Summer of Sex with Cowboy

MY SUMMER OF SEX WITH COWBOY

Chapter 6

by Donny Mumford

We're having a late dinner in the Marriott Hotel's main dining room, and I'm finally drinking the hard liquor drink I've been thinking about all day. It's not my usual Jack Daniels on the rocks, though. For a change, I have a Wild Turkey Manhattan. Cowboy ordered the same drink and was disappointed that he wasn't carded. Ha-ha, that's twice since we obtained his fake driver's license that he's ordered alcoholic drinks without being asked for ID. Go figure...

Then, during dinner, Cowboy wants to know every detail of what went down between the drug dealers outside that bar and me, and what went on inside the bar, and what happened when I met the people on the boardwalk, and, well, everything that happened while he waited in the car.

I was actually pissing my pants, but I'm obviously not mentioning that. I missed Ronny being there because hallways led the way, taking the badest of the dudes we were dealing with. Plus, I don't want him glamorizing what illegal dealings with unsavory low-life characters were, so I downplay everything except the fight. I mean, he saw what happened with that. I've previously told Cowboy, a number of times, he shouldn't admire stuff like that, or, for that matter, the irresponsible life his brother and I have led. Overdoing my advice-giving, I tell him to stop thinking about joining the Navy Seals after college too.

He swallows a piece of prime rib and says, "I'm not thinking of joining after college, Zach, I'm considering joining before going to college. I want to be able to handle myself the way you handled those n-word dudes." I'm like, "And, would you please, please, please stop referring to people as the n-word. Could you that for me, please! And stop this crazy talk about joining the fucking Seals before or after college."

Cowboy goes, "Well, why don't you want me joining the Seals? I thought you'd be proud of me." Toning down my lecturing, I calmly tell him, "I think your brother and I have given you the wrong impression of our experiences in the Navy. Seriously, bro, I'd hate to think of you suffering through all the shit we endured. I never thought it was so great, to be honest with you. Plus, your brother told me he would do everything he could to keep you from making the same mistake he made. In other words, he did not want you to join! And, um, no offense, but you wouldn't make it through basic training anyway, and I hate the thought of how disappointed you'd be." He mutters, "Fuck all that," and then sulks as we finish eating.

Goddammit, I'm going to see to it that he is on Yale's campus for his first 'effing day of classes. After that, Cowboy will be his parent's responsibility, and he can join the 'effing Navy Seals or the French Foreign Legion if he wants. I'm keeping my promise to Ronny, and after that, I've got to start deciding what to do with my own friggin' life. It hasn't been great without Ronny.

When the waiter takes away our dishes, I put my hand on Cowboy's arm, saying, "Cowboy, your brother and I didn't see you the four years we were away, so we couldn't tell you all the negative shit involved with being a Navy Seal. Ronny texted and emailed you about the cool parts, the glory shit, which was the smallest part of our experiences by far."

He goes, "Whaddaya mean?" Shrugging, I go, "Well, um, there are horrendous aspects to the brutal training, for one thing. Training that's ongoing all four years, by the way. Then there were deadly and horrific aspects of some of our covert operations that to this day give me nightmares. I'm proud to have served, but if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn't have enlisted. Hell, I'd never have enlisted if not for Ronny wanting to do it so badly. Hell, we both got out the second our enlistment was up, didn't we?"

That's not exactly true, though. Hell, Ronny almost talked me into re-upping, and he hadn't given up trying when that happened. Sure, camaraderie with our brother Seals was special, and there were a few exhilaration moments when we'd accomplished a mission, knowing we were an elite force doing things few others could. Plus, whether we were brainwashed into believing it or not, we sincerely felt we were doing good. Good for the U.S. of A. And, seriously, he wouldn't make it through the first week of basic. Not just him, though... seventy-five percent of a lot of tougher guys than Cowboy didn't make it through basic training in our group, not all the way to graduation.

He's still pouting, so I say, "Let's have dessert, buddy." He looks at me and says, "How about if we have a sexy dessert in our suite?" Smiling, I go, "Bro, you'll have me thinking I'm the hottest stud east of the Mississippi." Looking down, he grins, saying, "You are the hottest in my opinion, so how about it?"

Chuckling, I go, "I'm not that hot, really, but, um, let me get the waiter's attention so I can pay the check, and then, yeah, we'll work out something sexy to do." He glances around and then says quietly, "Can I suck your dick?" I'm like, "Is that the dessert you were talking about?" He goes, "No, that'll be yours. Mine is the spanking and fucking you'll do on my ass once I've sucked a hard boner on your nice penis." I go, "Oh, Jesus! Um, yeah, I guess, whatever you want, Cowboy."

When we're in our, um, suite, Cowboy says, "We both need to be naked so you can admire my hot body, and I, in turn, can admire your super-hot one. Okay?" Well, it appears Cowboy is already taking over. I mutter, "Ah, sure... why the hell not?"

As we're getting undressed, Cowboy's grinning and saying, "Let's do the shoestring thing again." Dropping my boxer shorts, I mutter, "No," and he goes, "Yes, you've got to wean me off Ricky's BDSM shit." I say, "I don't know how to do pigtails, and I don't own a dildo or a dog collar, so forget about it." Naked now, he holds his arms out, asking, "How do I look, Zach. Am I hot, or what?"

Throwing my boxer shorts on a chair, I say, "Seriously, bro, you've got as hot a body as anybody I've ever had the pleasure to fuck. And, obviously, you're two or three times as good-looking as any of them." He comes over and leans his hot naked body against me, saying, "You probably say that to every nineteen-year-old dude you're fucking."

He's only been nineteen a few weeks, and he keeps mentioning it as if he's concerned I'm thinking of him as a little kid. Hugging him, I go, "Ha! It's been more than a few years since I've had the pleasure of fucking anyone your age, Cowboy. And never one with your insanely hot body, or you're insanely good-looks." He snickers and mutters, "Yeah, I know, so why the fuck don't I feel more confident about myself?"

I mumble, "Who knows. As they say, youth is wasted on the young." He goes, "Oh, and you're so old, huh? You're only twenty-seven; that still qualifies as 'youth.'" I mumble, "I've recently reached the ripe old age of twenty-eight," and then I kiss him on the mouth.

Standing naked in the middle of the suite's living room, we make out with the same intensity as our earlier make-out. And, sweet Jesus, Cowboy's enthusiasm for a hot make-out is contagious. Even so, hovering in the back of my mind is that prick of a conscious whispering, 'He's Ronny's little brother, you pervert.'

Of course, he is. That's the only reason I'm with him, and it's been a revelation to me how much I'm into his youthfulness. For years I've been functioning under the incorrect assumption that I was only into hot macho men, never giving a thought that I might also be interested in someone as young as Cowboy. Yep, I'm beginning to realize how big a miscalculated that was. On the other hand, how many nineteen-year-old gay guys can compare with Cowboy's enthusiasm for sex and overall attractiveness? He is truly one in a million. So, where's all that leave me? Up shit's creek, probably...

In three minutes, we both have hard boners. Our hands groping one another, our mouths sloppy with the mixed saliva from our hot kissing. I grab a fistful of Cowboy's long silky blond hair pulling his head back so I can lick and kiss under his smooth chin. That's right; I can't get enough of his slim athletic body or inhale enough of his sexy boyish scent while, in the background, that fucking 'Ronny's little brother' whisperer continues trying to ruin this for me!

