Date: Thu, 17 Aug 2000 16:21:26 EDT
From: Bart384@aol.com
Subject: Part 2 "Getting Graduated"

                              Getting Graduated - (Part 2)
                               by Bart Hanks (bart384@aol.com)

Graduation was getting nearer, and I knew we'd be saying goodbye to
each other.  I wanted to see more of Squirrel, but more than that I
also wanted to find out the real details about Patrick's situation.
I had to grin to myself when I thought about that.  Fay's Marine
brother and some buddies caught Patrick and shaved him good, to keep
him from messing with Fay.  Fay had just turned 16 and her brother
didn't want anybody trying to get into her pants.  So instead they
got into Patrick's.  I wanted to know the full details on that.  I
could jerk off just thinking about that.  In fact I had over the last
two days, but sometimes I also thought about Squirrel.

"Hey, Ken" a voice behind me called.  It was almost twilight and I had
been walking home thinking about stuff so much that I didn't even know
if anybody else was around.

I looked back.  It was Squirrel.  Just looking at him got me horny.
"Come on, man" I called, and raised my arm waving him forward.  As he
caught up with me I reached behind him and patted him on the butt.
That butt of his was something to behold.

"Aw, Ken, don't do that.  Somebody might see us.  Anyway, I'm not sure
if we ought to be doing stuff like that."  He looked happy but also a
little embarrassed.  It made me want to rub him more.

"Let's go somewhere where we  can talk" I suggested.  What I really
meant was to go somewhere so I can make out with you again.

"We can go up to my room.  I don't know if my folks are home, but they
don't usually bother me when somebody's with me."

He lived two streets over, in an older brown two storied house that
somehow always looked like it needed a fresh coat of paint.  We went
around in back and went up the outside stairs from the porch.  We waved
at his mother who was busy cooking in the kitchen as we passed by.  She
was a nice lady and when we all grow up and move away, I know I will
miss her.

I don't usually think about missing people or about things changing in
life, but I guess getting ready to graduated does that to a person.  But
now we were in his room.  It had always looked  like what Squirrel
himself was.  Stuff was scattered around, old football writeups from the
paper were scotch taped to the wall, and one of those School Days pictures
of his from last year was stuck in the mirror that was fixed above his
dresser.

We both sat on the bed, and I reached over and put my hand on his
shoulder. "Let me ask you something" I said.

"What?"  He grinned; in some ways I guess he's the happiest guy I've ever
known.  He never worries about stuff.

"About you and me and the other day."

"Hey, that was OK.  But I don't know about doing it again.  My butt hurt
for a while afterward.  And like Patrick said, if people knew about it
they could maybe hate us or stuff."  He sounded so sincere, as if he had
really been debating what to do about it.

With my right hand still resting on his shoulder, I took my left and
started messing with his hair.  He sort of laughed and shook his head.
"Come on, Ken, don't..."

But I said, "And you liked working Patrick's dick off, didn't you?  You
had him practically begging to cum before you finished."

He looked really proud, as if he hadn't thought of that before.  "Yeah,
I really did.  I'm good at that kind of stuff."  His eyes shown.

"So you think it was wrong of me to go up your butt that way, but there
was nothing unusual about what you did to Patrick?"

"Right.  That Patrick stuff, jacking his meat for him and having fun,
that's just simply playing around.  I do that kind of thing a lot, and
like you said, I'm good at it."

My mind did a sort of double take.  "You do that a lot?"

"Sure. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Who do you do it with? What guys do you work off?"

"Oh just some of the guys I go fishing with.  We'll be on the river most
of the day, and stuff gets slow if nothing's biting, so we'll pin someone
down and pull down his pants and work his dick off."

"On a boat on the river?"

"Sure.  I mean it's just a small boat with an outboard motor, and we have
to be careful or we'll swamp the boat and we'll all end up in the water,
and then we'd lose our gear and lines and fish and all."

It suddenly occurred to me that there was a hell of a lot more going on
in town than I had ever imagined.  But Squirrel seemed cheerfully
unconcerned.

"I usually sit at the back by the motor.  It's the guy in the middle who
ends up getting caught.  I come at him from the back, and another guy
comes from the front.

