Welcome to the first in a series of short stories based on my own experiences and the people I've known. Please note that it is all fiction; that is, a crock of happy horseshit that never actually happened to anybody -- revisionist history liberally seasoned with wishful thinking.
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Gamin Paramour, summer 2020
It's one of the first really warm days of the summer. I'm 12 years old, 13 in October, but you'd never know it to look at me. I'm fucking huge for 12, five-feet-six and 148 lbs, far and away the biggest kid in my seventh-grade class that just finished. One boy, Bob Webber, is as tall as me but he's skinny as a pipe cleaner. I could put him through a wall but I never would. For one thing I'd hate to mess up that pretty face, but mainly it's just that I was raised to be a nice boy. I'd much rather make kids laugh than make them bleed.
There are other things I'd rather do with boys than fight. Right now I'm sneaking looks at Chip Kent and it takes all my willpower not to gawk. He is gorgeous, exactly my physical type, and he's taken off his t-shirt because of the heat, playing this last half-hour or so in nothing but last year's too-tight shorts and sneakers with no socks.
He's 11 and just the tiniest bit soft with baby fat, his not-yet-tanned, rosy pink skin fresh and absolutely hairless. He has short, straight honey-blond hair and enormous ocean-blue eyes, a pert upturned nose and voluptuous lips I have dreamed about kissing. I've never seen his junk but I just know it's perfect, and I've dreamed of kissing him there, too.
He asks me to throw him the baseball and I deliberately toss it high so that he has to raise his arm above his head to catch it, giving me a thrilling view of one hollow, smooth underarm.
Hairless pits turn me the fuck on.
After a few years of paying close attention I have observed that pubescent boys usually sprout their armpit hair last, and so a kid who is showing it may have already aged out of my developmental ballpark. I prefer them completely undeveloped but as long as the pits are clean and smooth the worst case is that he's still be in that magical first year or so of pubescence. If he's still boyishly smooth and soft everywhere else I don't mind a smattering of soft silky hair just above a still-small, boyish dick. Indeed, it's even exciting to think of a thin, juicy prize at the conclusion of playtime.
Sadly, my appreciation for fresh new boy-cum is entirely theoretical at this point since I've never actually been with anyone, juicy or otherwise. It's a deeply frustrating situation I am keen to remedy.
Not that the pit-hair indicator is really necessary in Chip's particular case. His voice remains the exact same soprano as when he was nine and his sweet small-for-11 body is still rounded and childish. I'd be very surprised to find even the earliest sign of puberty anywhere on him.
"Hey batter batter!" calls Scott Hughes, Chip's cousin who is playing shortstop. "He ain't no hitter!"
Scott lives about a block from his cousin and is also 11 years old, but he couldn't possibly resemble Chip less. He is dark and Mediterranean-looking, with black curly hair and deep brown eyes that, to be fair, are quite beautiful in their own way. His voice is rough and smokey, though still unchanged, and while I've never seen his junk either I have seen both cousins at the pool and Scott fills a Speedo remarkably well. Though you'd never peg these two for relatives, Chip fair like his English father and Scott favoring his Greek mother, the cousins are extremely close and one is rarely seen without the other.
"Invisible men on first and second!" I yell, reminding them of my two previous hits of the inning. The pitch comes but I am distracted by the lovely half-naked pitcher and I foul it behind me to the chain-link backstop. There is no catcher. In fact there are only four of us on the field because, as usual, we couldn't round up enough players to have actual teams.
We're playing Piggy Move-Up, in which we rotate positions and each batter scores only for himself. Any ball hit to the right of second base is an automatic out and infield grounders are pitcher's-hands-out. That is, the fielder's throw need only reach the pitcher before the batter reaches first base. I'm big and slow and have been thrown out by the outfielder more than once.
I trot over to the ball and toss it back to Chip on the mound, again forcing him to reach up for it. Damn, those pits are cute! And those nipples, large and pink and visibly erect even from nearly 50 feet away! I settle into the batter's box and force myself to see only the ball.
Chip serves up a fat one and I cream it. I'm a moose of a 12-year-old and I get all of it, gratified to hear Chip's high-pitched curse even before he turns to watch the ball soar 30 feet beyond the left field fence.
"Fuck me!" he cries in imitation of his father's favorite lament whenever his beloved Cubbies blow another lead in late innings.
I wish, I think as I trot to first base.
"It's a three-run homer!" I call out loudly, doing my baseball announcer voice. "Mason absolutely murders the ball!" I crow, adding "The crowd goes wild!" and making a rushing-air sound in the back of my throat that for some reason boys think sounds like a cheering crowd. Chip slams his mitt to the ground and drops beside it in disgust, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his bare knees and his chin in his hands.
He's fucking adorable.
I round second base and make grinning eye contact with Scott, who generously grins back. "Nice hit," he says with sincerity, and I am reminded how nice of a kid he is.
"Thanks," I say, making sure he feels my sincerity in return. Scott's body doesn't do much for me but I really do like him.
We're not that close really, the cousins and I, though we've been playmates for years. They both attend Catholic school and we rarely see each other during the school week, and even less in the cold winter. But it's carefree summer now and at 11 and 12 years old we have not yet broadened our horizons much past the neighborhood. We still feel the kinship of belonging to Our Gang.
I hear a high voice from left field. "The ball's halfway to my house," Jeffrey Hollander shouts, "and I gotta get home soon. Take my bat with you, OK Bill? And bring it back tomorrow?"
Jeffrey is short and skinny and scared of his shadow, and has never disobeyed his mother in all his 12 years. Getting home late would earn him a day's grounding so I guess I don't blame him. I'm six runs ahead now so the game is effectively over anyway.
"No problem, Jeffrey," I say and wave after him as he runs off. He has no bike because he lives walking distance from the park so the bat would be his only reason to come back this direction. He'll retrieve the only decent baseball any of us owns and take it home with him while I take care of his bat.
Scott begins to amble off the field back toward our bikes as Chip reluctantly hoists himself off the ground. I stomp home plate with a flourish and smile in triumph. Chip frowns at me but by the time he has his t-shirt back on he's smiling again and I decide not to rub his cute little face in the defeat.
"What are you doing after dinner?" he asks me unexpectedly. Normally I wouldn't see the cousins again until tomorrow, when we would undoubtedly play ball again. That's our summer: baseball, sleep, repeat.
"Nothin'," I say. "TV, I guess.
Chip continues casually as he hangs his baseball glove over the handlebar, "Wanna sleep out tonight?"
'Sleeping out' refers to backyard camping in a tent. It's a major thing among our neighborhood tweens, though Moms are almost universally opposed because they know how little actual sleeping is involved. Fortunately they don't know the full extent of what is involved.
No, not that, except in my fantasies. There's a lot of talking, joking, laughing, Truth-or-Daring and often a challenge to stay awake until dawn, though no one ever makes it much past three am.
Very, very occasionally some extreme naughtiness ensues, the very worst of which is known as 'raiding.' When one group sleeping out is aware that another group is sleeping out the same night, the bolder of the two groups sneaks over to the other backyard to uproot their tent stakes and collapse the tent on the heads of the hapless victims.
Only the boldest of tweens dares to leave their own backyard because our town has an 11pm curfew for unaccompanied minors and the cops will actually pick you up and call your parents if they catch you. That has happened a few times and the boys in question were grounded until they were about 30 and never allowed to sleep out again. I myself once had to flee in mad panic after being spotted by cops, ultimately cowering in bushes while a patrol car inched down the street shining its searchlight within feet of my hiding place.
That required a change of underwear.
What immediately occurs to my fevered brain is the other, slightly less naughty possibility, that of strip poker, and the mere prospect quickens my heart.
"Yeah, sure!" I answer, not too eagerly I hope. I slept out with the cousins once last summer and we did in fact play strip poker. I lost, but the memory of the two of them in their underpants has me totally psyched for a rematch. In hindsight I actually suspect that they cheated but at the time I was too busy ogling their semi-nudity to notice.
I pretty much measure my life by the intervals between naked boy sightings. My school started us taking showers after gym in the fifth grade and so I have been making acute observations for three years now. I contrive all manner of ruses to get good looks at the boys in the showers and drying area outside.
The classic move is bending down to wash my legs and turning my head at just the right moment to take a snapshot with my brain, for extensive review later with my dick in my hand. In the drying area dropping the towel works too, but I can't pull that one too often or it will be noticed. Conveniently, there is also a mirror quite well placed for studying boys who choose to stand close to it.
There's no doubt that a shower room full of grade-schoolers is my Happy Place, but now it's summer and no gym teacher is likely to order a bunch of boys to strip naked and parade in front of me. I might glimpse a cutie or two at the public pool but this is my best shot at a lingering, close-up look.
"We already have permission," Scott offers, and I look at him in surprise. "But it has to be at your house. The guy came and sprayed fertilizer and stuff on our lawn today."
Chip adds, "And my house is out 'cause my little brother and sister will want to hang out with us."
Something smells a little fishy and I ponder for a second. They knew all afternoon about the sleep-out idea but didn't mention it until now, which seems weird but maybe it's just that they didn't want to ask in front of Jeffrey in case he might want to horn in. I would have no problem inviting Jeffrey, though now that I think of it four guys in my little pup tent would be kind of crowded. That must be it.
"OK," I say with a shrug. "C'mon over to my house and we'll ask."
It's much harder for parents to say no if they have to do it in front of your friends. Nobody wants to come off as the mean parent. That trick is so old my folks probably used it when they were my age. It's certainly not foolproof but it usually works.
"Oh, I don't know, Billy," my Mom says. "I don't think so."
I give my best anguished look. "Aw, Mom!" I plead. "Chip and Scott's moms both said it's OK with them. C'mon, please?"
"You boys stay up all hours and then you're tired the whole next day."
"I promise we'll go to sleep early," I say.
This is called 'Lying to your mother's face.'
"Honest, Mrs. Mason," Chip says, giving her his most angelic, eyelash-fluttering smile. "We'll go to sleep." He's playing the Cute Little Boy card and he really has the face for it.
