Part 2 of 3

*Of the 2 series I've written, this chapter is my fav of all of them. I hope you like it :)

As long as I've lived in Goldrun, I've never seen anyone `swim' in the duck pond at Gold Rush Park. The thing is three feet deep in the middle - tops - and it's not exactly spring water. Out near the middle, there's a cruddy looking fountain that used to shoot water 50 feet in the air. Now it just kind of bubbles over, making little waves that the ducks bob over. But neither one of us stopped to complain as we ran towards it. We sprinted straight in, high-stepping until the depth of the water finally stopped us.

We didn't talk at all for the first five minutes or so. We were way too busy destroying all of the evidence that had soaked into our clothes. And that's not as easy as it might sound.

A million thoughts were racing through my head. And while the panic had died down a little, it had been replaced by this fear of what would happen to us.

I was pretty sure that we'd be so messed up in our heads after what we'd gone through, that there was a good chance we'd just go our separate ways.

We had no history of friendship, if fact, he was nearly a complete stranger. There was nothing preventing us from burying the experience deep within our subconscious minds, and part of that trick would be to forget the other guy ever existed. Not that I wanted that to happen.

I did wonder what his reaction would be once the reality of it all hit him.

Anger? A fist fight? Silence? I was prepared for any of it.

Not much longer after I had those thoughts, the moment of truth was upon me.

Carl had been off to my right, and over a good 15 feet from me. Until then I'd been avoiding direct eye contact with him. But now he was wading over towards me, and there was no avoiding him.

"Hey man, damn... that was a close call back there." He said, grinning as if it were no big deal to bring it up.

I was expecting more of a mutual guilt trip, at best.

"Um, yeah... too close." I stuttered.

"Hey, we made it to the pond, and no one busted us. We need to figure out a way to celebrate or something." He said, just before dunking himself under water.


He was down there long enough for me to think he'd drowned, then broke back through the surface, looking like some sea creature with this hair all hanging down in his eyes. He shook his head to one side, flipping his hair out of his eyes in one quick motion - and Adonis was back. Just that fast.

"Well, it's nice to see you are having a good time, but shouldn't we be freaking out or something." I asked, amazed at his carefree attitude.

"What's to freak on? Like I said, we should be celebrating." He said, seeming serious.

Hmm. If he really wanted to know what there was to freak on, I would have a pretty hard time knowing where to start.

"Nothing else is bothering you? Like - oh, I don't know - maybe what happened between us was just slightly un-dude-like?"

He thought about it, as if it were the first time he'd considered it, then got my meaning.

"Dude, I turn slightly gay every time I jack-off, but it doesn't turn me queer."

Of course my mind `ran' with that, and I instantly imagined him jacking-off in front of a mirror, admiring his perfect body, then him feeling `slightly gay' after doing so.

"So that's it, no guilt, no head trip, no nothing? You just immediately go back to your plain old self like it was no big deal?" I asked, hoping he'd show some sign of being human.

"Yep, you nailed it. Hey, you aren't one of those glass-half-empty kind of people are you?" He asked, smiling at me.

"Who said anything about half empty, my glass is fucking completely empty. There must be something seriously wrong with you!"

"Look," he said, "If you're asking me if I'm feeling guilty and shit, hell yeah I am. Right now there are frogs all around our feet, munching out on our unborn babies. It's a fucking tragedy."

He wrung his shirt out over the water to emphasize what he meant by `babies', then continued on.

"And if that isn't bad enough - when the frogs have their own babies - they'll likely be mutants - half human. So yeah, damn right I feel guilty." He said, laughing.

Oh, that paints a real nice picture.

I guess that was it, he had simply chalked the entire event up to a waste of cum. It was almost funny, in a sick kind of way. But more importantly, I was relieved that he hadn't gone ballistic on me.

"If you are trying to get me to laugh, it's not working." I said, as I maintained a serious look.

He waded over closer to me, then stood up. His laughter faded.

"Ok, you win. There IS something I have to say, and you're right - I was trying to be cool about it. But you're the one that pushed it, not me." He said, matching my seriousness.

