Date: Mon, 03 May 2004 16:53:00 -0700
From: Larry Woods <lwoods@peak.org>
Subject: Evergreen Summer

                             EVERGREEN SUMMER

                                           MAY

     Ever since Christmas my cousin JB's e-mails had hinted at
some inner disquiet. Mid-January he'd written that he'd had his
first wet dream since adolescence. In February he'd told me he'd
been having difficulty achieving an orgasm masturbating. His next
several messages revealed nothing out of the ordinary, but early
in April one said he'd broken up with his girlfriend and that
he'd had three more wet dreams. I didn't bother to ask if he'd
discussed his problems with Aaron; the Bennett brothers never
talked about sex or much of anything else.
     Both brothers did talk to me, though. In early May I got a
telephone call from Aaron expressing concern that JB had become
more reclusive than ever, that since breaking up with Michelle
he'd made no attempt to find a replacement. "He just sits in his
room and plays video games," Aaron had said, "and his grades
totally suck. He'll be lucky to graduate."
     I believe now in retrospect that I should have made the six-
hour drive to see JB in person, but I had concerns of my own.
Besides carrying eighteen units that quarter, I was working
twenty hours a week, dating somebody new, and fighting with my
own conflict. Mine concerned whether to accept a tempting job
offer or to go on to graduate school as I'd planned. I told
Tiffany during the last week in May, "I'll be glad to get away
for a while -- even if it's only four days -- and try to sort
this thing out."
     On Friday, May 28, my last class let out at three. Already
packed, I drove straight to the lake and put my things in the
bunkhouse. Since my dad would be bringing our boat down later
that evening, I couldn't take it to the market; instead, I walked
the half a mile, bought a twelve-pack of Coors, and returned just
as my aunt, uncle, and cousins pulled through the gate.
     When I'd set the beer on our deck, I kissed my aunt, shook
hands with my uncle, punched my cousins, and carried an ice chest
inside. While the brothers were putting their things upstairs, I
asked Uncle Luke how his finals had gone; he, like my father,
taught history, Uncle Luke at the University of Washington, my
dad at Washington State.
     "Just fine, Danny, just fine. What time will your parents be
down?"
     I said, "Any minute" and brought another load in from their
car.
     My first chance to be alone with my younger cousin came
after dinner. Aaron had gone into town for more beer, the adults
were playing cards in our cabin, JB and I were washing the dishes
in his parents' cabin. I asked, "How'd graduation go?" Despite
Aaron's misgivings, JB had graduated the previous Wednesday.
     "Cool," JB answered, "I got all kinds of excellent presents.
Listen, I'm thinking about sleeping with you in the bunkhouse. I
don't want Aaron around if I have another one of those dreams."
     A brief logistical note here: Two years ago my uncle had
hired a construction crew to replace his old cabin. The new one
had a loft over the bedroom, so nowadays the brothers slept there
rather than with me in the bunkhouse. Though that first summer
I'd enjoyed my privacy, more recently I missed the late-night
conversations, the wrestling matches, and the attempts to squirt
undetected that had been a large part of the fun every summer.
     Drying a platter, I asked, "When was the last time you had
one?"
     "Graduation night, and I was so drunk I slept through it.
The junk was half dry when I finally woke up." I asked what the
dreams were about. "I can never remember," he answered.
     I brought the last of the dishes in from the picnic table
before asking, "You still haven't had any luck stroking?"
     "It feels good and everything -- it's just I can't finish
off," he disclosed.
     I'd deduced that something had happened after Christmas to
precipitate JB's wet dreams, because when we'd slept in my room
over the holidays, I'd heard him pulling his cock almost as often
as I did, and he'd had no trouble busting back then. I asked,
"What happened first -- you couldn't nut stroking or you had a
wet dream?"
     "I'll tell you tonight in the bunkhouse," he answered.
     When Aaron returned, we spent the rest of our first evening
drinking, swapping stories, but not watching TV; neither family
had a television. At eleven I told my cousins goodnight and went
to the bunkhouse. I'd undressed, climbed into bed, and decided to
accept the job offer when JB came in, asking, "Is it okay if I
turn on the light?" I turned it on for him.
