Date: Fri, 29 Nov 2002 20:38:50 -0500 (EST)
From: Clark Gaybull <ClarkGaybull@webtv.net>
Subject: One of Many Escapades  #6

Maybe this should be labelled "AUTHOR'S NOTES," but I'm gonna treat this
as part of the story.  (Some of that "AUTHOR'S NOTE" crap doesn't get
read:  You know - just show me where the story starts.)  I'll feel
better if as many eyes see this as possible.

This'll be the final escapade that I write about.  So, I gotta level
with everybody 'bout a couple of things...

Number one:  if you didn't already guess, my real name's not Clark
Gaybull - but e-mail'll still get to me addressed that way.  (I saw an
ancient actor with that name and thought I'd change the spelling a
little.  Ever hear of him?  Old heads think he's hot but I think he's
ugly.)  (I listened to someone who told me that I shouldn't use my real
name as author of these things.)

Second, the "escapades" make me out to be 17 years old; but I'm actually
a year older than that.  It's just that I've been trying to forget the
past year.  Life seems to have stopped since I turned 18.:

As I told one e-mailer, I was disabled by a car wreck a couple of months
ago.  I was driving to the lake.  And my best friend, Ted - my only
passenger - about whom I'm going to write - was killed.  Now, his
parents have filed a civil suit saying I was too careless when I swerved
to avoid hitting a deer.  Instead, I ran into a tree.  I'm wishing
forevermore that I'd struck the deer.

I broke my left leg; my left arm; cracked my right wrist - and that's
just the bones.  Lots of other things were damaged as well.  So far, two
operations were needed to fix them.  But everybody says, "At least
you're not dead."  Sometimes I wonder.  Ted is.

Anyway, all this stuff is true (more or less, although SOME "poetic
license" has been taken).   Only, It happened over the past THREE
summers, not two.

I've said to others that my English teacher told me that my writing is
pretty good.  And my therapist tells me to "accentuate the positives."
So, I'm gonna write one final chapter about experiences that I consider
to have been very positive - a summer full of escapades with Ted.

But first, here's how some of the main "escapaders" fit into the picture
two-plus years later:  I'm still good friends with Andge; Jimmy moved
about 45 minutes away from his old house; I got together with Manny and
Rico a couple of more times during the most recent summer (the clunker
was paid off so that meant cash in my pocket); and Vinnie hasn't been to
his relatives' place in more than a year - they say he's got a job that
he likes so much that he doesn't take enough time off to visit.

So these are the highlights of my adventures with Ted...

I first met him when I began looking for work.  Ever since I was a
sophomore in high school, my folks wanted me to go to college.  But I
managed to convince them to go along with my idea to take a year off
from school after twelfth grade.  I wanted to investigate the job
market.  Ted's plan was exactly the same.

We had both applied to the town's bank, which was gonna hire two people
to badger customers who weren't paying their loans.  Previously, the
bank's  officers chased accounts that went bad.  But, increasingly,
their time to do this has dwindled.

The bank's hiring lady selected me for the job.  "But," she said, "the
position doesn't start until after Labor Day."  She wanted me to believe
that the spots weren't "in the budget" 'til then.  But I suspect that
Ted couldn't start immediately 'cause he wasn't 18 'til early September.
(For that matter, I wasn't quite 18 yet, either.)

And I think they wanted to hire Ted to "stay on the good side" of Ted's
father, who meant lots of money for the bank.

The delay sounded good to me.  I'd found a job.  But it didn't start for
almost six weeks.  And this was my favorite time of year.

The personnel lady introduced me to Ted in late July.  "After all," she
said, "you two WILL be working together."

Our first few hours together were on one rainy Tuesday afternoon in his
basement, where he had a full-sized pool table.  We shared a love of
billiards.  But he complained that, only child that he was, and as busy
as his dad was, he had difficulty getting opponents.  He said that
neighborhood kids stayed away because of his constant winning.  And that
his occasional dates were not very competitive "'cause they're girls."
(HIS words, not mine.)  He said that THAT made it rough to play "strip
pool" (which, he said, he invented) "because I'm so much better."

