The Sunday Club

by Nicholas Hall

Chapter 14

"Did you hear the one about two guys sitting on toilets in a public restroom?

Separated by a metal partition, one bragged "Man, the water in this toilet is cold!" hoping to impress the guy in the next stall with his cock length.

The answer from the other side of the partition was slow in coming, but definitive. "Yeah, and deep!"

Skeeter was almost apologetic in his explanation, as if willing Skip to ignore his smaller stature.

Skip smiled, a broad, happy smile, his dark eyes peering deeply into Skeeter's, and rolling his accented voice out just as softly, "Hi, my real name is Terry Jennings, but people call me Skip. I don't' think you're small. I think you're just right!"

Oh, boy!

"Forgot your own burger, Skeeter," interrupted Pudge coming from the kitchen with a plate containing a burger and fries and a glass of soda. He set the plate and soda in front of Skeeter, while telling us Skip would be enrolling in school the next day, Thursday, and reminding us to not forget our start of school year-end of summer swim at the YMCA on Saturday.

"Friday night fish fry is the last of the season specials, so it'll be a big crowd," Pudge allowed to us. May as well introduce Skip to the mad house," giving me a wink, indicating we should make certain Skip was in attendance.

"Oh, and by the way," Pudge continued, "Wing Ding tonight and the Sunday Club well be here. Uncle Lou wants your bunch to be here as well, Skip included. Private dining room at six. Okay?"

Skip was going to be introduced en masse, to the Sunday Club, young and old!

We gathered, young and old, in the private dining room, to enjoy our meal, the friendship, the mentoring, and comradeship. Skip was introduced and welcomed by all. Our younger group welcomed him with enthusiasm and joy, noting he and Skeeter already made a connection.

Pudge (Uncle Rance) led him from one to another of the original Sunday Club, introducing him, acquainting him with what each did for a living, and their nickname. He also made a point of informing him of the mentorship roll each played and the younger ones they mentored (not that they didn't mentor all of us and protect us as well). Each stood and gave him a warm, welcoming hug, pledging, as they did to us years before, to provide support anytime he needed it.

Uncle Lou stood, after all introductions were made, raised his glass (mixed drink for the adults, soda for the rest of us), and toasted our group with the toast he'd been making for as long as I could remember.

"May all of our days, young and old, be Sundays; those days when we can be who we are, who we love, and live our lives in peace and security. We remain a band of like brethren, who support each other and provide for others in need."

We all raised our glasses in response, with the response, "to life and each other."

The younger generation served the senior members first, out of respect and thankfulness for their generosity and treatment of us. With plates and glasses full, platters with generous quantities of wings on them, we served ourselves. Food was plentiful, companionship more than just pleasant, and we took advantage of the opportunity to acquaint Skip with the ways of the Sunday Club and Frenchtown.

Pudge beamed his joy and satisfaction how readily we accepted his "nephew." He couldn't help but notice, as we did, (along with other members of our group) how Skip seemed to center his attention on Skeeter and vice-versa.

Our meal and celebration completed, I was about to rise to begin the clean-up when Uncle Lou stood once again, raised his glass, and, to his fellow Sunday Club (the elder) members, toasted,

"To our heirs; the heirs of the Sunday Club," to which the others stood, raised their glasses, toasting us, the younger generation, and shouted out,

"To our heirs!"

From that night on, we were referred to as "The Heirs" or "Sunday Club Heirs!"

Thursday, Uncle Lou and Pudge enrolled Skip in high school. No problems since Pudge had all the right paperwork and, apparently, Skip was an outstanding student! Didn't hurt that Uncle Lou was along with them. It turned out he had several classes with Hardy and me, one with Skeeter, and one with Buzz. The only different class he had was choir. None of us had it!

Friday night, all hands-on deck, for the end of the season Fish Fry Special. Skip was inexperienced, so he was placed up front at the reservation desk with Johnny, Momma, and Grandma Thompson, Johnny, and he would show people to tables, while Momma took reservations and kept track of them and Grandma ran the cash register. Skip was definitely older than Johnny, but relied on his experience to show him what to do. Skip, although the tallest of the four up front and quite noticeable, seemed, through his smile, his politeness, and accent seemed to put our guests at ease, even in the midst of chaos, it seemed. He was a hit!

Little did I know, watching from my position on the floor, how much of a hit he would be before the night was over!

A line formed out front, waiting for the Fish Fry seating to begin. Everyone was ready for the rush when Uncle Lou gave a wave, and we filled up fast! This particular night I was in charge of the waiters and bussers in the main dining room, except a section of table near the deck. Hardy had the deck, since the weather was just great, and the row of tables not assigned to me. Grandpa, Uncle Lou, and three college boys were behind the bar, while Pudge, Gwen Taylor, Skeeter and at least two high school boys were in the kitchen. We had all of the regular (part-time) waiters, bussers, and a few extra working. It was a mix of high school and college students (boys).

