the sixties

My name is Web Dazell and there’s a little history to go with this story.

I began writing The Arrangement/Breaking the Arrangement back in 2002, posting each chapter on the ASSTR and Nifty websites as they were completed. What is posted below are all of the completed chapters of both stories combined into one. Other than combining the completed chapters, the story is just as it was posted 12 years ago, typos and all.

I emphasize completed chapters because in mid-2003 I was diagnosed with depression. The medicine that was prescribed for my depression worked very well but it had one rather strange side effect; I no longer had any need to write.

Understand that I wasn’t writing so much because I wanted to, as I was writing because I had to. All of these characters were swarming around in my head demanding to be let out and I spent many a late night in front of my computer screen doing their bidding. (No, I wasn’t schizophrenic, just depressed.)

The Arrangement/Breaking the Arrangement wasn’t the only story I wrote (although it is the only autobiographical story) and Web Dazell wasn’t the only pseudonym I wrote under. But, not matter what the series or the pen name, my compulsion to “always scribble, scribble, scribble, Eh Mr. Gibbons” faded.

Now, twelve years later, the desire (not need) to write is coming back but before I dedicated much of my free time to what Graham Greene called “a lonely and unsatisfying occupation” I wanted to test the waters.

None of my guises had ever posted to Literotica before and I thought that, as a reader, your response to my work would be a good indicator of whether or not to return to the keyboard.

So I hope you enjoy the story and, that if you do, you’ll let me know.



The Arrangement by Web Dazell

What follows is a true story. What you are reading about actually happened to me in the late 60′s when I was 18. Many of the details in the story are as sharp in my memory today as when they first happened. Now, after all these years have passed, I don’t claim (ala Archie Goodwin) to be able to remember all of the conversations word for word (Especially not what the suckees said as they spilled their seed across my tongue, I was too busy to take notes and, anyhow I never dreamed back then that I would be writing about it today.). But the dialogue in the story is at least in the general vicinity of what was said or groaned and in some cases it is almost exact (because some things do stick with you for a lifetime.) So as you read this story remember these events did happen to me. Nothing important in this story is fiction.

The Arrangement — Chapter One

When I was younger a friend and I used to do the usual kid stuff in his father’s barn and our agreement was that it was OK because neither of us would tell on the other.

At first it was the “you show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” type of stuff. After that we got into the dares, the same sort or half-kidding / half-serious banter kids do.

One day I was looking as his uncut cock when he asked me to give him a handjob “You know you want to, I can see it in your eyes. Come on, I won’t tell anybody and I know you won’t. Just spit on your hand and rub my dick for a little while. After I come, I’ll rub yours.”

After a few handjobs (which grew less and less mutual as time went on) I spent a Friday night at his house. His bedroom was upstairs on the other side of the house from his parents who slept downstairs. There were two beds in his room, his and an older brother’s who had joined the army. We had snuck a couple of beers from the fridge (which was always full on a farm) and we were high and giddy like two teenagers can get on some forbidden beers but not drunk.

He reached under his pillow on pulled out a red foil square. “I know you want to blow me, I’ve seen you licking your lips while you jack me off. I’ll put on this rubber (which he had stolen from his father’s dresser) and you can suck me without getting any jizz in you mouth cause I know you don’t like the taste. (Which was true, I had accidentally licked my hand after one of our jack off sessions and immediately spit out his sperm.) Come on it’ll be fun. You want to and I want you to and no one will know.”

Well he was right, I did want to. I wanted to know how his dick would feel in my mouth. When I jacked him off his dick was hot and hard and flat on the top. It was like holding one of those square carpenter pencil in my hand, only a little shorter and a lot thicker. My mouth went dry and my head was tight and pounding, my breath coming in small catches. Jacking a guy off was one thing, sucking his dick was another. One was play, the other, well the other was queer. “Hey Web, don’t be afraid. The rubber will catch everything. It’ll be just like jacking me off only you’ll be using your lips instead of your fingers.

I agreed to suck him, if he would wear the rubber.

He opened the package and pulled out the condom. Then he smiled and said “As long as you’re going to suck me, why don’t you put the rubber on my dick?” I can still remember the feel of the latex uncurling at the bottom on my hand as I slid the rubber down his warm erection. After that, well, his cock felt just right in my mouth.

That set a new pattern for our activities, handjobs were old stuff, kid’s stuff, only used as foreplay, a prelude to my sliding the unlubricated Trojan down his erection and plying “bobbing for apples” in his crotch. One night he even got me to suck his balls. This too became a regular part of our festivities. But always the rubber because if his cum didn’t touch my tongue I wasn’t really a cocksucker.

After about two months of this (and this didn’t happen every day or even every week sometimes) I was over to his house to watch some television. His parents were out bowling (it was their league night) so we listened to some “Rusty Warren records “Knockers Up” I think the name was, and laughed at this forbidden adult humor (very lame by today’s standards). Instead of beer, we snuck into the liquor supply and poured ourselves some rum that we mixed with orange juice. Later we started looking at some Playboys from his father’s closet, our pants developing ridgepoles in a very quick fashion.

“Come `on let’s go up stairs before my parents get back. I need a blowjob bad and if you lick your lips one more time while you look at me I’m going to waste my load in my pants.”

As we walked up the narrow stairs to his room, I noticed he had brought the bottle of rum with him. When he saw me looking at the bottle he laughed and said, “Don’t worry, you’ll find out what this is for, now come on let’s get going.”

Once we undressed and he was lying on his back on the bed, things progressed a little faster than usual; we wanted to finish having our fun before his parents got home. God knows what would happen if they caught us. Nothing pleasant, that’s for sure.

As my hand stroked his cock, he leaked precum liked an oil derrick about to erupt. His hand reached out to stop my caresses. ” You do that anymore Web and I’m gonna shoot. Come on take it in your mouth. Suck me off.”

“Where’s the rubber,” I asked looking at the nightstand next to the bed. “Don’t have any,” he replied with a gleam in his eye. “Dad’s either out or he’s putting them someplace else. That’s what the rum’s for.”

I sat up stupefied, my hand still wrapped tightly around his dick, my fingers feeling his juices oozing slowly down across them.

“Listen stupid, I don’t have any rubber but I do have a load of jizz in my balls that needs to come out and I don’t want a handjob. The only reason we’ve been using a rubber when you suck my cock is because you don’t like the taste. Well take a swig of that rum, swish it around your mouth and swallow it. It’ll kill the taste and you can have another swig when you’re done. Hurry up, we don’t have all night. You’re a cocksucker. You’re my cocksucker, now get going and suck my cock.”

Almost mesmerized I did as I had been bidden. The rum tasted sharp and harsh in my mouth but his cock, his cock was like velvet wrapped steel and his precum quickly coated the inside of my mouth and soothed the burning of the alcohol.

“Oh god, Web that feels great. Hold still. Don’t move. Ok now play with my balls, Hey, not so hard; be gentle when you roll them around. “Ok now suck hard. Wrap those lips on my dick so no air gets in. That’s it. That’s it. Stick your tongue in my pisshole, wriggle it around. Oh man that’s so great. Eat my dick you little cocksucker.”

And then he did something he had never done in all the other times I had sucked him. He reached down with his arms (which were always crossed behind his head, he liked to sit semi-upright while I sucked him, his back against the headboard. Said it was a great view, better than anything he’d seen in Playboy.) and took my head between his hands. Holding me steady and with a sound like a cross between a moan and a sob he treated me to my first real taste of sperm.

The Arrangement — Chapter Two

The night he gave me my first mouthful of sperm marked still another change in the relationship. It was now a special sort of give and take association, one where he gave me his sperm and I took it. All pretense we were a merry marching mutual masturbation society vanished. The few handjobs he had given me (he had never even come close to my dick with his lips) were long forgotten. I was there to service him. To slobber over his hard-on. To pump it with hand and lips until it went limp with satisfaction. To catch his spendings in my palm or in my mouth. And I found I didn’t mind.

It just seemed so natural, so right to be his sexual servant, to watch his soft cock grow stiff under my ministrations, to feel its strength, to rejoice in his moans of pleasure. I didn’t need the roughness of his callused young farmer’s hands on my dick to bring me satisfaction. The sight of his white sperm jetting in a creamy arc, the feel of its hot wetness splashing on my flesh, its thick coppery taste dancing on my tongue (yes, I had begun to suck him without the rubber or the rum but still hadn’t swallowed) were my reward and, if they weren’t enough to get me off right then, well a few self-administered strokes of my dick always did the trick.

The oddest thing about this was our sex didn’t affect our friendship. It was as though we were two different sets of people. We continued to fish, swim and ride our bikes together. We did chores on the farm together, worked on cars together and all without the slightest aura of sexual longing. I guess we led two lives.

And, unlike most of the stories you read, despite being young teens, (He was three years older than I.) we weren’t having sex at every opportunity (or maybe it’s more correct al la President Clinton who thinks oral sex is only sex to the giver, to say I wasn’t having sex at every opportunity.) For the most part our only sex play was when we’d spend the night together. Then there was no question what was going to happen. From the moment we entered the bedroom and he took his clothes off I would spend the night between his legs, coaxing him to climax, once, twice and even three times if I could. So I was excited and so was he when we went to spend the weekend at his grandmother’s in the big city, especially since we hadn’t spent the night together in over a month.

We’d stayed at his grandmother’s before but not since our relationship had heated up. She lived on the seventh floor of a large brownstone apartment building in a racially mixed neighborhood. His grandmother was in her early 70′s and very hard of hearing, which fit nicely into our plans. She only had one bedroom in her apartment, so we got to sleep on the foldout couch in her living room, a very small foldout couch.

I can still remember the trip to his grandmother’s in Milwaukee. Teasing him as he drove and how his dick thickened when I rubbed it through his blue jeans, a wet spot forming on the left side of his fly. Stopping at the small party store to by a Playboy and a bottle of Cornhusker’s Lotion (the big black woman running the store winking at me when I nervously made my purchase.) Motown tunes and Hot Times/Summer in the City playing on the AM radio. Driving several blocks out of our way to watch the streetwalkers strut their stuff.

We’d only been at his grandmother’s for about an hour when she asked us to go and get some boxes from her storage area. The brownstone’s basement had been divided into individual storage areas, really just cages made of wood frames and chicken wire, with padlocked latches that passed for security. Once thing led to another (“Tease me will you… I’m not waiting until tonight. You’re going to get me off right now.) and I found myself down on my knees over in a corner of the storeroom with a mouthful of cock. We thought the boxes would keep anyone from seeing us. We were wrong. “Now ain’t this just a pretty sight?” a deep voice boomed out. “That boy there look’s like he sucks cock better than my wife or my girl friend. I just gotta get me some a that.”

