I was crushed when my JV coach moved me to second base my Sophomore year. All my life, I had been a slick fielding shortstop. I still dreamed that I would his a growth spurt, fill out, and wind up the Cardinals shortstop, taking over for Ozzie Smith.
I think the Varsity coach and my JV coach knew otherwise. Presciently, they predicted I was done growing and my future in baseball was at second base. Only 5’8″, I just did not have the build of a shortstop. And, at 6’4″, Brian Scroggins — also a Sophomore — was the heir apparent to Buddy Marks, a Senior and Captain of our team. I was a better fielder than Scrogs, but he was a way better hitter. And, he had the classic build that looked better coming off the bus.
Baseball was all I knew. My dad was a ballplayer, and it grieved him when I eschewed the first year of Little League to spend the summer with my older sister. She was 5 years older, and I loved being with her, whether it was playing school, dress up, house, or with her collection of Barbies and Kens. In the language of the 70’s, I was a “mama’s boy” and a “sissy.”
My dad had little use for me. I think I embarrassed him.
Over the following Winter, my sister got “boy crazy” and left her childish pursuit — including me — behind. I was alone in our basement.
I do not remember making any kind of grand decision, but I asked my dad that Spring to teach me to play baseball. Every day after work, he would take me to the tennis court down the block and pitch to me until dark. He’d throw a dozen balls, collect the ones I hit, and then do it again.
My hands blistered. My dad’s temper flared. He was a natural talent, so he did not understand the amount of time and the level of work it took me to learn that game. But, learn I did.
My first Summer, I played right field and batted last. I hated it. I could have quit, but I had my dad’s stubbornness. My worked through Fall, Winter, and Spring of that year. When we could not be outside, I ricocheted balls around our basement. The ruckus drove my mother to distraction, but we were on a mission. Baseball had opened the door to a relationship with my dad, and I craved the approval that showed in his eyes and on his face as I improved.
When my dad was not pitching to me, I was throwing a racquetball against the basement stairs or into a corner to make sure I got surprising bounces and developed my reflexes. By my second season of Little League, I batted first and played shortstop. I did both until my High School move to second base.
Our High School was a blue collar Catholic school in a blue collar Missouri town. It was built for 300 students, but white flight from St. Louis had doubled its student population. Unable to expand, the school had replaced the lockers both in the halls and in the locker rooms with half lockers. Seniors and Juniors got the top lockers. Sophomores and Juniors got the bottom lockers.
With my switch to second base, I moved to the locker below Adam Erdely, who we all called Ape (Adam’s middle initial was Peter, so his initials were A.P.E.). Ape was a Senior, and he had started at second for the Varsity as a freshman and since. Ape was a farm boy, and he had the muscular build of someone who had baled and stacked hay from a young age. He was exactly 6 feet tall, had round shoulders and a thick chest, had a round butt from squatting, and had thick, muscled legs. He wore his baseball uniform tight, and he looked especially good in our white pants and jerseys.
Ape had to have some Italian or other dark ethnicity in him somewhere, as he had dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin that looked even darker in our white uniforms. After switching lockers, I learned quickly that Ape’s face, neck, and arms were significantly darker than the rest of him, as he had the stereotypical farmer’s tan the comes from working the fields in long pants.
Like most of the rural kids, Ape paid little attention to his appearance. He did not comb his hair, much less style it. He wore simple clothes and simple shoes.
Despite the neglect, Ape was obviously good looking. Like the other studs on our team, he should have been pulling a lot of snatch, especially from the underclass girls. But, he did not, because he hardly ever spoke. He had a lateral lisp, and he was so self-conscious about it that he refused to speak in class, spoke only when spoken to, and even then spoke in short, declarative sentences that he tried like hell to ensure included no S’s. The “he don’ts” and “they ain’ts” he used to avoid S’s made him sound dumber than shit.
The Seniors on the Varsity barely spoke to the underclassmen, even the ones good enough to dress for Varsity games. With Ape’s stoicism, I knew he’d never talk to me.
After the switch, I spent the first week or so of practice standing behind Ape and watching how he played second. Because of Ape’s nickname, the rest of the team called it “monkey see monkey do.” The name stuck, and I became Monkey to the entire team.
By watching, I learned how to position myself for different kinds of hitters, the footwork needed for a smooth turn of a double-play, where to take the cut-off from right field, and when to back up the first baseman and the shortstop. I also learned that second base was not as involved as shortstop, especially on our team. With Marks’ talent, the staff wanted the ball in his hand whenever possible. So, the second baseman covered second and took the cutoff only when the shortstop could not.
Our high school did not have a baseball field on site, so we practiced at a park two miles away. The staff made us run to practice, and the Seniors made us carry their gear. So, they got to and from practice faster than we did. Since I was Ape’s backup, I had to carry his gear.
By the time I got back to the locker room each day, Ape was showered and wrapped in a towel at our locker. Sometimes, he’d make room for me to get in my locker, get my shower stuff, and get out of his way. Other times, he wouldn’t, and I’d have to squat down between him and the locker and dig my stuff out while he dried behind me.
Every Senior was like that. Invariably, one of them would grab the squatter’s head, push his junk into the back of it, and moan, “Yeah, that right’s, suck that big, fat dick” or something similarly sophomoric to draw a laugh. When they did, it would start a wave around the locker room, as the other Seniors joined in.
When Ape did it, I learned two things. One, he never used the word “suck,” substituting “take” instead (obviously, there was no “s” in “take”). Two, he had a big dick. It was one thing to see it through a towel or his white briefs. It was a whole other thing to feel it against the back of your head or neck.
Sharing a locker with Ape, I also learned his nickname was a misnomer, at least as far as his hair coverage was concerned. Ape was not hairy at all. There was no hair on his chest or nipples, there was little hair on his arms and legs, and there was only a thin, slight trail from his navel into his towel.
***** I had long known I was gay. I had always wanted to be the wife when my sister and I played house. When I learned to masturbate, I imagined I was the woman beneath the man. When I stole my dad’s Playboy magazines, I looked at the few men pictured, not the women.
I had first had sex with a man the summer after 8th grade. I went with my parents to Columbia for the statewide AA convention. My dad sponsored a 22-year old guy, Mark, who had spent 2 years in the state penitentiary for peddling drugs. Mark was hard looking, tattooed on each arm and leg and long-haired. Still, he was attractive, in a dirty way, and he was ripped with muscle from two years with nothing to do but lift weights.
I had known Mark for a year, and he’d always paid too much attention to me. At first, I thought it was because I was closer in age to him than the drunks with whom he went to regular meetings. One night in the Winter, I realized it was something more. Mark was at our house waiting for my dad to get home. He was in the living room, and I was in my room, doing school work and listening to music. He came to my room and stood at the door talking to me. I turned to my side and leaned on my elbow. As we talked, he moved into the room to the edge of my bed. He asked me to make room, so I sat up, and we leaned back against the wall. Maybe prison makes you bold. As we talked, Mark started to rub my crotch though my shorts. I was instantly hard.
