CHAPTER SEVEN (of NINE)
I'm lost in an ocean of forbidden sexual desires, trying not to drown. And, this current sexual 'situation' I find myself in would have seemed an impossibility a month ago.
Yep, the crux of the matter is that sex with Richie feels too good to say 'no' to. I don't possess anywhere near the willpower required to abstain. My orgasmic climaxes with him are so much 'hotter,' so much more intense than 'jacking-off' that there's no comparison. It's as though instinct is telling me this is what Nature's orgasms are supposed to feel like, although, obviously, the actual 'act' is not what Nature probably had in mind.
Anyway, there he is... Richie's next to me in bed, awake with his smile as bright as, um, as bright as that rainbow. He's seemingly inviting me to do 'it' with him again. And why shouldn't I? To hell with allowing my phony self-image to prevent me from the thrill of our secret roommate experimentations. Um, and yeah, I admit 'secret-roommate-experimentations' is a major metaphor-stretch. Whatever, I think I might love him, or do I merely love his oral sex? In either case, it's a love that dare not speak its name. Yeah, ha-ha, I read that somewhere...
I return Richie's smile, and he shrugs with an expression on his face that seemingly is impatiently asking, 'Well, do you want to?' Or am I projecting? Then, we both turn our heads toward the sound of Richie's old man slamming the door to the bathroom. Hmm, Mr. Mealey spends at least a half-hour in there the mornings he's home. So... opportunity knocking? Abandoning all pretenses of being a 'straight' cool-tough-guy, I sit up and, quick as a cat, hop on top of Richie's chest, straddling him.
Grinning, he pretends to try wrestling me off, and, during the brief pretend-struggle, my flaccid cock slips out through the slit in my boxer shorts. Richie casually takes it in his fingers. My heart begins hammering like a sledgehammer as I slide up closer to Richie's chin; close enough that he can put my floppy cock in his mouth, which he does, and it's not 'floppy' for long.
We look into each other's eyes as he sucks and licks my cock, which quickly becomes a hard boner. But it's not just the sucking and licking of my cock that's such a huge turn-on for me; it's that, um, it's that it's Richie who is the one doing the sucking and licking.
Yeah, I'm 'lost'... and it's getting scary.
Not totally 'lost,' though. My phony tough guy act isn't fooling me anymore, but perhaps it's still fooling Richie. And, it's he who is sucking my cock, so, by far, he's doing the gayest part. Hmm, and perhaps my phony bad-ass persona isn't so much for Richie as it's protecting my own self-image. Whatever, I can't think about anything as complicated as that right now. No, even as I stare into Richie's petty bluish/green eyes, the fantastic sensations coming from my boner are demanding ninety-nine percent of my attention... demanding it!
My fingers go through Richie's dense but silky, light-brown hair as he smiles around my boner, smiling with his eyes as well as his lips. Yeah, he knows he's providing me with the kind of sexual pleasure I can't resist. Hmm, I really do need to give up the pretense I'm only doing this for his benefit. I mean, he doesn't believe that anyway.
He begins slowly stroking his cock as his lips-covered-teeth move up and down on mine. All I can do is grunt quietly. Christ, my cock is so tight, so hard it's almost insane. Lifting up on my knees a little, I then hump down to push my cock into his throat. He gags crazily but, like before, doesn't try moving his head away. Five or six thrusts in his throat are all it takes to get my climax exploding. I make a geeky high-pitched sound as cum shoots into his throat and mouth, both our bodies jerking so hard I end up sitting back on his chest, my cock completely out of his mouth all slippery with cum and spit. A second later, I feel the spray of his cum-shot shooting straight up behind me.
Yeah, holy shit, we blew our loads at almost the same instant, and now we're gasping and shaking together. That was incredible, and this time Richie managed not to inhale cum into his sinuses. The so-call 'experience-curve' finally working in his favor.
That's good, but I can't imagine how the hell Richie can take my cock in his throat as he does? That's astonishing, and I feel goofily proud of him. Yes, he's a lot tougher than he looks. He's mentally tougher than me for sure, although he doesn't appear to realize it, and I'm not telling him either.
Without a better idea, I guess I will keep my phony tough-guy persona going a while longer. Overall, I'm wicked pleased that everything is working out so fantastically for both of us, so why fix what isn't broken? We smile at one another, and I'd love to kiss his lips, except there's a drool of cum at the corner of his mouth. Plus, I need to STOP kissing him at all because guys kissing each other is over the top... it's simply too gay!
Instead of expressing my admiration at how Richie's handling his end of things, I don't say anything. I slide off him and then hop off the bed. Picking up one of Richie's t-shirts from the floor, I wipe my dick and then toss the t-shirt to Richie. He catches it, smirking, and then wipes his mouth with the t-shirt. I can't help grinning and nodding my head, hoping he can interpret that as me complimenting him, or maybe me acknowledging a subtle 'thank you.'
And so, unless the world comes to an end, I'm pretty sure this, or a facsimile, is going to become our normal routine from now on until... well, until what? Who the fuck knows?
We begin sleeping together. There was no discussion about it... we both understood that's what we'll do and, of course, Richie blows me every night before we go to sleep. When I don't have work, he blows me in the morning as well. Um, and, yeah, I abandoned my concern that us kissing is too gay. We kiss a lot; make-out a lot. I tell myself the only reason I'm participating in that is as a 'thank you' for the oral sex. The truth is, I think making-out with him is almost as sexy, almost as big a turn-on as Richie's blowjobs.
And, so, pretty much, the guilt notwithstanding, I've never felt better in my life. There's something reassuring in 'routine,' our routine in bed. When we're not doing 'it,' I'm thinking about and looking forward to our sexy-time together. Sure, I have moments of guilt because, for one thing, it is a bitch admitting I'm gay for him. And, two, I feel guilty being hard on Richie. I'm hard on him mostly because of number one, as if it's his fault we're doing this gay shit.
We don't talk about our gay activities, not at all. So, I have no true idea of what he thinks about any of this. No, I don't know what he thinks, but he 'appears' to love it as much as I do.
