My summer of sex with Cowboy

Chapter 6

We're having a late dinner in the Marriott Hotel's main dining room. Before dinner, I ordered the hard liquor drink I've been thinking about all day. It's not my usual Jack Daniels on the rocks, though. For a change, I'm having a Wild Turkey Manhattan. Cowboy orders the same drink and is disappointed he's not carded. Ha-ha, that's twice since we obtained his fake driver's license that he's ordered alcoholic drinks without being asked for ID. Go figure...

Then, during dinner, Cowboy wants me to tell him every detail of what went down between me and the drug dealers outside that bar, what went on inside the bar, and what happened when I met the people on the boardwalk. He wants to know about everything that happened while he waited in the car. 

He appears overly impressed by all of it, even though the version I relate to him is a boringly routine one. I don't want him glamorizing what was basically illegal dealings with low-life individuals. Heh heh, I exclude myself from that last remark.

Anyway, I've told Cowboy three times already that he shouldn't admire stuff like that or the life his brother and I have led, and I asked him to stop even thinking about joining the Navy Seals after college.

He swallows a piece of prime rib, and says, "I'm not thinking of joining after college, Zach, I'm considering joining before going to college. I want to be able to handle myself the way you handled those n-word dudes."

I'm like, "Please, please, please stop referring to people by the n-word and stop thinking about joining the fucking Seals." 

Cowboy goes, "Why don't you want me to join the Seals? I thought you'd be proud of me."

I calmly say, "Because I don't want you to suffer through the shit Ronny and I endured, and because your brother didn't want you to join, and because, no offense, but you wouldn't make it through basic training, and I wouldn't want you to be disappointed."

He sulks as we finish eating. Goddammit, if it's the last thing I ever do, I'm going to see to it that he is on Yale's campus for his first 'effing day of classes. After that, Cowboy is his parent's responsibility, and he can join the 'effing Navy Seals or the French Foreign Legion if he wants. I'm keeping my promise to Ronny, and after that, I've got to start deciding what to do with my friggin' life.

When the waiter took away our dishes, I put my hand on Cowboy's arm, saying, "Cowboy, your brother and I didn't see you the four years we were in the Navy, bro, so we couldn't tell you all the negative shit involved with being a Navy Seal. Ronny texted and emailed you about the cool parts, the glory shit, which was the smallest part of our experiences by far."

He goes, "Whaddaya mean?"  

Shrugging, I go, "Well, um, there are horrendous aspects to the brutal training, for one thing. Training that's ongoing all four years, by the way, and then there were deadly and horrific aspects of some covert operations that to this day give me nightmares. I'm proud to have served, but if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn't have enlisted, and neither would Ronny. I mean, we both got out the second our enlistment was up, didn't we?"

That's mostly bullshit, though. Hell, we almost re-upped, only changing our minds at the last minute. The comradery with our brother Seals was awesome, and the exhilaration of accomplishing a mission knowing we were an elite force doing things few others could; what a thrilling rush! Plus, whether we were brainwashed into believing it or not, we sincerely felt we were doing good. Good for the U.S. of A, anyway. And, seriously, Cowboy wouldn't make it through the first week of basic. Not just him, though... seventy-five percent of tougher guys in our class than Cowboy didn't make it through basic training, not all the way to graduation.

He's still pouting, so I say, "Let's have dessert, buddy."

He looks at me and says, "How about having dessert in our suite?"

Smiling, I go, "Bro, you'll have me thinking I'm the hottest stud east of the Mississippi."

Looking down, he grins, saying, "You are the hottest in my opinion, so how about it?"

Chuckling, I go, "I'm not that hot, really, but, um, let me get the waiter's attention. I'll pay this check, and then, yeah, we'll work out something sexy to do."

He glances around and then says quietly, "Can I suck your dick?"

I'm like, "Is that the dessert you were talking about?"

"No, that'll be yours. Mine is the spanking and fucking you'll do on my ass once I've sucked a hard boner on your nice penis."

"Oh, Jesus! Yeah, I guess, whatever you want, Cowboy."

When we're in our, um, suite, Cowboy says, "We both need to be naked so you can admire my hot body, and I, in turn, can admire your super-hot one. Okay?"

Well, it appears Cowboy is already taking over. I mutter, "Ah, sure... why the hell not?"

As we're getting undressed, Cowboy's grinning and saying, "Let's do the shoestring thing again."

Dropping my boxer shorts, I mutter, "No," and he goes, "Yes, you've got to wean me off Ricky's BDSM shit."

I say, "I don't know how to do pigtails, and I don't own a dildo or a dog collar, so forget about it."

Naked now, he holds his arms out, asking, "How do I look, Zach? Am I hot, or what?"

Throwing my boxer shorts on a chair, I say, "Seriously, bro, no fucking around, you've got as hot a body as anybody. Anybody I've ever had sex with anyhow, and, obviously, you're two or three times as good-looking as any of them to boot."

He comes over and leans his hot naked body against me, saying, "You probably say that to every nineteen-year-old dude you're fucking." 

He's only been nineteen a few weeks, and he keeps mentioning it as if he's concerned that I'm still thinking of him as a little kid. Hugging him, "Ha! It's been more than a few years since I've had the pleasure of  having sex with someone your age.        

He snickers and mutters, "So why the fuck don't I feel more confident about myself?"

I mumble, "Who knows? As they say, youth is wasted on the young."

He goes, "Oh, and you're so old. You're only twenty-seven; that still qualifies as 'youth.'"

I mumble, "I'm twenty-eight as of last week," and then I kiss him on the mouth.

Standing naked in the middle of the suite's living room, we make-out with the same intensity as our earlier make-out. And, sweet Jesus, Cowboy's enthusiasm for a hot make-out is contagious. Even so, hovering in the back of my mind is my conscious whispering, 'He's Ronny's little brother, you pervert'.

Of course, he is. That's the only reason I'm with him, and it's been a revelation to me how much I'm discovering I'm into his youthfulness, too. I've been functioning under the incorrect assumption that I was only into hot macho men, never giving a thought that I might also be interested in someone as young as Cowboy. Yep, I'm beginning to realize how big a miscalculated that was. On the other hand, how many nineteen-year-old gay guys can compare with Cowboy's enthusiasm for sex and overall attractiveness? He is truly one in a million. So, where's all that leave me? Up shit's creek, probably...

