Date: Mon, 28 Oct 2019 19:39:35 +0000 From: kleiner.gespenst Subject: Robin's Adventures | Part 37 Part 37 | "Thanksgiving Sucks ================================================ Hey everyone. Nifty needs your contributions to survive. Please consider donating, and let the words flow. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ================================================ White-hot pain and shrieking. It was my own screams deafening me to my sister and the ski-patrol, while they hauled me out of a tree-hole, one of the few things I remember from the moment of impact. Then, at the emergency room, as medical people cut off my clothes with scissors. Agony in memory. Until the moment a clueless goon plowed into me on a black diamond slope, it'd been a great family trip to Mammoth, in the Sierras. Afterward, as I recovered in the town's small hospital, my mind drifted back to the days before that Thanksgiving vacation. It had been a tough but rewarding 9th-grade fall for me. I'd transferred to the same demanding private school Mark, my 8th-grade boyfriend had attended since his family moved to our San Diego beach town. After 5th period, I had soccer practice, while Mark had gymnastics. After school, we both had either swim team or ballet, and 5 hours of homework. Every week was physically and mentally exhausting. On the weekends, we barely found the time to slide each other's clothes off for a couple of hours of boy-on-boy love. But we seized on those moments like gold miners panning for every sparkly flake. Mark was effortlessly graceful, fluid and precise -- not just on the diving team, in the ballet studio, in the gym and surfing, but in everything he did. And though not effeminate, the way he smoothly glided through life no doubt set off gaydar even in the 70s. At a beachfront sandwich and tea shack, the owner - one of the few out and proud gay men in town - winked at us and said we made a cute couple. We weren't holding hands or anything, but we giggled and thanked him. Neither of us were "flamboyant." We were just nerdy little surfers who liked boys rather than girls, and making art more than trouble. Though we rarely indulged in PDAs, eventually it became apparent around our private school that we were a couple. But with the exception of a couple of meathead seniors, nobody in school seemed to care. Yeah, we'd get the occasional good-natured teasing, like "where's your boyfriend, Sanford?" it wasn't anything straight kids didn't get. Just before Thanksgiving break, I finished JV football ("soccer") in time to jog over and watch the end of gymnastics practice. Mark was like a god, twisting over the vaulting horse. Normally, the 30 boys, ages 10 -17 years old. would be in t-shirts, sweat pouring down to soak their tight little gym shorts. But because a yearbook photographer was there that day, both girls and boys were in sleeveless leotards. The boys all wore shorts over theirs'. The rest of the kids and the coaches cleared out to hit the showers, and I walked over to Mark, while he slowly pulled off his elastic wrist wraps. "You were amazing!" I said, draping a towel around his sweat-drenched shoulders. "Thanks. But I've got a lot to work on," he said, with his usual modesty, smiling. Then he bit his lip shyly, looking into my eyes, before toweling his arms and pits. "Let me work on you, instead," I said in a low voice, and we both giggled. I stepped behind the slender, sinewy boy to dry his dripping hair. My long, soccer-dampened straight blond hair hung just above my collar, like a yin yang counterpoint to his long black hair. When I was finished, I stepped back to admire the way his skin-tight uniform revealed muscular ribs, and a lower back flowing like an hour glass into a shapely round bottom barely obscured by his tight blue nylon shorts. When he bent over to dry his legs, I couldn't help but quickly furl up my towel to snap Mark's magnificent ass. "Hey!" he yelled, jumping. "No sneak attacks!" But soon we were both laughing hysterically, wrestling on the floor-routine mats. As always happens, our hands quickly travelled to each other's groins squeezing our hardening packages. Giggling grew to gasps. "We better quit," Mark whispered. "Yeah - for now." I was on top, and got up first, thankful my jockstrap compressed my hard, 3.5 inches upward toward my waist. Then I dropped my hand down as if to help Mark up. But just as he reached for it, I grabbed the bottom hem of his shorts and yanked them off. "You asshole!" he yelled, but was laughing hard. Clad in only socks and a leotard similar to a woman's single-piece speedo, his much thicker four inches stretched