Date: Thu, 30 Apr 2020 18:01:32 +0000 From: donny mumford Subject: Waiting Foe A Miracle Chapter 11... by Donny Mumford WAITING FOR A MIRACLE by Donny Mumford Chapter 11 "This Is The Real Deal" After a couple of hours doing my job Wednesday morning, it occurs to me that I'm having another ho-huh, stressfree day at work. Yes, it's a crappy job and boring as well, and a few weeks back, I didn't think I'd ever make the one-hundred-twenty-per-hour package-handling quota, but that's changed. Ha, it's still a crabby boring job, but now I can do it with one hand tied behind my back, and without giving it much thought. I've just now assigned the last fifteen packages I handled to Bobby's count. I want to ensure he doesn't get fired before he gets the opportunity for everything to become as easy for him as it has for me. When Bobby's computer device beeps fifteen times in a row, he looks over and gives me a thumbs-up, and his fabulous smile. Not that those fifteen packages mean much. I'll work with him for a half-hour to push that hour's production to a hundred and seventy packages handled. That extra forty or fifty packages average out the hours he only gets a hundred processed. He won't need my help in a week or so. No, I'm NOT helping him because I think we'll have sex; I'm doing it as his friend, and I like seeing his pretty face at work. He makes me smile, plus the memory of my first fuck flashes in my brain when we look at each other. That was my 'first' fuck, and it's a cool memory, but I have no expectations of having sex with anyone in the foreseeable future except Mickey. That's because of Mickey's 'rule,' and I'm okay with that. I guess, by rights, Mickey and I being copasetic in our sexual innocence, should probably have experienced our first 'times' together. Considering my initial hesitancy about being the 'bottom,' however, and Mickie's inexperienced, it's unlikely that would have worked out for us. It was important I had gotten over my 'bottoming fear' before MIckey, and I did it together. Bobby was the perfect partner to take care of my 'hesitancy' because in his mind it was a foregone-conclusion he and I were doing 'it' and that's the confidence level that swept me along to the awakening of sexual climax with stars exploding in my mind the way natural selection intended. Well, no, not 'exactly' the way it was intended, but... So, yeah, as I said, Bobby's a sweet memory of my first 'time,' but mostly I'm daydreaming about Mickey and me doing what he, Bobby, introduced me to that fantastic Friday afternoon. It opened the passageway for Mickey and me to find ourselves in an excellent spot, the one we find ourselves in. We're buddy-sex-buddies and friends. Yeah, it'd be hard to imagine a more unexpected conclusion from a jump in the reservoir, but this is the real deal. Mickey and I are the real deal. I mean, for as far into the future I can see, anyhow. Driving home after work, I'm disappointed not to be going to Mickie's house. Wednesdays he has a two-hour dance lesson, which is, um, an unusual thing to do if you're a guy from Clifton Heights. Hee, hee, I've gotta find a way to observe his dance class someday. And, yes, I know it's only been two days that Mickey and I have met after work for sex. Still, those two days have made a huge impression on me and, as I said, I'm disappointed I'm not on my way to pick him up right now for another dynamite afternoon of sex and fellowship, and, if I had to, I could do without the fellowship. No, just kidding 'cause Mickey and I appreciate one another's company. After work, what I've done in the past was text Dean, but he has 'wheels' now and can drive himself. Since I lack the confidence to simply show up at the park or the bowling-alley by myself, I'll just hang out in my room and call or text MIckey after dinner. As I'm driving onto my street, my phone 'pings'. Huh, I just got a text message! That's a new thing lately. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I see the text is from Mickey. He must be on a break from his dance class. Damn, I can't read the text while driving, but it makes me feel good that he texted. Dean never texted me. I read the text as I'm going inside my house. It's startling news... 'Burke, what's going on? There a moving van in front of the Singleterry's. It was still there when I left for dance class'. What the hell...? I reread the text, and it said the same thing. Hmm, Mrs. Singleterry and Tommy are moving without telling me? Well, why would they tell me? Um, because I'm someone who has come to their house every twenty-one days for almost two years, that's why! This is a mystery! Where would Mrs. Singleterry get the money to move? I suppose that's an odd first thought about this situation, but seriously, where would she get the money? I turn around and go back outside, get in my car, then drive over there to see if I can find out what's up. As I'm driving, a part of me feels as though maybe this is my 'get-out-of-jail-free' card. Maybe I'll be free of my caregiving commitment without having to break my promise to them. I wish I were a better person and felt differently, but I'd love a guilt-free way of not being one of Tommy's caregivers. Is that horrible of me? Shit, it's how I feel, and lying to myself doesn't get me anywhere, plus it's stupid. Wait, I need to look at