Here's a new little story. The characters are young adults, with one at about 19, the other 23.
einhard
Not dead at all (M/M, oral, anal)
by einhard
PLEASE NOTE: This story is fiction from beginning to end. The characters don't exist, and the stuff they do, never happened.
The train stopped, and so did my ruminations on all the big issues in my life. In my bag was the diploma from university, so fresh it was almost dripping with ink. Master of Divinity was the degree I had obtained, and I was well on my way to the priesthood, something I had dreamed of for more than ten years. But lately, things had been happening with me that meant the Church and I might not be very much at ease with each other. But I shouldn't be worrying about that now. I was on my way to camp. Four weeks as a counselor for teenagers. That requires attention, that does, even when you have experience.
I left the train and looked round for my ride. Could that be him? That big cardboard sign with my name on it seemed to indicate it was, and I approached him, waving.
<I'm Archie Dickinson> I signed. Okay, so I didn't sign my name, I just pointed to the sign. He smiled. Damn! Did they have to send such a gorgeous creature? Things were stirring in my pants now. Thank God (oops! Need to be careful with my big mouth) they were baggy.
"Hello! I'm Ollie. Oliver Bloomfield. Welcome!" He spoke quite well, which meant he probably hadn't been born deaf. Didn't I say that? This camp was for deaf kids. No, not dead, deaf. Come to think of it, a camp for dead kids might be a good idea. Quiet, if nothing else. Sorry, bad joke.
As I was saying, the camp was for deaf kids, and that was the reason I was here. Not that I'm deaf. In that respect, I'm the freak of the family. Both my parents were born deaf, as was my little sister. But not me. In fact, I have acute hearing. I have a cute earring, too, but that's beside the point.
A camp for deaf kids, you ask. How many deaf kids can there be? You'd be surprised. But this camp, being also an church enterprise (Anglican) catered for kids from many parts of the country, and received a lot of youngsters. The reason I wound up as first a camper, then a counselor, was that my sister, who's six years younger, was afraid of being shipped off to camp alone at the tender age of 11. So I, the oh-so-cool 17-year old, had to go with her. Man, did I bitch about that the first time! But it was nice. For one thing, it brought me and Mandy closer together. This is good, because my sister is a very nice person to know. Intelligent, caring, and with big, blue eyes that tend to look admiringly at me whenever I'm around. Also, having me there elevated her status among the other kids from day one. The girls liked me, all right. And why shouldn't they? At 17, I was tall, athletic, smooth, blond, blue-eyed...I was hot! Today, at 23, I still am, even if I do say so myself.
The camp wasn't good only for my self-esteem, bloated as it was, but it taught me a whole lot, too. Plus, there were plenty of cute guys to look at. Not that I consciously had that thought in my mind at the time. Oh, no, way too scary. But you don't need to let your conscious mind be in control to enjoy the sight of hot young guys. Aaaahh, the memories!
But that was then. Here I was, watching Ollie's tight butt as he bent over to put my two bags in the boot of the car. I held my small backpack in front of my crotch. It seemed safest.
<Has anybody else arrived yet?> I asked, signing and mouthing the words at the same time. In my experience, that was the best way to communicate with deaf strangers. Some prefer if you speak, and then they can read lips, others prefer a combination of signing and mouthing, and some like it hot. I mean, some like it in still other ways. But if you ask directly about their preferences, some will be embarrassed. So I found it best not to ask. If they wanted me to do it differently, they could ask me, and I would oblige.
, he answered. . He smiled again, causing me to blush. Thankfully, he looked away just then.
We got in the car, and I kept my backpack on my lap. Good thing, because the little guy between my legs insisted on staying up. There was little communication in the car. Driving requires concentration for everybody, but even more so from deaf people. They need to take in all their information from sight, which is hard work. Also, Ollie was young and seemed to be inexperienced as a driver, which meant he probably didn't have a car of his own. I was guessing he couldn't be more than 18 or 19.
So, I spent most of the trip stealing glances at him. With his intense concentration on the road and the rearview mirror, I don't think he noticed me much.
After 20 minutes, we arrived, and I was again treated to the sight of those well-shaped buns preceding me to my quarters. He showed me my room, and stayed behind to talk for a few minutes. Was he just being polite, or did he like my company? A guy can dream, can't he?
