Date: Sun, 25 May 2008 14:39:37 -0500
From: Amber Fountaine <amber_fountaine@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Lighthouse - Chap. 1

Amber Fountaine stories contain sexually explicit descriptions of
consensual sexual activity and are not suitable for reading by anyone under
the age of 18, or anyone offended by reading such material. These acts
include gay and bisexual activity as well as any combination of piss play,
diapers, cross-dressing and other fetishes and perversions that may please
the author's whims. The characters in these stories are fictional, but are
mostly based on the author's true experiences, as well as the experiences
of others he has met. Every attempt to conceal these identities has been
made. These stories are placed in Nifty for the enjoyment of its readers
and are not to be copied and/or distributed without the approval of the
author.

			      The Lighthouse
			    by Amber Fountaine

				Chapter One

	Paul and I jumped at the job. It seemed perfect for us. It had just
enough adventure to it to excite a couple of twenty-one year old college
guys and I guess we're both romantics at heart because the idea of living
in a rustic old lighthouse for a month or two seemed to both of us as
. . . cool. I'm not sure how else to put it. What ever chord it struck, it
struck us both because we told each other, almost in perfect unison, "Let's
do it!"
	In a small college town, the alternatives for a summer job - as
we'd already discover the hard way - were indoors, flipping burgers on the
shift no one else wanted; or maybe outdoors, working at Wal-Mart or a
grocery store, collecting shopping carts in parking lots in the summer
heat. With that to compare to, this lighthouse gig was like a gift from
heaven.
	Maybe I should explain how we got into this sort of last minute job
hunt thing. I'm Nick, Paul is my roomie, and we both play baseball for
Mid-State University. Mid-State had never had a very successful athletic
program in any major sport. Exactly how and why the baseball team jelled
like it did that season is still a matter of speculation. But it did. And
half-way through the season, we knew we'd be in the regionals, even if we
coasted. We were all afraid to say, "Omaha," out loud for fear of somehow
jinxing our chances, but we were all thinking this might be the year that
we actually went to the College World Series.
	That's not until June, when the school was officially out for the
summer. And to get to Omaha, there's a few regional tournaments to get past
on the way. But that didn't seem to bother us. We were sure we'd be playing
baseball right up to the final game of the World Series in mid-to-late June
and had made our plans accordingly. Or in our case, hadn't made any plans
at all, assuming we'd be busy.
	So back in April and May, when the other kids that weren't going
home for the summer began lining up summer jobs, Paul and I were still on
the ball field. He and I were the middle infielders on a highly touted
defense with pretty good batting averages to boot. Since we were both
juniors, we'd be eligible for the player draft this year and while we both
said we wanted to go ahead and graduate, a nice fat check from some major
league club might easily have swayed either of us.
	As a result, all we thought about was baseball. When we got
eliminated in the first round of regionals, and then we were overlooked in
the draft, we were in shock. For a couple of days we moped around the dorm,
all the while knowing we had to make a decision on our summer plans and
make it quick. If we stayed in the dorm, we'd have to pay for the summer
months and they were pressing us to stay or go. Neither of us wanted to go
home for the summer for one reason or another and that was about all we
agreed on.
	"I want to do something - go somewhere," Paul told me, "Just as
long as I don't have to see or hear a baseball game."
	I agreed. I knew by the time the fall semester started, and we got
back in the gym to prepare for our senior year, and the Major League
pennant races were heating up, we'd feel different. But right then, at that
moment, it hurt to walk out of the dorm and see the baseball field off to
one side in the distance.
	Then we happened to notice a small poster on the bulletin board
near the dorm entryway. It had been there all year, maybe for the entire
last three years, but up to that moment, we'd never noticed it. There was a
company in town that specialized in part-time and temporary jobs and they
were looking for college students to fill positions.
	"Wouldn't hurt to go by there," Paul suggested.
	"Beats the shit out of staying here all day," I agreed.
	That's when the angel of fate stepped in. Every temp service within
two-hundred miles of the coast had been notified of the immediate opening
for two people, preferably a couple, to run the lighthouse for a month or
two. The only qualification was that the man (or woman I suppose) of the
couple must have mechanical ability. The reason, as explained to us, was
that while the lighthouse had electricity most of the time, it was in a
very remote location and in bad weather, when the lighthouse was needed
most, the electricity was subject to go out. There was a standby generator
that needed to be kept at the ready.
	Paul and I were both old hot-rodders. If there was anything we
loved as much or more than baseball, it was cars and engines. We were both
engineering students with a desire to work in Detroit - or play for the
Tigers. We'd have been happy either way.
	At first, the lady we talked to at the temp service had hesitated
to tell us about the job. Obviously, they wanted a man and wife for the job
as a fill-in for the man and wife that were there now. But a phone call to
the State office that had posted the request, after they'd thought about it
for like - two seconds - was that two guys would be okay too - as long as
they were available immediately.
	Now if we'd been thinking, that should have told us that there
weren't dozens of people clambering for this wonderful job. But I guess we
were as desperate for a job as they were as desperate for someone to fill
it. We had exactly one day to make up our minds, load up Paul's car, and
head for the coast. The only thing I could think of that I didn't
particularly like was that I didn't have time to get my fishing gear from
home.
	The way it was described to us was that this place was on an
island, out off the coast, south of the bay where the ships entered the
Intracoastal Waterway, right where one of the biggest rivers in the state
flowed into the Gulf. There was a guy down the coast that had a contract to
deliver food, mail, and if necessary, gas for the generator, and came out
at least once a week. Paul assured me that the people that lived at the
lighthouse probably had plenty of fishing gear and that he intended to
spend most of his free time swimming. We really thought of it as a paid
vacation!
	Then we met the Dartmans. The guy at the temp service said we'd be
filling in for an `older' couple. Geoff, the guy with the supply contract
that took us out to the island and would be storing Paul's car called them
"older." Geoff looked to be pushing forty, almost our parent's age, and
that was older to us. When you're twenty-one, anyone over the age of your
parents automatically puts them in the same bracket as your grand-parents;
so meeting two people with gray hair, and one of them on crutches, made us
wonder if they'd be back at all.