up against his impossibly tight, crotch-hugging garment. I could clearly see the shape of his enraged, circumcised head, pulsating against the sheer spandex. Just as I threw his shorts all the way over to the trampoline, he tackled me, and we were rolling around again. We were laughing hysterically. Cupping mark's nuts, I could make out every steamy, delicious detail, as they strained in their synthetic prison. But then he put me into some hold he learned at Judo practice, long enough to pull off my shorts. "Two can play at that game!" he yelled. It wasn't as funny when I was desperately clawing to keep my shorts on, but then they were gone, sailing toward the trampoline. My legs splayed open, resting on my ass, and Mark stood over me, grinning at the pole straining up my roughly woven supporter. Helping me up, he giggled, tracing a finger along my hardness. "We better get dressed," he said quietly, smirking at me. "I don't want to, though," I complained, and giggled some more. Still someone might come in, so we walked over to get our shorts. My hand drifted down to caress Mark's firm grapefruits, as they rubbed together with every step. I felt his hand squeezing my bare butt cheek, right beside the strap underlining the hemisphere. Then he slipped his middle finger between my sweaty cheeks, pressing gently against my muscular ring, and I shivered. "Mark," I growled in exasperation. My dick would never go down, now. "What? Everyone's gone." I listened and couldn't even hear the showers. It was Friday before Thanksgiving recess, and even the coaches were in a rush to get home. We'd have the place to ourselves until the janitors came by in the evening. Turning to him as we stood behind the trampoline where our shorts lay, I kissed the gorgeous 13-year-old tenderly and fully. As his finger worked further into me, I was breathing harder, and when he was fully inside, I gasped and bit his lip. As I was a slow-growing late bloomer, the 13-year-old and I were about the same height, and our boyhoods pressed together in joyous union. Using both hands to squeeze Mark's firm, round, lycra-wrapped globes, I pulled him into me harder, and we started slowly grinding. We sighed and moaned, with our sweaty heads resting against each other. "I won't see you for a week," he murmured. "I'm going to miss you so much." "Ooooh..." I moaned. "I really wish you could come skiing with us," I whispered. "Gotta see the grand-rents," he muttered. Mark pulled back, and reached down to grab the bottom of my shirt. I raised my arms so he could pull it over my head, leaving me in nothing but knee-high tube socks and a snug, size 12 jock. It felt sexy and dangerous exposed in public, and I liked it. So I kissed him harder, pressing my rigid dick into Mark's, while he worked returned his finger between my naked buns, then another, worming into my tight, warm tunnel. If we had kept going, we'd have erupted in a matter of moments, but we wanted to make it last a little longer. So Mark lead me by around the equipment, taking a leisurely tour. Mark's cock may have softened a little, but as he was leading me around with his hand in my ass, my dick was diamond hard. "You look so sexy in your jock," he whispered. "Robin, I really want to fuck you." I couldn't imagine anything better than that 13-year-old penis buried in my ass. "But, uh, we don't have any...uh...lube," I said. Mark thought about it for a moment, then smiled. Jogging into the boys' locker room with his shorts in hand, just in case anyone was still there, he quickly returned with a huge tub of Vaseline. "What the fuck? Where'd that come from?" I asked. "Cross-country runners use it on their nipples so their shirts don't chafe," he said, and we laughed. By then, both of our erections had lost their peak, but I could see a patch of wetness where Mark's crown had been, moments before. Embracing, our torsos molded together, like jigsaw pieces. My tongue slipped into Mark's mouth, to wrestle with his, while we caressed each other's backs and buns. Mark's fingers slid more easily into my loosening boy hole, and ever time he pressed in, my cock grew rigid. When I gently nibbled his ear lobe, Mark moaned, and pressed his fully engorged boyhood into mine. "Can I?" he whispered into my ear. I flicked my tongue into his ear making him shiver. "Yes, Mark. I want you to fuck me hard." We pulled apart, and he glanced around, then pointed at a boxing heavy bag lying on the ground. "Over there." Grinning, we practically skipped over to it. I bent over the bag cross-wise, my jock-strangled cock resting on the rough, solid canvas cylinder, and my head and shoulders