A happy ending, that is also a new beginning
It was 7:30 am on Wednesday morning, my alarm clock very rudely informed me. I was conditioned by years of training to respond to its rudeness by getting up, taking care of my morning ablutions, getting dressed, making myself breakfast, and heading out on my 14-minute walk to school (I decided to actually time it, for once, given that I had done the same for the walks between my apartment and Eric’s house, and between Eric’s house and the high school.)
While walking, it dawned on me that Eric and I had not made specific plans for the day, for after school got out: Unlike Monday and Tuesday, my mother would not be home until at least 6:45 pm—possibly later, if she decided to go to the store (typically, for groceries.) Eric had suggested on Monday that we might switch back to anal sex, once my mother’s “weekend” (Monday..Tuesday) was over, so that we could do that at my apartment, in order to avoid using Eric’s mom’s enema bottle. But we hadn’t actually made explicit plans to do that, for today.
So, should I just head home after school? Or should I go to Eric’s house again?
Long story short, Eric mooted that issue by walking right past me, while I was eating lunch in the cafeteria, and surreptitiously handing me a note, and then walking out of the cafeteria. I didn’t immediately try to read the note, but quickly—and, I hoped, nonchalantly—squirreled it away in the binder I always carried with me at school, that I used to take notes, and keep any documents I needed for my academic life. I just hoped that no one had noticed.
After having left the cafeteria, I went to my next class (Civics, where I would be turning in my mini-essay on “due process.”) I arrived about 10 minutes early, so no other students were there in the classroom yet—presumably, they were still all on break—and only then did I retrieve Eric’s note. In it, he informed me that we should head to my apartment after school. And that was all the note said.
Yes! Hopefully, that meant that we would switch back to anal sex, at least for today.
So, when school got out, I just headed home, as I normally would have done, in those ancient days before I had ever met Eric—just 5 days ago. It really did seem like it had been longer ago than that, but then, it also seemed like it had been only yesterday.
On the walk home, I wondered whether Eric might get lost, since the route to my house from the high school was not the same as the one from his house. I needn’t have worried: He knocked on the door just a few minutes after I had arrived home, myself.
We grinned at each other, and I stepped aside so that he could enter, and then closed the door. Looking at the clock, I saw that it was about a minute shy of 3:30 pm.
“Smart move, with that note,” I said.
“We have to start remembering to make plans for the next day,” he replied. “By the way”, he continued, “I didn’t want to risk getting my parents upset by having you over after school every day. Not sure whether that might be a problem, but better safe than sorry.”
“Wise”, was all I said.
“What about your mother? Will she be bothered if I stay for dinner a few times per week?”, he asked.
“I don’t think so”, I replied. “Especially not if your parents do the same for me, a few times per week, as well.”
“Well, in that case, I guess that means that we both can look forward to a greater variety of cooking styles”, he mused, smiling infectiously.
“Good point. I wouldn’t complain: Your mother’s a very good cook”, I answered.
“Yours is too, if last Saturday is any indication”, he noted. Then he continued, “I also wanted to give your jaw a break, and give you what I know you’ve been wanting since Sunday”, he said with a big grin.
“Awe, shucks. You were thinking of me. That’s so sweet of you”, I replied, matching his grin.
Then he stepped forward, embraced me in a big hug, kissed me, and said, “I can’t wait until we can get our own place, so we can spend the night together.”
Not having thought ahead that far yet, it took me a bit to process that. Having someone “to have and to hold,” and in whose arms I could enjoy feeling wanted, valued, possessed, was just as important to me as sex—at least.
“You really are serious about this relationship, aren’t you?”, I finally responded.
“More than you know”, he replied. I was definitely feeling some kind of way. I hugged him tighter, and took the initiative to get more kissing underway. Was I actually falling in love?
“Let’s get started, Babe”, he said finally, after breaking away from the seemingly never-ending kiss we had been engaged in.
“I second that emotion”, I replied—consciously stealing that line from one of the songs by Smokey Robinson And The Miracles that I had really grooved to, back before I had even started high school. He laughed, and said, “I know that song.”
Taking his hand, I led him to the bathroom, so that we could take care of the hygienic necessities: An enema for me, followed by a shower for the both of us.
