THE DEADHEADS OF NO HOPE by Rio Mack
DISCLAIMER: Contains depictions of gay and bi sexuality.
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FIRST WEEKEND (Part 2)
At her front door, Wren told Remy to wait out front until she explained things to her aunt and uncle. She closed the door on him, but then immediately wished he was at her side, so they could face this huge step together. Standing there in the front foyer, trying to focus on how she would ask, she could hear Dexter playing piano in the sun room and Marlo doing something in the kitchen, probably making tea.
She headed to the sun room first because she felt Dexter would be the most sympathetic to her desperate desire. As soon as he saw his niece, Dexter stopped playing and looked up worriedly.
"Wren, honey, what are you doing home? We thought you were out with the girls, at that dance thing?"
Dexter went into full Wren-worry mode (still his knee-jerk reaction). His voice became charged with panic.
"Everything alright, darling?"
"Yes yes yes! Everything's amazing! Everything's absolutely the best ever, Uncle! I mean, well, can I talk to you and Auntie for a minute?"
"Of course."
He shouted out to Marlo, who strode into the sun room and was as surprised (and immediately worried) as Dexter to see her niece.
"Wren, darling? Is everything al right? Did the performance let out early? Where are the girls?"
"Everything's fine! Auntie, Uncle, I sort of have the hugest favor to ask, and I'm not sure where to start, so I'll just say --. "
Wren paused because she could feel her eyes start tearing up from joy, the joy of what she had to announce, and she didn't want to look like a weepy, helpless child. She took two deep centering breaths, during which Dexter and Marlo eyed each other with increasing concern.
"OK, well, first -- you should know I actually didn't go to the dance performance with Jeri and Lav. You see, there's this boy I know. From school. His name's Remy Lord, and you don't know, of course, but I've had, like, this super-enormous crush on him ever since I first saw him in the neighborhood last July! Remy just moved here this summer. He goes to No Hope, too. He's in all my classes, and -- Oh my God! He's so beautiful! And kind and wonderful -- and every day I've just fallen more and more totally in love with him! I mean absolutely desperately!
"Oh, Auntie Marlo, Uncle Dexter, he's just the nicest, most amazing, most insanely beautiful boy who's ever lived. And he's super-smart in school, and super-kind, and super-gentle, and super-witty and super-funny, and we love the same kind of music, and we both like to draw, and oh oh oh, I'm so in love! I feel like I'm probably glowing with happiness!
"And anyway, well, we met up at Teen Town today, and we've sort of spent the past couple of hours together -- God, it's been so wonderful! And, well, he's invited me for dinner at his house tonight. He lives just right down the street from us, acoss from school! In what used to be the parson's house! Isn't that incredible? You were wondering who bought that house, Uncle -- it was Remy and his mother! His mom even works at No Hope! She's like the Assistant Principal or something.
"Also, you should know, it'd be, like, not just dinner, but also a sleep-over, and please! Before you say no! I just want to say, it's not like we'd be having sex all night, and I'd be getting pregnant. It's not like that at all. So you wouldn't have to worry about that! I mean, well, we did sort of have a tiny bit of sex this afternoon -- super-incredible, utterly beautiful sex! But not even remotely the 'getting pregnant' kind of sex, I swear! More like just the super-fun, super-sweet, lovey-dovey sort of fooling around kind. Like with the girls!"
The other kind, the baby kind, will come soon, though, Wren thought dreamily to herself. No need to get into that now, though.
"Oh my God, Auntie and Uncle, he's such a dream! I'm so utterly smitten! It's all so deliriously wonderful! And he's totally in love with me, too, which makes it supreme!
"And so, well, please? Can I, please please please? As an extra-extra-supremely-special favor? He's such a good boy, I swear. Such an amazing boy. I wouldn't be in any trouble at all. We'd be just, like four houses right down the street. We won't drive or go anywhere else. You can call and check on me any time you want. You could even walk by Remy's house whenever you wanted, and listen to hear whether I'm screaming for help or anything. Which I won't be, of course. I mean, his mother will even be there, too! All night. With her new girlfriend!
"Oh, I'm so head over heels! I've been crushing on Remy like crazy, dreaming about him every night, and today he told me that he's been dreaming about me every night, too! So it's our absolutely perfect destiny! I'm, like, the happiest I've ever been in my life! So please please please, you dearest, dearest darlings, can I please please please tell him yes, please? I mean, I won't, of course, if you say no, and obviously I won't hate you or anything, but please?"
Dexter looked at Marlo who seemed sort of stunned. Marlo was dreadfully worried -- Wren, she knew, from what Wren's friend Njeri told her in confidence, hadn't even so much as talked with any of the boys at school, let alone dated one -- and now she was going to spend the night with one? Marlo's heart raced with concern, her breath was short, but she tried calming herself because she believed whole-heartedly in her niece.
Marlo held her brother's gaze, raised her eyebrow, and sort of shrugged worriedly with her look, thereby registering her obvious concern, yet giving him the final say. She'd always kept in mind that Dexter had been parenting Wren a lot longer than she had, so Marlo always deferred to her brother in matters like this. Not that there'd ever actually been a matter quite like this before.
"Dex, what do you think?"
Dexter looked at his sweet, darling niece, this most special girl that fate cruelly and wonderfully gifted to him, to take over raising in his slip-shod but devoted way. This rare, beautiful spirit, who had been through what no living soul should ever go through -- certainly not a sweet, innocent, quirky thirteen-year-old girl, who'd been so delighted by all the magic life had to offer before that awful day.
