MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY
Chapter 26
By Donny Mumford
Last night Bruce and I were slightly drunk and slightly high, but, surprisingly, I'm feeling pretty good this morning. Well, as Bruce said last night, we never did get hammered, just a little drunk, and we shared only two marijuana joints.
Anyway, Bruce is in the bathroom doing his morning routine while I'm still in bed thinking about how we only fucked once last night, and yet it was still a wonderfully intimate night. There was plenty of delicious oral sex, and we made out a lot, plus walking with our arms around one another and dancing together as well. Yeah, it was a boyfriend date-night kind of thing; that's what last night was.
Then there was the totally unexpected bombshell when nineteen-year-old Bruce admitted he'll actually be twenty-two in a few days. I didn't see that coming, especially considering he doesn't look old enough to be nineteen, never mind twenty-two. And, while I know it's silly, I'm a little bit disappointed he's in his twenties... I kinda liked that at my ripe old age of twenty-eight, I had a teenage trophy boyfriend. In my mind, he's worthy of trophy status, anyway.
Aside from that, he played the boyfriend role so well last night. Sure, he mocks the idea we're boyfriends, but our relationship is in new territory now. Ten days ago, we were entrenched in the mentor/recruit bullshit, planning on fooling Richard. That's a far cry from the date-night we had last night. While my screw-up with the on/off button of the video blew our plans up, it has worked out well for me, although Bruce had to pay the price for my screw-up. I'd like to think I can make it up to him... if he lets me.
Jesus, though, when I think about how different things are today from ten days ago, it feels surreal. Not counting puppy-love as a thirteen or fourteen-year-old, being in love with Bruce is new to me. As far as Ronny goes, he was my best friend, and I admired and thought of him as my idol, but never for one second did I ever give a thought to being in love with him.
Interrupting my thoughts, the bathroom door opens, and I look over, seeing steam from his shower follow Bruce out the door as he says, "Get up, Zach." Smirking, I'm like, "Um, did you mean to say... good morning?" He smirks back at me, "Um, oh yeah, good morning. I'm not used to being with anyone this early in the day." I go, "Why'd you take a shower? We took one eight hours ago."
He smiles, "Because I like to start the day with a shower. You need to get up and, at least, brush your teeth; then I'm going to give you a good hard fucking to get your day off to a rousing start." Smirking again, I mutter, "Uh-huh, and if I don't want a good hard fucking?" He goes, "HA! That'll be the day. Get moving, or you'll be getting a good hard spanking instead."
Sliding out of bed, I snort out a laugh, then mumble, "Well, since you put it that way." Omigod, he's standing there naked, and that body of his makes shivers zip all around my nuts. I'm naked, too, and as I pad past him, obviously, he can't resist giving my bare ass a hard slap, saying, "You're a sexy motherfucker, ain't ya?" I yelp and grin at him, my hand going back to my smacked ass.
It's mindboggling how this is turning out better than my fantasies while doing the idiotic training with Bruce. I dreamed of us being normal boyfriends without any pussy boy involvement, and here we are!
Walking out of the bathroom, I see Bruce sitting naked at the desk, texting. He's been doing a lot of texting, and I wonder who he's texting? Walking up behind him, I put my hands on his shoulders, then lean down and kiss the side of his face, asking, "Who are you texting? You said you don't have any friends." He goes, "Not that's it's any of your business; I'm texting contacts I made in Philly asking about job possibilities. Some of them give me suggestions of who else to text." I go, "Contacts? More secrets, huh?"
Putting his cell phone down, he gets up and holds his dick out, muttering, "Never mind that, my penis has been waiting for you." Yum! I go, "Right away, boss." I drop to my knees and take it from Bruce's fingers, then slowly stroke his perfect cock a few times before licking the head and tasting bath gel. Dammit, I wanted to taste Bruce.
Used to disappointment, I lick his dick all over while Bruse does his usual rubbing back through my bristly hair with the back of his fingers, mumbling, "Last night was fun, huh?" Nodding in agreement, I lick up the shaft of his pinkish/white perfectly formed cock and then lick his balls. I need to slow down because I'm too anxious, jumping around too much. Settling down, I concentrate on his balls, slowly and deliciously lapping them, lifting them with my tongue feeling his nuts move a little in their nicely rounded scrotum sack.
I think again that whoever had the hairless pussy boy idea is a genius. Licking, kissing, and sucking in this area is much more doable and enjoyable without hair getting between my tongue and Bruce's skin. Yeah, I love Bruce's pure skin. I'm missing the taste of it this morning, but it feels awesome against my tongue, just the same. Umm, yeah! I go back to licking his scrotum, moving his nuts around while his nicely-shaped mushroom head slides across my forehead, already leaking a bit of precum.
He's grunting and rubbing my head energetically now as growing sensations ripple off his private parts getting his dick really hard while my cock firms up along with Bruce's. His balls are dripping with my spit, so I go back to licking up and down his hard cock, then the head goes into my mouth, and I suck on it as both of us simultaneously moan, "Mmmm..." Bruce's head, the one on his shoulders, goes back, and his tongue slides across his bow-shaped pinkish-colored lips, then he quietly moans again, "Mmmm," and shivers a little.
It occurs to me that his cock got hard quickly, indicating Bruce is horned up this morning. Ha, nothing better than a horned-up Bruce from my perspective. Taking the head of his cock from my mouth, I go back to licking the shaft that's now incredibly hard. My tongue is way out as I start at his nuts licking up to the head, then do it again and again, until Bruce says, "That's brilliant cocksucking, Zach. That's good, that's enough. Get on all fours now." Yeah, I was right; he's as anxious as I am.
On my hands and knees, I push up my ass and feel Bruce's finger pushing KY Jelly inside me; then, a big glob is left on my asshole. He grips my hips, his right hand slippery with lube, smearing it on my side. Then, bang, pain flashes like a supernova explosion way out there among a bunch of cold white stars in the blackness of outer space, and his cock is in past my sphincter, bursting open my tight anus lips, then continue going seven inches inside me. Bruce leans against my buttocks, moaning a breathy, "Oooh, ahh."
I screeched a little at the abrupt entry but kept my ass up for my dominant top, and he humps against it, groaning, "Ooh," as he rubs his hands up and down my sides. The pain lingers, but I'm dealing with it as if I'm loving on it, which fools my brain into a confused bumbling state until the pain abates.
Bruce's cock feels twice as large in my ass as I know it to be, but one of my favorite things is being totally filled up back there, especially when it's that important part of Bruce's body, his favorite part, actually, filling me up.
It's hard to explain how incredibly arousing being filled up so solidly back there with Bruce's cock is. Someone who isn't seriously into their sex partner won't understand how sex with Bruce is different from casual sex with a pickup sex partner or even with a casual sex-buddy enjoying a random sex act. Buddy sex is great, too, don't get me wrong, but this sex with Bruce is way better than that because of how much I'm into him.
