Randy and I were twenty-two. Fast friends since we were sixteen, we
were products of our times. We'd grown up during the turmoil of the late
sixties, sweated out the final days of the draft as the Viet Nam War
wound down, and watched Nixon self-destruct. We talked caringly about
these things--things social and political. We seemed so unlike most
other guys our age who seemed only to drone on about the weekend's
conquests or football scores. Over the years our friendship had been
galvanized by differences we'd had, and had overcome.
There were times when I dared to think it. I loved him--as a friend
with my head, as a comrade with my heart, but also in a different way.
It was lust, and it was because he was a man. At times in the summer we
would sit in our shorts, Indian-style, playing cards or checkers. I'd
watch on the sly as the pink head of his dick poked through the bottom of
his cut-offs. (I always wondered if he did that on purpose, seeking an
edge in the game, sensing my concentration would be elsewhere!) I stored
the sight away in my mind, as fuel for my fantasies. I could not tell
him any of this. As open-minded as he was, it still seemed a risk too
big to take. Life without his touch was hard, but life without his
presence was unthinkable.
Try as I might to suppress it, the sight of him would always excite
me. At the beach, I'd toss him a Frisbee and marvel at his muscles in
motion. After a round of body surfing, we'd drag ourselves back on the
beach and soak in the warmth of the sun. I'd lie on my stomach while
he'd lie on his back, eyes closed tightly. I used that precious little
time to let my eyes drink him in. A myriad of little details were in the
picture before me: the tiny goosebumps sported by his deeply tanned skin;
the heaving of his chest with each breath and the stretching his large
round nipples under the strain; the blood pulsing through the veins in
his neck; his baby fine hair wafting gently in the breeze; the pores in
his skin and the fullness of his lips. His face looked so serene and
inviting. I yearned to lay on top of him, to melt over him like butter
in the sun.
It wasn't until our annual August camping trip, that I got the
chance to drink him all in. We were on a day hike when we saw the sign.
Made of thick iron, the letters had been cut out by torch. "NO NUDITY
ALLOWED," it intoned. We two rebels just looked at each other and
grinned.
God, it was beautiful there. At the bottom of the canyon, a small
stream, inches wide, would on occasion balloon into a long, wide pool,
flanked by reeds and shrubs on one side and high sandstone cliffs on the
other. We spotted several of these pools as we walked, each one more
secluded and beautiful than the last. Finally, we found the perfect one,
and it was ours alone.
We decided to cross the pool to the rocks against the cliffs. Not
knowing how deep the water was and not wanting to get our clothes and
belongings wet, we stripped naked and wrapped everything up in our
towels. Out into the water we waded until it became so deep that we had
to hold everything above our heads and bounce off the bottom. Like
waiters carrying trays of food, we made our way to the opposite side.
Finally there, we climbed out of the cool water, and laid down on the
warm rocks. Nude, rolled on our sides, we discussed our good fortune.
After a while we got out our ever-present magnetic game board to
play some Chinese checkers. I longed to play with his dick, but at least
I was able to let my eyes wander down to it. Previously shrivelled by
the coolness of the water, it had now begun to grow heavy. If he knew I
was staring he didn't let on, and after a while he drew one leg up,
placing his foot on his knee. His balls shifted in their loose sack.
Gravity siezed them. They rolled forward. God, this had to be an
invitation of some kind, but it was so subtle I couldn't be sure.
Too quickly the afternoon slipped by and the time had come to head
back to camp. We both had developed dark tans over the summer, but being
bareassed in the sun was a new experience and, inadvertently, we'd burned
our butts! Our shorts chafed agaist our tender skin all the way back,
but it was a small price to be paying for all the beautiful sites to
which I'd been privy that afternoon.
We'd found an out-of-the-way place to bivouac, so it came as no
surprise when, arriving at our campsite, Randy declared it hurt too much
to wear anything. I signalled my agreement and we again shucked our
clothes. As the sky blazed orange from the setting sun, we lit a small
fire, ate dinner, and rolled out our sleeping bags. The night air felt
warm and refreshing, and made me feel acutely aware of our nakedness.
