Date: Sun, 15 Feb 2015 06:49:24 -0600
From: jdhauthor67@gmail.com
Subject: Zinger-Part Two

The following is a work of fiction/fantasy. While it is based on real
people, the events depicted are not based on actual events. This work is
the property of the author; copyright protection should be respected. This
work involves sexual relationship between two males. If that offends you,
then please move on.

Please let me know whether you like the story/feel free to offer criticism,
comments, suggestions, or other feedback at jdhauthor67@gmail.com.


Chapter Two

	We caught our flight, and hopscotched our way back to our Missouri
town. Neither Zinger nor I mentioned our last night in Frankfurt, at least
not until we were in Minnesota together later that summer.

	During the remainder of our senior year, Zinger and Katie kept in
touch via long distance and letters (yes, this was before cell phones,
email, and text messaging). Mid-summer, Zinger suggested a trip to
Minnesota to "catch up" (i.e. fuck) with our friends.

	Steve could not get off work, and we did not invite any of the
girls to go. So, after work the Thursday before the 4th of July, he and I
took my mother's featureless (no radio, no A/C) red Escort and started the
10 hour drive north to Jackson, MN. I had not seen him since graduation,
almost two months before. Freed from our high school's strictures, he had
let his sandy blond hair grow long, and he had it pushed back behind his
ears. His face was stubbly. And, his eyes were clear blue. Years later, I
realized he looked exactly like Curt Cobain would. He was hot. Sexy.

	A few hours into the trip, I noticed that Zinger's grey gym shorts
were tenting. He noticed me noticing. "Sorry. It happens when I am a car. I
should have worn underwear."

	"No worries."

	I was driving, so I needed to keep my eyes on the road ahead. But,
I found that virtually impossible, as I could see in the periphery Zinger's
hard dick pointing down the right leg of his shorts. Periodically, he
pushed down on it as hard as he could.

	When we stopped for gas, he hopped out of the car and bounced
inside. After pumping gas, I went to the bathroom. I saw his shoes under
one of the stalls. From the slapping I could hear, it was clear he was
jacking off. I stayed at the urinal as long as I could, listening to his
hand jerk his dick and his breath came hard. I got hard as I listened. I
left before he came, although I did not want to.

	When he got back in the car, he announced, "I should be alright
now."

	"Why?"

	"You know. You were listening to me."

	I blushed crimson.

	The rest of the drive to Jackson was tedious. As it got late, we
both got very tired. We stayed awake by talking. Zinger shared his life
with me, both where he had been and where he wanted to go. He shared his
secrets with me. And, I shared my life with him, both where I had been and
where I hoped I was going. I also shared my secrets with him, including
childhood secrets I had not shared with a anyone else. I laid myself
bare. It was way more intimate than I had been with anyone else, and way
more intimate than I expected from a drive in an Escort to Minnesota.

	We rolled into Jackson well past midnight. We were staying at
Cari's, and she put us in her divorced mother's room, where we would share
her king-sized water bed. We were both beat, but it still took time to wind
down. We continued talking. As we did, I noted that Zinger had his hand in
his briefs. As always. I fell asleep as we talked.

	We slept long into July 3. When we awoke, we joined Cari in the
kitchen, and Zinger got a surprise. Katie, who he was looking to spend the
weekend fucking, had a new boyfriend and so would be off-limits.

	Still, Katie joined the rest of our friends at Cari's that
afternoon for a pool party. Zinger was surly from the get go. He clearly
wanted to get laid, and he was pissed he was misled into driving 10 hours
only to be thwarted.

	I, on the other hand, was having a blast. It was July 3rd, it was
only 80 degrees, there was an unlimited supply of beer, and the boys were
mostly naked, showing off their muscled chests, perfect nipples, and
rippled stomachs. I spent most of the day in the water. I barely saw
Zinger.

	Having started very early, the party broke up when everyone got
hungry. Cari grilled burgers for the small group of us left over, which
included her, me, Zinger, and Darryl, a somewhat unkempt dude who seemed
cool as shit. After the burgers and a few more beers, Cari and Darryl
joined hands and headed into the house. Obviously, they were going to
fuck. Their exit left me and Zinger poolside, alone.

	"Do you smoke?" he asked.

	"No, my mom smokes, and it has always grossed me out. I can't stand
the things."

	"Pot, dork. Not cigarettes."

