See original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-friends/irmas-boys/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming. Please also set up AMAZON SMILE so that a percentage of your purchases earn contributions to Nifty! It's a great, zero-cost way to enhance the support you already (I hope) give them.
When I saw that all the dishes were -- POOF -- magically gone and a new yum-yum-yummy Bastard Beer was in front of me, I suddenly noticed a side effect of the p-p-p-p, um... Pat? No, platte? Plot? Port? 'Po' -something? Um, posh? POT! Of the pot. A side effect of the POT. I was really, really horny. I looked down and saw that both nuts had escaped from the mangled Hypercools, each to its own side, and the pink head of My Favorite Friend was peeking out of the waistband. "Will?" I heard for a long, long way away. "You feel like a swim after dinner?"
Irmas Boys 2: Cooling Off
by Bear Pup
Swimmmmmmm. Oh, God, even the word sounds deliciously cooling. The buzz had faded quite a bit (in other words, I could once again form actual words). I looked up and saw that both Orson and Terry were stripping out of their shorts. In any other situation, I would have either frozen or made a run for it. Two guys -- two guys that I KNEW to be gay -- were stripping off right in front of me making no hint of turning away. On the other hand, Mr Wizard had done his work well.
I'd already tagged them internally as Hobbit (Orson) and Papa Bear (Terry). Papa Bear was closest and easiest to see as his crotch came into view. He was marginally manscaped with plenty of fur but no jungle-bush surrounding a dick that, soft, looked about the thickness of a silver dollar and all you could really see was the enormous head above low, full balls, no shaft at all. He was starting to chub and the thing was gradually growing a stalk, becoming a serious fireplug, easily as wide as it was long. My only real thought was, 'Fuck, that's gotta hurt!'
Hobbit, on the other hand, was tightly manscaped, his entire body basically trimmed the same as his beard. His cock was... FUCK! I hoped to hell that he was a shower and not a grower! He had to be at least six inches long, soft with big, held-tight eggs that pushed it out. It literally swung. I glanced up and saw Orson smiling at me, then looked down again. He really was growing. Thankfully, not much. He ended up, I'd guess, at a bit over seven inches and about the thickness of peeled banana and slightly curved like one as well. I mean, not like porn-hung but still impressive.
Terry barreled into the water with a resounding splash that made me laugh and Orson smiled at me again. "You joining us, Will?" He dove smoothly in, belying his rotund shape and surfaced quickly. I stood and decided, fuck it. I rose, holding the HyperCools in their original place as I did so, leaving them in the chair. I looked up to find four very wide, very shocked eyes.
You see, I was kinda hung. I mean, not the whole 'wrecked pussy' or 'never walk again' thing, but I had a solid eight when hard (more if I was excited and the pot had done its work in that department). And it was nicely thick and a bit veiny. Even hard, my meaty foreskin puckered at the end. I was one of those guys who could jack off without ever thinking of lube. As previously mentioned, though, the major attraction was the balls.
Since I was rock-hard, my cock was out of the way and gave them a full display of my nuts. My right always hung higher, but was still at least two inches below my dick. My left was both a little larger and considerably lower. It wasn't much of a stretch to say I looked very much like the brass bull-balls that hang off a redneck's trailer hitch, screaming, "These are the nut that the guy in the cab wants you to think he had instead of the tiny dingleberries he's actually got!".
I had to giggle at the very 'Helmsman Sulu', "Oh, MY!" that Orson uttered. I was a major devotee of Takei's hysterical Twitter and Facebook feeds. I dove in over their heads, knowing I had plenty of clearance. Even stoned, I can always dive like a champ. It was one of the sports I did in high school and still love it.
I cut into the water like a knife... for the first three feet, anyways. I then came to the sudden and excruciating realization that, in school, one dove with trunks and without a raging boner. The water gave my cock a reverse-blowjob and slapped my nuts like a nun with a ruler. I rolled with it, though, under the water, completely unwilling to come to the surface in front of two queers crying about my junk.
