Date: Wed, 19 May 2021 17:17:37 +0000
From: donny mumford <donnymumford@outlook.com>
Subject: My Summer of Sex With Cowboy  Chapter 3      by Donny Mumford

             MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY


                                  Chapter 3


                           by Donny Mumford


The next morning, I'm taking a shower, thinking how much better life is
without a morning hangover. Sure, last night I had a couple of
Jack-on-the-rocks and an ounce of cognac after dinner, plus a couple of
beers before dinner. For me, though, since Ronny's death, that was a
light night of drinking. Before his death, the only hard drinking I did
was with him on leave, and not very often. We'd go weeks at a time
without drinking liquor. Yeah, maybe a couple of beers, and maybe we'd
smoke a little weed, but no hard liquor.

So, yeah, I've been drinking too much, and it hasn't helped a helluva lot
either. Getting drunk doesn't change anything; it's merely a temporary
escape from the reality of the world I now find myself part of. Big
emphasis on the words 'temporary escape'.

It's a nice change not having a hangover, but everything wasn't swell
this morning. I was displeased seeing Joe Smith in the other bed when I
woke up. That was not cool, but perhaps Cowboy had a good enough time
last night to balance my unpleasantness of sleeping in the same room with
a stranger. What the hell? In an hour or so, we'll be on our way, free of
Ricky and Joe. And, bizarrely, I'm kind of looking forward to hearing
about Cowboy's night with swishy-dominant-Ricky and his sex toys. That
could be the name of a rock band, 'Ricky and His Sex Toys.' Or, maybe
not...

And, yes, I'm going to have that 'talk' with Cowboy. We need to clear the
air about his preferences, sex-wise. I mean, the sexy activities he and I
have been doing do not closely resemble what he and Ricky have been
doing. Something is out of whack with that.

Perhaps he's perfectly content with the way things are between us, and we
can continue as we've been doing; a more likely scenario, however, is
Cowboy's discovered I'm not as much fun to hook up with as he may have
expected I'd be. Maybe that's why he has welcomed this huge change of
pace with goofball Ricky. As for me, I never thought looking out for him
was going to be fun. Whatever, we'll talk about it when we're on the road
later this morning.

When I come out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist, I try
matching Joe's basic friendliness. He's awake now, so I'm like, "Hey,
you're awake. Good morning, Joe! Oh, and thanks for not snoring last
night." He turns over in bed smiling and mumbling, "Right back at you,
dude."

Sitting up, he adds, "Um, do you think the boys are awake? I'm desperate
to brush my teeth, take a shower, and, um, put clean clothes on. I feel
grungy. Not that last night wasn't worth a little inconvenience this
morning." Ha, coincidentally, that's exactly what I've been trying to
talk myself into believing.

Pulling on a pair of boxer shorts, I say, "Cowboy better be up; I'd like
to hit the road early. Not that we're in a rush or anything, but, for the
hell of it, I'd like to make it to Norfolk, Virginia today." As Joe puts
on the clothes he wore yesterday, he mumbles, "If they're not up, they
will be when I get there." Nodding, I'm like, "Tell Cowboy to meet me in
the cafe, okay?" He nods,  "Yeah, sure. I'll take a shower and then look
for you guys down there. It'll only take me like ten minutes."

Oh fuck, I should have known there's no polite way to avoid having
breakfast with him and Ricky. Goddamn, this experience with Joe has not
been remotely similar to any of my past bar pick-ups. Usually, it's a
fast fuck, and then... well, then, that's it! Maybe I'm a horrible
person, but I've little interest in my pickup guys after we've had sex.
And this morning, I'd much prefer getting on the road without the need
for a chit-chatty breakfast. And, Omigod, I can't take much more of
Cowboy's and Ricky's whispering/giggling routine.

When Joe leaves, I do a big sigh, glad to see him go. He's an okay guy
and all that, and I've admitted that ten times already, but he is also a
pick-up- stranger who, supposedly, is someone to have quick sex with, and
then 'goodbye.' I didn't like sleeping in the room with him last night or
seeing him when I woke up this morning. Well, I already said that, didn't
I?

At the cafe's front desk, I wait for like five minutes while others get
seated. Then the middle-aged hostess gives me a big phony smile with
lipstick on her forward front teeth and says, "Good morning! A table for
one?" Shaking my head, I mumble, "No, um, there will probably be four of
us, or..." She officiously says, "It's always best to have your entire
party with you for seating," and she picks up four menus and adds, "This
way, please." God, I hate mornings.

Or, no, that's not it. I hate this morning because I'll need to continue
being sociable with Joe and his sex-toy, Ricky. Or is it the other way
around? Whatever, it's just that Cowboy and I normally get something
quick, a coffee, or he'll have a bowl of cereal, and, without much
talking, we'll be on our way.

I think I'm depressed. I've never been depressed before, so I can't be
sure, but I think I am. Ronny getting killed and leaving me in this
unwanted stupid and awkward shit storm; I'm lost, and it's his fault!

At the table, I sit down, hearing the clattering of silverware against
dishes as well as mumbled background conversations, and then, "Hello, I'm
Dean, and I'll be your waiter this morning."

Looking up, I see a handsome guy who appears to be in his early twenties
with short red hair, a slim body, and a cute smile. I wouldn't mind
seeing his face when I woke up this morning. Still smiling, he asks,
"Rough night last night? How about a cup of coffee as you're perusing the
menu?"

Perusing? And, I'm not hungover, but he thinks I am because I must have a
grouchy expression on my face from thinking negative thoughts. And, now I
realize I'm staring at this cute waiter without saying anything.

I finally manage to mumble, "Coffee, um, yes. That'd be awesome. Thanks,"
and off he goes to get it. The chances of him being a 'gay' are,
statistically, not good, but so what if he was? I mean, within the hour,
I'll be gone. And, oh, Christ, here come Ricky and Cowboy. They're
wearing makeup again, holding hands, and giggling. This morning blows!

Why the fuck did I ever think hooking up with Joe at the bar last night
was a good idea? Goddammit, I told myself not to respond to his staring
from across the bar. If I ignored it... if Ronny hadn't been murdered...
if, if, if.

The boys let go of each other's hand and sit down as Cowboy's saying,
"Omigod, Zach, that expression on your face when you saw Ricky and me was
priceless. It was Ricky's idea to make up our faces again." I shrug,
muttering, "Swell," and he says, "Well, Joe got a laugh out of our
morning made-up-faces. Didn't he Ricky?" Ricky goes, "Yeah, Joe thinks
I'm hysterically funny. Um, do you have another headache, Zach?"

I'd like to smack that smirk off his goofy-cute face. Instead, I say,
"Nope, I'm good. I hope you both had a fun time last night?" Before they
can reply to that bullshit, someone puts their hands on my shoulders. I
look up, and Joe is standing behind me. That was quick. Sitting, he goes,
"Omigod, what do you think of our girls this morning, Zach." I mutter,
"They're adorable."

Actually, now that I look closer, they don't have a lot of makeup on.
Some light lipstick and eyebrow pencil, but, um, Cowboy's eyebrows look
weird, or... Oh, and yeah, they have some pale-blue eye shadow too.
Jesus, though, Cowboy would have been a pretty girl, for real. That is,
um, if he didn't have a cock and balls. Well, he'd need some tits too.

Joe continues talking in his too loud and overly-gregarious manner, "I'm
starving. How about you guys?" Ignoring that, Cowboy squeezes my arm,
"Don't be mad at me, Zach. I'm having fun just screwing around with this
girlie shit." I say, "I'm not mad, Cowboy," and then to Joe, I mumble,
"I'm never hungry in the morning." Ricky says, "I am." Cowboy then turns
his head real fast to look around, muttering, "Has a cunt waitress been
here yet?" Omigod, when he turned his head, I see his long hair is now
two pigtails hanging down the back.

Ya know what? That is just so fucked up! But, oh, Christ, I'm beginning
to feel like the grumpy adult chaperoning three giddy gay boys. I mean,
Professor Joe goes along with whatever Ricky's into, chuckling along with
the boys right now. Then, he sucks up to Ricky by babbling about how cool
it is that he, Ricky, so quickly transformed Cowboy into a girlie-boy'.

Well, I'm keeping to myself how stupid Cowboy looks with the make-up and
those 'effing pigtails. I mean, keeping it to myself until we drive off
together; then we'll discuss it. And... what the fuck's up with his
eyebrows?

Ricky brightly says, "Thanks, Joe. Yeah, my new girlfriend here, young
Cowboy, at first resisted me doing his hair in these cute pigtails, and
then he was resistant to having his eyebrows plucked." Oh, that what it
is... his eyebrows are plucked really thin. Jesus!

Ricky continues, excitedly saying, " Omigod, he was a big baby about it,
weren't you Cowboy?" Cowboy makes a cute 'face' at Ricky and shakes his
head, making his pigtails flop around. Joe and Ricky laugh.

