CHAPTER 10
The rain finally stopped during my drive home Friday afternoon. That made driving easier, which helped because I had a lot to think about. Some things were good, and others were worrisome, but overall, I was trying like hell to be optimistic. Frankie and I finally had that great spit-swapping make-out in the back of the truck during today's afternoon break, and then the added surprise was Frankie finally more or less admitting that he was as hot for me as I am for him, sort of admitted.
Room for optimism there, but Frankie remains perplexed as to what to do about the latest developments between him and me. I'm afraid I won't be able to help him with that because I don't know what to do next either. It's all puzzling as hell, and we're both flying blind with no experience and no one to guide us. But still, finally being on the same page with this mutual gay attraction is a big step. On the other hand, I never know what to expect from Frankie from one day to the next. He seems to change his mind a lot, rearranging priorities and whatnot.
We can't discuss our situation this weekend because Darleen has all of Frankie's time monopolized on both days. I wish I could think of some way to convince Frankie he needs to start breaking away from her. Unfortunately, their early history together clouds his thinking. I need some help, and to that end, I've decided to tell my brother Christian that I'm gay. It's the main purpose for me visiting him in Seattle next week.
Christian has always been the one I go to with my problems, and at this point, I'm desperate for someone's advice. Talking with Christian about Frankie and me will be a relief for me. Talking things out with someone you trust and respect can be wicked helpful. The only thing is, I'm a little fearful he'll suggest I tell our folks about me being gay, which I'm not sure is the right thing to do just yet.
I've got the weekend to give this much more thought, but tonight I have to meet up with some of the guys from last year's high school swim team. We're throwing a bachelor party for our team's assistant swimming coach, who's getting married in two weeks. Coach Pools encouraged me throughout the years I was on the team, and I want to show my appreciation by being there for his bachelor party. As usual, I was running late, so when I finally got home from work, I said a quick "Hi" to Mom and Dad, took a shower, went online quickly for directions, and then said a quick "bye" to Mom and Dad. Then, with a quick wave and a smile, I headed to the party.
It was being held at a downtown restaurant location that I wasn't at all familiar with and the direction online blew, so I got very lost. I ended up in a part of the city I never knew existed. Looking around, I saw what appeared to be teenage prostitutes, both boys and girls, at the bus terminal, drumming up business. They would motion in lewd ways as cars drove past them. A number of seedy-looking strip clubs lined both sides of the street, and lots of twenty-something guys with too much booze in them were milling around and talking crudely, thinking they were having fun. Garish neon signs blinking off the wet street offering vague avenues for pleasure.
I wanted to get out of there fast, but then someone caught my eye. It was a boy prostitute wearing eyeliner and black lipstick, dressed in a guy's Gothic attire with spiked hair. There was something familiar about him. In heavy traffic, I pulled the Mini over to the curb to get a better look, and the very boy I'd been staring at started to walk in my direction. My heartbeat was picking up speed when I saw him making a bee-line for my car.
Without a word, the boy opened the passenger door and plopped himself in my car's passenger seat, saying, " There's no mistaking this car, Oliver. I got to tell ya up front that it's going to cost you some money. No freebies, sweetheart." I muttered, "Oh my God, it's you, um, Myers." I'm speechless again. Pattie's slightly chubby younger brother is a prostitute. What?
I started in with the stuttering. "Wha, wha, what are you do do doing he here, Myers?" He said, "Oh, shut up, Oliver. Just drive. I have very highly developed gaydar and I "outed" you, in a manner of speaking, the first time you came to pick my sister up." Dumbfounded, I drove slowly away from the curb, trying hard to make sense of this latest development. Myers commanded, "Turn here and follow this road for a mile or so. I know of a by-the-hour motel room you can rent. How much money do you have on you?"
Off the busy main road, I spotted a convenience store with cars in the parking lot. Ignoring Myer's instructions, I drove the Mini Cooper into a spot at the side of the building, away from the other cars. Taking my time, so I didn't start stuttering again, I said, "It doesn't matter how much money I've got on me Myers, because you're not getting any of it." I told him I'd gotten lost, and I told him where I wanted to get to and asked if he knew how to get there from there.
