Invited

Chapter 18

Friday Night

After sexily messing around and playfully wrestling in bed, Billy thinks we should take a bath together. I've got no problem with that. He takes my hand when we slide off the bed and we walk naked to the bathroom. Billy's always been a touchy/feely type of guy, but holding hands surprised me initially because he'd been very reluctant, for months, to say we were boyfriends and regular friends don't hold hands.

He lets go of my hand in the bathroom and smiles, saying, "It's your bathtub; fill her up, Gary." When I lean over to start the bath water running, Billy smacks my ass, "You've got a cuter ass than that stuck-up Sherry Dune, and guys voted her the cutest ass in our senior class." 

With water rushing into the tub, I stand up, rub my butt cheek and mumble, "Oh, is that right? Well, um, thanks."

Reaching behind me, he pushes my hand away and then cups my butt cheeks, a hand on each one, pulling me against him; our private parts squish together as he murmurs, "I never imagined sexy messing around with you would become the most important thing in my life, but I guess it is. I can't think of anything more important." 

I kiss his lips, then murmur, "Those other guys you messed around with didn't know how to be a proper girl/guy for you, so they lost out."

He raises his eyebrows, "Hmm, I never thought about it like that, although I don't think they felt they lost out on much."

I mutter, "They're fools then."

Smiling, he lets go of me, "If you say so, Gary. Um, as my so-called girl/guy, how about you get your top guy a vodka and orange juice and get one for yourself while you're at it."

"What will you be doing while I'm doing that?"

He smiles, "I was thinking I'd get us a Marlboro cigarette that we can share." I glance at the bathroom window, mumbling, "Oh, okay, but we'll need to open the window a little." He nods, "Fine; I'll do that." 

Good thing it's not freezing today, although it is cold. I don't bring that up, though, as it would be a negative vibe to an otherwise perfect afternoon.

Billy pats my ass as I leave to get our drinks. I like doing errands for him, and he knows I do. In other words, he's considerate when he asks me to do stuff, plus he continues thinking of ways to compliment me, too. Billy's the perfect top-guy boyfriend for me. It feels weird being bare-ass naked in the kitchen. I glance at the window over the sink, then pull the curtain shut. From a cabinet, I get two glasses Dad uses for his old-fashioned bourbon cocktails, then pour an inch of vodka in each one. Taking ice from the bin in the freezer, I add four cubes to each glass and pour OJ from one of the quart containers we bought before getting our haircuts. A quick stir, and that's all there is to a screwdriver cocktail.

Carefully carrying the drinks upstairs, I find Billy sitting in the tub, leaning against the end opposite the faucet with water still pouring out. He smiles, "Hi, Gary, funny meeting you here."

Snickering at that, I hand him a screwdriver, then turn off the faucet, asking, "Where's the cigarette?" 

After taking two gulps from his drink, he says, "I stupidly left my pack of Marlboros at home. Do you think it would be all right to smoke a joint here? I opened the window."

Stalling, I'm trying to think how that would work as I gawk at the open window. Billy asks, "Do you have a fan we could put at the window to blow out the smoke?"

Swallowing a mouthful of my screwdriver, "Not a window fan, no, but we have a regular fan I could put on the windowsill."

Billy nods, "That will work. I knew you'd figure something out, so I brought a joint and lighter. They're on the toilet tank next to the cute little room deodorizer thingy." 

Looking at the toilet, then at him, I ask, "Is there enough room in there for both of us?"

He smiles, "Sure, it's a bigger tub than the one at my house. The water is a little bit too hot right now, but it'll feel perfect when you're sitting between my legs, lying back against me."

Grinning, I put my drink next to Billy's joint, mumbling, "I'll get an 'effing fan." He smiles, then picks up his glass and drinks more of his cocktail. Damn, he looks sexy and cool!

We have central air conditioning, so we don't use a fan during the summer, but I know we have one or two in the basement storage area. I don't see why we have them, but we do. I like how it feels being naked, but as I said, it feels weird running around my house naked. In the basement, I find a small, round fan and an old wooden stool that's eighteen inches high. This thing can work as a little table next to the bathtub. Bringing both items to the bathroom, Billy goes, "You're awesome, Gary! That thing can be our bathtub table."

I nod, "Yeah, that's what I thought too." After putting the stool/table next to Billy, it takes me a couple of minutes to secure the fan between the windowsill and the lower window sash. Turning the fan on, I mumble, "There we go, that works."

He says, "Fantastic! We need an ashtray too," then he laughs, adding, "I feel like a dick sitting here while you do everything. I shouldn't have gotten in the tub so fast. Sorry."

"That's okay; I like doing things for you."

He mutters, "I know you do, but thanks anyway."