Bruce's long hard cock begins sliding tightly and steadily back and forth in my rectum with the lips of my anus tenaciously gripping the relatively slow-moving boner's shaft, and shortly it begins feeling so good my mind goes blank. Bruce is doing a luscious deliberate type of fucking that may go on for quite a while, and I have zero problems with that. The problem is I believe Bruce won't be able to keep up this slower steady thrusting for very long. He'll start feeling it, feeling sensations building in his nuts, sensations accumulating, piling up until his climax will start taking notice and begin gathering power for a huge orgasm, which will get Bruce thrusting harder and harder and faster and faster, trying to outrun his climax or, more likely, collide with it.
And that's exactly what happens. After three or four minutes of ecstasy as his long cock lazily impregnates deeply into my bowels, feeling so sexy with spectacular sensations blooming and bursting in my ass, my own cock a steel rod, so hard it doesn't move at all as I sway to and fro with each deliberate, steady moving of Bruce's long hard boner, the mushroom head plowing deliciously inside me. It has me moaning like a cow who needs to be milked, and then, as I predicted, Bruce begins to speed up his thrusting.
He starts making grunting noises picking up the pace, and the familiar slapping sounds start with the sounds getting closer and closer together the faster he thrusts his long rod inside my rectum, each thrust faster and harder than the one before it until I'm sliding a little forward on my hand and knees with each thrust. Here it comes, my climax doesn't sneak up on me this time; it bursts on the scene screaming insults with Bruce is against my buttocks, groaning as his climax explodes, filling me up with high-octane semen.
Holy Christ, I felt Bruce's hard stream of cum splashing off my bowels. Still, on my hands and knees, my back arches as I gasp, trying to breathe, and then squeal like an Eskimo as cum erupts in a burning straight line of creamy whiteness. Up from the depths of my balls, it comes roaring into the world out my iron pipeline, splashing gooily under my chin, then drooling down onto my neck. I shudder like a dog coming out of a pond shaking the water off, my cum flicking away like water drops off the dog's hair or fur, depending on the breed.
Intense sizzling vibrations from my cock feel fantastic, plus my rectum is still putting out pleasure sensations that travel up my back. It's a tornado of pleasure for five or six seconds, and then the winding down after-effect has me shaking a little until finally, all is calm, and I return from the cosmos feeling spectacular. I'm also a bit weak because climaxing takes energy and burns calories too. Whew, let's do it again.
After filling me with his jism, Bruce sat back on the desk chair, his cock getting limp with some cum about to drool off the head. He's nodding his head at me, smirking, proud of himself. He pulls a Kleenex from its square box and goes, "You better get it quickly, or I'll wipe it up with this tissue?" Shrugging and snorting out a chuckle, I walk over on my hands and knees, and like the dog, I referenced earlier, I lick the cum off the head of his dick. He goes, "You do recall this pecker of mine was very recently up your ass, right?" I go, "Of course, but any time I get to lick your dick, do you think I'll pass up the chance?" He goes, "Of course not. What was I thinking?"
Contented, he asks, "How was that latest anal sex act that I almost busted a nut doing for you?" Standing, I go, "Quite nice. Actually, one of my balls tried to get out along with the cum when I blew my hot load, which, by the way, hit my chin. But other than that, yeah, it was quite nice." He passes me the Kleenex, snickering and mumbling, "Yes, I couldn't help but notice the cum there all the hell over your chin and neck."
Wiping at the cum with the tissue, I go, "And your cum is coming out of my ass too, which is, of course, understandable. This cum on my chin is an anomaly, though. It's a result from that damn doggy position you insist I get in for my morning fucking."
Bruce gets up and heads for the bathroom, saying, "You're hard to please. Get cleaned up, and then we'll get something to eat, after which we'll do nothing all day except hang out on the beach. Whaddaya say to that?" I say, "Count me in." He goes, "Roger that." Ha!
After a light breakfast of orange juice, an English muffin, and two cups of coffees, both of us getting the same thing, I drive Bruce to an ATM where he withdraws a hundred dollars. We stop at a convenience store, and Bruce buys a pack of Marlboro red, sunblock, and Juicy Fruit gum in the big yellow pack of eighteen sticks. He pays, and as we're walking out, hands me the small plastic bag with the three items, mumbling, "Hold onto this stuff for when we need it."
Back at the suite, I go, "Tonight is our last night here at the hotel." Bruce says, "Oh, I thought it was two more. Okay, then, I guess we won't be on the beach all day after all. Later this afternoon, we need to go over and get the beds' situation taken care of with the new mattress toppers and sheets and put away that stuff from Target, turn on the air conditioner, and check whatever else." I nod, "Okay, we'd have to do it sooner or later anyway." Bruce mutters, "Doing it sooner means we won't need to do it later," and he gets earpods for his Apple phone from a bunch of things he had in a plastic bag he used as an improvised satchel when we moved his personal shit from his apartment.
Putting the earpods in his pocket, he says, "I subscribe to iTunes on my phone." Huh, the more I know him, the more like a regular guy he seems to be, um, except few people are as bossy or as confident as Bruce. He goes, "I don't like a lot of the shit music they play on the radio nowadays. I like earlier rock and rollers like Tom Petty, Bruce Springsteen, Counting Crows, and artists like that." I go, "Yeah? I know who they are, although none of them are early rock and rollers, like you said. Early ones are like Chuck Berry or, um, Elvis and..." He mutters, "Yeah, yeah, the stone age rock and roll. By the way, my dear old alcoholic mom named be after Bruce Springsteen." I'm like, "No shit? That's more original than being named after an egomaniac father as I was."
We walk to the beach without Bruce putting his arm around the back of my neck as he did last night. Stopping at the rental booth to rent chairs, I give the grumpy kid a big smile, asking, "How are you doing this morning, bright eyes?" His eyebrows come together as he frowns, looking up from a paperback book he's reading. I go, "Jeez, I probably won't see you as often now that we're moving out of the hotel." He frowns harder, asking, "You gonna rent anything, or what?" I go, "Uh-huh, sunshine, two chairs, and did my young buddies rent an umbrella earlier?"
Bruce grabs two beach chairs as the kid says to me, "Since I don't keep track of your young buddies, I couldn't say." I'm like, "How old are you?" He mutters, "Seventeen, why... do you want to molest me?" Bruce goes, "Stop teasing the kid, Zach, and pay for the chairs." To the kid, I go, "We'll rent an umbrella too."
He gives me a withering look as I pay, then the kid hefts an umbrella on his shoulder, and with Bruce carrying the two chairs, I lead the way trudging through the sand to where I know Lee and Cowboy usually set up their shit, but they're not here yet.
