Boys of Summer

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1. If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You shouldn't be here.

2. This story isn't based on anyone in particular, alive or dead, so any resemblance to anybody is unintentional.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy flames, and will not tolerate them. Unless I often hear from you and would recognize your address, please put the story title in the subject, or my junk mail filter may screen you.

Thanks to everyone who has written so far. To answer a frequent question from those who are unfamiliar with my other stories, they're called "Brian and Tommy", "Thieves", "JC's Hitchhiker", "Tangle", and "Rebound", and they can all be found in the Boybands section, which is a subset of the Celebrity section of the Nifty archive, for those of you who have not been there.

If the shower actually had room for me to fall down, I probably would have been on my ass on the floor of the stall in a heartbeat. Speaking of heartbeats, mine seemed to skip a couple entirely as I stepped back, colliding with the back of the stall. There was barely room for me in here, and as Casey slid in, smiling at me one of his little half smiles and pulling the inside curtain closed behind him, I realized that he and I were almost touching. Not just our arms, or faces, or chests. All of us was almost touching, both our bodies inches, or even less, from rubbing against each other, skin on skin, with the water from the shower beating down on us, a little hint of steam and mist and shower spray fogging the air.

My mind wasn't really processing that, though, and for the first time ever I was near Casey in a sexual situation and my mind was completely focused on something other than his naked body or a hard on.

Instead I was panicking.

We were at the pool. We were in the community center. We were in the showers, together, at the same time, in a place where I went almost every day, in my town, with people I knew all around us. What was he doing here? What was he thinking? We couldn't do this, couldn't be together like this, not in the same shower or the same building or anywhere outside of his house. We could get caught! Someone could see us, or hear us! Someone could find out about us, about him, about the two of us together, and if one person found out, everyone would know. No matter how big we thought we were, in the end it always came back to us being a small town, and in a small town people talked about everything and everyone.

This was, it, this couldn't happen, couldn't be, this...

Casey's hand clapping over my mouth startled my brain into silence. He was standing right up next to me, his hand over my mouth, the other one resting on the center of my chest, and I found myself staring into his eyes. His gaze was fixed on me, his eyes holding mine, but instead of being intimidating, it was somehow comforting. Just by looking at me, he'd known that I was scared and starting to panic. Still, we couldn't do this, no matter how good an idea it had seemed, or if maybe he just got here late and saw me heading into the showers and followed on an impulse, and now we were both trapped in the stall together. We were going to have to get out of here, out of the showers and out of the locker room and out of the building, without anyone seeing, without anyone knowing, without...

"Nate, shhhhh," Casey whispered, his voice commanding my attention, stilling my thoughts the way his hand had a moment ago. No matter how many times I saw him, it always came as a surprise to me how sharply defined his features were, how straight his nose was, how firm his jaw looked, and that mouth, that mouth that was so close to mine with only his hand between us. His voice was a low, low whisper that I could barely hear over the sound of the shower, and if he wasn't so close (but somehow still not touching me, which seemed almost impossible to the growing part of my brain that was thinking about that) I wouldn't have caught his words at all. "Sorry I'm late. I had to make a call, and it took longer than I thought."

His hand slid softly off of my mouth, caressing the side of my face for a second as it traveled down my neck and onto my shoulder. Part of me wanted to turn my head and kiss it, to press my lips against his fingers and taste them, taste his skin and see if it would taste like him or just taste like the shower water. And what did I taste like? Would I taste like chlorine? That was probably all washed away now, and if he kissed me all he would taste would be my skin, the way I tasted when I was fresh and new. Under my skin, all my muscles were still humming, almost glowing, fresh from the pool and warm from the exercise that, done right, left me feeling languidly stretched out and relaxed. I'd felt the same way after Casey and I had, um? Made love? Fucked around? What exactly was the right phrase for what we were doing?

And why was I trying to figure that out now? Jesus Christ, we were still in the shower together.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed, my voice dropping halfway through the sentence as I suddenly worried that I was being too loud.

