Date: Sat, 8 Mar 2003 05:44:43 -0500 (EST)
From: Clark Gaybull <ClarkGaybull@webtv.net>
Subject: Mess-Around Buddies #7

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----------------------------------MATT---------------------------------

I COULD have included these final two chapters with the escapades but,
like my other mess-around buddies, these friends have never been to the
lake.  AND, they're neighbors of the current house that we've lived in
for only the past three-and-a-half years.

This next-to-last installment is about my exhibitionist pal, Matt.  And
that's not to say anything negative about him 'cause he really took care
of me after the wreck.

He moved into the 'hood two years ago - when he was fifteen and I was
about to turn sixteen.  In spite of our closeness in age, I'm just OVER
the line and he's just UNDER the line which determines what grade you're
in.  So, we soon found out that HE was going into tenth and I was going
into eleventh.  Oh well, we'd hang together that summer 'cause he didn't
know anybody, although he'd make friends fast come September - hopefully
the RIGHT crowd, 'cause - in addition to exhibitionism - he evidences
some behavior that I'd NEVER participate in.

For example, I refused to join him hiding in the bushes, throwing eggs
at passing cars.  "Fun" must have had a different meaning where he came
from.  And he'd try to get motorists to stop when he'd lie on the
ground, pretending to have crashed his bike into a tree.

The first tour was of HIS place, which was a mistake 'cause he had to
say so often, "This is how it's GONNA be."  (They had a lot more
unpacking to do.)

A couple of days later, Matt was able to check out MY room, and much met
with his approval, especially my video games and the recently- connected
Web TV on my set. "Yeah...they're too cheap to buy a computer."  (I
really shouldn't have said that 'cause, after the accident, they paid
for a separate 'phone line for it for five months.)

I showed him how things worked and added that I had a camera which could
take pictures for e-mailing.

"Cool...I could send some pictures to my friends back home.  Well...what
USED TO BE home."

"Yup."

"I'll hafta remember that."

I then avoided his house for more than a week.  Didn't want to slow
things down getting stuff placed.

Right after the Fourth-of-July, the 'phone rings and it's Matt.  "Where
the fuck ya been?"

"Keepin' outta the way."

"Come on over.  Bring your camera."

Timing was okay, so, I did.  "Did I tell you...it's a VIDEO camera?
When I pause it, I can e-mail THAT picture."

"That's what you said.  Set it up.  We're gonna play some badminton.
Follow me.  Okay, though, if we send from your hook-up, right?  Our
computer's broke."

Good thing that I brought my tripod and that HE found an extension cord.
I told him, "I don't know how charged the battery is."  Then, "Where're
we gonna be?"  (A question that I could have answered if I'd'a simply
looked ahead.)

There were no homes visible from the back yard.  It was one of the
newest structures on the edge of the development.  Nothing but trees
beyond.  In the middle of the freshly-sprouted lawn stood the net.

"Don't matter if YOU'RE not in the picture.  They don't know who in Hell
YOU are.  Aim it down here."

"Okay.  We're rollin'.  We're at the beginning of a two-hour tape in
there."

That was Matt's cue for the "ham" in him to kick in and for the
badminton to begin.  Fortunately, the air was pretty calm and Matt payed
fairly well.

"Ya sure you're gettin' all o' this?  Don't ya want better close-ups?"

"Okay.  I'll zoom in a bit more."

While I'm doing that, he removes his tank-top, now clad only in last
year's gym shorts, not being at all careful where he puts his bare feet.
"Gotta give 'em my best Leo-on-the-beach."

Oh yeah...the girls'll just LOVE that."

"I'm not sendin' this to the GIRLS."

Holy shit!  Could it be that he's a fruit?  Well, it's not in my
character to be prejudiced.  Come to think of it, all of my OWN
experiences to that point had been with guys.  But I didn't think of
myself as a fag.  I planned to enjoy hetero-sex when the opportunity
occurred.  In the meantime, sex is sex.  Any kind's alright.

