Date: Sat, 8 Mar 2003 05:44:43 -0500 (EST) From: Clark Gaybull Subject: Mess-Around Buddies #7 The viewing of this work constitutes acceptance of all disclaimer and copyright verbage which benefits the author and Nifty Archives. ----------------------------------MATT--------------------------------- I COULD have included these final two chapters with the escapades but, like my other mess-around buddies, these friends have never been to the lake. AND, they're neighbors of the current house that we've lived in for only the past three-and-a-half years. This next-to-last installment is about my exhibitionist pal, Matt. And that's not to say anything negative about him 'cause he really took care of me after the wreck. He moved into the 'hood two years ago - when he was fifteen and I was about to turn sixteen. In spite of our closeness in age, I'm just OVER the line and he's just UNDER the line which determines what grade you're in. So, we soon found out that HE was going into tenth and I was going into eleventh. Oh well, we'd hang together that summer 'cause he didn't know anybody, although he'd make friends fast come September - hopefully the RIGHT crowd, 'cause - in addition to exhibitionism - he evidences some behavior that I'd NEVER participate in. For example, I refused to join him hiding in the bushes, throwing eggs at passing cars. "Fun" must have had a different meaning where he came from. And he'd try to get motorists to stop when he'd lie on the ground, pretending to have crashed his bike into a tree. The first tour was of HIS place, which was a mistake 'cause he had to say so often, "This is how it's GONNA be." (They had a lot more unpacking to do.) A couple of days later, Matt was able to check out MY room, and much met with his approval, especially my video games and the recently- connected Web TV on my set. "Yeah...they're too cheap to buy a computer." (I really shouldn't have said that 'cause, after the accident, they paid for a separate 'phone line for it for five months.) I showed him how things worked and added that I had a camera which could take pictures for e-mailing. "Cool...I could send some pictures to my friends back home. Well...what USED TO BE home." "Yup." "I'll hafta remember that." I then avoided his house for more than a week. Didn't want to slow things down getting stuff placed. Right after the Fourth-of-July, the 'phone rings and it's Matt. "Where the fuck ya been?" "Keepin' outta the way." "Come on over. Bring your camera." Timing was okay, so, I did. "Did I tell you...it's a VIDEO camera? When I pause it, I can e-mail THAT picture." "That's what you said. Set it up. We're gonna play some badminton. Follow me. Okay, though, if we send from your hook-up, right? Our computer's broke." Good thing that I brought my tripod and that HE found an extension cord. I told him, "I don't know how charged the battery is." Then, "Where're we gonna be?" (A question that I could have answered if I'd'a simply looked ahead.) There were no homes visible from the back yard. It was one of the newest structures on the edge of the development. Nothing but trees beyond. In the middle of the freshly-sprouted lawn stood the net. "Don't matter if YOU'RE not in the picture. They don't know who in Hell YOU are. Aim it down here." "Okay. We're rollin'. We're at the beginning of a two-hour tape in there." That was Matt's cue for the "ham" in him to kick in and for the badminton to begin. Fortunately, the air was pretty calm and Matt payed fairly well. "Ya sure you're gettin' all o' this? Don't ya want better close-ups?" "Okay. I'll zoom in a bit more." While I'm doing that, he removes his tank-top, now clad only in last year's gym shorts, not being at all careful where he puts his bare feet. "Gotta give 'em my best Leo-on-the-beach." Oh yeah...the girls'll just LOVE that." "I'm not sendin' this to the GIRLS." Holy shit! Could it be that he's a fruit? Well, it's not in my character to be prejudiced. Come to think of it, all of my OWN experiences to that point had been with guys. But I didn't think of myself as a fag. I planned to enjoy hetero-sex when the opportunity occurred. In the meantime, sex is sex. Any kind's alright. Hmmm...that being the case, I'd better pay more attention to this lad. Not too bad, actually. Especially with his shirt off. No hair, though. Even on his head. Cut it all off. Could be the "summer look". What's that I see? A pierced left nipple? Hafta ask him about that. Back to the swatting. "You're not gonna be in the shot ALL of the time, Matt. But when you run back and forth, it'll get ya SOME of the time." "I think I can tell when I'm lined up," whereupon he stops chasing the birdie and moons the camera! A few more volleys and its drink time. Was I in for a surprise when play resumed. "Gonna REALLY give 'em an eyeful. We won't be able to send this when your folks are around. The homies won't believe me doin' this in the all-together." And he drops his drawers! He's doin' this