“It feels like a nice one,” he said.
I said nothing, but he was right. I had a nice one. I was not big, but my dick was. Disproportionally so. And thick. It was hereditary. I had seen my dad’s, and it was fat, even soft.
“Can I see it?” he asked.
I was too scared to respond. Mark took my silence as invitation, and he pushed the band of my shorts down below my balls. He said “wow” as he started to jerk my dick. It was the first time anyone but me had touched it, and it took only a few strokes before I coated my shirt with a sizable load of teen cum.
When we were in Columbia for the convention, Mark invited me for a late-night swim. I was conflicted. I wanted to know what it was like to touch another man’s dick. But, I was also only 18 and scared to death of it.
I had my own room, so it was totally up to me. I did not have to sneak out, lie to my parents, or do anything else.
I met Mark at the pool at 10. We swam for a little before Mark started pulling me close, putting his hands on me and grinding his crotch against me. When I tried to pull away, Mark held me tight. We were face to face. I could feel his hard dick against mine. When I tried again to pull away, Mark just held tight and whispered “shhhhh.”
Mark lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me. I had never been kissed before. When Mark tried to open his mouth, I didn’t know what to do. Mark guided me.
“Relax. Open your mouth. Run your tongue along mine.”
I did as I was told. Mark’s tongue plunged into my mouth, filling it. I kissed him back, relaxing into him. Mark pulled my legs around him, moved his left hand to my lower back, and his right hand to the back of my neck. We kissed for a long time. The depth and breadth of it overwhelmed me.
When the kiss finally broke, I suggested to Mark that we got to my room.
“Aren’t you staying with your parents?”
“No, I have my own room.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?”
We climbed out of the pool, wrapped towels around ourselves, and scrambled to my room. As soon as we were in my room, Mark pinned to the door with another kiss. His hands went right to the string on my trunks, and he expertly undid the knot. Once he had, Mark moved his mouth to my neck, to my chest, to my nipples, and to my stomach. He tugged my shorts down over my raging boner. After I stepped out of them, Mark pushed me back against the door, held me still by my hips, and put his mouth around the head of my dick.
Before I could think, Mark slid his mouth down the length of my dick until I was in the back of his throat. I had never gotten a blow job before, and I was not going to last long. As Mark worked my dick, I felt my balls clench and my orgasm start and then race up my shaft. I doubled over as I unloaded in Mark’s mouth. He swallowed it all.
It was a long night. I had never had sex before, and I was eager to learn what to do, and how to do it. I sucked Mark’s dick, which was smaller and thinner than mine. As I first took his dick into my mouth, I realized “it’s just skin.” I’m not sure what I thought it would be, but I had been browbeaten so hard into thinking a dick was a dirty tool, I’m sure I thought it would taste like sin.
I’m sure I was no good, but Mark came in my mouth anyway. It did not occur to me to swallow it, so I spit it in my hand and smeared it on the bedspread.
Mark flipped me on my back, pushed my legs up in the air, and started licking my ass, which I did not even know was a thing. I tensed up, fearing I was dirty and wondering about what was going on.
Mark licked my taint and then took each of my balls in his mouth. He licked where my leg meets my crotch. He pressed my legs back farther and pushed his dick against my ass. He was over me.
He said, “Dude, relax. I want to eat your ass. You’ll enjoy it, if you just relax.”
He kissed and licked back down my body, took my dick in his mouth on the way, and returned to my asshole. He slathered me with his tongue. I focused on relaxing. I’m not sure I ever did, but I got closer. Once I did, I enjoyed Mark’s tongue as he swirled it around.
Mark lowered my legs and moved his mouth to my dick again. As he did, I felt a wet finger at my asshole. As Mark took the length of my dick in his mouth, he pressed his finger into my ass. I seized up, going rigid and arching my back.
“Stop it,” I said. “I don’t want you to do that.”
Mark pulled his finger out. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Good. I don’t want to do that.”
“Do you want to fuck me?” he asked.
“Do you want to fuck me?” he asked again.
“I can try, if you want me to.”
“I definitely want you to.”
“Tell me what to do.”
“It’s easiest if I ride you,” he said.
Mark took my dick in his mouth and soaked it with spit. After spitting in his hand and smearing it all over himself, Mark straddled me. He took my dick in his right hand, pressed his ass onto the head, and slowly lowered himself. When he was all the way down, I came. The warmth and the tightness was too much for my teen inexperience.
Mark was cool about it and said, “I thought that might be too much for you.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. We’ve got time.”
Mark lowered his face to mine and kissed me. He soon covered me head to toe with his body, and I fell asleep with the weight of him on me.
When I woke up, I was hard behind him. I pressed my dick to his ass, and he woke up. He reached back, took my dick in his wet hand, and guided me to his asshole. I pressed in. Looking back, Mark had to be a total bottom, as I slid in easily. Mark adjusted us so that I was over him, his legs spread wide below me. I propped myself on my arms and started to fuck him. I’d like to say that I delivered a slow, mature stroke. But, I didn’t. I delivered the furtive stroke of a 18 year old boy, pounding into him and coming quickly.
When I was done, I collapsed onto Mark’s back. He writhed under me, and I soon realized he was rubbing his hard dick against the bed, fucking it so to speak. He shuddered when he came. *****
We slept late the next morning. I missed breakfast with my parents. Mark missed his meeting with my dad.
The damage already done, we spent what was left of the morning getting each other off some more.
After blowing me for the fifth or sixth time, Mark told me I had a really nice dick and told me he’d suck it whenever I wanted. By getting, I learned a lot about how to give a good blow job, when to speed up, when to slow down, when to introduce your hand, when to pull off and focus on the balls, and when to focus and bring it all home.
I fucked Mark one more time that morning, after he had blown me a couple of times. Tired, I was able to deliver more strokes than I had delivered the night before. When Mark came, he clenched his ass cheeks, which set me off. I needed work as a top.
Mark asked to fuck me, and I said no. I did not enjoy his finger in my ass, and I certainly didn’t think I’d enjoy a dick in my ass.
We dressed in silence.
As he left, Mark kissed me hard on the mouth and then reminded me that I should not tell my parents. “No shit,” I answered.
I had not wanted go to the stupid AA convention. I was 18, and I thought I was responsible enough to be left at home alone. I am glad my parents disagreed. I’d have missed a lot.
I was not old enough to drive, so my access to Mark was limited. Over the next month or so, we sneaked fuck sessions in the backseat of his car a few times, but the logistics of getting together without alarming or alerting my parents were too difficult. Then, Mark relapsed, and he disappeared from our lives altogether.
Second Base (Part Two)
Ape and I did not get along. I thought he was the past, and he knew I was the future. And, our season was a train wreck. Every worthy player but Ape got hurt, so our JV had to step up and play varsity, which it was not ready to do. We were a small Catholic school in a conference of large public schools, and we lost regularly. Badly. Ape hated losing, and our regular beatings made him a dick. He also fretted that our Coach would look to the future and bench him in favor of me, and that made him more of a dick, especially toward me.
