Catalina Cherries
by Joe Butterman


Chapter 4: A Meeting

Johnny was gone for the whole weekend. He’d had dinner with Grand Belle and me on Thursday, then, on Friday evening; his father made one of his rare appearances, and carried him off for the weekend. He’d be home late Sunday night and here it was, only Saturday morning. Grand Belle was doing laundry in this ancient machine that complained loudly whenever you wanted to use it. Soon she would run the laundry through this other machine that had these roller things that pressed the water out of the clothes. I could scarcely walk by the thing without being warned not to get my fingers in the rollers. After that, she’d hang the laundry on the lines that ran alongside the garage. I would help. I asked her once, why she didn’t get new machines to do the laundry. These things were all galvanized metal and ugly; they didn’t seem quite right for folks who went about in a fine Packard. This got me a lecture on saving and economy and false pride and how it’s a sin to replace something that works just fine. So, well, there you have it.

But for now, I was up in the Walnut tree. I was trying to envision a tree house. It would have to be large enough for Johnny and I; but it also had to have some kind of walls for privacy, it was no great trick to see into the branches of the tree from the street. I liked being naked with Johnny, but I didn’t want just anyone to see Johnny and I naked together. Or, now that I think about it, naked apart either. I had checked through my Sek’atary Hawkins books last night because I remembered there was a tree house in one of them. I couldn’t find it. It probably didn’t matter because it wouldn’t have been possible anyway. Everything in those books is just too neat.

A voice from below said “hey.” It was not my Grandmother’s voice; it confirmed my privacy concerns. I looked down and say a boy of about my age looking up at me. My recent adventures with Johnny had confirmed my interest in boys so I looked on him with an appraising eye: he had gleaming black hair that was short on the sides, but longer on top, and it looked loose and slightly disheveled, so there was no cream or wax in it and that was a good thing; he was wearing a dark yellow t-shirt, and tan shorts. The shorts were outrageous: in the first place, they had come out of the store as shorts; and in the second place, they had creases – real creases! Real ironed creases! Not only was this not a good thing, it was virtually unheard of. Everyone knows that shorts are cut-offs and that’s what happens to Levis when they wear out or you need a new pair of shorts. And, everyone also knows that you don’t iron your shorts. I mean, come on: creases? In shorts?

But, on the other hand, he was barefoot and that was clearly a good thing. Another very good thing was that he was really cute. Interesting. “Hey,” I said amiably. I had not yet determined if he was an interloper or not; I, a resident of Southern California only three months of the year (though I’d been born in Long Beach), was suspicious of his store boughten shorts with their ironed creases. Clearly, the proper thing for me to do was to climb down out of the tree and talk to him guardedly, but as I resolved on that course of action, I lost the initiative as he asked, “Can I come up?” Still suspicious, but civil, I replied, “Sure.” He came dexterously up into the tree, using all the correct branches, moving with ease and grace; he knew how to climb a tree. A good thing. Perched on a branch slightly above mine, I noted that his arms and legs were nicely tanned. I could see a little way up the leg of his shorts, but not far enough to see anything of importance.

“I’m Gary.”

“I’m Charlie.”

Introductions complete, I noted that he had dark blue eyes that glinted with humor, his eyebrows arched elegantly above his eyes, and he had a cute mole on one cheek. His nose was fine and straight. He was moving his leg around a little, almost as if he wanted me to see up the leg of his shorts. Somewhat unnecessarily, I informed him that I lived here.

“In the tree,” he wondered grinning richly, showing even white teeth and the silver strip of a retainer. I knew it was a retainer because I’d just gotten rid of mine last year. His grin was so engaging that I could only smile back, could offer no snottism, and nodding toward the house, could only say, “No, there. Where do you live?”

“A block over and across,” he replied waving, a way of giving directions that made perfect sense to me, but probably wouldn’t have been very helpful if you didn’t have an intimate knowledge of the neighborhood. “We moved here last month from LA,” he elaborated. At this point my Grandmother emerged from the back porch with a basket of laundry, “I told Grand Belle I’d help her hang up the clothes,” I said.

