Date: Sun, 12 Oct 2003 16:32:14 -0400
From: Sleep Memory <sleepmemory@hotmail.com>
Subject: 24 Boys, Part II: Davey (Summer 1967)

This story is the second part of a series called "24 Boys" which recalls
the days of the late 1960s through the mid-1970s, when no one talked about
homosexuality or about boys experimenting with sex with other boys.  But it
happened anyway, of course; you just had to figure things out for yourself.
The stories are a combination of memory and fiction. All the names have
been changed.

The usual disclaimer applies.  Do not read this story if you are offended
by detailed accounts of boys having sex with other boys.  Do not read this
story if it is illegal for you to do so where you live.

Comments are welcome at: sleepmemory@hotmail.com


Davey (Summer, 1967)

I first saw Davey Letts through a pair of binoculars, as he was practicing
diving off a large swimming float on Raccoon Lake in Wisconsin, where my
family spent the summers.  Two days in a row, I watched him jump off the
wood float again-and-again: going in headfirst, doing backflips, even
leaping straight-out to drop in feet-first.  Each time, I'd wait for his
head to bob-up and then watch him grab the ladder at the side of the float
and arch his back to pull himself up.  Or, sometimes, he would grab the
deck of the float with his hands and then swing one leg up to catapult
himself onto the top.  When he stood still long enough for me to keep him
in focus, I could tell that he had longish wavy- brown hair and was about
my age -- I'd turned twelve in the winter.  Seeing his wet body gleaming in
the sun, imagining the water dripping off him to puddle at his feet, I knew
I had to get to know him and quick.

So, it probably seems weird that a twelve-year-old kid was spying on
another twelve- year-old kid through binoculars.  I felt kind of weird
doing it.  But my life had totally changed the past winter when I got to
know Billy Redmond.  When school was over in Chicago and my parents took me
north to the family house at Raccoon Lake for the usual three months summer
stay, I couldn't stop thinking about the things Billy had taught me about
the best way for two boys to rub hard-ons together and, even better, about
how much fun it was to put another boy's dick in your mouth and the even
more amazing feeling of having your dick in a boy's mouth and feeling his
tongue and lips moving around-and-around.

I had always looked forward to summers at Raccoon Lake, but this year I
felt lonely -- even my brother was off in summer session at college -- and
I missed my sex games with Billy like crazy.  In August, my dad was going
to bring my friend Ted up to visit for a couple weeks and Billy was going
to come up for a weekend too.  But it was just mid- July, the temperatures
were getting hot, and it seemed everytime I saw a boy my age all I could
think about was what his dick would look like and what it would feel like
in my mouth.  Then I'd get a boner inside the knee-length jeans cutoffs I
wore almost everyday and spend the rest of the day telling myself that I
just had to make a new friend.

* * * 2 * * *

The day I first noticed Davey diving off the float, I was even more
desperate to make a friend because of two other boys, brothers, I'd just
gotten to know -- the older was named Christian and the younger Jacob.
Just a few days earlier, I'd been killing time in the department store in
town.  It wasn't big like a department store in Chicago, but was more the
size of a hardware store, with aisles and a basement crammed with
everything from beach clothes to sneakers to fishing rods and tackle to
sporting equipment to books and magazines.  I was looking through the
sporting good section when out of the corner of my eye I saw a skinny
ten-year old, shirtless and barefoot, looking at fishing lures.  He was
brown as could be, with a soft curve of tummy above the waist of his jeans.
Trying not to be too obvious, I let my eyes rise up to his belly button to
the tiny nipples on his chest and his sharp collarbone.  His jeans sat
right below his hip, fit tight to his legs, and were cuffed about an inch
above his ankle and his little bare boy feet.

This was Jacob (I'd get to know his name later), and he instantly reminded
me of Billy, who was my age but looked younger.  I could feel a woodie
coming on in my cutoffs and was thankful that I'd worn briefs (one day
earlier in the week, I'd experimenting going without underwear, but it was
hell when I rode my bike).  I kept pretending to look at badminton sets,
but also kept glancing over at the little kid -- for some reason, I
couldn't stop looking at his collar bone, a sharp ridge underneath his deep
tanned skin.  He turned slightly to look at rubber frog, worm, and squid
lures -- I knew the tackle section like the back of my hand -- and I caught
a glimpse of his slender back and his pointy little shoulder blades and
then, my eye moving down along the knobs of his spine, I focused on the way
the waist of his jeans bowed out slightly above his butt.  Damn, I wanted
to slide my hand between his jeans and tailbone.