I thought that I was pretty good, so, liberal thinker that I am, I said
that I'd play, if he didn't mind playing with another guy.

"I don't care WHO I beat," he said, smugly.  "Lemme see what mom's up
to."  And he darted up the steps.

He returned quickly and said that (conveniently) she'd be leaving soon
to shop for a couple of hours.

"What about your dad?"

"He owns a store that's open nights.  He stays there 'til he gets
hungry.  Supper for him is always real late."

We merely "warmed up" 'til his mother announced that she was going.  We
knew we were alone when we heard the door close and the car being driven
away.

He had a flat, "wet or dry" stone that he spit on one side of and then
dropped to the floor to determine who "broke."  He called "wet".  That
side of the stone showed after it fell.  He busted the balls and sank
eight straight, winning game one, causing me to lose an item of
clothing.

Subsequent games were won by whomever pocketted eight balls first, which
Ted did without relinquishing his shot half of the time.  I needed more
turns but I still won five of eleven games.  So, although I was down to
only my underpants, HE wore only his shorts and (I presumed) his
skivvies.

Shit!!!  Just as things were getting interesting, we heard the car enter
the driveway.  We hurriedly got our clothes back on, giggling to each
other.

"Theodore!" called his mother.  "Help unload."

I also carried some bags of groceries from the car to the kitchen table,
then noticed the clock and excusd myself, saying it was "mealtime for
the Gaybulls.  Call me when you want to lose your shirt again," I punned
as I left.

Three nights passed and I was helped relieving myself during that time
by the thought of him playing bare-chested pool - reaching, bending and
contorting to make his shots.

Ted was not muscular.  In fact, his "baby fat" appearance resembled a
14-year-olds instead of a just-graduated 17-year-old.  It was also
obvious that he spent little time in the sun because his skin was
extremely fair.  Not sickly-fair.  Kinda that fairness that's
enchanting; a fairness that emphasized his black, well-groomed mop,
including the slightest black fuzz beneath his arms.  His chest was
smooth and appealing.  And there had been no hint of growth above his
cut-offs.  His face resembled that of a blond's - probably never touched
by a razor throughout high school.  But HE was a brunette.

On Friday he phoned.  "Mom's gone all day with a travel group.  Wanna
come over and shoot pool?"

I was just about to go to my cabin.  But this is the invitation I'd been
waiting for.  "I'll be right over," was my eager reply.

We "warmed up" like we did the other day.  I thought he'd never suggest;
but finally, "Wanna play for some stakes again?"

"I don't like playing for money," I answered.  "People get too intense."

"Okay.  We'll finish what we started Tuesday."

Oh boy!  That gave me half-a-hard-on just hearing it.

While we proceeded with our games and the clothes came off, he told me
of a hiking experience that he had.  He said that he was with a neighbor
kid, trodding through the nearby national park up to a waterfall and
mountain pool - a trek of about seven miles.  (Oops - there goes another
game.  For the first time, I've won two in a row.  He should stop
telling stories and concentrate more on billiards.  Five games to six -
he's ahead.  And - did I mention - I'm down now to only my underwear?)

He resumed the narrative, playing topless pool:  In addition to hearing
the cascade, his neighbor and he heard voices as they approached the
waterfall.  They got close enough to see a guy and a girl - in the buff
- skinny-dipping in he pool and under the spray.  They watched long
enough to witness the frolicking become foreplay.  Then she took his
erection in her mouth and gave him a blow-job, never detecting the
onlookers.

I don't know how I could stay so focused, but eight straight balls went
in and I had won my third game in a row.

"Good thing I have these on today," as he pointed to his undies.  "I had
nothing under my shorts on Tuesday."  (I was closer than I realized back
then.)

It must have been the tale he was reliving.  Surely it couldn't have
been the "strip pool" he was playing with another male.  But as he was
stepping out of his cut-offs, an unmistakable boner tented his briefs.