	"Oh. No, I never have."

	"Wanna try?"

	"I dunno. I kind of thought that was something I would never do."

	"Suit yourself, but you live only once. At least, that is what they
teach us. I have nothing on my list of `something I would never do.' I want
to do it all."

	With that, Zinger stood up, walked to the shallow end of the pool,
dangled his legs over the edge, and lit a joint. He raised it to his mouth
and inhaled deeply. As far as I could tell, he never exhaled.

	I stood up, adjusted my trunks, walked the length of pool, and sat
down next to him. I touched my foot to his as I dangled my legs into the
water. He did not pull his foot away. Instead, he offered me the joint
again.

	"Just try it, dork."

	"What do I do?"

	"Hold it to your mouth, suck in as deeply as you can, and then hold
your breath for as long as you can."

	I tried. I choked and coughed almost instantly, expelling the smoke
almost as fast I tried to take it in. Zinger laughed, his smile
illuminating his crazy blue eyes. "Here, I'll help you."

	He put the joint backward in his mouth, put his hand on the back of
my head, and moved his face toward mine. For some reason, I opened my
mouth, and he put the small end of the joint in my mouth. When I closed my
mouth, our lips touched. He blew out, and my mouth filled with smoke. I
started to swallow, but then stopped and just breathed in, as deeply as I
could. I felt the smoke fill me. I held it as long as I could. I wanted to
exhale, but my lips were still pressed to his, and I was not about to pull
away. We were not kissing, but we were also not not kissing. He opened his
eyes and looked into mine. I looked back, deeply. I held the look as long
as I could, before I finally pulled away, choking.

	"Congratulations on your first shotgun, dork."

	"Thanks, I guess."

	Zinger took another long drag off the joint and handed it to me. I
dragged back, coughing again, violently. Soon, the joint was almost gone,
and he pulled out another.

	"Let's move to the deck."

	"Okay."

	We stood, pulling our legs out of the pool. We walked to the deck
and plopped down in two lounge chairs. He dragged and then passed me the
joint. I dragged and passed it back. He put the lit end in his mouth and
leaned over for another shotgun. I moved my face to meet his, and I put my
hand around the back of his neck. I made sure we were lip to lip before he
delivered my second shotgun. I took it all in, as deeply as I could. Our
lips remained together. He pulled away, removed the joint, said "blow it
back," and put his mouth back to mine. I opened my mouth a little, and blew
the smoke back into his. He inhaled it. He pulled back and held it in. Our
faces were close. He leaned forward, I opened my mouth, and he blew what
remained of the smoke back into my mouth. I was titillated. And rock hard.

	We finished the joint like that, trading smoke back and forth and
back and forth. When the joint was gone, he got up, walked away, and
returned with two vodkas. Mine burned the shit out of me, high or not. He
sipped his, casually.

	We both laid back in our chairs, totally relaxed, staring at the
equally dark and starry sky. Neither of us spoke.

	I was both drunk and high. I suspected he was, too. I am not sure I
had ever been more relaxed,

	"Let's swim."

	"Okay."

	He stood up and pulled his trunks off as he walked toward the
pool. The moon lit his mostly hairless ass as his hips swung. Nude when he
got there, he jumped in. I followed, jumping in with my trunks still on.

	"Have you ever skinny dipped?"

	"Nope."

	"Take your trunks off. Being naked in the water is awesome."

	"I'm okay."

	"Take your trunks off, dork."

	I swam to the shallow end and did as I was told, dumping my trunks
on the edge of the pool. Then, I turned and swam back toward him. He was
right. Swimming nude was awesome. I felt completely free, the water
caressing my dick and balls. We treaded water in the deep end in for
awhile. When I got tired, I swam to the side, and rested the back of my
head against it, my arms spread wide beside me. Zinger followed me. He
grabbed the side of the pool, his hands on either side of me. He was right
in front of me. I could not move. He stared at me and smiled. I stared back
for as long as I could, smiling back at him. I finally looked away. I was
rock hard.

	"Let's go inside."

	"Are you sure? It's fantastic out here." I stalled. I did not want
to climb out of the pool with a hard on he was sure to see.

