Chapter Two
Chub and I are sleeping together again at Chub's request. I don't mind, but he wanted to know every detail of my encounter with Carl earlier tonight. We never have secrets, but this is different, and I didn't mention anything about what happened sexually. Then, because I didn't want to lie, I concentrated on Carl wanting to mentor me getting into an Ivy League University, making me next year's senior newspaper editor, and putting in a good word for me to the guy in charge of our high school's extra-curricular activities.
I expected and was correct in my expectation that Chubby would be quickly bored hearing about this mundane stuff. And I don't feel good about lying by omission, but what else could I do? Chubby was relieved that's all there was to it, but was pissed I'd have to do it again next. Wednesday because he couldn't stand Carl Denton. I shrugged, not wanting to lie about anything else. I have no problem lying when it's called for, but not to him.
The next day, back in school, all newspaper activities were now pleasant for me because Carl was very courteous to me, and soon, others on the paper followed his lead. They began to recognize that I was more important around here than was previously thought to be the case. Most people were followers and easily accepted that my stock had skyrocketed, and some were even brown-nosing me. Chubby and I came and went as we pleased; it was fine with the boss, Carl.
The next Tuesday, Carl called me into his tiny office and told me to lock the door and pull the shade on it. I did that, and he said he was looking forward to our meeting tomorrow night. Trying to sound upbeat, I said, "Yeah, me too, Carl!" Then, I told him I was nervous but curious, too.
Carl said, "You're cute with that innocent thing you've got going for you. Not to brag, but you're lucky I'm willing to put the time into guiding you through sex education and mentoring you for Ivy League school acceptance. But, right now, I've been in here thinking about you," and he wiggled his finger for me to come to him. When I walked over, he wrapped me in his arms and began with the kissing-on-the-mouth crap again. I twisted my head and said, "Jeez, please wait a second, Carl."
Thinking I couldn't do the kissing, I took a chance of blowing up the senior editor's job and came right out and told him that kissing wouldn't be part of anything he and I did. I said, "I wish I could, but I have some mental block. Maybe you can help me overcome that, but I can't do the kissing part for now. Sorry." And his breath smelled fresh, so somebody got through to him, but a fresh breath or not, I'm not making out with him.
To my amazement, he immediately said, "Okay, Newman, I understand. For now, no more kissing. We're still on for tomorrow night, right?" Relieved that everything seemed fine, I nodded and tested to see if I was still in good standing here, "Is it okay if Chubby and I take off now?" Carl was like, "Sure! No problem. See you tomorrow after school, and then at my house tomorrow night. Don't be late, and remember what you need to bring with you.
Walking home, Chubby was on a rant about the Junior prom. "It really sucks that you weren't even nominated to be king of the prom. I put your name in the box, and they don't even acknowledge it! What's up with that? Darren Lewis is nominated along with that dork, Bob Leaders? Who is shitting who? You're much better looking than either of those dorks. It's so unfair."
"Jesus, Chubby, I'm not even going to the prom. I don't give a shit who's the King or Queen, and I wouldn't have served if I won, which there was a better chance an alien from outer space to win it than me." Chubby wouldn't let it go, " It's a fucking conspiracy of morons, is what it is," but then he started laughing, muttering, "Aliens."
Chubby lights up a cigarette and takes a drag, then passes the Marlboro to me. I take a drag and say, "To answer your question, it's a clique thing, like most things in High School. Fuck, like most things in the world, maybe."
He gives the last word on the matter, "Fuck 'em!" and after a minute or so, I ask, "You going to the prom?" Chubby says, "Not now, I'm not, but I could have. Carol Demarco asked me to go. She's got a wicked crush on me, and I could get in her pants with one hand tied behind my back. Fuck her up properly with my big bad boy and make her happy, but forget about it if you're not going."
He goes on to tell me that her nose is too big for her face, although her tits are huge. I said, "Hey, how about we go stag? We could practice dancing together and wear matching tuxedos." Chubby takes a drag off the cigarette, muttering, "Nah, that wouldn't work."