If our Coach had been strategic, he’d have taken that step. But, he was not. He favored tradition and seniority. So, I sat, and Ape played, to no point.
Ape paid little attention to me. When he did, it was malevolent. He seethed with anger and resentment. He was angry that we were bad, and he resented that I was knocking on the door.
We barely interacted. If he was at our locker, I avoided him. If I was at our locker, he was nowhere to be seen.
After our last conference game, Ape and I were responsible for cleaning up the locker room, a task that rotated position by position. Every team made districts, so our shitty season would extend for at least one more ass-kicking.
I was cleaning the showers when Ape walked in.
“Are you about done, Monkey?”
“No, I’m not about done. But, feel free to leave. I can take care of the rest myself.”
“Why do you have to be a dick all the time?” he asked.
“Me? A dick? That’s ripe.”
“Yeah, you. You’ve been gunning for my job all year.”
“You’re goddamn right I have. That’s my job. You’re the starter. I’m the back up. I’m supposed to push myself and, by pushing myself, push you. You’re the punk bitch who played out of fear.”
“Fuck you, you faggot. Yep, faggot. I know you’re looking at me when I put on my jock and when I towel off. And, I feel you looking at me when I take infield in front of you. You’re a faggot, and I know you’re a faggot, and you know you’re a faggot, Faggot.”
Not a single “s.” It must have taken years of practice.
Ape was in my face. We both seethed with anger, a season of frustration boiling over in him, and the word “faggot” ringing in my ears. I wanted to punch him right in the face.
But, I knew that, if I hit him, I was done with baseball at my high school. I was disciplined, and I showed my self control.
“You’re delusional,” I said. Then, I went for the jugular, mocking his lateral lisp. “I wouldn’t schuck your dick if you begged me to on her handschk and kneesch.”
Ape’s face inflamed with rage. He surprised me by punching me, a right upper cut that hit me square in the gut, right under my rib cage. I doubled over, gasping for air. Ape then kneed me in the face, knocking me to the floor and bloodying my nose. Enraged, Ape stormed out of the shower.
Ape had knocked the wind out of me, and I could not move. I stayed on the shower floor, trying to catch my breath and watching the blood from my nose run toward the drain.
Before long, Ape returned to the shower. I will never condone violence, but I knew I was going to enrage him when I mocked the one thing about which he was most embarrassed and sensitive. I did not deserve to get punched, but I came as close as anyone does. Of course, he deserved to be punched for his repetitive “faggot.”
I also knew that, fundamentally, Ape was a good guy. He was not a traditional jock, and he was not a hater. He had pushed me, and I had pushed him back. Too hard.
Ape helped me up. He had got me good, right in my diaphragm. I could not take a deep breath. Or stand fully upright. And, I was still bleeding from my nose.
He helped me to the bench in the shower. I remained doubled over.
“Stand up,” he said. “I’ll help you get undressed.”
I stood up. Ape pulled my shirt over my head, pulled my shorts down and off, and handed me a towel so I could take off my jock in private. He then walked me back to the shower. I remained doubled over, my air still shallow and my stomach still in knots. I dripped blood from my nose as I walked.
Ape turned on the shower and took my towel, leaving me naked to bathe myself. I leaned my hands against the wall, the water running over my back and my head. I was still struggling to catch my breath. I was perfectly still.
I was surprised to feel a hand on my back. Ape had a washcloth, and he started washing my back. I stayed still as Ape washed my back, my ass, and the backs of my legs.
“Turn around,” he said.
I did as I was told.
“Can you stand up straight?”
I tried. I stood up straighter, not straight. Ape put his hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes. “I apologize for hitting you. Really. I also apologize for using that word. I’ve been mocked my whole life. I ought not mock other people.” Again, no “s.”
I knew he was sincere. “Thank you,” I said. “Apology accepted. And, I’m sorry for mocking you . . . for being so cruel.”
Ape put his hand on my shoulder and started to wash my chest and stomach. I had never been washed before, and I got hard. My dick stood straight up.
Ape did not flinch. He handed me the washcloth so I could wash my dick and balls. Then, he squatted down to wash my legs and feet. My dick remained hard and was in his face. He didn’t look at it, but he also didn’t march off in disgust.
Ape left and returned with a towel. He wrapped it around me and walked me to our locker. As I stood there, Ape started to dry me me. When I tried to do it myself, he rejected my attempt. When he got to my crotch, he handed me the towel. I was still hard as a rock. I apologized. He told me not to worry about it. Then, he asked me if he was right.
“Am I right? Are you gay?”
I had never acknowledged it to anyone before. I did not think I should start with Abe.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“You know that mean’s ‘yes’, right?”
I took note. S’s. For maybe the first time with me.
“How so?” I asked.
“It’s one of those questions, like ‘did you fuck her’? There are only two answers, ‘no’ and anything else. Anything but ‘no’ means ‘yes.'”
I looked directly at Ape. “It’s none of your business,” I said, acknowledging he was right.
The room was suddenly fraught. We were face to face. I was wearing only a towel, and I was obviously aroused beneath it. Ape was wearing a grey t-shirt and shorts, both soaked from helping me shower.
For the first time, I noticed that he was aroused, too. He was straining against his jock and his shorts, tenting both.
“You’re clothes are wet.”
Ape reached up to my face, and brushed his thumb under my nose. I felt a jolt when he did.
“Your nose is still bleeding a little,” he explained. “You should tilt year head back.”
I did as I was told. As I stared at the ceiling, Ape said “Again, I’m really sorry. . . . And, you’re right. It’s none of my business.”
I didn’t say anything. I wanted to, but I did not know what. Finally, I settled on “You’re the first person I’ve told.”
“Told what? You didn’t tell me anything.”
“According to you, I did.”
“You didn’t. You didn’t tell me anything.”
“It’s okay, Ape. I don’t mind you knowing. Everyone is going to know eventually.”
“Not from me, they won’t. You didn’t tell me anything.”
I understood what Ape was saying. My secret was safe with him, and — if he had to — he planned to plead ignorance.
I lowered my head and looked Ape directly in eyes. We were face to face, and the suggestion of more surrounded us. It was getting late. It was past time to go. “You should get out of those wet clothes.”
Without breaking eye contact, Ape pulled his wet shirt up and over his head. He then tugged his shorts down and stepped out of them.
I looked down his gorgeous body. He had a lot to be proud of.
I pulled the towel from around my waist and dabbed at the dampness on his chest. He flinched as I did.
I lowered myself and dried his legs. His dick strained against his jock right in front of my face. I wanted to bury my face in it, but I knew better.
I stood back up, wrapped the towel around Ape’s waist so he could take off his jock in private, and turned from him to my locker. I was surprised to be pulled into an embrace from behind. Ape pressed his jock against me as we both held our breath.
Ape finally released me, apologizing again for being a dick and for getting violent. I, too, apologized again. I did not turn around, knowing I would try to kiss him if I did.
