The California Zephyr

by Joe Butterman

 

Chapter 5
David

It was Monday. Larry had walked home with Two Shoes, and the two of them intercepted me as I was coming home after running. Two Shoes said there would be another fight tonight. Mr. Arndt had apparently been home well before school was out, and was deep in the whiskey when Two Shoes and Larry got there. They had played catch in the street until they saw me coming. We just announced that we would be eating at the DQ that night, and left after I’d dropped off my books and changed. 

     As we started toward the DQ, Larry said that he and Two Shoes wanted to go down to the school for a few minutes.  “Yeah,” Two Shoes said, grinning hugely, “We wanna look at the bleachers.”  Larry blushed furiously.   

     “Wait a minute, then,” I said, returning Two Shoes’ smile.  I dashed back to the house and grabbed Kitchener’s Mob.  When I caught them up, I said I’d just wait for them at the DQ, and we could eat together when they were done checking it out.  “I was just running laps, so I don’t need ta see the bleachers anymore today.”  Larry looked at me strangely, but I just smiled at him. 

     I was sitting at a table, nursing a vanilla shake, and reading an account of being in the British Army in the early days of World War I.  This was interesting in a real distant sorta way.  It would provide me with some interesting questions to fire at Mr. Stanford, my droning History Teacher, when next he made the mistake of asking if there were, “any questions.”  You had to jump right at him when he did this.   He would ignore raised hands, so you had to raise your hand and say: Mr. Stanford, can you tell me about dah-dah-dah, or whatever?  But so far, there was absolutely nothing to explain that penciled comment under the author’s photograph: “is a queer”.  It was a grim story of life in the trenches.  Nothing to do with my tribe. 

     “What’cha doin’,” inquired a familiar voice, and I looked-up to see my friend Dave Pendleton, standing beside my table with a coke in his hand.  “Just readin’,” I smiled-up at him and nodded that he should join me at the table.  The place was all but deserted.  Classes were well over and most of the freshmen and sophomores would be at home, it was getting dark, and dinner would be served soon.  At least in most homes.   

     I liked Dave.  We’d had a couple classes together all through the year.  We’d first talked at the beginning of the school year.  We’d been in P.E. together and he was envious of the tan I had, he wanted to know how I got a tan without tan lines.  He was quite beautiful and we’d become increasingly friendly as the year progressed. There was something about him. “What’cha readin’,” he asked.  I marked my place and handed it over.  “It’s about World War I in the trenches.  I’m gonna ask Stanford some questions from it, like who was Kitchener for example, when we get to the war.”  He looked at it carefully, with a serious expression.  I noticed that he had looked at the title page, with the author’s photo beside it, so he must’ve seen the comment, but he didn’t say anything about it.  He handed the book back, and regarded me very seriously.   

     “So do ya ever spend the weekends in town?”  He has the richest eyes: they’re hazel, but they have a golden sparkle to them; they are great in natural light, but the fluorescent fixtures in the DQ do them no justice at all.   

     “I can, I suppose.  All I have to do is call my folks and ask ‘em.  They’ve always said yes,” and I left this sorta hanging in the air between us.  The unasked question: why would I want to? 

     One of the reasons that I like Dave is, because in addition to being beautiful, he’s smart, and fun to talk to.  He picked right up on my unasked question.  “Well.  My folks are going to this veteran’s convention thing in Sacramento this weekend.  They’re gonna leave Friday afternoon and they’ll be back Monday afternoon.  So there’s this big to do goin’ on between them.  My Dad says I’m old enough to take care of myself, and that I can be trusted.  My Mom says I can be trusted, but I’m too young to be by myself, and that sumthin’ could happen.”  I digested this in silence.  “So I said, can one of my friends stay with me?  My Dad said sure, but my Mom said, ‘who’?  So I said, ‘you’ My Dad said ‘great’ becuz he knows your Dad, and he told my Mom about him, and she said, ‘well okay, if it’s you.’  So do ya wanna spend the weekend at my place?  We can hike-up the river a few miles, I wanna show you this spot I know, and see if ya think it would be good for tanning?”   

     I considered this for only a few seconds because I thought it was a great idea.  “I’ll ask tomorrow,” I said, “should be no problem at all.”   

