“Because they’re bossy. They gang up and run the show. If they told you to get out here, then shut up and hit the road.”
“Call Mom, tell her you don’t need help. Please?”
“I will not cross your mother. Get out here and call me from Grande’s.” Hung up before he could whine any further.
* * * *
Our family has a system of rehousing family during crises. Not sure if it’s about preservation of life or kid-free time to watch telenovelas and tipple. They pair youngers with older members living elsewhere until the calamity passes.
The women hold state-wide conference calls, discussing the worst that could happen in a natural disaster. Imagined kin impaled on fence posts, snake bit, shot by looters and their dead bodies, abandoned and rotting in treetops or washed asea. No last rites; lost to hell. The gals were descriptive and highly creative tacticians. We silently followed orders. No way to argue against all the “what ifs.”
With four children, Sis used to send Junior here, but he’s old enough to go to his grandparents. Another storm in the gulf and this time she sent Christian. Chris just got his driver’s license, drove his dad’s truck.
Several dry creek beds, ran across my acreage. Through the centuries, floods carved the rock away leaving as an efficient drainage system. When Cibolo Creek flooded, get out of the way, the water runs full and fast then recedes quickly. The Cibolo was about a kilometer south of my home. I’d need an ark if it ever got high enough to flood my home.
* * * *
Right after Chris headed for my place, Sis called me again. “Chris needs some advice.”
“Advice?” No parenting experience, “Where’s his dad?”
“Middle East for now, then back to the Pacific. It’s personal, he won’t tell me. Do your best, I know you love him.” She hung up; they were packing to evacuate.
* * * *
Flat, boring drive from Corpus Christi to Freer; my nephew was nearer by the moment. Texted Grande’s for supplies, got out a few extra blankets.
Chris called from Grande’s, sent me a photo of the bags lined up in his truck. “Good. Go fill your tank and get a half-gallon of ice cream—don’t let it melt on the way.”
Stood at the window, looking out at the clouds, “The kid probably needs the talk on drugs, alcohol and being respectful to the girls no matter how goofy they act.” I could handle that.
* * * *
I heard rocks hitting the undercarriage. He pulled in the garage as dark clouds hung low in the eastern sky.
“Dang, boy. You getting’ too big.” He’d grown at least several inches since I’d last seen him. Handsome boy, took after his father. Pale skin with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. “Grab the ice cream.”
“The house looks great, too bad I’ll only be here a few days.”
“Stay as long as you like.” Meant that.
“Let’s get the furniture up, get all the photos and junk bagged and labeled.” He looked around. “Do we need to put your computer in the cab of the truck? It’s a category four now.”
Had to laugh, “Forget all that, I built on the highest rise.”
“Where’s Gil?”
“He was out on the rig. I think he’s at his grandparents’—putting the furniture up, getting all the photos and junk bagged.” Gave him a wink.
In the kitchen. “What happened to the trailer house?”
“Sold it. Just finished the plaster and mortar in August. Wait till you see the bath.” After years of research I designed and build my own adobe, spacious, and functional.
“Hungry?”
“Not yet.” He brought his bag, “Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“Anywhere you like.”
He came back, “I guess that’s your guest room, but the bathroom looks regular.”
“Later. Let’s go take pics of the Cibolo before the storm.” I grabbed a 40D nail and hammer from the garage. Winds had picked up, cooler now; clouds closer.
Behind the wheel of the dune buggy, Chris tore down the old dirt road with me grabbing the roll bar, “Don’t flip us!”
* * * *
He pulled into the stream, shallow but running faster with a ribbon of cloudy water. Already getting upstream runoff. I jumped out and made him stand near a rock outcropping across the creek,
“How tall are you now?” Hammered the nail into a crack in the rock at his height.
“Five-five.”
“I’ll put twenty on getting more than five and a half feet of water.”
“You think?” He thought for a minute. “My twenty says it’ll run off as fast as it comes.”
* * * *
Back at the house, “Bring your clean clothes and come with me.”
