Typography Note: Sentences in [brackets] represent the narrator's unspoken thoughts.
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Coming of Age in Texas: Chapter 33: Commencements
When he could get away, Mike would fly home on Sundays after his games to work with us and fly back the next day. By the end of football season—ours, not his—Johnny, Troy, and I had signed several, but not all of the contracts. When Thanksgiving break came around, we were all off to work. Troy flew to New York, where he spent one day filming a TV commercial and two days recording songs in the studio with Maria. Johnny and I flew to Mexico for a photo shoot.
Johnny and I continued to double date occasionally, but less and less as time went by. He was becoming more selective about whom he slept with, preferring quality over quantity, which just meant that he was fucking fewer girls but fucking them more often.
Of course, Troy and I continued to sleep together, but not as often as before. He was often busy studying scripts for TV commercials or going over songs he would be recording. Sam seemed to miss Troy's company too, so he and I often consoled each other.
Dad knew that I would be going away to college the following fall, so we spent a good deal of our time mentoring Carlos to take on a larger role on the farm. When I first hired him, I became aware that he had taken several college courses with an eye toward a degree in agricultural business, and without our knowledge, Mike paid for him to take further courses. Carlos excelled at using the computer programs Mike had shown us to develop better irrigation strategies and other farming techniques. The result was greater crop yield and reduced costs. Dad was so pleased that come springtime, he gave Carlos the title of foreman, empowered him to hire two more farm hands, and let him move from the bunkhouse to the adjacent guest suite.
The week before Christmas, Johnny, who had already been named a high school All-American, signed to play football at Stanford University. He could have picked any college in the country, but he picked Stanford because they had one of the best biomedical engineering programs in the country.
I too was offered football scholarships at a number of universities, but I decided to accept the offer from the University of Southern California (USC). I was actually tempted to pass up football scholarships and just go for an academic scholarship to focus exclusively on creative writing, but I reasoned that some notoriety as a football standout would do more to promote my modeling career and provide the financial security I would need to pursue a career as a writer. Besides, USC is known to have one of the best creative writing programs in the country.
And, of course, it was a foregone conclusion that Troy would be going to Julliard in the fall.
Spring break saw Troy back in New York filming and recording, and Johnny and I were off to Aruba and the Virgin Islands to model swimsuits with Mike.
Maria came to Troy's last spring concert at Hilldale High, but she told Ms. Garcia, the choir director, that she was only there to observe and enjoy the concert, not to sing. She did not want to distract from the real stars of the show, she said, the students. Ms. Garcia did manage to convince her, though, to introduce Troy's one and only solo.
"Rossini's `Largo al Factotum' from Figaro," she told the audience, "is one of the most difficult arias in opera, not only because it requires a very broad vocal range, but also absolute precision in scales and arpeggio. It is also something of a tongue twister, even for native speakers of Italian. It is a remarkable challenge for the most experienced singers, but I can assure you that Troy Mazure is up to the challenge. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Troy Mazure."
Much to our surprise, Sam did not attend the spring recital, so Troy, Johnny, and I swung by his house afterward to see if he was all right. He wasn't. He was torn up inside, having just learned from his dad that his company was sending him back to Philadelphia and that he would not be able to finish school at Hilldale High. Without making any promises, we said we would see if there was anything we could do.
The next day, we called an emergency meeting of our Italian Tuxedos Club and informed our parents of Sam's dilemma. They had all become rather fond of Sam and called his parents to invite them to join us at the Andersens' house to discuss the matter. Sam's parents said they knew that Sam did not want to go back to Philadelphia, but what could they do?
To that, both the Andersens and my parents offered to let Sam live with them while he finished school. When Sam's parents objected that they could not impose on our generosity like that, Dad countered that it would not be an imposition because Sam would have to earn his room and board by helping out on the farm. And the Andersens said that Sam could stay at their house on those nights when he had football games. Sam practically jumped out of his skin at the proposal and insisted that he would work and study harder than he ever had before (and he did).
When Sam's parents moved back to Philadelphia at the end of the school year, Sam moved to our farm. Mom and Dad offered him my old room or the one I had inherited from Mike, but he insisted on living in the bunkhouse. If he was going to work with the farmhands, he reasoned, he should live with them. Of course, Troy and I suspected that there was more to Sam's offer to sleep with the farmhands than he let on, but we said nothing. We didn't have to. My parents understood.
Mom and Dad agreed to let Sam live in the bunkhouse but said that he could use one of the spare bedrooms as a study whenever he wanted. Of course, Dad's insistence that Sam work off his room and board was just a ploy to convince his parents to let him stay, but Sam took it to heart and did chores with surprising vigor.
Troy was my date for the senior prom, and we capped off the night with hot sex, but it was hot mostly because we were a couple of horny teenagers with raging hormones.