      According to what they told us, Sam Dartman needed a hip replacement
and Doreen, his wife, who didn't appear as old, possibly my mom's age,
would be staying with him until he was fully recovered. They expected to be
back in thirty to forty-five days, sixty at the very most if there were any
complications, and that they should know for sure within a week. Sam was
scheduled for surgery as soon as they could get him to shore and checked
into the hospital.
	"Sure thank you boys," Sam told us as he hobbled to the boat with
Doreen and Geoff carrying a couple of suitcases. "They've been trying to
get someone out here for months. Should have thought of a couple of you
college kids quicker." Grinning, he added, "Try not to party too much." You
have to love guys with that sort of humor. He told use that like he'd just
told the funniest joke ever. Then he paused to let Doreen and Geoff get in
the boat and used the opportunity to say to me privately, "The best time to
use the telescope is in the late afternoon and early evening." Then he
winked and let them help him into the boat.
	As Geoff was untying the lines, because neither Paul nor I knew
enough to help with that, Doreen told us, "If you need to clear out some
space in a dresser, that's okay. They just told us this morning you were
coming."
	Then they were waving and we were waving and in a few minutes they
were a dot on the horizon.
	Paul asked me what Sam had whispered to me and I told him what Sam
had said about the telescope. He gave me a blank look, sort of looked
around 360 degrees and then chuckled. "At what?"
	I had to agree with him. There'd been a resort of some sort out on
the point we'd gone around to get here, but that was at least a mile away
and looked deserted. So we set about to explore where we'd be living for
the next few weeks - and we weren't very impressed.
	If this paid vacation had been one we'd have had to pay for, I
think we'd have been on the first boat to shore and asking for our money
back. One of the great things about this job was that we got paid and had
no place to spend it. If we didn't go on a spending spree when we got back
to shore, we'd have some money saved up for the fall. We'd filled out
paperwork that allowed them to send our check straight to the bank. But
other than that, there wasn't much to like about the deal.
	We'd both imagined one of those tall, round, white, concrete
lighthouses like the pretty pictures in jigsaw puzzles. This place was more
like a four-hundred square foot cabin with a sort of second floor in one
corner that looked as if someone had built a gazebo on the roof. In a
corner of the cabin, there was a small, steep, fully enclosed stairway up
to the second floor with a big fuse box on the outside of the
stairs. Throwing the lever up turned on the light and made the whole house
shudder as it began to turn. The first time we tried it, we quickly killed
the power thinking we'd done something wrong. But after a couple of tries,
we determined that once it got going, it smoothed out to a soft, rumbling
noise that we'd have to learn to sleep through.
	The emergency generator was outside under a small shed. Paul
pointed out the size of the fuel storage tank and speculated as to why we'd
need a nearly full, 250 gallon tank if we only lost power for `a short
time' as they'd told us. I suggested that - hopefully - it was because
Geoff's boat couldn't haul much more than a fifty-five gallon drum and that
he probably used a bigger and much more expensive boat to refuel the tank
and therefore, it was done less often. One of our instructions was to make
a daily test of the generator, letting it run for a minimum of fifteen
minutes to keep the battery charged. The engine was just like the one in my
uncle's old truck, which I figured got maybe fifteen miles to the gallon at
an average of thirty miles an hour. If that worked out to two gallons an
hour, and we didn't run the generator for much longer that the required
fifteen minutes, then we'd use less than four gallons a week - unless the
electricity went out.
	Most of what we knew about the job had come from Geoff. He was a
super nice guy that had lived in the area all his life. He told us about
being a commercial fisherman who had changed over to doing charter work and
said that the only time the electricity had gone out for a long time had
been when a large boat had anchored outside the bay entrance and had pulled
up the power cable when they raised their anchor. That's when they'd put in
the generator. There were huge signs, like billboards, telling boats not to
anchor in the area. One covered the back wall of the cabin and another was
a couple of hundred feet offshore, over near the point. But as Geoff said,
shit happens. There was a radio we could use to call the Coast Guard if we
saw anyone looking like they were going to drop anchor or if we spotted any
sort of emergency or couldn't get the beacon on for any reason. We could
also contact him on another channel if he happened to have his radio on and
needed something added to his next delivery.
	"If a storm blows in," he'd told us. "It's a good idea for one of
you to stay up in the loft and scan the area with binoculars for small
boats trying to get in that might founder."
	By the time Paul and I had finished our inspection we felt like we
were being taken back fifty or a hundred years in some time machine. We
were college kids, used to the latest technology, like spending hours a day
on the computer and walking around campus with a cell phone or some music
machine in our ear. To our dismay, the cell phones had gone out of range
back around the point and neither of us had thought to bring so much as a
radio. Paul had brought his lap-top but I wasn't sure why. We had
electricity to keep the battery charged, but no way to connect to the
internet. He was going to get very tired of playing Solitaire, the only
thing I could think of he could use it for. There was one radio, a clock
radio beside the bed, and no TV. Not exactly modern conveniences. But it
did have a stove and refrigerator and I guess we should have been thankful
for that.
      For that matter, I didn't understand why they still had things like a
lighthouse. I mean, with all the GPS navigation now, even the smallest boat
should have one. Geoff's boat had one. Even my dad's little fishing boat
had one. There wasn't any excuse in my opinion to be getting anywhere close
to running aground or whatever purpose the lighthouse served.
	The first week went rather quickly. And just as Geoff had told us,
we had a shopping list for him when he brought out our supplies, along with
the news that Sam's operation had been a success and he should be back on
schedule. Geoff must have sensed we had little experience in the kitchen
back when he'd brought us out and had joked about the food he'd be
bringing. We were just young and naïve enough that we didn't catch on to a
lot of the things Geoff had said.
      The `staples' that the job provided were for someone that could cook;
a small problem we hadn't considered. Eggs we could fry. Milk we could
drink. But neither of us had any idea how to put it together with the flour
and sugar to bake anything. For Paul and me, fixing a meal meant something
like a bowl of cereal or a PBJ. There was another small problem too. Sex.