"Taking a shower," he answered. He was still smirking, but it didn't seem snarky or sarcastic. Instead it was mischievous, amused, but not mean spirited.

That low whisper was almost like a purr, and I was struck again by the impression of how catlike he was, not a tiny little housecat, but a big, jungle cat, big and graceful and bristling with power but also somehow beautiful. His hair, which I'd thought of before as a lion's mane, was wet but not soaked yet, since he hadn't ducked his head under, and the ends were curling up, framing his face, making me want to touch them. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair, knowing he would groan a little, softly, and then he would nuzzle his head against my hands. His hand was still on my shoulder, just resting there, his eyes watching me, and he must have seen the change, because his other hand slid onto my hip, his fingers spread out against my pelvis, just resting there, and his thumb just above the curve of my ass.

My cock was rock hard.

I hadn't noticed it before, because I'd been so keyed up about him getting into the shower with me, about where we were and who was here and what could happen, but now it was like everything was snapping into focus, and I felt my cock throb painfully. If it was possible for your cock to clench, not the way it did when you came, squeezing and pulsing, but more like a muscle did, the way you could tighten your hands into fists, and they still looked the same but were like stone, your knuckles whitening and your hands tensing but the outside not really shifting or changing much at all, that's what my cock did for just a second, like it needed to command my attention for a moment and remind me that it existed and that it needed something.

Not something.

It needed someone, and he was in the shower with me.

"We can't do this," I whispered. God, I wanted to.

"We can't shower?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. His hair fell in dark lines across his face that way, his dark blue eyes peeking out between the wet strands. "Isn't that what the showers are for?"

"No, we can't, can't, you and me," I stuttered. Oh, words. Words needed to come out.

Had his chest been this broad yesterday? Maybe it just looked broader when he had no shirt on, or when it was so close to me that I could actually put my hands on it, but here in the shower, right up next to me with his hands on my hip and my shoulder, fingers lightly shifting and rubbing, all I could see when I looked away from his eyes was his chest. The water, beading up, trickled and coursed down it in thick rivulets, drawing attention to the way his pecs curved out above his abs. Droplets clung to each of his brown nipples, hanging from the hard tips, and the little patch of soft hair was dark and pasted down between his pecs. My arms, which had been hanging limp and stunned at my sides (possibly the only parts of me that were limp at that particular moment), seemed to move on their own as I stared at his muscle, lifting themselves, until my hands settled onto his chest, resting there, feeling him breathe and his heart beat.

Every time I touched Casey I was struck by the idea of how dense he seemed, how thick, and I felt it now as he rested under me, just holding me, the water steaming around us. It was hitting me in the back, right between my shoulders at the top of my neck, some of it slipping around me to hit Casey, some bouncing off the walls, most of it washing over me and swirling away down the drain, mixing both of us together. His chest lifted, flexing, pushing up against my hands, and then he sighed, letting that air out, his muscles falling back down. I looked up into his face again, staring into those deep blue eyes, wondering if I'd done something wrong, but his sigh seemed to be just a sigh. Maybe it was contentment. Maybe he needed to be touched, like I did. Maybe he'd been waiting for me to put my hands on him.

His lips curved upward a little as I stared at him, another smile, less playful this time. His eyes narrowed a little, locking onto mine, almost pinning me. Even though the building had to be full of people, children and parents and surly teenaged babysitters and the usual collection of summer afternoon people, and even though other showers in the room were turned on, there seemed to be no sound in our stall, no noise except the soft sounds of our breath and the throbbing of my heart, pounding in my ears. When he was sure that I was looking, that he had me captured in his glance again, he deliberately dropped his eyes, and mine followed. My gaze dropped down over his chest again, down the middle of his body, following the line of symmetry through that little patch of hair again, lower to his abs, seeing the water slide over those ripples like rocks in a stream, toward his navel, but it stopped before I got any lower, my gaze interrupted by the thick, hard head of his cock.

"Oh," I sighed, staring.

