Ever since Christmas my cousin JB's e-mails had hinted at some inner disquiet. Mid-January he'd written that he'd had his first wet dream since adolescence. In February he'd told me he'd been having difficulty achieving an orgasm masturbating. His next several messages revealed nothing out of the ordinary, but early in April one said he'd broken up with his girlfriend and that he'd had three more wet dreams. I didn't bother to ask if he'd discussed his problems with Aaron; the Bennett brothers never talked about sex or much of anything else.
Both brothers did talk to me, though. In early May I got a telephone call from Aaron expressing concern that JB had become more reclusive than ever, that since breaking up with Michelle he'd made no attempt to find a replacement. "He just sits in his room and plays video games," Aaron had said, "and his grades totally suck. He'll be lucky to graduate."
I believe now in retrospect that I should have made the six- hour drive to see JB in person, but I had concerns of my own. Besides carrying eighteen units that quarter, I was working twenty hours a week, dating somebody new, and fighting with my own conflict. Mine concerned whether to accept a tempting job offer or to go on to graduate school as I'd planned. I told Tiffany during the last week in May, "I'll be glad to get away for a while -- even if it's only four days -- and try to sort this thing out."
On Friday, May 28, my last class let out at three. Already packed, I drove straight to the lake and put my things in the bunkhouse. Since my dad would be bringing our boat down later that evening, I couldn't take it to the market; instead, I walked the half a mile, bought a twelve-pack of Coors, and returned just as my aunt, uncle, and cousins pulled through the gate.
When I'd set the beer on our deck, I kissed my aunt, shook hands with my uncle, punched my cousins, and carried an ice chest inside. While the brothers were putting their things upstairs, I asked Uncle Luke how his finals had gone; he, like my father, taught history, Uncle Luke at the University of Washington, my dad at Washington State.
"Just fine, Danny, just fine. What time will your parents be down?"
I said, "Any minute" and brought another load in from their car.
My first chance to be alone with my younger cousin came after dinner. Aaron had gone into town for more beer, the adults were playing cards in our cabin, JB and I were washing the dishes in his parents' cabin. I asked, "How'd graduation go?" Despite Aaron's misgivings, JB had graduated the previous Wednesday.
"Cool," JB answered, "I got all kinds of excellent presents. Listen, I'm thinking about sleeping with you in the bunkhouse. I don't want Aaron around if I have another one of those dreams."
A brief logistical note here: Two years ago my uncle had hired a construction crew to replace his old cabin. The new one had a loft over the bedroom, so nowadays the brothers slept there rather than with me in the bunkhouse. Though that first summer I'd enjoyed my privacy, more recently I missed the late-night conversations, the wrestling matches, and the attempts to squirt undetected that had been a large part of the fun every summer.
Drying a platter, I asked, "When was the last time you had one?"
"Graduation night, and I was so drunk I slept through it. The junk was half dry when I finally woke up." I asked what the dreams were about. "I can never remember," he answered.
I brought the last of the dishes in from the picnic table before asking, "You still haven't had any luck stroking?"
"It feels good and everything -- it's just I can't finish off," he disclosed.
I'd deduced that something had happened after Christmas to precipitate JB's wet dreams, because when we'd slept in my room over the holidays, I'd heard him pulling his cock almost as often as I did, and he'd had no trouble busting back then. I asked, "What happened first -- you couldn't nut stroking or you had a wet dream?"
"I'll tell you tonight in the bunkhouse," he answered.
When Aaron returned, we spent the rest of our first evening drinking, swapping stories, but not watching TV; neither family had a television. At eleven I told my cousins goodnight and went to the bunkhouse. I'd undressed, climbed into bed, and decided to accept the job offer when JB came in, asking, "Is it okay if I turn on the light?" I turned it on for him.
Watching JB getting naked, I reflected that while the brothers resembled each other more than brothers ordinarily do, there were contrasts nonetheless. My ex-girlfriend Anita had claimed that Aaron was handsome, JB was cute. Certainly Aaron had far more self-confidence and a better build earned by hours spent on the tennis court, but aside from those things, I couldn't see a whole lot of difference between them. I asked, "Did you get your acceptance letter to U-Dub [the University of Washington]?"