I waited for him to go off. Maybe it was a misery-loves-company kind of thing. But I just wanted to get it out in the open so it would be over and done.

And just as I thought he was ready say what he was really feeling, he reaches down with a cupped hand, and shoots me a face full of water - then bolts from the pond laughing his ass off all the way to the shore.

This time it was me running at his heels, laughing right along with him.

We ended up on a bench about fifty yards away, all out of breath, still laughing our asses off.

It's really strange how when after you meet someone, there's never this one single moment you can pin it down and say, `that's the instant in time that we became friends.' There's no such thing as `friendship at first sight', at least not as far as I had known. But this was different. As we both sat there dripping and laughing, I knew in my mind that we had become friends - right on that very bench - right at that very moment.


We sat there and talked for nearly an hour. Dairy Queen and the pond never came up again. We talked a about different things we liked to do outside of school. But mostly we talked about sports. It was cool knowing someone that knew as much about all of the football teams and basketball teams and baseball teams as I did.

It must have been somewhere around 1:30 by then. We had already missed one class, and there was no way we'd be back in time for the next one after that. Not that I cared. I was actually having fun for a change. He must have been thinking the same thing.

"Hey man, would you be up for cutting out on the rest of our classes today?

I know you got a game and shit tonight, but that's like five hours from now. I could show you something really cool I know about."

I was definitely up for it.

"Um, yeah. That would be cool." I said, trying my best to conceal my excitement.

So we walked to his place, which was only a few blocks away.

The place was major dump. I mean, it was this shack-like single-wide trailer, that had to be one of the first ever built. There was laundry thrown all over the floor, and the kitchen had at least a weeks worth of dirty dishes piled up. I was surprised that no rats came running by. How could someone that looked like him, come from a place that looked like that? I formed this image of what his mom must be like, based on the way she kept up the `house' - which was probably a mistake.

He went to his room for a few minutes, and came back with an empty backpack. Then went on to the kitchen, where I could see him over the breakfast bar getting stuff out to make sandwiches.

I looked around at some of the pictures on the shelves out in the living room, trying not to be too obvious about it. Nowhere in any of them did I see anyone that could have passed for his father. He must have either died, or bolted when Carl was very young, I reasoned.

When I got out to the kitchen, he was throwing a bunch of other stuff in the backpack along with the sandwiches. And in record time we were back out the door.

Apparently we were going somewhere. I just let wherever we were going be a surprise, because he would have told me by then if he wanted me to know.

So we took off hiking up Turner Road, and continued on with our earlier conversations. It was pretty awesome. It was like he was the best friend I never had and always wanted. He had me laughing several times. And as he talked, what I noticed most about him, was that it wasn't what he said that was so interesting, it was how he said it. The same was true when he was joking.

We eventually came up on the old train depot, which was now converted to a tourist setup where people pay ten bucks a pop to take a ride through the forest. It passes by some cool old gold mines, and winds around through the hills - even going through a few vineyards. I hadn't been up there in around five years, but still remember the day my parents took me on the ride. Trains are pretty cool things when you're 11. Actually, I never stopped liking them. But I didn't get why Carl had led us there, or why he was leading me down the tracks along the train - on the opposite side of the depot.

Just as we got all the way to the very last car, a loud whistle blew. I looked back, and saw this huge plume of steam coming from the old engine up front. And as the engines kicked in, the ground shook beneath us.

When I looked back at Carl, he was looking up an iron ladder, that went all the way up to the top of the car. He looked back and me, knowing I'd seen where his eyes had been.

"We're going up there?" I asked, feeling my heart race at the thought.

"Yep, I've done it like six times now. It's fucking incredible. You go first... we have about ten seconds before the train starts moving. When you get up there, duck down, or people will see you."

I took a deep breath, grabbed hold of the old iron ladder, and made my way up.

