Summer of Sex with Cowboy

MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY

Chapter 28

by Donny Mumford

Waking up on the Fourth of July, I see Bruce is up before me again, and, as he's done most morning, he's showering even though we showered last night. Hmm, his excessive showering is probably a result of those years on the street when he wanted to shower but couldn't. I can't imagine how horrific living on the street must have been for him.

Hell, Bruce can take as many showers as he wants. That's not a problem, but what is concerning is the fact he hasn't totally put away his pussy boy dreams yet; not really. I'm consciously trying to stop saying 'yes, Bruce' because it references mentor/trainee days. I mean, it's almost three weeks since we were a mentor/recruit team, and, obviously, the further we can get away from that, the better.

He's coming around little by little, but there's a ton of things in his past for him to overcome, almost certainly too much to overcome without professional help. He thought he was mere inches away from being a successful pimp, not that he'd call himself that. They euphemistically call themselves their prostitutes 'main man.'

Bruce walks out of the bathroom naked, still rubbing his hair with a towel. He smiles his very nice smile, saying, "Hey, Zach, good morning. See, I remembered to say good morning." Grinning back at him, I mutter, "Good morning, Bruce. It's the Fourth of July." Putting the towel in the hamper, he goes, "Yeah, I know. Get out of bed." See, he's still in a mentor frame of mind. I go, "No, I don't feel like doing that right now."

Startled, he frowns and says, "You're staying in bed?" Okay, we're taking baby steps here. I said, 'no' initially, so that's a start. I slide out of bed, "No, I'm not staying in bed, but i's not necessary for you to tell me to get up. I can figure that out for myself." He mutters, "What the fuck?" I go into the bathroom to take a piss, wash up, and then brush my teeth.

After doing that, I'm feeling odd, wondering what Bruce will do about me saying 'no' to him. Here goes... I step back in the bedroom and see Bruce holding the container of KY Jelly. He says, "Lube yourself up, and we'll have a good hard Fourth of July fuck to get today started with a bang." Hmm, well, I'll be damned.

Trying not to grin, but grinning anyway, I take the lube from him and almost say 'yes, Bruce' but don't; I don't say anything. As I reach behind me, pushing lube up and around my asshole, Bruce asks, "What's with you this morning?"

My finger is inside my rectum, rubbing lube on my smooth prostate gland as I say, "Nothing. Whaddaya mean?" He makes a face, and I go, "Well, I'm breaking with traditional pussy boy recruit sayings and actions because, um..." He shakes his head, saying, "No, that's not what you're doing. You're not keeping your side of the bargain as my submissive boyfriend. It has nothing to do with the old pussy boy crap. We're done with that."

Oh, Bruce telling me to get out of bed was a bossy boyfriend command. Well, this complicates matters, doesn't it? Nodding, feeling properly chastised, I go, "Oh, I misunderstood." He comes over and puts a hand on each side of my shoulders, looks me in the eyes, and says, "You told me you were fine with me being the bossy boyfriend, didn't you?"

I've sort of frozen in place, my finger still in my ass. Familiar submissiveness vibes are circling in my head; I go, "Oh, well yeah, you're the bossy boyfriend. No problem." He shrugs, "So, what's up with you this morning?" Feeling like a little kid, I snort out a nervous laugh and say, "I'm out of bed, so..." He grins, "Yeah, I noticed..." and, his hands still on my shoulders, he leans in, and we kiss, his tongue sliding on mine. It's a ten-second kiss with a moan slipping from my throat, "Mmmm, umm..."

Our lips make a wet smacking sound coming apart, and then, with me in a stupor, Bruce deliberately licks across my lips, then my chin. Lifting his face away, he murmurs, "Okay?" I nod, dumbfounded, then nod again, murmuring, "Uh-huh." He reaches behind me, pulling my finger out of my ass, mumbling, "Turn around."

In a trance, I turn around, and Bruce rubs the mushroom head of his seven-inch cock across my buttocks, then he does it again. Finally, he puts an arm around my waist, and I feel the head of his cock pushing at my anus.

When it goes in, it hurts but not much, and with both arms around my waist now, he slowly pushes his long boner up inside me until he's pressing his crotch tightly, very tightly against my buttocks. I go, "Oooh," and he humps against my buttock, rubs the side of his face against mine, and murmurs, "I think I've finally persuaded your asshole that my cock is a friend. No scream from you this time, huh, Zach?"

Lulling the back of my head on his shoulder, my cock like petrified wood, I murmur, "I'm sorry about this morning, Bruce." He goes, "That's alright. Just don't make a habit of it."

Ooh, this feels so good! His entire boner tightly inside me feels so perfect; he sways us side to side a little as my cock gets harder and harder until it slowly pulls away from my belly to stick straight out throbbing and drooling precum. I close my eyes and quietly moan, "Umm, ooh, umm..." Nothing could feel better than this. And then it gets better...

Bruce, the side of his face still against mine, moves his hips back, pulling his cock out; it's tightly sliding across my prostate, making me shiver in his arms. When Bruce pushes his impressive long hard boner all the way back in, I shiver again, almost climaxing. He murmurs, "This is nice, huh?" and his hips move back and then forward steadily and again and again as I moan, "Ooh, Bruce... oh, ooh, oooh!"

Bruce thrusts faster and faster, harder and harder, as I squirm in his arms, his boner feeling so hard and so long, stimulating millions of nerve endings inside me. I feel like I'm floating in his arms until I squeal, "Bruuuce, aaah..." cum shooting out my petrified cock, shooting out in a straight line of shimmering creamy white, then it all of a sudden drops to the hardwood floor while I shudder with pleasure so intense my mind can hardly grasp it. Then the after-effects have me shivering and moaning quietly, then a shoulder shudder, and it's over. Wow, that was really, really hot!

Moving his head from the side of my face, Bruce pounds his cock in my ass, slam, slam, slam, and then he's tight against me, grunting and filling me up. Another hump against my buttocks, and Bruce moans, "Aaah, ooh," and pulls his cock out; then he spanks my ass five times hard with his hand. I stay still until he's done and then reach back to rub my spanked ass thinking about the times I've questioned Cowboy about him being too old to be spanked... and he's nine years younger than me.

