by Sam Haywood
Grand-daddy had his swimming pool, Jacuzzi, and sauna built back there allegedly because they are out of character in style with the more formal terrace garden. But I knew from catching him at it several times through the years that he enjoyed those features nude, sometimes with friends, though I never knew of any hanky-panky taking place there. And he had given me the go-ahead himself to do it, too. Grandmother was not a swimmer, and rarely came back there.
The moon-gate was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open to enter. Less formal or not, this garden was just as carefully landscaped and beautiful as the other. The pool was painted a medium blue color, making the water look deep and cool. Brick paving surrounded the pool. At one end, an open-sided cabana held a huge barbecue pit and a fully equipped kitchen, with toilets and changing rooms in back. The sauna was beside that, with open shower heads outside it. At the other end, a 12-man spa sat in its own raised garden. Tables, chairs, chaise lounges were scattered about. I'd never known J. P. to use this space for entertaining, and now wondered what might have gone on here whenever Grandmother was away, and since her death.
I strolled into the cabana and pulled open the refrigerator door. It was filled with beer, mixers, and soft drinks, even cheeses, far more than one widower could ever have consumed. The adjacent cabinet was fully stocked with liquors, and the next with chips and crackers. If only I knew some folks in town, I needed to have a party back here to get rid of this stuff! I decided on Margaritas, and mixed up a pitcher full, since I was expecting Byron and Romeo soon.
By 2:00, I was floating in the pool on a large, aqua-coloured inflatable chaise, with my acrylic Margarita glass resting in its holder at my side. I'd found some sunscreen in the cabana and slathered my front with it. The sun baked my skin, but the water cooled my backside. Within fifteen minutes, I was sound asleep.
Something caused me to awaken suddenly, a feeling of being watched, or at least no longer alone. I opened my eyes into the glare of the afternoon sun. My raft had drifted into the corner of the deep end of the pool. There, looming at my feet on the edge of the pool, toes curling over the rim, stood a magnificent Nubian prince of a young black man, completely nude, surrounded by a golden aura of sunlight. He looked about my height. His skin was a brown-sugary color, a tone or two lighter than Ruth Ann's. His coal-black hair glistened. He had a perfectly symmetrical oval face, a fine nose, almond- shaped brown eyes, and beautiful teeth framed by full lips and a neat 'stache and goatee. His chest was sprinkled with short coils of hair, which flowed down the center of his abdomen toward this pubic bush, which was untrimmed. His legs were slim but strongly muscled, like a runner's. This could only be Byron, the yard and pool man, and he outdid his advance publicity.
He grinned, dazzling me with those perfect pearly whites. He lifted his arm to remove his sunglasses, revealing startling greenish eyes the likes of which I had never seen.
"Hi, there."
We went through the inane pleasantries and unnecessary introductions. I mentioned the Margarita pitcher in the fridge, and he strode over, still grinning, to pour himself one, and me a refill, while I rolled out of the pool chaise to clamber out onto the side of the pool. Byron plopped down beside me and handed me my drink. I had to take a long sip of Margarita, because I could not take my eyes off of his magnificent legs, not to mention his nice, long cock, which now dangled over the edge of the pool. At last, I got control of my eyes and looked into his, smiling. His shades were back on, but he was still grinning at me.
"Why haven't we met before?" I asked lamely.
"Well, I'm four years younger, you know. But I don't think your Grandmother was crazy about having me around. Seems like there was a change after she passed on, and J. P. took an interest in me. He even used to come to my high school football games. My uncle Dante used to keep the grounds here, and after that my cousin Alonza. When I was in high school, I needed work, and this was flexible, so J. P. took me on, and I still keep the yard and pool while I go to college. Of course, I guess that's all up to you, now."
"Yard and pool still need keeping up."
His grin could not get bigger, but it sort of firmed up some.
"Say, Dude, I hope you don't mind me tellin' you, you prob'ly don't want to be driving around town in the all-together, you know?"
So Byron had already gotten word of that, had he?
"Only the one delivery guy saw me, and he didn't mind."
"Yeah, I know he saw you, and I know he didn't mind, and I know nobody else did, or I would've heard about that, too," Byron chuckled. "Don't you realize everybody in town knows J. P.'s big ol' Cadillac? And when they see you in it, they know exactly who you are, too! There's a lot of interest in you in these parts."
