Oliver of the Adirondacks

by Dashiell Walraven

Chapter 25

We spent three days total on Block Island, filling our time with fishing, exploring the marshes and fields, all while giving a wide berth to the South Light. It was good to be with our Dad's, and we loved hearing about my father's adventures in the Navy. Ned regaled us with a few frat-house adventures from his salad days in college, and we all laughed at the story about accidentally driving his car into the university pool.

The trip back to Hartford was quiet, and we did not discuss the goings on at the lighthouse again, but only because we had other things to think about. I was really enjoying being with Neal, and started to dread the fact that we would be leaving for home in a few days. Neal breathlessly asked his father if we could go to the race track and race his cars he'd gotten for Christmas. I brightened up at the idea, I'd been anxious to see them ever since he opened them up.

The track was built into an old store front in a strip mall about twenty minutes outside of Hartford in a little town called Newington, near a seedy looking motel and a drive-in movie theater that featured a double bill of "Bedknobs and Broomsticks" and "Dirty Harry". There were several dads and sons, as well as several nerdish looking older teens, for whom it seemed like racing slot cars was their main reason for existing. Neal and I listened to the owner as he sternly lectured us on the rules about race etiquette and such.

We got our controllers, and were assigned a color-coded slot in the raceway. We fitted our cars into our assigned slots, and plugged our controller pins into their respective ports. The first thing I did was to mash the trigger on the controller, which sent my car spinning off the first curve it hit. Even though the car had magnets to help it stick to the track, they could be overcome with inertia. The guy walking around the inside of the track retrieved the car for me and I sheepishly accepted his admonition to take it easy. After a few similar mishaps, as we got a feel for the controllers and how fast the little cars wanted to go, we began to take some practice runs.

Looking back at our Dad's, I was amused to see my father biting his lip and cheering me on, as he watched my car tool around the track. Neal's dad was doing much the same thing. Pretty soon, we got good enough that we felt ready to challenge the race nerds. We lined up our cars at the starting line, and each in turn, lifted the rear wheels off the track and gave them a fast spin, to make sure we had contact with the slot. The "race master" climbed a small ladder with the start flag and with a great flourish, started the race.

The little engines buzzed to life as the cars scrambled for position. I thought I held my own pretty well, but spun out pretty quickly on the 5th lap of the 30 lap race. The race master plucked my car from the track and handed it to me. I didn't care, i was having a good time while I watched Neal's tongue work its way around the corners of his mouth as he concentrated on the race. He did pretty good I thought, but then I lost track of the how many laps had been done. By the time the checkered flag signaled the end of the race, the mechanical tally board showed Neal in last place, with the other 4 cars leading him in laps completed.

Even the face of a devastating loss, the racers cheered Neal on as he drove solo, finishing the laps, and Neal smiled from ear to ear throughout. We had fun, that was all that mattered. After three more races, our standings improved; with Neal moving up to 3rd in one race, and me managing to keep the car in the slot for the entire heat. It sure made me wish we had a race track near my home.

The ride back home was filled with talk about slot racing, and how much fun it was. I wanted to go again, but unfortunately, we'd be returning home the next day and there wouldn't be time. The realization that our short visit would be over soon, hit me kind of hard. Dad noticed my silence during supper, even as Neal chattered merrily to the dinner table, about our adventures at the track. He came up to me as Neal helped his Mom clear the table.

"You okay, Sport?" he asked, concern in his eyes.

"Yeah Dad," I sighed, "I'm just kinda bummed out that we are going home so soon."

"Wouldn't want to wear out our welcome," he smiled warmly, "now would we?" I shrugged my shoulders, something I seemed to be very good at lately. "Besides, I bet Garrett is anxious to have you back to help him out."

"Garrett doesn't need me anymore," I sulked, feeling sorry for myself.

"Stop it Oliver," Dad chided me, "Of course he does. Look, I know you miss Neal when you two are separated, but be thankful we got a chance to come visit."