All the sudden another boy, older and serious seeming, came around the end
of the fishing tackle aisle.  I quickly turned my eyes back to the
badminton equipment, but he must have seen me looking at the ten-year-old
and gave me sort of a suspicious look.  This was Christian, Jacob's
brother, who was my age and wore a white crewneck t-shirt, a blue baseball
cap, and Keds sneakers.  He had some bobbers, filament line, and a package
of enormous fishhooks in his hand and, grabbing the younger kid's bare
shoulder, gave him a little push toward the checkout.  Jacob grabbed the
rubber frog and added it to his brother's purchases; Christian gave him a
look sort of like the one he'd given me, but threw the frog lure on the
counter with the other stuff.

I was a little scared at having been caught looking at the young boy --
jeesh, what was wrong with me, getting a boner from looking at a fifth
grader -- and so didn't follow them out when they left, though I saw them
through the store window getting into the backseat of a big Olds 88.
Hidden by the candy rack, I kept looking out the store window at the car,
but could hardly see anything but the top of the younger boy's head.
Eventually, their parents walked up, got in, and the car drove off.  I left
the store without buying anything, got on my bike and, thinking of the
little boy, pulled off my t-shirt and rode bare-chested back toward home.

Riding home, the sun felt great on my back and I wondered why I never went
shirtless -- I almost always wore a t-shirt, except when swimming or at the
beach -- and also wondered how long it would take me to be as brown-skinned
as the little boy I'd watched in the town store.  There were several
different routes I could take from town back to Raccoon Lake, and I decided
on one that went mostly past farmland, with some stretches of forest.  On
one downhill, I lifted my feet off the pedals and just enjoyed the feel of
the warm wind on my chest as I sped downhill.  My thoughts again turned to
the kid I'd seen shirtless in town and then to Billy and then to Billy's
thin, straight little dick.  The road crossed a small stream and, an idea
suddenly occurring to me, I pulled my bike off to the side of the road and
then walked in a few yards along the stream until I was out of sight of any
traffic that might come along.  There, in the leaf filtered sunlight, I
pulled down my cutoffs and started slowly jacking, thinking first of Billy
and then of Jacob, then of Billy and then of Jacob again.  It felt so good
to have my dick out in the open air that, after a while, I stopped noticing
the ants getting on my butt and the flies that buzzed from time to time
around my hair.  Finally I got that great throbbing feeling and this time I
thought I maybe even felt some moisture coming out of my dick, which Billy
had told me his stepbrother got when he jacked.  I laid still for a while
after that, then pulled up my cutoffs, retrieved my bike, pulled my t-shirt
back on, and thought how I was going to have to start allowing more time to
get from the lake to town and back if I was going to jack along the way.

* * * 3 * * *

I got to the big hill just before the lake and stood-up on the pedals to
get some extra momentum for the upgrade.  I hit the top of the hill,
panting a bit, and got ready to glide down to the shore.  My bike was
zipping down the last few feet of the hill before the turn at the lake road
and, as I started to pedal backwards to engage the brake, what did I see
but the two boys from the store fishing along the rocks just at the side of
the road.  Both boys were shirtless now and I wondered how slow I'd be able
to glide past to record the one my age in memory for future jacking
sessions.

As I got closer I could tell that the two boys were arguing, the
ten-year-old protesting something almost to the point of tears and the
older one looking annoyed.  The bike had slowed-down enough after the hill
that I was able to start pedaling again.  Just as I did, the older boy
noticed me and, still looking a little pissed-off, called out "Hey, do you
know anything about fishing?"

"Yeah," I said.  I didn't much like fishing, but used to tag along with my
brother and dad when they'd go out and had learned the basics.

"Would you tell him," the older boy said, keeping the annoyed look on his
face, "that if he loops the eyelet on that rubber frog onto the end of the
hook, it's just going to fly off and he'll lose it in the lake."  Then,
realizing he didn't know me, he said "that's Jacob.  I'm Christian.  We're
from Northbrook, near Chicago."

