Date: Sat, 23 Aug 2003 22:36:10 +0000
From: Brewster Hardy <brewsterhardy@hotmail.com>
Subject: Ballard Boys Part 6
Ballard Boys Part 6
By Brewster Hardy
The author claims all copyrights to this story and no duplication or
publication of this story is allowed, except by the web sites to which it
has been posted, without the consent of the author.
This story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to person's
living or dead, or to events that may have occurred, is purely
coincidental. Moreover, none of the actions of the characters in this
story is meant to condone, approve, or sanction their behavior.
*Chapter 17*
When Bob arrived at the Andrews home at 9:00 pm, he felt more than a
little leery. "Oh, well, time to face the music," he thought grimly, as he
screwed up his courage and knocked on the back entrance.
Almost instantly, the door flew open and revealed a flurry of curly
red hair and freckles; Ricky Andrews, Annette's 12-year-old brother, was
always ecstatic to see the older Ballard boy.
"ANN-E-E-E-E-E-TTE," he hollered, not taking his eyes off the golden
17- year-old standing on the back steps. With what he hoped was a subtle
glance, he surveyed the tall demigod standing before him.
He saw how the shaggy blond hair framed the sensual features of the
handsome face.
He saw how the blue, open-necked, tie-dyed "Joe Cocker" shirt covered
most of the powerful torso, shoulders and arms, but left much of the
smooth, tanned upper chest and sculpted lower abdomen exposed.
He saw how the trail of darker-blond hair led from the flawlessly
shaped navel down to the low-rise waistband of the skintight button-fly
blue jeans.
Being in the early exciting stages of puberty himself, Ricky also
couldn't help noticing how the faded denim fabric strained over the
prominent bulge at Bob's crotch.
Ricky was not particularly fond of his big sister; in fact, he found
her to be a royal pain-in-the-butt. Still, he figured she must have been
doing something right, to land a prize like Bob Ballard who was definitely
the coolest and best-looking guy in town.
"ANN-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-TTE!"
"Alright, Ricky," she said quietly as she appeared in the doorway
behind the boy, "I hear you."
The kid stole another quick look at Bob, and then disappeared back
into the house.
"Hi," Bob said.
"Hi."
There was a long, awkward silence. She was staring at the floor,
avoiding his eyes.
"So, are you really pissed off?" he asked.
"Should I be?"
Bob sighed deeply.
"Look, 'Nettie, I don't know what I can say except that I'm really,
really sorry about last night."
"Are you?" she asked.
"What do you mean? Of course I am!"
"I don't know, Bob; I've done a lot of thinking..."
Bob looked at the girl, once again seeing how pretty she was with her
fine features and long, straight blonde hair, and suddenly grew even more
uneasy than he had been earlier.
"What are you talking about?"
"Bob," she said, now looking directly into his eyes, "where were you
earlier last night -- before I saw you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you were grossly, pathetically drunk when I saw you, Bob
-- you could barely stand up, never mind talk or walk. It was really
scary. I think I have the right to know who you were with, where you were
-- everything..."
This had been the boy's worst fear -- that she would demand these
kinds of specifics. What could he tell her -- the truth? -- that he had
spent a few hours modeling for Paul Roberts' camera? -- that he had started
drinking a lot of wine in order to relax? -- that he had become so
"relaxed" that he had virtually performed a striptease for the
photographer? -- that he had found the situation extremely sexually
arousing?
Hardly...
To the best of his knowledge, Annette could scarcely handle the
thought of ANY sort of sexual behavior. Bob couldn't imagine how he would
even begin to explain to her what he had experienced the night before --
the intensity, the mindless, overwhelming feelings of lust and desire; he
barely understood it himself.
He searched her eyes and saw mostly anger, but there also seemed to be
an element of fear or worry or -- something -- what was it?
"Don't you have ANYTHING to say?"
"'Nettie..."
"Don't call me that anymore, please."
"I'm so sorry..."
"Is it another girl?"
Bob, stunned, could only look at her wordlessly, and shake his head.
"IS -- IT -- ANOTHER -- GIRL?"
Suddenly, she was screaming, frantic, grabbing the front of his shirt.
"WHO IS SHE? TELL ME -- WHY WON'T YOU TALK TO ME?"
He stood, helplessly, and watched as tears began to well up in the
girl's eyes; now her head was shaking and her lower lip was quivering.
"I just -- can't..." he said, quietly.
For a long moment, the two simply stood and stared at each other.
Finally, letting go of Bob's shirt, Annette broke the silence.
"Well, then you can just go to hell, Bob Ballard -- and don't bother
calling me again -- EVER!"
With that, she turned and slammed the door.
************
Ian opened his eyes in the darkness, and was confused for a moment --
but only a moment. How long had he been asleep?
He was lying on his right side. He had his left arm draped across his
father's chest.
Jerry was lying on his back -- still asleep, judging from the deep,
steady breathing.
A cool night-breeze swept by, and the boy shivered.
As he clung tighter to his father's body underneath the July moon, the
warmth of the man's skin against his own reminded him that they were both
naked.
For a split second, he wondered what time it was -- and then he
realized he didn't care. As flashes of the vaguely surreal events of the
afternoon danced through his mind, he smiled softly and held tighter again
to the torso of the strongest, handsomest man he had ever known.
His 16-year-old cock was hard again, and he blissfully pressed it
against his father's side, thrusting it ever so gently against the velvet
skin.
His hand glided over the older man's hard abdominal muscles,
fingertips kissing the powdery-soft skin of the pelvis, now happily
tangling in the fragrant pubic hair, now, finally, enclosing the root of
the prize, feeling the heat and the weight of the remarkable organ that had
given him life.
For a moment, as he drifted back to sleep, Ian wondered if he would
ever feel such happiness again.
************
Bob walked for a long time that evening. He walked, and he thought. He
thought about many things.
He thought about Annette. They had been virtually inseparable for
almost two years. She was the only girlfriend he had ever had, and he had
assumed they would be together forever. Although their sexual relations had
never progressed much beyond kissing and fondling, Bob had somehow
convinced himself that they were on the verge of "going all the way". The
last half-hour had killed that dream and now here he was, almost 18 years
old and still a virgin.
He wondered at the unpredictability of life. He was stunned that
something so ostensibly constant could come to such an abrupt end. It was
all over -- just like that.
He tried to be objective, and -- when he was finally able to cool his
emotions -- the obviousness of it all suddenly became clear. Although he
had spent most of his young life in this small town, Bob already knew that
his aspirations were bound to take him out into the larger world; Annette,
on the other hand, seemed to have little interest in moving much beyond her
immediate neighborhood.
He thought about himself. Were his actions on the previous evening
some sort of subconscious attempt to upset Annette? Had he been rebelling
in some crazy way against her relatively rigid morality?
...or was it something else altogether?
He thought about the overheated performance he had given for Mr.
Roberts' camera and, all of a sudden, his cock began hardening again.
Damn.
He thought about his cock. Ever since adolescence, he had been shy
about becoming erect in public. It had been much worse when he was in his
early teens, of course, because his cock had matured long before the rest
of his body had; the proportions were all out-of-whack. Even at his present
height of 6'3", however, and even with the rest of his body exercised and
polished to a state of almost dizzying perfection, the disproportionate
size of the mound created by his hard cock was an ongoing concern.