Hmmm...that being the case, I'd better pay more attention to this lad.
Not too bad, actually.  Especially with his shirt off.  No hair, though.
Even on his head.  Cut it all off.  Could be the "summer look".  What's
that I see?  A pierced left nipple?  Hafta ask him about that.

Back to the swatting.  "You're not gonna be in the shot ALL of the time,
Matt.  But when you run back and forth, it'll get ya SOME of the time."

"I think I can tell when I'm lined up," whereupon he stops chasing the
birdie and moons the camera!  A few more volleys and its drink time.

Was I in for a surprise when play resumed.  "Gonna REALLY give 'em an
eyeful.  We won't be able to send this when your folks are around.  The
homies won't believe me doin' this in the all-together."  And he drops
his drawers!  He's doin' this bare-assed!

"He's nuts," I thought.  "Aren't your parents home?"

"Nope.  Both at work for the day."  And, like me, no brothers or
sisters.

The more we play, the more Matt glistens.  And I could swear his pubes
have been tampered with.  "What's with the nipple ring?" I yell.

"Only place they'd let me do it.  Said 'No' to a tattoo ANYWHERE.
Didn't want the piercing to show.  Now I go shirtless whenever I can
just to piss 'em off."

"And the pubes?"

Ah...well...I got a little carried away when I gave myself a haircut.
Whaddya think?"

"Never had a haircut down there."

"Want one?"

"I'll think about it."

More volleying.  How come I'm packin' wood and he's not?  Did I say that
out loud?  The next thing outta his mouth is, "Don't want that zoom to
work too hard."  So he starts playing with his pecker, making it erect.
"There.  They should be able to see THAT," as five (no, six) inches of
arousal come into focus.  Now the appendage is making a "slap" with each
stride toward the birdie.  "Think that's enough footage?"

I was kinda enjoying the show so I said, "We haven't been filming for
even an hour yet.  Got more 'n half a tape left."

"Okay.  Serve again."

During the pause, I removed my beat-up ol' shirt and sneaks.

"That's it.  Get more comfortable."

I still wore what was REALLY making me UNcomfortable.

"You can take off more than that, if you want."

"What the fuck," I thought.  "Might as well.  If he's not embarrassed by
his stiffie, I won't be bashful about mine."

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," I agreed, glad that my shaky voice didn't have to say more than
one syllable.

"Had enough?"

About an hour and twenty minutes into our session and, indeed, I had.

"Let's towel off."

We entered the back door to the garage, which was closed at the other
end.

"Let's get off more than the sweat," Matt suggested, as he prodded his
meat as if to seek its co-operation.  "This is what REALLY feels good."
And he began pumping his pud, jutting out his middle and bending his
knees slghtly.

I just watched, in rigid amazement.

"Come on...you too," he exhorted.

But it was already too late.  Puddles of jism darkened the garage floor
beneath him.

"Do you always cum that fast?"

"Only when I haven't for a long time.  Last time was last night.  Aren't
you gonna?"

"While you watch?" I asked incredulously.

"I'll do it FOR ya, if ya want."

"Okay.  Start whacking it."  And a very pleasant hand-job commenced.
Actually, "pleasant" isn't a strong enough word.  Matt had never touched
me before.  But somehow he knew just when to stop stroking to prolong my
pleasure - something I now realize he did NOT do to himself.  I was
eventually overcome, however, and a second series of spots dampened the
cement.

"We should have had THAT on film.  THAT was HOT."

"Another time," I gasped.

"Well...at least we can send 'em some good badminton action.  When can
we do that?"

"I'll call when the 'rents are gone.  Don't like to close the door on
'em.  I'd sure have to close it for THAT."

A few days and a half-dozen e-mail addresses later - if the wires didn't
melt - some stills were chosen and sent.  I hope mom or dad never find
that tape.  I watch it over and over.

Later that summer, Matt had acquired a few acquaintances.  He brought
one of 'em around one night to sample our the newest reason for our
higher property taxes - a twenty-one-foot, above-ground swimming pool
that my folks were suckered in to under the guise of a pre-Labor-Day
sale.

