Sealing our Fate


On the third weekend – the end of our second week together – we went over to South Padre Island to throw passes on the beach, swim in the surf, and simply “get out.” There were plenty of girls, and we got lots of looks. We enjoyed the looks, but didn’t spend much time returning them.

We rented surfboards from a shack near the jetties and the cool-looking surfer dude who ran the place, Javier, was super friendly and let us go overtime. We didn’t know anything about gaydar yet, but we didn’t need it for Javier. And it was fun because he was a cute, longhaired surfer type.

By the beginning of our third week together, we were making love two or three times every day. We fell asleep on each other at night. And in the nights, we woke almost every night in each other’s arms, already hot and hard, hips starting to pump. When we did, we grabbed butts and shoulders and ground mouths and cocks together until we came and then fell asleep on each other again.

It became a routine; an addictive routine. Not just the lovemaking in the middle of the night; but all of it. We were becoming addicted to each other.

* * *

On Monday night, we were sitting shoulder to shoulder with our lines in the water, when I got a good-sized trout on my line. I hooked it in the darkness beyond the lights and was reeling it through the lit up water when there was a sudden flash of dorsal and tail fins, and a large shark took my fish, snapping my line. I guessed the shark at six feet long.

We sat silently for a moment.

“No more fish dancing,” Kipper said.

“Don’t even think about pushing me in the water,” I said.

“I’m not sure about swimming in the channel any more,” Kipper said.

“I’m not sure about swimming in the bay anymore.”

* * *

It may have been only a nap, but I was sleeping really hard on my side, and my mouth had fallen open. Despite how carefully he crawled onto the bed, I woke fairly quickly when Kipper stuck his hard cock into my mouth.

I grabbed it, pulling it from my mouth. “Dude,” I murmured, squeezing my eyes tightly shut as if there was still some chance of going back to sleep again. “What are you doing?”

Kipper laughed and wrapping his hand over mine, tried to point his cock back into my mouth. “You can’t sleep with your mouth wide open like that, dude, and not expect me to put something in it.”

“Yeah right,” I murmured. “And if my mouth was closed, you’d stick it somewhere else.”

“That was coming next,” Kipper said cheerfully.

I noticed his scent and pulled his cock up to take a deep breath. Kipper was rock hard, and his scent was fresh and exciting. I opened my eyes to find him kneeling beside my face… and his cock was right there. I licked his crown and he murmured appreciatively.

Damn, he had a beautiful cock. I closed my mouth over it.

I twisted at my hips, throwing my top leg back so that Kipper could see that I was growing hard, too. He accepted the invitation and, lying down beside me, took my cock into his mouth.

* * *

There were plenty of other, fourteen-year-old moments, partly because Kipper was Kipper. And mostly, they were fun.

It was about that time that we had our first piss fight. Looking back on it, it was a wonder that Kipper hadn’t thought about doing it before; what with us always being naked most of the time.

We had stepped to the edge of the dock to take a piss together before going in for lunch and I caught the look from the corner of his eye. I’d gotten to know Kipper well enough to guess what was coming, and for once, I decided to beat him to it; but I did by only a split second. I had barely turned my piss stream on him when he wheeled on me.

It’s hard to piss on a guy while dodging his piss stream while he’s dodging yours. Before I ran out of ammunition, I grabbed him in a bear hug and held him while I finished relieving myself on his legs. He held on to me and pissed on mine. And the two of us kept laughing like the idiots we were.

Our eyes met. Our grins grew wider. Sometimes, especially at that age, all naked in your lover’s arms and doing stupid stuff, you’re just really happy. I rocked him in my arms and he rocked me. Then we were twirling around together, and clowning, and we spun right off the dock and into the water.

* * *

Despite constantly being together, we seemed to be happy no matter we did; maybe like newlyweds. And maybe for the same reasons as newlyweds are happy.

We kidded and teased. We wrestled and tickled. And there were tender moments; some very tender moments… and many that were just comfortable.

Kipper often sat on the bed to read because he knew that I liked to lie on my stomach, and lay my head in his naked lap. I’d rest the side of my face on his flaccid cock and balls, and he would stroke my hair, or rub my neck or back while I would doze off. I loved doing that.

He liked me to do the same to him, though Kipper really liked his balls played with even more than having his back rubbed or hair stroked. So often he would lie where I could play with his balls while I read, or dozed off beside him.

