by Joe Butterman
Chapter 2: The Second Day
I slept well and deeply that night and woke up to hear my Grandmother bustling about in the kitchen. My Grandmother is a great lady, but she’s very old fashioned. There was no lack of money in her household, but she declined to hire any help and did the work herself, unless of course, she needed my help. For some reason, I had started calling her “Grand Belle” at an early age and the name had stuck; I had renamed both of my Grandmothers.
From the smells, it was clear that the kitchen would soon produce breakfast. I swiftly dressed and went to the bathroom for the usual morning rituals. I was expected to brush my teeth, as well as wash my hands, before and after meals at my Grandparents; I was also expected to be “properly” dressed at all meals. This wasn’t Sunday, so I could get away with cut-offs at the table, but shoes and a shirt were necessary too. Suitably attired, I went to the kitchen, kissed my Grand Belle and had a wonderful breakfast.
My Grandfather was already out and about. I had changed his name, too, at a very early age, and he was now known as “Bobbin” most of the time. Bobbin, too, was very old fashioned. I know I mentioned that we were now members of the Dutch Reformed Church, but they had both been raised as Mennonites, so it’s no wonder that they were a little old fashioned. Bobbin was an investor. I was slowly learning what that entailed: I knew there was real estate, and there were stocks and bonds, and it all seemed to work reasonably well. All of us were accustomed to hard work of one kind or another, but all of my spoons had been silver.
Sadly, I’d had no chance to rename my other Grandfather; he had died long before I was born.
The one thing that was unusual about Bobbin was his seeming belief that it was his mission to make Protestants out of every Catholic he encountered. I never fully understood all of this, but then I was never that interested in theology although Bobbin had it in his head that I’d grow up to be a Preacher, or a Missionary, or something holy. Now that I think about it, I don’t think he ever converted a Catholic, and after yesterday, Bobbin’s plan for me seemed unlikely. But in any event, it wasn’t Sunday. I had no sermon of any kind to face. Yesterday with Johnny had been great. I’d soon be with him again.
I told my Grand Belle where I was going and, at least in part, what I would be doing. She suggested that we have Johnny over to dinner soon. I agreed and said I’d ask him. My Grandparents liked Johnny. He was of Scots descent, as was I on my Father’s side, and regularly attended the Presbyterian Church; Bobbin had told me that Presbyterian’s were a kind of “lapsed Calvinist” but they were, for some reason, infinitely preferable to Catholics, no effort need be expended on their conversion, and they were viewed with only casual suspicion.
I returned to the bathroom and brushed my teeth again, went to my bedroom where I took off my t-shirt, folded it neatly and put it away. Then I was out the door and down the block to Johnny’s. It was another beautiful sunny day and it was already warm.
As I went up the driveway of Johnny’s I could see that the garage door was open and their car was gone. His Mother was already at work, which was her regular routine. The backdoor to the kitchen had panes of glass on the top half, and was solid wood on the bottom half. There were white curtains on the window and you could sometimes see movement through them but you couldn’t really see anything clearly. I could see some movement and as I started to knock, the door opened a little and Johnny peeked around it. He was smiling broadly as he opened the door fully and stood their without a stitch of clothes on; he grabbed my arm and pulled me into an embrace and kissed me fully on the lips, I grabbed his butt with both hands and pulled him even closer rubbing against his wiener which was rapidly becoming a boner. I kicked the door closed behind me and kicked my shoes off. I stepped back a touch and dropped my cut-offs to the floor. I gloried in the feel of him, running my fingers over his soft but firm butt, and playing in his crack.
Johnny broke our kiss, though we remained embraced, saying, “Let’s get some cokes and go upstairs. As I followed him up the stairs I was a little, like, stunned. I’d always thought of him as “good looking,” even “handsome;” but as I followed him up the stairs I realized that he was truly beautiful. His butt cheeks moved symmetrically and sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of his balls. I knew that his boner was standing proudly and I wished I that I was at the top of the stairs so I could look down on his beauty in motion. When we got to his room, he spun around and sat on his bed facing me.
“We’ve both got boners,” I pointed out somewhat unnecessarily.
