MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY
Chapter 30
By Donny Mumford
Friday, I wake up feeling apprehensive, then remember why. Yeah, this afternoon, I'm driving Bruce to Philly where he'll work at a suspicious job for three weeks. Even if it is an illegal operation, that probably won't stop Bruce from doing it because he's desperate for money. And, I'm not pretending I've never done anything illegal myself because I have. Minor things like getting Cowboy fake ID or buying drugs, and I probably did something illegal, busting Bruce out of the pussy boy club. Still, this deal of Bruce's has the potential of being worse. On the other hand, it's significantly out of my range of experiences, so I may be way off base worrying about it.
As happens most mornings, Bruce got up before me, and he's taking a shower. He takes a lot of showers, so I wonder if he'll be able to do that living with Luca, his wife, and their two-month-old baby. Of course, they may live in a mansion, for all I know, and Bruce will have an entire wing to himself. Hmm, that reminds me; Luca texted Bruce his address last night.
I hop out of bed, look at Bruce's phone for the address, then, at my computer, I go to Google Maps and type in the address. Hmm, Luca's house is in South Philadelphia, and it's not a mansion. It's a row house looking shabby in the middle of eight or ten, all of them looking old, some even more beat up than Luca's place. It says Luca's house is 1308 sq ft. with two bedrooms and one bath.
Holy shit, 1308 square feet for an entire house? That can't be. But, yeah, two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. Wow, the suite we had in Atlantic City was probably bigger than 1308 square feet! If Luca is a crook, he isn't a very successful one. And, the chance of him having $6000 in his pocket isn't looking too good either.
I hear the shower stop, so I click off my computer and get back in bed. Bruce comes into the bedroom drying himself, saying, "Big day, huh, Zach?" I go, "Uh-huh, um, what'd Luca say about his house?" Bruce shrugs, mumbling, "He said it was small. Only two bedrooms, but the baby sleeps in their room, so I'll use the other bedroom. It's a row home in South Philly which is an area I'm familiar with, so I know what to expect."
Huh, Luca was honest with Bruce about his house, so maybe he's honest about the job too. Encouraging development. Bruce says, "Why don't you take a shower, Zach, and then we'll have a bit of sexy fun." I nod and get out of bed. Minus the three days that Bruce was at the pussy boy funhouse, he and I have been having sex three or four times a day... that ends today. Hmm, it remains to be seen how that's gonna work out.
After a quick shower and all the other things I do in the bathroom, I come out smelling good and shiny clean, but still very apprehensive. Bruce is piling some clothes on the bed as he asks, "Can I use one of your satchels, Zach?" Nodding, "Of course," I get a medium size satchel from the closet and put it next to his clothes, asking, "What time do you want to leave?" He says, "Um, three or three-thirty, something like that. Luca gets home from work between four and four-thirty. I don't want to get there before he does 'cause I don't know his wife, and that would be awkward."
This all feels awkward to me! It's all happened so fast and so unexpectedly. And now I'm noticing how few clothes Bruce has. I'm like, "Ah, do you think you're taking enough change of clothes? I guess you'll be doing a washload there, though, so..." Looking at the meager pile of clothes, he says, "These are all the clothes I have and, yeah, I'll need to do a number of washloads. Fuck, that's another awkward situation. You're right; I should have two more pairs of jeans at least. Let's stop in at that strip mall, and I'll buy some jeans and maybe a couple of T-shirts."
I'm like, "Yeah, sure. Um, it's construction work, so maybe workboots too." He goes, "Good idea. Fuck, I feel stupid 'cause I don't know what I'm doing." I mutter, "Jeans, a T-shirt, and boots. That should do it. It's actually a deconstruction job ripping off copper pipes." Oops, I meant to say, ripping out copper pipes. Bruce didn't notice, though, so I quickly add, "It doesn't sound like fun, but it doesn't sound like you need a particular skill set either. Just muscles, which you have plenty of."
He nods and grins, then sounding nervous, he mumbles, "Pump me up some more, Zach. Now that the day is here, I'm wicked nervous about doing something I've never done before in my friggin' life, plus living with someone I haven't seen in six years." I say, "That definitely doesn't sound like a walk in the park, but you've done a lot harder things than that." Putting the last of his clothes in the satchel, only filling it halfway, he mutters, "Ain't that the truth."
Bruce is wearing a pair of threadworm boxer shorts while I'm still standing here naked, holding a towel. He looks over and says, "Well, yeah, I've gotta buy some freakin' clothes, so it's a good thing I got that two hundred dollar birthday present, huh? Thanks to my boyfriend..."
Jesus, I hope this Goddamn Philly job is legit so Bruce will finally have some money, and I can stop feeling bad for him. I go, "Yeah, but you'll want pocket money to start, Bruce. That's what the two hundred should be for. Let me put the clothes you buy on my credit card, and you can pay the credit card bill when it comes due next month."
Surprising me, he doesn't argue. He nods, mumbling, "Thanks, that's nice of you. It'd be embarrassing as hell if I couldn't buy a round of drinks after a hard day of ripping out 'effing copper pipes while spying on my coworkers." I'm like, "You're not spying, Bruce. You're like a supervisor. Nobody calls a supervisor a spy." He shrugs, "Spy is the word Luca used."
Yeah, well, I have a premonition that Luca is going to turn out to be an asshole. I've gotta meet this guy.
Keeping that thought to myself, I go, "So, um, are we gonna..." Bruce says, "You're damn right we are. Lube yourself up." After putting the towel in the hamper, I stick my finger in the KY jelly jar, push the gel inside my rectum, and then get another gob of jelly lube to put right on my anus. As I do that, I'm thinking about how special last night's sex was. It bordered on romantic sex. Ya know, what's called... making-love.
