Dylan and Friends

Willie and I are going to shower together after a sexy and fabulous hour in bed. My glowing smile has faded because Willie is off on the disciplinary horseshit again. He, Carl, and Larry are into dominant/submissive sexual activities. I can get into the being submissive part, but I'm not into their bogus discipline nonsense. Willie doesn't know any better because he's been playing those roles for two years at prep school with his roommate, Larry. Willie is submissive to Larry. Now, though, Willie gets to be in the dominant role with me, and sometimes he overdoes it. That's all I'm saying.

Apparently, Larry has been telling his protegee Willie to get tougher with me, and Willie's serious about being a dominant top. He thinks if he doesn't take a firm hand with me, we won't last as boyfriends, when it could be the opposite.

We were quiet as we showered, and when Willie had me as clean as clean can be, he hugged me and whispered in my ear, "I love you, Dylan." Then, I shampooed his hair and washed his slim, tight body. As I'm really getting into doing that, I thought of all the pluses in our relationship and tried to think of the minuses, but I couldn't come up with a serious one... except the bogus discipline concept.

The bottom line is I want to be Willie's boyfriend, so I told myself to at least listen to his discipline talk at dinner and give him the benefit of the doubt. I can tolerate some nonsense, especially if the other part of the experience is wildly positive, which it is. I'm not perfect, so why should I expect Willie to be perfect? Could we try the art of compromise? Maybe I can give in on this a little, and Willie can give in on that a little.

Willie interrupted my thoughts, saying, "Don't look so serious, sweetheart. I'm not going to dump you at dinner. We'll work it out." I pretended I didn't hear that because it pissed me off that he would assume I was worried he'd dump me; that's the least of my worries. I'd been thinking positively again, so I didn't want to lose that frame of mind by commenting on that not-happening possibility.

Instead, I was flip, saying, "You have a hot body for a skinny boy, sweetheart." Willie frowned at me, probably because I used the term of endearment he had been using for me. I smiled at him in a nice way, and he couldn't help but smile back, and we kissed quickly. I was turning the shower water off. You know, taking the initiative to decide when our shower was over.  Get Willie used to us taking turns deciding things. Baby steps toward equality. I was grinning while Willie frowned again, then said, "I wish I could read your mind, Dylan," then he dried my hair with a big white fluffy motel towel.

We took turns drying each other and then got dressed. Willie reached over to pull the cross from beneath my button up the front shirt so that it showed outside my shirt and then cupped my face in both hands to kiss my lips and say, "You're the cutest boy I've ever known. I feel so lucky that you're my boyfriend."  Leaving the motel suite, he put his arm around my waist, and I stopped in my tracks and asked him not to walk with me like that unless we were in a gayborhood, which is to say, a neighborhood that was gay-friendly, like in Cambridge.

Willie urged me not to worry about what other people thought, that we weren't hurting anyone, and that we should be able to walk together however we wanted. We stood outside our room and argued about this. He looked angry, hesitated, changed to an exasperated expression, and mumbled, "Oh, okay, if it means so much to you."  And off we went, looking more like good buddies than boyfriends. The truth is, I like Willie holding on to me, but it makes me self-conscious in crowds of straight people.  

At the restaurant, Willie ordered buffalo wings as an appetizer for us to share. He told me, "While waiting for the wings, Dylan, look at your menu so you'll know what you want when the waiter returns." That was an outrageously unnecessary instruction. I'm not six years old.  However, instead of telling him that, I surprised myself by feeling nervous because Willie had adopted an authoritative aura about him that gave me a buzz in my balls! I murmured, "Oh, okay, Willie. I'm you don't need to tell me things like that, though," and opened the menu.

Hell, it was only six weeks ago he had hyperventilated trying to be stern with me. That was in his bedroom during his mother's birthday party, and now he's acting confidently, and it's sort of believable, too. It looks like I'm a sucker for cute, confidently dominant young guys. Maybe that's because I couldn't be that way, and I admire those who can.

