Date: Sat, 19 Apr 2014 14:14:14 -0700 (PDT) From: Rob Roth Subject: Dylan's Summer Vacation Two, Chapter 57 DYLAN'S SUMMER VACATION TWO Chapter 57 by Donny Mumford Willie's sleeping in the small fourth bedroom as Chubby showers and I lay in bed thinking about tonight's rescue of a slave boy. I'm proud of myself, but I'm proud of Willie, too. He's embraced the concept that he needs to be a better person, but hell, so do I. Interrupting my thoughts, Chubby comes into the bedroom naked, his body squeaky clean. He grins at me, asking, "Willie? Really?" He puts on boxer shorts as I begin telling him what transpired earlier. Chubby gets in bed, fascinated by my narrative. "On a fucking leash, like a dog?" he asks, incredulously. I tell him briefly about the fetish some people have regarding a slave/master relationship, and Chubby goes, "Yeah, it's that bat-shit-nuts BDSM thingie, right?" I concur it's BDSM related, without elaborating, and then continue with my tale. Chubby's like, "A ballsy move, bro! You went right up to this crazy bastard, huh?" Admitting to Chubby I probably wouldn't have done what I did if Devon was a scary-looking, muscle-bound older dude. I do add, "But he looked normal, and even preppy. He didn't appear dangerous and he's my size so I wasn't afraid of him, although I would be if he tied my ass up, which isn't even a remote possibility. Apparently he's only tough if he's with a helpless individual." Chubby goes, "The ultimate cowardly bully, picking on someone smaller or weaker," and I mutter, "Or someone tied up." Not wanting to get into anything specific, I gloss over details and concentrate on the positives, like my heroics and seeing a new Willie possibly emerging from the ashes. Chubby tells me I'm awesome for helping a friend, even one has odd as Willie. My response is to tell Chubby he's too critical of people, and he says, "Look who's talking, mister mocker of boardwalk people." I shrug, and mumble, "I need to be a better person too, I know that." Chubby yawns after I've concluded my abbreviated version of tonight's rescue operation, mumbling, "Quite an experience big brother, but God, I'm tired. Let's get to sleep." I turn out the light, and say, "Get ready to be hugged." He chuckles, muttering, "I'm ready, bro, hug away. I don't know why you think I don't like you hugging me." I wrap his awesome, perfectly put-together body in my arms and give the side of his forehead a big kiss while inhaling my favorite pheromones. I love my brother. No further conversation ensues as sleep overtakes us quickly. It's been a long, mostly good day, and sleeping with Chubby is the perfect way to end it. I wake up the next morning with the sun in my eyes and a dream about Robby in my head. There's a nice boner against my stomach, but unfortunately the boner's my own. How fabulous it would be if it were Chubby's boner. He looks so young and handsomely cute, sleeping peacefully on his back. I've always loved looking at him. Even while sleeping he appears to have a grin on his perfectly formed lips. What a happy, upbeat, high energy, sweet boy he is, and always has been. I'm so lucky he's my brother. I always felt lucky he was my loyal best friend, like forever, and we've always been closer than most brothers, but I love that we share the same blood too. The moms should have told us we have the same father much earlier then they did, but better late then never. His brown hair grows fast and it's over the top of his ears now as I lightly run my fingers through his full head of hair. So soft and clean and healthily shiny. Chubby's facial features are almost too pretty for a boy, but I've been accused occasionally of having that same flaw. We're both blessed to have nice bodies that basically prevents anyone from thinking either of us isn't all boy. It's awkward admiring Chubby's looks because they're similar in some ways to mine, and it's like I'm admiring myself. Maybe I even do that occasionally, but not in a conceited way. I'm just proud to look the way I do. It's a testament to mom and dad's genes... I had absolutely nothing to do with any of it. I'm proud to be their son, and only wish I could have known my father. Chubby opens his eyes and completes his grin, looking at me, mumbling, "I could feel you staring at me, Dylan. It's weird but I knew when I opened my eyes I'd see you looking at me, and it makes me feel warm and gooey inside." I nod my head, muttering, "Good, 'cause that's how I feel inside when looking at you." He says, "We've always been the closest best friends the world has ever seen, and what a wonderful thing it is to know without the slightest doubt that it's true." I go, "You need to add 'brothers' in there someplace." He goes, "Ah, yes, to be accurate it should be included, but it's hard to change something we've been telling each other since we were four years old." I give him a hug, "Yes, and it's become truer each passing year of our lives." Chubby chuckles, "Lucky us." I hear the toilet flush in our bathroom and remember Willie. Getting out of bed, I tell Chubby, "I need to get Willie on a bus going home. Do you remember where the bus terminal is?" Chubby tells me, and I'm like, "Oh, yeah, now I remember." Bringing the bus schedules up on my computer, I see there are a number of choices. Six buses will be leaving Wildwood today for places near Framingham, at different times, so this will work out really well. Chubby watches me as I get dressed, then get clothes for Willie, including a sweatshirt in case the bus' air-conditioning is too cool during the long ride home. He sure as shit won't need the sweatshirt outside because the temperature at nine o'clock this morning already reads eighty-five on the thermometer that's nailed to the side of the duplex near my window. Willie's in the hall when I come out of the bedroom carrying the clothes I'm lending him. He blushes, saying, "Good morning, Dylan, I feel like such a horse's ass thinking about how I must have looked to you last night when you saw me on the boardwalk. Oh my God, it's so humiliating! Last night I didn't care how I looked. I didn't care about anything really, my life was in the toilet ready to be flushed down the drain, and after spending a couple of hours with you everything's changed. I see everything differently and can't imagine why I did what I did." He's shaking his head, again with tears in his eyes. Feeling bad for him I give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then say, "That's yesterday's news, Willie. I'm not going to think about it and you shouldn't either. It's a lesson learned so remember that, but now it's time to be thinking about today and tomorrow, not yesterday or any of your yesterdays. They're done with and can't be changed." He nods his head, taking a deep breath and seemingly gets himself under control. Handing him his clothes, I tell him, "There's a Peter Pan bus leaving at ten o'clock this morning. It's an express to Boston and then makes a few stops before Framingham. You'll need to take a cab from there." He says, "Thank you so much, Dylan. I'm going to repay your kindness if it's the last thing I ever do." I follow him into the fourth bedroom telling him, "Don't worry about that. Here's the bus fare, plus a hundred bucks for the cab, and get something to eat too. It's a express bus to Boston, but it won't get to Framingham until eight o'clock at night. Get dressed while I make us a couple of cups of coffee." Chubby and the moms are still in bed when we leave for the bus terminal taking our carry-out cups of coffee with us. In between swallows of coffee, Willie continues thanking me during the entire ride to the bus terminal and it's giving me a headache. Somehow I resist telling him to shut the fuck up already. After I park near the bus terminal we kiss goodbye on the lips, and then Willie asks, "Is it alright if I call you? I promise not to bother you." I say, "Of course, Willie, we're friends, fer chrissakes." Then I figure I better walk to the ticket window with him to be sure there's still a seat available on this bus. After he's purchased his ticket, it's a bit awkward with us standing here looking at each other. Then Willie hugs me, muttering more thanks and we kiss on the lips again, right here in the middle of the bus terminal. No reaction from people around us, except for one jackass, who goes, "Ahhh, that's sweet." We don't even