Chapter 10

At six feet four and with his good looks, he made--no, he commanded--a presence. I don't know what the boys were hoping to accomplish, but they were clearly embarrassing Randy. "Uhh, thanks, guys, but it's only a pizza. Okay?"

They both sat and looked at Randy, both of them wide-eyed with deep-end hero worship. And they didn't even know the guy. I was the one who should have been floating off my chair with little pink hearts fluttering around my head, but I was too damn hungry. "Randy, it looks like they're not going to eat unless you do, so dig in. Please."

As soon as Randy took his first bite, the feeding frenzy was on. Of course the boys tried to chew and talk at the same time which meant a lot of repeated questions.

"Where you from," asked Stick, a sliver of Bermuda onion hanging from his lip. He couldn't slurp it into his mouth so he just stuffed it in.

"St. Louis."

"No kidding!" exclaimed Toby. "Me too. Whereabouts do you live?"

"South St. Louis. Where do you live?"

"Oh, we live in Creve Coeur. Bellingham Farms."  There was just a touch of pride in his voice.

"Aha. Rich kid, huh? Nice area."

I knew what was coming next. It never fails, and I don't understand it. Whenever two St. Louisans get together, the question always asked is Where did you go to school? They don't want to know what university you went to that made you so smart; they want to know what high school you went to.

It was like watching a Mexican standoff. They were both chewing their pizza, looking directly at each other. Who was going to ask first? It turned out to be a tie. They each asked at the same time, but I was the only one who laughed out loud. They both gave me a condescending look. They were serious.

"Southside Catholic," said Randy.

"Parkway East," said Toby.

They each gave a slight nod and returned their attention to the pizza. That little exchange gave each one all that they thought they needed to know about the other. Toby was upper middle class living in a subdivision which implied plenty of land per homestead. He most likely had his own car which meant a late-model import for which his mother bought the gas. He had a rich social life and dated several girls but was still a virgin at 16 and would probably stay that way unless he moved away or got incredibly lucky.

Randy, on the other hand, was a city kid, solid middle class, who went to a school run by a religious order which brooked absolutely no breeches of discipline, which meant that he'd most likely been called on the carpet at least a half-dozen times. He most likely had a ten-year-old car which he bought himself and worked on in the alley behind his home and which he supported with a part-time job. Southside Catholic is an all-boy school, so he may have lost his virginity by the time he was fifteen either with a girl he didn't really like from his "sister school" or maybe with a fellow classmate.  Yes, Catholic boys do it too; they just feel more guilt.

These are all presumptions, of course, based on stereotypes, but they persist to this day. Your answer is supposed to divulge your economic, social and ethical background. And people still believe that stuff, which is the truly amazing thing! I wasn't going to let the secondary questions develop, so I addressed my question to Randy. "So how was your trip back? You were in Austin, right?"

"Yeah, for the most part. I left early this morning, which didn't help as much as I thought it would.  It turned out that I had to stop and take a nap before noon.

"Then I tried making up that lost time, but an Oklahoma state trooper told me how, uhh, unwise that was. Thank God he just gave me a warning. And Safe Driving Lecture #34." He started talking with an exaggerated drawl which the boys and I found pretty amusing. "Son, y'all gotta slow dayown some. We'd lahk tuh haveya come bayack 'n visit longuh next tahm. But y'all cain't see much from insahd a jayell cell.' "

Stick showed his appreciation for Randy's humor by expelling Coca Cola through his nose, which got an "Ew, gross!" from Toby and a meek "Sorry about that." from Randy.

Randy gave him a steady look and said, "You've got a low threshold for humor, don't you? That's okay. I like that in a person 'cuz my jokes are pretty lame most of the time." Stick was obviously embarrassed, but Randy's comment put him back at ease. And I like that in a guy.

I tried to keep the conversation going. "What did you do down there? See old friends? Break some new hearts?" I realized it was a silly question as soon as I asked it. It was summertime and all or at least most of his friends would be back at home.