Now Wren has somehow found her way out of the tragic ruins of her past and discovered love? A love that makes her this transplendent? Because Wren was absolutely right -- she was definitely glowing. Even if it was just a silly school-girl crush, his darling angel has found a joy in life that has transfused her with radiance.
"Wren, honey, I think you're absolutely right. I think it sounds absolutely perfect. Young love is one of the greatest gifts we can ever receive in life. I'm delighted for you, darling!"
Marlo, relieved -- because she, too, wanted Wren to live whatever thrilling dream of love she was lucky enough to find -- chimed in.
"If you like this boy, Wren, we know he must be special. Dexter and I want you to have all the fun a girl your age can have. You're 17 now, Wren, a young woman. Just promise us you'll be safe and careful?"
Tears started welling in Wren's eyes again, both at how terribly sweet these two darlings were, as well as how glorious it would be to spend her first night with Remy. She rushed to hug them both.
"I promise I promise I promise! Oh thank you, you two wonderful angels! You're the best parents ever!"
Dexter and Marlo both melted inside to hear themselves called that. Dexter asked Wren if he could walk her back down the street to this boy's house, maybe even meet him.
"No need, Uncle! Remy's right outside! I thought you both might like to talk with him while I go upstairs and pack some overnight things. Oh, I'm floating on a cloud of bliss! This is so amazing! It's the happiest day of my life! Wait 'til you see my gorgeous, wonderful boyfriend!"
Remy, meanwhile, had been nervous as hell waiting outside the Damsons' front door. Despite Wren telling him how wonderful her aunt and uncle were, all he could envision was the two of them bursting out the door and chasing him off their property, screaming at him to keep his filthy, queer hands off their niece.
It seemed to be taking forever, which Remy knew meant she was having a difficult time convincing them. To settle his nerves, he wandered around the front yard, checking out the landscaping.
After a few minutes more, Wren opened the front door excitedly, wanting to throw her arms around Remy in immediate, rapturous celebration. Instead, she got worried, because she didn't see him waiting there. She feared at first he might have bolted home, but then she smiled, seeing him nosing around among Dexter's rose bushes.
She ran over, whooping and squealing in her soft, whispery voice.
"Yay!! It's yes yes yes, darling!"
She pestered him with kisses as she led him back inside, where Dexter was waiting in the foyer. After shaking Remy's hands and smiling, Dexter led them all into the living room to sit for a bit.
Remy immediately wondered how Wren could stand his half-assed dump of a house when she was used to living amidst such total elegance. He was almost afraid to move through the house, afraid he'd bump into a table and knock over the huge, expensive-antique-looking vase on top of it.
He looked down at the luxurious carpet under his feet, then dashed back to the foyer to kick his flip-flops off, afraid he might have already tracked some dirt in from strolling around by the flower beds. But then, walking barefoot through the tastefully decorated interior, he felt like some goofball hillbilly.
They all sat on matching, overstuffed velvet-covered sofas (each with about twenty-five throw pillows cluttering it), as the Damsons made small talk with Remy about school and the neighborhood and where he was from. Remy could immediately see they were as nervous meeting him as he was meeting them.
It was only when, after a lull in the conversation, Remy chanced to compliment them on their rose bushes -- saying that he'd been doing some landscaping at his new house and had thought about roses, but assumed they were too difficult for a novice like him to try -- that the conversation began to flow easily.
Dexter became immediately animated, seizing on Remy's remark.
"Ha! There you go! That old canard about roses being too hard for the amateur gardener to grow! That is a total myth, Remy, which has kept far too many people from enjoying the beauty and joy of cultivating roses."
Marlo did a mock eye-roll and drawled in mock-pain.
"Oof! Now you've done it, Remy! You'll never get this genie back in the bottle. Be prepared to sit here another hour or three. Wren, dear, maybe we should go out shopping for a couple hours now?"
Dexter shushed his sister and asked Remy just where he thought the difficulties would lie in growing roses. Remy blurted out an answer.
"Well, the best way to plant them, for starters, what to feed them, can they winter well, don't they die a lot, controlling insects, best planting time, best pruning time?"
Dexter coolly and delightedly contemplated Wren's young man. He liked him already.
"I can see you know more about gardening than you've let on, my boy. You've asked every single one of the key questions there is. Now, when to plant -- and how, that's even more important."
Wren took her cue.
"I'll let you gardeners talk shop and go pack some things."
She sweetly kissed her boy (whispering, "They adore you!") before she took off upstairs to her room.
As she trotted up the stairs, she felt a flush of pride that she'd brought home Remy as her boyfriend, being able to show him off, like a dazzling prize. Look who's mad about me,' she felt like gloating, merely one of the hottest boys in school!' But gloating wasn't Wren's style, of course, especially with her darling Dexter and Marlo.
In her bedroom suite, Wren set the heavy cardboard tube with Remy's artwork on a high shelf in her dressing room, where it wouldn't be damaged, until she could take the drawings to the frame shop her uncle used and turn them into absolutely brilliant wall hangings. She smiled to think how scandalized her aunt and uncle would be when they saw Remy's sexy art hanging on her walls.
Wren grabbed a tote bag from a cabinet in her dressing room and did a mad dash, filling it with candles, incense, her sketchbook, some scarves, lingerie and stockings, her seven-inch dildo and strap-on, a bottle of red wine, a change of clothes, and a tin of cannabis gummies.
A thought suddenly occurred to her about something else she should take.
There were three beautiful old iron hooks mounted on the inside of one of the closet doors in her dressing room. Who knows what her Grandmother originally used them for, but Wren used them now to hang her necklaces on.