I looked at him.  He was really throwing himself into his explanation now.

"It's always better if I can pull him over so he's got his shoulders down
in the bottom, his butt on the middle seat, and the guy at the other end
is pinning his legs.  With my knees on his shoulders I can start
unbuttoning his pants and playing with his shorts, and the other guy can
start pulling them down. We don't usually take them all the way off since
if he has shoes they wouldn't fit over them easily, and if he's in
moccasins or sneakers it works fine but it's harder afterward to get the
pants pulled back on.  So we don't want to make trouble for him, because
we're really just playing around and having fun."

I thought to myself, Right, you're considerate masturbators.  Aloud I
asked, "How do you decide which one works him off?"

"I'm usually the one.  I've got it down to an art.  With my knees pinning
his arms, I just reach down to his dick and start in.  That's how I
learned that trick of making a guy wait before I let him shoot off."

"But other people fish on the river.  Don't any of them ever come by?"

"Sometimes.  But we've got some oilcloth we take along in case of rain,
and we throw it over him and I stay where I am and pretend to be working
on threading my line and the guy in front faces forward but leans back
across the guy's legs."

"Remind me never to go fishing with you, or at least not to sit in the
middle unless I decide that's what I want."

"Hey, it's just fun."

But I noticed his dick had gotten hard while he was telling it, and it
was poking against his pants like it wanted to come out.  I reached over
and touched it.  It leaped into action, and I asked Squirrel, "When
you've beaten off since we got Patrick, have you imagined getting him or
did you imagine you and me?"

He shifted his legs to let his dick have more room.  I could see the head
outlined clearly against his jeans.  That little sucker was anxious to get
out of there.  "Well," he said, as if he was debating, "well I guess it
was more about me and you.  I mean getting Patrick's dick was fun, but I
get to do that a lot.  I mean getting dicks a lot. That was the first time
I ever got Patrick.  Stuff with me and you hadn't happened before."

I began unbuttoning his pants.  "So if you liked it and I liked it, why
shouldn't we do it some more?"

"Well I don't know.  I guess it's OK as long as it's us.  And as long as
we don't get caught."

I was slipping his pants down and off now.  He wore nothing beneath them,
and he had already taken off his shirt when he got to his room.  His
smooth olive skin gleamed in the afterglow of a fading sunset.  His brown
eyes were soft and warm, and his dark hair was tousled and rich textured.

That dick stood at attention, curving upward, its big head proud and
waiting to be touched.  I took it in my fingers and then reached down and
began sucking it.  I moved my hands up  his body, feeling the abs and ribs
and chest and muscles, feeling his smoothness and his strength.  Then with
one hand I held his balls, feeling them move and swell, enjoying their
warmth and the sudden urges his dick was emitting as it worked its way
toward a full orgasm.  With my other hand I reached beneath him and found
his crack and his hole.  With the insertion of my finger he squeezed his
butt, but I entered.  Probing deeper I found a spot that made him moan in
ecstasy.  At that moment his balls contracted upward until they were like
a pair of engines beside the base  of his dick, and he spurted into my
mouth.  It tasted warm and good.

When he was through with his final spurt and last little dribble, I saw
when I came off of him, that I had a raging bone.  I stepped out of my
shorts and turned him over.  His butt was beautiful: smooth, firm, round
with dimples.  And every time I touched it he quivered.  Before inserting
my dick, I took my fingers and moved them up his spine, touching each of
the vertebrae.  He responded with a shudder.  I began licking them, and
as I did I reached around in front and touched his dick.  It was hard
again.  I rubbed the tip of the head and he moaned in both pleasure and
pain.  It was too soon to start working it, but the dick itself wanted to
be worked.  He would have to put up with any discomfort, because I knew
what that dick wanted.

Inserting my bone into his waiting hole, I kept thrusting until it was
well in. He didn't seem to have as much difficulty with me doing that as
he had at the locker room.  I figured that if I played my cards right,
this could turn into a real relationship.

With each thrust I also squeezed the slit at the tip of his dick, rubbing
the piss line and at the same time playing with the skin below the head.
That dick was getting ready to shoot, and as I poured my load up his ass,
that dick came again in my fingers. Squirrel wiggled and twisted in sheer
pleasure as he came.