Still smiling, I say to the kid, "What do you think, Mr. Personality? Is this a good spot?" Without commenting, the grumpy kid screws the umbrella into the sand, doing a good job of it. I give him ten bucks, and he stalks off without a word." Bruce takes a chair and opens it, sits down, and says, "That's primo pussy boy material right there, although he's a little too young. Ideally, you want to get them a few months before their eighteenth birthday, train them for longer than the normal six-week period, as an investment, and then, on their eighteenth birthday, put them on the street."
I sit down, saying, "That's disgusting, Bruce. I don't know how you can think like that. Plus, the kid has the personality of a junkyard dog, a major chip on his shoulder, and he's arrogant beyond belief." He goes, "Yeah, but you want a tough kid to start. The mentoring process for underage kids is long, and they buckle under pretty quickly and become as loyal to their mentor as a dog is to its master. You should know that." I snort out a laugh, and Bruce holds his hand out, saying, "Let me have a smoke, then in twenty minutes, we'll spread the sunblock on each other." I go, "Yes, bossy," and he says, "And move your 'effing chair over next to mine, jeez! Can't you remember anything?"
We both laugh at that, thinking back to my pussy boy training days. Then, I have a little grin on my face because I actually felt my recruit's submissiveness for a second there, and it caused a tingling in my balls and shivers up my back.
He snickers, muttering, "As it turned out, you, not that grumpy beach kid, are the perfect recruit for the pussy boys. Um, I mean if you weren't a $200,000 a year trust fund baby." Pulling my chair over to Bruce, he goes, "I say that because I think for a second there, you felt as if we were back in training. Didn't you?" I shrug, "Don't be stupid; I'm just an agreeable guy who likes sitting close to his leader." He snickers again and says, "How 'bout that cigarette?"
Pulling the wrapper off the Marlboro box, I give Bruce a cigarette, take one for myself, and light 'em up with my cheap Bic lighter. Bruce mutters, "Thanks," and then says, "I know it sounded cruel what I outlined for recruiting that beachboy, but for some, like me, it's a better alternative to what we had going for us. He's not anywhere nearly low enough on the economic scale to agree to do the pussy boy training, though. Although, obviously, some boys are more than willing to do it."
Taking a drag and exhaling, I mumble, "Whatever... I'm glad you're out of that shit storm, Bruce." He goes, "So am I, actually. It's a smarmy business, but I was into it so far, ya know, what better option did I have?"
Later, we take turns spreading the sunblock on each other, then sit out in the sun for an hour. Bruce says, "You're getting red, Zach; let's not overdo it." We move under the umbrella, and he gets some iTunes going on his cell phone. He gives me one of the earpods to listen to his choice of music. I recognize Tom Petty singing a song and remember Lee talking about a super cool friend who, when smoking pot, said something about learning to fly, but he had no wings, and coming down was the hardest thing. Even I knew that was lyrics to a Tom Petty song.
I take a chance and say to Bruce, "Learning to Fly, huh? That's a great song," not that I was at all sure that's the title, but Bruce nods his head and goes, "Yeah, awesome song. This is Tom Petty's greatest hits album." Nodding, I mutter, "Oh."
Listening with one earpod, you don't get the whole version of the music, but it's nice of Bruce to share. He's not getting the whole musical spectrum either. The album goes on for like an hour, and when Cowboy and Lee come down the beach carrying their rented beach chairs, I take advantage of the opportunity to take the earpod out. I'd heard enough a while ago but didn't want to seem ungrateful or hurt Bruce's feelings. Now there's a good reason for me to stop listening. It's not that I didn't like all six hundred of Tom Petty's greatest hits; it's just that I want to give a proper greeting to Cowboy.
Cowboy, as always, hugs me as a greeting. Then he goes, "Do we sleep in the apartment tonight, Zach? Lee's anxious to see it." I'm like, "One more night in the hotel." Lee sets his chair up, then sets up Cowboys right next to it, and says, "I'm anxious to sleep in one of the twin beds." Cowboy grabs Lee and lifts him off the ground as they both giggle and struggle, then Cowboy puts his lips on Lee's ear, saying, "We're sharing a little twin bed, you dick-head, that why we want to sleep in the apartment."
Those two act like fourteen-year-olds, but I envy them. They're both on the same page relationship-wise. And, Jesus, I never had that much energy as a nineteen-year-old or a six-year-old for that matter. They're always in constant motion, bursting in the door of the suite or, like now, wrestling or whatever. I'm getting seriously concerned about how they're going to handle splitting up when they go to different universities in less than two months. They obviously aren't even thinking about that now.
And, yeah, I need to remind myself that Lee's responsible for Cowboy cutting his lady's hairdo down to a short guy's haircut. I want to buy something for Lee before he goes off to college as a thank you for that.
The guys stop their grab assing and sit down as Cowboy asks, "How ya doing, Bruce. What are you listening to, dude?" Oh shit, it'd be great if Cowboy could hear Petty's song about learning to fly. He and Lee still think that kid was super clever. Well, forget that... they're now running down to jump in the ocean. Bruce says, "I never had that much energy, did you?" I mumble, "No, they're like fourteen-year-old boys. I was just thinking the same thing about their energy." Bruce goes, "It's almost one o'clock; how about we get something for lunch."
I look back up the beach to the boardwalk, saying, "The easiest thing is pizza from that pizza joint on the boardwalk." He gets up, saying, "I'll get us a couple of pizzas, but I'll need help carrying sodas back." I go, "Great! Oh, the boys only like plain cheese pizza, by the way. And, um, you can see if the surly beachboy will help you with the sodas." He laughs out loud, then says, "Get your ass out of that chair!"
As we're walking up the beach to the boardwalk, it occurs to me how Cowboy's and Lee's relationship is like Bruce's and mine. Their relationship, in some ways, is a mirror image with Cowboy's playing Bruce's position and me in Lee's. Huh, let me think about that some more. Yeah, hmm, what a weird coincidence that is. There is a big difference, though. As I alluded to earlier, Cowboy and Lee are on the same page in their relationship, while Bruce and I see things differently in ours.
The boys join us for the pizza lunch on the beach; then Bruce wants to walk on the beach. He doesn't hold my hand or put his arm around my neck or waist, so obviously, he needs to be slightly drunk and high on pot to do that. I glance at him feeling funny in my belly, or maybe it's my balls that feel funny. Okay, so he isn't nineteen. Twenty-two isn't a helluva lot older, and yet I look up to him; I admire him. So, yeah, he's Ronny's replacement, with benefits. The sexual component is huge, obviously, and probably majorly distorting the leader thing. Without a sexual interest in Bruce, his chances of getting me to do what he says would be seriously problematic.
That's a moot point, though, as I have a huge sexual interest in him. Finally, Bruce does put his arm across my shoulders, saying, "I just thought that it's borderline incomprehensible how, almost overnight, my life has completely turned around. It's you who made it all happen. And, for the most part, the changes are all better than my life before meeting you. Even as a recruit, you bolstered my self-image tremendously by the way you knuckled under and did what I told you. Christ, I started thinking I was the best mentor ever, but I now realize you being the best recruit ever made me look good. Your willingness to participate was more responsible for the success we had than anything I did."
