Eric

The river flows quietly here. An invisible canyon wren calls sadly from the opposite cliff. Hot sun warms the whole front of my body. Absently I fondle my penis for a minute letting it partially fill with blood if only to complement my swelling mood. Closing my eyes I tip my head way back listening to the wren, soaking up rays. And of course I recognize Eric's voice. "Hey, you want company?"

I lift my head opening one eye squinting under my hand at his smiling approach. "Sure," I answer, thinking, look, I was here first. And Eric by now is close enough to realize I'm naked and aroused. Still, as a courtesy, I lift and replace my cock on my left thigh pointing away. It's up to him to continue or turn around. I'm just not going to hide myself further to prevent shocking his straight and narrow Mormon sensibilities.

But if anyone is shocked it's me -- Eric is standing tall at my right side, slightly behind me turning away as he pushes down Sun Devil gym shorts, his pale compact buttocks revealing daring nudity. In deference I politely look upriver until I know the young swamper is sitting safely behind me, only one arm's length away.

"So, what're you up to?" Eric casually asks, and I twist now to face him. As usual he's pulled his legs up near his chin clasping both hands around his knees, as if he's cold, or ashamed of his nudity, though his genitals remain hidden behind crossed ankles. The sides of his naked hips are very pale, but the rest of him is nicely sunburned. Smiling he tips his head sideways at me, determined to ignore my provocative penis.

"Just relaxing," I say; "writing, catching rays like a horny old queer."

"What're you writing?" he asks, ignoring the rest.

"Notes maybe for a story," I say maintaining contact with inquisitive gray eyes.

"That's cool," he says nodding. "What's it about?"

"Well," I say taking a deep breath, "if you must know, it'll be an erotic fantasy about an older gay man who goes rafting in the Grand Canyon only to fall helplessly and hopelessly in love with a younger straight dude."

Eric squirms imperceptibly, but at least he doesn't object. Looking downriver away from me he quietly asks, "How's it end?"

"That I don't know yet."

Cautiously he probes. "Has it got a title?"

"I may just call it 'Eric'," I say. Still looking away, he nods. "I hope you don't mind," I anxiously continue. "I could easily change your name to Peter, or Adonis, whatever."

Now Eric glances back at my plump penis before facing me pressing nose, mouth and chin against upper arm so I can see only his eyes.

"No," he says in a muffled voice, "I like the title."

My breathing has become shallow. If Eric is intentionally torturing me, I think I'm prepared to die. A drop of perspiration rolls down from my armpit. And my cock, reclining almost erect against my thigh has dribbled pre-ejaculate, which I don't think Eric can see.

I have no idea what to say, but I do know the ball is in my court.

With my left thumb, as Eric watches, I simply toggle my firm swollen cock tipping it over leaking onto my lower abdomen pointing directly back at my companion, the simple motion leaving a gossamer thread of clear lubricant strung along the buried pipeline under my shaft.

Eric glances over his shoulder in the direction of the campsite: no one there. Turning back to me he takes a deep breath.

"Okay," he confesses, "I want to try something."

"Okay," I say trying nervously not to chuckle.

Unclasping hands Eric pivots slightly on the sand leaning toward me placing the fingers of his right hand over my scrotum, his palm over my hard cock.

"That feels good to me," I say; "how's it feel to you?"

"Warm," he says, staring incredulously at the placement of his stationary hand.

He seems stuck. I reach for his wrist slowly guiding his hand lightly back and forth along my shaft. But he knows what to do. I withdraw my hand.

Jump-started, he points my cock straight up and circles it with fingers and thumb tenderly stroking shaft and rim of glans, also running his fingers over the scalloped skin of my baggy sac.

He pauses releasing my cock, and I'm proudly amazed to see my erection maintaining a stiff vertical pose entirely on its own.

"How'd that feel?" Eric asks.

"Very nice," I say, breathing steadily. "You seem to have practiced."

He smiles examining the smear of oily fluid on the knuckle of his index finger.

"Taste," I suggest and he licks the finger smiling.

Stretching his right leg straight out in front but defensively maintaining the raised left knee, he reaches and resumes stroking me more rhythmically. Together we watch his hand intently as countless synapses tingle vaulting me uphill toward the point of no return. I begin huffing. My belly undulates. The orgasm ignites slowly, ramifying throughout my central nervous system.

"I'm coming," I gasp. Eric slows his hand pumping only the base of my shaft. I clench ecstatically as pulsing semen oozes out into an opaque little pool on my belly.

"Fuck" I blurt, falling from a great height gulping air as Eric continues pumping. The very intense orgasm fades as my ejaculation tapers down to a trickle. I push Eric's hand off my sensitive cock.

His fingers knowingly scoop under my scrotum pressing gently into firm cables then squeezing slowly all the way up to produce a final gob that he swipes with his thumb, releasing my penis, intimately licking the thumb, swallowing.

"Goddamn," I say and we smile at each other as if for the first time. Eric replaces his hand lightly rubbing my inner thigh, lifting, centering and slowly petting my distended penis. Savoring the gradual flow of blood back into my extremities, the warm afterglow augmented by a relentless sun, I let the back of my right hand flop against Eric's ribcage.

