Kyle, Part 3
Disclaimer: This story is a continuation of the story of Kevin Foley, Rick Mashburn, and their "sons," Tim Murphy, Kyle Goodson, Justin Davis, and Brian Mathews that started in "Tim," continued in "Justin" and "Kyle," "Kyle, Part 2," and now continues in "Kyle, Part 3." It is about gay men and gay boys living and loving together as a family, and it contains descriptions of sex. The sex is never intergenerational, though. If you are offended by descriptions of gay sex, or if the law in your area forbids you to read them, please exit the story. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy it. I appreciate feedback, and you can send it to me at email@example.com.
(Justin's Perspective, Monday)
When they were talking about going to Mardi Gras when we were in New Orleans at Christmas, I didn't even know what that was. I had heard of it and all, and I had known a few people who had gone down to Mobile from my town to see the one they had there. But I'm telling you, this thing we were at was a pure sight. And they said that Tuesday's the best day.
I got a kick about ole Kyle getting a hard-on watching those two women rub their tits together in that bar. Now that was something I had never seen before, too. Anybody stripping, I mean. I knew Kyle was just as queer as I was, but I loved to give him a hard time about secretly being straight. That was an opportunity too good to pass up, and I think it actually worried him a little, too. Of course, if Kyle turned straight as a poker it wouldn't matter to me one bit. I'd still love him, and I know he'd still love me, too. Sometimes I felt a little guilty for liking Kyle as much as I did, and I was careful to be extra good to Brian so he wouldn't get jealous. I felt like Brian needed me to be his protector, as well as his lover, and I never wanted to lose him.
I had sort of expected for things to be a little slack in the sex department on that trip, what with all those people in that one house, but so far that hadn't happened. Craig made drinks for everybody when we came home Sunday night, but Brian said he was tired and wanted to go to bed instead of staying up talking. Kyle gave me a look like he knew what that was really all about, but that sucker had slept a good two hours that afternoon, so I was sure he could have partied all night long.
We were back on the air mattress that night. I locked the door to the room to be on the safe side, but I knew it would be at least an hour before the rest of them came to bed. I sprawled out on the mattress, buck naked, or butt naked as Kyle said, and Brian started working on me. He got on top of me and kissed me long and deep. We were both hard in no time. Then he started running his fingertips all up and down my body so gentle I almost couldn't feel it sometimes. He had done a little of that a time or two before, but that night that was all he did. That might not sound like much of a turn-on, but, damn, it felt good. I was so turned on by it I could hardly breathe. He kept it up for a good half hour. Finally I couldn't take it any more. He was barely brushing the hairs on my ball sack when I popped off and pumped out enough cum to drown a small animal. I wanted him to feel as good as I did, but I would need a few minutes to recover. Then he did something he had never done before. He lit a cigarette and handed it to me. We hadn't been smoking in the house because we knew Grandma and Grandpa didn't like it, but after he had done that I couldn't say no.
I was totally relaxed after my smoke. I decided to do something I hadn't done very often, and that was to suck Brian off and give him the finger. What we usually do after kissing and rubbing against one another and all that is he sucks me enough to get me so hot for him I can't stand it, and then I fuck him. I suck him sometimes, too, but it's usually in a sixty-nine position where he can't fully concentrate on what I do to him because of having to concentrate on me. That night, though, it was all about him. I lubed up a couple of fingers real good, and I rubbed his sweet spot nice and easy inside him while I was working on his dick with my mouth. I've been told I'm a very good cocksucker, and God knows I've done it enough for that to be true. I gave it everything I knew how to give that night, and he came as hard as I believe I'd ever seen him come. When he was done and we had cleaned up, I unlocked the door so the others could come to bed when they were ready. I snuggled up to my precious little guy, and both of us drifted off long before the others came into the room. I'm sure Kyle and Tim took care of Jeff and each other, but that's just speculation based on what I know of them because Brian and I were dead to the world.
(Kevin's Perspective, Monday)
Sunday was a great day. The Mid-City parade was beautiful with all the animation and all that multi-colored foil they use on their floats. They had changed their route that year. Ordinarily they paraded in Mid-City, the neighborhood around City Park, the racetrack, and the cemetery end of Canal Street. The few times I had seen it, we were standing on the neutral ground, which people elsewhere call the median, across from St. Anthony of Padua Church. I hadn't expected that parade to be on our list that year because I didn't know ahead of time about the route change. Our location in front of Cherie's building near Julia Street was perfect, though, and we were able to catch every major parade while we were in town.
Monday was going to be another busy day. Gene, Rita, and George seemed to be holding out pretty well. They weren't as old as my parents, but my parents had been doing it for fifty-something years so they knew what to expect. Stamina is important at Mardi Gras season.
Rick got up early Monday morning to run. He was only gone about forty minutes, but he came back all hot and sweaty and irresistible. I was glad he had gotten over his shyness about making love in my parents' house, and we had a fine session that morning.
