Triptychs – Chapter 32

Things got quiet, between Noah and me, as we walked on in the darkness; after that, after the cell-phone thing, I mean. Things got more quiet, and – well, almost a little shy.

And it made sense; you know - ?

I mean, this was a big step, a huge step, for us; we were going to spend three nights together, three nights and two-and-a-half days, together; as in, ALONE together . . . The most we’d ever managed before was Two Whole Hours, at twenty dollars an hour, mediated by the knock on the door from the bored towel-boy at the Berkeley hot-tub place –

Yeah. This was a big step.

I glanced over at Noah, quick; his face was down, and I thought he was breathing a little faster. I looked away, and I grinned.

Well, the weekend was going to be a little like our hot-tub sessions in one way, anyway. I’d told Noah, that as far as I was concerned, clothing was not going to be an option, this weekend. For the whole time. We were going to stay naked, except when we left the house. Well, left the house by the front door, anyway . . .

He’d blushed, bright, one of the reddest flushes I’d ever seen on him; and then he’d said, ‘Okay,’ in a soft voice. And then, a second, two seconds later – ‘Good.’

And he’d gotten boned, instantly boned when I told him; I could tell, I could so easily tell by then, I didn’t even have to look.

And I’d laughed. But I’d gotten boned, too.

*   *   *

Three nights, and almost three days, together. It was a ridiculous expanse of time, an almost-unimaginable stretch of time, for us to spend, together.

Not that we didn’t have an agenda; a plan for the weekend. Of COURSE we had a plan. Duh. ‘The Top Ten Things To Do With Your Boyfriend, At Home, Alone! 1) sex, 2) sex, 3) sex, 4) . . . ’

Of course, we were going to Do It. We were so frustrated, so pent-up . . . The last time at the Berkeley hot-tub place, the towel boy knocked on our door, telling us our time was up, while we were . . .

Well. It was a pretty sleazy feeling; believe it. Even though we laughed at it, laughed at ourselves, as we showered and got dressed, hopping around in the cold air.

But.

This weekend, our time together, was about so much more than just that. Just sex. So much more. In the end, it was about BEING with each other; living, together; making meals, together. Sleeping, together.

Dreaming, together.

*

The first thing we did, when we got home, was take a shower. Together.

And partly, it was my swimmer’s instincts kicking in – when you’re a swimmer, you’re always taking showers; before getting in the water, after getting out of the water, sometimes even when you’re waiting for your next matchup, just to stay warm –

But mostly, I showered with Noah because it felt good. And because it was fun. And because it was a great way to transition, to being out-of-our-clothes. Being nude.

Okay.

So maybe, I got him off in the shower; just really quickly. Just to take the edge off, to set things up for the real sexual fun, that was coming . . . .

Anyway.

So, we got out of the shower, and we’d toweled off – actually, we’d toweled each other off, with the big, fluffy towels we keep for guests – and then, we’d hung up the towels to dry, on the rods on the walls.

And, we didn’t get dressed.

“C’mon,” I’d said; pulling him by the hand, me grinning, huge, again. “I haven’t shown you around, yet . . . ”

I didn’t even have to look around, I just knew his reaction. Embarrassed; excited. Already beginning to get hard, again . . . Well. I knew how that felt, my own self, right then.

My bedroom, the first stop; but I didn’t want to get sidetracked, so it was out again, fast, and then to the kitchen, next, and the door to the back yard, that I had plans for, a little bit later –

And always, each stop, it was the contrast; the juxtaposition. Noah’s smooth, bare body, in my bedroom, where no other bare boy’d ever been, before – (except Cole, of course. But that didn’t count).  Noah’s bare body in the kitchen, the everyday KITCHEN, with the old, worn table and the island counter and the peeling turquoise paint –

I still held on to his hand; it was warm, and alive, in mine.

His dick was pretty alive, too, pretty much full-on hard again, now; his balls were kind of riding up high, in his cute, soft scrotum . . . Oh, fuck-me.