"Does that mean you're turning me down, Chub? Is that what I'm hearing?" His face reddened, "Hey, we could get a reputation if guys hear that kind of joking. Let's run," and we ran all the way home. Then, after talking with our Moms for fifteen minutes, we go on our real run of four miles through the park. After a mile, not sounding out of breath at all, Chub says, "Did you know the average person's skin weighs twice as much as their brain."
I laugh at the non sequitur and say, "Does that include thin-skinned guys?" Chubby says, "I hope you're not implying I'm thin-skinned." I mutter, "No, you're my idol, Chubby. You have the perfect skin." He pretends to cough, saying, "Bullshit," hidden in the fake cough. I laugh, then say, "Don't make me talk anymore; I don't run as easily as you." He does the fake cough-bullshit thing again.
Ever since the scare at the hospital, I've noticed and appreciated Chubby more than ever. I took him for granted all these years. His sparkly, bright eyes and his smallish, straight nose. His always-ready little boy grin and the shy way he has when he's given a compliment. I bump his side as we run, "I love you, bro." He mumbles, "Don't start breaking my balls, Dylan," and off he runs with me, catching up and jogging beside him.
After dinner Wednesday night, I'm back ringing Carl's doorbell. He answers this time, no tubby sister in sight. He nods his head that I should come in, and I follow him upstairs to his bedroom, where he says, "Let me see the condoms." It took some balls buying those things, but I was wicked curious to see how this was going to feel, so in the drugstore, I held my breath and handed two packets of an expensive brand condom to the lady at the register. They cost two days' lunch money. The lady rang them up without even glancing at me.
Carl nods, "Yeah, these are good," he tears one open but leaves it in the wrapper. "Okay, Dylan, you need to get me hard first. What the hell? You're going to need to know how to do it, so I need you to blow me. You'll like sucking cock; that's my prediction."
Taking a deep breath, I knew I'd need to do this, but now that the time is here, I'm scared. He matter-of-factly mutters, "Well, get on your knees. Let's go! He is a no-nonsense, direct bastard, alright. He comes right out with this stuff as if he's saying pass the potatoes, which, by the look of him, he's said quite often over the years.
Carl had his pants undone and was playing with himself absently as he explained, "I've only fucked one guy. It's my cousin, Henry, but I've done him maybe twenty-five times or more over the last two summers. So, I know what I'm doing, and you don't, obviously. You need to get out of your pants and underwear. Do I need to tell you every-fucking-thing?"
I started feeling awkward and hesitated as Carl gave me a stern look and played with himself. I had an internal battle with myself, trying to get myself to pull down my pants. I'd gotten no further than unsnapping them when Carl said, in a sympathetic-sounding way, "I know, Dylan, it's difficult doing something for the first time. We don't have to do it if you don't want to. I've only fucked Henry, but I've taken it up my ass, too. I liked it, and you will, too."
That was the deciding factor. His unexpected, sympathetic, understanding manner made me want to do it for him. After all, he's doing this for my benefit, right? I've forgotten how this even started. I roughly pulled down my pants and boxers together and stepped out of them, wondering why I needed to do that if I was going to suck his cock. My dick and nuts were shriveled up, and I felt self-conscious about that, but Carl wasn't paying attention to my dick. My bare ass was chilly until Carl reached over a gave my right butt cheek a hard slap, then another one making me sit on the hardwood floor, muttering, "What?"
Carl said, "You need to wake up, Dylan. If you want to learn, pay better attention. You should be on your knees, not on your ass, right?" Nodding, "Sorry," I got up on my knees, and right in front of my nose was Carl's cock, and it was already half a stiffy. I hadn't anticipated sucking his dick my second time here, but there it was in front of me. It didn't smell like anything as I took it in my hand. Carl had gotten me used to touching his penis last time, so maybe he does know what he's doing.
He was making little impatient hip movements with his wide, fat waist, so I closed my eyes and licked the head of his penis. It didn't taste like anything. Licking it from his pubic hairs up the shaft and over the head, then again, it quickly got hard. I put it in my mouth and sucked on it, trying to think of something other than I have a guy's penis in my mouth. I tried pretending I had a fat wood dowel in my mouth. A round, smooth, fat wood dowel with a tulip-shaped cock head at the end. Oh man, get a grip! Fuck!