the bright side. It's not about me! Mrs. Singleterry and Tommy are obviously moving to a better situation somehow, or why would they move, right? I should be happy for them instead of thinking about how it affects me. When I get to their house there's no moving van, so they've already left. I don't know where I got the balls to do this, but I get out of the car and start walking up to the front door. The van left, but maybe Mrs. Singleterry is still here. My curiosity is understandable, and, yeah, I'm also put out they didn't tell me about this 'moving' possibility when I was here two weeks ago. Halfway to the front door, a woman calls to me. "Excuse me, son. They left an hour ago." I look at her, and miraculously, think of a normal thing to ask, "Oh, um, do you know where they're moving to? Someplace local, or..." She says, "You're one of the young men who came to the house for Jean's son, aren't you?" I nod, "Yes, I was one of Tommy's caregiving, um, persons, ah, or..." She says, "They've moved out of state. Jean's sister won money from the lottery or, I don't know exactly." I ask, "I thought her sister lived around here." She shakes her head, "Not that one. Her sister in Connecticut. Or maybe it's her sister-in-law, her brother's wife." I go, "Uh-huh, so..." She goes, "I didn't get the whole story 'cause Jean was rushed, but there's an opening for Tommy in a facility there, a rehab facility of some kind, one he'll go to five days a week." As she's talking, she's rolling-up a garden hose. Taking a step toward her, I ask, "So, it happened quickly, huh?" She stops rolling up the hose, and says, "It's odd you don't know about this move since you're one of the... um. Well, whatever, they needed a quick decision for some reason. I've prayed something good would happen for Jean. Tommy, too, of course, but that poor woman needed a break in the worse way, and now she has one." I mumble, "Yes, it's good for..." and I stop as we both look over at the Singleterry house where we hear hammering. It's a real estate lady hammering a 'for sale' sign on the front lawn. Turning back to the neighbor, I say, "Well, thank you for the information. I'm happy for them too." She waves at me and takes the hose down the driveway as I walk back to my car. Driving away, I rationalize that Mrs. Singleterry would have told me, except it all happened fast. While driving home, I'm trying to partial out my happiness equally between myself and Tommy and Mrs. Singletarry. He'll get better care in the rehabilitation-facility, better than I could ever give him. Better than any of the caregiving volunteers can give him, not just me. Oh man, though, talk about an unforeseen development! Damn, the 'ball' is still falling my way in my life's 'roulette wheel.' And then I feel guilty all over again for selfishly feeling happy that this happened. Yeah, but, 'Jean' Singleterry, huh? Gosh, I didn't know her first name was 'Jean.' You'd think I would have known that after almost two years of interaction with her. Weird. In my bedroom, I think about this good news. Good for them primarily and me secondarily. I keep telling myself I'm only human and it's normal a person would be relieved, um, relieved of the caregiving responsibility I had. Yes, 'relieved' is a better way of looking at it. Better than being 'happy' for myself. Oh, fuck, to get my mind off me being a 'shit' for being happy that I'm done the caregiving, I go online and then click YouTube and type in 'Next Star,' which is a talent show. This one is from another country. I think it's Spain, but I'm not sure. Anyway, I like listening to young guy singers singing in their second language, English. Their accents are charming. Yeah, I'm wicked impressed by bilingual teenage guys, and jealous of those who can sing too. My favorite from the show is a kid named Rares Maris. His rendition of Beyonce's 'hit,' 'Halo' is the best I've heard. This young kid gives me goosebumps. NO, it's not a sexual thing! Plus, it's not just him I'm impressed with. There's also a Russian teenager who sings the song written and first performed on Tom Neuwirth's third album, titled 'Rise.' The song is 'Rise Like A Phoenix.' The Russian kid is another of my favorites. I have a lot of favorites. Listening to these performers this afternoon puts me in that cycle I'm prone to fall into, and I listen to one after another until I'm called for dinner. Of course, these boys are all winners of the various shows. The losers I don't waste my time listening to. My mom makes a good meatloaf, so I liked dinner tonight. She prepared the meatloaf last night and cooked it when she got home from work. She prepares most dinners the night before. I finish eating, and say, "That was awesome, mom," and dad says, "The boy's right, Marg, you make a great meatloaf and mashed potato dinner." Mom's a little flustered, saying, "Oh, my, what's gotten into you two? Well, thank you both." I get up and put my dish and utensils in the dishwasher, saying, "I'm probably going out tonight." Mom says, "Don't forget you're coming with us this Sunday to Uncle Shaun's place for dad's birthday." I go, "Nope, I won't forget, and I'm bringing my friend, MIckey." Dad waves, "Fine," and I go down the hall to my room again. Before I can text Mickey, he texts me: 'Do you still want to hook up tonight?' I text back, 