I grinned at him there, openly, in the kitchen; my eyes running up and down his body, slow, taking my time –

“What - ?” from him. His voice a little – funny.

“Nothing,” I said; still perving on him, gleefully. Noah, naked, in my kitchen - ! “Nothing . . . Except. You know the rule for the weekend? No clothing allowed, I mean - ?”

“Yeah . . . ” He breathed it.

I pulled him in, just a little bit closer, with my hand.

“Well, there’s a sub-section to that rule. Did I mention the sub-section - ?” I said it, soft.

“No . . . ” Voice lower, still.

I put my free hand out, and touched my fingers to his smooth chest; just my fingertips, just on his left pec. And he shivered. I leaned my face in closer, still; my lips, getting close to his.

“The sub-section is – no clothes; no barriers.” I whispered it; and I leaned in closer, and pecked him light, on the lips; once. Slow. “No barriers; we get to touch each other, as much as we want.” Another peck, then I moved down, and kissed him, under his ear; wet. “Whenever we want,” I whispered, after a second; and all at once, his bare body was warm against mine, skin-to-skin; just barely touching. I felt him shiver, again, and I grinned, as I licked his neck some more. “Wherever we want,” I whispered; and my free hand trailed down his bare side, and then his front – and he REALLY shivered then, and my fingers started stirring, lazily, in his pubes, and I kissed and licked on his smooth neck, again . . . “Okay - ?” I whispered; sounding a little funny, now, even to myself.

A long hesitation, from Noah; then, “Okay,” he whispered back, his cheek just barely touching mine . . . and his body leaned in closer to me, just a little bit, warm on my skin again – and I felt one of his hands come down and gently, tentatively, cup one of my buns . . .

“I mean it,” I whispered; and I realized, I really did. My fingertips came down, and caressed his balls, that soft, soft scrotum I’d been perving on, and he jumped, a little, in a good way –  “No barriers.” And I laughed a little, as I wet-kissed his neck, again . . .

And he made a noise, and leaned against me harder – and then he was kissing me back, on my own neck; and his legs were a little farther apart, a little more spread, giving me all the space I needed, as I played with his balls, some more . . .

Oh, fuck-me - ! I thought, with the part of my mind that was still thinking . . .

Well, to be literal, getting-me-fucked was on the to-do list for the weekend too, of course; and that thinking part of my brain grinned, delighted, at the thought. It was going to be FUN . . .

But. No Barriers; I’d really meant that, and not just in the sexual sense, not even more generally, in the sensual, personal-boundaries, skin-to-skin sense.

This was our time; this was our weekend. This was our chance to get close. No Barriers . . .

*

And so it went.

Actually, it went like that a lot.

We fell into a kind of rhythm, that filled the whole weekend, that structured the whole weekend. We’d start with something physical, one of those Top Ten Things To Do With Your Boyfriend, At Home, Alone . . . and that was wonderful, that was so awesome, it’s so much BETTER when there’s not a meter running on a towel-boy’s desk, somewhere, when you’re doing it . . . it really is.

And after, there’d be the cuddling; and that was almost better than the sex. We’d never really had the chance to cuddle, much, before; it’s hard to cuddle, in a hot tub.

And then, there’d come the just-living-together part; the spending-time-together part, the ordinary laughing, and talking, and tickling . . . Making food; eating food. Everyday life; you know?

Except, of course, we stayed bare.

I swear, that Rule of mine was the best idea I’ve ever had. I swear it.

*

‘ . . . I am your King!’

‘Well, I didn’t vote for you.’

‘You don’t vote for kings.’

‘Well, how did you become king, then?’

‘The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held Excalibur aloft from the bosom of the water to signify by Divine Providence . . . that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur . . . That is why I am your king!’

That first night; in the living room. The lights out; candles, big ones, with multiple wicks – I’d gone through a candle-making phase, when I was a kid – big candles, lit up, on a lot of the horizontal surfaces.

