Lucky Dog (15)
That night they did little more than wrestle in bed, over the covers and the sheets. It was “plausibly deniable” sex, as it happens among the devout or the insincere, between bible-camp counselors or frat boys too drunk to remember anything the next morning, so they claim. The time wasn’t squandered, though. For Bud and Matt both, who were neither devout nor insincere, fucking, unequivocal fucking, had never been as sweet as this.
Over dinner—bologna sandwiches with mustard and corn chips and beer—Matt stared at Bud’s face with tears brimming in his eyes. Tears that made him look less melancholy than ardent. Bud could feel those eyes against the back of his skull, down the hollow of his spine, and in his weightless feet.
After dreamily sipping straight scotch and listening to music, they both pretended to be too sleepy to keep their eyes open a minute longer, and ambled off to bed. Matt took a quick shower first. He came out smelling of Lifebuoy, his hair dripping drops on his shoulders, a white towel cinched loose on his hip. He bumped the edge of the bed with his knees, and when Bud looked up from his car magazine, he struck a double-bicep pose, just as he had when they first wrestled.
Bud grabbed his leg, and the towel flopped. Matt toppled over and pushed Bud’s shoulders to the mattress. Bud made a semblance of resisting. Matt straddled his chest, and with his feet and toes he scooted Bud’s boxers to his ankles. Bud kicked the boxers all the way off to the floor, and Matt plunged back forward, his hard cock thwacking Bud’s veiny erection on the way down. His hands fastened on Bud’s sturdy biceps, then slid to his wrists.
Chin to chin, chest to chest, belly to belly, and hip to hip, the two strove—Bud tried to raise his arms off the bed, and Matt pushed to keep them down. The agitation from this test of strength made their bodies churn and waver. Bud escaped Matt’s grasp, locked up his arm, and forced Matt to his side on the covers.
They lay there side by side, legs interspersed, the knobs poking each other. Bud flexed his body, making his cock tap the side of Matt’s, all the while still working Matt’s captured arm. The tapping intensified till Bud was thrusting his tool at Matt’s nuts, and Matt was deflecting the jabs defensively with his less agile cock. Matt caressed Bud’s taut neck muscle with his fingers. His heart ached with wanting.
Their stiff cocks curved up and inward towards their bellies, like a couple of rhino horns. They bumped against each other in playful combat. Bud slipped his knee up higher between Matt’s heavy thighs. He pushed himself up on the kid’s vigorous body. His dick plied over the point where the base of Matt’s rod joined his scrotum. Bud’s wide freckled shoulders shivered as the first opalescent bead formed on the tip of his nerveless glans.
(To be continued)
Over dinner—bologna sandwiches with mustard and corn chips and beer—Matt stared at Bud’s face with tears brimming in his eyes. Tears that made him look less melancholy than ardent. Bud could feel those eyes against the back of his skull, down the hollow of his spine, and in his weightless feet.
After dreamily sipping straight scotch and listening to music, they both pretended to be too sleepy to keep their eyes open a minute longer, and ambled off to bed. Matt took a quick shower first. He came out smelling of Lifebuoy, his hair dripping drops on his shoulders, a white towel cinched loose on his hip. He bumped the edge of the bed with his knees, and when Bud looked up from his car magazine, he struck a double-bicep pose, just as he had when they first wrestled.
Bud grabbed his leg, and the towel flopped. Matt toppled over and pushed Bud’s shoulders to the mattress. Bud made a semblance of resisting. Matt straddled his chest, and with his feet and toes he scooted Bud’s boxers to his ankles. Bud kicked the boxers all the way off to the floor, and Matt plunged back forward, his hard cock thwacking Bud’s veiny erection on the way down. His hands fastened on Bud’s sturdy biceps, then slid to his wrists.
Chin to chin, chest to chest, belly to belly, and hip to hip, the two strove—Bud tried to raise his arms off the bed, and Matt pushed to keep them down. The agitation from this test of strength made their bodies churn and waver. Bud escaped Matt’s grasp, locked up his arm, and forced Matt to his side on the covers.
They lay there side by side, legs interspersed, the knobs poking each other. Bud flexed his body, making his cock tap the side of Matt’s, all the while still working Matt’s captured arm. The tapping intensified till Bud was thrusting his tool at Matt’s nuts, and Matt was deflecting the jabs defensively with his less agile cock. Matt caressed Bud’s taut neck muscle with his fingers. His heart ached with wanting.
Their stiff cocks curved up and inward towards their bellies, like a couple of rhino horns. They bumped against each other in playful combat. Bud slipped his knee up higher between Matt’s heavy thighs. He pushed himself up on the kid’s vigorous body. His dick plied over the point where the base of Matt’s rod joined his scrotum. Bud’s wide freckled shoulders shivered as the first opalescent bead formed on the tip of his nerveless glans.
(To be continued)
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