The crickets were particularly noisy, like they’d just heard the world’s funniest joke and couldn’t stop laughing. The creek curled lazily around the rocks, warm from days of baking under the sun. I’d picked this spot because Uncle Bill had recommended it as being a private, forgotten place just by a bend in the creek where the current slowed enough to wade in without danger, being a guy who’d never learnt how to swim.
I was in 12th grade at high school, having had to move to the county to live with my uncle after my mother had a breakdown and was sectioned for an indeterminable period. That being bad enough, my father had left for a younger woman, unable to take the…whatever you want to call it, leaving my Uncle Bill as being the only sane person in my family…besides me…maybe.
Uncle Bill was an extraordinary guy who was just cool about everything… the sort of guy who just understood without the need for big explanations.
For example, the first thing Uncle Bill did when I moved in was take me to his garage workshop and build me a custom exercise bench for my stretches. "Treating hypermobility in teenage boys focuses on building muscular strength around loose joints to prevent pain and instability," he'd said, pausing for a moment to assess the design.
Uncle Bill got it. Understood the condition I had as he set about completing his task. "The cornerstone of management is tailored physiotherapy, combined with supportive footwear and gentle, low-impact exercise," he stated while sanding the edges smooth as I watched.
That was Uncle Bill, equal parts practical and scandalous, the kind of man who could rebuild a carburettor while debating whether Oscar Wilde’s imprisonment was really about the sodomy or just Victorian England’s fear of wit.
He’d wink at me when the pastor’s wife brought us casseroles, then whisper, "Bet she seasons these with guilt and a dash of suppressed lesbianism," to which I would chuckle under my breath, knowing that he enjoyed scandal and gossip, being the county's only gay man, living the quiet life on his unusual farm. Unusual because he bred Shire Horses…but enough about them. I shall explain later.
The exercise bench had been placed on the veranda that surrounded the house, creaking under my knees as I stretched forward, the wood smooth against my skin. Uncle Bill had tailored my physiotherapy routine with the precision of a watchmaker, slow, deliberate movements that felt ridiculous until they didn’t.
Today’s focus was hip mobility, which meant a lot of awkward lunges and rotations that made me acutely aware of how little fabric separated me from the world as I exercised in my standard-issue briefs, as he called them. “Remember, Steve, I have to see your body while you exercise,” and my wearing tighty whities was the compromise. Either that or naked, but either way, Uncle Bill had to monitor my physical presence, particularly my spine.
Hanes or Fruit of the Loom briefs were practically uniform at school. Every guy wore them and hated them. But here on the farm, especially when exercising, they felt perfectly natural, a neon sign, maybe, announcing hypermobile idiot exercising. But afterwards, I would remain semi-naked to finish my chores or walk down to the creek to rest in the cool water. Either way, I wore tighty whities and liked them as being honest items of personal intimacy.
After the torture of exercising under Uncle Bill's regime, I decided to head towards the creek, as he released me, saying, "Well done today. Off you go to enjoy your freedom and try to be back by 7pm.
The best part wasn’t just the freedom of wearing next to nothing, it was the way the sun-warmed rocks baked the soles of my feet as I picked my way down to the creek, the damp earth giving slightly under my toes near the water’s edge.
My briefs clung to me, damp with sweat and creek spray, the fabric gone translucent where the water had splashed up. I didn’t care. Out here, there was no one to see, no one to judge, just the crickets and the occasional heron stalking the shallows with the patience of a monk.
I stretched out on a flat rock, the heat of it seeping into my back as I arched into a bridge pose, Uncle Bill’s latest addition to my routine. My hips popped softly, the sound lost under the creek’s murmur. The stretch burned in that good way, the way that meant I was pushing just enough. My fingers brushed the rock behind my head, toes digging into the grit of another stone.
My hypermobility condition meant I could fold myself in half, touch my heels to the back of my skull, and my secret remained a secret, not even shared with Uncle Bill. I smiled to myself, even chuckling, wondering who else could perform autofellatio.
As I held the pose, fingers brushing the back of my head, toes curling against warm stone, I heard the unmistakable crunch of dry twigs underfoot, too rhythmic to be deer, too hesitant to be Uncle Bill.
My pulse jumped in an element of panic, but I didn’t move. The rock was warm beneath my back, the creek’s murmur steady, and some stubborn part of me refused to flinch. Whoever it was would have to deal with the sight of me folded like a… I don’t know…like a pretzel in damp Hanes briefs, besides a creek in the middle of nowhere.
Looking at the intruder, upside down from my position, I saw that he appeared to be my age, picking his way down the slope, dressed like I was, much to my surprise, with one exception, his pair of tighty whities were so worn they’d gone sheer in patches.
I broke my pose, to sit normally on the rock as he moved closer, greeting me with a, "Hey, nice tighty whities. They suit you," lifting a hand in greeting as if we’d planned to meet.