Then, Ricky goes, "Well, his naughtiness got him a spanking, a hard
spanking until he saw things my way." Cowboy does a girlie shoulder shrug
and leans against Ricky, who pulls on the closest pigtail, adding, "You
like your pigtails now, don't you, Cowgirl?" Cowboy goes, "Yeah, they're
way cool, but that spanking I got! Wow, um, well, I did like it at first,
and then I didn't because you wouldn't stop." Ricky again pulls on a
pigtail, saying, "You didn't say the magic word, did you? No, you didn't.
Now be quiet and behave yourself!"

Cowboy mutters, Yes, Ricky," and then two seconds later, adds, "But
first, I gotta tell Zach how you knew exactly how long to spank me." I'm
rolling my eyes as Cowboy looks at me and says, "I forgot the 'stop' word
Ricky gave me. It was 'moose.' Um, wasn't it moose, Ricky?" Ricky says,
"No, it was tongue-tied."  They both giggle, with Joe joining in. He's a
college professor, seriously?

I'm rolling my eyes again as Cowboy gets his giggling under control and
says, "Yeah, well, anyway, Zach. I wasn't cooperating, so Ricky tied me
up and spanked my bare ass with a paddle until I was crying like a child,
but it taught me something; it taught me to be what Ricky calls...
docile. And, whoa, being docile to Ricky felt so good. I can't even put
into words how sexy it felt letting him do whatever he wanted. I felt so
dreamy while he was doing everything. And, the weirdest thing was, he was
right all along too. Of course, he asked for my permission first, and he
gave me the magic 'stop' word too." I mutter, "Swell, a word you
immediately forgot."

He makes a cute 'face' at me now; then, imitating Ricky's lisping way of
talking, he says, "Yeah, I did forget it, but after that spanking, Ricky
was so nice. He got me sitting on his lap, hugging me until I settled
down. Then he wiped my eyes and held a tissue for me so I could blow my
nose, calming me down, and then I was like... 'whatever you want,
Ricky.'"

For some reason, all three of my breakfast companions are now snickering.
I have no idea why, and then Cowboy adds, "And, it felt damn sexy having
him messing with my hair, then plucking my eyebrows. He was right about
that too, as they look better now." No, they don't; they're fucked up!

I tried to stop listening halfway through all that because the heat of
anger took hold of me, and I didn't want to do or say anything stupid. I
kept in mind that we'll be free of these two nitwits in less than an
hour, and then I'll have a heart-to-heart talk with Cowboy. He's acting
like a, um, a silly child who is infatuated with something totally
unusual and weird. Ya know, wheee, let's be goofy and silly! Swell.

Now Ricky's saying something I missed the beginning of, he goes, "... am
I right, Cowboy?" Cowboy goes, "Oh, yeah, Ricky, I'm your cowgirl now."
Ricky yanks on Cowboy's pigtail again, muttering, "And wait till I dress
you up properly too." Then, looking at me, right in my eyes, Ricky again
pulls on a pigtail, this time yanking Cowboy's head back, adding, "And,
my cowgirl loved being docile and totally submissive to me." I mumble,
"Swell," and then, looking back to Cowboy, he says, "My sweetie got her
reward then, didn't you, Cowgirl?"

Pulling the pigtail from Ricky's hand, Cowboy giggles, saying, "I'll say
I did." Then he says in a solemn voice, "When you were done everything,
Ricky, when you were done disciplining me properly for not cooperating
with you, I felt as though I actually was a cunt, a real live cunt. Like
I was your girlfriend, and you were fucking my pussy with that big black
dildo. Ya know?"

That's it; I can't listen to any more of this shit. Ricky starts to say
something, but I interrupt,  "No, stop! You two goofs need to talk about
this bizarre bullshit someplace that's way more private. People at these
tables around us are listening, and somebody is going to call the cops."
Joe looks around, muttering, "Busybodies."

And, Jesus H Christ, even worse, our waiter has been standing next to the
table holding a pot of coffee for, well... I don't know how long. Now
that I've got Cowboy and Ricky to shut the fuck up, the cute waiter goes,
"Coffee, everyone?"

Without appearing to be embarrassed in the least, his pigtails flying
around, Cowboy quickly turns his head to look at the waiter and says,
"Oh, fuck. I didn't see you there. No coffee for me; I'll have a Coke
instead." Ricky says, exaggerating his lisp, "And, I'll have tea, please.
Um, wow, you're very good-looking, Dean." He read the waiter's nametag.
Joe motions with his fingers, pointing at the cup in front of him,
indicating that he'll have coffee.

PIGTAILS? Can I even believe this shit? What would Ronny say or do about
it? And, as I've already mentioned, this morning blows.

Trying for fake 'cool' now, I sip my coffee and say nothing while the
good-looking waiter takes breakfast orders. Not for me, though; I don't
order anything. Joe, Ricky, and Cowboy all order big breakfasts, and
while waiting for their food to be prepared, Ricky dominates the
conversation regaling us with his observations about life. The phony grin
on my face hides the fact I can't wait for Cowboy and me to get out of
here, free of Joe and especially free of Ricky.

When the food arrives, Ricky stops talking, but he is not a quiet eater.
He smacks his lips while eating with his mouth open. Joe swallows a large
forkful of pancake that's dripping with artificial maple syrup and then
says, "You mentioned Norfolk, Virginia, Zach. That's only twenty miles
from Virginia Beach. Why don't we head there instead?"

Did he just say... WE?

After hesitating, trying to deal with the shock of hearing 'we,' I'm
like, "Um, ah, you guys are heading for Virginia Beach, huh?" Well, of
course, they are. They're going to Baltimore, Maryland, which is pretty
much the same route we're following to New Jersey. Swell.

Before Joe can say anything, Cowboy goes, "Oh, yeah, Zach, I'm supposed
to, ah... Oh, um, that is, Ricky wants me to ask you something." He looks
at Ricky, who has just put a whole breakfast link sausage in his mouth.
After chewing it once, Ricky tells Cowboy, "Don't ask Zach, sweetie...
tell him." Cowboy looks back at me and goes, "Oh, um, what I mean is,
I'll be riding with Ricky today. Yeah, Joe lets Ricky drive his car."

What the fuck? Those three have already decided we'll be sticking
together again today... and again tonight! Goddammit! Well, as much as
I'd like to be petulant about this, I'm the only adult here, so I resist
that impulse and say, "Oh, I guess. Um, are you a good driver, Ricky?" He
nods his head as he chews on another sausage link. Then, two small pieces
of chewed sausage fly across the table as he talks with most of the
chew-up sausage still in his mouth, saying, "Fuck, yeah! Sure, I'm an
excellent driver. Aren't I Joe?" Joe shrugs, mumbling, "Most of the time,
yeah."

I force my hundredth fake smile since hooking up with these two
pain-in-the-asses and say, "It's all set then, huh? Swell, um, I'll be
outside getting some fresh air. You guys enjoy your breakfasts." Joe
looks startled that I'm leaving before the check arrives. Yeah, that's
right, Joe, I'm leaving without paying for your fucking breakfast.

It's not that I give a shit about fresh air either.. what I want is a
smoke. I haven't smoked cigarettes since enlisting in the Navy Seals, but
fuck that. I buy a pack of Marlboro and a Bic lighter from a hotel shop
and then smoke cigarettes while walking around outside bitching to myself
about this latest turn of events. I should have seen it coming, though.
It's just that I'm depressed and haven't been able to think straight for
a while now.

And, oh yeah, I'm totally aware I've been a sappy pushover since hooking
up with those two. I've been allowing this shit to happen without a word
of protest about Cowboy's crazy behavior. Allowing that dink maniac,
Ricky, to run wild over Cowboy. And that is definitely not my normal MO.
It's killing me that that little fuck-head Ricky is getting his way with
everything, but Goddammit, I'm trying to do the right thing for Cowboy.
He's experienced five weeks of me being moody and sad, and, except for
sex, all five weeks with me must have been boring as hell for him. Well,
hell, maybe the sex has been boring for him as well.

Christ, yeah, it's been a gloomy five weeks of barely talking, both of us
devastated by Ronny's death. Plus, I've never asked what sexual kinkiness
Cowboy may have fucked around with in the past. The thought never entered
my mind, to be honest. And, I believe there are legitimate reasons why
I've put up with all this ridiculous girlie horseshit. I thought it was
only for one night and two; I was rationalizing that it's probably good
Cowboy has a chance to get a little crazy and break out of the gloomy
funk we've been in since the funeral. Oh, and the other thing, the third
thing is, he's very young and, therefore, making good choices isn't one
of his strengths yet.

Yeah, he is young, although he's the legal age to do what he wants, I
suppose. And, I have no authority over him anyway! Also, him breaking out
of five depressing weeks by going a little bit nuts with the swishy/Ricky
horseshit is probably harmless. Different strokes and all that, but
mostly I expected it to be temporary. So now, I hope I'm mature enough to
put up with this shit one more day.

That's the only thing that might make it possible for me to keep my
cool'... knowing it's just for another twenty-four hours. Under any kind
of normal circumstances, I'd have told Cowboy and Ricky, and Joe too, to
stick the traveling together idea up their asses and to go fuck
themselves while they're at it, but this isn't normal times, is it?