     Watching JB getting naked, I reflected that while the
brothers resembled each other more than brothers ordinarily do,
there were contrasts nonetheless. My ex-girlfriend Anita had
claimed that Aaron was handsome, JB was cute. Certainly Aaron had
far more self-confidence and a better build earned by hours spent
on the tennis court, but aside from those things, I couldn't see
a whole lot of difference between them. I asked, "Did you get
your acceptance letter to U-Dub [the University of Washington]?"
     "Yeah, but dad had to make a couple of phone calls." JB slid
into the other bottom bunk, turned off the lamp, and began, "I
was spending the night at a friend's, and he asked me if I'd ever
jacked off with anybody. I said I hadn't -- I didn't count the
time you taught me how -- and he asked if I wanted to. Since
you'd said two guys jacking together wasn't gay sex, I agreed."
     JB had envisioned the men jacking off separately under the
covers; his friend had wanted them to jack off each other. "He
must have pretty strong tendencies because I'd just started
milking his mule and he squirted, but I couldn't even get stiff."
Later that night, JB'd had the first of his recent wet dreams.
"It always seems to happen the same. I'll be horny and work on
myself, but I won't be able to shoot. Then later, I'll pop in my
sleep."
     I'd taken no psychology classes in college except for the
required introductory course, so I had no idea what suppressed
urges JB's jacking with his friend had tapped into. I asked,
"You're sure you can never remember what the dreams are about?"
     "Positive," JB replied.
     I couldn't discount the possibility JB masturbated himself
while asleep; I'd caught myself doing the same thing a few times.
I said, "Maybe you're mostly asleep when you jack and you don't
remember it later."
     "I wondered about that, so I slept in my jeans one night. I
spooged but the pants were still buttoned."
     The night I'd taught JB how to beat off he'd stiffened the
instant I'd touched him. "Lose your shorts and come over here for
a minute," I said.
     Although JB had switched off the lamp, tonight's moon shed
enough light for me to see his dim outline as he slid out of bed,
took off his briefs, and came to my bed. Standing beside me, he
asked, "What do you want me to do?"
     I reached out and tugged his soft meat, something I'd last
done six years ago. Now as then, his dick stiffened rapidly. "You
don't have any trouble going stiff when I'm touching you," I
said.
     "No kidding," he answered.
     Reenacting our first session together, I threw back the
covers, sat up, and told JB to take the same position he'd taken
the last time. When he sat between my legs I stroked his stomach
awhile before I took hold of his prick. Slow-jacking his woodie,
I recalled that he'd told me how much talking about sex turned
him on. I asked, "Did you ever let Michelle watch you jerk off?"
     "No way," JB said.
     I'd intended to play with JB's rod for a while, then to send
him back to bed, hoping I could observe him wet dream, but I'd
been jacking him not more than a couple of minutes when he
groaned, "Gonna cum" and erupted, leaving me holding his balls
with my left hand while my right hand got sticky.
                                 * * * * *
                                   JUNE

     The Western states and maybe all fifty states require one
person aboard a recreational watercraft to hold up a red flag
when the skier (or wakeboarder or tube-rider) wipes out. From
eight until eleven on Saturday June 12, the brothers and I took
turns, one of us piloting, one flagging, one skiing. My first
stint with Aaron, he said while waving his flag, "JB asked me
what Tim and I do in bed."
     JB's question indicated progress. Ever since Aaron had come
out of the closet midway through his junior year in high school,
JB had avoided discussing anything pertaining to sex with his
brother; that's why I'd had to teach JB about jack-offs. I asked,
"How graphic were you?"
     "Not very," Aaron replied, "and when he asked me if you and
I had connected, I side-stepped."
     Soon afterward, Aaron took to the skis and JB climbed in the
boat. As we were passing the village, he asked, "Did you jerk it
last night?"
     I shook my head, "By the time I got down here I was asleep
on my feet." JB's e-mails this past week had indicated he'd been
able to get himself off again. "How'd you manage to bust?"
     "I was so sick of waking up wet I fantasized you and me
hooking up." Five times over the past two weekends I'd jacked
him, each time the same way as I've mentioned; he'd launched
every time. I asked him if he wanted to try something new,
expecting a request for a blow job; he surprised me by saying,
"I'd like to do what I used to do with Michelle, only naked."
     Michelle had never let JB do more than lie on top of her,
both with their clothes on. The sessions had spooged JB's shorts
as badly as any wet dream, yet they'd provided release and had
been the best he could get. I asked, "Want to sleep in the
bunkhouse tonight?"
     "I've been counting on it," JB answered.