"Do you think the kids are having sex here," he asked.
"Babe, that's kind of a silly question, don't you think?"
"Yeah, it is. They seem to be having a great time, don't they?"
"Kyle has thanked me about five times a day for us bringing them," I said. "Leave it to him to make a new friend, too. I tried to get Craig to tell me why Seth had said that yesterday was the best day of his life, but he wouldn't budge. Maybe my big brother has some ethics after all."
"Kevin, you know Craig has good ethics," Rick said.
"You really love him, don't you," I asked.
"Yeah, I do. Are you jealous?"
I just laughed, and he and I giggled like two teenage girls at a slumber party.
"Justin told me yesterday that he wouldn't mind being straight if he could have Cherie, and then later on he said he thought Craig would make a damn fine queer," Rick said.
That made both of us laugh.
"Oh, could you believe that conversation on the way home last night about Kyle getting hard for the two female strippers," I asked.
Rick laughed. "No, but wasn't that pure Kyle? You handled that very well, by the way. When I think about all the gay kids out there who are totally fucked up about being gay and then compare them to him, it's just incredible. He's probably the best adjusted person I know, gay or straight, and that includes us."
"You don't think we're well adjusted?"
"Babe, I didn't say that, now did I? Of course we're well adjusted. We couldn't be as happy as we are if we weren't, but we're twenty-six years old. He's only seventeen."
"I know. I was teasing you," I said. "He doesn't have time to be maladjusted. He's got pictures to take, fun to have, and a pack of boys to run."
We both laughed.
"I feel like I'm the luckiest man in the world, Kevin. To have you, our kids, our families, all our friends, good jobs, good health. Thank you for loving me."
What did I do to deserve him? I wanted to respond, but I couldn't. If I tried to say something, I knew I would cry. Instead of talking, I locked him in a kiss, and I held it until I was calm enough to speak.
"We need a shower," I said.
We kissed and held each other close while we waited for the hot water to come up. We were both rock hard again as we started bathing. In a second, Rick dropped the bar of soap and bent over to get it, his butt facing me. I didn't respond, and in another second he dropped it again. I laughed, but I finally caught on. I did for him in the shower what he had done for me a short time before in bed.
Evidently my mother had prevailed upon Odille to come in that morning to cook breakfast for us and to make food for us for the day. There were fourteen of us, and our seven, plus Craig, had enormous appetites. Breakfast was laid out buffet style on the sideboard in the dining room, and it was quite an elaborate display. Besides the scrambled eggs, grits, four different kinds of meat, lost bread, and a huge fresh fruit salad, there were biscuits with a thick white gravy made from flour, sausage drippings, and bits of bulk sausage. Justin and Kyle chose that particular dish every time we ate at a breakfast bar that had it, and I knew they liked it. We had never had that before in that house in my memory, and I thought the very idea of it was disgusting.
"Grandma, this is the best biscuit and gravy I've ever had," Kyle said enthusiastically.
"Beth, I have to agree with Kyle," Rita said.
"Me, too," Gene said.
"I know it is, and I'm getting me another one," Jus said.
"Come on," Kyle said, and he led the way to the buffet table.
When they were seated, Justin asked, "Did y'all ever have red-eye gravy with ham and grits?"
"Red-eye gravy is awesome," Kyle said. "I don't think it's as good as this biscuit gravy today, but it is good."
"You're introducing a whole new cuisine to me," George said. "What is red-eye gravy?"
"George, it's gravy made from ham drippings and coffee, but it has to be country ham, not the ham you buy in a deli," Rita said. "The story is Andrew Jackson asked his cook to prepare lunch. The cook had been drinking corn whiskey the night before, and his eyes were red. General Jackson told him to fix him some country ham with gravy as red as the cook's eyes. Others overheard this, and ham gravy became known as red-eye gravy from then on."
"I wonder if that happened when Jackson was here for the Battle of New Orleans," my dad said.
"It very well might have, Ed, but you know, Andrew Jackson came through north Florida; our county, in fact. Jackson County, which is just north of us, was named for him, and it was the second county established in Florida," Rita said. "Escambia, which is Pensacola, and St. Johns, which is St. Augustine, were the first two counties, both created at the same time. We always say red-eye gravy was invented in Jackson County."
"Yes, he tended to get around, didn't he," Dad said.
"My mother grew up in Jackson County, Rita," Rick said.
"Oh, you don't mean it, Rick," Rita said.
"Yes, ma'am, I do. My grandmother still lives there."
"Oh, Rick, I had no idea! Do you boys see your grandmother," Rita asked.
"No. She's not interested in us. Or in my mother, either, for that matter," he said. "But that's a long story, best left untold."
"Well, it's definitely her loss," Mom said.
Kyle and Justin had gotten up for their third biscuit and gravy, and Gene was working on his second one.