After smoking two cigarettes walking twice around the entire parking lot,
I'm trying to bolster my commitment to tolerate this crap one more day.
Then, I see Ricky and Cowboy dragging our luggage out the front door.
Cowboy yells, "Hey, Zach, I told the guy at the desk to put the room
charge on the credit card you checked in with. I hope that was okay." I
walk over to him, pat his shoulder and tell him, "That was perfect,
Cowboy. Good thinking, bro."

The boys pile the satchels outside the front door, and then, with their
heads close together, they whisper and giggle about something. Jesus,
just look at those fucking pigtails on Cowboy! I thought Ricky's hairdo
was ridiculous, and now Cowboy's is even worse.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I sigh again because what can I do about
any of this? Well, what I can do is give one of the valet kids, all of
whom are ignoring us, the receipt slip for my car. The kid makes a 'face'
as if I'm inconveniencing him, and then retrieves the key fob from a
board behind him and trots off, leaving me thinking... holy shit, I've
never in my life seen as many freckles on anyone as that valet kid had on
his face!

As I'm thinking about lighting another cigarette, the hotel door opens,
and Joe comes out, apparently having just paid for Ricky's room as he's
carrying the bill. He says, "How's it going, Zach? Um, and no worries,
dude, I took care of the breakfast bill."

Resisting what I'd like to say to that, I mutter, "You need to give one
of these valet kids the receipt, ah, thing for your car." He shrugs,
looking over at Ricky, saying, "I'm sure Ricky's already taken care of
that. Um, do you want me to drive first or second, Zach?" I resist
rolling my eyes at that ludicrous suggestion and say, "Thanks, but 'no'
to both offers, I'll be doing all the driving."

Shortly after that, we're on the road with Joe jabbering in my ears again
and Ricky driving too close behind me; tailgating, in other words. He
tailgates during the entire seven-and-a-half-hour drive. When we stop to
get gas and some take-out Tachos for lunch, I tell Ricky to stop
tailgating, and he said he would, but he doesn't. Swell.

And, of course, Joe continued talking nonstop with me, saying, "Uh-huh,"
about a thousand times. I now know much more than I ever wanted to about
Joe's journey to become a college professor and, also, all his failed
love affairs. Torturous drive.

The only time Joe shut up was when I told him to Google hotels in
Virginia Beach, and if we need them, to get reservations. That should
have been an easy thing to do, except Joe looked for a bargain hotel
while I wanted the opposite. The thing is, there aren't any high-priced
hotels in Virginia Beach. Joe tells me the rates, one after the other,
and $200 is like the top nightly rate. It's for the Cavalier Hotel and
Beach Club. Shrugging, because I actually don't give a shit, I eventually
agree to stay at the Hilton Virginia Beach Oceanfront hotel for about
$100 a night. Why was I initially insisting on a high-priced hotel? I
don't know... probably just to break Joe's balls. Why should I be the
only one whose balls are busted hourly?

Joe gets directions to the hotel using his cell phone, and we pull up to
the Hilton Virginia Beach Hotel at five o'clock with Ricky driving up
right behind us and almost rear-ending my 'effing car.

This time, we're parked in the lot. There is no valet parking, which I
didn't want anyway. We get our luggage out and carry it to the hotel's
front door, where I catch up with Cowboy. Imitating Ricky, I pull on one
of Cowboy's pigtails and ask, "How are you holding up, buddy?" He laughs
and says, "My 'effing stomach hurts from laughing at all the funny shit
Ricky says." Ricky, who runs to catch up with us, says, "Zach probably
wouldn't think I'm all that funny. Huh, Zach?" I go, "Doubtful, yeah."

Then, when Joe and I have checked in, Ricky says to Joe, "Let me have
that room key you're holding, Joe. That's for Cowboy's and my room." Joe
gives it to him, mumbling, "Yeah, okay, Ricky." Putting the card key in
his pocket, Ricky takes Cowboy's hand, saying, "Let's go, girlfriend,"
and, carrying their overnight bags, they head for the elevators. Joe
looks at me and shrugs, saying, "Looks as though you're going to be stuck
with me again tonight, Zach." Swell.

Yelling after the guys, I'm like, "We'll see you guys at the pool in ten
minutes." Then, I say to Joe, "Yeah, it's you and me again tonight. I'm
looking forward to it, Joe." He smiles, "Me too."

Fuck, I can't wait to get to Atlantic City tomorrow. Joe and Ricky will
be just an unfortunate memory by then as their journey ends in Maryland.
Yeah, I've decided Atlantic City is where I'm taking Cowboy before making
the less-fun trip to my hometown of Alpine, which isn't that far from
Atlantic City anyway. After a couple of days on the beach and in the
casinos, the drive to Alpine won't be a big deal.

As soon as Joe and I are in the room, I feel frisky and mumble, "Ya know
what, Joe? I need you to suck me off real quick like." With no
hesitation, Joe starts taking his clothes off, saying, "Holy crap, you
read my mind. I had high hopes you'd let me do that. Is it okay if I take
the blow job all the way to orgasm? Swallowing cum is my hobby...
something Ricky lets me do regularly." Shrugging, I mutter, "That's what
I had in mind, yeah."

Dropping his shorts, he goes, "Of course, when I suck Ricky's eight-inch
cock, he's usually tied my balls tied in a knot first, or he's stuck a
dildo so far up my ass I can; taste it." Uh-huh, swell. I mutter, "I
could do without that visual, Joe." He giggles.

Whatever, I'm trying to make the best of an undesirable situation, so why
not get my dick sucked? This time I drop my shorts and underwear to my
knees, then wait until Joe is stark naked, which was his idea. Being a
prick about it, I say, "Before you can taste my dick again, you'll need
to put your face in my crotch and lick the sweat off my nuts. That drive
was a bitch, and my nuts are sweaty."

Well, there he goes again! As soon as I said that, Joe immediately became
very submissive, or as Ricky puts it... docile. It's the expression on
Joe's face and his posture that indicates his submissiveness. Yep, just
like that, he slumps and becomes, um, docile. He murmurs, "Yes, Sir," and
then drops to his knees. Holy shit, his two-inch penis looks even smaller
than I remembered.

Joe moans, seemingly aroused already as he pulls on his little pecker
while rubbing his face flat against my crotch, moving his nose through my
pubic hair. His nose eventually ends up squished between the inside of my
thigh and my ball sack as he does long tongue licks vigorously against my
scrotum, each one lifting my balls.

It's fascinating how quickly his small cock becomes wicked hard, sticking
straight out from his pubes. Mostly, I just see the head as the rest is
hidden in his pubic hairs. The head of his cock is a normal size and,
actually, more than half his two-inch penis. The mushroom head looks
incongruous at the end of that stubby shaft, and it has swelled up so
much now that the skin is very tight and shiny. Calling it weird doesn't
do it justice. If there were still such things as the old-time carnival
freak shows, well...

The thing is, though, I've had minimal experience with submissive types
as submissive as Joe, some of whom I've felt sorry for because they seem
embarrassed and humiliated. At the same time, they appear to get
incredibly aroused from being like that. Joe, on the other hand, doesn't
seem to be embarrassed at all; he appears to revel in every second of his
submissiveness.

Yanking on his short hair, I mumble, "Okay, that's good. You've licked
the sweat off my balls, now get my dick in your mouth." Omigod, Joe
squeezes my entire penis into his mouth, somehow bending it without
biting it, his nose pressed into my belly. That's quite a maneuver and
even more impressive considering all those teeth he has, not one of which
scraped my dick. That's, um, a miracle, actually.

When my cock gets firm, the head presses against Joe's dangling uvula,
which would have most people gagging. Not Joe, though. He obviously does
deep-throating for girlie Ricky's allegedly eight-inch-cock. If so, my
six inches isn't any problem at all for him.

Joe's tongue is active, constantly moving my cock that quickly grows into
a hard boner, which means Joe no longer can hold the entire thing in his
mouth. Now he's bobbing his head forward and back, his big lips covering
all those teeth. Bobbing his head back and forth is
creating awesome sensations on my boner, and then an extra hard head-bob
forward and, as I suspected, my throbbing hard cock plunges an inch or so
into his throat. He works some throat or neck muscles on it, and the
sensations are so fantastic I go up on my 'effing toes!

Last night I said he was an average cocksucker, but I need to reevaluate
this guy's cock sucking ability. His excellent deep-throating technique
elevates him into the top twenty-five percentile for talented cock
suckers. That is, from the ones I've known, anyway. After only five or
six deep throating exercises, I feel my orgasm percolating and building
steam and feeling really good.

Joe must have noticed I'd blown some pre-cum because he pulls his head
back until just the swollen head of my boner is in his mouth. He licks
and sucks on it until I go, "Ooohh, shit..." humping my hips gets cum
exploding from my cock, then another blast, and I'm sucking in air,
shuddering at the incredible sizzling vibrations going on all over me.

Joe continues sucking on my cock even as he's swallowing that big load of
semen, some of it leaking out both sides of his mouth. When he's sucked
my balls dry, he pulls his head back, and my dick flops out of his mouth.
He's swishing his tongue around, I assume, lapping up random cum globs
from his many teeth.