     At lunch our parents requested that we supply that night's
dinner, so we spent most of the afternoon catching trout. After
we'd eaten, the men played penny-ante poker while my mom and aunt
quilted. At eleven I cashed in my chips, said goodnight, and went
to the bunkhouse. Anticipating JB, I took off all of my clothes
rather than leaving my shorts on.
     As I lay in the darkness, I reflected on something Aaron had
said when he'd been steering the boat and I'd been the flag-man.
He'd divulged that Tim wanted to fuck him, but that so far he,
Aaron, hadn't been able to take a stiff cock. I told him how I'd
had success buttfucking an ex-girlfriend; he'd promised to try my
technique.
     JB arrived a few minutes later, stripped in the darkness,
and climbed in my bed. After he'd slid his stick between my legs,
he asked how much I'd done with Tiffany. Since the truth would
have bored him, I concocted a salacious account that combined my
most heated heterosexual moments so effectively that I soon had
him thrusting. Holding him tight with my left arm and petting his
butt-cheeks, I said, "She made so much noise I was afraid she'd
wake her folks up."
     JB asked, "Were you wearing protection?"
     "No, she wanted my love-juice to fill up her pussy," I
answered. "She's taking the pill."
     Shortly thereafter, JB had his first orgasm, rolled off, and
lay alongside me gasping. I didn't do a thorough job of drying my
legs because I expected another load soon. When his breathing had
returned to normal, I asked, "How many times can you cum
tonight?"
     "Three at least, maybe four. Can I help you jack off or do
you want to get off like I did?"
     By helping me jack JB meant massaging my balls while I
stroked. We did that for a while but I didn't want to bust yet
for fear my enthusiasm would wane. After I'd brinked myself
twice, his dick started stretching, and I pulled him on top of
me, asking, "Should I do anything different?"
     "The last time was perfect," he answered.
     For variety's sake, this time I slid my fingers into his
crack and played with his hole, never intruding but stretching it
slightly. After erupting, he stayed atop me and asked, "When you
masturbate, do you fantasize putting your dick in me there?"
     "I haven't, but the idea's a turn on," I said. "As soon as
you're horny again, how about if you jerk it while I give you a
prostate massage?"
     He replied, "I don't think so -- you've got pretty big
fingers."
     "I've also got a tube of K-Y but if you don't want to,
that's cool." The University of Washington had accepted JB with
the stipulation that he must pass a remedial English summer
course. I asked, "What have you been learning in class?"
     "So far all we've studied is grammar. We'll be doing
punctuation starting next week." He asked the question I'd been
anticipating, "Why won't Aaron tell me what you guys do
together?"
     "Because it's intense and it's personal. Would you want me
telling him what we do together?"
     JB admitted he wouldn't, then asked me to beat myself off.
As I lay flogging, he said, "It'd be sweet if you'd cum on me."
     Glad to oblige, when I sensed climax approaching, I rolled
on my side, stepped up my hand speed, and sprayed jissum all over
him.
                                 * * * * *

                                   JULY

     My relationship with Tiffany hadn't been going anywhere, so
when a good friend of mine wanted to date her, I gave him my
blessing. Single again, I'd taken out three different girls by
the 4th of July weekend. Rusty Keller, the brother of one of
them, asked if I'd drop him off in Spokane on my way to the lake.
     Before starting my job I'd told my prospective employer I'd
made plans for Monday the 5th through Friday the 9th. On Friday
the 2nd, I picked Rusty up at his house at five. Once on the
freeway, I asked, "What'll you be doing up in Spokane?"
     "Trolling for hotties," he grinned. An out-gay, Rusty served
on the steering committee of WSU's GLBT-Alliance.
     "Unbeknownst to you," I informed him, "I downloaded your
picture from the Longview High yearbook and sent it to a cousin
who'll be at the lake. He asked me to invite you."
     "If he looks anything like you do I'm interested," Rusty
said.
     Because I too would have wanted to know what a prospective
date looked like, I'd brought Aaron's picture showing him wearing
only a tan and his swimtrunks. Rusty liked the photo so much he
agreed to accompany me without asking what type of sex Aaron
preferred, which would have been my very first question, yet for
all Rusty knew Aaron might have been a bondage fanatic. These
reflections prompted my asking, "Do you consider yourself a top
or a bottom?"
     "A definite bottom," said Rusty.
