by Will S
Chris awoke in the morning to the smell of bacon frying. "Hey," he said, ambling into the kitchen area in just his boxers.
Wright looked up. "Sleep well?"
"Yeah, well mostly. Woke up a couple of times is all. How 'bout you?"
"Yeah, well you look like shit," Chris said with a grin.
"Yeah? You sure you're not looking in a mirror?" Wright matched Chris's grin.
In truth, Chris had, as he had reported, mostly slept well, but twice he had awakened with his penis so hard it was aching. Both times he'd been dreaming. And what (or who) he was dreaming about was certainly no surprise to him. In his dreams a naked Wright Steinbeck moved ever closer to him, turning and swaying, drawing him out, playing with him, almost daring him to reach out and touch him. And both times, just as he was doing exactly that, reaching out to embrace the smooth, solid body of the perfect runner, he woke up. In a way, he was almost glad he had, otherwise he might have really messed up his sleeping bag. (Eeewww!) As it was, there was no way, he was going to be able to go back to sleep without first "taking care of some business." He was so glad Wright was in another room and asleep, otherwise he didn't know what he would have done.
The truth was Chris was half right. His friend was in another room, but he wasn't asleep, and his keen hearing captured the telltale sounds of a male pleasuring himself. Wright smiled, then frowned as he realized what he was listening to. He reached down and squeezed his junk, hoping to discourage any "developments" that might require his "attention." He lay there, sighing, trying to clear his mind of any thoughts that would surely work against him.
After they'd eaten, they cleaned up and chilled for a while. Then, as on any other day, they ran, and as they ran, Chris delighted in pointing out local landmarks and sharing local lore.
When they returned to the camp, rather than shower, they simply got some water, and launched into working on the picnic table.
But noontime, they'd gotten most of the structural pieces cut, drilled, and assembled. Then it was time for a swim before lunch.
Wright started in to the cabin to change, but Chris stopped him. "Hey."
Wright twisted around.
"Nobody's around." Chris waved his arm across the lake. He was right about that. They hadn't seen one other person or heard any sound—neither an outboard nor a car.
"Yeah?" Wright asked.
"You wanna, you know, go…I mean…do we really need our suits?
Wright's eyes widened. "You mean…like skinny-dipping?" He blushed.
"Yeah, man," Chris grinned, "Exactly like skinny-dipping."
"What's it gonna matter?" Chris gave Wright a look. "It's just us."
Chris grinned, wedged off his shoes, pulled off his socks, and then in about three seconds was as naked as the day he was born.
Wright looked around again, and with a shrug, stripped off his clothes and dove in, Chris watching all the way.
Again they giggled like two little school boys. As they did yesterday, they spent a lot time just plain horsing around and having fun, but this time it was different. At first they both seemed ultra-conscious about not touching each other, but the longer they were in the water, the more they seemed to forget about the barrier between them, and before long their hands were brushing over each other's arms, then legs, and before long, ending up in all sorts of places. The touches were, of course, fleeting—touches that each could consider "accidental"—but both knew what was happening.
"You ever done this before?" Wright asked.
Wright nodded. "Yeah."
"Sure, sometimes over at Matt's." Matt was Matt Parsons, and Chris had already told Wright about the awesome swimming pool he had.
"Oh man," Wright muttered, "not me."
Chris nodded and refrained from telling his friend that often the nude swims were "co-ed."
It was then that they heard it: A whirring, rumbling sound, and soon from around the corner, came about a sixteen foot outboard.
"Oh shit," Chris muttered. "It's the game warden."
Wright was mortified as the warden slowed the boat and then inched the outboard closer to them.
When he was within ten feet or so, he idled back on the motor.
"How're you boys doing?"
"Pretty good, sir," Chris answered.
"What's going on?"
"Ah, we're just up for the weekend. Got here last night. My friend here repaired the door on my folks cabin, and now we're building a picnic table."
"Yeah," Wright offered, "it's gonna be an octagonal shape. We're using cedar."
"Awesome," the warden answered. "By the way, son, who are your folks?"
"The Donnellys, sir. We're from down in Indiana. We got this place maybe seven or eight years ago from someone named Standish, I think—something like that, anyway."