I felt an enormous paw in the small of my back pushing me to the surface and looked into a pair of smoke-blue eyes. Terry was holding me like an expert lifeguard, giving just enough extra lift to make sure I was okay. "Son? You okay? That had to hurt, kid. You gotta breath, son. Come on." His voice with that deep rumble was concerned, loving and tender, completely at odds with his Papa Bear gruffness. I looked over and saw Orson with a rodeo-clown's fuck-that-had-to-hurt grimace.
"Oh, I'm fine," I said calmly... in a voice that shook like a leaf and sounded like a ten-year-old with an impending bladder emergency. Not my finest hour. Without even seeming to move, the giant bear whisked us to the side of the pool and attached my hands to it.
"Fuck-all if you're fine, son."
"I'll check. You hold still," said the Hobbit who then disappeared under the water with a slight ripple.
I felt his hand along my inner thigh, my balls and my shaft. They started moving deliciously. "Mmmmm." It felt damned good, regardless of the recent trauma those parts had experienced. "WHOA!" My lungs nearly emptied at the exquisite sensation of a mouth suckling my hardon. I sucked in a delighted, shuddering gasp.
Papa Bear made some underwater movement and a cloud of bubbles leapt to the surface, popping with the sound of "OOF!" as the pleasure was ripped away and Orson bobbed back to the surface.
"What the hell was that for, Ter?"
The teeth-clenched growl was so utterly bearish that I giggled when he rumbled, "Play nice!"
I looked at Orson who grinned. "I was play-- OW! Fine! Fine. Spoilsport." He looked to me. "I'm sorry Will. I was just making sure you were okay. Forgive me?"
There were a dozen options there. Run back to the house was top of the list. Punch him? Maybe, but I was too stoned. Scowl and demand he never touch me again, definitely required. I mean, I wasn't gay and, outside one memorable week at the end of the summer at Camp Sinnemahoning, I'd never even played around with a guy. Not only am I not even a little interested, I mean, this guy didn't even fucking ASK! What a douchebag jerk!
I grumbled, "Only if you do it some more."
Wait! What? I said WHAT? "NO! Um, I mean, uh... What did you say? What did I say?"
Papa Bear was in a gut-buster laugh, hanging onto the side of the pool. Orson just smirked. "Let's just forget the whole subject, okay, sport?"
"Um, yeah. Uh... let's just, um, whatever." The Hobbit -- wait, aren't they, like, completely afraid of the water and sink like a rock? I guess I got a floaty Hobbit -- kicked off and started swimming laps. Papa Bear seemed perfectly content to bob and play around. The wiener dogs came up and started to nuzzle me which I found both alarming and delightful. Terry reached up and unsnapped their collars. The darker one yapped once and launched into the water while the other pawed it tentatively, apparently testing the temp. The swimmer-dog paddled happily over against the other side. Each time Orson swam by, it would try to jump on his back and ambush him. It was adorable. It gave up and came back over to be cuddled by Papa.
I decided to match pace with Orson for a while and was quickly shocked. I am a very strong swimmer, having done it most of my life. This guy had skills! For someone who was shaped roughly like a very hairy flotation device and was, well, old, he cut through the water like a fucking seal! I finally peeled off and joined Mr Floaty, panting and gasping as I watched Hubby the Hobbit. The second doxie was swimming as well, and crawled onto my shoulder as if drowning. I laughed and helped it onto the poolside where it shook vigorously then settled and licked my hand. I looked back at the wake the Hobbit was leaving and shook my head.
"He fast, cher, don't beat yourself up. When he was in college, he shaved everything and placed, oh, way high." His accent was stronger now, mellow and rich. I couldn't not ask.
"Your voice is really nice. You have a, um, sort of accent?"