on the floor below. From my angle, I couldn't see what Mark was doing, but I felt him slide my legs wide, exposing my naked starfish to the open air. "Dude, your ass looks so hot bent up like that," Mark said quietly. Then I heard the snapping sounds of tight spandex being pulled. A jar lid opened, and then I felt cold grease slicking my valley, sliding into my anus. My cock pounded in frustration, choking in roughly binding fabric. "Hurry, Mark," I begged. "Put your hot dick in my tight ass!" We didn't have much of a vocabulary, but we liked talking dirty to one another. A moment later, I felt his greasy head press against my muscular anus. With one hand, he leaned on the small of my back for balance, which only pressed my poor little dick harder into the firm heavy bag. I felt his other fingers inside one of my cheeks, guiding his thick torpedo into my hairless little ring. I'd spent the last couple of months training myself to loosen up, though usually I preferred to top Mark. But variety is the spice of life, and I was glad it took only a moment for his enraged glans to pierce into me. Though it still hurt, I loved being impaled by his quaking boyhood, and I raised my hips to meet him. At last, his still hairless pubis came to rest against my buttocks, and he gripped me by the hips with both hands. "You're so fucking tight, Robin!" he heaved, giving me a moment more to relax around his throbbing love gun. "Are you OK?" "More than OK, dude. Your dick feels so great." The pain was going away, and clenched him with my bowels, making Mark moan. "Fuck me with that big fucking cock," I gasped. Intellectually, we knew we weren't that big. Judging by his dad, Mark would be, some day. I'd maybe grow to six or so inches. But the truth didn't matter. We just liked the words we were practicing. "I'm gonna pump you so fucking hard, baby!" Then he drew his pole slowly out, almost all the way, then slowly stabbed it back in again. In and out, he drilled into me gently, at first. Eventually, though, I urged him on. "Pump me harder, Mark. Fuck me like a whore!" ("A whore?" I'd probably heard that in a locker room joke once). He was panting, pounding me harder. "Ok, little whore, take it. Take it!" Slap! Slap! Slap! His hips met my buns harder, and every time his dick drilled almost into my stomach, he slid across my special button. Then he raised one of my thighs, to pound even deeper into me. My poor little dick dragged up and down in the rough confines of my tight jock-strap across the canvas heavy bag. But the friction built uncontrollably. My hands were laced under my face as a cushion, and I bit a finger as I felt my explosion building. "Gonna...cum...Mark," I panted, through short, shallow breaths. "Come for me, baby!" Mark heaved. "Fill that jock and tell me when you cum!" And then it happened. The itchy fire billowed from where Mark was stabbing me with his hard, rubbery wand, and my little grapes contracted in their smooth, walnut sack. "I'm doing it, dude! I'm cumming!" I screamed around my fingers, as my little cock pulsed and strained to eject the few drops I could muster. Sparks flew in my dizzy head. At the same time, my anus clutched Mark's cock like death grip, and he bellowed incoherently. As the fourth or fifth of my pulses died, I felt Mark's hot ejaculate filling my guts, while he pounded again and again, until at last he finished, and sighed. He collapsed for a moment, his sweaty front sliding against my wet back. We took a moment in that awkward position to regain our breathing, then Mark's softening dick slid out of me. A moment later, he helped me up. Mark's leotard was bunched under his smooth, hairless nuts, as he grabbed a towel to mop himself up. Then cleaned up my ass as best he could before we hit the showers. Wrapping our arms around one another, we sighed into each other's hair. "I love you so much, Robin." "I love you more." ======================== My folks rented a place near Mammoth Lakes for the Thanksgiving break, and there was a good 5 foot base of snow already when we got there the next day. It was a 2-bedroom cabin, so my parents got one room, my big sister Lori got the other, and my little brother Chris and I shared a pullout couch. It was cold in the Sierras, and my dad had the fireplace going at night. At the end of the first two exhausting days skiing, we'd all collapsed in flannel pajamas, drinking cocoa before bed. Chris still wore a nightgown from his years of bed-wetting, which made getting him in and out of diapers easier than regular pajamas. He'd finally outgrown wetting that summer, and the 10-year-old was only too happy to be wearing