THE DEADHEADS OF NO HOPE by Rio Mack
DISCLAIMER: Contains depictions of gay and bi sexuality.
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DINNER WITH MARLO & DEXTER
Remy woke up extra-early the next morning and raced through his morning workout and shower. It was going to be another early September scorcher, so he just threw on his old British Army khaki shorts and a wife-beater, grabbed a hunk of cornbread, and left for Wren's. He was totally amped to escort her to school, to show off that he was Wren Damson's boyfriend.
When he stepped outside his front door, he saw that Wren must have snuck down to his house some time later last night (it turned out she'd begged Dexter, who was still awake, to escort her). Chalked on the sidewalk in front of his house were four huge smiley-faced red hearts, each with a pair of wings, and underneath each heart was a letter -- R, E, M, Y. Jesus Fuck, did he ever love this girl!
How can he possibly figure out how to be good enough for her, though? That was his most immediate mission.
When he got to her house, he found even more chalk-art. On each of the thirteen steep steps leading up to the Damsons' front door there was a huge block letter, each letter with little hearts around it -- R, E, M, Y, L, O, R, D, L, O, V, E, and on the last step a bunch of hearts and exclamation points.
Wren answered the door for Remy, wearing only her panties, holding mugs of coffee for them both, and asking Remy to come upstairs and help her dress for school, after they had super-fast sex of some sort.
Once in her room, Remy stripped off the few clothes he had on, and they had sixty-nine on her bed. Afterward, Wren quickly modeled various outfits for him, preening in them and striking sexy poses, as he lay in bed stroking himself.
They decided on a small, tight, boy's black wife-beater, worn with a super-micro jean skirt -- the undershirt was short enough and the denim skirt hung low enough on her hips, that about three delicious inches of flesh were left exposed, as well as part of the thin, thread-like thong she wore. Remy was dumb-founded at how beautiful she was and how sexy she dressed.
As she pulled on a pair of thigh-high, striped knee socks and laced up a pair of Doc Martens, she chided her boy.
"Remy! You have to get dressed! We're going to be late!"
He hated that the fashion show was over. He wanted to jack more to his sensual goddess.
"Wren, you're so damn beautiful! Can't we just pretend we're sick or something and stay here and fuck all morning? I'd gladly do, like, a week's worth of detentions to be able to fuck you right now. Damn, Wren, you took me to a sexual wonderland this weekend that I didn't even know existed. Can't we enjoy just a little more paradise together?"
"I love you, my Remy Lord and Remy Master, and I live to serve your every sexual need, except not right now. Wait until after school, sweetie!"
"My cock is yours whenever you desire it, oh my angelic Queen. If wait I needs must, then wait I surely shall!"
As her boy quickly dressed, Wren savored the lust she felt seething in Remy. It was like an atmosphere surrounding her which she could inhale deeply. She took a big gulp of it and willed her lust back to her boy, even stronger, transmuting it a bit to make it more pussy-focused.
Oh, my darling, she thought blissfully, we're going to be the two most insanely happy, sexually perfect teens on earth!
When they finally got out the door, a few minutes late, but with a note from Dexter excusing them, Wren's uncle started crying as he watched them walk hand-in-hand down the hill to school. He hugged his sister.
"Marlo! She's going to be fine! Can you believe it? She's actually going to be normal! She is normal, in fact! Wren's going to have an incredibly wonderful life, it turns out, and be happy and fulfilled! She's done it! And we were so worried!"
"Of course we were worried, Dex. Remember how utterly dark and hopeless it seemed?"
"It's Remy, Marlo -- you realize that, right? Remy's done this. Is he not just the best boy in the world? Did our girl not find herself an absolute gem?"
Marlo smiled, teary-eyed.
"They're both so crazy about each other, I have to keep from laughing out loud at how sweet and silly they are. I imagine that frightfully explosive lust they feel for each other will cool down eventually, no?"
"Maybe -- when they're 97 or something. And have you not been thinking how beautiful their babies are going to be? Life, Marlo, life! Wren has a life now -- as flourishing a life as a girl could want -- after that long, awful ordeal. If only Anne could see her beautiful daughter now."
Miraculously, Remy and Wren arrived only two minutes late to their first period English class. But any amount of tardiness was a serious transgression at Hope Academy. The two lovers slunk sheepishly through the door, withering a bit under their teacher's raised eyebrows. Wren set Dexter's note down on the edge of Ms. Beam's desk, feeling awful for being late to her favorite teacher's class.
"We're so sorry, Ms. Beam."
Remy echoed his lover's apology and turned to the class.
"Sorry, all my fault. Totally apologize for disrespecting you all, and you, Ms. Beam, by making Wren and I late. Won't happen again."
They grabbed the first available two chairs together they saw. Remy noticed Njeri and Trey sitting next to each other, very close together. Not even a minute after getting settled, Remy and Wren were holding hands atop Wren's notebook.
They stopped off at Ms. Beam's desk after class because Remy wanted to apologize again. Ms. Beam pretended to give them a mean stare, but then broke out in a huge smile.
"I love when I can watch romance bloom in one of my classes! You're both adorable! Exquisite together! Just don't be late again!"
"Thanks, Ms. Beam! We won't!"
They kissed in front of her, making her voice rill with pleasure, and they dashed off to take their math quiz.
Their unstoppable physical desire for each other continued throughout the day, so that the remainder of their classes together, as well as the study hall and lunch they shared, was mostly a long bout of low-level foreplay. They sat next to each other in every class, holding hands, stroking each other. They walked the halls hugging and kissing, showing everyone they were a couple.
As did Njeri and Trey.
That Trey and Remy were into each other had been obvious to the other students at school last week. So a lot of No Hope's black boys, who'd been secretly ogling the good-looking new white boy since the first day of school -- especially those who'd been to Teen Town last Saturday, and saw the white boy with Willy and a couple other dudes in the locker room and showers -- got a little confused when this hot boy, who seemed obviously gay, getting with hot black alpha-boys in school, was now, equally obviously, in a relationship with a hot white girl.
Ultimately, the fact that Remy Lord was apparently bi just made him seem that much more desirable -- a true stud, having the most enviably hot sex imaginable.
For Wren, being seen as the obvious girlfriend of this muscular jock dream-boy made her feel supremely sexy. She had always been the quiet, shy girl at school. The girl who never even talked to boys, let alone dated one. And now she was parading merrily through the halls of No Hope with one of the school's supreme muscle-gods draped on her arm.
Wren was thrilled Remy had worn such a tight wife-beater to school today, showing off every ripped muscle in his upper body. `All mine!' she wanted to crow.
Wren became as envied that day among the No Hope black girls as Remy was among the black boys. Wren had made no secret of how much she liked girls, being very out in the girls' locker room in gym classes and at Teen Town, as well as making out with Njeri and Desi and Lavender at neighborhood parties. And now she had a boyfriend, too -- the hottest white boy in school.
Black bi girls had been fantasizing all last week about Remy and Trey, seeing themselves, along with one of their hot girlfriends, having a four-way with the two hot boys, sucking them and getting fucked by them, then fingering their girlfriend as they watched the two hot boys together. And now, they all realized, their hot fantasy was actually Wren Damson's life.
The girls Wren was friendly with in school would come up to her in the halls, seeing her with Remy's arm around her, and silently mouth "He's SO hot!" to her.
In the passing time after Chemistry, on their walk to the gym, Wren just about gave Remy a handy underneath his khaki walking shorts, she was jacking him that seriously. By the time he got to his PE class, Remy was achingly hard from being horny and unable to fuck Wren all day.
Trey must have felt the same way from being around Njeri because as soon as the two boys got into the showers after gym class, they were on each other, kissing and groping and fingering, then enjoying a long, savage flip-fuck together, to much jacking by the other boys, who crowded around the two gorgeous, big-dicked boys' sex-show.
Wren begged off getting together after school -- she was suddenly behind in all her classes. Remy acknowledged he was, too.
Home alone, then. After his run and yoga stretches, Remy threw together a grilled chicken Caesar salad for Ava and him, then sat at the work-table in his attic bedroom studio-space the rest of the evening, swamped with homework he should have finished over the weekend.
The only bright spot was the soundtrack record -- Sondheim's COMPANY -- Wren had lent him, which he kept flipping over periodically as he worked, eager to get to know this music his girl thought he might like.
Mentally drained from hours of homework, Remy finally took a break around 10 PM. Hard and horny, exhausted from brain-work, he texted Wren.