"What's on tap for today," George asked. "I highly recommend the National D-Day Museum. I enjoyed every minute there Saturday. We spent four hours there on Saturday, and I could certainly go back."
"George, today is Lundi Gras," Craig said. "There are festivals all over the place. That museum is going to be there forever, but Lundi Gras is only today. By the way, guys, 'Lundi' means Monday in French."
"So what's going on," Jus asked.
"Do you remember those museums we went to in Kenner? The one with the NASA weightless chamber," Craig asked. "The day we went to see the bonfires and the plantations?"
"Yeah," Kyle said. "What's going on there?"
"Kyle, do you remember when Rick told you he hoped you got hit in the head with a coconut?"
"Well, that krewe, the Krewe of Zulu, organized the Lundi Gras festival about ten years ago. This was basically a dead day before that, with only one chicken-shit parade Monday night. Things have changed a lot in ten years, though. Now we have the Lundi Gras festival all day today and a super krewe parade tonight. The festival in Kenner starts in about an hour. King Zulu gets there at noon. They have toasts and all of that, and then they have sort of mini-parades with a second line," Craig said.
"A second line? What is that?"
"Kyle, this is a little complicated, so pay close attention, okay," Craig said.
"Let's say there is a big crowd for a concert, okay? Like there will be today. Well, the band doesn't stay on the stage. It gets out among the audience and marches around. The people from the audience get up and form the second line. If they have umbrellas, they dance with those open behind the band, and that's the second line. If they don't have umbrellas, they use handkerchiefs or paper napkins or Kleenex or anything like that to wave while they're dancing behind the band. You guys like to dance, and that's basically what it is. A dance, but it's not with couples. It's just individual people celebrating the music and the good time they're having."
"What's the first line," Kyle asked.
"It's the band, dummy," Justin said.
"Oh. Let's go there," Kyle said.
"Yeah, but there are two other places we can go and still make it to the parade tonight," Cherie said. "One is Woldenberg Park on the river, between the aquarium and the French Market."
"I remember that. We were there at Christmas," Kyle said.
"Exactly. A Coast Guard ship is going to pick up King and Queen Zulu in Kenner and haul them down river to Woldenberg Park. There's going to be a festival going on there, too. It will be much bigger than the one in Kenner. There will be at least 150,000 people at the one in Woldenberg. And it's really all over the place down there, not just in the park. There will be several stages with live music, arts and craft booths, a bunch of food vendors, and an incredible array of people to watch."
"This is sounding better and better. What's the third one," Kyle asked.
"The third one is at Spanish Plaza at the Rivergate. That's just a few blocks down from Woldenberg Park. There's no festival there, but that's where Rex will land around six o'clock. His arrival will have lots of music, too, and it will be followed by a great fireworks display over the river. Do you remember that fireboat we saw at Christmas?"
"I certainly remember it," George said. "That was the first time I had seen one of those."
"Well, there will be a dozen of those, at least, all lit up" she said, "and they'll all be shooting water. It's a sight to see."
"Then, after the fireworks, it's the parade. It's the Krewe of Orpheus, and it's the third and final super krewe," Cherie said. "My brother is a member of that krewe. He's on our side of the street, and just be prepared, dudes. You haven't seen anything yet when he sees us and starts throwing."
Kyle called Seth, and we picked him up. Tim and Brian both sat on their boyfriends' laps so we would have room for Seth. He was so cheerful and happy that morning that it was refreshing to be with him. He had Mardi Gras baseball caps for Kyle, Justin, and Craig. They were obviously very special guys to him, and our guys loved the caps. Most of them wore baseball caps all the time anyway, and I hoped Kyle would replace that frayed and beaten up University of Florida cap he wore constantly with this new one. I had bought him an FSU cap, but he wouldn't put it on. He had washed that Florida cap several times in our dishwasher on one of those cap molds, and each time it had come out clean but a little the worse for wear. He had lots of other caps, of course, including the one from the Fair Grounds he had been wearing in New Orleans. I think he wore the University of Florida one just to get our goats.
We did all the things that day that we had talked about doing at breakfast. We had a wonderful time, but we were tired as hell when the day was over. Seth's parents were at the building on St. Charles that night, so he went home with them after the parade.
"Can we get coffee and doughnuts tonight," Kyle asked. He was still very energetic.
"Yeah, but let's go to Morning Call in Fat City," Craig suggested. "It's easier."
It was much easier to get to than Cafe du Monde, and it was actually the original coffee and beignet place. It had moved to Fat City in Metairie years before, but it seemed even more authentic than the place across the street from Jackson Square. There were huge mirrors all over the place in wood arches surrounded by bare light bulbs, and they had enormous sugar bowls chained to one another on the marble counters where people sat to eat. They didn't put powdered sugar on the beignets in the kitchen like they did at Cafe du Monde. The powdered sugar was in metal shakers on the tables, and you had to apply it yourself, with the powdered sugar going everywhere when you shook it out. The place was packed when we got there, but they seated us fairly quickly.