'Yep, I'll pick you up in fifteen minutes and tell you about the Singleterry move.' He lives ten minutes from me, but before I leave, I want to brush my teeth and clean up a little 'cause who knows, we might be intimate. That's a long shot, though, as I don't know where we could accomplish that. Quickly washing my face and hands, then brushing my teeth, I comb my too-short, shitty-cut hair, and I'm off, calling out, "I won't be late," to my parents as I slam the front door. Goddamn, I have this exhilarated sense cause, um, I'm thrilled to be on my way to meet up with my boyfriend. Wow, it swept over me fast, another new sensation, being thrilled. Who have I ever been 'thrilled' to see in the past? I guess I was with Mark, but that was a fleeting one-time happening. This 'thing' with Mickey feels like the real deal, and long-lasting too. It's strange the way someone, in this case, Mickey, all of a sudden, becomes my favorite person, a person I'm thrilled to be seeing. It excites me in several ways. The excitement I'm sensing isn't phonily manufactured; it's an excitement that organically happened on its own. Thinking about Mickey gives me shivers. Even so, I refuse to allow for the possibility it's 'love.' I think, for 'love' to be a factor a lot more exposure, more 'time' together is necessary. We've been together for a mere week. Nonetheless, when I drive up to his house and see him waiting for me at the curb, I get those 'shivers' I mentioned. Hmm, Mickey doesn't appear as thrilled as me merely a small wave, and, without a smile, he gets in the car and says, "Yo, Burke. So, what's up with the Singleterry move?" I tell him what I found out, and he says, "I'm glad you won't need to do that anymore. It must have been, um, depressing." I'm like, "In a way, yeah, it was. It also made me feel good that I was helping." Nodding, he goes, "Yeah, well. Um, moving on to more immediate matters, we should stop at Walgreen's and buy condoms and maybe men's Nair?" He doesn't 'get' the caregiving 'thing,' but I understand. Something about Mickey today, I don't know, he's different in a good, confident way somehow. Whatever, I have a strong urge to hug and kiss him, to please him in some way. Instead, all I do is tentatively pat his shoulder, mumbling, "You look good, Mickey. I like the way you're combing your hair. It looks shorter too, or..." It's probably my tone of voice that makes Mickey look at me 'funny' and, with a smirk, ask, "Are you sure you're not in love with me, Burke? The way you said that, and the look in your eyes, I'm starting to think you protested too much yesterday when I asked if you thought we were in love." Snapping at him, I go, "Fuck that, dude! I was merely giving you a compliment. Don't get carried away with yourself, Jesus!" I get another 'look,' this one like, 'what the fuck?' So, as I'm driving, I use a much nicer tone of voice, saying, "Yeah, that's a good idea about the condoms, and, are you saying there's a men's version of Nair?" Mickey says, "First of all, do not fucking snap at me like that! I don't talk to you that way." I shrug mumbling, "Sorry." God, I like the way he always sticks up for himself! It makes my dick hard. He's small of stature, but he doesn't take any shit. I remember the time at Kent Park when he told that bully Terrence to go fuck himself. And, he said it with conviction; he didn't merely mutter it. Terrence backed-down, and didn't even have a retort. That impressed me. When I mumbled, 'sorry' it was apparently sufficient to mollify Mickey. He goes, "Yes, there is a men's Nair product. I Google-searched it. It's probably like Nair but packaged for men. Here's what I discovered, though. Nair is not recommended for genital areas. There's a product called 'Complete Bare' that seems okay for pubic hair removal. So, we should get that instead." I'm listening, but mostly I'm still embarrassed that I was acting lovey-dovey to him, and he called me on it, so I want to tone my enthusiasm down. I shrug, "I don't care, whichever one you want," and Mickey punches my shoulder, saying, "Jesus Christ! You're not pouting, are you?" Turning to him, I go, "No! I'm a, um, I guess the second hair removal stuff you mentioned would be better." He nods, "That's what I think too. It's a foam." We don't talk during the drive to Walgreens, and when we get out of the car, Mickey gives me another odd 'look,' smirks, and asks, "So, are we in love yet, or what?" I snort out a chuckle and mutter, "Hell, I don't know," and he goes, "What's wrong with thinking you're in love?" I put my arm across his shoulders, saying, "Nothing. There's nothing wrong with that. You're right." Changing the subject, going back to my comment about his hair, Mickey says, "You liked how I combed my hair, huh?" I go, "Yes, it's like Jello's hair. You somehow made it work?" He says, "Isn't it obvious? I cut two inches off the hair on top of my head and three inches off the bangs. You forget, I cut my own hair." God, I'd like to kiss him. Nodding, I mutter, "Oh, yeah, I remember and, um, your hair looks nice." Dammit, I already said that. Inside, Mickey goes, "It's my turn to pay for this stuff. Um, where are the condoms?" I didn't buy my condoms here, so I go, "I don't know." Mickey says, "Ask someone, and I'll look for the hair removal product." See, he's decisive, Mickey