Noah and me, wrapped up together in a comforter, propped up on our big, old floor pillows. Watching ‘Monty Python And The Holy Grail’.

‘ . . . Look,  strange women lying on their backs in ponds handing out swords . . . that's no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.’

‘Be quiet!’

‘You can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!’

Actually, ‘watching’ might be too strong a word. I kept collapsing into laughter, at the pure, undiluted silliness of it all; I mean, it’s just so fucking HILARIOUS, you know - ? And Noah, who almost never laughs – he usually kind of laughs with his expressions, just a smile, or a breath – Noah was laughing out loud.

‘ . . . A witch,  a witch,  burn her!’

‘Did you dress her up like this?’

‘ . . . Um . . . Yes . . . no . . . a bit . . . yes . . . she HAS got a wart.’

‘Why do you think she is a witch?’

‘She turned me into a newt.’

‘A newt?’

‘ . . . I got better.’

It was all so priceless. Laughing; together.

And of course, we’d already fooled around . . . Duh. Like I said, we’d been frustrated, for so long . . .

But the last time, had been a few hours ago. And, we were bare, under the comforter; skin to skin. Touching. Holding each other, actually; his arm around my waist, my arms around his shoulders. Kind-of-cold, where our skin was exposed; warm, skin-to-skin warm, where we touched, under the covers.

And it was driving me slowly crazy. The delicious freedom, the sensations of being bare, myself; I love being naked. And, Noah, bare; next to me, touching me. Noah, nude. He’s so beautiful without his clothes, his skin is so SOFT, and he was really, really into doing this, I could tell, he was so hard again, and he was TOUCHING me –

Noah’s bare body drives me up the fucking wall, it really does. It’d been driving me up the wall all that afternoon and evening. And we were going to do more, together, later. We both knew it.

‘Knights Who Say "Ni" . . . we are but simple travelers. We seek the  Enchanter who lives beyond this wood and who . . . ’

‘NI!’

‘ . . . Oh!’

‘NI!  NI!’

‘Oh!’

‘We shall say Ni! again to you if you do not appease us.’

‘All right! What do you want?’

‘We want . . . a shrubbery!’

I dissolved into laughter, again; and I leaned closer into Noah, and I planted my lips against his smooth neck, and I made a farting sound, and he jumped. “Ni!”, I went on, still laughing, as he elbowed me gently, in the ribs . . .

*

Later, that night; the movie over, the TV screen dark. The candles still lit; the room, dim.

Me and Noah, still sort-of wrapped up in the comforter. Holding each other. Touching.

Well, not touching in the same way, exactly.

“Shhh . . . ” from me, in a whisper. “Just relax . . . relax. Let me do this . . . ”

My right hand down, way down, between his open legs; my fingers gently, rhythmically massaging the smooth skin in back of his balls, that smooth stretch between his balls and his anus.

Noah’s breath, ragged. The quiet around us, so totally charged. Erotically charged.

“It’s called the perineum,” I whispered on, softly. My fingertips rubbing, on and on, and on. “It feels really good, to get massaged, down there . . . doesn’t it - ? Just relax, and let it happen . . . ”

Noah’s head leaned over, onto my shoulder.

“It feels really good, to get licked down there, too,” I breathed. Grinning. Excited as all hell myself, to be doing this; as excited as I could remember ever being. “I’ll show you . . . ”

“ . . . mmmMMMM . . . .” from Noah; a kind of whimper, and I grinned wider, and pressed my cheek to the top of his head –

I’d already figured out, a while ago, that Noah’s not very . . . experienced. Sexually experienced, I mean; as in, the things he’s experienced, his erotic repertoire. He’d only ever had one partner before, after all.

This weekend, I was finding out – he was even less experienced than I’d known. It seemed that this Steven, guy, Steven-With-A-V, had some real inhibitions about doing almost anything except Basic Blowjobs; Oral Intercourse, One-A. I’m pretty sure, he wasn’t even all that much into kissing.