As my whole body seems to melt against hard sand, we silently and reverently listen to the river, the invisible wren, maintaining mutual one-handed contact.

I take a deep breath reaching casually to place the palm of my left hand on Eric's raised knee. Incredibly the simple touch reverses the flow of my blood -- my penis actually begins reloading, which hasn't happened in years.

I pull gently on my friend's knee feeling subtle resistance. Removing my hand I look at Eric. "It's your turn," I say. "May I?" He blinks drawing breath then nodding.

Replacing hand on knee I pull again and Eric finally lets the leg tilt down revealing his hard handsome erection, a younger version of my own, about eight inches the color of terra cotta, a nicely rounded bulbous glans adorning the shaft like a brimmed rose-gray ski cap.

Eric's brown pubic hair is trimmed to a neat little parallelogram, his puckered, darker brown scrotum only lightly fuzzed. Pointing stiffly above his belly the cock looks slightly bruised against the surrounding pale flesh. Again I ask permission. "May I?"

Compressing his lips Eric nods again. As I lean onto my right hip toward him the little pool of my semen, already liquefying under the hot sun, spills like egg white onto the sand between Eric and me.

"What a waste," he says. We smile at each other.

"There's always more where that came from," I say wiping slick residue from my skin, transferring traces of semen with my right thumb onto Eric's thigh.

With my dry left hand I reach over circling his irresistible cock. He recoils slightly.

"You okay with that?" I ask.

"Yes," he says tensely.

"Relax," I urge.

Ever so gently, I slide fingers and thumb up and down the length of Eric's very hard erection, concentrating as my digits ripple lightly and rhythmically over soft corona of velvety glans. When I pause to squeeze his shaft a full bead of clear lubricant blooms between the parted lips of his meatus, inching slowly down side of bulb. Blocking and catching most of the fluid I suck my thumb humming gratefully. Breathing steadily he returns my smile. I reach again for his cock and stand the hard muscle straight up, sunshine glinting off slick little guppy mouth.

"Now I want to try something," I say playfully toggling the erection.

"What?" Eric asks, almost out of breath.

"Have you ever had a blowjob?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, "from my girlfriend."

"How was it?"

"It was nice, except she got up and spit my stuff into the toilet."

"How rude," I say. Lowering my open mouth I envelop and embrace with lips and tongue the top half of Eric's fine cock intentionally letting my mouth sound a bit sloppy as I rock my head, saliva slipping down marbled shaft. Eric places one hand atop my head pushing down gently. I hum to encourage him. He increases our mutual pace.

But soon I have to pause pulling up. Holding the shiny erection between thumb and index finger I gulp air recovering with a few slow deep breaths. Squeezing upward I coax more pre-ejaculate spilling over glans. Quickly I replace my mouth mixing saliva and slick lubricant with tongue and lips, resuming the rhythm Eric had established.

His shaft is deliciously smooth, lightly salted. With salivating lips I spread lubricant deeper over the hard cock at an even faster rhythm, Eric's blunt glans prodding the back of my throat. His pelvis lifts off the ground, his whole body stiffening, and I blindly grab his hips.

"I'm coming," he whispers. But I've just pulled up gasping.

A silky sunlit ribbon like vanilla icing suddenly spurts striping Eric's chest and stomach. I reinsert his pulsing cock, more spurts tapping the back of my throat. Humming with joyous fulfillment I suck the spouting cock until, running out of air, I pinch up the shaft quickly for one final spurt carefully pulling sealed lips up and off to contain as much of my mouthful as possible, trailing a gooey thread. I catch the spillage on the back of my hand as Eric's nodding cock spurts onto his belly, and again. With tainted hand I reach, squeeze, pump and drain hard muscle. Eric collapses on the sand. I consolidate his tepid sperm way back on my tongue and swallow hard gasping. Releasing his cock I lick both sides of my hand, swallowing again, gasping.

"Fuck," I blurt almost panting. "You had a lot. Like a fountain."

"Fountain of youth," he tells the sky, breathing hard, and I smile.

With my left hand I waggle his spent erection. Dazed he pushes up onto elbows. Bending down I kiss his moist slit. He smiles approvingly. I replace the distended cock against upper thigh and rub a gob of semen into sunburned skin above Eric's navel. He grins at my plump penis lifting slightly over my thigh and leans toward me. For several minutes we silently caress each other's recovering genitalia.

"I guess you've sucked off lots of guys," Eric eventually ventures removing his hand, looking downriver.

"Actually, no," I say like a cat inspecting and licking its paw; "you're my first."

"No way!" he protests turning to face me.

"Eric, my friend," I say, "I've got a lot of faults, but dishonesty isn't one of them. Until now, I hadn't even touched another guy's cock since I was sixteen."

"Holy shit," he whispers.

"It's true," I say, fondling his ripe penis and potent testicles.

"That's incredible," he says watching my hand. "It's my first time, too, you know."

"I know, and I swear I'll never forget it. You're very special to me."