is. I'm not, but then, he's our leader. Instead of asking someone, I look up at the tops of each aisle where the products are listed. Men's toiletries sound about right. The sign isn't going to say condoms. Mickey has what he was after, and we meet at the register. This was no problem. No problem checking out at the register, either. The lady clerk doesn't change expression ringing up our odd purchases, and then she says in a monotone, "Have a nice day." That was easy because I'm with Mickey. Everything is easier when you're doing it with a friend. I feel so good as we're walking to the car in the parking lot. I hug Mickey's shoulders, pulling his head over and, shocking myself, I kiss the side of his head. He smells good. Mickey says, "Thanks, I love you too." I go, "I think it's too soon for that," and we get in the car as Mickey says, "You're a broken record with that 'too soon' bullcrap." I'm not going to argue with him. As I'm backing out of the parking spot, Mickey says, "Stop in at the bowling alley to see who's there." I go, "Yes, boss," and drive in silence. Mickey's reading the instructions on the 'Complete Bare' bottle and, I don't know why, but he seems so cool today, and he's wearing a cool t-shirt too. It's a lot better than his usual white undershirt. Oh God, I guess I've got it 'bad' for Mickey, but why do I feel that so strongly today, like all of a sudden. Maybe it's like when, all of a sudden, I was a whizz at package-handling, and not sure how that happened. Or, probably it's because he fucks me so good.. haha. Hmm, yeah, where could that happen tonight? At the bowling alley, as I'm parking, Mickey puts the can of hair removal stuff back in the bag and puts the bag under his seat, saying with a grin, "We don't want anyone seeing what's in the bag, bro, right?" I mutter, "You got that right. It's our secret." I like having a secret with him. He goes, "Jesus, I say again, your tone of voice and the look in your eyes, I'm feeling your love, Burke, but dial it down when we're in the bowling alley." I go, "What the hell are you talking about? Christ, I'm simply in a good mood." We get out, and he says, "Okay, my mistake," and he smirks at me. I can't help snorting out a laugh and rubbing his head, mumbling, "You asshole." Inside, we see guys near the food court we know, so go over to say 'hi.' Dean notices me, "Yo, dude, what's up?" I go, "Hi, Dean. How's your motorbike working out for you." He's like, "Awesome, of course." Jello says to the girl behind the counter, "I'm sorry, but I've already got a girlfriend, so I can't..." She interrupts, "Get lost, twerp," and Jello snickers, then he sees Mickey. He goes, "Miller, what the fuck, dude?" MIckey says, "Hi, Jello," and Jello says, " You finally got a fucking haircut! Holy shit, and you're combing your hair like your idol combs his hair, meaning me naturally. Where ya been, buddy? Haven't seen you since..." and then he sees me and says, "Goddammit, there's Burke too. Huh, my two hero worshipers. Are you two nerds hanging out together now?" Mickey mumbles, "Yeah, Burke and I are tight." Dean goes, "Jesus, Miller got a haircut! Can I believe this shit?" Charlie walks up, eating a hot dog and goes, "Fuck, is that you, Mickey?" Mickey's haircut attracts attention from everyone, but only for three minutes, and then the discussion is about how Charlie Snyder got ripped-off buying an ounce of pot. He got from a guy named Mc Dougal. Mickey and I are on the periphery again, everybody losing interest in us and our haircuts. My shitty haircut got ragged on at Kent Park the other day, and now Mickey was the center of attraction for a while, but it didn't last long for either of us, and I didn't expect it would. I'm like, "Yo, Mickey, let get something to drink." We drift away from the guys and buy Cokes from the counter girl, who says, "I like your haircut, Mickey. Um, tell your friend there, the cute redhead, that if he acts nicer, I might go out with him." Mickey goes, "Yeah, okay, Nina." Walking away from the food court, I go, "We shouldn't hear any more horseshit about our haircuts," and I tell him what was said about mine at the 'touch' football game, and work too. He shrugs, mumbling, "The hell with it. That's what guys do, break balls." I bump against his side and squeeze his shoulders, saying, "I think you look cool, Mickey. I like how you look." He's making another funny 'face' at me, muttering, "Yeah? Thanks, if you're serious." I reach over, smiling at him, and run my fingers through his hair, saying, "You're lucky. Blond hair is the coolest. Hey, do blonds have more fun?" He gives me his third funny 'look' in the last three minutes, and then drinks some Coke and burps a carbonated burp, but doesn't say anything. A few minutes later, I guess I'm staring at him again, so he says, "Burke, um, Mattie, seriously, don't take this the wrong way. Um, but coincidentally I was wondered earlier today which one of us would eventually have the bigger crush on the other. I swear to God I thought it was going to be me crushing on you like crazy, and I am crushing on you, but it's you though who has the biggest crush," and he laughs poking my side, adding, "You've got the bigger crush on little old me." I start to say, 'bull shit' but instead, I say something stupid, I go, "How do you know?" Ya know, something