She kept all her metal chains on one hook. Wren never wore gold jewelry -- her mother once told her gold was a powerful metal for spells, but could screw up magic if you didn't know how to use it properly. Silver, though, was a highly conductive metal for charms, and easier to work with, which is why, after Anne had started teaching her daughter witch-lore, she gave Wren that silver dollar fetish, which she'd carried on her ever since.
Another hook held all her leather necklaces (many of which she'd made herself out of thin strips of rawhide). The third hook was a kind of catch-all, mostly glass or ceramic beads, but some fabric ones, too. Each of the necklaces she owned looked sexy on her. Her style often was to wear about ten or fifteen at a time.
She went through them carefully, choosing each not only for how it would look, but for how useful it would be for what she had planned later for Remy. She chose what she thought were the strongest, most flexible necklaces among the rawhide strops and fiber necklaces and silver chains.
Once she had over a dozen, she slipped them on, knowing how sexy they'd look on her later, when she was naked with Remy in his room.
In her bathroom, Wren used a tube of dark magenta lipstick to freshen up her lips and added a tiny wisp of blush to each cheek. She thought that was everything, then remembered one last thing.
From one of her lingerie drawers, she got some lube, along with one of the butt plugs Lavender bought her when they'd first started pegging, and added them to her tote bag.
She'd slip the butt-plug in around dinner-time, she figured, and then, around eight or nine o'clock tonight, she should be ready to take every inch of that huge perfect loveliness!
Wren raced back downstairs.
"Now as for how you winter your roses -- why, it's almost too easy . . . !"
"Uncle Dexter, darling, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I want to show Remy my room really quick before we leave. Oh, and do you have a nice bottle of champagne chilling we can take for dinner?"
"Certainly! Certainly! Young man, we'll finish this talk another day, don't you worry! I'm going to make a rose grower out of you yet!"
The teens headed up the huge central staircase in the front hall. On the way up, Remy told Wren how much he liked her folks. She stopped, kissed him sweetly, and told him she knew he would.
In her room, they first shared a slow, sensual hug and a passionate, hungry, open-mouthed kiss. Wren told Remy how excited she was for tonight; he told her he couldn't wait.
Wren said she wanted to give Remy some art in exchange for the beautiful drawings he'd given her. As she rooted through her sketchbooks, Remy took in Wren's room.
"Your room is amazing, Wren. Stylish. Luxurious. It's like a palace bedchamber. And you've got a fucking fireplace! All these fairy lights -- Ava's crazy about them, too. Candles, incense. This is such a magical space, Wren! I feel like Puck or something."
Wren giggled softly, loving the quick flashing vision of Remy as Puck.
"Thanks, Remy. It was my grandma's room. It's a suite, really. I'll show it to you more next time. Here, take a look at my drawings, Remy I've never shown them to anyone else before."
On her bed's satiny comforter, she laid out her two best sketchbooks. As she nervously leafed through her obsessive fantasy-art for him, Remy was knocked out by page after page of beautifully stylized characters and creatures, all of them male, all nude or mostly nude, and all incredibly hung.
Very quickly, a weird, queasy feeling dawned on Remy, like his stomach and brain had been turned upside-down, becasue looking through Wren's fantasy-porn, he recognized, with an eeriness that had his head spinning, what could be sketches or scenarios from some of the crazy j/o fantasies of Wren that had been playing through his mind 24/7 the past few days.
As he flipped through the pages of the large sketchbook, he saw the mer-boy, the were-boy, the bright red demon with horns. And several of the drawings were deinitely Space Rogue Remy!
But how? Were his j/o fantasies, like, just the kind of stock, teen beat-off material that even sexy lesbian girls were into?
Wren couldn't possibly be reading his mind, could she? That was insane even to think!
Maybe the eerie similarity in the fantasies the two of them shared was simply further proof of that uncanny destiny-connection Remy had felt between the two of them right from the first. He chalked it up to that and continued leafing through her brilliant portfolio.
"Fuck, Wren, for a lesbian you sure draw hot-looking dudes with amazing cocks!"
Wren blithely noted how close her art was to Remy's in subject matter and erotic content, except he drew from real-life and she sketched from her imagination.
Remy had a hard time choosing which of Wren's fantastic drawings he wanted most, but finally settled on a hot fairy-prince and a sinister-looking red demon, both of whom could have been hentai porn stars.
The prince was gorgeous, one of the most beautiful images of a boy Remy had ever seen, with the most bewitching eyes, and a mane of long, lustrous black hair. Wearing only a thin, jeweled band around his waist, his huge, oversized, uncut nine inches dangled almost to his knees. Remy would fuck the dude in a heartbeat.
The demon she'd drawn was, to Remy, like the personification of raw, nasty, deliciously satisfying boy-sex. It looked exactly like the demon in his Wren-lust fantasies -- fiery red, ripped as shit, with huge horns, an evil, sexy leer, and a cock so big, so veiny, so mean-looking, Remy would thrill to feel it all up in his ass.
He thought the two images, taken together, were like the two aspects of Wren's (and his own, of course) sexuality -- beauty and the beast.
Marlo and Dexter were waiting for Wren and Remy in the front hall, for the goodbyes that would begin this landmark evening for all involved.
Wren and Marlo were in tears. Much hugging of everybody by everybody. Wren gratefully took the two bottles of cold champagne her uncle gave them, noticing it was one of Dexter's most expensive (and delicious) varieties. Then the final kisses and hugs goodbye.
Marlo and Dexter couldn't resist peeking out the front window after their niece and her boyfriend left. They watched her and the boy embrace and kiss each other joyously, then turn to head down the street.
Wren looked back to see if her aunt and uncle were watching and, seeing they were, blew them about twenty kisses while Remy waved at them.