As we walk, his side rubs against mine, his arm snug across my shoulders, and it feels special being with an attractive young man walking together like this. I say, "Well, yeah, but I was mesmerized by you, Bruce. That's why I did everything you said. I've already told you I did all that nutty insane shit to be with you." He mutters, "Yeah, I believe you, and because you feel that way, it sort of equals out my loss of self-esteem that I'm not the best mentor ever." I go, "No, you were a great mentor!" He says brightly, "Only because you had a wicked crush on me." I'm like, "It's a lot more than a crush, Bruce."
We walk silently for a while, then he looks at me, asking, "What do you see in me, anyway? I'm not fishing for compliments here; I'd sincerely like to know. I mean, nobody else ever thought I was anything special." I go, "Well, you're very attractive, and I'm hung up on your sexy body, hung up on it like a motherfucker! It's more than that, though." He snorts, saying, "I'm average looking, and my body is skinny. What the fuck are you talking about? I'm a realist... I know what I look like."
I'm like, "It's all in the eye of the beholder. What you see as average and skinny, I see you like a cute motherfucker with a sexy slim body who is only nineteen. And, yeah, I now know you're twenty-two, but it doesn't matter; twenty-two is still young. "
More walking, then he asks, "Are you playing a game with me?" I say, "If I am, I don't know what the game is. Well, there's the sub/dom component that's partially a game, but it's one I played with vigor back in my prep school days. I got my rocks off being submissive to my dominant gay classmates. We had a good time with that, but how I feel about you, being in love with you isn't a game. It's like, um, everything is intertwined somehow. Hell, I can't explain it even to myself. As you like to say, it is what it is."
He squeezes my shoulders, chuckling and saying, "You haven't cleared up a fucking thing for me!" I go, "As soon as I figure it out myself, I'll be sure to let you know." He mutters, "Thanks, I'll be interested to hear it."
We go back to sit under the umbrella, then take a swim, and a little before three o'clock, we head to the hotel to shower, change into shorts and T-shirts, then drive to our apartment. It's hot as hell in the apartment. It's been empty and without air conditioning for three weeks. Bruce figures out the air conditioning system and gets it chugging along, but it'll take half a day to get the temperature in here into the seventies. Bruce mutters, "This is why I wanted to come today. Get the place livable when we move in tomorrow." I mutter, "Oh."
We spend thirty minutes making up the beds, putting the other stuff in the bathrooms or closet, and then walking through the place, testing that we have hot water and that the stove and refrigerator are working... it's all good. Sweat dripping off his forehead, Bruce nods his head, saying, "This is a nice place we got ourselves, Zach. Convenient location too. Did you see the ACME grocery store in that CVS strip mall on the way over here?" I nod, "Yeah, it's less than a mile from here, and there's a local bar in the strip mall too. Wicked convenient."
He starts closing the blinds in the living room to help cool the place down, saying, "You, Cowboy, and I will throw in fifty bucks apiece and go grocery shopping tomorrow." I'm like, "Then another twenty bucks each for beer and booze." He goes, "Ha. We better make it forty bucks apiece for booze which means I gotta stop at the ATM again... and I gotta get a fucking job!"
Not wanting to go there again, I mumble, "So, are we all done here?" Bruce grins, "Not quite; we gotta christen this place. Do you have a condom on you?" I go, "Is the Pope Catholic?" He smirks, "I knew you'd have one. Get undressed 'cause I like to fuck you when your hot body is naked, you macho motherfucker." I go, "You're sweet to notice." He goes, "A macho submissive motherfucker no less. Isn't that one of those oxymoron thingies?" Pulling my T-shirt off, I mumble, "I believe it is, yes."
Bruce wanders around, pulling the blinds' string, closing more of the blinds, this time in our bedroom, saying, "C'mon in here." Stepping out of my shorts, I carry them with me, and in the bedroom, Bruce says, "These blinds are handy; we won't need curtains." I'm like, "Uh-huh," curtains being the furthest thing from my mind.
He gets naked, too, which isn't a bad idea because, according to the thermostat, it's eighty-nine degrees in here, and it feels hotter than that to me. We both have sweat on our faces and bodies... it's muggy and stifling hot.
When we're as naked as the day we were born, Bruce says, "Hold onto the condom," and he gets behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and wiggling his hips, rubbing his cock against my ass, mumbling, "Your buttocks lost almost all the bruising, so I guess mine will too in another few days."
I mutter, "Hopefully." His hot body enthralls me. His chest against my back, his arms around me, his legs touching the back of mine, and our mingling perspiration smelling like bath gel from the shower we took an hour ago... it's sexy as hell, it's arousing too, and my dick noticed and is firming up already.
I think I'd get aroused by Bruce if we were playing checkers together. I take a deep breath when I feel Bruce's cock getting firm against my buttocks. He murmurs, "I thought Eli turned me on, but he's in second place now. Christ, though, I thought you were a sexy stud when I was mentoring you, but this bogus boyfriend shit is apparently affecting me, that plus your body. You're getting to me. You like my shinny body while I go for your manly, macho one." I go, "Thanks," and he goes, "Heh-heh, I might need to stand you in a corner, your nose touching, for getting in my head like this. It's very un-mentor-like to fall for a recruit."
The back of my head is on his shoulder as I savor those words but don't say anything. If I say something, he might amend the sentiment, and as backhanded as it already was, I'll take it as a positive. Bruce mumbles, "Jesus, I'm sweating like a racehorse. Open the condom wrapper, and pass the condom to me. I'll fuck you standing as we are. It's actually a good way to screw, plus you were whining about doggy style, so..."
Ignoring that, I'm ripping open the packet, my fingers getting lube on them. Then, passing the condom back to Bruce, he takes his arms from around me and, I assume, rolls the condom on his partial boner. Bruce goes, "Yeah, that feels good," and then an earthquake rocks my world when he rams in his cock inside me. Oh fuck, my anus is screaming with outrage and pain. I involuntarily screech out and try leaning forward, but Bruce mutters, "Oh, no, you don't," and hold my back against his chest, forcing his cock, all seven inches of it, up my ass fast. He's tight against my butt cheeks in one second.
It hurts; of course, it does. Yes, but not as bad as it used to, not at all. Plus, I've been using Cowboy's concept of embracing the pain. Doing it lately without needing to even think about it, I just do it. The yell I let out couldn't be helped as it's an involuntary reaction. Bruce goes, "This feels so good, but Christ, I'm slippery with sweat. Sweaty sex is hot, don't ya think?" Our sex is still not the least bit romantic to Bruce. To him, it's about lust having sex with a sex buddy, but that will change... I hope. If it doesn't, this is still fabulous as far as I'm concerned.