"Oh?"
"You're the young prince, man! You've got it all! Looks, money, glamour, brains, money, looks..."
"You said looks and money twice," I laughed.
"Uh-huh, that's because those two are twice as important. Luckily, nearly everyone in town is predisposed to like you. You're kind of a local celebrity. Most people liked your grand-daddy, too. But don't ever forget-you don't get where your grand- daddy got in a small town like this without making some enemies, too. There's a few who would just love to bust your butt and drag you in the town hall in cuffs, naked for all to see. So promise me you won't do that anymore in town in the daytime."
"I see what you mean. OK."
"And promise me that whenever you want to do it after dark or out on the highway, you'll invite me to go, too." That grin was really starting to get to me.
"Done."
"I hear you already ejaculated twice since you arrived."
"Tell me what you don't know about me."
"And you're hung like Balaam's donkey. But that I can see for myself now." As Byron's knee had pressed against mine, my dick had begun to respond a bit.
"Who are you, the FBI or the CIA?"
"Fuck. The queer men of Hebron, South Carolina beat the shit out of those amateurs for collecting intelligence. Now that we have cell-phones, hell, man, we're a force to be reckoned with."
"I do have a very good idea who your sources are for all this information, you know."
"You know maybe one smidgen about this town, Sherlock. Give it a few weeks." Byron leaned back and eyed me coyly. "I did also hear that you like to catch as well as pitch."
"Did you. Are you by any chance a pitcher?"
"Got a bat, 'bout like yours, too." This conversation was making mine get even bigger. Byron's was not far behind.
"Well." I leaned back, too. "Wanna burn a few into me?"
"Thought you'd never ask. Just let me get a catcher's mitt."
I was perplexed by that last, until Byron strode over to the cabana, opened a small drawer, and returned with a rubber and a tube of Astroglide. He came back and placed the items on the bricks at my hip, then straddled me, his meaty, uncut cock dangling right in front of my face.
Byron had nice, neat black pubes, and his balls were medium size, at present drawn tightly up in his shaved, taut scrotum. I began to lick them and nuzzle his cock a bit. Then I took it entirely into my mouth. He moved his hands from his own hips to my shoulders and began to massage gently. I appreciated that, glad that he was not one to grab my head and force-feed me the sausage. I remember a T-shirt with the line, "Don't hold my ears, I know what I'm doing," and I agree with that sentiment.
His dick, of course, extended rapidly in both length and girth, smoothly rolling out of its foreskin. The head, when I glimpsed it, was a bright pink against the deep chocolate of the shaft. He had grown to about eight inches now, maybe five around. I took a deep breath and leaned into it until my lips brushed his pubes. Holding it as long as I could, I swirled my tongue around and enjoyed the sound of his low moans and short breaths. I slid back out to the end, took another big breath, and slid it back down the throat again. Several of these, and Byron was truly wailing. Suddenly, he pulled out, knelt straddling my thighs, and kissed me deep. Another great kisser, two
for two in this town. I knew what he was up to--stalling to give his nuts a chance to back down from eruption mode. But it was fine with me, as I truly love serious kissing.
After a few minutes of this, Byron was ready for a go at my ass. He rose and lifted me up, then led me to a chaise lounge, where he gestured for me to kneel. I faced the seat and rested my elbows on the arms of the chaise, reversed, with my butt sticking up towards my new friend. He bent to smooch my asshole a bit. I felt his tongue circling his target, then pressing the bull's eye. I never met a man who did not love to be rimmed, once he let it happen, and I am certainly no exception there. Byron made out with my ass as expertly, and as eagerly, as he had with my mouth. After a bit, though, I felt a cool gooey finger probing gently. It went in to the second knuckle and rotated around a bit. More goo, and a second finger followed. The third glop of goo was not accompanied by fingers, but by something much larger, and firmly spongy. With a plop and a grunt (from me), the head pushed past the sphincter, and I was gettin' fucked.
"You OK?"
"Show me your fastball."