briefs underneath. But his legs got cold, so he also took to wearing Lori's thigh-high woolen socks. On him, they reached to his hips. It was lightly snowing on Tuesday when we hit the slopes. Having been raised in Switzerland, Lori and I were feeling adventurous, so we hit one of the double black diamond runs down Mammoth mountain, while my parents and Chris took something less ambitious. As I flew around an exposed boulder, 250 pounds of flailing idiot plowed into me, propelling us both into a tree. And that's when the screaming started. I remember only bits and pieces. Lori's anxious face trying to calm me. Ski patrol men splinting my lower leg. The emergency room, and then lights out. I'd awaken once or twice. A penlight in my eyes, and questions. Wetness around my genitals. A thermometer up my ass. Mom's voice. Finally, I emerged, groggily in daylight, as a warm sponge wiped gently across my face. "There he is," a nurse said, smiling, then looking over at my mom, who got up from a chair, eager to see me. "Robin, sweet boy," she said, holding my face with both hands, kissing every square inch. There were tears in her eyes, but she was grinning. "What happened, Mom?" The nurse left us alone Slowly, carefully, she told me how the novice skier didn't read the trail signs, crashed us both into a tree, breaking my lower leg in two places. I must have looked worried, because she quickly added, "But it will heal as good as new. See?" She stood back to point at my left leg, suspended up from the bed. A thick bandage wrapped if from my ankle to my knee. Though really woozy from meds, I registered a throbbing ache. "I don't need a cast?" "They have to wait another day for the swelling to go down," mom answered. Then she sighed. "Looks like we'll be spending Thanksgiving in the hospital." "What day is it?" "Wednesday," she answered, getting up to pull the rest of my family in from the waiting room. My dad, Lori and Chris hugged and kissed me, telling me what I already knew: that I'd mend up. But just as we were getting caught up, the nurse came back and kicked everyone out. "I have to finish with Robin's bath, and maybe I can get him to eat," she said. "Come back in an hour, if you like." When they left, Nurse Diane formally introduced herself. She pulled off my hospital gown, and, with a bowl of soapy water, gently cleaned my skinny arms and upper torso. Despite the mounting ache in my leg, it was soothing. She got me back into the gown before pulling down my blanket, revealing to my dismay that I was wrapped in a gigantic diaper. I guess I'd been so buzzed I didn't think much about the moist feeling around my groin. The nurse could read into my sigh of dismay, and explained I'd been unconscious for 24 hours, and it was normal procedure. To preserve what shred of dignity remained, she quickly unfastened the tapes on the sides. I'd never seen disposable diapers before, and if we'd had them at home, it would have made life a lot better for Chris and me while we out grew our stages of bedwetting. In a flash, she washed my junk and my ass, which was considerably less embarrassing than when she fit me into a sort of adult pull-up diaper. "When you need to go, just push that button," she said, pointing a signal. But if we don't get here in time, this is your backup, ok?" I nodded, and she pulled down my gown, finished washing my legs and feet, and pulled the blanket back over me. "Ready to meet your roommate?" "Huh?" I looked puzzled, as she pulled the curtain the fair curtain back from my bed. "Robin, this is Sam. Sam, this is Robin." The other boy looked around my age. Sam was a bit bigger, with very long hair pulled into a pony tail than ran down his chest. He looked in much worse shape than me. Fiberglass molding ran up both legs attached together with a cross bar, and his leg casts merged with a central cast all the way to his armpits. I learned it was called a "Spica" cast, and he'd be immobilized in it for 8 weeks. "Hey Robin," Sam smiled weakly, and waggled his fingers from an arm also immobilized in a cast. "Hi Sam. Um, what happened to you?" A week before, he'd been walking to school. A tourist driving too quickly hit brakes too late on black ice, and ran Sam over. Both of his legs and his elbow were shattered. While we were getting acquainted, Nurse Diane wheeled in some food. It was gross. But I worked through some eggs and jello before giving up. Then she made me take a couple of pills. "Food here takes getting used to," Sam said. "Um, same with the diapers." In Sam's case, it was doubly worse. The nurse had to fold diapers inside the crotch opening of the Spica cast, then, wrap