The teens kissed and hugged again, then Remy grabbed Wren's heavy tote, bent down, and Wren jumped on his back. He did a few loopy turns as he galloped off with his beautiful young rider on his back.
Dexter and Marlo stood and watched as Remy rode his delighted rider down Orlin, then Dexter turned to his sister, both of them with tears streaming down their faces.
"Remy seems just about perfect, doesn't he?"
Then he gulped out a laugh.
"I mean, seriously, Marlo, what sort of 17-year-old boy discusses rose cultivation with a 32 year-old homosexual he's only just met?"
"A younger version of you, I imagine. Queer, of course -- I certainly got that vibe, didn't you? Not just all those lovely bracelets on each wrist, and that gay-icon body of his, but the boy's so breathtakingly beautiful, so vibrantly passionate, so charmingly non-conformist."
"You might be right, of course. Or maybe he's just the only sort of similarly beautiful, similarly kooky boy our niece could fall in love with?"
Then he gave his sister a thoughtful stare.
"Or who knows? Maybe every handsome, brilliant boy at Hope has a crush on our girl, and it's only Remy who's passed the audition? Maybe we sell our girl short, Marlo. We've been so used to the sad, lonely, broken girl who stays shut up in her room all the time -- maybe we don't realize she's become a high school vixen."
Dexter felt such love and joy and tenderness for his darling niece. He went on musing.
"Whatever it is, though, leave it to Wren to find such a marvelous lad. She looked so damn happy, Marlo, didn't she? Like nothing bad had ever happened to her in her life! So utterly delighted. You know, I don't believe I've ever really seen her like that before. I mean, I've seen her happy -- playing cards and watching movies and all -- but not . . . transfigured like that!"
"She looked positively glorious! Not a trace of fear or trouble or sadness or worry. Bubbly, full of life. What an amazing change! Oh, Dex! Dare we hope? That that awful shadow might really be gone? Finally? For good? After four long, horrible years? I know one thing, though, whatever sort of boy this Remy is, or turns out to be, I'll always love him for this -- the change he's so obviously worked in our sweet angel."
When they got back to Remy's, they stashed Dexter's champagne in the fridge, then raced up to the third floor, stripping immediately, kissing and fondling and pressing their young bodies together, unable to keep their hands off each other.
Wren ran over, dug in her big bag, and gave each of them two gummies out of her tin.
"Put your jock back on for just a teeny tiny bit longer, please, Remy. Seeing you in it gets me hard as fuck. Maybe pose for me in it, too, please please please? While I take a zillion or so photos?"
Posing was one of Remy's favorite things to do, alone, in front of his mirror. He'd rarely done it with another boy before, and never for a girl. He could feel cock throb with excitement.
He slipped his jock back on, adjusted it in front of his mirror (seeing Wren's wide-eyed stare reflected at him), then turned and posed, flexing his biceps. Wren squealed.
Jutting out his big bulge, he put his hands behind his head, showing his shaved pits, and she gasped. All the time she kept clicking photos and groaning.
"Yes yes yes yes! Oh my God, yes!"
She told him how incredible his huge thick length looked all bunched up under the stretched mesh pouch of his jock. He turned his back to her and flexed, knowing how good his firm, muscular ass looked framed by the straps of his jock, which drew a "Holy fucking shit!" from Wren.
He bent forward and spread his ass cheeks, and she gulped out a choked scream.
She took several more photos, then set her phone down so she could tenderly kiss his smooth, pink rosebud, tonguing it gently while she softly traced her hands over the hard, smooth cheeks of his ass.
"Remy, you're the most beautiful boy in the entire history of boys. I have to say, I feel I may be in over my head here. My first boy, and he's the most beautifully built, handsomest, most perfect-bodied, biggest-dicked white boy in history? It's not that I feel in any way inadequate, mind you, it's just that the overwhelming reality of your sheer sexiness is a tad daunting."
Remy turned and smiled, pulled the gorgeous girl to her feet, and just let his hands play up and down her slender arms as he stared at her entrancingly beautiful body, naked except for his -- now, her -- Packers cap and a bunch of long necklaces draped over her chest, making her look like some incredibly erotic fashion model.
Remy gently stroked Wren's shoulders, marveling at her stunning perfection. He slipped his hands gently under the necklaces, and she softly moaned and shivered. Contact with her body sent a tingle through his cock.
He let his fingers play as softly as he could over her bewitchingly small, barely-there breasts, teasing their lusciously large ruby-pink nipples, causing another shudder to pass through Wren's body.
"Wren, you are utter perfection. Like, if I were a sculptor -- Hey! isn't that the start of a song or something? But seriously, if I were a sculptor, and I wanted to do the most gorgeous, classic statue of young female beauty, a statue that would get everyone who saw it -- male or female -- instantly aroused and overcome with pure passion and desire, I would sculpt exactly the way you look."
Again he traced her chest, flat and smooth, like a super-sexy twink boy, dotted by those insanely suckable nipples, impossibly bigger than they should be.
Remy bent down shyly and let his tongue trace sensually all over one nipple. Wren groaned, velvet-soft.
He did the other nipple with his tongue, while his fingers kept softly playing with the first one. Then back and forth with his tongue, daring to suck ever-harder on them, nipping them, tweaking them with his fingers.
Wren kept purring with arousal. Her hands drifted down to her pussy, and she began rubbing herself as she moaned.
"I'm getting soaked, Remy. Oh God, this is so lovely. To have such a glorious young god pleasuring me like this."
"Wren, my goddess, I am throwing so fucking hard right now. Please can I take this fucking jock off before my dick snaps in two?"
