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.

Chapter IX

Friday, July 2, 1993

The cabin looked a lot better with the plantings we'd done that morning. More "lived in" that it had before. Clearing away all the brush had helped, too. As we slowly went up the drive, Brad avoiding the deeper ruts to keep his suspension in one piece, a ray of the setting sun caught the old weathervane on top of the "barn" and turned the whole scene magic, like a Walt Disney film..

We didn't talk about much while we set up for supper. I sliced the ham, real thin, and Brad cut thick slices of Mom's wheat bread. We built a stack of sandwiches big enough for all four of us, just in case Mom and Dad made it, putting theirs under plastic wrap on a plate in the fridge. We could always eat them for breakfast.

We lit the fire in the main room, and sat on the couch, cuddled up together, munching on the sandwiches, drinking milk right out of the cartons. Mom would have had a fit.

"Do you really think they'll know?" I asked at one point.

"Don't know," he murmured in my ear. "I suppose we can't just out and tell them."

"Oh, and by the way, Mom, Brad and me want to have the same bedroom with a queen-sized bed at home so we can screw?"

"Don't be dumb," he said. "Never happen."

"Got a better idea?"


"What happens to us when you go?" Brad would be leaving in two months for 'New Joisey,' driving all the way across in the 'Maro.

"I don't know. We're going to have to work on that."

"I want to work on this, right now," I said, lightly rubbing his sex under my arm.

"Not tonight, Loon," he said gently, squeezing me closer to him. "They could be here any minute."

"You heard what Mary said," I said as seductively as I figured I knew how. "It's not even ten o'clock. Bet we could do it at least three times between now and midnight."

He was getting hard under my arm.

"Unless your advanced years are slowing you down, I mean," I said, tilting my head for a kiss.

"We . . . " he started, but never finished. I planted a wet one on him, and he was lost.

We writhed on the couch for a few minutes, then banked the fire and headed for our bed. Brad lit the candle on his bedside, while I went and brushed my teeth. In turn, while he was scrubbing his pearlies, I took out clean sheets, made up the bed, threw the quilt back over Brad's bed and put the rest of Chan's handiwork away. He took a long time, as you can tell. I think he washed his privates again, like I had. "GI shower," Dad used to call it.

I jumped under the covers just as he came back, his T-shirt and shorts in his hand. He looked just like that statue of David you see all the time, the one by Michaelangelo, except Brad is much better looking and has a nicer body -- and a much bigger dick. I took another photograph for my lifebook.

He crawled into the bed beside me, and I got the usual little shock of his first touch on my chest. We just melded into a mass of writhing passion, our lips glued, our hearts going haywire.

I took him in my mouth for a little bit, not trying to bring him off, just make him feel loved, and he took me in his. I started to get within sprinting distance, and that's not the way I wanted it, so quickly over. I drew away from him, and pulled his head up to me for more kissing.

He knew immediately what I wanted, and I knew he wanted me the same way. We rolled over so he was on top of me, and our hands and legs and arms moved in unison to the places we had discovered only the day before. We kissed, with love and tenderness and the new familiarity, knowing what was to come and savoring the anticipation.

One of the many blessings we have is that we both secrete copious amounts of lubricant. We almost never have to resort to stuff out of a tube, unless we've been at each other too much. That does happen, but we can put up with a little inconvenience now and then. The first time it happened was weeks after we first realized we were in love.

His lube flowed strong and quickly, and he was soon slick enough, and had enough of it worked into and around me, to begin his entry. I was tender down there, but it just served to make me more sensitive when the head of his dick touched my soft entrance. It almost didn't hurt, but it was a lot better when my ring of muscle snapped behind his knob, welcoming him home. He was gentle and strong, and entered me with the same care and tenderness as when he took me the first time.

He entered me slowly, letting me feel every ripple on his sex as it passed inside, never hurting, always caring. Of all the ways we make love, this is my favorite, my man inside me or me inside him, our lips making love, our eyes making love, either his hands holding my jewels or mine holding his, making sure we bring each other to climax. Sometimes we deliberately time it so that we can enjoy each other's orgasm separately, but more often than not we come together, the orgasm of one bringing the other quickly to
climax. It's unavoidable.