Not yet ready to sleep, we stretched out on top of our bags for a little
conversation and a few hands of cards. It was much like the afternoon,
except now the flickering fire highlighted his light pink groin while the
rest of his tanned body blended into the darkness.
The cards were dealt and a few rounds were played. It was Randy's
turn. He started to chew on his lip in a way I understood all to
well--his turn was going to take a while. He studied is cards.
I studied his dick. The dancing firelight seemed to set it in motion.
It was hypnotic.
"You going to play or what?"
"Huh?" I was caught. "God, please, help me now," I thought.
"We're playing cards. Remember?"
"You were taking so long my mind started to wander." It was a
feeble attempt to cover the truth.
"Yeah, sure."
I had expected those words, but they weren't said with disgust.
There was, in fact, the hint of a smile on his lips and a look of
mischievousness in his eyes. I was more relieved than hopeful, but
still, maybe I'd misread him all these years. We finished the game.
"What do you want to do now?" he asked. I always hated that
question. Only one thing ever came immediately to mind.
"It doesn't really matter," I equivocated. I could dream about it,
wish for it, but I couldn't bring myself to initiate it. "I'm kinda
beat from the all the walking we did today,"
"Me too. I could really use one of your backrubs... if you've got
the energy for it."
"Yeah, I could handle that." I always could. "Backrub" always
translated to "body massage". It was the one intimacy that was allowed
between us; a line we both walked up to without hesitation, but never
crossed.
"I've got some lotion with my stuff. Could you rub some in? I
think I overdid it in the sun today."
"Sure, get comfortable. I'll be right back." As I returned to him
I couldn't help but think that tonight was going to be a night for the
truth. We were both naked, he had caught me stealing peeks at his dick
and was still willing to let me give him a massage. This was either a
demonstration of his trust, or a demonstration of his desire.
I stood over him. I'd seen this sight so many times in my dreams.
I knelt down and touched him. It was no dream. I squeezed some lotion
into my hands and warmed it. Starting at the calluses on the bottom of
his feet, I began working my way up his legs. His body relaxed under my
ministrations. As I felt the firmness of his muscles, I marvelled at how
they could present such a vision of strength to the eyes and yet be so
yielding to the hands. I kneaded his thighs, but stopped at the fold
marking the start of his buttocks.
I next worked on his hands, cognizant of the meatiness of his palms,
the texture of his fingerprints, and the rigidity of the bones which gave
his hands their potent shape and structure. But the power I knew to be
in them was not in evidence that night. What was it about his hands that
made them so sensual? We interact so much with the world by the touching
we do with our hands. In those moments we were, in fact, communicating
through ours. With his compliancy, he told me of the profound trust he
had placed in me. Through tender touch, I told him of my unquestioned
love for him. The messages were so much clearer than any to be heard
with the ears or seen with the eyes.
My fingers traversed the landscape of his arms and back. The lotion
imparted to his skin a satiny sheen that reflected the firelight.
Finally, my hands were on his ass. The twin muscular mounds exploded
with goosebumps when I spread the lotion over them. This was the only
place that was really sunburned and I gave it special attention.
Starting at the base of his spine, I moved lower, kneading his cheeks,
watching them cleave in the process. As I moved closer to his legs, he
repositioned himself. He was making himself more vulnerable! I wanted
to plunge in, to live my fantasy, but he was more than just a willing
piece of ass to me. He was the love of my life, and I wanted to see his
face.
"Roll over Ran," I said gently. With no hestitation he did. I
gazed down upon him as I proceeded to massage his feet and legs. His
submission was unmistakable and undeniable. Soon I was straddling his
stomach, leaning forward on my knees, exploring the ridges and valleys of
his abdominal muscles. With each breath his ribs rose and fell beneath
me. At last I molded my hands to his wonderfully sculpted chest. So
broad, so muscular, I couldn't feel the ribs underneath. As I touched
his nipples they contracted, forcing the nubs to attention. I felt his
heart beat stronger.
were products of our times. We'd grown up during the turmoil of the late
sixties, sweated out the final days of the draft as the Viet Nam War
wound down, and watched Nixon self-destruct. We talked caringly about
these things--things social and political. We seemed so unlike most
other guys our age who seemed only to drone on about the weekend's
conquests or football scores. Over the years our friendship had been
galvanized by differences we'd had, and had overcome.