"Well..." my Mom says, and before she can change her mind I have her in a hug.
"Gee thanks, Mom!" I say happily as I kiss her on the cheek.
Just so you can picture it, I'm five-feet-six and Mom is five-feet-seven, so I am not some little kid with my arms around her waist and beaming up at her from a foot below. It's a little weird even to me that I'm the size of a high-schooler but acting like a 12-year-old. I am a 12-year-old, of course, but sometimes the world forgets that and wants me to act older, my parents included.
It's not act your age, it's act your size.
It's 25 after eleven and we've been zipped up in the tent since ten-thirty. We're talking and laughing and cutting each other down as boys do, but I sense tension in the air that I can't put my finger on. I decide I'm imagining it.
It's still early in the year for mosquitoes so there's no awful repellent smell, just the delightful aroma of fresh boys. My Mom has imposed one condition on our sleep-out, that because we had been playing ball all day we had to shower and put on clean clothes before venturing into the wilds of our suburban backyard. We grumbled, but Mom is The Law West Of The Pecos so each of us cleaned up at our respective homes before gathering.
It could have been worse: at first she said to put on clean pajamas. It worked out well for me, actually.
I love the smell of fresh clean boy.
"Think they're asleep yet?" Chip asks.
"I'll check," I say, eager for some poker-related stripping to begin. I crawl out of the tent and check the house for lights and sounds, finding neither.
My folks are considerably older than the average parents of 12-year-olds. I was a 'caboose' baby, coming along unexpectedly seven years after my next older sister. She's 19 now and just moved into her first apartment with a roommate, while my brother and oldest sister are long gone from the house, making me simultaneously the youngest of four and an only child.
Being older, Mom and Dad are pretty predictable about their bedtimes. Tonight is a weeknight so the routine is the 10:00 News, Johnny Carson's monologue, maybe Carson's desk bit if it's a good one like Carnak the Magnificent, and then Snoresville. I don't think my Dad has seen the clock strike 11 since I was in preschool. Once in bed they don't rouse for anything short of an earthquake, probably why the cousins were so adamant about sleeping out at my house instead of theirs.
I crawl back inside, already searching for the deck of cards I made sure to bring. "All quiet," I announce.
"Cool," Chip says with an evil smile that looks even more devilish on that heavenly kisser. "I've got a big dare for you guys," he says, "unless you're too chicken."
"I ain't chicken!" Scott says too forcefully, and I get a distinct school-play vibe from his tone of voice. I don't know exactly what's going on but I know the cousins are both in on it. I presume Chip knows of another sleep out happening in the neighborhood and is planning a raid.
"What's the dare?" I ask warily, flashing back to my previous close call with the police.
We're all lying on top of our sleeping bags but now Chip draws himself to his knees to make himself taller. He pauses dramatically, which I frankly think is a bit much.
"The new Steve McQueen movie is playing at the drive-in," he says. "It's called Nevada Smith and he kills everybody left and right! It's so violent my parents won't let me see it."
"Yeah, so?" I ask with indifference.
I like Steve McQueen as much as the next kid but I'd rather see a funny movie than a violent one.
"So I dare you guys to sneak into the drive-in with me. Unless you're too chicken."
"Yeah!" Scott cries instantly. "Let's do it!"
I guess 'too chicken' was his cue.
"How are we supposed to get there?" I ask. "It's, like, two miles away."
"We walk," Chip says. "Or are you too fat to walk?"
That's over the line, and the look I give visibly frightens him. Remember? Me moose, him small-to-average 11-year-old.
"Sorry," he says quickly. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant it isn't that far to walk."
"I can walk just fine," I say, still giving him the look. "But it's 11:30. It'll take an hour just to get there and the movie will be over."
"No it won't," Chip says. "We can walk it in 45 minutes, and the movie doesn't start until midnight 'cause it's a triple feature. We can miss the first 15 minutes anyway. It takes a while to get to the really good kills."
I hesitate. Sneaking into the drive-in actually sounds about a hundred times cooler than collapsing some kids' tent, but the downside is that it doesn't get anybody naked.
"I don't know if I want to walk all that way just to see a movie," I say. "I figured we'd just have fun right here in the tent."
"What kind of fun?" Chip asks.
I hesitate again. "We could play cards."
Scott bursts out laughing and Chip is quick to follow. I look questioningly at each in turn.
"Chip said you'd try to get us to play strip poker," Scott says, still giggling.
I feel myself redden. "I didn't say that. I only said cards."
Chip gives me a sly smile. "Yeah, but that's what you meant," he says. "It's OK though," he goes on. "We'll play strip poker when we get back. It'll be fun."
Scott grins at me too. "Yeah, why not?" he says.
They're both giving me such friendly, accepting smiles that I relax considerably. I don't like that it delays the nudity for two or three hours and we might be falling asleep by then, but I take heart that it might yet happen and nobody's calling me queer.
There's a route through the neighborhoods that mostly keeps us off the main roads, running through alleys and empty lots where we are unlikely to encounter cops and depositing us at the back fence of the drive-in theater. Getting caught would be truly horrific but we are filled with the exhilaration of adventure and the foolish bravado of youth. We talk and laugh the whole way and we arrive before I know it. Steve McQueen's face is in close-up on the gigantic screen and his voice echoes around from a hundred speakers.
"My friend at school says there's a hole in the fence pretty close to the middle," Chip whispers, as if the drive-in had armed guards posted around the perimeter or something. Scott and I follow him silently along the row of bushes that line the fence until Chip eagerly cries, "I found it!" then grimmaces at his own lack of discretion. We freeze for 10 seconds until it is clear that nobody heard -- which I could have told him -- and then Chip pokes his head through to the other side. Suddenly he jerks his head back in fear.
"There's a bunch of cars coming!" he stage-whispers. "Like a whole line of 'em!"
Scott and I part the bushes to peek through the chain-link fence. There are indeed 10 or more cars on the gravel road at the back of the parking lot, their headlights off, creeping toward the exit."
"They're not staying for the third movie," I say. "I guess two is enough for one night."
"But they're missing the best one!" Chip says in disbelief. "The dumb shits."
We watch and watch seemingly forever as car after car crawls by. "What is this?" I finally ask. "A parade?"
Scott laughs out loud and Chip slaps lightly at him, whispering "Shut up! Shut up!" but giggling too.
Finally the last car passes and Chip leads the way. As soon as we get through the fence we do our best to look casual and unhurried, as if we belong there, and saunter over in front of the snack bar where there are benches for those who don't want to eat in their cars. We sit and watch the moderately boring setup of the movie that leads to McQueen going homicidal.
"Got any money?" Chip asks the air.
"I'm broke," Scott says.
"I've got, like, a buck," I say. "Why?"
"A buck would get us three ice creams," he says.
I look at him sideways. "Or it would get me one ice cream and 70 cents change."
"Aw come on," Chip says. "Don't be like that. Remember that time I bought you an RC cola when you were broke?"
"Yeah," I say. "That was because I just bought candy for all of us and used up my money." Then a sudden thought stops me. I don't want Chip in a bad mood when we get down to playing strip poker. He's the one I really want to see, though I know I'll take a good gander at Scott too if I get the chance.
I pull the dollar bill out of my front pocket. "OK, but you have to go get 'em."
Scott grabs the money and hurries into the snack bar. I'm a bit surprised because Scott isn't usually so subservient to his cousin, but it sure seems like tonight Chip is solidly in charge. Sneaking two miles from home and into the drive-in is major-league naughtiness and Chip is undeniably the mastermind, but it feels like there is another shoe yet to drop. I study his profile as he intently watches the movie.
Chip senses me and turns to look. "What? he asks.
"Nothing," I say. I decide to let it go in hopes of a happy strip poker outcome.
Scott returns with three tiny waxed-cardboard cups of vanilla ice cream, just like the ones at school with a little wooden paddle for a spoon. We pop the lids off and hand them back to Scott, who is sitting nearest the trash can. I take exactly one spoonful of ice cream and the rain starts, and it's more than just a sprinkle.
"Shit!" Chip exclaims.
We jump up and escape into the snack bar among 15 or 20 other moviegoers caught out of their cars. Before our eyes the rain picks up and soon it's pouring down, the wind increasing as well until the rain is coming sideways. A few intrepid customers steel themselves for the onslaught and dash into the storm, jumping over the puddles already forming in the uneven gravel roadway. One man's car is only two rows in front of the snack bar but I can see that he is fairly drenched by the time he gets inside and closes the door.
Chip looks around. "There's no place to sit in here," he says. "I guess we have to watch the movie standing up."
I have a horrifying thought. "You guys! What if my parents hear the storm and come out to make us move inside? If we're not there we're gonna get killed!"
"Oh fuck!" Chip cries in terror. "Come on! We've gotta get back!"
Three ice creams hit the trash as three boys hit the door. We don't bother with the hole in the back fence, just dash for the nearest exit. We're leaping puddles and dodging the cars that are lining up to go, our hair already plastered to our foreheads and our clothes soaking wet. We're slowed down for a moment as we slip between cars and I make eye contact with the woman in the passenger seat, who gapes at me as if I'm crazy. I shrug and give her a goofy smile.
We tear madly down the residential street, our gym shoes slapping wetly against the asphault. I'm the big slow one but in my panic I keep up with the others stride-for-stride, and though I've never before in my life tried to run two straight miles without stopping I run and run and run.
Fear is a great motivator.
Within minutes the rain is soaking through our clothes, which of course isn't much on this hot early-summer night: just a t-shirt, shorts and underwear. I feel the water on my skin like I've just climbed out of a pool. We're taking no pains to avoid cops and in fact I don't see any, which may chalk up to the horrible weather. Would you get out of a warm, dry police car just to fuck with three terrified boys? This two-mile run in a monsoon is surely punishment enough.
When we make the final turn onto my block I'm actually in the lead with the two younger boys 20 yards behind. I'm 5 inches taller than Scott and 7 inches taller than Chip, so my longer stride has served me. Nevertheless I'm amazed that I was able to run flat-out the full two miles without stopping. However, when my house comes into view and I see that it is still dark and quiet I am instantly relieved, which removes my fear and thus my motivation.
