A Canterbury Tale

The Poet's Tale
Chapter Three

"The monkey sat on the rock and stared,

The people laughed and mocked.

He cried and waved and tried to scare.

The people laughed and mocked.

The keepers came and gave him food,

The people laughed and mocked.

He shrieked and shouted and screamed and booed,

The people laughed and mocked.

OK. Maybe the zoo wasn't much better as a metaphor than the circus. Maybe I was having metaphor block. Then again, maybe I wasn't really a poet. Either way, I decided that I was in too good a mood to read any of the morbid crap I often write when I need an outlet. I closed the section of my notebook in which I stored what I rather hopefully called my "poetry" and, instead of listening to Coach Butts’s attempt to interpret Puck and Oberon, focused on what would happen after school. As soon as the bell would ring, I would dash out of the school, unlike most days when I waited for the crowds of escapees to disperse. I would then pedal my bike home as fast as I could, change out of my school clothes and into my new pair of 501's, (which I had bought over the lunch hour at Penney's so I would look just like Nicky), and then pedal over to Mancinelli's early so I could make a good impression. I was so excited thinking about my first day at work, earning my own money, taking responsibility for my own life, that I could barely contain myself.

"Jamie," Coach Butts said with irritation as he interrupted Becky Lindstrom's lame and incoherent reading of Oberon's and Titania's "discussion."

"Is there something wrong?"

I blushed fiercely as I tried to fathom what Coach could possibly be talking about. One of the guys behind me sneered in a soft voice, "What a retard."

"Jamie. I asked you question. What's wrong?"

Coach Butts had never liked me and always seemed to get irritated with me for something.

("N-n-n-no-th-th-th-thing, C-c-c-coach.")

Coach Butts rolled his eyes as several in the class snickered.

"Look, it’s hard enough for me to teach Shakespeare without you pumping oil out of the ground."

I couldn't figure out what in the world he was talking about until he rolled his eyes again and pointed at my right knee which was, indeed, doing a great impression of one of those up-and-down oil pumps you see along the road in Oklahoma or Texas, though maybe an oil pump after eating an awful lot of sugar! I stopped and felt not only my face burning, but my ears and neck as well. As Becky resumed her less than Olivier-like interpretation, I focused my attention on my book and tried to contain my enthusiasm.

When the bell finally rang, I was one of the first out of the class, instead of one of the last. My peers were thrilled that it was a Friday and they would have two days of vacation. I was thrilled to be starting a new part of my life! I could hardly wait to get to Mancinelli's. The ride home seemed to take forever, even though I was pumping as hard and as fast as I could. I dodged traffic on Main and ignored the taunts of some junior high kids on Court Street and made it home in record time. Mom was sitting on the couch watching Dinah Shore as I came bursting through the door. I shouted a quick hi as I ran upstairs. Moments later, I was standing before the full length mirror at the end of the upstairs hallway in my new jeans and my tight t-shirt. My 501's hugged by hips and thighs just like Nicky's did his and my t-shirt was tight enough that I almost looked as if I had a real torso. I kinda did look a little like Nicky and the thought, as I turned around and inspected my butt in the mirror, made me smile. It also caused a slight surge you know where!

Running back down stairs, I stood in front of Mom and asked hopefully, "Well? How d-d-d-do I l-l-l-look?"

Mom looked up from the TV and almost smiled.

"You look good."

It was a surprisingly human response which I wasn't quite expecting. I smiled.

"Do a good job," she added before turning back to her show. I felt a warmth in my heart and softly replied, "Thank you. I will."

In only a few minutes, I was chaining up my bike to the light pole in front of Mancinelli's. With my head held high, I walked into my place of employment to begin my new job.

I didn't see Nicky anyplace as I approached the counter, or his father. Stevie was making a calzone and looked up with a smile as I cleared my throat and said, nervously, "Hi."

"Hey, Jamie! How are doing today?"