Door prizes were given out this night as well to those who registered and Walt (The Piano Man) was at the keyboard, as usual. But tonight, he was augmenting his musical performance with a six-piece combo he played with on a regular basis. They were a mix of retired teachers and other musicians. They were a very versatile group and could play almost any instrument and most genre of music. They were a nice sounding group and generally played at "Uncle Lou's" maybe six or eight time per year. They would play several sets until the kitchen closed at nine, then fold it up!

Needless to say, we hustled our asses off! The waiters and bussers usually made out like bandits in tips, so they worked hard keeping customers happy. They had to share their tips with the kitchen staff and Johnny (now Skip at well). Uncle Lou made it well worth our while working as supervisors. We were experienced and could head off a potential problem before it became one.

Things were going well until around seven when the band took a break before starting another set. I noticed Uncle Lou come from behind the bar, signaled to one of my waiters to come to the bar. I watched as he nodded to Uncle Lou, waved to one of the "extra" waiters to take his tables, and walked to the front where he said something to Skip, and pointed toward the bar.

As Skip walked by me, I asked "What' up?'

He just shrugged, but before he could get to the bar, Pudge stepped out from the kitchen, secured Skip's arm, and headed toward the piano. I heard Skip say, "but, Uncle Rance, I haven't played for a couple of weeks."

Pudge responded with something in said in French. Didn't know Pudge spoke French, but evidently he did, and with clarity since Skip nodded his understanding. Pudge steered Skip toward the little stage area where the band was beginning to regroup for another set, but Walter wasn't at the piano. Stepping up to the microphone, speaking briefly in French and then translating to English, Pudge announced,

"Ladies and gentlemen, my friends, it is with great pleasure and pride I introduce my young nephew and God-son, Terry (Skip) Jennings. He's decided to leave the Bayou Country of Louisiana and join us here on a permanent basis. Not only does he bring us his handsome face and electric smile, but his talent. He's a bit shy, but I begged him to play for us this evening and entertain us. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Skip turned to Pudge, asking in French- Creole, "But, what should I play, Uncle?"

"Perhaps," Pudge said in English, "Open with some Rag?"

Skip nodded, sat down at the piano and in his French-Creole-Southern accent, apologized for his English since, "I was raised with two languages, English and the French-Creole or Cajun of the Bayous of Louisiana,"

With that said, he tickled the ivories a few times to get the feel of the keys and the sound of the instrument and began playing a Joplin song, "The Maple Street Rag." The audience loved it so he played several more with the combo joining in as they could to accompany and accentuate his music. Perhaps, after a half hour or so, while we really worked our asses off with meals and drinks, I heard Skip stop, so I looked to see what was up. His music was good for business so I hoped he wouldn't quit just yet.

He leaned forward, pulled the microphone stand closer, announcing, "Ladies and Gentlemen, "This song is for the one you love," and began "Unforgettable" while looking toward the bar. Following his gaze, standing near the doorway from the kitchen, was Skeeter, holding a small accordion and next to him was Pudge, holding a violin. By the time Skip finished the song, Pudge and Skeeter were at the piano, and out of view of the audience, Skip gave Skeeter's butt a soft pinch while offering Skeeter a very loving smile.

Skip stood, reached to take the small accordion from Skeeter, but was stopped by Pudge.

"Ladies and Gentlemen; the small accordion I am holding and Skip is going to play, is called a "Squeeze Box" down in Louisiana. It is a single-row diatonic button accordion and is an Acadian Brand. The music you will hear will be Cajun Music and Zydeco music; each particular to a group of people and heard in Skip's home state," and handed the Squeeze Box to Skip. Skip stood up, laughed, and shouted out,

" Laissez les bons temps rouler " –

"Let the good time roll" echoed Pudge and the fun began! Skip kicked it into high gear with enthusiasm, vigor, clearly loving the music. Gone was the shy boy; in his place was a Bayou Cajun, who was born with rhythm and song! He opened with something called "Uncle Bud" with him on the Squeeze Box and his Uncle Rance on the fiddle, with the band, evidently familiar with the music either from the past or having been warned by Pudge, joined in in the rollicking, foot stamping, body wiggling music of the Bayou. From "Uncle Bud" to "Jambalaya;" one song after the other. Skip was so wrapped up in the music, he sang most in French. Sometimes Pudge had to introduce the song in English, so people would know what it was.

