Cap’n, Cap’n (Part 2 of 2 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #263

 Image Courtesy of Shopify:

 

Today, we conclude the story of Ahab James Chaplain… or Captain, or more commonly Cap’n to his peers.

 He doesn’t like his name, but from the first installment we know that’s not the worst of his problems. He likes his neighbor but succumbs to another former schoolmate. He enjoyed the encounter but wonders why he’s so blue.

* * * *

CAP’N, CAP’N

The next week, our own school break began, and Josh took me by surprise by inviting me to go to the lake with him. Of course, going to the lake had only one connotation to me. The one associated with Hal. That forced me to admit what I’d been denying for a long time. Man, would I like to get together with him. I mean, really get together. He was the sexiest person I’d ever known, but I’d considered him unapproachable. What does the team quarterback need with a dweeb. Well, maybe not a dweeb. I do play soccer and tennis and a little golf. But you know what I mean. He goes out with babes… and from talk around school, he got a few of them too.

“Too late for ice fishing and too early for reel fishing,” I said, having no idea if that was correct or not.”

“Don’t much care if I catch any or not. Just want to get away from everything and everyone for a while. Thought you might like to tag along. I’m gonna pitch a tent and stay for a couple of nights.”

My insides did-flip-flops. Anticipation or dread? I didn’t know. Nonetheless, I said the words. “Sure, why not.”

Monday morning, I tossed my backpack in the trunk of Josh’s Duster, and we headed for the lake twenty-five miles up in the hills. Wasn’t like with Hal, Josh didn’t say much of anything, but it was easy to see he was already enjoying getting out of town. That prompted me to relax a little—lay aside the anxiety over what might or might not happen. I knew one thing for sure. The whole school knew we were going camping for a couple of days. And I wasn’t exactly the natural camping companion for a popular guy like Josh. That would prompt a few questions when we got back. To hell with it. Relax and enjoy the lake. Deal with the other later.

Like Hal, he wanted a secluded place for our campsite, but we worked well together. I’d pitched a few tents on trips with my father and older brother, so I carried my weight. When camp was ready, we strolled down to the lake with old-fashioned fishing poles, and to my surprise, caught enough for our dinner. Josh gutted and cleaned, I cooked.

After a surprisingly tasty dinner of fried fish, biscuits, and beans, we sat around the campfire in the gathering gloom, still not talking much but amazingly comfortable. As the night progressed, he did start to unwind and talk a little about school and coming college and what life might hold in the future. He wanted to be an Air Force fighter pilot. I was still bouncing around between archaeologist and lawyer. The lawyer thing was probably hanging in there because that’s what my dad was.

Sometime late that night, we doused the fire, stripped to our underwear, and got into our sleeping bags. Then everything was quiet and peaceful—well, not completely. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the forest has a sound all it’s own at night. The lake wasn’t big, but sizeable enough so that the water lapped at the shore. A noisy loon to the west kept calling to another to the north. Peaceful.

Except my insides were raging. Here I was lying half-naked beside the hunkiest guy in town, and my roiling stomach wouldn’t let me forget it. I knew he wasn’t asleep. He moved around in his sack a little too much. That brought on another rush of adrenaline. Was he…? Naw, wasn’t that kind of moving around.

I must have lain there for a quarter of an hour before he spoke.

“You asleep?”

“Uh-uh, enjoying the silence too much.”

He gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah, makes you miss all the noise in town.”

“Not much.”

Cap’n… uh, Jimbo. I been wanting to talk to you.”

“I live right next door. Available anytime.”

“Yeah, but the time never seemed right.”

“Now it does?” I asked.

“Yeah, sorta. But I’m having trouble getting started.”

“Spit it out.”

So he did. “You ever think about sex?”

“Only about seventy-five percent of the time”

“Not asking you to tell tales out of school, but do you score?”

I thought of Hal. “Not very often. You?”

Silence… then, “Not as much as I should.”

That caught my interest. “What do you mean?”

Silence again. Longer this time. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Sure. Better’n most I know.”

“I… I…. Oh, crap, I have trouble getting interested with somebody I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, God, I hope you mean it when you say you don’t rat. Truth is, I’ve only got one girl… here at home that is. But when I go on football trips, I get more’n I can handle.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I dunno. Thought maybe you’d know.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Of everyone in town, you keep the kids guessing about your sex life.”

“What you’re saying is you want to know if I’m gay.”

“No, that’s not what I’m asking.” Silence. “Well, maybe.”

“Okay, then I’m not. Well, maybe I am.”

“Which is it?”

“I don’t really know. I… well, I got it on with someone last year. A guy.”

“Yeah, Hal Barton.”

That gave me a start. “He told everybody?”

“Just about.”

“Aw, crap!” I dry-washed my face. “He’s the one who started it.”

“Yeah, he would be. When it comes to sex, he’s a sleazebag. Otherwise, he’s a decent guy.”

As I lay in humiliation, another silence grew. Finally.

“But that’s why I thought you might explain my problem.”

“You hankering for a guy?” I blurted, halfway hopeful, halfway dreadful.

“No. Well… maybe. You see, I don’t seem to have any parameters. If I see a person and find them attractive, doesn’t seem to matter whether they’re a guy or a gal.”

“You saying you’re bi-sexual?”

“Maybe. But it seems different to me. I dunno how to say it, except I don’t have a type. It might be a sexy girl, a he-man guy, a fem guy, a butch girl. It’s just something that clicks in my brain—” He gave an embarrassed laugh. “—or more to the point in my gonads.”

“Have you ever heard of polysexual?”

“Yeah, and omni and poly and all the rest. But I don’t understand them.”

I snickered. “I don’t either. I just know I like Betsy and would like to get into her pants. And,” I added hesitantly, “I really dug what Hal and I did.”

“What did you do?”

“I did him, he did me,” I said, hoping that would be enough.

“Uh….”

Okay, I blew him and he blew me.”

