Catalina Cherries
by Joe Butterman


Chapter 5: Sunday

I was walking home from church. It was only about eight blocks. I was wearing a light grey suit, a starched white shirt with barrel cuffs, and a blue bow tie with very fine and faint red stripes. I was proud of the fact that I’d tied the bow tie myself. My Grandfather was convinced that a gentleman never wore a tie that he had not properly knotted himself, so none of the boy’s pre-tied, clip-on ties, at the department store were ever acceptable. Early on, I learned to shop at several men’s stores that my Grandfather always referred to as “haberdashers.” Interestingly, I never saw this word on any of their signs, but something like that would not be apt to slow my Grandfather down much.

Another thing that a gentleman never did was to leave the house without his pocketknife. This was one of the few things that Bobbin and my Daddy agreed on completely. I was very proud of the fact that I had a pocketknife long before most of my peers. Some of them had been jealous and had complained to their parents who, in turn, had complained to my Parents or Grandparents. The fortunate one’s had complained to my Parent’s; such a complaint would have been referred to my Daddy, and he would simply have said that we lived on a ranch and such a knife was an important and useful tool. He would tell them that I kept it properly sharp, too. He didn’t mean this to be threatening in the least, but to insure the complainer that I was taking responsible care of a tool. Daddy had this great story about when he was young, the “green broke” mustang he’d been riding had shied at some imaginary terror and he’d been thrown but had got his spur tangled in the stirrup leather. When he tried to get-up, the horse shied again and dragged him a few yards through the sagebrush. He had pulled out his pocketknife and cut through the spur strap. Then he could regain his feet without spooking the horse, and he could remount and ride home safely with only a few bruises. Since I’d never known my Daddy to lie, I believed this story implicitly, and always had my knife.

If one of these complainers was unfortunate enough to encounter Bobbin, they were treated all together differently and not given any useful stories about how important a sharp pocketknife could be. Bobbin really did not care in the least what these people might think, and simply stared at them as if they were of no account, or improperly dressed. His nose would go up, it was straight and imperial, and he would stare down it as if he were viewing something odd. He might make an observation about the weather, but the subject of the knife was closed. It had never really been opened.

The propriety of a pocketknife, however, was one of the few things that Bobbin and my Daddy agreed on. Otherwise there was always this tension: when I lived with my Grandparents I was basically expected to be Pennsylvania Dutch; but when I was at home with my Folks, I was expected to be Episcopalian. My Father was of Scots descent, and my Grandfather thought this barely one notch above being English. My Father did not think that being Dutch was all that big a deal. So there it was: I was caught between the two most important men in my life, I loved them both and was certain that they loved me, yet the two of them had this remarkable inability to communicate.

My shoes were highly polished and I was wearing navy blue socks. I had just endured Sunday school and a too long sermon. I thought I was too old for Sunday school, and I could’ve gotten away with that if Bobbin and Grand Belle weren’t so active in the church. They got there early, so I got the full treatment every Sunday unless I’d manage to wangle going to church with Johnny. I turned onto my block as if I were on some kind of walking autopilot; I was studying the sidewalk, mindful of the schoolyard warning, to protect my Mom, I diligently avoided stepping on any cracks. I would have hotly denied this if anyone had suggested I was doing it. My mind was well away from Anaheim. I probably looked rather solemn as I marched up the street. As I neared my house, I looked up from my preoccupation and saw Gary sitting on the front lawn. Confusion and preoccupation vanished. His hair was lightly tousled and I could see his shining smile. I could visualize his blue eyes twinkling from two houses away. He was wearing light blue shorts. He wasn’t wearing shoes or a shirt, but he had something red draped around his neck. I wanted to run but I didn’t. He got up as I walked onto the lawn.

“Nice suit,” he grinned.

I noticed that it was a red t-shirt that he had around his neck and that his blue shorts had razor-like creases ironed into them.

“Come on,” I said heading for the back door, “I gotta change.”