We dressed and left in silence. I do not know what Ape thought as he laid in bed that night, but I thought about him, the evening, and whether I’d missed a chance.
Second Base (Part Three)
When I opened my locker before our next practice, there was a folded piece of paper on top of my stuff. Unfolded, it said simply, “My name is Adam.” Ape — Adam — must have slipped it through the vent in my locker at some point after our “fight.”
I dressed, grabbed my equipment, grabbed Adam’s equipment, and jogged to the park. When I arrived, Adam was already there stretching. I strolled over to stretch beside him. He did not look at me, so I interrupted his stretch. “Hey Adam.” He did not say a word, but I saw him smile.
When it was time for infield practice, our Coach called me out to take infield with the first team. I immediately looked toward Adam, to gauge his response. He just shrugged his shoulders and stood down. As we drilled, Adam offered encouragement and pointers from behind. I knew how to play second, and I had to calm myself to avoid getting defensive.
After practice, I beelined to our Coach’s office.
“Hey, Coach, can I have a word?”
“What’s going on at second base?”
“Ask Ape. It was his idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“He came to see me this morning, pointed out that the season is lost, and suggested some District experience could help you next year, when he’s gone and you’re at second. When I told him I wanted to honor his Senior status and the commitment he had shown and the sacrifices he had made, he told he wanted what was best for the team, not him, and that was you getting first team experience. Starting today. So, there it is.”
I was stunned. It was 180 degrees from our encounter in the shower. When I got back to my locker, Adam and his stuff were gone.
I decided to drive out to Adam’s to thank him. It was the least I could do, especially since I viewed his “My name is Adam” note as both a peace offering and a slight window into him. He either didn’t like being called Ape, or he didn’t want me calling him that. I wanted to find out which.
The drive to the Erdely’s took about 20 minutes, most of it on a 2 lane country road of “killer curves” (they were sharp, and too many teens had taken them too fast over the years, giving them their name). Everyone in our school knew the way, as the regular Friday night beer and pot and, if you were lucky, sex spot was at the end of a gravel road about 3 miles past the Erdely’s.
I had never seen the Erdely house, as it was about a mile off the road, in the back of their property. A large, black lab met me about halfway down their “driveway” and barked constantly, presumably to herald the arrival of a guest. I slid my car into park, but stayed in my car, as “Blackie” (I later learned) continued to bark and growl at my door.
A voice barked “Blackie, sit,” and the dog immediately obeyed. A “Blackie, come” freed me, as the dog heeled and bolted toward the Erdely’s back porch. I exited the car, and turned toward the voice. It had come from a miniature Adam, standing on the back porch in jeans and a black tank top.
“Hey, I’m here for Adam. I go to school with him.”
Mini-Adam pointed over my shoulder. “He’s in his room, above the garage.”
I turned and walked about fifty yards toward the Erdely’s detached garage. As I climbed the stairs to the coach house, I was surprised to hear the Cure (what farm boy knew of the Cure, much less listened to them) blaring and to smell pot. The music was so loud, Adam did not hear me knock. I tried the knob, but the door was locked. So, I banged on the frame of the door with my closed fist as loudly as I could. The music went down, and Adam peeked out from around the blinds that covered the windows on the door. When he saw me, he smiled, held up a finger, and let the blinds fall back into place.
About 30 seconds later, Adam unlocked and opened the door, wearing gym shorts and a tattered Cardinals t-shirt. “Apology,” he said,” I had to cover up.” Again, no S’s, which was, when I thought about it, amazing. It seemed almost impossible that he could speak without thinking and rarely, if ever, betray his lateral lisp.
I stepped into Adam’s “room,” which was really a fully furnished studio apartment. My envy must have been evident.
“My mom and dad built it for my grandfather. He can’t handle the up and down anymore. A little over a year ago, he moved into my room in the main, and I moved out here.”
“You know, you can smell the pot outside.”
“Yeah. Mom and dad are cool with it. They did it when they were my age. I can’t in the main. Or around my brother, Aiden.”
“He looks just like you.”
“Powerful Erdely gene pool.”
“Do you have to think about it?”
“Talking without using S’s.”
Adam bristled and went crimson. I saw the same anger flash across his face that I had seen when I mocked him in the shower.
“Why are you here?” he asked, pointedly.
“Look, Adam, I’m sorry I brought it up. But, it’s amazing to me, what you do. It must be hard as hell.”
“Not really. I’ve been doing it my whole life.”
“You don’t have to. Around me, that is.”
“I can’t not. I don’t even think about it anymore. It just happens.” There it was, an S. Adam visibly flinched when it snuck out.
I walked over to him. “I’m here to thank you. Coach told me what you did. It’s totally not necessary, but it was a cool move.”
“It ain’t a big deal. I know I’m about done with ball. And, now I can get high if I want, without worrying about getting kicked off the team if I get caught.” He emphasized the point by taking a long hit off the joint he was smoking when I arrived. He hesitated, then offered the joint to me.
I was by no means a pot-head, but I liked to get high. I took the joint, and took a long hit and held it for as long as I could before letting the smoke slowly drift out of my lungs.
“Would you like a drink?” Adam asked.
“Sure. Do you have a Coke, heavy not diet?”
“In the main. I’ll be right back.”
While Adam was gone, I finished the joint and looked around his room. His walls were covered with an odd mixture of sports and music posters. The sports posters were all action shots. Michael Wacha mid-wind up. Matt Holliday mid-swing.
The music posters were eclectic. Dean Martin. The Cure. U2.
Mostly, though, I noticed the books. They were everywhere. He seemed to have every book written by Stephen Hawking. And by Thomas Merton. There was no fiction, just facts. Adam was clearly smarter than he sounded. Or let on.
Adam returned with a Coke. And, two beers. He offered either. I took the beer.
“I finished the joint,” I admitted.
“Don’t worry. I have plenty more.”
“Hey, why don’t you want me to call you Ape? Everyone else does.”
“I’d prefer they didn’t. I’m not a neanderthal. And, I know it ain’t part of it, but I can’t help but attribute the same a little bit to my lisp.” Another flinch.
“I like it,” I said.
“Your lisp. I think it’s sexy.”
Adam looked into me. “You’re a fool,” he said.
Before I could respond, Adam headed back out the door. While he was gone, I finally sat down, settling back into a big, overstuffed chair.
Adam returned with a six pack. To my raised eyebrows, he responded with, “My mom and dad are gone, ain’t no one to watch or care.”
He tossed me a beer, rolled another joint, and laid back into the futon. We passed the joint back and forth, drank the six pack, and talked. As we did, I noticed more and more S’s make their way into Adam’s words. The “don’ts” and “ain’ts” became “doesn’ts” and “isn’ts.” And, the flinching slowed and then stopped.
Adam hardly ever talked, but once he got started, it was a flood of information. He had never had a girlfriend, but the neighbor girl had started blowing him when he was 18 and had taken his cherry when he was 18. They had been fucking regularly ever since. She was coming over later to get fucked.