The more I figured out about Steven-With-A-V, the less I liked him.

Noah’s not inhibited.

Okay; so he’s a little shy, a little shy about asking for what he wants, expressing himself, letting himself go . . . I mean, who isn’t? Who hasn’t been there, some time or other - ?

But he’s not inhibited; he’s actually really sexual, in his quiet, intense way, and I was having a fucking blast showing him things, teaching him about his own body, his reactions . . . I was just loving that part, getting him all hot, all heated up – I was just loving it. It was, like, fucking with his mind. In the good, erotic sense.

Speaking of which . . .

I let my fingertips slip back, further back, slowly – until I was just gently pressing my fingertips, on his smooth anus, that most intimate, private place any of us has –

Noah gasped, in my free arm. His legs moved.

“Shhhh . . . ” I whispered, again. I kept pressing, just gently, with the fleshy parts of my fingertips. “Shhh . . . I’m not doing anything, I’m not going in, not yet . . . I just wanted to show you how good it can feel, down there . . . ”

“Uhhhhh - !” from Noah; a little high-pitched, as I kept on pressing, gently; then I let up for a second, then I pressed, gently, again . . . “uuuuhhhhhh . . . !”

“It feels good to get licked there, too!” I whispered, in the near-darkness; listening to his ragged breathing. A little more pressure, with my fingertips; another twitch, of his dripping dick, where it rubbed against the soft comforter. A pause; and then, I grinned, big, in the gloom. “Here,” I whispered, softly; “Lie down. I’ll show you - !”

“NNNnnnnnn - !” from Noah; soft, and high-pitched, then I was positioning him, on his tummy, on top of the comforter, his legs spread, his beautiful bare butt all naked and exposed to me . . .

*   *   *

If I taught Noah a few things about his own body, about eroticism, about sex – he taught me something back; something more valuable, actually. He taught me about intimacy. He taught me about – well, being part of a couple, I guess.

It wasn’t something I knew all that much about.

And of course, being Noah, he did it quietly; he did it by example.

Like he did, Saturday afternoon, when I wanted us to go out for some coffee, and, okay, something a little sweet . . .

Okay. So I’ve got a little bit of a sweet tooth, to go along with my coffee addiction. I don’t indulge it all that much – but when that craving hits, it hits. And cravings exist to be indulged, after all. You think - ?

And it was cold out, and wet, and Noah really didn’t want to go, I could tell . . . But he didn’t say anything, he put on his clothes with just a little bit of a wry expression, and he stayed in a good mood, as we walked through the drizzle to Strada, that main Berkeley coffee shop in my life, in all of our lives, growing up.

Of course, it turned out to be a disaster. Strada was packed solid, and we had to wait almost an hour in the cold, for a table . . . But Noah stayed in a good mood; he listened to my half-assed jokes, and twitched his passes-for-laughter expression from time to time, and he actually spoke up, some, he actually said things, when the silences got too long or too awkward –

He actually took my hand, once, when he could tell I was getting pissed at the delay. And, pissed at the people at the little, two-seat tables who were staying way, WAY after their coffees and cakes were done.

And, pissed at myself for getting us into this situation . . .

He actually took my hand. In public. No prompting, by me.

It was okay, in the end. We got a table; we had espresso, and sweets. And I realized, how much I’d needed the coffee.

And then, after that – it was like, role reversal.

I’d taken us on a little detour, on the way back to the house. First, past our old high school, Cole’s and mine, which was really close by; and then, into the UC Berkeley campus itself, just to show Noah around a little, show Noah were Cole and I’d done a lot of our growing up . . .

Noah’d never been there, before. And he was completely, utterly fascinated; and I could see, it was all about as new, about as foreign, to a boy from Tracy, California, as you could possibly get.

We ended up walking over way more of the campus than I’d expected. When all I’d really wanted, was to go home, get into the shower with Noah, and get warm and wet together.

