Part 2 - Harper's Ferry, Petersburg and Conclusion
Before too many weeks passed, Mark and Chris were back and Mark and I were planning a trip to Harper's Ferry. Chris was less than enthusiastic but Mark's exuberance again carried the day.
Harper's Ferry is small and we quickly covered the points of interest. To fill the time we hiked over the nearby hills and admired the views. It grew increasingly cloudy as the afternoon wore on and we decided to return to the campsite and get everything ready for a downpour if one were to develop. Chris grumbled a bit but Mark and I made ourselves busy digging a shallow trench to divert water from our tent and getting some food and clothing items in plastic bags. Fortunately, the rain held off until well after we had our supper things cleaned up and when it finally arrived we were ready to turn in for the night. At first the rain was little more than a gently falling mist and was barely audible on the tent roof.
Mark asked Chris if he was up for a massage but his response was unequivocal. "No more," he said. "If you two want to do that kind of stuff, go ahead, but leave me out of it."
I was kind of upset by Chris's comment but Mark just shrugged and said, "OK, Bill. Do you want me to massage you tonight? I bought some massage oil at a store at the mall. How about I try it out on you?
"Sure," I said. "If you think that's what you want to do."
"Take off your shirt and lay on your stomach," he said.
I did as he instructed. He sat on my butt and drizzled some oil over my shoulder blades and down the center of my back. I lay facing Chris. When he noticed that I was looking at him he took a magazine from his backpack. "I'm gonna read," he announced and positioned himself so the light from the lantern fell full on the page but put his face in shadow. He glanced in our direction from time to time but he soon put his magazine down, lowered the light and curled up ready to sleep.
I was enjoying Mark's ministrations to my back. His stroking was firm but gentle. That and the sound of the rain, even though it was increasing gradually, created an atmosphere of serenity.
Mark hit all the spots, from neck to waist; from shoulders to finger tips, but he didn't spend much time on any one muscle group. When Chris began to breathe heavily Mark said, "I think it's OK now."
He moved off me to the space between me and his sleeping bag. "Take off your shorts," he whispered. His quiet whisper and its implied furtiveness excited me.
Again I followed his instructions and as I stripped down so did he. He drizzled more oil on me, this time over the globes of my ass and down the backs of my thighs.
As I so often said to him, Mark now said, "Spread your legs." He knelt between them and quickly, almost cursorily, rubbed my thighs and calves and briefly kneaded my feet and toes.
"Roll over," he said. I was surprised and a little disappointed at how rapidly he was going but he was in control and I did what he told me to do. He spent more time now that he was massaging my chest. He must have noticed how hard my nipples were when his palms passed across them; he paused there, softly pinching and twisting them with his oily fingers. These ministrations brought my cock to life; it grazed his leg as it twitched upward. Mark looked at it briefly and went back to playing with my nipples for a minute or two more.
By this time the rain was falling heavily and we could hear the roll of distant thunder.
Mark worked his hands across my abs, getting ever closer to my crotch. He kept glancing at my cock which continued to lift in spasmodic jerks. He kneaded my abs half-heartedly and moved his hands to my pubic bush. He gripped my cock, ran his thumb over the the sensitive underside just below the glans. He looked at my face and saw that I was looking directly at him. After a few seconds he slid his oily fist from base to tip. This squeezed the precum out of the piss slit. Mark ran his thumb over the slit and smeared the precum over my glans. Then he stroked in earnest. He was slow and gentle at first but each stroke became more firm and followed the previous ones ever faster.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked, but my voice was drowned out by the now heavy rumble of rain on the tent. Mark moved even closer to my thigh. I moved my hand to his wrist to stop him so I could make him understand my question, but he took hold of my wrists and moved my hands to my head. I lifted my head and settled it in my open palms. Mark ran his hands over my biceps to my hairy pits and down my sides back to my cock. He resumed his stroking.
I was in heaven. I spread my legs and Mark scurried between them. He cupped my balls in his left hand and with his right hand pumped my cock with ever harder, ever faster strokes.