I'd forgotten how big he was, how thick, how his cock spiked out and then curved back to rest against his abs. He'd wanted me to look at it, and all I could do was stare, mesmerized by the sight of him, of the hard center of him. Only a few inches away my own cock throbbed, arching upward as well, and I leaned in, watching my head slide against his shaft, just below his head, rubbing at the spot where his head and his shaft joined. His hand slid up from my shoulder to grab the back of my head, and he jammed his mouth against mine, groaning into it as our hard cocks slid against each other. My hips jerked, pushing me into him, the top of my head and my slit rubbing against the ridge of his, and I felt his chest vibrating against mine as he continued to moan and groan, pressing against me, pushing me back into the wall of the shower. I reached down, a hand snaking between us, the backs of my fingers bumping along the geography of his abs, but he caught my wrist in his fingers before I could reach him. I wanted to touch, to heft him in my fingers, to feel how different his shaft was from mine when really, in my head, it seemed like they should both be the same.

My hip missed his hand, the skin seeming to ache for his fingers to return, but he held my wrist firmly as our mouths slipped apart, and I heard a small, soft whimper escape me. Why? What was wrong?

"Not yet," he whispered, his mouth right by my ear, the curling ends of his hair tickling my neck as he leaned over.

"What?" I asked, barely articulate, my voice a hiss that barely carried over the shower. Not yet? What bullshit was this?

"What's your hurry?" he asked, smiling now, his teeth peeking out at me. "We're in the shower. Let's wash. I'll do your back."

His hands slid up to my shoulders now as he stepped away from me, not more than a few inches since the stall really was designed for one person, but far enough that our cocks slid apart and our bodies separated. I turned, feeling him move me, responding to the pressure on my shoulders, and let the shower spray smash down on my head, closing my eyes and ducking under the water. His hands gripped the back of my neck, holding it, and his thumbs began to rub, firmly. I'd been tenser than I realized, more keyed up about this whole situation, not so much in the sexual sense as in the way I originally had been, worried that someone would catch us and this would all be over. Not just this. Everything. My life, my family, my friends, everything would be over. Thinking about that, letting it creep back into my head the second I was turned away from Casey and not distracted by him any more, I must have tensed up, because suddenly I felt his mouth next to my ear. He kissed my neck, nuzzling it, and then my earlobe, and I shivered under his hands, which were rubbing my shoulders now.

"Relax, Nate," he whispered. "Just close your eyes and relax."

"Casey, I just, all this," I stuttered, trying to find the words.

"Let go," he whispered. "If you do it enough times, you'll start to like it. Just stop worrying and let go."

"I can't," I whispered, shaking my head. If things went bad, he could leave. He could go back wherever he came from, roll into the next town as the man of mystery on his motorcycle, look for another boy if that was the kind of thing he did, but where would I go? What would I do if this all came crashing down around me?

"Yes you can," Casey argued softly. "It doesn't have to be forever, Nate. Just let go for now, for me, please?"

He was right. We'd had this discussion before, seemed to have it every time Casey and I were together. I knew what I wanted, and he knew what I wanted, but there was still always a time before we got to it when it seemed like both of us had to talk me into it, when both of us had to reassure me that it was ok to want this and no one would have to know. I didn't understand how Casey didn't seem to have that problem, how comfortable he seemed to be in his own skin and his own self and with his own needs and desires. I'd wanted him, and would have been content just to watch for the entire summer, to think about him and wonder about him and probably never talk to him other than tossing a greeting at him when we passed in the driveway. He'd wanted me, and he'd come over to get me, not worrying or letting anything stop him, at least as far as I could see. I wanted to know how he did that, how he'd gotten that way, and I realized that maybe, bit by bit and step by step, he was trying to show me.

"OK," I sighed, leaning forward with my hands on the wall of the stall.

"That's it," he sighed behind me.