He took me up and down the lift so many times that night, it's a wonder our orgasms didn't kill us. We'd get just to the point where one of us was about to tip into climax, and he'd stop. Just like that. Pull back until my ring was just barely trapping the crown of his knob and stop. Tell a joke, he did once, sending me into a fit of laughter that threatened to push him out. Made me count backwards from one hundred before he'd kiss me again, just staring into my eyes. (I went from sixty to forty-nine, and he didn't catch me out, so he wasn't concentrating, either.) He went completely soft once, he waited so long -- but I took care of that with some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

The candle was burning down to the stub when he took us to the other side of heaven, so slowly that the Feeling built up to a hurricane before it hit. I was begging him to send his seed into me, almost crying in my need for him, and he was drenching me with his sweet perspiration, dripping from his chin, his nipples, his nose. The bed was wet beneath me, and there was a fire in my belly. It started under my chest, like a cramp almost, and I knew I was close, so close I would no longer be able to stop it.

"Loon," he whispered in my mouth, "we're going to do it this time, and it's going to be wonderful."

I was past the ability to talk, I just thought "Brad, I love you more than you'll ever be able to believe." And I did. I do.

"I believe you, Loon. I love you the same way."

I must have got the words out through my keening.

I was jangling like a carillon, played by a master. My fingertips were so sensitive I could feel the tiny hairs on his back, just above where his crack starts, so fine they can only be seen in the sunlight. My legs were almost numb from grasping his waist for so long, and needle and pins attacked my toes. My insides were screaming for release, and my heartbeat was like kettledrums.

His balls were in total turmoil, drawn up to his dick so tightly they must have been painful.

Then the Feeling took over my body, and I just cried out in release, shouting out something totally unintelligible, every muscle in my body in spasm, pulling him into me, trying to pull the seed out of his body before he even reached his climax, and I started to come. At least two jets crashed into the underside of his chin, which I saw, and he yelled out as his orgasm began and he plunged into me and stopped, his body convulsing with the force of his first spurt. I blacked out completely from current surge. The pleasure was too much for me. I had never -- ever -- had a climax like that. And only a few times since, like last month at Reston . . .

When I came around, Brad was still inside me but he was about to pull out, concern all over his face, a touch of fear in his eyes. He was breathing like a locomotive, his heart pounding audibly.

"Are you okay?" he said, covering my face with his lips, holding me in his bear-like grip, dripping with sweat, his sweet sweat. I tasted him, slightly salty, musky, wonderful. I smelled him, his odor now so familiar, the smell of sex all over us.

"Umm," I said in my fog. "Perfect. You are so Perfect for me. I love you."

"You were . . . out."

"Sensory overload," I said in his mouth. "That was incredible."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah." I muttered. "Don't come out yet." I felt him starting to pull back.

"I won't."

I looked down, and I was covered in my own come. It was everywhere, dripping over my side, making a pool in the hollow of my belly as if I'd pissed myself, Brad had my come on his neck, his chest, his belly. I felt a puddle in the hollow of my neck, that squished out the sides as I looked down. I couldn't believe all that had come from me alone.

"Did you pull out and come on me?" I asked him.

"Nope! All your fault." He licked the stuff from under my chin. "Yum!"

He reached over and grabbed my T-shirt and wiped me, then himself. By the time he was done, the T-shirt was sodden. My balls ached.

He moved my leg over his head and did a flip turn, ending behind me, caressing me, wiping me again, cooling me with his breath, clasping his legs around my left leg, keeping himself inside me.

"I love you Loon," he nuzzled my ear.

I twisted a little, put my arm under his shoulders, kissed him and ran my fingers over his face, as he ran his fingertips over my chest and left side, sending shivers all through me.

"I love you, Brad," I thought, unable to speak with his lips glued to mine.

"I know, Loon," he said, coming up for air. "I'm in love with you, too. I never knew it would be like this."

"Me either," I said. We were both still breathing heavily -- my ears were ringing. "Does it get better?"

"Not possible. It would kill us.'"


Just then, the candle sputtered out, and moonbeams poked through the shutters. It was the perfect end to the day: Candlelight, moonbeams, my lover's arms around me, his sex deep within me, the smell of our lovemaking surrounding us. I never wanted it to end, but I fell into a deep sleep, even before I heard Brad's sleep breathing begin.

I dreamed something about flying backwards, looking over my shoulders at my wings, looking over to my right to see my Brad flying right side up, just a few feet away. Suddenly, I started to fall, and I was scared, but then I felt his arms around me, and his tiny little snore in my ear told me everything was all right, so I went back to sleep.

