Date: Fri, 12 May 2000 10:19:08 CDT
From: Tim Foure <timfoure@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Summer of My 15th Year" 32 (adult-youth) (incest)

The Summer of My Fifteenth Year, Chapter 32

by Tim Foure

copyright 2000

If you are under 18 or not permitted access
to homosexual erotica where you live, then
you should not read this story. The other
usual disclaimers too.
___________

Chapter 32

Steve and I picked up where we had left off
the previous week, as comfortable with each
other as we had been at the end of his
afternoon at the dream house. Since his was
the only yard I was cutting, I hadn't
bothered to put on my kiddie uniform,
choosing loose jeans and a T-shirt instead.
I would have preferred to wear shorts, but
I had learned the hard way the trimmer shot
small stones and other objects as it spun,
and they could be painful and even cause
cuts when they hit my legs. Steve was
wearing the same type of running shorts he
had worn the week before. He had apparently
given up on the shirt.

Steve had clearly put some effort into
lunch. Before I took over managing our
kitchen at home, I would have eaten the
pasta salad he gave me without realizing
how much work it took to cut up all of the
ingredients he had put in it. Now I knew. I
enjoyed it and told him I appreciated his
going to so much trouble. He gave me his
best smile, the one that could cause a
stone to feel lust.

When we finished eating and I was about to
start mowing, Steve asked me, "Got a lot
more work to do this afternoon?"

"No, yours is my only lawn today." Since I
still thought of eating lunch as late as
one o'clock as unusual, I decided I ought
to provide some sort of explanation for why
I had set the time so late without having
other lawns to do. "My brother's home on
spring break. He did a lot of mowing for me
this week."

"I wish I had known. I would've asked him
for lunch too. Your father told me how much
responsibility he took on when you rebuilt
your house."

"Yeah, Dad dreamed it up but Ted explained
it all to the contractor. And watched him
like a hawk too."

"I could've used his advice then. But I was
asking because if you don't have to leave
right away, I was hoping you'd stay and
visit for a while."

I was in no hurry. "Sure, that'd be great.
But I'm gonna be all covered with grass
when I get done."

"I can lend you a pair of shorts. You can
take a shower too if you want to. Just use
the bathroom door instead of the kitchen
door. I'll put a clean towel and the shorts
in there for you."

When I finished trimming, I went to the
door. I knew it would be silly to knock
since the door opened into the bathroom and
Steve would most likely be in the living
room or the kitchen, but I felt strange
simply walking into his house unannounced.
I decided to open the door and yell.

Steve came into the bathroom immediately.
"What's up?" he asked.

"Just wanted to let you know I was coming
in."

"Ok. Just leave your clothes in here. Want
me to throw them in the washer?"

"No. The grass'll dry on the pants in a
while and I can just shake it off. I'm not
wet like last time."

"Ok. Want some ice tea?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

I was still standing on the porch while I
talked with Steve. I had taken off my
shoes, and I decided I could just drop the
jeans on the porch and not bring any of the
grass into the house. It meant I would be
naked from the waist down, but Steve owned
the land on that side of the house right
into the woods, so it was unlikely anyone
would see me. Finally I thought, "What the
heck," and dropped my T-shirt on top of the
pile.

I hadn't planned on taking a shower, but
the idea of it had sudden appeal once I was
in the house. One of the things I had
learned immediately after I had taken over
the mowing was how itchy I got from the
sweat and dust. I had to force myself not
to think about it until I could do
something about it. And since I now could,
I did. I pulled on the shorts afterward and
went into the living room.

Steve was sitting on the sofa. "There's
your tea," he said, pointing to a glass.

"Thanks," I said as I sat in a chair
opposite him.

Steve's legs were spread, so the first
thing I noticed was his dick lying off to
the left in his shorts. The shorts he had
been wearing the previous week had been
dark green, but these were light yellow and
seemed to be made of a thinner material.
They gripped the shaft and head of his dick
firmly enough that the outline was clear,
and the curve of his balls was very visible
too as they seemed to hang heavy in the
pouch. My dick responded immediately, but
stopped just short of full erection. Since
I could see it pushing against the fabric
when I looked down, I guessed Steve could
see it as well. I tried sitting in several
different positions, but they either made
my near-erection more visible or looked odd
even to me. In the end I ignored it, as
Steve seemed to be doing.

We picked up our conversation where we had
left off after lunch, but my questions
quickly got us onto the subject of his
renovations. The walls of the living room
had had sections ripped out from ceiling to
floor where new wiring was visible. It was
possible to see into the other rooms
through the gaps in the interior walls. The
exterior walls had had insulation put in
over the wiring. I couldn't help but ask
about the work.