Bruce mumbles, "Just a couple of love taps, Zach. Clean up and get dressed." Rubbing my ass again, I automatically start to say yes, Bruce, but stop myself and say, "OW!" instead. He mutters, "Oh, come on, that didn't hurt." We both clean up in the bathroom, and then, as I'm getting underwear from the bureau, Bruce says, "What's the plan for today, Zach?" I shrug, rubbing my butt cheeks again, then pulling on jockey shorts, saying, "It's the Fourth, so we'll grill some hamburgers and baby back spare ribs, I guess. And, well, I don't know what else; I've never had to do this before."

He's pulling on a pair of shorts, mumbling, "We need something more for a cookout than that, don't ya think?" I go, "Well, beer, yeah." He goes, "We're a fucked up pair, alright. I've never done domestic stuff because I've never had the friends or family to do it with, and you've been too spoiled ever to need to do it yourself."

I pull a polo shirt over my head as Bruce puts on the T-shirt Lee gave him, then I'm like, "I'll Google to see what's normally included for a Fourth of July cookout. Huh, I remember coleslaw and, um, potato salad at other cookouts I've been to. Frankly, until now, I never thought too much about it." Oh man, I'm still quivering at lingering sensations from that unexpected fuck. Bruce was so cool about it.

I sit at the desk, Bruce looking over my shoulder, as I Google 'foods to have on a 4th of July cookout'. There are suggestions for about fifty salads, none of which appeals to us. Then watermelon, and I go, "Oh, yeah, watermelon always seems to show up at the Fourth celebrations I've been to." He mutters, "I don't think I've ever actually eaten watermelon." I shrug, saying, "What I recall most about the Fourth of July is getting hammered. What the fuck, though? Let's buy a watermelon and put it on ice." Bruce asks, "Do you know how to make coleslaw or any of those other dishes?" I laugh, "Are you shitting me? I don't have a clue. How about if we go to that deli next to the strip mall." Bruce goes, "Great idea!"

On the way to the deli, we stop at a Dunkin' shop for coffee and donuts, eating and drinking them right there in the shop. Bruce goes, "So, you were feeling rebellious this morning, huh?" Swallowing a mouthful of chocolate iced donut, I shrug, "Only about the old pussy boy shit. As you said, we're done with that. In my head, I thought you were treating me like your recruit. I didn't automatically switch over to being the submissive boyfriend."

He laughs, spitting out some glazed donut fragments, saying, "Oh," and then chuckling, I go, "What?" and he says, "It just sounded funny, that's all. I only wanted you to get up so we could, you know." Nodding, I mumble, "I really liked how you did it this morning, Bruce. You're, um... I've never known anyone who makes me feel the way you do. I really like, I don't know," and I snort out a laugh, adding, "You're my man, Bruce, that's about it." He shrugs, "So, next time, get out of bed when I tell you to, okay?" He grins, adding, "I'm trying not to be so bossy, but I'm conflicted because I think you prefer the bossy me."

I nod, "Oh, yeah? I think you're right... sort of right. We're in a transition zone." He finishes his first glazed donut and picks up his other one, mumbling, "Well, I should have mentioned why I wanted you to get out of bed. I'm working on not being a total asshole. It's a work in progress." I go, "Mostly, I like you as the bossy boyfriend, though." He snickers, "Yeah, that's fun for me too, but how will you be able to differentiate between the two. I mean, how can you tell if I'm the bossy mentor or the bossy boyfriend?" Shrugging, I mutter, "I don't know. Do you think other fifteen-year-old boyfriends have this problem?" He goes, "That'd be hard to imagine, don't ya think?" I nod, "Uh-huh," and then laugh because we're so fucked up... but I love it!

Bruce is chuckling too; then he mutters what I just thought, "We're a couple of fucked up fifteen-year-olds, alright." Bruce is loosening up a little more every day. This is very encouraging. Then Bruce sees a 'help wanted' sign near the pickup window and says, "Look at that, Zack. They need help here. Maybe..." and he gets up, going over to talk with a man who could be the boss. I'll bet they pay minimum wage, though, which is no help.

Bruce comes back, sits down, drinks some coffee, then says, "It's ten bucks an hour, but that guy isn't the franchise owner. And it's only a part-time job working twenty hours a week. Meaning two hundred bucks minus withholding. Fuck that! I could barely pay my third of the rent. Dammit!"

I finish my second donut and mutter, "Too bad," and he mutters, "If it were forty hours a week, I'd take it until I could find something better." I go, "You'll find something better, Bruce, but let's concentrate on the Fourth of July shit today. Don't think about getting a job right now, okay?"

Rubbing his face, he mutters, "Yeah, okay, but it is frustrating." Jesus, wait till a potential employer ask Bruce what he's been doing since graduating high school, which he didn't do in a normal fashion anyway. If he'd just lighten up for a couple of months, I'll get Cowboy in college, and then Bruce and I can decide on a business I'll finance and work with him. He's so stubborn, though.

We finish our coffees and drive to the deli, which has everything we need, meaning potato salad and coleslaw, but not the watermelon. For the hell of it, I get a quart of pasta salad, too, although I won't have any of it. Cold pasta, seriously?

We drive back to the apartment to refrigerate the salads, drive randomly on back roads into egg harbor and other towns I'm unfamiliar with. It's a beautiful day with unusually low humidity for the shore. Ya know, with the top down, it's enjoyable simply driving around looking for a farm stand. Bruce appears relaxed and contented, although quiet.

Finally, I ask, "What are you thinking about, Bruce?" He goes, "Nothing much, but since you asked, I guess mostly I'm beginning to realize it's actually possible to enjoy doing, um, nothing. I mean, we're riding around looking for a fucking watermelon. It's almost surreal compared to the tension I previously assumed everyone felt all the time. Life without tension, that's a concept I hadn't considered."

I can't think of anything appropriate to say to that, so I hold out Bruce's pack of Marlboro that he insists I carry, mumbling, "Cigarette?" He takes two, lights them up, and gives me one, muttering, "Thanks, Zach." Bruce does a deep inhale of the cigarette smoke, and I mutter, "You did it again," and he points, saying, "That sign is about something called, McQuier's Farm Stand'." I nod, and at the crossroad, turn right as the sign's arrow indicated.

