Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2006 13:01:52 -0700 (PDT)
From: Douglas Grant <dlgrantsf@yahoo.com>
Subject: gang-of-five-15

Copyright 2006 by dlgrantsf@yahoo.com; all rights reserved.

Next installment (of sixteen) in a short novel about friendship, growth,
and different kinds of love, in different combinations, between five
high-school boys.

First warning; the story can be very sexual.  If I were to code it
properly, it might be (BBBBB/group/oral/anal/mast/rimming/awholebunchelse).
Be aware.

Second warning; the characters sometimes talk about politics, the potential
for a military draft, and the state of the U.S. and the world, among other
aspects of their lives.  They have some fairly strong opinions, as people
will do.  Offense to any reader is not intended.

More after the end of this chapter.  Thanks for reading . . . .


***********************************************************************

Gang of Five -- Chapter 15

-----------------------------------------

It was Monday night -- the day after the beach -- before I worked up the
courage to call his cell.

And I got his voicemail, without any ringing; his cell was off.

What I wanted was for Zach and me to get together -- just us.  But it
wasn't the kind of request I could leave as a message.  Not even remotely.

So I left it.  I didn't want to show up as too many missed calls, on his
phone.  Not now.

I tried again, Tuesday morning; same thing.

I knew Zach has his advanced-AP science class, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and
Thursdays; almost all day, so I figured I'd missed him.  Until late.  If I
could get in touch with him then, even.

I felt kind of -- hollow.  Weird.  Wondering if he was avoiding me.

So it was a little later that morning, when I knew for sure Zach was in
class, that I wandered down the hill -- by myself -- to, I don't know, just
get away, get out.  Have a latte.  Feeling, at least temporarily, just a
little relieved, maybe.  Temporarily at peace; temporarily.

And as I walked into Starbucks, -- there was Zach, parked in a corner,
laptop and textbook open, iPod phones in his ears -- and looking out the
opposite window, lost in some thought, a million miles away.

I know, I just know, I flushed bright, bright red, and I looked away and
down, and my heart went to hammering inside me.


I went up and ordered my latte, carefully not looking at Zach; then waited
a slow eternity in the coffee-flavored steam as the cheerful girl behind
the bar made the espresso, steamed the milk, poured it into the cup, added
the espresso, slowly, spooned some cream on top, put the plastic lid on the
cup, said something to the other girl and the cash register, then finally,
finally bent down, read the name on the cup, and called me.

Zach was facing away from the counter; he was still gazing out the window
as I walked up to him, his laptop screen gone dark, in powersaver mode.

And even in my flush, and my awkwardness, and embarrassment -- I noticed
his look.  His expression; kind of serious, kind of withdrawn; and -- sad.
Not about-to-cry sad; just -- sad.  Like he'd been sad for awhile, now.

And he looked alone.  So alone.

"Hey," I said.  He didn't look up; so I touched him, on the shoulder.  He
jumped, a little, his head whipped around, and he saw me; and I watched, as
a bunch of different emotions crossed his face.  Surprise, for sure;
pleasure, maybe?  And then -- an awkwardness of his own, I guess, maybe
some embarrassment, as if I'd caught him at something, and he looked down,
and when he looked up again, taking his earbuds out -- those shields were
back up.

And I really didn't want to look at that, any more; so I slid onto the
bench next to him -- it was a long, padded bench, against one whole wall,
so there was room -- and we were both looking in front of us, and it was
easier to talk.

"I thought you were in class all day today?"

Zach shrugged.  "It's projects week; we're supposed to be doing
presentations, later, so we get mornings to do preparation."  He touched a
laptop key, and his screen came to life.  "I haven't been making a lot a
progress, I guess."  He kind of turned up one side of his mouth.

"Yeah.  I guess I should enjoy my time off, while I've got it."

"You should."  He paused, a second.  "But.  Actually, it's getting pretty
late, and I need to get going pretty soon, now -- "

"Zach?"  I took a breath, to try to keep my voice from sounding weird.  "Do
you think we could, like -- get together?  To talk?"  I was back to
flushing, I knew, a bright red, and I couldn't look at him.  God, this felt
so bizarre.  "I -- kind of need to talk to you.  Maybe -- I don't know.
Maybe you could come by my house, after your class - ?"

He didn't say anything; not, `talk about what?', or act surprised, or
something like that.