"I am so excited about tomorrow I can hardly stand it," Kyle said.
"I know you are, and it's fun that you are, son," Gene said.
"I don't want to get on anybody's nerves, though, so let me know, okay?"
"You're not. You're fun to be with, and Mama and I appreciate that."
"Thanks, Dad. Don't you wish Clay was here?"
"Kyle, baby, you know we do."
"I miss him so bad, Daddy. I miss him every day. I think I've cried every day since he died."
"I know you do, Kyle, but you don't have any idea how much you have helped your mother and me and Jeff," Gene said.
"I'm glad, but I miss my brother so much."
"Kyle, he's here for you, too. You made peace happen for the rest of us, but we never really thought about you, did we? Clay's here for you, though, Bubba. He's here for you in your boat, and he's here for you in your friends. Love them, baby. I love you." Gene kissed Kyle on the forehead. Gene wasn't sobbing, but he was definitely crying.
"I guess we all forget sometimes that Kyle needs support, too," my mother said to Rita. "He seems so . . . I don't know . . . powerful or something. So together. You forget he's only seventeen." They were at the other end of a long table, and Kyle hadn't been able to hear them.
"I know. Sometimes Gene and I worry that we aren't as strict with him as we should be, but he just doesn't seem to need a firm hand," Rita said. "And he's always been that way. I guess we're just blessed."
"He's a blessing for all of us, all right," George piped in.
(Seth's Perspective, Sunday)
I was standing outside my father's building on St. Charles Avenue Sunday morning dreading the day. I hadn't wanted to go to the parades, but I basically wasn't given a choice. "You'll go," my dad had said, and that was that.
The reason I didn't want to be there was I knew that there were supposed to be five other boys around my age from Florida. They were related to Cherie Foley somehow. She was an associate in my father's law firm, and she had told him that there would be fourteen people in her party for the whole Mardi Gras thing, including those five boys. My dad had thought that would be exciting for me since I really didn't have very many friends to pal around with. My God! Talk about not getting it!
I had figured out when I was thirteen that I was gay. It took me a while to admit it to myself, but I knew with all my heart that it was true. I hadn't acted on that fact yet, if I ever would, and I certainly hadn't told anyone. I mean, who would I have told? My parents? No way. My creepy little sister? Never. My best friend? I'd have to get one of those first before I could do that, and I was sure he'd dump me anyway, if I told him. I was a shy person by nature, but that little tidbit about myself turned me into something very close to a recluse. At school I kept to myself, using most of my lunch period and any free time I would have had for socializing to read. I didn't even talk to the people who sat around me before class started.
As though my social life weren't handicap enough, I was ugly, and I knew it. I was painfully thin for my height. I was five feet, eleven inches tall, and I weighed in at a grand total of 110 pounds. A good, stiff wind would probably have blown me away. I had an enormous nose, a classically weak chin, and my ears stuck out way too far. I had been called Dumbo the Flying Elephant more than a few times in middle school, but, thankfully, that derisive nickname hadn't been applied in a few years. In the male equipment department I was a disaster. My penis was slightly larger than five-and-a-half inches when erect, which was fine, but it was almost invisible when it was flaccid. Since it was generally considered bad enough form to warrant a lynching to walk into a group shower or around a locker room with an erection, on those occasions when I had been forced by circumstances to present myself nude to other males, I had done so with the genitalia of a chipmunk.
I wasn't picked on at school; I was simply ignored. I did reasonably well in my grades but not really well enough for that to give me any kind of status. I didn't participate in extra-curricular activities because that would have meant socializing with the others in the clubs, and I abhorred sports of any kind, so they were out of the question, too. The only friends I had, with the exception of one highly effeminate boy that everyone assumed was gay, were two girls who were both obese and rather mannish. We sat together at lunch before I snuck off to the library, and we must have made a fine sight--the outcasts of Poker Flat. We were brought together by a need that none of us was willing to discuss, and we never called each other on the phone at night or went anywhere together on weekends.
The great irony in my life was that I was sexually attracted to boys but scared to death of them. I mean, I had virtually nothing in common with "guys." I wasn't offended by crude jokes or coarse language, but I could never bring myself to make those kinds of wisecracks or to use that kind of language. I was reasonably adept at using a computer, but who my age wasn't? I might occasionally have something to contribute to a conversation about computers, but that was rare. Thus it was that I dreaded spending what would amount to most of three days with five boys from Florida.
I saw them walking up the street toward our spot. All but one of them were as tall as I was, and the shortest one, at about five feet, six inches--Brian turned out to be his name--was stunningly handsome. The other four, each of whom had at least fifty pounds on me, were merely gorgeous. There were two who had dark blond hair (Justin and Tim), two who had medium brown hair (Brian and Jeff), and the last one, Kyle, who had dark brown hair that looked black in the distance. They were walking up the street like they owned the place, and they were grinning and laughing among themselves, confident in their masculinity. One of them had a digital camera around his neck, and they were all wearing baseball caps with the Fair Grounds racetrack logo on them. Interacting with any one of them would have been torture for me, but in that pack it was going to be pure hell.