Two miles down a dirt road, we see a rather elaborate so-called farm stand. It's more like a farmer's market, although there are no watermelons. Bruce goes, "These assholes aren't selling watermelons, but let's buy some corn on the cob." I'm like, "Right! That should have been on fucking Google's list of foods for a cookout."

Bruce hops out and picks out a dozen ears of corn as I sit in the idling car. When he gets back to the car, he puts the bag of corn on the floor in the back and says, "I asked that old lady about watermelons, and she said why don't we buy one at the supermarket." I go, "Duh! I never thought of that," and Bruce chuckles, mumbling, "My excuse is I've never bought a watermelon in my life." I mutter, "We're the blind leading the blind with this shit."

Driving back to the main road, or at least it's a blacktop road, I realize we're lost. We're lost, but the car's GPS is something I know about, so I punch in the apartment's address, follow the lady's voice driving back to the apartment, and then drive a mile more to the supermarket. Yep, they have a big crate of watermelons, one of which I buy along with two bags of ice. I carry the watermelon, and Bruce humps twenty pounds of frozen water to the car, mumbling, "I never realized what a pain in the ass the Fourth of July is, um, before this year, I mean." I mutter, "Nah, I'm enjoying myself."

The ice and melon go in the back with the corn, and we go to the apartment. Bruce puts the ice in the cooler we bought a few days ago, but the watermelon is too big to fit in the cooler. Bruce goes, "Let's cut it up," and that's what we do, although it's easier said than done.

It's one o'clock by the time we're relaxing on the balcony drinking a beer and smoking. Cowboy sends me a text saying he and Lee will be over around four, adding, "I'll buy some corn on the cob. You probably didn't think of that." Ha! I text back that we indeed did think of that, plus we bought an 'effing watermelon that's on ice. Cowboy texts back that the Patrick's didn't think to get a watermelon!

After wondering who the fuck the Patricks were, I remember that's Lee's last name. Bruce and I are feeling smug until he goes, "What the fuck are we gonna cook the corn on the cobs in?" I make a face, muttering, "Fuck if I know, and we need to shuck them first, too. I'm positive about that. This blows!"

Sighing, Bruce says, "Pain in the ass, yes, but before we tackle that problem, let's eat something." I fire up the grill and undercook two hamburgers that Bruce says, with a mouthful of very rare hamburger, "This is 'effing delicious!" We have another burger and another beer, then drive back to the supermarket to walk up and down the aisles until we see a section with what the store calls lobster pots.

Carrying out a lobster pot, I'm like, "Maybe we should buy some lobsters." Bruce gives me a 'look' that makes me say, "Or, maybe not." In the car, the lobster pot in the back, Bruce says, "Fuck a whole bunch of lobsters, that is a corn on the cob pot." I mutter, "Roger that."

On the balcony drinking beer again, Bruce looks at me and says, "I don't know about you, and I know we're done with the pussy boy shit, but just the same, I can't help it if I got used to fucking you three times a day, so..." I'm like, "Me too, Bruce." We hop up from the balcony's outdoor chairs, both of us doing a nervous chuckle, perhaps feeling slightly perverted or at least a tad oversexed as we go into our bedroom and quickly strip out of our clothes.

Both of us naked, Bruce smacks my ass, saying, "There's probably enough lube in there from this morning, but put in some extra anyway. I'm addicted to doing you bareback now, skin against skin." I grab the KY Jelly container that's still on the bedside table from this morning's sex.

Bruce takes a deep breath, then goes, "Um, suck my cock first, then lube yourself up." Christ, this is so crazy because he took a shower before he fucked me this morning. He wiped his dick off afterward, so...

So what? I'm wicket aroused as if I hadn't had sex for a month. Dropping to my knees, my fingers shaky, I pick up his long penis and lick it from his balls to the mushroom head. Yes, I notice a slightly different feel on my tongue... a bit of the KY Jelly lingering on his cock, but no other taste. Licking up and down and all around his cock twice, and I'm down to Bruce's pure skin... no more lube.

Omigod, though, licking his cock after it was up my ass was a huge turn-on. My cock is wicked hard as I lick then down to his balls again and all over his scrotum, moving his nuts around until my tongue is way out and my head way back, and I'm just able, barely able to lick across Bruce's asshole while slipping into delicious submissiveness. Hugging my arms around Bruce's waist, I'm pressing my face between his legs, trying to lick his asshole again.

It's too difficult from the front, though, so I settle for licking under his scrotum and up it to the root of his now hard penis and up the shaft, my tongue dripping with saliva. When my tongue reaches the mushroom head again, I suck the head into my mouth, my tongue going crazy, licking all over it. Bruce pushes gently at my head, murmuring, "That's good, Ummm, that's good, Zach." His cock is now a steel rod dripping precum. I suck a few drools of his precum and reluctantly take his hard boner from my mouth, then lick the head one last time before letting go of it.

Still influenced somewhat by the three weeks of pussy boy training, I automatically drop to my hands and knees, doggy style, my ass pushed up for Bruce. He smacks my ass, "Smack! Smack! Smack!" then mounts me, his hard cock spreading my anus as wide as the mushroom head wants, then plowing it inside me all the way, all seven hard inches going up inside my body. I squeal out, "Ow!" but the hurt is insignificant, my asshole having learned, been taught by Bruce and his cock how to act. My rectum obediently spreads open for the dominant hard penis, and now both I and my asshole finally know our places, dominated properly by Bruce and his cock... and its perfection.

It didn't happen easily, though. Bruce has been working on it getting my rectum trained for almost six weeks now. Six weeks of fucking my ass with his long hard cock, and then, during my training, he used dildos when his cock was too sore. What a fabulous feeling it is being fucked with minimal pain of entry. Bruce told me when I was an early recruit that he'd train my asshole as well as me in time, but I didn't believe him on either count. How wrong I was! He's done both just as he said he would.

He's almost straddling my hips; that's how tight against my buttocks he is. I've lifted off my knees, pushing my ass up with my feet to get it at the proper height for Bruce. He humps against my buttocks, his full seven hard inches of cock fully inside me, totally dominating my rectum. It feels so good a whimper slips out of my throat, and Bruce slaps the side of my ass, "Stop that whimpering!" I push my ass up higher, going up on my toes. He murmurs, "Good, boy," and pulls his boner out almost all the way, teasing my anus that's gripping the head desperately, not wanting to let it go, then the rock hard cock slides awesomely back up inside me as I moan, "Oooh, oooh, Ummm, Bruce..."