His brother was 4 years younger and did not have a lateral lisp, which pissed Adam off. Worse, he knew Adam hated his, and used it to his advantage whenever he needed to. So, they were not close. Adam pretty much hated him.
His parents were liberal, agnostic, and permissive. They wanted to allow their sons to find their own way, mature through trial and error and learning from mistakes. They sent their sons to Catholic school only for the education; they coached them throughout to be anti-religious and to ignore the dogma. When they found out Adam was fucking the neighbor girl, they told him not to get her pregnant. Two days later, there was a drug store bag full of condoms at the top of his steps.
As Adam talked, we drank and smoked. I had barely noticed that Adam had popped a pizza into the oven, we had eaten it, and it was getting dark. I needed to get home. But, I was a little drunk and a lot high. It would be dumb for me to try to drive, especially through the killer curves.
Adam read my mind. “You oughta bunk here tonight.”
“I can’t. It’s a school night, my parents don’t know who you are, and I can’t tell them I’m drunk and high. My parents aren’t like yours.”
“Well, wouldn’t they rather hear that than that you drove drunk and high.”
“Probably. But, you also have a booty call.”
“Tell your mom and dad I’m dumb, you were helping me with a paper, time got away, and you’re going to be safe and drive home in the morning when you’re not tired. They’ll eat that up. As for the booty call, there are two options. You can join in. Or, I’ll cancel.”
“I can’t join in.”
“You know already.”
I expected Adam to change his mind and force me to have one of my parents retrieve me. He didn’t. Instead, he picked up his phone, pulled out his shorts, and snapped a picture of his junk. Then, he texted the picture to the neighbor girl, including “sorry, I’m drunk and high and have a buddy staying over so, this’ll have to do for tonight” message.
I called my parents. He was right. They ate the “safe” thing up and thanked me for being so responsible. When I got off the phone, Adam tossed me a pair of shorts. When I was in the bathroom changing, Adam rolled another joint. I joined him on the futon, and we passed it back and forth between us silently as we watched a re-run of Third Rock From The Sun.
As we started to settle down, it dawned on me that there was no bed in Adam’s room.
“Where do you sleep?”
“Here. But, it’ll fold out into a bed big enough for two.”
We converted the futon into a bed. Adam slipped a sheet over the mattress and tossed a thin blanket onto the bed. Then, he pulled his shirt over his head, slipped his gym shorts off, and walked away to the bathroom. I get horny when I get high, and his round muscled ass was quite a sight.
The sight of him returning was even better. He filled out his briefs nicely, and I could see the outline of his dick as he walked. “There’s a new toothbrush for you on the counter.” I barely heard him.
I moved quickly to the bathroom. I did not want Adam to see that I was hard. After brushing my teeth, I jacked off into his sink as fast as I could. I left his shorts on the floor and hustled to bed in just my briefs.
“You were in there long enough.”
“I had some business to attend to.”
“Me, too,” Adam said, tossing a shirt to the floor and reaching down and pulling his briefs back up. Apparently, he had jacked off in bed while I had jacked off in the bathroom.
Sleep did not come quickly for me. I was still too high, and I could not stop thinking about Adam, in only his underwear, within arm’s reach. I was actively fighting the urge to reach over and touch him. I wondered if he was asleep.
He was not, as he offered “If I tell you a thing, do you blood oath you won’t laugh.”
“I’ve never had a friend overnight before.”
“Really? Why not?”
“We live way out here, and I thought that, if a friend overnighted, I’d have to talk, I wouldn’t be able to avoid S’s, and they’d end up making fun of me.”
I thought Adam was way too sensitive about his lateral lisp. But, I also knew that kids, especially little kids, could be cruel as shit.
“I’m glad I’m your first,” I said. I had no idea how right I was.
Second Base (Part Four)
We continued to toss and turn. Finally, Adam mumbled “I can’t fall off in underwear” and pulled his briefs off. He looked toward me. “They’re too tight. I can’t fall off all bunched up. I never wear anything to bed.”
I didn’t buy the story. There’d been too much between us. He had washed me. I had gotten him hard toweling him off. Now, we were in bed together, and he was nude. He had to be curious. No straight guy, no matter how cool he was or thought he was, would force this situation.
I decided to lay and wait. It only took about 5 minutes for the ice to crack.
“I bet a guy’ll give better head than a girl.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “I’ve never had my dick in a girl’s mouth.”
“Have you gotten head from a guy?”
“No one you know.”
“I know a lot of people.”
“A guy my dad was trying to help. He was trying to get sober. He failed. He’s gone now. But, he blew me before he left. A bunch.”
“Wow. Are you the only gay guy at High?”
“I doubt it. But, I’m the only one I know of.”
The silence returned. It was not long before the ice cracked further.
“I could tell you,” he said.
“Tell me what?”
“If you’re better than a girl.”
I decided to quit pussyfooting around. “Adam, if you want me to suck your dick, just say so. I’ll do it.”
“I definitely don’t want you to. I’m willing to let you, if you want to know how you compare.”
“You’re such a liar. You want me to blow you. I’ll do it, but you’re going to have to admit you want me to.”
“I’m not gay.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You can’t tell anyone.” Bingo. Admission coming.
“I would never do that to you.”
“Okay, I want you to blow me, but only on account of being really high.” That was good enough for me.
I climbed off the futon, and pulled the covers down, exposing Adam’s nudity from head to toe. I climbed between his legs and went straight for his dick. It had felt big against the back of my head, and it was.
I took the head into my mouth and started circling it with my tongue, paying special attention to the underside. Adam squirmed as I did.
I slowly took him down to the base. As I breathed in the smell of his sweaty bush, I heard an “oh my god” and felt Adam’s meaty hands in my hair. I gave him 5 or 6 long strokes and then pulled off. I licked down to the base of his dick, and then took each of balls in my mouth.
“Careful,” he said, “They’re really tender.”
I carefully licked each one, moved to where his legs meet his groin, then followed his treasure trail up from his bush to his navel. I kissed his stomach and sides and then moved to his muscled chest. His nipples were hard as I sucked them. He gasped as I sucked the left one.
“Dude, it’s like there’s a direct line from that nipple to my dick. That feels awesome.” More S’s. No flinching.
I redoubled my efforts, adding some nibbling and some gentle biting.
“If you keep that up, I’m going to blow just from that.”
I definitely did not want that. I moved back to Adam’s dick and set to work. Each time I felt him tense up, I slowed down and backed him off. I was being evaluated, and there was no way I was going to lose to a girl. I plotted how to cinch the deal.
When I was ready to let Adam come, I maneuvered him around so he was kneeling over me and could really fuck my face. My hands on his ass, I controlled the depth and speed of his thrusts. I quickly had us in perfect rhythm. I felt Adam’s balls clench and his dick swell.
He announced, “Dude, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come.” It was late notice, as I felt the first jet of cum hit the back of my throat with the second “I’m gonna come.” I didn’t care. I was a swallower. Everyone should be. You shouldn’t take someone to the edge and then not let him jump.
Adam kept pumping and coming in my mouth. It was too much for me, and I came in my briefs, twitching as I did.
