Catfish stood on the bank of the man-made lake. Lake Frank Jackson was in southern Alabama, close enough to Opp that his high school class reserved the pavilion for a cookout. They were graduating in two weeks and some of his classmates became sentimental, saying they needed to do something as a class before going their separate ways.
Catfish thought it was silly, but he came anyway, along with his closest friends. He looked around at Dog and Stormy tossing a frisbee back and forth, then turned to watch Curly paddle John Reading’s kayak along the shoreline to the south of the boardwalk that led out to the island. Looking back at the pavilion under the tree canopy where most of their class were sitting, he saw Cheryl Alexander huddled up with Lisa Mayfield and Emma Bryan. Cheryl was looking his way and smiling as she held conference with her friends. He knew what Cheryl was on about. Everyone knew. She liked him. Had since tenth grade and in the eleventh grade let it be known. He had avoided her in every way he knew how and had hoped with graduation only two weeks away, she would have gotten the hint that he wasn’t interested, and it was too late to try. Evidently not, by the way she kept looking his way. He turned and looked for Curly, seeing him paddling back around following the boardwalk. The pavilion anchored its north side, and a strip of white beach anchored the south. Catfish stood at the edge of the beach, not wanting to get sand into his sneakers.
He looked back at Dog and Stormy trying not to consider it. But he did. Dog was over six feet tall and skinny with black hair, dark brown eyes, and a smooth tanned skin tone. He was attractive, so much so several of the girls in their class flirted with him all the time. But Catfish had never seen him go out with one of them. Dog could act shy, just clam up when around someone he didn’t know well. Catfish cut his eyes over to Stormy. He knew they were the same height but damn if Stormy didn’t seem taller. He was more muscular, a body built in the gym so he could play football and baseball, therefore a large presence, one that made him more aware of his own skinny build. And Stormy looked more mature than Dog or Curly or himself. With his short dark brown hair and a goatee trying to come in, he just looked older. Watching Dog and Stormy tossing the frisbee he felt frustrated and horny and in need of a distraction.
“Hey Curly, you want to go for a walk while we wait on the food to show up?” Toby and Melissa had taken up the money and gone to buy hamburgers and hot dogs at the IGA on the south side of town. They had been gone only a few minutes and knowing Toby, it would take forever for them to go through the grocery store.
“Yes, I’ll go,” Curly replied. “Just let me get my shoes back on.”
Walking side by side, so close their hands brushed on occasion, they strolled past the swimming area and playground down to short trail that would lead to the boardwalk that ran along the low wetland between their location and the RV sites to the south. Two kids on small bikes raced past them with their parents walking behind them.
Catfish recognized the woman, one that had been in his oldest sister’s class. He didn’t remember her name, so he just nodded in acknowledgment and continued walking.
“Cheryl is still plotting for you,” said Curly, cutting his eyes over to Catfish.
“Yeah, I know. You’d think she would give up by now.”
“You don’t like her?”
“You know I don’t,” Catfish replied, feeling somewhat hurt by the comment. He wanted to ask Curly if he liked him. If Curly had ever considered something serious between them. But to ask was to admit, and boys didn’t admit, not around here.
They strolled out on the boardwalk where it spanned over the shallow waters and marshland, a small area tucked between the two main sites of the park. The sun was in the western sky beating down on them. It was a hot and humid day, making them break out in sweat.
“Hey, a turtle,” said Curly pointing at the dark head protruding through the surface of the water.
“The place is full of them.”
They came back to solid ground and the trail went under the tree canopy giving them some relief from the sun. Coming to Dogwood Trail they stopped, waiting on the other to decide which way to go. Right toward the RV sites or left back to the main drive leading to where the pavilion was located.
“Right?” asked Curly.
“Okay,” Catfish mumbled in reply, and the two seniors strolled toward the RV sites.
The trail came to the drive for the RV area and without either having to say it, they turned left heading toward the entry and away from the RV sites. The Magnolia Trail started at its own dedicated parking lot, across from the park office and after the walk along the main drive then cutting across the parking lot, they picked up the trail and followed it into the shade of the tree canopy.
As soon as they were away from other visitors to the park, Curly’s hand slipped into Catfish’s. Neither said a word as Curly led Catfish off the trail into an area of heavy growth under the trees. A deer trail or a path by others who dared to venture off the trail, and Curly led the way holding Catfish’s hand. Neither would admit how it comforted them, this intimate contact neither would dare do in front of others. Down the narrow path, barely six inches wide, they slipped around the undergrowth and to a place where even sound seemed to be blanketed.
It was as before. No words spoken of what they wanted. No intimacies uttered or desires expressed. Curly just pulled Catfish against a cottonwood and groped him, feeling for the sign Catfish wanted it. That he was willing as he had been in past times. He felt for the cock wanting to feel it respond to his manipulation.
Catfish closed his eyes as he felt his cock stir from Curly touching him. Then he felt the tug on his shorts, the loosening waistband, and hands touching his cock through his boxers as his shorts fell around his ankles. The fingers worked his cock until he was hard, then slipped beneath the waistband of his shorts. He gasped when bare fingers touched him. He did every time. The fingers moved along his cock, roughly at first, working from the base to the head where they squeezed and rubbed it. He moaned through gritted teeth.
He felt Curly’s head lean against his shoulder and knew Curly was watching intently how he responded to the manipulation. He put a hand on Curly’s right shoulder and pushed down gently, just a slight push, but it was enough. Curly dropped to his knees, tugging his boxers down as he went.
He was half hard, cock angling out from his parse dark brown hair. He watched Curly wrapped his right hand around it and stroke. Slowly, the full length of his cock. He grew rock hard.
Curly stopped stroking and stared at his cock as he held it right in his face.
“Will you do me?” Curly asked.
He always asked. Always with the most timid voice and pleading eyes.
“Yeah,” Catfish replied.
It was the complicity of their shared secret that gave them courage. The guilt of being different, of desiring what the other boys joked about in the most derisive terms. Catfish balled his hands into tight fist as Curly held his cock and put lips around the head.
Curly didn’t go slow, didn’t try to make it last. There was never time. He moved his mouth on Catfish with an urgency, determined to get him off as fast as possible.
Catfish closed his eyes and for a few minutes he lost himself to the feel of another boy’s mouth on his cock. Of Curly, his best friend who shared a secret, noisily slurping and sucking and working lips down his shaft until nearly gagging. It didn’t take long, never did, for Curly knew how to bring him off quickly. The lips tight around his cock and after sucking until his cock flexed in the suctioning mouth, a wicked pull on his tightening sac.
“Shit,” Catfish uttered as he struggled not to shove his cock down Curly’s throat. Then he came, filling the suctioning mouth, feeling the way it swallowed around his spurting cock.
Curly watched Catfish pull his boxers up, then shorts, quickly fastening them in place as he undid his own. He let them fall around his ankles and stroked his hardening cock as Catfish squatted before him. Catfish gently pushed his hand away, then stroked him slowly until he was desperate for the feel of Catfish’s mouth.
“Catfish,” Curly uttered, then watched as his cock disappeared between the full lips. He dared to hold on to Catfish’s shoulders increasing their contact, bracing himself as Catfish’s head moved back and forth. Back and forth. His wet cock coming into view, then disappearing into that wet, slick mouth. He worked his hips slowly, pushing his cock deeper into Catfish’s mouth, something Catfish had been letting him do of late. The rhythmic movement, such a simple undulation of his body, but it increased his pleasure to the point of release. He pushed into Catfish’s mouth and shuddered as he came.
Catfish swallowed, then pulled his lips tightly along the shaft drawing out the last drop.
Curly pulled his boxers and shorts up and got zipped up. He kept glancing at Catfish who stared back toward the trail as if he could see it.
“No one is around. We would have heard them,” whispered Curly.