     “Great,” he grinned, and he touched his coke cup to my milkshake as if we were toasting with crystal.  All I said about schoolwork was that I’d bring my homework; he’s a good student too, so I didn’t have to fuss about it, like I sometimes hafta with Two Shoes. 

     Speaking, or at least, thinking of the devil, at about that time, Two Shoes entered the DQ with Larry in tow.  They both looked very pleased with each other.  “We hafta eat here tonight,” I explained to Dave, “ya wanna join us?”  He said he’d have another coke, but then he’d go home to dinner.  “Swell, I’ll tell ya tomorrow at school.”  We did the cheeseburgers and fries thing.  Don’t get me wrong.  I like cheeseburgers fine, I just don’t think of them as dinner. 

     I called the ranch before school.  Daddy thought it was an excellent idea, and told me to give his best to Mr. Pendleton, whom he called “Mark”.  He told me to be sure to say, “4th Armored” to him and had me repeat it, to insure that I got it right.  “What’s it mean,” I demanded, slightly miffed at having to repeat something so simple.   

     “He’ll understand,” he responded after a long pause, “I’ll tell you later.  It’s not a telephone matter.” 

     I caught-up with Dave in the locker room, after P.E.; we were both naked and going to the shower when I told him it would be all right.  He was very pleased and told me that his folks would pick us up at school Friday afternoon, take us to the Arndt’s to pick-up what I needed, and then they’d be off. 

     I had a letter from Tonio later in the week.  I’d finally remembered to ask him about the anchor tattooed on his shoulder, and he told me about how he’d once wanted to be a sailor, and before he went to law school, spent a summer as a hand on a lumber schooner.  His parent’s weren’t having it, his being a sailor, so he went on to law school and all that; but he loved the sea, and had a nice Elco motor yacht in San Diego, he thought it would be great if we could take a little cruise on it next summer.  I thought so too.  I hadn’t the slightest idea what an Elco looks like, but that did not prevent me from having a vision of Dave and I, naked on deck.  I liked the vision, so I quickly included Roberto, I was trying for a literary allusion to the vision my mind’s eye painted, but then, Mr. Stanford stopped droning, closed the book with a thump, the most expressive comment of the period, and the bell rang. 

     Then Friday came.  As agreed, Mr. and Mrs. Pendleton were waiting for us in their La Salle.  This is an excellent car; comparable in all respects to a Buick or a Packard, but not at all parvenu like a Cadillac. You knew at first glance, that it was a fine car, but you had to look at it twice to identify it.  I liked David’s parents too.  They were waiting for us on the sidewalk, and Dave introduced us formally.  I bowed over Mrs. Pendleton’s hand, as Roberto had taught me to do, and exchanged a firm shake with Mr. Pendleton.  I told him that my Father had asked after him, and had told me to say, “4th Armored” when I met him.  He looked distant, thanked me, and we all got into the car.  I had considered asking Mr. Pendleton what this “4th Armored” alluded to, but his look had dissuaded me; I decided that it would be for my Father to explain.  At the Pendleton’s, Mr. Pendleton waited in the car, while Mrs. Pendleton brought us both into the kitchen and showed us all of the food that she’d prepared for us this weekend.  There was spaghetti sauce, “Dave knows how to cook the noodles.”  Cold fried chicken, all kinds of sandwich meat, bacon, link sausage, eggs, and so on.  We could have lasted for two weeks.  I thanked her.  She left us after the third toot on the horn from the La Salle, idling in the driveway. 

     We spent the rest of the daylight playing catch in the backyard.  I’d decided that I was gonna let Dave take the lead, and see how things, if there even were to be any, developed.   

     “Whadda ya want for dinner,” Dave wondered.  We went back and forth, for a while, in the usual manner.  

     “Dunno, whadda you want for dinner?”  

     “Dunno. You?”  And so on until, weary from the debate, we decided on the spaghetti.   Dave also fried some Italian sausages to go with the spaghetti and I put a salad together, it was a delicious meal.  I helped him do the dishes afterward.  I wondered if he was going to suggest we go downtown to a movie, or something, but was pleased when he suggested that we should get our homework out of the way.  He built a wonderful fire in the living room fireplace, and we spent a companionable time together, doing our homework.  We’d ask each other questions, consider problems together, discuss our solutions, the points we wanted to make in an essay, all that stuff; I know it sounds boring, but it was very relaxing – spending time like that with a friend.  It didn’t take us long. 

