Coming of Age

Weekend at Johnny’s

On Tuesday, Mr. Andersen called to let Johnny know that they would be getting home very late and suggested that he spend the night with us, and they would pick him up after school the next afternoon. I spent all day Wednesday in a funk. I knew that I would still see Johnny at school, but I wondered if we would ever get to spend any more “private time” together. That afternoon, as I was about to get on the school bus to go home, I heard Johnny yell, “Rick! Rick!” I turned to see Johnny running toward me with the broadest smile spread across his face. “My folks are here, and they want to drive you home.”

“Thanks, but—”

“Oh, stuff it, asshole. They want to thank your folks for letting me stay with you these past few days, so you’re coming with us whether you like it or not.” The ride was very pleasant. I had never ridden in a Lexus before, and Mr. and Mrs. Andersen were so nice. They kept saying how much they appreciated our looking out for Johnny in their absence and how much he had enjoyed his time with us and what a good influence I had been on him. Me, a good influence on him? Really? What the hell?

When we got to our house, the Andersens repeated their thanks to my parents, and Mrs. Andersen gave my mom a ceramic vase she had picked up in Louisiana. It was a perfect gift. Mom loves gardening, and the vase was pretty but not so expensive as to make her feel indebted or embarrassed.

“Please let us return your generosity,” Mrs. Andersen said to my folks. “We would love to have Rick stay with us for a few days.” I couldn’t believe my ears. I was thrilled, but I knew there was no way my folks would let me out of my chores that long, and I was right. My dad thanked the Andersens for the offer, but declined. 

“How about a compromise?” said Mr. Andersen. “What if I pick up Rick after he has finished his chores Friday afternoon and take him with us to the game?” (It was an away game, but the host team was not far.) “He can stay with us Friday night and through the weekend, but I’ll bring the boys over every morning and every afternoon to take care of their chores.”

“Oh, that’s very generous of you to offer,” said Mom, “but—”

“We accept,” my dad interjected.

I was stunned. I thought my mom might accept the offer, but I never thought my dad would be the one to do it. I jumped up and hugged him right then and there, and I must admit that I was surprised when Johnny hugged my parents too.

After school on Friday, Johnny and I walked the short distance to his house. When I saw it, I thought my eyes would pop out of my head. It was the Taylor mansion. Of course, everybody in town knew the Taylor mansion—it was a local landmark—but I had no idea who lived there. Wide stairs led up to the front porch, held up by Greco-Roman columns, a theme carried through in the foyer and living room. Crystal chandeliers hung over the living room and dining room, which were furnished nicely, but not extravagantly. In short, the house was a lot like Johnny, a class act, but not ostentatious.

“Hi, mom,” said Johnny, greeting Mrs. Andersen in the kitchen with a peck on the cheek. “I’m starved,” he announced “What‘ve we got to eat?” he asked as he opened the refrigerator door and surveyed the contents.

“There are some cookies on the table, but just one. You don’t want to spoil your dinner.” She spotted me when she turned to brush Johnny away from the fridge. “Rick! So nice to have you with us.” She dropped the kitchen tools she had been working with, wiped her hands on her apron, and rushed over to give me a great big hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I hope you like lasagna.” I assured her that I did.

“Your dad will be home from work in an hour or two,” she said to Johnny. “And I need to run to the supermarket. You boys will be all right until I get back, won’t you?”

“Of course, Mom.”

“And no playing football in the house,” she lectured as she walked to the garage.

Johnny rolled his eyes and directed me, “This way, champ.” He led me through the large family room and through the sliding glass doors to the patio and the biggest swimming pool that I had ever seen. “Wanna take a dip?” Johnny asked. “I didn’t bring a suit,” I said. “Well, there isn’t anybody here but the two of us, and you ain’t got nuthin’ I ain’t seen before.” And with that, he stripped down to his birthday suit and dived in. I thought the water would be too cold, but the pool was heated, so I stripped and dived in too.