“I know. It’s just…”
Catfish didn’t finish. He was always leaving sentences hanging in the air between them.
“Let’s get back. I bet the food will be ready soon,” said Curly, leading Catfish back to the trail.
The grills had finally stopped smoking, and everyone had finished eating. The sun was in the western sky, blistering hot and relentless with the cloudless sky. Stormy threw the baseball to Jerome, a gently toss that arced between them. He looked over at Catfish talking to Curly, then at Emily as she laughed at something said by Nancy or Shelley. He caught Jerome’s throw, tossed it back, then scanned the area around the pavilion until he saw Dog. The tall lanky bastard was helping John pack up a cooler with the left-over meat then, as if he sensed Stormy’s stare, looked his way, and smiled.
“Hey Jerome, come here,” yelled Beth, his girlfriend.
Jerome shrugged his shoulders, then jogged to Beth, leaving Stormy standing out in the open by himself, but not for long.
“Hey, you want to go to the island?” said Dog as he jogged over.
“Yeah, let’s go.” He didn’t need to be told Dog had the itch. He had it too. It was their secret term for it. That feeling of arousal that just wouldn’t stop until you got off. As Dog fell in next to him, they headed toward the bridge, crossing the edge of the boat ramp parking lot. He glanced back to see if anyone was following them, especially Catfish and Curly. There were times he wanted Catfish to do it, to tag along when Dog and he were slipping off. But he knew nothing would happen if Catfish or Curly suddenly appeared by their side.
“Curly said you have a job lined up?” Dog asked as they stepped on the bridge.
“Jim Roberts is going to hire me for his shop.”
“Really? Fuck, that is great. You can ditch that logging job with your dad.”
“No shit. The old man is pissed about it, but he can get the fuck over it. I don’t want to end up like half his crew missing fingers or toes or worse.”
“And you always did like working on cars,” said Dog as they crossed the halfway point. It gave them a sense of separation from the others. Stormy looked back to make sure no one had followed them, then continued walking by Dog until on the island.
“Let’s do the Walking Trail,” said Dog.
“Okay,” Stormy replied suppressing a smile, for he knew most would be on Honeysuckle Trail, the one that ran near the shoreline of the island. Walking Trail made a tighter loop on the island, most of it hidden from view. Something the two of them wanted.
They strolled under the tree canopy, feeling some relief from the heat. They grew quiet, each glancing at the other, knowing why they were here. For a few weeks now, the two of them discovered they had a secret. A secret about their desires, the lust they felt for someone else, and how it was always for another guy.
Stormy liked Dog, loved fucking around with him, but he knew there was something missing. Some nuance that kept them from being closer, of developing a relationship beyond friends with benefits. They rarely discussed it, in fact, had done so only once. Last weekend, the two of them tipsy as fuck and in Dog’s backyard away from his family, they finally talked about it. How they were gay, knew it without any doubts, but also knew they were struggling with it. Of finding a way to live a life like guys in the big cities or in a place more progressive and accepting.
Dog had suggested they tell Curly and Catfish. He wasn’t so sure, not yet, but over the last two weeks he had sensed something with Curly and Catfish, how the two of them would often be together. He had seen them head down the trail along the lake shore before the cookout and wondered if he should follow. He hadn’t done it. It was obvious why. If there was something going on, he was in no position to interfere. He wouldn’t want them showing up now.
But the part that troubled him was his jealousy of Curly being with Catfish. He wanted to be with Catfish, to be the one sneaking off with him. His jealousy suggested something was going on between Catfish and Curly, and that was mere speculation on his part. Maybe it was innocent, just two friends out for a short hike. He could shallow his jealousy if it were true and at some point, there was an opportunity for him to be with Catfish. He glanced over at Dog feeling a physical attraction, and he knew he would never deliberately hurt Dog. But it was Catfish he imagined when masturbating alone.
“Hey, over here,” said Dog, taking Stormy by the hand and leading him off the trail into the woods.
No pretense. No pretending they were there for some other reason as they ducked under limbs and pushed through the undergrowth.
“This will do,” said Stormy as he came up to Dog and hugged him from behind. He wrapped his arms around the tall lanky body and pressed his lips to the back of the neck. Dog pushed back pressing against his cock. It aroused him, made his cock stir.
“We won’t have long,” Dog whispered.
Stormy knew Dog was nervous about getting caught, but he also knew Dog was horny. He had seen him tugging on his crotch before coming over to him. He reached down and felt the half hard cock, manipulated it with his fingers until it stretched out to the side rock hard. He worked it up until the low waisted jeans let the head slip out. He touched it, rubbed the exposed head, then gave it a little squeeze causing Dog to push back again.
“Fuck,” Dog whispered.
Stormy undid the jeans and with very little effort had them falling down the legs. The boxers followed and he stroked the long thin cock. Dog reached around, slipping his right hand between them to manipulate Stormy’s cock.
“You want it?” Stormy asked, voice barely loud enough for Dog to hear.
Dog didn’t respond, instead he shuffled to the big oak in front of him and leaned toward it. He braced himself with his hands, spread his legs as much as his jeans would allow, and pushed his ass back toward Stormy.
Stormy moved to him, undoing his cargo shorts as he moved. When he stepped up close to Dog, shorts and boxers fell around his ankles. He rubbed his cock across the ass, then up and down the crevice. He pushed into it, pressing against Dog’s tightness.
“Do it. Punch that dick in me,” Dog uttered. He held his head down and pushed back against Stormy’s cock.
Stormy pushed until his cock breached the tightness and squeezed into Dog’s ass. He pushed slowly, feeling the tightness slide along his cock as he sank inch after inch into him.
“Jesus…fat cocked bastard…fuck me,” Dog stammered.
Stormy held the skinny waist and began to fuck. He pushed and tugged his cock through the tightness until he felt Dog loosen to his penetration. He maintained a steady rhythm, pushing deeper and deeper until banging against Dog’s ass. Then he slowed, worked his cock slowly inside of Dog knowing it would be torturous, a tease of a fuck. He felt Dog push back, working ass on his cock. He smiled as he pushed against it again.
Stormy tugged his T-shirt up, hooking the front behind his neck leaving his chest and stomach exposed. Then he pushed Dog’s old plaid shirt up the long back. He leaned forward until bare skin lay on bare skin. Then he worked his hips, fucking Dog’s ass.
“Fuck…yeah…fuck…don’t stop,” Dog uttered.
Stormy reached around the skinny waist and took Dog in hand. He stroked that long thin cock in rhythm with his fuck. Hand slamming down to the base as he pushed every inch of his own cock into him. Then moving the hand to the head making sure he rubbed it good, really slipped his hand over it making Dog have to stifle a cry out, as he tugged his own cock back until only the head was inside him. He kept it up, cock hammering Dog’s insides as he stroked and manipulated Dog’s cock.
“Cum for me. Come on, shoot that load,” Stormy uttered with lips right at Dog’s right ear.
“OH, fuck,” Dog uttered, as he slammed his ass back on Stormy’s cock then shuddered and jerked with his release.
Stormy felt Dog’s cock flex with every ejaculation, momentarily thinking what a waste for he would have swallowed it if given a chance. Then he shoved into Dog’s depths, jammed his hips hard against Dog’s ass, and came.
The sun had dropped below the horizon when Stormy and Dog got back to the pavilion. Some of their classmates had already left and the only cooler remaining was one with a few drinks in it. Curly and Catfish were on the pier that split the boat ramp. Seated on the end of it with legs dangling over the calm waters. Dog led him to the pier, and they walked the short distance to its end with cross planks squeaking under their feet.
“Where did you guys go?” asked Curly.
Stormy swore Curly looked at Dog with longing. He wondered if he was just projecting, for he knew he looked at Catfish that way.
“Just hiked the trails on the island,” Dog replied.
“You must have dragged your feet as long as it took you,” Curly uttered in a low voice.