This morning's sex is different, though. It appears Bruce primarily has the Philly job on his mind as he reverts to mentoring sex tactics by tightly gripping the back of my neck and bending me over the end of the bed, muttering, "Get your ass up." Maintaining the too-tight grip on my neck with his left hand, he spanks my ass with his right. He's recently had this mistaken idea that spanking benefits me by encouraging a submissive sense. It hasn't done that so far except this morning he's giving my ass a pretty good spanking, and for the first time, it does bring on a touch of submissiveness. I again think how Cowboy may have been right all along about getting spanked. I mean, an adult can't help feeling a bit submissive getting spanked.
When my buttocks begin stinging for real, I'm going, "Ow, ow, ow," at each slap, which apparently is what Bruce was waiting to hear because he stops after my third 'Ow.' Still gripping my neck, he pulls his cock out through the slit in his boxer shorts, rubs the mushroom head on my buttocks a few times, then plugs it in past my sphincter and leans forwards sliding the whole thing up inside me as I make a long, "Oooowww," cry, which Bruce ignores.
Fully impaling me, Bruce lets go of my neck and grips my hips, muttering, "Higher, get it up higher," so I go up on my toes, pushing my ass up for him. I'm quickly into a gooey submissive frame of mind, and, after realizing that, I also realize the hurt has just as quickly faded away. Bruce has finally fucked my anus into accepting his cock with minimal pain, but will my ass remember that after three weeks of not having Bruce's cock making house calls?
That thought quickly exits my head when Bruce pulls his boner back and shoves it right back inside me and then does it again and again. Obviously, this is buddy-sex fucking, not making love. It's even more casual than normal as Bruce didn't even bother taking his underpants off. Gripping my hips tightly, he starts thrusting his cock fast and hard, but the normal sounds, the slapping sounds of Bruce slapping against my butt cheeks, are muffled by the material of his threadworm underwear. That doesn't lessen the sensations blossoming inside me, though.
Bruce's cock was only semi-hard when he shoved it in my ass, but after a half-dozen thrusts back and forth, it's become a ragingly hard swollen boner that's totally dominating my rectum, or at least seven inches of it anyhow. He relentlessly pounds his hard cock inside me, and I go full-blown submissive to this dominant fuck of my ass while keeping my ass where my dominant top wants it.
Pleasure sensations pour from the nerve endings of my prostate, plus the irresistible feeling that my anus is grossly stretched-open; the nerve endings sparkling with feelings almost like a much-needed scratched itch. At the same time, it plays games with my mind as I imagine Bruce's hard boner twice as large as it actually is. That's how it feels, and how I imagine it in my mind.
The hard cock sliding against my prostate going in and coming out, though, that's always my main focus; that and the fact that it's Bruce doing the topping. Yes, the prostate is all about pleasure-seeking behavior. That pleasure registering strongly in the hypothalamus, the brain's region implicated in sexual arousal activities, with steroids like testosterone fueling the sexually dimorphic brain circuits, as everyone knows. Lots of stuff going on while the bottom line is extreme and intense sexual arousal and pleasure, which are the results I mostly care about.
For me, the added factor of feeling dominated during sex, of feeling submissive, is icing on this sexual party cake, so to speak. This is a fast hard fucking to reach the optimal pleasure... orgasm, sexual climax. That's not to say the build-up to climax isn't gloriously fantastic. Bruce and his swollen boner are creating pleasure at such a high level in me it starts to boggle the mind. I wish it could continue for hours with me moaning, "Ah, ah, ah," with each thrust up inside my ass. Instead of the hours that I'd like it to go on; my climax builds to the breaking point in four minutes with Bruce's grunts and heavy breathing telling me he's in the same condition of arousal... we're both gonna blow our loads momentarily. Yeah, climaxes have a mind of their own!
Bent over the end of the bed, my fingers tightly gripping the wads of the bedspread in my fists, my ass as high as I can push it up for Bruce, I experience the last few seconds before climaxing that are just this side of scary, and then BOOM! With a squeal of extreme pleasure cum fires out of my throbbingly hard cock shooting straight out ten inches to splatter on the bedspread that's hanging over the end of the bed. For a brief moment in time, there are too many pleasure sensations to acknowledge. It's an overload of pleasure with a portion wasted as there's too much in too short a period. However, the amount I can acknowledge is mindblowing as it spreads quickly out, almost painfully around my groin and high up on my legs. Only for a second, though, and then it's a glowing pleasure that makes me shudder before it too quickly fades away.
When you think about it, oversexed individuals such as Bruce and I experience this sexual bliss three or four times daily for a grand total of maybe twenty-five minutes from start to finish, and that's out of a twenty-four-hour day. Those minutes though, are reason enough to live, never mind the other things most humans enjoy by being alive. And I know that some people can drag out an individual sexual experience for a lot longer than we do, although not too many do it three or four times a day. And, obviously, I'm concerned about doing without these twenty or twenty-five minutes of sexual bliss when Bruce is in Philly.
I'm dizzy after that sharp orgasm, then shiver with pleasure at the streaking after-effects from it. As I'm experiencing a final pleasure shudder, Bruce pulls his cock from my ass, muttering, "Hot! That was hot sex right there, Zach." He slaps my ass, then steps back, as I straighten up, nodding my head, "Yep, you're a hot fucker, alright. I've never had a better top," realizing I sound like Cowboy again.
Bruce, glancing at my cum drooling down the bedspread, pulls some Kleenex from a box and hands them to me, muttering, "You'll need to throw the bedspread in the wash." As I wipe at Bruce's drooling cum coming out of my ass, I go, "How come we never think to put a towel where we know I'll shoot my load?" He snorts out a laugh, mumbling, "I don't know," then, "I'm going to miss this, Zach." No shit...
We walk into the bathroom and, cleaning up at the sink, I go, "You've got to arrange with whatshisname for you to spend some nights with me in a hotel. He knows you're gay, right?" Bruce is drying his just-washed dick, mumbling, "Yeah, he knows." I shrug, "So tell him I'm your boyfriend and..." As Bruce tends to do, he gets annoyed when pressed about something he's uncertain about, so he interrupts me and, raising his voice, goes, "Okay! I already told you we'd see what shakes out, alright? Christ, stop nagging me!"
