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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.
It wasn't like we were queer or anything. I mean, I want to get that straight up from the start. Barry and me were just good friends . . . best friends . . . we just got carried away with the game . . .
"Hey, Char!" Barry called out from his Dad's Suburban, just as I came out the back door with my backpack.
"Hey!" I grinned back. "You're early!"
"Pete isn't ready yet, so we came here first," Barry almost shouted. It was seven o'clock Saturday morning, and his voice carried so well I could hear the echo off the Carlsen's house across the street.
"Mom! Dad!" I half-hollered through the screen door into the kitchen. "My ride's here! I'm gone!"
"You keep warm, Charlie, hear? And have a wonderful time!" Mom called from the other side of the pantry.
I dropped my backpack on the stoop and dashed back inside to give her a kiss, almost knocking the bowl of snap peas she was hulling for supper off her lap.
"Oof!" she smiled up at me. "Lucky thing I set the brakes! You almost shoved me out into the hall!"
That was an exaggeration, of course. I hardly pushed Mom's wheelchair at all.
"Bye, Mom," I said softly. Mom's ears are pretty sensitive, and it hurts her if we talk too loud. "I'll bring back some pine and cedar."
"Super!" she laughed up at me, her eyes crinkling. "Now get out of here and enjoy! And don't forget the food bag!"
"So long, Son!" called Dad from his office. He was installing a new software program on one of his clients' computers.
"Bye Dad!" I said, just loud enough for him to hear. I looked at Mom, her pretty face, her sparkling but sightless eyes, and squeezed her shoulder, then grabbed the canvas bag of food and dashed out the door.
"S'long, Char!" my big Bro, Terry, called from the garage. He was busy doing something on -- no, more accurately, under -- his car. He'd just bought it, from his savings, and was doing the first tune-up. He was leaving in a few days for his Junior year at Syracuse -- tuition, room and board paid by his scholarship, so he could dip into his savings.
I grabbed the backpack, almost losing the sleeping bag in the process, and called a good-bye back to him as I half ran to the back of the Suburban, which Mr. Johnston had already opened for me to throw in the pack.
"Morning, Charlie," he smiled down at me. Barry's Dad is almost seven feet tall, and looks real mean at first. But he's a pussycat, unless somebody crosses him bad. Barry told me about one time when they were in Georgia on vacation, and some Cracker made a comment about "niggers marrying trashy white women." Barry was scared his Dad was going to go to jail, but all the folk in the restaurant told the cops that the Cracker had fallen down the stairs in front of the restaurant after the owners refused to serve him 'cause he was drunk.
"Hey, Mr. Johnston," I puffed. "No rain all weekend!"
"So they say," he said, grabbing my pack and hefting it on top of the others. "But cold, nights." The bag of food found a niche, and the big door slammed shut.
We were on our way to the Covington campgrounds in the Adirondacks. Mr. Johnston was our Scoutmaster, but this wasn't a Troop outing, just eight of us and him for a three-day weekend of camping and fishing. My Dad would have liked to go, but he had to do the installation, and I think he wasn't happy leaving Mom alone for three days, even if Terry was going to be there.
I piled into the back with Barry, Tom Carter, Gary Frost, Bruce and Larry Walters and Kerry Teller. We were all seventeen, about to be new seniors in High School, loud and boisterous. I have no idea how Mr. Johnston put up with us. There was a constant babble as we went back to Pete Draper's house to get him, then got on to the Parkway, up to the Thruway, and into the green forests of New York.
I guess I dozed a while, leaning up against Barry. He's almost as tall as his Dad, but has much lighter skin, sort of Irish Coffee color, and green eyes. When I woke up, he had his arm around me, and I was snuggled into him. His head was on top of mine, and he slept, too. I opened my eyes, and the first thing I saw was my hand, just resting right on Barry's crotch, big as life. I snatched it away as soon as I realized whose hand it was, but by then it was too late, of course. Barry had wood in his jeans. Big time. So did I. I looked up to see if anybody noticed. Pete had his head on the backrest of the second bench, snoring lightly, and nobody was talking.
I sat up gradually, moving Barry's head back, and looked around. Gary was awake, looking right at me, from the other end of the bench where Pete slept. The twins were curled up together on the floor, sound asleep, Tom was up front with Mr. Johnston, and Kerry was next to me, cuddled up to the side of the car, in an impossibly uncomfortable position, sound asleep.
"Sleep good?" said Gary, softly. He had a wicked little smile on his lips.
"Uh . . . Yeah," I muttered.
Just then, Mr. Johnston called back "Pit stop, anybody?"
I suddenly had to pee desperately, and called out "Yeah!" just as the twins unraveled themselves and mumbled their own affirmations.