There was one thing we both really liked; kissing. Have you ever kissed a naked, fourteen-year-old boy with a slender body, a thick mop of brown hair, and a mouth that turned up at the corners? A fourteen-year-old boy who really liked kissing?

Kipper and I did a lot of kissing.

* * *

We didn’t just hang around the shack. We were always doing something – there were so many things to do.

But we also learned quickly to give each other room, especially in the heat of the day and the early evenings. We had our second disagreement that Tuesday afternoon, the first disagreement being when Kipper pushed me into the water too many times. The second came after we finished painting the south wall. I was tired and when Kipper started rubbing my butt, I went inside to get away.

He came in frowning, and climbed up to read on a top bunk he sometimes used for personal space. I felt bad, but didn’t feel like apologizing.

Neither of us said a word for about an hour, which in and of itself wasn’t that unusual, but we hadn’t been quiet in anger before. I started thinking about what I’d done; about how I would have felt if Kipper had turned me down. Hell, what if I’d turned him off me? What then? I wouldn’t blame him. I’d been an ass.

Kipper was sitting on the bunk with his back to the wall and his legs stuck out over the edge. I walked over beside his bunk, and laid a hand on his shin. “Kips?”

His book lay open in his naked lap and he didn’t look up at me.

“Look, dude,” I said. “I’m really sorry, OK?”

He shrugged without looking at me.

“Look, Kips, I was stupid, OK? And I was all hot and tired from working and all.” I moved closer, laying a hand on his thigh, trying to look up into his eyes, which he kept averted. “Kips,” I said softly. “I promise; I won’t ever tell you ‘no’ again.”

His brow furrowed.

“Honest, Kips. Whenever you want; whatever you want. I promise.”

He glanced at me. “Look, don’t be crazy, OK? You can tell me if you don’t want to do it. I shouldn’t have gotten pissed.”

I rubbed his thigh. “But I won’t tell you ‘no.’ How about if I tell you whenever I’m tired or something, but then let you decide if we’ll do anything… like if you really need to get your rocks off, we can do it.”

At that, Kipper laughed out loud. “Like I’m going to need to get my rocks off with all the fucking around that we do.”

I didn’t laugh, but shrugged instead. “Seems to me that the more we do it, the more I need to do it.”

Kipper reflected on that, and then nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Can I come up?” I asked.

He nodded and I climbed up beside him, sitting with my back to the wall beside him, our shoulders touching. “What would be your favorite thing right now?” I asked. “You know… for us to do? What would you really like?”

“I’m OK right now,” he said, giving my thigh a friendly rub.

I took the book from his lap and set it down on the bed next to me. “I’ll just watch then,” I said, staring down into his lap, “until you’re ready.”

Kipper laughed and squeezed my thigh. “What would you like to do?” he asked.

“Take care of you.” I rubbed my hand inside his thigh, brushing his balls. “I love you, Kips.”

He leaned his head against mine. “Yeah. I know.” He reached into my lap and lifted my cock on his fingertips. Holding it, watching it, he leaned his head on my shoulder. “What are we going to do, Stick?” he asked, “when we have to go back home.”

“We are barely into our third week,” I pointed out. We don’t have to think about going back yet.”

* * *

That evening, I played my guitar and we watched the sun set from the sun deck. The sun turned us all gold and the evening breeze blew our hair about our heads. I started into Stayin’ Alive, and Kipper grabbed up a towel. Wrapping it around his waist, he began something between a disco dance and a hula.

I began chording and kicked up the volume. Kipper, arms stretched up over his head, danced a circle around me. I stood up, still playing, and danced with him. I started singing the lyrics, and Kipper sang with me.

We went from Bee Gees into a bit of Abba, and finished singing Mama Mia at the top of our lungs, facing the sun as if it were a spotlight.

“We’re ready for the big time,’ Kipper said, grinning.

“Dunno, Kips,” I said. “I expect fish to start floating to the surface any time now.”

“Numbskull!” he said, laughing, and he laid his hand on my bare butt.

* * *

Dad came that Wednesday; two weeks after his first visit. As we unloaded his Suburban, he revealed gifts that he had brought us.