He chortled. "I got me a sorta accent? That rich, that is. I was born on--" fuck if I know what he said next; his mouth was puckered like he was gonna whistle but what came out was, maybe BAY-oo KYUde tarTYEW (I found out later it was Bayou Queue de Tortue) "--that's in Louisiana." He saw my utterly-befuddled face and laughed that low, rich, spicy laugh. "Don' worry, cher. Just say 'the bayou' and you'll be fine. It's all one water anyways." The pot was fading, but his luscious, melodic, entrancing voice was enough to re-spark the buzz. I floated on his voice.
"I met that little cubby-bear when we were at the University of Arkansas."
He cocked an eyebrow so I expended a brain cell and said, "Razorbacks. Fayetteville, right? Wait! You're like, not close to the same age!"
"Good job! True, that. We met in a cemetery." He was obviously pleased with my head-shaking response as I tried to reconcile that. He laughed again. I could really, really get used to that laugh. He helped the other dog out who shook and then dragged a towel over for him and the other to curl up on. It was almost an overdose of cute.
"I was teaching there. Calculus for the lower set and Complex Variables at the top. No tenure and no real chance at it. Just, you know, spending a few years. I lived in an apartment on West Center and that boy there was in Kappa Sigma. Between us was a cemetery, cher. Turned out both of us like the quiet when working and weren't fussed over the haints. Sorry, uh... ghosts, spirits, dead folks."
"No, I know haints. It's just been so long since I heard it."
"Really? Do tell!" I was treading water and letting the deep, rich velvet-over-brass accent lull me. It was a slice of heaven after the heat and worry of the last few days.
"My Mee-Maw, um," I stuttered a little.
"No, cher, I know what Mee-Maw is. I'd say mémère. Go on. Go on."
"She was from South Carolina. She talked of haints and rootworkers and hoo--"
"Shush, Will. Don't say that word." He'd tensed then laughed nervously. "Never mind. Just old superstition. Ignore me, son. You were saying?"
"Actually, she never said it either! She'd whisper it. Her, um," I blushed purple at the very un-PC term and whispered it instead, "mammy told her all through her childhood about what she called the Old Ways."
He frowned at me. "I will never understand Yankee obsession with denying that black folks raised their babies for near three hundred years. And loved 'em. And taught 'em." He sighed heavily. "Anyway, so we got some close blood, you and me. Orson there, he's Yankee through and through. Went to Arkansas because, like my family but for different reasons, he was told he couldn't go anywhere that the state didn't touch home. For me, Louisiana; for him, Missouri" Mizz-OU-rah. "He was from St Louis." Terry did a delightfully-nasal and uptight-white "SAYnt LOO-issssss" and I laughed.
"So, Will, how you end up in St Leo?"
I chuckled. "Mom and dad are pretty well off, but they said it had to be a Catholic school. I didn't want snow, liked the East coast and Ave Maria was too..."
"Creepy?" He supplied.
I giggled. "Exactly. I felt like I was in Stepford and expected Christopher Walken to pop out!"
"Ah ha! And Roger Bannister running as a Republican with a lisp!" COOL! An old guy who got it!
"Exactly. So, you two, uh...?"
"What you askin, Will?"
"Well, I mean. You're gay, right?" He nodded, grinning widely at my blush. "So, well, how did you two... know?" Damn. The lingering effects of the buzz had bombed the fuck out of my mind-to-voice filter.
"Know we were gay, know each other was interested, or know each other was right?"
"All of 'em?"
"Well, I'll save the know'd I was gay for later, cher. For knowing he was... hmmm. I went over to grade some papers. Nice afternoon. So, I'm headed toward a favorite vault -- Evergreen and the rest of the Southern cemeteries have a lot of those, where the burial is only partly underground; makes the perfect seat and table -- and I see the cutest little thing sitting on a bench just opposite. I nod. He nods, but I notice he watches pretty careful. I lay out my papers -- I kept some stones there to hold 'em down, ya'know -- and then I notice he'd done given up any pretense of not staring. I wait until he's looking at my face instead of, well, other things and just smile and damned if he doesn't scurry off. Dropped his books twice! I sighed cuz I was used to that. I'm, well, a big guy."