Cowboy gasps, pulling his mouth off mine, "Zach, I'm going to cum." I let go of him and do a little gasping myself, then mutter, "Forget the blowjob, let's go right to the fucking." With his boner in his fist, Cowboy stumbles back a few steps and bumps into a footstool, which he then sits down on and says, "No, please, I want to do that," and he motions with his hand for me to stand in front of him.

As he brushes his fingers across the one-inch bangs that insist on, um, being bangs, I'm thinking, 'Christ, what a deliciously cute, good-looking motherfucker this kid is' and, stepping in front of him, he looks up at me, his hand going around my boner, as he mumbles, "Okay, you've already obviously got a boner, but I still want to suck it."

Leaning forward, he slides my cock into his mouth, sliding it in on his warm, bubblegum-pink tongue, the same warm bubblegum-pink tongue I recently had in my mouth. My hands go to his head as I stifle a moan and resist the urge to hump my hips. Wow, this kid is a very energetic cocksucker. Lots of warm slippery saliva surrounds my hard cock as his tongue is everyplace, up and down the shaft and all around the super-sensitive head. And, at the same time, he's moving my boner back and forth on his tongue.

I'm grunting, "Ah, ah, ah, ah," pulling his hair as I go up on my toes. I hear Cowboy gag when the head of my cock goes into his throat. I grunt, "Ooh," and thirty seconds later, when he's pulling it from his throat, I blow my load. A lot of it goes down his esophagus, but some shoots in his mouth too. It's a two-pulse climax; the first stream of semen is a long, strong stream that felt as if I was pissing cum, except it felt a hundred times better than regular pissing. Yeah, it was so intense I almost passed out, and then the second smaller shot of cum felt more normal; both have left me shaky and feeling weak. Christ, what a fabulous orgasm, though!

Cowboy is coughing because cum spray hit his windpipe, so I pat his back hard a few times. With tears in his eyes from the coughing and a grin on his lips, he says, "That was great. I loved that!" This boy really, really likes sex.

I go, "You liked it? Jesus, that was some awesome oral sex you did there, bro. I thought my dick was going to blow right off my body along with my cum load." He shrugs, mumbling, "And it wasn't my best blow job either." I'm wiping cum-drops off his chin with my thumb, mumbling, "In that case, I'm afraid to contemplate your best blow job." He grins and shrugs again, then stands and says, "I need a Coke." He walks over to the little refrigerator to get one as I smile at how proud he seemed at my compliment for his oral sex prowess.

I've said it before, but wow, what a likable kid he is too. To be perfectly honest, though, Joe gave me a technically better blow job than Cowboy's, and I had a damn good climax from that one too. Yeah, but the climax I just had was far more satisfying, more intense because I like Cowboy approximately one-hundred times more than I liked Joe. Cowboy arouses me while Joe did not, and the arousal makes all the difference between a climax and a CLIMAX!

As Cowboy chug-a-lugs soda, I praise him some more just to watch him shine. Like all of us, although maybe more than most, Cowboy likes to be praised. He deserves my praise. When he finished his Coke, as I knew he would, he exaggerates a burp, then chuckles about it, and then says, "You've still got to fuck me, you know." Nodding, I mumble, "Gladly, but not right now," and I go over to see if there are any Rolling Rock beers left in the refrigerator.

There are two left, so I take one and say, "I need to reload, bro." He nods, "Sure, but after that fantastic oral sex I did for you, you're going to need to ramp up my 'dessert." I mutter, "Well, mine was special, alright, I'll give you props for that, so I'll see what I can come up with."

He sits on the only unsoiled sofa cushion left, grinning as he mumbles, "That's the spirit. I'll have you coming around to my way of thinking in no time." Smirking at him, I sit next to him, squeezing onto the same cushion, and put my arm across his shoulders, saying, "You're a cheeky little bastard, ain't ya?" He snickers at that and cuddles in against me. Yeah, cuddling is okay.

Cowboy drinks some more Coke and then says, "Have you noticed that we're talking a lot more nowadays, and fucking better too?" I'm like, "And, to what do you attribute this improvement in both areas?" He goes, "Mostly, the credit goes to me for spending two nights with Ricky, making you jealous." I snort out a laugh and go, "Shit, cheeky doesn't cover it. You've moved past cheeky." He snuggles tighter against me, murmuring, "I knew I could make you adore me."

Huh, I don't adore him, but I find I like being with him more than I expected, and he's kind of right to say the two nights he spent with Ricky opened my eyes. I was taking Cowboy for granted, not realizing how much I enjoyed his company. On the other hand, I was shell-shocked from Ronny getting killed, too, so that's my excuse for being oblivious.

Taking my arm from across his shoulders, I say, "I'm going to grab a smoke on the balcony." He mutters, "Me too." We both pull on our shorts, san underwear, and I pick up the box of Marlboros, carrying it and my beer out to our rather large balcony. Leaning against the railing, I flip open the top of the Marlboro box and mutter, "Huh, only three cigarettes left, bro." After passes one of them to him, I mumble, "I wish I had a few joints left." Lighting up, he says, "How about the cocaine you paid two hundred dollars for?"

Shaking my head, I take a drag off the Marlboro, then mumble, "I'm not feeling that kind of a 'high' right now. Some other time." He blows out some smoke and says, "I've had cocaine before, ya know." I mutter, "No, I didn't know, but we're still not doing it now." He mutters, "I don't want it now anyway." I'm like, "Do you always need to get the last word in with everything?" He grins and says, "Yes."

Chuckling, we both take a seat on outdoor chairs and stare at the night sky, smoking our cigarettes without talking. Finally, Cowboy says, "The nearest star to our sun is Proxima Centauri, 4.25 light-years away." I have nothing to say to that, mostly because I don't want to encourage him to go into one of his brainiac routines that hurts my brain. I'd like to just chill out and enjoy feeling good.

After a minute of silence, he asks, "Did you know that, Zach?" I nod, "Uh-huh, I did." Another minute of silence with me feeling strangely relaxed. That's easier now that I've become very comfortable with Cowboy. Hmm, which must mean I wasn't totally comfortable with him until now. Huh, I didn't realize that, but so what 'cause I'm comfortable with him now.

He taps my arm and says, "Light travels 186,000 miles a second. Did you know that?" I nod, "Yes, I did know that. Everybody knows that, bro." He goes, "No, they don't. Ya know, using current rocket fuel, it would take 50,000 to 70,000 years to reach that nearest star." Oh boy, here he goes.

I don't feel right ignoring him, though, so I ask, "Point out that star for me, dude." He looks at me, asking, "Is that a joke? You know damn well you can't see Red Dwarf stars. Not with the naked eye anyway. They're too faint." Oh, ha-ha, I didn't know it was a Red Dwarf. I mumble, "Yes, of course," and then I have to chuckle at the 'look' he gives me.

A minute later, he says, "You were breaking my balls, right?" Shaking my head. I go, "No, no way." We both flick our cigarette butts over the balcony into the humid night sky or onto someone's balcony below us, whichever. He goes, "Well, from the earth, with the naked eye, it is possible to see Alpha Centauri. That's a triple star system, as you probably already knew. It's in the constellation Centaurus, of course."