He waited two minutes, then patted my hand, asking, "Have you decided yet, Dylan?" My dick firmed up, and I liked this feeling of being looked after. Omigod, I know it's so stupid, but I like it. I asked, "Do you think she-crab soup is okay as a starter?" Oh, Christ, this is fun. He nods, "Sure, what else?"  My eyes stink as I mutter, running out of breath at the end, "Um, the deep-fried soft-shell crab with French fries?" Am I acting tentative, or am I seriously tentative; not acting?

I don't know. Willie said, "That's fine, I'll tell the waiter. Now, put the menu down and listen to me." I fiddle with the menu, and he says, "Put it down and look at me!"  

Trying not to grin, I looked him in the eyes, and he said, "I told you earlier today that I wasn't dumping you tonight, but that's not exactly true. This will be our last date, and I mean this dinner tonight unless you straighten yourself out. It hurts me to say these things because I love you, but it won't work for us if you think you can push me around and treat me however you want."  He stopped to give me a challenging look, like: do you have anything to say for yourself?

I was taken totally by surprise again, shocked. Willie is always taking me by surprise. As I thought earlier, the last thing I thought he'd be talking about was dumping me. He says he loves me every twenty minutes, so what the fuck is this?

It comes out whining when I say, " "Ah, no. I don't want to break up with you, Willie. Why are you talking like this?" I could tell he was serious, and my heart was thumping fast. He's so intense and seemingly pissed off now, "You take me for granted, Dylan. There was no call from you on Monday, and you only called on Tuesday because you found out your brother wouldn't be here this weekend. You didn't think to mention that you're having your body pierced; you don't even mention it, never mind asking me, your boyfriend, what I thought about it.  When I tell you I've researched a barbershop we can go to together, you say, let's get mohawks.  You're not the least bit considerate, never mind grateful that I went to the trouble arranging my motel room, or this restaurant, or that I got this reservation, or anything.  You take it all for granted and disrespect me at every turn, and I'm the dominant top, so I can't even imagine what you'd treat me if you were the dominant leader in our relationship."

I could hardly believe my ears when he said this could be our last date, and I could scarcely think when my eyes started stinging. As humiliating as it was, I had to wipe my eyes with the back of my wrist.  Willie was not moved. He looked sad. I said, "Chubby isn't my brother; we're best friends. You know I'm new to this gay boyfriend thing, so I depend on you to correct me, but not dump me when you know I, um, ah, love you."

Still looking sad, Willie shook his head as if I wasn't getting it, then gave examples of me not paying attention to him and how I disrespected him, but it was just a repeat of what he'd already said. I'm thinking how ironic that I was feeling so cocky just fifteen minutes ago, making the point about Willie walking with his arm around my waist, and now, I'm feeling lost.

Have I been insensitive to Willie?  I guess I can see some things from his viewpoint. It was clear that I did not want to lose Willie as my boyfriend. So, without intending for it to come out sounding pathetic, like it did anyway, with my cracking and whining voice, I said, "Please, Willie, I'm really sorry.  I think you're awesome and I should have told you that and thanked you more for everything. I sincerely apologize! I love you. Please tell me, what can I do to make it up to you?"

Willie sat back in his chair, looking like he hadn't expected me to be so contrite, but I swear, I never know what he might come up with next. After about thirty seconds, he leaned forward with his elbows on the table and said, "Look at me."  The waiter then sets down the buffalo wings and asks, "Are you boys ready to order?" Without looking up, Willie, sounding like an adult, said, "No, give us a few more minutes." The waiter mumbled, "Certainly," and left.

Still looking into my eyes, Willie said, "I want to hear you tell me sincerely that you'll accept the discipline I feel you need.  That's all you have to say." I swallowed and asked, "What is the discipline?"  Willie vaguely explained that it's his job to decide what is appropriate and that it's my job to accept whatever he chooses.  