With Bruce's seven inches of hard penis inside me and his arms tightly around my waist, we're connected as much as two humans can be. Crazily, it reminds me of a woodworking class in prep school. We were being taught how to use dowel joinery instead of screws when connecting parts of furniture. Glue is brushed on the dowel, then it's pounded into the hole in the corresponding part of the furniture, and they're permanently secured together. With Bruce and me, there are a couple of obvious differences, such as instead of glue, we're using lubricant, and we are using a screw, also known as fucking, but nothing about Bruce's dowel is permanently in my hole, also known as a rectum.
That nonsense flashed through my brain in a millisecond, replaced by my brain's confusion as to why I'm pretended to like the pain coming from my stretched anus. Bruce's body feels slippery against my back as we both are dripping with perspiration, then he moves only his hips, pulling his dowel tightly back and then just as tightly slides it back in, and I go, "Oooh. Ummm," and quickly the pain, like Elvis, has left the building.
Still holding me around the waist, my hands on each of Bruce's wrists, we're like statues with the only moving parts, the hydraulic machinery of Bruce's hips, driving the steel rod of his penis in my rectum. Only two moving parts, and yet it's a fantastic working machine. His hips steadily pushing and pulling his long dowel of a cock back and forth in my ass until he's opened me up to his satisfaction, and now it's much quicker thrusting... and that's a party starter. Grunts from Bruce, slapping sounds coming off my buttocks with moans of sexual pleasure from me at each thrust... waves of sexual pleasure swarm over me until they're all I can think or care about.
Sweat rolls off my face in this sauna of an apartment, sweat from Bruce dripping on the back of my neck, and "Slap, slap, slap," sounds of Bruce slapping into my sweaty butt cheeks with his sweaty groin as his hips drive his hard long mushroom-headed cock back and forth in my rectum stimulating nerve endings around my asshole and all over my prostate creating a pounding pleasure that's ringing out audibly in my brain like the bells of Saint Mary calling worshipers to Mass or Big Ben gonging out the time. Pleasure, like pain, can make a person unsure of what's going on, although when it's pleasure, the person doesn't care what's going on; they only care about this sex, and they don't want it to end.
Grunting, sweating, Bruce never stops moving his hips while squeezing me so tightly against his back I can barely breathe, his hard long boner creating in me the most intense pleasure I know of which will soon be outdone by the climax that's building at an alarming rate until, Holy Shit, it explodes from my own wooden dowel of a cock sticking straight out from my hairless body, shooting my creamy seed out into the humid hot, heavy air. It's a long string of cum sizzling out my sensitive piss slit as I squeal like a pig who's been stuck in the ass with a pitchfork.
I'm shaking in Bruce's arms so much, and we're so sweaty, his condom-coated boner comes completely out of my ass, and he climaxes with his cock humping up my ass crack. Bruce is gasping, laughing, mumbling, "That was different." I'm stroking my cock, still shaking a little, sweating like a motherfucker. Taking deep breaths, I let go of my cock and turn around as Bruce says, "Consider this place christened. Jesus H Christ, that was hot sex!"
My shoulders shake as the after-effects of my orgasm zip around my still quivering dick. I go, "Wow, yeah, that was hot. Sorry, I jerked around so much your dick came out." He shrugs, "I still shot a wad of cum into this condom. I gotta say, though, I've never known anyone who has climaxes as violent as yours. Good God, you shake and shudder like mad." Making a face, I mutter, "Oh, yeah? I never noticed."
Actually, now that I think about it, yeah, Cowboy enjoys his climaxes, but he doesn't shake, rattle, and roll the way I do. It's partially because Bruce is doing the fucking, and I'm in love with him, but I've also had some similar reactions from random pussy boys who I've paid to fuck me. You know what? Maybe I'm extraordinarily affected by climaxing as a freak of nature, although I don't see that as a negative at all.
In fact, I feel sorry for those who have lesser climaxes. I'm like, "Do you think it's freaky of me to shake like a motherfucker while climaxing?" Bruce, pulling off the condom, goes, "No, I'm jealous. I'd like to experience climaxes like yours." He holds the condom out to me, and I look at it for a second, then go, "Flush it yourself, boss," and use tissues from a box of Kleenex we recently bought at Target to wipe lubricant off my butt cheeks and around my asshole.
Bruce goes, "You'll end up standing in a corner with that attitude." I smirk at him and walk into the bathroom alongside him. When he flushes the condom, I drop the tissues in there too, saying, "I'm rebelling against all your bossiness." Wiping his forearm across his forehead, sweat rolling off, he goes, "Don't do that. Where's the fun in that?" Nodding, I go, "I'm just fucking with you."
Bruce turns on the sink spigots, and we use newly bought washcloths to wipe ourselves down, with Bruce muttering, "It be easier to jump into the shower." I go, "We need a shower curtain. You forgot that, plus when we step out, after a shower into this sauna, we'll start sweating again." He nods, "Yeah, let's get the fuck outta here." We get dressed, feeling sticky and damp.
Outside it's hot too, but there's a breeze, and it's not as stuffy as it was in the confines of the apartment. The top is down on the BMW, so the air, although hot, feels cooling as our sweat evaporates.
Then, what a relief stepping into the cool air-conditioned suite. Bruce gets us a couple of beers, and the cold beer hits the spot. He says, "I'm going to sound like a nerd saying this, but these past couple of days have been, um, I don't know... it's like I never did fun stuff the way you and I have the last few days. Extemporaneous fun is brand new to me. The freedom, the wherewithal to just have fun, is refreshing, and, um, it's fucking intoxicating. I feel guilty for some reason... like I'm stealing or something."
Man, the things some of us take for granted. I go, "You're the one who makes it fun, Bruce." He makes a face, "Don't patronize me, Zach. That's bullshit." I go, "We both make it fun, okay?" He mumbles, "Yeah, sure."
I probably shouldn't say this, but I do anyway. "This is way off-topic, Bruce, but if you don't mind me mentioning this, it's something I've been wondering about." He shrugs, "What is it?" I go, "Um, well, it's your vocabulary. It doesn't seem like that of a tenth-grade dropout. What's up with that?" He goes, "What? Well, I'm not stupid, even though I know I can be goofy at times. I got my GED last year online, so I graduated high school, sort of. Plus, I read a lot. Ya know, before this past week or so, I had a lot of free time on my hands. I wasn't gone out with friends drinking and partying. I didn't know anyone to do that with, so I read shit online. Lots of fascinating things you can learn online."
Christ, that's sad. I mean, the part about him not having anyone, any friends to do anything with, that part. And, I don't want to delve into that any further, so I nod and mutter, "I can see that you're smart, and I've never patronized you, Bruce. Don't be so sensitize." He goes, "Fuck it. I'm not used to anyone being in love with me or doing nice shit for me. I don't know how to react sometimes, so sue me." He's a tad defensive...
