THE ASSOCIATION
CHAPTER 24
Disclaimer: This is a work of gay fiction. It will contain scenes describing sex between adult males. If that offends you, if you are underage, or if it is illegal to possess such material where you are, then stop now!
I appreciate your constructive comments. Email me at letsgonaked2000@yahoo.com Copyright held by the author. Do not reproduce without permission.
COMPETITION
Our polo match was fun, and it kept us active, while giving our battered feet and ankles a merciful rest. William's cum dribbled out of my ass onto the saddle, causing my butt to slip around on the leather. I kept getting my dick head caught under my rump. And I was distracted by the sheer beauty of watching Nicholas' magnificent body melding with the magnificent body of the gelding which carried him. My pal had become a show-stopper, with his long, lean frame, perfectly filled out with musculature, under creamy fair skin, punctuated by dark hair, now beginning to curl sensuously, and those inviting brown eyes.
My side lost, partly due to lackluster performance on my part, but it was just one of those things. My position of leadership in the class was completely secure. I was respected, relied on, admired, emulated-could walk on water, calm storms-a leader of men. No doubt, the men loved me and trusted me. William had a new place of esteem with the group, mostly because of the classy manner in which he had handled the little public dispute with me, but also because many guys do admire that manly, high-T style of his (a degree of which I have myself.) But the real clinker was Nicholas, the quiet, resilient, thoughtful, knife-edge smart, loyal one: He was no mere king's consort: whereas the class loved me, they adored and revered Nicholas. I thought they were right to do it.
Nicholas, of course, had no idea, or never showed it if he did.
I knew the next three weeks were going to be hard ones for all of us, for we felt the end coming, and we were all in dread of that. How would we part? What would our future hold? I had a continual pain in my gut over the prospect of being separated from this place, from my friends, who were now more than brothers to me. Oh, hell, I'll be honest. I was about to puke all the time because of anxiety about being separated from Nicholas. My love for him had become a pain located just below the solar plexus. I felt I might burst into tears at any time, though thankfully, I never did.
Ironically, I also wanted to see Stephanie. I know that makes me certifiably insane. Yet, in my way, I loved her, too. She had been the axis around which my life turned for the year previous, and we had had good times and meant much to one another. How could I do to her what I was planning? How could I not? I was a heel, and I knew it. Certainly, fidelity had not been my strong suit this summer.
While I dreaded the actual meeting, especially the scene, which must come early, in which I let her know that I wanted out of our former relationship--even so, I wanted to see her, find out how the summer had changed her, and let her see how the summer had changed me. Who knew, maybe she would not love this new Douglas anyway. She would certainly be taken aback. I knew from the mirror in the drying room that I had changed physically. Now, I was indeed a man, so much more than back in May. And what a specimen of a man! I was in awe of my own body. Then, there were the new hair style and the body art. Would that freak her out? Would she ever even see beneath my clothing? (Clothing! What a foreign concept!)
Inside was the major change. I had been so much the teenager when I left Stephanie. I was a fun guy, all play and loafing around, little ambition, less responsibility, serious only about sex. Now, I was able to be truly playful at sex, while I was serious about many other things. Finally, I fully deserved to be a sophomore at the university that had accepted me-though that university did not yet know that-- and I was prepared to excel there. How can I express this dramatic shift?
Before, if Stephanie and I went to, say, a sorority dance, most people would take note of her, because she was pretty and vivacious. I would be the nice-looking, bashful, clueless teen attached to her at the elbow. Cute, but no substance. Put us at the Faculty Club, or any spiffy country club, or even at a formal wedding, and you'd see an awkward, uncomfortable young man wearing adult social roles like an ill-fitting, rented tux.
Now, after running around naked for the summer, ironically, I knew from the fashion fittings we had done that I would know how to wear clothes, any clothes. I was aware that I was naked underneath and didn't care, and that made my clothes a part of me. You could dress me in formal white tie, or a kilt, or a caftan, or casual attire (and I had been fitted for all of those things), or nothing at all, as the occasion demanded, send me into a roomful of high-powered lords and ladies of commerce, fashion, and industry, and I would be perfectly at ease. I could dine with the Queen of England without a single fork faux pas. I could walk into the casino at Monte Carlo and have every head, male or female, turn toward me. I could go on an Amazon expedition and live on bugs, reptiles, and roasted rodents, and still make the cover of the nature magazine.
In brief, I was a changed man. How would that affect my meeting with Stephanie?
