A man might consider his life remarkable if at some point he had known the love of a beautiful woman. He might treasure the memory of that love. And even if he marries that beautiful woman, and lives with her to old age, he will remember their youth, and her beauty when their bodies were young.
I knew the love of a beautiful boy.
Of course, back then I didn’t think of Kipper as a ‘beautiful boy’. He was Kipper, and at fourteen and fifteen, we considered ourselves to be young men. But I did think of him as perfect, flawless; so flawless that he often took my breath away. Like he did that night.
We had told the hostess that we wanted to sit dockside, and as she led us across the patio, I noticed eyes at several of the tables following us. When we sat down, the setting sun bathed us, and our table, in gold; and people kept glancing our way. I was proud to be with Kipper. I was proud of us, as a couple.
The aromas of grilled meat and fresh baked breads wafted over the outdoor tables, and we studied our menus with interest, even though both of us intended to order the buffet. I glanced up at Kipper, and found my attention arrested. His smile was always my delight, but in that moment, when he wasn’t smiling but rather, was studying the menu, all dressed up in a crisp shirt and sharks-tooth necklace; I found myself momentarily awed by him… his smooth brow, his finely feathered eyebrows, his straight nose and soft lips, his amazing eyes, the delicate peach fuzz on the plains of his cheeks, the mop of his thick hair fanning out over his ears… I had known him most of my life. I had spent much of the summer naked with him, making love, having fun. But it was different that night; Kipper all dressed up, eyes down on the menu… Kipper was gorgeous.
A storm of half-formed thoughts and feelings rose up in my heart like a huge, warm wave… Kipper’s beauty, the memory of him in my arms, his smile when he was happy, the heat of his skin in the night, the scent of his hair… and a hundred other thoughts and memories, but most of all, the best thought… Kipper belonged to me… and that thought brought my heart to my throat.
Kipper looked up at me, just as tears filled my eyes.
He cocked his head and extended his hand across the table, but I didn’t take it. I was afraid of what people would think. Instead, I quickly dabbed my eyes with my napkin, and with a shrug, I tried to laugh it off. “I just seem to feel things more since… you know… the accident.” I gave him a smile. “I guess I’m a little tired, too.”
Kipper’s brow furrowed and he opened his hand, palm up on the table.
I did take his hand then, and leaned toward him. “Damn it, Kips,” I whispered, dabbing my eyes once more with the napkin, “Truth is… I just love you a whole lot.”
Kipper looked surprised for a moment, then smiled and squeezed my hand. But then he quickly looked away, blinking, and pulled his hand back. “Geez, you’re going to start me crying, too.”
“You been tired, too?” I asked with a grin as I pulled my own hand back.
Kipper gave me a half smile. “Since the accident I guess I’ve been feeling things more lately myself.”
“You boys OK?” a woman’s voice asked. It was our waitress; a full-figured gal the age of our parents. Appearing beside our table, she was smiling, but her eyes were on my face.
“Oh, sure,” Kipper said, sitting up and laying his napkin in his lap, “we’re fine.”
“We’re celebrating,” I told her, leaning back in my chair and forcing a smile.
She looked glad, in a relieved sort of way. I suppose that waitresses aren’t supposed to have do deal with crying teenage boys. “What are you celebrating?” she asked as she pulled out a pad and pen for our order.
Kipper answered before I could. “Friendship,” he said with a wink to me. “We’re just celebrating being friends.”
“That’s a great thing to celebrate,” our waitress said, nodding wisely.
“And we’re celebrating my being alive,” I said, following up with what I had intended to say. I nodded toward Kipper. “I almost drowned and he saved my life.”
The waitress lowered her pad and looked from me to Kipper and smiled. “Well I guess you would be good friends after something like that. What happened?”
We told her about the fishing shack and our staying there and about the accident and how Kipper pulled me from the water. By the time we finished, she seemed touched. And she liked us. She began stopping by our table more frequently than she did her others.
By the time Kipper and I finished with the salad buffet, the sun had set and Kipper’s face glowed in the light from our table lamp. Watching him, being with him, warmed my heart once more, but this time with a deep, genuine contentment… a new feeling for my fifteen-year-old heart.
We loaded our plates at the full buffet with prime rib, grilled chicken, and fried shrimp. But we ate slowly, not saying much; just smiling, our feet together under the table.
After our second helpings, Kipper asked, “How’s your thong fitting?”
I laughed. “It’s the shorts that are getting tighter. The thong was snug to begin with.”
Kipper made his eyes big, and grinned.
Dancing had started on the end of the dock by the time we hit the dessert bar. Kipper kept glancing over there as we ate from the jumble of fancy cakes and pudding on our plates. I knew what he was thinking. I wanted to dance with him, too — it was the first time I realized how unfair things could be for gay guys. It was the first time I felt like I… well, that Kipper and I… were missing out on something just because we were gay. Because I knew everyone would freak if I danced with him there.
“When we get back, Kips,” I said. “We’ll put on the radio and dance.”
He shrugged, and looked over at the dancers.
“I know,” I said. “It won’t be the same.”
Our waitress returned to our table again, this time with a small tray holding two champagne glasses. “Don’t tell me how old you boys are,” she said with a smile. “I don’t want to know.” She set a glass before each of us. “It’s champagne. Because being alive and being good friends are damn good things to celebrate.” She said it with a smile, but then her eyes began to water, and she retreated quickly from our table.
I turned to Kipper. He had a gentle, almost sad smile. If only we could dance, I thought. And then I wondered, for only a moment, if Kipper ever regretted being gay… with me. I wondered if he ever wished that I was a girl.
He lifted his glass. “To us,” he said softly.
Returning his half-sad smile, I lifted my glass to his. “To us.”
* * *
“I’m not ready to go back yet,” Kipper said after I paid the bill. “Let’s cross the island and walk on the beach.”
“Cool with me,” I said, standing up from the table. “It’ll feel good to walk off some of this food.”
“And stretch your thong,” Kipper added with a grin.
Once we crossed Padre Island Drive and were away from the lights, Kipper took my hand into his, and we walked silently, side by side. The quarter moon had risen high in the sky and the breeze had begun quieting for the evening.
We passed between beach houses and out onto the sand. Kipper slipped his arm behind my waist as we walked and I laid mine over his shoulder. There were other people on the beach, but I wasn’t worried about what they would think. Not in the dark; maybe not even in the light.
I resented not being able to dance at Louie’s with Kipper. I resented worrying about what people would think when we got back home. It occurred to me that if I had any guts, I wouldn’t care about what anybody thought, except of course for Kipper.
“Sticks,” Kipper said, glancing at me. “I’m glad we’re in this together.”
I smiled and pulled his shoulder more tightly to mine. “Sometimes Kips, I could believe that you’re reading my mind. Sometimes you say my next thought before I can think it.”
He smiled and pulled my hip tighter to his, and I matched his step.
“It’d be hell without you, Stick.”
“Without me, you might not be gay,” I pointed out. “It was you wanting to kiss my mouth that did you in, remember? I’m sorry Kipper.”
"Don’t be a dumbass,” Kipper said.
He could say that, but I wondered if he ever regretted the day he first started thinking about kissing me.
“Listen,” Kipper said, cocking his head.
We were coming up on the Hilton, and could hear music. We turned up from the beach and climbed the steps to the Hilton sea wall. There was a party on the lawn, not far from where we stood in the shadows. It looked like older people, and the music was slower…The Carpenters, Close to You.
The party was in the light. We were in the shadows. I pulled Kipper back farther into the shadows, back behind a corner of the building and into my arms. He wrapped his arms over my shoulders, pressed his cheek to mine, and we began to sway to the music.
He felt good in clothes. I had to smile to myself — we’d been naked so much that now crisp shirts and aftershave and necklaces were sexy as hell. “Damn, you’re hot in clothes, Kipper.”