We trooped through the kitchen and into my bedroom. Gary dropped his t-shirt on the floor and flopped onto my bed lying on his back. I was not permitted posters. On one wall there was a curtained window, partly open should there be any breeze, with a table fan on a small table in front of it to magnify any breeze that might occur. On another wall, from an ornate gilt frame, a longhaired, ferociously mustachioed, wide-brim hatted, lace collared, sword grasping Maarten Tromp prepared to sweep the deceitful English from the seas. There were two framed samplers on the other wall. Both were dated in the early 19th Century and had been done by ancestresses; there was an old picture of a four-masted Dutch barque between the samplers. An odd grouping, considering the subject matter, but then things in my room required approval. Hanging from the ceiling was a balsa wood and doped paper model of a Fokker D7 that I had built. Had I wanted a Spad, or a Sopwith Camel, it would not have been approved without considerable debate. In the case of a Spad, it would have to answer the indictment of being French and therefore “decadent,” in the case of the Sopwith, of being English and therefore, well, you know. But Tony Fokker was Dutch. It was painted in the colors of Manfred von Richtofen. I had painted it before I learned that the Red Baron was dead before the Fokker D7 ever flew. By and large, my Grandfather did not approve of war, but by God, if there must be war, we Dutchmen knew how to go about it. The Red Baron, to be sure, was German, but that was almost as good as Dutch; even though they had been complete assholes in the last war and therefore needed to be snubbed.

I opened my closet door. By the simple expedient of putting the toe of one oxford, to the heel of the other, I could step out of my shoes without damaging the shine or having to untie them. I slid them into their spot in the closet and removed my jacket, placing it neatly over the back of my chair. I retrieved a heavy wooden hangar from the closet. I removed my belt and slipped the buckle through the hook of the hangar. I took my pants off. I kept my back carefully to Gary and arranged for my dick to poke through the fly of my boxers; then I turned back and carefully hung my pants on their hangar. I adjusted the coat to hang neatly over belt and trousers and hung the completed assembly in my closet. Gary had propped himself up on his elbows and was watching me with a half smile; I gave him a full smile. I untied my tie and hung it on the tie rack in the closet (yes, I have way more than just one tie). I shrugged out of my shirt and undershirt. I shucked out of my socks and boxers and was completely naked. I put all of the used clothes in my hamper. I walked over and stood naked between Gary’s legs. I reached down and opened his shorts and pulled them down and off with a little eager help from Gary. I tossed his shorts and leaned over and took him in my mouth; he didn’t have a woodie yet, though he was working on it and I had wanted to feel him grow hard in my mouth. I’d been thinking about doing this for a while, Johnny first, and then with Gary. Now I was doing it.

“Oh.   Charlie,” He murmured with his hands on my head.

I grabbed him and began to apply all of my new expertise. I stopped pumping and licking and just admired it for a few seconds, then I gulped him into my mouth and throat and got him all in; I nuzzled his pubic hair with my nose and started sucking hard and moving up and down on his boner. While I was doing this, I moved one of his legs into contact with my dick, and started pumping the downy surface of his leg, very aware of the firm muscle beneath. Releasing his dick, I licked up his stomach to his belly button, which I swirled out with my tongue while I lavished it with spit. I dragged my tongue up his silken stomach and licked his nipples, first one, then the other, and pinched and nibbled them with my lips and really lightly with my teeth. We had been moving steadily up onto the bed and our boners were in straining contact. I wiggled my ass and prodded his cock and balls with my boner; he wiggled and prodded and pumped right back. I put my arms under his armpits and pushed and lifted him all the way onto the bed. I started licking his throat and we entwined our legs and started humping together, glorying in the feel of our cocks as they pulsed against each other.

Gary had been moaning, sighing, and whispering things like: “Yeah. Yes. Oh Charlie, yes,” and so on. I stuck my tongue in his ear; I pulled on his ear lobe with my lips, I licked and whispered, “Gary you’re the greatest.” We increased the tempo of our humping and then, at almost exactly the same instant, we were shuddering and clutching, cuming and moaning together. I kissed him and our tongues caressed; we slowed…relaxed…and seemed to meld together on the bed. Languidly, Gary stroked my back. He would run his hand slowly down over my back to my butt which he would gently massage, then he would finger my crack; then he would slowly feel his way back up my back and gently massage my shoulder and neck, then repeat this loving, soothing action. We released our quiet kiss and lay entangled.