Byron responded by slamming his dick all the way in, his hips hitting my butt with a skin-to-skin plop. My prostate jolted with a painful pleasure, but I must admit, for my ass-lips, it was all pain for that moment. Mr. Tough Guy was getting his come- uppance. Now I'd have to grit my teeth for thirty seconds of hard fucking until the pain gave way to pure pleasure. I didn't care. I wanted the sensation of a hard and hung man inside me.
Byron hurled into me like a major leaguer. The pain did subside, but it continued to be a rough fuck. I hung onto the ends of the arm rests and just tried to maintain my position for his maximum penetration and pleasure. I tried to grip his dick with my ass muscles a bit as he withdrew each time, but his strokes were too fast for me to catch them all. He was panting now like a runner.
I felt a shadow cross the left side of my face, and raised my head a bit, just in time to see a naked white thigh pass across the lowered back of the chaise. A large, erect penis brushed my cheek and settled, bobbing like a dashboard ornament, in front of my nose. "Why, Romeo, uhh," I gasped, as Byron pounded the wind out of my lungs rhythmically, "I'd know that dick anywhere." I opened wide, and he slid it smoothly between my lips. I took as deep a breath as I could with Byron's pounding, and Romeo pushed all the way down my throat. He pulled back, though, to let me breathe, and after that, he face-fucked me much more shallowly, shoving only the first six inches in on each thrust. I felt the angle of his body shift, and I knew he and Byron were kissing across my back.
Then Byron, who'd had a considerable head start, began to shudder, and his thrusts became less regular. He gave several long, shaky jabs at my gut, then trembled and was still. How I regretted having to use that damned rubber! I'd so love to feel his juices flowing freely into my bowel. He remained joined to me for a moment as he tongued Romeo's oral cavity, and I suctioned a lower section. Then Byron reluctantly pulled out, and to my surprise, so did Romeo. I watched as Romeo's lean, tanned rump moved on lithe, strong legs toward the cabana, then as they brought his manly front side, phallus swinging, back in my direction with another rubber in hand.
Well, I owed him this-I'd had two ejaculations off of him earlier. I felt his firm hands grip my buttocks as he moved in behind me. My knees could have used a break, but I was determined to hold up for this stud's pleasure. His cock slid right in, filling the void left by Byron's departure, and my rectum gratefully received it. He hunched me like a Rottweiler from the very beginning, eager to spew semen.
I moved my hands down to the seat of the chaise and supported myself with my arms. When I tired from that, I bent my arms and hunched my shoulders, resting in the seat itself. Byron came up and straddled the seat as Romeo had done but facing the other way. He bent slightly and offered me his pucker to lick while Romeo plowed my furrow at the other end. I closed my eyes and savoured the sensations of the smooth, clean anus in my face. But after a bit, I opened my eyes, and as I did so, I caught a hint of movement off to the right and up, in my peripheral vision. I turned my head.
"Oh, shit, Romeo, there's someone in that window. Over there, at the Dupree’s."
"I know."
"I think they can see us, damn." My body tensed up, my head pulling back, but Byron's ass still right on my nose.
"Don't, hunh, worry. That's Roman's window, hunh, hunh," Romeo grunted, still pounding away as hard as ever on my ass. "Don't stop me now, dammit, my balls would fall off."
"I thought Roman was a doctor in Columbia."
Romeo shuddered and seemingly tried to drive his dick all the way through my gut and out my mouth on several long, deep thrusts. No doubt he, too, was unloading a large sperm deposit in my bank. He collapsed sweatily onto my back for a few seconds, then, catching his breath, he pulled out of me, leaving a gaping exit hole between my cheeks. He swung dizzily around to the adjacent chair, and plopped down into it, as Byron rotated around to sit on a chair on my other side. I was still on my knees, backward in the chaise, ass waving. Romeo's hard dick stuck straight up into the stratosphere, comical now in its slimy condom with tightly-packed reservoir tip and semen swirling around his cock-head.
"Roman is a doctor in Columbia. Paediatrics. But he comes up here whenever he can. He's real close to his grand-parents. And I heard this afternoon that he was leaving a conference in Savannah to visit here the rest of the week, after hearing of J. P.'s death. So it would be him in the window."
"Shit. God damn. He saw me getting fucked and rimming out in the back yard like a SoHo slut." I turned and sat in my chair, too.
