Monthly Archives: October 2006

Attention Wal-Mart Shoppers

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You have to be creative to have fun in a small town. That means things like hay rides, cow tippin’, skinny dippin’, etc. But most of time, people just get together, hang out at somebody’s house, maybe light a bonfire or throw in a crappy scary movie, and then just drink themselves into oblivion. The summer during my sophomore year of college, I was tossed right back into this quaint little small southern town environment when I headed home from school. I had taken a job as a line cook at the old restaurant I’d worked at since high school, so I was reunited with some of my old cronies and also made friends with a few of the new guys. But mostly, I spent time with the waitresses. Since I was the only gay guy at the restaurant, I just tended to relate a little better to the ladies! One night, my friend Karen invited me to head out with everyone after to work to J.T.’s place. J.T. was the ‘new’ bartender. Really, he’d been there for nearly a year, but he was new to me since I had never met him before I’d returned home. He was a great looking guy. Tall, lean, dark, close-cropped hair and that perfect amount of prickly stubble on his chiseled cheeks and jaw. But he was a player, and a jackass at that. In the couple weeks that I had been back at the restaurant he had already dicked over (quite literally) two of the waitresses, one of whom was Becky, one of my oldest friends here. I know it’s tough to place all the blame on the guy when he’s known to be the type who takes what he wants and leaves; I mean, it’s not like the girls didn’t know what to expect. Still, somehow every girl always thinks they’ll be the one to change the bad boy and make him settle down. Whatever. Becky was a sweet girl and I held it against the guy for taking advantage of her. So when Karen said the after work party was at J.T.’s, I was a little hesitant to accept her invitation. But with a little coaxing, she got me to agree to tag along, if for no other reason than to ‘watch out for her and Becky’. So, when the last few customers left and we finished mopping up the kitchen and closing down the lines, I said I was gonna run home and shower and change and then head back to meet her to leave for the party. Karen stopped me and explained that J.T.’s place was a long way away and that there was no need to clean up since everyone else would be going in their work clothes as well. I argued that there was a stark difference between a waitress heading out in her ‘work clothes’ and a line cook heading out, wreaking of frying oil, smoke, and whatever else was smeared into his jeans and cook’s smock. Then Karen explained that J.T. had a big pool and that most people ended up in there to ‘get the smell off’. Again, reservation set in. I didn’t have a suit to wear and I wasn’t about to go skinny dipping with all my very hetero kitchen-mates around. I explained to Karen that’d I have to run home and get my swim trunks. “John, seriously. You’re being way to formal about this whole thing. We do this every weekend. It’s just the staff, we head out, we get loaded, we have some fun, and then we come back in here, hung over as hell, and run the restaurant tomorrow morning! There’s no need to go home and ‘freshen up’. Who are you trying to impress?” Karen had a point. But I just felt like an outsider and I think I was looking for an excuse to bail out. “I know,” I began. “It’s just that, I don’t wanna feel awkward. If everyone else keeps a pair of trunks in their car because they know this happens every week, then I’m gonna be the douche sitting in the lawn chair by the pool in his jeans and tshirt watching everyone else have a good time.” “Look, if you’re that worried about it, just stop at the Wal-Mart along the way and grab a cheap swim suit.” Karen, always the pragmatist, seemed to have come up with a reasonable compromise. “J.T. lives near a Wal-Mart?” I scoffed, knowing good and well that when you’re out in the country, EVERYONE lives near a Wal-Mart. Karen cast her head to the side and gave me her ‘don’t be like that’ smirk. I returned the smile. “Okay, so how do I get to J.T.’s?” “You just follow highway 16, past the Wal-Mart…” “Past the Wal-Mart,” I repeated, shooting her a coy smile. Karen just sighed and continued. “Yeah, after the Wal-Mart you’ll go through one of those blinking yellow lights at an intersection and then you take the next right onto Rifle Range Road…” “Rifle Range Road?!” I interjected. “Where the hell are you taking me?!” “John. Your parents live on Foxhole Lane. I live on Houston Mill Road. Don’t act like it’s a big deal. You know this town. This county. College has changed you. When’d you get all high and mighty?!” “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just don’t like this J.T. guy,” I explained. “He’s really not a bad guy. He just had a bad rap. He never lied to Becky or Courtney about his intentions. They just ‘hoped’ for