“You know what I’ve wanted to do all night… ever since you put your shorts on?” Kipper asked.
“What?”
“This,” he said, reaching down between us to cup my pouch. “Your thong makes the front of your shorts stick way out… that’s hot!”
“It’s not the thong, knucklehead,” I started to say, but then we heard laughter close by, and quickly separated. But no one came around the side of the building and we carefully moved together once more. We danced. But then when they played the theme from Star Wars, Kipper started breathing like Darth Vader beside my ear.
“Forget it Kipper. You don’t have a dark side.”
“Everyone has a dark side,” Kipper replied, holding me closer as we swayed together.
“OK,” I said. “What’s your dark side?”
Kipper was quiet for a moment as we moved to the music in the darkness; alone in that corner of the sea wall. The rhythm of the breakers below gave quiet competition to that of the dance music.
“Maybe my dark side is what we do together, and the way I think about you.”
“Don’t say that, Kipper,” I said, pressing the side of my face to his. “Don’t ever think it… you don’t think that, do you?”
“Not when we’re together,” he whispered. “Everything feels really right when we’re together. Everything feels like it’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
“It’s perfect,” I said, sliding my hands to his bottom to hold us together down there as we danced.
The sound of laughter came again from the party, and I glanced toward the corner of the building, but no one was coming.
“I still have a dark side,” Kipper said quietly.
“Oh?”
He nodded. “I look at other guys, Stick, all the time. I look at their bodies and their faces, and I wonder what it’d be like to do them. I’ve been wondering about Danny Caldwell ever since you told me about him… I’ve thought about doing him.”
“So?” I said. “Guys look. Girls look too. It’s just the way we are.”
“I wonder,” Kipper said, “if our parents would agree that wanting to fuck Danny Caldwell was just being the way I am.”
Before I could answer, he continued. “I wonder,” he said quietly, “if when we’re back home, I sneak off and fuck Danny Caldwell… or if he fucks me… would you think I was just being the way I am?”
“You really have the hots for Danny Caldwell?”
“You aren’t answering my question,” Kipper said.
Just then, a couple slipped around the corner of the building, laughing. They were in their twenties maybe, or thirties. The guy pressed the girl back against the wall and they kissed. They hadn’t seen us.
I took Kipper’s hand and led him back toward the beach. Our movement caught their eye, and the couple turned to watch us leave.
Once we made it to the firmer sand close to the water, we turned up the beach, heading back the way we had come. We walked slowly, quietly; shoulder to shoulder.
“I’d hate it,” I said.
Kipper glanced at me. “What? Me doing Danny Caldwell?”
“You doing him without me,” I said, giving him a shoulder bump. “I mean, doing girls separately… I can see that. It wouldn’t bother me the same way, Kips. But guys… we need to do guys together or not at all.”
He smiled and took my hand. Out on the horizon, the lights of an incoming ship slowly advanced toward the jetties and the Brownsville shipping channel.
“I look at other guys too, Kips,” I said. “You know that, right?”
He nodded. “You always have.”
I frowned.
Kipper smiled, and gave my hand a squeeze. When I didn’t smile back, he took his hand from mine and threw his arm over the back of my shoulders. He crooked his arm around my neck and pulled my head sideways toward his. “Sticks… you know how we see each other naked all the time?”
I nodded.
Kipper pulled my neck closer in the crook of his arm and leaned his forehead against the side of my head as we walked. “I don’t mean just that we see each other without clothes.” He placed the palm of his other hand over my heart. “We’ve seen each other in here, Stick,” he said softly. “We’ve seen each other the way we really are inside… dark sides and all.”
He pulled us to a stop and put his mouth close to my ear. “I like that, Stick. I’m glad you know me like nobody else does. I’m glad that I don’t need to hide my dark side from you. And you don’t have to hide yours from me.”
I slipped my arm behind the small of his back, pulling his side to mine. We resumed walking, in step. “You’re right, Kips,” I said. “It’s way cool.”
We walked, his arm over my shoulders, mine behind his waist. The surf and wind were down and the beach was quiet for that time of night. Sand crabs scrambled away from us, and farther down the beach, a couple walked hand in hand toward us.
“What about it, Kips,” I said. “Do I know all your secrets? Any secret dreams you haven’t told me about?”
He grinned. “You mean, like the one where I’m quarterback for the Cowboys and throw a Hail Mary pass in the last seconds to win the greatest Superbowl in history?”
“Yeah,” I said. “That one… where I catch the pass and all the thousands of people in the stands come to their feet, cheering, and all the Dallas Cowboys lift me to their shoulders and carry me triumphantly around the field.”
The couple walking toward us from the other direction were young; maybe college age. They stared at Kipper’s arm over my shoulder and mine behind his waist as we passed each other. “We’re in love,” Kipper called back happily.
The guy shook his head as though he thought we were joking, and the girl glanced back at us over her shoulder after they were past.
“So you’d like us to be naked in front of everybody,” I observed.
Kipper laughed, and our eyes met. He was happy, and I was glad because he had been down a little, earlier.
“So, Kips,” I said, tugging his hip sideways against mine, “any other secret dreams?”
He shrugged. “What about you?”
“Well, there’s my rock star dream,” I said, “where I become rich and famous…”
Kipper frowned slightly. “I mean real secret dreams.”
“You’re the one dreaming of throwing touchdown passes in the Superbowl.”
He smiled. “Well, that really is a secret dream of mine… it really is… you know, to go into pro sports.”
I nodded. “I think every guy dreams about being a sports star and doing great stuff for everybody to see, but I know that you are really serious about it, Kips. I mean, shit, you’ve had me running patterns almost every day.”
He smiled, and then gazed upwards, toward the stars. “I’ve thought about being an architect,” he said. “I think I’d like drawing up plans for buildings and houses.”
“I’ll loan you sketch paper, and you can draw up a plan for better shack for us.”
Kipper smiled, and his gaze drifted far away for a moment.
“I’d like to try writing,” I said. “I’d like to write for movies.” I glanced at him. “That really is a secret dream of mine. I’d like to write movie scripts; maybe even make movies.”
Kipper smiled, and then the corners of his mouth curled up.
“Not that kind of movie, you numbskull!” I said, squeezing the side of his waist with my hand.
The truth was, we’d been sharing secret dreams all summer. But as we walked up the beach that night, and then started back across the island, we found a few more to share. At fourteen and fifteen, you have a lot of dreams… at least we did… and there were some dreams that we hadn’t even guessed about each other. And there were, of course, a few sexual dreams.
I had told Kipper about the fantasies I used to have before that summer… dreams of meeting another guy while traveling with my family, for example. He told me some of his fantasies, and I wasn’t surprised that one included us doing Danny Caldwell at the shack.
We crossed Padre Island Drive and I took Kipper’s hand again, in the darkness on the other side. “Kips,” I asked, “do you have secret dreams about us?”
He glanced at me, and then away; gripping my hand a little more tightly. “Sure.”
“Like what?” I asked.
He glanced at me again, and bit his lip. “You’ll think I’ve really gone overboard… over you… over us,” he said, quietly.
It was my turn to throw my arm over his shoulder, and pull him into a sideways hug as we walked. “We’ve been overboard on each other for a long time, you nut! Tell me… what secret dreams.”
He shrugged under my arm and looked away. “I told you that I think I’d like to be an architect… well I dream up houses in my mind,” he said. “And we live in them together; you and me.”
“That’s cool,” I said.
“We live in them, together,” he said, glancing at me, “even after college.”
“Still cool, Kips,” I said. “’We’ve even kidded about having our own company after college.”
Kipper cast his eyes down to the ground. “In my secret dream,” he said quietly, “we live in those houses together… all our lives.”
I nodded thoughtfully, and pulled his shoulder more tightly under mine. “Truth is, Kipper… in my Superbowl dream, it’s always you who throws me my pass. And in my rock star dream, it’s you and me together… our own group… getting rich and famous together. I dream about us staying together too, Kips.”