He does it again as I tighten every muscle in my buttocks to keep his cock inside me. Bruce lets out a moan of pleasure and then begins fucking me steadily, and it's "Slap, slap, slap," sounds of Bruce slapping into my ass cheeks fucking me and continuing his quiet moaning sounds of sexual pleasure. I know from experience how fantastic this feels on his penis. Penises are totally stuffed full with nerve endings alive and dancing with every thrust up my tight ass.

Yes, I know that although my mind is on the nerve endings in my prostate and around my asshole sparkling with pleasure sensations so intense my eyes are watering. I'm shuddering all over with shivers and chills that reach levels of intensity I feel only when my top is Bruce. He brings out unbelievable and indescribable sexual pleasure in me, wave after wave of it, creating affection for him and gratefulness to him I've never felt before with anyone else. It's inexplicable in many ways, but there it is...

As usually happens, the second fuck of the day lasts deliciously longer than the first, and while I'm not sure how long Bruce fucked me this time, it will never be long enough. There is no sense trying to fight off orgasm, though, and while there is no greater pleasure than that, I wish it could hold off a little longer. It doesn't give a shit what I want, it comes on with a fierceness that won't be denied, and I hold my breath, my eyes wide open as it builds stunningly fast inside me, and then reality blacks out and, "AHHHH!" my climax blows, cum roaring up from my balls to streak out my super sensitive hard six-inch penis, cum gushing out into the light of day leaving me a quivering mass of sexual pleasure shaking and trembling at the force and magnificence of it. The cum streak sizzled by under my chin, gooey spray wetting my neck as I squeal with pleasure.

As I'm gasping and shuddering, Bruce's climax explodes, and he makes his breathy loud breathing sounds shaking a little, then thrusting in my cum-saturated rectum a few times before stepping back, pulling his cock out and shaking. Bruce takes another deep breath and gasps out, "Stay like that."

My ass is still held up high, and he spanks me hard with his hand. I don't move until he's done, then I reach back with one hand rubbing my burning, stinging buttocks as Bruce says, "The spanking is for dominant reinforcement, increasing the submissiveness I know you get off on. Yes, it's from the pussy boy manual, but that doesn't preclude it from being effective even though we're boyfriends now."

Standing, rubbing my buttocks with both hands now, I think again of Cowboy and how much he likes being spanked, and I'm starting to see his point. Bruce asks, "Am I right that spanking you after I've given you a hard fuck adds to your submissiveness?" Realizing he's right, I nod, and he goes, "Say it for me," and I go, "Yes, the spanking adds something sexy, Bruce, but I think anything you do, I'd say the same thing." He goes, "Wow, I was joking, just goofing around." Shrugging, I go, "Oh, whatever. I feel very submissive to you, so whatever you do, I'll think it's hot and sexy."

He murmurs, "Come here." When I step to him, he wraps me in his arms, and we kiss. Still hugging me, my arms caught under his arms, he whispers, "You're my favorite person ever, Zach. I've never been emotionally invested in anyone, even one-tenth as much I am in you. I started feeling this way at the beginning of your second week with me. I've been fighting it ever since until I just realized... why am I fighting it?"

I'm not sure what this means, except it sounds good, right? At the very least, it's one more step in the right direction. Letting go of me, he asks, "So, how was that fuck?" I snort out a laugh, mumbling, "Fantastic! You fuck me the best I've ever been fucked in my 'effing life," and realize I sound like Cowboy again. Swell...

We go in the bathroom, Bruce's cum drooling out my ass, to clean up. At the sink, Bruce asks, "Would spanking you go better before I fuck you or after? What do you think about that?" I'm still using toilet paper, wiping his cum off my butt cheeks. Shrugging, I go, "I think it's best that you decide since you're the dominant top."

Actually, I wanted to say before he fucks me, except that's what Cowboy insists on, and, for some reason, I kind of resent that I'm turning into Cowboy, especially when I made fun of him the first two months when he insisted I spank him. Now, I'm not sure if it's me wanting Bruce to spank me or if I want him to do it because he said he was doing it to heighten my submissiveness that he knows turns me on. What does it matter anyway? I mean, he's thinking of my sexual pleasure, right? I don't want to think it's because it reminds him of his mentoring days...

Cleaned up and dressed again, we're out on the balcony with another beer and smoking another cigarette. Bruce goes, "Wow, that was hot sex, Zach. I absolutely love fucking your ass, and, um, spanking it was kinda fun too." I nod, "That was the best sex imaginable, but, um, do you think we could switch once in a while, and I top you." He laughs out loud and then stops abruptly and goes, "Oh, you were serious?" I go, "Yeah, ya know, I was an exclusive top for almost five years, The last year at Yale and all during my Navy Seal years."

He takes a normal drag off his cigarette, and while exhaling, he shrugs and says, Be that as it may, no, we're not going to switch. It would complicate our budding relationship too much. Sorry, but no." Oh man, that made my dick twitch. No equivocation, just no, we're not doing that.

I stare at him, admiring him and trying to remember when was the last time I said a definitive 'no' as Bruce just did. This morning I said no to him, but it was far from definitive as I got right out of bed. I never said the word 'no,' during my pick-up days, but I'd reject inappropriate or undesirable potential bar pick-ups, which is sort of like saying no. And I may have said 'no' to something Cowboy wanted to do once or twice, but other than that, I can't recall saying 'no' very often. I'm not sure if that's a bad thing, but somehow it probably is.

Bruce chuckles and mutters, "You're staring at me again." I step over and mumble back at him, "I wouldn't assume to tell my dominant boyfriend what to do, but if you wanted to show a little affection to your always willing submissive bottom, you could put your arm around the back of my neck for a squeeze." He snickers, mumbling, "You mean, needy willing submissive bottom," and he puts his arm around the back of my neck, squeezing. I mumble, "Thanks," and he chuckles but leaves his arm there, asking, "How many beers have we had today?" I go, "Not many, three, I think."

We both flick our half-smoked cigarettes over the railing, and Bruce says, "I think it was four. C'mon, let's lie down; maybe we'll take a nap before the boys get here. I'm not used to afternoon drinking." In the bedroom, we strip to our underpants, pull the bedspread down, and lie the way we've done it since the first week of pussy boy training. Back then, I thought it was the oddest, most awkward thing ever. Now I don't think that at all. Bruce has one arm around me, with me partially lying on him. Today the side of my face is on his shoulder, my forehead against the side of his neck. I'd happily lie like this for two weeks straight if it were possible.