Thankfully, the streets were quiet tonight. He reached Jefferson Park,
and sat down on a bench. This would be a relatively discreet position until
the hard-on went away.
As he sat there under the summer moon, he remembered the shock of
seeing his face in the mirror that morning -- that was definitely dried cum
all over his face. "How could that be?" he wondered. He tried and tried to
remember the end of last night, but kept coming up blank. He had fuzzy
memories of seeing Annette, but nothing after that.
Suddenly, it hit him -- of course -- he always jerked-off before going
to sleep; last night, because he had presumably passed out, he must have
had some over-the-top wet dream, and shot all over his own face.
Wow.
The explanation didn't really ring true, but it was the best he could
come up with for the moment.
His cock was still hard -- maybe harder than before -- hmmmm...
He thought about the bedtime episode with Ian on Thursday night.
Masturbating in front of his younger brother had seemed like the right
thing to do at the time -- now he wasn't so sure.
Letting Ian taste his pre-cum, however, was definitely a questionable
move.
The brothers hadn't really spoken since.
That wasn't good.
Bob really loved his little brother. He teased him mercilessly
sometimes, but he did truly love him.
Goddamn - this fucking hard-on will not go away!
************
When Jerry awoke, the first thing he noticed was the sparkling of
countless stars in the sky above him.
Then he became aware of the warm body lying so close beside him on the
ground -- Ian -- the images cascaded through his thoughts at lightning
speed. He closed his eyes again and wanted to scream in frustration and
anguish.
What have I done?
Then he felt the boy's sweet breath caressing his chest, the deeply
muscled arm lying across his pelvis and, finally, the strong young hand
wrapped around his hardening cock.
He stopped breathing for a moment, as he wondered what to do. The boy
was clearly still asleep. The rational part of him insisted that what had
occurred earlier was terribly wrong, and to allow the present situation to
continue would be indefensible. Why, then, did it feel so simple and right
on some level? Was it the fresh summer breeze, blowing across his face?
Was it the sound of the water cascading over the falls, at once powerful
and comforting? Was it the arms of another man holding him, providing
undeniable solace -- despite, or because of, the fact that the other man
was his son?
The blood continued to flow steadily to his mounting erection, and he
felt it twitch involuntarily as it thickened and lengthened in the grasp of
Ian's enclosing hand.
Jerry had slept, as he most often did, with both arms stretched out
and wrapped around his head. Now he brought his left arm down and enfolded
his son's broad shoulders, pulling the boy tighter to his side, squeezing
the rippling muscles of the young back. He lifted his head slightly and
buried his face in the boy's silky, dark hair, nuzzling, inhaling deeply,
and luxuriating in the intoxicating perfume of youth. His right arm moved
of its own accord, and now he was embracing the lad fully as he kissed the
clear, unworried brow. His cock throbbed and jumped in the boy's hand, as a
battle raged within his heart and mind.
"Nnnmmghh..." Ian was stirring in his sleep -- then he stopped -- and
then his head was slowly turning upward towards Jerry's face, opened eyes
still unfocused from dreaming.
"Dad?"
With his left hand, Jerry cradled the boy's head. As he moved to kiss
the soft, full lips, his right arm glided down the warm suppleness of the
long back, over the bend of the waist, finally coming to rest on the
fullness of the firm, youthful buttocks. This time, their lips met with
tenderness as well as with the newly unbridled passion, as the handsome man
and his beautiful young son unhurriedly began to explore the perfection of
each other's physical form.
Jerry felt Ian's hand release his heavy cock and move around to caress
the velvet skin and iron muscle of his butt.
Now Jerry moved to his side, and the two men were facing each other,
locked in the reassuring warmth of their embracing arms, as the kiss
continued, longingly, lovingly, hungrily.
Jerry was suddenly aware of the heat and power of Ian's erection, once
again thrusting against his own. The length and girth of the boy's shaft
very nearly matched the father's prodigious size.
After the briefest of hesitations, Jerry finally gave himself over to
the dictates of desire and, for the first time, his hand slowly,
tentatively moved to touch the quivering, blood-engorged head of his son's
manhood.
"Oh -- Dad -- oh, yes..."
************
"HEY - BOB!"
Acoustic guitar slung over his back, Frankie Eglinton was heading in
Bob's direction. Bob allowed himself a smile as he watched his best, oldest
friend meander down the street. When the young Ballard family had moved
back east from San Francisco in 1957, Frankie was the first local kid to
befriend 4-year-old Bobby. They had been virtually inseparable ever since.
The Eglintons were a wealthy, long-established clan in this small
town. Frankie was an only child, and he thought of Bob as his brother. In
fact, strangers often mistook the two boys for siblings -- they looked so
very much alike.
"Hey, man - what's up?" Frankie asked, as he removed the guitar from
his back and sat on the bench next to Bob.
"Not much. You heading over to the Cellar Door?"
"Yeah -- we're doing the first set tonight -- got some new tunes we're
trying out. Hey -- where's Annette?" Seeing Bob without Annette on a
Saturday night was unheard of.
"Um -- home, I guess..."
"Huh? What's goin' on, man?"
Bob just looked at his friend and shrugged his shoulders, sighing
heavily.
"Oh, man, are you guys fighting again?"
"Um -- actually, I think we just broke up."
"WHAT? Aw, fuck man -- that sucks. Listen, I gotta get to the club;
come with me and we can talk on the way."
The Cellar Door was a coffee house in the basement of an old
industrial building, run by a group of local teens. The nightly
entertainment featured local talent as well as whatever hitchhiking
troubadours happened to be passing through town. The place was always SRO
on Saturdays, however, and Bob wasn't sure if he was up to dealing with a
crowd tonight.
On the other hand, what else was he going to do?
"What the fuck -- let's go."
As the boys stood up, Bob shoved his hands in his pockets and did his
best to adjust the remains of his hard-on. Frankie burst out laughing.
"Man, you are one horny bastard."
"Fuck off, Frankie."
Tall, blond and good-looking, the pair made a striking picture as they
sauntered down Main Street together. Bob filled his friend in on the
encounter with Annette, mentioning the photo shoot and the wine, but not
the details of his sexual arousal or the virtual striptease. He wasn't
quite ready to go there yet -- not even with Frankie.
"So, basically, you got drunk and acted like an asshole..."
"Yeah, I guess so."
There was a lineup outside the club, but -- as Frankie was on the
evening's bill of entertainment -- the door attendant let the boys in
immediately.
As he followed his friend down the darkened stairs to the basement
room, Bob could hear the sounds of murmured conversations, laughter and
clinking glasses. Carole King's "It's Too Late" was playing over the sound
system, "...something inside has died, and I can't hide and I just can't
fake it..."
Hmmm -- that's appropriate, he thought.
As the two young men entered the crowded room, Bob saw many familiar
faces, and a wave of panic swept over him. His emotions were too fresh, too
raw to deal with all these people. He felt sad and vulnerable, and wanted
nothing more than to hide somewhere.
Frankie went off to find the other members of his band, and Bob was
suddenly alone in the middle of the club. He spotted an empty space in one
of the back corners, and made a beeline in that direction.
Phew -- safe...
Then the room grew dimmer, the stage lights brightened, and the emcee
was introducing Frankie's group.