I stopped him, and turned him to face me in the darkness. “Stay overboard over me Kipper,” I said, wrapping my arms over his shoulders and pulling him close. “Because I’m staying overboard over you.”
The corners of his mouth curled up, and so I kissed his lips. And then I kissed them again, and Kipper’s hands went up my back and into the back of my hair.
We grew hard against each other, and our breathing grew ragged. “Let’s get back to the shack, Kips,” I said, brushing my nose against his.
He nodded.
I turned to go first, and when I did, he grabbed a hand full of my ass with a “whomp.”
“Damn, you look hot in clothes,” he said.
* * *
The dancing at Louie’s was at the other end of the dock from where we had tied off our boat, and most of the attention was focused that way. So when Kipper and I did some butt-bumping dancing together before leaving, few noticed and those who did probably thought we were clowning around. And we were at first. But then Kipper began moving his hips the way he did so well, and we left shortly after that.
* * *
We left the dock lights on, but only the dock lights. And we took a final piss before stepping up to my side of the bed, still in our clothes. “Yep… you’re damned sexy in clothes,” I whispered, my hands on Kipper’s shoulder blades as I pulled him close and we kissed.
I’d held him in my arms countless times that summer, and I loved it every time. The clothes made it different this time, and yet it was still Kipper. “I love you, Kips,” I whispered, brushing my cheek on his.
He kissed me softly and eased me back onto the bed. When I scooted up on my back, he came up over me. “I love you, Sticks,” he whispered, unbuttoning the top button of my shirt. “And… you’re damned sexy in clothes, too.”
Kipper lowered his mouth to the hollow of my throat and kissed me there while he worked on my shirt buttons. I squeezed his shoulders as he laid open my shirt. He paused, looking me over, and then lowered his mouth to my nipple and sucked; and then dropped a hand between my legs.
I ran my fingers into his hair, and he sucked until I clutched handfuls of his hair and started to moan; and then he kissed and licked down my belly, fondling me between my legs with his hand.
He knelt up and took off his shirt. I watched the supple movement of his torso, thinking how damn gorgeous he was. His eyes were on my torso, watching me breathe. Our bodies had grown lean and hard over the summer, and I knew I looked good to him. I let my belly heave with each breath and tightened the muscles of my legs and chest. I wanted to look very good to him.
Kipper looked me up and down slowly, his jaw working. Our eyes met and he swallowed hard. He laid back down on me again, and kissed my mouth hungrily. “Sticks,” he whispered, grabbing my shoulders. “When we go back home… you belong to me, OK? Just remember that you belong to me.”
“Kips, you nut,” I whispered, running my fingers into his hair and tonguing his ear as he rubbed my cloth-covered package with his. “I already belong to you. You know that, right?”
“And I belong to you?” he whispered, sucking my neck.
“You belong to me, Kips… no matter what, you belong to me.”
“And even if we do girls or other guys together, we’re sticking together.”
“Kips,” I said, wrapping my arms over his head and tonguing in his ear. “We’re together now. No matter what.”
“No matter what,” he echoed.
Planting his knees between mine on the bed, Kipper pulled back from me, bending over my middle, unfastening my shorts. I lifted my hips for him to pull them down, and when he pulled them off my feet, backing from the bed, he stood beyond the foot of the bed; appraising me in my thong. “Oh, damn, Sticks!” he said, unfastening his pants. “Oh, damn!”
He tossed his shorts aside, and then, in just his thong, Kipper stepped forward from the dim light and into moonlight that came through the window. He stood at the end of the bed, hands down his sides, and his large, dark eyes moved slowly up my body. The desire I saw in them made my cock grow very hard.
He was the vision of a perfect fourteen, going on fifteen, year-old boy; long arms with developing biceps and fingertips down to his thighs; long, slender legs and narrow hips; budding strength in his angular shoulders and neck; finely chiseled features and big, brown eyes; and at the middle of everything, the shadows of the “V” of his lower abdomen dove into the top of a full thong which glowed white in the moonlight.
He shook out his hair, and then with the willowy grace that came to him so naturally, Kipper stepped from his thong.
* * *
Kipper fell asleep before I did that night. We had finished with me on my back and Kipper draped over my right side; the tip of his nose just behind my ear, an arm over my chest, the softness of his balls and flaccid cock on my hip, and his leg between my legs. I loved the feel of his body on mine; it made each breath I took a warmly satisfying experience.
With my right arm behind him, I stroked his back lightly with my fingertips, and his breath tickled down my neck. My thoughts drifted back over the evening. I remembered watching him at the table and feeling so damned contented. I felt contented now; and yet… more than contented. For a fleeting moment, I had a vision of spending my whole life with Kipper, and him sleeping on my side; and for that fleeting moment, what I felt couldn’t fit in to a word like contentment or happiness. What I felt for that brief moment would be better described as… exhilaration or… joy.
When does a boy become a man? Since that summer with Kipper, I have often thought about that… about how I became a man. Certainly a boy becomes a man, not in any one step, but in many, many steps. Like the first time he takes satisfaction in the work of his hands. Or the first time he feels real, adult, male passion. Or the first time he finds delight in doing things for someone he loves. Or perhaps when he finds someone who he would trade the rest of his world to be with; someone he would give his life for. Perhaps when he begins to make love, not simply to have sex, but for the intimate experience of surrender, ministering, and love that it can be. Those things all happened for me that summer. And in that one night, the night of our first date, I experienced two new emotions; very adult emotions — surpassingly deep contentment, and later, holding Kipper as he slept, that moment of transcendent joy. And that night I also had what were probably my first deeper thoughts.
With Kipper’s naked body lying so intimately on mine, I held him and found myself thinking about our future. I wondered how hard life might be for us. I found my thoughts wandering out to the edge of my young life, and I realized that there was so much more… so much more ahead for me and Kips; so much more beyond our own lives. And for reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt vaguely sad.
I tried to recapture in my heart that so-brief moment when I had felt such joy just a short time before. But the joy was gone.
I didn’t want to be sad. Wrapping both arms around Kipper, I turned my head so that my cheek gently touched his; and taking a deep breath, I filled my nostrils with his scent. I held him, and let my love for him fill my heart, and I thought, for now, this is enough.
* * *
We hadn’t tried fish dancing since Jason had left. But that next night we put on our towel breechcloths and spread nose coat stripes on our faces. I fastened Kipper’s shark tooth necklace on him and he fastened mine on me, with a kiss to the back of my neck.
We tried, but fish dancing didn’t seem the same somehow without Jason. But then Dancing Queen by ABBA came on, and something clicked. Soon Kipper and I were dancing simply for the fun of it. Kipper’s eyes lit up, and right in the middle of some good butt bumping, he threw his arms around me and kissed me hard. “I love you!” he yelled over the music. And then he threw his arms up in the air and yelled to the sky. “I love Stick!”
He jumped onto me, wrapping his legs around my waist and his arms around my shoulders. I staggered back, grabbing his butt to hold him up, and I managed to stay on my feet. He clung onto me and kissed over my face while I moved vaguely to the music. Holding him up by his butt, I felt tall, lean, and strong.
How Deep is Your Love came on, and Kipper unwrapped from me. We moved into each other’s arms. And we found a whole new pleasure in dancing in breechcloths, belly to belly, soft cheek to soft cheek, hands exploring angular shoulders and velvety skin, towels dangling between legs.
Looks Like We Made It followed, and Kipper rested his head on my shoulder as we stayed in each other’s arms and moved slowly to the music.
You Light Up My Life came next, and I kissed Kipper as we danced and pressed our bodies together. I held him close by the bare sides of his butt, and he wrapped his arms loosely around my shoulders as he opened his mouth to mine.