a nine years old would say. He says, "C'mon, let's go to our spot tonight." I'm like, "Our spot? Oh, you mean the lake?" He nods, "Yeah, bring your Coke." That's so, um, so ballsy an idea for a weeknight 'cause it's almost an hour's drive round-trip, and yet he was decisive about it. God, I think it's so cool the way Mickey said that and then pulled on my arm, and I followed him. See, he's our leader. As we're walking to the car, he says, "You can't imagine how good I feel that you're crushing on me like you are, Burke. I love you for that." Omigod, I want to make-out with him so bad my balls ache. I'm 'cool' though, and mumble, "Yeah, well, maybe it's you crushing on me." He laughs, "I already said I was, didn't I? And why are you acting like you're ten years old?" I get pissed again, "I'm not! And it's not like you to be a prick, so stop it!" My boner is so hard it hurts. My balls ache, and my boner hurts, inexplicable in both cases. Mickey says, "I'm mostly joking with you. Jeez, lighten up. Aren't you excited, dude? We're going to the lake! You wanna go, don't you." Nodding, I mumble, "Of course," and we get in the car. We have one of our silent periods as I try figuring out why I've got this elevated, um, opinion of Mickey. I'm glancing at him, being careful that he doesn't catch me, but I can't help myself. He's, all of a sudden, risen to wicked 'cool' status and, although earlier I concluded it's probably because he fucks me so good, there are other reasons as well. I'm sure there are; it's just that I haven't thought them through yet. The longer we ride along silently, I'm expecting Mickey to say something, but he looks so relaxed, I finally break our silence, saying, "You're right, Mickey." He looks over at me, "What's that, Burke? I'm right about something?" Keeping my eyes on the road, I go, "Uh-huh. I didn't know it was happening, but you're right, I've got a ginormous 'thing' for you. Um, I probably love you." He holds his palms up, saying, "I said you were in love with me yesterday, Burke. We're in love, but so what? It's not a bad thing." That was so easy; I snort out a laugh, then mutter, "No, it's not a bad thing. Um, and I didn't know you were joking around before. I didn't mean to snap at you." He says, "I'll try to be a lot more obvious when I'm pulling your chain. Everyone jokes around, though, right?" I nod, "Yeah, I guess. I don't do it much 'cause I'm not good at it." Gee, I'm feeling better after admitting my feelings to him, um, and to myself. I'm more relaxed now as we drive in silence. When we get to the turn-off for the lake, I say, unnecessarily, "Here's the turnoff," and Mickey nods his head. We're good; we're better than good. It's funny, but the entire first date with Mickey, it was me who was more in control. Not comfortably in control, but more so than Mickey. That first date, it was me who suggested Lenape Lake. Since that first date, however, he's moved way past me as far as being in control goes. He's been in charge firmly, taking the leadership role between us. Not that it's a contest because he's always had much bigger balls. I mean in the self-confidence category. When I drive to the entrance of Lenape Lake Park, Mickey gets out and lifts the barrier pole, I drive past it, and he gets in the car again. Cruising around the perimeter of the lake, Mickey says, "I'm spotting more cars than were here Saturday night." I go, "Uh-huh, but we'll find a secluded spot. Nobody wants to bother anyone. They're all doing a variation of what we're gonna be doing." He holds up the bag, saying, "And we came prepared!" Oh, shit, haha, I forgot we bought the condoms earlier. How'd I think we were going to fuck? Christ, it's a good thing I'm not in charge. Parking in the same small off-road area I parked Saturday night, I ask, "Should I turn off the car? Last time it got hotter than hell in here without the air conditioner." Mickey's like, "Yeah, turn it off. I've got this 'thing' about carbon monoxide poisoning." Nodding my head, I turn the engine off, and we listen to the motor 'ping' a few times, and then we hear the sound of crickets or whatever from the forest. We sit here looking out the windows, and I guess I'm waiting for Mickey to decide what we'll do next. Hearing popping sounds, we look at the lake and see fireworks. Mickey says the obvious, "Someone is shooting off fireworks." I wet my lips and murmur, "Can we make out? I wanna make-out with you." He looks at me, "Yeah, well, that's good." I realize I'm squeezing my junk, so I stop doing that, and murmur, "Yeah, it is." He goes, "Let's get in the back seat." I unhook the seat belt and wait for Mickey to screw around, getting his unhooked before I get out of the car. We get in the back seat with me, stating the obvious, "More room back here." Mickey nods his head and mumbles, "We're acting weird again, Burke. It's not your fault; I'm not saying that." He's almost against the door, so I inch over to him and then lean my head down to his face, so our lips touch. He grins and licks my lips as our arms go around one another. We have the best make-out we've ever had. He tastes good. No, really, he does, and he smells good too. It's a faint personal scent that gets in my head. I also like the way our faces squish together, our noses are on each other's cheek, our teeth scraping, and