Dog sat down next to Curly and Stormy moved to the other side of Catfish and sat down.
“It was a nice day for the cookout,” said Catfish.
“Yeah, we were lucky. Tomorrow is supposed to be nasty as shit,” Dog replied.
“Really?” asked Stormy. He had hoped to get a bike ride in.
“Yep. A front is moving in tonight. We’ll wake to rain.”
“Shit.”
“Anything going on tonight?” asked Curly.
“Nah, not a damn thing,” Stormy replied.
“Do you guys want to come over and watch television?” asked Catfish.
“Yeah, why not,” Dog replied.
“Sounds good to me,” Stormy added.
“I’ll swing by home and get some of the cookies grandmother made,” said Curly.
“And my brother gave me a bottle of bourbon. You think your dad will catch us if we drink it in your room?” asked Stormy.
“Landon gave you a bottle?” asked Curly.
“Yep. He took off for the beach and gave me one of the bottles he had bought, telling me to have some fun.”
“Fuck, that was nice of him. He must have gotten laid,” Dog joked.
“Let’s go,” said Catfish, climbing to his feet.
During the next two weeks the four boys graduated from high school and worked at their jobs. Catfish in his mother’s bait and tackle shop on the north side of town. Curly in the repair shop of Bill Grimes mower and tool shop out on West Cumming Avenue. Dog at the fertilizer and seed cooperative on the south side of town. And Stormy started his new job at J R’s Auto Repair on Douglas Avenue to the west of downtown. They put in their hours and sought each other’s company. Most evenings they were huddled up together at one’s home playing video games or watching television.
But there had been no chance for either Catfish and Curly or Stormy and Dog to be alone.
Then the weekend came when Dog went to a wedding for a first cousin in Jackson, Mississippi and Stormy went to Atlanta for Jim Roberts to get some parts, having to stay Saturday and Sunday night, waiting for two to come in. It left Catfish and Curly alone. Alone to feel the tension between them. To feel their desires and confusion, the anticipation of sex, and how neither felt fully satisfied. The inability to talk about it being the biggest thing, each one lay awake at night berating themselves over it.
Curly went to the bait and tackle shop where Catfish was closing for his mother. There was one truck in front with a boat on its trailer, and when he pushed through the front door, he found Jasper Simpson at the counter with his grandson, a cage of crickets and two Styrofoam cups of wigglers on the counter.
“…we’re going down to the Crawford place to fish in their pond early in the morning,” Mr. Simpson was saying when Curly came to the counter, passed under the lift top section and took the stool behind Catfish.
“Hey,” Catfish uttered, smiling at Curly, then turned back to Mr. Simpson. “I hear their pond is well stocked.”
“It is. Trout and bream as big as your hand.”
“It’ll be 9.98 for the two wigglers and 7.50 for the crickets. That’ll be…with tax…18.62.”
Mr. Simpson laid a twenty on the counter and Catfish counted out his change and handed it along with the receipt to him. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Wish us luck,” Mr. Simpson replied, then headed out with his grandson, a boy that looked nine or ten.
Catfish followed them to the door, locking it and flipping the sign around to show they were closed. As he came back to the counter the lights shut off except for the two nightlights. Curly had switched them off.
“You have any plans?” Curly asked.
“No.”
Curly came from behind the counter and led Catfish to the stockroom. They passed the desk just inside the door where Catfish’s mother did the accounting, down the main aisle of stock shelving. Cases of drinks, boxes of candy, cookies, pastries on one side and along the other artificial lures, tackle, a few tackle boxes, seat cushions, life jackets, and boxes without labels. Curly led Catfish all the way to the back to the cot he knew resided along the back wall. The cot Catfish’s mother used if a migraine headache came on. A cot they had used before.
Nothing was said as Curly pulled his T-shirt over his head and Catfish unbuttoned his shirt. Curly undid his cargo shorts and pushed everything down until around his ankles and he stepped out of them, coming up to Catfish to help him get out of his shorts.
Naked, cocks still flaccid, they stood in front of each other. Curly wanted to say something, anything that would give their sex more meaning. He reached out and cupped Catfish at the back of the neck and pulled him forward while he leaned toward him. With their foreheads pressed together, he looked down Catfish’s body. The flat chest, flat stomach, and cock curved over the sac. Up to this point all they had done was suck each other. It had started with them just letting the other one see them naked, then hard. They watched each other jack off, then did it for each other. The feel of the other’s hand made them cum so much faster. Then Catfish had boldly asked Curly if he would put it in his mouth if he did it first. Thus, they began to suck each other. At first, they sucked until the other was going to cum, then they jacked them off. Eventually they took the other’s load, letting it fill their mouths before swallowing.
“You want to try?” asked Curly.
Curly didn’t need to say as to what he was referring, for Catfish knew. It was the one thing they had not done. He had imagined it so often, wanted to experience it for it felt like they were not really having sex, not the way he wanted it.
“If I…agree, will you let me?”
“Yes,” Curly replied as he reached out and touched Catfish on the chest. He rubbed across it, over the nipples feeling their centers stick out hard. He rubbed them, then flicked his finger across the left one making Catfish moan. Even Catfish’s cock flexed and thickened. As he took Catfish in hand, he saw him reach out, then felt a hand on his cock.
Curly guided Catfish to the cot, got him to get on hands and knees, the knees right at the bottom edge of it with feet hanging out. Curly moved between the legs until his cock pushed against the ass. Catfish lowered his head. Curly rubbed his cock up and down between the cheeks.
“Catfish…spread your ass for me,” Curly whispered.
Catfish dropped his upper body down on the cot, shoulders and head laying on it as he reached back and spread his cheeks.
“Yeah,” Curly whispered as he looked at the spread ass and its tight hole. He rubbed his cock over it, then reached out with his right hand and rubbed his fingers along the crevice, top to bottom and back to the top. He rubbed his fingers over the tight opening, then penetrated it with his middle finger, the one he could sink the deepest into Catfish.
He felt the tightness, how it stayed snug around his finger as he worked it in and out. Then he slipped two into Catfish, twisting and turning his hand until he felt the tightness slacken.
“Can I?” Curly asked.
“Yes,” Catfish whispered.
Curly put his cock to the opening and pushed. Then he felt Catfish pushed back. His cock squeezed through the tight opening, and he shivered with the feel of it. Slowly, he kept pushing until the head was inside Catfish, then inch after inch of the shaft until he was over halfway inside him.
“Goddamn, this feels good,” Curly uttered.
Catfish held his head down as Curly bore into him. He shivered as cock breached his tightness and penetrated him. He felt the push inward, inch after inch sinking into his body. There was a fullness to the penetration, one that made his cock flex and drool with his with arousal.
“Fuck,” he uttered through clinched teeth. With heart racing, he began to breathe hard. He felt alive. He felt his masculinity, his sex. He felt every touch by Curly. The hands on his waist and the thrust of cock into his ass. Curly fucked with a steady slow rhythm letting him sense every inch working through his tightness.
The hands on his waist tightened and Curly began to fuck faster, harder, until banging against his ass. One more connection between them and this one pushed his arousal to the breaking point. His cock swung heavily between his thighs as Curly hammered his depths.
“Fuck; I’m going to-“ Curly exclaimed, then gasped for air, slammed into Catfish’s depths, shuddering with release.
As soon as Curly pulled out of his ass, Catfish was up. Cock so hard it stuck straight out and drooled its slick.
“Your turn,” Catfish uttered, as he guided Curly to the cot expecting him to get in the same position, on the knees with shoulders down on the cot. But Curly surprised him, getting on his back and holding his legs behind the knees, up and spread.
“I want to watch you,” Curly said as way of explanation.
Catfish smiled, then moved between the spread legs and touched it. At first, just a touch. Then he rubbed up and down the ass and around the tight opening. Then he penetrated Curly with his middle finger. He pushed it through the tightness burying it all the way inside him. He pumped it in and out, then slipped a second, then a third, feeling the tightness slacken.