--Can we FaceTime?
She replied immediately.
--Of course, my darling Lord and Master.
Remy started babbling his lust as soon as he saw Wren's face on his phone screen.
"I could look at your face all night long. I'd like to take my phone to bed with me and kiss your face all night."
"Remy, darling, ditto. But angel, I still haven't even started writing up my lab notes for Chemistry. You could take a picture of me, and just --."
"OK, OK, that's not really why I wanted to cam with you. Could you please put your phone by your pussy and just play with your pussy for a bit while I jack off? Then maybe my brain will settle down, and I can finish the math homework."
"Oh Remy, of course I can, darling! That's so utterly, epically romantic! It's like something a Renaissance courtier who had a cell phone would ask of his lady-love!"
Remy was already nude, so he sat back on one of his couches and watched as Wren held her phone steady and wriggled out of the panties she had on.
"Holy Fuck, Wren! You are so damn perfect! So beautiful. Your pussy's like a flower, close-up, with a single, smooth petal on each side. Fuck, Wren, I'm already hard!"
"Show me!"
He did, and she turned the phone back to her lust-clouded face.
"Aw fuck, son! I wanna just lick my phone!"
"Get that damn phone back on your pussy!"
She rubbed herself lazily and played with her pussy lips. Then she started fingering her cunt, tapping it, getting her clit engorged.
Remy jacked like crazy.
Wren really sent a jolt through the boy's cock when she brought the phone up to show her licking two of her fingers as if they were a small, thin dick, really sucking them and tonguing lusciously up and down the digits. The screen-image suddenly shifted again, showing her start to really dig into her cunt with those wet fingers.
Remy yelled out in helpless arousal. This was a zillion times hotter that he even thought it would be.
She kept wetting her fingers and seriously masturbating herself -- squeezing her pussy lips tight, pulling on them, toying with her clit, digging in her cunt.
Soon Remy could see thin ropes of thick, clear goo trail off Wren's fingers as she played with herself. She's so damn wet, he thought dreamily.
"Fuck, Wren, I'm leaking as much as you, honey! You're so fucking sexy."
"Show me! Show me your cock!"
He held the phone and traced his oozing precum around the tip and under the foreskin and dug into his piss-slit, letting more pre seep out.
"Oh my God, Remy! That's so damn hot! I'm cumming!"
She trained the phone on her pussy, which was now moist and glazed, with two fingers buried inside, and suddenly Wren's cunt clenched down hard, as she cried out in a soft, high-pitched whisper-shriek.
"Aw fuck, Wren! So damn hot! Play just a little more, I'm almost there."
The phone was back on Wren's serenely gorgeous face. Suddenly a dildo appeared, and Remy whooped.
"Oh hell yes!"
Wren licked and sucked and deep-throated the dildo, moaning about how she wished it was her Lord's cock. Remy watched, transfixed, as she started playing the dildo over her moist pussy lips, up and down, even trailing it over her boy-hole. Then she slicked up more fingers.
"Wren, I'm going fucking nuts! This is the hottest shit I have ever seen on a phone screen in my entire life!"
Now she was holding onto the dildo with one small hand, fucking herself with it, while the other hand had a finger teasing her butt, circling round it, taking some pussy juice from her cunt and using it for lube, letting first one, then a second finger play in her boy-hole while she fucked her pussy with the dildo.
Remy watched for about thirty more seconds, harder than fuck, then he felt his climax coming.
"Gonna cum, Wren. Too fucking hot!"
"Show me! Show me! I wanna see!"
Wren delighted at the sight of Remy's thick, hard, jutting boy-cock erupting in squirt after squirt of hot thick boy-cream, spraying ropes across his abs and chest. She'd cum again herself by then.
She purred as she watched Remy scoop up his cream and lick it off his fingers. He smiled at her through cum-coated lips.
"Thanks, sweetie! Now I'm ready for math!"
"Thank YOU, my beautifully endowed Lord!"
Five minutes later, Remy's phone chirped. Wren sent him a video. He clicked it on, and it turned out she'd recorded their entire FaceTime session as soon as it had started.
He delayed his math homework for a bit longer, so he could jack out another load.
Tomorrow at school, Remy would shyly ask Wren if they could possibly do more 'Pussy TV' sessions every now and then, and of course they could.
The next item on Wren's agenda was planning a dinner at her house, to formally introduce Remy to her aunt and uncle. Remy would have to prepare the dinner, of course, because no one at the Damson house could actually put together a decent meal, let alone one delicious enough to serve at such a special occasion as this.
Remy was fine with doing the cooking, but when would this dinner be happening? Because he'd have to plan out a menu and shop. The dinner felt urgent to Wren, almost as if she and her boy were celebrating their engagement, so she wanted to do it as soon as possible, to show her aunt and uncle know how things stood, so they could start getting used to seeing the two teens together all the time.
She and Remy already had plans for the upcoming weekend -- their official 'first date' on Friday -- and the weekend after that seemed ages away, so Wren figured why not just do it on a school night that week? Fine with Remy, but which one?
Each of the four classes Hope Academy students took as part of their core curriculum met only four times during the school week, giving students a floating study hall each day, in lieu of one of their classes, so they could finish homework, form a study group, do library work, or get extra help from a teacher. Given that, Wednesday night seemed best for their dinner party, since it meant Thursday, she and Remy would have a study hall first hour instead of their English class, allowing the young lovers time to ease into their school day that morning, after what was sure to be a very late night for them.
Tuesday evening, before he settled in for homework, Remy drew up a menu, ran it by Wren, then walked to Tower Grocery to buy what he needed, in order to have everything on hand for tomorrow, since Wren had told him she'd expect him over for the big dinner about an hour after school let out, giving him just enough time to decompress from school and figure out what to wear for dinner.
On Wednesday, then, Remy walked Wren home after school, kissed her goodbye (a long, wet, steamy kiss, which included much groping by both teens), and dashed back down to his house to get ready.
Once home, Remy stripped off his clothes, put on side three of the Dead's EUROPE '72 at medium-high volume, and sparked a bowl as he body-rocked around the room to "Brown-Eyed Women," trying to burn off some of his nervousness, worried about having to spend such a long stretch of time with Wren's folks, which would give him ample opportunity to do or say something spectacularly stupid, possibly even making Wren hate him.
At the same time, however, he genuinely looked forward to the chance to show Wren's aunt and uncle how much he and their niece were in love.
Remy's dick throbbed hard, thinking about his gorgeous girlfriend -- it was like his cock could still feel trace-memories of the way Wren put her hands down the front of his pants and worked her playful fingers under his jock, jacking him, while they'd sloppily tongue-kissed goodbye in front of her house a short while ago.
When his bowl was finished, Remy ran down for a shower. He'd just taken one after his last-hour gym class, but wanted to stand in a hot shower, fantasize about Wren, and stroke out a load in order to take the edge off his lust.
He got the water hot, and when it started getting steamy, slipped under it, envisioned Wren's supremely hot body, and slowly ran his soap-slick hands over his hard-carved muscle, pretending it was his girl worshipping him.
After he began some sudsy ass-play, making believe it was Wren finger-fucking him, he came soon after.
Back in his room, after toweling off, he splashed on some cologne. Remy loved fragrance -- he thought it was one of the most important things a dude could do -- other than working out and dressing sexy -- to make himself attractive.
Remy's scent of choice was Dior Sauvage, which he thought of as his secret weapon -- it hit initially with lavender and bergamot and cloves, making whoever was smelling him instantly aroused, then it nailed his prey with patchouli, which Remy thought the most overpoweringly erotic of fragrances.
While getting ready, he had COMPANY, the Stephen Sondheim musical Wren lent him, playing again on his stereo. He'd been sort of living with it ever since Wren urged it on him. He was intent on learning the words to the tunes he liked best on the album, as quickly as he could, not just because he liked them (which he did, immensely -- they were super-witty, Remy thought, as witty as Westerberg), but because he wanted to be able to serenade Wren with them on their walks through the neighborhood.
Remy slipped a bunch of bracelets on each wrist, then he looked through his meagre wardrobe to try to find something nice to wear.
He decided on his cleanest pair of jeans, which were an old pair of Wranglers that had faded to a soft, loose, perfect fit on his muscular lower body. He'd go commando, of course, so Wren could ogle his bulge all evening -- another good reason to wear the Wranglers: the faded-thin material allowed for a superb dick-print) -- and then she'd want to fuck like crazy after dinner.