Of course, Matt had determined that my parents were out of town for the
final weekend of August for the wedding of a secretary who formerly
worked for the company which also employs my father.

I felt like I had a good start on the New Testament when Matt introduced
me to his friend, Mark.

The solar cover had worked well, warming the water temperature to almost
80-degrees F.

"But first, I'm gonna give Clark a haircut," Matt announced.

"You are?  That's news to me.  We don't even HAVE clippers."

"Ah ha...but I do."  And he produced those which I assume were from his
home.

"I don't know," I stammered.

"You want to be like us two, don't you?"

"So Mark's a baldy, too?"

"You got it."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

"Plug 'er in then."  And I boldly bared my middle.  "What am I gonna say
when this is noticed in gym class after school starts?" I wondered.  "Oh
well... I'll cross THAT bridge if I come to it.  I'll have something
ready, though."

Then, and after the later wreck, were the only two times when I've ever
been shaved, not that this blond had much to shave either time.

Vibrating like that sure was a turn-on above my dick.  It was
fully-grown in no time.  Thank god that my balls aren't hairy.  I don't
think that I'd want those cutters THERE.  Usually, the ooze from my cock
is a good thing.  But, I was taught that liquid and electricity don't
mix.  So, I was sure to periodically wipe myself.  (Wonder why that made
me juice MORE?  Must've been dabbing with the rag too often.)

Satisfied that their job was complete, Matt and Mark collected the
sparse clippings and wanted to go swimming.  "Oh...but we don't have our
suits," they pouted, in mock disappointment.  "Guess we'll just have to
offend the neighbors."

"The neighbors can't see," I reassured unnecessarily.  (Wouldn't've
mattered if they COULD have seen.)  "Just make sure the lights aren't
on."  The moonlight, however, was every bit as bright as any man-made
illumination would have been.

Talk about your grab-ass...It wasn't safe to turn around.  And, man, was
that slickness caused by my shaved bush a different sensation, even
though there wasn't much there before.

Just when I thought my hardness was easing, I'm unsuccessfully dodging
fingers in the pool.  I see that I'm not the only one bothered by high
blood- pressure.  Glancing around,  I notice that I'm probably LEAST
erect.  But MOST stubbled.  How can THAT be?  THEY must have used razor
blades 'cause there wasn't even a shadow below their bellies.  (That's
it!!!  If I'm asked about it, I'll say, "It's a pact.")

Now Mark decides that he's gonna do a cannonball between Matt and me.
While positioning himself for the jump, however, it becomes apparent
that he's got one of those uncircumsized, diagonally-upwards weenies.
Definitely not conducive to diving.  Splash!  Right between us!  Get
him!  Hold him under!

Mark bellows a fake cough.  "You're drowning me."

More ducking.  More coughing.  Then, feigned lifelessness.

"Poor guy.  He must have swallowed too much," Matt sympathizes
unconvincingly.

Still motionless, Mark allows himself to be carried to our deck at the
edge of the pool.

"Upsy daisy," says Matt, followed by polite pushes to Mark's pecs.  "Out
with the bad air..."

(Ever tell your enemy that you hope that he dies with a hard-on?  Well,
Mark could have been somebody's enemy.)

Lying on his back with his arms outstretched and his bent knees causing
his ankles to dangle into the pool, created a "can't miss" target of his
full-staff member - a target that Matt couldn't pass up.  "What we need
here is some mouth-to-dick resuscitation."

Mark tried - but failed - to supress a twitch when Matt's warm mouth
encircled Mark's throbbing pole.  "Bet he'd move if he felt too much
teeth," Matt threatened, withdrawing his lips and holding the turgid
flesh between his pearly whites, calling Mark's bluff.  "I'll revive him
another way."  And he takes as much of Mark's cock into his mouth as he
can.  As he sucks up toward the head, he brings his right hand to Mark's
missing pubes and grasps the base of the shaft, injecting a little
tugging action into the knob-job.  "I guess that's STILL not what he
wants," says Matt.  And he climbs out onto the deck and straddles Mark,
facing the pool.