	That first week it wasn't mentioned. I don't know why. It was
something we'd talked about in the dorm all the time. Maybe because now we
were sleeping in the same bed. There was one night that first week that I
woke up with Paul's arm around me and it had scared me to death. That had
never happened when the team traveled and he and I had shared a bed. The
school budget was tight and if we overnighted somewhere, it wasn't unusual
for the team to sleep four to a room in a pair of full-size or queen-size
beds. We'd been told about the lighthouse accommodations when we first
heard about the job and didn't figure that to be a problem. But on the
road, we'd never slept together for more than a night unless we went to a
tournament or something. Sleeping in the same bed every night was a lot
different than I'd thought.
	We'd both jacked off under the covers in our dorm room many times
in the last three years. At first we'd denied it and then as we'd gotten to
know each other, had gotten to where we joked about it. We never flaunted
it or anything, but had reached a point where if one of us was doing it,
the other would soon have a pud pounding session going too. But in the same
bed . . . at the same time . . . that was all too queer sounding to me. I
was surprised when during the second week Paul told me he didn't feel the
same way.
	Since there wasn't anyone around for miles, by the third day we'd
decided wearing swim suits was silly. We'd spent enough time in the showers
together, both in the dorm and in the gym, that nudity was nothing to
us. Of course that had been when we were surrounded by other guys and had
girlfriends to take care of our sexual needs - at least some of the
time. But one afternoon in the middle of the second weekend Paul came in
from a late afternoon swim while I'd been taking my turn testing the
generator, and he was half hard, pulling on his dick, and told me, "Shit
dude. I don't know about you, but I HAVE to jack off and I don't care who
knows it!"
	I laughed. "What happened? See a sexy mermaid or something?"
	"I wish Nick! No. The damn water just wasn't cold enough."
	We'd been cautioned about the tides and currents surrounding the
island. We were close enough to a river estuary that we had fresh water to
swim and bath in except at high tide. The island was what was left of a
volcanic dome that had withstood the battering of millions of years. Geoff
brought us big bottles of water for drinking and cooking, but our water
supply came right out of the bay and it was just as easy for us to dive off
the dock to rinse off as it was to hop in the shower.
	"So what caused the wood that you needed a cold dip?"
	Paul clammed up and blushed and that wasn't like him. Of the two of
us, he was by far the most outspoken, especially about sex. I wondered if
it had anything to do with his being up in the loft for a while, prior to
his running out and diving off the dock. I didn't ask, just told him, "Well
the only one that will know about it is me. If the monkey needs a spanking,
get after it."
	"You plan to sit there and watch?"
	"I might," I teased. "But I know how SHORT the show will be."
	"Shit too! Any time you want to compare hard cocks, you know you'll
lose."
	He was probably right about that. My average size dick wasn't close
to his that I could tell. Suddenly I wondered just how big his cock got
when it was hard, probably because he was still pulling on it and it was
bigger than I'd ever seen it. I shrugged, like I wasn't really that
interested, but asked casually, "So how big does it get?"
	That seemed to be all the approval he needed to begin jacking it up
to full size. Since I'd asked, he no longer was showing off, merely
answering my query. I watched mesmerized as he beat his meat for at least
two minutes and then stopped, hard as a rock, with precum drooling from the
tip, his prick bouncing and twitching slightly. "That big enough for you?"
he asked proudly.
	The last part, the words, "For you," ricocheted around in my brain
as I put them together with any number of thoughts. Had he really gotten
hard for me? Was he offering me his cock? Did he think I liked cocks of a
certain size? And did his measure up to what I wanted? "Hey! It's not for
me," I finally protested.
	"Too bad," he told me, then headed into the bathroom to finish in
private.
	Back in our dorm room, when one of us jacked off, the other would
usually follow suit and sometimes we'd both have our bedcovers bouncing in
unison. So I reasoned that if Paul was going to jack off, I wouldn't be out
of place doing the same thing. For some reason, watching Paul had gotten me
hot and hard and I needed to almost as bad as he had. I stood long enough
to slip out of my shorts and since I wasn't wearing underwear, was quickly
spurting out a load into the palm of my free hand. When I finished, and
opened my eyes, Paul was standing there grinning at me.
	"Interesting," he commented. "I got turned on looking at all those
naked bodies. You got turned on looking at my naked body." Then he turned
and walked to the door, pausing to tell me, "Go ahead and lick your hand
clean. I've seen you do that when you didn't think I was watching."
	I didn't know what to say. But he was right about both things. I
had gotten turned on watching him jack his cock and usually when I jacked
off in the dorm, I'd roll on my side when I was ready to cum and try to
catch it in my hand. Then when I thought Paul wasn't looking, I'd lick my
hand clean. I'd probably done that dozens of times in the last three years
thinking I'd gotten away with it. But all this time he'd known that I like
the taste of my cum. For some reason, maybe to see his reaction, and though
I was blushing from head to toe I'm sure, I brought my hand to my mouth and
licked up my cum.
	Paul grinned a little bigger, and went out to take another dip.
	That night I was almost afraid to climb in bed with Paul. And it
wasn't until I heard him begin to lightly snore that I relaxed enough to go
to sleep. In the meantime, I thought about what had happened that day,
getting hard again in the process, and then remembered what he'd said about
seeing all those naked bodies . . . . I almost woke him up to ask and
wondered why I hadn't caught that earlier.
	In addition to the large boats that were headed into the bay and
channel, there were often pleasure craft in the area. I'd seen everything
from small aluminum fishing boats to house boats and pontoon boats go by
and assumed Paul had caught sight of some impromptu nudity. One afternoon
I'd spotted a pontoon boat with two guys and four girls and the girls had
been topless. I'd watched them until they'd gone out of sight. In addition
to Sam's telescope, there were two pair of high power binoculars up in the
loft.
