This is a story about the high school awakening of sexual relationships. The Standard Disclaimer applies here: this story features graphic depictions of sexual activity between men. If such material is inappropriate for the jurisdiction where you live, please exit immediately. This is a work of fiction and the author strongly recommends following safe sexual practices. This is, as I said, a work of fiction, though I sigh when I recall how much of it is so true.
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The Passion Pit
There are times and there are people that constitute the pivot-points in life, sudden and dramatic tectonic shifts the course of the rivers of our lives from everything that comes after.
I am not unlike you. I'm a queer of a certain age, but I forget that when I am not forced to look in a mirror. When I wake in the night I am the same as I have always been, young and lean, and with that chestnut brown hair with the bangs that flip up at the end.
Blue eyes like a mountain lake. Not rheumy and ringed with a pale yellow. A nice, solid cock, thick around and cut so the tip is proud and prominent, and it can spit fierce man-cum five times in an encounter.
I forget that when I rise and hobble the first few steps from the bed toward the bathroom. I don't wear my glasses when I am in front of the mirror. Sometimes it takes a while to remember to put them on. Only when I have to read something do I remember that I have to wear glasses at all.
But I am lucky to be alive, and that is where Joe comes in. His deep set eyes and rich lashes began the tremors of what became a torrent in my life. Only later did I know how pivotal he was.
Joe was the first boy I had a crush on. He was in my band class. He was slight and a little dreamy. He wore straight-legged corduroy pants and tie-shoes, which was an epithet in those days. It meant that your parents would not trust you to dress yourself, or they were afraid you would grow pigeon-toes. He had fine sandy hair and he wore glasses with thick frames, but I could see the fine dark lashes that made his gaze sweeter than any of the girls.
He was shy and diffident and he held himself with this thin shoulders back. He usually wore a cardigan sweater, even when it was warm. I made me think that he was sheltering himself from something.
I couldn't tell him I had a crush on him. The whole thing confused me. Our middle school students were just starting to pair off and date. We did that then, rather than what the kids do now, which is to run in a pack and hook-up when necessary.
We were much more linear in those days. I went on a couple dates because that is what we were supposed to do. I remember the new couples sneaking off to the furnace room to neck by the machinery at the first boy-girl parties, and I remember my first kiss from a girl.
It was exotic, that first brush with passion, that fumbling around. But what confused me was what I thought about when I masturbated in my bed at night. I tried to think of the girls at school naked, or of the Playboy women in the magazines we stole from the store because that is what was expected of us.
But I found myself thinking of little Joe, and what his cock might look like, and if it was as long and elegant as the fingers I saw him run up the neck of his violin in band class.
They said that Joe's Dad had played professional football, that he was as rough and tough as they came. I heard that he came down to watch us practice on the football field in the fall, and I heard once that he made a comment about my aggressive press to cut to the head of the line in the hitting drills.
But I never knew precisely what he looked like, and I never could put a face to him.
I could not imagine that Joe's fair skin and delicate features came from a man that had played in Soldier Field on a Sunday.
The kids were not kind to kids who were different. They called Joe a sissy, and a homo, and other cruel things. Sometimes I thought I should defend him, but I could never figure out how to say it in a way that wouldn't have my big rough friends call me the same thing.
I could imagine it clearly: "Oh, so you like the little faggot? You a homo, too, Robert?"
I thought about a lot of things when I jerked off. But I always thought about Joe, one way or another in the days I waited to get my drivers license and start the road to being a grown-up.
I used to have a fantasy that I would consider as I waited for the drum part to begin in band class. I would be watching his fingers dance up the neck of his violin, and I imagined my cock being massaged by my fingers. It would get me hard in class, but I didn't care, since my snare drum blocked my crotch from view.
I wondered if I could write him an anonymous note, say that someone who cared about him was wearing some unique piece of clothing, maybe a tie or a particular color sweater. Then I would see him the next day in school, in the hall perhaps, and he would imagine me looking at him from the back of the band, or in the math class we shared.
And it would not be until the end of the day that he would ask if it was me who sent the note. Sometimes in my fantasy I told him, and sometimes I was cruel.
The fantasy I liked was that I nodded and smiled and told him I thought he was handsome and would he like to walk home from school with me. When I was really hard, and ready to spew all over myself, I imagined what it would be like if we went to his house and it was empty and we could kiss and take our clothes off and rub our cocks together.
But I could never figure out how it got beyond that, or how I could live in the world I had to live in and be a part of his at the same time.
Reality in 1966 was a lot different than it is now.
I played football, hung around with my idiot buddies who joked about what I secretly desired. I would see Joe at the big high school where we went after middle school, but I dropped out of band and only saw him occasionally in the crowded halls and in my masturbatory imagination.
I got decent enough grades to get into IU and as it turned out, the summer before college was the time I finally found a man like me, and became what I knew I was already, a practicing fucking homo. It was supposed o be a big deal, but I didn't look at it that way. It was just part of me I had to protect. I couldn't wait to get clear of all this bullshit and be free.
Men on the Moon
It was going to be a wasted summer. It had somehow become 1969, the height of the crazy decade of sex, drugs and rock and roll that didn't actually end until the big Oil Crunch in 1973. I'll never forget the night the whole party ended, and just as a matter of personal bookmarks, it was when Tricky Dick Nixon came on the tube and told us to drive 55 miles-an-hour to save fuel.
I almost got killed the next morning trying to do it, run down by angry white guys in big cars on the Dan Ryan Expressway the next morning. "I can't drive 55" became a mantra, even though they tried to make us do it, self righteous assholes.
There were music festivals, and dope, and loud music and I was going to be off to college soon. I was interested in the concepts of the Age of Aquarius, though I hadn't seen much of it in the mid-western town I found myself stuck in.
It was a great time to be alive, but my toes were tapping. I wanted to get on with life.
I missed my pals, and I missed being around the Big City. My family had moved because of my Dad's reassignment. I was now in a suburb around an old brick city filled with the descendants of the hardy block-headed Dutch who populated this part of the state. It was staid and boring.
On the upside, it was easy to get alcohol. On the downside there was nobody to drink it with. I had passable fake ID and it was not hard to get a six pack to drink in the field out in back of the house. And of course there were the racks of Dad's home-made wine in the basement.
He fancied himself quite the vintner and had custom labels made up and liked to give the stuff away when he took Mom to parties. When he decanted it from the barrel, he used all manner of bottles and consequently there was no particular rhyme or reason to it and it was easy to take the odd bottle from the garage.
I was as excited as anyone that summer, following the flight of the Eagle to the moon. They went in July of that summer and on July 20 at 4:18 p.m. EDT, the Lunar Module touched down on the Moon. At 10:56 p.m., Neil Armstrong jumped off the Lander. "That's one small step..." cracked the TV.
Sure was, I thoguht. I was ready for one, too. A giant leap, in fact.
In between I lay in my bed and gazed out the window where the moon hung silver in space.
I couldn't quite believe it. Interplanetary travel seemed to be possible. I wondered everything was the same way, possible. I was horny all the time. It did not take much to tent my trousers.
I wondered about a lot of things. Women. They were such impenetrable beings. I thought about the airbrushed Playboy images as I stroked myself, and thought about the strange fortress undergarments they wore under the mini-skirts when they shot us a look in High School. They all seemed to wear the same severe foundation garments, of a sort. It was the mid-West after all.
But the way they crossed their legs under the desks and that resolute aspect of their crotches filled me with wonder, and a certain amount of dread.
It wasn't like that with the guys. I used to love Phys Ed, and the shower afterwards. I could see that I stacked up pretty well with the other guys, and often found myself thinking of what it would be like to see a guy as hard as I was.
