It’s Independence Day

We climb back onto the bed.

The room is fraught with anticipation. Like a first kiss, there is little in this world as thrilling as a first touch.

We find each other in the darkness. Our separate breaths are ragged.

Our mouths meet.

We kiss and kiss and kiss.

I try to move my hand to his erection. He stops me, my right wrist in his left hand. I wonder why he's balking.

"Freddy," I finally whisper. "Let go of my wrist."

"Okay, but I need to warn you," he whispers back. "I'm not very big."

"Then I need to warn you," I whisper back. "I don't care."

He releases my wrist. I take him in my hand. He's right. He's not very big, but he's big enough — about five inches — and thicker than he should be. "Chode" comes to mind.

I'm also right. I don't care. I've never been a size queen. I've always preferred the who to the what.

I roll him onto his back. I straddle him. Using my knees, I spread his legs. Using my arms, I spread his. He is Vitruvian beneath me.

I allow my tongue to explore him. His skin is soft, and he has on him the taste of summer. I'm on his clavicle. I'm in his armpits. I'm on and around his nipples. I'm running up and down his sides.

He's writhing.

I'm happy.

I'm in his navel.

He's happy.

As I mentioned, I encounter very little hair above his halfway point.

Below that point, I encounter a grove. I follow it to his promised land. Not suprisingly, he does not "maintain." His bush is thick. His balls are coated. His legs are more thickly coated. Two halves of a whole, one hairless and the other hirsute.

I take him in my mouth. He fits easily, his size fine with me, even if it discombobulates him.

I give him the best blow job I can. I lick and suck and swirl and lick and suck and swirl and lick and suck and swirl until I think I'm going to kill him.

I lick back up his body. I kiss him softly, mouth closed.

"Were you close?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

"Oh my God," he answers. "Yes. Please finish me. You're so good."

"I'm happy to," I whisper, "but talk to me while I do. Tell me how I'm making you feel."

I lick back down him, his praise inspiring me. I take his erection back into my mouth.

I go all the way down. I hold his balls in my hand. I move my mouth up and down as I move my hand down.

"Year, suck it," he says, spreading his legs and raising up to meet me.

I pull off his erection, soak my middle finger with my saliva, and take him back in my mouth. I take him all the way down. As I do, he means "Jesus" as a I slip my middle finger into him. He moans and writhes and then, to my great surprise, spreads his legs wider. He's done this before.

I move my mouth as I move my finger.

He pants and wriggles.

I find his prostate.

"Oh fuck," he curses.

I work him.

"Oh fuck, that feels so good" he reiterates. "I'm gonna cum . . . . YouK, I'm gonna cum."

I keep working his prostate as I suck him as hard as I can. As I do, I start moaning around his erection. I know they love it when I moan.

"Mhmm," I moan.

"Oh God," he answers.

"Mhmm."

"Oh God."

"Mhmm."

"Oh God."

"Mhmm."

"Oh God . . . I'm gonna cum . . . I'm gonna cum."

His back is arched. His hips are off the bed.

I want him to cum, and I am ready for it. His erection pulsates, I pin his hips to the bed, hold them still, go all the way down, and swallow as he cums and cums and cums.

I don't normally like the taste of cum, but I like his. There's a sweetness to it. I suspect he's been drinking pineapple juice and avoiding greens as part of his preparation for "I have no idea."

"Holy son of a mother," he says, when he finally comes back from bliss, me hovering over him, my erection pressed against his spent one. "That was un-fucking-believable."

"I know," I answer. From the outset, I've always been good at giving head, and I've always loved doing it. I could tell from how his body reacted that I'd just rocked his world.

I kiss him softly, again mouth closed. He takes my face in his hands, opens my mouth with his, and kisses me hungrily. While we kiss, I move against him. He wraps his legs around mine. I know what he wants. I don't know that I'll give it to him, but I know he wants me to.

I roll off of him and onto my back. He rolls into me. His left hand traces along my clavicle, through my chest hair, around my nipples, and down the middle of my stomach. He wraps it around me.

"Wow," he says, "you're like Johnny America."

I don't know who that is. He knows I don't know.

"Google 'hot guys fuck', and then go to pornhub" he says. "You'll see. And you'll know it's a compliment. Like him, you're small, but not."

He's right. I am small, like him, in stature, but not in build. We are about the same height, but he is slight.

I am not. My ankles and wrists are thick, as is my body. I have thirty pounds on him, in muscle, not fat. I'm built like a fullback. He's built like a bar back.

