After our swim in the chilly water, we rested on the sand, getting our breath back.
Russ had a worried look on his face as he spoke, “Donny, please don’t ever tell anyone about what we just did up on the rock. I was so desperate; I weakened when I felt the softness of your naked ass in my hands; you seemed so willing. Please understand … it won’t happen again. I’m not gay, Donny, and I don’t think you are either. We were just two guys who needed some release. Your dad would kill me if he knew I had seduced his son; Jack, Mark and Bruce would probably throw my ass out of the group.”
Taking his hand in mine, I gave it a gentle squeeze and said, “You didn’t seduce me, I wanted it as bad as you did. Don’t worry, what happened up there is our secret, but if you ever feel the need again, just ask me to take a walk. I’ll understand.”
He looked relieved and gave me a sweet and grateful smile as we rose from the sand and headed back to the cabin. I’d scored again. Would Jack and Marc be so easy?
Meanwhile, there was a lot of work to be done, and I was busting to get going on Project PROSAGE.
Six
It was Friday already. The time had flown by, and a hell of a week it had been, but we had hardly started. Today, Marc was going to walk me through the housekeeping routine up at the bunkhouse.
My main responsibilities would be to keep the place spotlessly clean. Linens and towels would have to be washed at least twice a week or more depending on how sloppy our guests were.
Fortunately, there was a small guest laundry facility in addition to the commercial units I would use. They could wash their own stuff if necessary.
All of the appliances were top of the line, even a built-in vacuum system. Marc explained how everything worked in the kitchen even though I would not have to do much actual cooking. Russ would be on hand to do most of the prep, and my job would be setting up and serving. Almost every meal would be made up primarily of gourmet-quality frozen prepared products.
Each evening there would be a cocktail hour starting at 6:00 pm, which I would host. My bartending skills were nil, so Marc gave me a book and video put out by Old Mr. Boston. It would give me the basics. He had made up a schedule of duties for me to follow and gave me a lot of encouragement that I would do just fine.
“Just be your sweet, charming self, Donny. The guys will love you. Just remember, they are each paying $3,500 for their week up here. We want ‘em to feel that they’re getting their money’s worth.” And he gave me a little slap on my behind.
What was that all about?
My mind started spinning. What would they expect from their experience? Dad had said he would fill me in on the details of the PROSAGE program, and Jack was going to give me a hands-on training session with the device. This was either going to be a fun or frustrating week.
As the guys had suggested, I set myself up in the staff bedroom at the bunkhouse. Even though there was a week to go before the program started, I might as well get used to the place.
Back at the cabin that night, Dad sat down with me and explained the program.
The first day, each man would get a physical, an evaluation of their condition and counseling. Dietary recommendations would be made as well. This would be followed by a massage therapy period conducted by Jack. The rest of the day could be spent any way they chose. On the second day, they would be introduced to the PROSAGE device. That would be Dad’s job. The rest of the week would follow pretty much the same schedule minus the physical. If the program proved to be successful, the plan was to continue with Dad as Medical Director, and a professional staff would be assembled for a full-time operation during the spring, summer and fall months. During the winter, an in-town, outpatient service would be offered.
Seven
Saturday – this was a lazy day that we all could use to do whatever we felt needed to be done. I decided to spend some time up at the bunkhouse, getting familiar with the various toys that would be available to my guests.
The pool table occupied my time for about an hour then into the spa followed by some steam. By late afternoon, I was limp as a rag and probably dehydrated from the dry sauna.
Dragging my tired ass back through the kitchen to my new room, I flopped out on my queen sized bed and immediately dozed off.
The sound of a door closing woke me up. Looking at the clock, it seemed that about two hours had passed. Jack’s voice from the kitchen got me fully awake.
“Donny, you in here? It’s Jack. We’re wonderin’ what happened to you.”
“In my room, Jack. I kinda overdid the steam, spa and sauna and just about passed out. What’s up?”