I stop dead in the street, my chest heaving and my breath wheezing, barely noticing that the rain has abruptly slowed to a drizzle. Chip and Scott stop next to me, equally out of breath and exhausted. After a solid minute of gasping and rasping we are fairly recovered and share looks of comprehension and then grins.
We made it. We will not be picked up by the cops and there will be no multi-year groundings by our parents. Scott starts to laugh and we both follow suit.
"Hey, the rain even stopped," Chip says as we approach my backyard. "Things are lookin' good!"
We step around the corner of the garage and stop in our tracks. The tent has blown over and the stakes have pulled out of the ground. The cheap tent doesn't have a built-in floor so we had pitched it over a waterproof ground cloth which is now open to the elements, as are the sleeping bags and pillows, snacks, comic books and everything else we had determined essential to a sleep-out. I pick up my deck of cards and they are sopping wet, disintegrating in my hands.
"Fuck!" I say in disappointment, my treasured vision of naked tent-mates dissipating like smoke. We slowly walk around the scene of destruction, picking up sodden items and confirming they are as soaked as we are.
"We can't sleep here," Scott says.
"No duh, brain-o!" Chip barks, but when Scott looks hurt he softens. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm just mad, that's all."
"We're all mad," I say. "And kind of chafed from running all that way soaking wet. I gotta go in and dry off."
Chip pauses a moment and says, "And then what?"
I look at him in puzzlement. "What do you mean, then what? Then go to bed!"
"In your room?" Chip asks.
I'm really confused now. "Of course in my room, just like you guys will go home and sleep in your rooms."
"We can't give up on the sleep-out," Chip presses. "If our very first one of the summer is a wash-out we'll never get permission again."
"What the hell else can we do?" Scott asks, annoyed. "Everything is soaked!"
"Couldn't we sleep in your living room or something?" Chip asks me.
"That wouldn't make any difference. If they come down in the morning and find us indoors it'll still mean we were washed out and we'll still never get to sleep out for a long time."
I see wheels turning behind Chip's blue eyes. "What if we set the tent back up and hide all the wet stuff? We can pretend we slept right through the storm and didn't even know it happened. Or maybe your parents won't even know there was a storm and never even ask about it!"
"But we still have noplace to sleep!" Scott counters. A drop of water falls off the tip of his nose like the exclamation point at the end of the sentence.
A glimmer comes to me. "My Dad's car has a gigantic back seat," I say. "We can sleep in the car and we'll have almost as much room as in the tent."
"Cool!" Chip exclaims with a grin. "Can you sneak inside and get us towels and blankets?"
"I can get towels," I say, "but the extra blankets are in a chest in my parents' room. I don't think I can get those."
That's OK," Chip says. "We'll be in a car inside the garage. We'll be warm enough."
While Chip and Scott re-pitch the tent I grab a flashlight and slip quietly inside to the first-floor bathroom. I manage not to make very much noise finding three towels in the linen closet. I have to pee but I don't want to flush because this toilet makes an ungodly racket, especially in a quiet house. I slip out the back door where the boys are waiting.
It turns out we all have to pee so we step to the bushes side-by-side and take care of that, which gives me a thrill just knowing their dicks are out in the open air even if I can't see them.
That's how bad I've got Boy Fever.
Re-zipped, I lead them into the garage through the "people door" rather than raising the noisy overhead door. I flip on the lights revealing my Dad's big blue Ford LTD, the approximate size of an aircraft carrier.
I toe-off one of my gym shoes which makes a wet sucking sound as it comes off my foot. I notice as I take a step to remove the other shoe that my bare foot leaves a wet footprint on the concrete garage floor. Scott and Chip remove their shoes as well, leaving similar footprints. We are really soaked.
Almost in unison we peel off our wet t-shirts and I look around for a place to hang them. I pull out my Dad's stepladder and climb up, hanging all three t-shirts over a rafter like pennants in the school gym.
I climb back down and Chip's soggy beauty commands my full attention. His blond hair is darker now because it's wet, plastered to his forehead. His beautiful wet skin is sleek and shining in the overhead light, his prominent nipples just as creamy pink and delicious as a strawberry shake. They are fiercely, pointedly erect and I'm aware that I'm staring, fearful of giving away my deep dark secret but utterly unable to look away. Chip's blue eyes flick up to mine and we connect for a second, then both shyly look away.
For a moment we hesitate, all three of us looking at the floor. Finally in decision I peel down my shorts and stand in my wet white briefs. I have no idea how I don't have a boner. Chip hesitates only a second and follows suit, tugging down his clinging shorts to reveal his little briefs, and I can't help but revel in the way the wet cotton clings to his form. My eyes are drawn to his barely-disguised genitals but I force myself to look away. I turn to Scott just as he is pulling his shorts down, revealing his even more prominent boy-junk shrink-wrapped in wet cotton.
I move the ladder and climb again, throwing my shorts over the rafter and reaching down for the boys to hand me theirs. I get an illicit thrill just from handling their clothing. I climb down almost giddy over what might logically happen next.
Chip begins drying himself with his underpants still on and Scott follows his lead. I'm disappointed but do the same. At least I'll get really good looks at their bare chests and legs.
His towel around his waist, Chip turns his back and wiggles the soaked underpants down his body. Even though I can't see anything I'm thrilled once again just knowing he's buck naked underneath that towel. Chip holds the sodden briefs in his two fists and wrings them out, water splashing onto the floor, then hands them to me. I suck in my breath and take them, so turned on I fear I might swoon. I climb up one more time and hang this most intimate garment over the rafter, then take Scott's slightly bigger pair and do the same.
Realizing that it's now my turn I contemplate climbing down, disrobing under the towel and all that bother, so I say "Screw it!" turn my back to them and slide my undies off right there on the ladder, my bare ass practically in their faces. Keeping my back to the cousins I wring my underwear out and hang them on the rafter listening to the giggles of my friends. I smile and shrug as I climb down and wrap the towel around me.
"You should be in front, Chip," I say, "because you're the smallest and there's the steering wheel and everything." Scott and I climb into the back seat and I instruct Chip how to make the interior light stay on when the door is closed.
We settle in, three damp boys wearing nothing but towels, and spend about 10 minutes going over the extraordinary events we just lived through. We all agree it was the hardest rain we ever saw, and how weird it was to run and run like that literally soaked through to the skin, hardly even aware that we were sweating from our exertions because we were effectively showering it off at the same time!
"I'm thirsty," Scott says, and Chip and I agree.
"Can you get us some pops or something?" Chip asks, and I say I guess so and grab the flashlight for another secret mission into the silent house. I return with one bottle of Coke.
"Just one?" Chip gripes.
"That's all that was cold," I say, "and I'm not messin' with glasses and ice cubes."
Chip shrugs. "Yeah, that would make too much noise. We can share, I guess."
We each take a slug and Scott belches loudly, the sort of thing he finds hilarious. To be honest I laugh too.
"So what do you want to do now?" Chip asks.
"What is there to do?" I reply. "Just sit here and talk, I guess."
"I thought you wanted to play strip poker."
I look at Chip in confusion, then gesture down at my own nearly-naked body and tilt my head questioningly.
"That just means we only have one thing to lose," Chip says with his cheekiest grin.
I'm starting to get interested, but I still don't quite see it. "That would be a really short game."
Chip isn't done. "What if we played that you can win your towel back? That would keep it going."
Now my mental wheels are turning. "What happens if the naked guy loses again?"
"Then he has to do a dare," Chip says as if it's obvious.
"What kind of a dare?" I ask suspiciously.
Chip grins again, reveling in the naughtiness. "That's up to the winner," he says.
I think for a second and share a look with Scott. He feels the pressure to fill the pregnant silence.
"We can have rules," he says. "Like, you can't make a guy do anything that hurts."
"It can hurt a little," Chip insists, "but it just can't, like, leave a mark or anything."
I need to put my two cents in. "And it has to be inside the car."
"No!" Chip cries. "It can be anywhere!"
"No it can't," I insist. "Inside the car or I'm not playing."
This is an empty threat, as anxious as I am to see these guys bare-assed naked. I wouldn't miss out on a one-garment strip poker game for anything! If the cousins out-vote me I'm going to have to cave in.
Chip adopts a conciliatory tone. "How about this? It has to stay inside the garage."
"OK," I say, massively relieved that I won't have to refuse out of principle. Then something occurs to me. "Do we even have cards? Mine were in the tent and got ruined."
Chip produces a deck like a magic trick. "Ta-dah!" he says in triumph.
"Where did those come from," I ask in wonder, "because I know you don't have any pockets!" Both boys laugh.
"He ran out to the tent while you were getting the Coke," Scott explains.
"But aren't they soaked like mine were?"
"Plastic-coated, baby!" Chip crows. "My brother and sister always spill Kool-Aid when they're playing Go Fish."
"Cool!" I say, hardly believing my good fortune. If he only has a towel to lose I'll surely get to see Chip naked. Even if he cheats he can't cheat so well that he never loses a single hand. "Let's play!"
Chip tries to shuffle the cards on the top edge of the front seat-back, but his hands are small and the plastic cards are stiff and it isn't working very well. On his second shuffle they slip and cards squirt out everywhere.
"Shit!" he says, and then, "There's plenty of room back there for all three of us. Watch out, I'm coming over."
Chip gathers up the cards and hands them to Scott, then begins to climb over the seat. Before my amazed and delighted eyes the towel comes open and falls completely off of him, my years-long desire suddenly and unexpectedly coming true. There, one foot in front of me, are Chip's beautiful, hairless boy parts, every bit as luscious as I ever imagined, his small pink dick dangling limply above small, loose balls.
He swears and scrambles to cover himself but it is no matter, because I now have a mental snapshot that will surely carry me to a massive gushing orgasm the very next chance I have to jerk off. My prime objective for strip poker has already been achieved, and whatever happens from here out will be gravy.
