Drummer Boys

Drummer Boys By Kevin Carson

This story is about my relationship with my friend and, well, more-than-a-jack-off buddy. Yes, it includes gay teen sex stuff. It's based on true experiences but some of the names and places have been changed for privacy. Hey, if this is illegal where you're at or if you're too young to be reading this, then you better not. Getting in trouble isn't cool. All rights reserved. No reproductions permitted without prior permission.

Thanks to everyone who has written to me. I really appreciate your comments/feedback and questions about this story. My email is: kc.drummerboy@yahoo.com.

Sincerely, Kevin.

Part 32.

If there's one thing I've learned, it's that... sometimes... some questions are hard to ask. In fact, some questions shouldn't be asked at all. And some shouldn't be answered. Some things... I don't want to know. Some things... other people shouldn't know. I guess, what I mean is, sometimes I'd rather be wrapped up in the shroud of mystery than to be chewed up and spit out by the jaws of truth. A little bit graphic, you say? Well, it's true. That's what you feel like sometimes, when you know a little too much... you feel chewed up and spit out. And so goes the saying "too much information."

It was tough getting out of bed Saturday morning. Oh, not because of lack of sleep, although I didn't get much. I can get by on only a few hours sleep, but the real problem... if you can call it a "problem"... was that I woke up to Mark's warm wet tongue licking my back... all the way from my shoulder blades to my tail bone.

OK, I'll be honest... he went a little further than that. He kissed the back of my neck and nibbled my ears, too. And he went all the way down to my... well, you can guess! I thought it was a dream, but, believe me... it was no dream. Whether he intended to or not, Mark gave me chills... and now I'm all worked up thinking about that morning, all over again.

I was totally - I mean TOTALLY - in a trance with Mark doing that to me. Other than an occasional giggle from him, we were quiet, for a little while, at least. Then I realized... his hair was wet.

"Oh my God, you fucker... your hair's wet! You've been up already and took a shower!"

"Think so, sweetie?" he laughed.

"Man, you left me here in this big old bed... all by myself?! Why didn't you wake me up so we could have taken one together... again??!!" I turned over and sorta sat up, propped up by my pillows.

"Umm... well... maybe because my mom's up and my dad's up and my sister's up, and maybe they'd... I don't know... notice?? Do you think??"

"Fuck them!"

"Oh, we're a little feisty this morning, aren't we?? And whiney, too!"

"You should talk! You were the one whining yesterday. `Mom, I'm hot... Mom, I'm hungry... Mom, I'm tired...'"

I didn't even realize that while I was mimicking Mark he got me on my back and straddled me, sitting on my legs. No way I could hide that big bone in my underwear (actually Mark's underwear!), and no way I could hide the wet spot that somehow seemed to miraculously appear. His kissed and munched on my morning pole for a while before lowering my boxer briefs.

And then, he went to town. Sucking, slurping... up and down, up and down. His wet hair, sexy as it was, tickled my stomach, and a few of those wet wisps electrified me when they lightly grazed my thighs and nut sack. Oh, God, I was in orbit!

Then, all because of Mark, I shattered the sound barrier. More than his hair was wet when I stunned him with my gun, blowing my first morning load on his chin, cheeks and lips. The only words we said that were understandable were the rapidly repeated "ohh's" and "mmm's." He motioned toward the bedroom door with his wide-opened eyes, lips still firmly around my slippery cock. Plus, he was trying to smile. What a sight! He finally let loose of the lip-grip he had on me and whispered "shhhh," but he was also giggling.

"I sure hope your door's locked."

"That'd be a `yes,' sweetie! You don't think I'd take any chances, do you?"

"I don't even want to know," I laughed. "You really get me, you know?" I lay on the bed, beaming, still out of breath... with Mark now curled up beside me. "So, what are we gonna do today?"

"Well... I gotta work from 12 to 5, then I'm all yours!"

"Yeah, and I gotta check things out with Mr. and Mrs. Lamson. I'm caught up with the mowing, but now they want me to paint their front porch, so I need to go see them."

Mark's mom knocked on his door, but thank God she didn't try to open it. "Mark, honey, I'm doing laundry, so I need you to strip your bed and bring your linens downstairs so I can wash them." Her voice trailed off...

"I'm on it, mom!" Mark answered.

"Hey, do you mind if I wear the same clothes I borrowed from you last night?" I asked. "I promise I'll give them back." Actually, I had no intentions of giving him his clothes back. We already have stuff of each other's that we've kept, and I love that. I think Mark loves it too.