"Yeah. Sorta." He gave me a we'll-talk-later look and then looked away quickly. He looked like he wanted to blush but couldn't pull it off. "I had to sort some things out." Something about the trip was bothering him and if he wanted to tell me, he would. Just not right now.

"I met your Coach Maxwell last week. He's a real charmer. If the kids weren't here right now, I'd say he was a real prick." Toby choked on something but quickly flushed it with a big swig of Coke.

"You do have a way with words," Randy said.  "Between the two of us, we might be able to knock off these guys and have the house to ourselves." Despite the way he was wiggling his eyebrows, he was joking, but Stick's wide eyes were saying, "Tell us what you'd do."

"I'll fill you in on our conversation later. There are some issues you may want to consider." I left it at that and Randy just nodded knowingly.

Toby took one of the two remaining pieces in his box--the larger of the two--and realized that neither Randy nor I was going to continue. "So you goin' to school here, Randy?" Half of the rectangle of pizza disappeared but he kept talking. "You play hoops? You're tall enough. You any good?" Clearly he wanted to be able to say that he knew a "celebrity".

"I'm transferring up here this year." He gave me a quick glance to make sure I caught that development. One decision at least had been made. "And maybe I'll play, maybe not. Haven't decided yet."

The rest of the meal was relatively quiet except for a couple of record-setting belches and sarcastic commentaries on table manners. Amazingly, there were three pieces of Stick's deep-dish pizza that went untouched. My comment that it would be good for breakfast tomorrow got me three you-are-so-out-of-it looks. "You are too weird sometimes," Toby grinned. They probably all knew that in a couple of hours those pieces would be history.

Randy was great with the kids. They opened up to him a lot more than they did with me. But then, he's so much closer to their age than me or Hank. They probably considered him a kid like they were, just a lot bigger and a lot better looking.

Toby, even more outgoing than usual, admitted that he'd gotten into photography because drawing took too long and required too many alterations to get things just right. "Mom didn't like the drawing thing anyway. She said it was too 'faggy'. Sorry," he directed his gaze at me, "but that was her word, not mine."  I shrugged knowing that it was something Maureen would say.

The big surprise was Stick. Despite his first answer to Randy that "nuthin" tripped his trigger, Randy finally got an answer out of him. Randy just might make a good district attorney some day. "Up until about a year ago, I used to write stuff. Not whole stories or anything. My English teacher, Mr. Kosmider, called 'em 'snapshots.'

"I'd be watching somebody and something about them would stand out and I'd try to imagine what was going on in their head."

Randy was listening closely, his head propped up on his huge fist. "So why'd you quit? Guys made fun of you, I bet." He tried to stifle a yawn behind his hand.

Stick nodded. "Not everybody. My teachers kept after me, but kids in my class wouldn't let up. I used to carry a notebook with me all the time. When I'd think of something, I'd write it down so I wouldn't forget. People thought I was weird and they made fun of me, called me 'Shakespeare' and stuff like that.  A couple of 'em got used to it, but that's all."

Randy reached across the table; Stick's hand disappeared under Randy's. "Kids can be so mean. And it's usually toward the ones who feel they know what they're doing. The name-callers figure everybody else should be as confused as they are. Did you keep writing?"

"For a while. Then one day I put the book down just for a second and somebody took it. Whoever took it showed it to a guy in my history class that I had written about. I kinda said something like he was smart and cute.  He didn't like it. Said I was spying on him even though I had written about something he'd done in class. Can you believe that? Then he sucker-punched me and basically beat the sh..." He looked sideways at me. "...beat the crap outta me.  And he wasn't any bigger than I was.  He just got me by surprise."

Randy patted his hand. "Well, you can't get 'em all right."

Stick gave him a confused look. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"From the sound of it, I'd have to say he wasn't all that smart." Randy stood and stretched his arms above his head. The trip must have been catching up to him. He looked like a genie coming out of his bottle. "Was he actually cute?"

