Date: Fri, 13 Oct 2017 08:06:47 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Irmas Boys 2

See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-friends/irmas-boys/) for
warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights
reserved. Includes sex between adult men. Go away if any of that is against
your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like,
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*****

When I saw that all the dishes were -- POOF -- magically gone and a new
yum-yum-yummy Bastard Beer was in front of me, I suddenly noticed a side
effect of the p-p-p-p, um... Pat? No, platte? Plot? Port? 'Po' -something?
Um, posh? POT! Of the pot. A side effect of the POT. I was really, really
horny. I looked down and saw that both nuts had escaped from the mangled
Hypercools, each to its own side, and the pink head of My Favorite Friend
was peeking out of the waistband. "Will?" I heard for a long, long way
away. "You feel like a swim after dinner?"

*****

Irmas Boys 2: Cooling Off

by Bear Pup

*****

Swimmmmmmm. Oh, God, even the word sounds deliciously cooling. The buzz had
faded quite a bit (in other words, I could once again form actual words). I
looked up and saw that both Orson and Terry were stripping out of their
shorts. In any other situation, I would have either frozen or made a run
for it. Two guys -- two guys that I KNEW to be gay -- were stripping off
right in front of me making no hint of turning away. On the other hand, Mr
Wizard had done his work well.

I'd already tagged them internally as Hobbit (Orson) and Papa Bear
(Terry). Papa Bear was closest and easiest to see as his crotch came into
view. He was marginally manscaped with plenty of fur but no jungle-bush
surrounding a dick that, soft, looked about the thickness of a silver
dollar and all you could really see was the enormous head above low, full
balls, no shaft at all. He was starting to chub and the thing was gradually
growing a stalk, becoming a serious fireplug, easily as wide as it was
long. My only real thought was, 'Fuck, that's gotta hurt!'

Hobbit, on the other hand, was tightly manscaped, his entire body basically
trimmed the same as his beard. His cock was... FUCK! I hoped to hell that
he was a shower and not a grower! He had to be at least six inches long,
soft with big, held-tight eggs that pushed it out. It literally *swung*. I
glanced up and saw Orson smiling at me, then looked down again. He really
*was* growing. Thankfully, not much. He ended up, I'd guess, at a bit over
seven inches and about the thickness of peeled banana and slightly curved
like one as well. I mean, not like porn-hung but still impressive.

Terry barreled into the water with a resounding splash that made me laugh
and Orson smiled at me again. "You joining us, Will?" He dove smoothly in,
belying his rotund shape and surfaced quickly. I stood and decided, fuck
it. I rose, holding the HyperCools in their original place as I did so,
leaving them in the chair. I looked up to find four very wide, very shocked
eyes.

You see, I was kinda hung. I mean, not the whole 'wrecked pussy' or 'never
walk again' thing, but I had a solid eight when hard (more if I was excited
and the pot had done its work in that department). And it was nicely thick
and a bit veiny. Even hard, my meaty foreskin puckered at the end. I was
one of those guys who could jack off without ever thinking of lube. As
previously mentioned, though, the major attraction was the balls.

Since I was rock-hard, my cock was out of the way and gave them a full
display of my nuts. My right always hung higher, but was still at least two
inches below my dick. My left was both a little larger and considerably
lower. It wasn't much of a stretch to say I looked very much like the brass
bull-balls that hang off a redneck's trailer hitch, screaming, "These are
the nut that the guy in the cab wants you to think he had instead of the
tiny dingleberries he's actually got!".

I had to giggle at the very 'Helmsman Sulu', "Oh, MY!" that Orson
uttered. I was a major devotee of Takei's hysterical Twitter and Facebook
feeds. I dove in over their heads, knowing I had plenty of clearance. Even
stoned, I can always dive like a champ. It was one of the sports I did in
high school and still love it.

I cut into the water like a knife... for the first three feet, anyways. I
then came to the sudden and excruciating realization that, in school, one
dove *with* trunks and *without* a raging boner. The water gave my cock a
reverse-blowjob and slapped my nuts like a nun with a ruler. I rolled with
it, though, under the water, completely unwilling to come to the surface in
front of two queers crying about my junk.