"F-f-f-f-fine, th-th-th-th-anks. And, you?"

Stevie placed the calzone in the oven with a flourish and declared, "Bene, grazie, signore!"

We both laughed and he winked and added, "I'll tell the boss you're here."

As he walked back to the office, I slowly looked about the restaurant proudly, seeing the dozen or so people seated about, drinking beer and eating pizza. And, then, my heart stopped.

In the corner in the front of the restaurant, I saw Jon and Anthony crouching down nervously over their dishes of gelato. I felt embarrassed all of a sudden and was about to go back before they saw me, though I knew from their demeanor that they already had. I saw Jon turn and glance at me. Our eyes met and I tried to soften my face. I gave a shy smile, but he turned quickly away. Today was such a wonderful day, I couldn't imagine letting anything ruin it if I could help it. I took a deep breath and walked through the tables to the front.

Jon and Anthony both looked up nervously. I took a deep breath and saw Anthony do the same as a look of firm resolve came over his face. I knew he was about to say something, but I had to speak first.

"I'm s-s-s-s-s-orry ab-b-b-bout the.... other d-d-day."

I tried to smile and held out my hand to Jon. His eyes grew wide with shock before a look of suspicion came over his face. Anthony examined me and then smiled. He held his hand out as Jon watched. I shook his hand and then Jon smiled, too.

"Jamie! You're early! That's good!"

Mr. Mancinelli had come out to the counter and was smiling broadly. I turned to the boys and smiled and ran up to the front.

"Hi, M-m-m-m-m-ist-t-ter M-m-m . . . sir."

Mr. Mancinelli slapped me on the back.

"Come with me, my boy! You sign your W-2 and we get you all fixed up."

I followed him into the office, signed all my paperwork, and emerged a few minutes later to find Nicky leaning against the counter chuckling with Stevie.

"You'll never get that scunnizzo into a coat and tie," Nicky teased.

Stevie snickered as he pulled the calzone out and dropped in on the counter.

"Probably not, but I got him a nice shirt and a nice pair of slacks and I think he'll look really nice when we get there. I want this to be a special dinner for him. His parents have never exposed him to a decent restaurant or to any of the nice things in life. He needs to see it, to taste it, to feel it. It'll be good."

Nicky smiled.

"You're too cool, Stevie. Davy's really lucky."

Stevie blushed and then noticed me standing in the office door. Suddenly he seemed flustered and turned quickly to wrap the calzone to go.

"Jamie, my man!" Nicky came over and put his arm around my shoulder. "You're early! Good man! Let's get to work!"

That Friday night at Mancinelli's, bussing tables, washing dishes, sweeping the floor, helping Nicky restock his supplies, was the best night of my life. When I left at one-thirty in the morning, covered in sweat and water and muck and smelling like the drain in the dish room, Nicky patted me on the back and said, "Great job man! Wait till I tell Pops how good you worked!"

Slowly, I pedaled my bike home, taking the long way, not wanting the night to end, enjoying the first cool breeze of September, the symphony of the crickets as they serenaded me on my way, the muffled sound of "Stairway to Heaven" emerging from a garage apartment. I crept into the house, showered, and collapsed into bed, as proud as I had ever been.

And, Dad left me alone.


Saturday night went just as well and when I signed my time card at almost two a.m., Nicky invited me to his house for Sunday dinner, saying I was part of the family. Part of the family. Sunday dinner. And, once again, Dad left me alone.

On Sunday, I arrived at the Mancinellis' house, a huge, turn-of-the-century affair on the south side, the cleanest, prettiest house on a block of decaying structures, just before one. I had put on my nicest shirt and tie and found Nicky and Stevie, also dressed in church clothes, playing basketball in the driveway with a guy in his twenties who looked like an older version of Nicky, though with shorter hair. David Goldstein, resplendent in navy blue slacks and a white dress shirt and looking as if he were not certain whether he was embarrassed or proud, sat on the porch and cheered Stevie on. Nicky saw me coming and threw the ball at me. Surprisingly, I caught it and dribbled up to the basket, avoiding both Stevie and Nicky's brother. I shot.