     When we were done, Dave asked if we should play cards.  “Sure, why not?” I responded and he dashed off to get a deck of cards.  This would never have been permitted in my Grandfather’s house, there weren’t even any cards there; but my Daddy was okay with cards, and he and Gramercy liked to play cribbage and gin.  I knew both games.  Dave didn’t have a cribbage board with him when he came back with the cards, so I assumed we’d play gin, or maybe 21.  “What’re we gonna play?”  I asked Dave, who seemed a tiny bit nervous.  I really liked the way the light from the fire danced in his eyes.   

     “Let’s play poker.”  I thought about this for a minute, I knew of the game and had a vague idea how it worked, but I’d never played it before; it was not the sort of game played in the parlor at home; it was a gambling den kinda game.   

     “Well, okay, but you’re gonna have to coach me, cuz I never played it before,” I told him earnestly.  He looked down, and then gave me a small, shy grin.  He gave me a short lesson on what a poker hand consisted of, which hands were higher, all that stuff.  Then he started explaining how there was a bet on each hand and whoever had the better hand won the bet.   

     I looked vaguely at him, “What are we gonna bet with?”   

     “Have ya ever played strip poker?”  He replied.  Looking blankly, I needed additional information.  Like I said, I can sometimes be pretty dense.  I’d already told him that I’d never played the game before, and here he was asking if I’d played it.   

     “Strip poker?”  I returned his smile as I finally got it.   

     “Sure.”  He explained, “Whoever loses the hand has to take off a piece of his clothes and whoever is naked first, loses the game.”  He was carefully gauging my reaction to this.  I looked into his eyes, and considered this game. 

     Once I got it, it didn’t take an Einstein to figure out that he wanted us naked. And it wasn’t just some kind of curiosity thing either.  We’d been naked together in the shower after P.E. just this afternoon, to say nothing of all the times before that.  He had more on his mind than just plain old naked.  I began to think this might be a memorable weekend. We need a better game than this, I thought, and started cataloguing naked games: Indian, King, Ephebes, and so on.  I thought of the time that Roberto snuck-up on Johnny and I in our jungle and inspiration struck.  “I gotta better game,” I commented, tilting my head and looking at him.  He raised his eyebrows and looked the question.  “We’ll play: The Spell Breaker,” I christened the game.  It wasn’t a very good name, but it had popped to mind and I was improvising.   

     “The Spell Breaker?  Okay.  How do ya play that?”  I thought it said a lot that he’d agreed to the game before he even knew the rules. 

     “Well,” my imagination was flying now.  It’s not all that easy to invent a game almost instantly.  I couldn’t use the sleeping princess and the kiss, thing like in Sleeping Beauty, because Dave, while beautiful in my eyes, certainly wasn’t a girl and couldn’t be a princess.  Perhaps a knight?  “We don’t need cards.  And we have to take our shoes and socks off before we start, because they don’t count.  Kay?”   

     “Okay.”   

     “Then one of us stretches out in front of the fire; he’s a sleeping knight whose had a spell cast on him to keep him from joining the other knights to help their king, kay?”   

     “Okay.”   

     “The other one is a knight who is trying to break the spell.  He has to push, prod, tickle, or whatever, the sleeping knight, anywhere he wants, until the sleeping knight laughs or moves; then he takes off a piece of the sleeping knight’s clothes, and they trade places.  There’s really more than one sleeping knight and they hafta get the clothes off cuz they’re what was used to enchant the knights, see?”   

     “Sure.  Okay.”   

     But what he wanted was for us to be naked, so I supplied that, “At the end of the game, both the knights are naked, then they can bathe in the magical waters and then go to the king.  Whadda ya think?”   

     “Okay,” he was enthusiastic, “it’s kinda like the Knights of the Round Table.  I’ll be asleep first so I can learn how to do it.”  He kicked off his shoes and socks and lay down in front of the fire on his stomach with his head resting on his folded arms.  I kicked my shoes and socks off, regarded the sleeping Sir Dave, and thought, let’s go for this. 