We pulled into a rest area, and everybody magically awoke. While Mr. Johnston filled the gas tank, we all trooped into the toilets for a communal pee, taking care not to get caught scoping each other. The twins went to get some gum, and we took our positions in the Suburban. Mr. Johnston had to pee, too, I guess, so he left us in the wagon while he went inside.
"So, Charlie, did you get a good feel?" Gary said evilly.
"Uh . . ." I was totally tongue-tied. I think I may have turned scarlet, but at the very least crimson.
"Feel what?" asked one of the twins as they crawled in. I can't tell them apart except when they both face me. Bruce has a scar over one eyebrow from when we were on the balance bars in gym and somebody sweat all over it then didn't wipe it down good enough.
"Ole Charlie was snuggled up to Barry with his hand all over his boyfriend's dick," said Gary.
"No!" screamed out at least four guys in mock horror. "Ole Charlie isn't one of them, is he?"
"Of course," said Barry. "We been doin' it together since grade school."
"Yech!" said Gary, "That's sick!"
I went along with the joke: "We do it at least twice a day. It's really delicious!"
"You're kidding!" said Larry. "Gross!"
"It's even better after he eats asparagus," said Barry.
Everyone retched and laughed, and the moment passed as Mr. Johnston came back to the car.
"I like it better in the morning, though." I said evilly. "He always has a lot more to give."
More retching noises. Mr. Johnston paid us no attention. He was used to the incomprehensible nature of most of our conversations.
The topic turned to fishing, and we made up a pool for the biggest catch of the day. Five bucks each, and Mr. Johnston held the pot. I only had sixteen dollars in my wallet, and I was tempted to not join in, but then figured what the heck, I still had two or three more weeks of good lawn-mowing weather left, then there would be the raking, then snow shoveling. I made twenty-one hours a week at the A&P, too, on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. and this year I was allowed up to thirty hours as long as I kept up my grade point average..
I'm not quite as book smart as my brother, so I figured I'd not get any scholarship, and I wanted desperately to follow him to Syracuse. I banked almost every penny I made, from my part-time at the A&P, summer lawns and pool care, Christmas clerking, you name it. I had nearly eight thousand in the account, but that was a pittance, of course. Syracuse is not cheap! My coach said I might be good enough to get an athletic scholarship, but I doubted my swimming abilities would warrant a very big check.
I reflected a second or three on the way some people in life got so much more than others. My Dad works real hard, but we never seem to have much. I think Mom's bills are pretty high, because after Dad got "downsized" by his corporation I heard them arguing one night about whether or not she needed something. She said no, he said yes. She said it wasn't covered, he said he didn't care, she was going to have it. I fell asleep then, so I don't know the outcome.
We got to the campsite around one, and they assigned us to the farthest site on the west side of the lake, probably in hopes of isolating our noise from the rest of the campers.
We set up the tents, then broke out the grub. I made my favorite sandwiches: peanut butter, jelly, banana and bologna. I can always count on Mom to know what to put in my food kit.
After scrub-up, we took the fishing gear off the top of the Suburban and went down to the dock to get our boats. Barry and me and Gary took one, the twins went with Mr. Johnston, and Tom, Kerry and Pete took the third. We got three tubs of live night crawlers, three six-packs of Dr. Pepper to hang into the cold water, and life jackets for all, and were on the water by three. Naturally, we all headed for different spots, depending upon whoever thought he knew best where the fish would bite.
Barry suggested the lee side of the little island in the north arm of the lake, and neither Gary nor I had a better suggestion, so we putted over to it and dropped the concrete anchor, got our lines baited and into the water, all the while citing statistics on the Yankees amazing season, the reasons why, all that stuff.
"So Charlie," Gary pipes up. "You really into guys?" He gave Barry a "heads up" grin.
"Absolutely," I grinned back. "But they gotta be circumsized, so if you're looking for a freebie, keep lookin,' pardner." I knew from the gym showers that Gary had all his skin. "I'm not into head cheese."
"Bleah!" said Gary in disgust. "I . . . "
I got a hit. A hard one. My pole bent, and the line sang out, then stopped. I grabbed the pole and set the hook, and waited for only a few seconds before my fish started out for the safe depths of the center of the lake. I scrambled towards the back of the boat, which turned in the direction of my fish, and tried to brake the line a little. No way. I was using twenty-pound test, and my fish was exerting a hell of a lot more pull than that.
"I think we better pull the anchor," Barry said, even as he did so. My line was playing out fast. Barry scrambled to the back. "Get up front as I turn her," he said, pulling the engine to half-life. Gary had pulled in his line, and was pulling Barry's in as well, shouting encouragement, telling me where my fish was headed when the line went under the boat..
I followed Barry's direction, and kept the tension on the line as even as I could. My fish wouldn't give an inch, just kept headed out, and down. Barry turned the boat away from the line, swinging the back end around until the line went straight out in front of the boat. He slowly followed the fish, and I managed to reel in a few yards.