"I -- guess," he went, finally.  After a long pause.  "My class doesn't get
over `til five, though; and I won't be back up here until, like, six -- "

"Please?"

I really, really wanted to touch him, to put my hand on his; but the place
was way too crowded.  I looked down; he was sitting crosslegged on the
bench, his empty flipflops under the table, so I took his bare foot in my
hand, where it peeked out from under his thigh, and squeezed it, and held
it, and looked up at him.

"Yeah."  Pause.  "Okay."  He looked at me.

Whatever else has happened between us, we have too much history -- WAY too
much history -- for either of us to turn down a request like that.  We both
knew it.

"Thanks."  I figured it was the beginning of something that was going to be
long and awkward and probably really horrible, for me at least, but I
needed to seem grateful.  "So -- my house?  Around six?"

He just breathed for a second, still looking at me; then looked down.
"Yeah.  But . . .  how about my house, instead?"  Again, that ghost of a
half-smile.  "My dad's in L.A. for the night, again, some client meeting.
We'd have a little more privacy -- ? "

"Okay.  Good."  I was relieved; no gauntlet of parents to run, getting in
and out of my room.  And maybe I wouldn't even have to face them over
dinner, after.

"You could wait for me there, if you want," he went on.  A little more
normal-sounding, not-quite-smiling.  "You could even get some time in the
pool.  You've got the key."

"Okay," I said.  Trying for the same sort of tone.  Still caressing the
sole of his foot, with my thumb, which was making it not-normal.  "Maybe
I'll even clean it for you."

It was an old joke.  Zach always spent hours and hours, each week, keeping
the pool clean; we used to tease him about it, when we were kids.

"Without me to supervise?  No way."  He looked back at the laptop screen,
briefly.  "Now I really do have to go, or I'm going to be late."  And he
started gathering up his notes, and putting them away in his binder, and
closing his iBook and his textbook, and I got up to let him slide out.

I waited a decent few minutes, after he left, before I got up and started
back up the hill.  I threw my full coffee away in the trash on the way out;
my stomach was way too knotted up to tolerate it, just then.


                                     *


I got to Zach's before five; just in case his class let out early, or
something.  I wanted to be there when he got home.

I let myself in the usual way, through the gate to the back yard; then I
used the spare key hidden under the bricks to open up the French doors to
his room, and made sure to punch in the security code on the box in the
hallway before the alarm system went off.

It was weird, being there without Zach.

I guess I've been alone in his house before; I must have been, sometime,
though I can't really remember when.  But with all this place MEANT to me
-- well, it was important to me because of Zach; and Jarod and Liam and
Tim, of course, too.  But mostly Zach.  And being there alone -- well.  It
felt -- different.

Maybe sometimes a place is just -- a place.  Without the people.  Maybe a
home, without the people, is just a place.  I thought.

I knew where everything was, of course.  I stripped in Zach's room, leaving
my clothes more carefully folded than usual; then I grabbed a clean towel,
rinsed off quickly in the shower, and headed back out to the pool, still
feeling a little creepy, being alone, walking through his house alone.  But
I knew Zach would be going into the pool, after his class; he just would,
as sure as water finding its own level, so I might as well wait for him
there.


When his key scraped in the lock, I was floating on the air mattress, on my
stomach, going over the things I was going to say; going over, in my head,
the filmstrip of his reactions, what I figured his reactions would be.  I
jumped -- I'd been waiting long enough for him to come home, waiting for
that sound, I almost jumped a foot -- and I slid off, so that I was holding
onto the mattress, standing on the bottom, facing him.

"Hey," he said, when he saw me.

He didn't seem a whole lot happier to see me, than I felt about being
there.

"Hey," I said back.  Standing there.

He looked at me a second, then closed the gate.  "Let me put this stuff
away, and I'll come join you."

"Okay."

It took a few minutes.  I knew Zach; he had to shower off before using the
pool; he just had to.  He always would.

And then he was there, coming out the French doors, still glistening from
the shower, holding his towel at his side; smooth, slender, perfectly
tanned all over and bare and so, so beautiful, and I just looked, as he
dropped the towel and dove in, cleanly, and I wondered if this was it, if
I'd ever get to see him like this, wet and naked, again, or if I was going
into the exile of let's-just-be-friends, with all sorts of big issues left
hanging between us . . . .