He had one 'dress' shirt, an old, white, junk-store Brooks Brothers oxford-cloth button-down, which still looked pretty good on him. He left the top two buttons undone, showing as much carved chest as was decent for a meet-the-'rents dinner.
To add a further touch of formality, Remy decided on the brown vintage Izod cardigan golf sweater Ava found for him at a yard sale over the summer. Wren hadn't seen him in it yet and was sure to love it -- he looked seriously hot in it.
After he was dressed, Remy checked himself out in the mirror. He didn't think he looked sexy enough for Wren, so he switched-out the button-down shirt for just a super-tight white T under the cardigan.
Perfect! He looked like he was about to take the stage in some super-sexy, non-binary, high-school production of BYE BYE BIRDIE or GREASE.
Made sense, he laughed to himself as he sparked another bowl of pot -- he should look like a character out of some cornball teen romance, as Wren was pratically an official `girl next door'.
Glancing at his wall clock, Remy saw he'd have just enough time to wrap his present for Wren before he was due at the Damsons. He tore out a sheet from his largest sketchbook to use as wrapping paper, then hunkered down at his studio's work-table, taking hits off his pipe and singing along to "Barcelona," as he worked on a drawing to decorate the paper.
He did a quick pencil sketch first, to get it right, then inked it. When the ink dried, he used watercolor.
When finished, he took it down to the second-floor bathroom and ran Ava's blow-dryer back and forth over it until the colors dried. Then back up to his room where he wrapped his present in the finished sketch.
It was a few minutes past 3:30, so he grabbed his gift, plus a bottle of wine from Ava, and the bag in the fridge containing all the stuff he'd need to fix dinner, then headed up the street, nervous as hell but dick plumped and tingling at the thought of seeing his sex-queen.
Damn, he hoped they could fuck up in her room before dinner!
The thought of which proved over-mastering, playing out, in spectacuar detail, in dick-hardening lewdness, through his fantasy-addled mind the entire walk to Wren's house.
The house of the girl who, just moments before, had been lying in her bed, fingering herself deliciously, getting ready for her boy.
As she began teasing her clit, she started sending Remy strong, sexy suggestions that they should have about an hour of sex before they started making dinner, channeling him little vivid, virtual porn-clips of the dreaminess she envisioned for them.
Lying there waiting, she took her last final glance around the room, to be sure everythign was perfect for an idyll with her dreamy young Lord and Master.
Wren had spent the last few weeks of summer, before school started, re-doing her bedroom, to make it look as much like an enchanted fairyland as she could. She'd bought yards and yards of pink tulle, white chiffon, and wine-dark velvet, draping the material around the canopy of her four-poster bed, sealing it off from the rest of her room, making her bed a secluded bower.
She'd even strung sets of fairly lights in and out of the translucent tulle and chiffon, to make it look as magical as possible. To further gild the lily of her luxe, she bought four new ultra-soft feather pillows (to go with the six already on her bed), plus a new down comforter and a new set of rich cotton sheets.
Beyond just more luxurious bedclothes, she'd tacked up about twenty more sets of fairy lights everywhere around the rest of the room.
For the necessary sonic ambience, Dexter figured out how to hook a pre-amp up to his old stereo, because Wren had asked if there was any way she could have much more immersive sound in her room. They'd also ordered a set of extension speakers online, and now music sounded absolutely ultra-lovely in her room, permeating the space thoroughly, like an atmosphere.
She and Marlo took a trip to Goodwill one day, where Wren found a bunch of candles and a pair of candelabra, so she now had a candelabra on either side of her bed, for even sexier indirect lighting, to augment the other, regularly lit candlesticks and tea lights on various surfaces throughout her suite.
She'd instantly loved -- and had to copy -- Ava's technique of having lots of blankets and quilts and throws on the couch, so the day after she came home from her first weekend at Remy's, she took down a cache of throws from a cupboard in her dressing room -- two Hudson Bay blankets, one of her mother's old quilts, and three of her favorite afghans -- and draped them over the couch by her fireplace, making it a cozy, sexy nest.
She could just picture Remy and her there, nights this winter, snuggled naked and posh amidst gorgeous wraps, in front of a crackling fire, snow falling outside, fairy-light and candle-light and incense-smoke wafting, soft music pulsing, lesbian porn on the flat-screen, Remy's hard body and hard cock pressed close, hers to ravish and pleasure, the two of them warm and dreamy and wrapped in fine fabrics, girded for a night of ecstasy.
As soon as she'd gotten up to her bedroom after school that dinner-party day, Wren had stripped nude and got busy preparing her room specifically for Remy's visit.
First came ambience, so she pulled shut the heavy velvet drapes covering her bedroom windows, lit a few candles and sticks of incense, plugged in all the fairy lights, and put on the Grateful Dead LIVE/DEAD album Remy had loaned her last weekend.
She'd been playing it a lot ever since Remy gave it to her -- two sides of the double-album were side-long jams, and she loved those sides best, so far.
The soft, ambient candle-flame provided a subtle under-glow to the spectral constellations of twinkling fairy-lights in the room's firmament -- the perfect setting for "Dark Star," Wren thought, her new favorite song, because it defined for her that first weekend with Remy -- not just because it played so often when they fucked, but the words were uncanny in capturing the ineffable reason-shattering beauty of it all. She'd always think of it as their song.
The air quickly grew thick and heady. Soft, steady clouds of sandalwood incense-smoke, from four burners placed throughout the room, intertwined with the soft, sinuous whine of Jerry Garcia's guitar, wafting through the space like heavy pot-scent.
With the bedroom perfect, she headed to her dressing room. Always a scene for dreamy sex with her girlfriends, this time it was going to be an erotic glade with her glorious boy.
When she got there, she didn't waste time searching through all the built-in closests and dressers and cabinets, trying to figure out what to wear for dinner -- she could take of that when Remy was here. Instead, she wanted to set a scene of seduction.
She had candle-sticks and incense-holders on one of the cabinet-tops, so she lit them and plugged in the fairy lights running along the ceiling and down the edges of the built-in shelves.
LIVE/DEAD was playing on the hidden extension speakers in the room, but maybe a touch too loudly, so she went back and forth, adjusting the volume on the Dead album until "Dark Star" sounded perfect.
She rifled through her toy drawer and chose one of her favorite dildos -- long, thick, veiny black silicone, which looked exactly like a seriously-hung black boy's cock. She took it into her bathroom and washed it thoroughly, then brought it back to her dressing room and set it on the love seat, on a pale gold pillow, where Remy was sure to spot it.
Now the hard part -- choosing some lingerie to wear to tease Remy. Something black, she thought, because black mesh-and-lace bras and panties always looked the hottest on her, something about the way black contrasted with her pale white skin and light blonde hair. But which one?
She had two drawers full of lingerie that she used for dress-up when her girlfriends were over, or to try on when she was alone sometimes, fantasizing in front of the mirror.
A simple bra set, maybe? Easy on and off, and she knew it would turn Remy on. But just not special enough for tonight.
After trying on several different sexy possibilities, she decided on a jet-black nylon-and-lace black bustier. The bra had lace cups which she thought made her small tits irresistible, and there were black double straps in front, that she thought gave it a whiff of bondage-wear. She paired it with very tiny matching G-string, which just barely covered her pussy, just enough to drive Remy mad.
There were attached garters, too, so she got out her best pair of black, lace-top stockings and placed the entire ensemble neatly and obvious on top all the other lingerie in her top drawer, so it would be right at hand when she needed it.
Everything set, and Remy due over soon she scrunched under the covers and began fantasizing about her young god, sending him thoughts of how they had to fuck as soon as he got here.
Less than five minutes later, she heard the front doorbell.
Wren suddenly realized something was wrong in the room.
She ran to the stereo and flipped over the record, putting the needle down on Side 2. Then she slipped back into bed, naked and trembling, insanely excited. She artfully draped the layers of bed-clothes over her, leaving her pussy and one tit exposed, then awaited her young god's manifestation, letting visions of his naked glory saturate her lust-addled brain.
When Remy arrived at the Damson house, Marlo had been instructed to send him immediately up to Wren's room. Remy knew, though, he should do a little small-talk first, so after he put the ingredients for their dinner in the fridge, he thanked Marlo for the incredibly gracious dinner invitation, handed her the bottle of wine Ava sent with him, and asked Wren's aunt how her day was going.