acknowledge that. I say, "Take care, Willie. Um, don't have any contact with Devon, right? If he pesters you, tell me about it and we'll kick the shit out of him together." Willie nods his head, quietly saying, "In that case, I hope he does pester me. Bye for now, Dylan, you're a wonderful person," and he fills-up again with a tear running down his cheek. Jesus! I pat his shoulder, mumbling, "Um, ah, put the sweatshirt on if it's too cold on the bus, and buy yourself something to read during the ride." He grins, "Yes, mother," and we exchange smiles, then I turn and walk back to where I parked the Jeep. It's in a convenient, but illegal spot and a cop has just put a parking ticket under the windshield wiper. I give him a dirty look, as he shrugs, like, 'Just doing my job." A little pissed-off I peel the ticket off the windshield and get in the Jeep, then drive away ending the melodramatic farewell with Willie. As I drive, with the parking ticket seemingly staring at me from the passenger seat, I think, 'No good deed goes unpunished'. What I decide to do now is drive to the boardwalk and scope out the boy-watching scene. It wasn't too successful last night, but I'm thinking that was an anomaly because in the past it's always been a great place to spot cute boys. Getting lucky, I find a parking spot on the street two blocks from the boardwalk, saving myself ten bucks for parking. While walking to the boardwalk I spot an absolutely gorgeous looking guy about twenty years old or so with short, curly, fine-looking light blond whiskers and hair that's cut the same length as his whiskers. He's slim and he walks cool, the way some guys can. His nose is cutely sunburned and his Oakley sunglasses are exactly like the pair I'm wearing. He has headphones on and when he gets closer I hear him singing off-key to an Adele song, which is the only thing I dislike about him. Not that he's singing off-key, but that it's an Adele song. Every song she sings -- she's played constantly on FM radio -- sounds exactly the same and I'm sick of her. There's an accent in his singing voice and when he's next to me, I say, "Cool sunglasses, dude." He stops and holds his arm out, his palms open like he didn't hear what I said. We've both stopped so I give him my one hundred-watt smile, repeating what I said, and he replies something like, "Non parlo inglese. Pentito." He was singing in English, but I'm guessing he just told me he doesn't speak it. I smile and say, "Ciao," which gets a cute grin from him and a pat on my shoulder. We both continue on our way as I try to figure out if that was a good omen or a bad one. Wandering to my left when I've gone up the ramp to the boardwalk, I do my usual glancing obliquely around at people of interest until I smell food cooking and realize I'm hungry. Stopping at a shop advertising, among other things, grilled Taylor Pork Roll, I figure that'll be the perfect thing to have for breakfast. People not in the know might think this an odd choice for breakfast perhaps, but they'd be wrong. I order two round slices of pork roll on a hamburger bun, add ketchup, and go on my way eating it. Taylor Pork Roll is pretty much a New Jersey thing. This unique way of preparing the pork with secret spices and wrapping it in a casing like a lunch meat was developed by John Taylor about a hundred and seventy years ago in Trenton, New Jersey. At least that's what it said on the sign outside the shop. It's a type of ham usually grilled like Canadian bacon and often served for breakfast on a roll with egg and cheese. I like the pure taste of the pork roll so I usually skip the egg and cheese. My breakfast is good, but still there's nothing special for my eyes to ogle. When I'm done with my sandwich, which is a tad salty, I buy a fresh-squeezed lemonade and take the plastic cup of cold beverage to the other side of the boardwalk. That would be the railing side where the benches are located. Choosing an unoccupied bench I sit down to observe the humanoids passing by me as I sip my drink. The breeze off the ocean and the waves breaking on the shoreline, plus squawking seagulls and the buzz of many voices blended together are the sounds I'm hearing. Occasionally the shrill squeal of a child playing on the beach cuts through everything else, and altogether it's surprisingly pleasant. When I'm slurping on the straw, making that annoying sound that ice and dregs of drink make when the drink's basically done, something gets my attention and I stop slurping and look down the boardwalk. Okay, I recognize that sound. It's the sound of seven or eight boys' feet hitting the boards simultaneously. I forgot about the pods of young athletes, usually high school boys, who run on the boardwalk in the morning, supposedly to stay in shape, but I think they mostly do it to be seen. Here they come, seven across with slower joggers in front of them getting out of their way. I quickly recognize that this group is special. Usually there's only one or two cute boys in the group, but in this group they're all cute except for a couple. When they get closer, I see that the three boys in the middle look so much alike they have to be triplets. They look too much alike not to be triplets. All the joggers are wearing skimpy gym shorts with sweat soaked sleeveless t-shirts, which are my favorite type of t-shirt, and on their feet they all have the same brand running sneakers with ankle sweat socks. The triplets in the middle have crisp recent buzz cuts of their light brown hair, and they're of course quite slim with long, well-shaped legs. It's hypnotizing watching and hearing seven feet hit the boardwalk at the same time immediately followed by the stomping of the next seven feet hitting the boards, and over and over as they jog in unison. It makes a distinct sound and I'm not the only one admiring these boys... they always attract attention. The boys are now almost to the bench I'm sitting on, and they'll be going right by me close enough for me to touch the boy on the end, although I won't. Now I can see the triplets up close, and they are indeed cute, but mostly because they're young, maybe sixteen or seventeen. As adults they'll be a bit funny looking and I know that sounds contradictory, but I'm a world class boy-watcher and am therefore able to discern this type of thing. Anyway, who cares what they look like when they're adults? Of the seven, four have buzz cuts or burr haircuts, and the other three have the opposite hairstyle. One with a ponytail and the other two with eighties-style girlie hairdos. I say girlie because their hairdos would look more natural on girls than boys. Young ponytail boy is very cute except his chin protrudes more then normal. In that regard he's like Mick Dougherty at Merrimack, an Irish kid from Dublin who wanted to go to college in America. Good kid, but it's hard to understand him sometimes because of his pronounced brogue, complicated by his protruding lower jaw and chin. Maybe the protruding lower jaw is an Irish thing. The seven boys in a row pass me now creating a breeze full of testosterone and sweet smelling sweat... awesome! They all look directly ahead with serious expressions on their face, like they're concentrating on keeping the beat. I wonder how far they'll run, probably the full two miles. They continue their journey down the boardwalk as I sit here fantasizing that all seven of them, sweaty from their run in the sun, get naked and wrestle with me on the beach. Ahh, the power of imagination! Losing the picture of our wrestling match in my head, I'm shocked when someone sits down right next to me, the side of his torso and thigh against mine, with an arm across my shoulders. I quickly turn my head and not three inches from my face is the smiling face of Jumper, who I met last night. He was with the stuck-up boy with the pompadour. I go, "Um, hi, Jumper." He couldn't be grinning any harder, "Did I scare you, Dylan?" He acts as if we've known each other for years instead of the two minutes that we spent in each other's company last night. The arm across my shoulders slips around my neck and Jumper pulls my head over so he can put his lips on my ear to whisper, "I've got the most awesome condom in my pocket that is screaming to be used on you. What do you say?" He's giving me a chill down my spine, but definitely not in a bad way. Jumper smells good, and not from cologne