the quiet moans of arousal coming from our throats. I like all that, and the mutualness of it makes it perfect. No hesitation, it's full-blown mutual attraction, and the only thing that stops us is I somehow cut Mickey's lip. When I taste blood, his blood, I pull my head back, saying, "I'm sorry, Mickey." He licks at his cut lip and then holds his finger on the small cut. I stretch my t-shirt to dab at the blood, but Mickey pushes my hand away, mumbling, "I'm good, no problem, Burke," and he leans to me for a quick kiss before saying, "Get undressed now. Everything off." As I do that, Mickey gets out of the car to retrieve the bag under the front seat. When he gets in the back again, he hands me the bag and takes his shorts and underpants off, struggling to get them past his sneakers. As he's pulling off his t-shirt, I mumble, "You should take your sneakers off first. It's easier that way." He's leaning down to take his sneakers off now, saying, "Suck my dick, Burke," but he didn't mean that like, 'fuck you.' He meant, suck his dick because that's what we like. No surprise, Mickey likes it when I suck his dick, but I like doing it too... win-win. He takes the bag back, adding, "I'll get a condom out while you're doing that," meaning sucking his dick. I'm on the same 'page' as Mickey, which is a first. I'm rarely on the same 'page' with anyone. We both have boners from making out. Boners so hard they're sticking straight out and not even quivering when the rest of our bodies moved as we were getting undressed. So he could fuck me right now, but, as I just said, we like me sucking his dick first. I'm sitting next to him, so after I put our clothes on the seat next to me, I lean over, my head going to his lap, and I take his hard cock in my mouth. Omigod, the skin on his penis is so smooth. Soon I'm slobbering all over it, lapping and sucking and going up and down on it. It is so fucking sexy doing this! When I feel a big glob of pre-cum drooling out, and it takes like a whole second for all of it to come loose on my tongue, I think maybe Mickey wants me to suck him off to climax. Yeah, I'm into sucking his cock big-time! It's so; I don't know, humbling to do this for my boyfriend. It shows him how much I like him, and maybe love him. Mickey is sitting comfortably back against the seat, one hand holding a condom and the other ruffling through my short unevenly-cut hair as he's quietly grunting, then squirming. Sliding off the seat, I'm on my knees on the floor in front of him now, one of his legs on either side of me. I make sure my lips are covering my teeth, and then I go up and down on his harder than steel boner until he groans and lifts off the seat and a long, hard stream of cum shoots into my mouth hitting the back of my throat and that's followed by three shorter streaks of cum. Moaning, he sits back on the seat and then sighs while I'm swallowing his semen and sucking on the head for drips that are late arriving. I made a wet pre-cum spot on the front of the seat where my boner hit it repeatedly during my energetic blow job. Lifting my head and leaning against the back of the passenger seat, I look at Mickey. He grins at me and then says, "That felt out of this world good, but didn't you want me to fuck you?" I mutter, "More than you know, but I wanted to show you how much I like you." He smiles, "You are the nicest person I know, Burke. Did you mean 'how much you like me,' or the 'L' word?" It's wicked embarrassing, but I blush and murmur, "I guess I meant 'how much I L-word you." He goes, "It's just a word, and you're probably right that we don't know if we're in love or not, but what's the harm of thinking we are?" Getting up and sitting next to him, I mutter, "No harm," and then I lean against him wanting to awkwardly cuddle like last Saturday. I say 'awkward' because I'm taller and wider than Mickey. I'm bigger, that's the awkward part. When Mickey doesn't seem inclined to do the awkward cuddling, smirking at him, I lift his arm and put in across my shoulders. Awkward or not, I like it. He says, "I wanted to do that, but you seemed so uncomfortable when I did it Saturday." I mutter, "Well, I'm not uncomfortable now," and he squeezes my shoulders as I snuggle in against him, my head under his chin, on his chest. We sit like this, my cock still pretty stiff, and my balls are taking on a blue hue. Blue balls aren't all bad, though. You get blue balls, metaphorically speaking, from being sexually aroused to a high degree, and I like being in that condition. Plus, I know Mickey has unbelievable recuperative capabilities, so it won't be long before he's fucking me spectacularly. For now, though, we're in our comfortable, silent phase, which I like 'cause there is no need for thinking of things to say. With Mickey, silent periods are relaxing. It's like we know we're both glad just being together, two ex-dorks. Ex-dorks 'cause how can we still be considered dorks if we're having such great sex? After maybe ten minutes, Mickey says, "We'll take a swim now. We're both sweating like racehorses." He said that as a statement and not as if he was asking if I wanted to do it. Mickey's decisive! That is just one of the things I like about him. We get out of the car, and he takes my hand, but we only walk a few steps before saying at the same time, "Ooops," and