"Yeah, but dad had to make a couple of phone calls." JB slid into the other bottom bunk, turned off the lamp, and began, "I was spending the night at a friend's, and he asked me if I'd ever jacked off with anybody. I said I hadn't -- I didn't count the time you taught me how -- and he asked if I wanted to. Since you'd said two guys jacking together wasn't gay sex, I agreed."
JB had envisioned the men jacking off separately under the covers; his friend had wanted them to jack off each other. "He must have pretty strong tendencies because I'd just started milking his mule and he squirted, but I couldn't even get stiff." Later that night, JB'd had the first of his recent wet dreams. "It always seems to happen the same. I'll be horny and work on myself, but I won't be able to shoot. Then later, I'll pop in my sleep."
I'd taken no psychology classes in college except for the required introductory course, so I had no idea what suppressed urges JB's jacking with his friend had tapped into. I asked, "You're sure you can never remember what the dreams are about?"
"Positive," JB replied.
I couldn't discount the possibility JB masturbated himself while asleep; I'd caught myself doing the same thing a few times. I said, "Maybe you're mostly asleep when you jack and you don't remember it later."
"I wondered about that, so I slept in my jeans one night. I spooged but the pants were still buttoned."
The night I'd taught JB how to beat off he'd stiffened the instant I'd touched him. "Lose your shorts and come over here for a minute," I said.
Although JB had switched off the lamp, tonight's moon shed enough light for me to see his dim outline as he slid out of bed, took off his briefs, and came to my bed. Standing beside me, he asked, "What do you want me to do?"
I reached out and tugged his soft meat, something I'd last done six years ago. Now as then, his dick stiffened rapidly. "You don't have any trouble going stiff when I'm touching you," I said.
"No kidding," he answered.
Reenacting our first session together, I threw back the covers, sat up, and told JB to take the same position he'd taken the last time. When he sat between my legs I stroked his stomach awhile before I took hold of his prick. Slow-jacking his woodie, I recalled that he'd told me how much talking about sex turned him on. I asked, "Did you ever let Michelle watch you jerk off?"
"No way," JB said.
I'd intended to play with JB's rod for a while, then to send him back to bed, hoping I could observe him wet dream, but I'd been jacking him not more than a couple of minutes when he groaned, "Gonna cum" and erupted, leaving me holding his balls with my left hand while my right hand got sticky.
The Western states and maybe all fifty states require one person aboard a recreational watercraft to hold up a red flag when the skier (or wakeboarder or tube-rider) wipes out. From eight until eleven on Saturday June 12, the brothers and I took turns, one of us piloting, one flagging, one skiing. My first stint with Aaron, he said while waving his flag, "JB asked me what Tim and I do in bed."
JB's question indicated progress. Ever since Aaron had come out of the closet midway through his junior year in high school, JB had avoided discussing anything pertaining to sex with his brother; that's why I'd had to teach JB about jack-offs. I asked, "How graphic were you?"
"Not very," Aaron replied, "and when he asked me if you and I had connected, I side-stepped."
Soon afterward, Aaron took to the skis and JB climbed in the boat. As we were passing the village, he asked, "Did you jerk it last night?"
I shook my head, "By the time I got down here I was asleep on my feet." JB's e-mails this past week had indicated he'd been able to get himself off again. "How'd you manage to bust?"
"I was so sick of waking up wet I fantasized you and me hooking up." Five times over the past two weekends I'd jacked him, each time the same way as I've mentioned; he'd launched every time. I asked him if he wanted to try something new, expecting a request for a blow job; he surprised me by saying, "I'd like to do what I used to do with Michelle, only naked."
Michelle had never let JB do more than lie on top of her, both with their clothes on. The sessions had spooged JB's shorts as badly as any wet dream, yet they'd provided release and had been the best he could get. I asked, "Want to sleep in the bunkhouse tonight?"
"I've been counting on it," JB answered.
