(Richard Nixon had been elected and was about to be inaugurated in January of 1969. Young people, as you may have noticed , frequently used the word "like" to begin sentences. Woodstock was still seven months away, and Stonewall eleven.

Sorry this episode arrived later than planned, but tormail was down for a few days. It's very secure, and totally anonymous, but it is not the most dependable service.

1969 is public domain, free of all copyright protection. Steal it if you are so inclined. Although the story is free, Nifty is not. Go to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html and make a tax deductible contribution.)

1969

Part Three

I woke up about a quarter after ten. They'd invented digital watches, but I was still analog, and Hoover was still asleep. I stumbled into the bathroom, took a pretty efficient crap, and got into the shower. A couple of minutes later, a new crappy smell permeated the bathroom, so I peeked out from behind the shower curtain. Hoover was up -- well, actually sitting on the toilet -- and pushing out a load of his own. I stepped out of the shower stream when he flushed, because I knew it would get too hot.

Then I said, "Come on in. The water's fine."

He stepped into the tub, and I hugged him as the water ran down our bodies. I squirted some shampoo into his long, hippie hair, and lathered it up.

"Careful," he said, "you'll get me all tangled." Well, I still had this big toothed comb in the shower from when my own hair was longer, and I got him straightened out. Then I took the soap and rubbed him all over, until I was sure he'd smell and taste as good as could be when we went back to bed. He got pretty stiff and happy while I soaped his cock with my left hand while doing his ass crack with my right. Considering how slick my fingers were, I figured maybe I could slide one into his hole and see how he liked it.

It was just one joint of my middle finger, and he tightened up on it so hard I thought I might lose circulation, but I left it there until he relaxed a little. Then I worked it a bit further in, and then in and out while I diddled his boner with the other hand. He went into one of his young boy orgasms, but I never even saw what spurted from his dick because the shower washed it away too fast. Then he turned, so my finger came out of his ass, rinsed the soap off my dick, then bent over and took just the head in his mouth.

It was very nice, but I didn't want to cum yet, so I pulled him up against me so we could slide against each other while we rinsed. When the hot water started dying on us, we got out of the shower and toweled off. He used that big comb to get the last tangles out of his hair. I just used a brush to get my hair out of my face. We shared my toothbrush, but I was out of toothpaste so we just used the Listerine. Then we tumbled back into bed.

I gathered him up in my arms. I wasn't even hard anymore, I just wanted to feel him against me, so little and so sweet and so unbelievably beautiful. I couldn't help kissing him all over his face, but I never even stuck a tongue in it. What in hell was going on?

"Jeff," he asked, "do you love me?"

Was that what was going on? It was a strong possibility.

"You know, kid," I told him, "we only met yesterday. But I think I do."

"Like, I know I love you," he said. "And when I woke up this morning, I was thinking it would be so good if I just could stay with you and never go back home."

"We can see each other," I said. "We can see each other a lot."

"Like, if you really love me, Jeff -- if you really really love me, I'll..."

I waited for the rest of the sentence, but it wasn't coming. He buried his face in my neck, and hugged me especially hard. Then he mumbled something I couldn't hear.

"Huh?"

Then he turned his face a little bit away from my neck, and said, "If you really really love me, I'll... I'll let you stick it up my ass."

Funny thing. I wasn't thinking about how I could lie my way up his ass. I was thinking about whether or not I really really loved him. It was hard thinking about that, so I said, "Let's go out for breakfast."

..........

We sucked a lot of Sucrets in those days, because we didn't have Altoids yet, and those little metal boxes just come in so handy. I fished around in the drawer of my bedside table and found the one with my roach collection. I couldn't tell one roach from the other, and none of the grass we got back then was that much better than the rest, so I just picked out the longest, clamped it in a hemostat, and lit it up with my Zippo. We had a few hits each just for appetite, and put our clothes on. Hoover borrowed my John Lennon glasses, and looked really cute. I wore big aviators, because the blood in my eyeballs might have attracted sharks. We went to Denny's.

I could eat stupidly large breakfasts in those days and never get fat, so I did. So did Hoover. We talked a little while the chubby girl waitresses were not refilling my coffee. There was some talk of love, and of true love, but our bloodshot eyes were concealed by sunglasses from each other as well as from the wider world. Had it been summer, we might have rubbed naked knees under the table, or brushed bare arms together, but we were dressed pretty warm.

When I'd paid the check and we got back in my 1957 Buick Special, the same age as my beautiful boy, he slid across the big bench seat right up against me, and wrapped his arms around me while I drove home. It felt good, although I have to admit I was glad he had all that long hair so other drivers could mistake him for a girl. There was one red light with no other cars stopped around us, and I leaned over and kissed him. Our tongues shot into each others' mouths, and I guess I got a little distracted because somebody had come up behind us and honked his horn when the light turned green.

Back in my driveway, Hoover looked up at me and said, "You know, Jeffy, I'm pretty sure you really really love me."

I didn't say anything. I just waited.

He continued. "Like, I mean, if all you wanted was to get up my ass, you'd have been fucking me a couple hours ago. You didn't, though. Like, I mean, we went to breakfast at Denny's when you could have been... well, you know."

I had no way of knowing if my landlady was peeking out between the blinds, but I just grabbed him and pulled him up against me, and hugged the hell out of him, dropping kisses on whatever parts of his head came into view. I felt dizzy. I felt like I was floating into space with the astronauts, and might never come down -- and it wasn't the crappy grass we'd smoked. I was thinking it was really really true love.

..........

What makes me sad to this day is that I think it was really really true love, but chicken hawk love is fleeting. What made this love different was he never grew past me. Other shit got in the way, but I'll leave that for later.