I go, "Holy shit, Joe, I mean, dude, that was premium cock sucking right
there." Only when I step back, do I realize there's a streak of wetness
on the carpet between my feet. He climaxed while sucking me off. Hmm,
that's unusual... and, um, well, that's weird as hell too.

Joe's sitting back on his ankles, breathing deeply and rubbing his stub
of a penis, then he says, "I loved that. Oh, shit, that was a big load of
cum too. It was huge, actually, so thanks, Zach."

I'm trying not to look at the cum bubble at the tip of his limp two-inch
cock. Instead, I wipe off my wet dick with tissues from a box on the desk
next to the TV. Dropping the tissue in the wastebasket, I say, "Yeah,
well, my last orgasm was like nineteen hours ago, so..." Damn, although
Joe is more than a little on the strange side of normal, his blow job
felt plenty good.

Forgetting about meeting the boys at the pool, I pull up my pants and
then get a couple of nip bottles of gin from the room's little
refrigerator and a can of tonic too, asking, "Would you like a gin and
tonic, sans a lime wedge?" He's putting up his underwear as he mumbles,
"Those nip bottles probably cost ten bucks each, but since you're buying,
sure I'll have a G & T." I mutter, "Whatever," then tell him, "Um, get
some ice from that ice machine we passed in the hall."

He doesn't have the same 'submissive-slump' now that he's getting
dressed, but there is some submissive carryover, as he murmurs, "Right
away, Zach." He's an okay guy, which I keep telling myself. Nonetheless,
this is the longest period of time I've ever spent with a bar 'pickup,'
so it's new territory for me. Obviously, I'm doing it for Cowboy's
benefit, and it's not so bad, but, dammit, it's not my 'thing,' that's
all I'm saying.

Joe is in the hall getting the ice when the room's phone rings. Picking
it up, I go, "Yeah?" and hear giggling before Ricky says, "Um, oh, hi,
 Zach. Is Joe there?" I ask, "Whaddaya want, Ricky?" In the background, I
hear Cowboy making choking sounds and then grunting out, "Fuck, this cunt
of a dog collar is too tight. I can hardly breathe."

The phone clatters against something, and I hear 'slapping' sounds with
Cowboy yelling, "Ow! Ow! Ow!" Then, Ricky's back on the phone again,
giggling and saying, "Just as an FYI, um, Cowboy and I are into something
so that we won't see you guys around the pool for at least another
half-hour."

Again, I feel the heat rising in my head as I say, "Put Cowboy on the
phone right now." Ricky mutters, "Oh, you," and the phone is dropped
again, making the clattering sound. There's some whispering that I can't
make out, then Cowboy is on the phone, "Hi, Zach. I'm good. We're
screwing around a little, that's all. We'll see you guys at the pool. You
know, we'll look for you around the pool." Then he goes, "Oooh, yeah!
That feels so fucking good, Ricky," and the phone is dropped again.

Fuck this! I hang up just as Joe is walking into the room carrying a
cardboard bucket of ice. He asks, "What's wrong?" Shaking my head, I go,
"Nothing. Ricky called, and I guess they couldn't wait to start fucking
around together. They'll meet us at the pool later." Joe puts ice into
two plastic cups, grinning and mumbling, "Well, we didn't wait either,
did we?" Oh, yeah, that's right.

The first gin and tonics hit the spot, so we have a second one. Joe, of
course, never stops talking, and again I'm only half-listening as he
tells me about the ways Ricky uses the various sex toys on him. Some of
it is almost comical, although some of it is kind of sick too. On the
other hand, they're consenting adults, so who am I to be judgmental? I
mean, many people said I was crazy for joining the Navy Seals after
college.

A good philosophy is, as long as you're not hurting yourself or others,
whatever rocks your boat, right? I'm trying to keep that in mind, but it
ain't easy with that Ricky-prick turning Cowboy into, well, I don't know
what the fuck he's turning him into. Maybe it's nothing, though, and
Cowboy is just temporarily playing a role of some kind.

I'm still trying to be open-minded, but Ricky doing that shit with
Cowboy; well, it's concerning. Actually, I can't envision a lot of it,
but what the hell if Cowboy is okay with it? As I said a minute ago, he
has the right to decide what he likes.

And, here's another weird thing I'm noticing. It's that Joe is obviously
getting aroused right in front of me as he talks on and on about the
things Ricky does with those sex 'toys'. While it's mostly giving me the
creeps, Joe can't stop rubbing his crotch. What the hell, perhaps a
'regular' fuck of Joe's hairy body will clear my mind of that sick shit
he's saying.

Jeez, it's difficult to be sure because his dick is so small, but I think
he has another boner. I'm like, "You know what, Joe? Drop your pants
again, and I'll see if I can't cool you down a little." He snorts out a
laugh and says, "Yeah, do that, Zach, you hot shit you. I turned myself
'on' talking about that sexy stuff Ricky does to me. Now I've got an itch
that needs scratching," and he gropes his crotch again. He is one horny
and slightly creepy motherfucker alright.

Then Joe does more than drop his pants; he quickly gets totally naked
again. While he's doing that, I'm saying, "Yeah, hmm, we don't have any
toys here, but I'm good at improvising." As soon as he's naked, I remind
him of the magic word 'stop' and then bend him over the desk and use the
belt from his shorts to spank his buttocks until they're both shiny red.
That doesn't take long.

He yelps each time the belt slaps across his buttocks, and, in addition
to the yelp, the belt smacking his butt cheeks sounds exactly like a belt
slapping someone's ass, so I'm hoping nobody is in the next room. After
each loud "Slap!" across his butt cheeks, I watch the white band that the
belt made until it disappears into the bright red of his buttocks. And,
following each yelp, Joe whimpers, "Thank you, may I have another,
please." I didn't tell him to say that, so Ricky has obviously programmed
him to say it.

Whipping someone isn't really my thing, but Cowboy sometimes will get a
boner when I spank him. Yeah, but Joe already had a boner, so forget
that. Anyway, after maybe eight or nine whips of the belt, I drop it on
the floor. Pulling my shorts' zipper down, I take my dick out and say,
"Turn around, Joe, and get on your knees again. Suck my cock until it's
hard, and I'll give your ass a good fucking." He murmurs, "Yes, Sir," and
does what he's told. Cowboy has never said 'yes sir' to me, but then,
I've never let him suck my dick, so...

As Joe is doing a nice job sucking my cock into a boner, I reach over his
body to grab a condom from the desk where I emptied my pockets an hour
ago. When my boner is hard, I get Joe bent over the desk again, and,
Omigod, I fuck him as hard as I've ever fucked anyone in my life. He
blows his load in about a minute, but it takes me almost ten minutes to
blow mine. It always takes me longer to bust an orgasm when the guy I'm
fucking isn't creating arousal in me, and I've no feelings at all for Joe
in that way. It's different fucking Cowboy because he does arouse me, and
fucking this dude highlights that fact for me.

That's not to say this isn't enjoyable because almost any sex is a good
time. I'm increasing my fun this afternoon by thrusting my steel boner
extra hard and relieving some frustration in the process. Every violent
thrust is bumping Joe's body forcefully against the front of the desk,
the tissue box on the desktop bouncing against the wall, and my loose
change rolling around, some of it rolling off to land silently on the
wall-to-wall carpet. Joe never says 'stop' and never complains. Only
pleasure-sounding moans coming from him, "Umm, umm, umm," with each hard
drive of my boner up his ass.

I've got to give him props as he is a hell of a submissive 'bottom.' I
mean, he kept his ass up high the entire fuck, which is especially
commendable considering I fucked him for many minutes after he climaxed.
When I finally blow my load of cum into the condom, I pull my cock out of
his ass, and Joe drops his buttocks and, slumping against the desk,
murmurs, "Thank you, thank you. Oh man, I had another unbelievably
awesome climax. God help me, but I loved that sex, from the whipping all
the way through to blowing another nice load of cum."

I'm still shuddering a little because, yeah, that was okay. Patting his
shoulder, I'm like, "You're a good buddy-sex-partner, Joe. Tricky-Ricky
is a lucky boy, but how about if you wipe your cum off the front of the
desk now." When trying to stand, he staggers, so I get my arms around his
chest from behind, helping him up. He goes, "Thanks. You're spoiling me,
but, Jesus... that was great sex." Yeah, it was okay.

Joe gets some tissues, then wets them before wiping his cum off the desk.
He is incredibly submissive during sex, and that's fine, but I'm a little
concerned about the belt-whipping I did on his buttocks, so I pat his
back, asking, "How are your buttocks? I hope I didn't overdo the
whipping."

Dropping the cum-saturated tissues in the wastebasket, he goes, "What?
Christ, no. Ricky would be just getting started when you stopped. As I
mentioned to you yesterday, he's got me to liking being spanked, whipped,
or paddled. It shows he cares."

What? The logic of that eludes me, but for something to say, I mumble,
"Huh. Well, what I don't know about BDSM is a lot." Joe's rubbing his
buttocks with both hands, mumbling, "I'm good. You did a good whipping.
Feel free to do it again. I kind of got myself hot and bothered by
talking about Ricky's use of our sex toys, so getting my ass whipped was
perfect. Jesus did I ever blow out a fantastic orgasm, and that was my
second one in an hour!"