Before I realized what was happening, the one with the camera was right in front of me.
"Hey, dude. "My name is Kyle Goodson," he said.
He stuck out his hand for me to shake. He had on cowboy boots, blue jeans, an off-white polo shirt, and a Levi jacket. His face was flawless and spectacular, and I could see the dark shadow of a full-face beard that some men have even after they had just shaved. I hadn't yet had the need to put a razor to my face, and that was yet another source of embarrassment to me. Kyle's smile seemed genuine enough, and his eyes seemed to sparkle. I was instantly smitten, although I knew it would only be a matter of moments before Kyle ignored me in favor of his friends.
I shook his hand and tried not to do it weakly or limply. I commented on his camera and that it looked like a nice one. He insisted on taking a picture of me and my sister for his Web site. Then he introduced me to the others, and every one of them was as friendly as he had been. I was extremely nervous during all of that, but those boys all seemed to be the essence of self-confidence.
Kyle said he would have been happy to show me his Web site if we had had a computer. I jumped at the chance and told him about all the computers in my dad's office. He and Tim went up there with me, and Kyle opened the site. The first page had a warning that subsequent pages contained nudity, and I assumed I'd be feted with pictures of naked women with enormous breasts that I was sure Kyle and his gang drooled over as they masturbated. Surprisingly, though, all of the pictures were of people with clothes on, and they were all engaged in very normal-looking activities. There were pictures from trips, including some from a ski trip that Kyle said they had gone on to celebrate their brother's passing the GED, and there were pictures from what looked like a dinner party. Most of the pictures were of boys and young men, and in a few the men seemed to be dancing some kind of line dance.
Kyle and Tim both seemed totally at ease, and both of them, but especially Kyle, seemed quite excited about the pictures they were showing me. Tim didn't have an accent and spoke generic American English. Kyle's accent wasn't true Southern, like people from Mississippi and Alabama, but he pronounced some words a little differently. He said "feel" as though it were spelled "fill," and he referred to the "Guff of Mexico," instead of the Gulf. He also used the expression "fixing to," which I had heard before but had never used myself. They laughed and giggled over some of the pictures, and they each told amusing stories about what was depicted on the screen. I had spent a lot of time looking at personal Web pages that ranged from the sleek and attractive to the god-awful and confusing. Their page was definitely in the former group.
I asked about one page that was a memorial to somebody named Clay. Kyle told me Clay was his brother and that he had died a few months before. That was the only page, other than the one about a trip to the zoo, that had video on it. The zoo page had a few clips of monkeys, but the Clay page had several clips that mostly featured him. In one clip he and Kyle were water skiing, and they were naked. I became aroused almost instantly, but I was sitting in such a way that they couldn't see it, thank God. I was reasonably sure they weren't the type to check out my crotch anyway, but being seated helped quell my embarrassment. As befitted the golden boy Kyle was shaping into, his equipment was substantial. Enormous, even, compared to mine.
After we looked at the Web page, Tim wanted to look at some pictures Kyle had taken the day before. He put in a couple of disks that had street and parade pictures, but those weren't the ones Tim had in mind. Finally Kyle found the ones Tim wanted. They were of men and boys on Bourbon Street at night showing their penises. I had seen tons of pictures like that on Web pages, but I pretended I had never encountered them before. I didn't want them knowing I haunted gay sites on the Internet, and I assumed they didn't know they even existed.
By the time we were ready to go outside for the parade, I was thoroughly infatuated with Kyle. I knew there was no hope of reciprocity, and, indeed, I would have probably been too nervous and scared to do anything with him even if he had wanted to. It just felt good to be in his presence, and the fact that he seemed to respect me and like me, even, was almost more than I could stand. Fortunately, the khaki pants I had on were loose enough that my still-throbbing erection wasn't conspicuous when we stood up to leave.
It was noticeably warmer when we got back on the street, and the first thing Kyle did was take off his jacket and dump it on a lawn chair they had brought with them. The others were already without their jackets, and Tim took his off, too. I participated halfheartedly in going after throws, but Kyle, Tim, and the others jumped after them like they were things of real value. There were grins everywhere and a lot of laughter. More than once I heard "shit," and even "fuck," from one or other of them when they missed a throw. The adults who were with them either didn't hear them say those words or chose to ignore them under the circumstances.
I had been to Carnival parades all my life, so I wasn't especially excited about what was going on. It was the first time for those boys, though, and they got into the spirit of things with gusto. After thirty minutes or so of jumping round, Kyle took his shirt off. I'm sure I gasped. Then Tim and the others did the same thing, and I almost had an orgasm.
