Tangled Sheets (18 page)

After a few minutes of letting me taste his delicious prick, Jon pulled out. He let his balls hang in front of me long enough for me to suck on each one, then pulled away. I thought he was going to shoot another load over my face, but he had other ideas. He stood up and reached down, pulling my legs up so that I was pushed back against the train seat with my feet resting on his chest. He grasped my ankles in his hands, closing his fingers around them tightly. It was the first time he had really touched me, and I felt a quick stab in my groin as my dick responded eagerly.

Still not touching my cock, Jon ran one hand over his chest, wiping up some sweat. Then he reached for my ass and slid his fingers up and down my crack, spreading my cheeks and stroking the sides. He quickly found my waiting hole and pressed his fingertip against it. It opened easily, and I felt his thick finger enter me. He investigated my chute, moving his finger in and out slowly, teasing me.

Putting his hands under my ass, he lifted me so that I was even with his waist. My legs slipped over his shoulders, and his strong arms locked around my thighs, pinning me against his sides. Still tied to the steel frame, I hung a few inches above the seat, supported by Jon's hands.

Jon's cock was still slick from the tongue washing I had given it, and it slipped smoothly into my ass. He lingered a moment as the tip penetrated my hole, letting me adjust to his size, then slid the rest of his prick in in one quick motion, not stopping until his balls came to rest against my ass. He stayed there not moving, letting me feel the heat in his cock as it pumped steadily inside my ass like another heart.

Then he began to fuck me. At first he moved slowly, pulling all the way out until just the end of his dickhead was inside my asshole and then sliding smoothly back in. As he pumped me, his blue eyes looked steadily into mine, never moving away. I stared transfixed as he filled and emptied me with his cock, gasping as he entered me, waiting for him to return when he pulled out. Then he began to speed up, thrusting in and out quickly, pulling my ass against his belly with each thrust. My wrists were aching where the tie pressed into them, but still I wanted more of him. Behind Jon, I could see the liquid gold he'd shot running down the back of the seat. The pressure in my balls was rapidly growing, and I knew that I was going to come any second.

Jon sensed that I was close. As the train flew over the tracks, he pumped me harder and harder, jackhammering his swollen prick into me. My asshole sucked eagerly at his dick, swallowing every inch he fed me. I felt the boiling in my nuts come to a head, rising up my shaft, and watched as a stream of spunk shot from my cock and covered my chest. Jon continued to pound me, and my ass muscles clamped down on his dick as I shuddered and another load of cum erupted from me, this time hitting me in the face and neck.

As I licked my own cum from my lips, I felt Jon swell inside me, stretching the walls of my chute until I was sure they'd burst. With one final grunt, he fell against me and came, his cock filling me again and again with waves of heat as his balls emptied their juice deep in my ass. Jon pulled out of me and lowered me back onto the seat. I was covered with cum, and my ass was still burning from the fucking he'd given me. He untied the knot that held my hands behind my head. There was a dull pain in my arms, and I rubbed my wrists to get the blood flowing again.

Jon was getting dressed, pulling on the familiar uniform as if he'd just stepped out of the shower and was getting ready for work. His hat had stayed on during the entire ride. Looking at his watch, he picked my clothes off the floor and handed them to me.

“We're almost at your station,” he said. “Don't forget to check the surrounding seats for your belongings before leaving the train.”

I
hadn't seen Brian in almost twenty years, so when he walked into my sporting-goods store it took me a minute to recognize the man in front of me as the boy I had known. But as soon as the feeling of having met him somewhere before blossomed into full remembrance, it all came rushing back at once.

 

The summer I was twelve, I was sent for two long weeks to a camp in the forests of upstate New York. I've forgotten the name now, but it was something vaguely Indian, the kind of place with lots of unfinished wood and legions of blue-shirted counselors scurrying around trying to combat adolescent angst with classes in beaded belt work and organized swimming relays. I have always been something of a loner, and the idea of having to spend fourteen days with dozens of other boys who enthusiastically enjoyed the prospects of archery and sing-alongs was not something that appealed to me. As I watched my parents disappear down the dirt road in their station wagon to a summer of freedom, I breathed in the overwhelming scent of pine and felt the doors of the prison close on me in a wash of sickeningly fresh air.

When I arrived at my cabin, my worst fears were confirmed. The place was filled with a group of loud, hyperactive adolescents busily engaged in trying to drag a small, screaming boy clad only in undershorts out of his bed. The boy was holding on to the sheets desperately and looked like he was trying very hard not to cry. The other boys had taken a hold of his legs and were tugging on them, taunting him in mimicking voices as he begged for them to leave him alone. “Come on, Morris,” one of the boys said. “Give us a good show.” The speaker, a fat redhead whose new white tennis shorts cut deeply into his pudgy legs, was grinning stupidly as he yanked on the younger boy's hands, trying to break his grip. Morris let loose with a howl and vainly tried to kick the redhead in the stomach.