At lunch our parents requested that we supply that night's dinner, so we spent most of the afternoon catching trout. After we'd eaten, the men played penny-ante poker while my mom and aunt quilted. At eleven I cashed in my chips, said goodnight, and went to the bunkhouse. Anticipating JB, I took off all of my clothes rather than leaving my shorts on.
As I lay in the darkness, I reflected on something Aaron had said when he'd been steering the boat and I'd been the flag-man. He'd divulged that Tim wanted to fuck him, but that so far he, Aaron, hadn't been able to take a stiff cock. I told him how I'd had success buttfucking an ex-girlfriend; he'd promised to try my technique.
JB arrived a few minutes later, stripped in the darkness, and climbed in my bed. After he'd slid his stick between my legs, he asked how much I'd done with Tiffany. Since the truth would have bored him, I concocted a salacious account that combined my most heated heterosexual moments so effectively that I soon had him thrusting. Holding him tight with my left arm and petting his butt-cheeks, I said, "She made so much noise I was afraid she'd wake her folks up."
JB asked, "Were you wearing protection?"
"No, she wanted my love-juice to fill up her pussy," I answered. "She's taking the pill."
Shortly thereafter, JB had his first orgasm, rolled off, and lay alongside me gasping. I didn't do a thorough job of drying my legs because I expected another load soon. When his breathing had returned to normal, I asked, "How many times can you cum tonight?"
"Three at least, maybe four. Can I help you jack off or do you want to get off like I did?"
By helping me jack JB meant massaging my balls while I stroked. We did that for a while but I didn't want to bust yet for fear my enthusiasm would wane. After I'd brinked myself twice, his dick started stretching, and I pulled him on top of me, asking, "Should I do anything different?"
"The last time was perfect," he answered.
For variety's sake, this time I slid my fingers into his crack and played with his hole, never intruding but stretching it slightly. After erupting, he stayed atop me and asked, "When you masturbate, do you fantasize putting your dick in me there?"
"I haven't, but the idea's a turn on," I said. "As soon as you're horny again, how about if you jerk it while I give you a prostate massage?"
He replied, "I don't think so -- you've got pretty big fingers."
"I've also got a tube of K-Y but if you don't want to, that's cool." The University of Washington had accepted JB with the stipulation that he must pass a remedial English summer course. I asked, "What have you been learning in class?"
"So far all we've studied is grammar. We'll be doing punctuation starting next week." He asked the question I'd been anticipating, "Why won't Aaron tell me what you guys do together?"
"Because it's intense and it's personal. Would you want me telling him what we do together?"
JB admitted he wouldn't, then asked me to beat myself off. As I lay flogging, he said, "It'd be sweet if you'd cum on me."
Glad to oblige, when I sensed climax approaching, I rolled on my side, stepped up my hand speed, and sprayed jissum all over him.
My relationship with Tiffany hadn't been going anywhere, so when a good friend of mine wanted to date her, I gave him my blessing. Single again, I'd taken out three different girls by the 4th of July weekend. Rusty Keller, the brother of one of them, asked if I'd drop him off in Spokane on my way to the lake.
Before starting my job I'd told my prospective employer I'd made plans for Monday the 5th through Friday the 9th. On Friday the 2nd, I picked Rusty up at his house at five. Once on the freeway, I asked, "What'll you be doing up in Spokane?"
"Trolling for hotties," he grinned. An out-gay, Rusty served on the steering committee of WSU's GLBT-Alliance.
"Unbeknownst to you," I informed him, "I downloaded your picture from the Longview High yearbook and sent it to a cousin who'll be at the lake. He asked me to invite you."
"If he looks anything like you do I'm interested," Rusty said.
Because I too would have wanted to know what a prospective date looked like, I'd brought Aaron's picture showing him wearing only a tan and his swimtrunks. Rusty liked the photo so much he agreed to accompany me without asking what type of sex Aaron preferred, which would have been my very first question, yet for all Rusty knew Aaron might have been a bondage fanatic. These reflections prompted my asking, "Do you consider yourself a top or a bottom?"
"A definite bottom," said Rusty.