Myers said, "You don't seriously think I believe that getting lost, horse shit story do you?" I could maybe see his point, except for the fact I had the invitation in the glove box and I had Map Quest driving directions in there too, which were worthless, as I mentioned a few minutes ago. I showed Myers the invitation and the directions and I could see in his eyes that he now believed I'd gotten lost. This knowledge, however, didn't slow Myers down too much. He pulled my head towards him, leaned over, and, with his lips wetting my ear, whispered, "Do you want to be top or bottom? Either way will work."
Myers' outfit was all guy except for the eyeliner and black lipstick, I probably could overlook those two details and have sex with him because there is just something about him that has always interested me. For one thing, the balls on this kid. But, he is only sixteen or seventeen, so I said, "Do your parents know where you're at tonight?"
He told me they thought he was at the Mall. That's where they'd dropped him off, but he hitched over to the "strip" for some "action" and to make a couple of bucks. I told him I'd drive him back to the Mall and that I'd keep his little secret too.
That was generous of me, but Myers had no interest in doing that. Instead, he kissed me near my mouth and told me how cute I was. "Okay, Oliver, I'll forget about fucking you, but I'd love for you to fuck me. How about a free quickie?"
This talk about fucking made me realize how limited my real-life sexual acts have been. The only boy I've ever fucked was Alexander, a grand total of five times and that quick remark from Myers about me fucking him made me realize how much I'd like to fuck Alexander again. Of course, I'd much prefer fucking Frankie, but I didn't see that happening anytime soon. These thoughts flew through my brain in a flash.
Now my concern was, what to do with Myers? He said, "Well, will you fuck me, Oliver? How about if I say please?" With that, he grabbed my crotch and touched my hard-on that thoughts about fucking Alexander had caused. I pushed Myer's hand away and he started wrestling with me right there in my car with the stick shift in between us. He was strong, and he quickly got me in a headlock with his left arm, then unzipped my fly with his other hand and reached inside to grab my semi-boned cock to hold it in his fist.
We were both breathing hard as Myers rasped out, "Oliver, you know you want this, so why be difficult?" He stroked my cock a few times and it felt good. He had his arm squeezing around my neck in the headlock and he forced my face up a little by lifting under my chin with the back of his hand. I could smell cherry Life Savers on his breath as he kissed me and worked his tongue in my mouth, his black lipstick smearing on my lips feeling weird. Myers was a serious kisser and he seemed to be excited about kissing me. Looking down, I saw the significant tent that had formed in his lap.
I talked through the kiss, "For Christ's sake, Myers, stop this craziness, or you're going to get yourself in a lot of fucking trouble." He stopped trying to kiss me, but he left the side of his face against mine and said, "Oliver, please. You make me so hot just thinking about you. Fuck me..." He was casually jerking me off this whole time, and I was beginning to get that climaxing feeling in my dick. There was another thing too: right from the minute he got in my car, I'd noticed a slight body odor, as in "BO" coming from Myers.
To me, his body odor wasn't offensive so much as it was sexy, and right then and there, I wanted him to make me cum with his fist, but I made myself regain some sense and say, "Stop right now, and we'll talk about it." Myers stopped wanking my boner but continued to hold onto it. He loosened his arm around my neck and said, "Really?" Each move Myers made generated that youthful BO smell. Myers' BO floated in the air and had me a little dizzy. It kept my boner hard, and I had to concentrate to try to do the right thing here.
I waited until he took his arm completely away from around my neck and then I pushed his hand away from my boner. Reluctantly, I zipped up and told him, "I'm driving you to the Mall, and I have something to tell you along the way that you're going to listen to." He seemed resigned to this as I went into a little lecture explaining that people don't push themselves on other people and that being rude seldom got you anywhere and blah, blah, blah. Even to myself I began to sound a bit pompous, but I was kind of having fun with this kid.
Myers appeared the most interested when I admitted that perhaps I was bi and that maybe he was someone I would consider as a sex partner sometimes if, "And that's a big if, Myers." Suppose the time and place are right. And, for sure, you're not to wear any make-up. I added that part about the makeup while trying to wipe off the black lipstick using tissues from the car door's storage space.
