THE DEADHEADS OF NO HOPE by Rio Mack
DISCLAIMER: Contains depictions of gay and bi sexuality.
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FIRST WEEKEND (Part 3)
Remy got a text from Ava, letting him know they were five minutes from home.
This should be hilarious, he thought. `Hi mom! Hey, turns out I'm not quite as gay as we all thought! Anyhow, who's your new girlfriend?'
Wren had a question.
"Can we stay naked when your mom's here, please, I hope?"
"Normally I'd say of course. My friends and I were naked around the house all the time back in Milwaukee, when my dad wasn't around. I'm just not sure about this new friend of Ava's, if she'd be cool with it. Let's wear something, I guess? But not, like, too much."
Remy's search through his file-dresser drawer, to decide on his underwear choice, gave Wren the opportunity she needed to lube up her butt-plug and slip it in. Then she wriggled into the skimpy white lace panties she had in her tote bag.
Remy settled on a pair of boxer-briefs, which he thought was a modest choice until Wren moaned how wonderfully long and thick his dick looked in them. He left them on, though, pleased to have Wren noticing his cock.
For a top, Wren asked Remy if she could wear one of his white wife-beaters. He tossed her one, and it was his turn to moan -- over-sized on her, it bared a gorgeous expanse of skin, and her slightly longish nipples poked the thin cotton out mouth-wateringly.
The two teens made it downstairs just as they heard the car pull up. They ran to the front window and watched as Ava and her friend got out of the car and headed up the walk. Ava's friend was a youngish, strikingly beautiful black woman who looked like a fashion model -- beautifully made-up with large sexy eyes and big pouty lips, and her hair was done in long, super-tight braids. Remy thought she would make a perfect actress to play Cleopatra in a movie.
I know her, Wren realized. How do I know her?
Jolly greetings ensued, along with a seriously cocked eyebrow from Ava to her son. Remy grabbed the bags his mother was holding and set them down.
"Mom, this is my friend, Wren Damson. Wren, this is my mom, Ava."
They hugged, and Ava said she recognized her from seeing her in the halls. Then she made her introduction.
"Remy -- and Wren -- this is Sinsemilla Johnson. She's pastor of the church next door."
That's where I've seen her, Wren realized.
Remy shook hands with his mother's new friend. Wren hugged her and told her she recognized her from church. Remy commented on her name.
"Sinsemilla's an awesome name. How are your sisters, by the way, Sativa and Indica?"
Ava and Wren both laughed (Wren snorted). Sinsemilla smiled slyly.
"No sisters, Remy. I was an only child, and what can I say -- my parents were a little kooky. Everyone calls me Sin."
Remy really laughed at that.
"'Pastor Sin'! Awesome! Sounds like a character in a Stephen King novel."
Sin let her hand play noticeably over Ava's ass.
"I do everything I can to live up to my nickname, believe me."
Ava and her new girlfriend kissed. Remy could see his mom was as starry-eyed for her new friend as he was for his.
"This was Sin's house, Remy. She stopped by this morning to pay a call and see if we were all moved in. That's how we met."
"Thought I should finally get around to visiting y'all, to see if everything was all right with the house, whether you had any problems. I had no idea such a gorgeous woman lived here. Took me by surprise."
Ava smiled affectionately at Sin, who smiled back and took her hand. Ava returned her girlfriend's compliment.
"I had no idea the church had such a beautiful young minister. I invited her in for coffee, and what can I say? One thing led to another, and we ended up spending the day together. We've been out at thrift stores the past couple of hours. Not the most romantic first date, maybe."
"It was fabulous, Ava."
"Remy, wait until you see the bedspread I found for you! And a terrific lamp for my nightstand."
She headed back out to the car to fetch her treasures.
Remy, Wren, and Sin took the shopping bags into the kitchen, and Remy started putting things away. Ava called out to Remy to come see his new bedspread. She had it unfolded and draped over one of the couches. Remy and Wren both loved it -- a bright red and orange and gold East Indian fabric, soft-looking with an hypnotically intricate design.
"Incredible, Mom! Thanks."
"Thank Sin. She found it. I thought it looked fantastic, and I remembered how you needed something for your bed."
Remy and Wren took it upstairs immediately and spread it over Remy's bed.
"Now your bed looks like something in a pasha's harem, Remy. I can't wait to christen it tonight."
Downstairs, Ava and Sin had gotten comfortable. They were working in the kitchen, barefoot, in bra and panties, taking glasses down from a cupboard, when Remy and Wren rejoined them.
Remy put out the baguette and cheeses. Ava was about to open a bottle of cold white wine for them all to sip on, when Wren stopped her. She brought one of Dexter's bottles from the fridge and told Ava her uncle wanted them to have something nice to celebrate with.
They all nibbled on snacks and sipped sparkling wine from jelly-jar glasses while the teens finished making dinner.
Remy threw together a ripe grapefruit and avocado salad with a raspberry vinaigrette that Wren delighted in watching him whip up. At one point, Sin commented on how refreshing it was to see a young boy cook. Wren had to second that.
"Every time I think I've sounded the depths of Remy's boundless amazingness, it turns out there's more! Watching him cook is like the second sexiest thing in the world."