Then, all of a sudden, tomorrow is the Saturday I need to do the favor for my brother in Atlantic city. I'm nervous about that. Yeah, I've been jumpy all day and taking my uncertainty about Atlantic City out on Richie, calling him a cunt at one point. Damn, that was just so wrong. So, when we're leaving the boardwalk, I hug his shoulders and tell him, "Sorry about being a prick today, Richie. My bad, but I'm thinking about helping Danny tomorrow and, well, I've never been with him in Atlantic City before, so I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do, and I'm uptight about it." He's like, "No problem, Mike! You'll do great." He has no idea that my brother is a, well, a gangster.
That night, Richie blows me so good I cum before deep throating him. Omigod, what a climax! After that, being extra loving and sweet to him, I murmur stuff about how special our relationship has become and how special I think he is. And, jeez, the way he seems to melt in my arms, his body fitting against mine so perfectly. He's the most perfect, um, perfect 'anything' I've found in 'life' so far. He smells and feels so good I find it hard to let him go of him, but I need to because Danny's picking me up tomorrow morning, and I need sleep. I need to be alert in the morning.
I let go of Richie and tell him to go to sleep. He never argues with me; he does what he's told. As odd a concept as that is, I swear to God, I think he likes being told what to do.
And then, it seems like only ten-minutes later, I hear a car's horn... 'toot-toot.' That's Danny! He's early. I jump out of bed, and as I'm pulling on a pair of cargo shorts, I'm yelling at Richie to find my cell phone. Yelling at him as if it's his fault, I can't find my phone. As I quickly brush my teeth, Richie finds it in the pocket of the pants I put in the hamper last night.
Danny toots the horn again and, as I grab my phone from Richie, I mutter, "Thanks," and run out the door. When I open the passenger-side door, Danny says, "No! Go back inside and put a pair of jeans on." Without hesitating, I slam the car door and run inside to change into jeans. I do what I'm told too, um, when Danny tells me to do something.
Damn, putting on cargo shorts was a rookie move on my part. We're not going to Atlantic City to hang out. It's a business... a criminal business. Danny's best bud, Bruce O'Neil, normally rides shotgun for him, but not today because Bruce has another 'job.' They knew their schedules a few weeks ago, which is why, the day we put a new motor in his Mustang, Richie asked me to ride shotgun for him today. Since then, every time I've thought about Atlantic City, I'd get this sissified nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. They're way worse than so-called 'butterflies.'
Wearing clean jeans now, I get in the car, and Danny, of course, ruffles my buzz-cut head, saying enthusiastically, "Hi bro! You ready for this?" I go, "Sure, um, what exactly are we gonna be doing in Atlantic City?" Pulling away from the curb, Danny says, "Nothing special. I've gotta pick up a few packages. No big deal, but I need you to be my lookout. You'll let me know if any unexpected guests show up after I go inside for my meetings."
I must look as nervous as I feel because Danny chuckles and says, "No worries, little brother. It's highly unlikely anyone will show up, but I always make sure my back is covered. All you need to do is sit in the driver's seat while I'm inside and, you know, text me in the improbable event another car shows up. That's all there is to it."
I'm like, "Oh," and squirm in the seat a little, then ask, "I'll be in the driver's seat in case we need a fast getaway, right?" Danny laughs, then says, "Yeah, because, while there's only a one-in-a-thousand-chance of that happening, longshots do happen, so, ya know?" I'm like, "Um, should I have a gun?" He laughs again, "Nope, guns can go off at the wrong time. Just text me if anyone drives up after I go inside, and, by the way, you need a haircut, bro."
He always tells me that. I go, "Yeah, I know," and then, chuckling again, Danny tells me about a card game he was in last night and how this guy named Dewey lost over two thousand dollars and started crying. Danny laughs, muttering, "What an asshole Dewey is." Obviously, Danny's not the least bit nervous about today, so, after a while, I'm not either. Well, not as nervous as I was.
And then all my worrying turns out to be for naught because the day is, um, well... it's boring! Yep, and I lost count of how many different places we stopped at, with nothing happening at any of them. Plus, we never actually entered what I think of as 'Atlantic City.' You know, where all the casinos are on the boardwalk. Of course, everybody knows many rundown areas are surrounding where the casinos were built, and that's where most of Danny's 'stops' were. Some stops were at other less run-down towns close to Atlantic City like Absecon, Brigantine, Egg Harbor, and others, I forget now. At all the stops, I sat in the car with the motor running and the air conditioning blasting because it was hot as a bitch all day, and nothing happened.
Nobody showed up after Danny went inside. Bars and poolhalls for the most part, but some business buildings too. At some of the stops, Danny was inside for forty-five fucking minutes! He was usually smiling when he came back except for one-time when he got in the car, muttering, "What an asshole that jerk-off was! C'mon, let's get out of here." I didn't ask Danny who the asshole was or why he was an asshole.
Danny always got in at the passenger side, usually putting an envelope in the glove compartment, and then he'd nod at me, and I'd drive away with him giving me directions to the next stop. I never asked about any of the stops we made. Okay, it wasn't all totally boring because it was fun driving Danny's bad-ass car, but other than that... yeah, boring!
The 'stops' took all day, and we didn't even have lunch. We finally end up in a fancy bar/restaurant at eight o'clock, Danny bumping fists with the reception guy. Then, they do a guy-hug, and we immediately get seated at a table, much to the consternation of people waiting to be seated before we arrived. Danny ordered us beers, and when they come via a youthful obsequious waiter, Danny mumbles, "I'll be right back Mikey," and he leaves, taking his beer with him.
He leaves me alone sitting in this fancy restaurant and, Jesus, I'm disheveled, my clothes wrinkled and sweaty from being in the car all day. Most of the other diners are sort of dressed up. I take off my John-Deere-green baseball cap and then awkwardly sit here wiping my sweaty face with the cloth napkin, trying to look bad-ass. And, Danny's 'right back' is actually a long twenty 'effing minutes!
