tagGroup SexZig Zag Weekend: MMF

Zig Zag Weekend: MMF

byJimBob44©

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, using Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned.

Also, if male bisexuality offends you, please hit your 'Backspace' key now.

*.*

The rainstorm had caught Blake Stevens by surprise. One moment, it was cloudy, then the next moment, fat raindrops were spattering. Then suddenly, it was a torrential downpour. His tee shirt and Dolphin shorts were clinging to him.

"Blake! Hey, Blake, come on!" he heard someone shouting.

Blake didn't bother to look; just sprinted for the car. Gratefully, he got into the 2001 Oldsmobile Aurora.

"Oh, hey, sorry; damn, getting your seats all wet," Blake suddenly apologized to Harold Chastaine.

"Shit, don't worry about it," Harold shrugged. "Where you headed?"

"Was going kick some balls at the field but uh, can forget about that, huh? So, uh, where's uh, where's..." Blake asked, trying to remember Harold's girlfriend's name.

"Belinda? With her mom, I guess," Harold shrugged.

The handsome young man smiled. He drove along the suburban streets of DeGarde, Louisiana as the rain steadily drummed and whipped against the car.

"Hopefully getting her a testosterone patch," Harold quipped. "Her damned pregnancy's got her estrogen through the roof."

"Uh, yeah, I uh, so that your baby?" Blake blurted out.

Blake figured he'd never get another opportunity to ask his fellow classmate if the baby Belinda Lopez was carrying was Harold's. Even though all three were seniors at Northside High School, all three were just days away from graduating, Harold, Belinda, and Blake didn't run in the same circles. Blake was athletic; into sports, and Harold and Belinda were more academically minded.

Both Harold and Blake had dark brown hair. Harold had brown eyes, Blake had hazel eyes. Both were considered tall among the primarily Cajun community; Blake stood at six feet, Harold at five feet ten. Both were handsome; Blake was a square face and strong jaw, and Harold with a round face.

Even though he was bookish, Blake could tell that Harold did do some training with weights. His biceps were nice, firm and his chest was defined in his pullover shirt.

"No, not hardly," Harold admitted.

"So uh, y'all don't..." Blake asked.

"Oh yeah, yeah we do, but she always made me wear condoms," Harold easily admitted. "Then, she gets all kind of fucked up; said they were doing a lot of E and meth, fucked like twenty guys."

"Huh!" Blake said, eyes wide at the thought of the diminutive girl having sex with twenty guys.

His cock started to swell in his sodden nylon shorts. Blake shifted in his seat to hide the erection.

"So, where you heading to now?" Harold asked.

"Shit, home I guess," Blake said, then spotted the Zig Zag rolling papers in the cup holder. "Hey! You uh, you smoke?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah, yeah, every now and then," Harold admitted.

"I uh, orange, huh?" Blake asked.

"Yeah, don't taste like oranges though," Harold said. "But can roll a pretty good one, know?"

"Uh huh, I uh, man! Can't remember last one I had," Blake confessed.

"Oh? I uh, I mean, Belinda and me? We're going to my dad's camp, Jazz Beach tomorrow," Harold said. "Spend the whole weekend out there. Want come?"

"Camp?" Blake asked.

"Yeah, it's pretty nice," Harold said. "I uh, just got about four fingers of Maui Wowie and Belinda's usually got three or four. Man! She had some Colombian last time? Swear to God, was sitting there burned the shit out of my fingers, didn't even know it."

"You uh, you sure?" Blake asked. "I mean, it's going be you and Belinda, don't want chill y'all, know?"

"Dude! Yeah, come on, huh?" Harold assured Blake.

"Okay, so, uh, what I should bring?" Blake asked as Harold pulled into the driveway of the apartment complex Blake and his mother and older brother lived in.

"Couple changes of clothes, toothbrush, oh, bug spray. I mean, they ain't bad yet, but..." Harold said.

"Cool," Blake said and the two bumped fists.

"Dude, still raining like a mother fucker, Harold said.

"Yeah, but I'm already wet," Blake said.

"All right; leaving right after last bell," Harold said.

Blake silently counted to three, then opened the door and got out. He slammed the door and sprinted for the metal steps.

It did not occur to him to wonder how Harold knew where he lived. The only thing Blake thought was to get out of the downpour.

Harold watched Blake's tight backside as Blake ran for the apartment building. Then he sent Belinda a text message.

"He's cute," Belinda said.

"Yeah he is," Harold agreed.

"Got some more Colombian; about four fingers," Belinda said.

"And got some Maui Wowie," Harold replied.

"Beer?" Belinda asked.

"Taking it there now," Harold assured her. "Was on my way ran into Blake."