Carl said, "Use your head, Dylan. What do you do when you're jerking off?" I don't know what that has to do with this. He says, "Stroke it! Stroke it while you're sucking it. Use your tongue more and suction with your lips and tongue simultaneously, and remember to stroke it all the time."
I made my mind go as blank as I could and did what he said. After two minutes, I couldn't imagine his cock getting any harder. While I was doing that, Carl made grunting sounds and ran his fingers through my hair. Then, as I was about to pull my mouth off his boner to ask how much longer I had to suck it, Carl sputters, "Ohhh" and a fine spray of liquid comes out his pee slit into my mouth. I pulled my head back, going, "Ah, shit! You peed in my mouth," and then I spit in his wastebasket three times. Picking up the condom, Carl muttered, "That wasn't pee. It was precum, Dylan. We're all set. Get up, turn around, and bend over, holding the desk. I'll take your cherry, giving you your first fuck."
Glad the cock sucking was over with, I did what he'd told me to do. Carl, matter-of-factly again, mumbles, as if he's telling me, it will rain today, "This will likely hurt at first, probably a lot, but don't scream because my parents will hear you. Just grin and bear it." I nodded, feeling very nervous now. "Stick your ass up, Dylan. C'mon, get with it. You've seen this or porn channels a hundred times. Now, it's your time."
Carl bumped the end of his boner against my asshole, the condom squishy with lubricant. Each bump got firmer until the head of his cock went tightly inside me and broke something in there. I was seeing red dots streaming in my head, and the burning pain inside me caused tears to roll down my face. I thought, "Well, he did warn me."
Carl quietly murmurs, "Oh yeah, this is what it's all about. Relax your body and enjoy the ride I'm providing you; here we go: I'm pushing up your tunnel now." And boy, did he ever. It felt like a log was moving all the way up my ass as I was making rapid slurping sounds, sort of like a mantra, to get my mind off the pain. When he was all the way up there, he pulled back steadily and pushed the log right back up, and then did it again, slowly but steadily. After a few more times, much of the pain faded. He started much quicker humping, very confidently and steady now. I thought of my fantasy and realized that while this didn't hurt much anymore, it also didn't feel great. That is until he grabbed me by the hips and pulled me up higher, onto my toes.
All of a sudden, it's just like my fantasy, the fat head of his swollen log of a cock massages a certain spot inside me, and I feel this awesome pleasure sensation that's like nothing I've ever felt before, and it's magnificent. I tried to get up even higher on my toes, and when his hard boner went up and pulled back down now, it hit that perfect spot, and my dick felt tingling and fine like when I was jerking off, getting ready to cum. Carl was grunting and smacking my ass with each pile-driving thrust; I got a boner without even touching it. My stomach tightened, and what the fuck was happening? I squeaked out, "Ahhh", and watery cum did a soft spurt out of my cock a few times. Then a hard string of cum fires out that felt better than any jerking-off climax could ever imagine feeling.
I had to tighten my sphincter before I squeezed cum out of my nuts. The tightening on Carl's hard boner got him making gargling sounds in his throat, and he laid on my back, thrusting hard into me three times, holding the last one way up in my rectum, doing little humps against my buttock, whimpering as a gooey feeling and a touch of extra warmth was felt inside me, Carl gasping and then thrusting sloppily, rocking me to and fro.
My heart was pumping to beat the band, and I was breathing like I'd run four miles fast. Oh, but that climax felt way better than I get from jerking off. I see what all the fuss is about now. I mumbled, "Could you please get off my back, Carl? You're heavy." He struggled up and pulled his softening cock out of me. We groaned, "Ahh, ahh," because that felt good too. We breathed deeply, and Carl asked, "So, how'd you like that?" I told him it was great, and he said, "We'll rest for an hour, and then I'll do you again, slower next time."
