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.

An Army Brat and a White-Vined Park Bench (Part 2 of 2 Parts)

 Markwildyr.com, Post #256

 Image Courtesy of Amazon:

 

Hope Christmas went well for everyone. Now we have to get past New Year’s… especially New Year’s Eve. Stay sane, everyone.

 The last post saw Layton Dunelton, an army brat, going through his usual bout of loneliness when his father is transferred to a different base. A piece of graffiti on the school bathroom stall set him looking for a particular bench in a nearby park where he observed a casual pickup.

This story picks up a week later when he returns to the park bench and spots one of the college kids involved in last week’s tryst. The kid boldly approaches Layton, introduces himself as Ken, and asks what Layton thought about what he saw the previous Monday.

 * * * *

AN ARMY BRAT AND A WHITE-VINED PARK BENCH

“Uh, like what?”

“Well, what did you think of my bare butt, for one thing?”

“Tried not to think of it at all.” There, that was better. No stuttering that time.

“Tried not to? That means you did. Care to give it a rating?”

“Uh….” Damn, stuttering again. Maybe not stuttering, but pissing around before answering the question. Same thing. “Not that experienced at rating guy’s asses.”

“Don’t give me that. Good-looking, built guy like you? I can tell you’re an athlete. Athletes shower with guys. So you’ve seen plenty of bare, male butts.”

“Guess so.”

“Know so,” he said, clamping onto my thigh above the knee in a macho, goodwill sorta way. But he left his hand there, and it burned like his hip against mine did. I dunno why, but I didn’t push it away. Didn’t do anything.

Ken turned his head to look at me. “Make you curious about anything else?”

“No… uh… I dunno.”

He flashed a smile, making him handsomer than any movie star I’d ever seen… sexier, at any rate. That thought rattled me some, I can tell you.

“Dunno means you’re not closed to the suggestion. But first, maybe you’d like a feel?”

“Feel? W-wha’da ya mean?”

He moved his hand up my leg. “Oh, like this, for example.”

I clamped my legs together, trapping his hand.

“Relax,” he said in a soothing voice.

I did, and his hand went to work. I’ve heard of blind people “seeing with their hands,” and while those chocolate brown eyes weren’t blind, that hand’s examination was so thorough it must have known exactly what I looked like beneath my trousers.

He spread his legs, which pushed his left one hard against my right. “Your turn.”

Like it had a mind of its own, my hand reached out and came to rest on the inside of his thigh. Then it went dumb.

“Go on,” he said. “Take a good feel.”

So after a good look around to make sure nobody was nearby, I did. One touch, and that monster beneath his sweatpants started growing. Before I knew it, I was holding onto a throbbing tube of flesh yearning to be free.

I was gonna let go, but he reached for me again, his arm trapping mine where it was. So help me, this time, I reacted the same way he had. Junior grew and got muscular fast.

“Impressive,” Ken said, giving that loopy grin that made him handsomer than all get out.

“Y-yours too,” I heard my own voice say. Damn, first my hand acted on its own, and now my voice box went independent.

Taking me by surprise, he removed his hand and yanked down his sweatpants, exposing an excited monster. It bobbed around like that blind eye at the tip was hunting for a home.

“Somebody’ll see!” I whispered.

“Nobody around. Take hold of it.”

My hand became animated again and obeyed. Man, talk about hot. It was physically warm. My hand, acting independently again, pumped it a couple of times.

“Feels good, Layton. Feels good. Now yours.”

I’d lost the ability to resist, so I just lay back against the bench and let him do what he wanted. My trousers had a belt, but it didn’t take him any time at all to overcome that obstacle. And just like his, mine bobbed and weaved like it was looking for a fight. His hand around it about sent me out of my senses, especially when that hand started moving up and down. He sighed as I did the same.

“You one good-looking stud,” Ken said, a sigh in his voice.

“Y-you are too. Really handsome. Bet you could have any girl you wanted. Why’d you want me?”

He leaned his shoulder against mine while both our hands worked like crazy. “You’re prettier than any girl I know, Layton. You’re sexier than that guy I met here last week, and he was a real looker, I can tell you.”

“I’m… uh… ah… oh… not.”

Ken stretched his legs. “Oh, but you are. And you’ve got a great touch. Uh-oh. Getting serious here.”

“You… you do too. Serious… over… here too.” My legs spasmed. My belly contracted, and Junior let loose with a gush of hot sperm.

“Atta boy!” he breathed. “Spewed like a volcano! Ungh, oh my. Here… I… come!”

And come he did. For a long time. Forever, it seemed like.

Finally, we both lolled back against the bench breathing heavily. After a minute or so, Ken took out a clean white handkerchief and cleaned me off before tending to himself. I’ll swear that scrap of cloth was sopping wet by the time he finished. As we restored our clothing, he glanced over at me.

“Well, how was it?”

“Great.”

“Your first time… with another guy, I mean?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“How do I feel? Worn out.”

“No regrets? No recriminations?”

“Why would I?”

He shrugged, and although I was sexually sated, I experienced a brief pang of lust. “Some guys feel like it’s wrong, and they’re mortified afterward. Me, I just enjoy the afterglow.”