Leaning against the cool concrete wall, Bob began to relax as the
musicians played through their acoustic set of Bob Dylan, Cat Stevens and
Neil Young tunes. He began to daydream as the soothing harmonies washed
over him. Then he started to realize that, although a part of his young
life was apparently ending, perhaps this was an opportunity to begin a new,
better existence.
By the time the band ended their set, and Frankie was heading over to
meet him in his corner, Bob was smiling -- proud of his pal and almost
looking forward to the rest of the evening.
"That was great, man."
"Thanks! Did you like the new tunes?"
"Definitely -- you guys sound better all the time."
The emcee's return to the microphone interrupted their conversation.
"Hey everybody -- we have a special treat for you tonight. This guy
just got into town today from Rio de Janeiro, and I think you're all gonna
be blown away. Please give a warm, Cellar Door welcome to Carlo de los
Santos!"
As the room filled with applause, a young man walked into the
spotlight. As he sat on the stool and adjusted his guitar, a hush -- that
seemed oddly louder than the applause -- descended over the crowd.
Even just sitting there, looking down at the guitar strings and doing
his last minute tuning, the guy was enormously charismatic -- not just
sensually handsome, but almost electrically magnetic.
Golden skin crowned with glistening, curly, raven-black hair, his
loose, gauzy white pirate shirt hung open to the waist exposing the lean,
toned muscles of a long torso, and a scattering of dark chest hair
accentuating the shape of the well-defined pectorals. Skintight, faded blue
jeans seemingly molded to the musculature of narrow hips and long, powerful
legs, beautifully shaped hands cradling the acoustic guitar -- it was
almost too much.
Then he began to play, and as his fingers wandered over the fret board
with a confident elegance, the hypnotic rhythm of a gentle Bossa Nova
floated through the basement air.
"Holy fuck -- this guy is fucking amazing!" Frankie whispered.
Then, as he continued playing, the musician looked up, and -- for the
first time -- the room truly saw his eyes -- dark, deep, warm, soulful,
magical.
Bob was stunned. He had never seen anyone who looked quite like that.
In the setting of this small town in New Hampshire, Carlo de los Santos was
not simply breathtakingly handsome -- he was also undeniably exotic.
Then, de los Santos began to sing.
Although Bob could not understand the Portuguese lyrics, the mere
sound of Carlo's voice reached deep into his soul. The quiet sadness and
longing seemed to mirror the ache in Bob's heart, and -- as the softly
textured, breathy melody wrapped around him -- he felt like laughing and
weeping all at once.
The song ended, and there was a long moment of stunned silence in the
room.
Then the applause began, and it was like nothing the cellar door had
ever seen or heard.
De los Santos looked up at the crowd and smiled shyly.
"Thank you," he said, with a barely discernable accent, "I have one
more for you, if I may. This time I will sing in English..."
He began to sing again, another smoothly rhythmic Brazilian tune, a
song about stars and dreams and searching, and -- as he sang -- he gazed
into the audience as if looking for something.
Bob was so mesmerized that it took a moment to register that the young
musician's stare had fallen on him. In fact, it seemed that Carlo was
singing this song directly to Bob.
His heart began to pound as he felt himself falling into the depths of
the man's eyes from across the room.
"Hey, man -- I think he's singing to you..."
"Shhhhh..."
As the final notes of the melody drifted away, the room erupted into
wild applause, and Carlo stood up, bowing deeply before making his exit.
"Wow. That was fucking amazing."
"Yeah," said Bob, "amazing..."
"Listen, I gotta go talk to the guys for a second. I'll be right
back."
As Frankie walked away, Bob looked across the room and watched Carlo
take a seat next to a stunningly beautiful young woman. She was also an
unfamiliar face; Bob assumed they must have been traveling together.
As he observed the two whispering and laughing, he suddenly felt more
alone than ever.
Still, after the moment he had just experienced, he felt compelled to
acknowledge the brilliant young musician. He made his way through the
crowd, and seconds later -- heart in throat -- was standing next to the
young couple's table.
"Excuse me."
Carlo and the girl looked up, and Bob suddenly felt foolish and
terribly awkward.
"Um, Carlo -- I just wanted to say -- um -- your music is -- really
amazing..."
"Thank you, thank you," Carlo laughed, "I saw you in the audience. You
have a very intense concentration. Do you always respond to music so
deeply?"
"Um -- no -- not always," now he really felt stupid.
Carlo, sensing the boy's embarrassment, extended a hand, "I'm sorry, I
have been very rude. This is Elena. And you are...?"
"Bob -- Bob Ballard." They shook hands, and the handshake lingered for
an extra moment.
"Well, Bob Ballard, I am very pleased to meet you. Please join us."
Carlo indicated the empty seat beside him.
"Are you sure? I don't want to interrupt..."
"Please -- we would enjoy the company, yes, Elena?"
"Of course -- I am very happy to meet you." The girl was a female
version of Carlo, with the same kind of glamorous, dark
beauty. "Unfortunately -- and I hope neither of you will take this
personally -- I was just about to leave. We've had a long day, and I can
barely stay awake. Carlo, on the other hand, is likely to be up for
hours. Do you think you could keep him entertained, Bob, if I slip off?"
"Wow -- well -- sure, I guess," this was unexpected, and Bob felt a
bit flustered.
"Thank you. I trust you two will behave yourselves." She smiled,
leaning down to kiss Carlo on the cheek as she rose. "I'll see you later,
Carlo."
"Sleep well, Elena."
"Goodnight, Bob. Perhaps we'll meet again tomorrow."
The two young men watched as the girl made her exit. Bob noted her
graceful movement, and thought she might be a dancer or a model or
something...
Carlo leaned in close to Bob's ear and whispered conspiratorially, "Do
you smoke pot?"
Bob raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Sure! Do you have some?"
"I have some incredible stuff, but I'm not sure where we could smoke
it without attracting a crowd. Do you know someplace quiet we could go?"
Bob thought for a moment.
"Yeah -- there's a little river not far from here. It's really quiet
and no one ever goes there."
"Perfect -- shall we?"
Bob scanned the room quickly, but Frankie was nowhere in sight. Oh,
well, later for that...
"Sure. Let's go..."
Carlo grabbed his guitar and his knapsack, and the two made their way
through the busy room, up the narrow stairwell and out into the fresh night
air.
************
As Jerry's fingertips touched the head of Ian's cock, they slipped
through a pool of pre-cum, and then skimmed down the length of the boy's
thick, twitching shaft.
"Oh -- Dad -- oh, yes..."
With his hands sliding over his son's fluid-slick, rock-hard organ,
Jerry's body began to tremble with the release of passions and needs he had
held in restraint for so many, many years.
Now Ian grasped his father's manhood with both hands and, gripping it
tightly, tested it, trying to bend the hot, iron-hard rod, but it was too
impossibly rigid. He felt his father catch his breath, though, at the
attempt.
He pulled at the foreskin, fascinated, stretching and twisting it,
delighting in the groans and gasps he was able to elicit from the man.
He pressed the massive organ against his own, and now both father and
son had their hands together, wrapped around the pair of throbbing shafts
as their pelvises bucked in unison.
Ian, however, was hungry for more.
He eased his hold on the dueling cocks, and -- gently but insistently
-- pushed Jerry back until the father was once again lying on the ground,
face up, legs spread, and the son was hovering over him.