During the rest of the drive, I learned that Rusty had done more in his eighteen years than I in twenty-two, at least on the gay side. He'd had a succession of jack-buddies, he liked sucking off soldiers, and he'd got fucked the first time more than two years ago. He said, "I still had one foot in the closet, but this straight friend had heard how good it feels to fuck ass. He said I could do it to him if I'd let him do it to me, but I liked how it felt when he drilled me so much I never got around to pronging him."
Aaron had broken up with Tim about the time I'd split up with Tiffany. Since he'd never found jacking to be as satisfactory as I had, I figured he must be one horny dude; per my expectations when bedtime rolled around, Aaron took Rusty up to the loft; JB followed me to the bunkhouse.
Inside, we hugged until I felt myself leaking, then got out of our clothes and lay on my bed. Our last several times together, JB had rejected my offer to blow him; tonight he succumbed, saying, "I've jacked to the fantasy and I've cum hard every time."
Last week I'd discovered by accident that JB liked to shoot standing up. When I'd been taking a shower, he'd come into the bathroom, climbed into the tub, and had a superior orgasm fucking my legs again, so tonight I asked, "Would you want to stand next to the bed?"
I'd made a significant error, however. When he stood alongside the bed and I attempted to suck him, my head bumped the rail supporting the top bunk. Revising my plan, I knelt on the floor; while licking his dick-knob, I lubed my finger. Although so far JB had resisted my every attempt to penetrate his tight chute, he'd conceded it felt good when I played with his bunghole.
I initiated the blow job holding his hardon steady with my ungreasy hand. As I slid my lips down his pole, I rasped my tongue across his cock-notch, his sweet spot, and his cumtube. During the return trip I omitted the tongue-work but resumed it each time I lowered my head. I waited until I could taste pre-cum before I inserted my finger. As I slid it into his asshole, he groaned; his hands gripped my head, and his hips began pumping.
I coordinated the action by reinserting my finger whenever I lifted my head. Before I lowered my head, I flicked his notch with my tongue as I pressed on his gland, then slid my head down his rod again using the tongue-technique I'd started off with. I can't say whether JB lasted longer than I'd lasted the first time Aaron blew me, but in neither case did we last very long. No more than five minutes after I'd begun sucking him, JB unloaded.
While my cousin lay recovering from his first-ever blow job, I pulled on my boxers and walked to the lake. Bending down, I was rinsing my hands when I heard Aaron's voice coming through his cabin's window. At first it was only a murmur, but when I moved closer, I heard, "Why doesn't it hurt you?"
"Practice," Rusty replied. "My first time I needed the chronic to relax me down there, then I was fine after a little massage, and now I don't need anything but some lube. Did you have trouble busting your nut in a condom?"
"Not at all," Aaron answered. "Have you ridden a wakeboard before?"
I returned to the bunkhouse, climbed across JB, and stretched out on my bed. Running my fingertips from his neck to his navel, I asked, "How did you like it?" When he replied that he'd busted too quickly, I said, "Every time I discover a new way to get off I bust fast -- my first time jacking, my first blow job, the first time I fucked pussy -- but with experience we learn how to handle it."
Anxious to practice, JB let me blow him twice more before we called it a night. In between blow jobs I stroked, creaming twice. On Saturday we spent the morning on the water, two men skiing in tandem while the other two crewed the boat. At one point I'd taken the helm, Rusty was holding the flag, and I asked, "Are you glad you didn't stay in Spokane?"
"Truly," Rusty replied. "Can you picture yourself with Aaron and me in a three-way?"
"Not really," I said.
I rethought my position the following week. I'd had plenty of sex while JB had been with us, but he'd returned to Seattle late Monday because he had classes Tuesday through Friday. I didn't JO on Tuesday, so by Wednesday night I was as horny as college men usually are, and perhaps Rusty sensed that; late afternoon as he, Aaron, and I were securing the boat, he asked, "Would it be okay if we all shared the bunkhouse tonight?"
"Sure," I answered, "it's as much Aaron's as mine. Both our dads built it to get us kids out of the cabins."
Earlier Wednesday my mother and aunt had driven into Wenatchee to replenish their larders. While in town Aunt Renee had spotted a sale on bratwurst, my Uncle Luke's favorite food. Consequently we had our best meal of the week Wednesday night -- bratwursts, hot German potato salad, and cole slaw. I skipped the store-bought ice cream my mom put out for dessert.