I laid on my back on my bed and looked at the moon through the window. I thought of Playboy images with airbrushed pneumatic women. But increasingly I found myself daydreaming about hard penises. I had found a copy of the shocking Victorian story of Fanny Hill by a fellow named John Cleland. It was in my father's remote library, in his shop, concealed with the magazines he kept tucked away that I liked to examine once I had discovered their location.
It was quite a revelation. The heroine of the book was Fanny, and she was poked and prodded by all manner of lusty rakes. I found it curious that I found myself wishing to be on her end of things rather than being one of the horny lads. I inserted a candle in my ass one day to see what she experienced. I pulled it in and out just like the fat cocks that filled Fanny up on nearly every page.
I didn't understand why this felt so good, or why I was so attracted to the idea of having it in me. It just felt good, and seemed to touch something deep inside me that tingled. God, it felt good. In fact, when I stroked myself I clenched my tight ring around the smooth intruder and my balls boiled, I shot Technicolor plumes that arced from the tip of my straining cock and hit me in the face.
This night, I looked at the Moon and stroked my eager member, thinking of astronauts and hard dicks. Mine rose to the occasion for the second time that day, spewing hot milk on my hand. I shuddered with the intensity of the release.
In the silvery light I licked the back of my right hand, tasting my warm seed. It was slippery, with a slightly sweet musky taste and a hint of something else that made my throat tingle, seeming to close it of its own volition.
It was powerful stuff. I knew that. For sure.
The Men's Department
I was up late with everyone else the night man landed on the moon and was tired when I drove my little red VW Beetle to the Mall the next day.
The department store I had worked for back home had an outlet here, and I was able to secure a job selling clothes. They were stricter here in the smaller town, more formal, but I got the same employee discount on clothes and I enjoyed interacting with the customers. I was a born salesman, and so long as I moved product, the management left me alone.
This morning the Manager of the men's department caught me early. I had a cigarette going in one of the dressing rooms, so I tried to sidle away from him and put it out. He was a nerdy type, a little old maid guy. He grasped me on the upper arm to keep me fixed
in place.
"Listen," he said. "We have a new employee coming in today."
"O.K." I said. "I can handle that."
"No." He scowled. "This is different. He is a Negro."
I gave him a puzzled look. I had worked with black people all the time back home.
"Our first Negro," he said, as if I was supposed to understand the enormity of it.
"O.K.," I said again. "I'll try to be nice."
He gave me one of those looks. "I just don't want any problems that would reflect badly on the Men's Department."
I promised him that I would be on my best behavior and got back to stub out my cigarette before it fell out of the ashtray and caused a fire. Now THAT would reflect badly on the Men's Department, I thought.
I straightened up and killed time through the first hour of opening. Sometimes, on sale days, things started out with a rush. Sometimes the men's Department was as silent as a tomb. Today was one of the latter, and it seemed like even if men where on the Moon, it was going to be an endless summer.
And it was not going to be one with surfboards, even if that surf documentary came around to the movie theaters again.
I could see taking off for something completely different. I wanted to go.
Alexander the Great
The Negro my boss had warned me about arrived just before lunch.
I don't know what I had been expecting. He had been so concerned about the racial thing, I thought it might be some dark skinned H. Rap Brown thug. I knew that wasn't true. I had been working with the black guys on the loading dock and in the parking shack since I was fifteen and could get my work papers.
I knew they were just people, and when the summer of '67 and '68 came with all the riots I gained a deep respect for what they had to deal with, things I had no comprehension about. So even if this person was a tough guy I was confident I could get along with him.
I was selling a pair of jeans to a woman who had a disinterested pimply kid in tow when I heard my name being called. I completed the transaction, closed the register, and slid the pants into a sack with the Department Store logo on it and turned around.
My nerd manager had a tall young man with him. I took an involuntary breath. His skin had the rich color of caramel, just lighter than a the sweet rich cup of cafe au lait with which I started my mornings. His hair was a sort of light brunette in a million tight curls, cut close on the sides and rising a little on top. He was the essence of style.
His eyes were the strangest shade of hazel and his aristocratic nose had just a hint of African flare. I was stunned. This was no Negro. This young man looked like the pictures of Malcom X when he was still Detroit Red.
"Bob," I want you to meet Alexander. He will be joining the staff here today and I want you to show him the ropes. How to open up and close out."
"I'd be happy to" I said, hoping I didn't look too startled. "Nice to meet you, Alex."
He smiled and I saw radiant white teeth behind his lips that were not much fuller than mine. Just rich and sensuous.
"I prefer Alexander," he said softly "But just don't call me late for dinner." He finished the joke with a smile and I grinned right back.
"Alexander it is," I said. "Sorry."
The manager looked at us and pursed his lips. "I'll handle the register here. Why don't you show him the break room and where he can get some lunch if he is hungry. We have a half hour for lunch here, no more, and two fifteen minute breaks."
"We are very organized here" I said. "We run a tight department."
The manager knew I was ribbing him but he let it go. He was such a wimp. "Come on, Alexander. Let me show you the ropes." He smiled and we walked off past the display counters and the suit racks. I pointed to the door between the slacks and sports coats. "Back there are the dressing rooms. We are supposed to keep an eye on them to make sure no one is doing any shoplifting or tag-changing."
"Do you have much of that here?" asked Alexander in that soft voice. His inflection rose on the word "that."
"Nah," I said. "Mostly we have hard-working blockhead Dutch in here. It is a boring clientele." I paused. "I'm sorry, are you from around here? I didn't mean anything by that."
"Goodness, no," he said firmly. "I am from Chicago. They sent me here for the summer."
"Who did? The family?"
"Yeah," he responded with a sigh. "There were some issues. We have kin here. I'll tell you about it sometime, if you are interested."
I found that interesting. I wondered if he had to cool off from something. But that could come in time. "Let me show you the break room. It has the only Coke machine on this side of the Mall." We took the escalator down to the basement where we sold tools and patio crap. I don't know why the heavy stuff was in the basement, but I just work there.
We looked at the Coke machine and the ultra-modern industrial microwave. "That thing will cook a hot dog in about three seconds," I said. "And sometimes the machine actually gets the ice right in the cup, unless it turns it over and spills everything."
He laughed, a melodious sound like water flowing over smooth stones.
"I've seen worse," he said, eyes twinkling. "Now why don't you show me how to work."
We went back upstairs and relieved the Nerd at the register. I showed him the buttons to mash for "no sale" and how to do the credit vouchers and how to place the card just so on the register plate so when you pressed the handle the name and account number came through on the carbon. I showed him the tally sheet we each had to fill out for all the sales we did, and how we would close it out at the end of the day.
Since it was slow, we chatted through the afternoon. I found out he was recently graduated, too. He was headed for college, though his family wanted him to attend a historically black school in Washington DC rather than the University of Illinois.
"Why is that?" I asked. I was headed there myself. I looked forward to the challenge of the big campus and all the activity.
"They want me to be Black for a while, so that I don't forget."
That stopped me dead. I didn't know what to say, and preferred to say nothing rather than something that might be inadvertently offensive. Thankfully a 44-short suit customer showed up and I taught Alexander how to mark up the cut job instructions for the tailor. That is the only part of the job that is complicated. People come in such a variety of sizes.
Selling a suit is a big deal, with a lot of interplay with the customer. I rang up the sale and then measured the stocky mans coat, marking with chalk the hump where the jacket had to be taken in at the collar, and the rise and inseam on the trousers. I always feel a little funny about that, particularly when the guy is such a toad. Alexander seemed to think it was amusing and grinned when I had completed the process, filled out the tag and instructions, and thanked the man for his business.
The chunky man ambled away and I turned and said "What's so funny?"
"You are, Bob. I don't think you liked that man, and I think you are afraid that I don't know I am a Negro."