After reaching my bedroom—both of us totally nude—he asked, “Are you ready to take this to the next level?”
“Uhmm…what do you mean?”, I asked.
“Well, I COULD fuck you with your back against a wall, holding your legs up, using my dick and pelvis to help support you, so that you won’t fall”, he suggested, shrugging nonchalantly.
That gave me a mental image..one which got me sexually excited, and aroused. Boing!
“That sounds HOT!”, I enthused. “But..can you really do that?”, I inquired.
“I’ve done it before. Many times. It’s my favorite position”, he said, with a mischievous grin. I noticed that he, too, was getting hard.
However, there was still a very serious question that had been left unanswered: What wall would we use? Looking around, I quickly concluded that there really weren’t any walls in my bedroom with a free space that would be large enough. He apparently reached the same conclusion, just after I did, and gave me worried/perplexed look.
“We could use the front door”, I said.
“Huh…We really need to get you your own enema bag, and keep it in my room. There’s plenty of free wall space there”, he said, thoughtfully.
“What do those cost?”, I asked. I had very little money.
“Don’t worry about it. My allowance will cover it, no problem”, he stated. He intuitively understood my funding situation. “But, what if your mother comes home unexpectedly?”, he asked.
“Hmmmm…We’d hear her coming up the stairs. So…we should both put our shirts and undershirts back on. That way, it will take less time to get dressed, if the unexpected happens: We’d have to run into my room, close the door, and get our pants on. She won’t immediately barge in to my room. I don’t think she’s ever done anything like that, before”, I replied.
“OK. You’re the expert”, he smirked.
I gave him a look, for daring to use my own words to him, from a few days ago, against me. But I was actually amused.
“You’re forgetting something”, he said. I was about to ask, “What?” But instead, the answer occurred to me: Lubricant. So instead, I said, “Oh. You need to get me lubed up first”, I stated. You can see how eager I was to get the show on the road.
So then, I went to the kitchen to get my mother’s can of Crisco, came back to the bedroom, and handed the can to him.
“And we also need a towel..for the pre-fuck the warm up”, he added.
So I went to the towel closet in the hallway, got a clean towel, and returned with it, and placed the towel on the bed, so as to protect the bedding from what we were about to do.
“Lie down on your back on the bed”, he instructed. After I had done so, he knelt down on his knees on the floor at the foot of the bed, between my legs, and initiated his standard pre-fuck warm up procedure: First, sucking on my dick, and then tossing my salad [I don’t believe either one of us knew that slang term for eating/sucking ass back then, but I’ll relax my “no anachronisms” policy for this one chapter.] After having done that for a while, he applied some Crisco to his fingers, lubed up my asshole, and began to finger-fuck me. He also begam to suck on my dick at the same time.
Just like he had done last Sunday, he paid attention to my level of sexual excitement, and backed off if he thought that I was getting too close to orgasm. I never had to tell him that I was about to come. Eventually, he was fucking me with all four fingers. A little later, he stopped, and said, “I think you’re ready.”
So he cleaned up his hands using a tissue; we both put our shirts and undershirts back on, exited my bedroom into the hall, and then into the living room. I then walked up to the front door, turned around, and then backed up against the door. I was still too eager to get started.
He walked up to me, carrying the can of Crisco, and started applying it liberally to his dick—which was soon fully hard. Then he said, “OK, now put your arms around my neck, and then sort of jump onto me, wrapping your legs around my body in order to support yourself”, he instructed. I hadn’t done anything like that since I was at least 6 or 7 years old, but I managed to do it—the fact he was relatively strong helped, too. Once I had my legs wrapped around his torso, he put his hands underneath my legs, right below the knees, to provide additional support and positioning control. Then, he maneuvered the head of his dick to my asshole, and began to force it into my poop chute.
It hurt, at first. A lot. But not as much as it had the first time, last Sunday. And, as he entered me ever more deeply, the pain went away more quickly than it had on Sunday. After about 2 to 3 minutes, he was balls deep inside me.
Then, he pushed me back into the door, so that I would be supported between the door and his body, and also by his dick and pelvis, and began to power fuck my ass. He made sure to pound my prostate mercilessly.
