Date: Sat, 24 May 2014 15:09:11 -0700 (PDT) From: Rob Roth Subject: Dylan's Summer Vacation Two, Chapter 67 DYLAN'S SUMMER VACATION TWO Chapter 67 by Donny Mumford As I walk back into the restaurant I'm rubbing my smacked ass that's still stinging, but feeling awesome at the same time. Why wouldn't it feel awesome after being fucked about as good as an ass can be fucked. I'm thinking, 'Holy shit, what incredibly lucky random sex that was!'. John, a redheaded kid sitting at the table next to ours, who I thought it'd be cool to flirt with, turned out to be as dominantly and sexily hot as the surface of the sun. He smoothly and effortlessly took total charge from our first eye contact to the smack on my ass a minute ago telling me to get back inside the restaurant after he deliciously gave me the hottest quick fuck of my life. It was like being in a wonderful sub/dom dream where everything went dreamily and perfectly the way it should, highlighted by a spectacular fireworks display sending sexual pleasure through the roof, and then he tells me I'm perfection, gives me one last smack on my ass and here I am. Oh yeah, do I ever want more of that! The size of his huge cock, his cute face, and his charming way of dominating while being nice, but firm, was the way I dream about sub/dom sex. He simply and casually assumed I'd know my place, and of course accept that he'd be in charge of everything from 'A' to 'Z'. He was right about that, and I thought our short time together was basically breathtakingly perfect. There wasn't a second of awkwardness as he led us from a few kisses behind his van, them back inside for dinner with our respective families, then a head nod from John and I dutifully scurried out of the restaurant and gladly allowed him to completely control the next ten or twelve minutes of naked cock sucking and hard fucking in the back of his van. My shoulders shudder just thinking about it, but like I said, it was over too quickly. I wanted John to take me with him on some unknown adventure with me obeying his every command and him telling me over and over what a excellent submissive buddy sex partner I am. Why it worked so perfectly is unexplainable, I guess, but he was just as perfect for me as he says I was for him. John was full of compliments, and seemingly not dangerous at all, and it was like he and I simply just knew our roles and were completely comfortable with them. He didn't treat me as an inferior, he treated me like I was the perfect submissive sex partner for him and I could tell he appreciated it. In other words, he thinks I'm as special as I think he is. How can we get together again though? This might be the first time I'm not going to wait to be invited, but instead humble myself to ask him to please come up with a way we can do it again. This isn't about love at all... it's about following the perfect blueprint for sub/dom buddy sex. It went the way sub/dom buddy sex is suppose to go... both partners equally important, with the dominant partner fully in charge, but very appreciative of his submissive partner. My thoughts are interrupted by a loud rendition of the goofy birthday song, obviously being sung to Chubby. With a grin on my lips, I turn the corner and then walk around the bend to see a dozen waiters, including Arturo, lined up in front of that big plate glass window serenading Chubby, who has a smirk on his face. I think he's enjoying the attention, which is kinda the opposite of the away I felt Wednesday night when I was in his place. It seems Chubby's comfortable in any social situation, where I find some of them awkward, so it's probably a self-confidence thing. I've got more self confidence then I used to have, but still in certain weird situations, where everyone's staring at me, I'll want to crawl under the table or be someplace else. It's not a major problem though, it's just getting though occasional uncomfortable situations in life the best way I can. For me it usually involves a lot of red-faced blushing with some sweating thrown in. Chubby gets through these kind of life situation easier than me, and I'm happy for him. I pat Chubby on the back as I sit down, and he looks up, muttering, "This sucks," under his breath. Hmmm, maybe Chubby doesn't enjoy this sort of thing anymore than I do, but he just covers up his discomfort better than me. The song's mercifully over and everyone claps, including strangers near our table. A number of strangers call out, "Happy birthday, Jeffrey." Chubby waves at the room of diners, but he does it in a way that sort of says, 'Enough already,' getting a few chuckles from those around us. Maybe everyone feels the way I do about this sort of thing and they totally understand Chubby's feeling of, 'Enough already.' There's louder than normal mumbling in the room for a bit as people kibitz about the birthday scene they just observed; it's like they've just watched a short floor show in a night club, and then the final act takes place with Arturo rolling over a serving table with a huge birthday cake on it, candles blazing away. When the cake is next to Chubby, he blows out the candles, then creates another stir by announcing in a loud voice, "Cake for everyone, let 'em eat cake," and there's a splattering of applause before things settle down and more or less get back to normal. Rick tells Arturo, who's cutting the cake now, "We'd like to share this cake with our fellow diners, if that's okay with you, Arturo." Arturo says, "Yes, sir, I'll get more plates." A bottle of champagne in a bucket magically appears along with champagne glasses. There are also half filled glasses of wine still on the table, so I go, "Hey, where was all the wine and champagne at my birthday dinner?" Everyone chuckles because of the way I said that... it's obvious I was joking. Ron says, "Yeah, your birthday dinner was merely a practice run, Dylan, so we could get Jeff's just right. Rick and I evaluated how your dinner went and decided we need to pump up the volume for Jeff." I mutter, "Yeah, I get it, the baby brothers of the world are always the spoiled ones." Rick grins, "So true, Dylan. Ron was born ten minutes after me and he's always been our parents favorite." I'm like, "I hear ya, Rick," and Ron says, "That's such a crock! Ha ha. What this dinner is tonight, Dylan, is a combination of Jeff's birthday celebration plus our vacation-ending dinner. That's what all the wine and champagne's about." Tris says, "And what a wonderful vacation it's been, Ron! You and Rick have been so generous we all want to thank you so much. You really made it special." For the next ten minutes everyone exchanges glowing compliments for each other, all helped along considerably by all the booze we've had tonight. I keep looking over at John, who sat down at his table about the time Chubby was announcing cake for everyone, but John's isn't looking at me. A minute later my eyes travel to John once more and this time he subtly shakes his head 'no', meaning I suppose, I'm being too obvious. He's seemed very concerned from the start that his parents not pick-up vibes there's anything going on between him and me. I wonder what the story behind that is. An older waiter pours a half glass of champagne in each of our champagne glasses as Arturo passes out slices of cake. It's Chubby's and my favorite cake, yellow/white cake with white icing. This one has butter cream frosting. At Ken's steak house the icing's not butter cream, it's Crisco and confectioner sugar. This is butter and confectioner sugar and both have vanilla extract added, and both are, Yum! Now that we've all got cake, Arturo is rolling the serving table around the restaurant passing out slices of cake to whoever wants a piece, so