We swam a few laps and got into a water fight and swam some more. After about half an hour of that, Johnny hopped out of the pool and lay naked on one of the chaise lounges, so I followed and lay in another lounge beside him. We didn’t do much but hypothesize about the meaning of life and other mundane topics. All the while, though, Johnny played idly with his dick and balls. He wasn’t hard, but he sure as hell was getting a rise out of me.

Much to my surprise, he reached over and started stroking my dick. He had never initiated contact before, and now he had one hand on my family jewels and one on his own. I don’t know if it was the feel of his own cock in his own hand or the feel of his hand on my cock, but in no time at all he was sporting a huge, rock-hard missile.

When I saw how inflated he was, I reached across and started priming his cock as he continued to cup his balls. He had much less control than I did and started pulsating before I was even ready. I could feel that he was getting close. So I sat up on the edge of my chair to get a better grip. All of a sudden, he jumped up and screamed, “Garage door! Mom’s home!” But it was too late; he shot a huge load right into my face. I was so stunned that my jaw dropped and a second shot hit me right in the back of my throat. The third landed on my tongue, and the remainder coated my face. In a panic to get away before his mom spotted us, he snatched up our clothes, grabbed my free hand, and dragged me up the back stairs. After he pulled me into his room and closed the door, he took several deep breaths before he turned and, for the first time, discovered what he had done. After the initial shock, he collapsed on the floor, laughing hysterically. He was laughing so hard that he couldn’t speak, only point at my face. In a brief moment of semi-composure, he said, “Dude…” but he was too torn up to complete the sentence.

“What?” I asked in an incredulous tone, and when I opened my mouth to speak, a load of cum dribbled down onto my chin. Johnny laughed so hard that he curled up into a little ball, rolling on the floor. When he finally gained enough composure to speak, he said, “Sorry, buddy, but you look like somebody just dumped a truckload of mayonnaise on your face.”

“Well,” I replied, “Sommmmebody just did.”

“Are you boys all right up there?” came Mrs. Andersen’s voice.

Still laughing, Johnny cracked open the door and yelled back, “We’re fine.” And then he whispered aside to me, “At least, one of us is.”

“We’re just changing out of our swimsuits,” he yelled back to his mother. “We’ll be down in a minute.” Then, laughing all the way, he led me to the bathroom to wash up.

When I came out of the bathroom, I found Johnny standing in front of his dresser, still naked as a jaybird. I had never really noticed before what a fine ass he had. When he spotted me in the mirror, he turned and tossed me a pair of gym shorts and a tank top. He picked a football jersey and another pair of gym shorts for himself. He put on the gym shorts sans underwear, so I followed his example.

When we got halfway down the stairs, Johnny turned to see if I was all right, and when he did, he gasped, “Oh, shit, dude. You missed a spot.” He wiped a finger across my forehead to erase a spot of cum that I had not washed away and reflexively licked that finger clean. Without a beat, he ushered me on to the kitchen.

Oh, my god! You just ate your own cum for the first time. Or was it your first time? Have you been holding out on me?

 When we re-entered the kitchen, Mr. Andersen greeted me with a hearty handshake and his other hand on my bare upper arm. “Good lord,” he exclaimed, squeezing my bicep, “He’s got more muscle than you, Johnny.” I figured he was just trying to be hospitable, but his touch caused my dick to twitch.

When Mrs. Andersen turned away from the sink to face us, she gasped, “My word! You look like a wet cat. Jonathan Llewellyn Andersen, you march yourself right back up those stairs and comb that shaggy mop of yours.”

As we retreated, Mr. Andersen walked between us with his hands on our shoulders and whispered to us with a smirk, “And while you’re at it, you might want to put on some underwear.”

As soon as we got back to Johnny’s room, he turned to me and asked, “Underwear? What the hell did you do, man?” My dick replied with another twitch. “What the fuck, Rick?” Johnny sighed with his hands on his hips.

“Gimme a break, Luuuuu Ellen!” I snapped. “I didn’t have the advantage of having just emptied my nut sack all over somebody’s face.”

“Sorry about that,” he said. And with a little squeeze of my semi-erect dick, he added, “I’ll pay you back later.”