Caught off-guard by the boy's winning manners, Marlo found herself delighted to talk about the errands she'd run earlier that morning -- especially the mix-up at the St. Paul library, where they couldn't find the materials she'd had on order.
Marlo Damson thoroughly enjoyed talking with Remy -- so handsome, so charming, so kind, so funny, so intelligent, and so much in love with her niece. She easily saw why Wren was head over heels with this charasmatic Adonis.
After about five minutes of chit-chat, though, she could tell Remy was just being adorably polite. He was dying to see Wren, of course -- and Wren him -- so she shooed him upstairs, hoping her niece wouldn't be angry with her for letting her beau dawdle so long.
As Remy headed down the central hall to Wren's wing of the second-floor, Remy could hear "The Eleven" playing on his girlfriend's stereo. He loved that she was listening to his music, that she wanted to connect with him on that level, the way he did, playing her Sondheim album, which helped conjure a spectacularly immersive Wren-imaginary each time he listened.
Remy softly opened the door to her bedroom, his eyes immediately dazzled by the lambent twinkle of Wren's richly appointed room. And then, there she was, the gorgeous center of the room's flowering, her sumptuous bed-coverings heightening her radiant nudity on display.
Wren, artfully draped by her quilts, stretched like a seductress in the richly appointed bed, compounded the dazzlement of Remy's gaze. He couldn't move at first, gripped by the glorious flashes of Wren's lithe, slender, naked body, ensconced amid all those plush pillows, engulfed by layers of sheets and quilts and blankets, with candles burning on either side of her.
She appeared to Remy as part of a painted composition, like a figure in a sixteenth-century painting, as if he were viewing a heretofore unknown Vermeer canvas of a young Dutch courtesan's boudoir.
He could feel himself start throwing hard. Maybe it was due to the music playing, but a Dead lyric suddenly popped into Remy's head -- "I rang a silent bell beneath a shower of pearls, in the eagle-winged palace of the Queen Chinee."
After soaking in the sight of her softly lit body, in luxurious, candle-lit ambience, he finally stammered out words to capture his thoroughly bewitched arousal.
"The glorious, omnipotent love goddess, luxuriating on her cloud-throne."
Wren half-giggled, half-sighed, then slowly wriggled her body so both her small breasts were fully exposed.
Remy set down the gift he'd brought for Wren on the couch in her room, quickly stripped, and Wren's breath caught at the throbbing magnificience of Remy's now fully hard cock. He slid in next to her, took her in his arms, and they kissed rapturously, hands roving wildly everywhere all over each other.
Wren was pleased to see how magnificently hard her boyfriend already was for her, as excited and wet as she was for him. She sensuously glided her lissome body over her boy's smooth-muscled chest, so they could sixty-nine. It was glorious! Remy actually started to whimper!
Wren regrettably cut them off, however, before things went to far, claiming that was just an appetizer (she had plans for their real sex to begin in just a few minutes).
She hopped out of bed, her body lithe and limber, like a dancer's, and pulled Remy up, then offered to show her boy around her bedroom suite. He'd been in her room just once before, on that quick visit when they came to ask permission from Marlo and Dexter for Wren to stay overnight with Remy. He'd only had eyes for Wren that day, so was just vaguely aware she had such a nice bedroom. Now he really got a sense of just how lovely and sprawling her second-floor space was.
The main bedroom was amazing. Wren's huge, gauze-wrapped, twinkle-lit, four-poster bed anchored the space centrally. There were two bay windows, with cushioned window-seats underneath, on either side of the front wall, with views of the Seymour/Orlin intersection and Tower Hill Park. Remy could just picture Wren reading there or drawing, or Wren and him working on their homework this fall, nestled close, before they began kissing and sucking and fucking. Against the wall between the windows was an antique roll-top desk, with a laptop atop it, along with stacks of books and papers.
On the wall opposite Wren's bed was a fireplace, with a couch facing it. On the back wall, to the left of the fireplace, was a large, lovely, antique armoire, whose doors were open, revealing Wren's media center -- a large flat-screen and what appeared to be a superb vintage stereo system, with a shelf full of records below it. Wren told Remy she and her girlfriends would shift the couch one way or another, depending on whether they wanted to watch TV or bask in front of the fire-glow.
She led Remy through a set of French doors next to the armoire, into her dressing room, a cozy, candle-lit space with a comfy looking chaise in the middle. The walls on either side of the narrow space were lined with built-in mahogany shelves and cabinets and closets. There was a wall of mirrored glass at the far end and a French window on the wall opposite, with a view of Orlin and the Witch's Hat Water Tower atop Tower Hill.
Remy told her what a cool space it was. Wren said she and her girl friends loved to try on sexy clothes in here, two of them would get naked and frisky on the chaise while a third girl tried on clothes and underwear and lingerie and posed for her friends.
Remy noticed the huge black dildo sitting atop a plush pillow covered in shiny gold satin. He gestured to it, raising his eyebrows to Wren in an amused glance. Wren smiled seductively.
"That's for us, for later, darling."
Remy's dick pinged excitedly.
Wren slid open a set of pocket doors, with frosted glass panels, and led them into her en suite bathroom -- old-timey and beautiful, Remy thought, the bottom half of the walls covered in creamy white subway tile, which looked to Remy like it was original to the house. There was a large claw-foot tub along one side of the space, opposite a double sink vanity.
Further down from the sink and mirror hung a large framed poster of some cool-looking old building, with a bunch of spires on top of it. Then there was an old pine table and storage cabinet with a stack of neatly folded plush-looking bath towels piled on top. At the far end of the bathroom was a shower space -- a rainfall shower-head, enclosed by a shower curtain hanging from a large old-brass ring suspended from the ceiling.
Wren and her girl friends loved having sex in the bathroom, she told Remy, soaping each other while kissing and sucking and fingering, either in the tub or under the shower-spray. Remy looked forward to Wren and him enjoying smilar delights in there.
"Your space is absolutely amazing, Wren."
'It's going to be OUR space soon, darling!' Wren wanted to say, but didn't think she should go there quite yet. Instead, she just smiled sweetly.
She led them back to the bedroom, both teens still nude, where Remy gave Wren the gift he'd brought for her. It was a record album, she could tell, from the weight and the shape -- the perfect gift for her. She was eager to see what he'd chosen.
The gift was beautifully wrapped in a big piece of white drawing paper on which Remy had painted a diptych, in water colors, of him and Wren, both naked -- Wren fucking Remy's ass with a strap-on in one panel, Remy butt-fucking Wren in the other.
Wren adored the wrapping paper and worked hard to remove the tape off so she could tack up Remy's art afterward, on a wall in her bedroom. Her fingers trembled so terribly, Remy had to help her carefully peel off the tape.
"Ava told me I should always bring a `hostess gift' whenever I'm invited to dinner. 'You make the drinks, I'll bring the posy,' right? So this is your posy."
She smiled brightly at the Sondheim lyric Remy quoted, watching her handsome boy deftly work to get the last piece of tape off without ruining the painting. When it was untaped, but still covered by the drawing, he handed it to her.
"I seriously hope you like it, Wren. Actually, I know you'll like it."
She uncwrapped and gasped -- a vinyl copy of ALL SHOOK DOWN, the one Replacements album she didn't know well at all.
"Remy, this is so fricking awesome!"
"You said you didn't have a copy, and it's one of their best, in my opinion. It was supposed to be Westerberg's first solo album, but I think the record company wimped out or something, and they released it as a 'Mats album, even though there was no more 'Mats then. Wait'll you hear it, Wren! It's superb! It's, like, the template for all Westerberg's solo records."
Wren could watch her excited young Lord talk about music forever.
"I stopped in at Ollie's yesterday, to find a gift for you, before I went to Tower Grocery to buy the groceries for our dinner. I couldn't believe it when I saw it there in the `Recent Arrivals' bin! Fucking perfect, right? It had just come in, Ollie said, mint condition. Why anyone would sell their copy of this I have no fucking clue. I had to pick it up for you."
"Oh, Remy! You angel! What an awesome gift! Let's just keep flipping it over and over later tonight!"
The time seemed perfect for her seduction scene! Wren was almost shaking apart inside. First, she skipped over to the armoire and flipped over the Dead album, dropping the needle on "Dark Star," then she took Remy's hand and led him to her dressing room, on the pretext that she wanted his advice about what to wear tonight.
"You can just get comfortable on the chaise while I try stuff on, sweetie."