I'm up for that. My ass was a little sore, but I wanted to be filled up back there again, and when Carl started thrusting, it was like I went out of my mind feeling like something I'd never even imagined existed. I'm not thrilled with fat Carl hugging and goosing me. Then, he ignored his no-kissing promise and did some open-mouth kissing that was gross, but I put up with all of it to again feel the hard-to-believe sensations Carl fucks out of me.
The second time, using the second condom, his entrance still hurt, but not as much, and I kept my ass way up, so I got that special extra awesome sensation right from the first trip up my tunnel. He fucked me for what seemed like twenty minutes, some of it frantic near the end when I had my second climax. It didn't reach the fantastic explosion of the earlier one, but it felt better than anything I've experienced other than the first climax. Carl made a girlie, squealing sound shooting off, and then he was exhausted and collapsed on his bed, telling me, "Get over here on the bed with me."
He treated me like his girlfriend, hugging, groping, moving me around, kissing... it was making out again. After a while, I got used to it and didn't fight Carl on anything. He got a wicked hard boner and poked my ass with it. My ass was squishy with the lube from the condom, but it was sore too, so I moaned, "I'm too sore, Carl." He put my hand on his hard cock and said, "Stroke me off. We'll toughen your pussy hole so that you can do it more than twice a night."
After I jerked him off, Carl was grumpy and smacked me around a little. Just some smack on the back of my head when I didn't get dressed and out of the house fast enough. So, maybe that's all there is. After doing it twice, I wanted to do it more, but not right away. Give my pussy-ass time to recover from Carl's large cock! He said he'll fuck me in different positions and that I'm a work in progress, so I'll be coming twice a week from now on. The guidance he was going to give me for being next year's Senior Editor never comes up, which is okay with me.
What I am worried about is Chubby being pissed off I'm not hanging out with him two nights a week now. I'll explain that it's only for an hour and a half. I find Chubby in his and his Mom's family room at eight-fifteen. Being careful not to groan or walk funny due to my sore asshole, sounding cheerful, I say, "Hi, Chubby!" He's watching a basketball game on TV, and smiled at me, muttering, "Hey, my missing shadow. Hi, Dylan."
I sat beside him on the sofa and told him about Carl's insistent on the twice-a-week thing. Amazingly, he didn't get mad. Instead, he hesitated, and because I knew him so well, I asked, "Okay, what do you have to tell me?"
He said, "It's both good news and not so good. You and I want to get our driver's license, but we need to pay for auto insurance, which is wicked expensive. So, a kid in homeroom who sits behind me said he might be able to get me a part-time job with Framingham Window Cleaners, washing windows." I'm like, "What? Washing windows?" Chubby's excited and looking cute, saying, "Yeah, what's so odd about that? Anyway, this kid's father is the foreman and hired us to wash windows every day after school. Ha, it's who you know in this world that counts. That's how you get preferential treatment."
Huh, maybe this summer I can work with them. Chubby will start out making nine dollars an hour, which is important because the whole idea is to save all the wages we make to pay for our car insurance so we can get driver's licenses. Chubby says, "That's the good part; the bad part is I've got to miss our four-mile run and the school newspaper stuff after school, and I'll have to do my homework after dinner. I hope you'll wait to do yours then so we can still do it together."
On the one hand, he was proud of himself for getting the job, but on the other, he was sad because our time together would be seriously reduced. It makes my news of Carl training me twice a week mute. It doesn't matter because Chubby won't be around at all. There are going to be changes in life, and one must adjust. That's what we ended up telling each other.
With Chubby working after school, I switched seeing Carl from night time to right after we worked on the newspaper. As time went by, it got to the point where I was going over to his place three times a week, and he was like my master more than my mentor. He bossed me around from the minute I reported to the paper after school until he'd fucked me two or three times and maybe spanked me once or twice for talking back or whatever. It sounds wrong and unfair, but I was deeply into fat Carl by now and did what I was told. Getting fucked feels good!
He fucked me in many different positions, although we both liked doggy style best. The more he fucked me, the more I turned into a pussy wuss. I was buying all the condoms, and it was getting expensive. I liked getting fucked the best, but I got to liking the cock sucking I was doing on fat Carl's fat cock, too. Blowing him with his blubbery belly against my forehead. After a couple of weeks, I tried to switch it around, but he wouldn't allow that because he was the master, the top, and he did all the guy stuff; I did the girl or pussy-cunt stuff.