"He get hurt?" Belinda asked.

"Ha ha, you so funny," Harold laughed.

The rain had slowed to just a steady pattering when Harold pulled up to the levee. He popped the latch of his trunk and got out of the car. Lifting the trunk, he pulled the two cases of St. Elizabeth's Lager out. The plastic bag of marijuana was in his pocket; this time Harold remembered to make sure he had a lighter as well.

He wrapped his ring and pinky finger around the mouth of the bottle of whiskey and carefully slammed his car's trunk shut. Then he lugged his cargo to the wooden steps that went up and over the rusty retaining wall.

He walked, keeping an eye for any snakes or other swamp creatures that might be along the path. Finally, he reached the fishing camp and walked up the steps to the door.

Inside, the camp was a wide open area. To the left of the door was the kitchenette, with was a gas oven and range, a sink, and a large refrigerator.

The room was lighted by the dim light filtering into the large room from the sliding glass doors straight ahead. So, Harold did not need to turn on the harsh fluorescent lights as he worked.

To the right of the door was the small dining table and four chairs. Just past the kitchenette was a large futon bed, currently folded to make a couch.

Just past the dining room table and four chairs was a fireplace. Above the fireplace was a large television.

In between kitchenette and futon was the door for the bathroom. And to the left of that bathroom door was the ladder up into the sleeping loft.

Harold went to the refrigerator and opened it. He made sure the food items inside were still edible. The apples left over from the last time he and Belinda had been there, he set onto the counter. They did look questionable. Then he quickly stacked the beers onto the shelf. He made a mental grocery list and decided he'd stop at Super One Foods on the way out to the camp tomorrow. The milk would not make it in the car overnight. And he knew Belinda would like some fresh fruits also. Those wouldn't fare too well in his car overnight either.

The fifth of whiskey, Harold put on top of the large refrigerator. His last act was to take some of the bottled waters from the pantry and put those into the refrigerator as well. Then he filled up the five ice trays with some more bottled water.

Harold took the apples off the counter, walked to the sliding glass door, and stepped out onto the balcony. He threw the apples out into the bayou, figuring some fish would enjoy the odd treat.

Harold made sure the sliding glass doors were securely locked before secreting the marijuana behind the tightly sealed canister of coffee. The lighter, he placed on the dining room table, inside of the heavy glass ashtray.

"Oh, shit, yeah, pregnant butt..." Harold suddenly remembered.

He checked and congratulated himself for remembering to check. He added toilet paper to the mental list of things to grab at the grocery store.

The next morning, Blake's mother grunted that she'd heard Blake's announcement that he would be gone most of the weekend, possibly until Monday. Cyrus, Blake's older brother had some snide remarks to make, but Blake ignored the lout. He knew, Cyrus was jealous that Blake still had some freedoms, instead of busting his ass, day after day in grounds keeping at St. Elizabeth Trauma Center.

Just after final bell, Belinda Lopez smiled at Blake. He returned the attractive girl's smile as they walked out to where Harold waited for them.

"You got everything?" Belinda asked.

"Uh huh. If I don't got it? We don't need it," Harold said and the two kissed.

"Just remember that, mister," Belinda smiled as Harold opened her car door for her.

"Man, thanks for inviting me," Blake said as he scrambled into the rear seat of the car.

"You kidding? Man, of course," Harold said.

In truth, Harold had planned on inviting Blake. Had he not chanced upon Blake in the pop up storm, Harold had planned on approaching Blake, either at lunch, or at study period.

"Milk," Harold suddenly remembered.

"Uh huh! Called it," Belinda crowed. "Called it, didn't I? Blake, you heard, called it."

"Yeah, yeah, called it," Harold smiled and pulled into Super One Foods.

He and Belinda shared a kiss, then Harold opened the door. Belinda stated she couldn't think of anything she just had to have. Blake likewise said he had no items to add to the list.

Harold left the motor running, the A/C blowing high as he dashed to the super market entrance.

"I uh, thanks for inviting me," Blake echoed.

"You kidding?" Belinda said, a little of her accent coming out; she pronounced 'kidding' as 'keeding.'

She twisted and peered at the handsome young man. She smiled a warm smile and Blake shyly returned the smile.

"Me and Harold? We been wanting ask you come," Belinda admitted.

"Oh," Blake said, having no idea what to say to this declaration.

"I said, 'Harold, that Blake? He cute boy, you ask him, okay?'" Belinda continued, smiling at Blake.

"Uh," Blake said as Harold opened the driver's door of the car.

"Okay," Harold said, and made Belinda squeal when he put the cold carton of milk against her bare arm.

"You a big old butt hole, know that?" Belinda giggled and kissed Harold again.