like Pompadour Boy, but a natural boyishly clean smell that registers in some part of my brain as sexy. I should say something like, 'Are you out of your fucking mind?' but what I say instead is, "Now?" then, coming to my senses, I go, "Um, I mean what are you talking about? We don't even know each other." Jumper grins, "Sure we do. I can tell from your face and body language you're a hottie. Everything about you is cute and sexy, and it all seems to be broadcasting to me, 'Come on, Jumper, let's have some sexy fun together'. Your message is for cute boys only, of course, and I'm cute so I picked up on it. Cool, huh?" I do two of my patented fake coughs trying to collect my thoughts as Jumper pats my back. For something to say, I ask, "Are you from India, by any chance?" He says, "Yes, I'm originally from Chandigarh, have you ever heard of it?" His accent is pleasant to listen to, almost musical. I go, "Um, no, I can't say I'm familiar with that place." He laughs, "Oh well, too bad for you. It boasts the highest per capita income in India and is the cleanest place in India as well. My father is pure Indian, as in all Indian blood, but my mother is all British. We've been living in America, New York City specifically, for four years because of my father's business dealings. I came on this mini-vacation with my friend, Terry, to visit this wild place called Wildwood, and so far it hasn't been wild at all. They should visit Delhi sometime if they're looking for a wild place." I say, "Oh, well, um, you've really picked up on the language nicely." He laughs again, a very infectious laugh that makes me grin without a real reason to. He goes, "You are so cute, I need to kiss you," and he does, right on my lips. His lips are full and firm, and very sexy. I blush, looking around, mumbling, "You're very comfortable with your gayness, I suppose you've been out to your parents for years." Another laugh, then, "God forbid! My father would not like that his son is gay, not at all." I'm still fascinated how people from other countries are almost as fluid in English as they are in their native tongue. My Spanish in high school never took for me. I ask, "Did you have special classes to learn English when you came to America?" He rubs his fingers through my hair, "So pretty," he says, "And so soft." I mutter, "Thanks," and he says, "I spoke English in India, many people in India speak English, as well as their regional language. The official language of India is supposed to be Hindi in Devanagari scrip, but I'd guess about a hundred million Indians speak fluid English as well, which sounds like a lot, but not so much when you consider there are well over a billion people in my country. But enough about India, what about my awesome condom?" I shrug, "What about it?" He grins at me for a few seconds, then says, "What about it, indeed," then jumps up, and says, "Come, Dylan, walk with me. I want to buy some fudge and watch the cute boys stirring it with their biceps bulging." He walks close to me like Ryan does, and as we walk Jumper talks. I like listening to his voice, and as I remember from last night he's very cute, so he's enjoyable to be with. He's cute, but not in a pretty way like his friend, Terry. The pompadour kid is pretty/cute where Jumper is cute/cute, very boyish and mischievous at the same time. Unfortunately Terry's face is smooth without a trace of facial hair and I've become a fan of sexy whiskers lately. Jumper claims he's a combination of Indian and British blood, so I've gotta believe his mother has a very pale complexion because Jumper doesn't have the darker skin many people in India have, and his hair isn't black, it's a brown, wavy, and looks soft, although it's too long. He's telling me how he met Terry the first week he was in New York, and that they've been boyfriends ever since. He says, "A very lucky happenstance, but Terry's possessive of me, and like I told you last night, he thinks I flirt with every cute boy I see, and he's right. I like to flirt and I cheat on Terry, too, whenever I can get away with it... always protected sex, of course. How 'bout you?" I shrug, "That's personal." He laughs, "Well, I'm protected, and if you're not that's your business. I, of course, wouldn't think of being a bottom, and luckily Terry wouldn't think of being a top, so we work quite well together although I don't think I love him. He loves me in a smothering way, which is both flattering and annoying, but I wouldn't think of hurting his feelings intentionally by telling him that. He's very sweet with me and very abrasive with everyone else in an effort to prove he's a tough guy, although he's not tough at all." I ask, "Why do you say 'of course you wouldn't think of being a bottom' in sex?" He says, "Because I'm a male from India, obviously," as if that answers my question. Then he adds, "Am I going to have a problem with you as far as who the top is between us? I'm thinking I won't." To sidestep that, I go, "Oh, um, what's your real name," and he's like, "It's Rahul Sharma. My grandmother gave me the 'Jumper' nickname when I was two or three years old and it stuck. What about the top/bottom thing with you and me?" I frown, muttering, "Whaddaya mean?" Jumper chuckles, then stops walking to run his fingers through my short hair again. He really intrigues me, especially his apparent fixation on he and I having sex together. We walk another block with Jumper goosing me ass every few steps, then he jumps up about a foot off the boardwalk pointing his finger at the fudge shop, excitingly saying, "There he is, the boy in the plate glass window." I look over and see an average-looking kid, about sixteen years old, stirring fudge. Jumper says, "I fucked him two nights ago," and then he does a few more effortless jumps until the kid behind the glass sees the motion in his peripheral vision and turns his head to smile and wave at Jumper. We go inside the fudge shop, but not to talk to Fudge Boy; Jumper simply buys a pound of fudge, half chocolate and half vanilla. A pound is a surprisingly small amount because it's so dense and heavy. We eat fudge as we continue walking the boards. The fudge is so sweet it's almost sickening, but delicious at the same time. I can see the calorie counter twirling in my head as each bite's probably a hundred calories, not that Jumper or I need to worry about that. I ask, "Where was, um, Terry, when you fucked the fudge boy?" Jumper says, "Taking a shower, like he's doing now. He stays in the shower for two hours sometimes. Well, not under the shower the whole time, he soaks in the bathtub and rinses off afterwards, but he can rinse off for quite awhile. It's quite an odd thing to do." After awhile the sweetness of the fudge is giving me a headache so I hold my hand up, like, 'No more', when he offers me some. He says, "Terry's getting extra clean because he's meeting his parents and brother in Atlantic City today. I don't want to go, so I won't. Will you meet me tonight?" I know he means meet him for sex and he certainly meets the qualifications I set for myself yesterday, but Chubby may want to go on some rides tonight. I say, "Well Jumper, I'm intrigued alright, but I need to see what my brother has in mind for tonight. Can I have your cell phone number and give you a call later?" He goes, "You bet, call any time, Terry won't be back until tomorrow morning so we can use the room, that is, if I can talk you into it." I grin at him, wanting to say that it ain't hard to talk me into it, but I don't. We exchange cell numbers, then Jumper says, "I've gotta get back and say goodbye to my boyfriend," and he pulls my face over and gives me a wet kiss on the lips, with comments from passers by ringing in our ears. Naturally the, "Get a fucking room," comment was pulled out of mothballs by some unoriginal fellow and tossed our way. Jumper looks at me, and says, "We already got a room, what's he talking about?" He's grinning and I can tell that few things bother him. He waves his fingers at me and then literally jumps over the railing and lands softly on the parking lot five feet below. With a grin and a final wave at me, Jumper's on his way. I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume his grandmother gave him that nickname because he jumped a lot as a kid. Just a wild guess, mind you. Walking back to our Jeep it hits me that I've been in Wildwood