As we moved, I unfastened his belt and dropped both it and his towel to the dock; and then held his slender body to mine. When his mouth left mine so that he could look down between us to unfasten my belt, I whispered in his ear. “I love Kips! Oh, damn! I love Kips!”
* * *
We lay on the roof the next night, with the back of Kipper’s head on my shoulder. We gazed up into a black sky glittering with countless stars, and I told him that I had decided to take an additional year in high school. “I can take some extra courses,” I said. “And, depending on eligibility, I might get to play on the varsity with guys who are really my age.”
“And then we could go to college together?” Kipper asked.
“Yeah.”
“I thought about trying to finish high school in three years,” he said. “So that we could go to college together.”
“Might be hard,” I said, “if you’re going for a sports scholarship.”
“Maybe.”
“What college?” I asked.
“Wherever you’re going,” he said matter-of-factly.
I rubbed my cheek on the top of his head. “Yeah.”
* * *
I lay on my stomach to read. It often excited Kipper to see me lying on my stomach, and I was beginning to feel the need. It was the heat of the afternoon, though it never really got hot inside the shack; only in the sun. The breeze through the window traveled down my back and over my butt like fingers, and its sensuous feel put me even more in the mood.
I looked back to see what Kipper was up to; to see if I could get him interested. He had risen from where he’d been reading in one of the easy chairs and was standing at the foot of the bed, his cock rising. I flexed my butt for him and wiggled it.
He came up on all fours over me, his cock wagging, and laid himself down onto me. “You want it this way?” he whispered.
“Any way you want it,” I murmured. And I thought once more about how hard it would be for Kipper and me to adjust when we got home. It wouldn’t be like one of us could wiggle his butt at the other and get fucked… not in school. Not in town. Not even at our homes… well, most of the time.
* * *
“Can I borrow your sketchpad?” Kipper asked. We were making sandwiches at the kitchen counter.
“Sure,” I said, layering on meat and cheese. I glanced at him, curiously.
He smiled and gave me a shoulder bump. “The other night, when I told you I might want to be an architect, you said I should borrow your sketchpad and draw up a better shack. Well I’ve had a couple of ideas.”
“Cool,” I said, adding Fritos to my plate. “Go for it!”
Kipper didn’t wait, but pulled out the sketchpad as we sat down to eat. He set his plate to one side, and with a pen, started the outlines of his plan. “It’s not like we don’t have a cool shack,” Kipper explained, and I thought it was cool that he referred to it as our shack. “But what if we had a real bathroom with a two person shower?” He winked at me. “And how about a hot tub out on the deck? And what about a breezeway with the center of the floor cut out so we can fish under cover in bad weather or lower the sides when we want to be naked while we fish and there are people in the channel?” He drew more lines, intersecting more lines. “And what if we had a little lab for you?”
I pushed my plate aside and retrieved a second sketchpad. “I’ve got an idea for the breezeway,” I said, and taking charcoal, I started to sketch out in three dimensions, the picture Kipper had evoked in my imagination.
An hour later, Kipper got out two new sodas for us. An hour after that, I threw away the half-eaten sandwiches before our growing stack of drawings got mayonnaise on them. A half hour after that, we leaned back in our chairs, grinning at each other.
“We never could do it,” I said.
“Not unless we got filthy rich,” Kipper agreed. “But we can always dream about it.”
I looked back at the drawing covered table. “That was a blast!” I said. And then I turned to Kipper, my mouth dropping.
He was there ahead of me, his eyes all wide. “We could be architects!” he said. “We both could be! Together!”
“Oh wow!” was all I could say… it seemed perfect!
With a banshee cry, Kipper tackled me off my chair and we rolled naked together on the floor of the shack. “We could design fishing shacks and hunting lodges,” I said.
“Fancy clubs,” Kipper expanded.
“Or resorts…”
“Or fancy houses… “
“Or buildings,” I said happily, as we rolled to my back and Kipper grinned down at me. “I bet we could come up with some really cool buildings.”
Kipper’s eyes went wide. “Or garage apartments!” he said. “We could design your garage apartment!”
“No shit!” I said, and then bit my lip. “How much can we do with a garage apartment?”
Kipper frowned as he thought, and I stroked his back while I thought, too. “It’s gotta be reasonable,” I said. “Or Dad won’t pay for it.”
“Part game room?” Kipper asked.
“Sun deck on top?” I asked. “No, not sun deck… maybe some kind of covered balcony, off toward the pool.”
Kipper’s mouth dropped. “We can plan in the pool too!”
We scrambled up off the floor and to the table, and gathering the shack plans, we moved them to the bed to clear the table.
It was close to two in the morning when we stepped out onto the dock and took a whiz together over the side.We shook off, and stretched.
"I don't think we went overboard on the plans, Kips," I said. "I bet we get dad to go along with them."
Kipper glanced at me and chuckled. "Even the pool table?"
"The way we laid it out, with the sketches and all… he'll love it.'
Kipper smiled and stared out across the water. The plans were good. They really were. And we were excited about them, even at that hour of the morning.
Kipper glanced at me in the glimmering light from the water and slipped an arm over my shoulders. “Stick…,” he said, is voice trailing off. Turning to me, he rested his forearms on my shoulders and gazed searchingly into my eyes.
I knew what he was looking for. He wanted to know if I was really as pumped about the whole architect thing as he was, though he knew already. To use an over-worked phrase… what happened between us as we planned the shack and the apartment was pure magic. I took him by the shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze, and looked him right in the eye. “Kips,” I said with loving smile. “We’ve got a dream… we’ve got us a… dream!”
“A great dream!” he agreed, his eyes twinkling. And then his gaze went all soft. “Ah, Stick…” he said softly, wrapping his arms around my neck and pulling me to him. He laid his head on my shoulder and didn’t need to say anything else.
I held him to me and nodded. “A great dream,” I whispered.
* * *
“Hey, Matt! Can I use the phone?” I called out to the guy behind the counter when Kipper and I walked into the cool air-conditioned marina store late the next morning. Matt, a college student who worked there during the summer, looked up from the counter and waved me toward the phone. Kipper stepped over to borrow a pencil and pad from him and then stood next to me, ready to write.
“Dad,” I asked, when he finally came to the phone. “Do you happen to remember the dimensions of the garage?”
Matt smiled as we approached the counter. “So you guys are gonna be architects, huh? I couldn’t help overhearing.” He was a cute guy, especially when he smiled.
He had brown hair and intelligent blue eyes, and Kipper especially liked him. But we figured Matt for straight because of his girlfriend, Mary. She was the reason he had the marina job; her dad owned it.
“Yeah,” Kipper said, leaning on the counter. “We’ve been drawing up plans and we like doing it!”
“But we need to find some place that sells rulers,” I explained. “Kip’s been having to use the side of a cereal box to draw straight lines.”
“So does Kipper do all the work?” Matt asked with a grin.
“I work, too,” I protested. “I draw freehand. I do, like, sketches of the outsides and insides of what we dream up. Kipper does the floor plan kind of stuff.”
“You draw?” Matt asked. “I draw. Sometime I’ll have to see your stuff.”
“Sometime I’ll have to see yours,” I said, and then thought about kicking Kipper because I thought he was going to smirk over possible alternate meanings.
The door opened behind us.
“Hey, guys!” a young male voice called out. I turned in time to get my hair good-naturedly mussed up by Kevin, the head deck hand, as he stepped past me to go behind the counter. Kevin was another college student, and always walked around shirtless. I couldn’t blame him. He had a great body. He and Matt had become great friends over the summer, and Kipper and I had joked before that Kipper’d take Matt and I’d take Kevin.
Kevin had brown hair and eyes. But what I really liked was his personality; he was a little mischievous… like Kipper. I thought he was cool, though he insisted on always mussing up my hair, even if he’d been cleaning fish.
“These guys are taking up architecture,” Matt said, as Kevin opened one of the traffic logs and penciled in a notation.