Kyle and Tim had tiny gold loops through each nipple, and their shoulders and chests were broad and well developed. Kyle had a patch of dark hair in the center of his chest, and it spread out a little to his pectoral muscles on both sides. There was a dark, straight line of hair down his stomach to his navel, and it continued below his navel into his jeans. The hair was a nice touch. Very sexy.
Justin was the most muscled and the best defined of the five of them, but they all had bodies to be proud of. I know I stared shamelessly at them. A couple of times Justin caught me gawking at him, and he just smiled. I couldn't tell whether it was a knowing smile or not, but he didn't seem upset that I was looking at him.
I enjoyed the sight of those boys. At one point I was so distracted that a pair of beads hit me in the chest, and I still didn't get them. Not that I wanted them, but at least I could have given them to Kyle. He seemed to want every bead on every float. At one point he hoisted Tim onto his shoulders. God, how I envied Tim. Of course, if that had been me instead of Tim, my erection would probably have pierced Kyle's brain stem and killed him. As it was, my underwear was a sodden mess with what I had been leaking so copiously for the last several hours, and I was too afraid to even look to see if I had a wet spot showing through my khakis. Kyle had both hands on Tim's thighs to keep him steady on his shoulders, and Tim had his crotch firmly wedged against Kyle's neck. They all made jokes and wisecracks, and Justin began emerging as the real comedian of the group. They were very kind and included me in their joking, but I was in such a trance that I kept missing jokes they all found hilarious.
Why can't I be a normal boy like they are? Why do I have to be a fag, I thought for the millionth time in my life. I hated being gay. I hated being set apart from everybody else. I had read extensive commentary on the Internet about young gay men like me who shared my feelings about their sexuality. In most cases, though, things seem to work out for them. Mister Right comes along, they come out to family and friends, and they move forward happy and confident and successful in life. At least I wasn't a swish, like my friend Leslie. Of course, I didn't know for sure that Leslie was gay, and I certainly wasn't about to bring it up to find out. And who in their right mind would name a boy Leslie, anyway? I sometimes wondered if he'd be the way he was if his name were something like Mark or Bill.
When the last afternoon parade was over, Kyle put his arm around Tim for them to go inside. It was a gesture of camaraderie and friendship, I knew, and they could get away with doing that without so much as a raised eyebrow. That was what I craved. I craved the kind of self-confidence that would enable me to embrace a male friend in public like that, assuming I'd ever have a friend. The fact that neither boy had a shirt on apparently didn't matter to either of them. Tim wiggled away from Kyle to put his shirt on before entering the building, and the rest of them re-shirted as well.
There was a four-hour wait until the next parade. They all went into Cherie Foley's office, and I joined my parents, my sister, my two aunts who were with us, and my grandmother in my father's office. He was a senior partner of the firm, so his office was larger and nicer than the one the fourteen members of what I was mentally calling "The Krewe of Kyle" had. The ladies in our party took turns using the private restroom my dad had in his suite. I went last, and I took a book to make everyone think I had serious bathroom business to attend to. I didn't, though. I wanted to masturbate, I needed to masturbate, and I knew the book would buy me more time than a quick pee would have.
I dropped my pants and underwear in one quick move the instant I locked the door. I got down on one knee in front of the toilet in a kind of mock genuflection. The head of my penis was covered with pre-seminal fluid, and there was enough to actually act as a lubricant. I gently rubbed the head of my penis with my finger, and then I took hold of it, using my fingertips on the most sensitive part directly below the head on the underside. There was no wild pounding, no frantic jerking. I was already so close that a few small strokes did the trick. I convulsed in pleasure, Kyle's face and chest before my mind's eye, and I spewed my semen into the toilet. I was quite literally weak from my orgasm, and I stayed in place for my tumescence to subside. It didn't, though, so I started working myself a second time. I had done that occasionally in the past when I was aroused more than usual, and that time, with my mental picture of Kyle, I brought myself off again in no more than a minute. Only then did I urinate to flush the remaining semen out of me.
I looked around very carefully to make sure that all of it had gone into the water in the toilet and that there were no stray globs anywhere to give me away. I then flushed and washed my sticky penis in the sink. I used toilet paper to dry my underwear as best I could, and then, as a safety precaution, I folded up more toilet paper and put it inside my briefs to catch what I was sure would be another flood of the stuff before the day was through. When I went into the office, everyone was quiet. My sister was lying on the floor, as were my two aunts. My grandmother and mother were each lying on sofas, and my dad had his desk chair cranked all the way back for a nap. I lay down to rest on the floor. There was a throw pillow on the floor next to one of the sofas, so I used that for my head. In a few minutes, I was dozing.