"Besides, things are rarely as bad they may seem," Ned smiled. Throwing me a conspiratorial wink from across the table. He called into the kitchen, "Hey Neal, got a second? I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure," Neal said, ducking back through the swinging door with a dish cloth in his hand, "what's up?" Both our fathers smiled at us, and our mothers followed Neal back into the dining room; they all looked like they were in on whatever it was.

"Neal," mused his father, "I was thinking of sending you away to camp this summer, what do you think?" Neal's expression started off as incredulous, then momentarily inscrutable, and finally, upset and angry."

"But Dad? What about going to the lake?" he whined. I felt my heart sink a little, but somehow felt that maybe they were stringing him along a little bit.

"Now Neal," his mother weighed in, "your father and I have discussed it, and we feel it would be the best thing for you to get out into the countryside and..."

"Aw Mom!" Neal's shoulders slumped and he deflated into a chair. My eyes darted around, looking from face to face. My heart leaped at the thought that perhaps Neal and I would both be going to this camp. Of course, my family didn't have that kind of money, and Dad would never accept such a gift if it were offered, so I quickly dismissed that hope.

"Do... do I... have to go?" Neal sounded defeated and near tears.

"Well, it's been all arranged," Ned said, matter-of-fact-ly, "if we were to cancel now, it would mess up a lot of things. You're scheduled to go the Saturday after school ends."

"I'm going away on Memorial Day weekend?" Neal asked in a choked voice, "Where is this stupid camp?"

"It's called 'Camp Oliver' and it's in upstate New York somewhere." Neal picked up his head quickly, his expansive smile betraying the single tear that managed to slip down his cheek.

"Holy Toledo!" he shrieked. I was a little miffed, I was pretty sure I knew all the summer camps in New York, and I never heard of that one. When Neal turned his sparkling eyes and landed that incandescent smile on me, Mr. Clue finally came to call and I felt my heart jump. Neal and I started whooping and hollering so much, our dads had to finally ask us to settle down.

"When is he coming?" I asked, breathlessly.

"Neal gets out of school the week before Memorial Day. We'll do some shopping and packing for him, and then we'll drive him up and spend Memorial Day weekend with you folks." Ned explained, "We'll come back in August for our three weeks of vacation."

"The whole summer?" Neal gasped, "Oh my God!" He bounced around the table, hugging his mother, father and my parents in turn. All the adults looked very happy for us.

"Better get spend some time fixing up that cabin of yours, Ollie." Mom instructed, "it looks like the winter took its toll."

"I will Mom," I nodded, "I promise."

"Maybe Garrett will help you," Dad mused, "I'd bet he's ready to start doing some real work around the grounds."

Neal's mom brought out a freshly baked Red Velvet cake with a cream cheese frosting that went perfectly with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream. We all cheerfully ate our desserts, and settled into the Living Room for one final night of loud, off-key singing, an abortive attempt at charades, and finally, a game of Twister, with Neal and I as the contortionists on the mat.

That was fun until I realized I was sporting a raging boner, and refused to play anymore. We both professed being tired, so we were sent off to Neal's room for bed.

"Better get changed quick," Neal laughed, as we shuffled into his bedroom, "My dad is going to be up here pretty soon to tuck us in, and you don't wanna have him see you like that!" He reached over and rubbed a knuckle over the stiff bulge in the front of my jeans. "Besides," he said, with an evil grin while turning to show me his profile, "I'm totally boned too!" We both shucked our pants and quickly donned our pajama bottoms. I elected to wear a pair of baggy, satiny shorts, and tug on a big T-shirt. Together, the combination covered my stubborn erection nicely, especially when I sat on the edge of the bed. Neal stuck with his standard plaid flannels and snap-button shirt. He threw his shoulders back and arched his spine, to make his own hard-on boldly protrude from the gaping fly; we both giggled at the sight.

