Stick Shift: Fivespeed
Admonishing silence, Cal held his big hand over my mouth as his bent elbow kept my knee raised and trapped. Impaled on my man's 10 inch piece, flat on my back, both legs up and spread. Toes curled. His other hand sexily prodded my assring at the point of that big dick's entry.
His favorite way of getting off, he had told me. Locking to my eyes, feeling his dick slide in-and-out of my ready hole with his own fingers, climbing that ladder to eruption all in one...manly...motion. Over and over, of course. 'Til it delivered the babies...
Well, who am I to stop that action? My own dick hard and squashed between us, rubbing tantalizingly to its own climax with only morning sweat and now, my own cum, as lube.
Though a tad chagrined I settled back on the pillow and felt his palm follow as he enforced the order for quiet. "You'll wake everyone in the damn house, my good bitch."
Having just loosed my load, I smothered my misgivings and let him have at it. I could always feel the timing of his explosion by the swelling goin' on in there while it pummelled my channel and by the swelling goin' on, it was gonna be a fruitful one.
It had been sinfully fruitful for me, seeing what was happening now as I relaxed to follow my orders.
The creak of the floor alerted Cal to another presence, the same presence which had stimulated my own gusher and vocal pleasure moments before. He lifted up enough to turn his head and see Boy, that way too curious nephew, screaming silently, ear-to-ear grinning at the view of his favorite uncle's huge prick sliding in-and-out his white boy lover's stretched ass...
By reflex, Cal plopped his uncut meat out in surprise, though unable to stop the climax he had just achieved. Cum sprayed over both of us and like a man confronted by a suddenly bursting broken faucet, he did the only thing one could do-- he plugged the hole to stop it. All the way back into my now really-lubed hole, throbbing pulsations squeezing his perineal muscles and pushing more sperm to the exit point...up me.
"Boy, what in Hell you doin' up in here? Shut the damn door, pissant!" Call never raised his voice-- not ever-- so the boy wiped the grin and pushed the door shut. With him inside...
And then stood still, watching us as Cal's cum trickled, squirted and dribbled all over the damn place- the bed , us, the window behind me and I think in my eye as it began to sting a little.
My inner grin matched Boy's.
Cal doesn't bother retracting the appendage now safely hidden from Boy's sight back in me, but looks down with recriminations covering his face as he asks what the hell was I thinking by not telling him we had company at 5 AM on a Sunday morning?
I lick his palm with my tongue in reply and he backs the hand off my mouth in sudden realization... a sheepish smile floods the big man's face and we giggle at the look of things.
But that dick didn't move an inch. Except to continue spasming. It felt good. If anything, it was more engorged upon the awareness of the young voyeur, it occurred to me.
Who, by the way, stood stock still, mouth now hanging wide open and eyes as big as saucers, locked on one particular spot. Cal's thick piece had oozed its slimy way out of my ass and now bounced lightly off my junk. What a visual that must make.
Typical Boy: sneak up on-->surprise-->shock-->Oh...Shit!-->Retreat! All one flowing emotion.
With a start, he came to his nubile senses and turned as red as a dark ebony boy possibly could, then raced out, bumping the door hard against the wall in doing. No telling where he would end up.
Well, so much for a quiet, leisurely Sunday before church "fuck and re-fuck".
What we called, 'the early service'.
I eased loose, rose and brought a warm wet wash rag to service my man as we laughed about the present predicament and re-hashed my previous evening's eventful grocery run with Cal's twin, Coy.
As I had thought, when I relived the scenario to Cal last night in bed, he responded with a massive boner instead of jealousy. Three successive cums filled me as I related the story of how I had encountered Coy's pretty dick at the old video store while he slowly, methodically pumped... and listened.
Cal loved my voice and said he could get hard listening to me recite Bible verses.
A whole new meaning to gettin' religion, I guessed, as I conjured the image of Coy, spent, smirking down on me through the glory-hole the night before. Waiting for my reaction to the fact of his own bodily attachment to the dick just 'anonymously' sucked in the smut shop behind the grocery store. He had thought I was unaware.
