I wish to retain all rights to this story. However, I am delighted to grant permission to any person to publish this story as long as there is no charge to the reader and as long as no changes are made to the story.
Copyright 2006. All Rights Reserved.
Sealing our Fate
CHAPTER 10We rested that Sunday, and it was earlier than normal for us that night when Kipper and I crawled into bed from either side. He pulled my belly to his and we kissed. “We gonna just sleep?” Kipper asked.
“Well, we did sorta sex out with Jason,” I said. “I’m cool just to sleep.”
That was true to a point, but there was another reason I didn’t want to make love that evening; I was afraid that Kipper and I weren’t going to wake each other, all hot in the night, anymore. I was afraid that the week with Jason had thrown us off that. And I hoped that if Kipper and I didn’t have sex before sleep, we might wake each other that night.
“You can wake me in the night if you need to,” Kipper said with a smile.
I laughed because he was thinking the same thing, and I hugged him.
With a kiss, Kipper rolled over and backed up to me. I slid an arm under his neck and laid my other one over his waist, pulling him to me. The smell of his hair, the feel of his taut back against my chest and belly, the snugness of his firm butt in my lap, and the back of his legs against the front of mine were all comforting; all natural. I fell asleep wondering how I would ever be able to fall asleep again without him.
We woke in the night, moving against each other; sliding our legs between each other’s to feel smooth leg skin slide on smooth leg skin. We ground our cocks into each other. And then Kipper moved up over me, grabbing behind my shoulders. I spread my legs for his legs and grabbed him by the butt. And we made that special, private love that now seemed so important; that nightly meshing or our bodies and mouths; that nightly confirmation that we were hot for each other and were damned hot together – and that we belonged together in the night.
“I was afraid that we wouldn’t wake up like that anymore,” I whispered, nuzzling behind Kipper's ear as we relaxed afterward. Kipper stayed on me. It was understood that we’d go back to sleep that way.
“Me, too,” he said softly into my neck. “I’m glad we did.”
“If we hadn’t,” I said, “and I woke any other way, I would still have rubbed on you and pretended to wake that way.”
He nodded the side of his face against mine.
“You didn’t do that did you?” I asked.
He chuckled. “No, Sticks. It was all our bodies, on automatic.”
“Cool,” I said.
“Way cool,” he agreed.
* * *
We were spooned when I woke the next morning, and Kipper’s butt was snug in my lap. I had a hard-on, but it was a piss hard-on. I hated to get up, though. It was never easy to get out of bed when Kipper and I were spooned. I kissed behind his neck and cuddled closer.
Kipper wiggled his butt.
“You’re safe,” I mumbled. “Just morning wood.”
Kipper closed his hand over the hand I had on his belly, and lifted it to kiss the back of my knuckles. Then he hugged it to his chest. “What do you want to do today?” he asked.
“Dunno,” I murmured, nuzzling the back of his hair. “Stay in bed all day… after I take a piss.”
“Let’s get out; go to the island,” he said. “We’ve been cooped up here too long.”
“Yeah, and it isn’t the same with Jase gone. We need a break from the shack.”
Kipper wiggled his butt again. “Think you can keep it hard after taking a piss?”
I cocked my leg up over his hip, rubbing the inside of my thigh over his hipbone and pressing my cock to his butt. “Yeah, Kips. No problem.”
He twisted back from the waist and I propped up on my elbow for our eyes to meet. He smiled; a nice, morning smile. “Can you stand a morning-breath kiss?” he asked.
I bent to kiss him. Kipper’s morning breath was never bad. While we were kissing, Kipper twisted his hips, laying his legs over my hips. I slid my hand down his belly to find that he was hard too.
“Can you wait to piss?” he asked, running his fingers into the back of my hair.
“Damn, Kips, no. Just wait here, OK? I’ll be right back,” I said, quickly getting up from the bed.
Kipper’s hand dropped to his cock and he stroked it lazily as I hurried to the door. With a quick look each way to make sure that there were no boats out in the channel, I dashed out and managed to relax enough to shoot a high arching stream out over the water.
When I came back in, Kipper was on his back, legs and arms spread, and with a big grin on his face. His hard cock pointed straight up his belly. With a mad grin, I ran in from the door, and with a banshee cry, I leapt, spread-eagled and cock jutting straight ahead, high into the air before coming down on him.
To my delight, Kipper squealed in that breaking voice of his.
* * *
“Let’s get one,” Kipper suggested, as we stood at the upright freezers in the small, island supermarket.
“You’ve gotta be kidding,” I said. “We don’t have room for one.”
“We’ll eat it,” Kipper said, reaching in to remove a plastic, one-gallon bucket of vanilla ice cream. It was a hotter than normal afternoon, and the gallon ice cream was the cheap stuff, and on sale. A whole gallon was noticeably cheaper than a half-gallon of premium ice cream.
“Look,” Kipper said, “even if we don’t eat it all, it’s cheaper than buying the good stuff.”
“Will it make the trip back to the shack without melting?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said, heading back toward the front of the store. “We’ll head straight back, and even if some melts, we’ll still have plenty.
We stripped, and grabbing two large serving spoons, Kipper and I took the bucket of ice cream out to the dock on the bay side, the shady side of the shack. Kipper sat down onto the wood planking, setting the bucket down between his legs. I sat down opposite, extending my legs over Kipper’s on either side of the bucket. I scooted up to the plastic container until I felt its chill between my legs and on my balls and cock. “Whoa!” I said. “That’s cold.”
Kipper scooted up too, so that the bucket was wedged between our legs and crotches, and we both shuddered. “Aaagh!” he uttered, his voice breaking. “Man that’s cold!”
“We may never have children,” Kipper joked as he worked the lid off.
“Sure we will. Haven’t you ever heard of frozen sperm?”
“I have now,” he said, backing his crotch off the bucket.