	"I'm sure." He moved to the side and pulled himself out of the
pool, exposing his beautiful ass as he did. When he was out, I swam to the
shallow end, clambered out as fast as I could, and wrapped a towel around
me in a futile attempt to conceal my rock hard hard dick. Zinger walked
toward me from the other end of the pool. He, too, was rock hard, but he
did not care that I saw it. He seemed to want me to see him. He seemed to
be flaunting his hard on. He picked his towel up, wrapped it around his
neck, and walked toward the house, his dick leading the way and his ass
swaying in front of me. I followed.

	When we got to the room, Zinger moved toward his gym bag, dug out a
pair of briefs, and tugged them on. When he turned around, it was clear his
dick was still hard, sticking up and to the right. He smiled at me, turned,
and went into the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth, I dropped my towel,
put on a pair of boxers, and pulled on an undershirt. I could not sleep
shirtless.

	When Zinger finished in the bathroom, I took my turn. I washed my
face, brushed my teeth, and – just in case – smelled my arm
pits. They were fine. I turned out the light and returned to the room. He
was sitting on the bed, his back to the headboard and the sheet draped over
his crotch.

	I climbed into the bed, jostling him with the "waves" I
created. Once in, I sat like he was.

	"Are you high?" he asked.

	"Yep."

	"Me, too. But, I could go a little higher."

	With that, he lit another joint and sucked in as much as he
could. He offered it to me, but I declined. I had had all the pot I thought
I should. After another couple drags, Zinger licked his finger,
extinguished the joint, and returned it to his "fun bag."

	We sat in silence against the tufted headboard. After a bit, he
looked over at me and smiled.

	"How's your high, dork?"

	"I am having a very good time."

	"Me, too." He paused. "My only problem is pot gives me the
munchies. And makes me horny as hell."

	"I can help with at least one of those." I got up, went to the
kitchen, and returned with an open bag of Chips Ahoy cookies. We tore
through the dozen or so that were left.

	"I'm still horny as hell."

	I flashed back to Frankfurt. I may have missed my chance there. I
did not want to miss it again, but I was helpless and hopeless as to what
to do. I turned my head toward him. He smiled at me, and I noticed his
right hand was on his dick, and it was hard, partially out of his briefs,
and pointed straight at his navel.

	He beat me to it.

	"You want to help with this, too?"

	I froze. "Uh, I don't think so."

	"C'mon, you have been staring at me for four years, you watched me
fuck that chick in Laposky's room, you watched me fuck, and you listened to
me jack off just yesterday. You definitely want to help me."

	"I am not gay."

	"I did not say you were, and I do not care if you are. I just want
to get off. You can do it, or I can do it myself."

	"Fire away."

	With that, he raised his hips, pulled down his briefs, and started
to stroke his long, thick dick right in front of me. I should not have
stared, but I did. I could not not stare.

	"Last chance," he offered.

	I stared at his dick. It was awesome, lengthened to 8+ inches,
thicker than my wrist, and curved toward his navel.

	My throat was too dry to speak, so I just reached for his
dick. Zinger pulled his hand away and let me take it. It was thicker than
it looked. It was hot to my touch. As I watched my hand move up and down,
he pulled my head toward his hairy chest and pressed me tightly to it. When
he released the pressure, I licked his right nipple gently, then eagerly
started sucking it. At the same time, I continued to jerk his thick
dick. Before long, his breath became ragged, and I could feel his orgasm
build in his throbbing dick. When I bit his nipple, he came in white
arcs. The first hit his chin and neck. The next two hit his chest. The next
hit his stomach. And, the last dribbled out of his bulbous head onto my
hand.

	I could not believe it. I had just swum naked with and then jacked
Teddy Azinger.

	I wanted to taste his cum, but I feared he would think me freakish
– and gay – if I did. So, I just lay with my head on his chest, still
holding his softening dick.

	"That was awesome. Did you enjoy it?

	"I did."

	"You could have done all of that in Frankfurt."

	"I thought maybe. But, I did not know."

	"I said, `you can hold it tonight if you want.' How were you
confused?"

	"I thought maybe it was a trap."

	"Do you feel trapped now?"

	"No, not at all."

	We sat in silence for awhile. He broke the silence, "I'm beat. I
will see you in the morning." With that, he turned his back to me, fluffed
his pillow, and settled in to sleep, his hairy chest and stomach still
covered in his cum. I moved to my side and did the same, my back to him.
Before falling asleep, I licked and sucked his dry cum off my hand. It was
delicious.

To be continued . . . .