"No problem, sweetie. Hey, we better eat something, it's after 10:00. Aren't you starving?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

We ate some cereal, and then goofed around until it was time to leave. Mark dropped me off at home on his way to his job.

Dad was hanging out in the den, and I asked him how last night was... you know, at the new restaurant they went to in Greenwich Village.

"Well, let's put it this way... the Village is always an adventure, especially when you drive. Great Mexican food, though!"

"Umm, Dad... are you going out with Ms. Kirsch tonight, too?"

"Don't know, son... Why? Would that be OK if I did?"

"Dad! You don't need my permission to go out! You can do whatever you want... it's fine."

"I wasn't asking `permission,' Kevin, I was just saying... are you OK with my seeing Debbie?"

"Yeah, Dad, I'm cool... it's all good." Truth was, I wanted to like her, but I was struggling with it. My Dad hooking up with the psychologist from my school...? I dunno, maybe it's a little too close for comfort? Maybe she'll find out things I don't want her to know. They met because of me, so I somehow felt like part of their relationship. In a way I was... or, am... whatever... and I guess maybe I was a little jealous. I didn't want to talk to Keith about it, and it's not the kind of thing I wanted to burden Mark with, so I guess I was going to have to adjust. Somehow.

I went up to my room, stood in the middle of it and looked around. At first I thought I wouldn't bother to change clothes, but then I decided I'd better. I really wanted to stay in Mark's clothes the rest of the day... the rest of my life! But then I didn't want to get them fucked up. I looked at my bed, and thought I should change my sheets, too. You know, Mrs. Graham's "clean up the barracks" orders echoed in my head. But, I thought, no... Mark and I slept in my bed most of the past week, and I wanted it to stay that way.

For some reason, I felt a little lost, being apart from Mark... even though it was only temporary. I wanted him with me every single minute! Somehow I'd have to suffer five hours without him. I called Mr. Lamson and he told me to come on by, that this afternoon was perfect, so I hopped on my bike and left. Maybe keeping myself busy was what I needed. Sometimes I think I worry about stuff too much.

Mr. Lamson was working in the flower garden when I got there. "Kevin! Good to see you! How was your trip?"

"Oh it was fine, thank you for asking," I answered, as I put the kickstand down on my bike. "We had so much fun! But..." I almost choked on my words. Mr. Lamson put his hand on my shoulder, as I stopped talking so abruptly. You know why.

"Kevin, it'll get better... just give it time. It's hard to lose someone, I know."

"Yeah." I shook my head. "Camp was a lot of fun and we learned so much about the Civil War. But now I'm glad it's over."

Mr. Lamson quickly eased into another subject: Painting. "Well let's take a look at the porch. That is, if you're interested in earning a little extra money... and I'm assuming you are."

"No problem, Mr. Lamson. I like to paint! I help my Dad all the time... and besides, me and my b--... uhh... friend... might go on a little vacation before school starts, so I could use the dough."

"Well, here it is... This part is in pretty good shape, but the side needs some scraping and sanding. Same colors, the railing's white and the flooring is gray. All the tools and things you'll need are in the potting shed behind the garage. `Mother' has her own little toolbox and supplies out there. You're welcome to anything you want. There's plenty of scrapers, brushes, rags... whatever you need. Just look around and help yourself. When can you get started?"

"How about today?! Right now!"

"Great!"

One thing about Mr. Lamson... he's a really nice man, and he pays well, but talk about being pussy-whipped... Jesus! I don't know how old he is, but his daughter is grown up and just got married, and he does anything Mrs. Lamson says. It's like she leads him around on a leash. And fuck, he calls her Mother' too! All the time. It's always Mother' wants this done or Mother' likes it that way. Watch, I'll probably get the porch all painted and Mother' will want it a different color. All she ever does is walk around with a bigger-than-life smile on her lipstick-smeared face, wearing an apron, pretending like she's cooking something. Plus, she always smells like some kind of weird flowers, or something. And the last thing that woman needs is her own toolbox. She probably doesn't even know the difference between a hammer and a screwdriver, so what the fuck does she have a toolbox for? I was about to find out.

"Well, you can take your time, come over and work whenever you want. There's no hurry to actually get the painting done... the scraping and sanding are the most important things," Mr. Lamson advised. He asked me if I'd like anything to drink, but I said no. I swear, he checked on me every fifteen minutes after that to see if I was thirsty.

I moved some of the porch furniture out of the way before getting the things I needed from the potting shed. There were scrapers, putty knives and wire brushes galore out there, on hooks and on the shelves. I grabbed what I needed and got started on the scraping. Actually, I got quite a bit done in an hour and decided I'd better sweep up and sand a little.