He comes back smiling, rubs my head again, as he always does, then sits down, saying, "Are you doing okay, Mikey?" I shrug, mumbling, "Yeah, I'm good." We finish our beers, ignoring the pilsner glasses that came with the beers. Danny goes, "Now we'll get a real drink."
I gulp down the last ounce of warm beer while Danny barely lifts his hand, and a waiter comes right over. Danny orders bourbon and water for both of us. Our waiter is young. He couldn't be old enough to serve liquor. He looks about sixteen with sparklingly white teeth, longish black hair, and a large nose. Danny slaps hands with the kid, saying, "Wassup, Pete?" Pete goes, "Not too much, Mr. Sullivan. I'll get those drinks right away and then keep an eye on your table, so if you need anything..." Danny nods, and Pete goes off to get our drinks. He's back in two minutes serving the drinks along with two shrimp cocktails, saying, "Compliments of the house, Mr. Sullivan."
Wow, the shrimp are as big as chicken legs and wicked cold. There's a crunch when I bite into one. The fucking cocktail sauce is too spicy, but I don't mention that. We drink our bourbon drink and eat the shrimp as Danny tells me that he's taking me with him to Key West some weekend this winter. He just found out he'll need to be there to do a job. That sounds super cool, but I know better than to ask questions. I'm like, "Yeah? Um, I mean, sure, no problem." He chuckles and then barely raises his hand, and our underage waiter Pete comes right over. Danny twirls his finger at our glasses, and Pete says, "Yes, sir. Two more drinks coming up."
Later, we're joined for dinner by a super intense guy who's about thirty-years-old with a million freckles on his face and lots of red curly hair. His name is Sandy, but I only know that from hearing Danny call him 'Sandy.' Danny doesn't introduce me, and after Sandy's martini is served along with two more bourbons, Sandy points at me and says, "Kid, take your drink and get lost." I start to get up, but Danny holds my arm, saying, "Sit back down," and then to Sandy, "He's having dinner with us." Sandy gawks at Danny for a second before shrugging and muttering, "Yeah, if you say so, tough guy." Awkward!
Danny doesn't reply to that, so Sandy grins, muttering, "Always the hard-ass, huh, Dan." Danny motions to Pete, who comes right over, asking, "What can I get you. Mr. Sullivan?" Danny orders prime rib dinner for him and me, and Sandy mutters, "I'll have the usual. And, kid, bring us a bottle of Merlot with the meal. Anthony knows which Merlot."
This morning, when we were driving down here, Danny told me not to open my mouth when he's with an 'associate.' He told me that nicely so I wouldn't get offended. I'm assuming Sandy is an associate, so I don't say a word. The prime rib dinner has all my attention anyway. I'm starving, plus this is the best dinner I've ever had in my life. It's a fabulously tender bone-in rib roast cooked medium-rare. Danny and Sandy talk about horse racing as we eat; Sandy talking with his mouth full. He's a gross pig. Their conversation was about the degree they can trust a trainer named 'Smooth' to 'fix' a race at a track I never heard of before, and how much to bet on a horse named 'My Sister Molly.'
I ate every bit of everything on my plate, and then, after forcing down ghastly expresso coffees in tiny cups, Danny and Sandy do a guy-hug, and we walk out without paying for anything. In the car, with me doing the driving again because I only drank one of the bourbons while Danny drank half the bottle of wine to go with the beer and all three bourbon drinks, so he's a little drunk.
As I drive us away from the restaurant, Danny yawns and says, "Mikey, just so you know, I didn't introduce you because you weren't there." I nod my head as if that made any sense and leave it at that. And, I'm also feeling slightly sick to my stomach all of a sudden. I ate too much, plus I'm not used to drinking hard liquor, plus I was tense throughout dinner. Sandy made me nervous.
Danny seems wired now as if something tense was happening during dinner. Whatever it was, specifically, I can't put my finger on. Maybe it was Danny telling Sandy I was eating with them, although it didn't appear to be that big a deal. It was probably something else. Anyway, Danny yawns again and mutters, "Kind of a routine pain-in-the-ass long boring day for you, huh?" I go, "Noo! It was great seeing a professional doing his thing." He laughs at that and rubs my head for the fourth or fifth time today, then gives me directions to a new-looking Motel 6. I guess he's not wired as much as he's just tired.
After I park the car, Danny collects all the envelopes from the glove compartment, and we spent the night at the Motel 6. Somehow, he already had the key for room 223, so we didn't even need to go into the office to check-in. I guess he got the key at the restaurant. I don't ask him about that either.
As I'm going to sleep, I think about today and, yes, except for the fabulous dinner and me getting to drive the Mustang, Danny's right, it was a boring-nothing day for me. I don't know what I thought today would be like, but I didn't expect it would be boring.
The next morning, we sleep late and then have breakfast at the Denny's Restaurant across from the Motel 6. I'm feeling good this morning, and I'm kind of looking forward to driving the bad-ass Mustang back to Wildwood, but after breakfast, Danny gets in the driver's seat. Because he's a little hungover, there's very little talking as he drives us back to Wildwood, driving directly to Richie's house. He thanks me, then gives me a hundred-dollar bill and a brotherly kiss on top of my head... and that's that.
I get out and, after dropping my satchel in the house and cleaning up a little, I ride my bike to the boardwalk, wondering, 'What the fuck was 'that' trip all about?' Obviously, the envelopes contained money for Mr. DeCarlo from drugs, prostitution, gambling, loan sharking... and who knows what else? It's none of my business, actually.
Meeting up with my boys, I get an awesome smile from Richie. It feels good that he's so happy to see me. Not only Richie, as I'm also getting nice greetings from the other boys. We do quick guy hugs, muttering, "Wassup, dude?" When I do the quick hug with Richie, he whispers, "I was scared all day that something bad might have happened in Atlantic City." I just smirk at him, like I'm a big-shot gangster.
The boys knew I was with Danny doing dangerous gangster shit, so they wanted to hear all about it. I wasn't about to tell them I was bored all day, so I said, "Fuck! Are you boys crazy? I can't talk about that!" They all exchanged knowing 'looks' as though something big must-have 'gone down.' Heh-heh, yeah, I almost fell asleep twice while waiting for Danny to come back to the car. Some 'look-out' I was. That's all that 'went down.'