Yeah, for sure, this guy Joe is one strange professor.

Anyway, I'm in a better mood now, and when we get down to the pool, we
find that Ricky and Cowboy have beat us down here. They've still got
makeup on, but not gaudily. They're sharing a chaise lounge, Cowboy
lazily lying against Ricky, his head on Ricky's shoulder, one of his
blond pigtails very obvious lying there on Ricky's hairless chest.
Rickie's got his arms protectively around Cowboy, as he says, "You two
are late. What were you guys doing, huh?" Go fuck yourself, ya little
freak.

Without responding to his preposterous question, I go, "Hello, boys.
Enjoying yourselves?" Cowboy snuggles tighter against Ricky as he says,
"Hi, Zach. Ricky taught me how to do deep-throating. I can take four
inches of his fat hard cock in my throat and leave it there for up to
fifteen seconds." He twists his head to look at Ricky, asking, "Can't I?"
Ricky goes, "Fifteen seconds is a huge exaggeration, sweetie," and he
smacks Cowboy's ass, adding, "Don't lie to Zach."

Joe sits on the chaise lounge next to the boys, asking, "Who wants a
drink? A waitress is coming our way." Looking over, I see a
manly-looking- woman swaggering towards us. She's big-boned and all
angles with a forward nose, but a nice smile and a pleasant voice as she
tells us, "It's rum punch day, boys. Drinks on the house until seven
o'clock. Could I get drinks for you guys?" Joe says, "Drinks on the
house? Sure, I'll have, um, what was the drink?" She goes, "Rum punch
cocktails."

She was, of course, staring at Cowboy and Ricky when she said all that.
They're embracing on the chaise lounge doing their normal whispering and
giggling. And, they know she's looking at them, so Cowboy wiggles tighter
against Ricky as Ricky plays with one of Cowboy's long blond pigtails,
tickling Cowboy's nose with it, murmuring, "Be still, darling."

The waitress sort of shakes her head then looks at Joe and me, saying
with a smile, "Oh, um, I'll bring you fellows two drinks each. How would
that be?" Joe nods, "Yeah, four is the correct number, thanks."

Obviously, Cowboy looks underage, as does Ricky, although he isn't,
so the manly-looking waitress is awfully nice bringing four rum punches
instead of bothering to ask for the boys' ID.

I sit on a chaise lounge next to the one Joe's on, and, almost
immediately, there's a funny-looking pool boy with bucked teeth, maybe
fifteen years old, asking me, "Towels?" I nod, and he hands me four
towels from the stack he's carrying. I mumble, "Thanks," and, of course,
he's also staring at Cowboy and Ricky, who are making out as Ricky rubs
Cowboy's crotch.

I'm holding out a five-dollar tip for the kid. Clearing my throat, he
finally looks back at me and mumbles, "Oh, thank you very much." Then, as
he walks away with his towels, he keeps looking back at Cowboy and Ricky.
Who can blame him?

Joe looks at me and says, "Did you see that pool boy spring a boner from
watching these two fags making out?" I frown, mumbling, "No, I didn't.
What were you doing looking at that young kid's crotch, anyway?" He
snickers and says, "I'm into kids, but I have self-control and would
never touch one who was underage."

Uh-huh, his interest in young boys is obvious from his infatuation with
Ricky, who looks as if he's fifteen. That explains Joe's interest in
Ricky, but why is Cowboy infatuated with him?" Fuck, I'm jealous, but I'm
able to hide it. I'd look like a fool if I couldn't.

We drink the sweet rum punch cocktails as Joe and I smoke my Marlboros,
and then we all have a second round as Joe continues telling me about his
life. This time he's telling me how he tried working for his father at
one of his old man's construction sites in Baltimore during the summer he
was a freshman in college but ultimately couldn't make the grade as a
construction worker. I'm doing my usual "Uh-huh" responses now and then,
pretending I care. Meanwhile, in the background, from two chaise lounges
away, I hear the boys giggling because Cowboy's got a boner pushing out
the front of his swimsuit. Finally, to get away from everything, I go for
a swim.

At quarter-to-seven, we returned to our rooms to shower and get ready for
dinner. I'm thinking, thank God this is the last night the four of us
will be together. With that thought in mind, I try to get myself in an
upbeat mood. I mean, it isn't so bad fucking Joe, and, God knows, I'm
trying to appreciate the sexual variety he provides. It's just that I
feel manipulated and, without getting tough with these guys, I've got no
recourse. If I can make it through this night, then this weird experience
will be over, and I'll congratulate myself for not kicking their asses.

I'd be slightly less annoyed by all this if Cowboy weren't enjoying being
dominated by Ricky so much. If that sounds like I'm jealous of their
relationship, maybe I am, although I'm beginning to think of it
differently. Seriously, there's something more important that's
concerning to me. I mean, what if Cowboy gets overly influenced by Ricky
and decides it would be fun to continue acting 'swishy' after we separate
from those two? How am I going to deal with that for the next three
months? Is that the best way for him to approach the rest of his life?

And, I can't abandon Cowboy; that's out of the question after I promised
I'd see it through until Cowboy is in college. Damn, and another thing I
didn't expect is I'm finding it hard not to appreciate Cowboy's youth.
While it's making me feel old, fucking a young man like Cowboy has become
attractive as hell. I'm just now realizing it's an attraction that I
might have a hard time getting over. All these years, I've thought I
preferred a manly man, probably because I'm a manly man myself, a manly
Navy Seal man... hooyah!

Yeah, well, never mind the macho horseshit; after five weeks fucking
Cowboy, I've discovered there's a lot to be said for the young among us.
Not too young, though. I'll leave them for Professor Joe.

Anyway, with those thoughts bouncing around in my head, I'm showered,
shaved, and getting dressed. Joe is in the bathroom when my cell phone
rings. It's Cowboy, saying, "Ricky wants to know what time we're meeting
for dinner?" I tell him we'll meet outside the hotel restaurant around
eight o'clock, and he goes, "Um, Zach, Ricky wants us to eat at this
other restaurant he looked up on Google." I hear him say, "Um, Ricky,
what's the name of that restaurant?" Rolling my eyes, I say, "I don't
care what the restaurant's name is; I'm not eating there. Joe and I are
eating here. If you two want to eat somewhere else, you're on your own."

I hear them whispering, and then Cowboy says, "We'll eat with you guys."
Ha, I guess Ricky doesn't want to pay for dinner. That's dumb because
Cowboy is rich and could pay for any restaurant meal in the country.
Obviously, Ricky doesn't know that as Cowboy wouldn't think to mention
it. I think he's embarrassed about being rich.

I mutter, "Okay, we'll see you guys at the restaurant." Cowboy now sounds
excited when he says, "Don't hang up, Zach! I've got a surprise for you.
Um,  I can't wait for you to see how Ricky fixed my hair. Ricky says it's
more of an artsy look to go with my pigtails." I go, "What? Your hair,
um..." He says, "Yeah, Ricky knows how to cut hair too. Wait until you
see the new me." Oh, for Christ's sake! That fucking Ricky! Staying calm,
I go, "I'm sure you look awesome, Cowboy. I'll see you guys at eight
o'clock."

Joe is out of the bathroom now, and, as he's getting dressed, I tell him
about the so-called artsy hairdo Cowboy says Ricky cut for him. Joe nods,
"Yes, he went to some kind of hairstyling school before enrolling at
college. He cuts my hair." Oh, that's encouraging... Joe has a nice short
haircut. I hope that's how he cut Cowboy's hair.

It isn't.

My jaw drops when I see the boys outside the restaurant. Cowboy has a
huge smile on his face, asking, "How do I look, Zach?" I manage to say,
"Artsy, Cowboy. You look very artsy."

As if the original pigtails weren't bad enough, Ricky undid those at the
back and re-twisted the pigtails on the sides now. They're hanging down
over Cowboy's ears. There's an elastic an inch from the bottom of each
pigtail, leaving the hairs loose below the elastic, like a brush.
Cowboy's hair is parted in the middle, and all the hair hanging around
his head, except in front, is used for the two pigtails.

There's now another part across the front above his forehead from which
Ricky obviously combed all the hair down and then cut the hair leaving
only short bangs all the way across Cowboy's forehead. Pigtails on the
sides with bangs; a hairdo, a nine-year-old girl in the 1950s, would be
rocking as she skipped off to the playground.

Cowboy's holding hands with Ricky, who is beaming with pride. They both
have subtle makeup on, too, and, well... I've never seen anything like it
before in my life. Joe says, "Jesus, Ricky. Really?" Ricky mutters, "Shut
the fuck up, Joe. I'm in the process of transforming Cowboy into a
cowgirl." Then he smiles at me, asking, "How do you like your boy now,
Zach?" I once again have the urge to smack the shit out of Ricky's
smirking face, except Cowboy is beaming so hard, I say, "It's, um,
unusual, obviously. Let's eat."

The pigtails are not a long-term problem. Cowboy can undo them, or
whatever the term is, but the bangs! Holy shit, he'll have the bangs for
quite a while. Hair doesn't grow very fast.