something more and got pissed about it afterward.” “Yeah, I understand that.” And I did understand that. So I changed my attitude and perked up. “So, Rifle Range Road…?” “Follow that for about a mile. There’s nothing out there but pine trees and wooden fences, so when you see a house with a couple dozen cars parked on the front lawn, you can pretty much assume that’s it.” Karen concluded. “Fair enough.” And so, I set out for Wal-Mart on Highway 16 in pursuit of an affordable, and most assuredly fashionable piece of swimwear. I got to the store around midnight. And naturally, like every Wal-Mart in America, it was lit up like a Carnival, proudly displaying its ‘open 24hrs a day’ status. The parking lot was practically empty. ‘Why in the hell does a place this remote need a 24hr department store?’ I asked myself. I got inside and headed for the clothing section. I had to give my eyes a moment to adjust to the searing fluorescent lights. As I broke off from the main aisle and turned in between the clothing racks, I noticed a young couple passing me in the other direction. They caught my eye mostly because they were the only other shoppers in the area. But also, because the boy was so damn hot. They looked like high school kids. Young, toned, fit and tanned. The girl had classic blonde-hair, blue-eyed beauty, with long, straight golden locks and perfect, flawless skin. She was wearing a tight white tank top and a skimpy little pair of snug red knit shorts that showed off every curve of her perfect, tight little ass and perky tits. Her boyfriend was every bit the piece of eye candy. He was a tall, thick, broad-shouldered hunk, with shaggy brown hair and square jaw. He too had crystal blue eyes and the most devilishly handsome dimples. He was wearing loose cargo shorts with a form-fitted button down shirt that accentuated his strong pecks and full, round, bulging biceps. My head sort of twisted around on a swivel as they passed by me, trying to give my eyes as much time as possible to soak in the image of this young stud. ‘Probably some football player and his cheerleader girlfriend,’ I thought to myself. I shook the image of the young stud out of my head and ventured further into the clothing area. Eventually, I found the men’s swimwear. Yikes. Talk about some gawdy-ass clothing. I had to dig through three racks just to find something that didn’t look like it was the national flag of some third-world country. Finally, I found a pair of plain blue trunks in my size. Good enough. I grabbed them and headed out. As I was clearing the section, it dawned on me that I should probably try the trunks on, just to be sure they fit right. So I headed back and found the little row of Wal-Mart fitting rooms. They were really little more than a set of stalls set out in the middle of the clothing section, but at this time of night, I figured what did it matter? There was no one around. So I went in the first stall and dropped the latch down. The little room was tiny, and there were random articles of clothing strewn all about the floor, and on the little hooks that adorned the walls and back of the door. The mirror on the side wall was cracked, and the little bench, presumable for sitting, was broken and halfway falling off. “Nice,” I mumbled to myself as I set my blue trunks down on the broken bench. I turned and began to unfasten my belt buckle. I dropped my dirty work jeans to my ankles and kicked my feet free. Then I heard a thump against the wall beside me. I realized someone must be in the next fi…

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Passion Ignited

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I decided to offer my services to Bliss. He was a very likable guy and he and I seemed to be nursing a burgeoning friendship out of our mutual boredom with physics. We sat together during lecture and I pretended to understand every word of Dr. Blair’s patter on the theory and applicability of Gauss’s Law; I say pretend even though I mainly did understand. The truth was I just wasn’t paying attention. Ever since I’d met Bliss I found that my curiosity toward other men was beginning to take on new dimensions. I had never been to bed with a man, nor had I ever felt a sexual pull toward any man I’d met. Most gay men I knew didn’t interest me in the least, and all the straight men I knew were a non-issue, there was simply no attraction to them whatsoever. I was, however, for all the non-interest, essentially bi-curious. I would page through magazines with nude men and fantasize, and eventually, when I couldn’t help it anymore, I began to experiment with toys. I had gotten a life-like dildo from a mail-order company and would at times use it on myself with no abandon. I loved the sensation of anal penetration while I masturbated, and though this didn’t make me any more attracted to men, I did want to experience the sensation with the heat of another body. I had been with several women since I’d been in college and all of them commented on my