Tell me he's not gonna squat and stick that thing up his ass!  Yup!
That's what happens next.  Splash a little lubricant onto that porker
and seek some gravitational assistance while trying to sit on it.
Eventually it disappears entirely into Matt's rectum.  He took the whole
thing.

Strange...now Mark seems to be regaining consciousness.

Matt moves four inches toward standing.  But then his rear plummets back
down with a "squoosh."  Matt maintains his balance by extending an arm
on either side of Mark so that both hands are stablizers on the deck.
At the bottom of each squat, Matt's swollen lovestick bounces
tantalizingly.

Throughout this display, my state of hypnosis must have become
increasingly evident because a reality check occurred when I heard Matt
bark, "Clark.  Come here."

Were it not for the slight, moonlit ripples, you could have convinced me
that I "beamed" to Matt's forefront to listen to his dilemma.

"It's cold," he said, pointing to his crotch.  "Warm it up."  He wanted
me to suck him off while he got butt-fucked!  This was too much!

"Okay.  But tell me when you're gonna cum.  I don't want a mouthful of
jizz."

"I will if I can talk.  But this is gonna be so intense, I might not
have any breath left to speak words with."

So the pace of the fuck-fest increased.  Matt was up and down on Mark's
meat.  I stood in the water facing the duo, holding hands with Matt, who
was fucking my face.  Positioned as we were, enabled me to thrust
between Mark's shins.  Not exactly the most effective form of release.
But this was driving me wild and any contact was exstatic.  In fact, it
wouldn't have had to have been much better to get me off sooner.

Obviously, Mark was no longer passive, doing his best to tighten his
calves around my tool and simultaneously enjoy the hammering of Matt's
behind.

Matt was getting it from both ends, uttering an "uh" each time that he
bottomed-out on Mark's poking penis and I engulfed his half-foot spear.
It was a no-win (or always-win) situation for him because, when he
pushed up off of Mark, Matt's cock went deeper into my mouth.
Therefore, I thought that Matt would blow first.  But Mark did.  I heard
him.

To this point, the noises came only from Matt.  But, just before Mark
unloaded, he spoke.  He stopped ankle-squeezing my meat and exhaled a
"Here I cum."  Of course, his rod was exploding deep within Matt.  So,
we could only BELIEVE him.  (Although WITHOUT words, his gyrations alone
would have probably won him an Oscar.)  And Matt must have certainly
felt Mark's blasts.

Curiously, I was distracted by the forewarning of this eruption to the
extent that I wanted to try to feel Mark's release through Matt.  I
became even more attentive (if that was possible) to what my gums were
doing, seekng a sign of Mark's event.  There!  Did I feel it?  When Mark
breathed out, was his discharge strong enough to reverberate from Matt's
booty to his chicken?  Not sure.  We'll hafta do this again.

Mark is relapsing into his coma but Matt's senses are heightening.  The
spurts up Matt's fanny served as a catalyst for Matt's own climax.
Recognizing this, I continued the hand motion but removed my lips from
around Matt's pole.  Heaven forbid that I should get a throatful of
semen.  Just in time, too, 'cause out shoots several volleys of goo -
over my left shoulder and into the pool.

"Two down.  One to go," pants Matt.

"That's all right.  I can do without," I proclaimed, insincerely.

"Now, now.  Come on up here Clarkie.  Get your reward for being such a
good boy."  (I can always tell when he's really wired - He calls me
"Clarkie.")

I tried to maintain my composure.  "Whaddya want me to do?"

"Just come on up here.  YOU don't hafta do a thing.  WE'LL do all the
work."

Matt was patting the deck, so, facing it, I placed my hands on it,
pushed myself upward, and spun my rump around to sit on its edge.

Immediately, they pushed me flat on my back, began running their hands
over my chest, and took turns giving my dick the lollipop routine.  Any
softening following their climaxes was undone by their efforts on me.

It's a wonder that I didn't poke somebody's eye out or give somebody a
fat lip because of all the "hot potato" being played with my schwantz.
(I don't want it; you take it.  No; YOU take it.)  My intention to limit
this to "casual sex", however, was quickly overshadowed by their serious
determination to give me pleasure.