"Shit, no, I didn't like him. He was a toad. But about the other part, I don't want to hurt your feelings by saying something stupid."
"Like whether I can get a sunburn?" He paused and smiled. "I can, you know. And that is because white men have been fucking the women in my family for three hundred years."
I must have blushed. "It's O.K.," he said. "I didn't say you fucked them."
"It's complicated," I stammered.
"Yes, it is." he said gently. "For white people it is. But relax. Don't for an instant think that we do not know what is going on around us. When you are as light as my family is, you get it from both sides. Not white, and not black enough to be authentic. In New
Orleans, we were aristocracy. Up North we are just colored folks that look too white."
"Is that what happened to get you exiled here for the summer?"
"Something like that. Sometimes you get the double whammy."
I didn't know what he meant by that, but he touched me on the upper arm as I looked up to see a family looking at the shirt counter. "Gotta go sell," I said, grateful at the opportunity to avoid the sudden honesty. "Maybe we can catch a smoke in a while."
"I'd like that," he said. Then he smiled and I felt my stomach tighten.
I was glad it was busy. Alexander made his first sale, and I admired the elegance of the way he bagged the shirts, the little flourish as he handed it over as though it were a prize of great price and not just a couple Arrow shirts. The late afternoon traffic stayed pretty brisk and it was coming up on dinner when the Nerd told me he would keep Alexander and show him how to close out, since he came in late and I had opened up. "OK," I said, though I wouldn't have minded staying.
The Nerd said he would be writing a new work schedule to accommodate Alexander's arrival and I said "good night" to the Nerd and told Alexander that I looked forward to working with him.
He extended his hand and I noticed for the first time how slender and graceful his fingers were. I did not clasp his palm in the death grip I usually use. His touch was firm and his flesh supple and warm. I walked out into the still-bright sun and found the car thinking about how he felt.
The vinyl seats were hotter than shit, and I roared home with the windows down, wishing the little car has air conditioning. I took a swim and found a place in the field out in back of the house to go drink a couple semi-cold Pabst Blue Ribbons. I was daydreaming as the shadows grew longer and night fell.
I was daydreaming about Alexander's fingers. I wondered if it were true, about the proportional relationship between fingers and cock. And if all the Caucasian blood had any effect on how big it was.
Shoot, I thought. I wonder if I am a fucking homo?
When I lay in my bed later, I got rock hard and images of him flashed through my mind as I grunted and rubbed my throbbing dick. When I came, I thought of him shooting all over me. When I licked it up, I imagined it was his.
Shoot, I am a fucking homo, I thought.
Now what the fuck do I do about that?
The Passion Pit
I woke the next morning with an erection. I blushed when I thought about it and was running late and did not get a chance to do anything about it but thrash in the shower. In the water thrusting down from the faucet I thought about what I had been thinking the last time my dick had been this hard and came with a shudder with the scalding water cascading down around me.
I dressed in a hurry, chino slacks and a striped shirt and rep tie. They liked us to look prep at the Department Store, and I didn't mind. I thought I might grow my hair out in the fall when I went to school. But in the meantime I was happy to maintain a low profile and slide through the summer.
Everyone else was long gone. The store didn't open until 10:00, and they wanted us to open up by 9:45. I had slept late. I poured some of the cold coffee back in the top of the drip percolator and turned it on to give it a kick.
Then I was out the door and buzzing in the little VW down Westbrook Road to the Mall.
I made it pretty much on time and was at my place by the register when the Nerd came by to check.
"I want you to push those new wheat-colored jeans," he said. "And thank-you for your help with Alexander. I think I will have to watch him, but he seems clever and will do a fine job for us with adequate supervision."
"I think you are absolutely right, Boss." He took it as a sign of respect that I called him that. I don't think he knew I was laughing at him, the pompous shit. Alexander had more going on between his ears than he ever would.
"I have made up a new schedule for you. For the next week or two I am going to have you come in late and be with him to close up at 9:00 each night." I could see that he didn't trust the Negro to close up. But I didn't mind. That meant I could sleep in till eleven in the morning if I wanted to. It was a pity the only thing mildly interesting to do in town was go to the big double screen drive-in.
There was nobody to date and sitting alone in the car drinking a purloined bottle of my father's homemade wine was hardly my idea of a wild time. Still, it was out of the house and the buzz was good. It didn't get dark until then, and if I went to the theatre after we closed it was still light enough that they were only playing the dancing hotdogs movie trailer to get us to go to the snack bar when I got there.
There were some truly awful movies out that summer. But I must have seen "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" about fifty times. I didn't mind seeing it over and over and after a while I started to memorize the lines and would recite them along with Robert Redford, looking back at the Pinkerton agents s chasing them down.
"Who are those guys?" I would say. When it was over I let the rest of the crowd gather up their kids or put their clothes back on, whichever category of people they were. Then I would navigate sedately home, lurching over the mounds of dirt that pointed the noses of the cars up so they could see the screen better, trying to avoid the poles where the speakers hung down on the curly wires.
I had to wait patiently through the slow morning traffic for Alexander to arrive. I decided that the images I had of him were just private things. After all, I had never had a black friend and with the shortness of the season before we all moved on, it didn't seem like this was anything more than a work relationship. I was a little embarrassed by how I had felt, thinking about the feel of him, when I jerked off last night.
Private thoughts, private moment. Just be professional and aloof. You can deal with the homo thing when you get further from home and the folks aren't watching.
That was pretty much how I felt, right up until Alexander actually showed up for work.
He looked just as good as he had the day before. He had a slim build that showed off his shoulders in his Norfolk jacket with the little sewed belt in the back. He had one of the big collar shirts and a wild floral tie. He had slacks that were tight at the waist, showing a suspicious bulge in the crotch and flared nicely at the knee. There was a slight break to the at the well-polished brown shoes. The whole thing was a package of style, grace and elegance.
"Hey!" he said. "I hear you are going to rescue me from the Nerd from here out."
"I'll do what I can. That means I get eleven hours today to get onto the new schedule. I think the Nerd doesn't want to stay late."
"And he doesn't trust the Negro- right?"
"I'm sure that isn't it. You are just new."
"Uh-huh." He shook his head with a knowing look. I think I blushed. I hate it when that happens.
"The Nerd says we are supposed to move the Wheat Jeans today. Let's get the stacks sorted and get ready for some selling."
"Yessir, Boss" he said. I gave him that look.
"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Alexander."
"Yessir." Then he gave me that gleaming smile and hit me on the shoulder and we started folding the jeans and stacking them by size.
I felt relaxed again. This guy had a sense of humor and his easy way with the jeans, the way he folded them back into out-of-the-box condition, made things go quickly. We yacked about a lot of stuff that day. He didn't know much about the city, and though I didn't know much more, I told him what I could. There was not much of a black population in town, and they seemed to keep pretty much to themselves. I told him how far away the lake was, and which places sold beer to the under-aged with fake ID.
"Where do you go to drink?" he asked.
I told him about the field in back of my house. And them I told him about the Drive-in."
"Oh," he said. "The Passion Pit."
"Not here," I said. "You would need a hot date for that. I just like to go and drink in the car. No one bothers you there, if you are quiet. The block-head Dutch would never suspect there is anything going on there except solid respectable people watching a movie..."
"And young kids screwing their brains out!" he said, laughing. "I know what it was like back home. I thought it was funny, the way they would look at us when we drove out to Glenn Ellyn and they thought we had another five kids in the trunk."
"Did you?'
"Of course."
My ass was starting to drag around dinnertime. The Nerd gave me an hour for a dinner break and I took it. I had an idea. I drove home and got a gallon jug of the homemade wine from the metal storage chest in the garage and put it in the back of the VW. I stopped at the Mickey-Dees on the way back and got a sack of burgers that I shared with Alexander. We stashed them back in one of the dressing rooms and munched them between customers.
