1.
When I was a boy we’d take a trip every year or two to Atlanta, to visit the Syrian side of my family, my mom’s sister and brothers, and an ever increasing number of cousins. They were a wild pack of kids, of varying shades of tan, speaking - or yelling - with long drawn out vowels.
Though I had nearly a dozen cousins there, only four were boys, all older than me. Our gender seemed about the only similarity. Living in a state far from the rest of the rambunctious clan, my mom had two girls before me. She liked her household house calm and orderly. It hardly seemed there was a thing I could get into that my mother wasn’t aware of, and didn’t caution against.
I was, it must be said, a good boy.
(Despite my general good behavior, you couldn’t say there was anything especially feminine about me. In fact for a couple of years I’d gotten in trouble for getting in fights with other boys, the only real problem behavior I’d ever had. I don’t remember it well, just a blinding red rage I’d disappear into, and then coming to later, after another boy was on the ground or crying. I wasn’t a big boy, but when I used my fists I tended to win.)
But in Atlanta, where I was thrown in with my boy cousins things were different. They were on their own from dawn to dinner during the summers, their parents uninterested in their antics or what trouble they’d get into. In fact the point, by mutual agreement, was less to not get into trouble, and more to keep news of it from getting to their parents. If the boys got too loud or rowdy in the wood paneled basement rec room they all had, they were turned outdoors rather than being told to have indoor manners, as I would have been.
In my home, my mother expected to weigh in on every childhood dispute no matter how slight - the Court of Dolores - but in Atlanta the kids were expected to work out their conflicts by any means necessary to keep their parents out of it. I was shocked by how often the boy cousins spontaneously broke out into wrestling to work out their conflicts, and by how satisfied everyone was with that system of justice.
For the pack of my cousins, the aunts and uncles and parents were interchangeable. Any auntie might feed any number of them a meal, any uncle might loosen his leather belt and even give chase to swat a few unruly behinds if things got out of hand. (I’d been spanked a few times, but it was a drawn out event, with talks from my poor father before and after about how he didn’t want to have to do this. In Atlanta a swat of a belt to the rear was spontaneous and unapologetic. There was some heat to it.)
The cousins often dared me to keep up with them, doing things I’d never do back home. They tested the limits on how far I’d stray from what my mother would allow if she could see me. I always took them up on it, and when I did, I felt a thrill beyond anything I knew at home.
It wasn’t only the headiness of the forbidden, though it was that too. But it was even more the pleasure I found in pleasing them. Their satisfied smirks filled me with a kind of intoxicating pride in my accomplishments that outstripped anything I’d ever found in my own self.
I was excited and terrified by their wild boy energy, struggling at the start of every visit to keep up with them, and ending trying to quell it in myself for the return home.
In Atlanta it embarrassed my mother that I was not as wild as the cousins, but it vexed her when I was. She wanted me to be a good boy, but not too good a boy. She was hard to please in that way.
I had to wonder if I’d grown up there with my cousins if my fighting would ever have been a problem at all, or just boys being boys. In Atlanta the rules were reversed. To be a good boy I had to be bad.
2.
I’d been a plump child. Not obese, but soft. And there was a possibility I’d go further, becoming a butterball of a kid. I knew my mother worried, judging by her pursed lips when I had a second helping of dinner. She feared it would stick with me, and that she’d be the sole parent among her friends and siblings with the chubby son.
That may be why she broke with thrift and her disdain for all things excessively masculine, agreeing to let my father purchase some gear for a makeshift home gym. I didn’t even need to point out that the Atlanta boy cousins all had home gym equipment, an argument I’d kept in my back pocket if needed.
It was nothing excessive. There were a couple of barbells, some dumbbells, a weight bench, free weights, and a used rowing machine. My dad brought them second hand, brought them home, set up the bench and asked if he should show me how to use the weights. He was a kind and gentle man, from an old east coast Mayflower family. He’d gone to Harvard, which gave my mother some expectations about his career potential that he never fulfilled. He was a little too placid, lacking some essential ambition my mother would have liked to see in a husband.
“No, Dad,” I told him. “I know how it all works.”
We shared a name, my father and I. His family had a lot of names that were carried forward. He was a junior and I was the third. To avoid confusion over our shared name I went by middle name, Cole, at least among family.
I was surprisingly good at athletics, and took naturally to the new weights.