Loser breaks.  So, he adjusted himself and - pow - he propelled his
stick foreward.  In spite of a well-scattered rack, nothing went in.
And I was certain I'd get my fourth consecutive victory.  (Hopefully he
would stay hard while I sank eight balls.  His red tights covered much
less than what he'd just removed.  In fact, it scarsely covered his
full-blown package.  Still no trace of pubes, however.)

I got my wish, winning the final four games.  And he had to bare it all
- still sporting a woodie.  But instead of him uttering anything about
his stimulated, five-and-a-half incher, he said, "Yeah.  I know.  I
don't have much of a bush," while his cock pointed straight at me.

I should have looked him in the eyes.  But, I think I was staring
someplace else when I asked, "What do we do now?"

He said, "One more game.  Let's see if I can do to you what YOU did to
me.  Rack 'em."

This time when he broke, two balls went in and he had only six more to
go.  And there were balls all over the table.  So I knew who was going
to win this game.  But why was my dick rising?  I should be embarrassed
to softness at the thought of being naked in front of somebody who I'd
been with only two times.  But my excitement grew.  And so did my penis.

The outcome of the game was as I suspected.  I stepped out of my Calvins
and submitted to his stares.

"You don't have any more than I do," which could have meant meat or
hairs.  Then it became clear when he added, "of course, YOU'RE blond."
(Still no mention of stiffness - this time mine.)

Once again I asked, "What do we do now?"

He disappointed me when he replied, "Now the winner puts his clothes
back on."

Oh well.  At least I had the opportunity to watch him play pool in the
nude for at least one more game, which he DID win; and he covered his
middle.  While we played that game, though, it was like HIS boner kept
ME up and MY stiffie hardened HIM.  I couldn't help gawking:  His bare
bum stuck up as he stretched forward to reach the cue ball, his dork
pointing down as he flattened himself to shoot.

One time he sat on the table, holding the stick behind his back, causing
his dick to thrust outward toward the ceiling.  There was even some
moisture that glistened at the tip of his tool.  It was as if he was
assuming these positions to entice me.  (Admittedly, I would have done
the same to him, but I didn't get many turns.  Maybe his shooting
improved while we re-dressed to keep me naked.  Yeah.  I wish.)

Needless to say, it was more fun undressing than dressing.

Believe it or not, we had been playing pool for more than three hours
when he was the first to get all of his clothes back on.  And, to avoid
wearing out my welcome, I thought I'd better take my leave.  While
going, Ted invited me to a picnic at a lake where his folks had a cabin
four miles from mine.

"Okay.  See you then."

I had never been on the grounds of this rather exclusive community.
But, from Ted's directions, I was able to find the place.  Some cabin.
Five rooms up - including a fireplace - and a full basement below, half
of which was a two-car garage.

His parents - yes, I finally met his father - said that Ted was at the
beach, which was so far away that I re-entered my car and drove there.
My heart sank when I saw Ted splashing with a girl out in the lake.
Finally noticing me, they scampered in my direction, and, as Ted emerged
from the water, I realized that he wore the same tiny red briefs that
were involved in our game of "strip pool" two days earlier.  Only today,
they were wet, which made them even smaller and practically transparent.
There wasn't much imagining about Ted's equipment.  But he seemed to
flaunt it.

He introduced me to Lynne.  "Lucky Lynne," I thought.

Returning to the lake, I swam in my cut-offs.  But, a short time later,
Ted said that he was hungry.  So, back to his place we went - me in my
car; and Ted and Lynne in the rowboat in which they had oared to the
beach.

I didn't stay long after picnicking.  I felt kind of "in the way," as
Ted and Lynne were getting it on.  I apologized for the "eat and run"
tactic.  But I said, "I wanna check on something at my cabin the next
lake over."  (The "checking" involved some heavy-duty love-making to my
groin.  Then I unintentionally dozed off.)

The noise of an old Jeep in the driveway awakened me.  Good thing, too,
'cause it was almost dark and I told my folks I'd see them around ten.
It was Ted. Without Lynne.

"I'm done with women," he declared.  (Apparently he and Lynne had had a
falling-out after I left.  It was so vicious that she summoned her
father to Ted's place instead of allowing Ted to take her home.)

My reaction was one of, "Ho-hum.  That's young love for ya."