Stick was still trying to figure out where this line of questioning was going. "He was before. Sometimes anyway. Nowadays when I think of him, all I see is how...hateful he looked when he was beating on me."

"So you still think about him, eh? Interesting." He moved behind Toby and clamped his hands on Toby's shoulders mostly to keep him in place while he asked Stick to show him the bathroom.

"Okay, bud," I said, "looks like you and me get stuck with cleanup detail. Let's make it look like we were never here."

Toby left the sink where he had been rinsing off the plates and peered around the kitchen doorway. He looked at me and said, "Stick's, like, pretty emotional, isn't he?" He had a strange look on his face, part concern and part just plain nosey.

"He's got every right to be. He takes a lot of things seriously that people around him don't see as all that important. Maybe he needs to hang out with a different crowd. Why do you ask? Does it bother you that he's so emotional?"

"No, it doesn't bother me. I'm just not used to seeing that with someone I know. Back home the biggest problem anybody talks about is who's dating who or what clothes to buy. You know, silly stuff.

"With Stick, there are times when he'll just clam up in the middle of a conversation and won't say much of anything. Like why he's here." His voice trailed off and I could tell he was just as mystified as I was by that question.

He gave me a hopeful look, as if I would share some knowledge about Stick's situation.  "Sorry, kiddo, I'm as much in the dark as you are. If he wants us to know, he'll tell us in his own way and in his own time. Just don't press him. He's had enough people pressing him lately."

Stick appeared in the doorway, startling the two of us. "You guys talking about me?" He didn't seem upset, probably just annoyed and curious. He changed tacks without missing a beat. "I like your boyfriend. He's pretty cool. He said he'd shoot some hoops with me sometime and show me how to take care of myself."

I looked at him over the top of my glasses. "Take care of yourself how? Is he going to turn into some kind of kung fu badass?  The Bruce Lee of the sagging shorts set?"

"I dunno. He didn't say."

"No," said Randy from behind him, putting his hands on Stick's shoulders, "just how to defend himself so he doesn't end up on his ass again." He put his muscular arm around Stick's shoulder and gave him a quick hug. The smile on Stick's face was the seed of hero-worship finding fertile soil. Hank would certainly be glad of this development. I wasn't sure how I felt about it.  I'd certainly feel bad if I had to drown Stick in the pool.

I grabbed two beers from the fridge and handed them to Randy. As I was getting mine, I told the boys that we'd be out back in the cathedral and that they should enjoy the videos. They both looked a bit disappointed that I was taking Adonis away from them. Toby asked slyly, "Can we come out for a swim too? You know, when the movies are done?"  I'm betting he wanted a repeat of the living room scene.

Randy perked up at the mention of the pool. "You guys got a pool here? Cool!"

I did some quick figuring. The movies should last about four hours which would give us plenty of time for some serious talk. And some serious smooching, I hoped. "Of course you can. Not a problem."

Stick decided to play Test The Limits. "Can we have some beer too?"

I had to be careful with this one. I didn't want to undermine Hank's house rules, but then he hadn't told me what those rules are. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Alright!" came simultaneously and they both jostled for position to get in the refrigerator.

"BUT..." They both stopped in their tracks knowing that The Rules were coming. "Number 1, you can only have two. Number 2, you can't go out anywhere. No driving. At all. Period.  Number 3, no swimming in the pool. I don't want anyone drowning on my watch. Them's the rules. Okay?"

Stick was looking at the beer like his favorite pet was about to be put down. Toby looked at it too and said reasonably, "Okay, I can wait. I know I'll want to get in the pool later. You will too." He nudged Stick, "And you know it." He raised his eyebrows and smiled at me and Randy. "Stick likes the water jets in the pool. A lot."

"Shut up, asshole!" He pounded Toby's arm hard enough to make me wince and then blushed tomato red.