As Ian looked down at the handsome face, he almost swooned a little.
Even if it was just for one night, this glorious, 37-year-old man
belonged to him.
Now Ian leaned in, his lips found the hard, protruding nipples, and he
began to suck hungrily. His tongue swirled around one, then traveled across
the width of the chest to find the other. He nibbled and then gnawed with
his white teeth, scraping the tender flesh as his father groaned in
exquisite agony.
The man's body was writhing, twisting, seemingly caught between heaven
and hell.
Ian's tongue swooped down into the soft, sensitive armpits and he
lapped up the heady odors and tastes of that intimate zone, soaking the
fine hair with his spit, sucking, swallowing -- more -- more...
His searching tongue moved over the ribcage and down to the heaving
abdominal muscles, tasting the saltiness of dried sweat, sucking,
swallowing.
The prize was right there, right beside his mouth as he chewed on the
skin of the belly, but, no, save that for last.
He pushed the massive, shuddering flesh-pole to one side and invaded
the concave navel, tongue digging deep, causing the man to cry aloud.
"Aaaaaaaauuuuugghhh..."
Now further down, and he buried his nose in the jungle of pubic hair;
the smell was so exhilarating, so unfathomable, and he wrapped his lips
around a mouthful of it to taste, to savor the richness, sucking,
swallowing, his fingers now digging deep into the pumping muscles of
Jerry's hard buttocks, his nails scraping at the smooth flesh.
Inching further down, his tongue encircled the ripe, aching balls, the
source, as they pulled up tight against the base of the towering column. He
opened his mouth wide and captured the whole of one, sucking gently,
unconsciously humming low with gratitude, now he enclosed it with his teeth
and sucked hard, harder, forcefully pulling it away from his father's
thrusting groin...
"AAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGHHHH..."
Merciless now, he attacked the other testicle with lips, tongue and
teeth, as if to devour it whole.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGHHH..."
He felt his father's hands as they gripped his head, tearing at his
hair as the man bellowed in anguish and rapture.
Reluctantly, he released the tortured orb, and moved on to the reward,
the powerfully thrusting beam of solid blood and flesh.
He stretched his mouth wide and captured the base, sucking, feeling
the blood as it coursed through the pulsing veins. He slowly worked his
lips up along every inch of the lurching, bulky pole, whimpering aloud at
the sheer wonder of it, memorizing the textures and the tastes, velvet and
hot steel, as he licked and sucked and swallowed, deeply, greedily.
He heard his father's gasping voice and jagged breathing, as if coming
from another world...
"Hugnh -- hugnh -- hugnh..."
He found the sacred foreskin, stretched almost to breaking by the
grotesquely engorged shaft, but somehow still mobile, and he gnashed at it
with his unappeasable lips and teeth, further persecuting the fragile
silkiness of it.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHH -- IAN -- NO -- AAAAAAAAAAAAUUGGHH..."
Jerry's hands were once again tearing frantically at Ian's head and
long hair, but the boy was unstoppable.
He wallowed in this newfound power over the fallen master, and
continued his ascent to the crown, as a river of pre-cum flowed down the
shaft to coat his lips and tongue. Oh, the tastes and smells were more
satisfying and profound than he could have dreamed.
Now, he was very near the goal.
His nose reached it first, and he nuzzled the frenulum, his nostrils
gliding back and forth along the fluid-slick rim of the corona.
Now, as his tongue began to lap up the salty-sweet man essence, he
gripped his father's quaking organ with both large fists, one above the
other, and started pumping.
Working his two hands up and down the long shaft, he finally allowed
himself the ultimate gift, and very nearly wept with joy as the overflowing
cock-head entered and filled his waiting mouth -- paradise.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh -- Ian -- ohhhhhhh, my god -- ohhhhhhhhhh..."
Even with his mouth filled to capacity by the breadth of the searing,
purple head, he was still able to squeeze his tongue back and forth,
drinking deeply of the endless fluids. As he felt his stomach filling up
with the intoxicating juice, he became aware of a deep level of primal
satisfaction.
However, it still wasn't quite enough.
Ian's own oversized manhood had been thrashing mindlessly against the
roughness of the towel they were still laying on. Now, he finally lost his
patience, and -- grinding his pelvis harshly against the textured fabric --
he began sucking with a vengeful fury, ripping his hands up and down the
full length of his father's glory.
Now -- now -- now -- I want it now...
"AAGGH -- AAGGH -- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHH..."
Jerry hammered his cock hard against the boy's throat, pounding
brutally, mindlessly, as he held the youth's head in a death grip.
Now -- now -- now...
The first wave shot against the back of Ian's throat, stunning him
with its heat and velocity. Then came the second, then the third, the
fourth -- and then he lost count as he simply tried to hang on to the
flailing, hammering weapon. Desperately trying to capture every precious
volley of his father's copious semen, he swallowed and swallowed,
delirious, yes, yes, yes -- and then his own thundering orgasm was
exploding...
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo..."
Jerry felt Ian's hot cum as it shot against his calves, his spread
thighs, his arching buttocks. He felt his son's hot seed as it dripped down
into the crack of his butt and settled onto the rosebud of his clenching
asshole, and still it kept shooting and shooting, and it spurred his own
orgasm on to even greater intensity...
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK..."
Ian was losing the battle, and volumes of his father's white fluid
were rolling over his lips and down his chin.
Still, he held on.
Then, finally, it was slowing, ending.
Ian, unaware of his own joyful whimpering, swallowed the last
trembling shot of his father's nectar, and then licked the excess off his
own face, still clinging to the twitching shaft, unwilling yet to give it
up.
His own cock was still shooting its final, frenzied shots. Through the
shuddering, closing throes of the climax, he looked down between Jerry's
spread legs, and saw where his glistening ejaculate was collecting on his
father's pink asshole.
Fascinated, he reached down and circled a finger around the
cum-drenched periphery of the secret entry.
As if by design, the tip of his finger slipped into the hole, just the
slightest bit.
"Huuuuuugnh..."
Ian, mesmerized, gently pressed in a little further -- unaware of
Jerry's sharp intake of breath -- exploring the soft, moist inner walls of
his father's tightly clenched pinkness, before withdrawing his finger
slowly, reluctantly, from the warm, wet place.
Then, with three fingers -- as his father watched -- he scooped up all
his youthfully potent semen from around the hole, and brought the offering
up to Jerry's lips.
"Here, Dad -- taste it..."
************
*Chapter 18*
"This is better already," said Carlo, laughing, "I can breathe again!"
Bob smiled too, as he led the way down Main Street. "So, how did
someone like you end up in this one-horse-town?"
"It's quite simple, actually. I have been accepted into the Berklee
College of Music in Boston for this fall. Elena and I decided to go there
early to check out the city -- to get the 'lay of the land', so to speak"
Bob led his new friend around the corner, and they began walking south
along Pembroke Street, toward the river.
"Wow, that's amazing!"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I'll be going to school in Boston this year too."
"Really?"
"Yeah -- Boston University. How old are you?"
"Just turned eighteen -- you?"
"Eighteen next month -- so, are you actually moving into the city
right now?"
"Oh, no, just visiting -- we meant to be there yesterday, but you know
how hitchhiking is -- the way the rides worked out, we somehow ended up
here." Carlo turned and looked at Bob. "I'm glad we're here, actually."