I choked, when it came down to it.  I just choked.


We swam, and floated, for awhile, not saying much of anything; not really
relaxing, either, and I thought how easy it would be to chicken out, to say
I had to go home to dinner, and just leave and not face it.

But I couldn't stand that either.

So I floated up to him, -- this time, he was the one holding onto the air
mattress -- and, in the neck-deep water, I just touched him, lightly, on
the shoulder, and he looked at me, and we both knew this was it, and I
started, "Zach -- "

And I choked.  I so utterly, utterly choked; I locked up worse than Tim
ever did, ever would.  I felt my eyes beginning to fill, and Zach was
looking at me, and for once his shields were down, and I could tell he was
concerned -- concerned for ME -- and I said "Zach," again, kind of
helplessly, and I couldn't go any further --

So I did what I've always done with Zach, when I couldn't find the words.
I touched him, again; and I looked at him, then I pulled him close in to
me, into a long, long hug, and he let go of the air mattress, then he was
hugging me back --

And then, fool that I am, I kissed him; because it was the only way I had,
to tell him, that I had those kinds of feelings for him.  Not best-friend
feelings, not even loving-best- friend feelings, but -- real love.

So I kissed him; but I put everything into that kiss, all the frustrated
love I had, from the last few weeks -- weeks when we'd never touched each
other like this, even with Jarod and Tim and Liam around -- I put in all
the tenderness and feeling and love that I felt into it.


He didn't really respond.  His body felt tense, against mine, even in the
water.  He didn't push me away; but his lips -- well.  He didn't really
respond.

We'd come to that.  We really had; after all this time, all these years,
all the experiences.  As close as we'd been, for so long, we'd come to
that.

I was about to pull away, and face the scene I knew was going to come, that
filmstrip I dreaded so much; but I still didn't have the words, and before
everything was final, and irrevocable, I wanted one last, long moment, one
last connection, so I just said "Please?", and put my hands on the sides of
his head, and LOOKED at him, just for a second, his beautiful face all kind
of watery through my filled up eyes, and then I kissed him, again, gently
working his lips between mine, his lower lip, my tongue just barely grazing
between his lips --

A goodbye kiss, on my part.  Not asking, for anything; but full of all the
love I hadn't been able to show him, all the love I wouldn't be able to
show him, after today . . .


And right there, right in the water, just him and me -- his mouth opened, a
little; and his lips moved against mine, and he began kissing me back.


Hesitantly, at first; not sure where we were going.  But really kissing me;
showing me more feeling, more affection that he had -- well, since the day
he fucked me, at Clay's Beach.  When I got fucked up about us.

And I broke it off, and I heard myself whimper, and I nuzzled under his
jaw, under his ear, and then it was back to kissing him, really KISSING
him, still trying to say everything, without words, still memorizing the
moment --

And then I felt his hands come around me, and hold me, the way I was
holding him; and then we were moving together, and we were more than just
kissing, we were making out- -

And then we were REALLY making out.  We started doing things with each
other, to each other, with an intensity I'd never known before; even that
first weekend I was back, or even later when he was fucking me.  Exploring
each other with our hands, with our mouths; making noises, our dicks pushed
up against each other, our whole lower bodies grinding into each other --

He opened up to me.  The way I opened up to him.

Even after three years, we still knew each other that well.  Our bodies
knew each other, that well.

And, miraculously -- impossibly -- he began showing me how he felt about
me; the same way I was showing him how I felt.  He really did.

And I was so, so amazed, at getting this from Zach, getting these FEELINGS
back from Zach, I couldn't believe it, but I couldn't think about it,
because it was all in the moment, all just happening, all I could do was
FEEL, and express myself back, and feel him reacting to me . . .

At some point we sort of wound up against the side of the pool, and Zach
was the one to hoist himself out first -- impossibly graceful, the water
sliding off his smooth skin -- and then he held out his hand and helped me
up, and we dried each other off with our towels, a little, really clumsy --

And then we were in Zach's bedroom; on his bed, on that sleek, soft duvet,
still half-wet, and rolling around, rolling over and under each other, and
pushing, and pressing, and rolling, as we made out.  And the noises we were
making sounded like crying, part of the time, because I think maybe we WERE
crying -- I know I was, a little, for all the pain, all the pain I'd caused
Zach, and just everything . . .