I took him through the master bedroom into my bath. Opened the door and stepped outside. I didn’t roof the master bath, only three white-washed walls each with a small window. Walls blocked the winds, and since the winters only went down to a comfortable cool, I kept it open to the sky. No need for towels, simple, clean, primitive motif.
Installed strip of solar water heaters on the ledge above the walls, sink and mirror in the corner, shower with a hose. Behind a pony wall, a Swedish throne. Pebble-tiled floor, all I had to do was hose out down when the spiders or scorpions came to drink.
“Let’s get cleaned up. Pull my boots.” Chris tugged my boots off and left.
Heard the TV as I dressed. Got my laptop and joined him.
* * * *
Storm barreled toward the coast—New Iberia to Padre Island would be flooding soon; surge predicted. Around mid-afternoon, I called him into the kitchen, “Ice cream?” He grabbed a box of cookies from the cabinet. We sat in front of the house, watching the lightning strikes in the distance. Darker by the moment, temperature had dropped around ten degrees already.
“Did my mom tell you to talk to me?” He opened the conversation for me.
“She mentioned it. What’s going on?”
He was getting bullied at school—my sis told him to ignore it. That didn’t work. I explained that bullying happens all over, “Sometimes I get it on the job but not much. Could get you a record for harassment so stay off the social media with any comments. Best avoid the problem kids, but keep all the records of every insult. Might have to prove yourself innocent.”
“They call me ‘greaser,’ wet back,’ ‘fesskin.’ All the racial stuff.”
“Ignorant jerks. Texas used to be Mexico. If you want to finish school in Coahuila with Ruth and Buzz, I’ll take you down.”
“Another religious school?”
“Yep, but unless you learn online, you’ll hit the same problems in any school. Human nature.”
He didn’t say anymore. Lightening striking closer ahead of the clouds. Then we heard the hissing of hail on the solar collectors. We watched from the doorway, “Okay. Guess I better give you the drug and alcohol lecture….”
“Got drunk once, that was enough. Don’t want any drugs, lost a friend to it already.”
“Anything else?” Felt somewhat foolish.
Took quite a while, “There’s this priest, Father Francisco.” He began, looking toward the horizon. Seemed he didn’t have the words to say more.
“Better not be messing with you.”
“Nah. He’s a nice guy.” Whispered, then a lengthy silence.
“You want to become a priest or teach at the school?” Sis wanted her kids to be doctors or lawyers, professionals. Church doesn’t pay well.
Leaned near. “Father Francisco. I like him too much.”
“How can you like someone too much?” Thought to myself, then realized what he meant.
“I didn’t tell Mom. Not because she’d be angry, but she wouldn’t understand—unchristian love and all.” He glanced at my eyes, red-faced as he adjusted his briefs and pulled up the priest’s photo on his phone and stared at it.
“Unchristian love?” That sounded like an oxymoron, “Happens to everyone.”
“But he’s a man.”
“So? Lots of boys have crushes on pop stars, actors.” Turned to him, “It’s like this, kids get a lot of affection when they’re little, and adults expect they don’t need as much as they grow up. We all need love and affection, all our lives—this is a tough old world. Most people give themselves imagined affection, can’t always have what you want in real life; everyone has fantasies.”
Advising isn’t hard, “Body matures, mind matures and your needs mature. Good thing personal fantasies are free.”
“Unchristian love for a priest twenty years older than me? That’s gotta make me sick—nuts.”
“Then so is Gil.”
“Gil’s sick?”
“Gil prefers older men. He found me and I found a good man to love. I don’t think it’s sick.”
“Mom never says it out loud, but Dad calls you a fairy.” He glanced away.
“They all know why I’m not married.” Thought about all the unspokens among our clan. There were plenty. Not easy talking about being gay in a devout family—couldn’t get banished, but chilled thoroughly. “I want more ice cream.”
When we were both in the kitchen, I called Gil. “Do you remember Christopher? My sis sent him to help.”
Chris turned and smiled at my phone.
“Hey, Gil.” He blushed being put on the spot.