But I really didn’t mind. I just, went with it; I just, sort of, gave the experience, to Noah; and I enjoyed the giving. And I enjoyed it more, because he’d given me his patience, his good mood, earlier.

Yeah. I was learning, too.

And the big realization, the breakthrough realization hit me, just a little later, as we were walking home through the drizzle.

It was Saturday afternoon; already getting dark. I’d hooked up with Noah on Friday.

Which meant – I’d already passed my Indoor-Outdoor World’s Record for spending time with a date; my Record Time for hanging with a date, without panicking, getting that trapped feeling, getting that, I-just-want-to-get-away, and get alone, feeling . . . My usual M.O. My usual reaction, to someone getting close. I’d blown by my record time - !

And as I thought that – a smile just spread out, all over my face, as we walked. Into the wind, and the drizzle; our heads down, a little. But I smiled, big.

“What - ?” from Noah. Sensitive to my mood, sensitive to my expressions; as always.

“Nothing,” I went; still smiling. Shaking my head, just a little.

Sensitive; yeah. And sensitivity, wanting to get close – usually THAT was a bigger danger signal, a bigger turn-off, in one of my dates, than anything. Sensitive boys used to make me run, a lot farther and a lot faster, than the other ones, the bad boys, the self-absorbed boys . . .

“Hm - ?” from Noah, on a short, rising note; with just an expression, just a sideways glance. A skeptical one.

I tested my feelings; I probed at them, just a little.

And, yeah; I had to admit – I was still worried, about him getting too close. I was still worried about, maybe, me being bad for him; I was still just a little claustrophobic, maybe, about human relationships, the way I’ve always been – well, except for when it came to Cole and my mom, anyway . . .

But not that worried.

Maybe it was because Noah . . . knew when to back off. Maybe it was because he was good at being silent; good at holding himself back, not being too much into me . . . or at least, not showing he was too much into me; I could feel him holding back, a little, this weekend, being careful, watching my reactions, not overdoing it, and fuck-me, I appreciated it –

Yeah. Kind of twisted, and convoluted, huh?

Still, it was the truth, it was how I felt. And I was grateful, I was so grateful to Noah, for his restraint.

“Nothing,” I went, shaking my head a little, again, still smiling. Feeling the mist plaster my hair onto my forehead; a drop fell from my hair, into my eye, and I wiped it away. “Nothing . . . Only, I was thinking; it’ll feel good, taking a nice, hot shower, when we get in . . . Or maybe a bath. Would you like to take a hot bath, together - ?”

THAT got to him; he stepped a little funny, coming down off a curb, then he recovered, and he didn’t look at me; and I reached out, and took his hand, grinning bigger than ever, just totally delighted.

It was going to be FUN.

*   *   *

I took pictures of Noah, that weekend.

Of course I took pictures of Noah; photography is like breathing, for me, it’s something I have to do. And, there was no way I was going to waste this time, this opportunity, Noah, nude, available –

Okay. Digression. An apology, really.

For me, nudity is – fun. Duh; it’s why I came up with the No Clothing Allowed rule for the weekend, and it was erotic as hell, it’d kept us both excited as anything, all that time – plus, it FELT good, it was wonderfully sensual, it just felt so FUCKING good –

But at the same time – I’m not particularly shy, about my own body, about other people’s bodies. I mean, No Clothes Allowed can be fun, at home, alone . . . but other times, it’s not such a big thing, really. I mean, I grew up swimming, from a young age, even before I met Cole; you know - ? And there’s nothing like the smell of dirty gym clothes in a moldy locker room, to get me out of The Mood, to take the fun out of being naked. That smell just takes me back to a thousand early-morning practices, showering off in a cold locker room, still stiff, sleep-deprived –

So.

So. That’s also kind of how I am, when it comes to photography. As in, nude photography.

