with a damp washcloth he had me get for him from the hall bathroom. He hands me the washcloth when he's done with it, and says, "Seriously, I don't understand how you can be so good the first time we tried, Burke, and now you can't do it at all. And why are you gaging so much tonight? You're gagging as though I'm strangling you." Shrugging, I toss the washcloth in the hamper and mutter, "I don't know what's up with your cock. It's bigger tonight, but what are you complaining about? Christ, you managed to shoot off two big 'loads' in my mouth."

He makes a face at me as I'm getting on the bed to sit next to him. Mickey against the bed's headboard on top of the covers, pulling his pants up. I snuggle against him murmuring, "Don't be mad," and he squeezes me, mumbling, "I'm not mad." Oh jeez, he turns me on!

To keep from fawning all over him, instead, I ask, "Did you have a lot of onions for dinner tonight?" He frowns, "Onions? Why?" I go, "Um, I think I detected an onion flavor in your cum, that's what." His eyes open wide as he exclaims, "Holy shit, seriously? Well, yeah, the first thing we had for dinner tonight was onion soup! My dad makes fantastic French onion soup with French bread and there's Swiss cheese baked on top. You tasted that, huh?" I nod, 'smacking' my lips, muttering, "Uh-huh, although I'm not saying it tasted especially good. I prefer your flavorless cum."

He snorts out a laugh and then reaches over to poke between my legs where my firm cock is still creating a small tent in my shorts, saying, "And how the hell you get a hard-on from sucking me off I can't even imagine. That amazes me." Shrugging, I go, "Why are you amazed? I get super-sexually aroused sucking your cock. I like doing that a LOT! Deep-throating ain't working tonight, but I enjoyed sucking you off anyway. And, hey, why do you insist we keep trying deep-throating if you have a sore dick."

He goes, "Um, no, I mean, no, it's not too sore for that. I still wanna know how come the first time we tried deep-throating it was no problem, but now..." I interrupt, saying, "You haven't blown me once tonight, nevermind me deep-throating you! I've blown you three times!" He mutters, "Oh, um, yeah, but we're working on your deep-throating skills. And, you like sucking my cock so much I didn't want to get in your way."

I mumble, "Bullshit! You don't wanna blow me, do you?" He shrugs, muttering, "No, I guess I don't. And, I know it's not fair that I can't 'bottom' plus I don't like blowing you either. I'm embarrassed about that, and sorry too." Looking at him, I mumble, "Ya know what we got going here? Together, the two of us, we got ourselves a one-way sex life... a one-way street. That's you, mister-one-way-street." He makes a 'face' mumbling, "Fuck, I already said I feel terrible about that, but I'm doing all the 'guy' stuff. Doing it all damn well too."

Making a 'face,' I mutter, "Yeah, you are, so I won't rub it in that you're mister-one-way-street, just saying." He says, "Can't we just accept that I can't do those things? I mean, we both know I'm physically unable to do the 'bottom' part, and you're great at that, plus you love having my cock in your mouth, so what's the problem? We need to accept that it's just the way it is and concentrate on enjoying the parts we're good at. I'll be the 'guy,' and you be the gri... um, the 'other,' um, person. I mean, you love the way I fuck you, and you can't get enough of sucking my dick. Am I right?"

I'm staring at him, and he goes, "What? Why are you staring at me? Don't you agree I do all the 'guy' stuff great?" I go, "Yeah, I agree with that, but..." and he jumps in with, "So, I'll continue doing it like I've been doing everything right along. I'll probably get better at it too 'cause doing it as frequently as we do, I'm bound to get even better. And, hell, you've already complimented me a hundred times about how good I fuck you now, and, of course, you can suck my dick whenever you want. I'll always oblige you there." I ask, "You mean, this is it? This will be our sex life forever?"

Mickey's shrugging and looking away until, after a few seconds, he's like, "Well, um, yeah! Just accept it, baby. What's wrong with that? We're a team, and we're both good at different parts of the, um, whole sex thing, or..." I look at him funny, and he goes, "Well, Goddammit, millions of couples have the 'top' person doing the fucking, which is the guy part, and the, um, other person doing the, um, the other part, plus the bottom person usually does the sucking. Lots of couples do it like that. Almost all couples, as a matter of fact."

I mutter, "Men and women couples, you mean?" He goes, "Well, them too, but what difference does it make. Gay couples are almost the same... there's the 'husband' and the 'wife' in gay couples. I mean, nowadays that's how it mostly works anyhow. It wasn't always that way but most gay, ya know, married gay couples are doing the husband and wife 'thing' in our modern society, so why not you and me?"

Looking at him, looking right in his eyes, I go, "We're not married," and he goes, "We probably will be," and I say, "So, after everything you've said, the bottom line is you're saying you don't want to blow me, correct?" He goes, "No, that's not exactly what I said. It's not that I don't want to blow you. I mean, not because it's you, per se. It's simply that, for me, doing oral sex is not sexy, it's, um, well, yucky, not pleasurable; that's all I'm saying. I'll do it, but I want you to know it's a struggle and not, um, a sexy thing for me to do... that's all." Huh, I don't know what to say to that.

Mickey rubs my shoulder and murmurs, "I'm sorry, Mattie, but we promised we'd always be honest with each other, and that's how I honestly feel. And now I've told you and I feel better for it. On the other hand, there's nothing on this earth I like more, or nearly as much as having sex with you, um, when I'm doing the 'guy's' parts." I snap-out and shout, "Will you please stop referring to it as the 'guy's part'! I'm a guy too, remember? For fuck sake, I'm doing gay guy stuff, and you're doing gay guy stuff! We both are, right?"

Okay, now I see Mickey's 'hurt' expression. I've hurt his feelings, and now neither of us knows what to say. I wish I hadn't snapped at him like that, so, after a minute of silence, I break the silence, saying softly, "Actually, you and me being honest is what we promised always to do, you're right about that, and I appreciate that you're honest. Um, and even though you have this debilitating sexual handicap of not being able to 'bottom', plus an aversion to doing oral sex, I still love you."

He leans against my side, murmuring, "Thank you, Burke. You've always been kind to the disabled; first, Tommy Singleterry, and now me." I try not to chuckle, muttering, "Not precisely the exact same thing, but..." and then I can't stop myself from snorting out a laugh, mumbling, "You and Tommy Singleterry, yes, to varying degrees, are my two major good deeds of a lifetime." MIckey shrugs, murmuring, "I feel bad about this, but it's good we're in agreement."

We have another two minutes of silence, and then Mickey goes, "You were kinda joking a minute ago, but, um, I want to be sure you're honestly okay with everything? Is it okay if I just do the gu', um, I mean the 'topping' and you do the, um, blowing and 'bottom' part?" I mutter, "Since you put it so elegantly, I guess I'll have to say it's okay." He puts a finger on my chin, pulling my head around face to face with him; then, grinning he mutters, "You can't resist me, can you?" Snorting out another laugh, I go, "Apparently not."

Looking serious now, he adds, "You're the nicest person I've ever known, seriously; no joking. Thanks, Mattie." Shrugging, I mutter, "Yeah, well, I can't help but notice, um... well, you stick up for yourself very admirably, doncha think? Some people, not me certainly, but some people might think you're just a tad selfish too." He goes, "Not you, though, right? You don't think that." I go, "Noo! Not me."

Mickey doesn't 'look' as elated that he's going to have his 'way' again as he probably is. He says with a 'straight' face, "Just so you know, I still feel bad about all this, I really do. I hope you know how much I wish I could do it all for you. It's just that I can't make my ass obey, or lie to myself that I like doing oral sex." After a noisy sigh, I mutter, "I believe we've covered this topic in-depth already."

Thinking about that for a second, he says, "Well, won't you help me feel less guilty about it?" I go, "No, I don't think I will, but keeping with our theme of being honest with one another, there might be a time, assuming I ever get the right opportunity, that I may stray off the reservation and 'top' some cute willing gay fellow so that I can experience that at least once." He says, "And it will serve me right if you do that, but don't tell me about it, and make damn sure I don't catch you." I mutter, "Yeah, well, that goes without saying."

Another few minutes of silence, and then Mickey says, "Um, help me out here, Burke. Ah, how are we going to get past this awkward moment, one that I confess is my fault? Get past it so that we can be best buds and lovers again. Best friends and lovers who have fun together and laugh at dumb shit and love everything about each other?" I look at him, saying, "Well, let me start by saying that since we'll never be talking about your handicaps again, and, therefore, it'll be as though those handicaps you have don't exist, I can honestly say I love every single thing about you. You're my man, my best friend, and my lover."