He brought Kip’s developed photos including three he’d blown up to eight-by-tens and put into frames to mount inside the shack. “You’ve got a great eye, Will,” Dad told him. “I brought you more film and these two photography books... I checked with your folks and they said that you don’t have them.”

Kipper, delighted, took the colorful books from Dad’s hand.

“I brought you a lot of film,” Dad said, “so you can get in more practice. I brought some fast film and some slow; I even brought you black and white. You can try out different effects, exposures and times of day.”

“I brought you something, too, Aaron,” Dad said, turning to me. “Some pastel chalks and,” he opened the back of the Suburban, “your aquarium. I brought a ten gallon one; no filter. You’ll have to change water. But I did bring an aerator for it.”

“So that means it’s OK with Mom and Kipper’s folks if we stay down here longer?” I asked, observing the obvious.

Dad grinned and patted my back. “Yep. She understands it’s a once in a lifetime kind of thing.”

Dad had no idea.

“And,” Dad continued, “I have a new project for you guys. The boat tender’s going to deliver lumber and corrugated metal roofing on Tuesday. You’re going to build an awning over half the sun deck.”

* * *

We ate well when Dad visited. Good meals were one of the few things lacking from our otherwise incredible summer.

When my dad wasn’t there, we ate a lot of fish. Fortunately, we liked fish. We usually baked or grilled it because it was a lot easier than frying. We mixed leftover fish with mayonnaise and pickles to make seafood salad to have with crackers. We ate a lot of crackers. And rice; a lot of rice. And sandwiches.

* * *

Dad wasn’t the sole interruption to our routineless routine. Some of the other shacks were occupied on weekends and we met some of the guys who used them; mostly older guys. We wore shorts outside when they were around.

Barges traveled up and down the channel occasionally; usually at night. And boats with fishermen came by from time to time to drift fish past the fishing shacks.

But most of the time, there wasn’t anyone else around.

* * *

Kipper lay on our bed on his stomach, all slender and tan; the morning breeze blowing the fine blond body hairs at the base of his spine. I crawled up, straddling the backs of his thighs, the length of my lightly oiled cock glistening over the velvety skin of Kipper’s well-mounded, little butt. Spreading his buns with the heels of my hands, I aimed myself down into his crack and probed gently, finding his opening. I pressed in and moaned quietly as I felt his tightness pass over my crown and onto my shaft. I pressed in and laid down on him, letting my legs fall outside his, filling the space between my legs with his firm bottom.

I settled my weight onto his back and stretched my body over him, sliding my arms up over the back of his arms, nibbling the side of his neck. I began to slowly grind, and even though Kipper had come already, he moved with me; and murmured his pleasure over our joining.

“Sticks,” he asked softly, thoughtfully. “You homesick at all?”

I paused, pressing deeply into Kipper because it felt so damned good. “A little,” I said.

“But we can’t go back yet,” Kipper said. “Not now.”

I pulled the hair from the back of his neck and kissed it. “Not now,” I echoed, nuzzling into the back of his hair. “How could I stand it without you, Kips? How could I stand us not being able to make love?”

I said it… “make love.” We hadn’t called it that, but that’s what it was for me.

Kipper was quiet, but kept moving with me, circling his butt with the circling of my hips.

“Kips?” I asked quietly. “You wanna go back?”

He shrugged under me. “Maybe for just a couple of days. Maybe see everybody again. Eat something other than fish.”

“But just for a couple of days?” I asked. “You’d still wanna come back, right?”

Kipper nodded. “Yeah, Sticks.” He pulled my arms tighter around his chest. “I love it here; just us, doing all the stuff we’re doing. He squeezed my arms in his. “Making love.”

I laid the side of my face on the back of Kipper’s shoulder. “It is making love, Kips. For me it is.”

He nodded, and then chuckled lightly. “The sex isn’t bad either.”

I smiled and nuzzled into him. “Well, neither are the fishing, snorkeling, and all the rest.”

“It doesn’t get any better than this,” Kipper said, echoing a popular commercial. “Well at least it doesn’t seem like it could.”

Lying on Kipper, the length of his naked body under mine, me buried in him and him feeling so incredibly good… “It couldn’t,” I agreed.

“You think our moms will let us come back if we go home for a couple of days?”

“I don’t know.”