I started to get up as a big hand applied pressure to my shoulder. “Uh uh, you’re ain’t going nowhere least ’til we gets this straightened out.” Looking up a saw a black man in his mid- fifties. I recognized him as a neighbor of my friend’s grandmother who knew both of us.

“Mazie asked me to give you boys a hand getting those boxes up from the basement. Now unless you want me to tell her what I saw down here, break that old woman’s heart it would, I’m going to give you a little more than a hand. I’m gonna give you about seven inches.”

We were scared and trapped. If we didn’t do what he wanted, well that wasn’t an option. We mumbled our acceptance.

“Ok,” he told my friend, “you go out by the elevator and make sure no one else comes down. Webster, you zip my pants and take out my johnson.” We did as we were told.

His dick was swelling in my hand, large but rounder and softer than my friend’s. My breath caught in my throat as I stuck my tongue out to give it a first lick. Holding the tip in my mouth I reached up with my and undid his brass belt buckle. He undid the snap of his pants and they fell to the floor around his ankles. My hand started kneading his ass while I suckled on his prick like a young puppy on his mother’s tits.

I was lost in the moment, a moment of discovery, it wasn’t just my friend’s dick I liked sucking on, it was this man’s dick too. And if I liked sucking these dicks, maybe I’d like sucking others.

I paused in my sucking to lick at his fat, hairy balls, spit washing them. They began to roll around in his sack, rising and falling with the motions of my tongue.

“Oh yeah that’s nice boy but get back to business. We ain’t got all day and we don’t want grandma coming down here to see what’s happening.” I licked my way back up his cock savoring the taste of his drippings. They seemed almost sweet. I played with his balls squeezing them in my hands. I choked as his cock hit the back of my throat. He withdrew a little. “Come on Web. Time’s a wasting. I’m gettin close. Start suckin for all you worth.”

I tightened my lips and began bobbing my head up and down as fast as I could on his dick, trying to go a little closer to his crotch with every store, determined to bury my nose in those curly black public hairs. I laid my tongue flat in my mouth to provide his rod with deeper access. And I worried, worried that the softness of his cock meant that he would never come, that like my friend when his cock was only semi-hard he had had too much to drink and that all my efforts would be without a cocksucker’s reward, that mouthful of man juice.

Suddenly he stretched upwards standing on his tiptoes. My lips would have lost their seal on his cock if he hadn’t grabbed the sides of my head with his hands and guided me upwards with him.

His cock pulsed, I could actually feel the sperm shooting down the cock vein resting on the top of my tongue before it oozed out of the tip, a slower ejaculation than I was used to.

Taking my mouth off his shrinking cock, I turned my head and began to spit only to be stopped by his hand grabbing my hair and yanking my head up and backwards.

“Web, you probably ain’t sucked many men’s cocks. So let me give you a little lesson in manners. I had to teach this to my wife and some of my girlfriends and if you’re going suck cocks you better know it too,” he said staring down into my eyes. “Don’t you ever spit out a man’s offerings, that’s disrespectful. If a man fills your mouth you swallow and then you thanks him and you axs for more. You got that?”

His hand loosened its grip enough for me to nod my agreement. “Good boy. Now open your mouth and let me see you swallow. I want to watch my sperm slide down your tongue and into your throat.”

It was hard to swallow with my mouth opened but I did as he commanded watching him smile as my throat worked his gift down to my stomach. For the first time in my life, I was not only a cocksucker; I was now a cumeater as well.

The Arrangement — Chapter Three

As I pulled his pants back up his legs (he wasn’t wearing any underwear) my chocolate conqueror released his grip on my head, playfully ruffling my hair with his big meaty hand as he did so. “Now that was nice, Web. You’ve got a sweet mouth on you and you took to my dick like a hog to a trough. How’d you like swallowing my cum?”

Wordlessly, I answered by allowing his pants to drop back to the floor and wrapping my left hand tight around the base of his now flaccid cock. Slowly I moved my hand up toward the tip of his coffee-colored serpent like a boy trying to squeeze the last dollop of toothpaste out of the tube, forcing his sperm onto my extended tongue. After a final lick to capture the single glistening drop hanging from his slit, I stood up and, mouth open, swallowed his offering as though it were nectar from the gods.

A peal of laughter as loud and sudden as a burst of thunder escaped from his lips. “Boy, you are sumptin else. We’re damn sure going to have some good times. Now get the stuff out of those boxes while I go and talk to your friend.”

The coming of evening lagged as slowly as a child being sent to the principal’s office. Once we had returned to his grandmother’s apartment, my friend and I were only alone for a few minutes, never long enough for any real conversation about what had happened in the basement. We had to content ourselves with exchanging glances over the Chinese Checkers board. As the time went by, I began to question my actions in the basement. Regret warred with satisfaction. Why didn’t I just get up and run? Why did I let him make me suck him? Why did I swallow? And why the hell did in milk him like I did? Being afraid would account for most of what I did in the basement but not that last. He was done. He’d come. All I had to do was give him a yes or no answer. But I hadn’t at least not verbally. So why did I do it, what did it mean? These questions kept running through my head like a gerbil on an exercise wheel.

Finally his grandmother decided to call it a night and, with an admonition not to stay up too late watching the late night horror movies on a local TV channel, went off to her bedroom shutting the door tight behind her. Even after what had happened in the basement we knew we didn’t have to worry about his grandmother catching us. She took a sleeping pill every night that knocked her out until morning.

“Hey Web, I’m sorry man,” my friend said as we pulled the sofa bed out from the living room couch, his voice pitched soft in apology. “I never thought we’d get caught. I’ve been down in that basement dozens of times to get stuff and no one ever comes down there. I meant what I said when we started that no one else would know about us. I sure wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

I didn’t reply, unsure of what I should say.

“I never thought Old Man Grambs would catch us down there and even after he did I never ever thought he’d have you suck him off. Christ, he’s married and he’s got a couple of kids older than we are. At least he told me you blew him. Did you? Did he make you suck him off?”

Looking directly into my friend’s eyes and watching to see how he’d react, I gave a brief shallow nod of my head. His face began to exhibit a feral excitement like an animal stalking its prey.

“Yeah, he told me you did,” his voice still softly pitched but coarsening in tone. “`Your boy Web was on my fat johnson like a bear stealing honey from a bee tree.’ That’s what he said. `Kid was like a starving man at a banquet. Couldn’t get enough, left me as wrung out and limp as an old linen dish rag.’ Said you liked it too. Was he right Web? Did you like sucking his black cock?”

Again I nodded my acquiescence and, with the downward stroke of my head, I noticed the fly in his blue cotton pajamas had begun to bulge outward, his boner uncoiling like a thick branch that had been bent into a bow and now was being slowly released.

“God, I wish I’d been there to see it. You on your knees, his dick deep in your mouth. You look so hot with my cock in your mouth. I just love watching you work when you give me head, how your lips stretch, the way your cheeks puff in and out. Well, maybe next time. And next time may be tomorrow.”

I managed to force a croaked “Why, why tomorrow” past my dry throat and mouth.

“The old man wants you to suck him off again you know,” he told me, each sentence he spoke stimulating both of us. “Asked me to bring you over to his apartment tomorrow before we leave. His wife is at her sister’s until Wednesday. Should I do that Web? Should I walk you over to Grambs’ so you can have one more taste of his pecker before we leave? And if I do will you let me watch? Maybe you can take even turns and suck us both off. I think we’d all like that.”

As he continued to speak, my eyes were again drawn to the fly of his pajamas. His rock hard dick had erupted from his fly and jutting straight out its head gleaming with shiny precum. I felt my dry mouth start to moisten with saliva.

I couldn’t help myself. I dropped to my hands and knees on the bed and scuttled across its chenille cover like a crab. Reaching out with my hands, I pulled him closer, capturing his prick in my mouth, locking my lips just behind the ridge of his helmet, my tongue swabbing him clean of precum. He started to rock back and forth driving his cock in and out as I lightly scraped his skin with my teeth. Then quite unexpectedly, so unexpectedly I started to totter, he pulled himself out of my mouth, his dick making a soft, wet “pop” sound as it left. As he kept me from falling forward, I could see the red marks my rasping incisors had left on his skin. “Not so fast Web, I want you to see something. I’m going to the bathroom for a minute and while I’m gone I want you to turn off all the lights except for the TV. Then take off your pajamas and get under the covers. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I took advantage of his absence to run to the kitchen and drink a big glass of water. As I refilled the glass from the pitcher his grandmother kept in the refrigerator, I could hear him rummaging around in the bathroom and talking to himself. “Now where’d she put it; I know it’s around here somewhere.’ I could hear drawers opening and closing. “Ah, there it is.” I had just managed to finish turning off the lights (I had been too busy to give a lot of thought to what he had been looking for) when my friend came around the corner holding something shiny behind his back. “Web, aren’t you supposed to be under those covers right now. Ah hell, it doesn’t matter,” he told me as he moved up to the edge of the bed. “Come on over here and undo my bottoms. Then get my dick in your mouth just like you had it before.”

Nervously I complied wondering what my friend was up to and just what he had behind his back. It didn’t take long to find out. I was in mid-stroke when his left hand whipped around from behind his back to reveal _ a hand mirror. He had brought an oval hand mirror out of the bathroom.

“OK Web, stop right there and take a look at yourself in the mirror. I wanted you to see just how sexy you look when you’re sucking cock. Told you it was better than anything in Playboy.”

I shifted my eyes to look at the mirror (if I moved my head I would have lost contact with his dick) and what I saw made my cock add another inch of diameter to the wet circle my dripping precum was causing on the cover below.

Bathed in the gentle glow of the television was the freshly scrubbed face of a young male teenager with short brown hair and a stubby button nose. A few freckles dotted his cheeks, cheeks which had been rounded inward by the force of his sucking until they resembled the inside surface of a pink rubber ball cut open.

The mirror revealed a gaping mouth which spoke of unrestrained passions and wantonness, the juvenile lips thrust tautly forward along a pillar of stiff smooth flesh, a small line of wetness escaping from the tiny pocket in the mouth’s corner where the connection between the two bodies failed. There could be no question this was a mouth made to give pleasure to other males, to slobber over countless men, vacuuming their throbbing poles deep into its connecting throat, with a tongue intend to roll their manly essences around the mouth like a fine brandy.

Above all the mirror exposed the visage of an individual whose eyes expressed a sense of contentment and fulfillment as he nursed on the prick in his mouth, someone unburdened by the knowledge he liked to suck cocks, unafraid to give full range to his desires.