There are so, so many different kinds of sex.  Of lovemaking.


Every possible kind of variation; from a group of twelve-year-olds, wet and
laughing in the sun, as some of them work over the bare smooth boy lying on
his back beneath them, that boy's balls drawn up tight against his body as
he wriggles and squeals as he's just about ready to come --

To the couple in the dark, quiet, private hour before dawn, sweaty and wet
with semen; on their sides, one of them deep, deep inside the other, both
of them lying still, because they've already cum once -- or twice -- in
that position, but still penetrating and being penetrated, still FUCKING
even though they're not moving, and the boy who's been fucked is just
starting, just now beginning, to squeeze the dick inside him with his anal
muscles, again, just gently, just a little, because even though he's
exhausted, he wants more --

And, yeah; I've done both.  I've been both.  And more, since.

I'm so lucky.

What Zach and I did, that day -- was different.  It was lovemaking; but it
was also so, so emotional.  It was mind-fucking.  Heart-fucking.

And so needy.  For both of us.


We rolled, and sort of wrestled, and rolled around and almost off the bed
. . . until, eventually, we wound up in that position, again; the yin-yang,
wrapped-up together position of two boys rimming each other,
simultaneously, between each others legs, faces in each other's butts, arms
around each others waists, so open to each other, fingers and tongues
probing, tickling, teasing, so incredibly, incredibly intimate with each
other --

Some ways, rimming has become our specialty, since then; it's something we
do really, really well.  For the sake of doing it.  For the sheer joy of
it, the intensity of it, the incredible sexuality of it.  Maybe this is
where we really started.

Unless it was that last night before I left, so long ago; maybe that's when
it really started.

We rimmed each other for a long time; urgently, still moving around all
over the bed, making a crumpled mess out of the duvet (and I noticed, when
I came up for air, the incredible contrast between our tan, bare skin and
the creamy smoothness of the bedspread, and it made it all so much hotter,
made us so much more naked, somehow. . . )

And Zach was the one who broke away first, and I groaned, and really,
really MISSED his smooth tongue on me down there, IN me down there, and I
felt the wetness, and I wanted him back . . . .

Zach kind of half-dived across the bed, sprawling on top of me, his butt
moving away from me; and one hand was rummaging in the drawer next to his
bed.

And the next thing I knew, I was on my back, and Zach was straddling my
legs, my thighs, facing me; his eyes were slits, and he was panting, and
then the cold lube was being smeared all over my own dick, and the LOOK he
gave my dick, as his hand ran up and down it, caressing, getting it wet --

I've been on the other end of that look, since then.  Gazing at a dick;
knowing it was going to be inside me, deep, deep inside me, in just a few
more heartbeats.  Coming inside me, getting me wet inside, soon enough
after that.

That was the look in Zach's face.  So, so priceless.

Then he was up on his knees, and I was holding on to his thighs, and his
back arched and his torso twisted, as he reached behind and fingered
himself, a little desperately, opening himself up, making a few little
noises as he stretched, his hard cock bobbing in front of him --

And then he kind of scrambled up my torso, on his knees, still straddling
me, and I put one hand on his waist and I grabbed his smooth, hard dick
with the other hand -- gently -- as he reached behind him, and lifted my
own dick up, and he arched his back again, and his face was all screwed up
in concentration --

And he did it.  I felt it; the tickling on the tip of my dick as he moved
it up and down inside his crack, lining it up just right with his anus;
then his warmth, and then his slickness, and the sheer, utter THRILL I
felt, just the incredible thrill of knowing it was happening, feeling it,
as he sank down on me and I was penetrating him, and I felt his slick,
lubed anal ring wrapped around my penis, moving down, and I was in him,
INSIDE him, and he kept on going, down, down, until he was sitting right
down on my pubes, and I was all the way in him, trying not to buck my hips
up into him too strongly, and I was fucking Zach.  My Zach.

I didn't know it could be so intense.  I just didn't.


And then we began to really fuck.

Zach fucked me, in the sense that he was the one moving; moving his ass up
and down my shaft, moving his whole body, little jerking movements, side to
side, up and down, deciding when and where and how he wanted me in him; so,
so expertly.

And as he did, he was mostly propped up on his hands, over my shoulders,
his face so close to mine, his mouth open, his eyes still slitted -- his
breath coming in puffs, and gasps, as he moved, and impaled himself on my
dick, over and over and over.