"Eh! Good shot, my man!" Nicky pounded me on the back after the ball fell through the hoop. Stevie and Nicky's brother also patted me on the back and I felt just great. I was happy.

Mr. Mancinelli came out the door and shouted, "Eh! What is this, some street party? The food is being served! Get in here!" He grinned at me and winked.

"Welcome to the family, Jamie," he said warmly as I entered the door.

"Thank you, Mr. Mancineli."

Something seemed strange. I turned around and saw Mr. Mancinelli at the door staring at me, as were Nicky and Stevie.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"You're..." Stevie started to say something, but Nicky poked him and said, "Nothin', Jamie. Nothin'."

Then, he gave me his typical toothy smile and added, "Everything's great."

Dinner at the Mancinelli's was incredible. Mrs. Mancinelli was an amazing cook and the most gracious woman I had ever met. As she served the pasta and then the fish, twice, she kissed me on the cheek. We had eggplant and mushrooms and escarole and all sorts of things I had never tried before. Davy was in heaven as he grinned hugely at everyone while stuffing himself with everything he could find. Nicky's brother, Danny, who I found out was in law school and home for the weekend, told hilarious stories about characters he had met at the university and Mr. Mancinelli would erupt in huge, joyous guffaws. No one seemed to pay any attention to the Bears game on the TV in the living room. Everyone was laughing and talking and eating and enjoying life. It was too good to be true.

Even Dad coming into my room Sunday night failed to destroy the euphoria I felt. I simply drifted away to my new world and dreamed of Nicky Mancinelli until Dad was done and left.


"Well, Jamie, you seem rather happy today. Anything in particular going on to make you smile?"

I grinned at Dr. Sikorsky and shrugged.

"I d-d-don't kn-n-n-n-ow. I g-g-g-got a j-j-job. M-m-m-mab-b-be that's it."

For once, I had the upper hand with Dr. Sikorsky. He actually looked surprised.

"You have a job? Well, that's great! Where?"

I beamed. "Mancinelli's."

Suddenly, a look of even greater surprise came over Dr. Sikorsky's face.

"Say that again."

He was acting very strange. I frowned.


Dr. Sikorsky looked at me and then began to write furiously on his legal pad.

The next few weeks seemed to pass like water through a colander. Everything seemed different. School was fun, the sunsets from my bench were far more brilliant, my parents seemed to fight less and yell at me less. Everything was  different, and I was happy.

A week after I started working at Mancinelli's, Nicky moved into an apartment on the second floor above the restaurant. It was a studio apartment which his father usually rented out to students at the college. I didn't know why Nicky took it, but he seemed pretty proud of it. Nicky took over running the restaurant at night while his Dad took care of it during the day. Stevie was always leaving just as I was arriving, but he always greeted me warmly. He was really cute and I loved the soft way he spoke and the warm smile he always gave me. There were even times when Stevie occasionally replaced Nicky as the center of my fantasies. I wondered if it really was true that he and Davy were boyfriends. I wanted to ask Nicky, but I thought it was none of my business. So, I just kept working and enjoying my new friends and family.

My weekly sessions at Dr. Sikorsky's also became a little less irritating. In fact, during the last meeting in September, he even said we could go to monthly sessions! He thought the job was the best thing that had happened to me since . . . well. I agreed.

It was the first Saturday night in October. Fall had definitely hit Canterbury. It was my favorite time of year. I loved the cool weather, the bright, brilliant colors of the maples, the smell of burning leaves, the Halloween decorations. I was in a particularly good mood that afternoon as I came in. I had spent much of the day on the shore of Lake Canterbury writing a happy poem and watching kids play touch football or frisbee. Davy and Stevie were there and they spent some time with me. Stevie had agreed to work that night for one of the college guys who was going home for the weekend and when I arrived, he was already stocking up the counter. I quickly put on my apron and helped.