Up close, he was older than me but not by much, maybe a year or two, stunningly attractive with the kind of tan that comes from years outside, not vacations but living and breathing the outside way of life, the life that was new to me.
His hair was sun-bleached at the ends, curling where sweat stuck it to the back of his neck. "Mind if I…?" gesturing vaguely towards the water. “I wasn't expecting anyone to be here. Come here all the time, and I'm always on my own.”
I shrugged. "It’s a free country, but how come I haven't seen you before, because this has become my go-to place. I've just moved here recently, and I'm learning to navigate the area and found I can be alone down here."
He smiled as he sat down on a rock, his feet in the water, enjoying the cold, refreshing moment from the heat of the day. I looked at him again, captivated, really looking this time, finding his stunning attractiveness strangely complemented by his worn-out Fruit of the Loom briefs, exuding a natural masculinity that felt deeply connected to the surroundings, but I also detected something else exuding from this stranger as my gaydar clicked into overdrive.
The sunlight caught the softened, grey-white cotton of his briefs, which had thinned over time to cling more naturally to his frame, emphasising his physique with a "lived-in" ease. The waistband, severely frayed and curling at the edges, sat low on his hips, the briefs ridiculously baggy from wear and stretching over a long time, while loose threads at the leg openings swayed in the breeze, mirroring the rugged textures of the surrounding reeds and weathered stones.
His tattered appearance suggested he was comfortable with himself, creating a striking contrast between his youthful, vibrant energy and the humble, disintegrating fabric of his gear as I spotted numerous holes in the cotton that maintained a level of modesty, hiding a substantial bulge.
"Have to tell you," I said, "those briefs look like they've seen better days. Name's Steve, by the way."
He grinned, stretching his arms behind his head, "They’re survivors," he said, flicking a loose thread with his thumb. "Like me. Name’s Cole by the way, live on a farm up the hill."
"I'm new to the area. Live on my uncle's farm just over there," I said, pointing towards the ridge where the tree line broke into open fields.
"Cool. Bill Harmer's place. We're neighbours, and Da knows him well. I'm a third-generation farmer by the way," plucking at a loose thread near his thigh.
The fabric puckered, revealing a sliver of tanned skin beneath. "Da grows corn, and Mom runs the place, you might say," he declared as he laughed.
"How old are you, Cole?" I asked, shifting on the rock so my damp briefs wouldn't stick to the stone. The sun had moved behind the trees, casting shadows across the water.
"Nineteen last month," stretching his legs out in front of him, his toes skimmed the creek's surface, sending concentric ripples outward. "You?"
"Eighteen," I replied, watching the way Cole's toes rippled the water's surface, his movements hypnotising me, the way his tendons flexed, how the creek parted around his skin as if it knew him personally. "Just finished high school."
Cole leaned back on his elbows. "No shit? Thought you were younger," he replied, his grin widening into a beaming smile. "What were you doing when I arrived. Looked fucking weird to me?"
"Exercising," I said, rubbing the back of my neck where sweat had begun to dry. "I've got hypermobility. Means I can bend like a fucking circus act, but my joints hate me for it. Uncle Bill's got me on this stupid routine and makes me exercise like this, and afterwards, I get to enjoy some freedom... like you, I guess," looking at him, dressed exactly like I was.
Cole tilted his head, his eyes tracing the line of my shoulders like he was assessing construction plans. "Explains the bent over shit," he said, flicking another loose thread from his briefs. The movement made the hole near his hip gape wider, revealing a crescent of sun-darkened skin as he continued. "Thought you were practising some cult shit at first and… don’t take this the wrong way, but I couldn’t ignore the outline of your cock stretching your briefs as you did your backbend. It looked really funny, sticking straight up.”
I chuckled at Cole’s observation, not sure quite how to handle it, as Cole sat, scratching at a bug bite on his thigh through the thin fabric of his briefs. The motion made the hole near the seam stretch wider, revealing a flash of darker skin beneath. "When not seeing guys like you exercising, I work for my Da," Cole continued, rather matter-of-factly, like he'd answered the question a thousand times before.
Cole stood abruptly, sending a small cascade of water droplets from his thighs as he stepped deeper into the creek. The current tugged at his ankles, swirling around his calves in lazy circles.
"Going for a swim?" I asked.
Cole hesitated, fingers hooking into the waistband of his briefs like he was considering peeling them off, then stopped with a short, self-conscious laugh. "Normally I would," he admitted, glancing back at me over his shoulder, the movement made his briefs slip a little further across his ass. "But uh...normally..." as Cole plucked at the sagging cotton near his thigh, where a hole had widened enough to show a crescent of skin
“I take it that you enjoy skinny dipping by that comment?”
“Yep, sure do,” Cole replied. “It’s a natural thing and feels good. Besides, my briefs won’t survive the water.”