As we're walking to the receptionist at the front of the restaurant, Joe
says to me, "Christ, Cowboy actually looks like a girl. I'm surprised
Ricky didn't dress him in one of the short girl's skirts he sometimes
wears. You know, a short skirt with straps that go over the shoulders.
There's a white blouse that goes with the skirt and long knee socks." Not
wanting to envision that, I mutter, "Uh-huh."

With Cowboy's new 'artsy' hairdo, if he was wearing the outfit, Joe
described, he'd look totally like a country Swiss farm girl. Or, maybe
he'd need an apron to complete that picture. Swell.

During dinner, I feel our fellow diners gawking at Cowboy, although my
traveling companions all appear oblivious to the gawking. The food is
okay, and then, while waiting for the peach pie desserts the boys
ordered, Ricky is Googling for a gay club we can go to. A club where
there's dancing. There are several gay bars in Virginia Beach, and the
boys finally settle on a gay club on the beach called Butterfly's Club. I
guess someone named Butterfly owns this so-called private club. This
joint's 'private' status means there will be a cover charge that they'll
call a 'membership' fee, not that I give a shit.

Actually, I'm all in for hitting a gay bar tonight. Joe does whatever
Ricky tells him, and now, apparently, so does Cowboy, so we're all set
for a night at a gay club. Ya know, there are definite leadership
qualities in this kid, Ricky. He should join the Navy Seals and do their
hair for them... see how long he lasts before ending up in a dipsy
dumpster.

Whatever, I can't get too mad because, as I was lamenting earlier,
Cowboy's been in a gloomy mood until the last day and a half when he's
been very upbeat. In other words, since hooking up with Ricky. Very
different from the sad Cowboy I've been traveling with for five weeks.
Me, on the other hand; well, I'm still thinking about Ronny, and I get
depressed. Not only is Ronny gone forever, but he's left me with what has
turned into a shitty job watching out for his brother, and both those
things depress me.

Not only that, but I'm doing a crap-ass job of looking out for Cowboy,
barely able to keep from exploding at his behavior. But because there is
only one more night with this crew, I'm pretty sure I can make it that
long without blowing my top. And, as I said earlier, as soon as Cowboy is
free of Ricky, I need to have a serious talk with him.

And, considering what I'm dealing with here, obviously, I've abandoned
all efforts at curtailing my drinking. I had a couple of
Jack-on-the-rocks before dinner, and now I've ordered a stinger as an
after-dinner drink. The boys eat their pie in between giggles as Joe sips
on a beer but never stops talking. He's now telling me about his first
car and the problems he had with it. Uh-huh, I gulp down the stinger and
order a second one.

With peach pie on his chin, Ricky tells Cowboy, "C'mon, finish up," and
to Joe and me, he adds, "We're going to the restroom." Cowboy giggles,
"To make out, huh, Ricky?" Ricky goes, "Shut up, Cowboy. I've got a
better plan than that." They stand, and Ricky tells us, "We'll see you at
the club. I've got directions on my phone, so there is no need for you
guys to wait for us." He takes Cowboy's hand and leads him quickly
through the restaurant as all the other diners gawk open-mouth at them.

Joe grins, "Ricky's really something, don't you think, Zach?" I go, "He's
something alright." The check arrives, and Joe stretches his neck,
looking out the window as if something is interesting going on in the
parking lot. I put my American Express card on the check, and the waiter
takes it away. He's quickly back, I sign and leave a good tip, the waiter
mumbles, "Thank you," and, as we stand, Joe says, "I want to thank
you too, Zach. You're very generous." I mumble, "My pleasure."

Outside it's another beautiful night, the temperature seventy-some
degrees and the night sky overbrimming with bright stars, plus the same
bright moon I saw from the balcony of Mac's condo, seemingly, a lifetime
ago. I leave the top down and drive away as Joe Googles for driving
directions to the club.

My intentions are simple; I'm going to continue getting smashed. I've
been putting up with everything, basically, because Cowboy appears to be
having a ton of fun, but the cloud of depression is hanging over me, and,
therefore, I'm going to get drunk. I'm tired of beating myself up about
Ronny and about how he shouldn't be dead. Tired of insisting he should
have handled that carjacking situation. The reality of it is he didn't
handle it, that's the fact of the matter, so here I am.

Joe is uncomfortable with silence, and since I've no desire to talk, he
talks nonstop as he's been doing since I met him. I try forcing a
friendly persona, but I can't pull it off for long and lapse into another
moody silence. Joe continues telling me his life history, yelling it out
over the noise of the wind as we drive along.

It's quarter-to-ten when we get to the Butterfly's Club. I bypass the
opportunity for valet parking and, instead, park the car myself in the
club's big parking lot. When I want to leave, I don't want to wait for
somebody to get the car and then hold their hand out for a tip. It's not
the tipping I care about; it's the waiting I object to.

As we're walking to the front door, Joe asks, "Shouldn't we wait out here
for the boys?" Shaking my head, I go, "Nah, we'll go in and have a
cocktail. We've all got cellphones, so if they have any problem getting
in, they'll text or call one of us."

There's a measly ten-dollar membership fee' which I pay for both of us,
and in we go. It's not very crowded, but it's early. We've finished two
drinks standing at the end of the bar by the time Cowboy and Ricky show
up at eleven o'clock. While drinking those two cocktails, I learned about
Joe's music preferences, mostly rock groups from the eighties I've never
heard of.

It's almost a relief when Ricky interrupts, sayings, "Hey, guys, can you
believe they charged us to get in here?" Joe explains what should be
obvious, "Oh, that's a so-called membership fee so that this place can
call itself a private club for members only. That's how they get a pass
on the normal drinking-age laws."

I mumble, "Technically, the law applies in here too." Looking at Cowboy,
I add, "But, as long as an underage drinker, such as yourself, doesn't
get smashed and then get caught drunk driving, the cops don't bother
harassing private clubs." Cowboy mumbles, "Ricky's driving," and then he
rubs his ass with both hands, grinning and saying to me in a stage
whisper, "Speaking of Ricky, I hope he left enough of my ass for you,
Zach."

I force out a snorted chuckle while again having the urge to smack Ricky,
who laughs, then says, "Yeah, I gave my girlfriend here a real workout in
our room, plowing her cunt after a hard spanking. Haha, I was fucking
Cowboy so hard those pigtails were flapping around like mad. Huh,
girlfriend?" Cowboy says, "Yeah, they were slapping the shit out of my
face" The boys and Joe get into a giggling fit over that as I roll my
eyes for the fiftieth time since I met up with these two clowns.

The band is back from their break as I buy another round of drinks, three
bottles of beer, and another double Jack on the rocks for me. The boys
mumble, "Thanks,  Zach," and both of them chugalug half their beer. Ricky
burps, all three of them giggle at that, and then he says, "It's
steamy-hot work fucking Cowboy's cunt. This beer hits the spot, huh,
Cowgirl?" He goes, "Uh-huh, I'll say." I'm again staring at Cowboy's
one-inch bangs. Un-fucking-believable.

Forcing myself to look away from him, I see an attractive guy around my
age who is yucking it up with a couple of older men, both of whom are
seriously balding. There is something about the younger guy that is
enticing to me, but I'm not sure exactly what it is? Hmm...

We're still standing at the very end of the bar, not too far from the
enticing young man standing off to my right. He's leaning against a wall
with many posters of barely clothed hunky men. The club is getting more
crowded by the minute, and I'd really like to get lost in the crowd. Get
away from, well, from Joe. You know, cruise around a little bit on my
own, check out that enticing guy against the wall.

Finished their beers, Ricky pulls on one of Cowboy's pigtails, telling
him, "It's time for us to dance pretty-girl, show me what you've got.
Wiggle that sore ass of yours."

Well, fuck! Now that those two are off dancing, I'm stuck here. It would
be rude as hell of me to leave Joe here by himself. I was that close to
making my escape. Joe says, "How about you and me dancing, Zach? I've got
some nasty moves to show you." I can't wait for that... not. So,
shrugging, I'm like, "Oh, um, yeah, sure, after I finish this drink."

Fortunately, I have the pack of cigarettes with me that I bought earlier,
so I say, "Let's have a smoke outside first. We'll finish our drinks in
the smoking area." Joe goes, "Hey, yeah, I'll have a smoke. I only smoke
when I drink and when someone offers me one. Haha, I don't buy 'em."
Cheap bastard. Yeah, but he doesn't make much money as a college
professor, I guess.

The smoking area is out back where it isn't necessary to get your hand
stamped for reentry. We take our drinks with us as I watch the guy who
enticed me walk off with one of the bald guys toward the restroom. There
goes that possibility. Swell.

The smoking area is like a large barn without a roof--four walls with a
cement floor. There are strings of lights strung overhead, and it's
crowded. I give Joe a cigarette, and he nods at it, saying, "I wish this
were a joint." I nod back at him without mentioning I've got three joints
in my shirt pocket. I've supported this fucker enough already. As soon as
we light up, he begins telling me how Ricky will tie a string around his,
Joe's, nut sack, and then fucks him with a big black curved dildo. As he
talks, I'm watching Joe's eyes tracking a young guy about Cowboy's age
who just walked out here for a smoke.