An hour later, Barry scooped up the biggest large-mouth I'd ever seen, maybe twenty pounds. My arms were lead weights, my fingers numb. But I'd landed my fish, and I was pretty proud. A year earlier, and I'd have lost him, trying to use brute force instead of steady pressure to bring him to the surface. Barry said he was proud of the way I'd landed my fish, and that was somehow more important than actually landing it.
Over the next couple of hours, I didn't get another strike. Barry got a couple of browns, and Gary got three browns and a small-mouth.
The "all-in" horn sounded just after we'd landed Gary's third brown, so we headed back. No more mention was made of gay stuff. We just lazed and talked shit.
Gary reckoned I had a pretty good shot at the pool, and when we compared with the others, I had it hands down. My big-mouth was twice the size of any other. Once that was determined, he went back into the lake. I hate bass, love trout.
We went back up to the campsite, and lit the fire for supper. There were enough trout to go around, so we didn't open any of the freeze-dried stuff except potatoes, and canned peas seemed to go right with fish.
By the time we'd eaten and scrubbed pots, it was already getting dark. Mr. Johnston said goodnight to us and retreated to his tent, well away from the rest of us. Sometimes adults can be really neat, you know? He figured we needed our space, and just gave it to us, no problem.
"So, you guys gonna do it tonight?" asked Gary out of the clear blue, when we were in the middle of a serious discussion on the merits of the Silverado versus the Ram and the F-150.
"Of course," said Barry. "If I don't take care of him every night, you're liable to get raped up here." He gave me a wink and a leer.
"That's a load of bull," I said. "He's the one's horny as a goat all the time. If I don't empty him out two or three times a day, he pokes holes in the mattress. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"
That got the desired results, gales of laughter to the point of tears, and the topic turned to something else more important, like SUV's, and were they cool to drive or not.
The twins retreated to their tent around nine, and the rest of us paired off a few minutes later. Barry and I had our usual lime green tent, and were soon rolling out our sleeping bags side-by-side.
"Let's give 'em something to whisper about," Barry said quietly.
"Let's zip our bags together and sleep in the nude."
"I'm not sure," I said. "I don't wanna gross you out."
"Don't be dumb," Barry said. He was already zipping the undersides of the bags together. "We've known each other since we were three."
"I get wood at night," I said.
"So I'm supposed to be shocked?" He stripped off his sweatshirt and T-shirt in one motion. His muscle tone has definitely improved over the summer. He gets more time to swim than me. Then he started.
"Oh, Char, your hands are so cold!" he said in a whisper you could have heard in Albany.
"C'mon, baby, warm them up between your legs," I said just loud enough, stripping off my shorts and boots. "That's it, nice and slow," I said. I turned out the lantern.
"Put your mouth on it," Barry said in a low growl. "Yeah, just like that."
He pulled off his shorts and underwear. I caught a flash of swinging meat in the dark, then he plunged under the top of the sleeping bags.
"Oh, baby," he said, holding back a giggle. "Oh, yeah!" He said this last in a husky, almost sexy tone.
Suddenly, the flap of the tent lifted up, and I was blinded by a flashlight.
"You guys are sick!" laughed Pete. "We almost thought you . . . you were making it!"
"What the hell do you think we're doing, Petey?" cried out Barry. "Now we gotta start all over again! Coitus interruptus! Ah! The agony of blue balls!"
"Oh, cut the shit!" said Gary from behind the flashlight. "Shut up and go to sleep!" He turned out the light and let the flap of the tent fall back down.
"I told you they were just having us on," said Petey, as they went back to their tents.
I stripped off my shirt and Tee, and crawled under my side of the now-double sleeping bag.
"Hey, no fair!" Barry whispered. "Ya gotta be nude just like me!"
"You stay on your side of the bed, sucker," I whispered back. "Promise?"
"Of course, dipshit," he said. "Now off with them diapers!"
I shrugged my underwear down and off, then threw them to the pile of clothes at the foot of the tent.
"You gonna beat off before you go to sleep?" he asked. His voice was so low I could barely hear it.
"I don't have any tissues," I said.
"I can take care of that," he said. "Go ahead."
I sprouted wood before I even touched it. "You got tissues?"
"Better," he said. He lifted his knees, and I could tell he was playing with his dick.
"You sure this is a good idea?" I asked. Stupid question. We were both as horny as you get, away from home, in bed with someone, and hard as crowbars.
"It gets better," he said.
I started stroking, and damned if it wasn't better already. My dick was sending short-circuit warnings to the rest of my body.
"Here," he said, and his hand replaced mine.
It felt amazing. The first time anybody never touched me when I was hard. His hand was warm, gentle. He jacked me in a slow, smooth motion, his thumb smearing the slimy stuff over the head of my dick as he went. He moved a little closer, and for some reason, my hand found his dick, bigger, longer than my own, warm and silken, more skin than I had. I jacked him with the same rhythm, and sighed my contentment.
