On my Tuesday night date with Willie, I wanted to do something with his computer so I could rationalize I wasn't telling a one hundred percent lie to Chubby, just a ninety-nine percent one. Willie, of course, had a state-of-the-art system, much too sophisticated for me to understand, but he gave me the password; I logged on and fucked around with it awhile. Willie stood beside me, rubbing my back and mumbling, "What are you trying to do, Dylan?" I signed off, "I was checking to make sure you were using this excellent Apple computer at its maximum potential."
He asked, "And am I?" I mutter, trying not to laugh, "I don't know. It's too advanced for me." Snickering, he moved the palm of his hand from my forehead to the back of my head, playing with my hair. Constant bodily contact with me is Willie's thing. And, you know what? None of his touching was annoying to me at all. I loved the attention and the feel of his hands on me. Being with him was fun and funny, although, like Chubby, Willie wasn't always funny intentionally, but neither was I. He looked really good, and tasted good, and smelled sexy and hot and boyish and yummy. There wasn't anything about Willie that I didn't like; nothing important, anyway.
We had dinner at this long table covered with a white linen tablecloth. Willie and I sat across from each other at the end, nearest the kitchen. Two tall, thin candles were burning with the huge overhead chandelier on a dimmer switch turned down. Willie was the master of the mansion and told the housekeeper, who acted as a waitress, to please turn on some music. She played a forty-some-year-old Bruce Springsteen's album called "Born to Run." This was the first time I'd ever heard it, but I recognized one of the songs from a radio station that plays rock music from the seventies, eighties, and nineties. Some very excellent rock from that era, and, to be honest, a lot of it sucks too. It's odd dinner music, in any case.
The food was, um, different. Willie called it simple fare kicked up a notch and cooked perfectly. The cheeseburger had a cheese I'd never heard of called Gruyere. There was sauteed sweet onion with a dressing that reminded me of Ken's Russian dressing on the toasted bun. Nice roll, I gotta say. At first, though, I was worried because the burger wasn't cooked much. It had a nice char on the outside but was red inside. I looked at Willie, nodding at the burger as if... is this safe to eat raw? He grinned, shaking his head, and said, "Don't break my balls by pretending something is wrong with that cheeseburger."
What? I muttered, "I'm not breaking your balls, Willie. C'mon, this is an undercooked cheeseburger. It's almost raw." He laughed, "Yeah, undercooked, haha, sure." I'm not into raw meat, but it's obvious Willie thinks this is okay, and I'm his guest, so I hesitantly took a bite. It was delicious. Willie was eating it, so it must be a special hamburger, and you don't need to cook it much.
Instead of French fries, there was a big serving of the creamiest, most succulent scallop potatoes I've ever tasted and then a wedge of iceberg lettuce with a white dressing with spots of mold or something where the dressing had gone bad, past the used by date or whatever. Willie said, "There you go, breaking my balls again. It hasn't gone bad. It's blue cheese dressing the chef makes from scratch."
Huh? Like I said, it was tasty but scary. Needless to say, I'd never heard of blue cheese or blue cheese dressing. It had a very unusual taste. Then, almost ruining the dinner further, was the red wine. I tried my best to drink it, but it sucked, so I drank some water, and that was a little fucked-up, too. It was sparkling water of some kind with a lemon slice in it. To be fair, except for the water and wine, everything was different but really tasty.
The dessert was strawberries over vanilla ice cream. They didn't try to get fancy and fuck this up. The chef, who I never actually saw, was maybe trying a little too hard and was fucking up some classic fare to use Willie's words. The ice cream, like the salad dressing, was homemade. With all their money, you wouldn't think they'd have to have the chef concoct homemade ice cream and salad dressing from scratch.
I know Ben and Jerry's is expensive ice cream, but, come on, these guys are loaded. I mentioned it to Willie, who smiled, mumbling about casting pearls before swine. Like last time, Willie had memorized conversation for dinner, and in between bites of a raw cheeseburger, he told me about the difference between women's and men's English. What they say and what they actually mean. With women, sometimes yes means no, and maybe always means no. If she says we need, that means she wants. There were a few more. Then, making a face, he muttered, "It sounded funny when the comedian said it." I say, "I can see how it could be funny. I mean, you said it funny." We eat more, and Willie drinks most of his wine and then says, "When men tell a woman, nice dress, he means nice cleavage. Love you, means let's fuck, I'm bored, means let's fuck, and so does let's dance. When a man tells a woman, those shoes don't go with that dress, he means I'm queer; leave me the fuck alone."