Byron and Romeo both laughed. I was getting just a little pissed.
"You guys don't get it. I've looked up to Roman my whole life. He's always been an unreachable goal to me-so smooth, and smart, and talented, and so damn nice! And I haven't seen him for years! He doesn't even know I'm gay!"
"Well, neither did we, until today," said Byron.
"Actually, I wouldn't count on it," from Romeo. "I think the view from his window may have cleared up any misconception he may have had on that score."
Both men laughed like idiots again. If they hadn't been naked and so damn sexy, I really would have gotten pissed at them.
"I would've liked to tell him myself," I stated morosely. "Now, he'll probably never come near me again, and I won't get the chance to explain anything."
"Oh, I don't know," began Byron.
"There's always tonight at the Club," finished Romeo.
"You don't mean...."
"He won't go to the clubs in Columbia, you know, too indiscrete," Romeo continued. "But he hangs out with us here when he's in town."
"Not that it does you any good," jibed Byron.
"Well. No, I guess not. We had a little fling a while back, but that's been over for months now. To tell you the truth, glad when I saw him at the window. I was kind of hoping ol' Roman would come on down and join us out here. But that was a long shot. I think Dr. Roman Dupree is holding out for Mr. Right while the rest of us are still boinging Mr. Right Now. Mind you, he's gotta be twenty-seven or eight by now, and he did his share of random boinging, too, not so long ago.
My mind was truly spinning now. Roman Dupree, boy wonder, was gay, and had fucked Romeo. Now, at least, I was a bit less embarrassed about him seeing me in such a compromising position earlier. But still-what if he was all grossed out at my trollopy behavior? Not that I ever had much of a chance with him....
Romeo broke my reverie. "Cheer up, Jack, you've got us. And you are going to be a sensation tonight, truly you are. You'll be the fourth best-looking guy there, after me and Byron, and Roman Dupree."
"You wish," hooted Byron. "Jack will be tied for best-looking guy there."
"Tied with me!" Romeo shot back.
"No, twit." He looked at me seriously. "Tied with Roman."
I wanted off that subject right there, and I immediately turned to making and pouring another pitcher of Margaritas. But my mind turned on what had been said fo
r the rest of the afternoon. I was pleased with so much of what I had heard, about Roman being gay, and available and all. But that last was most exciting of all. Sure, I was flattered at Byron's praise of my looks. But even more, I was impressed with what he had said about Roman's. When I had seen him last, I was probably twelve and he fifteen. He was skinny as a corn stalk, had spindly legs, over-size feet, spiky black hair, and hideous glasses. But he always seemed to be happy to see me, and never treated me like an intruding kid, which I was. I shuddered to think of what I had looked like then, myself. I'd be very keen to see Roman, the grown-up edition.
After a couple of rounds, I suggested that, if we were going to be playing strip pool at the club tonight, maybe I'd better go and prep my body for it. I needed to freshen my shave. That met with general approval from my new friends, who promptly invited themselves to join in. We'd groom one another, they declared. There would be no way they were letting me out of their sight before they introduced their find at this precious club of theirs. I didn't really want to be alone, anyway. Having picked up a deeper tone of all-over tan, the three of us returned happily to the house, where we settled into my guest suite. Romeo tried to get me to go ahead and move into the master suite, but I refused until after the funeral was well past. He raided it for supplies, though, and soon enough, we were busily examining one another's bodies for blemishes, touching up wherever needed. We all got shaved and trimmed, bathed and oiled, pedicured and massaged. Romeo and Byron produced sexy and fashionable casual clothing, and I dug in my suitcase to find something similar. We ended by raiding the kitchen for some supper, since we hoped we'd be too busy flirting and socializing at the club to eat there.
All but forgotten for the evening was the reason for it all, J. P. the third. There'd be time enough to think of him, though, tomorrow. Tonight was for me.
Chapter 3
The three of us - Byron, Romeo, and I - must have spent three hours primping like high school girls before the prom. Just hanging out naked with them was a treat for me, and getting my balls carefully shaved by a lithe, nude young hunk beats all hell out of having to do it myself. There was a "fainting couch" in my room, over which Romeo draped a quilt, and they laid me out on it to work on my Cinderella treatment.