There were times when I dared to think it. I loved him--as a friend
with my head, as a comrade with my heart, but also in a different way.
It was lust, and it was because he was a man. At times in the summer we
would sit in our shorts, Indian-style, playing cards or checkers. I'd
watch on the sly as the pink head of his dick poked through the bottom of
his cut-offs. (I always wondered if he did that on purpose, seeking an
edge in the game, sensing my concentration would be elsewhere!) I stored
the sight away in my mind, as fuel for my fantasies. I could not tell
him any of this. As open-minded as he was, it still seemed a risk too
big to take. Life without his touch was hard, but life without his
presence was unthinkable.
Try as I might to suppress it, the sight of him would always excite
me. At the beach, I'd toss him a Frisbee and marvel at his muscles in
motion. After a round of body surfing, we'd drag ourselves back on the
beach and soak in the warmth of the sun. I'd lie on my stomach while
he'd lie on his back, eyes closed tightly. I used that precious little
time to let my eyes drink him in. A myriad of little details were in the
picture before me: the tiny goosebumps sported by his deeply tanned skin;
the heaving of his chest with each breath and the stretching his large
round nipples under the strain; the blood pulsing through the veins in
his neck; his baby fine hair wafting gently in the breeze; the pores in
his skin and the fullness of his lips. His face looked so serene and
inviting. I yearned to lay on top of him, to melt over him like butter
in the sun.
It wasn't until our annual August camping trip, that I got the
chance to drink him all in. We were on a day hike when we saw the sign.
Made of thick iron, the letters had been cut out by torch. "NO NUDITY
ALLOWED," it intoned. We two rebels just looked at each other and
grinned.
God, it was beautiful there. At the bottom of the canyon, a small
stream, inches wide, would on occasion balloon into a long, wide pool,
flanked by reeds and shrubs on one side and high sandstone cliffs on the
other. We spotted several of these pools as we walked, each one more
secluded and beautiful than the last. Finally, we found the perfect one,
and it was ours alone.
We decided to cross the pool to the rocks against the cliffs. Not
knowing how deep the water was and not wanting to get our clothes and
belongings wet, we stripped naked and wrapped everything up in our
towels. Out into the water we waded until it became so deep that we had
to hold everything above our heads and bounce off the bottom. Like
waiters carrying trays of food, we made our way to the opposite side.
Finally there, we climbed out of the cool water, and laid down on the
warm rocks. Nude, rolled on our sides, we discussed our good fortune.
After a while we got out our ever-present magnetic game board to
play some Chinese checkers. I longed to play with his dick, but at least
I was able to let my eyes wander down to it. Previously shrivelled by
the coolness of the water, it had now begun to grow heavy. If he knew I
was staring he didn't let on, and after a while he drew one leg up,
placing his foot on his knee. His balls shifted in their loose sack.
Gravity siezed them. They rolled forward. God, this had to be an
invitation of some kind, but it was so subtle I couldn't be sure.
Too quickly the afternoon slipped by and the time had come to head
back to camp. We both had developed dark tans over the summer, but being
bareassed in the sun was a new experience and, inadvertently, we'd burned
our butts! Our shorts chafed agaist our tender skin all the way back,
but it was a small price to be paying for all the beautiful sites to
which I'd been privy that afternoon.
We'd found an out-of-the-way place to bivouac, so it came as no
surprise when, arriving at our campsite, Randy declared it hurt too much
to wear anything. I signalled my agreement and we again shucked our
clothes. As the sky blazed orange from the setting sun, we lit a small
fire, ate dinner, and rolled out our sleeping bags. The night air felt
warm and refreshing, and made me feel acutely aware of our nakedness.