How little he knew me.
Reality foggily descended as we had made our grocery-laden and cum-bestained way back to the house in the country. Blitzed and almost oblivious. But very sated.
Seeming to pull off the effort of covering our transgression upon arriving back with the barbeque needs, Coy and I acted just that--coy-- about anything out of the ordinary during our trip/sexcapade.
The womenfolk were bustling and prepping when we entered, only noticing the arrival of cooking necessities. Amazing how people see what they want, I thought.
When I declined reimbursement for the goods, wanting to help and belong, they were touched.
Saved by the bill...
Over a delectable soul-food dinner, Cal and I filled everyone in on our lives and doings. We were well aware that our elopement a month before had probably topped anything more possibly jarring to the family's sensibilities following that news. The downhill slope looked pretty good to us by that yardstick.
Though we had already 'come out' years before, the surprise of a new SSM couple in the country haven where Cal had grown up had proven startling to the oldsters, to say the least.
Our recent last minute decision to visit over the summer months had caused both tumult and happiness, but we felt good about it.
The family members were accustoming themselves to it at various paces. Coy and Boy in the lead of the acceptance faction, the rest deciding their stances on the matter as they could. Or would.
The other five brothers of Cal were variously mute, smart-assed or, in Doy's case, derisive regarding our nuptials. It had been noted, however, that the married members: cousins, nephews, nieces, sisters and brothers were, to a person, accepting of the newest couple to the large family group.
A few of the older generation and the single men were less so; the kids could care less. The younger generation were very simply electrified to have the presence of their idol, Calumet Alfredric Blackhearst II, for the present time. Their own local celebrity was secured by the personified tie.
The family had been gratified and mollified as Big Bro, Cal, the athletic, gregarious, successful 'elder' of the younger Blackhearst generation had established himself in the bigger world. Now controlling a software company encompassing five major metropolitan areas over the country, all had been beneficiaries to his largesse over the recent years.
Now, to have him back amongst them even for just three months made for a more direct coming-to-grips with the major 'elephant in the room' subject: his new marriage. By merit of both our self-confidence and self-acceptance, tinged by some endearing self-deprecation, we made it plain that we were good. What could, or should, anyone say?
We had 'eloped' a month ago. It was because of our love of the mountains and desire to celebrate privately rather than any pointed attempt at exclusion. Mostly...
What with my unaccepting family ("He is a man, gay... and that black?") and the then-unknown reaction from his, we decided to honeymoon at our recently acquired high-country home and hideaway, far from any negativism.
Aspen had welcomed us. The rest of the world could put up or shut up.
"Are you and Uncle Cal gonna make oreos?" Five year old Vivian wanted to know. She had been informed by Boy of our liason that morning and now couldn't quite figure things out.
"No, honey," I told her, "we are not going to make oreos. I am much to young to be a mother."
Not solving her puzzle in the slightest, the little cutey went on, "If you do, will they be my family, or someone else's?"
"Viv, don't you have enough cousins to keep up with already?"
"Well", she replied, profoundly, "I just want to be ready in case I have to watch out for them when they come visit."
"Do you think you will have to watch out for them if that happened?"
"Well, Daddy told Mommy that if it happened a long time ago, they woulda been drowned in the creek."
Perplexed, I didn't really have a reply for that, on several different levels, so assured the tyke that should Cal and I have any children they would more than likely be orphans. Who didn't already have a home. That was the way people like her uncle and me sometimes made families, offering loving homes to strays and fulfilling one of our natural roles by helping the world with a tough problem.
"But will they be orphan oreos?" Vivian had to know.
"Well, honey, they could be oreos, I guess, but whether they were or not wouldn't make any difference. We wouldn't make a family on that basis. On purpose, anyway."
"So they might be oreos but for sure they will be orphans, right?" The little girl was persistent. Seeing my confused look, "I just need to know what is gonna happen here."
