It was another great Wednesday night barbecue at the Dickers. Delicious grilled food, I got fucked, swam in the pool, and had some laughs. Chubby and I were getting ready to leave when Dodger casually nodded at me. He wanted me to walk to the garage with him. I can't imagine what he's up to now.
After taking an exasperated deep breath, pretending I'm still pissed off at him, I ask, "What do you want now, Dodger? If you try anything like you did in the pool, I will get rough with you, and I don't want to have to do that." Dodger's eyes open wide, and he says, "Oh, don't get me all excited with that talk of rough treatment." We wandered to the side door of the double bay garage. I mutter, "What is it, Dodger?"
He seemed contrite, mumbling, "I'm wondering why you're being mean to me?" It's just like Dodger to put me in a position of defending myself when I haven't done anything wrong. Controlling my frustration, I calmly told him I wasn't being mean. He has taken advantage of me several times now, so I feel I need to be on the alert with him. He says, "Hey, I told you I'm gay at the Mall because I trust you, so you should trust me too. By the way, are you gay?"
I pointed out to him that he'd just changed the subject, that his question was none of his business. Dodger looked innocent and said, "Okay, I'll assume that the answer to my question is yes. Is that okay with you?" He's so fucking cute with that smirk of his. His bright, shiny eyes hint at the intelligence behind them. Dodger is very smart, very precocious. Changing the subject again, he says, "You know what we did in the pool was fun." I say, "What we did? You mean what YOU did, don't you?" He smiled and said, "No, no, no, we did it together. What I want to know is, when can we do it again?"
I was flabbergasted. "Are you out of your fucking mind? Anyway, Chubby and I are leaving any minute now." After nagging some more, Dodger said, "Well, can we kiss goodbye since we're both gay." That reminded me of my first time with Carl when he'd used the same tactic Dodger used. I mean, if I don't go to the trouble of contradicting him about his assumption that I'm gay, it would be verification that I am. I took another deep breath and gave up. Dodger has too much energy for me, and he was determined that we be gay together, and a kiss was a very good compromise to us fucking again, so I said, "A kiss between us two gay friends will be nice."
Dodger said, "Two gay friends who had sex together," and I corrected that to, "Two gay friends, one of whom raped the other one." He said, "Be nice, Dylan." Dodger leaned against me, and we kissed quickly. He said, "That doesn't count," and I said, "The only other kiss we're doing here is if you kiss my ass." He grinned and tried to do that, but I walked away, mumbling, "Take a break, Dodger."
Chubby and I changed our clothes, and after we thanked Mr. and Mrs. Dickers several times, Robby drove us home. Dodger insisted on coming with us, meaning he needed to sit on me even though Chubby was squeezed into the little second-row seat behind the driver, and there was room for Dodger in the front seat. It's too much trouble to argue with him, and, anyway, I had a nice boner by the time we got to our place, and so did Dodger.
We got out with Dodger only goosing me twice. Chubby and I sat on our front steps and smoked two shared cigarettes, discussing how great the Dickers brothers and their parents were. I wondered about Dodger's aggressiveness and how hot he was as a sixteen-year-old. God help the world when he's twenty-one.
Chubby and I both needed to get up early for work, so we hugged goodnight, and I kissed his cheek. He murmured, "Nice," and kissed mine. It was so sweet I was speechless for a second, and then I mumbled, "You don't even know how much that means to me, Chubby. You're the best friend anybody ever had." I think Chubby was a little emotional because I heard him swallow hard, nod his head, and squeeze my hand. Then he did a tight smile and waved as he went up to his place. Watching him go up the stairs, I had two thoughts. I love him, and what a great ass he has!
Thursday was the first day in quite some time that I felt I could walk up to my locker without trepidation. It was locked overnight, so I wasn't
worried that something was in there. That was a nice feeling. Massages with Robby, exchanging smart-ass remarks with the college guys, and staying out of Joel's way got me through the day nicely.
Last night, Chubby said something about doing our old four-mile run after work tonight, so I didn't start our dinner when I got home. I changed into running shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt and drank a Root Beer. When I saw Chubby walking up the steps, I went to meet him. He looked so pretty, and I know boys shouldn't be pretty, but sometimes he is, and I don't mean in a girly way. He has very nice facial features. Especially nice eyes and nice hair. The very thought of him fucking me gives me the most rigid boners imaginable.
We hug hello, and then he says, "I'll change and be right down, Dylan." Nodding, I played with my dick through my running shorts. It felt good to gently goose my penis and get it semi-hard. I positioned it from left to right in my underpants, hearing, "Jesus H Christ, are you playing with yourself again?" I go, "Huh?" as I turn around and see Chubby pulling a T-shirt over his head, chuckling. He added, "Caught you again." I mutter, "Whatever are you talking about?" We smiled at one another, and off we jogged.