“Did you ever do the other?”

“Uh-uh. Why, you interested?”

He gave a sigh that kinda got me down in the guts. “Maybe, but that’s the rest of my problem.”

“Which is?”

“I might be interested in somebody, but if I know them, then the will isn’t there. With a stranger, it’s okay. Guy or gal, it’s okay. I’m one sick dude.”

“Naw. You’re you with your own wants and don’ts.”

“Does my confession make you look at me differently,” he asked.

“Differently… yeah. Down on you… nah. But you know, somehow I think your problem might be better than mine. I’ve been wanting to get with you for years, but didn’t know how. You know, afraid of losing a friend. You don’t have to worry about that because you only go after strangers. If they’re not interested, no big deal.”

“Doesn’t seem that simple to me.”

I thought for a minute. “You… you wanna try it? No matter how it comes out, nobody has to know.”

“You’d know.” A long, long silence grew, and then, “Okay, I’ll try. No promises, but I’ll try.”

And try he did. He’d get about halfway erect, and then he’d deflate. Me, I about ripped my shorts with the monster I sported.

“You really dig it,” he said, acknowledging that fact.

“With you, I do,” I panted.

At long last, he flopped on his back. “Sorry, just can’t do it.”

“Hell, you can’t” I muttered and came up on him. “Just think of me as a stranger you came up on at the lake and seduced into your tent.”

With that, I went to work. One hand worked at his sac and his butt, the other wandered his really fine chest, while my mouth went to work.

And that did the job. Boy, did that do the job. I’m not sure we got more than an hour’s sleep that night. Every time one of us got it off, the other was ready again. Talk about eighteen-year-old stamina!

Magnificent.

*.*.*.*.

Apparently science is coming around to the view many Native American tribes have held for years. There are many genders out there. Cap’n and Josh are working hard to identify theirs.

 My new anthology, Huntinghawk,was released in February as an Ebook by JMS Books with the print version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! (Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t copyright it. His bad.)

 See you later.

 

 Mark

 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Cap’n, Cap’n (Part 1 of 2 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #262

 Image Courtesy of Shopify:

 

Easter is behind us, spring is upon us, and as I write this, it’s overcast and chilly here in Albuquerque. Yesterday, we were blessed with a little snow, a bit of rain, and a tad of sunshine. What else could you ask?

 Today, we have the first installment of a new story where our protagonist believes he’s figured out who he is but finds things to challenge that conviction. This first installment gives us a peek into our protagonist’s life.

 * * * *

CAP’N, CAP’N

 Josh Bingley called from across the soccer field. “Cap’n, Cap’n! Wait up.”

I hated the name my folks gave me. Family lore said they’d both just finished reading Herman Melville’s Moby Dick when I arrived upon the scene, and so they pronounced me Ahab James Chaplain. For the life of me, I don’t know why. That crusty sea captain was certainly no hero, at least not to my mind. For years, I tried to get people to call me James or Jim, but the community unanimously settled on Ahab. My peers didn’t even bother with the name, they just called me Captain… or more commonly “Cap’n.”

Of course, that wasn’t all that was going south in my life. I’d noticed something lately. Something that convinced me I was more screwed up in the head than I’d originally thought. And that was bad enough before the revelation.

My schoolmate dashed across the street and joined me on the sidewalk.

“Yeah, Josh, wha’cha want?”

What he wanted was to walk home with me. We were next-door neighbors, and had been since grade school. I liked Josh but wished he’d cooperate and call me by my middle name.

As to Josh, himself, what not to like? Tall—couple of inches more than my five-nine—carried about the same as my one-seventy, and was shaped like an athlete.

Weird how some eighteen-year-olds looked like men, and others were still boys. Josh’s shoulders had already spread about as much as they ever would, leaving his back a Vee down to his waist. I was shaped okay, but I’d never match those shoulders and trim hips. Probably a little jealousy there.

He was bright, friendly, a good athlete—football, soccer, basketball, it didn’t matter—and had a great smile with a personality to match. So why did I get testy with him sometimes. That jealousy thing, probably.

He shortened his stride to match mine. “Good play this afternoon.”

He referenced a steal I’d made just before one of the opposing soccer players was about to score.

“Thanks.”

“You’re a good player.”

“Thanks.”

He glanced sideways at me. “But not a very good communicator. What’s the matter?”

I frowned. “In a mood.”

“You’re in them more often than not lately.

“Am I?”

“Getting to be a regular grouch.”

“Hump,” I said, reverting to type.

“So what’s up?”

I stopped dead in my tracks, forcing him to retrace his steps.

“Me,” I said, “except I’m not up, I’m down.”

A frown distorted his features. “Why? What happened?”

I glanced at him, tempted to share my problem. Uh-uh. Way too personal. I’d hid my real self all my adolescent life. Tell him, and he’d blab to everyone. Well, maybe not. He was pretty circumspect, but he sure wouldn’t look at me the same way anymore… if he looked at me at all. Naw.  I resumed walking; he tagged along.

“Life happened,” I snapped before reverting to my old beef. “Except nobody’ll call me Jim or James or anything except Ahab or Cap’n.”

“That’s what’s got you down? Okay, Jimbo, I’ll call you that now. Better?”

“Guess. Jim might be better.”

“How about Jimmy?”

“Makes me sound like a ten-year-old.”

“A ten-year-old or a mad sea captain, which will it be?”

“Jimbo’s fine, I guess.”

“Jimbo it is,” he said, and then gave me a smile. “Unless I forget. Which I will sometimes. But even if I say Ahab, I’m thinking Jimbo.”

The likeable schmuck knew how to get me out of a mood. I arrived home feeling better than when I’d left school.

****

The next morning, I ran smack dab into my problem when I saw Hal Barton in the hallway. He shouldn’t have even been at the school. He’d graduated last year and disappeared from my life when he went to college.

“What’re you doing here?” I blurted.