Not wanting him to think I'm making fun of him, I ask, "Can you point that one out to me?" He goes, "Hey, wise-ass, you know damn well we can't see it from here." I go, "You just said we could," and he says, "From earth, yeah, but only if we're in the Southern Hemisphere."

Huh, no shit? I say, "Oh, so you're saying we need to go south of the equator?" He nods, "Yeah, like Argentina or Australia. Someplace like that." I mutter, "That's a long way to go just to see a fucking star." He says, "Now I know you're just breaking my balls, Zach."

If I let him have the last word, that will be the end of the astrological lesson. So, I drop that topic and ask, "Do you want to split this last cigarette?" He shakes his head, "Nah, I'm squirming with anticipation of soon feeling your special boner inside me, and I need a hard spanking too, although I'm probably quixotic in that regard."

Standing, I ask, "You're what? Quixotic?" He gets up, mumbling, "Yeah, unrealistically optimistic that you'll do a spectacular spanking for me." I'm like, "Oh, yeah? As I recall, last time you were yelling 'stop.'"

We go inside, and I drop the Marlboro box on the coffee table, thinking I'll smoke the last cigarette after some super hot sex with my young buddy here. Cowboy drops his shorts, saying, "Oh, yeah, that's right, you did a good spanking last time. I forgot."

Before I take off my shorts, I get a condom from a pocket and drop the packet next to the Marlboro box. Cowboy says, "Hey, I want you to fuck me without a condom." I rub his head, mumbling, "And I will, but I'm going to get some lube from that condom to use as a compromise between what you want and what I want." He smirks, saying, "You always know just the right thing to do." Snorting out a chuckle, I go, "You really should stop trying to bullshit a bullshitter." He shrugs, "Ronny was the bullshitter, Zach: not you. You're too upfront about everything. And, you don't know it, but you're naive about a lot of these too. Ronny told me that once."

Well, he's kind of right about the bullshitter part. As he's casually playing with his dick, probably unconsciously, he mumbles, "Why do you think tying my nuts is cacoethes?" Snickering, I go, "Well, I'm not sure I do because I don't know what that fucked-up word 'caco-whatever-the-fuck-you-said' means." He shrugs, muttering, "It means, um, bad idea." I squeeze the back of his neck as I mumble, "Then, why didn't you say 'bad idea,' huh?"

Ignoring my question, he hunches his shoulders, saying, "Oh, that's giving me chills, Zach. Squeeze my neck again." Instead, I get my arm around the front of his neck, holding him tightly, and then whack his butt cheek with my hand, "SMACK!" Well, I'm not into spanking him, but as a compromise alternative to BDSM crap like tying his balls, I'll do a hard spanking on his perfect butt cheeks. Cowboy pulls on his dick as loud "SMACKING" sounds, the palm of my handing slapping his buttocks, have me hoping our neighbors are out enjoying themselves because if they're not, they gotta be wondering what the fuck is going on in here.

Cowboy mutters encouragement during the first minute of his spanking. Words such as, "Yes, that' was a good one," and "Harder Zach." After a minute, though, it's mostly, "Ow! Ow! Fuck, OW!" but he doesn't say 'stop,' so I keep smacking his ass concentrating on his closest butt cheek, his left one that's shiny-red already. After two minutes, I think my arm is probably aching as much as his 'effing butt cheek. Then, after three minutes of whack, whack, whack, he finally yells, "Okay! Okay, you can stop now... pleaaaase stop!"

Thank God for that, but I smack his ass once more, pretending I could go on, which I couldn't for much longer. My arm is sore, and the palm of my hand is almost as red as his buttocks. Cowboy has tears running down his face as he, incongruously, is also laughing and saying, "Awesome, awesome, awesome, bro. Nice job! Oh, my motherfucking ass is stinging go good." I mutter, "My hand is about to fall off my arm." He brightly says, "Oh, well, next time, use a belt or something," and then he strokes his boner again.

How the hell he can spring a boner while getting spanked is something I'll never understand. Catching my breath, I look over at the coffee table and remember the condom packet. Whew, that spanking is a real workout, so I'm sweating as I rip open the little packet and take out the condom, slippery with lubricant.

Cowboy is looking at the reflection of his red ass from the mirror over the sofa, mumbling, "Ricky used a belt, which left welts. I kinda miss that." Jeez, I wonder what happened with Cowboy's brain or what experiences in his life, makes him enjoy pain with sex? I'd ask Cowboy, except I'm sure he doesn't know. It's subconscious shit.

I say, "If you're done admiring your ass, I'll lube it up for you." Cowboy nods his head and bends forward, his hands on his knees, mumbling, "This is when Ricky would twist a dildo up my ass and then tie my nuts." The matter-of-fact way he said that makes me laugh, and he goes, "What's so funny?" As I push a glob of lube past his sphincter muscle, I mutter, "You. You're funny." Ignoring that, he murmurs, "Ooh, yeah, your finger feels good, Zach."

It's turning me on, so I take my time spreading more lube around his anus, watching it twitch. When I push my finger in, just to the first joint, his sphincter grips it and holds on. Tugging my finger backward, it tightens even more. That's giving me a boner, haha. Cowboy has the cutest ass too, and it's hairless. I still can't get over that. His is the only completely hairless ass I've ever seen, and I've seen upwards of fifty bare male asses, plus two bare female ones. All of those asses had at least a few hairs around the assholes, and a few of the extra hairy men had hair covering their buttocks.

Hair on the ass never got my attention in any significant way, except now I think I prefer Cowboy's hairless ass to a hairy one. He's ruining me.

Pulling my finger out, I mumble, "Are you ready for this, bro?" He looks back at me, still holding his hard dick in his fist, and says, "To be pauciloquent, YES." I mutter, "I'm not even going to ask what the fuck the word before 'YES' means." He mutters, "It means concise." Gripping his hips, I pull his buttocks against my crotch, my hardening cock pointing up his ass crack, and mumble, "It would have been more concise if you'd simply said yes."

He snickers, "Oh yeah, you're right, Zach. It's like I can't help myself sometimes. All kinds of funny words are bouncing around in my head from when my junior year roommate, Dickie O'Connor, and I would try outdoing one another with vocabulary words that no one..." I go, "Not now, Cowboy. Tell me about it some other time."

Pushing him forward allows my cock to stick straight out, hard as wood. Oh, fuck, it feels so good too. Jesus, I need to stifle a moan, then forcefully drive my boner three inches in past Cowboy's sphincter muscle. He yells, "Fuck!' but not an actual full-blown scream. Pushing the rest of my boner inside his rectum causes Cowboy to make a series of breathy grunts, none of which sounded anything like stop. The lubricant helped, but I've never fucked anyone else who could take that abrupt entrance as well as Cowboy just did. He didn't even try pulling away from me, which would have been most guy's instinct.

Pressing my groin against his spanked ass, I close my eyes and enjoy the sensations vibrating off my swollen penis. Exquisite sensations are created when his rectum muscle exerts pressure on the untold number of nerve endings that evolution's trial and error method developed in the human's penis. An intense pleasure to encourages fucking for the perpetuation of our species... all species.