I either run next to him or behind him, never in front of him. I like to see him all the time. Running next to him, our swinging arms often rub against each other, and behind him, I can stare at him. Chubby was in a good mood today. Sometimes, he's glum for an hour before loosening up after work. I need to walk on eggshells around him on really bad days when he comes in from work with a pissed-off look on his face or, even worse; sometimes he looks so sad it breaks my heart. I've given up asking what the problem is because that gets him gloomier, and he won't tell me.
Today is a good day, though. We ran a slow two miles because we lost our wind from a lack of consistent running. It was so nice running with Chubby again that I didn't bother timing each mile.
Without any connection to anything we'd been talking about, Chubby says, "The percentage of the African continent that's still in a wilderness condition is twenty-eight percent, and the percentage of North America that's wilderness is thirty-eight percent. Weird, huh?" That sounds like a bullshit factoid if I ever heard one, but I said, "Well, yeah, everybody knows that." Later, I found out he was right, too. At least, according to Google. He said, "More people walk to work in Alaska than any other state." I mumbled, "You don't say."
We're running with Chubby making puffing sounds. Then, five minutes later, he said, "Intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their hair than dumb people." I ask, "Does that include the poor bastards working in zinc and copper mines?" Chubby goes, "What the fuck are you mumbling about now?" Then he laughed, and his laugh made me laugh, too. It's like when someone yawns, so do I.
We were approaching the rest area cut-off, and Chubby said, "The rest area is a must, bro. I need a real toilet as I sense a doody coming on." So, we swerved off and slowed down gradually until we were walking by the time we got to the trees. On the other side of the trees is the rest area, lavatory, and my Marine. It was a shock to see him, and I thought, stand up straight! Then, wow, he looks very handsome today with his crisp haircut.
Chubby, real low, says, "Get a load of this guy, Dylan. Whoa! Let's not get in a fight with this motherfucker?" I mumble, "Good advice, bro." Chubby says, "I gotta take a dump. Stay out of trouble if you can." He headed at a trot for the lavatory about a hundred yards from the rest area. I watched him for a few seconds and then hesitantly turned slowly toward the Marine. He stared at me with those blue eyes, and my stomach had butterflies. I felt self-conscious for some reason. In a conversational voice, which somehow was still very authoritative, Tom said, "Stand up straight, Goddammit. Have you forgotten everything already?"
I wanted to tell him he was not the boss, but instead, I stood up very straight and clasped my hands behind my back. He approached me and asked, "Was that guy your boyfriend, Dylan?" I quietly replied, "No. That's my best friend." The Marine pulled the waistband of my running shorts out and said, "Just stand there. Be very still," and he put his other hand in my shorts and took hold of my penis with his thumb and a couple of fingers to begin stroking the foreskin on and off the head of my limp cock. I went, "Oh...no, Tom, please don't. My friend doesn't know about me. He's in the bathroom."
The Marine said, "Shhhhh. I know where he went." Then, "Okay, good. You still shave down here. I can spare you the spanking." With his grip on the waistband of my shorts, he pulled my shorts up roughly, giving me, basically, a tight wedgie. I grunted, "NO! Please, don't do that. Hey, that's too tight." Tom casually mutters, "Be quiet, Dylan. Standstill, or I will give you the spanking. You're whining like a little girl today".
My penis was getting hard now, and using my waistband again, he pulled me tightly against his body. Letting go of the waistband, he cupped the back of my head and held my face against his shoulder. He smelled masculine but not yummy like some of the boys I know. He said, "You're the only boy I've ever been with that I missed when you aren't around. What do you think about that?" His continual stroking of my foreskin on and off the head of my cock was having the expected result; I was getting very hard. He did it so confidently like it was his right to do what he wished with my dick.
Neither of us spoke for a few seconds. The only sound was my puffs of breath. This reminded me of that shit-head, Joel. But no, I'm scared of Joel, and I'm not of my Marine, so why am I doing what he wants? I was up against most of his torso by now, completely relaxed against him, my arms at my side. I made my mind a blank except for enjoying how my penis felt. It was like being in a safe, comfortable place here with Tom, but safe from what? The thought that Chubby would come out and catch us doing this, amazingly, was not a concern. I had faith that Tom would know how to avoid that.
The Marine moved the side of his face. He kissed my forehead and then turned my head and held a long kiss on my lips as precum drooled out of my pee slit. I moaned, "Ohh," and he whispered, "You smell sexy. You're all boy, aren't you? Would you like to be my boy? You very much need what I have for you," and another long kiss, his tongue sliding on mine, as I tightened my buttocks muscles and shot a long stream of cum in my shorts and then two follow-up squirts. The Marine sounded so sincere as if he really did like me.