less then twenty-four hours and I've already gotten laid once and have a damn good prospects of getting fucked again tonight. Huh, guess Robby was right, I am sowing some wild oats in Wildwood, but am I making any progress on being a better person? Perhaps not quite yet. Driving back to the duplex, the closest parking spot I can find is three blocks away, and then when I get to the house there's no one home. Chubby's neatly written note tells me he's at the beach and that he carried my chair down there along with his. Way to go, Chubby. Changing into my swim suit, I slip on old sandals, get my cigarettes, gum, and money, put on my sunglasses, then lock up the duplex and saunter down to the beach feeling good about things. Stepping off the wood path leading from the parking lot to the beach I see the moms in beach chairs under the umbrella, and Chubby standing next to our beach chairs talking with a kid I don't know. Coming up behind the moms I give a kisses on the cheek, first to my mom, and then Tris, and enjoy them making a fuss over me for a minute or two afterwards. Chubby hears the moms' excited voices, looks over and smiles. He says, "Yo bro, it's about time." I go over and bump fist with Chubby them squeeze the back of his neck affectionately, asking, "Wassup?" Chubby says, "This is Marcus; Marcus, meet my brother, Dylan." We bump fists with Chubby saying, "Marcus goes to Merrimack, he was in one of my courses. I saw my homie here on the beach and flagged him down, and guess what?" I go, "What?" glancing at Marcus who's a stocky kid appearing to be too old for college. Marcus tells me, "Some buddies of mind rented a house over in Wildwood Crest for the summer. They're having a beer party tomorrow night and you guys are invited. Bring broads if you can find any who'll go with you." I say, "That's awesome, Marcus," and bump his fist again, as Chubby says, "Yep, it's awesome, dude, we'll see you there if you'll give us directions." Mom has a pen and paper in the big satchel she brings to the beach each day. Anything you might need will be in there, actually. Chubby writes the directions he gets from Marcus, and then Marcus turns to leave. His girlfriend, who Marcus pointed out to us, is also a stocky individual who's waiting for him down by the ocean. She's talking to yet another stocky girl who's wearing the skimpiest two-piece swimsuit I've ever seen. I want to yell, 'Cover up, girl, no one wants to see that shit!' but I don't. Chubby and my beach chairs are purposely situated slightly in back of the moms' chairs so Chubby and I can share a cigarette undetected while discussing what we want to do. We decide to take a dip in the ocean, so we tell the moms and then walk barefoot towards the ocean. The sand's not hot; it's only warm here because the ocean breeze has cooled it enough to walk on. Near the street the sand's too hot to walk on with bare feet. I ask Chubby, "So, did that girl come across for you last night?" He says, "Oh yeah, there wasn't any question that she would, but we were with her sister, Julie, and Julie's boyfriend, doing the usual boardwalk stuff until midnight, and then we split up into couples, and a little while later, bingo, it happens." Hmmm, I think I beat him at having sex first, but it's real close and somehow mentioning doing it with Willie, after telling Chubby about Willie's situation, doesn't seem like anything to brag about. It's between Willie and me anyway. I know our sex had something to do with Willie turning over a new leaf, so I'm good with that, but I've no idea what us doing it means for Willie and me in the future, if it means anything at all. He could revert right back to Devon, although I'd be very surprised if he does. No, I think he's on the right track of heading off to college and getting a fresh start in life. When Chubby and I first step into the ocean, the water feels really cold, but we wade deeper and when it's above my waist I take a deep breath and dive under, coming up wiping salt water off my face. Chubby bobs up doing the same wiping of his face, saying, "It's not cold once you get all the way in." We swim and body surf for twenty minutes and it's very refreshing, especially because there's no seaweed or jellyfish floating around in the water. At certain times during the summer there's a lot of these two annoyances detracting from the pleasure of swimming or even wading in the ocean. When the ocean's warm, later in the summer, that's usually when seaweed and jellyfish drift in, so there's a fine line between the water being too cold and too warm. It's just about right today. Biting green-head flies can be another major problem and ruin your beach experience, but they show-up later in the summer, too. Mother Nature's a bit of a bitch, rarely allowing for a perfectly carefree beach and ocean experience. Today's pretty choice though, so no complaints. Well, the one complaint I have is that this beach is totally void of teens. Mostly families with young children, although their parents don't look very young themselves. I wonder if families are being delayed in the making due to the financial need for both parents to work? Nothing I need to worry about as Robby and I not only haven't ever contemplated getting married, which we could do in this state, we've also never once discussed having children, which we could probably adopt if we chose to do so. Concerns like that aren't presently on our radar screens, so to speak. When we walk back to our beach chairs we discover the moms are anxious to go back to the house for lunch. They're going to finish their dinner from last night... that'll be today's lunch, just as I suspected. Chubby and me dry off and decide we'd better do a little sunbathing until the moms get back; mostly we'll be watching the stuff they brought down to the beach with them. Whenever the moms return, Chubby and me are going to walk the beach to the boardwalk and get lunch there. Probably Mac's pizza again. I close my eyes, lounging in my chair, enjoying the sun on my body and the ocean breeze. I'm just relaxing and feeling good about being here. The sound of the ocean waves pounding the sand, and the seagulls squawking, plus the beach sounds from all the people in the water and on the beach around me creates a soothing backdrop, like I enjoyed earlier on the boardwalk, but this time I doze off to sleep. The long drive yesterday, and then staying up late with the stressful Willie situation last night, plus not getting to bed until around two o'clock in the morning have all caught up with me. In my sleep I have a dream about, of all people, stuck-up Terry, with the pompadour. We're at the Statue of Liberty for reasons unknown and somehow there's some sort of dance taking place, and then it seems we're dancing together to sounds of that weird instrument of India, the sitar. It makes a strange high-pitched buzzy, springy sound, and now we're dancing to it... but we're the only dancers who are naked. Everyone else is wearing those long off-white shirts that reach to their feet, with vests of some kind like you see people wearing in India. It's just men dancing together and all of them are wearing turbans on their heads. Neither Terry nor I have a turban, we both have enormous pompadours instead. Our pompadours sway as we dance in my dream. We're both very serious as we do some kind of waltz step, and then Chubby shakes my shoulder, saying, "Here come the moms." I'm groggy, muttering, "Huh? Wha? Oh, the moms, good, I'm hungry." The moms are bubbly, telling us they had themselves a Tom Collins with lunch and isn't it wonderful to be in Wildwood again, and the beach is lovely today and on and on like that. Chubby and I talk with them awhile telling them enthusiastically that they chose an awesome duplex, and go on and on about how we love coming here. When they're satisfied their sons are exhibiting enough excitement and happiness at being here, they sit down contentedly and we trudge off in the sand carrying our sandals with our t-shirts over our shoulders to wear on the boardwalk. The duplex the moms rented costs three thousand dollars a week and they need to save up all year for it. It is a generous gesture for them to continue this family tradition, so they certainly deserve having Chubby and me gush over our vacation. As Chubby and I walk, we talk about tonight. We're deciding what to do for dinner, and