I was not very tall, only 5’9”, but I was strong. I could see almost intuitively how to do almost anything mechanical or physical, observing once and repeating what I saw accurately. At home I used the weights and rowing machine. And at school when I held a shot put I knew I’d found my sport. An obscure one maybe, hurling metal balls, but one I was built for, and excelled in.
That’s why the next time we visited Atlanta, my childhood pudge was gone. Through the alchemy of puberty and lifting, my plump form had melted away to reveal the musculature of a young jock - if still one with a head of unruly curing hair, round glasses, a boyish face and a strong desire to please.
I began to look like the faceless bodies I’d spied on the men’s underwear packs when my mother took me shopping.
3.
The boy cousins were all older than me, in this order:
Aaron (or Aaron Junior, technically), the oldest by a few years. He wasn’t the most handsome of the cousins, but he was the golden boy. That wasn’t only because he was the first born boy, which mattered in Syrian families, even Americanized ones like ours. He just had an easy charm about him, with a thick and warm voice.
His voice wasn’t the only thing that was like honey. He was darker skinned than I was - all the cousins were - and he seemed to have a perpetual warm tan. He might have owd that to his summers spent as a lifeguard, which also streaked his longish hair with strands the colors of gold and wheat. When his chest hair came in, it too was dirty blond and in summers golden against the tan on his big chest and shoulders. He had the first adonis belt I’d ever seen on a person in real life.
Every boy in the family was expected to have a sport, and Aaron’s was baseball. He was good enough at it, but he was too easy going to be that competitive. He was just good enough at everything, in fact, with the confidence borne of good looks, some physical prowess and doting parents.
His younger cousins were Tim and Tom, the twins. They were identical, and looked the most Syrian of us boys, with glossy jet black hair, swarthy skin, straight dark eyebrows and black eyes. Their mother, Aunt Ginger, had briefly been a fashion model, and they had her refined good looks in their angular faces and sculpted lips. Their looks set girls off, and they enhanced them with gold chain necklaces and trendy haircuts. The term young dumb and full of cum could have been coined about them in particular.
They were tall and slim waisted, like their mother, but built with long, lean muscle in their shoulders and arms and round butts, like the good lacrosse players they were. They didn’t have much chest hair, but their armpits, legs and arms did, like twin satyrs.
Everything was a contest between them, from who could drink their milk faster to who could run further or lift more, who could get the most girls. Even their identical looks seemed like the result of some competition begun in the womb, as if they’d vied for same DNA, each trying to win it so totally no variation was acceptable.
My cousin Jim was harder to peg. The closest in age and appearance to me, shortest of all, he was the closest I had to a mirror image of the cousins. We had similarly boyish faces, curly hair and glasses. He had his sport too. An able wrestler, Jim always seemed well planted wherever he stood on his short but sturdy legs.
He was the most clever of us all, an only child himself, adored by his parents who treated him like a third adult in their home. He was good at staying just at the fringes of the other boys’ mischief, close enough to be part of it, but distant enough to maintain some innocence if things went awry.
4.
By the time we were next together, after a lapse of a couple of years, I’d begun to come into my own. I was impressed by the changes in my own body that I barely understood, eager to try out like a new toy, but frustrated by my lack of opportunity as a gay teen in the suburbs.
The boy cousins too had moved on. They were bigger, beefier, more adult. Their daily roaming looking for trouble had evolved into looking for girls, for which they were to varying degrees successful.
The twins in particular fancied themselves ladies men. They dressed the part and put time into their vain primping. Jim, oddly enough for the youngest and least obviously handsome, was the only one with a steady girlfriend, who was pretty enough, but smart and practical as well. Aaron had had more girls than all the others combined, not just because he was the oldest. There was just something about him.
During my holiday weekend visit there’d be none of that, though. The boys were expected to be in attendance at the family dinner, and to stay in, with me, as if they were kids, rather than testosterone driven sex missiles. The freedom to which they’d grown accustomed was poor training for confinement as young men, even for a single night.
We were consigned to the basement rec room, as if we were kids. There was a gaming system no one cared about any more, board games, darts and the requisite home gym set. Jim decided to read a book and Aaron looked for easy amusement, but the twins were restless. What a waste of a weekend, when they could be getting laid.
Jim pulled out the Risk game, and Tom and Tim arm wrestled to see who would play first. But after that no one else had the enthusiasm to actually sort the pieces or remind ourselves how to play.
