This story is posted for the exclusive enjoyment of readers of the Nifty Archive. While you are free to make a personal copy, no copy of this manuscript may be published, copied, posted to another web site, or otherwise disseminated without express permission from the author.
The contents of this story are fictional. Any resemblance of characters to living or lived persons is strictly coincidental. Certain characters engage in sexual acts which may or may not be legal in the state or country in which a reader may reside. Any reader with objections to graphic descriptions of sexual encounters between males who may not have reached the legal age of consent, or whose local, regional, state or national jurisprudence prohibits such descriptions, should not read further.
Wednesday June 30, 1993
Things were kind of subdued after we got back to the cabin. Brad tried to treat me like I was made out of glass, but I set him straight on that real quick. He wanted me to lay down and take a bleeding nap, for chrissakes. Sounded just like Mom.
"Brad, I'm fine, damn it! I don't wanna take a damned nap!"
"I just don't want you getting sick," he said, his voice rising.
"But . . . "
"But shit! I'm okay!" I was almost yelling at him. "Let's finish the clearing, okay?" I stomped over to the barn to get the work gloves. He sort of shrugged his shoulders and followed me.
Just because I'm two years younger than him, doesn't mean I can't pull my weight. We quit after a couple of hours, though. We ended up piling up some of the brush we'd cut, so's we could chip it later on. We worked, but not all that hard. I was tired, but no way I was going to let him know that. We didn't talk much.
We showered together, but it was different than that morning. When he washed me, it was more . . . tender, somehow, loving with no sex, just pure feeling. Oh, I know, we were both hard as anvils; that can't be helped. But he treated me more special, and I just worshipped at his altar. He trembled when I washed him, and trembled even more when he washed me.
I think that's when it really started to hit home what we were getting into. This wasn't just a casual everyday case of a sex affair between two guys. This was it, the big Apple, the brass ring, the love of a lifetime we were discovering together. Mom was going to shit little green nickels, and Dad would have apoplexy. But Mom and Dad are super smart people. They'd eventually accept if it was genuine love, help and support and love us no matter what. Wouldn't they?
Even if they did, there are a lot of Beach Bunny Lifeguard types out there. Shit, there are a lot of them just in my own school, for chrissakes. We all laugh at the jokes about how a queer packs lunch for his boyfriend, or a fairy wakes up sucking more than his thumb. We call kids we don't like because they're different "fags,' and everybody shuns them. We tell tall tales about getting propositioned in the Men's Room at the Mall, but none of us dare go in there alone, afraid it might just be true, maybe one of us, maybe me, might just . . . go for it.
The hot water ran out again before we finished, and we fell in a heap as we tried to get out of the cold stream, our legs and arms entangled. We couldn't hardly get up for laughing so hard.
A few minutes later, the gnawing pangs of hunger forced us into the kitchen, to get dinner ready. Brad was making his famous white clam sauce, using parsley and garlic and scallions from the garden patch, and cans of clams we always keep on the pantry shelves at home and in the cabin. I was making a salad - just lettuce and mushrooms and onion, maybe a few croutons, a grated carrot. I was double ravenous, since I'd lost lunch.
While I was doing the routine stuff, I started thinking about the beach, and shivered.
"Thanks," I said.
"Bringing me back," I said.
"Brad, I was in really deep trouble out there," I said. "I was scared, and I couldn't find where 'up' was, and I couldn't breathe, and I think I blacked out."
He turned and wrapped me up in his arms. I felt instantly better.
"I know," he said. "I know."
"What happened, Brad?"
"I heard you call out to me. I didn't see you go under." He purred in my ear. "At first I thought you were just playing, but then I saw too much air coming up, and it looked like there was blood or somethin."
"I was barfing under water."
"I couldn't see where you were once I got out to where I thought you were. I had to dive down to get you," he said. "But I didn't know where. Then there was a cloud or something that went over, and a bright -- I don't know -- ray of sunlight, I s'pose, went in the water right down to where I could see you, only a dozen meters away, but I wouldn't have seen you in the dark. You were all balled up, and almost on the bottom, and I thought you were . . . "
I shivered as someone walked over my grave.