Kevin grinned. “Designing fishing shacks?” he asked.
“Well actually, yeah,” I said, defensively. “But we’re serious.”
I guess I sounded hurt. Kevin looked up and gave me a grin. “Hey, that’s cool. I didn’t mean anything. Architects make lots of money.”
“It’s great to know what you want to do,” Matt said, taking the log from Kevin to look over. “All I want to do is make it through the next couple of years.”
“Next couple of years?” I asked.
“College,” he said. “I just need to make it through college.
“After that, we’re going into business together,” Kevin said, laying an arm over Matt’s shoulders.
Even straight guys can feel pretty tender toward each other, I decided, noticing the look they briefly shared. Then Matt smiled. “Mary may have some different ideas.”
“You can marry her,” Kevin said, giving Matt’s shoulders a friendly shake. “But we’re still going into business together.”
“What kind of business?” Kipper asked.
“Who cares,” Kevin said, stepping away from Matt and from behind the counter. “Matt’s the brains. We’ve just gotta get past the next couple of years and we’re off and running. Right, Matty?” he called back, not waiting for an answer as he stepped back out the door.
Matt turned back to us and smiled once again. “You might find a ruler or something you can use back with the charting supplies, over in that corner,” he said, nodding toward the rear of the room. “You guys really are excited about doing that together, huh?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Kipper and I answered.
Matt nodded knowingly. “Dreams are important,” he said, growing wistful, almost as if he might have lost a dream somewhere. Then he focused again on us. “But like I said, I just gotta make it through the next couple of years.”
I’m not sure why; I guess because Matt sounded a little sad, and I was still bursting with the thrill of Kipper and I architecting together -- despite my naturally quiet nature, I felt like someone should say something. But how could I explain the excitement that Kipper and I found in our common dream? I glanced out the door, trying to see Kevin. It sounded like he wanted to share a dream with Matt. “I think," I said, spotting Kevin, "that the best dreams are dreams you share with other people.”
Matt glanced out the door and smiled. “Maybe so," he said, but then shrugged as he returned to his work. “We dream; God decides.” Then he held up a finger. “I forgot. You guys have some mail.” He retrieved three envelopes and handed them over the counter.
Kipper and I took them out to one of the wooden tables on the shaded deck. Kipper opened his from Mindy. I opened mine from Colleen.
“They still want us to catch a bus up to see them over Labor Day weekend,” I said. “I wrote her that we might have a scrimmage.”
“If we don’t, you want to go?” Kipper asked.
I cocked an eyebrow. “Only if we we’ve been getting enough of each other.”
Kipper smiled.
I tossed him the envelope from Jason to us. “Open it. I bet he wants to come see us on Labor Day.”
“Hey,” Kevin called out, as he walked past. “When are you going to invite Matt and me out to fish overnight with you guys.”
Kipper and I exchanged glances. “You fish all day,” Kipper said. “You sure you’d want to?”
Kevin turned sharply from his path and came over to us. “We work all day, you idiots. Who gets to fish?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But we’re going home in a couple of days. We won’t have a chance… of course,” I glanced at Kipper. “We may be coming back on weekends.”
Kevin slapped his hand on our table. “Great! We’ll be working weekends.”
Kipper and I watched his bare back and tight butt as he walked away. “Could be a busy fall,” Kipper said.
“We want to be by ourselves,” I pointed out.
Kipper turned to smile at me. “Maybe Danny Caldwell if he drives us down.”
I gave him a little kick under the table.
* * *
To this day, the smell of coconut oil can give me a hard-on. That afternoon, with some Bee Gees on the radio, I was oiling up Kipper and had him leaning on his hands against the wall on the bay side of the shack. I circled an arm around his waist and slipped my hand under his butt and rubbed his perineum while kissing his oiled back. “Would you mind?” I whispered.
Kipper rested his forehead on the shack wall. “I’ll get my turn?”
“You better believe it,” I said, holding him with one arm under his waist and rubbing oil into Kipper’s crack as he wiggled back against other my hand.
I moved behind him and guided the end of my cock in between his cheeks. And I wondered if I had grown longer that summer; my cock looked long. Or was it that Kipper’s butt had tightened up because both of us had grown leaner and Kipper had definitely grown taller.
Kipper swayed his back, and I pushed in slowly, watching my cock disappear into his crack while his tightness slid down my shaft. I held his hips and pushed in all the way until my loins flattened Kipper’s butt cheeks and he filled my lap. I pressed until I lifted him up on his toes, and I felt long inside him.
I swept my hands over his flanks and back, admiring his well-oiled tan, the taper of his torso down to his small waist, and the flare of his butt into my lap. I grabbed on to his shoulders, pulled my hips back and then pushed in again, raising him up onto his toes once more… and then again.
Kipper had lost body fat that summer. I could clearly see the muscles in his long, slender back, and I watched their play as he moved with me.
I slipped a hand under his belly and pulled gently. Kipper knew what I wanted and stood up, leaning back against me. I laid the flats of my hands on his tight belly and the hard muscles of his chest. I held him back against me and pushed my cock into his firm butt until we were tight. And I marveled once again at how we seemed absolutely designed for each other; the way we fit when we stood, the way the firm mound of Kipper’s butt felt under my loins when he lay on his stomach and I entered him that way.
We had tried every position we could think of, and stumbled onto a couple we had never thought of; and we seemed to fit every way we tried.
With his back arched, Kipper laid his head back onto my shoulder while I held him with the flats of my hands and kept myself deeply buried inside him. He reached back over his shoulders with both hands to grasp the sides of my head and I slid my hands up and down the taut muscles of his torso, down onto his hips, and then down between his legs, and I chewed on the oiled nape of his neck. I lifted and fondled his cock and felt it grow stiff in my hands.
I rubbed my face against the side of his head and breathed deeply of the scent of his hair and the oil. We had become connoisseurs of each other; of our bodies, our scents, and our ways of making love. We knew how to enjoy each other, and how to give each other pleasure.
Our situation was unique; I know that. Not even newlyweds spent as much time together and made love as often together as Kipper and I had that summer. At fourteen and fifteen, we had become skilled, not only in making love, but in being lovers; even down to knowing each other’s moods and how to respond to them.
Maybe it was because of our personalities, maybe it was because of our age, maybe it was because of what we had gone through together, but there was an easy accommodation to each other; a fit of our personalities that was as perfect as the fit of our bodies. And now, we were sharing hopes and dreams. “Kips,” I murmured, not entirely sure how to express what I was thinking. “It’s like our lives are starting to fit together as well as our bodies do.”
Kipper moved back against me and murmured his assent. He rolled his head on my shoulder to whisper in my ear. “Our spirits,” he said, but didn’t finish the sentence. I don’t think he knew how to in that moment.
But I knew what he meant; the fit of our spirits was as tight as when I pulled Kipper’s butt back into my lap and he laid his head back onto my shoulder. When I wrapped my arms around him and moved my cock slowly inside him, I held my own heart close to me — I held Kipper. And the pleasure I felt was soul-deep.
* * *
Kipper threw his arm over my shoulder as we sat on the dock bench fishing that night. He gave my shoulder a squeeze and kissed my cheek.
I glanced at him. He smiled and squeezed my shoulders again. I smiled back and dropped my hand to the inside of his thigh and pulled the outside of his leg against mine.
He had joked about Danny Caldwell again that day, and I had been thinking… “I was thinking,” I told him, “that when we get home — if we find out that April and Melanie aren’t going with anybody, and if we decide we want to check them out — we ought to invite them to go swimming, because, Kips,” I explained, “you look awfully damn hot in your speedo. And I was thinking that we could show you off and see if things go like they did in the pool with Colleen and Mindy.”
Kipper nodded. “Might work; especially because you’re so damned hot in a speedo, yourself.” He thought a moment and added, “And if we always double date together, it’d be a lot easier to just sleep over with you on the weekends.”