I had a random rational moment, and a few thoughts slipped in. For one, I wondered if this is the sort of thing that the Mohawk man meant when he said all of us cute gay boys play at gay sex.  This seems like a game he's playing without realizing it. That's one thought, and another was: How bad could sweet Willie's punishment be? Another idea was, why be stubborn and throw away all the future fun and games with Willie because my pride won't give in to this crazy idiosyncrasy of his? I can always opt out later if he gets unrealistic.  Still, it was hard to say.  I looked down at the table and mumbled, "Yes, Willie, I accept your discipline," and he sat back in his chair again, looked at me, and asked, "That wasn't so hard, was it, baby?"  

I told him it wasn't hard and apologized for all this bother. That's what I said, but I was pouting, too. Well, it gets tiresome being the one always backing down. Willie watched me frowning and pouting from my latest loss in life, then he hit the table with the flat of his hand and snapped at me, "Stop that right now! Look at me!" When I looked up, he said, "Eat a buffalo wing and smile." I tried to look grumpier, but he made a cute face and said, "Dylan, buffalo wing!" I picked one up; I willed myself to stop acting like a toddler being sent to bed.  "Dip it in that sauce.  It's good." Willie pointed to a creamy-looking sauce with blue/green specks; I dipped the wing and took a bite.  

Oh my god, the sauce was like Willie's chef's salad dressing made for us on our second date, or was it the third? I couldn't help but smile a little.  The wing was hot, but the blue cheese dressing was cool. "Your chef made it better," I said, and Willie went into a long story about how his mother bribed a chef away from a restaurant to be Worthington's family's chef. She stole him away from a prominent Boston restaurant about two years ago, and blah, blah, blah...

Willie appeared to be back to being the Willie I liked. Our waiter returned, and Willie ordered more buffalo wings and large iced teas. The more he talked, the more relaxed I became, and he was being as nice and sweet as he'd ever been. I was so glad I swallowed my pride and accepted Willie's nonsense. By nonsense I mean, seventeen-and eighteen-year-old boys don't do discipline. Come on!

The waiter, a bald man about forty-five, dropped off our iced tea and the additional buffalo wings and muttered, "I'll be back in a minute for your order.  Willie has a mischievous grin and says, "Dylan, I memorized some more stuff for dinner conversation.  We need some laughs after the gloom I laid on our dinner date. That's over for right now."

His joke:  Norman, from Maine, was visiting his cousin in Texas during the annual Chili cook-off.  Norman's been known to brag about how he preferred hot, spicy foods, so his cousin asked him to be a judge at the cook-off, warning him that Texas chili might be hotter than Maine chili. Norman dismissed that with a wave of his hand. There were two Texas judges, and Norman was judge number three.

"First Texas chili was called Monster Chili. Judge #1's notes on his score card indicated it had too much tomato taste. Judge #2's notes said nice but mild. Judge #3's notes read Holy shit!  What the hell is in this shit?  You could remove dried paint from your driveway with this.  It took me two beers to put the flames out.  This must be the hottest one!"

"Second Texas chili was called Afterburners, Judge #1 wrote on his notepad, smoky with a hint of pork. Judge #2. wrote, Okay, but needs more peppers to be taken seriously. Judge #3, Norman from Maine, wrote,  Keep this out of the reach of children!  I tasted nothing but pain. I was gagging so badly that I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. More beer."

As with all jokes and Willie's stories, the funniest part for me is Willie's face, real red, and him gagging from laughing so hard at his own jokes. He can hardly get the words out.  This was exactly what we needed to put Willie's lectures behind us. Willie catches his breath, takes hold of my wrist, and says, "There's more..."

The third chili is called Black Magic.  Judge #1... Great kick! Judge #2 it's a bit too salty. Judge #3  Call the EPA! I've located a uranium spill. My nose feels like I've been snorting Drano. I need a lot more beer, and someone needs to pound on my back to get me to stop coughing and start breathing. I farted fire, and four people behind me needed paramedics."

He had more, but I begged him to stop because my stomach hurt from laughing. I'd already knocked over a water glass pounding the table, and now I felt dizzy.  That the outrageous kind of humor can get me to pee my pants. Willie said there were four more chili tastings, each hotter, but he'd tell me about them later.