"Damn but you're good, Ken."

"Thanks, man."

From downstairs his mom called, "Supper's almost ready, son.  Be sure
you're all cleaned up."

He and I looked at each other and laughed.  He got up and pulled on his
jeans.

"I better wash up, Ken.  You want me to ask if you can join us?"

"No.  I got to go, Squirrel.  Maybe between now and graduation we can get
together and spend some time."

He gave me a cheerful and wicked grin.  "That'd be great."  As I started
out the door, he added, "Maybe we can go fishing."

"Like hell" I muttered, and hurried down the back stairs and out into the
twilight.  Before I was out of earshot, I heard his mother calling him
again.  I shook my head and grinned.  I figured he was trying  to get all
that cum washed off before he went downstairs.

After walking for a while, I decided to see if Patrick was home.  I still
wanted to get the real story on him and Fay's brother.

It was dark now and the streetlights were on.  I walked past houses where
families were eating their evening meal, where there were yards with swings
and the inevitable pecan tree.  Every fall we'd gather pecans and shell
them.  Some people even sold them by the roadside.  The pecan trees were
always the last to drop their leaves, and they weren't usually completely
bare until the first week in December.

Thinking of the fall made me think of all the football weekends in the
past, of the Friday morning pep rallies and the Friday night games.  The
pep rallies were great, the whole school would turn out and everybody
would be all excited and the cheerleaders would be jumping and waving and
leading the crowd in cheers.  And the game on Friday nights would always
be tense, and the town would really turn out for us.  We truly were a
football town.  And then I thought of the bus trips when it was an out of
town game, and how if we won we'd go wild on the trip home.  If somebody
got you pinned down in the back, you could figure you'd lost it all
before they were through.  The bus would get back to the school and
everybody would pile out and there'd be some guy still at the back,
crawling around on his hands and knees looking under the seats for his
clothes.  And parents would be there waiting to pick up the guys who
weren't old enough to drive yet, and if the guy in the bus had to stand
up and look overhead to find his clothes, the bus light would be on inside
because the last ones out would click them on, and all the parents and
girls would see the guy buck naked standing in the aisle looking for his
pants.

That always got me horny just thinking about it.  Being on the team was
like belonging to a brotherhood or something, where you go through a lot
but you don't mind because you know it happens to everybody else and you
know you belong.

Now I was at Patrick's, and it looked like nobody was home.  I stood at
the bottom of the porch steps and debated whether to knock on the door or
not.  As I was about to turn away, the door opened slightly and Patrick's
voice called, "Come on in quick."

I didn't know what was up.  This wasn't the way Patrick usually acted.
Sandy haired, gray eyed, tall and slender but with a lot of strength in
those muscled arms and long legs, Patrick used to walk about the dressing
room buck naked with that hose of his reaching down practically to his
knees, acting like he didn't care what anybody thought about anything.
Even when he was taking a crap he'd leave the stall door open, and his
dick hung so long he would have to hold it sometimes to keep it out of
the water.  When we'd see him like that, we'd grin and say "Treat it
good, Patrick, it's got to last you a lifetime."  He would give us a
disgusted look and sometimes cuss us.

But now he wanted me inside, and in a hurry.  I went on in and he closed
the door and locked it.  He didn't have any lights on, but I could see a
glow from the back.

"What's up?" I asked him.

"Come on back in my room and we can talk.  My folks are away for the
weekend; my aunt is sick and they went to take care of her."

We were back in his room now.  He had pictures of Fay and pictures of
himself and Fay, and souvenirs like the program from the Senior Prom and
the prom picture.  On the walls were a couple of college pennants for
schools with teams he liked.  He sat on the edge of the bed and I sat in a
chair beside it.  Patrick looked worried.

"Look, Ken, don't tell anybody about this.  But I've got a problem with
Fay's brother."

Actually that was music to my ears.  It was what I had hoped to be able to
hear about.  "I wondered what that was all about."

He shifted a little and gave a sort of squirm.  "Yeah.  Well... Anyhow,
what's happening is that Pete doesn't want me touching Fay.  He found out
about me and her, and he said if I ever touched his sister again he would
really fix me permanently.  And that scares me."