Not yet ready to sleep, we stretched out on top of our bags for a little
conversation and a few hands of cards. It was much like the afternoon,
except now the flickering fire highlighted his light pink groin while the
rest of his tanned body blended into the darkness.
The cards were dealt and a few rounds were played. It was Randy's
turn. He started to chew on his lip in a way I understood all to
well--his turn was going to take a while. He studied is cards.
I studied his dick. The dancing firelight seemed to set it in motion.
It was hypnotic.
"You going to play or what?"
"Huh?" I was caught. "God, please, help me now," I thought.
"We're playing cards. Remember?"
"You were taking so long my mind started to wander." It was a
feeble attempt to cover the truth.
"Yeah, sure."
I had expected those words, but they weren't said with disgust.
There was, in fact, the hint of a smile on his lips and a look of
mischievousness in his eyes. I was more relieved than hopeful, but
still, maybe I'd misread him all these years. We finished the game.
"What do you want to do now?" he asked. I always hated that
question. Only one thing ever came immediately to mind.
"It doesn't really matter," I equivocated. I could dream about it,
wish for it, but I couldn't bring myself to initiate it. "I'm kinda
beat from the all the walking we did today,"
"Me too. I could really use one of your backrubs... if you've got
the energy for it."
"Yeah, I could handle that." I always could. "Backrub" always
translated to "body massage". It was the one intimacy that was allowed
between us; a line we both walked up to without hesitation, but never
crossed.
"I've got some lotion with my stuff. Could you rub some in? I
think I overdid it in the sun today."
"Sure, get comfortable. I'll be right back." As I returned to him
I couldn't help but think that tonight was going to be a night for the
truth. We were both naked, he had caught me stealing peeks at his dick
and was still willing to let me give him a massage. This was either a
demonstration of his trust, or a demonstration of his desire.
I stood over him. I'd seen this sight so many times in my dreams.
I knelt down and touched him. It was no dream. I squeezed some lotion
into my hands and warmed it. Starting at the calluses on the bottom of
his feet, I began working my way up his legs. His body relaxed under my
ministrations. As I felt the firmness of his muscles, I marvelled at how
they could present such a vision of strength to the eyes and yet be so
yielding to the hands. I kneaded his thighs, but stopped at the fold
marking the start of his buttocks.
I next worked on his hands, cognizant of the meatiness of his palms,
the texture of his fingerprints, and the rigidity of the bones which gave
his hands their potent shape and structure. But the power I knew to be
in them was not in evidence that night. What was it about his hands that
made them so sensual? We interact so much with the world by the touching
we do with our hands. In those moments we were, in fact, communicating
through ours. With his compliancy, he told me of the profound trust he
had placed in me. Through tender touch, I told him of my unquestioned
love for him. The messages were so much clearer than any to be heard
with the ears or seen with the eyes.
My fingers traversed the landscape of his arms and back. The lotion
imparted to his skin a satiny sheen that reflected the firelight.
Finally, my hands were on his ass. The twin muscular mounds exploded
with goosebumps when I spread the lotion over them. This was the only
place that was really sunburned and I gave it special attention.
Starting at the base of his spine, I moved lower, kneading his cheeks,
watching them cleave in the process. As I moved closer to his legs, he
repositioned himself. He was making himself more vulnerable! I wanted
to plunge in, to live my fantasy, but he was more than just a willing
piece of ass to me. He was the love of my life, and I wanted to see his
face.
"Roll over Ran," I said gently. With no hestitation he did. I
gazed down upon him as I proceeded to massage his feet and legs. His
submission was unmistakable and undeniable. Soon I was straddling his
stomach, leaning forward on my knees, exploring the ridges and valleys of
his abdominal muscles. With each breath his ribs rose and fell beneath
me. At last I molded my hands to his wonderfully sculpted chest. So
broad, so muscular, I couldn't feel the ribs underneath. As I touched
his nipples they contracted, forcing the nubs to attention. I felt his
heart beat stronger.
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