We got to the 8:30 slack time and started to do our tallies. It had not been a bad day, and we had moved some Wheat Jeans. The Nerd had been pleased before he rushed out to have dinner at home with the wifey.
We held down the last half hour on our own. We dealt with a crazy woman who had to have a pair of black slacks for her husband and he was a 40-30. It's an odd size. We had plenty of 40-34's, but she wanted them right away and we had to look through everything. We finally found one that was the right size but had a mark on them. She wanted a discount and I patiently explained we were not authorized to do that. She sniffed and bought them anyway.
She wasn't happy, though, and let us know it the whole time we made the sale. By the time she was gone and the register tape was removed and folded with the tally cards, the grillwork was coming down on the main doors and the place was closed.
"Whew," I said. "I don't know why it always gets like that at closing. Makes me all agitated."
"You handled it fine, Bob. But I would have just given them to her. They don't have any inventory control here. The Store would never have known."
I stood there, a little stunned. "I never thought of that." Jeeze, he was right. And we wouldn't be minutes late getting out of there.
He picked up his jacket and slipped it over his shoulders. "Got any big plans tonight?" he asked. "I am not looking forward to watching TV with my Aunt until it is time to go to bed."
I smiled. This was fantastic. "Well, I thought I might go down to the movies and catch Butch Cassidy again."
"Quite an original mind, Bob. I'm not much of a Western guy, but that is a very pretty movie. Mind if I join you? I'll miss the bus, though, and you will have to give me a lift home."
"I'd be happy to, Alexander. It will be fun to see it with someone. The dancing hotdog reel for the snack bar is worth the price of admission alone."
"You don't know the half of that," he said with a smile. I didn't know precisely what he meant by that, but I had a feeling I was going to find out.
Midnight Cowboys
We found the red VW out in the parking lot, back in the rows where Management wanted the employees to park. I loosened my tie, and then unwrapped it.
"Too hot for work clothes," I said. "I wish I had brought something to change into."
Alexander looked at he and shrugged off his sport jacket. We stood on both sides of the car, doors open, letting the evening breeze blow the heat out of the car. He folded the jacket neatly and removed his tie and placed them in the backseat. He unbuttoned the sleeves of his dress shirt and rolled them up twice with careful precision. He unbuttoned his collar and two more below it, tugging the shirt so it bloused and hung as thought that was the way it was supposed to look all the time.
"It's just a question of attitude," He smiled. He pointed at the jug of home-made wine on the floor behind the driver's seat. "What is that?"
"It's wine my old man makes. He puts down fifty gallons every year. He puts it in any container he can, and he never can keep it organized. It is like a big likker lending library."
"Is it any good?"
"Well, it is California concentrate and Illinois Concord grapes. It is a little sweet, but it seems to work."
He looked a little doubtful. "We'll get ice and some cups at the drive-in. Trust me, it will be fine."
I got the feeling that homemade wine in paper cups was something he made a point of not doing. I completed my comfort conversion by doing just what Alexander had done. We climbed into the car and I turned the key, fired up the little four-banger engine and turned on the radio.
"Pick any station you want," I said. "Not that there is much to pick from. You can get both kinds of music here. Country AND Western."
Alexander laughed. "Yeah, I get WLS from home at night when they clear the crap off the air at sundown and go clear-channel. It makes me homesick."
It was not far from sundown now. I was suddenly aware of how close we were in the VW. The failing light bathed his fair skin and brought out light highlights in his tight curly hair. I reached down to the great shift and brushed his arm as he was reaching for the buttons on the radio.
The touch was electric. For me anyway, he seemed unconcerned. I wondered if I would have the nerve to do anything.
I had a crush on a kid in my band class in junior high school. His name was Joe. It was an old fashioned name, and he wore straight-leg corduroy pants, lace-up shoes and a cardigan sweater with plaid shirts in the winter. His skin was sallow and smooth, like a girl. He had big expressive eyes and a sort of sadness about him that I found touching.
The other kids made fun of him because he was slight in build and called him queer. For some reason that excited me, and I looked at him as he sawed away on his violin. His Dad had been a football player, or that was the word around school, and maybe it his gentle manner came as a reaction to that.
I never had gym class with him. I schemed sometimes on how I could let him know that I liked him, maybe an anonymous note that said I might be wearing some article of clothing, maybe a tie or something, and see if we could start a secret friendship.
I would jerk off, thinking about him, wondering if his dick was long and thin, whether he would moan like one of the girls, and if I could moan like that, too.
I always chickened out, thought and never did anything. By the time we got to high school I was hanging around with the other jocks and my infatuation with the slight boy with the delicate manner had passed.
Or so I thought. Now here I was sitting with a beautiful young black man. I wondered if I would chicken out this time, too. He was so cool looking. And suppose I was wrong? Suppose he was just a nice guy and I didn't understand.
Then the word would get out that I was a homo and the rest of the summer would be spent with icy coldness from my folks and total isolation at work and it would drag on forever.
I decided it was better to just play it straight and put the homo business aside. It was such a hassle. That would be easier. I could wait to explore this at college, when I was on my own for real. I sighed, pleased that the decision had been made.
"What's up Bob?" asked Alexander. "Something on your mind?"
I turned and looked at him. Damn, he was good looking. "Nah, I just have some things going on with my folks. I can't wait to get going for college."
"Yeah," he said. "I'm eager to get on with it, too. I can't wait to get to Howard and check out DC."
"It is supposed to be a crazy town these days," I said, and we started talking about the movies.
We were rolling down 31st Street toward the expressway. "It is a western theme," I said. "A double feature with True Grit and Butch Cassidy."
"Maybe you better take me home now," said Alexander. "I'm not sure I can do two westerns in a row." I slowed as we neared the Expressway Twin Drive-In.
"Well, there is Midnight Cowboy and Easy Rider on the other screen."
"Let's do that," he said. "Though I hate to pull you away from the horses."
"Pull away, Man," I said, laughing. "I have seen Redford enough. Let's check out Jon Voight. I haven't seen that one."
I turned into the entrance lanes and pulled to the right side. There was a line of ticket booths, set up like toll-gates on the turnpike. The two on the right side served Screen Two, where Midnight Cowboy was going to show.
There were more cars in the Screen One Lot, which was on the other side of the Snack Bar that served both from its position smack in the middle of the compound.
The teen-ager in the booth gave a cursory look in the back seat to make sure there was no one huddled there and I gave him three bucks for the admission. I put it in first and drove slowly along the perimeter road, looking down the lanes.
"Where do you want to park?" I asked.
"Not in the middle. Let's get over to the side where we can drink in private."
"Sounds good. Let me pull up near the Snack Bar and we can get ice and some cups." I pulled up in the back row next to the entrance and we got out and walked in through the glass door. There were two girls working the counter and some kids running around with a harried-looking couple getting a cardboard platter of hot-dogs. Alexander rolled his eyes at me, as if to say "how pathetic."
"We have to get something to eat with a drink or they won't give us the cups," I said in an aside. "I get the Sprite and pour it out and rinse the ice in the water fountain."
Alexander nodded. When the couple got out of the way I ordered a hot dog and a big Sprite, plenty of ice.
"Make it two," said Alexander. I could tell the girl was checking him out. He was a pretty exotic looking guy in this blockhead Dutch town. I envied him that.
We walked out of the Snack Bar, drank some of the Sprite and poured the rest out. The cool sweet liquid tasted good. I swirled water from the cooler over the ice and cupped my fingers over the top of the cup as I poured it out. He did the same and we climbed back in the Beetle. I drove slowly over the inclines until we were on the far left side of the parking area, well away from the knot of cars in the middle and not on the way to the Snack Bar or the bathroom.