"How'd you get me out?"
"I just pulled you onto me," he continued, holding me tighter. "I prayed to God, and I pulled, and I just lifted you on my shoulder and walked out."
"You walked? From there?"
"You walked underwater from there up to the beach with me on your shoulder?"
"Uh, yeah, I think so."
"How did you breathe?"
"I don't know. Just held my breath, I guess."
"Brad, it's a hundred yards from the shelf to where I was!"
"No, twasn't," he said. You were only a couple dozen meters from the shelf, and it isn't really a shelf, just a steep bit of the lake bed. I just walked right up it, and you were safe."
"I love you, Brad."
"I love you, Loon. I always have, and I always will."
"Did you have to kiss me in front of the whole crowd?" I joked. "Ruined our reputations for good, I figure,"
"You stopped breathing," he said. "I had no choice."
"Likely story," I said. "You were just trying to seduce me in one of my weaker moments."
"Loon, I had to work on you almost two minutes before you came back to me," he was almost crushing me.
"Two minutes?" I asked in wonder. "But I . . . saw . . . you throw me down on the beach! I remember being over your shoulders, puking!"
"You didn't puke at all, Loon. You dribbled water out your nose and mouth, but you didn't puke at all until after you started coughing, after I did mouth-to-mouth for more than two minutes."
"You really saved my life, then, didn't you?"
"Guess so," he snuffled.
"I'll never leave you again, Brad. I promise."
"Loon, if you had . . . "
"But I didn't Brad. You were there."
"I love you, Loon," he said. He turned me around like they do in the ballet, just put his hands around my waist and twirled my body to follow my face, already swiveling around to kiss him, to be kissed.
Eventually, we went back to preparing dinner, cooking the linguini exactly to the al dente stage like Dad taught us, dolloping it onto plates and spooning over it the white clam sauce, tossing the salad with walnut oil and pine nuts, filing two glasses with ice cold milk.
We ate at the table inside, as it was starting to get evening chill already, though it was only seven o'clock. You can never tell about the weather up here. There are nights when the mercury never goes below seventy, only to have the following night so cold you can see your breath in the morning.
The meal started out kind of somber, but we can't keep serious for more than a minute or three. Another genetic thing. So we were soon joking about the scene with the lifeguard, and the way Big Chain deflated his balloon of self-importance, the old lady on the terrace who gave us the dirty look after our Loon/Pervert première performance, the fat lady behind the counter of the ice cream stand.
We were laughing about something, then smiling with complicity, then with love, braiding our fingers together, rubbing our knees under the table, endlessly gazing into his eyes, him staring into my soul.
We cleared the table and did the dishes. I washed and he dried. If I was too slow washing something up, he'd dry his hands and massage my back, my shoulders, my waist, my hips. That slowed me down even more, of course.
When dishes were done, I just wanted to go to bed, even though it was barely gone nine. My body was tired, And I needed to feel his flesh against it, not just part of him against a smaller part of me. He was more than willing, and we snuffed the lantern way before nine thirty. I snuggled into him the way I knew I should have done for years. We kissed, and caressed, but no more than that, falling into the blissful comfort of one another.
His buzzing stopped a while later, and I woke, as he started from a dream.
"Shhhh," I said. "I'm here." And he went back to his slumber, holding me close, his breathing buzzing me to sleep again.
The next time we woke, it was to dance the waltz of love. After only a few minutes of caressing and touching, kissing and licking, we took each other's seed into our mouths, in a near perfect synchronization, me exploding into him only seconds before I tasted his semen, once more jetting into me. He was fully recovered from the morning's indulgence. It tastes of oysters and vanilla.
The night was cold, so we
huddled together under the blankets, relishing the warmth. I sleep far
more deeply when I am in his arms and he in mine. I think it's a security
thing. Even though I wake at his waking, although I feel his every move
during the night, hear his every soft snore, it is part of the deep sleep.
I arise more refreshed after six hours in our bed, than after ten hours
in a lonely bed for one, whether in an hotel, as someone's guest, or alone
in our bed when he is not there. I occasionally wonder if I would have
same deep sleep if I slept with someone else in the bed. I hope that will never happen.