Later, Tony's telling some dirty jokes, all of which I've heard already but Richie's laughing, so I guess he hasn't heard the jokes. Christ, from just looking at him, I feel my dick firming up. Yesterday, daydreaming in Danny's car, I started rationalizing that since Richie and I are already doing sex that's obviously gay, why not take it a step further? Yeah, why don't I fuck his cute ass? I wondered all day what he'd have to say about that? Yep, I had all day to think about stuff, and I chose to think about that. And, what the fuck, Richie just looked over at me and smiled. Did he read my mind?
Because he smiled at me while I was thinking about him, I do one of my frowns, so he asks, "What?" I mutter, "Whaddaya mean, what? Nothing." He shrugs, making a cute 'face' at me, and I snort out a chuckle because he is a cute motherfucker. Well, I've got a hundred bucks burning a hole in my pocket, and here comes the Italian Ice vendor, so I buy the boys whatever they want. Yeah, big spender... $12.00.
That night, when Richie and I are getting ready for bed, I mumble, "It's hot as a bitch again tonight, so sleep in the nude, Richie." He goes, "That was my plan." I've been having him sleep nude lately because, um, well, because I'm addicted to his body, especially the pink parts where the sun don't shine. Heh-heh, yeah, he tans nicely where the sun does shine, but where his swim trunks cover him from his waist almost to his knees, he's naturally pale-skinned, 'pale complexed' in other words. It's a turn-on for me seeing that part of him. Unfortunately, I only catch a flash of it when he's getting in bed and quickly under the sheet. No air conditioning in the bedroom, but there's a fan blowing warm, humid air on us, so we sleep with only a sheet over us.
As he always does, Richie slides over to be right next to me. Holy shit, his naked body, his young taut male body, feels wonderful. I get my arms around him and squeeze, saying, "Have I ever mentioned you've got a decent body?" Actually, it's way better than 'decent,' but I don't want Richie getting a 'big head.' There isn't a hair on his torso except for his pubic hair, which looks like he's into male body sculpting because it's so neat and tidy. Hah-ha, I'll bet ten-dollars he's never even heard the term 'body sculpting', never mind doing it; the thought of grooming his pubes would never enter his mind.
While he is very slim, his body still has some nice definition; it's a subtle definition but noticeable just the same. And, wow, as I've said before, he fits against me perfectly, plus he's seemingly totally comfortable being hugged like this. I let a quick concern pass through my brain that he's too comfortable and too agreeable with everything I want to do with him; so, could Richie have done gay shit with someone before me? Nah, I immediately dismiss that possibility. He's too innocent... and there's no way he'd lie about it. I believe him.
He murmurs, "Thanks for the compliment, Mike, but it's you who has a great body, not me." I kiss the side of his face and then do it again, and mutter, "You like that, don't ya?" He goes, "Yep," and I kiss his lips. That's right; I'm helpless around him. God help me, but I can't resist Richie. I wish that weren't so, but it is. It's so fucking true; there's no way I can deny the obvious.
And, I swear, I never thought I could feel like this for another boy, not in a million years. Sure, I had a jerk-off crush on a couple of guys before meeting Richie, but those crushes were nothing compared to the way I feel about him. Those crushes were nothing at all like this; this is an obsession. Yeah, Richie's simultaneously the most wonderful thing and the worst thing that's ever happened to me.
He smells so good too, so fresh and, I don't know... so new. Holding him tightly, I take a deep breath and then go into a rambling bullshit story about how I know he's been hoping I'd take us further with this goofing-around-roommate-gay-shit we've been playing around with. He nods his head as if he knows what I'm talking about, although, so far, I'm not even sure where I'm going with it. Whatever, I continue babbling, telling him I've decided as a special favor to him I'm willing to, um, well, I'm willing to fuck his boy pussy. I say, "I'll bet you didn't think your prayers would be answered, did you?" When I run out bullshit, and he doesn't say anything, I look into his pretty eyes and go, "You want me to take your cherry, don't you?"
Hmm, he's had a startled expression on his face, but finally, he stutters, "Um, huh? Ah, that is, do you mean cornhole me?" He asked that as if he's shocked. It's as if he can't believe we're gay enough for that! I can hardly believe it myself, but somehow the idea doesn't seem as shocking to me as it obviously is to him. Maybe that's because I'd be cornholing him, as Richie called it. I've heard that phrase before, although I don't 'get' it.
I've been telling myself that sex with Richie is the first sex with another human I've ever had, but technically that's not the case. Last Christmas break, I was high on pot and beer and 'supposedly' fucked Gina Boulevard. Well, not supposedly, I mean, I did have my dick in her snatch but never climaxed and only got a boner by convincing myself, in my drugged condition, she was Ryan Gilmore. That's what I think, I thought. And, that's as much as I remember. Oh, that, and Gina was carrying on so much, I'm not sure if she was in ecstasy or extreme pain. I think she had something wrong with her cunt too. There was this, um, bone or something inside her, um... oh, I don't know what the hell happened.
This is what I do know; I'm one-thousand times more excited about the prospect of fucking Richie's ass than I was about the prospect of doing whatever it was I did with Gina Boulevard. She's the one who told me two days later that we actually 'did it.' Up till then, I wasn't sure if 'it' happened or if I had a nightmare. I scrubbed my dick the next morning; I know that much. Yeah, I've been dealing with strange sexual, um, 'concerns' for some years now.
Anyway, I've created another awkward situation because Richie seems more than a little hesitant about the 'cornholing' idea. Hmm, and he usually goes along with whatever I say. Dammit, now I think I shouldn't have brought it up, and now I don't know how to back away from it! I mumble something mean-sounding about a fag like him jumping at the chance of getting his boy-pussy fucked, and blah, blah, blah. Oh God, my problem is, I want to do this more than I've ever wanted to do anything before in my life.
