Breaking The Arrangement

The sides of the embankment along side and under the bridge were made of concrete to help keep the roadbed in place. This gave us a ledge at the top of either side where, while we couldn't stand, we could sit. The ledge went back about four feet so we had plenty of space to spread out. There were a couple of blankets there we had brought on previous trips so we could eat lunch without scraping all the skin off our legs. Of course, they had another use as well.

Anyway, we finished up the chores that morning around 11 and, since we didn't have to do chores again until 3, we decided to go fishing. Because it was hot out we both changed out of our work clothes, wriggling into swim shorts and tennis shoes. The sun felt good against our bare backs and legs as we peddled our way along the rutted dirt road over to the creek (about? of a mile away.), our bikes rattling with every bump and hole in the road. We had to be careful not to drop our fishing rods that were balanced across our handlebars and held in this precarious position by one grasping hand.

When we got to the bridge, we walked our bikes down the side of road and leaned them against one of the pillars that helped hold up the bridge. This way our bikes were out of sight of anyone passing by on the road. (Not that we had ever had anything stolen but why take chances.) I was stringing the line through my rod when Evan started to talk with me. "Web, you're pretty good at that science stuff. I was reading in one of my dad's fishing magazines that fish don't see things the same way we do." Now Evan was a C-average student and he didn't like any of the science classed we had to take, preferring auto mechanics or gym, so this sudden interest in matters piscine puzzled me.

"I mean I can understand a fish rising to a fly, that's natural cause we see bugs land on the water all the time. Even a fish striking at a lure makes sense to me. Bigger fish eat smaller fish; we've seen them eat the minnows in this creek. But what in the world would make a fish go for a worm on a hook. That doesn't seem right to me. There ain't no worms in the creek unless we throw one in, they sure don't crawl in by themselves. And any worm we throw in doesn't float. It sinks to the bottom and drowns. So how come a fish will eat a worm? If you were a fish Web, would you want to eat a fat, big pink worm?"

When I turned around to answer Evan, I saw him kneeling on the ledge above, his swimsuit next to him, his semi-flaccid prick waggling up and down and back and forth between two fingers. "What about it Web? If you were a fish would you want to eat a juicy old worm like this one?"

"I don't know. If I were a fish I don't think I'd be tempted by such a puny little worm like that one," I said even as I started the ascent up the sloping concrete wall. "I'd like my worms to be a little harder so I had something to chew on."

"I can't believe a poor scrawny starving fish like you would turn down a meal as good as this one," Evan said stroking his firming erection with his fingertips, the foreskin beginning to smear his precum over the glistening head of his cock. "I just bet I could land me something nice with this particular worm, don't you cocksucker?"

My nod of agreement put the first three inches of Evan's rod back into my mouth, the tip poking the far end of my tongue just short of my throat. Evan lay back down on the blanket, his hands drawing my head further down on his dick. "That's it Web, just keep moving your head up and down like that, you look like a bobber on the end of a struck line.

Come on Web, suck me, suck me hard, blow's just an expression."

I redoubled my oral efforts on his thick, flat dick, leaving my hands free to massage his balls. In the distance I heard the sound of a truck coming down the road. It was coming our way fast. I tried to pull my head off Evan's cock but he held me in place with his hands. "I'm almost there Web. Forget about the goddamn truck and suck me. Faster man, be a good scumeater and make me come."

Evan's explosion into my mouth came almost simultaneously with the rain of dirt and pebbles on my back as the truck thundered over the bridge. As the dust from its passage settled, I abandoned the now spent prick and sat up, shaking some of the dust from my hair.

"Well, I think we've settled the question about the worm don't you," I asked Evan as we both perched on the edge of the ledge, recovering from our exertions. "Fish eat worms for the same reasons we eat Twinkies. They want the cream inside." Evan groaned and gave me a light punch in the arm.

"That joke's so bad you're going to have to suck me off again to make up for it.' And I did. In fact, I coaxed Evan to climax three times before we had to leave to get back to our chores, although each time I had to use more and more hand to make him come and my "creamy" reward got smaller each time.

After his fourth and final orgasm, my lips were as chapped as though I had spent the day in a desert and Evan's dick was red, sore and swollen. He complained about the way it rubbed against his work clothes for three days afterwards. I just laughed and told him to use liberal applications of Cornhusker Lotion.