I could feel his hair, wet now, the strands gathered together into little points that brushed my skin as he leaned forward to talk to me, to whisper in my ear. Somehow he managed to do it without any other part of him touching me, even though I knew he was behind me. His chest didn't brush my back, his legs didn't jostle against mine, and his cock, which must still be hard, didn't press against me anywhere. All I felt, there in the shower with my eyes closed to keep water from streaming into them, were his hands and his mouth and those quick brushes of the ends of his hair, and I strained in my self-created darkness to feel more.

One of Casey's hands left my back, and then it returned, holding a smooth oval of soap. He began to rub it, gently, in a circular motion, moving from one side of my back to the other. I hadn't thought he actually would wash my back, since it wasn't particularly dirty. I had, after all, just gotten out of a pool, and earlier this morning, I had taken a shower. Immersed in water for the third time today I didn't really think there could be any dirt left on my body, not even behind my ears or hidden in any hard to reach spots, but now that he was actually rubbing me with soap, a creamy scent filling the shower as his hand slid, frictionless, across my back, it was oddly relaxing. Even though my teammates on the swim team had helped me get a stray hair patch here and there (it was impossible to get those couple of hairs in the small of your back yourself; nobody was that limber outside the circus), nobody had ever washed me before, and I'd never stopped to think about what it felt like.

It felt good.

As he did my back, Casey's hands drifted around, rubbing my sides, sliding up and down them as well, and then I felt his hands rubbing down my arms. He lifted one arm above my head, holding it steady, and I felt his fingers and the soap sliding into my pit, scraping, his head nuzzling at the side of my neck while he did it, and then he lowered my arm and switched to the other pit, giving it the same treatment. I'd never thought of that part of my body as a sexual area, never thought of my underarm as erotic, but having his hands there, having him nibbling on the side of my neck and showing me how turned on he was and how much he wanted me while he did it, felt so intimate, and I felt so close to him even if we were barely touching.

When he finished my arms, lowering them again, making sure my palms were resting on the wall again and holding me up, I felt him shift away, stepping back. Even though I couldn't see him, it was like my whole body was open to him, like I could sense where he was in the tiny stall without any contact at all between us. I shivered when I felt his hands on my back again, and resisted the urge to lean back into him, since I was supposed to be relaxing. I actually was half relaxed, but not completely. I was still hard, but it had lost some of its urgency. I didn't feel like my whole body was one giant throbbing penis anymore, but it was definitely still there, heavy, sticking straight out from my groin, still ready to jump at a moment's notice. I was sure the second he touched it I would be right back to rock hard, be right back to mindless lust, but that didn't seem to be his goal as his hands slid lower down my back, washing the small of my back now, the place where my spine curved forward right above my ass. I knew, in my head, that he was getting closer, and that if he was going to wash me then he was going to, eventually, get to that part, too, but I still gasped when I felt his hands slide down.

"Shhh," he whispered, his hands cupping my ass. One hand was gently soaping my cheek, but the other seemed to be just caressing, rubbing me. "Shhhhh. People might hear you."

Staying quiet was easier said than done. Sure, he'd grabbed me there a few times, held me or used my ass as a handle to pull me closer when he'd been swallowing me, but Casey had never touched me like this. It was like his hands were worshipping me, like he wanted to memorize the way I felt under his hands. It was the same way I had touched him that first afternoon, the way I had run my hands all over him when he had surrendered to me, when he had let me do whatever I wanted and touch him wherever I thought I needed to, and now, remembering that while he did the same to me, it was all I could do not to moan. I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying out when I felt his fingers and that slick, oval bar of soap slide in between my cheeks.

I couldn't feel anything else but that hand sliding back and forth, that hand, rubbing, the soap gliding back and forth to smooth the way. I clenched my eyes shut, trying not to gasp, but the feelings radiating up through me were intense, all the more so because they were completely unexpected. I felt warm, my skin almost hot under his hand, and it was like his touch created an itch that got stronger and stronger the more he rubbed, rather than going away. Part of me wanted to slide away from his touch, especially when his fingers brushed against my hole, not pushing in, just rubbing back and forth over the top, but after a quick jump of surprise I realized that it felt good to have him rubbing there. Both hands were sliding through my crack now, my legs apart to give him better access, my hips moving forward and back mindlessly as I focused all my effort on not making a noise, not groaning, not telling him how good it felt. While a finger delicately brushed against my hole, the other hand slid forward and began to rub the base of my cock, the thick part buried behind my balls where it came out of my body.