No, it wasn't intended for this kind of fucking, but the nerve endings are there just the same. There's also a brain component that creates sexual arousal, normally between male and female, heterosexual arousal. Still, because of a random anomaly in the brain and some unusual early life experiences, sexual arousal is occasionally homosexual. That's where Cowboy and I come in.

I'm waiting for his noisy breathing to normalize a little before pulling my boner back a few inches. I don't need to wait long, though, and that's because he has an amazing world-class rectum. I ask, "How's it going, bro?" He snorts out a chuckle, then mutters, "Fuck, it was amazingly good the way you jammed your hard dick up my ass. Yeah, I'm doing wicked good now."

With that swell endorsement, I pull my boner back four inches and shove it right back in, and Cowboy goes, "Ooh!" Immediately, I do it again, increasing the sensations coming off those previously mentioned nerve endings in my dick. Two more withdrawals and forward thrusts cause pleasure sensations blooming to the degree I can't help but begin thrusting my bone-hard cock the full six inches back and forth in his ass, and I've no intention of stopping until hell freezes over or I blow my load, whichever comes first.

As always, the "Slap, slap, slap" sounds of my body smacking into Cowboy's buttocks makes me smile, then grimace, hardly believing how awesome it feels doing this. Nothing in the world feels as good as this. It gives me shivers of pleasure with every thrust. My hands tightly grip his hips to pull his asshole onto my hard cock as I'm thrusting it inside him. He's a willing partner allowing his body to be moved anyway I chose, so it's steady "Slap, slap, slap" as he's going, "Ah, ah, ah," and I'm grunting, Um, um, um."

It's not perfect, though, because when my eyes drift to Cowboy's head, I see his pretty blond hair hanging down past his jaw on both sides. I'm programmed to think 'girl,' not 'guy.' It requires that I waste some time concentration on overcoming that instead of concentrating on sexual pleasure. I could keep my eyes closed, but instead, I let go of his hips and lean over his back to grab his shoulder and pull him up until his back is against my chest. Then, with both arms around his waist, I hump my hips fast and hard, driving my boner back and forth in his ass while Cowboy moans, "Yes, yes, yes," his hand reaching back clutching my butt cheeks, going along for the ride.

I'm in a great rhythm of rapid full six-inch thrusting as Cowboy tightens his rectum muscles, which, I suppose, increases the sensations coming from the nerve endings inside him. Yeah, ha, I sometimes forget that he's experiencing sexual pleasure equal or greater than my own. With the back of his body tight against me, his scent adds to my arousal now, and the feel of his taut body leaves no doubt in my brain that I'm fucking a male body. And, I'm aware the male body is Cowboy's, which makes this even more special. That's a recent development, but it's an unmistakable one, and I'm hoping not a fatal one in the long run.

The only thing I'm aware of that is better than fucking this near-perfect ass is what's percolating in me right now. It's a sexual climax, of course, and it's gaining power by the second. If I could hold it off, I would, but I can't.

Holding my breath, my face getting redder and redder, and, as the monstrous climax in me approaches a tipping point, apparently so is Cowboy's climax. Before I blow my load, Cowboy's body stiffens, and he leans back against me hard and, with a yelping gasp, blows his load straight out about six feet. Oh, fuck, how sexy was that? And then, I blow my load up his ass filling him with creamy warm cum, and then a smaller follow-up shot as the roots of my hair tingle, my toes curl, and I gasp, "Oh, my God...."

Cowboy is now sort of hanging in my arms, my cock still inside him. We both shudder again as Cowboy exhales noisily, then excitedly says, "Wow, that was so fucking hot!" Taking my arms from around him, I step back, pulling my cock out, which makes us both shudder again. Cowboy's chuckling and saying, "Yo, bro, your cock felt good coming out too." He's so cool with sex, almost like he doesn't think it's a big deal, although I know that's not so.

I'm like, "Yeah, that was, um, a very worthwhile five-minute endeavor."

I shudder again because, I don't know, but fucking Cowboy has become very arousing to me. Jesus, I need to make a concerted effort not to hug him. He grins at me, mumbling, "Your goo is drooling out of my ass and running down the back of my 'effing legs."

Shrugging, I'm like, "And that's my problem?" He chuckles, muttering, "No, I guess not. Um, can we take a shower together like we did last time?" Good idea! I shrug again, as If I don't care, mumbling, "Sure, if you want. Let's do it." He goes, "You need to wash me 'cause it's your cum." Yeah, well, I can't resist hugging him now... he's so fucking cute. After the hug, I say, "Yeah, I'll wash you, ya little wise-ass. I promised to take care of you, so..."

Showering together is an opportunity to get my fill of Cowboy's taut youthful body. And this shower stall is a good one to do that in. There's plenty of room to accommodate three people should a guy happen to know a couple of intimate friends who wanted to shower with him. Two showerheads are pouring out lots of water, and the water pressure is so strong, in two seconds, Cowboy and I are as wet as we'd be if we jumped in the ocean.

After unnecessarily shampooing his hair again, I bathe the rest of him using my soapy hands as washcloths. To keep my hands slippery, I use about six ounces of the bath gel Marriott Hotel conveniently provides for their suite guests. Cowboy springs another boner as I'm 'bathing' his private parts, including fingering his rectum to get all the 'yucky' cum out. We're joking and goofing around the whole time, so it's not as if anything romantic is going on.

As soon as we're both dried off, we get in bed together, and Cowboy does his normal cuddling against me, and, yes, I'm calling it 'cuddling' now instead of saying he's lying all over me. It's been a long, eventful day, so we sleep right through the night until almost ten o'clock the next morning.

When I open my eyes, I see Cowboy sitting at the edge of the bed, facing away from me. I mumble, "How ya feeling this morning, Cowboy?" He turns his head and says, "Good, I'm good. I was thinking about the two showers we took together. Dude, that was some kind of sexy-cool shit. It was wicked nice and sexy of you to do that for me, and I didn't even thank you."

Sliding out of bed and heading for the bathroom, I'm like, "Oh, hell, no problem, Cowboy. I'm supposed to be taking care of you, right? You heard what Ronny said." He gets off the bed and follows me into the bathroom, saying, "Bullshit. You know that's not what Ronny meant. I like physical contact, though, and you did some premium touching. I loved every second of it; that's all I'm saying."

I'm taking a piss, mumbling, "Well, I hope you're not expecting me to make a habit of it." Stepping over to stand shoulder to shoulder with me, Cowboy pulls his dick out and starts pissing, saying, "Well, yeah, bro, that is exactly what I'm hoping for. It's a really cool way of, um, bonding, so why can't we do it regularly?" Chuckling, I mutter, "I don't know, Cowboy. We'll play it by ear, okay?" and then put my dick back in my boxer shorts.

Obviously, I let my guard down and allowed Cowboy's attractiveness to overwhelm my common sense doing those two joint showers. As we wash our hands and face at the double-sink, he goes, "How about if we take turns bathing one another. It's not as if you'd need to be my servant," and he snickers, adding, "I don't expect that, although if you'd like to be, ya know, that'd be okay too." Squeezing toothpaste on my toothbrush, I mutter, "And it'd also be okay if you go fuck yourself." He laughs as he reaches into his toiletry kit for his toothbrush.