She smiled, knelt down, and pulled it off him, taking his outrageously long, thick, jutting-hard, perfectly-shaped boy-cock in her small hands, kissing it all over, fondling his drooping ball-sac, kissing and licking his large, plum-sized orbs, causing Remy to whimper.
Wren stood back up, and they kissed serenely. They'd reached the Dream Pagoda of Utter Bliss together, and they'd never leave it.
Remy laid her on his bed. She looked up at him in excited expectation -- as if she were a young slave-girl taken very willing captive by some strong-muscled, gorgeous young warrior-boy.
"I wanna taste you again, Wren. You taste so fucking good. I want your taste to be on my tongue all night."
"Taste me, Remy. Lick me and suck me and eat me. Make me cum, darling -- again and again. I love cumming, Remy. I can cum twenty times in one night."
Remy's head swum at the thought of cumming twenty times in one night -- more than ten times, and he knew he'd either pass out or die.
He dove in, and suddenly he forgot everything except the overwhelming force of his desire. He licked up and down her slit, while his strong, muscular arms reached up her body to keep playing with her maddeningly arousing nipples.
Wren was a steadily burbling murmur of soft, sensuous moans. She surrendered herself totally to her beautiful boy's ravishing.
His tongue worked under her outer ridges, deeper into her pussy, licking up and down her walls, digging in as far in as he could go, while he fingered her clit, teasing it, thrumming on it, pinching it, stroking it.
Wren felt that strong, wonderful flood of engorgement, getting her hard and aroused.
Remy sucked her clit, tongued it, nipped at it, all the while his fingers kept dancing in her gash. Wren gasped and panted and cried out over and over in her soft, high-pitched whisper.
Remy looked up as he ate her out, feeling hyper-virile, like the super-stud ladies-man player of all time, watching this supremely beautiful young goddess, sprawled across his mattress, amidst his sheets and pillows, writhing in ecstasy, head rolling back and forth, her soft voice hyperventilating in mind-numbing pleasure. Knowing it was he who was bringing her to this paradise-climax had his body throbbing with sex.
Wren could feel the wave coming. Remy's tongue was amazing -- this must be what a boy feels when Remy rims him, she realized. She could hardly wait until he rimmed her! Oh, what a supreme lover he was!
His fingers worked feverishly in and out of her slit while he kept sucking and tonguing her swollen clit until the drenching tide crashed over her, submerging her, drowning her in a rushing flood of unbearable bliss. Wren clutched down on his hand with a force that shocked Remy as she came, panting hard, as if she were having a seizure.
The pressure on his hand gradually eased as her breathing slowed. Wren's eyes finally opened and a sleepy, serene smile spread across her face.
"Oh, Remy Lord, my seductive Lord. Yes, please. That. All the time, angel. You're amazing, darling."
He smiled and kissed her, then got up to put a record on. He chose Chet Baker's LET'S GET LOST, one of his favorite albums of chill music. They curled up together on one of his couches.
Remy clicked on the BEL AMI movie he'd been watching last night, muting the sound in favor of Chet, then loaded a bowl and sparked it. The two of them took hits of pot, snuggling together, watching incredibly hot gay porn.
As two big-dicked, white Euro-boys sixty-nined, Remy had a question for Wren he was almost afraid to ask.
"OK, tell me the truth. How much do I suck at eating pussy? Be honest. Seriously, I can take it. I'm committed to becoming superb at it, so I just need to know now how much work it's going to take."
Wren had used her suggestion spell again, channeling instructions to Remy about how to eat her pussy, in order to train him, but not nearly as much this time as earlier. He was really getting the hang of it, using his own marvelous flair.
"Oh my God, Remy! You're insanely good already! As good as a girl, easily! But way different and, for me, ultra effective. I adore what you do to me, my cunningly skilled Lord and Master."
"Don't bullshit me, Wren Damson! I obviously need to be able to service your pussy the way you want, the way it deserves. I aim to become absolutely indispensable to all your sexual desires, so I have to know all my flaws if I'm going to be consistently bringing my 'A' game."
Wren was high as fuck on pot and Remy and utter joy.
"I'm not bullshitting you, Remy Lord! You're already indispensable. The way I want it is the way you do it. You're a natural. It's all that rimming and cock-sucking you've done, I was thinking to myself, while you ate me out just now. Transferrable skills, apparently."
"It's just so fucking different with a girl! So totally mysterious and utterly sensual. And you're so obviously one of those ultra-ethereal sex-goddess girls, where I'm just some clueless, gay, punk-jock poser."
"Hush, child. You're already a total pro pussy-eater. Like, top 2 percent -- easily. And you're just going to get better until the crown is yours, son."
"I want to practice a lot, you know. I mean, seriously."
"You will, don't worry. Get ready for round-the-clock booty calls, luv. But I mean, Remy, seriously -- you clearly know your way around snatch, by instinct, I guess. I loved when you nipped me a little there. I think that's when I started coming. You could even do that harder next time. And more."
"This is just too surreal, too amazing. Fuck, I like never want you to leave -- I can totally see why some weirdos keep women locked in their basement for years. So tell me, how does fucking work with girls?"
"Quite well, I believe. I have two holes -- a boy-pussy like yours, and a girl-pussy, so you can just do whatever you usually do with holes, I imagine. So very much fucking we're going to have, laddie."
Remy loved how Wren kept looking ahead to a future for them, filled with incredible amounts of sex. It sent the most wonderful throb through his cock.
He packed another bowl, and they made out in front of a gorgeous Hungarian boy servicing a huge uncut dick as they smoked, Wren assuring Remy he was way sexier than the boys onscreen.
Remy got up, flipped over the record, and then -- the pot having gotten them buzzed and chatty -- they discussed favorite music and favorite books.