To this day I wish I had a copy of the reflection of the young man I saw in that mirror.

Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the mirror vanished, set on floor by the side of the sofa bed. My friend’s strong hands pushed me flat on my back, temporarily breaking our carnal connection. As I rose to give him room to lie down he pushed me flat on my back again, this time positioning himself over my prostrate body with his knees locked tightly around my rib cage.

As he propped my head up with a pillow, I gave myself over to his desires and mine. Who was I to deny what the looking glass had finally made plain. He moved his way forward until his ass was firm against my chest; his prick was pounding against my lips like a medieval battering ram. I surrendered; opening wide while my tongue played the role of the lowered drawbridge, allowing him unhindered passage into my oral courtyard.

He took full advantage of my capitulation, thrusting forward until he reached the back of my throat and then back until just the tip sat on the edge of my front teeth, sawing in and out while my lips quivered along the sides of his dick and his ballsack scraped up and down on my chest. In this new and unfamiliar position the salvia began to pool in the back of my throat threatening to choke me when the level rose too high. My need to swallow to avoid gagging just added another new thrill for my friend as my lips, mouth and sometimes even my throat would contract around his dick, squeezing it tight in a hot, moist, fleshy vice.

The end came quickly for both of us, the events of the day and the earlier release we had been denied had aroused us to new heights of excitement, added urgency to our movements, fervor to our coupling. My friend’s legs began to shake against my ribs, a sure sign he was growing close to orgasm and I increased the intensity of my sucking.

We had not spoken since he pushed me to the bed, words seemed unnecessary to the task at hand. But, as his climax neared, my friend managed to gasp out one question between breaths: “You know what to do?” I answered him first with my eyes, “Yes, I know what to do,” and then with my actions. With a heavy grunt my friend bent over, his hands coming to rest on the top of the sofa, his dick sliding backwards to the outer edge of my mouth. Once, twice, three times he spurted his hot cream across the waiting surface of my tongue, thoroughly coating it with a white effusion of sperm before he withdrew.

Sitting up slowly, I stuck my semi-curled tongue out at him like a little child mad at the world. But the real reason was to prove to him his offering had been accepted. I watched him watch me, his eyes going first at the puddle of come on top of my tongue and then to my throat as its muscles convulsed when I swallowed.

“Thank you,” I told my friend and then asked, “When you’re ready to go again, can I have some more?”

The Arrangement — Chapter Four

My hand is shaking as I knock on the Grambs’ door. At least twice during the walk down the hall I start to turn back only to stop as my friend reminds me of what is at stake. I really don’t need reminding, the shock of being found my knees over in a corner of the basement storeroom with my mouth full of my friend’s cock, a thin string of saliva dribbling from the corners of my mouth to dampen my shirt is something I didn’t think I’ll ever forget. I don’t know what I’d do if Mr. Grambs had carried through on his threat to tell my friend’s grandmother what he had found.

Although brief, the walk down the hall from Evan’s grandmother’s apartment to the Grambs’ at the back of the building still gives me time to try and answer the question buzzing around my head.

I’ve come a long way since the first furtive handjob I had given my friend in his barn. Now I know I am a cocksucker, know that I like the feel of a male rod brushing back and forth against my lips, its oozing juices and my salvia combining to lubricate its passage. I’ve been trained to crave the salty, coppery taste of a wad of come splattering on the back of my tongue, to enjoy the pleasure of rolling it around in my mouth before swallowing, to savor its syrupy passage down my throat, its aftertaste lingering for long minutes reminding me of my subservience, my acquiescence to the desires of another.

But that is the question. Do I really want to be a cocksucker? Sure I’ve sucked off Evan off plenty of times. But that was just playing around wasn’t it? And yeah, I’ve sucked the man we were now going to see, a visit aimed at my servicing him again. But I really didn’t have a choice did I? I was blackmailed (or black-maled) into that first blowjob, even if I had enjoyed it.

That is part of the problem, I do enjoy it. It’s fun, it’s fulfilling (in more ways than one) and I look forward to it. But, ever since that first handjob, there are times, especially after the passion of the moment has passed, that I have doubts about what I’m doing. And there are times when I wonder if these events should be more mutual, if my cock should reside in another’s mouth, my sperm coat another’s molars. Or is the pleasure I feel while spit-polishing someone else’s knob reward enough? Like the last person picked for a game of ball, am I always going to be the catcher and never get a chance to be the pitcher? Abruptly, as we reach the Grambs’ apartment, my self-examination comes to an end.

Moments after my first tentative knock on the door, it swings open to reveal Mr. Grambs standing there wrapped only in a yellow cotton towel. “You’re early. Well, don’t just stand there and stare Web,” he says opening the door wider. “You and Evan get in here before the flies do, and shuts the door behind you. No sense in giving any nosey neighbors a free look. Make sure the lock catches.”

Moving into the living room Mr. Grambs drops his towel. “OK Webster, now you can look to your heart’s content. But hurry up, I was going to shower before you two got here and I still want to clean up before we gets started.”

Hungrily, I run my eyes up and down his body, my momentary qualms from the hallway overcome, as they always are, by my growing desire.

Down in the basement I had seen very little of Mr. Grambs, only those portions I had revealed when I lowered his pants: his thighs, his knees, the front of his calves and, of course, his ebony manhood. Now, standing before me like a sculpture, nothing was concealed from my view.

Mr. Grambs makes his living in construction, pushing wheelbarrows to and fro on the jobsites, hauling timbers, wielding a shovel or pick. His mature body is well muscled, firm but not overly so. There is still a little roundness to his stomach, a bit of softness along his ribcage. His chest is covered with a mat of kinky black hair, thick enough on his pecs that his nipples are almost hidden. The hair takes the shape of an hourglass, broader on his chest, narrowing as it works its way down his stomach and then widening again when it reaches his groin. His navel is an outie and large. It looks like a dark chocolate bon-bon nestled in a wrinkled paper wrapper, just waiting to be nibbled by some naughty boy. The hair on his legs stops just below his crotch, leaving a smooth, surface that ran down to his feet where the hair resumes.

It is the body of a man who works hard for his keep, not the overly honed torso of a narcissistic body builder who pumps iron to create an overly-sculptured piece of beefcake that graced some of the magazines I had furtively perused in the bookstores.

I knew from the day before how firm and solid his ass was. My fingers had almost cramped while I was kneading it as I sucked. But what surprises me now is his dick. The day before, even under my best ministrations, it had been well, not soft or limp exactly, but doughy and somewhat malleable. It was its flexibility that had allowed me to take its entire length down my throat and nestle my nose in his public hairs. One glance tells me that isn’t going to happen today.

Mr. Grambs’ cock is jutting out like a steel pier reaching for the ocean at Atlantic City. Yesterday it had pointed toward the floor. Today it rises toward the heavens, its lighter cafe au lait mushroom head capping the heavily veined nut-brown column like the masthead on the prow of a boat.

Without thinking I move across the room and grasp his dick, its heat coursing through my fingers. Even as I sink to the floor, my mouth agape, my hand tries without success to bend his rod.

Before my knees can hit the floor, strong thick hands insinuate themselves under my arms and raise me back to a standing position. “Don’t be in such a hurry Webster,” says Mr. Grambs. “We ain’t down in the basement today. We’re going to take our time and maybe even teach you a couple of more good things. Now you just make yourself at home while I go shower. Then we’ll get started.” I nod my agreement, my eyes still fixed on his rigid dick.

Noticing where my eyes were focused, Mr. Grambs lets out a little laugh. “Surprised at my johnson today? How hard it is?” Again I nod, my mouth too dry to speak without croaking.

“Hell Web, when I went down in the basement and found you blowing Evan. I’d already jacked off four times. With my wife out of town at her sister’s and my girlfriend working double shifts at the restaurant this weekend I figured the only fun I was going to have was what I gave myself or what I bought on the street. Course, that was before I made your acquaintance. Things sure did change after that.

“Now I’m going to go shower. You both showered just before you came over right?” This time both of us nod. “Good, cleanliness is next to godliness and there ain’t much worse than having sex with someone that stinks. That’s another thing you should know Web, never have sex with someone who’s dirty and always be clean your own self.”

Looking straight at the my friend Mr. Grambs asks “Now you boys are going to behave yourselves while I’m in the shower right? I’m not gonna come out and find a repeat of the basement am I?”

“No sir, Mr. Grambs,” replies my friend talking for the first time that day.

“Good. Then you boys relax and I’ll get ready. You’re both going to learn some lessons today and we’re gonna have some fun doing it.”

The door to the bathroom has barely closed and the water is just starting to run when my friend punches my arm. “Damn, Web you are a slut,” he tells me his voice crinkling with excitement. “I thought Old Man Grambs was kidding when he told me how you jumped right on his cock. Christ on a crutch, I guess he wasn’t. That towel hadn’t even all hit the floor before you went running over to him and grabbed his stiffie. I thought you were going to swallow him right then and there.”

I don’t know what to say so I turn away. My friend is right, I am a slut and, all my misgivings aside, the minute I had laid eyes on Mr. Grambs cock all I could think about was coaxing his man juice up from his wrinkly balls, across his throbbing cock and down into my waiting mouth.

To distract myself, I start to look around the apartment. Mr. Grambs’ place is at the opposite end of the hallway from my friend’s grandmother’s. Her apartment faces the front street and a small city park across the road. Mr. Grambs’ overlooks an alley full of trashcans and a windowless brick wall on the other side of the alley.

Walking into my friend’s grandmother’s apartment means entering a spotless world where time passes slower than outside. Much of the furniture is antique, family heirlooms at least two and sometimes three generations old. The walls are adorned with landscapes, still-lives and, in one case, a painting of a wide-eyed young girl holding a bouquet of Black-eyed Susans. The tables hold the latest local papers and copies of Life and Look magazines. There are always cut flowers in several vases scattered throughout the apartment and everything is overlaid with the scent of the violets she grows in the front room and talcum powder, a sweet not unfamiliar atmosphere.

It’s different in the Grambs’ apartment. It’s clean, just as clean as my friend’s grandmother’s apartment but the similarities end there. The worn furniture is second and even third-hand, not antique, a mixture of styles including an overstuffed couch upholstered in a garish red and yellow check. The walls hold a series of what I take to be family portraits as well as a picture of John Kennedy cut out a magazine and stuck into a ready-made frame. A depiction of Jesus graces the opposing wall while copies of Jet and Ebony magazine are stacked neatly on one corner of the coffee table next to a crumpled copy of the local African-American newspaper. In place of violets and talcum powder, the more earthy scent of greens and southern-fired chicken tantalize the nose. This is an apartment that is lived in, not just occupied.