This is good, though. I say that because I sense there isn't anything even slightly romantic going on here. Cowboy doesn't seriously think we're going to be taking showers together routinely. Actually, he's goofing on the idea. Considering his age, he might have thought, um, I don't know, maybe that I had a romantic interest in him or some dumb-ass thing like that. But, Nah, he has more sense than to think that.

Finished brushing his teeth, Cowboy asks, "Seriously, though, what are we going to do today?" I'm putting shaving cream on my face, "Well, what do you want to do?" He shrugs, "I'd love some beach time, Zach." I mumble, "Me too, so a day on the beach it is." He grins, "I'll expect you to dress me for breakfast first, though." I mutter, "And, I expect you to go fuck yourself, as I mentioned a minute ago."

He pats my ass, smiling and saying, "No, I don't need to do that because you do it for me fabulously," then he fluffs his one-inch bangs, whining, "What can I do about these fucked-up bangs, Zach? They make me look like a weirdo." I'm done shaving in ninety seconds, mumbling, "I don't know what to tell you, Cowboy. All you can do is wait for those hairs to grow out. Or, um, you could call Ricky and ask him for a suggestion." He snorts out a laugh and mutters, "Ballbuster."

Wearing shorts and t-shirts with sandals on our feet, we take the elevator down to the lobby. First, I buy a pack of Marlboro cigarettes; then, we go into the cafe for breakfast. Cowboy says, "I feel so fucking good, Zach." His enthusiasm for, um, for everything is a very likable personality trait, one that comes naturally to him. There is nothing phony about Cowboy. Sometimes he's like a little kid, sure, and then sometimes he's like a college professor, but he always seems to be enjoying life.

Cowboy orders fried eggs over easy, bacon, home fries, toast, and coffee, while I get a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin. He tells me again that he doesn't want to go to college. I'm like, "Well, don't you miss your prep school friends? And, aren't a couple of them going to Yale?" That gives him pause, then he says, "That's a good point, Zach," and I add, "My college years were a blast. Except for the alleged reason for college, meaning the annoying classes, those four years were probably the most fun years I'll ever have in my life. College was five times more fun than prep school."

Swallowing the last bite of toast, he goes, "Jesus, I didn't think of it like that. If Tim Biltmore can arrange to be my roommate, holy fuck, that would rock like a motherfucker. He and I could be like you and Ronny." Making a 'face' at that, I'm like, "Be your own person, Cowboy. Don't emulate Ronny and me, but you get the idea... college is party time!" He nods his head, mumbling, "Why didn't I think of that?"

Obviously, the loss of his brother dominated Cowboy's thinking these past weeks, as it did to me. We've both just begun immerging out from under that horrific dark cloud, but I don't want to mention that. Not when I've got Cowboy finally thinking more clearly about college.

Outside, we smoke a cigarette as Cowboy asks, "How can we score some weed, Zack? The few times you and I smoked pot during our trip coast to coast was wicked cool. I loved getting high with you." Omigod, it wasn't cool at all! When we got high during our cross-country trip, we'd rant incoherently about the injustice of Ronny being killed. I never want to go through that again.

Well, that's one more thing I'm not mentioning. Cowboy's obviously suppressed it somehow, changing our 'highs' into something other than what they were. Instead, I mutter, "No problem, bro. I'll score some weed for us."

After saying that, I realize I don't know exactly how I'm going to do that. This is another example of me realizing it was always Ronny who did this kind of shit. I was just along for the ride, so to speak. If we were in New York, I'd see Jake Delrio at that cigar store on 57th street, but here in Atlantic City, I don't know who to go to. Well, I got Cowboy that fake ID, so I guess I can score some fucking weed. Hmm, I sure as shit can't go back to that bar, not after kicking the crap out of those two assholes.

Forgetting about the marijuana for the moment, we change into our swimsuits and walk to the beach. It's a mere block from our hotel. Then, carrying our sandals, we go down near the water to run barefoot on the beach for about three miles. As we're walking back to where we started, Cowboy asks, "Why didn't we get a hotel on the beach?" I mumble, "I don't know. Why didn't you say something about that yesterday?" He goes, "Heh-heh, I didn't think of it yesterday. That's your job as the brains of this outfit, bro."

I'm not used to being the brains of anything. That was always his, Ronny's, job. It's freaking me out that I never realized that Ronny and I were inseparable all those years. Goddamn, that's embarrassing. With Ronny, I was like Cowboy is now with me, meaning totally carefree. No need for me to make any decisions back then. Hell, when something didn't work out, I'd be like Cowboy, asking Ronny why we didn't do something else. It was inferred criticism, just like Cowboy inferred I fucked-up by not getting a hotel on the beach.

I'll need to ramp up my game, I guess. Well, fuck, as I just said, I did get Cowboy his fake ID. Plus, I got us through the past seven weeks in one piece, and I must have done an okay job as both of us are being more realistic about accepting his brother's death. Not liking it one bit, but accepting that it happened and nothing will change what happened. So, yeah, I'm seeing things clearer too. Hell, I can do this.

I rent beach chairs and an umbrella from a surly beachboy who then sets the umbrella up for us. I give him a ten-dollar tip which, from the 'look' he just gave me, implies it wasn't enough, then he slumps off back to his stand. Asshole.

We sit silently, enjoying the breeze and smell of the ocean while watching people walk by. After a while, Cowboy starts grading the desirability of the guys going by us. He goes, "No, no, no, hmm, perhaps." I snicker, and when more guys walk by, he's like, "Oh good God, no!" Then, "He's another no, Zach. Jesus, where are all the hot guys?" I shrug, and he's like, "Oh, look at him. Oh boy, there is a definite maybe, Zach," then, "Oh yes! That one will do." He gives thumbs-up to a really cute guy, who might be eighteen, walking and holding hands with a girl.

I say, "Okay, so you think that kid is a winner. He was out of about seven guys. Dude, that is a way higher percentage than normal. I've found, on average, one truly desirable guy, sexy and age-appropriate, is no more than one out of fifteen." Cowboy mutters, "You're too critical; too picky. One out of seven seems about right to me."

While there aren't many people sunbathing around us, there are a lot of walkers, although Cowboy quickly loses interest in evaluating them. After an hour, it occurs to me we're getting sunburned, so we move our chairs under the umbrella. Cowboy asks, "How come you didn't get sunblock when you bought the cigarettes?" See, there he goes again. It doesn't occur to him that he could have thought about sunblock before we hit the beach. I mumble, "Am I suppose to think of every-fucking-thing, bro?" Grinning, he goes, "Who else? I'm a barely nineteen-year-old airhead." Rolling my eyes, I'm like, "Oh, yeah, I forgot that."

Knowing I'd be paying to rent beach chairs, I planned to put a few ten-dollar bills in the back pocket of my swimsuit. Taking one of the bills out, I hand it to Cowboy, saying, "Now that we've thought of it, go buy us some sunblock." He goes, "Yes, boss," and off he goes. So, it isn't all bad to decide everything because I also decide who needs to run errands.

When Cowboy is back with the sunblock, we spread it on each other as he tells me, "Wow, there was a hot guy at the register in the CVS. He gave me the, um, that 'look, if you know what I mean. So, I'm wondering, um, ah, well, did you actually get jealous of me spending time with Ricky, or were you kidding about that?" I'm like, "Why?" and he goes, "I was just thinking, um, I might, ya know, see if there's any action there with that CVS guy. See if he was a cock-teaser, or maybe he was interested in him and me doing something together." Swell.

