Boys Will Be Boys - Their First Time (19 page)

Kenneth
’
s hips started flexing, rocking his dick in and out of Crash
’
s mouth, the root sinking deep and then revealing itself again, over and over, shining with spit.

Kenneth took a deep breath, and even though he wanted to just grab the back of Crash
’
s head, feel a handful of that stiff, spiky hair as he crammed himself in as far as he could, to fuck Crash
’
s face until that dam burst and he was coming straight down that talented throat
–
even though he wanted that more than anything else, Kenneth stopped. He held himself very still.

Crash pulled off Kenneth
’
s cock with a slurp so loud it practically rang through the sub
-
basement. He poked his head up above the edge of the counter to see if somebody was watching.
“
What?
”
he whispered.

Kenneth
’
s eyes darted back toward the entrance to the sales floor to make sure there wasn
’
t a guard listening in.
“
Show me your dick.
”

The sly grin spread over Crash
’
s face again. He grabbed Kenneth hard by the waist and pulled him down onto the floor behind the counter. The carpet was threadbare and dirty, but there were enough piles of clothing there to cushion them.

Crash
’
s jeans were so old and tight that they hugged his long legs and slim hips perfectly, with no need for a belt. He faced Kenneth, kneeling, as he yanked the fly open.

Crash grabbed Kenneth
’
s hand and stuffed it down the front of his pants. It was too tight in there to feel anything specific, yet just the thought of it, having his hand on some total stranger
’
s hot, hard cock, made Kenneth
’
s breath catch.

Crash eased his tight jeans down over his hips and his dick fell free, perfectly stiff. He wove his fingers through Kenneth
’
s, and they stroked it together as Crash stared into Kenneth
’
s eyes.

It was too intense for Kenneth. He needed to look away. He stared down at his own hard-on and took it in his other hand, stroking it alongside Crash
’
s.

Crash pulled his hand free, leaving Kenneth with a stiff dick in each fist, one wet, one dry, stroking them both. A bottle of cheap hand lotion was tucked beneath the return counter. Crash grabbed it and shot a generous squirt of lotion on both of them.

The sensation changed from good to incredible as the lotion oozed through Kenneth
’
s fingers. Crash draped both of his arms around Kenneth
’
s shoulders and pressed their foreheads together.
“
That
’
s right,
”
he said in a hoarse whisper.
“
Jack me off.
”

Somewhere on the sales floor, a guard
’
s keys jingled as he made his first rounds of the night. The lights were still on over Kenneth
’
s desk, which wasn
’
t so uncommon. Sometimes he had a little trouble shutting down his register.

“
Have a good one,
”
the guard called out on his way past the hallway.

Kenneth
’
s eyes peeked over the top of the counter. He
’
d stopped stroking momentarily, though of course the situation would be compromising enough if he were to be caught, whether or not his slippery hands were moving up and down.

He blanked out what he
’
d normally say for a horribly long moment, and then shouted,
“
You
,
too,
”
thinking that his own voice sounded alien.

He looked back at Crash
’
s face, eyes almost too close to properly see. Crash
’
s grin was a mile wide. He tilted his head to the side and fit his lips to Kenneth
’
s.
“
Get me off,
”
he said against Kenneth
’
s mouth.

Crash
’
s closeness was overwhelming. Kenneth wanted to back up
,
but there was nowhere to go. And the feel of Crash
’
s mouth on Kenneth
’
s lips made his dick even harder. Kenneth
’
s hands moved faster
,
and Crash gasped. It felt good to wrest control from him, even in that small way. Kenneth concentrated on his strokes, making them even and regular, focusing on the way Crash breathed against his face. He wanted to make that breathing go ragged. He wanted to make Crash moan.

Kenneth gripped Crash
’
s cock just a little harder, and Crash seemed to melt into him. Their mouths crushed together, and Crash
’
s pierced tongue parted Kenneth
’
s lips. Crash sighed a spearmint breath into Kenneth
’
s mouth as the muscles in his thighs tensed.

Crash pulled his mouth free and buried his face in the crook of Kenneth
’
s neck. His breath was hot on Kenneth
’
s collarbone as he squeezed their bodies together, murmuring,
“
Yeah, oh yeah, mmmm, yeah,
”
into Kenneth
’
s shoulder.