It was a busy night and during slow moments, when I didn't have any tables to bus or dishes to clean, I helped Nicky and Stevie keep the supplies stocked up. Nicky would grin at me and pat me on the back. Stevie would tease me about the strand of hair at my crown which refused to lay down, calling me Alfalfa. Even during the late rush after eleven, when a lot of college kids were picking up to-go orders to eat later during Saturday Night Live, I was still able to keep up and help out.

As the rush began to slow down, I stayed in the back and began to wash some of the utensils. The brainless girl at the counter was finally able to handle her responsibilities after the line out the door ebbed and Stevie and Nicky were able to concentrate on cooking. I could hear everything perfectly from the dish room, which I didn't think they realized. I didn't want to eavesdrop, but I heard something which really caught my attention.

"So, Stevie, how do you know when you're gay?"

There was a pause. I stopped washing the cutting board I had in my hand.

"Well, Nicky. You're eighteen. If you don't know by now, you're probably not!" Stevie replied with a chuckle.

"Not me, asshole! I know I'm not gay! Hey! I'm ballin' chicks left and right now I got my bachelor pad upstairs!"

"Yeah, right. When do you have time? You're Dad's got you working here every night. Man, you need a break. It’s not fair."

"Yeah, I know. But, Pops needs the help and I like working here."

"Yeah, but you still need a life, too. Hey, why don't I take over a couple of nights and let you go out and have some fun! I can handle the place."

There was another pause.

"You know, you're right. I could use a night. And, you could run the place. I'll talk to Pops tomorrow at dinner! Thanks!"

There was another pause and I resumed washing the cutting board. Then I heard the oven door slam and Stevie said, "So, why were you asking about being gay?"

I stopped again and waited. After a moment, Nicky responded.

"Well, I dunno. I was just wonderin', you know? So, how old were you when you figured it out?"

"I don't know. Thirteen, I guess. Getting hard in gym class everyday is kind of a dead giveaway."

"Did you, like ever, like, you know, circle-jerk or anything?"

There was another pause.

"Well . . . yeah. Its kinda natural for boys to do stuff like that, don't you think? It doesn't mean you're gay. In fact, most guys do it. They usually grow out of it. Why?"

Yet, another pause.


It was after midnight and the restaurant was closed. With Stevie working, we were closing down a lot faster than we normally did when the usual college guys were "working." As I emerged from the dish room, I found Nicky and Stevie just throwing down their aprons on the front counter.

"Eh, good night, wadn’t?" Nicky said, opening the cooler. "Wanna beer to cool-off?"

"Naw," said Stevie. Then, as I approached, he paused and thought and said, "Hey, I'll be 18 next week. What the heck!"

"Eh! There ya go! I knew we'd corrupt ya eventually!" Nicky said with a grin. "Hell, you're even letting your hair go!"

Stevie grinned as he popped the top off a bottle of Rolling Rock. "Yeah, it’s over my ears now. My Dad would shit if he could see it."

We both turned and looked at Stevie with shock. He seemed a little confused and then chuckled. "Ah, heck."

There was a knock on the front window just then and we all turned to see Davy at the door in a ragged pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, his long hair flowing down to his shoulders.

"Eh, what's that scunnizzo doing out this late?" asked Nicky while heading over to the door.

"I don't know," said Stevie with concern.

With Nicky locking the door behind him, Davy approached with a grin and gave Stevie a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, which made the older boy blush fiercely.

"Eh! None of that faggy shit here!" Nicky said with a grin, to which Davy responded by jumping up on Nicky and kissing him on the cheek!

I couldn't believe I said what I did then, but suddenly, out of my mouth, popped, "Hey, what about me?"