Ava was delighted to hear her talk about Remy that way. Sin smiled and arched an eyebrow.
"'Second sexiest,' Wren? What's the first sexiest?"
"I don't want to embarrass Remy, him being right here and all, but just trust me that the first sexiest thing is insanely sexy!"
They all laughed (Remy blushing), then Ava chimed in.
"Remy's been the best son any mother could want. He took over making all the meals for the family when I started having to work late all the time. He just stepped up and taught himself the basics of cooking."
She slid next to him and gave him a big kiss. Sin had to ask something.
"What about your husband, Ava? He didn't cook?"
Remy immediately snorted and rolled his eyes.
"I can't remember my father ever cooking one damn thing! I don't think he ever scrambled me an egg, even."
Ava piped in angrily.
"That fucker wouldn't even pour you a bowl of cereal! He never even gave you a damn juice box!"
Remy explained to Pastor Sin:
"Seeing me in the kitchen was just one more way for me to disappoint my father -- cooking, like doing art, being the kind of girly stuff his faggot son was into."
Wren gave her boy the longest, hardest hug, then a sweet, slow kiss.
"Well, the joke's on him, Remy, because his faggot son now has a cock-crazed, super-horny girlfriend he's having incredibly hot sex with!"
Sin laughed.
"Aha! Now I know the first sexiest thing, Wren."
Wren looked down, embarrassed, but then gave Remy another sensuous kiss while she let her hands play all over her boyfriend's muscular upper body and huge underwear bulge. Ava and Sin shot each other excitingly amused glances.
As the teens finished preparing dinner, the four of them chatted about the neighborhood, the Church, and Hope Academy. Wren and Sin got on the topic of how beautifully Ava and Remy had the house looking. Sin apologized for leaving it in such a sad state, but she assured them it was in even worse condition when she'd taken over as the new pastor three years ago. Ava praised her son's tireless efforts all summer long to get the house in shape.
Wren especially loved they were all in their underwear. She didn't even try to hide all the ogling glances she gave Sin and Ava, both of whom, she thought, were supremely sexy women with gorgeous bodies.
As Remy finished things up in the kitchen, Wren went around the dining room and living room, plugging in any unplugged sets of fairy lights, making the first floor look like an enchanted wonderland. Remy brought her some candles, and she filled the candle-holders and lit them.
Remy set the table with their charmingly mismatched plates and thrift-store silver and glassware, then opened the other bottle of Dexter's champagne. He was happy to have an occasion to use their dining room, which he loved. For dinner music, he put a stack of soft jazz records (Bill Evans and Frank Morgan and Chet Baker) on the portable stereo in the living room.
When the food had been brought out, and everyone was seated, Remy proposed a toast.
"To girlfriends!"
Wren and Sin beamed. Ava quickly added an ammendment.
"And boyfriends!"
Remy's spanakopita was superb, everyone complimenting Remy on his cooking, and the conversation lively. Remy kept everyone entertained with stories of crazy hook-ups in Milwaukee with thuggish gang-bangers who were all gay as fuck on the down-low.
That led to a rollicking discussion of the weirdest places each of them had ever had sex, and Sin told a hilarious story of a young interracial couple in her congregation who came to see her to discuss their plans for marriage. Sin said their attraction to each other was beyond intense, and soon they were enjoying a fantastic threesome on the couch in her office couch.
Wren, especially, was in heaven. She had visions of dinners like this happening again and again, some with their friends, some with parents and other adults, in that marvelous room, with Remy's beautiful paintings on the fairy-lit walls.
She felt the butt plug in her ass all through dinner, savoring the surprise she had in store for her gorgeous, sex-god boyfriend.
How could my life have become so perfect so quickly, Wren wondered? She fought back misty tears, from the joy consuming her, because she knew how the candle-light would make her moist eyes embarrassingly apparent for all to see.
The desert Ava & Sin brought was a small, delicious fruit tart, from the French bakery in St. Paul where they'd stopped to buy a baguette. Remy made coffee for the women and ginger tea for him and Wren. It capped the meal off perfectly.
Afterwards, the teens cleared and did dishes while Ava poured Sin and herself some scotch and retired to the living room.
When Wren returned to the kitchen from blowing out the candles and wiping off the table, she told Remy that Ava and Sin were naked and cuddling on the couch. Remy took that as a green-light from Ava, and the two of them stripped off the little they were wearing.
Remy thought it was awesome that he and Ava could be so sexy and open with each other now, when it came to intimacy with their partners. Life with Larry, back in Milwaukee, had been violent and repressive and awful -- both him and his mom having to sneak around when it came to their sexual needs. Now, free of that fucker's overbearing insanity, mother and son could exult in showing off to each other how superb their sex was!
Dishes done and leftovers put in the fridge (after Wren had another huge piece of spanakopita and a sliver of fruit tart), Remy and Wren stopped off in the living room on their way upstairs, to say goodnight to Ava and Sin. The young people were proud to show off their casual nudity, proud of their bodies, and proud of how good the older women looked.
Wren gave each woman a fervent kiss, telling them how wonderful it was to meet them and how utterly beautiful both women were. She popped back into the kitchen, to get a few small plates to put her candles on, as well as two glasses for their wine, and the young lovers hurried upstairs.