Crash gasped and his hips jerked. Kenneth felt the wetness of c
um
, hot and sticky on his belly. Kenneth slowed his strokes on his own dick, concentrating on making them perfect, and basking in the feel of this man draped against him, breathing hard and making satisfied noises against his shoulder.

One of Crash
’
s hands fell from around Kenneth
’
s shoulders, slipping between their bodies to cradle Kenneth
’
s balls. They pulled tight to his body, and the steady climb to the brink turned into a sudden rush. Kenneth felt the first crest of pleasure surge down to his groin, and Crash
’
s mouth covered his again.

Kenneth bucked against Crash, their hands, wet with lotion and sticky with Crash
’
s semen, tangling together to milk his pulsing dick.
Kenneth came hard, his fluids mingling with Crash
’
s between their bellies. He let himself moan into Crash
’
s mouth, and Crash welcomed it, clasping Kenneth to him tight with his free hand, grinding their bodies together in a moaning, writhing mess of lotion and come.

Crash held Kenneth against him until Kenneth
’
s hips stopped thrusting, and then he pulled away and sat back on his heels. His lips were swollen and his
T-shirt
was spotted with dark blots of lotion and telltale ropy strings of ejaculate.

He grinned and stood, offering Kenneth a hand up.

“
I had a feeling you
’
d be fun,
”
Crash said.

Kenneth had no idea how to reply. He was naked, except for the slacks around his ankles and the sticky mingling of c
um
growing tight as it dried on his skin.

Crash hitched his fly shut and turned to leave.
“
Wait a minute,
”
Kenneth said.
“
Your shirt.
”

Crash looked down at the black ball of fabric on the floor.
“
Oh, that. I just wanted to make you take it off.
”

“
But
...
your bag.
”

“
I pulled that one off the rack on my way in. My mom would never buy me a black shirt. She thinks I need more color in my wardrobe.
”
Crash winked at Kenneth, and treated him to one more grin. He whistled to himself as he made his way down the dingy little hall and out onto the dimly lit sales floor of the lowest sub
-
basement of SaverPlus.

Kenneth waited until the whistling faded away then looked around at the sad piles of unwanted clothing on the floor as he zipped up his fly and buckled his belt. He
’
d need to work at least another hour to get the return desk to the point where he could close up. And he
’
d have to
“
accidentally
”
throw away anything that might be splattered with lotion, or worse. He tried to conjure up images of a gorgeous, flat-screen monitor and a printer/scanner all-in-one to take his mind off the time, but found that hardware wasn
’
t doing a very good job of capturing his imagination at that moment.

Pale green eyes, spiked blond hair and a tongue stud were another story entirely. Kenneth picked up his black shirt from the floor, held it to his cheek, and sighed.

271

Mickey Erlach

In the fertile mind of a
twelve
-
year
-
old boy, adventure is only a split second deviation from reality. A slapped-together
“
fort
”
in the backyard becomes a castle, a cowboy bunkhouse, a spaceship cockpit or simply a place to hide-out, a place to get away from the prying eyes of parents and neighbors. I enjoyed such a sanctuary
,
which I shared with a few of my closest boyhood friends. Its rustic nature made it no less precious to us than the elegant country clubs our parents loved to frequent. So, when my dad announced his intention to build a log cabin in the forest on a lake called Morningwood, it seemed to me to be a perfectly reasonable undertaking. He and four of his closest buddies, all long
-
time friends of our family, would form a partnership
that
would assure them the complete privacy of their get-away place.

It would be six years before I learned the truth about Morningwood.

Birthdays are always supposed to be special, sugar-coated events in our lives that mean we have advanced to a higher plateau of maturity. As I awoke this morning
,
the first thought to enter my mind was that this day, the beginning of my nineteenth year was going to be one that changed my life forever. Never mind the cake, cards and presents, this was going to be the day that I would be made privy to the secrets of Morningwood.

The cabin at
Lake
Morningwood
had always been somewhat of a mystery to me. Why didn
’
t
D
ad ever take me and
M
om up there
?
A
fter all, he spent a month there every year
.
There were also those many extended weekends.

His explanation was that he and his four partners, my
“
uncles
,”
Jack, Bruce, Russ and Marc
,
had an inviolate rule:
“
No wives, kids or girlfriends allowed at the camp.
”
It was promised that once I had achieved sufficient maturity, I would be welcomed at Morningwood.