He'd been staring at me as I talked and paying attention, it seemed. He frowned at that last comment and said, "Wait a second. I'm starting to feel like you mean we're not going to do it tonight."
"That's right, Myers, not tonight" and hearing that, he slipped right back into his normal arrogant personality. Fortunately, we were moving too fast for him to pull any of that wrestling shit on me. All during our drive, while pontificating away with my pompous lecture, I kept wondering why I wasn't taking Myers up on his offer. He had definitely turned me on, so why not oblige him?
He got out at the Mall and slammed the Mini's passenger door, and said he wasn't at all surprised I wasn't man enough to fuck him because I was a pussy and a fucking fairy. He was mad as hell and gave me the finger as I pulled away. I don't know why exactly, but I do find him so sexy. His BO seemed to arouse me. Driving away I couldn't help but smile, but I needed to find that bachelor party. I did something I hate to do: I asked for directions from someone pulling into the Mall as I was leaving. The guy was friendly and got headed in the right direction. My mind went right back to Myers.
While wrestling in the car, my wrist had gotten pinned in his armpit, so I tried smelling the back of my wrist, and sure enough, there was Myer's BO. My cock began to fill up with blood again, and the more I smelled my wrist, the harder my dick got. Why the fuck didn't I go to that motel room with Myers for a quickie? I still didn't have an answer to my question.
Eventually, I found the party, paid my respects to Coach Pools, and drank some beers with my old teammates, who, by the way, I never got along with until this past year. All in all, it was an alright time, but the best parts of the night were the parts I spent fantasizing about how it could have been between me and Myers. You know, if I'd gone through with fucking him like he wanted me to. My life is certainly not over-flowing with sex.
Well, I'd had some fairly good sex in Wildwood with Alexander for one week and then I went back to jerking off—pretty much just a lifetime of giving myself hand-jobs except for Alexander. And I did have last Saturday night and again this afternoon with Frankie. Not counting spit swapping, we had our sexy times together, but only twice for some wanking and oral sex action. But that's totally it for my sex life, except for that one night with Cristobal. Not much for nineteen years, knowing I was gay for seven of those years.
No wonder I'm walking around horny all the time. Everything gives me a boner, for Christ's sake, and no wonder I'm sex-starved. And, for God damn sure, tomorrow night, Pattie isn't going to be the answer. Her brother could be a part of the answer, though. Huh, why am I hesitant to take him up on his offer? He's too young? Not really...
After the party, I went straight back home to jerk off, thinking about how it would have felt fucking Myers, and I realized that this is the sort of thing I've been doing since I was thirteen. Not much progress. Jeez!!
The next night, when I picked Pattie up for the movies, Myers was nowhere to be seen. Maybe I wish he was here and maybe I wish he'd somehow manage to make me have sex with him, maybe. The "Myers Encounter" did one thing; it made me conscious of my need for some actual, real, gay sex. I'm yearning for some fucking, top or bottom. It seems that I'm back to just fantasizing about my sex life again instead of living it. Lying around the house all day Sunday analyzing my limited gay sex situation, I was positive I loved Frankie. For the short, immediate range, though, what do I have going for me?
I'm going to be at the University in less than two weeks, where I'll reunite with Cristobal, and Alexander is only an hour's drive to Delaware. So I'll have two things going for me. That thought brightened me up because I could see there was a light at the end of my sex-starved tunnel after all.
Now, if Frankie at least makes out with me while swapping spit and maybe gets into oral sex, I'll be satisfied with that. Not thrilled, but it'll have to do. Also, I need to be a lot more aggressive when an opportunity presents itself, take it. At the picnic, Pete wanted to get into some sex with me, but Frankie was there. Then the other night with Myers, I fucked that opportunity up. Well, no more fuck ups.
Those are some thoughts I had during my short ride to work on Monday of the last week of this summer job. I've saved a good amount of money, and it should cover all the spending money needed for freshman year. My full-ride scholarship will take care of the other expenses. I don't see Frankie's shit-box car as I'm parking it, so he hasn't arrived yet.