I did the same. Inside, the ice cream was soft, and already melting on the top and sides. We each dug in with a spoon and ladled some to our mouths.
“Umm,” Kipper grinned, a white mustache over his upper lip.
We nibbled and licked at it, savoring the rich taste and the coolness, while making happy eyes at each other. We dug out second spoonfuls. And then thirds. That’s when Kipper ladled his spoonful onto my pubes. I flipped a spoonful onto his belly.
Laughing, Kipper dug around in my pubes with his spoon, and then lifted a glob of ice cream up on the tip of it. He started it toward his mouth, but then stopped and made a face. “Pube hair,” he said, and with a frown, slung it off the dock. “Lie down,” he told me, giving my shoulder a shove.
“Why?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Go on,” Kipper said, motioning me back.
Half-guessing at what was coming, I lay back. Kipper moved to sit beside my waist and ladled a fresh spoonful of ice cream onto my lower belly, where it formed a natural bowl between my hipbones.
“Ayee!” I protested, my gut tensing.
“Stay down!” Kipper instructed, restraining me with a hand on my shoulder. Then he ladled a second spoonful.
I gritted me teeth, and rolled my head from side to side.
“Now this is how to eat a bowl of ice cream,” Kipper said, before he set his spoon down and bent over me.
He licked, lapped, and nibbled at the ice cream while my legs squirmed at the cold.
“You’re taking too long,” I said. “It’s my turn.”
Kipper took a final gulp from my belly, and then lay down onto his back beside me.
I ladled two spoonfuls into the hollow between his hipbones and started licking; licking the ice cream in the direction of his pubes. I managed to work a good portion onto his cock and balls. He howled and protested, but I sucked up his cock with the ice cream and soon, he was hard.
And I grew hard.
After licking his cock fairly clean, I knelt up. “Wanna try licking an ice cream cock?” I asked.
Kipper laughed, sitting up beside me.
Grabbing the bucket, I lay down over it, angling my cock down into the half-melted mess. “Oh, damn, that’s cold,” I murmured as I tried to force my cock down into the middle. It was still firm and my cock kept sliding off to the sides after penetrating only a little.
Kipper cocked his head. “Looks hot to me… damn,” his eyes met mine, “I like watching you fuck.”
“I’m not fucking the ice cream,” I said. “I’m getting your cone ready.”
I stood up, and moved quickly to Kipper, pointing my cream-dripping cock at his mouth.
He knelt up, smiling, wrapped his hand over my balls and the base of my cock, and pointed the crown into his mouth. “Umm,” he said, and proceeded to lick it like he would a real ice cream cone.
My knees almost buckled, as I looked down, watching his mop of brown hair move back and forth as he licked over me and then started to bob.
When he had me fairly well licked, he pulled off. “My turn,” he said. And then he lay down over the ice cream bucket and angled his cock in like I had. He gave it a good thrust or two; his back arched and his tight little butt, clenching. “Man, that’s cold,” he murmured.
“I know what you mean about liking to watch me fuck. I like watching you too. And you are fucking the ice cream,” I said.
“Just getting it cold for you,” Kipper said. “Get down on all fours.”
“You’re kidding!” I said, looking down at him with my hands on my hips. “I’m not getting a cold cock and sticky ice cream up my butt.”
“Sure you are,” Kipper said. “You’ve had plenty of coconut oil up there. Ice cream will be good for you.”
“And what about a cold cock. You’ll give me cramps,” I said, in no hurry to get onto all fours, because Kipper looked so damned hot fucking a bucket of ice cream.
“Come on, Stick,” he pleaded. “It’s getting damned cold.”
“Oh, all right,” I said with a sigh, and got down on my hands and knees.
Kipper quickly knelt up behind me and pressed in.
“Ohhhhh… damnnnn!” I managed to gasp, rising up on my fingertips as Kipper’s ice-cold cock went up my butt like cold steel and my insides really did clamp down. “Oh, shit! Oh, shit!”
“You OK?” Kipper asked, keeping himself pressed deeply inside me.
“Oh…” I whimpered. “You’ll see when I take my turn.”
* * *
I simply sat back down on the dock planking with my back to the shack wall when I pulled out of Kipper. My belly was sticky with drying ice cream. It was on my face and my chest as well; and of course my butt and the back of my legs. My cock was fairly clean though, having left some cream of its own inside Kipper.
He sat down with his butt between my legs and leaned back against me. I wrapped my arms around him, and pulled his hard back to my sticky chest. He leaned his head back onto the side of my neck. We both sighed and gazed up at the sky with its small puffs of cloud.
“Do you think I’ll start looking like you?” Kipper asked dreamily.
He rubbed his hands on my legs and pulled them tighter against the outside of his. “Well,” he said, “I figure that we’ve swallowed so much of each other’s DNA, and planted so much inside each other’s butts, we’re gonna start looking like each other.”
I laughed. “If it worked that way, Kips, we’d both be sprouting gills and fins from having swallowed so much fish.”
“I know,” Kipper said with a sigh. “It’s just sorta fun to dream. Like I’d get your muscles and you’d get my brains.”
“Talk about a lose-lose proposition,” I mumbled, kissing in front of his ear with my sticky lips.
He laughed and wrapping his arms over mine, gazed skyward. I leaned my head back against the shack wall and looked up with him. Two gulls flew over from southeast to northwest.
“I love you,” Kipper said quietly. “I love being with you. I love the fun we have together.”
I gave him a squeeze in my arms. “I love you, Kips. I love being with you.”
* * *
“Football starts three weeks from today,” Kipper mentioned that next afternoon as we rested in the shade of upstairs awning.
We had spread the bunk mattresses as a pallet, and he was sitting with his back to the sundeck half-wall, reading. I was on my belly, my arms around his middle and the side of my face on his naked lap. I had been dozing off.
“Damn, Kips,” I complained. “Too soon to talk about that.”
