Ups and Downs

Up All Night

“Agaiiinnn?” I whined. “Aren’t you sore?”

“Yeah,” he confessed, “but I want to get as much of it as I can before I have to leave for UGA in the morning.”

“In the morning?” I squeaked. “It’s been morning for three fuckin’ hours. You’re gonna need some sleep before you hit the road.”

“But I can’t sleep,” Ethan assured me. Hell, it was more like a boast than a complaint or even a mere statement of fact. He was proud of what he had accomplished that night, and he wanted to soak in it.

This wasn’t the second time I had fucked him that night. It wasn’t even the third. He had already woken me up twice to drill his hole, and now he wanted it for a fourth time. What choice did I have? He wasn’t going to let me sleep regardless. I thought if I placated him with one last fuck, maybe he would let me get at least one hour of sleep before I had to see him off.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining, and I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy every fucking minute of it. I just wanted to get some sleep, and I wanted him to be able to walk to the car when it would be time to leave.

Our lovemaking progressed the same way as it had the first three times: sweet, tender kisses followed by a slathering tongue bath, cock sucking, ass rimming, torturous teasing, hardass pounding, and thick, gooey cum all over the place. And after every session, he would pull me close and try to squeeze the life out of me until I begged him to let up. I loved having him cradle me, but I wanted to enjoy it without having the life crushed out of my lungs.

Four a.m. Ethan wasn’t scheduled to depart for Athens until around 9:00, so I took consolation in the assurance that I could get in three or four hours of sleep. Man, was I delusional! The alarm clock on my side of the bed screeched me awake (and nearly jolted me out of bed and onto the floor) at 6:00 a.m.

“What the fuck?” I bitched. “Why did you set the clock so early, asshole?”

“Force of habit,” he replied. “Back home we always had to get up early to do our farm chores. Besides, I wanted to allow plenty of time to get ready before I leave.”

“Well, go do your shit,” I barked, “and let me get some sleep.”

Of course, I thought the firmness with which I issued my demand would do the trick, but only a few minutes passed before I felt a warm tongue slurping against my dick.

“Jeeezus, dude! Can’t you just….” But before I could finish the sentence, my dick was already rising, and I could feel Ethan’s nose against my pubes. He was trying desperately to swallow my cock completely, and he was damn near doing it. Feebly, I tried again to persuade him to leave me be, but my dick just felt too fucking good.

“Oh shit! Goddam you, motherfucker. Fuck, that feels so good. How the hell did you learn how to suck cock like this?” I asked.

“Siphoning gas,” he replied with the straightest face. I lost it. I thought I would die laughing, but he didn’t miss a beat. He just kept sucking, determined to drain me of whatever juice I still had left in my overtaxed nut sack.

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—”

“The hell you are,” he reprimanded me, releasing my cock from his mouth and pinching off the base of my shaft to keep me from shooting.

“What the—” I tried to complain, but he cut me off by sinking his wet tongue deep into my mouth. As he tongue fucked me like he was trying to put out a fire, he straddled my waist and lowered his fucking hot body onto my aching rod.

With his tongue still spelunking my mouth, he rocked back and forth, fucking my cock with his rhythm. After just three sessions—all in one night—he had become a power bottom, and he was proud as hell about it.

“Ah…ah…ah,” he panted. “Holy fuckin’ jeezus!” he screamed. He was experiencing his first prostate orgasm, and it sucked the juices right out of his nut sack, through his rocket, and into outer space—otherwise known as my cum-drenched face, chest, and abs. He was still shaking when my own cock unleashed its hot cream deep into his guts. It might have been poetic to say that our orgasms fell into harmonic rhythms, but no. They were erratic. Pulsating. Crude. Messy. Electric. And deliriously, savagely satisfying. Every time one of us twitched, the other one jerked, leading to a cycle of synaptic punches and jabs. Our cocks had morphed into cattle prods that sent shocks throughout our entire bodies. Electric jolts continued to torture us for at least five minutes. Once the tremors finally subsided, and Ethan got out of bed to go to the bathroom, I thought, “Finally. Sleep. Thank you, God.”

But less than half an hour later, Ethan rousted me with his strong hand and a tray of scrambled eggs, sausage, hash browns, English muffins, and fresh-brewed coffee. He was stark naked. Apparently, he had walked down to the kitchen without putting on any clothes, cooked breakfast for the two of us, and strolled back to the bedroom with a tray in hand and his self-satisfied cock dangling beneath it. Sure, there was no one else in the house but his uncle, and at that point Ethan couldn’t have cared less if Mr. Sullivan had seen him naked. Hell, he strutted around in his birthday suit with pride in his new-found manhood.

I tried in vain to convince him that I would rather have more sleep than breakfast, but he insisted on spoon-feeding me. “You’re going to need your strength,” he preached, “if you’re going to fuck me again.” I was so tempted to throw that hot coffee right into his smug country-boy face.

“C’mon,” he prodded after we consumed the delicious breakfast he had so lovingly prepared. “Let’s get showered.”