"Tell me if you get close," he said in my ear. I hadn't realized he was that close. I turned my head to look at him, and our lips met in a kiss. Now, I'm no slouch at kissing. I mean, my girlfriend Jennifer said I was about the best kisser she ever met. Barry was streets ahead of me. I got dizzy, he was so good. His lips just wrapped me up, his tongue went halfway to my stomach, and his hands worked my body like an organ.
I pulled up and said, "I'm almost there!" as I felt the pressure start to unleash itself from inside my groin.
He broke the kiss, and suddenly dove down under the sleeping bag, taking my dick into his mouth in one smooth motion.
"Oh, God!" I cried out, as my orgasm exploded through my body, and I pumped the first shot deep into his mouth. "Unh! Unh!"
"Cut it out, you guys!" hollered Pete from his tent.
"Mind your fuckin' business," I groaned back. Barry was milking me like a puppy on his momma's teat, sending great waves of feeling through me.
The twins were now making humping noises, pretending that they were fucking in their tent, and everybody laughed.
Barry finally came up for air.
"Where did you learn how to do that?" I whispered into Barry's face as he wrapped me up in his long arms, knowing I needed to be cuddled after that amazing explosion in my central nervous system.
"Been wanting that for years," he said, before blowing me away with another kiss, deep and loving. Much better than with Jennifer.
My hand went to his wood. He was oozing, and it seemed harder than before. I resumed stroking.
"You don't have to." he whispered. "I'll take care of it."
"Like shit," I said back. "We don't empty you out, you'll drill for oil as soon as I fall asleep." I wondered what it would feel like to have him up my butt. I'd never do that with anybody, of course, except maybe Barry, but only if I was sure.
"I got no tissues."
I thought for a second before deciding that if Barry could make me feel so good, I sure as hell couldn't let him miss the opportunity to feel just as good.
"I can take care of that," I said. The twins were still making their phony fucking noises.
Barry groaned into my mouth, almost a whimper, and his tongue reached for my solar plexus again. It felt amazing to hold him in my hand like that, controlling his orgasm, slowly stroking him to the brink.
He uncoiled his tongue from inside my throat and pulled back to whisper "Char, I'm gonna blow!"
Well, in for a penny . . . I plunged down inside the warmth of the sleeping bag and put his head in my mouth. He was bigger around than I thought. I got more of it in, until the head hit the back and almost made me want to gag, then I just kept still and nursed on him, still stroking with my hand. He smelled really good, woodsy, a little musty.
"Aarrgh!" he grunted, and his dick expanded inside my mouth, then spewed out a dollop of his baby-makings. I just swallowed it down, didn't even try to taste it, just wanted to be sure I didn't let any spill into the sleeping bag. :Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh! He cried with each spurt, or rather just a split second before each spurt. Tom and Kerry made some disparaging noises from their tent to our left.
"Yeah, suck me!" called out Petey, not to miss out on making fun of the whole situation. Gary didn't answer him back, so I guess he was already asleep.
I kept nursing on Barry until his wood went soft. It tasted pretty good, actually. Sort of sweet and stiptic all at the same time. He pulled me back up for more kissing, and I felt really good, right then.
The twins finished their game, pretending that one of them came inside the other, and Petey let out a deep groan, then silence settled over the campsite.
Barry and I said almost nothing, just caressed and touched all over, gradually drifting into sleep, wrapped in each other's arms. He told me he loved me, more than anybody, and I had no problem telling him the same. I mean, he's everything I admire in a guy, smart, athletic, handsome, caring. What's not to love? I felt all mushy inside, so I knew it was for real.
In the morning, we talked a little about it before the others woke up, and agreed that what we did wasn't queer or anything, just two best friends loving each other, and that we wouldn't do it with anybody else, because that would be queer. Then we did it again, but at the same time, and I came in his mouth at exactly the same time as he came in mine. I got more of him into my mouth in that position, but I couldn't get past the gag reflex in my throat. He has really big nuts, and his dick is probably more than nine inches long. He tasted even better than the night before.
We fell back asleep while discussing whether or not we should try corn holing before we went back. I told him I thought he was too big to get it inside me, but he said he wanted me to do him first anyway, just to see if it was any good at all. If it was, maybe we could try him inside me like gradual, let me get used to him.
By the time we packed up on Monday afternoon, our lives had changed completely. I think the guys knew what was up, but it wasn't discussed. Gary was for once quiet. I won the pool on Sunday, as well, so I got to treat us all to pizza on the way home. It made me feel all good inside to be able to do that for a change. The guys know we don't have all that much. Barry said he was so proud of me he could bust.
How come it took me so long to realize I was in love with him?