"Shhhh," Casey whispered again, his hands pressing harder, rubbing faster. Oh, God, I was so close. Every time he touched my hole it was like a jolt ran up and down my spine, rushing into my head and rushing into my cock at the same time, and the low, rhythmic pressure of his hand on me down there was pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

Then, just like that, just when I was right there, it was gone. His hands slid away from me, and I gasped, unable to hold it in.

"Shhhh," he whispered again, standing, his mouth at my ear again. My eyes were open now, my mouth hanging open as I gasped, trying not to cum. If he'd done anything other than whisper I would have lost it, would have sprayed the entire back wall of the shower, but all he did was talk to me, talking me down until I had myself back under control. "Relax, Nate, just relax. It'll be better later if you hold it. Just relax."

I knew he was right, and while most of me wanted to get this over with, wanted to just shoot and please, please find that release because I had to cum so hard that it hurt, I did my best to listen to him. His hands were rubbing my shoulders again, rubbing my back, the soap lost somewhere on the floor of the shower, and I felt his lips touch my earlobe as he whispered to me.

"Are you ok?" I nodded, closing my eyes again. His voice, pouring into my ear, was like chocolate, warm and smooth and delicious. "I'm going to do your legs now, ok?"

Sure, my legs. Whatever. After my brain had just finished melting and my cock was still throbbing and my balls felt like they'd explode if he so much as breathed on them, letting him wash my legs would have about as much impact on me as letting him wash my bathroom. While I could still feel him gently scrubbing, still feel his hands worshipping me, it paled compared to what I'd felt before. His palms slid over the backs of my calves, rubbing the stubble the wrong way but not painful or uncomfortable, and they carefully massaged my thighs. He lifted one leg, rubbing the bottom of my foot, pushing his fingers between my toes, and then did the other. I should have laughed, or at least giggled, as my feet were ticklish, but I just sighed contentedly, knowing that it was soft enough to be covered by the sound of the shower spray. I was just starting to fall back into the languid, warm feeling I'd had while he did my arms and back when I felt Casey's hands sliding up my legs. I opened them, leaning forward, waiting to see what he would do.

"Nate?" he whispered, kneeling behind me, his knees touching my legs just above my ankles. His hands slid further up, his fingers edging toward my hips, his thumbs near my crack. "I want you to be quiet, ok?"

"OK," I sighed, waiting, trying not to tense up. I didn't know for sure what he would do, didn't know what he was planning, and half of me was afraid, but I knew I should trust him.

Knowing that I should trust him didn't prepare me for the jolt that rushed through my body when I felt his tongue scrape across my cheek.

"Casey!" I yelped, pulling away from him. He jumped to his feet, pressing me back against the wall of the shower as he reached around to clap a hand over my mouth.

"You just don't listen good, do you?" he whispered, chuckling. "I thought I told you to be quiet."

"What are you doing?" I whispered, slithering through his arms to turn around. We were face to face now, his chest against mine, his mouth right in front of me, and those dark blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Something I thought you'd like," he answered, still chuckling.

"You were licking my ass!" I whispered back, as if he might now have been aware of what he was doing. Granted, I knew I was clean back there, since he'd done all that scrubbing, but what was he planning to do? I'd heard that guys did that, but I thought that was kind of a rumor or something. I mean, who would actually do that? Other than, apparently, Casey.

"Yes, and I was about to eat you out," he said bluntly. I blinked, surprised again at his straightforwardness, and he chuckled again. "It's called a rimjob, Nate."