I've mentioned that we had no TV at the lake -- we'd never connected to cable -- but we had a television set in our living room. While in town, the ladies had rented something amazingly silly, so we men played poker outside. Afterwards, I took my turn in the bathroom before I went to the bunkhouse. I'd stripped to my shorts by the time Aaron and Rusty came in.
Aaron sat on the bottom bunk opposite mine to take off his shoes. Untying them, he remarked, "These beds seemed a lot bigger years back."
Rusty climbed onto the top bunk and asked, "How long have you been coming down here?"
Aaron said, "I can't remember a time when we weren't. Our grandad bought the land in the eighties."
Seeing them naked, I noted that Aaron had a deep tan every place except where his swimsuit covered his midsection whereas Rusty had a paler, freckled complexion. Dickwise, Aaron's stiff rod contrasted with Rusty's long but semi-limp tool.
The area rug between the two sets of bunks provided the best chance for mobility; after double-checking to make sure I'd closed all the curtains, I stood at one end of the rug, waiting for Rusty to configure the action. When I asked what he wanted to do, he replied, "For you guys to take turns fucking me doggie style. I'll blow whoever's available."
I told Aaron the sequence didn't matter to me, and he said, "I'd like to start off in his mouth."
The past two or three years I'd taken to using Whisper Ultra-Lite condoms. I K-Y'ed my cock-knob, rolled the rubber down to my pubes, greased up, and moved into position. I lowered my chest onto Rusty's back, reached underneath him, and jacked him as I inserted my cock. Meanwhile, Aaron knelt at the front end of Rusty, sighing when Rusty sucked him.
Guys who are all the way gay may not realize that a woman's ass telegraphs her arousal the same way a man's does. Buttfucking my girlfriend, I'd noticed that when I played with her clit, her sphincters quivered; so too with Rusty when I played with his cock. Another error guys make is believing an ass is the same as a pussy, whereas in fact, unless you're lucky enough to be fucking a virgin, an ass is far tighter. Even one as well-used as Rusty's squeezed down on my dick the way most cunts never can.
To keep from shooting too quickly, I'd give Rusty's butt several quick jabs, then relax and jack him awhile. During one intermission I stroked Aaron's abs, asking both men, "How close are you guys?"
"Real close," Aaron said; Rusty said he was too.
When I'd cornholed my girlfriend, I'd gotten myself right to the edge, so when her asshole had gone into convulsions during her climax, I'd busted too. With Aaron and Rusty it worked even better because when Aaron said, "Here goes," I jacked Rusty fast, popping him; fucking him hard during his orgasm also popped me.
My new job was paying me more money than I'd ever made in my life, and I was having fun earning it. Saturday afternoon, August 13, I told my cousins, "This last week I went to a seminar at Gonzaga. We learned how to lay out a golf course."
"That's better than what I did," JB said. "I learned how to use semicolons."
"I learned the name of my thesis professor," said Aaron. "It's old Doc Matson -- he's a real decent guy."
JB hadn't arrived until that morning, having spent Friday night with a friend in Seattle. When Aaron went for more beer, he disclosed, "The guy I stayed with's taking the same English course I am. He's as much a horndog as we are. I heard him jerking it twice." I asked how many times JB had jerked it. Shaking his head, he replied, "I've saving up for tonight."
My own experience had been that abstinence often proved counterproductive. "Not me," I replied, "I beat off."
This late in the summer the water temperature had finally reached seventy degrees, allowing us to stay in the water hours longer than when we'd first opened the cabins. Spending most of the day on the lake exhausted me, so after dinner, rather than playing poker or watching a video, I took a two-hour nap; I was wide awake for my session with JB.
Since I'd napped bare, I had no more clothes to remove, but JB had to take off his trunks and his tee. Dropping his swimsuit, he said, "Aaron's friend Rusty's coming back here for Labor Day."
"I know -- he's riding with me," I replied.
"I'm thinking about inviting Chad down. That's the guy I was staying with last night."