sensuality as a lover. I loved to touch and kiss and run my tongue everywhere. Cunnilingus was my specialty and I loved it! I was still irresistibly attracted to women, but there was always the bi-curiosity eating away at the back of my mind. Perhaps in some strange way I wanted the sensation of embodying a woman, and it was this sensation which had led me to the aforementioned experimentation. Bliss was tall and handsome with dark eyes and dark hair. His shoulders were broad but not bulky, and his waist was thin, though he had a very shapely and very present bulk in his butt and thighs. I was by comparison short, with a lean frame that I kept meticulously toned. I was never able to gain any significant amount of upper body bulk, though I tried valiantly, lifting weights almost religiously. I did have a good-sized lower half however, despite the challenges my torso presented me, and I was always happy to receive compliments by girlfriends on my “cute butt”. I had run track in high school and so had Bliss. That was the beginning of our conversation. He was still active in athletics due to his size and strength, whereas I had tried out for every event and didn’t seem to impress even the towel boys. Bliss was a talented athlete in almost every respect. He had speed, strength, grace and balance. This made him somewhat of a prize to the track team, though he found even greater success with the swim team, and, due to conflicting schedules, he’d decided to focus on swimming. He still participated in some minor events like the javelin and discus, but these were so devoid of competition that he was in no panic to train everyday. I have no idea why he always sat with me in class, or why he seemed to like me at all. He was truly a statuesque figure, popular with all the jocks and fraternity guys and even more popular with the sorority girls. He was always being photographed for the school paper and most people knew his face if not his name, height, weight and favorite film. But despite all of the popularity, he conveyed a rare modesty and seemed to me to be truly down-to-earth. Many times, when I’d act self-deprecating about my failure to make University athletics, he’d smile and encourage me, or insist that I had something he’d never have because I was an Honor’s student who had been the salutatorian at my prep school. Perhaps his words were merely spoken out of flattery, but they never ceased to make my heart sing. This was the typical cause of my inability to focus during physics. While Bliss was busily copying notes from the blackboard, I was daydreaming about making love to him. This fantasy excited me. I had never felt this surge of passion for a man that I actually knew before. The men in magazines were always chiseled perfectly and bronzed, having almost no body hair. Bliss embodied the same glow as a male model. He was downright sexy and I found him irresistible. I would imagine how his lips felt or what the skin of his neck tasted like or how he would moan if I stroked his nipples. I fantasized about his size and wondered what it would feel like to take him inside of me. Sometimes I would become so involved in the fantasies that I would lose track of time and place altogether. I was sitting in physics class mindlessly recording equations on a notebook, but my mind and loins were someplace else entirely. I would often need to force myself to stop daydreaming because I was becoming too aroused; but then just the smell of his body or a whiff of his musk cologne would send me into an intoxicated frenzy. It was in this state that I offered to help him study over the weekend. Though he was not in any way un-intelligent, Bliss was a disaster with physics. His father had insisted that he major in engineering because “that’s where all the jobs are”, but Bliss was a confused and frustrated math student. He earned good grades in most everything else, including pre-calculus, but it seemed that calculus had gotten the better of him and those skills were essential to success in engineering. I had excelled at math since I was very young and had sped through all the math requirements for my pre-pharmacy major, so, naturally, I offered to help my newfound friend who seemed so sweet and strange and hopeless when it came to rates of change and velocity components. He was all too eager to accept my offer and suggested we meet at his parents’ house in a subdivision just outside of town. His parents were wealthy and they owned homes in three different states, residing most of the year in Florida. Bliss used the family’s summer cabin in Denver when he was at college and as it was early October, just nearing the midterm of fall semester, he had the cabin all to himself. I met him on Saturday afternoon and found the cabin to be immaculately furnished but not stuffy. It was comfortable, with two perpendicular leather sofas in a gathering room just beyond the entrance where I was told I could make myself at home. There was a fireplace at the far end of the room