Of course, I didn’t want to shower; I just wanted to curl up into a ball and let the world drift away into oblivion; but I should have known better than to think that Ethan would let me get away with that. Before I knew it, he had grabbed my arms and pulled me out of the bed and into the bathroom. Semiconscious though I was, I was awake just enough to catch sight of Mr. Sullivan standing at the end of the hallway, smirking at his two favorite boys lumbering naked as jay birds from the bedroom to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, Ethan coaxed me into the shower and turned on the water. I must say that it did feel good. I needed the soothing massage of the hot water beating down on my overworked muscles. Ethan soaped up a wash rage and bathed my back, alternating between soft, soothing strokes and deep massages. Damn, it felt good—not just because I needed the massage, but because that massage was coming from Ethan’s loving hands.

When Ethan had finished washing my back, he reached around my arms and lathered my pecs in seductive circular motions. As I purred in contentment, I began to feel the now-familiar sensation of Ethan’s erect monster brushing against my buns. Then, it was my turn.

Despite my most earnest intentions of suppressing another erection, it was useless, especially when Ethan had washed his way down from my pecs to my cock. He stroked the lather against the skin of my dick as if it were lube, and I knew there was no point in fighting it. I mustered all the strength I could, turned him around, grabbed the soapy rag from his hand, and gave him a dose of his own medicine.

I bathed his shoulders and back and then his buttocks, which produced a little twitch from him. As I lathered and stroked his erect cock, I simultaneously slipped my now rock-hard cock into his love canal. Damn, it felt so good. Even though it was our fifth fuck in less than eight hours—or was it the sixth?—I had completely lost count, and frankly, I wasn’t keeping score—I fucked like it was our first time. I was torn between wanting to make sweet love to him and fucking the shit out of him, but in the end, my animal instincts prevailed, and I pounded his ass like there was no tomorrow.

“Take that, motherfucker!” I barked. “You think you can keep me up all night and get away with it just by making me a nice breakfast? Well, I’ve got news for you, asshole. I’m gonna fuck your sorry ass all the way from Columbus to Athens, and when you get to UGA, everybody there’s gonna know what I did to you ‘cuz you’re gonna be wobbling around like a ruptured duck in a hailstorm.” Of course, I didn’t say all that glibly. I spoke each word with a thrust of my dick deep into his guts. I. Punc-tu-at-ed. Each. Word. With. A. Deep. Fuck. And with each thrust, I jerked his cock in unison. I blasted one more load of hot juice deep into his rectum, and he splattered his baby batter all over the shower stall wall.

Ethan slumped against the wall, his muscular body the only thing keeping me from collapsing to the floor, the water showering down on our overheated bodies. Evidently, Ethan still had more energy left than I did because he reached over and turned off the hot water and turned up the cold, shocking both of us into something loosely imitating consciousness.

Back in his bedroom, we slowly dressed and moped around for the next half hour, Ethan pretending halfway to pack up his last few things and me pretending half-assedly to help. When I reached for a pair of his underwear to refold it for the fifth time, Ethan grabbed my wrist gingerly, looked at me with wistful eyes, and coaxed me over to the bed.

“Again?” I squealed. “You have got to be kidding me!”

“No, not that,” he chuckled under his breath. “Let’s just sit for a while. Hold me,” he whispered.

We sat there, leaning against the headboard, Ethan nestled against my chest, my arm wrapped around him, for a good ten minutes with neither of us saying a word. “Joe,” he finally sighed. When nearly two minutes had passed with no other word, I followed up, “Yes?” But no more words would come. He desperately wanted to thank me for helping him to transform himself into a new man, and I desperately wanted to tell him how much I cared for him and how much I would miss him, but neither of us could speak, so we just sat there holding each other.

“Ethan,” Mr. Sullivan’s manly voice called from the hallway. “Time to go.” As much as we had devoutly prayed that that moment would not come, we knew it was inevitable. As we collected his last few belongings and carried them to the 10-year-old pickup that Mr. Sullivan had given Ethan as a graduation present, I muttered something about “kicking some Bulldog asses,” and he mumbled something about not flunking out of Bonehead English.

After I placed the last box of things in the back of the pickup, I dragged my feet back to the front door of the house where Mr. Sullivan was standing and waved goodbye to my very, very special friend. Ethan waved back, but just as he was about to step up into the cab of the truck, I yelled, “Stop!” and ran to him. Even with some neighbors driving by and eyeing the truck to see what was going on, I grabbed Ethan, pulled him tightly to me, and kissed him with the most passionate kiss I had ever offered anyone. And he kissed me back in the same manner. To hell with the snooping neighbors. We did what we had to do.

As Ethan drove away, headed for a new life in college with a new confidence, I muddled my way back to where Mr. Sullivan was standing. I had grown up in that bullshit Southern machismo that says that men don’t cry, and stupidly, I squelched my feelings, even as Mr. Sullivan wrapped his manly arm around my shoulders.

I knew that with all that Ethan had experienced that summer, and especially what he had experienced with me in the last 24 hours, he would never be the same again. And neither would I.

(to be continued)