Richie whines, "I'm not sure... um, I mean, I'm really nervous about doing that, Mike. Just the thought of it, um, I feel as though I need to take a crap." I hate whining! Snapping at him, I go, "Well, take a crap then... Jesus!" As he walks toward the bathroom, I yell, "Bring that tube of Vaseline back with you."
Even I know you need a lubricant for an asshole fuck. Three-minutes later, Richie is back from the bathroom, mumbling, "False alarm." He hands me the Vaseline tube without commenting on it but still looking scared. Yeah, but he came back with the Vaseline, so I'll take that as implied acceptance that he's okay doing this.
I'm very aroused when I slide out of bed and drop my boxer shorts, croaking out, "You'll need to suck on my cock, ah, that is, ya know to get it wicked hard so it'll slide in easy." God forgive me, but I want this so badly I don't care how un-cool I seem or how scared Richie is... we're doing this.
He nods his head, frowning, and then, without a word, drops to his knees and puts my already-pretty-hard dick in his mouth. After thirty seconds of Richie's tongue and lips doing their magic, my cock is a steel poker sticking defiantly straight out from my groin. Christ, I feel as if I'm going to cum right now! I try sounding pleasantly blasé, murmuring, "Okay, that's good, Richie. Get on the bed now and lie on your side. Just so you know, this is done all around the world about a million times a day, so it's not as if we're breaking new roommate-buddy-sex territory here." He makes a 'face' at that, then nods his head again, still looking wicked apprehensive, but we're doing 'it.'
After getting in bed behind him, I squeeze Vaseline on my finger, and now I'm feeling nervous myself, so, for something to say, I go, "You've got yourself a sweet-looking ass back here." I'm trying to be 'nice.' I see his shoulders shrug, but he doesn't have anything to say to that. Taking a silent deep breath, I'm kind of curious about his asshole, so I spread his right butt cheek and take a peek. Omigod, his anus, his asshole is rosy pink like a, um, like a tight rosebud. And, holy shit, there's not a single hair on this kid's ass.
My Vaseline-coated finger, seemingly with a mind of its own, touches his asshole lightly, and I need to stifle a gasp, my heart pounding almost up in my throat. My hand is shaking as I spread Vaseline on the tight lips of his rosebud asshole. When I push my finger inside his body, we both gasp at the same time, and my boner tightens-up even more, which I wouldn't have thought possible.
Pulling my finger out, I squeeze more Vaseline on it and push it back inside his rectum, pushing it in further this time and then moving it around as much as I can, asking, "How's that feel, Richie?" He says, so low I can just barely hear him, "It feels funny, um, in a very odd way." Yeah, well, I guess it would...
Pulling my finger back and then pushing it in again, I'm sort of fucking him with my finger. As I'm doing that, I babble something about how he'll soon be squealing like a girl. Then, for some reason, that makes me tell him I've only had sex one time with a girl, and never with a boy, so I can't claim to be an expert, BUT the procedure is simple enough a child could do it, and blah, blah, blah. What am I saying? And why am I blowing my 'cool' by admitting my inexperience?
Richie probably isn't even listening. His asshole is wicked tight, even for my finger. That's a real concern because my throbbing boner is much bigger than my 'effing finger. Worried about that, I start babbling, complimenting him on his cute ass again, and, well, I don't know what the fuck I'm saying. Anyway, it's time to do 'IT.'
Taking my finger out, I get the head of my boner, pressing against Richie's slippery asshole as I mumble, "Oh man, I can hardly wait to see what this feels like." Hmm, the tight lips of his anus begin reluctantly spreading open. Yeah, it's spreading open but not willingly or easily, not by any means. But, exerting some more pressure gets his asshole to spread open further while I encourage Richie by telling him that everything is going as well as can be expected. I'm also rubbing his shoulder affectionately and, everything is alright until it isn't, meaning when the head of my boner finally tightly slides completely inside his ass. I try pushing it in another inch... that's when everything isn't alright. Richie screams, "Ow! Take it out. Something ripped inside my ass!"
Oh, no, I'm not taking it out... no way! I try calming him, saying, "I promise you that nothing ripped in your cute ass, Richie. Shh." Well, his dad is at work, so I don't know why I said 'Shh.' Richie's body is as tight as it's possible to be, so I'm like, "Easy, Richie, relax. Relax your body, and especially the muscles in your buttocks."
He's a trooper, and I can feel him willing himself to relax. After a few seconds, I ask, "Feeling any better?" He murmurs, "Sort of. I think my ass is getting used to having your dick in there, but it feels like I need to take a crap, um, again." I'm like, "Well, you don't! Stop thinking about that." He's so wonderful for persevering like this. What a great buddy he is. I tell him he's my best bud ever, and so forth, letting him know how much I care about him. Probably saying too much, but what the fuck...
Richie is still on his left side, and I've still got an arm over him, holding his back against my chest. His light-brown hair on the back of his head smells good as it tickles my nose. Plus, he's stopped screaming. That's encouraging except for the fact I've still only pushed like two-inches of my six-plus inches of hard cock inside his ass. I ask, "Is it feeling okay, Richie?" He mumbles, "It's not hurting as much now, but it feels wicked odd. It's like, um, like I'm over-filled-up back there, Mike. Please don't do anything more right now, okay?" I go, "Uh-huh, yeah, okay," and then push the rest of my boner up his ass. Pushing it in until my pubes are squished between my groin and his butt cheeks. And, holy fuck, this feels better than anything!
And, best of all, there is no screaming from Richie. He just squawked out, "Ahh!" as if it hurt, but it probably startled him more than hurt him. I couldn't stop myself anyhow, and it looks like I've gotten away with it, so why not push my luck and pull my cock back. I do that and push it right back in. Richie groans out another, "Ahh!" Then another "Ahh!" as I'm pulling my boner back and pushing it in yet again.
Nothing has ever felt this good to me, so, holding my breath and ignoring the 'Ahh' groans coming from Richie, I get into a steady rhythm of thrusting back and forth in his ass. Each time my groin smacks against his buttocks, there's a 'slap' sound. Soon, it's steady 'Slap, slap, slap," sounds to go with Richie's moan of, "Ahh!" It's, "Slap, slap, slap," along with, "Ahh!, Ahh!, Ahh!" Sounds good. And, Omigod, yeah...