That insane pussy boy manual intends this position to emphasize the dominant/submissive positions for mentor/recruit... in that order. I've thought of it that way too, although of late, I think it could also be seen as the male/female positions for traditional straight couples. Ronny would throw up in his mouth if he knew about this. And, no, I don't feel female in any way, but I do like Bruce in the dominant role, so I'm good with him in the traditional male role.

After saying that, I can't fall asleep because Bruce has been the perfect dominant boyfriend today, and lying like this with him is too arousing, and, consequently, I have a throbbing boner. His scent and his body are all I can think about as I snuggle up tighter to him now that he's dozed off. I can't get enough of him, and being together twenty-four hours a day hasn't lessened that at all. If anything, my feelings for him have grown stronger than ever. Hell, I admit that I'd probably be his prostitute if he insisted it's the only way I could stay with him, which is a pretty good reason for me to make sure he likes how things are going without resorting to that.

Half laying on him, my left leg between his legs, my arm across his chest, his scent in my head, my throbbing boner against his nearest leg, I lightly rub the side of my face on his bare shoulder, wondering how in the hell I got myself in this situation while at the same time knowing I've never enjoyed myself as much as I'm enjoying being with Bruce in our nearly incomprehensible relationship that's further complicated by unrequited love.

Bruce only sleeps for a half-hour, and when his eyes open, he's grumpy, saying, "Christ, Zach, would you please give me a little breathing room here." I slide mostly off him as he adds, "I know you think you're in love but have some self-control." I can't think of anything to say. He makes a face; I think he's feeling bad about snapping at me like that. He looks at me and goes, "Sorry, um, it's okay, I just... well, let's get up." I'm still not saying anything, although I don't feel angry at all. It's just Bruce being Bruce.

He glances at my receding boner and looks up at me, and goes, "Ah, what the hell. We just did it, but do you want me to give you a quick fuck? I know we did it an hour ago, but, um..." I nod, "Sure," and he nods, muttering, "Okay, yeah." He turns me around, pulls down my underpants to catch them under my buttocks, rubs the mushroom head of his cock up and down my ass crack a few times, then pushes a finger in my asshole, making me go, "Oh!"

He mumbles, "Plenty of lube for a quickie, right Zach?" I nod, and his cock goes in past my sphincter muscles hurting a little but not much. His arms come around me, and he pulls me back onto his ever-hardening cock. It feels so wonderful I gasp and shudder. He murmurs, "Feels good for me too," and then he's tight against me, humping a few times to be sure he's fully impaling me. I go, "Ooh, ummmm, Bruce... aah, aah, it feels so good."

He gets right to it, his hips smoothly pounding his boner back and forth inside me, and I'm doing a constant, "Ah, aah, aaah," with sounds of his groin smacking against my buttocks in the background, slap, slap, slap. Bruce fucks me hot and furious, my hands gripping his wrists, the back of my head on his shoulder, my body almost flopping around for a good six or seven minutes of ecstasy before he lifts me off my feet with him arching his back as he's firing his cum into my bowels and my climax, at the same time, firing off cum in another arc and me almost passing out from the intense sensations of this unexpected bonus fuck.

We're both sweaty now as Bruce drops me, my feet hitting the floor, and it's a good thing he continues holding me around the waist because I feel weak after that climax of insane intensity and would fall over. He continues holding onto me, his cock still inside me as he breaths deeply, then murmurs, "Sorry I yelled at you." Letting go of me, he backs up, and I go, "Aaah," as he pulls his cock out, leaving my ass wide open and drooling wetness.

Bruce hands me the Kleenex box, mumbling, "Wipe your ass, and we'll take a quick shower together." Holy shit, I'm always going lay all over him if this is what happens after he bitches about it. I mumble, "Okay, Bruce." That's a little better than... yes, Bruce.

We shower together, but he doesn't bathe me this time. That unexpected fuck was marvelous, and I'm staring at him, again thinking he's my man. I think he's the coolest and hottest young man I've ever known or ever heard about from anybody. Nobody ever had a hotter boyfriend than Bruce... nobody!

He makes a face at me, and I go, "I know, I'm staring at you again, but I like looking at you." He nods, "I know, I know. Go ahead and stare if you want. I guess it's flattering, but I'm not sure because it could be you're simply nuts." I go, "Being in love is nuts; take my word for that." He wraps his arms around me, our bodies slick with soap, water pouring down on us as he says, "Hey, I'm working overtime trying my ass off to fall in love, so be patient. Maybe I'll go crazy too."

You can't make yourself fall in love or out of it, but his heart's in the right place. The fact he's showing empathy for my inexplicable love for him, inexplicable considering that training horseshit he put me through. Anyway, his empathy is one more step in the right direction as far as I'm concerned. But, God almighty, has anybody in the history of humanity ever been as deeply in love and as infatuated as I am with Bruce? I can't imagine anyone has...

Showered and dressed, Bruce asks, "What should we be doing for this 'effing Fourth cookout. Cowboy and Lee will be here soon." Shrugging, I go, "I don't think we need to do anything. We got the food, and Cowboy will know what and when to do whatever needs doing." Bruce mutters, "Bullshit," and I look at him as he adds, "Cowboy looks up to you. Don't let him down. Do something."

This sucks, but I see the corn on the cob and mumble, "Okay, fuck it. Help me take the leaves off the corn. It's called shucking. I think I heard that once." Bruce says, "I've never had a family or friends, so I have a valid excuse for not knowing shit about this stuff, but you've just been a lazy, self-absorbed dick. That's why you don't know how to do any of this shit."

How can I argue with that? I go, "Why are you so angry, Bruce? Help me shuck this corn." We sit down, pulling leaves off the corn on the cob and dropping the sharp leaves or whatever they're called in the kitchen trash receptacle. Bruce finally says, "I guess I sounded angry, but I didn't mean it to sound like that. You must admit though that you should know more about all this than you do, right?"