It was one remarkable evening! Skip's shyness seemed to fade to the background when he performed before an audience, losing himself in his music and enjoying it immensely. It wouldn't be the only thing he enjoyed, only with more fervor, tenderness, and frequency!

At nine, the kitchen closed and the band, including Skip, brought their performance to an end. Ordinarily, there was a tip jar for people for people to add to. This night, Uncle Lou had several of our table waiters walk around with buckets to collect tips for the band and Skip. Uncle Lou also gave a nice tip as well to the band and a very generous one to Skip.

Uncle Lou confided to Grandpa Thompson, "We just might have to have music night a little more often with Skip in the band playing piano or just singing."

The swim party the next morning (Saturday) was really for any of the high school or college guys, with some exceptions, who worked all summer. In reality, only twenty or twenty-five attended at the end of each summer season. The group from Frenchtown all boarded the city bus to go to the YMCA. Skeeter, sticking close to Skip (almost sitting on his lap I should note), explained how the city routes worked and how to use the bus pass Uncle Lou provided to him and the rest of us. While discussing the bus pass, Skip explained he didn't have a regular swim suit, but brought a pair of cutoffs instead to use. His mouth gaped when Skeeter explained he couldn't wear them.

"The Y requires us to swim naked!"

"You mean, bare-assed naked? With our peckers and balls hanging out in the breeze where everybody can see them?"

Skeeter merely nodded, smiled, and cast his eyes down toward Skip's crotch.

Let's face it; we all wondered what kind of equipment our new member carried in his jeans, perhaps Skeeter the most! Hardy and I were betting Skeet's asshole twitched all the way to the YMCA. Johnny could have cared less! What grew more and more apparent each day, was Johnny was more interested in the sex which wouldn't be in attendance this day. It was fine with us; we'd honor and protect his sexual preferences just as ours was.

In the locker room, all of us stripped, except for Skip, explaining he had to take a piss first. Two of the college boys were certified as lifeguards, so they acted as our guards. About twenty of us, bare-assed and half-hard were in the pool. Johnny had his legs wrapped around my waist, arms around my neck, having sputtered and snorted a couple of times after Hardy tossed him over his shoulders. Johnny loved it and would scramble back for more.

I looked around, noticing our two guests, probably age twelve or thirteen, brought by two high school boys who said they were babysitting the neighbor boys, were now being plowed deeply up the ass by those same two boys. We'd been assured the two would keep silent concerning what we all did at the pool.

"They're just like us," I was told.

Apparently so, both were just sprouting fluff around their cocks and had spikes about three to four inches long. Good thing the pool had a shallow end so the boys could bend over without drowning. Of course, would've been a hell of a way to go!

Skeeter stood in the shallow water as well, waiting patiently for Skip to appear.

All activity came to a screeching (perhaps more squishing) halt when Skip walked through the doorway from the locker room to the pool deck. Not a ripple on the water, a tittle or a gasp, nothing, except I'd bet there wasn't a single flaccid cock, other than Johnny, in the pool as Skip came closer to the pool edge, his eyes focused on Skeeter. All eyes otherwise were zeroed in on his crotch and body!

Skip was lean, lanky, slim at the waist, narrow at the hips, good looking all the way around, and carrying, hanging like a pendulum swaying back and forth over large, low hanging balls, a flaccid cock such as I'd never seen before!

Johnny tightened his grip around my waist with his legs, hung on with a firm hold around my neck, and leaned over close to my ear, commenting, "He's big, really big!"

"Yeah!" I responded almost breathlessly.

"No, Billy, I mean he is huge, bigger than you or any of the older boys here!"

Johnny was absolutely, positively correct! Skip was the proverbial horse-hung dicked boy you hear legends about, dream of, longing for and knowing your own will never reach the size of the one on display in front of you now! I've seen some big cocks, some small cocks, but mostly average ones, you know, those five to seven inches, but not this one. He had to be, if the information is correct one reads, in the one percent of the male population sporting such a humongous, hanger, no matter the race, color, or exercise used.

"You're hard!" Johnny observed, my stiff pecker pushing up against the back of his thigh.

I merely nodded, eyes still fixed on the wobbling wanger walking toward Skeeter. As I watched, as did others, the prodigious pecker seemed to grow and stiffen. It didn't seem to grow a lot, enough understand to realize it changed sizes, but as it did stiffen, rather than pointing up as most did, or straight out, his kind of did a little of both; up some, out mostly, but there it became interesting. As it pointed up an out, the cock had a slight curve downward, something like an upside-down banana. The plum-shaped head (magnificent, I might add) peeking out from a smooth foreskin, seemed to be swelling and revealing more of itself with every step he took.