“I’m going to do it now,” said Catfish as he pulled his fingers out of Curly’s ass.
Curly lay back and closed his eyes and it let Catfish really look at him. Curly was five foot four and as smooth and hairless as a twelve-year-old. But his cock lay over the stomach still hard and Catfish knew it was as big as his own. On Curly, it just looked bigger. Pretty boy Catfish thought as he looked at the blonde hair and smooth baby face with the rosy, red cheeks. He bent at the knees, putting his cock to the tight opening, and pushed. Curly’s head angled back, and the mouth fell open releasing a moan only sex could generate as he penetrated him. He pushed, slowly, until pressed against the upturned ass. He leaned over Curly, bracing on his hands either side of the lean torso, and fucked.
Curly opened his eyes as cock piston inside him. He saw Catfish hovering above, eyes wide open staring back. He moaned and grunted, and Catfish did the same. His breathing grew labored, and Catfish was gasping for breath above him. To feel the cock inside him gave him a pleasure he couldn’t describe. But he could show his pleasure. His cock angled up off his stomach, flexing with his arousal.
“Fuck…Catfish…don’t stop,” Curly uttered.
Hands took his legs behind the knees and pushed them down until pressed against his chest, and Catfish hammered his insides. Harder, faster, a brutal pace that Catfish would not be able to sustain.
“Do it…do it…for fuck’s sake pump that shit in me,” Curly uttered, an admittance about their sex he had never dared do before.
The hands pushed down on his legs harder as if trying to push him through the cot. Catfish banged against his ass until the sound of flesh smacking flesh echoed in the room. The cot squeaked and rocked, eventually banging into the wall. Then Catfish slammed cock into his depths and kept pushing against his ass while shuddering with release.
It was another step in their sexual play. No longer was sucking each other off satisfactory. They would suck each other, but just to get cocks rock hard and ready for fucking. And whenever they could find a safe place, they fucked. But it was a physical thing, one that sated their lusts, but there was always something missing. Something that spoke of more permanence or of a relationship like the boys had with their girlfriends.
Wednesday night and it was a stormy night as lightning lit up the sky. Rain came down hard, then slowed to a drizzle. Dog rolled to the edge of his bed and picked up his cell phone. It was after nine o’clock, late for people in the small town. He brought up Stormy and typed a message.
Are you still up?
A minute passed, then another, then five minutes, ten, and Dog was about to toss his phone down thinking Stormy wasn’t going to reply. His phone chimed that he received a message.
Yes. I was in the shower.
Before Dog could reply, another message from Stormy.
Why?
Dog looked at the question knowing his answer. He wanted to come over and fuck. What did Stormy think he wanted. But he couldn’t type that. It was too much. But how he felt was worse. The weekend in Atlanta had initially seemed like a good time to explore the city and in turn, come to an understanding about himself. He had searched online for bars and clubs, dared to look at one of the hookup sites knowing he would never agree to meet someone. Then he ventured to this gay bar in Midtown, standing across the street watching the guys come and go, and through the window the guys standing around the small bar drinking and talking and laughing at some comment that Dog wanted to be a part.
“Fuck it,” Dog uttered to himself, then began typing.
Can I come over?
Dog pulled around the ranch style house, parking behind Stormy’s old Jeep. As he climbed out of his Malibu, he looked at the old Jeep with its rusted fenders and banged up body with envy. His old Malibu was in good shape but didn’t compare to the Jeep and the apparent freedom it offered. He strolled past it thinking of the times Stormy had driven them down some fire lane outside of town. Of the sex they had under the open sky or beneath a tree canopy. Times that he felt free, allowed to be himself.
As he came to the screen porch the back door swung open and Stormy stood in it, a dark silhouette with the mudroom light on behind him.
“Sshhhh; mom and dad are in the den watching television,” Stormy whispered just loud enough for Dog to hear.
“Okay,” Dog replied, easing the screen door closed and crossing the porch.
Dog followed Stormy, into the kitchen, then out a side door that took them to the front of the house through the formal dining and living rooms, avoiding the family room in back. He wondered if Stormy’s family had ever used the living room, knowing they did use the dining room for special occasions. At the foyer, they cut back to the hall that went down the center of the house leading to the bedrooms.
Stormy’s parents were in the first bedroom at the back of the house and opposite was the bedroom that had been Stormy’s when he was young. When Landon moved out, Stormy took his room at the end of the hall in back, isolated from his parents with the bathrooms between them.
Dog followed him into the room, the dark blue walls looking almost violent in the dim light of the lone lamp on the nightstand. The covers were pulled back on the old antique bed, one that was twice as high as his own. Dog eased the door closed and locked it filled with the anticipation of what was going to happen. He watched Stormy go to his bed and lay across the foot of it, shirtless, wearing just cotton gym shorts that concealed very little. He saw the bulge of cock and knew his hand would be on it soon. He looked at the muscular body, the initial jealousy of wishing his body was like it, then the attraction he felt for it. He lay across the bed, the two pillows right at his back and looked at Stormy staring back.
“What’s wrong?” Stormy asked, keeping his voice low.
“You know…same ole shit,” Dog replied. He knew Stormy would know too.
“Yeah,” Stormy replied as he slid his hand across the bed until he was touching Dog’s hand. “I know.”
Dog shivered with Stormy’s touch. It was electric how the sensation raced up his arm. It riled him up, made him feel his arousal. His sex. He jumped up and pinned Stormy to the bed.
“What are you doing?” Stormy asked in a playful tone.
Dog leaned down and kissed him, passionately, aggressively. He ran a hand down the bare chest, stomach, down to the bulging crotch. He manipulated the cock hardening within the shorts, then pushed them down as best he could, and Stormy worked his legs until the shorts fell to the floor.
Dog got to his knees and reached down, taking Stormy’s cock. He stroked it as Stormy laid back and stifled a moan.
“Yeah,” Dog uttered as he rubbed the head between thumb and index finger making Stormy shiver.
It was risky. Stormy could dress quickly, but for him to strip could get them caught. But he was horny, aroused until his cock ached for release. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He undid his cargo shorts and worked them off each leg.
“Dog, don’t take them off,” Stormy uttered, worried about one of his parents coming to check on them.
“They never come in here when it is just the two of us. Don’t worry about it,” Dog replied as he dropped the cargo shorts and boxers on the floor, then tugged on his hardening cock.
Then Dog was on top of Stormy, bare flesh against bare flesh. He pumped his hips, working his cock along side Stormy’s, the raised his ass until it slipped beneath Stormy’s nut sac, and he pushed it down between the thighs.
“Let me,” Dog uttered.
Stormy raised his knees bringing his feet up close to his ass. He let them fall wide apart letting Dog’s cock rubbed along his ass. Up and down, Dog worked cock along Stormy’s ass until his cock was drooling and Stormy was biting his shoulder to keep from crying out. Stormy moved to his ear, lips grazing it.
“Do it…put it in me.”
Dog felt Stormy take his cock and guide it to his tight opening. He pushed against it. Pushed until it finally stretched open letting him penetrate Stormy’s ass. He felt him shudder beneath him, felt the hot exhale of breath on his neck, then the stifled moan as he sank halfway into the ass.
“Fuck,” Stormy uttered breathlessly.
Dog held still just savoring the feel of his cock inside Stormy. The tightness that gripped his cock about halfway down made it flex. He pushed deeper, then pushed deeper still. He pushed until his hips pressed against the upturned ass, then he began to fuck.