"It took all week. I was lucky. The
electrician came first thing on Monday and
told me what needed to be ripped out. Then
he left me to do it and came back Thursday
to put in the wiring. He showed up just
when he said he would both times. I was
amazed."

"Ted'd tell you just how lucky you were," I
said.

"Don't I know it!"

"I can't believe how clean you keep it in
here with all this work going on." I was
actually amazed since the dream house had
looked like a disaster area even after we
moved in.

"Can't stand all the dirt," he told me.
"Everything has to be in its place and it
has to be clean or it makes me crazy."

We continued to talk and I continued to
watch the show being provided by the
movement of his dick in his shorts. As he
shifted positions on the sofa and later
when we walked around the house, his dick
and balls moved so first one part and then
another was being outlined by the clinging
fabric. I suppose I was providing a show of
my own as my nearly hard dick traveled
around in the pouch of my own shorts. If it
had been fully hard, it would have stood up
against my belly, but as it was it just
tended to travel around in the looseness of
the pouch. I was actually relieved when it
was time for me to change back into my own
clothes and go home.

When I told Steve that I would leave
through the bathroom door, He asked why. He
was surprised to find I had left all of my
clothes on the porch. "You stripped naked
outside?" he asked as he watched me shake
the grass from the legs of my jeans.

"Yeah. I figured nobody could see me since
you own all that land." I swept my hand in
a half-circle to indicate the land between
his house and the woods.

"I'm not so sure. That's why I want to
build the fence. Of course I'm talking
about lying in a hot tub, not just dropping
my clothes and coming straight inside."

"I go naked a lot at home in the summer,
even outside and in the pool. But always
when I've got the house between me and the
road."

"I'm not planning on needing a bathing suit
to use the hot tub either, but I think I
better have the fence. I don't own nearly
as much land as your dad does."

I had taken off the shorts he loaned me and
was putting on my own clothes. My hardon
had deflated some time earlier. Since I was
pretty sure by this time he didn't have any
sexual interest in me, I was quite
comfortable with having him see me naked. I
only wished I could get the same
opportunity with him. The sight of his dick
hanging heavy in his shorts was a continual
tease.

"I'll take your shorts home and wash them,"
I told him. I knew I had made a number of
wet spots on them from precum, which had
begun to flow very freely from my dick. I
had been wondering if there was any
connection between my making precum and
being fucked or whether I was just now
reaching the age where the flow of precum
would have started anyhow. I did know that
I was producing a greater amount than Ted
did.

"No need. I have lots of them. One more in
the washer won't matter at all. Will you
mow again next Saturday?"

"Yeah, sure will. Unless the weather's
bad."

"Want to come for lunch again?"

"Yeah, that'd be great. One o'clock?"

"Works for me. Come even if you can't mow,
ok? "

"Ok, I will. Thanks."

"See you then."

And that continued to be our pattern until
school ended for the summer. Whether or not
I mowed Steve's lawn, I went for lunch at
one every Saturday and stayed to visit
afterward. Part of every week's
conversation involved his house and the
slow progress he was making on it, but the
rest had to do with other aspects of his
life and with mine as well. He had treated
me as an equal from the beginning, and we
talked about my life and interests as often
as we did his.

Since Steve exercised with my Dad every
weekday morning, my growing friendship with
him also had an effect on Dad's attitude
toward Phil. Dad had always seemed as if he
was on unfamiliar ground in dealing with my
friendship with Phil. I think he saw the
difference in our ages as a problem. For
some reason, Mom was more accepting of it
than Dad, although I doubt either one
suspected there was more to it than a
common interest in computers. But I had
never really had much interest in the
renovation of the dream house. It was Dad's
project first and Ted's afterward. So when
my friendship with Steve, who was several
years older than Phil, began to develop,
there was no connection between us through
a common interest. Yet we had clearly
become friends. Steve talked about me quite
a bit to my Dad, who often repeated what
Steve had said while we were having supper.
Because of that, Dad became progressively
more comfortable with my friendship with
Phil as well.

One of the results of my Dad's comfort was
a greater ease in my getting together with
Phil. Thanks to Ted, Friday night
sleepovers at Phil's were taken for
granted. By the time school ended for the
term, I managed to spend several more
evenings with him and most Sunday
afternoons.

On a beautiful Sunday toward the end of
May, Phil picked me up late in the morning.
He surprised me by turning away from town
when he came to the end of our driveway.

"Where're we going?" I asked immediately.