When Joe's done with the nut-sack-tying-dildo-story, I go, "Joe, if you
see an interesting stranger, don't let me hold you back. Go for it." He's
like, "Jeez, I haven't been in a gay bar for months. I forgot how great
it is seeing all the gay guys walking around." I'm like, "Well, as I just
said, if you see one you like, go for it."

He nods and then tells me, "Ya know, this is a special treat. I usually
need to go to a lot of trouble sticking with private clubs far from the
university because I wouldn't want someone from admin to see me coming or
going from one." I go, "Hey, there's no legal discrimination against gays
in the workplace." He goes, "I know, but I'm pretty much in the closet.
Anyway, um, you're saying you wouldn't mind if I drift after that lad
with the crew cut?" I shrug, "Nah, why would I mind?"

Christ, it'd be perfect if it's Joe who wants to split off on his own.
That will allow me to do likewise, guilt-free. And, it's not that I'm
horny; I haven't been horny since leaving the Seals. It's just that it's
fun to scope out a conquest. Plus, there's the variety factor too, and
sex is fun, or it should be. Joe flicks his cigarette butt, swallows the
last of his beer, and says, "Damn, you're a good guy, Zach. Yeah, I'm
going to see what's up with the crewcut boy; he looked lonely." I mumble,
"Good luck." He grins and wanders off after the young-looking kid.

Holy shit, just like that... I'm free at last!

Yeah, that's an unexpected bit of good luck. It's awesome to be on my
own, finally. I'm standing here in the middle of this crowded space,
grinning like a goof. I mean, for the last twenty-four hours, longer than
that actually, Joe has been like gum on my shoe; wherever I went, so did
he.  I am grinning to myself, no longer minding that there are too many
guys out here, not minding the cigarette haze hanging stiflingly in the
air or the loud talking and laughing going on all around me. Nope, it's
all good as my mood is improving by the second.

Stepping on my cigarette butt, I turn to begin making my way back to the
main club but immediately bump into someone. Mumbling, "Sorry, my fault,"
the guy I bumped into says, "No, it was me who wasn't looking."

It's another guy around my age, this one holding a small cigar. He says,
"That was clumsy of me, but, um, and please believe me that this is not a
pickup line, but could I bum a light off of you?" He holds up the small
cigar as if that proves he's telling the truth, and I go, "Yeah, sure,"
and hand him my Bic lighter. Muttering, "Thanks," he takes the lighter,
and, with the small cigar between his teeth, he leans his head down
toward the lighter, cupping it as if it's windy out here, which it isn't,
and lights up.

Even though I look away, purposely not staring at him, I can't help but
noticed that his light brown hair is cut military-short, and he has a
tattoo of a Navy Seal frogman on his upper left arm. It's a cool tattoo
of a frog's skeleton holding a harpoon. I've seen it on other Navy Seals,
and, yeah, the tattoo doesn't sound too cool, but it is.

I ask, "Are you still active in the Seals?" He looks up and, with
fragrant cigar smoke drifting from his mouth, mumbles, "Yeah, I just
re-upped. How'd you know I'm a Navy Seal?" I nod at his tattoo, saying,
"I was in the Seals too." He grins, "Oh, yeah, my tattoo."

Handing the Bic lighter back to me, he asks, "When did you get out?" I
go, "Two months ago." Hmm, I light another cigarette, and we exchange a
little of our history with the Seals, none of which overlaps the others
as he's been primarily a frogman, and I was in another outfit entirely.

While talking, I take a little closer look at him, and he's okay-looking
but nothing special. Not surprisingly, he's definitely got the confident
Navy Seal swagger when talking about his Seal experiences. Still, then,
it's surprising to notice how tentative and unsure of himself he seems
when he changes the subject, mumbling, "Ah, that is, um, I mean, well,
there sure as shit isn't a lot of queers in the Seals, huh?" That was
quite a non-sequitur.

Caught off guard, I hesitate as he does a nervous chuckle. I finally
mumble, "That's been my experience, yeah." It's like he has a strange
combination of arrogance but with a noticeable lack of self-confidence at
the same time. Is that even possible?

He exhales more of the fragrant cigar smoke and says, "Me, um, well, I
was late to the gay party, you might say." Nodding, I let him talk, and
he adds, "I sure as shit didn't join the Seals as a queer. I mean, I
didn't know I was, not really." I just nod my head again, and he snorts
out another forced chuckle, mumbling, "I don't know why I'm telling you
all this except we're both standing in this gay club, heh-heh."

I say, "Yep, we are," and he looks at me, "What I meant was, I didn't
think I was queer when I joined. Or, maybe I thought I might be, but as a
Navy Seal, no one would notice. No, that sounds stupid... maybe I mean, I
joined so I wouldn't notice."

Patting him on the shoulder, I go, "Well, your secret is safe with me."
I'm not sure he even heard me say that as he goes on as if he's talking
to himself, saying very quickly, "And, I didn't come to the conclusion I
was, um, queer until very recently. I guess I reached the point where I
couldn't lie to myself any longer. I got drunk talking with an incredibly
hot' fellow at a bar in Coronado, California. That was like three months
ago... hell, it wasn't even a gay bar, but this guy talked me into
blowing him. As it turned out, he didn't have a difficult time talking me
into it either. To my surprise, I realized I wanted to do it. I was tired
of suppressing my urges, I suppose. Christ, I didn't even know what the
fuck I was doing. Finally, the guy started, nicely, in a nice way, to
give me instructions. Jesus, have you ever heard anything like that in
your life?"

Shaking my head, I go, "No, not really. Um, yeah, that's, um, a hard way
to learn, I suppose. Usually, when you're a teenager, or... anyway, um,
since then, have you...?" He shrugs and again snorts out a nervous
chuckle, saying, "I was floundering after that. Then I did have one
other, um, experience, gay experience. It was with a much older man who
approached me, this time in a gay bar, my first ever gay bar. Anyway, he
was telling me I looked lost or some such bullshit. Ultimately, that was,
um, an unfulfilling experience, to say the least."

This is awkward, so, trying to lighten things up a little, I go, "Well,
for a fellow Seal such as yourself, I'd be happy to answer any questions
you may have about successful cruising. Actually, I suck at it myself,
but maybe not as much as you." He snorts out another chuckle and says, "I
wouldn't know where to start. In case you haven't noticed, my hands are
shaking. See?" and he shows me his trembling fingers. Poor guy. He goes,
"Yeah, just talking to you has me nervous and excited in equal parts."

Still not sure what to say, I trying for levity again, "Um, so, asking
for a light was your pickup line." Shaking his head, "No! No, I needed a
light for real. And, Omigod, what are the chances you'd be a gay ex-Navy
Seal and take pity on me?" Holding out my hand, I go, "By the way, I'm
Zach McMann; nice to meet you." He shakes hands, mumbling, "Charlie
Robinson, likewise." I ask, "Can I buy you a drink?" He says, "No, let me
buy you one."

We step on our smokes, most of his small cigar unsmoked, and go into the
club. There are still no vacant stools around the bar, but we fit into an
open space, standing. A leather-clad, heavily tattooed bartender with a
high purple Mohawk haircut asks, "What can I get you guys?" I go, "A
draft of Heineken," and Charlie says, "I'll have the same," and he plops
a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. Jesus, I can't remember the last time
anyone bought me a drink.

Charlie is four inches shorter than me, which is another way of saying
he's five-foot-ten or thereabouts. As I said earlier, he's not especially
good-looking or cute, but there's a, um, a wholesome look to him, and I'm
not even sure what I mean by that. He's clean-shaven with short hair and
a clear complexion, nice teeth... like that. He looks very clean. He's a
little on the stocky side, but his upper body is well developed. Well, he
is a fucking Navy Seal, so the body type goes without saying. He's what a
girl might call 'a hunk'.

We're stuck, conversation-wise, so I ask an innocuous question, "So, how
old are you, Charlie?" He goes, "Twenty-six. I joined the Seals after
college, much to the chagrin of my mom. I'd always thought the Navy Seals
were tough, and I wanted to be tough. Well, I was already kind of tough.
I was a wrestler in college and made it all the way to the semi-finals of
the NCAA college wrestling championship in Saint Louis." I go, "Oh yeah?
Do you want to arm wrestle?" I said that as a joke, and he took it that
way, chuckling and saying, "Yeah, I guess that sounded like I was
bragging."

Gee, there's something sweet about this guy. I'll bet his fellow Seals
picked on Charlie because 'sweet' isn't a personality trait any Navy
Seals I've known has ever had. Mostly we're a bunch of overly competitive
A-personality hard cases.

Finishing my beer, I ask, "Well, we're two gay Navy Seal assholes, so
would you care to do something gay together." He starts to say, "Yeah,
we, ah...," but the rest sticks in his throat. He blushes, adding,
"You'll need to lead the way and, um, tell me what to do." I go, "Sure,
no problem," and he does his tenth nervous chuckle, adding, "I'm so
nervous I'm going to pee my pants."

Patting him on his shoulder, I go, "Well, in that case, when you finish
your beer, we'll stop at the restrooms." He does his eleventh nervous
chuckle, then, with his hand shaking, he chugs the rest of his beer and
says, "Lead the way, Zach."

