markwildyr.com, Post #80
|Courtesy of Pixabay|
In the last post, I said I thought Patrick was losing ground because Dev only asked two things… to see it and touch it. By the time we left them, Dev was 1 for 0. But Patrick’s still putting up a strong fight. Let’s see how this ends.
Friday and Saturday nights did not go as planned. I got snockered—really, really snockered—with a couple of buddies at a roadhouse on the highway that winked at the law and let kids in. Sara Sue and I didn’t really have a date Friday, but she’d expected to at least hear from me, and I didn’t even think of it until I was sitting on the milking stool Saturday morning all sick and hung over. I think dad knew what ailed me, but he held his tongue. Mom was damned suspicious.
As you can imagine, Saturday night was nothing to shout about. I took Sara Sue to the movies, but all I got out of it was the pleasure of spending twenty dollars on her and enduring a five-minute lecture and a three-hour frost. Shit! I’d of had more fun with Devon Hartshorn! Where the hell did that thought come from?
As soon as Dev slammed the truck door behind him Monday morning, he turned to me eagerly. “Are we going swimming today, Patrick?”
Damnation! Had he spent the whole weekend thinking about my cock? “Probably.”
Dev pitched in as though would come around quicker if he worked harder. When we drove to the little grove sheltering the pool, he only ate half of his lunch and then sat staring at me until I gave up.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said. By the time I was stripped, he was buck naked and dancing from one foot to the other in excitement.
“Can I now? Can I? Please, Patrick?”
“Go ahead,” I said, opening my stance and planting my fists on my hips.
Timidly, he put a finger to the head of my dick. When I didn’t react, he grew bolder, placing his palm flat against me. Damned if my pecker didn’t stir a little. Then he grasped it in his fingers and fiddled for a minute. I was about to brush his hand away when he spoke.
“How come the hair on your head’s yellow, but the hair down there’s kinda brown?”
“That’s the way blonds are, I guess.”
“Blonds. Is that what you are, Patrick?” Without waiting for an answer, he added, “It’s a nice one. I like it. I like it a lot, but I don’t know how to do it!”
That stumped me. “Do what?”
“Well,” he said slowly, “I just pull mine back and push it up again. You don’t have nothing to push and pull.”
Realizing he was speaking of my lack of a foreskin, I brushed his hand aside. “I said you could touch it, Dev. I didn’t say you could do anything else.”
“But can you do it? Can you make it spit up? You know, like when it feels so good that the stuff comes out … not pee-pee, but the white stuff.”
“I know what you mean,” I answered, turning away and marching into the water before he saw I was getting hard. “And yes, it can spit up. It can spit up real good!”
“I’ll bet it can. Can I see?”
“Please! I don’t see how it can since you don’t have—“
“It can!” I snapped and sank to the gravel bottom of the brook. He splashed in and sat beside me.
“Patrick, are you mad at me? Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m… not,” I said, realizing I had a full-blown erection. Shit! I hoped he couldn’t see it through the water.
Angry at myself for reacting, mad at Sara Sue for acting shitty just because I got drunk and ignored her, and frustrated at dealing with this simple, good-looking fucker, I lay back in the water. Unfortunately, I didn’t take into account its buoyancy, and my middle floated to the top. I didn’t intend for that to happen… I don’t think.
“Patrick!” I heard his excited yelp. “It’s big. It’s hard and sticking up like you want to feel good. Can I make you feel good?”
Without answering, I stood and followed my erection back up the embankment. Dev trailed along behind me. I sopped away the water with one of the towels I’d brought and tossed the other one to him. Dev was too excited to dry himself, he just stood in front of me, wide eyes fastened to my hard cock, his own beginning to swell impressively.
We stood examining one another for a long minute, before I sprawled on the blanket we’d used for a picnic cloth. He sat beside me, pressing me flat on my back with a broad hand on my chest. I knew what would happen next but was helpless to prevent it.
Dev’s work-hardened hand clasped me in a gentle grip. “Oh, Patrick! It’s beautiful!”
The thought of a cock as beautiful wouldn’t scan, but it sure did feel beautiful when he ran his fist up and down it. His other hand gently cupped my balls. I closed my eyes and surrendered.
Before long, he gave a snort of frustration. “I can’t do it right, Patrick, ‘cause it don’t have a skin to slide up and down. Oh, I know!”
My verbal assurance that he was doing just fine died in my throat as his lips closed over me. I lost what little power of resistance that remained. I remember wondering who was taking advantage of whom before I was lost in mental blast of a bottle rockets and firecrackers and sparklers.
I thought so. Dev’s hit a home run and left Patrick gasping in the dust.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.