He appeared in the doorway wearing some denim cutoffs and a bright yellow “Jack’s Jym” athletic shirt and looking very tasty even to my blurry eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed, and gripping my shoulder, gave me a gentle shake.
“C’mon guy, get your ass up and back to the cabin, it’s almost dinner time and we’re wait’n for you. Why don’t ya take a cool shower and you’ll feel better. I’ll see ya’ back there.”
After he left, all I could think about was our encounter in the bathroom the other night and seeing him stretched out asleep with his gloriously naked ass on display.
This hot stud was going to give me PROSAGE lessons. Damn, life is good!
The subject around the dinner table that night was about a business trip to Milwaukee. Dad, Marc, Bruce and Russ would need to be there early Monday to meet with some prospective supporters in the medical community. The plan was for them to leave Sunday morning and return on Tuesday. Jack would stay behind to keep me company and to do some work around the cabin.
How cool was that? Jack all to myself for the whole weekend. No telling where that could go.
True to their word, the guys left right after breakfast the next day.
The mood in the cabin changed dramatically. Jack and I both felt the wonderful freedom that seems to come from being left alone after a full house of company has finally departed or the boss is away.
Jack is sometimes like an overgrown teenager. We communicate on a level impossible with my dad. He is the most down-to-earth member of the group.
Coming from rural Kansas and a family of farmers, Jack lacks the sophistication and education the others possess, but that’s his charm.
We relaxed most of the day, watching TV, snacking instead of doing a full lunch.
The weather was perfect for a canoe excursion, so we dragged out the old fiberglass scow, packed up some life vests and pushed off onto the lake.
Jack knew the lake well and directed us along the shore and around the bend of the bay. The beauty of the place, the serenity, and incredible silence gave me such a feeling of contentment that couldn’t be expressed with words. I turned my head to look back at Jack, and he just gave me a smile and a nod showing me that he understood what I was feeling.
We spent the next hour or so just slowly drifting along the shore. Stopping briefly to munch some snack crackers and down some Cokes. Naturally, I eventually had to take a piss and wondered how to do that in a canoe. No way I could stand up and do it over the edge without tipping the thing. Finally, Jack must have read my mind.
“In case you have to take a piss, there is a p-can under your seat. Just fill it up and dump it over the side. Just don’t forget to rinse it out when you’re through.” I should have known these guys would think of everything.
Returning to the cabin, we both needed a good cool shower and a nap. Jack let me go first, saying “I’ll take my shower later on. Right now I’m going up and crash.”
Disappointing, yes, but we had the whole weekend ahead of us. Take it easy, Donny, I admonished myself. Jack might not be the push-over Bruce was. After a quick shower, I stretched out on Dad’s king size bed. Sleep came easy.
Waking up to the sound of the Bee Gees “First of May” took me by surprise, but remembering that Jack was my only housemate, it made sense. He was lost in the 60s much of the time.
Throwing on a pai
r of gym shorts, the same ones Dad wore last week, I headed downstairs.
Jack greeted me enthusiastically, “It’s about time, ‘twas getting lonesome down here, but kinda nice at the same time, I mean without all the guys hangin’ around.”
Deciding to make myself useful, I offered to fix supper.
“I know what you mean. How about if I fire up the grill and burn some meat tonight?”
He walked over to me and wrapped me up in a bear hug, “You got it, Donny boy. It’s all yours. Go to it.”
I thought, do that again and we won’t get to eat.
Being early May, the nights were still pretty cool. After dinner, Jack offered to light up the fireplace. That really topped off a perfect day, but the best was yet to come. While I was getting us some coffee, Jack had spread a big fur rug out in front of the hearth. Grabbing a couple of floor pillows, he said “If you don’t mind, I’m going to make myself comfy and stretch out down here. You’re welcome to join me. It’s a lot warmer close to the fire. Before you do though, hand me that bottle of Jack Daniels, so I can sweeten up this coffee. Yours, too, if ya like.”