everyone seems to be a part of Chubby's birthday celebration. It's kinda neat actually as strangers call out, "Thank, for the cake, Jeff, and happy birthday to you." Rick swallows some champagne, chuckling, "I imagine the owner of the restaurant is less than thrilled we're providing free desserts for everyone." Mom chuckles, "I hadn't thought of that, Rick, that's funny." Ron says, "By the way, we did not order that huge cake, so I don't know what that's all about. We paid in advance for the cake and champagne and the cake we paid for was a regular size cake. Don't know what happened, but what were we suppose to do with all the left over cake except share it?" They talk about that with everyone slushing their 's' sounds as they talk because of all the booze. When we're done our cake, Chubby mutters to me, "Let's go outside and have a cigarette." I'm all for that, but this time I really do need to take a piss first. We get up, with me looking longingly over to John, but he won't look at me. He's eating a piece of Chubby's birthday cake, and he looks so cute and sexy I unconsciously rub my ass remembering how awesomely he fucked me. I look back at him just before we turn the corner, but he still won't look up. In the rest room we both take long pees, as Chubby's saying, "I'm feeling a bit hammered. How 'bout you, bro?" Actually I haven't given it much thought, but now that I do, I am a little tipsy, although I didn't drink my last glass of wine or the champagne. "Um, yeah, Chubby, I'm a little drunk I guess, but not so bad I can't drive. You gulped down twice as much wine as me." He goes, "Heh heh, yeah, I'm a glutton alright." I go, "Glutton? Not a word ya hear all that often." Chubby goes over to wash his hands, muttering, "I'm expanding my vocabulary, bro." As I'm washing my hands looking in the mirror I notice Chubby's fly isn't zipped-up. Hee hee, should I tell him? Yeah, I should, "Check out your zipper, bro," he chuckles, "I know it's not zipped, I'm giving little Jeff some air," as he zips-up. I go, "Uh huh," and we walk outside and light a cigarette to share. We're not alone out here as there are about twenty people having a smoke sitting on the benches along the front of the restaurant. We don't want to sit with them so Chubby and I walk around to the dock of the bay. It's another beautiful night with a sky packed full of stars and a bright moon. None of which I noticed when I was out here with John. Chubby and I talk about Rick and Ron admitting we can't find much to complain about them, so we concede they're good for our moms. We're not sure if the moms will ever marry though, and we conclude that's because they seem very happy and contended with their lives as they're presented constituted, and you know, change is hard and probably harder the older you get. Here's a saying that you often hear that makes a little more sense than most: You can't teach an old dog new tricks. Actually you probably can, but it's a lot harder for older dogs, or people. Sharing a second cigarette, we wander along the dock looking at the tied-up boats and enjoying the smell of the bay. We're both in a bit of a sentimental frame of mind telling each other how lucky we are to be living the lives we're living, and to be brothers, as well as being the best friends the world has ever known. We do a little reminiscing, something we always seem to do when we've had too much to drink, but it's so damn much fun; both things ... drinking too much, and reminiscing. Done our second shared cigarette I try to copy the way Chubby flicked the first butt over the boats into the bay, but my butt gets flicked into one of the boats and Chubby and I hop down to retrieve it giggling like ten year old boys after hearing a fart joke. I pick up the butt and give it a mighty flick off the outboard motor and it bounces right back at me. "Follow through with your arm, Dylan," Chubby encourages me, so I pick up the butt and flick it keeping my hand moving forward and the butt flies out nicely, just like it should. We climb out of the boat as Chubby mutters, "You got it now, bro," and on the dock, I go, "All my spastic flicks are for laughs, Chubby. I do them on purposes," and Chubby uses one of my favorite, "Uh huh," responses. I chuckle muttering, "No, I really mean it." He says, "I gotta meet Jen tonight, how about keeping me company and the three of us can go on some thrill rides." I ask, kiddingly, "Can I sit in the middle?" Then I explain to Chubby that I hope to run into Danny later tonight to say goodbye. He goes, "I think I know how you're going to say goodbye and it involves more than your mouth." I go, "Well, my mouth will definitely be involved, so ya know..." We walk inside the restaurant and I see the back of John disappearing into the rest room, so I mumble, "Um, I gotta do a little more peeing, Chubby." He says, "Yeah, okay, I'll see you at the table," then he adds, "The adults are probably enjoying an after dinner drink. Do you want one?" I go, "Oh yeah, see if you can wangle a couple of Irish coffees for us," and Chubby's like, "You got it, bro." Chubby continues around the corner as I try to figure out if I'm actually going to ask John to fuck me again. Then decide to do what I do in most situations, play it by ear. I'm strangely nervous with a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, or the funny feeling might actually be buzzing in a spot lower than my stomach. With a little trepidation I push open the door and see John at the sink washing his hands. No one else is in here but me. I go, "Um, hi, John, ah... Um, I saw you come in here. Me and my brother were just coming in after getting some fresh air and, um.... ya know, I saw you and..." He smiles as he dries his hands, then looks at me grinning, "Come over here, Dylan." I stare into his eyes, feeling so weird. Actually I'm feeling a little like Ryan and Willie used to make me feel... like I'm a little kid. I walk over to John, shy all of a sudden with my head down and my dick squirming in my pants. He cups my chin with his hand pulling my head up as his other hand cups my crotch, "You want me to do it again, huh?" I nod my head and he hugs me to him, muttering, "So do I, Dylan. You're something special. A guy like you comes along so rarely I never expected to encounter one like you. I knew you'd be special when we first exchanged eye contact because your eyes told me you were." I quietly ask, "What were my eyes saying to you, John?" He squeezes my ass with both hands pulling my crotch tightly against his. "Your eyes said, 'Fuck me, please,' but it's more than that. It's that you somehow convey a willingness to follow, to be submissive in a sexy way, or something along those lines. It's the message I picked-up on anyway and to test it I took you outside and discovered I was right. The way you became docile to me is such an attractive quality in my mind, and that's because it tells me you're perfectly comfortable in your skin. So many are not and they try pretending they're someone they're not. You're refreshingly open and honest with yourself." My forehead's on his shoulder and my arms are around him as I try to follow what he's saying, but the idea of me saying something doesn't even enter my mind. He says, "And added to the mix, you're probably the cutest boy I've ever seen, as well as the sexiest, and you border on perfection, like I told you before." I lift my head from his shoulder to look at him and his head comes down for a sweet kiss that gets blood hurrying into my penis. After the kiss he says, "I've gotta get back to the table now, but I'm pretty sure I can meet you later. I mutter, "How 'bout thirty-seventh street on the Wildwood boardwalk." He kisses me