All this time the two boys had been treading water. The warden, while not actually able to see into the water all that well, had no trouble at all seeing their shorts and underwear strewn over the dock. He suppressed a smile, thinking back to the lazy summer days of his own youth.
"Well," the warden offered, "don't get waterlogged."
"No, sir," the boys squirmed.
With that, the warden thought he'd cut the two a break, opened up the throttle, and headed off around the next bend.
"'What's it gonna matter?'" Wright quoted, glaring at his friend. "'It's just us!'"
Chris shot him a look. "You're acting like we'd been caught with our pants…Oh wait."
"Yeah. Exactly," Wright breathed, "Down. With our pants down!" Wright shook his head, then rolled his eyes.
"More like off...with our pants off,," Chris clarified with a sly grin.
"Do you think he knew?" Wright asked softly as if somehow the warden might still be able to hear him.
"Nah," Chris said. "I'm sure he thought we were just laying our washing out to dry on the dock." He gave a laugh, and Wright, nervous and excited, and unable to resist his friend's playfulness, joined in.
"Oh man, what if he'd told us to go get an ID?" Wright asked.
"I'd've told him you were the one with the license!"
"Nice," Wright huffed with fake indignation, and again the lake echoed with laughter.
By late afternoon, the picnic table was pretty much assembled. They still had the top to screw down, but that would go pretty quickly. Both of them were happy with their handiwork.
They ate, cleaned up, played some lame board game, and by 10 o'clock were ready to move out to see the show.
The peak viewing was supposed to be between midnight and daylight, but they figured maybe they'd see something earlier.
They walked out and looked around. "The chairs?" Wright asked?
"I guess," Chris said. "Wait…Hold on a sec. I've got an idea." He ran back into the house. In a few moments, he was back, with a flashlight, a large sheet, and their sleeping bags. He put them on the unfinished table, aiming the flashlight onto the beach. "Give me a hand." Together they spread the sheet out. Then they grabbed the sleeping bags, and lined them up side-by-side on the sheet. "Come on," he whispered, and the two boys stretched out on the soft sleeping bags on the sandy beach.
"Incredible," Wright murmured. "Look at those stars!"
"Yeah," Chris answered. "Awesome!"
"You can see the Milky Way." Wright pointed up at the band of so many stars that it silhouetted his hand when he pointed it out.
"Look!" Chris thrust his hand out just above Wright's. There, streaking across the sky for maybe two seconds was a shooting star. "Did'ja see it!"
"Yeah," Wright whispered breathlessly. "Amazing!"
And so the Perseid Meteor Shower spread its magic like fairy dust over the two boys. They lay flat on their backs, heads straight up, gazing at first one, then another, and another, and another meteor. Some were short-lived lasting only a second or two. Some were dim, barely visible. Others appeared to streak across the whole night sky. Some were so brilliant, it almost seemed they could illuminate their faces.
At one point when there was a little lull, Wright checked his watch. "It's 11:30. The best is yet to come!" He turned to Chris and gave a smile. He could just make out Chris's features. (They'd left a light on in the cabin, and that gave just enough light to allow them to see their faces without interrupting the awesome display above them.)
As they moved to get comfortable, without either realizing it (or perhaps they did), their legs opened slightly, and inevitably Wright's left leg and Chris's right leg bumped up against each other. They both froze, waiting to see what the other would do, but neither did anything. It was the lightest of touches, but both felt each other's heat, and for both, the contact seemed somehow familiar, okay. Another ten or fifteen minutes passed, and Wright felt Chris shift slightly, bringing his whole leg, from his thigh to his calf up against Wrights. In the chilly night air, the warmth felt good, good enough for Wright to feel the beginnings of a reaction between his legs. He swallowed hard, and as they lay there, he could hear a soft sigh come from Chris, and then even softer breathing.
"Wright," Chris whispered. "Is…ahm…is it okay?" Wright seemed frozen, lying there looking straight up into the sky. When Wright didn't answer right away, Chris added, "I mean…you know…touching."
Still without moving his head, Wright swallowed hard. It's Chris doing this, not me, he thought. "I dunno," he said, and then closing his eyes and taking a trembling breath, added, "Yeah, I guess. It's okay."
"Good," Chris answered softly. "Feels good."
"Yeah," Wright mumbled. His heart had quickened its pace, and tremors spread throughout his body.