The sound of the rain kept Mark from hearing my moans, but there was no doubting what was about to happen when I lifted my ass off my air mattress. He squeezed my balls a little too hard but that was soon forgotten. The explosions of sperm from my balls were insistent and many. Mark stopped stroking while my cum arched into the air and puddled on my abdomen. When my cock stopped pulsing he resumed his stroking. He twisted his fist over the glans at the top of each upward stroke. This made my whole body twitch and caused a feeling in my glans that went beyond pleasure to pain. I finally had to grab his wrists again to make him stop.
Neither of us moved for several seconds. Finally I groped around for my towel which I knew was close by. Again Mark stopped me in mid motion. He scooped up the pooled cum from my abdomen and smeared in over the shaft of his turgid cock. I hadn't even noticed how hard he was but now watched as he pumped his beautiful member. He leaned back on his heels, moved his head back and rolled his eyes upward. He parted his lips and grunted softly as his jizz began its upward and outward course. I was mesmerized. He jacked. His balls tightened, and he came onto my already messy abdomen. He looked from our commingled cum to my face and smiled briefly. When his breathing eased he took my towel and wiped us dry.
Mark stretched out beside me and rested his arm across my chest. Before he slept he leaned close and whispered something in my ear, but a sudden clap of thunder kept me from hearing what he said. I looked at him but his eyes were already closed.
The next morning, Chris was decidedly cool. He may have been faking sleep and knew exactly what happened between Mark and me but I never found out for sure.
When we were alone later that morning, I asked Mark what he whispered into my ear before he drifted off to sleep. "You don't know?" he asked, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
"If I knew, I wouldn't ask," I said.
He laughed softly and said, "Maybe, if you're good, I'll tell you sometime.
"If you're good," he repeated.
Mark stopped by a couple of days after our Harper's Ferry trip. He told me that he had registered for the upcoming term at the community college and what courses he would be taking. We also started to plan a trip we had been talking about to the battlefield at Petersburg.
"This reminds me," I said. "What is that secret you've been keeping from me?"
"Secret?" he asked. "I'm not keeping any secret from you."
"Sure you are," I said. "At Harper's Ferry - you told me you'd tell me what you whispered to me sometime if I were good."
"Oh, that. It's nothing really. I only joked that Chris was probably jealous of us for what we did in the tent that night.
I moaned in exaggerated disgust. "Very funny," I said.
"And speaking of Chris," Mark went on, "he told me that he definitely won't be going to Petersburg with us.
"Are you going to ask another of your friends to go along?" I asked.
"No," he said briefly. "We'll be alone."
"Good," I said.
The next weekend found Mark and me heading south on I-95. On our way to Petersburg we stopped at Richmond to visit the White House of the Confederacy and some Civil War sites on the bluffs high above the James. It was late when we drove into a campground near Petersburg where we set up our tent. After supper we took a long walk along the wooded paths in the white light of a full moon. It had been a long day and we were tired when we turned in.
As was my habit, I took off all my clothes before lying down. Without looking in my direction, Mark took off his shorts and briefs in one motion, turned the lantern off and lay on his sleeping bag beside me.
It was impossible to see anything but the dancing shadows of leafy branches on the walls and roof of the tent until my eyes became accustomed to the dark. Eventually I could make out Mark's profile beside me in the pale silver light.
He was lying on his back staring at the overhead shadows. I rolled onto my left side and began lightly to glide my right hand over his broad chest. His heart beat rapidly. I rubbed his chest for a long while, stopping to pinch his tiny nipples to erect hardness. I moved my hand downward over his stomach which rose and fell with shallow breathing and on to his groin. His cock was erect and pulsating above his belly. I encircled it with my hand and stroked it lightly, excited by its length and thickness and hardness, and when I reached further to cup his balls he spread his legs to make my exploration easier.