quickly, "Well, okay, I'll be there between eleven and eleven-thirty." Then he says sternly, "Don't change into another personality, Dylan, don't try to impress me or prove to me you're not actually who you are, 'cause if you do we'll just say goodbye. I want to fuck this Dylan version, the Bay Restaurant Dylan. Got it?" I nod my head and he cups my chin raising my head so we're looking each other in the eyes again. After we stare for a couple of seconds, he says, "Just so you and I understand each other, tell me what you want from me," and I gulp, then says, "I want to have sex with you again." He nods, "Okay, then ask me for it," and I go, "Um, please fuck me again, John." He goes, "Good boy. You want me to fuck you dominantly, is that correct? I go, "Un huh," and he says, "Okay, we understand each other. I'm going back to my table now, you wait in here a minute after I leave," then he pats my cheek, mumbling, "This is my lucky night. The luckiest night I've had so far and it's because of you, so thank you." He runs his fingers through my hair and says, "If you were my boy I'd make damn sure your beautiful hair grows out and you'd wear it pulled straight back in a ponytail. You'd wear it that way if I said so, wouldn't you?" Completely under his hypnotic personality, I mutter, "Yes, John," and he nods his head with a cute smile, "Of course you would. See you later, Dylan," and he leaves. I'm blinking my eyes, thinking that I'd like to have a ponytail. After a minute, I'm calmed down some and able to walk back to our table reasonably under control. As I get there, two Irish coffees are being served. I sit down nodding at my mom, "Are you feeling alright, Dylan?" my mom asks, "You're looking pale under your tan." I go, "I'm awesome, mom, never felt better in my life." The twins are paying the check as we sip our Irish coffees, while Chubby and me are both wearing a whipped cream mustache. "Ready to go, guys?" Rick asks everyone at the table. Everyone is ready, so Chubby and me wipe our mouths with napkins and we all mutter thanks for the great dinner one more time. Walking outside, Ron asks our moms, "How about we walk off this dinner on the boardwalk tonight?" The moms think that's a great idea, so Chubby says, "Okay, Dylan and I might see you on the boards tonight," the moms give Chubby and I a hug and a kiss goodbye for now. We head to the right for our Jeep and the others go to the left for Rick's BMW. "Awesome birthday dinner, don't ya think, Dylan?" I go, "I can't imagine a better one. We gotta give it up for Rick and Ron, they're awesome." He goes, "Yep, and they're ten years older then us too, so there's hope that when we're that old, we won't be complete stiffs, ya know?" I say, "No way we'll be stiffs no matter our age, we're too cool for school, dude." He gets in the passenger seat without arguing that he wants to drive. I drive especially cautiously because I've been drinking, and even though I feel in control, booze can give you a false sense of security. My control could be an allusion so I take nothing for granted while driving under the influence. Chubby's talking about getting laid again, and I go, "Did ya ever feel you might be oversexed, Chubby? You seem to do a lot of chirping about sex lately." He's like, "Well at least I'm honest about it, getting anything out of you about your sex life is like trying to pry information out of Bill Belichick about injured Patriots," and this gets us talking about the Pats, our favorite national football team, and we mean football, not soccer. Why Europeans insist on calling soccer 'football' is beyond me. At the boardwalk I refuse to pay for parking and so I'm driving around trying to find a free parking spot, but on a Friday or Saturday night it's nearly impossible to find one because not only are the vacationers for the week on the boardwalk, but also those who came down just for the weekend. Chubby finally says, "I'll pay for the damn parking, Dylan, we're wasting the night trying to save ten bucks." I agree to split it, mumbling, "You're a spend thrift, Chubby, two jobs for the summer and you spend twice as much." As I'm passing ten dollars to a hot looking kid about eighteen, who probably has his dream summer job at the shore, Chubby's telling me, "That's why I have two jobs, so I'll have money to spend! I like buying stuff." The hot parking lot attendant points to the back of the lot, muttering, "There only two spots left," and I go, "Are you Jeff Daniel's brother, you look just like him?" The kid mutters, "Just park the fucking car and cut the shit." Chubby laughs out loud, and the kid walks into his little booth at the entrance of the parking lot and sits down. It looks like he's reading something. I say, "Some kids have zero personality, ya know?" Chubby chuckles, "Some kids don't want you trying to pick them up," and as I squeeze the Jeep into one of the remaining parking spot, I say, "That's bull shit, Chubby, I've never picked-up anyone in my life." He goes, "Well it's not for lack of trying." I go, "You're the pick-up artist, hitting on every cute girl you see," and he squeezes my hand, "I didn't say there's anything wrong with trying to pick up someone cute," so I go, "I'm glad you finally agree with me." We get out with Chubby chuckling again, "Thanks for straightening me out, my double-talking brother," and he gives me a hug, asking, "You gonna walk with me to where I'm meeting Jen, Dylan?" I'm like, "I'd be delighted to do that with you, little brother, and have I wished you a happy birthday recently?" He fingers the necklace I gave him, and says, "You wished me an excellent birthday for years to come. I'm referring to this awesome brother's necklace you gave me. I don't think I expressed to you how much it means to me." I go, "Yeah, you have, Chubby, and it makes me feel good all over." We hug, then walk up the ramp to the boardwalk. We walk in silence for a bit while savoring the unspoken brotherly love we feel for one another. There's no better feeling for me. Then I hear my name being called and look over to see Danny working the grill at Grant's restaurant. I thought he had off tonight. He's waving for me to come over, and when Chubby and I are close, Danny says, "I had to work tonight, Dylan. Two of the guys are sick, everyone's coming down with flu-like symptoms. We're passing it around I guess. Anyway, I wanted to say, um, it's been truly awesome knowing you and I hope we'll see each other again." He's so cute! I say, "We have each other's cell phone numbers so we'll stay in touch and see what we can work out. You sure helped make my vacation awesome." He grins, "Yeah, I won't ever forget our, um, walk on the beach," and the boss man, pervert Grant, calls over, "Danny, get the hell back to work!" Danny drops his eyes, mumbling, "I'll text you, Dylan," I go, "Sure, Danny, see ya," and we drift away. Chubby says, "I'd still like to fuck up the Grant guy somehow." I don't pursue that because I don't want Chubby getting into trouble. We come up to the double shot thrill ride, and I say, "One last ride for old time sake, Chubby," and he's like, "Yeah, the line's not too long." We buy ticket and while we wait in line Chubby flirts with two girls who look about sixteen. When it's our turn and we're getting secured in our seats, I go, "Did ya ever hear of jail bait, bro?" and he says, "You can't be sure they're under age, some girls look younger then they actually are." I go, "What, you check their IDs before sex." He says, "My sex outside MJ and Gina is almost nonexistent, which is why I'm so enthralled with Jen." The ride is about to hurl us a hundred yards straight up in the air so fast most peoples sandals don't make the trip with them. They're left