Looking away, I leave it at that, and then Bruce does something else he's prone to do lately. Feeling bad for snapping at me, he rubs my shoulder and says in a nicer tone of voice, "Sorry, but I'm not sure what to expect, and I'm a little uptight." After drying my ass with a handtowel, I toss it in the hamper and say, "No problem. Let's buy you some jeans or khakis, or whatever."
We get dressed and find Cowboy and Lee at the kitchen table eating cereal. Cowboy says, "Yep, that's right, boys, Lee and I are not cooking breakfast every morning." I rub his recently barbered head and mumble, "Nor do we expect you to." Lee exclaims, "I did Carson again this morning!" Cowboy snorts out a laugh along with particles of chewed Frosted Flakes and then goes, "Jesus H Christ, Lee, you don't need to announce every time you fuck my brains out." Lee mutters, "Just saying..."
Bruce laughs at them, mumbling, "Way to go, Lee." Then, to me, he says, "How about if we stop at Dunkin's, Zach?" I go, "Yep," and tell the boys, "We're buying some jeans and shit for Bruce. We'll see you numbnuts on the beach later." Cowboy mutters, "Roger that."
It's a short drive to the Dunkin' shop that used to be called Dunkin' Donuts not too long ago. An unnecessary name change... just to make a change? There is no convenient parking spot, though, so I park a block away. Walking back, we see a fat lady walking a bulldog who stops, sniffs at a patch of grass at the base of a tree, and then expels an enormous physics-defying dump. Bruce hits my arm, snickering as the dog looks up at the fat lady and then glances down at the pile of shit as if to say, take care of that. She picks it up, her hand in an inverted plastic bag, doing it twice to get most of it, and then the bulldog leads her away.
Walking into Dunkin's, Bruce says, "Let's get a dog. I've always wanted a dog." I shrug, "Sure! I love dogs; I had a brown, white, and black Beagle as a kid. He was great, but then it was a horrendously tough time when Buddy died. Christ, um, well, it was really hard. I don't like thinking about it even now, and it happened eighteen 'effing years ago." He goes, "Jeez, you were in love with your dog, huh?" I go, "I'll say. Not just my dog though, it's wicked hard losing anyone you love." Bruce glances at me perhaps thinking that was a double entendre but doesn't say anything.
We both get coffee and a breakfast sandwich, then eat and drink in the store, not saying much. Maybe Bruce is thinking about love or getting a dog. I'm thinking how much I'm going to miss him and how cool he looks right now. He should keep getting that military-style haircut as it goes with his appearance somehow. His blond hair is so pretty; but if it were long, he wouldn't be as boyish-looking. His hair is the same light shade of blond as Cowboy's, and before Lee got him to get the short haircut, Cowboy was sometimes mistaken for a girl because of his pretty face and long girlish hair. No, Bruce isn't pretty like Cowboy, but I think he's cute in, um, an unusual way. He's nice-looking for sure; everyone would agree with that.
Bruce says, "You're staring at me again." I go, "No, I wasn't. I was looking past you at the cute guy with the girl sitting near the door. She has no 'effing idea how lucky she is to have that young hot-looking guy as her boyfriend, and he has no 'effing idea how unlucky he is being straight... if he's straight." Bruce goes, "I can't wait to be like you, Zach. You've got nothing 'real' to worry or think about, so, instead, you think about shit like that."
He didn't say that in a nasty way; he said it sincerely, not realizing it was kind of insulting to me. See, I can't imagine what his life has been like, and he can't imagine mine... yet.
The strip mall doesn't have a store selling clothes, and I didn't think it did, but we checked anyway because this mall is conveniently located. So, we drive to Target, the one where we bought the bedding and other stuff for the apartment a week ago. Bruce buys two cargo shorts, two skinny legs Levi jeans, three T-shirts, and a pair of cool-looking Wolverine Overpass 6'' Composite Toe Waterproof Insulated Work Boots for $148.00. I had to talk him into spending that much on boots, and I almost bought a pair myself. They look like overgrown high-top sneakers with orange, black, and brown coloring. Ultra-cool for a work boot, styling even. I didn't buy a pair, though, because I couldn't think of a time I'd ever need to wear work boots.
Bruce tries to be blase about it, but it's obvious he's psyched about all his new stuff. We take the numerous tags off everything back at the apartment, then wash the clothes along with the bedspread. Waiting for that, Bruce reviews the directions to Luca's house online even though I told him we'd punch the address into the GPS. Well, he's never owned a car, although he does have a driver's license. I'm quite surprised but glad he's never asked to drive my car.
When the clothes are through the dry cycle, he folds his new stuff and puts it all in the now-full satchel. Then we put on swimsuits and head for the beach. It's eleven-thirty, so we'll spend the last few hours enjoying the beach experience before we need to leave for Philly.
My favorite grumpy beachboy who rents the chairs is not at the stand today. It's the old man from yesterday, so I ask where the kid is, and he goes, "Markie has the day off. I don't know where he is." Markie, huh? I think the kid told me his name was something else or did he just ignore me when I asked his name? Hmm, I forget.
Bruce and I set our chairs up next to Cowboy and Lee. Both are shirtless, and it registers in my head how we all have hairless torsos. Lee and Cowboy are naturally hairless except for the hair on their legs, while Bruce and I, also with naturally hairless torsos, use the Man hair creme for our leg hair. And, yeah, ha-ha, I realize this isn't something most guys would think about. Still, glancing around at our fellow male sunbathers, almost every one of them over the age of fourteen has hair on their legs, and most have at least some hair on their chests, and some have a lot of it. Ha, we're a queer foursome for sure, and in more ways than one, although I'm quite pleased with all of us.