I went back to the shed to get a broom and dust pan, and also noticed the palm sander. The only thing was, there was no sandpaper on it, so I looked and looked, but found nothing. I looked in the garage, too, and still nothing. But when I looked in the shed again, I eventually struck gold.

Under the potting table, I saw `Mother's' toolbox and decided to check it out. I fumbled through it, thinking the bottom was full of rags, but at last I did find a few sheets of sandpaper. And under all the rags I also discovered something else... a bottle of Johnnie Walker scotch! Hmm.

I was afraid, at first, to even touch it. I mean, what if Mr. Lamson happened to walk in and see me holding a bottle of liquor? What would he think? I just stood there until I was brave enough to pick the bottle up with a rag. I wondered who it belonged to... him or her? Which one of them was hiding it from the other? I quickly threw it back in the box and decided just to forget about it. I took the sandpaper, covered the bottle with the rags, and put the toolbox back under the table like I had found it. Done!

As I cut the sandpaper to the size to fit the palm sander I kept thinking about the whiskey. And then paranoia set in. Was this some kind of set-up? Was someone planning to "catch" me drinking? No way!

Nervous as hell, I forgot to grab an extension cord, so I had to go back to the garage to get one. But before I went back to the front porch I got up the nerve to return to the potting shed and the bottle of Johnnie Walker. I knelt down and rummaged through the toolbox again, and sure enough, there it was... just like I left it five minutes earlier. I dunno, for some crazy reason I thought maybe it could really be paint thinner or something else that they just put in an old whiskey bottle. This time, I took off the cap and sniffed the contents. Let me tell you... it wasn't paint thinner.

I was scared shitless, so once again I hid the bottle back where I found it and left the shed. Mr. Lamson and `Mother' were waiting for me on the porch when I returned, out of breath. Shit! I forgot the extension cord again!

"What's the matter, Kevin? You look like you've just seen a ghost!" Mr. Lamson asked, smiling. I think he was just being friendly.

"Howwww's your sisssster?" `Mother' inquired, with her smeared smile.

"Huh?? I-I-I don't have a sister!"

"Yaaah. Howwwabout something to drink... a soda?" she asked. You look hot."

"Oh, no thanks, I better be going..." Mrs. Lamson just kept smiling and he sort-of looked at the porch floor wondering what I was doing. "I-I-I mean... I gotta go in a little while... I-I need to do some sanding here and finish cleaning up first, you know..."

"Oh, sure." Mr. Lamson smiled.

"Alright, dear." Jesus, who was she calling `dear?' Him or me??

"Well, we'll let you get back to work, Kevin. Looks like you're doing a good job."

OK, she was creepy, but he made me feel a little more at ease with the compliment. I sanded the area that I had scraped, then swept up again and put all the tools away and decided it was time to go. I got my brave on again and took one more look at the hidden bottle of scotch out in the potting shed. I returned to the house and knocked at the door to let Mr. Lamson know I was leaving.

"Come back whenever you want, Kevin, and if I'm not here, `Mother' can help you with whatever you need."

"Oh, OK..."

"I might helllp you paint. I can still get down on my knees!" Mrs. Lamson exclaimed.

"OK... well, bye!" I laughed my ass off all the way home... the thought of Mrs. Lamson on her knees going down on him with that smeary red lipstick was all I could think about. Well, not ALL I could think about. I was still curious about the bottle of scotch. I'm thinking old Johnnie Walker is all hers?!! But I'm not sure I really want to know.

I could hear the song "Stand Back" blaring from the house as I rode my bike into the garage. That meant Dad was probably cleaning, which meant I was probably going to end up helping. And that Keith was probably nowhere in sight!

"DAD!!!" I shouted!

"YEAH?! WHAT?!"

"TURN IT DOWN!!"

"Hey!! How was the painting, Big Guy?" OK, Dad was in a really good mood.

"Good. Dad, I gotta ask you something... does Debbie... er... I'm sorry... Ms. Kirsch... does she know you're secretly in love with Stevie Nicks?" I couldn't hide the smiles and laughter, and neither could my Dad.

"That's enough!!" He accepted the teasing. "That was a long time ago when I had a crush on her, like when I was in high school. And besides, she's a lot older than me!" I swear, sometimes Dad is like the midpoint between Kelso and Eric from "That 70's Show."

"So... are you going out with her tonight?" I asked.

"With who? Debbie or Stevie Nicks?"

"You know who I mean!! Ms. Kirsch... is she coming over? Is it OK that I ask? I mean, you weren't sure before."