     I knelt beside him on my knees and gently rubbed his neck, first with one hand, then with both.  I ran my fingertips gently down his spine to his butt where I massaged his cheeks with both hands, I moved slowly up above his waist, tickling with both hands, the sides of his stomach.  He laughed.  “Neato,” he observed as he got up.  I took his shirt off, he had an undershirt on under it, but that was fine, I lay down just like he had.  He massaged my neck, then my shoulders, then slowly down my back to my butt; this gave me great pleasure and was very relaxing in the warmth of the fire.  He went slowly down one leg, with both hands massaging deeply into my leg.  With one hand rubbing my butt, the other tickled the sole of my foot.  I knew my cue, and laughed.  “Great,” he said as he rolled me over.  But he wasn’t interested in my shirt, he went right to the buttons of my 501’s, undid them, and slipped them off.  I wear boxer shorts, and the preliminaries of this game had given me half a woodie, and this was pretty obvious as my 501’s came off. 

     I admired his elegant body, the curve of his neck, the sweep of his butt, the slender expanse of his torso between the two.  I gently eased his t-shirt out of the waist band of his levis, pushing it toward his shoulders, so that I could massage the naked flesh of his lower back; I moved up to his shoulders, and down to his butt, thoroughly enjoying the feel of every naked inch of him.  I gently ran my fingertips up and down one arm, then slid my fingers under his sleeve, and stroked his armpit, pulling gently on the few hairs there.  He laughed as I expected he would.  I rolled him over and went slowly to work on the buttons of his 501’s.  I unbuttoned them slowly, this gave me an opportunity to feel his boner beneath them; I needed to insure that it was hard because I now had a boner and it was sticking through the fly of my boxer shorts, seeking more attention.  I slid his 501’s down and off, he raised his butt as I did so, as anxious as I to be rid of them.  I feasted my eyes on him; he wore jockey shorts, they were stark white against the warmth of his body and the fire lit glow of the carpet beneath him.  They did nothing to conceal his boner, which was attempting to escape the thin cotton prison of his shorts, but was trapped by the elastic waistband.  He was sexy enough in the locker room; here, against the carpet, in the soft light of the living room fire: he was really intense. 

     I lay down on my stomach.  He promptly rolled me over and spent several moments staring at my boner.  Apparently forgetting the rules, he gently tucked me back into my boxers, then pulled my shorts down and off; I made no complaint about the rules.  He continued to stare at my sex, and then gently stroked me with his fingers.  I murmured happily, but didn’t get-up, I just reached for the waistband of his shorts and started easing them down.  I freed him from that cotton prison, but could only get them down to his thighs as he was still on his knees.  I swung up onto my knees facing him, and then pulled his t-shirt off with his eager cooperation.  We faced each other on our knees.  He’d completely ignored my shirts when the game started.  I unbuttoned my sport shirt and took it off, giving it a little toss in the general direction of the sofa; I slinkied out of my t-shirt, pulling it slowly over my chest and head from the bottom up, stretching and flexing as I did this.  While I was doing this, he got the rest of the way out of his shorts.  We were gleaming naked in the fireplace glow. 

     “We need some cokes,” he said, a little hoarse from tension.  He jumped-up and went to the kitchen.  While the refrigerator door thumped, and the bottle caps popped, I sat back and crossed my legs Indian style, so that my straining sex was fully visible.  He came back, standing before me, firm and swaying, he handed me a coke and I relished the view.  When soft, like in the locker room, his dick was long and thin, it was beautifully proportioned and would exactly divide his balls; here, in the fire’s warmth, it was proudly erect, a little thicker, a little longer, and his balls hung well down, each distinct in its silken purse.  He had very little pubic hair, but the firelight emphasized a downy glow about him, there would be a little more and, I thought, I’ll get to see it grow.  He sat down, like me, we faced each other over our passion, he sipped his coke. 

     “Do ya ever jack-off,” he whispered, a corner of his mouth smiling, eyes sparkling.   

     “Sure,” I replied, even though I actually hadn’t done so since the first time that Two Shoes had come to my bedroom to confess.  So this wasn’t really a lie. I’d had lots of erotic daydreams, of course, but there really wasn’t any pressure, and the real thing is almost always better.   

     “Did ya ever jack-off with another guy,” a little bolder, a little happier.   

     “Sure,” I told him, this time with complete honesty, there was a little evasion here, but only because we did lots of other things besides just jacking. I smiled encouragement, and let my eyes rove over his beauty.  “Can I ask ya somethin’,” I continued.   

     “Sure,” he echoed my responses.   

     “What do ya think about, ya know, when you’re jackin’ off?”   