“I’d like to help if it’s all right,” Gary offered.

“Sure thing,” said I and we descended nimbly from the tree.

Bouncing over to my Grandmother, I took the basket of clothes: “Granbelle this is Gary. He lives over there.” Gary extended his hand and gave my Grandmother a sort of half bow as he kinda shook her hand with her palm down. I admired the effect, it looked somehow courtly and I resolved to adopt it.

“Gary van der Leyden,” he introduced himself to my Grand Belle and provided her the specific location of his house. Grand Belle put her hand on my head and wondered: “did Charlie tell you that his last name is Scott, that he’s my grandson, and that I’m Mrs. Bachman?” Without pause she continued, “I thought not.” Meanwhile, I’m thinking: Thank you Jesus! His name is Dutch!

“No Ma’am,” Gary replied.

I again thanked Jesus: Gary was Dutch and he’d called Grand Belle “Ma’am,” without having to be told or anything. Half the battle was won. With a start I realized that I liked Gary. Gary then put the icing on the cake. “I’m going to help with the clothes.” Grand Belle looked at us fondly saying, “Then you won’t need me. I’ll be in the house,” and she turned and left us to it.

As I showed Gary how Grandfather’s shirts were to be hung on the line, I noticed with approval that his t-shirt had become disheveled as he had gone up and down the tree. It had come partially out of his waistband at the back and on one side, he had not bothered to tuck it back in and I considered this a good thing. I wished he’d just take it off. There had been nothing in the basket but my Grandfather’s white shirts; it didn’t take us long to hang them, and then we started back to the porch with the empty basket. The washing machine was silent as we put the basket down on the porch. Gary was fascinated by the roller thing, “What’s that,” he pointed. Grand Belle was in the kitchen, but she knew what the object of his curiosity was.

“It’s called a ‘mangle’ and don’t you touch it or you’ll know the reason why. You boys come in for lunch. Charlie, show Gary where to wash up.” We trooped through the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom.

“I gotta take a leak,” Gary commented maturely as he unzipped his shorts and stepped to the toilet without even a twinge of modesty.

“Me too,” I observed as I unbuttoned my cut offs. We stood side by side and, companionably, peed. Naturally, I couldn’t help but notice that he had a real nice dick; I would have liked to have held it and shaken it for him, but this was clearly not the time nor the place for that. We washed our hands together in the sink. Re-buttoned and re-zipped we sped back to the kitchen. I noticed that Gary’s t-shirt was now out of his waistband completely on the back and sides, but he had stuffed the front of it down his shorts when he zipped his fly. He was even cuter; he was a contrast in rumples and creases.

Grand Belle had fixed us roast beef sandwiches on rye bread, with just a little mustard, lots of mayonnaise, and some lettuce. There were the ever-present Fritos, as well as pickles, olives, and the homemade lemonade that Grand Belle makes so great. I rather liked Fritos, but wasn’t too wild about rye bread, but it was a German thing, which made it almost Dutch. On a scale of things to get upset about, it was way down toward the bottom. Gary appeared to be enjoying it immensely, which made the notion of rye bread much more acceptable; but then, he might just be eating it so enthusiastically to please Grand Belle – one can always come up with something to fuss about.

“Would you like to come over to my house for a while after lunch?” This was great. Here was Gary with a solution to the constant problem of what to do next. I looked the question at Grand Belle, who replied that it would be all right so long as I caused no problems for his parents. Gary assured her that this would not happen. How, I wondered, can he be so sure of that! Anyway, we finished our lunch and went out the kitchen door, on our way – a block over and across – to Gary’s house.