“Yeah,” sighing.

“You’re beautiful and I love to be with ya.”

“So’re you,” gently murmured, “I love you too.” I began to slowly untangle from this enchanting embrace. I went exploring for cum with my tongue. It was smeared all over us, mixed with sweat, a wonderful and natural lotion.

“You’d better leave some for me,” Gary ordered, pushing me over onto my back, licking and tasting my chest and belly. I considered the taste. It’s really hard to describe: it was the taste of us.

Gary suddenly stiffened and looked up at me, “Where’s your Grand folks?” His blue eyes were suddenly, not to mention belatedly, worried. I grinned at his concern and pulled him into a lingering kiss. When that was over I eased his concern away, “They’ve got some church meetings to go to, and then they’ll go to the market. They won’t be home until dinner time or so.” We kissed and cuddled some more. I pondered the afternoon that stretched before us: “Can we go swimming?”

“Sure, that’ll be great, we can be naked together some more.”

I got up leaving him sprawled all naked and beautiful on the bed and went into the bathroom. I grabbed my washcloth from the rack by the tub (we didn’t have a shower; like I said, it was an older house). I ran it under the tap until the water was warm, then I squoze it partly dry, and went back to the bedroom where I began to wipe Gary down. I cleaned his nipples and his chest, I picked up his soft wiener (I know there are other words for it, but I tend to think of cocks as wieners when they’re soft, particularly when they’re soft after sex and I’ve had it in my mouth). I stood beside the bed and handed him the cloth. He scooted to the edge of the bed so that I was standing between his legs and we were only inches apart. He kissed one nipple while he wiped the other. Then he kissed the wiped nipple and wiped the kissed one. He pushed me gently back and knelt on the floor in front of me; he took me in his mouth and cleaned me with his tongue. He wiped my belly and my thighs with the cloth and then he cleaned my balls with his tongue. He sat back and studied my sex carefully with his head cocked a little to one side.

“You don’t have much hair,” he observed.

“Oh yeah,” I riposted with sparkling originality, “neither do you!”

He stood up smiling and gave me the cloth. I took it back into the bathroom, rinsed it out and hung it back in place. When I returned to the bedroom, Gary had his shorts on, and he had stuffed his t-shirt into the back of his shorts. I thought immediately of the game of Indian that Johnny and I had played. I made him turn around. Gary had a beautifully curved butt and I decided that Johnny had made the right decision when he had decided that flaps in the back were no good. I pulled the t-shirt out and put it in his hand, “You shouldn’t wear it there,” I lectured as I rubbed my sex against his covered butt. I reached around and felt him up as I whispered in his ear, “Your ass is really great and ya look a lot better without covering it. I gently nibbled his ear and he turned and kissed me.

“Okay,” was all he said.

I remembered those mainstays of civilized deportment: proper and approval. I neatened the bed so that it was almost as good as newly made, the most anyone would think was that it had been sat on, closed the closet door, turned the fan on, and started to slip on my cut offs. I turned this into something of a production. I pulled them up, but didn’t button anything closed. My wiener and balls were sticking out and I wiggled them at Gary. He was looking and grinning. These cut offs had originally been 501 Levis, the only kind that I would willingly wear. I buttoned the top button only, and wiggled some more. Gary laughed, “will ya PUHLEESE come on.” He came over and pulled on me a couple times, he carefully put me into my cut offs, buttoned the middle button, and said, “let’s go.” We were off.

As we walked to Gary’s, I wished that we could hold hands. I wondered what Admiral Tromp would have thought of me, a kinda-sorta warlike Dutch boy, who wanted to hold hands with his boyfriend. It didn’t really matter what the Admiral thought, though, because I knew that we couldn’t. Gary sorta-kinda patted my butt. It was more a gentle caress, though than one of those ‘sportsmanlike’ slaps. Why can men slap each other’s butts, but not hold hands?