He goes, "Hmm. Okay, that was actually an excellent start for getting past the awkwardness of our few minutes of discord. And, there are no qualifiers necessary at all when I say, minus your childish behavior at times, there isn't a single thing about you that isn't near perfection." I go, "Well, minus that qualifier, the one you said you weren't going to mention, but did, it's very sweet of you to say all that and, so, to show you what a good guy I am, I'm not gonna say shit about you being too bossy." He laughs and then says, "I'm just the tiniest bit bossy because I'm our friggin' leader!" I go, "I know, and that's why I didn't mention you being an overly-bossy leader."

We continue in this manner, being smart-asses back and forth, but we're chuckling too and having fun again. Then, alleged sore dick and all, Mickey fucks me. We use Vaseline as a lubricant because I didn't remember to bring a condom. For something different, I'm sitting up at the bed's headboard, slouched down with a pillow underneath me, so my ass is up high enough for Mickey to get his boner in. My legs are bent at the knees, spread wide apart with Mickey in front of me. He has his knees and lower legs spread back flat on the bed, his crotch just off the bed with him holding onto my shoulders for balance.

When he gets his cock in all the way, we start snickering at our tenuous position. Then, Mickey humps against my buttocks, and asks, "How am I doing Burke?" I chuckle, "Good, so far. I can't believe you're pulling this off." He nods, looks down and mumbles, "Ya better hold your 'junk' up, so I don't squish it when I start humping." My fingers press my cock and balls up against my belly and I snort out a laugh.

Mickey smirks and murmurs, "Here we go," and his hips start moving back and forth, pushing and pulling his fine boner in my ass. If he weren't this limber due to his dance lessons, he wouldn't be able to move his hips like he's doing. Smooth, steady thrusting as his boner gets harder and fatter with each trip back and forth in my tight rectum. Oh, man, it's feeling deliciously sexy too!

Continuing to hold my cock and balls out of the danger zone, my other hand holds onto Mickey's side. He tightens his grips on my shoulders and lets his hips do the work, driving that piston-like hard cock faster. It's a spectacular fuck with new sensations buzzing from my rectum, and then our mouths meet, and pleasure soars through my entire body. It's almost as if we're one organism fucking itself.

After three or four minutes of exquisite fucking, we cum at the same time. His engorged cock shoots warm creamy semen inside my bowels and my steel boner shoots semen straight up between Mickey and me. Some of it landing on his shoulder, and some cum spray hits under my chin. We're both gasping and hugging, and then kissing as we shudder from the after-effects of our climaxes.

When our mouths part, I murmur, "You're magical, Mickey. That was A-plus-plus sex right there." Still clutching each other, his cock in my ass, Mickey murmurs, "I disappointed you in a couple of ways today, but I'll never disappoint you when I'm doing this." I nod and he mumbles, "When I'm fucking you, I feel like a rock star, babe... like I'm special."

He was emotional saying that, so I lighten the mood, saying, "And, with a sore penis no less." He grunts out a chuckle, murmuring, 'Yeah, with a sore dick." We let go of one another, and Mickey slowly pulls his cock out of me as I go, "Ssssss," sucking in air through my clenched teeth because his cock feels good coming out.

Sitting next to me, Mickey says, "I should have tissues next to the bed, but I don't," and he wipes at the cum on his shoulder. Grinning, I reach over with a finger and spread the cum from his shoulder to his neck, so in retaliation, he wipes cum off his fingers on my chest. I smile, yelling, "The nerve!" We wrestle, rolling on the bed enjoying the bodily contact. It surprises me again that Mickey is stronger than me when we wrestle. It's close, but even though I'm bigger, he has wicked strong legs, probably from his dance lessons, and he gets me in killer wrestling 'holds.' I yell, "Alright, you win, I give up!" He relaxes his leg muscles, and we lie sprawled out on his bed.

Crawling over to me, he pulls my head onto his stomach, and says, "I can easily beat you up whenever I want 'cause I'm the guy, but now I'll show you my gentle side, little brother," and he gently rubs my cheeks and then his fingers go back through my short hair getting it to stand up on my head. He goes, "Hey, I like this look for you. Your hair standing up like this. Hmm, maybe I'll make you get a military haircut next time. I'll take you to the barbers and tell him or her how I want your hair cut."

Ignoring that lunacy, I'm looking up into his beautiful, albeit strange eyes--big black pupils with the thin iris rims of dark blue. And, I just noticed his fine, longish, curved eyelashes. They're like Bobby's, sort of the type eyelashes a girl would love to have naturally.

Mickey says, "Ya know what? I feel a certain responsibility to take care of you, and I'm going to. Like, when you get sick with the flu, or whatever illness you contract this winter, I'm going to do the best nursing care for you. I'll be feeding you soup and then feeling your forehead to see if you have a fever, and making sure you take your medicines and I'll give you sponge baths. I'm going to do all that kinda shit. Oh, and for taking your temperature, I think I'll buy one of those anal thermometers."

I'm grinning up at him, muttering, "I can hardly wait until I'm sick." He says, "Of course, it won't matter which one of us gets the flu 'cause we'll both soon have it. We like kissing one another too much to let the flu interfere." I go, "Kiss me, nurse." Mickey leans down, and we kiss on the lips. I go, "Mmmm, lips like sugar... candy kisses."

I get a brainstorm, and all of a sudden decide I need a picture of Mickey on my phone. He smiles, "Oh, okay," and he gets off the bed to comb his hair and put on a shirt. I take a pix of him from the chest up, and then we look at it. I'm like, "What the fuck? Bossy, ya gotta do your smile." He goes, "Oh, I was trying to look cool." Giving him a 'look,' I go, "Don't do that. Smile this time." Deleting that one, I take another picture, and he looks good! I'm like, "Put your sunglasses on," and when he does, I take another picture. I put on a t-shirt and comb my hair for a selfie with both of us in it. Mickey wants my picture now, so we do it all over again with his phone.

We're acting goofy while looking and commenting at the pictures, and, yeah, we're over that bump in the road we stumbled on a little while ago. We're good. Yeah, I'm good with being the 'other' guy while Mickey is THE GUY in our relationship, our love affair. He's the guy during sex, and other things too, I guess. Why not, ya know?

Mickey's a good, honest leader for me. As an example, it couldn't have been easy for him admitting he's a failure at some aspects of the sex we have. And he is a 'star' with the sex he's good at, and he has excellent equipment too. Of the three guys I've been fucked by, Mickey has the best penis for anal sex, and by a fairly wide margin too. He'll keep me happy, but someday I might have the opportunity to experience 'topping.' Oh, sure, I'll feel guilty about cheating on Mickey, but just the same, someday...

We clean ourselves in the bathroom, and then I help Mickey straighten up the covers on his bed. His bedroom used to be sloppy, but after I commented on that once, he's been keeping his bedroom as neat as mine. It's getting late, so a little later, we do a serious lover's kiss 'goodnight' inside the front door, and then Mickey says, "Thanks, Burke. Thanks for being understanding about everything. See you tomorrow."

Driving home, I'm thinking that this has turned out to be a very good Thursday. I think it's mature of us that we talked things out instead of keeping them to ourselves and letting them percolate to bigger problems than they need to be. And, of course, Mickey's right that he can't 'will' his ass to cooperate. There are people, male and female, who can't take a hard cock in their rectum. Why that is, I don't know. I never had much of a problem with it, although there is some initial hurt even for me. Nothing so serious that I can't deal with it though, especially knowing a minute later there's a pleasure-train waiting to take off, one that's so full of a special unique pleasure that nothing else in this world can match it, and that's worth a little pain.

Then, Friday at work, Bobby tells me my new very short haircut is so wicked cool he wants to know the barbershop I go to. I tell him, and he says he's gonna take my picture to show the barber when he goes there to get his hair cut like mine. That's flattering, although I'll miss Bobby's pretty curls. After Bobby has a picture of my haircut on his phone, I'm like, "Oh, I finally got a picture of my boyfriend," and show him the two pictures I have of Mickey, as well as the one with Mickey and me in it.

Looking at Mickey's picture, Bobby frowns, asking, "Is this the same boyfriend you had before? The one I met briefly at the mall?" Oh, that's right. Mickey and I saw Bobby and a girl at the food court in 69th street, but that was long ago and before Mickey got a haircut and began dressing better. Back then, Bobby looked at Mickey as if he couldn't believe he was my boyfriend, but now he seems kind of impressed. The girl Bobby was with at the mall, I assume, is the girl he dumped me for, but she wasn't introduced because she was in line at Domino Pizza.

Anyway, smiling, I go, "Well, yeah, he's the same guy, Michael Miller. He's cool, huh?" Bobby goes, "Yeah, he's kinda exotic-looking or something, but he looks different, or, huh... I don't know. Anyway, you two look really hot together, bro!" I'm like, "Ya think so?" See, Mickey's appearance has improved greatly these past nine weeks. He dresses much cooler now too. No more undershirts and nylon shorts that are too big for him. I've been as good an influence on Mickey as he's been on me.