He obviously was worried.  I tried to reassure him.  "But I don't think
Pete would mean he was going to kill you."

"That's not what I'm scared of.  Everything he says or does has something
to do with sex.  It's like he's obsessed with the subject.  I don't want
him messing with my sex life; I don't want him deciding to cut something
off."

"Aw, Patrick, that's pretty far out.  Why would you think that?"

"Well, you saw how he shaved me and told me I had to keep it shaved."

"Sure.  But that doesn't mean..."

He stood up and unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down.  His pole
looked longer with no hair around it, and his balls looked smooth as
silk.  "Look" he said.

At first I didn't see anything different.  Then I realized what it was.
On the head of his dick as he held it toward me, I could see a red spot
on the top and, as he raised it, on the bottom as well.

"What's that for?"

Patrick was both scared and embarrassed.  "I not only can't touch his
sister, I can't even touch my own dick.  I can't have any sex life.  I
can't even beat off."

"What do you mean?"

"He put this red dot there with some chemical he has.  He says if it is
ever gone, or if it even seems to fade, he's going to fix me so I won't
have to worry about sex anymore for the rest of my life."

"I still don't get it."

Patrick seemed desperate.  "Look, the only thing that will take it off is
friction.  So I can't screw and I can't beat off, and I can't do anything
with it."

He released his hand on it, and it swung there looking prime and ready.

"Can't you replace the dot?  Can't you match the color?"

"Don't think I haven't tried.  But if you look close, it has a sort of 3-D
effect, it's not a flat red mark or something."

I couldn't believe the opportunity that had just been awarded to me.  "Let
me see" I said, taking his dick in my hand.

The moment I touched it he shivered and his voice got husky.  "Careful" he
said, "I haven't shot off in two days."

I continued holding it and pretending to examine it.  "You mean when
Squirrel worked you off at the school was the last time?"

"That night.  Afterward.  And even though my folks were home, Pete came by
while I was jerking off here in my room, and they told him to come on back,
and he walked in and caught me.  I think he had seen me through the window
and that's why he came in."

"You jerk off with the lights on and the shade not pulled?"

"Well not always.  But I was horny."

His balls were like a grapefruit.  "You're pretty full there" I said, and
touched them.  They were soft and warm to the touch.  His dick gave a
quiver.

"Yeah.  I keep pretty active sexually.  I always did even during football
season. I could do that and not have any problems.  You guys could suffer
through not beating off or not getting any while the season was on, but it
never affected me at all."

My other hand still held his dick by the head.  I gently tapped the
underside and could feel the red dot as if it was a tiny object attached
there.

"What it is exactly?"  His dick was going to full length now, and he
looked like he would break out in a sweat.  His voice was husky and his
breathing was slow and deep.  He was trying to enjoy it and hold back at
the same time.  He was so full sexually that I don't think he really
understood anything except that he desperately wanted to shoot off.

"It has a chemical in it.  Whatever it is, it makes you horny as hell.  I
want to shoot off and I can't and I don't know what to do.  I can't stand
it much longer."

"How long will it have to stay on?"

"I don't know.  He said he would check me in a few days."

"Does it give you any other problems?"  I couldn't believe I was still
holding his dick while we talked.  I was careful not to let the red dot
on the underside rub against my hand as his dick lengthened.  The whole
bone was warm to the touch and firm now.  I could even feel the blood
throbbing through it.

"Yes.  About every hour it gets a hard on, just like it's doing now.  And
at night it even happens in my sleep.  So I'm afraid to sleep on my
stomach since I might start accidentally humping the mattress and rub the
dot off.  I sleep on my back now, but I can't pull the sheet up because
once it gets hard the sheet rubs against it, and it's liable to rub it off
too."

He had beads of sweat on his forehead.  "I can't stop thinking about
shooting off.  I try to get my mind off it, and it just doesn't work.
I keep thinking of every sexy thing I can remember or imagine, and I can't
make my mind stop.  If I don't get to shoot off soon, I don't know what
will happen."