The waiter waited for us to stop laughing, then came over and asked Willie if we were ready to order.  I wonder why he didn't ask me.  Willie said, "My boyfriend will have..." and remembered what I told him I would order.  Willie ordered a whole lobster for dinner and a mixed green salad for starters. He told me other humorous jokes and interesting factoids he'd memorized for our dinner conversation.

Well, it wasn't a conversation so much as Willie putting on a comedy act. I tried remembering a couple of Willie's factoids to test Chubby with some time. I told Willie the factoid I'd gotten from Google about the average penis size being as short as three and a half inches. He refused to believe it. Of course, his penis is over seven inches long, so I can understand it being difficult for him to think guys are running around with three-and-a-half-inch dicks.

I'm going to be checking pecker sizes more closely this coming year in gym, especially the shy boys' dicks who wait till the last second to jump under those communal showers. It should be fun spotting a three-and-a-half-inch dick bobbing around.  

By the time we got to the dessert, it was hard to believe we'd had that awkward beginning to the dinner.  I felt good again and asked Willie, "Come on, tell me what my discipline will be." I was talking in a pretend baby voice, but Willie responded thoughtfully, "It's no joke, Dylan. We have our fun times and our serious times. Discipline is one of the serious times."  

Well, that put the damper back on the festivities, but I nodded in agreement.  I agreed to go along with Willie and will, if possible.  I almost chuckled, though, from imagining Willie giving me a spanking.  I've had only two real spankings in my life, both since realizing I was gay.  One was from the Marine, and one was from the Mohawk man. I don't think Willie's will be approaching those two levels. He paid our bill with a hundred-dollar bill, and a twenty. That was the first hundred dollar bill I'd ever seen, and we walked outside to a beautiful summer night. I wanted us to be light-hearted, so I put my arm around Willie's neck and hugged him as we walked by the line still waiting for tables even though it was getting late.  

With my arm around Willie's neck, he slipped his hand inside my shorts, squeezed my buttocks, and then his hand slid under my boxer's waistband.  His hand was on my bare ass. I whispered,  "Don't, Willie. Not here, please. Look at all these people." Willie murmured, "Be still," not sounding in the jovial mood he was in when telling jokes.  He has long fingers, and the pad on his middle finger rubbed my anus. I gasp, "No, Willie. Wait till we're in the car, at least."  In goes his finger to the first joint.  I had to bend forward a little, my arm slipping off his shoulder, so now I was holding the back of his neck with my hand.  Willie slowly pushed his finger up to the second knuckle, and I bent forward a little more with my hand slipping off Willie's neck, reaching behind me to grab his wrist as his finger went inside me as far as it could.

As casually as if he's patting my back, he finger-fucked me and then withdrew the finger until the pad is on my prostate gland. He gently rubbed and massaged there. I felt like I was going to cum almost immediately. I had to take a pee, too. I'd held off going pee because the restaurant lavatory was crowded, and I couldn't start a pee if anyone could watch. 

My walnut-shaped prostate Willie was massaging was right below my overfull bladder. Willie was bumping mine as he rubbed my prostate, so I was on the verge of either peeing my pants or cuming in them. I begged in a whisper, "Please, Willie, don't..." but he continued bumping my bladder as he gently massaged my prostate, and then a long finger thrusts up my hole ten or twelve times.

We were at the entrance to the parking lot, but people in line could see us, although they wouldn't think we were doing what we were doing. This is too outrageously bizarre for the average person to even think it possible. Willie said, "Let it go, relax and let it happen, and then we'll leave."  I whined, "No, let's go to the car. I'm going to pee my pants."

Willie started walking me toward the line of people, so I said, "Okay, okay, I will!" I relaxed and out came a lot of cum, and a little pee. The front of my pants quickly soaked through.  It mainly was cum because I recognized that unmistakable feeling immediately, but it wasn't like a climax explosion at all.  And that initial shot of cum was followed by more pee as Willie continued to push against my full bladder.  