“Candy-boy.” Gil chuckled, “Hey to you, too.”
“Where are you?” I asked Gil.
“Outside Palacious with my great aunt. We’re evacuating to Victoria. Truck’s loaded, she’s loading her cats.”
“When did you leave the rig?”
“Last night. Cleared out just in time. Gotta go.”
* * * *
Chris and I ate quietly. Last few rays of sun shot the sky almost green with bent-light through the window by the breakfast nook. “Call your mom. Let her know we’re okay.”
When I came back, he was on the phone with his mom, they were going to evacuate to Beeville.
“She’ll call later.”
“Make yourself comfortable.” I went off to the bedroom, threw a blanket over the bed, lay down, watched the weather channel. Heard Chris turning out the lights, he came to my room. “Find everything you need?”
He lay beside me in his boxers and tee shirt, pulled the blanket over his legs. “Yeah, I like this house, roomy. Quiet.”
Turned the TV off and grabbed a box from the closet. That “fairy” term was still on my mind along with Father Francisco taking space in Chris’ mind. These photos could offer some strength from our past.
“You never knew your great grandfather Carlo.” I rummaged around through the oldest sepia photos. Found one of Carlo with a friend before he married, Carlo held another man in a tender embrace.
“He started with a wildcatter, worked the rigs around Stanton. Repaired pumps, the old horsehead set-ups. He started me in geology. Taught me about the land.”
“Mom said that he was stronger than most of the men in our family. She said he joked all the time.”
“That was Carlo.” I loved my grandfather, worshipped him. Remembered his smell, huge biceps, thick thighs, muscled chest. He was strong, had more courage than muscle.
* * * *
“Grandad Carlo had a length of rebar he bent on the end. Used to catch rattle snakes around the neighborhood. Always brought an old burlap bag to the roundups and had the longest or heaviest snake alive inside the bag. Nothing on the desert frightened him—he laughed at what scared the other men.” More than that, my abuelo Carlo defied convention, went up against all he’d been taught. His courage I cherished, it came wrapped in the smell of machine oil, piñon and sweat.
Chris shuffled through the old photos. “What did you remember the most?” He examined a picture of my grandfather with me on one of his broad shoulders. “His muscles?”
Moving near him, “Everything. His humor. His smell, his taste. Really miss him. Those were the best days of my life.”
He studied my face for a while.
“He told me a loving man was stronger than other men. Love involves risks and hones your headship.”
“Headship?”
“Holding authority in your life, knowing yourself and what you’re about.”
We looked through the photos until I glanced over at him while I explained about the old house. Chris was asleep. Pulled the blanket over him and watched his chest moving gently with breaths, and his eyes flinching as they moved in dreams. Teen shaft was straining to lift the blanket.
* * * *
Looked through the box and found the photo of Carlo when he was young, rugged face, bronze skin, he’d be a model these days. Give my life to go back to that time yet he ordered me to leave for Austin. Quietly, I reached under the bed and pulled out an old gym bag and took it to the garage with the photo.
Heavy rain beat the roof creating a low roar behind me as I opened the hood of the dune buggy, took a long inhale of oil and grease smells, placed the gym on the wheel housing. With my left foot on the iron bumper, I dug through the gym bag, pulled out and lubed a hefty dildo, took a deep breath, “Carlo, I love you.”
Head of the lubed dildo, I rubbed it on my cleft, thinking of Carlo’s fingers and his incredible cock. Pushed. My heartrate increased as the muscles and skin stretched along my cleft, around my asshole. That specific discomfort ushered pleasure; body trembled.
Grandfather started me early. Kissed me, held me; loved me. Told me that before I knew much of love. I was still so unknowing, confused and trusting. So young.
We had several hours every Saturday afternoon while the family went to mass. Those hours were my life, I lived to be part of him.
At first, he took me behind an abandoned house to look for snakes.
Cold silicone warmed inside me.