	The telescope that Sam had mentioned was also in the loft and way
too powerful to look at anything like a passing boat. It was one of those
kind that's sort of short and fat and you look into the side of and study
stars and planets and such. The science club back at my high school had
bought one like it, but smaller, as a gift to the school. I assumed Sam was
an astronomer or something to have spent that kind of money on a
telescope. Obviously, I still hadn't thought it all the way through or I
would have caught on that late afternoon and early evening are NOT the
times you want to be star gazing. And up in the loft, after the beacon was
on, you wouldn't be able to see anything anyway.
	But my interest was piqued to the point that the next afternoon,
while Paul was busy taking his turn with the generator, I used the time
like he'd done to check out the loft, in case I'd been missing something.
	There was one sailboat heading in from somewhere and I watched them
for a short time with the binoculars. Then, just to see how powerful that
telescope might be, I pointed it in their direction and could tell the guy
at the helm hadn't shaved that day! As powerful as it was, it was hard to
hold it on the boat and harder still to find it again when a slight
movement would cause me to lose it. And that's when I accidentally pointed
it at the resort.
	NOW I knew where Paul had seen all those naked bodies. It was the
weekend and that resort was a nudist camp! It didn't take five minutes for
me to be in the same condition that Paul had been in the day before and I
debated about heading for the dock for a dip in the cold water. However, I
didn't think it would do me any more good than it had Paul. So slowly I
began stroking myself, watching the men and women. The girls at school were
almost all into a `bikini' cut of their pubic hair, leaving a small patch
of short hair just above their slit. Seeing women walking around proudly
displaying a full bush was arousing if only because it was so
different. And the variety of tits was amazing too. All the tits I'd seen
were near mirror images of each other, as you might expect from girls in
their teens. But the tits on grown women came in all sorts of sizes and
shapes.
	When I heard Paul shut the generator down, I hollered down at
him. "You asshole! Why didn't you tell me about this?"
	He stepped around the corner of the shed to where he could look up
at me, hanging out one of the openings. There were no windows on the top
floor; just openings with an overhang to keep most of the rain out. So he
grinned up at me. "Damn Nick. Took you long enough to find them!" he
hollered back. Then he disappeared and I assumed he was coming to join
me. When I heard the door at the foot of the stairs open, I knew I'd been
right and wondered what he'd say when he saw my erection. Yet when he got
to the top of the stairs, he just looked at me quizzically.
	"What are you looking at?" he asked.
	Now it was my turn to be quizzical. "The naked bodies. What did you
think?"
	"Out there?"
	"No asshole. Down on the dock. Hundreds of them," I said with
sarcasm. "Of course out there. Where did you think?"
	"In the books," he said, moving to take my place at the telescope.
	Almost immediately, I heard him say, "Holy shit!" Then he looked up
at me. "It's a fuckin' nudist camp!"
	"Well I haven't seen any fucking, but you're right about the nudist
part." Then I asked, "What books?"
	He blushed and nodded to the small locked cabinet on one side of
the room, then went back to concentrating on the telescope while I looked
in the direction he'd nodded. It was a small cabinet with two doors, about
waist high, and with a recently added hasp and padlock. I'd noticed the
cabinet the first day, and seeing the lock, assumed it was for parts for
the beacon or tools or something, and sort of laughed that anyone would
bother to lock anything out in the middle of . . . maybe a gazillion
gallons of water. Whoever had put the hasp on had been in a rush and the
part that was supposed to be folded under to hide the screws was stretched
out and someone - obviously Paul - had taken out the screws to get in the
cabinet. I'd never noticed it at all until that moment.
	So I walked over to it, opened the doors and found a huge stash of
porno books. These were the naked bodies he'd gotten excited about, and not
the ones I'd accidentally found with the telescope. I grabbed a handful of
the books, or magazines, and laid them on the top of the cabinet, amazed by
just the cover pictures alone.
	Every year at our dorm we'd had to sign a paper stating that we
understood the rules about alcohol and drugs and pornography in the
dorms. And every year within a week or two there'd be beer cans in the
trash in the hall, the smell of pot in the evenings, and a well used
`Playboy' or `Penthouse' or something similar would be left for the next
occupant of one of the hallway restrooms. But never had I seen magazines
like this! The people in these pictures weren't just fucking
one-on-one. They were doing it in groups and the women were doing it with
each other. And most amazing, so were the men! On the cover of one magazine
was a picture of a guy fucking a girl while another guy fucked him and two
other guys were getting their cocks sucked by the fucking guy and gal. I
was afraid to open it or any of the others for fear of what I'd see
next. But one thing for sure, the cock that had gotten stiff while I'd been
looking through the telescope was now as hard as I'd ever felt it. Stiff to
the point of being painful and I was afraid to touch it! I was sure just
shifting it would cause it to explode.
	I was standing there looking down at the magazines and didn't
realize Paul had walked up behind me until he spoke.
	"Awesome huh? "Now you know why I got so fuckin' hard yesterday."
	I nodded and mumbled, "Yeah," again.
	"You wouldn't believe some of the shit in there," he told me. "Wait
until you see some of the ones in the bottom of the other cabinet."
	I didn't see how anything could be any wilder than what I was
looking at, but I opened the other door and took a few books off each
shelf. The magazines from the top shelf were all about guys dressed as
women. I was amazed at how good looking some of those men looked dressed as
women. If you covered their erections, you'd swear they were women. But the
ones on the bottom shelf, as Paul had indicated, were the most
incredible. In addition to sucking and fucking - all men sucking men I
noted - the pictures involved people pissing on each other. And not just on
their bodies; in over half the pictures that I glanced at quickly, they
were peeing in each other's mouths! In a couple, everyone - both male and
female - were wearing diapers AND not just like it was Halloween or
something - those diapers were obviously very wet! Grownups in diapers
. . . phenomenal!
	I was tempted to say, "Holy shit!" like Paul had when he'd first
glanced in the telescope but I was having a hard time breathing. My ears
were ringing and my whole body felt numb. I'd never imagined some of these
things. Sure, I'd heard people remark, "Piss on you," but it had never
occurred to me that anyone really did that. The cross-dressing . . . well,
I'll admit I had tried fooling around with my cousin Adele's clothes back
when I'd been in high school. I'd put on a few things, jacked off, and
after doing it a few times, that had been the end of that. And maybe, if I
was really, really honest, I'd thought about what it might feel like to
hold another guys cock and yes, even what it would be like to put it in my
mouth. But that DID NOT mean I wanted to really try it. I think everyone
has to be at least a little curious about what sex would be like with their
own sex, as much as it's discussed in the media these days.