Wren immediately went to work prepping the bedroom -- their seraglio, as she thought of it now, thanks to Remy's new bedspread.
She put two plates on the milk crates on either side of Remy's bed, placed a chunky candle on each, then lit them. She put her incense burner on Remy's file-cabinet dresser and lit two sticks. She rooted through the top dresser drawer, found a bandana handkerchief, and placed it on top of Remy's bedside lamp, to soften the glare.
Next Wren slipped into a pair of white, lace-top stockings, drawing a soft moan from Remy. She popped a gummy in her mouth and offered one to Remy, who took it gladly. They kissed, teasing each other with their pineapple gummy-flavored tongues.
"It looks way cool in here now, Wren. You're my official lighting consultant. Hey, OK if we do a bowl along with the gummy?"
"Of course!"
As Remy filled and sparked his pipe, Wren rhapsodized.
"That was simply the best dinner party ever! And now -- Oh, Remy! Our first night together! I'm trembling, darling. Before we start, though, let me just say that my birth control prescription won't be ready until tomorrow, so tonight, we can do absolutely anything but vaginal. I hope you don't mind?"
As soon as she said it, she got anxious, realizing Remy might point out he had a box of rubbers over there on his shelf. But Remy didn't press things.
"No, Wren, I don't mind at all. Anything remotely sexual with you is amazing. I mean, even without fucking, this is already the best sex imaginable."
She gave him a kiss and told him it was the best for her, too. Then she added a seductive little fillip.
"And when I say 'absolutely anything,' darling, I mean every single syllable of that!"
The truth was they were both afraid of vaginal penetration.
Remy was nervous he'd be lousy at it his first time out -- that he'd do it all wrong, lose his erection, maybe even hurt Wren, and she wouldn't cum. He made a mental note to himself that he'd spend some time the next couple of days watching clips of dudes fucking pussy.
For Wren, it was much more than just the worry of pregnancy that kept her very much still terrified of a boy actually fucking her, but she wasn't going to tell Remy about that right now.
Instead, she seductively let her soft hands play over Remy's muscular young chest, trace up and down over his deep-groved six-pack, then playfully fondle his dick.
Remy, though, had something he wanted to get off his chest before they went further. He gently stayed Wren's wandering hands.
"Wren, I gotta say, I feel a little shaky here. I want to be, like, Superstud for you, because a hot girl like you totally deserves that, but I can't stop worrying `cause I'm so damned clueless with girls. I mean, it's kinda no fair, 'cause you've watched all that gay porn, so you know how to do me. Maybe I got lucky in figuring out how to eat pussy -- like I say, I've rimmed a ton of dudes, so I kind of have the general idea of how to pleasure a hole with my fingers and tongue -- but there's got to be loads more to girl-sex than that. I'm embarrassed you've got to bear with my ineptitude, angel bird."
Wren's turn to hold Remy's hands.
"I'll teach you, Remy! I have supreme knowledge of what feels good for a girl during sex. I'll teach you exactly how to pleasure me. Based on your insanely strong showing so far, my apt young Lord, I'm positive I can make you the best girl-lover in history in, like, two easy lessons. You'll be my star pupil! My prodigy! Njeri and Desi and every other hot girl at No Hope will be begging you to service them. I'll pimp you out as my gay-stud gigolo superstar, and we'll make a fortune!"
Remy wanted some psychedelic sounds to fit the dreamy, candle-lit mood. He first clicked on a hot lesbian clip he'd bookmarked, featuring two gorgeous small-titted girls having sublime sex, muted the sound, then opened a new browser window and played a particularly spacey "Dark Star" from 1970 (music he'd always wanted to use as a long, sinuous sex-soundtrack with the boys he'd been with up to now, but which he'd never dared play, on account of the dudes he hung with back in Milwaukee never seemed like they'd be down with the Dead's groove).
A couple of minutes into the trance-like jam-intro, as Remy began to worship her ultra-petite breasts, Wren cried out in a soft, excited whisper.
"Remy, what is this amazing music? It's probably, like, my favorite music ever!"
"More Dead. 'Dark Star,' their most cosmic tune. This is from a 1970 Fillmore East show. You are gonna love this, dude."
She jumped up off the couch and, in front of the Sapphic sex playing on the flat-screen, started doing a naked, free-form, hippie-girl dance, which inflamed Remy -- her arms raised up, hands twisting together like snakes making love, grooving her slender hips sinuously, riding the spacy wave, sliding a hand down to tease her slit. Her stockings and necklaces lent just the right erotic grace-notes.
Remy just sat there, mesmerized, jacking his cock to one of his favorite jams, now serving as the soundtrack to a sex-fairy's erotic gyrations, dumbfounded at how any of this was even happening.
Wren shimmied over and pulled Remy up off the couch, and he did some of his sexiest club moves for her. They wriggled their hips and rocked their body in front of each other seductively. Wren pulled him close so they could grind together as she herded them over to Remy's mattress on the floor.
Abandoning her dance, she pulled her boy down on the bed with her, telling him to just relax, that she was going to be his harem-girl now.