Putting my drink and a soap dish as an ashtray on the stool, I ask, "Do you want me to light the joint now?"

He holds his empty glass, "I hate to ask, but would you mind making me another drink?" 

Chuckling, I mutter, "Is there going to be anything else other than another 'effing drink?"

He smiles, "Um, yes, would you put my lighter and joint on this little stool? That would be appreciated. And, ah, could you make the drink a little stronger this time? Please."

Rolling my eyes, I put the lighter and joint on the table and then picked up Billy's glass as he mutters, "Thank you so much, boyfriend. You're the best. Can I have a kiss?"

Grinning, I lean over, and we kiss on the lips, then I mumble, "Con artist." He smiles, his big blue eyes shining brightly. Back downstairs, my pecker swinging in the breeze, I realize I'm cold. Well, that's not exactly a shocking development, considering I'm 'effing naked. Adding an inch and a half of vodka to Billy's glass, I put two more ice cubes in it and filled the rest with OJ, then noticed a bag of pretzels. Carrying the drink and pretzel bag upstairs, I smell marijuana smoke before I reach the bathroom.

In the bathroom, I say, "We're going to need a lot of air freshener." Ignoring that, he goes, "Oh, good, pretzels! Thanks for the drink, buddy!" He passes the joint to me, and I take a drag, hold in the smoke, and exhale, feeling dizzy.

Putting the joint in the soap dish, I get in the bathtub, water slushing over the side. "Oh, I guess you should have let some water out first, Gary."

Sitting between Billy's legs, facing away from him, more water pours over the side as I mutter, "I'm cold." He drags off the joint, holds the smoke in, then lets it out and says in that funny-sounding voice right after exhaling dope, "Slide down in the hot water."

My knees come out of the water when I slide down. "You're nice and warm now, right?" Nodding, I stay like this for a minute as Billy holds the joint at my mouth, and I take a tote off it. Exhaling, I slide up and lean back against Billy's chest. He puts an arm around me and kisses the side of my neck. I sigh, and we smoke the joint, with Billy holding it to my mouth each time, neither of us saying anything.

The bathroom reeks of marijuana smoke when Billy stubs out the butt in the soap dish; I'm floating, totally relaxed against him. He now puts both arms around me. Closing my eyes, it feels like I'm floating in my lover's arms, I can't imagine how I could be more contented; that would be impossible. 

A few minutes later, Billy squeezes his arms around me and murmurs, "How are you doing? Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm good; how about you?" Taking his left arm from around me, he lifts his glass off the stool, muttering, "Awesome, I'm awesome."

My ear is close enough to his head that I hear him swallowing his cocktail twice. He holds his glass to my mouth and tilts it so I can drink from it. Swallowing, I gasp because it's a strong drink. The vodka taste is very prevalent and not pleasant at all. Well, I made the damn drink, so why am I surprised it's so strong?

I pick my glass up to avoid another swallow from Billy's too-strong cocktail. We eat pretzels and drink our drinks. He says, "I  love that these pretzels are wicked salty," and then gulps down half his remaining drink. Putting the glass on the stool, he squeezes his arms around me tightly, then murmurs, "It feels so right when I'm taking care of you like this, but, at the same time, I'm kind of disappointed that I, ah, that I like doing it so much. I never expected to be sort of gay for you. That's an unexpected development, to say the least. I thought you'd be fun to mess around with, but that would be the end of it—you know, the way it was with those other guys I messed around with in tenth and eleventh grades."

I eat a pretzel and drink some of my drink, hoping he'll say more. He chuckles and nuzzles his face against the side of my neck, then licks my ear, mumbling, "Instead, when we're not together, I find myself thinking too much about our next time messing around together, me taking care of you the way I do. Sometimes I fantasize that some asshole knocks you down or something so I can step in and kick his ass to protect my adorably immature and naive and sort of socially backward boyfriend."

When I don't say anything, he snickers and shakes me, muttering, "Say something."

Grinning, I turn my head and say, "You forgot to mention that you're also in love with me."

Shaking his head and smirking, he goes, "After all my embarrassing drug-induced meanderings about how special you are to me, that's still not enough for you?" 

Getting serious, "I love you with a passion, Billy. You're my idol, my best friend, my love of a lifetime, and everything you said added to the incredible happiness you've already provided for me."

He seems startled, then mumbles, "Well, okay, then. Um, that was a good speech. Fucking marijuana, you know?"

Looking forward again, I mutter, "It reduces inhibition, allowing a person to say what's in their heart."

He finishes his second drink, then mumbles, "It's the effin' vodka too, and our freakin' haircuts. Christ, I can't believe all the shit I was babbling out."

