Date: Thu, 19 Jul 2007 17:03:47 -0700 (PDT) From: SauronTheDarkLord Subject: Beginnings VIII The town festival marked the high point of summer in my home town. While the county fair, second oldest in Illinois everyone will have you know, was larger, it also involved having to get the family in the car, travel, find a place to park, walk around in the dust or mud -- depending on recent precipation -- and ride the same rides and see the same people that we could have by means of crossing the street at our own festival. So the six weeks or so between the festival and the start of school, or the four weeks between the festival and the start of football practice, brought a sense of near melancholy with it. There was money to be made baling, although this time with Vic's father driving the tractor there was no opportunity for a repeat of the sexual antics of my first baling job on the Alexander farm. And it was really too late to be walking the beans, since any weeds that had escaped thus far would be the size of sequoias. In short, even less going on than usual. Fortunately Sam's cock, ass, and mouth remained available, to keep the days from being totally wasted. My home chores occupied a relatively small amount of my time. That summer my dad had really gone wild with his gardening, and there was very little involved in mowing the lawn. However, the grass still grew in the front yard, as well as what was left of the back, and so once a week or so I got the mower out and did my duty. I was finishing up the front yard and getting ready to mow the strip that would lead me to the back when I felt a tap on my shoulder. After executing a vertical jump that would have made Michael Jordan envious, I turned and saw our neighbor Mark. "Man, you scared the shit out me" I said, only slightly exaggerating. "Sorry, I was yelling but I don't think you heard me." Little doubt about that. The mower was loud, and the notion of preserving your hearing by protecting your ears had not yet come into vogue. "True enough. What's going on?" "How long `til you get finished mowing?" "5, 10 minutes, something like that." "Can you come down and finish ours when you're done? I was working on it and the mower just stopped." "I can just come down now. As long as the front is done the back will keep for awhile." I wheeled our mower the block and a half to Mark's house and saw his mower sitting somewhat forlornly in the middle of the yard. Mark and his family had been on vacation, and the yard had gotten a little ahead of them. "So what happened, I mean besides it just stopping?" "I started to get into the heavy stuff and it just stopped. I tried to restart it a few times but no luck." As I got to the mower I could smell the gas. Mark had tried to cut through too thick of grass too fast and had flooded the motor trying to restart it. "Flooded. Just put it in the garage and I'll knock off the rest." Carefully I finished the rest of Mark's lawn. Since he had started with a fairly low cut, too low as it turned out, I had to adjust my mower so the lawn would look even, but that meant I had to avoid killing the engine like Mark had. Not brain surgery, but you had to keep a balance. It was about 25 minutes worth of work, including having to refill the gas tank. But it got done. "Let's get a drink," said Mark. "You thirsty from all that watching?" I teased. "You better hurry before I change my mind." We went in the kitchen and grabbed a couple Pepsi's and went back and sat on the back porch. I hadn't been in Mark's house since our rain-induced, and then rain-shortened, tryst earlier that summer. I had not forgotten that day's events, and I doubt if Mark had either. "So how you been?" "O.K. You?" "Decent. Trying to enjoy life before two-a-days start." When football practice started, one practice was held at 6:30 a.m., and a second one at 3:00 p.m. Hence two-a-days. That schedule continued until school began. "Yeah. You guys gonna be good again this year?" "I guess we better or people are gonna get pissed off." While it was not exactly Friday Night Lights, football was the most important thing at our school. The previously year we had gone unbeaten. That was considered acceptable. "Next year you can go out and find out how easy it is to be a football hero." "Yeah, I guess." We nursed our Pepsi's a little more, than I turned adventurous. "I don't see any rain coming, do you?" "No. Why?" "Because the last time I was hear your dad came home early just when things were getting good." Mark's dad was a section hand on the railroad. When it rained, especially late in the day, it was time to go home. He had returned home just as Mark and I had finished jerking off. "That was fun," Mark admitted. "So you want to have some more fun?" Mark thought about it. He had teased me once, then chickened out when I tried to make a move later. We had finally gotten together to jerk off, barely. "O.K." "So let's go upstairs." We carried our drinks upstairs -- soda was a luxury of sorts back then -- and went to Mark's room. I decided to be a little bit more assertive and see where it led. "Take your clothes off for me." "Why?" "We have to if we're going to play. And I want to see how much you want to do it." "Why don't you take yours off for me?" "I'll make you a deal. I'll get undressed first, but you