"I've never been skinny dipping," I declared. "Never even learnt how to swim."
The admission hung between us, oddly intimate despite the casual delivery. Cole laughed, a bright, unrestrained sound that bounced off the large rocks. "You're kidding me."
"Nope. Never had to learn and... it just never happened."
"If that's the case," Cole started to ask, "why do you come to the creek? It's deep in places, and you might drown."
"Because I like it here and it's shallow and I can just sit in the cold water. It helps with my condition, especially after Uncle Bill’s gruesome exercise regime."
"What gruesome exercise regime is that?" Cole asked
"Oh, sorry, you don't know. I suffer from Hypermobility Spectrum Disorder, or in simple terms, hypermobility."
"Oh," Cole muttered. "What's hyper....whatever?"
"In simple terms, Cole, hypermobility means my joints can move beyond the normal range of motion. You might have heard of it called being double-jointed. Anyway, my uncle has this regime I follow every day as he stretches me to keep my back and spine aligned. Afterwards, I'm sore as fuck, so cold water helps my body recover."
"I get it now," Cole said, "so, I guess you come here just to sit in the cold water?"
"Every day after my exercises, weather permitting. You?"
"When I can. Da thinks I’m checking the fence lines or doing chores..." as he hooked his thumbs into his waistband again, this time with less hesitation. "Steve, you’re not gonna freak out if I ditch these, right? They’re basically just fishing nets at this point."
"Not at all. Go for it," I said. "It's not as if I haven't seen guys before."
Cole peeled off his briefs with the practised ease of someone who’d done this a thousand times before, one thumb hooked into the waistband, the other steadying himself against a moss-slick rock as he stepped free. The creek swallowed the last shreds of fabric instantly, whisking them downstream like it had been waiting years for this exact moment, and there he stood, unabashed, water sluicing off his hips, sunlight catching on the droplets clinging to his thighs.
"Your briefs, they're getting away," I shouted.
I’d expected some shyness, maybe a hunch of his shoulders or a half-turn away. Instead, Cole stretched his arms overhead, arching like a cat, letting the afternoon light paint him gold from collarbone to toe.
"They'll get caught just over there, so I'll get them later, he responded.
"Okay," I said as my heart fluttered at the sight.
Cole was nineteen and built like some gay god’s daydream, lean, corded with muscle from farm work, skin sun-darkened except where his briefs had left pale shadows. But it was his cock that stole my breath, thick and heavy between his legs, already half-hard from the cool water or the thrill of exposure or both.
It wasn’t just the size, though that was impressive, it was the length and the way it looked with a slight curve to the left and circumcised, his pubic hair missing. "Fuck he shaves himself," I muttered to myself when he shifted his weight.
"Jesus," I muttered, and before I could stop myself, I commented. "Cole, you look fucking amazing," regretting my words instantly.
Cole's laughter cut through the quiet of the creek like a knife through honey, thick, sudden, and sweet. "Damn, Steve," he said, shaking his head so droplets flew from his sun-bleached hair. "That was maybe the gayest thing anyone's ever said to me."
He didn't sound offended, thank god. If anything, he sounded delighted, like I'd handed him a gift he hadn't realised he wanted, as the water lapped against his waist as he took a step closer, his cock swaying slightly.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It just… came out all wrong," my comment hanging between us, simpler than the humidity but twice as heavy.
Cole surprised me. "Thanks for the compliment," as he stood in the water, oblivious to his nudity. "It's nice when someone says what they think. I think you look… cool, by the way."
I must have gone a dark shade of red because I could feel myself blush as I continued to stare at him.
Cole waded deeper into the creek until the water hit his waist, then turned to face me, his cock bobbing just beneath the surface. "You gonna join me or just keep staring?" he asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk that was equal parts teasing and inviting.
I swallowed hard, my damp briefs suddenly feeling like a prison. "I told you, I don’t know how to swim," I said.
Cole’s smirk softened into something warmer, the kind of expression you reserve for kittens and first-time swimmers. "Come in," he said, extending a hand toward me like we were sealing a pact. "I’ll look after you. You can even keep your tighty whities on if you’d prefer."
The way he said it, casual, unhurried, made it sound like stripping down was just another option on the menu, nothing more loaded than choosing between fries or salad.
I hesitated, my fingers drumming against my thighs. The rock beneath me radiated heat, but the water looked cool and inviting where it curled around Cole’s waist. "You’re serious?" I asked, though the answer was obvious from the way he stood there, patient as the herons stalking the shallows. "It's deep there."
Cole laughed, "Tell you what," he said, stretching his arms wide like he was measuring the distance between us, "wade in up to where I am. It's only waist deep..." as he patted the surface with a flat palm, sending ripples toward me, "and I'll hold you. Promise."