The twins idly played with some of the free weights in their home gym, only intending to outdo each other. Bored myself, I joined in.
None of the cousins had known me to lift, the last visit being a couple of years earlier when I was still a pudge whose pubes had barely begun to come in. I guess they didn’t know I had it in me.
I did some bicep curls and bent over rows and finished with three sets of bench presses, with 130 pounds on the bar. When I was done I stood up, my chest and biceps pumped. There was a damp spot at the center of my chest. I was good at this.
I stood with my legs straddled over the bench, put on wrist wraps and rested my hands on the bar to get a feel for it, thinking of doing some deadlifts when my oldest cousin spoke up.
“You got fit,” Aaron observed. He was leaning back on a reclining chair, his legs up, hands folded behind his head, so the hair in his pits peeked out from the sleeves of his t-shirt.
How I’d wanted him to notice me - for all of them to notice me - on previous visits, when I was early in puberty and they were years ahead of me, their bodies outpacing mine in the changes that manifest in boys at that age.
“Sure did,” said one of the twins, Tim, circling me.
“What’re you hiding under there?” Tom asked, flicking at my t-shirt, as he and his brother wound their way around me like caged panthers.
I knew their telltale tones. There was a certain lilt in their voices, the same as all the times when we were kids, when they’d egg me on to see if the good boy could meet their level of mischief. And if I did, if I got hurt, would I go crying to my mother or tough it out like the bigger wilder boys?
“Nothing,” I answered. I stripped off my t-shirt. My heart pounded hard in my newly pumped chest. It was scary, but exciting too, after years of being shy about even being at the beach shirtless to have confidence in my body.
“Look at little Cole, all grown up,” Tim said.
“Smooth too,” Tom added, reaching out for a feel of my chest.
Unlike my cousins, I was nearly hairless on my chest and belly, and creamy skinned too. My mother was the lightest of her siblings, most easily passing for European, and my dad’s whole clan was blond.
“Hey guys,” Jim said, but no one paid attention.
I’d spent so many holidays with my cousins before, but this was the first time we were all what I guess you’d call young men. Whatever was going on felt different than it ever had before.
They told me to keep going, so I did some push presses, sweat running down my shirtless sides. The twins counted down my reps, and I was excited to see them impressed by what I could do. No one had ever watched me lift before.
Tim and Tom pulled off their shirts, showing off their broad shoulders and the V shapes of their backs. They flexed their own biceps and slapped their chests, and then did the same to mine to see how I measured up.
“Guys… guys,” Jim reiterated, more emphatically, but his urging fell on deaf ears. He sighed.
“Gentlemen,” Aaron said from his lounge chair, “I think we may have our pastime figured out.”
Tim or Tom, I never knew which, straddled the bench behind me, and wrapped hands around my pumped up chest. The other straddled the bench in front of me, pressing his lips to mine, his tongue flickering into my mouth. I closed my eyes and felt my shorts come unbuttoned and pulled down, exposing my good boy white briefs with my dick stiff in them. And then the briefs went down too.
There were hands on my torso, running over my chest and belly, wrapped around my dick and in the cleft of my ass, and a tongue deep in my mouth. I’d never been touched in those ways before.
Whatever they had in mind, I was game.
5.
Tom and Tim stayed wrapped around me, their hands and mouths even more indistinguishable than usual as they roamed my body, and each other’s. Their shorts came down too, revealing their big dark dicks, in trimmed black bushes, their asses high and lightly furred.
As they felt me up I did the same to them, excited to feel their muscles and to hold their dicks. I buried my face in one of their hairy armpits, where they held my head in place to get a deep intake of their musky scent. My body was theirs to play with, and I was glad for them to use it.
When my head was steered down by multiple hands to one of their hardons I was eager to get my mouth on it, opening to take as much as I could into my mouth, the head nudging my throat. Whatever I thought I could take, they showed me I could do more, all hands holding my head as a wet cock slid into my mouth and throat, a little deeper with each stroke in.
Two hands released my head, leaving it to the twin I was sucking off, and trailed my sweaty back, then pulled my ass cheeks open.
“Hold up,” said Aaron, rising from his seat, his shorts tented with his own erection.
He ducked into the bathroom and emerged with a plastic bottle. Southern ladies live and die by their moisturizer, and there’s scarcely a bathroom in the region without at least a utilitarian dispenser of the stuff, even in the basement rec room.