have to take my clothes off for me." He thought about it for a second. "O.K." I stood in front of him, hands at my sides. I was wearing a light, cotton shirt, and the inevitable jeans. Mark started unbuttoning my shirt from the top down. When the last button was finished, he walked behind me and pulled the shirt off and laid it over the back of his desk chair. So far, so good. He then went back in front of me, undid my belt, and unsnapped my jeans. Back then, tighter jeans were in style, and although they didn't exactly have to be peeled off, they could still be a project. Mark worked them down over my hips, from which point they moved steadily to the floor. Obligingly raising one leg and then the other, I helped Mark get them over my feet to join my shirt on the chair. All this, of course, was mere prelude. Mark then took my briefs by the elastic band and pulled them over my now erect dick, and then to the floor. I stepped out of them with my cock pointing directly at Mark. "Now I do you," I directed. Mark's arms went up, and his t-shirt followed. I then knelt in front of him to do his jeans and briefs. Using a somewhat different technique I took briefs and jeans with one grab. I was soon staring at his gorgeous dick, just inches from my face. The temptation was there, but with Mark I didn't want to push it. "O.K. Now we get in bed." With most of the guys I fooled around with the ice would have been broken by the time we got naked and once we hopped in bed it would be time to get down to business. Mark, though, had always been a different story. "So what you want to do now?" I asked. "We could jerk off again," Mark suggested. "That we could, or we could do something else." "Like what?" "Like we could play with each others dicks." Mark thought about that for awhile. I decided to prompt him. "Look, let me start by playing with yours. If you don't like it, I'll stop and we'll just do ourselves again." Mark once again began to deliberate, but I decided not to wait for an answer. I reached over and grabbed his cock. He jumped a little -- it would have surprised me if he hadn't -- but laid there without comment as I began to stroke him. Remembering his style from our only other experience, I decided to do something different. Instead of working his dick like I was trying to start a fire in survival school, I took it as slow as I could. Having gotten to the point where we were naked, in his bed, and I was feeling him up, I wasn't going to blow it -- so to speak -- by going for a taste at this point. So it was manual only this time. I started by squeezing the base of his dick between my thumb and the first and second fingers of my right hand. I slowly drew my fingers upwards, keeping the pressure on his cock, without creating undue friction. As I reached the halfway point I made sure that the two fingers were on the bottom of his cock, so I could apply pressure at the most sensitive point. After reaching the top, I just brushed my fingers against the mouth watering head of his dick, and then returned to the base to repeat. Not that it was a surprise or anything, but Mark seemed to be loving it. His eyes were closed, and his hips would arch as I moved my fingers up his dick. So time for the next step. "O.K. Now you hold mine while I jerk you." Mark's normally uncertain approach to sex hadn't changed. So I took his hand and placed it on my cock. He sort of got the idea, but with Mark that was about as close as it got. He intermittently squeezed and stroked, but mostly just held on with about a passive a grip as one could imagine. I could sense a do-it-yourself project in the near future. "Why don't I just finish you now. Don't worry about getting me off." I think I heard him say "o.k.", but wasn't sure. He was so hot and cold on the guy sex thing that it was becoming a chore for me to deal with. And when sex becomes a chore, I mean what's the point. So I intensified the speed and pressure of my handjob. It took maybe a couple of more minutes until the neck bridge, the arched hips and, bingo. Cum city for Mark. I let him lay there a decent time, his breathing returning to normal. Then I rolled out of bed and started to dress. "Where are you going?" "I think I'll head on now." "Aren't you going to do anything?" "Like?" "Like you did last time. Jack off?" "Nah. Maybe later. But you don't really seem like you're into the guy sex thing yet. I can wait until you're more comfortable." "I'm sorry. It's just that I'm nervous, and, you know, it's like queer stuff and everything." "I understand. We're supposed to want to fuck girls every chance we get from the time we can walk, but God help us if we want to do a guy. Even though the same stuff shoots out the same dick. Go figure." "You're not mad?" "No. Not a bit. I enjoyed getting naked with you and making you cum. What's not to like?" "Maybe later, some time, we can do more?" "I think I'd like that," I answered. Being, of course, fully aware that pigs would fly through a frozen hell before I wasted any more time pursuing Mark. I walked the few blocks from Mark's house to mine, checked to make sure no one was home, and then went up to my room and quickly jerked myself off. While it took the immediate edge off my horniness, I was still frustrated. Oh well, at least I wouldn't be wasting any more time