Bob, lost in his own thoughts, didn't really notice that last
statement. They had reached the bridge, and now had to climb down a steep
descent to the riverbank.
"Hey Carlo, let me take your guitar. It'll be easier for you to get
down without carrying it."
"Sure -- thanks..."
Dense, overhanging branches covered the bridge, blocking the
moonlight, and it was difficult to see in the darkness, as Bob cautiously
led the way down the slope.
"Hold onto my shoulder so you don't fall."
"Thanks."
As the hand gripped his muscles, Bob felt a little shiver inside. It
was a good feeling -- unfamiliar, but good. As the descent slowly
progressed, the warmth of Carlo's hand penetrated the thin fabric of Bob's
shirt and seemed to enter his flesh, filling it with a soft glow.
"OK," he said, a bit breathlessly, as they reached the foot of the
incline, "Let's just go down over here a bit."
"Lead on, king of the jungle..." Carlo said jokingly, as he let go of
Bob's shoulder.
"Come on, it's not that bad..."
"Just kidding..."
Bob began moving again, heading east along the riverbank. He and Ian
had played down here since they were kids, and he knew virtually every inch
of the area.
"It's beautiful here," said Carlo quietly, as they moved into an area
that was fully illuminated by the moon
"Yeah -- it's even nicer on that side." Bob pointed across to the
opposite bank. He was enjoying sharing this special place with the
Brazilian musician.
"Then why aren't we on that side?"
"Well, we could cross over if you want. There's a sort of stone path
coming up. It might be a little tricky in the dark, but we can do it --
here it is..."
He pointed to a twisting trail of flat-topped stones that made a sort
of winding footpath across a shallow part of the stream. Some stones were
almost touching each other, some had large gaps between, and all were wet
and shining under the moonlight as the water rushed over and around them.
"Looks a little dangerous..."
"Naw, I go across here all the time..."
"Lead on, Bwana..."
Bob laughed, and stepped onto the first stone, guitar held high above
his head. Step by step, stone by stone, he led the way across the little
river.
"You OK...?"
"So far..."
They had almost reached the other side when Bob heard, first, a cry,
and then a thud and a resounding splash.
The water sprayed his entire back, soaking him through to the skin.
"Shit," he muttered, turning around, "aw, shit..."
Carlo was on his back in the water, knapsack held high above his head
-- laughing, thank goodness. As Bob stood above him, looking down with the
guitar held high above HIS head, he began to laugh too.
"So much for that theory -- hold on a second..." he quickly took the
last few steps to the other side, put the guitar down carefully, and then
went back to Carlo.
The poor guy wasn't able to get up while holding the knapsack aloft,
so now he was completely drenched. Bob grabbed the bag with one hand, and
reached for Carlo with the other.
He almost had the other boy upright when he lost his footing on the
slimy riverbed, and they both fell back into the rushing water.
"F-U-U-U-U-U-CK!" he bellowed.
Now both young men were sopping wet, and they began laughing
hysterically.
"Nice place you have here," Carlo said, grinning.
"Aw, shut up..." Bob replied, as he scrambled to get his footing and
catch his breath, "let's get out of here."
Somehow, stumbling and crawling, they managed to get to the bank of
the river where they collapsed, still laughing.
"Goddamn..."
"I guess we should have stayed on the other side..."
"Shit..."
"Oh, no..." Carlo was suddenly alarmed, "the dope!"
He hurriedly opened his knapsack -- which was still relatively dry --
and, after rummaging around for a moment, produced a small, clear plastic
bag. Holding it up to the light of the moon, he heaved a sigh of relief.
"Is it OK?"
"Dry as a bone -- thank god for plastic..."
"At least SOMETHING'S dry..."
Carlo laughed again as he looked down at his dripping wet clothing.
"Well, Bob, I don't know about you, but I have to get out of these wet
clothes or I think I will be sorry later." He quickly surveyed their
immediate surroundings. "There are lots of branches here. We could hang our
stuff up and maybe it will dry out a little bit. It'll take some time, but
I think it's worth a try."
"Hmmm -- yeah, I guess you're right. Let's move over there a bit --
there's a grassy area -- it'll be easier on our bare butts..."
They got up once again and, as they walked, they both became aware of
the utter stillness of the night.
Carrying the guitar, Bob lead the way to a small, tree-enclosed
clearing. There was a sort of intimacy in the air with which he felt
vaguely uncomfortable. He began to wonder why, but then shrugged it off.
"This is it."
"Perfect," Carlo declared as put down the knapsack and peeled off his
wet shirt.
Bob couldn't help noticing the other boy's well-defined torso as it
was revealed in the moonlight. Carlo's nipples were large and brown, just
like Bob's own.
As Carlo moved to hang the shirt across a low-hanging bough, Bob
quickly turned away and began to remove his own drenched top.
Bending down to pull off his sandals, he saw from the corner of his
eye that Carlo was unbuttoning his jeans.
Straightening up to unbutton his own fly, Bob's heart began to race as
he glimpsed the moonlit silhouette of Carlo's naked profile.
As the youth was reaching up to hang his jeans over a higher branch,
his pelvis arched forward, and his long, thick cock swayed heavily, back
and forth.
Bob felt suddenly self-conscious, and he turned away again to finish
undressing. As he bent over to pull off the wet, clinging jeans, he heard a
low whistle.
"Nice ass..."
"Fuck off..."
"No, I mean it -- you have a really nice ass. It may be perhaps the
nicest one I have ever seen..."
"C'mon, Carlo, gimme a break..."
"Very well, but I wasn't kidding..."
Bob quickly sat down, leaning against a broad tree trunk, and drew his
knees up, wrapping his arms around them in an attempt to maintain some
modesty.
"Are you shy, Bob Ballard?" Carlo asked, as he walked over to where
Bob sat.
Bob forced himself not to gape at the other boy's gracefully defined,
naked physique. The two young men were virtually the same height, and if
Bob had looked up, he would have been staring directly at Carlo's cock and
balls.
"Maybe a little bit, I guess -- sometimes..."
Finally, Carlo sat down, facing him, knees wide apart, yoga-style, and
began rolling a joint with swift efficiency.
"I wonder why..."
"What do you mean?" Bob replied.
Carlo lit the joint and, inhaling deeply, passed it to Bob. Holding
his hand up, he smiled and pantomimed, "Can't talk right now".
As they shared the joint in the tranquility of the night, a gentle
peacefulness descended on the pair. Bob felt his whole being finally
relaxing after the long, stressful day he had endured.
He even began to forget that he was naked under the stars.
"Super-toke?" Carlo asked, almost whispering.
"Huh?"
"You don't know super-toke?"
"Don't think so..."
"Just inhale..."
With one hand, Carlo placed the joint into his mouth so that the
burning end was inside. With his other hand, he reached out and drew Bob's
head close to his own. Then he blew the smoke outward.
Bob caught on quickly, and inhaled the thick rush of smoke.
As the effects of the drug intensified, he became acutely aware of
Carlo's fingers gently holding the back of his head and neck, and he found
the sensation warm and comforting. When he could take no more of the smoke,
he turned his head slightly and then, after a moment, exhaled loudly.
"Wow..."
"Do you think you could do it for me?"
"I'll try..."