"There's plenty of room," I said.
These past six weeks I'd blown JB numerous times; he'd said he'd blow me, but I doubted he wanted to, plus he'd learned how to give me an incredible hand job, one much better than those I give myself because JB never forced the pace the way I did.
JB started tonight by spreading my legs, sitting between them, and requesting the tube of K-Y. Greasing my hardon, he asked, "If you'd been me and you'd heard Chad pounding his pud what would you have done?"
"I'd need to know more about Chad," I said.
Slow-jacking my woodie, JB answered, "He doesn't have a really excellent build like you and my brother, but he's better than average. He grew up at Santa Monica Beach, so he knows how to surf."
"I'd have probably suggested we race to see who could launch first. When sex is a contest, most guys are okay with it."
That was the last thing I said till I'd fired, nor did we talk while I was sucking JB, but when we were lying together, waiting to get horny again, I asked, "Is there anything about Chad that suggests he's gay or bisexual, like does he have a regular girlfriend?"
"Not really," said JB. "Maybe I'll bring him down here over Labor Day so you can meet him."
My Labor Day holiday began at three p.m. Friday when I signed out for the week. At my apartment I tossed my already- packed bag into my car, shaved, and showered. At four, I was parked in front of his house when Rusty came home; ten minutes later we were on our way to the lake.
Noting that the cottonwoods were already changing, I reflected on how quickly summers passed compared with eastern Washington's tedious winters. I was wishing there could be a better seasonal balance when Rusty asked, "What all do you do for the Parks Department?"
I answered, "My major was in Park and Rec Management. I'd planned to go directly into the MBA program, but a friend of my dad's said I'd do better if I had a couple of years' work experience. Right now I'm in land acquisitions. We're considering the feasibility of adding a multi-use facility north of the middle school." Moving to a more interesting topic, I asked, "Who've you been hooking up with?"
"I talk to Aaron sometimes. We do phone sex, but that's about it," Rusty answered.
We reached the lake about six, stowed our bags, and were drinking beer on the deck when my Uncle Luke and his family showed up. JB's e-mails had told me Chad was coming but hadn't prepared me for his being older than JB. He was closer to my own age than my cousin's. JB had said he didn't have the best build but there was nothing wrong with it either, and he had an excellent face. Shaking his hand, I noticed a tattoo peeking out beneath the left sleeve of his T-shirt. I asked, "You've been in the service?"
He answered, "I went in the navy for three years after high school." Since JB had said Chad had grown up in Southern California, I asked, "Why'd you relocate to Seattle?"
Chad had a cute, boyish grin. "There's this girl," he replied.
Since this would be our last weekend at the lake until spring, our mothers concentrated on emptying the refrigerators. For dinner we had an odd combination of miscellaneous greens for a salad, boiled potatoes, burgers, and salsa. Afterwards we played poker, but our dads didn't join us; they took the boat across the lake to catch trout for our breakfasts.
At ten I ran out of change and watched the others awhile before saying goodnight. In the bunkhouse I lay facedown on my bed reading a Penthouse I'd brought. When JB and Chad joined me, they ogled the centerfold, stripped to their shorts, and climbed into their beds, Chad taking the bunk above JB's.
I've never jerked off with another guy in the room unless I found the guy foxish. Whether that's true for all males I have no idea -- it may be that some guys simply can't keep their hands off their cocks -- but it seemed worth pursuing in that Chad had jacked twice the night JB had stayed at his place. After turning the light out, I asked, "What kind of a ship were you on?"
Chad answered, "I wasn't -- I worked with the motor pool down in Norfolk."
I asked, "Did you sleep in a barracks?" I was thinking that if Chad had shared a room with several men he might have become inured to jerking it semi-publicly as had been my case at a Boy Scout camp years back.
But Chad answered, "Not really -- it was just me and a friend once we were finished with boot camp."
JB, who'd said nothing so far, waded in with, "I have this other friend who was in the army, and he said the whole time he was in boot camp, he never jerked off, that he was too tired every night."
"I can't say I never did it but I didn't do it very much," Chad said. "If you don't mind my asking, how much would you guess you guys do it on average?"