     “Oh…ya know…lotsa stuff.  Mostly about how good it feels.” 

     “Yeah.  It’s great isn’t it?” I agreed, “But, ya know, before you really start doin’ it, do ya think about somebody.  What do ya think about?” 

     He leaned back on his hands, closed his eyes, and considered this.  At length, “well…somethin’ sexy.  Like maybe Mike in the shower, I know ya know, you watch him too.”  He opened his eyes, smile growing, eyes golden red in the firelight.  So far so good. 

     “Do ya ever think about girls?”   

     He looked into the distance, frowning a little in deep consideration.   He focused on me.  “Do you?”  He sounded worried. 

     “Nope.”   

     He looked relieved, he looked down, and then at me, all shy and everything, “Last time I did it I thought about you.” 

     He was a little worried about this revelation, so to reassure him; I smiled and started gently stroking his leg.  I really like legs.  They’re so soft and smooth on the surface, but then firmly muscled beneath.  David was an athlete too, and it’s a real guy thing to me.  He shuddered a little at my touch.  “Ever done anythin’ with a guy before?”  He just shook his head no. 

     “Do you wanna?”  

      He smiled his answer nodding. 

     “Well, for your first time, then, we gotta really take our time.  I want’cha really to enjoy it.”  He smiled and nodded.  “Have ya got something nice and soft that we can spread in front of the fire?”  Nodding, he went back into the depths of the house.  I put another log on the fire, and stirred it just a little.  He was back with a nice down-filled quilt.   

     “This is from my bed,” he told me as we spread it on the floor.  We stood on it, inches apart, in front of the fire.  I stepped into him and our boners whispered silky against each other.  I gently took his head in my hands and pulled him into a kiss.  He did his little shudder thing, and then returned my kiss eagerly, grasping me around the waist and pulling me tightly to him.  I pulled him down onto the quilt.  We lay spread before the fire, our tongues exploring each other.  I broke the kiss, and started stroking his chest.   

     “If ya want me to do somethin’, just ask; if ya wanna do somethin’ just do it.  Else I’m just gonna go slow and show ya everything.”  He nodded, then gasped and shuddered when I gently stroked the bottom of his boner. 

     When I started licking his nipples, he moaned with passion and began to thrust against my hand, I didn’t want him to come yet, so I stopped stroking him, and just held his boner and moved with him as he thrust at my hand.  I considered this for a minute, his boner was already glistening with pre-cum; he was just too hot, so I said, “My first time, was over really quick.  But we got a whole weekend.  You’re gonna have a long first time.  I’m gonna show you one of the best things.”  His beautiful eyes were closed and he was still thrusting, but he nodded and moaned, low and happy.  I started licking down his stomach, paused to attend to his belly button, and then moved quickly down and took the tip of his elegant boner in my mouth, licking all around it, tonguing the slit, and enjoying the taste of him.  I cupped and rolled his balls.  He kept moaning lowly, and thrusting down my throat.  I took more of him in, he really started thrusting, in just an instant more he was spurting and flexing beneath me, saying,  

     “Charlie.  Unh.  Unh.  Charlie.  Ah.”  I held him in my mouth, and he stroked and petted me.  I slowly released him and moved up and lay beside him.  “God, Charlie, that was the greatest.  Now it’s my turn.”  He started licking and kissing down my chest, but he was in a great hurry: on me in a flash.  Positioning my boner, licking it, looking at it, licking again, and then taking more and more of me into his mouth.  Sometimes I’d feel his teeth, but I didn’t have to say anything, he knew it too, and would immediately reposition his mouth so that there were no teeth.  He was slurping enthusiastically, bobbing up and down, trying different angles, sucking and licking and his efforts were soon rewarded, though it took him a lot longer to bring me off than it had me.  I ran my hands through his hair and held him on me, as I came into his eager mouth.   

     “Sweet Davey, sweet,” I murmured.  We held the position, then he moved back up and lay beside me, his head resting on my shoulder, clasping me around the chest, his sex lying across my leg, resting from our feast.   

     He sighed with contentment, “Tell me about your first time.”  I did. 

     “Not like my first time; we don’t hafta get dressed soon,” I concluded.  “We don’t even hafta get dressed until Sunday, unless we wanna.”   

     “Yeah.  Great,” he sighed.  “But ya know what?”  I just looked at him.  “We gotta take our bath in the magical waters,” he got up and pulled me up, and we were off to the bathtub. 