In three minutes, we both have hard boners. Our hands grope one another, both our mouths sloppy with the mixed saliva from our hot kissing. I grab a fistful of Cowboy's long, silky, blond hair pulling his head back so I can lick and kiss under his smooth chin. That's right, I can't get enough of his slim, athletic body or inhale enough of his sexy, boyish scent. In the background, that fucking 'Ronny's little brother' whisperer continues trying to ruin this for me!

Cowboy gasps, pulling his mouth off mine, "Zach, I'm going to cum."

Letting go of him, I do a little gasping myself, then mutter, "Forget the blowjob, let's go right to the fucking."

To say I'm extremely aroused would be an understatement. With his boner in his fist, Cowboy stumbles back a few steps and bumps into a footstool, which he then sits down on and says, "No, please, I want to do that," and he motions with his hand for me to come over and stand in front of him. As he brushes his fingers across the one-inch bangs that insist on, um, being bangs, I'm thinking, 'Christ, he's a deliciously good-looking cute motherfucker'. I step in front of him, and he gets his hand around my boner, mumbling, "Okay, you've already obviously got a boner, but I still want to suck it."

Leaning forward, he slides my cock into his mouth on his warm, bubblegum-pink tongue, the same warm bubblegum-pink tongue I recently had in my mouth. My hands go to his head as I stifle a moan and resist the urge to begin humping my hips. Omigod, Cowboy is a very energetic cocksucker. Lots of warm slippery saliva surround my hard cock as his tongue is everyplace, up and down the shaft and all around the super-sensitive head. And, at the same time, he's moving my boner back and forth on his tongue. 

I'm grunting, "Ah, ah, ah, ah," pulling his hair and going up on my toes. He gags when the head of my cock goes into his throat.

"Ooh," and thirty seconds later, as he's pulling it from his throat the second time, I blow my load. A lot of it goes down his esophagus, but some shoots in his mouth, too. It's a two-pulse climax; the first stream of semen is a long, strong stream of cum that felt like pissing, except it felt a hundred times better. It was so intense I almost passed out, and then the second smaller shot of cum felt more normal, both leaving me shaky and feeling weak, but what a fabulous orgasm!

Cowboy is coughing because cum spray hit his windpipe, so I pat his back hard a few times. With tears in his eyes from the coughing and a grin on his lips, he says, "That was great. I loved that!"

This boy really, really likes sex.

"You liked it? Jesus, that was some awesome oral sex, bro. I thought my dick was going to blow right off my body along with my cum load."

He shrugs, mumbling, "And it wasn't even my best blow job either."

I'm wiping cum-drops off his chin with my thumb, mumbling, "In that case, I'm afraid to contemplate your best blow job."

He grins and shrugs again, then stands and says, "I need a Coke." He walks over to the little refrigerator to get one as I smile at how proud he seems when I compliment his oral sex prowess. 
I've said it before, but wow, what a likable kid he is. To be honest, Joe gave me, technically, a better blow job, and I had a damn good climax from that. Yeah, but the climax I just had from Cowboy's oral sex was more satisfying and more intense because I like him approximately one hundred times more than I liked Joe. Cowboy arouses me while Joe did not, although sex is sex and will almost always result in orgasm when the sex is between members of the same basic team.

As Cowboy chug-a-lugs soda, I praise him some more just to watch him shine. Like all of us, although maybe more than most, Cowboy likes to be praised. He deserves it, too. When finished his Coke, as I knew he would, he exaggerates a burp, then chuckles about it, and then says, "You've still got to fuck me, you know."

Nodding, I mumble, "Gladly, but not right now," and I go over to see what's in the refrigerator. 

Taking out a pony bottle of Rolling Rock beer, I add, "I need to reload, bro."

He nods, "Sure, but after that fantastic oral sex I did for you, you're going to need to ramp up my 'dessert."

I mutter, "Well, mine was special; I'll give you props for that, so I'll see what I can come up with." 

He sits on the only unsoiled sofa cushion left and grins, mumbling, "That's the spirit. I'll have you coming around to my way of thinking in no time."

Smirking at him, I sit beside him, squeezing onto the same cushion, and put my arm across his shoulders, saying, "You're a cheeky little bastard, ain't ya?"

He snickers at that and cuddles in against me. Yeah, cuddling is okay. Cowboy drinks some more Coke and then says, "Have you noticed that we're talking a lot more nowadays, and fucking better too?"

"And, to what do you attribute this improvement in both the areas of conversation and sex?"

He says, "Mostly, the credit goes to me for spending two nights with Ricky, making you jealous."

I snort out a laugh and go, "Shit, cheeky doesn't cover it. You've moved past cheeky."

He snuggles tighter against me, murmuring, "I knew I could make you adore me." 

Huh, I don't adore him, but I find I like being with him, and he's kind of right to say the two nights he spent with Ricky opened my eyes. I was taking him for granted, not realizing how much I enjoyed his company. On the other hand, I was shell-shocked at Ronny getting killed, so that's my excuse for being oblivious.

Taking my arm from across his shoulders, I say, "I'm going to grab a smoke on the balcony."

He mutters, "Me too." We both pull on our shorts san underwear and I pick up the box of Marlboros. Carrying that and my beer out to our rather large balcony, I lean against the railing, flip open the top of the Marlboro box, and mumble, "Huh, only three cigarettes left, bro."

I pass him one, saying, "I wish I had a few joints left." After lighting up, he says, "How about the cocaine you paid two hundred dollars for?"

Shaking my head, I take a drag off the Marlboro, then mumble, "I'm not feeling that kind of a 'high' right now. Some other time."

He blows out some smoke and says, "I've had cocaine before, ya know."

"No, I didn't know. We're not having it now, in any case."

He mumbles, "I don't want it now anyway."

I'm like, "Do you always need to get the last word in with everything?"

He grins and says, "Yes."

Chuckling, we both sit on outdoor chairs and stare at the night sky and smoke without talking. Finally, Cowboy says, "The nearest star to our sun is Proxima Centauri, 4.25 light-years away."

I have nothing to say to that because I don't want to encourage him. He may go into one of his brainiac routines, and I want to just chill out and enjoy feeling good. After a minute of silence, he asks, "Did you know that Zach?"

I nod, "Uh-huh, I did."

Another minute of silence with me feeling strangely relaxed. I've become very comfortable with Cowboy, which must mean I wasn't comfortable until now. Huh? I didn't realize that, but so what? I'm comfortable with him now.

He taps my arm and says, "Light travels 186,000 miles a second. Did you know that?"

"Yes, I did know that. Everybody knows that bro."

He goes, "No, they don't. Ya know, using current rocket fuel, it would take 50,000 to 70,000 years to reach that nearest star, Proxima Centauri."