Kipper stroked my hair. “Aren’t you looking forward to it?” he asked.
“Football? Yes! Two-a-day practices? No! And having to go back home… no!”
“You could play both ways this year,” he said, and then after a pause,” on the team… You run patterns well – now that I’ve worked with you so much.” I knew he had a sardonic smile, without needing to look.
He rubbed my shoulders. “And you’ve got good hands.” He said. “You could be a receiver. You could play tight end on offense and still play linebacker on defense.”
I waited for the other shoe to fall. “Is that tight end comment going somewhere?”
“Nah!” Kipper said, laughing. “I hadn’t thought about it. I didn’t think your end was tight anymore.”
“Asshole” I mumbled.
Kipper chuckled, lifting his book to resume reading while he stroked my hair.
“Speaking of playing both ways, Kips,” I said.
He lowered his book again.
“Are we going to do girls?” I asked. “Or date them or anything?”
“Do you want to?” he asked.
“I asked first,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said thoughtfully, “maybe.”
“Why?” he asked. “To keep up appearances?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess that’s part of it. But girls are cool… well especially if we do them together, you know? Like Colleen and Mindy.” I blew onto a few, small golden hairs inside Kipper’s thigh.
“What would be really cool,” I said, would be to find two girls back home like Colleen and Mindy… you know, close friends who might like to do guys together.”
Kipper was quiet a moment, and I could tell that he was thinking it over.
“That could be cool,” I repeated. “We could date them. Do them together. Keep up appearances, but have fun.”
“April Snyder and Melanie Lopez,” Kipper said, referring to two girls in his class. “They’ve always been really tight.”
“Are they dating anyone?” I asked.
Kipper shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Have they done guys?” I asked.
Kipper shook his head. “I doubt it.” Then he reconsidered. “They might have. They’re both cool, and hot looking. But they’re also sort of quiet like us.”
“Like us?” I asked with a chuckle.
“Hey, I’m the quiet type. It’s just that you’re really the quiet type.”
“Not at night when no one else is around,” I said with a chuckle.
Kipper chuckled too. “I like that. I like it when you make noise. Like when I’m banging you and you’re going ‘ooh, ooh, oh, pound me Kip… fuck me good.’”
“Asshole! I’ve never said that!”
He laughed. “Well you as much have. You do the ‘ooh, ooh’ part all the time. And when I move right, you go ‘oh, yeah!’ and stuff like that. And you do like it when I’m pounding; if I’m hitting the right spot.”
“I don’t go, ‘ooh, ooh,’” I said. “I go ‘ah! ah!’”
“No… I go ‘ah! ah!’” Kipper said with a tickle to the back of my neck.
“You make more noises than that,” I said. “And you like me pounding good spots too.”
He gave my hair several long strokes. “I don’t always make noise when it’s really good,” he said.
I shook my head slowly in his lap. “I don’t either.”
“What about guys?” Kipper asked, drawing a fingernail down the back of my neck and between my shoulders. “Are we going to do other guys like we did Jason.”
I snorted. “Back home? What other guys?”
“Danny Caldwell for one,” Kipper said.
“Why Danny Caldwell?” I asked. “Do you know something about him that I don’t?”
Kipper shrugged. “I just know what you told me about you guys skinny-dipping and jacking off together. And I know that he and his brother came down here looking for us just after Tom Bentsen had a chance to get home and tell everybody that we were going queer down here.”
“That’s if Tom Bentsen told anybody,” I pointed out.
“Tom Bentsen?” Kipper asked with a little sarcasm. “Well if he did, Danny’s one he might have told.”
“So you think that Danny and his brother…”
Kipper nodded. “Could be. Maybe they came down to ‘go queer’ with us.”
“Wow,” I said softly. “Hadn’t thought of that.”
“So what do you think?” Kipper asked.
I shrugged. “I guess so… I mean, making sandwiches and daisy chains with Danny’d be OK. He’s cool. And he’s got a nice body... well, and a nice cock. But I wouldn’t want to do it all the time, and not with his brother. And not with anybody like we did with Jase,” I said. “Things got serious with Jase.”
I rolled over, laying the back of my head in Kipper’s lap and I glanced up at him. “Do you think you’ll want to do guys?”
He shrugged and stroked the hair back from my forehead. “When it’s just you and me, it’s great stuff, Sticks.” He smiled down at me. “I love being all naked and making love together…but…” His smile went lopsided. “Danny does have a fine ass.”
“Kips,” I said thoughtfully. “Are we becoming sex fiends?”
Kipper looked off into the distance as he stroked my hair. “I don’t know. The girls were fun and Jason sure was.” Then he looked back down at me. “I don’t think we are. Because if you said, right now, that you don’t want us to do anybody else, guy or girl, I’d be cool with that.”
Looking up at Kipper; looking up past the smooth skin of his slender belly and chest; looking at the glow of his skin in the summer shade; looking at the cut of his jaw, at his mouth with corners that curved up, at his big brown eyes with flecks of gold, at his mop of hair with golden strands… I agreed with him, and nodded my agreement. “I can be cool with just us, too,” I said. “I might even prefer it.”
Kipper combed my hair with his fingers and looked thoughtful once more. “Girls are OK, Sticks, but I like guys a whole lot more.”
I nodded. “We’re not nearly straight Kips. If I had any doubts after the girls, I sure don’t after Jason.”
Kipper shook his head. “I never had any doubts.”
* * *
It was one of those days that was so bright, I wore my shades into the shower. Kipper did too. The sunglasses accentuated the planes of his cheeks, his brow, and his mouth, which for the moment was uncharacteristically not smiling. He looked sexy as hell, all naked in sunglasses.
Before we turned on the water, he pulled my belly to his with an arm behind my waist. Holding me there, he kissed me, and I felt the warm trickle of his piss down the inside of my legs. I loosed my own stream between us as I wrapped my arms around his back.