At the levee, Belinda insisted on helping with the groceries. She carried two bags, one in each hand as she walked up the steps over the wall. Blake carried his backpack, which held his toothbrush, pajamas, two changes of clothes, and his school books. He also carried two grocery sacks from Harold's trunk.

Following behind Belinda, Blake felt a bit of an erection begin to tent his jeans. Belinda had a heart shaped ass, even in the shapeless maternity jeans and bulky maternity top. Belinda's pregnancy was making her hips spread, but this did not detract from her natural beauty. Her calf length black hair swung to and fro as she walked; it seemed that her hair went left when her hips swiveled right, her hair went right when her hips swiveled left.

Harold brought up the rear, still carrying the cold milk and a few more bags.

"Come on, slow poke, just looking all around, la de dah, got nothing better to do, hurry up," Belinda teased Harold as she walked up the steps to the fishing camp.

"La de dah, bet Belinda's got pee, la de dah, oh, look, what a pretty rock, think I'll just stop and look at this rock a while," Harold said.

"Come on; I do got pee," Belinda giggled as she stood on the steps.

"Then get your butt out the way," Harold said.

Belinda put her two bags on the counter, then dashed to the bathroom. Harold and Blake put the groceries away.

Blake looked around the small structure, nodding in approval. He attempted to look everywhere but at the bathroom door, which Belinda had left ajar.

"Belinda, close that door, huh?" Harold teased.

"What? Why?" Belinda asked, genuinely curious.

"Uh, Blake's here?" Harold pointed out.

"Oh," Belinda said, then flushed.

She came out of the bathroom and smiled

"He going see all me anyway," Belinda said, shrugging. "Ooh, did you? Oh, Harold! You did!"

Belinda grabbed the package of chocolate chip cookies and ripped the package open.

"And..." Harold said, waving the large bag of Nacho Cheese flavored corn chips.

"You the best," Belinda praised and kissed Harold. "Now, come on. Why we here?"

"Harold's the best at rolling," Belinda smiled at Blake. "Me? Looks like had me a seizure in the middle of rolling one."

Blake had taken a mini-tour of the building, even climbing halfway up the ladder to peer into the sleeping loft. He then peered out of the sliding glass door that looked out onto the bayou.

The balcony was a six by sixteen foot balcony, stretching the entire length of the rear of the building. On the west side, there was a four foot wide walkway that extended out twelve more feet over the waters of the bayou. Attached to the walkway, bobbing gently were a flat bottom bass boat and an air boat. Both were tethered to the pier with padlocked chains.

"Awe. Some!" Blake enthused. "Hey, you ever take that air boat out?"

"Only when hunting season's on," Harold said.

He smiled sheepishly as he looked up from the Colombian joint he was rolling. With a final swipe of his tongue, he finished the third of the joints.

"Usually? Too fucked up," Harold admitted.

"And we doing better things than playing on stinky old boat," Belinda smugly declared.

"Yeah? Like what?" Harold asked and the two kissed.

"Like fucking," Belinda giggled.

"That fireplace real?" Blake asked, slightly embarrassed at the displays of affection, Belinda's declaration.

"Yeah. Cold morning? Nothing better," Belinda said, walking over to the faux bear skin rug on the floor.

She flopped down and propped her head onto the bear's head. She smiled up at Blake.

"Lay here? Fire's going good and hot? Don't even need a blanket," she assured Blake.

"And since Belinda's allergic to clothes," Harold said, rolling a joint of the Hawaiian weed.

"Why Harold had them put the tint on that window," Belinda smiled, pointing to the sliding glass doors.

"Huh?" Blake asked, watching as Harold rolled another joint.

"Can see out, but would have be right up against them look in," Harold said.

"Even at night," Belinda concurred and took one of the orange joints.

"All right, orange is Colombian, the white one's are Maui Wowie," Harold explained.

Just to avoid confusion, Harold made sure to have the orange Zig Zag papers in the baggie that had Colombian weed, the white Zig Zag papers in the other baggie.

"Did you, oh, you good boy," Belinda asked and used the lighter to light the joint.

"Forgot last time, kept having to use the stove," Harold explained as Belinda sucked greedily on the joint.

"Almost burned my hair off," Belinda giggled.

"Um, damn, want try that Maui Wowie," Blake admitted.

"Then, here you go," Harold said, fishing one of the white joints out.

Harold selected a Colombian for himself. For a few long moments, the only sounds were the sounds of people sucking on joints, a few coughs, the exhalation of smoke.

"Aw. Bye little joint," Belinda giggled and stubbed out the fragment of her joint.

"Only the good die young," Harold said.

"And that was a good one," Belinda agreed.