He reached back into his dresser drawer and pulled out two jock straps, handing me one and keeping one for himself. “Maybe this will restrain you…and if it doesn’t, I guess we’ll have to get you a chastity belt.”

As Johnny went into the bathroom to comb his hair, I rubbed the jock strap through my fingers, rubbed it against my face, sniffed it, and put it between my lips. After I put it on, I felt like pinching myself. I couldn’t believe I was wearing one of The Great Johnny Andersen’s jock straps. I wondered how much cum and man sweat had been washed out of that little piece of fabric.

When we got back to the kitchen, Mrs. Andersen asked, “What were you boys laughing so hard about anyway?”

Mrs. Andersen looked at Johnny. Johnny looked at me. I looked at Johnny. Johnny looked at Mr. Andersen. Mr. Andersen looked at Johnny. Johnny looked at me, and finally, I blurted out, “Pigs.” Mrs. Andersen raised her signature eyebrow, Mr. Andersen squinted, and I thought Johnny was going to have a seizure.

“Pigs?” asked Mrs. Andersen, her eyebrow still arched.

“Uh, yes ma’am,” I tried to explain. “I was telling Johnny about some of my humorous experiences with pigs on the farm.”

“I know what you mean,” chimed in Mr. Andersen. “We had pigs on our farm in Salado, and, yeah, we had some pretty funny experiences with them too.”

Johnny was about to burst, so he grabbed my arm and said to his parents, straining to get the words out, “Porky and I will go set the table.” Mrs. Andersen looked at Mr. Andersen. Mr. Andersen looked at Mrs. Andersen. Once in the dining room, Johnny backed me into a corner and whispered to me, “Pigs? Pigs? I can’t believe you just lied to my parents about PIGS!”

“Well, what was I supposed to tell them, Luuu Ellen? That you were laughing hysterically because you had just plastered my face with your cum?”

“Hey, it’s a family name, dildo.”

“Nah, I think it was your name before the surgery.”

At dinner, Johnny and I both took extra-large helpings and then went back for seconds. “You boys had better leave room for dessert,” Mr. Andersen teased.

“Oh, we will, Dad. We will.”

After a big bowl of rocky road ice cream and one of Mrs. Andersen’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, Johnny and I cleared the table and put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. “That was delicious, Mrs. Andersen,” I said. “Really delicious.” She thanked me and kissed me on the cheek again.

I was dying to get back upstairs, and I knew Johnny was too. The jock strap I was wearing was successful in keeping me from pitching a tent in the borrowed gym shorts, but it couldn’t keep my balls from aching. Regardless, Johnny’s parents had been away for nearly a week, so I respected his need to spend a little time with them. In the family room, Mr. and Mrs. Andersen summarized their trip to Shreveport, bringing Johnny greetings from relatives he barely knew and skipping over the morbid details of their aunt’s death.

Then, changing the subject, Mr. Andersen asked his son, “So, what’s this I hear about you playing a little football Friday night?”

“Yeah, Coach let me in the game.”

“Let you in the game?” I snapped. “You were the game, buddy!” Scooting forward to the edge of my seat, I turned to Mr. Andersen and gave him a play-by-play description of his son’s triumph on the field. I practically acted out Johnny’s maneuvers. The Andersens listened politely, but looking back, I’m sure they were laughing inside at my fervor, especially since I stole all of Johnny’s thunder. “You shoulda seen him, sir. He was fan-fu…uh…he was fantastic!” Johnny rolled his eyes at me, Mrs. Andersen raised an eyebrow, and Mr. Andersen struggled mightily to suppress a chuckle.

“Well, it sounds like you had a great game,” Mr. Andersen complimented his son. “I’m sorry we missed it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get another chance,” I popped up. “Coach Davis is sure to start Johnny in every game for the rest of the season.”

“Oh, shut up, dude!” Johnny chided me. “Let’s go back to my room,” he pulled my arm, “before you turn my parents into zombies.”