Wren was nothing but confident. Given all the gay college-boy porn she'd watched, she felt she had boy-sex pretty much figured out:
--First, hot young gay dudes love to have their bodies worshipped -- long, lingering, sensual attention, with hands and mouth playing over all firm, ripe muscle. She could do that, easily (especially with a body like her young god's to worship).
--Second, they all loved their cock and balls intensely pleasured, by hands, tongue, lips, and mouth. Remy's uncut dick was gorgeous and an absolute dream to jack and suck. Cock-play would be as much of a thrill for her as it would be for him.
--Third, they totally loved any sort of ass-play -- fingering, teasing, tonguing, even using toys sometimes. That was a snap. She does anal with her girls all the time. Most gay boys in porn seemed to love bottoming after a good rimming, and Wren even had her dildo and strap-on in her tote.
--Lastly, they loved fucking a tight butt-hole. Wren had one, and loved having it fucked. It was technically even cherry when it came to taking actual, non-silicone-based boy-dick.
She really needn't have worried, though, because the truth was Remy had been overwhelmed all day with Wren as a lover. Her touch was utterly different, sensually unique, immediately appealing to Remy.
Boys got too used to how they handled dick, maybe -- grabbing it, fondling it, jacking it, sucking it. They knew what felt good to themselves, and they stayed in that groove when they got with another boy. Indeed, Remy craved the feel of another boy because he knew all the delights he could expect. Wren was the revelatory unexpected.
Since it was all new and strange to her, Wren had to reinvent jacking and teasing and sucking, learn a whole new grammar for sex. Everything about her touch was novel, unprecedented. She had Remy on edge constantly, wondering what she'd do, where she'd touch, and how.
Just her very touch alone, from thin, delicate girl-fingers, even when she was awkward or inept, was beautifully strange and thrilling.
Wren straddled him. She was feeling frisky, bubbly, effortlessly in command. She'd bagged her boy and now wanted to show him how awesome it would be for him, being hers.
Looking up at Wren's beauty transfixed Remy. Her thin, lithe body, settling itself seductively on his groin, brought him a new level and kind of pleasure.
Wren smiled and held Remy's gaze, as she slowly slid her hands up over her breasts, teasing her nipples for a while, then on to her shoulders, where she slipped off all her necklaces.
She looked even more beautiful without them, Remy decided, cock throbbing from her nipple-play and her sitting on his dick. He wanted to fuck her so badly. It was like she could subtly move her hips on his cock without seeming to move her body. I have a lifetime now of insanely hot sex with her, he thought, and the thought made his dick thrum.
Wren placed her necklaces neatly on the floor beside her. It felt so cool to her, being naked together with a beautiful boy, on a floor mattress, in the hip bohemian squalor of his loft. She felt like this was Jean Seberg's lost porn film, done in 1959, shot in some artist's garret in the Marais.
As she balanced herself on his groin and fiddled with her chains, Wren's every movement was hypnotic to Remy.
"Hold out your hands, darling."
Remy did. He'd do anything she asked.
Wren pressed his hands together in the prayer position, then stroked them gently.
"Don't move, angel."
She pressed her seated hips firmly against Remy's cock, to steady herself, and bent down to the floor beside her, carefully choosing two of her necklaces made of leather cord. She felt like a gymnast, or like she was executing a difficult yoga pose.
When she raised herself back up, she wound them once around Remy's wrists, then knotted them, really tight, twice, binding Remy as best she could.
Remy was suddenly in a new space of erotic excitement. His body thrummed. He tested his bonds (a strong boy's reflex action) and was pretty sure, given enough time, he could either burst the knot open or loosen it enough to slip, but why the fuck would he want to?
"I've bound you, Remy. Is that OK?"
"Fuck, Wren, this is so damn hot! In, like, seventy-five percent of my jack-off fantasies of you -- which I've had like every other hour this week -- you totally dominate me. It gets me so damn hard!"
"Remy, that's so crazy because I dominate you in seventy-five percent of my jack-off fantasies! And it gets me hard as fuck, too!"
Remy had a superb buzz from the pot and champagne. He blissed out on his utter helplessness, as Wren transported his cock, his balls, his ass, his muscle to an amazing new place. The snaky meanderings of Jerry Garcia's guitar seemed like a star-chart for the interstellar journey she was taking them on.
Some times Wren's touch was whisper-soft and delicate, like her voice -- other times she grabbed hard and insistently and rough, which drove Remy crazy.
He absolutely loved having Wren in control like this, totally dominating his strong body and doing whatever the fuck she wanted with his dick. He could groove on the sex-rush she brought his body, pure genital sensation, total eroticism.
She sucked, then jacked and worshipped his abs, then finger-fucked while she jacked. Then she deep-throated him while ravaging his boy-hole.
Remy took his bound-together hands and circled her head, clasping her even closer, to encourage her sucking as he bucked his hips up into her mouth.
She kept up ass-play with a skilled touch that finally drove him over the edge. He shot a huge, immensely satisfying load -- satisfying to them both, as Wren savored every drop.
Remy's cock kept its usual thick, fleshy fullness after he pumped out his load, so Wren quickly got him hard again, taking advantage of his still-bound condition to tease his balls and hole mercilessly with her soft, delicate fingers and torturously light tongue.