Squeezing me again, he says, "We're private, Gary! Don't ever repeat stuff I say when I'm high, not to any-fucking-body."

Finishing my drink, I put the glass on the stool, "I'd never do that."

Kissing my cheek, he murmurs, "I know you wouldn't." He presses his face against the side of mine, "Mmm, I could eat you up; you smell so good."

I mumble, "Let's smoke another joint."

He laughs, "Oh, no, you don't. You've already got me wrapped around your little finger. Another joint, and I'd be rimming your ass, you cute fucker."

Oh, man, I could be here with Billy like this forever. His hands slide down my side and onto my thighs, "I like your body, Gary, but I wish I were your height and you mine. That's how it should be, with me being the guy/guy and you being my girl/guy."

I mutter, "We're almost the same height. Anyway, in my eyes, I think you're much taller than me."

Snickering, he goes, "I love how you flatter the shit out of me. That's how you got me to love you, isn't it?"

I'm rubbing my hands back and forth on the outside of Billy's legs. "Everything I compliment you about is true. You've never realized how awesome you are."

"And nobody else has either, apparently." I go, "As I said, they are a bunch of fools. Not you; the others were the fools."

He gets his hand on my chin, pulling my head around, and we kiss; his tongue then slides on mine. My dick has been hard for ten minutes, and now it is sticking straight out, hard as a rock. His mouth slides off mine, "How about if you get on your hands and knees."

When I do that, more water slushes onto the floor. Billy stands, and I turn my head to watch him as he reaches over, almost slipping, to grab the tube of Vaseline from the shelf over the sink. I'll be damned; I never noticed that was there.

He mumbles, "I spotted this ten minutes ago," and unscrews the cap. As he squeezes the tube, I glance at his dick which looks hard as it hangs to the left, away from his body. "There's not much in this tube," then he strokes his dick, and it looks shiny with Vaseline, "But, there's enough."

He pushes a small glob inside my ass, and I go, "Oh!" but it felt good. I was started, that's all.
Dropping the tube on the stool next to our drink glasses, Billy gets a hand on each side of my hips, muttering, "Lift your ass a little more, Gary. Keep it out of the water, okay?"

I do that, and he bends his knees, snickering and saying, "You have no idea how anxious I am to do this."

I mutter, "Me too."

The hard head of his dick pushes against my anus as Billy gripes, "Why is it still so 'effing tight?"

I can feel my asshole spreading, so I don't know what he's complaining about? Then, we both go, "Ahh," as the head slides tightly in past my spinster muscles, the outside one and the inside one.

"Oh, yeah," mutters Billy, "Is it feeling good, Gary. I hope it didn't hurt you too much," he lifts my hips a tiny bit more.

It did hurt, but not enough to mention, so I gasped, "Yeah, feels good." He mutters, "My boyfriend's miracle rectum," and slowly pushes his very hard boner inside me. The Vaseline is working okay, but it'll probably be a bitch cleaning up afterward.

That passing thought is quickly forgotten when Billy's tight against my buttocks, and I have that indescribably wonderful filled-up feeling back there, filled up with Billy's hard cock. It makes me shiver with pleasure and forget about any minor pain during the process. I go, "Mmm, yeah, do it, Billy."

He rubs his hands, one sticky with Vaseline, up and down my back, murmuring, "I love doing this with you, Gary." 

For me, it feels better by the second as I moan, "Mmm," and push back to feel his boner move inside me a little. Billy humps against my buttocks a few times and then pulls his engorged penis out until the head gets caught at the thinner neck area by the muscles in my anus. I don't need to do anything; the muscles involuntarily grip tightly, not wanting to let it out.

Billy makes a breathy sound as he pushes it back inside me and then does slow thrusting a few more times, his boner moving tightly but smoothly now. Groaning, "Oh, fuck," he begins faster and harder thrusting using only about three inches of his boner. Sensations soar mightily, and the slapping sounds ring off the bathroom's tile walls, "Slap, slap, slap," as Billy's wet crotch slaps against my wet buttocks with each thrust.

I'm moaning, "Oh!," and he's going, "Uh!," with every hard thrust, me being forced forward, then back, the waster making tiny waves in the bathtub, "Oh, oh, oh, Billy." "Uh, uh, uh, oh fuck, uh, uh!" Sweat forming on my forehead in the hot water, the Vaseline melting from our body heat, smears around my butt cheeks and Billy's groin. It's a pleasure to treasure for five or six minutes, my dick now an iron pipe pointing straight down, water slushing around me as Billy's thrusting his twin boner inside me. We're quietly moaning at how marvelously our bodies are providing each other this mutual ecstasy, the best kind of sexy messing around ever!  