“Guys,” Jim said again, but Aaron told him if he wasn’t going to join in he could sit on the stairs and keep guard.
Aaron tossed the bottle to the twin at my tail. I could hear the moisturizer being squirted out, and then felt the cold wet of it against my hole, being worked into me. It was funny that though I’d never been fucked by a person, I’d done plenty of experimentation on my own with whatever in my parents home best approximated a dick. And I’d used moisturizer as lube too.
The pressure at my sphincter shifted from fingers to something more blunt, and a twin’s cockhead pierced me. It pushed into my hole, and I heard a deep sigh as it did. Twin pairs of hands wrapped around my hips and my head, two to hold me in place until the whole cock was up in me and two to pull my head more firmly onto the erection filling my throat.
Aaron came over to inspect the situation from all angles, a hand down his shorts.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “You took that easy Coley.”
He even leaned in to get a look at my own erection, dripping a stream of precum onto the weight bench below.
“That’s a stud cock,” he said, his approval sending another surge of precum out of me.
He switched places with the twin I was sucking off, so he could join his brother at my rear and Aaron could try my mouth. I felt their twin sets of hands paw at me, pulling my ass cheeks apart as they - one of them anyway - fucked me.
Aaron dropped his shorts to free his big cock, fatter than the Tim or Tom’s, girthy especially just under the head. His balls were big eggs, and his pubes untrimmed, dirty blond like his chest hair.
I needed no urging to get my mouth on it, and Aaron sighed “Oh yeah Coley,” resting a hand on my head, guiding me gently to take it all. I felt the head intrude into my throat, making me gag, but I didn’t stop, especially not when I heard him groan “Oh fuh-uuck.”
The twins started taking turns at my rear, each trying to outfuck me I guessed, their thrusts harder. They were pushing precum out of me like I’d never made before, and to be honest their relentless strikes were almost too intense.
Aaron let me rest my head and arms around his shoulders, rubbing the sides of my head and coaching me on.
“Coley, look at you,” he whispered, kissing my head. “What a fucking stud you are, taking both of those pricks.”
“I… I… ” I began, the twins thrusts nearly taking me off my feet, beating me inside. I was close to saying I can’t do any more. But Aaron had me.
“Shhh,” he whispered, his jaw bristles rubbing my cheek, “You’ve got this."
I eased up, letting them fuck me without resistance and let myself be open to whatever they needed.
"Good boy,” Aaron said, and kissed my cheek
He motioned for one of the twins to take his place at my front, and Aaron helped guide my head onto the new prick so I could gulp it down into my throat.
The weight bench rattled under me as the twins fucked me hard, mouth and ass, and I heard Aaron say to wrap it up. He still needed his turn at bat.
The twin at my rear suddenly shoved up into me like he’d been hiding an extra inch - something I knew couldn’t be, the twins never showing any restraint - and he groaned “Fuck FUCK YEAH” as he shot his load up into me.
I guessed it was the sight of his look alike cumming that pushed the twin fucking my mouth to shoot too. I felt the cock grow even stiffer as his cum gushed, filling my throat and mouth. I gagged and instinctively tried to free myself, but he had me in a headlock, holding me in place, making me swallow, again and again.
“There you go,” I heard him say, “take it all, baby.”
As they both finished unloading into me there was a sudden, loud rap at the basement door.
6.
It was Tim and Tom’s dad, barking “You boys making trouble down there?”
I knew my uncle’s voice just well enough to identify his Don’t make me get involved, if you know what’s good for you tone.
The twins froze at their father’s voice, and the load of cum building in my own dick subsided.
“Just wrestling around,” Jim called back from his perch on the stairs.
He turned to us and shrugged.
The twins both pulled out of me, almost shrinking away, leaving me straddling the weight bench, their cum loads in my belly and ass. Aaron rested a calming hand on my back.
After an interminably long held breath my uncle answered, “Well see there’s no damage.”
We all exhaled, and Aaron chuckled.
“Maybe just a little damage,” he said, running his hand down my sweaty back, his fingers sliding up into my hole.
Aaron entered me slowly. Lying on my back, his cock came in from a different angle than the twins, like it was exploring the few areas untouched by Tim and Tom. His cock was thicker and felt like it filled me more, and he was slower going in. He watched my face as he sank into me, our eyes locked, his grin encouraging me.
“When’d you get to be a hot lay, Colie?” he asked, resting his meaty forearms on the barbell rack.