	As I stood there trying to ignore the pain of my swollen cock, and
the excitement I felt, glancing down at the magazines and trying to look
like I was nonchalantly glancing through them, I recalled something that
had come to mind while trying to fall asleep the night before. Paul's
reaction to me licking up my cum had made me think about how often I'd done
that and when I'd started. I'd narrowed it down to a year and a particular
summer and then had blocked it from my mind. But as I looked at one of the
books with men dressed as women, usually sucking the cock of another
she-male or man or group of men, I was certain it had begun that same month
my cousin had spent living with us while my aunt and uncle were in Europe -
the month I'd dressed in Adele's clothes. I'd gotten the urge to taste cum
while I'd been dressed in my cousin's lingerie.
	"I think it's time for me to go jump in the bay," I tried to joke.
	"Won't do any good," Paul told me, still standing close behind
me. "Water's too warm to help. Let's grab a handful of these books and take
them downstairs and enjoy ourselves."
	While I was nervous about where that might lead, there was no doubt
I needed to `enjoy myself' as Paul had put it. I got even more nervous when
I turned and saw Paul's shorts on the floor by the telescope and when I
glanced down, just like I suspected, Paul's cock was as stiff as mine,
almost poking me in the hip. I reached behind me to grab some of the
magazines, hoping to get an assortment from each shelf without looking, and
then headed for the stairs. I saw Paul grab some too and then he was right
behind me.
	Because the beacon room was open to the elements, there was a
plastic cover for the telescope and I'd just reached the bottom of the
steep stairs when I realized we hadn't put the cover back on. I turned to
say something to Paul and came face-to-face with his cock, stiff and
leaking precum, no more than a foot from my nose. I froze like a deer in
headlights, torn between two urges. The first was to bolt and run. The
second, the one that made me blush and flush with excitement, was to kiss
that cock and put it in my mouth . . . The thought that I'd actually want
to do that - for real - was as stunning as the books or Paul's stiff prick.
	With willpower I didn't know I had, I stepped back against the
door, looked up, and told Paul, "Don't . . . uh, don't forget to cover the
telescope."
	Paul laughed at me. After sharing a dorm room for three years, he
knew how excited I was and how close I'd come to doing something with his
cock. I think we both understood by then that we weren't leaving that giant
rock of an island before we'd taken our friendship to a MUCH higher
level. Whether it was that afternoon, or that evening in bed, or sometime
that week or month; we tacitly understood at that moment that we were going
to try it all.
	There was one table that served multiple purposes in the small
cabin. It was the main piece of furniture in the main room that also served
multiple purposes. When the place had been built, it looked like it had
been intended for one person to live there alone in one large, 10 by 10
room, the bottom half of a two-story 10 by 10 building. That lower level
had functioned for everything except the toilet. That was sort of an
attached room off to one side that housed the shower, sink, and
commode. Directly above on the second floor was the lighthouse beacon
room. Then someone had added six or eight feet on one side to house a
larger kitchen area and then built on a second long room on an adjoining
wall to act as a bedroom. By the time they'd finished, the original ten by
ten had grown to eighteen by twenty and two separate rooms on the lower
lever with the beacon room now above one corner of the structure.
	I put my handful of magazines on the table and moved to sit at one
of the four chairs at the table. I was surprised that Paul didn't try to
join me until he explained what I hadn't caught on to.
	"If we sit at the table, we can't watch each other," he pointed
out. "Let's go in the bedroom."
	I nodded dumbly, picked up my handful of magazines again, and this
time I followed him. When he put his handful of books on the bed in the
middle, I did too and when he laid down and began stroking his cock, I took
off my shorts and joined him, using the pile of books in the middle of the
bed as a divider, to keep from getting too close. After about a minute, he
picked up one of the books and using his free hand, began to page through
it, holding it so that I could see the book and not his cock. I thought
about saying something until I noticed the book he'd picked up was one of
the ones showing men dressed as women, usually with a cock in their
mouths. I could tell by the noises he made that Paul was enjoying the book
and wondered if it was one I'd grabbed without looking, or one he'd grabbed
on purpose. It seemed to me that Paul was turned on by guys in drag,
something I would have never suspected.
	After a moment, he asked, "Nick . . . Would you do something like
that?"
	Assuming he meant dress as a woman, I told him, "Maybe." I'd been
thinking along the same lines and was trying to remember what I'd liked
about it that time when I'd gotten into Adele's things. I was wondering if
I should tell him about that.
	"It wouldn't bother you knowing the woman is really a guy? Or would
you want to be one of the girls that's doing the sucking?"
	I realized then that he'd meant would I let another guy blow me. I
should have asked before I answered. "Oh. I thought you meant dress as a
girl. I . . ."
	"You'd dress as a girl? Really? That would be so cool. I'd love to
see you do that. You'd look cute dressed as Nicki."
	I should have known by that time to keep my mouth shut unless I had
all the facts and thought it through. But instead, I told him, "Well that's
not likely to happen here. All we have with us is jeans and shorts and some
t-shirts and a jacket." Then I tried to joke, "I thought about bringing my
prom dress but changed my mind."
	He turned and looked at me and I was amazed when he asked,
seriously, "Do you have a prom dress?"
	"No asshole. I was joking. There's no way to dress like that here
if we wanted to."
	"But you would if you could?"
	I shrugged, not sure if I would or not. It was an exciting idea
. . . but weird and I was sure I'd be doing things like those `girls' in
the magazine if I tried it. But . . . I was pretty sure I'd be doing that
anyway the way things were going. So . . .
	Paul interrupted my thoughts. "There is a way we could do it if you
want to," he said, still serious. "She left most of her clothes here,
remember?"