"That was a free sample," Chip says good-naturedly, seeming entirely unperturbed. "You have to beat me at poker to get another look."
A disconcerting thought comes to me. I've been fully, throbbing hard under my towel since the first mention of strip poker, and as a very early bloomer who had pubic hair and wet cums at age 10 I'm solidly into puberty by now. My cock has grown significantly beyond my age-mates and I look more like a middle-teen at nearly five pretty thick inches. I glance down and the towel is tented beyond any hope of escaping notice, and there's no chance that my boner will go down before I lose a single hand of poker and have to reveal myself. The cousins are going to see that being with naked boys gives me a hard-on, but I certainly can't stop now. It's going to have to be whatever it's going to be.
I notice Scott's eyes fixed on my towel-tent. We make eye contact and we each know that the other knows. I glance back to Chip and I realize that he saw us have that moment and I'm suddenly sure that he knows, too.
"OK," Chip says brightly. "Let's play!"
He deals the cards. The only game we know how to play is Five Card Draw, and as I pick up my cards I'm filled with hope. On the initial deal I have two pair, Queens and sevens. Since there's no betting Chip moves along and asks Scott how many cards he wants. He takes three, meaning he had a maximum of a pair of Aces going in. I ask for one card and Scott's face drops, so I figure his hand didn't get any better and he was hoping mine was even worse than his. I draw a nine for no help, but I still have a good hand and I figure if I don't come in at least second I'll know for sure they are cheating.
"I'll take two," Chip says, and betrays no emotion when he picks up his new cards. I'm not disheartened, though, because even if Chip has three of a kind I'm pretty sure I beat Scott.
"OK, what have you got?" Chip asks, and Scott unhappily turns over a whole lot of nothin': ten high.
I smile as I show my hand. "Two pair, Queens over," I say, trying to sound like an old poker hound like my Dad and his buddies when they play once a month around our kitchen table. Scott and I look to Chip, who pauses, over-dramatizing it as usual.
"Three eights!" he says triumphantly. "I win and Scott loses!"
Scott grumbles but I am elated, because I'm finally going to get a look at his secret stuff. No matter what else happens I'll have a snapshot of Scott to go along with my snapshot of Chip, which will fuel my beat-off fantasies for many months to come. I train my eyes on Scott's towel but seconds tick away.
"Come on, Scott," Chip says. "You lost fair and square, so pay the price." Scott is still deferring to his cousin, so he smiles shyly and pulls open his towel.
There is good news and bad news for me. I'm thrilled to see that Scott's dick is every bit as stiff and throbbing as mine, but I'm disappointed to find him more developed than I'd hoped. I've been observing his legs and underarms since we first got out of our wet clothes and found nothing but smooth, bald 11-year-old skin. But the stiff 4-incher he now displays has a pretty decent tuft of black fuzz just above it, reminding me of Hitler's mustache for some (very odd) reason.
He's cut, like me and Chip and every other boy I've ever seen, with a bit of extra foreskin on the underside that the doctor somehow missed. His shaft is a bit thicker in the middle than at the base or near the tip, unlike mine which is fairly cylindrical the whole length. His utterly hairless balls are pretty big but not loose at all, looking like a single rounded pouch with parallel horizontal wrinkles and a single vertical seam. I wish there was no hair at all but I'm still far more than merely interested.
Scott moves his hands in front of himself but Chip is having none of it.
"No you don't," he says commandingly. "You lost so you have to let us look. That's the whole point of strip poker!"
Scott gives his cousin a look but drops his hands to his sides. I feel weird about doing it so openly after all these years of sneaking glances, but Chip and I are both examining him closely.
"As a matter of fact," Chip continues, "you have to turn around and show us your butt, too."
Scott's mouth drops open. "You never said that!" he protests. I see something pass between the cousins, a look I can't quite identify, and I am reminded of my earlier suspicion of their motives. If they are conspiring to cheat me they're doing a lousy job, but clearly they are up to something.
"That's the game," Chip insists. "When you lose you have to show the parts nobody gets to see. And don't forget, when we lose we have to do it too."
Scott continues his not-pleased look for a second more but he turns over on the car seat and gets to his knees facing the back window. There's his olive-skinned ass, round and smooth and surprisingly appealing. I've always been pretty focused on dicks and balls in my fantasies but this is a view I could get used to. I lean over for a straight-on look and find that I love the backside of his scrotum and the ridge of skin that continues from there up into the dark cleft between those pretty butt cheeks. I can't really see up there but I know there's a little brown butthole hiding somewhere. I've never thought much about it before but all of a sudden I really wish I could see.
After a full minute Scott turns around and plops back into his seat. "That's enough," he says, which I'm fine with because now I'm back drinking in the sight of that stiff cock jutting up his flat belly. I can actually see it pulsing, the bullet-shaped head quivering in the air.
"OK," Chip says. "It's your deal, Scott. If you come in first this time you win back your towel. If you come in second you have to stay naked another hand, but if you lose you have to do a dare that the winner makes up."
Scott gathers up the cards and I enjoy watching the naked boy shuffle and deal. My cards are not nearly as good this time, an Ace and a Jack and three low cards that don't match. I begin to steel myself for my big reveal, but it occurs to me that it's not such a big deal anymore now that Scott has broken the ice. The only really bad thing would be if I was the only one to show a boner, and now Scott has removed that worry. Not to mention, I've shown my butt already when I took off my underwear on the ladder and we've already seen Chip's bare dick when his towel fell off. I decide not to sweat it, and in fact I think I actually want to show them my stuff.
"How many?" Scott asks me.
"Three," I say and discard my lowest cards. I receive a ten, a four and a nine of all different suits. My dick throbs harder as I realize I'm about to be naked alongside Scott.
Chip takes two, his poker face again giving nothing away. Scott takes three and I begin to think that Ace high may not be a loser after all. I look back to Chip and even though his face is slack his eyes are shining.
I put down my hand. "Ace," I say.
Chip grins and lays down three sixes. "Ha!" he says, then to his cousin, "Beat that, Scott!"
Scott smiles slyly and lays down 3 Queens.
"Augh!" Chip cries in mock anger. "You lucky dog! I was sure I had you beat."
Scott smiles broadly as he covers himself with his towel. "I got two of them on the draw," he says, giving me a self-satisfied smirk.
"Nice one," I say sincerely, remembering how he complimented my home run earlier in the day. Boy, that feels like a really long time ago. "OK, here goes," I say and pull open my towel.
Both boys gawk and grin, and Chip laughs softly. My dick towers out of my thick bush of pubic hair, standing straight out rather than angling up my belly like Scott's. I'm magnificently hard and I find that I enjoy displaying it for them. It feels really sexy.
"Whoa!" Chip marvels. "Man, you've got a big one! Did you ever measure it?"
"Sure," I say. "It's almost five inches."
Both boys are staring. "Open your legs some more," Chip says softly.
I do, and Chip leans forward for a better look. "Your balls are big too, and they hang down like crazy," he says. Scott says nothing but his eyes stay fixed on me. The boys examine me for a long time.
"Now the butt," Chip says, and I don't protest at all. For one thing they've already seen it, and for another I'm in for a penny so why not for a pound? I turn around on the seat and show them my wide, some would say too-wide, ass. I hear them giggling so I wiggle my butt back and forth and they laugh more loudly. I give them the full minute like Scott had, then turn back around.
"My deal," I say with a tone meant to be nonchalant.
This hand goes exactly how I hope: I win and Chip loses. He surprises me though, throwing open his towel with a grin and a flourish, his pink, hairless three inches jutting up just as stiff and hard as any dick could ever be. My internal tension instantly disappears knowing that all three of us are hard and horny, because it means nobody can make fun of anybody else or spread rumors around the neighborhood. We're in this together.
Chip's little dick angles proudly up his soft alabaster belly, rising and falling with his breathing. His hairless balls are small but hang loose in their beautiful, wrinkled sack. His circumcision scar is flawless, and his round dickhead is slightly larger than the shaft. It's the most beautiful boner I've ever seen, a fact not diminished in any way by being only the second boner I've ever seen, other than my own. I stare openly, and when we make eye contact for a second I know that Chip likes that I'm staring.
"Here, get a good look," he says and moves over in front of Scott and me, facing us. He carefully places his left foot on the seat between Scott's legs and his right between mine, and with his shoulders against the back of the front seat he lifts his hips up and limbos his bare crotch toward our faces.
I'm astonished and perplexed but I can't let the opportunity pass, can't take the time to analyze. I drink in the sight of his wide-open boyness, his utterly hairless private parts only inches away! I can smell him and I feel an intoxication I can't identify. I've had sips of my Dad's whiskey-and-seven highballs many times and I know the slightly skewed perspective of that tiny amount of alcohol. This is every bit as heady as that but much more intense. I really like these high balls.
That high dick is pretty cool, too.
Chip holds the pose for as long as he can, maybe 30 seconds. I spend every moment delighting in him, noting the varying textures of his skin and the multiple shades of pink, the balls slightly lighter than the dick and the crevice between the sack and the thigh lighter yet. Presently he turns around to show us his beautiful, smooth and shapely ass and it's another revelation. I thought Scott's butt was cute but Chip beats him by a mile.
Chip is not a skinny boy and the full-bodied globes of his ass are glorious. His thighs are round and meaty and between them his small, loose balls hang and sway breathtakingly. As we watch, his hairless scrotum pulls upward of its own volition, one oval egg pulling higher than the other. His nuts drop back down and then pull up again in exactly the same way, and I know what Chip is doing. He's flexing that muscle, the one you use to keep the pee from leaking until you can get to the toilet. He's making his nutsack dance just to amuse us, and Scott and I laugh.
There's a different smell to Chip's backside than there was in the front but it isn't bad, not shitty at all. It's a deeper, denser musk and it turns me on even more. My heart is pounding fast in my chest, and then it doubles when Chip reaches back and pulls open one cheek, revealing his tiny, clean and pink hole. I have literally never seen an asshole this way, up close and wide open for a solid 30 seconds. Until now I've had to be content with once in a blue moon half-second glimpses of bent-over boys in the showers. I fear I might faint.