As we started up the street, we mostly walked on the grass verge, or on somebody’s lawn. My feet were pretty tough from going barefoot so much, I assumed that Gary’s were too, but the concrete could still be really hot if you stayed on it too long. I asked Gary what his folks did. He explained that they were both in the Navy. His Mother was a nurse, and his Father was the captain of a ship. They had lived in a lot of places around the world. His Mother would soon be retiring and had already lined-up a new and important nursing job. That’s why they had bought the house in Anaheim. This was going to be their home from now on. He explained that his Father’s ship was across the Pacific near Japan, and that his Mother was at work, but they had a maid who would be at home. As we crossed the street to the house he’d pointed out, I noticed that, while it was not so old as my Grandparent’s, neither was it new: it had some stately trees that would be super for climbing and it had a two car garage that was separate from the house. Unlike my Grandparent’s garage, in Gary’s you put the cars side-by-side rather than end-to-end. It also had a wide asphalt driveway leading to the garage. Gary led the way to a chain link gate between the garage and the house. I noticed that a tall hedge covered the chain link fencing that prevented easy access to the back yard. Gary opened the gate and we went under a trellis that had a flowering vine on it covering a flagstone walkway between the garage and the house. As we went into the backyard I halted, enchanted: a light brown colored concrete patio surrounded a shimmering swimming pool; there was a tall wooden fence all around the back yard with semi-tropical trees and shrubs everywhere; there was a small building at the back of the pool set back from the diving board about ten or fifteen feet. Gary noticed that I’d halted. He stopped and asked, “Do you like to swim?”

“Yeah,” I was almost whispering it was so neat, “a lot.”

“Good. We’ll swim later.” Still admiring the pool, I put myself back in motion and followed Gary to the patio doors. These were multi-paned glass covered by white curtains that attached to the top and bottom of each door. “It’s me,” Gary announced loudly to the house as we went through the doors. It was cool and dim inside. I wasn’t real sure what kind of a room we were in; it was sorta like a den, but then kinda like a living room. The floor was tiled, the furniture wicker with big cushions, and there were throw rugs on the tile floor. In one corner there was what I recognized as a bar, with many bottles and a small sink behind it. There was, of course, no “Demon Rum” in my Grandparents house.

“Has you eaten anythin’,” the house demanded in a deep and mellow voice.

“Yes. I ate at my friend Charlie’s. He came home with me.”

“Ah,” the house observed, “Ah’ll be right there.”

Moments later, a formidable and abundant lady trundled into the room. Her dress was summery and colorful; she was wearing an apron; she was very dark.

“What’d ya’ll eat?” She inquired with clear and complete authority, more than a hint of the music of the South in her tones. Gary recited the menu. “You’re full then?”

“Yes’um,” Gary averred. She turned to me. “Jean, this is Charlie Scott, he lives a block or so away with his Grandparents; Charlie, this is Jean.” I extended my hand and mimicked Gary’s little bow.

“Hi Miss Jean, it’s a pleasure to meet’cha.” She smiled and gently squeezed my hand, “Hi.” Then, pleasantries attended to, responsibility returned.

“Did y’all have enough to eat too? Can y’all swim? Gary’ll wanna go swimmin’. How long ago’d y’all eat?” Not having been given time to answer the questions as they were asked, I essayed to answer them all at once.

“Yes Miss Jean. Yes’um. About an hour ago.” Knowing full well that the necessary elapsed time between eating and swimming was between thirty minutes and an hour, depending on the adult involved, I rounded-up the time in our favor. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to swim any way. I couldn’t swim in cut offs and I didn’t have a suit on under them. In the usual way, I didn’t have anything on under them.

“Well. Okay, but if y’all get hungry, call me, don’cha’all mess up my kitchen.” She smiled serenely and went off on her appointed rounds.

Gary showed me around the house and we went to his room. There were models of ships on his desk and dresser, and several airplanes were suspended from the ceiling. His bed was made and the closet doors were closed. There were a number of books and comic books around, but they were in orderly stacks on shelves, not scattered around like in Johnny’s room. There were several posters on the walls. One showed the back of a sailor with a huge bag on his shoulder and urged the viewer to “Join the Navy.” Another was of Brandon de Wilde. I recognized him; I like his name and think he’s cute.

“Have you read Tom Sawyer?” I asked. Looking at Brandon de Wilde made me think of skinny- dipping.

“Yes, and Huckleberry Finn too, I liked them both, let’s go out to the pool.”

“Okay,” I chickened out though, and didn’t mention skinny-dipping – what a wuss I can be sometimes.