Thursday, July 1, 1993
I awoke early. The birds were trying to coax Sol from his slumber through song, and their patience and persistence were eventually rewarded. The dark became gray, then colors appeared, and the morning fog lifted to let the sun kiss the treetops with warmth.
"Today is special. I can feel it," I thought to myself. "Today something will happen that I will never forget. I'll give my lover my body as no other before or after shall have been able to say they have had it." I don't think I actually thought it in those words, but I knew what was going to happen, and how important it was that Brad be the one, nobody else.
Brad was still asleep, and I watched his peace, his beauty, like a visitor at the Louvre stares for hours at a single work, discovering more every second about the Maker's skill in construction. The perfect curve of the nose and the long arch of his auburn and gold eyebrows, bridged at the center by pale, almost impossibly fine hairs that disappear in the full light of day. The lashes of the eyes, no two of the same length, longest at the center of the lid, tapering to the shortest at the point closest to the nose, staying long but not quite as long, to the outer edge of the lid. I didn't know eyelash hairs have different colors. A tiny little blackhead right at the line between the lower lip and the chin, a hair growing right in the center of the dimple (Or is it called a cleft?) in his chin.
He woke without fuss, simply opening his eyes and looking at me, pulling me slightly closer with his arm, which for some reason seems never to tire in its position under my neck and around my shoulders. His left hand reached for me, found me, grasped me in a tender but firm embrace. Squeezing yet more hardness into the marble of my dick.
"I love you," he said. It's almost always the first thing he says in the morning. I kissed his cheekbone, whispering my love into his skin, my hand as always cradling his sex, letting its warmth penetrate my hand.
"Make me yours," I said softly, and I don't think he knew at once what I asked of him. He looked deep into me, and I could see when he understood what I meant. His eyes went a little gauzy, and his voice shook:
"Are you sure?" came the question all true lovers pose to their beloveds.
I nodded and pulled his lips to mine, feeling him rolling towards me, the raw power of his sex rampant as we kissed. Lubrication began to flow from both of us as the fires were stoked. The nerve-ends of my anus were already beginning to tingle with anticipation and dread.
Brad became . . . somehow stronger, more controlling, more sure of himself. He took the lead entirely, and I let him guide me, not pushing, not pulling back, just accompanying him on the road to paradise, moving with him as he moved.
I lifted my shoulders as he shifted his weight onto his elbow under them, kissing down on my face with growing desire. His eyes kept telling me how much he loved me. His fingers caressed my sex, bringing me ever closer to the brink, then stopping, teasing, his tongue deep in my mouth, his fingers moving to my anus.
My legs somehow lifted to circle around his torso, my heels crossed over the small of his back, and I lifted my bottom up to him. I don't know why I was doing all this-- it just felt right. I felt the bluntness of him kiss my anus, felt him squeeze out more of his lubricant against my pucker, felt his finger spread me a little and enter, pushing the slippery liquid of his passion for me inside, preparing me for his sex.
We were kissing deeply, moaning, loving, and I wanted him inside me so badly I could barely keep from impaling myself on him, but I knew that would hurt, and he would stop. It had to be almost painless, or he would not take me, he would read it on my face and pull away, waiting for a better day, better lubricant.
He knew what to do. We all read the real sex manuals (the pornography from the adult bookstores, not the childish stuff the schools present as "adult" sex education.) We know where things go, where they don't, how they work, and pretty much why.
I wanted him with only his natural lubrication, because that would mean everything inside me would be his alone. I never told him that, but he knew. He wanted it, too, because it would make him take his time receiving my once-in-a-lifetime gift, waiting for his body to reach just the right stage for our intercourse to happen. We talked of this only after, not before. I knew what I wanted him to do, and he somehow knew the same thing.
His dick started leaking
greater and greater amounts of his lubricant, and with each squeeze, more
was applied to my pucker, his dick always there, moving round, no pressure
at all, just spreading more and more slippery liquid on me, a little inside
me. There was a gentle push and squeeze, and I knew he had opened me just
a little bit, just enough to deposit more of his liquid inside me through
the tiny slit in his dick, getting me ready. He was constantly raising
my desire for him to really enter me, for his sex to plunge into my
depths and deposit deep inside my body the very essence of him -- millions of his sperm, swimming vigorously upstream, looking for a place to enter my bloodstream and swim to my heart.