"Yeah, you are." He shoots me a look that clearly wants to ask, 'What, you think I'm fat?' "And hairy too. I'd be scared of you if I wasn't stoned!" He chuckled and continued.
"So, I'm back two days later and see the little cutie come up and sort of freeze when he catches sight'a me. I pretend not to notice at all and go about the grading. He creeps on in like a whitetail, all skittish. I smiled into my papers so wide I thought I'd'a broke something. He finally settles in on the bench he'd been on the other day and reads, kept flickin his gaze at me. Cutest thing. So, when I was finished, I decided to flirt a little. I stood up facing away from him and stretched all huge and wide, with a big ole yawn, then bent over to get my papers. I peeked tween my legs and he was near to hyperventilating, staring at my ass. You an ass man, Will?"
"Huh? Wha? Oh, um, girls? Yeah. Definitely. Not as much a ti-- um, breast..."
He laughed richly, "I do know what tits are, Will. Just don't like the same brand you do..." I blushed again. "So, for the next week or so, he'd magically appear right when I was settling in. I'd either nod at him or ignore him. Each time when I left, I made sure--" I jumped a foot when a voice came just behind me.
"He made damned sure to put on a fucking muscle-bear show. I thought he didn't even know I existed! And all this time, he was teasing me with that big old body. Did he mention the ass? Yeah. I figured as much. Damn, Will, you're shaking! Terry and I got padding but you're gonna freeze." As if he'd been told to do so, Papa Bear erupted out of the water with a cascade that continued to pour out of his fur. He reached down and hauled me out as if, well, I was a toddler. It was, to say the least, impressive.
He lifted me high enough that he could pivot me practically into a chair. I sat, blinking. The guy was massive. And, frankly, damned impressive in the moonlight, dripping water. He shook his head like a dog and water flew everywhere. Orson was out and laughed, then shook his whole Hobbity body. I had to giggle. I looked at the two of them standing next to one another. I have never been into guys, but as a couple... well, they were sorta perfect.
Orson had been right, I was freezing and didn't know it. The warm night air caressed me and, annoyingly, my finally-soft cock which tried to rise to the occasion. Papa Bear said he was going to switch the generator over. He took my phone and said he'd charge it quick-like. Meanwhile, the Hobbit returned with another of the Dirty Bastard beers and proceeded to repack the bowl of Mr Wizard.
"Um, Orson, I'm not sure I'm up to..."
"Don't worry, Will. This is a special one that I keep just for nightcaps. I call it sleepy-time, but the guy I buy from says it's called swamp cabbage."
"Yeah. I know that one! A friend uses it. Not so much a blazing high as a long, mellow, sleepy rush."
"Tell ya what. Let's get enough charge in the phone so you can check and send messages, then we'll put it on for the night. You come back over when it gets warm in the morning and you'll be 100%."
"Really? Thanks! That, that's just fantastic!"
"Terry, we're gonna burn the sleepy-time and then if you'll get Will's phone, he'll take care of urgent stuff then come back over tomorrow. Sound good, hon?" He gruffed what I assumed was an affirmative and bent over to kiss the not-yet-bald-spot of his husband. It was so... I dunno, instinctive? Habitual? Certainly an intimate and caring gesture. I smiled broadly and Orson blushed.
He had the bowl packed and hit it nice and hard, then handed it to me. The smoke was... different. It was like chamomile tea, perhaps, gentle and smoky (I mean, duh, it was smoke, but it was, I dunno, smoky-smoky? Whatever). I passed it to Papa Bear who surprised me by filling his massive lungs with a monster hit. His hubby-Hobbit killed the tiny amount left and cleared the chamber. We sat and chatted, mainly about my school plans as the weed crept up. I felt my whole body slowly relax, losing tension I didn't really know I'd had.