I slept for about an hour, and I felt quite rested when I woke up. I lay there day dreaming about Kyle. Does he have a girlfriend? There wasn't much chance he couldn't get a girlfriend if he wanted one, that was for sure, I thought. Were they sexually active? There was no doubt in my mind they were. I knew what he looked like naked because I had seen the video of him and his brother. I wondered what he looked like naked and aroused, feeding his enormous penis into some girl's vagina, thrusting his hips, making her moan with pleasure as he pumped himself into her, again and again and again. And then, when they were through, what did he look like lying beside her, his legs rampant, his softening organ flipped over to one side? That was the vision I liked best. In that one she is toying with the gold ring in his nipple, and he's smiling at the pleasure she is giving him. After a few moments of that, his penis starts to harden again. She asks him for another tryst, another stupendous orgasm. He teases her like he's not interested, but his penis tells the real story.
"Seth, are you awake?"
"Yes, Dad," I said, sitting up fully aroused from my reverie.
"How did you like those guys from Florida? Cherie's friends?"
"I liked them. They're really friendly, and they all have a great sense of humor," I said. And, of course, I'm in love with Kyle. I could never say that, obviously, but it had just occurred to me that I was.
"Did you have enough time to talk to them to find out what they're interested in," he asked.
"Kyle showed me a Web page that he works on."
"Is Kyle the real cute one," my sister asked.
"Yeah," I blurted out without thinking.
"Oh, so you think he's cute," she asked in her annoying way to mock me.
"Cut it out," I said.
"Daddy, Seth thinks Kyle's cute," Amy said.
"He is cute, sweetie. I think they're all cute."
Thank God, and thank you, Dad, I thought. I mentally stuck my tongue out at her, the little bitch.
"I'm not sure I approve of the piercings he and the other one have, but they seemed like they are extremely polite and very friendly, as you said, Seth."
"Those are all the rage," my aunt said. "They're a sort of status symbol, and, unlike tattoos, you can take them off."
"Good point about them not being permanent. But why their nipples," Dad asked.
"I know that in women it makes the nipples hypersensitive," she said.
My dad blushed ever so slightly.
"You don't suppose . . ."
"A lot of guys their age are sexually active," she said.
"Well, it's probably time to change the subject. At any rate, they seem like very nice young men, and I encourage both of you to become their friends," he said.
"Would it be okay if I went outside to walk around a little," I asked.
"Sure. Why don't you take your sister for a little stroll," Dad said.
Oh, God! I thought.
"Not me. I want to finish my homework," Amy said. "Dad, can I use the phone."
"I thought you wanted to finish your homework," he said, teasing her.
"I do. I need to call Jennifer about it, though," she said.
Jennifer was her bosom friend, and I knew she wanted to gossip about the Florida boys. I didn't say anything, though. Instead, I left the office.
Because my dad was a senior partner, he had a suite of offices, which basically meant a room for him and a room for his secretary. There was also a small storage room and, of course, my masturbatorium. Junior associates, like Cherie Foley, shared a secretary with another lawyer, and all of the secretaries for the associates were at desks that were all together in a large room that the lawyers' private offices opened into. I walked down to where Cherie's office was, and there were several people from their party out there.
"Hi, Seth," Cherie said. She was an extremely nice and friendly lady, and she and I had talked once or twice before at social gatherings. It hadn't been anything personal, of course, but I could tell that she was very pleasant and extremely bright. My dad had said so, in fact.
"Hi, Cherie. Where is everybody," I asked.
"Stick you head inside and see," she said.
Cherie's mother-in-law was lying on one of her sofas, apparently asleep, and Kyle's mother was asleep on the other sofa. Kyle, Tim, Brian, and Justin were asleep on the floor. Kyle was in a little fetal knot on his left side, and Tim was in that same position facing the other direction, right next to him. I wanted to get down there and wrap myself around Kyle and hold him forever.
"Did you get a nap," she asked me.
"Yeah, I slept for about an hour. I just wanted to see if any of them wanted to go for a walk with me to see what's going on out on the street," I said.
"Jeff might. He's awake."
It was then that I noticed Jeff. He was at the computer at a desk a few desks down from where Cherie and I were talking. I hadn't had a chance to compliment him on his Web site, so I walked over to him.
"Hi, Seth," he said as I walked up.
"Hi. Kyle showed me your Web page, and it really looks good. I've been to a million personal sites, and yours is among the best I've seen."
"Thanks, man. It's sort of a labor of love for us. Would you like me to sign you up as a user? Kyle or I update it pretty often. He takes some pretty great pictures, and a lot of them, so there's something new almost every week. Not that it's been up all that long, though."
"Yeah, unless it's a lot of trouble," I said.
"It's no trouble at all. I'll do it right now. I just put a ton of Mardi Gras pictures up, so I can add your name to the database before I shut down my FTP," he said. "What's your last name?"
"Adams," I said.
He typed something and clicked on something.
"There. It's done. To get in, type 'seth dot adams,' all lower case. We'd appreciate it if you didn't spread that around, too," he said.
"Why is it protected at all," I asked.
"Well, there are often pictures of us nude on it, and Kevin and Rick thought we should just reserve it for family and friends. Not that there's ever any sex. Justin took some pictures of Kyle shooting pool with a hard-on, and we just deleted them."