Later, I Google "Johnny America" and "pornhub." He's right. We're built and hung similarly.

Freddy moves over me. His mouth feels small around me.

He only teases me. He doesn't want me to finish in his mouth. Like I said, he wants something else.

I add my hand. I use my other hand to try to force him to match my rhythm. He resists.

He moves to my scrotum and tongues it. He moves back up my body. While I work myself, his tongue is on my hip bone, my stomach, my nipple, and my neck.

"Don't spill it," he whispers into my right ear. "I want you to fuck me."

I'm not sure I want to fuck him. It seems like it may be too much. It'd be within a Chance, but it still seems like it may be too much.

Freddy's mouth is back on mine. We kiss and kiss and kiss.

Freddy tries to roll us. I resist.

"I want you to fuck me," he whispers again.

"So you said," I answer.

"Well?"

"I don't know that I can."

He grabs my erection, says "It feels like you can," and again softly sings "Let freedom ring" into the darkness.

My will is evanescent. It starts to erode and then vanishes.

Freddy climbs off the bed and leaves the room. My will is buttressed in his absence. When he returns, I'm still not certain I will do it.

Freddy is certain I will. He tosses me a condom and a tube of lubricant. They're from his backpack. It's all been planned.

I'm weaker than a willow. I roll the condom on as Freddy lubricates himself. He climbs over me, adds lubricant to my erection, and — from all indications — intends to ride me.

I will not be ridden. In fact, I hate being ridden. If I'm going to fuck someone, I want to fuck them. I want to be active, not passive. I want — need — to be in control.

"Stop," I demand.

Freddy leans forward and braces himself over me, his hands flat beside my head.

"I need you to fuck me," he whispers. "I've dreamed about it for a year. I need this dream to come true."

I say nothing. I pull his face to mine and claim his mouth. I roll us. I kiss him as I spread his arms and legs with mine. He is again Vitruvian beneath me.

I can't stop myself. Lust is a powerful force, and — after twenty five years with Steven — more fiction than fact. Being desired is also a powerful force, and — after twenty five years with Steven — limited to Chances, which are few and far between.

Freddy's hand is on my erection and lines it up. I sit up on my haunches. I stuff a pillow under his hips, raising him so he is right in my wheelhouse. His hand is back on me and lines me up again.

"I need to ready you," I offer.

"I'm ready," he answers.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes . . . It's not my first rodeo."

I'm concerned. I've had trouble with people more experienced than him.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

I press his hips down and line myself up. I push against him. When the head slips in, we both gasp.

I slowly press all eight inches into him. He breathes like he's birthing. . . . Who Who Who Who Who Who.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No," he lies through gritted teeth.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No."

I keep penetrating. I take his ankles and hold them as wide as I can as I complete my invasion. I'm all the way in. He is helpless beneath me.

I stay where I am. He twitches hither and yon and releases.

"Oh my God," I say, as my erection extends and I bottom out.

He sucks in a mouthful of air. "Oh," he adds, plaintively.

I start slowly, for both of us. I want him to enjoy this, and I don't want to rush through it.

I release his ankles. He moves them to my shoulders, which tightens his velvety grip around my erection. I'm ecstatic.

I lean into him. He raises his face, using his arms and my shoulders for leverage. We kiss. I'm still as we do.

He lets go and puts his hands behind his head. He looks small and young, his lightly haired pits suggesting he's just entering puberty, not his 26th year.

His legs still on my shoulders and me on my haunches, I start sliding in and out of him with purpose. He does what he can to meet me. He's not passive.

I drop his legs from my shoulders and move over him. We are in true missionary.

He starts to moan and to take my name. The bed starts to rock, the headboard gently banging against the wood paneling and the box springs wincing with each thrust. It sounds like we're trying to wake the dead.

Freddy gets down and dirty, crying out "Oh yes" and "fuck me" and "harder" and "yes . . . right there" when he's not crying out my name.

I start asking questions.

"You like that?"

"You want that"?

"You want me to go faster?"

"You want me to go harder?"

He answers every question the same. "I do," each answer a little louder and more furtive than the one before.

I've always had stamina. Some partners have hated it, accusing me of wrecking them. Others have loved it, lauding me and my ability to keep at them.

I slow down to regroup. Freddy sees an opportunity. "Can we change positions?"

"No."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"I'm getting sore."

"I don't care."