JB guessed he did it about three times a week; I said, "Naturally I do it more when I'm not getting laid, which I haven't been lately. I missed just one day this past week and scored a couple of doubles."
"That's like me except I haven't missed a day for a month. I'm not getting laid either," Chad said.
I asked, "Your girlfriend wants to wait till you're married?"
"We both do," Chad said.
I didn't want to pressure Chad, so I would have been content to call it a night, then to pursue the subject the next day, but after a brief silence, JB asked, "Where'd you beat off when you and your buddy were rooming together?"
"Jeff didn't mind me hearing him, and I didn't mind him hearing me. We did it whenever we needed to," Chad answered.
I admitted, "Those pictures gave me a hardon. I feel like doing it now."
JB asked, "Do you guys want to race to see who can shoot first?"
Chad chuckled, "That wouldn't be fair since I have a head start."
JB echoed Chad's chuckle, "Knowing my cousin, I'm betting we all started when he turned out the light."
I upped the ante by saying, "Depending on how shy you guys are, we could unload on my magazine."
Chad said that would be hot. When JB agreed, I pushed off my shorts, turned on the light, and climbed out of bed. Since the room had no other furniture save for a chair, I set the Penthouse on it, then greased up with K-Y.
Within moments, the others stood flanking me, Chad on my left with his dick nearly vertical, JB on my right leaking pre- cum. As Chad was using my lube on his meat, I asked, "Did you and Jeff ever do this?"
Handing JB the K-Y, Chad answered, "Not on a magazine, but sometimes we watched movies together."
The small amount of available space forced us to stand shoulder to shoulder. As we all began stroking, JB put his left arm around my waist; I liked it so much I did the same thing to Chad.
As strange as it seems, there are some guys who don't need much velocity to get off. A friend I play baseball with just keeps polishing pole at the same steady speed until he's finished his O. Chad, JB, and I, though, accelerated in steps. After maybe five or six minutes, we were all going twice as fast as when we'd started, and I was approaching release, but I didn't want to spew first so I slowed to my original tempo. JB, however, pulled me tight against his body and launched; no sooner had his dick gone dry than Chad groaned, "Gotta cum," and he did. After that I finished myself, wiped off the Penthouse, climbed into bed, and turned out the light.
The baseball-player friend I was mentioning never talks about sex except to ask, "Want to masturbate?" and to comment on the size of our loads after we spooge. The first thing Saturday morning none of us bunkhouse buddies mentioned sex either, nor did the loft dwellers. At breakfast Aaron said he and Rusty wanted to ride in the tubes. Because I hate riding those oversized things, I offered to pilot, and Chad volunteered to be flag-man, putting JB in the third tube.
At sea, after I'd slammed the tubers into one another, I asked as Chad waved his flag, "How would you compare last night's O with your usual?"
"More intense by a ways -- my knees nearly buckled." I asked if Chad had ever done more with a guy than two-way JO's. "Another guy in the motor pool wanted to blow me. I wish now I'd let him."
"A mouth feels great on a dick," I agreed.
Saturday afternoon brought a squall that chased everybody indoors. I stood at the window, watching the lightning flash, smelling the ozone, and hoping the weather would clear in time for a trip to the village; otherwise, we'd be eating more leftovers. They hadn't been terrible, but we'd finished the last of the hamburger.
The storm proved to be mercifully brief; by three we were back on the water speeding across the lake to the store. There, while my cousins filled a shopping cart with essentials, primarily beer, Chad and I investigated the soft-core, but I bought only more lube.
On our return trip we dropped off the groceries, then spent another two hours skiing before we joined our dads on the deck, they drinking martinis, we sharing pitchers of Coors. At one point Uncle Luke asked me if I'd considered getting back together with an ex-girlfriend he and Aunt Renee had been fond of.
"Not really," I answered. "She's engaged to a friend of mine."
As much as I'd been looking forward to a repeat of last night, Chad drank too much and fell asleep in the bunkhouse while JB and I were undressing. Although I offered my cousin a blow job, he and I both preferred to wait until Chad could participate; when he did, he launched a chain of events that deserves its own story.