During lunch, Bobby's like, "Hey, Mattie, no pressure but would you be interested in buying a few joints? I'm 'holding' for Alan, and it makes me nervous all the shit I'm keeping for him." I'm like, "How much do the joints cost?" Bobby says, "Five bucks a joint. That's the regular price for nice ones like Alan always has." I ask, "Are they laced with anything?" He shakes his head, his curls bouncing, "Nah, just grass. It's good shit, though."

I buy three joints after work, and then text Mickey, 'Bossy, I've got three primo joints. Let's get high'! He texts back, 'After dinner, little bro. I'll bring screwdrivers.' I drive to his house, he gets in the car, and I'm like, "Hi, sexy! Hey, why do we gotta wait until after dinner to get high? And why do you wanna bring tools?" We both laugh, and then he goes, "Tools, my ass. I'll mix some vodka with some orange juice in the OJ carton so the cops won't know we've got screwdrivers in there. And, Dad won't notice 'cause there are two juice cartons in the frig. He'll think I drank the rest of the other one." I go, "That'll work, the cops will never guess it's actually booze, but why are we waiting until after dinner?" He goes, "Do you wanna be high at dinner?" Well, no...

Then, we are teenagers, after all, so we use our teenage poor-judgment deciding we can't wait to smoke one of the joints. We do that in my backyard. And Bobby was right; it is good shit. A little later, we're 'high' while fucking in my bed, naked. In our haste, we can't get the condom on Mickey's boner, so he wipes the lube from the condom on my ass and then drops it and, wow, it's another new experience for us... fucking when 'high,' and it is a super 'trip.'

We fuck in one of our favorite positions. I'm on my back with my legs spread and pulled back against the sides of my chest. Mickey fucks me hard and fast. I'm not saying it's necessarily better being high, but it is different, and that's mostly because in my 'high' Mickey somehow seemed bigger and stronger and more dominant, and I loved it! My man! I love being his bottom boy, his pussy boy getting my ass reamed by my big bad-ass boyfriend, who looked hotter and sexier than I ever remember him being. He looked a little mean too as he rammed his big hard cock in my ass, smacking my ass every two or three thrusts.

Omigod, in three minutes I cum hard, a roaring climax and it seems to last longer, my orgasm seems to come out of me for a minute or more. It didn't, obviously, but being 'high' it felt like it did. Omigod, I'm moaning and squirming as if I've never been fucked before... as if this is the first orgasm I've ever had. With my body shaking, both my arms go around Mickey's head to pull him to me to kiss and slobber all over his mouth. He's gasping as he's shooting his 'load' in my bowels and moaning into my mouth, humping hard against my buttocks bouncing me on the bed. My man!

Then, lying together, the way we usually do, me cuddling and snuggling against Mickey, he hugs me as we babble in our 'high' about how hot that sex was and what a great idea to fuck when we're high. After a while, we simmer down as we sort of come 'down' from the 'high.' That's the 'thing' about pot, the high doesn't last as long as booze last when you're drunk. That's both a good thing and a not-so-good thing, depending...

Mickey finally murmurs, "Wow, was that okay, huh, Burke? Seriously, I was really hammering away there. It was so different being high, super sexy, huh?" I stay nestled in tight against him, feeling dreamy and safe and satisfied, and thinking I'm really lucky to be Mickey's boyfriend. How many guys my age are living the 'life' Mickey's providing for me? Very few, that's how many. I murmur, "Mmm, Mickey, it was super different sex for sure, but all our sex is super sexy thanks to you." He affectionately squeezes me with the arm he has around the back of my neck, and mumbles, "We both make our sex super-sexy, Burke."

Christ, I like lying with him, he smells good, and his skin is taut and a healthy-looking whitish/pink color, and new looking. He looks kinda 'new,' or young, anyway. I feel muscle tone under his skin too. He has a hot little body, actually. Partly, his body was nature-given through genes, but a lot of it comes from Mickey's dancing exercises and whatever. He has a small athlete's body. Yeah, Mickey's got a lot going for him, especially now that he's paying attention to his appearance.

Ha, it's hard for me to imagine why I ever felt uncomfortable doing this cuddling with him. It was awkward early on when Mickey would hug me to him after sex, usually in the back seat of my car. He did it then and still does it does as if I'm his weaker 'bottom' partner... the weaker sex perhaps. Okay, I'll say the words right out... he treats me as if I'm a member of the so-called weaker-sex, meaning females. Females are mostly 'bottoms' during heterosexual intercourse. Or. at least, that's my understanding from movies... I could be wrong. How would I know? Mickey refers to my 'part' in the sex we have together as the 'other part,'' but what he means is, the 'girl' part... 'bottoming.' I know my place now and I'm 'good' with it too. With us, it couldn't work any other way, and 'it' works fantastically our way, so I'm good.

And, I'd be perfectly happy lying here like this until it's time to drive Mickey home for dinner, but an hour before I need to do that, he says, "Get up now, Burke. Let's clean up." Reluctantly, I pull away from him as the realization hits home that I'm 'good' following Mickey's 'orders'. We go into the bathroom to piss and clean up. Walking back to the bedroom, Mickey says, "How about if you get us something to drink. Um, and a snack would hit the spot."

I start to say something about taking turns doing errands, like getting these drinks Mickey wants. Yeah, we talked about taking turns just the other day but, as I was just saying, I know my place now, so I say, "Um, is a can of Coke, okay? Or, you could have a Canada Dry ginger ale." He climbs back in bed, sits against the headboard, and says, "I'll have a Coke." I nod and start to leave as he says, "And I saw cupcakes in your pantry when you got pretzels the other day. Let's share those." I say, "Absolutely. Be right back, Mick."

There are two reasons I didn't make an issue out of the 'take turns' with errands topic. One, this is my house and, sure, he could grab two sodas from the frig, and he knows where the cupcakes are, but, um, as I said, it's my house. The other reason is, it might bring up the 'bossy' discussion again, as well as the 'he's the 'guy' discussion. Him being 'the guy,' means I'm the subordinate sex partner and, therefore, it's my job to run and fetch stuff. I understand that within reason, I'll do the fetching, 'waiting on my man.' That's apparently how Mickey sees it, so I better see it that way too. I kinda like it this way.

I'm back with the sodas and cupcakes, which gets a cute smile from MIckey, so I grin back at him. When he smiles, I can't help but grin because he looks legitimately cute when he smiles. We sit in bed, drinking sodas, and eating cupcakes without talking. After swallowing the last of his cupcake, Mickey says, "Ya know what, Burke? We're gonna have a TV in our apartment bedroom 'cause we'll be spending a lot of our free time in bed together. Whaddaya think about that idea?" I go, "Yep, Mickey, I like that idea!"

Finished our snack, Mickey gets his arm around the back of my neck again, and we snuggle together as he murmurs, "We'll do a lot of this too. It makes me very happy that my pussy boy likes cuddling with me. You've found a way to fit together with me perfectly, but remember on our early dates you couldn't relax the way you do now?" I mumble, "Yes, I was thinking about that a little while ago. You're bigger now, though, so we fit better." He snickers, "Yeah, I grew." He has grown a lot; metaphorically.

We both doze off for a few minutes, and the next time I look, it's five-thirty. There is sweat between the side of my face and where I'm lying on Mickey's shoulder and chest. Lifting my head, I rub my nose back and forth on Mickey's, and his eyes pop open. He grins, and we kiss which turns into one of our hottest make-outs, both of us sweaty and rolling around on the bed naked. Oh, man, Mickey's hard naked body excites me and arouses me greatly. He turns me on sexually like magic, and my cock gets so hard it aches. I'm moaning into his mouth even before he turns me over and, forgetting how late it's become, he shoves his cock up my ass.

It's not a great entrance because he didn't use a condom again, and the lube Mickey wiped off on my asshole from the first condom, the first one we didn't use, had mostly worn off somehow, so it hurt when he shoved his cock up there. Yeah, it hurt, but, as I just mentioned, it was like magic too. Like magic because the hurt felt wildly sexy and turned me on even more, and then when that long hard cock begins moving back and forth inside my rectum, the pleasure and pain combination reaches a new higher level of sexual pleasure, out of this world pleasure that makes me shudder all over.

Mickey probably thinks I'm a head-case the way I'm moaning, calling his name, and squirming and pushing my ass up at his thrusting. In my mind, I'm picturing Mickey and seeing his hard, shiny boner diving into my ass and coming right back out and him thrusting it right back down. Mickey's perfect cock appears and disappears over and over, and it's fantastic beyond words. As we've been doing frequently of late, we climax almost at the same time with me making an embarrassingly high-pitched squealing sound as cum roars out of my boned-up cock. The cum puddles underneath me gooily, between me and the sheet.