I am seized with an impulse and in the next instant it consumes my thoughts. I'm desperate to thrust my nose into that sweet butt crack and inhale Chip's musk deep into my lungs. It's irrational and weird and even as I obsess on the idea I know I won't actually do it. It's downright unsettling to realize it, but God damn I want to!
Finally Chip turns around and settles on his haunches before us, his feet on the car floor and his back against the front seat, his knees touching one of my knees and one of Scott's. He makes no move to return to his roomier spot on the other side of Scott. I reach forward between the driver's door and the front seat and push the lever for the electric seat, moving it as far forward as it will go, and suddenly we have plenty of room. I should have thought of that earlier.
"My deal," Chip says and gathers up the stiff plastic cards. He fumbles with them again, having no better luck than last time. "This is a pain in the butt," he says. "What if we just play like War, one card at a time? High card wins and low card loses."
"That's not poker," I complain. "In Five-Card-Draw you have to make decisions, like which cards to keep and which to throw away. If I'm better at it than you then I win. If it's just high-card there's no skill at all. It's just luck."
Chip is quick to counter. "Yeah, but it still takes luck to get the cards you need, like when Scott got those two Queens. Why should we do all this dealing when it's all just luck anyway?"
"There's some luck," I say, "but it isn't all luck. You improve your odds by playing it right."
"Well I don't want to deal so much," Chip insists. "Let's take a vote."
Suddenly I don't know why I'm arguing. I don't give a shit who wins, I just want to see their dicks!
"Never mind," I say. "Scott will vote with you anyway. Let's just play high-card."
"OK, then," Chip says with a satisfied smile. He eyeballs an approximate third of the deck and hands it to Scott, then hands about half of what's left to me. I decide not to complain about it not being exactly thirds.
"OK, go!" Chips says.
We slap down our cards and I have a six, worried for a second until Scott shows a two. Chip shows a King.
"Yeah!" Chip says and covers himself while Scott reveals his stiffie once again. I miss Chip's dick but it's nice to see Scott's again. We spend a minute appreciating Scott's frontal charms, letting him slide this time on the rear view.
"Go!" Chip says again and I am pleased to show a Jack, then crestfallen to see Chip and Scott both turn over Queens!
"Shit!" I say and throw off my towel, but when Scott begins covering himself again Chip puts up a hand in the Stop! gesture.
"Un-uh," he says. "You didn't win. We tied, so neither of us won. You don't get your towel back on a tie."
"But..." Scott starts to protest, but I interject.
"That's right," I say. "You have to be the winner to get your towel back. Looks like both of us are naked now."
Scott grumbles a little more. "You keep changing the rules," he says to Chip.
"We could vote on it," Chip offers.
"Just play," Scott says, removing the towel again.
"You know what this means, don't you?" Chip says. "Unless I have the lowest card somebody has to do a dare. There's a two-out-of-three chance." Chip giggles and rubs it in to both of us with evil looks.
With apprehensive glances between us we lay down our cards.
"Crap!" Scott says as his four of diamonds is dwarfed by my ten of clubs and Chip's Ace of spades.
"Yes!" Chip crows and laughs at his cousin. "You're mine now, Scotty-boy! All mine!"
Scott's mad face dissolves into resignation and he says, "OK, Master. What do I have to do?"
Chip thinks for a moment. "Let's get out of the car for this," he says.
Part of me doesn't want to because I'm still naked, but on the other hand I don't want to miss whatever debasement is planned for Scott. Standing next to the car Chip tightens the towel around his waist while looking over both of our nude bodies. It feels decidedly weird standing in the garage stark naked, but I have to acknowledge that I kind of like it.
"Bring the stepladder to the other rafter," Chip orders, "then climb up and hang there for one minute."
Scott thinks about this and apparently decides it isn't so bad, and 30 seconds later he's hanging nude, his feet well off the floor. If he falls onto the concrete it will probably hurt his bare feet, but he doesn't seem worried.
I love the fact that this puts his crotch at nearly eye level for me. Chip and I stare as the dark boy gently sways, his sturdy cock as stiff as the wooden beam from which he hangs.
I wouldn't mind hanging from Scott's beam myself.
I roam my eyes all over him as he stretches to his maximum length. His armpits are hairless and hollow, lovely to me, and his dark nipples are at least semi-erect. I move behind him and examine his cute ass up close, noting a different, less enticing musk, but still very sexy. Scott finds the ladder with his feet and begins climbing down.
"That wasn't a minute," Chip challenges.
"Yes it was," Scott says, leaving no room for contradiction. "I counted one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi."
Chip grins cheekily, basically admitting he was messing with his cousin. His smile is infectious and Scott smiles indulgently.
We assume our previous positions in the car and I realize that Chip likes the view he has from so close in front of us. I like us close together too, so I say nothing.
"Hey, you guys," I say as we are about to resume play. "What would happen if Scott and I tied for lowest card? What if we both had fours? Would we both have to do a dare or would it be a do-over?"
"Do-over," Scott says firmly. "If I can't win on a tie then I can't lose on one either."
Chip bridles. "That's not fair," he says. "I still won. If I don't get to give anyone a dare then I get gyped." They both turn to me for the deciding vote. I think furiously, saying nothing for quite a few seconds.
"Well?" Chip says.
"I don't know," I finally say. "I can see it either way. I mean, it's probably not even going to happen."
"But it might," Chip says. "You guys are both playing for dares right now. You could tie on this next hand, so we need to decide what the rule is just in case."
"OK," I say. "This might bite me in the ass, but I think we both have to do dares."
Chip whoops in triumph and claps his hands a couple of times. Scott's jaw drops and he stares at me."
"We said the high card wins and the low card loses," I explain directly to Scott. "If two guys both have the low card they both lose."
"That's not fair!" Scott insists. "Then when Chip and I both had the high card we should have both won! I should have gotten my towel back!"
I think for a second and nod my head. To Chip I say, "I think he's right. I think we should give him his towel back right now to make up for the bad call." Scott doesn't wait for Chip's opinion, just covers himself with his towel.
"Fine!" Chip says, not pleased. "Let's just play."
I think of another scenario. "OK, but what if I lose and you guys tie for winner? Who gives me the dare?"
Scott pipes in quickly, "We both do!"
My indignation rises. "You mean I have to do two dares? That's not fair! I only lost once!"
"Oh for Christ's sake!" Chip exclaims. "If there are two winners they have to agree on the dare! Can we just play now please?"
Scott and I mumble assent and we each turn up a card. I win and Scott loses.
"Dammit!" he says and throws off his towel while I pull mine on. Despite all the arguing and impassioned speeches about fairness Scott still has a trembling hard-on. This time we only spend about 15 seconds examining him and move on to the next hand. Scott wins and Chip loses, and they each silently switch their towel. Chip is still raging hard, too, and I've missed it these past several minutes. After 15 seconds when he starts to put down a card for the next hand I object.
"Wait a minute," I say. "You've been covered up a long time. You have to give us more of a look than that."
I see a decision come into Chip's lovely blue eyes. "Look, I'm getting bored with all the taking the towels off and on," he says. "I say nobody gets to win their towel back anymore. Once you're naked you stay naked, and from then on we just play for dares."
I am absolutely thrilled at the prospect of all three of us naked the whole rest of the game. "OK!" I blurt much too eagerly, but I just can't help myself. I know it's unwise but I further blurt, "In fact, Scott, let's just take our towels off and start playing for dares right now. We're going to lose them soon anyway."
I see one of those conspiratorial looks pass between the cousins and Scott says, "Yeah, OK," and flips open his towel. With a grin I do the same and we all regard one another's nudity.
"OK, now we're talkin'," Chip says and we turn up cards. He wins and I lose. I'm a little nervous, but actually excited as I turn expectantly to Chip for my first dare.
Chip makes unflinching eye contact with me and commands, "Jack off your dick 50 times."
I force myself to look aghast, but the truth is I've wanted to jack myself since the first moment I saw Scott's goodies. I only hope 50 strokes isn't enough to make me cum. Chip is grinning his evil grin and I glance to Scott whose eyes glimmer in anticipation.
My heart pounding, I settle back a little bit into a more natural jack-off position. I grip my usual way with my left hand and let my knees drift open a bit, accidentally touching Chip's leg. I see him register the contact but he doesn't move, deliberately allowing it. I don't really know what to make of this but my heart rate vaults even higher and I go with it, let it drive my excitement. I try to keep enough wits about me not to let myself cum.
I start to stroke and I am almost carried away by the feelings. My body desperately wants to take this all the way but I'm too scared of what they might say. I use the silent counting of strokes to distract me and somehow I get to 50 without even dribbling pre-cum. I'm half triumphant and half disappointed.
"Cool," Scott says. I see a kind of glaze in his eyes and he licks his lips, which I take for nervousness.
"Yeah, man," Chip says, clearly pleased. "I wasn't sure you'd do it."
I say nothing, hoping with all my heart that things continue along this sexy road.
"OK, let's play," Chip says and we all turn over cards. Once again Chip wins and I lose.
"What did you do, stack the deck?" I ask, not really meaning it.
Chip says, "I wish I could set it up that good. I guess it's just my lucky night."
"OK, what's the dare?" I ask.
"Same thing," Chip says, "only this time do it to Scott's dick."
This time I don't have to fake looking aghast. This is a major escalation, and all my years of living in fear of being exposed as a homo come right to the forefront. Chip is grinning at me and I have to look away, so I turn to Scott. The look on his face stops me dead. His eyes are shining with excitement.
I look back to Chip and suddenly I know. This is their conspiracy. This is what they've been planning all night, to get naked and get me to do things to them. Gay things. Things I desperately want to do but can never admit to anybody! My heart pounds and my thoughts swirl.
Wait a minute! That would mean that they want to do gay things too, and they want to do them with me! My heart soars, not just at the prospect of actually, finally, at long last getting to do something with a boy, but just for finding someone else who feels the same way I do. It means I'm not alone with this affliction.