“Home for spring break and decided to check out the old digs. Good to see you, Cap’n. Look, why don’t I swing by after school. I’m going to the lake and thought you might wanna ride along.”

“I-I dunno.”

He beamed. Damn, he had a good face. Good smile. Good everything. “Sure you do. I’ll be waiting. You have soccer practice?”

I shook my head. “But I dunno If I’m free or not.”

He really turned loose a smile. “I’ll be in the parking lot just in case.”

My reaction to Hal put me in a mood again, and I managed to ruin the day for a lot of people. All too soon the last bell rang, and although I told myself I wasn’t going to do it, I wandered out to the parking lot with my heart in my throat. Then I got into Hal’s car—something else I swore I wasn’t gonna do—with blood pounding in my ears.

I dunno if he could see my nervousness or not, but he talked a blue streak all the way to the lake, telling me about college and how different it was with a guy living on his own, smothering me in the easy charm that got me out here at the lake the first time a year ago.

And when we arrived, as he’d done dozens of other times, he found a secluded area, parked, and turned to me with hunger in his eyes. As I’d done twenty times before, I found my trousers down around my feet with Hal’s warm hands exploring parts of me not very many people were familiar with.

When he had what he wanted from me, he pulled me to him to reciprocate. And although I swore to myself I wouldn’t… I did.

He drove home happy, and chattering up a storm, while I sat morose and wondering what the hell I was. Frankly, I was lower than I’d been earlier. Especially when I realized I’d really enjoyed the last half hour.

So why was I so blue?

*.*.*.*.

What’s eating at the kid? It seems he had accepted who he was, so why is he so agitated about it now? We’ll find out next week.

 My new anthology, Huntinghawk,was released in February as an Ebook by JMS Books with the print version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! 

 See you later.

 

Mark

New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Tommy

 Markwildyr.com, Post #261

Image courtesy of Freepik:

 Hope you had a great St. Patrick’s Day and didn’t get pinched too often for failing to wear green.

 This week we have an original story not a rerun or a guest post. I hope you enjoy the story of a youth struggling to make the conversion from Tommy to Tom.

 

* * * *

TOMMY

By Mark Wildyr

 

“Tommy?”

I bristled at the name, but that was just my mother’s way. I was Tommy here at home but Tom at school. Except for Marge Whitsock—and I didn’t mind the familiar from her, just like she didn’t object to being Margie to me.

“Yes, Mom.”

“Will you run to the store. I’ve got so much to do today, it would be a big help.”

“Sure.” Any excuse to drive my ’85 Mustang. I’ve had it for a whole semester now, but still got a kick out of buckling into the seat and feeling the power of the beast. “What’cha need?”

It turned out to be quite a list, but what the heck. The only thing was, I was a little ambivalent about entering Hawthorne’s Grocery. Mr. Hawthorne was okay, but his son was something else. Neil was in my senior class at Putnam High, and I had a funny relationship with him. Relationship? That was a stretch. I wasn’t even a blip on Neil’s radar. He was the only other kid who still called me Tommy, and that was because it kept me an inferior to our town’ football running back hero.

At first, I thought I’d lucked out, and he wasn’t working this Saturday. But as I left the store, Neil pulled up in his Camaro and walked over to where I was loading groceries into my trunk.

“Take the cart back in for you, Tommy,” he offered.

“Thanks.”

“How you doing? Ready for graduation?”

Wow. He was staying for conversation. “As much as I can be.”

He grinned, going from just good looking to downright handsome. “Yeah, I get you. Be great getting out of high school, but that means ripping the old gang to shreds. I hear you’re going to State too. See you there, I guess”

I hesitated. Might as well get this over and done with. “Uh… you think you could call me Tom when we get there?”

The grin died. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“That’s a term of affection.”

He grabbed my now-empty cart and headed for the store. I watched him until he disappeared through the automatic double doors… with my mouth hanging open, I’m sure.

****

Football season ended, spring arrived, and everyone concentrated on proms and getting ready for tests and graduation. Finals were a busy time for me, not just preparing for the exams but also doing some tutoring. I often wondered if I shouldn’t become a teacher because I liked helping other students prepare for the biggest academic event of their year.

This semester, I got a surprise when our science teacher Mrs. Levy asked me to give Neil Hawthorne a hand. Neil had never needed help before. I’d had a couple of classes with him this semester and knew him to be a bright guy. Yeah, he had it all. Looks, athletic prowess, and brains.

Nonetheless, I swallowed my surprise and agreed to give him a hand. That very afternoon, he approached me as I left the school building and headed for my Mustang.

“Hey, Tommy, wait up!”

I obediently halted until he reached my side, and then we walked to the parking lot.

“Mrs. Levy told me you’d agreed to help. Appreciate it. When can we get together?"

“On one condition,” I said as a brainstorm struck. “You call me Tom from now on.”

He gave me a look. “Yeah, sure. Agreed. Okay?”

“Okay. When do you want to start.”

“My folks are going to my aunt and uncle’s house for dinner this evening. How about we grab burgers and meet for a session.”

“Sure.” My turn to flash him a look. “Didn’t know you had trouble in science. In any class, as a matter of fact.”

“Not exactly trouble. Just like to have a firmer footing, I guess you could say.”

We settled on a time, got into our respective vehicles, and went our separate ways.

****

I showed up at his house right on the dot. Per agreement, he’d stopped on the way home from work and got our burgers and fries. As we sat down and popped lids on our drinks—he was diet Coke; I was regular Dr. Pepper—he leaned back and spread his legs comfortably. We ate in silence for a minute or two before he hit me with a question.

“How come you don’t like to be called Tommy?”

“It’s a little boy’s name,” I came back at him.

“Or a term of… familiarity, I guess you could say.”

“Maybe. But it seems to me like it’s saying you’re the grown-up and I’m the little kid.”

He took another bite and munched with a thoughtful look on his face before taking it a step further.

“It’s kinda like Pepe being Pepito.”