I like.
This whole scene was enough to bring back the memory of my first real one-on-one sexual experience, which involved my buddy, John.
Eight
It all started out innocently enough. Our family had moved from an adjacent town to Forsythe, Wisconsin, which meant a new school district. This was right after I completed junior high school, placing me in the eleventh grade. Being somewhat shy and having no friends at my new school made my life difficult. My hero turned out to be a big Italian boy by the name of John Rocco. This guy was everything I was not. Very mature for his age, he had a husky, muscular build, was active on the school football team, very popular, and a good student to boot.
For some reason, we developed an “odd couple” type of friendship. Maybe he felt sorry for me. His home was within walking distance of mine, so we often rode the bus from school together. During one of these trips, the subject of our courses came up. We had both elected to take French rather than Spanish. This proved to be the thread that brought us together for study sessions in his basement party room. At the time, I was fascinated with electronics, particularly vintage equipment such as the old- timey wooden consoles that were as big as refrigerators.
John mentioned that there was an old RCA Victrola monster that had been in his family since the early 40s, sitting in his basement. Would I like to come over and take a look at it after supper that night? I jumped at the chance.
The beast worked perfectly, even had a built-in 78 rpm record changer and a cabinet below for a small collection of records.
This developed into a regular thing. I would arrive about 7:00 pm. We would go to the basement, turn on the RCA and listen to some music or play around with the short wave frequencies. A little French study would get done, and then we would just hang out, usually talking school gossip. For the next three years, John and I had a very supportive kind of friendship. Supportive for me because of the sense of belonging he gave me just by being willing to freely associate with a non-jock. In return, I provided him with an outlet for his more intellectual interests, reading, music, the occasional trips to museums and just quiet hanging-out moments. Whether or not he ever sensed that I was maybe a “fairy” remained a mystery during this time period. He just seemed to accept the fact that I was different and respected me for that.
Several weeks after high school graduation, we were hanging out as usual down in his basement, discussing our futures now that we were over eighteen and free to make some choices. The talk turned to sex. Who was doing what with whom, which girls put out, etc. The talk got more and more into details – tits, ass, cunts and finally, which of the guys on his ball team had the biggest dick. Now that caught my interest. Not being on the team, my knowledge in that area had been limited to what I had been able to see in the locker room after gym class.
I commented, “Well, in all the years I’ve known you we’ve never seen each other bare-assed, so for all I know you might have the biggest one.” He smiled and said “I’m pretty big, but Billy Cardozo beats me by at least three inches.”
“You got that right … last week a bunch of us was hanging out in the park after dark. I don’t know how the subject of dick size came up, but anyway someone says to Cardozo ‘Hey Billy, take out the champ and show him off.’ With that, he unzips and whips out this snake. The damn thing must have been a foot long, and it was still soft. I said something like ‘Holy shit, what a monster cock.’ Someone in the crowd said, ‘What’s up, Donny, you never seen a cock before?’ Maybe I showed too much interest in Billy’s cock, I don’t know.”
John said, “Don’t worry about it. Those jerks are always pulling shit like that.”
He looked at me kind of funny and after a minute or two said, “So do you jerk- off much? ... I do. Especially when I am down here alone … no one to bother me. I’ve got a stash of Hustlers and Playboys hidden away and can really get off on some of those tit and ass shots. Want to see ‘em?”
Of course, I sort of wanted to see them, but even more, I wanted to see my old study-buddy jerk off.
He went to an old dresser under the stairs and pulled out a small stack of mags.
As he crouched down, selecting his favorites, my eyes focused on his nicely rounded butt. The elastic waistband of his gym shorts had stretched down, revealing a thin trail of black fuzz leading to the first few exposed inches of his ass crack. I was hypnotized by the sight, feeling like I was getting away with something a little kinky by spying on his ass, and at the same time, a little jealous. How come he had hair down there and I didn’t. After all, we were both about the same age. In spite of all the jokes about plumbers under sinks showing their butt cracks, I was totally turned on by the sight.