Moaning quietly, Mickey does slow thrusting now, his cock moving smoothly in his creamy cum. A dozen lazy thrusts before he pulls his softened cock from my ass, smacks my ass, and mumbles, "How was that, Burke? Feel good?" I'm still on my stomach laying in wet cum as Mickey flops on his back next to me. I have shivers from the after-effects of that sex and from reliving my orgasm in my mind; another very special orgasm. I shudder pleasantly and then go up on my side to look down at Mickey's face. He turns his head slightly to grin at me and then asks again, "Did that feel good for you, little brother?"

I reach over and rub his hair off his forehead, murmuring, "Yes, it did. I think you're wonderful Mickey, in case you didn't know that. I'm sorry about earlier. I mean, when you asked me to help you not feel bad about, well, you know, not being able to 'bottom' or whatever. I should have helped you with that because, well, because you're so special to me in so many other ways. I'm lucky to be your boyfriend, your little brother." He grins as though he's not sure he should be grinning, saying, "Oh, that is so, um, well, thanks, Burke. If you were serious, ah, I don't know what to say except that you and me, we're good, we're golden, bro. We've worked out a perfect relationship during the past two months."

Lightly rubbing my fingers in his silky hair, I murmur, "Yeah, um, we're good alright. And I meant what I said. I wanted you to know I think you're very special." He goes, "Oh, jeez, um, I know, haha. You're embarrassing me with all your compliments, and you've made it obvious how you feel about me, Burke. I know you think I'm extra special to a degree that's scary at times. I mean, trying to live up to your high expectations. But, at the same time, it's the most awesome thing that's ever happened to me, so don't get me wrong. I've told you that before, right? Um, we're very lucky to have met, doncha think?"

Realizing I need to pump the breaks on my sentimental compliments, I go, "You bet, Mick, we're lucky motherfuckers and cool ones too." He seems to relax as he mutters, "Yeah, you got that right, motherfucker!"

I'm scaring him? Jeez, he's probably thinking, 'Omigod, Burke is wicked needy!' Yeah, I'm overdoing it again, and I don't want to scare him off. I've gotta wonder, though, when did it happen that my devotion to Mickey exceeded what his feelings are for me? I mean, he loves me, and I'm his best friend, and we're excited to be sharing an apartment and so forth, but his awkward reaction just now, it's like I'm making him uncomfortable by my gushing compliments.

I babble a little bit, backtracking my idolization of him, ending with, "... so, okay, we're both cool although I think my haircut is way cooler than yours, and by the way, blah, blah, blah. I get him laughing and him calling me 'nuts,' and then we realize it's almost six o'clock. We quickly get our shit together and I drive him home.

On the way, he says, "For the record, Burke, you express your affection for me better than I do for you, but please know that I'm into you just as much, if not more than, um, than you are for me." He's acting awkward again, trying to deal with me 'gushing' over him earlier, so I jokingly mutter, "And that concludes our mutual admiration society input for this year."

But, Omigod, that's so nice of him! Still, I remembered not to overdo it by saying that mutual admiration bullshit. At his house, I go, "So, I'll pick you up at latertonight, and we're getting high, right?" He nods, "Yep, and I'll bring some boozy cocktail in an orange juice container." I say, "That's wicked clever of you, Mickey. Nobody will guess we're drinking an adult beverage." He says, in a joking way, 'Yeah, riiiight... we're too smart for them!" We slap hands, mumbling, "That's right; we're cool."

As I'm driving home, I'm thinking about how Mickie and I have been having some great times together lately. And, that's true even though we've discussed a few slight disagreements. I bet it's rare for nineteen-year-old guys to handle their relationship as well as we do. Yeah, well, obviously that's helped along by me giving into all Mickey's wishes, but only after seeing that he's more right than I am, or he cares more about, um, 'whatever' than me. The fact is, we're happy, so it's all good.

After dinner, bringing the two remaining 'joints' with me, I pick up Mickey. He's waiting for me at the curb, wearing his backpack. Taking his backpack off and holding it in his arms he gets in the car, and says, "Hi, boyfriend. Wasn't that sex we had when we were 'high' super special?" We slap hands in a sort of old fashioned 'low-five' as I mumble, "You got that right, Mick", and then, as I'm driving away from the curb, I ask, "What's in the backpack?"

After struggling with it, he gets his seatbelt clicked in place, and says, "I've got the carton of orange juice and vodka that I told you about, plus some ice cubes so it'll be really colds, and I've got a Bic lighter with me 'cause I'm guessing you forgot to bring one." I go, "Oh, um, yeah, I did." He snickers and looks inside his backpack that's on his lap, then says, "Let's see, I've got an old Army blanket of dad's I found it in the basement, and there's an empty quart Coke bottle I washed out and filled with water. Oh, and two plastic cups, and most of a large pack of Spearmint gum. That's about it." I mutter, "Oh, uh-huh, are we staying out overnight?" He goes, "No, this is stuff we might want if we're drunk and high, ya know?" I go, "I'll take a stick of gum right now if you don't mind."

He doesn't mind, and we're both chewing gum as I pull into Kent Park's pot-hole-filled parking lot. There are two cars here, plus a motorcycle and two bicycles. Hmm, prospects aren't looking real good for us smoking 'pot' here. We get out anyway, and Mickey says, "We can at least check it out." He puts on his backpack as I adjust my eyeglasses. There are two families at the picnic table. Two men and two women with three grade-school-age children, eating at the picnic table. They're on a friggin', um, Friday summer-night picnic.

Playing on the grass are two middle-school-age boys and a girl tossing a Frisbee around, and up under the bridge are two twenty-something-year-old guys with two girls, probably smoking grass. It all adds up to a worst-case scenario of too many of the wrong kind of people here at Kent Park tonight. Mickey goes, "For Christ's sakes, when was the last time you saw this many people here on a Friday night?" I go, "This blows! Do ya wanna ride out to Ridley Park, or maybe Canape Lake?" Shaking his head, he mumbles, "Nah, let's try the reservoir. It's a lot closer."

That's what we do, and when we hump up to the top of the reservoir, we see three guys and two girls over near the rocky ledge where Mickey and I smoked dope the last time we were here. Mickey lifts his chin in the direction of a flat grassy area straight ahead, muttering, "Over there. That's a pretty good spot." As we walk to the spot Mickey pointed out, I mumble, "We're lucky. Only that one group over there on a Friday night." Mickey's staring at the other group as he mutters, "Yeah. They look harmless."

We spread the Army blanket on the grass and sit down. I don't think the other guys even noticed us, and now that we're sitting, we can't see them and they can't see us. There's a mound of rocks in between them and us. Good!

As Mickey pours his screwdriver mixture in two cups, he says, "Isn't it convenient that your best friend, who's your favorite person to be with, is also the person you want to have sex with the most?" He hands me one of the cups and I say, "Yep, and I wish I was sucking your dick right now." He smiles and says, "Me too. You do the best blow jobs ever." We tap our cups together, and he says, "To you and me, little brother," and we take a swallow.

My eyes water as I go, "Jesus! How much fucking vodka did you put in the OJ?" He makes a 'face' and mutters, "Too much, obviously. One part vodka to two parts OJ." Frowning at him, I croak out, "Way too strong, but let me ask you something." Clearing my throat and shaking my head at the awful after taste of vodka, I go, "Um, how would you know I give the best blow jobs ever? Compared to who?" Mickey's eyes shine as he says, "Jesus, I love that you sounded jealous asking that. I mean, even though you know I've never had sex with anybody but you, you're jealous at the thought that I might."

Snickering, I say, "Holy shit. Yeah, I WAS jealous there for a second. I mean, just imagining your dick in another boy's mouth makes me want to cry." He pats my shoulder, "I know, babe, but don't worry. Sure, there might be temptations at Drexel with all those new boys I've never met before, and me being much cooler than I was in high school, so there's a chance a gay fellow might be interested in me, but it's unlikely he'd be someone who wants to have sex with me who'd be as cute and sexy as you." We're holding our almost-full cups of booze as I make a face, mumbling, "Unlikely? I'd feel better if you said 'impossible'. It'd be impossible to find someone better than me, ya know?"

He swallows some of his drink and makes a face at the taste, and then goes, "How about if I said, it would take a miracle for me to find someone as cute and sexy as you, um, who'd want me to be their boyfriend? Is that a strong enough statement?" I shrug, muttering, "Miracles happen, ya know, and it almost sounded like you think it'd be cool if a miracle like that happened," and then I drink some of the vodka and OJ making the same face Mickey made after he drank some.