Instead of a reward, this was becoming punishing.  (Punishing in a most
enjoyable kind of way.)

They deliberately frustrated me with their "no one's in charge" game.
Reward.  Punishment.  Reward.  Punishment.  Which is it gonna be?  Does
it really matter?  Just get it over with.  I just wanna cum in
somebody's mouth.  Ain't gonna happen.  All this passing back and forth
had worked me into a climax.  The jism spewed up several times between
their heads and fell back down onto their cheeks.  Very satisfying.  But
I felt ripped off at the same time.

Oh well...what's fair is fair.  Clark didn't want Matt's cum in HIS
mouth.  So there WAS a certain justice to it all when Clark's cum didn't
go into anybody mouth, either.

My prior writings include one mention of my occasional forays into
racquetball.  My most recent adventure with Matt - and, believe me,
everything with him IS an adventure - involved him wanting me to teach
him how to play the game.  "You're pretty good, though, aren'tcha
Clark?"

Modest hesitation on my part resulted in the next sentence coming from
him, too.  "Maybe I'll bring Keith along and - even though it'll be two
against one - it'll be more of a workout for you."

We celebrated me having my driver's license for six months by going to a
resort on a weeknight in February.  "Everybody'd be skiing," we thought,
"and the courts'd be deserted."  We thought right.  Although it was only
9PM when we finished, nobody else was around.

I had broken a pretty good sweat, which justified hitting the showers.
I had stepped out of my jock but put my gym shorts back on before
wearing them into the shower.

"What the fuck ya doin', prude?  Too modest to get naked in front of
Keith and me?"

"Fuck no.  I WAS gonna visit the jacuzzi if you're not in too big of a
hurry.  I can't drive after eleven, so, we gotta be home by
then...unless you can't stay out that late on a school night," I
taunted.

"Where the fuck's the jacuzzi?"

"Put your shorts on; wash off; and follow me."  (NOW he was
impressed...like I OWNED the place, or something.)

Between the men's and ladies' locker rooms was the community hot tub.

"Here we are."  And I activated the bubbles.

"'amn...this is boiling."

"You get used to it."

We sat on underwater benches with our arms outstretched, perpindicular
to our bodies, each resting atop a side.  I saw Matt wrootching.
"What're we wearing THESE for?"  And he holds up his drawers.

"Good idea," said Keith, and he wriggled outta his.

"This is a CO-ED spa, you know."  (With my words, I'm extolling
virtuosity.  With my hands, I'm takin' off my pants.  Go figure.)

"Co-ed?  Are there any girls in here?"  Whereupon Matt allows his middle
to float to the top so that his semi-stiff pecker bobs along the
surface.

Keith does likewise.  "I don't THINK so."

"Just put 'em back on for the return to the locker room," I implored.
"Oh, shit," I thought, "he's wound again.  Please don't embarrass me."

Nothing more happened there.  But Matt wasn't done yet.  Back in the
lockerroom, he and Keith start "dueling towels" - trying to yank them
into a violent direction-change just as they contact somebody's bare
skin.

"Ooh.  Ouch," cries Keith, as Matt's towel repeatedly snaps against
Keith's bum, which he stupidly was backing toward Matt.

Finally, Keith gets in a few successful smacks, too.
"How does it feel?"

"Feels good."  (We initially thought that this was Matt's macho reaction
to Keith's couple of direct hits.)

"Look!  He wasn't kidding!"  Matt's cock was now about 75%-stiff!

"I told you.  It feels good!"  Matt tossed his towel across the room,
raised his arms, clasped his fingers in back of his head, and, in
addition to his pits, showed us his enjoyment, sticking out from his
loins which he still shaved.  "Go ahead.  Hit me."

Too much for Keith to resist.  Whack!  Whack!  Whack!  Couldn't get Matt
to back off.  Flinch - yes.  Back off - no.  With each successive slap,
Matt's meat seemed to get firmer.  And wetter!  Holy Christ!  Was this
guy gonna cum if the towel struck him a few more times?