Taught me how to kiss him—I always associated kissing with the smell of mesquite that grew close by. As I grew, I compared my body with his; he explained everything about me in specific detail. Easily picked me up to kiss me, hold me against him dance to the music on the radio from his old truck, making up Spanish words to the songs and laughing; the feel of his chest vibrating against mine excited me.
I recall the stripes of limestone on the distant buttes, imagined the depth of the old oceans over his shoulder when he stroked me, sucked my short rod, skimpy balls. Slimy algae and microbes; death that turned to petroleum; the aroma that scented his clothes. Smells from his body and the earth made my life, my body, my changes mesh smoothly. Rocking like the tides in the motion of his body in mine, rough hands tugging, pushing and his soft, warm words on my neck. Rough, thick hands on my nalgas.
Pushed further, glancing stroke along the place he taught me to enjoy so deeply. Full.
Under that mesquite tree, I kissed his body, tasting his sweat, musk, smell of his pits; my young mind couldn’t imagine anything richer. Well, until his fingers entered me. Slowly, gently through the weeks, another finger, more kisses to my growing limbs, my groin, and my ticklish places.
Wasn’t sure what he was talking about, not exactly, when Carlo said I was old enough to feel something “encantando.” Took that to mean something mystical was going to happen at when I was thirteen.
Fingers sneaked into my butt while he sucked me. Enchanting, it was, but more overwhelming.
Soon, I couldn’t get enough of him. All the attention my skinny, and too often ignored body wanted. Unnamed cravings defined themselves, then they were satisfied. His dick shoved even more of his love inside me, again and again. Overflowed with his semen, rinsed into the desert sands.
Tears fell as I pushed, pulled and thought of Carlo’s dark, veined cock, heavy sac, black bush and, the wonderment of hurt calling me to take more of him. What I needed was just beyond the sting, building with every shove, every rub. Aimed the silicone to bring more of the memory of Carlo forward. If he could only come back, if I could only go back. One more time….
Jizz shot ovrr the steering box, firewall, suspension. Half-satisfied, relieved and melancholic, I felt the emptiness, took my toys to the kitchen, rinsed.
Couldn’t put the memory of him away.
* * * *
Went back to bed considering that Carlo shaped my queerness in his way. He must have known I was queer. Never questioned why he did it what he did, or even wanted to ask. It was our time together, kept between us.
No one ever said it out loud, didn’t have to. “Prohibition by education” masked my difference. I lived my life like my brothers and sisters—modest, calm-natured. Had all the celebrations, family life continued.
“Stay focused on your studies.” Carlo repeated to me often. That meant I was given reign to bypass flirting and dating girls in my drive toward the university.
Kept my hours with Carlo every week until I left for UT. The last few Saturday afternoons, I was allowed to pleasure him and loved him even more; went to campus as a completed man, complete with an empty heart. Still a moderate, modest man, I didn’t miss much, those days most kids partied, I held high grades, found work assisting my professors on campus.
Graduated, got hired with a petroleum company. Loud, brash, foolish men I worked alongside. Only worked a year with them. Other men took too many stupid risks. Looked around outside the oil companies and began with a mining group. All the new computers and satellite information came along. I had a good background, plenty of education, my own consulting company was soon established.
Built my home here in the desert to remember the smells, the heat and the colors so much a part of Carlo.
* * * *
Cool night, I covered the boy with another blanket, stared out the dark window, winds were still howling, rain pounded the glass. Silent threads of lightening jumped toward the horizon for only a second lighting the land. Fell asleep with the boy close, thinking of how beautiful he was in his youth, perfect. In his difference, he was vulnerable, more so than other boys.
Carlo must have thought the same of me.
* * * *
Next morning, I got Chris up early, chorizo and eggs by the window. Embodying the spirit of Carlo, his courage, and his smile, “Do you think you’re homosexual?” I asked him, buttering the toast and acting like it was perfectly normal conversation at six in the morning.
Chris was a forthright boy, “Not completely sure. I don’t want to be because it’s a hassle—lot of discrimination, more bullying. If I don’t play around with the girls, the other kids’ll call me fag. If I go out with girls, well, that’s okay but I don’t want to. Is there a gay test?”