He was so intent that I was able to continue touching his balls with my
other hand.  They were actually getting fuller as I touched them.
Patrick's balls could manufacture cum like nobody's business, but I guess
considering the self-styled sexual athlete he had always been, it wasn't a
surprise.

"Your balls are sure filling up, man."

He looked at me, all gray-eyed and almost pleading.  "I know.  Ken, I've
got to get some relief, buddy.  I want to shoot off so bad I can almost
taste it.  I've never been like this before.  It's got my stomach knotted
up and it's like something hot and yearning is crawling all over my system.
I've got to shoot off...and I can't find a way to.  I don't want to rub off
the dots, but what else can I do?"

"I can help you" I said.  This was the chance of a lifetime, but I didn't
want to do any damage to the two red dots.

"What can you do?"  He seemed eager but also worried.

He hadn't taken his pants completely off, just pulled down to show me his
problem.  I told him to take them off, and since he wasn't wearing any
underwear I pretty much had the field to myself.  But I did sort of wonder
if any guys in this town ever wore underwear in the summer.

He stood there beside my chair, that long pole stiff and full length and
just inches from my face.

"There's a way we can do this, but you have to do everything I say for it
to work."

He nodded.

"Lie back on the bed."  He did that right away, and I came and sat beside
him.  "I'm going to help you shoot off without touching your dick.  Have
you ever done that before?"

"You mean like a wet dream?"

"No, I mean like shooting off into space without touching your dick.

"No."  He was so horny that I think he was willing to try anything.  He
was a guy who just wanted relief.

"Well, let's see if you can.  But when you start to shoot, you absolutely,
positively can't grab your dick and start working it, no matter how much
you might want to."

"OK.  I guess so."

"All right.  What you need to do is breathe deeply.  Keep taking deep
breaths.  Lock your hands behind your head so you won't accidentally grab
your dick when the going gets good.  And look at me and concentrate."
Actually he didn't need to look at me; that was something I threw in just
for fun.  But he complied, stretched back sideways across the bed.  His
legs hung over the side, and I spread them apart, crouching in front of
them.

As he continued to breathe deeply, I got between his legs, lifted them
across my shoulders, and spread them further apart.  When I could see his
rosebud hole between those cheeks, I inserted my middle finger.

He winced, struggled for a second, but continued his breathing.  With my
middle finger up his butt reaching toward his prostate, I used my thumb to
close in on the channel that ran from his balls back to his butt.  I
pushed in with my thumb the same moment I reached his prostate.  It was
like I was massaging him on the same spot inside and out.  I could hear
his gasp and feel him tense.

"Don't talk, just keep breathing" I told him, sensing he might decide to
tell me how good this all was.  I figured he was nearing an orgasm as I
saw his balls pull up toward his dick.  With my right hand I continued
that massaging, and with my left I touched just the tip of his dick.

It was like he started to tingle all over.  I knew he would shoot any
second.  His legs moved in on me, closing around me in a real hammer lock.
He started to vibrate, and I carefully used my left hand to touch either
side of the red dot on the bottom of his dick's head, and at the same time
I went crazy with my right hand, plunging it in and out, wiggling it inside
him, and pushing against the prostate from the outside with my thumb.  With
his legs wrapped around me, I began to stand, and the whole movement action
threw him into orbit.  He moaned, gasped, and that power pole of his
started shooting off ropes of cum, some of it hitting me, some falling back
on him, and some going all over the bed.  He had kept his hands locked
behind his head, but he pulled his head up to see his dick exploding in
cum.  That dick was throbbing and pulsing and swinging wildly as it released
the full load of his orgasm.  It looked like a tower shooting cream.
Within a few moments things began to subside, and as the frenzy passed he
unclasp his hands and wiped his eyes.

"Wow!  I never shot off that much at once in my life."

"Think it will give you some relief?"

"I guess.  But damn, I really want to work it."

I looked at that lanky, handsome, cum-drenched body.  "Maybe we can get
back at Pete."

"How?"

"Maybe get some of the guys to help get him and do stuff like that to him."

His eyes lit up.  "You think so?"

"Sure" I said confidently.  "And after that's all taken care of, maybe you
and me and Squirrel could go fishing."

(End of Part 2)
-------------------------------------
Comments are always appreciated.
bart 384@aol.com