I rolled over and got up to my knees; then knelt between his open legs. I gripped his cock at its base making it stand perpendicular to his abdomen. Moving my face close, I kissed the glans before wetting it with my tongue. I lowered my mouth along the satiny shaft in one slow continuous glide until the head was buried deeply in my throat. I held it there for several heartbeats before returning to kiss and twirl my tongue around his engorged glans. Salty precum oozed from the slit, coating my lips and his cock with silky slipperiness, impelling me to my next downward stroke. As I tried to swallow his cock even more deeply, Mark began a tentative upward thrusting of his hips. Slowly at first, and then faster and deeper, he fucked with increasing fervor.
Unwilling to allow him to come too quickly, I slid my mouth up and off his throbbing cock, kissing, then licking, the sensitive spot on its underside at the base of the glans. My lips kneaded downward until I reached his scrotum. His balls were tight against his body and churning slowly causing their hairy sack to undulate and wrinkle deeply. It felt rubbery to the tip of my lightly exploring tongue. I closed my mouth around his restless balls and pressed the middle finger of my right hand against his warm hole. As I tugged his testicles away from his crotch with my lips, I tried to push my finger through his anus but he resisted by squeezing it tightly and I contented myself by rubbing his perineum with my thumbs.
I placed my hands under his hips and raised his ass into the dark. I rubbed my face around in his crotch, jostling his balls with my forehead. His whole crotch area was wet with sweat. I breathed deeply of his strong male scent. His asshole emitted and especially strong and funky aroma. I slowly ran my tongue across his asshole, tasting the shittiness of it; lapping away his sweat. He moaned softly in the dark.
I placed my hands on either side of his ass cleft and spread it open. I pressed my tongue into his hole. His moans became louder. I licked and licked like a cat trying to get the last tasty morsel from its bowl. Then I spit in his hole and started the process all over again, Mark moaning all the while.
I lowered his ass and went back to sucking his balls. I again inhaled deeply.
He wriggled his hips and lifted my face with firm hands from his balls to the head of his seeping, pulsating cock. His need for release was greater than my desire to prolong it.
Once again I clasped my lips tightly and stroked with slippery mouth before sliding all the way down. He laced his fingers through the hair at the back of my head and held my face hard against him. With small rapid movements that did not allow his glans to leaving my constricting throat, he began to fuck my face. He was strong and held me there until I had to buck backward, gasping for air.
I soon returned my lips to the head of his cock and sucked hungrily but Mark was consumed with the desire to fuck my throat. He took my head between his big hands and forced my head downward, held it close to his groin to gain the deepest possible penetration, and resumed his urgent fucking. His hips lunged upward in forceful thrusts. He was moaning again. I pressed my nose deeply into his pubic hair and moved my head from side to side. He groaned with abandon as he pulsed spurt after spurt of hot cum into my throat. I managed to swallow but his glans was buried too deeply for me to taste his cum. I lifted my face and went down again. He convulsed each time I tried to swallow his cock. Eventually I lifted off him. I squeezed upward along his shaft with closed fist to force out a few more drops. Mark shivered involuntarily as I gently licked them off his glans and savored their pungency.
Spent, Mark sighed deeply and his whole body relaxed. He crooked his arm over his eyes. I was still kneeling between his spread thighs, able to see his body only dimly in the canvas filtered moonlight. His breathing, like my own, became gradually less hectic. Finally he uncovered his eyes and looked up at me. I touched his gently undulating abdomen and moved some fingers into his crevice and against his asshole.
"No Bill," he said. Then, "I'm sorry."
For a while the silence was perfect.
Finally I swiveled onto my back on my own sleeping spot. I lay still, guarding my breathing to let the silence remain undisturbed. My own cock was rigid and oozing and demanded release. I began a slow determined stroking and soon came, groaning softly in the dimness and peace beside Mark. He rolled onto his side and faced me, gently resting his hand on my arm.
The next morning was bright and clear. Mark was up and already making breakfast when I emerged from the tent. His greeting was casual and friendly and not different from before. It was clear that what we had shared of ourselves and what we had learned of each other in the nighttime secrecy of our tent would not be acknowledged in the light of day.