I did not want Adam to pull his dick out of my mouth, but I knew he could not take much more. I sucked all I could out of him and then swallowed him again to the base. Adam was doubled over me, his chest and stomach wrapped around my head.
“Dude,” he said, “I gotta lay down.”
I slowly pulled my mouth off his softening dick. Adam sat back on my crotch and lowered his head to the side of mine. I wanted to kiss him, but I wasn’t sure that was in the cards for tonight (or any night for that matter). I did, however, wrap my arms around him, and pull him into me. When I relaxed the pressure, he lolled off of me, rolled onto his back, and ran his hands through my hair.
“So, how was it?”
“Oh my god. You have no idea. Well, you do. But, that blew my mind. I had no idea it could be that good. I feel like I’m high.”
“I take it that means I compare favorably.”
“Ain’t even an argument.”
“Good,” I said. “But, that was not my best effort, so you know. I started you off easy.”
“It can be better?”
“I can’t wait to find out how.”
I was relieved. I was afraid this would be a one-shot thing, so to speak. It now looked like it might not be.
***** When I awoke, light was streaming into the room, and Adam was nowhere to be found. I took off my sticky briefs, washed my junk, brushed my teeth, and readied to leave. As I turned the doorknob, I noticed a post-it stuck to the window. It said simply, “Thank you, Adam.” As if I wouldn’t know he wrote the note if he hadn’t signed it.
I spent my drive back into town wondering what was next. I was 18, and love — or the illusion of love — comes easily at that age. It would not take much for me to fall in love with Adam. He was hot, smart, and, because of his speech impediment, vulnerable.
It would also not take much for me to be hurt by Adam. He could ruin me at school, graduate, and not in any way have to deal with the backlash.
He could also use me and then discard me.
I didn’t think he would do either, as it seemed contrary to his nature. And, it also seemed, to me at least, that we had developed a genuine friendship since the shower incident.
But, it would not surprise me if he had spent a sleepless night regretting what had happened, had blamed it on the beer or the pot, and had resolved it would never happen again. I figured I’d find out soon enough, as there was a team meeting before school that morning.
We always sat by position in team meetings so coach was looking at his defense as he talked. Today, Adam didn’t, instead standing in the back with the reserves who had no real position. He bolted as soon as the meeting was over, and I didn’t see him the rest of the day.
When I got to the locker room after school, he had already dressed and left for practice, leaving his bag behind. On it, there was a note, “You may be starting, but you’re still carrying my shit.” I toted it to practice.
When I got to the park, I walked straight to Adam. “Hey, Adam,” I said.
“It’s Ape,” he responded.
I was surprised. He was the one who had insisted I call him Adam in the first place.
The rest of the practice, Adam mocked me and picked apart every mistake I made. I was getting angrier and angrier, believing he was picking at me to relieve his guilt about what had happened the night before. When practice was over, coach told me to stay behind and work one-on-one with Adam on double play footwork. He stayed on me throughout the drills. By the time we were finished, I was mentally and physically beaten. I just wanted to shower and go home. I was sure Adam would drive me back to school, and pissed when he refused, insisting that I run back, with his gear. I cried as I ran, partly out of anger and partly out of frustration.
The locker room was dark by the time I got back. I dropped Adam’s shit, stripped, and headed to the whirlpool. I turned up the heat, climbed in, and hoped the jets would whip the soreness out of my muscles.
I almost died of fright when I felt hands on my shoulders. I did jump forward, stand up, and turn around ready to fight. I was surprised to see Adam, who seemed equally surprised by my reaction.
“Jesus, dude, what the fuck?” I asked.
“I waited for you.”
“Why, so you can bust my ass some more?”
“No, I wanted to be with you.”
“I’m a little lost here, Adam. You tell me to call you Adam and, when I do, you correct me to Ape. You bust my balls throughout practice. Then, you force me to run back with your junk instead of giving me a ride.”
“I realized you gotta call me Ape in front of the team. If not, they’ll wonder why not. I can’t go light on you in front of the team. If I do, they’ll wonder why. And, you had to run back, according to the rule. And, it meant the locker room would be empty, but for me, when you got back.”
As Adam talked, his eyes took in my naked body. I grabbed a towel and covered up.
“You oughta keep pooling.”
I wanted to get out, but he was right. I needed to soak some more. I settled back down.
Adam returned his hands to my shoulders. As he did, he pressed he hardening bulge to the back of my head. He moved his hands to my neck and then to my face. He gently massaged my forehead, my temples, my cheeks and nose, and then my eyes. It was simultaneously relaxing and arousing. I snapped to.
“Hand me a towel. I want to get out and get showered.”
“You don’t need a towel,” Adam said, as he helped pull me out of the whirlpool. We walked through the dark locker room to the showers.
I got under the water, closed my eyes, and started shampooing my hair. I was startled again by Adam’s hands, this time reaching around from behind and soaping my chest and stomach. As he did, he pressed his naked chest to my back and his hard dick to my ass. I let my weight fall back into him and the water pour over me.
“What’re you doing,” I asked, as Adam moved his hands to my groin.
“Cleaning you,” he said, taking my thickening dick in his hand and sliding his between my legs behind my balls.
I was too tired, but I could not help responding to his strong hand on my dick and his hard dick sliding between my legs. “Do you like that?” Adam whispered in my ear.
“Yeah, I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.”
“I want you to come,” he whispered. “I owe you one.” Adam apparently did not know that blowing him got me so hot I had filled my briefs from it.
Adam’s hot breath in my ear was too much. I twitched and sprayed my first jet onto the shower wall. Two more followed. Adam grunted, and I realized he was coming, too. I clenched my thighs around him as I finished spilling my cum onto the shower floor.
Adam pulled out and resumed washing me, spending a lot of time sliding his hand back and forth in my ass crack. “I need to clean my cum off you,” he explained. I turned the water off and turned around into Adam. He pulled me into him, and I buried my face in his neck. It was clear he was not going to kiss me.
We dried, walked to our locker, and dressed. “I need your number,” Adam said. I gave it to him, and he gave me his back.
“The parental until’ll be gone for the weekend. Want to come to the farm?”
“For the whole weekend?”
“Yep. You can come down after the game Friday.”
“And stay two nights?”
“I don’t think my parents will let me get away with that.”
“Tell them you’re helping a dumb kid who can’t talk and who might not graduate without you.”
“But, none of that’s true.”
“They don’t know that,” Adam said, smiling a sinister smile at me.
When I was settled into bed that night, I received a text from Adam. It was a picture of his dick with a “until friday, this’ll have to do” caption. I was going to move heaven and earth to make sure the weekend happened.
Second Base (Part Five)
My parents were surprisingly sanguine about it. Of course, they did not know that Adam’s parents would not be around, that Adam basically had his own apartment, or that Adam seems to have open access to beer and pot.
I texted Adam as soon as I got the word. “C U Fri/Sat/Sun. It’s on.” Almost immediately, I received back, “Awesome. B ready to work.”