I didn't masturbate him.  I kept my hand on his own cock, warm, squeezing a
little, but I didn't jack him.  I knew Zach, I knew his body; he was close,
and I didn't want him to come, yet.

And finally, as his breath was getting jerky -- I put both hands on his
thighs, and pressed down, gently, and held him there, keeping him still, as
his dick bobbed in front of me, out of reach of my lips.

"Hold still a second," I whispered to him.  He just looked at me, panting,
almost whimpering, and I felt his anus squeezing me, in spasms, he was that
close, and so I just kept him there, quiet, until his breathing slowed, a
little, and the squeezing went away.

"Good," I whispered.  "Good.  Now, hand me that," and I motioned with my
eyes towards the lube.

His eyes got a little wider, but he did, he reached over and found the
lube, and gave it to me.  I felt him move on my cock, as he reached and
stretched.

"Can I do this to you?  Without you coming, yet?"

I saw in his eyes, he understood.  "Go slow."


Like I said, Zach is a force of nature.  When it comes to sex; when it
comes to getting sex, doing sex, getting other people off, just his sheer,
overwhelming sensuality.

But, sometimes -- pretty often, actually, as we were growing up -- I've
been the one to try something new, first.  Do something -- new and unusual
-- first.

Usually on special occasions, when I'm so, so sexually excited, when we've
really been doing wild stuff with each other, when I feel like I'm almost
out of control, kind of seeing things through a haze, almost ready to come
--

Like that particular moment.  Yeah; like right then.

I mean, partly it was just logical; the way I felt, what I was going
through emotionally, the hyper-sexual feelings that had been running
through me since Clay's Beach, there was just no way Zach was going to get
out of this without fucking me.

Fucking me really well; the way he had, the first time.

And he was the one who was going to be the one to come inside me; not the
other way around.  Sorry; it might be selfish, but that's just how it was
going to be.

But before that -- before we came -- my idea was that we could switch back
and forth.  Fucking, and getting fucked.

Repeatedly.

So I gently -- very, very carefully -- squeezed a big, fat line of clear
lube, along the top of his dick, on the theory he was less sensitive there;
and he gasped, and a big drip of precum dropped from the end of his dick,
trailing a strand as it fell to my lower stomach; and I felt him spasm
again, around my own dick, so I held still for a second, and made him sit
without moving.

Then I smeared it, with my right hand, all over his dick; really, really
slowly, careful to get his whole dick really slick, and careful to avoid
bringing him to orgasm.

And as I did -- I looked at him, all of Zach, his whole, beautiful body,
his soul, just shining there, open to me at last --

And I did what I'd seen him do before; I looked really, really closely at
his dick; his penis.  I smoothed my hand carefully down his shaft, starting
at the head, making his urethra open and wink at me, as another little
globe of precum appeared there, and his dick was so WARM in my hand, and
hard, but the skin was so light and soft under the lube, it slid around on
his hardness so easily -- and I knew this beautiful, incredible, erotic
thing I loved was going INTO me, up INSIDE me, and I wanted it, so, so bad
. . .

"You're going to have to get off me, to lube me up," I whispered.

"Not yet."  He panted, then half-grinned back down at me, and it was a grin
coupled with other things -- but partly, that thousand-watt sexual energy I
knew so well, before, and I understood.

I handed him the tube -- and I spread my legs, as best I could, with Zach
sitting on my cock, -- he lifted up a little, to give me room, and I
followed, keeping my dick in him -- and as I did, I lifted my knees up,
just a little, as far as they would go.

And Zach leaned back, supporting himself on one arm, the slender muscles of
his arm and shoulder and torso standing out so beautifully, and for a
second I jerked up a little, I was afraid my poor cock would break from
being forced down towards my feet; but he didn't go that far back.

And then he came upright again, for a second, and spread some lube on the
fingers of his free hand, and then he leaned back on one arm again --

And he did it.  I didn't think he could; but he did it.

He penetrated me -- first one finger, slowly, gently, wriggling around
inside me, probing, pushing -- and then two fingers, squirming, twisting,
and then beginning to push, push, push -- while still sitting, impaled, on
me.  While I twisted underneath him, opening myself, pushing back on his
fingers, just a little, the best I could with him on me like that.