Bob was suddenly very, very high. It was all he could do to mimic what
his new friend had done only moments before. He placed the rapidly
diminishing joint in his mouth -- backward, as Carlo had done -- then
reached his hand out and cradled other boy's head, pulling him close.
The black, curly hair, still a little damp from the river, was soft.
The muscles at the back of the neck felt powerful and strong, like
Bob's own.
He blew the smoke out, and Carlo inhaled, moving in closer still.
Their lips were almost touching.
Bob felt a little unnerved and edgy at the close proximity, but it was
good at the same time. He continued to blow, lips puckering, and Carlo
continued to inhale.
He looked up and realized that Carlo had been staring at him; their
eyes held for an instant.
Then their lips touched, just for the tiniest of moments, and the
moment was electric.
Bob drew away quickly. He took the joint out of his mouth and gave it
back to Carlo. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning.
"Are you OK?" Carlo asked.
"Yeah -- just a little dizzy..."
They were both quiet for a moment, as a warm summer breeze blew
through the clearing.
"You must have a beautiful girlfriend..." Carlo said.
"Hmmm -- well, I thought I had one..."
"Yes?"
"She dumped me today."
The statement hung heavily in the air, as each young man was lost in
his own drug-enhanced thoughts.
Finally, Carlo spoke again.
"She must be a very stupid girl."
"Why?"
"Why? Because you are a fine gentleman, Bob, and you are also very
handsome and extremely sexy."
Hearing these words from another guy's mouth was strange, to say the
least. Bob wondered if he had heard correctly, or if the dope was playing
tricks on his mind.
"Huh?"
"What I am saying, Bob, is that any girl would be very lucky to find a
man like you and, if she were wise, would do everything within her power to
hold on to you."
OK, so it wasn't the dope...
"Did you and she have a good sex life?"
Wow -- this guy was getting right to the nitty-gritty. "Well, now that
you mention it, no -- not really."
"Did you have ANY kind of a sex life with her?"
Bob sighed heavily. "No. I mean we fooled around a little bit, but we
never actually 'did it', if you know what I mean..."
"You never made love? How long were you with her?"
"Two years..."
"TWO YEARS?" Carlo could not hide his disdain. "I'm sorry. You were
with this girl for two years, and you never once..."
"Never."
Once again, there was silence.
Bob thought about the information he had just shared with Carlo, and
was suddenly feeling very foolish. Two years WAS a long time to hold out,
he decided. Damn Annette...
"Tell me, Bob, if I'm not getting too personal, but have you ever made
love to ANY girl at all -- ever?"
This was getting very embarrassing.
"Well, actually -- no..."
"Never?"
"Never."
Now there was a longer silence.
Finally, Carlo spoke again.
"May I then ask, and now I am being bold again, but have you ever made
love with a man?"
Bob was stunned for a minute, and then he sputtered, "HELL, no..."
Carlo just sat and looked at him for a spell.
Bob felt himself being scrutinized, and he wasn't entirely comfortable
with that.
"Do you think you are frightened of love?" Carlo asked.
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"I mean," Carlo tried to choose his words carefully, "that a boy like
you - - so kind, so beautiful -- must naturally generate a lot of sexual
energy simply by walking down the street. Surely, there must have been
numerous opportunities for you to explore that sexuality."
He paused for a moment, and then continued.
"I wonder if you have somehow not allowed those moments to develop and
-- yes -- I wonder if you are afraid of something."
Bob sat silently, struggling, in his drug-altered state, to think
through what Carlo had just said. Oddly, it did make some sort of
disturbing sense.
"I wonder," Carlo continued, "if you are also, perhaps, a little bit
afraid of me?"
Now Bob was truly speechless -- and he knew the other boy was right.
"Give me your hand, Bob."
Bob nervously held out his hand. Carlo took the outstretched hand and
raised it so that the fingers were resting in his soft, black hair.
"Surely, my hair doesn't frighten you..."
Bob shook his head silently.
Carlo moved the fingers down so that they pressed against his brow.
"That's not scary, is it?"
Again, Bob shook his head in the negative.
The broad, high, cheekbones were next, then the finely modeled nose.
Again, Bob silently agreed there was nothing to fear.
However, when Carlo pressed the fingers against the yielding softness
of his full lips, he felt the hand start trembling.
He raised his eyebrows quizzically and looked deep into Bob's eyes.
"Do my lips scare you?" he whispered.
"Maybe," Bob was whispering too -- barely audibly. "Maybe just a
little..."
"Well," said Carlo, still holding Bob's fingertips against his lips,
"we need to face our fears, Bob Ballard."
He kissed the shaking fingertips, tenderly, and then kissed them
again.
Bob mind was a whirl of confusion. What he was experiencing had very
little to do with anything he had ever seen or done in his life to
date. Being high only added another layer of unreality to the madness of
the situation. He was very, very frightened on the one hand yet, on the
other, he so very desperately wanted Carlo to continue, to maintain the
physical intimacy.
When Carlo reached to him with his other hand, Bob took it, and --
staring deeply into Carlo's eyes all the while -- brought it to his own
mouth, brushing his lips ever so lightly against the musician's fingertips.
Then he kissed them.
When Carlo took Bob's fingers into his mouth and tasted them, Bob
mirrored the erotic movement. Carlo's fingers tasted salty as Bob
tentatively ran his tongue over them.
Not daring to break eye contact with the other boy, he began to suck
on the fingers, and then felt his cock, still hidden behind his bent legs,
begin to twitch.
Carlo took Bob's hand out of his mouth, and brought it down so that it
was enclosing one of his solid pectoral muscles, grazing an erect nipple.
As Bob moved Carlo's hand to his own chest, his cock jumped again.
When Carlo leaned forward, Bob did too, and their lips finally met.
As his tongue began tentatively exploring the open mouth of the
passionate Latino youth, Bob thought his heart would burst with longing,
and his cock continued to grow -- longer, thicker, harder.
While the kiss continued and grew deeper, he allowed his hands to
explore Carlo's upper torso, fingers tangling in the fine hair between the
pectorals, gliding over the silken skin of the shoulders and arms, the
ribcage, feeling the contracting and expanding as breath entered and left
the strong, sinewy body of the other youth.
"Bob," Carlo whispered, taking the boy's hands and breaking the kiss,
"stand up."
As they rose, fingers intertwined under the shelter of the overhanging
boughs, Bob's cock -- finally released from its captive position between
his legs -- sprang up fully erect and slapped hard against Carlo's muscled
flesh.
By reflex, Carlo glanced downward and, for the first time, witnessed
the compelling virility of the Ballard boy.
"Inacreditavel..."
Bob took the young man's face in his hands, turning it upward and
moving in for another kiss.
"Como um cavalo..."
In his immediate circle down in Brazil, Carlo's own generous endowment
was known as a force to be reckoned with, but this mighty instrument
pressing against his torso right now -- well, it was in another league
altogether.
As the kissing resumed, Carlo grasped the satiny flesh of Bob's
buttocks, forcing their two pelvises together, and he felt the surging
power of Bob's 17- year-old cock as it thrust against his own weighty,
aching erection.
Stupid, he thought -- that girl was unbelievably stupid.
He tore himself away from Bob's hungering lips and held the boy back
for a moment, as he looked into the wildly electric-green eyes once
more. He could feel Bob's newly awakened longing and desire as he gripped
the boy by the shoulders, and wondered briefly if he had unwittingly
unleashed a monster.