Oh boy, here he goes. For something to say, I ask, "Can you point out that star to me, dude?"

He looks at me, asking, "Is that a joke? You can't see Red Dwarf stars with the naked eye because they're too faint."

Oh, ha-ha, I didn't know it was a Red Dwarf. I mumble, "Everybody knows that," and then I have to chuckle at the 'look' he gives me.

A minute later, he says, "You were breaking my balls, right?"

Shaking my head. I go, "No, of course not."

We both flick our cigarette butts over the balcony into the humid night sky, or onto someone's balcony below us, whichever. He goes, "Well, from here on earth, with the naked eye, it is possible to see Alpha Centauri. That's a triple star system, as you probably already knew. It's in the constellation Centaurus, of course."

Not wanting him to think I'm making fun of him, I ask, "Can you point that one out to me?"

He goes, "Hey, wise-ass, you know damn well we can't see it from here."

I go, "You said we could," and he says, "From earth, yeah, but only if we're in the Southern Hemisphere." 

Huh, no shit? I say, "Oh, so you're saying we need to go south of the equator?"

He nods, "Yeah, like Argentina or Australia. Someplace like that."

I mutter, "That's a long way to go just to see a fucking star." He says, "Now I know you're just breaking my balls, Zach."

I ask, "Do you want to split this last cigarette?"

He shakes his head, "Nah, I'm squirmy with anticipation of soon feeling your special boner inside me, and I need a hard spanking too, although I'm probably quixotic in that regard." 

Standing, I ask, "You're what? Quixotic?"

He gets up, too, mumbling, "Yeah, unrealistically optimistic that you'll do a spectacular spanking."

"Oh, yeah? Last time you were yelling 'stop'."

Inside, I drop the Marlboro box on the coffee table, thinking I'll smoke the last cigarette after some super hot sex with my young buddy here. Cowboy comes in and drops his shorts, saying, "Oh, yeah, that's right. You did it good last time."

Before I take off my shorts, I get a condom from a pocket and drop the packet next to the Marlboro box as Cowboy says, "Hey, I want you to fuck me without a condom."

I rub his head, mumbling, "And I will, but I'm going to get some lube from that condom as a compromise between what you want and what I want."

He smirks, saying, "You always know just the right thing to do."

Snorting out a chuckle, I go, "You really should stop trying to bullshit a bullshitter."

He shrugs, "Ronny was the bullshitter, Zach... not you. You're too upfront about everything." 

Well, he's kind of right about that, although I don't know how he knew it. As he's casually playing with his dick, probably unconsciously, he mumbles, "Why do you think tying up my nuts is cacoethes?"

Snickering, I go, "Well, I'm not sure I do because I don't know what that fucked-up word 'caco-whatever-the-fuck-you-said' means."

He shrugs, muttering, "It means, um, bad idea."

I squeeze the back of his neck, as I mumble, "Then, why didn't you say 'bad idea', huh?"

Ignoring my question, he hunches his shoulders, saying, "Oh, yeah, that's giving me chills, Zach. Squeeze my neck again."

Instead, I get my arm around the front of his neck, hold him tightly, and whack his butt cheek with my hand, "SMACK!" I'd much prefer the making-out foreplay we did earlier, but as a compromise alternative to BDSM crap like tying his balls, I'll do a hard spanking on his perfect butt cheeks. Cowboy pulls on his dick as the loud "SMACK! SMACK!" sounds have me hoping our neighbors are out enjoying themselves because if they're not, they gotta be wondering what the fuck is going on in here. 

Cowboy mutters encouragement during the first minute. Words such as, "Yes, that' was a good one," and "Harder, Zach". After a minute though, it's mostly, "Ow! Ow! Fuck, OW!" but he doesn't say 'stop' so I keep smacking his ass. I'm concentrating on his closest butt cheek, his left one that's shiny-red already. After two minutes I think my arm is probably aching as much as his 'effing butt cheek. Then, after like three minutes of whack, whack, whack he finally yells, "Okay! Okay, you can stop now, please." 

Thank God for that, but I smack his ass once more pretending I could go on, which I couldn't for much longer. My arm is sore, and the palm of my hand is almost as red as his buttocks. Cowboy has tears running down his face as he, incongruously, is also laughing and saying, 'Awesome, awesome. awesome, bro. Nice job. My ass is stinging so good."

I mutter, "My hand is about to fall off my arm."

"Next time use a belt or something," as he strokes his boner again. 

How the hell he can spring a boner while getting spanked is something I'll never understand. Catching my breath, I look over at the coffee table and remember the condom packet. Whew, that spanking is a real workout. I'm sweating as I rip open the little packet and take out the condom that's slippery with lubricant. Cowboy is looking at the reflection of his red ass from the mirror over the sofa, mumbling, "Ricky used a belt which left welts. I kinda miss that." 

Jeez, I wonder what happens in the brain or from experiences in someone's life that make them enjoy pain with their sex? I'd ask Cowboy, except I'm sure he doesn't know why he likes it. It's subconscious shit. 

I say, "If you're done admiring your ass, I'll lube it up for you."

Cowboy nods his head and bends forward, his hands on his knees, mumbling, "This is when Ricky would twist a dildo up my ass and then tie my nuts."

The matter-of-fact way he said that makes me laugh and he goes, "What's so funny?" As I push a glob of lube past his sphincter muscle, I mutter, "You. You're funny."

He murmurs, "Ooh, that feels good, Zach."

This is turning me on, so I take my time spreading more condom lube around his anus making it twitch. When I push my finger in, just to the first joint, his sphincter grips it and holds on. Tugging my finger backward, his sphincter tightens even more. It's giving me a boner, haha. Cowboy has the cutest ass too, and it's hairless. I still can't get over that, as it's the only completely hairless ass I've ever seen, and I've seen upwards of fifty bare male asses and two bare female ones. All of the asses had hair, at least a few hairs around the assholes, and a few extra hairy men had hair covering their buttocks. 

That never bothered me one way or the other, except now I think I'm preferring Cowboy's hairless ass to a hairy one. He's ruining me. Pulling my finger out, I mumble, "Are you ready for this, bro?"

He looks back at me, still holding his hard dick in his fist, and says, "To be pauciloquent, YES."

I mutter, "I'm not even going to ask what the fuck that word before 'YES' means."

He mutters, "It means concise."

Gripping his hips, I pull his buttocks against my crotch, my hardening cock pointing up his ass crack, as I mumble, "It would have been more concise if you'd simply said yes."