I go, "Yeah, except Ronny didn't like, um, family gatherings or whatever. So we'd go off and get high or drunk and show up late at functions. I never knew what went into, um, you know, preparing stuff for a cookout or someone's birthday party or whatever, a wedding or something. Everyone thought Ronny was so cool and smart, and they considered it special when he showed up late for any affair. They were just glad he showed up at all, always with me tagging along behind.

Bruce finishes stripping an ear of corn on the cod and drops it in the lobster pot, mumbling, "That's pathetic." I go, "And what you were doing wasn't pathetic?" He goes, "Yeah, I was pathetic too. Feel better?" I mutter, "You're in a mean mood, so I'm not going to say anything more." He goes, "Do you want me to put you in a corner?" I go, "Actually, I'd like that about now."

Bruce chuckles, mumbling, "Those were the good old days, huh?" Ripping off the last of the leaves or whatever they are from the ear of corn I've been struggling with, I drop it in the pot and say, "I forget what we're fighting about." He goes, "We're not fighting." I say, "I still love you." He goes, "I know, and you're still my favorite person of all time."

We don't say anything finishing shucking all twelve ears of corn. We look at each other, then Bruce says, "I liked doing that," and I say, "Too bad we didn't buy those pea pods at the farm stand. We could have, um, whatever it's called opening the pods to get the peas out." He says, "Do you want to drive back there and buy some?" I go, "Fuck no!" We both laugh, then get up as Bruce says, "Google the best way to, um, cook these ears of corn." We were on the balcony shucking the corn, so we go inside, and I say, "I'm almost positive you boil them, but I'll check."

At the desk, Bruce has his hands on my shoulders as I Goole corn on the cob and find many ways to prepare them, but we stick with boiling them. We'll eat them with butter and salt, as suggested in one blog. I get off the desk chair, and Bruce hugs me, saying, "I don't know why I continue acting like an asshole, Zach. You've been the best friend I've ever had. Thank you for putting up with me." He rubs my head, adding, "We're buying barber clippers tomorrow, and I'm giving you a haircut." See, he jumps from being sweet to that practical haircut horseshit, bing bang bing, just like that.

He lets go of me, and I say, "Well, Navy Seal guys shaved, basically shaved each other's heads, but I'm sure you don't want me doing that to you." He goes, "Christ, no. I'll go to my barber, but I'll be doing your haircuts from now on. I'll cut it how I want it to look."

Before I can respond to that, we hear Lee's motorbike roaring up. It really is almost a motorcycle except on the motorbike; for some reason, the driver's legs are bent and back instead of straight down. Of course, what I don't know about motorbikes is a lot.

Cowboy uses his key, letting him and Lee in, and they come bursting into the apartment arguing about who's turn it was to drive Lee's motorbike, but they're laughing too. Cowboy gives me a nice hug and a quick kiss, and then Lee does too, which takes me by surprise, same as it did the first time he did that two days ago. They hug Bruce minus the kiss, and Lee says, "Hey, guys, "cowboy and I saw a sign on a septic tank truck that said... yesterday's meals on wheels.

I go, "That's so gross," and Cowboy goes, "Yeah, it is." I notice both Lee and Cowboy have identical short military-type haircuts. Bruce notices too and asks, "There's a barbershop open on The Fourth of July?" I go, "Lee's father is a barber," and Cowboy mumbles, "I had no choice. When Mr. Patrick says Lee and I are getting haircuts, there's no arguing with him, right Lee?" Lee makes a face, mumbling, "Yeah, try living with that for nineteen years." Bruce says, "Hmm, maybe I'll send you to Mr. Patrick for haircuts, Zach." I go, "I was already at his barbershop, and once is enough."

Lee goes, "Dad cuts mostly military haircuts because his shop is across from the entrance to that prep school military academy." Pointing at his head, he adds, "This is the haircut I've had since I was like four years old. Arguing with dad is like when Software licensing agreements pop up on your computer. They're way too long to read, so you just click 'I agree.' That's what it's like when dad says it's haircut time."

Cowboy, popping the cap off a bottle of beer, goes, "Yep, that's the shit storm I got caught up in last night after dinner." Lee frowns, "Hey, it wasn't a shit storm," and Cowboy gets Lee in a headlock, muttering, "Yes, it was, and your old man made me go first." Lee wrestles free, laughing and saying, "Ha-ha, the look on Carson's face was awesome. As I said, there's no arguing with my dad." Cowboy snickers, "His old man showed me no mercy either."

I'm filling up the lobster pot, mumbling, "I've been there. Lee's dad is not what you'd call verbose. He points, and you sit in his barber chair and don't bother telling him the haircut you want. Waste of breath because you get the haircut he wants." Cowboy says, "You're not going to get the water boiling with the corn in the pot, are you?" I go, "I was, yeah. Why shouldn't I do that?" He says, "The corn will be tough. Bring the pot to a rolling boil, then drop in the corn and cook it for two-to-three minutes when it comes back to a boil. This is fresh corn and won't take long to be tender and sweet."

I'm like, "You sound like a corn on the cob salesman." Cowboy shrugs, "Just trying to help." Bruce asks, "When did you guys eat last?" Lee says, "My family and relatives started eating and drinking at noon, and they're still at it." Cowboy says, "We didn't eat much. I had two hot dogs. That was it." Lee goes, "Yeah, Carson was pouting because dad would let him drink beer. Haha, he had to have Cokes like me." Cowboy mutters, "I wasn't pouting, ya little nerd," and their closely cropped heads come together for a quick kiss. It's fascinating to me seeing these two interact with one another. Well, I've never seen two gay boys as boyfriends. In prep school, my gay buddies and I weren't boyfriends; we were fuck buddies.

Bruce asks, "So, do you guys wanna wait a couple of hours before we start the water boiling?" Cowboy goes, "Hell, I'll have a corn on the cob as soon as you cook it. In the meantime, Lee and I will get the baby back spare ribs going. They need slow cooking, and Lee says he makes a killer sweet-spicy barbecue sauce."

The lobster pot full of water is put on the stove over two burners, and I turn the burners on high, then get a couple of sticks of butter out to let it soften. Shrugging at Bruce, he goes, "Grab of a couple of beers, and I'll get the Jim Beam and shot glasses." Cowboy is cutting the thick plastic off the rack of spare ribs, saying, "Count me in on that shot and beer deal. I haven't been totally sober on the Fourth since I was fourteen, for christ's sake." Lee says, "I'll have one too," and Cowboy hugs him muttering, "I knew I could corrupt you."