I'm in control. I start back up. Freddy takes his legs from my shoulders and lowers them to the bed. With the changed angle, I start rubbing against his engorged prostate. I can tell by the look that crosses his face. He's somewhere else.

"Oh God," he says into the air, not to me, not with insistence, but instead in surrender. He's all mine.

I slow and make sure I rub his prostrate hard and long. He closes his eyes, lolls his head back, and succumbs.

He erupts, cum hitting his collarbone, chest, and stomach. He cries out and clenches the sheets as he does. I keep at him, slowly milking him from the inside.

When he's finished, I pull out. I'm going to finish inside of him, but first I'm going to lick him clean. I do, savoring every sweet drop I can find.

Knowing Freddy is spent, I roll him onto his stomach, re-enter him from behind, and start toward my own finish line. Sweat drips from me onto his back. He whimpers as I speed up. I need to finish.

The bed starts to rock again, bang bang banging against the paneling with each of my thrusts. Anyone who hears anything knows exactly what's happening in this moment, in this room. Someone is getting fucked. Hard.

"You're killing me," he whispers.

"Do I need to stop?"

"I'll kill you if you do. I need you to finish inside of me."

I want to remove the condom. It's stalling me out. And, I want to sow my seed inside the ass I'm owning.

I don't. It's one of the rules we have when we take Chances. We can't take chances.

Freddy grips his cheeks together. I'm suprised, but it does the trick. I shudder and fill the condom, each spastic thrust releasing another volley. I growl into Freddy's ear. I collapse onto Freddy's back, which is slick with my sweat. His hands find mine. I lick sweat from his cheek.

We stay like that, holding hands and trying to recover. I soften and slip from him. I raise my hips, remove the condom, and gently place it on the floor so nothing spills out.

"Stay with me tonight," I say, surprising myself.

"It'd kill me to leave," he answers.

Freddy's on his back and I'm on my side, my right hand moving over his body.

"How is it," I ask, "you have virtually no hair on your top, yet you're all hair on your bottom?"

"I don't know," he answers. "How is it we're almost the same height, but you're so much bigger than I am?"

"My frame. My ankles and wrists are almost twice the size of yours."

"That's not what I'm talking about," he rejects, his right hand finding my flaccid penis and giving it a squeeze.

"Oh, that. I think it's hereditary. My dad's the same way."

"I wish I was bigger."

"Some people, like you, inherit money. Others, like me, inherit something else."

"I'd prefer to inherit both."

"You're perfect just the way you are. And, you're a great lay."

"Thanks. You're not so bad yourself."

"That wasn't your first time."

"Like I said, it wasn't my first rodeo."

"Do your friends know?"

"Jamal does. The others do not."

"What made you tell Jamal?"

"I didn't."

I'm intrigued. I wonder if Jamal had walked in on Freddy on his back, his feet in the air, some jock pistoning in and out of him. Freddy resolves my wonder.

"Jamal and I have, well, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He was my first and, before you, my only. It was our last semester of college. We were drunk and high and sharing a room. It was not unusual for one of us to crawl into bed with the other, to talk and maybe to cuddle a little. One night, one of us, I don't remember which one, went to the old 'I bet sex with a guy would be awesome' trope. One thing led to another and the next thing I know, we were sex buddies."

I had wondered. Freddy and Jamal always seemed more affectionate with each other than the rest of the group was. This was our third 4th together, and I remembered a scene from the first, Jamal's leg draped over Freddy's lap, Freddy not objecting at all.

"How long did it last?"

"I think it's ongoing. But, whenever either of us has a girlfriend, we shut it down. And, Jamal has a girlfriend."

"Do you think you're gay?"

"No. I've had girlfriends and I really like fucking them. I think I'm straight with a little bend. When I fuck my pocket pussy, I'm fucking a woman. When I jack myself off, I imagine I'm fucking a woman."

"But . . . .?" I ask, the unanswered question dangling.

"But . . . . I also really like my ass being played with."

"How did you figure that out?"

"I dated a bi girl at Kenyon. She liked when I fucked her. But, she also liked pegging me with a strap on. I hated it at first. I was too caught up in what it meant. She convinced me to get caught up only in how it felt. When I finally did, holy moly."

Freddy's hand finds mine, and he takes hold of my thumb. We lie in silence, the image of Freddy being pegged by a bisexual woman dancing in my mind.

"Freddy?" I finally interrupt.

"Yes?"

"This dream of yours. . . . What led to it?"

"Promise you won't think less of me."

"Promise."