Remy writhed in agony, twisting and pulling his tied-up hands like crazy, flexing his strong chest and arm muscles in his worked-up state, which made Wren wet to watch. She teased rawer, licking up and down his crack, taint to boy-hole, and circling her finger-tips over his big ball-sac, driving his nuts to distraction.
She clasped his dick rudely and began stretching his foreskin, pinching it hard, nipping at it, digging into his piss-slit in a way she knew would be almost unbearable, all the time tracing over and over his balls.
Remy groaned from the most exquisitely pleasurable pain ever. His nuts felt like they were going to explode.
He was suddenly aware of the Dead track still playing. Reason tatters,' he felt exactly like right now, the forces tear loose from the axis' -- life does imitate art, apparently, Remy laughed to himself, realizing how well the Dead described the cosmic insanity of Wren's love-making.
Stretching out his foreskin with her teeth, over and over, then circling his cock tip round and round, all the time tickling his nut-sac, until Remy's brain and balls felt like they'd burst.
"Fuck, Wren! I've gotta cum! I'm like -- AW FUCK, WREN!"
She was digging into his piss-slit again, seeing how far she could get her finger in, all the time doing her fiendish ball-teasing. Remy was almost crying now.
"Jesus Fuck, Wren!"
He held his bound hands in front of him now, praying for real now, for release, begging his girl.
She started jacking him furiously and working two fingers into his boy-hole, searching for his love-nut. She found the hard little nub, Remy moaned his loudest, and she had him cumming in seconds. More thick boy-cream, she watched gleefully -- not spurting out, so much as streaming from his cock-tip, then oozing down his shaft in a gushing rivulet.
She untied the hands of her panting, moaning boy and anointed her breasts and lips with gobs of his cum, then licked a huge gob off her fingers, savoring it in her mouth like the thick, creamy icing off a sweet roll.
Jean Seberg lay back, purring sweetly to the gorgeous French model they'd hired for this amazing porn clip, in her soft, feathery, cum-coated voice, waiting until Remy regained his bearings and was back to normal.
"I love watching you cum, Remy angel. Not just because you're so impossibly beautiful when you do, and you always shoot so much insanely yummy cream, but mostly, the rush of knowing that I'm able to give you your ultimate boy-pleasure. That I can do it -- make you shoot like that -- almost as good as a boy, I bet. Maybe, though, not as good as a boy yet, but I will be. Then better."
"Definitely as good as a boy, Wren. Maybe better already, I think. Seriously. I'm still trying to figure all this out. I mean, I've even been gang-banged a few times by some older, hot as fuck black boys, who fucked the shit outta my hole, but somehow, sex with you is rawer, hotter, than anything I've ever felt. The body thing is so insanely good with you, then there's such a major head trip to sex with you, too. You are seriously fucking me up, Wren."
Remy got up off the bed to put on a record. He wanted to play albums for Wren he thought she'd like, so he put on one of his Tim Buckley albums.
Buckley was a new find for Remy. Before their abrupt move from Milwaukee, Ava asked Remy if he wanted to look through her collection of old albums from college before they moved, to see if there were any he wanted before she put them in the trash, along most of the rest of the trappings of her Milwaukee life. Remy knew about Jeff Buckley, so he was interested to hear the singer' father, so he grabbed her Buckley records and put them in one of the crates he was using to move his record collection.
It took only a first listen for Remy to be knocked out by Tim Buckley -- sonically and vocally at first, then lyrically. He quickly became one of Remy's hippie avatars, like Robert Hunter, the Dead's lyricist, one of those dudes who always seemed to be able to explain life to Remy, with their deep, poetic wisdom. Ava's old Tim Buckley albums became go-to favorites for Remy this past summer -- he'd have them spinning on the portable stereo a lot during the endless hours of house renovation.
Wren started hyper-ventilating as soon as she recognized the song.
"I adore Tim Buckley, Remy! I was so excited when I saw you had some of his records! Not many dudes our age seem to know about him."
Wren had found him randomly on the internet, she explained, then bought some used albums of his at Ollie Caliber's store because his music had proved so haunting to her. She confessed to Remy she fingered herself to the iconic late-1960s photo of Tim Buckley on the cover of his HAPPY/SAD album. Remy cracked up and fist-bumped her and said that's just one more thing they had in common.
Wren said she wasn't surprised Remy's mother had a bunch of Tim Buckley albums.
"Ava's such a hippie, Remy -- totally gorgeous, sensual, sexy as hell earth mama, always wanting to be naked and beautiful, into loving women, who birthed a gorgeous hippie-baby, and raised him to be a total nature boy, into free love and making art and cooking and smoking pot and naturism and looking beautiful.
"All those bracelets you wear on each wrist, Remy -- which are soooooo sexy, all the girls at school cream themselves over how hot they look on you?"
"Seriously?"
It thrilled Remy to hear girls at school thought he was hot.
"Seriously! Those sexy bracelets are part of your andro, hippie-boy style. You're hippie-queer as much as gay punk-jock, style-wise."