Sitting back down on my beach chair, I go, "I'm not sure, but I may have been a little jealous of you running off with that dick-head Ricky. Mostly, though, I didn't like the changes in your appearance or how you were acting around him. It was like that dick; Ricky was taking advantage of you bossing your ass around like crazy."

He got, "Oh, you mean the way Ronny bossed yours around like crazy." I make a face, muttering, "That was different," then add, "Anyway, my feelings are mixed, I guess you could say about Ricky and you. I wasn't jealous of tricky-Ricky and, yeah, absolutely check out the CVS guy." He sits on his chair and is super sincere, saying, "I wouldn't do any of that Ricky-crap with this CVS guy, assuming he's even gay, plus interested in me." I mumble, "If the guy's gay, Cowboy, he's interested in you, bro." Cowboy snickers and mutters, "Yeah, I know."

Of course, I'd like to say 'no' to Cowboy's idea of following up with the CVS kid, but I'm not his parent, plus, even if I was, Cowboy's nineteen-fucking-years-old. I shrug, saying, "It's your life, and you're nineteen, so it's your decision anyway." He sits back in the chair and thinks about it. Then he quietly says, "Well, if you really don't mind, I'm going to see what's up with that guy 'cause he's a cutey and sexy as hell too."

Curious, I go, "Yeah? What's he look like?" Cowboy looks at me and goes, "Well, first of all, he looks like he's my age, or maybe younger, and he has this cool, but a little weird red crewcut hairdo and earrings in both ears, and his ears stick out... haha. And he's skinny as hell, but he's somehow cute and sexy too."

Rolling my eyes, I mutter, "Christ, that kid doesn't sound like anyone I'd be interested in, but I'd not nineteen. And, um, just be very careful that he's not 'effing underage!" Cowboy mutters, "Yes, daddy," and I give him a 'look' because he knows I don't like him calling me that. He knows it too and mumbles, "Sorry, Zach, I forgot."

So, now I've got this to worry about too, but am I jealous? I guess I am since it's only been one night that Cowboy has been away from that freak Ricky, and already he's got a roving eye for someone else his age. Well, I'll take this as further evidence that he's not putting any special meaning into me bathing him last night. 'Bathing' being a euphemism for basically fondling his entire youthful hot-as-hell body.

Later, I stick the two remaining ten-dollar bills I brought with me under the leg of my beach chair; then, to cool off, we take a one-mile swim in the ocean. The three-mile run we did earlier, and now this swim, so I'm feeling good, invigorated, actually. I'd started feeling sluggish, as if my muscles were becoming soft. They aren't, but I'd like to get an excellent workout in a gym or fitness center, and this hotel supposedly has a good fitness center. How good it is, remains to be seen. Tomorrow morning I'm checking it out.

We split a pizza around two o'clock for our lunch, then leave the beach at five o'clock. I get a sneering look from the surly beachboy when we walk past him. What, he thought we were going to bring the chairs and umbrella back to him? What the fuck did he think the $20 rental fee and ten-dollar tip were for?

Half a block down from the beach is the CVS store where Cowboy bought the sunblock. He taps my arm, saying, "I'll see you back at the hotel, Zach. I'm going to charm the balls of the redheaded register clerk. Wish me luck." I mutter, "You won't need any luck. Text me if you, um, plan on, um... well, text me about what your plans are." He waves and goes into the CVS store. Swell.

Not sure how I feel about this latest development, I go back to the suite to shower and put on the last of my clean clothes. We need to either find a laundromat or throw these dirty clothes out and buy new ones, one or the other. Hmm, unless the hotel has a laundry service. I see the maid service has been in here, and they did a good job. I encourage them to do that by leaving a twenty-dollar bill on my pillow each morning, and it's paid off as whoever cleaned the room also restocked the refrigerator with Rolling Rock beers. Yeah, I know I'll need to pay for the beers. It's a convenience of having them in that little refrigerator that I'm pleased about.

Taking one of the Rolling Rock bottles out onto the balcony, I plop my ass on one of the deck chairs, smiling at the view of the hotel's parking lot. So much for a view of the ocean that was promised when we checked in. I don't give a shit about that, though; I know what the ocean looks like. A half-hour later, drinking my second pony bottle of beer and smoking my third cigarette, I'm Googling area restaurants for someplace upscale to take Cowboy to dinner tonight. We've been eating in hotel restaurants, and they're okay but not usually exceptional.

Hmm, as I'm deciding on a restaurant called Vic and Anthony's Steak House, my cell phone rings. The caller ID indicates it's Cowboy. Good, he followed instructions. I go, "Yo, dude, what's up?" He asks, "Can Lee have dinner with us tonight?" I'm like, "And Lee is whom?" He smickers and mumbles, "Whom," and then says, "He's the crewcut redhead friend whom I just met two hours ago."

Oh, shit. But, yeah, this is good because I'll get a chance to see what kind of nut-job Cowboy hooked up with this time. I go, "Of course you can bring him; any friend of yours is a friend of mine." He goes, "Except Ricky, huh?" He got me there, so I go, "Yeah, except him." He says, "Ricky was the only friend of mine you know." I go, "So far," and then hang up. Well, not hang up... I hit the 'end' button on my phone.

Twenty minutes later, I hear Cowboy yell, "Zach, where you at, bro?" Sticking my head in past the curtain covering the sliding balcony doors, I go, "On the balcony." Cowboy and his latest friend join me out here, Cowboy saying, "Zach, meet Lee Patrick."

Yes, Lee is cute and young. He's too cute; actually, he has sort of a cartoon-character-cuteness working for him. He holds out his hand, and I go to bump fists with him, except he wants to shake hands, so I shake his small hand, saying, "Nice to meet you, Lee."

Lee has red hair, but only if you're colorblind and can't tell red from orange. He's also recently had his haircut, and it's kind of cute as well. His so-called crewcut is very short everywhere except in front, where he's put some kind of hair product on it to make his bangs stick up an inch or so. Hmm, maybe Cowboy will try that. No, that would be even sillier-looking than his bangs look now.

Cute little Lee is three inches shorter than Cowboy, who is four inches shorter than me, making Lee about five feet seven inches tall, and he's skinny. Slimmer than Cowboy. The good thing about him is that I haven't noticed any swishy tendencies in the lad so far. And, oh yeah, Lee has lots of freckles too.

I go, "So, Lee, you're working this summer, huh? I guess you live around here." He nods, "Yes, sir. I live with my folks in Ventnor City. It's two miles or so from here and, um, I ride my motorbike to work, but I only work twelve hours a week." Cowboy goes, "Lee gave me a ride to his house. It was cool riding behind him on that bike of his." Lee grins at Cowboy but has nothing to add.

The main concern I have with Lee is, the little fucker looks as if he's too young even for Cowboy, so I go, "If you don't mind me asking, what year of school are you in, Lee?" He smiles and quietly says, "If you mean high school, I graduated last spring. I'm going to Notre Dame this fall." Cowboy says, "Lee got a full ride there because he's very bright. He got the summa cum laude award for his senior class." I go, "No shit? Well, you two should get along swell." Cowboy goes, "Oh, please, Zach! I didn't get any award from prep my senior year."