what to do after. Of course, as we talk my eyes scan the beach for pearls in the form of cute, eligible boys, meaning they need to be around my age, cute, and gay. Metaphorically speaking, there are many oysters on the beach today, but no pearls. This fact reinforces something I've known for a long time... truly cute boys are rare. Oh sure, like I've said before, there's almost always something cute about a boy, but that's a far cry from being truly cute like Chubby, Robby, and even Terry, from last night. Terry's friend, Jumper, is cute, but not exceptionally so. He does qualify as cute on my cute-o-meter though, but at three or four levels down from extraordinarily cute. Unfortunately for me no one on the beach today qualifies nearly that high, so I'm lucky Jumper is sexy and more than willing to engage in some buddy sex. Past years have been better for boy-watching, although that pod of joggers on the boardwalk this morning was quite special. It's not like I want to have sex with them all... well, maybe I do, but if not, it's just enjoyable witnessing cuteness when it's available. Maybe it's simply because, like I said, it's rather rare. Some of the boys I pass on the beach would probably look cute if they grinned or smiled, but with a normal facial expression it's hard to tell which ones. By the time we reach the boardwalk Chubby and I have decided on a few things, for dinner tonight we're going to ask the moms if they'd like to go out to dinner at Bushe's Restaurant. It's about a twenty minute drive over to Sea Isle where the restaurant's located, but the deep-fried soft shell crabs are worth it. Everything is good at Bushe's. After dinner the moms will probably walk the boards with us for a little while, and Chubby and I will go on some rides. He especially wants to show me a new one this year that he was on with Jen last night. The moms will undoubtedly leave the boardwalk after an hour or so to have a few drinks at a bar, possibly to pick-up a couple of studs, although we don't know that for sure. Later Chubby wants to meet up with Jen again, probably to see if he can go for the daily double with her. Eww to that, but that's his choice. That'll be just about the perfect time for me to call Jumper, and I gotta wonder if he jumps when he's fucking? Hmmm, that might be interesting. It's funny, but initially I didn't expect to have any luck with sex during vacation week, but now I'm wondering if it's possible for me to have a full dance card seven nights in a row. It's a completely different view on the sexual side of things than I had yesterday. Do I dare speculate on a sexy time seven nights in a row, especially when considering the dearth of available cute sex partners? I mean, there aren't many cuties that I've spotted so far, and how many of the ones I have spotted are gay and sexually active? It's a pitifully small group to choose from. That's why I feel so lucky I live where I do. In and around Framingham there's an abnormally large number of cute gay guys and a lot of them seem to fancy me, to use a British term. That's not bragging, just fact and I'm appropriately grateful. The luck of the draw for me was being being born who I am and where I live. Ya gotta love Framingham. At the boardwalk we pull our t-shirts on, which feels weird because salt from the ocean water has dried on our backs, shoulders, and chest and the salt sort of pulls at the t-shirt fabric. Going up the steps from the beach to the boardwalk we put on our sandals as it's not worth the hassle dealing with the boardwalk police regarding the need for footwear and shirts when on the boardwalk. It's odd that there's no rule about needing to wear shorts or swimsuits on the boardwalk. Rules or no rules, it's always nice being on the boards in the summer... it never gets old as far as I'm concerned. There's something magical about it. Chubby turns to the left and, bingo, we only need to walk one block to find a Mac's pizza shop. Chubby says, "It's gonna be at least two slices each today, bro," and I go, "Fer sure, but lets eat inside out of the sun. They've got some air-conditioning in the back where the tables are." Chubby shrugs, "It means waiting for a waitress, but okay, if you want to." Inside it's 'seat yourself' and wait, which is what we do. By now it's after one o'clock, a little past normal lunchtime, but the place is still crowded and noisy. What I like is we're cooling off in the modest air-conditioning, but the whole front of the restaurant is open so we get the smell of the ocean, too. Then, uh oh, what do we have here? Our waiter, with the name tag, 'Dougie', is approaching and he might be what I'm talking about. Oh my God, is he cute! When he's right next to our table though, he appears to be too young even in the unlikely event he's the one in ten who's gay. As I scrutinize Dougie's face a strange thought puffs into my head out of nowhere, 'This kid is too cute. He looks like a girl, especially his curly hair... there's nothing boyish about him. His hair's a pretty shade of blond though, but his lips... wait a fucking second, Dougie is a girl. A girl with no breasts.' Then the androgynous Dougie speaks, and that nails it... she's a girl without make-up and without plucking her eyebrows. Bummer! Another clue she's a girl is the fact that Chubby's flirting with her. I butt in, "Excuse me you two, I'm starving. May I have two slices of plain pizza and a medium Birch beer." Chubby's smirking, then he goes, "Ditto for me, Dougie." She turns around and her ass would have told the story immediately if I'd seen it, me being a world-class boy-watcher and all. Chubby chuckles, "You thought Dougie was a boy, didn't ya?" I go, "Oh, get real, she has girl written all over her, plus your lewd flirting was another clue she was a girl." He laughs, then says, "Dougie don't got no tits, so I was flirting because she probably doesn't get flirted with too often, and she's awfully cute, too. If I had to guess though, I'd guess she's gay." I say, "Oh, so you were mercy flirting, that's sweet, but she probably wishes you were a girl." He laughs, "You thought she was a boy at first, I saw your pretty eyes light up." I can't help but laugh too, mumbling, "Don't be ridiculous." Our pizza arrives with Dougie apparently totally uninterested in either Chubby or me... of all the fuckin' nerve of her/him! Oh man though, I love me some Mac's pizza. Chubby and I both get a third slice each and contemplate a fourth, but we're full after the third. You get big slices of pizza at Mac's. Walking back down the beach we share a cigarette and then meet two guys walking the other way who we went to high school with. Looking at them it's obvious neither will cause the arrow on my cute-o-meter to so much as quiver. We stop and exchange lies with each other, acting like we're best friends when the truth is we never really hung out together. It's just that there's so many people here that we don't know, when you meet someone you do know, even if only slightly, it's like you're best buds. Chubby tells them about the beer party tomorrow night in Wildwood Crest and then they move on, all of us bumping fists and promising we'll get together back in Framingham, although the chances of that happening are slim and none. The rest of the afternoon is all about swimming, sunbathing, and then a two-mile walk on the beach. It's wonderfully relaxing and fun because I'm doing it with Chubby, who's a funny kid with a dry wit. We mock some of the less attractive sun-bathers under our breath so as not to hurt their feelings, but come on... don't these people have mirrors in their room to check themselves out before leaving the house? It occurs to me that the invention of spandex has not been a friend to those who are extremely overweight. By the time we get back to our chairs we see that the moms have already gone up to the house to shower. Another swim in the ocean, and then Chubby and I finally concede our beach day is over and we carry the chairs, the little cooler, umbrella, and beach towels back to the duplex. After we rinse the sand off our bodies at the outdoor shower, we take real showers inside. We all got a little too much sun today, as often happens the first day on the beach. Tomorrow we'll be more conscientious about using sunblock. Both moms love the idea of eating at Bushe's and around seven o'clock I drive the four of us there. The