“Never heard of one. Being gay is like a perspective, a state of being. Feels natural for me, it’s who I’ve always been.”
“How did you first know?” He brought more coffee.
Carefully and honestly, I explained, “Somehow Carlo knew before I did. Come out? I was led on a narrow path toward him, then to the world. He loved me while I realized what I was, made me feel I was still everything I was meant to be. I guess, well, I know he made sure I knew loving another man was going to be my normal. Hard to tell you how much I loved Carlo.”
“You got lucky.” He watched my face as my eyes filled with tears.
“Very fortunate, but I paid a price. Didn’t have much social life, missed a lot of good times.”
* * * *
Chris explained all the information he’d found online, had more reading material than I had. Life experience? None, but baby oil, handle of a screwdriver and his hands.
We went to a few websites about letting people know you’re gay, watched a few videos.
To Chris it came down to this: Coming out to his mom was okay, to his brothers and sisters was probably okay, but not at church or school where he spent most of his time. The potential ramifications, he felt would either make or break him. He considered switching schools to avoid harassment, bullying and the potential for harm yet there would be bullies at the next school. Instinctively he knew his father wouldn’t accept him. Gay kids don’t live safe lives.
“Is Gil coming?”
“Why do you keep asking about him?”
“He’s got family in Carrizozo, right?”
“Sure, his whole family’s been there for generations. Why?”
“I want to study at the Southern Rift, out of NMSU—Las Cruces.” New Mexico State University has a program for students studying geology, but Chris wanted to go into Geo-paleontology. Devised a plan to dig and study along the rift, from the Rio Grande Rift in northern New Mexico, southward into Mexico. “Maybe he’ll take me down to Las Cruces, I want to see the campus.”
Glad to know Chris was going into geology, well, partially. “We’ll get you to campus when he comes back.” My brain hit the brakes, “Can’t you study here in Texas?”
“Most of the programs are focused on petroleum. I want to study more than that, start specializing as soon as I can.” He looked me in the eye, “If I get myself established as a professional first, then people will accept me more easily. I’ll already have their respect, like you.”
“And between now and then, you plan on staying a loner? What, six, eight years? Become a rock-nerd, a prehistory monk? What about being young and enjoying life, meeting friends, traveling? You know, this hiding your homosexuality feels like you’re lying. Not a real lie, but you’re misleading people, especially your family.”
“Isn’t that what you and Gil do?”
Uncomfortably honest statement, “The clouds are lighter. Let’s go back to the creek—see how high the water is.” Went crabwise with that.
* * * *
Mud and rocks flew down the dirt road, plants were already greener soaking up the unexpected deluge. Stopped forty feet away from the Cibolo, muddy water rushed as I grabbed my phone and took some photos. Water ran at about two, maybe three feet higher.
Chris walked into the shallows, jeans darkening with the rushing water, up to his calves, his knees, he leaned over. Reached deep swirls, he grabbed something, looked at it, then stuffed it in his pocket. Grabbed another handful for the other pocket as I turned the jeep around and headed back to the house with him, sky darkening.
* * * *
I started a pot of pozole while Chris cut and flattened old brown paper bags, carefully laying them on the table. He emptied his pockets in circles he drew on the bags and left to get cleaned up. Hoped he wasn’t going to eat the sand and pebbles.
Corn tortillas were cooking and the soup was bubbling when he returned in my bathrobe carrying a magnifying glass. “All sand is different, like fingerprints.”
Ate dinner while examining petrified clams, sand and crud from the creek. I could identify some of the crystalline structures, mica. Most of the dots he was interested in were tiny, smaller than the head of a pin.
He drew a tiny circle, put a minute fossilized, one-week old clam in it and handed me the magnifying glass. There was a perfectly formed shell. He knew all kinds of things about the calcium levels in the shells of the tiny animals and the soils. Said you could figure out how long the ocean bed was in place by the content of minerals in different places. “I can generate a map no one’s ever seen before and watch how it sifts by collecting samples….”