“Do you wanna know what else ya can call a boner?” He inquired as he grabbed my boner and pulled me to the bed to sit beside him. He put his other arm around me and stroked my back and shoulder.
“Sure. What?” I’m always an avid student.
“Well, you can call it a ‘hard-on.’” He paused as I had grabbed his ‘hard-on’ and was gently stroking him too. I pushed his legs apart so that I could easily roll his balls and enjoy the satiny feel of his sac. He spread his legs further and then continued, “Or a ‘woody’, or a ‘stiffie’, and ya know what else?”
“What?” Running my fingers gently around the very tip of his “woody” gently manipulating the slit through which I knew, he soon would gush.
“It has other names besides wiener.” He’s all like a teacher. “Wiener’s kinda cute, but you can also call it a cock, or a dick, or a prick. I bet there’s even more.”
“That’s swell, we can call them anything ya want, but it sure feels good.” Johnny still had a hold of me, like I did him, and we were really feeling each other up.
“Let’s not cum yet,” Johnny said jumping-up, his dick still in my hand and his balls all bouncy beneath it.
“Okay,” said I, prepared to postpone but not to forego, “What DO ya wanna do?”
“Let’s play Indians,” said Johnny without a second’s hesitation.
“Indians! Indians? What’s that?” Usually, you know, if you play Indians, you’ve got cowboys around somewhere. And here we were all naked and having a great time, and whoever heard of a naked cowboy?
“Well,” he paused to consider the game, “we’re gonna both be Indians, but different tribes. I think they sometimes fought each other. But we need a costume.” Uh-oh, I thought, here come the clothes. But Johnny was way ahead of me and before I could go all whiney about getting dressed, he said, “Remember how they always wear those flaps in front and behind. That’s what we’ll wear. Let’s get some rags.”
Woodies waving, we left his room and went down the hall and down the stairs. Once again I was behind him so while I enjoyed watching the rhythm of his ass cheeks and the occasional flash of his balls; I reminded myself that I wanted to watch his dick bouncing too. He went to the kitchen to a storage closet and began rummaging in a box of rags, discarding left and right until he came up with a piece of what had once been a sheet. “Here,” he waved it triumphantly. I seized this moment to lean forward and lick an available nipple. He held my mouth to his nipple for a brief second. “Come on, we need some scissors.” He went to a drawer and pulled the needed tool out, “Come on,” and we started back to the stairs and his room. I had enjoyed my brief taste of nipple, but was once again forced to enjoy a rear view as he stormed up the stairs.
In the room, Johnny was busy cutting four strips out of the rag. He motioned me to his side and tied two of the strips together making one piece that was maybe three feet long. He then wrapped this around my waist just below my tan line and carefully adjusted the knot over my right hip so the ends of the cloth fell down my side with a suitably dramatic effect. Next he cut a rectangular piece of cloth that was about four inches wide and maybe twenty inches long. This he carefully adjusted under my new belt so that it fell down over my sex. It didn’t cover much because I was still about as hard as I could be and my dick was standing well out in front, with the result that the flap laid over to one side leaving my condition completely exposed. Which was just fine by me. Johnny turned me around and considered my ass. I wiggled it for him. He put both hands on my cheeks and massaged my butt for me. I pushed back into his hands, more than willing to abandon the game. But Johnny was on a roll, “We don’t need flaps in back.”
I turned around and watched as he tied his new belt on. He adjusted his flap so that it would have covered his dick if he hadn’t had a thundering hard-on. I pretended to assist with the flap, but actually I just stroked him a couple times. He let me roll his balls while he looked at me carefully, frowning slightly, deep in the thrall of creativity. “Headbands,” he declaimed, and promptly cut two more strips from the cloth, tying one around my forehead and the other around his own. He got started on my headband just as I was about to go down on him. Oh well.
“War Paint,” he pronounced and dashed down the hall and down the stairs. This time, I only followed him to the head of the stairs and watched as he came dashing back up. His flap was flying and his dick and balls were bouncing. I loved it. He had a jar of some kind of cold cream from his Mother’s bathroom in his hand and with this he applied my war paint. He daubed a circle of cream around each of my nipples and around my belly button. Then he carefully applied a single stripe of cream across my forehead. He considered me carefully and then wiped the cream off his fingers on my dick. This made it all worthwhile.