Davy gave a toothy grin, ran over to me and planted a huge wet smooch on my lips. I played along and we pretended to be doing one of those really romantic thirties movie kisses. When we finally separated, Davy looked at me with a googly face and declared in a Southern belle voice, "Oh, Jamie. I love you ever so much!"

"Hey," said Stevie, grabbing Davy's arm and pulling him over playfully. He pulled the boy into his arms and planted the most serious French kiss I had ever seen on the kid’s mouth. When they finally came up for air, Davy had a dazed look on his face and a definite rise in his pants! Stevie raised a cocky eyebrow and declared, "Don't you ever forget that!"

Nicky cleared his throat.

"If you fags are through making out in my Pop's place o' business, why don't we go upstairs and kick back in my new bachelor pad? You wanna beer, Jamie?"

"Nicky," said Stevie in a warning voice. "He's not old enough for a beer."

"Hey," I said. "I'm sixteen! You're only seventeen."

"Yeah, but I'll be eighteen next week."

Nicky winked and threw me a Rolling Rock and headed toward the back. We followed him out the door after he shut off the lights and locked up, and then while he climbed the stairs leading from the alley to the door of the second floor.

The door led to a hallway. There were four apartments above the restaurant, two in the back, two in the front. Nicky's was in the front. We walked toward it, past the back two apartments. "Freebird" was emanating from the one on the right, as well as a very acrid odor. Davy grinned.

"Ummm. Smells good," he said, sniffing really hard outside the door.

Stevie bopped him on the head and dragged him toward Nicky's door. Nicky grinned and pounded on the door to the first apartment.

"Eh! Johnny! Open the window man! I was getting a contact high down in the kitchen!"

"Yeah? Fuck you, Manci!"

"Too late. Your mom got me first!"

This was all so strange for me. I had never had any friends before. I had never just hung out with the guys. And now, I was! It was too cool. I had always wanted to be just like everyone else, and now I was!

Nicky's apartment was the coolest place I had ever seen. It was a studio with a pull out couch under the windows which looked out onto Main Street. There were two beat-up but comfortable looking chairs against the wall on the left, behind which was a small kitchen and a bathroom. On the wall was a "Dark Side of the Moon" poster. On the right was a bookshelf with a Pioneer stereo and a couple of pots with philodendrons, above which was an old movie poster for Clockwork Orange—the one with Malcolm McDowell giving that weird wink. The coffee table was this huge wooden spool that looked like it was once used to roll up power lines or something like that. There were several issues of Penthouse on the floor sticking out from under the couch.

"Nick, this place is great!" Stevie declared crouching in front of the stereo. He turned it on and spun the dial away from the album-rock station Nicky had it on. When it stopped, the Doobie Brothers came on with "Listen to the Music." Then Stevie bent over and looked at the books on the shelf.

"Kurt Vonnegut, Norman Mailer, Philip Roth? Nicky! You read this stuff?"

Nicky smiled. "Hey, just because I talk like the Fonz don't mean I ain't gotta brain. I just don't have the time or the, oh I don't know, the discipline to go to college, like you."

"Hey, I'm not in college yet."

"Yeah, but you will be."

Stevie plopped down in one of the chairs and started playing air guitar. Davy grinned as he watched him.

Nicky and I sat on the couch and I took a big swig of my Rolling Rock. It was my first beer. I didn't really like the taste, but I was already starting to feel it after having downed half the bottle since leaving the restaurant, and I decided I liked the feeling.

Nicky suddenly jumped up and ran to the kitchen. When he emerged he threw new bottles of Bud at each of us, including Davy. Stevie rolled his eyes and nodded. Davy twisted the top off and took a huge swallow and then let rip a really impressive burp. We all laughed.

Suddenly, Stevie hooted. The Doobies had been replaced with Pure Prairie League and as Stevie began his second beer, he started singing along to "Amy." Nicky rolled around on the couch laughing his head off.

"I always thought you had a stick up your ass, Stevie. But, you really can raise some hell!"

Stevie grinned. "Ah know! Y'all jes never gay me a chance!"