I felt an enormous paw in the small of my back pushing me to the surface
and looked into a pair of smoke-blue eyes. Terry was holding me like an
expert lifeguard, giving just enough extra lift to make sure I was
okay. "Son? You okay? That had to hurt, kid. You gotta breath, son. Come
on." His voice with that deep rumble was concerned, loving and tender,
completely at odds with his Papa Bear gruffness. I looked over and saw
Orson with a rodeo-clown's fuck-that-had-to-hurt grimace.

"Oh, I'm fine," I said calmly... in a voice that shook like a leaf and
sounded like a ten-year-old with an impending bladder emergency. Not my
finest hour. Without even seeming to move, the giant bear whisked us to the
side of the pool and attached my hands to it.

"Fuck-all if you're fine, son."

"I'll check. You hold still," said the Hobbit who then disappeared under
the water with a slight ripple.

I felt his hand along my inner thigh, my balls and my shaft. They started
moving deliciously. "Mmmmm." It felt damned good, regardless of the recent
trauma those parts had experienced. "WHOA!" My lungs nearly emptied at the
exquisite sensation of a mouth suckling my hardon. I sucked in a delighted,
shuddering gasp.

Papa Bear made some underwater movement and a cloud of bubbles leapt to the
surface, popping with the sound of "OOF!" as the pleasure was ripped away
and Orson bobbed back to the surface.

"What the hell was that for, Ter?"

The teeth-clenched growl was so utterly bearish that I giggled when he
rumbled, "Play nice!"

I looked at Orson who grinned. "I *was* play-- OW! Fine! Fine. Spoilsport."
He looked to me. "I'm sorry Will. I was just making sure you were
okay. Forgive me?"

There were a dozen options there. Run back to the house was top of the
list. Punch him? Maybe, but I was too stoned. Scowl and demand he never
touch me again, definitely required. I mean, I wasn't gay and, outside one
memorable week at the end of the summer at Camp Sinnemahoning, I'd never
even played around with a guy. Not only am I not even a little interested,
I mean, this guy didn't even fucking ASK! What a douchebag jerk!

I grumbled, "Only if you do it some more."

Wait! What? I said WHAT? "NO! Um, I mean, uh... What did you say? What did
*I* say?"

Papa Bear was in a gut-buster laugh, hanging onto the side of the
pool. Orson just smirked. "Let's just forget the whole subject, okay,
sport?"

"Um, yeah. Uh... let's just, um, whatever." The Hobbit -- wait, aren't
they, like, completely afraid of the water and sink like a rock? I guess I
got a floaty Hobbit -- kicked off and started swimming laps. Papa Bear
seemed perfectly content to bob and play around. The wiener dogs came up
and started to nuzzle me which I found both alarming and delightful. Terry
reached up and unsnapped their collars. The darker one yapped once and
launched into the water while the other pawed it tentatively, apparently
testing the temp. The swimmer-dog paddled happily over against the other
side. Each time Orson swam by, it would try to jump on his back and ambush
him. It was adorable. It gave up and came back over to be cuddled by Papa.

I decided to match pace with Orson for a while and was quickly shocked. I
am a very strong swimmer, having done it most of my life. This guy had
skills! For someone who was shaped roughly like a very hairy flotation
device and was, well, *old*, he cut through the water like a fucking seal!
I finally peeled off and joined Mr Floaty, panting and gasping as I watched
Hubby the Hobbit. The second doxie was swimming as well, and crawled onto
my shoulder as if drowning. I laughed and helped it onto the poolside where
it shook vigorously then settled and licked my hand. I looked back at the
wake the Hobbit was leaving and shook my head.

"He fast, cher, don't beat yourself up. When he was in college, he shaved
everything and placed, oh, way high." His accent was stronger now, mellow
and rich. I couldn't *not* ask.

"Your voice is really nice. You have a, um, sort of accent?"