a jumbo diaper over the outside, to hold everything together. When people visited, he made sure the nurses totally covered him up. Fortunately, during the day, an attendant came promptly when we hit the button. When I needed to pee, he pulled down the front of my diaper so I could use a jug-like thing he held up to my penis. Pooping was worse. So humiliating. I won't get into details, but because of the sedatives and pain killers, Sam and I were also given stool softeners to make things flow more easily. Ugh. I fell back asleep. Middle of the afternoon, my parents were both sitting by my bedside, reading. Sam was watching some shitty re-run on the TV. "Hey Robby," Dad said. "How ya doin?" "So tired, Dad. Why aren't you skiing?" "Son, I'm not leaving you alone in a hospital, while I go have a merry time on a slope. But if it'll make you feel any better, I made your brother and sister go." Secretly, I was glad. I was kind of scared to be in that place alone. The doctor came in to check on us, and my mom left to run some errands. Later, she came back with a sack of comic books, some of which were good, an Azimov novel, and a new flannel nightgown to replace the hospital gown. Well, some things never go away, I thought, as my dad pulled the nightgown over my diaper. I drifted in an out of sleep, and the evening nurse brought dinner for me and Sam. About that time, his parents arrived after work. They were kind of scary looking biker types, with tattoos. Back in the 70s, only sailors had tattoos. But it turned out they were really nice folks. Eventually visiting hours were over, and all the grownups got kicked out. Sam and I got friendly, and talked about sports, TV, and, in his case, girls. He was 13, and girl crazy. "Are you really 14?" he asked. I shrugged and nodded. "It's just that you seem...a lot younger." I explained how my mom's family were all late bloomers, and he seemed satisfied enough to breech the biggest issue for him. "OK, so do you..."He made a jerking motion with his good arm. "Uh, you know? With yourself?" "Beat off? Of course! I'm a boy, dude." He sighed with relief. "Well, I've been here a week and a half, and the worst part of it is, I can't reach down to spank it." I gave him a very sympathetic look. "That's gotta be tough, man." "Yeah. Especially when Nurse Diane is washing me down there. It's torture." He told me he'd already had a wet dream two nights ago. "That really bites, dude. If I could, I'd help you out." I didn't know if he'd get mad, but he smiled. "Thanks, bro. I appreciate the thought." After an attendant helped us pee again and brush our teeth, he put me in jumbo snight time diapers. I thought that was bad, until I heard Sam grunt as a catheter was shoved up his pee hole. Poor guy. They didn't want him moving at all. We were given more meds, and I was out until morning. After Nurse Diane washed and changed me, I was fitted for a cast on Thanksgiving morning. I nodded in and out of sleep, while my family and Sam's arrived with Turkey Day spreads. I wasn't very hungry, but it was a fun little party all the same. Chris gently got on my bed to be the first to sign my cast. As he did, my blanket fell away, and he could see my diaper just below my night shirt. He didn't say anything, but pulled my blanket back up. Good thing he didn't know the word "irony" back then. I fell back asleep, waking up after all the visitors were gone, and the orderly was getting us ready for bed. Friday, I managed to convince my parents to split shifts with me and get in some skiing, because Dad was driving my brother and sister home the next day. They exchanged a glance, and agreed. I didn't realize what that glance meant until after the weekend nurse had washed and changed Sam and me, and my parents arrived with a surprise. It was Mark and his dad! When they'd heard of my accident, they drove up to take the weekend shift looking after me, so my parents could get home. My dad and Paul would trade places on Monday, and I was due to be released on Tuesday. After my initial joy, I had to tell Mark, "There's nothing to do here. You're gonna be so bored, dude." He smiled mischievously and whispered that he'd find something to liven things "UP." I giggled. He was so naughty. And he was wearing black jeans - which were hard to find back then - and a black, long sleeved t-shirt. With his long jet-black hair, it was a look ahead of the times, and something I found irresistible. My family kissed me goodbye, and left. After Paul chatted for a while, he left for the motel, saying he needed a nap after getting up so early for an 8 hour drive. I'm pretty sure he wanted to give