The boys have questions about Bruce's job, with him being vague about the details. Then, as Cowboy likes to do, he and Lee rate the cuteness and sexiness of young males in the area and those walking by. Later Bruce and I walk up to the boardwalk to get pizza for lunch again, and as we're eating, Cowboy and Lee argue about obscure matters.
Cowboy swallows and goes, "Lee, you romanticize humanity while I think humanity just might be the abortion of natural selection. More like an accident of trillions, multiple trillions of pure chance to end up with consciousness." Lee goes, "Maybe we're unique in all the Universe." Folding a new triangle slice of pizza, then taking a bite, Cowboy says, with a full mouth, "Yeah, perhaps, but us humans were a mistake that probably happens time and time again when you consider the unfathomable lengths of time the Universe has been around, billions of years and billions of universes. Christ, our Milky Way has billions of suns, plus those in the process of dying and those being born with unimaginable numbers of planets circling most of them, and that's in just one of the billions of galaxies."
Lee mumbles, "You just contradicted yourself." Cowboy snickers, "That's because you're paying too close attention to the words coming out of my mouth." Lee mumbles, "I'm going to fuck your brains out when we get back to the apartment." Ignoring that, Cowboy goes, "The more astrophysicists learn with the help of new technologies, they're able to see almost to the creation of this mind-numbing universe, and the more they learn, the more humanity doesn't fit." Lee goes, "Your spanking is gonna be a pleasure to administer when we get back." They both snicker, with Lee adding, "How can someone so good-looking be so full of shit at the same time?" Cowboy asks Lee, "Have you bought that ping pong paddle I told you to get?"
Bruce rolls his eyes at me, and I go, "Yeah, I'm getting a headache." We chuckle and take the debris from lunch to a trash barrel, then go for a walk down the beach. Bruce mumbles, "Those two guys are having a lot of fun just being themselves." I go, "Yeah, too bad you and I both missed out on those golden years. You from necessity and me by trying to be someone I'm not." He goes, "Who would have thought we'd have something in common like that?"
I go, "We have other things in common, such as we're both oversexed." He says, "I don't think we're oversexed at all. Perhaps that super golfer, Tiger Woods, was oversexed... maybe that's true, I don't know, but I know we're not." I go, "I think he was trying to impress superstars in other sports like Charles Barkley and Michael Jordan, who befriended him when he was much younger than they were. Tiger used his celebrity to screw every waitress who served him food." Bruce snickers, saying, "You and Cowboy think alike in that you're often wrong but never in doubt." I go, "What am I wrong about...?"
Obviously, we're avoiding the topic of Bruce being in Philly for the next three weeks. After only a short twenty-minute walk, we're back to our beach chairs, where we find the boys exercising their brains discussing another obscure topic. We light up cigarettes as Lee's saying to Cowboy, "It could solve the puzzle of what dark matter is made from, or why there is the unbalance of matter and antimatter."
Cowboy goes, "Yeah, I read about that online. It's a recent study where the key to understanding that puzzle has possibly been discovered by particle physicists who found signs of a mystery particle of force interacting with other particles in a way never before witnessed, right?" Lee goes, "Yep. The standard model heretofore breaks down when trying to explain crucial issues such as gravity or why the universe is accelerating."
Bruce looks at me, muttering, "Heretofore," and then smirks at me. Then it's Cowboy's turn to show off... for Bruce and me? He goes, "That was scientists at the Large Hadron Collider who created particles known as Beauty Quakes."
Bruce taps my arm and says, "How 'bout heading back to the place so we'll have time to shower... and whatever," and he smirks at me again. Hot shit, a goodbye fuck to hold us over until, well, we don't know when we'll get back together. We get up, and Cowboy asks, "Is this it, Bruce? You're heading out now?" He nods, "Yep, afraid so. I'll miss you guys, but it's only for three weeks." The boys get up for hugs with Bruce, then he and I carry our chairs to the rental tent.
In the apartment, we're hot and sweaty and smelling like the beach. Stepping out of his swimsuit, Bruce asks, "Are you up for some grunge sex?" I go, "Yep, I like your grunge," and, as I pull down my swimsuit, something percolates in my mind. It's that there's been a change in Bruce's approach. To use Lee's word, heretofore, Bruce was telling me what we would do, but he's been framing it in more of a question form in the past day or two. For example, on the beach, it was... How about if we go back to the apartment, and just now, it was... Are you up for some grunge sex? In the past, it was... We're going back to the apartment now, etc., and, We'll do grunge sex, etc. Plus, he carries his own chair and other stuff when before he had me carry it for him--his cigarettes and sunscreen, etc.
A subtle change with me still going along with the suggestions he makes, so it's the same result. Still, he is moving away from sheer bossiness into more normal interaction between, dare I say, boyfriends? It's a form over substance thing, though, as Bruce and I both know he's the dominant boyfriend. I'm curious about whether his adoption of a more pleasant form of bossiness is intentional, or perhaps he isn't aware he's changed in that regard.
Yeah, well, the thing I need to keep in mind is he's only been part of a real-world environment for ten days now, and that's after years and years of living in anything but normal circumstances. I'm prejudiced where Bruce is concerned, but Cowboy and Lee aren't, yet they haven't mentioned anything untoward about Bruce's behavior. Not to me, anyway. He's doing okay in this new world, new to him.
Both of us naked, Bruce hugs me, murmuring, "In case you have doubts about it, I'm officially confirming that I'm going to miss you, Zach. I've never had a real best friend and boyfriend until I met you. And, um, well... I'm really sorry for all that shit I put you through as your mentor. I didn't know any better. That isn't to say not knowing any better is a valid excuse, but it is a fact." He kisses me, then grins, mumbling, "There, that was being nice, right?" I go, "Yes, if it wasn't fake." He goes, "Let's assume it wasn't, okay?" Then he goes, "Part of grunge sex is sucking my dick even though it's sweaty, so..."