He struggled to control himself, to fuck in a steady rhythm that didn’t let the bed squeak or bang in the wall. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. Below him Stormy was doing rapid short breaths as he fucked him, knowing it was a means of control, to keep from crying out. He laced his fingers into Stormy’s and pinned each hand to the bed and fucked. Long, full strokes, tugging outward until nearly slipping free, then the plunge back into Stormy’s depths until his hips were pressed tightly to the upturned ass. Over and over, hips working up and down, he fucked him. Fucked until he was gasping for breath and every muscle felt tight. He pushed inward, all the way, and jammed his hips against Stormy’s ass as if he could sink a little deeper, then came.
Dog pulled out and saw Stormy was hard, cock drooling its slick on the stomach.
“You want to do me?”
Dog couldn’t admit how much he wanted it. Not only did he come over to fuck Stormy, but he also wanted to feel Stormy fucking his ass. He climbed off the bed standing beside it. Stormy climbed off next to him.
“Yes,” Stormy uttered as he grabbed Dog by the back of the neck and pushed him down on the bed face first. He kicked the legs apart and moved up to the spread ass. The old bed was perfect, just the right height. He put his cock to the tight opening, pushed down on Dog’s neck, then pushed with his hips. Dog cried out, it muffled with his face pushed into the bed, as Stormy penetrated him. He jammed the head and a couple of inches through the tightness, then held still letting Dog loosen to it.
He released Dog’s neck and held the waist, pushing another inch into him. Dog raised his head and looked over the left shoulder, eyes glassy with his lust.
“Do it…fuck me…fuck me.”
Stormy smiled as he pushed, slowly, so he could feel every damn inch sink into Dog’s ass. With hips tight against the ass, he could feel Dog pushing back.
Dog moaned as cock bore into his depths. His own cock was still hard, pushed down along the side of the bed. The hands on his waist tightened, and Stormy began to fuck. The slow tug outward, then the slow push inward, over and over, letting him feel it, every fucking inch, as it worked through his tightness. He pushed back when Stormy pushed inward until in a steady fuck, Stormy’s pace slowly increasing.
Dog felt the bed rocking, side to side, as Stormy grew more physical, his pace increasing, until hips were bumping against his ass. The steady rhythm of it, hips against ass, cock deep inside it, was pushing him over the edge. His own cock rubbed and pushed against the side of the bed until he couldn’t take it. He buried his face into the mattress and cried out as his cock spurt wad after wad down the side of the it.
“Fuck…you horny bastard,” Stormy uttered, then slammed into Dog’s depths and kept trying to push deeper as he came.
Thursday was like any other summer day. A partly cloudy sky with temperatures in the low nineties and humidity that made it feel over a hundred. Curly sat at the window of the fast-food joint knowing he shouldn’t be eating there so often. But it was cheap and fast, and with an hour for lunch, he could grab a burger then have time to run an errand or just sit back and watch the traffic on Florala Highway before having to get back to the shop.
He ate slowly, having no errands to run after eating, and watched the people coming inside, the vehicles pulling into the drive-thru lane, then the traffic passing by. It was a time for him to think about his life, how it felt superficial leaving him unsatisfied. There was the fucking around with Catfish, but he knew it would go no further. Catfish had finally admitted he liked him but not to the point of wanting a relationship. When he was honest, he knew he felt the same about Catfish, but at times it felt like there was no other option for him. He knew there were other gay guys out there, many online nearby, but he watched how they interacted online seeing most were closeted or not interested in a long-term relationship.
A silver Malibu turned into the fast-food restaurant and pulled into the drive-thru line. He recognized the car and was tempted to go out to say hello. It was Dog, probably taking his lunch from the fertilizer and seed cooperative. He pictured him. The tall lanky build, black hair, dark brown eyes, and the skin tone that spoke to Native American ancestry, and some rumors said African American too. All Curly knew, no matter what genes were mixed up in Dog, the results were attractive. He wished Dog was like Catfish. Gay and willing. He imagined sex with Dog, being folded beneath the long body taking his fuck.
There were times he had been tempted to get Dog aside, alone somewhere and confess. To tell him how he felt and ask if Dog could see himself in a relationship with him. If it were possible. He feared the answer to such a degree, he never could do it.
After a few minutes, the Malibu pulled along the opposite side of the restaurant, out to the street, then motored away. Curly watched until it was out of sight.
Stormy left the repair shop, hands as clean as he could get them. Some grease still lined his fingernails and stayed trapped beneath them, despite scrubbing his hands and arms up the elbows until the skin felt raw. He drove back through town heading home, the wind whipping through the open Jeep as music played just a bit too loud so he could hear it over the roar of the all-terrain tires. He settled into the seat and sawed at the wheel to keep the old Jeep in its lane while thinking about where he went from here. Not in the moment, driving across town, but in general, in his life. He had finished high school, worked full time at Jim Roberts’ auto shop, and fucked around with Dog. He hung out with Catfish and Curly, and Dog too, the four of them best friends since elementary school. But there was something missing, something lacking in his life. He wanted more. He wanted what Brad and Emily had, friends from High School who got married right after graduation and got their own place. The rumor was Emily was pregnant, and he smirked, thinking no doubt, for everyone knew they were sexually active for some time and Brad was careless, so probably not as attentive with using condoms as he should have been. But he was envious of the relationship the two of them had, the intimacy it offered day after day. Dog was a great person, fun to be with, but there was no real chemistry, besides, his heart lay elsewhere.
At the next intersection, the light changed forcing him to stop. Catfish’s mom was opposite him, heading in the opposite direction. When the light changed, they passed each other with a wave, while Stormy thought of Catfish, for he was the one he thought about all the time. There were times while fucking Dog, he imaged it was Catfish, not Dog. He couldn’t help how he felt, and it made him feel bad. The only thing that made it tolerable was Dog didn’t seem to want more from him. He wondered if Dog was like him, clinging to their friendship while exploring their secret, their sexuality with each other. The other night he wondered if Dog was going to ask for something more from him, but by the time they were spent and exhausted, he knew it was only the sex and brief intimacy it afforded them.
“Hey, Labor Day weekend is three weeks away. You have Monday off, right?” asked Catfish.
“Yeah, we’re closed on Monday. Why?” Dog replied.
“I was talking to Curly, and we were thinking about going to Destin. You want to go?”
“Do you think we can find a room this late?”
“Curly is calling around to see if he can find one. It’ll probably be one of the old ones back behind the harbor area.”
“Sure, I’d love to get out of town. What about Stormy?”
“I’m calling him next.”
“He might be going to that family reunion up in Prattville.”
“He hates going, so maybe he’ll go with us instead,” said Catfish. His phone beeped. “Hey, let me go; Curly is calling.”
“What’s up?” asked Stormy.
“Do you want to go to Destin Labor Day weekend?” asked Catfish.
With you? Yes, Stormy thought. “Can we get a room?”
“Curly has gotten us a room at some place on the main road. It is behind the harbor, so we’ll have to drive to the beach.”
“Everyone going?”
“Yep…if you can go. You’re not going to that family reunion, are you?”
“Not now. When do you want to leave?”
“Friday after work. We have the room for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night. Dog said he would drive since his car is bigger than mine.”
“A weekend at the beach. That sounds better than you can know.”
The sun was setting in the west, its light cutting deep beneath the veranda of the seafood restaurant that overlooked the harbor. The four boys sat along the railing, Dog and Curly with the sun on their backs and Catfish and Stormy with it in their eyes. Their plates had been taken and glasses refilled, and they sat back just enjoying the fact they had made it to Destin and had three days to knock around enjoying themselves. They were more pleased to find their reservation for a double Queen had been messed up, and the inn gave them two Queen rooms instead. It meant they could split up at night, Dog and Stormy in one and Catfish and Curly in the other. They told each other it would give them more room, and less snoring at night to deal with, but each couple secretly knew it meant more than that. The only problem was Stormy wanted to be with Catfish, and Dog wanted Curly. Catfish wanted Stormy. Curly wanted Dog. The person they wanted was right there, so close a short reach would have them touching. But to have the one they wanted meant a confession, and not one of them had the confidence the other would be accepting. The irony of their situation would eventually be the topic of many conversations. But that is how it had always been, each taking what they could, the opportunity for sex and the intimacy it gave them. They were not well off, didn’t have a lot of opportunity, and this felt like one more thing that wouldn’t go their way. But as with everything else, they took what they could get, when they could get it.