And as I pulled myself over the ledge, I could see people on the other side, buzzing around the depot, so I stayed low just has Carl had said to do. The roof was surrounded by a solid rail that stuck up a good 15 inches, so you could duck down and not be seen. And as the train started moving forward, Carl pulled himself up a minute later, and hunched down along side of me.

"This is the worst part. Just stay low, and I'll tell you when it's cool to stick your head up."

His green eyes were beaming at the excitement of it. And I guess mine probably were too. It was a rush, to put it mildly.

So about five minutes later, as the train starts picking up steam, he gives the clear to sit up.

When I did, I could see the forest closing in around us. We'd made it; we were completely isolated from the rest of the world up there - on a two hour train ride through the mountains. We were stowaways!

"Just be careful if you walk around. People down below might be able to hear us up here." He said over to me.

I nodded that I understood.

As I peered out over the rail, the warm air blew gently over my skin, and all you could smell was this magnified scent of pine trees. Carl was watching for my reaction, which was this huge smile I didn't even care about trying to hide.

"What? You never hopped a train before?" He asked.

"Dude, this is incredible." I said back.

"Yep, it's my great escape. I always thought it would be cool to get a girl to come up here with me, but I only came close to it happening once, and she chickened out at the last minute."

"That sucks; she sounds like someone I know," I said, "just don't give up... that's the secret."

"You nailed it." He said, grinning back.

And with that, he reached around, peeled his backpack off, and opened it.

He fished around for our lunch, and I was so starved I could have eaten anything. And even though it was just a plain old peanut butter and Jelly sandwich, it tasted about ten times better than it should have. He brought out a bag of chips and a couple of cokes, and we settled in for the ride.

We stretched out, laying on our sides and facing each other - propped up on our elbows. And as we inhaled lunch, we would look up at each other from time to time, then went back for another bite. There wasn't much of a need to talk.

He seemed like he was off in another world, just thinking. I'm not sure how long it was before he spoke next, but it was quite a while.

"So by chance did you see the last game of the season between the Dodgers and the Giants?" He asked, coming out of his thoughts.

"You mean the one where the Giants ended on a three game losing streak, and blew going on to the playoffs in the bottom of the ninth with two outs, two men on base, and Jamerson up? Yeah, I saw it... why?" I asked.

"Did you stay and watch the interviews afterwards?"

"Nah, I turned it off by then. I was happy. I'm a Dodgers fan... so I really didn't care." I said back.

"Well, this interviewer dude gets Jamerson in front of the camera, and tries like anything to get him to admit that he had royally fucked up the season. So he asks him how he thought the season went, and how he felt when that last pitch of the game flew passed him."

"And?" I asked.

"And so Jamerson looked dead into the dudes eyes, and says, `I went out on a good pitch.' That was it - that was his answer."

I looked at Carl, expecting the story to go on, but it didn't.

I ran my hand over my head, trying to make some sense of it. I had no idea what he was talking about. But as I sat there drinking my coke, I thought more about it... and then it hit me.

His story wasn't about Jamerson - or even the Giants blowing the season - it was about us.

I felt his huge lump happen in my throat, and I had to look away.

"Cool story." I said.

I don't know why it hit me that hard, bit it did. So I stood up, and walked over to the end corner of the train car. I looked out at the trees flashing by, and then down at the railroad tracks as they flew under the train in one continuous blur.

He just let me be off by myself like that for a while. It was so weird. I swear he could read every thought I had. It was fucking scary.

I kept playing the story he told me over and over in my mind. It was like he had admitted to me that he had the same messed up feelings about me as I did for him. And the only question left was: Do we let our one chance at what we could be, fly by and land in the fucking catcher's mitt? Or do we go out swinging?

Why couldn't I be all calm, cool and collected like he was? Maybe the one year in age between us was the difference between actually taking a chance on something, versus being at the point of no return. Maybe he was hanging on to his last year of not letting the fucked-up world get in the way of anything. And maybe it was too late for me. Seniors are always so serious. And I was going to be one next year.

"Hey man, you forgot your coke." He said over to me after several minutes.

I smiled at myself, shook my head at his lazy attitude, and went back and took the coke he was holding out to me.