<So, you're a priest, then?> he asked.
<Not just yet, but I have completed my Master of Divinity. You?> More sign-spelling.
<I'm a boat builder. Still an apprentice.>
<Cool! It must be nice, being able to build something with your own hands.>
He flashed that grin at me again, making me wish he could leave me, so I could attend to Archie junior.
<Do you have any interests outside your studies?> he asked.
I told him. I didn't know any sign for that, so another bout of spelling was required.
<That's Gothic letters and stuff, isn't it?> A somewhat simplistic way of putting it, but I nodded.
<Could you show me?> The boy seemed eager, and I agreed. I had only brought some simple pieces of equipment with me, but enough to give a few examples.
<Sure. We could meet again in an hour, then I can show you, and we can take a look at the grounds after that.> He grinned even wider than before, nodded, and left.
Woof! The strain of acting naturally and at the same time standing and sitting in a way that wouldn't give away my excitement had been tough. I lay down on the bed, gently stroking myself on top of the trousers, and drifted into fantasy.
My eyes shot open. Damn! How long had I been asleep? Almost 40 minutes. I cursed loudly, wondering for the umpteenth time when I would learn to watch my mouth. A habit of swearing is not ideal if you want to become a priest. Ah, well, nothing for it but to jump in the shower. I couldn't receive Ollie smelling like I did after travelling all day.
With the water cascading over me, I was quickly lost in thought again. As I dreamily fondled my cock, I heard a voice.
"Archie? Are you there?" Fuck! Damn! Blast! When would I learn not to let my little head take control of the big one?
"Be right with you!" I yelled. Stupid, he couldn't hear it. Quickly, I towelled off, then wrapped the wet towel around my waist. Almost slipping on the floor in my hurry, I walked back into the room, where Ollie was standing on the floor, wearing only a singlet and tight shorts. Plus that killer smile. Did my erection subside? Hell, no!
he said.
<No, that's okay> I answered him. I had to pass him to get at my clothes, and he only stepped aside as I brushed against him. With my back turned and my cheeks burning, I grabbed a pair of shorts, pulling them on without removing the towel. Then a t-shirt, and I was ready to face him. From the look of things, he was lost in thought, and the shorts he was wearing, looked even tighter than before. I cast my eyes down, pulled on socks and shoes, and looked back up at him.
<Did you want to take a walk first, or would you like to look at a little calligraphy?> I asked.
<Maybe a quick peek at your stuff, then we can take a walk> he replied. Did I detect a double meaning in his words? I rummaged in my bag, making sure I bent over to give him a full view of my ass. If he wanted to play games, fine. I could behave provocatively, too.
Putting paper and ink down on the little desk in my room, I sat down and grabbed the pen. I quickly wrote down something.
<That's your name and mine, written with Carolingian minuscules. That kind of writing was developed during the Carolingian renaissance in the eight and ninth centuries, and it was a small revolution in the work of scribes. You see how elegant it is? It's quite easy, too.> I was signing as best I could, but I probably garbled it. Lots of difficult words, and I was excited, both because of his proximity and with showing off my skills.
He moved a little closer to peer over my shoulder, and I felt something hard against my back. Was that an erection? He seemed really casual about it, so I couldn't be sure. A plan. That was what I needed. I got up, paper in hand, and moved to stand beside him. I proceeded to explain the nicer points of the minuscules, making sure my hands brushed against him. This was beyond my signing abilities, so I spoke, and he switched between reading my lips and looking at the paper. I moved even closer, and was standing partly behind him, partly to his left side. Just a little bit more, now. Yes! My throbbing cock was directly on his ass cheek. Well, not directly, there were a couple of layers of fabric in between, but still. He pressed his ass against me ever so slightly, and I let my right hand fall, brushing against the naked skin of his thigh. He leaned backwards just a little bit, and his upper back was resting against my chest.
What to do? Exercise caution, or throw it to the winds? My right hand seemed to be out on it's own, and made the decision for me, as it moved upwards, reaching the fabric of his shorts, then the boner inside. The next moment, he was facing me, his crotch grinding into mine, his tongue struggling to get past my teeth.
The kiss only lasted a few seconds. He pulled back to look at me, and this time I grabbed him. Wet, sloppy kiss, full body hug, grinding of crotches. I guess my questions were answered.