"You…you won't tell anyone about this, right?"
"No! Who would I tell?"
Both boys were silent as another long display of meteors lit up the sky. Chris lay there watching the brilliant streaks of light, but his mind was focused elsewhere. Should I, he kept asking himself over and over. Should I? He'd never been so nervous, so uncertain, but he knew it was all up to him. Wright, after all was the shy one. He would do this, but what if it ended in disaster? And it could, very easily, even though Wright had said he wouldn't tell anyone about what was happening between them. What if everything he'd been feeling was all in his imagination, all just his desire? Still…it wasn't in his nature not to act.
Chris Donnelly took a deep breath, held it a moment, and then exhaled. He pressed his head into his sleeping bag, and the soft sand below. His heart was pounding. He knew what he wanted to do, but how? How should he do it?
"Amazing, isn't it?" Chris whispered.
"Yeah," Wright said. His heart, too, was pounding, but it wasn't the spectacular sights above them that was causing that.
"I'm watching these things streak across the sky, and it's magical. It seems like if you make a wish, anything can come true."
"Yeah, that'd be something, wouldn't it?" Wright murmured, his attention torn between the stars and the troubling, exciting thoughts, like the shooting stars above, streaking across his consciousness.
"What would you wish for, Wright…if you could wish for anything?"
"Shhh…" Chris breathed and turned toward Wright. He reached out, and put his finger lightly on his friend's lips. "Shhh…Just think it…or it won't come true." Slowly, he drew his finger downward, and more fingers joined that single one.
"Wha…" Wright began, now totally focused on first a single digit, and then others, tracing under his chin, down his smooth neck, and then heading south over his chest. He was sure Chris would feel his heart pounding as those fingers traveled downward.
"Shhh…" Chris repeated. "This…" He swallowed hard and cleared his raspy throat. "This is my wish." He drew is hand lightly over Wright's torso, settling just about the belt loops of his shorts.
A sound slipped from Wright's throat, half groan, half sigh as he felt the weight of Chris's hand pressing down on his stomach. Should he stop him? Should Wright lift Chris's hand away? Yes, he told himself. Yes, I should. But he couldn't do it. It was like he was desperate to have that soft touch continue.
"Is it okay?" Chris asked again.
With unblinking eyes, Wright gazed into Chris's face. He nodded just the slightest bit. Chris twisted around more, so the two friends were facing each other head on. The tip of Chris's tongue slipped out between his lips just enough to moisten them, and then he sighed, and still holding Wright in his gaze, leaned into Wright, bringing his lips closer to his friend's. Their hearts pounded, warming their bodies. There was a moment when the sky seemed to light up, and just at that very moment, Chris's lips touched down on Wright's. It was quite possibly the most chaste, lightest, briefest kiss in the history of humankind, but it was a kiss. Both boys knew what it was.
Chris, looking for any hint of rejection, saw none, and taking no resistance to mean acceptance, now leaned in again, and kissed Wright again, only this time longer, long enough that Wright could feel the heat of those two soft, moist lips of his friend. Suddenly, he wanted more, and when Chris began to pull back, a soft, nearly inaudible moan eased from Wright's mouth. Chris felt, more than heard that sound, for even as Chris pulled back, Wright pressed forward keeping their lips in contact, longer and firmer than before. When they finally broke, it was to draw in breaths, and then Wright became the aggressor, leaning over Chris and kissing him with a kind of desperation that almost shook Chris.
Let it be said that, of the two, Chris was the expert at kissing, at least he was the expert at boy-girl kissing, but just in these few moments, he sensed these kisses were somehow different. They belied a need, and this time, when Wright leaned down, demanding more, Chris opened his mouth enough to allow his tongue to press against Wright's warm, full lips. As if figuring out a sort of sign language, Wright finally understood and slowly allowed Chris's tongue to move past his lips and into his mouth. What followed can only be described as unchecked, passionate kissing by two desperate lovers. Yes, lovers, and yes, desperate, desperate to make clear to the other that they were fully committed to each other.