“Maybe we aren’t sex fiends,” I whispered, “but I think we’re getting kinky… I mean… shades in the shower and pissing on each other’s legs.”
The corners of Kipper’s mouth did curl up then, and in those sunglasses, he looked even sexier.
* * *
Often the bay was still and quiet in the morning; only the distant drone of a boat engine or the cry of a gull out over the channel disturbing the silence. The air was usually cool.
I woke on my left side, facing Kipper. I woke when he lifted my cock and balls in his open palm from where they lay dangling down over my leg and onto the bed. With an appreciative murmur, I opened my eyes to find Kipper eyeing me steadily.
Pressing his palm gently up between my legs, he propped on his other elbow, looked up and down my body, and then bent to kiss under my ear. The kiss was soft… and long. I closed my eyes and let the scent of his hair fill my nostrils. I loved it when he was close like this; when he hovered so close over me.
He opened his mouth, and I felt his tongue probe into the hollow under my ear. He knew that I went all weak inside whenever he did that.
With a moan, I closed my eyes and laid my hand on Kipper’s side.
Quietly, he licked me. From under my ear, he slowly worked his way down the inside of my neck.
Though I grew hard under his hand, his licking always, strangely relaxed me, and with my eyes closed, I moaned softly to let him know.
He removed his hand from my cock, and pressed his knee between my legs instead. He placed his hand on my right shoulder. I took his thigh comfortably between my legs, and he worked the top of his leg up under my balls. His erection pressed in between my hip and the bed. But my attention was on his tongue.
I kept my eyes closed while he licked into the hollow over my right collarbone. He made longer swipes of his tongue there, working his leg gently back and forth between my legs.
Kipper pushed my shoulder, pushing me onto my back, and his mouth followed, licking from my shoulder back toward my neck. He moved up over me, settling his weight between my legs, and I pulled my knees up on either side, laying them out flat while he licked under my jaw line.
Taking my head in both of his hands, Kipper turned my face back and forth, licking under my ears, licking my neck, licking the hollow at the base of my throat while at the same time, he rocked his hips, rubbing his cock on mine. His rubbing was slow, and in time with the gentle lapping of his tongue.
I held him loosely by the sides, arching my head back as he licked and sucked. My throat was wet with his saliva, and he rubbed his open mouth over it.
Kipper started to make little quiet murmuring and growling sounds. His grinding, though fluid and paced with the movement of his tongue, grew firmer between my legs. He licked my eyelids and eyebrows and down the length of my nose. He licked my lips.
Grasping his sides, I began to shudder.
I let my lips part, and with the tip of his tongue, Kipper swept under my upper lip, and then my lower. And I just lay there and let him; I liked lying there and letting him. I spread my knees wider and slipped my hands lightly down to his small, firm butt to feel it flexing.
Holding my head tightly in both hands, he licked over my ear and sucked on my cheekbone; and his grinding grew hard, rhythmic, and faster. He sucked on my neck, and no longer able to lie still, I ground up hard against Kipper’s thrusts. My balls tightened.
I planted my feet up close to my butt and lifted my hips, lifting Kipper’s weight between my spread legs.
Kipper ground on the hardness of my stretched tendons, his balls pressing mine. He wrapped his arms around my head and sucked hard on my neck. Whimpering, I clutched his sides and pumped my cum out between our bellies.
Kipper’s arms around my head tightened and he whimpered while still sucking my neck, and I could feel his cock pulse and squirt between us.
Then, slowly, we relaxed. I liked the feel of Kipper’s arms around my head. I liked the scent from under his arms.
“Damn,” I whispered, “I love it when you do that.”
“All the sloppy licking?” he asked with a smile and a kiss to my neck.
“You know what that does to me. I love it, and now I’m like totally wiped out.”
Kipper kissed under my ear. “It really turns me on, too… to do that to you.”
* * *
We were serious lovers; absolutely. And somehow, our parents knowing about us, freed our love. But we were also teenage boys, and wrestling, teasing, laughter, and smiles just as often punctuated our lovemaking.
We tried every position we could think of, and spent several days trying to figure a way to cornhole each other at the same time. But no matter how we tried with that one, we couldn’t think of anything that would work; at least not without the threat of permanent damage to one or both of us.
We found new uses for the furniture. The first time I laid Kipper back onto the table was when we had been making lunch together and I mayonnaised his cock. I laid him back on the table to make a “meal” of him, and found that mayo made blowjobs fun. Then while he was still on the table, I pulled his butt to the edge, and Kipper wrapped his legs around my waist as I held his hips and pumped into him. Kipper closed his eyes and circled his hips to meet my thrusts, and I feasted on his body with my eyes.
We came up with new games, like Undercover Surprise, which started the first time Kipper crawled under the covers and made me keep them up around my neck while he did whatever he wanted with me, and I couldn’t see.
It was a short step from that to Blindfold Surprise, which started the first time I put the bed sheet over Kipper’s face, leaving the rest of his body bare and vulnerable for me to do whatever I wanted, and he couldn’t see.
Oil Wrestling came as a bit of a surprise, the first time we tried wrestling after oiling up and discovered that it wasn’t easy. But it was funny, especially the time Kipper and I were locked head to head — each trying to shove the over backward – and he moved wrong and I moved right and he slid right off me and the dock and into the water.
The shortest game, we played only once, but we mentioned it many times afterward… Butt Blowing. We had become a bit loose in our butts, and one day when we were warming up to an over-and-under sixty-nine, Kipper got a wild urge. He nuzzled into my crack, put his mouth over my pucker, and blew.
He only did it once.
It was uncomfortable for me for the brief second the air stayed inside my colon. And it was uncomfortable for him when all that air came right back out in his face.