Just before the boys pulled Morris away from his bed, the door at the other end of the cabin opened and another boy entered. He was shorter than the redhead, but his body was sinewy with muscle. Unlike my pale, freckled Irish complexion, his skin was tanned a dark honey color, as if he had spent most of his life outdoors, and his blond hair was tousled in an offhand way, falling carelessly over his blue eyes. He was carrying a fishing pole, and his legs were speckled with mud.

When he saw what the redheaded boy was doing, he dropped his pole and rushed forward. His left hand knotted into a tight fist and swung up as he moved. When it connected with the redhead's face, there was a satisfying smacking sound followed by a thud as the bully hit the floor of the cabin heavily. A spatter of red burst from his nose, and he began to wail, his fat hands covering his face.

The other boys were immediately silent, staring first at the boy on the floor and then at the boy standing above him, his hands clenched at his sides. Morris, who had scrambled back into his bunk, was smiling happily down at his tormentor. “Thanks,” he said to his rescuer.

The boy nodded and went to retrieve his fishing pole. Without a word, he placed it under his bunk and then left the cabin as quietly as he had entered it, leaving the other boys staring after him. Because I had gotten to camp late in the day, there was only one bunk left, the one directly above the blond boy's. I hastily threw my stuff onto it and then went out to go after him.

I found him by the lake, sitting on a rock and tossing stones into the water. “Hi,” I said. “I'm Tom.”

He nodded. “Brian,” he said, his voice soft and low, unlike mine, which was starting to break with alarming frequency.

“That was great what you did in there,” I said. “I mean really great.”

Brian grinned. “It was kind of cool, seeing Hayes fall on his ass,” he laughed. “He had it coming.”

I sat down next to him, and we started to talk. Brian was thirteen and lived on a small dairy farm. He had won a trip to camp from the local 4-H club. He missed his dog, a big bear of a mutt named Sam, and hated almost everything about camp except the lake. I in turn told him about my running battle with my older sister, my father's job at the steel mill, and my secret wish to someday pitch for the Yankees.

For the next week and a half, Brian and I did everything together. We were like two sides of the same coin—he light and I dark. For both of us, the horrors of camp were lessened by each other's company. After that first run-in with Hayes, the other boys kept Brian at a safe distance, and by association with him I was viewed as an equally dangerous animal. Because we didn't cause any trouble, the counselors were content to leave us to our own amusements as long as we were back at the cabin before lights out, and we spent the days exploring the forests or paddling around the lake in a stolen canoe we hid in the weeds.

On the Thursday before camp was to end, everyone went on an overnight camping trip to an island about an hour from the camp. By hiding under the cabin, we managed to elude our counselor, who was so busy trying to keep thirty boys under control that he didn't notice our absence. Once they were gone, we came out and looked around the empty cabin happily. We had it all to ourselves for one night.

“What shall we do?” I asked Brian.

He grinned at me. “Skinny-dipping. Last one to the lake is a rotten egg!”

Brian grabbed a towel and was out the door and down the path to the water before I could even start. As I followed him, a trail of scattered clothes marked his progress—shirt, shorts, and shoes discarded as he ran. By the time I got to the shore I was just in time to see the pale moon of his backside as he jumped with a whoop into the lake. His body slipped into the water, sending up a splash as he disappeared below the surface.

I quickly shed my own clothes and followed him. The water was cold, but the feeling of swimming without clothes was wonderfully exciting, the water slipping freely around my dick and balls. I dived under and swam toward Brian, catching a glimpse of his skin through the murky darkness. But before I could reach him, he disappeared. I came up for air and looked around but couldn't find him. Suddenly he burst up next to me. “Gotcha,” he yelled, and put his hands on my shoulders, pushing me down.

As I swept past his body on my way down, I felt his cock brush against my ass and back, my hands scraping his legs. This contact made my own dick stir, and as I swam back to the surface I wondered if he had felt the same thing. In the way that boys do, I had sometimes questioned what his dick looked like, if it was bigger or smaller than mine. But now that I had felt its physical presence between his legs and the feelings it stirred in me, I wanted another look.

Brian was paddling in place when I broke through the water's skin. “It's getting cold in here,” he said. “What do you say we go in?”

I nodded, and we swam to the shore. As we emerged from the water, we avoided looking at each other, and I wondered if Brian was thinking about the same thing I was. Wrapping our towels around us, we ran back to the cabin. Once we were inside, we dried off roughly. Brian dropped the towel and sat on the edge of his bunk, hugging himself with his arms. “Christ, that water was freezing,” he said.