I’ve been doing nude photography my whole life, since I got my first camera, my first digital camera, I mean . . . and I take it seriously! It’s a real challenge, it’s harder to get the human body right, really RIGHT, than almost anything else in the world –

Cole’s been my usual model, for most of our lives. How he puts up with me, I just don’t know.

And so, yeah. I’ve got a body of work – if you’ll excuse the expression – I’ve got a body of work, of Cole, nudes, I mean . . . and I still pull it up and look at it, often enough. The earlier stuff is a little primitive, by my standards, today . . . but still, I’m proud of it all.

I’ve dragged other friends into posing, too; I did a black-and-white series, on actual film, of Cole and Jason and our swim-team-mate Kiril, a couple of years ago. I called it ‘Triptychs’ – I’d posed them in kind of abstract positions, all kind of set off against each other, on a theme of triangles, touching but just barely intersecting – and I got a lot of praise for it, in my photography class.

Partly, mostly, maybe, because of the composition; but also because of the lighting, the lighting was a complete bitch to get right, I really sweated the lighting. Like I said, the naked human body is really tough, to photograph right. And the teacher said, in front of the rest of the class, that I should definitely include those shots in my portfolio, my would-be-professional portfolio.

But she also told me, a little later, to be careful who I showed them to. And it wasn’t a high school photography class; I couldn’t have pulled something like that, even in our liberal-as-hell Berkeley high school . . .

Anyway.

So, Cole, and some of my friends, were used to modeling for me. And when it was serious, when we weren’t doing erotic shots of each other, just for fun – which we did often enough, I admit – when it was real photography, serious photography, posing nude just wasn’t a big deal for any of us. Including me.

Well, Noah hadn’t had that experience.

I guess he found the idea of modeling for nude photographs – even serious ones; art photographs – a little exciting.

Oh, well.

I did my best to work around it; ‘it’ being his erection, of course; but it was kind of difficult to work around something so – prominent, you know - ?

And, beautiful; prominent, and beautiful.

I admit – I enjoyed it; I enjoyed his excitement. I enjoyed causing it; even as it made me grin, a little ruefully . . .

I completely lost my, oh-so-carefully-grown photographer’s distance, that professional, objective eye, on Sunday morning, when I got Noah into the back yard.

Well, fuck-me; distance and objectivity can be overrated, no - ?

“Okay,” I went, cheerfully. “Okay; I think I want you over there, against the trunk of that tree . . . No, wait a minute.” I made a show of turning around, slowly, as if I were considering different setups – I wasn’t; I’d been planning this shoot, for weeks –

And poor Noah just stood there, naked, rock-hard and pointing up high, almost trembling with nerves, overloading –

Turns out, this was his Very First Time, for being outdoors, nude. He’d never been streaking, never been skinny-dipping – except at our San Francisco hot-tub place, and a room with an open-air roof just doesn’t count – and the feelings, the sensations, the weak sunlight and the cool breeze, on his bare body, the Being Outside Naked-ness of the experience was just so totally getting to him . . .

I loved watching it; I so fucking did.

“No . . . ” I went, grinning; “No – I think I want you against that tree trunk.” I made a show of setting up my tripod, then I looked back at him. “Now, how about leaning back, a little - ?”

It wasn’t like we were being particularly risky, or daring, or anything; and I’d told Noah as much. It’s a small back yard, with a high fence, and it’s pretty overgrown with trees and bushes along the fence line. About the only windows overlooking the yard were the Morrisons’ upstairs; and I knew, they had a long table up against that side of the wall. They wouldn’t be peeking.

Not that they would’ve minded, if they did see us. They’d caught me streaking home from Cole’s house, once, when I was fourteen – I’d chosen a Dare, in Truth-Or-Dare – and they’d both just laughed, standing there on the sidewalk, where they’d been on their way out – they’d both just laughed, big, as I ran by.

Well, I hadn’t been hard, back then, though. Hm.