bare-assed! "He's nuts," I thought. "Aren't your parents home?" "Nope. Both at work for the day." And, like me, no brothers or sisters. The more we play, the more Matt glistens. And I could swear his pubes have been tampered with. "What's with the nipple ring?" I yell. "Only place they'd let me do it. Said 'No' to a tattoo ANYWHERE. Didn't want the piercing to show. Now I go shirtless whenever I can just to piss 'em off." "And the pubes?" Ah...well...I got a little carried away when I gave myself a haircut. Whaddya think?" "Never had a haircut down there." "Want one?" "I'll think about it." More volleying. How come I'm packin' wood and he's not? Did I say that out loud? The next thing outta his mouth is, "Don't want that zoom to work too hard." So he starts playing with his pecker, making it erect. "There. They should be able to see THAT," as five (no, six) inches of arousal come into focus. Now the appendage is making a "slap" with each stride toward the birdie. "Think that's enough footage?" I was kinda enjoying the show so I said, "We haven't been filming for even an hour yet. Got more 'n half a tape left." "Okay. Serve again." During the pause, I removed my beat-up ol' shirt and sneaks. "That's it. Get more comfortable." I still wore what was REALLY making me UNcomfortable. "You can take off more than that, if you want." "What the fuck," I thought. "Might as well. If he's not embarrassed by his stiffie, I won't be bashful about mine." "Feels good, doesn't it?" "Yeah," I agreed, glad that my shaky voice didn't have to say more than one syllable. "Had enough?" About an hour and twenty minutes into our session and, indeed, I had. "Let's towel off." We entered the back door to the garage, which was closed at the other end. "Let's get off more than the sweat," Matt suggested, as he prodded his meat as if to seek its co-operation. "This is what REALLY feels good." And he began pumping his pud, jutting out his middle and bending his knees slghtly. I just watched, in rigid amazement. "Come on...you too," he exhorted. But it was already too late. Puddles of jism darkened the garage floor beneath him. "Do you always cum that fast?" "Only when I haven't for a long time. Last time was last night. Aren't you gonna?" "While you watch?" I asked incredulously. "I'll do it FOR ya, if ya want." "Okay. Start whacking it." And a very pleasant hand-job commenced. Actually, "pleasant" isn't a strong enough word. Matt had never touched me before. But somehow he knew just when to stop stroking to prolong my pleasure - something I now realize he did NOT do to himself. I was eventually overcome, however, and a second series of spots dampened the cement. "We should have had THAT on film. THAT was HOT." "Another time," I gasped. "Well...at least we can send 'em some good badminton action. When can we do that?" "I'll call when the 'rents are gone. Don't like to close the door on 'em. I'd sure have to close it for THAT." A few days and a half-dozen e-mail addresses later - if the wires didn't melt - some stills were chosen and sent. I hope mom or dad never find that tape. I watch it over and over. Later that summer, Matt had acquired a few acquaintances. He brought one of 'em around one night to sample our the newest reason for our higher property taxes - a twenty-one-foot, above-ground swimming pool that my folks were suckered in to under the guise of a pre-Labor-Day sale. Of course, Matt had determined that my parents were out of town for the final weekend of August for the wedding of a secretary who formerly worked for the company which also employs my father. I felt like I had a good start on the New Testament when Matt introduced me to his friend, Mark. The solar cover had worked well, warming the water temperature to almost 80-degrees F. "But first, I'm gonna give Clark a haircut," Matt announced. "You are? That's news to me. We don't even HAVE clippers." "Ah ha...but I do." And he produced those which I assume were from his home. "I don't know," I stammered. "You want to be like us two, don't you?" "So Mark's a baldy, too?" "You got it." "Do I have a choice?" "Not really." "Plug 'er in then." And I boldly bared my middle. "What am I gonna say when this is noticed in gym class after school starts?" I wondered. "Oh well... I'll cross THAT bridge if I come to it. I'll have something ready, though." Then, and after the later wreck, were the only two times when I've ever been shaved, not that this blond had much to shave either time. Vibrating like that sure was a turn-on above my dick. It was fully-grown in no time. Thank god that my balls aren't hairy. I don't think that I'd want those cutters THERE. Usually, the ooze from my cock is a good thing. But, I was taught that liquid and electricity don't mix. So, I was sure to periodically wipe myself. (Wonder why that made me juice MORE? Must've been dabbing with the rag too often.) Satisfied that their job was complete, Matt and Mark collected the sparse clippings and wanted to go