He reached to my dick, and milked out some of my lubricant, using it to slick himself up more, getting himself ready to enter. Our mouths were as one, our tongues twirling 'round one another like mating snakes, our moans both tender and urgent.
I reached around and felt him, so hard, so proud, so slick and ready for me, and I felt his ball sack, his testicles squirming up and down as if alive, anxious to participate in the coming event.
The pressure increased a little again, and I felt myself opening, being opened, trying to accommodate his big knob. I knew once that was in, all would be well, as the ring of muscle in my anus would snap closed behind the corona of his knob, holding him inside me. I tried to relax, to make as if I was going to shit like I read in a porn story where this guy does his girlfriend in the butt because she won't let him in the front door until they're married. I was afraid to do that too much, afraid that I might actually get him dirty and ruin our moment. There was a quick stab of not-quite-pain, and I could tell he was almost in, he was just a tiny way from being inside me for real.
I couldn't stop myself. There was no other way. I pulled my butt up to meet him with my legs, digging my heels into the small of his back, pulling him down, and there was another sharp stab, not really painful, and I felt the knob of Brad's manhood pass into me, beyond the ring of muscle. I bore down to keep him from pulling out, and I moaned my pleasure, my joy.
"Oh god!" he cried, I'm inside you, it's . . . God! I love you!"
I wriggled a little, getting used to him.
"Is it all right?" he asked me, not knowing for sure if my moans were of pleasure or of pain.
De Sade said the borders between the two can blur when it comes to sex. It hurt some, especially at first, when my muscles cramped up. At the same time, it was pure pleasure, and I tried to tell Brad what I felt with him finally inside me. I'm afraid I just burbled and cooed. Said something about how long I had wait for him, my true love, how glad I was to have him in my body, how much I wanted to feel him completely inside me, filling me with his manhood and his seed. Crap like that. No, not crap. For real.
It took a few minutes before he made it to the bottom of the well. He'd move back and then in a bit more, no more than a quarter inch at a time, rocking gently into me, depositing ever more lubricant into my channel to ease entry, taking a little of my lubricant to keep slick the part of him that was not yet inside me. I held his balls in awe as they gradually got closer and closer to the base of my spine, knowing this meant that more and more of him was mine. I held them out of the way as he kept making inexorable progress, all the time telling me how wonderful I felt encasing him, how much he loved me.
I was just as mushy, telling him how much more remained of him not yet inside me, almost pulling myself, impaling myself on my man. From somewhere a pillow appeared under my ass, no - it was his right arm beneath me, holding me up, in the right position, taking some of the strain off my back. I opened my legs a little wider, daring to unhook my heels, as he held me up to him. Suddenly, something gave way deep inside me, and his sex came all the rest of the way in, his pelvis hard against my perineum, his stomach muscles rubbing against my dick.
I felt full, but comfortable. I thought I could feel the knob of him deep inside me, and as he pulled pack, I felt the suction it created inside me, and for a split second hoped it wouldn't bring my shit out of its storage place, wherever that is. Then I forgot everything but my lover as the knob of him massaged my magic spot, inside me, somewhere between my anus and my stomach, starting a vibration in me that I had never experienced.
I still held his balls with
my right hand, and my left went to caress his neck, touch his tits, pinch
them ever so little, and he reversed course, plunging back down inside
me, but not all the way, not yet. He seemed to know where my prostate was
(Strange. I never knew that word before, I don't think, but I knew that
was the term for my magic spot from that moment on.) The knob of his dick
stopped moving on either side of it, going back and forth, slowly but not
too slowly. He gradually increased the tempo from "slow ahead" to half
speed, and I suddenly felt the beginning of the Feeling somewhere in the
depths of my belly, just under my lungs,
and I wasn't flogging myself. The only stimulation I was getting was on the inside from his dick, and the gentle tapping of the bottom of my dick against his strong stomach muscles as he moved in and out of me.