Remy's taste in books was basically James Bond, Jack Reacher, and Jason Bourne, and Wren absolutely loved how excited he got talking about them. Wren picked up one of the gay super-hero comics Remy kept displayed on his coffee table and got totally excited looking at the art -- all gorgeously muscled dudes with huge, hyper-exaggerated cocks.
"Remy, this is exactly how I draw!"
"I know! That's the first thing I thought when I looked through your sketchbooks. You do gay comic porn."
"Remy, darling, please lend me a few of these comics? I have to study them. They're divinely inspiring!"
He ran to his back wall of shelves and came back with a stack. She slipped them in her huge tote bag so she wouldn't forget them, and they went back to talking music (where their tastes overlapped about forty-five percent) and film (zero percent overlap).
They loved talking with each other like this, sharing their tastes and opinions, as much as they enjoyed sex together. It was especially great, Wren thought, having a deep, intelligent conversation with such a beautiful boy, while they were both naked.
Wren decided immediately that from now on she would spend as much time as possible naked at her house, like Remy did at his. It centered a person beautifully, she thought. She hoped Marlo and Dexter wouldn't freak.
"So who are your favorite poets, Wren?"
She had just mentioned she adored poetry. Her brain, though, suddenly went blank.
She couldn't believe it! Here she was, talking to the most beautiful boy who's ever lived, the only boy she'd ever wanted to talk to like this before, and he actually wanted to talk about poetry, which was one of her favorite things to talk about, and her damn mind totally spaced!
She read constantly! And so much of it was poetry! She'd spent hours with Uncle Dexter, during those years he home-schooled her, discussing the classics of poetry. In any other situation she'd be ready to rattle off about twenty poets she worshipped, and say brilliant things about them. But now she couldn't remember one piece of poetry she'd ever read -- she was that smitten. She tried visualizing her bookshelf.
"Well, don't laugh, OK? Because I get that it's a total cliché, but Sylvia Plath, majorly."
Remy loved singing, so he immediately sang a line from the Westerberg song, putting as much soulfulness into it as he could.
"'She took a long, deep breath, while her babies slept. Now they're zippin' her up in a bag, you can hear her blacks crackle and drag . . . .'"
"I love that song, Remy! I love Paul Westerberg! I saw you had a lot of his records. It's so cool you know that song!"
"Awesome you like Westerberg, Wren. I mean, no surprise, I guess, you have such truly superb taste. But yeah, Westerberg. Totally amazing. He's our generation's Dylan, easily. The way he just goes down into his basement studio and comes up with these masterpieces. Part-trad, part-modern. Exactly like Dylan."
Wren had to pause for a second. She was in a scene that suddenly synched with her dream of life -- discussing favorite songs with her one true love, who was just as she'd always imagined he would be. Her head was swimming to the point where she felt faint and queasy, but also radiant and sublime.
"Yes! Totally! I never made that connection, but you're absolutely right! Westerberg wrote all those amazing anthems for our generation. Like Dylan did for our parents."
"Exactly! Anthemic! Is that a word? It sould be. Like 'Bastards of Young'!"
"'We May Be the Ones'!"
"'Inherit the Earth'!"
"That's the best one! 'We'll inherit the earth, but we don't want it!'"
Wren had tried singing the line, but her voice was so soft and thin. Remy belted out the next line, sounded just like the sneering vocals on the record.
"'It's been ours since birth, whatcha doin' on it?' I love that song!"
"He does the best love songs, too."
"'First Glimmer'."
"'Born For Me'."
"'Achin' to Be.'"
"'Meet Me on the Bus'."
"Ever seen him live, Wren?"
"No! I wish."
"I saw him once in Milwaukee. Two years ago, in this cool old theatre downtown. Awesome. He did a bunch of Mats' song and a bunch of solo shit. Best concert ever, hands down."
"Sooooo jealous, Rem."
"What's your favorite Westerberg album, Wren?"
"Damn, son, that's hard. Let's see -- 14 SONGS I played to death. SUICAINE GRATIFACTION has some of my all-time favorite songs. DON'T TELL A SOUL is probably my favorite Mats' album."
"Definitely! Mine, too! And so many people dump on that record! Crazy. Of his solo stuff, I think maybe 49:00 is the best."
"That one is insanely great! Still ahead of its time!"
They kept trading album titles, name-checking just about all of them. Finally, they both agreed STEREO was their all-time favorite. Wren thought Remy summed it best:
"Cause you actually get two great albums in one -- STEREO and MONO -- and almost all the songs are epic."
Remy, high and loving the feel of Wren slowly stroking him as he sprawled back on the couch, could talk about his favorite bands all day.
"Except maybe for the Dead, I'd rather listen to Westerberg than any other pop music."
"I don't know the Dead at all, Remy, but I've heard a lot about them. Maybe you'd do a girl a solid and play some?"
Remy immediately got up and put EUROPE '72 on. Wren couldn't take her gaze from Remy's nude body as it padded back and forth across his large attic room, those rippling muscles and that long swaying thickness mesmerized her.
When he got back to the couch, Remy packed another bowl and sparked it. Wren continued their discussion as they traded hits off the pipe.
"For me, I'd say, except maybe for Joni Mitchell, I'd rather listen to Westerberg than anyone. I mean, in terms of rock or pop or folk or whatever you want to call it."
"Wait 'til you get to know the Dead better, Wren. They're the absolute best."
"I can't wait, Remy. I love what you're playing now. But I mean, of the music I know -- for example, I'd rather hear 'What a Day for a Night' than most any Beatles song, except maybe 'In My Life' or 'Across the Universe.'"
"Totally!"
Wren was super-stoned right now.