Out it came, and now it was running down my legs, and I wanted to cry.  Willie pulled his finger out of my ass and waved it at those people who were gawking into the dimly lit parking lot at us, probably wondering what the hell was going on.  I guess they figured that since no one was yelling for help, we were happily goofing off in some teenage manner. After the wave, Willie put his arm around my neck and straightened me up. The finger that had been in my hole was held against my top lip, and I almost threw up.  

He walked me toward the car, saying, "How does it feel to be embarrassed and humiliated when you least expect it? That's how you've made me feel last week.  You don't think about other peoples' wishes and desires, just your own." I said, "That's not true at all, and I never did anything to you as bad as you just did to me."

He said, "That's just like you, assuming you know what's as bad for me as it was for you.  How do you know how bad something is for me?"  I realized he wasn't talking angrily to me but rather compassionately. And he was hugging me around the neck, not holding me in a headlock grip. Willie opened the car's trunk, took out a towel from our motel room, and put It on the passenger seat for me to sit on. He had planned this entire punishment ahead of time.  He'd gotten the towel when he checked in earlier in the afternoon before he even knew about my pierced ear.  

What do I make of that? During the short drive back to our motel, Willie justified his discipline as appropriate because he felt I disrespected and embarrassed him, and he achieved those two goals with my discipline. It was sinking into me that, as far as Willie was concerned, he and I were even after the discipline. From my viewpoint, I was willing to let it go at that, and I'll bet that Willie feels he may have gone too far, so he'll likely be trying to make up for that by buying me something.

At the motel, he said, "Just walk past those people, Dylan, and leave the towel here."  I had planned to wrap the towel around my waist to cover all the pee and cum on the front of my shorts, but Willie wouldn't allow it.  I guess he isn't all that worried about me being pissed off at him after all.  "Wait there a second, Dylan."  

I stopped because I assumed this was part of the punishment. Knowing this embarrassed me, Willie put his arm around my waist, and we walked right by thirty people sitting at the outdoor lounge drinking cocktails. I looked at the ground and heard several catcalls as I tried to block all the words from registering in my brain. I kept saying a mantra in my head: I don't know them, I don't know them, I don't know them.  And then, we were in our room.

Willie said, "Get undressed."  I was in a mood now to do whatever he told me to.  He wins. He broke me down.  He was giving me tender loving care now.  He ran a bath and bathed me, and then he got undressed, and we took another shower together. We dried each other in silence and got in bed naked. "Are you going to be all right, Dylan?" I nodded and hugged him around his neck.  Willie said, "Did you learn your lesson?"  I said, "Yes," and after a while, we began one of our world-famous make-outs.

It was weird how I felt closer, more attracted to Willie than ever. He was definitely in the driver's seat because, as it turned out, I needed him more than he needed me.  He loves me more than I love him, but I still need him more. Maybe that was obvious to Willie long before this. Another weird thing was my lack of nut juice during our make-out. There was no spontaneous climaxing from our make-out this time. Willie had milked out all my cum juice.

Our make-out was hot, though.  I was crawling all over Willie kissing and sucking his mouth, tongue, and neck.  We both had the hardest boners stabbing at each other, and it was truly awesome. I couldn't get enough of his taste and smell and feel, and I could hardly breathe when he pushed back my head roughly and held me in place to work on that hickey. I loved that he wanted everybody to know that I was his boyfriend. I was docile for him until he said, "Oh Jesus, that's a beauty of a hickey. It's better than the one Larry gave me last year."

The hickey stung and burned, but I was proud of it. Willie drooled some spit on the hickey and muttered, "I don't want to see this beauty covered up, Dylan." I murmured, "I won't, Willie," and he said, "That's my boy. Now, spread your legs."  I did that, and he got on his knees between my legs, and said, "Hold your knees against your chest, an arm around each leg." When I did that, my asshole raised a couple of inches off the mattress. Willie muttered, "Good boy," and I felt the head of his boner at my anus.  Willie spread my buttock, let some air out between his teeth, and humped the head of his cock inside me. "Oh, fuck, there was precum on the head to help it go in, but I wish he'd use some lube, too.