I never suspected that the cousins had a gay bone in their bodies, which means they've been keeping it secret too. Tonight I don't have to keep the secret. Tonight for the very first time I can be myself.
But what if I'm wrong? What if it's a trap? Maybe they just want to get me to do something so they can laugh at me and tell everybody what a big gay homo I am. Chip is a well-known instigator; it's just the sort of thing he would do. Suddenly my mood is down just as far as it was up two seconds ago. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. My pulse is pounding and I can't think.
OK, Bill. Logic. That's what you need, logic. Why would the cousins do that to you? You've been friends for years, and you've never been anything but nice to either of them. What would they get out of it? Some laughs, that's all, and some attention from the other kids.
And then I remember an important fact: I'm a moose and they're ordinary children. I can kick both of their asses around the block and back again. It would be plain foolish to piss off a guy my size, and Chip Kent is definitely not foolish. It makes a lot more sense that they really want to do stuff with me. Somehow they figured out, despite all my efforts to keep it secret, that I like boys. Now they want to get something going and all I have to do is let it happen.
I look back at Scott and he's waiting silently, his eyes still shining. I glance down at his rock-hard cock and notice that it is now deep red, looking almost angry. I've seen my own dick that color but only after beating my meat for like an hour.
Chip's voice is soft and gentle when he says, "Go ahead, Bill. Do the dare."
My eyes never leave Scott's hot red cock. "Is it OK?" I ask him.
"Yeah," he says quietly.
Hesitantly I reach between his legs and for the first time in my life touch another boy's dick. It's amazingly hot and hard but also soft and smooth as it can be. I wrap my hand around it and see the pleasure register on his face, and after a moment's reluctance his legs come completely open. His whole posture is an invitation.
I shoot a glance at Chip, still afraid of mocking rejection, but Chip is grinning and leaning forward to see. I can hardly believe it, but it's really happening. I tighten my hold on Scott's steaming dick and he shudders in appreciation.
It feels sort of like my own, but different, shorter and not as thick, and I have a completely different angle than when I do myself. I decide I like the unfamiliarity and I lick my lips as I ready myself for my very first homosexual act. I'd rather Chip was first, but this will definitely do. It really is a fine piece of young meat.
I begin to stroke, tentatively at first but when Scott smiles in pleasure I get more aggressive. It feels amazing in my hand, smooth and satiny soft on the outside, bone-hard in its core.
Scott winces and says, "Careful," when the heel of my hand comes down a little too hard on his balls.
"Sorry!" I say quickly, but he smiles and relaxes again, opening himself totally to me. I love that he is allowing me to touch him so intimately, and I have the epiphany right then and there that part of what I've always wanted was this openness, this closeness, this honesty and trust between us. I stroke and stroke, then suddenly realize I must be far beyond 50 strokes. I'm suddenly self-conscious, not quite ready to openly admit how much I like this, how much I want it and even more.
I stop stroking and pull my hand away. Scott looks nothing but disappointed, and I notice the tiniest glisten of shiny pre-cum at his pee hole. It probably wouldn't have taken him much longer to get there, but for me that would have been way too much way too fast.
"That's 50," I say and awkwardly lean back, scanning both of their faces for adverse reactions. Both boys have pure excitement in their eyes.
"That was so cool," Chip says. "How did it feel, Scott?"
"Good," he says in severe understatement.
Chip leans back again and I see that his little pink boner is now deeper red. I can't wait to lose again so maybe I'll get a feel of it. Without a word Chip turns over a card, a three. He does not react negatively as I would expect, just looks to us to see what we turn over. Scott has a nine and I have a six.
"OK," Chip says without dramatics. "Scott gives me a dare."
Scott hesitates, but smiles slyly when he says, "Jack Bill off 100 times."
I'm thrilled, but also apprehensive. I love that I'm about to feel Chip's soft hand on my rigid, throbbing cock, but also afraid that 100 strokes will send me over the edge. I immediately think of two possible bad outcomes: one, that I jizz all over Chip's hand and it grosses him out, making him mad and ending the sex play, or two, that I jizz all over and Chip is fine with it, but that's the end of the sex play anyway, since in my two years of solo experience cumming is usually the end of the festivities. There's no time to think through those scenarios. All I can do is try to hold back.
Chip slides closer to me and his entire lower leg is now in firm contact with my thigh. I am electrified by this, the most intimate physical closeness of my life with another naked human! His skin is so soft, so smooth, so warm. I have gazed longingly at Chip's shapely bare legs every summer since I can remember, and now one of them is pressed against me. I could cum before he even touches me.
Chip boldly reaches for my cock and I gasp as his fingers encircle it. He closes his fist around me in a confident and unashamed way and gives me a couple of squeezes.
It is exquisite.
I moan aloud and both cousins giggle. "Feel good?" Chip asks cheekily. "And I didn't even start yet."
I moan again as Chip begins short, gentle strokes. After 10 or 12 he shifts his grip so that the pad of his thumb rubs my cockhead with every stroke. I gasp and he giggles. He speeds up, the thumb still torturing my head, until I have to beg off.
"Oh, man!" I exclaim. "Not so much! Not so much! I can't take it!"
Chip slips his thumb back to the side and settles into a wonderful, comfortable rhythm. He's really good at this, and I realize with a start that he must have done it many times before, no doubt to Scott. He strokes the full length of my dick without ever over-doing it, never jiggling my swollen balls severely enough to be uncomfortable. Some of the tension leaves my body and I know that I can trust him to make me feel wonderful and never hurt me. I lay back even more and open myself to his ministrations.
My dick begins leaking pre-cum and Chip clearly is not surprised. It gets on his hand and he doesn't react, just keeps stroking. We are well past 100 strokes and he shows no sign of stopping. The familiar stirrings begin in my gut and my mind can hardly process the inevitable conclusion, that Chip intends to take me all the way. Some detached part of my brain registers that he must have a very strong hand and arm because he just keeps stroking me at the same strong pace.
"C'mon, Bill," Chip says softly yet eagerly. "Let it go. Let me see it."
My mind is awash in emotions, my secret desire finally fulfilled, my sweet little friend intent on giving me something I desperately want, desperately need. I can't think of right and wrong, normal and queer, or what happens if the cousins tell what went on tonight. The only thing that matters is this feeling I'm having right now, and I have to have it.
My gut tightens and a familiar bloom of heat spreads up my chest and onto my neck and face. Chip's hand is flying, much faster than I ever do to myself, and he is red and sweaty with his exertion. He falters a bit but regains the rhythm and I know he's finally getting tired, and the kindhearted friend in me wants to please him by showing him what he wants to see before he has to back off from sheer exhaustion. My balls pull up and I arch my hips up from the car seat, desperate to get there.
A rifle shell of fluid blasts up my shaft, spurting from my cock so fiercely you can actually hear it. The glob of white launches through the air straight at my head and splashes wetly into my hair.
"Holy shit!" Scott exclaims, wide-eyed, as I gulp a breath and another glob fires on nearly the same trajectory. I duck my chin to my chest so that it doesn't hit me in the eyes, but further up my forehead. Chip is still stroking me like a madman and a third shot, somewhat smaller than the first two, lands on my heaving chest. Chip begins to slow down and my further emissions are dribbles except for one more small spurt that barely clears my pubic bush. Chip slows and slows but never releases me until all of my convulsions are done and my cock begins to deflate.
"Man! Mine barely dribbles out!" Scott exclaims.
"Wow," Chip agrees, grinning. "I thought Scott's was cool to see, but this!"
I can't yet speak, but I smile, feeling triumphant almost the same way as when I hit the home run. Like that homer, it feels like an accomplishment even though I know it's really only because I'm bigger and more developed. Someday they too will be able to cum like a fire hose and hit baseballs out of Little League fields, but for this moment I'm the star.
The cum is running down my forehead and threatens to get into my eyes. Chip takes a corner of his abandoned towel and kindly wipes it away, and most of the bigger glob from my hair. He finds a clean part of the towel and wipes a significant amount from his hand. He's not the slightest bit grossed out and I know for sure he has had Scott's jizz on his hands many times.
As if on cue Scott implores, "Do me now, Chip."
Chip leans back and says, "I can't, man. My arm is worn out. Gimme a minute, huh?"
Scott looks disappointed but doesn't argue. I suddenly get their sexual dynamic and it explains a lot. In 'normal life'-- that is in non-sexual situations -- the cousins are pretty much equals. Scott does not kowtow to Chip and Chip does not try to boss him, at least no more than Chip tries to boss everybody. All evening, though, I've sensed Scott deferring to Chip, and now I know it's because this entire sleep-out is a sexual situation, the planned seduction of me, and therefore Chip is naturally in charge. He has always been the bolder, more aggressive cousin and I now know that it was Chip who started the whole sex play thing between them, and I wonder how long it's been going on.
I can't help but wonder, too, why Chip delayed the seduction to go sneak into the drive-in? The rainstorm was a curve ball nobody expected, and he did get us back on track despite it, but if this was his end-game what did the drive-in have to do with it? Maybe Chip just really fucking likes Steve McQueen.
Scott turns to me and asks sheepishly, "Could you, maybe, do it for me, Bill? I mean, you already jerked me before."
I start to reply that I would love to, but Chip has a different idea.
"We're in the middle of a game, you guys," he says. "Let's let the cards decide what happens."
I don't think we really need the pretext anymore but I know that this is Chip's way of keeping the sex going, and I'm all for that. The cards have gotten strewn all over so I gather them and shuffle, doling out an approximate third to each boy. We turn over a card and Chip wins while Scott loses.
They exchange a look deep with meaning, which then transforms into Scott looking very uncertain and Chip grinning his devilish grin. Scott licks his lips nervously, but I see acquiescence enter his eyes.
Chip says, "Just hold it for 30 seconds."
Scott hesitates and gives me an apprehensive look, but he scoots toward Chip and to my astonishment instead of reaching for it with his hand he leans his face into Chip's crotch! He takes about half of Chip's boner between his lips, not sucking, just holding it there between his lips while Chip softly counts Mississippis up to 30.