Gary showed me around the pool. The building at the end, that I had noticed earlier, turned out to be a dressing room. The entrance was screened with strips of bamboo that were tied together and then stretched between tall posts. Behind the dressing room were some pipes, faucets and a showerhead. I’d never seen an outdoor shower before. Gary told me this was to rinse off under after swimming, that way the chlorine from the pool wouldn’t stick to you all day. I knelt by the pool and stuck my hand in. It felt deliciously cool, but not cold. It was another very hot day.

“Let’s go swimming,” Gary suggested.

I wanted to swim a lot, “but I don’t have a suit.” Pretty whiney. “And if I swim in cut offs, it takes them forever to dry. And I’ve got my pocket knife and some money an’ stuff in my pockets.”

“That’s okay,” Gary was undeterred, “we’ll go skinny-dipping. Just like they do in Tom Sawyer. My Dad says that guys go skinny-dipping at the YMCA; my Dad says that guys should always go skinny-dipping unless girls are in the pool too.”

Gary was arguing hard for what was one of my favorite fantasies; I didn’t really need to be convinced to want to go skinny-dipping. I just needed to know that somehow, it was safe to go skinny-dipping.

“But what about Miss Jean? She’s a girl! She’ll see us naked.”

“She doesn’t count. She’s known us for years. Besides, she’s seen me and my Dad skinny-dipping lotsa times. She’s not a girl like you’re thinking.” Now there’s a mysterious notion that’s going to need to be considered: how can a girl, be a girl; but not be a girl, just by thinking about it? Still, the pool was beautiful and I wanted to go skinny-dipping. If it didn’t matter to Gary, then it shouldn’t matter to me.


We went into the dressing room and Gary pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it on the bench. He smiled at me. He had a few enchanting moles on his chest, a few hairs under his arms, but none on his chest. His tan was not so deep as mine, but he was lighter complected than I; he was really beautiful. He was undoing his shorts and shucked right out of them and I scoped him out. His tan was almost completely even. There were no visible tan lines and his sex was tanned just a little browner than his chest. I wanted to taste him like I’d tasted Johnny. My cock twitched a little. No! Not now! I thought to my cock.

“How do ya getta tan like that?” I asked to divert it. My cut offs were unbuttoned but I hadn’t dropped them yet. He looked at me like he was enjoying the view, “I told ya, I spend a lotta time around the pool and there’s hardly ever any girls here.” I dropped my cut offs to the floor and kicked them onto the bench. Gary was in a sort of pose by the door, nothing dramatic or anything, but his right hand was on the door frame, above his shoulder, and he was standing side ways in the door, I could see his nipples – they were pointing sharply – and his chest, but his beautiful sex was almost hidden by the sweep of his left leg. His butt was all curvy and glorious. I was really willing myself not to get a woodie as I admired my friend’s nudity. Still smiling hugely he urged us on, “come on! Let’s go!”

I followed him out the door and we dove into the pool. I loved the flow of the water over my naked body, I opened my eyes to try and see Gary, he was swimming under water in front of me, but he was pretty much just a tanned blur of limbs and body. The water stung my eyes a little and I couldn’t really see him clearly. He swam about two-thirds of the way down the pool then popped-up with his head and shoulders out of the water. I came up standing beside him, took a couple breaths, and then folded my knees, exhaling slowly, sank alongside him. I wondered if I’d get a better view of him if I were closer. I did, it was still unclear, but I noticed that the water was lifting his sex. It was as if he had just a little woodie, and his balls, rather than hanging properly down, were trying to follow his dick into the sky. I did notice that he had more pubic hair than I. There was a little on either side of his dick, but it didn’t go much above his dick. Very nice. I surfaced.

“What’cha doin’?” Gary wondered.

“Checkin’ out your tan,” dissembling with a smile.

“You can come over whenever you want and work on yours,” that beautiful smile again. I splashed him. He splashed back. We spent the next few minutes swimming on the surface, swimming under water, jumping out of the pool and then cannon-balling back in, splashing each other and splashing just for the sheer joy of splashing. Sometimes we even used the diving board.