Preoccupied by my inspection of the apartment, I jump like a gigged frog when Mr. Grambs’ damp palm caresses the side of my face. “Hey Web, settle down there boy. No need to be so jumpy,” he says as he walks around to the front of the couch.

Once again I find myself falling under a spell, his moist skin still coated in places by a glistening combination of oil and water, reflecting the apartment’s light as though a handful of diamonds had been crushed and sprinkled over his skin. I want to fall off the couch and kneel before him, worship his manhood, take as my communion his very essence. It’s only by the strictest self-discipline that I remain on the couch quivering, a sporting dog at heel poised to spring at the master’s command.

Mr. Grambs looks at me and smiles at what he sees, my eagerness matching his intentions like adjoining pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Out of the corner of my eyes I look at my friend. He too is sitting straight up on the couch his breathing deep and faster than normal.

Suddenly Mr. Grambs’ face grows serious. He orders me to disrobe. I comply. When I am naked he asks my friend to get up from the couch and move toward the center of the room.

“Web, I want you to undress Evan, nothing else understand? Just undress him,” he commands. Again I comply. My friend is tense as I remove his clothes in front of Mr. Grambs. I understand. Until now our sex play has been a private affair carried out in secret away from prying eyes. No more. All that would happen today would be seen and shared and a secret shared is no longer a secret.

Kneeling I untie his tennis shoes. He offers no help, standing stock still as though he were frozen, forcing me to lift each rigid leg like a blacksmith shoeing a horse. I rise to unbutton his shirt, my fingers rubbing lightly against his ribs as I extract his arms from the sleeves. “Hey, that tickles,” he says a half-smile on his face, his reserve beginning to fade.

His blue jeans are the next to go, his rising erection pressing against the denim fabric, making it harder for me to unbuckle the snap. As it appears I rub the side of my face against the white fabric marking the final barrier to my friend’s full nudity. I can feel wetness dampening my cheek as it glides over the covered cockhead, wetness filling my mouth as I anticipate what (and who) is to come.

Evan steps out his jeans, leaving them bunched on the floor. I push them aside to take my position at his feet, my hands reaching upwards as if in supplication. I grasp the elastic around his hips and, with a helpful wriggle from my friend, I pull his briefs down to rest around his heels, a drop or two of precome splashing on my face as his prick bounces to a stop. Obeying instructions I stand and move back.

Now Mr. Grambs moves to stand at an angle next to my friend, hips touching. My friend gives a slight flinch at the contact but holds his place. The older man’s hand motions me over, indicating I should again assume the acquiescent posture of a cocksucker, this time between the two of them.

I almost go cross-eyes looking at the two dicks before me. One white, uncut, and more square than round, a carpenter’s pencil of a prick; the other brown, cut and round with heavy veins running along its length like the stripes on a barber’s pole. I wonder which dick will be the first to fit into my mouth, spill its pearly seed across my tongue? Who will watch my throat convulse as I swallow their sperm, be the first to receive my thanks?

Mr. Grambs takes my head in one hand, tilting my face upwards, our eyes locking together. “OK Web, I wants you to open wide because you’re gonna take both these cocks into your mouth at the same time.” Darting down to look at the two hard-ons and then back up to Mr. Grambs, my eyes show my disbelief. A small frown like an approaching summer squall passes over Mr. Grambs face. “Didn’t you hear me boy,” he asks gruffly. “We both want to be sucked and we’re not waiting. Now get to it.”

I maneuver closer to the two bodies, my mouth yawning open as though I’m awakening from a sleep of a thousand years. My hand reaches out and gathers the two dicks pressing them together like straphangers in a rush hour subway, their angle bringing both heads to the same starting point. As I move my head forward my mouth stretches to allow entry. I struggle but manage to get about two maybe two and a half inches of both cocks in my mouth, my tongue trapped underneath a twin popsicle of warm human flesh The awkward angle prevents me from getting more in my mouth. I start to move back and forth my bottom teeth scraping with each stroke, wondering what it must feel like for the two I am servicing the foreskin of the uncut cock rubbing against its mate.

My mouth fills, partly with precum but mostly with saliva. I can’t swallow and I am forbidden to spit so I begin to choke. After my first spasm, the cocks exit my mouth.

“All right Web, that wasn’t bad for the first time,” Mr. Grambs tells me. Hearing his words I feel like a puppy that has been told “Good Boy” by his master. “You’ll get better with practice.”

“Yeah, and I’ll be sure to give him plenty of chances to improve,” my friend chimes in, becoming more comfortable with the situation as time passes, his fingers ruffling through my hair.

We move over to the couch, Mr. Grambs sitting on one end, my friend on the other. I start to move downwards when Mr. Grambs again stops me. ” Come on around to the side of the couch Web, I want to teach you another trick.” He turns so his chest is parallel to the arm of the couch. “I want you to suck my nipples.” I stop, surprised at his command. Aside from hanging on to an ass for balance, all my efforts have been spent licking and sucking cocks with the occasional foray to massage a low-hanging ball sack. The idea of playing with someone’s nipples is new to me.

“That’s it Webster. Cup your hands and put them just underneath my nipples. Now lift up. That’s right boy. Now bring yo lips over to it.” My hands cradling his chest I place my puckered lips over the nipple closest to my mouth. His kinky hair brushes against my lips and nose as I begin to suck like a baby at his mother’s breast. His nipple has a salty taste to it.

“That’s good Web. Now use your tongue. Wipe it back and forth…. Yeah be nice. Faster now, get a quick rhythm going. Now can you feel it hardening? ” I nod not wanting to remove my mouth to speak. “OK now start to nibble on it. Gently boy, you ain’t chewing gum here.”

I ease up on the pressure, softening the impact of my incisors on his nipple. Mr. Grambs lets out a quiet moan. As I switch to his other nipple I see my friend slowly jacking off as he watches us. After a couple more minutes of my switching between his nipples, Mr. Grambs draws away from me to lean against the back of the couch.

“Evan’s been real patient over there,” Mr. Grambs tells me. “He’s played with himself long enough. I wanna watch you suck that cock of his. Go to it Web.”

I move quickly around to the front of the couch. My friend scoots forward until his ass is barely on the edge of the couch, his balls hanging freely in the air. This time I don’t kneel. Instead I squat until my calves and thighs are pressed tightly together, like a catcher waiting for the first pitch. My hands rest on his upper thighs, forcing them farther apart the better to maintain my balance.

My tongue sweeps lightly over his balls, causing the skin of his scrotum to tighten and wrinkle. One after the other I take the small-egg sized balls deep in my mouth, my tongue continue to lave each testicle. Finishing with his balls, I extend my tongue as far as it will go and slowly slide upwards along the vein on the underside of his dick.

When I reach the head my tongue insinuates its way underneath his foreskin, slowly circumnavigating his cock. When the circle is completed I press my lips tightly against the tip of his dick and, leaning forward, peel his foreskin back until the entire head is uncovered. My right hand reaches out to hold the foreskin back while the point of my tongue begins an exploration of the slit, burrowing its way into the interior of his cock.

After a few more seconds of teasing, I begin to suck his cock in earnest, my mouth and hand moving in a synchronized harmony designed to provide maximum pleasure for my friend. My cheeks go from concave to convex and back again as I vacuum his prick into my oral cavity, sliding it deeper into my mouth with every thrust.

Knowing Mr. Grambs is watching excites me. I remove my left hand from my friend’s thigh and begin to massage his balls, urging them to spill their cache of come. My balance is precarious now, a wrong move could send me plunging down on his rod with disastrous consequences for both of us. When my lips reach the tip of his dick I throw myself forward, pushing my legs out from under me at the same time. With only a small jolt I am on my knees ready to finish of my friend.

My right hand leaves his cock and rests against the coach. My lips take its place, traveling south toward his public hair. I open my mouth wider, forcing air down my throat and enlarging it in the process. The head of his pecker is now on the back of my tongue. It uses my uvula as a punching bag.

Slowly I move forward adjusting the angle of my head to allow his dick free passage into my throat. When my nose rests in his hair I stop. I have fully engulfed my friend his balls now bounce against my chin. Breathing through my nose, I begin to swallow, the contraction of the muscles of my throat milking his cock. My left hand rubs his balls harder, my tongue brushes across the bottom of his cock.

Evan’s breathing quickens as his legs begin to tremble. I redouble my efforts. His balls begin to pulse in my hand. Then I feel it, his sperm climbing upward to my waiting gullet. The first stream of come shoots while his cock is lodged in my throat. I can feel it slide down my esophagus. I pull back to gain a taste of his cream, the next jet splashing against the roof of my mouth. Satisfied, I pull quickly off his dick, my hand regaining its grip on his cock, targeting his next emission at my outstuck tongue.

At first my aim is off, his cum splashes against my nose and upper lips. A small movement of my hand corrects this flaw and his final, slowing spurts land directly on my elongated tongue. When I am sure his orgasm is finished I milk his cock and then stand slowly up, exhibiting my slime-coated tongue first to my friend and then to Mr. Grambs.

Seeing approval on their faces, I swallow. It takes two attempts to move all his sperm into my stomach. My tongue quests outward and upward, gathering as much of the sperm gracing my face as it can. It is aided by the index finger of my right hand that scrapes the remainder toward my mouth. Again I swallow and finish up by sucking the final remnants off my finger. Despite my best efforts I know my face is shiny with smeared come then this is only proper for a cocksucker. This come hasn’t been wasted; it is a visual representation of my status. It cries out “Look at me. I am a cocksucker. I can be your cocksucker. Let me pleasure you.”

Quietly with my head semi-bowed but my eyes on his face I thank my friend for sharing his essence with me. Having observed the proper dicklicker etiquette I turn to Mr. Grambs. His ebony tower is reaching toward the sky as he says “Ok Webster let’s see what tricks you can do with a man’s rod.”

I hurt. There’s no other way to put it. My jaw hurts from the effort of taking in two cocks at once. My thighs hurt from squatting in front of my friend. My lips hurt where they were mashed against my teeth as my friend’s dick sawed in and out of my mouth and I have carpet burns on my knees from sliding on the rug. But these are good hurts, aches that come from fulfilling my function of drinking sperm. What is it they say, “No pain, no gain?”

As always happens once I’ve been fed a mouthful of cock, my worries have gone away. That’s not to say they won’t come back, they will. But a dick scraping across my tongue is a better tranquilizer than any drug out there. All I worry about now is nursing the cum from down deep in those balls to down deep in my stomach.