While their mouths were thus engaged, their hands continued to explore. Chris again took the lead, pulling Wright's T-shirt up enough to slip his hand underneath the tight fabric. Chris's right hand explored the terrain of the other boy's chest as if he were memorizing each little indentation, each curve, each outcropping. When he found his nipples, Wright gasped as they grew erect, tiny echoes of another part of his body. The blond-haired boy was desperate for more contact, and he reached down and practically ripped his T-shirt off over his head. Chris did the same, and now felt Wright's hands dancing over his body even as his hands were reveling in every centimeter of Wright's torso. With their shirts gone, the two boys found each other's lips again, and both vibrated with pure male energy as their tongues took turns pressing into the other's mouth, exploring, feeling, tasting. Just the sensation on Chris's tongue when he moved it across Wright's teeth nearly set him on fire, and a soft moan from the dark-haired boy was felt by his friend, making him add his own desperate sounds deep in his throat.
Driven by some force that he'd never felt before, never even imagined before, Wright lifted away from Chris's lips, made the briefest glance into Chris's eyes for approval, and then adjusted his body, so that he could bring his lips and tongue in contact with his friend's nipples, first one, then the other. Swirling first, then sucking, the nibbling, then swirling again, exploring, using every sense he possessed to get to know this boy he already knew so well, but now he was getting to know him in a new, exciting, desperate way.
Chris, for his part, had his right hand on Wright's head pulling him closer. He drew his left hand down Wright's neck, feeling each little vertebrate, and then down his smooth, muscled back. Abandoning any last remnant of doubt, he turned his body so his front aligned with Wright's belly and at the same time, pulled Wright's body into his. He needed that contact in a way he'd never felt before. Of course he'd "made out" with girls, but it had always been somehow mechanical, expected, almost like a child playing "pretend" doctor, or being married. That was nothing—nothing!—like what he was experiencing now. He felt the pressure of Wright's body against his penis, and it was as if it somehow ignited a rocket that was soon to join the stars above them.
Wright felt Chris's hands pulling him onto his friend's body; he felt a cloth-covered mound, throbbing and hard, pressing into his belly, and it triggered his own need. He straightened his legs, and pushed out his own crotch, thrusting it forward against Chris's left thigh. As if impelled by forces that his jerk-off sessions had only vaguely hinted at before, now he gave in completely to them, and slowly he moved up and down against his friend's leg.
It was electrifying, but it was nothing compared to what came next, for Chris lifted his head away from his exploration of Wright's chest and once again brought their lips together. The effect of that was to reposition their whole bodies. And now, Wright felt a hand drift down between them, dance over his belly, tracing with just a fingertip around his "innie" navel. Just that little movement awakened sensors in Wright he never knew existed, and before he could even begin to wonder at that, he felt Chris's hand drop lower, his fingers moving first one way then another, back and forth along the boundary formed by the top of Wright's shorts. Chris lifted away from Wright's luscious lips and looked silently at his friend. Wright saw in his friend's dark eyes a desperate need, a plea for permission, and an almost frightening lustful energy—an energy that he felt coursing through his own body. As Chris' plea was unspoken, so, too, was Wright's granting of permission.
Instantly, the blond-haired boy felt fingers probing, pressing to breach the barrier of his shorts. Wright pulled in his belly, creating a space to allow Chris's hand to move lower. He was panting now, almost as if he'd just run the 100 meter. Chris's hand pressed haltingly down over his body. But that warm hand hadn't quite found the real path to Wright's need; it had gotten under his shorts, but it hadn't snaked under his briefs. Given all the new sensations he was experiencing on this extraordinary night, part of him thought that shouldn't be a big deal, but it was, and in frustration, now, Wright reached down, pulled Chris's hand back, and murmured, "Please, take them off—both of them."
"Okay," came the soft, throaty reply, and Wright felt fingers opening his belt, releasing the button, and then slowly lowering the zipper. Wright let his eyes drift shut, and sighed a long, slow sigh, understanding that a need, so long unmet was soon to be satisfied. He lifted his butt off the sleeping bag and reached down to help his friend remove the last pieces of clothing from his body. When the tangled mess of his shorts and underwear snagged around his knees he stretched down and practically yanked them completely off. And as before, that gave Chris the opportunity to remove his own clothing.