	I don't know why I hadn't thought of that. The large bedroom had
big closets and storage spaces on each end of the room and two large
dressers. We hadn't had to bother any of it, because as I'd said, we hadn't
brought much and hadn't worn much of what we'd brought. There wasn't
anywhere to go and nothing to do that required us getting dressed. Geoff
had let us know he came out on Thursdays so that was the only time we'd
made a point to get dressed in anything more than shorts - if at all. I'd
piled my things on top of one dresser and Paul had done the same with the
other. I hadn't so much as bothered to open a door or drawer since we
hadn't needed the space. But it would appear that Paul was a much more
nosey guy than I'd ever thought to be.
	"What are you thinking?" I asked, though I thought I knew.
	"Well we don't have much else to do to entertain ourselves. If we
were careful, I think we could dress in her clothes just for the hell of
it."
	In my mind I was almost laughing at his `just for the hell of it'
remark. Like I hadn't noticed how close to cumming he'd been from looking
at pictures of guys in women's lingerie sucking each other's dicks. That
kind of kinky sex was obviously something he wanted to try and to my
surprise, so did I! But rather than jump at the chance, I followed his laid
back lead. "Might be fun," I mused aloud. "Damn sure be different than what
any of the other guys on the team are doing this summer."
	"Regret not getting in a summer league again?" he asked.
	I shook my head and told him, "No. Not at all." In a couple of more
weeks, I might not feel that way. We'd played summer league ball in the
Dallas area the previous summer, hoping to get some attention from a pro
scout. Nothing had come of it except the fun we'd had with a couple of
baseball groupies that had fucked us silly for two months. So I hedged my
original answer. "Well, I do miss Cheryl. But she could be married or going
with some other guy by now."
	"Very true," he agreed. "So who's going to do it first? Or should
we both try it?"
	"Dressing as a girl?" I'd never considered that he might want to do
that too. Had he had an Adele in his past that I didn't know about? I'd
missed the way he'd been saying `we' every time he mentioned it.
	"Yeah," he told me, then answering the question I hadn't
asked. Sometimes I swear he could read my mind. "I did it one time years
ago. It was for some silly damn skit in school. I didn't have to dress
completely as a girl, but for some reason I wanted to and even wore some of
my sister's panties and stuff."
	"She must have been a lot smaller then," I commented. His `little'
sister was the size of both of us combined. Janie was going to college now
at one of the schools we played in our conference and she'd come to the
games a couple of times and I'd met her.
	Paul laughed. "No, not Janie. I meant my older sister Lilly. She's
the one I told you is married to the Air Force guy. Back then we were
exactly the same size."
	Like me and Adele, I thought. I'd gone on to gain a few more pounds
and another couple of inches of height, but at the time, we'd been almost
identical in size and had once been mistaken as twins. I'd tell him about
that later. At the moment it was more important to keep the idea
alive. "Oh. Well I guess if we both did it, we wouldn't have to worry about
the other guy making fun of him or telling off back at Mid-State.
	"Yeah. That's what I was thinking," he agreed. "I mean I trust you
not to say anything no matter what we decide to try, but it's better when
we both do it so that . . . well it keeps us honest. You know?"
	"Sure. You're right. I trust you too." Then to let him know I was
in tune with what he'd probably meant I added, echoing his words, "No
matter what we decide to try."
	The smile that remark got me indicated I'd guessed right. We seemed
to be in complete agreement, though nothing had been said, that we should
try all the things we'd seen in the books. Dressing in women's clothes
seemed like as good a place to start as any. When Paul got up and went to
the dresser where my things were piled, I knew I'd also been right about
his being nosey. He knew exactly where to find the things we needed. What
surprised me then was the assortment we had to choose from.
	Like I said, there was nothing to do on this island. While a few
boats went by close enough that we could wave, no one had made any effort
to stop and visit, other than Geoff's duty call a couple of days back. Yet
Doreen had an assortment of lingerie like she was a hooker that needed to
change twice a day - or more. Living on an island, I could see the need to
have a fish net, but not fish net stockings and garter belts to hold them
up. Much of what she had was nearly identical to the things the models wore
in the porno magazines. If that's what the Dartmans had occupied their time
with, I could understand how Sam could have worn out his hip - to say
nothing of a few other body parts! Paul and I had brought shorts and blue
jeans and most of the time we were overdressed in shorts. The only thing
that sexy lingerie would have been good for was entertaining a lover so we
had a real good idea of how the Dartmans spent their free time!
	"Wow!" Paul said for the umpteenth time as he held up a very sexy
bustier. "I can't imagine Mrs. Dartman in this."
	"Me either. Or Mr. Dartman. But it'll look great on you."
	He looked at me and blushed. "You really think so?"
	"I'm throwing wood just thinking about it."
	"Shit! You throw wood thinking about the newspaper crossword
puzzle." But the look on his face told me he was proud of my compliment.
	Somewhere among all the bantering and teasing we were doing to each
other, our minds went from wondering what it would be like to wanting very
much to try it. As if by some mutual, tacit consent, we began picking out
things to put on and then . . . we were doing it. We were putting them
on. We had to help each other a couple of times and there was no doubt at
all of our sexual arousal. Paul had somehow pushed his cock to one side so
that it stayed inside his panties, but the head was oozing pre-cum that
left a large round wet spot in the peach colored panties. The panties I'd
put on couldn't keep my cock from popping up and it wasn't until I added a
garter belt and trapped the head under it that it wasn't sticking out in
front of me and drawing remarks from Paul.
	At one point Paul pulled out a couple of foam pads, shaped like
fake tits. "I guess she's flat-chested."
	Doreen Dartman had been wearing baggy clothes and no makeup so
neither of us had really paid that much attention to her. I couldn't
remember if she'd been fat or thin as a rail. I guess somewhere in between
as well as her clothes fit us. "Unless they were for Sam to wear," I told
Paul.
	He nodded. "You might be right. It looks like there's more than
enough of this stuff for two people. Maybe they both get dressed up in
it. There's three, no four sets of these rubber tits."
	"Falsies," I corrected him. "That's what the girls call them,
remember?"
	"Why should I remember? They're just for the girls you go out
with. All my girlfriends have real tits."
