Markwildyr.com,
Post #249
Image Courtesy of Depositphotos
* * * *
THE FARMER AND THE MILLER
I don’t remember a day in my
life without Dillyn. I’m sure there were some, you know, vacations, illnesses,
and the like, but my mom has pictures of us crawling around in the same play
pen and sleeping in one another’s arms.
Our families were next-door
neighbors—still are, by the way—when both our mothers gave birth in the same
month, almost on the same day. I was a day older than Dillyn… or Dil as I’ve
called him for years. He calls me Thew… a habit he hasn’t broken since early
childhood when he couldn’t pronounce Matthew. His last name’s Farmer, and
mine’s Miller. Nowadays, our friends referred to us as the Farmer and the
Miller and claimed you rarely see one without the other. Dynamic Duo, they called
us, although no one’s sure who’s Batman and who’s Robin.
Those roles changed over the
years. Mom said in our playpen days, I was dominant. That remained true
throughout grade school but began to change in our middle school years. Dil started
making decisions formerly left to me. By the time we hit our freshman year, to
my mind he was the boss, although our peers sometimes felt otherwise.
Don’t get the wrong idea. We
were buddies, but not to the exclusion of others. We both had a wide set of
friends, mostly overlapping, not always. For example, I got along with a kid
called Bud, who was universally considered the school sissy. Dil didn’t. He
fraternized with a football bully named Zack, while I couldn’t stand the guy. But
when push came to shove, it was still the Farmer and the Miller.
Our junior year, Dil got a lot
more interested in girls than I did, although I dated and enjoyed female
companionship. To be honest, that was likely because after dates—usually but
not always double dates—I got a kick out of discussing them with Dil in the darkness
of the car parked somewhere quiet. There were lots of near “moments,” but we
always kept our hands away from where they wanted to wander. Dil got as big a
kick out of these late-night talks as I did. I’m sure of that because after a
while, neither of us tried to hide our erections. Of course, we didn’t take
care of them either. Not until each was alone in his own bedroom later… or at
least that’s the way I handled things.
After a while, I noticed
something kind of odd. At the moment I reached orgasm, it wasn’t the date of
the night I envisioned, it was an image of Dil suffering a boner in the car
earlier that night. Whoa. What was going on?
It took until my senior year
to figure that out. I’m a slow learner, sometimes. Book smart, but life but
life dumb. It finally dawned on me I wanted to do something with Dil. Something
personal, intimate. Something I’d never dream of doing with anyone else. I
wasn’t exactly sure of what that was, but it had something to do with us
sitting in a dark car with dongs trying to bust through our trousers.
Okay, problem identified, but
how did I want to satisfy that urge… no, that need? Did I want us to simply
watch one another masturbate? Uh-uh. That wasn’t enough. Did I want to take
care of his erection? Well, yeah, if he’d take care of mine. How? Jerking off
was the obvious answer. But I knew from teen talk there were other ways of
satisfying a guy. But I was afraid of those because of what he might think of
me afterward. But if he reciprocated, wouldn’t we be in the same boat? This
would take some thought. Some planning.
And thought, I did. Not much
planning, but lots of hot, frustrated thinking. And those thoughts and mental
images brought some of the most satisfying orgasms I’d had to date. Those could
be laid squarely at Dil’s door. He was the one claiming my carnal thoughts and
desires. So what could I do about it?
Our after-date discussions in
a dark car parked in private places started to become torture for me. A hundred
times—an exaggeration, I’m sure—I started to touch him. And I did, in fact. I’d
reach for his groin, lose my nerve, and end up gripping his shoulder and saying
something stupid like “hang in there, Dil” or a more bold “I’m here for you,
guy.” I was usually in pain by the time we went home.
One night when we met after our
respective dates, I crawled in Dil’s Dad’s pickup, and figured he had tales to
tell. If he’d borrowed the pickup, which had a camper on the back, that meant he
was pretty sure he’d score. As soon as I settled in the seat, I knew it hadn’t
happened.
“Man, I almost got there
tonight,” he groaned. “I was this close! When she put her hand on me, I knew it
was gonna happen.”
“But it didn’t.” I hoped my
elation didn’t show.
“Everything but! Man, I hurt.
I need to poke something.”
“So take care of it.” I think
a dare hid in my voice.
“Right now?”
“Why not? I’ve seen you naked
in the boy’s locker lots of times.”
He glanced down at himself.
“Not like this.”
I laughed. “Dil, how many
nights have we sat in a car like this eyeballing one another’s hard-ons? Slide
your jeans down and take care of it.”
“Not… not unless you do too.”
I reached for my belt. “Not a
problem.”
“Not here,” he said. “In
back.”
When I followed him into the
camper, I knew how confident he’d been about getting in his date’s pants. An
air mattress and blankets cushioned the hard steel bed. He even had pillows. I
started to make a smart-ass remark, but Dil was already spread out and shoving
his britches down around his ankles. His impressive manhood reached for the sky
and pulsed, announcing it was ready for action.
Now that my moment had arrived,
I didn’t know what to do.
“Come on,” Dil said,
impatience evident.
I made sure the door was
latched and scooted over beside him to do what I’d always wanted, I took him in
hand.
“Man, that feels good,” he
said. He pushed me away to kick out of his trousers and shuck his shirt. “You
too. You promised.”
“Yeah, sure.” In a moment, I
was as naked as he was, my need as evident as his.
“Good boner, bro,” he said,
grasping me.
I almost fainted from sudden
elation. “Oohhh.” I think that came from me. I grabbed him and started flailing
away. After a few moments, he said up.
“That’s not… what I wanted.”
“What do you want?”
“What does Bud do for you?”
“Bud? What do you mean, what
does he do for me. He doesn’t do anything for me. We’re casual friends, that’s
all.”
“I always figured he… you
know, took care of you.”
“Never.”
“Well, jerking off’s not what
I need.” With that announcement, he crawled on top of me and started hunching
my belly. Felt sort of good… in an odd way.
“Better,” he said, his cheek
on mine, his lips at my ear. “But not quite right. Turn over and let me spoon
against you.”
“Dil, I don’t wanna—”
“I know,” he panted. “I won’t,
but just wanna see how it feels.”
Obediently, I turned on my
side, and I had to admit his hard, buff body spooned against me felt good.
Better than anything ever had. He began moving, and that felt good as well. He
reached around and took me in hand, and that felt even better. After a few
minutes of pure heaven, he paused to move a way a bit, and then a hot poker
rammed my insides.
“Oh!” I yelled, struggling to
move away. But he held me tight and continued to move against me.
“Oh, yeah!” he said with
feeling.
After a minute, the pain
subsided and I echoed his feelings.
Ohhh, yeahhh!”
*.*.*.*.
Does this remind
anyone of some incident in his/her life? Bring back memories of days gone by? I
can think of one such moment in my life… well, it was similar, at any rate. Enough
so that I’ll relive it tonight.
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Now my
mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!
See you later.
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