At the end of the school year, Johnny was named class valedictorian, and I was named salutatorian. On the night of our graduation, we didn't really have time to celebrate. A limousine picked up the three of us and took us to the airport, where we caught a flight to New York for a few days of modeling and then to London, where Troy appeared in Ben Cohen's fundraising concert. The timing couldn't have been better because he was able to announce to a worldwide audience that his first album was now available for purchase.
After Troy sang a medley of love songs that include opera, rock, and pop and then a duet with Alessandro, Ben ushered Johnny and me onto the stage, where we made a pitch for everyone to call in their pledges to Ben's foundation. All of this was part of Maria's plan to speed up Johnny's status and mine as celebrities and not just sexy bodies.
After the concert, we joined forces with Victor, Ciara, and the Outlaws, who had flown up for the concert. Johnny had "reunion sex" with Ciara, and the rest of us had an orgy in Troy's suite along with a few fans that Troy had picked up along the way. As I lay spent and watched others fuck my lover, who never seemed to tire of one more dick up his ass, I replayed a question that had become more and more nettlesome to my mind. I had always been a top. But what was it like to be the bottom? Why did Troy (or any guy) find that more gratifying than being the one doing the pumping? It was a question that would have to wait just a bit longer for an answer.
From London, we flew to Rome, where Troy and Johnny taped separate appearances for future airings of Silvana's TV show. Johnny's appearance was the fulfillment of his promise to return for an extended discussion of the intersection of sports and the arts, and Troy, of course, sang and talked about his sudden stardom.
For the rest of that summer, Troy, Johnny, and I flew separately all over Europe, posing for photos, making public appearances, and meeting with clients, potential new ones as well as those we had already signed with. Occasionally, two of us would find ourselves in the same city for one night, but never were all three of us together again that summer. Then, during our last week in Europe, Johnny and I found ourselves together on the island of Malta for a photo shoot. Since we were the extras, we had more free time than we had often had, and we were not as exhausted at the end of the day.
On our last night in Malta, after dinner and a few drinks, we returned to the suite we shared, propped ourselves up on the bed, and began reflecting on where we had started and how far we had come. We talked about how we had met in high school and how we had jerked off together under that oak tree in the sheep pasture. We reminisced about the Swedish college students and the high school cheerleaders and the night we lost our virginity together. Naturally, we began massaging our growing cocks through our jeans before we finally pulled them out and started stroking, not hard, but almost nostalgically.
Johnny had never been especially eager to hear the explicit details of my sexual escapades, but for some reason he began asking me to share more about my experiences, including the visit to Dante's Inferno in Milan. It felt good to be able to talk about those things so openly with him. Emboldened, I asked him, "Have you ever fucked a girl in the ass?"
"A few times," he offered, but the way he said it led me to believe that he had done it more than just "a few times." He told me about a guy he had met, a graduate student at Baylor, who liked to watch his girlfriend get fucked by another guy but would only let them fuck her in the ass. Johnny teased me that he could introduce me if I was interested.
"Did you like it? Not specifically with her," I qualified, "but fucking girls in the ass in general...as opposed to fucking them in the pussy?"
He said that he preferred the missionary position so that he could see the expressions on their faces and watch their boobs jiggle while he pumped them, but that butt-fucking was all right for a change of pace now and then. "And some girls will only take it up the ass," he assured me, "because they're afraid of getting pregnant."
"Would you ever consider fucking a guy in the ass?" I dared to ask.
Somewhat to my surprise, he didn't flinch, but just took it as another philosophical question to ponder. "Never really thought about it," he said. But after a brief pause, he surprised me again. "Actually, that's not entirely true."
"Oh?"
"Yeah." He reminded me that on more than one occasion he had watched me fuck a guy while he was fucking a girl, and I immediately recalled those nights in Greece and Rome.
"I must admit," he continued, "that I did sometimes wonder what pleasure you could derive from that."
"Dude!" I said. (Hell, I couldn't remember the last time I had called him that, but it felt so good to be back in that groove again.) "It feels pretty much the same as fucking a pussy. It's a hole to relieve the ache in your cock and empty your balls into."
We laughed together, but then we both had to admit that it was different, not just in a physical way, but in a way that gets to the heart of what it means to be gay, straight, whatever. "With the right person, it's special," I said. "As you probably know, Troy and I have an open relationship. Both of us have sex with other guys, but it's never quite the same as it is with him."
"That's nice," Johnny sighed. "That's really nice."
I gave him a minute or so to dwell on that thought, and then I blurted out, "Would you fuck me?"
He snickered before he realized, "You're serious?"
"Yeah," I said. "You just said that when you've watched me fuck a guy, you've wondered what it was like. Well, I've never been the guy getting fucked, but sometimes when I watch a guy fucking Troy, I wonder what it's like. What is it like being the one to receive the attention, the affection, instead of the one giving it? What is it like to surrender that control to another man? But the thing is, I don't really want just anybody to show me what it's like. I want it to be somebody I trust. Somebody I can relate to. Somebody for whom it will be—or at least could be—as meaningful as it is to me. If I'm ever going to experience another man inside of me, I want it to be my best friend."