Some time during the night, I thought I felt him slipping from inside me, and I grabbed the damp T-shirt to wipe him, just in case. It smelled of sex and my shit, and I hoped he would wait until after I'd cleaned him up but he didn't.

"It can't be clean all the time. Don't worry about it," he said in my right ear.

He took the T-shirt from me and wiped himself, and my butt.

"We can keep towels by the bed if it'll make you feel better."

Yeah," I whispered back. "I don't want you to go off me."

"We'll see," he whispered back, throwing the T-shirt in the vague direction of the doorway. "Go back to sleep."

I had dreams then that scared the piss out of me. I woke to the sounds of birds in the trees and sun coming through the shutters, like it does at around ten in the morning. "Ten!" I thought. Mom and Dad will be here soon! I lifted my head up from the pillow, and his strong arms were still around me.

I remembered the incredible love we had shared the night before, and wondered if I was pregnant, if maybe we both were, and what the babies would look like. I hoped mine would look like Brad.

I looked over at the door, because there was movement there, and it was . . . Dad! Mom was right behind him. They must have left early that morning -- real early! I went to leap out of bed, to tell them that it wasn't like it looked, but Brad pulled me back in his sleep, saying he wouldn't let me go until I fucked him as good as he had fucked me. But I couldn't, I could never be as good as him.

Mom put her hand to her mouth, and started crying. Dad stomped into the room shouting, "You pansies don't belong on this beach! This is a family beach!"

I looked to Brad for support, but he was asleep, and when I shook him to wake him up, my Dad said, "Keep your hands off him. He's my son! Get out! Get out!" And I ran out of the house without any clothes and Billy was there with Bud and Chris and Susie and Sandy and they pointed at my dick I was still naked and my dick was the size of an acorn squash but all black and covered with mud and they pointed at it at and hollered "pansy pansy dick all covered in shit" and I ran and ran to escape them until I was Downtown.

There was a street corner full of kids my age their faces all covered with sores oozing yellow pus and they chased me away yelling out "Pansy you've got AIDS get away from us" So I ran and ran and I got to the Bay Bridge trying to get to San Francisco where I'd be safe in the gay ghetto but Brad was there and he pointed at me and said "I can't love you! You're my brother and you have AIDS!" and there were police cars everywhere and they wouldn't let me by so I jumped off the bridge and I was falling falling into the water and it was dark and I called out "Brad! Help! Help me!"

Brad pulled me into his arms and kissed the back of my neck, and said 'Shhh! It'll be all right, you're okay, Loon, it's OK.' And I turned into his loving arms, and it was all right, I was back in the cabin, and sunlight was coming through the shutters like it does at ten o'clock in the morning. Birds were singing, and I was covered in sweat.

I looked at the doorway, but Mom and Dad weren't there, and he was holding me, and I was awake.



"Bad, huh?"

'Unh huh."

"Gotta pee?"


"Well, forget it, kid."

I looked at him, and he was the muscle guy from the beach and I knew I had cheated on Brad and let the guy come inside me and that Brad was lost to me forever. I started to cry for my lost love, and great sobs came from me, hurting my insides, and I looked up, and I was under water, and I could see Brad up there, his body so gorgeous against the silvery surface, and I was sinking, falling, sinking into the dark . .

"I love you," said Brad in my ear, in my head, and I woke again. It was dark, and Brad was somehow still inside me. I wondered if this was the dream again. Had I dreamed the T-shirt was dirty, that he had pulled out of me? Was all this just a dream?

"Stop dreaming so loud, Loon."

I snuggled back against him, and his arms enclosed me in protection. "I love you Brad."

"Shhh!" he whispered in my ear, "Go back to sleep, my love."

I felt his dick inside me, and it pulsed as if to prove that it was real, and I went immediately back to sleep, secure in my man's arms.

Saturday, July 3, 1993

Once more, I woke, the birds singing outside, but the room was still gray with early morning light. Brad held me in a tight embrace, and I could feel his sex pulsing inside me, his morning hardon probing me. We'd slept the whole night with him inside me! I shivered at the already-fading memory of the strange dreams.

I fidgeted a little, trying to suppress my urgent call to pee, but there was no way. I looked for my T-shirt to see if I could clean him up if I was dirty, but it was nowhere to be seen. I started to pull away from him, feeling his dick move a little out of me, but he pulled me back to him, and his sex went back into me, maybe a little farther than before.

"Mmmmph!" he said. "I love you."

"I love you Brad, but I gotta go pee."