They walked back to the inn along the sidewalk that was right along the busy four lane highway. Traffic was heavy in both directions, most tourists going to dinner or out for drinks at one of the breweries or bars. If they had been old enough, they too would have gone to one. But they were eighteen, still just boys in the eyes of the state when it came to alcohol. It didn’t matter, Catfish and Dog had managed to get liquor before leaving. They just needed something to mix it with and at the place they could cross the busy highway, a convenience store was on the corner on the same side of the street as the inn.
Back at the inn, they piled up in Dog and Stormy’s room, Catfish and Dog sitting against the headboard, Curly in the armchair by the window, and Stormy at the built in desk next to the television mixing drinks.
“Who wants bourbon and who wants vodka?”
“Bourbon,” Catfish replied.
“Vodka,” said Curly.
“Same,” replied Dog.
“Vodka?” Stormy asked Dog, making sure he meant what Curly was having.
“Yeah.”
“And I’ll have bourbon,” said Stormy exaggerating the pour into a cup.
For a couple of hours, Stormy played bartender, refilling cups, and handing them out as they gossiped about old classmates, talked about what to do the next day, while skirting the issue most guys would be discussing. Sex.
Dog made one lewd comment, eliciting laughter from everyone, then they fell quiet as the night slowly ticked away, seconds into minutes into hours.
“Hey, let’s walk down to the beach,” said Curly when he came out of the bathroom still fastening his shorts.
“It’s over a mile to the beach from here,” said Stormy.
“So, we walk more than that all the time. It’ll take about thirty minutes to get there, but we’re on vacation, so who cares. Come on, let’s go.”
“But don’t you remember how the beach has all those little crabs running around everywhere,” said Catfish.
“Yeah, but they’re harmless and a flashlight will scare them away.”
“I’ll go,” said Dog coming to his feet. He didn’t care why Stormy and Catfish didn’t want to go but if Curly was going, he would go with him. As he climbed to his feet, staggering just a bit, he saw Stormy smile at him, as if he knew. “Don’t wait up…girls,” he smarted off at Stormy and Catfish as he slipped his feet into his sandals and followed Curly to the door.
“I got the flashlight. You got your room key?” asked Curly as he held the door open.
“Yeah; let’s go.”
Dog followed Curly down the balcony, across the parking lot and out to the street. Once across the busy four lane highway, he fell in beside him. He wondered why he had left Stormy behind, the one that understood him and his needs. The one who was more like him, the one with a secret. But he knew why.
Curly was the object of his affection. The one he wanted, so he had not thought twice about following him to the beach.
When Gulf Shore Drive finally turned to run parallel with the shoreline, they raced across at the next intersection, and cut around a closed bar and grill following a sidewalk that led to the beach. The walk became a boardwalk, the cross planks giving ever so slightly under each step as it crossed the beach berm. The walk ended at the pristine white sand, void of any vegetation and sloping down to the small waves lapping the shoreline, and Dog slipped off his sandals as Curly kicked off his flip flops. They moved toward the water, each step squeaking in the fine sand, until on the wet sand along the shore.
“Look at them run,” said Curly, shining the flashlight across the sand. Small white crab scuttled out of the light or slipped into holes in the wet sand.
“The beach is covered in them,” said Dog as he kept along side of Curly, the two of them heading west as they moved closer and closer to the water. Eventually the low waves lapped around their feet.
“I could live here,” said Curly.
“Yeah,” Dog uttered in reply.
Catfish and Stormy lay on the bed, feet at the head of it so they were closer to the television. Stormy was flipping through the channels looking for something of interest.
“How can there be so many channels and not shit on,” said Catfish.
“I know, right.”
Stormy got to a movie channel and the movie about a gay high schooler seeking the one he was messaging online. He had seen it before when at home alone. It made him think of his own situation, more frustrating for the one he loved didn’t know it.
“What movie is this?” asked Curly.
“I…don’t know. You want watch it?”
“Sure, why not.”
They watch the main character go up to a classmate and ask if he was the one. It makes Stormy feel embarrassed for him, and envious of his courage.
“So, he is gay,” Curly utters in a low voice.
“It would seem so,” said Stormy. After a minute or so, he picks up the remote. “You want me to switch to something else?”
“No. Leave it…its fine.”
They watch in silence, at times the two of them squirming a little at how the story feels uncomfortably close. Stormy kept cutting eyes over to Catfish, wanting to see his reaction to one scene or another. He wanted to see Catfish’s reaction to the story, some response that he could gauge Catfish by.
Finally, near the end, the scene at the Ferris wheel, and the story brings closure to the main character’s search. A reveal of the one he sought. Stormy feels excited by the scene, that a gay guy could find happiness, and in turn, felt the possibility existed for him. He couldn’t lay still as the two guys kissed, swinging his feet back and forth.
Stormy bumped feet with Catfish.
Catfish looked down and exhaled slowly as Stormy held his feet still, afraid to touch him again. Then Catfish bumped his feet, and he couldn’t’ help it, wound up, too hopeful for something good, and he pushed back. Catfish smiled, and he smiled too.
They looked at one another in a way they had never done before. Eyes shining in the dim light as they stared at each other.
“Stormy…do you like me?” Catfish asked, the nervousness evident in his stammering tone.
It was now or never, and Stormy knew it. To deny it now seemed like an end that would be permanent. Never another opportunity to arise again.
“Yes,” Stormy whispered. “Is that weird? I mean…”
“No, it’s not weird.”
Stormy watched Catfish slide a hand across the narrow gap between them and touch him on the arm.
“I thought about it…with you,” said Catfish.
Stormy smiled, feeling like something right and good was finally happening for him. He leaned toward Catfish, eyes wide open, watching Catfish do the same. The gap between them closed and lips touched, once, twice, then pressed together with a passion that had existed for far too long.
“How long do you think they will be gone?” asked Catfish.
“Long enough,” Stormy replied, not sure if he believed it himself, and not caring if he was wrong. He moved to Catfish, rolled him to his back and moved over him. They kissed, ran hands over the other’s body, and ground crotch against crotch becoming aroused.
Catfished tugged Stormy’s T-shirt off then Stormy tugged Catfish’s T-shirt off. They lay back and undid their own shorts, working everything down their legs, kicking everything to the floor. Naked, cocks half hard and hardening, Catfish climbed on Stormy and ground his cock against Stormy’s as he kissed him.
Stormy cupped the ass cheeks, then slipped a finger between them, rubbing it along the crevice until touching the tight opening, making Catfish moan in his ear, then nip at the skin along his neck. He penetrated Catfish, buried his finger inside him and worked it in and out as Catfish pushed against his cock. He slipped two fingers through the tightness and Catfish moaned, then cried out.
“Fuck…don’t stop.”
Stormy knew Catfish wanted it, for he felt the push against his fingers and heard the heavy breathing as lips touched his neck, ear, then along the jaw. With lips grazing his own, a soft desperate whisper.
“Put it in me.”
Stormy rolled Catfish to his back as he came to his knees between the legs. He stroked his cock while Catfish stroked his own. Their hands moved slickly along drooling cocks as their breathing became more ragged. When Catfish held his legs up, Stormy put his cock to the opening and pushed. An unimaginable tight squeeze on the head of his cock made him shudder and shiver with his penetration. Then he took each of the offered legs behind the knees and pushed forward then down, pinning them to the bed either side of the lean torso. He held them down and himself above Catfish and began to fuck. A slow, deep push inward, a slow tug outward until nearly slipping free, over and over, until in a steady rhythm.