Ted was taking this much more seriously.

I thanked him for coming over but added, "I gotta go," and swaggered
toward my car.

"Nobody cares," he bellowed.

I pausd, walked back toward him, and said sincerely, "I care."

More silence; until he said, "Thanks man."  Another pause, then, "I
don't usually do this, but..."  And he hugged me!

I didn't even have time to react.  Next, he aimed my face right at his
and he kissed me!  Not superficially, either.  His tongue flicked into
my mouth in search of another tongue.  I felt his hips grind toward mine
and soon I returned his oral passions and dry-humping.  No apologies
necessry.  He knew that this wasn't a one-way street.  Were we doing
something wrong?  We both probably wondered.  But I think we both
concluded, "No.  This is SO right."

The fact that we didn't rip each other's clothes off right there and
start laying pipe was testament to how meaningful this relationship was
- on only our third meeting.  But, after the embrace, I persisted in
departing.  "Not too fast," I thought.

My 18th birthday would occur in three days and Ted assurred me that he'd
see me then.

I became "legal" on Wednesday.  After appropriate acknowledgement all
day by mom (and dad, when he came home), I arranged with them for the
observance to conclude at the lake, announcing that "that's where my
friends and I'll be overnight."

"No booze," dad warned.  "I don't want to hear any complaints from the
neighbors."

I was the only person who knew that Ted had received the single
invitation to the "party."  He arrived around eight, carrying a gallon
of wine with each fist.

"How did you get that?" I asked, knowing that you're not supposed to be
able to purchase alcohol in our state until you're 21-years-old.

"Connections.....Where is everybody?"

"It's just you and me, dude."

"All right!  A gallon each. Do you prefer red or white, birthday boy?"

"Red."

"Me too.  But white will hafta do tonight."

Another warm night caused us to go to the beach and Ted took his wine
with him, lugging it like a hillbilly.  God - it was half-gone already!
Ted staggered increasingly, having difficulty standing when we swam in
to the beach from the raft.  MY birthday and HE'S getting shit-faced.

It wasn't surprising, then, when he suggested swimming naked.  I figured
it wouldn't do any good answering him any more, so, I just kept quiet
when he said, "Doesn't this feel good?"  And then, "I know what would
REALLY feel good."

Getting no reply, he waivered ashore and took another big swig of wine.
How his bare bum jiggled as he approached the bottle.  Then he turned to
gulp the booze and, nighttime notwithstanding, I could see that his tool
was entirely stiff.  He pointed his chin upward, raised the empting
container, and swallowed repeatedly.

"Easy there big fella," I joked.

"Yeah.  It IS pretty big, isn't it?  he punned, fondling himself.

I was afraid he'd fall over, so, I rushed onto the beach and steadied
him by leaning my nude body against his, putting my right arm atop his
left shoulder and his left arm atop my right shoulder.  (But his right
hand wasn't gonna let go of what remained in that wine jug.)

In my left hand, I carried our suits and towels, suggesting, "We'd
better get back to the cabin."

"Why isn't YOUR dick hard?" he slurred.

I didn't answer.

"I guess this isn't as pleasant for you as it is for me."

Flattering.  But true.

It took some doing, but, we DID find our way to the hut.  Fortunately,
nobody drove by as we bare-assed our return.

"Wait a minute.  I've gotta get something outta my Jeep."  He opened its
door.  The dome light came on.  His unclothed butt was tantalizingly
displayed as he reached around inside.

"What're you looking for?"

"My towel."

"I've got it here."  And I lifted my left arm. Man, was he fucked up!

Somehow we got inside and he held onto the porch's door frame overhead
to help him stand.  Quite a sight as he stretched there with raised
arms, pointing his sparse pit tufts and other unfettered frontal
features toward me.

I flung his towel at him.  Catching it, he dried the little remaining
wetness on him, wrapped the cloth around his middle, and stumbled into
MY room, collapsing onto MY bed.  I followed Ted, only to find that he
had totally passed out.  He was spread-eagled on MY bed, with the towel
now only partially covering him.  His dick was exposed, but it had lost
its pointedness.