Mickey drinks some more from his cup, smirking at me. I go, "What?" He says, "You've built up my ego so much, Burke, um, it's so awesome! Thank you. I don't think I could ever love another person as much as I love you." I'm like, "There you go again. You said 'you don't think'. Why didn't you leave off the words 'I don't think'?" He grins at me, "Oh man, babe, you're acting jealous over nothing. Okay, how's this for something definitive... I never in my wildest dreams thought there would ever be a person who loved me as much as you do. How could I ever give that up?"

Nodding my head, I drink some more and then murmur, "You're right about that, but it would have been better if you said that the other way around. Anyway, don't ever screw around on me, and never even consider dumping me... and don't joke about either of those two things." Christ, I'm seriously emotional about this. I didn't know I would be, so I'm looking away now, my eyes stinging. It's just that my life with Mickey compared to what my life was before... I'd die without him.

He shimmies over closer to me on the blanket and puts his arm across my shoulders hugging me tightly against his side, murmuring, "I love you, Mattie," and I shrug, "I know that. Ha, I was messin' with you." He goes, "No, you weren't," and I snuggle against him, mumbling, "Just don't fuckin' joke around with that shit, okay? Don't even think about dumping me 'cause I'll stalk you like a motherfucker if you do." He lightly wipes a tear off my cheek, murmuring, "Don't be silly, baby. I'd never do that." Omigod, I love him so much...

Shortly, we remember where we are and have enough common sense to separate before one of the guys from that other group stands up and sees us being gay. The drink Mickey made is too strong, but we drink it anyway as we talk about the apartment we'll be living in two weeks from now. For teenagers, moving into their own apartment is a most thrilling endeavor, and rare, and great fun to talk about.

Mickey describes the furniture his dad has in storage that we'll be using, and then we try adding the costs of the stuff we'll need to buy, mostly things for the kitchen like dishes, pots and pans, and stuff like that. "Plus, a coffee maker," Mickey says, and I'm like, "How about towels and soap and shit for the bathroom?" He goes, "Oy vey, you're right! We're already over three hundred bucks worth of stuff now." I go, "Before we're through, it'll be a helluva lot more than that, I'll bet."

Finished our first screwdrivers, we light up a joint and pass it back and forth, having a contest to see who can hold the smoke in our lungs the longest. Wow, we get high as shit on that joint!

We're giggling like girls as we make up rediculous things we're gonna buy for the apartment like a piano, a sixty inch HD TV for each room, black silk sheets, and all kinds of expensive artwork to hang on the walls. None of that would get us giggling if we weren't 'higher' than a kite can fly. When I flick the roach into a bush, we're all of a sudden dizzy, both of us, and we lie back on the blanket and look at the stars. Mickey goes, "There's the big dipshit," and I say, "Big dipper full of shit," and then we can't stop laughing.

Not too long after that, we're quiet for... fuck, I don't even know how long it was until Mickey says very seriously, "Oh, man... I just swallowed my gum." Frowning, I look at him, saying, "Do you mean to tell me you've had gum in your mouth drinking the screwdriver and then smoking the joint?" He goes, "No, wait! You're right; I spit it out long ago." I'm like, "Well, that explains it then," and we're quiet for another long time.

This time when Mickey breaks our silence, he says, "Hey, I don't think I'm 'high' anymore. How 'bout you, Burke?" Sitting up, I go, "You're right, I'm not either. Let's have another screwdriver." As Mickey picks up the orange juice carton, someone says, "What do you two fags have there?" MIckey and I both jump a foot off the blanket, or it seemed like we did. Two guys have walked up behind us and scared the shit out of us Looking up at them, I see they're in their early twenties, a skinny one with a tiny nose and a husky, shorter guy with a stylish beard who looks like a weightlifter.

Still, there's nothing especially dangerous-looking about either of them. Nothing comes to mind that I feel like saying to them, so I look at Mickey, who answers their question with, "What's it to you?" Not something I necessarily would have said. The skinny one nudges the bearded one with his elbow, and goes, "A rude comment from the tiny fellow, and us being so friendly and all." The husky, bearded guy says, "Look assholes, I'm on the Media police force trying to enjoy this nice summer night with my girl, and we smelled your pot smoke, and what's that suspicious liquid in that OJ carton?" Mickey says, "None of your business, and, oh yeah, go fuck yourselves," and he stands up, adding, "You're no more a cop than I am."

Hmm, I stand up too, saying to the two guys, "No offense intended, ya know? We mind our own business, and we're hardly the only guys to smoke a joint up here on top of the reservoir." Skinny says to his bearded friend, "At least he's a sociable faggot," and then to me, he goes. "Let's all be friends, is that what you're saying?" I shrug, and he says, "How about sharing your pot and that, um, orange juice. Or, is that a screwdriver beverage?" The stocky guy, quick as a wink, grabs the OJ carton out of Mickey's hand, saying, "Let's find out," and he drinks out of container gulp, gulp, gulp.

Mickey looks at me, and then he dives headfirst right into the guy's stomach hitting him, apparently, right in the solar plexus. The guy bends over and throws up the screwdriver, plus he can't catch his breath... he can't breathe. The skinny guy steps back and looks at me. I'm making a 'face' like, "What the fuck...?'

Meanwhile, Mickey, who landed on the ground after his circus act, is standing up dusting himself off, saying, "We weren't bothering you dipshits, so why doncha leaves us alone?" The weightlifter still can't catch his breath, and he's now looking panicky. It's one of those deals that, for a short time, you're afraid you're never going to start breathing again. Scary for him, but lucky for us.

'Skinny' is now pounding the husky guy on the back, and their girlfriends are here, asking, "What happened?" The skinny guy says, "That little fucker took a head dive into Alex's stomach for no reason." As Mickey and I are quickly putting our stuff into the backpack, he says, "That's a total bullshit lie. They were trying to intimidate us, and the fat guy drank our orange juice from the carton, thereby making it undrinkable for humans." The girl with the ponytail says, "You two fuckheads better get your asses outta here before Alex gets himself together 'cause he'll kick both your asses up and down this fucking field, and Patty and I will be helping him do it, ya little cretins."

Mickey puts his backpack on, saying, "Burke and I are scared shitless about you two cunts pounding on us, so we're running. See us running. Well, do ya, bitch?" He's standing two inches in front of the girl, making a 'face.' The skinny guy says to Mickey, "That's quite a mouth or you, shrimp." Mickey says, "Stick that shrimp bullshit up your ass!" I mutter, "No offense intended..."

We finally start walking away, and both girls are now giving us the 'finger.' I say, "Oh, would you look at those two classy cunts, Mick." I'm pushing him getting him moving a little faster. Meanwhile, the husky guy, who is still bending over with his arms around his stomach, croaks out, "I'm gonna be looking for both you little faggot cunt-lappers, and your ass is gonna be grass." Mickey yells over his shoulder, "Oh, how original... my ass is gonna be grass. You're gonna be the lawnmower, right, ya dumb fuck? I never heard that one before, Einstein," and ponytail-girl yells, "Fuck you, midget!"

I'm like, "Come on, Mickey, let's move it along!" He's furious, mumbling, "It's not fucking right! We weren't doing anything to them and they ruined our night!" I go, "There's the car; get your ass in it." As I'm driving away, I'm like, "What the fuck were you thinking?" He goes, "What? Are you saying you don't mind being pushed around by a couple of older assholes? Well, I minded!" I say, "Apparently. Um, I guess I'm used to it. Well, your reaction worked out okay too, but only because it was damn lucky that your head hit that guy just right and somehow fucking up his diaphragm, knocked the wind out of him." He's still pissed and muttering under his breath, as I reminisce, "That's happened to me as a kid once or twice. It's a scary sensation, seriously."

Mickey shouts, "Those assholes! And those two snatches trying to give us some shit too!" I'm like, "Do you get in a lot of fights, Mickey, or what?" He mumbles, "No, I don't, but I learned a long time ago it's better to get beat up than be humiliated." Shrugging, I mutter, "If you say so, um, I've never found that to be especially true, but where should we go now?" He exhales noisily, mumbling, "That fucking creep drinking right from the carton! Um, I don't know where to go. Why not try Kent Park again?"

As I'm driving down the steep incline to the Kent Park's parking lot, Mickey's calmed down a lot, and asks, "And, weren't you gonna jump in to help me?" I go, "I most certainly was, um, except the skinny guy just shrugged at me, and the musclebound guy was still trying to breathe, so..." He mutters, "We gotta stick up for each other. We're a team." I mutter back at him, "Yeah? Hmm, in that case, I guess I better buy a gun."