“Yeah. Like Pepe being little Pepe,” I countered.

He got that cogitating look again. “Familiarity.”

I shook my head. “Dissing.”

“So I’m calling you ‘Little Tom,’ huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you?” he asked, putting his greasy napkin on the plate and downing the last of his fries.

“Am I what?”

“Little Tom?”

“Hell, Neil, you got eyes. I’m about as tall as you are.”

“Not talking about how tall you are.”

“Then what—” I interrupted myself with a choking sound. “You mean….”

“Exactly.”

My face heated up, and my cheeks stung. “You suggesting we measure?”

“Why not, Tom. Or maybe Tommy’s more appropriate.”

I didn’t know what to say, much less what to do. I wasn’t into sports, so I didn’t spend time in the locker room like lots of jocks, but word around school was Neil had about the biggest one on campus. I couldn’t help it; my eyes went south.

Neil was sprawled in his seat, one foot beneath the chair, the other stretched out in front of him. A noticeable lump emphasized the fullness of his groin. I’m sure my face got redder as I realized I was curious about… it.

He moved, taking me by surprise. His hands dealt with his belt buckle in one second flat. Then he hesitated with his fingers on the top button of his fly. “Well? You chicken?”

“I… I….”

He redid his belt. “Figured. So I guess you’ll stay Tommy.”

“Wait!” I cried. The desperation in my voice surprised me. “Hell, if it’ll put that crap to rest, why not.” I tackled my own belt.”

“Let’s go to my room, you know, in case my folks come home unexpectedly.”

“What?” Now there was panic in my tone. I hadn’t realized my voice was so expressive.

“Just a precaution. They never come back before nine or ten. They play bridge with my aunt and uncle.”

He rose and strode to his room, me following like a puppy dog. As soon as the door closed behind us, his belt was undone and his fly popped. Then he hesitated, waiting for me, I guess.

So I tackled my trousers, feeling foolish when they fell around my ankles. His did too.

“Now the underwear,” he said, rolling down his jockeys.

I flid down my boxers, and they joined my trousers on the floor. I stood with my mouth open as he stepped out of his clothes. Gossip was accurate. Neil was well-endowed.

“Tom,” he said, “Congratulations. You’re carrying more’n I thought.”

“Uh… thanks.” Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed for my britches.

“Wait. I want a better look. It seems to be growing.”

If possible, my cheeks turned rosier… all four of them. It was true, my thing started rising like it was hunting for something. I got even more flustered when his did too. And it was swelling up a whole lot faster than mine. It finally dawned on me we were standing bare-assed staring at one another’s bone.

“Impressive,” he noted. “Wanna touch.”

“I-I guess.” Had my gulp been as loud to him as it sounded to me?

My knees almost gave way when his fist closed around me. He twisted sideways, presenting himself, and I grabbed on like clutching for a lifeline. Wow! Hard and warm and throbbing.

He turned me loose to shrug out of his tank top before pulling me down on the bed with him. Wow! What a build. Wow? Was I reduced to a blubbering idiot only capable of wows? No. He was magnificent. Didn’t know they made chests for eighteen-year-old boys that rippled like that. The pecs were hard slabs; aureoles big and brown and… strangely unsettling. Made me want to touch one. So I did.

“Ahhh,” he purred, putting a hand behind my head and pulling me to him. My lips sorta fastened on like I was three months old and started sucking.

“Ahhh,” he said again, adding, “Tom.”

I switched to the other one without being asked.

“Ohhh, that gets to me,” he mumbled. He sounded discombobulated, as well, and that gave me some confidence. I put a hand to his abs and had the thought everything this guy possessed was hard as a rock.

Neil lay back on his pillows and let me root around for a moment before grabbing my head in his hands, centered it where he wanted and pulled me to him. Can’t say I was exactly surprised—given what had gone on before—but I was kinda shocked at what I experienced. Wasn’t disgust or revulsion It was more like a thrill that it was me giving this great-looking guy what he wanted. So I set to work making it as good for him as I could.

He panted hard and moaned and twitched now and then until he finally let out a gasp and called out.

Oh! Tommy… Tommy!

How about that? I’d gone from Tommy to Tom and back to Tommy in the span of a single evening. But you know what? I didn’t mind his “Tommy” this time. Not at all.

 *.*.*.*.

Tuned out to be quite a tutoring session, didn’t it? But seemed to me like the wrong guy did the tutoring. Depends upon the subject matter, I guess. Wonder if they’ll end up as roommates at State?

 My new anthology, Huntinghawk,was released in February as an Ebook by JMS Books with the print version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! 

 See you later.

 

 Mark

 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Coming Out is the Pits (A Repost)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #260

Image Courtesy of Vecteezy:

 

Well, did hunky Bunny turn out okay?

 Today, we’ll do a repost, although I can’t find the original post. It had to be somewhere around January of 2008, and I’ve revised it, so hopefully, you won’t mind too much.

 

* * * *

COMING OUT IS THE PITS

 

What is it with this “coming out” crap anyway? It took eighteen years to come out to myself, and only then because this jock cornered me in the upstairs stacks of the school library. My stomach dropped nervously, but my toes curled in excitement when he took what he wanted. When I accidentally—kinda—saw him again, I figured he wouldn’t want anything to do with me, but I was wrong. I got a kick out of reducing that macho hunk to absolute putty. After that, the die was cast.

Eventually, I came out to my best friend and lost a lifelong buddy. My big brother called me a snot-nosed pansy and threatened to beat me to a pulp. My mother cried herself sick, and my father swelled up like a puff adder. At that point, I shut down the “coming out” process.

My parents sent me to an out-of-state university rather than the local community college, probably to get me out of their hair. My name, by the way, is Quentin Utley Ramson, and if my initials didn’t clue my parents, they aren’t the bright folks the neighbors believe them to be. So far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any “coming out” at the U. That’s over. Kaput—except—well, there’s this guy I sorta like. My dorm mate.