Jesus - I didn't know if his folks were expecting him to come home or
not!  So I phoned them saying that Ted wanted me to talk 'cause they'd
never say "no" to me.  And it worked.  He could stay.  And his condition
remained a secret.  Except.....the evening which I'd hoped would be so
much more, was instead a downer.

I COULD have had my way with him, inviting as his nudity was.  But I
wanted HIM, too, to soberly experience the extasy that I had in mind.  I
simply pulled the sheets over his sprawled nakedness and bunked in the
other bedroom.  I expected to awaken during the night by the sound of
him puking; or at least announcing that the ceiling was spinning.  But,
if that happened, I didn't hear it.

Next morning, he was so hung over that fooling around seemed like a bad
idea.  Nobody musta seen how wiped out he looked when he got home.

Next week was out-of-town vacation-time for Ted and his family.  So, it
wasn't until the third week in August when we got together again.

This escapade shows how immature (carefree might be a better word) we
could still be, even though we thought of ourselves as very adult:  We
discovered that we both liked racquetball.  So, even though I don't
regard it as a summertime activity, THAT's where we met Thursday evening
after their vacation.

The final rental hour was from 10 to 11 P M.  We wore gym shorts beneath
our cut-offs, which we hung in open lockers.  The place was empty except
for the girl at the desk and two guys in the tiny sauna, who, I
presumed, would be gone beore eleven.

Ted didn't have his own racquet so he was getting used to my extra one.
We batted the ball around for 10 or 15 minutes.  Then he proposed that
we play "strip racquetball."

"Does everything have to be 'strip something' with you?" I laughed.

"I've played strip-poker, strip-Twister, strip-pool...Let's do
strip-racquetball."

"What if we get caught?"

"We WON'T get caught.  Besides, she's gotta stay near the desk.  And
we'll hang a towel over the window."  He reclosed the door with the
fabric dangling down.  And the world had been shut from view.

(I had seen some racquetball courts which were quite open, with lots of
glass.  But the only window here was a small pane in the door.  And he
fixed that so there was no way to see in or out.)

"Okay.  How do we do this?"

"Well...we're pretty even.  Let's take off something instead of awarding
points."

"That's not gonna take very long.  I'm wearing only my top, shorts and
jock.  I don't wanna play racquetball without shoes or socks.

"Well then, we'll be naked real quick."

(I liked the sound of that.)

We volleyed for another 10 or 15 minutes - 'til each of us sported only
our footwear.  (I forgot that points are awarded only if the server wins
the exchange.  So, it took longer than I initially expected.)

It WAS quite amusing:  playing shirtless racquetball; then in only our
jock-straps; then wearing just shoes and socks.  And all that running.
Thank goodness for all that running.  It kinda helped with my rigidity -
concentrating on keeping the volley going instead of popping a boner
from staring at my streaking opponent.

After I won the first game, he said, "Let's just STAY naked."  So we
did.

In racquetball, you're never quite sure if your opponent deliberately
hit the ball toward you.  Such was my wonderment when suddenly - whack -
the ball makes a welt on my ass.  When the sting subsided, I said,
"That's why you never turn around 'til you're certain the exchange has
stopped."  Ouch!

50 minutes into the hour, Ted climbed the side wall in pursut of a ball
and...more pain - an ankle injury resulted.  Looking very funny, he sat
bare-assed on the floor, rubbing his swelling ankle, with his riight leg
bent.  I hovered above him, peering down, unclothed myself, bent at the
waist, hands on hips.  His posture exposed his sphinctering bung-hole,
which prompted my suggestion, "Maybe we should call it quits."

I held his shorts to help him get into them; put my own garments back
on; and he hobbled to the desk where she gave him an ice-pack for his
ankle.  While he got the ice, I clung to our towels around our folded
jocks and headed for the sauna.

As I previously described, the sauna is real small - maybe
four-feet-by-six-feet.  Some guys have to duck when they stand in there.
So, I suppose it's no more than six-feet high.  Along the entirety of
the back wall - about three feet above the floor - is a bench, which
holds four butts, max.  Opposite the bench, on the other long wall - is
the door at one end and some rocks in a corner tray about three feet
high at the other end.  The rocks are on timer-activated heat coils,
which provide extreme warmth when turned on.