It all was coming to an end anyway because Carl's a senior, and there are a lot of activities for seniors; plus, they graduate two weeks before underclassmen get out for the summer. He had already recommended me for his replacement in the newspaper, so we parted on good terms. I wondered how I'd handle not sucking cock and getting fucked so often, but I wasn't especially worried about it. After all, I went seventeen years without it.
Analyzing the entire Carl sex episode during my walk home from his house for the last time, I came to the conclusion it had been a very useful learning experience but a disappointing one, too. I'd read on the Internet about climaxing and about how rockets are supposed to go off in your head and in your nuts, too. It was supposed to be the thrill of all thrills, and that's how I had my fantasy expectations set up. The real thing was sort of like that the first few times, but then it got to be routine. Never did I experience skyrockets blasting in my head. Near the end, I thought it wasn't worth the trouble.
One thing, though, I haven't fucked anyone yet, so maybe doing that top part is when I'll experience the bombs going off in my head and balls. I'm hoping that when I'm doing the fucking that will be the sexual experience I've read about. Chubby and I met at dinner every night, and I noticed we'd become touchy/feely with each other, missing one another. This is the first time since we were babies we've been apart for hours while Chubby washes windows. We missed our afternoon routine activities, too. Hell, I missed being with Chubby, period. Before dinner, I was massaging his shoulders because he was sore. I never knew cleaning windows would be so hard on your hands, arms, and shoulders. Chubby was on the rag squad and not the easier 'squeegee' squad, which was less stressful on fingers and hands but more complicated on arms. Chubby's fingers, especially the index and middle ones, ached all day from using them to force the cleaning rag into the corners of each fixed-pane window.
The window cleaning crew Chubby was on did all the little windows, and all those corners were the killers. Chub said, "Four hours seemed like twenty-four hours when you're washing windows."
I feel bad he's hurting, but Chubby is a bulldog who'll never quit. We did our homework sitting close together at my small desk, and then downstairs, we'd sit tight together watching the Red Sox on TV every night. I enjoyed how Chubby's body felt, and I admired his toughness, and, basically, I liked everything about my best friend of a lifetime. Half the time, without thinking about it, I'd give Chub little hugs.
We were bathed together from when we were babies to our toddler years. We slept together, too, and I recognized and liked Chubby's natural skin scent. I'd smelled his scent all my life and never noticed it until now. Recently, I like to inhale a big breath, smelling the boyish odor coming off that smaller body of his. Occasionally, Chubby would say, "We like everything about one another, but we're not queer, Dylan." I'd mumble my line, "Yeah, I know we're not, Chub."
I say my line, although lately, I get a boner from the bodily contact with Chubby. Since Carl cut me off, I appreciate Chubby more in all kinds of ways. Maybe it was partially because I'd realized while waiting in the hospital after that fight six weeks ago how much he's a part of my life. It's odd how perspectives change. For example, to save the moms' money, we've been giving each other haircuts since we were fourteen, and recently, I like that he fusses with my hair, whereas before, it annoyed me. Now I'm disappointed when he's done my haircut in eight minutes.
Taking my time with his haircut has become something I look forward to, but now he says most of the window cleaning guys have buzz cuts because of the heat, and that's what he wants, too. Fuck buzzcuts! They only take four or five minutes, but Chub insisted, and I always try to give in to his wishes. It also made me jealous that he's always talking about the boys he works with, especially that kid, Ricky, from his homeroom. It used to be all about Chubby and me, but now he knows a group of guys I'm not part of.
Chubby still likes to do what amounts to cuddling together, although we have never called it that. And he still loves the foot fetish thing, although we've never called it that, either, and he doesn't do it often. I can totally do without it, but as a favor to him, I'll say, "Chubby, do my feet seem alright to you? The arch hurts a little, and I wonder..." After I say bullshit like that, Chubby gets busy playing with my bare feet and licking them and all his foot fetish stuff.
