Chapter Four
Walking home, no longer intimidated by the handsome young stranger. His tattoo, SEMPER FI, was a Marine slogan or something. He fit my idea of what a Marine was like, and, holy shit, what a way to get my first blow-job, though! Yeah, but what to make of it all? I mean, a hot-looking, young, married Marine sucking me off? Who would ever expect that? Groping my junk, I admit that It was a great blowjob. My first one, and I can't imagine a better one, so that surely was not his first.
I jogged slowly across the parking lot, very thirsty, but I used my bottle of water to clean up a little. I hated to do it, but I have no choice. I'll pay two dollars for a bottle of water at the Supermarket. Sweaty and disheveled, I went in, bought the water, hustled right back out again, and drank the whole bottle. I'm not really into recycling yet, so I chucked the bottle into a trash barrel wondering, why the hell they charge two dollars for a bottle of water. The answer is... because they can.
At home, I thought about the young Marine. Somehow, I know Semper Fi is Latin for 'Semper Fidelis', which means 'always faithful.' The Marines may not think of it as 'always faithful,' but it has to be something like that, right? Anyway, getting my first blow-job from a Marine was the last thing you'd ever expect, and a married Marine at that. It was mind-blowing, is what it was.
Then I thought of the fuss he made over me about my looks and body. He said I was special. Waiting for a traffic light, I made a muscle. Huh, my bicep looked okay, but what did he mean that I had guns? Then I glanced across the street to see two teenage girls looking at me, giggling like only girls can giggle. The one who looked like Olive Oil imitated me making a muscle, and the one that looked like Mrs. Porky Pig pretended to feel it, and they both giggled some more.
Girls suck! My face burst into flames as I hurriedly walked further down the block, forgetting about waiting for the traffic light to change. I'll cross the street at the next traffic light, away from those laughing female hyenas cartoon characters. Those girls made me go out of my way, so I'll need to walk down busy Main Street to connect with my original street a half mile from here. This is not a familiar area, leading me to downtown Framingham.
Walking around a corner and there it was, staring me in the face. A big Marine recruiting sign over the third shop in a block-long stretch of attached stores. How fucking ironic is that? As I walked past the storefront, two Marines were talking to two tough-looking teens. One of the Marines looked up, saw me staring, smiled, and waved his hand for me to come in. I started jogging again, my heart pounding. I need to get the fuck away from there.
A block further, I stopped jogging and walked casually, again contemplating my weird afternoon. A married Marine wanted to suck me off. It's mindboggling, but what a great introduction to getting blown! Something this bizarre makes me wonder what's going to happen to me next. Well, first of all, I know where I am not going to be at three o'clock Friday afternoon. That's what I know for sure. What I don't know, is if I should change my route for the four-mile run. If Chubby were still running with me, I'd challenge the Marine, but Chubby's washing windows for nine dollars an hour.
The troubling thing is, I'm getting a buzzing sensation low in my belly, contemplating keeping my same four-mile route. and so what if I run into the Marine again? I'll know what to expect and I won't take any shit this time. A married Marine isn't going to take a chance I'll call the cops on him if he hurt me somehow. I wish I could talk about this with someone. Should I call, Carl? He said he was my mentor. No, that's stupid. I don't want to start up with that tub-of-lard again. And, no way I'm bringing this up to Chubby. I wish he had never gotten that window-washing job, though. We should be together like we used to be. We did everything together, just Chubby and me.
Yeah, the Marine thing would never have happened if there had been two of us at the rest area. Unfortunately, Chubby isn't likely to go back to our old schedule because he likes his new schedule too much. Sure, his fingers ache, but he said he's used to it by now. "All the guys get used to it," he said. Well, goody for them, is what I say! Frankly, I'm sick of Chubby telling me about how funny his homeroom buddy, Ricky, is. Like I give a shit. Ricky's dad could get Chubby that job, but couldn't get one for me. That's very suspicious if you ask me. Could it be that Ricky wants Chubby all to himself?
Oh, man! I sound like such a loser. Jealousy is an ugly thing.
Taking a deep breath and starting to jog the last half-mile home, my mind kept going back to the Marine. Those eyes of his are so blue, and that body of his is hard as a barbell. I felt under my chin with the back of my hand, remembering his hairy arm under there, holding me against him and that breathless voice of his. Was it scary or sexy? I don't know; both, I guess.
I know one thing for sure: I never had a climax like the one I shot in his mouth. Whoa, I almost passed out, and he kept sucking my cock afterward, too! Give me a break; what an awesome feeling! Here's another thing I know for sure, I've never seen as much cum at one time, at one place, as that Marine shot off, some spray on my leg.
That hairy arm of his felt so, I don't know, macho, tough, or something. Wonder how those muscle-bound hairy legs would feel wrapped around me the way Chubby wraps his hairless ones around me when we wrestle. All that squiggly Marine leg hair. And I already went over this in my head, but he said I was special. Prettier than his wife. Hmm, I don't care to be called pretty, though. Better-looking is what he should have said.
Oh, fuck, why am I thinking these thoughts? Stop it!