* * *
I pushed up on my hands, and Kipper, smiling up at me, squeezed up and down my biceps with his hands as we circled hips together and I moved my cock inside him. He dug his heels into my butt, and I swayed my back to press my lower abdomen against the underside of his cock as we tightened things up at our joining.
Our eyes were cast down between us; he was watching my body move, and I was watching his. The play of the muscles in his belly and chest always fascinated me; the same way my body fascinated him.
Our eyes met and Kipper’s grin widened. The afternoon breeze came in softly through the window and blew around his hair.
I smiled. “Are you supposed to be so happy when you’re getting screwed?”
His smile softened, and he pulled on my arms, pulling me down onto him. I wrapped my arms under the back of his shoulders and settled my weight onto him, while Kipper wrapped his arms loosely over my shoulders, nuzzling into the hair on the side of my head.
“I love it when we’re like this,” he whispered.
I kissed under his ear, and circled my hips stiffly so that my belly rubbed over his belly, pressing his cock between us. “Me too, Kips,” I whispered. “I could stay like this all day.”
“Ummm,” he murmured, sliding his hands down my back just as a gust of breeze blew across the water and whistled in through the window. It was almost as if the wind had murmured with him and added its touch to his over my skin.
Kipper arched gently under me, pushing up with his pelvis. I tightened my belly and rubbed it firmly against the underside of his shaft. I knew what he liked.
Kip liked me on top, whether just rubbing, or with me inside him; though he still liked to take an occasional turn on top, himself. That Kipper liked me fucking him was just one of many little secrets that would have to keep, just between us; just like the secret that I loved sucking his cock even when he wasn’t sucking mine, and that I loved swallowing his cum, though that had little to do with the taste.
I stretched my torso up long over him, reaching to press my lips to his. At
the same time, I thrust into him as deeply as I could, and enjoyed the feel
of his tightness, low on my shaft. I liked being on top as much as Kipper liked
being on the bottom.
* * *
It would have never happened if I had cleaned up like I knew I should have. I noticed the slick spot on the dock – slick because it was next to the fish-cleaning table and the table didn’t have a proper runoff trough – I noticed it before but didn’t clean it up. And I knew I should have. It was right at the base of the stairs up to the roof.
I was in the toilet closet the next afternoon, dumping a load with the door closed because Kipper complained of the smell. He’d never complained before, so I should have guessed that he was up to something, but then, he always seemed able to “get” me.
I was sitting there with the door closed one moment, and almost on the ceiling the next. It was a reflex, and it was only after I had jumped almost out of my skin that I realized what had happened – Kipper had let off an air horn right outside the bathroom door.
“You asshole!” I shouted.
He pulled open the door. “Did you make a mess?” he asked with a grin.
“Well I dumped a hell lot more of a load than I intended,” I said with a frown.
He laughed, and whipped the air horn from behind his back and gave me another short blast.
“Oh, hell! Geez, Kipper, that hurts! Don’t!”
“Sorry,” he said with a huge grin and closed the door.
“Yeah, right,” I called out. “You will be.”
Of course, he hid the air horns. I figured I could find them, but I tried to think of something more… creative.
Two days later – Thursday afternoon – Kipper was taking one of his turns in the crapper. It would have been way too obvious if I asked him to close the door, so I didn’t. But I knew what I wanted to do.
Quickly, I stepped outside, and taking the seining net, I tossed it over the water, down by the fish-cleaning table. I could always count on crabs in that spot. I pulled the net in, and there were several good ones. Quickly grabbing the two largest crabs, one in each hand, I left the net on the dock and dashed inside. I rushed the toilet before Kipper could close the door, and tossed the crabs in on him. Then I shut the door.
And I held it closed, listening to his screams and grinning so wide my mouth almost hurt. He kept shoving against the door, and finally, I broke away between shoves, and dodging the seine net on the dock, I dashed up the stairs. There was a half-full glass of old cola up there, and I grabbed it for defense, perching over the top of the stairs to get Kipper when he came up.
At first, I could hear him cussing and screaming. Then it grew quiet. I stifled laughs and shook with tense anticipation, watching the bottom of the stairs.
It was quiet too long.
At the last minute, I glanced back over my shoulder. Kipper had climbed up the outside of the shack on the bay side, and managed to do it holding one of the crabs. When I turned, he was only feet away, and he rushed me.
I went flying down the stairs, stepped to dodge the seine net, and hit the slick spot by the table. My feet went right out from under me, and I hit my shoulder and head as I flew out off the dock. I remember the jarring whap, and then everything was green and blue, and pinwheels, and then dark.
I came to coughing and gagging with water in my throat. I desperately needed air. The dock was hard under my back, and the back of my head hurt as I coughed. Kipper was on his knees beside me, soaking wet like me. But his face was all twisted up; he was crying.
“I thought I lost you,” he managed to say between sobs, squeezing my hand. “You went under so fast, and I thought you’d come up, but you disappeared Sticks; you disappeared!”
“Kips,” I tried to say, but only managed a croak before coughing again.
Kipper was almost hysterical; or maybe he was. I wasn’t sure what hysterical looked like, but Kipper was clearly beside himself.
But I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t seem to get all the water out of my chest.
“I jumped in, but you went under so fast — I couldn’t find you,” Kipper said, his words rushing out in a torrent. “And then I remembered that the tide was coming in and went with it; and then I found you and I swam you up and I did everything wrong, Sticks… everything!”
“Tell me you’re not paralyzed Sticks! Move your hands and your legs.”
I moved them, one after another as my coughing subsided. Everything worked. “I’ve got a hell of a headache,” I managed to croak out.
Kipper dove onto me, clutching my shoulders, pressing the side of his face to mine. “I forgot to be careful in case you had broken bones,” he said. “But I was afraid you weren’t breathing and I just wanted to get you up on the dock.” His own breathing was hard and fast.
I put my hand on his back to calm him. “I’m OK,” I said. “I’m OK.”