Anyway, that's what I want now: Chubby's attention. I want him to stare at me like he used to in the old days or ask what we should do. Whatever it was, we did it together. Now, It just isn't the same. I'm back to pushing at my asshole while jerking off, pretending the mystery boy is fucking me with all the details of old. Carl isn't the mystery boy because he's overweight, but I miss seeing Carl. I've sometimes wondered if Chubby would ever consider being my mystery boy. Maybe Chubby and I could experiment with a bit of gay buddy sex. Nothing too queer, just some blowjobs and anal sex. There is a significant problem with that, though. Chubby has always carried on about not being gay. He's not a slave to facts, or reality for that matter. He sees things the way he wants to see them, and if we ever did some buddy sex, then he wouldn't be able to go into that we're not queer routine of his. The more I think about this, the more Chubby would need to be the one to bring it up. Of course, maybe I've been misreading him for years, and he's not gay at all. Perhaps I'm the only gay one here.
As much as I wish it was someone else other than fat Carl, he did an important thing for me by bringing out my sexuality and clearing the way for me to explore it with experience now. I was in a holding pattern until Carl came along. That fight with the Chavez brothers was significant, too, because it was the beginning of my new appreciation for Chubby. Appreciate him in more than just my best bud way.
Yesterday, after dinner and after our homework, we did haircuts for each other with the Red Sox on TV in the background. After doing a regular haircut for me, Chubby wanted the buzz cut, but to drag it out a little, I did my version of a burr haircut which Chubby liked okay. He went upstairs to shower right after that, and, in between innings of the ballgame, I went into the steamy bathroom for a pee. Chubby was stepping out of the tub, but no problem. We've seen each other's dicks our whole life.
I've known for five years now that Chubby's the boner king of seventeen-year-old boys. He springs boners many times every day. Unintentional boners, but he's never gotten a boner seeing my dick or seeing me naked. That's more evidence that I got him all wrong, and he wasn't sexually interested in me at all. BUT, even more surprising than that is me starting to get boners, like now, looking at his naked, hot body. I need an asexual outlet, and Carl would do, but he's done with me.
So, it's new that I can't stop looking at Chubby. He's smaller than me, but not a lot, and there are similar things about our bodies. He's five feet, six-and-a-half inches tall, although he claims to be five foot seven and a hundred and twenty-five pounds. Not large, but everything about him is perfectly proportioned. He's sort of a smaller version of me. We both have very toned, smooth, perfect teenage boy's bodies with muscle definition in our biceps and calves, a tight belly with a few ab muscles showing, and twenty-eight-inch waists. Hairless torsos, nothing spectacular, but nothing wimpy, either. We could be brothers except for him being short and me being almost five feet eleven. I say I'm five feet ten, but if I stretch... ah, never mind, that'd be creepy. Our penises are different as well, so the brothers' fantasy takes another hit there. His four-plus-a-little-inch cock, which is the perfect size for the rest of him. He has a very nice-looking sac of nuts and a neat-looking pubic patch. His rounded buttocks are so squeezable I need to control myself, and he has that sexy, pretty, tannish, olive-complected skin tone without a blemish anywhere. Ah, jeez, I got a boner thinking about getting naked and lying in bed with him.
Chubby's face, with the sunburned nose, is cute for a guy. Perfectly proportioned facial features, and his wonderful grin with his big brown eyes and that butch, burr haircut. You know what? He looks like some perfect teen boy from the fifties or sixties or something. Like one of those wholesome, innocent, clean-cut boys we saw pictures of in my grandfather's high school yearbook online. Bizarrely, his grandfather went to the same High School we now attend sixty years later.
As I pissed into the toilet, I said, "Chub, you look like a kid who went to Framingham High School with your grandfather." Drying himself, Chubby mutters, "What in the fuck are you talking about now, Dylan? Are you okay?" I shook my dick, getting the last drop off, and said, "I'm okay. With your burr haircut, you look... oh, never mind. I'm going to shower now."