Stormy was with Catfish. They were together, naked, connected in their fuck. It pushed his arousal, drove him to fuck harder, faster, desperate for the release Catfish made him desire. Soon he moved with an urgency, hips smacking down on the unturned ass and the bed rocking beneath them. It made the whole world seem to align with them, to rock and shake with their movements, all in rhythm with their fuck.
Stormy felt fingers dig into his sides, then the hands move along each and around to his back. He lowered himself until laying heavily on Catfish, pinning him to the bed folded in half. He ground his cock into Catfish’s depths as he undulated on top of him. Primitive, movements older than man’s language to describe them.
“Jesus…don’t stop…keep going,” Catfish uttered, pushing upward, rubbing his cock against Stormy’s stomach as he tried to get Stormy’s cock deeper into his body.
Stormy was close, so fucking close, his rhythm thrown off as he jammed cock into Catfish. Then Catfish cried out, shuddering beneath him. He felt the slickness between them and the flexing of the erupting cock. Then he caught the scent of Catfish’s cum. It seemed to overwhelm the air around them. He shoved into him, hard, and shuddered with his own release.
Curly led Dog back up the stairs to the balcony. It was late, nearly three in the morning, when they finally got back to the inn. He had led Dog all the way to the end of the peninsula where the jetty held back the sand keeping the pass clear for boats. He had wondered, hoped even, for something to happen between them, but he couldn’t make the first move, and Dog seemed nervous, agitated in some manner.
Down to his room with Stormy, they saw the light was still on.
“They’re still up,” said Dog as if it was normal.
Curly unlocked the door and entered the room, Dog right behind, to find Stormy and Catfish sitting on the bed eating snacks from the convenience store. They were shirtless, stripped down to their boxers. Curly saw the lean body of Catfish, then the familiar muscular body of Stormy, and the thought of sex surfaced. He pushed it down, then turned to see what they were watching at his hour of the night.
“It’s some bullshit comedy,” said Stormy.
“You guys get enough for us? I’m hungry after that walk,” said Dog as he moved around Curly and sat on the bed with them.
“Where did you guys go to be gone for so long?” asked Catfish, looking over at Curly.
“We went all the fuck way to the jetty at the end of the beach,” Dog answered before Curly could say anything.
“Come on, Curly, grab something,” said Stormy, holding out the bag.
It was morning in Destin, Florida, the sun rising above the eastern horizon. The waves crashed on the shore as tourists and locals set up umbrellas and spread towels and blankets on the white sand. The waters were the turquoise of gems, and so clear the bottom was visible far out from the shoreline. A fishing boat cruised by, the bow bouncing over the waves.
Back in the inn, the four guys had finally settled down for some much-needed sleep. Catfish and Curly in their room, Stormy and Dog in their room. All but Catfish were sound asleep. He lay in the bed next to Curly, smiling foolishly. He looked over at the silhouette of his friend, heard him mumble something, then rolled over facing away.
“I know a secret, dear friend,” Catfish whispered.
After sex with Stormy, they lay naked for some time, touching and kissing and making confessions that they normally could never do. But they had had sex, and now they lay in the light of the room allowing the other to see them, every aspect. How Stormy’s cock lay heavily over his sac. How Catfish’s cock drawn up tighter when flaccid, but his sac hung long and loose beneath it. How Stormy had thick pubic hair right above his cock and a scar from appendicitis surgery. How Catfish had a small fan of hair over his cock, very little under the arms, and could go days without shaving, and how there were a few moles on his chest and stomach, and three on his back that Stormy had run fingers over, going from one to the next, connecting them.
Then they began to talk. How each one had wanted the other, had for a long time. And they laughed hysterically when confessing about sex with their two friends out for a walk. They compared experiences, talked about Curly and Dog and what it was like to have sex with them.
“Do you feel guilty about having sex with me instead of Curly?” asked Stormy, suddenly getting serious.
“What? No…I mean, I guess I should, but…I don’t. Is that cruel of me?”
“Since I feel the same way, I’d rather not answer that.”
“Now that I know Dog and you were fucking, I’m surprised he left with Curly, instead of pushing me to leave so you two could be alone.”
“I wondered the same. You think anything could happen between them?”
Catfish laughed, shaking his head. “What are the odds of that happening?”
“Pretty fucking high,” Stormy replied rolling to his back, toying with his cock.
Catfish replayed the conversation over wondering about their plan to leave them alone in the room come the next night. Maybe there was something there. He had seen how Dog looked at Curly when they were finally telling each other it was time to grab some sleep. It was as if he wanted to stay with Curly instead of Stormy.
He rolled to his side, facing the wall, and drifted off to sleep.
Dog was leading as they crossed the parking lot heading back to their rooms. They had gone to a seafood and oyster bar down the highway heading toward the bridge. They had debated going to the Irish pub, but decided on the seafood and oyster bar since it faced the harbor.
Stormy grabbed Catfish’s arm holding him back as Curly followed Dog to the stairs.
“Hey, you guys go on up. We’re going to walk around a bit,” said Stormy.
Dog and Curly looked back, a bit surprised, but then Dog smiled, as if he knew, nodding his head.
“Okay,” said Dog, then looking down at Curly, “come on, let’s watch that movie that comes on in a few minutes.”
Stormy led Catfish all the way to the small state park that sat on the beach. They walked into the park on a trail near the western edge of it and moved through the live oak and pine until the sounds of traffic became muffled. Eventually coming out at the edge of the trees, they could look across the beach berm to the parking lot and restroom structures that paralleled the beach. The parking lot was empty and the lights off, letting the moonlight illuminate the area.
“We’re not supposed to be here. The park is closed,” uttered Catfish in a low voice, as if afraid someone would hear him.
“I know, but…” Stormy replied, letting his voice fade away.
Catfish moved in front of Stormy, staring up at the night sky brilliant with stars.
“It’s a nice night. There are no clouds to block the stars,” said Catfish.
“A perfect night,” Stormy uttered as he came up behind Catfish and hugged their bodies together.
Catfish leaned his head back into the crook of Stormy’s neck, feeling hands move over his chest and stomach, down until fondling his cock.
“Don’t make me stop,” Stormy whispered as he undid the shorts, letting them fall around Catfish’s ankles. He slipped a hand inside the boxers and toyed with the cock as he kissed the neck and up the side of the face. “Can I?”
“Yes,” Catfish replied, pushing back, pressing ass against hardening cock.
“Fuck,” Catfish exclaimed as cock bore into his depths. He was bent over, T-shirt pushed up tight to his arms as Stormy banged against his ass. The steady rhythm of it, the constant press of flesh against flesh, aroused him so he took his own cock in hand. He stroked in rhythm to Stormy’s fuck. A fast urgent pace. He heard Stormy’s grunts and moans and obscene utterances unconcerned about someone hearing them.
“Fuck me,” Catfish exclaimed, then in a lower voice, submissive, wanting to be Stormy’s boy, “please…keep going.”
The sound of flesh smacking against flesh echoed in the clearing at the wood’s edge. Unmistakable to anyone who could hear, the sexual nature of it. Hands tightened their hold of Catfish’s waist, fingers digging into his sides, as Stormy slowed, then held still, cock buried inside Catfish. Then the slow tug outward, so slow Catfish sensed every inch slipping through his loosened opening. Then he was empty and started to push back desperate to feel Stormy inside him again, but suddenly, without warning, cock slammed back through his opening. It bore into his depths until hips pressed against his ass.
“Goddamn…fuck,” Stormy uttered.
“Yeah…fuck…fuck me,” said Catfish.
The hands moved from his waist, grabbing his shoulders. Stormy pulled him upright and back, until against his sweaty chest. They moved against each other, the undulations of two men fucking. Catfish stroked his own cock as cock bore into his depths.