     During the rest of the drive, I learned that Rusty had done
more in his eighteen years than I in twenty-two, at least on the
gay side. He'd had a succession of jack-buddies, he liked sucking
off soldiers, and he'd got fucked the first time more than two
years ago. He said, "I still had one foot in the closet, but this
straight friend had heard how good it feels to fuck ass. He said
I could do it to him if I'd let him do it to me, but I liked how
it felt when he drilled me so much I never got around to pronging
him."
     Aaron had broken up with Tim about the time I'd split up
with Tiffany. Since he'd never found jacking to be as
satisfactory as I had, I figured he must be one horny dude; per
my expectations when bedtime rolled around, Aaron took Rusty up
to the loft; JB followed me to the bunkhouse.
     Inside, we hugged until I felt myself leaking, then got out
of our clothes and lay on my bed. Our last several times
together, JB had rejected my offer to blow him; tonight he
succumbed, saying, "I've jacked to the fantasy and I've cum hard
every time."
     Last week I'd discovered by accident that JB liked to shoot
standing up. When I'd been taking a shower, he'd come into the
bathroom, climbed into the tub, and had a superior orgasm fucking
my legs again, so tonight I asked, "Would you want to stand next
to the bed?"
     I'd made a significant error, however. When he stood
alongside the bed and I attempted to suck him, my head bumped the
rail supporting the top bunk. Revising my plan, I knelt on the
floor; while licking his dick-knob, I lubed my finger. Although
so far JB had resisted my every attempt to penetrate his tight
chute, he'd conceded it felt good when I played with his
bunghole.
     I initiated the blow job holding his hardon steady with my
ungreasy hand. As I slid my lips down his pole, I rasped my
tongue across his cock-notch, his sweet spot, and his cumtube.
During the return trip I omitted the tongue-work but resumed it
each time I lowered my head. I waited until I could taste pre-cum
before I inserted my finger. As I slid it into his asshole, he
groaned; his hands gripped my head, and his hips began pumping.
     I coordinated the action by reinserting my finger whenever I
lifted my head. Before I lowered my head, I flicked his notch
with my tongue as I pressed on his gland, then slid my head down
his rod again using the tongue-technique I'd started off with. I
can't say whether JB lasted longer than I'd lasted the first time
Aaron blew me, but in neither case did we last very long. No more
than five minutes after I'd begun sucking him, JB unloaded.
     While my cousin lay recovering from his first-ever blow job,
I pulled on my boxers and walked to the lake. Bending down, I was
rinsing my hands when I heard Aaron's voice coming through his
cabin's window. At first it was only a murmur, but when I moved
closer, I heard, "Why doesn't it hurt you?"
     "Practice," Rusty replied. "My first time I needed the
chronic to relax me down there, then I was fine after a little
massage, and now I don't need anything but some lube. Did you
have trouble busting your nut in a condom?"
     "Not at all," Aaron answered. "Have you ridden a wakeboard
before?"
     I returned to the bunkhouse, climbed across JB, and
stretched out on my bed. Running my fingertips from his neck to
his navel, I asked, "How did you like it?" When he replied that
he'd busted too quickly, I said, "Every time I discover a new way
to get off I bust fast -- my first time jacking, my first blow
job, the first time I fucked pussy -- but with experience we
learn how to handle it."
     Anxious to practice, JB let me blow him twice more before we
called it a night. In between blow jobs I stroked, creaming
twice. On Saturday we spent the morning on the water, two men
skiing in tandem while the other two crewed the boat. At one
point I'd taken the helm, Rusty was holding the flag, and I
asked, "Are you glad you didn't stay in Spokane?"
     "Truly," Rusty replied. "Can you picture yourself with Aaron
and me in a three-way?"
     "Not really," I said.

     I rethought my position the following week. I'd had plenty
of sex while JB had been with us, but he'd returned to Seattle
late Monday because he had classes Tuesday through Friday. I
didn't JO on Tuesday, so by Wednesday night I was as horny as
college men usually are, and perhaps Rusty sensed that; late
afternoon as he, Aaron, and I were securing the boat, he asked,
"Would it be okay if we all shared the bunkhouse tonight?"
     "Sure," I answered, "it's as much Aaron's as mine. Both our
dads built it to get us kids out of the cabins."
     Earlier Wednesday my mother and aunt had driven into
Wenatchee to replenish their larders. While in town Aunt Renee
had spotted a sale on bratwurst, my Uncle Luke's favorite food.