Wren sighed in sheer dreamy lust for her boy. She told him she could just imagine Remy if he'd lived in the 1960s -- a cool, hard-bodied, gay-lib, anti-war hippie-boy, getting high and naked with other gorgeous hippie boys, then jacking and sucking and fucking all the time to psychedlic guitar music in some cool, incense-reeking, candle-lit, all-male, hippie-boy commune.
Remy's eyes glazed over with the scenario.
"Fuck, that's such a sexy thought, Wren! Those classic, hippie-era, Dead concerts -- 69 through 72 -- that's definitely my sweet-spot, in terms of their music. Stonewall was 1969, right? So definitely I would have been an out, gay, hippie-boy activist-slut, totally ripped, into yoga and granola and tantric sex, all pot and free-love orgies, listening to cool, hippie-jam shit like Grateful Dead and Pentangle and Tim Buckley. When I wasn't protesting or doing nude meditation with the other gay-jock dudes from my commune, I'd be smoking dope and blowing hot, young hippie-boys, turning `em all gay."
"If they would have had the internet and cell phones in the late 60s, every gorgeous hippie boy would have been into gay porn and gay sex."
"Totally! Those righteous, super-hot, stoner dudes would have all been blowing each other while they were blowing dope. Damn, Wren, I can just see me! Long, blonde hippie hair, naked and ripped as fuck, living in some hippie crash-pad, sucking and fucking a couple of totally beautiful hippie boys I met at a Jefferson Airplane concert. Dudes with all that sexy long hair to hold onto and play with when I was fuckin' 'em or they were suckin' me off."
Remy was super-stoned and carried away with the sexy, Wren-inspired scenario.
"I'd have been one of those constantly stoned, blonde-haired, Bay Area, zen-surfer, hippie boys -- a total acid-head stoner-dude, the kind who's always down for free love with his boys after surfing all day -- that dude whose photo I always seem to see in the stuff I read about the Dead, the bare-chested boy who never wore a shirt, because he had a beautifully muscled body he liked to flaunt."
Wren started riffing on it.
"I can just see you, Remy! You'd be wearing a leather-strop head-band and a super-sexy pair of low-hanging jeans that your lesbian hippie-girl girlfriend sewed a bunch of cool patches on. Plus, this cool, beaded strip of rawhide you wore as a necklace, that really set off your beautifully carved chest."
"All the hippie boys and girls would be so turned on by my muscle, they'd all wonder how a hippie boy could look like such a hot jock. It's because I grew up playing football and wrestling and working out until I started smoking dope and fooling around with hippie boys -- then later, insanely hot lesbian hippie girls -- and dropped out of sports and became a hippie boy myself, and joined a commune with a bunch of other gorgeous, hot-muscled, ex-jocks turned hippie-boys. We'd get seriously high and get naked and do tantric muscle worship for hours, then suck and fuck on acid."
"You're the best hippie-boy ever, Remy. I totally want to be your lesbian hippie-girl girlfriend so damn bad!"
"You totally are! You're such a free-sprit, Wren, so damn hippie! You hippie-dance better than any hippie-girl ever. You dress seriously neo-hippie. You've got a total hippie bedroom -- all cool and candle-lit, incense everywhere, lots of record albums, every surface covered in exotic hippie fabrics. And you're stoned almost as much as your hippie-boy boyfriend. Even your name -- `Wren' is, like, a total hippie name, cause it's a nature name -- like Autumn or Rain or Meadowlark or Thrush."
"I love `Thrush,' Remy. I wish my name were Thrush Damson."
"Thrushes have the most beautiful song. Thoreau wrote a love-letter to a wood thrush in his Journal."
"Maybe you'll write me a love-letter some day in your journal."
Then it came to Remy.
"Bird' -- that's your hippie name, Wren. What I just seem to wanna call you naturally. The Dead even have a song called Bird Song' -- so yeah, `Bird'."
"That's so beautiful, Remy. What would your hippie-boy name be, I wonder?"
"Hard to say -- Stone? Sebastian? Dove? Puck?"
"All excellent. Dove, especially, would be a beautiful hippie-boy name."
Then it came to him. The Dead's lyricist, Remy's favorite poet.
"I know! I'd be `Hunter'!"
"Oh Remy, Hunter' is the perfect hippie-boy name for you! I'm gonna call you Hunter' a lot, OK? And you can call me `Bird' whenever you feel super-hippie and want total free-love sex."
"Awesome! I'd have been the hippie boy who knew how to build a teepee. So that'd be the first thing I did when my tribe of queer hippie boys and I went to a music festival -- I'd set up the teepee, so my band of super-hot hippie boys could have a place to have our wild Kama Sutra boy-orgies during the three-day festival. I'd seduce cute, straight hippie boys at the festival and bring them back to the teepee, and we'd get stoned and have incredible gay sex with a couple of the other hippie boys in my commune. And these gorgeous, super-stoned, super-sexy, lesbian hippie girls would drift into our teepee all the time and take their clothes off because they totally wanted to have sex with that tribe of hot gay super-muscular jock hippie boys they saw at the festival, who've been fucking all the cute straight hippie boys non-stop."
Wren begged Remy to let her take some video of him -- naked, posing and flexing his perfect body.