We all looked at him dumbfounded and Davy exclaimed, "Stevie! You've got a southern accent!"

"Well, ah guess it comes out when ah'm drinkin' beer." He chuckled and then sang, "Amyyyy... whatchoo wanna dooo... Ah thiiiink I could stay with you . . . for a while, maybe longer if I tried( . . . )"

We all took more swigs of beer and when the chorus came along again, we all sang along.

By the time we finished our third beers—though Davy was limited to just his one, over his disgusted objections—Davy was cuddled up with Stevie in his chair. Nicky was sprawled across half the couch and I was relaxing with my head against the back of the couch. Stevie was gently stroking Davy's hair as the boy smiled blissfully in his arms. Slowly, Davy looked up and whispered something and Stevie replied softly, "OK."

He looked up at us and announced, "Nicky, thanks for the beers. We had a great time and you've gotta really cool place here. But, I think it’s time to get the hellion home."

I stood up and after bidding them good night, went to the bathroom to pee. When I came out, Nicky was in the kitchen.

"You're not leaving too, are ya?" he asked as he emerged with a strange bottle-looking contraption.

"Well, it’s after two and I should be getting home. I don't w-w-want my p-p-parents to g-g-get an-n-n-ngry."

Nicky's face took on a sad look as he watched me. He came around and sat back down on the couch and pointed for me to sit again. He then opened a wooden box on the coffee table and pulled out a baggy with green stuff in it. I knew immediately what it was and I was shocked. I knew his Dad was strongly anti-drug and Nicky had always seemed so responsible and hard-working.

As he opened the baggy and placed a pinch of the grass in a little thing on the side of the bottle—I realized it was what the kids at school called a ‘bong’—he looked at me and commented, "You know, that was the first time I've heard you stutter in weeks."

I didn't realize I had stuttered, but he was right. The only time I didn't stutter was when I was at work or with Nicky's family and my new friends. They liked me and treated me with affection, even respect. It was when I returned to my other world, school and home, that I stuttered, that I felt angry or stupid or . . . or . . . like a loser. Nicky and his Dad and Stevie all made me feel like one of them. I nodded sadly at him.

"I . . . I don't really w-w-want to go home."

Nicky put the bong to his mouth and "took a hit." Holding his breath he handed it to me. I took it and looked at it fearfully.

"It’s OK," he said as he slowly exhaled. "You're not gonna become a maniac or anything. I just do it to relax every once in awhile and . . . " he paused and pointed to the stack of Penthouses on the floor and grinned. I smiled shyly and put the bong up to my mouth. Nicky lit it and softly instructed me not to take too much. The feeling of calm and peace was incredible and after a few minutes—and three more ‘hits’—I was leaning back on the couch with the most wonderful sense of serenity.

"You've got friends now, man," said Nicky next to me. "You never have to think you're alone again."

I would have started crying, but I felt too tranquil. We sat for awhile listening to Emerson, Lake, and Palmer and then my eyes landed on the Penthouses. There was a rather attractive woman with large breasts on the cover—what a surprise—and I was shocked to find myself becoming aroused. Suddenly, it just hit me. I was horny. I was Horny. I was HORNY, hornier than I had ever been in my life and I was high and alone with Nicky Mancinelli and there was a stack of Penthouses and I was hard and high for the first time in my life and . . . 

"Go ahead and open it up," Nicky said in a soft, hypnotic voice as he pointed toward the magazine. I grinned and tried to lean forward. Nicky giggled at my struggle, which caused me to giggle, which inspired more giggles from him and made me laugh. In seconds, we were both hysterical.

It was a bit before we calmed down, but we still would each erupt into giggles with no warning. Nicky leaned forward and picked up the whole stack of Penthouses and set them down on the couch between us.

"Go ahead, dude," he said with a sexy grin. "Enjoy."