I put my palms on my face and gave him a wide-eyed, shocked look. "Why, Stick! You mean to tell us that you use those jets for...for...sexual stimulation? And in your father's pool too! I am just so shocked!" I dropped the look and changed my voice to a matter-of-fact voice and addressed Toby. "And I bet you like it too, don't you, Ace?" I might as well make them share the embarrassment. Toby blushed but didn't lose his grin; he just nodded enthusiastically.

I had figured that by showing Stick that Toby was doing the same thing, he'd feel less embarrassed. Instead, he looked really pissed off. And he was looking only at me. Without a word, he turned and left the kitchen. That caught me off guard. "Uh oh. Was it something I said?"

"I dunno," said Toby, "unless it was that comment about his father's pool that bothered him."

I did say that, didn't I? Shit! I've put my foot in it this time. "Oh great. Uhh, Toby, why don't you give Randy the twenty-five cent unguided tour of the cathedral. I'm going to talk to Stick."

He wasn't in the living room or the bathroom. That's a good thing; you can "hide" in a bathroom for a long time. The bedroom door was closed so I knocked. "Stick, can I come in?"

"No. Just go away. Leave me alone."

Like that was going to happen! I entered anyway. "What part of 'No' don't you understand? Leave me alone!"

"I figured that 'No, leave me alone' in teenspeak means 'Come on in and let's talk.' At least that's what they say in all the manuals." He stayed silent, ignoring my attempt at humor. He was curled up in an easy chair in the far corner of the room. I sat on the bed opposite the chair. At least he was sort of cornered there. I put my hand on his foot, the closest thing I could reach, but he kicked off my hand and re-curled himself facing away from me.

"Besides," I said, "I don't like to apologize through a closed door. I'm not sure, but I don't think those apologies count." He looked warily at me, barely turning his head. "So, Walter J. Hudson, here it comes. I'm sorry, Stick, that I embarrassed you like that." He turned his face away from me; his fingers were picking at the fabric on the chair arm. "I didn't even realize what I had said until after you'd left. I never meant to hurt your feelings, and I'm sorry I did. You know that, don't you? Will you forgive me?"

He was picking at the chair arm now like a cat at a scratching post. He stopped scratching and looked at me. At least his eyes were dry. That's progress, I guess. "Why did you say that anyway? You know how I feel about him."

"I don't know, Stick. I guess because with what you told me about your dad that you just seem so 'at home' around here. I must have missed how you really feel about Hank."

"Sometimes...no, that's not right. Most of the time I feel like he is my dad. At least he acts like a dad.  He doesn't let me get away with too much."  He almost had a smile on his face as if he were getting away with something.  But we adults would never find out what it was.  Not until he was in his thirties anyway. His voice dropped as he turned his attention back to the chair arm. "I wish he were my dad."

"I'm sorry, Stick. I wasn't thinking. That's no excuse; I know. It's new information for me that I didn't 'get' so I couldn't put it in the confidential category yet. You know, there are things you can say to someone in private that you shouldn't say in public, and that was one of them. All I can tell you is that I'll watch myself more next time." That is, I thought, if he'll trust me with a next time. So how about it? Will you forgive me?"

He was looking at me sideways again. That was making me nervous. "On one condition. We get two more beers and can stay up 'til two o'clock."

I stood and put my hands on my hips in a how-dare-you stance. It was a textbook alpha male move. And it was all bluff. "That's two conditions, but I'll let it pass. One beer more and in bed by one o'clock," I said, keeping the stern look. "Deal?" I extended my hand for him to seal the deal.

"Deal!" he said, and I pulled him out of the chair into a semi-hug. I put my left arm around his back and jabbed him in the ribs with my other hand.

"I think I'll have you buy my next car for me," I jibed.

"Stop that! It tickles!" So I did it again and he spun away from me but wound up in the corner next to the closed door. His eyes were wide and he kept his elbows close to his side to cover his ribs. He was grinning, which made him look a lot better.