When they pulled themselves together now, it was different. They felt each other's hardness, the sensation of someone else's body against their erections was something Wright had only imagined, and the imagination had not come close to the reality. For Chris's part, the few times a girl's hand had moved around him, he had felt more frustration than satisfaction. Feeling Wright's body against his triggered something Chris had never felt before, and his heart pounded, tremors flooded away from his penis and spread throughout his body like waves on a beach, awakening, alerting him to something more. He sucked in a loud breath. Wright's soft, warm hand settled tentatively around his penis. At the same time, he heard Wright sigh, as if his one great desire had been suddenly satisfied.
Chris also read it as an invitation, and so he, too, reached down between them, and let his fingers close slowly around Wright's manhood. He's bigger, he thought, and somehow that surprised him, but in a pleasing way, and a smile stretched across his face. His running friend, while slimmer and a bit smaller in stature, was hung! His penis filled his hand. It felt different, too. 'Cause he's not cut, Chris thought, and with just a hint of panic, he realized he wasn't sure how to proceed. "The…sk…" The words got stuck in his throat. Wright's expert action on his tool had him practically paralyzed. He swallowed. "The skin?" Chris whispered. "Your…"
"Foreskin?" Wright breathed.
Chris heard a soft snicker escape from his friend's mouth. "just do what you usually do…or…for a change, you can pull it back…like down away from the head. Be careful though. When you do that, it's really sensitive."
"Okay," Chris answered. "Thanks." He offered a little self-conscious grin, which Wright took as an opportunity to resume kissing.
That was like a trigger, and Wright felt his friend thrust himself deeper into his fist. At the same time, he felt Chris's hand on his own manhood. It was like sending lightning bolts through his whole body. Wright had jacked off countless times in his young life, so why did this feel so different, so alive, so electrifying? The only answer was, it's Chris; it's his lover.
For both boys, this new, overpowering sensation was almost more than they could bear. All other activity seemed nearly impossible, and with each boy masturbating the other, together they collapsed backward, the edges of their bodies aligning perfectly with the other. Their gaze again found the spectacular light show in the heavens. They lay there, their breathing raspy, goose-bumps spreading out over their bodies, their arms entwined, each of them giving the other as much pleasure as they knew how. Tentative at first, both boys now recognized how natural this was—how good it was—and both increased their action.
The gasps from the other told them they were doing it right. Both felt the firmness, the heat, the smoothness of the other. Both knew they'd never felt anything like this before. Both filled the air with soft moans, sighs, and yes, even whimpers. Both were desperate for something to happen. Again, one ratcheted up his action, and the other mirrored it. Both gasped as more shock waves spread throughout their bodies, and at times, with their bodies fitting perfectly against each other, it seemed as if those shock waves flowed like ripples of pure energy, washing over first one, then the other.
At first, Wright tried to keep his hand from scraping over Chris's head. From his own experience, he knew when he did that with his head fully exposed, it could be almost painful, so he tried to be extra careful with his partner, but what he noticed was that every time he slipped, and his hand moved over the ultra-soft tissue of Chris's head, his friend's soft moans signaled not pain, but pleasure. Now, letting his fingers ease up over Chris's head, he found, like his own penis, his friend's was oozing pre-cum. He swirled his fingers over the pristine drop of nectar, gently spreading over the head and around the rim. The moans from Chris grew louder, telling Wright he was doing it perfectly. Seemingly driven beyond sense, Chris now began to hump his hardness into Wright's hand.
"I'm close," Chris moaned.
"Me too. Pull it back," Wright commanded, and when Chris was slow to respond, he added, "My foreskin."
Slowly he felt Chris ease back the loose skin that had been sliding back and forth over his head. Now his glistening head, covered with pre-cum, was fully exposed. With a deep sigh, Wright breathed, "Faster." And when Chris did as Wright requested, he could feel Wright's body grow impossibly tighter; he felt his penis swell and throb almost violently.
Suddenly Wright's body stiffened as if jolted with a 1000 volts of pure, exquisite, celestial power, his body arced upward toward the stars, and great bolts of semen shot through the air even as those magical stars shot across the blackness above them. And that triggered Chris's own shuddering release, mirroring Wright's. Before both boys finished, their ejaculations had crossed paths, spilling onto their chests and stomachs, the sperm from each mingling with the other.
Slowly their bodies lost their tension and eased back down to earth. Above them, the streaks of starlight continued to ejaculate across the sky.
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