"I'm getting close, Brad," I whispered between kisses, and pulled his mouth back to mine. He wasn't even breathing hard, we were being so careful.
He pulled his lips from mine for a moment, and said, "Loon, I'll love you for all Eternity, I swear, but I can't last more than a second longer."
"Do it, Brad. Do it!" I hoarsely cried, then I lost it. I thought of him about to jet his seed into me, thought of how his knob would expand, get harder, expand a little more, then send a huge salvo deep into me. I thought how he would plunge to the bottom of me, making sure that his seed went as far into me as he could make it go.
My orgasm came from everywhere and nowhere. Every nerve in my body hit the red line, and I convulsed as the first spasm began. It seemed to take forever, as the muscles at the base of my dick seemed to wind up for a pitch, building, building. Then just all hell broke loose.
The muscles in my butt contracted around Brad's sex, and it tipped him over the edge. He yelled into my mouth and just drove as deep into me as he could, his pelvis almost welded to my nut sack as he began to pulse. I felt his first shot with my fingertips on the bottom of his dick, behind his balls, which now lay up against my tailbone, pushed as far down his dick as they could go by my butt. It was like a sudden inward contraction, like the guns you see in cartoons on Saturday mornings.
There was a sharp almost-pain as I started to spew. I have no idea how far my first shot of spunk went, but I saw it out of the corner of my eye, passing under his left arm, over the side of the bed.
I'd be lying if I said I actually felt Brad's semen spurt from the head of his dick into my body, but in my minds eye I did, and that's all that counts. It was good for him, really good, I could tell.
My orgasm smashed through my body in a second, even stronger, wave, and even my shoulders went overload. I blacked out when the third wave broke over me, my eyes just short-circuiting.
Brad's deep and gut wrenching noises continued with each pulse of his dick, gradually diminishing. I missed one or two, maybe three of his pulses while I was out. I don't think -- didn't think -- Brad noticed, being preoccupied with his own orgasm. He was definitely having a major climax.
We stayed locked together like that for maybe fifteen minutes, me just absorbing his love, kissing tenderly and licking the few beads of perspiration from his neck and ears. We rolled onto our sides, my legs fitting perfectly into the hollows of his waist. I still grasped his nuts -- the sack had somehow got a lot smaller and more wrinkled in my hand, the orbs inside up close to his body. My left hand wandered over his back, lightly caressing. We talked little, all the stuff you've already heard from your own partner, so I won't bore you with specifics. One really strange thing had happened while he was in the middle of his orgasm. He called me Loon. But he couldn't have, not really. His tongue was as far into my mouth as mine was into his when I heard him say it. I swear I heard him say "I love you, Loon." You can't say 'love' or 'Loon' without using your tongue -- inside your own mouth. Curious. I didn't say anything to him -- why spoil a perfect deflowering?
"I'm not a virgin any more," I whispered into Brad's face, feeling him still inside me.
"Me neither," said Brad.
"You mean you've never . . . uh . . . fucked before?"
"Nope," he said.
"What about Cindy? And Shawna? And Maureen?"
"You never . . . made it with them?"
"Nope. Cindy gave me a few hand jobs, and Maureen took me in her mouth, but not all the way."
"You weren't . . . fucking?"
"Never, I swear."
"Where the hell did you learn how to do it, then?" I demanded, almost petulant. This had better be a good one, I thought.
I just did what you . . . what we . . . what I thought you'd like me to be doing," he grinned at me. That smile would launch a hell of a lot more ships than Helen of Troy.
"Wow," I said. "That's a tough act to follow!"
"All in due time. All in due time."
I didn't cotton what he meant by that, but I didn't care. I just wanted to lay there like this, with him inside me, until Mom and Dad got there.
It was not, of course, to be. My gut started to move to the tune of nature, and I knew if he didn't let me up, I would start dumping right there.
"I'm gonna have to go," I whispered.
"Oh." He said, at once disappointed and understanding.
'Now," I whispered. I was getting worried.
"Okay," he said.
And he rolled to the side of the bed, still inside me, but now with me on top of him. He just swung his legs over the side of the bed, leaned forward and got up, me hanging on to him with my arms around his neck, my legs clasped around his slim hips. He was still hard, and I felt him moving around inside me as he walked us into the hall.