"Shhhh..." he whispered, pressing a finger to Bob's lips.
Then, unable to stifle his curiosity and lust a moment longer, Carlo
knelt down on the ground and faced the throbbing man-column.
He just looked at it for a long moment, wondering at the sheer
proportions, and at the sculpted perfection of the shape and form.
Slipping his fingers between the board-flat belly and the back of the
rigid shaft, he forced the gleaming head forward and down, extending his
tongue to taste the liberally flowing, sweet-salty fluid.
Exquisite.
He ran the flat of his tongue along the great length of the shaft,
from the broad root all the way back to the crown, lapping up more of the
cock-juice.
Greedy now, he took the full head into his open mouth, and wetly,
sloppily, hungrily, skillfully, began to suck.
Bob gasped, and his knees began to shake. The sensations were like
nothing he had ever known. As he felt Carlo's expert tongue swirling around
his near- bursting cock-head, he began to moan and, without thinking, he
grabbed onto the other boy's head with both large hands and started
forcibly, uncontrollably fucking the warm, wet mouth.
"Ugnh, ugnh, ugnh..." he cried and panted, butt and thigh muscles
pumping hard, harder, as he rose off the balls of his feet and felt the
imminent, premature explosion building, closer, closer...
"Wait!" Carlo said, pulling away from the dripping, throbbing
sex-pole, "not yet..."
Bob, so close to the edge so quickly, could only gasp, covering his
mouth with his hands as he breathed heavily, willing back the beginning of
what was bound to be a colossal ejaculation, watching as Carlo reached into
his knapsack, searching for -- what?
"Aaaaauuuggh..." he nearly screamed in frustration. His cock was
alive, jerking in the night air, demanding reentry, seeking the wet warmth,
the release.
What was Carlo doing?
"Aaaaaaauuggghhh..." he cried plaintively, now shoving his fist into
his mouth, biting into his own flesh in a moment approaching pure madness.
"Lie down on your back..." Carlo said, quietly but firmly.
Legs shaking, chest heaving, Bob did as he was told.
Carlo was squeezing something from a metallic tube into his hand, as
he knelt astride Bob's grinding hips.
Bob could see the other boy's rock-hard shaft as it hovered over him,
pointing upward to the sky, and he almost reached out to touch it.
Carlo reached back and began massaging the lubricant into his own
quivering asshole as Bob -- cock jumping and bouncing off his hard abdomen
-- watched, mystified.
Now Carlo had Bob's penis in his hands and, as he worked the clear gel
over the sensitive flesh, the boy's body shuddered with yet another new and
overwhelming sensation.
"Huuuuuuuuuggggnnnnnhhhhh..."
Bob didn't know how much more stimulation his flesh could take.
Then, it began -- the unimagined miracle.
Carlo, pressing the head of Bob's cock against his well-lubricated
asshole, said a silent prayer. He had never wanted anything more in his
life, than to have this godlike shank buried deep within his bowels.
At the same time, he was a little terrified of the thing.
Summoning up all his nerve, and aided by uncontrollable desire, he
pushed back against the impossible size and heat.
Slowly, surely, his clenched opening began to relax, expanding to try
to accommodate the intruding force.
His breathing turned to a series of harsh gasps as the cock-head
reached the halfway entry point.
With each sharp intake of air, he pushed again.
"AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHH..." Carlo cried, as the head suddenly,
unexpectedly, popped fully inside him, the mouth of his newly stretched
asshole snapping painfully into place around it.
Carlo's actions rendered Bob immobilized, speechless. He could only
stare, open-mouthed, at the darkly handsome face, now twisted with agony
and effort as it hovered above him.
With the achingly sensitive crown of his cock, he felt every pulsing
nuance of Carlo's burning, wet asshole, as it clenched his flesh, grabbing,
clutching, squeezing. The primal impulse was to slam his fiery pole deep
into the other youth's quaking bowels, but he dared not move -- not even a
fraction of an inch.
Now Carlo was renewing his efforts, and Bob could feel the breadth of
his shaft begin to follow the head into muscular, liquid entry.
"Ohhhhhhhhgggnn..." he moaned, delirious with the unearthly pleasure, the
new, outrageous sensations sweeping his heart, mind and body into a state
of near-oblivion.
Carlo paused again, open-mouthed as he gasped for air.
His was not a virgin asshole, but never in the past had any man's cock
stretched his young opening to such a degree.
Clenching his jaw with determination and grasping the rigid member
with both hands, he pushed his asshole downward with all his might.
"GAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHH..." he screamed, as several more inches of
the inflexible intruder assaulted his tender flesh, and he fell forward
onto Bob's chest, eyes welling up with bitter tears.
Bob cautiously wrapped his strong arms around Carlo's back, even as
his mind tried to comprehend the indescribable new physical sensations.
"I'm sorry," he whispered shakily, with every taunting wave of Carlo's
inner muscular contractions tempting his cock to frenzied attack, "I don't
want to hurt you -- we can stop..."
"NO!" Carlo said, pleadingly, raising himself up on his hands and
looking deep into Bob's eyes. "Kiss me -- please -- kiss me..."
This time, when his lips reached up to meet Carlo's, Bob was deeply
aware of the precious gift that the other youth was attempting to give him,
and his heart overflowed with a genuine tenderness.
He kissed the beautiful boy with all the passion, care and longing
that his young soul could muster.
As the moment lengthened and the kiss deepened, tongues and lips
melding in a tender dance, it began to feel as though Carlo's silken
insides were somehow melting over Bob's aching cock as slowly, slowly, ever
so slowly, the boy's body adjusted itself, inexplicably, gradually opening
up to welcome the invading mass.
Carlo's hands gripped the sides of Bob's face, his lips gnawed
desperately at Bob's mouth, his shoulders trembled, his arms shook, and his
torso shuddered, yet he forced himself to keep breathing as his flawless
buttocks little by little continued their long descent, and Bob's cock
penetrated deeper and deeper.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHH..." he screamed, throwing his
head back in agony as he felt yet another intense flash of excruciating
pain.
Then it was gone.
The pain was gone, and then it was as if some magical spell had lifted
him up from the earth, and he was floating above the cosmos, so full, so
full -- so deliciously full.
He felt the tickle of Bob's pubic hair against his utterly stretched
out asshole, and he cautiously lay back down against Bob's chest, laughing
quietly.
Bob, caught up in his own rapture, nearly mad with pleasure, wrapped
his arms tightly around Carlo's torso and began to smile as well -- though
his happiness had more to do with relief, so worried had he been for his
friend's safety.
"You did it," he whispered into Carlo's ear.
Then his teeth and tongue began to tease the soft lobe, as he ran his
hands down Carlo's back, until they came to rest on the toned muscles of
the buttocks, squeezing the firm, fleshy mounds.
"WE did it," Carlo replied, nearly choking with delirium.
Holding Bob's intense gaze with his own searching, dark eyes, Carlo
summoned up all his concentration, and then clenched his ass muscles, then
released them, then clenched, then released...
"Jesus Christ..." Bob gasped, "Jesus Christ..."
...clench, release, clench, release...
"Fuuuuuck..."
Carlo, now that he had managed to accommodate the full length and
breadth of the magnificent cock, was determined that this night would be
one that the virgin Ballard boy would never forget.