Shrugging, I go, "Whatever. Um, Cowboy, how about grabbing me another one of these pony bottles of Rolling Rock." He nods, "Sure," and then he asks Lee, "Do you want one?" Lee shakes his head, "No, thank you. I don't drink." As Cowboy is getting the beers, I tell Lee, "Have a seat, bro." He says, "Thank you. Um, you're very handsome, just like your brother." I go, "I don't have a brother." Nodding my head to indicate Cowboy, I add, "He's the brother of a friend of mine who, well, never mind that."

Lee goes, "You're not Carson's brother?" Well, what the fuck did I just say? I don't say that out loud, though for fear Lee might freak out 'cause he seems a tad skittish and, well, it would have been unnecessarily harsh as well. Instead, I mumble, "Nope, we're not related." Cowboy comes out with two bottles of beer and a Coke for Lee. He pats Lee's shoulder, saying, "Zach will keep you company, Lee. I'm in desperate need of a shower, but I'll be quick about it." To me, he asks, "Where are we having dinner?"

I tell him the restaurant I decided on five minutes ago, and Lee says, "Wow, that's awfully expensive. My parents went there on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary." Cowboy mumbles, "No problem, Zach's rich." Rolling my eyes, I mutter, "Take your shower, Cowboy." Then I ask Lee, "Um, your parents, they're eating out tonight, are they?" He nods, "Yes, they're going to a neighbor's cookout tonight, and, thanks to you and Carson, I don't have to go with them. Those weekly cookouts are all adults and boring for me. This is very nice of you."

Still having trouble believing this kid is old enough to have graduated high school, I'm like, "So, did you skip a grade or something?" He shakes his head, "No, um, I wish my mom hadn't told Carson I was my class's summa cum laude. Is that why you thought I might have skipped a grade?" Dropping my cigarette butt in the empty pony bottle, I go, "Not really. It's just that you look so young." He shrugs, "I'm the normal age for going to college. I'll be nineteen next month." Huh!

As I'm trying to figure out how to ask him if he's gay without being rude about it, Lee reads my mind and says, "Carson said he'd help me, um, well, I don't want to go to college as a virgin." He blushes almost the color of his freckles and adds, "So, I'm nervously looking forward to that." He gulps then and looks down at his hands; I mutter, "That's nice of Car, um, Cowboy. He's a great kid."

Holy fuck, he came right out and told me he hopes to have sex with Cowboy. Still looking at his hands, Lee mumbles, "I'm in the closet, so it's wicked weird saying this stuff out loud to you, to anyone." I'm like, "It's very courageous of you." He shrugs his slim shoulders, and I add, "Um, did Cowboy, ah, I mean, how did the gay topic come up between you guys?" He shrugs again, "Carson asked me out. He said he knew I was gay and would I go out with him, and he's so fabulously good-looking I confessed to him that he was right about me, um, being, you know."

Nodding, I mutter, "Jeez, that was cool of you both. What'd you guys do then?" He goes, "Oh, nothing much. We walked on the boardwalk, and I blabbed out everything about myself. Carson is easy to talk to, and the next thing I knew, we were holding hands as we walked. It was so... so unreal, surreal, but wonderful too.

Aw, that's sweet, actually. Way to go, Cowboy.

Yeah, but it's a little bit awkward now, so for something to say, I ask, "Did he introduce himself as Carson? That's really an unusual thing for him to do." Lee looks up at me now, saying, "No, he said he was Cowboy Myers and asked my name. This was in the CVS. I was done with my shift then. I almost always do the early morning shift, so I'll have the rest of the day. Anyway, we walked on the boardwalk, as I said before, and I asked him about the Cowboy, um, name. It is very unusual even for a nickname, ya know?"

I mumble, "Yeah, it is, but I've known him like that since he was four years old, so..." This thing about Lee being a virgin is, of course, making me think back to my cherry-picking with Charlie Robinson, although he was a twenty-six-year-old virgin, um, minus-two blowjob. Lee is eighteen, and maybe he'll be losing his cherry to Cowboy eight years earlier than Charlie was able to, so good for him. Wow, though, props to Cowboy for handling that situation amazingly well.

His hair is still damp from the shower when Cowboy pops out on the balcony carrying two more beers, grinning and asking, "Were you two talking about me? My ears were twitching in the shower." I take the beer he's holding out to me and mumble, "We may have mentioned you once or twice, um, Carson." He laughs, "Yeah, Lee said he feels funny calling me Cowboy." Lee goes, "No, I'll call you Cowboy, it's just..." and Cowboy puts his arm across Lee's shoulders, murmuring, "It's okay, Lee. You can call me Carson; I mean, that is my name, right?" Then he says, "Scoot over, Lee, we'll share this deck chair."

Lee grins, mumbling, "Oh, okay," and squeezes against the chair's arm as Cowboy plops down and puts his arm around Lee's waist, saying, "Comfy?" Lee gulps and shorts out a chuckle as he nods his head and gives Cowboy a look, like... my hero, or something like that. I grin to myself, feeling jealous again, but this time I'm jealous I'm not nineteen, so I could join in with those two.

We drink our beers as Cowboy tells Lee how I got fake ID for him, and then he shows it to Lee, who says, "I don't drink, so I don't need that, but I'm glad you have it Carson." Well, now I'm feeling like the third wheel here. The 'adult' presents, I suppose. In that role, when we're leaving for the restaurant, I insist that Lee leaves his motorbike locked up here at the hotel. I'll drive the three of us to the restaurant. Cowboy rides shotgun but turns to talk with Lee during the ten-minute ride.

Vic and Anthony's Steakhouse are everything the advertisement said it would be, and a little more. Great drinks and great food, plus Cowboy finally got to use his fake ID. Lee got close to breaking a world's record in thanking me for dinner many times until Cowboy finally said, "I think Zach knows you appreciate the dinner, Lee. You've thanked him enough already, babe." He's calling Lee 'babe' already? Swell.

I drop them off back at the hotel, and then as I'm lighting a cigarette, I watch them ride off on Lee's motorbike. I wanted to ask where they were going but resisted doing that because, well, as I said earlier, I'm not their 'effing parent, and they're both old enough that they don't need my permission to do whatever they want.

As for me, I had only one Jack on the rocks before dinner, so I need another drink or two. It's been rare over the past two months that I'm on my own. To come to think of it, it's a rare occurrence going all the way back to my first year at prep school as a preteen. That's because Ronny and I were always together, and I liked it that way. This is new, and I better get used to it because when I drop Cowboy off at college in three months, I'll then be on my own for forever, I guess. Or, I don't know; maybe I'll eventually hook up with someone. Who knows?

Stepping on my cigarette butt, I laugh out loud, thinking, 'Holy Christ, dude, drop the foreboding shit!' Okay, I need to do something. Hmm, I get two thousand bucks from the BMW's trunk, then walk a block to the boardwalk and go into the first casino I come to, The Hard Rock Casino Hotel. Then, at a hundred dollar table, it takes almost three hours playing blackjack to lose most of the two thousand dollars, but at one point, I was up almost five thousand, so I had fun for a while there.