His voice had me hypnotized again, or whatever he did to me. I snuggled against him and moaned quietly. I'd climaxed in less than three minutes from his first touch on my penis. Tom pulled his hand out of my shorts, pinched some hairs at the crown of my head to pull my head back, and said, "Suck your cum off my fingers." My mouth opened, and he put two fingers on my tongue, and I immediately began sucking them as Tom continued in that mesmerizing voice, "You need me to fuck you. The tip of my cock in your asshole that time scared you. That's okay, but you need my big, fat, long cock up your ass. When a real man like me fucks you, you'll be coming back for more. Sure, it's going to be painful. I'm not trying to hide that, but you need it. Text me and arrange it."
He took his fingers out of my mouth, then smeared my saliva from his fingers on my T-shirt, saying, "Once you're fucked by me, then you'll know what you need and why you need it. You need a man who will be very stern with you, so you'll eventually learn to get the most out of being fucked. The most out of sex by pleasing your man."
From a hundred yards away, we both heard the loud slam of the lavatory door. The Marine let go of me and mumbled, "It's up to you. Text to set up a date for your fucking?" He had a strong hand on my ass cheek now. I breathlessly said, "Yes, Sir, I will." He muttered, "I know you will," and let go of my butt cheek, then did a slow jog around the trees and was gone. I waited for Chubby, pulling out my too-large T-shirt to cover the cum stain on the front of my shorts. Then sat on the bench in a fog.
My cum was cooling fast and felt sticky/icky on my shaved crotch. I sat straight, taking short, fast breaths, thinking how I like it when someone takes a dominant hand with me. Yes, I thought I was moving away from that, but he put me in a trance or something, and my cock felt so sensitized and so alive. I shivered, shuddered, and liked how that whole deal with my Marine felt. My climax was so good.
Then, somehow, I realized Chubby had been talking as he approached the bench. I heard the end, "About that lavatory here. It's wicked clean, and I don't think it's hardly ever used." I say, "I used it a week ago, and you're right. It's very clean." He looked at me, "Are you alright, bro? You look dazed or something." Shaking my head, "I'm good, Chub. I had a stich in my side. Not used to running, you know?"
Chubby said, "Fuck, dude. I had one the entire first mile, just about. Come on, let's finish our run." And away we went, finishing the second two-mile leg of our run, not slowing down until we reached the starting point. Stopping, we both are leaning over, our hands on our knees, breathing deeply.
Straightening and taking a last deep breath, Chubby says, "Whoa, invigorating!" We start walking home with Chubby telling me a factoid. "Studies prove women, in different stages of their menstrual cycle, find different types of male faces attractive. When a woman is ovulating, for example, she prefers a rugged-looking male face. When she's menstruating, on the other hand, she prefers a man doused in gasoline and set on fire with scissors in his eyes." He laughs, and I mutter, "I don't know what that means, so I don't know why you're laughing." Chubby shrugs, "Obviously, you're not familiar with what women go through monthly." I nod, "That's true, and I don't want to know."
He's been in a good mood this afternoon, so I ask, "How are things with the window washer boys?" Chubby says, "Okay, I guess, but more bad news from Rickie. Remember that first time I had him over, and he and I fucked up with wicked short haircuts?" I make a face and nod, and Chubby says, "Well, he wants all us window washer boys to get buzz cuts at Supercuts for the summer, and we have uniform T-shirts we'll start wearing next Monday. I'll wear it when I get back from vacation. Creepy green shorty-shorts, too. Like a window washer boy uniform, and we need to pay for the haircuts and uniform out of our earnings."
Chubby already had a buzz cut, so I shrugged and said, "He's a freak on a control high, Chubby. He gets high on power. He's on a power trip and loves being the boss of all you guys." Chubby said, "Yeah, and get this. He's trying to talk us all into getting our ear pierced, and all of us wearing the same stud earring thing or whatever they're called. It'll be the window washer boy earring."
None of that stuff seems too awful to me. I want to get my ear pierced. That's cool, but Mom doesn't like the idea. Chubby said all that Rickie stuff hesitantly as if he expected an outburst from me. I told him I'd like to get my ear pierced, too. If he's getting his ear pierced, that makes it a different matter as far as my mom goes; she'll give in.
We walked silently for a while, and then Chubby said, "I'm surprised but happy you're okay with Rickie's new rules. I thought you'd be all pissed off that you won't be able to give me my haircuts till the Fall and that you'd hate the idea of an earring because it's Rickie's idea." I said, "You and I are numero uno best buds forever, number one home boys, so little things like that don't piss me off anymore. I'm all grown up, can't you tell?" He laughs and mutters, "Jesus, when did you start using heavy drugs? There's got to be something I'm missing. Normally, you'd be bitching and making my life hard; hard, I say!"
Hmm, I wondered if using the word hard twice, like Chubby just did, could be one of those double-entendre things, or am I projecting again?
To be continued...