Johnny then went to the mirror and began to apply his war paint. I came-up behind him and stuck my dick; the flap wasn’t even close to being in the way, into the silken crack of his butt. This feel of his butt was yet another wonder. I loved the feel of him when I massaged it with my hands, but rubbing it with my dick was a whole nother world of sensation. Johnny continued to apply his war paint. He had proclaimed his status as mighty warrior by daubing an arrow on his chest with the pleasantly fragrant cream. The arrowhead pointed to his throat from just above his nipples, while the feathers were divided just above his belly button and the shaft continued the line of his dick up the middle of his chest. I reached around and fondled his firm hard-on; he wiggled his ass against my dick, but leaned forward a little from the waist and told me, “Don’t mess-up your war paint!”
We were now outfitted for the game of ‘Indians’ and, I must admit our costumes were really sexy. I mean, basically, we were naked. I looked at Johnny expectantly. How, after all, do we play this game? What are the rules?
“Did real Indians get boners when they were wearing these flaps,” I wondered aloud. This of course, had nothing to do with any game rules, but was certainly an interesting thought.
“I think so,” Johnny replied, “ uh course they did, how could they go around like this and not get boners?”
“Yeah, right,” I was momentarily dazzled by visions of handsome bronzed warriors, with flowing black hair, moving through a sun-dappled forest with woodies poking around their flaps. Johnny dragged me back from the forest to the bedroom announcing, “Here’s what we’re gonna do…we’re both chiefs, see? I’m gonna do a rain dance only my dance will be to keep you guys from getting any rain. So you have to stop me from doing the dance. Kay?”
“Sure, uh, okay, but….” I’m sorry, but sometimes I’m kinda all prim and like to know exactly what’s what. Johnny knows this, of course, so he could see me beginning to frame questions about rain dance procedure, timing, official termination, and all that stuff. Johnny doesn’t always let me get away with this.
“I’ll be in the den. When ya hear me start chanting, you sneak down the stairs. Then ya hafta sneak-up on me in the den and make me stop dancing. Kay?”
“Well. Okay, but.” I was talking to Johnny’s beautiful butt. He was going down the hall. I followed him to the head of the stairs and waited for the dance to begin.
Seconds later. From the den, there came a thumping on the floor as of one bouncing up and down on a carpeted floor, and a chant, that was almost assuredly more Hollywood than Indian. “YAAH, ya, ya, ya, YAAH, ya, ya, ya, YAAH, ya, ya, ya….” My cue. I went down the stairs quickly and was half way to the den before I recalled that I was supposed to be an Indian sneaking. I ducked behind the couch in the living room and looked as the swinging, Old-West-Bar style doors that led to the den. They were closed, but through the bottom third of the doorway, I could see Johnny’s feet and legs as he Indian danced in a circle in the den. Dashing to the doorway Indian style, I crouched and looked at Johnny dancing. My stiffie, which had dwindled to half a woodie, with all this stalking the enemy chieftain business, sprang back to attention as I watched the Chief’s boyhood swaying and bouncing and peeking out from the swinging flap of his costume. Getting into the spirit of the game, I remembered that the chanting and dancing had to stop or my tribe would die in a drought. For more reasons, to be sure, than just the game, I knew that I must do. But what do all-but-naked Indians say when they attack? I puzzled on this for a second and then decided: who cares? I plunged underneath the door and jumped into the center of the den, semi-crouched, arms akimbo, in what I thought must be a ferocious and warlike pose. Johnny grinned at me with one of those that-took-you-long-enough grins. “YAAH, ya, ya, ya, YAAH, ya, ya, ya…” He continued his chant as he danced in a circle around me. Clearly, a warlike appearance, in and of itself, was not sufficient to save my tribe. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the flap of my costume was hanging from my Indian belt by the merest corner. A flap of cloth hanging beside my boner which I threw on the floor and lunged at Johnny, grappling him ferociously – well, glorying in the feel of his naked body anyway – and pushed him to the floor. Johnny wasn’t resisiting. The dance was over, but he continued his chanting. He stopped the chanting for a second and looked at me intensely while he wriggled all underneath me, “as long as I chant, the dance is getting done.” I knew I should have asked precisely what the rules were before this game started. There was nothing to do. I hadda save my tribe. Plus, Johnny was luscious. Our hard-on’s were tight against each other. Our war paint was all smeared in a wonderful lubricating sheen over us. I slid up Johnny’s velvet chest, clutched his head with both hands, and kissed him. I stuck my tongue into his mouth and our tongues sparred together happily. The cold cream made the taste of him even better. The dance was over, the tribes forgotten; we clutched and kissed on the floor of the den.