I jogged around Pleasant Street, onto Oak, and there was our two-decker duplex. It's one of six matching, two-decker, duplexes in a row. They're old, but it's been home-sweet-home for the last thirteen years. I wish the Murphy boys would stop parking that piece of shit pick-up truck in their front yard because it makes the neighborhood look trashy.
Chubby won't be home from work until around six o'clock, but both Mom and Tris, who's Chubby's Mom, were home when I went inside. They were in our first-floor unit chatting away. Tris and Chubby live on the second floor right, over my Mom and me. Cozy, huh?
Mom says, "Dylan, your face is very red and sweaty, honey. It's too hot for you to be running forty miles or however far it is that you run every day." My Mom could find something to worry about winning the lottery. I say, "It's nice to see you too, Mom," and then kiss her on the cheek. Tris smiles and rubs my shoulder as I give her a peck of a kiss on the cheek. I say, "Hi, Tris."
Mom and Tris have been best friends for a longer time than Chub and I have been alive. As usual, we talked about different fun things for a half hour or so. Both the Moms are fun and very supportive of us boys. While we talked, I drank a quart of red Gatorade. The moms were proud of Chubby for getting that job and "blab, blab, blab." Then Mom asked about a test I had in biology, so I figured it was time to move along.
I went online, looking at a gay porn video. My Mom and Tris left for work at three-thirty. They're waitresses at Renny's Bar and Grille Restaurant, working mostly in the bar section. They work together, just like Chubby and I planned to work together, except that fucker, Ricky, has upset our plans. Yeah, well, I don't want to get started talking about injustice because it makes me jealous, and I won't let it go.
The hell with them! Maybe I will see the Marine this Friday. I don't have a whole lot of anything else going for me, and I still can't get over that blow-job. You know, when you are a best friend with someone and you do everything together, it means you don't make a lot of friends besides the best friend, since you're both being exclusive and all that. So, when one of the best friends finds another friend, the other best friend feels a little pissed off being left out. Just saying...
I flop on my bed, bored with the porn. And I don't want to think about being left out, so I think again about those hairy arms and legs of the Marine and how they intrigued me, maybe because Chubby and I have almost no hair at all on our arms and legs. As far as that goes, are we the weirdo or is the Marine? Oh, and I'd forgotten about him telling me to shave my pubes. That's not happening. Maybe I should do it, though, because at least he appreciates me, and I'd like to get sucked off again.
Damn, now that I'm pretending in my mind to meet him again, I'm feeling excited and nervous at the same time. Not knowing what he might do next is an intriguing kind of anticipation. Sort of a thrill ride, like a roller coaster. He said he was going to treat me special, or that I was special. Something like that. And how about his bossy way of saying things? That's a man's man.
Into the bathroom, like magic, creamy Vaseline appears on my finger so I can finger my hole while jerking off. The whole time, I fantasize that it's my Marine who's fucking me, using that eight-to-nine-inch boner of his. Oh God, this is hot! Not being circumcised makes it so extra excellent to masturbate. The foreskin is a self-lubing sheath that creates this constant tingly feeling the length of my prick and then all over my body. I start off with slow strokes and increase the speed as I go; the same goes for fingering my hole. It feels so good and makes me stroke my cock faster and faster, all the time fantasizing that my finger is the Marine's cock, my foreskin gliding on and off the head of my swollen penis, and, "Aahhhh," before long I grimaced forcing out a hard splat of spunk, splattering on the mirror over the sink.
Holy shit! I never reached the mirror with a cum shot before. God, that felt good! I can't stop, so I slow down with the stroking over the next minute, thinking all the while that my dick is covered with Marine's slippery saliva as I stroke, stroke, stroke. Oooooh, damn, he was something alright. I couldn't believe when the head of my boner was in his freaking throat? Come on! That was so hot!.
My heart is pumping hard, and I'm taking fast, short breaths because that was a primo jerk-off I just had. Then, realizing I'm overdoing the Marine bullshit, I stop pulling on my dick and clean cum off the mirror. For the next couple of hours, I moped around the duplex wishing Chubby would get home. Bored, but curious how I would do it, I pulled down my running shorts and jockstrap to look at my pubes. Regular pubes, dark blond. I have light blond hair, but dark blond pubes. I ran my fingers through them thinking, I can easily do without these.
Then I was back to thinking about the Marine sucking my cock, and I daydreamed a little about how good it felt when fat Carl first started fucking me. I was trying to remember if my climax was better from Carl's fuck, or from the Marine's blow-job. I'm sure it was the blow-job, but to Carl's credit, I didn't feel particularly used by him, like I feel about the Marine. Lying around the family room thinking about these things, I glanced up and saw it was six-thirty. Six-thirty? Chubby was always home by six o'clock. I wandered over and looked out the window, down the street in the direction Chubby walks home from, but no one is in sight.
This is curious. Going outside to smoke a cigarette, I fret about where Chubby might be. Angry that I didn't think to get a phone number. We didn't need each other's phone number because we were always together. It scares me thinking maybe Chubby ran into the Chavez brothers or turds from their high school drop-out posse. Telling myself there was surely a harmless explanation for Chubby being late, I went back inside and got our dinner out of the freezer. Chubby likes salads, so I made one and kept it in the refrigerator, trying to keep busy.
He still wasn't home by seven o'clock. Should I call Mom at work, or the police?
To be continued...