Bruce is snickering, saying, "Lee, you don't want to start right off with a shot and a beer. Try just having a beer first." Cowboy holds his bottle of Bud out to Lee, who, grinning, takes it and swallows some. We're all watching him as he goes, "This obviously isn't the first time I tasted beer. Very few guys live nineteen years avoiding trying beer at least once, and it still tastes like shit." We chuckle as Cowboy goes, "But you're gonna drink it anyway, right?" Lee nods, "Yep, I'm getting hammered tonight, and maybe I'll do something special for Carson tonight too."

Cowboy goes, "Thank God, I was going to ask Bruce and Zach to take care of me if you didn't come across soon." Lee goes, "Well, I got my spanking technique perfected to your specifications, so I'm ready to go all the way. Um, that's if I can get my inhibitions under control with booze. I'm ready to party on your ass Carson." Cowboy is serious, saying, "This is a spectacular surprise Lee, when did you make up your mind?" Lee shrugs, "I almost did it last night, right?"

It now occurs to Cowboy that he and Lee are having a very personal conversation in front of Bruce and me. He snickers and says to Bruce and me, "We'll let you guys know how everything turns out, okay?" He gives Lee a 'look,' and Lee goes, "What the hell, Carson, it's no secret. Zach has known what we've been trying to do for weeks now." Then to me, he goes, "I was working up to it last night but shot off on his ass before I got it in, plus I was at home. I'm sleeping here tonight so tonight's the night I lose my cherry inside Carson. Heh, heh, and I'm ready too."

Bruce goes, "Well fuck, you're a courageous motherfucker, so you may as well go for the shot and beer too." He gets a fourth plastic-disposable shot glass out and puts it next to the three he already had out. Then pours four shots of bourbon. Cowboy pops the cap off a bottle of Bud and hands it to Lee. Grinning, three of us looking at Lee, we all pick up the shots; Bruce says, "Friends are the family you choose," and all four of us swallow the bourbon. Or, more accurately, three of us swallow the bourbon, and Lee tries but coughs it up all over the kitchen table, gasping with tears running down his face.

Cowboy mutters, "That went pretty well," and he pats Lee's back a few times hard. Lee stops choking and wiping at his eyes; he goes, "I'll clean this up." Cowboy hands him a roll of paper towels as we all try not to laugh out loud.

Lee's wiping the table and drinking his beer, mumbling, "That whiskey makes this beer almost taste good." Cowboy goes, "Ya know, when you think about it, a 'Do Not Touch' sign must be the scariest thing for someone blind to read in braille." Bruce and I look at each other, like, 'What the fuck?' I ask, "Did you just think of that, Cowboy?" He nods, "Yeah, I did. Weird thought, huh?"

Dumping a wad of paper towels in the trash, Lee goes, 'Speaking of weird things. There's a species of antelope capable of jumping higher than the average size house." Cowboy mutters, "Get the fuck outta here," and Lee goes, "It's possible due to its powerful hind legs, plus the fact an average size house can't jump at all." I go, "Brilliant, Lee. Ya got any more jokes?" He goes, "A man asks a waitress in a restaurant, 'Can I ask you about the menu please?' She says, 'The man I please is none of your business.'" I say, "I meant a joke we don't need to think too hard about."

Cowboy takes the rack of ribs that he's wrapped in aluminum foil to the grill, and we all follow him. He sets the heat level on low, saying, "These will be fall-off-the-bone-tender in two hours. Lee will make his spicy-sweet barbecue sauce, and you guys will love every bite." Bruce goes, "Two hours? It's after five now, and won't anyone want a hamburger before two hours?" I go, "Yeah, I will," and Cowboy goes, "We'll make them, don't worry. I turn up one of the grills to 'high' when we want hamburgers. Don't you guys know anything?" Bruce and I shrug, mumbling at the same time, "No, not really."

Lee only has that one beer before switching to Coke, and he doesn't try another shot of bourbon but Cowboy, Bruce, and I do. We have three shots and beers while smoking on the balcony and then stick with beers from then on.

At six o'clock, we all have two ears of corn each, and wow!... fabulous. Cowboy goes, "That fucking corn was picked this morning; you can tell fresh-picked corn from the old stuff in grocery stores. Nice job, Zach." I go, "It was actually Bruce's idea, and he thought of the lobster pot too." Cowboy hugs Bruce's shoulders, saying, "Zach isn't on yop of shit like corn on the cob, Bruce. Good of you to help him out." Bruce says, "A cookout on the Fourth without corn on the cob is unthinkable." He and I smirk at one another. I leave it at that.

We're getting drunk when we cook the burgers and put out the coleslaw, potato, and pasta salads. Lee and Cowboy eat all the cold pasta salad, ha! We're in the kitchen finishing up on our hamburgers and salad when the boys get into a discussion about love which Lee says, "Is an amalgam of pathology, rationalization, and fantasy. That's what love is." Cowboy says, "So, you're saying, in the extreme, being loved is more important than making love, right?" Bruce and I raise our eyebrows, looking at each other like, 'What the fuck?'

Later as Bruce and I are deciding what we'll do tomorrow, I hear Cowboy saying to Lee, "Ya know, that professor lives in a world of liberal-arts mumbo jumbo where the idea was an end in itself. Consideration of execution is dismissed with scorn." Bruce grins, shaking his head, then mumbles to me, "I guess we'll stay out of their discussion, huh?" I go, "That's probably best, yeah."

The ribs are indeed fall-off-the-bone-tender, and Lee makes a killer barbecue sauce too. By nine o'clock, we're all so full we couldn't eat another bite until Lee asks, "Where's the watermelon?" and Bruce goes, "Oh, fuck, yeah. I want to have some watermelon finally." Cowboy's incredulous that Bruce has never had watermelon, but I change the subject, so Bruce doesn't need to make up a reason for never having it before this.

We'd just cleaned up after eating the sticky ribs dripping with barbecue sauce, and after ten minutes slurping down watermelon with the juice running down our chins, we're all cleaning up again. Bruce goes, "That fucking iced-cold watermelon didn't disappoint." We go out on the balcony for a smoke while Cowboy and Lee make out on the sofa. Bruce asks, "Do you think Lee loses his cherry tonight?" I'm kinda drunk, saying, "I'm mostly concerned that I lose mine tonight." Bruce puts his arm around me, saying, "I'm pretty sure you would if you hadn't already lost it fifteen years ago."