He chortled. "I got me a sorta accent? That rich, that is. I was born on--"
fuck if I know what he said next; his mouth was puckered like he was gonna
whistle but what came out was, maybe BAY-oo KYUde tarTYEW (I found out
later it was Bayou Queue de Tortue) "--that's in Louisiana." He saw my
utterly-befuddled face and laughed that low, rich, spicy laugh. "Don'
worry, cher. Just say 'the bayou' and you'll be fine. It's all one water
anyways." The pot was fading, but his luscious, melodic, entrancing voice
was enough to re-spark the buzz. I floated on his voice.

"I met that little cubby-bear when we were at the University of Arkansas."

He cocked an eyebrow so I expended a brain cell and said,
"Razorbacks. Fayetteville, right? Wait! You're like, not close to the same
age!"

"Good job! True, that. We met in a cemetery." He was obviously pleased with
my head-shaking response as I tried to reconcile that. He laughed again. I
could really, really get used to that laugh. He helped the other dog out
who shook and then dragged a towel over for him and the other to curl up
on. It was almost an overdose of cute.

"I was teaching there. Calculus for the lower set and Complex Variables at
the top. No tenure and no real chance at it. Just, you know, spending a few
years. I lived in an apartment on West Center and that boy there was in
Kappa Sigma. Between us was a cemetery, cher. Turned out both of us like
the quiet when working and weren't fussed over the haints. Sorry,
uh... ghosts, spirits, dead folks."

"No, I know haints. It's just been so long since I heard it."

"Really? Do tell!" I was treading water and letting the deep, rich
velvet-over-brass accent lull me. It was a slice of heaven after the heat
and worry of the last few days.

"My Mee-Maw, um," I stuttered a little.

"No, cher, I know what Mee-Maw is. I'd say mémère. Go on. Go on."

"She was from South Carolina. She talked of haints and rootworkers and
hoo--"

"Shush, Will. Don't say that word." He'd tensed then laughed
nervously. "Never mind. Just old superstition. Ignore me, son. You were
saying?"

"Actually, she never said it either! She'd whisper it. Her, um," I blushed
purple at the very un-PC term and whispered it instead, "mammy told her all
through her childhood about what she called the Old Ways."

He frowned at me. "I will never understand Yankee obsession with denying
that black folks raised their babies for near three hundred years. And
loved 'em. And taught 'em." He sighed heavily. "Anyway, so we got some
close blood, you and me. Orson there, he's Yankee through and through. Went
to Arkansas because, like my family but for different reasons, he was told
he couldn't go anywhere that the state didn't touch home. For me,
Louisiana; for him, Missouri" Mizz-OU-rah. "He was from St Louis." Terry
did a delightfully-nasal and uptight-white "SAYnt LOO-issssss" and I
laughed.

"So, Will, how you end up in St Leo?"

I chuckled. "Mom and dad are pretty well off, but they said it had to be a
Catholic school. I didn't want snow, liked the East coast and Ave Maria was
too..."

"Creepy?" He supplied.

 I giggled. "Exactly. I felt like I was in Stepford and expected
Christopher Walken to pop out!"

"Ah ha! And Roger Bannister running as a Republican with a lisp!" COOL! An
old guy who got it!

"Exactly. So, you two, uh...?"

"What you askin, Will?"

"Well, I mean. You're gay, right?" He nodded, grinning widely at my
blush. "So, well, how did you two... know?" Damn. The lingering effects of
the buzz had bombed the fuck out of my mind-to-voice filter.

"Know we were gay, know each other was interested, or know each other was
right?"

"All of 'em?"

"Well, I'll save the know'd I was gay for later, cher. For knowing he
was... hmmm. I went over to grade some papers. Nice afternoon. So, I'm
headed toward a favorite vault -- Evergreen and the rest of the Southern
cemeteries have a lot of those, where the burial is only partly
underground; makes the perfect seat and table -- and I see the cutest
little thing sitting on a bench just opposite. I nod. He nods, but I notice
he watches pretty careful. I lay out my papers -- I kept some stones there
to hold 'em down, ya'know -- and then I notice he'd done given up any
pretense of not staring. I wait until he's looking at my face instead of,
well, other things and just smile and damned if he doesn't scurry
off. Dropped his books twice! I sighed cuz I was used to that. I'm, well, a
big guy."