Remy sat back amid all the pillows and cushions and throws covering the chaise. He picked up the dildo immediately, of course, and told her it was a dead ringer for Trey's dick.
He began licking it all over, and even deep-throated it a few times, effortlessly, which got Wren squealing. Remy set it aside and leaned back, resting on his hands, to watch the fashion show.
Wren opened the drawer which held the lingerie she'd chosen, then got out her black nylon-and-lace ensemble. She was trembling like mad, knowing how turned on Remy was about to be.
"Well, for starters, my fashionable Lord, I'm not sure whether I want to wear underwear tonight or not, Remy. What do you think?"
Remy, oblivious to the trap she'd laid for him, walked right into it.
"Well, I'm freeballin', but maybe it's different for a girl. Why not try some of your underwear on, and I'll tell you what I think?"
She smiled to herself, calm now and in full control. Oh you poor boy, she thought.
First, the stockings. Wren daintily stepped into each one and pulled them up, with her back to Remy, so he could see her firm little butt shimmy. She smiled to hear a soft 'Fuck!' seem to float off his lips.
When Wren turned back around, so he could see her in just lace-topped stockings -- her small, bare slit peeking out shyly at him, and her hard juicy nipples jutting out temptingly -- she saw Remy had started jacking his thick, meaty, three-quarters-hard cock.
His voice sounded like he had a mouthful of glue and sand when he finally spoke.
"Those look amazing on you, Wren. Jesus Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful. You're the most beautiful being I've ever seen, either in person or in porn."
She smiled softly, blew him a sexy air kiss, then picked up the skimpy G-string, raised one eyebrow in a questioning look, and bent over to pull it on, again with her back to him. She adjusted it and smoothed it before she turned back around.
Now his 'Fuck!' was loud and unbridled.
"What do you think, angel?"
"Holy shit, Wren! You're like a fucking porn goddess! Please please please dress in shit like that a lot from now on, I am begging you!"
He was fully hard now. His dick was just so thick and long! It had to be about eight inches hard, she estimated. Wren knew, from watching so much gay porn, Remy was off-the-charts hung for a young white dude.
Plus, when his dick got fully hard like this, it jutted up and curved back sleekly toward his perfectly ripped abs. Remy's stiff, fully engorged prick was gloriously sexy to Wren -- the hooded cock-tip touched against his ripped washboard; the slight curve in the thick shaft reminded Wren of a proudly puffed-out chest, as if Remy's dick was bragging about itself; and those two smooth, ripe, plum-sized balls showed themselves off temptingly like sinfully luscious treats.
When soft, Remy's cock seemed to hang there all big and thick and full of frisky expectancy, as if it were excitedly asking, 'Wanna play?'
But fully hard and fiercely jutting like this, Remy's cock was majestic, powerful, commanding -- it overwhelmed Wren. He could so easily control me with the sheer beauty and force of this cock, she knew. I can never let him know how I enslaved I am to it. She knew, though, she would be letting him know constantly.
Seeing him there, leaning back amidst the blankets and quilts on her chaise, eyes glued to her scantily clad body, transported by lust, jacking his mighty cock with one strong hand and fingering his hole with the other, Wren realized how easily she could control the boy's sex-force.
The glorious sight of that muscular, phallic majesty, though, was almost too much for Wren, almost throwing her off her carefully planned-out strategy.
The cherry on the top was all those sexy bracelets her boy wore! Watching that young, muscular, big-dicked jock-god pleasure his dick and his hole with his strong, powerful hands -- each wrist draped in all that sexy jewelry, jostling as he jacked, flaunting his queerness -- it was unbearably sexy!
How could any girl love a boy who didn't wear bracelets, she wondered?
Remy's the perfect queer boy, Wren decided -- so utterly masculine and athletic-looking and boyish, but with that sexy gay sheen.
Maybe she should just quit here, Wren thought, and they should get right to the sex. She could feel her own juices seeping now, thick and warm.
"Wren, that's so fucking sexy! Please, later tonight, can you dress in that outfit again? It's unreal how hard I am just seeing your amazing body in that sexy stuff."
"Mmmmm, thanks, sweetie. How about this, too?"
She slipped into the bustier, pulling it here and there to make sure it fit just right around her breasts (carefully studying her reflection in the mirrored wall behind Remy, so she could adjust the garment perfectly). She fastened the garters to her stockings.
Remy was feverishly stroking a long, hard, thick, leaky dick. He felt like some horny older dude who'd paid big money for a private dance at some gentlemen's club.
"Oh my fucking God, Wren! Unreal! That is so fucking hot! It's like the essence of sexy. You are just so damn beautiful!"
Wren posed and pouted, playing her hands over her tiny breasts, then lowering her hands to her pussy, teasing her clit through the small nylon patch just barely covering her cunt.
Remy groaned and squirmed as he jacked his dick. He wet two fingers and began finger-fucking his hole as he watched her astonishing strip-bar show.
The long, sinewy,"Dark Star" guitar-solo, floating softy through the intimate space; the quiet, romantic glow of candle-light and fairy-light; the thick, pungent scent of sandalwood -- it all had them both intoxicated.
Wren edged closer to Remy and began to dance to the spacey guitar jam right in front of him, swaying her lingerie-clad body as sensuously alluring as she could, her most seductive hippie-girl shimmy, slender arms raised gracefully and twined together like a mysterious temple dancer, transported by the music and her god's naked power.
Remy reached for the dildo and sucked on it while he watched her, hypnotized. When the sex toy drooled with enough salive, he began prodding the silicone cock-head into his ass, pleasuring his hole and jacking his dick as he watched her sinuous, sensuous gyrations, her exquisite body clothed in black, sinful perfection.
Wren lowered the bra cups on her bustier, exposing her tiny tits, driving Remy crazy.
Remy groaned out an 'Aw fuck!' as, with one of her small, delicate hands, she fondled her breasts and played with her nipples. Her other hand kept aggressively working her pussy as she swayed to the softly searing psychedelic sounds.
Remy suddenly realized the reason he'd listened to "Dark Star" over and over for the past few years -- it was to prepare him for the cosmic rush of the moment when he'd hear it like this.
Never before in his life had he been so sexually aroused -- never this powerfully, this totally. He was utterly immersed in the infinite sexual possibilities of this girl.
"Wren, I'm gonna fucking die during sex with you. At an incredibly early age. And I won't regret it at all."
She knelt on the floor in front of him and took the dildo from his hand, so she could take over ass-fucking him, then she brushed his other hand away and began servicing his cock with her hungry lips.
Remy cried "Fuck!" so loudly, Wren was certain Marlo and Dexter could hear him downstairs, but she couldn't care less.
She stopped sucking him off, stopped the dildo play. She placed her soft, small hands under his strong, muscular thighs, tilted his ass up, and began rimming him while she jacked his dick. Another, equally loud "Aw, fuck!"
Remy's cock was so hard and swollen, it looked to Wren like it might burst.
After several minutes of especially sloppy, especially exciting ass-play, it was Wren's turn. She seemed to slide up his legs, up his thighs, and onto the chaise.
Remy's mind blinked for a second to wonder how she could seemingly defy gravity like that, slithering up him like a snake-girl, but then he was enfolded back behind a thick veil of lust as Wren stood up, straddled his hips, and pressed her panty-covered crotch into his face. Fuck, was he ever ready for that!
He clasped the cheeks of her firm, bare butt and started chowing down, licking and slobbering and tonguing and fingering her tantalizing pussy through the small patch of nylon.
Wren loved having her pussy eaten through lingerie. It was utterly erotic. Girls never seemed to do it much, they preferred to get the snatch uncovered quickly, anxious to get at the fleshy goods, but boys -- as she knew from watching so much gay porn -- loved tonguing their partner through a teasing layer of undewear.
She swayed sexily to the long, sinuously meandering guitar solo as Remy's mouth ravished her. She felt herself becoming swept away on the same rushing tide that had already dragged him under. This was the kind of dream sex she'd always envisioned in her most private fantasies.
Wren's first orgasm came very quickly, then she grabbed the back of Remy's closely buzzed blonde head, that perfect-shaped head she'd been fondling as he ate her out, and pressed his face tightly against her groin, grinding her cunt roughly, insistently, against his hard tongue, demanding he keep servicing her.
Remy was all there for it. He even reached around and began fingering her boy-hole, which brought a new rhythm to her grinding dance -- sliding her hips back against his probing fingers, then forward into his tongue. Her panting gasps could barely be heard, and his were smothered by her cunt.