"My God, Remy, is there any way you're not amazing? Physically, sexually, academically, socially, muscularly, intellectually, phallically (if that's a word), and now musically! You're the perfect boy!"
She'd been stroking him to hardness for a while. The BEL AMI boys and the pot and the sheer proximity of Remy's stunning beauty had her enveloped in a cloud of boy-lust. Before she knew it, the brim on her Packers' ball-cap was flipped around, her head was bent over, and she was inhaling that perfect cock in her mouth.
A revelation occurred to her while she started wetting up his dick -- this was why boys wore their ball-caps backwards! So the brim didn't get in the way when they blew each other! A backwards ball cap, Wren realized, was a total tell that a boy was a cock-sucker!
Saliva soon began flooding over Remy's gleaming rod. Wren's fingers found their way down to his boy-hole, circling his pucker, easing herself in. She reached up and put her fingers in his mouth for him to wet up, then continued her ass-play.
Remy was splayed back on the couch, groaning in ecstasy. From her cock-sucking and finger-fucking combined, Wren brought her boy off to an easy climax. Her eyes widened at the gorgeous way his ripped abs contracted when he shot.
Wren decided she wanted these little quick, discrete sexual occasions had to happen all the time between them. She wanted to infill the moments of their life together as much as possible with sex -- to have long, involved, epic sexual encounters, of course, like they had earlier this afternoon (and would have later this evening), but then lard those creamy expanses of pleasure with all sorts of brief steamy bits like this impromptu blow job, or his pussy-eating episode a little while ago.
Wren wanted Remy to think of their life together as utterly replete with sex, chock full of it, like a long, endless, porn-clip tape-loop. She wondered if they could get in trouble at school if she got caught sucking him off in the 3rd floor boys' bathroom.
As quickly as they'd fallen into this brief bout of stoned sex, they slid right out of it. Remy noticed the large clock on his bedroom wall and told Wren he needed to start the spanakopita and get it in the oven, so they scampered downstairs.
Wren felt right at home in Remy's pleasant, funky kitchen. She hopped up on a counter and watched her gorgeous boy as he worked, getting two tubs of feta cheese and a few eggs out of the fridge.
"Ava got a bunch of this incredible French sheep's milk feta on sale. We've been putting it in salads, omelets, tacos, eating it with crackers. That's why I thought about spanakopita. You want to try a piece?"
Wren did, of course, so Remy popped some in her mouth. She moaned in delight.
He lifted her off the counter, hugged and kissed her, then put her to work.
"Take some paper towels, Wren, and squeeze the rest of the water out of the spinach while I get ready for it."
As she worked, she kept one eye on her lover, watching his young, smooth, muscular body dart around the kitchen, looking so masterful and in control. His agile, hard-muscled, perfectly built body always seemed so beautifully poised and centered, each movement controlled, graceful, mesmerizing.
Remy, of course, kept stealing glances at Wren's body -- sleek and smooth, lithe and toned. If Remy's movements had a confidently controlled, muscular grace, Wren's were like a lovely, beautifully flowing, always unfolding dance.
Remy pulled out a baking dish from one cupboard, grabbed some butter out of the fridge and put it in a small saucepan he took down from the row of pots and pans hanging above their kitchen's old stove. Then, while the butter melted, he preheated the oven, measured out spices in a bowl, beat the eggs into it, and crumbled in a bunch of feta.
"When the spinach is as dry as you can get it, Wren, add it to this bowl and mix it all up."
He opened the package of defrosted phyllo dough and used a pastry brush to paint each sheet with melted butter before lining the baking dish with them. Wren marveled at his expertise. Remy moved in the kitchen like the most talented of the black girls with whom she played basketball moved on the court -- controlled, fluid, efficient, like he was totally in his element.
"I can't believe you're an amazing cook, too, Remy -- but of course I can."
"I've been cooking probably since I was eight or nine, helping my mom. Pretty soon, we started sharing dinner duty. When she got too busy with work, I just took over making meals. It was good therapy then, when I was still living with my fucked-up father. To me, it's like painting -- it's all about having a vision, choosing the right materials, planning the composition, then execution."
"That's brilliant, Remy!"
"I strive to be as good at cooking as I am at sex, but that makes sense, right? Isn't cooking' like blues slang for fucking'?"
"I guess so, but I just love watching you do anything. It gets me so damn hard! Remy, remember the other day when Anna Beam gave us that open-book quiz on OTHELLO? I made the mistake of watching you work on yours for a bit first, then I just couldn't take my eyes off you! You looked so scholarly! You'd go from the text to the worksheet, back to the text to look stuff up, then write stuff down. You looked so brilliantly cool, I was hypnotized! The way you held your head, the way you played with your pen and doodled while you were thinking, the way you concentrated when you wrote. I couldn't take my eyes off you!
"Then, when Ms. Beam announced two more minutes, I realized I hadn't filled in a thing on my quiz, so I just wrote, `Dear Ms. Beam, I know the answer to every single one of these questions, but I couldn't really concentrate on doing it in class today because I'm so in love with this one boy in class, and today for some goofy reason I couldn't take my eyes off him!'
"Don't worry! I kept you anonymous, Remy! Then I wrote, `I feel like I'm living a Shakespeare Sonnet! I would happily come to your office and take the quiz in front of you, or answer an even tougher question on the play, if I can still get some credit, but today I just had to watch this super-sexy boy in class. I'm seriously sorry!' Ms. Beam was so cool, she let me re-do it!"
"Wren, that's hilarious. I'm so not worthy of that."
"Ah, but there's where you're wrong, my dear, dreamy Lord! You so are!"