He was right. No wonder he wanted to go into this odd field. Using all the new computer equipment with evidence from the hot, barren deserts he could map of what the area looked like before dinosaurs. Valuable info for the drillers and miners—incredibly valuable.
* * * *
While he washed the dishes, I went to the shower, still damp from the trip to the creek. Stripped down, I showered in a light mist, enjoying the warm water in cool air. Hadn’t bothered to turn on the light. Soaped, showered, felt good. Bumped into an equally naked Chris at the door.
He liked the cool air and drizzle. Showered, glistening in the dim light.
“What’s this short wall for? Stubbing your toes?” He grabbed his shampoo.
“That’s happened a few times.” I hesitated, “Gil leans over and I—well, I rinse him before we have sex. Like foreplay with the shower hose.”
Still naked, he went to his room, I heard the hair dryer, then he came back, “I’m sleeping here.”
I moved over, handing him the remote, “See where the storm landed.”
Handed it back, “Let’s watch porn.” Bold.
Found the listings and handed it back to him, “Pick what you want.”
I got those old photos out again and looked through them, photos of my Carlo. Men grunted and pumped on the screen, the boy excused himself for a few minutes, I chuckled when he brought his bandana. “Enough.” He turned it off, “Tell me more about Carlo.”
“You want to know what we did together, right?”
A grin was his answer. He snuggled close, looking through the photos, “He was more like a friend than a grandfather, well, we were lovers. Lovers in our way.”
“He was married.”
“Carlo never explained that, I didn’t ask.” Shuffling through the photos for the ones I liked.
“Did he show you—you know… sex?”
In summary, I explained the affection, stressing the tenderness. Maybe my breathing gave me away, my stubborn erection needed strokes when I thought about Carlo. I moved the box to cover it. Chris was playing with his tool with one hand, examining photos with the other.
Droning on about reciprocating plunger pumps to cool myself, Chris came beside me and kissed my cheek. “Show me what Carlo did.”
“You may need to know the equipment, valves, pumps…”
“Not tonight–not that kind of pump. Show me what he did.”
As I put my arm around his shoulders, I called on the spirit of Carlo, “Make me as good as you were,” I prayed. Grabbed the remote and found my favorite station, ballads.
Took that boy’s smooth hand in mine and pulled him against me, swaying to the music. That didn’t work out well with two hard dicks between us. Got too sticky too quick.
The boy’s hand went to my rod, he began jerking. “Aren’t you supposed to be shy, you know, a little embarrassed about being naked with your uncle?”
“Why? I got a great cock compared to the other guys, almost as big as yours. What’s embarrassing about that?” Young rod stood straight up, drop on the tip, balls holding the promise of fullness. Damn, he was beautiful, only a handful of hairs on his smooth groin.
“You ever heard about consent?”
He flicked my foreskin, tugged a pinch of pubes, and went down on one knee, taking my shaft in his hand, tickling his tongue at my slit,” I’m legal and this looks like consent to me.” Glanced at my leaking rod.
Being railroaded wasn’t so bad, I let him suck and lick. Couldn’t take my entire rod and I didn’t push. Looking down at him, touching his hair, his smooth face, I had to push him away, “Hold up there—we ain’t in Dallas yet.”
Took him to bed, “Carlo never rushed. Do you want to know what we did, or go back to the porn on fast forward?”
He wrinkled his nose, pulled me to the bed. Lay alongside me. Hands went to groins. Always good, a different touch…. Lotta juice down there, felt good. Smelled great, I was getting ready to lose it. Checked myself, hips pulled back, “Wait up.” Almost didn’t stop soon enough.
Shoved his shoulder back, moved and began sucking his nipples, tugging on his nuts. Rubbed my face on the smooth skin of his chest, as he wriggled squirmed. New sensations to him. I felt droplets of liquid on my cheek. Bandana called into action; he was breathing hard. “What else did Carlo show you?”