As I waited to find that out, I attended morning class and afternoon training as always, only with a certain additional poignancy, which the whole class shared. I found we were all kinder to one another, more deferential. But there were exceptions, since we were also more playful, too. One afternoon at free time, for example, Nicholas and I came out onto the lawn to encounter a circle of laughing naked men surrounding a helpless, captive Gregory. Someone, it seems, had found somewhere in the mansion a mechanical fucking contraption and a milking machine. A gang had ambushed the unsuspecting Gregory, tied him up, and strapped him to a tractor wheel. Now, attached to both machines, he was moaning with, they said, his third ejaculation in twenty minutes. His protests did not seem sincere, and we moved on. After an hour, they let him loose. He had to be helped to dinner, where he had kind of a glassy look about him. But he told the gang who jumped him that, if they wanted to see him getting fucked and milked for an hour, they ought to be men enough to do the job themselves next time. In a couple of days, they did. It was the high point of Gregory's summer.
There was still plenty of randy sex going on, but most men stuck more to their partner than previously. Of course, not by any means all of the men were pair-bonded as Nicholas and I were. The majority of the guys, like men everywhere, were straight in their orientation-they had simply lost all their inhibitions about their bodies and the enjoyment thereof. Many pairs were just best friends and fuck-buddies, and they would remain that. But a quarter or so of us had met our life and soul mate. For us, it was tender love-making now, more than sex.
Nicholas had found ways of making me spurt great globs of semen without touching my dick. He could do it with prostate massage, which he gave me regularly. He could also do it with tit-work alone. Mouth on one breast and fingers working the other, he drove me to heights of sensual pleasure that often culminated in an enormous ejaculation onto his working cheek. He obligingly cleaned up all such messes on my abdomen.
When I topped him now, my intent was not so much sexual release for myself, but the greatest possible pleasure for him. I frequently stayed inside him for an hour at a time, allowing myself to cum only after producing an orgasm for him, again often without manual stimulation of any kind. Or sometimes, allowing myself to cum, but lingering inside his gut to harden and cum again, up to three times during the hour.
Weekends in August, The Farm was open to members again. We could go into the Crypt anytime we were free, if we wanted, but few of us did. Adam said the members understood, because they had been through the same thing. They busied themselves with the enjoyment of one another, courteously leaving us to ourselves.
Colin came to visit again for the eleventh weekend. The four of us spent that Friday night together in Adam's suite. Nicholas got his turn with Adam, and I enjoyed Colin's body. As usual, there was a bit of a wrestling match to see who would get to be on top, but I let him pin me. Why not let Colin do the muscle work? I'd get my nut off anyway. Afterward, we shifted to familiar pairing-Adam and Colin made love together, while Nicholas and I did the same right beside them. We enjoyed one another's company, but we were clear where our primary relationships were.
Colin sat up and looked at the three of us, laid out in a row like puppies in the whelping box.
"You three could be triplets. Amazing."
"And you could be our city cousin. Is that a script idea, or what?" Adam laughed.
"No, I'm being serious. You used to have the most perfectly formed male body in the world, love. Now, there are three of you!"
Adam sighed. "All good things come to an end. But think what a sensation those movies would have been if you studs could have appeared in them with us." Adam was aware that we were declining his film offer, and why we were going with Franco's instead. He certainly did not blame us, but was excited for us and predicted great film careers for both of us.
"So, what are you going to do about that? Who's in the films? You are still doing them, aren't you?"
"Of course, it's what I do. We still have William and Patrick, and a couple of others, plus guys from the other camps. There will be a dozen hot men in this series of bare-backs, counting Honey-stick here, and me."
I resolved to start collecting Adam's DVD's when I got back home. I'd particularly want to be on the subscription list for these that were to be made in the coming year. What a trip to have hot porn flicks in which I could enjoy the body of any one of the cast, for free, anytime I wanted!
Our Saturday night activity that weekend was a huge paint-ball war. Each of the six leaders had a team, each team had three pairs of class members, and each used its own color. We got a black circle drawn on our torso, front and back. Any splat inside the ring was a kill, and caused the victim to drop out and return to the base. The team with the most kills at the end was the winner.
Nicholas and I got Adam as our leader, with Jeremy and Justin, Matthew and Taylor. With Elijah still out of commission, Colin filled in for him on Adrian's team (unfair!) The pressure would be on. It didn't matter, technically, who won this sort of thing, but with Adam and me on one team, I felt a responsibility to score one for the big dogs. Our color was deep blue.