and a bearskin rug spread out to make the hardwood floor more inviting. Upon the rug was a square wooden table, stained to look antique, situated between the sofas and parallel to each at its edges. Bliss had been studying art history that morning and a book on the table was open to a photo of Michelangelo’s David. I felt myself becoming warm. I tried to avoid the comparison between the artwork and Bliss, but the carnal stir in my solar plexus was far too arousing. I could feel the blood rushing to my face as Bliss walked in with two cups of coffee on a tray with some sugar and cream. He was wearing a cashmere navy v-neck sweater that was fitted to his body and a pair of white chinos that were taut around his ass and thighs but slackened toward his feet, which were clad in a pair of cashmere socks. His style impressed me and I wondered if he might realize the effect he had on me. The V in his sweater revealed a strong neckline and he was smooth and tanned from having spent the summer in Florida. I heard rumors about swimmers that would shave their entire bodies to increase their speed in the water and I suspected that there wasn’t a hair on Bliss’s body. “So, Pete, how was the drive out? It must’ve taken you what, 45 minutes?” he said, alluding to my late arrival. I had gotten lost twice but was too embarrassed to admit this and so invented some pretense about a lost wallet or missing keys or something. “Did you get harassed by the guys at the guardhouse? I told them I had a visitor coming, but they get caught up in their delusions and can sometimes be dicks. One time, there was a new guard on duty and I hadn’t met him yet, the fucker didn’t let me in until I showed a driver’s license that clearly stated my last name and then he insisted on escorting me home to make sure I actually had keys to this place. Unbelievable!! When my dad heard about that he threw a fit and I haven’t seen that guard around since.” He spoke with a grin as he sipped his coffee. “He must have been demoted to the graveyard shift or something, heheh.” I muttered attempting to be humorous but somehow letting out an almost confused concern for the guard. “I guess.” He retorted. “Hey, did you get that exam review that Blair put out? I tried to get online to print it out but for some reason my wireless isn’t working.” “Yeah, it’s in my backpack, hold on.” I fumbled around in my folder for a minute and produced the review sheet. When I handed it to him, he thanked me warmly and with a smile that almost hinted he was on to my uneasiness. He looked down at the sheet and I looked down to the V in his shirt. I felt my cock start to swell and thought it a good idea to move to the floor where my waist would be hidden underneath the table. “Hey, I got you a cup of coffee. You should taste this stuff Peter, my parents just went to Jamaica and they mailed me like a pound of freshly roasted Jamaican beans. I have a state of the art espresso machine and so it’s really good. Try some.” I started to oblige him, but as I reached across the table I knocked the jar of cream over into the sugar bowl and it made somewhat of a mess. I pretended to look away as it happened, so that I would have an excuse not to jump up and clean it, thus exposing the tightness in my jeans. I was hoping two seconds would buy enough time for Bliss to notice the sticky white mess and decide to act before I was “aware” of what was going on, but his attention seemed to have wandered over to his art book and so I had no recourse. “Oh fuck!” I cried. “What?” he exclaimed shifting his focus to the tray. “Oh no, yikes, oh don’t worry I’ll get that. God, I’m sorry about putting that stuff in the way and then bragging about how good the coffee was and all that…” He seemed genuinely apologetic, perhaps sensing my embarrassment and being a decent host, didn’t wish to exacerbate it. He stood swiftly up to grab the toppled jar and as he did I noticed a sizable increase in the front of his pants. I looked away hoping he didn’t notice that I was staring and decided I should maybe do something. “Man I’m really sorry about that. Can I grab a towel or something?” “No, stay put. I’ll take care of it.” He rushed toward the kitchen with the dampened tray and returned moments later with a wet cloth to blot the rest of the cream from the table. The whole incident took around ten minutes to deal with, after which he assured me it wasn’t a big deal and even made a couple of fresh cups of coffee to get the good spirits rolling again. “So what’s wrong with you today? You must be tired. Did your girl keep you up all night or something?” he said this with a coy smirk, such that there was something behind his words. I flushed as the thought crossed my mind that he might be trying to illicit information on my dating habits. “No…” I said with a shaky voice, but let the “o” roll out as if there was more to say, though I could barely catch my breath. “I… I don’t actually have a girlfr… at the moment anyway… I mean I’m not really looking… I’m