Dropping to my knees, feeling good about Bruce's sincere or fake admittance that he'll miss me and that he's sorry for all the pussy boy crap. Obviously, I choose to believe he's sincere about what he said. Picking up his sweaty dick, I hold it out of the way and begin by licking his sweaty, slightly salting-tasting balls. It's hard for me to imagine ever not wanting to do this. His scent is still detectible through the smell of the hot beach and ocean breeze that smells strongly of the ocean as it drifted over us for three hours this afternoon.
What a sexy submissive thing it is licking Bruce's private parts, moving his balls around in his scrotum, and hearing his quiet grunts of arousal, his fingers in my hair rubbing my scalp. He moves his legs a little further apart, murmuring, "See if you can get to my asshole," and I lick under his balls, across his perineum, the space between his anus and scrotum, to just get the tip of my tongue on his asshole. Stretching my tongue out until it aches, I lick across his asshole and hear Bruce go, "Ummm, ahhh."
Licking back across his perineum, my tongue licks under his balls, lifting his scrotum. I drag my tongue around to the front, up to the base of his seven-inch penis, then up his penis to lick the head before putting the mushroom head into my mouth, sliding it on my tongue, and then sucking on it until precum drools out. Still, I don't dare take it in my throat for fear he'll blow his load.
My cock is also an iron boner by now, and I desperately want to feel it in my ass fucking me, but he hasn't told me to stop sucking him off yet, so I lick up and down the shaft, feeling in my fingers and on my tongue his cock grow even harder and fatter. When more precum drools out rolling down the shaft, I lick that up, and Bruce finally goes, "Good! That's enough," and gently moves my head away from his groin. I gasp and stroke my boner that's pointing straight up, extremely hard.
Bruce's boner is listing away from his stomach engorged and looking very heavy, but not quite hard enough to stick straight out. He murmurs, "That felt so good." He sucks in a deep breath, then gets his hands under my arms, helping me stand. When I'm up, I automatically turn around, pushing my ass out for my dominant top. He puts his left arm around me and guides the head of his wet-with-precum boner against my asshole. There are probably, hopefully, some remnants of this morning's jelly-lube inside, but only Bruce's precum to help with his first thrust.
Tightening his arm around me, he thrust that hard cock in past my sphincter muscle, and a wave of red pain makes me screech out, but just once, as I try convincing myself, it feels good. It's a hard sell, but shortly the pain reduces to just hurting, and a few seconds after that, the sale is complete, and the pain fades out. Meanwhile, Bruce has pushed all seven inches inside my body, and I hear from seemingly from afar Bruce moaning, "Oooh, mmmm."
He gets his other arm around my waist and uses both to pull my buttocks tight against his groin, and his cock goes a half-inch further inside my ass. Bruce moans, "Ahh, mmm," as he grinds his hips a little, then murmurs, "How's this feel?" Leaning the back of my head against his shoulder, my body relaxing, I murmur, "Perfection, Bruce. Nothing else in the world feels as good as this."
He moves his feet a little, chuckling, then saying, "You forget about this," and his hips move back, pulling his boner back and then pushing it back in, and I swoon, "Ahhh, ooh, ooh." He starts fucking me steadily as I squirm in his arms. Steady semi-fast thrusting until I feel we're floating in the air together, pleasure rolling over me, wave after wave of it. The body contact with Bruce adds to the almost stupifying pleasure sensations I'm experiencing, the side of his face lightly rubbing against mine as his hips movement causes Bruce's body to move slightly too.
My hands were holding onto Bruce's wrists, but as I begin humping back into his thrusting, my hands go back to grip his butt cheeks. Sensations grow in him too, and he thrusts harder and faster until the 'Slap, slap, slap" sounds join the party, and now it's a runaway trip to climax. My face scrunches up as my climax gets closer and closer to exploding; it's all I can think about now. The anticipation, as usual, is almost scary as climatic power builds until it rules everything in both of us. Bruce is grunting with every thrust of his awesomely hard long boner up and back inside my ass until "Ahhhhh!" my cock drops down, straight out pumping three fast-moving streaks of cum into the world as Bruce lifts me off my feet with cum roaring up from his big round balls to saturate my bowels with creamy high-grade semen.
An avalanche of pleasure has me shaking in Bruce's arms as he set me back on my feet. He groans and squeezes me against him for a few seconds before thrusting in my sloppy cum-filled rectum, cum splattering out on his crotch and smearing on my buttocks. It's mayhem for a few seconds, and then he stops, and all is calm except for our gasping breathing. Then I shiver at those fantastic last after-effects that zip quicking around my dick. With a breathy exhale, Bruce lets go of me, pulling his cock out of my ass.
It's like we're both in shock for a second, then I go, "Omigod, Bruce, fantastic grunge fuck..." He puts his arm around the side of my neck, both of us sweaty, "Ya wanna take a shower with me, boyfriend?" Still a little shaky after that massive climax, I go, "Yes, of course, I do, but shouldn't I clean up the cum I shot on the floor?" He grabs the box of Kleenex, takes some, and holds it to my asshole, mumbling, "Put a hand on this." I reach back and do that as Bruce rips out some more tissues and drops them on the floor, then moves them with his foot wiping up the streaks of glistening cum. I'm thinking it felt like a lot more cum shot out than that! Yeah, well, it always does feel like a river that turns into a spurt when you see it.
We shower together, bathing ourselves without talking. After getting dressed, Bruce carries the satchel to the living room, where I ask, "How about a beer and a smoke on the balcony?" He shrugs, "If you want to," and I go, "Or we can leave now." He says, "Let's go if you don't mind."
Christ, I feel bad for him. Trying to think positively, I go, "Yeah, those six thousand dollars have your name on them, Bruce. Let's go get 'em." Nodding, he mutters, "I hope so," and I try taking the satchel from him, mumbling, "Let me do this for you," but he won't let go of it. "You've done plenty for me already, Zach," and, carrying the satchel, he goes out the door. I follow, and the door locks automatically behind me.