Consequently we had our best meal of the week Wednesday night --
bratwursts, hot German potato salad, and cole slaw. I skipped the
store-bought ice cream my mom put out for dessert.
     I've mentioned that we had no TV at the lake -- we'd never
connected to cable -- but we had a television set in our living
room. While in town, the ladies had rented something amazingly
silly, so we men played poker outside. Afterwards, I took my turn
in the bathroom before I went to the bunkhouse. I'd stripped to
my shorts by the time Aaron and Rusty came in.
     Aaron sat on the bottom bunk opposite mine to take off his
shoes. Untying them, he remarked, "These beds seemed a lot bigger
years back."
     Rusty climbed onto the top bunk and asked, "How long have
you been coming down here?"
     Aaron said, "I can't remember a time when we weren't. Our
grandad bought the land in the eighties."
     Seeing them naked, I noted that Aaron had a deep tan every
place except where his swimsuit covered his midsection whereas
Rusty had a paler, freckled complexion. Dickwise, Aaron's stiff
rod contrasted with Rusty's long but semi-limp tool.
     The area rug between the two sets of bunks provided the best
chance for mobility; after double-checking to make sure I'd
closed all the curtains, I stood at one end of the rug, waiting
for Rusty to configure the action. When I asked what he wanted to
do, he replied, "For you guys to take turns fucking me doggie
style. I'll blow whoever's available."
     I told Aaron the sequence didn't matter to me, and he said,
"I'd like to start off in his mouth."
     The past two or three years I'd taken to using Whisper
Ultra-Lite condoms. I K-Y'ed my cock-knob, rolled the rubber down
to my pubes, greased up, and moved into position. I lowered my
chest onto Rusty's back, reached underneath him, and jacked him
as I inserted my cock. Meanwhile, Aaron knelt at the front end of
Rusty, sighing when Rusty sucked him.
     Guys who are all the way gay may not realize that a woman's
ass telegraphs her arousal the same way a man's does. Buttfucking
my girlfriend, I'd noticed that when I played with her clit, her
sphincters quivered; so too with Rusty when I played with his
cock. Another error guys make is believing an ass is the same as
a pussy, whereas in fact, unless you're lucky enough to be
fucking a virgin, an ass is far tighter. Even one as well-used as
Rusty's squeezed down on my dick the way most cunts never can.
     To keep from shooting too quickly, I'd give Rusty's butt
several quick jabs, then relax and jack him awhile. During one
intermission I stroked Aaron's abs, asking both men, "How close
are you guys?"
     "Real close," Aaron said; Rusty said he was too.
     When I'd cornholed my girlfriend, I'd gotten myself right to
the edge, so when her asshole had gone into convulsions during
her climax, I'd busted too. With Aaron and Rusty it worked even
better because when Aaron said, "Here goes," I jacked Rusty fast,
popping him; fucking him hard during his orgasm also popped me.
                                 * * * * *


                                  AUGUST

     My new job was paying me more money than I'd ever made in my
life, and I was having fun earning it. Saturday afternoon, August
13, I told my cousins, "This last week I went to a seminar at
Gonzaga. We learned how to lay out a golf course."
     "That's better than what I did," JB said. "I learned how to
use semicolons."
     "I learned the name of my thesis professor," said Aaron.
"It's old Doc Matson -- he's a real decent guy."
     JB hadn't arrived until that morning, having spent Friday
night with a friend in Seattle. When Aaron went for more beer, he
disclosed, "The guy I stayed with's taking the same English
course I am. He's as much a horndog as we are. I heard him
jerking it twice." I asked how many times JB had jerked it.
Shaking his head, he replied, "I've saving up for tonight."
     My own experience had been that abstinence often proved
counterproductive. "Not me," I replied, "I beat off."
     This late in the summer the water temperature had finally
reached seventy degrees, allowing us to stay in the water hours
longer than when we'd first opened the cabins. Spending most of
the day on the lake exhausted me, so after dinner, rather than
playing poker or watching a video, I took a two-hour nap; I was
wide awake for my session with JB.
     Since I'd napped bare, I had no more clothes to remove, but
JB had to take off his trunks and his tee. Dropping his swimsuit,
he said, "Aaron's friend Rusty's coming back here for Labor Day."
     "I know -- he's riding with me," I replied.
     "I'm thinking about inviting Chad down. That's the guy I was
staying with last night."