Which was another change in Evan. Not the Cornhusker Lotion but his renewed interest in cornholing me. At first he just dropped hints that he wanted to stick his dick up my ass. I ignored his hints which then got increasingly less subtle (Not that Evan was ever very subtle to begin with) until he finally came out and asked why I wouldn't let him butt-fuck me.

"Because it hurts."

"Don't be a sissy. It'll only hurt for a little while. Then you'll get used to it. Besides I'll be gentle. Just let me put the head in. I won't go any further."

"No, we tried that and it hurt."

"Come on Web, be a man. Bend over for me. You'll like it once I get it all the way in. It'll feel real good."

"If it'll feel so good, lemme do it to you."

"Hey man, you're the cocksucker in this relationship not me. And as long as you're sucking cock why not try taking it up the ass. Old man Grambs said you have the perfect butt for it and I already know you're sticking that enema tube up there when you jack-off. Why not my dick?" "Because the tube doesn't hurt and you do."

"OK, let's do this. We'll measure how big around my dick is OK? Then you can start sticking something a little bigger up your ass each time until you get to where you're riding on something that's just a little larger than my cock is. Then you know it won't hurt when I butt-fuck you. Whadda ya say?"

A little intrigued, I told Evan I'd think about it. The nozzle from the enema kit did feel good and I was kind of curious about how Evan's cock would feel in my ass. It's just that it hurt so much the couple of times we'd tried it. My ass even bled a little for a couple of days afterwards. Still, maybe Evan had a good idea. If I stretched my ass slowly and got used to the size, it might not hurt.

"OK Web. I'm holdin' you to that. Now let's get a tape measure and see how big I am. And while you're down there measuring, I think I might have another mouthful for you. You're gettin' a little skinny. I don't think you're getting enough protein."

Breaking The Arrangement --- Chapter Two

Although I now live elsewhere, I grew up in a small farming community in Wisconsin.

The main street in town was four blocks long with a traffic light in the middle. We had the same "Noah's Ark" collection of small businesses you'd find in any rural village. Mostly two story buildings, two gas stations, two bars, two groceries, two restaurants, two hardwares; well, you get the idea.

Some things we only had one of. One local weekly paper, one drug store, one florist, one funeral parlor, and, as far as I knew, one teenage boy who liked to suck cock, that being me.

Yeah, there could have been others, probably were. But, if there were, like me, they weren't advertising the fact. And neither was anyone whose cock they were sucking. Among the guys there were the usual locker room boasts about getting a handful of bare tit or a hand job or even a blowjob but it was always from some girl, never from another boy. Everybody knew letting some faggot gum your dick was just as bad as being a cocksucker. No real man would let something like that happen to them and every country boy wants to be known as a real man.

Our friendship aside, that prejudice was why I felt I could trust Evan not to tell anybody I was sucking his cock. He had as much to lose if our arrangement became public as I did. As long as he kept his mouth shut, I'd keep mine open.

The summer was nearly over when Evan told me the bad news. "My mom got a call from Aunt Audrey yesterday. Ray is going to stay with us for two weeks. He'll be here Friday." I must have groaned a little, OK a lot, because Evan said "Come on Web, it won't be that bad."

"Yeah, right," I thought to myself. It wasn't that I didn't like Ray, I did. A lot of "city kids" looked down on us as poor, unsophisticated "cow tippers." Ray didn't share their attitude. When he was out to the farm he was one of us; getting up early to help with the chores and hanging out with us after they were done.

It was the hanging out with us part the caused me to react when I heard Ray was coming. Since he'd be staying at Evan's house Ray would be with Evan almost 24 hours a day, even sleeping in the same room which ended any chance of my sleeping over. That meant I'd be without cock for the next two weeks because, with Ray omnipresent, the opportunities to slake my thirst would be zero.

For the first couple of days of Ray's visit, Evan made a game of it, teasing me at every opportunity. Sometimes when Ray wasn't looking he'd take my hand and rub it against his crotch or he'd reach down the front of his pants and then rub his fingers between my lips. But, as time passed, Evan's frustration grew in tandem with his lust and the games ceased.