"Yeah, you are." He shoots me a look that clearly wants to ask, 'What, you
think I'm fat?' "And hairy too. I'd be scared of you if I wasn't stoned!"
He chuckled and continued.

"So, I'm back two days later and see the little cutie come up and sort of
freeze when he catches sight'a me. I pretend not to notice at all and go
about the grading. He creeps on in like a whitetail, all skittish. I smiled
into my papers so wide I thought I'd'a broke something. He finally settles
in on the bench he'd been on the other day and reads, kept flickin his gaze
at me. Cutest thing. So, when I was finished, I decided to flirt a
little. I stood up facing away from him and stretched all huge and wide,
with a big ole yawn, then bent over to get my papers. I peeked tween my
legs and he was near to hyperventilating, staring at my ass. You an ass
man, Will?"

"Huh? Wha? Oh, um, girls? Yeah. Definitely. Not as much a ti-- um,
breast..."

He laughed richly, "I do know what tits are, Will. Just don't like the same
brand you do..." I blushed again. "So, for the next week or so, he'd
magically appear right when I was settling in. I'd either nod at him or
ignore him. Each time when I left, I made sure--" I jumped a foot when a
voice came just behind me.

"He made damned sure to put on a fucking muscle-bear show. I thought he
didn't even know I existed! And all this time, he was teasing me with that
big old body. Did he mention the ass? Yeah. I figured as much. Damn, Will,
you're shaking! Terry and I got padding but you're gonna freeze." As if
he'd been told to do so, Papa Bear erupted out of the water with a cascade
that continued to pour out of his fur. He reached down and hauled me out as
if, well, I was a toddler. It was, to say the least, impressive.

He lifted me high enough that he could pivot me practically into a chair. I
sat, blinking. The guy was massive. And, frankly, damned impressive in the
moonlight, dripping water. He shook his head like a dog and water flew
everywhere. Orson was out and laughed, then shook his whole Hobbity body. I
had to giggle. I looked at the two of them standing next to one another. I
have never been into guys, but as a couple... well, they were sorta
perfect.

Orson had been right, I was freezing and didn't know it. The warm night air
caressed me and, annoyingly, my finally-soft cock which tried to rise to
the occasion. Papa Bear said he was going to switch the generator over. He
took my phone and said he'd charge it quick-like. Meanwhile, the Hobbit
returned with another of the Dirty Bastard beers and proceeded to repack
the bowl of Mr Wizard.

"Um, Orson, I'm not sure I'm up to..."

"Don't worry, Will. This is a special one that I keep just for nightcaps. I
call it sleepy-time, but the guy I buy from says it's called swamp
cabbage."

"Yeah. I know that one! A friend uses it. Not so much a blazing high as a
long, mellow, sleepy rush."

"Tell ya what. Let's get enough charge in the phone so you can check and
send messages, then we'll put it on for the night. You come back over when
it gets warm in the morning and you'll be 100%."

"Really? Thanks! That, that's just fantastic!"

"Terry, we're gonna burn the sleepy-time and then if you'll get Will's
phone, he'll take care of urgent stuff then come back over tomorrow. Sound
good, hon?" He gruffed what I assumed was an affirmative and bent over to
kiss the not-yet-bald-spot of his husband. It was so... I dunno,
instinctive? Habitual? Certainly an intimate and caring gesture. I smiled
broadly and Orson blushed.

He had the bowl packed and hit it nice and hard, then handed it to me. The
smoke was... different. It was like chamomile tea, perhaps, gentle and
smoky (I mean, duh, it was smoke, but it was, I dunno, smoky-smoky?
Whatever). I passed it to Papa Bear who surprised me by filling his massive
lungs with a monster hit. His hubby-Hobbit killed the tiny amount left and
cleared the chamber. We sat and chatted, mainly about my school plans as
the weed crept up. I felt my whole body slowly relax, losing tension I
didn't really know I'd had.