"You do that?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"I was about to," he answered, shaking his head. He leaned forward and kissed me on the tip of the nose. It was a surprisingly playful gesture, since he and I were usually given to more or less attacking each other with our mouths, all dueling tongues and hungry moaning. "Like I said, I thought you might like it."

"It feels good?" I asked, still curious.

His fingers back there had, after the initial surprise, felt pretty good, and I tried to imagine what his tongue might do. I couldn't imagine doing it myself, couldn't imagine why I would even want to do something like that, but I was intrigued. Was he just going to lick, or was he going to, I don't know, prod or something? What did it taste like? Since I was all clean, did it just taste like skin? Why would you even want to do that? He said that he thought I might like it, but what was there for him to like? While I'd wondered, on and off, what he tasted like, I hadn't wondered what his ass tasted like. That was, well, it was a butt. Why, again, did he want to do that? Just because he thought it would feel good for me?

"Yeah, it does," he answered. "But maybe this isn't the best place to try something like that on you, you know?"

"Are you sure?" I asked, and we both giggled as I blushed.

"We should probably save that for some time when you won't have to restrain yourself so much," he whispered. He leaned in to kiss me again, his mouth straining upward toward mine, and I pressed my lips against him. His mouth was smooth, since he'd shaved, and his chin brushed cleanly against mine as his tongue darted across my bottom lip. He pulled back, sliding his hands up my sides, and I leaned into him, letting him touch me. His palms were flat against my ribs, and his thumbs slid up to rub my nipples, circling the tips. I let out a soft whimper, and he pulled his face away, staring into my eyes again. His thumbs were still circling, pressing a little now, flicking the tips of my nipples, sending sparks through me. His smile was broader now, more open, less guarded than I had ever seen him. When he spoke again his voice was that low, husky purring growl that got me so hard my brain clouded up and my knees felt like buckling. "You like that, don't you? You like it when I play with your nipples? You like it when I rub them, or maybe if I caught one, like this, and gave it a little squeeze?"

I couldn't answer. I was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

"Oh, you do like that. I can tell," he sighed. Were his eyes always this big? Were his fingers this, oh, fuck, were they always this nimble? "I have a really good idea, Nate. Now that I did your back, why don't I do your front?"

I closed my eyes again, waiting, and he didn't waste any time. One hand continued to work on my nipple, pinching it lightly, pulling on it a little, rolling it away from my chest and then letting it fall back, but the other hand slid down my chest and over my abs. I felt Casey's hair brush my chin, and then his mouth was on my neck, nibbling and licking, as his fingers pushed through my pubes and wrapped around my shaft. I sighed again, trying not to groan, and felt my hips slide forward, my shaft gliding back and forth through his hand. He squeezed lightly, but wasn't really moving, wasn't doing anything but nuzzling at me and toying with my chest. His hand slid down my shaft to cup my balls, hefting them, rolling them around in his callused palm, and his fingertips slipped behind them to press on my shaft again, like he had before. I shifted, letting my legs fall open wider. I was really liking that move.

When I shifted, Casey did, too, and suddenly he was sliding all the way down my body, pasting hot kisses down my chest, over the nipple his hand was finally letting go of, the water streaming down my front from the spray hitting the back of my neck not slowing him down in the least. I felt his knee sliding along my calf as it flexed, and then his mouth was on me, and I had to look down. Opening my eyes, I saw him kneeling in front of me, his strong legs on either side of my feet, thighs flexed and shifting as he leaned forward. His shoulders dripped with water, and he'd pushed his hair back, slicking it all behind him so that I could look down past his forehead and his closed eyes and his long, strong nose to where his dark pink mouth was wrapped around the head of my cock. None of my shaft was inside because his lips were rolled down to the ridge of my head, and he was sucking hard, rhythmically, nursing on it. I let out a low moan, trying not to make noise, as his tongue flicked over it, jabbing at my slit.