really busy and I don’t have time to uh…” My tongue felt languid. I tried to sip the coffee while pretending to have said something meaningful, but it was too hot. I looked down and blew the steam away and there was a moment of silence in which I could hear my own heart pounding faster and faster, fearing I’d made a fool of myself. “I’m sorry Peter. I hope I haven’t embarrassed you. I’m just not that good with the ‘guy talk’, ya know? I was just trying to open you up. You always seem so strict and quiet, but when I can actually get you talking you’re a really nice guy.” He beamed at me. “Oh no, I’m fine. I mean I’m not offended, pfft, yeah right…Naw I’m just tired because of the exams and all… I haven’t slept for days and I’m just going on caffeine and adrenaline at this point.” I half lied. I truly wasn’t offended by his questioning; not in the least, it excited me. I was still a bit embarrassed, however, about being so demonstrably flustered and so I lied about the not sleeping and caffeine. “Yeah, I know what you mean, though I still find time to sleep.” A couple of hours passed while I tried to explain the physics notes to him in a way that he would understand them. We were making progress and he grew more and more gracious and friendly with each problem we worked through. Physics was something I excelled at, and having the distraction of something I enjoyed helped assuage my internal fire. I eventually stood up with no inhibition and stretched a bit while Bliss worked diligently at some of the problems. It was getting late and I was starting to get hungry. Just as I was feeling the pangs of hunger grip at my stomach Bliss interjected. “You must be getting hungry, huh?” “Yeah, a little” “Well, I’ve got plenty of food. I can cook us dinner if you want.” “No, you don’t have to do that, I can just tough it out, I guess.” “Tough it out? You’re hungry, aren’t you? Why don’t you let me make you dinner, it’s the least I could do. I feel like I’m actually starting to understand all this momentum and moments of inertia stuff and I owe it entirely to you my friend.” How could I say no? I joined him in the kitchen where I observed him quickly jostling around, making preparations. Bliss had a flair in the kitchen like he did in the pool. Watching him move was a study in grace. “Where’d you learn to cook like that?” “Oh, my mother’s a professional chef. We own restaurants in Los A…

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Glen: Exposed At A Soccer Match

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It had been a good season and it all came down to these last four minutes of the soccer match. Glen Deaning’s High School soccer team, the Wolverines, were minutes away from scoring the biggest victory of the year. If they could triumph and beat the Hurricanes they would be able to go to the National Championship in Miami, Florida. Each young man wanted this and was working hard to achieve it. Glen was playing his usual position as goalie. Glen crouched low in the net, trying to block as much of it as he could with his well-defined body. The blue nylon material of his Umbros stretched to the limit against his colossal backside. As he did, Glen thought how great it would be to go to national competition. But, at the present he had one more thing on his mind: he hoped that his soccer shorts would hold out and not rip until the match was over. You see at 18, Glen was a very handsome young man bearing a remarkable resemblance to a teenage Dean Cain with his dark hair and sexy eyes. But, the one big difference between Glen and Dean Cain was Glen’s massive butt. Glen had always had trouble when it came to being fitted for pants. If they fit in the waist, they were tight in the ass. If they fit in the ass, they were loose in the waist. It was a vicious cycle. At the first soccer practice of the season, Glen had split his shorts right down the back. He was slightly embarrassed. But, it wasn’t too bad. When his shorts split his bare jock-strapped backside was displayed to all of his teammates. But hell, they had all seen his bare ass before in the locker room. And, he had seen theirs. So, while it was somewhat embarrassing to be the only one on display, it wasn’t as bad as if the stands had been filled with fans. In fact, when his Umbros split, Coach Adam’s just slapped him on his exposed backside and told him to hit the showers. He was excused. Ever since that day, Glen had had his soccer shorts specially made to ensure extra room in the seat. And, he never ever put them in the dryer, just to make sure there was no shrinkage. Well, last night after washing them, he accidentally put them in the dryer. He was furious with himself, yet had no choice but to wear them today. As he stood in the goalie box, he could feel the nylon pulled taut against his voluminous 18-year old ass, caressing his jockstrap-encased buns. Mentally, he envisioned the shorts giving way. It was as if he could actually feel the threads coming loose. But, that was