"You could take off the bobber and fishhook and put the frog on instead," I
said and then the younger boy interrupted to say "we know that.  But our
dad has the penknife, he and mom went off somewhere for a drink, and we
can't untie the fishing line or get it to break."  The older boy,
Christian, gave a slight smile and added: "even with our teeth.'

"I have a scout knife," I said. "Let me do it."  I looked at Christian, the
older boy: "just hold the line taut and I'll get the dumb bobber off."
Christian held the line between his hands in front of his chest.  He was
paler than his brother and, from being out in the sun for a couple hours
fishing, his bare chest had turned bright red.  There was moisture
glistening at the hollow of his throat and, while I opened up my knife, I
could see where sweat beads had made tracks down his chest and around his
dark nipples.  As I bent over to make the cut, I caught a whiff of a sour
sweat smell and felt my boner begin to rise again in my cutoffs.

"Are you a scout?" the younger boy asked looking at my knife.  "Why do you
call bobbers dumb?"  "Are you from up here?"

"I'm from Chicago too, but I spend the summers up here," I said after
cutting off the bobber.  Jacob handed me the frog to put on in its place
and I caught myself looking a moment too long at his smooth little boy
armpits.  Christian didn't seem to notice though.  "I'm not in the scouts
because, being up here all summer and a lot of weekends in the spring and
fall, I'd miss all the outings and stuff."  And, I said, trying not to
sound snooty, "bobbers are stupid because all the fish in his lake hang out
in the reeds and you need to cast to get at them."

"Can you teach us to cast?" asked Jacob.

"Sure," I said, only hesitating a bit because I wasn't all that good at
placing my casts.  But for the next hour or so, the two shirtless boys and
I traded turns casting with Jacob's frog lure.  Christian left his line in
the shallows with the bobber just in case a smallmouth bass wandered by and
felt too hungry to pass up the mangled night crawler on the oversize hook
he'd purchased.  We started a contest to see who could cast furthest and
then who could come closest to different targets.  We talked about our
schools and about going to Cubs and Blackhawks games.  It was fun and, for
once that summer, I wasn't even thinking about my dick.

There were no signs of fish but we didn't care.  I was getting a little
overconfident with my casts and decided to send one into gap in the reeds,
thinking that there had to be a bass in there somewhere.  When I started to
reel the line in, the frog lure caught on something.  I should have waded
over to unhook it, but the reedy areas of the lake could be damn mucky.  So
I just tried giving the rod a couple good yanks.  No luck.  I tried one
more time . . . and the line snapped.  "Oh well," said Christian, looking
away and, figuring it was my problem, walking over a few feet to check the
line with the bobber.

I looked sheepishly at Jacob and expected him to throw a tantrum but, all
the sudden, he hardy seemed to care.  I still felt bad and said, "hey, if
you want tomorrow I can show you where to catch real frogs."

"That would be great," Jacob said.  `Yeah," said Christian," it would.  But
we have to leave tomorrow, remember."  "Oh right," said Jacob.

My heart just sank.  I'd made friends with two neat boys and they had to
leave the next day.  Without the frog lure, the casting games were over, so
we just sat near the line with the bobber.  I talked a bit about catching
frogs and crawfish.  The sun was getting cooler and soon Christian pulled
on his shirt and then Jacob.  Then their parents drove up.  Christian
introduced me and the brothers began to pack up their rods and gear.

I was beginning to feel real sad and lonely as I went over to get my bike.
Then Christian said to me "hey, my dad says that when you're back in town
you can come along to a Cubs game.  We have season tickets."

"That would be great," I said.  Christian scrawled his phone number on a
piece of paper and I tucked it into the pocket of my cutoffs.  As the car
drove off, Jacob yelled, "hey, thanks for the casting lessons.  But, you
owe me a rubber frog."

I got on my bike and began the last bit of the ride home, happy I'd made
friends but sad that I still had several more weeks alone until my dad
brought Ted and Billy up in August.

That night in bed, my thoughts turned again to sex and I pictured
Christian's sunburned chest in my mind as I started slowly rocking
back-and-forth with my dick under my stomach.  Then I started to wonder how
long Jacob's dick could be at his age and if Christian's dick was curved
like mine was getting to be, or straight and thin like Billy's.  I shifted
the position of my dick so that it rubbed against my leg as I kept up my
rocking movements, back-and-forth, back-and-forth on the bed.  I thought of
when I first came over that rise and saw the two brothers shirtless in the
sun, standing barefoot in their cuffed jeans on the big boulders at the
lake's edge.  And I thought of that sour smell from Christian's armpits.
Then of Jacob's sharp collarbone above his tiny, dark nipples.  I decided I
was going to go shirtless for the rest of the summer and then hit my climax
thinking about how great it would feel to have another boy's bare chest on
mine.  Damn, I missed Billy.

