Weldon’s Big Mistake (Part 3 of 3 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #266

 Image Courtesy of Clkr:

 

BIG APOLOGY for missing my post date on the twenty-third, but I had an excuse. I fell and hit my head, so I was confined to the hospital. Have recovered, but am reminded of my mortality. As a result, this will be my last post.

 

Let me say that again. THIS WILL BE MY LAST POST.

 Last time, Rick Speare had shown up to ease Weldon’s estrangement from his BFF and secret crush, Jaime Jiron. They were quite different in appearance and nature, but Weldon was coping. Let’s see what happens.

* * * *

WELDON’S BIG MISTAKE

 I didn’t exactly transfer my allegiance to Rick… that wasn’t what he was after. He just wanted what he wanted when he wanted where he wanted. And there was enough of that, at least for me. Even though my thoughts remained with Jaime, it was Rick who gave me what I finally realized I wanted. He wasn’t respectful about it, tended to diss me, but when he applied his sexual skills, I forgot all about the disdain. On balance, the rewards were worth the pettiness.

One Friday afternoon, he caught me coming off the field and led me to what was becoming “our place,” deep in the trees at the park. Of course, I knew what he intended, and privately admitted I wanted it, as well.

As soon as we arrived, a kid named Marcus pushed off from a tree trunk he was resting against and flashed a grin. “Hi, guys. About gave you up.”

Immediately, I was caught between two emotions. The fact Rick had invited him to participate was obvious, which alarmed me. But this kid was delicious, and that brought another kind of feeling. Marcus was dark, but Mediterranean dark, not Hispanic dark. Nonetheless he instantly reminded me of Jaime. Black, curly hair spilled over his forehead, and his smile devastated anyone within twenty feet.

“What… what’s this, Rick?” I stuttered.

“Told Marcus how good you were, and he wanted to see for himself.”

“Without asking me?”

“Why ask you?” The question came in all innocence. This guy wasn’t exactly Mr. Sensitive.

“Because it’s me you’re volunteering,” I snapped.

Marcus’ face fell. “You got a problem with me being here?”

He looked good even when disappointed.

“Not the point. He didn’t ask me. Hell, he didn’t even tell me.”

“So I’m telling you,” Rick said, stepping up behind me and butting me with his groin.

Before I knew it, I was on all fours, my sweats down around my knees with Rick grunting at my back door.

“Go… on,” he mumbled. “Take care of… uh, my friend.”

“That’s okay,” Marcus said, starting to back away.

Spurred by his threatened retreat, I clasped his long, strong thighs and pulled him forward. “’S okay,” I mumbled his crotch in my face, “You’re here, might as well join in.”

I tugged down his trousers and almost rued my words. This guy might be built thin, but he made up for lost weight by what he stored in his pants. And it was growing by the second. I even heard a gasp from Rick who was busy at my backside. Marcus squatted on his heels when Rick pushed me flat of my belly atop his jacket, and they both had at me. Not unpleasantly, either. Rick made it first, which carried me along with him, while the hunky new kid threw himself at my mouth. Seemed he took forever to start and then forgot to stop. This guy really came.

After that, we sort of fell into a pattern. Marcus came back for more, which pleased me. Not only did he perform well, he was pleasant to look at and reminded me of Jaime. We seldom did a threesome again, but I saw both of them often enough to keep me sated.

****

One day near the end of school, I came home to find Jaime sitting, arms folded across his chest, on the edge of the front porch. He was obviously waiting for me, which gave my heart a wrench.

“Hi,” I said uncertainly.

“’Lo.”

An awkward silence for a moment.

“Surprised to see you,” I said, breaking it.

“Yeah. I know. Look, Weldon… I, uh, I dunno how to say this except straight out. You’re getting a rep around school, and just thought you oughta know.”

“Rep?”

“Yeah. Rick Speare’s been talking trash about you. D-dunno if it’s true or not, but he’s blabbing.” He shrugged and said it again. “Just thought you oughta know.”

“What about Marcus?”

He glanced at me sharply. “What about Marcus?”

My cheeks burned, and I couldn’t meet his gaze. “Never mind.”

His mouth dropped open. “Marcus too?”

I went scarlet then. “Rick started it. Right… right after I opened my big mouth to you. Matter of fact that’s how he came at me. Guessed Jaime wasn’t screwing me anymore, so thought he’d pick up the slack.”