The promise hung between us, weighted with something more than reassurance. I could see the challenge in his eyes, the dare to step out of my safe zone, into his. My fingers twitched nervously at the hem of my briefs, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly to my hips, thank god.
Keeping my briefs on, I waded in, the creek's chill climbing my thighs like cold fingers. The water was deeper than I expected, each step sending silt clouds swirling around my ankles. Cole watched, arms crossed over his chest, his smirk softening when I gasped as the current tugged at my body.
"See?" as he caught my wrist when I wobbled on a large stone, his palm calloused from farm work, warm despite the water. "Not drowning yet."
A rock shifted under my foot, and I pitched forward, only for Cole’s hands to lock onto my hips, fingers clamping into the damp cotton of my briefs. His grip was gloriously firm, grounding and secure, his thumbs pressed into the divots of my pelvis like he was mapping the terrain of my body while keeping me safe.
He didn’t let go even after I’d steadied myself, his breath warm against the shell of my ear as he murmured, "I’m gay and... I think you are, too. If I’m correct, that'll make two of us in the county."
Cole’s words hit me like a stone dropped into still water. Not a splash, just a slow, inevitable sinking feeling as my pulse thrummed in my throat, half from the near-fall, half from the way his chest pressed against my shoulder blades, solid as anything.
I should have pushed his hands away, but I didn’t, enjoying the warmth of his fingers where they toyed with the hem of my briefs, teasing the elastic as if testing its give. The water lapped at my waist, and Cole’s breath was steady against my neck, his chest solid against my back as his thumbs traced idle circles just above my hip bones, a touch so casual it felt practised, like he’d done this before with other boys in other creeks.
"Say something," he murmured, his voice low enough that the crickets nearly drowned it out.
I swallowed, my throat tight. "I don’t know what to say."
"Am I right?" Cole asked.
Only Uncle Bill knew the truth.
The thought hit me cold, sudden and impossible to ignore. Uncle Bill would wink during Sunday sermons when Pastor Johnson thundered about Sodom, whispering, "Bet that man’s never even seen a grapefruit."
I still didn’t understand the grapefruit bit, but Uncle Bill had left me library books with dog-eared pages about Whitman’s "adhesiveness" and Cavafy’s Alexandria, stacked between tractor manuals like they were just another part of my education.
But now, Cole’s hands on my hips were poetry. Yes, they were calluses and cool, his breath sharp with wild mint from chewing the stems. More real in a way words could never be, as he held me, asking if I was gay.
Cole's right hand moved towards my navel, fingers tracing the shallow dip of my belly button with a touch so light it made my stomach muscles flutter. His breath hitched when I didn't pull away, a small, vulnerable sound that didn't match his usual confidence. "I've never done this before," he whispered, as his lips grazed the curve of my ear in the most sensual soft kiss of my life to date. "I'm as scared as you are, Steve."
His admission made my heart flutter. His fingertips trembled against my skin, betraying the steadiness of his voice. I turned in the water, the current pulling at our legs, and faced him properly for the first time.
I looked at him, up close. His eyelashes were bleached gold at the tips, his pupils dilated despite the bright sun. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple, disappearing into the hollow behind his ear. He was beautiful.
I'd forgotten he was naked when suddenly his hand was flat against my chest while his other hand stroked the waistline of my briefs. "You're shaking," he observed as his erection rubbed against my groin.
The moment Cole's erection brushed against me, my knees buckled like a spooked colt's. I stumbled backwards, one misstep on slick creek stone and landed ass-first in the shallows with a splash that sent water arcing over Cole's chest. He didn't move to help me up, just stood there letting the current swirl around his thighs while I sat dumbstruck, eye-level with his cock bobbing inches from my face.
“Well, Steve, are you gay?”
"You shave yourself?" I blurted, my voice cracking like I was thirteen again.
Cole grinned, looking at me, flicking water from his wrist with a casual twist. "Observant, aren’t you. Don't you shave? And, come on, I reckon you’re gay because you…I think you really like me."
Cole’s question hung between us like the dragonflies hovering over the water’s surface, impossible to ignore, impossible to catch. The water lapped at my thighs where I sat half-submerged, my briefs now transparent and clinging indecently.
His cock swayed slightly with the current, so close I could see the bead of moisture at the tip.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry despite the creek. "Yeah," I admitted, my voice barely above the crickets’ drone. "Started shaving when I moved in with Uncle Bill. He walked in on me when I was having a shower and declared, "Christ, that bush is way overgrown. I thought he was talking about a plant outside."
Cole threw his head back and laughed, the sound ricocheting off the rocks. "That's funny," wiping his eyes. "So, what happened?"
The absurdity hit me like a sun-warmed rock to the chest, Cole standing there naked in the creek, water dripping off his hips, while I sat in the shallows with my briefs suctioned to my skin, discussing pubic hair like we were debating crop rotation.