Kipper sat back up on his knees and wiped his eyes with the back of his forearm. “I did remember the fireman’s carry,” he said with a smile that twisted as if in pain. “I carried you up onto the dock on my shoulders. I barely remember doing it; I was so desperate to make sure you were breathing. But you weren’t. I laid you out on the dock and you weren’t breathing at all. And then I tried CPR and mouth-to-mouth and I forgot everything and did them all wrong Sticks.”
I smiled despite the throbbing in my head. “You did something right,” I observed.
Kipper shook his head. “I don’t know. I just kept trying.” He grew quieter. “I prayed,” he said. “I prayed to God.”
“I sure hope you didn’t promise to be good from now on,” I said, and I was so not joking.
Kipper shook his head again. “I couldn’t think. I didn’t think about that at all. I mean I started praying in my head because my mouth was busy with you and all. I just kept praying ‘Please! Please!’”
Kipper’s face twisted all up and he went all silent; not breathing. Tears
streamed down his face. And then he took a loud, ragged breath… and then
“I kept praying,” he continued in a quieter voice, “and then I thought ‘why?’ — like why would God answer my prayer and it was almost like He was asking me. And all I could remember was ‘God is merciful.’ And so I said that; I said it in my mind and… here,” he said, hitting his chest with his fist. “I said, ‘because You are merciful… please!’ And then you coughed, Sticks, and” his face twisted up again and tears poured down his face. I pulled his head down and held him in my arms, and he sobbed uncontrollably.
How long was I out? I wondered. Could I have brain damage? And then I wondered if I could be worried about brain damage; did that mean I didn’t have any?
And poor Kipper. It must have scared the shit out of him. As I thought about it, it scared the shit out of me. I must have come close to dying. Am I even OK now? I wondered.
I tried lifting my head. It hurt. It throbbed, but only that. Everything seemed to be working. I remember thinking that if anything was really busted, I’d have stabbing pains somewhere or be unable to move something.
I stroked Kipper’s back and he began to calm.
“Let me sit up,” I said.
Kipper lifted his head in alarm. “No! Don’t move. I need to call somebody to come help. I need to call the Coast Guard station.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, using my hands behind me to push myself up.
I turned my head slowly from side to side, testing. “I just banged my head, Kips; that’s all.”
I started to get up from the dock.
“What are you doing?” Kipper asked, alarmed.
“I’m going inside,” I said. “Out of the sun.”
Kipper quickly moved under my arm, helping me up and inside, where I sat at the table and held my head. “Do we have ice?” I asked. “I need some fucking ice for the back of my head.”
“I’ll get some,” Kipper said, now calmer and more normal. “And then I’m calling your dad.”
“Oh geez, Kipper. He’ll want me to come home.”
Kipper didn’t argue. He put some ice in a baggie and put it to the back of my head. He put a hand towel over it and then put my hand over the towel to hold it in place. Then he called my dad on the radio.
Once he had Dad on phone relay, he told him what happened. The whole time, I kept calling out in the background. “I’m OK, Dad! I’m fine!”
Then Dad asked to talk to me so I took the mike. He asked questions about how I felt, how my vision was, my hearing… stuff like that.
“OK, this is what I want you to do,” Dad said. “Kipper, lay him down on his back in the boat; with a pillow under his head. And then take him over to the island; take it slow. No bouncing, no jarring. I’ll call ahead and have an emergency vehicle there. Aaron, you’re going to go the Island Clinic that young doctor runs. I’ll call ahead. Even if you feel fine, I still want you checked out.”
“I’m fine,” I repeated.
“Go!” Dad said.
* * *
“You’re quite a young athlete,” the doctor said when he finished with the exam. “Besides the knot on the back of your head, I think you’ve only got a mild concussion.”
“So we can go?” I asked.
The doctor smiled and shook his head. “I’d put you in the hospital overnight in Brownsville or Harlingen, just for observation. But your dad will be here soon, and we’ll let him decide.
* * *
Dad agreed with the young doctor’s diagnosis, and it took a lot of persuasion to convince Dad to ‘observe’ me at the shack overnight rather than put me in a hospital or take me home. When he mentioned home was when I finally cried.
He waited until I calmed myself, and then along with Kipper, they took me back to the shack. It was late. Dad made soup, and toasted bread for supper. While we were eating at the table, Kipper’s face suddenly twisted up again and tears poured down his cheeks. He started sobbing all over again, and when I knelt beside him, he buried his face in my neck and cried.
Dad came around behind Kipper and laid his hand on Kipper’s shoulder. “You were out the whole time,” Dad told me. “But Kipper here, went through hell, didn’t you?”
Kipper nodded against my neck.
“Why don’t we move to the easy chairs,” Dad said. “I want to hear more about what happened.”
There were two easy chairs and three of us. I don’t think Dad thought much more about it other than I was on my knees by the table and he was on his feet. I think he wanted us to sit more comfortably.
But I knew how traumatic it had been for Kipper to tell me about everything that happened, the first time around. Whatever Dad’s intentions for the seating, I pulled Kipper sideways into my lap on one of the chairs, and Dad took the other.
Kipper pulled his feet up into the chair and laid the side of his head onto my shoulder, where he could still see and talk to my dad.
Kipper wept less this time. And Dad plied him with questions; working slowly through the whole incident. I’d never seen my dad that way with someone before, and it impressed me. He affirmed Kipper each step of the way, telling him how well he had done and that he couldn’t have done anything else. He assured Kip that all he had felt and done had been normal, or better than normal, and Dad calmed Kipper each time he started to cry again.
But when Kipper told Dad about crying out to God, it was my dad who had tears in his eyes. And when Kipper told him how I suddenly started coughing after he prayed, it was Dad who stifled a sob.
Tears streamed down his face, Dad got up from his chair. He knelt beside us and pulled Kipper’s head onto his own shoulder. He hugged Kipper, and in a voice thick with emotion, said, “Thank you for saving my son, Kipper. Thank you for saving his life.”