Remy wanted to get a little pumped up first, so his muscles would really pop in her video. Wren smiled to herself thinking how much her sweet narcissist loved showing off his beautifully cut body. She said she'd get video of that, too -- him working out, getting pumped.
Wren eagerly trained her phone camera on him while, nude, he did push-ups. She squealed softly every now and then, watching his sleek, sexy muscles pump and flex, as he raised and lowered his lean, carved torso with athletic precision, supported on those marble-carved arms and thighs and calves and big, bony feet -- strong, muscular back; firm, dimpled, hard-muscle ass; and his thick, fleshy cock dangling up and down, flattening against the floor on each descent.
Next, Wren trained her phone on Remy's ass and thighs, and those softball-sized calves, as, back to her, he did chin-ups. His perfectly carved chest and ridiculously ripped abs tensed all sexy when he changed his grip and did pull-ups. Remy's upper arms seemed to turn into hard-carved stone each time he flexed them.
Finally, flushed and sweating, he felt ready to flex and pose for his girl.
Remy did his smoothest, sexiest routines -- poses that he knew showed off his body's beauty best, the ones that got him hardest when he flexed in front of the mirror.
Seeing Remy's sheer jock beauty on such dazzling display, his raw strength and muscle revealed in all its glory, got Wren light-headed. Such a display of brute force and aesthetic perfection -- like seeing a boy's most virile sexual power flawlessly carved in hard flesh -- was overwhelming to her. Each muscle, now hyper-defined, seemed to radiate eroticism to her.
The camera movement during this muscle-posing session, unfortunately, as they watched it afterwards, was a little too jerky, because she couldn't stop fingering herself when she took it, watching this hottest of live sex-shows.
After they watched the video together, Remy -- embarrassed, but proud to hear Wren rave salaciously about how hot his cock and muscle and ass looked -- flipped over the Tim Buckley album and was going to click on another BEL AMI clip, but Wren sweetly asked if she could choose the porn now.
She grabbed his phone and went to her hottest Sapphic site, then clicked on a particularly steamy, interracial f/f/f threesome she loved.
Wren and Remy kissed and stroked and teased each other playfully during the clip, making wonderfully lewd comments, playing with each other's asses and genitalia, using the porn as foreplay for their next round.
Remy thought a few more hits of pot were in order. When he reached over to grab his pipe and grinder, Wren checked him with a gentle touch, and told him, in a soft, seductive purr, not to bother.
"Let me get it, angel."
Wren was excited, knowing the value of the next card she was about to play, knowing what its effect would be on a boy like Remy.
She twisted her body seductively on the couch, turning her back to her lover, then slid down to the floor. She reached her sleek naked body across Remy's huge, funky, home-made coffee table and grabbed his grinder. She turned it a few times, to pulverize the half-knuckle of bud in it, then shifted her body and reached farther for Remy's pipe.
Wren kept her body bent and perfectly poised while she loaded her boy's pipe, in a pose which kept her pert butt raised and splayed out in full view of Remy's field of vision, so he would be sure to notice the jeweled end of a butt-plug winking out demurely from her ass, looking almost like a fashion accessory, complementing the sexy stockings covering her legs.
Remy was overcome.
"Holy fucking fuck, Wren! Are you fucking serious? We get to do this? Seriously? You're gonna let me fuck you like a boy? The way I fucking love to fuck? Except this time it won't be a boy, but you? Fucking most beautiful bottom ever? Jesus Fuck, Wren! Unreal! This cannot be happening! I'm obviously in bed, asleep, having my ultimate `Wren Fever' stroke-fantasy."
Remy clasped her tenderly to him, when she rose up slowly and seemed to melt back onto him. She turned and played his dope pipe against his lips, teasing him with it, until he got the idea and started sucking on it as if it were a cock.
She sparked the bowl for him. Wren softly worked Remy's thick shaft as they traded hits of pot, telling her boy about doing anal with her girlfriends and how much she loved it.
Remy's eyes glittered as Wren described how sensitive her boy-hole was, how much she loved fingering it when she was alone, and loved it even more when Njeri would rim her -- sometimes for a half-hour or more because they were both so damn into it -- then fuck her with a dildo.
She was beside herself with anticipation for her first real boy-cock, Wren purred, especially one as huge and perfect as Remy's.
The bowl was soon cashed. Wren kept stroking Remy's now fully hard cock, a thick film of clear goo glazing the head. She played the precum sensuously over his cock-tip and under his foreskin, as she circled his ear with her tongue, whispering her desire.
"I want you in me so much tonight, Remy -- all night long -- fucking me the way you'd fuck some hot boy you hooked up with."
Remy's cock began pulsating wildly.
She laid him back on the couch, and they began sixty-nining. Wren got Remy's thick, straining cock awash with saliva and precum, while he rimmed and fingered and thumbed her hole salaciously, driving her insane with lust.
Wren groaned softly, from deep within her. Remy's style of rimming was a revelation to her -- utterly raw and hungry, not at all like Njeri's playful teasing, it turned Wren inside-out.
Remy kept at it, driving her wild. He knew he was probably rimming Wren way more than he'd rim a boy, but he wanted to make absolutely certain she was open enough for his thick cock. Plus, her ass was like a delicacy to him -- delicious, tangy-sweet, almost dainty.