“Now, put your left foot up . . . no; no, like this . . . ”

 I came up to him, and positioned him; so he was leaning back against the tree trunk, his arms up, hands behind his head; his left leg bent, the sole of his foot against the rough bark of the tree –

And as I posed him, so carefully, the tip of my own dick kept hitting his bare skin; accidentally-on-purpose. I was hard as a rock, now; but I don’t point up as high as Noah, he’s really gifted, that way.

“Okay; arms down, just a little more . . . ”

This time, my hardon bumped sideways against his smooth hip. Several bumps. Fuck-me, it felt good; and I had to fight, to keep my concentration, to keep up with the joke of it all –

Of course, in the end, it wasn’t entirely a joke. Sure, I was playing Noah, a little; pulling his chain. Turning him on.

But I was serious about the pictures I was taking, too; erection or no erection, I was set on getting some really good, high-quality shots of Noah, in a setting that worked . . .

And this one did. The tree was a big, gnarled old live-oak, with Spanish moss hanging down from the branches, and lichen on the trunk and boughs . . . and the contrast; the contrast between Noah’s smooth, beautiful bare skin, and the rough bark; his light-white arms, his legs, beautifully proportioned, against the dark, twisting branches –

They came out well. Really, REALLY well. And if Noah was all hard, for the whole shoot – well, fuck. Erections are normal, erections are human, they’re beautiful – aren’t they?

I wish I could include a couple of those shots, in my portfolio. They belong there.

Finally; after the third pose, with all the deliberate touching, and brushing, and bumping, that went along with it . . . finally, we lost the light; and there wasn’t any excuse to go on shooting, anymore.

We were both shivering, now; Noah’s pale cheeks were bright red, rosy-red, the way some people can get, as he stood against the tree, one arm stretched along one of the branches . . . Still overloading; I could so tell. Still high-up hard, and excited as hell, even more so, now, after all my touching, and teasing . . .

I didn’t say anything; I didn’t say a word. I just left the tripod, and I walked up to him, slowly; the grass cold and wet under my feet, and his eyes were big, as he watched me. And when I came up to him, I reached out, with one hand, and I stroked his chest, gently; and I leaned in, close, slowly closing the distance, to his lips, and I touched his lips, with mine, and I kissed him, gently, and then back out, and then I was kissing him gently, again . . .

And then, I brought my hand down, and I took his dick; and he gasped. And just gently, just slowly, I began stroking him, as I put my other arm around him, and pulled our bodies partway together . . . I stroked his dick, as I kissed him, and his skin was warm against mine, in the cool air, and I stroked him slow, once, twice, three times –

“Just a quick one, right now,” I whispered; into his ear, my cheek to his. Pause for breath. Stroke; stroke. “Because you’re going to fuck me, this afternoon – ”

“nnnnnnNNNNNNNGGGHHHHH!” He exploded, there’s just no other good word for it, he just exploded way up between us, his semen splattering warm in strings all over my stomach, and my chest, and it went on for spasm after spasm, as he shook, and I went on stroking him, squeezing him, gently, slowly . . .

I followed him a couple of minutes later; the taste of his mouth on mine, his hands all over me, as I rubbed against him, rubbed his semen between us, and FUCK-me, it hit me so hard, I couldn’t ever remember coming so HARD, before –

Our first outdoors orgasm.

It wasn’t going to be our last. No way, not if I had anything to say about it.

Yeah; it was part of my plan, from the beginning. Outdoor sex is always WAY more intense; and I’d wanted to give Noah that whole experience, the whole sensual package; the whole gift.

Well, it was a gift that went both ways.

And as we held on to each other, panting, wet, warm-where-we-touched . . . I kissed him, again, quick; and I grinned. Breathing hard. “Sticky,” I managed to whisper, at last; and I held up my wet right hand, and we both looked at it, and he gave a kind of Noah-expression that translated to wry laughter, and I deliberately, carefully smeared my hand all over his beautiful, smooth butt-cheek . . .

Looking forward, at the same time, to getting fucked by him, that afternoon. Yeah.

**************

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