We drink more of our beers, then walk out onto the balcony to have another one of Bruce's cigarettes. Bruce asks me questions about my life as a Navy Seal." I try mentioning some good aspects of my experience along with the not-so-good, and he finally mutters, "Count me out of that Navy Seal shit. I'd struggle with the ass-kissing to all those guys ahead of you." I go, "It's not ass-kissing. It's respecting rank, um, whether they deserve it or not, mostly not, unfortunately."
Then we're back talking about my three-week pussy boy experience and how he can't get over me putting myself through all that training just to spend time with him. He's like, "That blows my mind more than almost anything I can think of. That's some random shit right there. I can't fucking believe it." Shrugging, I say, "That's because no one has ever infatuated you the way you infatuated me. And, we've been over this before, ya know."
He grins, "Yeah, I know, but I like hearing how fabulous you think I am. A badass twenty-eight-year-old macho ex-Navy Seal like you swooning over a guy you thought was a nineteen-year-old skinny high school dropout with no options in life." I mumble, "You're not skinny, but, actually, I was a bit embarrassed about it myself at first. It was hard on my ego, but the heart rules, maybe more even than the penis."
He goes, "Tell me again about all my awesome qualities that you are in love with." I mutter, "Fuck you. You wouldn't understand." He laughs and rubs my head, saying, "Hey, it's not that I don't like you a lot too. I've got emotions, you know. Maybe I don't fall in love with every guy I have sex with, but I've got feelings." I'm like, "Will you stop breaking my balls. I told you several times that this is totally new to me too. I've never felt the way I do about you with anybody else before in my adult life, so..."
He goes, "Now who's being too sensitive? I was just pulling your chain. Hey, seriously, I'm wicked flattered you feel that way about me." I shrug, "Yeah, well," and he grins, adding, "Of course, I'm not at all surprised you'd fall head over heels for me. You were used to blowing and getting fucked by older hairy guys, so when you ran into me... bang! you're in love." Shaking my head, chuckling, I go, "Guys, more around my age, not old guys as you inferred." He smirks, mumbling, "I can't even envision submissive you being a top." I go, "Do you realize I could toss you over this balcony without breathing hard?" He steps next to me and puts his arm around the back of my neck, murmuring, "But you won't, will you?" I lean against him, "It's not likely, no."
Now that we're comfortable breaking one another's balls, it's obvious we're bonding, and there's no way around it. Bruce may not realize it yet, but he doesn't have a chance.
The next day, I settle up with the hotel, paying for all the beers and liquor we drank from the convenience frig, then we pile out luggage in the BMW, and, with Cowboy and Lee following on Lee's cool motorbike, Bruce and I drive to our new digs. I can't recall ever feeling happier than I do right now.
When we open the door, the apartment is pleasantly cool because the air-conditioning system did its job. It takes two trips to unload everything, then Lee and Cowboy wander around admiring the place, saying it's a pretty sweet apartment. Even with four of us in here, it still feels roomy, and best of all, everything here is fairly new and in good shape. It's nothing like the dumpy apartment Bruce lived in for over a year.
After perusing the entire apartment, with a smirk on his face, Cowboy pulls Lee with him, and while closing his bedroom door, mumbles, "See you, boys, later." I can only imagine what he and Lee are doing in there.
I realize my focus has been mostly on Bruce the past month or more, so I take a second to marvel at how adaptive Cowboy is and how independent he can be. When it was just him and me, Cowboy depended on me making all the decisions, but when I got occupied by Bruce, Cowboy easily switched to making all the decisions, or most of them anyway, for him and Lee. He's kept in touch with me, but not from need so much as he likes keeping in touch. We're wicked tight friends without me realizing it until recently.
Yeah, well, I know he sees me as a partial replacement for Ronny. That was expected, but I've come to realize I care about Cowboy more than I think Ronny ever did, and the same with Ronny and me, meaning I had a higher opinion of Ronny than he had for me. And I really need to stop these after-the-fact realizations of Ronny's faults, ones I never noticed when he was alive. I never noticed or didn't want to notice his shortcomings, narcissistic ones. I mean, what good does it do anyone now for me to reevaluate Ronny's and my friendship? And, I hope Cowboy isn't having any of these second thoughts about his brother.
Bruce and I go grocery shopping; the first time in my life grocery shopping, and I don't see any charm in it either. It's a pain in the ass with people pushing their shopping carts as if they're the only ones in the store. Luckily, Bruce has experience shopping and knows what we need for basics, and then we choose food for the next two dinners. He says, "This store is around the corner from the apartment, so we can pop in here every couple of days and buy what we feel like eating that night for dinner, ya know?" I nod, "Uh-huh," meanwhile, I'm thinking how much more convenient it is eating out. I hope Bruce gets a job soon so we can eat out without him feeling like a charity case.
Then, okay, later it's kinda fun preparing dinner with all four of us in each other's way. Bruce wanted roast beef, saying he hasn't had that in a long time. He goes, "Nobody buys a roast beef for one person."
So, we have roast beef with Bruce in charge of cooking it medium-rare. I do a salad, which is easy, except there's a lot of getting different ingredients out of the refrigerator, cutting them up, and then putting them back. So, that sucks, and I don't like the salad dressing Bruce chose from the store. It's got honey in it, and I've never been sure what honey actually is. Do bees shit it out, or what?
Cowboy and Lee make Lee's favorite vegetable, which is succotash. They cut the kernels off freshly picked corn on the cob and add frozen lima beans. With lots of butter and salt, that's a pretty good side dish. Bruce also did the potatoes, and the best thing he did was make beef gravy from the pan drippings. Mashed potatoes and gravy, how can you go wrong? At the table, Lee said, "This is like our Sunday dinners at home. This or roast chicken." Bruce said, "You're a lucky puppy, Lee."
So, we're a domestic household now, and I'm the only one missing the hotel life. The TV that comes with the apartment blows, so Cowboy buys a modest size TV, 32-inch screen, and an Xbox series X with Headsets and Vouchers, whatever the hell they are. I'm like, "Jesus, Cowboy, you're here for less than eight weeks. Bruce and I don't play that stuff." He goes, "I'll take it with me to Yale for my dorm room."
Yeah, why didn't I think of that? TVs are so slim and light you can take them anywhere, no problem. After dinner, we hang around a while, then do the same thing we did after dinner when we were in the hotel. It's less convenient from here, but the boys hit the boardwalk, and Bruce and I go to a bar. Not a gay bar, the bar in the strip mall 'cause we want to check it out. There is no pool table and no music, so we drink beer without shots tonight and talk about the past five days. Bruce doesn't want to discuss what went on in the funhouse, but he's very interested in what he calls my rescue mission. He was under the influence of drugs at the time, so it's very fuzzy to him.