Now that he was sitting still, I got to look at his dick for the first time. Between his legs, his balls had shrunk and pulled up close to his body, the wrinkled skin prickled like gooseflesh and slightly bluish. His cock was shriveled into itself, the pink head sitting in a nest of soft skin. His pubic hair shaded his crotch with a fine golden spray so different from the dark shadow that was just beginning to come in around my own dick.

Looking at Brian's cock, I remembered how it felt rubbing against my back in the lake. I wanted to touch it, but I didn't know what he would do if I did. I dropped my own towel and sat down next to him, not saying anything. When I looked over, I saw that he was staring at my dick, too.

Nervously I reached out and gently cupped his balls in my hand. They felt strangely small, like acorns in their tight sac of flesh. His skin was still damp with lake water, and the skin beneath his ballsac was cool and slightly gritty with sand from where he had dried himself with his towel. Brian spread his legs wider and pushed his cock up into my palm. Without looking over, he placed his hand on my stomach and moved it down my groin. He stopped when he reached my dick, as if he didn't know what to do next. Finally, he wrapped his fingers around the head, rolling it around in his palm.

I lay there with Brian's dick in my hand, feeling for the first time a cock other than my own. I had played with myself enough times to know what it was like, but touching another boy's dick filled me with a new kind of excitement, a feeling of warmth that crept along my skin as I felt Brian's blood beat under my hand.

Brian's eyes were closed, as if he was holding his breath. I looked down at his cock in my hand. It was beginning to stiffen as I caressed it, stretching up from his hairless balls. The tip was flushed a deep pink, and a drop of precum glistened against the lips. Brian reached over to his shelf and picked a bottle of hand cream. “It's for mosquito bites,” he said. “But it should work.”

He squeezed some of the pale green liquid into my hand, and I smeared it up and down his cock. The lotion was smooth and cool, and my hand slid easily up and down the length of Brian's dick, jerking him off. After a few minutes, I felt his dick swelling inside my fist, and suddenly he gasped. A spray of sticky cum shot over my hand, and I felt the warmth of his jism on my skin.

I released Brian's softening prick and sucked on my finger, tasting the salty slickness of his spunk on my tongue. Brian was lying back, his mouth in a half smile. My own cock was standing straight out, rock hard from the excitement of giving my first hand job. I started to jerk off, but Brian stopped me. Pushing me back against the bed, he wiped a mixture of cum and hand cream off his belly and used it to stroke my dick until I came, my body shuddering so intensely I thought I might crumble into dust.

Afterward, we lay holding each other, feeling the afternoon sunlight soaking into our skins. That night we stayed out late, searching the skies for bats before falling into Brian's bunk exhausted and happy. We spent the night together, our arms around each other as we slept alone in the cabin. When the rest of the camp returned the next morning we got holy hell for skipping the overnighter, but it was worth it.

Neither one of us ever discussed what had happened, taking it I suppose as a natural part of growing up. Camp was over in two days, and we never got the chance to repeat our lovemaking. And despite promises to write afterward, we never did.

But now Brian was standing in front of me, just as if he'd never left. His face was wider, and he sported a closely trimmed beard, but his eyes were still bright blue and his hair, while cut short, was still the color of late-summer corn. He had grown into a big man, standing well over six feet with broad shoulders and a chest that filled out his blue work shirt well and muscular legs that looked great in the faded jeans he was wearing.

He looked up from the piece of paper he was holding and started to ask me something. Then he stopped and stared intently for a few seconds until recognition flashed across his face and he broke into a smile. “I'll be goddamned,” he said. “Tom Caffrey.”

I reached over and shook his hand, his fingers closing around mine in a firm grip. “You've grown up a little bit since the last time I saw you,” I said.

Brian laughed. “You've done some filling out of your own. Looks like you've turned into a regular woodsman.”

“Hey, if you're going to sell this stuff you have to know how to use it.”

“This is your store?” he asked.

“Well, mine and the bank's. What brings you in here?”

“A little business of my own. I run wilderness tours for executive types. Heard about the mountains up here and thought they might make a good spot for my next trip. Thought I'd check it out myself first. I just got in and need to pick up a few things before I head up.”

“Sounds just like the sort of thing you'd get into. What do you need?”

Brian smoothed out the list he had crumpled when he shook my hand. “Just some small stuff I forgot to bring. Lantern wick, bug spray, that kind of crap.”

I looked at Brian's hand. There was no wedding band on his finger, and I hadn't seen anyone come in with him, but that didn't mean he was alone. I wasn't sure if he still went in for what we did in the cabin twenty years before, but I sure did and I wanted badly to find out just how much he'd grown up.