The Arrangement — Chapter Five

Evan and I had an arrangement. I’d suck his cock and he wouldn’t tell anyone. And he didn’t. But yesterday, Mr. Grambs had caught me with my friend’s dick in my mouth. Now I have the same arrangement with Mr. Grambs. I’ll suck his cock and he won’t tell anyone.

Mr. Grambs has asked what tricks I can do with a man’s rod. I’m ready to show him one my friend and I came up with about a month ago.

I ask Mr. Grambs to close his eyes. He does, a small smile playing across his face. Reaching into the front pocket of my crumpled pants, I pull out a tiny brown bottle. After unscrewing the cap, I pour a small amount into my right hand (I’m left-handed). Careful not to spill any of the liquid not puddled in my palm, I replace the cap and set the bottle on the floor.

Above me Mr. Grambs nostrils open a little wider as the scent from the liquid reaches his nose, Acting with some haste I cup his cock in my palm, smearing the liquid the length of his rod. Then I slather the remainder of the thin fluid over his wrinkled ball sack, blowing on his nuts as I do. Now it’s Mr. Grambs turn to jump. “Damn Webster, what the hell are you doing? That burns like a son of a bitch.”

Evan, who knows what is going on, just laughs and tells Mr. Grambs to wait a minute; that it will feel much better in just a little while. Content to let my friend sooth Mr. Grambs’ verbal complaints, I begin to lingually appease his stinging balls. As my tongue strokes back and forth on his scrotum, I continue to blow gently against his testicles until the initial blaze has ebbed to gentler warmth. By now the unmistakable aroma of vanilla extract has perfumed his crotch and wafted upwards to tickle Mr. Grambs olfactory sense.

My friend and I had discovered the effects of vanilla extract by accident. It was back in the days after he stopped using rubbers but before I was willing to swallow. I had been putting the vanilla on his dick to mask the taste of his cum. (We couldn’t always get into the liquor cabinet to steal rum.) Some of it ran down to his balls and he started bellowing like a poorly played split trombone.

After my breath had calmed the worst of the pain, his dick grew even harder. It felt good, warm and tingly my friend told me. His balls were more sensitive and my tongue felt even better than it usually did. He said he could almost feel his nuts filling up with extra sperm. When he came, it did seem like there was more jism than usual, I filled up two Kleenexes spitting it out. (We experimented with some other extracts; peppermint tasted good but the burn went on too long; lemon was too sour and so we stayed with vanilla.)

Now Mr. Grambs was getting the vanilla treatment and, from the moans he was making as I took the head of his dick into my mouth, he was enjoying this particular trick. I moved my head as close to his stomach as I could get, the sweet taste of vanilla mingling with the blander gooiness of his pre-cum. As I thought, his dick was just too hard to get it to bend down my throat as I did in the basement. I concentrated on moving up and down as quickly as I could, my hands massaging what was left of the extract deeper into his balls.

“Jezzus Web, that’s nice. Keep going kid, I’m gonna give you a real mouthful today.” Looking out of the corner of my left eye, I can see Evan is hard again, his fist moving up and down on his rod as he watches me service Mr. Grambs. Letting go of the black man’s balls, I reach both hands forward to cup his ass cheeks and pull him towards me until he was barely perched on the edge of the couch. It was time for alternate plan B. I uncurled my lips from around my teeth and began allowing the edges of my incisors to scrape against his wood, increasing the pressure with every other stroke. While my right hand returns to caressing his balls, my left hand bypasses his hanging sack to squeeze his buttocks. In rhythm with my mouth’s alternating decent and ascent of his cock, my left middle finger begins to insinuate itself into the crack of his ass, rubbing back and forth like the pendulum bar of a metronome.

My friend is now standing close to me, his cock at face level, his hand keeping rough time to my slurping beat. Mr. Grambs breathing deepens and his body starts to stiffen up. It’s time to make my move. Halfway through my next down stroke I curl my finger upward and, without any warning, thrust it past Mr. Grambs anal rosebud and into his ass. This maneuver was a triumph and a disaster.

Evan had tried to cornhole me several times during our sex play. Each time I stopped him because it hurt too much. But I found I liked the feel of something small in my ass as I masturbated, the nozzle of an enema kit was a particular favorite. I thought Mr. Grambs might like it as well.

With a roar Mr. Grambs sprang forward from the couch, driving his dick deep into my unprepared throat in the process. His sphincter tightened around my finger, my struggles to remove it simply changing its position and depth. Grabbing a hold of my shoulders with his hands Mr. Grambs began to come, and come, and come. At the same time I felt sperm splashing against the side of my face as my masturbating friend shot his wad all over me.

Even as Mr. Grambs tries to back his dick out of my mouth, I begin to choke. In a series of dual pops, first his dick and then my finger exit their fleshy tunnels. But it is too late. With sperm beginning to stream out of my nose, I cover my mouth with my hand and run to the bathroom where I am sick to my stomach, laughter from the other room coming as a counterpunctual to my noisy distress.

Still kneeling in front of the toilet, I manage to kick the bathroom door shut, offering some privacy as the tears mingle with the streaks of come decorating my face. After a few minutes, I stand and flush the toilet. The sound of laughter in the living room has been replaced by the echo of footsteps down the wooden hall.

“Hey Webster, you OK in there son,” asks Mr. Grambs, his usually gruff voice softened with a note of concern. I mumble something noncommittal. “Why don’t you clean yourself off, get dressed and come on back out. Your clothes are outside the door. Playtime’s over for now, we need to talk.”

I wash my face and fill a paper cup with Listerine from a heavy round glass bottle. As I gargle the mouthwash tastes as sour as I feel. I wish I could spit out the humiliation with the mouthwash, watch my embarrassment go down the drain. I dress slowly wishing I could just vanish, that I could make myself invisible and leave without Mr. Grambs or my friend seeing me. Yeah and if wishes were horses we’d all ride to work.

My face burning, I go back to the living room. It’s stubbornness, not pride, which keeps me from averting my eyes to the floor. Both my conquests have dressed. My friend is a chair leaving a space next to Mr. Grambs on the red and yellow couch. His meaty black hand pats a cushion next to him, inviting me to sit down.

“Webster, I want to apologize to you. I didn’t have no account to laugh at you like that and neither did Evan. Sometimes when people are all worked up and excited things seem funny but they ain’t. I’m sorry. “There ain’t nothin wrong with what you did, cept you surprised me. You surprised me a lot. That vanilla thing threw me one curve ball, I sure enough wasn’t expecting you to stick that finger up my butt, that’s why I jumped up the way I did. I have to admit it felt good though, that’s why I shot as big a load as I did.” He paused for a second and smiled. “Well, that and the fact I ain’t come since you blew me in the basement. I was saving up a big one for you.” I smile a little too, starting to feel better.

“Web, Evan tells me you’re going be back to visit his grandmother again next month. My wife will be back but maybe the three of us can go to the movies or something. Would you like that? “

“Yes sir Mr. Grambs, I would.”

“Good, it’s settled then. I’m looking forward to it. You all best be going now. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” I was just a step or two down the hall when Mr. Grambs got my attention again.

“Hey Web.”

I turned to see him wink as he said “I’m gonna hafta teach my girlfriend your trick with the finger.”

Breaking The Arrangement — Chapter One

The weekend at his grandmother’s apartment and our activities with Mr. Grambs marked another turning point in my relationship with my friend Evan. Before that weekend sex was just another part of our friendship and not even the major part. But after that weekend, Evan turned into one horny bastard.

As before, we still continued to do everything together we used to. We’d ride our bikes, fish and swim in the creek, do farm chores together and we still worked on cars in the barn. But before our sexplay was an occasional thing; now Evan was always looking for a chance to slip his dick into my mouth, and it being summer and school being out, he had plenty of chances.

Not that I was complaining understand. I loved sucking Evan’s cock, letting him feed me his come, swirling it around in my mouth before I swallowed. But you really can get too much of a good thing.

Take the time we went fishing in Babcock Creek. We had a spot we liked to fish in, one not too far down from the bridge where we always had pretty good luck. If the fish weren’t biting then we’d go for a swim, not where we fished, the water there was too shallow for that. But back upstream the creek had been scooped out when the bridge was built in the Thirty’s, leaving a hidden swimming hole right underneath the bridge. We’d hang onto the I-beams and work our way out to the middle of the creek like we were on monkey bars. Then we’d let go, drop about ten feet and “splash.”

The sides of the embankment along side and under the bridge were made of concrete to help keep the roadbed in place. This gave us a ledge at the top of either side where, while we couldn’t stand, we could sit. The ledge went back about four feet so we had plenty of space to spread out. There were a couple of blankets there we had brought on previous trips so we could eat lunch without scraping all the skin off our legs. Of course, they had another use as well.

Anyway, we finished up the chores that morning around 11 and, since we didn’t have to do chores again until 3, we decided to go fishing. Because it was hot out we both changed out of our work clothes, wriggling into swim shorts and tennis shoes. The sun felt good against our bare backs and legs as we peddled our way along the rutted dirt road over to the creek (about? of a mile away.), our bikes rattling with every bump and hole in the road. We had to be careful not to drop our fishing rods that were balanced across our handlebars and held in this precarious position by one grasping hand.

When we got to the bridge, we walked our bikes down the side of road and leaned them against one of the pillars that helped hold up the bridge. This way our bikes were out of sight of anyone passing by on the road. (Not that we had ever had anything stolen but why take chances.) I was stringing the line through my rod when Evan started to talk with me. “Web, you’re pretty good at that science stuff. I was reading in one of my dad’s fishing magazines that fish don’t see things the same way we do.” Now Evan was a C-average student and he didn’t like any of the science classed we had to take, preferring auto mechanics or gym, so this sudden interest in matters piscine puzzled me.

“I mean I can understand a fish rising to a fly, that’s natural cause we see bugs land on the water all the time. Even a fish striking at a lure makes sense to me. Bigger fish eat smaller fish; we’ve seen them eat the minnows in this creek. But what in the world would make a fish go for a worm on a hook. That doesn’t seem right to me. There ain’t no worms in the creek unless we throw one in, they sure don’t crawl in by themselves. And any worm we throw in doesn’t float. It sinks to the bottom and drowns. So how come a fish will eat a worm? If you were a fish Web, would you want to eat a fat, big pink worm?”

When I turned around to answer Evan, I saw him kneeling on the ledge above, his swimsuit next to him, his semi-flaccid prick waggling up and down and back and forth between two fingers. “What about it Web? If you were a fish would you want to eat a juicy old worm like this one?”

“I don’t know. If I were a fish I don’t think I’d be tempted by such a puny little worm like that one,” I said even as I started the ascent up the sloping concrete wall. “I’d like my worms to be a little harder so I had something to chew on.”