"Man, Web I didn't think it was possible to get this horny," Evan told me, taking advantage of Ray's use of the bathroom before lunch. "I've had more wood than Weast's lumber yard. Right now my dick hurts just looking at you. We've got to do something."

"What do you mean 'we' kemosabe? I'm not the one running around with a hard-on."

"You are too you little bastard, I tell from the way you're sitting."

"OK, maybe I am. But I can get rid of it by beating off. As soon as Ray's done you can do the same. If you're so horny it shouldn't take you more than a few strokes to get off. Hell, it usually doesn't take you more than a couple of pumps anyway."

Evan's reply was cut short by the sounds of a toilet flushing and the creak of the bathroom door opening. Scuttling sideways like a crab to hide his erection, he practically sprinted into the bathroom, almost bumping into Ray in the process.

"What's wrong with Evan? Isn't he feeling good," Ray asked me as he sat down at the table.

"His stomach's bothering him. I think he's got the runs. Should'a skipped that second helping of bacon this morning."

"Ate something that didn't agree with him, huh? I'll bet you never have that problem Web."

There was only a momentary hitch in the progress of my hand to the sandwich below. Carefully watching Ray's face I replied, "Nah, I get the runs all the time especially after I eat a plate of my old man's fried pork and beans with bacon." Ray's countenance remained as free of guile as an alter boy serving mass.

We worked harder than usual the rest of the day with one goal in mind: get the chores done soon enough to allow us to go swimming at Maxwell's pond, instead of Babcock Creek before spending the rest of the evening working on Evan's car.

Maxwell's pond was forbidden territory for us. Located on a nearby sod farm it offered a number of advantages the creek didn't. No leeches for one, deeper water for another. The disadvantage was its location on private property, property owned by a man, Mr. Maxwell, who most definitely didn't want kids swimming in it. The pond was used to irrigate the sod, period. No swimming. No fishing. No nothing.

Normally we stayed away from Maxwell's pond. Too risky as Maxwell's employees liked catching trespassers on the property. Even if you avoided the workers there were always Maxwell's dogs to worry about. But Ray was on the swim team at his school and, swimming pools being a rich person's toy and so nonexistent in farm country, we were determined to provide him with a better venue for his skills than the creek.

We approached our trip to the pond like commandos readying to sneak into Nazi Germany. Wearing our swimsuits under our clothes, we rode our bikes into the woods that bordered the far end of the sod farm. There we stripped down to suits and tennis shoes and began to slowly make our way across the open field to the pond, staying as low as we could to avoid being seen, even crawling in some places when we thought we heard the sound of employees further off.

A surprise awaited us once we reached our goal. A new six-inch pipe had been run out of the pumphouse above the water to the center of the pond where it made a 90 degree turn downward. Anchored to the pipe where it entered the water was a small floating platform. The platform, about 4 feet by 4 foot, was made of wood, with barrels tied to three sides to provide floatation. It rode about a foot out of the water.

Until now I haven't given you much of a description of Ray. Think the statute David, not Michelangelo's muscular, masculine marble David but the less famous but equally male bronze David by Donatello, a lithe, small-boned, willowy young shepherd almost gangly in appearance, smooth in body yet with well-defined muscles. That was Ray.

Ray lacked the "farmer's tan" we had. His skin was a pale white, almost ivory, the few short dun hairs on his arms and legs looking like cracks in old china. His attractive face was thin and pointed, all sharp angles giving him an elfin look minus the ears of course. A close-cropped dusting of bristly wheaten hair decorated his scalp.

On land Ray was awkward like a novice dancer who's not quite sure of the steps. But in his natural element Ray was grace itself, a fluid water sprite who moved with the ease of an astronaut in zero g. There was something sensuous about the way he swam, the water parting with each strong, steady stroke as though opening the way for its lover to join with it.

Our plan called for us to only spend 20 minutes swimming in the pond, less chance of getting caught that way. As we reached the last 5 minutes Ray announced he was going to swim some laps from one end of the pond to the other. I was watching Ray cut through the water when Evan tapped me on the shoulder.

"Now's our chance Web. Blow me." I looked at Ray like he was nuts. "I'm serious. Ray's going to be too busy doing laps to watch us and I need to get off bad. And I know how you can suck my cock without being seen."

Now I was as hungry for Evan's cock as he was anxious to feed it to me. So I asked what he had in mind.