     The bath was wonderful, Davey made me lie back in the tub, with my legs up and him between them; his hands were everywhere, feeling and rubbing, washing and wiping.  He had me stand-up with my back to him, and he soaped and rubbed all of me, then had me kneel down so that he could rinse the soap away with water.  Then I washed him just as thoroughly.  We dried off and returned to our fire.  Our sex was full, but not hard.  Yet. 

     He nestled into me again, “Tell me some more, ya know, about sex.”  Knowing that he was interested in tans, I told him about meeting Gary and using the pool, and how his parents thought it was right to go skinny-dipping.  He thought that was kinda unusual, and I agreed that it was more than just “kinda” unusual, but that it was really neat.  Then I told him about Emily and her girlfriend Victoria; and Tonio and his friend Walt: and about both of their pools, and what had happened in and around them.  He was enchanted.  “Maybe your folks’ll let you come down to Anaheim for a visit next summer,” I offered, “You could meet them and see.”  He thought that was a great idea and we considered ways of mentioning it to them later on.  We lay there warmly, feeling each other, and talking about life and sex.  Soon, we were both ready again.  “Here’s something else that I think you’ll like.”  I got us into the sixty-nine position.  Davey figured it out almost instantly and we were off on one of the most leisurely and pleasurable sixty-nine’s I’d ever enjoyed.  We stayed in the position after we had come, and sort of dozed, pillowed in one another’s sex.  A clock chimed deep in the house.  I’d not noticed it before.  It was late.  Davey stirred and said it was time for bed.  We gathered-up the quilt and went to his room, where we snuggled into each other and slept, in our own cocoon of warmth and affection. 

     It was a sensual morning.  I awoke with my morning woodie deep in Davey’s throat.  I opened my eyes and looked right at his boner.  He liked, and was ready for me, in the position we had so enjoyed last night.  I licked his balls thoroughly, and then went to work on him.  We built slowly to our climax and came at almost the exact same time, which is the best way to do it. 

     We got up and went to the bathroom together.  Then Davey went and got us bathrobes because it was a little cool in the house.  He turned the thermostat up and we went to the kitchen.  I guess, by some kind of mutual, but unspoken agreement, we had tied our robes very loosely, so there was a lot of chest and leg flashing as Davey fixed us bacon and eggs, toast and jam, and, of course, coffee.  When we were finished, we rinsed and stacked the dishes.   

     “Do you remember last night,” Davey wondered. 

     “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it,” I smiled, “Do you mind if I call you ‘Davey’?  I won’t say it except when we’re together.  Not in the halls or anything like that.” 

     “Nope.  I like it,” great smile, twinkly eyes. 

     “Would you do me a favor too?  Call me ‘Carlos’ when we’re together?” 

     “Sure…Carlos.  But what I wanted to know, Carlos, was, do you remember last night when you said to just ask if I wanted to do something.” 

     “Sure.  Anything you want, we’ll do.  It’s still your first time.” 

     “Great.  Come here.”  And he had me sit on the table, opened my robe, admired the setting, and then went into the kitchen area, returning quickly with a jar of jam and a spoon.  He pulled a chair up in front of me, sat in it, and positioned my legs on either side of him.  “I’ve wanted to do this since almost my first hard on,” he grinned lasciviously, “I tried to do it to myself, but couldn’t quite reach it.”  He held my wiener in one hand, and spooned jam onto it with the other.  The jam was pretty cool, so it didn’t run much.  It didn’t have time to anyway, because Davey took me in his mouth and licked and sucked me clean. 

     “That’s sweet,” I observed as he repeated the process several times.  He looked up at me with his mouth full of me and his eyes told me my little joke was noted.  “I never thought a that, let me try.”  So we exchanged places, and I lapped-up the jam (it was blackberry) from Davey’s wiener.  It was neat, I started thinking of the grapes we had used when playing King, and considered other foods that we might eat off each other.  During this process, we both got firm, but not hard, it was too soon after sixty-nine, and when we quit eating jam, we softened right up. 