Then, another level of excited anticipation as our climaxes come thundering into our world, and it's almost scary, "Ah, ahh, ahh!" an explosion of sensations like galaxies colliding somewhere in the Cosmos, semen roaring from my throbbing dick hitting the water like hitting a wall. I'm shuddering, black dots floating in my vision, making me blink and then shiver as gorgeous sensations spread out from my groin, down my legs, and up my back.

Holding my breath, the orgasmic climax fades, and the world comes back in focus as I do one last little shudder and feel Billy doing one last hump against my buttocks, gasping and, I assume, blowing his seed inside me. Another hump against me and another gasp from Billy, then, "Holy shit, messing around in an 'effing bathtub, that was a first, huh? Jesus H Christ, that was sick!"

Pulling his dick out, he plops down on his ass, water rushing toward the faucet end of the tub. I watch my smallish load of cum float in the water. Some of Billy's drools from my ass, smallish cum shot because of our earlier oral messing around climaxes.

"Come on, sit back, Gary." I grin and sit between his legs, mumbling, "Water messing around is awesome."

Wrapping his arms around me, he kisses my cheek, "Did I take care of my girl/guy okay?"

Holding onto his wrists, I lie my head on his shoulder, murmuring, "Yep! Nobody could do it as well."

He says, "Good. It's funny how it felt like I was shooting a waterfall of cum inside you, but it couldn't have been much because you emptied my balls, rimming my ass a half hour ago."

Letting out a long sigh, I murmur, "That felt so good, Billy. I know what you mean, though. It felt like a climax to move mountains, but then I watched my little blob of cum float away." 

He wistfully mumbles, "I'm so hooked on you, I'm totally fucked."

"No, you're not. We're perfect for one another."

He mutters, "Well, maybe, but it'll be a bitch after college switching to girls. How the hell am I ever going to hook up with a girl who can compete with you? That's what I meant about being totally fucked." As if to emphasize his point, he hugs me tightly and kisses my cheek five times, rubs his face on mine, and then holds his face there, murmuring, "You're too perfect, Gary. Why do you have to be so perfect? Why don't you ever irritate me or piss me off?"

Moving my hands from his wrist to clutch his hands, I mumble, "I don't want to irritate you or piss you off. I love you like life itself." 

He mutters, "I'm doomed," and we sit like this for a minute in silence. When he's not smoking pot, one minute is pretty much all the silence Billy's comfortable with. He rests his head against the tile wall and says, "Humans are wicked curious, bro. There's this new academic endeavor I read about called archeoastronomy. Have you ever heard about it?"

I mumble, "No, of course, I haven't. I'll bet you can't spell that word."

He says aloud about fifteen or sixteen letters, spelling the word, but how the hell would I know if he's correct? He says, "There, I just spelled it. It's a field of study that hopes to determine what the ancients knew about astronomy. They'll study structures like Stonehenge, for example."

Grinning, I go, "Uh-huh. No, I never heard about that."

Ignoring what I say, he mutters, "I would have thought they'd already know Stonehenge was set up for sunrise on the summer solstice. Somebody already figured out shit like that, and they need to tell this archeoastronomy group."

Grinning and rolling my eyes, I nod, "You'd have thought they would, uh-huh."

He squeezes me, "Hey, are you making fun of me, you cute motherfucker?"

Slushing around in the water, I turn and face him, sitting on my ankles, "Me, making fun of you? Never, you're my guy, who I love with a passion."

He makes a face, "Yeah, well, I'm not telling you any more interesting shit because you don't appreciate knowledge."

Putting my arms around his neck, I murmur, "I appreciate the hell out of you, though."

"Yeah, you do, doncha?" We kiss and then he says, "Let's wash now and then rinse off under the shower." 

We act like little kids, giggling and squeezing much too much bath gel on each other, then using our hands to spread it around on one another's bodies. Then, we shampoo each other's hair at the same time, kissing and acting like fools in love. Half the bath water ends up on the floor before Billy pulls the plug, then closes the shower curtain and turns on the shower. We stand under it, hugging each other because the water is initially cold, then it's too hot, but we get it just right, and eventually, we're squeaky clean and completely rinsed off.

Getting out of the tub, Billy says, "Heh-heh, that was embarrassingly childish of us but fun." Looking at the floor, I mutter, "I hope water hasn't leaked through to the ceiling of the living room below us."

He grabs two big bath towels and drops them on the floor, moving them around with his feet, soaking up the water. 

I nod, "Good idea," then mutter, "We need to do a wash load of towels."

Ignoring that, he gets another towel, "Stand there, Gary. I'll dry you like you're my little brother." His drying technique is quite rough, invigoratingly rough. I liked it. When he's satisfied that I'm appropriately dried, he says, "Go downstairs and check if water leaked through the ceiling while I dry myself."