behind on the floor. I mutter, "All you talk about is sex," and he goes, "That's because you keep bringing it..." but gets cut off as we're rocketed upward at a dizzying speed. It takes my breath away, but apparently not the girls' breath who screech high pitched screams enough to wake the dead. At the top, the machine hesitates, and those with a fear of heights pee their shorts. The view is amazing and then we're plunged downward so fast you think you'll crash, the machine hisses and stops ten feet from the floor. People on the ride for the first time assume we'll slowly return to floor, but no, there's another breathtaking ride up and then immediately down to stop two feet from the floor with the screaming from those on the ride that can be heard for a couple of blocks. Now the ride drops down and that's it. Workers hurry around to release our safety belts and we shakily get off and step into our sandals. Walking away, Chubby says, "That fucker never gets old. It's enough to sober a person up." We walk and talk with Chubby pointing out hot chicks, which I don't get, and me pointing out random cute guys that Chubby claims he doesn't get, although his glance lingers on the guys longer then my glance lingers on the girls. It's almost eleven o'clock when Chubby meets up with Jen and her sister, Julie, plus Julie's macho boyfriend, who's name I can't remember. Chubby and Jen kiss quickly as Julie, in a flirtatious manner, says to me, "Hi, hot stuff, wha'cha been up to?" I go, "Hi, Julie, I'm mostly just trying to stay out of trouble and mind my own business." She wraps her arm around mine, like she usually does, and bats her eyes at me, saying, "Oooh, that sounds boring," and her boyfriend says, "Jesus, Julie, why don't you take your blouse off for him," and she goes, "Ooh you, Arnie, I have a crush on Dylan." Arnie says to me, "Don't let it go to your head, Dylan, she's got a crush on about ninety percent of the guys she sees." Julie lets go of my arm and puts her arms around Arnie's waist, saying, "Including you, ya sexy hunk." He rolls his eyes at me, muttering, "Lucky me," and I go, "I gotta meet someone, see you guys later," then ask, "Chubby you gonna be alright, um, you know, driving? Or do you want me to drive the Jeep home?" He says, "I'm good, Dylan, I might need the Jeep later, heh heh," and Jen says, "Oh you," to Chubby. Why do females says, 'Oh you,' so much? I bump Chubby's fist and then saunter back down the boardwalk the way I came. After a block I look back and don't see Chubby, so I start jogging, trying to avoid the walkers. It's five minutes after eleven right now and I'm on forty-fourth street. I don't want to miss John. I get to thirty-seventh street about ten after eleven, but no John. I hope to hell he hasn't come and gone. Sitting on a bench with a clear view of people coming and going up and down the thirty-seventh street ramp, I light a cigarette and then grope my crotch trying to figure out why I got the hots for John to the degree I do. He's cute, but not as cute as, say Danny, and certainly not as cute as Robby or Sonny. There's something else about his appearance in addition to him being cute, and I think his pale red hair is part of it. Very nice hair, fine and straight without any wave. He's recently had a haircut that leaves the hairs on top long, but the sides and back are very short, burr cut short. The contrast in lengths is a recent style I've seen being worn by hollywood movie star types. It use to be an indication of a poorly done home haircut, which is kind of funny because it probably cost a hundred dollars to get the poorly done home haircut look for the hollywood actors. Anything to be different I guess, but I like it on redheaded John because I can see his pale scalp through the short hairs and it's sexy somehow. It's more than his cute face and hair though, there's another element of his appearance that has me very attracted to his looks. His blue eyes are bluer than blue for one thing, and he has a sexy grin. Yeah, it might be his grin! A grin of such confidence without a trace of meanness, or the slightest sense of superiority. It's as if he grins when something strikes him as worth grinning about, where as I grin half the time from nervousness. Well, it always comes back to the same thing: self confidence and living without self doubt. He knows what he wants and he makes no excuses for it. If I don't like what he wants, then he's not going to throw a fit or get tough, he'll just politely say 'goodbye'. Checking my wristwatch again I see it's eleven twenty-five so he probably got here at eleven, waited ten minutes and said. 'Fuck it'. I know he was serious when he said I was perfection, perfection in his opinion, not necessarily in others' eyes. I thought we had perfect sub/dom sex... like I said before, it was a blueprint for perfect sub/dom sex. Others think differently, but I don't care about 'others' right now. Huh, I haven't even been checking out cute guys the past twenty minutes, only looking for John who isn't coming. Dammit! I should have left in time to be here by eleven! Shoulda, woulda, coulda ain't worth shit! Lighting another cigarette, I'm pissed-off at myself and pissed-off at John too. He said between eleven and eleven-thirthy and I got here in plenty of time. Oh fuck him, something more interesting probably caught his eye and so he forgets about me and so much for all his talk about how lucky he feels about us meeting. At quarter to twelve I give up and wander over to the ocean side of the boardwalk feeling like this vacation started with a bang and is ending with a sputtering fizzle. I had more luck with sexual escapades this week than I had any right to expects so why dwell on this night. Hell, I had a great fuck a couple hours ago so it isn't like I struck-out today. Heh heh, I'd like to compare notes with my Italian friend, Adriano, who chalked me up as his conquest number one in America. Actually I'd rather his brother, Fabio, be gay. He was cuter, but Adriano had something very sexy about him too, and I hear, "Dylan, I knew you'd still be waiting," as a familiar strong hand grips the back of my neck, with John adding, "Walk with me on the beach." It was a command, not a question, as he leads me to the closest steps going down to the beach. Going down the steps, I mumble, "I was worried you, um, couldn't make it." "Just go down the steps, please," he says, still gripping the back of my neck and without apologizing for being late. On the beach, he says, "We'll walk near the boardwalk where we can't be seen from above because I want you to take your clothes off. Take everything off now." As I'm pulling my sleeveless t-shirt over my head, I'm wondering why I'm doing this, then notice John's carrying something that turns out to be a small backpack. He says, "Here, put your clothes in the backpack. Take your wristwatch and necklace off too, and your earrings." I hesitate, and he says, "Now, Dylan," but not in a particular stern way. I go about doing that, interested to see what this is about, as John talks on, "Walking on the beach naked while people are twenty feet above you on the boardwalk should be a rush for you. Walking on the beach naked is a rush no matter the circumstances, ha ha." I should be thinking how odd and nuts this is, but is it any crazier than fucking on the beach and almost being dragged out to sea by the undertow while having sex? I don't think so, but both things are crazy, and one doesn't excuse the other. I put my clothes and jewelry in the nylon, lightweight backpack, along with my sandals, and then John slips the backpack on me, mumbling, "You carry it." There are a few of John's things in the backpack too, but it doesn't weight