silly. The game was almost over and he had to do was concentrate on the match. Everything would be fine. Glen watched as the blue & white uniforms of his team intermingled with the red & white of their opponents. The score was tied. But, Glen had vowed that no one would score another goal on him today. He intended to keep that vow. The next thing Glen saw was a soccer ball flying through the air. He jumped up and dove at it, his excessive butt jiggling in his tight Umbros. He stopped the ball in mid-air, preventing the Hurricanes from scoring. However, as the teen jumped up there was the audible sound of material ripping and Glen felt an unmistakable cool breeze rush over his plump buns. Glen landed on the ground face down on top of the ball. The seat of his pants had finally given way under the unbelievable strain of his oversized ass. The youth’s big buns were completely exposed except for the small leg strap of his jock. Coach Adams called a time out and all the young men gathered. “Deaning,” he said, “I guess you’re out of the game.” “No!” pleaded Glen. “I can play. My parents and brother are in the stands. Mom always carries a sewing kit in her purse. She can put a few stitches in my shorts and I’ll be fine. Please!” . Coach Adam’s agreed and sent one of the players to the stands to get Glen’s family. It was true that Glen’s mom always carried a sewing kit. It came in handy more than once after Glen’s mammoth butt ripped out so many pairs of pants. Glen and his team waited for what seemed like an eternity for his family to make it to the sidelines. Glen was red with embarrassment at the thought of his entire school staring at his big naked behind. When Glen’s family finally arrived his father was laughing as hard as could be. “Oh, Glen,” he said, “Not again!” Coach Adams looked at Mrs. Deaning and asked, “Do you think you can stitch them up?” “Yes,” she replied. To Glen’s father she said, “You pull the two pieces of material together in the back. I’ll pin them and I can stitch the shorts right up with him still in them.” Mr. Deaning got behind his son, still laughing at …

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Kiddie Pool, Part 2

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“Ya know, we could really use some music!” Dan commented just as we were about to get into the full swing of things. Kevin hopped out of the pool, dripping wet as he scampered up the steps to the porch, his ass cheeks bouncing and his thick prick noticeably engorged inside his thin little red g-string. We all chatted for a few moments until he came scurrying back out, carrying his desktop boom box and dragging a long yellow extension cord behind him. He seemed to also have something else in his hands. He set the stereo down on the bottom step leading up the porch and powered on the device. He cranked up the volume, and from the speakers blared the opening tune of Carly Simon’s ‘Nobody Does it Better’. “Perfect.” I complimented Kevin on his choice of music, shooting the young buck a coy smile. Then, as he turned to strut down the sidewalk toward us, Kevin revealed what he was obscuring in his other hand – a fifth of tequila. He hopped back into the pool and offered up the bottle. We were all pretty much buzzing already from all the beer and wine coolers we’d had over the past hour, but a few shots of tequila were exactly what we needed to give us the courage to go on with our ‘performance’. Once we had all taken a couple of heavy gulps a piece, Kevin capped the bottle and tossed it to the side of the shallow inflatable pool. “Where were we?” Kevin asked Dan, running his fingers down Dan’s smooth, well-developed chest. The two shared an eager smile then locked lips and resumed their heated make-out session. I grabbed Charlie’s hand and brought it up to my own hard, cut chest. I knew he was a little nervous – this wasn’t exactly Charlie’s sort of behavior – so I figured he’d need a little prodding. I continued to keep one watchful eye on the pair of faces peering at us from the Johnson’s livingroom window as I coaxed Charlie into massaging my pecs and shoulders. To my surprise, Charlie took my gentle urging and just ran with it. He forced his thick, strong fingers along my smooth, damp skin, grinding into my pecs, groping my abs and sides, up to my armpits and back down along my spine. He leaned in as he curled his arms around me to better reach my back and began snapping at the surface of my chest and lower neck with little nips of his lips. His motions were driving me wild and I realized that the tequila shots must be fast-acting for Charlie, because I had never known him to be this aggressive. Soon, he was biting and sucking all over my upper torso. I was leaning back, resting my neck and shoulders against the soft, inflated edge of the side of pool while Charlie lurched between my legs. I felt my cock hardening inside my tight little blue speedo as his body rubbed around against me between my legs. Charlie must have noticed my little