"Interesting!" I mused aloud, feeling Hardy skooch up against my side, his hard dick rubbing my thigh just below where Johnny's legs were wrapped around me.

He gently, carefully rubbed up and down on my thigh, slowly as if not to disturb the concentration of the others watching this eighth wonder of the world. Skeeter wasn't adverse to what he saw as well, his eyes fixed like a mouse on a snake knowing he was to be the subject of the snake's charm. I knew it, just as sure as shit stinks, when Skip sat down on the pool deck, feet dangling in the water, his cock sort of sticking up between his legs, hard and inviting, Skeeter couldn't let the opportunity pass him by. He stepped forward, leaned his head forward, and with ever so delicate a move, using his tongue, he slowly swept over the thick pink head, lapping at it, before carefully opening his mouth, and closing his lips around it. Skips eyes rolled back in ecstasy and the water around the two young boys with the high schoolers cocks buried up their asses started to ripple waves like a tsunami. They weren't the only ones; the two life guards were standing, not watching the rest of us, but Skip and Skeeter, and flailing their cocks. I think, at that moment, the entire group, sans Johnny, Hardy, and me were either jacking off, sucking someone else off, or fucking!

We were close enough so, when Skip gently pushed Skeeter off of his cock, and slid into the water, we heard him say, as he leaned forward, nuzzling Skeeters neck while his hands stole beneath the water's surface to grip and fondle the stiff cock and soft balls Skeeter offered with no resistance,

"I fell in love with you the minute you walked out of the kitchen with our burgers. I didn't really want to eat the burgers, I wanted nibble on you, loving you, worshipping your body."

Skeeter sort of squirmed, "Me too!"

Skips ministrations to Skeeter's tool, brought this comment from Skeeter, "I'm not very big!"

"Just right, as far as I'm concerned."

Skip looked around, gave me a nod, and said to Skeeter, "I'm going to fuck you, okay?"


"Nah, the locker room. Billy and Hardy will watch the door."

Skeeter just gulped and clambered out of the pool, his stiff cock leading the way to the locker room. I quickly handed off Johnny to Buzz with the admonition, "He's off limits, you know, to anyone in here!" Buzz knew well and the rest of our bunch would help is anyone decided they wanted to fuck our Johnny. Not going to happen!

We followed the two to the locker room where Skip pointed the way to the bench in front of the lockers we'd used to store our clothes. He laid a towel on the bench, carefully helped Skeeter lay down on it, reached up into his locker, and brought forth a small bottle of lotion. Turning back to Skeeter, he spread Skeeter's legs, lifted them to his shoulder (this was a position Skeeter was used to so it seemed to be automatic to him), and using first one, then two, then three fingers, spread the lotion inside and outside of Skeeter's bung-hole.

"Shouldn't be too hard to get that puppy in there," allowed Hardy, backing his butt up against my hard cock. "Won't be the first time Skeeter's been fucked."

How true! All of us, in our Sunday Club, enjoyed Skeeter's small ass whenever he needed a good rogering. After today, however, those days may become few and far between.

Skip moved up, resting his fat cock knob up against the portal of pleasure, and, with a slight raise in his eyebrows seeking permission and receiving a slight nod in return, pushed forward slowly, realizing his lover might find his cock a little large. Skip had no desire to hurt Skeeter and wouldn't. He pushed forward, pulled back, pushed forward, and not hearing any complaints or whines of pain only whimpers of pleasure, began a slow, but oh so nice a fuck of the sweet ass in front of him. He leaned forward, engaged Skeeter's lips with his own, and began jacking Skeeter off as he was being fucked!

That did it for Hardy! He reached around, clasp my cock, guided it to his asshole, and commanded, "Fuck me!"

Who was I to question my boyfriend? Buried it deep in one thrust. I came up in Hardy's butt the same time Skip began unloading inside Skeeter and Skeeter began shooting his cum all over their stomachs.

Not a bad way to welcome Skip to the family, so to speak. He was one of us and definitely Skeeter's boyfriend, for life!

I heard Skip began to pant, knowing he was getting close.

"Do me!" he asked, "help bring me off!"

I pulled out of Hardy, rolled over, and quickly stuck my cock up Skip's ass.

"Yes!" he groaned as I felt his butt cheeks clench indicating he was unloading. I reached over him, held onto his cock and felt it throb, swell, and throb each time he fired. I could also feel the massive amount of cum he unloaded start to leak out around his penis.

"God, you do shoot a lot!" I said, always amazed.


He didn't really need to say why the Voo Doo lady said he was abnormal. Probably scared her to death if she happened to see it. Didn't bother Skeeter or us; he was one of the bunch and a welcome one!

Talk about this story on our forum

Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.

[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]

* Some browsers may require a right click instead