but maybe two pounds at most. I feel geeky being naked wearing a backpack, then my eyes fix on John adjusting his huge cock with his hand down the front of his shorty-shorts, as he's asking, "How long would you have waited for me on the boardwalk?" I mumble, "Awhile, you weren't that late and, ya know, the traffic and all." He rubs my head, "You'd probably wait for me all night." I shrug, not feeling much like talking for some reason. He clamps his hand at the back of my neck again, pulling against him, as he says, "You're so cute, and you're body, oh my God, it's perfect." We walk awhile with John maintaining an uncomfortably tight grip on the back of my neck and it's giving me that little boy sensation again as John talks to me quietly, his head bent slightly so he's looking at my body. He's saying, "Just seeing you naked like this gets my cock firm, can you believe that? Jesus." I mumble, "Yes, I get like that too," and he says, "I don't doubt that for a second. Oh, I stopped at the motel to get a dog collar for you to wear, I like my boys to wear one, so tonight you're my boy and you get to wear it, but first I want to take your picture without the collar." Then he says, "Stop," he looks up, and mutters, "Move a little closer to the boardwalk supports," as he roughly pulls me to where he wants using his too tight grip on my neck. When I'm where he wants me, he says, sternly this time, "Just stand there for me, Dylan, and stand up straight." When I'm basically standing at attention, he rubs his hand across my belly and then up my chest and shoulders. Finally he takes hold of both my biceps and lifts my arms, saying, "Spread your legs and keep your arms up and out to the side. Spread your legs a little more." I do what he says and he steps back to gaze at me. Then he mumbles, "Okay, you're in the Vitruvian man's pose. That's a drawing by Leonardo da Vinci who, of course, superimposed an additional position for the arms and legs on the drawing, which I'll duplicate when I draw you. Do you know the drawing I'm referring to?" I shake my head no, already feeling totally captured by John and I stand here in the sand as a twelve year old with my legs spread, my arms straight out from my shoulders in as open a stance as the human body can be put in, and naked too of course. My dick is slightly firm lilting to the side rather than flaccidly hanging straight down. John says, "Stay exactly like that, don't move a muscle!" He walks behind me and smacks my ass, "SMACK" seems to echo in my ear as her rummages around in the back pack I'm wearing. The voices and sounds of the boardwalk are quite clear and seemingly closer than twenty feet above us. I'm standing on a spot of beach that's lit-up, so I my eyes look up without moving my head and I see a boardwalk light fixture that somehow got bent sightly towards the beach so we're in light spilling over from the boardwalk. The light reaches us, but a person would need to hang over the side to see us. John comes around in front of me with his cell phone and takes my picture, muttering, "Probably not enough light," and he takes two more, then walks behind me saying, "Don't move," and I hear him take a few pictures of my back side. He says, "Set the backpack down and then get back in this exact position." I do that realizing I'm feeling that trance-like state of mind again, and like I said, as a twelve year old this time. I'll probably stay in this position as long as he wants me to because I want to be a good boy for John. His demeanor indicates he knows I'll do what he says, and while that's so weird it's fact too. He comes around front taking some more shots of me from different angles, as he's telling me, "You'd be Leonardo's Vitruvian boy, not man, because you look too young. You'd also need a lot more hair to duplicate the drawing. I'd have your hair curled to replicate the picture. In the drawing the man has curly hair extending evenly about four inches from his head, Afro style, although not African type hair. If you were my full time boy I'd have you grow long hair, then like I said, have it curled at a salon, and then take your picture like you are now. Hell, if you were my boy I wouldn't need a picture, I'd merely have you model for me while I drew you. After I drew you, I'd then take you back to the salon that curled your hair and have them straighten it and then cut it to a reasonable ponytail length, and you'd wear it like that till I tired of it. Leonardo's drawing is founded on the correlation of ideal human proportion, which you have to perfection. Even your penis is in proportion. If you had a salami like my cock, it would fuck-up the proportion. Your facial features are perfectly in proportion too. I'm an artist and have studied this sort of thing for three years now at Yale University, where there's an excellent art program. He puts the camera away and comes over to feel parts of my body again, muttering, "Maintain this position until I tell you differently." He rubs my buttocks, then squeezes them, then another hard smack, "SMACK!" that can surely be heard on the boardwalk. My butt cheek quivers as he's asking, "Do you remove hairs on your ass like you do with your pubic hairs?" I mutter a squeaky, "No, John," and he goes, "Normally I wouldn't believe you, but you're one in ten million so I'm not even surprised you don't have a hair on your ass. I like the smooth groin look, and of course you'd be electrolyzed under your arms and around your groin area if you and I were lucky enough to come together." Still feeling different parts of my body, he murmurs, "Unbelievable," then says, "I'm going to draw you from the pictures which is why I stopped you here where there's at least a little light." He picks up my penis and stretches it out, saying, "You can drop your arms now, Dylan." I do that, and only then do I realize they're aching a little. Holding your arms out isn't as easy as it looks, not if you need to do it for five minutes or so. John pulls on my cock, saying, "I'm still fantasizing what I'd do if you were one of my my boys. You'd have a Price Albert, of course, and the piercing would go right here,' as he draws his finger along my dick until he's at the spot where someone would pierce my penis with a fat needle. He goes on to say, "Sometime later I might have a Dolphin piercing on your penis too, but only after the Prince Albert piercing heals." He lifts my nuts explaining, "Here's where I'd have your scrotum pierced. It's called a Hafadu. Metal jewelry down here is quite sexy to look at, although I'd never get it for myself. The only other piercings for you would be a small ring through both your nipples, and that one hurts most of all, but you'd get over it. It only hurts for a little while, but that's relative I suppose. What's a little while, ya know? Ha ha." Dropping my privates he says, "Put the back pack on," and when I do he rustles in it again and comes out with a leather studded dog collar and fastens it around my neck, asking, "Have you ever wore one of these before, Dylan?" I mutter, "Yeah, sure," and he says, "I'm not surprised at that either. Come on, lets walk," and we do with John telling me much more about the art program at Yale then I need to know. I'm surprised he isn't using a leash like Ryan did. We walk for awhile and then we turn around and walk back the way we came, with John asking, "Are you feeling more comfortable about walking naked on the beach?" I shrug, not at all sure how I feel about anything. He says, "Well, being naked is how you'd be almost all the time if you were my boy, and I keep saying, 'if you were my boy' because I'm trying to work something out in my head that would make that possible. I live in Alpine, New