restaurant expanded a few years back, doubling their size and eliminating the lines outside, where diners used to line the front of the restaurant patiently waiting for a table. Before dinner Chubby tries convincing the waitress, a middle age woman, that he and I are of legal drinking age and we'd like whiskey sours to begin our dining experience tonight. He's unsuccessful in this endeavor unfortunately, and the fact Chubby and I both coincidentally forgot our ID undoubtedly had something to do with that. Chubby told the waitress her unacceptably rash decision will be reflected in her tip, but the way he said it made the moms and the waitress laugh. Mom and Tris order two whiskey sours each, and they arrive at the table with a wink from the waitress, so Chubby and I had our drink anyway. Bushe's whiskey sours are made with fresh squeezed oranges and lemons, and are excellent. One ounce of liquor isn't going to do any damage to boys almost twenty; in Europe eighteen is the legal drinking age. The dinners are excellent and all four of us are in exceptionally good moods, and then the moms insist on treating their sons to the dinner, which elevates the experience way past awesome for Chubby and me. Chubby drives us near our duplex, parks, and we walk to the boardwalk. Lots of walking necessary in Wildwood, but after that huge dinner walking hits the spot. The moms won't go on the thrill rides, but me and my brother do. At Morey's Pier we ride the Nor'easter roller coaster which has over 2100 feet of twisted steel in loops and then steep long drops seemingly straight down. I almost peed my pants on that monster the first ride, but even so we go on it three times. Walking the boards up further we see the Raging Waters water park that Chubby and I will definitely experience during the next couple of days. The moms go on a gigantic Ferris wheel, and we get on the next swinging seat. When the Ferris wheel takes us to the top Chubby and I hear the moms screaming because it's freakin' way up here, and the wind is moving the seat scarily. Chubby and I manage to remain cool although I almost strained muscles in my hand gripping the side of the seat as we swing precariously. The moms last an hour on the boards and then head for a bar, as I expected. They're not lushes though. A drink can last them easily an hour of taking tiny sips and two drinks is usually their limit. After they leave Chubby and I play some of the carnival games pitching quarters or throwing darts or baseballs trying to knock things over in order to win a stuffed animal. He says he wants to win one to impress Jen. I wonder if Jumper would be impressed if I won one for him. Throwing baseballs trying to knock over the fake stacked milk bottle proves impossible. Someone told me that an amusement park, Coney Island in New York, was once hit by an earthquake and the only things that remained standing at the end of the earthquake were the phony milk bottles. Chubby finally wins a little stuffed rabbit by hitting the bulls-eye throwing darts. He's thrilled. Finally around eleven Chubby asks if I'd mind if he connects with Jen now, and of course I go, "Not at all, bro." He calls her and arranges a place to meet her, then I walk with him there. When Jen shows up, with too much make-up on and looking a little bit slutty, which Chubby probably likes, I give a wave and then walk further down the boardwalk where I call Jumper. He answers, "Oh, dude, I'm glad you called. I didn't want to call you for fear I'd be interrupting something." I go, "Well, earlier I had dinner with my mom and brother, then we did the boardwalk thing, but now I've been abandoned." He's like, "You poor thing, I'll rescue you. Would you like to meet me someplace, or can you come over here? I've got a motel room on 34th Street. The Ocean Breeze motel. It's only two years old, pretty sweet digs actually." I'm thinking I'd like to get to know him a little better before going to his motel room, so I tell him that, "Let me get to know you a little better, Jumper, before I trust you in a motel room. I gotta feeling you're more experienced in these matters than me." He laughs, then in his pleasant lilting accent, he says, "I doubt that, Dylan, you impress me as being a pretty cool customer. The way you were so blasé about my condom proposition told me volumes about you, and intrigued the hell out of me, too. Maybe I can learn something from you." I say, "Ha! Anyone who can analyze a person and determine they're gay, like you did with me in two minutes, is someone I gotta give props to. Then you accost me on a boardwalk bench with the ballsiest move ever of saying you've got a condom in your pocket with my name on it. That's fairly strong evidence that you got your shit together and you've probably had it together for years. Poor little old me doesn't have a chance with you." I look up and see two girls gawking at me, obviously overhearing my conversation about a condom with my name on it. I blush, which gets the two girls giggling. As I'm walking away from the eavesdroppers, I laugh at that word, 'eavesdroppers', wondering where the fuck that came from? It's not a word I can ever remember using before. Jumper goes, "Should we keep talking circles around each other, or meet someplace?" I look up at the street sign and see I'm on 44th Street. I say, "Jump up onto the boardwalk, Jumper, and walk towards 40th street. I'll walk down from where I am, and we'll meet someplace in between. I'll feel safer on the boardwalk where I can call for help if you grab my nuts or something." He says, "You're a funny guy, Dylan, but the truth is I'm the one who feels like we need a chaperone to prevent you from taking advantage of me. See you on the boardwalk." I say, "Walk near the railing so we don't pass each other unknowingly." Putting my cell phone away I try to figure out if I want to do this or not. Random sex with a stranger isn't something I usually get involved in. Not unless I'm under the influence of a banned substance or two. I can remember having quick sex with that kid who had the party that Chubby and MJ had the fight at, but the kid asked me to do it as a favor to him. Plus, he was way cuter than Jumper; what the hell was his name anyway? Then there was that old guy at the House of Blues, but he gave me drugs including cocaine so I'm not responsible for that one. Everyone else I've had sex with I've known for a while before doing it and I felt I had a read on them. Jumper doesn't seem dangerous, but he's forward as all get out and I guess that infers confidence, something I actually like in my sex partners. Jumper and I run into each other at 38th Street. I'm smoking a cigarette which Jumper takes from my fingers and drops over the railing, saying, "I'm not kissing an ashtray," and he hands me a roll of mints. I plop a few in my mouth looking at him closely. Yeah, he's sexy, and I already know he has a sexy personal body scent, and I do like his cool accent, so... maybe. Reaching my hand to his head I run my fingers through his hair, saying, "I'm an accomplished barber, Jumper. I'd be glad to give you a haircut and try to bring you closer, style-wise, to the twenty-first century." He goes, "What the fuck ya talking about, I got a haircut just before Terry and me came down here." I shrug, then ask, "How come you came right out and propositioned me on that boardwalk bench? Do you think I'm a slut or something?" He goes, "Don't be silly! First of all you're too nice a guy to be called a slut even if you are one, which I don't believe you are. I pegged you as a guy who, same as me, likes sex and who'd make an excellent buddy-sex partner. And like I said before, you ooze sexiness and you're off the charts cute... the cutest guy I've ever seen actually." I go, "Now we're getting someplace. Would you care to expand upon that premise a little more?" He goes, "Nah, I expanded it to the limit already. My only worry was that you'd want to 'top' and that wouldn't have worked." I cock my head looking at him, then say, "You don't appear to be a sex maniac, and we're about the same size so I could probably extricate myself from your clutches if I wanted to. Okay, let me see the condom." He shows me a condom in its wrapper, and I go, "Good, it hasn't been used. That's a point in your favor." He laughs, and I go, "Yeah, okay, have your people get in contact with my people and we'll