Tossing a fifty-dollar chip to the dealer, I give it up for the night. I had a couple of complimentary beers while playing, and now I want a real drink. Taking a seat at the closest bar, and right away, the man sitting one stool away says, "Any luck tonight?" Shaking my head, I mumble, "Nope, same old results, meaning the casino beat me again." He's a talkative motherfucker, and I'm soon wondering if he's gay, trying to determine if I am too. I say that because he quickly got way too familiar with too many smiles telling me personal bullshit stories about his experiences. As I drink, I'm politely nodding my head and grinning at the appropriate parts of his bullshit stories. That took ten minutes.

When I finish my drink, he insists on buying me one and then moves over to the stool next to mine, asking, "Are you staying here at the Hard Rock or just gambling here?" To be honest, the guy is very nice, but he's too old. He's mostly bald too, and the hair remaining on his head he shaves. Oddly, I'm not feeling in a rude frame of mind tonight, and I think that's because Cowboy and Lee were so, um, so fucking sweet and, I don't know, they were refreshing. So, ya know, I don't tell this old guy to take a hike as I might have if I were in less of a mellow mood.

If Ronny were here, he would have sent baldy running for the hills in two minutes telling me, 'He's not good enough for you, Zach.' He was always checking out guys who were hitting on me. I miss that, among a thousand other things Ronny did for me.

Making conversation, I tell the man I'm hoping my luck would change if I switched casinos, which is a lie as this is the first casino I've been in since arriving in Atlantic City. He touches my arm, saying, "Oh, Christ, I've been there, Zach." Earlier I lied to him, saying I'm staying at the Tropicanna. That's when he said, "Oh, by the way, I'm Arthur Betnaric."

I told him I'm Zach without giving my last name.

He's actually okay looking and in shape too, but, as I said, he's too old. I'm guessing late forties or early fifties. Drinking my second jack on the rocks, I endure him asking the normal pick-up questions, feeling me out as to my sexual orientation. Questions like, am I married, divorced, in a relationship, and did I notice that hot waitress, and blah, blah, blah. It's a game trying to ascertain if I may be gay and, thereby, possibly open to some sexy messing around with him. Sorry, dude, no way.

If Arthur were twenty years younger and still had his hair, it might be different. I'd be inclined to play along for a while. He isn't twenty years younger, though, so when I finish my second drink, I buy him one, leave a ten dollar tip for the bartender, and politely explain I have a 'friend' who will be wondering where the hell I am if I don't get back there. Of course, that's also total bullshit, but there is a lot of bullshit being shoveled in most gay pick-up scenarios.

He's nice about it, mumbling, "Nice to have met you, Zach. Your friend is a lucky guy, and thanks for the drink." Yeah, well, that's how it goes. He knows as I do, the percentage of successful gay pick-up attempts is quite low, maybe less than twenty percent.

Surprisingly, I find Cowboy already in bed when I get there. Jeez, I don't know why I assumed he'd be out later than this. I mean, Christ, it's almost two o'clock. Cowboy sits up in bed, asking, "Where ya been, Zach? I was worried about you." I go over and ruffle his hair, grinning at him, mumbling, "I've been gambling and losing, bro. And, hey, you don't need to worry about me."

He frowns, saying, "Well, I was worrying just the same." I ask, "So, how'd it go tonight with Lee?" Shrugging, he goes, "It went fine. I really like him. Um, I taught him how to do gay making-out, and he sprung what felt like a big boner. Not as big as Ricky's maybe, but bigger than mine." I'm like, "Oh, yeah? Did you move on to other matters after making out and, um, feeling-up his boner?" He goes, "I wasn't feeling up his boner, not the way you meant it. It was against my leg."

Chuckling, I mumble, "Sorry, but did you do anything else?" Shaking his head, he goes, "No, of course not, I didn't want to scare him off by moving in too quickly." Jeez, he's done this before. He's in a different scenario than I was in with Charlie because of the age factor, but mostly the timing factor. Charlie and I needed to deal with a quick one-night stand, so to speak.

I mumble, "You know best, bro. What I need to do now is clean up. I'm beat and looking forward to bed." Cowboy gets a big grin on his face as he pulls a condom packet out from under his pillow and holds it up, "Are you sure you're too tired for this, Zach?" I smile, muttering, "Oh, I'm never too tired for that, Carson."

After doing everything I need to in the bathroom, I hop in bed with Cowboy with my minty-fresh breath, and he immediately moves over against me. He's feeling and smelling quite sexy, so I can't resist kissing him. That starts a two-minute make-out which is all that's necessary for both of us to have hard boners. He uses his teeth to rip open the condom packet, then holds it out to me. I murmur, "You roll it on me, bro." He flips the cover off us, and I lie on my back with my boner sticking up.

Instead of rolling the condom on my boner, he holds it in his fingers and sucks my hard cock into his mouth. I go, "Umm." Cowboy bobs his head to and fro as he's sucking my dick and twirling his tongue around it. In short order, he's swallowing pre-cum, then pulls his mouth off and my throbbing cock, looks at me, showing his exceptional grin, then he mumbles, "Yum," and rolls the condom onto my stiff prick.

The condom feels tight and sexy as Cowboy stretching out on the mattress, facing away from me. He looks back, saying, "Fuck me hard, okay?" I snicker, mumbling, "Something new, huh?" He always says that. I put my arm over his side, then hear him grunt when I force the head of my hard cock in past his tight sphincter muscle. Tightening my hold on him, I push my cock steadily inside his rectum as he groans, then says with tightness in his voice, "Harder, Zach." It was more like a grunt than a normal voice.

I do that, and when I'm flat against his buttocks, I hump against him a few times. He lets out a long exhale and grunts, "Feels good," so I hump against him two more times before withdrawing my boner and, right away, start fucking him fast and hard. His body is stiff and very tight at first, but after a minute of me thrusting my cock he begins humping his hips back against my thrusting and steady "Slap, slap, slap" sounds, plus my grunts of "Ump, ump," and Cowboys moans of, "Ah, ah, ah," go on for maybe five minutes.

My chin bumps the back of his head with every thrust as I tightly hug his back against my chest and fuck him for all I'm worth. In my mind, I begin recognizing a growing feeling of serious affection for him. It's a type of affection I've never noticed having for anyone before this.

Eventually, as we've done more often than not lately, we cum almost at the same time. I hear his strong stream of cum make a subtle sound when it splashes against something, maybe the end table. With Cowboy's deep moans of pleasure in my ears, my climax explodes into the condom, and, oh, Christ, climax sensations bursting all around my groin are almost painful as they quickly spread out to all parts of my torso. Almost painful, but that's what extreme pleasure feels like, I guess. In any case, I'm shuddering at the chills streaking up my back.

Then there are always the two seconds of brilliant after-effects that sizzle around my cock and balls, especially after a climax as hot and sexy as this one; I shudder again and then sigh a sigh of deep contentment, squeezing Cowboy really hard before letting go of him and pulling out my cock. Still facing away, Cowboy murmurs, "That was so fucking good, Zach. Omigod, it felt so fucking good."

I mutter, "Me too," and he turns completely around to face me, murmuring, "Now you're supposed to kiss me." We kiss for two seconds, our lips making a smacking sound when they part. He murmurs, "Good, that was good," and cuddles against me. I wrap my arms around him and wonder, 'What's going on with me?' Then, we both go to sleep.

To be continued... donnymumfoed@outlook.com.

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