Outside, it looks like rain, so I leave the top up as I program the address into the GPS, then pull away with Bruce looking back at the apartment building like a little kid going off to summer camp for the first time looking back at his parents waving at him. Bruce mutters, "I know I'm forgetting something." I say, "If you think of what it is, we'll buy it on the way."
We're quiet for the first half-hour driving in the rain. I try to think what to say.... what's the right thing to say, though? Finally, Bruce mutters, "Fuck, I'm not going off to war. This, um, everything is such an um, weird turn in my life. I never saw any of it coming. Not until like ten days ago when I go from thinking I had the world on a string, to the funhouse, to your suite, and then the apartment... holy shit. It's like being in a whirlwind."
I go, "You've dealt with worse." He goes, "You keep telling me that, and you're right, of course, but I keep needing to deal with things. Oh, hell, if I dealt with things better years ago, I wouldn't need to deal with shit like this now. It's nobody's fault but my own."
Hmm? I'm like, "Is there something about this copper pipe job you haven't told me about?" He shrugs, "No, not really, but I share the same skepticism about the whole deal that you have. Naturally, being the asshole that I am, I jumped down your throat when you mentioned being apprehensive about it instead of agreeing with you." Glancing at him with a grin on my face, I say, "I'm going to miss that; miss you jumping down my throat." He shakes his head, saying, "Christ, I wish I saw in myself what you seem to see in me." I mutter, "You put yourself down too much."
After a while, he mumbles, "I'm stuck on this track of thinking about all the things that can go wrong." I go, "Don't fret yet; that's living in the future, and none of that has happened yet." He goes, "I know, I'm acting like a pussy, but fuck that!" then he sounds like the Bruce I know and adds, "I'm gonna kick ass with this copper pipe bullshit, and if I get stiffed on the money I know you'll kick some ass until I get what was promised. Right, Zach?" I go, "Roger that." He nods and chuckles, "My 'effing boyfriend is an ex-Navy Seal, so don't fuck with me, or you'll need to deal with him." I go, "Roger that, Bruce."
He laughs, then goes, "Goddamn, this boyfriend shit makes me feel like I'm somebody... at last!" I drive along thinking what to say to that, finally saying, "You've been somebody important to me for some time now, Bruce." He goes, "Facing the world knowing someone else is on my side is, um, new. It's better." Then he goes, "It's better by so much I'm having a hard time knowing how to handle it, how to act, how to say thank you properly."
Jeez! I mumble, "You're doing great, Bruce. Don't worry about thanking anybody." He goes, "Anybody? You're the only person who's ever given a shit about me. Cowboy and Lee are nice to me because I'm your friend, um, boyfriend. You're the one I need to find a way to thank properly, and I don't know if I'm capable of ever figuring out how to do that."
All I can come up with as a response to that is a muttered, "You just did it, so, you're welcome. Now think about something else." He rubs his face, mumbling, "Christ, when I think about that horrendous shit I was doing to you following that evil pussy boy manual... what was I thinking?" I go, "We're way past that. We're on the precipice of you making $6000 as a bridge to the business we'll be starting in a couple of months. And, I'd turn this bitch of a car around right now and head back to Atlantic City if you'd let me. You don't 'effing need the six grand pulling copper pipes 'cause I'll loan you whatever amount of money you think you need. I told you I would when I got you out of that obscene pussy boy club."
He goes, "I know, but you know as well as I do that I need to make money on my own to gain some kind of semblance of self-respect. Circumstances, plus your help, have turned my life around and given me a chance to get onboard the real world, but I need to contribute to the turnaround's success." I say, "I respect that, Bruce, although, in my mind, you've already done a lot in that regard by adjusting to a very different, um, lifestyle, for lack of a better word."
He pats my shoulder, mumbling, "So, we'll see, right?" I nod, "Yes, we'll see." What's the use of continuing to go over the same arguments? He's prideful, and he's right about self-respect because it involves self-love in a way. I'm not sure that the assertion if you can't love yourself, you can't love another is a hundred percent true in every case. Still, in any case, it seems unlikely someone would be able to love themself without a reasonable amount of self-esteem, self-respect, or however one wants to describe that.
Personally, with Ronny, I was living a lie, but, on the other hand, I also had a lot of accomplishments, enough so that I respected myself. Ironically, the strange pussy boy experienced, and subsequent relationship with Bruce allowed me to realize I'd been trying to be someone I wasn't. Leaving excessive self-criticism and unreachable perfectionism out of the equation, I've worked out a more or less healthy self-evaluation and feel okay about myself now. Bruce inadvertently has helped me with that; although it's complicated to a degree, I'm still trying to understand, so trying to explain it to Bruce isn't feasible at this point.
He needs to do what I did, which was stop demanding more from myself than I'm able to handle. I stopped forcing myself to be who I wasn't, which dismantled my preconceived idea of who I should be... um, or it was something like that.
We're on the Garden State Parkway, and Bruce says, "Look, there's a toll up ahead, Zach." I say, "No problem, I've got an E Z Pass transponder. I should have gotten it out. It's in the glovebox, Bruce. If you'll get it and put it on the dashboard, we'll fly on by." He does that, mumbling, "Oh yeah, that's handy." Huh, he probably never saw one before in his life. I mean, the first thing he thought of when he heard about this job was, he'll take a bus to Philly.
The drive from Atlantic City to Philadelphia took only an hour but the drive through Philadelphia to the South Philly's address, running into construction and a detour took almost twenty-five minutes. The GPS sent us to what recently became a dead end, but I finally drive up to the row house at five o'clock and unnecessarily mutter, "There it is." Bruce goes, "Yep," and we sit in my idling car, the rain only a mist now. Finally, with a sigh, I ask, "Can I come in with you? I'd like to meet this guy, Luca."