At length, feeling very relaxed from the swimming, I swam under water along the bottom of the pool, surfaced quickly using my momentum and arms to help me out of the pool, I swung around and sat on the edge, with my feet dangling in the cool water. Seconds later, Gary’s head and shoulders emerged at the edge of the pool next to me. He held himself on the edge with his folded arms. He looked at me for a second, then pushed a few feet down the pool to the ladder, and climbed quickly out; he stood on the edge, dripping, glistening in the warm sunshine, eyes sparkling, smiling, and beautifully nude.

“Come to the diving board and I’ll show you how to jump off a sinking ship.” He announced. I could think of a lot of things I’d rather have him show me, like a boner for instance, but – oh well.

“Okay.” We went down to the diving board and he told me to get on first. Completely unnecessarily, he put his hand on the back of my leg, just below my butt, to help me as I got on the board. He told me to walk to the end of the board and followed closely. At the end of the board, he stood right behind me and said, “The first thing you have to remember is to keep your eyes open and look at the horizon for the whole jump.” He pointed around me with his left arm brushing my shoulder, “The tops of the window there, on the house, pretend that’s the horizon.” His dick whispered silkily against my butt as he pointed. Maybe there was something to be said for sinking ships, I thought. He stepped back and told me to turn around. He knelt down in front of me and lectured, “The second thing is that you’ve got to keep your feet crossed while you jump.” He grabbed my right foot at the ankle and knee, “Let me show ya.” I relaxed my leg, but had to put my hand on top of his head to keep my balance, as he moved my leg so that my right foot was on top of my left. I wasn’t resisting at all, and kept my balance easily, while he took a lot of time getting my foot in just the right position. I liked the feel of his hair, so I kept my hand in place as he sat back a little and grinned-up at me with his twinkly sapphire eyes. “Ya hafta keep your legs crossed so that you won’t hurt your balls when ya go into the water.” I kinda hoped that he’d position my balls, like he’d done my foot, but he didn’t. “So remember: keep your eyes on the horizon; step off the deck, don’t jump, cross your legs, and you should go straight into the water. Even from the deck of an aircraft carrier. Now turn around, I’m gonna go down to the side of the pool and watch. I’ll tell ya when to jump, Okay?”


I turned around and found the horizon. He walked smoothly off the board and went down to the side of the pool where he would have a good view. I had a very good view of him and admired his swaying sex on that super tan for a long few seconds. Actually, I admired him until everything was still, then I looked back to the horizon.

“Ya ready?”



I took a breath, kept my eyes open and on the pretend horizon, stepped off the board and crossed my feet. He was right. I went straight into the pool and touched bottom with my feet. I propelled myself to the ladder and clambered out. There was Gary. He had two towels in his hands. He was grinning so hugely you’d have thought I had just escaped from a real sinking ship.

“Let’s lay in the sun for awhile.”


We went over to two of those aluminum recliners and folded them down so that they were completely level, spread our towels, and lay down to bask in the sun, with about six inches between our respective loungers. We lay there in silence; I closed my eyes, and enjoyed the feeling as I felt the water drip and dry all over my body. The warmth of the sun was sensual on my naked body. My dick began to stir and grow all of its own free will; trying to prevent a hard on, I shifted carefully on the lounger and turned over onto my belly. I heard Gary’s lounger shifting around a little too, but I still had my eyes closed and I liked the feel of the sun on my naked bottom, and the gentle and occasional caress as a whisper of breeze sorta tickled the crack of my butt.

“You can’t get sunburned there,” Gary said, and I felt his hand, cooled by lotion, began to smooth the lotion onto my ass. He was in no hurry. He rubbed the lotion thoroughly over one of my cheeks, from my flank to my crack, from tan line to tan line; he gently massaged me – I sighed. He stopped for a second while he applied more lotion to his hand. I could hear the bottle slurping as he shook it. This application went directly into the crack of my butt, and he rubbed it carefully in. His fingers repeatedly applied lotion to that tender part, between my hole and my balls. I had a serious hard on now, and he probably knew it, because that tender part gets real firm when you’ve got a boner going. The bottle made another slurping sound, and he thoroughly massaged my other butt cheek. This was really great. I loved the feel of his hand when he rubbed my cheeks, but I really liked it when he was working in my crack.