Mark stopped visiting me after our Petersburg trip. Once we ran into each other at the mall and talked briefly. He was cheerful and friendly and he favored me frequently with his smile, but when I suggested that he stop by sometime he told me that he would soon be busy with his new school year.
He did make one last visit that summer. On my birthday in late August he came by with two little wrapped boxes. He wouldn't stay and told me that I was to open them after he left. One marked "Open me first" had a gaudy Civil War style canon that had a cheap thermometer carelessly glued along its three inch barrel. The other contained a beautiful miniature pewter reproduction of an 1857 Napoleon and caisson. I placed them side by side on my bookcase.
"How are you doing?" I repeated my question now that I was through the checkout line. We left the store walking slowly toward the street where we both lived.
"Fine, thanks. And you?"
"Great. So, what's new with you?" I asked, too nonplussed to be original.
"Maybe you already know that I graduated from college this spring." His eyes glistened and his smile was as I remembered.
"Yes. I did know that. The paper said with honors." His smile broadened with pride.
"What are you doing this summer?" I asked.
"Working for my father. He and mom are in Hawaii now. They'll be there for two weeks so I'll be batching it 'till they get back."
"How about supper then," I offered. "I have the makings of a salad and some corn on the cob. We can grill some steaks on the hibachi if you'd like."
"The same one you used to take camping?" he asked laughing.
"Same one," I replied.
"OK," he said. "Sure. It sounds like old times. Do you still eat late?"
"That's relative. How does seven o'clock sound?"
"Seven it is," he answered as we approached my drive.
I stood and watched him walk on down the street; that body
that I'd love to touch again. He didn't look back.
Mark showed up early to help with supper. We ate on the patio. My yard had grown thick with shrubs and trees since his last visit. Mark observed that it was like some of the campsites we had visited three years previous.
"You wanted to fuck me that night in Petersburg didn't you?" His bluntness startled me, but I could hardly be surprised that he knew.
"Does that upset you?"
He answered haltingly. "No," he said. "Not really. Not now. But then - well - . . ." His voice trailed off. After a pause he went on. "I just wasn't ready. It isn't easy being Catholic," he said with a soft laugh.
"I suppose not," I said, acknowledging both comments.
"You let me suck you off though," I reminded him. "Is that OK for a good Catholic boy?"
"Well," he said lightly. "I can always blame you. It was your fault. You sure were horny."
"It was more than that, Mark." I stopped talking because I didn't know how to say what was in me and I didn't want to sound trite.
"I know." His voice was soft and low. "And now?" he asked tentatively.
I hesitated a long while looking past Mark's blond curls to the coral-tinged clouds that were drifting lazily in the evening sky. "This'll sound corny," I said, looking into his eyes and feeling about ten years old. I hesitated.
"What?" he prompted.
"It's like . . ." I paused and started again.
"When I was a kid, my dad used to play old songs on his stereo. One I remember had a line: 'I think of you every morning; dream of you every night.' That goes through my head a lot.
"I think of you a lot," I added feebly.
He held my gaze with his pale eyes. A gust of warm air tinkled the wind chimes. Wordlessly he got up from his seat and held his hands out to me, palms up. I rose to meet him. Hand in hand, we walked through my little house to the bedroom. He kicked off his sandals and tugged his T-shirt over his sandy locks. I stood motionless and watched him. He looked at me briefly, then lowered his shorts. He still wore white cotton briefs. Together we pulled back the bedspread. He lay across the sheets on his stomach.
I took a foil wrapped condom from the bedside table, nudged his legs apart and knelt between them. His muscles stood out in stronger relief than they did the last time I saw him from this vantage point. Three years on the playing field and in the gym brought shape and power to muscles that were already impressive. I started at his thick neck and kneaded my way slowly to his waist.
When I hooked my fingers under the elastic band of his shorts, Mark lifted his hips the way I knew he would - the way he has done a thousand times in the silvery light of the tent that I so often revisited when I was alone in my bed.
I slid his shorts down his legs, dropped them to the carpet and watched his balls nestle on the sheets between his thickly muscled thighs. I quickly slid from the bed and sucked my own clothes.