Walking downstairs, I notice it's getting dark outside. In the living room, I look up but don't see water dripping from the ceiling, so I turn on a couple of lights and report, "Nah, no leakage. We got lucky, Billy."

"You need to be more careful next time, Gary."

"Me? It wasn't only me." 

In my bedroom, Billy says, "You're the one who got in the tub before draining out some water."

Putting my arm around his waist, I mutter, "My bad, Daddy." He smiles and puts his arm around me, mumbling, "Be good, or you'll need to go to bed early tonight."

I snicker, "Oh, no, not that."

In the bedroom, he picks up a comb from the burea and says, "Stand still and let me comb your hair."

Grinning, I stand in front of him, and he combs the hair down on top and flips it up the front, muttering, "Our haircuts don't require much combing, but we dare not ignore them."

"Right, or the magic might..." He snorts out a chuckle, "Don't mock the magic!" After combing his hair, he drops the comb and looks at the bed, "We're so clean, shouldn't we change the sheets?" 

When he asks something like that, he means that's what we're going to do. It's not really a question. We change the sheets as I mumbled, "With the towels and sheets we already have enough for a washing machine load."

He climbs in bed, between the crisp new sheets, and shrugs, "Whatever, Gary. As the so-called girl/guy, that'll be your job, don't you think?"

I get in bed, and he holds out his arm, inviting me to snuggle against him. I do that, my cheek resting on his shoulder, his arm around me, my arm across his belly, "Yeah, I don't mind doing that, Billy. I've done washing load chores for Mom before."

"When we're in our apartment, I meant." The tips of my fingers drift through the top edge of his soft pubic hair, "Yes, sure, I'll do the wash when we're in our apartment."

He hugs my shoulder, "Awesome, Gary. This weekend, we can sort out how we'll do everything when living together at our campus apartment."

Hmm, I've been trying to ignore something, but it's starting to drive me crazy. The Vaseline in my rectum is itching like mad. I keep tightening my rectum muscles to itch it without success; it still itches like mad. Finally, Billy goes, "Why are you so squirmy, bro?"

Making a face, I mutter, "The Vaseline, Billy. You washed it off my butt cheeks, but inside, it's wicked itchy." 

Shaking his head slowly, "That sounded like whining."

"That's because I was whining. It's 'effing itching."

Snickering, he says, "Oh, that explains why it sounded like that."

Sitting up, his arm coming off me, I say, "I've got to try cleaning the Vaseline out."

He rolls his eyes, "No, for Christ's sake, you won't be able to do it. I'll do it for you." We get out of bed, and he smacks my ass, grinning and saying, "You require a lot of taking care of, don't you?"

"No, I don't. Whaddaya talking about?"

He puts an arm across my shoulder, "I'm joking with you, Gary! Jesus, lighten up. Come on to the bathroom. I don't mind taking care of you." In the bathroom, our feet getting wet from the still-wet floor, he mumbles, "We forgot to close the window."

I take the fan off the windowsill, and Billy closes the window, "It's starting to snow, Gary."  

"Yeah? Well, snow was predicted."

Billy says, "Whatever, we're snug in here. Lean over, and I'll take care of your itchy ass." I hold onto the edge of the bathtub as Billy looks in the hamper, pulling out one of my T-shirts. He says, "This thin material will work," and he wets part of it and adds some bath gel. Then, smiling, he mutters, "Try not to spring a boner," and we both snicker. 

He was joking, but the longer he's twisting the T-shirt-covered finger in my asshole, the harder my dick gets. Laughing, I go, "That feels good."

"I'm getting a boner, too," and we laugh. Looking back, I see he was kidding about a boner, but I've got one for real. After using the soapy finger, he wets other parts of the T-shirt to stick up my ass rinsing out the bath gel. Finally, my dick sticking up hard against my belly, Billy mutters, "All the soap is out. How's it feel?"

Standing, I go, "No more itch, thanks, Daddy."

He says, "Don't call me that," and puts the T-shirt back in the hamper, asking again, "No more itchy feeling?"

"Nope! It feels great." He chuckles, pointing at my boner, then takes my hand, and we go back to the bedroom. Billy says, "We should put rubbers on the bedside table in case of emergency."

Then we laugh, but I go, "They're on the top shelf of my closet, hidden behind some stuff. I'll get a few."

He shrugs, "I was kind of kidding. We've been here for an hour and a half and messed around sexily twice already."

I mumble, "I'll get a few condoms anyway. Just in case."