Jersey, with my parents, but I also have a studio in New York city where I do art work. You live someplace in Massachusetts and it's quite a drive from there to my parent's house in Alpine, New Jersey, so you'd need to drive six to seven hours to get there. I'll make you this offer: if you can manage the drive on weekends to my New York studio, which should be about four hours, which seems doable, if leave your place about, say four o'clock in the morning, you'd get to my studio by around eight o'clock which is when I start my boy's day. If you can handle that I'll introduce you to some extraordinary sexual fun. You can be my boy for the weekends and we'll be staying in my studio at night, but we'll visit the big apple during the day. You'll need to immediately begin growing out your hair, no more haircuts, okay? The first Saturday as my boy I'll take you to an upscale piercing parlor in New York city and get you all taken care of in one afternoon. You'll be sore, so that night we'll stay in and I'll comfort you. What do you say?" As we're approaching the spot John took pictures of me, I've lost the little boy sensation and I'm thinking, 'Hmmm, I better not say what I'd like to because after I've gone through all this bull shit on the beach I should at least get another taste of his big salami', so I give him a little white lie, saying, "Boy, that's tempting, John, but I'll need to think it over." He says, "Very wise. I'll give you my cell phone number and you can call me when you're ready to get started. Maybe after waiting a few months until your hair's a lot longer, you know, so we've got a head start on that. Okay, you may get dressed now." I take the backpack off and get my clothes out. After putting them on, he has me sit on one of the steps and he takes each of my feet and brushes the sand off before putting my sandals on. After that he puts my little hoop earrings in my pierced ears, saying, "As my boy you'll be pampered like this, and bathed by me, and generally treated like a prince." I buckle the leather strap of my wristwatch as John hands me my necklace, saying, "Put this in your pocket, Dylan, you'll be wearing the dog collar tonight." A picture of Willie flashes through my brain and I wonder what it'd be like to do what John said, minus the piercings of course. Treated like a prince and fucked really good too. Nobody's ever treated me like a prince even though I think Willie thought he was. Unfortunately there was so much other shit going on in his head he never came close to treating me the way a prince should be treated. We climb the steps and at the top we're back in the real world again, back from never-never land. It's past midnight so the boardwalk is thinning out as people shut it down for the night. John says, "This way, Dylan, my van is in the thirty-seventh street parking lot. I'll drive it to a more private spot and fuck you slower then I was able to at the Bay Restaurant." He doesn't have a leash with him apparently, so he has two fingers inside my dog collar leading me that way. As he walks and I struggle to keep up, he says, "You already have an excellent submissive way about you, so your breaking in period will go quite smoothly I should think, and I like the fact you say very little when with a dominant sex partner like myself. I respect that because it shows that you respect me and at the same time it shows that you know your place. You'd probably be surprised how rare that is as most submissive guys cannot grasp that their submissive role is at least as important as the dominant one. They don't get it and therefore can't allow themselves to go deeply into a submissive posture... instead they babble on talking themselves into rationalizing why they're being submissive to me. It's a bit of a pain in my ass so I discipliner them until they shut the fuck up. You won't require much discipline, which I'm happy about." The more John babbles himself, the less I like him, but I'm kinda committed to this last fuck in Wildwood so I'm not going to complain until I see how it goes with our sex. At the van he unlocks it and opens the back door, saying, "Up you go. Get undressed." He watches me undress, then climbs in and gets his fingers in my dog collar again pulling me to the side of the van, then he roughly pulls my head down where he can now attach the ring hanging from the front of my dog collar to a hook that has a movable piece that closes once the ring is attached. THe hook is two feet off the floor so I need to rest on my knees with my head below my waist. He says, "Hands behind you," and when I put my hands behind me he puts on handcuffs, and says, "It gives me a hard dick seeing my submissive sex partner helpless like this," and again he smacks my bare ass hard, "SMACK!" muttering, "You'll stay put until I'm ready for you," and leaves, slamming the door behind me. Goddammit, when will I ever learn? This is totally not what I expected from John. I know from experience there's no sense complaining when I'm in a helpless situation because that just turns the dominant types on more. I'll be docile until it's over and then voice my displeasure. If John knows what's good for him he won't hold his breath in his studio waiting for me to call. Even as I bitch about this to myself I'm still aroused sexually by being handled in this manner, especially by this confident dominant personality. I'm not worried that John's dangerous, but someone I run into might be so I simply need to wise-up with this sort of thing. John started going off the track with his Vitruvian man shit on the beach. Up till then he was awesome, but I guess the more submissive I acted to him the more he pressed the dominant stuff, so I more or less bring this situation on myself. I'm aware of that, but can't seem to help myself because, like I said, it's a turn-on sexually for me. It's not something I want all the time or even frequently, but occasionally it is so hot and I've got a boner going for me right now that's feeling good. There a mat, like a wrestling mat, under my knees so I'm not too uncomfortable, but when the van makes sharp turns keeping my balance is an issue so my hands are on the floor helping with that. It isn't a long ride and the van soon comes to an abrupt stop. A minute later John gets in, and staying on his knees, says, "No talking at all now," as he begins getting undressed. I glance back in time to see his huge cock swinging between his legs. It looks tight already, but he did say it gets him aroused seeing his submissive sex partner incapacitated. He opens a toolbox that's secured to the side of the van and takes out a short strap, saying, "As I mentioned, you only need a little discipline, mostly just to give you a taste of the discipline I use," and he lashes the straps across my butt cheeks, getting both of them stinging, "SLASH!" I scream "OOOW!" and then, "SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!" "OOOOH, OOOOW, OOOOW, NOOO!" from me as I move around as much as my dog collar secured to the side of the van will allow. He calmly says, "All done, Dylan, but I can see you're not use to real discipline. Well, now you know, and so you've learned something." My ass burns like fire, and unlike a slap on the ass, this burning from the strapping persists. He gets his fingers in between my collar and my neck to jerk my head, then he releases me from the hook, pulling my head around to press my face against his crotch. My face is buried in his thick pale pink pubic hairs and now a scent has appeared. It took all evening for his body to work up a scent, but now I can smell him and it's not unpleasant, but not particularly sexy either. Kind of a stale scent with traces of an ass smell. It's faint and