* * *

Kipper’s dad came down for the last weekend in June, our fourth weekend and the end of our third week. Homesick or not, the time had passed incredibly fast, and we were afraid he’d want us to come home. But he enjoyed himself so much that by Sunday morning I was afraid that he’d want to stay himself.

Kipper brought up the subject, asking his dad whether he thought our moms would let us come back to the bay if we went home for a couple of days.

“I can’t say for Stick’s mom,” his dad said. “But I know your mom misses you, Kipper. I’m sure she’d rather have you come home for a few days now, rather than wait until you decide you’re ready to come back for good. Why don’t you guys come back with me? I’ll bring you back next weekend.

Next weekend seemed like ages away.

“You wouldn’t have to,” Kipper said, glancing at me uncertainly. “Ben and Tom were gonna come down next weekend anyway; for The Fourth.”

“That’s right,” I said. “We have to come back next week because of them.” Then I mentally counted the number of days that Kipper and I would still have to be apart, and frowned.

“We gotta talk it over,” Kip said to his dad, and the two of us climbed to the sun deck to talk.

“Kipper!” I moaned. Taking his hands, I leaned close to whisper. “Except for jacking each other when we snorkeled yesterday, we haven’t made love since your dad got here Friday night. If we go home now, and don’t have a chance to… you know… and if we ride back with Ben and Tom next weekend and they don’t leave until The Fourth on Tuesday… Kip’s, I’ll die of blue balls.”

Kipper didn’t laugh. “I’ll die of blue lips.”

I did laugh. “Oh, Kips,” I said, taking him into my arms with a nervous glance toward the stairs. “We can stay.”

“Or we can sneak out to be together back home; at least a time or two.”

I held him close. “Yeah, I guess it’d be good to go back.”

“Dad,” Kipper said when we returned downstairs. “We’ll do it. We’ll go home with you. But that means we’ve got a lot of packing up and locking up to do if we’re going to be gone all week. Why don’t you take the boat over to the shallows where we caught those reds yesterday, and Sticks and I will work to get things ready?”

“I’ll help,” his dad offered.

“No!” Kipper and I answered at the same time, perhaps a little too strongly.

His dad eyed us. “You haven’t snuck some beer out here, or something else you aren’t supposed to have, have you?”

“No, Dad,” Kipper said with a sincere laugh. “It’s just that it’s like, our place, you know.”

Oh, good answer, Kipper, I thought to myself.

“OK, then,” his dad said with a smile. “Sure. I’d like to try that fishing spot again.”

His dad had barely pulled away before we had our clothes off and I had Kipper on his back on the bed, my legs between his, rubbing cocks and balls together while kissing with a starved desperation.

* * *

“It might be good for us to be away from each other for a couple of days,” I said as we put the last of the screens on the last East window by the boathouse. “You know, take a break from each other.”

“You really think so?” Kipper asked, closing the last fastener and looking at me sadly with those big brown eyes of his; the curly tail of his long hair falling down between his naked shoulder blades; and him all golden tan wearing nothing but his shorts.

I glanced across the bay and the few boats were far away, so I took Kipper into my arms, belly to belly. “No, Kips,” I said, as he ran his fingers up into the back of my hair. “I’m going to… to ache for you.”

“We’ve got time to go again,” Kipper said, brushing my lips with his; the two of us growing hard against each other. “If my dad’s catching anything, we might have plenty of time.

“We’ll still need to hurry,” I said. “All we’ve done is put on the screens.”

Kipper opened his mouth to mine and I suddenly couldn’t care less about what we got done.

* * *

I should have enjoyed the air conditioning and clean clothes and good food, but it was too damned cold in the house, and too damned quiet at night; and how the hell was I supposed to sleep without Kipper to snuggle onto?

And Mom started in right away on Monday morning. “You’ve had three full weeks down there,” she pointed out. “You need to spend some time at home this summer.”

“And do what?” I asked.

She started to say something, bit her lip, thinking, and then waved dismissively. “What you always do in the summer. Join a swim team. Mow lawns.” She saw that I wasn’t buying any of that. “You’re only fifteen,” she said, taking a different tack, “you shouldn’t be alone down there.”

“Almost sixteen, Mom. And I’m not alone. Kipper’s with me. And it’s not like we’ve been sitting around. We’ve worked hard on stuff. “

“Kipper’s only fourteen,” she pointed out.