We continued to kiss and rubbed against each other, feeling with our dicks, in a gentle and lubricious motion. At length, Johnny pushed me up and rolled me onto my back. His eyes, only inches from mine, smiled merrily. He ran his hand up my chest and fondled first one nipple and then the other: this was the greatest. It had never happened to me before. I had kissed him on a nipple just a little while ago, but there were clearly a lot of fun things that could be done with nipples. He ran his hand down my chest, rolled my balls gently with his fingers, and then began to stroke me. “I wanna try something new,” he whispered through his smile.
“Me too,” I replied happily, whatever it was, as long as we were naked together, it could only get better.
Still stroking my hard-on gently with one hand, he pivoted up on his knees beside me, and with his other hand he began to stroke, lightly pinch, and fondle my nipples. He leaned over me and ran his tongue down my stomach to my belly button, which he kissed and licked and licked and kissed. He still had my boner in his other hand, but he had stopped stroking it, and was holding it slightly up and away from my stomach. I knew that something great was about to happen. Something that I had wondered about, I remembered my thoughts in the shower just yesterday. Sure enough, Johnny licked his way down my stomach and then took the tip of me into his mouth, running his tongue all around the tip and then up and down my shaft. He took me deeper into his mouth and ran his tongue all around. Then he started stroking me again while he ran his lips and his tongue all over my balls. Then his mouth was back on my straining boner. This was the greatest pleasure I had ever known.
Without knowing exactly when or how it had happened, Johnny had become more than my best friend of the summer; his wants and needs were every bit as important as my own.
“I want some too,” I whispered huskily. I did not want him to stop working on me in the least; but I wanted him in my mouth too. I reached for him and began to pull him gently toward me and I slid my chest and head toward his legs at the same time. He divined my intentions almost instantly and moved his hips toward my head. He moved his knees so that he had one on each side of my head. I still had hold of him and was stroking it and admiring it from the closest possible range. I jiggled and stroked his balls too. I had to lean up to lick it and he had to kind of press down to get it closer, and the angle wasn’t quite right, but by now he was getting almost all of me into his mouth and throat and I was feeling an increasing urgency to suck and lick and stroke his beautiful boner. I put an arm around his waist and began to gently push him over and onto his side. He moved with me and never released me from his mouth.
This was better. Johnny was tonguing and sucking on me and I had full access to him. He opened his legs by pointing one knee at the ceiling with his foot flat on the floor. Now it was great. Inspired, I carefully used my lips to bring one of his balls into my mouth and I ran my tongue all around it while keeping it well away from my teeth. I had one hand on his dick and the other between his legs, running my fingers up and down the crack of his ass. I dropped his ball from my mouth and went to the head of his boner with the intention of swallowing it whole, before swallowing, though, I had noticed that there was a drop of clear liquid right on the slit of his dick. I was a little surprised – it didn’t look like cum, and there certainly hadn’t been the excitement of cuming on Johnny’s part, and it certainly wasn’t piss, as I studied him and stroked him, another little droplet emerged glistening, to join the first at the tip of his dick. Johnny’s mouth, throat, and hands were beginning to drive me over the edge; the only reasonable thing for me to do with the drops from him was to taste it, and I did, or at least I tried to, for as I licked the tip of his dick, he drove me over the edge and I came pulsing down his throat: my toes curled, my ass seemed to suck into itself, my legs spasmed, my arms went all rigid. I gripped his cock tightly without stroking him at all as I moaned around him with pleasure. Johnny kept me in his mouth and throat as he licked and swallowed and slurped as my spurting diminished and ended. He had given me ecstasy, now I was totally relaxed. I was softening in his mouth and he continued to play his tongue all around me.