He pulled himself up, walked over, and looked off to the tree-covered canyon as the trees whizzed by.

"So Jack," He says over to me, "we got maybe 20 more minutes of forest cover before we hit open space, I say we blow our minds."

The guy definitely talked in riddles. And that was one riddle I knew I couldn't figure out. So instead, I found myself checking out his baseball bubble-butt when he wasn't looking - and decided that if he stood like that for the rest of the train ride, he could rattle off as many riddles as he wanted.

I snapped myself out of it, and tried to remember what his question was.

"Blow our minds? What? Is this where we jump or something?" I asked, fully figuring that we'd be traveling over a bridge at any minute.

He looked over at me as he pulled off his shirt.

"Nope. Extreme sports."

Great, another riddle. But he was standing there with no shirt on, so I let it slide.

"I don't get it." I said back.

So he just sort of ignores me, unbuttons his cargos, and lets them drop along with his boxers to the roof of the train car. Then he kicks them off over his hiking boots, and I'm suddenly staring at the bubble butt I'd been trying to see though his cargos only a minute earlier. And it was - um - better than perfect. All smooth and white and bulging out from his trim tapered waist. The dude was a fucking Greek God.

"What can I say?" He said, smiling over at me, "I'm a twice-a-day man."

I froze. And he laughed at the expression on my face.

"Ever shoot a load off the ass-end of a moving train?" He asked, tempting me to join him.

This was definitely not happening. And I was definitely not hearing clearly.

He walked over to the end of the train, near where I was standing. His enormous cock just kind of wagged hard and heavy in front of him. The wind rushed by at our backs like static electricity, and it felt like every hair on my body was standing on end. I swear to God, if I had any one image I could take with me to my grave, it would be how he looked standing there like that.

He brushed his hair back over his eyes with one hand, and made this sexy grin over at me. He raised up one eyebrow, as if to say, `let's party.'

Then he reached down, and took hold of his over-sized cock. I nearly lost it right then and there.

"This is crazy. YOU'RE crazy." I said, smiling back.

I reached to the bottom of my tee-shirt, and pulled it over my head. And he watched as I kicked my cargos off over my hiking boots as he'd done - and I moved up next to him. I'm pretty sure I was holding my breath.

And as I stood there no more than a foot away from him, I tried to imagine how it was possible it was really me there, and not me dreaming it. I was on the roof of the caboose of an old steam train going twenty miles an hour though the most beautiful scenery in the world, and standing next to the most unbelievable stud in the universe. Talk about a moment in time.

He looked me up and down slowly. Then sort of laughed to himself and shook his head hard, like he was trying to shake out an evil thought.

"Damn, this isn't gonna take long." He said, mumbling through a ridiculously dimpled smile, as he grabbed at himself.

And he started slowly stroking his hand over his vein engorged cock, looking to make sure I was following his lead. And I was.

His large, fuzz-covered balls hung high, so that they met his pulsing cock in a seamless alliance, nearly dwarfing his pumping hand. And as he took in each breath of air, his firm stomach sank in deeply, and his smooth hairless chest expanded, showing the outlines of individual ribs - hiding under his perfectly tanned skin.

My `just checking out the competition' argument had just crashed and burned.

He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders, as if to apologize for how he looked.

Our breathing turned erratic, and a film of sweat began to cover our bodies as we made like we'd been doing it together for years. The sun shining down through the trees and between breaks in the canyon walls made him flicker and glow, as if he were short- circuiting from a power-surge.

He moved in, so that we were touching shoulders, and that same wave of electricity that hit me at the Dairy Queen, dominoed through every pore of my skin.

He brought be back to the moment.

"Dude, I did this once before, and it's totally awesome." He said, as if we were on a rollercoaster ride.

"When you shoot down-wind on a moving train, it freakin' flies out twenty-five feet and makes you feel like you're Superman. You're gonna freak." He added.

"Damn." I said, smiling back.

And we stood there like that, fists flying, getting all squirrelly and into it.

After three or four minutes, I had to slow it down - way down.