He snickers, "Oh yeah, you're right, Zach. I can't help myself sometimes. It's like all kinds of funny words are bouncing around in my head from when this buddy of mine and I would try outdoing..."

I go, "Not now, Cowboy. Tell me about it some other time." 

When I push his buttocks forward, my cock drops down to stand straight out. I stifle a moan and then drive my cock three inches past Cowboy's sphincter muscle. He yells, "Fuck!' but doesn't scream.

As I push my boner the rest of the way inside his rectum he makes a series of breathy grunts, none of which sounds anything like stop. The lubricant helped, but I've never fucked anyone else who would have been able to take that abrupt entrance as well as Cowboy just did. He didn't even try moving away, which would have been most guy's natural instinct. 

Pressing my groin against his spanked ass, I close my eyes and enjoy the sensations drifting off my swollen penis. Exquisite sensations created by his rectum pressure on the untold number of nerve endings that evolution's trial and error method developed in the human's penis to encourage fucking to perpetuate our species... all species

No, not this kind of fucking, but the nerve endings are there just the same. Of course, there's also a component involving the brain that creates sexual arousal, normally between male and female, heterosexual arousal, but because of a random anomaly in the brain, plus some unusual early life experiences, the sexual arousal is occasionally a homosexual one. That's where Cowboy and I come in.

I'm waiting for Cowboy's noisy breathing to normalize a little before pulling my boner back a few inches. That doesn't take long because he has an amazing, world-class rectum. I ask, "How's it going, bro?"

He snorts out a chuckle, then mutters, "Fuck, that was a good one. I'm good," so, without further ado, I pull my boner back four inches and shove it in again. Cowboy goes, "Ooh," and I do it again which increases the sensations coming off those previously mentioned nerve endings to such a degree I hump my boner back and forth in his ass without any intention of stopping until hell freezes over, or I blow my load, whichever comes first.

As always, the "Slap, slap, slap," sounds of my body smacking into Cowboys buttock make me smile, then grimace because nothing in the world feels as good as this. It gives me shivers of pleasure with every thrust, my hands gripping Cowboy's hips, pulling his asshole onto my hard cock as I thrust it inside him. He's a willing partner in this by allowing his body to be moved anyway I chose to move it. There's no resistance to me pulling him back onto my thrusting cock. "Slap, slap, slap" as he's going, "Ah, ah, ah," and I'm grunting, Um, um, um."

It's not perfect though because when my eyes drift to Cowboy's head I see his pretty blond hair hanging down past his jaw on both sides and I'm programmed to think 'girl' not 'guy'. It requires me to waste some concentration from the sexual pleasure, reminding myself it is a guy I'm having sex with. I could close my eyes, but instead, I let go of his hips and lean over his back to grab his shoulder to pull him up so his back is against my chest. With both arms around his waist, I hump my hips fast and hard, driving my boner back and forth in his ass as Cowboy moans, "Yes, yes, yes," his hand reaching back to clutching my butt cheeks going along for the ride.

I'm in a great rhythm of rapid full six-inch thrusting as Cowboy tightens his rectum to increase the sensations coming from the nerve endings inside him. Yeah, ha, I forget that he's experiencing sexual pleasure equal or greater than my own. With the back of his body tight against me, his scent adds to my arousal now and the feel of his taut body leaves no doubt in my brain that I'm fucking a male body and that the male body is Cowboy's male body which makes it even more special for me. That's a recent development, but it's an unmistakable one and I'm hoping not a fatal one in the long run.

The only thing in the universe I'm aware of that is better than fucking this near-perfect ass is what's percolating in me right now. It's a sexual climax, and it's gaining power by the second. If I could hold it off I would, but I can't.

Holding my breath, my face getting red, a monstrous climax is right at the tipping point, and Cowboy's body stiffens as he leans back against me hard, and, with a yelping gasp, he blows his load straight out about six feet. How sexy was that? And then, I blow my load up his ass filling him up with creamy warm cum, and a follow-up shot as the roots of my hair tingle, my toes curl, and I gasp, "Oh, fuck...."

Cowboys is hanging from my arms that are still around his waist, my cock still inside him. We both shudder noticeably and Cowboy exhales noisily, then says, "Wow, that was so fucking hot!"

Taking my arms from around him, I step back, pulling my cock out, which makes us both shudder again. Cowboy's chuckling and saying, "Yo, that felt good too."

He's so cool with sex, almost like he doesn't think it's a big deal, although I know that's not so.
I'm like, "Yeah, that was, um, good use of the last five minutes. Very refreshing." And, I shudder again because, I don't know, but fucking Cowboy has become very arousing to me. Jesus, I need to make a concerted effort not to hug him and cuddle for a bit. I don't, though, because he's being so cool about that sex we just had.

He grins at me, mumbling, "Your goo is drooling out of my ass and running down the back of my 'effing legs."

Shrugging, I'm like, "And that's my problem?"

He chuckles, muttering, "No, I guess not. Um, can we take a shower together like we did last time?"

Good idea! I shrug again, as If I don't care, mumbling, "Sure, if you want. Let's do it." 

"You need to wash me 'cause it's your cum."

I can't resist giving him a hug because he's so fucking cute. I say, "Yeah, I'll wash you, ya little wise-ass. I promised to take care of you, so..."

I use the shower as an opportunity to get my fill of Cowboy's relatively young body. It's a good one too... his body is, but also the walk-in shower is a good one. Plenty of room in this shower, plus two showerheads with lots of water pressure.

After unnecessarily shampooing his hair again, I bathe the rest of him using my soapy hands as washcloths and about six ounces of the bath gel Marriott Hotel conveniently provides for their suite guests. Cowboy springs another boner as I'm 'bathing' his private parts, including fingering his rectum to get all the 'yucky' cum out. We're joking and goofing around the whole time, so it's not as if anything romantic is going on.

After that, we're all of a sudden tired and get in bed together. He does his normal cuddling against me, and, yes, I'm not calling it 'cuddling' instead of laying all over me as I thought of it before. It's been a long, eventful day, so we sleep right through the night until almost ten o'clock in the morning.

When I open my eyes, I see Cowboy sitting at the edge of the bed, facing away from me.

I mumble, "How ya feeling this morning, Cowboy?"

He turns his head and says, "Good, I'm good. I was thinking about that shower we had together last night. Hell, two showers we took together yesterday. Dude, that was wicked nice and sexy of you, and I didn't even thank you."

Sliding out of bed and heading for the bathroom, I'm like, "Gee, no problem, Cowboy. I'm supposed to be taking care of you, right? You heard what Ronny said."