After parking the car, we sit in it, looking around. Mickey goes, "Ha, I don't see anybody." I mumble the obvious, "They all left," and we get out and set our stuff on the picnic table. Mickey pulls the carton of screwdrivers from his backpack, and I go, "Oh, no, I don't care for any of that. Not after that dickhead drank out of it." Mickey says, "I'll open the other side and pour from there." I go, "Yeah, but what if, when your head hit his stomach like a rocket, that musclebound fuck let some beverage from his mouth slip back into the carton. Germs are not your friend." He mutters, "Don't be ridiculous," and he pours screwdrivers in our two cups."

Looking at the two cups, I hesitate to pick one up, and MIckey goes, "Oh, no! Don't tell me you think I have germs." Frowning, I'm like, "No, I just, um, well, that cup with the mark on it is the one I used before, that's all." He gives me a 'look' and picks up the cup with the mark, saying, "My tongue is in your mouth an hour each day, and you're sucking my dick longer than that, so you can feel safe drinking out of my friggin' cup." Picking the cup up, I mumble, "Of course," and we both take a swallow. I go, "Hey, it tastes better." Mickey says, "Yeah, a lot of the ice melted and diluted it."

We drink our screwdrivers as I stare at Mickey, finally mumbling, "That was pretty slick of you back there, Mick. Now that I think about it, that was pretty fucking ballsy of you, and way cool too." He goes, "It was a reflex reaction with zero forethought on my part. That prick was so smug. That smug asshole was outrageously insulting thinking he could treat us like nerds. Drinking right from the fucking container. My head almost exploded, Burke." He snickers and mutters, "But, Jesus, I must have looked silly diving like that."

We chuckle because it did look sillier than shit, but I can't recall anything surprising me as much as that did. I go, "If you had used your arms out, ya know, as if you were trying to tackle him, it wouldn't have looked so geeky. Diving into him like a rocket, very unusual, and that guy sure wasn't expecting anything like that. Christ, who would expect that?"

Damn, geeky or not, that was good, though. I say, "I'm proud of the way you took care of business, Mickey! That impressed me like a motherfucker, bro. That was awesome!" He shrugs, "Yeah, well, ya know, I gotta do all the guy stuff..." and he looks at me with a grin on his face. I go, Uh-huh." Finishing my drink, I add, "Um, but, don't do anything like that again. I mean, if there's any fucking way you can avoid it. Or, at least wait until I buy a gun. Just saying..."

He snickers, and goes, "Get a machinegun if you can. I'm the 'guy' though, so I need to do..." I interrupt, mumbling, "Yeah, not now with that 'you're the guy' BS, Mick. I'm not actually a girl, ya know. Sure, I just 'play' one during sex, but..." He snorts out a chuckle, and mutters, "You 'play' the part as well as it can be played too."

Then, we smirk at one another and he says, "Hey, let's fire up that other joint." As I'm doing that, he evenly portions out the remaining screwdriver mixture. We drink our drinks and pass the joint back and forth, smoking it until it's so small Mickey burns his fingertips, trying to get one last drag from the roach. Giggling, he mutters, "Motherfucker burned me," and I go, "A bad-ass tough motherfucker like you don't care about a little burn on your fuckin' fingertips."

We lie on the picnic table holding hands, drunk and 'high'. Instead of getting into a giggling fit as we normally do when we're high, we talk dreamily about how we're showing everyone how cool we are, and how rare it is, how special it is that we're in love, and at such a young age too, and how we're doing shit that no one we know is doing. Nope, they're not doing anything close to what we've been doing. I murmur, "Except nobody knows, Mick... just us. They don't know the hot shit stuff we're doing, none of them. None of the guys we grew up with has any fucking idea how cool we are." Mickey yells, "Look at our earrings, for Christ's sakes! Does anyone you know have earrings this cool?"

I squeeze his hand, mumbling, "Bunch of assholes calling us geeks and nerds as if we're inferior when it's them who's inferior." Mickey lifts his head and seriously says, "Well, Burke, we are inferior in the area of sports." Waving a hand at that, I go, "So what?" Mickey goes, "Yeah, well, I'm not feeling too good right now. I feel as though I might throw up." I jump up and stand next to the table to get the bottle of water from the backpack. I'm like, "Omigod, drink some water," and he lifts his head, mumbling, "Give me some." I hold the bottle at his mouth, and he drinks with most of the water running out both sides. "Sit the fuck up, Mickey." He says, "No, I'm good now. No problem."

Looking around, I go, "Let's get in the car. This place is feeling creepy. If someone like that asshole at the reservoir sneaks up on us, um, you're not feeling well, which means I'll need to do the geeky head dive, ya know?" He gets off the picnic table, mumbling, "What are you talking about? Um, bring the backpack." I do that and we walk to the car. Then, without either of us saying anything, we get in the backseat and lie on the seat to snuggle together the way we normally do it. We're quiet, just snuggling for a couple of minutes, and then Mickey says, "Burke, get me a stick of gum. We both need a stick of gum." I reach in the backpack that I dropped on the floor and get the pack of gum.

After we're chewing for a minute, Mickey says, "It's for our breath so we can make-out." I nod my head and mutter, "Oh." After another minute, with the only sound in the car being us chewing gum, I ask, "Do you think we could try fucking?" He says, "No, we have no condom or lubricant. It would hurt you too much. You can blow me though if you want." I'm like, "Before or after we make out?" He lifts his head, saying, "Spit out your gum." He opens the door, and we both spit out our gum and then kiss, which turns into a make-out for a few minutes. Not one of our super-hot make-outs 'cause we're still a little high and a little drunk, but it's pretty good. Good enough that I get a boner and, after pulling my mouth away, I take a deep inhale, and mumble, "I wanna blow you now."

Mickey lifts his ass off the seat and pulls his shorts and underpants down. He nods his head at his dick, and I lean over and pick it up. It's damp with perspiration because it's a hot night, ya know. Not that that bothers me at all. I lick and suck his extraordinarily attractive penis for quite some time, taking my sweet time doing it, enjoy doing it slowly. I'm licking under his nuts and on his scrotum and all around his hairless smooth groin and then taking his cock back in my mouth, but I do not try deep throating. Mickey doesn't try getting me to do it as he's busy squirming on the seat, playing with my hair, and moaning quietly.

That's all well and good except, as inevitably happens when his penis has been hard as wood for some time, his climax is gonna get in the way of me sucking his dick much longer. The first warning sign is when I notice pre-cum, so I know it's coming. Then, shortly after that, I hear a loud gasping sound coming from Mickey as he lifts his ass off the seat, humping his hips awkwardly and BAM! his climax explodes. Yep, cum shoots in a nice creamy stream into my mouth, and then another strong shot of it as Mickey goes, "Oooh, Christ, Omigod!..." Yeah, a climax tends to feel good. Taking his cock out of my mouth, I squeeze it getting out the last of the cum droolings, swallowing every creamy drop of it.

Sitting up, I go, "My balls hurt, MIckey." He shakes his head, muttering, "Oh, really? Um, I gotta say thanks for that excellent 'head. Jesus, babe, you're good at that." Still licking my lips, I mutter, "And?" He goes, "And, I suppose after something that special this is one of the rare times I should reciprocate." I shrug, "You're the boss," and he snickers, muttering, "Well, go ahead and take your dick out of your pants." I snicker again, mumbling, "Sure thing. Um, my dick is a boner, of course."

I pull my pants down as Mickey's pulling his up. He leans over and, with no hesitation, he picks my dick up in his fingers and does a half-ass blow job for me. Half-ass or not, in a minute, I'm shooting off my load of cum, making high-pitched sounds I'm not sure humans can hear, dogs in the vicinity are probably howling though. I'm moving on the seat so much my dick almost comes out of Mickey's mouth.

I go, "Oh, Jesus, that felt good! Thanks, bossy!" He shrugs, mumbling, "It wasn't so bad. And, I am NOT selfish!" Oh man, he remembers me accusing him of that hours ago. I say, "I was joking back then, Mick. You know I'm a jokester." He chuckles, "Oh, yeah, you're quite the jokester, alright."

I'm pulling up my pants as Mickey says, "Damn, I'm not high anymore, and the booze is starting to wear off too. Let's go home." We do that, and while this was a less than perfect night, it's another memory that we'll enhance in the future, reminiscing like, 'Hey, remember that night you kicked the shit out of that bully and we drank a fifth of vodka and smoked four joints?'

At Mickey's house, he asks, "What time is your eye surgery tomorrow?" I say, "Eleven o'clock. I'll pick you up at ten-thirty." He nods, and we say goodnight. Yeah, Mickey will need to drive my car after I have the Lasik treatment... and then, no more eyeglasses for me.