As predicted, Ned came up, along with my Dad, to tuck us in. I worried momentarily that my stiff dick would become clearly visible as a bump in the blankets when I lay down in the bed, but then watched as Neal climbed in. Instead of laying on his back, turned to his side; I marveled at his quick thinking, and did the same. After some playful banter, and admonitions to be good boys, our father's left us to our slumber, turning off the light and shutting the door behind them.

I waited a suitable period of time before getting out of bed, and walking over to Neal's already sleeping form. Bathed in the tenebrous glow of the streetlamp shining beyond his window, his face looked pale in the dimness, contrasting sharply with the coal blackness of his hair. I reached and lightly drew a fingertip across his caterpillar-like eyebrow, feeling its remarkable softness. Neal wrinkled his nose in his sleep, made a snuffling noise, and turned over onto his belly. I felt myself smile, as I traced his hairline down the nape of his neck and saw goosebumps rise on his arm. Gently, I rolled back the blankets from his back, and let my fingernails freely dance across his shoulders in a light scratching motion.

"Mmmm," he breathed out, his eyes fluttering open, "that feels so good."

"Like that?" I whispered. He nodded, a sleepy smile on his face. "Take your shirt off," I said, "I'll do your whole back." Neal rolled over and started fumbling with the snaps on his shirt. I stayed his hands, and then opened each snap myself, one by one, until his chest lay bared in the soft light; he let out a deep sigh. I pulled the sleeves from one arm, and he rolled back, allowing me to pull the shirt from his back and other arm; I deposited it on the floor next to the bed. I took another moment to drink in the sight of him before I let my fingertips drift in lazy circles across his back and shoulders. I remembered my mother doing this for me when our dog had passed away, after I had spent an inconsolable day burying him and grieving. Since then, I came to know such gentle touches as gestures of intimate and loving peace. I couldn't imagine a better way to express how I felt about him at that moment.

Neal, for his part, accepted my gift by slowly rolling beneath my touches, keeping his eyes closed while maintaining a beatific smile. My light, grazing touches turned to massaging movements; I pressed my fingers into his strong shoulders, and rolled my thumbs up his spine and around his neck.

"Oh geez Oliver," he gasped into his pillow, "that is incredible."

My own back was starting to get sore from bending over him, so I straddled his butt, and started pushing the heel of my palms up both sides of his spine and rolling them out across his shoulder blades. Neal reacted with a low groan while grinding his hips beneath me, into the bed. During the long strokes of my arms, I found myself nearly laying across the top of his body. I took a moment to pull my t-shirt over my head and toss it. The next time I stroked my hands and arms up his back, I paused to lightly hover over him, feeling the wonderful, radiant heat of his skin, as if it were seeping into my very soul.

"Oliver?" Neal asked, keeping his head on the pillow, his eyes closed, "Why are we such good friends?"

"I dunno," I said quietly, continuing my slow, deliberate massage.

"It's like, we have other friends but, we don't do stuff like this with those guys." He picked up his head from the pillow slightly. "I mean, you don't do this with other fellas, do ya?"

"Naw," I grinned at him from the shadows, "I mean I've done stuff with Garrett before, but only because he's like a brother to me, and he was helping me 'cause I was curious about things, you know?"

"Yep," Neal nodded, putting his head back down, "Me too. I mean, I've played around with a couple of guys from school and the neighborhood, but now, it's kinda weird; I don't know how to explain it."

"It is weird," I agreed, "but not when we're together, right?"

"Then it's nice," he affirmed, "it's only nice with you."

"Certainly not with that Mark guy at the lighthouse," I added, playfully.

"Dude!" Neal pushed himself up on his elbows, "that guy was seriously creepy."

"I know," I said, urging him back down so I could continue massaging his back. He settled back into his pillow and once again squirmed beneath me. I took the hint, stood up, rolled the covers all the way off of him, and gently guided his pants down and off his legs. The sight of his prone, naked body, gleaming in the meager light, gave rise to that now familiar fluttering in my chest. I began with the backs of his legs, using the same feather touches I used on his neck. He squirmed and giggled a little. Not wanting the moment to devolve into a tickle-fight, I returned to deeper pressure with my hands and fingers. I worked my way up his strong calves and hamstrings, until finally, I came to his perfectly muscled and rounded ass.