"Okay. Truce. Let's go outside." In the hallway I put my arm around him again and tried to pull him closer but he wasn't having it. He must have thought I was still going to attack his ribs. I pulled harder and he gave in. "Thanks for forgiving me, kiddo. I'm not sure what I would have done if you had said 'No deal' back there."

He stopped as we approached the top of the stairs leading down to the family room and the pool. "Well, it was a first for me. I don't think anybody has apologized to me like that before. Thank you."

At the pool, Toby and Randy were talking near the shallow end and Toby seemed very enthusiastic about something. I had my arm around Stick again. Randy asked us, "So, you guys are okay now?"

"I'm okay," I said, "but this guy is screwed up." I grabbed his ribs again and he spun away again except this time he landed in the pool. He came up spitting pool water and we were all laughing.

"You...you...pervert!" he shouted.

I just shrugged and said, "It's not just an adventure, it's a job."

"Watch," said Toby, "he'll go straight for the jets."

"Shut up, jerkwad!"

"Ha! Look who's talking! I'm not the one jerkin' his wad. You are."

"That does it!" Stick was almost out of the pool and he was intent on getting Toby in the pool. And Toby knew he was going in the pool. He was hopping backwards on one foot taking off his sneakers. He trotted away just fast enough to show Stick he could be caught if he made the effort. Maybe he's not as dumb as most teenagers seem.

Stick made the effort and caught Toby in a bear hug near the deep end. He carried him to the edge of the pool and kept going; they disappeared in the water still clutching each other. They came up splashing each other and after a very short while we saw t-shirts being thrown on the deck and a moment later their shorts got tossed too.

"You know," Randy said wistfully, "it's nice to see brothers who like each other so much."

"I hate to disappoint you, but they're not brothers."

"Oh." He was clearly disappointed. His eyes went wide and he asked, "Are they lovers?"

"Lovers?!? Why on earth would you ask that?"

"Well, they both just threw their underwear out of the pool. Are you sure they're not doin' each other?"

"Oh, that's nothing to worry about around here. Skinny-dipping is pretty much the order of the day. It's no big deal." It was like telling someone not to think about elephants. I found myself wondering if I should be worried about the boys.

Randy was engrossed with the boys in the pool. Was he secretly hoping that they would "do something" right in front of us? Or was he just envious of the fun they were having? Then the jealousy bug took a bite out of my ass. Did he want to hit on one of them? Well, it was up to me to see that that didn't happen. I slapped myself mentally for thinking such a mistrusting thought. I looked at him again but still couldn't read him. There was one sure way to find out. Oscar Wilde said that the best way to get rid of temptation was to give into it. I'd have to test that theory now.

"Why don't you jump in? You obviously want to."

"Nah, that's okay. Maybe later when it's just you and me." Okay, that's a good answer. Maybe I am reading too much into the situation.

"Well, I'm going to get towels for all of us then. Be right back." Just as I got to the sliding door, I heard Toby call Randy. I could watch through the sliding door from the linen closet. I took four towels from the closet and the afghan from the couch for cuddling later.

Randy sauntered to the deep end, his hands in the pockets of his Bermuda shorts. He kept them there as he stood looking down at Toby smiling broadly. He raised his head and let out a short burst of laughter, then started walking back to me slowly shaking his head.

I sat on the two-person chaise lounge and patted the space next to me as an invitation. He plopped down and immediately stretched his arms above his head and let out a sigh. When he lowered his arms, his left arm landed on my shoulders and he pulled me into him.

"I'll bet you're more tired than you let on," I said.

"Yeah, I am kinda tired. But I'll get over it. You know, that Toby is pretty forward for his age. You know what he asked me when we came out here?"

There was more than just the sound of surprise in his voice. I pretty much could guess what Toby had asked. "I'll bet I do know, but go ahead and tell me."

"He asked me if he could take my picture, so I told him, 'Sure, go get your camera.'  But he wanted to take a bunch of pictures and then without batting an eye he asked if I would do it in the nude! Can you believe that? What is he? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

"Sixteen," I answered. "So what did you tell him?"