“Every weekend,” I said.
Kipper nodded. “If our folks let us do it that often.”
“They might,” I said. “I think they really might. Ben might not like it though.”
“He can lump it,” Kipper said.
I shrugged my shoulders under Kipper’s arm. Ben was still my friend.
Kipper rubbed the outside of his leg on mine, so I slid my hand up the inside of his thigh and fondled his balls the way he liked.
“You know what else I’ve been thinking?” I asked. “I’ve been thinking that you ought to come home with me every day during preseason workouts so that we can rest together between morning and evening practices.”
Kipper chuckled, and kissed my cheek again. “You only just now thought of that?”
* * *
“See,” I said. “I told you this wall needed a second coat of paint. It looks a lot better.”
“Yeah, you say that now,” Kipper said from where he was kneeling beside me to paint. I was working high; he was working low. “You wait until we’re almost done to say that. It looks the same to me. I still say that it didn’t need it.”
“You just didn’t want to do any work today,” I complained. “You’re getting lazy.”
In the time it took to realize that he’d painted my right butt check, he painted my left one as well.
For the briefest moment, I had a surge of impatient anger. Sometimes, Kipper’s impulsive pranks wore thin. But then I realized that painting my butt was his first prank since my accident. Considering the alternatives, I was glad Kipper was getting back to normal… even if it did mean a painted butt.
“Stand up,” I said, holding my brush at the ready.
Laughing in that broken voice of his, Kipper backed away on his knees, defensively.
“Oh, no,” I said. “You don’t think you’re going to be able to get away with this, do you? Stand up!”
Laughing, Kipper backed away on his knees again, and made as if he was about to jump to his feet. So I dropped to my knees in front of him, and gripping his shoulder with one hand, I brushed a swath over his belly.
“Aaagh!” Kipper cried out, and grabbing my shoulder with his free hand, he slapped my side with his paintbrush.
So still holding his shoulder, I slapped his side.
And then, hanging on to each other, we slapped paint onto sides and bellies.
“Not the pubes,” I cried out when Kipper started to paint too low.
He laughed. Our eyes met. We grinned.
“You’re an asshole,” I said. “Why do you do stuff like this.”
Kipper shrugged, still grinning. “When I’m around you, I just get… happy!”
“Well you’re going to get un-happy when you have to work to clean us all up.”
“Wanna bet,” he said, cocking an eye.
“Forget it, Kips. Paint thinner isn’t exactly sexy.”
He crooked his arm behind my head and pulled my face to his, kissing my lips. Our painted bellies touched.
“OK,” I whispered. “You’re sexy. But paint thinner isn’t.”
* * *
We probably could have asked Kevin or Matt at the marina, but we were pretty sure that Javier was gay and that he liked us. Kipper bet that we could bat our eyes at him and talk him into it.
“I have a friend who can get it, but it’ll cost you,” Javier said. “Be back here at the surfboard rental at five.”
“What’s it gonna cost?” I asked with a slight frown.
Javier eyed me and then Kipper, and I got the distinct impression that Javier was wondering how much he could get away with asking. “You’re having a special dinner tonight?” he asked.
“Yep,” I replied, “our last night alone down here.”
Javier frowned. “How old are you guys again?”
We told him.
“If it wasn’t your last night…” He chewed his lip a moment, looking us over. “A kiss, then,” he said. “I get a kiss from each of you… and the cost of the champagne too, of course.”
“A kiss?” I said. “What? You think we’re gay or something?”
“Gimme a break,” he said with a dismissive wave. “You want the champagne?”
“We’ll be here,” Kipper promised.
“Man, he just assumed that we’re gay. You think we’re that obvious?” I asked as we walked away.
“Maybe you are,” Kipper answered, and then he laughed when I gave him a shove.
* * *
It was a lot of hiking, but we bought steaks, potatoes, and all the fixings for supper, and loaded them into the boat before returning to Javier’s stand. Then we had to wait about a half hour until he retrieved the last of the surfboards.
We watched him work. He was shirtless, and though Kipper’s height, he had at least forty more pounds of well-proportioned muscle. When Javier bent over to pick up a surfboard from the ground, Kipper and I nudged each other over the fit of Javier’s Birdwells over his butt.
Javier’s shoulder-length, brown hair was darker than Kips, but his highlights were a brighter gold. His legs were a little shorter, and his torso a little longer. He probably had only four or five years on us, but he was undeniably, a man.
“Back here,” he said, waving us inside after he closed up.
He held up a champagne bottle after we followed him in.
“Brut,” I said. “Isn’t that a man’s cologne?”
“No, butthead,” he said. “It’s champagne. Good champagne. I hope you’ve got fifteen bucks or it’ll cost you a lot more than a kiss.”
“We’ve got sixteen,” Kipper said, “so you don’t even have to kiss us.”
“Ha!” Javier said, and stepping up to Kipper, he slipped an arm behind Kipper’s waist and pulled their bellies together while planting his mouth on Kip’s. He worked the kiss and had Kipper bending backward before he let him go.
Javier was hard when he pulled my belly to his. “I’ve been looking at your mouth all summer,” he said throatily. “If ever lips needed kissing…”
Javier pulled my belly tightly to his and, with his other hand behind my head, pulled my nose to his. He brushed lips, as if taking a sip first, and then again, and then nibbled into a kiss. Then his tongue probed into my mouth, hot and demanding, and I could feel the hardness in his Birdwells pressing against me. He felt strong, and when I laid my hands on his shoulders, they felt rock hard. I was growing hard too.
“Damn, baby,” he said, catching a breath before covering my mouth again. His hand dropped to my butt and squeezed.
“Ahem,” Kipper cleared his throat. “You keep that up and you’re gonna owe us a second bottle of champagne.”
Javier leaned back, but without releasing me from his grip. “I’ll give you the bottle of champagne,” he said, his face flushed and his nostrils flaring. “Come back to my place.”
“Not tonight,” Kipper said, taking my hand and tugging me away from Javier.
Javier’s eyes held mine.
I shook my head, slowly. “Not tonight,” I said. My pulse was racing and I was having trouble thinking. I backed up against Kipper. He wrapped his arm around my waist and I laid my arms over his. I tried to clear my head. “I belong to Will,” I mumbled. And then I wondered why I said “Will” and not Kipper.
“Both of you, then,” Javier said. “And tomorrow is OK.”
Kipper hugged me to himself. “Aaron belongs to me,” Kipper said quietly, defensively. “And I belong to him.”
Kipper did the same as I had; he called me by my proper name. He called me Aaron. But that seemed right somehow. It was us saying that we weren’t just dumb kids with kid names. We had real names. And we shared real love. We were real lovers.
Javier smiled disarmingly, spreading his hands. “Man, I know that. But we can still have a great time, guys. Buy some more champagne. Do a little grass. I can show you things.”
Kipper quickly laid fifteen dollars on the counter and picked up the bag with the bottle. Then taking me by the hand, he pulled me toward the door.
“Thanks, Javier,” I called back, not wanting to seem ungrateful.
“Oh, damn, Kipper,” I said, glancing back at the surf stand as we walked away. “My dark side just flared up real bad.”
“You think that I didn’t notice?” Kipper asked with a frown.
“Damn, Kips, are you jealous?” I asked with a grin, throwing my arm over Kipper’s shoulders.
He walked stiffly.
“C’mon Kips,” I said, giving his shoulders a shake. “We told him, didn’t we? We belong together… and we stuck together.”
Kipper relaxed slightly, leaning into my side as we walked. “Thanks for telling him that we belonged together.”
I squeezed his shoulders. “We do, you nut! Besides, I’d pick you over an old guy like that any day.”
We walked quietly for a few steps. “I still think Danny would be fun to do together,” Kipper said. “But that’d be different.”
“Yep,” I agreed.