To me, it was a thing of heart-melting beauty. Just moving the surface of my palm over and around his velvet-soft skin, felt electric to me. In the cool air of the room, his bottom radiated heat like the glowing sun. I put the side of my face against the small of his back, to peer down the cleft between the two perfectly white spheres. My thumb found it's way down the contours of his lower spine, where it dove into the crevice and out of sight.

"Mmmmm," he moaned, which I felt, more than heard, with my ear pressed to his spine; I became aware of the smile on my face. I played my fingers across the delightful mounds some more, before starting to run a single fingertip up and down the divide. He moaned once more, as I dared to explore in between. With each successive run, up and down, I probed a little deeper, feeling the skin yield and conform to my finger as it slowly traveled the length of his butt crack. Neal gasped a little as the tip of my delving digit lightly touched the back of his scrotum; I paused there. Slowly tracing the little seam of skin back from his balls, I lightly brushed across the pucker of his anus. Again, Neal gave a little gasp, and I felt his butt hole quiver and flex beneath my touch.

Overcome with curiosity, I moved my face down, and parted his cheeks. I had never really looked him this closely, and suddenly needed to know what his most secret spot actually looked like. Frankly, it was fascinating to me. I heard Neal softly giggle.

"What's it look like?" he whispered over his shoulder. I didn't answer, to mesmerized to speak. You might not think somebody's butt hole would be all that interesting, but I was too lost in the exploration to have any misgivings. Never, up to this point in my life, had I ever had the opportunity to see such a thing for more than just a few seconds. To me, it was wonderful. A strange impulse seized my brain, and at first I resisted, but it was too strong, I couldn't help myself. I leaned in, and gently kissed him right on "the lips", as it were. I don't know why I did it, but it was an overwhelming urge, a need to combine myself with him in any way I could. If it were possible to merge our bodies on a molecular level, into one whole boy, I would gladly have done it.

I guess I sort of expected Neal to jump up from the bed, shrieking, "Did you just kiss me on my asshole?" But he didn't, he did no such thing. What he did do, was to sort of melt into the mattress, with a long, breathy moan. Emboldened, I did it again, only longer, and with a little bit more pressure. At that point, it did actually occur to me what I was doing, but having accomplished two kisses without anything terribly gross happening, I easily threw caution aside. Without further ceremony, I buried my face into his butt and pressed my lips against him. Seemingly of its own accord, the tip of my tongue slithered out and grazed the puckered opening. Neal moved gently under me, and I felt him take a few, deep breaths, consistently ending in soft moans.

Alternating between auguring my tongue-tip into his opening, and lapping up my own spit, Neal's butt and my face both became slick and shiny. Neal responded by rolling his hips and grinding. I reached beneath him to roll his balls in my hand, and grip is rigid stalk. Now his moans were sounding more like soft, passionate growls.

"For Pete's sake, Oliver," he said, his voice strangled and husky, "stick it in, please... PLEASE!"

My pulse thudding in my ears, my breath catching and hitching in my chest, I needed no further prompting; I wet my finger in my mouth, and pressed the tip against his anus. Yielding almost immediately, he easily accepted my finger to the first knuckle. Suddenly, we both stopped moving and froze in breathless silence. I could feel his pulse, as the muscles of his outer ring tightened around my finger. Slowly, I worked my prodding pointer the rest of the way in, feeling the warmth of his body surround it.

"Your dick," he croaked, "put your dick in it..."

My mouth was dry and I felt like I might hyperventilate. I'd let both Garrett and Neal into my own back door, each once before, and I remembered the soaring heights it had driven them, but I never dared to dream to even attempt it myself. Now, my best friend in the world was asking me, begging me, to do the same to him. I got up and lowered my shorts, my penis was so hard that it stood up straight, almost painfully so, against my belly.