Terry went and got my Phone. I spent the next fifteen minutes bouncing
between the conversation and replies to people wondering why I dropped off
the face of the Earth. I finally got to the nodding, drooping, head-shaking
stage and Orson politely suggested I head back. Papa Bear insisted on
dousing me with Deep Woods Off before I left and told me to come back
whenever I got too warm. I was already in my stifling bungalow when I
realized I hadn't bothered to gather up my HyperCools and had walked home
completely nekkid. Hmm.

"You come on back when you get too warm, Will." The offer echoed through my
head for most of the night. The swamp cabbage dank had done its job, but I
still woke every hour or so drenched in sweat and utterly miserable. The
night before, it was just oppressive and depressing. After the dip in that
glorious pool and a few actual cold beers? It was hell.

I gave up on the whole sleep thing about six and waited for dawn. I rustled
up the Breakfast of Champions -- Cheerios in beer -- and straightened up
what I could. My house had never been as neat as it was since Irma
came. What the fuck else did I have to do?

I waited until I could hear voices next door before heading over. I slipped
on some shorts and grabbed a tiny baggie that I'd gotten from my supplier
as a sort of "good customer bonus". He'd told me that it was beyond dank,
absolutely banging. He waggled his eyebrows and said, "Dude, be sure to
smoke this with a chick you really want to lay. It's amazing. Called
Hex-Mex." If that dawg was saying it was the key to a hot date, it was
primo. Anything that could impress a St Leo chick to give up the goods had
to be True Rare.

I headed over. Instead of knocking on the door, I reached over and tapped
the windowsill. Over the flurry of movement and ferocious barks (those two
tiny dogs managed to sound like a pack of bloodhounds), I said, "Orson?
Terry? It's just me, Will. DO NOT zip your dick again just for me. Can I
come in?" Terry was hooting with laughter.

A slightly-groggy Orson responded, "Get your ass inside then." As I came
in, it was exactly as I'd guessed. Both were naked and comfortable. The two
dogs converged, barking like they were about to eat me but also wagging
their whole bodies.

"Watch out, cher," Terry said with an indulgent smile. "They might just
lick you to death." I sat and let them gambol over me. "The black one is
Kona and the chocolate one is Kahlua. They's both sweethearts, but don't
let them beg off'a ya."

I laughed at their antics. "Kahlua and Kona. Great drink, too."

"Come on, Will. The Master Suite is still cool." At the term Master Suite,
the dogs yipped and scurried off, back and front ends seeming out of sync,
but not diminishing their speed. They'd vanished through a little gate
thing at the bottom of the door. Orson waited for me then Terry before
opening the door. Papa Bear chivvied me quickly through and I found us in a
dark little alcove. Then Terry had the door closed, Orson lifted what was
now obviously a blanket or something.

"AC Lock, like an air lock but for AC. My brilliant husband put it in." All
this time later, yeah, I remember what he said. At the time, though, every
sense just went AHHHHH! The caress of dry, cool air was a benediction. I
zombie-walked in and simply melted to the cool -- COOL -- tile floor as the
dachshunds watched me smugly from a dog-bed to one side of an empty
fireplace. The large, glass-enclosed hearth was flanked on the right by a
deep, wide niche that held electronics and AV equipment (and the dog-bed
underneath). The other side was identical in size, but held a wet-bar,
non-running mini-fridge and a shocking array of glassware and booze.

"Oh... My... God..." I looked up at the twinkling eyes of Papa Bear and the
broad grin of the Hobbit. "I've died, right, and this is heaven? I can't
ever thank you enough for this. I was dying all night, just dying!"

"The sleepy-time didn't help?" Orson asked, a little concerned.

"No, God, that was the only thing that made it bearable! It was just sooooo
hot every time I woke up. All I could think of was the pool." Terry had
gone to the part above the wiener dogs and unplugged my phone from an
impressive charging station. He shared a look that could have been
calculation or warning with his husband as he handed me the handset.

"That... That's terrible. Why don't you hang out over here today? We can
swim and all? Give you chance to, you know, relax a bit."

"Really? Wow! Thanks, man! That's just amazing of you!" Another look
flashed between the two.  Well, I was in someplace cool with guys who had
kick-ass beer -- cold, no less -- and one of the best bongs I'd ever
seen. I was in heaven, dude!

<eof>

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