He gets off the bed and follows me into the bathroom, saying, "Bullshit, that's not what Ronny meant. It's you being really nice to me. You know how much I like physical contact with you, and that was premium touching. I loved it."

I'm taking a piss, mumbling, "Well, I hope you're not expecting me to make a habit of it."

Standing shoulder to shoulder with me, Cowboy pulls his dick out and starts pissing, saying, "Yeah, I was kinda thinking that was a really cool, um, bonding, ah, thingamajig that we need to do regularly."

Chuckling, I mutter, "No," and then put my dick back in my boxer shorts. Obviously, I let my guard down and allowed Cowboy's attractiveness to overwhelm my common sense yesterday... twice!

We're both washing our hands and face at the double sink as he says, "Why not shower together? We could take turns bathing one another. It's not as if you'd need to be my servant," and he snickers, adding, "I don't expect that although if you'd like to be, ya know, that'd be okay too."

Squeezing toothpaste on my toothbrush, I mutter, "And it'd be okay if you go fuck yourself too."

He laughs as he reaches into his toiletry kit for his toothbrush. This is good, though. I say that because I sense there isn't anything even slightly romantic going on here. Cowboy doesn't seriously think we're going to routinely be taking showers together. Actually, he's goofing on the idea. Considering his age, he might have thought I had, um, I don't know, a romantic interest in him, or some dumb-ass thing like that. And, why exactly, did I shower with him twice yesterday? That's a good question, and I should think about an answer.

Rinsing out his mouth after brushing his teeth, Cowboy asks, "Seriously, though, what are we going to do today?"

I'm putting shaving cream on my face, "What do you want to do today?"

He shrugs, "I'd love some beach time, Zach."

I mumble, "Me too, so a day on the beach, okay?"

He grins, "I'll expect you to dress me for breakfast first, though."

I mutter, "And, I expect you to go fuck yourself, as I mentioned a minute ago."

He pats my ass, smiling and saying, "No, you do that for me too," then he fluffs his one-inch bangs, whining, "What can I do about these fucked-up bangs, Zach? I look like a weirdo."

I don't have much of a beard, so I'm done shaving in ninety seconds, mumbling, "I don't know what to tell you, Cowboy. All you can do is wait for them to grow out, I guess. Or, um, you could call Ricky and ask him."

He snorts out a laugh and mutters, "You prick."

Wearing shorts and t-shirts with sandals on our feet, we take the elevator down to the lobby where I buy a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, then we go into the cafe for breakfast. Cowboy says, "I feel so fucking good, Zach."

His enthusiasm for, um, for everything is a very likable personality trait, one that seems to come naturally to him. There is nothing phony about Cowboy. Sometimes he's like a little kid and sometimes he's like a college professor but, whatever, he always seems to be enjoying life.
Cowboy orders fried eggs over easy, bacon, home fries, toast, and coffee, while I get a cup of coffee and a corn muffin. He tells me again that he doesn't want to go to college and I ask him if he doesn't miss his prep school friends, a couple of whom are also going to Yale.

That gives him pause, then he says, "That's a good point, Zach," and I add, "College years were a blast for your brother and me, um, except for the alleged reason for college, meaning the study parts, college is probably the most fun years you'll ever have in your life. Five times more fun than prep school."

Swallowing the last bite of toast, he goes, "Jesus, I didn't think of it like that. If Tim Biltmore can arrange to be my roommate, holy fuck, that would rock like a motherfucker. He and I could be like you and Ronny, right?"

Shrugging, I'm like, "There you go, bro."

He nods his head, mumbling, "Why didn't I think of that?"

Obviously, the loss of his brother dominated Cowboy's thinking, mine too, for the last two months now. We've both just begun immerging out from under that horrific dark cloud, so I don't want to mention it. Outside, we smoke a cigarette as Cowboy asks, "How can we score some weed? The few times we did it, it was cool getting high with you."

Omigod, no it wasn't! When we got high during our cross-country trip we'd rant incoherently about the injustice of Ronny being killed. I never want to go through that again. This is another thing I'm not mentioning to Cowboy, as he's obviously suppressed it somehow, changing our highs into something other than what they were.

Instead, I mutter, "No problem, bro. I'll get us some." After saying that, I realize I don't know exactly how I'm going to do that. This is another example of me coming to realize it was always Ronny who did this kind of shit. I was just along for the ride, so to speak. If we were in New York, I'd go see Jake Delrio at that cigar store on 57th street. Hmm...

Forgetting about the marijuana, for now, we change into our swimsuits and walk the block to the boardwalk and beach. Carrying our sandals, we run barefoot on the beach for at least three miles. As we're walking back to where we started, Cowboy asks, "Why didn't we get a hotel on the beach?"

I mumble, "I don't know. Why didn't you say something about that yesterday?"

He goes, "Heh-heh, I didn't think about it yesterday. You're the brains of this outfit, bro." 

I'm not used to being the brains of anything. That was his, Ronny's job. It's freaking me out that I never realized that fact all those years Ronny and I were inseparable. Goddamn, that's embarrassing. In Cowboy's position between him and me, he's totally carefree, just as I was with Ronny. No need to make any decisions, and if something doesn't work out, Cowboy, as I was with his brother, could ask why we didn't do something else. Inferred critisim like Cowboy asking why we didn't get a place on the beach. Sonofabitch! 

Well, I need to ramp up my game, I guess. And I got Cowboy his fake ID, right? Plus, I got us through the past seven weeks, and now we're being more realistic in accepting Ronny's death. Not liking it one bit, but accepting that it happened and nothing is going to change that. So, yeah, I'm seeing things clearer now. I can do this.

I rent beach chairs and an umbrella a surly beachboy sets up for us. I give him a ten-dollar tip which he somehow infers it's not enough, then slumps off back to his stand. Asshole.

We sit and Cowboy grades the desirability of guys walking by, saying, "No, no, no, perhaps, no to him, good... God no! There is a definite a maybe, Zach," then, "Oh yes! He'll do," when a really cute guy, who might be eighteen, walks by holding hands with a girl.

I say, "He's one winner out of about seven guys which is a way higher percentage than normal. I've found, on average, one truly desirable guy, age-appropriate, to be no more than one out of twenty."

Cowboy mutters, "You're too critical. One out of seven seems about right to me."

The beach isn't crowded, but there are a lot of walkers and we evaluate them, not agreeing on many. Finally, I realize we're getting sunburned. Moving our chairs under the umbrella, Cowboy asks, "How come we didn't get sunblock when you bought the cigarettes?"