Inside, I see Pete, who I was just thinking about, and he's a goofy-cute-looking kid with all his shyness. I grin, watching Pete walk because it's almost a swagger, and he's a short kid, so it was even more noticeable. I'd bet anything the way he walks has something to do with that big cock of his. Jesus, haha, I was shocked when I saw it in the Porta-Potty at the picnic. Pete waited outside the cafe door to be invited in, so I yelled, "Good morning, you hot shit. How ya doing today?"
Pete says, "Oh, Hi Oliver,'" as if he didn't see me sitting there. He's funny with that shy stuff. He asks, "Can I have coffee with you?" I wave him in an have a nice time talking with him and looking at him. Then, without saying a word, Pete gently took my hand up off the cafe table and, holding my wrist in both his hands, he licked the palm of my hand, and then up each limp finger. He did that at the picnic when Frankie was in the porta-potty. I've never heard of a hand fetish, but there are fetishes that would blow my mind, so I assume that's what it is.
After a minute or so without uttering a word, he put my hand back down just as gently as he picked it up, shrugs, and grins. When he stands, there's a large bulge in his lap. He says, "Bye, Oliver," leaves his half cup of coffee and hustles off to do his first mail run of the day. I have a bemused expression watching him push his mail cart down the narrow hallway with his long curly hair flopping around and his absolutely perfect buttocks sticking up and out just the ideal amount. I adjust my junk as I'm wondering where the hell is Frankie?
Last week there wasn't much unloading left to do as the project had pretty much ended, so this was going to be an easy five days for us. Still, no Frankie, but the horn sounded, so I went out on the loading dock and did everything at half speed. The only person I saw early on was Mr. Brittle, who adjusted his bow tie, waved, and yelled out, "Morning, Frankie," as he walked the length of the loading dock, trying to find something out of order to bitch to Rocky about. Then, he just disappeared down the same hallway where I'd watched Pete push his mail cart down. Mr. Brittle always got Frankie's and my names mixed up.
It's morning break, and I'm in the cafeteria hoping to spot Rocky to ask about the missing Frankie, and here comes Rocky carrying that clipboard of his. He has a look on his face like he's trying to figure out the meaning of life. "Ollie, ya gettin' any?" was Rocky's greeting to me. Then he tells me the bad news, "You're on your own the rest of the week, kid. Your girlfriend, Frankie, had a burst appendix late last night and he's done for the summer. Sorry about that, but you can finish the little bit left to do on your own, right?"
I didn't let on to Rocky how disappointed and pissed off I was about not having Frankie with me this last week. Instead, I told Rocky that, of course, I could finish on my own, but that I was naturally concerned about Frankie. I wanted to know more about it. He told me Frankie had an emergency appendectomy and is recovering nicely. Rocky said, "He's fine, but he won't be doing any lifting for a while. Kinda like me."
He had a "get well card" on his clipboard for all of us workers to sign. I wrote, "Get well quick, you slacker! Love you, Oliver."
I decided I'd visit Frankie as soon as he got home from the hospital, so we could make our plans about getting together before we both go off to college. Sitting in the cafe alone, I'm feeling sorry for Frankie and for myself too. Then I took my time doing stuff, moping around the loading dock until lunch break. I got my brown bag lunch out of the little refrigerator and sat looking at it while I was thinking about life in general. I couldn't help but wonder how rare appendix operations are. Is it possible that Frankie is in the hospital because of that scum bag Fulton, or whatever his name was?
I missed Frankie something awful and didn't want to believe he was beaten up. God, I miss him! At the same time, I was feeling so horny it was getting serious. Life was a downer for me again.
Sighing, I opened my lunch bag to see what Mom had prepared for me today, and right on top was a packet containing one regular, lubed condom. What the fuck? No! I was pretty sure Mom hadn't put it there, so who? It had to be Pete. Well, there aren't too many ways I can take this. Life can be full of surprises sometimes.
I looked up, and there, peeking through the glass door of the cafe, was Pete. My heartbeat picked up as I waved the condom at him and chuckled. Pete slowly came in with his own lunch bag. He sat at the table with me, but wouldn't look at me. He's looking at his lunch bag, but I could still see his little grin. He had all that hair of his pulled back into a fat, curly ponytail. I asked, "At the picnic, you told me you were screwed. How many times was that, Pete?"