Wren came again, clutching his head hard against her engorged clit, then came another time soon after that.
Exhausted and delirious, her body seemed to deflate onto the chaise.
In a second, Remy had her sopping wet scrap of nylon pulled off and began savagely licking and tonguing and kissing and sucking and biting her pussy lips and clit, digging a couple fingers into her cunt.
He croaked out his pleasure in a hoarse, breathless gasp.
"Jesus Fuck, you taste so damn good!"
Wren's fourth orgasm seemed to just flow naturally out of her, like a blossoming flower, or a soft, contented sigh. She lay back, utterly spent.
Remy kissed her all over in gentle worship.
Wren turned her head on the chaise. Remy's cock stood hard and jutting, like a steel rod.
She smiled up at him, dazed by the force of their passion, enthralled by the power of Remy's masculine beauty.
She shifted her body so she could suck him off and finger his hole. He erupted maybe two minutes later, his creamy load now Wren's absolute favorite thing in the world to eat.
When they caught their breath, they looked at each other. Remy burst out in laughter, and then Wren did.
She hopped up and led him by the hand to her bathroom, where they took a super-fast shower, just to get all the sweat and cum and pussy juices off them.
Shockingly aware of the time suddenly, Wren told them they had, like, a second to get dressed.
Remy quickly donned his jeans and T and sweater. As she got her own clothes out, Wren kept one eye on her boy, oohing at how awesome he looked in his Izod.
Wren decided on just a loose, oversized, faded-thin, boy's wife-beater, so Remy could stare at her breasts all evening, along with just a super-short denim skirt, no panties.
Before they left her room, Wren blew out all the candles and gave each of them a gummy to pop, then they headed downstairs to make dinner for the four of them.
The two young lovers immediately apologized to Dexter and Marlo, when they met them downstairs in the sun room -- Dexter noodling on the piano and Marlo sipping a cocktail and working a crossword -- for taking so long. Wren said she hoped they weren't too ravenous because of how ridiculously long it took her to get dressed.
Dexter just smiled, noticing how little his niece was actually wearing, having heard only too clearly how they'd really spent all that time. The young people had no idea, of course, what an amusing moment it was in the sun room when Remy started bellowing during their sex upstairs. Dexter even did a quick segue, when he heard Remy's loud sex-groan, to the "Hammerklavier" Sonata, in order to try and mask the sounds of teen sex from his sister.
Wren's aunt and uncle, though, immediately brushed aside the teens' concern. Dexter had made gin-and-tonic's for Marlo and himself, so they were perfectly happy -- Marlo working a tough acrostic while she listened to Dexter play Debussy and Bill Evans.
Dexter jumped up and offered to make his niece and her boyfriend a G-and-T to sip on while they cooked, which they eagerly accepted. Remy stripped off his sweater, and he and Wren got to work in the kitchen.
While they were planning their menu in second-hour study hall yesterday, Remy mentioned a great recipe he knew for pasta with sausage and cream. Wren thought it sounded decadently festive and perfect for this first-time dinner with her family.
She told Remy she knew how to make bruschetta, which her aunt and uncle loved. So, once in the kitchen, Wren got started on her appetizer -- chopping up tomatoes, garlic, and basil and marinating them in olive oil, sherry vinegar, salt, and pepper -- while Remy set a big pot of water to boil, then chopped up shallot and let it cook as he crumbled the sausage.
When Wren had told him yesterday she planned to make bruschetta, Remy figured they should go all out and add an antipasti plate, so he'd bought some salami, mortadella, peppers, marinated mozzarella, and an assortment of olives at Tower Grocery.
He arranged a platter while Wren sliced and toasted baguette, then topped it with her tomato marinade. They set the bruschetta and antipasti out on the kitchen table, along with some small plates, and invited her aunt and uncle to join them for antipasti while Remy finished his pasta sauce.
Marlo and Dexter were delighted when they saw the lovely spread awaiting them. Dexter suggested some sparkling wine. Nods all around, so Wren set out four flute glasses while Dexter opened a bottle of Prosecco.
Prepping dinner with Dexter and Marlo seated at the round oak kitchen table across from the counter-top workspace was wonderfully pleasant. All four of them nibbled on appetizers, sipped cold bubbly, and chatted merrily while Remy cooked pasta and finished the sausage-and-cream sauce.
Remy felt such warmth among Wren's folks -- such love and such a strong sense of welcome -- it was inspiring. Plus, they had a restaurant-quality kitchen it was a dream to work in -- he was easily able to keep an eye on the sausage, then thicken his heavy cream sauce perfectly, all while keeping up his end of the jolly conversation.
Wren wanted to throw a quick salad together, while Remy's sauce finished thickening, but when she looked in the refrigerator, she found there were no greens. Marlo, looking horror-stricken, apologized at once.
"I'm so sorry, dear. My bad. I used all the romaine and arugula to make a big salad for Dexter and I for lunch. I can't believe what an idiot I was, using up all the lettuce for lunch, knowing we were having this dinner tonight. I don't know what I was thinking."
Wren had a sudden, profound look of disappointment. She'd wanted everything about this first family dinner with Remy to be letter-perfect. She had only a second or two of sadness, however, because suddenly there was Remy, raising his champagne flute and tapping it with the wooden spoon he was using to stir his sauce, speaking in a loud voice to get everyone's attention.
"I'd like to propose a toast!"
And then he started singing, in that beautiful, crystal-clear, light tenor of his that Wren adored.
"'Here's to the lettuce at lunch -- everybody laugh!'"
Dexter roared, knowing the reference, of course. Wren, though, shrieked so hard, she snorted Prosecco through her nose and had to run to the downstairs powder room, in tears from laughter, with sparkling wine dribbling down her lips and chin. When she came back, all cleaned up, she pulled Remy aside and whispered in his ear.
"I feel like I need to take you upstairs immediately and suck your cock for an hour, my witty young Lord, to thank you for the most hilariously perfect pun I've ever heard."
The two teens poked around in the fridge and found a pint of marinated beans, a ripe avocado, and some asparagus, which Remy quickly steamed, then submerged in ice water. Wren cut them up, chopped the avocado, and put them in a bowl with the beans, while Remy whisked up a mustard vinaigrette to drizzle over their salad.
Marlo and Dexter kept saying what a wonderful treat this evening was, what a lovely, special time.
Marlo was ecstatic watching love blossom so beautifully between the two teens, seeing such joy gleam in her niece's eyes, and witnessing the worshipful devotion in Remy's. Dexter, especially, was delighted by Remy, easily the most beautiful young man he'd ever seen -- and he'd known quite a few in his day.
The adults went off to set the dining room table, leaving the young people alone to finish dinner. Music tinkled in from somewhere the sun room -- Dexter must have put on a recording of Ravel piano, Wren thought, or maybe Satie, as dinner music.
It was an interesting change of pace, Remy told Wren, as they plated dishes, having clothes on for once (even though Remy had taken off his T-shirt when he started sautéing the sausage), instead of being nude and fooling around while they made dinner. Clothes threw their usual game off, of course, but Remy told Wren he felt it also gave a new spin to things, forcing them to work their erotic muscles in a new way.
To be sure, though, the entire time they were preparing their feast, Wren had kept sneaking in all sorts of quick feels of her boy's naked chest, as well as dipping her fingers into his crotch and crack, when her aunt and uncle weren't looking. And of course, she'd made sure she bent over a lot, when only Remy could see, so her skirt hiked up and showed off her naked pussy from behind.
Dinner was a superb. Dexter opened the wine Remy brought, a delicious California cabernet that paired very well with the spicy sausage and cream. Everyone complimented Remy's pasta (Dexter and Marlo had seconds), and their kooky salad worked brilliantly.
The conversation while they lingered over dinner centered around Remy's former life in Milwaukee.
At one point, Wren turned to Remy, all sweet and wide-eyed innocent.
"Remy, you and my uncle have something else in common besides gardening."
"What's that, Wren?"
"You're both totally into boys!"
Dexter hooted, Remy grinned, and Marlo looked flustered.
Remy took Wren's comment as a prompt to talk about being gay, so he proceeded, unashamedly, to tell them all about the black boys he hung with in his inner-city Milwaukee neighborhood, sketching in broad, R-rated strokes the sort of sex he'd had there -- hook-ups, fuck-buddies, and boy-orgy house parties.