* * *
“I’ll put the champagne in the fridge,” I said when we were putting away our purchases.
“I’m not sure I even want it now,” Kipper said.
“Come on, Kips,” I said, turning him to face me. I put both hands on his shoulders and rested my forehead onto his. “You know what I’ve been thinking?”
Kipper rested his hands on the sides of my waist. “What?”
“When you took my hand, I stepped away from Javier, didn’t I? I came to you, right? I told him that I belong to you. I never hesitated about that, Kips. You tugged my hand and I came.”
He made fists and lightly pounded my sides, nodding. “You belong to me,” he said.
“I belong to you, Kips. And I decided that if anyone tries to do something like that again, I’ll just pretend your hand is there, tugging me away. OK? And you do the same. If anyone tries something like that with you, why just figure my hand is there, pulling you back to me.”
Kipper grabbed the sides of my waist. “I belong to you,” he said quietly, and then kissed me.
* * *
While we prepared supper, we stayed dressed in the clothes we had worn to the island. But then when supper was almost ready, Kipper showered and took his thong and guayabera upstairs to put on. I took my turn in the shower and dressed downstairs. We’d bought a couple of candles for the table and a package of plastic champagne glasses. I lit the candles and opened the package before calling up to Kipper.
A moment later, he appeared at the door, silhouetted in his sheer guayabera by the twilit sky and the dock lights behind him. He stood there, tall, willowy; looking every bit the graceful athlete even as he simply stood. He had brushed his shoulder length hair, but a million stray hairs caught the light, giving him a halo affect. And in his hand was a rose.
He stepped into the room and up to where I stood at the table and handed me the rose; a red rose. I handed him the yellow rose that I had for him, while looking him over in the candlelight. He’d left the guayabera unbuttoned to down below his sternum.
“You look awfully fine, Kips,” I said softly.
“You, too,” he said, giving me a gentle kiss on the cheek and leaving his lips there long enough for me to feel his breath on my neck.
When he stepped back, I took the bottle of champagne from the refrigerator. Fortunately, it had a plastic cork, or we would have been screwed trying to figure out how to open it. I poured a glass for Kipper and one for me.
“To us, Kip,” I said, holding up my glass.
“To us, Stick,” he said, tapping his glass lightly against mine. “Forever.” His eyes met mine.
I nodded. It could happen. To my fifteen-year-old heart, it was the only way it should happen. “Forever,” I echoed, touching his glass again with mine. I started to raise the glass to my lips, but Kipper stopped me.
“Like this,” he said, hooking his arm through mine.
We sipped with our arms linked.
“Nice,” I commented. “I like it.”
“Fizzy,” Kipper agreed.
* * *
Candlelight reflected off Kipper’s eyes as he happily chewed a bite of steak. I winked at him and leaned toward him over the table. “Last year, both my parents took Pattie up to school. If they do that again this year, we could have the place all to ourselves.”
Kipper grinned. “If you get an upstairs apartment, we’ll have the place to ourselves all the time.”
“And go naked,” I said.
“Or wear thongs and see-through guayaberas,” he added. “Did I ever tell you how hot you look in a jock strap? I might have you wear your jock strap sometime when we’re alone so I can do all the stuff I’ve wanted to in the locker room.”
I laughed.
* * *
We didn’t bother putting away the dishes, but danced after supper, and found that the champagne had more affect than we’d anticipated.
But then our dancing slowed, and in the candlelight, we unbuttoned each other’s shirt. We didn’t take off the guayaberas, but laid them open. And the seams of Kipper’s tight belly and chest were incredibly alluring under the gossamer fabric.
I backed Kipper to the bed and laid him across it on his back. Then I moved over him on all fours, coming from the other direction; making an over and under sixty-nine. And I did what I wanted to do each time I saw him in a thong. I buried my face in it.
* * *
We took our time, and our sixty-nine ended with us lying on our sides. Just as we were close; just as we were really close to coming, Kipper pulled his mouth back from my cock. “To us,” he said with a glance back to me.
He smiled just slightly; expectantly. And so I pulled off, returned the glance and slight smile, and answered. “To us.”
I took Kipper’s cock back, deep into my throat; his scent filling my nostrils. Kip did the same to me. Within moments, we consummated the toast… intimately.
Afterward, we slipped from our guayaberas, and Kipper crawled back up beside me and into my arms. Our eyes met for a moment, and then traveled over each other’s faces. “Sticks,” Kipper whispered as he smoothed my hair and his eyes moved over my brow. “We don’t ever need to do Danny.”
I slid my hand down his side, feeling his ribs and his muscles, and leaned my forehead to his. “And we don’t need to do any girls,” I said, just before brushing his lips with mine.
We interlaced legs and pulled more tightly together. Our kisses grew in warmth and lasted longer and longer. Our passion built slowly, but kept building and building. Our skin grew hot; as hot as it ever grew in the night when we woke, hot and rubbing. Our bodies grew hard; every muscle a rock. Sweat glistened on our skin, nostrils flared, and our breathing grew desperate.
Our mouths pressed hard together, our tongues demanding. I rolled Kipper to his back and moved up over him, the way he liked. I held his head in both hands and probed forcefully into his mouth with my tongue while his hands clutched and pulled at my back and we ground our cocks on each other. It was our last night alone at the shack. But our passion rose from more than that. We had started the summer as boys, in love. Our love now, even at fourteen and fifteen, was powerfully male, incredibly vital, and deep as the depths of our hearts.
Night after night, Kipper and I had slept in each other’s arms. Night after night, we woke hot and rubbing. We had made love dozens — no more, maybe a couple of hundred times. We had kissed and touched endlessly in sunshine and under starry skies. His flawless body filled me with awe no less now; perhaps even more so because my body knew his so well. More than ever, I was in love with everything about him, from the way the corners of his mouth curled up, to the flecks of gold in his eyes, to the sound of his breaking voice, to the way his hair fell over his eyes, to the smooth orbs of his butt, to the vein down the top of his cock.
I knew his moods and loved him for them. He knew mine and loved me anyway. He more than loved me.
I remembered the dream I had after my accident; the dream where I was flying and needed Kipper to save me. And I remembered how Kipper really did save my life. He didn’t let me go. He didn’t let me drift away.
We loved each other in all the details of who we were. And we loved each other in all the depths.
We rolled and Kipper was on top. We rolled and I was. Our mouths stayed pressed together the entire time, and we ground cocks together… again and again and again. We came, but only slowed for a short while, circling hips to keep ourselves hard. And then with me on top, Kipper pulled his legs up and out to either side, and I entered him.
We flattened together and made gentler love; a treasuring, cherishing love. With soft strokes, smiles, and tender kisses, I laid on him and moved in him the way we both liked.
Love may grow deeper with time, but you never feel it more than when you are fifteen and your heart is full. And I never felt it more than that night when naked and all tangled up in the breeze and moonlight with Kipper, we shared our young bodies, our hearts, and our delight together one last time; alone, out on the bay, in our shack.
We went for a long time. And then, after I came, we rolled, and Kipper entered me. I wrapped my arms over his back and held his hard, slim body to mine as he thrust his hips and moved inside me, and I felt pleasure — pleasure under his body, pleasure at our intimacy, pleasure from his use of my body… pleasure when he lifted his head and smiled at me before pressing deep and stretching forward to kiss me.
I was hard when he finished, so he rolled off to my side and gently fondled between my legs; kissing me while he rubbed down between my legs and caressed my balls, and then caringly stroked my cock. He watched my face intently as I came, and then whispered in my ear that he loved me as he rubbed the meager offering of my fourth cum that night into my belly and over my chest. He nuzzled in under the side of my face then, and wrapped an arm and a leg over me.
His breathing grew regular as I stroked his back. I remembered the night of our date, and the contentment I felt then; the contentment I always felt with Kipper’s body resting on mine. And I remembered my moment of fleeting joy that earlier night, and for a fleeting moment, felt that joy once more. And once more, it passed, but this time, it left a feeling of warmth.