* * * 4 * * *

The problem with a resort area like Raccoon Lake was that kids came for a
weekend or a couple weeks at most.  There weren't many that stayed all
summer the way I did.  The town kids kept to themselves and they also kind
of scared me.

So when I saw Davey through my binoculars diving off the raft for two days
in a row, I decided I better make friends with him quick or he was going to
go home the way Christian and Jacob had.  On the third day, I stationed
myself in the rope hammock in our yard where I'd have a good view of the
raft.  I had my binoculars and tried to keep my attention on the book I was
reading, some Sherlock Holmes stories, all the time hoping that the diving
kid wouldn't change his routine.  It was another great sunny day, and I had
my shirt off and the legs of my cutoffs rolled up a couple turns.  Every
day so far, the diving kid had been wearing blue speedos with a white
stripe down the side.  I never wore speedos, but thought of how, swimming
at the Y in the city, you could sometimes see the outline of guys' dicks
through them.  I just hoped that the kid showed-up for his diving.

It wasn't long before I saw him, paddling a canoe a bit awkwardly from one
of the resorts along the shore toward the swimming float.  He was wearing a
t-shirt with green printing on it, below which I could make out the blue
speedos making a triangle at his crotch.  The float he liked to dive from
actually belonged to my family -- it had our name stenciled in big block
capitals on the center board -- but we never worried about other people
using it.  The canoe made its landing against the side of the float and the
boy pulled himself up onto the wooden deck, tying the bow rope to the side
of the ladder.  In a second, he pulled the t-shirt off over his head,
tossed it to one corner of the deck, and hopped four steps across the hot
planks of the float before leaping into the water, his beautiful slender
body arched from the tips of his fingers to the curve of his soles.  My
heart skipped a beat.

Though I was years away from driving, my parents trusted me with our motor
boat, which was red and white fiberglass with a covered bow, a steering
wheel and throttle up front, a key ignition and, my favorite part, red and
green running lights for nighttime (though I wasn't allowed to take it out
by myself after dark yet).  Putting my plan into action, I flipped myself
out of the hammock, and trotted over to the dock, pulled off my adidas and
fired-up the speedboat.  It wasn't far from our dock to the float, so I
decided to make a couple loops around our end of Raccoon Lake, so my
landing at the float would seem more "natural."

When I cut the engine and coasted toward the float, the boy in speedos was
just about to make another dive, but he stopped when he saw me approaching.

"Cool boat," he said.  The boy was dripping wet, his hair slicked, and
water dripping down his slender legs to his narrow, arched feet.  Now that
I was closer, I could see that he had big brown eyes and long eyelashes and
that his lips sort of protruded out.  If I had been making fun of him, I
would have said that he looked like Donald Duck.  But with him dripping wet
and with just a speedo interrupting his sun browned flesh, I thought he
looked just perfect.

"Hey, you mind if I swim from here too?" I asked.

"No problem," he said, "I'm not sure who this belongs to anyway."

"Actually, it belongs to my family, but we let anyone on the lake use it."

"Cool," he said again.  "I'm staying at the Pine Cove cabins over there
with my grandma.  My brother Johnny's going to come up in a week, unless
his Senior League team makes the playoffs.  He's fifteen."  He shook water
from his hair and, when he pointed to where he was staying, I took a quick
glance at the crotch of his speedos and saw the faint outline of his soft
dick.  "Wanna see a backflip?" he said.  "Sure," I replied, as if I hadn't
watched him practicing them for two days straight.  I jumped in right after
him and then we took turns diving and swimming out and sunning on the deck
of the float.

After a while, Davey asked whether I'd take him for a ride in the
motorboat.  I quickly agreed -- a motorboat rode had been part of my plan.
I didn't know if Davey would be interested in the kind of games that Billy
and I played, or even the more innocent fooling- around I still did with
Ted.  But it would be a lot easier to find out in a place less public than
a raft in the middle of Raccoon Lake.  The lake didn't have a lot of boat
traffic except on weekends, but there were occasional sailboats or water
skiers.  And I probably didn't have the only pair of binoculars on the lake
either.