Bruce sighs too, then says, "I want to say no, but realistically I want him to know I've got a bodyguard if I need one, heh-heh." Hmm, I think he's serious, so I go, "Okay, then, shall we do it?" He nods, then does a nervous chuckle, mumbling, "I used to think I was tough, but life got on top of me at that fucking funhouse. C'mon, though, let's see what's up." We get out of the car, Bruce gets his satchel from the back seat, and we walk toward Luca's row house that's in the middle of nine or ten attached row houses.
Working up some, perhaps, false bravado, Bruce is like, "Fuck this bullshit, I'm not taking any crap from anybody." I mutter, "No need to, bro. You only need to text me, and I'm down here in a jiffy now that I know the way."
We go up the steps leading to the front door, Bruce rings the bell and then steps back as a big black guy with a full beard opens the door. He has a youthful-looking face, in his early twenties at the most, so the beard looks out of place. He smiles and asks, "You're Bruce?" Bruce goes, "Yeah, Bruce Dunlop. Um, this is Luca's place, right?" Opening the door, the guy says, "Yep, I'm gonna be your roommate. How ya doing?" Bruce goes, "Alright, " and the guy goes, "I'm Daytime Jones or Day for short." Daytime?
I follow Bruce inside as this guy, Daytime, says, "And, yeah, that's my real name. My old lady was into drugs a little too heavily when she named me." Bruce and I aren't sure whether to chuckle or what, so neither of us does or says anything. Daytime nods at me, asking Bruce, "Who's he?" Bruce goes, "He's Zach McMann, my boyfriend." Daytime's eyes open big as he goes, "You're a fag?" Bruce mumbles, "We prefer thinking of ourselves as gay, but you can think of us as fags if you must."
Daytime laughs a good laugh full of merriment, saying, "No, gay is fine as long as you don't try crawling in bed with me." Bruce mutters, "I'll try not to. Where's Luca?" Daytime goes, "He and his old lady are grocery shopping while I babysit, Rosey," and he nods his head at a bassinet. Then he goes, "You guys want a beer?"
This guy is pleasant, non-threatening, and very friendly, although he never offered to shake hands or bump fists or anything like that, which is fine by me. I want to meet Luca, and then I'm on my way. Bruce goes, "Yeah, a beer would go nicely, thanks," and I nod, muttering, "Yeah, thanks."
He goes into the next room in which I can see a refrigerator, so it's the kitchen, obviously. Bruce looks at me and shrugs. After standing for a few seconds, he holds his hand out, inviting me to have a seat on a sectional sofa that takes up the whole wall to the right of the door. Two upholstered chairs are facing the sofa with a coffee table in between. The upholstered chairs are worn-out looking, or at least the slipcovers with a faded flower pattern are. The curving sofa is peacock blue and looks fairly new although it doesn't go very well with the chairs, decore-wise.
I sit on the sofa leaning forward with my forearms on my knees as Bruce sits in one of the chairs, saying, "Yep, this is as awkward as I thought it would be." I go, "That guy seems okay," and Bruce shrugs.
Daytime brings in three cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and hands one to Bruce and then me, saying to Bruce, "Luca is depending on you and me to see that the pipe gets on our truck and not in a hidden spot where these weasels can pick it up late at night." Bruce asks, "We're working together, you and I?" He shakes his head, "Not exactly. On the same site, you and two weasels will start on the thirtieth floor, and my weasels will start on the first floor. We should meet around the fifteenth floor in three weeks if all goes as planned."
I swallow some cold Pabst, a first for me. It tastes like most beers. Bruce asks, "Why do you call the workers weasels?" Daytime laughs again, then he says, "We're weasels too, Bruce. We'll be ferreting out copper pipes inside plaster walls. No drywall in these old buildings; it's a hard plaster coating over one-inch wood laths. Bring your sledgehammer." I go, "Tell me, Daytime, how'd Luca get the contract to remove the copper pipes?" He laughs again and says, "How the fuck ya think? He bribed somebody in city hall. Took a second mortgage on this place and bribed the shit out of some guy who he's bribed before." I nod, "Oh."
Well, at least with a bribe, it's sort of legal. I'm like, "So he has a, um, legitimate contract with the city?" He goes, "Of course. What'd ya think, we was stealing the pipe?" I go, "God forbid. Of course not."
The front door opens, and a sturdy woman with an aggressive nose comes in carrying a bag of groceries in each arm. She looks at us, then says to Daytime, "There's a fucking BMW parked in our spot." Looking at Bruce and me, she says, "Is it one of yours?" I stand, saying, "It's mine. I'll be glad to move it." She goes, "Yeah? Well, no need to do that, and by the way, who the fuck are you?"
Before I can answer, Bruce stands and says, "He's my boyfriend. He gave me a ride down from Atlantic City. I'm Bruce Dunlop, and why the fuck can't Luca park someplace else?" She says, "That's what he's doing, Bruce Dunlop. Don't get your knickers in a bind." Then to Daytime, "Did the baby wake up?" He goes, "Nope, but with you coming in here shouting, it's a wonder she didn't, Rita."
Rita chuckles, mumbling, "I can't help myself. I'm a loud broad, hear me roar," and she takes the bags of groceries into the kitchen as Bruce and I exchange frowns like, what the fuck? We sit down just as the front door bands open again, and a young guy comes in, who I assume is Luca Bianchi. He was sixteen, as was Bruce when they spent one Philadelphia winter living together in a cardboard box, and, like Bruce, he looks younger than twenty-two. He's also almost square, meaning he's almost as wide as he is tall. Well, that's at first glance. He's about five-foot-five with very wide shoulders and a waist just as wide.
Luca goes, "Bruce! And struts over with his arms open wide. Bruce hugs him without the exuberance Luca displays. After the hug, Luca goes, "I know Goddamn well that BMW ain't yours, Bruce, so it must be his," and he points at me, asking, "Who the fuck are you?" Luca and Rita apparently never finished charm school, lacking a touch of graciousness inquiring as to who I am. I go, "I'm his driver," and Bruce puts an arm around me, saying, "Zach is my boyfriend, as I told your wife, um, Rita."