Oh. My. God! I almost told him to stop: The experience—both the pleasure and the pain, and especially both together—were just too much, too intense. But instead, I just moaned and groaned, while the pain continued to go find a nice place to hide, and the pleasure continued to come out to play. He just kept power fucking my ass, coming about 5 or 6 times before he was done, as I recall. I came 3 times, I think.
Once it was over, I knew that I would never be the same: From now on, my ass was not ‘my ass,’ it was his pussy.
I checked the time: A few minutes after 6:10 pm. I told him my mother might be home in another 20 to 40 minutes. He nodded in acknowledgement, and we both headed for the bathroom to get cleaned up.
Once we had showered and gotten dressed, I suggested that we go hang out in the rec center, and play some pool while we waited for dinner to be ready. Before leaving the apartment, I wrote a note to my mother, informing her that Eric would be staying for dinner. Writing that note made me realize that we needed to formalize an arrangement with my mother, and with Eric’s parents, regarding our reciprocity plan for feeding dinner to two 18-year old boys. A one-off meal, or occasional ones, for guests was one thing. A habitual arrangement was quite another.
The regulars at the pool table in the rec center were glad to see Eric again: They’d first met him over the previous weekend.
It was irrational, but I felt like everyone could tell what Eric and I had been up to earlier; sort of a guilty conscience effect for having engaged in taboo behavior. Sorry, not sorry, bitches.
We left to go back to my apartment just after 7:30 pm. My mother was glad to see me. But she also teased me about having become a stranger over the past few days. I blushed. On the other hand, she was very welcoming to Eric, and made him feel at home.
I told my mother about Eric’s exercise equipment, that he had gotten for his birthday a few weeks ago. Her first question (to Eric) was, “So how old are you now, honey?” “I’m eighteen”, he replied. But before she could go off an a tangent, I explained to her that Eric had graciously offered to let me use his exercise equipment to improve my physical fitness, and that Eric—and his father, Liam—had agreed to coach me in the furtherance of that goal. Yeah, I now, Liam hadn’t spelled out any such promise, but I felt it was fully implied by what he had said.
My mother gave me a look, and then asked, “So..how often will you be going over to Eric’s to do this?”
“We haven’t planned that far ahead, yet”, I answered. So I turned to Eric, and asks, “What do you think?”
“Every other day, give or take, would a good schedule,” he replied. “But also, John here will be helping me with my homework—which I very, very greatly appreciate; that will require either that he be at my place, or that I be here, several days a week, as well.” You might think that Eric and I had scripted this conversation. But we hadn’t: It was fully extemporaneous.
Rose (my mother) looked at both of us thoughtfully. “I see”, was all she said.
But we had set things up perfectly for the next stage of the negotiation: “It would seem that that means that Eric’s mother will be feeding me dinner a few times per week. As long you do the same for Eric, I think it will all work out,” I told her.
“I think we can work something out”, she said. But I’ll need to talk with Eric’s mother directly about it”, she replied. “What was her name, again? Beth, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s my mom’s name”, replied Eric.
Cool, I thought. Getting my mother’s buy in had been my main concern. Given the academic tutoring I was providing to Eric, I wasn’t too concerned about getting buy in from his parents. Had these events happened 25 or more years later, I might have thought “Mischief managed” to myself.
“Do you need to call your parents, Eric?”, mother asked.
Eric and I both looked at the clock; we saw that it just after 8pm. Eric replied, “Yeah, I probably should.” So my mother pointed out the phone for him, and he called his parents. Of course, I could only hear one side of the conversation, but my heart skipped a beat when I heard Eric ask, “Do you think it would be OK if I stayed here with John overnight?”
After that, he turned to my mother, and said, “My mother wants to talk to you,” and handed her the phone.
Based on what my mother was saying, they first discussed how my mother felt about the idea, but then the topic changed to what the sleeping arrangements would be. My mother had that handled: Eric could sleep on one of the couches in the living room, or could sleep in a sleeping bag in my room—his choice.
And that’s how history was made: The parental units had blessed us with their approval. Eric and I were both smiling hugely. He and I slept in the sleeping bag that night, on the floor in my room, in each others’ arms….with my bedroom door locked. It was purely Platonic. It was!
Why are you looking at me like that?
When we woke up the next morning—thank you, Mr. alarm clock—I knew for an absolute fact that I was in love.
[The story will be continued under a new title: I Submit]