“Afterglow?” I asked. “Yeah, that’s it. Afterglow.”

“I like you, Layton.”

“Me too. I mean, I like you, Ken.”

“Wanna meet again? Lots of things I can teach you.”

“Better than… you know, what we just did?”

That devastating grin again. “Lots better.”

*.*.*.*.

Seems like the college boy was looking for more than just telling Layton to keep his mouth shut. As a matter of fact…. Well, I won’t say more, because we’ll likely see more of Layton and Ken later.

 As I said in the last post, JMSBooks is bringing out another short story anthology titled Huntinghawk, An Anthology for publication in February of next year. 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 the first and third Thursday of the month at 6:00 a.m., US Mountain time.

Punk and Shorty

markwildyr.com, Post #113

Courtesy of pexels.com

I have more Hawk, but it’s time for something new. The following is a little thing I put together this week. It has an air of innocence about it that our friend Curt Huntinghawk lost a long time ago. Enjoy.

*****

PUNK AND SHORTY

          Shorty stretched out on the grass beside his best friend Punk., enjoying a lazy afternoon in their own private glen up in the foothills. A cooling breeze played in the pine and fir tops and occasionally dipped down to brush his face and bring the pleasing odor of wildflowers. One day he’d learn to tell the plants by their aroma, but this wasn’t the time for it. He’d lost his daddy this past month, and the sting of it hadn’t let up much. That was what was good bumming around with Punk. Older by half a year, Punk was there for support but never got nosy.

          “He died in heaven,” Shorty blurted suddenly without meaning to. That was what his older brother had said to him when Shorty asked what took Daddy.

          “What’s that?” Punk sounded half-asleep. Probably had been.

          “That’s what my brother said. Daddy died in heaven.”

          Punk sat up. “That don’t make sense. A fella dies to go to heaven.”

          “I know, but that’s what Oren said.”

          Punk didn’t answer, but he laid down, and Shorty knew he was puzzling over the thing. Pretty soon, his friend grunted. “Oh!”

          “Oh, what?”

          “Oh, I see,” Punk said.

          “See what?”

          “What Oren meant.”

          “You do? What did he mean?”

          “Him and your mom was doing it when the angels came for him.”

          “Doin’ it? You mean…?”

          “Yep. Screwin’.”

          Shorty’s gorge rose. He scrambled to his knees. “You stop that. My mom doesn’t do things like that.”

          Punk gave a howling laugh that scrambled the birds and sent the squirrels running for tree holes. “How do you think you and Owen got here?”

          Shorty’s face turned red, but he settled down on the grass again. “Well… I guess. Yeah. Back then.”

          Punk craned his neck to the left and looked at him. Shorty always wondered how those eyes got to be so green. Like the grass they were lying on when it was wet. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

          Shorty shrugged. “I guess it’s just something they do sometimes. You know, because it’s expected when a guy’s married.”

          Punk didn’t let out a guffaw that time, but his grin got so big Shorty thought his lips would split.

          “He died in heaven,” Punk said. That means he was getting a real bang out of it. A whooping and hollering big time.”

          Shorty guessed he frowned because Punk shook his head. “You still don’t get it, do you? I can show you, if you want. Part of it, anyway.”

          “Y-you can?”

          “Sure. Nothing to it.”

          “You can send me to heaven, and there’s nothing to it? Will I be dead like Daddy?”

          That did get a hoot out of Punk, flushing more birds out of the trees. “No, it ain’t gonna kill you. You wanna do it?”

          “Will it hurt?”

           “Does heaven sound like hurtin’?”

          Shorty shook his head.”

          “Well? Yup or nope?”

          “I-I guess so. What do I have to do?”

          “Nothin’. Not a thing.”

          “O-okay. Show me.”

          “I gotta touch you, so don’t get your back up, okay?”

          “Yeah, sure… I guess.”

          Within seconds, Shorty knew it sure wasn’t his back that was getting up. He lay there, his toes scrunching up, his fingers dancing on the grass while the most indescribably delicious sensations raced all over him until he though he couldn’t stand it any longer. Then whatever wonderful thing it was quit scrambling around and grabbed him right where it counted. He let out a grunt and got transported somewhere… he didn’t know if it was heaven or not, but it was sure somewhere he’d never been before.

           Shorty sprawled on his back, panting heavily, and saying nothing for a good two minutes flat.

“I don’t know if Daddy made it to heaven or not, but if that was any measure, I’d say he died a happy man.

*****

Were you ever so innocent? I suppose we all were back in the day. Does this make you recall any fond memories of your juvenile past? I hope so, and I hope they’re sweet remembrances.

Please consider ordering Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns from Dreamspinner Press. I’d like to convince them to publish the rest of the Cut Hand Series, including the unpublished manuscript Wastelakapi… Beloved, It’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.

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

Website and blog: markwildyr.com

Email: markwildyr@aol.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyr

Twitter: @markwildyr

The following are buy links for CUT HAND:

DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-b

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWV

iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2

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

Until next time.

Mark

New post at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of the month.