"Your ass is absolutely exquisite, Wren. Sexiest ass ever. Seriously! I know that's weird coming from a gay dude addicted to boy-ass, but your ass is so small and smooth, so round and perfect. And your hole is absolutely lovely -- small, tight, lovely, luscious."
After about five more minutes of rimming ecstasy for both teens, Remy smiled inside to hear Wren begin moaning hard and breathless, like a porn-slut, begging incessantly for his cock.
Their first-time anal started alow and tender. Wren's soft voice seemed to float out of her lungs as Remy's hard wet thickness eased into her. He micro-inched in, worried about how small and tight her hole was, and that he just wouldn't fit, but Wren kept moaning in desperate delight, urging his hips to pump his cock further.
He bottomed out in her finally, and Wren sighed with serene pleasure.
"Oh my God, Remy! Oh yes yes yes! You feel so perfect, angel! I wish you could fuck my ass all night long! Fuck me, Remy! Show your boy how you throw a fuck!"
Remy was overwhelmed by the force of Wren's lust, and how tight her ass felt. He tensed his muscular body above her, looking down at her beatific expression. They kissed, and he told her he loved her so damn much.
"Mmmm, fuck me, angel! Pound my ass, bro!"
And so he did -- sliding in and out of her exquisite hole; fucking the most gorgeous lover he'd ever had; pleasuring the ass of this most magical, beautiful, desirable girl. Remy's dick felt electric, his brain was live-wired. Wren begged him for harder.
"Your ass is beyond tight, Wren. You sure?"
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Please? Please please please? Oh, you feel so so wonderful in me! So huge and warm and amazing! Your dick is so fucking big, Remy! I love it! And seeing your hot fucking body pump and ripple as you fuck! Oh my God, Remy! Oh, yes yes yes!"
Her voice sounded as drunk and drugged as she was.
Remy sped up. Wren arched her back up and started banging her ass back against him.
"Harder, angel! Pound me! I fucking love anal, Remy! My God, you're unreal good! You're like a zillion times better than a girl pegging me."
Remy grabbed hold of her hips, lifted her a bit, held her, and proceeded to give her the kind of serious ass-fucking he'd give a hot boy. His dick felt like solid granite. Her nipples were like gumdrops of ruby glass.
Wren's breathy, high-pitched squeals sent him further into the zone. His girl's swollen red nipples had never looked more tempting -- Remy couldn't help pawing them. Her gasps were short, shrill shrieks as his huge hardness reamed her.
Remy loved how feverishly Wren worked her clit as his thick cock pleasured her. Wren's fucking insatiable, he realized, for maybe the twentieth time today.
Still pumping, he lowered her body back on the bed and started thumb-fucking her pussy while she kept teasing her clit and his dick kept pummeling her hole.
Wren cried out in a voice that seemed more air than voice, and Remy knew she was cumming. She pressed both hands against her pussy, and her body clenched.
Wren's climax spurred him on -- he started fucking with delirious abandon. Every nerve in his body seemed wired to his cock, which seemed its most achingly hard ever.
Wren's fingers dropped from her mound, so Remy started working her clit as he fucked her ass. Her lithe hips immediately began writhing and pounding her ass back on his cock again.
Wren cried out that she wanted to ride her ass on Remy's big dick, so he pulled out for a minute, marveling at the stretched-open `O' of her gaping hole.
Wren laid Remy down on the couch and kissed him. She mounted her boy with her back to him, leaning back, supporting her thin body on an outstretched arm. She began wriggling sluttishly on his hardness and went back to feverishly playing with her clit.
There were two gorgeous girls pleasuring each other in the porn clip playing. Remy wished they were both in his room. He wanted to start fucking as many girls asses as he could.
The sensations from Remy's anal railing were sublime to Wren. Her ass felt like a thousand nerve-endings were firing straight to her brain. Her nipples, she didn't think would ever go soft again, while her crotch radiated hot, moist pleasure.
Remy felt his load rise in him, like it was coming to him from a far-off distance, as if he were experiencing orgasm in slow-motion.
He groaned loudly with the sheer bodily satisfaction of having this perfect beauty pleasuring his cock like this. His staccato grunts grew higher pitched, in sheer sexual pleasure.
A small part of Remy's brain realized his mother and Sin probably heard all their crazed lust-cries of the past fifteen minutes, but he was too gone to care, in a mind-numbing, boy-pleasure zone he'd never reached before.
Wren gave out her own series of soft, sharp, rapid-fire gasps, and Remy knew she was cumming again. She was so damn quick, he thought, so damn wired for ecstasy and climax. Sex was unparalleled with this enchanted fairy girl, absolutely momentous.
Remy's own climax came on suddenly, full-tilt, overwhelming his brain spectacularly. He cried out with a scream that seemed wrenched from his balls, as he jammed his cock in up to Wren's butt-hilt, spurting shot after shot of boy-cream into his dream-lover's ass, grunting in a loud, harsh, unbridled victory cry.
Wren collapsed her thin, sweetly sighing body back onto his muscular bulk and then just hummed softly, pleasant and contented and calm, as if she were just now waking from a deep, satisfying night's sleep.