He put one arm behind my knees and the other round my back, and before I knew it, I was being transported bodily across the floor and laid on the bed. Young Ollie was obviously stronger than his lean frame suggested. I had no time to figure out just how strong he was, because he was removing my shorts. They came down to my ankles without trouble, but he couldn't get them past my shoes. So the shoes came off, too. I removed the t-shirt, and there I was, wearing only socks, watch and my cute earring.
Making an odd sound, something between a whimper and a squeal, he dove down and took me in his mouth. With no hesitation, he established a rhythm, right hand at the base of my cock, masturbating me, mouth bobbing above it, in perfect synch. With the excitement that had been building since I caught sight of him at the station, I was close. Within moments, I was thrashing wildly on the bed, my balls rising up to my shaft. He must have sensed my approaching orgasm (didn't take a genius), because he lifted off me and let his hand finish the job.
He only stroked me lightly. If he'd done it hard, I'm not sure I would have survived. The first spurt shot clear over me, hitting the wall over my head. The next hit my chin, and the last two landed on my chest and belly, before the remaining cum oozed out to drench my shaft and pubic hair.
Recovering my breath, I looked up at him and smiled.
<That was wonderful. I hope I'll last longer next time. There will be a next time?>
He nodded vigorously. <There will. But I'm not done with this time.>
I knew what I wanted. Rolling over on my side, I opened the drawer on the underside of my bed. There was no nightstand, but the drawer contained what I needed. With a condom in my left hand, and the tube of K-Y jelly in my right, I smiled at him.
<Will you fuck me, please? Fast and hard, and then you can do it again, slowly?>
He didn't answer, and jumped off the bed. What was that all about? Was he feeling guilty all of a sudden? Did I push it too much? In the next instant, he had me laughing like a hyena. It's somethng about people fallingflat on their asses on the floor that gets to me every time. He'd been so frantic pulling off his shoes and clothes, he just toppled over. He didn't waste time getting all embarrassed, though, but just proceeded to sit up and remove what was left. Then he got to his feet, and I saw his dick for the first time. Christ! It was beautiful. Uncut, maybe 6 1/2 inches, very little hair around it, and fat. Oh, man, when it comes to penises, fat is the greatest!
He got back in bed, and took the condom from me. As soon as it was on, he took the lube and smeared a big glob all over himself, then on my hole. There was too much urgency for any lengthy preparation, so he only allowed one finger to dart inside a couple of times before he slung my legs over his shoulders. Aiming his cock with one hand, he gave a quick shove, and the head was inside. I tensed up because of the pain, and he waited a little. Not long, though. As soon as he saw me relax a bit, he gave another shove, and I could feel his balls touching me. A cock inside me is great, but this feeling of a warm set of balls gently slapping against my butt is so....I don't know...so nice!
Ollie wasn't into nice just then, though. I had told him fast and hard, and that's what he gave me. With my prostate engorged from my recent orgasm, I quickly lost contact with everything else except the almost painful feelings inside, and could only squeal and scream.
At some stage, the pain/pleasure stopped, and I returned to this world, only to see a red-faced Ollie twitching above me, obviously unloading inside the condom. The noises he was making were interesting. You know, some people are noisy during sex, and they tend to think their screaming and groaning is out of control and entirely spontaneous? It's not. But when you can't hear yourself, you don't have much control, and then you really sound weird. I laughed, and Ollie got a pained look on his face, before it dawned on him that I wasn't being mean, and he smiled again.
He pulled out and wiped me down with the wet towel that was still laying around after my shower.
<That was great. Can we do it again?>
<As soon as we're both up for it, Ollie.>
He cracked up over that. Heck, sometimes old jokes work.
About an hour later we took our walk around the area, but in the meantime, he'd fucked me twice more. I even invaded his tight ass once, but having that fat cock in me was the greatest. And you know what? Ollie told me about the other three guys on my little corridor. All deaf. So what, you say? So, they couldn't hear anything. Only I would hear the squeaking of the beds, the slap-slap of skin against skin, the moans, groans, squeals and cries. But me and Ollie both would be able to see, feel and smell each other. He might be deaf, but he sure wasn't dead. Not dead at all.
This story is copyrighted by me, einhard. (c) May 2001. All rights reserved.
Any comments? You can mail me at: einhard@excite.com