Mr. and Mrs. Andersen finally released their suppressed laughter and thanked me for sharing the experience with them. As Johnny literally dragged me up the stairs, I turned my head and thanked Mrs. Andersen again for the delicious dinner, but she was too consumed with holding her side and wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks to reply. She just waved her hand at me as if to say, “Get out of here before you kill me, dear.” (Thus, I saw where Johnny inherited his laugh.)

On entering Johnny’s room, he released my arm, threw himself onto his bed, embraced a pillow, and cracked up. “You are so fuckin’ looney, dude. You are a riot.”

“Whaaaat?” I asked. “You were great Friday night.”

“OK, and you were great under the oak tree at your place, but you don’t hear me bending your folks’ ears about it.”

As I surveyed the room, a picture on the dresser caught my attention. “Who’s this?” I asked, pointing at the cute little boy with the curly blond hair.

“Who do you think, douche bag?”

“Well, if I knew, I wouldn’t be asking, butt plug.” (If nothing else, I had Johnny to thank for expanding my vocabulary.)

“It’s me, you idiot.”

“Really? Damn! You used to be sooo cute. What the hell happened?”

“You’re what happened, dickhead,” throwing a pillow at me. “You’ve completely ruined me.”

I’ve ruined you? Is there a hidden message in that confession that neither of us wants to admit?

I caught the foam-stuffed pillow and beat him with it as he rolled over in a fetal position and cackled interminably. I jumped on top of him and started punching him lightly with my fists. He rolled back over, shielded himself with the pillow, and we wrestled for control of it. After several minutes with one of us on top and then the other, Johnny reached around my waist and grabbed my crotch.

“Say ‘uncle,’” he demanded.

“Eat me!” I replied.

“Well, I won’t do that,” he scoffed, “but I guess I do owe you one.” And with that he slid his hand under my shorts and jock strap and began to tug on my dick.

“Mmmm,” I moaned. “That feels really good, but you know what would make it even better?”

“What?”

“This,” said I, getting up, stripping off the clothes he had loaned me, and climbing  naked back onto the bed. Johnny didn’t bother to get up; he just pulled off his clothes lying down and tossed them aside. As we lay side by side on the bed, as we had done previously by the pool, Johnny massaged my nut sack gently and petted my cock slowly. Since I was already semi-erect, I reached full saturation in no time at all. As he stroked me, Johnny talked dirty to me, but not in the aggressive way he had done before. No, I felt the warmth of his breath as he whispered the filth softly into my ear.

With the first spasm of my engorged tool, Johnny repositioned himself between my spread legs and pumped harder with both hands. I was so tense that I clinched my eyes shut when I started to explode. “Oh fuck! Oh shit! Jeeeezus Fuckin’ Christ!” I screamed sotto voce as my canon shot one volley after another. My body jerked for at least a minute before I could muster the strength to re-open my eyes, and when I finally did, I was shocked at the sight before me. Johnny’s face was soaked with my cum. Unlike me earlier, he had plenty of warning. He purposely took my jizz on that adorable dimpled face.

“Oh shit, man! What the fuck did you do that for? Oh, buddy, you know you didn’t have to do that.”

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His lips were pursed tightly to prevent any of the cream from dripping into his mouth. I so much wanted to reach out and pull his naked body on top of mine, lick his goo-covered face with my tongue, and bury my cum-coated tongue deep in his mouth, but I knew that was just a fantasy that I could experience only in my dreams…as I would frequently.

When Johnny returned from washing his face, he came back and lay beside me again on the bed. “You really didn’t have to do that, man. I never expected—”

“Fair is fair. Now shut the fuck up and go to sleep.” Before I did, though, I faced him and wiped a finger across his forehead. “You missed a spot,” I lied. He smiled before turning faux serious again.

“This is a queen-size bed, shitface. You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine. I don’t want your damn pole poking me in my ribs all night.”

“Oh, I won’t be aiming for your ribs,” I retorted with a devilish grin. He elbowed me, and we both rolled over, facing in opposite directions. In the morning, though, I awoke to the feel of Sleeping Beauty’s chest pressed against my back, his arm draped over my torso, and his morning wood poking me in the…well, let’s just say it wasn’t in my ribs.