There's no way I can stop now, not now that I've got this thrusting rhythm going. I couldn't stop even if Richie was screaming, which he isn't. The sensations coming off my boner are mind-blowingly awesome! I've never experienced anything remotely like it before. I thought jerking off felt good, but that's before I met Richie and experienced oral sex, which felt much, much better than jerking off, and now this anal sex! God help me, but this feels much, much, much better than, well; better than anything.
I'm quietly moaning along with Richie. I go, "Umm." That's what we hear... "Umm. SLAP! Ahh," with each quick thrust. Obviously, this isn't the sex Nature had in mind, but that doesn't stop my hard penis from experiencing exquisite pleasure. A pleasure that my brain can barely comprehend. It's almost too much pleasure, too much pleasure of a unique type that nothing else can match. And, nothing accurately describes it either, or, at least, I can't. My eyes close as my hips thrust my super-sensitive-pleasure-giving cock back and forth inside Richie's tight rectum.
Admittedly, I'm not thinking very much about my sex-buddy, but that's because, as I said, my own circumstance of sexual pleasure is overwhelming my brain's pleasure zone, leaving no room in my brain to deal with anything else. In the background, I am aware of those sounds of pleasure coming from Richie, making it even nicer. His "Ahh" groans have now become "Ooh," sounds. He moans, "Ooh," with each thrust of my boner in his ass..."Ooh, oooh, ooooh!" Sweet!
It doesn't last long, though. Much too quickly, I'm on the verge of climax, but before I blow my load, Richie humps his hips forward, and, making a squealing noise that does almost sound like a girl's squeal, he blows his load first. I never saw him moving his right arm, so he didn't stroke his dick but blew his load anyway... an extremely rare hands-free climax. Yeah, I watched, fascinated at the long stream of cum arching out into the air, and then, succumbing to gravity, it drops onto the throw rug next to the bed. Richie's body is still very taut as he moans, "Oh fuck, Omigod..." and then his body tightens even more, and he shoots out another stream of creamy semen. Wow!
That vision blurs quickly, though, as my own climax arrives with a BANG! I smack my groin against Richie's ass and hump once against his buttocks, blowing a pint of cum up his ass. A blackness covers my vision for a brief moment in time, and, well, a pint of cum is an exaggeration, but it was a lot. I truly almost did black-out at the tsunami of unbelievable pleasure sensations as all that semen came roaring up from my nuts and then up through my boner to fill-up Richie's rectum.
It was almost unbelievable, and now I'm trembling and moaning and groaning, humping against his buttocks, hoping for more, but that one huge blast of cum was all there is. That doesn't stop the vibrations of intense sexual pleasure from spreading out from my groin, though... spreading out until I'm shaking so hard the bed is shaking. Somehow, I manage to stop acting as though I'm as amazed at the strength of my climax as Richie must be about his.
And, no, I didn't expect the enormous expenditure of energy associated with the unequaled pleasure-release during that climax. I need to force myself to calm down and try acting 'cool.' Yeah, my phony act always needs my attention, but my heart is still pounding like a drum, and I'm inhaling oxygen as though I just ran a fifty-yard dash. Richie's busy breathing deeply; we novices to this gay-sex ecstasy are both dealing with something extraordinary.
When my heart rate and breathing get under control, I give Richie's body a one-arm hug and act sweet, complimenting him on being an awesome sex-buddy. "For a first-time experience, you were perfect, Richie. I'm proud of you, and kind of proud of myself too." Richie mumbles, "Thanks," and then he says some other stuff, but mostly I'm thinking back on that unbelievably great anal sex we just had, um... and, as I already said, hardly believing we actually did it. Damn, that was friggin' mind-blowing!
Then, I get my phony act back together and babble some nonsense about how I now 'own' his ass, own his boy pussy. "When a guy takes your manhood, Richie, he owns your ass. From now on, when I feel like fucking your pussy, you'll need to make it available to me." I continue to mumbling that kind of stupid nonsense, stuff I've read online from Nifty.org stories. Richie listens briefly and then basically tells me he doesn't believe any of that crap. Yeah, well, I don't either.
He's still on his side facing away from me, asking, "And why do you need to be such a 'prick' all the time, Mike?" Hmm, that's a sensible and logical question; one I wonder about myself. I mutter, "It's a long story. Sorry," as I'm watching my cum drooling out of his ass. My cock, reduced in size, is still in there, yet his cum finds a way to drool out anyway. Fascinating!
Yeah, my dick has softened, so I pull it out, and Richie rolls over onto his back. Neither of us appears to know what to do or say now, so, for a couple of seconds, we just stare at one another. Then, I go, "Don't be so sensitive, Richie. I was just joking around with you about owning your boy pussy and, um, whatever..." He says, "Well, lighten up on that once in a while, okay?" I smile at him, liking that he was a tad frisky there, feeling love for him like I've never felt for anyone before in my life. Smirking, I mumble, "Okay, I'll give it a try."
We do a smirky-smile at one another and, without doing anything about the cum coming out of Richie's ass, or the lubricant and cum on my dick, we say nothing... then go to sleep. I guess we're both thinking, mission accomplished. Managing not to feel guilty, I have a wonderful night's sleep. Yeah, that worked out pretty-fucking-good.
We didn't need to confirm it with one another as we both know that, now that we did anal sex, we're going to be doing it regularly.
And we do too. Richie's ready; I'm anxious for a repeat performance, so the rest of the week, we fuck every night. A little oral sex first, then some lubricant application for Richie's asshole, and then we fuck, and nothing could be better. Our climaxes are phenomenal.
For me, gay-fucking with Richie elevates my outlook about being alive. 'So, this is what 'they' mean.' 'They' refers to those people who every day have a positive outlook about everything. 'They' must be getting fucked regularly.