Then I started to focus on a much more real and immediate problem. This was early Sunday afternoon, Johnny was not home yet, his Father would bring him home whenever he got around to it, and Johnny would surely be at my house first thing tomorrow after his Mother left for work. How could I bring Gary and Johnny together and all of us be friends. God knew I loved them both, or at least I liked them both an awful lot. What IS love anyway? I wanted to keep them both; I wanted to have sex with them both. Gary was here, and it was now, I was going to have to tell him about Johnny, then I was going to have to tell Johnny about Gary – then, somehow, I was going to have to bring them together and hope that they became friends. It seemed terribly confusing and fraught with possible disaster. I considered it to be a BIG problem.

When we got to Gary’s, Miss Jean thoroughly and skillfully interrogated us, discovering as she did so, to just what depths of depravity we could sink. We’d had no lunch. Taking charge, she sat us down at the kitchen table; she banged about at the stove and began to fry hot dogs; from the refrigerator, she provided us with two Seven Ups, never one of my favorite drinks – but oh well, I had real problems to worry about – and a large bowl covered with tin foil. The bowl proved to contain potato salad: potato salad can be sometimes great, and sometimes pretty awful; I was not surprised, somehow, when Miss Jean’s turned out to be really great. She put large dollops on our plates, together with two hot dogs each, and placed buns and condiments on the table between us.

“Ah better hear no splashin’ from that pool for ah hour at least,” she lectured, “or the two ah ya’ll‘re gonna be in BIG trouble.” I was glad that I’d rounded-up the elapsed time between food and swimming to an hour, yesterday; for hers was clearly a conservative soul, in order for food and swimming not to equal death, sixty minutes must elapse. I took her threat seriously. I could see her dragging a naked Gary and me out of the pool. She was entirely capable of it. Miss Jean went off to attend to her immaculate house.

“I know your Dad’s over by Japan,” I remarked, “but when is your Mom at home?”

“She usually gets home around six, which is really eighteen hundred,” Gary explained, “unless work keeps her later which happens a lot. She’s supposed to be here on Thursday and Friday, and she mostly is, but has to work then, sometimes, too. It doesn’t really matter cause Miss Jean lives here, too, though she sometimes goes to visit her sister in LA.” I pondered this information for scheduling purposes, but was quickly distracted as Gary made a big production over eating a hot dog. He had pushed the bun down to one end of the hot dog so that most of the wiener was exposed; then he grabbed it with both of his hands by the bun end, and lifted it to his mouth, but instead of eating it, he licked the mustard off with a great deal more tongue action than would normally be necessary, like if you were really just eating a hot dog. Then he stuck the whole hot dog into his mouth, right down to the bun, and then pulled it slowly out. All this time his gorgeous eyes are twinkling and his lips, when not otherwise engaged, were smiling. I attempted to laugh and swallow at the same time even though I know this never works. I choked and coughed and laughed and had to stop for several sips of Seven Up to restore my eating balance. Gary giggled, which was easy for him to do with me carrying on and his hot dog waving around like, well, a boner. I tried to look like a formidable Dutchman whose lunch was being compromised; but then I started laughing, because Gary was Dutch too, and besides, he was the one making me laugh. We were both laughing.

“Ya’ll‘re ‘sposed to be eatin’ an not carryin’ on,” the house announced formidably.

“Yes’um,” I responded for the two of us. We contained ourselves. Gary reassembled his hot dog. We finished our lunch and rinsed the dishes putting them in the sink. Gary thought we should take our drinks out to the pool.

“We’re goin’ out to the pool,” Gary told the house, “but we won’t go in for a while.”

“Ya’ll won’t go in for ah hour or ah’ll skin yore behind,” the house declared implacably, “that go for the both of ya’ll, too.”

“Yes’um,” I again responded for the two of us.