I thought he was playing on words, so I answered “I don’t consider it work.”
Adam’s response — “:) get ur mind out my shorts i’m talking about chores ur visiting a farm” — worried me. I didn’t know shit about farm work. And, I did not particularly care for physical work generally.
We got annihilated in our District game. The school we played had a pitcher everyone expected to be taken in the amateur draft, and we were helpless against him. If we looked fastball, he snapped a change or a curve. If we looked off-speed, he zipped a fastball past us.
I started and batted second. I did not even sniff contact. I was 0 for 3 with a HPB (I leaned into one just to get one base). We had two hits. We scored no runs. They had 10 times as many hits and scored 18 runs. We lost to the mercy rule. It was shameful.
When our bus stopped, I hustled into the locker room, grabbed the bag I had stuffed into my half locker, and headed to my car. I was 30 minutes from Adam, and I couldn’t wait.
I had to. I showed up at his house 20 minutes before he did, and — when he showed up — he was not alone. He had his brother with him, who he had picked up at his school.
“David, my brother Aiden. Aiden, friend and tutor David. He’ll be here for the weekend to help me get over the graduation line.” I would never get over Adam’s ability to speak without using a single S.
“Adam’s a dope,” Aiden said.
“He’s not,” I responded. There was not point in arguing with an adolescent.
Aiden looked at me and rolled his eyes.
“Aiden,” Adam said. “We are not going to work tonight. We are going to get drunk and high. You can hang out, but you can’t drink, talk, or toke.”
“Fuck you, Adam,” Aiden said. “I’ve done more drugs than you. I’m going to bake a little bit tonight. I can do it with you or by myself.”
Adam looked at me. I had no dog in this fight. “Up to you,” I said.
“Okay,” Adam said. “You can join in. But, no talking.”
I popped hot pockets in the oven while Adam and Aiden stuffed a bong with pot. While the hot pockets cooked, we took hit after hit after hit. After about 20 minutes, Aiden pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket, said “I got some E at school today,” and offered some to me and Adam. I hesitated, but Adam pounced, grabbing a pill and swallowing it dry. Aiden did the same. I was conflicted, but I did not want to dork the night out. So, I gave in, took the pill, and swallowed it.
Rapidly, we were all flying. Aiden was only 18, and this all seemed above his pay grade to me.
Aiden was wise beyond his years and was provocative. He took a long hit off the bong, walked over to me, pulled my face to his, and blew all the smoke he was holding in his lungs into my mouth. That was it for Adam. He immediately grabbed Aiden by the neck, forcefully told him to go to the main, and showed him to the door.
Aiden lashed out, barking to Adam that he didn’t want to sit around and watch two faggots flirt with each other anyway. Adam slammed the door behind him.
“That was interesting,” I said.
“Total fuckball,” Adam responded. I was impressed and shocked by his vocabulary.
Once Aiden was gone, Adam locked the door, closed the blinds, and told me to take a seat on the sofa (futon). He put on “Raising Arizona,” which was one of my favorite movies of all time. He was to my right, and I hooked my right leg under his left.
Adam put his hand on my thigh, and I put mine on his crotch. He got hard as I slowly massaged his junk while Nicolas Cage proclaimed “I love you, Edwina” and “Her insides were a rocky place where my seed could find no purchase.”
Before the “wart hog from hell” could assert himself, Adam suggested we go to bed. He stripped nude, I stripped to my boxer briefs, and we climbed into his makeshift bed. I was on my back, and he grabbed the band of my boxer briefs, claimed “not fair,” and tugged them down. I raised my legs, removed my briefs, and rolled toward him.
We were naked and face to face. We had never kissed.
I reached down and grabbed his hard dick. He reached down and grabbed mine. We stroked each other. It seemed like the most natural thing, so I moved my lips to his. He tried to avoid my mouth, but he couldn’t. I would not let him get away. Finally, he kissed me back. The dam broke. Our mouths opened. We made out as we continued to stroke each other, the E intensifying the sensation of our rough tongues dancing.
I came first, filling his hand and splattering his stomach. He followed quickly behind, coating my dick and balls with his load. We continued to make out.
Adam rolled onto his back, and I rolled onto my side next to him. I traced his nose, his lips, and his chin. I followed his chin to his Adams apple and clavicle. I followed his clavicle to his chest and circled his hard nipples. I followed his treasure trail to his hardening dick.
“Adam, will you fuck me?” I asked.
Adam didn’t answer. Instead, he rolled into me, and kissed me long and deep.
“I want you to fuck me missionary,” I said, when our kiss broke. “I want to watch you as you fuck me.”
I maneuvered under him and wrapped my arms and legs around him. I loved the feeling of his weight on me.
“Do I need a condom?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I want to feel you come inside of me.”
Adam started to press at me. “Hold on, big boy. You do need some lube.”
Adam darted to the bathroom, returned with Vaseline, said “this’ll have to do,” and climbed back on top of me. I guided him to my hole, and he started to press in. The pain was sharp. I had not been fucked in a while, and he did not know how to prepare me. I sucked air between my teeth, and Adam asked “Am I hurting you?”
“It always hurts at first,” I said. “Keep going, but go slow.”
Adam did not understand how slow I meant when I said “slow.” He pushed into me as if I were a girl. I inhaled and clenched. “Stay right there, please,” I begged. “Give me a minute to adjust.”
“Okay, but hurry up. I’m not going to be able to hold off for long.”
I took a few long, deep breaths and told Adam he could start, but to go slow. After a few strokes, I opened fully, and I raised my legs so I could take all of him. Adam gripped my legs behind my knees for leverage and started delivering deep, slow strokes. It was clear he knew how to fuck.
“Look at me,” I said. Adam opened his eyes, and I locked mine to his.
“Does that feel good?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah . . . tight and warm,” he responded.
“You can speed up, if you want.”
“I’m a turtle,” he responded. “I like to go slow and steady.”
He did. The longer he lasted, the better it felt, and the harder I got. I was cresting toward my own orgasm when I Adam warned, “I’m really close.”
“Come inside me,” I urged. He did, driving his dick all the way in as he did. The feeling of his swollen cock unloading in me was too much, I came all of my chest and stomach.
Adam collapsed onto me, and I finally lowered my aching legs. “Wow,” was all he said.
“Agreed,” I responded.
We relaxed into each other. I kissed Adam’s ear and cheek. He turned his face to me, and kissed my nose.
“Go clean yourself up,” I said. “We’re not finished.”
When Adam returned from the bathroom, I had him lay flat on this stomach. The E was still working, and I wanted him to have the full experience. I massaged his neck, shoulders, ass, and legs, mixing in kisses and licks as I did. Before turning him over, I told him “I’m going to eat your ass. Just relax and enjoy it.” I did, and he did, raising his hips to give me complete access. I could have spent hours in his ass, but I had a more pressing agenda.
I rolled him over and devoured the front of him, too. I want every one of his skins cells to be tingling when I finally took him in my mouth.