See, there he goes again. It doesn't occur to him that he could have thought about sunblock before we came out this morning.

I mumble, "Am I supposed to think of every-fucking-thing, bro?"

Grinning, he goes, "Who else? I'm a barely nineteen-year-old airhead."

Rolling my eyes, "Oh, yeah, I forgot that."

Knowing I'd be paying to rent beach chairs, I put a few ten-dollar bills in the back pocket of my swimsuit. Taking one of the bills out, I hand it to Cowboy, saying, "Now that we've thought of it, go buy us some sunblock."

"Yes, boss," and off he goes. So, it isn't all bad being the one responsible for deciding everything.
When Cowboy is back with the sunblock, we spread it on each other as he tells me, "Wow, there was a hot guy at the register at the CVS and, um, he gave me the 'look, if you know what I mean. I'm wondering, um, ah, well, did you get jealous of me spending time with Ricky, or were you kidding about that?"

"Why?" and he goes, "I was just thinking, um, I might, ya know, see if there's any action there with that guy, or was he bluffing." 

Sitting back down on my beach chair, I go, "I'm not sure if I was a little jealous or not. Mostly, I didn't like the changes in your appearance because it was like that dick Ricky was taking advantage of you. So, my feelings were mixed, I guess you could say." He leans toward me, and, being super sincere, he says, "I wouldn't do any of that crap with this CVS guy, assuming he's even gay, plus interested in me."

I mumble, "If he's gay, he's interested in you, bro."

Cowboy snickers and mutters, "Yeah, I know."

"It's your life and you're nineteen, so you decide if you want to check out the CVS kid."

He sits back in the chair and thinks about it. Then he quietly says, "Well, if you really don't mind, I'm going to see what's up with that guy. He's a cutey and sexy too."

Curious, I ask, "Yeah? What's he look like?"

Cowboy looks at me and says, "He looks like he's my age, or probably younger, with a red crewcut  and distenders in both ears so his ears stick out... haha, but he's cute too."

Rolling my eyes, I mutter, "That doesn't sound like anyone I'd be interested in, but I'd not nineteen either. And, um, be careful that he's not 'effing underage!"

Cowboy mutters, "Yes, daddy," and I give him a 'look' because he knows I don't like him calling me that. He knows it too, and mumbles, "Sorry, Zach, I forgot."

So, now I've got this to worry about, but am I jealous? I guess I am since it's only been one night away from that freak Ricky, and already Cowboy's got a roving eye. Well, I'll take this as further evidence that he's not putting any special meaning to me bathing him last night. 'Bathing' being a euphemism for basically fondling his entire hot-as-hell youthful body.

We do a one-mile swim in the ocean. After the three-mile run, this swim leaves me feeling good. I'd started feeling sluggish as if my muscles were becoming soft. They aren't, but I really want to workout in a gym or fitness center, and this hotel supposedly has a fitness center. How good of one they have remains to be seen. 

We split a pizza around two o'clock for our lunch, then leave the beach at five o'clock. I get a sneering look from the surly beachboy when we walk past him. What, he thought we were going to bring the chairs and umbrella back to him? What the fuck did he think the $20 rental fee and ten-dollar tip were for? 

Half a block down from the beach is the CVS store where Cowboy bought the sunblock. He taps my arm, saying, "I'll see you back at the hotel, Zach. I'm going to charm the balls off the register clerk. Wish me luck."

I mutter, "You won't need any luck. Text me if you, um, plan on, um... well, text me about what your plans are." He waves and goes into the CVS store. Swell.

I'm not sure how I feel about this latest development, so I go back to the suite to shower and put on the last of my clean clothes. Hmm, we need to either find a laundromat or throw these dirty clothes out and buy new ones; one or the other. The maid service has been in here and they did a good job. I always leave a twenty-dollar bill on my pillow for the maid and it's paid off as she has restocked the refrigerator with Rolling Rock beers. Yeah, I know I'll need to pay for the beers. It's the convenience that they're right in that little refrigerator that I'm pleased about.

I'm on the balcony, sitting on a deck chair smiling at the view we have of the hotel's parking lot. So much for a view of the ocean promised when we checked in. I don't give a shit though, I know what the ocean looks like. I'm drinking my second pony bottle of beer and smoking my third cigarette while Googling area restaurants for something upscale to take Cowboy to tonight. We've been eating in hotel restaurants, and they are okay, but not usually exceptional.  

Hmm, as I'm deciding that Vic and Anthony's Steak House sounds very promising, my cell phone rings. The caller ID indicates it's Cowboy, so good for him to follow instructions.

"Yo, dude, what's up?" He asks, "Can Lee have dinner with us tonight?"

Grinning, I mutter, "And Lee is whom?"

He smickers and mumbles, "Whom?" and then says, "He's the crewcut redhead friend whom I just met two hours ago." 

Oh, shit. Yeah, but this is good because I'll get a chance to see what kind of nut-job Cowboy's hooked-up with this time. "Of course, Cowboy, any friend of yours is a friend of mine."

He goes, "Except Ricky," and I go, "Yeah, except him."

He says, "Ricky's the only friend of mine that you know."

I add, "So far," and hang up. Well, not hang up... I hit the 'end' button on my phone. Twenty minutes later, I hear Cowboy yell, "Zach, where you at?"

Sticking my head past the curtain covering the sliding balcony doors, I go, "On the balcony." Cowboy and his latest friend join me out here, Cowboy saying, "Zach, this is Lee Patrick."

Yes, Lee is cute and young. He's too cute actually, he has sort of a cartoon-character-cuteness. He holds out his hand, and I go to bump fists with him except he wants to shake hands, so I shake his small hand, saying, "Nice to meet you, Lee."

Lee has red hair only if you're colorblind and can't tell red from orange. He recently had his haircut and that's kind of cute too. His so-called crewcut is very short everywhere except in front where he's put some hair product on it so it sticks up an inch or so. Hmm, maybe Cowboy will try that. No, that would be even sillier-looking than his bangs. Lee is two inches shorter than Cowboy, who is four inches shorter than me, making Lee about five-feet-eight-inches tall, and he's slimmer than Cowboy. So far, I haven't noticed any swishy tendencies. And, oh yeah, Lee has lots of freckles, too.

"So, Lee, you work, huh? I guess you live around here."

He nods, "Yes, sir. Ventnor City. It's two miles or so, and I ride my motorbike to work."

Cowboy goes, "Lee gave me a ride to his house. It's cool riding on that bike."