Dad held Kipper, even while Kipper still sat in my lap. He patted Kip’s back and they wept together. I wept with them, and I wasn’t sure why.
And always after that day, there was a special bond between Kipper and my dad.
Dad radioed Mom, but didn’t tell her everything that happened, or she certainly would have made me come home.
* * *
Dad’s square jaw worked as he considered the bed that night, and then he decided. “You boys take the bed,” he said. “I’ll sleep on the roof.”
I looked at him questioningly and he motioned toward the bed. “Go on. You need to be together tonight.”
Once we were undressed and under the sheets together, Kipper laid his head on my shoulder and I held him. “You saved my life, Kips,” I said quietly.
He nodded on my shoulder.
“I wonder if anyone else would have kept trying to find me like that,” I said, and I really did. “I wonder if anyone else would have been able to find me.”
Kipper said nothing.
“Even if I didn’t belong to you before, Kips. I do now. You saved my life. That means that I’m like your slave forever.”
He chuckled against my chest. “Asshole.”
“Kips?” I said softly.
“Would you mind if I belonged to you forever?”
Without lifting his head, he hugged me tightly.
“I guess that means you wouldn’t mind?” I said softly.
He nodded, and I felt dampness between his face and my chest.
* * *
Kipper gasped and lifted his head when we woke in the night, hot and rubbing. He started to roll off me, but I held on to him. “Don’t stop, Kips. Please.”
Kipper settled back onto me, gingerly, and tentatively put his mouth over mine. But then the kiss heated, and soon, it was almost desperate. We made love with an unusual intensity that night, and our orgasms shook us right down to our toes. My head throbbed afterward, but that was OK. Everything was OK.
Kipper dozed off on me, and the thought returned, not for the first time that day, that if there was a God, I might owe him a thank you. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to God; he might say something back. And what if he told me I couldn’t have Kipper?
Besides, I told myself, even if there was a God – something I assumed at the time that my dad didn’t believe – the timing of my starting to breathe again could still be a coincidence; probably was.
But then the thought came that a thank you was only that; a thank you.
So I closed my eyes and whispered the words… just in case there was a God… “Thank you.” I thought a moment, and then added, “Thank you for Kipper.”
* * *
Kipper took Dad back to the marina early the next morning, and I slept in. When I woke, Kipper poured me a bowl of cereal, and quietly held my hand while I ate it.
“I’m not dead, you know,” I told him.
Kipper let go of my hand and walked outside.
For the rest of the morning, it was almost as if he was avoiding me. I knew he was dealing with his feelings from after the day before. I was dealing with feelings of my own, and what I was feeling was something like grief. Though why, I couldn’t exactly say.
We were quiet at lunch.
Afterward, when Kipper was at the sink washing up the few dishes we had just used, I hugged him from behind, laying my forehead on the back of his head. I held him; then kissed the back of his neck. And then I led him by the hand to the bed and stretched out on it beside him.
We interlaced legs and held each other, cheek to cheek. Kipper and I didn’t always say much, even when we were really happy, and we didn’t feel the need to say anything now.
I kissed Kipper, and we caressed. When we grew hard, I gave Kipper a particularly long, loving kiss and then rolled over, backing to him. Once he was inside me, he wrapped his arms tightly around me, and I wrapped my arms over his; and we moved together.
* * *
The dream came that night. It was a flying dream. My arms were out to the sides like wings and my long, streaming breechcloth trailed behind like the tail of a kite, and I was flying only a few feet above the water of the Intercostal Canal. There were people sitting on the docks of all the fishing shacks; hundreds of them. They waved.
And then I saw Kipper ahead at our shack, sitting out all by himself. I decided to buzz him. But suddenly, there were seagulls all around me, fighting me like they fight each other for food; I was falling, and I suddenly couldn’t remember how to fly. I dropped into the water and my trailing breechcloth grew as heavy as an anchor, pulling me under. I struggled for the surface, but I sunk deeper and deeper.
Somehow I knew that none of the hundreds of other people would come for me. Only Kipper would come. But he was still far away, and I was sinking fast. In my dream, I was desperate for air; it felt just like it did when I woke coughing on the dock. I struggled harder for the surface. And suddenly Kipper was there, waking me up; shaking me.
I buried my face in his chest and clutched him hard to me.
Kipper wrapped his arms around me. “Bad dream, Sticks?”
I nodded against him and clutched him tightly to myself; his familiar skin and body feeling real, and safe. And I loved him.
* * *
“We’ve got to quit moping around here,” I told Kipper after lunch the next day.
“I’ll take three cards,” he said, laying three playing cards face down onto the table.
“A pair, huh?” I said, counting out three new cards to him. “Dealer takes one.”
“Straight or flush?” Kipper asked.
I cocked an eyebrow.
“I bet a thousand,” I said.
“Raise… two thousand,” he said.
“Shit!” I frowned. “Can you really beat a straight, or do you just have a pair or two?”
“Maybe I just know that you’re bluffing. Call me… if you have a straight.”
“Bluffing, huh?” I said. “I raise you back two thousand.”
“And I raise you back, two thousand,” Kipper said with a grin.
“Oh, shit,” I mumbled. “Have I walked into it?” I glanced at the score sheet. “I’ll go all in. And if I win, we do whatever I want.”
Kipper cocked his head as if trying to gauge what I was in the mood for. He was thinking sex; I knew it. He shrugged. “And if I win, we do what I want?”
“I call then,” Kipper said, laying down three queens. “Did you hit the straight?” he asked.
“Flush,” I said, laying down my hand. “Hearts.”
The corners of his mouth curled up. “So… we’re already undressed. What do you have in mind?”
I leaned forward and took his hand. “I wanna date with you,” I said. “We’ve never done the Louie’s Backyard thing. Let’s do that tonight.”