We went directly to the dressing room and Gary started to strip off my cut offs. I put my hands on his shoulders and rubbed them lightly while he did this, “I gotta put lotion on ya where yer white, ya know, or you’ll get burnt.”

“Thanks. You don’t need these anymore,” and I unbuttoned and unzipped him and helped him out of his shorts. By now, the creases in his shorts had become a good thing. So while I had merely kicked my cut offs in the general direction of the bench, I took a moment to gather the creases and fold his shorts in half. While I was doing this, cool, lotion covered hands are working all over my cock and balls, and my butt. This is the greatest.

“Cant’ burn here,” he tells me, like maybe he thought I was gonna complain or something. I gave up on his shorts, no way am I gonna step away from my lotioner to put any shorts down neatly on the bench. I toss them on the bench. I took the lotion bottle.

“Where do you need lotion?”

“Oh, I don’t need it. You can see that,” he remarked. I was having none of that. I was interested in applying lotion; I didn’t think he’d be getting sunburned. I dribbled a stream of lotion onto the top of his dick, and then did the same to mine, and then I rubbed the lotion all over us by rubbing all over his front with my cock and balls. I applied more lotion to the front of him in the same way. His eyes were closed and his head was back with his tongue sticking out of his lips just a tiny bit. I used the same technique to apply lotion to his butt. And rub it in. Actually though, he was right; he didn’t really need it, his tan was well established and beautiful. Both of our dicks had swelled a little and I again began to wonder if it might be possible to cum more than once on the same day. We grabbed our Seven Ups and yesterday’s towels, went onto the patio to the same loungers we’d used yesterday, and which were still about six inches apart. We settled into the warmth of the sunshine, and drowsed for a little.

I came out of my drowse and looked over at him; I had remembered THE PROBLEM. I admired the lithe beauty of his naked form, the way his dick lay across his thigh, the way his stomach flattened, the indentation of his belly button, the way his nipples (well, his whole chest really) rose and fell with his even breathing. I liked his scattering of moles. I noted a tiny birthmark on his left leg between his knee and his hip and resolved to kiss it next chance I got. I shifted onto my side with my head propped on my hand and whispered, “Gary, are you asleep?”

“Kinda. But no, I guess,” he shaded his eyes and turned toward me.

“I like ya a lot. A really lot. And I hafta tell ya something,” I charged ahead hoping for the best.

“Well, go ahead cuz I like you a lot too,” Gary smiled and closed his eyes and dropped his hand to his dick which he rearranged slightly as he snuggled into the lounger. It was supposed to be my turn to talk, but Gary went on: “usually it takes me a long time to talk to somebody; but I saw ya up in the tree and liked you just that fast. I stood there for a while, and watched you, then I just said ‘fuck it’ an came up and said ‘hi’ and you said ‘hi’ back and your Granny’s a neat lady.” I was still trying to get to the BIG PROBLEM, I managed to interject a,”yeah” before Gary continued: “we used ta move around a lot. And I like guys. An it’s hard ta talk to ‘em sometimes, ya know, like in hall at school an stuff.” Now he opened his eyes and propped his head up facing me, his eyes all blue and twinkly, “it took me a long time to touch your ass yesterday. I was scared you’d jump up and leave. Instead, it was great! You have beautiful eyes!” He licked his lips and smiled, “should we go to the dressing room?”

“So do you. Have beautiful eyes I mean. Yeah, in a minute. But I gotta tell ya ‘bout Johnny.”


I had his full attention now, but he was still all smiles. “Yeah, now listen: his name is Johnny MacCrimmon and he lives just down the street from me, like two houses. And his Mom and Dad are divorced. And he spends a lotta time at my house and I’ve known him forever. If his Dad hadn’t picked him up the other day he’d’a prob’ly been there when you came by. Would you’ve said ‘hi’ if we’d both been in the tree?”