Lee grins at Cowboy but has nothing to add.

This little fucker looks as if he's too young even for Cowboy, so I go, "What year of school are you in, Lee?"

He smiles and quietly says, "If you mean high school, I graduated last spring. I'm going to Notre Dame this fall."

Cowboy says, "Lee got a full ride there because he's very bright. He got the summa cum laude award for his senior class."

"No shit? Well, you two should get along swell."

Cowboy goes, "Oh, please, Zach! I didn't get any award from prep my senior year."

Shrugging, I go, "Whatever, Cowboy, how about grabbing me another one of these pony bottles of Rolling Rock."

He nods, "Sure," and then he asks Lee, "Do you want one?" Lee shakes his head, "No, thank you. I don't drink."

As Cowboy is getting beers, I tell Lee, "Have a seat, bro." He says, "Thank you. Um, you're very handsome, just like your brother."

"I don't have a brother." Nodding my head to indicate Cowboy, I add, "He's the brother of a friend of mine who, well, never mind that."

Lee goes, "You're not Carson's brother?"

What the fuck did I just say? I don't say that out loud because Lee seems skitterish and, well, it would be unnecessarily harsh. Instead, I mumble, "That right, we're not related."

Cowboy comes out with two bottles of beer and a Coke for Lee. He pats Lee's shoulder, saying, "Zach will keep you company, Lee. I'm in desperate need of a shower." To me, he asks, "Where are we having dinner?"

I tell him the restaurant I decided on five minutes ago, and Lee says, "Wow, that's awfully expensive. My parents went there on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary."

Cowboy mumbles, "No problem, Zach's rich."

Rolling my eyes, I mutter, "Take your shower, Cowboy."

Then I asked Lee, "Um, your parents, they're eating out tonight too?"

He nods, "Yes, they're going to a neighbor's cookout tonight, and thanks to you and Carson, I don't have to go to that. Those weekly cookouts are all adults and boring for me. This is very nice of you."

Still having trouble believing this kid is old enough to have graduated high school, I'm like, "So, did you skip a grade or something?"

He shakes his head, "No, um, I wish my mom hadn't told Carson I was my class's summa cum laude. Is that why you thought I might have skipped a grade?"

Putting my cigarette butt in the empty pony bottle, I go, "Not really. It's just that you look so young."

He shrugs, "I'm the normal age for going to college. I'll be nineteen next month." 

As I'm trying to figure out how to ask him if he's gay without being rude about it, Lee reads my mind and says, "Carson said he'd help me, um, well, I don't want to go to college as a virgin," and he blushes almost the color of his freckles, and adds, "So, I'm nervously looking forward to that."

He gulps then and looks at his hands as I mutter, "That's nice of Car, um, Cowboy. He's a great kid."

Holy fuck, he came right out and told me that. Still looking at his hands, Lee mumbles, "I'm in the closet so it's wicked weird saying this stuff out loud to you, to anyone."

Curious, I'm like, "Did Cowboy, um, I mean, how did it come up between you and Cow, um, Carson?"

He shrugs, "He asked me out. He said he knew I was gay and would I go out with him, and he's so fabulously good-looking I confessed he was right. We walked on the boardwalk a while and I found myself blabbing everything to him. He's easy to talk to, and the next thing I knew, as we walked we were holding hands. It was so... so unreal but wonderful, too.

Aw, that's sweet, actually. Way to go, Cowboy.

Yeah, but it's a little bit awkward now, so for something to say, I ask, "Did he introduce himself as Carson? That's really an unusual thing for him to do."

Lee looks up at me now, saying, "No, he said he was Cowboy Myers and asked my name. This was in the CVS. I was done my shift and we walked on the boardwalk, as I said, and I asked him about the Cowboy, um, name. It is so unusual, ya know?"

I mumble, "Yeah, it is, but I've known him like that since he was four years old, so..."

Lee is eighteen and maybe losing his cherry to Cowboy. Wow, though, props to Cowboy for handling that situation so amazingly. 

His hair still damp from the shower when Cowboy pops out on the balcony carrying two more beers, grinning and asking, "Were you two talking about me? My ears were twitching in the shower."

I take the beer he's holding out to me as I mumble, "We may have mentioned you once or twice, um, Carson."

He laughs, "Yeah, Lee said he feels funny calling me Cowboy."

Lee says, "No, I'll call you Cowboy, it's just..." and Cowboy puts his arm across Lee's shoulders murmuring, "It's okay, Lee. Call me Carson. I mean, that is my name, right?" Then he says, "Scoot over, Lee, we'll share this deck chair."

Lee grins mumbling, "Oh, okay," and squeezes against the chair's arm as Cowboy plops down and puts his arm around Lee's waist, saying, "Comfy?" Lee gulps and shorts out a chuckle as he nods his head and gives Cowboy a look, like... my hero, or something like that.

I grin to myself, feeling jealous again, but this time I'm jealous at not being nineteen and joining in with those two. 

We drink our beers as Cowboy tells Lee how we got him, Cowboy, fake ID, and then he shows it to Lee, who says, "I don't drink, so I don't need that, but I'm glad you have it, Carson."

Well, I'm a third wheel here as the 'adult' I suppose. In that role, I tell Lee to leave his motorbike locked up here at the hotel and then drive the three of us to the restaurant with Cowboy riding shotgun but turning to talk with Lee during the ten-minute ride.

Vic and Anthony's Steakhouse is everything the advertisement said it was and a little bit more. Great drinks and great food, plus Cowboy finally got to use his fake ID. Lee was nearly breaking a world record, thanking me for the dinner over and over until Cowboy finally said, "I think Zach knows you appreciate the dinner, Lee. Thanks enough, babe."

Babe?

I drop them off at the hotel and they go riding into the night with Cowboy riding behind Lee on his rather cool motorbike. I light a cigarette watching them go, um, wherever it is they're going. I, of course, wanted to ask but resisted because, well, because I'm not their 'effing parent and because they're nineteen-fucking-years-old.

It's only ten-thirty, and I only had one Jack on the rocks before dinner, so what do I want to do now? It is a rare occurrence in the past two months that I find myself on my own. To come to think of it, I rarely find myself in this situation since I entered prep school as a preteen because Ronny and I were always together, and I liked it that way. This is new, but I better get used to it because when I drop Cowboy off at college in three months, this will be my condition for, um, for forever I guess. No, I'll eventually hook-up with someone, right?