"Uncle Bill said it was a hygiene and a physical activity benefit," I admitted, picking at a loose thread on my waistband. "And... he said, I'd find it more enjoyable when sucking myself off."
“What the fuck,” Cole declared.
It was obvious that Cole hadn't expected that comment. His laughter cut off mid-breath like someone had flipped a switch, leaving only the creek's murmur between us. For the first time since stripping down, he looked uncertain, his cock twitched against his thigh as his fingers flexed at his sides.
"What?...You?..." he started, then stopped, shaking his head like he'd misheard or misunderstood as water droplets flew from his hair, catching the sunlight in brief sparks before disappearing into the current. "You can do that?"
The rock beneath me was smooth under my hands as I pushed myself up to sit, water sluicing off my briefs and body. Cole's gaze tracked the movement with an intensity that made my skin prickle, not with discomfort, but with something hotter, sharper. His eyes kept darting between my face and my hips like he was trying to reconcile Uncle Bill's words with the shape of me standing there.
"I’ve been doing it since I started getting…you know what at thirteen," I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck where the sun had baked my skin pink. "The benefits of hypermobility, I guess."
I laughed, but it came out shaky, my voice cracking like the dry creek beds we'd find in August. The confession hung between us, heavier than the humidity. "I thought everyone could do it."
Cole blinked, his lips parting slightly. His gaze dropped to my hips, then snapped back up to my face like he'd been caught counting money in a wallet. "Jesus," he breathed, running a hand through his damp hair. "That's..." he stopped, shook his head. "Fuck. That's awesome."
The way he said it, like I'd just revealed I could speak fluent Mandarin or bench press a thousand kilos, made me blush as I shrugged, "It's not that big a deal," I muttered.
Cole's laugh burst out sharp and sudden, like a startled heron taking flight. "Fuck off, Steve, that's fucking awesome," as he splashed me with a flick of his hand.
He sat down in the water with me, his cock responding in a manner that made me blush. "Do you do it...all the way?" he asked, his words tumbling out in a rush, his voice cracking on the last syllable. "Fuck, I can't believe it."
I could see he’d forgotten the, am I gay, question, as I watched his pulse thumping against his throat. His fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach out and test the truth of it himself as a leaf drifted between us, caught in an eddy, spinning lazily as the current carried it downstream.
"Yeah," I admitted, watching his reaction. "All the way. Took some practice, though, but yeah, swallowing it all is half the fun."
Cole's throat worked as he swallowed. "Steve," he said, his voice rough as creek-bed gravel. "Don't take this the wrong way, but...you've got to show me. This is just too much to ignore. A live demonstration, that’s what's required."
The words landed between us like a firecracker going off. My pulse jumped so hard I felt it in my neck as I absorbed what Cole was suggesting.
"I... what?"
The creek suddenly felt like it had dropped twenty degrees. Cole's words hung between us, his pupils blown wide with something between disbelief and hunger. His cock twitched against his thigh, already half-hard again despite the cool water swirling around his hips.
"I..." my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. "Here?"
Cole raked both hands through his hair, sending droplets flying. "Jesus, yeah, here," he rasped. "I guess that's why you come down here."
Cole then immediately shook his head. "Shit, no, ...I mean...Oh fuck," as he exhaled sharply through his nose. "Only if you want to. Obviously."
The creek's murmur filled the silence between us like rising floodwater. Cole's fingers twitched at his sides, not nervous, but electric, like he was holding himself back from reaching out and testing my flexibility firsthand. I could see the pulse hammering in his throat, the way his cock thickened against his thigh despite the cool water swirling around us.
"Promise not to tell anyone I’m gay and promise not to tell anyone about this…" I demanded.
Cole smiled and then leaned forward and kissed me gently on my lips while whispering, “I promise on all counts.”
I smiled, licking my lips where his lips had touched mine. "I like to do it over there," pointing to the smooth rock, now holding Cole's attention.
Cole’s laugh punched through the air, sharp as a crow’s caw. “Can I jerk off or will that be too weird?” he asked, dragging a wet hand across his mouth like he was wiping away spit or hunger, as his other hand drifted to his cock, stroking idly as he watched me wade toward the flat rock.
“You just enjoy the show, Cole,” hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my soaked briefs as my heart kicked against my ribs, excited, aroused and very…beating in anticipation.
The rock was warm under my knees, sun-baked and gritty. I hesitated, fingers curled into the waistband of my briefs, suddenly hyperaware of Cole’s stare like a physical weight between my shoulder blades as he sat cross-legged, watching my every move, his cock demanding attention.
My briefs slid down my legs with a wet sound, clinging stubbornly to my thighs before finally letting go. Cole’s breath was audible when they hit the rock, a sharp, involuntary intake that made my skin prickle. The sun felt different on bare skin here, hotter where it touched the dip of my lower back, the curve of my ass, places fabric usually shielded.