I have fantasized enough blow jobs to know that this doesn't really count because there's no actual pleasuring going on, but it's still a mouth on a dick and instantly my cock rages back up to stony hardness. Even in my astonishment I recognize that what I'm mostly feeling inside is envy. I wish it was my mouth on Chip's beautiful dick.
After 30 seconds Scott leans back and looks to me for a reaction. I smile at him and he relaxes visibly, giving me a small smile in return. I know I have just admitted something by not reacting negatively, and the cousins know it, too. We all turn another card, and Scott wins while I lose. I hope against hope that he has me repeat the dare he just performed.
My heart soars when he says, "Same thing," but then crashes again when he continues, "only on me."
I try to suppress my disappointed look because I don't want to hurt Scott's feelings, but he reads it as reluctance to do it at all and doesn't take offense. I regain my composure and decide that I want this with both cousins anyway, so what's the difference which one is first? I lean forward and Scott smiles broadly. He leans back to get comfortable, opening his legs even wider than he had for the hand job, while Chip crowds close, making sure he sees everything. I pause inches from the quivering hardness before me, for this truly is a critical moment.
I've been eager, even desperate to suck a boy's dick since I was 8 years old. I have no clue where the idea came from but from the instant I thought of it I've been obsessed. From that moment on every single boy I met, or saw from across the street, or even on TV, became an object for fantasy. How could I get him alone and naked? What would his dick look like? What would it taste like? Even though I've been alone with boys plenty of times I never had the guts to fulfill any of these fantasies. Suddenly my chance has come
Logically I know that it's what the cousins want and that they're taking just as much of a risk as I am. Scott has already had Chip's dick in his mouth, so I could laugh and tell everybody that they are queer just the same as they could do to me. We've all crossed the line and we all know that nobody is telling what happens here, but still I hesitate.
"Do it," Chip urges just above a whisper. "It's OK, Bill." There's such eagerness in his voice that I'm finally convinced there will be no bad reaction.
I flick my eyes up to meet Scott's and he is silently pleading for it. I open my mouth and he grins. Leaning in, I take the turgid flesh between my lips and something primal takes over, something instinctual. I don't stop at halfway, touching it with only my lips as Scott had on Chip, but sink to the very base of his trembling cock, my tongue in full contact all the way down it's length.
"Oh, wow!" Scott exclaims in excited surprise. "Oh, yeah!"
"Nice!" Chip breathes, the most turned-on I've heard him yet, and I know what has to come next.
I begin to suck, pumping my mouth up and down Scott's bone-hard cock. It is astonishing, wonderful, and feels so natural I know it's always been my destiny. I adore the taste, the smell, the texture, and even the brush of his silky pubic hair on my nose. It isn't dirty to me at all, except in the good way that I've fantasized for a full third of my life. I don't know what I'm doing but it sure seems to be working, for Scott is in ecstasy.
The thick cockhead nearly reaches the opening of my throat when I'm all the way down but I don't gag. I can breathe comfortably through my nose and I realize that I can do this a really long time; that I want to do this a really long time. I pump deeply and steadily, finally registering the softness of his balls as my chin touches them. I feel his hands come to my cheeks in gentle caress and it fills me with affection, which further fuels my excitement.
"How does it feel, Scott?" Chip asks huskily, and I'm suddenly aware that he is masturbating inches away from us.
"Fantastic!" Scott cries. "Better than it ever did!"
It takes me a few seconds to process that Scott has just admitted he's been sucked before, almost certainly by Chip. My heart inflates with joy to realize that our little sex party just might be truly three-way!
I suck and suck, pump and pump, until I begin to feel tension in Scott's body. For a second my paranoia leaps up in fear that he is changing his mind or something, but then I realize what's really happening. He's getting close, his guts rhythmically clenching and loosening. Scott is going to cum, and in that same second I absolutely know that I want him to. I want my mouth to bring him all the way, to feel that hot excited pole swell between my lips and pulse with life, to feel the hot surge splash into my hungry mouth and to taste the sweet seed of another boy for the very first time.
Of course I've often tasted my own, bent doubled over so that my forceful spurt flies directly into my open, waiting mouth. It's so much better to take it directly while it's still fresh and body-temperature, rather than cold and congealing on my hand or scooped up from my chest. Now I have the chance to take it fresh and hot from another boy and that's a thrill beyond my dreams.
I've never been as certain of anything as I am that I want Scott to cum in my mouth.
It turns out neither of has any intention of anything else. Scott's hands come to the back of my head and he begins to thrust between my lips. He isn't holding me tightly to keep me from pulling off. He knows I'm not pulling off. He's caressing me, petting me, running his fingers through my hair and making love to my mouth. I hear him gasp and he thrusts up a final time.
I feel a powerful pulse and then I'm overwhelmed with the flavor of his emission. There is no tremendous spurt, no fierce jet of fluid against the back of my throat. Instead the pungent, musky taste simply appears, and only afterward do I percieve the thick gooiness of his fluid. Scott was right when he said it only dribbles out of him, and I remember my own very early ejaculations more than two years ago. I know then that he hasn't had wet cums for long, maybe a month or two, but I'm impressed with the thickness and intense flavor of his young cream.
It doesn't really taste like mine, not even how mine tasted back when I first started to shoot. It has its own flavor, the essence of Scott, as though the strong, musky boy-scent I've been breathing in these past ten minutes has been cooked down into a delicious sauce. I hold it in my mouth for long seconds, really tasting it, and then pull my mouth back until just the super-sensitive cockhead remains engulfed. I nurse on him until I capture the final ooze of his precious jizz then slowly let the still-pounding dick slip from my lips.
I make direct eye contact with Scott so he sees that I am swallowing it.
"Holy fucking shit!" Chip cries. "Oh, my God! That's so gross!"
I smile first at Scott, who smiles back in contentment, then at Chip. "No it isn't," I say. "Not to me."
"You mean you like it?" Chip asks in disbelief.
I think for a moment. "Not so much the sperm itself," I say, "but I love that I can make it feel so good for Scott. That's what makes it special, that I'm the only one who ever made it that good for him."
"Fuckin' shit," Chip says under his breath. "I can't believe you did that."
"It's not such a big deal," I say, feeling downright worldly all of a sudden. "I've tasted my own a million times, so I know it's not so bad and it won't make me sick or anything."
"You ate your own sperm?" Chip asks, again incredulous.
"Sure," I say. "You wouldn't know because you're not quite old enough yet, but I'll bet every boy tastes it as soon as they start squirting." I fix Scott with a stare, a smirk on my face. "Right, Scott?"
He tries valiantly to hold a straight face but finally bursts into an embarrassed laugh.
Chip looks at his cousin in surprise. "Really?"
Scott shrugs and sheepishly says, "Yeah."
"Fuckin'-A," Chip says and we all fall silent for a moment.
I don't know why I still feel a bit sheepish about it, because there's certainly no doubt at this point that I'm a full-on cocksucking gay boy, but I finally turn to Chip and ask, "So, do you want your turn now?"
Chip shoots a look to his cousin and breaks out into a big smile. "Sure, if you want to."
"Yeah," I say, "I want to."
It's beyond imagining that I should come this far and not get a taste of my true desire. It was wonderful to suck Scott and I'm truly glad that I did it, but to come this close and not have my dream boy would be so anticlimactic as to be absurd. But even more, now that I've taken the first step out of my hiding place I can't simply walk back in. I will never again pretend, at least not with these two kindred spirits, even if they ultimately rat me out. I need -- finally -- to be my real, true self.
"Let's switch places," Chip says, and gives me room to move around to face him as he settles back into the seat I've occupied this whole time. He's trying to be cool but I can see the excitement in his big blue eyes. He opens his creamy thighs and offers the short, stiff object of my years of lust. I want to savor this, to make it last and experience it fully. I wish Chip had been first but I thank the stars for however I got here.
I duck between his open legs and can hardly believe how wonderful it is. I slide my cheek slowly up one silky inner thigh and thrill to the astounding softness. I continue across his loose ball sack and the little orbs inside roll across my chin, then continue with the opposite cheek down the other delicious thigh. I've always loved Chip's beautiful legs and however much of his thighs as I've seen when his shorts ride up or when he's in a swimsuit, and now I know their amazing smoothness and their tender but firm roundness. I hear him sigh and I know he relishes this first contact as much as I do, appreciating that I'm building it up a little first rather than just diving onto his dick. As tough and cheeky as he acts Chip is a sensitive boy beneath it all. I glance up to his pretty face and we share a knowing smile.
I put out my tongue and I tickle the very tip of his scorching hot dick, causing a deeply appreciative shudder to rumble through his small frame. I glance up and he's grinning. I'm beside myself with joy at this, my very first taste of the sort of hairless young boycock I have dreamed of for so long. Scott's dick was great and I know I'll suck it for him whenever he wants me to, but this is my Holy Grail, the ultimate fulfillment of my fantasies, and it's all I hoped for and more.
I lean in again and run the flat of my tongue around and around Chip's taut dickhead as a deeper sigh escapes him, and I feel him open himself even wider. I take the pulsing head fully into my mouth and give my first gentle suck, and a full-on moan escapes him.
"Oh, come on, man!" Chip breathes. "You're killing me!"
Devilishly I raise one eyebrow. "I won't torture you too long," I say. "Maybe just an hour or two."
His eyes are bright. He knows I'm teasing him, but before he can retort I suddenly plunge my lips all the way down his three-plus inches and begin real-deal cocksucking. Those huge ocean-blue eyes spring wide and he gasps in surprise.
"Yeah!" he exclaims, his high voice more excited than I've ever heard anyone. "Oh, Jesus!"
Chip is Catholic, in fact he's an altar boy, and I wonder if he meant that as more than a mere expletive. I am not religious myself but in my humble opinion having this wonderful little cock in my mouth certainly qualifies as a gift from God.