we get back in the car, in the front seats so that I can drive us closer to the lake. This time we know, there is a ledge we'll walk off of into deep water, so we approach it cautiously, but we still get surprised when we both step off the ledge going in with water over our heads. We know what to do, though, and we're soon swimming, skinny-dipping, and doing some touching too. It's a little different tonight because others are in the lake. They're not near us, but we can hear their voices, their laughing, splashing, and dunking and whatnot. When we hear a girl's high-pitched squeal, we smirk at each other. I think we smirked because we're not with a girl. All in all, it's a pleasant swim. Mickey decides when we've swum enough by nodding at the shoreline, and we swim over to get out of the lake. I automatically hold my hand out a bit, and Mickey takes it. We haven't spoken since leaving the car, and we don't talk now either. We're wiping our bodies getting off some of the water, but we're far from dry when we get in the car. The heat in here will dry us off quickly. Without needing to discuss it, Mickey watches as I get on my knees between his legs and suck on his dick until it's a hard boner. As I'm doing that, I hear his normal grunting and feel him squirming as the sensations from his penis grow and grow. Shortly, he mutters, "That's enough, Burke." The next words that were spoken come from me, "How should I get, Mickey? Doggy style?" He's rolling a condom on his long-looking boner, mumbling, "How do you wanna do it?" I'm disappointed because I prefer him to decide for us, so I say, "You tell me." Mickey shrugs at that, then says, "Okay. Yeah, well, our choices are few in this back seat. Lean over the seat, and I'll squeeze in behind you." We do that, and I feel the slippery nipple of the condom immediately at my asshole. No hesitation on Mickey's part as he pushes it in, I hold my breath as he slides his excellent boner tightly all the way up my ass. He mutters, "Fast and hard, Burke," and that's what he does, he fucks me fast and hard ignoring my early cries that it hurts, also ignoring me asking, "Can you stop for a second, MIckey?" No, he cannot, or he won't, and I'm glad he didn't because five seconds later, the pain vanished like a magic trick, and now I'm in a sea of sexual pleasure like most people probably only dream about. His cock and my rectum are made for each other. "Slapslapslapslap," sounds of males fucking fill the car and with each sound, I go, "Umpt," as sensations of intense pleasure buzz off my prostate with the lips of my asshole sizzling with indescribable itchy-like vibrations that get me squirming, each delicious thrust of MIckey's boner scratching the itch perfectly. None of this perfection lasts for long, though. When I sucked Mickey's cock until he blew his 'load' my cock got hard as stone, and my balls were right at the precipice, just about to fire off their precious semen, but not so fast. It never quite reached the tipping point. Mickey climaxed into my mouth and everything stopped for me. Then we swam and I, sucked his cock a couple of minutes ago, which reactivated my balls' early intentions. What I'm saying is, it didn't take a lot of fucking for me to reach the point of no return, orgasm-wise. This fuck felt so good I even used my powers of concentration holding off my more-then-eager climax, but climaxes have their way, and after two minutes, maybe two-and-a-half-minutes, my climax was born with great force. Waves of a smoky blackness drifted past my vision as cum pumped out from my nuts, and up my stone boner, it went to exit with speed, splattering on the back of the back seat, "Splat!" It caused sensations all over me that startled me as if this was my first rodeo. Moaning at the rolling pleasure, my shoulders doing a spastic shudder, I try to comprehend the magnitude of bodily pleasure swooshing through me and up and down. What I comprehended was plenty, and my face scrunched-up as I moaned, "Ummmm, oooh, fuck," and shook. Only then did I realize Mickey was still thrusting his hard boner so, like the good pussy boy 'bottom' I am, I held my ass up until his last hard hump, and, with him making breathy sounds Mickey filled up the condom with creamy boy-juice. Leaning against my ass, he reached down to rub my back, murmuring, "This was another fuck for my scrapbook, and I'm only saving the best. So far, all of them." Pulling his cock out, Mickey chuckles and goes, "Is this awesome, or what?" and he smacks my ass, "SMACK!" Oh, boy, yeah. As I lift up, Mickey moves to the side, pulling the condom off, mumbling, "Good condom," and he chuckles again, then plops down on the seat and goes, "Woo-wee, that was good!" I say, "We don't have tissues, and my ass is gooey with the lube." He frowns and grins at the same time, asking, "Really? That's all you have to say about it?" I go, "Oh, no, I mean, it was awesome. A truly awesome fuck, as usual, I might add, but my ass is, um, you know... gooey." He snickers then asks, "Don't you want me to hold and cuddle you now?" Snorting out a laugh, I shimmy over to lean against him, murmuring, "Take care of your pussy-boy," and he mumbles, "Okay." He puts both his arms around my neck and pulls my head against his shoulder, but that feels awkward, so I put my right leg over his legs