do lunch and work out the details." He puts his arm around mine, saying, "Or we could walk over to my motel room. Come on, Dylan, I spent all evening sprucing up the room anticipating you'd join me. It'd be a crime to do all that neatening-up for nothing." We're walking toward the ramp that leads off the boardwalk as he's talking, and all of a sudden my dick tightens up because I know we're going to do this and there's something about Jumper's manner that's assertive, but not in an obvious way. He's getting his way and I think he's used to that. Not that I don't want him to fuck me, it's more like it feels like I don't have a choice, and I'm not saying I don't like that. For some reason, it's turning me on sexually. To delve into my theory, I say, "I never really had a chance here, did I?" He chuckles, "No, not really, but that's mostly because you want me to fuck you." I ask, "You said that's mostly the reason, what's the rest of the reason?" He squeezes my arm and pulls me against his body to do his whispering in my ear thing again, "Because I want you, that's the rest of the reason you never had a chance." I'm being captured by the strength of his personality; I guess it's his machismo as a male from India. He grins at me, "Don't look so worried, I'm going to make you feel good, I promise." My dick is getting hard now. I take a deep breath, he stops us and puts his hand behind my head pulling it over to his, and with me staring at him not sure what's happening, his lips collide with mine and he sucks my top lip, then his tongue's in my mouth. There are people walking past us on the street, fer chrissakes! My nose is against his cheek and I'm getting his full natural scent, and I find I've put my arms around his waist. I don't even remember doing that. Jumper has his other hand at my crotch massaging my cock and a whiny sound comes from my throat as his mouth seems to be inside mine. "Mmmmm," I go as my cock grows to a full-size boner. Jumper feels my cock is wood hard. He takes his mouth away from mine and stops massaging my crotch, then says quietly, "Let's stop our humorous bantering back and forth now and concentrate on a hot sexual experience together." He puts his arm around mine again and we start walking while I'm gasping for breath, but trying not to be obvious about it. My boner's poking out the front of my pants as we pass people in the street, some of whom stopped to watch us kissing as Jumper visibly was massaging my crotch. Without making eye contact with any of the gawkers, we get past them and turn down 34th, without anymore talking. When we're at the motel Jumper lets go of my arm and unlocks the door, then grabs my bicep and says, "In you go, Dylan," and I walk into a very nice, modern motel room. It looks new and very neat. Jumper turns off the lights so just the light from the outdoor lamps shine past the venetian blinds, making shadows in the room. Jumper stands behind me, and murmurs in my ear, "Just stand here and relax, you're in my competent hands now... go with it. You know you want it badly." Reaching around me he unsnaps my shorts and with both his thumbs inside the waistband of my underwear, he pulls both my shorts and underwear down past my boner. My cock's so hard it flips up against my stomach as soon as Jumper pulls my pants down past it. My clothes drop to my ankles and I step out of them. Still standing behind me, Jumper's hands caress my groin area as he sucks on my shoulder through my t-shirt. Rubbing around my nuts and up toward my belly button, he mutters, "This is unexpected," meaning, I suppose, my shaved pubic hair. He takes his hands away and pulls up my t-shirt as I lift my arms, and he pulls it over my head. In front of me now, Jumper moves the palms of his hands over my body, murmuring, "I knew you'd be special." His hands go behind me to grasp my butt cheeks, his face close to mine as he grips and un-grips my buttocks, then he's pulling them away from each other stretching my anus sideways. A finger goes in my ass and I lay my forehead on his shoulder as my arms hug his slim body tightly. He finger-fucks my asshole until I go up on my toes, raising my head to rest the side of my face against his, while I moan, "Ooooh, mmmm, hmmm." Pulling his finger out he slowly gets undressed, looking me in the eyes with a little grin on his lips. When his pants drop to the floor I glance down and see his fat cock listing to the side, in a fairly tight state already. It's not quite as long as Ryan's, but heftier and it actually looks heavy, and so does his big sack of nuts. He's very well built, very hairy in his privates area, but not his chest or stomach. He takes my head between his hands with his fingers spread, his thumbs are under both sides of my jaw, the palms of his hands against my cheeks and his long fingers reaching the back of my head. He raises my head to a slightly uncomfortable position, and asks me, "Can you take a cock as large as mine? Your answer should be, 'Of course I can for you, Rahul.'" Who's Rahul? And then I remember he told me his real name. Without waiting for me to say anything, he pulls my face to his and does his awesomely sexy kissing that gets me moaning and pressing my naked body to his, my arms still around him. He's still holding my head awkwardly, but my submissive fetish loves it. I wouldn't think of complaining, but how does Jumper, er, Rahul, know that? When he has me as sexually hot as I've ever been, he lets go of my head and puts his hands on my shoulders pressing down and I go to my knees and take his cock in my fingers, and it actually is heavy. I suck on the head for a bit until the shaft gets really tight. As I'm taking more of the shaft inside my mouth, Jumper puts his hands behind my head and pulls my face towards his bushy pubic hairs forcing his cock further back on my tongue until it's poking the back of my throat. A stronger pull on my head forces the head past my gag reflex area gagging me badly because it's so fat. Unfazed by my gagging sounds Jumper pulls harder on my head until my nose is plastered against his belly completely surrounded by dense pubic hairs. My throat muscles are flexing as Jumper bends my head sideways until I'm almost facing my left shoulder, he raises his leg to straddle my shoulder, my face still held against his belly. I need air, which Jumper knows, so he pushes my head away and his fat cock head pops back out and onto my tongue as I take deep breaths through my nose, my chest heaving. Jumper lifts his leg and then moves in front of me pulling my head so my face is pressed against his belly again, and the head of his hard boner is down my throat again going down somewhat easier this time. My boner lost a lot of stiffness when I was in need of oxygen, but it's quickly gaining back what it lost. Jumper pulls my head on and off of his very hard cock a half dozen times without uttering a word. His cock's sliding down my throat easily by the time he's satisfied. I've been tasting precum each time the head is on my tongue and when he takes his leg from over my shoulder and stands in front of me, he pulls his cock out of my mouth altogether with a rather thick string of precum extending from my lips to the head of his cock. It looks like cum more than precum. He flicks his finger at the string and it breaks from the head and drops wetly down to streak my chin and neck. He knows, and I know, he has me completely under his control. He doesn't need to say it, and he doesn't say it. Now he does what other macho 'top' types have done to me, he smears his precum around my face by moving his hard boner like a magic marker. Actually I think he wrote his name in precum on my forehead. He smiles at me, and murmurs, "You are fucking awesome," then he indicates I'm to standup by putting just a finger under my chin pulling up slightly. He has no doubt by now I'll do what he wants. The telltale smell of that finger tells me it's the finger that was up my ass. I stand, he turns me around, and I hear the condom wrapper tear and then the jelly-covered condom is on his cock, and the head of his boner immediately spreads the lips of my asshole. More pressure, and a little more, then his arms come around my stomach and he pulls me onto his big-headed cock that pops past my sphincter ring, helped greatly by the lube. Lights go off in my head as I groan, "Uhh, oow, ooh." He bites my shoulder