Cole didn’t say anything. Just sat there cross-legged on his rock, forearms resting on his knees, fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and test the give of my skin. His cock lay heavy against his thigh, flushed darker than the rest of him, twitching when I knelt and arched experimentally.
The rock beneath my knees was smoother than I remembered, worn down by centuries of water and wind. I pressed my hands against its sun-warmed surface, the grit catching in the creases of my skin as I bent forward, slowly, deliberately, letting Cole see every inch of flexibility my hypermobility provided. My spine curved like a bowstring, each vertebra clicking softly into place until my breath ghosted over my own thighs.
“Fucking hell,” Cole muttered.
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His fingers dug into his knees hard enough to whiten his knuckles, his cock now fully erect against his stomach, glistening where a bead of pre-cum had welled up at the tip.
I licked my lips, partly from nerves, partly for show and watched his throat swallow excess saliva as I exhaled against myself, warm air meeting damp skin. "Still sure you want this?" I murmured, my voice lower than I’d ever heard it.
Cole’s answer was a ragged, "Jesus Christ," followed by him biting his own fist when I finally closed the gap, my tongue dragging a slow stripe up the length of myself. The taste was familiar, but the audience made it electric.
Cole's breath stuttered when my lips finally met skin, his hips jerking forward like he could somehow feel it through the inches of water separating us. The first touch was always the strangest, warm and slick, the stretch of my own muscles protesting before settling into the familiar strain. My tongue traced the topside of my cockhead, tasting salt and sun-warmed skin, before taking the tip fully into my mouth with a soft, deliberate suck that made Cole groan louder than I did.
"Fuck," he hissed, his hand flying to his own erection, gripping himself. "You're really"
The words dissolved into a shudder when I arched deeper, my nose brushing my lower abdomen as I swallowed down another inch.
Water dripped from Cole's hair onto his shoulders as he leaned forward, his free hand braced against the rock between us. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide enough to eclipse the summer-blue irises. I could see every twitch of his fingers around his cock, the way his thighs trembled when I moaned around myself, a sound that vibrated through my ribs and into the hollow of Cole's parted lips.
"Does it feel good?" he rasped, his voice shredded.
The moment stretched, Cole's breath heavy, almost panting, and I bent double with my lips sealed around myself. I'd never had an audience before, never felt the electric jolt of someone else's gaze tracking every twitch of my tongue, making my skin prickle hotter than the sun on my shoulders.
Cole exhaled sharply through his nose when I swallowed around my cockhead, his hips jerking forward like he could feel it. "Jesus," he choked out, his free hand skittering across the rock toward me like he wanted to touch but didn't dare. "Doesn't that…"
His words dissolved into a groan as I arched deeper, my nose pressing into my lower belly while I took myself down to the root.
I pulled off with a wet pop, grinning at the way Cole's entire body shuddered. "Doesn't it what?" I teased, dragging my tongue along the underside just to watch his fingers tighten around his shaft.
"Fuck," Cole gasped, his cock leaking onto his stomach. "Doesn't it hurt?"
The rock's warmth seeped into my knees as I arched deeper, the stretch sending familiar sparks down my spine. Cole's gaze burned hotter than the afternoon sun. I could feel it tracing the curve of my back, the way my shoulder blades jutted as I bent further than most guys could dream. My breath hitched when his fingers dug into his own thighs, his cock jerking as I swirled my tongue around the tip of myself with theatrical slowness.
"Christ," Cole choked out, his voice strangled. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as I took myself deeper, my lips stretching around my girth. His hand flew to his mouth when my nose finally brushed my balls, his other hand frantically stroking himself. The raw hunger in his expression sent a jolt through me. This wasn't just curiosity anymore. "Fuck, fuck, you're really…"
I pulled off with an obscene pop, grinning at the way his hips stuttered forward. "Told you I could," I gasped, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Cole's nostrils flared at the movement, his gaze darting between my spit-slick cock and my face like he couldn't decide which fascinated him more.
Cole made a sound like a wounded animal when I closed my mouth around myself again, half groan, half prayer, his hips bucking forward uselessly against empty air. The rock beneath my knees had gone from warm to scorching, or maybe that was just the blood roaring in my ears as I arched deeper, my throat opening around my own cock in a way that still surprised me sometimes.
Cole's breathing hitched audibly when I swallowed around myself, his fingers twitching toward me like he wanted to touch but didn't dare. "Fuck," he gasped, his cock leaking onto his stomach in thick, glistening strands. "You're gonna…"
The rest dissolved into a moan as I took myself fully again, my nose pressing into the sweat-damp hollow of my lower belly. The stretch burned sweetly, the pressure building low in my gut with each deliberate suck. Cole's hand flew to his mouth when my throat fluttered around my cockhead, his eyes blown so wide I could see the summer sky reflected in them.