The spinach was fully drained, then mixed, and Wren just gazed on her boy as he finished assembling the dish and scored the top in a perfect diamond pattern. She sighed in absolute lust when she saw that.
"Oh my God, Remy! That's such a brilliant idea! That cool design you put on the top! You made it art!"
Remy eye-rolled.
"Wren, that's sort of the way you do spanakopita. Everyone kind of does it like that, or in rectangles."
"Well, I bet no one does it that beautifully!"
He snorted and popped the dish in the oven. After Remy set the oven timer, they raced back upstairs. They both loved watching the other run naked.
Back in his room, Remy asked Wren to put on a record as he clicked on a COCKY BOYS clip and loaded another bowl. She chose WORKINGMAN'S DEAD, because Remy said earlier it would be a good place for her to start listening to the Grateful Dead -- that and EUROPE '72, he'd said.
Wren stood and studied the drawings on the album cover as she savored the mellow sweetness of the record's opening track.
Wren loved the built-in shelf-unit that lined the entire back wall of Remy's bedroom. It was very much like the built-in storage spaces in her dressing room at home. She wondered if the same craftsman did both, back in the early 1900s, when their houses were probably built.
She took some time nosing through all the cool boy-stuff Remy had on the shelves -- spy books and superhero comics, weight-training guides and one whole shelf of balls and sports equipment, a shelf of various tubes of lube and rubbers and jockstraps and bracelets and cock rings and stuff, two shelves of records. His stereo system (turntable and amplifier) took up one shelf, and a speaker took up an entire shelf on either side of the top row.
She loved everything about Remy's room -- the way he'd fixed up such a beautiful hippie-space from scraps and junk.
Remy patted the space next to him when she walked back to the couch-and-TV area, and Wren sunk down there, her hands softly enfolding Remy as she snuggled, stroking him and kissing him and loving being naked with him so much.
A soft chuckle escaped Remy's lips after his third hit.
"Damn, Wren, we're like boyfriend and girlfriend now! Fucking amazing! Hilarious as hell! I mean, how many boyfriends watch COCKY BOYS clips with their girlfriends?"
"The super-coolest, sexiest ones?"
"Awesome as fuck to be your boyfriend, Wren. But think about it -- this means we have to start planning, right? Scheming times to see each other, like couples do. Create our life together, with each other."
Remy had his thoughtful, squinty-eyed look.
"Neither of us has ever done the whole 'date' thing with anyone, right? Maybe you know how it's done, but I haven't a clue. So, here, how's this -- I'm free this Friday, you want to hang out? I mean, for an official `date' thing? 'Cause, like, I'm assuming we can see each other a lot in the meantime?"
His face looked even more quizzical, as he planned aloud his week ahead, with Wren now in it.
"I totally want to spirit you over here to my sex lair a couple afternoons after school this week, for hook-ups. Or more. Or whatever. I mean, only if you want, obviously. Friday, though, would be like a capital-d `Date'. Sound cool? And if so, I would seriously hope another sleep-over might also be possible?"
"Definitely! To all three, Remy, my angel. To after-school trysting, and a Friday night date, and another sleep-over. I want to do as much as possible with you, as often as possible. 'Darling one, our time has just begun'! I make no secret whatsoever of the fact that I ultimately intend to marry you, of course, because it just seems so obviously destined to me. But sure, let's start with this Friday -- Friday sounds excellent. And any day after school I'm free sounds excellent."
Then she paused, her face showing she was considering something.
"We have to be smart about this, though, darling. I have appointments and stuff, and I still want to see Jer and Desi a lot. And who knows what other girls I'll meet this semester. You have Trey and Willy, right? And I'm assuming you'll be hooking up with a bunch more hot boys this year."
"Like Dewey Charles, I hope. I am so crushing on that dude!"
"Oh hell yes! Most gorgeous boy in school, if that's possible. If anyone can be more gorgeous than you, but I kind of think he is. I kind of think black kids in general are more beautiful than white kids."
"No question."
Wren's turn to show a thoughtful expression
"Anyway, I guess what I'm saying is, we definitely don't want to get super-exclusive too fast, do we? No way we should give up our friends and all the other sex we're having. If we just focus on each other alone, I think it will kill us -- kill any chance of an `us,' I mean -- because it will kill, at some level, who we are, the very thing that makes us what we are, what we love in each other."
Remy loved seeing how enthused she was talking about them as an us'. He also loved how Wren's sense of an us' for them meant one where he could fuck a lot of boys.
Wren finished her thought.
"Our same-sex needs have driven us and made us. They are us. They're such a large part of what we love in each other. Does that make any sense? 'Cause I'm seriously high as fuck right now, bro. I totally love this music by the way, Remy. You were so right."
"The Dead are the best. This is, like, one of their most brilliant studio albums. OK, I still get dick, you still get pussy -- totally down with that. And Friday -- how about you plan some fun shit for us to do?"
"I've got it planned already, darling -- the perfect date! I'll surprise you."
This is how we begin to shape our world together, Wren thought. Our totally impregnable, utterly glorious little world.
As Remy loaded another bowl, Wren picked up one of the fitness photography books on the coffee table. She started moaning softly and lightly fingered herself as she flipped through large, glossy pages filled with gorgeous naked men with ripped bodies and luscious cocks.
Wren cuddled closer to Remy, so they could share the pipe.
The two young lovers held the book together as they took hits off the pipe and slowly pored over photo after photo of some of the most beautiful nude men Wren had ever seen. She softly stroked Remy's hardening cock as they kept up a running commentary on particularly handsome dudes or exceptional cocks or a seriously ripped abs.
We're, like, the epitome of modern young lovers, Wren decided.