soldier rising to attention, because he reached down and placed his hand on my basket, cupping my balls and kneeding the top of my shaft with little circular motions of his thumb. I closed my eyes and began to move with him as he continued to pleasure my body with his lips and my cock with his fingers. I was running my hands up and around his back and shoulders, rubbing and tracing his lean, lithe form with my fingertips. I was feeling warm and a little dizzy. Maybe I’d gulped a bit more tequila than I should have. If I was feeling this drunk now, I couldn’t imagine where I’d be in 20 minutes when the effects really kicked in. I had almost forgotten about the Johnson’s watching, so craned my neck up and opened my eyes to make sure they were still at the window. But before I could focus on the front of the Johnson’s home, I was distracted by what I saw at the other end of the pool. Kevin was in a similar position to me, leaning back against the other end of the little inflatable pool, facing me. Dan was up on his knees, helping Kevin wiggle out of his tight little red thong, he had it about halfway down his thighs, passing his knees and eventually off his feet. Dan brandished the thong above his head like a cowboy with a lasso, twirling the skimpy garment around a few times before tossing it out onto the lawn with a hearty, “Yee-Haw!” I was mesmerized by Kevin’s huge prick sticking up out of the shallow water of the kiddie pool. I had heard the rumors that he was well hung, but I had no idea just how true those rumors were. I had to close my eyes through a couple of slow blinks to steady my drunken vision so that I could get a good image of this thick, tanned, nine inch cock that was bobbing up and down only a few feet away from me. My own cock nearly doubled in size at the sight of it and I heard Charlie let out a complimentary grunt of approval. Dan descended between Kevin’s legs, blocking my view of his magnificent piece. As I watched the back of Dan’s head drop and lower, I knew with certainty that he was giving Kevin head. I was too drunk by this point to acknowledge the brazen absurdity of watching one of my best friends give another a blowjob right out here on our front-fucking-lawn. Rather, all I could feel was jealousy. I motioned for Charlie to turn. He did so and froze. “Holy shit,” he mumbled when he noticed what our counterparts were up to. “Is this too much?” he asked uncertainly. “Well, they’re below the edge of the pool… so no one can really see anything…” I began. “But that’s not to say that anyone looking wouldn’t know exactly what is going on!” Charlie just turned back and smiled at me. “When in Rome!” he spat seductively as he curled his fingertips into the waist band of my snug little speedo. “Um…” I began to say, trying to think of a good reason for this not to happen. But inside, I wanted desperately for a little freedom, so I wasn’t really about to stop him. I put my elbows down into the bottom of the pool so that I could push myself up, lifting my ass off the bottom so that Charlie could work my speedo off of me. My cock sprung free like a flagpole as he wiggled the tiny swimsuit down my legs. Charlie didn’t twirl my bottoms around as dramatically as Dan had, but he tossed them to the lawn next to Kevin’s thong with a bit of flair none-the-less. The whole scenario had me turned on something fierce. I had always thought of Charlie as the sweet, innocent type. I had never seen this side of him. But as he descended and planted his mouth on the tip of my bulging cock, I realized there was quite a bit about Charlie I didn’t know. He swallowed my tip, working his tongue and lips around my glans, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my wet, drunken body. The motions of the four writhing bodies in this little kiddie pool were making for quite a bit of waves. But we’d already splashed out so much water that there wasn’t really much spilling over the sides. Charlie dropped down further, taking in about half of me, bouncing the head of my cock against the roof of his mouth as he examined the circumference of my shaft with his tongue. I was vibrating from the waist down. There was something about the motions of this boy’s tongue that was just taking me places I’d never been before. Charlie was giving me the best head I’d ever had. I forced my eyes open and checked the front of the house next door. More lights were on behind draped windows, and I could see that at least one pair of eyes was still watching from the window. One finger could be seen poking through the slats of the blinds and pulling down the lower one to provide more room through which to see. Kevin was moaning and screaming out a whole bevy of dirty sex-speak things like, “Oh fuck yes! Suck my fucking cock! You love to swallow dick, don’t you, you dirty little slut!” Dan was pistoning his head up and down so fast on Kevin’s cock that his soggy, brown mop of hair just appeared as one fuzzy bl…

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