Terry went and got my Phone. I spent the next fifteen minutes bouncing between the conversation and replies to people wondering why I dropped off the face of the Earth. I finally got to the nodding, drooping, head-shaking stage and Orson politely suggested I head back. Papa Bear insisted on dousing me with Deep Woods Off before I left and told me to come back whenever I got too warm. I was already in my stifling bungalow when I realized I hadn't bothered to gather up my HyperCools and had walked home completely nekkid. Hmm.
"You come on back when you get too warm, Will." The offer echoed through my head for most of the night. The swamp cabbage dank had done its job, but I still woke every hour or so drenched in sweat and utterly miserable. The night before, it was just oppressive and depressing. After the dip in that glorious pool and a few actual cold beers? It was hell.
I gave up on the whole sleep thing about six and waited for dawn. I rustled up the Breakfast of Champions -- Cheerios in beer -- and straightened up what I could. My house had never been as neat as it was since Irma came. What the fuck else did I have to do?
I waited until I could hear voices next door before heading over. I slipped on some shorts and grabbed a tiny baggie that I'd gotten from my supplier as a sort of "good customer bonus". He'd told me that it was beyond dank, absolutely banging. He waggled his eyebrows and said, "Dude, be sure to smoke this with a chick you really want to lay. It's amazing. Called Hex-Mex." If that dawg was saying it was the key to a hot date, it was primo. Anything that could impress a St Leo chick to give up the goods had to be True Rare.
I headed over. Instead of knocking on the door, I reached over and tapped the windowsill. Over the flurry of movement and ferocious barks (those two tiny dogs managed to sound like a pack of bloodhounds), I said, "Orson? Terry? It's just me, Will. DO NOT zip your dick again just for me. Can I come in?" Terry was hooting with laughter.
A slightly-groggy Orson responded, "Get your ass inside then." As I came in, it was exactly as I'd guessed. Both were naked and comfortable. The two dogs converged, barking like they were about to eat me but also wagging their whole bodies.
"Watch out, cher," Terry said with an indulgent smile. "They might just lick you to death." I sat and let them gambol over me. "The black one is Kona and the chocolate one is Kahlua. They's both sweethearts, but don't let them beg off'a ya."
I laughed at their antics. "Kahlua and Kona. Great drink, too."
"Come on, Will. The Master Suite is still cool." At the term Master Suite, the dogs yipped and scurried off, back and front ends seeming out of sync, but not diminishing their speed. They'd vanished through a little gate thing at the bottom of the door. Orson waited for me then Terry before opening the door. Papa Bear chivvied me quickly through and I found us in a dark little alcove. Then Terry had the door closed, Orson lifted what was now obviously a blanket or something.
"AC Lock, like an air lock but for AC. My brilliant husband put it in." All this time later, yeah, I remember what he said. At the time, though, every sense just went AHHHHH! The caress of dry, cool air was a benediction. I zombie-walked in and simply melted to the cool -- COOL -- tile floor as the dachshunds watched me smugly from a dog-bed to one side of an empty fireplace. The large, glass-enclosed hearth was flanked on the right by a deep, wide niche that held electronics and AV equipment (and the dog-bed underneath). The other side was identical in size, but held a wet-bar, non-running mini-fridge and a shocking array of glassware and booze.
"Oh... My... God..." I looked up at the twinkling eyes of Papa Bear and the broad grin of the Hobbit. "I've died, right, and this is heaven? I can't ever thank you enough for this. I was dying all night, just dying!"
"The sleepy-time didn't help?" Orson asked, a little concerned.
"No, God, that was the only thing that made it bearable! It was just sooooo hot every time I woke up. All I could think of was the pool." Terry had gone to the part above the wiener dogs and unplugged my phone from an impressive charging station. He shared a look that could have been calculation or warning with his husband as he handed me the handset.
"That... That's terrible. Why don't you hang out over here today? We can swim and all? Give you chance to, you know, relax a bit."
"Really? Wow! Thanks, man! That's just amazing of you!" Another look flashed between the two. Well, I was in someplace cool with guys who had kick-ass beer -- cold, no less -- and one of the best bongs I'd ever seen. I was in heaven, dude!
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