“Mom! He turns fifteen in a month! Aaaugh!” I left the kitchen. “I’m going over to Kipper’s.”

“No, Aaron!” Mom protested. “You’ve been with Kipper for weeks.”

“I’ll be back.”

“When?” she asked. “I wanted your help this afternoon with some things around here, and your dad is grilling steaks for supper.”

“I’ll be back,” I repeated as I went out the door.

* * *

Ben was dressed for work when he answered the door. “Stickman!” he called out and gave me a backslapping hug; our first ever.

I returned his backslapping. It felt good to be hugged by Ben; especially since he seemed so glad to see me.

“I’ve missed you, dude,” Ben said, waving me inside.

Kipper came out from their room wearing just shorts. He looked sleepy.

“Hey, Kips,” I said.

“Hey, Sticks,” he answered with a wave and a flop onto the couch. Then he caught my eye and gave a private wink.

“Look, Stick, I’ve gotta get to work,” Ben said, apologetically. “I’ll come by your house tonight. We can go for a ride or something. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” And with that Ben, was out the door.

“Hi Stick,” Kipper’s mom called from the kitchen. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered. “My mom made me eat a big one.”

“That’s a shame,” she called out. “I’m making breakfast for Kipper – eggs and some of that wonderful trout his dad brought home.”

I gasped.

Kipper laughed. “You should’ve seen his face, Mom. He believed you.”

She appeared at the kitchen door.

“Believed me about what?” she asked seriously.

Kipper’s smile went all hollow.

Then, his mom grinned… and returned to the kitchen.

“It’s genetic, isn’t it?” I asked. “Your perverted sense of humor.”

Grinning, he crooked his finger at me.

With a glance toward the kitchen to make sure his mom wasn’t looking, I knelt down beside Kipper on the couch. “I didn’t sleep worth shit last night,” he whispered.

“Me neither,” I said, just before Kipper slipped his hand behind my neck and pulled me into a quick kiss.

Kissing is all we had the opportunity to do for the rest of the morning. We did it more than once and it was surprising that we didn’t get caught.

That afternoon, Kipper came back with me to my house, but Mom didn’t really have anything for me to do; she just wanted me around.

Kipper and I washed the dishes after lunch and when we finished, we found that Mom had fallen asleep in her den recliner. Pattie was out with friends, so I grabbed Kipper’s hand and led him back to my room.

Kipper glanced at my bed while I locked the door. “In your own bed, dude!” he whispered, stepping up to me and pulling our bellies together.

* * *

I would have preferred to be with Kipper that night, but Ben wanted it to be just us, and Kipper was cool with that. He had his own friends to see, and I was glad to be with Ben. So when he came by after work that evening, we drove out to Delta Lake.

Ben brought a six-pack of beer that a guy he worked with bought for him, and we sat on the hood of his car to drink it. The night breeze was quieter than at the bay, and the black sky was full of stars.

Ben told me about his work and things that had happened around town. I told him about things Kip and I had done down at the island; the things that weren’t too private to tell Ben about.

“You lucky bastards – you and Kipper,” Ben said, handing me a second beer.

“We work,” I protested, setting the beer down. My first beer was still half-full. I wasn’t used to drinking and had been nursing it.

“Yeah, right,” Ben said. “Trade you jobs.”

“We have been working… some,” I insisted.

“Lucky bastards,” Ben repeated, ignoring me.

“You’re coming down this weekend,” I pointed out. “You’ll be lucky, too.”

“Yeah, and I had hell getting the time off, too. It’s a busy time at the store.”

Ben took another sip and lay back on the hood. “I’ve missed ya, Stick,” he said.

“You still see Tom all the time, right?” I asked, lying back beside him.

Ben glanced at me, and then back up at the stars. “I can’t always talk to Tom about things.”

“What things?” I asked, gazing up into the night sky.

Ben took a deep breath. “Things about me and Linda.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance at me.

“Have you guys gotten it on?” I asked.

“Not yet,” he said. “Not like you’re thinking.” He lifted his head to take a sip of his beer without spilling it and then laid his head back down. “We’ve gotten naked and hugged and done things for each other.”

“And you didn’t want to tell Tom,” I asked, mildly surprised. “If it had been Tom, he’d be bragging.”