     "There's plenty of room," I said.
     These past six weeks I'd blown JB numerous times; he'd said
he'd blow me, but I doubted he wanted to, plus he'd learned how
to give me an incredible hand job, one much better than those I
give myself because JB never forced the pace the way I did.
     JB started tonight by spreading my legs, sitting between
them, and requesting the tube of K-Y. Greasing my hardon, he
asked, "If you'd been me and you'd heard Chad pounding his pud
what would you have done?"
     "I'd need to know more about Chad," I said.
     Slow-jacking my woodie, JB answered, "He doesn't have a
really excellent build like you and my brother, but he's better
than average. He grew up at Santa Monica Beach, so he knows how
to surf."
     "I'd have probably suggested we race to see who could launch
first. When sex is a contest, most guys are okay with it."
     That was the last thing I said till I'd fired, nor did we
talk while I was sucking JB, but when we were lying together,
waiting to get horny again, I asked, "Is there anything about
Chad that suggests he's gay or bisexual, like does he have a
regular girlfriend?"
     "Not really," said JB. "Maybe I'll bring him down here over
Labor Day so you can meet him."
                                 * * * * *

                                 SEPTEMBER

     My Labor Day holiday began at three p.m. Friday when I
signed out for the week. At my apartment I tossed my already-
packed bag into my car, shaved, and showered. At four, I was
parked in front of his house when Rusty came home; ten minutes
later we were on our way to the lake.
     Noting that the cottonwoods were already changing, I
reflected on how quickly summers passed compared with eastern
Washington's tedious winters. I was wishing there could be a
better seasonal balance when Rusty asked, "What all do you do for
the Parks Department?"
     I answered, "My major was in Park and Rec Management. I'd
planned to go directly into the MBA program, but a friend of my
dad's said I'd do better if I had a couple of years' work
experience. Right now I'm in land acquisitions. We're considering
the feasibility of adding a multi-use facility north of the
middle school." Moving to a more interesting topic, I asked,
"Who've you been hooking up with?"
     "I talk to Aaron sometimes. We do phone sex, but that's
about it," Rusty answered.
     We reached the lake about six, stowed our bags, and were
drinking beer on the deck when my Uncle Luke and his family
showed up. JB's e-mails had told me Chad was coming but hadn't
prepared me for his being older than JB. He was closer to my own
age than my cousin's. JB had said he didn't have the best build
but there was nothing wrong with it either, and he had an
excellent face. Shaking his hand, I noticed a tattoo peeking out
beneath the left sleeve of his T-shirt. I asked, "You've been in
the service?"
     He answered, "I went in the navy for three years after high
school." Since JB had said Chad had grown up in Southern
California, I asked, "Why'd you relocate to Seattle?"
     Chad had a cute, boyish grin. "There's this girl," he
replied.
     Since this would be our last weekend at the lake until
spring, our mothers concentrated on emptying the refrigerators.
For dinner we had an odd combination of miscellaneous greens for
a salad, boiled potatoes, burgers, and salsa. Afterwards we
played poker, but our dads didn't join us; they took the boat
across the lake to catch trout for our breakfasts.
     At ten I ran out of change and watched the others awhile
before saying goodnight. In the bunkhouse I lay facedown on my
bed reading a Penthouse I'd brought. When JB and Chad joined me,
they ogled the centerfold, stripped to their shorts, and climbed
into their beds, Chad taking the bunk above JB's.
     I've never jerked off with another guy in the room unless I
found the guy foxish. Whether that's true for all males I have no
idea -- it may be that some guys simply can't keep their hands
off their cocks -- but it seemed worth pursuing in that Chad had
jacked twice the night JB had stayed at his place. After turning
the light out, I asked, "What kind of a ship were you on?"
     Chad answered, "I wasn't -- I worked with the motor pool
down in Norfolk."
     I asked, "Did you sleep in a barracks?" I was thinking that
if Chad had shared a room with several men he might have become
inured to jerking it semi-publicly as had been my case at a Boy
Scout camp years back.
     But Chad answered, "Not really -- it was just me and a
friend once we were finished with boot camp."
     JB, who'd said nothing so far, waded in with, "I have this
other friend who was in the army, and he said the whole time he
was in boot camp, he never jerked off, that he was too tired
every night."
     "I can't say I never did it but I didn't do it very much,"
Chad said. "If you don't mind my asking, how much would you guess
you guys do it on average?"