"Six times."
Oh, there's no beating around the bush with Pete. He comes right out with it. I nod, "Oh, yeah. I remember now." If Frankie was here, he'd have plenty to say, but I can't think of anything. I mean, obviously, he wants to fuck, but shouldn't I wait for him to say it? And, I know what, I was just thinking about taking advantage of opportunities, but I'm new to this.
So, I bought us a couple of bottles of Kiwi-Strawberry Snapple from the vending machine. "Here you go, Pate. My treat," I said, putting his bottle in front of him. His voice cracked, "Hey, thank you, Oliver. This is my favorite."
He seems to be in the same shaky shape I'm in, but I forced myself to get right down to business anyway. "How old are you, Pete?"
"Seventeen as of yesterday." I say, "Dude! Happy Birthday! Let's eat our lunch." We took sandwiches out of our lunch bags and began eating as Pete told me he felt he was too old to be so shy, and he intended to do something about it, hence the gutsy move of putting the condo in my lunch bag. His leg never stopped bouncing, keeping time to music only he could hear. Pete mumbled, "At the picnic, you told me you're gay, and I might never see you again after this week Oliver, and I have this urge to be fucked by you. I dreamed about it again last night, so will you?"
I still hadn't taken a bite of my sandwich because, understandably, I was flabbergasted. How strange is it that within a four-day period, I'd had two different teenage boys ask me to fuck them? From that, one might infer my life was full of gay sex, but that hasn't been the case at all as my almost nonexistent sex life demonstrates. I think about gay sex a lot but rarely carry it off. Life is full of surprises though, as I've said, and they can be both good or bad surprises. I need to put up with the bad ones, so why not take advantage of a good one?
Thinking about all of that and using a voice that sounded more self-assured than I felt, so I said, "Sure, Pete, I can give you a good fuck." I faked being experienced because I didn't want Pete to come to his senses and realize how totally bizarre this was. Lunch hour around the cafe can be busy, so I said, "What do you think about coming to the loading dock around three o'clock we'll use the little lavatory around the corner?"
He looked up at me for the first time today, his big brown eyes shining. I repeated, "Are you okay with three o'clock, Pete?" A shy smile broke out on his face, and he said, "Yes, but no kissing. I don't kiss guys." He kept eating what looked like a P&J sandwich.
Well, another guy who thinks kissing guys is too gay, but taking it up the ass is fine. It's disappointing because Pete's a cute guy, but I mutter, "No problem, Pete." During the rest of lunch my mind was flying all over the place. Frankie's hurting, so I'm seriously missing him and thinking I've got no luck; then, this good fortune.
The no-kissing thing annoys me, though. It's as if guys like Pete don't want to admit they're gay; they think it's worldly of them to, once in a while, while they're young, to fuck or be fucked with another guy. Pete and his long-time neighborhood fuck buddy, Ricky, were straight boys who simply like experimenting with a little gay sex for the fun of it. I ask, "That buddy of yours. Is Ricky, right?" He nods, "Uh-huh, Ricky's fucked me six times, but there hasn't been anyone else and so, I'm hoping you, you know." As I finish my sandwich, Pete goes on to tell me he, right now, has a hard-on thinking about me fucking him. He's telling me this personal information in a monotone voice as if it's no big deal. So, he never gets a hard-on thinking about Ricking fucking hi, or thinking about fucking Ricky, but he has a hard-on now."
Huh? He fucks his fuck buddy? I thought Pete was a committed 'bottom', never topping. I don't know why I felt that. Maybe because he acts so shy. I ask, "Um, how many times have you fucked Ricky? He you don't mind me asking."
He shrugs, "About forty or fifty times, but no one else. It's just Ricky and me."
Well, holy shit! He's the experienced one! Oh, balls, I can wind up embarrassing myself. I mumble, "Jeez, that's a lot of fucking, Pete. Um, listen, I'm not experienced at all. I mean, compared to you. I'm afraid that you're going to be disappointed." Pete mumbles, "I won't be disappointed. Even if you've never fucked anybody, it's not that complicated. The first time I fucked Ricky, I was thirteen, and he said I was tremendous. I'd like for you to see how hard you can fuck me. I'm excited, Oliver." He gets up, crunches his lunch bag, and says, "Thanks for doing this. Three o'clock, right?"