So we dragged our Denny's stuffed bellies up the stairs, and shed our clothes on the couch in the front room, and opened the windows wider because it was way too hot again, and dropped down on my bed out back. I thought about toking up some hash, but I didn't have to, because he wanted me, and I didn't have to get myself stoned out to feel okay about doing him. His little naked dick was straining against his belly, and I dove right onto it with my mouth. I sucked up, I sucked down, I ran my tongue around the rim of that perfect little head, and I got him bucking like the proverbial bronco.

Then, surprisingly, he pulled out of my mouth, curling up his legs against his stomach, and said, "Jeff, remember what you did to me yesterday? Like, what you did to my ass? Can you do that some more, now?"

Curled up as he was, his hole was target number one, and I dove right in. It was not nearly so tight as the day before, so I was able to probe it somewhat deeper. Then, really really love notwithstanding, I took his sweet salty balls into my mouth and shoved a finger deep up inside him.

He liked it. Oh, yes, he liked it. Just the same, I wasn't sure he was ready for my dick, so I just kept finger fucking him and licking and sucking his little dick and balls until he went wild underneath me, grunting and moaning and screaming so hard I thought even my deaf landlady might have heard him, not to mention anybody driving by on the street. Then he kind of collapsed, but I left my finger inside him because it felt so warm and cozy up there.

Needless to say, I was as stiff as I'd ever been, and wondering the best way to get some relief now that he'd had his. He reached a hand down and kind of pushed my finger out of his ass, and I collapsed on my back. He got up on one elbow, leaned over, and took hold of my dick. Just the feel of his hand on me was intense, and when he leaned over and licked it around the head, I almost blew my load right then and there.

"Yeah, it ought to be okay," he observed. "I'm pretty sure I pushed out a crap bigger than that this morning. But first go wash your hands. Like, I don't want you touching me with that finger."

Boys can be pretty weird sometimes, in a funny kind of way. As I washed my hands, I was thinking that after I'd fucked him he would want me to take a shower. Well, maybe that was not a bad idea if he was going to suck me some more later. While I was in the bathroom, I dug around the closet looking for the tube of K-Y jelly I knew was in there somewhere. I'd bought it maybe two years earlier, while I still was in college, and used it to jerk off a couple of times, but that was all I'd used it for. Hoover was going to be my first boy fuck.

Eventually I found the K-Y, and headed back to the bedroom. I was not quite so hard anymore, so my dick was pointing straight out in front of me, and I followed it like the needle on a compass back to bed. Hoover was laying there on his back, not hard at all. I sat down, leaned over, and rubbed my mouth and nose around his cute little thing. As I think I said, I kind of like to play with a little softy when I get the chance.

"You know, Jeff," he said, "I never had a cock up my ass before."

"You can change your mind," I said, kissing my way up his belly, "if you want."

"No. I love you, and I want you to be the one to... I don't know. Does a boy say, 'pop my cherry?'"

"I don't think so," I told him, "but I get the idea. And this will be my first time doing it too, by the way."

He giggled. "We won't be virgins anymore."

I didn't bother to mention that I'd had some girls over the years, nor that when I was fucking them I was thinking of young boys. I just kissed him.

"So how do we do it?" he asked.

"Well," I said, "I want you to be in charge of how fast and how deep and like that. So maybe we should start with me on my back, and you'll, like, sit down onto me." I'd seen that in a porn magazine. Boy porn was still legal back then. Things have changed.

He thought it through, then said, "Okay. Sounds good to me."

Dammit, I wasn't really really sure I wanted to do it. My dick wanted to do it, though, so I lay on my back, rubbed a big wad of K-Y on my dick, and rubbed the rest off my hand on the day before's t-shirt, which was still there on the floor. Hoover took a dab and shoved it up his ass, then shared that t-shirt. Then he got up on top of me, pointed my dick at his ass, and started sitting down on it.

These days we know, by reading stories on Nifty, how we are supposed to insert more and more fingers into those tight little holes so they will accommodate our improbably large dicks. Well, we didn't have Nifty back then, and I didn't have an improbably large dick, so he just eased himself down on me.

He was a little tight at first, but once he got my head beyond that tight little muscle, everything was fine. I don't know quite how he managed it, but he sat all the way down. I was way up inside his ass, and all I wanted to do was ram it up there over and over, or maybe just stay there forever. Sometime, while we were fucking hard and heavy, I heard the mail chute rattle. I never could have imagined what that might mean.

I just pumped and pumped and pumped, and Hoover was stiff as he ever could be, and just when I came he sent a little spurt of boycum into my face. I stuck out my tongue, and licked up whatever I could reach. It didn't taste like much, but I never will forget it. It was the taste of true love, I guess. Really really true love.

There was more that night, in different positions, and even more on Sunday morning, but I don't suppose I have to tell you about that. Just use your imagination.

Hoover, where are you now?

That rattle of my mailchute, it turned out, included my induction notice. I'd lost my 2S student deferment when I'd graduated, and I'd been through my pre-induction physical just a little while later. I'd been 1A for months, and just trying to forget about it. That morning, forgetting about it was over. Then there were two more weekends with Hoover, and that was that. I was off to boot camp.

They were good weekends. The hell of it was that I'm pretty sure I was really really in love, but life didn't care about that. I didn't have a good war, and when I got back from Nam, he had moved away, somewhere. Most likely that was just as well, because I'd changed, quite a bit. Well, most likely he'd changed too -- grown pubes and armpit hair and other things I find unattractive, but who knows? Maybe, just maybe, I really really loved him.

Hoover, where are you now? You'd be in your fifties these days, but who knows? If we'd stayed together, maybe I'd still really really love you.

Well, probably not.

(Look for more hot stories with bummer endings from heedon@tormail.org )