Gary stared into space for a minute, and I reached over with my finger and ran it around a nipple. “I dunno,” he speculated, “I think I woulda if I liked him as fast as I liked you. But mebbe not. It’s hard ta say ya know? But I’d’a come back round looking for you,” he smiled. “Rub my other nipple.” So far so good. I did.

“Now look, here’s what I gotta tell ya. I’ve known Johnny forever. And we’ve been hangin’ around every summer, playin’ games and goin’ to the beach ‘n stuff. And my Grandmother likes him, too. And last week we were gonna go play miniature golf, but we didn’t have shirts on and they wouldn’t let us play. Then we were walkin’ home and we both had boners, so we went to his house to look at ‘em. And then we did IT. And I love you and I love him and I want us all to be friends. And please, don’t be mad.” This all came in a rush and I was so worried I probably could have worked myself into tears without too much effort.

“Why would I be mad?” Gary reached over with one of his fingers and lightly stroked my wiener. It was not at all hard, but the fact that Gary was stroking it I considered to be a very good sign. He was smiling, too.

“If you like him so much, I’ll bet I like him too. What kinda games did you guys play, ya know, when ya did IT?”

I explained Indian to him and how you had to be careful with Johnny so that you know all of the rules when you start the game. Then I thought back on the game and said, “Ya know, I don’t think the rules mattered much. I mean, I hadda kiss him to make the chanting stop. And now that I think about it, I think that’s what he wanted me ta do all along.”

“Is he a better kisser than me?” Gary worried. I thought there might be just a tiny hint of suspicion.

“No. I’ve only kissed him and you and you’re both the greatest kissers,” diplomacy in action. Gary’s finger action was beginning to have some effect, but I was still really worried about the effect of all of these revelations. I switched nipples and threw caution to the wind, “will you come over and meet him tomorrow?” I was feeling increasingly hopeful. Somehow I felt that if I could get them together, everything would be great. I was also beginning to think that you could cum more than once a day. Gary had that dreamy look on his face that I’d seen before and liked a lot.

“Yeah,” he said, “sure. Let’s swim.”

By way of agreement, I jumped up whooping in a manner that would have pleased the Army of Northern Virginia and cannonballed into the pool.

We spent a half hour, or so, in the pool and had a great time. Once we stood face to face where the pool was about neck deep and felt each other-up, and that was pretty neat. Later, I had an idea, and when Gary was standing with his back to me, I took a deep breath, submerged and turned onto my back. I stuck my head between his legs and blew bubbles up over his cock and balls. He clutched me with his legs, and I had to push him up and over to get to the surface and that was all splashy, and wrestly, and fun. Gary came-up behind me, reached around and began to stroke me really seriously. I stepped back into him and rubbed my butt against his sex. His cock was hard now. I wasn’t far behind him.

“Let’s go to the dressing room,” Gary suggested. We swam down to the ladder and I admired him as he climbed out of the pool; I was right behind him as we went to the dressing room.

“We need to rinse the chlorine off,” Gary was, after all, the authority on pool etiquette. I was full of ideas today: I squatted at his side and moved his leg into contact with my boner and stood-up slowly rubbing his leg, and feeling every part of his body with a hand, hands, or a boner. When we were standing face-to-face, I clutched his butt cheeks with my hands and pulled us tightly together so that our boners moved together eagerly in the water and the heat. Gary turned-off the water, grabbed my hand, (I really like that, I don’t know why) and led me to the dressing room.

Gary directed me to the bench against the wall, sat me down spreading my legs, and knelt on the floor between my legs. His blue eyes were smiling up at me and his hair was dripping and plastered down with water, one of his hands was fondling my leg, chest, and my nipples; the other was slowly jacking my boner.