Before falling asleep, I'm thinking how the last couple of days have been sort of a roller coaster ride with highs and lows, and definitely a thrilling moment or two as well. We survived the 'ride' fine. It's as though we're setting the stage for how things are going to be once we move into the apartment together, but without actually knowing we're doing that. Things just come up that we argue about, but don't fight. At the end of the 'ride', when the dust has settled, and we've got our breath back, I feel we've, well, it's been Mickey mostly, who has, without sounding overly bossy, established parameters for our relationship moving into the future. It could be a very long future together too; I hope it is and, as I said, I now know my 'place'.

As I alluded to earlier, Mickey's sugar-coated the terminology so it won't be offensive or demeaning to me, but what it amounts to is, he's going to be the boyfriend and, basically, I'm his girlfriend. And, as his girlfriend, I'll always be doing the 'bottom' part while we're having sex. And, I'll be the one doing the majority of the 'blowing' when oral sex is happening. It's as simple, and as complex as that.

So, it's understood that ours will be the kind of boyfriend/girlfriend relationship where the boyfriend is pretty much in-charge, and things are pretty much done his way. I'm sure, in many boyfriend/girlfriend relationships the girlfriend won't stand for that shit, but in our relationship, the girlfriend will. Heh-heh, that's because it's no big thing to me that Mickey's the boss. I don't care. My ego is fine with that.

Saturday morning, I'm feeling 'off' a little bit because of last night's vodka and, I guess the marijuana didn't help. And, I'm also nervous about the Lasik surgery. When I was at the eye doctor's office before, I completed the financing paper, attaching copies of my pay stubs from work and so forth, so the finances have been taken care of. My first payment isn't due for three months, so it's almost as though it's free. Haha, no, I know better. I have thirty-six monthly payments of $90.00. The interest on the loan is $250. Is that too much? Nah, it's probably okay.

Anyway, this morning I only have coffee and a donut for breakfast, and then I'm on my way to pick up Mickey. He gets in the car, saying, "I'm thinking of taking up smoking while I'm in college. What do you think about that, Burke?" I say, "Um, I say, good morning, Michael," and he chuckles, "Oh, yeah, good morning, babe," and he leans over to kiss me near my mouth, asking, "What do you think about me smoking during my college years? I'm thinking Marlboro lights." Driving away, I go, "I think it's one of the worst ideas you've ever had. The apartment will stink like an ashtray, and so will your breath." He goes, "Yeah, but aside from that, whaddya think?" I go, "You'll look like a cool and sophisticated college student." He nods, "That's what I think too."

A minute later, he says, "It'd probably work better if we both take up the habit, doncha think?" I say, "Probably, but I've got this 'effing eye surgery on my mind right now, okay? I'll think more about your smoking proposal later." He goes, "Of course, yeah, I know that; I'm trying to get your mind off it." I go, "Ooh."

Mickey talks about random things during the drive to the doctor's office but I'm not paying a lot of attention 'cause I'm NERVOUS! Then, inside the doctor's office, a so-called 'coordinator' immediately takes me to what he calls the 'pre-procedure room' where he uses my glasses to 'read' the RX, the prescription. I'd already had an eye exam when I was here a week ago but the lady says they just want to double-check to be sure. Yeah, well, that's a good idea.

Next, she reviews my medical history of which there isn't one. I have no medical conditions and no 'history'. My eyes were 'measured' last week but this woman does it again, as she mumbles, "Again, I'm just double-checking, Mark." I go, "Um, I'm Matthew, Matthew Burke." She smiles, "Yes, of course, I meant to say, Matthew. The doctor will be with you in a few minutes." Hmm? Maybe she should double-check' the patient to make sure she's got the right one.

Shortly, I'm led to a room with a Star Wars machine that I sit behind and meet Doctor Olson. He's an average looking man wearing a bow tie, which is disconcerting, but whaddya gonna do? He asks how I'm doing and then tells me. "Matthew, I'll have you out of here in fifteen minutes." I tell him, "I'm not in a rush. Feel free to take your time." Let's see; fifteen minutes per Lasik procedure... that's four times $3000 an hour. Nice hourly wage! Well, he needs to pay the lady something.

I already knew I'd be awake during this, um, procedure. Drops go in my eyes to numb my them, then another scary machine is doing something with my eyes and then the laser machine hums for less than a minute per eye and then the coordinator person congratulates Dr. Orson, "Beautiful job, doctor." That was encouraging to hear.

Dr. Olson shakes my hand when I get out of the seat, saying, "No more eyeglasses for you, Mathew. Ms. Cronkite will take it from here." I mumble some thanks and follow Ms. Cronkite to the fourth room I've been in since arriving. First, the waiting room, then the preparation or pre-procedure room, the Lysik operating room, and now the, um, $3000 room? No, just kidding 'cause I wouldn't be allowed in the waiting room until the $3000 was accounted for one way or another.

Anyway, my eyes are still numb, feeling like marbles. My vision is very blurry and I'd like to lie down. Ms. Olsom reminds me to wear sunglasses and not to rub my eyes and to wear the protective covers she gives me when sleeping. They're to ensure nothing touches the eyes while sleeping, like a corner of the pillowcase I assume. The eye covers are only needed for a couple of days and then there isn't anything special I'll need to do other than put drops in my eyes for a few months. Oh, I need to get the prescription filled for the eye drops.

That's about it and I'm back in the waiting room where Mickey asks, "All done already?" Nodding I go, "Uh-huh," and he gives me his sunglasses. I have sunglasses but they are prescription sunglasses that I no longer need. As we walk out of the office, Mickey goes, "Little bro, your eyes are wicked bloodshot," and I go, "Thanks for telling me that."

Mickey gets in the driver seat of my car, mumbling, "Hmm, I hope I remember how to drive, um, what do I do first?" I go, "Stop fucking around, Mickey! Take care of your pussy boy." He mumbles, "Sorry, just kidding." I go, "Ya better pull the seat way up so you can reach the peddles," and I snort out a laugh as he mutters, "Wiseass," and pulls the seat up closer to the steering wheel.

Our first stop is Walgreen drugstore to get my prescription filled and while that's being done I buy a pair of sunglasses, although Mickey's are cooler looking. I mumble, "I'll buy a cooler pair of sunglasses when I can see better. Everything is 'effing blurry. Mickey's looking for another bottle of the hair removal stuff we use, asking me, "How long do you want to keep our groins hairless?" Shrugging, I go, "I like it, don't you?" I'm mostly thinking about when I do oral sex on Mickey, which, by the way, I feel like doing right now 'cause he cranks me up! I keep that to myself though. Anyway, I like the hairlessness of it so I encourage Mickey to buy the glop we use for that.

He buys that, plus a dozen condoms and while he's paying for that stuff I pretend I'm not with him. I look at greeting cards. I've bought one greeting card in my life and I'm still shocked at how much that cost! Someone once told me that on the back of greeting cards the cost of the card is shown although it's not shown with a dollar sign; just the number.

Over the loudspeaker system, I hear, "Prescription for Burke is really for pick up, and thank you for shopping at Walgreens." Mickey comes over and says, "That's you, bro." I resist the urge to say 'no shit'. I don't know why, but I'm a little testy, a little shook up. And there wasn't even any pain to deal with, and the entire procedure was less than fifteen minutes. It's probably knowing the doctor moved a flap of my cornea on each eye so the laser could slice some cornea off, or some shit like that. It makes me woozy thinking about it. It'd be better if I had no idea what the procedure was all about.

Mickey drives me to his house because his dad is working at his Philly office this morning. I want to just get in bed and cuddle with Mickey. I don't want to get fucked right now. He knows that but insists we get naked anyhow. I have no problem with that. Mickey puts the protective covers on my eyes and we get under the covers in our preferred position together. Ahh, I like this. Mickey coos, "I need to take care of you," and I snuggle in against him. Umm, his bed smells subtly like Mickey, It's comforting and I fall asleep.

I know I fell asleep because the next thing I know, I'm in bed alone and I'm blind. After a moment of panic, I take off the eye protectors and see it's raining. Huh, it was sunny when we got in bed. It's eerily quiet in here, so I call out, "Mickey, where are you?" Jesus, what if his dad pops his head in the door instead of Mickey? His dad doesn't work a full day most Saturdays.

Getting slowly out of bed, I quickly put on my underpants and shorts. Listening, I hear talking coming from downstairs. Balls! Mr. Miller is home! I creep over to the door and now I can hear what they're saying. Mr. Miller's saying, "I'd love to, son, but I can't afford it right now, and your college loan doesn't include a car loan." Oh, good, they're not talking about me. Mickey's asking his dad to buy him a used car. It's a topic Mickey and I have talked about and I told him my car is enough, especially considering the limited parking spots around our apartment.