Regaining my place between Mark's legs, I resumed massaging in broad strokes from neck to narrow hips. Repeatedly, I slid my hands firmly up his spine, outward across his shoulders and down his sides. Each time I reached the tops of his shoulders, my hard cock grazed his cleft leaving traces of pearly ooze on the soft hairs that grew there. Placing my palms against his ass cheeks, I pressed outward. I lowered my face to that inviting spot and licked in diminishing circles until - at last - my tongue touched its rubbery target. Mark moaned softly at first contact. I pressed my face deeper into his crack and forced my tongue repeatedly in and out of his hole. I kissed it and sat back on my heels.
Mark saw that I was about to roll the latex over my cock. "Do we need that?" he asked.
"It's a precaution," I replied.
"Do you have something you need to protect me from?"
"No," I said.
"Well," he said, "this will be the first time for me."
"I guess we don't need it then," I said. Just to be sure I asked, "Would you rather I not use it."
"I'd rather you not use it," he said. "I want this to be as good for you as I think it will be for me."
"You are incredibly sweet," I said, and I tossed the condom into the waste basket.
I reached for the jar of lube I keep in the drawer of my bed table. I dipped some out and spread it in his crack around his hole. I inserted a finger and fucked him briefly with it. Then I made a fist around my cock spreading the lube over its surface.
I placed the head of my cock against his hole. I arched over his body, resting my hands beside his shoulders. "Ready?" I asked.
He turned his head and looked into my eyes. "Yes," he said. "I want you to make love to me."
I lowered my chest and rested on is back, pushing my glans gently against his sphincter. It was tight. I spread his ass cheeks apart and he wriggled a bit, and my glans slipped into him.
I held my cock still for a moment until he got used to the thickness of it. Then I pressed and my shaft went into him slowly. I backed out a little and pushed some more. By small degrees I buried my cock completely up his ass. It was warm, and he wiggled his ass again trying to feel what it was like to have a man's cock up his ass. "Fuck me," he whispered.
I began a slow rhythmic fucking, out and in, each stroke becoming longer than the last. Out and in. I lifted my ass and I fucked him. Out and in.
"Yes," he said. "Fuck me good."
I increased the force of my fucking until I was coming nearly all the way out before again pushing deeply in. Mark began grunting with the force of my thrusts.
"Are you OK?" I asked.
"Fuck me," he said, and he tried to lift his hips to increase the depth of my fucking.
I pulled out and said, "Roll over."
He did and instinctively spread his legs. I entered him again. I looked into his eyes and fucked him. "Yes," he said.
He looked back at me. "Fuck me," he mouthed.
I lowered my mouth and kissed him as I fucked. He opened his mouth and I invaded it with my tongue.
He crooked his arms around his legs to hold them wide. And I fucked him. Harder. Faster.
Still with our mouths together I shot my first jet of cum into him. He broke our lip lock and looked deeply into my eyes. He wriggled is ass and I shot again. I pressed my hips against him hard and completed my ejaculation in three more spurts.
Then, breathing hard through my mouth I collapsed on him. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly. I put my lips on his again and rolled us onto our side.
"Yes," he said. "That was the way I wanted it to be; the way I imagined it all those times I jacked off thinking about you fucking me."
"Oh, Mark," I said, and I gathered him to me, wrapping my arms and legs around him, holding him close and never wanting to let him go.
But in time we rolled apart, settling separately on the bed, he on his back and I facing him on my side, head propped on the heel of my hand. I gazed at him in the scant light that still filtered through my screened windows, scrutinizing each inch, and he gazed at me. His stomach moved up and down with his shallow breathing. The only movement of his chest was the shadow of his heartbeat.
I glided my hand over his torso, stopping now and then to caress his cheek, his chin, outline his ribs and navel, and fondle his sticky sex. When our eyes met again he beamed at me.
"Do you want to come?" I asked. "Would you like to fuck me?"
"Oh yes," he said. "Absolutely. That time will come, and soon. But not now. Not tonight. Tonight I just want to sleep in your bed and wake up beside you in the morning."