I shut the car off, rolled the window up enough to hook the big gray metal speaker into the driver's side. The speaker was big enough to intrude a little into the space in the tiny driver's side and I had to squirm a little to get comfortable. I brushed Alexander's shirt.
"I love the car," I said. "But it is a little small. Could you reach the wine in the back?"
"Sure. But I don't mind the size of the car. At least you have one." He turned and reached between the seats. I looked down the past the unbuttoned shirt and got a glimpse of smooth hairless honey-colored chest and a nipple that was a dark bud. I smelled him, too, something beyond the faint scent of his aftershave. Something rich and tinged with sweat and something else, musky.
He unscrewed the metal cap on the bottle and I produced my cup from between my legs. He filled it half up and then he did the same for his. We settled in, and unwrapped our hot dogs.
It was not full dark yet, but the projector started and the screen was bathed with pale images of coming attractions. There were three or four of them, but I was fascinated by the way Alexander was eating his hot dog. He brought the bun to his lips and opened wide, seeming to tease the frankfurter with his tongue, and then gently and delicately severed it with his pearly teeth.
I shivered a little. It was so erotic. I ate mine without the same grace, but the symbolism was clear. I looked down at the cup between my legs, finished the dog in a couple gulps. I crumpled up the wrapper and tossed it in the back seat.
"Easy, Bob. You gotta make things last" he said. He resumed his consumption of the hotdog and licked his lips. I sipped the wine as the dancing hot dogs appeared on the screen. The speaker crackled and buzzed, since this segment was shown over and over
and the sound track was worn on the film. Alexander took a sip of wine, grimaced at the taste, and then said "Well, the price is right."
"Aw, c'mon. It's not that bad. It will grow on you, promise."
The dancing hot dogs finished counting down the ten minutes to the feature film, and the wine began to spread a warm glow through my middle. I thought the dancing dogs looked just like thin erect cocks in warm little bun-jackets. I didn't say anything. I wondered what Alexander was thinking.
"Have you seen this before?" he asked. "I enjoyed it."
"I heard it was kinda dark," I said. "I mean, you know, depressing."
"Stop it. Don't be so sensitive. It is a real story from the big city. Jon Voight is just like one of the blockheads from here who gets to the big city and has to do what he has to do. Ratso is the Dustin Hoffman character. He teaches Jon the ropes."
The theme music and the credits started. "Everybody's Talkin' `Bout Me" sang Nilsson. I liked the song. So far nobody did talk about me, but maybe that was going to change if I hung around with Alexander.
Alexander completed the line: "Can't hear a word they say!" He smiled. "Do you smoke pot?"
"I'd like to," I said. "I tried it before we moved here and it felt pretty good. I think it was, anyway. We were pretty drunk." Alexander squirmed around in his seat and produced his wallet. He extracted a thin hand-rolled cigarette.
"I only brought a little with me from Chicago, so I only get to smoke one a day. I might be able to find more, but it will take a while to make connections."
He punched in the lighter on the dash. When it popped out it bathed his face in red. He applied it to the end of the joint and inhaled deeply. "You ever had a Chicago Shotgun?" he asked.
"A what?" I asked apprehensively.
"Don't worry. Here, let me show you." He took the joint from his lips and inserted the lit end into his mouth. The butt end protruded from his lips and he leaned over to me. I was startled and drew back in surprise. He touched my shoulder and brought my face close to his. He began to blow through the joint and an intense plume of smoke came out. I got the point and leaned in close and began to inhale.
Our lips were so close it was almost a kiss. and the smoke as cool and rich and thick. I sucked it down deep into my lungs. When I had a lung full, he stopped and delicately removed the joint from his mouth. "Now THAT is a shotgun," he said with a smile.
I was stunned at the intimacy of the ritual. I wanted to do that again. I wanted to see those lips that close. I exhaled slowly, the sweet smoke leaving me giddy.
"That was fantastic! Can I do it for you?"
He smiled and passed me the joint. I inserted it in my mouth as he had, backwards, and leaned close to him. I looked him deep in the eyes and began to blow air into the joint as if I was whistling. A thin rope of smoke came from the butt and he gulped it in eagerly, our lips nearly touching. When he was full I leaned back, and realized my hand had brushed his thigh. I looked down and in the dim light of the screen I thought I saw there was a bulge in his crotch.
Alexander let the smoke trickle from his mouth. "Yeah, that feels good. Relaxing."
We passed he joint back and forth until it was too small to pass. Alexander inhaled deeply and popped the tiny roach in his mouth.
He gestured to me to lean over toward him and I did. He closed his eyes and began to exhale the last cloud from his lungs into mine and I drank it in, getting closer and closer. Close enough to kiss him.
The sweet smoke from his sweet lips was overpowering.
His eyes opened, and then he pressed his lips against mine and blew out the last.
He pulled away and breathed in deeply.
"So what do you think about the Chicago shotgun?"
My head felt pleasantly expanded and all my nerves tingled. "I like it a lot," I said. "I'd like to do it again."
Double Feature
We sipped some wine and let the buzz take hold. I was sitting next to this handsome man and I needed to do something, but I didn't know what. He had as much as kissed me and I had desperately wanted to kiss him back. It seemed like now or never. I thought of an excuse to brush his leg, or something, but with the single joint gone I was not going to get another chance for a shotgun unless I tried it with a Marlboro and that sounded gross.
Ratso was trying to convince Jon to do something in Times Square. I felt dreamy from the marijuana and relaxed from the wine. "So why was it that your family made you come here for the summer, Alexander?"
He pursed his lips. "Well, it is a bit of a story. But I can make it simple. They did not like my choice of girlfriend." He looked back a the screen where Jon Voigt was wearing a little cowboy hat pushed back on his blonde hair. Dustin Hoffman looked like a junkie
My stomach knotted at the words. I had been on the verge of a huge mistake. God, I felt like such an idiot. The closeness had only been a way to smoke the pot. I could have been a complete fool.
I didn't say anything, and took a sip of wine. I tried to sound sympathetic, though my stomach felt like I had been kicked. "Was it a white girl?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Nah, the problem was that she was a white guy."
I spit out some wine. "What?"
He reached over and put a hand on my thigh. "Yes, you heard me right. I got beat up at school because some of the brothers called me Queer and I told them to go fuck themselves. I tried to keep them from finding out why but Daddy got on his high horse and went to up to the school and the counselor told them the word was that I was a pansy. A fruit. They decided to get me out of there so I wouldn't get hurt."
"Jeeze," I said lamely. "That is terrible."
"Oh, there is worse I suppose." I touched the back of his hand, stroking it gently. "It must be terrible to be treated that way." I thought back and wondered if I had just looked on when Joe was teased in junior high School. Let him be made fun of when I really liked him. I felt awful. "Have you always liked boys? When did you know?"
"I've always known I was different. I always was more comfortable with the company of the women in the family, and I liked the girls at school. I just wasn't attracted to them. As soon as I started to mature I knew what I wanted, and it was other boys. When did you know?"
I was stunned. "Well, I'm not sure I do know."
"Oh, come on. You are as queer as I am. I could tell the moment we met. Us queers can tell."
I sat quietly. "I have been trying to figure it out. Lately I have been thinking of men when I jerk off. And when I met you...I don't know. I thought you were very attractive. Beautiful, even. Does that make me queer?"
"Well, you asked me to the Drive-in Movie where we could be alone," he finished for me. He raised his glass to me and took a drink. "So what do you want to do about it? Here we are."
"I don't know," I stammered. Alexander laughed and leaned over and kissed me full on the lips, lingering.