He reached around me and felt my dick. It was as hard as they get. He stroked me gently, and instantly I was horny more than I was desperate to pee.



He rolled me a little on to him, and lifted up so I could get my arm around his neck and turn to his waiting lips.

"I'm already close," he whispered to me.

"Do it!" I said, feeling his hand milk me, my lube already flowing.

His lips were sealed to mine, and our tongues embraced. He tasted of vanilla, even after the whole night. His hips rocked gently to my butt and his dick moved inside me, rubbing my prostate, and I felt faint with the urge to come in his hand.

Twenty or so strokes was all it took. My lube made his hand all slippery, and I warned him I was about to gush.

"Do it!" he whispered on my lips, and the next stroke sent me over the edge. The Feeling enveloped me, and I felt my inside muscles clamp down on him as I started to shoot into his hand. It wasn't hugely intense, just warm and satisfying, and I spurted into his hand as he kissed me and plunged two more times before I felt the pulsing of his sex, letting me know he was giving me an instant refill of his seed.

"I love you," he said. "I can't believe how much I love you." He lifted his right hand to his mouth, full of my weak offering, and licked my semen from it, like a cat drinks its milk. I squeezed his dick, now rapidly deflating, getting as much of him into me as I could before pulling away, squeezing as much as I could as his dick plopped out of me.

I looked down, and it just glistened, There was a tiny smudge, but nothing like I had dreamed.

I almost ran to the toilet, barely making it before my bladder let loose with a massive stream. I had to wipe the splatter from the seat back when I finished. I wondered if I should try to take a dump, but I didn't feel any pressure, so I just wiped myself and turned to flush the toilet. The paper showed no stains, which somehow made me feel good. Then my body told me it was time to take a dump. Now. I had to comply, but felt badly that Brad's love was being washed out of me before its time . . .

I took a damp washcloth and a towel back to Brad, and despite his protest that he was all right, I cleaned his tool and dried it. No way was he going to be dirty from me if I could help it.

He drew me up into his arms and showed me he loved me with his eyes, his tongue and his lips. I tried to show him, too, but he's better at it than I am.

He crawled out of bed and went to the toilet, while I tried to rearrange the disaster area of my bed. We'd really torn one off -- the sheets looked like they'd been dried in a heap, creases everywhere, and I had practically to remake the entire bed. It smelled of Brad.

By seven thirty, we were sitting on the porch, drinking milk and eating cinnamon toast, watching the sun's rays work their way down the trunks of the trees, reach the edge of the clearing, and start towards the house. Brad reached for me, and I leaned into his embrace.

We were deep into a prolonged kiss when Brad pulled away and said "someone's coming." I listened, but heard nothing. But I felt . . . something . . . like watching a movie where you know what's going to happen next, even before it happens. I knew somehow that it wasn't Mom and Dad.

We took the breakfast things back into the cabin, then went out to the porch to wait.

A few minutes later, we heard a truck or maybe Jeep engine coming down the road towards the village. It slowed at our entrance, turned left onto it, and came up the hill, finally turning the bend into the clearing a minute or two later. It was the "Chain Guys" from the beach, in an old open sided Jeep that looked like it had been war surplus when my Dad was a kid. Still had remnants of military green paint here and there, but it was mostly bare metal. The metal wasn't rusty at all, so they must keep it in a garage, waxed, I thought idly.

What were their names? Ed Parker had told us, but I could only remember one, Mark Chatman, the builder. I figured him to be the big guy who put the beach bunny lifeguard in his place on . . . Thursday?

"Hiya!" said the skinny one as they got near the house. He was driving. The big guy just saluted us.

"Hey," Brad said. We stood close, but not touching.

The big guy hopped out of the jeep before it had come to a full stop, and came up to the porch in huge strides, not fast, not slow. He stopped at the foot of the steps and looked up at us, his head just out of the sun. He looked like a pretty tough hombre in his cargo shorts and tan work shirt, Nubucks and white socks.

"We woulda called, but Junior says you ain't got a 'phone." While the big guy spoke, the thin one stopped the engine and was at the side of his . . . friend. He was dressed the same way, but looked more affable. He almost swam in the shorts, and the work shirt hung in folds on his body

I wondered if they had some news about Mom and Dad, but that didn't seem likely, since we didn't know them.

"What's up?" Brad moved closer to me, almost as if protecting me from something.