Carlton Easton Eaves isn’t the snob he sounds. He puts his pants on and laces his sneakers all by himself like one of the masses. He moves well in the pool, plays a mean set of tennis, and probably polos okay, too. But he rides rodeo, and that’s a plebeian sport if there ever was one. We’ve gotten pretty chummy, and that brings me to the nub of my present problem.

East asked me to double date with him tomorrow night. Damn! Why can’t we just go to the movies together? Why mess it up with a couple of girls?

“Hi, Ram,” he said, materializing at my side on the quadrangle. That was something else I liked about him, he calls me Ram, which sounds—well, studly. The main thing I dig about East is his six-foot, tapered frame with lean hips and a groin to go down for! Of course, his corn-colored hair and curious blue eyes and broad, laughing mouth and bronze skin are considerations also. Why the hell he bummed around with olive-skinned, brown-eyed me, I hadn’t figured out yet. I had quickly learned to avoid the shower room like a vat of acid when he’s in there lest I make a fool out of myself. There’s more than one way of coming out, you know.

“Got a date yet?” he posed the dreaded query.

“Maybe you better get somebody else to go with you,” I blurted in a moment of weakness. “I don’t know any girls yet.”

“No, way! Get a date. It’ll be fun. Catch you later!” He gave me a manly punch on the shoulder and peeled off for his own class.

Mary Quadrill, the girl who sat beside me in Freshman English, was handy, so I blurted out an invitation just as the class settled into the pre-lecture silence.

“Well, Miss Quadrill, please give Mr. Ramson your answer so the class can turn to more mundane affairs,” our prof said dryly.

My ears were aflame, and Mary’s cheeks looked like Bette Davis’s in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.

“Uh—yeah. Yes, I’d like to go,” the poor girl stuttered.

Despite that promising start, things went downhill from there. The movie was okay, but cost too much. My arm went to sleep over the back of the seat, and afterward, we went to a beer joint. Frankly, I’m not accustomed to drinking.

When we left the bar, East parked on the bluff above the reservoir and turned to his girl, a blonde named Bunny or Billie or something like that. It wasn’t long before they slid down out of sight, and I was alone in the back with a girl.

We smooched, and to my surprise, I worked up a little steam while listening to the noises from the front. Mimicking what I thought was going on up there, I dug one of Mary’s boobs out of her brassiere and, ignoring her protest, went for the nipple like a newborn babe. I’d just glommed on to the pink little thing when she twisted my ear painfully. My cries of “Oh—oh—oh!” went nasal when she got my nose between two fingers!

“Behave now?” she whispered in a lady-like snarl.

“Yeah—yeah!” I whimpered, nodding my head and earning more pain. The pressure was suddenly released, and I straightened up to rearrange my clothing and dignity. Shit! It wasn’t right; paying with an earache for something I didn’t enjoy. Mary was restoring her tit to its proper place when East popped up and grinned at me knowingly. Hell’s bells! He’d hit a home run, and all I got was a sore nose and bruised ear.

I expected a karate kick to the groin when we took the girls to their dorm door, but she claimed she’d had a good time and said we’d have to do it again.

East was restless and drove around for a few minutes until he found a place to take a piss in the bushes. I wanted to go hold it for him, but couldn’t get up the nerve. I fingered myself through my trousers while watching his broad back and trim butt—a mistake because I had to work hard to hide a horrendous bone when he got back in the car.

“Man,” he moaned as he slammed the door. “I hurt! Haven’t had a nut ache in years.”

I jumped in surprise. He hadn’t made it with Bunny or Billie.

“Lucky dog. Mary’s pretty foxy,” he went on, tearing me away from his nut ache and the mental image that conjured. “At least you’re not in my shape.”

He thought I’d made it with Mary! What the hell made him believe that? Probably those “ohs” and “yeahs” I gave while in Mary’s painful embrace.

I forgot forswearing “coming out” and all that crap and blurted what was sitting right there on the tip of my tongue. “I-I, uh, could help you if you’re suffering that much.

“You’d do that for me even—you know—even though you made it with Mary?”

“Hey, man, what are roomies for? Gotta take care of one another.” Brave words, but my insides were fluttering around like crazy.

“You sure, Ram?”

Not about to let this opportunity get away, I reached over and touched him where it counted.

He leaned back in the seat and breathed an “ahhhh.”

I told my fingers to play it cool, but they jerked at his belt so hard, he finally pushed my hands away and freed himself. My dreams were fulfilled when he was exposed to my eyes. Rigid, rampant, and ready.

I stroked him for awhile bringing little moans and groans out of him, but before long I lost control and did what I wanted. “East,” I said, “this is only for you.”

With that, I lowered my head and was rewarded with the biggest groan of the evening. He enjoyed my ministrations for a few minutes before speaking.

“R-Ram, uh, why don’t we go back to the room. We—oh, man, that felt good—we can get naked and go to bed.”

I came up like a shot. “Deal.”

I had to keep telling him to slow down on the race back to the dorm. Not that I wasn’t in a hurry, but I damned sure didn’t want a cop to stop us. Writing a ticket and suffering his lecture would’ve cost too much time.

And when the door to our dorm room closed behind me, Carlton Easton Eaves stripped me naked and inspected every inch of my body before shoving me down on the bed. Then he and rode me like the rodeo champ he was.

 *.*.*.*.

I get the feeling that Ram’s “coming out” was finally successful. What do you think?

 My new anthology, Huntinghawk,was released in February as an Ebook by JMS Books with the print version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! (Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t copyright it. His bad.)

 See you later.

 

 Mark

 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Li’l Honey Bunny (Part 2 of 3 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #259

Image Courtesy of Freepik:

 

Hunky Bunny’s been on Cliff’s mind so much he doesn’t know how much more he can stand. Now they’re alone together drinking beer after a bowling session. Right at the moment, they’re talking about Bunny’s coming college experience. Is this it? Let’s see.