"I should take the canoe back and ask my gramma if it's okay for me to ride
around in your motorboat," said Davey as he pulled the t-shirt over his wet
torso, setting my heart beating again.  The green lettering read "Oakdale
Junior Swim Team," which explained the speedos.

I followed him in to the dock at the Pine Cove cabins, keeping behind so he
didn't get caught in the wake of the powerboat.  He introduced me to his
grandma, who seemed nice and said how happy she was that Davey had made a
friend.  She made him change out of his "wet things" while I rocked on the
porch swing.  When he came back out he was wearing a different t-shirt --
from a boys camp somewhere else in Wisconsin -- and, I was disappointed to
see, plaid shorts with slip on canvas sneakers.  I'd been planning to at
least catch a few more glimpses of the outline of his dick in those blue
speedos and now most of his body was covered.

"Let's go," he said and, hesitating for a second, kicked off the slip-ons
and ran barefoot with me across the lawn to the dock.  I fired-up the
engine and he headed out from the shore, taking it slow so his grandma
wouldn't worry.  That afternoon, I showed him the cool stuff on the lake as
we took turns driving the boat.  The first time Davey took the wheel, he
drove the boat a little cautiously, but after a while he got comfortable
and started making sharp terns and figure eights, getting us splashed again
and again.  After a while, he handed the wheel over to me again and I
headed the boat for the outlet of the lake and the little dam.  Davey had
his bare feet propped up on the front cowl of the boat and, with his thin
bare legs, stretched out from those short plaid shorts, looked just great.
I was thinking about a stop near the dam when he pointed and said," hey,
what's that."

"That's the island," I said and a plan formed in my brain.  "It has a house
and a couple buildings, but no one's lived there for years"

"Cool," Davey said, twisting his body to peer toward the clearing with the
houses.  As he did, his back turned to me so that the fabric of his shorts
formed tight around his butt and I could see a thin line of bare flesh
below his t-shirt.  My dick came to life.

"If you promise to keep it secret, I can take you there," I said.  "The
kids in my family have been going to the island to hang out forever."  I
didn't say that the island was where my sister took her boyfriends to get
some privacy or where my brother experimented with smoking cigarettes and
drinking beer.  "My dad says the island belongs to a family whose company
went bankrupt before World War II and no one's lived there since.  They
must have thought they were coming back, though, because the house still
has a lot of stuff in it -- furniture, tools, kitchen stuff.  Anyway, it's
a fun place to hang out.  We don't take anything or mess stuff up.  Just
hang out."

"That sounds really cool," said Davey.  "But I can't go tomorrow.  It's
Sunday and I promised Gramm I'd go on a picnic with her.  We're going to go
miniature golfing too."  Davey paused.  "hey, you can come."

"Okay, " I said, not too enthusiastic but still thinking it would be fun to
spend the day with Davey.  I was really beginning to like his tight plaid
shorts and wondered what I'd look like in a pair; other than my cutoffs,
all I had was a pair of dorky white tennis shorts and some pairs of bathing
trunks.  "Then, we could go to the island Monday."

"Great," Davey said.

"But you'll have to keep it a secret," I said again.  "And we'll have to
take the canoe or a rowboat, `cause we have to hide the boat so nobody
knows we're out there."  Davey nodded and went back to squinting at the
clearing.  The sun was still pretty high, but it was getting toward
dinnertime, "Hey, he asked, can I take the speedboat into the dock?"  I
turned over the wheel and, as Davey made a sharp turn that soaked both of
us.  He gave a yell and, for a second, I thought I saw the outline of
hard-on sticking-up in his tight shorts.  That night, I kept thinking about
that sight and started thinking of how I'd get to see him without those
shorts on or even his little speedo.

The Sunday picnic was deviled eggs and sandwiches with hardly any meat in
them, followed by a game called cribbage that Davey and his grandmother
apparently played all the time but I hated.  Miniature golf was a bit
better, but Davey kept himself pretty well behaved with his grandma and
seemed almost like a different boy the one with the endless variety of
dives off the swimming float and the devilish grin as he sent the motorboat
into a sharp turn.  Worse, he was wearing long pants -- not even jeans --
and my mom had made me wear the white tennis shorts so I'd "look nice."  I
did get to see his wavy hair in its natural state, not soaked with water
and got really fascinated with his full lips and the way they stuck out a
bit.