As we make our way to the restroom, I spot Joe talking with the crewcut
kid near the bandstand. The kid is against the wall, and Joe has a hand
on the wall on either side of the kid while talking up a storm. Of
course, he'd be talking up a storm.

However, Charlie isn't a talker, so to keep connected with him, I mention
a couple of actions I was a part of. On solid ground again, talking about
his Seal experiences, he tells me about his active combat encounters. The
first thing I see is someone on their knees partially in a toilet stall
sucking someone's dick in the restroom. I can't see his face, but unless
there is another guy in this club with pigtails, it's Cowboy blowing
Ricky.

We walk by the toilet stall with Joe nudging me and nodding at Cowboy's
back, mumbling quietly, "I can't ever see myself doing that. How about
you?" I say, "No," and then we stand next to each other at urinals,
pissing. He wasn't referring to oral sex, which he performed as his first
gay sex act. He and I both were referring to blowing someone in a public
lavatory in a toilet stall; that's what we wouldn't do, and I'm
disappointed that Cowboy is doing it. Ricky must really be inside his
head.

Outside the restroom, Charlie asks, "So, what's the play, Zach?" Looking
around, he goes, "Obviously, we can't, um, do anything in here, right?"
I'm like, "Some do, but not me, so let's take a walk on the beach."

At the front door, there are several guys in line getting the back of
their hand stamped for free readmission, but we walk around them to go
outside. I mumble to Charlie, "I'd rather pay the cover charge again than
wait in line."

On the beach, neither of us is wearing socks, so we take off our boat
shoes and carry them, walking barefoot in the sand down close to the
ocean. Charlie says, "Christ, I haven't been this nervous since
Processing Week at the Seal's Great Lakes training facility." I chuckle,
"Yeah, that was a stressful week of basic training; all of it I'll
remember forever. There were a lot of us with scared little shriveled-up
dicks that week." We both bob our heads, remembering basic training
terrors; terror like going to the very bottom of Lake Michigan.

As we slowly walk on the beach, we continue exchanging Navy Seal
experiences, funny ones mostly. That's what we have in common; that and
being gay. The 'being gay' part is uneven, though, meaning I'm
experienced with gay sex, and Charlie is not.

One hundred yards away, looking back, we can still see the club's huge
lighted sign blinking 'Butterfly's Club' on and off. It's the most
notable feature for this part of the beach. Charlie mumbles, "We're not
the only ones walking on the beach, Zach." I put my arm across his
shoulders, saying, "Yeah, I noticed that, and they all appear to be
guys." He mutters, "Imagine that."

I go, "And some of them are taking a nap together. Do you see those two
on the blanket straight ahead?" He doesn't pull away from my arm on his
shoulders as he says, "Yep, but I don't believe they're napping. Are we
going to walk right by them?" We keep walking as I mumble, "It would
serve them right if we did walk right by them because they're so blatant
about it, but let's head up near the street and see what's up there."

What's up there is a dune effect on the beach. A place where two guys
could snuggle behind the dune and not be very visible to anyone walking
the beach. On the other hand, we'd be very visible to anyone walking down
the street. The street, however, is like a ghost town; no cars and nobody
walking as far as I can see in both directions.

"Let's have a seat on the sand behind this motherfucking dune, Charlie.
The street here appears to be a dead-end with no traffic." He makes a
gulping sound, mumbling, "Sure, okay." We sit Indian style, our legs
crossed like a pretzel, facing each other; the Lotus position for those
into Yoga. Charlie asks, "What are we doing here, Zach?"

Putting a hand on his shoulder, getting him used to us touching, I say,
"That is exactly what we are going to decide together. Is there anything
you're most curious about? I mean, as regards gay sexual activities."

He chuckles nervously again, muttering, "Many things, but I feel like I'm
back in the guidance counselor's office in high school." Another nervous
chuckle, and he adds sarcastically, "Um, ah, well, my experience has been
exclusively in the area of oral sex. I'm very experienced at that, having
done one blow job and having my dick sucked by an older man one time. So,
obviously, I'm now totally versed in everything there is to know about
that, but I'm wondering what it's like kissing a man. Um, that's one of
the many things I'm wondering about."

Squeezing his shoulder, I say, "Kissing a guy with your eyes closed, um,
you'll think it's very much like kissing a girl. Lips are lips." He goes,
"And, if the man has a mustache?" I grin, "Then, don't kiss him. That's
my advice." We both chuckle, and then I go, "Lean forward, and we'll
kiss, okay? Then you'll know."

Nodding and grinning, we both lean forward with Charlie mumbling, "I feel
like an idiot, a thirteen-year-old idiot, but here goes..." He
participates in the kiss, which surprises me, although the kiss is
basically a nice brotherly-type kiss.

After that one-second kiss, we both sit back, and I ask, "What did you
think about that?" He shakes his head, laughing and saying, "I still feel
like I'm thirteen years old again." I'm like, "Yeah, well, this is the
kind of stuff that is usually worked out earlier in life, but you'll
catch up. How'd you like kissing a guy?" He goes, "I liked it. What else
can we do?"

Wow, he most definitely does have an innocent, sweet personality. Making
sure not to rush him, I change the subject temporarily by asking, "How do
you get along with the other Seals?" He goes, "Whaddaya mean?" I shrug,
 "Nothing particular, except, I was wondering, um... do you get teased a
lot?" He goes, "I get along with everybody pretty well, but, yeah, I do
get teased a lot. The guys are always asking me if I'm sure I shouldn't
have joined the Boy Scouts? Heh-heh, you know, because I seem naive and,
ah, I'm not super macho. Mostly, I'm too polite, that's what I think it
is, but that's how I was raised. I'm from the south, a small town in
Mississippi. Oxford, Mississippi, to be exact. That's where the
University of Mississippi is located. I was the first kid from my high
school to graduate from the university and the first one to be a Navy
Seal."

I go, "Oh, so you're a celebrity in Oxford, huh?" He goes, "To my mom, I
am, yes. Haha." Then he asks, "Can we do the kiss again? I need the
practice." Nodding, I lean towards him, and this time it's a three-second
kiss after which, he goes, "Holy shit, I felt my dick move that time,
Zach."

As goofy as this is, it's kind of fun too. This guy is so innocent. I'm
like, "Yeah, well, moving on. So, ah, what else would you like to
practice?"

He says, "Whew, overall, this is going much better than I thought it
would, although I'm slightly flustered." I say, "Take your time; we've
got all night." He laughs and then says, "I don't know about all night.
I'm here with three other Seals. We're staying at a hotel in the tourist
section of town; I guess you could say. They might get suspicious if I'm
out all night."

Huh, maybe they treat Charlie like their little brother, although he's
probably, at twenty-six, among the oldest Seals in his class. Ronny and I
were the two oldest guys in our recruiting class because we graduated
college first like Charlie. I ask, "What did you tell your teammates you
were doing tonight?" He says, "I secretly Googled to find a gay club here
in town; then I told the guys I felt sick and was going to stay in the
room tonight. Then, when they went out, I came here."

Huh. He hasn't mentioned trying anything else, so I go, "So, do you want
to kiss again?" He nods and leans over. This time I hold his head between
my hands and give him a tongue-infused kiss that lasts five or six
seconds. He squirms and leans forward too far, pushing me over backward
with him on top of me. Our mouths come apart, but he continues lying on
me without moving or saying anything.

I lie still too, hearing him moan quietly before murmuring, "Your body
feels so good, um, it's so..." and he gets up, pushing off the sand next
to me, adding, "I'm sorry. That was weak of me. I didn't, ah..." We're
sitting up as I tell him, "Your body felt good too. No problem, Charlie.
We're good, bro."

Even in this poorly lit area, I can see he's blushing brightly. I slide
over next to him and put my arm across his shoulders again, asking, "What
are your thoughts regarding anal sex?" He leans against me, apparently
comfortable that I'm hugging his shoulders. Quietly, he says, "I'm
extremely curious about it, and," he turns his head to look into my eyes,
adding, "And I hope you'll do it with me."

More blushing, but to his credit, he maintains eye contact as I say, "I'd
like to do that very much and, luckily, I happen to have protection in my
pocket, meaning a sturdy condom dripping with lubrication."

He looks away, snorting out a laugh, then he goes, "You're being very
nice about this. Are you sure you were a Navy Seal? Most Seals I know
would be breaking my balls like a motherfucker by now." Joking, I'm like,
"Even the gay Seals?" He chuckles again, mumbling, "Good point. You're
the first gay Seal I've met, so, yeah, maybe gay Seals are nicer, albeit
scarce in my experience."

He inches tighter against my side, so I give his shoulders another
squeeze. Then, feeling it's probably time to broach the topic head-on, I
murmur, "Are you ready to try it now, Charlie? Ready to feel a man's hard
cock in your ass?" Again, he lifts his head to look me in the eyes and
says, "Yes, I am."

To be continued...     donnymumford@outlook.com.

Please consider helping out this fantastic free story site by making a
tax-deductible donation to this non-profit site, helping them cover the
maintenance expenses. Easy instructions at nifty.org. Thank you