It was his time to flush. “I wasn’t….”

“Yeah. Told him that never happened.”

“But he didn’t believe you,” Jaime said.

I shook my head. “Nope. Anyway, that’s how he got to me.”

“And Marcus?”

I shrugged, ashamed to say he’d been invited along. “Just happened. It was….” I clamped my mouth shut.

“It was what?”

I studied his beautiful, brown eyes and decided to answer honestly. “As close as I could get to the real thing… you.”

He dropped his eyes and studied his hands clasped in front of him. Silence reigned for a full minute before he spoke.

“I considered coming back and… you know, offering to try it with you.”

I licked dry lips. “Still can.”

He met my gaze, and I almost went giddy. Then he slowly shook his head.

“No. I really considered it seriously. Even tried… you know, doing it to myself thinking about you. Didn’t work. And I’d feel even worse if I tried with you and failed. The only thing I can offer is an apology for treating you the way I did and try to get my friend back. But not if he expects… you know.”

“Jaime, I’ll take you as a friend any way I can get you. I’ve had a hole in my heart ever since that day.”

“Let’s fix that. How about we pitch the ball some?”

“Can make you drop it.”

“You haven’t so far.” The grin melting my heart died. “I guess it’s okay to keep seeing Marcus. He seems like an okay guy. But Rick?”

“He’s history,” I said.

We burned gloves for an hour, and it seemed like we’d recaptured what we’d lost… almost. Something had changed, but we’d reestablished our friendship as best we could. There was just the shadow of another slender, dark-headed Adonis in the background. Of course, there was the shade of a dark-haired Maria over his shoulder, as well. All a part of growing up, I finally decided.

 *.*.*.*.

How appropriate that my last post ends up with both disappointment and acceptance, because after over ten years of faithfully posting to a blog, the decision to quit brought both a sense of emptiness and relief.

Farewell, readers, I will miss you. The site will be left up so that future readers can read any of the stories they wish. But nothing new is coming.

 Again, thank you for reading.

 My new anthology, Huntinghawk, has now been released by JMS Books as a print version. 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!  

 Mark

 Alas… no more posts.

Weldon’s Big Mistake (Part 2 of 3 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #265

 Image Courtesy of Clkr:

 

Looks like Weldon came out to Jaime last time… and paid the penalty. Big mistake. Let’s see what happens next.

* * * *

WELDON’S BIG MISTAKE

 The world wasn’t the same after that. Jaime didn’t exactly ditch me, but it wasn’t Jaime and Well anymore… others got included. His move, not mine. The special feeling wasn’t there. Not even for me. Oh, the want was there, but let’s be clear, I’d lost  my best bud by the confession.

I still had friends, especially on the baseball field, but Jaime and I no longer walked home together. He always found something to hold him up until I left. Other guys drifted in to fill the void, but it wasn’t the same. Something precious was gone.

Rather than mope around, I grabbed myself by the ears—figuratively speaking—and kept my head high. I hit it off with another guy I’d known forever, a fellow Anglo by the name of Rick Speare. Nobody, not even Rick, could explain where the extra e came from in his last name. He was third baseman on the team and totally different from Jaime. Honey blond hair, blue eyes, and a mouth that turned up at the corners as if he had a perpetual grin. His build was blockier than Jaime’s, but had definition.

One day, he surprised me by asking about Jaime.

“Man, you used to be joined at the hip. What happened?”

I shrugged. “Just one of those things. Interests change, you know.”

Rick gave me a meaningful glance. “Yeah. Like Maria Saiz.”

Meeting his gaze, I noticed how deep a blue his eyes were. “What’s she got to do with it?”

He smiled. “Yeah, what? She got between you, dude. Anybody can see that.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

“He found a better piece of ass.”

My eyes bugged. “What?”

“Come on, you gonna deny it? You’ve trailed around like his bitch for the last year. Anybody can see it.”

“He’s my friend. That’s all.” I felt my cheeks sting. “My best friend, but that’s all.”

“Yeah, sure. You telling me if I walk up and push my cock against your butt you won’t get a hard-on?”

I glanced around. We were behind the bleachers at the field, and there was no one else in sight. “Just try it, buster.”

He grinned and spun me around. “Okay. I recognize an invitation when I hear it.”