“Yep,” Ben agreed. “That’s the problem. The guy talks too much.” He looked my way again and I turned to him so that our eyes met. “I really like her, Stick.” Ben said earnestly. “Other than you, she’s my best friend.”

“That’s cool,” I said.

Ben took another sip. “But you and me… we’re still best friends, right?” Ben asked. “Kipper hasn’t stolen you from me.”

I laughed at the way he said it, and laughed longer to buy time because I wasn’t sure how to answer. But Ben was watching me; I had to say something. So I shrugged. “Kipper’s my best fourteen-year-old friend. You’re my best sixteen-year-old friend.”

Ben nodded as if not surprised. “You guys are becoming pretty good buddies, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Of course,” Ben said, thoughtfully. “You two always have been.”

“Tell me about you and Linda,” I said

* * *

Ben was off on Tuesday and hung with us all day. Kip and I didn’t even get a chance to kiss until that night. But then, while Ben was in the bathroom, Kipper whispered in my ear. “Tomorrow morning…. Ben leaves early for work and Mom’s going to be at my grandmother’s. We can do it in my bed.”

* * *

“I’d have thought you guys would have had your fill of each other,” Kipper’s mom commented with a speculative glance in my direction. She and Ben had both arrived home at noon for lunch. Kipper and I had barely cleaned up from our morning.

“They got addicted to the smell of each other,” Ben commented.

Kipper and I shot him the finger, and I thought to myself that Ben had no idea.

On Friday afternoon we got our hair cut. As much as I liked mine long, it was just too hot and messy at the beach. We cut it back off our necks.

We went swimming at the local pool on Friday evening and ran into a bunch of our friends from school; both Kipper’s and mine. The girls fawned over us, all lean and tan in our speedos, and even the guys seemed friendlier than normal. And it didn’t seem to me that it was simply because anyone missed us.

Kipper was all deep gold and there was gold in his hair. Both of us had a light golden down on our forearms and calves. We filled our speedos like only fourteen and fifteen-year-olds can. And I had finally banished my white skin, at least for the summer, and against my deep tan, my white teeth and blue eyes stood out. We were suddenly popular.

But the whole time, Kipper and I shot each other knowing smiles.

That night, I snuck a blanket out of the house, and Kipper and I slipped out to the golf course where we made hot, butt-grabbing love in the shrubs behind the seventh hole.

“Sticks?” he said, as we lay side by side on the green afterward, looking up into the starry heavens. “You know what you wanna be yet?”

“You mean when I grow up?” I asked with a smirk.

Kipper rapped my ribs with his knuckles. “Yeah.”

“Not really,” I said. “Dad thinks I’d enjoy being a doctor, but I wouldn’t want to be a GP.”

“I can see that,” Kipper said, “you being a doctor.”

“How about you, Kips?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll be a doctor, too.”

I chuckled and clasped his hand on the grass between us. “How about photography? You like that.”

“Maybe,” Kipper agreed.

“Well,” I said, “I like sketching and painting. Maybe we oughta open a commercial art place… what do they call it… a graphics house? Wanna go into business together?”

Kipper glanced at me, and smiling, squeezed my hand.

I squeezed his, and with a sigh, we both looked skyward again, and high above, the lights of a plane traveled from East to West.

“This fall’s gonna be hell,” Kipper said with a sigh.

“We need to set up a dark room for you,” I said. “One with a lock on the door.”

“Yeah,” Kipper said, laying a leg over mine. “No getting caught in the john like Jacob and Segundo.”

I rolled up on my side to face him, pulling his leg between mine and moving up next to him. “Kips,” I said, laying a hand on his chest. “You ever think about girls?”

He glanced at me, starlight reflecting off his dark eyes. “Not much.” His eyes watched mine. “Do you?”

“Not much.”

“Why’d you ask?” he wondered. “Because of seeing Jennifer today?”

I grinned. “More because of the way Jennifer looked at me today.”

“She wasn’t the only one,” Kipper said.

“They were looking at you too, Kipster,” I pointed out.

He nodded, and then glanced at me. “Did you always… you know… think about guys?”

I shook my head and told him about waking up on Ben and starting to think about guys after that.

Kipper rolled up on his side to face me, our legs entwined. “I don’t remember ever thinking much about girls,” he said. “I never had a chance, really.” His eyes met mine. “Not with you around.”