"Was it that noticeable," I asked. Because if an erection disqualifies a picture from that Web site, you won't be able to use a single one of me, I thought.
"Well, Kyle was naked. They were playing strip pool, and Kyle had lost his clothes. As Jus put it, Kyle had grown his own cue stick. I wasn't there, but they all swear that it was just one of those spontaneous ones that you get sometimes. He hadn't done anything to cause it," Jeff said.
I couldn't believe I was sitting there talking about erections with one of the Florida boys, and one of the cuter ones, at that.
"Why don't you log in and check out the new stuff. Your picture with your sister is up, and there are a few more of you, too," he said.
I was relieved to hear that he hadn't noticed the erection I had worn all afternoon.
"You can sit here, if you want to. I've got some reading to do. I had to miss classes for this trip, and I don't want to get hopelessly behind," he said.
Jeff got up to give me his place. He had closed out the browser, so I opened it.
"I forgot to ask the URL," I said to Jeff.
He told me, and I typed it in. I typed my user name in, and the page opened for me. I followed the link to the Mardi Gras pictures. There were ten pages of them, and it was only Sunday. At the rate they were going, they would need a whole server to accommodate their site.
It was obvious that Kyle believed in documenting every aspect of a trip, including their stop at a fast-food drive-thru on the way over. Most of the pictures were of the parades they had seen on Saturday and today. There was a great shot of Tim on Kyle's shoulders that had been taken Saturday. Tim was holding on to Kyle by his hair, and Kyle was making a face like he was in pain. The pictures of me were hideous, of course. One showed me apparently trying to make a catch with my right hand, and my left hand was on Justin's bare back. I didn't remember that happening, but obviously it must have.
I took a chance and opened one of the links that had a nudity warning beside it. It was a full page of thumbnails of men showing their equipment on Bourbon Street. There were some there that I knew I'd want to study in the privacy of my bedroom at home, including one of Justin pulling Kyle's penis. Kyle was screaming, apparently, and Justin had an evil look on his face. Cherie's husband was next to them showing his goods and laughing. There was nothing sexual about it, and I had certainly seen boys pull other boys' penises in fun. The difference was that Kyle was the most sensual boy I had ever seen, and Justin was a close second. I had been aroused since Jeff had told me that Kyle "had grown his own cue stick," but the one of Justin touching him almost brought me over the brink. I decided I couldn't risk a spontaneous ejaculation, so I shut the site down.
In a little while, Kyle and Tim came out of Cherie's office headed for the men's room. Tim told me hello and said they'd be back in a second. I had to urinate, too, so I followed them. There were three urinals in there without partitions between them. Tim was at the one on the far left, and Kyle was in the middle, sort of angled toward Tim, apparently taking out his equipment. I took the urinal on the right and got out my semi-erect penis.
"Hey, Seth," Kyle said, startling me. By then he was facing forward. I didn't look directly at him, of course, even though he was looking directly at me, but I saw it out of the corner of my eye. He was erect! He made some kind of off-hand comment about having to pee really badly and his equipment not working right, or something. I heard his stream start, and my semi-erection turned into the full thing at the speed of light. I was sure he had seen my state. I hadn't yet started to pee, but I put everything away and got out of there as fast as I could. To adequately describe my shame and embarrassment would require a whole new vocabulary. I wanted to leave, but they came out before I could figure out where to go.
"You must have been sleeping, too," Kyle said. "I get 'em if I take even a ten minute nap. In fact, I think just laying down gives 'em to me."
"Yeah, me, too," Tim said. "Don't be embarrassed, Seth. It was just a hard-on. No shame in that, dude."
"I, er . . . I mean, I'm, er . . ."
"Hey, Seth, buddy. Lighten up, man. You saw mine, and I saw yours. It's not a big deal. You're our friend, and we like you. Don't get all shamed and embarrassed over what happened, man. It was no big deal," Kyle said.
You saw mine, and I saw heaven, I thought.
"Kyle's is never a big deal," Tim said, joking.
"Yeah? I'll . . ."
"Got you last," Tim said, and Kyle laughed.
"Let's find something to eat," Kyle said.
I followed them into the office, said hello to everybody in there, and followed their lead in getting food.
"Will you party with us after the parade," Kyle asked me.
"I'd like to, if you don't mind," I said.
"If we don't mind?" he said. "You're our friend, and we like you. Why the fuck would we mind?"
"KYLE ADAM GOODSON!"
"Sorry, Mom. It slipped out," he said. Then, in a whisper to me, "I don't usually say 'fuck' around my mother."
Kyle had no idea of the effect he was having on me. I was their friend, and they liked me! Suddenly my existence had purpose. I knew I could never have him, but for him to say I was his friend and that he liked me gave me a whole new perspective on life. I mattered! I had value to someone like him! He wanted me to party with them! I wanted to move to Florida to be in Kyle's presence forever.