I started the timer but the air and rocks were still warm from the two
who I had seen in the sauna less than an hour before.

Ted had removed his gear and was applying ice to his sore ankle while I
perspired profusely in the stifling sweat-box.  When he tired of the ice
treatment, he joined me in the sauna.  He opened the door and playfully
thrust the ice-pack into my unprotected groin.  THAT made my dick start
to rise and soon I sat there with a full-fledged hard-on protruding from
my lap.

Then he limped out of the sauna and was back a few seconds later with a
big cupful of water, which he threw onto the hot rocks, making them
steam abundantly.  "The heat was too dry," he chuckled.

Drenched with sweat, I complained, "I wish you hadn't done that."

"I had to catch up with you."  (I noticed that he'd "caught up with" me,
too, in the erection department.)  Then he said, "I know how we can make
it even more humid in here."

"We don't NEED any more humidity."

"Come on.  Let's jerk off onto the rocks."  And he bumped me with his
bare right thigh so that I'd slide to the right - across from the rocks.

He stood up - as much as he could - and began whacking.  So I stood as
much as I could and started stroking, too - another youthful display.

Boy, was it hot!  (In more ways than one.)

I had never produced fluid with Ted before.  But this seemed like a
logical (make that kinky) next step.  Perspiration dripped everywhere.
>From the tips of our noses; our earlobes; our chins; even his perked
nipples stuck out enough to drip sweat.  Our smooth, firm bodies
glistened from every pore in reaction to our exertion (and the
temperature).

"I don't think I can take this any more."

"Are you close?"

"No.  The heat."  At least the slipperiness reduced the dry friction on
my dick.  THAT sensation was very pleasant.

The sound of slapping and squishing continued until I heard, I bet,
eight hisses from the rocks.  Ted was annointing them with his cream.

My eyes were closed 'cause perspiration in them stung.  But knowing that
Ted was blasting probably quickened my own explosion.  I aimed at the
rocks and I, too, squirted my jizz - in six or seven shots - onto them.
I was finished and I pushed around him panting, "I gotta get outta
here."  My lungs felt like they were on fire.

We laughed as we hit the showers, our cocks having had quite a work-out.
So tired were they that their stiffness subsided quite rapidly, although
you might think that the soothing water would have stimulated them.
(The coolness probably shrunk them instead of preserved their arousal.)

It seemed that Ted and I rendezvoused weekly.  Little did I know that
our pre-Labor-Day session would be our last - but most-memorable -
sexual escapade.

I had just bought a two-man inflatable boat, complete with a floor and
two plastic oars.  I was anxious to christen it.  And, after I described
it to Ted, he shared my enthusiasm.

The occupants at opposite ends had to face each other with legs bent.
But otherwise it accomodated us both.  Our first - and only - expedition
occurred Thursday night before his fatal holiday weekend.

He Jeeped to my lake and, because it was after dark, our boldness was
heightened as we boated - in the nude - from my cabin to the raft.  We
had our towels but no bathing suits.  And the moon was quite full.  More
thrilling that way.

Rowing was a bit of a trick.  That was MY job.  Ted got in first.  To
make room, he bent his knees up under his chin, causing his nuts to pop
out between the backs of his legs.  And his pulsing pooper had come into
view.  I broke up.

Next, it was HIS turn to laugh, as I tried to get seated in the cramped
craft.

Okay.  I think we're ready to shove off.  But where do we put our legs?
If I put mine like Ted has his, I can't row.  So, I put my left leg next
to his right hip; and my right leg next to his left hip.

Ted looked so uncomfortable with his legs scrunched up that it wasn't
surprising when he tried to straighten them.  But he kicked me in the
jewels!  This was getting comical.  Finally, he bent them just enough to
allow me to row without making me speak soprano.

One more problem:  when I rowed, my penis slid between the toes of his
two feet.