 

* * * *

LI’L HONEY BUNNY

“Well,” I said uncertainly. “You have your fraternities and your sororities—”

“I know that.”

“And you have your girls’ dorms and your boys’ dorms.”

“I know that too.”

Except there, they’re called women’s dorms and men’s dorms.”

“Aw, come on, Cliff.”

“And you have those who will and those who won’t. Women, that is.” I paused and tried to sound slightly drunken. “Men too, I suppose.”

“You had much luck?”

“About like back here.”

“Crap. No better’n here?”

I grinned at him. “Well, maybe a smidgeon.” I went on to embellish the two or three liaisons with women I’d had last year. They were all real, but I probably exaggerated a minor detail or two. Then I noticed he was getting agitated, so I really threw in some details. Bunny took it all in while sucking on bottles of beer. By the time the evening had started growing a beard, it was obvious he was too tipsy to drive us home.

When he finally agreed to that fact, I realized it was gonna be a bust of a night. Oh, I’d enjoyed Bunny’s company and had fun, but somehow, I’d hoped something might come of it. Something exciting, out of the ordinary… something exciting.

My hopes revived when I got out of the car to switch seats and drive and decided I need to drain the pipe. He staggered to my side, ripped open his fly and threw his arm around my shoulders. As a potentially sensual moment morphed into a fraternal one, we watered the bushes while I peered through the darkness to get a glimpse of him. No use, not enough light. But I got the impression he was big.

****

I came off my Bunny high and went to work the next day in a sour frame of mind until he breezed through the door and grabbed a soft drink from the cooler. As he paid for his drink, he gave me a smile.

“Really enjoyed hanging last night. Have to do it again.”

“Yeah, I enjoyed it too. Anytime.”

He hesitated for a second before taking his leave, and as usual, I watched him clear out of sight. Fluid grace. Masculine poetry in motion. Hell, walking sex.

Over the next two days, I hoped he’d wander back in the store and finish what he’d started by fixing the time and date for another outing. He didn’t show up until six days later suggesting that we try the lanes again since it was open bowling that night. I swallowed my disappointment when I had to decline since I was taking Mom to Pollytown to see her sister right after work that evening. I spent the next two days in a surly mood until it occurred to me there was no reason why I shouldn’t call him. I dialed his father’s store, but Bunny was out on an errand. I left a message, only halfway expecting it to be answered. But about four, he called me back.

“Hi, Cliff. It’s Bunny. Got a message you called.”

“Yeah. You probably already have plans, but if not, maybe we could do something tonight.”

“Naw. I was just gonna go down to the Fountain—” which I knew was a local teen hangout “—and see what was happening. But I’m game for something. What you have in mind?”

I sure couldn’t answer that question honestly, so I equivocated. “Dunno. You have any ideas?”

“It’s open bowl in Pollytown tonight, we could drive over there.”

“Aw, I dunno—”

“I know,” he suggested, “You can use that ID of yours to get us some beer, and we can drive to the lake and relax.”

“Sounds good to me, but it’s a little chilly for swimming after dark.”

“Nah. Just hang, like we did the other night.”

“You got it.”

We made arrangements, and I spent the rest of the afternoon trying not to screw up whatever my chore of the moment was.

****

I went by the liquor store before I picked him up—figured it was my time to drive—and honked for him at six-thirty, as agreed. He bounced out the door looking like a million dollars adjusted for inflation and crawled into the passenger’s seat. We exchanged smiles and greetings, and I took off like a shot, anxious to get the beer flowing down his throat.

He talked about his day, while I contributed occasional grunts as we raced toward the lake, a long ten miles down the highway. When we got there, I had a mild scare when he spotted a few guys we both knew with their gals and a truckload of alcohol. But I relaxed when he said he wasn’t in the mood for a party. We motored on down the road until we found a semi-remote area with a good view of the lake and the moon and stars. He wasted no time grabbing a couple of cans from the cooler in my back seat.

Neither of us talked for a few minutes, just sucked on our beer and admired the view. I turned half sideways in the seat and admired the view I preferred… the roll of muscle in his arms, the play of his Adam’s apple, the flat planes of his chest and concave curve of his belly, and… well, and the shadows and valleys farther south. Bunny had really turned into an Earthbound Adonis. I could have sat there all night without saying a word, but soon he got restless.

“Tell me more about college,” he finally said, spearing me with a look. Had he caught me gawking at him?

So I spent an hour answering questions and describing Mimi Sawtuck in more detail than she deserved, and he obviously at it up.

Eventually, I ran out of things to say when he quit asking questions, and a silence grew. Eventually, he broke it.

“Uh, Cliff….”

“Yeah?”

“You said something last time, but I guess you were just goofing.”

“What did I say?”

“Don’t remember exactly, but I asked something about sex… meaning sex on camputs, but you said…. Well….”

“I’m game if you are. I said I’m game if you are.”

“That’s it. Did… did you mean it, or were you just horsing—”

“Every word of it.”

“Meant every word of it?”

“Yep. Meant every word of it.”

“Why would… Well, you told me about the women you had, so—” He bit his lip. “Were you making that up?”

“Not a bit. Every one of them was real.”

“Then how come….”

I caught his eye in the bright moonlight and held it. “Bunny, I’m willing to bet a week’s pay you’re not a virgin. In fact, I’ll wager you’ve sampled more than one of the town’s girls.”

He grinned. “Two. More than once.”

“So how come you’re interested?”

“W-what makes you think I am?”

“Friday night, and here we are out on the lakeshore all alone. You’re the one who brought up the subject. Why would you do that if you weren’t interested?”

He shrugged. “Curious, I guess.”

“You ever got with a guy?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Next door neighbor and I jerked off together when we were fifteen. That’s all.”

“How did you feel about it then?”

“It was okay. Nothing to shout about.”

“You must be interested in something more than jerking off to bring it up now.”