With trembling hands, I picked up the top magazine and opened it to the centerfold. Slowly, I opened it up and spread the centerfold out. The model was tall and slender with long blond hair. Her large pointed breasts pushed open a wispy negligee and I could see the blond hair between her legs. It was incredible. I had never seen anything like it. My penis was throbbing in my pants and despite my relaxed—read that, ‘stoned’—state, I was nearly breathless. I picked up a second magazine and flipped through the pages, all kind of glories revealing themselves to me as I did. I needed to jack-off. I needed it bad. I realized I was breathing through my mouth and almost panting.

From somewhere in the room, I heard Nicky say in a soft, sexy voice, "Man, this stuff makes me hot."

I turned my head and he was leaning back on the couch, his eyes half closed, holding a magazine open and rubbing his crotch. I didn't know if he meant the magazines or the pot, but I knew that, whatever it was, it was having the same effect on me.

Nicky's face was flushed and his eyes had a look I had never seen as he gazed over the centerfold of the magazine he was holding. It was a look that, to my inexperienced eyes, just had to be dripping with sex and horniness.

He looked up and our eyes met.

"I don't know about you man, but I gotta do it."

I couldn't believe it. Nicky wanted to jack-off. He was going to do it. Nicky Manicnelli was going to jack-off in front of me! Nicky!

"Oh, yeah," I whispered.

Nicky grinned.

"Man, let's do this right."

Unsteadily, he stood up and laid the magazines on the big wooden spool, which he pushed out from the couch. I realized what he was doing and, just as unsteadily, stood up myself. We pulled the hide-a-bed out and Nicky pulled back the sheets and dropped a couple of pillows down onto it from where they were scattered beside the couch. When he looked back at me, his face had a nasty leer to it.

"You ever done this before?"

"Sure," I replied. "Every day."

"Naw, I mean, ever jacked it with another dude?"

I shrugged my shoulders as I stood on the opposite side of the bed from him.

"Not really."

He looked surprised.

"Never? Not even when you were twelve or thirteen? Didn't you have a beat-off buddy when you were a kid?"

Breathlessly, I shook my head.

"Well," said Nicky with a grin as he pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, revealing his nearly hairless torso, "let's have some fun!"

In seconds, he had removed his Converse high-tops and slipped out of his 501's and briefs. He stood gloriously naked in front of me, his eight inches of thick, rigid penis standing up proudly and pointing right at me as it bobbed with his heartbeat. Beautiful, shiny black curls surrounded it and covered the big, fat balls that clung tightly beneath. With an almost childish giggle, he dropped onto the bed and crawled up toward back, leaned against it, and spread his legs out wide. His cock stood up between his thighs and Nicky pointed to the empty spot beside him.

It took me only seconds to undress, despite my inebriated and uncoordinated condition. Nicky sat up cross-legged and faced me. I sat in front of him cross-legged as well.

"Do it, man," he whispered. "Grab your dick! Jack it good!"

And, I did. Never had I felt so horny and never had jacking off felt so good. I was trembling, I was so horny.

"Ah," I moaned as I pumped my boner hard, thrusting my hips up and down and squirming on the sheet. "God, this feels so good."

"Oh, yeah," Nicky breathed. "Beat that boner, kid. Love it!"

Nicky was furiously stroking himself and was so getting into his own masturbating that he spread his legs out and then got up on his knees, his hard-on just inches from my face as he pumped it. He thrust his hips out and moaned loudly.

"Ah, fuck!" he cried as he beat-off furiously. I was going nuts working my cock. Here was every jack-off fantasy I had ever dreamt coming true. Nicky was beating off in my face and I had the perfect view of the most incredible cock I had ever seen, just inches away.

"Fuck, this is hot," he whispered. I was speechless. I just stared, open-mouthed as he pumped and jacked in front of me.

I was getting so close and I heard myself making groaning sounds, higher pitched and more insistent as I pumped faster and harder.