My spell was broken when he stood and plopped a Hustler in my lap.
“Oh man, check out page 31, it’s one of my favorites, just watch out for the cum stains.”
He wasn’t kidding. There they were. One had even landed on the spread-eagled model’s face. My buddy was a real pervert, and I couldn’t be more thrilled.
After years of mostly solo masturbation, maybe my sex life was going to get more interesting.
John sat down on the carpeted floor and patted the space next to him, indicating he wanted me down there as well.
“Come on, make yourself comfortable, and why don’t you take off your jeans, so I’m not the only one practically undressed around here … besides, if you get a boner it might break, crammed in so tight.”
I protested that it would leave me in my jockey shorts and “what if someone came down from upstairs. Wouldn’t it look a little weird?”
“Bullshit, we can hear anyone coming because the door is as squeaky as the stairs, besides, I’m the only one who ever uses this place.”
He seemed pretty sure of himself, after all, he was just wearing those stretchy gym shorts and a T-shirt.
While I was pulling off my Keds and jeans, John stretched out on the floor, his head on a pillow and a magazine in his hands, just inches away from his face.
My gaze wandered down his body; stopping at his mid-section. Oh man! He was getting hard, and his dick was starting to stretch almost to the waistband of his shorts. Even without touching it, his cock was twitching under the influence of whatever he was looking at.
“Here, take a mag and lie down … there’s another pillow for you to use,” he insisted.
Not wanting to wrinkle my sport shirt, I took it off, leaving me with just my tight-whiteys and sweat socks for cover. This was feeling very weird. Here I was practically naked in someone else’s house, with his parents upstairs watching Leave It To Beaver reruns. That got me to thinking; wondering if the Beaver and Wally ever did the deed together. That would make such a cool episode:
“Mom! Wally shot his spooge all over the clean sheets.”
“Boys, how many times have I told you to use the nice box of tissu
es I left by your beds when you masturbate. I’m going to have your dad give you a stern talking to as soon as he comes home … Now get cleaned up for supper.”
Just the thought of it gave me the giggles.
John was clearly annoyed by my laughter while he was getting off on a porn mag.
Suddenly, he dropped his magazine; jumped up and flipped off the light, leaving the room lit only by the bright golden radio dial. He lay back down on the floor saying, “Sorry Donny, I just gotta jerk off. These cunt pics are just too much, and I’m ready to pop.”
With that, he pulled down his shorts, revealing his fat 7 inches of uncut Italian salami. Its grayish-brown color fascinated me. It was so unlike my pale pink shaft.
Looking down at himself, he said, “Not bad stuff, huh? Come on, we can both do it at the same time … don’t be such a pussy!”
Laying my head back on the pillow, I could feel the heat from his body just inches away from mine. His faintly masculine body odor was starting to get to me. My cock was now straining at the seams of my jockeys as he reached over and pulled them down below my balls.
“That’s better, now relax and let’s have a good fist fuck. See, you’re as ready as I am and not a bad piece you got … and unclipped just like mine,” as he reached over and gave my stiff prick a quick squeeze.
Compared with me, John was a giant. My eyes couldn’t leave the sight of his beefy hand sliding his foreskin back and forth, covering and uncovering his deep purple cock head. On the up-stroke, the supple skin gathered into a dark, wrinkled bunch then retracted, again revealing the silkiness of his glans. I was mesmerized.
Grasping my own stiff dick, we soon got into a rhythm and within minutes, our heavy breathing signaled our simultaneous orgasms. Shot after shot of our thick hot cream splashed onto our stomachs and coated our hands.
After we got our breaths back, John got up and brought me some Kleenex to clean up with.
Boys Will Be Boys - Their First Time Page 16