As we got to the last holes, I was already thinking about getting home so I
could get something real to eat, find out the Cubs score, and then maybe
jack thinking about Davey and his plaid shorts in my bedroom, Then Davey
made a hole-in-one after shooting his ball between the blades of a windmill
and over a water hazard.  His boyish glee took over from his polite manners
and he jumped on my back in celebration and wrestled me down to the green
carpet.  All the sudden, I was insanely happy -- the deviled eggs,
cribbage, and long pants forgotten.  But I was really looking forward to
taking Davey to the island the next day.

				   -=*=-

This story continues the second part of a series called "24 Boys" which
recalls the days of the late 1960s through the mid-1970s, when no one
talked about homosexuality or about boys experimenting with sex with other
boys.  But it happened anyway, of course; you just had to figure things out
for yourself.  The stories are a combination of memory and fiction. All the
names have been changed.

The usual disclaimer applies.  Do not read this story if you are offended
by detailed accounts of boys having sex with other boys.  Do not read this
story if it is illegal for you to do so where you live.

Comments are welcome at: sleepmemory@hotmail.com


Davey (Summer 1967), continued


* * * 5 * * *

Davey and I had arranged to meet on the swim float before going to the
island.  I got there first and took a couple dives into the water while
waiting for him to come.  It was another warm, cloudless day and when I
spotted Davey coming toward the float in the canoe, he was shirtless.  I'd
brought along a beach towel and, dripping from the swim, lied down on my
stomach to watch him.  It was an old-fashioned canoe, the kind where you
had to kneel on the bottom, and as Davey got closer I could watch his chest
muscles strain with each smooth paddle motion.  He was in the plaid shorts
again; I'd warned him to bring along his slip-on shoes, as the forest floor
on the island was full of sharp sticks and pine needles.  When Davey was
nearly to the float, I shifted my attention to his armpits and shoulders
and the way he lifted the paddle following each stroke.  I wasn't sure
Davey would go for the kind of dick grabbing that Billy and I loved -- and
I wasn't sure how I'd find out if he was -- and at that point I almost
would have given up the island excursion, which made me a bit nervous, just
to have another day being near him.

I leapt up to wave hello and helped him to tie the canoe next to the
rowboat I'd arrived in.  Davey saw I was wet and said "hey, let me take a
few dives to catch-up with you."  It didn't seem to matter to Davey that he
was in shorts instead of his speedo and, as he never took just a few dives,
we were out there near the float for an hour at least.  I'd worn swim
trunks that day -- my favorites, with maroon and black stripes. Davey
decided to try to teach me some of his fancier dives, but I was pretty
clumsy.  A coupe, times, trying to show me the backflip, he put the palm of
his hand on the wet rump of my trunks, but when he did that I got so
distracted and nervous that I dived even worse.  "You got a long way to
go," Davey said in a mock adult voice that must have been an imitation of
his swim coach.  "We'll keep trying until you get it right, if we have to
do it day and night."

After another half hour, my backflip hadn't improved.  But some clouds had
come out, so we decided it was time to head for the island.  We jumped into
the rowboat and I took the oars, facing toward the back of the boat.  Davey
sat facing me on the other bench but after a while slid down so that he was
sitting with his behind on the bottom of the boat and his head propped
against the bench he had been sitting on.  In this position, his eyes were
exactly level with my crotch.  I had to keep looking over my shoulder to
check that we were headed the right way and a couple times when I turned
back I thought I could tell that Davey was looking at my crotch.

"Those trunks don't look as comfortable as your cutoffs," he said, maybe to
explain why he was looking at me.  He looked out toward a big hawk circling
over toward the shore and I looked quickly at his crotch.  He definitely
had a boner!  Maybe this was going to be easier that I thought.  Davey
shifted himself again in the bottom of the rowboat, and this time he put
his bare feet on either side of the bench I was sitting on.
  So I was just looking at his thin, tanned legs running all the way into
the leg holes of the plaid shorts.  Now we both had boners.  Trying to look
casual, Davey moved to adjust his hard dick to the right, but sort of gave
it two or three short strokes as he did so.  I did a similar maneuver and
could tell that he was watching me.