He looked over at me, then down at my raging cock.

"You close?"

"Yep, about as close as it gets." I said through my cracking voice.

"Fuck, Jack, so am I... dude... don't let me fall..."

He inched all the way to the very edge, which was the only section on the roof that wasn't surrounded by the rail. There was nothing between him and the ground below.

"I won't." I said.

But I don't think he heard me.

I forced my fist off my own raging cock, turned towards him, and brought up my hand to the front of his heaving chest. His knees buckled forward and his fist pounded faster than the chugs of the train engine.

He was nearly out of control, and uncaring that his feet were now hanging two inches over the lip of the ledge. He arched back hard, and I barely caught him - bringing my other hand up under his hard and slippery bubble-butt. As I did, my still-throbbing cock smashed hard into the dimpled side of his flexing ass-cheek.

"Oh, fuck... dude, here it goes..." He yelled out in a raspy voice.

His muscled butt bucked against my hand, and his chest heaved harder.

His knees bent further forward, and he looked at me one more time with his helpless eyes, then looked out over the back of the train.

His entire body shuttered, and I watched as this massive, twisting rope of cum exploded from his giant mushroom head - sailing long and high through the air in the train's powerful wake.

He was lunging and bucking, like he was fucking the air:

"FUCK YEAH!!!!!!!" He screamed at the top of his lungs; his voice echoing the canyon walls.

"No FUCKING way! Did you see the hang-time on that thing?" I shouted, watching his sperm crash to the railroad tracks far below us.

"Told you." He grunted, through the force of a second blast.

I left the planet.

He looked like some mythical god, firing his cum over the land below to give new life to some dying planet. No mortal could look like that. No way.

My heart was racing beyond belief. And with my cock still sliding hard along the side of his steaming ass cheek, I just hung on for dear life, and prayed to God and all of the saints that the rollercoaster we were on would never stop.

But eventually, he lightened his grip on his pulsing, sperm covered dick, and slowed his hand so that it was only lightly sliding back and forth.

He let his hand fall to his side, and looked over at me, panting and grinning big enough to bring out his amazing dimples.

"Dude, that was a FUCKING RUSH!" He said, all red and breathless. "You're up next man..."

I grinned back like an idiot - so hard that it actually hurt.

"What are you? A fucking cum factory?" I asked, as I watched his stomach move in and out with each breath he took.

"Damn right." He said, still heaving.

I could have easily blown off just looking at him.

But `I was up to bat', so I faced out over the end of the train as he had done - and grabbed hold of my tortured and throbbing dick. This was definitely going to set a new jack-off record.

And as I started to slowly stoke myself, he moved behind me and draped one arm over my shoulder, letting his chin rest to the side of my neck.

"I got you man," he said, bringing his other hand to my waist.

His cum-covered cock slapped up carelessly, and laid up vertically along the line between my ass-cheeks. He held me tight, and I let my fist go wild.

It felt like I was hovering as I looked down at the tracks below. And whether he knew it or not, his still-twitching cock moved harder against me, moving up and down with each bump in the tracks, until it was nearly gliding between two flexing mounds of flesh.

The quaking of his spent body against mine felt like silent thunder, crashing through every vein inside of me.

"Oh, man. I'm close." I stuttered after no more than a single minute.

"Let it fly, man... put out the fucking sun." He said through his breaths.

And I could no longer hold off.

I didn't know, and didn't care how far I shot, or even how it looked flying through the air. All I know is that when my cock exploded, it was his cum I was shooting. I fucking swear to God that's how it felt.

I can't say how long we stood like that. But it was the most exotic and incredible thing I had ever done. And I knew then, that my life had been changed forever.

It was no rollercoaster we'd just gotten off of... It was more like a train wreck: A head on collision, where you see the other train coming at full speed, and all you have time to do is brace yourself.


*Jack's first game of the season starts at 6:30 P.M... and he's running late. Until then, hang cool... the 3rd and final part to the story is next - if there's an audience for 3. Cheers!


B. Taylor

[email protected]


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