Wordlessly, he maneuvered their interlocking bodies, carefully
turning, rolling, so that he was now lying on his back -- thighs against
chest, knees against shoulders -- and Bob, suddenly, was on top.
"Whoah..." Bob exclaimed, as he shook his head, reorienting himself to
the new perspective.
He looked down, and Carlo suddenly appeared so vulnerable, so open,
that it nearly broke his heart.
"Fuck me, Bob..."
"Huh?"
"Fuck me."
Bob froze for a moment, unsure of what to do.
Then, very cautiously, he arched his powerful hips back just a bit,
withdrawing several inches of his cock from Carlo's asshole.
"Huuuuunnhhh..." Carlo exhaled, involuntarily.
"Are you OK?" Bob asked, worried.
"Yes, yes -- don't stop..." Carlo reached down and grasped his own
rigid cock, sliding his palm and fingers over the head, spreading the
pre-cum down over the aching shaft.
Bob pulled out a few more inches, then pushed carefully forward again,
reveling in the exquisite feelings as his manhood settled deep within
Carlo's welcoming core.
"Yes, Bob, yes..."
Bob inched back out again, a little further this time. Again, there
was a sharp intake of breath from Carlo, but Bob now understood that this
was good.
Now, slowly back in, as the other boy's velvety, fluid insides seemed
to dissolve around his hardness.
"Oh god, oh god..." Carlo's head rocked back and forth jerkily in
disbelief at the unearthly sensations, as he continued stroking his own
cock.
Bob pulled out again and this time, experimenting with the new
movement, he kept pulling back, further, and further, inch-by-inch, back
and out, another inch, and another, and another, until finally only the
crown of his rod remained inside the heat of the other boy.
Fascinated, he looked down and saw the connecting point of their two
bodies. It looked almost as if his heavy shaft was growing out of Carlo's
clutching, contracting entrance. He tenderly ran his fingertips around the
boy's almost outrageously opened flesh, watching as it gripped at his
invading limb.
Unbelievable...
Carlo, feeling suddenly empty, begged, "Come back -- come back inside
me -- please -- now -- I need you back inside -- please, Bob..."
This time, the reentry was quicker, smoother, as Bob sank all the way,
all the way, all the way down into the welcoming abyss.
Then, beginning to comprehend, he suddenly pulled out again, back,
back, back, back out -- then downward and in again, deeper, sliding through
the whole, liquid length, deeper -- and then out, pulling faster again as
he found his rhythm...
"Oh, god, yes -- yes, Bob -- fuck me..."
Now, Carlo -- breathless as he tried to come to terms with this
unimaginable level of sexual revelation -- grabbed the retreating buttocks
and forced them back down and in, as his own pelvis arched upward to meet
the conquering mast.
"Yes -- yes -- yes -- harder, Bob, harder..."
Bob, suddenly aware of the now complete acquiescence of Carlo's body,
heaved his hips forward...
"YESSSSSS -- again, again..."
...and then, quickly, all the way back out...
"YEEEEEESSSSSSSSS..."
...and hard back in, as he felt Carlo's hands beating against his
back...
"Hugnh -- hugnh -- hugnh..."
...now tearing out...
"Oh god, oh, god..."
...slamming back in...
"Oh -- oh -- oh -- oh..."
Something profound was shifting within Bob's soul and suddenly -- as
his body began to transform into a mindless, thrusting, sexual machine --
he could barely hear the cries and entreaties of the other boy, or feel the
nails clawing desperately at his flesh.
"Fuuuuuuck meeeeeeee..."
Harder and harder, he slammed into Carlo's body, pounding now,
relentlessly pounding...
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH -- OH -- NOOOOOOOOO..."
...pounding harder, flesh against flesh, bone against bone, hammering,
hammering...
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHH..."
...now brutally aggressive, bashing, smashing against the tender
tissue with his marauding sledgehammer of a cock...
"AAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGHHHHHHAAAAAAYY..."
...feral violence, thoughtless ferocity as the raging, fist-like head
of his cock pummeled the vulnerable rawness of Carlo's soul...
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH -- GOD -- HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE..."
...harder, deeper, harder, deeper, beating viciously into the live,
fragile flesh as he felt the mounting pre-orgasmic heat fill his thrashing
musculature, further enraging his pulverizing column of skin and blood...
"GGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDD -- OH -- MY --
GGGHHHHHAAAAAAADDDD -- FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE..."
...closer, closer, so close to the edge, unaware of the blood dripping
down his back and sides where the frantically scraping nails had broken
through his burning skin. Almost there, face twisted madly with unbounded
passion, his voice finally rising from the depths of his being, his voice
finally rising in a monstrous cry, his voice finally rising to meet
Carlo's...
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA -- AAAAAAH
-- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA -- AAAAUUU --
AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
UUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH..."
...and the rush of blistering semen thundered through him, hurtling
mercilessly against the ravaged sweetness, hammer against silk, as his
bludgeoning manhood continued its attack...
"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK MEEEEEEE..."
...thrust after thrust, volley after volley of cum searing the warmth,
the wetness -- and now the hiss of fluid heat against the skin of his own
chest and neck and face, as Carlo's roiling balls erupted, blasting
shockwaves of semen, again and again...
"GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEIIIIII..."
...flesh against flesh, bone against bone, the sparring bodies
convulsed and battered and bruised each other, thrusting, shooting,
thrusting, shooting...
...thrusting...
...shooting...
"Huuuugggnnnh..."
...slowing...
...shooting...
"Hunnnhh..."
...slowing...
...slowing...
One final thrust, and Bob buried his cock to the hilt, collapsing
simultaneously onto Carlo's chest. Carlo gripped his perfect ass with both
hands and held him there tightly, as if to let him go would be to lose life
itself.
Through the panting and the jagged breathing, Carlo felt Bob's upper
body shudder, then shudder again more deeply.
Then he felt Bob's teeth as they bit, trembling, into the muscles of
his shoulder.
Then he felt the wet heat, as a tear splashed against his skin, then
another.
Then there was muffled sobbing.
"I'm sorry," he heard Bob whisper in a choking voice, as reality began
to reassert itself. "Oh god, Carlo, I'm so sorry..."
With raw flesh burning and howling for reprieve, Carlo only held his
lover tighter.
"Shhhh -- shhhh -- it's OK, baby..."
"I hurt you..."
Now the boy was openly weeping.
"Shhhhh..."
"I'm so sorry..." and Bob moved to pull his still-throbbing cock out
of the other boy's bruised and swollen opening.
"No," Carlo said, firmly. "Stay inside me -- please..."
"But..."
"Please, Bob..."
Bob raised his head, and through the blur of salty tears, he saw the
beauty of the face beneath him.
Heart bursting with emotion, he leaned in to kiss his new lover.
His first real lover...
His first true lover and soul mate -- was a man.
...and it felt -- right...
As the kiss continued, the two boys -- still joined in the most
intimate possible manner -- slowly rolled over until they were lying on
their sides...
...covered by a blanket of stars...
...wrapped in the arms of love...
...kissing each other to sleep.
...to be continued.
Thank you all for waiting so patiently. Thank you, also, to the many of you
who have sent the great messages of appreciation. Your thoughts and
feedback are important to me.
All the best,
Brewster Hardy
brewsterhardy@hotmail.com