with Mark. The question then was who else could fill up time between Sam's, Terry's and Vic's cocks. I did not have a ready answer. However (why are none of you surprised?) fate intervened again. My friend, and suck and fuck buddy, Sam had a good friend named Rick. Rick was our age, in the same grade as I was. (Sam was a year behind us because of a mutant birthday.) I had kind of figured that something was going on. Sam had made, and this is what passed for high tech amusement in 1966, a tape recording of a turd -- one of Rick's - landing in the toilet. Making the logical assumption that Rick shit with his pants down, and knowing how close the microphone would have had to be held, led me to conclude that Sam would have had to had his head practically in Rick's lap at the time. It was not an opportunity Sam would have let pass him by. But I still wasn't ready to try to approach Rick. As I have mentioned before in the environment I grew up in, one wrong move and your life was toast. Enough to make even the horniest boy cautious, or usually so. So there things stayed. A potential playmate, but no safe way to find out for sure. But just as baseball provided the jump start to the years of sex Sam and I enjoyed, football came to the rescue this time. Football practice started with two-a-days in August, about two weeks before school started. The first practice was before breakfast, the second was mid-afternoon. I would usually go by Sam's on the way to the afternoon practice, sometimes earlier than others if I wanted to leave the door open for a quick fuck/suck before practice. So it was Thursday of the first week of practice that I went by Sam's maybe an hour and a half early. If we were going to get a chance to play, I didn't want to have to rush. I yelled out to Sam as I walked up the sidewalk to his house, figuring he was in his room with the window open. I was right on both counts. "Sam, you there?" "Yeah, come on up." I let myself in, as usual, and almost ran up the stairs. When I got to Sam's room, I got a surprise. There was already someone else on the bed. "Hey, Rick, you killing time before practice, too?" "Yeah, wouldn't mind some rain, though, and afternoon off would be nice." "As long as we had enough lightning. Fucking coaches would practice us in a flood if they could." That was true. Rain was of no consequence. Lightning went by is now called the 30/30 rule, which meant if you heard thunder within 30 seconds of a lightning flash, you went inside until 30 minutes after the lightning stopped. Most coaches at that point would just send you home instead, and then work your ass off even more next practice. "Looks dry today, though." "Yeah, we're screwed for today." The talk moved on from football, to school, to teachers, to whatever. Although the three of us were all on Sam's bed, and I was 1,000% sure that Rick and Sam had done each other, there was not an overabundance of sexual tension. Which I was o.k. with at the time. Sometimes you have to let the game come to you. Which, and you wouldn't be reading this otherwise, it eventually did. Sam's mom had left her vacuum cleaner in his room. It was a model that had not only a number of different attachments, but also several lengths of metal tubing to add if the user wanted to get either high up on the wall, or well behind the bed. Rick grabbed three of the attachments. Taking one, and holding it between his legs, he said "brunette". Adding the second one, he said "blonde". And with the third one "redhead". This looked like an opening, and I figured what the hell, if it went nowhere, a couple of cock lovers like Sam and (probably) Rick weren't gonna scream bloody murder. "Let me see one of those" I asked. Rick handed me one of the attachments. I unzipped my pants and pulled out my dick. "Maybe just a little bit of tight fit, but I wanted to check." I gave myself a couple of strokes and tried to fit the attachment over the end of hardon. "No luck." It was Rick's first look at my cock outside the shower room, and of course the first time he'd seen it hard. "Shit, look at that thing." Again, that was the sentiment of most of my partners, justified or not. I never argued. "Let's see yours," I suggested. Rick was a willing accomplice. He pulled out his dick, now hard, and tried to get it in the metal tube. He was nicely gifted, probably 5 inches and a fraction, not as thick as Terry, but definitely possibilities. "I think it will go," he announced. "Don't get it stuck," I advised unnecessarily. Rick got maybe an inch or two in and decided that was enough to prove the point. We then looked at Sam. "Your turn," Rick said. Knowing Sam I was surprised he wasn't already naked. But his dick soon emerged just as hard as ours. He was a little longer, and thinner, than Rick, and he disappeared into the sweeper attachment. "So how many did you say brunettes get?" he asked with a very sly smile. "One," Rick and I answered together. We shared a laugh. "You can stick it in me," I advised," but take that pipe off first." That sounded to Sam like an offer he couldn't refuse. Since we had been fucking, he had started keeping some Vaseline in his nightstand. I am sure he told his mother it had something to do with chapped lips. I leaned over the bed and Sam covered my asshole with the lube, taking care