Oooohhhhhhhh.  Oh, my dear god.

Fucking; and getting fingered.  At the same time.  In the middle of an
emotional storm bigger than any I'd ever experienced; by and with this boy
I loved . . .

"Uuunnnngghhhh - !!!"  I arched my back, as Zach's middle finger hit that
spot inside me; and I grabbed his thighs, and pushed up with my feet, and I
felt his fingers freeze.  "Uhhhh . . . . ohh, kayyy," I breathed, raggedly,
as I came back from the brink.

And then his fingers went THERE again, and I almost screamed, and tensed
up, and I almost, ALMOST came --

"Yeaahhh . . . . sorry.  I couldn't resist."  He was still panting, his
face a mask of total lust; he was almost as out of it as I was.

"Ohhhhhhhhh . . . . Zach, just fuck me.  Fuck me!  Please!!"  His fingers
in me, still, I was whimpering, my voice almost blubbery.

"Okay," he breathed.  "Okay.  I'm pulling my fingers out, now."  And he
did; carefully, slowly, gently, first one, then the other, and I whimpered
again at the slick feeling in my anus, and the way I just kind of closed
up, down there, when I wanted to be open.  And then he was leaning forward
again, propped up on his hands, his torso over mine, his face so close
. . . .

"I can't last long," he whispered.  "But I want you to come inside me.
Next time.  I want to feel it, I want your sperm inside me.  I really,
really do.  Okay, Christian?"

"Okay," I whimpered back, my voice strange even to me.

And he was kissing me, then, mouths open to each other, tenderly, very,
very sexually; and it went on for awhile, and he pulled back.

"Ready?"  His eyes were locked on mine.

"Uhhh -- huhhhh."

And he slowly, slowly lifted himself up, and I felt him sliding off of my
cock, until it kind of squirted out of his bottom, and then he was over me
again, and on me, and pressing against me, and we rolled completely over,
once, I was on him, then on my back again --

And this time, my legs were really, really wide up, to either side of
Zach's body, and my butt was lifted up, and he was down there, moving --

And I felt it.  I felt the head of his smooth, slippery dick right up
against my anus, and it just opened for him, and he pushed, and everything
was so slick and lubed down there, and I opened up for him, and he was in
--

"Uuunnnnnggghhhhhh - !"

I felt Zach freeze.  "Okay?" he whispered.  I felt the puff of his breath
on my face.

I was almost beyond speech.

"Yeaahhhhhh . . . . slooowww?  Please?"

It didn't hurt.  Not at all; like I said, I'm lucky that way too, I think,
it almost never hurts, when I get fucked.  But right now, I was gasping and
jerking because it was just so incredibly intense, so EROTIC, combined with
everything we'd been doing -- my whole groin area, my anal area, my pelvic
muscles, were so, so sensitive --

Here's the thing.  I've found, anyway.  Sometimes, making love, getting
deeply, deeply physical, deeply erotic -- it seems to me that it's all
cumulative.  I get pushed to a kind of sensual, erotic high, and then we do
more stuff, even different stuff, different acts, but even then that high
just keeps building, and building, until I'm almost frantic, to the point
when even the slightest touch of a finger or a tongue makes me shudder, and
jerk, and spasm . . . .

Sometimes.  Sometimes.

This was one of those times.

Zach moved in.  Moved more of his dick into me; slowly, steadily.
Relentlessly. And just that feeling, of that big, smooth, slick part of him
sliding INTO me, without me having any control over it --

It was like our first fuck, at Clay's Beach.  But ten times, a hundred
times more intense.  It was more than just our bodies fucking.  It was more
than just old friends fucking.  It meant something.  Our souls were bare to
each other, in way we'd never been before; and we were fucking, that way.

It was intense.

I pulled him to me, my arms around him, and his chest came down on mine,
getting as much contact between our bodies as we could -- and he moved his
pelvis, he moved his dick inside me with these sinuous thrusts I didn't
know anybody could do --

Not just in and out.  Not one rhythm.