My session with Scott taught me the basics of pleasuring a penis, and so I set to work making it absolutely amazing for Chip, which of course makes it amazing for me as well. I sink to the base and suck firmly, then while keeping strong suction I pull my lips slowly back up to the rounded head, laving it with my tongue. He moans as he exhales sharply and then sucks air back in, only to gasp again as I plunge back down his full length. I love the physical sensations, the taste and feel and smell of this exquisite little dick and the gossamer, utterly hairless skin of the pubis above and the scrotum below. My absolute thrill is the incredible pleasure I'm giving him, knowing now that I have a talent and I was put on Earth to use it.
It's heaven sucking Chip's sweet, boyish dick, and for a while I just enjoy it, but at some point I notice that, even though Chip is moaning and writhing and shuddering in pleasure beneath me his hands have not come to my face or the back of my head. I really liked it when Scott caressed my cheeks and passionately fed me his cock so I take my mouth off of Chip for the first time since the blow job began to ask him to do the same. I stop in surprise when I see that both of Chip's hands are busy on his own chest, fondling and tweaking and pinching his own sharp, hard nipples. I often play with my nipples while masturbating so I completely understand the appeal and in fact it turns me on even more to know that Chip shares this minor fetish and is truly, totally going for his pleasure.
"Help him, Scott," I say with a smile. Scott hesitates but we are all well beyond pretending we're not hot as hell for each other, and in a moment he scoots closer to Chip and ducks his head to his cousin's chest, clamping his mouth over the boy's right nipple the way I'm sure he has a dozen times before and reaching around to caress and pinch the other.
Chip moans softly and says just above a whisper, "Oh, yeah. Do it, Scott." His hands now free, Chip reaches for the back of my head and begins exactly the sort of face-fucking I've been hoping for. His young muscles work under his beautiful smooth skin and I cannot imagine anything better.
"Bite me a little, Scott," Chip begs. "You know how I like it, and pinch the other one."
I smile around Chip's delicious hot boner as I realize that Chip is even more into his nipples than I am, and also that the cousins have surely pleasured each other many times in many ways. Though I'm very content to keep doing what I'm doing I hope to learn a lot of new things from them very soon.
The blow job goes on and on, exactly how long I can't tell because I obviously can't see the dashboard clock from here. The car is steaming with our collective heat and fills with our sounds of passion, slurping and moaning and gasping from all three of us. Chip punctuates this sound track with directions for Scott's nipple stimulation: bite a little harder, Scott, no not so much Scott, tickle my nip really really softly, Scott. He doesn't direct me at all, apparently happy with just what I'm doing.
I feel the same tension in Chip that I previously felt in Scott and I'm surprised because I never expected that Chip might be able to squirt. I never did until the first silky hairs appeared above my ten-year-old dick, so I concluded that's when it begins for a boy. My only reference point was myself and I figured it must have been the same for Scott, that his sperm came along with his hair. There isn't hair-one on Chip but he's beginning to tense and quiver and it seems clear that he's getting there. Of course I'll go with it and give him his pleasure, and I'll truly enjoy it, but I'm a bit disappointed because my dream is to suck a little boy, not an adolescent.
"Suck hard, Bill!" he cries. "Bite my nip, Scott! And pinch me hard!"
We both bear down on him and he fiercely thrusts up to me, holding my head to his crotch with all his strength. Pulses begin in his loins and Chip writhes under my face, crushing his beautiful pubes against my nose. I can feel his hairless balls pull up under my lower lip and I know he's cumming strongly but there is no pungent flavor. There is no taste at all and I realize that even though he's obviously having an orgasm nothing is coming out of him. I'm elated, because I get the best of both worlds with Chip, a beautiful little prepubertal boy and the joy of bringing him to his ultimate pleasure.
"Let go, Scott!" Chip gasps, still holding my head tightly. I sense Scott pull away but I can't see anything, my eyes pressed against Chip's delightfully soft and smooth pubic area. Chip quivers and shakes, pulse after pulse still coursing through him. They begin to slow and reduce in intensity until finally he slumps back to the car seat in near exhaustion, but still holds my head to him.
"Just hold it, OK?" he pants. "Just a minute more?"
I say nothing, just hold his slackening little dick in my mouth and marvel at how different the sensation already is. Though it never goes completely soft it feels and tastes so different, so much more 'penis-like' than when it was a rock-hard sex tool. The knowledge that it really is a real live little boy's dick thrills me to no end.
After a minute Chip breathes, "Whew!" and releases my head. I pull back and return his grin. "Fuck that felt good!" he says.
The three of us fall quiet and I fancy that we are all contemplating the import of the moment. For me, at least, everything is different now. I no longer have to face the world alone. I make sure to give each of them a warm, affectionate smile, which they both return.
I still can't take my eyes off of Chip's lovely, spit-slicked semi-erection. I see that he's eyeing my throbbing boner, too.
"Um..." Chip begins hesitantly, "I guess I owe you guys some fun now."
Scott and I share a glance and I say, "You don't owe me anything," I say. "I did that because I wanted to, and I'm sure Scott wanted to help you out, too. I'd sure like to do more with you guys, but only if you want to."
Chip hesitates only a second. "Switch with me again," he says, and we do the same pas des deux as before in reverse. "Sit as close together as you can," he says, and Scott and I scoot our hips together. Both of our ready boners are standing at rigid attention.
Chip smiles naughtily and leans forward, taking Scott's cock in his left hand, mine in his right and beginning his accomplished stroking.
OK, I think, it's to be another hand job, but that's OK. I assumed that Chip also sucked, but maybe not. It would fit the cousins' dynamic, I guess, and in any event it's OK. People should do what they like and not do what they don't like. I'll get to have another cum and maybe Scott and I can do it at the same time! Then I remember that Scott is barely into puberty and I wonder if he can squirt again in the few minutes he's had to recover. Even if not maybe he can have a nice dry one like Chip did.
Chip's eyes are shining and he's clearly enjoying jerking us off. I start to get into it and decide to relish every aspect of it, the softness of Chip's little hand and his firm grip, his expert speed and the length of his strokes, and Scott's warm presence along my side and all the way down my leg. I feel him looking at me and I turn to him and detect a longing in his gaze.
"He wants you to kiss him," Chip says, giggling at my surprise. "He likes that."
"You like it, too," Scott says, but not angrily, not as a retort. It's just a statement of fact.
Chip nods and reddens in embarrassment, apparently self-conscious of showing genuine emotion rather than mere sexual adventurousness.
I study Scott's cute face, still so boyish and freshly innocent. Suddenly I don't know why I've always thought of him as the second-sexiest cousin, because I'm pretty fucking hot for him right this moment. I drift closer and his smile widens, and in a second our lips meet in a tender, exploratory kiss. I've never kissed a boy, or anyone for that matter except for family, and certainly not in a romantic way.
I like it!
We crush our mouths together and the make-out is on. We kiss fiercely and I get more and more into it. I like this almost as much as sucking cock, and though I'm surprised when Scott's tongue slips between my lips I instantly know that it is the icing on the cake. Between our probing tongues and Chip's energetic stroking I'm tremendously worked up.
And then I feel it, the warm slickness of another tongue, only this time on my scorching cockhead! I break the kiss because I just have to see, and sure enough, there's Chip's blond head bobbing over my crotch while his left hand continues jerking his cousin. I couldn't be more ecstatic and I cry out in joy. Chip looks up at me without releasing my cock and the smile in his eyes is joyous as well.
Scott leans back in and pulls my focus back to our kiss, and I begin to ride this wonderful roller coaster of passion and sexual intensity in both of my favorite erogenous zones. We kiss and kiss and Chip sucks and sucks, showing technique that proves he really has done this many times. He never gets all the way down on me but then I'm pretty long for a 12-year-old and I don't mind.
Seeing as how it's my first blow job ever I'm not picky.
Chip bobs up and down on my cock, sometimes spending half a minute or more licking and slurping my sensitive cockhead until I think I'll go wild.
When my orgasm starts to come it comes really fast. I've never cum from anything except masturbation, including Chip's previous hand job, and I have no way to gauge it. At this moment Scott's tongue is deep in my mouth and it would kill me to disengage from it, but after Chip's reaction when I swallowed Scott's jizz I know it's really important to warn him. It would be unconscionable to just flood his little mouth without warning, wouldn't it?
I grunt loudly into Scott's mouth as my semen blasts into Chip's.
I kiss Scott as hard as I can and my second spurt rockets up my shaft. I have just enough functioning brain cells to realize that Chip has not pulled off. In fact, Chip's fingers are circled around my shaft gently stroking, coaxing the third bubble of cream to ooze onto his tongue. I'm amazed and thrilled and happy beyond all imagination.
"P'too!" I hear as Chip releases me and spits a good amount of semen onto my stomach. He spits out a little more as Scott and I break apart and look down at the beautiful, small boy, who grimmaces as he tries to clear his taste buds. Of course he can't spit out every trace and I see a bit of white on his lower lip which he unconsciously licks up and swallows.
"Ugh!" he says in disgust, but with a bit of a smile behind it. "I knew it would be yucky!" I start to apologize but he says, "I guess it isn't that bad. I thought I was ready for it, but next time I'll know exactly what to expect."
My heart floats to the sky with the realization that there will be a next time!
"OK, Scott's turn," Chip says and turns his full attention to his cousin's pulsing dick. Chip takes it all the way to the root, which he couldn't do for me, and begins to work it in his obviously practiced way. I lean over to kiss Scott and we tongue-wrestle for five minutes or so until he bucks his hips up to Chip's vigorous mouth and moans loudly around my tongue. I kiss him as hard as he kissed me during my orgasm and he thrusts three more times until he's done and spent.
Chip pulls off and grins up at us. Anticipating my question he says, "A tiny bit, like one drop. I went ahead and swallowed it. What the hell?"
Scott and I take Chip by the arms and pull him up to us. Scott kisses him deeply and then Chip turns to me. I pull him tight and kiss him hard. When we break he is smiling happily and I know that we three have truly touched one another's hearts, and that our journey together has only begun.
Thanks for reading Woulda Shoulda Coulda #1: Sleeping Out. I hope you enjoyed it. Please check back to Nifty in the categories Young Friends and Adult-Youth or in my story archive here on my Prolific Authors page.
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