“I’m gonna suck you off,” he announced with a certain air of triumph. He began. Swirling his tongue enthusiastically around, he took more and more of me into his mouth and throat. I shifted one of my feet around really carefully – I didn’t want to disturb him – so that I could rub his boner, and tickle his balls, with that foot. I heard myself saying stuff like, “Oh. Gary! Gary! Yes, yes.” But I was pretty breathless from passion so you couldn’t hardly expect poetry. He now had me completely in his mouth and throat and his tongue and mouth action was the greatest. With one hand he was stroking and rolling my balls, while the other hand continued to fondle my nipples or stroke my flank. Sometimes he would stick a finger into my belly button and this tickled sensuously. A tickling that you wanted to last forever. You couldn’t giggle. With my free hand, I caressed his head, neck and shoulders being careful to work with his tempo. I wanted to pet and comfort him, not interfere with him. I drew the back of my fingernails up his arm, and then retraced the path with my fingertips. Sometimes I had my eyes closed because I was in the greatest place in the world: in Gary’s mouth, feeling Gary’s hands everywhere on my body, tickling him with my toes. Smoothing his hair. Sometimes I’d remember to open my eyes and admire Gary in motion there, between my legs. Mostly, when I looked at Gary, he had his eyes closed, but sometimes he’d lean back a little and with the tip of my dick rubbing on the top of his mouth, he’d look up at me with his happy blue eyes: were diamonds blue, I thought, they would be his eyes. I knew that I’d be cuming soon. I could feel it building low in my balls. I relaxed into Gary completely and concentrated on the glory of his mouth. Seconds later there was the pulsating majesty of it all as I came in his mouth. I moaned and shuddered and shook beneath him. When I had first started to cum in Gary, he had reached up with both hands and gently pinched my nipples. This drove me right over the top. Like I said, this was the greatest place in all of the world.

I again relaxed completely into Gary. He kept me in his mouth. The spurts and the shudders had stopped and I was beginning to soften. He had both arms draped over my thighs, and both hands held my waist. I still moved my foot against his rock hard dick, sometimes I would stick my toes between his dick and his stomach, pull his dick away from his silky stomach, and then let it pop back up against his tummy; sometimes I would rub the top of my toes against the bottom of his cock, and I could feel that firm tube that runs through a boner there: I wouldn’t be able to do this much longer though, because it was a pretty awkward position and I could feel that my leg was thinking about cramping-up. I stroked his hair with both hands. He still had me in his mouth. I was soft. He was not.

“What do you wanna do? Or what do ya want me to do?” I whispered. He very slowly released me from his mouth. As I had been softening, his tongue had been quiet and like a cradle, when only my tip was in his mouth, he licked the slit of my dick and kinda tried to stick his tongue up my dick. This tickled deliciously and I moaned softly.

“I love your taste,” Gary replied, smiling, with the tip of his tongue peeking from his lips at the corner of his mouth. I kissed the top of his head and reached down to feel and stroke his boner.

“Can I fuck ya in the crack?” He continued.

“You can do anythin’ ya want,” I whispered back. It was a day for adventure. “Whadda ya want me to do,” I wondered still holding on to his beautiful hard cock.

“Come down here with me,” he said and I happily did. He positioned me on my hands and knees in front of him, and then rearranged my legs so that there was room for him between my legs. We were getting pretty good at being between each other’s legs. I felt his dick in the crack of my butt and loved it; I loved it, too, when he stuck it next to my balls and pumped there a few times, then he would pull it back and pump in my crack. We had perspired a little bit, and we had been damp from the shower, but even so, his cock seemed to chaff a little as he moved. He stopped and pulled away a little, and I could hear the sun tan lotion bottle gurgling. I looked over my shoulder and saw him putting lotion all over his boner. I should have done that, I thought. He was grinning right at me as he poured the lotion into my crack and smeared it all over. Then I closed my eyes and he started pumping again. I tried to wiggle and move helpfully, but it didn’t seem quite right. Gary seemed to be pumping at me with the whole length of his cock, rather than smoothly thrusting with the tip like when sucking. I looked around again, his eyes were closed but he seemed kinda puzzled.

“Why don’cha let me sit on your lap,” I asked venturesomely, “I’ll be able to move better I think.