Dexter nodded avuncularly throughout, glad nobody could see how hard Remy's salacious account was making him.
Remy brought his brief history up to date, giving his initial impressions of the social scene at No Hope, including all the boys he'd met so far, and how cool dudes were about sex here, as opposed to his old high school. Wren just beamed, proud to show off her mega-sexy boyfriend.
"As a lesbian, I'm utterly thrilled to have a queer boy for my first -- and ever-only -- boyfriend. Just like I'm Remy's first and ever-only girlfriend."
Remy smiled, got up, and went around the table to embrace his girl. Marlo smiled beatifically at these adorable love-birds. Dexter clinked the side of his wine glass with his knife, so Remy and Wren shared a long, dreamy kiss. Remy sat back down, took a long sip of wine, and waxed philosophical about boys and sex.
"It's crazy. We keep inventing all these new terms for human sexuality -- cis and demi-sexual and non-binary and pan and poly and gender-queer. What I found with Wren, though, has convinced me we're way too eager to fit ourselves into these nice, neat, pre-defined categories, which are somehow supposed to explain something as complex as a person's desire. No wonder we have to keep slicing and dicing things with new terms. I mean, the fact that I think I can very truthfully say 'I'm gay' shows how meaningless the term is -- given the way I feel about Wren, and the amazing sex we have."
He shot a quick, worried glance at Wren, realizing he was blabbing to her aunt and uncle about the sex their niece was having.
"I'm sorry, angel! Is it OK to say that?"
Wren's beatific face was enfolded in a love-cloud. She eagerly nodded, so Remy continued.
"Actually though, in one sense, I think most -- if not all -- boys are basically gay. I mean, the young male body is just made that way -- pre-wired for gay sex. Jacking a dick, having your dick jacked, sucking cock, having your cock sucked, fucking a tight hole, being fucked, worshipping cock and muscle -- those are like the most pleasurable things possible for a boy's body. Wren gets it. That's what makes your niece such a superb lover -- she knows a boy's default, factory-installed sex-settings."
Wren thrilled to hear Remy talk about how queer he was, and what a good lover she was. She could feel a warmth start to swell in her crotch. Their sex later tonight was going to be especially hot.
Marlo, though, looked a little shook at this trend in the conversation, but Wren thought it was wonderful to talk about sex so frankly like this with her darling, sadly celibate aunt, so she went right on, as casually bold as she could.
"You give me way to much credit, angel. I mean, I've watched a lot of gay porn, sure, but it's you who's made it so utterly clear to me that boys are basically all about cock and ass and muscle when it comes to sex."
Remy nodded in eager agreement.
"Exactly! And Wren's taught me that boys have to learn how to be with women. No way it comes natural to us, like jacking a cock or sucking a dick does. The problem, I think, why there's so many disastrous marriages, like my mother's with my asshole father, is that boys grow into men who think they're supposed to like women exclusively, that that's the social default. So you have all these boys rushing into relationships with women when they're actually wired for boy-sex. My damn father -- he was always hanging out with his cop friends, working out, drinking together, going hunting and fishing. He should have just admitted he was mainly into dudes and never gotten married."
Wren suddenly looked stricken.
"Then there'd be no you, darling!"
"OK, good point, I guess. Alright, I'll stop talking. Sorry if it got too X-rated."
Remy was going to add, "Blame it on the gummy Wren gave me!" but he wondered if Wren's aunt and uncle knew she was into it. Clearly she was cool with Marlo and Dexter knowing she was a sex-fiend, but she might not want them to know she was a pot-head.
Dexter, still savoring that hard, steady throb in his khaki's, didn't want Remy to feel like he was in any way out of line for the sexually frank turn their dinner-table conversation took.
"No, Remy! Don't stop! Please! It's fascinating hearing a modern boy's perspective. Myself, growing up, I was very much socialized the way you say -- desiring men deeply, yet feeling I was supposed to fall in love with a woman."
Remy nodded.
"Exactly! Man, I seriously feel for you, Dexter -- that must have been hell. I've actually been thinking a lot about the young men of your generation, `cause I've been playing that amazing Sondheim record Wren loaned me."
Dexter smiled.
"I worship Sondheim, Remy! Wren gets it from me. You know, I played in the house band at the Orpheum for several touring companies of Sondheim shows -- COMPANY, SUNDAY IN THE PARK, NIGHT MUSIC, SWEENEY TODD, GYPSY."
"Damn! Dexter, that's totally awesome! OK, so you know Sondheim, cool. Maybe you can answer a question I have about COMPANY. So, Bobby is feverishly searching for a woman throughout -- that's the basic plot, right? And his friends are trying to hook him up all the time? And he goes through all these women until he finds his April. 'Being Alive,' that's so awesome. Classic love song. Anyway, so the whole thing's, like, this girl-quest for Bobby throughout -- but, yet, Sondheim was gay, right? That's what Wren said."
"Absolutely."
"But he's writing all these songs about the woman he wants, the one who will complete his life and make his world wonderful and perfect. So, was he really writing about finding a boy to love, but he felt he had to code it? Or was he sort of like me, maybe? I mean, I probably wouldn't even have noticed that tension in the album before I met Wren, who's utterly upended my world as a gay boy."
Remy screwed up his face for a second to think about what he wanted to add. Then he continued.
"Wren's even got me thinking that the word 'queer' fits who I am more than 'gay' -- even though, like I said before, no word really seems to capture the complexity of love and sex as I understand it now. Maybe Sondheim reached that same sort of conclusion?"
Wren could sit and listen to Remy talk about music and love and girls and boys forever. She felt herself getting wet as she watched her boy -- those handsome, jock good looks and that incredible body showing beneath his tight T and that dreamy sweater he wore.
Dexter had been staring into his wine glass, listening. He realized earlier he'd been staring much too much at his niece's boyfriend all night, so he'd consciously began willing himself to turn away from the boy's breathtaking beauty.
He considered Remy's comments, then spoke up.
"Many of Sondheim's musicals do concern men longing for women, Remy, you're absolutely right. Dot, for example, in SUNDAY, Desiree in NIGHT MUSIC, Joanna in SWEENEY TODD -- you'd love that one, Remy. Maybe he did indeed realize that complex equation of love and gender and sex, as you describe it, Remy. Maybe that perfect girl WAS his actual dream. Maybe he'd always longed for exactly what you've found, Remy -- the ideal girl for a gay boy to love, one who can satisfy him fully, both sexually and romantically."
Remy got animated.
"That's it exactly, Dexter! That's just what Wren is -- utterly satisfying to me, as an insanely over-sexed young gay horndog. Wren is everything I need, everything I could ever want -- she totally gets me sexually, plus she's the greatest love of my life."
Wren felt faint with lust. She hoped her juices weren't staining the needlepoint cushion of her chair. The dinner party was turning out even better than she'd hoped it would.
Dexter was profundly considering Remy's 'Sondheim Conundrum'.
"It almost sounds absurd, I know, but maybe he felt trapped in a gay box the way so many men of his generation felt trapped in a straight box -- as both a person and an artist. You and Wren should read Edmund White's memoir some time. He talks about this a lot."
Remy immediately had his phone out, adding Edmund White Memoir' to the Media To Checkout' file he kept in his Notes.
Remy suddenly realized that Wren's uncle, as an obviously confident, accomplished, highly cultured gay man, had much to teach him. Hanging out with Wren would also mean having this very welcome, older gay mentor available to him. He planned to take advantage of it. Like, he definitely had to get Uncle Dexter's recipe for gin-and-tonics.
Dexter was going to be his `Dad, Version 2.0' -- hopefully with the major bugs worked out.
As he put his phone down, Remy looked over to his new Nestor.
"Never heard of Edmund White, Dexter, but I'll check him out. Thanks."
"Great contemporary gay writer. You and Wren would love his books. I've got quite a few on some shelf somewhere in the house. Anyway, according to White, finding the perfect girl was the dream of many gay men back in the 60s and 70s and 80s. A woman to love and live with, one who understood a gay man's need for boys. I don't mind saying -- I'm envious, Remy, of what you and Wren have! To a gay man like myself, it seems like a dream. The gay boy's paradise."
Remy beamed at his blushing girl across the table and reached across to take her hand. Wren cooed a soft whisper across to her boy.
"You've found your Bird, Hunter!"
Hearing that sweet, shy reference to his `queer hippie-boy' persona sent an electric lust-jolt right through Remy's cock, like a trigger word.