Chub put on pajama bottoms and went down to the rec room to watch more of the game, and I took my shower, jerking off under the warm spray, and this time, I didn't fantasize about my mystery boy fucking me. Instead, I thought about Chubby's hot body and had a nice climax, the top of my head almost flying off. Holy shit!
We've stopped sleeping together as Chubby is over the trauma of his brain concussion. Why can't I appreciate stuff while living it instead of yearning for it after it's over? I realize how great I have something, like sleeping with Chubby, when it's too late. Duh! That's me. The fight was the reason Chubby wanted me to sleep with him a couple of weeks back. Other than that, sleeping together is a relatively rare occurrence. The only time we get to sleep together is typically when one of our moms has a boyfriend over for the evening, which they try not to do too often, but when they do, whichever of us is affected goes to the other's condo to sleep.
I used to see it as a bit of a pain in the ass, but now I can't wait for one of those nights so I can feel Cubby's body against mine. I've finally come to appreciate his body. The boy is HOT! Haha, yeah, I'm coming out of my shell in a hurry, and I hate to admit it, but I need to thank fat Carl.
Oh well, it was early to bed alone tonight and the following day, back to the high school routine. As I mentioned, it was a hot month in May in New England, and after school today, the temperature cracked eighty. You need to stay hydrated when running in the heat, so I gorge myself with water or Gatorade before starting my four-mile run, which I do even though Chubby can't do it with me. He's washing windows, making nine dollars an hour towards our driver's license fund.
Anyway, carrying a bottle of water to drink along the run, I'm off running to the two-mile marker, sweating like mad. The two-mile marker is the sign on a tree pointing to a side trail that leads to a rest area with a lavatory. Today, reaching the marker after drinking the bottle of water, I had to pee, so instead of turning around and running the two miles back, I veered off onto that side trail to take a leak. I didn't need the lavatory; I could pee right here. I don't, though, because there are other runners, some of them of the female variety, and I like to pee in private.
The trail is a hundred yards long, and the restroom is around a group of trees. I slowed down and was walking when I came around the tree group; six feet from me, a man was pissing up against a tree. A strong stream of pale-yellow piss splatters off the tree trunk. He appeared in his twenties, wearing running shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt, and New Balance running sneakers. He looked in fantastic shape, very muscular but not grossly overdone. A little over six feet tall, with short brown hair, and when he looked up, it was startling how handsome he was. Bright blue eyes that glowed. His hairy arms and legs weren't too cool, but the medium-sized tattoo on his bicep that read SEMPER FI was.
It's odd how the mind can register all that detail so quickly, but I did. However, the thing I stared at the most was his cock. It had to be eight inches long and fatter than mine. He held his cock in his fist to direct the piss stream. I use two fingers and my thumb, and the second finger is probably unnecessary. I knew I'd stared at his dick a fraction of a second too long and quickly looked away. The man said, "Come over here, you can use my tree to piss on."
That might sound like a friendly or joking invitation, but the way this guy said it made it sound more like a command. Frowning, feeling odd, I walked over, not looking at him. He was shaking the last few drops of his cock as he said, "Now, my turn to stare at yours." I should run, calling for help, but that would be insulting. Anyway, there wasn't any reason to run, and what if he could run faster than me?
No, I'll act as if there's nothing wrong and cooperate, but stay alert. There was no zipper on my running shorts, so I pulled the front of them and my jockstrap down and pulled my dick out, muttering, "We could you the restroom, I guess. Haha."
He has no sense of humor, saying, "Well, why didn't you?" Shrugging, not looking at the man, I took hold of my limp dick and concentrated on peeing. Sometimes, trying to get the pee stream started is a problem for me when other guys are nearby, and this guy is right next to me. The longer it went without starting, the more likely it wasn't going to. Damn! With him staring at me, the pee would not come out even though I had to piss badly. Mumbling, "I guess I don't have to go," I pulled my shorts up, but the man said, "Oh, no, you don't." He pushed my shorts down and took hold of my dick, stepping behind me. I gasped and took a step right back into him. Now, I couldn't catch my breath and was panting.
Why does shit like this always happen to me?
To be continued...