"Actually, we might go out for coffee later on."

"Oh... coffee, huh? I see... And, umm, Dad... the Stevie Nicks thing... we'll just keep it between us, OK? Like, I won't tell Ms. Kirsch or anything."

"Oh, good... I'm safe! Now I can relax... thanks, son!"

Just then Keith came home. "Hey Dad! `Sup Little Dude? What are you guys doing? You look so serious." He asked, as he opened a Code Red from the fridge.

"Hey, grab me one too," I begged, like a puppy.

"Your brother and I were just talking." Keith didn't catch Dad and me exchanging winks. "I'm gonna grill some burgers tonight. Are you eating with us?" My Dad is such an expert at changing the subject.

"Yeah, then Lisa's coming over, and some other friends too, if that's OK. I think we're gonna hang out here tonight, maybe play a little Texas hold`em."

"That's a first... that you're actually asking if it's alright to have friends over!" Dad joked. "Sure, it's fine... just don't get TOO wild!"

"By the way, Kev... I ran into Mark at King Kullen this afternoon, and it was so funny... he asked me what's for dinner tonight! We both chuckled!"

"It's no wonder, Dad. All his mom knows how to cook are Hot Pockets and tater tots, I swear, that's it!" Dad and I sorta laughed.

"Well, he said to tell you he'll be over after 5:00. Do you guys have plans tonight?"

"I dunno, Dad, I guess, I'm not sure what we're doing, though." Even though Dad was cool, I still felt a little weird talking about what Mark and I were gonna do. Funny how it was OK for me to ask him about his plans with Ms. Kirsch, but I didn't want him asking too much about what Mark and I were gonna do.

"So, Dad... can I ask you about something else?"

"Sure, Kev... what is it?"

"Do you know anything about Johnnie Walker scotch?"

"Oh, boy... here we go..."

"I mean, is it good stuff?" I inquired.

"Man, that shit burns!" Keith interjected, crushing his empty soda can. Dad looked at him, surprised. "So-o-o I've heard... I mean, I really don't know for sure... myself... like, I've never had any... you know... really... I mean, like... honest!"

"Uh-huh! Sure!!" Dad said. "I bet you've NEVER tried it!" Then Dad turned to me. "So, why are YOU asking about Johnnie Walker scotch, Kevin? Don't tell me you've never tried it, either..."

"No... no, Dad. I'm only asking because I want to know. See, I found some today."

"What's that supposed to mean? You `found' some..." Dad asked.

"Yeah!" Keith said, attempting to be authoritative.

"You... shut up..." Dad told him, rather firmly. "Alright, Kev... explain."

"Well, I found a bottle of it in the potting shed at the Lamson's. It was in a toolbox covered up with a bunch of stuff, like someone was hiding it..."

"Wow! It's hands off, understand? Don't mess with it."

"Yeah!!" Keith added again.

"Quiet!!" Dad insisted. "Alright... if you like scotch, Johnnie Walker is pretty good... but I think you're a little too young for the hard stuff. You know I'm not a big fan of underage drinking."

"Yeah, but you've let us have a little wine and beer before."

"That was under different circumstances, and I was with you, here in our own home, and nothing was excessive. You know what I mean... about teens sneaking around, getting drunk... driving drunk... reckless behavior..." Dad was pretty firm, not angry, just firm.

"Dad, can I say something now?" Keith begged. "I never wanted to bring this up before, but I think Mrs. Lamson has a drinking problem."

"That's brilliant, Sherlock! What gave it away??" I said, sarcastically to Keith. I swear, my brother's got a reserved seat on the short bus.

"Boys... stop it!" Dad insisted. "Whatever goes on in the Lamson household is their business, not ours, so stay out of it. Kevin, mow their lawn and paint the porch, and that's it! Leave the scotch alone. Is that understood?"

"Yeah, Dad. I just wanted to ask you about it, you know. I better get cleaned up now."

"Hurry it up, you always take so damn long in the shower!" Keith snapped.

Behind Dad's back I told Keith to go fuck himself. And because he said that to me, about taking a long time in the bathroom, I took an extra lengthy shower. And that's all I did in there... take a shower... nothing else, if you know what I mean. I was saving "that" for later!

Sure enough, at about 5:20, Mark pulled in the driveway. Dad was just firing up the grill, so I told Mark there was time for him to shower, too, if he wanted. I waited in my room, licking my lips as I sat on my bed, thinking about Mark's wet, naked body. Maybe Dad was putting meat on the grill, but Mark's meat was more what I had in mind for my dinner! He walked into my room with just the towel on, and let it drop to the floor.