She sounded so adult I couldn't help sniggering.
"Help me out here, Uncle Jake, how 'bout?" Vivian was obviously very serious about this concept but I was just as seriously not the person who was going to discuss birds and bees with this five-year-old girl. My mental picture of her Boy-translated mental picture was disturbing enough.
"Yes", I explained, "we are going to have skunks. They are beautiful, snooty and nobody ever messes with them."
I remained utterly intrigued by Cal's family's male names. We were all sitting in the family room one Monday evening watching baseball, the brothers here enjoying the Braves stink up the national airwaves. Thank goodness for beer and Bob (Marley's ghost). Cal and I were the popular ones, having come stocked from Aspen, where the green cross thrives.
Coy, Doy, Roy, Loy and Voy. All junior to their big bro (Coy was younger by two minutes), two married and three not. All could be mistaken for each other. They were all chips-off-their-Dad's block, the patriarchal head of their family, deceased these past ten years.
The senior Cal, or Professor, as he had been more commonly known, and his wife Cassandra had wanted a distinct but connectible link for their five sons following Cal II, and knew they would have the chance as the family lineage was over-populated by males and twins. Very few daughters.
Their solution had been simple enough. It was one they borrowed from Francis Ford Coppola's majordomo. The iconically prolific overseer for Coppola's Belize Maya Mountain retreat for more than three decades.
He was iconic throughout Belize for the fame of his marijuana production operation. Mr. Marley had been a common visitor to the estate over the years, among others. Snoop Lion, Sting, Prince, Seal, Iggy and Lenny all frequented the palapas-dominated compound and it was reputed that Anna Madrigal once stole fertile seeds during a stay.
Prolific because he had fathered seventeen children by two wives over twenty years. He had kept the whole family united through the passage of time, the two wives amiably co-existing.
Every child was named Fred or Frederica, as were both wives. No roman numerals; no added letters. Just the name.
Oh, and for good measure, so were his five Rottweillers. The local jaguar and tree iguana populations detested them.
Even his weed lines were Fred-derivatives: Fredling Fly, Fred Astare, Fred Flintstoned, Alfred Ganja Khan, Fred Jiggleitalittleitllopen, Fred-Lb rightover. And more.
Somehow it worked. Majordomo Frederick Lansing bragged that he never feared being ignored nor losing his mind-- one name was all he need remember. If he lost memory of his own name, he figured, it was just. that. time... and, to top it all off, he was willing to wager at least somebody would carry on the name.
Cassie and Cal had employed their own peculiar twist on the theme by middle-naming all five successive sons Alfrederic. Therefore, Coy-Al, Doy-Al, Roy-Al, Loy-Al and Voy-Al.
Their only sister, Sophie, had the effrontery to be born into the world with indoor plumbing and paid for this by a lifetime of signing official papers as Sophonsiba Rill Blackhearst.
She called all of her brothers Al.
In contrast to the Belizean, she deduced that any sibling she might call would mix it up with one of the others and thereby thankfully ignore her. Worked to a T.
At the seventh inning stretch, all six brothers deserted the new 72-inch Samsung curved-screen to the starry night out back for their own game and update report. They did a better job than the pundits, and with their looks and (lack of) wardrobe, I opted to join them.
Personally, I still missed marching bands at halftime. Oh, wrong season...scratch that.
Women-folk had long since departed the house for the safety of a baseball-sparse venue so a greek-like atmosphere ruled now.
Spitting, farting, burping, scratching, and such, prevailed in this period and we were all the more bonded as a result. Cal's and my original intent upon descending to the flatlands for the summer. Filial bonding.
Sophie was already won over: she had always wanted a sister-in-arms...ahem.
Peeing on the grass was acceptable, as well, and I heartily joined this exercise-in-one-upmanship from as close proximity as possible without being splashed.
Nope, no better luck telling them apart by this method, I told myself. They were all hung like Cal and Coy: huge, thick and uncut.