I could feel it coming, that familiar tightening, the coil in my abdomen winding tighter with each pass of my tongue. My breath stuttered when Cole leaned forward, close enough that I could see the individual droplets of creek water clinging to his collarbones. "You're close," he rasped, his voice wrecked. "I can tell...your thighs are shaking."
He wasn't wrong. The first spurt hit the back of my throat unexpectedly, salty and thick, and I groaned around myself louder than intended. Cole made a punched-out sound, his hand flying to his cock as he watched me swallow my cum. More followed in pulsing waves, flooding my mouth faster than I could swallow, overflowing to dribble down my chin onto my sun-warmed chest.
Cole's hand moved furiously along his shaft, seeking his own release, unable to deny his pending climax, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he watched me swallow the last of my own release. A strangled noise tore from his throat, something between a sob and a laugh, as his hips jerked forward and cum striped his stomach in thick, pearly ropes as his body climaxed.
For a long moment, the only sounds were our panting breaths and the creek's murmur. Then Cole wiped his forearm across his mouth and took a hard breath, like he'd been holding it the whole time. "Jesus," he muttered, staring at the mess on his belly with a dazed expression. "That was...sick, man, sick."
I arched backwards with a full-body stretch, my spine popping like a string of firecrackers as everything slid back into place. The creek air felt cooler against my spit-slick skin now, the sun dipping lower behind the trees. "There you go, Cole," I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my wrist. "That's how you do it."
Cole hadn't moved. Still cross-legged on his rock, forearms resting on his knees, his softening cock still dribbling with oozing cum. His mouth hung slightly open like he'd forgotten how to lose it. The crickets had started up again, their drone filling the silence between us, but Cole seemed deaf to everything but the memory replaying behind his eyes.
"That was..." he began, then stopped, shaking his head like he couldn't find the right word in any language he knew. His fingers twitched against his thighs, tracing the ghost of what he'd just witnessed. "Fucking awesome."
Cole unfolded his legs, his knees popping softly as he shifted across the rock toward me, leaning against my hip as I lay sprawled on the warm stone, my breath still uneven, when his fingertips brushed my stomach, lighter than the dragonflies skimming the creek’s surface, but twice as electric.
"Steve," he murmured, "you’ve got a great fucking body, and by the way...a very nice cock," as his hand slid up my inner thigh, his calluses catching on my damp skin until his fingers curled around my softening cock with a possessiveness that made my stomach flip. His touch wasn’t clinical, wasn’t casual, it was almost worshipful, his thumb sweeping over the sensitive head in slow circles that had me biting my lip.
When his hand traced up my stomach, I half expected shyness, hesitation. Instead, Cole mapped my ribs like he was memorising them, his fingertips pausing at each dip and rise before finding my left nipple. He pinched it gently, rolling the bud between thumb and forefinger while watching my face with hawk-like intensity. "Sensitive?" he asked, though the hitch in my breath had already answered him.
I just nodded, yes, as I looked at him. “By the way, Cole, I’m gay. Thought I would answer your question just in case there’s a misunderstanding.”
Cole's laughter was sudden and bright, cracking through the humid air like a branch underfoot as he answered, “Sort of figured that by now.”
His fingers stilled on my ribs, playing with the dribbled cum I'd been unable to swallow, his whole body shaking, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at me sprawled across the sun-warmed rock.
"Fuck," he wheezed, wiping his nose with the back of his wrist, "I thought I was the only gay guy in this whole damn county...then I bump into you and we..." his gesture encompassing the smooth rock, our spent bodies, and the creek swirling around us.
"You promise you've never done this before?" I asked, tracing the raised scar along his collarbone, a pale crescent against his tan. "With someone else, I mean."
Cole's fingers stilled against my ribs. "Nope," he admitted, the word barely more than a whisper against the creek's murmur. His thumb brushed my hipbone in slow circles, each pass lingering longer than the last. "I'm very much a... virgin, I guess, like you."
The shared and assumed confession hung between us, fragile as the dragonflies skimming the water's surface. "What do we do now, Cole?"
His hand slid back to my cock, fingertips tracing my shaved groin with a reverence that made my stomach flip. The touch was hesitant but hungry, like a starving man afraid his first real meal might vanish if he ate too fast. I arched into his hand, watching his pupils dilate when my hips jerked against his fingers. “Is this okay, Steve?”
"You're touching me is perfect," I murmured, guiding his wrist with mine until his grip firmed around my shaft, enjoying someone else’s touch for the first time. “Well, what next?”
Cole's fingers stilled against my skin when the words left my lips, not hesitant, just surprised, like he'd expected anything but that as his hand lingered on my hip, thumb tracing the same patch of skin in slow circles while his other hand rubbed absently at his own thigh. "Fancy,... being my friend?" he asked.