"I told him I'd have to think about it." His face clouded over as he looked toward the pool. I could tell he wasn't looking at any thing in front of us. His brain was seeing something that bothered him. "I've had enough naked pictures taken of me." Hmmm..."naked", he said, not "nude". There's a big difference there.

I gambled with my next question. "Texas?" I asked.

His unfocused gaze left him and he turned to me. "Yes, Texas."  He must have been embarrassed because he didn't hold my gaze long at all. "And I...I want you to know about that. But when we're alone."

Our attention was brought back to the pool. Toby was yelling at Stick and laughing. "Stop it! Get away from me, you jerk!" They were in the corner of the deep end. Toby pushed Stick away and hopped up quickly out of the pool. He walked to his clothes, picked up his shorts and wrung them out in the pool before putting them on.

Stick was getting out on the other side, but he just picked up his clothes and started walking toward us. He was more than a little "excited" and made no effort to cover himself. For somebody who is shy and withdrawn, he sure likes to show off his body a lot. And just who was he doing this for? Toby? Maybe. Randy? I wouldn't bet against that.. Me? Forget it! Himself maybe? Perhaps he's just a not-too-latent exhibitionist who flaunts it for whoever is around. Hank should have a long talk with him. And soon.

"Towels are on the table. Leave some for Randy and me. And, Stick, cover yourself, for crying' out loud."

"Why? I'll just hafta get undressed again in a couple of minutes."

"Because even in this relaxed atmosphere, it's rude to run around like that."

"Hank's rule is if anyone gets hard in the pool, no one can say anything about it."

"Well, I'm not Hank. Tonight my word is law."

"But..."

"Enough! Dry yourself off and go in the house. And no dripping. Make sure you clean up behind yourself."

Toby broke the mood somewhat with a question. "Is it true we can have an extra beer tonight?"

"Yes," I sighed, "but three is the limit. And don't try hiding the empties. I've counted the bottles."

"See?  I told ya."  Stick had at least wrapped himself in the towel. When he got to the sliding door, he stopped and looked at the clothes in his hands. In one quick move, like a magician covering his top hat with a silk scarf, he removed the towel and wrapped the wet clothes in it. At least there wouldn't be any dripping, and I guess that's progress. He jumped when Toby whacked his butt and then they were running up the steps.

Randy was enjoying this little exchange and with the boys finally gone, he let out a laugh. "Were you like that with your kids?"

"My kids? I don't have any kids. Why would you ask that?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you kinda reminded me of my dad for a second. Did you really count the bottles?"

It was my turn to laugh. "No, I lied. But they don't know that. It's a trick my dad played on me once."

"You think they'll be okay? I mean, they are underage and all."

"As long as they don't try to get away with something, they'll be alright. I don't really believe in denying kids alcohol until they're 'legal'. But they do have to know the rules.

"When I was a kid--I'm talking preschool here--my dad was away at school and my mother and I stayed with her father who vass from der oldt country. He always had a case of Griesedieck Brothers beer in the basement. When he had one, he'd open another and give me half of it. I was in pig heaven.

"When my dad came back from school and we moved into our own place, I couldn't understand why there was no beer. I was probably the only four-year-old in the neighborhood going through withdrawal. It's a good thing I never asked my dad for a beer. He would have pitched a fit and forbidden grandpa from ever seeing us again."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope, it's the God's honest truth. Well, maybe the withdrawal part is a stretch, but the rest is true." I turned around to look at the house. The lights were out in the kitchen and in the dining room just above the family room. I could see light from the living room and figured the boys were getting into the videos and the beer. And probably not in that order either.

"Let's you and me take our turn in the pool." I pulled his arm but he wasn't budging. "C'mon. It'll make you relax. You'll sleep like a baby tonight."

"He squeezed my hand and smiled through half-lidded eyes. "And what if I don't want to sleep tonight?"

"Let me ask you this. Is tonight going to be our only night together?"