I seriously downplay my involvement with the pervert, Frederick Straton, only admitting I had to let him fuck me to gain his trust. No need to mention all the other hideousness; it would only make Bruce feel bad. Other than that, I'm as accurate as I can be about what I remember of that night. Saying it out loud, the so-called rescue doesn't seem very special, and it actually wasn't. Not one of the pussy boys wanted to try stopping me, and only one guy from the security team tried to by pulling the taser on me. I couldn't see letting him use that, so I did the least damage on the spur of the moment I could think of to prevent it by kicking in his knee. Yeah, I probably used a little more force than was necessary, but I was in a hurry.
So, Bruce and I finally talked about those things, and then that's that. Leaving the bar with only a slight buzz on, we get back to the apartment just as the guys are coming in. We all get in our bedrooms before one o'clock.
After Bruce and I are done in the bathroom, we get in our new bed naked, as usual, and he fucks me slowly for fifteen minutes before I make an embarrassing screech at the amazing climax Bruce took his time fucking out of me. It was the close to romantic sex again. Bruce says, "That was probably your idea of boyfriend romantic sex. It's the closest I can come to it anyway, and it's to say thank you for all you've helped me with."
I'm lying against his side now, his arm over me, the way we always sleep. We've slept this way since the absurd so-called body familiarity exercise during my absurd so-called pussy boy training. The manual claimed it was to get recruits comfortable with strangers' bodies on the street. It's idiotic to start with, and even more so because after the first day, Bruce's body was no longer a stranger's body, and yet we did it for three weeks while napping or even sitting together. I never complained for the obvious reason that I couldn't get enough of Bruce's hot body. Perhaps other recruits didn't have similar feelings for their mentor, but that doesn't alter the fact that the exercise is still beyond stupid.
Whatever, that's neither here nor there now, and when Bruce said he was thanking me doing what he called boyfriend sex, I was like, "Perhaps you've forgotten we've done it romantically before. And, are you saying you don't like it?" He goes, "No, I'm not saying that at all. Go to sleep."
After two similar fun days in the apartment, I admit it is better than hotel living. We had a suite, but its living room wasn't as big as the apartment's living room. We have a kitchen here with beers in the refrigerator that don't cost eight dollars each, plus the apartment refrigerator is six times bigger than our suite's refrigerator. This one is stocked with fresh deli lunch meats and cheeses, grapes and apples, and whatever else Bruce picked up during our grocery shopping trip. It's like any time I feel like it; I can get a snack from the refrigerator or pantry without giving anyone a twenty-dollar tip.
It's also handy for eating lunch anytime we feel like doing that, plus packing a lunch to take to the beach in the cooler Lee brought from home. No, Bruce and I aren't having more sex in the apartment than we had in the hotel, but we aren't having any less either. And, yeah, we need to make our bed each morning, but I made my bed in the Navy, so it's not like I don't know how to do it. Liking doing it is another thing, however. Bruce said he'd make the bed every morning since I don't like doing it, but I need to change the linens, the sheets once or twice a week, or as frequently as necessary, meaning when I cum all over them.
On the beach, the third day of apartment living, Cowboy goes, "The Fourth Of July is coming up, so we need a grill." I'm like, "Huh? What for?" He goes, "For grilling hamburgers and hot dogs, and barbecued baby back ribs. That's what we always had on the Fourth." Lee goes, "Or you can all come to my house on the Fourth." Bruce makes a harrumph sound, and I go, "I'll get a grill this afternoon."
Bruce has investigated several job openings, but they all turned out to be for minimum wage, and he told me last night, "Fuck, Zach, that's barely enough take-home pay to cover my share of groceries each week. I gotta do better than that to pay for my share of the apartment too." Whatever I say about the money situation, he takes it the wrong way, so I merely mumbled, "It's only been a few days; something will turn up." I can't imagine what that would be, but what else could I say?
Showering after the beach, Cowboy and I drive to Target and buy a one burner grille that will fit okay on the balcony along with the propane tank. For an extra seventy-five bucks, they'll put the grille together, fill the propane tank, and deliver it tomorrow to the apartment. I jump at that, glad it's Cowboy who's with me because Bruce would be conscious of the extra cost. Cowboy simply nodded his head, muttering, "Obviously, we'll do that," when the salesman suggested it.
Cowboy goes, "It's hard to admit, but we need an 'effing vacuum cleaner for the place too, although it'll be embarrassing using it." I go, "Fuck that. No, not the vacuum cleaner, fuck us using it. I'll get a weekly maid service." Cowboy goes, "Jeez, yeah. What was I thinking?" Then when Cowboy stumbles over a cooler display, we buy our own cooler too.
Lee rode his motorbike home after the day at the beach, but he's coming back here for dinner because it's Bruce's birthday. We're going out to dinner, and for the first time in a while, I got reservations at a swanky restaurant... the pricey Morton's Steak House. Bruce, I could tell, didn't want to ruin my best intentions, so he didn't bitch about the cost. I told him it's a fucking birthday dinner, and the birthday boy doesn't chip in for it for his own birthday dinner. Bruce said this was his first birthday dinner ever, so he didn't know the rules.
While we're at Target, as a gag gift, sort of, I buy Bruce a thin leather wallet because that's what he said he wanted. Cowboy wants to buy him a swimsuit because the one Bruce wears has seen better days, then Cowboy can't decide between two swimsuits, so he buys both and has them gift wrapped. I stick two hundred dollar bills in the wallet and have it gift wrapped too. We put the boxed vacuum clean in the backseat along with the cooler; Cowboy has the birthday presents in a bag in the front seat, then we drive to CVS and buy joke birthday cards. The one I buy infers the birthday person lies about his age.
So, that's the most I'm guessing Bruce will accept gracefully, and off we go back to the apartment. I lug the big box containing the vacuum cleaner up to the apartment on the second floor, which is also the top floor of this apartment building, and into our apartment, where I stick it in a closet to use in case of emergency or for cleaning people to use. Cowboy has the bag with Bruce's birthday presents and the cooler. He puts the presents behind the sofa and the cooler on the balcony.
We grab a beer each from the refrigerator as Cowboy says, "That was a successful trip, bro," and we tap our beer bottle together and go out on the balcony to drink our beers and have a cigarette. Cowboy exhales some cigarette smoke and says, "This is all so cool, Zach. I wanna come here during my breaks at Yale. Is that alright with you?" I go, "It's more than alright with me, Bud, but your father will put out a hit on me if you don't go home for those breaks." He chuckles, "He doesn't know any hitmen. Lee and I will be getting the same, approximately the same breaks from college, and he'll be here, so..."
Oh, brother, his parents used to love me, but that's coming to an end. I go, "New York is two hours away, Cowboy. You can be here and see your folks there too." He nods, "Yeah, I planned on taking Lee with me to visit them, but here is where I mostly want to be." I'm not getting involved in that... I'm an innocent bystander.