On his back, I licked and kissed my way downward, lightly salted with the smell of clean skin. “Mmm.” Nestled myself between his legs, he drew his knees up. Had to move his hands away from his rod, he was ready to pop off again. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Not polite. Gotta get in synch with the man loving you.” Kissed his fingers. “This is what Carlo taught me.”
When I began rubbing and sucking those hairless nuts, his hips began humping. Made me super hard thinking of my target. “Slow down,”
“Don’t think I can.” Bandana flew by my eyes, lost control again.
“Are you going to be still?” Tried sounding firm. My rod that needed distraction.
“I’m really trying.” He whined, wiped. “Promise I am.” He sighed a few times, calmed himself and lay still, one knee still cocked up.
Continuing to enjoy those sweet nuts with my tongue, nose at the base of his rod, I flicked it back and forth a few times. Got a good whiff of teen-cum and anticipation. Pressed behind his balls, letting him know where I was going.
Middle finger reached his hole. I rubbed gently, slipped my other hand butt cheek, opened him slightly. “Feel that?”
“More.” Wiry thigh broke a sheen of sweat on my cheek.
“Wait—good part’s coming.”
Thought it best get on with this, his balls almost disappeared, pulling up for another cum. Got to my knees, lay his knees over my forearms, “This is what you want?” Had to hear him say it. My rod bounced, more than ready and dripping.
“Hurry.”
“Why?” Had to chuckle.
Rubbed my thick glans on his hole, wondering how long this would take. Small aperture; man-sized shaft poised for penetration. Glans flattened against his tight hole, squeezing more lube out of me. No lingering to watch that fun, I was on a mission.
Now I could have been more instructive at that point, but something inside me wanted to watch his face when it happened. How did I measure up next to the handle of his screwdriver? Made a little circle with my juice prepping us, “Ready?”
Saw his pulse thumping wildly on his neck. “Hurry.” Whispered this time.
“Carlo, forgive me.” I thought and with one fast, burning shove, I was in. Stopped. Chris was breathing fast, panting. Watching his tender face, he appeared frightened, then I felt him trying to push me out, away. “Not yet. Wait.” When he looked into my face, I smiled. “It gets better.” Fingers went to his hole to feel his muscle stretched around me. Tight skin caught by tighter skin. Felt good.
Arms were tired as I watched him settle into meat-stuffed relief. Lay on him, listening to his heartbeat. Rested for a few moments. Caught by his tight muscle, I began working myself further inside. Little spit, little movement; he moaned. Couldn’t feel it, but heard him gasp and felt him hunch when I came to the place he wanted me. Cock memorized the location.
Slowly, I teased him. He closed his eyes, turned his face to the side, “More.” Moved my hips changing the angle of my cock inside him. Gripped inside his small channel, felt his heartbeat inside him. Bright boy, he moved his hips, grabbed me at my hipbones. “More.”
Slipped into high gear, our eyes locked and he folded himself harder, exposing his rump fully. Didn’t stop. Decided this moment was mine and headed toward my ecstasy-state as fast as I could. He watched, couldn’t tell what he was feeling, he moved again and groaned. Had to ignore that as my skin heated, face burned, and those smooth few seconds of release coming. Kept pumping hard, deep, throwing aside every thought as I shoved deep empty inside him. A few more strokes and I couldn’t take any more. Semen wouldn’t stop coming… Then to a dribble, droplets….
Lay my head on his chest in a puddle of his cum. Sound of his heartbeat finally slowing and the wind whipping the rain against the window crept back into my consciousness. Dick deflated and dropped out with a stream of hot liquid. We didn’t move.
After a while, Chris was snoring. Brought a warm washcloth, cleaned him. Damn, the boy was hard again. Bless his heart, had to smile. Grateful I didn’t have to be a kid again.
* * * *
Woke up by stubbled skin around warm lips kissing me.
“You’re back!” Gil sneaked in the house and was now grinning, looking at Chris sleeping peacefully.
“Playing ‘Carlo’ with the kid?” He sniffed the bed.
“Maybe.” He slipped under the blankets next to me, “We’re going to play ‘Father Francisco’ down by the Cibolo this afternoon.”
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