Eric blushes, another thing I like about him. We're silent as our personal revelations require processing. We're also fully engorged again.

"So," I finally ask like a therapist, "when did you first realize you might be gay?" We both laugh. "I'm serious," I add. Eric gently strokes my fresh erection as I continue stroking his.

"At Mormon summer camp," he says, "when I was twelve."

"But you said you were straight," I remind him. "You said you were only gay-friendly."

"I'd say I'm very gay-friendly," he laughs, a diversion.

"What about your girlfriend?" I persist.

"Half the time," he confides, lowering his voice, "I don't even want to be with her. I mean, her cunt turns me off. And she's fucking beautiful! It's so depressing."

"Been there, done that," I remind myself.

Eric releases my cock looking over his shoulder in the direction of the campsite.

"I'd better get back," he says. "Cliff might need me."

"I might need you," I tease, waggling my insistent erection. "And you can't just walk back into camp hard as a rock striped with semen."

Eric frowns looking down, rubbing a web of ejaculate into a slick creamy sheen on the skin above his nipple.

"How'd you meet Cliff?" I ask. Eric looks up.

"He was recruiting at ASU. I filled out an application and met him for an interview."

"Did he tell you he was gay, that he ran white-water rafting trips for gay men?"

"Oh yeah, he told me everything up front. I said, as long as we all respect each other, I didn't see a problem." He rubs another semen stripe into his belly.

"Were you sub-consciously seeking more than just an unpaid job on the river?" I ask. Eric looks up at me smiling.

"Oh, it was beyond sub-conscious," he says. "My instincts were pretty clear."

"I'm proud of you," I say squeezing his thigh.

"You want to take a dip?" he asks brushing hands together. I nod and we push ourselves up, but first I pull him by the arm into a loose tentative embrace, our hard touchy cocks mingling for the first time until Eric twists away, steps to the river, wades in and carelessly dives.

I plunge in behind his pale joggling buttocks, which my hands grope for underwater. Surfacing, we breathlessly laugh scrambling back to shore, both distended penises tipping and waggling. For several glorious minutes we stand side by side hip to hip arm in arm draped in sunlight as the wide river glides past, indifferent to the blatant arousal we share.

Eric turns away, bends down for, steps into and pulls up his gym shorts reaching inside grimacing to adjust a stubborn erection, which doesn't quite fit. Smiling at him I reach down for my bathing suit.

"No, you stay here for a while," Eric instructs me, and I think I understand -- he needs to complete the expedition with his straight image intact among all the others, especially Cliff. Obediently sitting on the sand leaning back on my right elbow, I proudly point my hard cock right at Eric looking up to challenge him.

"Eric, don't make the same mistake I made. Be yourself. Let people know you're gay. And love yourself for it. Tell your girlfriend, your parents. It takes guts. But if you don't live from the inside out, you'll be living a lie."

"Like you did," he says.

"We change, Eric, but you're right: for much of my life I deceived no one as badly as I deceived myself."

Stepping to me, he crouches, leans and suddenly kisses my mouth.

"I believe you," he says. Grinning he turns standing, walking quickly grinding his feet in the sand back toward the campsite. Halfway there he turns his head flashing a smile. Spellbound, I watch him until he rounds the giant boulder disappearing.

And there you have it: end of story. Today is day eight and most of us, but not all, are eager to exit the Grand Canyon after 240 miles on the Colorado River. Throughout yesterday's happy hour and steak dinner Eric reverted to his gay-friendly persona with me, with everyone. The atmosphere was festive. Arnold even made an eloquent little speech thanking Cliff and Eric. Everyone applauded. Of course I lay awake on my cot naked and aroused waiting for a secret late-night visit, which I reluctantly realized was hoping for too much. My cup had already runneth over: one memorable encounter with Eric would have to be enough, I tried to console myself.

We entered the river very early for the last forty miles. At one point the Canyon narrowed almost to a sharp, angular bottleneck of shiny black basalt, the walls so close together you could have thrown a rock across. Then the river released us, widening and slowing as it gradually emptied into Lake Meade. A jet boat sped upriver to return us to our bus.

We tied up side by side with the jet boat, Cliff and Eric proceeding to toss all the dry bags into our sleek new craft. Guide and swamper had to return the raft to a pick-up spot on the far shore of the lake, which Cliff had said would take them all day to reach. I dreaded to consider how they might kill the time.

They stood together to say goodbye to us as we stepped one by one from raft into jet boat. I dropped back to the end of the short line finally thanking and hugging Cliff then embracing Eric for a few extra seconds until he pushed us apart. Turning I climbed into the jet boat and sat down on an empty bench looking away holding back tears.

Cliff and Eric loosened the ropes and pushed off. The jet boat circled around upriver. We accelerated past the raft about fifty yards away, my eyes streaking. As we roared by, Cliff shouted wildly pushing down his shorts finally revealing his coveted erection bobbing as he turned from side to side, and nine other gay men cheered and whistled. The jet boat captain looked away disgusted. I alone tried to focus on Eric. He was smiling, waving, receding.