I nod, "Yeah, sure." He walks out with a bounce in his step. Wow, I don't know what to say. Putting the condom in my pocket, I get up, dump my trash, and walk out on the dock for a smoke. Jesus, I can't wait to tell Frankie about this. Taking out my cell phone, I text him, but get no return text. His phone probably isn't with him. Did Rocky say Frankie is still in the hospital?
It was so slow on the dock; I made up busy work in case the bow tie showed up. Then Pete showed up fifteen minutes early for an afternoon break, and since no one was around, I nodded in the direction of the lavatory, and Pete scurried in that direction with me following. Inside, locked the door, and my breathing became difficult. Pete was jittery, but he was playing with himself, so perhaps he was just anxious. With a voice that seemed as though he was very out of breath, Pete said, "Ricky and I like it best if the top guy, mostly me, is bossy and fucks rough."
Oh, damn, me being the dominant sex partner isn't something I'm any good at, but it wasn't totally new territory for me either. Alexander was sort of submissive to me, and somebody needs to take the lead, so...
Playing the dominant role for Pete, I said, "Get your ass over here" and when he moved his short, tight body right in front of me, I reached around him and got a fist full of his ass cheeks in each hand. They were very firm and when I squeezed both bum cheeks, Pete leaned into me and moaned, "Mmmm." Letting go of his left buttock, I feel down the front of his crotch and traced his boner with my index finger. His cock was fat and firm, and it was sideways, all the way over past his pocket. A long, heavy cock. Christ, I'd like to feel that in my ass!
Pete took in a long, wheezy-sounding breath and exhaled with a light spray of saliva that I felt on my neck. Letting go of his other ass cheek, I told him, "Take down off your shorts and underpants. C'mon, let's go!" He quickly pulled down and stepped out of his dungaree shorts and then his jockey underpants. Standing there in front of me, with his long boner got harder and is now pointing straight up his belly, past his belly button. What a magnificent penis! I say, "Take your shirt off," and he does it right away, fidgeting from foot to foot playing with his nuts and rubbing around his buzzed pubes.
He has a skinny, tight body, although his legs are anything but skinny. Very strong looking with well-defined calf muscles. His socks are bunched down low on each ankle. Frankie told me that Pete was a high school athlete, but I couldn't recall which sport. Probably track. He has a regular amount of hair on both his calves, but none on his thighs, and I had the urge to run my hand up and down his legs feeling the muscles and the curly, light brown hair on his calves. My cock was very hard.
Pete again says, "Please do me rough, Oliver. I like it that way." Taking in a lot of air, I told him to reach into my pocket and pull out the lubed condom that he had thoughtfully provided. His hand in my pocket got me even harder. "Undo the snap on my cargo shorts and pull them down, Pete." He unbuttons my shorts and pulls them and my underpants down, mumbling, "Ricky has a smaller penis than yours, Oliver."
Thank God for that. I took a big fist full of his hair and pulled his head back roughly while asking him, "Would you like to suck my cock before I fuck you?" Pete looks down and mutters, "Don't get mad, Oliver, but I don't do that, either. I can't make myself put a penis in my mouth. All Ricky and I do is fuck."
My cargo shorts and my boxers were around my ankles, and I was pretty sure my boner was never going to get any harder, so I had Pete roll the condom on me. As he did that, I said, "We'll forget about everything else and just enjoy this fuck." He nodded, and I told him to turn around, bend over, and grab hold of the sink, which he did, and I couldn't resist swatting his hot-looking ass a few times and seeing it turn dark pink. He said he wanted it rough.
With my boner straight out from my belly, I once again grabbed two handfuls of his ass, bare ass this time, and moved each cheek away from his crack so I could see his anus. It was bright pink and shiny. I thought I'd like to lick but fingered it instead. Tight!