The next thing I knew, his arms were around my chest, and his groin warmed my buns. I should have whirled and busted him in the chops… but I didn’t. “Why’d you do that?” I gasped.

“’Cause you wanted me to.” He pulled me tighter.

“N… no.”

“That was a mighty weak denial,” he whispered in my ear. Then his hand moved to cover my crotch.

That was more than I could take. I ballooned like a dirigible fed hydrogen.

His hand moved, massaging me. He thrust against me. “See. I was right.”

I tried to push his arms away. “Somebody’ll see us, Rick.”

“Then let’s go where nobody will.”

I heard my own voice ask, “Where?”

Husky with want, he answered, “To the park. In the trees. I wanna show you what a man can do for you. Make you forget all about Jaime Jiron.”

So help me, I followed him. Noticing new things about him. How broad his back was. Sturdy hips. Trim waist. The macho way he moved.

I almost ran into him when he stopped. I glanced around. We were deep in the trees of the town park. Nobody around. Nothing but the chirping of crickets and birdsong, and the occasional chirp of a squirrel.

“H-here?” I gasped.

He turned and pulled me to him. “Here.”

Before I knew what was happening, he had me on my knees before his magically exposed genitals. He was short and thick. I struggled for a moment before giving in to him.

After a few minutes, he grabbed me by the hair and forced me to look up at him. “You’re not very good. Jaime didn’t teach you much.”

“I didn’t—”

The rest got lost because he fed himself to me again, this time telling me what to do and when to do it. I must have learned something because pretty soon he started moaning and jerked himself free of me.

“Oh, man, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Isn’t that the point?” I asked.

“Not this way.”

I had no inkling of what he meant until he spread our jackets on the ground and pushed me onto my stomach. I didn’t even understand when he yanked down my sweats. But I sure got it when he entered me. Big time. I let out a holler that sent the birds flying.

He put his hand over my mouth. “Shhh,” he grunted. “Man… oh, man!” He thrust and bucked wildly. “You are one fine piece.”

That offended me, but I was in no condition to respond. Something strange was happening. The intense pain was receding to be replaced by… by something amounting to pleasure. Yes, definitely pleasure. He was inside me, caressing places that had never been excited before. Without intending it, I moved to meet his downward strokes.

“Yeah!” he gasped. “You dig it, don’t you? Thought so. Man…oh, man.”

He built to his climax and exploded. To my surprise, so did I. As he ejaculated, I reached orgasm… and what an orgasm.

“Oh… Rick!” I’d almost said Jaime.

“Gave you quite a ride, huh,” he asked, languidly thrusting against me again. After a minute or so of that, he jumped up and pulled his clothing into place.

I crawled up to my all fours and managed to get to my feet. “Yeah. Guess you did.”

My next through was… what would Jaime think about this?

*.*.*.*.

Looks like someone’s been observing Weldon and perceived his friendship with Jaime contained an element of desire. Then Rick used it to his advantage. Wonder what happens next.

 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.

 Markwildyr.com, Post #264

 Weldon’s Big Mistake (Part 1 of 3 Parts)

 Image Courtesy of Clkr:

 

Hope you liked the little ditty about our own Cap’n Ahab. Flights of fancy take us in all directions, don’t they?

 This week, we’ll start another. Hope you enjoy it.

* * * *

WELDON’S BIG MISTAKE

 

I’ve known my best bud in all the world ever since I can remember because we grew up together in this Northern New Mexico town with the unlikely name of Blinkton. All its inhabitants are known far and wide as Blinkies. But Jaime Jiron and I didn’t really bond as friends until sixth grade when I backed him up as two of the school’s biggest bullies ganged up on him on the schoolyard.

That takes some explaining too. Best I can figure, Northern New Mexico is different from the rest of the state. The Hispanic families that settled here are closer to their Spanish roots than most of the rest of the Latin families. Doesn’t make any sense because they’re farther removed than everyone south of us. But, of course, people south of there are Mexicans, not Spaniards. The distinction was meaningless to me, but apparently carried weight with them.

That’s one side of the coin. The other is that some of the Anglos in the area seemed to be bigger bigots than usual. Anglos… that’s how we describe families descended from European nations other than Spain. From what I hear, the two populations pretty well kept apart from one another socially until sometime in the twentieth century. I wasn’t around then, so I can’t vouch for it, but that’s my understanding.