"Now you know," he said. And then he kissed me again, and I felt my lips open and my tongue touched his. It was like velvet, and the taste was sweet from the wine and rich with the marijuana. I felt his arms come around me and I leaned into him and I could feel something like a freight train in my head.
And it literally was a freight train, since the tracks ran not far from this side of the theater. But when the ground shuddered I could not tell if it was from the movement of the train on the tracks or my heart thudding against my ribcage. God it felt good! My mouth was open wide to him as his tongue probed my teeth and my palate. I sucked at his tongue, trying to capture it and hold it. I twisted in his embrace so that I faced upward to him. My arms clung to him for support and I felt I was falling upward into his eyes.
I don't know how long we made out but Nilsson was singing "Everybody's Talking At Me" again and the movie must have ended. Alexander looked up and said the dancing hot-dogs were on the screen again. I squirmed around, still leaning against him. The arc lights had come on at the base of the screen to show people the way to the snack bar. I screwed up my eyes against the sudden brightness.
"Do you want anything to eat?" I asked.
"I think we are just fine right here," he said. I heard the sound of a zipper opening and I shivered. He pulled open the front of his trousers and skinned them down with his white briefs. He reached for my hand and drew it toward him. I could see him in the darkness, dark flesh much darker than his skin.
It was the first erect cock I had ever seen, other than my own Old Faithful. It was long and narrow, curving slightly up the right. He was uncircumcised, the tip of his proud helmet just protruding from the foreskin. Something on the tip glimmered. I gently placed my palm on the side of it, toward the base, and slowly wrapped my fingers around it as if I were griping a bat. He squirmed. I took the pressure off my grip and ran my hand gently upward. He had to be nearly eight inches in length, but his cock was as slim and expressive as his fingers.
The story seemed to be true. I continued to gently, so gently, run my hand up and then down the length of his cock. I leaned over and kissed him again, and then looked down at the precious dark lance protruding from my hand.
"You need to put that sweet mouth of yours on that, you know" he said softly. "If you are going to be queer you may as well be a cocksucker, too. Goes with the turf."
"I'd love to suck your cock, Alexander,' I said reverently. The words hung in the air like balloons. "I'm going to suck your cock." I was amazed by the sound of it, the words spoken out loud and for real.
Bob, I thought to myself, tonight you are a cocksucker. Then I shivered and began to lower my face toward his lap.
Easy Rider
After the dancing hotdogs were gone, the arc lights below the screen went out and the speaker cracked with the noise of big motorcycles. My tongue was licking the tip of Alexander's cock. I could not tell the color now, but from the glimpse I had before the second feature started it seemed to have collected all the melanin from his golden body and concentrated into a stiff black pole.
I held it by the base and swirled my tongue around it. There was not much taste to the slippery fluid that had collected on the piss slit, but I lapped it up and then French-kissed it to make sure I had gotten it all. My lips sought out the extra flesh behind his helmet, an unexpected tactile treat. I had never seen an un-cut penis up close, and this was too amazing for words, even if I could have said something with my mouth full of him.
Then I worked my tongue around the flesh that surrounded his heart-shaped knob and took him in my mouth where I could work my tongue on the velvety shaft.
"That's good, Bob. No teeth, gentle is good for now." He seemed willing to let me go at my own pace and I felt empowered by my submission to his manhood. I was sucking a black man's cock and it was wonderful. The pot and the wine enhanced my desire and I ran my tongue down the side of his elegant cock and down to the nest of wiry hairs that covered his balls.
The smell bathed my senses and I licked his sack and teased the orbs within. "Suck them, Bob, suck my balls, you bitch," said Alexander.
I sucked one into my eager mouth. The tender egg floated softly within the wiry covering of the silky flesh. The smell of him was making me wild. I opened my mouth wide managed to get both precious balls in my mouth. I ran my tongue between them, separating them into my cheeks. I felt his shaft rub my cheek in the darkness and the roar from the speaker matched the squirming of his hips.
I felt transported. Alexander's slim fingers caressed my hair, pressing me down into him. I sucked his balls, my mouth gaping and aching with the effort not to let my teeth interrupt his pleasure.
The voices from the speaker blurred in my eagerness to serve him. His voice blended with that of the movie. I was sucking young Jack and violent Dennis as I sucked
Alexander. I left his balls with a slurp and licked upward, worshiping his shaft. When I reached the top I plunged down on him till the throbbing tip lodged in the back of my throat. I felt my gag reflex begin and Alexander cupped my ears.
"Not yet, Bob, you'll take all of me, oh yes you will. But you can't take me deep at that angle. You'll have to be on your knees in front of me!"
I squirmed around and gripped the base of his cock and began to vigorously plunge my soft palate over his silky hardness. My mouth was getting sore from holding it so wide open but now I could focus and found a little rhythm that seemed to please him. The sweet liquor of his seed was beginning to flow, slippery on my tongue and the rich smell drove us wild.
I thought what it must look like to look down from above, to see me bobbing on that magnificent spear.
I heard him moan and I heard Jack yelling something at Peter about Dennis and then Alexander's hands pressed against my ears and froze me in my downward movement. "Damn!" he said. "You're gonna take a load!"
His words made my tongue, the only thing he had not frozen in place with the firm pressure of his hands.
It might have been the buck of his hips, or maybe it was the backfire of a Harley from the speaker, but he came in my mouth then, a mixture of sound and passion. Jets hit the back of my throat, warm and salty. A hint of chlorine. Acrid and sweet at the same time.
It was almost more than I could take all at once, but I didn't want to lose his cum and get it on his pants. I nursed on him as he held my head in place. His semen almost leaked from my mouth but I greedily captured it between my lips and my hand, and kept sucking until he was dry and clean.
"Ooh, Baby" he said as I suckled on him. "You are going to be one fine cocksucker."
It thrilled me to hear him say that and I was hard as a rock. He stroked my hair as I imprisoned his softening shaft in my mouth.
"You keep that up I might get hard again.'
I thought that sounded just fine.
Knights in White Satin
I finally sat up, blinking. The Red Necks were chasing down Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper and I was a cocksucker.
I sought Alexander's lips with mine and he kissed me gently, our tongues meeting and sharing the residue of him that lingered on my teeth. I took a sip of wine from his cup. Mine was knocked over on the floor. "Do you want me to do you?" he asked with a smile. I reached over and felt my aching cock. The fabric of my slacks was slick with pre-cum I had been leaking like a hydrant while I suckled on him.
His touch was electric. "I'll come in a second," I said. I felt very strange. I thought that once I came I would be overcome with the significance of the moment, the strange new reality I had gobbled myself into.
I had the otherworldly feeling that I was not Bob, suburban teen anymore. I had walked through a door I had always known was there, but now I was on the other side. I was a queer cocksucker. I was still weak with desire and I did not want that to change. I wanted his lips on me, and I wanted more. I wanted him to make me completely his, complete the transformation.
"I want more, Alexander. I want to fuck."
"Well, we could try it here, but we will be the only ones left in the Drive-in."
"We have the rest of the summer," I said with wonder.
"Yes we do." I liked the sound of the "we." I was part of something with him. "but we will have to find a place to hang out with some privacy." He was very practical and I liked the natural way he took charge in the relationships. And that thrilled me, too. It was a relationship. Damn!
"I think I have a place we can go. My folks have a little cabin in the North Woods a couple hours from here. It is on a little lake. We can go there and have complete privacy."
"Sounds good to me. I'd like that a lot." The credits were rolling on the film and brake lights were coming on from the cars clustered in the middle of the parking area.
"So I guess I'll run you home and see you tomorrow at the mall." He leaned over and kissed me. "I want to sleep with you, Bob. We need to do that. Soon."