We were getting close to the inlet that ran into the island, which is
usually where I hid the boat.  It was shallow and sandy, and we both had to
get out of the boat so it could be dragged twenty yards up to where the
water ended and where there were bushes that would hide the boat from
traffic on the lake.  Once the rowboat was hidden, Davey pulled on his slip
ons and I slipped on my addidas, leaving the laced untied.  I pointed to a
tree -- "the top initials are my sisters," I said, "then my brother's and
then mine."  Davey nodded and I led the way through the thicket toward the
clearing with the house, barn, workshed, and boathouse.

I took Davey around to where, long ago, my sister had loosened the boards
that sealed one of the first floor windows.  It led into the kitchen and,
as Davey climbed in behind me, I went to the hiding place in the cupboards
where my sister and brother and I kept a flashlight with fresh batteries.
The first floor was dark from being boarded up, and as I showed Davey
around with the flashlight, he stayed just a step behind me.  A couple
times he grabbed my shoulder to ask me about something -- one of the animal
trophies in the living room or a weird old painting -- and once or twice,
when I stopped suddenly, I felt his bare chest on my back or his arm
brushing by mine.

"Let's go upstairs," I said, whispering unnecessarily.  Upstairs, the
windows weren't boarded up and so you didn't need the flashlight.  It was
usually up there, in one of the three attic bedrooms, that I spent time
when I came to the island.  As soon as we got up into the light on the
second floor, I looked at Davey and could tell he was shivering.  With the
cloudiness when we were rowing, his cotton plaid shorts hadn't dried out
very much; even my swim trunks were still damp, though not as bad."

"Hey," I said.  "You're chilled."

"I'm okay," Davey replied, but I could see the gooseflesh on his arms and
chest.  Without thinking, I said, "you need to get out of those wet
shorts."  He nodded, and I could tell he was about to just pull the shorts
off and go naked, but I couldn't stop myself before I added the rest of the
thought, "there are some old clothes in the other bedroom that you can wear
until your shorts are dry."

"Okay" he said, beginning to shiver.  Maybe it was best that he was going
to wear something.  But I still felt like I missed a major chance to see
his dick.

* * * 6 * * *

Davey followed me down the dark hall to the big second floor bedroom.  I
opened the closet and started looking around at the old stuff hanging on
the rod.  I remembered something and reached way back into the closet.
"Here," I said, holding out an old olive green military uniform jacket,
"this is perfect for you."

Thanks," he said with a shiver.  And without a trace of modesty he yanked
off his plaid shorts and then white cotton briefs that were still so wet
from his swimming in them that he had to almost peel them off.  As he
started to pull on the uniform top, I was able check out his dick, which
from being in those cold, sopping wet briefs was shriveled up small, with
the head wrinkled and blue.

"It got shriveled," he said following my gaze as he pulled on the uniform
jacket, which came down to his knees.  He didn't button it up, but clutched
it around him.
  "This kind of smells funny," he said, "but thanks."  The clouds must have
broken, at least in places, and he went over to sit in some sunlight coming
in through the dirty window.

He still seemed cold, but looked up at me and said "you should change too."

"I'm not shivering."

"Doesn't matter," he replied and then said with a laugh that showed he
wasn't entirely serious, "we need to get you out of those wet things."  The
he leapt up, the uniform falling open a bit, "I'll pick something out," and
he started digging in the closet.  He threw out a brown suitcoat with
pointy lapels.  "Here, wear this."

I started to protest -- I was running a major boner and was feeling a bit
shy about showing my arousal so openly.  I got the idea of putting the
suitcoat on first and then stripping off the swim trunks underneath.  But
it was no use.  I pulled on the suitcoat and buttoned it, but as soon as I
pulled the swim trunks off, my boner popped up through the front of the
coat.  Davey laughed and collapsed back onto the floor.

"Wow," Davey said, "you're not shriveled.  Let me see!"  And he pulled up
the sportcoat and just grabbed my dick to look.  "I think yours is thicker
than mine, but I bet mine is longer.  I have the second longest on the
junior swim team," he said, and then added after a second, "though there
are two guys who haven't been initiated yet and I'm not sure about them."

Here it was again.  Like with Billy Redmond, I was worried that another kid
was too innocent to be as interested in other kids' dicks as I was, and
then it turns out he's way ahead of me -- at least in showing off.  I
started thinking of how to introduce the idea of some of the other things
that Billy and I did at sleepovers back in Chicago.