and sit on his thighs, sort of sideways, which is another awkward position. We make position adjustments until we get semi-comfortable. Body contact, his arms around me, yeah, that's good even if it is awkward. We both sigh, and seriously, I feel great. After a few silent minutes, Micket murmurs, "I know how we're gonna do 'it' next, Burke." I mumble, "Tell me," and he says, "Almost like this with you on my lap and my cock up your ass. YOU'LL be doing all the work going up and down on my boner." I go, "Okay," and we're quiet again. I hear a car's engine startup, just faintly as it's not close to us. Then there are the sounds of forest critters and insects that get active at night. Mickey's subtle personal scent that is in my head, and I like feeling his heart faintly beating against my chest, and I like him lightly rubbing his fingers on the back of my head. I like feeling special to someone the way he makes me feel. Yep, I like a helluva lot of things tonight. Liking lots of things is a new experience for me. Mickey's silence outlasts me again. Pulling my head back to look at him, I say, "Oh, I just thought of something. Before I forget, I want to ask you if you're doing anything this Sunday, are you?" He says, "I was hoping to be with you." I go, "Good. Um, that's good because I'd like you to come with me to my Uncle Shaun's cookout this Sunday. I hardly ever go to these Sunday cookouts, but this one will be my dad's birthday, um, sort of birthday-party-cookout. How about it?" He shrugs, "Sure, I'll go with you, although it's not something I'm very good at. My silence tends to make people uncomfortable for some reason." I'm like, "Yeah, I know what you mean because I'm like that, but we won't stay a long time. It's just that I like my dad, and I haven't been especially nice to him recently, and I haven't been to many cookouts this year." He nods his head, "Yeah, okay." I chuckle and say, "You'll get to meet my cousin, Louis. I used to crush on him, and now I can't imagine why." He chuckles at that, then says, "So, I'll go with you, but then you'll owe me, and you'll need to do something with my dad and me, although I don't know what that will be." I mumble, "Maybe he can take us to a Phillies game." Mickey mutters, "Doubtful since he and I hate baseball." Moving off, Mickey, I sit next to him and ask, "Do you think you can fuck me again? We'd need to do it pretty soon because it's getting late, and I get up at six o'clock on weekdays." He goes, "Yeah, I can do that, but let me ask you something. Do normal boyfriends fuck three or four times a night, um, on dates or whatever?" I shrug again, muttering, "I gues,s. Well, actually, I don't know, but since you're so good at it, why not? Ya know?" He reaches in the bag for another condom, saying, "I was just wondering because my dick is getting sore." I go, "Well, I had the sore ass, and yet I did it anyway." He goes, "Not during the day on Sunday. It was that night." I mutter, "Whatever, I did it." He says, "Damn, I've got that stuff from the condom on my pecker again. I don't suppose you'd be willing to overlook it and suck my dick into a boner, would you?" Chuckling, I mutter, "Surely you jest. Um, no, I don't suppose I would do that." He says, "There are no germs in the, um, pesticide or whatever it is." I go, "It's spermicide, not pesticide, and I don't want that in my mouth either. I don't know about the germ content." He's holding a new condom, saying, "Well, would you be so kind as to stroke my dick then?" Sitting next to him, I reach over, mumbling, "Gladly," and pick up his penis. Stroking his cock, I say, "We could have made-out, ya know. Kissing you gets me hard." He goes, "This is quicker, and you've got work tomorrow." Headlights flash through our car as another car drives past us on its way to the exit. Mickey mumbles, "Jesus! That scared me for a second." We get our act together, but we don't do that 'lap' fuck Mickey said we would. He fucks me doggy style, me up on the seat and him on his knees behind me. It's glorious, and when we both have blown our 'loads' and get our breath back, he mumbles, "I'm never going to get tired of doing this. Sore dick or not." I mutter, "Me neither." During the drive home, Mickey falls asleep, but I'm energized from our sex, so I'm wide awake. His question about our frequency of fucking intrigues me. I didn't think about it before he mentioned it. I don't know if normal guys fuck as much as we do. I don't see how it's possible to overdo 'it' though, ya know, but I'm going to Google 'sex frequency' just to be sure we're, um, well, we're normal. The other thing I'm curious about is how quickly we cum. Three-to-four minutes, that's the longest most of our sex acts last, and some of them never reach the two-minute mark. I'd like to find out if there's a secret 'something' that we can do to stretch that out a few minutes. Mickey did the slow fucking that time, but it was sort of torturous for me because the 'need' to climax got wicked-strong. Hell, I'm sure there are more things I'm ignorant about, but I'm learning. To be continued... Chapter 12 "This Is The Real Deal 2" donnymumford@outlook.com Hey, guys, please consider a tax-deductible donation, whatever size, to nonprofit Nifty to help them cover the expenses of maintaining this fantastic free story site. Thanks!!