creating chills that run down my spine even as he's pushing in another inch of boner. It's extremely tight, but I know it's going to feel unbelievably good when my rectum has time to relax and expand. More cock goes up my ass, along with another bite on my shoulder and an, "Ump," from Jumper as he forces more cock inside me. It hurts, mostly my anus right now, my rectum's a little numb it seems. This time Jumper humps his hips hard and now I feel his pubic hairs tickling my ass. Another hump of his hips brings him up tight against my buttocks now. He moans quietly and breaths noisily through his nose, then leans against me, saying, with his lips wet against my ear, "Bend over now," and when I do he leans on my back, instructing, "More, bend over further." I do that and his feet come off the floor as I feel a little more cock go further up my ass. Jumper wiggles around on my back moving his boner in my ass, then drops down to his feet and I go, "Aaaah, ooh, ooh, ohh," because him dropping off my back changed the angle of his boner impaling me. It's stimulating newly sensitive sensors in my rectum and I'm getting like an itch inside my ass that needs a scratching that only fucking can provide, but Jumper's not jumping into anything. He's enjoying the tightness on his fat boner that my rectum's providing and I guess he wants it to last, though I'd really appreciate it if he'd withdraw his cock a little to get things sizzling in my ass. His arm goes under my chin, around my neck in front right, right on my Adam's apple. Then, with his wet lips again against my ear, he murmurs, "Bend your knees a little," and when I do some of his cock pulls out, "A little more," he says, and more boner pulls out creating a teasing sensation of what might be if only he'd start fucking me. His arm's tight around my neck with the top of my head under his chin now. I've bent my knees enough finally so that only the wide neck below the head of his cock is inside me pulling against my anus' lips. Jumper says, "Slowly straighten up," and as I do his cock slides back up inside my ass and my shoulders shudder as a long, "Mmmmm," comes from me. We go through this exercise a couple more times and I'm just about going nuts with sexual desire instigated by these teasing maneuvers. Sure, I'm sexually aroused and horny as hell, but it's frustrating, too. Making it worse, Jumper's tapped into my submissive fetish without knowing it, and I'm unable to complain or do anything except what Jumper says. He must have noticed that and is taking advantage of the opportunity to satisfy what he likes, which is apparently to have his cock up a guy's ass for a long time without having an orgasm; that is, until he's ready to have it. Finally Jumper says, "On all fours, if you please," and I do it so fast he doesn't have a chance to lean down with me and his cock pulls totally out of my ass. I look back and Jumper gives me a cute grin, then gets a leg on either side of me and rather easily, although very tightly too, slides his boner up my ass again, and I go, "Aaaaah, ooh, please fuck me now, Jumper. Ya got me so stupidly hot it's, it's, I don't know what it is, I just need you to fuck me. I'm kinda desperate here." Without saying anything he does three nice runs up my ass with his boner and things come alive in my rectum for real now as my back arches, and it feels so fucking good. Then he stops again and leans on my back reaching under me to stroke my cock while his tongue goes in my ear and my whole body's squirming under him moaning, and then pleading, "Please fuck me." His lips on my ear again, "Dylan, I'm drawing the pleasure out. I feel the need building in me for release, but it's so hot being aroused and turned on and yet, just not quite there yet," and he does three more thrusts in my ass. My head goes back as my ass quivers and my whole body shakes with goose bumps raising on my arm, "Please, Jumper." My begging gets me three more humps of his fat boner up and back in my rectum, and the sensations explode as I go, "Aaaahhhh, fuuuck, oh, oh, oh ahhh. Do it some more, it feels so good." My anus is gripping the shaft as he pulls out completely, with me moaning, "Noooo!" Jumper orders, "Get on the bed at the end, Dylan, on your back with your ass over the edge. Different positions give different sensations in your ass and to a lesser degree, my cock." I scramble up to get on the bed. Jumper spreads my legs and lifts them as his really hard cock finds my asshole and slides in tightly, feeling so good. I go, "Ooooooh, yeeeaah, oh, oh. Do it, Jumper." He does very slow insertions and withdrawals with me squirming on the bed so hot with sexual desire sweat runs off my forehead. Now there's agonizingly slow thrusts with Jumper moaning now, "Mmmm, oooh man this feels good. What a great ass." He fucks me for a minute with me writhing in sexual pleasure, squirming and moaning, then he stops again and pulls out. My head lifts off the bed to look at him and I see my boner sticking straight up. I hadn't even realized it had moved away from my stomach. Jumper jumps up on the bed, instructing, "Climb on my lap and guide my cock up your ass. You can fuck yourself on my proud boner." Getting a leg on either side of his thighs I bend my knees gripping the sloppy condom and guiding the head to my asshole, then sit down on it bending my knees some more. I go, "Ahhhhh, oooh, ooh, umm," breathing through my nose as I straighten my legs and then sit on it again. It's awkward as hell, but feels fantastic as my rectum grips the shaft while the fat head of his cock spreads my rectum as it goes in. Riding it like this sets off awesome vibrations in my asshole and on my cock. My eyes close as I ride his cock until my knees beginning to ache. Through slits in my eyelids I see Jumper grimacing and blowing puffs of air out between clenched lips. Then he pushes my chest and I fall backward on my ass, as his cock pulls out leaving the lips of my asshole quivering and gaping open. His boner bounces up and down as Jumper tells me, "Turn over, keep your forehead on the floor, but get that ass of yours in the air." I do that and he mounts me and begins fucking me fast and hard. Thirty seconds of that and I squeal one of my higher-pitched squeals with my cock vibrating, and then it fires a long string of spunk that splatters off the floor and sprays my chin, then three more shots and I'm whining and shaking with ecstasy and relief. Oh God, that was awesome! Loud, fast breathing from Jumper as his groin is pressed to my buttocks with him bucking against me, filling the condom with cum directly from India. I wish his cum shot directly into my rectum because I miss that hit of warmth and the squishy feeling of slippery cum inside me. Jumper moans as he does slow thrusts up my ass for a minute or so, my shoulders do a late shudder as the sensational sensations of climax fizzle away until just the memory remains. Jumper pulls his cock out and strips the condom off his cock, muttering, "Not bad. That was pretty hot. Ya got yourself a primo ass there, Dylan. It goes perfectly with the rest of your primo self." My ass is hanging open, but with noting drooling out. Just the wet sticky feeling of the jelly lubricant. Jumper goes, "Here, let me help you up," offering his hand. I take it and pull myself to my feet, telling him, "Damn, you are a world-class cock teaser, Rahul." He goes, "I like to extend the anticipation of impending orgasm as long as I can. It's for both of us." He's handing me tissues that I use to wipe my ass. I do that, saying, "Yeah, I can appreciate that, and I'm not implying it wasn't hot 'cause it was. I just got a little sexually frustrated, is all I'm saying." He pats my shoulder, "Well, you were an awesome sex partner, Dylan." I guess he can feel the sweat on me," so he asks, "You wanna take a shower and then we can walk to the boardwalk and get a drink or something, my treat." I go, "Let's shower together," and that's what we do, but washing ourselves, not each other. As I'm drying I'm thinking I wouldn't mind another fuck by Jumper's awesome cock, but a more conventional one would be nice. to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com Please consider a tax-deductible donation to Nifty, a nonprofit organization, to help with the expenses of maintaining this huge story site that offers something for everyone. Thank you.