As plausible as that had been, it never did much to calm my juvenile longings to be
“
grown up
”
and to be included in something slightly forbidden
–
something only adult males could be a part of.

Picturing my life as a banquet, once I was mature enough to form such an analogy, where each course was a new experience to be savored, Morningwood would be my dessert, and I had a very powerful sweet tooth.

Dad always came back from these trips with tales of the fish he and the guys caught and how they roughed it by cooking their catches over open campfires and how afterwards, they would sit around drinking beer and playing poker or bridge and just totally unwinding from the rigors of earning a living in the city. Mom never seemed to mind these periods without
D
ad. She probably enjoyed her own brand of solitude.

* * * * *

I am Donald Oscar Crowley. Dad probably thought it would be cute to give me a name with the initials D.O.C
.
especially if I followed in his footsteps and chose medicine as a profession. Visions of embroidered guest towels, glassware, handkerchiefs and cocktail napkins no doubt ran through my mom
’
s head. The
“
O
”
was handed down to me in honor of my paternal grandfather. Dad and I shared that honor though I doubt that
G
randpa and
G
randma attached any significance to Dad
’
s monogram
“
J.O.C
.”

Like my dad, I have a nice head of jet black hair
,
which I choose to wear in a style reminiscent of 60s college frat boys. Not long, not short, but just a nice manageable length. Deep blue eyes accentuate
d
by my rather fair skin complete the picture.

My physique is nothing spectacular, weighing in at about 150
lbs
at five-ten.
Thanks to my love of swimming, my chest, waist and ass are smooth and tight. So far I haven
’
t much body hair to speak of. The
“
treasure trails
”
many of my friends take for granted, I desperately covet. Dick-wise, I
’
m deeply proud of my nice uncut six inches, which was probably spared the indignity of circumcision because my dad is similarly intact.

James Crowley, M
D,
is a well
-
respected Urologist at
Forsythe
Medical
Center
located in
Forsythe
,
Wisconsin
. We live a very comfortable life in our mission
-
style home situated on a half-acre lot in a subdivision called
“
La Foret
.”
I don
’
t consider myself spoiled
–
more privileged since I
’
ve had the privacy of my own very large bedroom since I was old enough to walk. On my
seventeenth
birthday
,
I was allowed to get my driver
’
s license
,
and Dad took me shopping for my first car, a maroon, 2001 Chrysler Sebring convertible. At that point, I felt sure my life was complete. The next milestone was my graduation from high school, which coincided with my eighteenth birthday in spring 2002. I had pretty much spent that first spring and summer goofing off with my friends who, like me were trying to
“
find
”
themselves. It was during this down time that my best buddy for many of those school years, John Rocco and I
“
found
”
ourselves in a way that would change my life forever.

My mom, Elizabeth
,
is a homemaker
,
and she is very good at it. She has her clubs and church activities that keep her busy;
D
ad has his medical practice plus the outside activities he enjoys with the group of partners who, together, own the cabin at the lake.

Dad spends a lot of his spare time in his basement workshop/lab tinkering with various mechanical and electronic instruments. He has never been one to share info
rmation
on what he is working on or what he has successfully invented. He has always discouraged
M
om and
me
from even visiting his private little world. We leave him alone
.
A
fter all, he works hard at the medical center and deserves a little peace and quiet.

Mom and
D
ad had met just after graduation from high school. They were just
nineteen
when they married. Dad already knew he would enter the field of medicine. They must have forgotten the condoms one night since just about nine months later, I was born. The difficulty of supporting a wife and a child at such an early age while starting on his medical schooling apparently hadn
’
t occurred to either of them. They managed somehow and were now enjoying the benefits of the years of hard work.

At
thirty-eight
, my father is a fine specimen of manhood. The few specks of gray starting to appear around his temples only serve to enhance his handsomely mature face. He usually sports a natural tan on his very athletic body.

Entering my teen years, whenever I got an opportunity to see him shirtless or better yet, naked, I had to suppress some very strange feelings. I found myself wanting to be near him at these times; even wondering what it would be like to touch his firm stomach or chest and to have his strong arms hold me close. He was not much of a hugger
,
and the most I usually got was a pat on the shoulder or head.