His fingers tightened briefly on my hipbone. "You mean... like this?" I gestured, encompassing our naked bodies in a grand fluid movement.
He nodded, watching a droplet of sweat trail down my chest. "Learning together," he clarified. "No pressure. Just... seeing what we like."
“Cole, I don’t want to be just friends; I want us to be boyfriends.”
Cole breathed sharply through his nose, his gaze dropping to where his fingers still rested against my skin. For a heartbeat, I thought he'd say no, then his grin widened, brighter than the sunlight fracturing on the creek's surface, drawing from me a, "Fuck yes," he breathed, like he'd been holding it in all summer.
His hand slid up my side, calluses catching on my damp skin again. "Can we...?" his voice cracking, his fingers flexing against my ribs. "Can we try something right now?"
The crickets had shifted their song to that late afternoon thrum when I finally noticed the shadows stretching long across the water. Cole's fingers still traced idle patterns on my stomach, his touch lazy as a sun-drunk bee, when I caught sight of the sun dipping behind the pines. "Shit," I murmured, propping myself up on my elbows. "I promised Uncle Bill I'd be back for dinner."
Cole's hand stilled, his fingers flexing against my skin like he wanted to memorise the shape of me before letting go. "Now?" he asked, voice rough with something more than creek water. His thumb brushed my hipbone, a question, a promise.
"Yeah," I admitted, watching a leaf swirl in the eddy by our feet. "But..."
The word hung between us, buoyant as the foam clinging to the rocks. I reached for Cole's wrist, turning his palm up to press my lips against his calluses, a kiss that tasted of creek water and sweat and something...."Same time tomorrow? Same place?"
His laugh burst out suddenly and brightly, scattering the dragonflies hovering near our knees. "You kidding?" he said, squeezing my fingers hard enough to ache. "I'll be here at dawn if you want."
The water sluiced off our bodies as we washed away the evidence of our activities, the late sun painting Cole’s shoulders gold where droplets clung to his skin. I tugged my briefs back on, damp and clinging absurdly, while Cole crouched, fingers skimming the creek’s surface like he was hunting for minnows instead of cotton. "Fuck," he muttered, peering under a half-submerged log. "They must’ve washed all the way to the county line by now."
I snorted a laugh as water dripped from my waistband. "So what’re you gonna do?"
The thought of him walking back through the fields naked sent an illicit thrill up my spine. "Your parents’ll see you."
Cole straightened, unconcerned, his cock still glistening where the water hadn’t dried. "That’s fine," he shrugged, scratching idly at his hip. "They’re used to it. I lose tighty whities swimming like some guys lose socks in the wash."
He grinned when my eyebrows shot up. "What? You still run around naked at your age?"
"Yep, Da and me are often naked around the farm and house. Mom sort of likes it, and my Da still pisses off the porch sometimes as she watches. As I told you, it was Mom that told me to shave...like Da."
"You're fucking kidding me? Your mom shaves your...?"
"Nope, no bullshit," Cole declared. "Told me to lose the pubes, at...fifteen. I know it sounds a bit weird, but she had me stand on the kitchen table while she shaved me for the first time, and she's been shaving me ever since."
"Does your uncle shave you, Steve?"
"Told you, Uncle Bill suggested it, but he left me to decide. The first time, he showed me, but now, I just do it myself. What happens if you get a stiffy?"
Cole's grin widened, his thumb rubbing absently at a droplet of water still clinging to his hipbone. "Oh, mom's cool about it, says all mothers shave their boys," he said, fingers drifting lower to illustrate his point. "First time, she saw me stiff, she just laughed and said, well, at least I know everything works."
His fingers traced the shaved skin where thigh met groin, the motion casual as if discussing weather patterns. "Now she'll just...just push it to one side if she can't see. Says it's natural and with my length I should feel proud."
I choked on my own spit, the image of Cole's mother calmly pushing her son's erection to one side. "Jesus," I wheezed, wiping my mouth. "And your dad just...?"
"Sits there reading the paper," Cole shrugged, scratching at a mosquito bite on his shoulder. "Sometimes he'll crack some dumb joke like, better hurry before it goes down and we lose our window."
Smiling, he continued. "Mom says it's good practice for when I get a girlfriend, learning to stay still under pressure," she calls it. "She'll be in for shock when she works it out....especially since I've found you."
I watched Cole depart, his soft cock swinging left and right with each stride through the shallows, water cascading off his thighs that caught the dying light. His ass, tight and sun-kissed, with a farmer's tan line cutting sharply across his cheeks, clenched rhythmically as he navigated the slippery rocks. Just before disappearing into the cattails, he turned abruptly, catching me staring, and flashed that lopsided grin as he waved two fingers. Then he was gone, leaving only the impression of his bare footprints in the mud.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