Zach probed, inside me.  While I lay on my back, so totally open to him,
legs wrapped around his thighs, he probed inside me; different angles;
different pressures, different forcefulness, sometimes gentle, sometimes
really PUSHING, and by now I really WAS beyond speech, I was just
whimpering, making noises in time to his thrusts --

I wanted to come.  I wanted to come so, so bad; I wanted to come more than
I could ever remember wanting to before.  I was dripping, I could feel it,
and Zach's chest felt so GOOD against mine, and his lips were on my neck,
and oh, God, the way he was MOVING inside me, down there --

"Wait," I whispered into his ear, and he slowly, slowly came to a stop.

He wanted to come, too.  I could tell.  He really did.

I made him stay there, a second, as I held him, and we panted against each
other; I squeezed down on his cock, once, with my anal muscles, and that
made him twitch, but then I realized that wasn't really fair, so I relaxed
. . . .

"Okay.  Now -- pull out . . . . "

His head came up and he looked at me; eyes still wild, but then I saw the
understanding finally, finally dawn, and a kind of wondrous hint of a smile
came to his lips, and he carefully, carefully, gently pulled back, and I
moaned as I felt his dick leave me, and I didn't want it to leave me, and I
groaned as I closed up again --

And then he was kneeling over me, again, one hand behind him, on my cock,
and he came down, squatting, maybe twisting his torso a little, and I felt
it again, I was inside him again as he moaned, and I felt myself go deeper
inside him, then deeper, as he sank down, and I penetrated him --

And this time I pushed myself up by my elbows, then -- careful, both of us
so careful, trying so hard not to lose that connection -- I moved us,
slowly, up and over, and his legs came up around my waist, and then he was
on his back, looking up at me, and I was IN him, propped up on my elbows,
my face to his face --


We couldn't last.

It was our first time trying it, after all.  Both of us, lubed up, slick;
almost overwhelmed by the mix of sensations, but even more, our emotions
all raw from -- everything . . .

We went back and forth a couple more times.  Wildly; free-form, without
planning, frantic, just so intent on getting INSIDE one another.  Rolling;
switching from front-to- front fucking, to front-to-back (I really LIKE
being fucked, back-to-front, with Zach's whole body pressed up against
mine, his arms around me, his dick moving so, so deeply inside me . . . . )
and then back again --

We almost fell off the bed, once.  We were rolling, and rolling, and came
to the edge, and Zach had to throw down a leg to keep us from falling, and
that made his cock thrust deep, deep up inside me, and I almost screamed
and had to hold really, really still, for a second, to keep from spurting
all over both of us . . .

And that was kind of a warning; so we switched again, for awhile.  But it
didn't delay things long.

Not too much later than that, it ended.  With me on my back, again; and
Zach inside me, again, but this time, as he was probing, and thrusting, and
FUCKING me, he was panting, and making moaning noises between kissing me
so, so deeply, and I was making more noise --


And then he was pulling back, and LOOKING at me, so, so intensely, in the
eyes, and back to kissing me, and still thrusting, and probing, and
deliberately probing my prostate, and then backing off, and then LOOKING at
me, with so, so much -- love.

So much love.  Such an intensity of love And all I could do, as I lay
there, and moved against him, and moaned, and held him, was look at him,
and feel so, so much love for him in return, and so much wonder, that this
should be, that this disastrous day should turn out this way --


And then, finally, he put his chest down against mine again, and I held him
so, so, tight, and he shifted his thrusts kind of upward, so that the tip
of his dick was hitting me RIGHT ON my prostate, once, twice, three times
--

Have you ever had the kind of orgasm that almost outruns itself?  Where the
cum just spews out of your dick, frantically, harder and faster than you
can even PUSH it out with your pulses?  The kind of orgasm that makes your
balls hurt, after, and makes you sort of involuntarily curl up around
yourself, as you come, and as a slick, smooth dick keeps assaulting your
prostate as you come, making you come so much harder still -- ?

Yeah.  It was that kind of orgasm.

Not that I remember it that well.  It was way too intense to remember, to
analyze.

"UNNNNNGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH - !!!!!" I finally did sort of scream, as it
happened, and I jerked, and I squeezed Zach with my arms and my anus as I
spewed, and spurted, and then he was making the most incredible noises in
my ear as HE came, and pushed, and twitched, and he CAME --

And I felt it!  I felt something happen inside me, anyway; I felt --
something hitting me inside.  It was Zach's come, hitting me inside!  Once,
twice, three times . . . .

There were probably more.  But I felt those three pulses; I swear to God, I
felt them.  Inside me.  Zach's sperm; inside me.