Then, there's the 'love' factor. I do not tell Richie I love him, and he hasn't said it to me, but I feel there is 'love' involved in our relationship. Also, true to my word, I'm definitely putting in the effort to be less of a 'prick' by cutting down my phony cool-tough-guy act with him. Richie is past the point of being just the 'new guy' now. He's one-of-the-boys when we're with the gang. Treated as one of the boys or not, Richie's still willing to be, um, submissive to me. That's the best word I can think of that describes his interaction with me. Yeah, he does what he's told and appears to like it; I'll leave it at that.
Unspoken 'love' or not, there's definitely a more intimate 'feel' to Richie's and my relationship. Well, we are having sex together., so... duh, but it's more than that. Complicating matters for me, I still get guilty twinges about being hooked on our gay activities, although Richie doesn't appear handicapped with guilty feelings at all. He said a few times, casually, that he's comfortable being gay with me. I think he's hoping I'll say something similar, but I don't. Then he'll smirk and add that he's comfortable with it as long as his dad or the gang aren't aware of him being gay. Making a joke because how comfortable can he be if he doesn't want anyone but me knowing he's admitting to being gay? I stick with my act of pretending I'm not gay, except that I'm willing to help him out. Technicality,
We both know that's bullshit, but I've never been happier, and I sometimes worry that something this good can't last. Something will fuck it up. I'm also noticing how I feel protective of him, which is a new emotion for me. Yeah, a few times, I've gotten tough with Tiny Dick when he gets too rough with Richie. Actually, I'm beginning to think there's a hint of sexuality to Tiny's bullying of Richie. Am I jealous? Life's complicated, but the point is, this is the first time I've interceded into the guys' disputes among themselves.
Because of that, and other things, I'm concerned the guys might be wondering about my feelings for the new kid. Understandably, they might wonder about that because, as I just said, I've never got involved in their disputes before. Now, if Richie's involved, I step right in on his side. So, okay, I need to watch myself that I don't overdo it too obviously. It's good to see that Tony and Richie have formed a nice friendship; good because Richie is spending much more time with the guys than I am, and Tony's looking out for Richie when I'm at work... hopefully keeping Tiny in check.
One Friday afternoon, Danny texted me that he has a quarter keg of cold beer in a container of ice in his truck. It's leftover from a party Mr. DeCarlo had for his crew last night. Danny wants to know if I'm interested in the keg for my boys? Hell yeah! I texted back, telling him, 'Hell, yeah!' He agrees to drop the keg off at a spot near the boardwalk down past the lifeguard stands. I roll the keg under the boardwalk behind a sign that warns, "No alcohol beverages allowed on the beach!" With a smirk on my face and a cigarette dangling from my lips, I ride down to where the guys hang out and lead them to the keg.
In case you don't know, there's a shit load of beer in a quarter keg. We all get drunk and, when it's dark, we're dancing with each other to the music from a band playing on the boardwalk two blocks away. Guys text other guys, and soon there are more guys smoking pot, drinking beer, laughing, and dancing. No girls until Rick lured a few down from where the band was playing, and those girls text others, and more girls show up. Richie and I leave then. Who needs girls?
I walk down the beach about a mile listening to Richie talks. He's talking about the two of us going to community college this fall. I'm not 'dumping' on the idea because I'm actually considering it. And, ha-ha, I can hardly believe I'll be a college student. Before meeting Richie, I never once considered college. I'm considering it now, though, because of, well, because of Richie. Because of what we've been doing sexually, but it's much more than just the forbidden sex. We've become best friends in albeit in a kind of weird way. Weird because, as I've already mentioned, he does whatever I tell him to and appears to like being submissive. I can't recall ever noticing that, um, trait in anyone before I met Richie. It's well, it's strange, and I don't understand it.
Richie and I are almost a mile farther up the beach from the beer party, sitting together under the boardwalk between the 40th and 41st streets. I have my arm across his shoulders, not saying anything when he looks at me, leaning against me tighter, and murmurs, "I wanna tell you something, Mike. Um, it's just that, well, I'm in love with you." Holy shit... he said it! What should I say?
I don't say anything. I stare out at the never-ending ocean, watching the waves breaking on the shoreline exactly as they've been doing for hundreds of millions of years. He bumps against my side, saying, "I'm in love with you... please don't be mad." It's the beer. He's had too many beers! Guys do not say that shit to one another, even if it's true. Doesn't he know anything?
Taking my arm from his shoulders, I stand up and emphatically tell him, "Don't say stupid things like that, Richie!" Then, in a quieter voice, I add, "We're not really queer, ya know. We're going through a phrase experimenting, um, screwing around with our bodies because, um, because we can. For the hell of it, ya know? Don't get all gooey about it, or you'll ruin everything." He mutters, "Sorry," and I'm like, "No, no need to be sorry. No problem and, um, thanks for the thought."
We take the long walk back to my bike silently, and I drive us home with my mind exploding because I've had the same thought Richie had. The thought I might love him; might be 'in love' with him. Still, it scared the bejesus out of me hearing him say he loved me. It scared me because I didn't know how to respond appropriately. I know what I should have said, now that it's too late. I should have said, 'Right back at you, dude,' and kept it light while letting him know it's cool... it's alright.
Oh man, even though I didn't handle the 'love' thing, when we're in bed, we fuck as though we're 'making love.' Richie's on his back, spreading and pulling his legs back. All six-plus inches of my incredibly hard cock all the way up his ass, but not moving. I'm leaning forward, kissing him as our tongues move deliciously together. When his scent is swarming around in my head, that's when my hips begin slow thrusting. I hope he realizes we aren't just fucking; we're making love. I can't make myself say the words, but I can show him I feel the same way he does. Yeah, it's love...
His rectum is extremely tight around my cock, and the sensations are so beautiful I moan into his mouth. Yes, as we're fucking, our mouths are devouring one another. Richie's arms around the back of my neck tightly as though he'll never let our faces come apart. Each moment is perfect, with Richie moaning at the pleasure of our sex as he gently humps back at each of my slow thrusts up his ass. Nothing can ever be better than this. Finally, our mouths slide apart, and Richie moan, "Mike, I'm going to cum too soon again." Me too. I thrust once more, hard this time, then quietly moan, "Ahh, ooh," and pour cum into his bowels. It's a hard stream of cum, my body quivering with pleasure as I try to catch my breath.