When I finally got around to it, Adam’s dick was rock hard. I worked him into the back of my throat and started slowly sucking him. Every time I thought he was close, I backed him off. I wanted him to beg me to let him come.
It didn’t take long. “Dude, I can’t take much more. I really need to come.”
I pounced, pressing my slickened finger into his ass. I was worried Adam would reject my attempt to finger fuck him, but he didn’t, responding only with a gaspy “oh my god.”
I pressed my finger all the way in as I took his dick all the way to the base. I swirled my finger around until I hit my target. When I did, Adam said “holy fuck” and erupted in the back of my throat, arching his back as he did. I drained him and kept sucking and working his prostate until he cried out and forced me to stop.
“Come up here,” he said. I did, laying my head on his shoulder.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said.
“It could get better.”
“Did you enjoy that?”
“Yeah. I didn’t think I could have a bigger orgasm than the one I had inside you. But, that one boggled my mind. I think I almost passed out.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. Adam responded by kissing my forehead.
Second Base (Part Six)
We woke up early the next day, but we got a late start on our chores. I thought I’d give Adam a quick morning blow job, but he had other things in mind and wound up fucking me, too, this time against the shower wall. He jerked me off as he did, and we came together, him in me and me against the cold, slick tile.
We spent the day working. Hard. Mid-afternoon, I was worried I was going to be too tired and sore for sex. I wasn’t.
Aiden joined us for dinner. As soon as we sat down, he asked “Did you guys fuck last night?”
“What is wrong with you?” Adam snapped back.
“Nothing. I try to get some any time I have someone sleep over. I thought maybe you would, too.”
“No, Aiden. I’m not gay.”
“Well, Adam,” Aiden started, imitating Adam’s inflection. “I’m not gay, either. But, you don’t have to be gay to enjoy a little man on man action. You just have to be horny.”
“New topic” was all Adam said in response.
As soon as we were done eating, Adam booted Aiden out with a story of our long day, my not being used to hard labor, and my need to “turn in” early so I could work the next day. I doubt Aiden bought it, but it was at least plausible. To add plausibility, Adam turned out the lights as soon as he saw Aiden’s bedroom light go on.
“Come here, Monkey,” he teased. I did, and he slowly undressed me, kissing and touching my body as he did. When I was completely naked, he stood up, kissed me deep and long, and then whispered “I don’t know if I’m going to be any good.” Before I could ask “at what,” he was kneeling in front of me, holding my dick, and moving his mouth onto it. For the first time even, I was in Adam’s mouth. With no alcohol or drugs dulling my
senses, I didn’t last long. I said “I’m going to come” as I started to explode. To my surprise, Adam didn’t pull off until I was done coming, at which point he ran to the bathroom and spit my cum in his sink.
When he returned to the room, he apologized. “I though about eating it. But, I couldn’t.”
“That’s okay,” I assured him.
“Did I suck,” he asked, not realizing the play on words.
“You did,” I answered. When Adam’s eyes went wide, I finished. “My dick, that is.” We both laughed.
“What did you think?” I asked.
“Better than I expected.”
“Yeah. It’s just skin. Not really a big deal, when you think about it.”
“I’d like to do it again. I want to get better at it.”
“It won’t take long,” I said. “I’m 18. I bounce back fast.”
“Can I fuck you while we wait?”
‘I thought you’d never ask.”
I rode Adam’s dick for as long as I could, rubbing his chest and leaning down to kiss him as I did. When he was finished, we propped his head against a pillow, and I fucked his face. I was close from being fucked, so it was not long before I was coming in his mouth. Trapped, he had no choice but to swallow all I had given him.
We went on like that for as long as we could, fucking and sucking and kissing and licking until we were too tired to get hard and too spent to come anymore.
The next morning, I heard Adam get up and fire up his computer. I don’t know what time it was, but I knew it was too early for more limp body to get up. I fell back asleep.
When I woke back up, Adam sitting next to me, playing with his dick. “I thought you’d never wake up,” he said.
“I’d like to go back to sleep.”
“Later. We have one thing left to do.”
“You have to fuck me.”
I bolted upright.
“Yep. I googled it. I’m ready.” I didn’t ask him what he meant, but he later told me he had found a “how to” and had rubbed and fingered himself as instructed to make it as easy as he could.
I had Adam lie face down. I ate his ass and worked my fingers in and out of him. He stayed tight, and no matter how many times I urged him to relax, he didn’t. I told him I was afraid it was going to hurt too much, but he insisted he wanted to try it after seeing how much I enjoyed it and how hard it made me come. I’d like to write that it was awesome, that he opened to me, and that he loved it. But, it wasn’t and he didn’t. It was difficult, it hurt, and he never got used to it. I didn’t even come inside of him, instead rolling him over and riding his dick so pleasure could push pain out of his senses. When he filled me and I had come again in his mouth, he said, “I can’t believe you enjoy that.”
“It takes some getting used to,” I said.
“I dunno,'” he said. “I like to fuck. I don’t think getting fucked is for me.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I like getting fucked.”
“Speaking of which,” I added. “It looks like you’re about ready to go.”
“I am,” Adam said, rolling me onto my back. “I like this way best,” he said, hooking his arms under my legs. “I like to be able to see the pleasure of my dick on your face.” Adam delivered the longest, slowest fuck I have ever received. It was and is the best lay of my life. My entire body was tingling by the time we came.
We did no chores that day. We stayed in bed until I had to dress and head back to town. It was the sexiest weekend I’ve ever had.
Adam graduated a couple of weeks after our weekend together. I visited him a few times that summer, but not as often as I expected. Life just got in the way. I had to work. He had to work. Our families had expectations. And, Adam seemed to have had his curiosity quelled. We still fucked around when we got together, but the enthusiasm was gone.
It was awkward and bittersweet when Adam visited me a final time before leaving for college. We did not keep in touch once he was gone.
Adam ended up marrying a girl in my class, so he and his wife were at my 10 year class reunion, which I attended with my husband, David. At 30, Adam looked almost exactly as he had at 18. David noticed him first, and gave me a nudge.
“That guy’s hot,” he said.
“Yes, he is,” I responded. I raised my hand to Adam, and he immediately made his way toward me.
“Hey, Monkey,” he said, greeting me with a warm embrace.
“Hey, Ape,” I answered, holding on a little longer than I should have.
“You know you’re not to call me that,” Adam said, pulling back. “Look at you. You’re all grown up.”
“Adam,” I said, “this is my husband, David. David, this is Adam. He’s the one I took second base from.”
“I gave it to you,” Adam said, emphasizing the word “gave.”
“Yes. . . you . . . did,” I said, exaggerating the time between each word and hoping Adam caught my double meaning. He did, as he blushed, and then introduced me to his wife, who I obviously already knew.
As David and I undressed for bed that night, he said “That guy Adam was pretty hot.”
“Yes, he is.”
“There’s a story there, what was with the ‘monkey’ and the innuendo and the blushing?” David asked. He never missed anything.
“There’s a long story there.”
He said “tell me,” so I did.