“Roll over, you need some on your front,” he whispered.

“I can’t. I’ve got a hard on,” I whispered.

“So do I,” came the reply.

My eyes flew open and I looked at him. He was still grinning and had a really dreamy expression on his face. He continued to work on my butt, moving back into my crack, from the top clear down to my balls, which he ran his fingertips over. He was sitting on his loungers, his lissome legs crossed under it. Kinda like an Indian Brave on a lounger, his knees were spread, his balls were free, and his dick and expanded to get all of the sun it could.

“Let’s go into the room.”

“Yeah.” We continued to whisper. He stood up and turned toward the end of the pool and I followed him, woodie waving free. We went quickly into the shade of the dressing room, he turned and stared at my boner and I stared at his. Then I reached for the bottle of sun tan lotion and squirted some onto my fingers. I started rubbing the lotion all over his hard on. He closed his eyes and threw his head back. He backed-up to the bench along the wall and sat down, I sat down beside him and continued to stroke and admire his boner. There was one of those glistening droplets on his slit. I would have tasted it, but he grabbed my dick with his lotion-covered hand and began to match me stroke for stroke. The warmth and the passion took over. We were already close to cuming. Watching a friend cum is really neat. Gary’s beautiful eyes were closed and he was panting; I was probably panting too, but I wasn’t really aware of it: Gary was really pumping me and I loved the feel of his hand; I was pumping him and I really loved the feel of his dick in my hand, all slick with lotion.

“God! God! God!” He moaned and spurted all over his stomach and chest. I slowed down and gentled my fondling of him as he came down; but Gary kept up the pace as he stroked me.

“Oh…Gary!” I sang and I shot, and shot.

We both gasped and shuddered with the pleasure of it. I put my left arm around him, but kept his dick in my right hand as I gently milked and massaged and loved the feel of him. He had me in his hand too, so he ran his other hand up and down my thigh, like he was petting me, it was great. We slowly came down from the passion relaxing into the feel of each other. When we had stopped stroking, I gently swung around before him and went down on my knees between his legs. He did not want to let go of my cock though he had to reach down a little and change his grip.

“I really wanted to do that.”

“Me too. And lots more too.”

We’re still whispering. I stuck out my tongue and lapped-up some cum from his stomach. I noticed that he had a couple black hairs around each nipple. I tongued the cum out of his belly button and was looking for more when he asked, “What do I taste like?” I considered the question while I rolled some of him around in my mouth.

“Dunno. Sweetly salty. Good.” I continued tonguing his belly and chest; I worked over both of his nipples though there wasn’t any cum on either of them. He pulled me up and around on the bench, neatly reversing our positions, and then he started licking the cum off of me just as I had been doing to him. I loved the feel of his tongue; I loved the feel of all of him. When he had licked me clean, I got back off the bench, straddled his knees, fell into his beautiful eyes and kissed him on the lips. I didn’t ask or anything. I just did it. He kissed me right back. It was the most natural thing to do.

“We should rinse off,” Gary suggested. I agreed and we walked around to the open shower. He fiddled with the faucets and made me wait for a minute because the water in the pipes close to the shower would be warm, then there would be a cold spurt, and then it would finally be right. I wasn’t too interested in the plumbing.

“I like being naked with you.”

He grinned and nodded and we got under the water together. It was lukewarm and refreshing. We held each other tightly and rubbed our bodies together as the water ran over us. I started to get another boner. For some reason, I thought that couldn’t be right. I’d gotten it into my head that you could only cum once a day.

“Can I come see ya tomorrow?” Gary wondered. I looked at him and saw that he was a little hard too.

“I gotta go to church in the morning, but I’ll be home around one, wanna come over then?”


I felt his dick and it was kinda firm, too, like just after you’ve come if you know what I mean. We went back into the dressing room where we toweled each other dry. We kissed some more. Then we got dressed again. I found Miss Jean in the house and said good-bye.


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