I laughed. “Yeah, right.”

Kipper pushed me onto my back and moved up over me. “Sticks, ya nut,” he said, his eyes smiling down into mine. “It’s true.” Then his eyes dropped to my lips. “I always loved your mouth,” he said. “Always. And then… I don’t know… maybe when I was ten – I mean, I wasn’t even thinking of sex back then – but they were kissing in some movie on TV, and you were over at our house, and we were all watching the movie, and I remember looking at you, at your lips, and wondering what it would be like to kiss you.” Then Kipper did; he kissed my lips lightly.

“You and your thick black hair and blue eyes,” he said, his eyes traveling down my neck. He squeezed my shoulder. “You always had the neatest shoulders, even when we were little kids… these muscles.” He squeezed my shoulder again.

“Deltoids,” I said. “Those are called deltoids.”

He smiled. “Your dad’s anatomy books, right? And these?” He ran a finger up to my neck.

“Trapezius,” I said.

“I’ve always liked how high your trapezius muscles go up your neck,” he said. “I wanted shoulders like yours so bad.” His eyes returned to mine. “After that movie, I wondered what it’d be like to kiss you, and after that,” he said, “I just started wondering what it would be like to do other things with you… I mean when I finally did start thinking about sex and stuff.” He smiled. “I used to watch your butt.”

I laughed.

“No, really,” he said, wiggling his hips on me so that our cocks and balls jiggled together. “All the time. Whenever you weren’t looking – I never got tired of watching your ass.”

“Well you’re bound to be tired of it by now,” I said, smiling up at him.

“You really think so?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

I ran my hands down his lean back and onto the smooth, soft skin of his butt. “No,” I said, squeezing his buns. “I guess not.”

Kipper grinned and rubbed my nose with his. “Remember the picture my mom took of us after TAAF swim meet last summer? The one where we were in our speedos with our arms over each other’s shoulders.”

I nodded.

“I jacked off looking at that picture for a couple of months after she took it.”

I smiled and stroked his back. “Really?”

Kipper nodded and lowered his head to press his cheek to mine.

“Let’s take the picture back to the shack and jack off to it together sometime,” I suggested.

Kipper laughed and gave me a kiss.

“Kips,” I said, “you know I’ve always liked you too, right? You know that I’m crazy about you; that I love everything about you, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning, and then brushed his lips on mine.

“Kips,” I whispered. “I love your eyes. I love your hair, and I really, really love your body, every square inch of it. And your butt… I could watch your butt all day…and your legs, all long and slender. Oh, and your voice, Kips… just the sound of your voice can get me instantly horny, or,” I brushed my nose on his, “it can make me feel all happy inside.”

“And this is secret, Kips. Just us. But I love your cock and your balls. I love looking at them. I love holding them and feeling them… they feel so damn excellent. I love rubbing them with mine. I love rubbing my face on them. I even love feeling your cock inside me, Kips.”

He nodded, rubbing his cheek on mine. “I know, dude,” he said. “I feel the same way about you... and your… umm… equipment.”

“Do you really?” I asked, mildly surprised that he could feel about my cock like I felt about his.

Kipper kissed under my ear. “Let’s go again, Stick,” he said, slipping his hips off mine to the side so he could fondle me. “It may have to last us a while.”

I slipped my hand down between his legs. “What do you want to do?” I asked.

He put his lips to my ear. “Turtle me,” he whispered.

I rolled him onto his back, and kissed him. I took my time, lifting his balls and rolling his cock around on my fingers until he was hard, and he did the same to me.

Kipper pulled his knees up and out when he was ready, and I moved over him. I entered him, and we went flat together. “Go slow,” Kipper whispered. “Let’s make it last.”

* * *

The four of us, Kipper, Ben, Tom, and me, rode down to the island together the next morning. And for four days, we swam and skied during the day. We played cards after supper and drank beer that Tom had snuck from his dad’s stash. We set off fireworks at night, and fished, and got sleepy from the beer until we ran out on the third night.

I put Tom and Ben in bunks and Kipper and I kept our bed, intending to behave. But we’d been apart and maybe because of the beer, we were horny.

That first night, Kip started it. We were on our stomachs and I felt Kip’s fingers probe under my hipbone. Quietly, I lifted my hips just high enough for him to slide his hand under me and pull my cock up straight. I settled my hips back down so that my cock rested in his palm. And I did the same to him.