"I don't know. It's kinda up to you."

"That's odd," I laughed. "I thought it was pretty much up to you."

He smiled at the irony too. "So, is this a Mexican standoff or something?"

"Or something," I said flatly. I sat back down. I ran my thumb over the back of his hand. His eyes locked on mine but I couldn't interpret them still. I got the feeling that he was hoping my next question was the right one.

The problem was that I had no idea what the right question was. I raised our linked hands between our faces. "Look at our hands. I can feel each muscle; make out each vein; and your skin is so smooth and taut. Look at mine. The muscles aren't pronounced at all; you have to hunt for the veins with a magnifying glass; and the skin is loose and looks like a mosaic." I wanted to kiss his hand at that point, but that wouldn't be fair.

"Now. Do you want to have more than one night together?" He looked down at our hands and put his other hand atop mine. He looked up at me but he wasn't smiling.

"Lots," he whispered. He stood and moved closer like he was going to kiss me. "I want to have lots of nights...and days...with you." He lowered his face and seemed to have a problem breathing. I raised his chin and he started to speak. "But..." I cut him off with my hand on his lips. He let my hand rest there and, looking into my eyes with what I read as hope, he kissed my fingers.

That small touch sent a current through my arm and into my chest. God, I hope this isn't a stroke. Unless it's a stroke of unbelievable good luck. "Then we don't have to hurry, do we? We can pace ourselves.

"You know, we don't have to actually do anything tonight. If we play our cards right, we'll have plenty of opportunities for all-nighters." Oh God! Am I pushing him away already? I promised I wouldn't do that.

His eyes lit up with a mischievous smile. "What if I get hit by a bus tomorrow?"

"Well, first of all, the buses don't come out this far. Secondly, I don't plan on letting you out of my sight, so we'd get hit together." I felt my smile fading. "And if my last memory of you was holding you while you sleep or of you holding me, that would hold me over for a long time."

"Now I remember why I wanted to come back here." He pulled my face to his and kissed me with such tenderness and thoroughness that it made my knees weak and my dick strong. This kiss was one for the Top Ten List and the longer it lasted, the higher it went in the rankings. It stopped at about #4 on the list. As he pulled away, my lips tried to follow him. They wanted a higher ranking.

He spoke in a breathy whisper, "How about..." He inhaled sharply. "...you and me...get in the pool." He started undoing the buttons on my sport shirt.

"Something tells me we won't be doing laps."

"We can do 'laps' after we get out of the pool."

"Oh. OHHH!" He found one of my hot spots that was directly wired to my crotch. I slowly peeled off his polo shirt and was mesmerized again by his fantastic torso. I was emancipated. He was granting me the freedom to explore his body as much as I wanted. And I did.

I pulled him to me, chest to chest, cheek to cheek, exploring from his wide shoulders down to his round, muscled butt. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the texture and contours of his body. When I opened my eyes, I thought, Something is wrong. The drapes in the dining room were drawn and open only by a few inches.

Randy stopped kneading my butt and undid my belt. He had his hands on my hips inside my shorts and boxers. "Wait!" I whispered quickly and took a half-step back. "Just take off the shorts."

"Huh? What for? You having a shy-boy attack all of a sudden?"

I laughed softly and told him, "Nothing like that, for sure. Don't turn around. I think we might have an audience."

That was the wrong thing to tell him. The genie was out of the bottle for good now. "Oh really? Then let's give 'em a real show." He did an exaggerated bump and grind that would have made any stripper proud and made me even harder. He pushed my shorts off me and grabbed my ass roughly and pulled me toward him while he grinded away. I think he was trying to maneuver my dick so it would pop out of my boxers but he only pushed it downward. It was starting to hurt, it was getting me so hard. "Oh baby! Oh baby!" he crowed just a little too loudly.

"Oh, brother!" I said. "That sounds like a really bad porno movie." He stopped grinding and looked at me seriously for just a split second before he smiled and gave me a quick kiss.