"I thought we'd go for a ride and talk a
while. Get lunch someplace too."

Always before when he picked me up before
lunch, we'd get fast food and take it to
his apartment. Lunch and sex would then
occur together. It often got messy.

"We're not going to your apartment?"

"No, I wanna talk some. You know what'll
happen if we go there."

"Sure do!" I said with a lot of enthusiasm.

"Well, I wanna talk some instead. We'll get
sidetracked  if we go back to my place and
never really get to talk about this."

I was beginning to dread this talk. Nothing
about it sounded promising. "Ok, talk to
me," I said. I sat still, waiting for
something I didn't think I wanted to hear.

"I don't want you to take this the wrong
way. But it's about the sex."

"I thought the sex was great!"

"Me too! But it seems like that's all we
ever do."

"What's wrong with that?"

"There's other stuff we could do too."

"Stuff as good as sex? Like what?" I
couldn't figure out what he was talking
about.

"Stuff that's different from sex. There's a
lot of stuff we could do besides just me
fucking you."

"You getting tired of that? We could suck
instead. You don't have to always be
fucking me." I would miss it, but sucking
was fun too.

"No. This doesn't have to do with the sex,
honest. The sex is great! I love it when
I'm inside you and we're taking it slow.
It's like it's just you and me in the world
then."

"I don't understand. Why do you want to
stop doing it then?"

"I don't want to stop doing it! I want to
do other stuff too. I want us to have stuff
to talk about that we both did and people
we both know."

"I guess I do talk too much sometimes. You
probably don't want to hear about all the
stuff I'm doing. I'm sorry if I talk all
the time. I'm sorry if I don't listen
enough."

"No, you got it wrong! You don't talk all
the time. I do want to hear about all that.
And I want to tell you the same kind of
stuff about me. And you listen just fine.
It's just . . ."

I cut him off. "I don't understand what I'm
doing wrong then." I was confused, but I
thought I was beginning to make some sense
of it. I thought he was working up to
telling me we weren't going to see each
other again.

"You're not doing anything wrong at all!
What I'm trying to say is I want us to do
some stuff we don't have to sneak around to
do. I wanna know if we can spend time with
each other when we're not fucking each
other's brains out and still like it. I
wanna have sex and I wanna do other stuff
too!"

The idea that you would want to do
something else when you could be having sex
came as a shock to me.

"I have to think about this a minute, ok?
Just lemme think a minute."

It had never occurred to me you could
separate the sex out of a relationship if
it was already there. Sex was either
something you could do with somebody or
something you couldn't. And with somebody
you couldn't have sex with, it could
sometimes change so that you could. But it
never went the other way. On tv and in
movies, when people who were having sex
stopped, they always stopped seeing each
other too.

It was like that with Del. When he had
babysat with me, we spent every second we
were together having sex or getting ready
to have sex. I didn't know what we would
have done if we weren't having sex. There
was no place else to go with each other. If
I stopped having sex with Del, I would stop
seeing him too.

Phil was saying the opposite. He wanted to
add something to the sex that was already
there. It seemed to me the sex was the last
thing you added, so when you got to the
sex, that was the most there could be. That
was the way it was with the foursome. Once
we started having sex, everything else we
had done before started to take second
place and the sex became the important
thing. I hardly ever saw Boomer now except
to have sex when before we had done all
sorts of things together.

But on the other hand, when I thought about
Ted, I realized nothing had been left
behind when we started having sex. He still
watched out for me and we still did the
things we had done before. We chatted or
emailed each other at least once a day and
usually more than that. We told each other
everything. We trusted each other
completely. He even counted on me to help
him out now as I had always counted on him.
If there had been any change, it was that
we were closer together now than we ever
had been, if you took into account that he
wasn't home very much since he had gone to
college. But just as he had told me it
would be when Mom moved to Atlanta, nothing
had changed between us and I believed it
never would.

This brought me back to Phil. I was still
working out the possible similarities
between my relationship with Phil and my
relationship with Ted when he interrupted
my train of thought.

"Hey, you been quiet for a long time. You
ok?"

"Yeah, I'm ok. I been working this out."

I had been trying to work it out logically,
but his question made me leap to a
conclusion I couldn't yet actually see. It
caused me to ask a hard question, one I
wasn't going to like the answer to if I had
leaped the wrong way.

"You want to find out whether you like me
or not, right? I mean when you're not
fucking me." I asked.