     It was comfortable in the house now, so we shucked our bathrobes, and just hung around in the kitchen and the living room naked.  We talked a little about guys that we thought were good looking, I described Gary on the diving board, Tonio’s naked statuary, and stuff like that.  Then we took a shower together, and then relaxed in this sun porch that they had that looked into their back yard.  There were all kinds of plants in it, including a couple potted palm trees, and I thought it was about as close to a jungle as we were going to get in Nevada.  Other than bathrobes at breakfast, we hadn’t put any clothes on since last night.  I like being naked with really great friends, like Roberto, Johnny, Gary, and now, Davey. 

     We had lunch, naked, and then Davey wanted to show me his tanning spot, so we got dressed, omitting to put on our under shorts, and walked down to the river, which we then followed westward.  Once we got out of the residential area, we had to go over a few fences and through a lot of trees and sagebrush as we followed the river.  Sometimes we would hold hands, sometimes hug and kiss.  We walked up the river about three miles, and then Davey led me down, through some thick willows, to his spot.  There was a little pool, with some large rocks in the side and in the river.  They’d be great for tanning.  If it were hot enough, it would be great for skinny dipping, you couldn’t see the highway from here, the railroad tracks were on the other side of the river, and it was well screened by willows, cedars, and pine trees.  I thought it was neat.  Davey was pleased.  The sun was shining and it was warm in the sun, but it was still clearly winter.  It was too soon to use the spot, but we decided that we would work on our tans together as soon as it warmed-up. 

     We walked back to Davey’s, enjoying the sun and each other.  When we got to his house, we went straight to his room and stripped off our clothes.  We didn’t have to discuss this; we just did it.  We looked at each other and watched as our wieners started to grow, stretching slowly, pointing out, and then up.  Soon they were boners and we were ready. 

     I stepped into him, put both of my arms around him and with my hands against his butt began to rub and massage his cheeks.  “Let’s play with these for a while.”  He smiled broadly.  I led him into the living room; I’d checked out the sofa with this in mind earlier, and I figured it was just the right size.  I had him get on the sofa, with his knees on the cushion and his elbows on the back of the sofa.  I had full access to his glorious butt, and his wonderful sex.  I took his balls in hand and began to smooth, roll, and fondle them; I started to lick his crack, tonguing everywhere.  I dropped his balls, and used both hands to hold him, and spread him so that I could tongue him deeply.  He moaned and thrust back onto my tongue and lips.  We enjoyed this for a long time.  I would frequently stroke his boner and roll his balls.  I inserted one finger into him, and worked it slowly in and around.  He was enjoying this and was as hard as I could wish.  “I’m gonna get a towel and some lotion from the bathroom,” I said and did so.  He was waiting in the same position when I got back.  I spread the towel on the sofa, and then sat him on the edge of the sofa, kneeling between his legs.  I went down on him for a few seconds, I started to lotion him up, smiled into his eyes, and lectured, “You need to know what this is like before you do it.  Here’s the lotion, lube me up and stick your finger in to loosen me a little.”  He started with his mouth and his tongue, and licked all over, in and around, before he put any lotion on.  He wanted to do it all and I wanted to do it all with him.  After he had experimented with his finger, and lubed me thoroughly, I slid down onto his lap, rubbing against him for the feel of him, I held his rod, positioned it, and slowly slid down onto him.  He gasped.  I relaxed in his lap, and then worked my muscles against him.   

     “Jesus Carlos,” was all he could say.  When everything felt right, I started moving up and down; he was a perfect fit.  I picked up the pace.  His hands were all over the front of me, jacking, petting, pinching my nipples, stroking my chest, my stomach, and my legs.  I picked up the pace.  “Jesus…Jesus…Jesus, Carlos,” he repeated in my ear.  I had the rhythm now, after a few more strokes, he clutched me and shuddered and thrust as he came.  I lay back on his chest as his arms hugged me to him.  I leaned around and kissed his cheek, and then he joined the kiss with his sweet lips and tongue.  I relaxed and loved the feel of him as he slowly softened.  He was a perfect fit.  When he was soft, he was still in me.  I got up and looked at him.  “My turn,” he enthused.   

     But it was his first time.  So I made him sit on my lap and go really slow.  I told him to pull off when it started to hurt.  It was kinda like my first time.  We’d start, then he’d pull off, then we’d start again and I’d go in just a little further, he’d pull off – and so on.  All of a sudden, just like with me, everything was positioned just right, and I was in all the way.  He gasped and clenched, and I held him closely in my arms and petted and soothed him until the pleasure beat back the pain, and then we got with it. 

     It was a great weekend.