	I didn't argue. We were done dressing. I had on a bra, panties,
garter-belt, and hose, and I was ready to do whatever we were going to
do. I wasn't sure what to do next and my silence encouraged Paul to take
the lead.
	"I never realized that doing this could be so exciting," he told
me. "Look at how hard my cock is."
	That was pointless. I'd been looking at little else for the last
couple of minutes. But when he was sure he had my attention there, he began
to rub the length of it through the nylon material.
	"I don't think I've ever been harder," he said, then told me, "Feel
it."
	That was the cue I'd been waiting for. It took the decision out of
my hands, so to speak, and freeing my mind to allow my hand to take the
place of the one Paul had been using to stroke himself. As my fingers
glided along the smooth nylon, I could feel the heat and power of the
rampant erection beneath the material. I used the tip of one finger to rub
the slick pre-cum around in a circle and he told me, "Take it out and do
that."
	Pulling the panties down in front, I freed that beast. Somehow - I
honestly don't remember that I consciously made the decision - while
stroking Paul's cock I'd moved from sitting on the bed to kneeling between
his feet. With his cock now free of the panties, it jutted up and out, just
inches from my face. I paused in awe of it, watching a bead of pre-cum turn
into a string that grew to an inch before Paul used one hand to push his
cock down and rub the head across my lips. I didn't need any more
instruction, the message was clear - as clear as that pre-cum I began
licking from my lips just before taking the head of his cock in my mouth.
	Then I froze. There'd been all these voices in my mind telling me,
"Do it," and "You'll never have a better chance to try it," and "You know
you want to," and things like that and then all of a sudden, it was done. I
had his cock in my mouth and it was like, "Oh shit! I did it. Now what?"
	I remembered Cheryl Tanner, a girl I'd met the previous summer in
Dallas that had given the most awesome blowjobs and thought, `do what she
did.' Cheryl had been the one that had told me, "I don't know why they call
it a blowjob when what you really do is suck." So I began to suck, like I
was sucking on a popsicle. Then I began to lick too, like I recalled felt
good to me. And then, once I got into it and heard Paul murmur approval, I
really went to town, combining all the things at once. Paul continued to
whisper words of encouragement that fueled my passion too.
      I had an overpowering urge to be as much of a cross-dressed slut as
any of the she-males in those magazines, urged on by the comments Paul was
making. Again it was like he was reading my mind. I was trying to imagine
myself as a sissy, cross-dressing, cock-sucking slut and that was exactly
what Paul called me in between moans and groans of approval. Whatever those
she-male sluts in the magazines could do, I could do better and there was
one thing I could do they couldn't - make Paul cum in my mouth. I found
myself craving the taste of his cum, willing it to spew forth both mentally
and physically. I don't know if the mental part worked, but with the effort
I was putting into the physical part, it wasn't a surprise when he shortly
said, "I'm cumming," and then proved it by filling my mouth with his jism.
      I really don't know why I expected it to taste different. While Paul
and I were about the same size and build, he had darker skin and black hair
and I looked more like a California surfer boy with blonde hair. I'd spent
countless hours in the sun on the ball field, but where the uniform had
covered me, my skin was as white as a hotel bed-sheet. So I guess that's
why I thought there'd be a difference - like maybe his darker coloring
would make his cum taste stronger. But it didn't. I fully intended to
swallow it, but first I swirled it around in my mouth, enjoying the
flavor. Paul noticed.
      "Damn, you really like that spuz. Stick out your tongue."
      For some reason, sticking out my tongue, covered with his jism, made
me feel like more of a slut than sucking his cock had.
      He smiled at me like a proud parent. "With a little makeup and a wig,
you'd look hotter than the pictures in the magazines," he told me.
      I took that for a compliment. I'm sure my dad had never meant
anything like sucking cock when he'd told me, "Whatever you do, do it to
the best of your ability." However, that theory applied to blowjobs as far
as I was concerned and I'd just proven to my best friend that I had plenty
of natural ability. I'd had a brief glance at myself in the mirror behind
the dresser before I'd sunk to my knees and tried to imagine that image
with a blond wig and makeup. I found the thought exciting. If I was going
to turn into a slut, I wanted to be the best slut possible.
      "My turn," Paul said, interrupting my daydream.
      For a moment, I thought he was referring to one of the chores we
split up and took turns at. Then I realized he wanted to try sucking me
like I had him. No problem there. I'd been ready to blow a load the whole
time I'd been sucking his dick. He helped me to my feet, then pushed me
back onto the bed and laid between my legs. He played with my cock for a
moment, smiled up and me and said, "I'll bet I'm better," and then went to
work.
      There was no way of knowing if he was better at it than me, but he
sure was better than any of the girls that had blown me. I tried to compare
his technique with the things I'd done and realized he was doing almost
exactly the same things - with maybe one or two things I hadn't
tried. Making a note to myself to try those things the next time made me
suddenly realize that I'd already come to the conclusion that I'd be doing
this again, and hopefully often. An hour or two earlier I might have taken
a swing at anyone that suggested I was a cocksucker. Now, just like that,
I'd sucked a cock and wanted more. I'd turned queer and apparently, from
the enthusiasm Paul was putting into his efforts, so had my best friend.
      There was a moment of shy, quiet, embarrassment as I recovered from
my climax and Paul wiped his cheek where some of my cum had hit him. Not as
vocal as Paul, I hadn't announced my impending eruption and he'd pulled
back to lick my cock just as the first volley spewed forth. But he'd never
hesitated to take the rest in his mouth and just as I'd done, he savored
the flavor and then without me asking, stuck out his tongue to show me. He
was right. A cum coated tongue was hot.
      Crawling up beside me on the bed, he asked, "Now what?"
      That was a reasonable question, yet it surprised me. Paul had usually
been the leader or instigator or most of the things we did. For him to ask
me was unusual. I was at a loss for an answer. "I . . . don't know. I'd say
get dressed and go back to whatever we were doing except this is the most
clothes we've had on in a week and we weren't doing anything."