"Come here!" I demanded. He turned and stood in front of me, legs slightly spread apart. I grabbed ahold of his sweet cock and kissed it... then licked it... then sucked it.

"Don't ruin your appetite, dude!" Mark teased, as he put his hands behind my head. When he did that, every inch of his delicious cock slid perfectly across home plate... my tongue!

"Hmm... I won't!" I said, between slurps. I got him hard, but vowed to finish that magnificent blowjob later that night.

As he finished getting dressed, Mark told me that Scott Kramer and his mom were in the store too, right after he saw Dad. Scott invited us to hang out with him and Matt that night, and we both agreed that was a cool idea.

"Let's go over to their house as soon as we eat, since my brother and his friends are gonna be here." I suggested.

"What's your Dad doing tonight?"

"I dunno... I think he's going out with Ms. Kirsch again."

Lisa was there when we got downstairs. "Hey, you hot studmuffin!" she said as she gave me a kiss on the cheek. I turned all red, even though I knew she was only flirting with me to get Keith riled up. And she succeeded.

"I'm over here, Lisa!" Keith snapped.

"She's talking to ME, asshole!" I said, then stuck out my tongue at Keith.

"God, Lisa... you got both of them fighting over you!" Mark teased. "Isn't one man enough?"

"I love making you jealous!" Lisa said, smacking Keith on the ass.

"OUCH!! That hurt!!" We all seemed to get a little laugh because of that.

Dad's burgers were excellent, and Mark and I both helped clean up after we ate.

"Thanks, Mr. C! See ya later!"

"Love ya, Dad... have a good time tonight!"

"You boys be careful... don't be out too late..."

"Yeah, right, Dad..."

I grabbed my Yankees hat and Mark put it on me backwards, then we cruised on over to the Kramer's. And that was fun, hanging out with them for a change. It did sorta remind us of the practices at Townsend's last winter and spring, except we weren't at Townsend's house, and he obviously wasn't there. But boy, was he missed. And Eric wasn't there either, since he's spending the whole summer at Fire Island.

It was a night of playing X-box, video games, music, too much soda and waaaay too much talking about girls. Scott did most of the talking in that department, Mark contributed a little (for which he should win an Academy Award), I laughed at the appropriate times, and Matt didn't say a whole lot. I wasn't sure if I was getting a gay vibe from him or not. If I was, it wasn't directed toward me... that much I know. All-in-all, it was a fun night... the first of several more.

Mark and I left around midnight. Mrs. Kramer was in the kitchen and we both thanked her for having us over. We rode past my house and it looked like some of Keith's friends were still there, so we didn't pull in. Mark kept driving. We wanted to be alone, but obviously going to the library wasn't an option. I avoid that place like it's a toxic waste dump. I was going to suggest we go up to the beaches in Bayville, and I could give Mark road head on the way! I'm just joking.

I guess after all it didn't matter that Keith's friends were still at the house, so we headed back home after driving around a bit. When we got home, things were pretty quiet, considering, so Mark and I slithered our way up the back steps to my room. I had to finish what I had started earlier in the evening! Trying to be as quiet as church mice, we did our thing.

For the next couple of weeks, as we made our way back to "normal" we had fun times as well as some boring days filled with working our part-time summer jobs. We got together with all our friends... especially Nora and Amy, and Scott and Matt. Even Andy Grimes hung around with us a lot.

And Brigette was coming around, too. I guess I hadn't realized that she really had it bad for Townsend, and she took his death harder than I thought at first. Probably other than me, she missed him the most. She and I talked about it. I think they had sex. She didn't come right out and tell me, and I didn't ask, because... that's one of those things that's awkward to ask. And seriously, it's one of those questions that shouldn't be answered, but I can pretty much guess. Having sex with someone and then losing them, for whatever reason, can really mess with your head.

Even though Eric was at Fire Island we were all looking forward to going there for July 4th. It would be different than at Grandpa Graham's cabin in the winter when we were all there. Eric's uncle's place in Ocean Beach is pretty big, and since the weather's great we can all split up and go where we want. We won't have to be glued together. On second thought, I wouldn't mind it if Mark and I were glued together!

But in the meantime, as I continued with my mowing and porch painting, I grew more and more curious about the Johnnie Walker scotch I had found in the Lamson's shed. I never told Mark about it, and I never talked about it any further with my brother, because he'd probably find a way to use my curiosity against me. And despite Dad's warnings, I knew what I shouldn't do, but I did it anyway.

Don't ask. I promise, when I'm up to it, I'll tell you about it.

(To be continued...)