I’d seen Jaimie around all the time before that fateful day, but we hadn’t exchanged anything other than howdys and holas. Even so, I’d admired him for as long as I could remember. Admired his shiny, black hair, flamenco-dancer physique, flawless bronze skin, and oh, so many other things I could list. But for some reason, I’d honored that cultural divide—or whatever it was—even though we went to the same school, often sitting in the same class. Didn’t have anything against him, we just lived in two different worlds.

But after I took his side that day—and a whopping, I might add—we’ve been as close as brothers. And that’s the way I thought of us… brothers. Until last week when I hit eighteen. I hit eighteen and eighteen hit me back… hard.

My world turned upside down when Jaime started dating Maria Saiz. We’d double-dated lots of times, but this was different. He wanted to be alone with her. Alone with her meant there was no room for Weldon Brown… that’s me, by the way. And something whopped me so hard right between the eyes I had to sit down for some introspection. Because that sure as shooting felt like jealousy. And after I cogitated on it, that’s exactly what it was. I was jealous of Maria. How can that be?

That led to a lot more thinking, and the answer I came up with didn’t do anything to make me feel any better. I wanted Jaime all to myself. Why? We were friends, buds, pals… but that wasn’t the answer. I wanted him. For myself. Alone.

That brought me face to face with the yearning deep down inside me I’d been ignoring. When I said I wanted him, that’s exactly what I meant. I wanted his mind, his body, his… love. A different kind of love than the deep bond we already shared.

When the truth struck, I muttered aloud. “My God, I’m queer for him!”

I glanced around to see if anyone had heard, but I was alone in my own bedroom. Thank goodness, because I’d sprouted the biggest erection I’d ever had in my life. So I took care of it, and sure enough, the image of Jaime Jiron never left my head all the way through. As I was spouting my seed, my left hand was making a motion like I had him in hand trying to bring him to the beautiful place I was.

But after the last throes of ejaculation faded, I went blue. Jaime wasn’t here with me. I hadn’t touched his fascinating flesh. We hadn’t shared a delicious orgasm. He was off somewhere with Maria, and I was here alone. Had they gone all the way? Had he shot his seed into her?

My world turned sideways.

****

I must not have been myself the next day, because Jaime kept shooting me sideways looks, and once even asked what was wrong.

“Nothing,” I answered.

We finished baseball practice, and tarried in the town’s little park on the way home. He dropped onto a bench while I settled across from him. God, he was handsome! My glance took in his rangy form, and I imagined the fullness of his groin hidden from my sight by the concrete table.  I suddenly wanted—needed—to see it, so I dropped my glove on the ground and bent to retrieve it. Yep, full and inviting.

I came up and flopped my glove on the picnic table a little harder than intended. His chocolate mousse eyes searched my face. “What’s up, bro?”

“Nothing.” Did I sound short?

“Don’t try to snow me, man. Something’s bothering you. It’s been hanging all over your face all day.”

“Don’t wanna talk about it. Tell me, how was your date with Maria last night?”

He grinned, almost stopping my heart. “Great. Went to the lake after the movie.”

“What for?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Why do you think?”

“You make a home run?”

His grin died… then returned. “More like third base.”

My heart soared and then dropped to the ground. Did third base mean she made him come? How? Every way but the way it counted, probably.

“See! There it is again. What you want’s hanging all over your face. Spit it out, man.”

Did I dare? I looked at that handsome, sexy face and was tempted.

“Weldon, when were we not able to talk to one another?”

Weldon. He always called me Well… unless it was something serious.

“Come on, bro, this is me. You can tell me anything you like.”

I swallowed hard and went light-headed. “I… I want you, Jaime. Want you like you want Maria. I want you to want me instead of her.”

His mouth dropped and then snapped shut. “Crap, man, I thought you were gonna tell me you wanted to go to Albuquerque for a Isotopes game or something. Not something like that.”

“I-I’m sorry. Shoulda—”

“I pushed you into it. But that’s not gonna fly, man. Sorry.”

He got up and walked away. I sat as I was and despite my misery, couldn’t help but notice his manly stride. His grace. His….

Shit, Weldon, you fucked up.

*.*.*.*.

As we all know from experience, that’s a good way to lose a friend. I wonder if Weldon will be able to repair his relationship with Jaime? Hope so. We’ll see 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.

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.