Mark and me space. Mark pulled out a huge sack of comics, while I introduced him to Sam. Then Mark carefully crept onto my bed, curling around me. "Are you OK, dude?" he said, quietly. "Does it hurt much?" "Doesn't hurt that much, with all the shit they're giving me." "How do you get up to use the can?" he asked in all seriousness. I laughed. "Mark, I haven't been able to move since Tuesday." "So...?" I told him about the nurses with jugs and bed pans, and he was suitably horrified. "But it gets worse," I said. Pulling his hand under my blanket, I lead beneath my nightgown. His eyes grew wide. "Is that a diaper?" I nodded. "Do you have to use it?" "At night, I can't help it, but during the day, this is just for emergencies." He kept his hand on my crotch, exploring the disposable fabric. Eavesdropping, Sam chuckled. "Me, too," he said, using his good hand to pull a bit of his blanket aside, showing a section of his double swaddling. I pulled out a comic for Mark and me to read together, as he rested his head on my chest. Finally, I felt content. As we continued to read, Mark continued to massage my thickly padded crotch, and I started growing hard. We opened up another comic, and he kept stroking my diapered lump. Then, I felt his fingers slide under the waist, gently clasping my 3.5 inches of turgid pubescence. "Seems like baby hasn't wet his diaper," Mark teasingly whispered. "Shut. Up." I hissed. He kissed me on the cheek and apologized. And his fingers slowly stroked my length, dragging the my dick head across the thick diaper's fabric. My legs began to stretch slowly, rhythmically. About then, Sam figured out what was going on. "Hey guys, cut it out," he whined. "You're killing me." I apologized, and turned to whisper into Mark's ear, explaining Sam's plight. Mark agreed to the favor I asked, and gently got off my bed. A tube was straining up the front of the tight, black jeans. Mark went over to Sam, and bent down to whisper in his ear. "Uh-huh! Yeah, please!" he replied. Mark knelt between Sam's bed and the wall. Taking whispered instruction, Mark nodded. His hand slipped under Sam's blanket and was busy for a moment, while I heard cloth ruffle. Then, Sam inhaled sharply, and his eyes closed. "Oooooh," he said softly. The blanket atop Mark's middle moved slowly up and down. Sam was muttering unintelligibly, then moaning quietly. "Oh, don't stop. No...yesss...please...uhhhh." Mark's hand moved faster, then he ducked under the blanket. Sam's eyes shot open, and he gasped, while a head-shape pulled his blanket up and down. Seconds later, Sam's mattress began trembling, and then he shuddered, heaving and gasping for breath. Mark's head stopped moving, and then I heard fabric ruffling once again. As Mark got out from under the blanket, Sam purred a half-intelligible "thank you," before falling quickly asleep. Mark got back on the bed with me, and returned his head to my chest. I added my thanks, kissing my boyfriend on the head. He turned to kiss me on the lips, and I smelled the aroma of Sam's emission. I asked Mark what he'd discoved on his expedition. "He's not very big, but he has a decent patch of hair," Mark whispered. "Also, he's not circumcised." Watching the show, I'd become even more rigid in my diaper, which delighted Mark when his hand slipped to the front and stroked my padded length. I reached over his curled ribcage, to the top of his pants. Mark slightly parted his legs so I could undo his jeans' top button, and unzip his fly. The exposed white triangle of bleached white underpants contrasted with his black clothes like a headlight in the dark. As he stroked me with his whole hand, I slipped two fingers into his fly, twirling round the bobbing crown, and it started to dampen its white cotton prison. Then I rubbed up and down the underside of pounding cock, as it rhythmically strained against the front of his briefs. He sighed and stroked me faster with the flat of his hand, his fingers gripping around me through my diaper. I tried to fit more of my hand into his pants, but couldn't reach. So I kept rubbing the underside of his throbbing length with my finger tips, as it poured steam and pre-cum through his soft cotton undies. Our breathing grew deeper, and it was a race to see who would come first. When my hips involuntarily pumped, I winced from the pain in my leg, and let myself lie helplessly in Mark's hands. "Come for me, Robin," Mark whispered, "Fill that diaper with jizz." "Cream your undies!" I hissed back. He started shaking, and gasping, and I felt his dick pulsating against my fingertips. Then his briefs grew much wetter. He sighed and shivered for