probably from my ass when he fucked me earlier this evening, like five hours ago or so. He reaches over my back and takes off the handcuffs, then says, "Get my cock in your mouth," so I pick it up with my fingers, but can't get it in my mouth because he has my faces pressed against his groin area. His cock is fairly hard already and obviously his control over me is arousing him. I slide my face to the side on his pubic hairs until I can get the head of his cock, along with a mouthful of pubic hairs in my mouth, and I begin sucking the head and hairs making slurping sounds as saliva builds up in my mouth. His pubic hairs become soaked with my spit as I suck and lick the big head of his cock. It's not a mushroom head like Ray's, but helmet-shaped although just as big as Ray's. As his cock gets harder more of the shaft slides inside my mouth until the head is at the back of my throat gagging me each time his hips do a small hump with John now breathing noisily, with an occasionally quiet, "Mmmm." Even with a mouthful of wet pubic hairs the licking and sucking on his cock gets me turned-on sexually, as it always does. My cock tightens up further until it's a hard stone against my belly. Just like the first time I sucked John's cock a large drool of precum signals the end of the cock sucking. He pulls my head off his cock, and as I swallow the mouthful of precum and wipe drooling saliva off my chin, he goes, "Mmmm, it is so awesome the way you suck cock. Really first class. Ooooh, that felt good!" He strokes his uncut cock a few times, then wipes my saliva from his cock off the palm of his hand in my hair. "Get on your hands and knees now, and then get a condom out of the left pocket of my shorts there on the floor next to you." I do that and rip the packet open with my teeth, thinking the burning on my butt cheeks has dulled to almost nothing. That was a damn quick recovery. John's says, "When I'm mounting you, try keeping the screaming down this time." I say nothing as I roll the condom on his hard cock and he rubs my hair, muttering, "Can't wait until your hair's long and silky. It's a beautiful blond color and naturally two shades of blond, right, Dylan? You don't color it, right?" I nod that he's right, as he leans down to get his fingers in my dog collar again to pull my head up so he can kiss me and get his tongue in my mouth. My hands come off the floor for long wet kiss with the collar coking me. He follows the kiss with a rub on my head and then he roughly pulls on my dog collar getting me back on all four, as he mutters, "Stay just like that.". He stands, bending over me as he lines the head of his cock in the lubricated condom at my asshole, then presses against it hard. His hairy calves are brushing against my thighs as the pain builds and then I scream as the head presses past my sphincter ring sending pain signals to my brain. He clasps his hand over my mouth, muttering, "Goddammit, keep the yelling down!" He's pulling my head back stretching my neck as he forces his enormous boner up my ass stretching the walls of my rectum more than he's stretching my neck. He grunts a few times, then mutters, "Deliciously tight ass, Dylan, but your screaming is unseemly. You sound like a girl and that'll get you disciplined. You'll learn to take this once I've broken you in, which means first breaking you down, then building you up. And maybe that's gonna require more discipline than I initially thought would be necessary, but I know you'll think it's worth it once I've trained you to take my cock more easily. Then you'll be savoring everything about your submissive role with my big cock plowing your ass regularly." He takes his hand away from my mouth, saying, "See if you can will yourself not to scream as I push in further. I know you want to impress me, so see what you can do about the girlie screaming for starters. Hell, I'm only impaling you with half my cock so far." I put my own hand over my mouth and when he pushes in I stifle my scream by hissing into my hand and holding my breath. It feels like something is broke in my rectum as John cups my shoulder and gives a hard thrust with his hips and I'm screaming again, but into my hand this time with John muttering, "Pussy," and now I feel his pubic hairs tickling my strapped red ass cheeks. One last thrust and scream, and that gets his crotch tightly against me with pain emanating outward all up and down my rectum with my anus aching in it's stretched state. This feels worse then last time, possibly because he's more aroused now that he's got me in a dog collar and he's treating me roughly. His cock's a bit larger and harder because of it. At least he leaves his big boner up my ass until my rectum becomes compatible with this rude intrusion, and once again I think how important the lube on the condom is. John drops his hairy chest to my back and licks my neck, then mutters, "You smell and taste delicious. Are you enjoying yourself yet?" I answer with one word, "No!" and he asks, "Do you want me to pull out and we'll call it a night. I don't want to do this if you don't want to. I thought you'd be enjoying yourself being very submissive with me dominating the hell out of you. Um, was the strapping too much? I only strapped you four times, just so you'd know what it's like. Some submissives enjoy corporal punishment." I say, "Well I'm not one of them and I didn't like being being tethered to the side of your van either." He says, "Actually it's my mother's van, my car's back home. Drove this here because we brought a lot of stuff with us for our two week vacation. What's it going to be, Dylan? You call it." The pain's faded a lot by now and I've gotten through the hard part, so I say, "You're being normal now, not like earlier, so I don't know what to think." He says, "Hell, I thought you wanted to experience a sub/dom sexual experience. That's what you said in the Bay restaurant's rest room, so I purposely built up the dominance little by little. It's not for everyone, I understand that. We'll stop." I'm like, "No! I've gone through the bad part so give me the good part." He reaches under me and strokes my cock, that's barely hard now because of the pain. He goes, "Sorry I didn't come across for you like I wanted to, but that comes with learning what you like. I know you like being submissive to a dominant sex partner because it's obvious you like it, so your bitching about the treatment has got me confused too." Yeah, me too, but I don't say it. I liked Ryan's rough stuff and Sonny's too, but maybe that's because they're smaller than me and I know I'm doing it willingly and could kick either one of their asses if I chose to. With John that's not the case so it's different. Huh... ya learn something new every day. John asks, "So, do you want me to fuck you or not?" I go, "Yeah, I do," and he withdraws with me sucking air in between my teeth because it still hurts, but not nearly as much as earlier. John pushes his big salami back up my ass with pain still the prevalent sensation, but by the fourth time it's pleasure sensations overriding the hurt and then the hurt's just a fading memory as I squirm with pleasure. John grunts and then lets out a moan, "Mmmm, this feels good, Dylan. Great, great ass. You okay?" I moan, "Mmmm," myself, then, "Yeah, it feels real good, John, thanks. Sorry I was a whiner there for a minute, but this is awesome now," and he picks up the speed of his penetrations, tightly and smoothly driving his huge organ back and forth in my ass and I'm soon moaning constantly as sensations of sexual pleasure erupt in my prostate and my anus feels spectacularly alive. My cock is very tight and hard against my belly as a big drool of precum slides from