"Let's get in the pool," he whispered. I pulled down his shorts all the way letting the top of my head brush his crotch on the way down and on the way up. He's not the only one who can put on a show. His briefs were tented as far as they could and I was in danger for real now of popping out of my boxers. We walked hand-in-hand all the way into the middle of the pool near the deep end where we were in chest-deep water.

He didn't waste any time. While his tongue was playing with mine, he slid my boxers down far enough to free my cock. "Did I do this to you?" he asked with mock surprise. He ran his fingernails down and up the length of it. I concentrated so I wouldn't explode in his hand.

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't the pizza."

He kissed me on the lips quickly so I couldn't keep him there again. He kissed my nose, my throat, my ear, my nipples. And he disappeared below water pulling my shorts off completely. It took me a second to realize that the warmth on my dick wasn't just the pool water; it was his tongue doing its magic.

He came up coughing, spluttering, shaking his head like a puppy and laughing all at once. "Oh man! I guess I'm not coordinated enough to do that without nose plugs."

"That must be how they do it in the videos," I suggested. His face clouded just a bit, but I was all around him in an instant whispering in his ear, "And it was fantastic! I've dreamt about that for a long time. And to think you risked drowning just to please me. I guess that makes you my hero." I planted another deep kiss on him and really got into it. Actually, I got into it too much. I tried wrapping my legs around him, and the next thing I knew we were both underwater trying not to drown.

"Okay," I admitted as I swallowed pool water when we were standing again, "maybe that wasn't such a hot idea." He disappeared again and came up grinning with his briefs hanging from his forefinger.

He tossed them on the deck and said, "Okay, now we're even." I moved toward him but he backed away toward the deep end, so I just dived under aiming for his crotch. He wasn't making any effort now to evade me since he knew I was about to reciprocate. And I wasn't going to have any breathing problems like he did. I pinched my nose with one hand, steadied his dick with the other and let my tongue home in on its target. It didn't take long--smokers aren't exactly known for holding their breath underwater--but I was effective.

In the short time I explored his foreskin and his knob, he was fully hard again. And in that same short time, my lungs felt like they were going to implode and my eyes were going to pop out like two blue torpedoes. I broke the surface just as frantically as Randy had, but for a different reason. I was terribly short of breath. "See?...It's not...all that...difficult."

"You cheated," he shouted as he backpedaled toward the corner of the pool.

"Of course I did!" I grinned at him. "And you seem to like it."

I followed him and had him trapped in the corner by holding his shoulders. "And you know what? It's just as beautiful as I remembered."

"So is yours. It's bigger than I remembered." He kept one hand on the edge of the pool but his other hand took both of our rods in his fist and worked them slowly at first but increasing his speed relentlessly. Amazingly, he shot his load before I did, but I wasn't far behind him. As soon as I felt his warm load hitting the end of my penis, I went over the edge and exploded right along with him.

When we had finished, I leaned in and put my forehead on his collarbone for a moment regathering my strength and my wits. When I pulled back, I'm sure I was just as wide-eyed and confused as he was.

We spoke at the same time. "I love you Randy/Bob." That was all. We were each still spellbound by the other. At least I was spellbound by him.  His blondish hair now darkened by the water and plastered haphazardly on his forehead, his eyes darting from side to side, his nostrils flaring with sexual excitement, the creases on his lips all seemed to point inward inviting me. Randy broke the spell pretty convincingly. "That was so-o-o corny," he said rolling his eyes.

"Okay, Mr. Wiseass, how about this. That was a pretty intense way to start your homecoming."

"Is that what this is? A homecoming?

You're jumping the gun, Bob, I thought to myself. You're going to scare him off. But I didn't hesitate when I spoke. "I hope so."

He didn't hesitate either. "I hope so too." He didn't sound real convincing. He looked off to the side but I could still see his eyes watering. "But if you change your mind..." His voice lost all the confidence he had shown moments before. He seemed about ten years younger. "...I won't...hold it against you."