But Davey kept talking.  "Wait a minute and I'll get mine up all the way,
then we can compare sizes."  And he pulled back the uniform jacket and
started pulling his dick, slowly and steadily.  I just watched.  "Hey." he
said, "aren't you going to do yours?  You might not be hard all the way and
it needs to be a fair contest."  That was my signal.  I opened the buttons
of the suitcoat, laid on my side so I could keep an eye on Davey's hand and
dick, and started moving my hand up and down on my already plenty stiff
boner.

As Davey's dick grew, I almost got jealous, it was so cool looking.  It was
thin and straight as an arrow with a perfectly formed dick head and his
ball sac seemed almost perfectly round.  When he stopped jacking, his dick
stood almost straight-up.  "Okay, I'm ready," he said.  "Jeesh, yours is
even bigger and it curves."

I was still staring.  "C'mon, before they go down.  We have to stand-up for
this.  Face me."  I stood and he walked straight up to me and laid his dick
on top of mine, flattening both against each other for a good measure.
"Well, you win, yours is definitely bigger.  When's your birthday?" I told
him.  "Crap, I'm even three months older than you.  You must jack off a lot
for it to have gotten that big."  He started moving his hands back and
forth, jacking both our dicks against one another.

"Like five times a day, " I said.

"That must be it," he said, "I used to jack all the time but a couple guys
on the swim team and me have really gotten into dick-licking.  It's great."

"I've done that," I said, beginning to feel a throb come on in my dick.
Davey could feel it too and stopped his hand, gently laying my dick back
down along my leg.  His was still standing straight out, and the head
seemed to be nearly glowing with purple.

I was about to tell him about Billy, but then he asked excitedly: "hey, do
you do 69?"

"What's that?" I asked.

"Lay down, I`ll show you.  It's cool.  Mike and Ben and I on the swim team
do it all the time.  But, like, we don't let the other guys know.  I'm not
sure they're past jacking."  I laid on my back and saw Davey start to head
for my dick.  But then he swung around so his own dick was hanging above my
mouth, with his knees on either side of my head.  I got the idea and raised
my head to take his dick between my lips and then gasped as I felt him
swallow my dick in his mouth.  He didn't even start off slow, but went all
out and I tried to do the same, but it was harder to keep the rhythm up
with my head on the floor.  I was used to bobbing up and down from the top,
the way Davey was.  But what Davey called the 69 was so amazing that I
didn't know whether to pay attention to the sensations coming from my own
dick or to the great feeling of moving his in and out and licking the
perfect little head of his dick.  When I did that he groaned and so I kept
it up.  Then I felt him doing the same in return.

"Wait" he gasped.  We stopped and he shifted to lie at my side, with his
face next to mine.  Then he started jacking me slowly with his hand and I
reached to do the same with him.  I looked at his face.  He was smiling and
for a moment, I thought of how that those oversize lips had been around my
dick.  They looked great to me now, the way they stuck out seemed so cool
and cute, and I smiled back.

"I'm hot, let's lose these duds," he said. The mutual sucking had been so
intense, that I'd stopped thinking about the weird old clothes we were
wearing.  "Okay Sarge," I said, " noticing the rank on the uniform sleeve."
When we were naked, he just laid on top of me, so that we were chest to
chest and dick to dick, with our legs almost intertwined.

"You're a crappy diver," he said, "but great at 69.  And you have a cool
dick!"  All I could think to say was thanks.  He rolled off me and reached
down again to grab my dick and pull at it slowly.

"We're both still hard.  Let's do it on our sides this time," he said.
Davey positioned his dick near my mouth and bowed his back slightly to get
his head near my dick.
  This time, he started in real slow.  So I began slow as well, circling
his dick with my tongue and them moving my lips up and down in rhythm with
him.  But then I pulled away and moved my lips to his cool, perfectly round
ball sack and started licking it and then taking it in my mouth.  It was
nothing I'd ever done and all the sudden Davey just stopped with a groan
and fell on his back.  I kept licking and swallowing his balls and then
moved back to his rock solid dick.  It wasn't too long before I felt his
dick throb in my mouth.  He pulled away from me, got up on his elbow long
enough to give me a smile, and then fell back theatrically.

Davey looked at me: "I don't care anymore if you're a crappy diver."