I nod and eat some scallop potatoes, making me yearn for French fries, then say, "These aren't as funny as some of the others on our last date, but the fact you memorized these for me makes me love you." He said, "You're right, the others were funnier, although, as I said, the comedian I tried copying made this shit sound funny. Anyway, that's the end of my memorized dinner conversation."
Willie apparently feels it's his responsibility to have conversations, which is useful, except it never gives me a chance to say much. He described some of the many things that fill his days. For example, he'd had two kids from his prep school over for the afternoon on Sunday. They come over at least once a week, and Willie goes to their house almost every week for an afternoon. Neither of the guys was Larry, and neither of them was gay, although they knew Willie was. He said, "We did exactly what you and I will do after dinner, Dylan. Play tennis and then take a swim in the pool."
I told him I didn't know how to play tennis, and Willie said, "You'll learn, just like I'm learning to play golf." I shrugged, thinking that I'd like to be able to play tennis. Willie continues telling me about his regular activities, including driving into Cambridge a couple of times a week to hang out with his buds. Sometimes, during the day, he and his cousin, who lives in Wayland, see the Red Sox play at Fenway Park. Other times, they go into Boston for the day to mess around. He takes piano lessons twice a week and practices an hour a day. He has weekly tutoring lessons in French because he got a C- grade in that course last year. He described other things that keep him busy until my eyes glazed over, trying to contemplate his mind-boggling schedule. He also dated me two nights a week. Holy shit!
Chubby and I hung out during summers before we got jobs. That's how I'd describe it, handing out, and oh yeah, we got into trouble once in a while, too. Willie's so much more than I thought he was at first. I blush, thinking back to how superior I felt in our early times together during Carl's party. I was under the impression Willie was a dweeb with no self-confidence who had no friends and just happened to be cute in a unique way. He never came on like a rich, sophisticated, well-rounded overachiever like he appears to be. I'm impressed but baffled, too, as to why he was so taken with me.
What does he see in me that I don't see? I don't get why he seems so proud to introduce me as his boyfriend. He'd have no trouble getting a boyfriend, and he already has a lot of friends. And I don't understand why he looks up to Larry.
After dinner, we wandered around their beautiful grounds with Willie naming various flowers and plants. Latin names that I wouldn't even be able to pronounce. We eventually circled back to an area with a lighted tennis court, full basketball court, and swimming pool. "This is our sports complex, Dylan," Willie said laughingly, as if the area was embarrassingly inadequate. "We only have one court, and as you can see, there is no place to put another one, so my parents can't have tennis parties here. The pool is small, too, but since it's just you and me, it'll be perfect for us, right?" I nodded and smiled, completely overwhelmed.
We shot baskets first and then played a one-on-one game. Willie's only an inch taller than me, so it was a fair game as we were at equal skill levels. Then, onto the tennis court where I had never so much as swung a tennis racket. Willie gave me one of his rackets to use and gave me a basic lesson; then, he lobbed shots to me. It wasn't difficult to return the shots when he lobbed tennis balls at me. I thought I was doing great until Willie put a little extra on his serve, which was totally dangerous to a novice like me. He had an athletic grace about his every movement that I hadn't had an opportunity to see until tonight. I thought back to Carl's party again and how good a dancer Willie was as he tried to teach me to dance.
It's impossible not to admire a peer who can do many things better than you. I also felt slightly jealous that I never had the advantages that piles of money provide. It was getting dark but still quite humid and warm. Hidden lights began flickering on as the night darkened. "Time for a swim, Dylan, and please don't worry, I promise to get you home by twelve like you said. I know you need to work tomorrow."
I wondered about mosquitoes, but Willie said we wouldn't be bothered. There were many propane-fueled mosquito traps hidden around the grounds, eliminating mosquitoes. The pool wasn't like a regular backyard pool; it was made to look like a pond, about twenty by thirty feet, laid out irregularly, with a waterfall at one end. The water looked black instead of light blue like all the swimming pools I've seen. Subdued lighting created a very neat picture. It was very inviting.
A smiling Willie said, "Here you go, Dylan," he lifted my T-shirt over my head and pulled down my pants. "Wait!" I said, "I don't have a swimsuit!" Willie laughed and told me I was a riot. He pulled down my underwear, and I was naked except for ankle socks and sneakers, which I took off. I brilliantly assumed we were skinny dipping. Duh!