"Never been jerked off before by somebody's feet."  I could barely get
it out.  Then he tightened his toes around my lengthening shaft and I
purred, "Oooh...that feels good."  (I think I could have gotten off that
way; but instead, I focused on the humorousness of the situation.)

So...the ride to the raft was quite enjoyable...for ME, anyway.  I
didn't care HOW long it took.  Eventually, though, we got there -
surprisingly without sinking.

First to climb atop the float was Ted.  We forsaw no more complications
'til our return. He simply spin-vaulted on his out-stretched
straight-arm, over the side of the boat, splashed into the lake and
ascended the ladder.  I did the same, except I tied a rope from the boat
to one of the raft's barrel straps.

Once up the ladder, I could see that Ted remained on all fours.  The
illumination from the moon added to the intensity of the moment,
increasing the chance that we might be seen.

He poked his ass up into the night air and said, "Do me."  And he meant
it.

I'd "done" only two guys before.  And THAT was a year ago.  Those
experiences were extremely pleasant for both the fuck-er and the
fuck-ee.  But I wanted to cause Ted no pain.

"Have you ever done this before?"

"Nope.  This'll be a first.  How 'bout you?"

"I 'gave' a couple of times.  But I never 'got'.  I'm not sure I could
handle a dick up my ass."

"Well, then...you should know what to do."

"What's to know.  I just don't want to hurt you."  You might suspect
that so much banter would soften my cock.  But it remained rock-hard as
he displayed his rump in the moonlight.

"Do me," he repeated.

Remembering a few things, I knelt behind him and spit down on his crack
for lubrication.  As I rubbed over his hole, his hips gyrated wildly.
"You've gotta be stiller than that...at least 'til I get in you."

"I couldn't help it.  It felt so good."

More spit and rubbing.  Less gyrating - until my middle finger pushed
into his chute.  "Did that hurt?"

"No.  It just felt good again.  I'll try to be still."

Spit and rub again.  Still again.  Push finger in again.  Still still.
There.  I'm in.  No evidence of pain.  Wiggle it around a little.  Pull
out.  Then back in.  No undulating.  But soft moans.  Soft moans are
alright.  Sounds like everything's going okay.  Now - how 'bout my
prick?  A little closer.  Spit into the hand.  Hand onto dick.  Make it
real slick.  Up and down its full length.  He's never gonna take this.
Oh well...dick finds ass-crack and slides down in line with hole.  Push.
Gently.  Push.  Stop.  Push some more.  Stop again.  Push.  And I feel
his cheeks through my thin pubes.  Must be all the way in.  And no
screaming.  Only pleasurable-sounding low groans.  Now slowly out.  And
slowly in.  Moans when I'm completely in.  Gasps when I pull back.
We've got the hang of this and man is it great!

I'm enjoying this so much, I forget to play with his crotch.  I'm simply
hugging around his sides to pull my thrusts as deep as possible.  What a
feeling!  The warmth and tightness engulfing my meat.  I'm not gonna
last much longer.  I feel that rush.  I'm gonna cum!  Whoosh!  Push.
Who's gyrating now?  Spurt.  Spasm.  Spurt.  Spasm.  Must have happened
seven or eight times.

My chest falls onto Ted's back.  Ted flattens down onto the boards.  My
willie squishes in Ted's bum as his midsection strikes the raft.  Five
minutes we lay there like that.  I felt the juices running out of his
ass around my thing.  Finally, like a cork exiting a champagne bottle, I
withdraw from his rectum.

"Was it as good for you as it was for me?" I uttered tritely.

"No discomfort at all, dude.  No discomfort at all.  Sure you don't
wanna bottom for me?"  (He knew such terms but had never done this
before?!?!)

Then, I realized, HE hadn't gotten off.  How could I refuse ANYTHING he
suggested?  "How did that feel?", as I sought reassurance.

"Incredible, man."

"Good or bad?"

"Better 'n good."

"Okay.  I'll try.  But let's start this way," and I rolled over onto my
back, propped up my butt with my hands and straightened my legs toward
the stars.  "I couldn't do this to another kid about a year ago.  But at
least I could read his face.  Stop if it looks like it hurts me."