And then, when we were sure that the others were asleep, Kipper turned his back to me and I spooned him, using spit for lubricant. There was no moon that night and light from the dock cast a shadow onto our bed, so I held Kipper as quietly as I could, my body molded to his. I chewed behind his ear and reached over his side to fondle him until I came. Then we rolled over, and he did me. And even after that we kissed, because we hadn’t been able to kiss all day.

We did that on both Saturday and Sunday night. But then when Ben commented at breakfast on Monday morning about how well he’d been sleeping, Tom shook his head. “It gets a little noisy for me at night.”

I glanced at Kip who glanced at me. But Tom didn’t say anything else.

The rest of that day, Tom seemed a little quieter than normal, though that was hard to tell for sure because Tom was never really quiet. When we fished off the dock that night, Tom hung with Ben on one end while Kipper and I were on the other. I got the uncomfortable feeling that they were talking about us, the way they glanced at us from time to time, with their heads together.

“Damn it, Kips,” I said, when we went inside to bring out sodas. “What if Tom saw something? What if he shoots off his big mouth back home?”

“He didn’t see anything,” Kipper said, unconvincingly.

“What if he’s told your brother?” I asked.

That night, Kipper and I went to sleep well apart, and when we woke all wrapped up together, we immediately separated.

Before they left that afternoon, Ben pulled me aside. “Don’t go all queer out here with Kipper, Stick,” he said. “Don’t let it happen.”

It was like he’d hit me, and I didn’t know what to say.

He shook his head. “Not my best friend and my little brother,” he said, before turning to walk back to get his gear.

* * *

“There’s not a damn thing we can do about it,” I told Kipper that evening, taking a seat beside him on the dock. “If Tom wants to say things to people, we can’t stop him.”

“Right,” Kipper said, taking my hand. “So let’s not worry about it, Sticks; it’ll just spoil everything. As long as we’re here, and they’re there, let’s forget about anybody and anything else. It’s just you and me.”

Then he pushed me onto my back and moved over me. “It’s just you and me, Sticks, and I’m horny!”

“You think I’m not? We haven’t been alone here for over a week.”

That evening, it felt like we were finally back home; just Kipper and me. We didn’t wake each other up to make love that night because we’d made love all evening. We’d made love until our jaws were tired out from kissing.

But the next night, I woke on my back with my legs apart. Kipper was moving up on me; his hard cock sliding in alongside mine between our bellies; his balls settling onto mine. His fingers slid into the hair on either side of my head and he held my head still while lowering his mouth to mine. Running my hands down the silky skin over the hard muscles of Kipper’s back, I grabbed his butt and spread my legs wider… and we made love in a rhythm with the waves.

We reverted naturally, easily, to doing what we wanted, when we wanted, and we stayed naked most of the time. Over those first two weeks of July, we grew even leaner, but fitter; swimming and running daily. Our skin grew dark from the sun, but glowed with a velvety patina from all the oil we’d been using.

Rain came on the sea breeze many of the afternoons. And when it did, Kipper worked on his camera, or read up on photography, or read out loud to me from the books we’d brought while I sketched or worked on the aquarium.

We never talked about what might be waiting for us back home if Tom shot off his big mouth. We didn’t talk about what Ben would do if he thought we’d “gone queer.”

We finished building the awning over the northern half of the sun deck upstairs and sat up there during the heat of the day to enjoy the breeze and watch the bay, or when it rained, to watch the rain and the clouds like mountains around our shack.

We snorkeled and fished and started selling our catch to one of the restaurants. We worked on guitar, and when I taught Kipper, I often sat behind him with his bottom in the “V” of my legs; his legs inside mine. And I’d hold him by the waist or stroke the skin of his shoulders.

We were always touching; when we sat, when we stood, even when we fished side by side. Most lovers do that, I guess, and Kipper and I were sure feeling a lot in love. But I think we did all that touching and holding partly because he was fourteen and I was fifteen and we really weren’t much older than boys. And boys touch. They put arms over each other’s shoulders; they lean on each other. It’s part of being pals. Boys even hold hands in some societies. That summer, Kips and I were still boys together, and in love; and even in love with being in love.

But the summer wasn’t over.


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