Without hesitating, I put pressure against his hole with the head of my cock and it popped in. I pushed steadily all the way up his hole and Pete mumbled, "Yes...Oh yes....harder, Oliver." I pulled almost all the way out and shoved in again hard so that my balls bounced against his, then a couple of even harder thrusts with pleasure sensations swarming off my swollen dick. Slower now, I humped in a half dozen times and Pete shuddered and moaned, "Ah, yeah... feels good."
The increasing pleasure sensations on my boner had me doing a shudder to match Pete's. It's so wonderfully tight in his rectum, I hoped it wasn't hurting him. He said, "Harder, Oliver...Please," so I guess I can feel confident I'm not hurting him. Grabbing hold of his slim waist with both hands I humped in and out hard and fast for a solid three minutes until I was right at the edge of climaxing, sweat rolling down from my face and that awesome, intense feeling in my nuts and spreading out in all directions from my groin causing me to let a moan slip out. Pete was openly moaning and groaning various pleasure sounds while he stroked his long cock. "Harder, Oliver."
This constant begging for "harder" was getting me a little pissed off. What does this kid want? I grabbed a big fistful of his long, curly ponytail again and pulled his head back far enough to make him grunt and cause his cute Adam's apple to protrude. I was momentarily transfixed by his reflection in the lavatory mirror. His eyes were closed, but fluttering, a small smile on his lips as his tongue flicked around them. I was hotly aroused.
Keeping his head pulled back, I smacked his ass hard five or six times and then really started pile-driving his asshole while holding onto his ponytail as if it were a horse's reins. Pete squealed out a high-pitched sound and fisted his boner in a blur. In less than a minute, I heard his cum splat hard up against the tile under the sink and then more of his cum plopping down on the tile floor.
When Pete climaxed, his ring tightened so much on my boner, I saw stars, but at the same time, I shot off such a hard stream of cum I was afraid it might blow out the tip of the condom. While climaxing, I tried to let out some noise but couldn't make a sound. Instead, I blew a lot of air past my lips as Pete continued tightening his hole ring with each blast of cum he shot out of that long boner of his. He continued stroking his cock a full minute after firing his last shot of cum, and I kept pumping his hole until my cock got too soft, and it slipped out.
We were both puffing out short exhales trying to control our breathing. My heart was beating too fast and I felt dizzy, but what a fabulous climax I'd had. WOW!
Neither of us said anything. When my cock had flopped out of Pete's hole he'd simply said, "Ohh," and then straightened up, gasping in another long breath. Taking the condom off, I dropped it in the toilet, backed up to lean against the inside of the lavatory door, and stared at that fantastic ass of Pete. Warmed condom lube was drooling down his bum cheeks all shiny and slimy. Turning around, he peeked at me, his penis softened to its normal fat, eight-inch length.
Pete ripped off some paper towels, dabbed at the wetness on his buttocks, and asked, "Was that okay for you, Oliver?" I said, "Awesome, Pete." His hole seemed tighter than Alexander's, which was good, but it was pretty fast. Still, it was good, though.
I flushed the toilet and we both pulled our pants up in silence, and it was a bit awkward now, so I asked, "How about you, Pete? Do you feel okay?" He blushed bright red, and with that small grin on his face, he peeked up at me again and quietly said, "My hole hurts a little, but it feels good too, so, yeah, I'm okay." I hugged him around his shoulders, and he asked, "How about tomorrow, Oliver? Could you do me again?"
"Sure, tomorrow it is, Pete. That was fun." Pete simply nodded and we walked out together and shared a Snapple on the loading dock, passing the bottle back and forth till Pete finished the last few drops. I lit up a Marlboro Light and took a big drag, then blew smoke in Pete's direction. He grinned and held his hand out, so I passed him my cigarette and he took a puff, then blew a perfect smoke ring that danced between us until a hot summer breeze blew it apart.
Pete said, "See ya, Oliver. Thanks a lot", and off he went for his last mail run of the day. I gave him a grin and a wave, then finished my cigarette thinking again about how odd life is at times. Then, I thought, if only Pete could be Frankie, my world would rock! I lazily moved a couple of cardboard boxes around on the loading dock, waiting for the "toot-tooting-tone signifying the end of our work day.
To be continued...