the head of my cock to drool down to my swinging nuts, and a long moan escapes my throat, "Oooooh, gawd, mmmm." The van is filled with the "Slap, slap, slap," sounds of his wet pubic hairs and crotch slapping against my ass. "Slap, slap, slap, slap," with John grunting as he squeezes my shoulder pulling me back into each thrusts, "Slap, slap, slap, slap," for quite awhile with me moaning, "OOOhhhh, mmmmm, yeaaah, fuck me John, mmmm aaah, aaah, mmm," "Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap," faster now with my shoulders shuddering and my cock getting even harder as it's moving away from my belly to stick straight out, pointing almost straight down at the floor in my current doggie fuck position. John's hairy calves brush agains my thighs with each fast hard penetration and I'm in an ocean of sensual sensations of pleasure. "Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap," very fast with John grunting, "I'm gonna cum," and me screeching, "Eeeee, aaaah!" and with my shoulders shuddering and my back arching cum explodes from the gaping pee slit of the dark pink head of my iron cock splashing spunk on the mat spraying my thighs with cum. My whole body shakes as two more shots of cum hit the floor then two thin streams as John humps into me pushing me forward. He lays on my back doing little humps without withdrawing, filling the condom with his sperm mixture. My head is shaking as sensations fly around my groin area and outward to my stomach and the inside of my thighs. My cock quivers trying for more spunk and then everything recedes and leaves me weak and quietly moaning, my eyes half closed as a final shudder shakes me, and then it's done. John's like, "Oh my God, that was awesome. What a climax, holy shit what an orgasm. One to remember." He pulls his cock out as I go, "Aaaah, dooon't, oooh," and he sits on the floor with the condom still on his enormous cock. He looks as dazed as I feel. My anus probably won't close until sometime late tonight and I know I'll be walking bowlegged for the next hour or so. I felt soreness after our earlier fuck, but this one on top of the first one has left my ass really sore and in need of a rest. John coughs, then mutters, "Oh man, that was choice," as he pulls off the condom and ties a knot in the end. "Seriously, Dylan, there's something special about your ass. Your anus does something when I'm fucking you, it grips the shaft or something, and your rectum is perfect for fucking, just the perfect feel on my cock. Your ass is a freak of nature, I'm telling ya, it's special. I've fucked maybe two dozen different guys of all ages and nothing compares to your ass. Do you have a boyfriend?" I nod my head as my hand's exploring my asshole. Jesus, is it ever open wide. I mutter, "Yeah, Robby's his name. We've been boyfriends for awhile." No need to mention the other guys who think they're my boyfriend too. John strokes his cock as he asks, "What do you think of my suggestion that you drive to my place some weekend?" Using my handkerchief I'm wiping the lube from the condom that's drooled around my buttocks, melted by my body heat, mumbling, "Nah, John, it's too far and I don't want my dick and scrotum pierced with all that stuff you told me about." He goes, "Really? Dude, that's my gift to you for being my boy. It's expensive if done by the best like I'd take you to. I'm really surprised to hear you don't want that." I pull on my underpants, muttering, "Well, what can I tell ya, it don't do it for me." He begins getting dressed, saying, "Well, I had fun thinking you'd like being my boy, but it's gotta be with the piercings, that's the minimum actually. I'd probably have your back and ass tattooed too so I can look at it when I fuck you. Oh well, it's your loss, ha ha, mine too I guess." I'm dressed now, standing up bent over so my head doesn't hit the roof. I ask, "Do you have much trouble getting your, um, boys to go along with you on all that shit?" He shrugs, still sitting, "Well, I've got two regulars, but like I said earlier, while they go along with all my shit, as you put it, they do a lot of complaining too. And, ya know, they spend a lot of time rationalizing why they're going along with all my so-called shit, so that's a pain in my ass, and as a result I put some pain on their asses by strapping them. One guy gets a boner from being strapped." I've run into a couple of guys like that myself, but I don't mention it, as John adds, "Neither one of my boys can hold a candle to you though. One of them has acne and the other one I'd like to put a paper bag over his head so I don't need to look at his face." I chuckle as we climb out the back of the van. "The least I can do, Dylan, is give you a ride home," so I tell him the street our duplex in on and then get in the passenger side, easing my ass down on the seat. It's sore, but still tingling with left over memories of being fucked really good. I'd do it with John again, but without all the other shit, which reminds me I'm wearing his dog collar. Unbuckling it, I'm asking, "What should I do with this?" and John's like, "Toss it in the back. I use it with my boys. I've got a number of dog collars and they wear them all the time. I take them on walk with a leash too and I was really looking forward to showing you off." My mind's eye flashes back to Willie on a leash. I'd be lying if I said the idea of being walked, skimpily clad, on a leash doesn't seem hot to me. The big problem is the doms always seem to take everything too far. I mean, come on, get my balls pierced, or my dick? OW! Still, as I look at John and think about his big cock, the thought of being his boy for a weekend makes me adjust my junk, and ask, "Any chance I could be your boy for a weekend without the piercing and tattoos?" He shakes his head, "Nah, that stuff is what makes you my boy. Ya gotta have your cock pierced at the very least and then we can talk about the rest, but the cock piercing is mandatory... at least the cock. I'll let you pick out what goes through the piercing." I adjust my cock again, then ask, "Where do you walk your boys on a leash?" He goes, "Gay neighborhoods, like Chelsea in Manhattan. In nice weather I usually only allow the boys to wear skimpy jockstraps and when I've got them both on leashes they need to hold hands as they walk. For their walks they wear choke collars." Damn, haha, I'd like to do that just once. I'd probably spring a boner. He asks, "Are you thinking about it, Dylan? It'd be awesome having you for a weekend and I promise you the pierced penis isn't nearly as painful as it sounds. Not when it's done by a professional. You on a lease with me holding the other end, we'd turn some heads, dude. What do ya say?" I go, "Actually I'm amazing myself by actually considering it, John. Sounds sexy and man, you fuck good too." I'm thinking maybe John does just the right amount of wrong to be right... maybe. He goes, "That's my boy. I give you my word, no more than three or four strapping on your ass at a time, not the first weekend anyway. We'll sleep together and I'll make you feel like a prince." As he pulls up to my place, I say, "Well, I've got your cell phone number, John, so, ya know, maybe I'll grow a set of balls and call you." He smiles, "I hope you do, and I'm pretty sure you will. It'll be fantastic, you'll see." We do a quick kiss goodbye and I get out, slamming the door behind me, then wave as he drives away. Yeah, just the right amount of wrong... maybe. to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com Please consider a tax-deductible donation to Nifty, a nonprofit organization, to help with the expenses of maintaining this huge story site that offers something for everyone. Thank you.