a moment, then started rubbing me with a vengeance. My sensitive head was tormented with renewed friction against my soft, thick diaper. Hard, and fast, he buffed my dick until I couldn't hold back any more. Choking my scream all the way to my belly, my nuts clenched into my body, and dick detonated, firing my minuscule seed into the absorbent padding, and I fell into sleep once again. When I groggily woke up later, Sam was reading a book, and Mark was still curled up, gently snoring on my chest. I really needed to pee, so I hit the button. About then, I heard "Code Blue" and some room number come over the PA. The sounds of running sneakers echoed from the hallway. I was curious about the commotion, but was starting to squirm from a full bladder. Mark blearily work up from the commotion. "What's up?" he mumbled. "I dunno. Some kind of emergency." He saw me gritting my teeth, and I told him how I had my own emergency going on. "Where is everyone? I have to go!" Sam looked over at me and shrugged. "So just go, dude. It's a small hospital. It may take a while." When I shook my head, he said, "If it'll make you feel better, I'll pee, too." He closed his eyes in concentration, then he sighed for a moment. Opening his eyes again, he reached over to push his "Help" button, and said, "There. Now it's your turn." He turned back to his book. It was so humiliating, but Mark looked up into my eyes and said, "Just do it, dude." As he stroked my chest in concern, I let the flood gates open, and it felt so good. No only the almost-orgasmic relief, but also the warmth soaking my groin and butt. I sighed in contentment, and felt Mark's fingers sliding to the front of my full, soggy diaper, squeezing me through warm, moist fabric. I quickly grew hard from his rhythmic massage. "You have a boner again? I can't quite tell." I nodded, and he slipped his hand into my soaking front, gripping my wet little hardness by the shaft. I shuddered, and hissed, "The nurse may come soon." "Then I'll have to make you come sooner," he giggled, and set to stroking me mercilessly. My glans dragged against wet fabric, and within a minute, I shook and strangled a groan, exploding again into darkness. Later, I learned that Sam had watched enviously, and when Mark got up to wash his hands, he offered to do my roommate. But with a soaked inner diaper in his Spica cast, it would be too complicated. "I can't let the cast get wet," Sam sighed in resignation. Unfortunately for him, he was still rock hard when an orderly arrived to change us. ========================================= Mark had gotten out of school for Monday and Tuesday, staying the first couple of nights with his dad and then the last night with mine, when the adults swapped duty. Every afternoon, when the room was clear, Mark serviced a very grateful Sam, then me. After bathing me one last time, Nurse Diane pulled me into the cut-off sweat pants, wool socks and thermal undershirt my dad brought. Then she and an attendant maneuvered me into a wheel chair. I slapped palms with Sam, who was sad to see me leave. But we'd traded addresses, and I learned later that Sam managed to have his dick polished by an attentive night nurse, then a younger brother while he was immobile at home. After I was strapped down in the back seat, and Mark and my dad climbed in front, we left Mammoth Lakes, and headed south on the 395. I slept most of the way, hammered by the sedatives that had kept Sam and me from moving while our bones re-knit. At some point, I woke up at a gas station. A sign read "Lone Pine Esso." Bells were dinging while my dad filled the tank. Mark was hunched over me, and my sweats were pulled down to my knees while he changed my soggy diaper. I plummeted back to sleep. The next thing I knew, Dad was carrying me into the house, and Mom, Lori and Chris were all hugging me. I was so loaded, I don't remember if we had dinner, because my next memory was lying in my own bed, finally. And as I fell asleep, Mark was curled around me. He slept over for the rest of the week, bringing me homework from school, sponge bathing me, helping me to the can when I first started with crutches, and changing my diapers if needed. Toward the end of the week, my mom stopped with the sedatives, and the only painkillers I got were aspirins. But that also meant I stopped peeing in my sleep. My leg throbbed, but I still got a good night's sleep after Dr. Mark administered his oral medication. My family each came in to kiss us goodnight, he'd hit the lights, and climb into my queen-sized bed in his t-shirt and undies. Kissing my earlobes, then down my jaw, his lips would reach