     JB guessed he did it about three times a week; I said,
"Naturally I do it more when I'm not getting laid, which I
haven't been lately. I missed just one day this past week and
scored a couple of doubles."
     "That's like me except I haven't missed a day for a month.
I'm not getting laid either," Chad said.
     I asked, "Your girlfriend wants to wait till you're
married?"
     "We both do," Chad said.
     I didn't want to pressure Chad, so I would have been content
to call it a night, then to pursue the subject the next day, but
after a brief silence, JB asked, "Where'd you beat off when you
and your buddy were rooming together?"
     "Jeff didn't mind me hearing him, and I didn't mind him
hearing me. We did it whenever we needed to," Chad answered.
     I admitted, "Those pictures gave me a hardon. I feel like
doing it now."
     JB asked, "Do you guys want to race to see who can shoot
first?"
     Chad chuckled, "That wouldn't be fair since I have a head
start."
     JB echoed Chad's chuckle, "Knowing my cousin, I'm betting we
all started when he turned out the light."
     I upped the ante by saying, "Depending on how shy you guys
are, we could unload on my magazine."
     Chad said that would be hot. When JB agreed, I pushed off my
shorts, turned on the light, and climbed out of bed. Since the
room had no other furniture save for a chair, I set the Penthouse
on it, then greased up with K-Y.
     Within moments, the others stood flanking me, Chad on my
left with his dick nearly vertical, JB on my right leaking pre-
cum. As Chad was using my lube on his meat, I asked, "Did you and
Jeff ever do this?"
     Handing JB the K-Y, Chad answered, "Not on a magazine, but
sometimes we watched movies together."
     The small amount of available space forced us to stand
shoulder to shoulder. As we all began stroking, JB put his left
arm around my waist; I liked it so much I did the same thing to
Chad.
     As strange as it seems, there are some guys who don't need
much velocity to get off. A friend I play baseball with just
keeps polishing pole at the same steady speed until he's finished
his O. Chad, JB, and I, though, accelerated in steps. After maybe
five or six minutes, we were all going twice as fast as when we'd
started, and I was approaching release, but I didn't want to spew
first so I slowed to my original tempo. JB, however, pulled me
tight against his body and launched; no sooner had his dick gone
dry than Chad groaned, "Gotta cum," and he did. After that I
finished myself, wiped off the Penthouse, climbed into bed, and
turned out the light.

     The baseball-player friend I was mentioning never talks
about sex except to ask, "Want to masturbate?" and to comment on
the size of our loads after we spooge. The first thing Saturday
morning none of us bunkhouse buddies mentioned sex either, nor
did the loft dwellers. At breakfast Aaron said he and Rusty
wanted to ride in the tubes. Because I hate riding those
oversized things, I offered to pilot, and Chad volunteered to be
flag-man, putting JB in the third tube.
     At sea, after I'd slammed the tubers into one another, I
asked as Chad waved his flag, "How would you compare last night's
O with your usual?"
     "More intense by a ways -- my knees nearly buckled." I asked
if Chad had ever done more with a guy than two-way JO's. "Another
guy in the motor pool wanted to blow me. I wish now I'd let him."
     "A mouth feels great on a dick," I agreed.
     Saturday afternoon brought a squall that chased everybody
indoors. I stood at the window, watching the lightning flash,
smelling the ozone, and hoping the weather would clear in time
for a trip to the village; otherwise, we'd be eating more
leftovers. They hadn't been terrible, but we'd finished the last
of the hamburger.
     The storm proved to be mercifully brief; by three we were
back on the water speeding across the lake to the store. There,
while my cousins filled a shopping cart with essentials,
primarily beer, Chad and I investigated the soft-core, but I
bought only more lube.
     On our return trip we dropped off the groceries, then spent
another two hours skiing before we joined our dads on the deck,
they drinking martinis, we sharing pitchers of Coors. At one
point Uncle Luke asked me if I'd considered getting back together
with an ex-girlfriend he and Aunt Renee had been fond of.
     "Not really," I answered. "She's engaged to a friend of
mine."
     As much as I'd been looking forward to a repeat of last
night, Chad drank too much and fell asleep in the bunkhouse while
JB and I were undressing. Although I offered my cousin a blow
job, he and I both preferred to wait until Chad could
participate; when he did, he launched a chain of events that
deserves its own story.