"Me too" I said. I untangled myself and popped the trunk-lid with the little handle under the dash-board. I put the speaker back on the post with the spiral cord hanging down. I got out and put the bottle of wine in an old cardboard box I kept there to keep it from rolling around. I was still hard and I would have to avoid talking to my parents when I got in and not let them see the stains on my pants. I got back in and closed the door.
He smiled at me in the bright glow of the arc lights that announced the show was over. He touched my thigh, caressing it. I knew this show wasn't over. It was only beginning.
I drove back up 32nd street past the Mall and another couple miles to the in-close suburb where the black community was clustered. The trees were full and the bungalows were old but well kept. There was no ghetto in this town, except possibly the mental one that keeps us all imprisoned in our boxes. I was still grappling with being outside of my box, a little giddy at the prospect of having made a small logical step and seeing where would take me.
"It is this one up here, on the left." I pulled across the oncoming lane and stopped at the curb in front. A single light burned downstairs behind a substantial porch. I was glad there was no one rocking on the chair there to greet us.
"I'd like to ask you in," said Alexander earnestly. "But it is late."
"Do you mean that?" I asked. "Are you saying you want to be public?" the thought was a revelation.
"Public about what? We are just friends and you are showing me the ropes. What else would anyone think? And who cares anyway?"
I was quiet, wondering about having Alexander meet my parents.
"Just relax, Bob. All you did was natural. Pure nature." He leaned over and kissed me again, quickly, and was gone into the house. I gunned the engine a little, let out the clutch and drove home where the houses were more modern and the lawns a little larger.
There was no one awake to greet me except the dog, and though she sniffed me with a quizzical nose, she was not that interested.
When I got into bed I thought of Alexander's cock in my mouth and I had no more to do than touch myself and I came in great wave of semen that pooled on my belly, filling up my navel and ran off down my side. I scooped it up and licked it off my fingers, marveling in the difference in taste between us.
I slept and when the light was coming up and after the folks stirred and showered and the cars started to take them to their jobs, I drifted off again. You know what I dreamt. A night spent on white satin, with caramel skin against mine.
August is a Month of Dreams
Being a practicing homo turned out to be a lot more natural than I would have expected.
I didn't see my folks that much anyway, our hours were not compatible, and they probably thought I was a little wound up over going away to college.
What I was wound up about, of course, is that I was now a sexual being, alive and ready for anything. Alexander and I worked at being normal at the department store, though I suspect there was gossip. The Nerd never picked up on the fact that when things were slack, or one of us was on break it was only natural that there was a hard cock being sucked in the changing rooms.
I'm sure the block-headed Dutch wouldn't suspect anything like that, and there were no surveillance cameras back there. The most they might have suspected was the occasional Marlboro being smoked, not Alexander's proud dark lance.
In the days that followed, and our involvement deepened, I became obsessed with the idea of being fucked by my handsome Chicago prince.
That was too risky at the store, and we didn't any place else to go except the woods. A blow-job there, gracefully executed, seemed OK. I took am immense amount of guilty pleasure, reveling in my submission to his sex, in sinking to my knees in front of him, and undoing his thick belt with the Mod-style buckle. Or in the car when it was dark. But there were risks of getting caught, which made my submission to him just that much intense. I did not want to be looking up from under him with a cop's flashlight shining down on my face.
I wanted my first fucking to be someplace we could do it properly and have some privacy. With September bearing down on us, we arranged to get the Sunday off together and I schemed a way to go to the cabin when my folks were pinned down by a social engagement in town.
I told him we had the place for he weekend and he was going to fuck me silly, if he so desired, and he looked at me with those crazy hazel eyes that made my heart skip and told me that I would be fucked with his hard black cock within and inch of my life.
I smiled happily. I was turning into quite the bitch, and obsessed with the desire to suck him off, and he liked that too. I let him suck me as well. The first time, he went
on his knees before me so I could stroke the tight curls on his head as he gobbled me down. One morning at the store we did each other in an hour, in between customers.
I found it a revelation how quickly we adapted to our roles in the new relationship. He was the more experienced, after all, so it seemed natural that I should please him whenever I could. But there was something more to it.
When I pleased him with my eager mouth it enhanced my desire for him. When he shot his warm semen in my mouth I felt a reward, and the hotness in my stomach and groin were only enhanced. When he did me, I felt a feeling almost of nausea when I erupted into his mouth, emotion coming in the floods of my spasms, and when they were done I felt release, sweet release, but also a bit of panic in what I was swiftly becoming.
I felt no such panic when he was in my mouth. It just felt natural and I stayed hard as a rock. I began to prefer the hardness to the coming, so long as I could bring him off.
I sure we would have been caught if there had been more time, but September was near and time was growing short for summer employment. It made each time we could be intimate that much more precious.
We arranged to get a weekend off together. We worked Saturday, and it was really just the Sunday, since the religious Dutch had Sunday blue laws that shut the town down tight as a drum so everyone could spend the day in Church.
We drove up to the lake after work on Saturday. We listened to tunes and smoked cigarettes on the drive. This was a week when most of the cabins were unoccupied, since the lake would be jammed on the Labor Day holiday.
As we got further north, we could smell the pines, and he got me going, fooling with me as I drove the little red car. I had it in fourth, so I didn't have to shift, and he sucked me as we rolled along through the green trees and the lowering sun. When I came, I almost drove off the road, swerving a bit, and then getting control as he sucked the last juice from me.
"I almost killed us," I whispered huskily. "Your mouth is so hot."
He smiled and licked his lips at me, smacking them. "You'd better be ready for more of that, Bobbie boy. I get to sleep with you tonight."
We pulled up the long dirt road to the cabin just at twilight. There was nobody around, though I could hear the motor of someone with a little boat out on the lake. We clambered out of the VW and stretched. I showed him the place. It was a modest little A-Frame, not much to it, really. The point was to be on the bluff above the dark water of the inland lake, surrounded by the trees and the silence of the forest.
The place slumbered most of the year, so when I opened it up it smelled a little musty. I ran around, throwing open all the windows, especially the ones in the long dormer upstairs so there would be some cross breeze. He watched me buzzing around, giddy at the prospect of what would soon be happening. He checked the reefer and found a cold can of Milwaukee's Best. He looked at it and raised his eyebrows.
"C'mon. It's my old man's stuff. At least there is beer!"
"Point taken," said Alexander. He popped the top and threw the pull tab in the trash. "Let's get our stuff in here and relax." He gave me a wicked smile.
"O.K., Lover," I said, my heart racing. We were here, and we were alone at last.
I walked over to him and kissed him hard on his full inviting lips. "Welcome to the cabin, Alexander."
We fetched got the bags out of the back seat and smelled the air. I could not resist caressing his lean back, a little moist from sitting on the vinyl seat on the trip up. I felt a stirring in my groin. I had just come an hour ago but I felt like I was ready to go again. He looked at me and said we should go in. And he gave me another smile that made my knees almost buckle.
We put the bags down by the door. "There is a master bedroom on this level, but it has single beds in it. There is a double bed in the front bedroom upstairs,"
I said.
"That is a no-brainer. Get a beer and let's go look."
I locked the screen door and smelled earth and water and pines. I got a beer from the kitchen and walked to the stairs with him. I led him up, holding his hand. I turned right and opened the door to the front bedroom. I turned on the little lamp on the bedside table and opened the windows wide. Then I turned around to face him.
He was skinning of his shirt, and his skin glowed in the light. His chest was smooth and his nipples were dark against his caramel skin.
I took my shirt off, too, and undid my belt. "There is something I need in the bathroom. I'll be right back."