Bruce comes out on the balcony wearing only boxer shorts; his short hair still wet from the shower. His body is whitish-pink, except for the tan parts not covered by his T-shirt. He's slim, but with that nice natural, God-given definition on his chest and, hell, all the right places, I need to force myself not to stare at him. He cheerily says, "Hey, guys, wassup?" I go, "We got the grille. It'll be delivered tomorrow. Are you ready for a juicy birthday steak dinner?" He goes, "I'm looking forward to it, but, um, not to be a total geek, what's everyone wearing to Morton's? It's way upscale, and from my limited steak house experiences, which are nonexistent, I'm not sure if shorts, or khakis, or what the fuck is appropriate to wear."
Cowboy shrugs, "This is the Jersey shore, bro; wear whatever you want." I go, "That's pretty much it, Bruce. I'm wearing shorts and a polo pullover." Then I grin at him, adding, "Of course, the shorts and shirt will be sparkling clean, plus I'll iron the hell out of them, so they look sharp." Bruce snickers, mumbling, "Oh, okay. While you're at it, iron something for me. It's my 'effing birthday." I go, "Absolutely, I'll be happy to."
Cowboy bumps Bruce's arm and goes, "So, how old are you now, dude? Officially, I mean." Bruce says, "I'm twenty-two today; why?" Shaking his head, Cowboy mumbles, "I don't know why but I had it in my head you were nineteen yesterday. Didn't you tell me he was nineteen, Zach?"
Finishing my beer, I go, "If I did, I was mistaken." Cowboy goes, "I can't wait to be officially twenty-one. Nobody can tell me shit then." I go, "Ha! That's where you're wrong. Ya, never get old enough that there aren't people in one capacity or another who can still tell you shit. There are laws and protocols and limitations and words you can't say and busybodies and taxes and codes of conduct and passports, and a thousand other limitations on what you can and can not do, but at age twenty one you can legally get an alcoholic beverage unless you're in a country where alcohol is banned, or a random bartender decides you've had too much to drink, in which case you can't a drink either." Cowboy makes a face and goes, "Well, I'm all psyched up about twenty-one now, bro. And, unless someone tells me I can't, I'm going to take a shower."
Bruce snickers as Cowboy goes off to take his shower. I put my arm around Bruce's waist, give him a squeezes, looking at his cute face, asking, "Did I say happy birthday to you yet?" He goes, "If you mean in the last half-hour, no." Chuckling, I go, "Well, then, happy birthday!"
He says, "I'm so not used to this. It's embarrassing, Zach." Shrugging, giving him another squeeze, I murmur, "Seriously, Bruce, I can't express adequately how happy I am that you're here." He says, "I'm grateful, but Zach, I don't like feeling obligated, and that's how I feel because you've done so much for me. It's such an awkward position to be in, one I've never been in before. I can't think of any other time in my life when I felt obligated to anyone."
I'm like, "Look, I know your life has been wildly different than mine, and I don't pretend to know how difficult it's been, but what I do know is that you're not obligated to me in any way, shape, or form. You don't owe me anything. I did what I did, and I'm doing what I'm doing for me first, and you second. I want you with me, and I'll try to accommodate your wishes and do as much to keep you with me as I can, but for my selfish reason of being in love with you. Actually, it's me who's obligated to you because you're at least testing the waters, so to speak, to see if you can get comfortable enough that you'll stay with me. If tomorrow or next week or whenever you decide this isn't for you and you leave, I'll say thanks for hanging around as long as you did and wish you well. Then, I'll miss you like a motherfucker, but that's on me, not you."
He goes, "Are you saying it's a free trial offer with no obligations to buy?" I go, "Exactly! Just like trying out a new mattress for thirty days. If you don't get a good night's sleep on it, get your money back at the door."
Bruce nods, "Well, you drive a hard bargain, but okay, I'll do the no obligation free trial offer." I mutter, "There ya go," and Bruce says, "If only it were that simple. I sound like such an ingrate complaining about feeling obligated when I've never felt more appreciative in my life. Nothing in my life comes remotely close to you being generous, considerate, and just plain nice. Don't you see my problem, though? What if I don't ever have the love in my heart that you say you have for me, and yet I continue accepting your generosity. Isn't that just an elaborate extension of my past whoring life, the life you're trying to save me from?"
Taking a deep breath, I calmly say, "First of all, I haven't given you diddly. I loaned you a third of the rent for the first month, and you've promised to pay it back. So what the fuck do you feel obligated about?" He scrunches up his face, thinking, "I don't know, exactly. Um, maybe it's what I know you'd like to do for me. That sounds stupid, but I already told you ten times that I don't know what to say or how to act in this new circumstance... new to me, anyway. You guys being, um, nice to me and," he waves his hand to indicate the apartment or everything in general, I suppose, adding, "This existence of being in sort of a family atmosphere, or some damn thing. It's wonderful and totally alien to me at the same time."
I say, "I've gotta take a shower, but before that, can you tell me one thing that you and I do together that you'd rather not do, but you feel obligated to do it anyway?" Without hesitating, he goes, "You know better than that. It'd be more appropriate for you to ask yourself that."
Nodding, I go, "And that's because, all joking aside, you're the leader. You and I do what you want, right?" He wrinkles his nose, thinking about that, then mumbles, "I see your point. We've sort of carried over our mentor/recruit positions to civilian life, more or less." I'm like, "Yep, and we're both comfortable with that, plus we already agreed I haven't financially enhanced you and, therefore, you have nothing to feel obligated about. I rest my case, your honor."
He goes, "Fuck logic, I still feel indebted and grateful to you, and to a lesser degree to Cowboy and even Lee." I go, "That's only because you're just now getting used to us being your friends. You're more than a friend to me, but you're a friend too." Bruce goes, "You've got my fucking head spinning, Zach, but this was a damn good talk, huh?" Nodding, I'm like, "I think it was. I know I feel better." He laughs and says, "I do too--that thing about friends, though. You're right; that's what's confusing me. I need to learn how to be a friend and accept you guys as friends. That shouldn't be all that hard."
I go, "Just be yourself, and if that's not good enough for someone, it will be for another person. Sometimes, opposites attract people, and sometimes people prefer people who think, look, and act as they do. Sometimes it's a combination. Mostly, I'm guessing about all that, though. I didn't do a good job of making friends myself. I put all my eggs in one basket, and that basket got killed. The only good thing I did was to try not to make enemies. I formed many nice acquaintances along the way, and now I'm working on being a friend to Cowboy, Lee, and you."
He mumbles, "You're pretty good at it too. Now here are my bossy instructions for you, iron something for me to wear tonight to my birthday dinner, then take your shower." Grinning at him, I go, "Yes, Bruce," and that's what I do.
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.
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