"Get under the float. There's plenty of room under there, I looked while we were swimming. The whole side by the pipe is open, there's no barrel there to get in the way. If I get partway off the platform my dick'll be just about an inch above the water, right at mouth level for you. You blow me and I'll watch out for Ray."

That's how I found myself under the platform with Evan's pecker riding just above the waves. But his idea didn't work, at least the way it was planned. I couldn't tread water and keep Evan's prick in my mouth. Every time I slid down on his cock the force of my movement caused it to submerge. And if I hung on to the underside of the platform my weight brought it lower in the water with the same result. What did work though was hanging on with one hand while jacking Evan off with the other, giving his Prussian helmet a lick and a kiss as often as I could.

Evan had just reached the crisis point when I caught a flash of white out of the corner of my eye. As I involuntarily turned my head to follow the movement I had seen, Evan shot nearly a week's worth of pent-up passion all over my face, neck and shoulder. This unexpected and, at least this time, unwelcome shower of sperm coincided with a sharp rap on the head as Ray dolphined his way out of the water and onto the float.

I love Evan but he's never been the fastest thinker in the world. As I fumbled below to get his dick back in his swimsuit I could hear him fumbling above to answer Ray's question about where I was.

"Geeze, I don't know Ray. He was here just a minute ago."

"I don't see him anywhere. We better look for him. He could be in trouble."

Before things got any more out of hand, I ducked under the water.

Swimming a yard or so away from the platform and trying to wash off as best I could, I popped up to the surface long enough to say "Man, this water is deep," before sinking back down again to persist with my ablutions; I had globs and strings of come hanging from me like I'd run into a spider's web.

After breaking the surface for the second time, I swam slowly back to the float, using the butterfly stroke which allowed me to continue to duck under the water to clean away the telltale signs of my previous activity. I guess I didn't do as good a job as I had hoped because after I levered myself onto the float, I caught Ray checking out my face.

"What's the matter? What are you looking at," I said, a little more querulous than I had intended.

"You've got some goop on your face, Web. It's in your eyebrow and down the side of your face."

"Probably just snot. I got some water in my nose coming up from the bottom."

"Yeh, probably is just snot," Ray said as he reached over to me, scraping some off with his fingers before I could move away. "Sort of thick for snot though," he opined as he rubbed his coated fingers together.

"Hey man, I've got bad sinuses. Want to make something of it," I asked in what I hoped was a teasing tone.

"Nope. I know getting water up your nose can be a bitch. First time it happened to me at a meet, so much snot drained out, I thought my head would collapse."

Evan's "Hey, guys," caught both our attentions. Turning our heads in tandem, we saw his cupped hands flash toward us just before we were hit with a spray of water.

"OK cousin, you asked for it. Let's get him Web." In seconds a water fight broke out, each of us splashing and hooting at the others. Ray and I had grabbed Evan and were just about to toss him in the water when we heard someone else shouting.

"God damn you kids. You know you ain't supposed swimmin' in that pond. Get the hell off of that and get over here." It was one of Maxwell's field hands and he was angry.

Well, we might be dumb but we weren't stupid. All three of us hit the water at the same time, swimming to the shore opposite the worker who had broken into a run. Ray got there first but Evan and I weren't too far behind the swim star.

All attempt at secrecy abandoned, we ran for the woods as fast as we could. Having to swim to shore had allowed the man chasing us to close the gap; we were now only about 30-35 yards ahead of him. But we were young and in shape while he was middle-aged and used to riding around on tractors, not biking from place to place. We gradually widened the distance between us until, when we hit the fence line, we were a good 70 yards ahead of him. After we cleared the wire he profanely gave up the pursuit, warning us that if "I ever fucken see you little shits around here again, I'll set the dogs on your asses, you snot-nosed bastards."

"Snot-nosed bastards huh? I think he's got us confused with you Web," said Ray as we walked back to the bikes.

"Hey, I may be snot-nosed but my parents were married."

The ribbing and an analysis of the chase continued all the way to the bikes, three friends relieving the tension of a close call or, for some of us, two close calls. Throughout the banter I paid close attention to Ray, on guard for any strange looks or double meanings. But he seemed to be the same old Ray. If he knew what I was up to at the pond he certainly wasn't letting on.