      He chuckled. "Yeah, we'd have to get undressed and go back to doing
nothing. Or looking at the books. That's what we were doing when we decided
to try this."
      I automatically looked at the pile of magazines still scattered
between us on the bed. One of us had grabbed the one with adults in diapers
and in pushing the books around on the bed, it had wound up on top. Picking
it up to show Paul what I meant, I told him, "I don't know if we need to
get any more ideas from these. How would you like to have to wear diapers
and be treated like a baby?"
      What I expected was instant denial. To my surprise, Paul took the
book from me and looked at the cover. Then he leafed through it, turned to
me, and blushing, said, "It might be fun."
      Trying not to show my astonishment, I asked, "Really?"
      He nodded and began to tell me a story he'd never mentioned in any of
our late night conversations. One time when he'd been much younger, and his
little sister had to be diapered at night because she was a bedwetter, Paul
had made the mistake of teasing Janie, and as punishment, his older sister
had put a diaper on Paul too. "Then she told me I had to wear it until I'd
wet it and . . . after I wet it . . . I . . . it felt so good I didn't want
to take it off."
      "How long did you wear it?"
      "Just that night. I didn't tell Lilly I'd wet it. I wore pajamas over
it and spent the whole evening before bed wearing it and then wore it to
bed that night. Lilly kept asking me if I'd wet it yet, and I kept telling
her no so I could keep it on. I . . . shit . . . it's hard to
explain. Sounds fuckin' weird I know, but it really felt good. But I wanted
to have it off the next morning before my folks found out about it."
      While there'd been some advantages to being an only child, I could
see where growing up with sisters like Paul had given him and opportunity
to try things I'd never thought to try. He'd gotten to try wearing and
wetting diapers in addition to wearing his sister's clothes. "Did you ever
do it again?"
      He nodded. "Yeah. A couple of times."
      Immediately I wondered if he'd had any experience with the other
things in the books. "Did you ever try anything with a guy back before I
knew you?"
      The grin and blush told me he had even before he spoke. Then he said
again, "Yeah. A couple of times." Subsequently, beginning slowly, he told
me about how when he'd worn Lilly's things and jacked off he thought it was
so hot that he'd had to tell his buddy about it and his friend had asked
for Paul to show him. "He said I looked so cute he wanted to kiss me and I
dared him to and . . . he did and we started making out and he pulled out
his cock and told me if I really wanted to act like a girl I should learn
how to make a guy happy and . . . I made him happy a few times."
      "A few times that day or a few times that summer or what?"
      "A few times . . . over about a year or so."
      I laughed. "No wonder you wanted to bet you were better. I was going
up against an old pro."
      He blushed a little brighter. "Hey! That was a long time ago dude!"
      "No one since then?" I teased.
      "Hey, come on Nick. If I was queer I'd have been after you long ago."
      The very first thought that came to mind was, "I wish you had,"
probably because just moments earlier I'd been thinking about how we could
have been helping each other out sexually for the last three years and that
we'd wasted all that time. But I didn't say it. There was another thought
that had been going through my mind at the same time - one spurred on by
the cover of one of the books called, "Bi-Sexual Neighbors."
      I dug through the pile, pulled it out, and showed it to Paul. "Do you
think it's possible to be bisexual?"
      Paul looked at me long and hard for a moment, then smiled and asked,
"If JayLynn were to walk in here right now, naked as the day you said you
saw her getting dressed, would you want her?"
      "Shit yeah!" I answered without hesitation. I couldn't count the
times that I'd jacked off with my eyes closed, thinking about the afternoon
in my freshman year when I'd walked into the girls shower room by
mistake. Baseball players love to pull pranks on each other - something
that must begin in Little League. I know I've been the butt of many a prank
going back that far. Being the new guy on the team and not familiar with
the school, I'd been sent to get a bag of practice balls and the unmarked
door I'd been told was the shortcut to the equipment room had turned out to
be the back door of the girls locker room. JayLynn Potter had been `Miss
Everything' - blonde, blue-eyed, and suntanned to a golden brown -
everywhere. I'd noticed that memorable fact while standing in the doorway,
my mouth open and my tongue hanging out. There were a couple of dozen girls
in the room, half of them naked and the other half were damn near
naked. JayLynn was the only one that I was sure had sun bathed in the
nude. A thousand future fantasies formed as I stood there frozen in time
and place. This was the school's cheer squad and I later came to the
conclusion that they had to be at least partially exhibitionist to be into
that because none of them tried to cover up when they realized a boy was
standing there. It was JayLynn, aware that I'd gone into a trance-like
state, that walked up to me, put a hand on my chest, and pushed me backward
out the door.
      I guess all young men have some female in mind that oozes sex and
they think about when they masturbate. There'd been a poster of Madonna on
my bedroom wall at home all through high school. But after seeing JayLynn,
no other girl or woman could come close. Once again an image of her
standing in front of me, totally naked, her little silver dollar size pubic
bush beckoning to me, the nipples of her tits almost poking me in the
chest, cause my cock to twitch.
      "So what does that tell you?" Paul persisted. If he ever decided to
become a psychiatrist, he was a natural. He was always answering questions
with questions.
      In this case, the answer was simple. "I guess it means I'm bi."
      "Me too," he told me. "I mean it's not something I tell anyone. But I
decided I must be. I know I like being with girls, but sometimes I think
about what my buddy and I did and I know I liked doing it. So if I can like
both, then I guess that means . . . well it has to mean I'm bi too."
      "Now what?" I asked.
      "Now what when?" he answered with another question. "You mean right
this minute? Or later tonight? Or when we get back to school? Or what?"
      I mulled that for a minute and told him, "All of the above."
      He smiled. "Well I'm not going to worry about tonight until
tonight. And I'm not going to worry about school until we get back
there. But as far as right now is concerned, I think we should play some
more."
      I noticed he was already stroking his cock back to fullness and I
expected he meant for me to give it another try. But before I could move
down the bed and between his legs, he got off the bed.
      "Let me show you something," he told me over his shoulder.

      To be continued.

Comments appreciated: amber_fountaine@hotmail.com