Just as my own sperm was on both of us, now, between us, making both of us
wet, as Zach finally stopped thrusting, and just stayed there, on me, in
me, pushing a few last, little thrusts, little squirms, inside me, and I
felt him shuddering, under my hands, against me, as we panted, and panted
. . . .


At last, after a long time, Zach made a sound -- his face still buried in
my neck, his chest still pressed against mine -- and I felt him move,
slowly, gently, and then his dick was gone, out of me, and I relaxed down
against the bed -- it felt bad losing him, but at the same time it felt
good, stretching out my back, relaxing my cramped muscles -- and he
collapsed his body down on mine, chest to chest, crotch to crotch, both of
us smeared in our lube and semen.

And it was good, like this, holding him so, so close, without looking at
each other, without taking the next step.


Sometimes I'm slow.


Sometimes I'm very slow.  And I wish -- I still wish -- I could go back,
and change some things.

But I thought I'd figured it out.  Somewhere along the way, as Zach and I
fucked, as Zach and I finally communicated with our bodies -- I thought I'd
figured it out.

"Zach?" I whispered, looking up at the ceiling, as he nuzzled his lips into
my neck.  I ran my hands through his hair, down his neck, down his smooth
back, feeling the muscles, feeling the shape of him; wonderingly.
Wonderingly.

"Ummm?"

I almost hated to ask.  It would mean so much -- karma.  Penance, really;
for me.  So much.

"Did you -- wait for me?"  I whispered it.  "All this time?  While I was
away?"

And I felt his body stiffen, under my hands, against my own body; and I
knew.

I knew.

Nobody knows Zach's body, under his hands, the way I do.  Nobody.  Not
Liam; not Tim; not Jarod.  Nobody ever will.

Nobody knows Zach's soul, the way I do.

I kept running my hands over him, up and down his back, along his sides,
soothingly, feeling his whole smooth, warm body against mine, as my eyes
filled up, and the tears started running down my cheeks.

And then I heard him make a sound, and his body was relaxing against mine,
collapsing, molding itself against mine, again, under my hands.

"The next time you go away," he sobbed, softly, into my neck, "take me with
you?"

My Zach.  My strong Zach.

"I promise," I whispered back, and I held him so, so tight.  "Oh, I
promise.  I promise."  And I kissed his cheek, where I could reach it, over
and over again.  "I promise . . . . . "


And it occurred to me, as we lay there, holding each other so, so tight --
that maybe I'd been kind of self-absorbed.

Maybe I'd been a lot self-absorbed.

Maybe I'd been so absorbed with my own feelings, and my own fears, and with
feeling torn between Europe and here, and my fears about coming back home,
and trying to fit in with my old friends --

Maybe I'd been so self-absorbed that I'd completely, utterly screwed up
with Zach.  Screwed up even more -- a lot more -- than I'd thought.

Maybe I'd totally failed to see who he was, and what he was feeling --
feeling about ME - - and what HE needed, instead of just my own needs . . .

My invulnerable, strong Zach.  Maybe I should have just fucking NOTICED,
instead of blathering about Philippe Coudrot, and about me maybe going back
to England . . .

Maybe Zach had really, really good reasons for those walls he put up, to
keep me out.  Maybe he was protecting himself from getting hurt.

Hurt worse.  Hurt again.  By me.


And as I lay there, Zach pressed against me, me stroking his body, feeling
him under my hands, feeling the wetness between us, I thought, just maybe,
maybe, I'll be able to make it up to him.  Over enough time.

Maybe.

I was going to try.


***********************************************************************

The last chapter, Chapter 16, will be uploaded shortly.

Comments, reactions, and criticism are welcome at dlgrantsf@yahoo.com.

I'm particularly interested in hearing from people who may have had similar
physical and emotional friendships with other boys; similar friendship
groups.  I get the impression that such arrangements used to be a lot more
common than they are now, which is -- in a way -- a shame, I think.  Even
if it does indicate progress, in a way.

I'm also interested in hearing from expatriates.  Christian's predicament
is partly based on experiences of several friends of mine.  I have enormous
(retroactive) sympathy for them both.

Many, many thanks to Nifty for providing this priceless service.

My previous Nifty story is `Naked with Connor', in the High School
directory.

Thanks to everyone who has already written; and, thanks again for reading.