swimming. "Oh...but we don't have our suits," they pouted, in mock disappointment. "Guess we'll just have to offend the neighbors." "The neighbors can't see," I reassured unnecessarily. (Wouldn't've mattered if they COULD have seen.) "Just make sure the lights aren't on." The moonlight, however, was every bit as bright as any man-made illumination would have been. Talk about your grab-ass...It wasn't safe to turn around. And, man, was that slickness caused by my shaved bush a different sensation, even though there wasn't much there before. Just when I thought my hardness was easing, I'm unsuccessfully dodging fingers in the pool. I see that I'm not the only one bothered by high blood- pressure. Glancing around, I notice that I'm probably LEAST erect. But MOST stubbled. How can THAT be? THEY must have used razor blades 'cause there wasn't even a shadow below their bellies. (That's it!!! If I'm asked about it, I'll say, "It's a pact.") Now Mark decides that he's gonna do a cannonball between Matt and me. While positioning himself for the jump, however, it becomes apparent that he's got one of those uncircumsized, diagonally-upwards weenies. Definitely not conducive to diving. Splash! Right between us! Get him! Hold him under! Mark bellows a fake cough. "You're drowning me." More ducking. More coughing. Then, feigned lifelessness. "Poor guy. He must have swallowed too much," Matt sympathizes unconvincingly. Still motionless, Mark allows himself to be carried to our deck at the edge of the pool. "Upsy daisy," says Matt, followed by polite pushes to Mark's pecs. "Out with the bad air..." (Ever tell your enemy that you hope that he dies with a hard-on? Well, Mark could have been somebody's enemy.) Lying on his back with his arms outstretched and his bent knees causing his ankles to dangle into the pool, created a "can't miss" target of his full-staff member - a target that Matt couldn't pass up. "What we need here is some mouth-to-dick resuscitation." Mark tried - but failed - to supress a twitch when Matt's warm mouth encircled Mark's throbbing pole. "Bet he'd move if he felt too much teeth," Matt threatened, withdrawing his lips and holding the turgid flesh between his pearly whites, calling Mark's bluff. "I'll revive him another way." And he takes as much of Mark's cock into his mouth as he can. As he sucks up toward the head, he brings his right hand to Mark's missing pubes and grasps the base of the shaft, injecting a little tugging action into the knob-job. "I guess that's STILL not what he wants," says Matt. And he climbs out onto the deck and straddles Mark, facing the pool. Tell me he's not gonna squat and stick that thing up his ass! Yup! That's what happens next. Splash a little lubricant onto that porker and seek some gravitational assistance while trying to sit on it. Eventually it disappears entirely into Matt's rectum. He took the whole thing. Strange...now Mark seems to be regaining consciousness. Matt moves four inches toward standing. But then his rear plummets back down with a "squoosh." Matt maintains his balance by extending an arm on either side of Mark so that both hands are stablizers on the deck. At the bottom of each squat, Matt's swollen lovestick bounces tantalizingly. Throughout this display, my state of hypnosis must have become increasingly evident because a reality check occurred when I heard Matt bark, "Clark. Come here." Were it not for the slight, moonlit ripples, you could have convinced me that I "beamed" to Matt's forefront to listen to his dilemma. "It's cold," he said, pointing to his crotch. "Warm it up." He wanted me to suck him off while he got butt-fucked! This was too much! "Okay. But tell me when you're gonna cum. I don't want a mouthful of jizz." "I will if I can talk. But this is gonna be so intense, I might not have any breath left to speak words with." So the pace of the fuck-fest increased. Matt was up and down on Mark's meat. I stood in the water facing the duo, holding hands with Matt, who was fucking my face. Positioned as we were, enabled me to thrust between Mark's shins. Not exactly the most effective form of release. But this was driving me wild and any contact was exstatic. In fact, it wouldn't have had to have been much better to get me off sooner. Obviously, Mark was no longer passive, doing his best to tighten his calves around my tool and simultaneously enjoy the hammering of Matt's behind. Matt was getting it from both ends, uttering an "uh" each time that he bottomed-out on Mark's poking penis and I engulfed his half-foot spear. It was a no-win (or always-win) situation for him because, when he pushed up off of Mark, Matt's cock went deeper into my mouth. Therefore, I thought that Matt would blow first. But Mark did. I heard him. To this point, the noises came only from Matt. But, just before Mark unloaded, he spoke. He stopped ankle-squeezing my meat and exhaled a "Here I cum." Of course, his rod was exploding deep within Matt. So, we could