"No! I already know I like you when I'm not
fucking you! But the sex is so terrific
that I don't feel like we're getting to be
better friends because right now all we can
think about is the sex. I want us to be
terrific friends too so it's just as great
for us to be together even if we're not
gonna have any sex. I don't think that's
just gonna happen. I know it's not gonna
happen if all we ever do is fuck like
crazy. I think we have to give it a chance
to happen."

"What about if it doesn't happen?"

"Well, I know you're not gonna believe this
because I wouldn't when I was your age. But
you get tired of sex after a while. I don't
mean you don't want to do it any more. But
after a while, it's not enough if that's
all there is. The sex just turns into
something that's too much trouble to bother
with very often."

He was going too fast for me, giving me too
many things to think about at one time. I
had to think some more.

After a few minutes, Phil said, "You got
quiet again."

"I'm still trying to figure this out. Are
you saying you think it'll happen like you
said?"

"Yeah, I think we'll get to be really
really good friends if we give ourselves a
chance."

"Oh." I said.

That hadn't been what I was asking him. I
was asking if he thought we'd get tired of
the sex. It seemed to me the sex was the
best thing I had to offer. And if we got
tired of that, then what? But he seemed to
be telling me I had something else he
thought he'd like more than the sex and
that was what he wanted now. I couldn't
even think of how to frame the question I
wanted to ask.

"You don't sound like you're interested in
that," Phil said.

"No," I started off. "No, wait. I mean yes.
I think I am. I'm just not sure what you
mean. I always thought the sex was the
hardest thing. Taking a chance about the
sex. You know, letting somebody know you're
wanting to do it and how bad it is if it
turns out they don't. But that's not what
you're saying at all."

"You're right. That's not what I'm saying
at all. I'm saying we need to take a chance
that we like each other as much as I think
we do. We have to make sure we don't just
like the sex. You know how we try to make
each other feel the best when we're
fucking? I mean I can tell when you're
doing stuff to make it feel better for me
when you could just not. I do that for you
too. I think that means we care about each
other and it's not just fucking. I'm
talking about seeing if we feel like we
want to do that other times too."

I thought I finally understood. "Ok, I
think I got it now. I want to do that too."
Then I had a horrible thought. "But does
that mean we don't fuck any more?"

"No way! But sometimes when we get
together, I want us to know right up front
that we aren't going to fuck so we can
enjoy other stuff together. I don't want us
to be thinking if we just get done with
this thing we're doing, we can finally get
to the fucking because that's the important
thing."

"Like today, right? No fucking today."

"Right. No fucking today."

Phil had had his right hand on the gear
shift knob with his fingers wrapped around
it even though it was an automatic and he
didn't have to shift gears at all. He
turned his hand up and spread his fingers.
After he had done it, he looked down so I
would look at his hand as well. I
understood immediately what he wanted and
laid my own hand on top of it, intertwining
my fingers with his. We drove that way,
holding hands in silence until we stopped
for lunch.

As soon as I got home that night I paged
Ted and got an immediate response.

"I'm surprised you still got the energy to
type after being in bed all day with Phil,"
he said.

"No, we never did anything."

"What! You must be losin' your touch."

"Lemme tell you what happened." And so I
did, leaving out none of the details. "And
we had a great time all day!"

"I had a feelin' he might be interested in
you for more than just your asshole. I knew
you liked him for more than his dick. But I
got that feelin' from talkin' to him."

"I really had trouble with it at first. I
thought he was just getting ready to say
he'd seen enough of me or something."

"No way. I coulda told you that wasn't it.
So I guess we'll have to get you a fresh
supply of jerk-off gel or a vibrator or
something if you ain't gonna be gettin' any
from Phil."

"That was really the weird part. It was
great to just be with him today. I musta
been thinking all that time that we had to
get to the sex or else. I didn't know I was
feeling that way. 'Cause I really knew I
wasn't feeling that way today. It was real
relaxed."

"I bet you'll find out the sex is more
relaxed too. I mean if you ever do it
again. Hehe."

I had intended to tell him the only other
person I felt that way with was him, but I
answered the joke instead. "I know we'll do
it. I know I can make that happen if I have
to jump on him to do it."

"Makes me happy for you, Sport."

>From then on it was like that with Phil,
fun in bed or fun out of bed, and I never
knew which to expect. Except on Friday
night, when we had both because the privacy
of his apartment always led to sex. But the
sex was different now, even better than it
had been. It was, as Ted had said, somehow
more relaxed.


To be continued

I'm off on vacation for a few weeks. I'll
have a new chapter soon after I return.
_______________
Comments appreciated. Send them to
TimFoure@hotmail.com. Flames ignored.

Previously posted chapters can be found at
www.nifty.org in the gay male archive,
incest category.