“Aw, just forget—”

I looked him straight in the eye. “Uh-uh, you said you were curious, so let’s get curious.”

“I-I dunno, Cliff.”

“I do. I’ll show you how we do it in college.”

I reached for him. He flinched, but didn’t bolt. Before the evening was over, Lil ole Honey Bunny had learned a lot… and he had learned it well. I think I unleashed a tiger. And I knew one thing for sure. I couldn't call him L'il Honey Bunny anymore.

 *.*.*.*.

I get the feeling Cliff got more than he bargained for… turned every way but loose. How do you see it?

My new anthology, Huntinghawk, has been released as an Ebook by JMS Books with the print version to follow soon. Hope you’ll give it a read.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

    Website and blog: markwildyr.com

    Email: markwildyr@aol.com

    Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

    X: @markwildyr

 Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!

 See you later.

 

 Mark

 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Li’l Honey Bunny (Part 2 of 3 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #258

Image Courtesy of Freepik:

 

 

Well, Cliff’s seen Li’l Honey Bunny again, and the sight knocked his socks off. What do you suppose is going to happen next? Let’s find out.

 

 

* * * *

LI’L HONEY BUNNY

The day went more slowly than usual, but eventually it passed. After my shift, I rushed home, showered—for the second time that day—shaved—ditto—and spent too much time deciding what to wear, eventually settling on a pair of walking shorts I’d been told fit me nicely in the rear, and a sleeveless polo shirt. As I gave myself a final check in the mirror, I felt kinda foolish. I hadn’t made such elaborate preparations for my last date with a girl. Nonetheless, I felt good as I left for the bowling alley.

Bunny was already at the alley and looked super in shorts and a muscle shirt that fit like original skin. My enthusiasm waned when he had two girls in tow. I knew them both, but one, Eileen Whipper, I’d dated in high school. Disappointed though I was, I had to admit she looked better than the high school Eileen.

“Cliffy!” she exclaimed, opening her arms to me. Nothing to do but move into them.

“Eileen, it’s been too long.”

She held me at arm’s length and put a scowl on her face. “You promised to write.”

“That I did, but even my folks didn’t get a letter. Thought I’d breeze through my classes like in Eldorado, but college is a little tougher. Takes more time.”

She cocked an eye. “That’s your excuse?”

“Well, that and sloth.”

“Now I’m starting to believe you.”

The other girl was closer to Bunny’s age, and I knew her only slightly. He reintroduced me to Lila.

Naturally, it was a case of us against them, me and Eileen against Bunny and Lila. That was okay. Either way, I got to watch his athletic form do the windup, take the steps, and let go of the ball, skewing sideways at the end with his hips cocked. Smooth as chocolate fudge flowing over cherry ice cream. And about as delicious. Strangely, my licentious thoughts about him made my own butt tingle every time I bowled.

Halfway through the set, I had a thought that almost made me toss a gutter ball. I’d fooled around with a few guys before, but it had always been a casual thing… you know, guys helping one another after striking out on a double date. But here I was actively lusting after another guy. That was new territory. But there it was. Apparently, nothing to worry about because we were stuck with two gals for the night, and from the way Lila clung to her guy, he probably wasn’t going home needy tonight. Well, crap!

The set was a close one, but Bunny and his partner aced us out… probably because I bowled right after Bunny did, and the image of his manly body performing that sexy toss threw me off my game. I was surprised he didn’t start in on that “make me eat my words” thing right away, but he didn’t.

We ate in the alley’s restaurant afterward, and I put on a good face even though the night wasn’t gonna turn out the way I wanted, you know, with some one-on-one bonding time with Bunny.

At the end of the meal, the girls excused themselves to go to the powder room, so I took the opportunity to drain the pipe. As I was finishing, Bunny entered and stepped to the urinal beside me.

I’d never experienced “shy kidneys” before, but I got an attack of them right then. My stream promptly dried up, yet I didn’t want to leave. Even though there was a modesty panel between us, standing side by side holding our private parts in our hands seemed erotic on its own.

“Cliff?”

“Yeah,” I managed to answer and sound natural.

“I’m not into it tonight. What say we ditch the girls and get a six-pack.”

Dunno why, but somehow I had to make a joke out of it. “Gotcha. You’re not old enough, so you gotta rely on me to buy the booze.”

“Something like that. You game?”

“Sure.”

The girls had arrived in their own car, so we didn’t have to take them home. I was gratified to notice that Eileen seemed as disappointed as Lila. Maybe that boded well for later.

At any rate, after they pulled out of the parking lot, I turned to Bunny to find him watching me.

“You sure you’re okay with going stag?” he asked. “Eileen seemed interested.”

“Went with her for a while in high school. I’m sure we’ll see one another again. Lila looked disappointed too.”

He shrugged. “Getting too intense. I’ll be leaving for college in a couple of months and need to put some distance between us.” He held up a hand. “I’m not dumping her, you understand. Just trying to prepare us both for what’s coming.”

“Whatever you do, don’t promise to write her… unless you intend to do it. Things get busy on a college campus.”

“Gotcha.”

We agreed on a private place to demolish a six pack, and I drove to the liquor store to pick up the booze while he drove on to stake out a spot. I grabbed the first two six packs out of the cooler I saw, threw money on the counter and broke the speed limit to a stand of woods just outside of town, holding my breath and praying he’d be there.

Sure enough, when I pulled into the grove, there was his Chevy Impala. Grabbing a deep breath and the two six packs, I scrambled out of my car and slid into the passenger seat of his.

“Ah, salvation!” he breathed, tearing one of the cans out of the container and popping the lid. He took a hefty draft, smacked his lips, and muttered, “Nirvana.”

With something else in mind, I blurted, “Not quite but almost.”

“Huh?”

To cover my blunder, I explained that by the end of his first semester, he’d have had so much beer that the bloom was off the lily. Still an enjoyable relief from pressure, but surely not Nirvana.