Dad had not yet had the
“
talk
”
with me about sex
,
so all my information was obtained from my schoolmates, fountains of misinformation as usual, so I didn
’
t have a clue as to what was going on in my mind and body. I got my information from whatever I read in a few medical journals and magazines I found around the house.

My discovery of masturbation at age eleven was a total surprise as I am sure it is to most guys. Nothing ever compares with the first time.

On that happy day, I was sitting on the toilet and proceeded to get a hard-on. This was not unusual
,
but for some reason this day
’
s woody felt different. As I gripped my hardening cock, instinctively my hand started sliding my foreskin back and forth, covering and uncovering the head of my now very sensitive penis. The sensation was so incredibly good that I could not stop, and I damn sure didn
’
t want to. I was in heaven and really couldn
’
t comprehend what was about to happen as the wonderful sensation became even more intense. Suddenly, my cock exploded with a gush of thick white liquid, leaving me in a state of absolute awe and exhaustion. What had I done? What had been lurking in my groin just waiting for me to bring it to life? Was my precious little jewel damaged? I sat stunned at the wonder of the event. Never had I felt anything to compare with it. Slowly, I raised a semen coated finger to my nose. The smell was not what I expected
.
I
t was sort of like the odor of fresh washed bed sheets. Quickly running to the sink, I carefully washed away any traces. The combined feelings of relief, bewilderment and extreme pleasure occupied my mind for several minutes
–
then an epiphany! This must be what the big boys called
cuming.

Reasoning that I was not the only kid to have experienced this magical moment, my mind popped back to reality
,
my heartbeat returned to normal
,
and I resolved to do some research the following day, and the day after that, and up to this moment, I am still conducting
“
research
.”

Through further experimentation, it didn
’
t take me long to find out that this was a renewable resource to be enjoyed anytime, day or night and as often as I felt the need.

Naturally, I couldn
’
t wait to share my new knowledge with my best friend Phil and assorted guys in the neighborhood. They all seemed to be as amazed by my discovery as I was and no doubt passed along this knowledge to their friends. Scout camp was probably a lot different that summer. Oh, to have been a fly on those tent flaps.

After a few years of dating various girls and getting nothing from them but an occasional kiss and maybe a quick feel of tit, I found that I was looking more and more at other males as objects of my sexual fantasies.

At eighteen, I had my first truly passionate affair with another
guy
, John Rocco
,
and it changed my life dramatically
(m
ore about that later
)
. It was a bit hard for me to accept, but now the realization that I was
“
queer
”
set in. As far as I knew, my parents had not a clue that I was gay and that was fine with me. Sooner or later they would figure it out.

* * * * *

Now, here I am at ripe old age of nineteen
,
and my libido is running wild. I can get a hard-on from eating a banana. For sure, this summer was going to be anything but dull now that I was to be introduced to life at the cabin on the lake.

“
Happy Birthday, Don
…
now go pack your bag, we
’
re leaving for the cabin in the morning.
”
Dad was beaming as he spoke those magic words.

I had arrived.

There were four other members of the group plus my dad. Since they had been part of our family life for many years; I had grown to regard them as benevolent
“
uncles
.”
All of them were about the same age as
D
ad and were more or less successful in their professions.

My favorite was Bruce O
’
Reilly
,
a
red-head of Irish descent with a great sense of humor. I guess what made him so appealing to me was his ability to entertain me and my friends with an endless stream of jokes and stories
that
he told in a fake Irish accent. Solidly built, about
five-ten
with well-muscled arms and legs
,
h
e had his own architectural practice and was still single. Bruce appeared to really enjoy his life as a bachelor. This intrigued me and caused me to wonder about his sex life. Could he be
…
?

Then there was Russ Gordon. A pretty ordinary guy, brown hair, cut short in a military style. I suspect this was a holdover from his
A
rmy days. Married, but no children
,
h
is wife, Barbara
,
was somewhat of a recluse and never appeared at any of the picnics or other social functions the group held. This was a sexless marriage for sure. Russ didn
’
t display a muscular build, but more lean and tight like a seasoned swimmer. He had some vague connection with a stock brokerage firm. His biggest feature in my young eyes was his sexy
,
red Jaguar XK convertible
,
which was probably his solution to a mid-life crisis.