“I can’t believe a poor scrawny starving fish like you would turn down a meal as good as this one,” Evan said stroking his firming erection with his fingertips, the foreskin beginning to smear his precum over the glistening head of his cock. “I just bet I could land me something nice with this particular worm, don’t you cocksucker?”

My nod of agreement put the first three inches of Evan’s rod back into my mouth, the tip poking the far end of my tongue just short of my throat. Evan lay back down on the blanket, his hands drawing my head further down on his dick. “That’s it Web, just keep moving your head up and down like that, you look like a bobber on the end of a struck line.

Come on Web, suck me, suck me hard, blow’s just an expression.”

I redoubled my oral efforts on his thick, flat dick, leaving my hands free to massage his balls. In the distance I heard the sound of a truck coming down the road. It was coming our way fast. I tried to pull my head off Evan’s cock but he held me in place with his hands. “I’m almost there Web. Forget about the goddamn truck and suck me. Faster man, be a good scumeater and make me come.”

Evan’s explosion into my mouth came almost simultaneously with the rain of dirt and pebbles on my back as the truck thundered over the bridge. As the dust from its passage settled, I abandoned the now spent prick and sat up, shaking some of the dust from my hair.

“Well, I think we’ve settled the question about the worm don’t you,” I asked Evan as we both perched on the edge of the ledge, recovering from our exertions. “Fish eat worms for the same reasons we eat Twinkies. They want the cream inside.” Evan groaned and gave me a light punch in the arm.

“That joke’s so bad you’re going to have to suck me off again to make up for it.’ And I did. In fact, I coaxed Evan to climax three times before we had to leave to get back to our chores, although each time I had to use more and more hand to make him come and my “creamy” reward got smaller each time.

After his fourth and final orgasm, my lips were as chapped as though I had spent the day in a desert and Evan’s dick was red, sore and swollen. He complained about the way it rubbed against his work clothes for three days afterwards. I just laughed and told him to use liberal applications of Cornhusker Lotion.

Which was another change in Evan. Not the Cornhusker Lotion but his renewed interest in cornholing me. At first he just dropped hints that he wanted to stick his dick up my ass. I ignored his hints which then got increasingly less subtle (Not that Evan was ever very subtle to begin with) until he finally came out and asked why I wouldn’t let him butt-fuck me.

“Because it hurts.”

“Don’t be a sissy. It’ll only hurt for a little while. Then you’ll get used to it. Besides I’ll be gentle. Just let me put the head in. I won’t go any further.”

“No, we tried that and it hurt.”

“Come on Web, be a man. Bend over for me. You’ll like it once I get it all the way in. It’ll feel real good.”

“If it’ll feel so good, lemme do it to you.”

“Hey man, you’re the cocksucker in this relationship not me. And as long as you’re sucking cock why not try taking it up the ass. Old man Grambs said you have the perfect butt for it and I already know you’re sticking that enema tube up there when you jack-off. Why not my dick?” “Because the tube doesn’t hurt and you do.”

“OK, let’s do this. We’ll measure how big around my dick is OK? Then you can start sticking something a little bigger up your ass each time until you get to where you’re riding on something that’s just a little larger than my cock is. Then you know it won’t hurt when I butt-fuck you. Whadda ya say?”

A little intrigued, I told Evan I’d think about it. The nozzle from the enema kit did feel good and I was kind of curious about how Evan’s cock would feel in my ass. It’s just that it hurt so much the couple of times we’d tried it. My ass even bled a little for a couple of days afterwards. Still, maybe Evan had a good idea. If I stretched my ass slowly and got used to the size, it might not hurt.

“OK Web. I’m holdin’ you to that. Now let’s get a tape measure and see how big I am. And while you’re down there measuring, I think I might have another mouthful for you. You’re gettin’ a little skinny. I don’t think you’re getting enough protein.”

Breaking The Arrangement — Chapter Two

Although I now live elsewhere, I grew up in a small farming community in Wisconsin.

The main street in town was four blocks long with a traffic light in the middle. We had the same “Noah’s Ark” collection of small businesses you’d find in any rural village. Mostly two story buildings, two gas stations, two bars, two groceries, two restaurants, two hardwares; well, you get the idea.

Some things we only had one of. One local weekly paper, one drug store, one florist, one funeral parlor, and, as far as I knew, one teenage boy who liked to suck cock, that being me.

Yeah, there could have been others, probably were. But, if there were, like me, they weren’t advertising the fact. And neither was anyone whose cock they were sucking. Among the guys there were the usual locker room boasts about getting a handful of bare tit or a hand job or even a blowjob but it was always from some girl, never from another boy. Everybody knew letting some faggot gum your dick was just as bad as being a cocksucker. No real man would let something like that happen to them and every country boy wants to be known as a real man.

Our friendship aside, that prejudice was why I felt I could trust Evan not to tell anybody I was sucking his cock. He had as much to lose if our arrangement became public as I did. As long as he kept his mouth shut, I’d keep mine open.

The summer was nearly over when Evan told me the bad news. “My mom got a call from Aunt Audrey yesterday. Ray is going to stay with us for two weeks. He’ll be here Friday.” I must have groaned a little, OK a lot, because Evan said “Come on Web, it won’t be that bad.”

“Yeah, right,” I thought to myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Ray, I did. A lot of “city kids” looked down on us as poor, unsophisticated “cow tippers.” Ray didn’t share their attitude. When he was out to the farm he was one of us; getting up early to help with the chores and hanging out with us after they were done.

It was the hanging out with us part the caused me to react when I heard Ray was coming. Since he’d be staying at Evan’s house Ray would be with Evan almost 24 hours a day, even sleeping in the same room which ended any chance of my sleeping over. That meant I’d be without cock for the next two weeks because, with Ray omnipresent, the opportunities to slake my thirst would be zero.

For the first couple of days of Ray’s visit, Evan made a game of it, teasing me at every opportunity. Sometimes when Ray wasn’t looking he’d take my hand and rub it against his crotch or he’d reach down the front of his pants and then rub his fingers between my lips. But, as time passed, Evan’s frustration grew in tandem with his lust and the games ceased.

“Man, Web I didn’t think it was possible to get this horny,” Evan told me, taking advantage of Ray’s use of the bathroom before lunch. “I’ve had more wood than Weast’s lumber yard. Right now my dick hurts just looking at you. We’ve got to do something.”

“What do you mean ‘we’ kemosabe? I’m not the one running around with a hard-on.”

“You are too you little bastard, I tell from the way you’re sitting.”

“OK, maybe I am. But I can get rid of it by beating off. As soon as Ray’s done you can do the same. If you’re so horny it shouldn’t take you more than a few strokes to get off. Hell, it usually doesn’t take you more than a couple of pumps anyway.”

Evan’s reply was cut short by the sounds of a toilet flushing and the creak of the bathroom door opening. Scuttling sideways like a crab to hide his erection, he practically sprinted into the bathroom, almost bumping into Ray in the process.

“What’s wrong with Evan? Isn’t he feeling good,” Ray asked me as he sat down at the table.

“His stomach’s bothering him. I think he’s got the runs. Should’a skipped that second helping of bacon this morning.”

“Ate something that didn’t agree with him, huh? I’ll bet you never have that problem Web.”

There was only a momentary hitch in the progress of my hand to the sandwich below. Carefully watching Ray’s face I replied, “Nah, I get the runs all the time especially after I eat a plate of my old man’s fried pork and beans with bacon.” Ray’s countenance remained as free of guile as an alter boy serving mass.

We worked harder than usual the rest of the day with one goal in mind: get the chores done soon enough to allow us to go swimming at Maxwell’s pond, instead of Babcock Creek before spending the rest of the evening working on Evan’s car.

Maxwell’s pond was forbidden territory for us. Located on a nearby sod farm it offered a number of advantages the creek didn’t. No leeches for one, deeper water for another. The disadvantage was its location on private property, property owned by a man, Mr. Maxwell, who most definitely didn’t want kids swimming in it. The pond was used to irrigate the sod, period. No swimming. No fishing. No nothing.

Normally we stayed away from Maxwell’s pond. Too risky as Maxwell’s employees liked catching trespassers on the property. Even if you avoided the workers there were always Maxwell’s dogs to worry about. But Ray was on the swim team at his school and, swimming pools being a rich person’s toy and so nonexistent in farm country, we were determined to provide him with a better venue for his skills than the creek.

We approached our trip to the pond like commandos readying to sneak into Nazi Germany. Wearing our swimsuits under our clothes, we rode our bikes into the woods that bordered the far end of the sod farm. There we stripped down to suits and tennis shoes and began to slowly make our way across the open field to the pond, staying as low as we could to avoid being seen, even crawling in some places when we thought we heard the sound of employees further off.

A surprise awaited us once we reached our goal. A new six-inch pipe had been run out of the pumphouse above the water to the center of the pond where it made a 90 degree turn downward. Anchored to the pipe where it entered the water was a small floating platform. The platform, about 4 feet by 4 foot, was made of wood, with barrels tied to three sides to provide floatation. It rode about a foot out of the water.

Until now I haven’t given you much of a description of Ray. Think the statute David, not Michelangelo’s muscular, masculine marble David but the less famous but equally male bronze David by Donatello, a lithe, small-boned, willowy young shepherd almost gangly in appearance, smooth in body yet with well-defined muscles. That was Ray.

Ray lacked the “farmer’s tan” we had. His skin was a pale white, almost ivory, the few short dun hairs on his arms and legs looking like cracks in old china. His attractive face was thin and pointed, all sharp angles giving him an elfin look minus the ears of course. A close-cropped dusting of bristly wheaten hair decorated his scalp.

On land Ray was awkward like a novice dancer who’s not quite sure of the steps. But in his natural element Ray was grace itself, a fluid water sprite who moved with the ease of an astronaut in zero g. There was something sensuous about the way he swam, the water parting with each strong, steady stroke as though opening the way for its lover to join with it.

Our plan called for us to only spend 20 minutes swimming in the pond, less chance of getting caught that way. As we reached the last 5 minutes Ray announced he was going to swim some laps from one end of the pond to the other. I was watching Ray cut through the water when Evan tapped me on the shoulder.

“Now’s our chance Web. Blow me.” I looked at Ray like he was nuts. “I’m serious. Ray’s going to be too busy doing laps to watch us and I need to get off bad. And I know how you can suck my cock without being seen.”

Now I was as hungry for Evan’s cock as he was anxious to feed it to me. So I asked what he had in mind.

“Get under the float. There’s plenty of room under there, I looked while we were swimming. The whole side by the pipe is open, there’s no barrel there to get in the way. If I get partway off the platform my dick’ll be just about an inch above the water, right at mouth level for you. You blow me and I’ll watch out for Ray.”