He seemed to accept my explanation, settling himself more comfortably and spreading his legs. Unconscious or on purpose?

“So tell me about it. Let me know what to expect?”

“It?” I asked. Surely not the it I had in mind.

“You know. College.”

So I blathered on for half an hour while our supply of beer steadily dwindled. I went easy, leaving more for him. Devious son of a bitch, wasn’t I?

At length, he surprised me. “What about sex?”

My mouth dried up, my stomach clinched, but I managed to sound halfway normal. “I’m game if you are.”

He laughed and slapped the steering wheel. “No, you goofball. What about sex on campus. Give me some pointers.

My stomach dropped down into my bowels… followed shortly thereafter by my expectations.

 *.*.*.*.

As we all know, things don’t always turn out the way we plan. Wonder how Cliff’s going to handle the rest of the summer with Bunny still around? Well, there’s one more installment, so I guess we’ll find out.

 I now have the cover for the upcoming Huntinghawk, but JMS won’t let me give anyone a peek yet. I like it, and hopefully, so will you. The release date is sometime in February. I’ll keep you posted.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! (Don Travis keeps reminding me I stole it from him, but he didn’t copyright it. His bad.)

 See you later.

 

 Mark

 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Li’l Honey Bunny (Part 1 of 3 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #257

Image Courtesy of Dreamstime:

 

Can you believe it? Here we are well into 2024, and I was just getting accustomed to writing 2023. Such is life.

 Hope you enjoyed the story of the Army brat and the white park bench. This week, we’ll start another story, maybe pluck some different heartstrings.

Let’s get right to it. Here’s Part 1.

 

 

* * * *

LI’L HONEY BUNNY

I remember the day Greg Parks was born in the house right beside ours on Mason Street. Or at least I recall stories about the event… my mom rushing over to help the doctor, excited whispers, a baby crying. They’re vivid in my mind, although I was only four at the time. But it seemed that my mother coming back home and loudly pronouncing that the new baby was a real “Little Honey Bunny” was my recollection, not someone else’s told so many times it gets mixed up with my own.

So that’s what I called him from the time I first laid eyes on the red-faced, squalling bundle of energy more formally named Gregory Robert Parks. The label worked okay until he reached Middle School, and then he began to rebel, taking it as a smack-down. Wasn’t intended that way, but his reaction tickled my fancy, so I kept it up. By that time, of course, it had simply been reduced to “Bunny,” but I’d use the full appellation on occasion to watch his face turn red. Needless to say, our childhood friendship was no longer so close.

I returned home after being away at college for four years and moved back into the Mason Street house. Didn’t see much of Bunny upon my return as the Parks had long ago moved to another part of town. Nonetheless the sight of the white house to the east of ours kicked off memories… including those of Li’l Honey Bunny.

In answer to my questions, Mom let me know Greg had graduated high school and was prepared to leave for college at State this fall. Hard to believe the gangly fourteen-year-old I’d last cast eyes on would soon be a college man. No doubt I’d see for myself, as I was about to start working in my dad’s drug store. The idea of working for a year at the drug store where I’d started shelving merchandise in short pants before starting pharmacy school was long ago implanted in my brain. Dad wanted me to learn the business end of the store more deeply than what I’d already absorbed by osmosis. He he planned for me to one day replace him as pharmacist… and ultimately as manager. That was okay with me. I’d found his puttering and muttering while mixing this and parsing that fascinating, and I probably already knew more about that end of the business than most pre-pharm students.

One day as I looked through a sheaf of credit card charges while searching for a specific one, an unfamiliar voice called my name.

“Clifton? Is that you, Cliff?”

I turned to regard an oddly familiar stranger. A handsome, hunky, totally desirable stranger. My mouth dropped as recognition dawned.

“Greg?”

The beautiful young man laughed, his generous green eyes crinkling merrily. “It’s okay, I’m still Bunny.”

“You sure are,” I blurted and grasped the strong hand he thrust at me. “Damn, guy, you’ve grown.”

“Wee bit. But you look the same. Guess chasing sorority gals around campus has kept you lean and healthy.”

I gave him a return laugh. “It’s only when you catch them that it can become unhealthy.”

“I’ll take you word for it. How long you home for?”

I reclaimed my hand, although I was enjoying the contact. “Gonna work for a year before going back to Pharmacy School. So I’ll be around awhile.”

“Not me,” the dreamboat in front of me said. “Heading out to State this fall.”

“Try not to tear up campus too much.”

“Might need some guidance on that. Maybe you can give me some pointers.”

“Happy to… anytime.”

He started to move away, but hesitated. “I’m working at my dad’s lumberyard for the summer… like every other summer I can remember. Get off around six. If you’re not doing anything, maybe you can give me some of those pointers.”

A chill ran down my back. “Yeah, sure. What you wanna do?”

“You still bowl?”

“Some. Probably still beat your ass.”

“This isn’t a league night, so why don’t you meet me at the Fiesta Bowl at eight, and I’ll make you eat those words.”

“You’re on.”

I couldn’t help but watch as he moved down the aisle toward the prescription counter where my father was working. The kid had to be a jock. Way he moved, graceful, self-assured… sexy.

Thankfully, the cashier’s counter shielded me as Mrs. Mooseburn walked up, otherwise it would have been obscenely obvious how intrigued I was by that Li’l Honey Bunny.

*.*.*.*.

Wonder if Cliff had explored his own sexuality before Bunny caught his fancy… unexpectedly, it seems. He has to be… what 22 or 23 to have graduated from college, so surely he has. But who knows.

 At any rate, now that he knows, what will he do about it? Assuming, of course, Bunny will permit him to experiment. What do you think?

 I now have the cover for the upcoming Huntinghawk, but JMS won’t let me give anyone a peek yet. I like it, and hopefully, so will you.

 My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

X: @markwildyr

Now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it! 

 See you later.

  

Mark

 New posts first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.