Each team huddled for five minutes to plan a strategy. Hunt as a pack and risk wipe-out, or separately and get picked off one at a time? Scatter, stay near the base, or head for the hills? We chose to rove in pairs, except for Adam joining Nicholas and me, and spread ourselves out over the terrain.
The war would begin in twenty minutes, with three blasts of an air horn, wielded by the dejected, left-behind Elijah, which we could hear over the whole domain. A later set of three blasts would signify the end of the war in three hours.
We were totally naked, as usual. Running through the rough forest was not to be an option. We crept about slowly, for silence as well as foot protection. The yellow team had chosen to separate, and we picked off Alan early on, ambushing him alongside the main trail. He had three big blue splots on his torso to settle the issue, and only winged Nicholas on the calf.
The green team, led by Owen, was hunting as a pack, but we heard them coming and hid among the rhododendrons. They fell upon another pack nearby, and we heard the sound of the mayhem, but did not know the outcome until later. It was Dennis and his reds, and the greens got four of them in the brawl, losing two of their own. As the shouts died out, we decided to investigate, and moved silently toward the scene. We caught Patrick crouching in a laurel bush, having survived the big battle, and Adam heartlessly dispatched him. Then, we met Ezekiel and Stanley as they retreated along the trail in our direction. Stanley got off an early round and hit me on the upper shoulder-a close call, but not within the circle. I answered to his left tit. Adam, meanwhile, struck Ezekiel just above the navel, and Nicholas, simultaneously, turned his pubes a rich, dark blue. That one was funny, but not lethal. The green team was wiped out, but I wore one of their stains on my shoulder.
Encounters were scarce after that. We got ambushed by Matthew and Taylor, who almost murdered us before realizing we were on their team. The five of us stayed together after that. We managed to jump Jason and Keith as they were slowed to wade the creek. Surprised, Keith slipped on a slimy rock and sat down abruptly in the chilly water. That washed Adam's blue mark off his butt, but Nicholas' shot still branded him between the shoulder blades.
It seemed like the night was young when we heard the three blasts echo through the forest. Amazingly, the five of us had survived. We found the main trail and returned, triumphant, to base. All would depend on the paint-spot tally, and the fate of Jeremy and Justin.
A bonfire on the lower lawn served as our beacon back to base, and coolers of beer welcomed us. There is something wonderfully masculine about a gang of naked young men holding brown beer bottles in the firelight. Only Brendan, Hampton, and Phillip were still out when we arrived, but the tally of death-wounds was already complete. Jeremy and Justin had been dispatched by the light blue team. But as to the final tally: it was a tie between our team and Dennis' yellows. We could legitimately celebrate a victory, and we did-by dancing around the fire and whooping as men have done for millennia. The staff had brought down sleeping bags, too. We unzipped them in a circle around the fire and settled in by pairs, still wearing our paint spots. It was a warm night, but with remarkably few bugs out. We slept the remainder of the night under the stars, while our bonfire burned itself out at our feet.
I was awakened by the sound of creaking wagon wheels. The breakfast staff was bringing down our Sunday breakfast on a chow wagon pulled by a team of mules. This place continued to amaze me. They kept coming up with fun surprises.
When Nicholas' eyes opened, I was sitting up and sipping coffee from an enamelware mug.
"You look like hell," he said.
"Thanks. You, too."
He sat up and looked puzzled.
"What?" I fell for it.
"Just trying to decide. Do I want coffee first, or man-milk?"
I grinned. "How about coffee with man-milk? I'll bring you both."
On the way to get Nicholas' coffee, I realized I'd been had again. What a sneaky way to get me to get up and bring him coffee in bed. I grinned even bigger, realizing that I still got to provide the man-milk accompaniment.
True to his word, Nicholas sucked and sipped alternately until, with half a mug of brew to go, he got his creamer, shot directly into his mug.
"Mmm," he said on his next sip, giving me a wink. "That'll get me going!"
"If there was a market for that stuff, this herd here could provide half the supermarkets in the country with supply."
"I'm afraid we would eat up all our profits before we shipped off the goods."
We were laughing when Alvin, our favorite dining room steward, arrived with plates of ham, biscuits, and eggs.
"Sorry, guys, no gravy today, since it all had to be carted outdoors."
"No problem, Alvin, we'll make our own."
Alvin retreated scratching his head, having long ago given up on understanding this lot.