Richie arches his back and blows his load straight up, hitting my chest. "SPLAT," and then, with a groaning sigh, he shoots another short spurt of cum that joins the first mess on my chest. I moan, lying on him now as his legs go around my waist, his semen squishing between us. We hug, our heads next to each other... two bodies, almost one.
Our hearts pound against each other's chest as we catch our breath, and then I do a long luscious kiss, Richie's hair between our foreheads, almost in my eyes. I grin as we kiss and then lift my head to say what Danny's always saying to me, "You need a haircut, bro." Richie says, "I know; I'll get one today." Oh God, he always does what I say. I could eat him with a spoon; he's so perfect. I mutter, "Don't get one on my account. I was just saying what Danny always tells me. I never pay attention to that, actually." He murmurs, "Well, I like doing what I'm told." See!
My cock is still firm and still inside his ass, and, just as I'm about to start thrusting again, I hear the front door slam. Richie and I say together, "Of, fuck, he's home," and then we chuckle as I pull my dick out and roll over on my back. Richie says, "Dad was on the early shift today." I mutter, "Too bad for us." He rolls up to lie on my shoulder, his arm over me, and we go to sleep like that. We really need to start thinking about cleaning up a little before going to sleep. I mean, in the morning, there are lots of stiff dried cum remnants on both of us, which aren't too cool to deal with.
Anyhow, it's Saturday. That's good; I get to sleep late and then cuddle with Richie a half-hour after waking up. His dad is moving around in the house, which is too bad because I would love to 'make love' to Richie right now. We don't do it, though, because we're only a thin-wall away from Mr. Mealey, and Richie squeals when he climaxes. His old man would think Richie needs help, ya know? Maybe he does...
Pissing, cleaning up, and brushing our teeth in the bathroom together, we're both hungover. Dressed and in the kitchen, we find Richie's dad sitting at the kitchen table in a cheerful mood, saying, "Good morning, you two! " He's made a pot of coffee, which is a 'first' since I've been staying here. Richie pours me a cup as his old man says, "Mike, your mom and I have, um, we've had coffee together at Starbucks a couple of times, and yesterday she told me your place would be ready to move into this week." Oh, no!
Shit! Yeah, well, I knew that because mom texted me about it last Thursday. Richie goes, "Oh, how soon?" His dad lights a Camel cigarette and shrugs, saying, "Someday next week but Mike's mom and I agree that Mike can stay with us as long as you guys are okay with it. It's up to you two."
Omigod, what do they know about us? Fucking adults know more shit than us kids think they do. Richie and I exchange glances as if he's thinking the same damn thing.
Richie mutters, "What do you think, Mike?" I shrug, saying, "I think it's awfully nice of your dad to invite me to stay, but I'll need to help Mom move back in. and, well, we'll see, okay?" His dad says, "We'll all help." That's all we say about it for now, and then on Monday, after work, I get a text from Danny inviting me to a Phillies game. Cool!
I can't make myself ask Danny if Richie can come too because, um, because I'm a selfish prick, I guess. No, it's because I'm self-conscious about being gay for Richie, and I'm afraid Danny would pick up on that. Richie tells me he doesn't like baseball, but he was only covering up the fact I haven't invited him.
Feeling guilty again, we leave it at that. Later, Danny picks me up, and then it's like a two-hour drive to Philly. So, a total of four hours driving there and back. That wouldn't be a problem on the weekend, but this is Monday night, and I need to be up before five o'clock tomorrow for work, so if it were anyone but Danny, I'd have said 'no thanks.' Then I wouldn't have the guilty conscience about not inviting Richie. It is Danny, though, so I'm going with him and his buddies to the game.
In the car is Danny's best buddy, Bruce O'Neil, so I get in the back seat. We hook-up with three other guys at O'Brian's Irish pub, where I learn that Mr. DeCarlo, who won't be attending the game, got access to one of the private suites at Citizens Bank Park, where the Phillies play. This would be a big deal, except we're not going to get back until the wee hours of the morning. Still, it's wicked cool being with these guys. They're all in their early twenties and terrific guys. Their gangsters, of course, but other than that, they're good guys to me.
I think Danny wants the guys to get to know me, so I try my best not to let him down. Obviously, I don't act like the big-shot cool-tough-guy the way I do around my boys. At the same time, I can't act like a gee-whizz dork either. I'm the youngest guy in the group, but being Danny's brother carries some weight, so I don't get shit on all that much.
Anyway, it's a very cool experience. We take two cars and convoy to Philly with two six-packs of Bud in each car. The seats in a private suite are way up above the stadium and, included with the suite, are high-end ballpark foods and drinks of all kinds. The Phillies win 8 to 6, so there were many hits, and it's a great time. I forget all about the fact I'll only get a couple of hours of sleep tonight... I'm with the big boys tonight.
After the game, we're drinking at a bar near the stadium, and Billy Burke gets in a fight with some wiseass. That turns into a brawl with all of us involved. The cops show up, but it all gets 'talked out,' and we leave for home with no one getting arrested. The guys in the car pat me on the back because I coldcocked some fat guy and knocked him into a table full of draft beer mugs. The table went over along with the fat guy, and the guys said my punch was the best punch thrown by anyone all night.
I'm not doing the weight lifting or boxing that I was doing at my house before the fire, but all the work I've done in the past paid off big time tonight. I was sucking up the praise for my lucky punch while trying to be modest, claiming it actually was a lucky punch. No one mentions that I got my ass handed to me right after I punched the fat guy. Yeah, this young cute guy who was like five-inches shorter than me hit me twice in the face so fast I never knew what hit me. It was like getting hit with a hammer twice in half a second. The only hitting back I did was hitting the floor... KO'ed. Derrick helped me up, but I was groggy and like, 'Where am I?' I'll have a big black eye tomorrow at work. Yeah, but the big boys were impressed!
To be continued... chapter 8 of 9 in a week. donnymumford@outlook.com
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