"VPL . . . You know 'visible penis line' . . . . Well, last year, when you wore the yellow board shorts, you were standing on the dock, everything you have was in the window, and Jamal and I did some window shopping. We were both like 'whoa, YouK'."

Freddy rolls onto his side, facing me. His voice softens.

"From there, I just kind of noticed you. . . ."

His finger is on my eyes. "The orange around your pupils."

His finger traces down my nose and across my lips. "Your mouth."

His finger moves over my chin, my Adam's apple, and my clavicle. "Your chest."

Freddy's mouth is close to my ear. "And, later that night, when I blew Jamal on the dock, I found myself imagining it was your cock in my mouth, and I've imagined it ever since."

I was overwhelmed with lust, imagining Freddy blowing Jamal under the moonlight on the dock, feeling Freddy trace over the parts of me he mentioned, knowing Freddy had been pleasuring himself and Jamal to thought of me.

I roll into Freddy and kiss him. I take him in my hand and he takes me in his. We stroke each other as we make out, kissing recklessly like high schoolers falling in love for the first time. I invert and move over him. I'm in his mouth and he's in mine. I'm close, and I know he is, too. When he arches his back and starts filling my mouth, it's too much for me, and I start filling his. The colliding sensations overwhelm me, and I collapse to Freddy's side, my whole body tingling. We fall asleep like that, head to toe.

* * * * * When I wake up, it's light outside, and Freddy is gone.

There's a note on the counter:

YouK, here's the story. Zack snores. It woke me up, and I moved to the sofa. I could still hear it, so I moved to the dock. I crashed on a chair there.

When I tell the story, you say 'there are two empty beds in the loft of the A-frame.' I pretend I didn't know and move my shit. I don't sleep in the loft.

Freddy

P.S. We're going to need more condoms.

Freddy's plan goes off like clockwork, only I don't have to say "there are two empty beds in the loft of the A-frame." My sister beats me to it. Before breakfast, Freddy's things are in the loft.

That morning, I talk to Steven. Staying true to our deal, I tell him I had taken a Chance with Freddy.

"How'd you score that?" he asks.

"I didn't. He did. I was a pawn."

I tell him the whole story, leaving out nothing. I know it titillates him. He confirms what I know.

"Wow, that sounds hot."

"It was."

"Are you going to do it again?"

"Do you mind?"

"Nope . . . . You know the rules."

Our rules are simple: 1. Be safe. 2. Share the details. Every last one of them.

"I do."

"Take notes."

"I will."

After breakfast, everyone retreats to change into swimwear. As soon as we are in the A-Frame, Freddy's hands are on me. As soon as my shorts are off, he's on his knees, his mouth working me to full mast.

We don't have much time, so I start moving with him. When he starts moaning in rhythm with my movements, I ask "You like that"?

"Mmm hmmm."

"You want my sweet load?"

"Mmm hmmm."

"Look at me."

He does, raising his eyes. I love the view, his innocent blue eyes looking up at me as my cock sliding in and out of his mouth betrays their innocence.

I stare into his eyes as I approach the finish line. When I say "here it comes," he pulls off and has me coat his face. I don't remember telling him I love giving facials, but I do. I'd much rather mark a guy than have him gulp it down. I coat his cheek and chin.

I stand Freddy up and admire my artistry. I wipe some off his face and hold it out to him on my finger. He opens his mouth and slowly sucks my finger clean, his eyes never leaving mine. It's one of the hottest things I've ever seen. I answer by sloppily licking his face clean. He tries to kiss me as I do, but I won't let him. I've got one thing on my mind and one thing only.

I drop to my knees and take him in my mouth. I want to add his to what I've swallowed of mine. I take him all the way down and moan around him.

"Oh fuck," I hear.

"I'm not going to last long," I hear.

"I'm gonna come . . . . I'm gonna come," I hear.

He does. I keep at him. I'm trying to suck the life out of him. I think I almost do, his knees bucking as his back slams against the hallway paneling and he slides to the floor.

We're the last two to the dock, Freddy in oversized orange and white board shorts and me in bright red trunks.

My sister misses nothing. "What took you two so long?" she asks.

"We each had to drop a deuce," I answer, trying to shock her into silence. It doesn't work.

"Whoever went first didn't have to wait for whoever went second."

She had me there. In fact, the idea that one of us was waiting for the other to finish eliminating is nonsensical.

"I didn't wait," Freddy chimes in. "I dropped and then went upstairs, changed, and called my parents. I promised I'd call them daily, and I keep my promises."