She got up and walked toward the refrigerator. As she passed Blake, she leaned over and nuzzled Blake's neck for a minute. Blake coughed heartily, shocked.

"Harold?" Belinda asked.

"Yeah, get me one. Blake? Want a beer?" Harold asked.

"Yeah, yeah," Blake wheezed.

Belinda put the can of beer in front of Blake. Again, she gave him an affectionate neck nuzzle, then sat down. She put a can of beer in front of Harold, leaned against Harold and opened her mouth.

The two kissed hotly for a moment. Then Belinda hoisted herself upright and popped open her own can of beer.

"Ah!" she exclaimed after drinking nearly half the beer in one long swallow.

"Never try race her," Harold said as he stubbed out his own joint. "She can drink faster than anyone I know."

"Good to know," Blake said as he drained his own can of beer.

"Whew, now I'm hot," Belinda said.

"There an air conditioner?" Blake asked, noticing that there was a ceiling fan, whirring rapidly.

"No; it's a fishing camp man," Harold laughed.

Belinda wiggled out of her jeans after kicking her flip flops expertly from dining room table to slide underneath the futon. She folded then tossed the jeans onto the futon. Then she gulped the rest of her beer.

She then grabbed Harold's can and drank half of his beer.

"Bitch, kill you, touching my beer," Harold said and kissed her.

"Kill you call me bitch again," Belinda laughed.

"Uh, where y'all put the empties?" Blake asked.

"Bin's right over here," Belinda said and got to her feet.

She grabbed Blake's can and her own can. When she walked past, Blake saw that Belinda wore no panties. Her pubic mound was covered by a mass of curly black hair. Her buttocks wiggled and jiggled as she sauntered past.

"Blake, want another one?" Belinda asked after she rinsed the two cans in the sink.

"Uh, I uh, no, uh, not right now," Blake stammered.

"Oh! Yes! Or Harold's got some whiskey, he don't tell me about that, huh, Harold?" Belinda said, looking on top of the refrigerator.

"Coke and Diet Coke in the fridge," Harold said.

"Uh, no, I uh, not right now," Blake said.

"Come on, Blake, you come get it, huh? I'm too short," Belinda said.

"Uh, yeah, okay," Blake said, getting to his feet.

"My being half naked making you nervous?" Belinda asked, wrapping her arms around Blake as he stood next to her.

"I uh, yeah, kind of," Blake admitted.

"Not too nervous," Belinda laughed, small hand rubbing the tent in Blake's jeans.

"I uh," Blake said, nearly dropping the bottle of whiskey.

She quickly made herself a drink, then put the ice cube tray back into the freezer.

When she walked past Blake, she again leaned over and kissed him. Then she put her drink on the table, gently pulled on Blake's head and kissed him on the lips.

Blake looked nervously over at Harold. Harold smiled, then lighted a Maui Wowie.

"Why you look at him," Belinda giggled to Blake. "Huh? Want kiss him instead of me?"

"I uh, no, but I mean, aren't y'all together?" Blake asked.

"Don't own her," Harold said, letting out a lungful of smoke.

"That why we want you come," Belinda said.

She kissed Blake again, thrusting her tongue into Blake's mouth. Since Harold wasn't objecting, Blake let himself enjoy the kiss.

"Mm-hmm," Belinda moaned into Blake's mouth.

"My pussy? Is all wet," she whispered into Blake's ear. Touch it, huh?"

Blake did run his fingers up and down her slit. It was indeed quite wet. She moaned into his mouth as he began to finger her, thrusting two fingers in and out of her pussy.

"Here, show Harold," Belinda said, taking Blake's hand into hers. "Let him taste my pussy, huh?"

Belinda held Blake's hand across the table. Blake and she continued to kiss hotly as Harold took Blake's fingers into his mouth.

"He good? He suck your fingers good?" Belinda asked Blake in a husky whisper.

"Uh, yeah, yeah," Blake agreed, cock painfully trapped in his briefs.

"Bet he suck your cock good," Belinda suggested in a husky whisper.

"He uh, I what?" Blake asked, not sure he'd heard right.

"He want suck you, maybe you fuck him?" Belinda suggested as she kissed Blake again.

Blake jerked in the hard vinyl chair. He felt his briefs grow sticky as he ejaculated.

Blake had always been interested in body building, weight training. He bought magazines geared toward body building, weight lifting. He went on-line and looked at videos of weight lifting. He watched videos of muscle bound men posing and flexing, displaying their scantily clad oiled bodies.

Then Blake Stevens happened across a video of two muscle bound and oiled men easing each other's skimpy briefs down, stroking and sucking each other's hard cocks. Blake had first quickly exited that site, disgusted. Then he clicked on the link again.

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