Then he felt the surge through his body, the imminent release he could no longer delay. His body tightened, every muscle straining, and the piston of Stormy’s cock was stroking his arousal. He shuddered, shoved his ass back, and sprayed the ground with his cum. He didn’t stop stroking his spurting cock, stroked through every ejaculation as cock fucked his ass. He bit his lip to keep from crying out while rocking to Stormy’s push into depths..
Stormy bearhugged him, arm around his neck, pulling him back, while shoving into his depths.
“Fuck…take me,” Stormy uttered as he shook and jerked against Catfish while pumping his load into him.
Dog lay on the bed trying to focus on the movie. But he kept looking at the light spilling out of the bathroom. The sound of the shower running seemed to cancel out the sound of the television. It was all he comprehended. Curly had said he needed to shower off. Dog knew how Curly hated to be sweaty, clothes sticking to his skin. He sat up trying to will himself to need to pee. An excuse to go in the bathroom. He knew he couldn’t see anything through the shower curtain, but he would be closer, that much closer to Curly. Curly naked, soaped up, suds cascading down the body, and he tugged at his crotch feeling so aroused he was prepared to tempt fate.
Sometimes you just need to go for what you want, isn’t that right, Dog, Stormy had said during dinner. He didn’t know what made Stormy say that, but he began to wonder if it was true. Ever since Stormy and Catfish wandered off to the beach, ever since coming into the room he had considered it.
“Fuck it,” Dog uttered as he came to his feet. He tugged off his T-shirt, then dropped his cargo shorts, stepping out of them as he headed to the bathroom. His boxers were tented obscenely revealing how aroused he felt. Curly was about to find out too. He came into the bathroom and stood on the rug by the tub staring at the curtain.
“Dog, is that you?” Curly asked.
“Yeah, its me,” Dog replied, jerking the shower curtain back.
Curly grabbed at his crotch and turned away. But it was too late, for Dog saw the erection and the hand sliding down it mid-stroke. Curly looked over his shoulder, his shocked expression changing, shifting to something else. Then he smiled.
“You want to get in with me?”
“Yes.”
Dog worked his boxers over his erection and let them fall to his feet. He stepped out of them as he climbed into the tub and behind Curly. He turned Curly and pressed him against the wall, took the smooth chin tilting the head up, and leaned down to him. Lips pressed against lips, tentatively at first, then with longing and passion and an urgency neither could control.
Curly pushed Dog to lean back, then turned to face the wall, hands braced on it, feet back a step and spread apart.
“Come on Dog. Do it. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”
“Me too,” Dog replied as he moved to the offered ass. Spread wide and inviting, he pushed his cock down until it aligned with the tight opening. He rubbed it with his cock, up and down, then small circular motions centering on it. He pushed slowly, watching his cock squeeze through the tightness. He felt it too, how the tightness squeezed the head of his cock then seemed to slow stroke his cock. He moaned while pushing another inch into Curly, then another. Curly put his forehead against the wall and pushed back. He watched how Curly pushed back taking every fucking inch. Just pushed until tight to his hips.
“Jesus,” Dog uttered as he held Curly by the waist and began to fuck.
Dog fucked slowly, then so fast and hard, the sound of him banging against Curly’s ass echoed in the room. Then he slowed again, wanting their fuck to last. He didn’t care if Stormy and Catfish came back and caught him and Curly. He would keep fucking, letting them watch if that was what it took to keep going.
Curly felt like he was in a dream, a fantasy of his own making. Dog was in the shower with him, cock buried in his ass, fucking him. He savored the slow fuck, how he could feel every inch of Dog’s long thin cock sink into his depths, then the fast fuck, where Dog banged against his ass, rocking him against the wall. His own cock flopped heavily between his thighs as the sac tightened, drew up tight around the nuts. He was so fucking close he knew it wouldn’t be long.
Dog lay against his back, the warm chest rubbing against his skin as hips ground against his ass pushing cock as deep as Dog could get it. A hand took his cock and stroked it, rubbing over the drooling head making him shudder. With the hand stroking him and cock working his depths, he stood straight, threw his head back and pushed hips outward. Then he came. His cock flexed with every ejaculation as the fist kept stroking him. It was too much, and he shuddered and jerked with the stimulation. Then Dog pressed him against the wall pinning him between it and Dog’s undulating body. Hips banged against his ass, then slammed against it pushing him harder against the wall as Dog shuddered with release.
Sunday arrived with drizzling rain. Most tourists were disappointed because there would be no going to the beach that day. But in two of the rooms of the inn, the four boys barely noticed the weather. They had switched up, Dog with Curly and Catfish with Stormy. The universe righting itself, placing them in the correct coupling.
They spent all morning in each other’s embrace, coming out for a late lunch, then spent the afternoon laying around in one room until their horniness sent them back to their separate rooms to tire themselves out.
Liam drove while Oliver flipped through the radio channels looking for something other than preachers and country music. He looked over at him, wondering how he found himself with the life he had wanted. He was still a mechanic at Jim Roberts’ shop but had become a partner when Jim’s son took off for college with no plan on returning. Oliver had taken over the bait and tackle shop, his mother having met someone who swept her off her feet and took her down to Mobile. Oliver had been happy for her and happier still to take over the shop and make changes to improve sales. He even put in a small deli and hired the Emerson girl from across the street to operate it during the lunch hours.
Oliver found an old rock station, one coming from Destin, their destination, and leaned back watching the stand of pines flash by, the rigid rows blurred with Liam’s pushing over the speed limit as everyone did.
“Did Thomas tell you his mother came down to see him and Ben?” asked Oliver.
“No. Seriously? So, she is no longer all hell fire and brimstone about Thomas and Ben being together?”
“I guess not.”
“It was tough on all our parents,” Liam uttered in a low voice remembering the reaction when they told his parents, then Oliver’s mom.
“We knew it would be rough, but Thomas’ mother did just freak the fuck out.”
“And went to that church of hers telling everyone her son was a faggot.”
“That was cruel,” Oliver whispered as he looked out the side window.
Liam understood what Oliver meant and he let a silence fill the Tahoe, settle into a calm around them.
“Does Ben have to work this weekend?” Liam asked as he maneuvered the left turn in Florala to stay on 331.
“No, the shop is closing on Saturdays. His boss said he was sick of working six days a week.”
Liam drove past Lake Jackson catching glimpses of it through the yards that backed up to it. He knew somewhere across the middle of it was the imaginary line for marking the break between Alabama and Florida. One more turn to stay on 331 and they would be across that line, back in Florida for the first time since last February.
Liam looked over at Oliver. More mature, now twenty, soon to be twenty-one. He was no longer Catfish, a silly nickname from their youth they had clung to defiantly for far too long. When they were with Ben and Thomas, it felt different. Like four men who had their own lives and didn’t need to hide anything. Four men who were gay, and coupled, Ben and Thomas, and Oliver and him. They didn’t need nicknames to create a mask or some false façade. The image of a southern boy, rough and tough, and manly. Names that gave them the ability to get through those years of self-doubt and agonizing fear of being found out. When was the last time one of them had been called by their old nicknames. He tried to remember it, the event right at the edge of his memory.
“Dammit,” Liam uttered with frustration.
“What is it?” asked Oliver.
“I can’t remember.”
“Remember what?”
“When did we stop using those silly nicknames?”
Oliver smiled, then laughed.
“You don’t remember?”
“Was it Ben’s nineteenth birthday party?”
“Close. It was the next weekend when some farmer showed up at the cooperative and laughed at him for being called Dog and started telling him to sit, beg, and roll over.”
“That’s right. It really pissed him off.”
“Ben saw how it hurt Thomas and laid down the law after that. No more nicknames!”
“Ben’s grandmother still calls him Curly.”
“She is allowed,” Oliver replied, looking over smiling. “Now get us to the beach. I’m ready for this vacation to get underway.”