"I don't want to come out yet," he said. "I want to stay there while you pee."
" I don't think it's just pee," I said, embarrassed.
"Try," he said.
"No, really," I whispered. "I gotta dump."
"Not yet," he said. "You haven't had time to absorb my . . . stuff."
My dick was soft, and I started to feel an urge to pee. My butt seemed to be calming down, and I told him.
He walked past the toilet to the bathroom, into the shower, with me still draped around him, feeling his hardness inside me.
"Doesn't it hurt?" I asked. He was turning on the shower. Letting it get warm.
"My weight on your, uh, dick."
"What are you doing?"
"Helping you pee."
"In the shower?"
"Think of a better way to pee without me coming out of you?"
"Uh," I had a hard time saying it. "But if I pee, it will be all over you."
"Thus the shower, Loon," he stage-whispered, and kissed me as he walked us behind the big glass partition that kept water from splashing into the bathroom.
I felt the warm water of the shower on my back, and clung to Brad like a monkey.
"Now, relax and let yourself pee," he said in my ear, nuzzling me.
And I did just as he said. At first there was nothing. Then a little dribble. He looked down and saw it, and said "thattaboy," and I felt him flex his dick inside me, and the dribble turned to a torrent, splashing out and up, reaching his nipples. He reached over my leg and held me so my pee went to the side, between us, over my leg and against the wall of the shower.
"All done?" he said, milking the last drops from my now shriveled dick. I would have been embarrassed beyond words if he had even seen me naked three days before, now I felt no shame that my shrunken penis was in his hand, my pee washing from between us in the warm water of the shower.
"Now what?" I said, amused at our situation. There was no way we could dry ourselves like this.
"We're going out in the sun and make love in God's eyes," he said. He was serious, I could tell.
"Outside?" I said, a little loudly. "Like this? In the grass?"
"Nope," he said, and turned off the shower. He walked us dripping wet back into the bedroom, our mouths locked in a deep kiss most of the way. "Grab the quilt off my bed."
I did, leaning down with him, feeling his hard dick move around inside me. The prospect of what we were about to do got me going all over again. He noticed my new-found erection and smiled at me, putting his other hand back under my butt to hold me up.
"Let's go." I don't know which one of us said that. I held the quilt behind him, hanging on to him like monkey to mother.
We sauntered out the front door, down to the walk. Brad had no shoes on, and I know the stones must have hurt, but he showed no sign. He walked us over to a pile of leaves we'd raked up the day before, and somehow we got the quilt to drape over it. He sank slowly to his knees, and lay us down on the soft quilt, over the crunchy sounding but very comfortable bed that the leaves made. His dick never moved from its new lair. I felt it, filling me, moving around a bit, never hurting, ready.
"I'm going to take you again, Loon. It will take longer this time, but I want our first time to be something we'll never -- ever -- forget," he said, starting to kiss my throat, my neck, my ears.
"Oh, god, Brad, I want it, I want it," was all my mouth would say. I know it's bad dialogue, but hey! We were teenagers!
This time it was even better. He moved inside of me with ease, and the knob of his dick hit exactly the right spot right from the beginning. He took his time, kissing me everywhere, my eyelids even, for God's sake, and talking me through the feelings he had for me. He told me how tight I felt around his dick, especially when I squeezed -- "like that" -- as he was pulling up, then relaxed as he plunged in again, past my prostate. He described me to me, and I didn't know me. He praised my hair (too curly), my cheekbones (too Indian-looking), my eyes of so many colors, my skin (but the zit!), and my nose. (Too "pert").
His strokes grew faster and deeper, and I sensed his urgency, his need to be inside me, to fill me with his seed again, make me his and his alone, make him mine. Me, Timothy Barton Weston, of all the people on earth, was the man he had chosen as his mate. I know -- I may only have been fifteen almost sixteen, but I thought of me as a man, not a boy, especially when he was inside me like that.
My body started, impossibly, to drive towards another huge climax, and still I held only his balls, keeping them from hurting him in slapping against my butt, kneading them gently despite the passion we were sharing. I stroked his neck as he plunged his tongue into my mouth, his breathing becoming ragged as he reached for his orgasm.