Stepping on my cigarette butt, I laugh out loud, thinking, 'Holy Christ, dude, drop the foreboding shit!' I get two thousand bucks from the BMW's trunk, then walk the block to the boardwalk casinos and enter the first casino I come to, The Hard Rock Casino Hotel. It took me almost three hours playing blackjack to lose most of the two thousand, but at one point, I was up almost five thousand, so I had fun there.

I throw a fifty-dollar chip to the dealer and give it up for the night. While playing blackjack, I drank a couple of complimentary beers, but now I want a Jack on the rocks. None of the rotating six other players at the table I played at interested me in the least. As far as I could tell, I was the only gay guy in the game all night.

In the closest bar, however, I quickly surmise that the talkative man sitting one stool away from me is gay, and trying to determine if I am too. He quickly became way too familiar, telling me bullshit stories about his experience here at the Hard Rock Casino, with me politely nodding my head and grinning at the appropriate parts of his bullshit story. That took ten minutes.

When I finish my drink, he insists on buying me one and moves over to the stool next to mine, asking, "Are you staying here at the Hard Rock or just gambling here?"

The guy is nice but too old plus he's mostly bald and the hair remaining on his head, he shaves. I'm not feeling in a rude frame of mind tonight, probably because Cowboy and Lee were so, um, so fucking sweet and, I don't know, they were so refreshing.

I tell the man I'm just gambling here tonight hoping my luck changes, then lie to him. by saying I'm staying at the Tropicanna. The man tells me his name is Arthur Betnaric and I tell him I'm Zach, but don't give a last name. He's actually fairly good-looking and in shape too, but, as I said, he's too old. I'm guessing he's in his late forties or early fifties. He asked me all the normal questions... am I married, divorced, in a relationship, and did I notice that hot waitress.

It's a game to ascertain if I may be gay and, thereby, possibly open to some sexy messing around. Sorry, dude, no way.

If Arthur were twenty years younger, that would be different. I'd be inclined to play along even though he's bald. He isn't twenty years younger though, so when I finish my second drink, I buy him one, leave a ten buck tip for the bartender, and politely explain I have a 'friend' who will be wondering where the hell I am if I don't get back there. That is total bullshit, of course, but there is a lot of bullshit being shoveled in the gay pick-up scenario.

He's nice about it, mumbling, "Nice to have met you, Zach. Your friend is a lucky guy, and thanks for the drink."

Yeah, well, that's how it goes. He knows as I do, the percentage of successful gay pick-up attempts is quite a bit below thirty-percent.

Surprisingly, I found Cowboy already in bed when I got there. I don't know why I assumed he'd be out later than this, now that I think about it. Christ, it's after two o'clock. Cowboy sits up in bed asking, "Where ya been, Zach? I was worried about you." I ruffle his hair, grinning at him and mumbling, "I've been gambling and losing, bro. But, hey, you don't need to worry about me."

He frowns, saying, "Well, I was worrying just the same."

I ask, "So, how'd it go tonight with Lee?"

Shrugging, he goes, "It went fine. I really like him. Um, I taught him how to do gay making-out and he sprung what felt like a big boner. Not as big as Ricky's maybe, but bigger than mine."

I'm like, "Oh, yeah? Did you get further than making-out and, um, feeling-up his boner?"

"I wasn't feeling-up his boner, not like you mean. It was against my leg." 

Chuckling, I mumble, "Sorry, but did you do anything else?"

Shaking his head, he goes, "No, of course not, I didn't want to scare him off, for Christ's sake."

It's not the same thing as I had with the Navy Seal, Charlie because of the age factor, plus timing. I mumble, "You know best, bro. I need to clean up and then I'll get in bed with you."

Cowboy gets a big grin on his face as he pulls a condom packet out from under his pillow and holds it up. I smile, muttering, "Definitely, Carson." 

After doing everything I needed to in the bathroom, with minty-fresh breath, I get in bed. Cowboy immediately is against me, and he feels and smells so sexy I kiss him on the mouth. A two-minute make-out is all that's necessary for both of us to have hard boners. He uses his mouth to rip open the condom packet, then holds it out to me. I murmur, "Roll it on me, bro." He flips off the cover and I lie on my back, my boner sticking up.

Holding the condom, Cowboy's mouth covers my hard cock and I go, "Umm." He bobs his head sucking and twirling his tongue around my boner, and, in short order, swallows pre-cum and pulls his mouth off. Looking at me with his usual exceptional grin, he mumbles, "Yum," and rolls the condom onto my stiff prick.

Stretching out on the mattress, facing away from me, Cowboy looks back, saying, "Fuck me hard, okay?"

I snicker, mumbling, "Something new, huh?"

He always says that. I put my arm over his side, then hear him grunt when I force the head of my hard cock in past his tight sphincter muscle. Tightening my hold on him, I push my cock in steadily as he groans, then says with tightness in his voice, "Harder, Zach." More like a grunt than a normal voice.

I push the rest of my cock into his rectum until I'm flat against his buttocks, then hump against him a few times. He lets out a long exhale and grunts, "Feels good," so I hump against him two more times before withdrawing my boner and then begin fucking him fast and hard.

At first, his body is stiff and very tight, but after a minute of me thrusting my cock, he begins humping his hips back against my thrusting and steady "Slap, slap, slap" sounds, plus my grunts of, "Umpt, umpt," and Cowboys moans of pleasure, "Ah, ah, ah," go on for maybe five minutes.

My chin bumps the back of his head with every thrust as I hug his back against my chest and fuck him for all I'm worth, with a feeling of serious affection for him that I've never noticed before. As we've done more often than not lately, we cum almost at the same time. I hear more than see his strong stream of cum as it makes a subtle sound splashing against something; maybe the end table.

Hearing Cowboy's deep moans of pleasure, my climax explodes into the condom five seconds later. Oh, Christ, it's almost painful when the sensations burst all around my groin and travel out to all parts of my torso. Almost painful; that's what extreme pleasure feels like, and I shudder at the chills streaking up my back.

There are always the two seconds of brilliant after-effects that sizzle around my cock and balls after a climax as hot and sexy as this one, I shudder again and then sigh a sigh of deep contentment squeezing Cowboy really hard before letting go of him and pulling out my cock. Still facing away, Cowboy murmurs, "That was so fucking good, Zach. Omigod, it felt so fucking good."

I mutter, "Me too," and he turns completely around to face me, murmuring, "Now you're supposed to kiss me."

We kiss for five seconds, our lips making a smacking sound when they part.

He murmurs, "Good," and cuddles against me. I wrap my arms around him and wonder, 'What's going on with me?'

Then, we both go to sleep.

To be continued...

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