Luca goes, "Jesus Christ! That's right, your gay. I forgot that." Then he says to Daytime, "Bruce was so much better at homo whoring he was able to keep us in food that one winter we lived in a box." Daytime goes, "You lived in a box with a fag?"
Rita comes into the room drinking from a can of Pabst. She has a can for Luca too, saying loudly, "For shit sake, Day, Luca ain't gay. Bruce and him didn't do nothing together. They was homeless, ya dumb fuck. They survived." She puts the can of beer on the coffee table and checks on the baby, pulling a little blanket up to baby's chin as Daytime goes, "I'd like to hear that cardboard box story sometime."
Luca hugs Bruce again, saying, "The tales we could tell, huh Bruce?" Bruce goes, "I've been trying to forget those times for six years now, Luca." Luca pats Bruce's back, saying, "You were my hero that winter, Bruce. You saved my life." Bruce mutters, "A slight exaggeration..." and he sits down again and chugs some beer.
Well, this looks, um, awkward, of course, but not especially dangerous, so I'm feeling better about things. Not great, but better. I surely don't envy Bruce, but this deal does seem legit or legit enough to ease my concerns somewhat. Rita lights a cigarette, asking, "So, BMW man, are you staying for dinner? We're having my infamous meatloaf, and you're welcome to join us." Infamous?
Gulping the rest of the beer, I stand up again, saying, "Thanks for the beer and the offer for dinner, but I'm just dropping Bruce off. I've gotta get back to Atlantic City." Luca goes, "Oh yeah, why's that?" Yep, a charm school dropout for sure. I say, "Some personal business, but it's been nice meeting you all." Bruce says, "I'll walk out with you, Zach." Rita loudly says, "Ya better not chance kissing goodbye out there 'cause some of our neighbors ain't caught up with the liberal thinking yet." Daytime laughs out loud again, then goes, "That goes for us black folks as well. They haven't caught up with liberal thinking in that regard neither."
Jesus! I chuckle, mumbling, "Gotcha. No kissing." Bruce and I go outside with him saying, "Sorry about all that, Zach." I go, "Nah, it's nothing. Hey, at least the business seems legit, huh? That's what my main concern was." He nods, "Yeah, mine too."
We stand next to the car, not sure what to say or do. Finally, I say, "Fuck the satchel. Leave it and come back with me right now, Bruce." He chuckles, "I can't leave my new clothes, bro!" Nodding, I squeeze his shoulder, saying, "Text me if anything, um, if you have the slightest doubt about anything. Um, ya know, if you start to think it's not worth it, or..." He says, "I'll be fine." I go, "Well, text me that you're fine, okay? Humor me, please."
He says, "Yes, and thanks for worrying about me. Drive safely, Zach. No matter how sucky the job, I'll be thinking good thoughts about returning to the apartment with you, Cowboy, and Lee, but paying my way this time. That's something good to look forward to. See ya." I go, "Sure, see ya," and get in, start the car, then watch Bruce walk back up the steps to the house without turning around. Then I drive away.
My mind is kind of blank as I'm making my way through what amounts to rush hour traffic in Philadelphia, which is not a pretty thing. I finally make it to the Walt Whitman Bridge, the five-dollar toll registering on my transponder, and then I hook up with the Atlantic City Expressway, NJ 42-S, and I'm on automatic pilot from here.
I had a thought that maybe I'd feel relieved to be on my own. No more give and take with Bruce. That's not the case, though. As soon as I start thinking about anything, it's Bruce I'm thinking about and wishing he was sitting in the car right next to me right now. Never having been in love before, there was a chance I was mistaken about being in love with him; I mean, how does one really know if they're in love? The fact I'm not thinking about relaxing on my own for a couple of weeks enjoying Cowboy and Lee buzzing harmlessly around me in their youthfulness, but instead, I'm wishing Bruce was in the car with me... well, yeah, I think that indicates love.
I'm in love, and not just for the sex. I like being with him, sleeping with him, doing things with him, hearing his voice, looking at him. And, I admire him for trying so hard to be, um, to be... normal? Yeah, normal is what I was thinking, except my life isn't normal. It's a privileged trust fund life. So, no it's not normal, but it's closer to normal than Bruce's life has been, and if we work together in a business, it'll get closer to being normal-normal. Yeah, I'm gonna need to figure that out, but not now.
Now I've gotta figure out what I'm going to do with my time alone for three weeks. I don't want to be the third wheel in Cowboy's and Lee's budding relationship. Maybe I'll go home and visit Mac, um, visit my father. Hmm, why would I do that though? Why would I want to deal with the pressure he'll exert for me to go to law school, or simply join the business in a made-up position... undoubtedly a redundant one? Cocktails at the club making small talk with rich phonies who talk with stiff jaws. No, I don't think so.
Driving up to the apartment at a little after seven, I find nobody home. In honor of Bruce, I have a shot of Jim Beam and a beer while smoking a cigarette on the balcony. Then it hits me that Cowboy probably left me a text telling me where he's at. I left my phone in the car charging when I was inside Luca's meeting those unusual people. It's still there; my phone is still in the car.
Finishing my smoke, I go down to get it, and sure enough, Cowboy left a text. 'Hey Zach, hope the trip was no problem. Lee got fired from work for missing too many days. My fault, so I'm treating him to a trip to crazy Wildwood for a few days. Be cool! Love, Cowboy.'
Huh, they're going there because there are many more amusement rides on Wildwood's boardwalk than on the Steel Pier, and they love themselves some roller coasters. Good for them. I read Cowboy's text as I was going back up to the apartment. Inside I get another shot of Jim Beam and flash it down. Then pour another one and take it and another beer out on the balcony. Sitting on one of the deck chairs, I contemplate my choices for what to do tonight and reject them all, including dinner. I feel like getting drunk tonight. Mostly I'm concentrating on what I won't do tonight... I will not text Bruce. Christ, not the same night I dropped him off!
To be continued... donnymumford@outlook.com.
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