Putting a few condom packets next to the bedside lamp, I get between the sheets and snuggle against Billy. His arm goes around me, and he says, "You know, I might bitch about it a little, but I liked doing that for you. That was the third time I needed to elp you with an itchy rectum, but, as I told you already, I like taking care of you."

Snuggling tighter against him, I murmur, "Nobody could do it as well." He snorts, "Nobody else would do it at all."

We talked for half an hour about the apartment and when I should rent it. The more we talk about it, though, the more it seemed unrealistic to get it before next August. Billy says, "It'd be impossible to convince my parents of the necessity of me living with you in an apartment all summer. Um, unless we wanted to tell everybody we're 'effing gay for one another."

"We're not doing that, and I don't want to live there alone for five or six months. I thought I wanted to move out of the house, but not to live alone, not when I get right down to the reality of it."

"Damn, you're being wicked mature about this, and that's so unlike you." We both snicker, "Oh, are you implying I'm the only immature one here?"

When I get my arm around his neck, he goes, "Oh, no you don't. Don't start wrestling again like we're twelve-year-olds! We'll get sweaty all over again." Settling down, we get in our favorite position with me against Billy's side and his arm around me, my head on his shoulder, then talk about what we'll do this weekend, and then about what we'll have for dinner. 

Finally, Billy looks at his wristwatch and says, "Holy shit, it's almost six o'clock already. Seriously, what are you going to cook for our dinner?"

I ask, "How about a frozen pizza?" He gives me a look, "Pizza? Maybe later for a snack. You need to cook a real dinner for us. We're not going to live on frozen 'effing pizza every night when we're in the 'effing apartment."

My dick isn't a boner now, but it's stayed fairly firm for the past hour and a half. Leaning up on my side, I press my dick against the side of Billy's left butt cheek and then squirm against it. His arm tightens around my neck, and he pulls me on top of him. Our privates squish together, and I murmur, "Ah, yeah, the twins want to play."

Snickering, Billy mutters, "You're hard to satisfy, ain'tcha?" He rubs my head with both hands, muttering, "That's okay, though, 'cause I find I can't get enough of you either." Our dicks are hard again.

We make out like lovers, slow, long, succulent kisses, Billy squeezing my butt cheeks and me squirming on top of him, doing low moans of sexual heat. He moves his head, gasping, inhaling deeply, then murmuring, "Can you reach one of those condoms?"

I can; then I rip it open. He nods, takes another deep breath, and says, "Good, give it to me, Gary."
I'm still lying on him as he wipes lube from the condom on my anus. "Lift a little," and when I do, he wipes lube on his steel boner, and then hands the condom to me. I toss the ripped packet and the condom to the bedside table. They hit the lamp and dropped to the floor. Billy mutters, "Sit up, babe."

Babe?

Straddling his hips up on my knees, he moves his boner down my ass crack to my anus. With a nod of my head, I sit on it, and the head squeezes into my ass. Billy's eyes get big as I try grinning, mumbling, "Ow."

His hands are on my waist as I lower my hips, his boner going up inside me inch by inch until I'm sitting on his lap. Billy's biting his bottom lip, looking serious. He shakes his head slowly once, murmuring, "I don't know how you take it so easily. You're my hero."

As I slowly lean forward, some of his boner slips out of my ass, but not all of it. I lie on Billy's chest, his arms going around me, and I murmur, "No, you're my hero. I'm your devoted girl/guy."

He quietly says, "Who I love with all my 'effing heart," and he humps his hips pushing his boner two inches tightly right over my prostate gland. I gasp, "Oh! Mmm, Billy."

It's an awkward way to fuck around but all the fabulous sensations are swarming over me no matter that Billy's only able to move two inches of his boner. My arms hug around his neck, my face against the side of his as I moan, "Ah, ah, ooh, ooh," at the constant scintillating pleasure vibrations with every short thrust.

It lasts maybe ten minutes before Billy goes, "I'm going to cum," and then shakes as he's climaxing. A second later, I squeal and shoot my load up Billy's belly to his sternum.  Breathing deeply, our bodies shudder, then slowly relax as we sigh and hug one another. I kiss his cheek murmuring, "I love you so much."

He rubs his hands up and down my back, murmuring, "Omigod, love you too, Gary. Look what you've done to us. We're a couple of queer boys now."

Snickering, I mumble, "I couldn't have done it without your invaluable help."

He snorts a laugh, "Yeah, I'm to blame as well, but you're too 'effing irresistible; that's my excuse." 
We lie like this for a minute, with Billy lightly rubbing his fingers on me. Then he asks, "Do you know what Extremophiles are?"

I go, "Do you think I know that?" 