"Don't be long," he smiled. "I have something for you." I kissed him as I brushed by to go to the corridor and through the dorm to the upstairs bath. I took off my pants and socks and threw them out the open door. I looked in the medicine cabinet and found the little jar of Vaseline we used for our lips when they got chapped in the winter. I opened it, and took two fingers and scooped a little out. Then I spread my legs and reached down next to my erect cock and deposited it along the crack of my ass, paying special attention to my brown rosebud, poking in one finger and then two, so the jelly was inside me.
Then I rinsed my hand, though the jelly did not come off, and I took some toilet paper and scrubbed it off.
When I returned to the front bedroom, Alexander was by the window, looking out into the full darkness. The stars were coming out.
He turned and the magic was happening. His elegant dark cock was becoming full. I will never get over the excitement of watching a cock harden and his helmet emerge from his delightful foreskin! I marveled at him, fully naked. How all his color seemed concentrated there in that marvelous spear of flesh.
How I wanted it buried in me!
It hung down, tumescent, rising as I watched, until it came fully to attention, the helmet protruding from the little cuff of his foreskin, pointing at me, the object of it's desire. The ideas made my knees weak.
God, it was sexy! I fell to my knees before him and pressed my lips around the proud shaft, tonguing his foreskin, tasting the first jewels of his pre-cum, slavering on him with my eagerness to serve him. He reached down and brought me to my feet, and our dicks touched, rubbed against each other. He looked down, and gripped them both together in a tender hand.
I felt I was going to melt, and my mouth sought his, my tongue reaching for his, needing him desperately. He kissed me deeply, and then released out cocks, and
gently pushed my chest, backing me up until my calves were against the side of the bed. I sat down on it, and then reclined, turning sideways so that I did not miss the intensity of his gaze and his need. His erection seemed impossibly long, and I wondered if I could take it all inside me.
He laid down beside me, on top of the comforter, and gazed deep into me.
"Now I am going to make you mine, Bob. Are you ready?"
My voice quivered with urgency. "I have never wanted anything more, Lover. Take me. Please, God, take me. Make me yours. Make me your boy. Breed me."
He turned and raised himself on his forearms, placing them on either side of me, and pressed a knee between my legs. I spread them for him, and he placed my ankle on his shoulders, exposing me completely to him. I raised my legs to expose my ass and cock to him. He reached down and grasped his lance, and leaning down, drew the tip the length of the crack of my ass. He felt the slickness of the jelly, and he smiled in the glow of the lamp.
"Good," he said. "Nice and moist." I moaned in anticipation. I hoped it would not hurt. He was so long, and yet I needed it so much. The tip of his cock was poised at my asshole. He pushed, experimentally, and I groaned. He pushed harder, and he gained purchase. I gasped. He brought his hand up and caressed the side of my face. "This may hurt at first, but just relax. I'll be gentle."
"Fuck me, Alexander. Just please fuck me. Make me whole."
He pressed against me, inexorable this time, the hardness of him in that softness, I felt the tip penetrate the ring of muscle. He withdrew minutely, and then the pressure began again. I groaned at the violation of my virgin ass, and pressed back against him, the pain welcome, validating the importance of my submission to his hard cock.
He pressed again, and withdrew again, but with each small stroke gained depth within me. Presently, a warmth began to glow in my guts and the jelly had coated everything and I realized that suddenly he was completely within me, and I could feel his soft scrotum and the wiry hair against the smooth flesh of my ass. He was filling me completely, the full length of his proud cock buried to its full length.
He rested there and kissed me deep, filling my throat with his tongue as fully as he was filling my guts with his cock.
I clutched him to me, my arms around him. My legs waved helplessly in the air. He began to fuck me then, deep full strokes that churned my insides, rubbing something within me that drove me mad with desire. This was the most natural thing in the world, a real cock fucking me, a black cock splitting me, skewering me on his manhood, a real man, fucking me in and out.
I was transported somewhere else. I heard someone moaning "Fuck me, fuck me, God oh Jesus fuck me..." and it must have been me, though I did not consciously speak. It was purely primal.
He tempo increased and I sensed the semen was rising from his hot balls, coursing upward through the channels of his dick, rising and burning, and I looked up at him, his eyes now clenched closed in the throes of his passion, his passion for me, the depository of his sperm, millions of them flooding into my guts, making me his. Binding me to him.
He grunted and groaned and I clutched him desperately, arcing my back to get him as deep within me as I could, crying out for his seed. I shivered uncontrollably and he jetted in me and I swear I could feel the intensity of his blasts right to the pit of my stomach.
His rhythm changed once he had shot himself within me, but he kept stroking, his seed now lubricating everything, and I could feel him leaking out around the now softening proud lance in my ass. Then he stopped and he rested against me, kissing my cheek.
"Now that is a fuck. Man, you are one hot bitch."
"That's me," I said breathlessly. "I'm your bitch, Alexander."
My erection was pressed between us, and when he said that word I came in a vast soft wave of contentment and fulfillment. Eventually he softened and slid out of me. We turned side to side and breathed each others mouths and talked of everything and nothing, sweetness. My semen dried on our smooth skins and his seeped deep inside me.
Later that night I discovered what the taste of semen and Vaseline and shit was, and how I could get him hard again, and how it felt to be roughly fucked from behind, my hips raised on a pillow, my dick trapped by softness as he ravished me with hard, firm strokes, striking my soft ass with a firm elegant hand, and whimpering in pain and pleasure.
Over the next twenty-four hours we did not venture far from the bed, and we trashed the comforter and the sheets and I did not care. I was going to catch hell for that unless I could get them laundered before the folks came up. Monday, we decided we might want to get something to eat that did not come from a can or a hard cock, and I was sore and sated and knew we had to get back to work down south.
We were naked in the kitchen, contemplating the trip back to town, and work at the store the next day. It seemed a lifetime away. He got a faraway look in his lovely eyes.
"I have decided to go down to Howard University,' he said. "I need to get there for registration at the end of the week."
I was stunned at the suddenness. "You have known this for a while, haven't you?" I said. I could feel tears come to my eyes. "After what we have done how could you leave me?"
"I'm not leaving you," he said, "Not now, anyway. It is just something I have to do. A Black Thing, you wouldn't understand." I stood silent, gazing into his eyes with a sense of loss. "There are other hard dicks out there," he said with a smile. "And besides,
I will be back. In the meantime, there is a black thing that you do seem to understand pretty well, you sweet bitch."
He pushed me forward over the butcher-block table in the middle of the kitchen, exposing my ass to him and grabbed a bottle of extra-virgin olive oil from the pantry and drizzled it down the crack of my ass. Then he took me there and there, with vigor, and having fucked so much, he took a good long time doing it. I grunted and moaned and was taken to another place altogether.
We drove back to town, and my guts ached from the thrusting of his cock and the feeling of loss. I knew I was leaking his cum on the seat through the fabric of my shorts. But it was OK, I suppose. I would either wait for him, or possibly something else would come up. He had taught me a lot of lessons with those impossible hazel eyes, and I knew that for the rest of my life I would associate the beautiful richness of his caramel skin with lust and the taste of semen and the feel of his cock thrusting into me.
I took him to the bus station downtown where he was going to catch the inter-city down to Washington, DC. He had a couple suitcases and a determined look. I went down on him in the parking lot, in the right seat of my little VW, just like the first time I sucked a man's cock, and he adjusted his clothing when he was done shooting his seed down my gullet. He got on the bus when it was time, and the Greyhound pulled out of the parking lot in a cloud of black exhaust smoke.
I saw him wave.
He did not come back. I heard he got into the Black Power thing, and it was time, and a white boyfriend would have interfered with his authenticity. But at the time I held a pretty strong torch, swearing I would never forget him. That was completely true. I never will. But there was a guy that I met in the dorm a month later at IU that helped me get over the pain. Or better phrased, find a whole new kind.
I'll tell you about him sometime. He was a dreamboat.
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