“Yeah,” still smiling around the tip of his tongue. He got up and sat on the bench spreading his legs, his boner gleamed with lotion. I backed-up to him and felt the lotion move smoothly between my cheeks. I put my hands down outside his legs, I didn’t want to push him against the wall too hard, and I pistoned up and down his pole, reveling in the feel of him between my cheeks. The lotion made this really slick and good. He would thrust a little bit and I would slide up and down his boner. I had a lot more freedom of movement than he did. Several times I had felt the tip of his dick right on my hole and this had tingled nicely. It was a day for adventure, so I reached under my balls and grabbed his dick. I positioned his tip right on my hole, and then started to push down onto his dick with my butt. It didn’t seem to want to go in, my hole was tightly closed; I tried flexing my hole several times and managed to get a little more of him in. Gary was thrusting, too, and I knew that he wanted to cum, so I dropped him out of my hole, and rubbed up and down his dick with my butt. The tingling was still there. Inviting and mysterious. While I had been bouncing up and down, Gary had reached around to play with my cock and balls. I stopped and put his cockhead over my hole again, I flexed and pushed and the whole tip of his cock went into my hole. I gasped, it hurt – but the tingling was there too. I let a tiny bit of his dick out, and that felt better, and then I put it back in where it had been, it still hurt some, but I liked the tingling too. Gary wasn’t moving he seemed to know that I needed to lead this.

“It hurts funny,” I explained. I moved up a little, and then back down a little, and repeated the action several times. Then I dropped him out of my hole again, and started humping up and down because I wanted Gary to cum, he started thrusting again too. All this time, Gary had been whispering sweetly in my ear: he told me that he loved me; he told me I was beautiful; he told me my butt was the greatest when he was in it; he thought my dick was really “sweet and tasty” as he fondled it. He continued to play with my dick while his other hand clutched me to him, just below my nipples. The pain had subsided but that tingling was still pleasurably there. I resolved to try again, and again inserted him into my hole and tried to move slowly up and down, but Gary continued to thrust and this hurt a little. I felt he was about ready to cum, so I dropped him out and went back to humping him seriously. Now he moaning in my ear, whispering my name, and thrusting, and then he hugged me ferociously with both arms and that great shuddering started and I knew that my sweetie had cum. I swung one leg over his, and moved it inward, and then I did it to his other leg. I had a much better lap now, so I sat firmly on it, and thought that his dick felt great in my butt. That tingling was still there too, and I knew that I liked it.

I stayed on Gary’s lap as he softened, just like he had kept me in his mouth while I had come down from heaven. I would wiggle by butt a little every once in a while. “You’re the greatest,” I told him.

“No. You!” He whispered back. We went back and forth like that for a little, arguing in a whisper about who was the greatest. When I could barely feel his wiener, I got-up, turned around spreading his legs, and knelt before him. I washed his cock with my tongue. I’d wondered if I could do this because it had been in my hole, but I decided that it was okay because my hole had to be clean with the swimming and the showering and the love, and besides, it seemed like the right thing to do. I licked his belly button and all around it. Mostly he tasted of lotion, but there was a hint of cum there too. I sat back and rubbed his thighs and just kind of worshiped him.

“We need to shower,” he said from up there.

“Kay,” not really all that anxious.

He went and got our towels from the loungers while I adjusted the shower. The shower was cool and refreshing. Why does anyone shower alone I wondered. We went into the dressing room and dried each other. I took the towels and spread them on the bench. Then I had Gary sit at one end of the towels, and I lay down on my back with my head in his lap. It was a great view looking up his stomach to his chest and nipples, his throat and chin. He petted me.

“We came twice today,” I observed.

“Yeah. I could stay here forever,” came his response, “will you sleep over sometime?”

“Sure. We’ll do it all night.”

But there was tomorrow, and there was Johnny, so we came up with a plan. He would come over after lunch so that Grand Belle wouldn’t feel that she had to feed the three of us. Not that she would mind this in the least, but Gary and Johnny should get to know each other before we were placed around the kitchen table under scrutiny. At the last possible moment, I got up and pulled my cut offs on. No production was necessary. We kissed. “See ya tomorrow,” he said, still naked on the bench.


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