He chuckles, "Probably not. They're microbes, living things, that survive in the most extreme conditions imaginable. Boiling water like the hot springs of Yellowstone, for example. That's no problem for these badasses. Anyway, the most mind-blowing of extremophiles is the microscopic, eight-legged water-dwelling creatures called Tardigrades. They've proven to be indestructible. The most unkillable life form ever discovered. In 2007, the European Space Agency strapped tardigrades to the outside of a space capsule sent into Earth orbit for twelve days. Exposed to the vacuum of space and extreme cosmic radiation, they all survived."

Grinning, I mutter, "So what?"

He laughs, then sputters, "Dammit, I told myself I wasn't going to tell you any more interesting science shit, and I went ahead and did it anyway, wasting my breath again."

I'm like, "But, Billy, nobody would believe that."

"It's a fact just the same." Hesitant now, I'm like, "Really, that's true?" He says, "Yes, unless Neil Degrasse Tyson is bullshitting everybody."

I mumble, "It is interesting. Thanks for telling me."

He says, "Yeah, well, we're sweaty and covered with 'effing cum again. Don't get any on the clean sheets. Come on, let's get out of bed and clean up."

I mutter, "Yes, Daddy." He goes, "Don't call me that." Walking down the hall to the bathroom, I put my arm around Billy's waist. He smiles, then puts his arm around my waist, muttering, "You're irresistible."

Grinning at him, I nod, "You already said that."

He goes, "Well, it's 'effing true. I'm totally fucked."

"Stop saying that! We're perfect for each other."

We use washcloths to wash up, then, in the bedroom, we put on our clothes and Billy gets the comb, saying, "Stand still." We both burst out laughing as he combed my hair again, muttering, "What's so funny? I need to take care of my boyfriend, don't I?"

I nod, "Uh-huh, you do." After getting my hair just right, he kisses me and says, "There, you look good enough to eat."

Oh God, can life get any better than this?

In the kitchen, I say, "Okay, I'm going to make us a good dinner." Opening the refrigerator, I saw a long note from Mom with instructions on how to prepare three dinners. Billy and I read the note together. He says, "Oh, boy, your Mom rocks, bro. Let's have these steaks tonight. They look great, and I'm seriously hungry."

Mom gave directions for cooking the steaks on the grill, plus directions for frying them. Billy goes, "The grill, right, Gary?"

Looking out the back door, I see it's still snowing, with a three-inch accumulation on the porch, where the grill sits. We exchange looks, and he says, "That's not much snow. I'll grill them."

I preheat the oven for frozen French fries and ignore Mom's directions for boiling broccoli. I'll make a salad. First, though, I got a snow shovel from the basement. We put our coats on and went out on the porch to shovel a path to the grill. Billy mumbles, "The snow is coming down harder than I thought, but this will still work." 

When I push the button, the grill won't light, so I go inside and rummage through kitchen drawers until I find a long lighter that I saw Dad use the last time he grilled. Handing it to Billy, I'm like, "I knew we had this somewhere."

He takes the lighter and fires up the grill while I put the French fries in the oven on a baking sheet.
Billy comes in, brushing snow off his head and shoulders, saying, "Piece of cake."

I say, "That reminds me. We have Butterscotch Krimpets for dessert."

He laughs, "Oh, hot shit, but let's have them now."

I'm like, "Okay, I bought three packs. We can have one now."

Billy says, "I'll make us a drink. Where are the glasses?"

I mutter, "In the bathroom. I'll get two clean ones." 

When the drinks are made, we tap glasses, Billy says, "To secret boyfriends who are having a blast together."

Gulping down a swallow of the too-strong screwdriver, I get a pack of Butterscotch Krimpets from the pantry and we feed each other a Krimpet grinning with the whole thing in our mouths. Billy goes, "That's a perfect snack to have with a screwdriver."

On his cell phone, Billy Googles how long to grill twelve-ounce steaks. We look in the refrigerator for salad dressings, and Billy says, "Ranch is the way to go, right?"

I'd rather have Russian, but I nod, "Yep, ranch," and I take out that bottle, plus ketchup for the fries. The steaks are perhaps a tad too rare for me, but juicy and tender, so I compliment Billy on his grilling expertise and he nods, "Yes, I have to agree, these are perfectly grilled. I've grilled hamburgers at home before, but these are my first steaks." Then he explains about pressing the steaks with a finger to test when they're done medium-rare. He read that online but made it seem as if he invented the process himself. 

Grinning, I go, "So you pressed your finger on those burgers you grilled at home?"

He stuffs a French fry in his mouth, then goes, "No, not with burgers, just steaks." Then he laughs, "I read to do that online. My finger was off a little, huh?"

"No, I love rare steak."

He mumbles, "It's a little too rare, maybe."

Shaking my head, "Nope, it's perfectly grilled."