mine, where we tenderly pressed to exchange our minty boy breath. At the same time, his fingers lightly caressed down my flannel night gown, tracing circles around my skinny chest, and tweaking each of my hardening nipples. I'd sigh, and then his tongue would slowly slide into my mouth, then pull back, then slide in again, fucking my lips with his wet, pink probe. As his fingers slipped further down, drawing round my slender belly, I'd purse my lips around his tongue, sucking his tooth-paste-flavored saliva as I fellatiated it, tickling it's underside with my own tongue. We never tired of kissing, but we would grow more urgent. My fingers, combing through his thick, straight hair, would clutch him firmly by a handful when Mark reached under my nightgown, to trace my slender, throbbing boyhood. For the first few nights, he'd have to reach into one of the thick, disposable diapers my dad picked up from the hospital supply store. But by Saturday night, I'd wear nothing under my flannel, and Mark could tickle my bare length for long minutes, as my fingers traced along the warm hardness straining up the front panel of his soft, white briefs. He'd be lying on his side, one knee bent upward to give me easier access. Mark's undies would slowly dampen at the quivering prow, and we'd both moan into one another's mouths. Eventually, my fingers snaked into his fly, pulling out his thick, 4-inch tumescence. I'd delicately drag my index fingernail down the center, then return. He'd be lightly feathering me with a thumb and forefinger, giving an added twist when he reached my mushroom cap. When we could take no more tickling and teasing and broke and pulled our hungry mouths from each other, Mark would carefully get up. I'd smile, surveying the wonders of his sinewy legs, as they stretched to meet the tight definition of his underpants, glowing white in the pale reflected star light. His cock bobbed in front as he gently knelt astride my head. Lowering himself to rest on his forearms, he'd pull the hem of my nightgown up above my still hairless, 14-year-old loins, and clutch my slender base with a couple of fingers, before dragging his tongue across and around my tender little head. I'd usually be shivering, as I reached up to the boyhood pulsating out of his fly above me, framed in a bright expanse of white underpants. As I clasped him gently by his oozing helmet with the fingers of one hand, I'd use my other hand to squeeze his firm rump, pulling him down toward my ravenous mouth. He's spread his knees to bring his hips lower, and while I used his pre-cum to caress his raging red glans, he'd be licking my length like a lolly pop, and massaging my tight, hairless little walnut sack with a couple of fingers. About the the time I sealed my lips under his ridge, dragging my tongue across his swollen, syrupy nozzle, he's have his lips around my shaft, licking my underside, and sucking. Our heads thrust faster, and Mark used two fingers to stroke me ahead of his lips. I kneaded his full, young sack through his cotton basket, and his hips started to gently pump. In minutes, my tongue and fingers and lips milked his thin, watery juice, and happily swallowed every bit of his sweet and salty manna. Eventually, he'd spams drily against my tongue, and I'd let him soften in my grateful mouth, while he regained his breath. Then, he'd set to work on me, vigorously working my little length, pulling with his fingers and tongue and lips. In moments, I'd feel that dry, itchy fire detonating out from my contracting little balls, and strangling a moan, I'd fall into long night's sleep. ============================================ The next week, I returned to school. I had two weeks to make up, which wouldn't be easy. But with my leg in recovery, I couldn't play soccer, dive or practice ballet for the next six weeks, so I had extra time in the day. Even so, I was bummed I wouldn't be able to surf until January. My parents or Lori would help me get dressed every morning, and drove to and from school. We'd figured out the only underwear I could get on were some oversized hand-me-down boxers Lori's boyfriend Jeremy had outgrown. I hated them. They bunched up in the sweatpants the school gave me permission to wear while I was still in a cast. Worse looked like I was draped in a shower curtain. And they did nothing to conceal a boner, which Mark would conjure mercilessly in the library. Once, the bell rang for sixth periiod, and he couldn't slide his hand inside to finish his handiwork. I'd crutched through the halls, with no way to conceal the missile pressing straight out. I got him to stop teasing me during the week.