Wren added that she thought the important thing for people was to have as much sex as they could while they were young.
"I don't think anyone really looks good nude when they're old."
She quickly shot a worried look at her aunt and uncle.
"And you two are NOT old! ["Hell no!" Remy echoed.] We have to get all the pleasure out of our bodies that we can right now, with as many hot boys and hot girls as we can. At least that's what I think. My friends, too."
Remy nodded.
"Mine, too. Definitely. Anything else is a waste."
Marlo, despite being a bit discombobulated, loved hearing all this shockingly naughty talk. She could feel her own tamped-down desire for women roiling powerfully in her. It was time for her to speak up.
"Might I just say -- and hear me out, please! -- that this is so NOT what I'd assumed our dinner table conversation would be about!"
Remy felt instantly horrified he'd embarrassed Wren's aunt.
"Dang, Auntie Marlo! I'm so sorry. My bad, totally. Too much wine and this amazing girl who always gets my head spinning."
Marlo put a hand out to shush the sweet boy. She thrilled at the touch of her fingers on Remy's strong, bare wrist, letting them rest there for an extra beat or two.
"I said `Hear me out,' Remy! This was not at all what I assumed we'd be talking about at the table, but nevertheless, it's fascinating. I can see why they say being around young people keeps one young! You know, I keep telling my brother -- he's still such a handsome young man, he should seriously start dating again."
Then she winked at Wren and shot Dexter a teasing glance.
"Before you get too old to look good naked, Dex!"
The teens laughed at Marlo's joke.
Dexter just shook his head and pooh-poohed the whole idea of getting into the dating scene, out of which he'd fallen while being, first, constant nurse and companion to his mother during the years she was consumed by cancer, then an obsessively dutiful surrogate-parent and home-school teacher to his niece while he tried helping her heal from her tragedy.
Having thrown himself so totally into the role of care-giver to his slowly dying mother, sex had quickly begun to seem a selfish luxury for Dexter. The only time off he took from his round-the-clock vigil with her was to go work out four days a week at the campus gym, which he'd joined when he moved back home, finding much-needed therapy in pumping iron and looking at naked college boys in the locker room a couple hours every other day.
He'd even quit that, though, when he took charge of Wren, afraid to leave her alone for even a moment. It was only when Marlo moved back to join them that he'd cautiously returned to his fitness regimen.
Dexter had to admit, though, being around Remy so much lately, the idea of getting with boys again had seemed not just appealing but essential.
He mused on the thought of jump-starting a sex-life again.
"Who knows, though? Maybe there's life in these old bones yet!"
Wren was delighted to hear that.
"Definitely, Uncle Dexter! You're dreamy, darling! I can't wait to see all the gorgeous boys you bring home!"
Remy agreed.
"Wren's totally right, Dexter. Seriously, dude -- you're hot as fuck! I mean, speaking as a dude intensely into dudes. Super handsome and fucking great build."
Remy was going to add, "I'd sure as hell fuck ya!" but caught himself in time.
Still, Remy realized, men like Dexter -- and Red at the grocery store, and Coach Simmons at school -- were convincing him he had to start thinking about getting with older dudes.
At his end of the table, Dexter felt a delicious twinge in his groin. For a boy as gorgeous and sexy as Remy to call him hot! The intensity with which he wanted to have sex with Remy felt like a tight band across his chest.
He laughed shyly and blushed.
"Thank you all for your delusory faith that the old boy's still got it! But perhaps Wren's recent luck in snagging a gorgeous young man will rub off on me!"
Marlo raised her glass.
"Here! Here! To the gorgeous young man our niece has snagged!"
Marlo was feeling so wonderfully naughty tonight! Remy was beyond desirable, even for a lesbian. She saw up close now exactly what attracted him to Wren. If Marlo could hire a boy like Remy as an escort, she'd have him on retainer.
Remy's turn to blush as the Damsons toasted him.
Wren turned to her aunt.
"You too, Auntie! You're still young, and super-attractive."
Remy was right there.
"I'll say! No shit! You're a total fox, Auntie Marlo."
OK, Marlo thought, now things were getting a bit too intense, so she stood up, raved about the best dinner they'd had in this house in ages, and asked who was ready for some of this hideously expensive blackberry sorbet she'd been saving for a special dessert. Four hands were immediately raised.
In the kitchen, Dexter opened a very good pinot noir, and Marlo scooped sorbet into lovely pink glass dishes. Remy and Wren took them to the table, and Dexter brought everyone a glass of wine.
As they took small, luscious bites of Marlo's dessert, the adults asked the teens to tell them more about how they fell in love. Wren had to fight to keep a straight face as Remy excitedly tried to describe what it was like having `Wren Fever' throughout the day that first week of school.
After dessert, Remy and Wren cleared the table, quickly loaded the dishwasher, then they played four-handed cribbage (teens vs. adults) while they sipped more pinot noir. Everyone had a rollicking good time, especially Marlo and Dexter, who'd never had a night like this before.
The adults headed off to bed a bit early (wanting to leave the young lovers with a good chunk of evening still to enjoy). Dexter stopped in front of Marlo's bedroom door and embraced his sister, giving her a good-night peck. Then he smiled at her.
"Our little girl is now having regular and, I would venture to guess, exceptional sex with the most beautiful, charming boy imaginable."
Marlo's eyes welled with tears. She hugged her brother close and whispered how happy she was for their adorable darling, adding, wistfully, yes, what a gloriously sexual young couple they were.
"'Enviable,' Dexter, just as you said."
Dexter gave her another quick kiss.
"I want Wren's sex life to be thoroughly enviable, Sis. I want that beautiful angel to get everything she so richly deserves."
As for the two young lovers -- after making sure the house was shut down and locked up, Wren and Remy headed upstairs to enjoy the rest of the evening together.
They went long and slow and blissfully sensuous all night long. They must have flipped the Replacements record over six times.
In the morning, around 6:30, Wren stole quietly out of bed without waking Remy, so she could bring them back some coffee to sip on as they cuddled together, readying their minds for the school-day ahead. She slipped Remy's T-shirt over her thin, naked body before tiptoeing downstairs.
In the kitchen, Wren discovered that Dexter had driven to their favorite bakery across the river and brought back pastries for them all. She gave her uncle a big kiss, and he told her what a delightful time he and Marlo had last night.
"We both adore your young man, darling."
"Thanks, Uncle. I'm happy every single minute of every single day now."
She brought an almond croissant back up to her bedroom, for Remy and her to split, along with a couple cups of Marlo's strong black coffee. Just a quick sixty-nine because they had to eat and dress and dash -- Remy wanted to leave for school early this morning, so they could stop off at his house before school, to see Ava before she left for work.
There was a touching goodbye scene at the Damsons' front door around 7:30 AM, before the two teens headed out. Remy made his good-byes to Marlo & Dexter.
"Thanks again! You're both so gracious. And this is such an incredible house. My mom and I live in this total dump, not even remotely near the elegance of your place."
Wren spoke right up.
"Don't believe him! Remy and Ava have the coolest house in the world! Wait til you see it!"
Dexter dashed off on some errand, so Marlo walked them to the front foyer. Remy figured Wren might want to make a private goodbye to her aunt, so he told his girl he'd meet her outside.
Remy was right -- when Wren turned to Marlo, her aunt's eyes were misted up for her darling niece's happiness. She had to tell Wren yet again how much she liked Remy.
"Oh Wren, darling, what a wonderful boyfriend you've found!"
"Auntie Marlo, I'm so happy now, I just can't tell you! I'm living the most wonderful dream, and Remy's the dreamiest boy who's ever lived."
"You're so very, very lucky, angel. The way he looks at you, talks to you, holds you. Remy's so strong and athletic, yet so gentle -- he just seems to radiate goodness and kindness, and he's so intelligent, so funny. And what a chef! Dexter and I especially loved -- during dinner and cribbage -- how he listens intently to everything you have to say, and responds to it, and clearly values it. He worships you, darling -- it's so marvelous to see. It's almost silly how much Dexter and I like him. Your uncle says you've captured the heart of young Apollo."
"I feel utterly, completely wonderful, Auntie, for the first time in forever, it seems like. The first time since Mom."
The two of them held each other tightly, both of them sobbing softly, both of them thinking the exact same thing -- how they'd never expected Wren would ever enjoy such happiness after the trauma she'd suffered.
Finally, Wren broke the hug.
"Gotta go, Auntie!"