“We’d have to wash some clothes,” Kipper said with a frown.
“Nah, let’s make a day of it,” I said, getting up from my chair. I pushed him and his chair back from the table and straddled his lap facing him. I sat close, letting my cock and balls dangle down with his. Resting my forearms on his shoulders, I leaned my forehead on his. “Let’s buy some clothes.”
Kipper looked down between us and rested his hands on the sides of my waist. “Could be fun.”
I moved my hips, jiggling our dangling equipment
He chuckled, and I was glad to hear it.
“We haven’t made love today,” I said, my cock beginning to thicken.
“We didn’t wake last night either,” Kipper said. “Not to make love.”
“Because of my dream,” I said, reaching down between us to pull up our thickening cocks.
“That’s a long time for us,” Kipper murmured, rocking his hips as I grabbed hold of his cock.
“Tom Bentsen told Ben and me once,” I said, “about an island in the South Pacific where the natives screw about seven times a day… or was it five?”
Kipper chuckled. “Now I know what you’re shooting for.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, rubbing his nose with mine. “I just like doing it when we feel like it, which I’m glad to say, seems to be happening more and more frequently. And I say, while we’re down here at the shack, let’s do it as often as we want.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, smiling, “we’ve done five times in a day. And except for the last couple of days, we’ve been doing it two or three times every day, and we wake up most nights making love.”
He said that, and then was quiet.
“Kips?” I asked. “Are you OK?”
He thought for a moment, and then pulled my mouth to his, and while I held the underside of our cocks together, he probed my mouth with his tongue. He grabbed my shoulders and kissed me hard; really hard.
There weren’t any oil bottles close by, and my mouth was busy so I couldn’t make spit. But there was butter on the table, and I scooped some onto my fingers.
I spread it onto his cock, and then, while holding the kiss, I lifted myself a few inches from Kipper’s lap. Aiming his cock straight up, I guided it into my crack rubbing the crown back and forth because I liked how it felt. I also liked the feel of his crown pressing against my opening and held myself there, easing down slowly for both of us to enjoy the feel. Finally, I settled all the way down with a final shudder as he filled me, and at the bottom, I let out a deep sigh of contentment.
Kip grabbed my butt in both hands, and I grabbed his lats, just under his armpits. I probed his mouth with my tongue while I gave his cock a good squeeze with my bottom. I started to rock and gently bounce in his lap; keeping us close so I could rub my cock on his hard belly at the same time; taking it slow to enjoy it.
Kipper’s head dropped back and his eyes closed in concentration. I looked on his face and felt my gut tighten with what I felt for him. All summer, the intimacy, the connection between us had grown deeper, easier. But then the accident happened.
Kipper’s eyes opened, and our eyes met.
It was as though the accident had ripped raw spots in our hearts. I could see it in his eyes; he could see it in mine. And it seemed in that moment that if we could simply press our two raw spots together, our hearts would mend together; and we would be closer than ever before.
Kipper threw his arms around me and hugged me tightly. I clung to him, pulling him just as tightly to me. And for a moment, we didn’t move, but held each other as tightly as we could while Kipper remained deeply buried inside me.
* * *
“Damn, you look sexy in clothes,” I whispered, as we admired our reflections in the shop’s three-sided mirror. And he did look sexy; in shorts and a crisp, tropical, button up shirt. His shirt was mainly blue. Mine was mainly black with bright tropical flowers. We both had on white shorts that fit snugly in the crotch and butt, but were loose in the legs.
“You, too,” he whispered back. The corners of his mouth curled up. “We need to make love with our clothes on.”
“Not here,” I whispered, and popped his butt.
We each bought two of those shirts, and then drifted into another store. “Look at this one,” Kipper said, holding up a sheer, white guayabera.
“Oh, damn,” I remarked, taking it from his hand. “You’d look hot in that, Kips.”
“I was thinking that you would.”
“Is there another one?” I asked.
Kipper looked. “Yeah. There are more. What color?”
The guayaberas were fitted and tapered. We stood in front of the three-sided mirror; me in a sheer, black one and Kipper in a sheer white one. “What do you think?” I asked. “Which do you like better?”
Kipper studied our reflections. Through the white fabric it was easy to see his skin, the outline of his torso, the shape of his muscles, and even the darker spots of his nipples. It was more difficult to see mine through the black fabric of my shirt, and yet, the black looked sexy. It would have looked better if my skin was its usual lilywhite color. But on our tans, white was better. “Two whites?” I asked.
Kipper nodded, looking back and forth between our reflections. “Oh, yeah.”
We found thongs in that store. “You can’t try them on,” the clerk said. “State law. You can’t try on underwear.”
So Kipper held a black one over himself, the corners of his mouth turning up. “White or black?”
“White,” I said. “We’ll get black when we lose our tans.”
He winked. “Let’s get both colors.”
* * *
The sunlight was beginning to soften outside as I splashed on aftershave and Kipper brushed his hair at the small mirror on the wall.
“Here,” I said, stepping up to him with a comb. “Let me.”
I turned his back to me, and combed out the ends of his hair, blending and shaping it. He was already in his white shorts and blue tropical shirt, along with flip-flops. We had dressed separately; Kipper upstairs and me downstairs so that we wouldn’t see each other in thongs until later.
“Wait,” I told him, and then retrieved the shark tooth necklaces that Jason had bought us. I stepped up behind Kipper and fastened his around his neck.
Then I turned him by the shoulders to face me and looked him up and down. “Damn,” I said, “you really do look sexy with clothes on!”
Kipper grinned and picked up the comb. He turned me around and combed out my hair. Then he fastened my necklace on me and looked me over as I had him. “Superb,” he said, pleased.
I offered him the crock of my arm. “Ready?”
He looped his arm through mine and gave a definite nod. “Oh, yeah.”
Emails are always appreciated at email@example.com