That’s how I found myself under the platform with Evan’s pecker riding just above the waves. But his idea didn’t work, at least the way it was planned. I couldn’t tread water and keep Evan’s prick in my mouth. Every time I slid down on his cock the force of my movement caused it to submerge. And if I hung on to the underside of the platform my weight brought it lower in the water with the same result. What did work though was hanging on with one hand while jacking Evan off with the other, giving his Prussian helmet a lick and a kiss as often as I could.

Evan had just reached the crisis point when I caught a flash of white out of the corner of my eye. As I involuntarily turned my head to follow the movement I had seen, Evan shot nearly a week’s worth of pent-up passion all over my face, neck and shoulder. This unexpected and, at least this time, unwelcome shower of sperm coincided with a sharp rap on the head as Ray dolphined his way out of the water and onto the float.

I love Evan but he’s never been the fastest thinker in the world. As I fumbled below to get his dick back in his swimsuit I could hear him fumbling above to answer Ray’s question about where I was.

“Geeze, I don’t know Ray. He was here just a minute ago.”

“I don’t see him anywhere. We better look for him. He could be in trouble.”

Before things got any more out of hand, I ducked under the water.

Swimming a yard or so away from the platform and trying to wash off as best I could, I popped up to the surface long enough to say “Man, this water is deep,” before sinking back down again to persist with my ablutions; I had globs and strings of come hanging from me like I’d run into a spider’s web.

After breaking the surface for the second time, I swam slowly back to the float, using the butterfly stroke which allowed me to continue to duck under the water to clean away the telltale signs of my previous activity. I guess I didn’t do as good a job as I had hoped because after I levered myself onto the float, I caught Ray checking out my face.

“What’s the matter? What are you looking at,” I said, a little more querulous than I had intended.

“You’ve got some goop on your face, Web. It’s in your eyebrow and down the side of your face.”

“Probably just snot. I got some water in my nose coming up from the bottom.”

“Yeh, probably is just snot,” Ray said as he reached over to me, scraping some off with his fingers before I could move away. “Sort of thick for snot though,” he opined as he rubbed his coated fingers together.

“Hey man, I’ve got bad sinuses. Want to make something of it,” I asked in what I hoped was a teasing tone.

“Nope. I know getting water up your nose can be a bitch. First time it happened to me at a meet, so much snot drained out, I thought my head would collapse.”

Evan’s “Hey, guys,” caught both our attentions. Turning our heads in tandem, we saw his cupped hands flash toward us just before we were hit with a spray of water.

“OK cousin, you asked for it. Let’s get him Web.” In seconds a water fight broke out, each of us splashing and hooting at the others. Ray and I had grabbed Evan and were just about to toss him in the water when we heard someone else shouting.

“God damn you kids. You know you ain’t supposed swimmin’ in that pond. Get the hell off of that and get over here.” It was one of Maxwell’s field hands and he was angry.

Well, we might be dumb but we weren’t stupid. All three of us hit the water at the same time, swimming to the shore opposite the worker who had broken into a run. Ray got there first but Evan and I weren’t too far behind the swim star.

All attempt at secrecy abandoned, we ran for the woods as fast as we could. Having to swim to shore had allowed the man chasing us to close the gap; we were now only about 30-35 yards ahead of him. But we were young and in shape while he was middle-aged and used to riding around on tractors, not biking from place to place. We gradually widened the distance between us until, when we hit the fence line, we were a good 70 yards ahead of him. After we cleared the wire he profanely gave up the pursuit, warning us that if “I ever fucken see you little shits around here again, I’ll set the dogs on your asses, you snot-nosed bastards.”

“Snot-nosed bastards huh? I think he’s got us confused with you Web,” said Ray as we walked back to the bikes.

“Hey, I may be snot-nosed but my parents were married.”

The ribbing and an analysis of the chase continued all the way to the bikes, three friends relieving the tension of a close call or, for some of us, two close calls. Throughout the banter I paid close attention to Ray, on guard for any strange looks or double meanings. But he seemed to be the same old Ray. If he knew what I was up to at the pond he certainly wasn’t letting on.

At the bikes we stripped out of our wet swimsuits before putting our clothes back on. No sense in being damp and uncomfortable on the way home. Evan and I had been nude together before and I knew every inch of his body. But Ray’s body was unfamiliar to me. I knew what most of him looked like but I had never seen him without either a pair of pants, shorts or a swimsuit on. I admit, despite my fears of being labeled a queer, I wanted to get a look at his cock.

Ray made it easy for me. He was unconcerned about his nudity and, since we’d forgotten to bring towels, announced he was going to walk around a bit and dry off before he put his shorts on. I found myself stealing glances at him when I thought he wasn’t looking. But since he wasn’t looking, he wasn’t facing toward me either so all I got was a glimpse of his side or a pair of magnificent taunt young buttocks. Then, as though he knew I was watching, Ray took a deep breath and turned around. I felt my breath catch in my chest.

It wasn’t his semi-hard dick that made me gasp, although it was a nice one. Nor was it his low hanging ballsack. What took my breath away was the fact Ray didn’t have any public hair. He was as bare as a plucked chicken down there.

There was no mistaking the fact that Ray saw where I was looking because he blushed, his cheeks imitating a Wisconsin sunset. When he spoke to me, there wasn’t even a hint of sexual innuendo in his words, just a hint of embarrassment and a touch of a plea for understanding.

“Hey Web, I know it looks funny but don’t laugh. Coach has all his swimmers shave the hair off their bodies, even around our dicks. He says the hair won’t act as a drag in the water and we’ll get faster times that way. Even if it’s only a tenth of a second, a tenth of a second can be the difference in a close race.”

“Yeah but you’ve got hair on your arms and your legs and your head,” I said, stating the obvious while I pulled my eyes up from his groin to his scarlet face.

“That’s because its summer. When school starts in fall I’ll shave the hair off my arms and legs. Coach wanted us all to shave our heads but the principal said no way.”

“So why not wait until fall to shave your pubes?”

“You ever shaved yours?”

I shook my head no, although now that I’d seen Ray’s shorn crotch I was thinking about it. He looked sexy as hell and only the thought of Ray finding out for sure I was a cocksucker kept from throwing a boner right there and then.

“I didn’t think so or you wouldn’t have asked. When the hair grows back after you’ve shaved it itches like a son-of-a-bitch. And until it gets to its original length it scratches too. So all of us on the swim team keep shaved year-round.”

I nodded my head in acknowledgment. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Thanks. And Web, please don’t tell anyone about this. Evan knows because I’m rooming with him. The guys on the swim team know because they all do it too. My dad knows, I don’t know if he told my Mom or not. I sure hope he didn’t. Now you know. But I don’t want anyone else to know all right?”

“Jeeze dickweed, who the hell am I going to tell. I don’t know anybody else from your school. I’m not going to tell my folks or Evan’s folks and I’m sure not going to tell anybody from my school. For one thing I wouldn’t want to even begin to tell them how I knew.”

“Thanks, man. I knew I could count on you. It’s our secret right,” Ray asked looking deeply into my eyes.

“Right.” I responded looking right back at him.

“You two weenies sure you don’t want to cut each other’s fingers and mingle the blood to seal the oath,” asked Evan, startling us both since we hadn’t noticed he was there. “Maybe go out to the graveyard tonight, light some black candles, sacrifice a rooster and offer up your souls to the devil if you break the pact?”

“I don’t know Ray what do you think? Maybe it’d be more effective if we sacrificed Evan instead of a rooster?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always heard sacrifices to Satan are more effective if you use intelligent animals. That gives the edge to the rooster.”

“Hardi-har-har. Come on, let’s get going. It’s almost time for supper and I still want to work on the Evanmobile tonight. Couple of losers, I don’t even know why I let you hang around with me.”

Evan gave me hell once we got back to his house. “You really are a faggot aren’t you? Why didn’t you just drop to your knees and beg Ray to let you suck his cock instead of just giving him the eye?”

“Was I that obvious,” I asked, concerned the answer would be yes.

“Let’s see, at the pond you had sperm all over your face. In the woods you stared at his dick like a kid at a candy store just dying to take a lick of that peppermint stick. One the ride home your eyes never left his ass. Nope you weren’t obvious at all, if Ray was blind, which he ain’t.”

“Well, it was your fault I was covered in come, your come I might point out. You were supposed to keep watch for him. ‘Don’t worry Web,’ you said, ‘I’ll watch out for Ray.’ Good job there asshole.”

“All right, calm down. You’ve got a point. I’m sorry about not seeing him but I was getting ready to shoot and he was underwater. I didn’t see him until he started to get on the platform. But you’re right. We’re both at fault here. We’ll just have to hope Ray’s particularly dense and we’ll have to be more careful next time.”

“Next time my ass Evan. There ain’t going to be any next time until Ray goes home.”

“Come on man, you need to blow me just as much as I need to be blown. We’ll just have to be more careful next time.”

“And next time won’t be until Ray is back at home. I’m not taking any more chances,” I told Evan and I meant it.

Breaking The Arrangement — Chapter Three

Evan seemed to take my decision in stride. Although he hinted at how horny he was; how much he missed my lips caressing his cock, he never pushed too far. And there things stood until Ray’s last night at the farm.

The Beaver Outdoor Theatre (Yes, it was really called the Beaver Outdoor Theatre) was having a dusk to dawn “Horrorthon.” The first feature was “Castle of Evil,” followed by “Women of the Prehistoric Planet/Frozen Dead/Queen of Blood” and ending with “Zontar, Thing From Venus.” We thought it’d be cool as hell to stay up all night watching the movies and then go out an get a big greasy breakfast down the road, a perfect way to send Ray back to the city.

The only blemish on the plan was the Evanmobile’s condition. Its carburetor was still a pile of jumbled parts on the workbench, victim of a lack of time to finish the job. The only other transportation available to us was the farm’s Dodge panel truck, hardly the boss ride we wanted to be seen in. Still beggars can’t be choosers and even the truck was better than our bikes. That would really have been candyassed. Besides we were too jazzed about the Horrorthon to really worry about what we were driving.

With WOKY blaring out of the speakers we set off, windows cracked enough to let in some air but still keep out the dust until we hit the highway. We sang along to Wild Thing and Lil’ Red Riding Hood; argued about who was better the Beatles or the Stones (with Ray holding out for the Beach Boys) ; bitched about the Braves abandoning Milwaukee for Atlanta; made plans to go up to Lambeau and score some tickets for a game because the Packers were going to have another badass season. “The greatest team in football history, man.”