On the bright side, as drunk as they were getting, no one would likely fall down...third leg and all. Tripods are notoriously stable on their legs.
Cal reminded us of the 10 mg THC gummy bears inside and led the sweet-lovers inside to test them. I was still studying constellations heavenward. Loy and Roy both preferred the freshly rolled joint to chewables and I watched from the porch swing as they lit up.
The two middle twins not only looked alike, they also spoke alike, cussed alike, walked alike, thought alike and finished the other's sentences. When they were younger they had developed a 'language' of their own, as twins do, and were commonly found conversing heatedly or quietly together, nobody the wiser for the content.
Their strange sounds and body-language soon caught my attention as I experienced the art firsthand and I watched, infatuated, as they discussed something of apparent import together. Both were clad in only cutoff jeans. My salivary functions could not keep from evaluating the handsome shadows they cast in the gibbous moonlight.
Gesturing toward me, they approached with an offer to share the old-fashioned method of partying, as they called it: two-toking. Loy turned to Roy and demonstrated their unique take on the old shotgun toke. The innate sensuality exuding from the two during it made the tent in my running shorts rise a bit. What total unassuming studs.
With the 'demo' toke consummated, they turned toward me in tandem, Loy putting the lit blunt inward in his mouth between his lips, leaning to me inquiringly. Roy came up behind as we partook and parked his crotch between my asscheeks. Large hands wandered in hormone-driven search.
Pretty hard to miss that offer, and being a suck-up for muscled black dudes, brother-in-law status notwithstanding, I bent slightly into the sausage fattening back there and took a deeper hit from Loy as he braced my head with his hand, kind of pushing the issue.
My shorts lasted above my hips like two seconds past that. Loy did his best to keep me from noticing the ploy by keeping the shared lip-lock intact. Roy didn't just lower them. He ripped them off by brute force. One yank and I was butt naked between the two. The nice southerly breeze wafted northward over a lot of exposed skin. Their cutoffs slid to ankle height.
Loy took out the blunt but continued the lip-lock, joint-unaided. His tongue took over, stabbing my inner cheeks and throat in foreshadow to what more was coming. Roy hawked my bare ass with a glob of saliva, using his fingers to spread it up inside my chute.
Next move proved debilitating as he weaseled that big-ass ebony dick, recently evaluated under moonlight as it pissed earlier, right smack up into my white ass. I pushed back invitingly, arching the globes.
Loy's tongue still attempted distraction and I moaned as the mandingo pair set to a mutual gyrating dance very obviously practiced before this interlude. Hmmmm. My mental strings were picturing the two conjoined by dick as they practiced perfection in another time and place...who knew, I fantasized, what went on between them?
They spoke a common private dialect. Why not fuck a common private dialect, too?
The unmarried state suddenly suited them.
They did, indeed, audibly purr while they pumped, in a resonating grumble, so similar in sound that I really couldn't tell one from the other, ending up in 'sense-surround' mode through their susurrations.
The men were absolute animals in the taking of the forbidden fruit (smile) out there on the moon-drenched lawn and as they shifted from one position to the other I lost track who was doing what to whom. I take that back. I was the one getting plowed. And watched, though unbeknownst to me.
The effect was aphrodisiacal, even without gummy-bears. I would have dearly loved to deep-throat the duo but they weren't having any of that. Copious loads rectally delivered over the ensuing minutes bore out their intent.
I felt like I had cum each time they bred me, but it wasn't so. My cock stayed rockhard, bouncing off my abs as they fucked, only settling down when we heard Cal call to us from his and Coy's seat on the porch swing that we had over-stayed the stretch...the top of the eighth was on...what the Hell were you bitches and ho's doing, anyway? My man asked, as he and his twin stroked to our beat.
Wow. Experiencing the boys' private conversational repertoire, I felt I had just solved the sexual Rosetta Stone.
Damn, they spoke sensual well... Seeing stars was just frosting on the 'cake'.
Was I lovin' me some new family...