Life in the Morning Wood Zone

by Biff Spork

Chapter 2

Nevada's the same size I am. Everyone says both of us are small for thirteen – typically stupid adult crap – I'm not small for ME. My mom says I'm too skinny – I need to eat more. C'mon, I eat when I'm hungry and I stop when I'm full. I like to feel light and fast. Nevada's even skinnier than I am but he's got a real six-pack so he must be eating enough. But aside from skinny we're different from each other. I look like a Norwegian or an albino and he looks like an Italian. Even in winter he's got a kind of yellowy color – olive skinned is what Mom calls it. In summer, like now, he gets brown real fast. So do I because we spend a lot of time at the beach and my hair goes almost white.

Nevada thinks a lot, mostly about his dork. It's one of the reasons we go to the beach so much. He says it's good to have your dork in water. "Human beings were coastal animals for millions of years – they spent a lot of time in the water seeking out the old beach buffet, foraging for clams and mussels and such. For proper functioning of the dork it should be kept wet or damp for at least several hours per day." When he makes this kind of statement it always sounds like he's reading from a textbook. I think he gets that from his parents. Both of them are university professors. They pretty much leave him alone. They are vague. Like, if you ask them a question, any question, there's always a long pause while they stare off into space. I envy him a bit because his parents seem barely aware of him, unlike mine who are all over me. He gets to do whatever he wants most of the time.

Nevada says it's good always to have at least one hand on your dork. "It's natural. Just lie on your back in the bathtub and relax your arms. Freed from the restraints of gravity and society, where do your hands go? They just float over to where your dork is, naturally. So, just imagine lying in a warm inland sea and your hands are just floating over your nicely upstanding dork and the gentle waves are rocking your hands up and down…. You see what I mean – the world wants to jack us off…" here he pauses dramatically, "…if we let it. You just lie there and the sea does the work. We have evolved precisely to take advantage of this!" He says the only place where we can truly test this theory is in Great Salt Lake so we have to travel to Utah next summer.

"And do you think it's just a coincidence that your arms are just exactly the right length to reach your dick," he says, "whether you are lying down or standing up? That's no coincidence. Millions of years of evolution, my boy! Millions of years of evolution. Everybody's so screw ed up because they need to keep at least one hand on their dork at all times and they can't."

It's about midnight when he tells me his new theory. We've shut down my computer and the house is quiet.

"Danger!" he says. He leans close to me and says again in a low voice, "Danger, my boy."

When Nevada says, "my boy," I know he has been thinking about something for a while and has come up with some new idea.

"Our lives are too drab," he says. "Our nerve endings are buried under muck, under the silt of safety that has covered them up over the years. Just think about it. All those millions of years in the inland seas were not peaceful. No, no, no! There were predators. Sharks, and other things. People were alert then, not half asleep all the time like now. Your senses were sharpened. When you were cumming it was something special because your nerves were raw and naked. We need to get back to that level of pure sensation…."

I'm lying on my stomach on the bed next to him and wiggle around a little to let my nice goodnight hard-on find a comfortably squirmy position. Nevada reaches over and stops me wiggling. "No bed-fucking, you pervert. Listen. We're gonna do something different tonight."


"I don't know, but we need more danger." He gets up and walks over to the window. "Danger is the key." As usual he's got one hand inside his pants. He bends over and leans out so his upper half is outside the window.

"X," he whispers. "Turn off the light and c'mere."

I flick off the light and go over and stick my head out the window. It's warm out and a dusting of stars carpets the black sky, but no moon. Nevada fiddles with his belt and then drops his pants. He's commando style as usual so his soft-on flops out.

The lights in the neighbor's house are off and it's pretty dark so I drop my jeans and undies too and the two of us stand there with our cocks stretching out into the night. Nevada taps me on the shoulder, leans back inside and pulls his T-shirt over his head so he is naked.

"Get some lube," he whispers.

I throw my T-shirt into a corner and dig around for the squirt bottle of olive oil I've been using lately.

"Better put a lot on – we won't be able to take any with us…" he says, grinning, "…out there."

"Are you crazy? That's the roof over my parents' bedroom." My bedroom's upstairs over the main part of the house and there's like two arms go out on each side of the house. The roof of the one that goes out on my side of the house is like this steep upside down V with their bedroom below,

"You see," says Nevada smiling wickedly. "Danger! You can already feel that little extra edge, can't you?" He flicks my dick and I jump back. "Rod of steel! You're ready, friend! Why fight it?"

He's right, as usual. There is something exciting about the idea of being outside, naked and on the roof with my parents snoring down below.

" Okay," I say. "But not the olive oil. It's too liquid. We might run dry at a crucial moment." I rummage around in the lube stash. "Ah, yes, this cold cream stuff – superbly slippery but not likely to drain away when needed."

"Excellent thinking, my boy, excellent, gimme some!"

We slather on the cold cream thick. "Better safe than sorry!" says Nevada and then lifts one leg over the sill onto the roof. Outside it's quiet except for a dog barking about a mile away. I can just see Nevada's white butt in front of me as we teeter carefully on all fours along the top of the roof. He stops and we both stand up for a minute looking around. The moon is rising from a glow on the horizon.

"This," whispers Nevada, "This is fucking awesome." Then he taps me on the shoulder. "Turn around. Okay Let's sit down, carefully, back to back, for security."

I sit down and spread my legs one on each side of the roof and feel his back against mine.

"And now, my friend, let the games begin!"

I'm only a little uncomfortable with the V of the roof sticking up my crack but my pecker seems bigger and harder than it's ever been.

"Slow down," says Nevada. "Slow down…. You're in the water and you've seen the shark, but he's not attacking. You don't know. Maybe he's not hungry. But you want to be ready…. He's making lazy circles around you now…."

I close my eyes and time my strokes to Nevada's from the way his back muscles move.

Jesus, it's starting in my toes. A faint cool breeze makes my nipples hard and tingly.

"Now the shark has zeroed in on you and is heading in your direction…. He's getting too close and there's menace in his movements. Primitive urges are rising…. He closes in for the kill. You…must…mate…before you die…."

You see, this is all part of Nevada's big picture. Like, a million years ago we didn't actually mate with women. We just swam around in this primeval soup jerking off into it and the sperms swam and wriggled their way over to the nearest woman and did their thing. "It's not semen," he says. "It's milt. That's why sperms have tails, for swimming. Otherwise they'd have legs."

When I open my eyes I can see my milt or whatever hitting my chest and running in big dribbles that catch the moonlight and look even more pearly than usual. I can tell by his movements and breathing that Nevada is just about there too so I sit quietly and then he erupts and pushes back on me.

Bad move. Our backs have been sweating and are so slippery we slide sideways and both fall over backwards. I catch one glimpse of Nevada's cock shooting spooge towards the moon before he tumbles down the roof. I reach out to grab him. Our hands lock but they're covered with cold cream and start to slip apart. Trying to hold him I lose my grip on the roof crest. We shout and roll down the roof and over the edge.

Just as I go over I have a Spiderman moment and grab the edge of that gutter thing. It holds and I swing free. Now it's really awesome when I look over and see Nevada swinging about two feet away. But when I look down I don't feel so good. It seems a long way to the ground and right in front of us is the window of my parents' bedroom. A light flicks on. We are soooo busted.

"Shark attack!" whispers Nevada. The window opens and my dad sticks his head out.

"Hi, Mr. James," says Nevada. "Can we borrow your ladder?"

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