After putting on my shirt and sneakers, I sit at Mickey's desk trying to figure out if I should go downstairs or wait here for Mickey. This is 'effing awkward. Yeah, too much of my personal 'world' involves awkward situations. I decide I'm staying here until Mickey shows up, even if that's not until Monday morning. Clicking on Mickey's laptop I Google Lysik to compare what I'm experiencing with what I should be experiencing, There's some eye discomfort I'm feeling and it's worrying me. Hmm, no problem. Everything I'm reading is pretty much what I'm experiencing.

I go back to the door and listen again. This time I hear Mickey talking about me. He's telling his dad that he, Mickey, is worried that I may realize I'm too good for him. What? His dad reassures Mickey that that is nonsense and that Mickey is a wonderful person and from all he's heard, so am I. He says that Mickey and I are fortunate to have connected as we did. That's some good advice coming from Mr. Miller. Wow, can I believe Mickey doesn't think he's good enough for me? That's news to me. He seems so confident and slightly bossy... and so forth. Huh!

Oh, fuck. I hear the back door close. They went out to the back yard. What should I do? And why isn't Mickey checking up on me? I can't see the back yard from this room, so I sit at his desk thinking how odd it was that I had no interest in having sex after that minor eye procedure. And, it's disconcerting that my eyesight is blurry and my eyes hurt. Where's the eye drops bottle?

Oh good! Mickey's coming upstairs. At the door he's like, asking, "Oh, good, you're awake, Burke?" I meet him at the door, asking a tad too energetically, "Why'd you leave me alone?" He smiles, then rubs my shoulder, soothingly saying, "I'm sorry. Calm down, I'm here now. How are you feeling?" Shrugging, I go, "Weird, I feel weird. Um, did your dad catch us in bed together?" Mickey goes, "It's alright, Burke, but yeah, dad wondered where we were. He saw your car parked outside. He doesn't mind that we, um, 'sleep' together. Dad knows we're lovers; he understands and fully supports both of us. He likes you a lot."

Frowning, I go, "It's embarrassing! Why didn't you wake me up when you heard him come home?" Mickey softly says, "Don't worry about my dad," and he takes a comb off the bureau and combs my hair, saying, "I want you to look pretty when we have lunch. Let's go downstairs now, dad ordered a pizza for us."

Pushing the comb away, I ask, "What time is it?" Mickey pushes away my arm that pushed his away, saying, "Stand still," and he goes back to combing my hair. Combing it down and forward on top, saying, "It's a little after two o'clock." Stepping back, he says, "Put your sunglasses on. You're eyes still look bloody." I put my sunglasses on and Mickey takes my hand, mumbling, "Come on now. Don't be shy." I snort out a laugh and then say seriously, "Don't fuckin' embarrass me."

He squeezes my hand, saying, "I won't embarrass you. For fuck sake, I'm taking care of you." I must be a little disoriented, or maybe I'm used to doing what Mickey tells me because I don't object to him holding my hand as we go downstairs to say 'Hi' to his dad. We're still holding hands walking into the kitchen, and it's Mickey holding my hand because he's 'the guy.'

Mickey goes, "Ta-da! Here he is, dad, my fabulous boyfriend, who no longer is a four-eyed goon." He looks at me, murmuring, "Although I've always thought he looked cute in his glasses." His dad smiles and says, "Hello, Matt, nice to see you. How are you feeling?" I go, "Hello, Mr. Miller, my eyes hurt a little and my vision is blurry but other than that, I'm fine, thank you."

Mickey squeezes my hand, saying, "How do you like Burke's new haircut, dad? I think he looks best with short hair. Don't I, Mattie?" Oh for Christ's sakes! Jesus! I don't say anything but my face gets hot and probably red. Mr. Miller, says, "Both you boys are styling lately. You look good."

Letting go of my hand, Mickey puts his arm around my waist pulling me further into the room as his dad says, "Heh-heh, I'll tell you, boys, a secret about those haircuts. Yours, Michael, reminds me of pictures I've seen of your grandfather when he was a kid back in the fifties. The barber uses the bare clipper on the sides and back, leaving the hair long on top. It was called a 'boy's haircut' back in his day, and here it is again, but now for college-age guys. And Matt's haircut looks just like our neighbor, Mr. Jones', son, De'Andre's haircut."

Mickey goes, "They're black, the Jones are African Americans." Mr. Miller goes, "So what? De'Andre's haircut is just like Matt's, or vice versa." Mickey's taking hold of my hand again and I'm subtly trying to pull my hand free now, but Mickey holds onto it tighter, giving me 'look', saying sternly, "Stop it," so I stop.

His dad says, "You both look fine," and Mickey says, "And you've still got that God-awful haircut from the eighties." His dad says, "I wasn't insulting your haircuts, so I don't think you need, um..." he stops and then adds, "Oh, the pizza guy just drove up. The pizza is for you guys, I'll be in my office," and he starts to go down to the basement, saying, "I hope your eyes feel better soon, Matt." I mumble, "Thank you, I'm sure they will."

Mickey pulls my hand getting me to walk with him to the front door. He seems so, um, macho to me and much bigger than he actually is. I can't help staring at him and feeling my balls move. We get there just as the front doorbell rings. Letting go of my hand. Mickey opens the door and takes the pizza box from the delivery boy, who hasn't been a 'boy' for about thirty years. Mickey asks, "Do we owe you anything?" The man says, "It's prepaid, and thank you for choosing Domino Pizza." We nod at the man, and I close the door.

Carrying the pizza box, Mickey says, "Dad put this on his credit card, I guess. What do you want to drink, Burke? Orange soda or Pepsi." I say, "I'll have what you have," and Mickey takes two bottles of orange soda from the frig, saying, "We can talk about the details of your Lysik surgery if you want.".

Well, I don't especially wanna talk about it but Mickey wants to hear what happened every step of the way, and it takes longer explaining what went on than the procedure took. I'm glad he's interested though and he is being very solicitous of how I'm feeling. Our eyes are kinda important and while I'm sure everything went as it should during the Lysik operation, I'm anxious for the next couple of days to pass by so I can experience life with unaided twenty-twenty vision like so many people can.

After finishing off the pizza, we clean up our mess in the kitchen, and then Mickey goes, "What do you feel like doing now, babe? Just name it and we'll do it." I'm like, "Would you think I'm a pussy if all I wanna do to lie on the bed with you?" He goes, "Noo, you're not a pussy! That's what we'll do." As we're going upstairs, he murmurs, "It makes me feel really good that the thing you most want to do right now is to cuddle with me." Shrugging, I go, "Yeah, well, it's what I feel like doing. I'm not supposed to do anything rambunctious or straining."

This time, because his dad is in the house, we lie on top of the bed fully clothed. Mickey carefully puts on my eye covers and then we cuddle without talking. We do a lot of that.

Saturday night Mickey drives us around but avoids the reservoir for obvious reasons. Getting bored doing that, we end up back at Mickey's house knowing his dad is due to leave at nine o'clock to play bridge at some friend's house. We screw around in his basement playing the old fashioned pinball game his dad has there and later, when Mr. Miller leaves, Mickey and I get naked and fuck in his bed. Mickey promises he'll be gentle and he is. I remembered to bring two condoms expecting we'd do this at some point tonight. I wanted to do it and, of course, Mickey always wants to fuck.

It felt good that he's wearing a condom this time. Mickey fucks me slowly in our favorite position of me on my back pulling my legs back. For fun, Mickey put my eye coverings on and it was cool being blind while getting fucked. I swear, it intensified all the fantastic sensations. I concentrated on them more fully not being sighted.

It turns out to be a ten-minute sex act that results in a sloshy climax with my cum gushing out in more of a blob than a stream or streak. No matter what, it felt fantastic. Christ, I was humping on the bed until Mickey calmed me down, murmuring, "No, Burke, you're not supposed to exert yourself. Calm the fuck down." I shivered a few times savoring the after-effects. Simply a wonderful feeling and then our second fuck was without the eye covers. I like looking at Mickey as he fucks me. I love looking at him.

He got a little bit rough the second fuck and had me bent up, my back rounded as he was pounding his boner in my ass and when I shot off my load, the cum just missed my eyes. We were both, "Omigod!" and Mickey was feeling bad saying he was irresponsible as he hugged and kissed me and, generally, treated me like a sick little kid. Haha, I loved it.

He drove me home at midnight because he expected his dad and his dad's lady friend to be home soon. Mickey will have my car overnight and pick me up Sunday around noon. It's been quite a day!

To be continued... Chapter 20 'Is This a Miracle'

donnymumford@outlook.com

Please consider making a tax-deductible donation to nonprofit Nifty to help with the expenses of maintaining this superb free story site. Thank you!