only BELIEVE him. (Although WITHOUT words, his gyrations alone would have probably won him an Oscar.) And Matt must have certainly felt Mark's blasts. Curiously, I was distracted by the forewarning of this eruption to the extent that I wanted to try to feel Mark's release through Matt. I became even more attentive (if that was possible) to what my gums were doing, seekng a sign of Mark's event. There! Did I feel it? When Mark breathed out, was his discharge strong enough to reverberate from Matt's booty to his chicken? Not sure. We'll hafta do this again. Mark is relapsing into his coma but Matt's senses are heightening. The spurts up Matt's fanny served as a catalyst for Matt's own climax. Recognizing this, I continued the hand motion but removed my lips from around Matt's pole. Heaven forbid that I should get a throatful of semen. Just in time, too, 'cause out shoots several volleys of goo - over my left shoulder and into the pool. "Two down. One to go," pants Matt. "That's all right. I can do without," I proclaimed, insincerely. "Now, now. Come on up here Clarkie. Get your reward for being such a good boy." (I can always tell when he's really wired - He calls me "Clarkie.") I tried to maintain my composure. "Whaddya want me to do?" "Just come on up here. YOU don't hafta do a thing. WE'LL do all the work." Matt was patting the deck, so, facing it, I placed my hands on it, pushed myself upward, and spun my rump around to sit on its edge. Immediately, they pushed me flat on my back, began running their hands over my chest, and took turns giving my dick the lollipop routine. Any softening following their climaxes was undone by their efforts on me. It's a wonder that I didn't poke somebody's eye out or give somebody a fat lip because of all the "hot potato" being played with my schwantz. (I don't want it; you take it. No; YOU take it.) My intention to limit this to "casual sex", however, was quickly overshadowed by their serious determination to give me pleasure. Instead of a reward, this was becoming punishing. (Punishing in a most enjoyable kind of way.) They deliberately frustrated me with their "no one's in charge" game. Reward. Punishment. Reward. Punishment. Which is it gonna be? Does it really matter? Just get it over with. I just wanna cum in somebody's mouth. Ain't gonna happen. All this passing back and forth had worked me into a climax. The jism spewed up several times between their heads and fell back down onto their cheeks. Very satisfying. But I felt ripped off at the same time. Oh well...what's fair is fair. Clark didn't want Matt's cum in HIS mouth. So there WAS a certain justice to it all when Clark's cum didn't go into anybody mouth, either. My prior writings include one mention of my occasional forays into racquetball. My most recent adventure with Matt - and, believe me, everything with him IS an adventure - involved him wanting me to teach him how to play the game. "You're pretty good, though, aren'tcha Clark?" Modest hesitation on my part resulted in the next sentence coming from him, too. "Maybe I'll bring Keith along and - even though it'll be two against one - it'll be more of a workout for you." We celebrated me having my driver's license for six months by going to a resort on a weeknight in February. "Everybody'd be skiing," we thought, "and the courts'd be deserted." We thought right. Although it was only 9PM when we finished, nobody else was around. I had broken a pretty good sweat, which justified hitting the showers. I had stepped out of my jock but put my gym shorts back on before wearing them into the shower. "What the fuck ya doin', prude? Too modest to get naked in front of Keith and me?" "Fuck no. I WAS gonna visit the jacuzzi if you're not in too big of a hurry. I can't drive after eleven, so, we gotta be home by then...unless you can't stay out that late on a school night," I taunted. "Where the fuck's the jacuzzi?" "Put your shorts on; wash off; and follow me." (NOW he was impressed...like I OWNED the place, or something.) Between the men's and ladies' locker rooms was the community hot tub. "Here we are." And I activated the bubbles. "'amn...this is boiling." "You get used to it." We sat on underwater benches with our arms outstretched, perpindicular to our bodies, each resting atop a side. I saw Matt wrootching. "What're we wearing THESE for?" And he holds up his drawers. "Good idea," said Keith, and he wriggled outta his. "This is a CO-ED spa, you know." (With my words, I'm extolling virtuosity. With my hands, I'm takin' off my pants. Go figure.) "Co-ed? Are there any girls in here?" Whereupon Matt allows his middle to float to the top so that his semi-stiff pecker bobs along the surface. Keith does likewise. "I don't THINK so." "Just put 'em back on for the return to the locker room," I implored. "Oh, shit," I thought, "he's wound again. Please don't embarrass me." Nothing more happened there. But Matt wasn't done yet. Back in the lockerroom, he and Keith start "dueling towels" - trying to yank them into a violent direction-change just as they contact somebody's bare skin. "Ooh. Ouch," cries Keith, as Matt's towel repeatedly snaps against Keith's bum, which he stupidly was backing toward Matt. Finally, Keith gets in a few successful smacks, too. "How does it feel?" "Feels good." (We initially thought that this was Matt's macho reaction to Keith's couple of direct hits.) "Look! He wasn't kidding!" Matt's cock was now about 75%-stiff! "I told you. It feels good!" Matt tossed his towel across the room, raised his arms, clasped his fingers in back of his head, and, in addition to his pits, showed us his enjoyment, sticking out from his loins which he still shaved. "Go ahead. Hit me." Too much for Keith to resist. Whack! Whack! Whack! Couldn't get Matt to back off. Flinch - yes. Back off - no. With each successive slap, Matt's meat seemed to get firmer. And wetter! Holy Christ! Was this guy gonna cum if the towel struck him a few more times? Keith musta felt sorry for him. (Matt WAS getting really red.) So he stopped his onslaught, declared himself the victor, and we proceeded to wring out our wet bottoms in preparation for the showers. "Where ya goin' now?" "One more thing. There's a sauna over here." "Well, if nobody's gonna get me off with towel slaps, I'll do it in the sauna. Let's go." (And in two shakes (Well, a few dick dips), we were breathing heat.) "Do ya always come in HERE naked?" "We ARE in the MEN'S lockerroom, numb nuts. But if you're too shy, you can wrap your towel around you and it'll NEVER get you dry." (Wasn't that a strange question from someone who had just bared his boner in the jacuzzi used by both genders?) Keith and I sat sharing a bench while Matt had the only other bench all to himself. I must have been feeling kinda frisky myself 'cause I had brought my tube of Ben Gay into the sauna. (I liked the smell of it after I'd smear it onto the walls.) "This is sooo relaxing," said Matt, as he laid his shoulders flat back onto the bench, with his legs now straddling it, touching the floor with his toes on both sides. No modesty here. Even more immodest was his brazen manipulation of himself so that Mr. Happy began returning to attention. "Jesus! What if somebody comes in?" "Nobody's gonna come in. We haven't seen anybody all night. Stand guard if you want. Keith and I are gonna relieve ourselves, right Keith?" "I will if YOU will." "See. Go on, Clarkie. You look out. Then we'll watch for you if you want." "I'm only doin' this 'cause it'd be too embarrassing if you get caught." "We're not gonna get caught. Now get out there." >From my post outside the sauna door, I could hear that Matt and Keith were talking, but their words were unclear. A few minutes of silence followed. Then I could hear Matt giggling. What the fuck were those guys doing in there? "Hurry up." Keith opened the door and emerged with a goofy grin. Matt was most mischievous when he called me. "Clarkie? Come here, Clarkie. Keith'll interrupt us before anybody else does, right Keith?" "If you say so." "Haven't you had enough, Matthew?" "Maybe Keith has. But I haven't." (Oh, man... what's he up to?) Now I'm inside the sauna. "Here's how it's done, Clarkie." And he assumes that position of awhile ago. "I know how it's done, dick-wad." And I mimicked that posture on the other bench. (Why am I doing what HE'S doing?) "Play with it, Clarkie. Get it all good 'n' hard." "Shut the fuck up." "Need some help?" Maybe if I ignore him, that'll be like a mute button. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on masturbating, hoping that Keith was being vigilant. Then, I felt the "help" which I previously thought was only his vocal diarrhea. Gotta admit, though - HIS SUCKING was much better than MY HANDS. My wriggling increased such that the towel - which had been beneath me - fell to the floor and my ass screeched when it moved against the varnished board. My hips tried to thrust my pecker deeper into Matt's mouth. I could hear the echo of my noises. I could smell one of my favorite scents spread on the sweltering walls. Reality was fading. Sensuality had taken over. When that's the case, can the end be far away? While Matt's struggling to maintain his liplock on my bucking groin, he's also furiously stroking his own dong. I know Matt. I know that he doesn't care if you blow down his throat. So I wasn't going to inject that bit of reality into our frenzy by asking him a question that I already knew the answer to. ("Okay if I cum in your mouth?" That would spoil everything.) My only unasked question was, "Who's gonna cum first?" I think it was a tie. Unless the echoes of Matt's orgasm drove me over the edge. Just when I heard his spurts strike the sauna's tile floor, I unleashed a huge quantity of froth for him to swallow. When we finally, exhaustedly emerged from that grueling session, Keith's question serves as an appropriate concluding statement for this installment - "All done?1?1"