Willie got undressed and had me come around to the end opposite the waterfall, where a hammock was suspended between two trees. It wasn't a normal hammock, of course, but it was made to fit in with the decor of a pond in the forest with a waterfall. The forest consisted of beautiful decorative exotic types of trees and shrubs. We got in the hammock, which was quite comfortable and made of a soft material that smelled new or maybe just clean. Willie and I weren't new or clean; we were sweaty from playing tennis and basketball.
"Dylan, I've been dreaming about this since Sunday morning when I woke up," and he wrapped me in his arms and wrestled around until he was laying on top of me, his cock on my cock, his legs in between my legs. His tongue was in my mouth, and in short order, my boner was stretching six inches and painfully trying to get to six-and-a-half. Willie's boner was just as hard, noticeably longer, stretching for more, too. It was very sexy to be entangled with a sweaty boy... slippery, nasty, and hot. We didn't engage in conversation again until Willie had fucked me twice.
He fucked me in the same manner he did it Saturday night, except there was no music tonight. We were outside in a hammock, and it turned out to be even better than Saturday night, and that is saying a lot because Saturday night had been my best sexual experience ever... until tonight. Willie started with the unbelievably hot make-out while inching my legs up and getting his knees under my buttocks slightly. I was under his spell, and shortly, he had my legs pulled back and up in the air. Then he pushed in the first two inches of his boner. My boner was so hard there was a danger of it breaking off if were knocked the wrong way.
No talking, but plenty of grunting, heavy breathing, sighs, and moans of pleasure. Willie, once he'd penetrated me with those two inches of boner, arranged my legs and ass and body exactly like he wanted them and then casually leaned forward, sliding his long, sweaty, precum-slippery boner the next five-plus inches up my ass. He grunted once when he was all the way in me, and with sweat dripping from his face, he pulled out almost all the way and then drove it all back up inside me. I was holding my breath as his long boner went in easier the second time, and by the fourth time, he had his rhythm, and he fucked me steadily for five minutes, the hammock swaying slightly in the warm, humid air.
Everything felt primitive and exciting and hot as sweat from Willie's face mixed with mine. I quickly became highly stimulated and couldn't hold off climaxing a big load with a great deal of pressure behind it, and almost feinting as it flew out of my boner, spraying up on my neck while I was crying out a desperate, "Oh my God, Willie. Oooh!" Then smaller cum spurts traveled from my nuts up my shaft to pool on my belly.
Shortly after, with me still trying to appreciate all the colors flashing in my head, Willie made a squealing sound next to my ear, and in a second, my bowels were full of his cum. He fucked me in a frenzy for a minute, some of his cum splattering as it drooled out of my asshole. His thrusting slowed down, then stopped as we got into that tight ball of teen boys that we'd gotten into Saturday night. My arms locked around his back, his arms around my neck, and his knees tightly on either side of my chest, my legs wrapped around his waist, locked together on his back, our faces beside one another with our now soft penises squished between our bellies.
When we were nice and snug, and everything was perfect, we tightened that ball of teen boys even tighter, and then Willie sucked on my neck for twenty minutes, giving me a bigger hickey than the other one he gave me, and even bigger than the one Carl gave me. I was writhing underneath Willie before he was done. He was just licking it now, and I began to feel his penis grow between our bellies. Willy gave up on the hickey, took a deep breath, unwrapped his arms and legs around me, and said, "Roll over for me, Dylan. I want to do you laying on your stomach."
I rolled over, not as easy as it sounds, in a hammock, and Willie murmured, "Thanks, baby," and slid his long boner back up inside me, filling me up nicely. His cum from the earlier climax made it slippery, and it was so sexy to think about that. Willie fucked me roughly for about fifteen minutes before he climaxed again. I had partially pushed up on my knees to reach under and help myself get off. I'd been right on the edge of climaxing when Willie shot his load, and mine blew immediately after, leaving me limp but happy.
We lay together quietly except when Willie would whisper in my ear that he loved me. Then, he'd ask if I loved him, and I'd say I did because I felt I did. When he finally pulled out of me for good, much of his cum drooled out, too, and stained the material of the hammock. He said he'd have it cleaned, not to worry. We dove into the pool and swam for twenty minutes, stopping frequently to hug and kiss. Saying it was a dreamy evening is an understatement.
The swim cooled us off and cleaned us, too. We got dressed after toweling off, and Willie drove me home, where we made out for five minutes in the car, and then I thanked him profusely for the necklace and for everything else. He said he'd call about our Saturday night date and then he was gone.
Lying in bed, coming down off the high of this evening, I thought... Wait! I'll be on our Wildwood vacation on Saturday!
To be continued...