His other hand was still busy behind my balls, rubbing and pressing, massaging a part of my cock I'd never thought to play with before. Casey had more experience than me, and wasn't afraid to use it. Right now I was putty in his hands, and he was working both of them over me. One hand gripped my shaft hard, keeping it in place, preventing me from thrusting into his mouth like a wanted to, keeping me from letting him do anything besides playing with my head, licking it, sucking it. The other hand slid further back, the palm cupping my balls as the fingers slid to my hole again. Like he had done with my nipple, he drew a circle around it with his finger, toying with the edge, his touch light and delicate and insubstantial, something I had to strain to feel even as I strained to escape it. The second he touched me my hips jerked, trying to spear forward, trying to keep from feeling so much because it felt too good, but his grip with his other hand was iron. My cock wouldn't move through his fingers, and I couldn't get relief anywhere but my head, which felt like it was on fire.

I looked down at him again, watching his arm flex, the bicep curling and uncurling as his hand worked back and forth, out of sight under me. His cock, fat and hard and heavy, stuck out between his legs, bobbing, water coursing off of it as it streamed down his body, down his firm, rounded chest and his rippled abs, through his little patch of chest hair and the trailing line of dark hair below his navel and above his pubes, and the look on his face was so peaceful, so content, as if there wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be. I felt things shifting inside me, my body tightening up, my balls pulling in on themselves, and I knew I was close.

Casey knew it, too, because I suddenly felt that finger go from rubbing to pushing, and my eyes clenched shut as I felt the tip of his finger invade me.

"God!" I hissed, clenching, my whole body locking up.

Jesus! He had a finger inside me! He was inside me, pushing, probing, sliding in. I clamped down, trying to shut him out, trying to stop this from happening because it felt, it wasn't right, but it also felt good. I'd never felt anything like it, but he was touching something inside me, something that, oh, God, I.

God.

I felt his finger sliding out of me and his mouth sliding off of me and I realized that I was standing on my tip toes. My whole body was rigid and tense, and the second he let go, the second he stopped touching me, all the air went rushing out of me and my knees buckled. Casey grabbed me, holding me up, his hands on my shoulders, and I could sense him in front of me, could feel his eyes on my face, but I couldn't open mine yet. I'd never cum that hard in my life, never felt anything like that, and I could still feel my cock throbbing even as it started to sink down. It felt like the cum had been ripped out of me, exploded like a cherry bomb, and I half expected the back of Casey's head to be blown off when I looked at him, but there he was, intact, whole, and gorgeous when I finally looked.

"Nate?" he asked, watching carefully. I knew what he was waiting for. I'd just gotten off with something in my ass, just let him fuck me with his finger until I came, and he was waiting for me to freak out. He was waiting for me to go cold, or to step out of the shower without talking to him, to need to go think and deal and try to convince myself again that this was right or wrong or needed to be considered at all.

I leaned forward and kissed him, pushing my tongue into his mouth, knowing my cum was in there and catching a salty taste that had to be it. When I pulled back, I could see his face smoothing out, the lines of tension softening.

"Hi," I whispered, grinning.

"Hi," he answered, still holding my shoulders. I looked down, and saw that he was still hard, his cock sticking all the way up against his stomach again, so hard and needy and urgent.

"You didn't get off," I whispered, staring down at it.

"I don't think we have time," he whispered back. "We've been in the shower forever."

"I don't want to leave you," I sighed. I didn't know for sure if I meant leaving him like this, hard and needing to cum, or just leaving him, period.

"Come over later," he suggested, leaning forward to nibble at my ear. "After dinner?"

"Yeah," I sighed, leaning back, letting his teeth tease my lobe. Did everything he did have to feel good? "After dinner."

As if those words meant anything to me at that particular moment.

"Nate?" That was me.

"Yeah?"

"Get out of the shower." Oh, yeah.

"OK."

To be continued.

Sorry, again, that this took so long. To make up for it, I have responded to the many requests for an e-mail notification list by creating a yahoo group for this story, and, I guess, for my others. You can find the homepage and join at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/writerboy69_readers/