I looked down at Neal, the inside of his buttocks glistening with his sweat and my saliva. Without pausing to consider the mechanics of how to make it work, I just spit on my hand, and slicked up my penis. Straddling him in the bed, I steadied myself with one hand, and pressed my dick down towards him, with the other. My glans brushed against him just as it popped entirely free from the foreskin, as if straining to enter him of it's own accord. The sensation of touching my penis to him, made it pulse strongly. A generous dollop of warm liquid oozed from out from tip, coating Neal's hole. That was it, my body was on autopilot now. Without thinking about it, I pressed my hips forward, and gently entered him.

Neal let out a gush of air as the first inch of my slender penis passed the muscular ring. The guttural sound frightened me for a moment, causing me to pause.

"Am I hurting you?" I whispered, urgently. Neal, his face buried in the pillow, vigorously shook his head. He gave me a thumbs up to urge me on. I proceeded slowly, feeling the skin covering my turgid dick alternately pull, pucker and glide as I eased myself into him. With one final push, I bottomed out, having driven my entire length, into him. We both started breathing again, slow, heaving sighs.

I collapsed slowly on top of Neal, and then we rolled to the side, my dick still engaged deeply within him. Wrapping my arms around his chest, I slowly began to piston in and out of his butt. He moved with me, and we settled into a rhythm as I breathed onto the back of his neck and into his ear. I understood then, that we had moved beyond just fooling around. No longer were we just a couple of boys exploring our newly developing bodies. We weren't having a buddy jerk-off session, nor were we just idly fucking; what we were doing was making love.

We moved in concert together, trying to be quiet even as our passions drove us to greater and greater heights. When my hand drifted down to find Neal's rigid penis, slick with his own juices, I grabbed it in my fist and started to stroke. We both switched gears when that happened. Neal began panting like a war horse, writhing and gasping against me. I scissored my legs in his, forcing them open as I drove into him like a reciprocating engine. The glowing warmth that radiated from my chest and belly coalesced into a fireball that shot down my spine and seemed to fire out from the end of my penis. I felt like I was exploding into a sparkling cloud of fireworks.

Grunting, I drove myself deeply into Neal as I gripped his powerfully throbbing cock. Locked in space and time, we hovered there, riveted together, intertwined in an eternal, infinite moment. Our once harmonious, dexterous motion together, fell into uncoordinated, almost clumsy flailing. We clattered together like two entangled marionettes, Neal's dick madly pulsed in my fist, as he moaned through clenched jaws. My own penis was seized with rippling contractions, pumping out more quantities of fluid than I remembered having ever before produced.

In the easy quietude that followed, with me still embedded deeply within him, we did not sleep. We lay against each other, feeling each other breathing, toying with a lock of hair, touching fingertips to lips or gently grazing a tumescent nipple. My dick gave an impatient pulse, causing me to gently thrust into Neal once more. He pushed his hips back toward me in return, which made my dick throb even more insistently. Very slowly this time, we leisurely made love again, reveling in our intimacy, and not wanting it to end. Later, as Neal lay on his back, I sat astride his body and took him into me, undulating above him like a tongue of flame. I watched his face as he arched his back and blissfully shuddered whatever he had left to give, into my body.

The long ride home in the morning, followed a cheerful goodbye. We both were smiling in anticipation of him coming to visit in another couple of months, and we promised to keep writing to each other. There were hugs all around, with pats on the back and head. With my parents up front, chatting happily to each other about the trip, and me fatigued from lack of sleep, I drifted into a lazy, twilight state. As consciousness faded into sleep, I felt a delicious sensation in my bottom, almost as if Neal's penis was gliding in and out, and I smiled to myself because I knew Neal was probably having that too.

"Oh look, Randy," I heard my mom's voice, in the distance, "he's all tuckered out, sleeping like a contented, little baby..."

Indeed, soon I was.

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