I murmur, "Everything about you makes me crazy with desire for you." He smiles, "Thanks, Zach, and right back at you." I snuggle against him, mumbling, "I know that's not true, but thanks for saying it." He sighs and says, "Don't be so needy, Zach. We're doing great." I shrug, then kiss the side of his strangle cute face, and say, "I'm sorry, but I can't help myself. I love you so much it hurts. I can't wait to be in bed naked with you and your hot body tonight." He mutters, "Thanks, it makes me feel good that you can't wait, but you'll have to." I'll wait for you. If I fall behind, wait for me." He sighs again, muttering, "Sure, whatever that means."

Bruce isn't deeply romantic. I'm sure he feels I'm too deeply so as he changes the subject to practical matters, "Tomorrow, the first thing we take care of are our haircuts. Lee and Cowboy look really good with Lee's old man's haircutting. Do you want to go to him or have me do it?" I shrug, "His dad is a grumpy fuck, so I'd rather have you do it." He nods, muttering, "Done, boyfriend. I'll buy barber clippers tomorrow morning, and after giving you a haircut, we'll go to my barber for mine."

Shrugging again, I'm like, "Why are you so gung-ho about us having short haircuts? Is it a leftover thing from the pussy boys?" He's annoyed again, saying, "Not everything has to do with that. It's what I prefer, and so it'll be what you prefer. Okay?" Delicious submissiveness swims over me, making my balls shrink, and I go, "Okay," and put my arm around him again, saying, "Don't be angry, Bruce." He exhales exasperatingly, saying, "I'm not angry. It's just, um, well, don't question everything I say we're doing. And, stop thinking everything has anything to do with our old life. This is our new life, and some of it will be similar, but that's just a coincidence."

Bullshit, but I nod, not wanting to lose any of the ground I feel Bruce has progressed in. He makes a face then and says quietly, "I hate when I sound like a bossy asshole, Zach. It's just, um, I have a quick temper sometimes. I apologize." I go, "Well, what kind of haircut am I getting tomorrow?" He goes, "A haircut like Cowboy's and Lee's. Is that okay with you?" Of course, it's not, but I go, "Sure."

We have another shot of Jim Beam with our last beer of the night. And, next time, I'm choosing the bourbon. Lee and Cowboy are in bed, their door closed, and maybe if I listen real close, I could hear Lee giving Cowboy a good hard spanking before sucking him off or maybe fucking him. I wish them all the best.

We're drunk enough that Bruce is skipping his shower tonight. Then, I don't need to listen closely to hear my spanking as Bruce does a half-ass job of it, but I liked it just the same. I like that he thinks it gets me submissive, which we both know I like. What gets me really submissive is licking Bruce's naked body as we lie on the bed. His skin has a slightly salty taste tonight. We've been outside all day and got a tad sweaty a few times. I almost blow my load, rimming his ass while in a thick juicy fog of submissiveness. There's nothing more submissive that I know of than licking a guy's asshole unless it's sticking my tongue up it.

I say, a guy's asshole' when I mean Bruce's because Bruce's is the only asshole I've ever licked. Even at prep school, none of us ventured there, although our little gay group did suck many teen cock and balls. The majority of guys in this world, the vast majority, would rather have their dick cut off than suck another's guy's dick. Too bad, really, as they don't know what they're missing.

With my buttocks stinging a little, nothing serious at all, Bruce tells me to stop rimming his ass, or he'll shoot off, so I suck his cock and balls, licking under his scrotum and loving his scent and loving that no hair gets in the way or in my mouth. This hairless body of Bruce's, I'd make it my life's work if he'd let me. Finally, in a hot state of arousal, Bruce gets me on my stomach and fucks me like that, but he cums in ninety seconds while I squealed and blew my load in less than a minute. My climax had been right at the tipping point back when I was rimming him. Cum squeezed out under me because I was lying on my throbbing boner.

Pulling his cock out of my ass, he lies on his stomach next to me, saying, "Omigod, Zach, I'm fucking shaking. What an unbelievable climax that was," and he puts his arm across my shoulders, adding, "I hope you keep me around for a while. This is the best sex I've ever had. You're fantastic with that oral sex too, Jesus!" I go, "No need to worry about me keeping you around. I'll be stalking you if you dump me."

He snickers, mumbling, "Oh yeah, that's right, you love me. I guess I can't believe anyone would fall in love with me." Turning my head and bumping my face against his, I go, "That's crazy talk saying you can't believe anyone would love you." He kisses me, saying, "I'm glad you do if you actually do. Maybe you're still under my mentoring brilliance and just think you're in love." I go, "No, I'm not under any kind of allusion of love. I'm positive I'm in love with you."

He goes, "Good. C'mon, we'll clean up a little and get to sleep." That's another thing I love... sleeping with him, almost on top of him. Bruce got in the habit of sleeping with me all cuddled up, so, yeah, that something good from that fucking pussy boy training.

Before falling asleep, I recall reading somewhere that you couldn't love another until you love yourself first. That doesn't make a lot of sense to me, but maybe it's true. If so, that's worrisome because I don't think Bruce loves himself at all. Come to think of it, I've never thought I love myself either. Who the fuck thinks that?

The next morning Bruce is still in bed when I wake up. That's a first. I'm like, "Were you staring at me? I felt you staring." He grins, "What, no good morning?" I snicker, then mutter, "Good morning." He says, "Yeah, I was staring at you, and ya know what? You're a handsome motherfucker, and cute too. I truly do have myself a trophy boyfriend. I wish I had friends to show you off to." I'm like, "Oh, sure, but thanks."

He wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me up against him, our faces two inches apart as he says, "I was such a fool to resist this bullshit boyfriend thing. It's awesome! You're awesome, and I need to tell you that once in a while." I go, "Thanks. You're awesome too."

Letting go of me, he goes, "Whew, I was nervously waiting for you to wake up so I could say all that." I mutter, "Oh, well, I hope you mean it." He nods, "Yep; I meant every word. Get up, we're taking a shower, and then I'm going to fuck your brains out, and then we'll get those barber clippers." Swell.

To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.

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