He steadily pushed his seven inches up inside me and then let out a lungful of air, mumbling, "Wow, that was tight! It felt awfully good, though," and he pushed down on the backs of my thighs, which I already had against my belly, and he fucked me at a medium speed with long thrusting, and it never felt this good before.  I was murmuring, "Oh Willie, oh my god, that's good.  Faster Willie... fuck me, Willie!"

Jeez, this reminds me of my first introduction to anal sex. I was ecstatic calling out Carl's name, and now I'm doing it for Willie. After four or five minutes, Willie pushed his cock all the way up inside me and leaned down, chest to chest, on top of me. He kissed me and said, "Feels good, doesn't it, baby?" I'm gasping for air, wondering why it feels so good this time.  Maybe because I thought I might lose Willie for a while there or because Willie showed me who's boss, and maybe I liked him doing that.  

Leaning on my belly and chest he used just his hips to do swift thrusts until a girl squealed out, "Wiiiiiillie!" and a small amount of cum spurted from my petrified-wood-boner, feeling much better than the fabulous, big load of cum that shot into my pants earlier. Willie climaxed at the same time the girl called his name, and that filled my tank to overflowing.  He was grunting and slamming his crotch into my ass.

Omigod, I was exhausted, sweaty, and drooling sperm from my rectum. My spurt of cum and Willie's big load combined to smear around on various parts of my body.  He pulled out, saying his pecker was getting sensitive again. We lay together side by side, with Willie wrapping me up in his arms like always. I got the worst shivers and shakes with Willie's murmuring, "Shhhh, it's all right now, Dylan. We're good... don't worry."  I think everything that happened tonight was catching up with me, resulting in that shivering, shaking reaction.

We lay there for fifteen minutes, me becoming calm. Willie was mischievous, asking, "Are you ready to do it again?"  I knew he was kidding; I just hugged him a little tighter and mumbled, "That was the best you've ever fucked me. Why is that, do you think?" He said, "I'm not sure, but I remember asking Larry that same question. He said I felt a higher level of sexual pleasure when I finally realized and accepted that Larry was my leader and I'd promised to do what I was told. That's served me very well for two years. Now I'm promoted, sort of, in the leadership role with you. I began enjoying the best fucks from him after that, and maybe that's the difference with you too."  

I thought, whoa, he is very sure of himself.  He'd said all that casually as if it's as plain as the nose on your face.  I said nothing, so he asked, "What do you think about that?" I mumbled, "You're probably right." He looked into my eyes, raising his eyebrows, and I grinned and muttered, "Not probably. You are right." Nodding, he asked, "What would you like to do now?"  

What I'd like to do is smoke a fucking cigarette, but Willie has said no smoking. Except, Goddammit, it's my turn to get my way. I say, "I want to have a smoke, and I know the smell bothers you, so you'll need to puff on one, too. That way, you won't notice it so much."  I tried to say that in the same matter-of-fact manner that Willie had said about him being in charge.  He goes, "What?  I don't smoke!" and I used the example of smelling the booze on the breath of a drinker unless you also have a swallow of that drink. Then, you no longer notice the booze smell on others.

Willie says, "I know that's true, but I don't want to start smoking."  I told him I didn't smoke enough to affect anything medically and that I plan to stop pretty soon anyway, but "I'm talking about right now, Willie. I'm asking you to please do this for me."  Then, to use a little leverage with his being in charge, I say, "I know I need your permission, and that's why I'm asking.  Please!"

Taking this submissive position might work with Willie because he isn't like that turd, Larry. Willie is a sweet kid who wants to be liked. And it doesn't hurt that he loves me.  He makes a face and mumbles, "Okay, but I don't want you to make a habit out of this, and we're not smoking inside."

So, I win one. Why not try for two? I said, "How about we grab some booze from the mini-bar over there and have a big-boy cocktail while we smoke on the balcony."  Willie's no party pooper, "Sure, but you'll need to get us a soft drink from the vending machine to cut the booze taste a little." I was smiling inside as I said, "Yes, Willie."  

Haha. I can play games, too. This is more like it...

To be continued...