Previously: It's lunchtime on Saturday. After a robust gang bang earlier in the morning, our cadet Sam is in the kitchen with the other Hot Shots.
Dewey gave my left ass cheek a hard squeeze. It wasn't intended to hurt. It was just a show of sexual dominance over my "peaches." Mark was quiet but had a smile. I wondered what he had been discussing with JT on the patio.
Lunch was simple, which was the plan. After lunch, we started getting ready for our music practice. Two or three guys cleared the table and put the food away. I joined Mark and Dewey in moving the furniture around in the living room. The sofa would be for low brass and percussion, and there were chairs for high brass and woodwinds.
Each of us brought our own instrument and music stand. When it was time to begin, I was on the sofa with Wayne and Jeff. Wayne and I played trombones; we were the only "low brass." Jeff was a drummer, and he was seated with us on the sofa with his snare drum and a tambourine. There were two chairs for the woodwinds: Matt, who played sax, was seated next to Dewey, who played clarinet. And three other chairs for the upper brass: JT and Jim with their trumpets, and Mark with his French horn.
We were very uneven in our abilities. Five guys were very good, and were first or second chair in their sections. Meanwhile, Matt and I had just finished junior high band, and we were okay, but we weren't nearly as skilled as the others. And then there was Dewey. I had learned that Dewey was in the Hot Shots because he was in charge of the rifle squad. The rifle squad did flashy maneuvers on the field. They used fake guns that did not actually shoot; this was an honored legacy of marching band history. So, Dewey was in the club because of his status with the rifle squad, not his musical ability with his clarinet.
I took in the smell of the room. It was delicious. There was the sweet smell of brass polish, and also the fresh but mechanical smell of valve oil. Best of all was the male scent. It was subtle, not obnoxious. But there were eight warm, male, teenaged bodies in the room. And there was no deodorant to tame the scent, and no clothing to dampen it. The other Hot Shots were oblivious to the aroma in the room; a fussy mother might have crinkled her nose. But for me, it was bliss.
The practice lasted a little over an hour. About half of it was playing actual music; the other half was musical exercises. Playing the songs was hardest for me because it required "sight reading," the ability to play something that you have not seen or practiced before.
It was hard to focus on playing music when there were so many guys to admire. The boys turned into men before my eyes. They were focused, professional, confident. I imagine that a similar thing happens on a basketball team or in the armed forces. Each man has an important part to play, but they are also closely attentive to the physical presence and actions of their teammates.
Of course, the Hot Shots were also buck naked! So there was the super-masculine, super-appealing competence of these band members. But it was also a feast of raw male flesh which I had already been up close and personal with.
The trumpet and the French horn require a different kind of breath support than a trombone. JT, Jim, and Mark had necks and cheeks that bulged when they played. Their abdomens also tightened as they used their diaphragms to create the necessary air pressure. It was kind of grotesque but also extremely sexy. A display of power and control.
Wayne and I were sitting next to each other on the couch with our trombones. The trombone is very different than the trumpet, and trombone players are a different personality type than trumpet players. I was necessarily more attentive to Wayne's horn and his body. The trombone is the brass instrument that feels closest to a grown man's voice: deep, rich, warm. Wayne and I were partners in making music, which was very physical and sensual. But we were also making music with a very male sound. (To say nothing of the fact that the trombone is shaped like a phallus that grows long and makes big thrusting motions!)
There were many times during the session when we were not the ones playing, and on a couple of occasions Wayne placed his hand on my thigh. I remembered how Jeff had done that to me on my first trip to meet the Hot Shots. It was so thrilling. It is not easy to explain why. Probably because it was intimate and dominant without being super sexual.
The whole practice session was very physical, very male, and very bonding. It was everything I love about sex without the actual sex.
When we were finished and putting things away, Wayne said, "Is now a good time for you to give me a rubdown?"
I was elated that he asked. That, plus his hand on my thigh, told me he had some continuing interest in me. I was afraid that I had come on too strong. And as I answered Wayne, I once again went overboard! "Sir," I said, "it's always a good time for me to give you anything you want."