It made him look even more sexy, looming over me that way, his shoulders and chest so muscular, and the creamy white of my legs against his tan skin.
He got into a good grind, working into me with his studly hips, letting his cock slide nearly out and then gliding back in again. He let my insides ache for him with each withdrawal, and then filled the empty space in me with every thrust.
After so much fucking my own cock was oozing a constant stream of precum and I wrapped a fist around it to coax more out as Aaron fucked me.
“That’s a sweet cock,” Aaron said. “But I don’t think that’s your thing, is it buddy?”
I shook my head no, not even sure what I meant, but knowing it felt true.
“You’re too good a hole,” he grinned. “Made for getting fucked.” He pawed at my chest. “And those tits are world class.”
His honeyed voice mouthing the word tits as he massaged mine notched us both closer to cumming.
It was so transgressive, so hot, the way he reduced my body parts to simply objects to get other men off - which was what I made them for. Pecs were manly - I lifted and threw shot puts, for fuck’s sake. But tits were there for men’s mouths and hands and pleasure. And Aaron loved grabbing at mine, and his turn on was my turn on.
He picked up his pace, his cockhead hitting some spot in me that shot spasms through my body.
“Oh yeah, Colie,” he said, seeing the waves of pleasure on my face. “We’re gonna get you off so good.”
He pinned me down to the weight bench with his weight on one hand at the center of my chest and pounded me harder. His long hair pulled back to his nape had loosened and hung around his face in streaks of dirty blond.
“Do it, Colie,” he said, nodding at my dick and licking his lips. “Give me your load.”
I didn’t need any help by then, but still he fucked a load out of me with his big ripe cock, forcing long hot streaks of white spewed across my belly.
The contractions of my ass drew out his load too, milking him as he gasped and shoved even deeper into me.
“Oh fuck yeah,” Aaron gasped as he pumped his cum into me with every thrust. “Holy FUCK - take it in your fucking hole.”
When his thrusts slowed and his breathing eased, he slid out of me, leaving me feeling empty and achy. He patted my cheeks as he stood up to his full height. “You’re a good boy.”
“A good hole,” one of the twins said with a chuckle, and his brother repeated it, with my name.
I’d gone by my middle name, Cole, at home. At school and beyond I was William or Will. But in the basement that day I heard the twins call me by my most true and secret name, Cole the Hole.
7.
I’d always slept with my cousin Jim on these trips, sharing his bed. We were the youngest, our mothers the only sisters in the family, and not that it was a reason but we looked most like each other, with our glasses and curly hair. Or we had, before I built up.
This trip was no exception, despite the exceptional things that happened earlier in the evening. We climbed into his bed as we had over a dozen times before, from earliest childhood on.
I lay on my back, the sheets pulled up to my chest. I was exhausted, but too exhilarated from being passed around to be fucked by my older, more masculine cousins. I’d fantasized about them so many times. My colon felt like it had been punched by a fist, but it was worth it.
Unable to sleep, I finally got up to go to the bathroom. I studied my shoulders and pecs and flat belly in the reflection. It thrilled me that my body inspired lust in my handsome cousins, and it wasn’t lost on me that was all that did it. If I’d still been the chubby boy this never would have happened. I was just a body to them, but now a fuckable one.
It maybe should have bothered me, but instead I felt giddy. I’d made my body through hard work for their pleasure. And their pleasure was mine. I could imagine that girls and women would see my new and growing muscle and mistake it for something to dominate them with, or to put into service. But other men would know. They would see me and understand I’d made something for them, to douse their burning wicks on and in.
I crawled back into bed on my side and this time Jim wrapped around me, the big spoon, as we had done so many times, alternating sides.
But this time I felt Jim’s erection against my ass.
He smeared his erection with his spit and pressed the cockhead into me, catching me off guard. It hurt at first, but my hole was still relaxed from the fucking just hours ago, so after the initial discomfort, he slid right up into me. He didn’t ask for my consent. It wasn’t necessary. He knew what I was.
He held me in place like the wrestler he was while he started pumping into me. While his cock filled my ass he wrapped a hand around my chest and kneaded my pec, squeezing the plush muscle and twisting it.
“Those fucking tits,” I heard him groan shuddered and came, fucked his load into me.
Fuck. Even Jim.
He stayed there, letting his cum empty into me as he held my chest and kissed my back.
I was a good boy. I was the best boy.