After the usual car search at the ticket booth to make sure we weren’t smuggling anyone in without paying, we drove into the Beaver carefully contemplating where to park. It wasn’t just about having a good view of the screen. You wanted to stay away from the passion pit in the back rows, otherwise theatre employees would be shining their flashlights into your car all night. Too close to the front where the playground was and you’d have parents walking past you all night dragging crying children in pajamas back and forth to the bathrooms.

That was another consideration. You wanted to be close enough to the concession stand for a quick trip there and to the john but far enough away to be out of the constant traffic. As Rick said in Casablanca when asked for a table close to Sam and away from Major Strasser “The geography’s a little difficult but I think we can manage.” We settled on a spot to the right and several rows behind the concessions stand, on the opposite side of the bathrooms.

Once we reached our spot we fired up the PIC coil to keep the bugs away and waited for the movies to start. As it got dark we broke out the Pabst. Besides drinking the lukewarm beer we passed around a bottle of rum; the rule being every time a character bought it in the film we all had to take a swig. By the end of Castle of Evil none of us were feeling any pain and, to give us a better chance of lasting the night, we decided to suspend the rule for the remainder of the movies. But we continued to suck down the Pabst although at a much slower pace.

About midway through Women of the Prehistoric Planet, Ray loudly announced he was going to the restroom and he might be a little while. Evan and I both chuckled at Ray’s obvious state of semi-intoxication but, because he could still follow our fingers with his eyes and walk upright, we let him out of the truck.

Ray had only been gone for a minute when Evan sidled over to me and placed my left hand on his throbbing pecker. “Come on cocksucker. I’ve waited long enough. Get in the back of the truck.”

I wanted to argue but I couldn’t. Evan was right; he had waited long enough and so had I. I needed his cock as bad as he wanted to feed it to me.

Climbing over the back of the bench seat, I spread both of the blankets used for padding the wall over the floor of the truck. As I worked to prepare our makeshift boudoir, I told Evan to make sure the front windows were rolled up and the doors were locked. I made sure the side and back doors to the truck were locked myself. With the only windows in the truck located up front, you’d have to climb up on the truck and look through the top of the windshield to see us on the floor. Anyone walking by would simply see an empty front seat.

Evan and I must have set land speed records for stripping off our clothes. As I positioned myself between his legs, Evan’s dick beat about like a blind man’s cane. Without any hesitation I went down on him, burying my nose in his public hair with a single lightning motion that bruised my throat when his head struck the back. I didn’t care. Evan’s flat, ripe thick-veined cock was back where it belonged, in my mouth.

Without finesse I plunged up and down on his rod, my hands caressing his body, squeezing his balls. No frills, no teasing, just the most direct approach possible to coaxing his sperm from his balls to my stomach. Evan’s profane instructions spurred me to an even faster pace.

“Tighter you little cocksucker. Wrap those lips around that dick. Eat me you little faggot. Suck out that cream.”

As his groin tried to rise from the floor of the truck my head descended to push it back down again. This was pure physical sex, a sprint not a marathon, the wildest coupling we had ever had. I was sucking Evan as though my soul’s salvation depended on it. Then, behind me, I heard the truck door open and close.

For a moment I tried to stop, to drag myself off the tower of flesh I was devouring, to scramble for some sort of cover, to find some way of denying what I was doing. But Evan’s hands not only held me in place, they kept me moving, pulling me up and down his pole.

“Come on Web, I’m almost there. Suck me you little bastard. Never mind Ray. Get me off.”

Again I was overcome by my desire, restraint falling off me like leaves from the trees in the fall. I returned to my personal universe and began to revolve again around Evan’s cock.

Now my approach changed. Time was no longer an impediment to artistry. If I was going to put on an exhibition, showcase my talents, I’d do it right.

Ignoring Ray’s presence for the moment, I began to lick up and down Evan’s thick hard sex. Broad strokes, the flat of my tongue covering the flat surface, overlapping the sides. I bathed his balls in my mouth sucking until the distended skin of his scrotum resembled a stretched piece of Silly Putty. My hands massaged his ribcage, twisting his nipples back and forth.

I returned to my station, slowly enveloping the head if his cock with my lips then quickly pulling off. A serpentine tongue tip darting forth to squirm its way between the fleshy halves of his glans, jabbing at his pisshole, tasting the seminal fluids as they oozed forth.

I rotated my way down his rod like a red stripe coiling its way down a barber’s pole, my tongue moving the skin as it passed, my cheeks collapsed by the force of my vacuuming inhalation. I scraped with my teeth on the upstrokes my hands now cupping Evan’s ass, raising it from the quilted brown pads lining the floor.

Guiding him with my body, I moved Evan around so his head was pointed at the front of the truck. I was under no misapprehension about what would follow this performance. Ray’s would be the third cock I had ever sucked and I wanted to get him primed by giving him a better view of the floorshow.

Now I went to work in earnest, my goal to get Evan off in a spectacular fashion and move on to Ray. I increased the speed and intensity of my sucking imitating a calf feeding from its mother’s teat. Evan’s thighs began to move toward his groin and then away, always a sign he was getting close to coming. His instructions to me were turning into unintelligible grunts. It wouldn’t be long now.

When I felt sperm beginning to climb up Evan’s dick I pulled off, positioning my wide open mouth about two inches from the head of his cock, my tongue extended to serve as a platform for his creamy offering. Preceded by a load intake of breath, Evan’s come spurted from the head of his dick. Four separate jets of sperm flung themselves across the void to splatter themselves into the waiting receptacle of my oral cavity.

As Evan regained his breath, my hands milked the last of his juice from his wilting flesh onto my tongue. As protocol demanded I kept my lingual member extended allowing its pearlescent coating to be observed before I swallowed. But, head held high, I showed my obedience not to Evan but to Ray. Ray who had watched wide-eyed as I sucked Evan and was even now focused on my face.

I swallowed and Ray’s eyes traced the passage of Evan’s sperm down my throat. Even in the dark of the truck I could tell Ray’s face was flushed, his breathing hurried. Playing it as cool as I could, I grabbed three Pabsts and told Ray since the church key was up front he’d have to open these.

“So Evan, did you forget to lock the door or what,” I asked, sitting up as he climbed back into his clothes.

“Yeah man I guess I did, sorry,” Evan said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Tell him the truth cousin,” said Ray. “You tell him or I will.”

“No, lemme guess,” I said, still trying to play it cool despite the fact my spent passion was being replaced by a smoldering resentment at Evan’s cavalier attitude. The reality of the situation was coming home to me. I was set up and I wasn’t at all happy about it.

“You broke the arrangement. You told Ray I was a cocksucker, that I sucked your cock. Then you told him if he played his cards right you’d get me to suck his cock too. Tonight, at the movies.

“That’s why you didn’t finish rebuilding the carburetor. That way we’d have to take this truck. You knew I’d never suck you off in your car at the theatre. Along side the road maybe where people weren’t always passing by but not in a crowded theatre.”

I was really getting worked up now, the feeling of being double-crossed by my best friend as painful as a deep cut. Yes, I wanted to suck Ray’s cock but I wanted it to be my choice, not to be tricked into it.

“That whole thing about Ray having to go to the john was just a setup. You left the door unlocked so he could get back in and watch. And now you expect me to suck his cock.”

“Sumthin like that.”

“Not something like that, exactly like that.”

“No, it’s not like that,” said Ray in an anxious voice.

“Shut up Ray. As for you Evan, I thought we were friends. I thought we had a deal. I trusted you not to tell anyone. You betrayed me, man.” By now I was surprised to find myself nearly in tears.

“No, I didn’t,” said Evan in a stony voice. “You betrayed yourself. “Face the facts. I didn’t break the arrangement. I never told old man Grambs you were a dicklicker. He caught you at it. And when he threatened you, you didn’t have to suck his cock. You could have told him to go to hell. We both know he wouldn’t have told my grandmother because we would have told on him; that he tried to get a white teenage boy to suck his cock.

“Even after you blew him in the basement, you sure didn’t have to go over to his apartment the next day and suck him off again. You blew him because you wanted to, because you enjoy having a dick between your lips. You blow me for the same reason.

“I didn’t tell Ray anything. He figured it out all on his own. Hell, it wasn’t even the day at the pond that did it. He saw you the day before in the barn loft when you jacked off into your hand and then ate it. I didn’t have to say a word you moron he knew. All the come on your face from the pond was just the frosting on the cake.

“Take a good look at yourself buddy. You’re a cocksucker. It’s not what you do Web, it’s what you are, as much a part of you as being smart and funny. I don’t think it’s sumthin you can do anything about. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.

“Me, I’m not a cocksucker. Sure, I like having you blow me. It feels good to get off in your mouth. And, OK, maybe I have been using you, but can you deny you like being used? Hell you’ve told me often enough how much it turns you on.

“That shit about being friends. Damn it Web, we are friends. You still don’t know how good of friends we are, but you will. Our friendship isn’t about sex. We’ve been friends for 12 years, since you were six and I was seven. It doesn’t rise or fall on whether or not you suck my dick. But I’m your friend man, not your boyfriend. And you need to keep that straight in your mind.

“I like girls Web, not guys, girls. If I could get Mary Elizabeth or some other good looking chick to do what you do, no offense but you’d never get close to my dick again. This is all temporary for me. I thought you knew that.

“I’m goin’ to the concession stand, no shit this time. I’ll probably be gone a half hour or so. Think about what I’ve said Web. As your friend I’m tellin ya you havta come to grips with who you really are, otherwise your whole life is gonna be totally fucked up.”

For the second time that night I heard the truck door open and close, leaving me to wonder whether or not the door had been shut on my longest friendship as well.

I was barely aware of Ray crawling over the seat to join me in the back. Oblivious to almost everything, I might as well have been one of the zombies up on the screen until Ray handed me the bottle of rum and told me to take a swig. The harsh burn of the alcohol sloshing down my throat reset my awareness of where I was and I took a second to anchor me in position.

“Heavy night,” said Ray, sliding next to me on the floor before taking a hit from the bottle himself.

“Yeh, heavy.”

“Not the evening I expected.”

“Me, neither.”

For a while there was silence as my thoughts slithered in my mind like snakes after mice. What the hell was I so upset about? Why’d I make such a fuss, throwing a hissy fit like an overtired toddler? I was a cocksucker. I did like to suck cock. I had given myself over to both Evan and Mr. Grambs to act as their submissive cocksucker and enjoyed it. And I wanted to suck Ray’s cock, had wanted to suck it even before it seen it in its fully shorn glory in the woods. Why were the doubts about what I was doing returning?

July 2018
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