to stick a couple of fingers in just to let me know he cared, I guess. Then a handful on his dick and he was in me. Rick was sitting back stroking, watching Sam fuck me. "Bring that thing over here," I suggested. While it seems fairly pornographic, and therefore staged, in retrospect, there are really only so many ways so can suck one cock while taking another up the ass. So as I was on all fours getting pounded by Sam, Rick got on his knees in front of me so I could get his dick in my mouth. I could quickly tell that it wasn't Rick's first rodeo. He put his hand on the back of my head to help with the timing, and kept his dick moving without causing me to gag. While I would have gladly kept this little get-together going indefinitely, football practice was looming, and I was still going to need to get my rocks off. Protective cups do not fit well over a hardon. Sam was first to cum, and then I turned my complete attention to Rick. Working his whole cock from base to tip with hand and mouth, I brought him off big time. By the time I realized the neighbors could have heard him yelling "oh shit, oh shit" through the open window, it was too late to do anything about it. Bastard that I was, I kept him in my mouth as long as I could. Finally he got my prize away from me. "Damn." "Glad you liked it." "I guess you could say that. Your turn now." I lay down on my back and let Rick go to work. Like I said, it definitely wasn't his first rodeo. He took me in his mouth in a way that seemed very tentative, unless you realized that he was a very talented cocksucker who knew exactly what he was doing. Sam was good, and I loved Vic and his enthusiasm, but Rick was a master. I was enjoying my visit to heaven when Sam spoke up. "Well this sucks, pardon the expression, I'm gonna be the only one here not getting any cum today." Just as I was about to answer, Rick took a break and said," Stu's probably still got some of mine in his mouth. Share." Talk about great minds thinking alike. With all the stuff Sam and I had done, we had never kissed. Vic and I kissed every time we got the chance, but I had never kissed any other male. I wasn't sure what prompted Rick's suggestion to Sam, but I sure wasn't going to complain. Sam leaned over and brushed his lips against mine. We engaged in a little tongue play, and then he did as Rick suggested and probed as deeply as he could. All this, with the world class blow job I was getting from Rick, had a predictable effect. Yelling "oh shit, oh shit" would have be nice, except for Sam's tongue halfway down my throat. So I was reduced to some violent shaking as Rick drained my cock. Sam broke off our kiss, and I had an immediate suggestion. "Look, Rick's got some for you, too." As unlikely as it might have seemed, given my predilection for sex, it was the first time I saw two other guys kissing, not to mention two naked guys kissing in the same bed as me. Not wanting to seem standoffish, I joined them. As I may have mentioned, I never got into eating my own cum on a regular basis until I was older, so my first taste came when I stuck my tongue into Rick's mouth. It wasn't a passionate kiss, nor anything particularly tender, I guess the proper description would be laid back. Kinda like if you've got nothing better to do for the next 45 minutes or so how about some tonsil hockey. I broke the kiss off, and turned to Sam again. We shared another liplock, and then it was time to get dressed and get to football practice. The group showers would never be the same. This ends the Beginnings series. If Nifty continues to accept my contributions, the next series will be called "If Only", which will be fiction, although in many cases inspired by actual persons, if not events (sad emoticon). The characters in Beginnings were real. Paul and Nick moved away before I could get seconds. Denny stayed in town, married a teacher, and took over his dad's machine shop. Vic eventually married a young lady who I had dated but never succeeded in fucking, the same result I had with his sister. He still farms his dad's land. I last saw Mark at his dad, Ray's funeral. He lives out in California and has a couple of kids, both girls if I recall. Terry, Sam, Rick and I played two seasons of football together. In spite of having the audacity to lose one game in two years, those two teams were inducted together into the county sports hall of fame. We got together 8 years ago for the occasion. Terry lives near Springfield and has a fairly extensive hog farming operation. Rick stayed put, went to work in the local steel mill, and probably has one of the nicest houses in town. He hosted a reception after the hall of fame ceremonies. He has a smoking hot daughter by the way. It was the second time I had seen him since high school. The previous time it had been to bury his brother who came home from Vietnam, like 50,000 others, in a box. Sam got married, got divorced, lived in Florida, lived in California, moved back to Illinois. When I saw him last he was single and living about 20 miles from where we grew up. Had I not had family with me, I might have been curious, if you catch my drift. But it was probably better. In my dreams we will always be two 11, 12, or whatever year olds discovering our dicks and discovering boy sex. Reality could never be so good.