"Don and me managed to put the big old chipper in its final resting place last night," said the booming voice of the thin Chain. So HE was Mark Chatman! I'd never have thought the big guy was an artist, like Junior had said. Or a dog breeder. I had visions of a flock of those little honey-colored poodles at his feet, each with a little blue ribbon tied around the hair on top, and had to suppress a huge giggle.

"Notice he says 'we' did it," laughed the big guy. "He tried to feed it a four-by-eight beam section, and the thing had a total fit. Just lay down and died after spreading blades, motor parts and the drive chain all over the lot."

"Damned thing nearly killed us," said Mark. "The cylinder head almost clipped me, and the drive chain missed Mark by no more than two feet."

"Bullshit," said Mark. "It was a good six feet from me, at least!"

"At least I had the common sense to duck," said skinny Chain. "As usual, you just stood there watching the thing blow itself to smithereens!"

"He was trying to dig gopher holes," laughed the big guy to us. "All I saw was elbows and asshole!"

"Sorry, guys," jumped in little Chain. "I'm Mark Chatman, and this is Don Mounty, my partner."

Partner had a ring to it. You knew it meant more than just 'friend," from the intonation, somehow.

"I'm Brad Weston." He put his arm on my shoulder, almost possessively. "This is Tim." He had the same intonation. It meant more than what it said.

"Yeah," said Mark. "Ed told us you were brothers."

"Yep!" I said proudly. Don gave me a funny look.

"Any idea how much longer you guys are going to need that?" Mark pointed at the chipper.

"We're through with it," said Brad. "We'll take it back to Parker's today."

"No need," said Don. "We asked Parker if it was okay to take it on up to the ridge, and he gave us the green light. We'll pay you back your deposit, and just haul it outta here, if that's all right with you."

"Okay by us," Brad said. "What do we do about the papers?"

"Ed faxed us the new contract," said Mark, pulling a sheet of flimsy paper out of his shorts.

"No, that's okay," said Brad. "Ed knows us pretty good. Go ahead and take it."

"Well, here's the deposit," said Don, pulling a wad of bills out of his pocket and peeling off a few notes. "Plus today's rental, seein' as how we're using it, not you." Mark was already walking back to the Jeep. "And here's our card, if you need something to show Parker."

Brad took the money and the card, and stuffed it into his pocket, not bothering to count it. See what I mean about him not being the best at handling money?

Mark backed the Jeep up to the chipper. He knew what he was doing - the hitch on the chipper was no more than a couple of inches from the Jeep's knob.

"You guys really brothers?" Don asked quietly, barely audible over the old Jeeps' whine.

"Yeah, what of it?" I asked, putting my arm around Brad's waist. It just felt like the right thing to do.

"Nothin," said Big Chain. Oops - 'Don.' "I thought you guys were . . ." he stopped, looking for the right words.

"We are," I said defiantly. I felt Brad tense.

"Yeah." He started to turn to help his partner, then turned back to Brad. "You over eighteen?"

"Almost," Brad said, still tense. His voice was deeper than usual.

"He's underage," Don said. Not criticizing, not asking. Just stating.

"We know," Brad said.

"Yeah. Well, thanks!" he said, turning again to the Jeep, which Mark had somehow managed to hook up without help . . . Conversation over.

"No problem," I said before Brad could react.

"You guys take care, hear?" Called Mark from the Jeep as he clambered in. "You need anything, you call us!"

"Number's on the card," hollered Don over the Jeep's engine as he got close to jumping in. "Don't be shy!"

With a grace that some big men manage to develop, he swung into the Jeep and they headed back down towards the road, the chipper jouncing as it hit the ruts. They waved at us just as they got to the curve at the edge of the clearing, and were gone.

"Well, we're out," said Brad.


"That's what they say when somebody says they're gay to other people," Brad said in a low voice. We heard the Jeep shift gears as it accelerated up the road, away from town.

"I didn't say that!" I said. I was on the defense.

"I did," said Brad.


"I told him I knew you were underage."

"That doesn't mean anything," I said.

"It meant that we were having sex together, and that I know you're not supposed to do it with anybody over eighteen," he said. The Jeep's noise finally faded as it topped the crest of the small ridge a little west of us on the old road.

"Do you think they'll tell anybody?"

"Most likely everybody in town will know in a couple of hours," he grinned at me.


"Teasing!" he kissed me. "You are so gullible sometimes!"

"I liked them." I kissed him back.

"Me too."

"Now what?"

"Let's clean up after ourselves, then do a little more on the firebreak."

The man is a workaholic.