"Dude, stop! Don't come yet," Nicky commanded me hoarsely. Panting, I let go of my cock; it bobbed in front of us, protesting its sudden abandonment, begging to be pumped so it could shoot its cum all over Nicky's bed. Nicky, too, let go of his cock. He looked into my eyes.

"You like my cock, Jamie?"

I was too far gone to deny it. I didn't care what happened. I had to tell him the truth.

"Oh, yeah, Nicky. I love your cock!. It’s so hot!"

Nicky leaned again against the back of the couch and spread his leg.

"Its all yours, dude. Do whatever ya want with it."

I was beyond disbelief now. I couldn't move.

"Come on," he muttered in a soft voice dripping with sex. "Feel me, man. Come on, feel it. Get over here and wrap your hand around my boner."

I did as I was told. I crawled between Nicky's legs and reached out with my right hand. The tips of my fingers touched the hard shaft of his cock. It jumped. Slowly, I moved them up and down. On the downward stroke, I kept going, moving them across his fat balls, through the shiny black curls around his cock and back up again. Then, when neither of us could take it any more, I took his boner in my hand, wrapping my fist around it.

"Ah, fuck," he whispered. "Jack me, dude. Jack my bone."

Slowly, I worked it and felt myself becoming breathless as my hand pumped up and down, as his hips worked around, as he groaned huskily.

"Come here," he ordered me. His left arm came out and he grabbed my torso, flipped me around to his left side and held me against him. I never let go of his cock. His right hand grabbed my own cock and I cried out, feeling as if I would shoot right there. His hand felt me all over, stroking, caressing, rubbing, squeezing. I was out of my mind.

This was what I wanted. I leaned my head on Nicky's shoulder, reveling in the heat of his body, his strength, the wonderful intoxicating man-smell of sweat and sex. Nicky hugged me tightly.

"Jamie," he whispered. "Ah, fuck, Jamie, you feel so good. I love the way your cock bends like that. I bet it feels so good to get jacked."

"Ah, Nicky! Nicky!" That was all I could say. I was beyond reason as my hands worked his cock. This was what I needed, a man to hold me, to love me, to protect me, to make me feel good; a man I could love and make feel good. I was about to cry out, "I love you, Nicky!" when suddenly, it built and built and my whole body became taut.

I was no longer jacking Nicky; I had no control, I could only feel him and he knew it. "Do it, baby, let me get ya off. Shoot it, Jamie. Come on' Jamie, shoot it all over me."

I did.

It seemed to be forever and yet it wasn't long enough. I screamed and shot and bucked and twisted and babbled and writhed. And, all the time, Nicky kept holding me, my head against his shoulder, his head above mine, his hand perfectly milking the cum from my teenage dick.

Slowly, my spasms weakened until I collapsed against Nicky's cum-covered body. I was gasping as he held me, and whispered softly, over and over, "Jamie, oh Jamie."

Finally, he looked down at me and asked, "Did that feel good?"

I could barely reply a breathy, "Oh, my God," prompting a grin from my buddy. My buddy. My beat-off buddy. My friend. My FRIEND. I could happily have died at that moment feeling fulfilled.

"Man, you were so hot," he whispered, wiping cum off his body and collecting it in his right hand. I had shot all over him. I couldn't remember ever shooting that much and he was covered. He had a handful and then grabbed his own cock. Slowly, he started stroking again. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tightly as he jacked himself, using my cum as lube.

In seconds, he was panting in my hair, squeezing my body with his left hand, furiously jacking his boner with his right.

"Ah, fuck, Jamie, you're so sweet and hot and pretty. Ah, Jamie, fuck, Jamie!"

And, then, he did it. His arm squeezed the breath out of me as his hips suddenly fucked up into the air and his cock shot wad after wad of cum out and over our bodies, hitting us both in the face.

And, when he was finished, we lay in each others arms, sweaty, covered in cum, exhausted, and happy.

The thought of going home that night never even occurred to me as I fell into the happiest and most contented sleep ever.