"How old was that kid?"

"Thirteen."  Oh.  I see.  THAT may have been the explanation.

At this point, my dick didn't know if it wanted to be hard or soft:  the
excitement of the situation made it want to be hard; the prospect of
pain made it want to shrink.  It was sorta half-hard.

But there was no mistaking what Ted wanted to happen.  His boner was so
stiff it looked uncomfortable - like it needed immediate relief.

Part of Ted's moving into position included a successful grab for and
tug on the rope which stretched to the tied rubber boat.  When it was
next to the raft, Ted lifted from it a tube of sun lotion which I had
not seen him carry from the cabin.  "This'll make it go in easier."  And
he thickly greased his straining pole.  "And we need a little here,"
squirting an ample amount into the crack of my bum.

"Why didn't you do this when I poked you?"

"I like a little resistance."  (Aha!  He HAD done this before.)

He rubbed the cream over my hole and I thought I was going to squirt.
My pecker was no longer uncertain about being big or being small.  And
when he stuck his finger in to lube my chute, I thought my cock dampened
with semen, not just pre-cum.  There was so much lubrication everywhere;
and I'd now fucked three guys who enjoyed it; my partner HAD done this
before...  How could this POSSIBLY be unpleasant?

That was the point at which my aversion to anal sex ceased.  Not AFTER I
had been thrilled by it.  But while I was preparing for it.  And that's
good, because that allowed me to more-fully appreciate the experience
the FIRST time it happened.  No apprehension mixed in.

Ted knelt between my knees - my legs on either side of him, being raised
to accomodate his rubbing. There was nothing left to do but accept his
entry.  His rigid phallus was poised to stab inward.

I shuddered as he pressed against my opening.   The gentle force
continued.  It felt like the reverse of emptying one's bowels - no pain!
Forward.  Gently forward.  Could he be totally in?  I think he is!  Now
he's pulling back.  Then in again a little faster.  And out and in and
out.  The fucking of my ass is occurring!  And the longer it occurs, the
more comfortable is becomes.  Comfortable hell - this is starting to
feel good!  Not only do I tolerate his incursions, I begin to move in
time with Ted's thrusts, helping him to go deeper; pulling him toward me
when he approaches.

I hope this is pleasing him.  It seems to be.  His eyes are closed.  His
head is held slightly upward.  A partial-smile/partial-grimace is formed
by his lips.  It's a look of deep concentration.

Now he's playing with my cock - jostling it from hand to hand; making it
solid beyond belief.

This is not a time for speaking.  So...we did not.

There were, nevertheless, plenty of sounds:  the loudest of which was
our mutual breathing; panting; groaning.  Beyond that was the slap-,
slap-, slapping of his balls against my ass every time his tool was
completely within me.

Then, the hotness in my tunnel was felt.  And the slapping sound changed
a little - to squoosh, squoosh, squoosh.  Ted's noises changed, too -
release and relief replaced pent-up.

As his warm juices found a route from my hole down into my crack, the
sensation was just too much.  Ted's stroking had stimulated my own stiff
shaft to another explosion.  Although I had recently rained up his
behind, I was again being brought to violent, substantial climax by
participating in this liason.

By this time, Ted had slumped toward me; and, when I shot, it was like a
bullet of cum splattering onto his chest, finally trickling over his
hand and into my bush.

I felt his penis contracting within me, causing his jizz to escape more
rapidly.

"Wanna try it on your hands-and-knees now?"

I hoped he was kidding.  "Another day."

But that "other day" will never come.

The clean-up - while erotic - was much less memorable than what
necessitated it.  To write more would be to increasingly humanize that
magical occasion.  The memory needs to retain that magic.  No more
words.

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

POST SCRIPT - Three people are aware of the relationship between Ted and
me:  My shrink and my parents.  My shrink says that I should mention the
relationship in court.  My folks say that I shouldn't.  (Maybe that's
one less thing they'd have to publicly deal with.  Maybe it'd be a
further blow to Ted's mom and dad, even if it's something they already
knew (or suspected).)  Decisions, decisions.