We finished taking apart our trombones and putting everything away. I sent Wayne back to the master bedroom while I went off in search of some oil for the massage. I found JT, who quietly talked me out of using baby oil. "Not a sexy smell," he commented. He sent me to the kitchen for some vegetable oil instead, and suggested that I should not use too much.
When I got to the bedroom, Wayne was lying face down on the bed. It was enticing. His upper back tapered down to his trim, round ass. His legs were spread slightly wide apart, which helped to make his ass the focal point. I was overcome by the urge to lie down on top of him. In fact, I wanted to fuck him, but I was still too inexperienced to recognize that urge. I could only conceive of myself as an anal bottom. That would be changing soon enough.
Resisting the desire to grab his ass cheeks, I applied oil to my hands, and went to work immediately on his thighs. His thighs had great muscle definition, so I was able to manipulate and firmly knead each muscle. He shifted on the bed and let out a sigh, signaling to me that he was relaxing into it, and that it felt good.
I worked his calves next. The soles of his feet were dirty; all of us had been walking around barefoot for 24 hours. I passed over his feet gently without applying any oil. I slid my hands back up his legs and gripped his fine tush.
I yearned to spread his cheeks and to rim his hole. But his hole was probably not as squeaky clean as my Master's hole. And besides, Wayne would have freaked if I got up close and personal with that part of his anatomy. So I squeezed and kneaded his butt for a moment, and then moved up to his back.
His back was alluring. It was a large spread of hairless, unblemished skin, layered over all kinds of supple muscles. His back was strong, yet yielding to my touch. I didn't know anything about massages, but I varied my touch back and forth from vigorous to light. Wayne occasionally reacted with little moans of pleasure that were almost inaudible.
I had left the door to the room fully open, as my Master had instructed. Dewey came in and stood near the wall, watching silently. I wondered what he was thinking to see me and Wayne interacting so tenderly; Dewey always seemed to prefer hardcore action with me. Dewey was soon joined by JT, who also stood back, watching silently.
I politely asked Wayne to turn over and lie on his back. I asked him to put his hands behind his head, as I had done the previous night. He was super sexy in that position. He had a shaggy mop of dirty blonde hair, which made him look slightly hippieish, at least in contrast to the other Hot Shots. The blonde hair contrasted with his dark, bushy armpits and pubic hair, and with the black "treasure trail" that flowed out of his navel and down to his pubes.
Best of all, in this position, his cock stood straight up like a NASA moon rocket. Sometimes a massage is just a massage. But Wayne had an erection, and was not making any effort to hide it.
I briefly caressed his chest and abdomen, but very quickly I went down on his cock. With my right hand, I very gently coddled the two hen's eggs that were his testicles.
I had learned from my two previous experiences that Wayne liked to thrust. Slow, rhythmic, gentle. Once he began to do that, I mostly remained still. I kept my mouth open and tried to make sure my teeth didn't touch his penis while he moved it in and out.
JT and Dewey were still in the room, which slightly increased my arousal. It didn't seem to bother Wayne. With a grunt, he released his load into my mouth. It was so thick that it was almost like pudding. It was abundant, and it had a briny taste. (Later in life, I would have compared it to the taste of oysters on the half shell. But at age fourteen, I had never eaten oysters.)
After swallowing, I kept his dick in my mouth for a minute or two to catch any residual dripping. I didn't want anyone to say that Sam failed to finish the job.
Once I pulled off, I looked up at Wayne's face. He was smiling with his eyes closed.
"A massage with a happy ending," JT commented from where he was watching.
I moved up and laid down next to Wayne. Whenever we played our horns together, I felt a very sensual connection with him. This was the first chance for that sensual connection to move naturally to something more intimate and sexual. I hoped it would not the be the last.
After a morning of intense fucking, Sam has had a nice afternoon interlude. He has been able to see his sex partners in a new, fuller dimension. And he has been able to get closer to his friend and mentor, Wayne. These developments will continue... keep reading to see how.
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