I heard him saying my name in love again, in my head, my imagination of course, as he could not possibly speak with his tongue so deep inside me. His plunging dick seemed to get bigger and bigger inside me, reaching spots of pleasure I could not possibly have.
I felt like a massive bass fiddle, the deep sound in my chest expanding, getting deeper deeper, and then exploding, rushing down my belly into my ass, up to my balls and I screamed into his mouth as my second orgasm of the morning ripped me apart.
Every muscle in my groin convulsed around him, gripping him in a vise, as the first volley of my cumming shot between us, hitting his chin. He yelled into my mouth too, as I forced him to cum inside me with my contractions, my hand massaging the cum up the shaft as he plunged, my gut sucking his seed even deeper into me than before. He had his dick buried in me, his shuddering body firing his first volley into me.
This time, I went out for the count. One instant I had the most powerful contraction of orgasm imaginable, the next I was a dishrag, unable to move or speak, not there but there all the same, feeling his dick pulsing, pushing, expanding and contracting, feeling the warmth of his love engulfing me, and then nothing at all.
"Loon!" I heard him call me. "Loon! You alright?"
"Yeah," I said, "I love you."
"I love you Loon, I love you more than life," he said from somewhere down in a well.
I opened my eyes, and his were looking into me, and there was nothing but Love there. All those people he could have had, yet he loved me. I glowed.
My stuff was all over our bellies, sticking us together. My gut was full of him, of his dick and of his seed. I thought again of his sperm swimming up to my heart, and I cried with the joy of it all, I couldn't contain the tears.
"I didn't hurt you?" he said, a tinge of worry in his voice.
"No," I said, smiling like the Cheshire Cat, tears still flowing. "You loved me."
He kissed me all over, and over again, and I kissed every part of him I could reach, his ears, his throat, his temples, his shoulders. I was hooked on the man. A total addict in just a couple of days. I would never get enough of him, never give him enough of me.
The sun peeked through the cedars and turned his golden hair a reddish hue.
"I'm coming out now," he said gently. "I don't want to leave, but I can't stay longer - you'll start digesting me. Besides - I have to pee."
I giggled at the thought, then dreaded him pulling out and finding himself dirty. "Please, God," I thought, "Make it perfect, even if it's only just this once."
I felt him pulling, and I clamped down with the muscles I figured would work the best, and watched with dread as his dick gradually appeared from within me, fascinated that it had all been inside me, that huge muscle of love. It just kept coming and coming, impossibly long, there was no way it could all have been in there, and there was a popping sound and the head sprang into view, clean and shiny, not a brown speck to be seen. I was relieved like I couldn't say, but there was an empty place inside me, where he had been and was no more.
"You've got me, under your skin," he crooned to me, and I enfolded him in my arms, pulling him down to me, just smelling him, touching him, in total wonderment that so much good could come into my life.
I had no more urge to dump, and I clamped my butthole tight as a drum to keep his fluids from seeping out, wanting to absorb every drop there was of him inside me. He didn't go into the Cabin to pee. He let me hold him as he watered the ground next to the quilt, laying on his side. We just pulled the quilt back a bit to keep from getting ant dribble on it. His stream was thick as a pencil, and shot a good five feet away in an arc to the ground. I shook his last drop off, and he just sighed, his hand on my thigh. I drifted.
We dozed until the sun struck us at nine, the hot rays making it uncomfortable to lay on the quilt any longer. I got up, kissing him softly on the lips to wake him, then kissing his dick, even though it had been deep inside my butthole. I was hooked on the guy, on his pleasure pole, on his smile, on everything about him.
"It's my turn, soon" he smiled up at me.
"Huh?" I said stupidly.
"We've still got some virginity to share with each other," he said slyly.
I looked at him, at his gorgeous ass as he got up, and wondered again at my incredible fortune at having him as my partner, wondered if I would be good enough for him when the time came.
"Of course you will," his voice said. But he never moved his lips, I'm certain. Must have been the sun, I thought.
He smiled his wonderful smile, and the day began.