Having just known ecstasy, it was time to give it to Johnny. I had the angle right, now, and I moved my lips steadily over his boner and slowly moved more and more of it into my mouth and throat. Sometimes I felt like I was gonna gag, but it wasn’t from the taste or the glory of him or anything like that, it was because I was trying to get too much of him down my throat too fast. So I’d slide back and give him some tongue action all up and down, and on his balls. Then I’d go back to work on getting him in deep, and being able to move up and down on him. I really liked rubbing his few hairs with my cheek, too, but I was really concentrating on his boner.
This was the greatest: Johnny still had my now softening dick in his mouth and was caressing it gently with his tongue; and I had his rock hard boner in my mouth and throat and was moving smoothly up and down. It felt super to get my dick sucked and it felt super to suck his. I increased my tempo a little and Johnny began to move his hips in synch with me. I considered going down and working on his balls for a while, but it was just too good feeling him so vibrant and strong in my mouth and throat. I could work on his balls a little later. Johnny started moaning gently and I felt that he would be cuming soon. If he was trying to say something, I couldn’t understand him because he still had not released me from his mouth. He started thrusting more rapidly into me and I moved with him while I slurped and licked and gulped him and then he went completely rigid: just like I had – I felt his cum gushing into my mouth and I swallowed some of it without even being able to taste it things were happening so fast. The cheeks of his butt tightened against my fingers, which were still playing there. It had never occurred to me to do anything other than swallow his cum, because that’s what he’d done to me, but now I could actually begin to taste it and it was kind of salty-sweet, a sort of hard to describe: good. I continued to lick and suck. If there was drop of cum left in him, I couldn’t taste it or find it. Now he started to soften in my mouth as I had in his. I lay my head against his left, kept him in my mouth, closed my eyes, and relaxed.
We lay entwined on the floor of the den for a little while; my arm, the one that was between his legs and in the crack of his butt, started to tingle uncomfortably. Kind of happy and sad at the same time, I dropped him from my mouth and looked carefully at his dick, as it lay across his leg, all wet and relaxed and happy. I kissed it a couple times. He released me, too, and I swung around so that we were face to face and we kissed each other with love, but without heat. We ran our hands over our naked bodies caressingly. There was nothing left of our costumes but the belts.
“We should have some lunch,” Johnny suggested. I hadn’t thought I was that kind of hungry until Johnny mentioned it, but like most of Johnny’s ideas it was pretty good.
“Okay.” We got-up, and walked into the kitchen hand-in-hand. Johnny suggested that tuna sandwiches would be good and that, too, was just fine with me. He began to make them, bustling about in the kitchen all naked and relaxed and natural. I was tired of our belts, so as he mixed the mayonnaise into our tuna, I got rid of the belts, making quite a production of rubbing him with every available bit of myself as I did so. Then, ever the prudent and careful soul, I went through the living room and the den picking-up what was left of our costumes and putting everything back in order. I remembered that there were two unopened cokes in his bedroom so I ran up to his rooms, put our costumes on the floor of his closet, retrieved the warm cokes, and dashed back to the kitchen. I exchanged the warm cokes, for cold ones, and while Johnny put our sandwiches on plates with pickles and potato chips, I picked-up all the rags that had not been selected for our costumes, and put them back in the kitchen closet.
Johnny had put our lunch plates at two different seats at the kitchen table. I brought mine over to his place and we sat next to each other as we ate: shoulder-to-shoulder, butt-to-butt. It would have made an interesting picture.
We stacked our dishes so that it would be obvious that we’d had lunch, neatened everything up and decided we’d go bike riding the rest of the day. It would have been neat to be able to do this naked. As we were getting dressed in Johnny’s room, I said, “Sometime, I wanna start sucking you when your soft, I wanna suck it till it’s hard; I’m gonna swallow everything, and keep on suckin’ till your soft again.” I said this all serious, like it was really important or something. He just smiled happily, “And then I’m gonna do the same to you.” I smiled back. It wasn’t serious any more; it would happen.
The afternoon was fun. Part of the fun was planning our next time naked together.
Feedback is the only payment our authors get!
Please take a moment to email the author if you enjoyed the story.