We eat everything, but we are too full for Krimpet dessert. Billy's a fanatic about cleaning up, but he finally says, "That's pretty good, don't you think?"

I mumble, "Well, yeah! The kitchen is cleaner now than when we started."

"Damn, I wish I remembered to bring my Marlboros. I feel like a smoke, but not a joint." 

Looking out the window, I mutter, "The plows won't be out until the storm is over, so I don't want to drive in this. We could, however, walk to the 7-Eleven and buy a pack of cigarettes."

He looks dubious, so I go, "Remember when we walked four miles home that day?"

"How could I ever forget that? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that was the start of you making me gay!" 

Narrowing my eyes, I'm like, "I didn't make you gay, Billy, and you know it."

"I know. Can't you take a joke?"

"Yeah, I can take a joke, but you keep doing your rationalizations. First, pretending you're not gay for me, and then after admitting you are, you've inferred ten times that you blame me for it."

He puts his arms around me, "Christ, Gary, I'm not serious about that. I'm, ah, as I said, just kidding around. Okay?"

"Okay. Do you want to walk to the 7-Eleven? It's only a half-mile at the most."

"What the fuck? Sure, let's go."

Putting on our coats, I ask, "That wasn't whining, was it?"

He smiles, "Close, but no, it wasn't. It was my adorable boyfriend putting his cute foot down for once."

Nodding, I snicker, "Yeah, that's what I thought too."

He asks, "Do you have a hat I can wear?"

Reaching in the closet's top shelf, grinning, I grab the Koda hat with the attached earmuffs that you tie under your chin, "How about this one?"

He laughs, "No, that's your dorky hat," he reaches for my Phillies baseball cap, "I'll wear this if you don't mind."

I put the Koda hat on, and he mutters, "Dork," but then does his fantastic smile and hugs my shoulders, "Let's go, dorky." With our heads down, walking into the drifting snow Billy mutters, "At least the snow is very powdery, but it is at least three inches deep."

I nod, "And we're wearing sneakers, which shows how smart we are."

He says, "Yeah, and for a pack of 'effing cigarettes." 

We walk another block, and I ask, "Do you want to turn back?"

He shakes his head, "Nope. We're gay, but we're not pussies." I mutter, "Uh-huh." With the snow blowing in our faces, it takes twenty minutes to get there. We don't talk for the last fifteen minutes, which is a record time for Billy being silent.

Stomping our feet inside the store, Billy goes, "It'll be easier walking the other way with the wind at our backs." The lady at the counter says, "Nasty out there. What can I do for you?"

Billy mumbles, "It's not that bad. Um, a pack of Marlboro red."

She puts a box of Marlboro red on the counter, saying, "That'll be $9.45, hon."

Billy puts a ten on the counter, "How'd you know my name?"

She chuckles, "That's cute. I call everybody hon."

Outside, I'm like, "You're not going to smoke out here, are you?"

He's unwrapping the cellophane, "You're Goddamn right I am. We walked through a blizzard for a smoke."

Hunching over, cupping his hand around his Bic lighter, he lights two cigarettes and hands one to me. With the wind and driving snow at our backs, we head home smoking, me not inhaling, not much anyway.

It is easier going back, and after five minutes, Billy flicks his cigarette butt into the street, muttering, "Not really worth all our trouble, huh?"

I flick my barely inhaled butt in the street, too, "It was an adventure, Billy, plus now we have cigarettes if we want one."

He puts his arm across my shoulders, smiling and saying, "That's my boy, always seeing the glass half full."

It's after eight o'clock by the time we're going in the back door and taking off our frozen sneakers. Billy mumbles, "I wish we had a fireplace. That'd be so cool."

We hang our coats and hats on kitchen chairs so the snow will melt onto the linoleum floor, and we can easily mop it up. That was Billy's brilliant idea. I would have hung my coat in the closet getting other coats wet.

In our stocking feet, we sit together on the sofa, our feet on the coffee table, Billy's arm around me, as we watch the Philadelphia 76'ers play the Nets on TV. During a commercial, Billy says, "Sodium is a poisonous, reactive metal that you can cut with a butter knife, and pure chlorine is a smelly, deadly gas. Yet when added together, they make sodium chloride, a harmless, biological essential compound better known as table salt."

I look at him, "What? Table salt. Is it iodized?"

He goes, "Some of it, and how about hydrogen and oxygen? One is an explosive gas, and the other promotes violent combustion, yet the two combined make liquid water, which puts out fires."

I say, "Those are part of the Periodic Table, right?"

"Good for you, Gary! Yeah, they are."

Nodding, I go back to watching the basketball game. I'm getting used to Billy's outbursts of non-sequiturs.

To be continued...