Keith musta felt sorry for him.  (Matt WAS getting really red.)  So he
stopped his onslaught, declared himself the victor, and we proceeded to
wring out our wet bottoms in preparation for the showers.

"Where ya goin' now?"

"One more thing.  There's a sauna over here."

"Well, if nobody's gonna get me off with towel slaps, I'll do it in the
sauna.  Let's go."  (And in two shakes (Well, a few dick dips), we were
breathing heat.)

"Do ya always come in HERE naked?"

"We ARE in the MEN'S lockerroom, numb nuts.  But if you're too shy, you
can wrap your towel around you and it'll NEVER get you dry."  (Wasn't
that a strange question from someone who had just bared his boner in the
jacuzzi used by both genders?)

Keith and I sat sharing a bench while Matt had the only other bench all
to himself.  I must have been feeling kinda frisky myself 'cause I had
brought my tube of Ben Gay into the sauna. (I liked the smell of it
after I'd smear it onto the walls.)

"This is sooo relaxing," said Matt, as he laid his shoulders flat back
onto the bench, with his legs now straddling it, touching the floor with
his toes on both sides.  No modesty here.  Even more immodest was his
brazen manipulation of himself so that Mr. Happy began returning to
attention.

"Jesus!  What if somebody comes in?"

"Nobody's gonna come in.  We haven't seen anybody all night.  Stand
guard if you want.  Keith and I are gonna relieve ourselves, right
Keith?"

"I will if YOU will."

"See.  Go on, Clarkie.  You look out.  Then we'll watch for you if you
want."

"I'm only doin' this 'cause it'd be too embarrassing if you get caught."

"We're not gonna get caught.  Now get out there."

>From my post outside the sauna door, I could hear that Matt and Keith
were talking, but their words were unclear.  A few minutes of silence
followed.  Then I could hear Matt giggling.  What the fuck were those
guys doing in there?  "Hurry up."

Keith opened the door and emerged with a goofy grin.  Matt was most
mischievous when he called me.  "Clarkie?  Come here, Clarkie.  Keith'll
interrupt us before anybody else does, right Keith?"

"If you say so."

"Haven't you had enough, Matthew?"

"Maybe Keith has.  But I haven't."  (Oh, man... what's he up to?)

Now I'm inside the sauna.

"Here's how it's done, Clarkie."  And he assumes that position of awhile
ago.

"I know how it's done, dick-wad."  And I mimicked that posture on the
other bench.  (Why am I doing what HE'S doing?)

"Play with it, Clarkie.  Get it all good 'n' hard."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Need some help?"

Maybe if I ignore him, that'll be like a mute button.  I closed my eyes
and tried to concentrate on masturbating, hoping that Keith was being
vigilant.  Then, I felt the "help" which I previously thought was only
his vocal diarrhea.  Gotta admit, though - HIS SUCKING was much better
than MY HANDS.  My wriggling increased such that the towel - which had
been beneath me - fell to the floor and my ass screeched when it moved
against the varnished board.  My hips tried to thrust my pecker deeper
into Matt's mouth.  I could hear the echo of my noises.  I could smell
one of my favorite scents spread on the sweltering walls.  Reality was
fading.  Sensuality had taken over.  When that's the case, can the end
be far away?

While Matt's struggling to maintain his liplock on my bucking groin,
he's also furiously stroking his own dong.  I know Matt.  I know that he
doesn't care if you blow down his throat.  So I wasn't going to inject
that bit of reality into our frenzy by asking him a question that I
already knew the answer to.  ("Okay if I cum in your mouth?"  That would
spoil everything.)

My only unasked question was, "Who's gonna cum first?"  I think it was a
tie.  Unless the echoes of Matt's orgasm drove me over the edge.  Just
when I heard his spurts strike the sauna's tile floor, I unleashed a
huge quantity of froth for him to swallow.

When we finally, exhaustedly emerged from that grueling session, Keith's
question serves as an appropriate concluding statement for this
installment - "All done?1?1"