My best friend. I think that admission got to him. He had been my best friend since that first experience under the old oak tree, and he still was—my relationship with Troy notwithstanding—but it was a feeling that had always gone unspoken.
For what seemed like an eternity, he just stared at me. Then very, very slowly, he leaned over and kissed me oh-so-softly on the lips. It felt like a kiss from Troy. No, it felt like the way I imagined Troy felt when I kissed him. It was the kiss of the alpha male—gentle, but ever so much in charge.
That slow, seductive kiss evolved into a gentle probe by his tongue into my waiting mouth. Here again, it was him probing me, not the other way around. He was taking and giving at the same time, and for me it was pure delight.
He withdrew his tongue slowly but did not pull away. Instead he looked deep into my eyes as if he were seeing me for the first time. He planted butterfly kisses on my cheeks and neck. He removed my shirt with his powerful hands and kissed from my neck down to my navel, pausing to kiss and then suck on each nipple. He pulled down my jeans. My cock was already exposed, but now it was the object of his attention. He stroked it, but not in the mechanical way he had done so many times before. He actually looked at it as if he were studying it, like it was something he had never really seen before.
Then, he did something he had never done before. He kissed my cock—first on the tip and then up and down the shaft. He tickled by balls with little flicks of his tongue and then slid his wet tongue back up the shaft. He circled the head with his tongue and then took it into his mouth. He was obviously a novice at this form of sex, so the technique left much to be desired, but the affection with which he executed the moves more than made up for his inexperience.
He rolled me over, grabbed some lube from the night stand, and treated his cock and my ass, probing my hole with his fingers—one, then two, then three. When he started to enter me doggie-style, I stopped him and asked him to fuck me missionary style. "I really want to watch you as you take me," I said. He smiled, kissed me again, lifted my legs over his broad shoulders, and rubbed his rock-hard dick around my ass lips before entering me firmly, but lovingly.
It was so much more than just sex. It was the union of two kindred spirits.
He took my virgin ass and deflowered me in a sense for the third time in my life—yes, when I fucked a girl for the first time, then when I fucked a guy, and now as the virgin having his cherry popped.
Once he was fully inside me, he paused to give my love canal muscles time to relax. When I was ready, he swayed in slow, steady strokes, teaching me new lessons about male sexuality as he massaged my prostate. He seemed to take great delight in making me purr like a kitten. He was seeing a side of me that he had never seen before, a side that I had never experienced before. It was a great adventure for both of us, an adventure deeply rooted in fraternal love.
At times he sped up his pelvic thrusts and then slowed again as if to torture me, alternating speeds to drive me mad with carnal desire.
Every so often, he leaned against my body and kissed me or whispered lustful vulgarities in my ear. He talked to me about how I was now totally his and how he would do to me whatever he wished since I was powerless to resist, and his domination drove me absolutely fucking wild. He completely owned me, and I couldn't have been happier.
As I felt his dick throb inside me, I knew he was getting close, and he did too, of course, so he began pumping my dick until we exploded in unison. It was a multi-orgasmic experience as my prostate quaked the same time that my balls unloaded through my dick and spewed cream all over my face and body. At the same time, I felt Johnny's cock pulsate against the tender lining of my manhole and his man cream spit fire deep into my gut. Together, we screamed our passion to the high heavens until Johnny, totally spent, collapsed on top of me, our bodies fused in lust and love.
When I awoke the next morning with Johnny's naked body lying next to mine, I almost panicked. Our lovemaking had been unsurpassed. I had not realized what I had been missing all those years as a total top. Now, a whole new world had been opened to me. But I worried about Johnny. He had given me perhaps the most precious gift that any man can give to another, but it was a new experience for him as well. He had never fucked another man before, much less made love to him. How would he feel when he woke up? Would he feel good about what he had done, would he feel indifferent, or would he hate me for making him do something that he would long regret?
I didn't have to wait too long for an answer. Only a few minutes passed before Johnny opened his eyes, smiled that adorable, dimpled smile, and whispered, "Good morning, beautiful."
After we showered together and were more fully awake, we talked. I told him what an amazing feeling it was and how much I appreciated the gift he had given me. "I hope it wasn't too much of a sacrifice for you," I said. I didn't know if he was going to laugh at that comment or slug me.
"Listen, asshole...well, I guess I can really call you that now, huh? Listen, I will admit that I was unsure at first, but you are my best friend, the best friend I've ever had, my alter ego, and maybe even my soul mate. I don't know if I will ever do that again, and I'm quite sure I won't do it with anybody but you, but I have to say that it really was special. You wanted it, and I wanted to give it to you, so thank you for letting me do that."
Oh, my god! That was the most beautiful thing that anyone had ever said to me. I tried to suppress my tears of joy, but I could not. I bawled like a baby. Johnny pulled up one corner of the bed sheet to wipe my tears and held me until I was almost adult again.