I wrapped my arm behind Kipper’s back and turned my face to brush my cheek on his. I thought again about our future… our so unknown future. I missed home, but I’d give anything to just stay with Kipper. All the memories of summer came flooding back, including when Kipper pulled me from the water. And then I thought of God.
A funny thought came to mind. I had this sudden image of myself, there at the end of our summer, wanting more; almost like Oliver Twist with his bowl — I loved the movie, Oliver, when I was a kid — I could see myself holding out my bowl to God and saying, please, Sir, I would like some more.” And then I chuckled at the image, and wondered what God would make of that. And then I wondered what God would think about me only thinking of him when Kipper was lying in my arms. I quickly moved on to other thoughts… thoughts of Kipper and me.
I squeezed Kipper a little tighter, and rubbed my cheek gently on his, keeping one end of my thoughts in the warm, real present of Kipper’s body on mine, while I stretched out with my mind dreamed about our future.
* * *
“Sticks,” Kipper said as we took our time waking up the next morning. “It’s gonna be hard to sleep alone when we get home. I may wanna sleep over more than just weekends.”
“We gotta ease into it, though,” I said, stretching out on the bed beside him.
Kipper liked it when I stretched, and kissed my right nipple appreciatively.
“Our folks might try to stop everything,” I continued, giving his back a rub, “if we push too quickly.”
But then I had an idea. “Of course, they don’t always have to know,” I said. “I mean… I wouldn’t ever expect you to do it, but if we ever got desperate, I’ve got that window from my room onto the side of the house, away from my parent’s room. The screen comes off real easy. You could always tap at my window some night.”
Kipper rolled onto me, throwing a leg over my middle. “That might take care of nights, but what about daytime at school. We’re going to have withdrawal. Bad withdrawal. I might even have to start jacking myself off again.
I chuckled. “What’ll be hardest, Kips,” I said, rubbing my nose on his, “will be not being able to kiss you whenever I want.”
“Or plugging my bottom,” he said with a grin.
“Or holding you in my arms,” I said seriously. I pulled him to me. “I’m going to miss you every moment when we’re apart; and when we’re together, Kips… if I’m unable to hold you… I’m going to go mad.”
He laid his palm on the side of my face and kissed my mouth; a long, tender kiss. “And I’ll take away your madness,” he whispered, “every moment we can find alone for ourselves.”
* * *
Despite our concerns, we were both sorta ready to be home. And yet, it was sad to leave.
We packed carefully. Some things we could leave in the shack, but not much in case someone broke in. I tightly rolled up and hid all my nude sketches of Kipper and Jason in the bottom of my bag. We took Kippers photos down from the wall. We left our plans and sketches for the garage apartment out, though, so we could show them to Dad.
When Kipper started to look sad, I hugged him from behind, pulling his body back into my embrace, and we looked around the room. “We’re taking everything important with us,” I said.
Kipper nodded.
* * *
“You boys are imaginative, and you have a good eye. I’ll grant you that,” Dad said as he looked through our sketches and plans for the garage apartment that evening. He was sitting at the table while Kipper and I leaned over his shoulders from behind
Kipper gave me a well…ask! kind of look.
I took a breath. “So, Dad, what do you think?” I asked. “Could we do it?”
Dad leaned back in his chair and held up the floor plan. “I can’t say until we price it out.” He motioned for us to sit down on either side of him, so we did.
“If you’re really serious about being architects,” Dad said, looking from me to Kipper, “I’ll let you take the lead on this. Get prices. See what things will cost.” He glanced at me. “Your mom and I could give you a budget.”
Kipper and I worked to hide our excitement.
“You remember Edgar Rice?” Dad asked.
I nodded.
Dad turned to Kipper. “Edgar is a patient of mine, and a building contractor. I mentioned to him that we were thinking about adding a garage apartment and he said he’d want to do it.” Dad thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “If I tell him about your interests, he might work with you. He could tell you what’s expected of architects. He might even let you work for him, and you can learn about building.”
“Tell him about the work we did down here,” I said.
Dad nodded at Kipper. “Take pictures. Show him.”
“Football,” Kipper said with a frown. “We’re going to be busy for a while with football.”
“We can wait until the season’s over,” Dad said.
Kipper and I exchanged frowns. “We’ll find time,” I said.
* * *
That entire summer, our lovemaking was rarely hotter than when we woke in the middle of the night. There was always a special intensity, in the dark, our bodies already hot and hard, and our pulses already racing. We never held back anything then. Hanging on to shoulders and grabbing butts, we kissed hungrily, passionately, and rubbed cocks just as demandingly. We made noise if we were alone; all the noise we wanted. And when we had spent ourselves, we fell asleep, one on top of the other.
With Dad sleeping upstairs, we woke one last time in the middle of that last night. I moved over Kipper, pressing his balls down with my balls as he lifted his knees out to either side. I covered his mouth with mine and we kept as quiet as we could; yet even so, we made love with an extra passion.
* * *
“We never named this place,” I said as Dad locked the door.
“What do you want to name it?” Dad asked.
I glanced at Kipper and saw the corners of his mouth curl up. I flashed him a quick frown. I wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but I was fairly certain that Dad wouldn’t let us put that over the door.
“I dunno,” I said. “Maybe Stick’s and Kipper’s.”
“Sounds like a restaurant,” Kipper said. “How about Friend Shack?”
“You don’t have to decide yet,” Dad said. “We aren’t about to sell the place.”
“I’m not sure I can think of a name that would fit,” I said. “It’s been an incredible summer.”
Kipper came up beside me and took my hand. I glanced at Dad, but he was making a point of not looking at our hands.
Dad cleared his throat. “’Why don’t I get into the boat and give you two a chance to say goodbye to the place.”
Dad climbed down and behind the wheel of the boat, and then made a point of looking out across the channel.
I pulled Kipper into my arms. “No matter what we name this place,” I said, “everything’s different now.”
Kipper nodded. “Everything.”
* * *
It wasn’t that night, but the next. I heard the screen being removed from my window, and I had the window open even before Kipper could tap.
He crawled in and we shut the window quietly behind him. Then Kipper grabbed my bare ass and pulled me to him, and somehow, that was hot, him still being in his running shorts and singlet.
We kissed hard, clutching at each other, pressing our bodies desperately together, and I could feel him all hard and long inside his shorts. I pulled off his shirt while Kipper kicked out of his shoes. Then he pulled off his shorts while backing me to the bed.
I climbed up on my back and Kipper came up over me, his cock wagging thick and hard under him in the dim light. He lowered his to mine and we sighed together as his balls settled on my balls and our cocks pressed between us. His legs dropped between my legs and our bellies heaved together. Kipper ran his hands under the back of my shoulders and grabbed on; and I grabbed his butt. Our mouths met, and we began to pump; the bed making a faint squeaking sound that I hoped my parents wouldn’t hear.
Kipper came first, and I came to a shuddering climax right after him.
We rested, catching our breath and I savored the weight of his body on mine, the familiar smooth skin of his hard back, his firmly mounded bottom, his smell, the feel of his breath on my neck — even the smell and feel of our mixed semen felt comfortable, and normal, and good between our bellies.
I needed Kipper; I needed him just like this.
I remembered Dad’s question the night I swam with him — “did anything happen this summer that wouldn’t have happened anyway?” I had told Dad ‘no,’ but the truth was, everything had changed this summer.
I gave Kipper a long, hard squeeze.
He lifted his head and looked down into my eyes. “I love you, Aaron,” he said, simply.
I nodded. “I love you, Will.”
He lowered his mouth to mine and we kissed; an open-mouth, warming kiss. Then he lifted his head again and the corners of his mouth curled up in the faint light. “Can you keep it hard? Are you ready to go again?”
THE END
Updated on 4 December 2024